The few ominously and terribly slow-passing seconds which stretched throughout his girlfriendâs vivid display of stupor were sufficient for Albusâs alert hunches to formulate two of their most educated guesses: Jaycee was either about to blow up in a high-pitched, piercing flare or indignantly walk away, and if heâd been asked to pick one of the two prospects, heâd have chosen standing in the way of a scared advancing elephant troop. Though already foreseen, Jayceeâs shriek still thrust a sharp swig of air into the former Slytherinâs lungs and he abruptly looked away, his hand involuntarily darting to cover his mouth. He slid his palm down his chin, trying not to let any of the discreet dirty looks his coworkers were now stealing at the scene get under his skin and knowing that if he did, heâd soon be riding an exponential slope to a sweaty mess.
Aurors were known for minding their own business around one another, but that didnât authenticate their complete disinterest in and apathy towards each othersâ lives. They did reveal an excoriating tendency to curiously, slowly, and cautiously peel the skin of privacy off a fellow associate from time to time. They had a twisted way of analyzing your soul and your lifestyle and the possible reasons behind your complications. Though slow to judge, they were quick to suspect, and when they finally did judge, they judged hard. The mere thought of this bleached color out of Albusâs face.
Maintaining zero eye contact, Albus saw Jaycee make air quotations through the blurry ends of his peripheral vision and listened to her scold on, not really registering much of her words because of his preoccupation with the odd and overwhelming realization that they were seriously fighting when not a while ago they were adjoined in an embrace. He remained distracted in that manner which edged on a growingly stoic demeanor, up until the brunetteâs unmistakable insinuations suddenly made him comprehend, with a tightening of chest, what this whole thing was legitimately about.
Albus closed his eyes for a couple of seconds before opening them to stare blankly at her as she narrated the comparison and stated the actual suggestion that Heather was flirting with him. He was suddenly feeling as if his tongue had been cut off and he swallowed, not sure how to act at this dramatically pivoting point. Now that Jaycee had mentioned it, he started replaying the entire picture in his head, unwinding it and tracking frame number marking after another until he reached the scary conclusion that yes, perhaps she did have every right to be angry.
He was in neither the physical nor the mental condition to further argue with adeptness. He felt depleted, touchy, and rather temperamental. And in addition, he was already beginning to get over his so-called pride and become convinced that he was the faulty one here. So the young Potter was about to grovel, to let his defense melt down and attempt absorbing his girlfriendâs fury by smoothly telling her that they could have this conversation later at home that day, in private and when theyâd both calmed down. One question held him back, however.
Why did it matter to Jaycee, anyway? Even if Heather was interested in him, why did it anger her? It wasnât like heâd shown any signs of disloyalty himself, had he? So why was she so worried?
âYou donât trust me, do you?â Albus asked flatly, new unpleasant thoughts springing up in his mind. He now felt attacked, not by the things sheâd said, but by the ones she hadnât.Â
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