Fiery Flipendo Lessons PV George Henry Finished

Bubba watched George for his reaction, he could tell that he was feeling it too. It almost looked like he was on the verge of getting back to his own place by Bubba's story. He knew the look because he'd seen it on him so many times. He saw George look away but at the same time, he understood. George wasn't disgusted by him, it was more that he saw something of himself in Bubba. Now that he was watching him, he could see some of himself in George as well. The pain, regret, the long-suffering. It was a pain that wouldn't go away, inconsolable, unknowable to anyone that hadn't experienced it themselves.

Finally, George spoke, and surprisingly, the words did lift him. Two simple words - I'm sorry - he didn't think they would have any impact but they did. Just to know that someone else know, someone else understood what he'd gone through. And then he saw or rather heard, a mirror into himself. All the thoughts that were his near-constant companion for the last three years. What could he have done differently? What should he have done differently? The ifs, buts, and maybes of what he could've done to save her. Then, finally, the words that his father had said a hundred times but he never believed, because they were from his father, who would always say that. "It wasn't your fault." He didn't feel absolved, but he felt some, just a little of the weight lifted.

Thanks he muttered, looking back at him, he could see the pain and frustration - one didn't come without the other - on his face. But I feel like I could've. What if I hadn't been running? What if I'd been wearing shoes? What if I hadn't been in such a damn hurry" He paused, looking down again but continuing, his voice slowly growing more steady. Why, when I came to the first time, didn't I try to go get her? Why did I only save myself? He trailed off again, letting the room slip into silence.

George shut his eyes hard before opening them wide again, feeling the cold dungeon air freezing the moisture in his eyes. The sting of cold tried to force more tears out of his eyes, but the badger boy remained still, clutching his chair. He straightened up his back - trying to put on his business face. He nodded solemnly as he received his thanks. Nothing had been achieved yet. This kind of pain stuck deep in your bones. It would take more digging to exhume it.

The Hufflepuff hunched his shoulders up as Bubba barraged him with the questions that were no doubt on loop in his head. What if, what if, what if. It was like facing the personification of his own struggle against the bad dreams, the horrible, smoky memories. The words came easily to his tongue now. "Shut up," he said. He held still now, loosening his grip on the chair as his gaze fell on Bubba with sudden clarity.

"If things were different, things would have been different. It doesn't matter what you can think of now. Nobody would have thought of that in the moment because running on your socks doesn't start fires." He paused to take a breath for the first time since he had begun talking, a deep, hard inhale. "You barely even got outside. How much would you ask of any eight year old?"

If his stomach were not empty, he might vomit. He lifted a hand off of the chair and pressed it to his belly. A horrible rumbling was happening in the pit of his belly, aggravated by the anxiety of being acting therapist for one of the little birds of Hogwarts. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's okay. You did everything you could do. If you could have done any more, you would have. The logic- it proves itself."

The greatest weapon against emotions was logic, right? Ravenclaws loved logic. Hufflepuffs preferred emotion. George loathed their slumber parties and cocoa-filled sleepovers, but the idea of falling back into a pile of pillows and passing out seemed like a dream at this point. The only floor waiting for him down here was made of rocks, however. Cold, hard logic. If Bubba believed it, it would be true. He had to believe it too. "Do you know what I mean?"

Bubba couldn't stop, he just kept going, and going, and going. He was like the energizer bunny of anxiety right now. He couldn't stop, he never could. It was like a never-ending spiral that he couldn't get out of, no matter how hard he tried. He finally snapped out of it when George told him to shut up. He was taken aback. He hadn't expected that at all. It wasn't a malicious shut up it was just probably the only way George could think of to get him to stop talking.

Bubba looked at George as he kept talking. He understood what he was saying but didn't totally process it. Some progress was starting to be made in his mind but honestly, it wasn't that much. It was an odd feeling, he was both assuaged and annoyed by George's comments. Of course running in socks doesn't start fires. Did George think him stupid? He was missing the point now. If Bubba hadn't been running he wouldn't have fallen. If he hadn't fallen he wouldn't have hit the wall and gotten knocked out. If he hadn't been knocked out Joanie wouldn't have had to leave the popcorn. If Joanie hadn't had to leave the popcorn the fire wouldn't have started.

It. Was. His. Fault.

The only thing that stopped Bubba's dark thoughts was hearing the rumble of George's stomach. It was more that the rumble of hunger. Bubba knew it well, he had felt it many times before. It was your insides being so wracked with anxiety, pain, and guilt that you just wanted to vomit all over everything.

Bubba was making progress but he wasn't there yet. The rational part of his brain was aware that it really wasn't his fault, but the battle between the rational and irrational part of his brain was going very much in favor of being irrational. He kept grappling with thoughts and feelings in his own head as George continued to speak. Finally, it was clear that he had to say something but Bubba considered his words carefully. His mind was suddenly so irrational, but he found he was able to articulate the thoughts in a very logical way.

I find fault with that logic he said as he tried to articulate what he was thinking as well as possible. Of course I could've done something more, something different. I could've looked for her, I could've at least tried. I could've... I could've been brave. He trailed off and the thoughts swallowed him up again. He didn't know how silent he was from this point. It could've been seconds or hours, finally, he said the only thing left on his mind, if I were a Gryffindor I would've been able to save her... but I'm a coward.

"Smack your head into that wall and see how brave you are afterward," George muttered, nodding sideways toward the smooth stones that made up the dungeons. He was misdirecting his anger at his own trauma toward Bubba. It was like playing whack-a-mole with intrusive thoughts that he struggled not to blurt out about how Bubba was an idiot for blaming himself, and stupid for feeling sad at all. Perhaps shouting him down would be cathartic, but no good ever came from acting in anger. Only satisfaction in the short term. "Oh, yes. Maybe that's why they set our common room on fire. If they'd lit up the Gryffindors they would have had it out before everyone even woke up."

He was still quite prickly for someone who was supposed to be offering sympathy. The stress of the situation was exacerbated by the gnawing pain in his stomach from mixed hunger and anxiety. "What happened is what happened. I don't know if there even is anything to learn from it." George shrugged helplessly after a moment of trying to conjure more to say on the subject. There was nothing else to say. George's greatest mistake was engaging in heroics, and now Bubba was here, wishing he could have been brave. Brave enough to what? Get himself killed?

George shook his head and sighed.

"I don't think you are a coward," he said. "...I'm starving, Bubba. And I don't want to keep going. Can you... write me, after you've thought about it some more? Just try and study in the meantime. Haven't you got year-ends?"

He had only been talking for a handful of minutes, now, but he felt completely exhausted. "Here," he said, walking over to his bag and squatting down to dig around in it. He found a chocolate frog, still trapped in its box, and walked over to Bubba to hand it over. "Have this after you get something to eat. You'll feel better."

Bubba finally well and truly snapped out of it when George said - Oh, yes. Maybe that's why they set our common room on fire. If they'd lit up the Gryffindors they would have had it out before everyone even woke up - of course he was being stupid. It sounded like George had similar thoughts to what he experienced on a regular basis. It was an accident, accidents happen. It could've happened in any other crazy way. A heater exploding or a faulty wire. It happened and he couldn't change it now.

As George talked about how hungry he was Bubba realized he was really hungry too. It's like a weight had been lifted off him. There was no doubt that these feelings would come back, they always did, but this was a good moment at least, and good moments didn't come often. He took the chocolate frog that George was offering, thanks, he said as he put it in his pocket, hopefully chocolate frogs didn't melt while they hopped around in there.

You know, Bubba began tentatively, looking and sounding like himself for the fire time in a long time. You really need to take some of your own advice. You can't have been much older than me when your common room went up. I know you don't feel that way but... what you did was really brave. You tried to save a lot of people.

He paused and then had a pronounced lump in his throat as he tried to force the last bit of what he wanted to say, this weight we carry... it's too much for one person to bear all on their own. I know I did all the talking tonight but... if you ever want to do the talking, all you have to do is ask. He paused again and now looked very awkward, look, I'm sorry I ambushed you like this I just... after I heard the story I needed to talk to you because I knew you'd understand and... I just needed to talk to you.

He stood up and gave George an awkward look, I know this is weird but... we've never formally been introduced. He extended his right hand out towards George, Bubba McGarry, if you forget just remember me as Bubba from Boston.

George clenched his jaw, his cheeks flexing as he ground his teeth together. He stared off at the wall behind Bubba. "I don't think I made the right choice," George said. But if he were put in the same situation now, he knew he would do the same thing. But there must have been something wrong with it. Everyone seemed to think so. Perhaps the problem was not what he did, but who he was. "I don't think I need to talk as much any more. If you were friends with any professors, I'd tell you to talk to them, but... I mean, half the professors are your age these days."

The Hufflepuff sighed and rolled his eyes. Hogwarts, of course, only employed qualified staff - but being a good teacher did not make you a qualified counselor. He felt much more comfortable seeking wisdom from the wiser wizards on staff, all of whom had departed. Things in the past were always better than things in the present, and that would always be true. "It's fine. I hope it was helpful," George said, walking back to his bag to sling it over his shoulder, adjusting his robes to fit neatly on him and smoothing them out to shake off some of the dust that accumulated down here.

"Haven't we? Professor Henry," George said, reaching to shake Bubba's hand. "Or I suppose you can call me George... don't worry, I won't forget. Your name is Bubba. I've never heard of anyone named Bubba, ever."

He snickered and pulled his hand back to his side, turning away to the door as he began the slow shuffle to the exit that signaled the impending death of the conversation. "We'd better hurry or we'll be going to bed on an empty stomach. Come on," he said, moving into the doorway and pausing to wait for the younger boy.

Will leave the thread if Bubba doesn't stop him.

"Yeah that's a good point," Bubba said as they both started to walk towards the Great Hall, since they talked he had started to realize just how hungry he was. He decided that since George had to hear about the single most painful experience of his life, he should give him something fun to walk away with as well.

"Look, man," he said as they made their way through the dungeons, "I didn't pick it, trust me, life probably would've been easier with a different one." Bubba was certainly a unique name everywhere he had ever lived, but that wasn't necessarily positive. "Where I'm from, Bubba is most common in the deep south and, well let me put it this way, people named Bubba aren't exactly held in a positive light." It was true, Bubba was the most redneck name he could honestly ever hope to think of, and it was his. "Bubbas are not too bright and they don't have much in the way of social graces either. And up in Boston, where I'm from, Bubbas are assumed to be dumber than a box of rocks until proven otherwise."

They turned the corner and Bubba could see they were almost out of the dungeons, he'd better get on with it, "My father was a local politician back in Boston, and his best friend was a guy from Louisiana, named Bubba. He was the guy that got my father into professional politics. He was as far from the expectations of someone named Bubba as you could possibly be. Anyway, a couple years before I was born, Bubba passed away, apparently, he was ancient when my father met him. Dad felt like he owed him everything so my parents decided to name me after him."

In the midst of his telling the story of his name, they'd arrived at the Great Hall. They said their mutual goodbyes and meandered over to their respective house tables, which were mostly deserted at this point, finally tucking in to a sumptuous repast.

fin