The Fall of St John

It happened one year that Hogwarts began to house what may well have been the worst Ravenclaws to ever grace such halls. Four boys of violence and cruelty. Boys who kept the rest of their peers stamped firmly into the dirt, crushed deep beneath their heels.

Divan Amara. Though not an obvious bad boy, when pushed far enough over the edge he could become violent, aggressive and even deadly. Outwardly, he wasn't cruel or unkind to his peers, but he was fairly well known for almost mutilating another student. You could say he had a hidden darkness. A darkness he wasn't afraid to use when the time was right.

Hunt Clavell. Dangerous. It was a very good word to describe him. Selectively mute, rarely interacting with other students and occasionally even painting himself as a helpful person, Hunt was a manipulator, and an expert one at that. And a lot of the time, he could wrap someone around his little finger without ever saying a word. Most people only heard him speak after they'd already become his victim, after learning what kind of a person he really was, and yet he never ever got in trouble for it. Not with any form of authority, anyway. Because Hunt was a manipulator, and the threats he made could scare any of his victims into silence.

Eric Kessler. A bully, mostly for the fun of it. He and his friends enjoyed making others miserable. It made them feel better about themselves, and Eric loved anything that boosted him up in any way. What made him as bad as he was, what made him lash out so much at others, was undoubtedly his own insecurities, which also made him annoyingly good at singling out insecurities in others.

John St Crow. The smallest and weakest of the four and the ringleader of the bullies. He seemed to have some level of control or authority over Kessler and their third friend, Riordan Damek, and it was an authority they obeyed without question. John was someone who was unafraid of reprimand and who could proudly say he had taken life before. He didn't give a damn about the thoughts and feelings of others, and he didn't trust a soul.

And that was how they were for the first five years of their magical education. Nothing seemed to stop them. They were immortal demons ruling over a great castle. Unbeatable.

At the beginning of their sixth year at Hogwarts, things changed ever so slightly. At first glance, it seemed the same. Kessler, Clavell, Amara and the rest of the boys they were forced to share their dorm with settled in, the former already making things difficult for those around him, seven boys in one room. And an eighth bed between Clavell and Lewini, one of the comparatively normal boys. An empty, unladen bed.

St Crow hadn't come back.

At first, Eric thought it was okay. The idiot had probably missed the train, or maybe his family was on holiday. Or maybe he'd heard that Slytherin girl he'd been fucking before the end of last year had died, and he was off for the funeral or taking some time to grieve. And then he'd noticed John's sister was back, sat with the Hufflepuffs and laughing happily.

Time passed, and John didn't come back. Eric and Riordan continued their teasing and mocking of others without their lord and master, as Lewini had once mockingly called him, but Riordan stopped pretty quickly. He had mostly gotten into it so Eric would guard him from being bullied, and so he could guard John from physical harm. So it was just Eric, doing what he did best, but with his heart not really in it now his closest friend was missing in action. Riordan had managed to ask John's sister when he'd be coming back, but all she'd been able to say was that she wasn't sure if he would be coming back at all.

It was almost Christmas break when they next got any news. Three months, nearly four, had passed, and the boys were heading up from dinner. A bunch of them in a clump, discussing their plans for the holidays. Hunt opened the door to their dormitory

and froze. The boys behind him walked into his back and pushed  him forward a little...and saw what made  him freeze.

At the foot of the eighth bed was a suitcase and a backpack. Both baby blue in colour, matching the top worn by the skinny boy sat on the edge of the bed, back to the door.

"John!" Eric yelled, pushing past the others to go to his friend. He grabbed a skinny shoulder a little too roughly and greeted his friend in too loud a voice. "God, where have you been? Three months you've been gone, three bloody months! What's been going on?"

One golden eye shifted to meet two bright blue, but no other reaction came. And then Eric noticed a few things. That eye was a lot...duller than he remembered. Like John had seen some serious shit. He'd always had a bit of a haunted look to that eye, but...this was worse. And he'd always been skinny, but he'd obviously lost weight since they'd last met. He looked brittle and delicate and ill now. Very ill. And Eric could have sworn he used to be...was he paler now? He was ill. That had to be it. He'd been away because he'd been ill. And for some weird reason, he was wearing thick ski gloves. Eric sat on the bed John was facing.

"John? John, what's wrong? What...happened to you? Did...did you just get here?" He was somewhat aware that the other boys had come in now and that they were watching the exchange. "You must have just gotten here. You missed dinner. I bet you missed the food here, huh? Those house elves sure make the best gravy!" No reaction. John's single, disturbingly dull eye was watching him, following his head whenever he moved, but at the same time not really looking at him. "Are you sick? You look like shit. Are you going to talk? John. Stop being weird. Seriously, man, you're freaking me out." He heard what he thought was John's stomach growling, which made sense if he'd missed dinner, he must have been hungry, and the small boy tensed considerably at the sound. After a painfully long pause, he stood, walked past Eric, went to his suitcase and went to take something out of it, then seemed to change his mind. Instead, he continued walking round to the other side of the bed, got in and drew all the curtains.

"Well, that's a rejection if I've ever seen one." One of the other boys, Caleb, quipped.

Eric was honestly just confused. He'd thought for a moment John was going to do something. Go get something to eat or go start a fight with Clavell or find some way of telling Eric and only Eric why he came back so late and looked so god damn terrible. But no, he was just turning in. As if nobody was speaking to him. As if nobody was there and nothing had happened.

How...unnerving.

Hunt pushed lightly against Eric's back, a silent request for him to move off the bed. It was his bed, after all, and he wanted to lie down. Eric turned and slapped the offending hand away.
"Don't touch me, you mute freak!"
They stared at one another for a moment, each giving a silent challenge, and then Hunt smiled. And spoke. A surprisingly soft and sweet voice carrying a distinct Irish lilt that Eric didn't think he'd heard before, even through every fight the mute had had with John.
"I think St Crow is the mute freak now." He began, and for a moment, for a sweet, blissful moment, Eric thought he would stop there. Hunt walked round to John's bed, smile widening into a cruel smirk and voice rising in volume until everyone's attention was solely on him. "It looks to me, in fact, that St Crow's reign of terror is ending. The St Crow has fallen, his golden age is dead and gone, and I think it's time for revolution. An uprising. Revenge." He tore open the curtains John had closed moments prior, and the smaller boy was curled up in his bed. He looked so...vulnerable. And Eric had known that inside, John was very vulnerable, and he felt his insides go cold as Hunt tore those curtains right from the rails. Every single one. "St Crow has spent five years, five miserable years, tormenting the student body, our year and below! He has driven people to considering suicide, he has held his band of insecure and crazy demons around him like vicious pack dogs, ready to attack on signal. Obedient little hellhounds. He has been unyielding and unmerciful in his assault, and now look at him. Finally fallen silent. Showing us what he truly is. A scared little boy. Vulnerable. Weak. Bearing his weakness to the world. Which means now is our time to strike back. Every person who St Crow has wronged can pay him back tenfold! Show him how it feels to suffer the way he made us suffer! How do you feel about that, St Crow? Any objections?"
Hunt was on the bed now, stood over him. John spared him a glance, but otherwise said nothing and didn't move at all. He didn't even stir when Hunt began searching his pockets, and finally pulled out an old kitchen knife.
"The amount of times you've held this to my throat..." Hunt breathed before his hand lashed out. Suddenly, he had John held upright by the hair, dull grey blade against tan neck...and John didn't seem to care. "He doesn't mind, lads. He has no objection. Maybe letting him know how it feels would be a good lesson! It begins, the fall of St John Crow!" And with that, he pushed John back down onto the bed and went to start his uprising, doing his best to pull Amara, Docdocs, Haley, Lewini and Rust with him. One or two people spared the last two boys left in the room a sad glance before they left.

Eric was pretty sure John had only threatened Hunt with the knife once. It was in their fifth year, when John had confided in Eric that he believed the albino bastard to have been 'hurting' girls in the year below. Yet, he had to admit there had always been bad blood between them. It had been there since their very first night together, and John had started it. He'd taken one look at Hunt and decided he hated him. At first, Eric had thought he was just looking for someone to hate. Then, he'd figured it was an autism thing, because it didn't take long for him to figure out that John was obviously autistic. Finally, as Hunt took off to turn the entire school round in some sick experiment to see if he could drive the one-eyed Ravenclaw to suicide, Eric realised that this hatred was because John could tell from day one that there was something very, very off about Hunt Clavell. Somewhere inside him, John had known from the start that Hunt would be the kind to assault the girls and manipulate others to his whims, and only now was Eric seeing exactly what that meant for the others around him.

And that was the year things changed.

((1. I am not happy with this piece at all. But you get to see it anyway. 2. Divan Amara, Corey Docdocs and Dinesh Lewini belong to a friend of mine, but are all Ravenclaw males in the same year as John, Hunt and Eric...and Caleb and Cyrenaica, they're in here too. The description of Divan at the beginning is based entirely off of a single event that happened in a roleplay I did with his creator after someone attacked Eric and Divan attacked back (Eric and Divan were dating at the time). I'm pretty sure in the original roleplay Divan almost murdered or did murder the other student in question, which is probably why I don't have Kit listed as an OC right now, that or because I just don't remember Kit's last name, but my memory is terrible and I'm probably wrong...aaaanyway, this whole thing was just to play around with the relationship between Hunt and John, and how John ended up going from the bully to the victim in his 6th year...I figured Hunt the Manipulator could be a good catalyst. John's character file can be found on my OC files blog. The files of the others are still being done.))

Stupid Messes

Sometimes, the young man would take a simple look at his life and wonder how he ever ended up there. It had started from an early age, from when his parents began to shun him out of fear that he might not have any useful ability to speak of. From when he felt like another person that simply was not good enough. From his struggles in school, to the year he'd had his first child. He'd been young at the time, and had believed, like an idiot, that that relationship would last forever.

It lasted a couple of weeks after the birth of their daughter, their twins, and then she'd left him with the babies and his absolutely furious parents. And once again, Jeremiah Strit was just not good enough. And from that point on, for nearly three years, he'd been unwilling to form a relationship with another woman, treating it all as a game. Fun. Sleep around, never catch feelings, and the next woman's baby just isn't his problem.

So how did he end up here? New Years, 18 years old, staying with a girl named Dianna because he was sick of being with his family and just feeling so...inadequate. Not up to their standards. A failure. He was lying on a mattress on the floor, and he didn't know where the bed had gone. One daughter was curled up under his arm, the other bawling inconsolably over a broken toy, his stomach growling in hunger because Dianna had spent the last of their money on lord only knew what again and  tears rolling down his cheeks because he couldn't deal with this any more. He wanted to go home.

He wanted to go home!

But he couldn't. Because his parents didn't want him home. And because Dianna was pregnant. Of course she was. Of course he would get himself into that kind of mess again. This wasn't even his second child and he just never learnt. Only this time he'd been hoping he could actually have a working relationship again. No such luck.

For the time being, he could live with Dianna. She was lovely, if a little bit terrible at handling money. It was the place itself that was the problem. And the fact that his girlfriend had spent their money on something she wouldn't even tell him about and never let him have any control over the spending, and was so god damn jealous and possessive all the time and even tried to keep him from talking to his friends and hated him working at the same place as another female because she was so psychotic and insecure and honestly, why was he with this woman?

Because she took all the money either of them made and because he had nowhere else to go. So he put up with the crazy stuff she did because the last girl he'd been in a relationship with had been crazy as well so maybe that was just how girls were in a long term relationship. Besides, she was always lovely to the twins and she was absolutely gorgeous and she offered to let him stay in her house when he fell out with his parents, so did he really have a right to complain?

May 14th, exactly one month before his 19th birthday, Ruelle Strit was born. She was premature and seriously ill, and Jeremiah forgot the exact things he was told, but he was pretty sure the lady at the hospital telling him and Dianna about what was wrong with the baby was suggesting Dianna had been taking drugs during her pregnancy or something.

They'd argued about that. They'd argued because Jeremiah had spoken to the female staff and Dianna didn't like it. They argued every single time he went back to visit Ruelle because that woman always accused him of cheating if he ever so much as looked at another human female, no matter how little sense the accusation made. Then again, she did know he slept around, and she did know Ruelle was his seventh child. It was his own fault if she was especially suspicious.

It wasn't crazy.

But by the time Ruelle was home, the arguing had gotten so bad that Jeremiah just walked out. He took his twins and left, and that night managed to secure a shelter staying at a friend's house and sleeping on his sofa. The next morning, Jeremiah, the twins, and his friend, Caius, went back to Dianna's house, because he had calmed down and hopefully so had she. Caius pretty much just tagged along because he wanted to talk about everything he'd just learnt about power tools from another mutual friend of theirs.

When they got to the house, they could hear Ruelle crying, and Jeremiah discovered he'd forgotten his keys. After a good hour and a half of knocking and calling to Dianna to let them in, because surely if Ruelle was there, Dianna had to be there as well, and trying to apologise through the door, Caius helpfully decided that Dianna wasn't home and the baby was home alone, and he very casually broke the front door window pane and let them all in.

The house was a mess. As empty as before, but with rubbish on the floor and a suspicious and kind of gross smell in the air that for some reason just filled Jeremiah's little heart with dread. He told the twins to wait by the front door and the two adults ventured into the house, calling Dianna's name until Caius let out a shrill scream. The girliest scream Jeremiah had ever heard. And the others came running and they found her.

And she was dead, lying on the floor in a puddle of her own vomit. And she was dead. And it looked like she had taken something and she was dead and she might have killed herself and she was dead and she'd been lying there for a day as if she'd died just after he'd walked out and she was dead and he'd never seen a dead person before and SHE WAS DEAD.

He was ashamed to admit that upon discovering the body, he'd thrown up on the spot and started crying.

And how...just how did he find himself here?

Home. Stood on the doorstep, hand raised to knock, Savannah clinging to his belt, Ophelia stood on his other side, baby Ruelle in a baby sling across his chest, and too scared to knock because he was just going to get lectured and rejected and told his life was over, just like the last time he'd come home with a baby. He'd considered going elsewhere first. To his half-siblings, rather than to other friends, but Azriel and Galilah's work was dangerous and kept them from home a lot, so it was so hard to actually find them and ask and in the end he just gave up, and Raphael was far too ill to take in his half-brother and two or three nieces at the time. So what bloody choice did he have?

He lowered his arm, ran his hand over Savannah's head and turned to leave, promising they'd do something nice, maybe try and find Uncle Azriel again, and the front door opened behind him.

"Jer...?"

He glanced over his shoulder. One of his younger brothers was stood on the doorstep, evidently about to go out somewhere. Dressed up nicely. His hair had grown longer since they'd last seen each other and he definitely needed it cut.

"...Chaim..."

"Were you here to visit or just stare at the beautiful architecture and leave?"

Savannah broke away from her father, running to her uncle with a squeal of delight. Jeremiah reluctantly turned and walked back to the doorstep.
"Wait." He muttered when he drew closer to his little brother, who had now lifted his toddler niece up for a hug. "...Since when were you taller than me?"
"Uh...since puberty?" He stepped aside to let Jeremiah in. "You look like utter shit."
"I feel like it. I caught some kind of hell cold off one of my friends and then I went to see Raph and I didn't realise he was in hospital."
"Oh, yeah, that...he's not dying though, it'll be fine."
"Define fine."
"Not dead."
He didn't really have a response to that, but he didn't have enough time to struggle to find one either.
"Chaim!" A woman's voice called. "Who're you talking to, sweetheart?"
"Don't call me that, mum, we've had this talk!"
Their mother came out of the kitchen and a strange expression came over her face when she spotted her elder son. And then she smiled, hurried forward with her arms out and stopped short of embracing him. "Jeremiah! Goodness, it has been so long! Where have you been? Why haven't you called? It's been months and months and the only reason I didn't call the police was because Raph said you'd gone off with another girl and is that a baby? Have you been sleeping around again? Because I was hoping you'd be able to settle down for once but you never do, do you? You always have to just have your wicked way and leave, never mind the consequences. I mean, you've never been one to mind the consequences, a caution-to-the-wind type, you are, and lord knows what kind of influence you'll have on your siblings. Honestly, I think the problem is partly Galilah's own influence on you, your sister wasn't very sensible either and you seem to have taken after her but worse. Are you here to show off your new accident or are you staying for dinner or are you moving back in? Maybe you should stay, you don't look well. You haven't been eating right, have you? Typical. You-"
"Mum!" Jeremiah cut her off with a sob. Somewhere in her tirade, he'd started crying, and she hadn't noticed. She wasn't good at noticing things. She was the kind of person who talked and talked and talked without leaving a single breath for anyone to even think of replying, and the type who struggled to listen or notice anything important, and now her son, her least-favourite son, was sobbing in front of her. He felt Chaim's hand on his shoulder, heard him calling  his name, and Ophelia's little call of 'Daddy?' sounding near tears herself and he started bawling. And everything he tried to say next, about what had happened with Dianna, about how he just wanted her to appreciate him and stop wishing he was better than he was, about how he was afraid and depressed and confused and how he had no idea what he was supposed to do anymore, it all came out in a mess, made unintelligible by his tears and the tightness in his throat.

And at some point he'd been moved to the sofa and sat down with tea and handed a box of tissues, and his children had been taken to another room while his youngest sister, Rebecca, sat next to him and poked him repeatedly and asked him personal and annoying questions that he didn't bother to answer. He could smell his dad cooking in the kitchen, and his mother had insisted he stay whether he like it or not and at this point he knew. There was no way around it. He was a worthless failure and was never going to go anywhere in life. He'd disappointed his family, he'd let them all down and he'd now ruined their day. Well, Rebecca seemed happy to see him, but otherwise the general feel was pretty sour.

It was times like these that Jeremiah believed this was where his life would be at its absolute best. That he'd never get a lucky break. But that was okay, because he'd always have some reason to ask himself how he'd ever ended up in this mess.

The Band Project - Intervention

((Forenote: The Band Project is a new series of oneshots I'm doing based on fictional bands I've created. They focus on the past, present and future of the members. This particular piece focuses on the past of two members of the group Three Tin Cans, all of whom have completed character files on my OC Files blog, and has brief mentions and suggestions of eating disorders, sexual abuse, sexual predation and child neglect.))

Prince didn't quite recall why he'd been sat alone in the corner of an under heated internet cafe on the run up to Christmas, hunched over in his too thin coat and staring at the computer screen blankly. The screen displayed some article about a hurricane hitting some place he'd never heard of.  He wasn't really sure why he'd opened  it. It was just something to look at, something to do. He was about 17, probably crying, and hopefully somewhere his father wouldn't come looking for him. Although, to be totally honest, Prince's father was more than used to him disappearing for hours without giving any indication over where he might be going. Sometimes, he looked for him or tried  to call him repeatedly, and other times he just gave him a bitterly disappointed look the next time he saw him in the house. It was normal for Prince to be away from home and avoiding his family. Occasionally the girl from college who thought he was anorexic would let him sleep on her sofa as well, so lord only knew when Mr Osbaldeston would see his youngest son next.

Prince didn't look away from the screen when the 12-year-old boy entered the cafe. He just took a sip of his lukewarm coffee and clicked over to a chat site to see if either of his friends were on. He missed the ratty, dirty clothes the boy had on and the way he glanced  around in a mix of excitement and anxiety as he ordered a drink, found he couldn't afford it and went to sit down, but then, all of this only really drew the attention of the person serving him, who asked if he was okay but otherwise left him.

Neither of his online friends were on, so Prince started looking at pictures of pugs. Dogs were his favourite animal, and he loved pugs most of all. Their squished up faces were adorable. He sat there, considering asking his father for a dog for Christmas. That or a new phone. But then again, he probably wouldn't get anything expensive. His birthday had only been two days ago and he'd gotten a drum kit he never intended to use. He didn't even know how to play the drums but he did know something that big didn't come cheap. As harsh as his father was, Prince was pretty sure all the old man wanted from his children was a smile at least once a year  instead  of three perpetually scowling and mentally unstable boys. Father always tried to get his sons to smile again. It wasn't going to happen any time soon.

He started looking up how to get a pug and about these new smartphone things. And how pricey they were, just in case his dad might say yes.

"You don't look like you do in the photos."

Prince paused, cup halfway to his lips, and glanced to the side. A very close and very young voice had said that, and had sounded afraid. A much older voice responded.

"Oh, don't I? I'm sorry. You look exactly like in the photos. Very cute."
"You said you were 14. You said you were 14, but you're not. How old are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Listen, I'm sorry I lied. I just didn't want to scare you. I know children can be easily frightened, especially those that are vulnerable."
"Uh...yeah..."
Prince turned his head to look. Nobody else was paying them any heed. He figured they were quiet enough that from the back corner of the shop the assistant couldn't hear a word they were saying, and that the business man on his laptop just really didn't care what was going on around him. It was pretty empty. The 12-year-old boy had been joined by a much older man with greasy hair who was currently leering lecherously across the table at  him. It seemed pretty clear to Prince that he'd somehow managed to convince the boy to meet up with him after an online chat and was probably some kind of sexual predator. The man glanced around and Prince quickly turned his attention back to his computer.

"Listen." The  man muttered, dropping his voice low enough that Prince had to strain to hear. "I think we should get going. I can show you around, show you all the best spots around here. This is my home city, after all, I know where everything is."
"I'm not sure I want to any more."
"Nonsense. You've made it all the way out here, you can't just sit inside sulking." He reached across the table and took the boy's hand. Their voices dropped lower and Prince closed his web pages. He watched the man get up out of the corner of his eye. The man was holding the boy's hand and the boy was following, looking confused and uncertain. Afraid, even. Prince got up, paid what he owed and  followed at  a distance.

Prince wasn't sure how long he followed for or how he was never noticed by the man, and ten years later he didn't remember what made him so sure the man was going to do something to the boy then and there. Perhaps it was the way the man had stopped walking, the way his hands were positioned on the boy's body, the look in his eye. Either way, the 17-year-old chose his moment to start running.
"Tyler!" He yelled, using the first name to come  to mind. "Where have you been? What have I told you about going off with strangers?" The man had moved away from the boy, and Prince clamped a hand on the confused boy's shoulders. "I'm sorry about my brother." Prince told the man, giving the most sheepish smile he could.
"You two are brothers?" The man asked, clearly not believing it. After all, the tall, skinny brunette and the tiny blond with the wet eyes looked nothing alike.
"Yup! I came up here with him. He said he wanted to go somewhere, the museum and the cathedral and the Beatles tour, he loves the Beatles, and we were going to the museum, weren't we, Tyler? But then you ran off."
The man narrowed his eyes at the boy. "I thought  you said your name was Franklyn."
"Sorry I lied." Franklyn replied instantly as he moved to cling to his apparent elder brother's skinny frame like a baby monkey. "I thought the name made me sound more grown up." He looked up at Prince for  a moment. "I'm sorry for running off, Matt. But I don't want to go to the cathedral. It sounds boring. That's what you and mum wanted to do. This place sucks. I want to go home."
Prince smiled at him, and then at the man. "And what were you doing with my little brother exactly?"
The man hesitated, then smiled. "The boy was lost. I was helping  him find his family. I'm so glad we found you."
The brunette nodded once more and took the  blond's arm, leading him away quickly. He brought him to some shops and then turned, raising  an eyebrow at the boy.
"Franklyn, was it?"
Franklyn looked at the floor. "Thanks..."
"No problem. Not like I could let him rape you or whatever gross thing he was planning on doing."
The younger boy stiffened. "I didn't think he was gonna do that!"
"Seemed pretty clear to me he was a paedophile. You meet  him online?"
"Mm."
"You can't  just agree to meet people you've only spoken to a few times online.  Seriously, they start talking about meeting up when they know you're a little kid, that's a  huge warning sign, alarm bells everywhere, aooga, aooga!"
Franklyn laughed. "Okay. I'll bear that in mind. Have you ever met up with someone then?"
"I don't trust people I meet online. I don't trust anyone. I have,  like, two friends online, and according to them they're 15 and 12 but I've known  them for years and still don't totally trust them." He frowned, a thought occurring to him. "Franklyn, how old are you?"
"12. I'm not a little  kid, by the way."
"Jeez, I thought you were 7."
"Hey!"
"You don't talk a lot with someone called Nitrogue and someone called Bony Drake on a chat site, do you?"
"...Are you Prince? Because I know Dylan's younger  than you but older than me and also I've seen a picture of him and he has these gross sores on his face like one of Moses' plagues and he's ginger and he's always in hospital-"
"Yes. Yes, I'm Prince."
"Bony Drake."
"Yeah."
"Why Bony Drake?"
"Why not?"
Franklyn shrugged. "You're shivering."
"It's cold. You're shivering too."
"Not as bad as you."
Prince shrugged now.
"Why are you here?" The blond asked him after a moment.
"I've lived in Liverpool my whole life."
"I'm from Manchester. I think that man could tell you were from here. From your accent."
"Probably. He probably knew I knew what he was up to though."
"Are there really museums and cathedrals here?"
"You can see the cathedral from here. Look." He pointed and watched Franklyn's little eyes widen in awe at the sight of the distant architecture.
"Wow. Will you take me?"
"...To the cathedral?"
"Yeah! I've never been to a cathedral before. Or a museum!"
"I thought you said you didn't want to-"
"I was acting. I've never been. Please? What's it like? What is a cathedral?"
"It's like a big fancy church-"
"I wanna go to the fancy church!"
He was practically jumping up and down with excitement. Prince knew he had to say no, but it was surprisingly difficult. And maybe even a 12-year-old boy could find  the cathedral interior fascinating. He wasn't paying for  a guided tour though, no way.
"Okay."
"And then a museum, or...what else is there to do here? The tour?"
"I'm not paying to go on the Beatles tour. Screw you."
"We're definitely going to the cathedral though."
"Yup...but if Dylan ever comes here, I'll have to show him as well."
"Yeah!" And then he slowly stopped bouncing and started  scowling. "We need to get lunch. You need to buy me lunch."
"I don't need  to buy you anything!"
"But there's a McDonald's over there and I'm hungry."
"Buy it yourself."
"I don't have any more money on me."
"Then starve." Prince started walking on towards the cathedral, and Franklyn whined and pulled his arm.
"Please?" He pleaded, giving him his best puppy dog eyes. "I didn't eat today or yesterday. That man paid my train fare and I'm completely broke and my family's never around so this is, like, my only chance to get a proper meal and be with another human being. And I thought you were nice. And I'm hungry!"
Prince sighed as a weird mix of guilt and compassion stabbed him in the chest and checked his wallet. "I don't have much money, and I usually use it at internet cafes."
"But you can afford a burger."
"...Okay. But just a burger."
"Yay!" Franklyn ran into the fast food building and Prince pulled a face of disgust as he approached the building. It smelled and was too colourful and made him feel nauseous and he didn't understand why anyone would ever willingly put that crap into their bodies, but Franklyn was happy. Franklyn looked like this was the best day of his young life as his friend bought him a Happy Meal and he discovered the toy and got excited about all the things he and his friend would do together before he had to get home. And for some strange reason, Prince liked seeing the little idiot smiling. He liked seeing the boy happy, especially since he knew about his terrible home life. Seeing him genuinely smiling and genuinely happy made Prince feel inexplicably...good.

Perhaps this was why his father wanted him to smile again.

Korobi/Sajin Meeting Story

This definitely was not a C rank mission, and by God, his pay had better reflect that...if he ever made it back to Sunagakure alive, that is.

Running through the sparse forest that bordered the lands of Wind and Fire was alright. Bearable. There was some cover and some space to hide, though that worked the same for those after him. The open space of the desert was another thing entirely. If his enemies were still on his tail, he would likely be an easy target, and all his years living in the desert had failed to teach him to camouflage or hide amongst the dunes.

On the other hand, being surrounded by sand did give the solitary and rather terrified ninja a slight advantage. He was good with sand. Gradually, he slowed to a stop. It would do him no good to panic and get himself lost and ultimately killed by his own stupidity on home turf, so he had to stop, catch his breath, get his bearings. It was dark, but he considered his night vision fairly good, and couldn't see any sign of anyone.

At all.

Which way was Sunagakure? He was still in a panicked state, and more out of breath than he should have been, and he couldn't quite tell...and he hadn't seen his team mates for a good four hours now, at least. They'd scattered, like idiots, and sure as hell didn't have a meeting point to regroup at. And the team leader, who was frankly painfully underqualified to lead two peers, had been chased all the way back to the Sand.

The team leader in question was a cold genin by the name of Sajin, and one that certainly thought himself capable of accomplishing at the very least your average genin mission without his sensei hanging over him, but this? This was ridiculous. It was supposed to be a simple job involving going to meet someone, getting a package and delivering it back to someone else within the village who was too feeble to go out and get it himself. Not even the slightest suggestion someone might try and kill them over the damn thing. Heck, it had sounded for all intents and purposes like nothing more than, say, a teddy bear for the recipient's niece or something. And Sajin was the loser who ended up carrying the package, meaning he was the one most of them seemed to be after.

He could only hope Mujin and Mijin were still alive.

Okay, bearings. He needed to figure out where he was going and what his next move would be. Did he continue to the village or go back for the guys? No, he couldn't go look for the guys. That would be a foolish move and undoubtedly get him killed. He would have to go back the way he came, where his enemies were, and had no idea which way they'd gone in the first place. The smart thing would be to get to the safety of the village and explain what had happened, get a search party or some back-up. With the 5th in charge, he was sure he would get some help. So he hunkered down against a dune and took stock of his surroundings. He was facing west, Suna was to the east and a little to the south of the country...looking at things logically, he had to still be to the east of the village, he hadn't been travelling long enough to pass it. Locating south was simple enough. He could see the moon, and if he could see the moon, he could find south. If Sajin prided himself on anything, it had to be his way with directions. It was something he was very good at, so facing southwest...

With newfound determination, he set off, ready to complete this stupid mission. Only he didn't. He took one step, and pain lanced across his back and something struck the back of his knees hard, sending him sprawling. And he panicked, for what had to be the billionth time that day, gathering sand to him and sending it behind him in a spurt. Not offensive enough, but enough to momentarily blind whoever had attacked him. Staying and fighting was not an option, and he didn't fancy his chances if he surrendered, so he scrambled to his feet and started running again. He was pretty sure the people on his tail were S rank or Jounin something, so fighting was only a last resort if he was cornered.

And all too soon, he was more trapped than cornered.

~*~*~*~*~

Ever since the ever hanging threat of painful and brutal death when walking around at night had stopped being an issue, Korobi and Yaoki found they liked taking the odd walk around the village or the surrounding area. The Land of Wind could be a beautiful place, after all. They never ventured far, not unless they had good cause to do so, because to them it just seemed like common sense. Stay near the gates where the guards could see them.

That morning, Korobi had been waiting. Yaoki had told him to wait near the gates, and he chose to wait just outside, watch the sun rise, chatting amicably with one of the guards. It wasn't until the sun was high in the sky and Yaoki was undoubtedly late that the puppeteer noticed something out of the corner of his eye, off in the horizon.
"Hey, Kanso, do you see that?"
The guard followed Korobi's finger to the black blob in the distance. "What is that?"
"Is it a person? I think it's a person."
"Korobi-" And without another word, he set off to investigate, the guard following shortly after.

It must have been a lucky spot. The guy was one of theirs, lying unconscious in torn clothes and covered in blood. It looked like he'd dragged himself for quite a while after being injured. He was still breathing, still alive, but worryingly pale. Lord only knew how long he'd been out there. Korobi crouched beside him, trying to assess the damage. Not that he could tell much. He gently shook the man's shoulder (an idiotic move, as anyone with basic first aid knowledge would tell you) and called to him. "Hey, wake up! Can you hear me? Wake up!"
No reaction. "Pick him up. We'll take him back to the village." Kanso said, standing at the genin's shoulder.

The moment Korobi started to lift the injured shinobi, he let out a sound midway between a groan and a gurgle. Instantly, the puppeteer snatched his hands back with a very slight yelp. Kanso rolled his eyes and kicked him in the back, prompting him to speak again.
"Ah! Hey, can you hear me? Are you okay?" Stupid question.
The injured shinobi cracked open a dark and slightly swollen eye. "Who...?"
"It's okay...I'm Korobi. We're going to get you back to safety." He went to pick him up again, and almost drew back when the guy cried out. Almost. "What happened to you?"
"Fuck...no..." Was all the guy managed to get out. That and a choked sound. Korobi took that as his cue to lift the stranger. He'd seen him around the village before. A good looking guy with a permanent scowl on his face. They'd never spoken before but he'd never looked that friendly. Honestly, Korobi believed it would be no big loss if they never did speak. He didn't like rude, selfish and unkind people. But he himself always tried to be nice...
"What's your name?"
The guy didn't answer. He instead just turned his head until his face was buried against Korobi's flak jacket and passed out again.

~*~*~*~*~

Mijin and Mujin had made it back to the village before morning, before Sajin was found. They'd managed to regroup and figured, as Sajin was heading towards the village anyway, heading that way was the best way to go. It was honestly a shock when he was brought in after them, battered and bruised and long since defeated. Sajin was arguably more shocked when he woke up and saw those two idiots hanging over him, as well as the guy that had carried him in standing in the corner of the room. He spoke to his team mates, relieved but angry. He'd lost the package and failed the mission, almost lost his life and, had whoever chased them not already seen Sajin with it, Mijin and Mujin could have died as well. After the chunin exams, he'd learnt a little, and that little was that his friends were important, and sacrificing them for his own gain would only hurt him in the long run. He'd definitely regret it in future when he had no-one to turn to.

The guy with the box on his back, Korobi, coming across him was pure luck, but pure luck that likely saved his stupid life. A knight in shining armour, he would joke with his friends later.

It probably didn't help his addled mind that his rescuer was strong and cute and warm. All the stupid things he remembered. Feeling safe enough to fall asleep once someone was carrying him. He would have felt safe with any Suna ninja carrying him home after the night he'd had! He'd likely forget the guy within a week, provided they didn't speak.

Korobi, however, came to speak to him when his team mates left. Ensure he was okay or whatever. He seemed so kind. It was annoying, and by the end of the day, Sajin had a stupid crush. It was only infatuation or transference, he was sure of it, and equally sure that it would fade eventually, whether they interacted or not. It wasn't like they were fated to meet or fall for each other or whatever.

((I haven't properly written a story for the vast majority of the year, primarily because I lost all confidence in my ability. This piece focuses on minor-ass Suna genin because it's essentially a writing exercise to help me get back into things should I ever want to write again. I do enjoy writing, but sometimes find things difficult or don't have the time or motivation, so I have a lot of unfinished projects. Essentially, whether this is good or not, I was not intending to make this an especially good piece. Just messing around with the basic 'how your ship met' story. I crack ship a lot of minor characters in Naruto.))

Fraxus

Morning broke. It was early. Too early for Laxus to be awake, certainly. He was tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep, but a few things stopped him.

Firstly, the curtains weren't fully drawn. Light from outside, though not as bright as it could have been, still spilled directly over his eyes. Secondly, he had been pushed right to the edge of the bed. A literal roll would either send him over and onto the floor or over his bed fellow. Thirdly, something was in his mouth. Something unpleasant and that he couldn't quite identify. Reaching up, he grasped it and dragged it up until he could see it.

A long lock of green hair, shining with saliva. Ah.

Without much thought, he flicked it aside, letting it join the rest of Freed's hair, which had spread across the bed every which way during the night. He couldn't even see the younger man's face. However, how exactly that hair had made it into Laxus' mouth was beyond him, though hopefully, if Freed awoke before it dried, he would merely assume he had drooled onto it again. The rune mage drooled most nights.

After a moment, he decided to get up and at least close the curtains, maybe get back into bed on Freed's side so at the very least he had space again, but the moment he moved, there was a groan and a shift beside him.
"Good morning." Laxus mumbled on instinct, glancing over as Freed brushed his hair from his face.
"Is it time to get up?"
He glanced at the clock and then back to his mate. Freed's eyes remained shut. It seemed he had little intention to get up. "No." He answered honestly.
"Good." He draped an arm over the dragon slayer and tried to cuddle closer, perhaps still half-asleep, and Laxus drew away. "Where are you going?"
He didn't answer, simply got up and closed the curtains fully. Behind him, his mate sat up, watching him.

Upon his return to the warm embrace of his bed, the two cuddled up silently. It was only four in the morning, so sleep seemed like the only reasonable course of action.
"Laxus?"
"Hmm?"
"Why is my hair wet?"

((I tried to turn a scene I've had in my head into words. I haven't put that scene through my mind in at least a week, but I tried to write it anyway.))

Balthasar Gammaleil

I've always been a strange guy. I accept that. In fact, after a certain point, I began to embrace that. My name's Balthasar. I like my hair long, small, fuzzy animals, flowers, romance, my family close. I'm very protective over my family. I'm technically the eldest, after all. I have to be strong for them, and protect them. I have a younger sister, and a brother who likes to act like he's the eldest and the toughest. We're twins, but I'm taller, stronger and fitter. We're non-identical. Clearly. We barely look related, aside from our eyes. We have the same hazel eyes. But he's short, fat and blond, and I'm tall, athletic and dark.

And a bit effeminate, I'll admit. I skip instead of walking and I love making flower crowns and I'm very in touch with my feminine side. I remember at first, someone tried to bully me for it. Jaimes, his name was. He was funny.

Anyway, I suppose up until recently, I'd been enjoying my life. I had friends and my family, and my mum had let me get my lip pierced (though Ben teased that if I got more metal put in me, I'd be drawn to every magnet) and I was feeling confident. I was doing well at school and...well, I was happy. My mum was happy, my brother was happy, my sister was happy...we were all happy!

I'm not sure when it was that things started to go to shit. I remembered getting sick during an exam, near my OWLs, I think it was. It was an exam that was important to me, so even though I was coughing and wheezing and breathless all the way, I sat through my exams and probably distracted those around me. What can I say? It was herbology and astronomy, and those are my passions! I couldn't just let them lie. And eventually, I got bad enough that I had to go down to the hospital wing and say I'd had a chest infection for ages and never gotten it seen to. Frankly, I'd expected it to just...fade over time. They normally do that.

And then I was back, talking with my best friends. Raphael and Ben. Exams were still on. Next one was potions.
"Please tell me you studied a little before you went to the hospital wing." Ben told me. He knew me well. He knew as long as I was ill, I would be more than happy to use it as an excuse to slack off.
"Potions is useless to me anyway." I assured my brother, which he responded to with a disgusted sigh.
"And what, exactly, are you expecting to do with your life?"
"I don't know. Party?"
"I'd be happy to join you with that." Raph interjected. We laughed and Benny rolled his eyes.
"You guys don't have any plans whatsoever, do you?"
"We're winging it." Raph confirmed with a nod, running his fingers through his hair. "Do you have a plan?"
"Yeah."
I turned to him, leaning forward slightly. "What's your plan then?"
"If I tell you, you'll tease me."
"True." I sat back, crossing my arms as my brother smirked at me. We had our secrets. We wanted to surprise each other. I had no plans, of course. And that stressed me out. Benny knew that stressed me out. That was why he wouldn't tell me his plans. I kind of knew he wanted to work with children, though, and that was...sweet. I wanted children of my own in the future. A beautiful baby girl, followed by a handsome young boy. Uri and Christine, I'd name them. I like the name Uri.
"You've lost weight."
The comment seemed to come from nowhere, but I could note that Raph was now staring at my chest.
"I have?" I asked, realising he was talking about me. I knew Benny had been trying to lose weight. In fact, he exercised rigorously, as he greatly enjoyed his cardio, but his weight was stable and high.
"Yeah. Not massive amounts, but..."
"Enough to be noticeable." Benny finished.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. As though suddenly my clothes would feel super loose or something. "I've been ill lately..."
"Are you sure you're totally recovered?" Raph asked softly. "You look pretty pale too, is all..."
"I'm fine." I assured them with a laugh, shaking my head. "You two are too...concerned."
"I'm your brother." Benny pointed out. "It's my job to be concerned."
"True." I conceded, checking my watch. "There's this really cute girl in Gryffindor." Raph stared at me for a moment. "What?"
"You're going to try to talk to us about girls?" Clearly, he wasn't impressed with the way I'd started. "Girls you want to bone?"
"Bally has a crush." Ben teased. "Our little boy's all grown up!"
"I didn't say I had a crush." I argued. "Or that I wanted to bone her, as you so eloquently put it. Jesus Christ, Raph. I just said I saw someone I thought was cute."
"Did she have a cute arse though?"
"I'm..not going to answer that."
"Please, it's not like I'm gonna steal her from you. If she's not Hettie, I'm not interested."
"I know. Practically the whole school knows. You'd sell your own mother for a chance to bone Hettie."
"See? Now you're saying it too!"
"Picked it up off you, didn't I?"
Benny interrupted us with "Potions." We both turned to look at him as he stood, and he gestured for us to follow him. "Potions. Exam. Come on."
Groaning, the two of us got up after him. Raph was alright with potions, but I hated it with a burning passion.

The exam went well enough. I came out of it in a bad mood because god, I hate potions classes. And exams. And potions in general. Long story short, I failed potions. But that didn't concern me. I hardly wanted to do potions in the first place. I slept well that night, and woke up early.

Quite early. To find my bedding drenched and my body slick. It was gross as fuck, let me tell you. My pillow was wet as well. I hadn't been so sweaty since...ever. Not even the most horrific of nightmares had managed this. I turned on my bedside light, rubbing my hand across my face as I tried to shake off the bleariness that came pretty much any time I woke up (my body hated mornings), and slowly opened my eyes to a none too pleasant sight. While mostly the unpleasant wetness was definitely sweat, my pillow was covered in blood. I'd had nighttime nosebleeds before. I used to get them a lot when I was little. I don't think I'd had one since puberty though. Part of me, a little childlike part, wanted to crawl out of bed and go to my brother. Wake him up, crawl into bed with him and ask him to hug me and make things better. He was good at comforting. Better than me, at any rate. Feeling distinctly woozy, I got up and made my way to the bathroom. I had to wash any lingering blood off my face and out of my hair. My chest felt tight and it seemed harder to breathe, but that was just psychosomatic. I was worried and a little scared of the dark, I'm not afraid to admit it, and having to walk around before it was light out, I was anxious, so I was finding it harder to breathe. Science. I mean, science is harder to believe when you find out you're a wizard, but still.

I got to the bathroom, snapped the light on and went to the sink by the mirror. I was starting to get what Raph was saying about me looking ill. I was paler than I thought possible, though I had just lost lord knows how much blood. It was still under my nose, on my lips and right cheek. And in my hair, of course. I looked about as tired as I felt, and there was a bruise on my chest where I'd knocked it against a desk during my exam. (I sleep topless in summer, so it was quite visible) Anyway, I washed my face and my hair as best I could, and planned to stay up until morning with a jewellery kit. When I was little, my mum spoiled me, and my brother, and my sister, as best she could. She gets money from our father, even though he has his own family and I've never met the man myself, and she wanted to shower us with...I don't know, maybe love, when my sister died. Y'see, originally I wasn't a twin, I was a triplet, but the other one died when we were very little. Little enough that I hardly remember her, but I remember the doctors. I remember the doctors, and the rush, and the way my mother cried most nights, and the thin, sickly child being made to feel far worse by whatever the doctors were doing to her. It's a horrible memory. Anyway, where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I used to love the aisle of toys that was all pink and pretty. I wanted all the dolls and jewellery things and fashion kits and ponies. And my mother was happy to buy them for me if it made me happy. So I had jewellery kits in my room and I was good with the slightly more professional stuff as well. Within reason.

Once I'd washed up, I took another look at myself in the mirror. Though I wasn't as athletic as Benny, I always had some muscle on me. Muscular arms, good pectorals, possibly a little in the way of, well, maybe abs, I'm not sure. Anyway, after a moment of staring at myself, I did have to admit I'd lost a little weight. Deciding I wanted to keep my body the way it was, I decided I would join Benny's little exercise regime tomorrow. Or today. Whichever it was. I collected my dressing gown and jewellery kit, and went down into the common room, settling into an armchair and deciding I would make a beautiful necklace.

I woke up. It was bright, and I was slumped in my chair, my back hurting and body stiff from simply being in an awkward position.
"He's got a fever. Not a very high one, but he's a bit warm."
"So should we tell Pomfrey? He won't wake up."
"He's just a heavy sleeper. He'll be fine."
Three voices from above me. I cracked an eye open. Two girls and a boy. I recognised them easily. Cherrie Swanson-Hyde and Tim Twitchell, I rarely spoke to, but they were in my year and house, so I knew them, and they knew me. Felix Schnorhavorian, I again wasn't especially close to him. "What time is it?" I asked.
"Uh..."
"Quarter past one." Cherrie answered before Felix could get his head together.
"What?" I sat up straight, and they moved back so I could get up. My jewellery kit fell to the floor and I swore. "Why didn't anyone wake me?"
"Well, we couldn't." Tim answered as she picked up my beads for me. "Well, you told Ben to leave you alone."
"I don't remember that."
"You weren't totally with it."
Felix spoke up next. "Thought you'd be up by now though. There's blood all over your pillow, by the way."
"I know." I snapped as I wandered up the stairs to my dorm. I heard them talking behind me as I went. I honestly hadn't felt that tired when I'd sat down. I don't think I got further than opening my box before I'd dropped off. The house elves would take care of my pillow, so I left it and got dressed. My chest was feeling weird and tight and uncomfortable again. I felt ill.

The next day I got another god damn chest infection. Every damn breath was one of those annoying rattly ones. And the next week, we were going home. The year was over and I was free. I fell asleep on the train, under the concerned gaze of Benny and a Gryffindor boy we were friends with. See, when we got home, I thought it would all be fine. I could sleep more and get over whatever was wrong with me. I stepped off the train, my mum took one look at me and instantly her hands were on me, asking if I was alright. Asking how long I'd been ill for and why I hadn't sent her a letter. I told her I just wanted to get home and she reluctantly agreed. It just kind of went downhill from there. I was getting worried about myself. As well as the infections coming back way too often, I woke up most nights with wet covers and a bloody pillow. I was tired all the time, my weight kept dropping (I wasn't muscular any more, whoops) and there was this stupid rash near my shoulder and everything was stiff and hurty. I honestly had no idea what was  going on until my mum made a doctor's appointment for me...behind my back...but hey, I appreciated it, I guess. Right up until my mum actually spoke to the doctor.
"It's a...I think it might be cancer. I've seen it before, with my daughter. And even if it isn't, it's clear he's very, very sick and I just need to know what's wrong with him!"
That was what she'd said. It unnerved me more than anything that had happened so far. And there were tests, and multiple doctors, and ashen faces that held the promise of bad news. I cried. While I waited for all the results of some stupid biopsy, I dug my nails into my palms and played with my bracelets and rings and I cried. I was scared, and all I knew was that there was some abnormality or something in my blood and they needed to do this test and I might have been dying. And I didn't know where my mum was, and my brother and sister were at home, and I felt alone, and scared. And scared.

She turned up again when an oncologist spoke to us. He was talking about what he'd found. Or what they'd found. And how to help get rid of it. Aggressive leukaemia. Blood transfusions, antibiotics, chemotherapy...
"No..."
"Balthasar?" The name sounded weird on the doctor's tongue. He wasn't used to it. He was a muggle doctor, and probably not used to the kind of names my mum chose simply because they sounded unusual. He was tall, taller than me, and young, and needed a shave.
"I don't want chemotherapy."
"I know it sounds quite daunting, and this is quite a shock to you-"
"No, I don't want it! It's what they gave to Brieta, isn't it? It's the stuff that makes you even weaker and kills the healthy cells and the unhealthy ones and drains you so much but it can't even guarantee survival. It's not worth it and I'd rather die at my own rate."
My mother placed a hand on my shoulder. One of us was shaking. I wasn't sure which one. "Listen to what you're saying, Balthasar. You don't want to die..."
"No. No, I don't but...but I don't want to feel worse and I don't want to struggle and I want to pretend I'm normal and I don't want...I don't want chemotherapy. I refuse. I absolutely refuse."
"Balthasar!" My mother snapped, horrified. "Think about this! You're being ridiculous! Think about someone other than yourself for once-"
"Mrs Gammaleil-" The doctor interjected.
"Miss! And shut up!"
"I'm just saying, shouting at your son won't help. Balthasar...may be in shock, and maybe he isn't thinking straight, but maybe he is. For now, we should give him time to think things over, and I'll make sure he has all the facts, okay?"
And he did. And someone else came to talk to me to make sure I was thinking straight, and I had to talk to more people, and eventually it was settled. I'd take blood and antibiotics and painkillers but I wouldn't take chemotherapy. I became DNR. Or got a DNR. Whatever it is.

And I returned to school. I was still dreadfully ill, but I didn't tell any of my classmates, until I got a girlfriend. I mean, I couldn't keep it from her forever. She was lovely. Warm hugs and gentle nature and she loved my romantic side. I liked using what money I had to give her gifts. I also made her things. Flower crowns and bracelets and necklaces, and I liked plaiting her hair and I liked the kisses and the nights she would join me under the stars. I loved watching the stars with her, and we danced in the rain and sang songs and went for meals and spoke of wonderful things and made love and even went out to get a dog! Getting a dog was on my bucket list, you see. It was Raph who told me to make a bucket list. Apparently he'd made one, so I did too. And Mysteria helped me realise it. I got her name tattooed on my back.

You might understand, you might not, but I love her so much. I love every moment I spend with her and I am sure it's not just infatuation. The time of butterflies in my stomach and fireworks in my head has long since passed. I got her gold-plated roses. Sometimes, I think she felt overwhelmed with the gifts I gave her. It was fun, though. I didn't spoil her, but if I saw something she liked or I got some inspiration for jewellery, I'd jump at the chance.

I'd decided to take her out for a date. It was late, and a lovely evening, and I'd been wavering between a picnic and a restaurant. I took her out to restaurants before, though, and I thought maybe a picnic would be nice. We could watch the sun set, if my nose would stop bleeding. For about half an hour, I'd been trying to stem a nosebleed. I threw yet another tissue into the bin and stared at my reflection. It seemed to be finished, so I made sure it wasn't too visible, and wandered off to the kitchens to retrieve the picnic food I'd requested from the elves. They'd seemed very happy to make it for me, so I didn't feel guilty, and it had to be said, those elves sure could cook.

She knew I was ill by now. She knew I was dying. I knew she was sad about it, but at this point in time, it really didn't matter. So I went downstairs, as fast as I could as I couldn't risk being late. She would worry. I didn't want her to worry. I was in such a hurry, I got to the front entrance before her. After a minute or so, she walked up behind me.
"Bally, hey! You weren't waiting long, were you?"
"No," I assured her, "not at all. I was worried I might be late, actually."
"I don't think you've ever been late." Mysteria told me, taking my hand and leading me along.
"I'm always a little too early?" I asked with a slight chuckle.
"You're fine."
"I'm a smooth operator." She was more than used to my antics by now, and rolled her eyes with a sarcastic 'sure'. We wandered for a bit before I stopped and tried to lay out a blanket over the floor. I'd wanted to do it like on TV, where they do it in one flick and it covers everywhere it needs to cover, but it didn't work like that. Instead it flapped up and caught over my head, making me stumble until Mysti helped me, laughing a little. "Hold still!" She told me as she got the blanket to stop hugging me.
"Okay, that didn't quite go as planned." I mused, smirking before moving away, stretching the blanket between us and placing it down.
"Maybe it just likes you."
"Please, I'm sure anything would prefer me to the mud."
"Well, I'll admit you're better...marginally." She teased as I started unloading the basket.
"A very, very wide marginally."
"Not that wide."
"Must be very good dirt, then."
We sat, side by side. Cuddled up. Though it was a warm day, I was annoyingly cold. Cuddling up helped, but I do think she noticed, because she slung her cloak around me. She said something in response, but I didn't pay attention. I rested my head on her shoulder and kissed her cheek, and fell asleep before the sun set. Stupid. She kept me at her side, though, though I'm sure I drooled on her as I slept. Someone, I doubt it was her, carried me to my bed when it was dark. I woke up there, somewhat frightened to be shrouded in shadows, and I thought.

I thought, now I was alone (as when I was with Mysti or Benny or Alithia, I was happy and my thoughts were always cheerful) about what would come next. How this darkness would become everything. I would be nothing more than a soul, flitting from shadow to shadow, nothing to sustain me. I wouldn't even become a ghost. I'd be nothing. The strange movements out of the corner of someone's eye. I thought about being buried. I'd watched something once, where people were still aware after they'd died. I had no idea what would happen next, but every thought was an unpleasant one. I needed...I needed people to know what I wanted. Slowly, I sat up, flicking on my bedside lamp and reaching for my schoolbag, looking for paper and something to write with. I started writing, quick and somewhat messy. My handwriting had never been the neatest, no swirly, pretty letters or calligraphy. It was just about legible. My mother could read it. The teachers had gotten used to it. It didn't help when something fell on the paper, made the ink run. I was crying. I was doing that far too often lately. I let things get to me and thought about death too much and I cried whenever I was alone. There were two things I hated more than anything else. The dark and loneliness. Everyone around me was asleep, and I couldn't get into the girls' dorms, let alone those in the Gryffindor common room. Once I was finished writing, I folded the paper up, placed it into one of my brother's drawers and got into his bed. He didn't wake up, and I kept crying until everything had clogged up and I couldn't breathe and I knew I had to stop. Calm down. Peace. I hated peace.


((Okay, I think I accidentally made him slightly younger than I was supposed to, primarily because I got confused over O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts in the Harry Potter universe and when they occur. Mysteria Craven and Cherrie Swanson-Hyde belong to my friend. The others who appear (not including Pomfrey and Hettie, who are just name mentions) are all mine. I haven't actually got permission to use Hettie in my stories yet, but I've used characters by the same person without any complaint from them...In writing this, I had nothing specific in mind when I started. I just wanted to write and see where my fingers took me. I specifically cut out Balthasar actually meeting Mysteria because that was roleplayed once and I can't remember for the life of me what actually happened. Also I have never tried to write Mysti before and I apologise if I didn't do very well. Anyway, the point is this will probably come out as awkward and weird and eh. Technically, however, it is writing practice, hence the lack of planning.))

Losing Battles

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.))