Disclaimer: I own nothing, and make no money out of this. HP is the
property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Brothers.
The house Jack built
Chapter seven. Stein
He was weary and tired from the long journey, and he still hadn't reached his target. He overlooked Diagon Alley, and even though he was accustomed to the busy streets of the Big Apple he found himself to be impressed. A thousand years of witchcraft had seeped into the bricks in the pavement, and gave the place an atmosphere of pulsating magic that nearly took his breath away.
But still he hadn't found what he was looking for. He had walked up and down the street three times already, and asked several passers-by where he could find a pub owned by a local wizard called Jack Bullstrode. All of them had shrugged and kept on doing their business. He was starting to feel somewhat lost in this disorganised melting pot of a neighbourhood, and that was saying something.
All he had to go by was a six months old letter Jack had sent to a mutual friend, telling her how well he did it in his old hometown. Stein had talked of visiting their old friend, and now that he had gone over to Europe she had given him a copy of the letter. It was to be a surprise visit, as they hadn't met each other for over a year. And their last encounter hadn't been the best, so Stein had decided not to send an owl in advance.
Now he realised that might have been a mistake.
According to the letter, the pub should be located close to the Gringott's bank, but the sign on the wall told him that the building belonged to someone named Florean Fortesque. The Ice cream shop had all the signs of being an old establishment, so Jack couldn't have sold it recently. A dawning comprehension emerged in the back of his head, and gave him goosebumps.
Jack wasn't here at all, was he? Had the last year really been so difficult for him that he felt he had to evacuate New York? He regretted not being the friend he once had been, but it hadn't been easy for him either. Not for any of them.
Resigned he sat down on the marble stairs leading into the great wizarding bank, again taking in the busy street in front of him. It was freezing cold, and involuntarily he shuddered. He tried to decide what to do now; he didn't know any people here, and his slender purse wouldn't permit him anything more than the most humble lodging. Perhaps he should just apparate back to Calais and then take the continental Floo-network back to his relatives, arriving one day earlier than planned.
He had not wanted it to be like this.
A slightly inebriated man staggered past him, humming a tune to himself. On a sudden impulse Stein called out to him. After all, who knew the local pubs better than the local drunkards did?
"Oy," the drunk answered cheerily.
"Do you know where I can find a man called Jack Bullstrode?"
"Jack! 'F course!" He smiled broadly displaying a set of brown teeth. "'E's down in the Alley, as usual. Just came from there!"
Stein was confused. "But, this is the Alley, right? Diagon Alley?"
The other man snorted. "Not the Diagon. Knockturn Alley." He turned around, and pointed down an alleyway on the other side of the road. He put his hands to his mouth and roared: "Dung!"
Stein stared at him, not knowing whether to laugh or remain serious. But then he saw three boys playing inside the alleyway. One of them raised his head, and walked towards them.
"'Sup, Moby?" he asked.
"This gentleman wants to see Jack. Why don't you take 'im?"
The boy gave him a scrutinising look, and then shrugged. "Follow me," he said precociously, and led the way down the alleyway. The two other children tagged along with them, and the youngest kept staring at Stein with curious eyes.
"O's that, Dung?" he asked, but the older boy hushed him into silence.
If Diagon Alley had radiated magic, then Knockturn Alley radiated gloom. That was the only word he found to be adequate for the complete dreariness of the place. There was magic down here as well, but it was a different kind of magic. He could not point his finger at it; but it was there, as a malicious force behind the grey walls of stone and planks tattered by corrosive wind and moist.
What had Jack said? The Alley hadn't been so much a place as a state of mind. He had never quite believed him, and written it off as bitterness towards his parents. But Jack had never been the dramatic type; he had simply stated the truth.
The boys led him to the front door of a two-floor building, which seemed somewhat less worn than the rest of the neighbourhood. The room was small, badly lit and smelled sourly of old beer and sweat. But there was a big fireplace in one of the corners, heating the room and spreading a warm flickering light over the faces around it. Their eyes fell upon him, for a second they made him feel uncomfortable and he resisted the urge to walk back out into the cold. It was his own fault for wearing Muggle clothes, which was usually frowned upon in the Alley; he knew because Jack had once told him.
Stein approached the bar, and sat down. The boy named Dung called out to a room behind the bar. "Jack! A customer."
"Yes, yes, I'm coming." A familiar voice reached him from the dark behind the bar, and then he emerged from the shadows carrying four bottles in his hands. Gently he sat down the bottles on the bar before turning towards the new customer. "So, what can I get..."
They stared at each other for a minute. Stein swallowed, uncertain of what to say. His old friend looked tired, but there was something else in his eyes as well, something he found unsettling. Stein seriously contemplated leaving, and apparate to Calais as he had planned half an hour earlier. But that would be cowardice; just one hour, and then he could do whatever he wanted.
"Hello," he said, and tried to make his voice as friendly as possible.
"How did you find me?" Jack asked.
Not exactly the kind of welcome Stein had hoped for, but it was a start. "Rose told me where to find you," he replied. "She told me to say hello from her."
"Rose," Jack said and nodded, as if he was stating some fact to himself. "How is she then?"
"She's all right. She misses you, though." The other man did not respond, so Stein looked around the room. "This is your place? It's...nice."
"Liar." Jack's voice was dry. "But it's my place, yes. Built it with my own hands."
"I thought so, it's quite a ramshackle." Stein smiled and winked, but Jack did not appreciate the joke. He turned back to his bottles, and placed them in their place among the others. Stein sighed, and closed his eyes for a second. "I'm sorry. Please talk with me, Jack."
The barman hesitated for a second, before he picked up a glass from the counter and poured himself a drink. "What are you doing here?"
"Just passing by. I'm visiting family over the weekend, and thought I'd drop in. You know, just say hello, and see if you were alive." He sought Jack's eyes but the barman wouldn't look at him, so instead he focused on his drink. "No one's heard from you for months. We were worried."
"Who's we?"
"Rose, Serge, Alan, Katie," Stein answered vaguely. "And me," he added quietly, but the man didn't seem to hear him.
"Visiting the old country, eh? Must be some time since you were there the last time, if I recall correctly."
"Five years," stein muttered. "I had an...argument with my father, as you can remember. Well, he's gone now, and I wanted to see my mother again. Perhaps I'll stay there; somebody's got to take over, after all. Stina isn't interested, so that leaves me."
Jack snorted. "You? A farmer? Don't make me laugh."
"Why is that so strange? At least it's something I know I can do properly, and I don't really have anything left to keep me in New York these days. I find myself longing for the clean air and the open fields, and the water... I've been gone so many years now, I thought maybe it's time to go home."
Jack made a vague sound.
"But I don't know if all those things are just figments of my imagination, you know. Maybe the air never was as blue, or the fields as green as I see them in my head. When I see it, I will know. Is that how you feel about the Alley?"
"Not really. You've seen the place, not much to long for, is it?" Jack's voice was bitter. "But it's mine. For good and bad, this is where I come from, and in the end it's probably where I belong."
"You can take the man out of the Alley, but you can't take the Alley out of the man?"
"Something like that." Jack poured three pints and brought them to the table by the window, while Stein finished his own. Jack came back and put the money inside a wooden box under the counter, before handing a fresh pint to Stein. "How long are you staying?"
"I don't know. I was thinking about apparating back to France tonight, since I can't afford the prises of the Leaky Cauldron. I stopped by when I first came here," he added. "I'll use the continental Floo-network to get home; I'm tired, and don't want to splinch myself in some Swedish pine forest. Damn you Britons for not being connected to the international network."
"You'll have to take that up with the Ministry, not me," Jack replied dryly. "But if it's that big a problem I have a spare room you can use for tonight. Nothing fancy, but at least it's warm."
Stein felt relieved and thankful, but hid it well. "Okay," he shrugged. "If it's fine by you."
"I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise," Jack mumbled. "But you'll have to excuse me, I have customers to attend to."
Stein remained in his chair, thinking, while he watched Jack work. He had always been the bartender, Jack, ever since they had first met ten years ago. The bars and the pubs changed names and location, but they all had this young brown-haired Briton behind the counter. And he was good at his job; no one could soothe a broken heart just like Jack, or calm the tempers of angry young men.
Stein himself had been one of the latter. Overpowered with rage and despair he had decided to wipe the mocking smile off the face of one of his tormentors, when Jack kindly but firmly had taken him by the shoulder and led him aside. He had listened to Stein rant for more than three hours that day, silently he had let him pour out all the pain, and then asked him the important question. Why? Why did he let them get to him when their opinions didn't matter?
Why did he judge himself based on the criteria set up by strangers?
Stein had left the pub then, feeling so sorry for himself that it had made him blush when he thought about it later. But it had made him think. Later he had gone back to the pub, and found the bartender with the calm eyes. He had been Stein's life buoy for a long time, and later he had become his friend.
And now they were polite and distant, hardly looking each other in the eye. But he had found him; for what that was worth. In the same place as he had always been, even though the continent was another.
"What are you thinking?" Jack had come back.
Stein smiled. "Nothing, just remembering the old days. Listen to me," he laughed. "I sound like I'm sixty! It just hit me that I always meet you in pubs, you know."
Jack shrugged. "Well, it's the truth."
It was getting very late and the guests departed one by one, leaving the pub empty with the two men and an elderly man who had fallen asleep on a bench by the fire. Jack started to clean out the tables, and Stein helped him out. Silently he gestured at the sleeping man.
"Oh, that's Ben. That's his usual spot; he doesn't have anywhere else to go, so I let him sleep here."
"Doesn't he...you know, provide himself from the bar?"
"No," the barman said firmly. "We have a deal. If he touches anything, I'll throw him out on his arse, and then he'll freeze to death. It's as simple as that, really."
Stein shook his head. "You're too bloody benevolent for your own good, you know that?"
"Of course I am. I took you in, didn't I?"
"Touché." Stein picked out a Sickle from his purse. "You don't mind if I take a few bottles up to my room?"
"As long as you don't get completely plastered and barf all over the carpets."
Stein laughed. "When did I ever do something like that?"
"Oh, like a hundred times?"
There was a flash of humour in Jack's eyes that made Stein glad. Just break through the ice now, he thought to himself, he isn't as far away as I had expected. "That was years ago. I'm a paragon of virtue these days."
Jack watched his old friend looking through the bottles on the shelf. "So that's what a paragon looks like? A skinny Norwegian with a selection of Madam Ogden's finest brews in his arms? I would never have guessed."
They walked up the stairs to the first floor, and Jack showed him the room. "As I said, it isn't much, but it will suffice, I hope."
"It's fine." But when Jack turned to the door, he added quickly: "Won't you stay and have a drink with me?" He wanted to say please, but something stopped him. Pride, perhaps, if Jack didn't want to stay he would leave; pleading would only embarrass both of them. "I brought glasses." He reached out one of them to him, and hesitantly Jack accepted it.
"I could have one drink, I suppose."
One drink turned into two, and slowly Jack seemed to relax as Stein told him news from New York. The barman in his turn told him a few stories from the Alley, but Stein frowned.
"I'm sorry, Jack," he said. "But I don't like this place. There's something in the walls here that gives me the creeps, like someone or something that doesn't wish me well is watching me all the time. Sorry, but I can't explain better."
"You're a drama queen, Stein, you always were," Jack stated dryly. "There's nothing down here that a thorough clean-up wouldn't take care of. But I don't think that's going to happen, the Ministry has other priorities, like watching paint dry. No one cares about the Alley, and that's why it looks the way it does. No one except us who live here, and we don't have the resources to do anything about it."
The alcohol had made Stein braver, and he reached his hand out and placed it on Jack's arm. "Why don't you come back with me?" he asked, his eyes shining. "We could all be together again; you, me, Rose, Serge, the old crowd! It's not the same without you guys." His voice trailed off.
"Is that why you thought about going back?" Jack asked.
"Yeah. Don't know who I'm trying to fool, though." His voice turned bitter. "I'm not a farmer, the silence would drive me insane within a week. I've been away for too long."
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
"I just hope my father burns in Hell for what he did!"
"Calm down. Perhaps we should set the bottle aside for a while."
"No, it's okay. Will you?" There was a quiet desperation in his eyes.
"Go back to New York? No."
Jack's voice was calm but firm. Stein had steeled himself for this for two weeks, but when he finally had his answer it was like getting a bucket of ice water in the face. "And what will it take to make you change your mind?" he asked with a strained voice. "Do you want me to beg? To crawl on the floor for you? Because if that's what you want I'll do it."
"I don't-"
"I know it was my own fault. I fucked up, and for that I'm sorry. I told you so a year ago, and I meant it, I still do! I always fuck up everything, all I touch. And I'm sorry."
"Will you please shut up!" Jack stared at him incredulously. "What's the matter with you?"
Stein rubbed his neck with his left hand, and struggled to get the words out. "I want you back, Jack," he whispered. "I miss you so much. Please forgive me, I didn't know what I was doing."
Jack stared at him, the expression on his face suddenly distant and cold. "You left me, remember?" he said dismissing. "I spent six miserable months waiting for you, and you didn't even send me a note."
Stein curled up against the wall, looking like every word cut like a razor blade. "I'm sorry," he muttered and dragged his hand through his hair.
"What about Henrik? Dropped you, did he?"
Stein didn't answer. Jack snorted, and got up from the bed. "I don't have time for your childish games! When I wake up tomorrow morning I expect you to be gone."
"Please Jack, don't go!"
The door slammed shut. Stein stared at it, as if he was trying to see through it. "Don't go," he whispered.
How could he explain? He couldn't, not even to himself. Stein curled up on the mattress, feeling completely sober again. An hour ago he had been so tired, now it was impossible to sleep. He stared out into the darkness, fighting the urge to go after him. He knew him; if Jack wanted to see him he would come himself. But the minutes crept by and turned into hours, and no one came.
His heart felt cold and heavy like a stone, a stone that threatened to cave in on top of him. After waiting forever, he got up and put on his coat. Fully dressed he looked at the door again, listening for any sounds of feet on the other side. The silence was deafening. He swallowed, and cast a last glimpse of the Alley through the window.
"Apparate."
The house Jack built
Chapter seven. Stein
He was weary and tired from the long journey, and he still hadn't reached his target. He overlooked Diagon Alley, and even though he was accustomed to the busy streets of the Big Apple he found himself to be impressed. A thousand years of witchcraft had seeped into the bricks in the pavement, and gave the place an atmosphere of pulsating magic that nearly took his breath away.
But still he hadn't found what he was looking for. He had walked up and down the street three times already, and asked several passers-by where he could find a pub owned by a local wizard called Jack Bullstrode. All of them had shrugged and kept on doing their business. He was starting to feel somewhat lost in this disorganised melting pot of a neighbourhood, and that was saying something.
All he had to go by was a six months old letter Jack had sent to a mutual friend, telling her how well he did it in his old hometown. Stein had talked of visiting their old friend, and now that he had gone over to Europe she had given him a copy of the letter. It was to be a surprise visit, as they hadn't met each other for over a year. And their last encounter hadn't been the best, so Stein had decided not to send an owl in advance.
Now he realised that might have been a mistake.
According to the letter, the pub should be located close to the Gringott's bank, but the sign on the wall told him that the building belonged to someone named Florean Fortesque. The Ice cream shop had all the signs of being an old establishment, so Jack couldn't have sold it recently. A dawning comprehension emerged in the back of his head, and gave him goosebumps.
Jack wasn't here at all, was he? Had the last year really been so difficult for him that he felt he had to evacuate New York? He regretted not being the friend he once had been, but it hadn't been easy for him either. Not for any of them.
Resigned he sat down on the marble stairs leading into the great wizarding bank, again taking in the busy street in front of him. It was freezing cold, and involuntarily he shuddered. He tried to decide what to do now; he didn't know any people here, and his slender purse wouldn't permit him anything more than the most humble lodging. Perhaps he should just apparate back to Calais and then take the continental Floo-network back to his relatives, arriving one day earlier than planned.
He had not wanted it to be like this.
A slightly inebriated man staggered past him, humming a tune to himself. On a sudden impulse Stein called out to him. After all, who knew the local pubs better than the local drunkards did?
"Oy," the drunk answered cheerily.
"Do you know where I can find a man called Jack Bullstrode?"
"Jack! 'F course!" He smiled broadly displaying a set of brown teeth. "'E's down in the Alley, as usual. Just came from there!"
Stein was confused. "But, this is the Alley, right? Diagon Alley?"
The other man snorted. "Not the Diagon. Knockturn Alley." He turned around, and pointed down an alleyway on the other side of the road. He put his hands to his mouth and roared: "Dung!"
Stein stared at him, not knowing whether to laugh or remain serious. But then he saw three boys playing inside the alleyway. One of them raised his head, and walked towards them.
"'Sup, Moby?" he asked.
"This gentleman wants to see Jack. Why don't you take 'im?"
The boy gave him a scrutinising look, and then shrugged. "Follow me," he said precociously, and led the way down the alleyway. The two other children tagged along with them, and the youngest kept staring at Stein with curious eyes.
"O's that, Dung?" he asked, but the older boy hushed him into silence.
If Diagon Alley had radiated magic, then Knockturn Alley radiated gloom. That was the only word he found to be adequate for the complete dreariness of the place. There was magic down here as well, but it was a different kind of magic. He could not point his finger at it; but it was there, as a malicious force behind the grey walls of stone and planks tattered by corrosive wind and moist.
What had Jack said? The Alley hadn't been so much a place as a state of mind. He had never quite believed him, and written it off as bitterness towards his parents. But Jack had never been the dramatic type; he had simply stated the truth.
The boys led him to the front door of a two-floor building, which seemed somewhat less worn than the rest of the neighbourhood. The room was small, badly lit and smelled sourly of old beer and sweat. But there was a big fireplace in one of the corners, heating the room and spreading a warm flickering light over the faces around it. Their eyes fell upon him, for a second they made him feel uncomfortable and he resisted the urge to walk back out into the cold. It was his own fault for wearing Muggle clothes, which was usually frowned upon in the Alley; he knew because Jack had once told him.
Stein approached the bar, and sat down. The boy named Dung called out to a room behind the bar. "Jack! A customer."
"Yes, yes, I'm coming." A familiar voice reached him from the dark behind the bar, and then he emerged from the shadows carrying four bottles in his hands. Gently he sat down the bottles on the bar before turning towards the new customer. "So, what can I get..."
They stared at each other for a minute. Stein swallowed, uncertain of what to say. His old friend looked tired, but there was something else in his eyes as well, something he found unsettling. Stein seriously contemplated leaving, and apparate to Calais as he had planned half an hour earlier. But that would be cowardice; just one hour, and then he could do whatever he wanted.
"Hello," he said, and tried to make his voice as friendly as possible.
"How did you find me?" Jack asked.
Not exactly the kind of welcome Stein had hoped for, but it was a start. "Rose told me where to find you," he replied. "She told me to say hello from her."
"Rose," Jack said and nodded, as if he was stating some fact to himself. "How is she then?"
"She's all right. She misses you, though." The other man did not respond, so Stein looked around the room. "This is your place? It's...nice."
"Liar." Jack's voice was dry. "But it's my place, yes. Built it with my own hands."
"I thought so, it's quite a ramshackle." Stein smiled and winked, but Jack did not appreciate the joke. He turned back to his bottles, and placed them in their place among the others. Stein sighed, and closed his eyes for a second. "I'm sorry. Please talk with me, Jack."
The barman hesitated for a second, before he picked up a glass from the counter and poured himself a drink. "What are you doing here?"
"Just passing by. I'm visiting family over the weekend, and thought I'd drop in. You know, just say hello, and see if you were alive." He sought Jack's eyes but the barman wouldn't look at him, so instead he focused on his drink. "No one's heard from you for months. We were worried."
"Who's we?"
"Rose, Serge, Alan, Katie," Stein answered vaguely. "And me," he added quietly, but the man didn't seem to hear him.
"Visiting the old country, eh? Must be some time since you were there the last time, if I recall correctly."
"Five years," stein muttered. "I had an...argument with my father, as you can remember. Well, he's gone now, and I wanted to see my mother again. Perhaps I'll stay there; somebody's got to take over, after all. Stina isn't interested, so that leaves me."
Jack snorted. "You? A farmer? Don't make me laugh."
"Why is that so strange? At least it's something I know I can do properly, and I don't really have anything left to keep me in New York these days. I find myself longing for the clean air and the open fields, and the water... I've been gone so many years now, I thought maybe it's time to go home."
Jack made a vague sound.
"But I don't know if all those things are just figments of my imagination, you know. Maybe the air never was as blue, or the fields as green as I see them in my head. When I see it, I will know. Is that how you feel about the Alley?"
"Not really. You've seen the place, not much to long for, is it?" Jack's voice was bitter. "But it's mine. For good and bad, this is where I come from, and in the end it's probably where I belong."
"You can take the man out of the Alley, but you can't take the Alley out of the man?"
"Something like that." Jack poured three pints and brought them to the table by the window, while Stein finished his own. Jack came back and put the money inside a wooden box under the counter, before handing a fresh pint to Stein. "How long are you staying?"
"I don't know. I was thinking about apparating back to France tonight, since I can't afford the prises of the Leaky Cauldron. I stopped by when I first came here," he added. "I'll use the continental Floo-network to get home; I'm tired, and don't want to splinch myself in some Swedish pine forest. Damn you Britons for not being connected to the international network."
"You'll have to take that up with the Ministry, not me," Jack replied dryly. "But if it's that big a problem I have a spare room you can use for tonight. Nothing fancy, but at least it's warm."
Stein felt relieved and thankful, but hid it well. "Okay," he shrugged. "If it's fine by you."
"I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise," Jack mumbled. "But you'll have to excuse me, I have customers to attend to."
Stein remained in his chair, thinking, while he watched Jack work. He had always been the bartender, Jack, ever since they had first met ten years ago. The bars and the pubs changed names and location, but they all had this young brown-haired Briton behind the counter. And he was good at his job; no one could soothe a broken heart just like Jack, or calm the tempers of angry young men.
Stein himself had been one of the latter. Overpowered with rage and despair he had decided to wipe the mocking smile off the face of one of his tormentors, when Jack kindly but firmly had taken him by the shoulder and led him aside. He had listened to Stein rant for more than three hours that day, silently he had let him pour out all the pain, and then asked him the important question. Why? Why did he let them get to him when their opinions didn't matter?
Why did he judge himself based on the criteria set up by strangers?
Stein had left the pub then, feeling so sorry for himself that it had made him blush when he thought about it later. But it had made him think. Later he had gone back to the pub, and found the bartender with the calm eyes. He had been Stein's life buoy for a long time, and later he had become his friend.
And now they were polite and distant, hardly looking each other in the eye. But he had found him; for what that was worth. In the same place as he had always been, even though the continent was another.
"What are you thinking?" Jack had come back.
Stein smiled. "Nothing, just remembering the old days. Listen to me," he laughed. "I sound like I'm sixty! It just hit me that I always meet you in pubs, you know."
Jack shrugged. "Well, it's the truth."
It was getting very late and the guests departed one by one, leaving the pub empty with the two men and an elderly man who had fallen asleep on a bench by the fire. Jack started to clean out the tables, and Stein helped him out. Silently he gestured at the sleeping man.
"Oh, that's Ben. That's his usual spot; he doesn't have anywhere else to go, so I let him sleep here."
"Doesn't he...you know, provide himself from the bar?"
"No," the barman said firmly. "We have a deal. If he touches anything, I'll throw him out on his arse, and then he'll freeze to death. It's as simple as that, really."
Stein shook his head. "You're too bloody benevolent for your own good, you know that?"
"Of course I am. I took you in, didn't I?"
"Touché." Stein picked out a Sickle from his purse. "You don't mind if I take a few bottles up to my room?"
"As long as you don't get completely plastered and barf all over the carpets."
Stein laughed. "When did I ever do something like that?"
"Oh, like a hundred times?"
There was a flash of humour in Jack's eyes that made Stein glad. Just break through the ice now, he thought to himself, he isn't as far away as I had expected. "That was years ago. I'm a paragon of virtue these days."
Jack watched his old friend looking through the bottles on the shelf. "So that's what a paragon looks like? A skinny Norwegian with a selection of Madam Ogden's finest brews in his arms? I would never have guessed."
They walked up the stairs to the first floor, and Jack showed him the room. "As I said, it isn't much, but it will suffice, I hope."
"It's fine." But when Jack turned to the door, he added quickly: "Won't you stay and have a drink with me?" He wanted to say please, but something stopped him. Pride, perhaps, if Jack didn't want to stay he would leave; pleading would only embarrass both of them. "I brought glasses." He reached out one of them to him, and hesitantly Jack accepted it.
"I could have one drink, I suppose."
One drink turned into two, and slowly Jack seemed to relax as Stein told him news from New York. The barman in his turn told him a few stories from the Alley, but Stein frowned.
"I'm sorry, Jack," he said. "But I don't like this place. There's something in the walls here that gives me the creeps, like someone or something that doesn't wish me well is watching me all the time. Sorry, but I can't explain better."
"You're a drama queen, Stein, you always were," Jack stated dryly. "There's nothing down here that a thorough clean-up wouldn't take care of. But I don't think that's going to happen, the Ministry has other priorities, like watching paint dry. No one cares about the Alley, and that's why it looks the way it does. No one except us who live here, and we don't have the resources to do anything about it."
The alcohol had made Stein braver, and he reached his hand out and placed it on Jack's arm. "Why don't you come back with me?" he asked, his eyes shining. "We could all be together again; you, me, Rose, Serge, the old crowd! It's not the same without you guys." His voice trailed off.
"Is that why you thought about going back?" Jack asked.
"Yeah. Don't know who I'm trying to fool, though." His voice turned bitter. "I'm not a farmer, the silence would drive me insane within a week. I've been away for too long."
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
"I just hope my father burns in Hell for what he did!"
"Calm down. Perhaps we should set the bottle aside for a while."
"No, it's okay. Will you?" There was a quiet desperation in his eyes.
"Go back to New York? No."
Jack's voice was calm but firm. Stein had steeled himself for this for two weeks, but when he finally had his answer it was like getting a bucket of ice water in the face. "And what will it take to make you change your mind?" he asked with a strained voice. "Do you want me to beg? To crawl on the floor for you? Because if that's what you want I'll do it."
"I don't-"
"I know it was my own fault. I fucked up, and for that I'm sorry. I told you so a year ago, and I meant it, I still do! I always fuck up everything, all I touch. And I'm sorry."
"Will you please shut up!" Jack stared at him incredulously. "What's the matter with you?"
Stein rubbed his neck with his left hand, and struggled to get the words out. "I want you back, Jack," he whispered. "I miss you so much. Please forgive me, I didn't know what I was doing."
Jack stared at him, the expression on his face suddenly distant and cold. "You left me, remember?" he said dismissing. "I spent six miserable months waiting for you, and you didn't even send me a note."
Stein curled up against the wall, looking like every word cut like a razor blade. "I'm sorry," he muttered and dragged his hand through his hair.
"What about Henrik? Dropped you, did he?"
Stein didn't answer. Jack snorted, and got up from the bed. "I don't have time for your childish games! When I wake up tomorrow morning I expect you to be gone."
"Please Jack, don't go!"
The door slammed shut. Stein stared at it, as if he was trying to see through it. "Don't go," he whispered.
How could he explain? He couldn't, not even to himself. Stein curled up on the mattress, feeling completely sober again. An hour ago he had been so tired, now it was impossible to sleep. He stared out into the darkness, fighting the urge to go after him. He knew him; if Jack wanted to see him he would come himself. But the minutes crept by and turned into hours, and no one came.
His heart felt cold and heavy like a stone, a stone that threatened to cave in on top of him. After waiting forever, he got up and put on his coat. Fully dressed he looked at the door again, listening for any sounds of feet on the other side. The silence was deafening. He swallowed, and cast a last glimpse of the Alley through the window.
"Apparate."