Chapter 2

Living in this house is a bore. At least at the orphanage I had people to talk to even though I was the oldest kid there. Just three months, all I have to do is make it three months and then I'd be at Hogwarts. Then after graduating Hogwarts, I'll be free. No more living with people, especially not Tall Rude Man. Who, by the way, doesn't even talk to me. We have probably exchanged a total of three words with each other since I arrived here a few days ago.

I sneak past the living area where I know he's sitting reading the paper and listening to classical music. I go into the kitchen as my stomach grumbles. There's food there, mostly leftovers. It was odd, he always cooked dinner. Never takeaway or frozen foods or anything like that, not that he could have frozen foods since he didn't have a microwave.

I heat up some pasta for lunch in the oven and as soon as I click the buttons, the music from the living area stops.

"Ms. Taylor." The deep voice commands my presence. I sigh, frustrated, what could he possibly want? I hesitate before going into the living area. My socks are slick on the wood floor, that's the first thing he looks at when I go in. My purple socks.

"Yes, Sir?" I stop at the doorway and don't go any further. There are even more books here than yesterday. That's probably what he does with all his money, just buy books. He certainly doesn't use it to fix his house up. There are cabinets with broken handles and the lightbulb in my bathroom flickers.

He folds up the paper. "Do you like sushi?"

The question surprises me and I almost laugh. He didn't seem like the type of person to like sushi. I shrug, "I've never had it."

He sighs as if he expected such an answer coming from me. "You don't read, you don't listen to classical music, you don't know how to cook, and you've never had sushi." Statements, or more like accusations, as if there was seriously something wrong with never having sushi.

I cross my arms defensively. What was his point? I try to keep a straight face since Mrs. Pepper had pointed out my face would be a problem. I'm already good at biting my tongue, she told me once. But my face was another story. I wore my emotions on my sleeves and my face showed everything I was feeling and thinking.

"I am making sushi tonight for dinner, if you do not have plans, maybe you will join me." His non-questions annoy me. It's like he's telling me what to do without actually telling me. I say nothing and stand there.

It's something else I didn't expect- sushi, dinner... I shift my weight between my left and right foot, he looks down at my socks again. I feel like a child. "Okay," I say nodding- not I'll join you, or I have other plans. He doesn't wait for me to say something else before he unfolds the paper and put it over his face again.

I bought a dress and shoes. It was stupid, but I didn't have anything to wear to dinner. Each time I left to go have dinner on my own at some shop downtown, I'd see him sitting at the dining table by himself in a formal-ish clothes. He wore all black, so it could very well just be the same clothes he wears, minus the robe. But it was a lot more formal compared to the clothes I had which were mostly graphic tees, jeans, or shorts. The only shoes I had were trainers and I couldn't wear that with a dress.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Plain black dress with sleeves to my elbow and a gray flats. I turned the side and looked at my breasts, god they were tiny. My hair is flat and stringy, as it usually is, and looks out of place with my clothes. It's stubborn and doesn't want to do anything, so I end up putting it in a lose bun with some strands hanging off the sides of my face. Better.

My reflection looks back at me with a smile, then I roll my eyes and sigh. I don't know why I'm trying to be presentable anyways. It's not like I'm trying to impress him or make him think I'm not just a child. I'm sixteen! I'm basically an adult, what does it matter what I wear? But the way he spoke to me in the living room earlier that day hit something. Maybe I needed to grow up.

My parents are gone and each day they aren't there just makes the hole inside my chest bigger. I cling on to my childhood because that's when I was happiest, because that's when my parents were still alive. Only three months, it had only been three months and the wound is as fresh as the first day.

I enter the dining room and stop. He has two plates ready, each on opposing sides of the square table. He's putting food in the middle, I assume it's sushi because they look like white logs. For a moment, we stare at each other. He's wearing something different. Still black, but different. A normal black long sleeve that reaches to the middle of his palms and dark jeans. He looks… odd.

Dammit, I'm overdressed. My face flushes because now he definitely knows I tried to look presentable. He continues preparing the table and doesn't say anything. I stand there, not knowing what to do but switch my weight between each foot and play with the longest strand of my hair that hangs from the side of my face.

Then he slides a chair out and looks at me. I stare at him for the longest time before I realize what he wants. He wants me to sit. My eyes widen as I walk quickly to the chair, but then my foot trip on the side of the rug and I fall flat on my face.

I don't want to get up. My face is red and I'm so embarrassed that I feel like I'm going to cry. I'm so stupid, why do I even care? But before a moment even passes, he grabs my arms and helps me up.

"Are you hurt?" His deep voice sounds concerned. Then I realize: a question. A real question. Not a remark or a statement. But a question. That's new.

I shake my head and don't look at him in the eyes, wishing that I hadn't put my hair up so that I could hide my face behind it. "I'm okay," I mumble as I sit on the chair.

"You didn't have to buy a dress for dinner," he said as soon as he sits down.

"I didn't," I say too quickly, too defensively. Then we don't say anything for a long time. The sushi is actually good; I expected raw fish and slimy texture, but I don't even taste the fish. The next roll has crunchy shrimp and is even better than the first.

Minutes pass and I eat slower. Still we don't say anything and I feel it becoming unbearable. He looks at me when he think I can't see him. And I look at him when he isn't looking, mostly because I'm still in shock by the way he's dressed. I had no idea he even owned a pair of jeans, though to be honest I barely know him. Since the first day I came here, I see for the first time, that he seems very sad about something. Usually he's expressionless, or angry, or annoyed. But just for a flicker of a moment, he looked sad. I look away and don't look at him anymore until the plates are empty.

Dinner is over. He begins putting the plates away and doesn't say anything else. I walk to the kitchen sink and stand beside him as he washes the dishes and then he hands them to me. I take the towel and dry them. The silence isn't unbearable anymore.

Then when we're done in the kitchen, he walks to the living area and lights the fire with his wand. The room get warmer almost instantly. He sits on his chair and plays some music as he begins to read by the light of the fire and lamp.

The night is over and I walk up the stairs, careful with my steps so I don't fall for the second time.

Laying on my bed barefoot, but still wearing the black dress, I look up at the ceiling. He's sad. Mrs. Pepper never told me anything about him except he was a man who lived in Cokeworth. I realize that anyone in his position would be sad. He was alone and from I could tell, had been alone for most of his life. Maybe, just maybe, Tall Rude Man wasn't really rude. Maybe he's just been so used to being alone.