5 Jan 2022, 23:01
Books and Bruises
[font=times new roman]hex: #3a5948
[font=times new roman]It had gotten to the point where Wyatt knew it was going to be a sleepless night from the moment he got up. Something about the morning air of his near-airlocked stone dorm would be off and he’d let his head crash back onto his pillow. Now, his head rested on his pillow, but it was nighttime, and he wasn’t tired, and he didn’t know what to do. He was getting rather bored of staring at the mattress above him. A mattress that should have been holding a bunkmate, but was instead home to his trunk and many books.
Wyatt felt a ping of loneliness, enough to recognize and put a name to. Perhaps Henry had been right. Maybe Henry wasn’t weak for having a support system. Wyatt shouldn’t have called him weak. Wyatt also didn’t need to think about that fight again. Instead, he thought about books for a bit. The ones sitting on the spare mattress above his uncomfortably still form, how ‘bout it? Another ping, this time, guilt. When he thought about it, he realized those books could have been sitting on the mattress for over two years, now.
They needed to be returned, like, yesteryear, that was for sure. Of course, it would have to wait till morning. It was a bit after curfew, after all. But Wyatt was so bored! One trip down to the library after hours couldn’t hurt, especially not after months of listening to that damn curfew rule. In his mind, this reasoning was on point, so Wyatt practically leapt out his covers, scaring his poor snake, Siobhan half to death under the bed.
As he grabbed all the books he deduced were the oldest, he told her to stay in the room, and that he wouldn’t be long. She looked worried, and off her worry, Wyatt almost scoffed, but she eventually assented with a curt nod. Wyatt looked at her with an odd expression for a moment. Did she think it was her decision as to whether or not he was able to leave his own room? He let out an annoyed huff, but quietly snuck out of the dorm.
With a stack of books that was probably too high for the corridors to be navigable as he held them, Wyatt left his dorm, went through the common room, and found himself in the hall soon enough. He was moving at a surprisingly fast pace for someone as tired as he was then, as he very much wanted to drop off the books and get the whole thing over with. On his way, he stopped for a moment to admire the sky. Hogwarts was a perfect place to watch the stars at night, with the only light pollution being candles that had been put out hours ago.
The stars didn’t change the fact Wyatt was on a mission, though, and he matched his old pace the second he began moving again. The Slytherin slightly shifted his stack of books so it was covering his vision for just a moment as he walked by an intersection, his intent being to make himself more comfortable.
[font=times new roman]Interacting: @Draven Mirador
Mentioning: N/A
| “If you ever need anything please don't hesitate to ask someone else first.” - Kurt Cobain. |
Sta: 15 | Eva: 20 | Str: 6 | Wis: 9 | Arc: 9 | Acc: 11 Parselmouth | Prodigal DADA | Fearless | Muggle Condition |
8 Jan 2022, 00:36
Books and Bruises
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@Wyatt Starkey
| ── | The Slytherin common rooms were beautiful at night. Golden firelight crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows over the floor and suits of armor which guarded the entrance. A plain brick wall. Only once students whispered a certain word would the common room be revealed. And sitting in front of the hearth, nodding off, his fingers slipped between the yellowing pages of a book, Draven could say he'd ever been more at peace. It felt like a waste to sleep the night away. The hours between twilight and sunrise were the most precious. When no one could demand anything from him, entire world caught in a peaceful trance. Even the ghosts had quieted, perhaps afraid to disturb the students' slumber. In front of him, ten finished assignments was stacked in a neat(ish) mound. A few hours spent writing had sent cramps crawling through his wrists, making it impossible to hold the quill for a moment longer. And there was no reason to anymore. Draven smiled, the sense of overwhelming peace and relief which had come along with the homework being finished lulling him into a sweet half sleep. It hurt to hold the book, however. Draven grimaced, feeling something in his wrist snap as he moved. All around him, books he'd checked out within the past month were piled up around the chair in several messy stacks. Back home, the house elves had taken care of returning library books. For some reason, our young noble doubted these elves would be as accommodating. Pushing himself to his feet, Draven started sorting through the books. Magical Theory. A book talking in depth about the history of gargoyles. Fifty charms every young wizard should know. And ten other books he'd absentmindedly stone from the library when he was studying for the potions test. It was a daunting task, carrying his bounty back to where it belonged. Especially in one trip. But walking through the entire castle twice was a lot trickier than one might think. Draven sighed and crouched down, digging his fingers underneath the bakers' dozen worth of books. They weren't particularly heavy, but when he stood up, they obscured most of his field of vision. Of course they did. Defying all expectations, most of the trip went well. He'd spent a little over five months at Hogwarts now, and he'd started to know the layout of the castle instinctively. The halls liked to play tricks, especially on first years. Where there had once been a door now there was nothing but a smooth wall. Some staircases led to dead ends. Some halls had things growling at the end of them. Not tonight. Turns out, not being able to see more than five feet in front of him had its advantages - one being his 'natural' 'sense of direction' 'took over'. He was near the library now, he could feel it. Somewhere far off in the distance, floating candles flickered a welcoming light, drawing him near. His momentary distraction was all it took. For the next moment, he walked right into something. No, not something. Someone. There was a muffled cry of pain as books cascaded around the two boys, falling nosily on the cobblestone floor. Draven had ended up sprawled backwards, joints crackling like fire when he put weight on them. Right then, he might have whispered something under his breath which would have made his father pale. |
── |
@Wyatt Starkey
Last edited by Draven Mirador on 6 May 2022, 18:03, edited 1 time in total.
ITS STILL RAINING. WHY IS IT STILL RAINING? sta • 13 | eva • 8 | str • 1 | wis • 15 |arc • 7 | acc • 9 |
8 Jan 2022, 18:26
Books and Bruises
[font=times new roman]hex: #3a5948
[font=times new roman]No sound came from Wyatt, as if trained, other than that of his body hitting the floor. Thankfully, the sound was far quieter than the comically large piles of books once carried by him or his obstacle smacking cobblestone. The boy in the grey sweater couldn’t hold back a tired and irritated curse as the initial shock of the collision started to wear off and he began to feel the pain at his hip. Unfortunately, that was after the books had stopped their toppling, so no noises would drown out his weakness.
Wyatt scrounged up enough energy necessary to stop himself. He was too tired to think about the word. Who knows where he might have let his mind take him if he were to continue down that rabbit hole? As quickly as he could, he began to pick up his books, muttering a vaguely audible sorry from his position on the floor.
Curiosity pulling at him, he eventually let his eyes flicker up at the person he’d bumped into.
It was certainly someone younger than him, he noticed, as well as better dressed. It made Wyatt feel as though he needed to change to be in the kid’s presence. It made him a little uncomfortable. It was snobby purebloods who often wore stuffy clothes like that, and those people were rather unforgiving. Though most days Wyatt would have taken that as a challenge, he was feeling burnt out lately.
Wyatt noticed a few books that weren’t his. A book of beginner spells, and another about gargoyles. Magical Theory as well. That eased his nerves a bit, as he assumed the type of pureblood he didn’t want to deal with would have known these things already, or would have at least been too proud to walk around with a book implying otherwise. It also pointed to first-year, which helped too.
Suddenly, one of Wyatt’s books began screaming. His curse was louder this time, the same from before, and he raced to slam it shut. Once it was closed and Wyatt had wrapped the shoelaces (the ones he used to bind the thing before the fall) around it again, he caught his breath. Magick Moste Evile, a fitting name for a book moste annoying, he thought as he let out a sigh that morphed into his latest apology.
He returned to picking up his books, placing Confronting the Faceless and Guide to Advanced Occlumency in with the rest of the pile, then placing it to the side to start on the other boy’s pile. The only thing circulating through Wyatt’s brain was, “this is a disaster,” and the thought wouldn’t leave him no matter how hard he tried to reason. Reason it wasn’t his fault, reason this was better than staring at the bottom of a mattress, reason tonight was the best night to do this because he didn’t have any exams the next day.
“I dare to hope you’re not a prefect. Are you? Answer quickly, please. I’m not that desperate as to dare to pray quite yet but I'm not itching to speed up the process.” He spoke with a joking tone, though hints of exhaustion made him sound more serious than he intended to, which might have confused the boy. Wyatt looked up with a tight smirk, attempting to make his lighthearted intentions clearer.
[font=times new roman]Interacting: @Draven Mirador
Mentioning: N/A
| “If you ever need anything please don't hesitate to ask someone else first.” - Kurt Cobain. |
Sta: 15 | Eva: 20 | Str: 6 | Wis: 9 | Arc: 9 | Acc: 11 Parselmouth | Prodigal DADA | Fearless | Muggle Condition |
13 Jan 2022, 15:08
Books and Bruises
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@Wyatt Starkey
| ── | Draven pushed himself up into a sitting position with a grimace, tentatively feeling the back of his head with the tips of his fingers. Something warm had started trickling down the nape of his neck. For the second time that month, he'd been knocked flat on his ass. Neither occurrence had been particularly dignified. Willing the room to stop spinning, the boy cast a glance at his compatriot. Whoever else was foolish enough to walk around the castle in the dead of night didn't seem particularly pleased, swearing under his breath as he picked through his books. He was gathering quite the impressive stack. Draven wracked his brain, trying to place him somewhere. But he was coming up with a blank. Either they'd never talked before, or whoever it was had materialized out of thin air. And then something started screaming. It didn't last long before the other boy pounced on the book, but if the sheer volume of that scream hadn't risen the dead, it had certainly awakened them. Draven stumbled to his feet scanning the halls with wide eyes half expecting a translucent form to float through one of the nearby walls. His heart was pounding in his throat, looking around frantically for any sort of hiding places. Damn him for not learning the levitation charm. Damn him for deciding to take a midnight stroll. Damn him for not looking where he was going. They could either book it for the library, or stand in the middle of the hall like idiots, waiting for a professor to come bust them. "I'm not," he hissed, starting to stack his books on his knee, muttering a word of thanks as the other boy begun to help him, handing over a few when Dray could no longer bend down to reach them "But we need to go before a real one shows up." In the flickering torch light with his heartbeat drowning out everything else and exhaustion having blurred the hallway into a dreamlike haze, it was hard to pick out details on the other boy. Unruly hair and dark circles which stood out against his skin like ink blots on parchment paper. Slender, and delicate. He seemed breakable in the way a rusty old chain seemed breakable - impossible unless you found the right link. Snap that, and the entire chain gave ou- "Boys, move" one of the portraits nearby whispered, frantically gesturing them onwards. "I can hear someone down the hall." Neither of them needed to be told twice. Struggling underneath the weight of the books, both the boys rushed down to the library, slipping in silently. Most smart witches and wizards were asleep in their beds at this time of night. But neither of these boys were particularly bright. Or rather, they didn't seem like it then, trying to quiet their breathing, a stack as tall as life itself, sneaking around the bookshelves. | ── |
@Wyatt Starkey
Last edited by Draven Mirador on 6 May 2022, 18:03, edited 1 time in total.
ITS STILL RAINING. WHY IS IT STILL RAINING? sta • 13 | eva • 8 | str • 1 | wis • 15 |arc • 7 | acc • 9 |
17 Jan 2022, 02:30
Books and Bruises
[font=times new roman]hex: #3a5948
[font=times new roman]So, he wasn’t a prefect. Cool and also thank Merlin.
But Merlin wasn’t the most important guy at the moment. Thanks to his blasted book the duo’s location was pretty compromised, and it was time to get moving. Something the other sleepless boy vocalized. Sluggishly, Wyatt stood before making his way to the library with haste using energy he didn’t have, the other boy in toe. A portrait reminded them of what they knew, but added they heard footsteps. Wyatt’s anxiety worsened.
They were there soon enough. The Slytherin common room wasn’t so far from the ground floor where the library was, so it wasn’t such a trek. Wyatt did wonder what house the boy he made eat dirt belonged to. While studying him, however, Wyatt noticed the boy was struggling with his stack of books. He was taller, if only slightly so, but it was enough for him to be able to help, so he took a couple books off the top of his stack.
“Don’t wanna have another fall,” he rationed quietly, trying to deflect any words of thanks in advance and chalking his random and uncharacteristic act of kindness up to reason.
Finally, they’d reached the library, but you’d think it was the promised land off of how thankful Wyatt was to have reached the place without a prefect putting a stop to his attempt. There was a question that arose once the moment of intense gratitude had passed, however. What was they? Who in the world was this kid Wyatt had walked into? For the first time in a while, Wyatt had no intention on just deducing the kid’s whole life from a piece of lint on his sock. He didn’t have the motivation, but did that mean…? No…
Would he have to have a full conversation to figure out who he was talking to?
“I’ll just—” Wyatt began, voice low, but didn’t finish the thought.
Quickly and without grace, he turned on his heel and made his way to the DADA section of the library before going alphabetically to find where his books should go. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw something strange. The boy’s head was leaking? So, he was either sweating too much and was bad at dying hair or… “Shit, are you bleeding?” Wyatt asked, halfway through putting a book back in it’s proper place.
[font=times new roman]Interacting: @Draven Mirador
Mentioning: N/A
| “If you ever need anything please don't hesitate to ask someone else first.” - Kurt Cobain. |
Sta: 15 | Eva: 20 | Str: 6 | Wis: 9 | Arc: 9 | Acc: 11 Parselmouth | Prodigal DADA | Fearless | Muggle Condition |
17 Jan 2022, 04:57
Books and Bruises
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@Wyatt Starkey
| ── | Draven shrugged, pulling the collar of his coat up. His hands weren't bloody, and that was all that mattered. Whatever stinging pain came from the back of his head, it could be cured with milk of the poppy.
For the briefest of seconds, Draven's eyes had flickered towards his compatriot, taking in his stack of books, the direction of the library he'd come from. One day, he hoped to enter that section. But today wasn't that day. Instead, he lowered his gaze back to his own stack of books. No servants waited on him in this castle, none that prowled around the night at least. He preferred it that way, if he was being completely honest. There was a certain satisfaction that came upon climbing atop ladders himself, placing the books in their proper place. He worked silently. Methodically. Shelf by shelf, book by book. A ghost amongst the tomes, setting everything as it had once been. Everything is better in the near dark, Draven thought with a smile, tips of his fingers pushing a book back in it's rightful place. The library was dead quiet, only mice scuttling along the bookshelves disturbing the peace. So different from the day, when students were whispering to one another, and laughter floated up to the high walls from all the way down in the courtyard. Draven smiled, leaning against one of the pillars reaching up towards the castle's domed celling. Peace. He didn't think he'd find it after running for his life, with blood staining his jacket. Yet, there he was. Peering at the boy with a grin, hands stuffed in his pockets. Floating candles were scattered along the giant shelves, casting flickering golden light over the two boys. When the other caught him staring, he didn't look away. But he didn't say anything either, waiting for him to finish. His stack was much higher than Draven's, and the books spoke a great deal about their owner. Either studious, or trying to escape reality. It didn't matter, not really. All that mattered now was getting back to their dorm. Without getting caught. Draven didn't move. Exhaustion tugged at him, demanding he lie down and close his eyes. But the stillness of the library tugged him harder. The need for quiet. For a break. Wordlessly, he sat down at one of the tables. A sturdy, ancient thing with iron embellishments on the corners and claws hammered in the library floor. And tapped his wand against the other chair at the table. It floated back silently, awaiting his companion. An invitation. One Draven sincerely hoped the other would accept, for whatever reason. From inside his cloak, Dray pulled out yet another book. One not of this library. The pages were yellow, the spine falling apart with age, it's cover in tatters and held together by tape and the fierce hope it wouldn't fall apart. 'The Neverending Story' was written on the book, faded letters holding the same charm to him now, that they'd held the first time he'd run his fingers over them. Draven opened it, and begun reading. | ── |
@Wyatt Starkey
Last edited by Draven Mirador on 6 May 2022, 18:03, edited 1 time in total.
ITS STILL RAINING. WHY IS IT STILL RAINING? sta • 13 | eva • 8 | str • 1 | wis • 15 |arc • 7 | acc • 9 |
17 Jan 2022, 18:09
Books and Bruises
[font=times new roman]hex: #3a5948
[font=times new roman]The feeling of being watched was something Wyatt was used to by now. In the halls, younger years would look up at him wearily, half-expecting him to hex them into, what, the void? Kids his age or older would look down at him no matter their height, as he was probably rude to them at some point. A small, perhaps wiser few would look upon him with pity, sometimes sympathetic or empathetically. Nowadays, the look he noticed the most was of confused caution, as if the person behind the expression was worried he’d shatter if handled improperly.
This stare was nothing like the others. For one, it didn’t falter once Wyatt caught the look. Additionally, there were no words attached to it. No insults or otherwise, just silence. It was too confusing to Wyatt. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond. So far, this kid was not giving a lot of signals to imply what he was thinking or feeling, so an undying stare was not helping Wyatt understand him more.
For some unexplainable reason, however, it didn’t feel awkward. There wasn’t anything sinister about the look other than Wyatt’s mind making up a reason for it to be. Placing the last book in its place, Wyatt turned his head to face the boy again, who had moved to be sitting at a table somewhere. What he noticed cleared up a few thoughts concerning the boy’s blood status. The Neverending Story, a book Wyatt never got familiar with but could recognize was a muggle story. It looked rather old, with words faded and pages yellowed.
Wyatt noticed that a chair had been pulled out for him, magically. Now uncomfortable, he moved to the chair, eternally confused over what was going on. The whole situation was confusing, wasn’t it? He crashed into this kid who happened to be going to the same place with a similar problem and was now being offered a seat opposite him. But why would anything make sense, anyway? What time was it?
“Why’re you out so late? First year?” He questioned disjointedly while taking a seat and staring blatantly at the kid in front of him.
[font=times new roman]Interacting: @Draven Mirador
Mentioning: N/A
| “If you ever need anything please don't hesitate to ask someone else first.” - Kurt Cobain. |
Sta: 15 | Eva: 20 | Str: 6 | Wis: 9 | Arc: 9 | Acc: 11 Parselmouth | Prodigal DADA | Fearless | Muggle Condition |
29 Jan 2022, 23:20
Books and Bruises
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@Wyatt Starkey
| ── | "I could ask you the same thing." Draven retorted, holding his gaze. Silence stretched out between the two, nothing but the scuttling of mice there to disturb them. It was oddly comfortable, in the gloom of night with candles floating all around them and painting their worries in gold. Dray set the book down, leaning backwards in his chair, not faltering underneath the other's blatant stare. "I'm a first year," he said smoothly, gray eyes settling on Wyatt's sweater. Where the boy before him was dressed for comfort, Dray was dressed for....elegance? Despite the scuffle in the halls, there wasn't a hair out of place on Mirador. Even his coat had stayed relatively clean, jade cufflinks twinkling cheerfully up at their owner. Everything about this boy was deliberate, from the tasteful airy cologne to the snake buckle holding up a heavy, expensive belt. At the beginning of the year, his father had bought him everything green. Green and silver ties, suits with green interiors, rings with emerald and jade gems imbedded in sterling silver. 'For good luck,' Abbadon had signed with a smile. But they both knew the intent hidden underneath that smile. A Mirador getting sorted into anything but Slytherin or Ravenclaw was unheard of. He would have been a mockery, had he been sorted in anything else. "You're a Slytherin too." Not a question. The guy had....the air of someone who'd spent a little too much time in the basements of Hogwarts. Not that they weren't nice basements per say. But at the end of the day, not seeing sunlight for years wasn't pleasant, and many of the Slytherins would rather have been dragged out by their hair than walked outside to 'enjoy the sun' willingly. Draven was amongst that group of people, and if it weren't for college applications, he wouldn't have been on either of the sports teams waiting lists. He leaned across the table, going to shake the guy's hand. "I'm Draven." | ── |
@Wyatt Starkey
Last edited by Draven Mirador on 6 May 2022, 18:03, edited 1 time in total.
ITS STILL RAINING. WHY IS IT STILL RAINING? sta • 13 | eva • 8 | str • 1 | wis • 15 |arc • 7 | acc • 9 |
18 Feb 2022, 17:45
Books and Bruises
[font=times new roman]hex: #3a5948
[font=times new roman]"I could ask you the same thing." The boy replied seeming confident, but not in spite of anyone or any situation, Wyatt realized. He was just sure of himself and, it seemed, of Wyatt. The parselmouth wondered briefly what that must be like as he shifted his focus from the boy to the candles then back. Once Wyatt’s attention had returned to the posh kid, he had relaxed his posture and set down his book.
“Eh,” Wyatt argued. His tone said “no you couldn’t” but he didn’t mean it in such a way that he was above questioning. That eh was probably the closest thing he could get to “look at me, do you think I have a reason to get a good night’s rest?” Wyatt thought with how observant the boy seemed to be, he wouldn’t have to ask questions like those. The fact that he didn’t just assume, though, was refreshing.
"I'm a first year," he said smugly like a jaded criminal in an interrogation. It was fascinating how he crafted his answer to Wyatt’s question in such a way it seemed like he’d brought it up himself. This wasn’t new or different to him: commanding the room and commanding a conversation. His eyes drifted to Wyatt’s sweater. Instantly, Wyatt was shifting in his seat and had crossed his arms, though his intent expression remained fixed.
Wyatt was dressed to try to sleep while this kid was dressed for, like, court. Even the ever-messy collision in the hallway couldn’t stop his hair, coat, or belt from being perfectly in place. It was midnight, but Wyatt felt as though he should change. Still, the homey lighting and familiarity of the library calmed his nerves, told him that would be ridiculous, told him to relax, sleep. He couldn’t.
"You're a Slytherin too." Another assertion, but this time no question to bend it from. Wyatt tried to remember if he’d asked for the kid’s house or if he’d given him his own.
“Why do you assume so? I might be a Gryffindor, you know,” Wyatt questioned. His tone was joking enough that it likely wouldn’t be missed but serious enough to show his curiosity. Once he’d finished his sentence, he realized he’d just insinuated he was a Gryffindor without gagging. Alec really was corrupting him, but he deserved it didn’t he.
All of a sudden, the orange warmth of candlelight surrounding him became the beginning of a Bombarda from Henry Knight’s wand. It was almost a month from that night, and Wyatt hadn’t looked at Henry the same since. He barely looked at him at all. Avoided his roommate, Chen, completely, too. Unfortunately, Knight’s cat was everywhere, and Wyatt would see it from time to time. And feel the guilt. Wyatt closed his eyes.
"I'm Draven."
Wyatt opened his eyes to see a first-year, a library, an extended hand, a person that was willingly speaking to him without wanting something, for all Wyatt knew, at least. And if he was being honest, he’d take it if he found out the kid needed answers for old assignments or a faked Hogsmeade slip. He wasn’t in any position to be picky with the people who interacted with him.
“Yeah, Wyatt. I’m- you…” Merlin. “Sorry.”
Wyatt decided if they were going to be sitting there for longer than a second, indicated by Draven’s posture, he’d talk. He also shook his hand. A little delayed but at least he remembered at all. Wyatt's hands were cold. His shake wasn't firm but it wasn't feeble. It was an attempt. He began talking after he retracted his hand.
“I think those books have been in my room for years. I just… wanted to get them back here,” he took a deep breath. “Might as well do something useful if you can’t even sleep, right…? What about you?”
[font=times new roman]Interacting: @Draven Mirador
Mentioning: Alec Mason, Henry Knight, Avery Chen
| “If you ever need anything please don't hesitate to ask someone else first.” - Kurt Cobain. |
Sta: 15 | Eva: 20 | Str: 6 | Wis: 9 | Arc: 9 | Acc: 11 Parselmouth | Prodigal DADA | Fearless | Muggle Condition |
19 Mar 2022, 01:18
Books and Bruises
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@Wyatt Starkey
| ── | Draven was slowly realizing conversations were not his strong suit. Before, there had always been an objective. Running from teachers or hexing people or sneaking off from a prefect to buy candy. But now? It was just the two of them in a giant empty library with nobody to disturb them. And he couldn't hide behind a cup of tea. What an odd experience. He plucked one of the floating candles from the air, slender fingers gingerly wrapping around the hot wax and bringing closer. It painted Wyatt in shades of gold and white, making him look like a fairytale prince. He was beautiful, the other boy. Despite the disheveled hair and dark circles under his eyes, and despite the giant wall of thorns he'd built around himself, and nurtured every day, watering it with memories and sorrows. Insomniac beauty, but there was no prince charming coming. "You're not a Gryffindor." Draven laughed quietly, letting go of the candle. It rose back up again, ascending towards the high celling gracefully. Outside, the night stars were twinkling amongst the clouds. Peaking from between silver rays and shining as if to say 'you should be sleeping'. Dray's eyes flickered towards the window. It overlooked the grounds, with the pathway towards the keepers cabin disappearing behind the ancient fir trees that guarded the Hogwarts fields. "Wyatt. It fits you." The boy smiled as Wyatt's name rolled off his tongue. It was beautiful. Sounded like a song. Like a good story. Wyatt's hands were freezing. Dray fought the urge to take his coat off and wrap it around the boy's shoulders - he suspected he'd get hexed into next Sunday. Instead, he moved to close the window. A cold breeze was blowing through it, and while he enjoyed the fresh night air, February wasn't a good month to let heat escape. "The house elves get mad at me if I don't return the books after a few days" Dray grinned. "I've gotten chewed out by them before for stealing half the library." That, and he wasn't used to having to actually walk and put his own books back. He'd assumed they'd magically disappear once he was done with them - that was not the case at Hogwarts. And Wyatt was right. Whatever sleepiness had gotten hold of him had disappeared after the reckless chase down the halls. They might as well have done something useful. But what was there to do, while the whole world was sleeping? Dray peered out the window, scanning the castle walls. Most windows were dark, occupants having the good sense to be in their beds. Dray didn't fancy the idea of heading back. But they were sitting ducks here. "We can go anywhere" he mused. "Or we can go back to the dorm, and lay in bed for another four hours...." One of the options was a lot more appealing than the other. But Dray didn't want to go wondering around the castle alone, tripping over himself in the dark with the air of a ghost searching for the piece of soul he needed to return back to his slumber. | ── |
@Wyatt Starkey
Last edited by Draven Mirador on 6 May 2022, 18:04, edited 1 time in total.
ITS STILL RAINING. WHY IS IT STILL RAINING? sta • 13 | eva • 8 | str • 1 | wis • 15 |arc • 7 | acc • 9 |