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| Hogsmeade Goes Boom! | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 25 2011, 12:01 AM (487 Views) | |
| Jace Archer | Feb 25 2011, 12:01 AM Post #1 |
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Lifting the frosty mug of amber liquid up to his lips, Jace took a long refreshing sip of the butterbeer. He enjoyed the sweet drink as his uncle continued to talk. His own mind was already on other things. He’d come to meet Paul to discuss the floo conversation they’d had a week ago. The conversation about Nicolette. Since that talk, Jace had met with Nicolette twice. Neither conversation had ended the way he wanted. Not the way he’d thought – he’d hoped they would. He knew that she wouldn’t jump at his suggestion immediately, but at the time he spoke with Paul, he was sure that she’d eventually understand the possibilities this could hold for her. For them. Now he knew that he’d been a fool to think that she would have wanted a way out. Instead, he’d never even brought it up to her. In those two brief encounters he’d come to the realization that despite whatever feelings he had for her, nothing would ever happen between them. Nothing could. And he was shocked to find how strong the ache within him grew at that realization. He couldn’t help but mourn for the possibility of what could have been. The memory of their stolen kisses was on a constant loop through his mind. It wasn’t just the actual kiss that haunted him. It was that moment of unadulterated emotion that she’d allowed to escape her. Unhindered by her pride, her beliefs or her fears. It was pure and simple, if only for that brief moment. It was that moment that kept drawing his mind back to her. “... to keep your distance, lad. It’s too dangerous.” Paul Archer’s deep voice was kept low enough for only Jace to hear. Jace shook his head slightly as if to clear the thoughts from his mind and lifted a quizzical brow at his uncle. “Sorry, what?” There was a long pause as Paul’s hazel eyes locked onto Jace’s in disbelief. “I’ve been talking for the last five minutes and you haven’t heard a bloody word I’ve been saying, have you?” “I was just thinking...” Jace started. “Well, there is always a first time.” Paul replied with a mildly exasperated grin. “I was thinking about her.” Jace continued, speaking over his uncle. A half grin lifting the corner of his mouth up. “It would be easier if I could just get her out of my head.” “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Jace.” His uncle leaned across the table before continuing. “The ones you can’t get out of your mind, are there for a reason.” Staying quiet for a long moment, Jace absorbed the words of wisdom before he spoke again. Lifting his eyes up to meet Paul’s, he nodded slowly. “That was...” he paused, trying to find the right words. “complete and utter bollocks.” A wide grin spread over his features. “Did you read that out of a bloody fortune cookie?” “That’ll be the last time I offer you any free advice.” Paul grumbled as attempted to look hurt by Jace’s comments, but the amused gleam in his eyes was clear. “Promises, promises.” Jace chuckled. His relationship with his uncle had always been this way. They could talk about anything but most times, it all came back to good natured ribbing between them. And right now, it was exactly what Jace needed. “I have other words of wisdom if you don’t like that one... But I’m not sure how ‘He who throws dirt is losing ground’ would be all that helpful in your situ...” A loud booming sound rumbled through the Three Broomsticks suddenly interrupting Paul’s comments. Everything in the place seemed to shake. The glasses and bottles on the bar rattled loudly, several falling to the floor and shattering. The battered chairs that were unoccupied skittered aimlessly over the worn wooden floor. The old light fixtures that hung over the tables swung erratically and for a few moments, Jace thought it might have been an earthquake as he reached out to steady the glasses on their table to stop them from vibrating onto the floor. He glanced up at Paul who already had his wand out while he looked out the dirty window. His face was filled with worry and his eyes narrowed menacingly. Jace let his gaze follow that of his uncle’s. Several figures in dark robes could be seen walking down the street. A thick cloud of black smoke seemed to act as their backdrop as flames erupted from the now shattered windows of Scrivenshaft’s. A flash of green light erupted from the wand of one of the figures toward a pair of students caught out on the street. It hit a blonde girl on the street. Her body crumpled instantly. Her friend dropped to her knees with a cry trying to wake the blonde. Jace felt bile rise in his throat as he remembered the last time he’d seen that particular spell in action. Natalie Spencer. Her pale face and unseeing eyes looking up at him as her lifeless figure lay on a cold stone floor, flickered through his mind briefly. “It’s Reed’s men. Gather everyone in here and get them into the back room. Lock the door and do not open it until you hear my voice.” Paul’s tone was cold and commanding. He left no room for argument. “I’ll get everyone back there but then I’m helping out. I’m in this fight too, Paul.” Jace’s tone held the same steely resolve as his uncle’s. “Jace, there is no time to argue. Do as you are told” Paul snapped. Something he’d never done with Jace before. And without giving his nephew a chance to argue, he pulled out a small round device from his pocket and spoke into it quickly before stowing it back into his robe. “The Order will be here soon but I have to keep Reed’s men occupied. If you really want to help, then do as I ask.” Without waiting for another word, Paul slipped out a side entrance into an alley beside the Three Broomsticks. Jace hesitated only a few seconds before he began the task of gathering everyone and convincing them into the back room. Loud crashing noises, and the sounds of shattering glass were getting closer. As were the sounds of laughter and voices. After everyone was safely in the back room, Jace spoke with Archie, the old barkeeper. “Keep everyone in here. Keep the door locked and your wands out. Be ready. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He closed the door and waited to hear the lock click into place. Then keeping down in a low crouch, Jace slipped quietly through the bar and to the same side exit that Paul had used. Moving swiftly into the alley, Jace took a look for his uncle. He was nowhere to be found. After a brief moment of silent debate, Jace decided to look for Paul. He wanted to help. He had already explained to Paul that he wanted to join the Order so he needed to do what he could to help. He owed that much to Nat and Jasper. Moving with a stealth that would have made any auror proud, Jace slipped down the alley and into the street behind the store fronts. He continued toward the road that would lead to Hogwarts. If nothing else, he could get word back to the castle to alert Reynolds to what was happening in the village. He could also delay any of Reed’s men who were hoping to head toward the school to cause more damage. As he neared the road to Hogwarts, the distinctive sounds of battle caught his attention. At least he knew his instincts were good, he’d chosen the right path. With his wand out, Jace peered around the corner of the old post office. He could spot Paul and several other familiar figures on the far side of the street in an all out battle with a large number of Reed’s followers. Flashes of light and shouted spells bounced off the old stone buildings. Jace let his eyes roam over the area as he tried to plot a way into the fray and to get to the other Order members. It was then that he saw her. Nicolette. Her wand drawn and she crouched between an old home and the low stone wall that surrounded the tiny garden. It was the perfect cover. Just slightly off to the side of the battle but close enough to deal out deadly curses as needed. The house behind her offered her protection from the back and to garden wall was ideal to shield her from the front. Her appearance caught him off guard. He knew that she was a skilled witch and he knew that she was in league with Reed but seeing her in the midst of this wreckage and destruction affected him in a way he hadn’t expected. Why couldn’t he just accept that she’d never be the girl he thought he’d seen in her eyes? Before he could formulate an answer, another figure stepped out from around the corner. Jarvis, one of Reed Junior’s lackeys. The two boys stood face to face, just looking at each other for several long seconds. The silence between them would have been comical under other circumstances. They were each surprised by the other’s sudden appearance. Finally Jace broke the awkward moment with a well place fist to the jaw. Jarvis’ head rocked back and the boy dropped to the ground gracelessly. His head bounced off the cobbled street and he didn’t get back up. Jace knelt once again and felt for a pulse on the other boy’s wrist. It was there and it was strong. Jarvis would just have one hell of a headache when he woke up. With a bit of effort, Jace dragged Jarvis back around the corner and cast a binding curse on him. A slender white rope erupted from the tip of Jace’s wand and wound neatly around the Slytherin. Once the boy was secured, Jace peered back around the corner. He looked just in time to see a stray jet of green light fly rapidly across the battle field and hit the old house that Nicolette was positioned in front of. The stone wall was all but demolished by the powerful curse. It happened too quick for Jace to respond. His heart stopped beating as he watched it happen. He didn’t think Nicolette even saw it coming as the part of the wall collapsed down on top of her. Without thought for the consequences, Jace sprinted across the street and made his way behind the garden wall. Panic and fear gripped him as he spotted her laying there. She was half buried beneath the rubble. Her eyes were closed and there was blood streaming from a cut on the top off her head. Her hair was quickly matted with the sickly fluid. He knelt down beside her and checked to see if she was breathing. As he realized she was still alive, he began tossing aside rocks and stones. Her injuries were numerous but luckily, most were minor cuts and scratches. The cut on her head was bleeding a lot but he knew that even superficial scalp wounds could bleed profusely, it was the wound to her abdomen that frightened him. As he used his wand to remove the last heavy stone that lay on top of her, it let him see a large shard of glass from one of the windows in the wall was embedded into her stomach. It was deep and there was a lot of blood. A whistling sound filled the air, Jace glanced up to see another curse hit the already crumbling wall. He used his body to cover hers and cast a shielding spell to protect them from the falling debris. Large rocks and a fine mist of dirt and pebbles rained down on them, the magical barrier he’d managed to put up protected them from the worst of it. He knew he had to move her. If he didn’t they’d both be crushed by this old building. Yet if he moved her it could aggravate her injuries and it could kill her. The glass in her stomach could shift if he tried to carry her out of here but removing it could cause her to bleed out. He had to remove the glass, and he had to stop the bleeding. His heart was hammering in his chest as he stared down at her pallid face. He lifted a hand to brush back a strand of damp chestnut hair. His hands shook violently. Finally, he took off his jacket and with a deep breath to steady himself, he took action. With his jacket in one hand, he used his other hand to grip the shard of glass. In a quick steady motion, he tugged the glass free and quickly used his jacket to staunch the bleeding. Then without waiting, he slipped one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees and picked her up. She was light and slender. He effortlessly carried her down a few buildings to find an empty shop. He kicked in the locked door and brought her inside. It was then that he that this was likely this single most shop that he could have taken her, given her life threatening injuries. Madam Puddifoot’s. There would be no medical or magical supplies in here that would help but it would have to do for now. He couldn’t just carry her around to find the best location. The battle outside was getting louder, closer. Pushing aside a few tiny tables, Jace laid her gently on the floor. With one hand, he yanked a few ridiculously lacy tablecloths of the tables and balled them up to use as a pillow for her. His other hand was being used to maintain pressure on his jacket that he was using as a makeshift bandage for the deep cut in her stomach. With pressure on the wound, he was hoping to slow the blood loss. He didn’t know any healing spell that would be strong enough for an injury this severe. Nicolette’s eyes opened slowly and she looked at him with pain and confusion darkening her blue green gaze. He cast a reassuring smile down at her. His hand moving up to smooth back her hair, carefully avoiding the cut that she sustained there as well. “So you finally met your match. A stone wall. Of course, that was all it took to bring you down, Miss Delacroix.” His tone mildly sarcastic as he attempted to keep things light but he was taken aback by the tremor that lingered in his voice. He’d been afraid he was going to lose her. “You’re safe now.” He reassured her. “We’ll have you fixed up as soon as things settle down out there. Your friends are causing quite the ruckus.” Taking her hands with his free one, he placed them over the jacket on her belly and used them to press down gently. “Keep pressure on this, love. I need to get some supplies.” Once he was sure that she was holding the jacket with enough pressure, he darted into the small kitchen at the back of the cafe. It wasn’t a full kitchen but he hoped that he could find a few basics to help Nicolette in there. He rummaged around in several cupboards and drawers for few moments before he found a stash of clean dish towels and a large serving bowl. It was a delicate porcelain thing with tiny pink flowers all over it, but it was the largest bowl he could find. So he filled it with warm clean water and rushed back to Nicolette. The thin cotton jacket he’d worn was already soaked through with blood, so he lifted her hands and replaced it with a thick wad of dish towels. He placed her hands back on top of it and smiled down at her. “Alright, love, you keep pressure on that while check you over. We need to see what else we’re dealing with, alright?” He dampened another clean cloth and began to mop up the blood from her scalp. The white cloth quickly turned a deep rust colour as he dabbed gently at the wound. He dipped the cloth back into the bowl of water to rinse it and continued to tend to the wound until he was sure that it was clean. Then he lifted his wand and used a basic healing spell to allow the skin to mend. Jace began gentle but thorough inspection of her injuries. Cleaning the wounds tenderly before uttering minor healing spells to knit together her skin. He was purposely leaving the worst injury til the end. He already knew that his tenuous grasp of the most basic healing spells would not be enough. He would need a spell that could begin to mend the flesh from the inside out. He knew that his spell would heal the superficial injuries, leaving the internal injuries open and bleeding. She would die for sure if he left it like that. Lifting her hands from the bandage, Jace slowly and carefully removed the dish clothes that were now crimson. The wound was deep and gaping. Thick scarlet blood oozed from the cut, but the blood was moving slower now. Not gushing the way it had at first. He quickly replaced a fresh stack of dish clothes on her abdomen and put pressure on it again. If nothing else, he could keep pressure on it. Apparating her with this type of injury was out of the question. The movement and pressure of apparition could be fatal. And taking her through the floo network her to St Mungo’s wasn’t an option either. The movement and the flying ash would be all she needed right now. No they’d just wait until someone could help. If all else fails, he knew that Paul had a great grasp on healing magics. He’d trained to be a healer for years before going to work for the Ministry. “We just need to keep pressure on this, and we’ll get you help as soon as we can.” His tone was filled with false reassurances. Yet even as he spoke he lifted his eyes to the door, as if willing someone to come in and help her. To help them. He knew that he wasn’t doing enough. He knew that he’d lose her if they didn’t get her help. He just didn’t know what he would do if that happened. He didn’t know how he’d survive it. He didn’t know if he could survive it. And that thought terrified him more than all the spells flying around outside combined. Edited by Jace Archer, Feb 25 2011, 12:02 AM.
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| Nicolette Delacroix | Feb 25 2011, 02:38 AM Post #2 |
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Some days you don’t feel as though you have truly woken up. The morning passes quickly, speeds around you in a way that makes you feel as though you are walking in slow motion. The senses are muted, touch, something seen and not felt, hearing, dulled or blocking out the world altogether, smell, practically nonexistent. You think you are invisible because you feel it, a sense of wrongness, as though you don’t belong anyway, as though you are simply a ghost among the living. And you wonder at your melancholy, wonder why you feel so atypical when once you conformed perfectly. And it gives you a sense of superiority because hell, you can’t be touched. So when the fray starts around you, you forget to move for a moment, standing straight and tall, an open target, facing menacing faces and wands. You feel more invincible because the black hood shrouds your face in darkness, concealing you so thoroughly, you begin to believe you are the shadow. Your lips, the one feature barely discernible, quirk into a grim smile because you are the only one who knows this isn’t real. But it is. So someone grabs you, pulls you angrily out of harm’s way, slams you against a wall and curses you for having suicidal tendencies. It still doesn’t jolt you out of your suspended state. Another person pushes you back in because you are supposed to be fighting, damnit! You go where they shove you without a word, add your own colors into the whirlwind, red and blue and green. The people who lay still remain unseen under your hooded eyes, though you count them as they fall. One… two… three…. You slip among them with an alien grace, detached and yet so very present. Jets of light illuminate your face as they whiz by, close enough to flutter the edges of your hood, but you don’t startle because you are untouchable. And when you find that hidden niche, between a decrepit home and a stone wall, you recognize the perfect opportunity to mirror your physical distance with your mental one. You crouch and you watch and your hand and lips continue their dreadful work without thought. Time unwinds, unwilling it seems, to take you with it. You pause and draw back your hood, breathe deeply in an effort to jerk yourself from this melancholy. There’s an audible crack next to your head when the earth comes to a complete halt. You look up as the hazy film slips from your crystalline eyes, you wince as the first rock glances off your shoulder, and suddenly you realize that this was what you had been waiting for all along. This was your destiny, your own personal irony, to be crushed by the stone wall that you so strived to mimic. And when you realize that the pain has ripped you from your lethargy, when you realize that you are alive and breathing and very vulnerable after all, that you are Nicolette Delacroix, fighting in a war as uncertain as your life at this moment, it is far too late. The smile you wear is humorless as you fade to black. A heartbeat. Somebody was brushing a tendril of hair from her sticky face. Her eyes cracked, barely, sun filtering through dark lashes. Her lips parted slightly. Ripping pain and she fell under once more. Thud, thud, thud. She felt weightless once more. A bird, flying free, flying home. Her arm bounced with each jolted movement. Safe, she felt safe. There was an awful lot of noise. Scraping sounds that made her want to cringe, heavy thumping that shook the earth, and her heart, pounding as though a stampede of elephants had charged into the room. She never remembered her own heartbeat being quite so loud. Her eyes slid open, vision bleary as she prepared to tell whoever decided to act as her own personal alarm clock exactly just what she thought of him. Jace?. “So you finally met your match,” she watched his lips as he spoke to her, confused as to why he was in her bedroom. Gods, she wasn’t naked was she? The fear and sorrow evident in his smile had her thinking not. “A stone wall. Of course, that was all it took to bring you down, Miss Delacroix.” That’s when it hit, the crippling pain that had been tearing at the edges of her consciousness. She gasped under its onslaught, black spots erupting in her vision, tears springing to her blue-green eyes even though she closed them. Images flashed before her mind, mixing spells and a cascade of rocks. “You’re safe now,” he assured her, somewhere far above. A slow tear trickled from her shut eye, blending with the grime and blood that covered the side of her face. No, even she knew everything wasn’t alright. Something was terribly wrong with her, she could feel it in every sinew, in the sticky substance that coated her lower body, the pervasive sense that she was no longer whole. She drew in a ragged breath. “We’ll have you fixed up as soon as things settle down out there. Your friends are causing quite the ruckus.” She couldn’t hear the ruckus. Everything was deadly silent, all but his voice. Her skin was on fire, but she felt so very cold, ice that chilled straight to the bone. The type that made it hard to remember what being warm and cozy felt like. The pressure on her hands had her gazing into his face again, staring blindly, uncomprehending. “Keep pressure on this, love. I need to get some supplies.” She didn’t know what this was, but it was awfully warm against her hands. Attempting to sneak a look, Nicolette lifted her head slightly, only glimpsing a crimson stain around her middle before she was forced to lay her head back with a small sob. Oh Merlin. Her teeth bit harshly into her lower lip, attempting to fight back the violent reaction of her body to her movements. He came back to her then, guiding her hands to clutch a different fabric. “Alright, love, you keep pressure on that while I check you over. We need to see what else we’re dealing with, alright?” Nicolette tried to press, but she honestly couldn’t tell what she was doing. Her head tried to swivel to follow him, but wounds protested. She gave up, submitting to his ministrations, trying to take stock of her injuries herself. It was impossible, everything seemed to ache, though not as fiercely as it had before. The implications of that discovery hit with earth-shattering clarity. Was she dying? The thought was both repulsive and enticing, and she passed through the stages of both fairly quickly, finally ending on acceptance. If this was her ticket away from the mess she had created, perhaps she should just receive the gift with gratitude. It wasn’t as though there was anything imperative that she must survive for. Her parents would mourn the loss of their ambitions, the Reed’s, the loss of their enchantress, Alex and Julian, the loss of a remote friend, and Jace… he probably wouldn’t mourn her at all. He would probably celebrate the loss of her selfish hold over him. A bitter tear slid down her shamed cheek, the only mark of her inner suffering. “We just need to keep pressure on this, and we’ll get you help as soon as we can,” Jace’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She wanted to shake her head and tell him to go; he didn’t need to tend her so gently. What was the point anyways? Help wasn’t coming any time soon, she could hear it as clearly as she could feel the hole in her stomach, which was nothing compared to the one in her heart. A life wasted. Nobody would even miss her. But she couldn’t voice her doubts, not to him, when he earnestly seemed to be trying. When deep down she knew that he cared, that he might actually grieve for her. It was just much easier to die when she didn’t feel as though she owed someone the struggle to live. And most of all, he didn’t need to listen to her sullenness or her own self-pity. Perhaps if she could convey that it was alright, that she knew her injuries were severe, she’d be able to quell her resistance and slip away in peace. “I think I might miss you, Jace Archer,” she rasped through a throat as dry as sandpaper. She swallowed harshly against the lump that formed in her throat, attempted to keep the liquid behind her eyes at bay. “I was really looking forward to shagging you,” she tried to tease through a knowing smile, a small laugh attempting to escape from her mouth. It ended in a sharp intake of breath, her lips contorting into a grimace of pain rather than a grin. Some days you don’t feel as though you have truly woken up. Looking into Jace’s hazel eyes, his calm, beautiful, compassionate hazel eyes, Nicolette realized she had. |
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| Jace Archer | Feb 28 2011, 03:34 AM Post #3 |
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The soft cotton of the dish towels was soon warm and sticky beneath his fingers. Jace glanced down to see the small patch of scarlet beginning to slowly spread. The deep crimson colour stood out vividly against the clean white of the cloths. They were going to be out of clean cloths soon but hopefully, someone would happen by soon. He brought his gaze back up to the windows of the shop. Looking out onto the empty street, he hoped to see a familiar face run by, anyone who might be able to cast a more effective healing spell on Nicolette. His lips pressed together forming a thin line as his brow crinkled slightly. He knew that this situation could spin out of control quickly and in a hundred different ways. If one of Reed’s followers found him here, he would be dead. Or if one of those stray spells hit Madam Puddifoot’s, the building could collapse down on both of them. Yet despite the dangers, the only thing he could truly think about was Nicolette. She could very well die here and he’d give just about anything to save her. As much as he tried to downplay his emotions for her, right now, faced with the possibility of her death, he couldn’t deny what he felt for her. There would be no way he could vocalize it but in his heart he knew that he could easily fall in love with her. That thought was absolutely terrifying and freeing at the same time. He pulled his gaze from the windows and let it drop back to her face. Her normally fair skin had taken on an ashen hue, likely due to the blood she was losing through the injury to her stomach. Her silky dark hair was tangled and matted with drying blood. And her sea green eyes revealed the amount of pain she was in. He felt completely helpless and afraid. No matter what had happened between them before this moment, no matter what she had done. She deserved better than this. It was tearing him up to see her like this. “I think I might miss you, Jace Archer,” Her words pulled his gaze up to her eyes again. “Oh no… Don’t think for one minute that you’ll be able to get rid of me that easily, love.” He replied with a confidence in his teasing tone. He wasn’t about to let her get away with saying her goodbyes. He knew how dire the situation was but he wasn’t ready to give up hope. He wasn’t ready to give her up. “I plan on annoying you for a great long while yet.” He absently reached up with his free hand to stroke her hair. Smoothing it back gently as his eyes lingered on hers. Every emotion that he’d been trying to stifle since their last meeting was now apparent in his gaze. And there was nothing he could do to suppress them. “I was really looking forward to shagging you,” Her breathy laugh caused his lips to curl upwards slightly before the chuckle was cut short by a sharp draw of breath and pain flashed in her eyes. His own eyes narrowed into a wince as he watched the agony on her delicate features. “Darlin, if that wasn’t incentive enough to make sure you get through this, I don’t know what is.” With a great deal of effort, he hid his concern from his face. Letting her see the cocky grin that he’d flashed at her back in Hagrid’s hut. “Although, I think we’ll have to let you heal for a bit first.” He slid a slightly smarmy wink at her, “You’ll need to be in top shape for a night of passion with me.” |
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| Nicolette Delacroix | Mar 1 2011, 12:34 AM Post #4 |
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It felt strange; there was no other way to describe it. The world around her was fuzzy, diminished in a way. The table under her should have been hard and uncomfortable; the cotton between her fingers should have felt soft. She should have heard explosions and shouts separated from her by a thin wall. The blood caught in her throat should have tasted coppery. She should have seen the anguish Jace kept hidden from her. And most of all, she should have felt bitter, angry, resentful, and a whole slew of negative emotions. But she didn’t. Instead, she felt his warm soothing touch on her brow. She heard the dulcet tone of his voice. The sweet taste of unchecked words lay on her tongue. Her eyes were locked on amber flecks swimming in a sea of green and blue. And she felt sorrow mix with content, affection cancel the resentment, a happy freedom, and most of all, she felt an echo of who she would have been, could have been, had her hand been dealt differently. It burned and it ached, but it was reassuring. A final testament to who she may have been all along. And if this was it, if she were to die on this table, than there was no one else she’d rather have by her side than the boy who had somehow managed to look passed her faults, to believe even when every instinct screamed he shouldn’t, to press on no matter how harsh her words… to find the girl hidden beneath. “Darlin, if that wasn’t incentive enough to make sure you get through this, I don’t know what is,” he replied, a smug grin lifting the corners of his lips. It caused a warm glow to spread throughout her body, the familiarity of it. A dirty hut and two confident teens, a battle of wits over a bottle and a carton. It was comforting to know that though she felt as if her whole world had changed, some things had still remained the same. To encourage it, she attempted to glare, which was usually easier to do when laughter wasn’t evident in her eyes. “Although, I think we’ll have to let you heal for a bit first,” he added, throwing a cocky wink in her direction. “You’ll need to be in top shape for a night of passion with me.” Slowly and with great effort, Nicolette shot him her infamous raised eyebrow of disbelief. A smirk touched her own lips through the haze of pain as she worked out a response. “Is that so?” she breathed in a way that revealed she would have chuckled had it not stung. “I suppose that’s only fair,” she conceded seriously, though her voice rasped, “since you’ll need considerable time healing after a night of passion with me.” Unable to hold back a light mirth from entering her stare, she let it, and really, why should she have to now, when it didn’t matter anymore anyways. Her own arrogant smile dimmed on her face as the truth hit her hard for possibly the first time. She was dying. The sort of dying that you never woke up from. The endless one. The unknown one. And suddenly she was terrified. Every second of her life she had been in control, she had known what she was supposed to do, what she needed to do, what she had to do, and she had done it with precision and finesse. Every day was planned, there were rarely surprises, and there was certainly nothing she couldn’t handle. She couldn’t handle death. She didn’t know what it wanted from her, she didn’t have prior experience in it to help her through, she had no skills, no training, she was unprepared for death. She wasn’t ready. It was disconcerting and horrifying and alarming and every other emotion you didn’t want to feel as you stared that all-consuming darkness in the face. There was too much she hadn’t done, entirely too much she hadn’t said. For all her talk of control, she had never once taken her life into her own hands, had never done something exclusively selfish for her benefit. So she did now. She did the one thing she swore she would never do, the one thing that was supposed to make you weak and vulnerable, the one thing she was not allowed to do, and certainly not to somebody whose blood was tainted. Nicolette apologized. She struggled to rise, labored breathing and grimaces of pain, her fingers biting into the powerful cords of his arm, using him as leverage against her protesting muscles. Her other hand grasped weakly in the front of his shirt, trying desperately to stop him from swimming in her vision. Gritted teeth against the pain that blossomed in her stomach because she needed to look him in the eyes, he needed to see… and then she was drowning in a gaze so tender it was unreal. “I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper brokenly, her voice straining with even those two words. Her small climb had exhausted her; she fought to keep her lids from drooping against the heavy weight that crushed her, to keep the black that edged at her peripherals at bay. She fixed him with an unwavering stare, unflinching, open, showing him sincerity and regret and something he had probably seen a long time ago. Hell, she didn’t want her death to be completely meaningless. Two words, two small words that spoke volumes. She was sorry for ending the life of an innocent girl to save her own skin, she was sorry that she believed in the power of pure blood and was willing to fight for it. She was sorry for every biting word she had ever cut him with, every malicious glare she had bestowed on him. She was sorry she couldn’t be a better person, kind and gentle and forgiving, sorry that she had caught him up in this bloody whirlwind of a mess. And mostly, she was sorry for trying to take something that she didn’t deserve to have… his love. |
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| Jace Archer | Mar 5 2011, 12:49 AM Post #5 |
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Despite the pain she was in, Nicolette’s eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement. It was all Jace needed to allow a wide honest grin to light his face. “Is that so?” She questioned with an raised brow as he nodded confidently at her. “I suppose that’s only fair since you’ll need considerable time healing after a night of passion with me.” “You know, I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” His words were spoken with a chuckle as he stared down at her. His gaze lingered on her face. His eyes tracing the contours of her jaw, the gentle curve of her lips, and the delicate almond shape of her mesmerizing sea green eyes. He cast a teasing wink at her. “We’ll have a healer on standby for our night of passion, love.” He couldn’t help but wish there was a healer on standby right now. He could feel the warm stickiness of blood against his hand that was pressed firmly against her stomach, but right now, he was ignoring it. He had to. There was nothing more he could do and they both needed this. A few seconds of their quiet teasing banter to take the place of the heavily weighted situation they were now in. If only for a few moments. Right now, a few stolen moments felt too precious to pass up. He knew that they could end abruptly for a thousand different reasons. Reasons that he refused to acknowledge. A sudden flash of pain and anguish filled her eyes as she moved suddenly. Her hands grasped his arm and clenched into the fabric of his shirt as she used him to pull herself up. Jace’s hand held the cloths firmly to her stomach and he caught her shoulder with the other. Not sure whether to force to lay back or to help her sit up so he did neither. He just used his hand on her shoulder to steady her. His eyes filled with panic as he looked down at her. She was going to make her injury worse. “What are you doing? Just lie back…” He protested but she was determined. She paid him no mind and peered up at him. For the first time since they’d met, their gaze locked with an unhindered emotion. There were no thoughts of anything other than the feelings they were each experiencing right at this moment. His hazel eyes were filled with concern and fear yet beneath it all, that same emotion that kept pulling him back to her. That unfettered longing to be near her, the undeniable need to protect her and the pure desire for her. It all boiled down to that same feeling that only she could stir in him. Love. As much as he had resisted even admitting it to himself, in this moment he couldn’t deny it. He knew that he loved her. “I’m sorry,” Her soft voice cracked as she spoke. His eyes met hers and he could see a sorrow and sincerity in the blue green depths that couldn’t be anything but honest. And right then, he could see that side of her that had first won his heart. He slid his free arm around her and gently cradled her against his chest. Her head rest against his shoulder. He shook his head with a sad smile on his face, before speaking in a gentle tone. “I am too.” In the short time that they’d known each other, it had been a constant battle between them. Pushing and pulling, neither of them willing to relent in this tug of war that they were trapped in. It was a heartbreaking struggle that neither of them could hope to win. And he was sorry for his part in it. He knew the anguish that he’d felt and he was aware that she had felt it too. “No more apologies.” He said in a soothing tone as he let his lips brush gently over her temple. “It’s all in the past. We have right now. It isn’t much, just a handful of precious moments until someone arrives.” And he truly believed that someone would show up soon. They had to. He refused to entertain the ‘what if’s’ that were attempting to overwhelm him. What if no one came? What if they came too late? What if removing the glass from her wound had been the wrong move? Jace struggled to keep his worries at bay. He couldn’t lose her. Smothering the panic beginning to well up inside of her, Jace angled his head slightly so that his chin rest gently on the top of her head and he held her close. “But for now, it’s just us.” His voice was low and gentle, yet there was a hint of playfulness colouring his words. “You and I, all alone in here, love. I wonder what sorts of mischief we could get ourselves into?” |
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| Nicolette Delacroix | Mar 6 2011, 12:59 AM Post #6 |
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A soft sigh emitted from her cold lips as Jace wrapped her in a comforting embrace. Strange how dying allowed one to permit actions that had seemed so impossible before. If you had told Nicolette that it would be Jace cradling her in her last moments of life, she would have wondered what drugs you were on. Yet here she was, consumed by an absurd joy that spread across her chest, even as her life seeped out from her stomach. “I am too,” he responded, smiling down at her tenderly, brow creased in sorrow. Her own swimming vision narrowed in confusion, attempting to decipher what he had to be sorry for. It had been her fault, her rapidly changing moods that had caused them to gripe at each other. It was her life that destroyed his. She intended to tell him just that, but speech eluded her now, her breathing coming slower and slower as she simply gazed. What was this emotion that had her wanting to smooth the worry from his brow, to coax his sad grin into an arrogant smirk? What was this sting in her chest that tasted suspiciously like regret? Who knew that a life could feel so unlived? “No more apologies,” he continued, his voice resolute and reassuring, leaving no room for argument had she saved the breath to do so. “It’s all in the past. We have right now. It isn’t much, just a handful of precious moments until someone arrives,” his said in a brave tone, but she could hear the strain behind it. They both knew that nobody would come. The Slytherin Creed: Take care of you and you alone. She hadn’t, and she would pay the ultimate price. It was funny, for all their talk of honoring the family name, there was very little family here now. Anyways, the handful of precious moments had nothing to do with people interrupting. She could hear his heartbeat, she realized suddenly, beating strong and steady, if not a bit too quickly. It was a balm to her soul, that pulse, and she clung to it as though it was her last hope. At least their situations hadn’t been reversed, at least she hadn’t caused him more pain, more suffering, more death. His heart still thumped a soothing tune, one that hers couldn’t match. Her teeth chattered, teeth knocking against teeth in an appalling display of lost control. Body quaking as the shock set in, she could do nothing but burrow into his unyielding chest and steal as much strength as she dared. His grip tightened, for which she was immensely grateful for. A stolen moment of peace, one that she didn’t deserve, but was not about to pass up. “But for now,” he said, somewhere far away, “it’s just us. You and I, all alone in here, love.” All alone. They were always all alone. It was why she had such trouble manipulating her expressions around him. “I wonder what sorts of mischief we could get ourselves into?” he asked, and she could almost hear the playful suggestion in his voice. Mischief indeed. Hadn’t they already gotten themselves into their fair share of mischief? She made a small noise, something close to an undignified snort, her fingers weakening in their hold of his shirt. There were quite a few wicked things she wished she had done now. Ones that she was going to run by him now. But when the words came out of her mouth, they were far different than the ones she had intended. “Nobody ever…” she sucked in a deep breath as she struggled to speak, “calls me love…” Much to her dismay, tears sprang to her eyes, trailing silent tracks down her dirty cheeks. “It’s… nice.” The pain was receding now, or perhaps she was just floating away, for she felt strangely disconnected from her body. The darkness that had been creeping at the edge of her vision was too strong now, sweeping her reluctantly along on a wave. She no longer knew if her fingers were twisted in his shirt, suspected that they had failed long before. But she could still hear that persistent pounding, even if she could no longer separate his heartbeat from hers. Perhaps they had always been the same. So, with the last of her will, she gave a final request, seeking out the warmth she had continually denied herself in her short time on earth. “Kiss… me?” |
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| Jace Archer | Mar 6 2011, 03:27 AM Post #7 |
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Her grip was weakening slightly. Her fingers loosening her tight hold on his shirt minutely yet it was enough for him to notice. A fresh flutter of worry washed over him. Even as a small unsuspecting laugh escaped her lips, he could see her eyes glistening as she looked up at him. Jace refused to let his concern show on his face. He needed to be strong for her. He couldn’t be the one to cause her more worry or fear. He’d be confident for her, and for him. There was no way that he could even contemplate the thought of losing her. Losing her before they even had a chance. Before she ever had a chance. A chance to escape her predetermined destiny. Her death would erase all hope of a future for her. There was no way to know what would happen between them in the future, if anything but her death would cement a certain nothinginess. It was something he couldn't bear. No, it couldn’t happen. He simply refused to allow that to be the path that they would take. She would live, and who knows what their future would hold but it would not be this… this threat of heartache and sadness that loomed over them. “Nobody ever…” she drew in a sharp breath before she could continue, “calls me love…” Another pause as tears slid silently down her smudged cheeks leaving trails of pale skin below. “It’s… nice.” As he cradled her in his arms, he used his own body to hold the makeshift bandage in place so he could lift a hand up to her face. Without thinking, he used his thumb to brush the tears away. However his hands were still sticky with her blood and his tender, thoughtless movement left a harsh smudge of scarlet over her cheek. The sight of it made him nauseous yet he never once let his mask of confidence waver. “Well, then I’ll just have to continue to call you ‘love’, love.” His lighthearted smile never quite reached his eyes but as he watched her, a wave of peacefulness seemed to settle on her face. Tension melting away from her tightened jaw and tiny crinkles in her forehead seemed to smooth themselves out as he watched. Her hand dropped limply from his shirtfront. Even the pain that had been evident in her clear blue green eyes seemed to dissipate. It was enough to cause a thrum of fear to rush through him. One thought running on a constant loop through his mind. I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her. It was then that the mask he wore, slipped from his grasp. A flicker of panic washed through his hazel eyes. “Kiss… me?” Her words barely more than a breath. Barely audible yet the words hit him viciously. The impact of her request left him momentarily speechless and his heart thudding ruthlessly. Her words weren't a simple request. They were darker than that. This was a deathbed request, and he want to say no. He didn't want to give in to her thoughts of death but somewhere inside him, a small kernel of fear took hold. It was possible - no, it was probable - that she would die from this injury. And he knew he'd give her anything she asked of him. Despite the thoughts racing through his mind, it only took a beat for him to grant her request. Lowering his head until they were only millimeters apart, he could feel the faint tickle of her breath dancing over his lips as his eyes looked deeply into hers, losing himself in the pale sea green of her irises. He breathed in the soft scent of her. Beneath the dust and the smell of spell scorched stone that surrounded them, he could sense the faintest hint of her spicy perfume. “Stay with me, Nicolette, and I’ll never stop lov…” His pleading words halted abruptly and only for a moment. Love. The word had almost escaped him without thought. Yet no thought was needed. It was just there. He knew that he loved her. It was honest and real but when he continued to speak, he edited himself. “kissing you.” Moving finally, he closed the tiny gap between them, he gently brushed his lips against hers with a light touch. Feathery soft and cautious, afraid that he would hurt her. His hand moved up to cup the side of her face as he savoured the gentle sweetness of her lips. Her mouth opened the tiniest bit allowing his tongue to slide easily over the fullness of her lower lip. Yet despite that it was kiss of emotion and heart and was almost chaste in its tenderness. The kiss continued and deepened ever so slightly as if he hoped to ground her here with this one sweet kiss. |
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| Evangeline Wescott | Mar 7 2011, 02:02 AM Post #8 |
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Well, this wasn’t exactly the most adrenaline inducing, terrifyingly dangerous battle she had ever been in. Confusing, though, that it most certainly was. Rather mystifying how she could run anywhere and not be assaulted. The light side thought she was with them, the dark side thought she was with them, and Effy was left wondering just what the hell she was supposed to do. Nobody attacked her, thinking her an ally, and she supposed she couldn’t attack anyone because they thought she was an ally, and really, her role in this was completely pointless. Which was why Effy was sitting against a wall, watching bored as spells raced back and forth down the street. If somebody came by, she made a show of moving, as though she were urgently attempting to relocate to another part of the fight, or as if she had somewhere she really had to be. But it seemed everybody was entrenched at the moment, so she decided to have herself a nice rest and stare idly at the debris. Her thoughts wandered to more productive tasks she could be undertaking at this very moment instead of sitting uselessly in the midst of collapsing walls. There was that stack of reports that needed to be cleared, a nice soak in a bath, curling under a pile of blankets and sleeping for once, a meal that consisted of something other than a quick piece of toast, accidentally breaking Gregor’s wand, not that he actually knew how to use it anyway… the possibilities were endless. Thinking about ex-friends was not on that list. But then, Mason was huddled within clear viewing distance, surveying the scene with a keen eye, clearly making some sort of observation for Reed. She didn’t care why he was there, she reminded herself, pointedly looking off to where some student was crouched next to a wall. Nicolette, she recalled after wracking her memories for a moment. The Delacroix daughter, instantly recognizable for she so resembled her mother. The Delacroix women were known for their cold, untouchable beauty, the type that was like the frosty chill of ice over a pond. Lovely to look at, deadly to touch. Effy had never really liked them, was particularly glad at the age difference between Nicolette and her, else she would have been subjected to chatting about eligible men over a cup of tea with the girl. Actually, she wouldn’t put it passed her mother to suddenly decide it would be a wonderful idea for Effy to take the girl under her wing. The last thing she needed at the moment was some obnoxious seductress trailing after her. Her gaze swiveled to seek out the fairer head of Mason, checking to ensure he was still safe. When she realized that she was keeping tabs on his health, she turned her head again in disgust at herself. She wasn’t supposed to care! She didn’t care. Most certainly, undeniably, did not care… whether that explosion that had just upended the street had harmed him. It hadn’t. She couldn’t say the same for Nicolette. It was none of her business, she told herself, watching as seemingly out of nowhere a boy rushed to her aid. Odd, she didn’t remember him being one of the students who had pledged themselves to Reed. In fact, she couldn’t even identify his heritage. Another spell, ricocheting off the stone immediately above her head had her cringing lower, tearing her attention back to the sudden intensity of her surroundings. A quick glance saw the boy hauling Nicolette up, slipping away into a building further along the street. A lifeless arm swung with every step he took. It was no use. The girl needed help, and Effy’s damned conscience had chosen an inopportune moment to demand she do something about it. But she couldn’t leave Mason to fend for himself. Merlin only knew the boy wouldn’t last another minute without her looking out for him. She blinked and then muttered a string of curses under her breath, aimed at everything from herself to her heart to a no-good boy who had no business being where he was. And she meant that more generally than just squatting in the middle of a battleground. Fine. She would bloody collect him and then follow after the couple. And yes, she would swear the entire time. With almost unnatural agility, Effy crossed to his side, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder as a random spell flew over their heads. “Come with me,” she commanded tersely, staring out at the street so she didn’t have to meet his eye. Without bothering to ensure he followed, Effy took off, sliding against buildings, ducking behind walls, until she finally made it to the shop she had seen the boy disappear into. A brief glance about her to discover if anybody was watching, and then she ducked beneath the doorway… and froze. Her heart stopped. Her breathing stopped. Her mind whirled with forbidden memories, dredged up from some well deep inside her by a mere boy who was kissing a deathly pale girl. She heard Mason come in after her, clenched the outer side of his forearm in a tight grip without even noticing. Her fingers squeezed brutally, no doubt inflicting pain on the other man, but Effy was far too unhinged to be aware. She could feel the crackle in the air, nearly taste the love that emanated from the pair. The sorrowful taint to it made her realized it wasn’t allowed. And when her own loneliness crushed her in response, she was forced to close her eyes and wait for it to pass. But with the emotion came urgency, and as it swept over her, she realized time was far too short. Perhaps not even available at all. So with sudden resoluteness, she squared her shoulders and marched over, appraising the girls wound with one sweep of her emerald eyes. “Move,” she told the boy gruffly, though she allowed her gaze to soften as it met his hazel one over the brunette. “Let her go, boy,” she added, lower this time, taking the edge out of her voice. Another beat passed in which she held his eyes steadily, conveying her understanding and a promise that she had no business making. When he finally moved, she put a hand on Nicolette’s forehead, muttering a few spells of comforting that stole her pain, urging her to breathe more deeply. It barely had an effect, evidenced by the sallow pallor the girls face had taken. She was fading fast. “Lancaster!” Effy snapped, but he was already there, murmuring spell after spell over the gaping wound in her stomach. One glance revealed that even he wouldn’t be enough. The girl would die if they didn’t act fast. “We have to go,” she told him, her words quick and rushed as she felt the girl’s warmth slowly leaving her body, “Now!” |
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| Mason Lancaster | Mar 14 2011, 03:09 AM Post #9 |
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Completely disregarding any type of danger that he might be in, Mason was focused on the almost effortless wrist movements of his comrades. Fellow members of the dark side that were using spells that he had unlocked in an ancient scroll. A scroll that dated back to the time that the great wizard, Merlin had risen to power alongside his muggle friend, King Arthur Pendragon. There was a sad irony in the fact that Reed, who was hell bent on maintaining pureblood purity, wanted to use these spells from a powerful wizard who was best known for his unwavering loyalty to a muggle king. The tales of Merlin and Arthur had always intrigued Mason. Not because of the heroics or the tales of a tragic love triangle. No, those were trivial and superfluous. It was the legend of magics, both good and bad, that were so powerful that they (not the kings and warlords) ruled the world. They affected the muggle world in such a powerful way that, even centuries later, muggles still told the stories. Movies, books, plays, even muggle music was still feeling the effects of a wizard like Merlin. That was exactly the type of magic Mason wanted to know more about. He wanted nothing more than to understand the type of power it would require to wield a magic so powerful. He wanted to know it’s limitations and effects but even more than that, he wanted to know how much of the tales he’d heard were fiction and how much was based in fact. Muggles were notorious for their penchant for embellishing tiny details in order to have the most dramatic impact. So if they’d been continuously embellishing Merlin’s story, how much of that was real? He’d been shut down by the ministry but it didn’t take long for a member of Reed’s inner circle to find him and make him an offer that he could never pass up. He could research as much as he wanted as long as he shared his findings with Marcus Reed. It wasn’t a difficult choice. Mason needed to find the answers. And that was how he found himself crouching in the once quiet village of Hogsmeade. Jets of light streaking through the clear sky, buildings crumbling, bodies falling and screams of pain and anger rang out through the air now thick with tension and fear. None of that mattered to Mason. That was extraneous information. Not important to his research, so he ignored it. Instead he focused on the wrist and hand movements to find what was going wrong with the spells he’d uncovered. As he watch Cain attempt to perform the latest spell that Mason had uncovered, a whistling noise soared past him. Mason was completely oblivious to the flash of green light that whizzed by his ear and demolished a small garden wall behind him. Instead he lowered his head only long enough to scribble a few short notes on a tiny scrap of wrinkled parchment. His quill was short and stubby and he had to shake it several times just to get it to write anything. His nearly unreadable chicken scratches already filled both sides of the paper, so after a quick look around, he stowed the parchment carefully into his coat pocket and pushed his sleeve up and began to write on his wrist. He was completely absorbed in his note taking, that he didn’t notice Effy until she was at his side. His eyes flicked from his ink stained skin to her deep green gaze and he was once again pitched back into his memories and heartache of so long ago. “Come with me,” her words were stern and left little room to argue. Besides he knew it would do him no good. Her dark chestnut locks tumbled loosely around her shoulders and as she took off down the street, Mason knew he had no choice but to follow her. It was Effy. He could never really say no to her. As she slipped into Madam Puddifoot’s, Mason cast one last glance around the street. Everyone was focused on the battle at the other end of the street. Two people darting into Madam Puddifoot’s was of little consequence to them. He stepped inside and collided roughly with her elbow jabbing into his stomach. She had come to an abrupt stop and he hadn’t noticed. Before them, the tiny café was a shambles. Tables pushed aside haphazardly, the floor dotted with blood and shattered glassware. Bloody rags had been cast aside in a reckless carelessness and amidst the clutter and chaos of the room, a young couple were huddled together. The sandy haired boy was holding the girl with an almost reverent embrace. Mason could see the love in the gentle way his arm cradled her and the tenderness of his kiss. The girl was beautiful, but her deathly pallor let him know that she didn’t have much time left for this world. Before he could react, Effy moved with determination. She strode forward and ordered the boy aside. The young man cast a terrified look up at Mason as they switched places. Mason cast a grim nod at the boy as Effy began to cast healing spell after healing spell at her. She barked out his name but he was already at her side. His own wand was now out and he muttered a few spells of his own. Ancient spells that could have been useful if he’d managed to get them to heal more than that tiny paper cut he’d gotten the week before. Anything larger than that, they seemed to be ineffective. So if he ever came face to face with Paperman, he’d be quite alright but other than that, the spells were still useless. Despite the efforts he’d made to perfect them. So he quickly changed to the more proven spells that he’d used in action before. Her wounds were healing but minimally. She wouldn’t survive without a true healer. “We have to go,” Effy’s words were laced with the tiniest hint of panic, “Now!” Mason nodded. He knew the girl would stand no chance without proper attention. He cast a reassuring nod to the boy who still stood close by. “Get back to the school before anyone can find you in here. No one can know about this.” The boy nodded but didn’t move. Mason knew he likely wouldn’t until they apparated the girl to the hospital, so they did. Leaving the stricken boy standing alone in the blood soaked room. |
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