Staring at the Sun PV Anita Norwood Closed

Well, certainly this was a turn.

Anatole could almost see the panic on her face grow and grow as if it was a newly planted flower. At one point he even thought she would rip her own hair off. All over a wand...?

Perfect first impression of Wizard-Borns.

"Fine! I'll help you, in fact, if you haven't noticed I've been trying to help you already," Anatole called from on the floor. The girl looked desperate, and he feared her wrath if he didn't help. The cracks in the wood would have been too small to fit it through, and all the windows were on the ceiling and closed to protect them from the high altitude, most likely. Did he have to take the firmer stance of the group again?

Unable to locate her wand underneath the table, he got out, looking back at her. She was teary-eyed and pathetic. Was it seriously just the wand that caused her emotions to shift?

She buried her face away, and he could hear from the whimpers she was on the brink of weeping, if she hadn't begun already. Even though she spoke of leaving, Anatole stayed: for a moment just looking at her in this form, another moment searching all the places she had been in the room.

Maybe if she had shown her face to the sun, her tears would evaporate as well.

Anita heard his words and peaked an eye through her curtain of hair. He had stayed, but why? She had trapped him here, threatened him. This wasn't a reaction you got out of a sane person. She chuckled in her mind at the questioning of the boys sanity but it was probably the other way around. He would certainly think her mad.

But she was just scared about her father, her father was strict and demanding. 'A witch without a wand isn't a witch at all' he would probably tell her. His face would grow purple in anger and think her unworthy of being a witch. Would he treat her like any muggle-born? She had to find her stupid wand.

"I'm sorry." She spoke barley over a whisper, "I'm acting like such a Hufflepuff aren't I?" Giving a shakey sigh. Anita got herself off the wet floor, her bottom embarrassingly wet. She was still panicking but the boys reassurance to help her find her wand somewhat calmed her. Nobody helped a Slytherin, especially not a Gryffindor.

"Thank you for not leaving, I can see why you where put in Gryffindor. Well maybe questioning it a bit." She tried lightening the mood. Wiping away runaway tears, Anita gave a sniffle and stood up straighter. "Let's find my stupid wand!" She took a step forward and slipped on the wet slippery floor.

Anatole kept peering behind telescopes, curious as to where her wand went. Of course, he wanted to cause some mischief, especially at first. It was almost a race in the little boy's mind: whoever found the wand first would decide whether they were still trapped or not. And Anatole knew exactly what she would choose.

Once again, something hit him. He could downright escape if he wanted, leave this miserable Slytherin weeping on this table, her hair ratty and her wailing as loud as high heaven. She would still be considered terrible, especially if people found her.

The Slytherin (he still couldn't decipher her name) looked up at him through her dark hair. Her quiet, sad, whisper came out as an apology. That one thing Anatole never liked to do since he had been scolded. She was such a Hufflepuff? What did that mean?

Slowly, he kept looking for her wand, calling back to her, "It's okay. Trust me."

Now, Anatole couldn't deny he felt a little bad. Retracing her steps, Anatole saw a little stick right in between the cracks of the wood, narrowly balancing itself in an upright position, the narrow point facing downwards. Next, he looked up at her, figuring he just might have found her wand. With a somewhat gracious thank you, she got to her feet. Yes, it was almost as if her tears did evaporate over time.

Nervously, Anatole reached through the narrow hole, towards the wand. "Almost there..." He felt his fingers around the wood.

Crack.

Groaning in pain at her own idiocy. Anita held the back of her head as she laid still on the floor. The force of her fall caused a telescope to wooble and some quills atop the desks to roll over and splash into the puddles, the professor would have a field day concerning her punishment. Her wand stuck between the crack was sent wriggleling, tucking itself deeper into the crack.

"Bloody hell." She whispered seeing stars. She had to be more careful next time. Wondering if there was any blood she raised her fingers from under her head and checked, seeing that there was none; Anita turned to the boy and growled out.

"Well help? Or do Gryffindor's have no manners?" Her own manners and promise of kindness to the boy slipping. Both her parents had always said she had a tendency to mood swings even this young of age, well she did have a horrible growth sprout. She bet if she stood next to the boy she'd be taller then him.

They wouldn't be in this situation if for once in her life Anita slowed down and thought about what she was doing. Leaving her material, threatening someone, flooding a classroom. She surely was a menace.

The ink began to seep closer and closer to Anatole, who was spread out on the floor, grasping the wand with his small, girlish hands. He was almost there, almost co

Crack.

Yes, the wand broke free, but it sacrificed its tip. It was tipless. Anatole gulped. Damn it, he'd be in massive trouble. If the girl found it, maybe even touched it, he didn't know what would happen.

Well, he could blame it on her fall, making him stumble and break the tip off, accidentally? He did witness it wedge it closer into the cracks of wood. He had an excuse, but could he escape? Most likely not.

Anatole, the bottom of his robe drenched in dark black ink, inched closer toward the tip of the wand, wondering if he could tape it back somehow. It would all be forgiven?

He was unable to rip out the tip from the wood, so he kept her fractured wand in his hands, inching out and standing up, shooting the wand toward her. "I helped, I suppose?"

Anatole took a deep, shaky inhalation. "S...Sor--" He managed to cut himself off from apologizing. It wouldn't work out, especially when this girl was definitely worse than Claryssa. "Never mind that..."

Anatole gulped, almost not believing what he was about to say. "Do what you want. Get your revenge."

As her wand rolled toward her she saw the tip had been broken off. She swore her heart stopped. Laying there on the floor drenched with fluid she reached a spindly hand, trembling. Teeth themselves chattering, every nerve stood at it's end. All noises, either outside or in the castle echoing into the room seemed to be silence in her own ears.

Her father always wore this look whenever he was in his worst moods. His mother calling him the devil incarnated; a beast of hell as the look in his eyes could make anyone close to pissing their pants. Almost half of that is the look at what she gave the nameless boy. Bearing her teeth in a deep scowl a bit frightening for a first years.

Anita began to yell profanity at the boy, throwing every wizarding and muggle insult she knew. Standing up with some struggle, she pointed her broken wand at him.

"Do what you want. Get your revenge." she stopped in her tracks. Taking in his words, every one born to a wizarding family knew that telling a Slytherin to take their revenge was perhaps the biggest mistake. So her scowl turned more menacing, giving him a calculating look she smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth making a clicking noise.

"Oh, I'll certainly take my revenge."