paintitrainbows | what comes up when rain comes down?

[Edward looks down, now. Kind of regretting saying anything, while at the same time a part of him does want to talk about it, so much.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

He doesn't even know.]

Because... Because, um... [He should just abort. He could think of an excuse, maybe, or just say he'd prefer not to talk about it and it'd work. But he just finds himself talking, for some reason.] The boggart... when it changed, for me, it... it turned into my dad.

[that...makes Oswald's stomach twist into knots, suddenly feeling all tied up in nerves and dread. There are certain..."open secrets" in the Slytherin House. Things they don't talk about, but word gets around nevertheless. He swallows, then, sucking in a small breath]

Is...is your dad pretty scary, then?

[Edward's a little quiet. Pulling at his sleeve, making sure it's covering his arm enough. There aren't any bruises to hide - they've faded, now, from summer vacation - but it's a force of habit.]

...I guess.

[Oswald scoots a little closer, just so their sides are pressed together a little. He's quiet for a moment.]

...um....why?

...I don't know. [Yes, he does. Perfect recall won't ever let him forget. He thinks back to the bruises, the screaming, the sound of breaking glass far too close to his head.] He... He yells a lot, I guess. I mean, he... you know, he's got a lot on his mind and stuff, so...

...It's no big deal, though. I mean, it's... it's nothing weird.

It's just... normal stuff.

[again, a frown. Thinking, and a bit of confusion]

...my mom doesn't yell at me. Well--[he pauses, thinking]--she yelled at me once, because I broke her favorite teacup. But she said sorry after.

[....] Does your dad say sorry when he yells at you?

No?

[Edward sounds confused at the very thought. His dad would never apologize, not in a million years. It's a ridiculous thing to even think about.]

No, he doesn't ever-- I mean, why would he?

Because...yelling at someone is...it's not nice? [I mean, understatement] You usually only do it when you're mad at someone. And even then, you usually apologize later.

My dad doesn't-- That's not how things work, in my family. And he's... mad at me, a lot.

[...]

It's usually my fault, anyway, so...

How...why is he mad at you? [he's...confused? by this? it's Edward] You're not...are you constantly smashing tea cups or something?

[And for Edward, it just makes sense. It's how things always have been, so of course there must be some logical reason for it. Even if... maybe he doesn't understand it, entirely.]

No, but... I... [And he doesn't know how to explain it, either. Not in any way that makes sense logically.] I just bother him and...

Look, it doesn't matter...

You bother him? [Oswald sounds very confused now] That's not a reason to yell at someone...

[he leans into Edward's side just a little bit]

It... No, it... It makes more sense when...

[He can't really manage to look at Oswald, though.]

Listen, like I said, it doesn't matter. Just... forget about it.

[....it sounds all wrong. Why is Edward's dad yelling at him that much? Why would he do that?]

...okay. [tentatively, Oswald's going to reach out and put an arm around his shoulders]

[Edward stiffens ever so slightly, at first. But then he leans against Oswald a little himself, now.]

The whole thing's just... stupid.

[he feels a bit sick with all this, even as he pulls Edward a bit closer against his side, gently.]

....yeah. [he answers almost hesitantly.

[It makes him feel a little better, being so close to Oswald. Yet at the same time there's something in him that feels bad about it, that feeling of just being a burden to people. It's hard to ignore.]

...I'm sorry.

[Oswald huffs a bit at that] I said it's fine, didn't I? That's what friends are for.

Yeah, but... I mean, I'm just dumping this on you all of a sudden and...

[Edward bites his lip nervously. Trailing off. Regretting bringing any of this up more and more, because what was he thinking?

What if Oswald tells someone? No, that's ridiculous. He won't, that's not... Edward can trust him, obviously. But there's still that horrible, anxious feeling, as if him saying the words somehow means everyone was able to hear it and... all of a sudden he can't think of anything else anymore.]

[Oswald'll just...pull him a bit closer, then]

I said it's fine. You're my best friend, right? What kinda friend would I be if you couldn't dump things on me?

You're... You're sure?

[It feels stupid, asking Oswald to repeat it, because of course he means it. But Edward can't help that uncertain feeling in the pit of his stomach, the fear that any moment now the rug is about to be pulled away from under him and he'll lose this, somehow.]

Of course I'm sure! [he squeezes Edward once, gently] I want you to tell me stuff, Edward. You're really important to me.

Oh... okay.

[It's nice to hear it. Reassuring, even if not as much as he'd like it to be, not enough to drown out everything else in his head. But it does help, a little.]

Okay.

And... And you won't... you won't tell anyone, right?

[He shakes his head--no] No way. I promise.

[Edward nods quietly. Leaning his head against Oswald's shoulder.]

...Thanks.

[Because he didn't think Oswald would, but he needs to know, for sure.]

I think... I think the professors would get the wrong idea-- I mean, they do... already. So...

[He doesn't want them making a thing out of this. Any more than it already is, now.]

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