The Ravenclaw Common Rooms and dorms were seldom the site of fights. Arguments, certainly, but never a physical scrap. The students knew better, for one thing, and more often than not, if they were fighters (and not many of them were), they would be fighting with students from other houses in the courtyard. Some even waited until dueling club to get their own back.
Nicholas Weldon-Whitlock was a fighter. It was what made people...less endeared to him. He picked fights and flew off the handle at the slightest thing and pissed people off. He flirted with other boys' girlfriends and sisters, and just about anything in a skirt, really. Basically, for the most part, he was seen as a nasty piece of work, with the odd female in the school who found themselves genuinely interested in his advances. That would generally end with a girl naked in a bed as he sneaked off to avoid morning after awkwardness.
Gael Masters was a fighter. In their second year, he had started bullying Nicky for the hell of it. Pointing out the massive scar on his forehead (now hidden by his hair at all times) and how they could have played dot to dot with the freckles on his face and how much of a pathetic weed he used to be back then. He hadn't been a nice guy, and now he still wasn't. And Gael liked to fight because fighting had its thrills. It was fun, and he couldn't recall a time he hadn't won.
The Ravenclaw boys' dormitory. Nicky was alone. Just how he liked it. He was on his back, on his bed, looking at his reflection in a compact mirror he carried everywhere he went. Some would call him vain. Many probably would, for that matter. But vanity would suggest he loved himself, when his appearance was instead something he despised beyond belief. Hence why he spent so long on it, trying to make himself look halfway decent. He was an attractive lad, but he couldn't see it. Fingers brushed through his hair, trying to get it just so, scowling in disgust whenever he saw the flash of a scar beneath the reddish strands. Why did he have to be ginger? Why couldn't he have had dark hair like his brothers? Or blue eyes instead of grey? Or a different nose or different cheekbones or just different parents so he could start from scratch? His fingers trailed down, running over every feature he hated, pressing on it like doing so would make it change. He stayed like this for a few minutes before he heard voices and footsteps approaching. Sitting up like a shot, he snapped the mirror shut and stuffed it under his pillow, watching the door to see which of his (ever hated) dorm mates would be coming through.
Gael was likely everything Nicky wished he could be. His confidence wasn't false or used as a mask, he had dark hair and dark eyes and his skin was clear, he was attractive and intelligent and he had a good body, though he was short. And he had friends. That was an important one. He had friends who liked him despite the fact that he was frankly horrible. He walked into the dorm room with two of those friends at his shoulders. They were chatting away about something that had just happened elsewhere in the castle, possibly having just come back from dinner. High spirits. Then they noticed Nicky staring at them and stopped. All merriment left them as they glared at the redhead.
"What are you staring at, ugly?" Gael snapped, walking right up to him. "Haven't you got anything better to do than be here? Another window to break? Another slut to fuck?"
Keep calm. Nicky told himself. He's just trying to rile you up so he can get you in trouble.
Gael didn't seem to appreciate Nicky's silence. "Hey, Scarface, you know it's rude to ignore people, right?" And then he laughed. "Guys, look at this. The stupid look on his face. I think he's trying to be intimidating."
"Are you going to be making noise all evening? Only, I would like to try sleeping for once without hearing what sounds like a kestrel in pain every time you open your mouth."
"Are you mocking my voice?"
"No, just passing comments. Mocking is for children. Of course, you'd know a lot about that, considering your balls haven't even dropped and you still play with dolls, but who am I to judge? You remind me of my baby brother, sometimes. He's six. You're almost at his intellectual level, but I'd give it a few years."
Gael scowled for a moment before giving a good-natured laugh. "Oh Nicky, I know you like to think you're tough and great and that you deserve some kind of preferential treatment, but I also know that deep inside, even you realise it. You're worthless. I can see it in your eye. Even you know you're nothing more than a brat with a temper tantrum. You're not entitled to anything this world can give you, especially when you can't even pass remedial Charms classes. I mean, it would help if your ugly arse didn't bunk off every other lesson you have, but you don't care about intellect after all, do you? You don't belong here. Not in Ravenclaw, not in Hogwarts. You never take your classes seriously. The only thing you take seriously is how many girls you can get in your bed before you catch something. Maybe you should get them to do your homework for you, like a good school-age prostitute. You're failing every class and hoping to get by on what, you attitude? You're going to starve on the streets a failure, and we'll be there, pointing and laughing."
"You talk too much," Nicky told him once he had finished. "But say precious little." Of course, everything Gael had said, Nicky already knew. He knew he was failing, but he'd not had the energy to leave the room that day, let alone to face classes that sapped what little joy he had. His body didn't want to move. He hadn't even been able to drag himself down to the hall for meals, especially since there were so many stairs to bypass. Not that he would have eaten much anyway. Nicky had an abnormally small appetite, no matter how hungry he got. He knew he didn't take classes seriously. He never paid attention to the teacher. There was no future for him, and constantly surrounded by the students who valued intelligence and education over all else made him wonder why he was in Ravenclaw. Often he forgot that when he was younger, that was what was important to him too. The fact was, in Nicky's eyes, Nicky had always been worthless. Had never had a chance.
Gael was speaking again. "...And there's that attitude again. Are you even listening to me? I'm giving you a lecture, Nicholas. Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms will get you nowhere in life. Then again, you probably deserve everything you get, behaving like this. It's no wonder your daddy used to hit you-"
Gael was cut off when a fist went flying into his face, cracking into his nose and sending him stumbling back. He reached up, checking he wasn't bleeding before glaring at Nicky, something new in his dark eyes. Fury. He wouldn't let his attacker get away with that. Not in a million years.
It took Nicky a moment to realise he was on his feet now, right hand hovering in front of his left shoulder and balled up tightly in a fist. His knuckles hurt. He'd gotten in many fights before over far less than this, but he'd never moved without realising it. He wasn't even sure how Gael could possibly know about his father. Nobody at school knew.
Gael came forward and Nicky moved to the side, vaulting over his bed and putting it between them. To win a fight against a stronger boy, his best bet was to play dirty. He moved to pull the curtains of his bed down, but Gael moved quickly, onto the bed and lashing out a kick into the taller boy's gut. He stumbled into the next bed along and kicked out at Gael's knee, then charged forward and brought his elbows up. One in the face and one towards the throat, but the latter was caught and the arm twisted. Gritting his teeth, Nicky stamped down hard on his dorm mate's foot, then shifted his weight, trying to put all of it on the victim's toes as his free hand found his face, the thumb going for the eye.
The two other boys were watching the scrap play out. "They're fighting." Said the first, with long brown hair and tanned skin. "They're actually fighting."
The second, with blond hair and glasses that made him appear owlish, asked "Should we stop them?"
"Proper muggle fighting!" Continued the first, as though the second had not spoken. He sounded excited. "No magic or anything!"
By this point, Nicky had grabbed Gael's jumper and was attempting to haul him off the floor and into the centre of the room, where they would have more space to maneuver. Gael retaliated by reaching up, searching blindly for a good grip on Nicky's hair. There was blood on his face now, so the redhead must have gotten some good shots in. Once he had a firm grip, he turned the redhead and slammed him face first into the window. The resulting sound was loud and dull. Dissatisfied, he hammered his opponent's face into the window five more times, hoping to break one or the other, before Nicky managed to get his foot behind Gael's heel. He snapped his leg back, sweeping the smaller boy's feet out from underneath him, and Gael went down with his hand still in Nicky's hair. He pulled the taller boy down on top of him and slugged him across the jaw.
Gael was first up, kicking Nicky in the face and stomach to keep him down. Then he simply went for wherever his foot could make contact as Nicky curled up in an attempt to protect himself. For a moment, it looked like he wouldn't be getting up. At first, he merely uncurled slightly, getting a boot in the ribs for his effort and gasping in pain, which had his opponent laughing. Then, he struck like a cobra, with speed and ferocity. His teeth closed around the flesh on Gael's leg, and with a howl of pain he tried to step back, only to drag Nicky along with him. He changed his tactic to stamping as hard as he could on the redhead's ribs, and with every hit, Nicky bit down harder. The material of Gael's trouser leg was making his tongue dry and it was getting harder to breathe, but he was still determined not to let go. When he couldn't hold on any longer, he punched up, aiming for the gut but hitting the crotch with all his strength. It look a moment (and a few more kicks) for the pain to hit, and when it did, Gael doubled over and Nicky grabbed his tie, pulling him to the floor and pulling the tie as tight as he possibly could. His focus changed to trying to slacken the knot so he could breathe, and it was now Nicky's turn to rain down punches.
"Now we should stop them." The boy with long hair decided, running forward and trying to haul the redhead off his friend, only to earn an elbow in the ribs for his efforts. The other boy came forward and helped haul Nicky away, punching him in the face as he did so. It was a good punch. Hard and strong and accurate, and enough to finally tell the redhead's body it was time to give up.
He woke up some time later in his bed, in the same position he had fallen when he had passed out. Gael and his friends had gone to the hospital wing to ensure the brief strangulation wouldn't have any lasting effects, and of course explained that Nicky had gone for Gael in a 'completely unprovoked' attack. He figured he'd be in detention for the rest of his life at this rate. Not that he wanted his life to be especially long. Death by a peanutted tie didn't seem that bad, after all.
It was dark, and every bed was occupied, but nobody had decided Nicky might need medical attention. Well, at least that makes dying easier, he thought bitterly. His chest was the worst. It hurt to breathe, and when he dared to take a deep breath, he began coughing and tears came to his eyes. He stuck to shallow breaths and rolled over, trying to get back to sleep, trying not to cry. Honestly, he failed on both counts. He lifted the mirror from beneath his pillow, took one look at himself and started to sob.
Nicholas Weldon-Whitlock was a fighter. He picked fights he had no hope of winning. He was hot-headed and hated everyone else almost as much as he hated himself. He didn't mind losing a fight because he felt he deserved every bit of pain he received from them, and behind the scenes he hurt himself anyway. Covered in scars and believing himself to be disfigured, he had long since come to the conclusion he would never be happy. A long time ago he had been told the only thing he had that made him worth anything was his good looks, and it stuck with him. Stuck with him just like every bad memory. Every fight and scream and failure. He was a fighter. Not just against his classmates. Not just against the people who made him angry. He fought a losing battle all day, every day, against his own mind. Nicky did not recall a single fight he didn't lose.
((...So, Gael is a brand new character, created just last night. Literally. I was in bed and I created this douche to be in Nicky's year, as all other charcaters I'd made in his year had been female. (and one of them his future wife woot) This is primarily because in a group roleplay I take part in, we have a set of students for each year and in my set 7th year, Nicky's brothers (the six-year-old mentioned above and his twin) are there, so Nicky himself has long since left the school. Thus I don't play him often in a setting where others in his year are known. Now Gael Masters exists. And they hate each other. Also there's a Gryffindor student with no name who hates Nicky. And these two dorm mates with no name. If I do name them, then they become more bloody OCs for my list *sigh*. Nicky suffers with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Clinical Depression and Body Dysmorphic Disorder. He uses his bad temper and a flirtatious nature to hide his issues under the impression that others at the school would tear into him if they found out (an impression that is founded by the fact he is and has been bullied since second year). Also the scar on his forehead comes from his father since because hitting. Anyway, that's all, I'll shut up now.))
