What Shall We Do PV Gerald Fawkes

It wasn't like Gerald was afraid of flying. He was terrified of it. And although fear was said to be irrational, he'd come to convince himself that his was very much justifiable. The safety guidelines provided by the professor at the beginning of the year had been enough to nearly make him pass out right there and then; apparently, a stray bird on his way could virtually send him to the grave if his reaction times weren't those of a lynx.

The previous eight months of lessons had been an exercise of self-control and bottled-up nerves on the blonde boy's behalf. That day, however, Gerald's impressive efforts to tame his fears had quite simply walked out the door. His determination to pass the subject had vanished overnight, and for the first ten minutes of the class, he'd stood by his broom drained of all color. All of a sudden, he was just as horrified of the prospect of flying as he'd been in September. Whether it was finals' stress or temporary insanity that had taken over him, he didn't know; what he was certain about, though, was the fact that he would not be flying that morning.

Well, he had been certain about it until a seemingly concerned Slytherin had intervened, that is. Flash— he was called Flash, wasn't he? —had very graciously talked him into hopping on his broom for once an for all. Truth is, Gerald wasn't one to go against a professor's orders, let alone make a scene out of it for the whole class to witness; with the pretext of flying lessons being a waste of time and energy which would be better employed studying, he had definitely crossed every line regarding respectful behavior towards the authority. Rather than inspire a morale perspective in his heart, Flash's words had managed to knock some sense into Gerald, waking him from his obstinacy and enabling him to realize what a fool he was making out of himself.

For the rest of the class, Gerald had kept absolutely quiet; he'd performed the trial flying they had been instructed to do with his usual hesitation and been as happy as can be when the bell signaled the end of the lesson. As he walked back to the castle, only one thought bugged him; the desire for everyone in his class, him included, to forget his pathetic, ridiculous whining during the initial half of the lesson.

Then, a voice pulled him out of his thinking. It was the Slytherin boy from before, stood next to a pile of brooms, lips crooked into a smile. Genuine displays of kindness directed his way were not something Gerald had grown accustomed to during his time at Hogwarts. He knew his sometimes stuck-up and distant attitude didn't help him come off as the type of person one would want to be nice to, but he thoroughly enjoyed it when someone decided to be nice to him despite it all.

"Yes, time could have certainly been better spent somewhere else," Gerald commented, slowing his pace until he came to stand facing the other boy. "Erm, I appreciate your concern, Flash."

Emotions was a term which resonated with mockery inside Gerald's mind. It had taken his mother titanic efforts to end his conviction that he, as an exceptional case in the human race, did not need nor did he feel feelings. Acknowledging their existence and talking about them were two completely different things, though, and under other circumstances, Gerald would have automatically discarded any offer that merely suggested the sharing of emotions. He didn't think about discarding Flash's offer, though.

"Of course," he responded, and proceeded to grab a few brooms.

As he turned around towards the cabin were flying supplies were kept, a weak cry caught his attention. It seemed to be coming from above. Gerald took a few steps in the direction of the noise and lifted his head up so that he could determine what or who was producing it. He eventually spotted a small creature on the edge of the castle's roof. It looked like a bird; most likely a young owl who'd had an accident while trying to get to the Owlery. Given its cries and helpless fluttering of it feathers, the boy concluded it was definitely stuck on there.

"Looks like someone's in trouble," Gerald said, pointing upwards for Flash to notice the little owl.

@Flash Holmwood

At the sight of the approaching falcon, Gerald craned his neck in fruitless attempts to decipher whether its victim was a familiar owl or not. The roof's edge in which it was stuck covered most of the smaller bird's frame, and its weak cries were not much help in clarifying its identity. Given its proximity to the Owlery's windows, there was not a doubt on Gerald's mind that this was somebody's pet that was about to get eaten for lunch. As skilled as the school's Healers were, resuscitating a pile of blood-stained feathers was likely not possible, and so Gerald thought it would be best to let nature take its course, the predator finishes the prey, life's tragic, no time to make a fuss about it.

Before he could resume his way towards the supply cabin, though, he was stopped by his fellow Slytherin's sudden— and potentially foolish —decision to become the day's hero. Motionless, Gerald watched as Flash flew up on the roof, back down and finally proceeded to command an order the blonde boy hadn't the slightest intention of following.

Hop on the broom with him? Gerald assessed his Housemate, deliberately pursing his lips so that his mouth wouldn't hang agape. As first years had been reminded on multiple occasions, using brooms unsupervised was strictly forbidden. Unless Flash had happened to skip every single lecture at the Great Hall since September, he had to be aware of that rule.

Such defiant behavior could solely be understood if it was Flash's own owl that was currently under attack; only then could Gerald bring himself to comprehend Flash's drive and perhaps even opt to keep this incident out of their Head of House's knowledge. If it wan't the case, though, then Gerald was simply at a loss: weren't Slytherins supposed to know better than to engage themselves in such thoughtless deeds?

"Do I look like a Gryffindor to you?" Gerald eventually said, tone blunt. "Flying outside lessons is forbidden, you must know that. I'm not risking my academic record for a sentenced bird, Flash. Forget it."

The blonde kid readjusted his grip on the brooms, and glanced over the small wooden cabin, which stood about a hundred feet away. He was not in a hurry, truth be told, but he didn't feel like staying to witness the murder of an owl. However, he hadn't taken two steps forward when he stopped himself and turned around to face Flash once again.

"If you care enough about it, though, we can fetch some Professor for help," he commented. "Then, the bird might be saved without Slytherin unnecessary losing a good amount of points."

@Flash Holmwood