I made up a Quidditch team! Whee! And Alan and Gordon talk! Kinda. Sorta. Well, Gordon tries.

Chapter 10: Detention Frustrations

"Alan!" Gordon Tracy greeted cheerfully. "Imagine running into you in a place like this!"

Alan stared at him blankly. " ... Do you usually meet people in the trophy room?"

Gordon shrugged, grinning. "Only for detention. But that means I'm not the only one stuck in here. Filch always says no talking, but then he wanders off for so long he never notices if we do. And it's boring polishing by yourself."

"Isn't that the point?" Alan asked dryly as he pulled out the polishing rag he'd been given.

"Detentions are supposed to teach you a lesson. Which is exactly why you're not supposed to learn anything," Gordon informed him. He smiled as Alan gave him a weird look. "I'll start on the right, you take the left."

Alan nodded warily, moving to grab a trophy from the far left wall. Maybe if he zoned out long enough, time would go by faster. How many ways could he come up with to get Draco and Harry back for this in four hours?

"So what are you in for?" Gordon piped up suddenly.

Alan blinked out of his thoughts, shaking his head. "Um, my friends being idiots."

Gordon laughed. "Okay, what did they tell you you're in for?"

He sighed. "Disobeying a teacher. We weren't supposed to use the brooms while Madam Hooch was gone, and I did without meaning to."

"Why did you?"

"My friends were tossing around somebody's Remembrall, and one of them missed. I went after it and forgot I was still sitting on my broom."

"Did you catch it?"

He shot Gordon an odd look, but the teen was busy polishing his own trophy. "Yes, actually. Just before it hit the castle wall and broke."

"Nice job," Gordon said, sounding impressed.

He shrugged and went back to polishing. He really didn't see what the big deal was.

"So was it your first time on a broom?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah. I was never allowed one before."

Gordon whistled. "Very nice. You must be a natural."

"I guess."

"So what's your Quidditch Team?"

"The London Lions," he returned automatically.

There was several moments of silence, and at last he glanced up to see Gordon watching him with a considering expression. He frowned. "What?"

"So what team do you actually like?" Gordon asked with a wry smile.

Alan started. "I - "

Gordon's smile widened slightly. "I can tell it's not really the Lions, so who is it?"

He started to protest that it was, and stopped. Why was he even bothering? It didn't really matter anymore.

"No one," he admitted at last. "I don't usually get to watch Quidditch."

"Then why'd you say you like the Lions?" Gordon wanted to know, tilting his head curiously.

He shrugged. "It's what I was told to say. I support the Ministry, so obviously I support the London team where they work."

Gordon's eyes darkened. "Do they ever let you talk for yourself?"

"Honestly?" He hesitated, not sure why he was even answering. Was it because he didn't answer to them now? "No," he confessed quietly.

He went back to polishing trophies silently.

"So what's your favorite subject here?" Gordon asked after awhile.

Alan sighed, setting down his polishing rag and turning to face Gordon fully. "Why?" he asked tiredly. "Why do you keep asking me all this? What are you trying to find out?"

Gordon blinked at him. "Because I don't know you. And I want to," he returned, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Because we're related?" Alan asked with a scowl.

Gordon frowned. "Well, that too. I don't really know much about you, and I'd like to. So I'm making conversation. Is that so terrible?"

Alan folded his arms, eyes narrowing further. "Why?"

There was an odd look on Gordon's face. "Because I like you," he said finally. "Because I think you're an interesting kid, and that makes me want to know more about you. Satisfied?"

"What was that look for?" Alan asked warily.

"What look?"

"That ... You were looking at me weird. Virgil does it too, sometimes." Alan frowned again, remembering that he'd seen Scott do the same thing.

Gordon sighed. "It's because you remind me of my brother," he admitted. "And then other times, it's because of something you've said."

"Something I've said?"

He nodded. "It's just ... Sometimes you say things that sort of bring home how bad you've had it. Like not even knowing what your Quidditch team is because you've never gotten to choose. Or - " He hesitated. "Or the way you get suspicious about anyone showing interest in you."

Alan's eyes narrowed. "I learned a long time ago not to trust just anyone. And what did you mean about your brother?"

Gordon ran a hand over his hair, looking frustrated. "The way you stand sometimes. Or the look on your face. It just makes me think of him, that's all. Really."

"Hmm." Alan looked at him suspiciously for a moment. "We're alone now, you know."

Gordon gave him another funny look. "Yeah, I kinda noticed. What about it?"

He sighed irritably. "You said you'd explain why no one ever told me I had relatives in someplace more private."

"Actually, Virgil said that. I told you about him being Head Boy and called you a poor brainwashed child."

Alan's last thread of patience snapped.

"Are you bloody trying to make me angry?" he exploded.

"No!" Gordon paused. "Well, kinda. But it's for a good cause! You're too repressed. You need to let people know what you're really thinking about more often."

Alan glared at him, fists clenching. "All right, then," he hissed. "I think you're a scheming, nosy bastard who needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut and when to actually give a bloody straight answer, and right now, I'd really rather you just shut your bloody trap!"

He spun, snatched his rag up off the floor, and began polishing with a vengeance.

It wasn't until after Filch finally released them at almost midnight, arms aching, that Gordon caught Alan's arm as they headed back toward Gryffindor Tower. "Alan, wait."

Alan jerked his arm free, holding in a wince as his shoulder throbbed. "I already told you that I have nothing to say to you."

"Just hear me out, okay?" Gordon pleaded. "It's not that we don't want to tell you. It's just ... well, it's hard, okay? I mean, you ... you were just ... gone. For years. And there was nothing we could do. It wasn't because no one was looking. It was because we couldn't get near you. And even when Uncle James and Aunt Lily managed to get close, they couldn't just steal you away no matter how hard they tried. We've always wanted you Alan. We just ... we couldn't."

Alan stared at him for several minutes, wavering. On one hand, it was exactly what he'd always wanted to hear: that he was wanted. And Gordon's eyes seemed so sincere, his voice cracking as if he was on the brink of tears.

But on the other hand, it was exactly what he'd always wanted to hear. Which meant it was the last thing he wanted to be told by a boy he'd only just met, who really knew nothing about him. A boy that for all he knew, had every intention of capitalizing on his fame.

Just like everybody else.

"Are you finished?" he asked coolly.

Gordon sighed, shoulders sagging as his hand dropped from Alan's arm. "Yeah, I'm finished."

"Good. I'd like to get some sleep now." And he walked away, ignoring the eyes boring into his back. In his mind he was already plotting how to ask the Weasley twins if they had any suggestions for revenge, or more specifically, supplies he could borrow.

That night, he dreamed of a hand gently stroking his hair, and someone leaning down to whisper in his ear "I love you, Al. Always. No matter what."

When he awoke, he was alone.

But on the nightstand next to his bed, he found a small jar of cream and a bottle of something labeled 'Everlasting-Itching Powder'. An unsigned note on top read simply: Great for sore muscles. And stupid friends.

He used both.