Disarm PV Freya Thomas Closed

Anxiety preys upon those whose shields are weak, damaged from the wars within their minds. Upon realizing the weakness of the defense, narrative bullets charge forward in fast flurries, hoping to bring the brain, and thus the person, to its demise. Once you're down, the words seem stronger and hurt deeper, for they know they only need a few more efforts to win. Nothing makes sense anymore, yet everything is logical, as your mind has been so damaged that the only way forward is to believe what it is telling you is the truth; yet, illogically, this is the way back as well. The duality of belief and fear in what your mind is telling you is a harrowing journey and hard to solve.

If school was the bane of her existence, Transfiguration was the devil incarnate, made worse by the fact that it was her last scheduled class of the day. Last night, Freya had pored over her notes, mind racing as she tried to make sense of the equations and methodologies that Professor Lian had explained in class, wondering if staying up well past her bedtime would do anything to cure the growing knot in her stomach as she tried to unravel just what all this meant. She had given up at half-past four, her weary mind having made the lessons even more of a conundrum than when she had started. The realization of this fact told Freya that rest for her mind was the best solution, but her body had other plans.

A restless night of tossing and turning, the darkness welcoming the monsters only children could make up: big globs with twelve eyes; tentacles that sense with microscopic hairs, surrounding a beating heart; small puppies that look calm until you reach to pet them and they pounce. All of them drew closer, echoing the failures she already felt, reminding her that if she did not know Transfiguration, she would be worthless. Freya wished she could go back home to Rye and resume school with her mother and father; however, they made it clear that this was not an option, for she was their special, magical daughter, who had the opportunity of a lifetime. So, instead, the nightmares and anxiety cohabited inside her head, jabbering until the sun rose.

Needless to say, the Ravenclaw was exhausted, for the fears were most violent the nights before Transfiguration, the class she dreaded most. She normally chose a seat in the back of the class, so as to cower in the shadows as much as possible, as if that made a difference when hiding from a blind professor, but an exceptionally elevated form of anxiety-induced procrastination led the girl to arrive late, with only one seat left, next to a boy with whom she was familiar.

Freya didn't bother to meet very many people - in her first year, she had imagined that she'd be able to convince her parents that she had given Hogwarts a good try and didn't need to return for her second year. Flash Holmwood, however, was one of the few people that she had met, and he was not someone she particularly admired. Cocky, presumptuous, and seeming to want mischief, the boy attempted to get her in trouble when she wanted to see if there were any books on her favorite subject, plumbing, within the restricted section. She hadn't thought much about the encounter, though she always made attempts to avoid him in class, for she didn't trust him after their interaction. He seemed to want to do anything to be the hero in rule-breaking situations.

As she sat down and class began, however, Freya noticed that he seemed a bit different from the last encounter. She remembered him as a rather calm individual, but right now, Flash seemed almost fidgety. She tried to ignore him, but his jerky movements made it impossible. Her initial read on Flash, just under half a year ago, had clearly been so wrong. He wasn't calm, he was wild, slapping himself as if it was a perfectly sane thing to do! The only positive of Flash being her seatmate was that it kept her eyelids from drooping too heavily, but she couldn't focus on the lecturer in front of her because of the nuisance beside her.

She didn't want to interact with him, but her heart was racing as she thought of how much studying she'd need to do to make up for Flash Holmwood's crimes of disturbance. The thud of her heartbeat seemed in tune with his movements that she could only concentrate on the rhythms of these surrounding drums, the panic as her anxiety attacked, failure, useless, unloveable... until her leg seemingly of its own accord broke free and ferociously charged toward the boy's own leg. If it did not make contact with Flash, it would connect with another part of the table, jerking Freya to attention as she realized what she had done.

Her face flushed as the true reality interrupted her perceived one; she was in class, next to Flash Holmwood, and she hadn't failed... yet. Now, however, she had to follow up with her action with some sort of explanation, and though her regulated state would be quite embarrassed, her dysregulated, exhausted state shone as she whispered, "Oi! Would you stop it? Some of us need to learn here..."

A small scoff closed her statement of frustration as she turned back toward the front of the class. Transfiguration was already Hell, but she wouldn't let Flash Holmwood, of all people, make her venture further into another circle of it.

It appeared that her physical and verbal messages had been received; to be quite honest, Freya was pleased with the boy's response. His taunts in the library, though so long ago, had stuck with her in a long-lasting way; that was perhaps part of the reason why she hadn't really made many close friends here, as the people she had interacted with left much to be desired. People like Flash, who believed that magic - the antithesis of order! - required rules. So what that they were in a school? So what that schools normally had commandments. Wasn't magic supposed to be different and thrilling? Weren't children supposed to be encouraged to discover if witches and wizards believed in preternatural plumbing? Instead, maniacal morons like the child next to her sucked the magic out of life at Hogwarts and kept it as mundane as the lecture Professor Lian was giving right now.

Yet, Flash seemed to think that Freya was the one with a problem. He wasn't wrong; her problem was him and Transfiguration and this whole stupid magic school that wasn't nearly as fun as was advertised. Freya's response, however, focused only on one of these issues: "Yes, I do have a problem," she snarled quietly. "My problem's name is Flash Holmwood. Ever heard of him?"

His teeth were gritted as though he had chewed a rather dense piece of toffy; they did not move much as he spoke. Freya knew, however, that this could not be the case, as Flash had been seconds away from slumber when she kicked him, and she would have been giddily watching him choke instead of being infuriated by him. Flash mirrored her gaze of pure disgust. In the past year, the pair must have become some sort of transfigured magnets, both so similar in their feelings toward each other that they repelled expeditiously. Until today.

If Freya was going to go down into another layer of hell, she might as well dive into it.

"No, I will not leave you alone," she retorted. While the lines in her glabella usually deepened as she pondered situations, her further brows creased out of anger, as she ignored sensibility and reacted in malice: "You're the one who threw yourself into my space, making it harder to pay attention to class because you're sitting over here slapping yourself. What happened, did one of your little dormmates hex you while you were sleeping, hm?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, a brief recognition of distress crossed her face as she realized that this layer of Hell involved another late night of trying to make sense of Transfiguration, which meant likely another D, maybe even a T. Disappointment from her parents. Failure. The flicker vanished almost instantaneously, however, and was replaced by further disdain for Flash. She had dived in, and she needed to commit. Freya would figure out Transfiguration another day. For now, she needed to figure out how to make this boy seek reparations for his actions.

When Flash spoke, it was as though he was in the midst of a race, each breath concentrated and labored in exhaustion. Freya wasn't certain from where he pulled the energy to retort, but when one was someone like Flash Holmwood, there must be a special reserve of hatred that could be drawn from. The heightened rush of adrenaline seemed to intertwine with his words; his voice escalated in volume and intensity, though it was still in a whisper. Freya did not entirely know what 'fortuitous' meant, but the hissed context gave her enough reason to conclude it was a word of hate. She glared silently in response.

Whether it was adrenaline, hatred, or both that led him to speak so quickly, relying on these energies did not serve him well, for, upon his next words, his facial expression dramatically shifted as he froze. Freya scratched her head and extended her neck, as if moving it would explain how Flash had made such a blunder. He had to have realized that he gave her an accidental gift with this slip up. The mystery wasn't necessary to solve for Freya to get the prize.

He wasn't in his dorm all night. Freya knew the magnitude of this statement, given the strict curfews. She knew what she could do with this information. Fate had presented her with an opportune moment, the ability to tighten the noose of punishment around Flash and send him to a metaphorical death: detention. Instead pondering her next move, she didn't listen to the rest of his words - he was certainly trying to backtrack, to help her forget what he just revealed. Dare she treat him like he once treated her? It wasn't characteristic of her to blackmail, but this was Flash Holmwood, whose ego could stand to be knocked down a few pegs. She could threaten him. She could destroy his reputation of that 'good boy' he so obviously thought he should be. The opportunities were monumental.

Silently, she focused her concentration outward, letting the silence after his statement hang in the air as though she craved it. The room was, of course, not silent, as the Professor was still teaching, but what only mattered to her was Flash's rule-breaking and making him quiver. She didn't need to do much; the fear on his face was evident. She could proceed slowly, then, capitalizing on the fear while she pondered her next move. She was a cat, waiting to pounce, deciding if the risk was worth the benefit.

"Where were you, then?" She inquired with an innocent expression, though her brow still crinkled in concentration. "You know it's...dangerous, to not be in your dorm these days. Especially...overnight."

Her words were quiet, just audible, but concentrating their energy toward the boy in a calm, collected manner. She had moved her pawn forward, ready to see if he would mirror her motion or pull out the queen, instead. Depending on the next response, Freya would have a better sense of whether she was willing to go for the checkmate.

It wasn't often that Freya considered using the upper hand to make another's life more miserable, but if she was to do it to someone, Flash Holmwood would certainly be the person she chose. Yet, Freya knew that the burden of proof would be difficult to find, as his dormmates were likely asleep when he disappeared, and it was quite possible that Flash had a habit of waking up earlier than his peers.

At the same time, however, it seemed that Flash was tired enough that he would not easily come to this conclusion, so Freya could still utilize his slip up to her advantage. At the same time, whatever he had done clearly bothered him, and Freya did feel some sympathy for the boy. His responses were avoidant, trying to undo the mistake he had made; the damage was already done. Although he had hurt her, Freya could try to help him with whatever problems consumed his thoughts, and the advantages of helping him would have fewer holes than simply blackmailing him for breaking the rules.

With a mix of anger from denied curiosity and an attempt to hold on to her power, Freya spat harshly, yet quietly, "I'm trying to help you, you know. Doesn't matter if you dropped my incident; I wasn't trying to get you in trouble, anyway. Whatever you did clearly kept you up to the point that you can't stay awake anymore, and you seem bothered. Seems like a problem we need to fix, to me. And luckily, I'm your girl: Freya Thomas, resident fixer. It's why I plumb, you know. No problem's too hard to solve!"

She gave a toothy grin in his direction, frustration dissipating as she remembered that her identity hadn't left her, even if magic was putting a boulder in her path from realizing her dream. It was, quite possibly, the first indication of anything other than disdain she had given Flash, and though she was not fully doing it with the best of intentions, she hoped that he would believe her. His need to owe her a favor could benefit her, but at the very least, Freya could do something - solving problems, fixing things - that she actually enjoyed, rather than continuing to force boring materials in her brain.

With a sign, she attempted again: "I'm going to ask you one more time. What were you doing last night?"

A silent, determined look befell her face as her brows returned to their familiar, scrunched positioning. The change in behavior might have caught off-guard, and she certainly hoped so, for his avoidance made her mighty curious.