Shared Memories PV Draven Mirador

Draven let out a jaw-wrenching yawn, his fingers playing with the straps of his bag underneath the table. He threaded them through the strips of leather and out, feeling at the buckles absentmindedly. His forehead was pressed against the desk, the wood leaving an indent into his skin. He was sure that when he got up, there would be a red line streaking across his face. As if it wasn't messed up enough as it was.

Draven teetered to himself, watching as Deimos crawled across his knee. The spider was entering puberty at the same time as Draven was, apparently. There was no other explanation for the obscene hand gesture Deimos had decided to work on that day, painstakingly sketching out the rude sign with webs.

'You're immature', he whispered to the spider, trying to stay still. There was an uncomfortable feeling gathering in the center of his shoulder blades, like a hand pressing down against him, putting pressure on his skin. He knew the touch wasn't there, but it weighed heavily on him, making him twitch and shiver in his seat. He gagged underneath his mask, squeezing his eyes shut. His nails- long and dirty, tapped out a discordant rhythm on the desk surface.

In Hogwarts, there was no bell like he'd heard in muggle schools. The teacher dismissed them. And the teacher was taking her sweet time now. Draven bristled, giving her a look from behind his arm. Judging from the impatient looks the other students gave their bags, he wasn't the only one displeased.

Exhaustion tugged down on his eyelids, though they refused to close. He couldn't close them. Couldn't do anything but keep a weary eye on the other students and do his best to sit still. If he tapped his fingers, chewed on his cheek, bit down on his tongue, and tensed each joint one by one, time passed faster. The clock above the door moved with the swiftness of a man carrying his own cross.

And then it was over. As quickly as it had begun, the class ended. Funny. Draven couldn't recall a single thing from the past hour and a half.

Pulling his bag up, the boy fought a wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him as soon as he sat up, the world going black for a second.

He should have known better than to try walking after that. It wasn't even ten minutes later, walking into his next class, that Draven's shoulder collided with another student's. He jerked back as if he'd been burned, a slurred apology falling from his lips a moment later. He was on the ground-...how- how was he on the ground.

Blood. It was coming from his palms, red staining his hoodie. Damn Hogwarts floors.

"I'm sorry-" he mumbled. "I'm sorry."

Draven stared back blearily at the student he'd rammed into. He'd frozen in his spot, hoping the other boy would go on without casting him a second glance if he didn't move. But his latest mistake stood rooted in place, a strange expression on his face. Draven blanched, pulling the bandana back up across his nose. His lip was bloodied from tearing at it all night. He had several places on his face where cuts from unsuccessful shaving attempts stuck out like sore thumbs. His shitty teenage boy mustache was very, very much still visible. He looked and felt disgusting. Nothing was quite as humbling as kneeling by someone else's feet, unwashed and after four nights without sleep. He was fairly certain that if the boy wanted to send a kick between his ribs, he'd just sit there and take it. Pray he wouldn't be sick over his shoes. Give him a reason to kick him again.

The boy moved, and Draven couldn't help it. He flinched, trying to pull away despite knowing it would end up worse for him if he did. "Raven?" the boy said oddly, bending down and wrapping his fingers around Draven's arm.

He didn't have time to protest. Didn't have time to move away because the next second, he was being embraced, the other boy's strong arms wrapping overtop his and going to clasp behind his back. Draven's whole body went stiff, a small, panicked whimper coming from the boy. Please, he begged, not knowing whom he was begging and for what. Please, please, please, please. He could feel his body recoil, shivers going down his arms and back, cold and unpleasant against Draven's bare skin.

The room hazed around the edges as Kim pulled away, and in a very confusing second, the other boy's face clicked in the hole carved in Draven's brain. Kim. Kim, that was his name. Kim, Kim, Kim. Kim Sato.

"Hey," Draven croaked pathetically, allowing himself to be pulled to the side of the classroom, where Kim managed to pull out some antiseptic and gauze from Merlin knew where. Who just...had a bottle of antiseptic with him? Kim. Kim did.

The other boy worked slowly, not meeting Draven's eyes. Kim's usually bright-colored hair had faded to a dull black, and he'd aged well. His face had changed, losing some of the babyish roundness that all kids had. The clear blue of his eyes had darkened, and he'd shot up like a weed. He was a stunning boy, Draven thought absentmindedly as Kim poured the stinging liquid on his palms. Had always been.

But there were shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there when Draven had left. A tightness to his jaw, a tension to his shoulders.

"It's been a while," Draven croaked, unable to meet the other boy's eyes.

"September," Draven swallowed, though that was a stupid answer. "First. September first." He looked up, blinking away the stupid tears of exhaustion and pain. It hurt what Kim was doing. He was wrapping the bandages around his palms, the liquid stinging against his skin. Merlin, if he kept standing he'd black out-

Before the floor could rush to meet his face, Draven slid down against the wall behind him. He ached to put his head between his knees and stall the wave of nausea that he could feel rising in his stomach. But he'd already made a fool of himself in front of too many students, both old and new.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, as the room spun. Though 'I'm sorry' didn't even begin to cover it, did it? It didn't cover the way he'd disappeared off the face of the planet, and it didn't cover how he was acting right now. He wished Kim would sit beside him, though he couldn't ask the other boy to get his clothes dirty.

Draven's eyes followed the line of stitching on Kim's boots, the cuff of his jeans, and the way cloth rippled up his legs. He wore nice clothes. Easy on the eyes. Well made. "Everyone is gone," Draven said hollowly. Transferred or simply missing in action, it seemed like their entire year had slowly disappeared. And they'd been left, Draven sitting on a dusty HoM classroom floor, shaking from every available joint. Kim with shadows in the hallows of his cheeks and underneath his eyes. There was a tightness to his lips, too. They no longer curled up instinctively in the other's boyish grin.

He didn't know what to tell Kim. Didn't know where they stood after so much time. So he kept his mouth shut, looking through the boy's body, almost. Words stuck in his throat, refusing to pass his lips and tongue.

He wouldn't be able to make it through the lesson. Pushing himself up, Draven slung his bag over one shoulder unsteadily, his eyes flickering to the door. "I need food. Come with?"

Finished