Self Isolation PV I. Ambrose Closed

@Illowy Magnard

As Illowy spoke more of her mother, Isaac could feel her image filling out in his head. She was not the weeping woman he had imagined from earlier, but tough, one of those people who could level you with a single glare. One of those people who seemed unbreakable, proud, a little hard-nosed, and pretended they didn't have a heart when they were really hurting inside. Someone...a little like Illowy, now that he thought of it. Her personality made more sense when he thought about her family, almost like fitting together pieces in a puzzle. She didn't mention a father of any sort, and he found that he didn't want to ask. Not because he wasn't curious, but because it was treading on sensitive ground. He knew that he didn't want to speak of his own father either, so it'd be rotten of him to bring it up.

"Its just hard... My mum was a student here when Dementors were guarding the school and she said she still had nightmares months after they left. My mum isn't exactly the kind of person who gets scared easily... and I don't want her to be scared that I'm here, that I got hurt..."

He didn't disapprove of the hiding route. Sometimes, revealing little was the best strategy with parents, and considering something as horrific as the Blossom Ball, was also advisable to avoid trouble. He followed her gaze as it fell to her lap, looking at her hands as well. They were still bandaged, white wrappings shining in the gloom, flecked here and there with little spots of blood. Damaged hands would be harder to hide than some other burns, but it was still possible.

Leaning over in his chair a bit, Isaac drew a careful hand over one of the bandages, giving it a critical glance. Being to the nurse's room so often gave him an unofficial expertise on being injured, or so he liked to believe. It was rougher than it appeared from afar, and tightly bound, but not hard enough to hurt her hands. With this evaluation, he quickly moved back into his seat, realizing that she might've not taken his strange action so well.

Bloody hell, you need to stop making mistakes like that. People don't like it when you're in their space.

"You could wear gloves until they heal," he suggested, picking at his reddened arm to scold himself. "That way, they'd be protected from the sun and germs, and your mum won't be as scared. And if gloves are weird, I bet there are loads of things you could buy to cover up the scars." He wasn't an expert on make-up or concealer, but he had seen his sister applying it daily. She used all kinds of powders, and it wouldn't be too far-fetched to think that one would work for burn-scars. It wasn't a perfect solution, but if it would make Illowy and her mother feel better, then it would work.

Having settled the plan, his interest wandered over to the other part of her statement. Her mother had been there while the entire school was surrounded - guarded - by dementors. The irony baffled him. Wizards could be killed by dementors, but they seemed to control them as well. Did the patronus charm let them manipulate dementors? No, it couldn't be! The patronus had clearly killed the dementor they had run across in the woods.

His thoughts circled back over to the wizard prison she had mentioned earlier: Azkaban. Just like Hogwarts was once guarded by dementors, the highest-security prison in the magic world was still guarded by the foul creatures. Was it the Great War that had caused the Headmaster to rely on dementors? Just how terrible could it be, that an iron woman like Illowy's mother was reduced to nightmares over it?

That was it. Scratch the plan about reading up on it. It was the sort of thing he wanted to hear a real person talk about. And with the atmosphere of (almost) perfect honesty floating through the air, it was ideal to ask.

"What was the Great War about? I've heard of He Who Must Not Be Named, but nothing else..."

Just like Harry Potter, the name of the darkest wizard of all time was impossible to forget. But it was a tender memory, still recent to the world, so he refused to say the fiend's actual name.

@Illowy Magnard

He listened intently, hanging onto her every word and committing it to memory.

"So, back in '95, He Who Shall Not Be Named, he was trying to rise to power and overthrow the Ministry, and basically wanted to knock off all the Muggle Borns."

Briefly, Isaac blinked in confusion. Muggle borns? What would a wizard trying to take over the entire government of magical Britain want with Muggle Borns? He thought long and hard about it. It wasn't as if they had powers that were out of the ordinary compared to other wizards. It was then that he seized on a memory of interest.

There was a day that he was walking along one of the more abandoned Corridors. It was almost deathly quiet, but he had found it better than being crowded with the rest of the jostling students, whispering secrets and yelling and shoving. The Corridor was gloomy and quiet on that overcast morning. It was only a few days after the Ball, and being alone was one of the only ways he could escape question.

As he rounded the corner, taking light ghost-like steps on the cobblestone, a noise greeted his ears. Quiet huffing and breathing, along with a snarl that caused the hairs on his neck to stand on end. On the floor was a crying student, nose broken and blood smeared over their face. And above them, stood a Ravenclaw, lips peeled back like a wolf.

"Mudblood!"

The word was spat like a curse, and the student took one last kick at the first-year on the floor before stalking away. He'd flattened himself against the wall, barely breathing. The danger had passed.

He'd later helped that skittish first-year to their feet, but they had run away from him, eyes round with fear and hasty 'thank-yous' on their lips. He offered to fix their broken nose (would Reparo work on people?) but they had refused, disappearing in a few moments. A part of him was hurt, but he pushed it away. His burns were hideous after all.

Now, Isaac wondered if 'Mudblood' had to do with He Who Must Not Be Named. Perhaps it was only a degrading word, but it could even be a curse against Muggle Borns.

"Then came along Potter and Dumbledore's Army and the Order of the Phoenix and they rose up and fought against him and the Death Eaters."

He felt another stirring of admiration for this Harry Potter. He really was a courageous hero.

But he didn't recognize Dumbledore's Army or the Order of the Phoenix too well. The Order sounded like a very mysterious group in his opinion, like a secret faction of powerful wizards. His mind drifted inadvertently to a group of movies he'd watched many times on dreary days. Voldemort and the Death Eaters were a lot like the Empire, and Dumbledore's Army and the Order were like the brave Rebellion, taking down the villains. Potter was like Luke of course, trying to fight for the right thing and using his magic for noble deeds.

"He was a Gryffindor too, you know. And his friend Granger, well, she's not a Granger anymore, she's married now, but anyway, she's a Muggle Born, and thought to have been one of the most powerful witches in her class, and the smartest."

A Gryffindor!

He smiled at that, both pleased and a little chagrined to realize that Harry was in his House. He was almost entirely sure that no one'd be able to measure up in comparison. He wasn't even going to start thinking of himself, cowed at the sight of a single dementor, dragging almost everyone into a mess.

However, he didn't fail to notice how Illowy's entire face lit up as she talked about Granger. The shadows beneath her eyes disappeared, and brightness shone in the paleness of her eyes, twinkling like a star. Her burns forgotten, she even leaned a bit forwards in her chair. Every bit of her was animated as she spoke, and he found that he was enjoying how passionate she was.

From the start of the book he'd read, he already knew a little bit about Hermione, and agreed wholeheartedly. She was very clever, even as a first-year, and was a master at casting spells. He had little interest in love, but wondered what on Earth she had gotten up to after getting married. If she was the brightest witch of the age, he expected her to be ruling the world by now -- or at least instated as Head of Ministry.

"What'd the group do after the War ended?" he asked with anticipation. His mind was already conjuring about a thousand and one things that the amazing wizards could've done. "Where'd Hermione go? And Ron? And Harry? Is the Order of the Phoenix still around? Who was part of the secret Order? Was everyone in the school part of Dumbledore's Army? Or only some people? Didn't Death Eaters take over Hogwarts? Is that why there were Dementors? Didn't a student help them invade Hogwarts? How can magic make you immortal? I heard that this kid named Albus is going to Hogwarts, and he's Harry's son. Is that true? Will we make an Army against evil sometime? Would the Headmaster let us?"

He fired off questions so quickly, that his mind was working bullet-fast just to keep up with how much he didn't know. Wild gestures accompanied his questions. Every answer had more questions and more questions and more - spiraling into insanity. It was the first time he'd ever been interested in history, and it was exciting - he almost felt as if he were about to jump out of his chair.

But then, he grew quiet all of a sudden.

You're being annoying, he recalled a kid's voice from a while back. He and a boy were having a conversation about space, and naturally it had captured Isaac's imagination. But he had spoke too fast, asked too many questions, did something wrong. The boy snapped at him, and didn't talk to him after that for weeks.

He had probably overwhelmed Illowy, doing the same thing. Ruefully, he looked at his arm, picking at the burnt skin again. A little drop of blood welled on the scalded surface, but he wiped it up with a finger. The air tasted like dust.

"I mean, you don't have to answer all of them..." he trailed off with a shrug. "I was just wondering."

The last thing he wanted was for his words to erase the light from her face, leaving Illowy stuck in shadows again. The last thing he wanted was for someone who seemed like they could actually care, to walk away.

@Illowy Magnard

sorry the world ate me for a bit. playing catch up.

It didn't go unnoticed to him how Illowy subtly shifted closer, almost as if she were providing quiet comfort. He felt another surge of embarrassment and defensiveness.

She's just leaning over in her seat, see? It doesn't mean anything, so stop freaking out - it's not like she should have to comfort you anyway, you sissy.

The harsh words paraded about through his head, and for a moment, he was about to lean away reflexively. But he didn't. He forced himself to sit down and pushed away the thoughts that plagued him for what seemed like the millionth time.

She's just trying to be friendly. That's what friends do, they help each other. Cool it, would you? For once in your life...

He exhaled in quick rush. It was true. There was no need to be so tense over Illowy's help. He continued to listen to her, noticing the ink stained over his shoes for the first time.

"The army was disbanded and so was the Order. A lot of the members that it was made up of were students anyway. So... I guess they finished out their schooling and graduated."

Oh.

He felt a little twinge of disappointment at the thought that the group had faded into the banal existence of life. He knew about his parents' duties: filing taxes while they held their foreheads, sighing mournfully, buying groceries from the farmers' market and hauling bags into the house, looking at their paychecks with a bit of frustration - they were never paid enough for their jobs. To think that people as legendary as Harry, Ron and Hermione had come to a fate such as that made him wonder what that meant for himself and Illowy. Would they fade too? When they left Hogwarts, what was left out there?

Isaac knew he didn't want to be like the members of the Order for certain. He'd be doing things for the rest of his life, come what may. And if he couldn't do it in a normal wizarding job, then he'd make his own rules.

"But I've heard that they use to hold meets in either the Room of Requirement or the Shrieking Shack, but that't just a rumor I guess."

Both of those places sounded ominous and off-limits, and so they sparked his curiosity. A shrieking shack sounded much more forbidden than an Abandoned Bathroom, that was for sure.

Maybe there are ghosts there. I never did get to meet Peeves or Myrtle.

But gazing at the flaking, reddened skin of his arms, Isaac realized that perhaps it wasn't the best idea to go searching out those places. There was a strong possibility of magical creatures lurking in a haunted shack like that, and the last thing he wanted was another run-in with a dementor. Or if it existed, something even worse. Although his mind agreed with this sound reasoning, an undercurrent of dismay ran through his thoughts. His normal courage - or recklessness - was blunted by a strong sense of fear. The thought of going somewhere dangerous made his breath hitch and his chest feel painfully tight.

It got to the point where he was gripping the arm of his chair to steady his breathing. What's wrong with me?

It was a useless question. He already knew.

There was no telling how long it'd take for him to get over this new fear. It had already twisted into nightmares, and was trying to enter the waking world.

"I've never heard of the Room of Requirement," he whispered in a lower tone of voice, sensing that the information was a secret. "Why is it even called that?"

"My mum said something about an escapee from Azkaban got into the school, but Dumbledore, the Headmaster at the time, he thought the dementors were a bigger threat then the criminal, so he wouldn't let them onto the grounds."

"A real criminal?" he questioned in disbelief, unconsciously leaning in. Had he heard that right? It seemed bad enough that students were turning out to be insane, but the thought of an actual criminal - escapee from the worst wizarding prison in the world - trying to invade the school made him dizzy.

No wonder this Dumbledore man had decided on dementors. He wouldn't have been able to walk the halls knowing that a criminal could appear at any moment. Especially with flimsy first-year magic.

He started to remember a stray bit of information he had learned a while ago. A kind boy, Ashton Everly, once told him about a group of people called the Marauders. Their names came to mind again unexpectedly, and he strained his memories for a clue on why. There was the leader of the gang, James Potter, Quidditch extraordinaire, Gryffindor, and the father of Harry Potter to boot. The other members were his friends, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black and Lupin. Lupin was a werewolf - that much Ashton had mentioned.

"Wait...Sirius Black," Isaac paused pensively. "Was he the criminal? I could've swore that I saw his face somewhere or another."

A vague thought surfaced of what he imagined to be a tall man, striding through the hallways as the ardent bodyguard of James. It certainly fit his image of the rascal Maruaders, more caricatures than people to him still.

In truth, a part of him wished that something like the Marauders still existed. He longed for adventure, but deeper still, he wished that he had friends he was certain were worth dying for, time and time again.

It was strange, but Illowy was the closest thing he made to a friend like that.

@Illowy Magnard

took me 20 hours...im broken from this

Sirius was dead.

He barely absorbed the idea, and hardly toyed with the implications of it. She was studying him with her eyes, examining him closely.

"I-I'm fine."

His vision blurred a bit, like the dripping colors of a painting left out to the rain. It was fine, he knew it was fine. He found that if he rammed a fact into his head enough, he'd believe it, or force himself to believe it. It was how he coped with everything, by rewriting the laws of reality so his world fit into a tiny box.

There was himself, hero of that playhouse during the younger years, and now the fool during the older ones. His father, the ogre-creature that crept through his nightmares, his mother, an imp with a tongue of steel, his ditzy sister, his aunts and uncles and mountains and mountains of cousins...

Illowy was in the box too. She was the sharp-tongued, quick-witted Slytherin with a penchant for disaster and a secret heart. Elizabeth was the compassionate jester, Lear, an incompetent knave...

They had categories like players in a story. Like clockwork, they moved and breathed and talked and spoke and did their roles in turn.

As her hand settled on his, he peered at it as if it were alien. Her fingers were cold and thin, but soft, pressed lightly over his ink-stained knuckles. His heart stopped beating. This didn't feel real. She was- what was-

His train of thought crashed into a wall.

Was this normal? It was nothing like any friendship he had known, and certainly nothing like his family.

There was a time. It was a long, long time ago when he did hold hands with Katie. So far away that he could hardly remember, in the time before he knew much about the world. He didn't touch her hand ever again, after he had seen the dark stares that had followed them.

Odd.
Strange.
Disgusting.
Cooties.

Everyone knew the secret rule, and he didn't. It was wrong for people to touch hands, and he never understood why until he was older. Now he knew that it wasn't a regular thing. People only held hands when they were being lovey-dovey, like his sister and her new husband. Or when a kid touched the hands of their mum and da. For everyone else, it was off limits.

She knew the rule, didn't she?

Isaac relaxed his tensed hand and stopped gripping the arm of the chair, glancing at her hand again with a grey-blue stare.

Seeing her pale eyes, still full of concern, he gave her a searching look that grew more and more intense as the seconds passed. Their surroundings dissolved to mist: the couch, the ragged chairs, the books, the faint voices in the distance, until it was as if they were truly and utterly alone.

The silence felt fragile, dangling on the end of a single wire.

He flipped his palm over and twined their fingers experimentally, holding her hand. The gesture was awkward and childish, even embarrassing. But the two of them were alone. And alone, no one could whisper about what it could mean, and in a way, the rule lost meaning.

His voice was soft and sincere, more of a reassurance to Illowy than anything. "You don't need to worry about me. We're friends, right? That means everything's going to be okay."

He ducked his head afterwards, unable to meet her gaze. The words sounded naive once they were out, but he hoped Illowy would get their meaning.

"You don't need to worry about me. We're friends, right? That means everything's going to be okay."

@Illowy Magnard

officer, yes, these two right here. arrest them for PDA before it kills me

His heartbeat raced, until he felt breathless for an entirely different reason than fear.

She didn't pull away.

Illowy's pale eyes began misted with worry, looking back into his with a question - with the question if there was any light left in the world. But her face changed, gaze as tranquil as a clouded morning, clear, without the cutting sharpness of a glare. He had never seen her look that way before, and he realized that she might've been comforted...or was he just looking for something when there was nothing there?

She didn't smile, but he didn't expect her to. It was enough that she didn't shout, enough that she didn't snap at him or hate the odd act. A large part of him had expected it. After all, that was what usually happened.

Instead, her lips were softly pressed together, easing her expression even more.

Every little touch felt magnified by a million times, and he sensed the way that her fingers flexed lightly, almost like a message. 'This is okay.'

"You silly Gryffindor boy..."

He studied the floor, face flushed rose at her teasing tone. It must've sounded even worse than he thought before, enough that she'd take note of how sappy he was being again. His words really were silly sounding now that he'd thought about them.

But she held his hand a little more securely, a little more safely, like it mattered. At this rate, he was almost certain that she would either give him a heart-attack or that he would start having a breakdown. Maybe both, in the most awkward fashion possible, paired with a flood of tears he'd desperately try to stop.

Her other hand gently came to rest upon his cheek, turning his rosy face to meet hers. His stormy eyes glittered with lingering flusteredness as she thoughtfully paused to speak, looking almost as embarrassed and lost as he did.

"Of course everything will be okay... but as long as I know you, I'll always worry for you and I'll always care."

The words felt floaty and soft, like a song that he'd listened to once and forgotten for many years. 'To care.' She cared, and she said she cared, and that meant that she really cared...

It was awful. Tears stung his eyes, and he sniffed quietly. He didn't want to be an emotional mess, not like this, but her sentiment was enough to drive him to almost crying. Normal boys didn't cry like this. It wasn't tough, and it wasn't right. Maybe none of this was right. But they were alone...so it had to be fine...

He held her hand, parting their fingers a bit so he could lightly trace circles on her palm. A couple of tears escaped, dripping down his cheeks. Isaac wiped them with his free hand, before composing himself better, so he at least wasn't a sobbing mess.

It meant a lot. No one had ever said anything like that to him, and she was the first. Someone he'd never expect, a girl that he had neatly judged as callous and cold when he spotted her, a girl who knew magic that he didn't yet dream of, a girl who always seemed distant and far away. Illowy Magnard held his hand.

"T-thanks. I'll always care about you too."

The sentence was inadequate, he knew that. But it was less about the words, and more about the feeling of the quiet moment.