A/N: Okay, not a big authors note-er. But to those who asked about slashiness, well, I don't think this story is going to be anything more than pre-slash. However, am planning on writing a sequel (eventually), which probably WILL be HD… if I can figure out how to write it realistically, that is ;) I did, after all, write it in the story summary… lol…

But thank you all for your kind reviews! huggles all

Chapter 10: Loneliness

And so, Mr Wesley returned to his familiar routine. Each morning, he rose with the sun, growing later as the summer grew old. Throwing on his old dressing gown, which now seemed so ragged and forlorn compared with Malfoy's brands and style, he would plod slowly down the old wooden steps, wondering if it was time to fix those creaks and gaps in the surprisingly cold building.

Making his way to the kitchen, as he always did, he would begin to mix and stir and bake, loading tray after tray of delicious pastries into the oven as the morning sunlight streamed into his eyes and the birds began to chirp. The kitchen was spotless, and spotless it remained as he dressed in the same old clothes and opened the door to the same old people who had visited for a decade of mornings.

But something was missing. It wasn't that the food tasted any worse than usual – no, the customers agreed, it was as good as it had ever been. Nor was it the way Mr Wesley kept himself apart from the group, for that was how he had always been. He didn't make any indication of stress or sadness, and the kitchen still seemed to almost glow in the sunlight.

But no, they agreed, it was the aura, for all that they would never use such a silly term. For all that everything seemed exactly the same, something had changed. Mr Wesley had changed. And, they agreed, when they noticed the renewed quiet of the temporarily excited kitchen, it was 'that Mallory bloke.'

For all that they had never spent much time with their young visitor, so out of place in their society, all had noticed how the stranger had drawn their Mr Wesley out. The sight of a genuine smile on the other man's face, or a laugh in his voice, had secretly brought joy to the hearts of dozens of worrying villagers, though they knew better than to push the man. And now, with Mallory gone, Mr Wesley had gone back to his old ways of silent support and observation.

And, clearly, it wasn't enough any more.

Mr Wesley sighed softly, as he let the last of his customers outside. All day, people had been pestering him: where did Mallory go, they would ask. Did you two fight? Are you okay, Mr Wesley? You know, I'm always here if you want to talk… initially, it had frustrated him near the point of lashing out. He had never responded well to that sort of pestering, as his old friends could have testified. But, instead, he ignored them and carried on his work. He cut, he diced, he baked. He did everything he had once found so enjoyable… but somehow, it seemed lacking.

For the first time in his ten years of cooking, it felt like work.

As he trudged slowly back up the stairs, unusually exhausted, he found his mind turning to those who were once his best friends. They were so like the villagers, really. Always wanting to know what was going on, what he was feeling, how they could help. So often, he had blown up at them for that… he had always had such a hot temper. But, for some strange reason, they kept talking, kept trying to stay close to him.

He tried to push them away, of course, much like he pushed the villagers away… like he should have pushed Mallory away… but, like Mallory, they had refused to budge, even when he left the school for the war. Ron and Hermione… Ginny… they had always stood by him, no matter what. They were the best friends he could ever have…

And all of them died. All of them. Because of him. Professor McGonagal, Luna, Neville, all of them had tried to save him that blame. But he knew that they died because of who he was. He vowed, then, that he would never let anyone grow so close again. Because, for all that he had defeated the Dark Lord, for all that he was a new person, with a new life, where even Dumbledore, had he lived, could not find him, some things remained the same.

People died. People left you. "It isn't worth it," he said quietly to himself, staring at his shoes through watery eyes. "Not worth the pain."

"Yes, it is," replied a voice. Bewildered, Mr Wesley looked up – no person could get into these chambers, not with his locks and wards and safeguards. But no, as his conscious mind wandered, his feet seemed to have taken him to the very place he wanted least to be.

Turning, he began to open the door – how had he opened it before and not realised, he wondered – when the voice spoke again. "Harry James Potter, you will not leave this room. Now, turn around…"

Ignoring the voice, Mr Wesley began to turn the knob, to escape… but as the voice continued to berate him, he gave up. "What do you want, Sirius?"

From the painting on the wall, the young man glared at him through dark eyes. "What do you mean, what do I want? I want my godson to talk to me, that's what I want! Clearly, you're upset about something, or you wouldn't have come in here… so talk!"

As echoes of assent came from the other portraits, Mr Wesley sighed. "Can't I just have some quiet, Siri? I don't feel like talking."

"Harry," a softer voice said, "You never do. You hide your feelings inside, bottle them up, as if ignoring them will make them go away. But it's not good for you, child. You saw the way you were after Ginny…"

"What are you, my psychologist?" Blake snapped angrily.

"If that's what you need me to be, Harry."

"I don't need a psychologist," he replied, shaking his head. "I just need to be left alone, that's all!"

"You need a friend," replied a female voice, full of care.

"No!" Mr Wesley denied. "All friends do is bring pain. They leave you, they abandon you, and you're left all alone… all alone…"

Over his downcast eyes, the four portraits exchanged meaningful looks, as the amber-eyed man began to talk again. "Harry, child, do you think I don't know how you're feeling? I lost James and Lily… I thought I lost Pettigrew… and Sirius, twice! I know that it's painful, I do. But would you rather have had no friends at all?"

"Yes!"

"Really?" Those golden eyes seemed to stare straight into Blake's soul, and he had to avert his glance. "Would you really have sacrificed the love and joy you had with Ron and Hermione, to selfishly save yourself pain. And what if you had never loved? What would that have meant for the world, Harry? Without love of the light, why would you have fought?"

"I don't care," Blake replied sullenly.

"Yes, you do. That's what makes you you. If you didn't care, you wouldn't be so upset about losing people. But you can't go your whole life alone, child. It's been ten years, and it's time for you to move on."

"But what if I don't want to? What if I'm happy here, as I am?"

"If you're truly happy, then by all means, do what you do. But," he added, as Blake began to look up, "I don't think you are happy. And if you don't find what you need to be happy, all that we fought for is in vain."

"But…"

"No, Harry," replied the last man, hazel eyes full of determination. "I haven't been much of a father to you, it's true – that role belonged more to these two fools. But I command you to find what makes you happy and do it. Because, if you don't, our sacrifice is meaningless."

"We love you, Harry," echoed his wife, smiling warmly. "And we know what's best for you, even if you don't."

Sighing, Blake walked out of the room and locked the door, before collapsing on his bed. He knew he had to obey his father, and even that the portrait was right, but… how could he, now that Mallory had gone away? How could he ever find a friend like that again?