A Helping Hand (Wesley)

Grayson Hughes leaned back in his chair, his feet propped up on the librarian's desk, as his eyes skimmed the pages of the book in his hands, glancing up every few minutes to survey his domain. The library was quiet--as it should be--the only sounds being a few soft murmurs of students working together, and the occasional flip of a page. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday, the bright sun of late winter filtering through the windows, giving the library a peaceful air. Grayson took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. Setting a bookmark in his book, he closed it and set it aside, swinging his feet down to rest on the floor. He looked around once more to see if anyone needed help, and, seeing no one, he busied himself with the check-out records.

Three students had overdue books, which he carefully noted. He would send them messages to remind them if they didn't turn them in by the end of the day. Other than that, there was nothing of import. He sighed softly and gazed out the window at the courtyard below, letting his mind wander. He should probably write to his mother later, it had been a while since they last spoke. He composed the letter in his head, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on his desk.

Grayson was broken from his reverie by a soft voice. He snapped his attention to the boy in front of him, a pleasant smile touching the corners of his lips. He recognized the boy--he'd seen him in the library a few times before, and remembered his name from the check-out records. He looked quite nervous--almost painfully so, in fact.

"Hello. Wesley, isn't it? How can I help you?"

He noticed the slip of paper the boy was clutching in his hand. Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants.

"Ah, Selina Sapworthy. Row nineteen, far left bookcase, second shelf from the top. Most likely on the right-hand side, if I remember correctly."

He paused for a moment and considered the timid boy, studying his body language. Something about him seemed familiar--he recognized something about the way Wesley carried himself. Like he wasn't used to having people acknowledge him, or at least not in a good way. It was the same way he used to act near the older Slytherins in the common room during his school days. Trying not to be noticed.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, searching the boy's eyes.

If Grayson had been suspicious before, he was almost positive now that something was wrong. That was the least convincing lie he had ever heard. His brow furrowed as the boy took off, and he was almost tempted to follow him. No, that wouldn't help. A boy like that would almost certainly react negatively to confrontation.

But it didn't sit well with him to just leave it be. He knew what it was like to be bullied, and to have no one to turn to afterward. And Wesley was beyond the point of hiding it, even from adults, which meant it was probably an even worse situation than his own experience. He had to do something.

But then again, it was all just speculation. He assumed it was probably bullies, but he didn't know what was really going on. And he knew that if he tried to approach Wesley directly, the boy would likely balk and run away. He sighed, then took a slip of paper and a quill from his desk, dipping the pen carefully in a bottle of ink.

If someone is bothering you, I can help. ~G.H.

Not knowing what else to add, he let the ink dry. With a flick of his wand, it folded itself into a tiny bird, and fluttered off in the direction of row nineteen.

Grayson had watched the students leave, one by one, for dinner, but had not noticed Wesley among them. After a few moments of waiting, he got up and left.

He came back fifteen minutes later with a plate full of food. For some reason, he felt compelled to look after the boy. He'd watched the doors while he ate his own supper, but the boy had never arrived at the Great Hall, so he'd loaded up a plate to take back to the library. He hadn't known what Wesley would eat, so he'd gotten a little of everything and figured the boy could pick and choose.

He spotted Wesley in the back corner, hunched over the book he had asked for. Wordlessly, he set down the plate and some silverware in front of him. His expression was neutral as he gestured to it. "Take what you want."

After a pause, he cleared his throat. "I know you don't want to talk to me. When I was your age, I wouldn't have talked to me either. But if you ever change your mind...well, you know where to find me."

He began to turn away, but then he stopped. "Just one question though, before I leave you alone. On a scale from one to ten, how bad is it?"

Grayson let out a soft chuckle. "Ah, you misunderstand. The scale is not meant to be relative to me. It's merely a comparison of your current situation in relation to your past experiences. It does not matter how much pain I would feel in your shoes, only how much you are feeling currently. After all, you are a much better judge than I of how much you can handle." He clasped his hands behind his back, taking on a slightly distant expression.

"You're right of course, pain comes and goes. But just as it may fade from yesterday to today, it may also grow from today to tomorrow. In my experience, it rarely goes away for long, and certainly not forever. It's hard to tell when you're in the midst of it, I'll grant you that, but if you look at your life in stages, you'll find you can pinpoint the average amount of pain in each stage with reasonable accuracy. It may fluctuate from day to day, but always within bounds."

He returned his gaze to the boy at the table, then shrugged. "I don't mean to patronize you. Everyone's experience is different, and one man's wisdom is another man's folly. I'll never claim to be wiser than you, when there is much you know that I don't."