WHO: Roger Davies WHAT: Roger’s no good, very bad week. Follow up to this. WHEN: November 16 - today WHERE: Various WARNINGS: Depression themes
Roger hadn’t been to his favourite coffee haunt in a couple of days. It felt like was missing some crucial ingredient of his morning, like leaving the house without his socks on or brushing his teeth (not that he had ever done that). So when he saw that his favourite barista was working, his grin widened.
“Why hello, handsome,” Angela called out. “The usual?”
“Yes please,” he said, taking his customary seat near the window.
* * *
Roger had never realised how depressing it was to do the laundry before. Dishes? You could get them completely done. Bathroom, vacuuming the same. But you always had the clothes on your back, the clothes that would go in your once empty laundry basket by the end of the day. He could always do it naked, but he didn’t think that his flatmates would appreciate that.
You were beaten before you even began.
Folding the last of his shirts and placing it in a drawer, he decided that he deserved a coffee.
* * *
He watched Percy get his first corporeal Patronus. He watched Katie manage one, even in the drill-like area that Auror Robards had set up for the advanced group. He smiled and congratulated them both afterwards, but there was a bitterness underneath—why couldn’t it have been him?
This time, Roger didn’t manage any silver.
* * *
Roger did not feel like talking today. The presence of other people usually felt like a buffer, now he was tight, punchy. He responded in grunts to his teammates in the changing room, then tugged up his hoodie as he stepped outside.
When he got to the cafe, his seat was occupied. He shot the two women at the table a Look and then went to order his trim mocha.
* * *
“Why do you even keep me on the team? Is this some kind of joke?”
“Davies, no one here thinks that you’re a joke.” Murdoch looked up from where his wand was spiraling a protective wrap around his forearm. “You’re 19-”
“I’m 20 next month!”
“-You’re young. Everyone has to pay their dues. First few years of your life as a pro are basically to hang in the background, observe everyone, learn from your elders and betters.”
“My bet-” Roger’s face flushed up a hue akin to something Umbridge would have worn on her ‘subtle’ days. “This is because I’ve never won a Quidditch trophy, isn’t it? You try winning a game against a team when you’re all on Cleansweeps and your opposition Chaser has a bloody Firebolt-”
“Take it down, Davies.” Murdoch’s voice was low, but he was standing at his full height again. Roger realised just how much broader the Beater’s shoulders were. “I don’t know what’s got into you lately, but if you don’t want to talk with me about it, as a man, then go home.”
“But we still have an hour of prac-”
“Go home. And for fuck’s sake, get yourself together by tomorrow.”
* * *
The table this time wasn’t occupied, save for a clutch of dirty plates and two cups and saucers left by its previous occupants. Roger gathered them up noisily, depositing them down at the next table with a clunk and shooting a glare at Angela’s back. Everyone sucked this week.
* * *
“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me, Rosalind,” he was telling his four legged friend as they sat together on his bed. And if his voice had tightened up slightly, he was too far gone to give a shit. “I threw a hissy fit at the captain the other day, I was rude to Angela and I really make a point of being nice to people in hospitality because so many customers are rude and it’s really some power play shit because you’re taking out your anger on a person who can’t respond back because of their job—I’m becoming a horrible person, Rosalind.”
Rosalind moved closer, her solemn eyes upon one of her co-parent’s face. He thought that she was coming over to comfort him, but then she began to sniff at the protein bar in his hand.
That at least earned a chuckle.
* * *
It was like trying to move with an extra person wrapped around his body, but Roger went down to the post office, owling a bouquet of flowers and a promise to be better to Angela. He’d go home and watch this Stranger Things that everyone was talking about, and then tomorrow would be better. He would be better. And then he’d go and order his morning coffee.