Like Watching a Train Wreck PV Finished

The hours concluding the train wreck, had been spent contemplating... everything. Guilt had begun to steep its poison. Foggy revelations were unveiled- made a little clear. Most weren't ready to be accepted, or were still confusing. The time given to think, in seclusion, was very much needed. Xailah wasn't sure how much time had passed, while she, and the others, waited for someone- anyone besides the posh older man with the funny car- to come to the rescue. Other help did come eventually. It came in two forms (not counting the jet-limo); the first being the house elves; the second was another old man, in another funny car. What was with the elderly and strange automobiles? Was the acquisition of ugly vehicles just something that happened in old age? Lost in thought, and emotionally drained, Xailah did not budge for the house elves. She wanted to go with them, she did. She wanted to get back to Hogwarts as soon as possible. But she couldn't leave Meenauh behind. Even though, it was very unfair to make Schrödinger wait along. The next one then, I'll board the next one, was what she told herself while she rested in the gutted Gryffindor car, with Schrödinger sprawled across her belly. She sat in the carriages gaping maw, curled tightly to conserve warmth, looking at a hollow projection of herself on a metal bar; that had been scorched by the heat from one of the two explosions that had taken place. It hung motionless; blackened, and unrepairable. Before, it might have served as a fixture of stability, or perhaps decoration. But now, its only purpose was to depend, and serve as an object for reflection- at least until a crew came to clean up. Put it, and the rest of the train out of its misery. What a mercy that would be. What a mercy.

The hour preceding arrival at the school; was used to stare out of a frosted window in a minivan. Xailah had done what she told herself she would do- accept the next helpful beacon sent to retrieve the youngling castaways. Her eyes remained transfixed on the window during the whole ride back to school; this time looking past her reflection, and at the wreckage which grew smaller, and smaller as the van drove farther, and farther away. Once the crash completely faded from view, Xailah kept herself occupied with tracing small figures; with the tip of her index finger, on the icy glass windows. She drew people and tiny animals- presumably cows- and meaningless words and phrases that she had heard in passing. Some were things that had been spoken in panic- in the midst of waning chaos. There was a smiley face here and there, pitiful ones that dripped into crying frowns, before frosting over; cleaning the slate. There was no order to what she doodled, no clear reason. Anything went so long as it helped fill the white void, that was the winter lands outside. Not a word was spoken, nor were any looks spared, during the whole ride. By the time the minivan arrived at it's final destination, Xailahs fingertips were numb from being pressed and held against the cold car windows. She could feel the chill seeping past her gloves, and through that first layer of thin skin; chipping into the muscles and bone beneath. It was a somewhat calming feeling; the cold. Humbling in a way. Meant she could still feel. That was good.

She did not walk with Meenauh. Near her, but not with. Something- a pseudo-familial obligation most probably- convinced her to stay around, but not by. There was distance- right now she wanted that. She needed it- distance from Meenauh. Distance from the elves. The headmaster. The rest. None gave the comfort she required. None emitted that wanted sense of safety- that feeling of unconditional understanding. Schrödinger was held close, his mucilaginous form melding over his keepers shoulder and upper torso, like a puddle of moldy oobleck. Fuzzy and formless. His breaths were soft and deep, occasionally they resulted in a gentle snorting sound, that could be identified as snoring. He was sound asleep. Being the true hero of this story, he deserved the rest. Xailah walked, her face half buried in his grey scruff; taking in the subtle scents that wafted up from his coat. Warm milk, maple syrup, and a new one- the unwanted hint of singed fur. She peeked over his grey tufts; her flickering golds were on the lookout.

Pericles was not immediately recognized. A moment was needed to take in his appearance, analyze it. Make sure that he was himself- in a more physical sense. He was clearly... distressed. That was the simplest term to use. Distressed. The changeling spied Pericles laurel of white gold, bobbing atop the handful of more "natural" hair colors, congregating near the door. Wavy, unkempt, she noted; then looked away, disappointed. Couldn't be him. She felt her spirits drop. Or- or it could. Somehow. Then lift again, by a small margin. Somehow that messy little tangle of pale white, could be the well-kept, and ever sharp, Pericles Dralt. Xailah had yet to meet another person with locks of the same radiant hue. Had to be him. Turn around. Look again. The darkling cub, planted herself a few feet from the door, eyes rounded with curiosity and relief. She acted in the way another might have- like a person who just saw their bearded friend clean-shaven for the first time. It was strange to see Pericles disheveled and scuffed. But just as weird as it was, it was also refreshing. That was wrong wasn't it? Finding humanity in his disquieted state? Mayhaps.

She didn't know what to expect when the boy finally spoke. Not a string of thoughts presented in disarray. That was certain. She was definitely not expecting him to come forward, with an explanation of how he had tried to stop the train. He. Had. Tried. To stop. The train. Xailah felt her heart tumble deeper into her being, like a loose brick. She placed her hand to her chest, as if trying to feel the wretched thing. Oh. Sweet boy. Inwardly, she curled, wanted to cry; wanted to run to him, and fix his messy hair, redo his tie- tell him that he had done what he could on the train, and that was more than enough in itself. Outwardly, her lips parted into a gentle grimace. Not to be confused with one formed from anger- this one was shaped purely from frustration. Inner frustrations. Pericles was not the cause, but he did feed them. She managed, through teeth, and a hoarse voice, to force an answer: "We just came back from one hell of a train ride, and-" her voice trembled. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. "-And the first thing you ask is: 'why weren't you with the others'." She forced the most accusatory tone she could muster which... was more like a weak cry- a flimsy excuse, a distraction. Which is exactly what it was. Ugh. Stupid. What are you thinking? Are you even thinking? What was she supposed to tell him? That she had only stayed behind for as long as she did, only because she thought she had some obligation to? That she wanted to leave once the house elves arrived?

Her mouth tried to hold its soft sneer in place, when a solemn quiver began balancing itself upon her lower lip. "I-" You what? Her free hand (the one that was not supporting Schrödingers rear) flexed. "I-" Words hooked themselves in her throat, preventing the formation of a real sentence. Her face flushed, and her brows crimped together, into irate curves. Unable to clearly express what she wanted to, she did the only other thing that felt logical in that horrible, fleeting second. She advanced towards the poor, sweet boy with the ferocity of a maddened animal- a very small, maddened animal. Xailah was not strong. Nor was she very weighty. Not that Pericles would find out. Before she reached the point where she would have- in theory- lunged at him, sending herself, the boy and her cat to the ground; she came to an abrupt stop, as if she had hit an invisible barrier. It was an equally rare and bizarre display, of childlike need, and animalistic want; followed quickly by restraint. Xailahs charismatic waves of dark brown flinched backwards, flattening themselves against her sculpted skull, like a pair of ears. Her pupils grew large, and wet; when she looked, to meet the ravens eyes. The thinning gold of her irises swam, circling the mirrory, black wells. She then gave a pitiful whimper, like that of a dog; and held out a arm. With her fingers, she made a grabbing motion; seeking permission to embrace, seeking permission to rid of the distance between herself and him.

Meenauh didn't remember this state of both physical and mental exhaustion like... ever. She wasn't quite fond of pushing herself into physical exercises — she ate properly and was just slick in nature. But she wasn't ever that mentally exhausted. Because that wasn't even mental exhaustion if we'd take a closer look. It was some kind of crossed boundary of emotional capability. A live shock, cutting its way through the veins (yes, not neural system — it felt like the small zaps of lightning were running down her each and every vein back there in the snow). This shock left traces and stayed there for a while. The soft quivering of the mini-van, driven by their headmaster did something though (Meenauh just instantly assumed it was the most obvious and the only possible way to reach Hogwarts in the sanest way). Meenauh just fell asleep. She didn't even have a second to think about whether it was the proper way to...

Yeah, it got cut out just like that and the next moment she was awakened by a hollow thud of the minivan plopping onto the Hogwarts grounds. Their path to the castle was or wasn't accompanied by someone, probably Professors, or elves — she couldn't have enough processing power to pay attention to details.

The only properly awakening sound was the sound of their friend's voice. Soft and sharp. Calm and loud. And total gibberish that was the meaning of the words. At least that was how Meenauh could hear them. He looked like he wasn't sleeping for several days, got a mad idea in his clever Ravenclaw brain and tried to create a new spell, which brought him into total madness.

But Meenauh just knew that he was really really worried for them.

She wanted to smile at him, but only the tiny corners of her mouth managed. The grim weight of the past events was drowning the muscles of her face to the depth of the Great Lake. Impossible to resist. Nightmare material. Then she just wanted to hug him. Shortly and tightly. Just to feel she was still alive, that she still could hug someone. Maybe just weep. But nothing left — no power to hug. Not power to weep. So she just stayed there standing and watching Pericles finishing his rapid bubble-speaking.

Until Xailah spoke.

She didn't remember how she left the minivan. She was sure Xailah was near, but she didn't remember walking the whole way until now. Her words thrown at Pericles (clearly heard like shattered glass falling to the sound-amplifying floor of the castle) cut her ears with a spear of pain and she just flinched, but just for a second.

The next second Xailah was already a broken mess. A broken mess that needed warmth after a cold hour in the snow. Probably needed the same shoulder to weep in. And in the awkward pause after the "I"s she was trying to pronounce, caught mid-air in an unpermitted pre-hug, the two figures stood there like statues. Meenauh felt the urge to fix the reality. To fix the broken point in time. To run the time again in all the directions at once. To undo things. To return things. Bring the normal times back.

"Oh, you..." she found the last remnants of muscle strength and grabbed both of them in a single hug, tight and simple. Who needed permissions when the world could have ended just several hours ago?

And she silently wept.

@Xailah Alptraum | @Meenauh Silmataurea

Young Pericles looked the part of a tormented poet: well-groomed composure reduced to something unkempt, distressed, a wild gleam in his eye. Anxiety lined his freckled face while sorrow dragged at the edges of his mouth. The keenness of his mind had betrayed him, inventing all manner of horrible outcomes for his friends in ghastly glaring detail. Now they were here, whole but battered, looking every bit as if the dementor known as Hogwarts had sucked away another sliver of their souls. The boy blinked furiously, in part combatting an onset of tears, in part to assure himself that the Headmaster had not, in fact, retrieved their ghosts. He was of a mind to be angry at someone. Angry at the school, the conductor, at SCAR, at his friends for not returning sooner, at himself for not doing more to have helped them.... "Yes," he stated, stern yet strained, resolve wavering all the more when he heard hoarseness in place of Xailah's melodic purr. Usually, her nettling was taken in stride, or cheekily ignored. This time it was met. He glanced between both Gryffindors, then drew uneven breath with a raise of his chin. "I was worried. Worried sick. I didn't know if you were ever coming back."

It was an awful sight. Meenauh was always so tall and intelligent, Xailah was trim and clever, Schrödinger was a ball of comfort and contentment. Now they were all singed, weary, drained. He hated it, and wanted dearly to direct his anger at something besides himself. But Xailah swept forth and the façade of stoniness was struck away by so many chisels. By the time she came to a stop, his face was warped with boyish misery, shoulders slumped, a pathetic pair of teary trails winding down his cheeks. Pericles was vulnerable- wounded by their absence, agonized by the mere concept of losing them. Another such blow would reduce him to dust. Xailah was worse off yet, but Meenauh- standing apart from the two as they sniffed and stared despairingly- was blessedly not as awkward nor emotionally malfunctioning. When she moved in, he did the same, echoing a sound of sorrow and regret not all too different from the metamorph's. The three were woven in a tight hug, Pericles being mindful of any injuries they had sustained and careful not to squash the cat in their midst. "I'm sorry. Please don't ever scare me- not like that."

It would be some time before they were ushered along to the hospital wing. Like a lost puppy, the Ravenclaw would follow the Gryffindor girls, as he had since his first year. He would do so til he could no longer use patrols as an excuse, sullenly making the trek to his own dormitory at the order of an adult. Apart again, at least until breakfast....

[font=Copperplate Gothic Light]~Thread Concluded~