why so blue? pv Closed

The library was smaller than Draven remembered. Dust and quiet still reigned, but everything was distorted. He looked at the books through a fish-eye lens, his fingers stuffed in his pockets. He was careful not to touch the shelves, though he ached to pull books out and flip through them. Librarians didn't like having him around, he'd come to learn. The followed him out of the corners of their eye, something on their faces as if he was a particularly visible wart atop their nose. Whenever he picked a book up off the shelf, they scrunched their faces and chewed on their cheeks.

So Draven walked along the shelves, looking silently at their muggle fiction section. He'd come to know the authors well. Jules Verne and Philip K. D, Daniel Defoe and Robert Louis Stevenson. He'd stolen their works from shelves before, stuffed the old, yellowed books underneath his hoodie, and walked out of the library. Maybe that was why librarians didn't like him. But in his defense, judging by the state of those books, it wouldn't have been long before they'd be marked for throwing out. And he wasn't about to let that happen.

So now he had two problems. The first problem was he was wholly and utterly lost. The second problem was - he was supposed to be in class. Wringing his hands, the boy crouched, digging through his bag for the elegant black wand he hadn't yet sold off—the one thing he'd never sell.

A point-me spell could guide his way out of the maze that made up the Hogwarts Library, he was sure of it. As fate would have it, though, he couldn't- find...his wand.

Draven scrunched his nose underneath the bandana that covered half his face. Of course it would be at the very bottom of the bag. Rolling his eyes, the boy kneeled and went into the bag up to his elbow-....and came eye to eye with a girl.

Boston didn't speak for a moment, instead she observed the sad sight that this boy was. He seemed out of it, he seemed tired. He moved stiffly in her eyes, and she couldn't help but wonder where this boy has been. Because no one looks that depressed for no reason. Ok, depressed maybe isn't the right word. She thought, knowing that if she ever spoke her judgemental thoughts she'd have a lot of problems with a lot of people. The boy didn't take long to look up, and Boston widened her eyes the slightest bit as they made eye contact. At first, she felt guilty as if she had been caught doing something wrong. But why should she? It wasn't like she was stalking him. No, he just happened to be in the way, behind the shelf. She gave him a teethy smile and did a slight wave.

"... hi!" She moved her hands from the shelf and rested them on her knees. "Uh, sorry- I wasn't like watching you. By the way." She hurried to explain, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. To her, the silence felt loud. She felt as if she should maybe start some small talk... or a short conversation. It was polite, wasn't it? They were both in the library out of class, there wasn't much to say. But she wanted to try. Slowly, she spoke. "Sorry, are you... looking for something?" She furrowed her eyebrows as she looked the boy up and down from between the shelves. "I meant.. like is there a book in particular you're looking for? I could help..?" her voice drew off.

She tilted her head slightly and seemed to genuinely look concerned for the boy. Many people were able to conceal their thoughts and keep a straight face. Boston was not one of those people, her face spoke before her mouth did. She wasn't an overall loud an annoying person, she understood her boundaries and knew when to stop. She could pick up social cues, but sometimes chose to ignore them if she thought it was the best.

Her eyes scanned the bandana on the boys face. Again, several questions came into her head, but she decided to save them for later. If her attempt at conversing succeeded, perhaps she could ask him then. She noticed the dark spots under his eyes, and his mishaved hair. Her heart dropped. She couldn't help it, she was an empath. Honestly, the boy looked lost. Like he had no idea what he was doing anymore. She so badly wanted to help him. She wanted to hug him, she wanted to tell him to sleep. She wanted to fix his hair for him and show him how her dad cuts his. She wanted to sew him larger clothes (as she took note of the short sleeves). She wanted to do many things, but she barely knew him. "are you ok?" She blurted.

"I-" Draven's voice came out in a croak, dusty and cracked. He was willing to bet that if someone put a flashlight down his throat, they'd be able to see the cobwebs and skeletons of dead mice that had gathered behind his tongue from disuse.

His eyes flew towards the opposite end of the book corridor. The girl was so close he could reach across and adjust the collar on her flannel top, but at the same time, they were separated by a wall of books as wide as it was tall. 'I don't know where I am,' Draven wanted to tell the girl. He pictured the words hanging between them, imagined how they'd paint him - a scatterbrained idiot with no sense of direction - and let them float away.

"Robinson Crusoe," he said instead. "It's my favorite book." His fingers wrapped around the wand in his bag, slipping it between the flesh of his arm and the tight press of his hoodie against it. There was no chance of it falling from there. At least, he didn't think so.

Pushing himself up, Draven took a step back from the shelf. "They don't have much muggle fiction here," he said a bit awkwardly. His fingers tangled in the little hair which had begun to grow back on his scalp. The places it had been mercilessly hacked off were almost entirely grown out. If only his facial hair could do the same.

"I'm-" he blinked. The girl was a whirlwind of words, color, and emotion. Like another girl he'd met before - Draven's throat closed. Juni. "I'm okay," he forced out, swallowing around the knot the girl had opened up in him. Juni. God. He'd never really gotten over her, had he?

The boy took a moment to respond, and Boston watched him with kind eyes. She wasn't forcing him to respond at all, and the fact that he was made her happy enough. Slowly, the boy told her what book he was looking for. Robinson Crusoe. God, that wasn't a book title she heard everyday. She knew she heard it before and thought for a moment. "Ohhh!" She said with a snap. "That's the one where the guy goes to the sea right?" If she wasn't mistaken, she had to annotate a summary on that book back in school at home. She couldn't keep in a big grin with a little excited wiggle of her shoulders. "See? I do know something." She seemed proud of herself.

She scanned her side of the shelf. "Yeah, you're right. They don't have much muggle fiction here." She looked the shelf up and down. "Yeah, sorry... I don't know if your book is here" She gave an apologetic look to the boy. She felt bad, she knew she would be a bit disappointed if her favorite book was nowhere to be found.

They were now both standing at a length. It felt weird talking through the bookshelf. Like they were talking through a prison cell. She wondered for a second if she should let the thought of a conversation go and let this boy go about his day. But come on, she couldn't leave him like this. That just wouldn't be like her at all.

The boy seemed to choke on his words for a moment, and Boston's eyebrows softened. 'i'm ok' was not an answer. Perhaps she was asking the wrong question. Because she could tell this boy was not ok. But she decided not to push it. She slowly nodded. "Ok! You know, but if somethings wrong.." She shrugged. "It's always best to talk to someone! Like me personally, I don't like keeping things in. Right?" She felt weird from behind the books, like she was far from him. "Uh, sorry- do you mind if I just cross to your side? It feels weird talking through the books," She walked around and stood in front of the boy. Only now could she see how tall he was. He stood a whole 7 inches above her.

"Yeah, well," Draven shrugged. "It's Hogwarts. Can't expect them to, honestly."

He instinctively stepped back when the girl rounded the bookshelf, putting a foot of space between them. Chunky muggle jewelry, an affinity for blue and flannel, and a round, honest face with half-moon eyes and perfectly threaded eyebrows. Draven took her in, squirming in his place.

He wasn't much to look at nowadays. He wasn't much at all. A stain on the beautiful Hogwarts library. Dark gray eyes with shadows underneath them, bloodied lips, and a haircut that would have made even the Bowl Cut kids cringe. His hoodie rose an inch above his wrists, and his pants did the same with his ankles.

Talk to someone. He shook his head. He'd talked to plenty of people. Social workers, hospital nurses, police officers, and store clerks. Nothing had ever come of it. "You're a first-year," he said instead, looking at the girl who still had the energy to put herself together every morning. "Ravenclaw? How do you like the school so far?" December was pretty far into the school year. It was a reasonable question. It seemed like reasonable small talk.

Turning to the shelf, Draven scoured the titles lovingly lined up the house elves, fingers tracing along the dusty books. Journey to the Center of The Earth. The Illustrated Man. Some teacher really liked science-fiction, huh.

@draven mirador

She surveyed the boy in front of her, biting the inside of her mouth. He wasn't much of a sight,
he looked sickly. She used to joke about how kids dressed homeless here, but he actually dressed like he didn't have much. She felt bad and immediately took back every 'complaint' about other student's styles. Then again, her outfit today wasn't much either. She usually dressed put together, but she had opted for her old converse on their last life, an old jean skirt and her blue flannel as a jacket over her white shirt. Her messy ponytail was gorgeous in comparison to the boy's hacked-up hair, and his eyebags made her skin look glowy.

"I am." She was a first year, clearly it was obvious, maybe it was her height. But Boston was an average height for her age, 5 ft exactly. (little did she knew she was almost done growing). This boy however, looked as if he had multiple growth spurts. She tilted her head. She couldn't tell what year he was in, but he couldn't be too much older than her. "I'm guessing you're not." She said. It wasn't a question, just an observation. She fidgeted with her hands as she spoke.
"It's... ok I guess." The boy turned back to the shelves and began searching. She hesitated. "I mean, it's nothing special unless you count the fact that it's magic and all that." She turned to the shelves too, unsure what she was looking for. Her original mission this morning was gone from her head, she was just focused on getting to know this boy. She was fairly sure she hadn't seen him before.

"I'm Boston, by the way." She held out her hand, as she had learned was a common thing students did here. People here were so formal. She felt like they were getting nowhere and somewhere at the same time. She wanted to say many things, but she didn't know how to say them without being mean. "Listen.. I mean this in the nicest way possible." She started, thinking of her next words. "But do you maybe want me to fix your hair?" Her heart slowed, and she worried if that seemed weird or rude. "I have scissors in my dorm, and maybe sometime I can just even out your hair. " She hoped her gesture didn't come off wrong. She was doing the best she could.

@draven mirador

Boston tilted her head side to side. "Uhh.. I mean I guess you could say that." 'non- maj' he called it. There were many terms Boston needed to learn it seemed like. First a muggle now a non-maj. It was weird when there were terms for somewhere you came from like you were an outlier. It didn't bother Boston, it was amusing to her. Like blood status. What even was blood status? At her old school the only debate about blood was if it was actually blue in the body or not. She always claimed it was red. "Just take away potions and charms and runes and astronomy and replace it with uhh science like matter and normal english like Edgar Allen Poe." She pondered on this for a second. Edgar Allen Poe was such a big thing for her 'non-maj' teacher, and she didn't know why. "I'm guessing you know of Edgar Allen Poe then, right? Since your interests seem to lie in.." She gestured to the shelves that he was scanning. "Older works?" He was certainly different.

She turned to face the same shelf Draven was looking at, only about 4 rows under his eye level. She too began to look at the titles. "Gosh, these all sound so boring." She picked up a book and opened it. "They even look old. Wow." She loved to read, but sometimes her ADHD brain wouldn't let her. These books didn't shout to her, they didn't catch her eye.

She smiled at the boy, Draven. What a nice name. It suited him well, she realized. It seemed like it was meant for him. She nodded slowly and smiled again. "That's a nice name, Draven. Who named you?" Certainly another good conversation topic, right? She imagined, for a second, what Draven's home life could possibly be like. But she couldn't tell. He was a walking mystery.

"Shave your hair? That's what you would like?" She raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Ok, I think we can do that." She refused to show her joy over him accepting her offer. He was letting her help him, even if it was just to do his hair. It was a start. Feeling a bit more confident, she crossed her arms. "And I'm crocheting you a sweater." Her tone indicated that there would be no arguing. He was getting a new sweater if he liked it or not. "Any specific color requests?"

"I love Edgar Allan Poe," Draven smiled, surprise coloring his voice. "There's so much I haven't read, but him I reread obsessively." Poetry. God he loved poetry.

"They're not boring," he said, a strange note in his voice. Living in the muggle world had introduced him to a couple strange concepts, including but not limited to- telephones, 'tiktok', bubble tea, 'boomers' and 'disney'. And running the risk of sounding like one of the aforementioned boomers, the fact that most muggle kids just....didn't read...stunned him.

He would be glad if he never had to hear another sped-up muggle song again. When you were used to having dopamine at your fingertips in the form of a glowing screen, of course everything else seemed boring by comparison.

"My father named me," he said after a beat. "After the ravens outside our family home." His throat hurt, very, very suddenly. "There were a ton of them about a decade ago."

Shaking his head, the older boy returned the book on the shelf and dusted himself off. "Yeah. Shaved. It's easier to care for when it's short. "And-...I'd appreciate that sweater, actually." His whole face was red as he said that. You were supposed to say no in situations like this, but his hoodie had enough holes in it, that he doubted it would last past November.

He gave the girl a feeble smile. "You're really eager to help a stranger," he pointed out. "It's very kind of you."