Broken books Finished

She had no idea she was in the hospital wing. She was not certain she was even alive. When the tide of books came crashing down onto her, everything went black. They say that your sense of hearing is the last to go and they were not wrong. For several seconds thereafter she would hear the creaks and then the roars, the cacophony of noise was deafening as the devastating series of dominoes could be heard as each bookshelf came crashing down.  

She simply concluded that this was where she was going to die. One would have thought that there would have been fear or regret. That there would have been a struggle. That the coward hidden beneath the callous facade would finally be revealed. It would have been better if there was a feeling of some sort, if she was screaming on the inside that she wanted to survive. That she was willing to try to claw her way back from the abyss. Yet she was simply resigned to the fact that this might be her fate, that she was going to die and she did not care.

Fear is necessary to survival and that was why she was not supposed to survive. Fear is something genetic, passed down by our formidable ancestors to tell us that there is danger so that we might preserve for another generation. Rage fuels ones might. Hope is what drives one to get out of bed in the morning. Love is something to protect. She had nothing, no reason. She simply existed, like a terrible figment. Like a doll that yearned to be real.

Time had no substance. She had no idea how long she was out. She did not even realize that she was unconscious. She did not even realize she was in a room. She was not even certain that she was. There was nothing. No space, no sound and no form. 

At least until she was pulled back. A book to the face would rip her from the endless void. Everything came back, like a crashing wave. The sudden smack to the face jolted her to consciousness. Her arms flailed, instinct would bring her hands to her face and the book. She would fling the probable dictionary to the side. Likely in the direction of Howard's gurney. If he was there that is. "Fuck..." she muttered as she rubbed her face in the least dainty manner possible. It was then that she realized that her leg really... really hurt. "FUCK!" She repeated with greater emphasis.

It felt as if someone had ripped off her leg, beat her with her own severed limb before the limb was trampled by a herd of rampaging unicorns and then was reattached. Where the heck was she? The ceiling looked like, well a ceiling. Her back was on something with give. She pressed down with her palms, the gurney or bed one could suppose it could be called that with such a pathetically thin mattress. She would turn her head in the direction of ...Lestrange? Why the heck was that dork here?

“Oi.”

She let out a sigh.

“Is that you…? My hero.”

"You're what?" The stupefied Slytherin asked as she squinted as Thomas and tried to sit herself up in the bed.  The room spun, as if the whole room was tried to a rope and being spun about in a great arc by a giant. That was what gripping the mattress was for. She brought a hand to the side of her head as if that would still the room, "oh yeah... that."

"You're welcome I guess," she muttered as she attempted to see who else was in the room. "You and uh... whatshisname..." her head pounded, thinking was hard and it hurt. "Uh, the yellow-jacket... Okay?" Maybe she was just concerned for their well-being. It was indeed possible and potentially even true. She would attempt to sit on the edge of the bed, her legs sliding off the mattress down towards the floor. One far too heavy. Her leg was cast and splint, just her toes peered out the end. Her other leg, simply bruised and abraded, as if she was a hemophiliac that tried to play paintball. The 'better' foot touched the cold ground. One was better than none. 

If he said they were fine or minimally hurt she would simply say "I am glad." The words seemed more obligatory than contrite, she was not capable of feeling glad but she chose to claim the term to represent what her sentiment should have been. "You're both too valuable," she coughed. "Aye," she complained, realizing just then that she had also broken at least one rib. 

If he said that they were all dead she would simply quip, "hell smells like bleach and iodine. Knew it."

Feeling concern naturally was beyond her capacity but she was a logic and instinct-driven creature. She saw something that she valued in them, that was reason enough to desire to keep them safe. "I still have not seen your wand," Erin reminded him. The girl had a one track mind. "I want to know if I am wrong," she insisted as she motioned towards the unoccupied bed across from her or the place unoccupied next to her on the same bed she was sitting on the edge of. "I have a feeling you might be able to outrun me," a self-depreciating joke. "A rare opportunity."

It was the same...always the same. Cold, rotting flesh covered the hands that stretched out for him. He stared into the shrouded hood as of looking into a black hole, the images flashing through his mind as the the life was sucked out of him. First the fear, then rage, all to be wiped away by a feeling of pure, raw power. 

Thud!

Howard awoke with a gasp. Blinking away the double vision, he reached for the back of his head. Gauze and bandages covered the injured area, and a bizarre smell filled his nostrils. It was an odd sensation. It was warm and felt as if his flesh was pushing itself back together. He felt depleted, and a crushing depression swept over him. Much to be expected, coming down is always rough. The hate and rage would build up in the broken boy, festering away until someone pulled his trigger. The release was sensational, however, it left him empty.

Thud!

The young boy looked around the room for the source of disturbance. It was ancient looking, as all thing were at Hogwarts, rows of beds lined either side. As he looked around, he spotted the other boy from the library. Shit. The library. The recent memory came back into focus. He was surely doomed.

Thud!

“Knock that shit off!” He would call out in a harsh whisper. What the hell was he doing throwing books around a hospital wing? The magic may mend his wounds, but the boy was surely brain damaged beyond repair. Movement would draw his attention to the bed next to him. Erin fuckin’ Ryan! A soft wind would blow across the smoldering embers that were his rage, a flickering orange flame would dance across the ash as the cycle started anew.

Howard would roll over on his side, facing the pair of Slytherins. No matter the injuries, she would go right back to hunting, a true predator. He listened as she began to converse with the other boy. There was no energy left within him for another fight, but he could feel that small flame in his belly. Howard still feared it, for he knew what it would eventually become, it only takes a spark to set a wildfire.

Thomas couldn’t suppress the questions the so-called authorities of this dreadful castle presented. Let’s place the students responsible for destroying the fucking library in the same room immediately following the events, together. Perhaps it was an attempt to force the students to talk through their differences seeing as none of them contained the strength to continue the fight. Having no recollection of how he arrived in this starkly bland room, Thomas hardly felt responsible for the situation spiraling out of control as it did in the library. That is until his book made a direct hit onto Erin’s forehead. He concealed a low chuckle, turning his head the opposite way to hide his amusement. It was the beginning of his second verbal encounter with the damaged Slytherin, both initiated by a flying book.

“Knock that shit off!”

Thomas smile faded, he turned to see none other than Howie of Hufflepuff. The disappearing legend. A presumed ally at first, now Thomas was beginning to view him as a destructive asshole beyond reason. The work of Ryan, she likely viewed it to be her masterpiece. Had they combined to conquer the girl together, the results may have been far less damaging to themselves. Thomas narrowed his eyes in irritation, “You’re not in position to ask anyone to knock it off,” He huffed, pressing his hands on the sides of his bed to lean forward “Seeing you knocked every bookshelf in the damn library!” Howie’s reluctance to work with Thomas in conquering Erin the previous night only invoked his ire. Even if the intentions of the Hufflepuff were to help the naïve Slytherin, his resentment blinded him.

“You’re welcome. You’re both too valuable.”

You’re welcome? She’s concussed.

"I still have not seen your wand,

There she is. Back to business.

"I have a feeling you might be able to outrun me, A rare opportunity"

Erin’s anguish was hard to miss, she appeared weary and was not to be viewed as a threat this time. Perhaps this was the best opportunity the boy would have, at least before the nurse came along mending the remainder of her injuries. He looked down, grasping the end of his wand to briefly examine it. Mayhaw wood with dragon heartstring, no longer than eleven and a half inches. He quickly walked to the bed across from her, sitting to face her. Taking a seat on her bed to her sickened him to his core. Calmly calculating a source of rage within Erin, Thomas watched closely for any signs of weakness. She was vulnerable, he viewed this as an opportunity to repay her for missing corner of his tooth.

He held his wand firmly out between them, remaining a firm grip. “See, don’t touch.” He spoke calmly, awaiting her analysis. It took his full concentration to keep his feet from tapping, arranged to burst up at the sign of any unfavorable attention the girl presented.

A flicker of amusement. Indeed she felt it, but it did not last for long. That emotion rarely did. Fleeting like mirth and surprise, strange little endorphin-laced morsels people took for granted. They never appreciated the depths of their despondency or the heat of their rage. Wasteful and unwilling to live. Such unappreciated potential.

Perhaps Solomon was a genius and this was something along the lines of The Parent Trap. Perhaps Solomon was too vexed at the reckless youths to truly even care. They could kill each other for all he cared. It would not be the first time nor would it likely be the last time he made such a dangerous choice with the youths in his charge. 

The errant tome found its way to none other than Howard White.

“Knock that shit off!”

Howard was alive. She could tell by the complaining. His annoyance filled her with something. Merlin, it made her toes curl, she took a breath. "Missed you too darling," she called over to the bed adjacent. It was taking less and less to set him off. Tp force him to react. She liked that about him, how there was this storm she felt in him that was no longer muted. "Join us," she requested as if she was casually inviting a friend to lunch. As if the altercation minutes... hours... she was not even certain by this time how long ago the incident was, but it was in the past long enough that she could now move on even if they would not. She knew that the Hufflepuff hated her, she seemed to either not care or she simply relished the concept. Perhaps a reflection of her own self-loathing or a need for something...  anything even if it was spite. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

A hearth of ire. Where Howard was the storm, Lestrange was an inferno.

“You’re not in position to ask anyone to knock it off.”

Thomas proclaimed. He was probably right, Erin had no idea how bad Howard was hurt. She would look over in his direction to see what she could glean of his situation.

“Seeing you knocked every bookshelf in the damn library!”

True. "Bravo really," Erin commended him. "It was the most honest act I have ever seen," Erin claimed. "Chaos is a universal truth, hidden beneath a superficial lie of order," she commented as she made a demand of the second year. "Join us Howard," Erin insisted. "You know you want to. I am the most interesting thing you have encountered in a world of fucking magicians and mythical creatures." She was not wrong, likely for either of them.

These two were assholes were absolutely lovely. Best when at odds with one another, something she did not even need to manufacture as their natures did that for them. It was back to the hunt for the Slytherin as she directed her attention back to Lestrange.

The lingering embers of disgust as Thomas took a seat.

She wanted to see his wand. It was a fixation of hers since they first met. Did Howard know that they, Erin and Howard that is, shared a common wand core? She knew this because he exposed it when he withdrew his wand to launch her into the bookshelves. She noticed because it was so very relevant. A dangerous and destructive act. The first of many steps she deemed necessary to achieve her goals.

“See, don’t touch.”

He did not want her to touch his wand. "I would expect a decent dinner before I touched someone's wand," she quipped. Besides boys were gross at least until she was allowed to feel otherwise per site age and rating restrictions. "I am not capable of casting, you're safe," she assured him. A blatant lie likely to the Slytherin, he saw her cast 'Flipendo.' Yet she made the claim all the same. The thing that magicians failed to realize is that magic is not a science more like an art, it is something more akin to a passion. You still needed the necessary components, the wand, the herb, the cauldron and the motions. Yet anyone could do that -- a muggle, a child, a wizard. Yet there was a difference, not just a genetic capacity that separated muggles from wizards but also the force, the strength, the power, the frightening potential. 

"Wands are drawn to their wielder, not chosen by their user," Erin explained. Perhaps that is what she meant. It wasn't. She was many things and a liar was among them, just not at this moment. There was no need. "Mayhaw and dragon heartstring is rare. Your wand is strong... stronger than you. It is also capricious. It, like you is... interesting." Her wand was chestnut wood and unicorn hair, something likely considered mundane if one did not recognize the significance of the pairing. It was on the bedside table, out of her reach but she never lost track of its location. She would nod in its direction. It was not a particularly powerful wand, nor was the combination something one would attribute to a 'monster' like Erin. Justice took many forms. 

"I could care less if you try to wield my wand, it would not accept you. Much like yours won't accept me." In theory it was disarming  to take a wizard's wand and some wands could care less who held them. Yet as she claimed earlier, she was not capable of casting. If such was true, it made no difference. "That was all I wanted to know, that I was not wrong." She waved her hand, a twinge of pain shot through her as she did so. "That you are also worth my effort."

The hat had placed young Thomas into House Slytherin, a house intended for cunning, ambitious youths. The wand that chose Thomas was a powerful wand that could be turned to Dark Magic but not necessarily. So the wand saw potential in him to be a powerful caster. Thomas' family had a darkness as well, something regarded with either shame or secrecy for his own safety. She felt something in him. Not just a reflection of the circumstances and opportunities afforded to him. It was an anger, a passion. The fact that the hat and the wand were not wrong. That he had potential.

"Much like Howard is." How so? Why was Howard a stand out to the girl? What made the yellow-jacket exceptional in any way? He would not realize it either. How could he see, it was like seeing a castle while staring at the same wall. The hat chose Hufflepuff for him, a place meant for loyal friends. His strength was in the relationships he formed. The wand of unicorn hair and cedar denoted a wielder that had strength of character and unusual loyalty. Fierce and dangerous against those that oppose what is theirs. The unicorn hair shown a stability in relationships, a consistency. Yet she felt a storm in him, he was not some happy-go-lucky kid, but she tried to look like it with that mop of hair and friendly smile as he tried to pretend to be what other people wanted him to be. "You're both a lot more dangerous than me," she concluded. At least when they are not repressed. "And you're welcome."

Ariella ran into the hospital wing. Okay, so, she had recovered from her injuries in almost two hours flat, but that didn't mean she was going to spend her time studying in the already destroyed library. She ran over to Thomas's bed, smiling at the three people who had helped destroy the library. Memories of the bookshelf towering in front of her flashed through her mind, and she closed her eyes quickly. She moved her hand and knocked it on the edge of Erin's bed. The bruise on her wrist got bigger and she sighed. She looked up at the others.

"Oy, idiots. How are you all not dead yet?" She grinned. Of course, she didn't really expect a nice response from Erin, but from the other two, at least from Thomas, some acknowledgement would be nice.

"The headmaster is making us Ravenclaws clean up the library. Can't say I enjoy it much, to be honest. I thought I'd take a break to come to see you lot. Yes, even you, Erin. Would you like me to say sorry? I know I've been a jerk," She laughed at herself and sat down on the edge of Thomas's bed. It felt nice to be around some familiar faces. Ariella didn't seem to be able to think about spending time with people she used to be friends with. She just wasn't that type of person anymore.

Ariella pulled out her charm bracelet with its little dragon charms. She looked at the others.

"Okay, so, what happened to you all? Well, I know what happened to Erin. Her foot got crushed to gravel. Sorry about that," she attempted a smile at Erin. Whether this was successful or a failure was out of the question.

"Dammit. I feel really bad."

“You’re not in position to ask anyone to knock it off.” “Seeing you knocked every bookshelf in the damn library!”

Howard narrowed his eyes in Thomas’ direction, he would be mistaken if he thought them allies. Howard was not back at school to make friends, build up some sense of community, or even join forces with someone with a common enemy. He had a clear mission, and it didn’t involve anyone but himself. 

“I only did what you should have done Thomas. I know what she is, and I’d do it all again.” Howard said as he pointed his finger in Thomas’ direction. There was no stopping her, for she ran purely off instinct. The lion hunts the gazelle. You can’t blame the lion, but you can surely shoot the damn thing when it gets too close to you. Thomas would learn this too, much as he had, the hard way.

“Missed you too darling, join us.”

“Jesus Christ. Get bent Erin.” Howard would roll over on his back, but his eyes would stay on the pair. The addict knows the drugs are destroying them, but that doesn’t stop them from being drawn to them like a moth to a flame. Erin knew this, he was sure of it, in fact she would go on to call him out on it. He ignored her for now. The black souled Slytherin had her claws in him. The little demon that would hover above his shoulder, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, the trigger to his own self destruction. 

Howard listened closely as she and Thomas discussed his wand. His eyes would be drawn towards his own, laying on the table next to his bed. Cedar wood and Unicorn hair. The wand chose the witch or wizard according to Erin as she explained their nature to Thomas. Howard remembered the day he got his, the creepy old wand maker told him that if it was handled correctly it would bend to his will, and that it had. The boy knew very little about wand making and lore, but his instrument was powerful, the situation in the library a clear indicator that this was true. Howard was a capable caster, but when his rage took him he could feel the power that came with it, and his wand allowed him to turn that power into a force of nature. Was it a partner in his crime? Or did Howard just dominate it? Attacking like a guard dog whenever he commanded it to. For a brief moment he would look at it with awe, his finger reaching out to gently stroke the handle. 

“That you are also worth my effort. Much like Howard is.” Erin’s voice would break him away from the intimate moment, how rude. Howard’s eyes would be drawn back to the pair of Slytherins. His robes yellow, and theirs green. He wondered what the Sorting Hat must have been thinking when it chose Hufflepuff for him. Sure it must have been able to sense his once good nature and friendly ways, but such a powerful tool surely saw the darkness that lied within him. House Hufflepuff was known for fierce loyalty, but Howard felt that he was losing his. To his family, to his friends, to himself. “You’re both a lot more dangerous than me. And you’re welcome.” It was a truth that could not be argued. Howard would not reply.

“Oi, idiots. How are you all not dead yet?”

This lovely girl whom he shoukd like very much was the last thing he wanted right now. Let Howard wallow in self pity and loathing! Damn you!

Howard was surprised to see Ariella here, and even more so when she apologized, especially towards Erin. She was being sweet, and even laughed as she joined them. Maybe her head had been damaged as well. 

“Banged up my head pretty good. Sorry if you got hurt.” This was half true. Part of him did feel bad about the library and the injuries those besides Erin sustained. However, the other half knew that these were acceptable casualties. 

“I only did what you should have done Thomas. I know what she is, and I’d do it all again.”

Silenced by the Hufflepuff, Thomas turned away from Howard in contempt. His previous encounter with Erin revealed enough for him to know he was not wrong. Having felt that same rage generated by the girl, it was difficult to blame Howard for his approach to the situation. He desperately wondered what Erin did to create this turmoil.

"Wands are drawn to their wielder, not chosen by their user. Mayhaw and dragon heartstring is rare. Your wand is strong... stronger than you. It is also capricious. It, like you is... interesting.”

Thomas felt a rare sense of respect for his Slytherin adversary. Clearly wiser and more experienced, her knowledge of the minor nuances of what his wand’s makeup meant delivered satisfaction. Awareness of a looming power within himself, in turn his wand, gave him confidence. The vibe from her analysis felt pure enough, was it to be the first time she had spoken honestly to Thomas? At least honest enough to suspend her egocentric nature and aid the blue-eyed boy to fathom the true power deeply held within. Once again, she had subdued his mind to the point he was speechless.

"That was all I wanted to know, that I was not wrong. That you are also worth my effort."

There it was, her claim, despite what it may have meant to Thomas at the time, she was still in it for herself. Allowing himself to be a tool captured in her greed may allow himself to hone his skills and become a soldier of darkness, like he believed his father was. A great tragedy it was, his misguided interpretation of the man. With enough push, Thomas would fall into the vast darkness, unable to return. He knew not where this path began, or to discern the evil influences from the good. For now, all the Slytherin boy had was the feeling wrestling his innards, words echoed in his mind. She is not your friend. He had his father’s heart, unbeknownst to him, it was a good heart indeed.

“You’re both a lot more dangerous than me. And you’re welcome.”

Thomas turned to Howie, bewildered from the pleasantry from the girl he stubbornly viewed as his enemy. Howie’s general disinterest in engaging with Erin only confirmed the thought, she was in it for herself. The so-called pleasantry could merely be a defense mechanism, considering her to be without use of a leg, labored breathing signifying she was battling other internal injuries. Thomas pulled his wand back to his side hastily, his breathing increased in anxiousness. She only desired to expand that dark fire within him. “Quiet. I’m done playing your games,” His voice was no louder than a whisper, but firm. “I don’t buy it. Any of it. What do you want?”

As everyone in the room knew by now, his emotions were far out of order. The endless self-doubt and lack of belief in his ability to make the right choice, to choose the righteous path as his mother would say. Even if Erin’s intentions this time were genuine, she had done enough to derail his acceptance of her companionship. Another coincidence, whether he was to join Erin and grow his strength at her side, or elect to [try to] destroy her, he was already on the road to darkness.

His heart rate continued to rise, slowly lifting his wand once more. Except this time, he pointed it direct at Erin, only a few feet from her forehead. As for his plan of spell, he had none. Nonetheless, he felt the power of his anger stirring within his wand, channeling it to bring her pain. “Tell me then. What do you wa—” Before finishing, he could hear footsteps approaching. Fearful it to be the nurse, he lowered his wand. As much as he wanted to hurt Erin in this moment, he knew his actions would warrant a response from their superiors. His intent was made clear as he stared Erin down, likely a huge mistake to alert her before acting on them.

"Oy, idiots. How are you all not dead yet?"

Ariella walked in as a blind light shining beam of acceptance. Thomas couldn’t help himself admiring her attitude, seemingly unaffected by the events from the previous evening. I mean, this girl was able to walk in with a smile after presuming she was made into a drum of the bookshelf orchestra. “Ariella…you’re okay?” Thomas looked at her dumbfounded, perhaps she escaped?

"Yes, even you, Erin. Would you like me to say sorry? I know I've been a jerk, Okay, so, what happened to you all? Well, I know what happened to Erin. Her foot got crushed to gravel. Sorry about that,"

You, a jerk? You’re sorry? Thomas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ariella may have initiated with a slap, but in hindsight she should’ve punched her in the mouth. He looked to Erin in amusement. The tension between them defused for the moment. “Please don’t apologize to her, Ariella. If only she got what she truly deserved.”

Ariella looked at Thomas and Howie. Okay, maybe she shouldn't have been so sincere. She had two modes - the one she had when she was with students, and the other with teachers. Maybe the teacher mode hadn't worn off yet.

Thomas looked slightly astounded.

"Ariella...you're okay?" He said to her, and Ariella smiled and nodded. It honestly felt a bit pretentious - Ariella was becoming a bit of a liar.

"Of course I'm okay! Didn't you see what the headmaster did?"

She continued to talk and finally got a response out of Howie.

"Banged up my head pretty good. Sorry if you got hurt."

Ariella shook her head. She showed Howie the bruises on her arms and legs, but other than that, it was a slight concussion and that was it.

"I'm not going that bad. I can see the rest of you are having a lot more problems than me!" She felt bad. Maybe she had started the whole fight. Maybe that was why she was so excited to help out with the library that she helped destroy. But what she couldn't stand was the fact that the headmaster had called them all hooligans. Not exactly a compliment. She looked away from Howie and looked at Thomas instead. He still looked rather shocked.

"Thomas you look like a goldfi-" She started when he immediately cut her off.

"Please don't apologise to her, Ariella. If only she got what she truly deserved."

Ariella thought about this for a second. Did Thomas really want Erin dead? Or was he just meaning something else? When Ariella had first sat down at that table, she wasn't expecting all this adventure. Thomas seemed to be good friends with Erin already, and yet now, here he was, telling Ariella that Erin didn't get the injuries she deserved. Perhaps it was the same for Ariella, her luck seemed too good. She almost said that out loud but shut herself up as soon as she opened her mouth.

"Hah, you know I never listen to you!" Ariella joked with Thomas.

Maybe that was the first mistake of what went down that day.

Boys will be boys and boy did the boys bicker... Of course she had to intercede despite the fact that it was an immediate boon for the boys to be at odds. She needed them far more than either of them needed her and more than either needed each other. So she channeled Howard's attention back to her. It was not difficult, she had earned more of his ire.

“Jesus Christ. Get bent Erin.”

"Darling" was a term that pissed Howard off. Note to self: " "Never took you as a fan or practitioner of religious mythology," Erin replied. Little did Howard know that she wanted to do more than rile the Hufflepuff, she needed him. "By Aphrodite's loins and  Yahweh's beard..." she prodded presuming him to not be religious in the least but rather the fact that the sound of her voice made the boy's blood boil more than Lestrange's snark.

“Quiet. I’m done playing your games.”

Lestrange's attention was back on her. Good. "Games?" She was playing dumb but this stopped being a 'game' to her months ago. 

“I don’t buy it. Any of it. What do you want?”

She raised her brows as she silently looked at him for what felt like several seconds as time seemed to temporarily slow as it was only a moment before she gave her reply. Thomas was getting riled easier. Even better. "You," she answered simply "...and my darling Howard." Yes, that was going to be a thing if for no other reason than it annoyed the crap out of the Hufflepuff but she did use the possessive my which might go unnoticed by Thomas but she claimed ownership of 'Howie' months earlier. It was not a moment of bravery then of course or even a glimmer of goodness, perhaps it was a hunter protecting her quarry. No, hunters are not looking to anger their trophy. That was not quite right. Was this the trope where only she got to pursue such worthy adversaries? Maybe. But "want" is such a strong word. Too strong to convey either objective or to explain this obsessive force that seemed to compel her.

The Honest Truth: it started as an addiction. A need to feel something. She had no passion of her own, not from the moment she took her first breath. She was as hollow as they thought she was. She could not manufacture her own but she could elicit passions from others. She could feel what they felt, their despondency and their fear, their anger and resentment, their rejection and their pain. For the most part people do not feel anything, even if they claim otherwise. They may say their are 'happy' but in truth they are just in the absence of sorrow. They may say they are in love but in truth it is simply tolerance or duty. People made lofty claims at times regarding what they felt, but so often their words were lies. 

She could take a bit of what they felt, a mere grain from a desert or a drop from a lake. It was not hers but theirs and it was fleeting, this ephemeral moment of intimate anguish she shared with them. She could not be deterred with the threat of pain, she did not fear it. She wished she could fear it. It was easier to make them hurt and she suffered with them. They were never alone. Eventually the girl was on a self-destructive path where one of these days she would anger someone to the point where they would take her life. She did not care. She was not capable of caring.

All she could do was yearn for what others had. Gluttonous with this voracious hunger. Green with envy and the ambition to pursue what she desired. Then of course, why not move on? She defined them as having value. 

Her first year was defined by her hunger. Her ceaseless need to fill that void with something, not only to satisfy this hollow sense but to fuel her magic. She was not a capable caster. As said so many times before: magic is an act of passion. A pure-blood she might be, she had the genetic capacity but she lacked the passion that should have been ignited by that spark from within.

Erin's answer was not good enough as Thomas raised his wand. She did not bother to raise her own, not yet. She could see the length of wood pointed at her head. She should have been terrified, there was a battle in him as to whether he should do it. Well, do something. He did not need to be pushed far to go over the edge.

“Tell me then." 

"Do it." Was she taunting him? Begging him? Needling him further without regard to her own safety.

"What do you wa—”

He meant it. She was not flinching. Perhaps this was where she was supposed to die for her sins. He was cut short and she had started to give an answer of her own, "I--" Someone was coming.

Enter the girl nobody wanted. She existed. She made lots of noise. Aaaaand that was about it. Erin could not describe Ariella, pick her out of a crowd. She was like some garish yet plain taupe tablecloth in the middle of a banquet hall that did not seem to belong that screamed "look at me" but had no substance. [OC: Sorry]

"Oy, idiots. How are you all not dead yet?"

"Magic," Erin answered with sarcasm. It was likely the actual answer as well. She did not know what measures were taken to stabilize her injuries before time or health roused her. It certainly did not stymie her pain or rebuild what had been broken. 

"Okay, so, what happened to you all? Well, I know what happened to Erin. Her foot got crushed to gravel. Sorry about that."

She apologized, needlessly as pointed out by her contemporaries.

“Please don’t apologize to her, Ariella. If only she got what she truly deserved.”

"Oh, how cruel you are Lestrange," Erin cooed. "A few mean words, an intrusive book. It seems only logical that being crushed would be a fitting consequence." It was like saying a man should be castrated for cheating as recompense. It takes about 4,000 newtons of force to break the typical human femur. Her foot was crushed, therefore the impact force was that much greater. "And after all I am doing for you," she added. Was this some sort of guilt trip? Did it really matter?

"You did not crush my foot, you slapped me in the face," Erin reminded her. Very different things. But again physical violence to compensate for mean words shared. The unwillingness to be 'besties.' 

"Dammit. I feel really bad."

Erin did not feel it. Yet like so many others when they express their emotions, they claim sentiments but they felt nothing. It was simply shared to satisfy some social expectation. "No need, my face is fine." That was forgiveness? No, it was indifference. 

“Banged up my head pretty good. Sorry if you got hurt.”

Hufflepuff is not the cuddle house. 'Nice' people do not go there any more than the 'naughty' ones go to Slytherin. Yet Hufflepuff had earned this 'reputation' as being this passive, chubby side-kick house. That was not the case at all, last year should have been evidence enough. "Are you?" Erin asked as she tried to stand. Her broken leg could not hold any of her weight, her other leg was sprained. She would not notice until she placed the plantar aspect of her foot on the cool marble floor. Her foot was bare on the heels and the toes. The ankle itself bruised and swollen, unwrapped. Pain shot through her as she stood.

If she was wearing one of those delightful patient gowns, there might be a terrible image that could never be unseen (sorry, not sorry). Actually, there was a lot of scars on her bare back and she would have some sort of cloth shorts on. Hysterical blindness coupled with the injuries of the day would be far too much for these youths to endure. The scars were not a sign of parental abuse, truth be told they were grossly indifferent to her girl nor were they the product of self-flagellation. They were rather the product of her suffering her rightful consequences dozens of times before. The girl was a juggernaut. Short of being killed, she was not going to stop.

Her vision went white with each step, well hop. That was her 'good' leg. "Magic is an act of passion," a truth. "Yet I am hollow and empty, there is no passion... no spark..." They know this. She knew that they knew this, even if they did not believe it and just used it as a turn of phrase she meant it in the literal sense. "And, you both," it was getting hard to breathe and hard to think. The journey of less than a dozen feet was like an epic adventure for the Slytherin madwoman. "You are hiding a passion I fucking envy with every fiber of my being. I did not save shit when I cast Flippendo and pushed you both back, I chose to use the power but it was not even mine to wield. It was Howard's." She sucked in some air through her teeth. "You want to know what I want Lestrange?" She looked back and almost toppled over. "To devour the remnants you never even notice like a carrion vulture, but I can't because you keep on going away... dying... I don't know what the fuck really."  She had been doing that for years, relatively disliked. She went too far a number of times, as their passions became her own it would turn into this dangerous negative feedback loop that often ended with her in St. Mundos or similar. Injuries such as these were something she expected but never before now had she made such a conceited effort.

Yes, Erin was hopping to Howard's bed. No, it was far from anything romantic. In fact, if Howard tried to get up and leave, move past her. Erin would attempt to deck him. Probably miss. If Erin was pushed, she would fall. She could barely stand. In fact, it was taking most of her strength to do so. Erin was sweating and pale. "You're an endangered species Howard White and Thomas Lestrange and it is not because of me."

If she made it to the bed, she would sit at the first oppertunity. The nearest corner, breathing heavily. If she was knocked down, she would simply try to get back up and as she struggled to do so she would say the same words. "Marcus DeWynter, Siege Bal, Sebastian Leeds, Anaïs Jones, Destrian Dayne, Reed Wesley, Anatole Evans... Prefects that just disappeared. All we got are first and second years in 'power' and they don't seem to last. Didn't know all of them, but the ones that I did made for a great meal and they aren't gone because of me." What was she getting at? "Learn your damn potential." You're welcome.