Finished Avery Shade of Gray PV w/ Max Avery

When Max was young, there'd been many dinner parties. So many that they all seemed to blur together and very few stood out as being overly exceptional or memorable beyond something to gossip about. Yeah, remembering specific details about any of them was an exercise in futility, and remembering the specifics of what anyone said was impossible. Except for one conversation. He could remember that it was a rainy day mid-May when they'd had a private family get-together so everyone could greet Ivor on his successful return from trials trying to prove him a Death Eater. The smell of the food that night sometimes still hung heavily in his nostrils, and the exact words were something he often thought about before he went to sleep.

Sitting next to the guest-of-honour, his uncle, he'd been pouting about one thing or another that had seemed important at the time to a seven year old boy. Pouting didn't mean showing it on the outside, but it usually meant ruminating moodily on the inside while you smiled and pretended to listen to what people said. So here was the kicker - he hadn't been paying attention when his uncle asked a question and it had shown. His parents had been angry and promised later punishment, but even that threat wasn't as scary as what his uncle had said next.

Leaning down with all the expression of a brick wall, Ivor's breath had stirred the hairs on the back of his neck. "Do you know what happens when you die, Maxwell? People say it's pretty and you go to some fairyland where you get everything you want. I don't know about fairyland, but I know they're wrong about pretty. When you die, you shit and piss yourself. You stop feeling your limbs and the non-feeling spreads throughout your body, taking your senses away one by one. They say the last thing to go is your hearing, which means that in your final moments you can hear your enemy laughing. Or your family crying. Or both. The darkness comes for you and your heart rate rises then stops forever. There's nothing you can do to stop it." Max's fork had clattered to the table as Ivor leaned away with a smile that belied none of what he'd just said. "Eat your greens, Max. And pay attention next time."

He thought about that a lot. And right now, with fingers cutting off his air supply and his vision flickering, it was in the forefront of his mind.

He didn't understand what he'd said that had been so wrong; it was just general, casual insult that preceded any questions one wanted to ask. All he'd wanted was to read a book in peace, but apparently the world decided extortion and threats would make a much more interesting life. And what was with the getting beat up thing? How many times did it have to happen before karma decided enough. Hell. If karma wasn't going to do that, he would. He didn't need this bullshit from every place he went to.

In his mind, he retreated from the panic, fear, and confusion and coolly assessed the situation. What the bloody hell was with the antlers? Was this guy a Metamorphmagus or something? That could be dangerous if he managed to get out of the situation. He was dimly aware that he'd started gasping for air in a autonomous decision his body had made, but his eyes remained blank. No professional would be this messy. But why would a student attack him for no reason?

He lifted one hand to Dorian's burn injury and grabbed it, digging his fingernails in hard enough to draw blood and twisting. Screw suggesting that this guy keep his wound infection-free; fingernails had enough bacteria under them that he'd hopefully give the other Gryffindor an infection that would make him lose his hand. Turtling his neck to give less area to be strangled, he also viciously struck out with the heel of his palm to try to catch Dorian under the chin to snap his head back. At the same time he bucked up wildly to try throwing the boy off, four things at once to provide adequate distraction for at least one of his more violent methods to work.

And he prayed, like he was told. He prayed with every piece of his sadistic little heart that what he'd done hurt.

His exposed injury would be his undoing. Max seemed the type to exploit such an affliction, a supposition made fact by the way he seized and held Dorian's burned hand in a vice grip, subsequently puncturing flesh with his nails and twisting the hand unnaturally. An ephemeral scream left him against his will, but the rush of adrenaline numbed most of the pain while the discipline he had practiced in a time prior to now saw to it that he hold his ground. He quickly reclaimed his senses in time to anticipate Max's next moves. Quickly adjusting his stance to accommodate the boy's grip on his hand, he shifted his weight back on his left heel just in time to see his upper body sway, his head just out of reach of Max's palmed thrust.

Mindful of Max digging his nail into his flesh, he tightened his movements and kept them paced, keeping up with the other boy's rhythm. Not breaking stride, he used the interlude between Max thrusting his palm and bucking wildly to close the exceedingly short distance in a tackle, employing manipulative use of his own physical strength to keep the hand being dug into by Max pressed between both their bodies, while his other hand extended but slightly upwards to hold the other boy's upraised hand by the tricep, keeping it mostly in place above him. This action would find Max's thrust hand held abnormally in place by Dorian's hand and shoulder that was now pressed firmly underneath his arm, and the bucking motion would only make it that much easier for Dorian to throw him off balance, as his center of gravity was undoubtedly untethered. They would both be in a careening dive to the ground with Max underneath.

Dorian's aim was to grapple the boy to the ground and press against him with his superior weight and strength, where he would then apply downward force with his arm held between them to add pressure to Max's chest, crushing the boy between the ground and his body. He would literally be between a rock and a hard place where he would be held until he either cried for mercy or Dorian otherwise released him. There always remained the possibility that the boy was more resourceful than he thought, in which case Dorian kept up a vigilance honed by years of practice in preparation for anything. This was close combat, an affair that the typical wizard would always find themselves at a disadvantage in.

In two words, the situation was utter shit. He'd employed the best - and only - tactics he could really come up with in a place like this and they'd backfired painfully. Now, instead of having escaped the situation, he was in a more precarious place and it felt like his entire being hurt. It was exhausting, to hold onto himself the way he was during a struggle that was more or less fruitless. With superior strength and reflexes, there was nothing he could physically do to this Dorian Gray who'd up and decided that the world would be a better place without him in it. Nothing physically.

Lungs stuttering painfully from lack of air, he could only find one lesson that was helpful at the moment. He'd been told once that when people were extremely angry - and probably by digging his nails into this guy's hand, he'd made him extremely angry - they didn't see reason unless forced to. If someone was hovering over you with spittle flecking their lips and their eyes showing more whites than anything, saying something like 'you're scaring me' should calm them down because they weren't actively trying to scare you. Unless they were a sadist or a psychopath. If Dorian was either one of those then he was screwed anyway, so he may as well try a last-ditch effort.

Ceasing all movements, he looked the other Gryffindor straight in the eye and... left. It was pretty easy with the amount of pain he was, to retreat to a place where he didn't have to feel anymore. His limbs went limp, the struggle died from his eyes, and every light thing he had left as he gave up on trying to breathe. For all intents and purposes, he looked like he'd died. In his head he just went to a quiet spot in the woods where all of this was far away, and hoped that he'd have a body to come back to when it was all said and done. Maybe this way if death came, it would be simple - he'd stay in the woods and not even notice it approaching, and all those embarrassing functions that came into play when you died would happen to someone else.

Letting his eyes roll softly away so they were staring at the edges of the tower, his apathy was probably going to be the last slap in the face if he actually did get killed. His 'murderer' would mean nothing to him, and without struggling or showing fear, he wasn't giving up control over his self. Whatever. He hoped Aubren was really alright.

There was a lasting moment of wavering resolve nagging feverishly at the back of Dorian's mind when he felt the tension leave Max's form beneath him. Yes. He felt the moment the boy decided that he would no longer struggle, seeming to resign himself to whatever fate had been promised. It was enough to dout his anger and have him questioning why he had even allowed his stupid joke to go as far as it had. He had to remind himself that all this had indeed been a joke, one that had taken a downward spiral before crashing to an all-time low. Aptly put, he had royally screwed up.

Were he a true assassin contracted to do away with Max or hold him for ransom, he might have taken the boy's docile surrender as a sign of compliance, but Dorian was no assassin, nor was he okay with any of this. He was big enough to accept that he was in the wrong, impressively slow, and that he would need to salvage whatever hope there was left before he managed to turn Max completely against him. It was with this thought that he quickly released the boy as if he had just gotten a fresh burn from the mere contact, and rolled to the side to lay on his back much in the same way that Max would be at this point. Dorian maintained the awkward silence for a spell, really taking a lashing from his own thoughts as they had a field day reminding him of how absolutely foolish he had been.

In as much an attempt to lighten the mood as to quiet the thoughts, he started to laugh, a light, tempered sound with the intention of dispelling all the negative vibes that loomed heavily in the air. It was a cringeworthy sound, one that he stopped in short order after he had made it, allowing the silence to reign once more. They were still within close proximity, and yet Dorian could almost feel the distance growing between them as Max lay there supine and disengaged. He didn't want that. Remembering what he had come here with every intention of accomplishing, Dorian fought through his pride proficiently and said in a solid voice; "I'm sorry."

It was a start, but the intonation was too weak and the meaning behind the words on their own would hardly suffice as an apt apology. So Dorian sat up, biting back the tears that welled from the pulsing pain in his hand, and looked over at Max with as apologetic an expression as he could muster, yet one so serious and filled with daring that his sincerity could hardly be doubted. "This really was only a joke. A piss poor one I'll admit, but I never intended for it to go this far. I sent that message the way I did because I wanted to see how you'd react, not because I wanted to lure you into a trap or anything. Aubren really is okay. I would never harm her. I'd sooner harm myself. I only wanted to be your friend and..." The words had just spilled forth before he could gather his thoughts enough to keep up.

Perhaps there was something he could do to make up for all of this, that was assuming that Max even believed a word he said at this point. No assassin would have had the upper hand and paused to apologize rather than press their advantage, however, so that was something to consider at the very least. In a quiet voice; "hit me." The words were imperceptible at first, but that would not be a problem seeing as he repeated even louder the second time. "Hit me. As hard as you want and as many times as it takes for you to forgive me." Because that was the ultimate goal of the evening; to befriend Max. Why he felt such a strong pull to the other boy was anybody's guess, but he would not relent in this attempt.

The whole thing ended unexpectedly, and some might even say prematurely. Apparently his bluff (which, if he'd put any thought into it, he'd realize it wasn't a great bluff) had paid off. One second he was wondering if things were beginning to dim in his little fantasy world, the next he'd been released and was free to cough to his heart's content. It was good on account of him not dying, but at the same time it was so shocking it sent him slamming back into reality, his throat aching from the fingers that had been dug into it.

He'd felt a lot of different sorts of pain before, but being choked wasn't one of them. With the pressure no longer being dug into his windpipe, he could practically feel bruises forming. It was unpleasant, yet at the same time... he was alive. It reminded him of a book he'd once read, 'Almost dead yesterday, maybe dead tomorrow, but alive, gloriously alive, today.' Even pain was welcome if it confirmed the fact that air was coming into his lungs. Drawing in a stuttering breath, the ghost of a smile managed to soften his features. Alive.

He was startled out of his mental celebration by a sudden laugh beside him, and his attention finally turned to the situation at hand as he gingerly turned his head to stare at the boy laying next to him. Regardless of his intentions, he was clearly no longer a threat - he'd had the chance and he hadn't taken it. So no hired professional or any of the other things Max had been worrying about. And then... an apology. "Wh..." He wasn't even sure what question he was going to ask, but it was lost to nonexistence when Dorian spoke again.

A joke. A joke? He was beyond floored that the excuse for this whole thing was a joke. But there was certainly no lack of truthfulness in the other Gryff's eyes, and Max had said he'd be able to tell if a lie was being told. So it had been a genuine, honest attempt at some sort of joke. Aubren was okay, there was no real trap, and Dorian was a student who'd just wanted to be his friend. That was...

"You what?" he asked, thought it was more like a croak as he sat up so fast his head spun. With a wince, he brushed one hand over his face and left the tips of his fingers resting on his forehead as he waited for the black dots to dissipate. The touch reminded him of the bruises that were forming from the punches and he resisted the urge to let out a hiss of pain as he turned his eyes to Dorian. Merlin, but they were both in bad shape. His throat would bother him for a while and the bruises would be tender, but those weren't as bad as a burn that could get infected.

He had to blink a few more times before he could see again, however having physical sight didn't really help him see why in the hell anyone would go to such elaborate lengths in an attempt at friendship. Just who was this Dorian Gray and why was he so keen on making friends? A guy with this kind of creative mischief could easily find friends just by pranking professors, and there were more than a few students who would admire his ability to fight. He didn't seem the sort to have to fake a ransom note in order to make a friend. And why Max, specifically?

It couldn't be a family thing; that was usually done in a much politer fashion. Max also wasn't a great friend, either - he usually ended up either accidentally or purposefully breaking his friends. It was a complete and utter enigma, one that needed to be solved immediately. He planned to do just that when the final blow was delivered to his perception of someone who had the intent to hurt him.

Hit me. Forcing his hand away from his face, all he could do was stare. Hit this guy. As many times as it took. He wondered how many times that would be if he let out all of his anger. That was a ballsy but dangerous thing to say to someone whom you'd just choked so bad their throat was raw. He glanced down at his open palm that sat loosely on his lap, then back up to Mister Dorian Gray. It would probably make him feel better to hit something right now - in fact, he knew it would. He set his palm on the ground and heaved himself to his feet, the coldness returning to his eyes as he leveled Dorian with a threatening look. He should probably say something, but his throat hurt too much to give a long speech.

He closed his palm, digging crescent moons into the middle of it as he considered. Yeah, he wanted to hit something. He drew back his fist with a vengeance, like he was about to throw something. He swung at Dorian's face. Stopped an inch away, like he'd done with Rosie. "Don't tell me what to do," he rasped, then flicked Dorian in the forehead because that would sting but not like a fist. What was the point of hitting someone, really, when you'd only hurt your own fist in the process? He'd already done damage with the burn. That would have to be satisfying enough.

Turning, he cautiously started making his way over to where their wands had skidded into the darkness. He had no intent to use it, but he'd feel safer with it in hand. Without looking back, he forced more words past gritted teeth. "If you want forgiveness, tell me what exactly you thought would happen here. I need to know the logic behind... this." There, that would suffice for the first part of this mystery.

Two boys wrestling atop a tower was the perfect opportunity to make a statement. Yet the timing for such things was not now. Once the girl left, the masked figure made his way to the door she left open. He watched the two fight until it was over. They seemed to stop and laugh. Was this fight all a joke? Did Wizard children do this to each other often? The Master would be interested to know about this. It seemed the boys were too busy to notice bystanders, so the masked boy stood quietly over them from behind the shadow of the doorway.

Even you can't mess this one up. The voice returned, the Master had a plan.

Rather than speak, the masked figure simply shook his head. He already knew what was going to be requested. The barrier was too tall, the boys were on their backs. That is, until they started to get up and retrieve their wands. Resistance would be tough to maintain at this rate. The boys were making themselves easy targets and the Master was hungry to begin.

You know what to do. End them. The voice insisted, it commanded.

"Flipendo!" the masked figure shouted just as Max reached his own wand, sending him flying back without warning. "Flipendo!"

The second spell missed Dorian completely, but came close, knocking the second wand nearly off the tower altogether. Max was lucky to land just short of the ledge and crash into the barrier. No one would die tonight. The Masked Figure had failed again. His Master would be upset.

Fool. I will replace you soon, with someone who can get the job done.

All the confusion written across the other boy's features were enough to tell Dorian one thing; that his words were getting through. It was a slow process, one that would take some time and a great deal of effort on his part to not mess it up before it could culminate in his favor. He hoped beyond hope that his offer to be the personal punching bag of one Max Avery would sate the boy's anger at him enough to forgive him for his antics, or at least put him in the right direction to pursue the friendship he sought. He could almost see Max's thoughts as he looked down at his hand, as if deep in contemplation on whether he would do it or not.

Dorian watched him rise to his feet, the look on his face marred with violent intent. It was coming. Closing his eyes tightly and waiting for the blow, he didn't so much as flinch when he felt the slight rush of parasitic wind to his face that had clung to Max's fist and followed his assault. Yet there was no pain. Dorian dashed caution and opened his eyes fully, staring down the business end of the weapon that was Max's fist. He had not hit him. The words that followed elicited a broad smile from Dorian as he read into what this meant. The unexpected flick and the sound it produced quickly changed his expression to one of pain. "Ow!" he exclaimed. Eyes following Max as he walked over to the place where their wands had landed, Dorian tensed, wondering if the boy's intention was to take revenge through magical means.

He relaxed slightly when the question was posed, searching through his mind for the answer that he already knew. "Well... There isn't much logic behind any of it really. I just...kind of wanted to see what you'd do is all. I've been hearing about how scary and vicious you are all around school and I wanted to see for mys-" His words were cut short as everything happened at once. He didn't so much hear the spell being cast as he saw Max being flung through the air like so much dead weight. Dorian's head whipped around so quickly that even though the second spell had missed him, he had felt the resulting pressure of wind that ghosted dangerously close by. Somewhere at the edge of his hearing was the sound of wood skittering across stone, but he was too high-strung at the moment to care.

Tearing his eyes away from the masked figure long enough to look back in the direction where Max had landed, Dorian's relief was like a physical entity, but he quickly jumped to his feet and, instead of heading towards Max, rushed toward the sole entrance to the tower in an attempt to give chase to the culprit. He hadn't even bothered to seek his wand, clearly not thinking straight. He covered some ground, but as far as he could tell, the figure had vanished into thin air, almost as if it had never been there to start. Winded, Dorian made his way back to the spot where Max still lay and shook the boy, panic his most formidable foe. "Max... Max!" He was awash with cold sweat, his hands were shaking, and his thoughts were running rampant. This was all his fault.

If he hadn't sent that stupid letter coercing Max to meet him up here when they should be in bed, none of this would have happened. He had gotten into a physical altercation with the boy, threatened him into retaliatory action where he had garnered the conviction to burn himself as a last ditch effort, and now here was, splayed across the edge of the tower like a ragdoll. Dorian rarely cried, least of all for people, but the tears that welled in his eyes were like a force all their own. He wished there was something he could do. At least to know that he was alright would be enough, and even though the pain from the burn was starting to get worse, Dorian kept ignoring it as he had been doing this entire time, wanting to ascertain Max's wellbeing before his own.

A sharp intake of breath.

That was all Max had time for before he was sent flying through the air by the figure he caught the merest glimpse of at the door to the tower. A hundred thoughts raced through his head and were discarded in the span of a second, some of them wondering if Dorian had actually brought an accomplice and others dismissing it out of hand with the shocked look on the other Gryff's face. Dorian had been in the midst of explaining himself, and this wasn't simply some childish prank. It was genuinely a relief when his back struck the parapet instead of thin air - the thought of plunging to his death after almost being strangled was enough to drive him nearly mad.

He let out an odd sound when he hit stone, a raspy gargle that was quickly cut off when the air was knocked out of him. He'd mostly gone past pain at this point and was simply in shock, his face taking on an odd pallor as he lay spread-eagled to stare up at the sky. This astronomy tower is a horrible place and I don't reckon I ever want to come back, he thought to himself as he blinked slowly. His lungs agreed; they were tired of losing air and took even longer to grab the next breath now, as if they'd been exhausted beyond capacity. Thinking of his lungs as living, sentient things was somehow funny to him and he nearly giggled. If they were sentient, there was no doubt wizards would soon want to repress them. Maybe that's why he'd been choked and tossed around like a ragdoll - maybe it was just another wizard-repressing thing.

Right. Shock was doing funny things to his head. He couldn't even take stock of his injuries, and if he couldn't feel his neck then he didn't want to attempt to turn it lest it be broken and the movement caused further grievance. So he closed his eyes and just listened to see if he could hear Dorian confronting whoever this potential child-killer was. He'd heard a second Flipendo but no fleshy thunk of someone else hitting stone, so that must've missed Dorian. He willed the other boy to run after this figure and tackle them down with some of those fighter skills he'd shown before; since the spell had been cast at both boys, whoever the figure happened to be, they were attempting to hurt people indiscriminately.

His brows furrowed in disappointment when the footsteps rushing to intercept the figure slowed, marking the fact that they were already gone. No, no, no - someone running around the school trying to hurt kids needed be put down now or else everyone would be paranoid. Though, if he delved deeper into his more logical side, he realized that it would be stupid to encourage Dorian to go alone. Especially since he was pretty sure both wands had gone spinning back into the shadows somewhere, lost to their owners until a thorough search turned them up.

Thinking logically was beginning to bring him back from the brink of total shock, but it wasn't without its price. Everything was starting to throb with a vengeance until he couldn't tell where the hurt ended or began. His entire body was just going to be one big coalesced bruise by the next morning, and the thought made him let out a soft groan as he started shifting different limbs to ensure they were all in working order.

Before he could open his eyes, he heard his name and a moment later he was being shook, waking up all his pain receptors so quickly that his lids snapped open and a long hiss of breath escaped him. He turned his eyes to Dorian's panicked face, still a little groggy and confused about the tears. The burn, maybe, because it would make no sense for someone he didn't know to cry over him. Not when it was a friend of Aubren's who'd likely heard about what he'd done to her. Speaking of that burn, it needed to be looked at in the infirmary. This whole situation...

"Sucks," Max forced out, his breath sounding like a wheeze as he gave Dorian a look of pure frustration that said everything he couldn't speak right now. Who the hell was that shady figure? Why had he stepped into an already dicey situation? What was going on? He usually wouldn't be inclined to trust someone so quickly - or at all - but for the moment, he and Dorian had a common enemy. They needed to tentatively stick together until they could figure out what was going on.

"Wands," he managed to grit out next, tilting his head every so slightly to discover that his neck, at least, was alright. Yeah, they needed to grab their wands for what little self-defense they could do with magic in case that person came back to finish them off. Trying to prop himself up on one elbow, Max swallowed every bit of pain that he could to force out a third word. "Infirmary." The shock was wearing off too fast and Dorian needed to get his burn looked at. Really, they both needed whatever pain relief measures the matron could provide or there would be two crying boys on the astronomy tower. The rest of the situation was something that would just have to wait.

He was alive; the bitter look he gave and whatever resentment he may feel towards Dorian be damned. The chance had been there for the masked figure to do much worse while they had been engaged in a conversation that now seemed so long ago, but had elected to apply non-lethal force. Non-lethal, Dorian chose to believe, lest he plunges himself further into the throes of regret. That Max could afford him such looks of annoyance, or maybe regret at ever coming up here, meant that he would be just fine if a little battered and bruised. The relief was overtly evident on his face as he sighed and wiped at the now falling tears with the sleeve of his shirt. It was a slight moment of embarrassment to have been reduced to a sobbing mess, but Dorian quickly got over his image. Now simply was not the time.

"Yeah, it does suck doesn't it?" His mortifying tone could not be missed, and he could not seem to allow himself to make eye contact with Max. There was just something about the look in the other boy's eyes that made him feel that gazing into them would reveal things to which he would rather remain oblivious. Max's single utterance of "wands" was like a command in the summary way it was said, but Dorian didn't say a word, lifting himself to full height and making his way to where he had seen the wands roll. Upon inspection, he noticed that neither of them had been damaged, and that, at least, was a reason to be thankful. He had grown rather attached to his wand, especially considering the ease with which he could cast his transfiguration spells. He would rather not lose it.

He noticed Max was in something akin to a sitting position when he returned to his side and handed him his own wand, and the final command: "infirmary", was all Dorian needed to hear before he went through the motions. Gently, ever so gently, he reached a hand under Max's arm and another around his waist and helped him to his feet. It would not do to cause the boy any more pain, so Dorian inched forward slowly, their time on the tower coming to a much-needed close. The unspoken sentiment was shared; Dorian would not be returning to the Astronomy tower anytime soon. It was a place of nightmares wrought with dangerous memories. Something good had come out of it, however. Or at least he hoped. A new and forever friend by the name of Max Avery and the boy would soon come to know every Shade of Gray.

Exeunt