Baby, I'm Sorry (Not Sorry) PV Finished

Narrator's Counter-Note: Despite the above's summation on the state of affairs that led our protagonist and his antagonist to where they now found themselves, I offer you an alternative to consider. The boy had, with good intention, left the safety of his bed to bring the girl her book, requiring only a small token of appreciation for his endeavors. Clearly having problems, she attacked him while his back was turned and broke his knee. The poor thing. Now she sought to make amends by offering goods and treats, which begs the ultimate question. Why hadn't she simply done so from the start?

Two days. He had been bedridden as the Matron's ward for two whole days with only the woman's company. There hadn't been a need for much begging on his part when he asked her to keep his friends Max, Aubren and Eris out should they attempt to come and visit him. He didn't want them to see him in such a pitiful state, and he knew they both might have had a few things to say to the girl if they ever learned of what she had done, especially Eris who might just deck her. No. He didn't want them to know just yet. Not until he had gotten the chance to avenge himself. And plot he did. The good part about having a medical note that exempted you from class and pretty much everything else was that you had all the time you needed to think. So many devious plans came to him during this time.

The boy was currently on his feet against doctor's orders sifting through a few of the better revenge plots when he heard a sound like a thousand baby giants converging. He turned to face the door and scowled when he noticed the head of pale red hair belonging to none other than the reason he was here and not in the comfort of his own dorm. He eyed her like a bird watching an insect, waiting for the perfect time to lash out and swallow her whole. From the hefty basket that she had lugged into the room, she alighted many different things that he stared at blankly. Many books, most of which he had read before but others that he had not yet gotten to. Chocolate and frog and...

His eyes widened despite himself when he heard mention of and noticed the wizochocs that she had brought with her. Just as quickly as the expression had registered it vanished, but the scowl had ended up softening into a poker face. Dorian casually strolled over to the bed and gathered up a handful of the wizochocs, tearing into them with a ravenous hunger. "So you break a guy's knee and hospitalize him. But that's okaaay! You brought books, chocolate, lectures and an apology so all must be forgiven right?" The sarcasm was heavy in his otherwise chocolate-filled mouth. His words came out sounding muffled but audible enough to understand.

Narrator's Response: Just to clarify, by "a small token", my colleague here is referring to the sum of fifty galleons that Mr. Gray requested be paid to him. Fifty galleons for one small notebook! My dear reader, is that even remotely fair?

Dorian strolled over to the bed and gathered up some of the wizochocs, tearing into them. "So you break a guy's knee and hospitalize him. But that's okaaay! You brought books, chocolate, lectures and an apology so all must be forgiven right?"

"No. Of course not. I'd be an idiot if I expected that," Ami muttered coolly, crossing her arms. Dorian was smart, she knew that- he wouldn't forgive her until she died at his hands, or something close. Well, it wasn't going to happen- she'd just break his other knee, maybe mess up his face, too. Maybe boys were as sensitive about that stuff as most girls were. 

"Mr. Gray, chew with your mouth closed, please. Not all of us are barbarians." She shut the lid of the basket, leaving the notes and chocolate frogs inside- he'd retrieve them if he wanted to. She set the basket on the ground, kicking it under the bed to conserve space. Her hands twitching, she looked around for something to do, and quickly set them to work organizing all of the books into a neat stack on the bedside table, arranging them by author last name.

Once that was done, she threw the bag of galleons at Dorian. "Those are for you. You're not getting any more, so don't even think about asking. That's it- an apology for your knee, and payment for the notebook." Ami turned sharply on her heel, fluffing the pillow on Dorian's bed absent-mindedly.

Narrator's Counter-Response: Do not be fooled by her vile rhetoric, my esteemed readers. Ask yourselves what you would have done in her situation. Told the boy simply that you did not have the amount being requested or literally broken his leg and sent him to the infirmary? Be mindful of their oh-so-delicate ages of eleven or twelve.

Dorian nodded, glad that she had caught on to his derisive quip. It wouldn't have been fun if she were one of those ditzy girls who took everything they were told at face value and questioned nothing. He wanted a challenge. Welcomed it. Dorian gathered up more of the chocolate, his mouth smacking repulsively as he chewed with vim, the phantom pain in his leg all but forgotten. At her snide remark, he only seemed to chew louder and more openly, if that was even possible, and sat on the edge of the bed with her in the corner of his eyes. Never again would he take this girl out of his sight, that was one lesson he had learned the hard way.

"I'm the patient. You can't tell me what to do." He considered what he had just said for a moment then reconsidered. "Actually. How about I break your leg too and then you tell me to do whatever you want. Just one tiny fracture and we'll be square." Obviously she would not go for this, but Dorian wanted to see how far he had to push to get her to retaliate. She seemed like someone who wasn't too easily provoked, stemming from how long she had held out and practically begged him to return her book that day. But the fact remained that when she did lose her cool it was swift and sudden. At least he knew he still had that effect to inspire wrath in others. He only cursed his own lack of foresight.

Catching the bag of galleons in his hands that were now a complete mess of chocolate and saliva, he shook the thing and listened to the jingle, then tossed it right back at the girl, hard. He aimed with the intention of hitting her directly in the face with the somewhat heavy bag of gold, but before the bag had left his hand the remnants of chocolate slime therein caused his grip to slip and the bag was now aiming harmlessly for her left shoulder without nearly the amount of force he had intended. "You can keep your pity pennies Ami. As far as I'm concerned we'll never be e- What are you doing?!" A look of rampant shock danced across his face when he noticed what she was doing.

"Why are you fluffing my pillow?" His voice was getting much louder with each word he spoke. "Why are you even still here though? Okay okay, I heard your apology and I accept. Sort of... You can go now. Don't let the door hit you on the way out." He was making a shooing gesture with his hand letting her know just how badly he wanted her to leave. His mouth was still full of chocolate and the words still sounded muffled as they forced their way through the blob of dark ooze. "On second thought, let the door hit you on the way out. It'll make me feel better." She owed him that much at least for harming him so drastically.

Narrator’s Objection: Have we forgotten how Mr. Gray treated Ms. Procoppio? He gave her every incentive to do even worse- be thankful she still retains an ounce of mercy for Mr. Gray. He treated her like she was the worst of the worst, like she wasn’t worth the time of day. How could she be deserved to be treated like this?

The red-head immediately froze as Dorian questioned her pillow-fluffing, and her hands dropped to her sides, fidgeting with the sleeves of her robes. She didn’t reach for the golden coins, slightly appalled by the saliva and melted chocolate on the bag. Why did she even bother, sometimes? This child only knew how to take, and never give.

Ami glanced at her watch as Dorian told her to skedaddle- and the absolute rudeness of that statement astounded her. And here she thought that the British were more polite than Americans! Well, clearly she thought wrong. “Twenty more minutes,” she dead-panned, glancing back up at Dorian. “I used you as an excuse- a sympathy card, I suppose, to get out of Flying. I don’t understand why someone would want to mount a broom just to fall off it from a hundred feet up in the air- no thanks. Class ends in twenty minutes, so I’m just going to camp up here until then.”

She sat down at the foot of the bed, glancing at Dorian before reaching for her wand, slowly taking it out. Pointing it at the ceiling, her eyebrow twitched and a ball of light about the size of a pebble floated up to the ceiling- then another, and another, and another. Pointing her wand at the curtains, they closed, blocking out light from the windows, and the lights in the sconces along the walls extinguished. Pointing her wand up at the ceiling again, more lights flew up to the ceiling, and Ami smiled to herself. If Dorian were as educated as she thought he was, he’d recognize the dozens of constellations now lining the ceiling.

Narrator's Counter-Objection: And have we forgotten how non-violent Dorian was being towards Ami? Let this serve as a lesson to all who may cross future paths with this young lady with a penchant for violence. If she addresses you in any manner, whether by owl, word of mouth, or physical approach, run! Run like all the demons of hell are after you or you may give her 'every incentive to do even worse', in the words of my esteemed colleague.

"Beg pardon?" he asked after her 'twenty more minutes' remark. The horror on his face grew exponentially with each word that fell from her mouth, and when she was finally through Dorian felt a wave of nausea creeping up on him, threatening to make him lose his sweet-filled lunch. The thought that she had poisoned the sweets crossed his mind when the sensation surfaced, but he quickly put it to bed, refusing to believe that she would come here to finish the job. If that had been her plan she would have done so in the hallway two days ago instead of going through all the trouble of bringing him here just to off him later. Unless she was one of those psychopaths who enjoyed the game. Dorian eyed her critically, imperceptibly inching further away from her.

One thought crossed his mind, however, and it was the nagging nod of approval that he subconsciously gave her at the mention of Flying and the unnecessary risk the subject and the experience entailed. It was a fact that Flying was not among Dorian's favorite subjects in the school, and had he the choice he would forego whatever knowledge he may glean from the classes in favor of all the free periods he was missing. She would never hear him agree with her though. "She finally reveals her true colors. I was starting to make bets with myself to see how long you could keep up this farce about feeling sorry for what you did to me." At least now he wouldn't have to wonder at her motives, as she had just plainly stated them aloud.

Resisting the urge to reach for his own wand when she procured hers, he watched silently as she waved the thing about tensely, the balls of light coming to life from the tip before flying to the ceiling where they seemed to form patterns. He had scarcely taken note of the curtains pulling themselves closed when realization dawned on him. These motifs seemed familiar, a flash of memory reminding him of just how recently he had learned of these. Was she trying to show off or was she simply bored? Rising from the bed and carrying his chocolates with him, he sat on the next one over, facing her. He had retrieved his wand from the nightstand's surface and now aimed at the balls of light. "Fascinating. Ab-so-lu-te-ly remarkable. Is this you trying to tell me that you pay attention in Astronomy? Would you like a gold star?" The derision in his voice would not go unnoticed.

"I can do you one better." Dorian aimed his wand at the balls of light and decided to use one of the few spells in his repertoire in a more inventive way than the spell itself had been intended. "Periculum" he intoned quietly, watching the sparks of red light slowly arc their way into the puffs of hovering white. As soon as each spark touched the surface of one of the balls of light it caused the ball to stretch and explode, spreading across the ceiling like a thick mist. The end result would see most if not all the balls of light dispersed and spreading, merging with the red sparks and creating a confusion of pale red and white mist that glowed warmly in the otherwise darkened room. Dorian leveled a smirk at the girl. "Feel free to take notes. That's how you make magic." Suffice it to say, he was feeling really pleased with himself.

Ami snorted, crossing her arms. Although she’d never admit it to his face, personally, she thought the periculum spell was pretty amazing. The lingering mist served for good mood lighting, as well, although the two of them might get in trouble for all the smoke floating around in the air. “I don’t pay attention in Astronomy, Mr. Gray. I usually wander away or jump off the tower- I got detention for pulling that one. Those stars were all from observations and pre-Hogwarts research.” Standing up, she opened the window behind Dorian’s bed, then crossed the room to open the window directly across from the first, effectively tempting the air into a crosswind.

Sitting back down on the bed, she pointed her wand at the ceiling again, muttering the Dutch incantation under her breath. An enormous ball of light about the size of a Kitchen Aid floated up to the ceiling, acting as a chandelier of sorts. Glancing over at Dorian’s chocolate covered face, she cringed and pointed her wand at him. “Scourgify,” she tried, imitating the spell Kyden had used in the hallway- DAMMIT, not hallways, corridors when she had dropped her soda. To her pleasant surprise, the spell worked relatively well, getting a majority of the chocolate off his face. Hey, maybe magic was working out in her favor after all.

“Am I going to die soon?” Ami mused, thinking out loud. “I mean, clearly you have friends, so I’m going to infer that I’m headed for a world of pain sometime in the near future. May I suggest using graphorns? I find them particularly nasty, I’m not quite sure what to do with them. Oh! If you really want to kill me, just make me drink milk. My throat will swell up, blocking both my trachea and esophagus, and I’ll die.” Ami smiled pleasantly at Dorian and shrugged. “You know, just thinking out loud.”

"Jump off the tower?" the boy wondered. Did she mean jumping off the tower with her broom at the ready or was she referring to some levitation spell that kept her from falling to her doom? It was altogether possible that she knew a spell that would keep her from falling with the amount of force the downward velocity from the tower would accumulate. Whatever the case she was very clearly uninjured and alive to pester him, so she had obviously survived. Unless he was currently talking to a ghost, at which point he would have to start believing that a ghost broke his leg. A chilling thought indeed.

"Well color me impressed. You aren't as thick-headed as I originally thought. You got those constellations mostly right. You messed up on Ophiucus and Andromeda" he stated matter-of-factly. "Then again what do I know? I'm just your average student who doesn't pay attention in class." He looked away from her, still keeping her within his field of vision. In the dark of the now slightly tinted room, it was a bit difficult to see, but that was soon remedied by the bright glow that chased the immediate shadows away. Dorian's eyes followed the larger ball of light in its ascent but snapped guardedly back to the girl when she pointed her wand at him. Wand still in hand, he was about to raise and point it at her to counter whatever wickedness she had brewed but paused and relaxed when he noticed the wand gesture and deduced the spell she was about to cast.

He stood statue-still as the spell did its work, feeling the dried and gooey chocolate alike cleaning itself off his face. When it was over he could still feel the places around his face that had the dried contents, which must have meant that her spell hadn't worked to full effectiveness. Whatever the case he didn't bother trying to finish the job, nor did he comment, brushing at the spots where the spell had left a slight ticklish sensation in its wake. He was in the middle of doing this when out of nowhere she asked the question, causing his head to whirl so fast that it was a miracle he didn't end up snapping his own neck. "What?" was the only thing that he could manage.

More questions than answers presented themselves to him the more the girl spoke, and he found that she had a very dark outlook on circumstances that even his substantial wit could not fathom. She was giving him a list of things that she was afraid of or would otherwise kill her, and Dorian found this fact to be exceedingly disheartening. He shook his head at the girl, his face a study in disgust. "I'm very disappointed to hear that you've given up. And here I was ready to give you rival status. I don't do that for just anyone you know." He waved his wand vigorously at the book The Hunger Games that had been stacked by her on the table, sending the thing hurtling from the pile without disturbing the other books other than to cause the ones on top to fall neatly back into the stack.

With precision and control, he had shot the book straight from its resting place in a manner that made it seem as if it was about to hit her, but it stopped short of reaching her and hovered in midair. He released his spellbinding hold and allowed the thing to fall on the bed next to her. "Maybe you'd take more from this book than I would. I hear the heroine is as tough as nails and never gives up no matter the odds against her. I also heard that there's a saying in the book: 'May the odds be ever in your favor'. Consider this my encouragement not to give up or even think of giving up until you're actually down and out." That was all he cared to say about that. He had mentioned only hearing about the book and the phrase, but in truth, he had read it himself, countless times. He didn't want her throwing in the towel and making his ploy to make her life miserable a boring endeavor. He wanted her to keep him on his toes much as she had back in those hallways. She might not know it, but she had taught him a valuable lesson that day.

"Oh, Mr. Gray..." Ami laughed softly at Dorian’s words, shaking her head, her dark auburn curls bouncing. She had watched different emotions flash across his face, and wasn’t at all shocked to see disgust win in the end. Was he one of those kids who thought people who commited suicide, people with depression and anxiety only did it for attention? She’d hate for that to be the case. She’d been hoping that there were some actual intellectuals at this school. "Don't you dare waste your precious breath on me. I've given up long before this. If I don't die now, I die in World War Three- and my only rivals are those who threaten my nation and its people."

Ami’s face lit up with a smile at the mention of one of her favorite books. "Ah... Effie Trinket. I loved her, you know- in the movies? Her hair was absolutely stunning, she was absolutely beautiful. But her name was never mentioned once. Quite a shame and disgrace- shame on Hollywood. They cut Mags from Catching Fire, too. Truly a shame."

She turned to look out the window, noticing her Flying class still continuing down below, the dozens of students attempting to take off the ground, only a small handful truly succeeding. “No matter how we choose to live, we both die at the end,” she said quietly, glancing back at Dorian. “From They Both Die at the End. Death-Cast calls them, informing them- Rufus and Mateo -that they’ll die within the next twenty-four hours. The book’s somewhere in there,” she added, waving a hand at the stacks of books on the table. “But even without a Death-Cast, we all know that we’ll die at the end, don’t we? The Philosopher's Stone is destroyed- there’ll be no more eternal life for us. We all die at the end, Mr. Gray. We can’t change that. If we speed it up a little bit, something interesting might finally happen.”

Ami flopped down onto Dorian’s bed, staring up at the ceiling and the floating light. What was that book Thomas was obsessed with? Oh, right, The Sun is Also a Star. True, yes. The hidden star that everyone overlooks. She blinked, wiping away all of her thoughts, and asked out of the blue, “Have you ever killed anyone?”

Powerful bewilderment and something akin to a mixture of regret and anger met in open combat within his mind. The two sides of his subconscious warred in a bloody battle to the death, either trying to assert dominance over the other. For one part he wanted to question her further; pick her brain to better understand why her thoughts ventured so deeply down the dark road. On the other hand, his self-reproach was fighting a losing battle with the anger he felt with himself for inviting conversation on these topics. He understood. Not from personal experience, but from a place of sympathy for the hardships that people go through. He couldn't say he fully understood all that she was getting at, but he understood enough.

But understanding it was a far cry from accepting her outlook or her way of thinking. The macabre reasoning behind her invitation to death with arms wide open made him feel cold inside, a chill that chased away all warmth or sympathy that he might have felt for the girl. "Get out." Dorian lost all interest in trying to hold a conversation with her. If she was so ready to accept death then far be it from him to try and convince her that life was worth living. That was not his job, and he would not make it so. She was her own person, and he was his. If she had been seeking a kindred spirit in the boy then she had been hopelessly mistaken, and he was through offering indulgence in her quest to corrupt his young mind.

"Get. Out." He repeated more forcefully, his icy glare fixed on her eyes, his body tense and his mouth ready to form the words of a spell, any spell, in hopes of getting her out. He fought back the urge with much effort and instead tried for the final time to try and meet her halfway. Maybe his approach to this situation had been wrong from the start, and he had somehow misled the conversation to where it now stood. As soon as this thought surfaced it was forced down and crushed under a mental pressure that simply would not have it. The end result to the warring factions in his mind was a corruption of pity and hatred for the girl. He gave no thought to the question she had asked him at the end. A part of him was about to answer, but the part that remembered and openly accepted the simplicity of his current life rejected the question as a duplicity meant to invite and cause wicked thoughts to manifest.

He gave her a withering stare, one that would translate to him believing that she was less than the dirt that clung to his feet. The mental battle with himself left him feeling drained, and he was quickly losing patience with her. It was not a complete impossibility that they would ever be friends, but for now, he hated this girl. He hated her more than he had ever hated anyone or anything in his entire life. The decision had made itself, and he made no attempt to reverse or otherwise try to understand it. He just knew he wanted her to leave him to his own silly, childish hopes and dreams. He had much that he aspired to do, aspired to be, and had no time for her brand of negativity in his life. Somewhere through it all, he had started to point his wand at her, ready to let loose with everything he had if she did not comply with his demand.