A/N: This chapter is heavy in more ways than one. I have taken the liberty to change the storyline slightly to help further develop these relationships and backstories on a deeper level (but hopefully it still feels cannon). I hope you enjoy it!
Year 8: Barnaby's Grief
1992
Arah waited at the bus stop, at least she thought it was the bus stop. The Knight Bus was a mystery even to wizarding folk, nobody quite knew exactly how it worked. Some say all you needed to do was wave your wand out as if you were a bum asking for a lift. Others claimed the bus would just show up when one needed it most. Or one could risk waiting at the unmarked locations the Knight Bus supposedly frequented like Arah was doing that very evening.
The sun had dipped well past the horizon, a deep red and orange disappearing into the edge of the sky. Dark moody clouds blotted out the stars tonight, a bitter cold taking the place of the last bits of light. Arah pulled her cloak tighter, hoping this bloody bus would show soon. Unfortunately, she had no other means to get to where she was going, as she'd never actually been. It wasn't connected to the Flu network either. She only knew the location by address, one she had probably written 100 times since she was a 13-year-old girl.
18 Glocester Road, London.
She memorized it from summers writing Barnaby. Yet, in all their years, she'd never actually been to his home. In fact, nobody has. She chewed her thumbnail impatiently, her breath billowing in the cold evening.
Worry and guilt seeped into her mind as she thought of him. Arah had poured her entire being into Ruby's case, often sleeping in the breakroom and waking up groggily to Callum nudging her awake as she hastily wiped the drool from her face before burying herself in work again. She did everything she could to secretly uncover her partner's mysterious death without Flump catching on. It had become an obsession; so much so that Arah had neglected to spend any real time with her friends. Had she done so, she might have known that Barnaby's Grandmum had fallen ill, that he struggled to be both a caretaker and work a job, and that he had returned home to find that she had passed. That was three days ago.
Arah had once again allowed her own grief to blind her. She had promised she wouldn't push others away as she had with Rowan's death, yet here she was, unintentionally isolating herself from the world, drowning herself in work to numb the loss.
Realizing it was Saturday, Arah quickly packed up her things and headed to the Hogs Head Inn, knowing that was where her friends would be gathering. She hadn't attended in weeks - not since Ruby died. Liz told Arah everything as soon as she got there.
"Nobody can reach him, we have all tried." Liz brown eyes were wide with worry, the rest of the group mirrored a similar look of concern.
Arah's heart broke for Barnaby. Once the group had heard of Ruby's passing, they had surrounded her in support, Barnaby included. Arah knew he needed that kind of comfort now more than ever.
"Maybe he would listen to you?" Penny suggested.
It wasn't even a question in Arah's mind to drop everything and go- she had to at least try. Nothing else mattered, not even if it meant riding the bloody Knight Bus.
A bright blinding light turned the corner at an impossible speed as an obnoxiously large purple triple-decker bus approached- screeching to a stop before her. The door swung open as Arah took a hesitant step aboard the strange vehicle.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus." The driver hooted. He was an elderly man with wild hair and monocles so thick that his eyes magnified to be half the size of his head. "Where to, Miss?"
Arah recited the address with perfect memory as the driver nodded, twisting a bunch of levers and gizmos on the dashboard as a loud POP resonated, surging them forward.
"Take it away Ern!" Arah blinked as the voice came from a shrunken head dangling from the rearview mirror.
"Names Ernie." The man twisted his neck back, cranking another lever as they veered sharply to the right without ever looking at the road. "Got a few more stops before yours. Please, take a seat."
"Ay! If I 'ad a body, I'd offer you a seat right on me lap, good looking." the shrunken head jested.
"Ignore 'em, he's a right pig." Ernie scolded the head.
The shrunken head proceeded to imitate a hog, snorting obnoxiously before its grunts turned into a cackle. Arah fought back a smile, fumbling to the closest seat.
The snow-streaked sky blurred past Arah's window as they sped through the streets of London, through small narrow roads and alleys. It was a wonder how Muggles seemed to be completely and utterly oblivious to a giant purple bus soaring down the road, nearly hitting them. At one stop, a Wizard stumbled drunkenly off the bus, mumbling something about missing a shoe before they lurched forward again. After a few more stops, Arah began to recognize the area; passing old stately homes and historic dwellings. They were in the Borough of Haringey. The Knight Bus halted to a sudden stop as Arah lurched forward, barely stopping herself from hurling across the aisle.
"This is you, ma'am."
Swallowing her nausea, Arah thanked Ernie and wished him well, ignoring the vulgar remarks of the shrunken head as she exited the magic bus, watching it disappear as it took off into the night.
An old Victorian home towered before her, squeezed impossibly tight between two painfully colorful neighboring flats. The once stately home looked ominous between the cheery dwellings; colorless with tired boards, run-down shingles, and missing shutters. A rusted iron fence surrounded the home in a most unwelcoming display as the gate wavered ajar, unable to shut fully. Arah pushed the entrance open as a loud groan protested her entry.
Arah took a hesitant step down the path as snowflakes dotted the moody sky, peppering her cloak as they fell. The front yard was littered with abandoned plants and other deserted projects. The front porch nearly falling apart, scattered with molded furniture as several stray cats skittered away at her presence. Arah gulped as she lifted her fist to the tarnished door with a tentative knock.
The silence hung in the air. Arah stood a moment, sure she must have mistaken the address somehow. Surely no one had lived in this home for years, perhaps a decade until a muffled clatter sounded from behind the door. It creaked open only barely as a sullen Barnaby appeared, his eyes bloodshot and facial hair shadowing his features. He looked at Arah startled by her very presence.
"Arah?"
Arah forced a smile, wringing her cloak nervously. "Hey."
"What are you doing here?" He questioned, glancing around nervously as if to see if she were alone.
Arah swallowed, wondering if she'd made a mistake coming here in the first place. "I heard what happened, I-"
"Go home." He said coldly, "This isn't a good time." Arah opened her mouth to oppose before the door closed shut, leaving her standing there alone, cold and perplexed.
"Wait!" Arah protested, wracking the door again, "Don't - Don't shut people out. It isn't the way... trust me." She leaned her forehead against the door, hoping he was still listening on the other side. "You were the one that helped pull me out of my grief when Rowan died. Please. I just want to make sure you're okay."
The silence echoed around her as loud as the snow drifting soundlessly in the night. Arah debated walking away until a screech pierced through the stillness. Barnaby peered out of the gap, unable to meet her gaze.
"It isn't that..." He admitted softly, looking to the ground, "I don't want you to look at me any differently."
"Why would I?"
The door swung open, revealing the home- if one could even call it that. It wasn't a secret that Barnaby's Grandmum was known for being an adamant collector of all things Dark Arts and eclectic- but this was far from what Arah had imagined. From floor to ceiling, there were mountains of clutter; towers of tomes teetered dangerously as if being held up by magic itself. Mysterious artifacts unexplainably balanced atop mounds of trash. Clothes, paintings, clocks, books all thrown carelessly about. The walls were completely hidden with pictures and portraits- even more frames littered about, some covered in thick grimy filth, so tarnished that Arah couldn't even make out who or what they were of.
Arah walked inside, dropping her cloak to the floor in shock. She looked to Barnaby in horror, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Surely he hadn't endured this, no one could live under these conditions.
Barnaby remained expressionless, his tired eyes scanning the mountain of things that surrounded them. "It wasn't always like this." He said softly, picking up a pointless knick-knack and tossing it carelessly as it clattered down a stack of junk. "It started shortly after my parents were sent to Azkaban. It got even worse when I left for school. Every year I came home, there was more and more stuff until..." He gestured wearily at the chaos around him.
"...I had no idea."
"I didn't want you to." he shrugged casually. "Everyone always looked at me with such... pity, feeling sorry for me and my tragic shitty life- I hated it. I didn't want to be treated any differently than I already did."
Arah struggled to find the words to say so she decided to stay silent and listen, sometimes all someone needed was a friend to talk to. She would happily be that for him.
Barnaby glanced around the room, sighing as he took it all in. He looked drained; his shoulders slumped, cheeks sunken, shadows darkened his eyes in contrast to his sallow skin. "She'd never admit it, but I think she was lonely - my Grandmum. The crone could be cold, harsh, resentful... but she also showed me a kindness- something that was rare for me growing up. She was the closest thing I had to actual family." He shook his head, lost in his pain.
"You want to know one of the last things she said to me? 'I wish I could have given you more.'" A strangled laugh escaped him, as he shielded his face away from hers, sniffing back tears. "As if she could possibly give more than this." He motioned wildly around him. "I found her practically buried in her bedroom."
Arah edged toward him cautiously, reaching out to comfort him. "I'm so sorry, Barnaby." He pulled away from her, eyes filled with anguish.
"Don't be", he said sharply. "You want to know the sickest part? I laughed. I fucking laughed." his face twisted in disgust, " I found it ironic that she died, rotting in her actual shit, surrounded by shit, buried in shit."
He picked up an old portrait, wiping the layer of dust away. It was unmistakenly a painting of his parents- their faces cold and disapproving. He tensed, eyes dark and distant, distracted by the image.
"It's all just shit." He stood stock-still, so tense he seemed to vibrate as he spoke. "Pure. Fucking. SHIT." He spat, hurling the photograph with such force that Arah flinched as the frame shattered against the wall, causing a cacophony of other frames to clatter to the ground.
"I hate them." His voice broke, "I FUCKING. HATE THEM." He roared, gripping a taxidermied Kneazle and launching it at an ancient grandfather clock- the impact causing the gong to echo loudly over and over. Gong gong gong- a chorus of chaos intermingled with his wounded cry, the sound feral and enraged. Arah winced, covering her ears as she watched him grip an antique vase and hurl it, crumbling to dust.
Barnaby roared and punched and threw and cried. Helpless, Arah watched the anger spill from him, her friend's deep pain displayed before her. She'd been here before- so grief-stricken and angry, the sorrow rooted so deep within her that she forgot how to breathe. But to see Barnaby lose himself this way... tears streamed down her face as she covered her mouth to keep her lips from trembling. A deep sorrow ached within her for the kind boy she had grown up with. A boy that was treated so poorly, yet only ever treated others with compassion and respect. A boy who was gentle and kind to a fault.
Barnaby rammed his fist through the old clock, glass shattering around his hand as the room fell silent except for the shuddering sobs that escaped him. He faltered, collapsing to his knees in exhaustion as blood trickled down his arm onto the floor as he wept. Arah approached as if he were a wounded beast, easing beside him and laying a shakey hand on his shoulder.
He met her gaze through swollen red-rimmed eyes. "I'm sorry, Arah." He choked, cheeks blotchy and snot dripping from his nose. "I'm fucked up."
"You're not." she breathed, pulling him close as he melted into her, clinging to her so desperately she couldn't breathe. Tears soaked into her neck, warm and wet as she gave him a tight squeeze.
"I'm so fucking lonely." he trembled against her.
Arah gripped him tighter, "I'm here. I'm right here." She soothed, repeating those words over and over in a gentle whisper. His cries muffled as he buried his head deeper into her. They sat there, holding one another as Arah stroked his hair until the shadows grew darker in the room and his cries stilled.
A small puddle of blood had formed on the floor below that dripped from Barnaby's slack arm. "Is there a place we can go to clean you up? "Arah prodded gently, pointing to his injury.
Barnaby sat in a daze, glancing at the deep cut with confusion as if this were the first time he had noticed it. "My room." he croaked, standing up and offering her his good hand. He led her down a small aisle carved out of the heaps of rubbish, only wide enough for one person to fit. They traversed through winding paths, up a narrow set of stairs before reaching what appeared to be an attic.
Arah couldn't be more shocked by the stark difference his room was compared to the rest of the cluttered home. It was clean and mostly empty other than a mattress that lay on the floor and an old wooden dresser with a small box that sat atop it. There were about a dozen different photos taped to the blank wall beside his bed, mostly of their friends and their time at Hogwarts. A rooftop window slanted above them, the snow melting as it hit the glass pane, filling the room with a pale glow.
"Sit." Arah instructed, pointing to the bed. He complied, slumping on the mattress and leaning his back against the wall, closing his puffy eyes wearily.
Arah sat before him, taking a handful of her skirt and ripping off a strip of the fabric- hushing his protests as she used her wand to soak the cloth with water. Gently she grabbed his wounded arm and carefully inspected the cuts, blood already coagulating. She dabbed at the gash, making sure there were no glass shards lodged into the flesh. He hissed sharply as she murmured a quiet apology.
"Episkey", Arah pointed her wand at the wound as the cut began to close itself, sealing the skin together and leaving only a raised scar.
Silently Arah worked, wiping away the dried rusted blood on his pale skin- the cloth slowly tinged pink. She could feel his eyes transfixed on her as she continued to clean him, the quiet deepening between them like an unspoken truce. Once satisfied, she ran her fingertip delicately over his skin, feeling the ridges of the scar, ignoring the urge to lift his palm to her lips and kiss it. Barnaby's jaw flexed. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it as if mustering up the courage to break their agreed silence.
"I'm broken, Arah." he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. Arah glanced up, eyes meeting his gaze. "The only thing I ever learned from my parents was hate. For a while, it was all I ever knew." He peered down at her delicate hand that now rested in his. "Sometimes I feel that hatred deep down, burrowing itself inside of me like a festering rot... like I need to find it and cut it out."
Barnaby looked at Arah with such uncertainty, afraid she might scurry from him at this confession. Instead, she took in his words thoughtfully, studying him for a moment.
"I... I think we are all broken in some way, trying to pick up the pieces and feel whole." She pondered aloud, searching his face meaningfully, "Maybe that's why we have all clung to each other so tightly over the years."
Barnaby stroked her skin gently with his thumb. "I've always been afraid that someone will see me deep down for who I truly am and it would be over. There's something ugly in there, Arah. Something unlovable."
"Look at me Barnaby." Arah cupped his cheeks in her hands, peering earnestly into those piercing green eyes. "You know I love you, right?"
It wasn't some romantic confession or secret declaration of passion, but the words came naturally- a simple yet profound love, a bond so pure - it was so easy with him, yet she never expressed it. Perhaps she should have more often. Something shifted in Barnaby as he bowed his head to hide the way his eyes welled up with tears or how his nostrils flared. Arah's heart lurched at the thought that this boy may never have been told he was loved a day in his life. So she leaned close to him, her forehead resting on his, and said it again so that he believed her.
"I love you, Barnaby."
Barnaby set his warm hand on top of hers, completely enveloping it in his large palm. He scrunched his eyes tightly as he nodded, accepting her words as truth- unable to speak. She snaked her hand to the nape of his neck as he calmed, his breaths slowed. "I know that." He whispered, the air sweet on her lips. "I love you, Arah."
Barnabye slowly tipped his face up to hers, noses grazing. She swallowed as his fingers skimmed her jaw gingerly, the small space between them shifted- humming with electricity, straining the air between them as if daring them to close the enticing gap.
With each shakey inhale it seemed to draw them closer until her bottom lip barely grazed against his. Barnaby's breath caught in his throat as he paused for a moment, before lifting his chin for another, adjusting to catch her mouth with his. Arah sighed into him, brain going fuzzy, hardly able to comprehend that she was suddenly kissing her best friend. Fingers tangled in her hair, kissing her deeper, drinking her in warm and slow as she shivered against him.
Her tongue brushed against his bottom lip as he hissed sharply, his mouth teasing hers open, tongue sliding deeper as she scraped her fingers through his scalp. Barnaby's kisses grew urgent, pulling her into his lap with ease, his hands running down her spine, lingering on her hips. Arah's breaths shortened, she knew she should put a stop to this- that they were both hurting in their own ways, their judgment clouded with pain and grief, but instead, she gasped into his mouth, frantically working at the stubborn jacket, an insatiable ache to be closer so she can feel every inch of him through his shirt.
His hands mirrored hers, hungrily peeling off her cardigan, revealing the white camisole underneath, her skirt hiking up above her knees as his hands gripped her bare thighs, scooting her closer against him. Barnaby tasted clean, the sound of his desperate breaths set her on fire as he kissed her neck down to her collarbone, his scruff tickling her skin as his lips hissed her name like a Hex. Arah arched into him, moving her hips as it dragged a deep groan within him, jolting her with a wave of burning desire. She could feel his own longing pressed against her as he gripped her rear, pulling her flush against him as she panted his name.
They are gasping, crashing into each other greedily, devouring tongues and sharp teeth, biting his lip as his hands explore all over her, leaving a trail of fire as his hot palm slides down her neck before hesitantly moving down her chest and groping her breast. A faint moan escapes Arah's lips, she'd be embarrassed if she weren't totally and completely enraptured in this moment- but suddenly Barnaby breaks away, squeezing his eyes so tight as if the very glimpse of her could burn him. He pressed his forehead against hers, his chest rising and falling rapidly to match her own.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He muttered over and over, still clutching her against him as if his body and mind were at war with one another. "What are we doing? We can't do this."
Oh. Arah deflated, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen and bruised, her mind static and dazed as if she hit a brick wall running full speed to catch the Hogwarts Express on time.
"I'm being selfish." He shook his head, still afraid to look at her. "We're both not thinking clearly."
Arah leaned away from him, feeling a wave of guilt at the thought that he might be right- he was a Patronus, chasing away a sea of darkness and sorrow. Except she hadn't had the decency to stop. Arah flushed at what could have happened had he not been a gentleman. She scooted away from him, finding her discarded jumper and slipping it back on, the heat of embarrassment setting in, making her cheeks hot and eyes water.
"You're right, I'm sorry too." But was she? That kiss had meant something - but maybe she misread him and his intentions. Perhaps, she was confused too. Arah wracked her sluggish brain on how she could salvage this between them. "We just got carried away, trying to find some sort of escape from all that's happened. "
Barnaby looked at her miserably. "I just meant-"
"It's okay, really. Let's just pretend it never happened," she said too quickly, trying to keep their friendship from erupting in a blaze of Fiendfyre. "It's not a big deal," she assured him lightly, trying to convince herself of the blatant lie.
Barnaby stared at her, his expression unreadable. "You sure?"
"Of course I'm sure." She forced a smile, trying not to show the hurt on her face. "You're my best mate, Barns. We have been through too much to let one little moment of misjudgment affect us. Let's give ourselves some grace, yeah? We've been through enough as is."
"Right." Barnaby nodded, eyes dark and clouded. "Yeah."
The muffled sound of a door opening below interrupted them. Arah looked to Barnaby, confused as to who it might be at such a late hour. He sighed, leaning his head against the wall seemingly torn by such rotten timing, "It's my Uncle Cecil. I'm staying with him while we sort out what to do next."
Arah cleared her throat, smoothening her hair and clothes. "Ah. I can help you pack if you'd like?" her voice seemed forced.
Barnaby eyed her carefully, seemingly lost in thought as his eyebrows furrowed, "I think it might be best if you leave."
Arah's lips turned into a frown, "Oh. Right."
"I just don't want my Uncle getting the wrong... impression." his cheeks flushed at what he was trying to imply. Of course he was being a gentleman again.
"No, you're right. I should have thought of that."
"Barnaby?" A man's voice boomed from below.
"I'll be right down!" He yelled, before looking back to her, "You sure we're alright?"
"Definitely," Arah answered casually, ignoring the crushing weight in her chest. "Seriously, we're good."
"Alright." Barnaby didn't look alright at all. In fact, he looked as if he'd been stung by a hundred Glumbumbles.
"You're going to be alright, Barns." Arah looked to him thoughtfully. "You're one of the strongest people I know."
This seemed to pull him out of his gloom as his lips curled slightly, "Thank you for coming tonight."
Arah managed a weak smile, "Come to the Hogs Head Inn tomorrow. Your friends are worried about you."
Barnaby nodded, "I will."
Arah waved stiffly, "I'll see you later, Barnaby." With a crack, she apparated directly to her living room- unable to discern the nausea she felt from apparating or what had just happened between them. She touched her fingers to her bruised lips, heat rushing to her skin as she recalled their encounter. Goaning, she collapsed onto her bed, burying her head in her hands. 6 years of friendship teetered dangerously because of one stupid snog.
A/N: What do we think?! I've never written anything... ahem... spicy before. So you will have to let me know how I did. (seriously, don't hold back).
How are we feeling about the direction so far? I'm really trying to break it up so it's not ALL super depressing (i promiseeee) Should I shoot for shorter chapters? What / who do we wish to see more of? Let me know! I look forward to your reviews as this encourages me to keep writing :)
If you are interested to read more about how Barnaby helped Arah when Rowan died, feel free to check out "Goodbye Friend" in my Hogwarts Mystery Series!