A Quiet Corner to Cry Closed

Yeah, that sounds like a good idea, Lucette.

Xeno, with his eyes still shut, jumped as something soft was pressed to his face. His first instinct was to recoil, scream, do anything to make it go away. Then a gentle hand cupped his cheek, comforting in it's warmth. It grounded him somehow, and he opened his eyes a crack, still sobbing quietly. There was a shadow looming above him. He gasped, his eyes widening, before realizing it was probably the prefect, Lucette. Reaching into his pocket, he slowly pulled out his wand, cringing at the realization that it would be stained by his blood. "Lumos," he whispered, and a brilliant white light shone from it, making him squint and blink until he could see again.

The girl kneeling beside him had kind, brown eyes, brown hair, and Slytherin robes. Behind her stood a boy, also with brown hair, looking at him with a strange expression, almost like he was some kind of- some kind of monster. He averted his eyes, his skin crawling in disgust, he felt dirty, vulnerable, like a freak. He reached his left hand - the one not holding his wand - up, intending on holding the one Lucette had on his chin, before remembering the blood all over his. He didn't want to get any on her. Instead, he clenched his fist again, the sqelch of blood as he dug his nails back into the deep grooves in his palm sickening.

She flinched as his wand lit up, blinking to adjust to the new light source. She felt her inside recoil into shock; the details of the student's injuries had now been illuminated. What had happened? What had he done to himself? Her face remained unchanging though, and she continued to wipe away the blood. Whatever happened, she trusted that she would find out soon. She cast a side glance to Anatole, who had offered her their scarf. She smiled gently at him, taking it and putting aside her own scarf, now heavily stained with a dark crimson color. Perhaps the boy wasn't so bad after all, but she put that thought in the back of her mind, seeing how it wasn't the top priority at the moment. 

The injured student seemed to move their hand, before hesitating and lowering it. Did he intend to hold her? And as his fist clenched and bled more, she gritted her teeth. What kind of person would she be if she didn't let others lean on her? An awful one, clearly. Lucette's hand holding the scarf moved to clean his bloodied hand, trying to protect him from picking at the fresh wound. The outline of the self-inflicted wounds was as clear as day. She wished they weren't that at all. Making eye contact with the student, she whispered softly, keeping her voice reassuring and low. "You know, if you keep harming yourself, you won't give yourself the opportunity to heal...." She smiled warmly afterward; she meant that both in the mental and physical sense.

After wiping off the blood on his hand, she laid the scarf from Anatole on her arm, the arm that had the wand that was cupping Xenoxilius's chin. Slowly, she lifted the boy's hand, letting it rest on the scarf. She dug into her brown leather satchel, removing a first aid kid from it. It was a simple muggle one, and she quickly took out some alcoholic cleaning pads and bandages. Remembering that she had company, she looked to Anatole, speaking slowly and gesturing at the scarf that Lucette had but on the floor many moments ago. "Would you like to help clean him off?" 

Anatole’s eyes were glued wide open at the exposure this boy had upon him. Bloody, gruesome, maybe even more horrid than the first time he saw him. He looked almost undead. Creepy, much? Not at all, no. Once again, Anatole was definitely not a fan of horror and gore.

He met eyes with the Slytherin Prefect, afraid she would ruin her clean robes by investigating the crimson liquid. She appeared almost as worried, if not more worried, than Anatole. The feeling was mutual.

For a while, the moment just stayed there in silence. Eerie, abnormal silence.

That is, until the injured boy--or even a thing, Anatole didn’t know which still--whispered a faint command. “Lumos.”

The thing held out a stick as it lit up with brilliant light. Later, Anatole recognized it as a wand. Aha, it was a boy, not just a pile of atrocious blood and flesh. He seemed to slither back into the shadows, his eyes not adjusting as fast to the newfound brightness.

In the face of tragedy, the other girl stood strong, using her resources to help the injured one. She smiled back at the Gryffindor boy, who had donated his scarf earlier. Anatole could barely hear her reassuring words, but he replied off of what he thought he heard. “I agree. It’s best you leave it be,” he noted, much, much louder on accident.

On the girl’s suggestion, Anatole’s teeth flashed in the little light. A grin, to maybe help ease the darkness. “I would love to.”

"I didn't- I never meant to, it just- I just-" Xeno started rambling, maybe out of fear, or guilt, some need to explain himself, explain the blood, play down what he did. His voice broke, though, the words cracking and fracturing into shards that didn't quite make a sentence. Giving up on speech, he simply complied with Lucette trying to patch him up, laying his - still lit - wand on the ground, and holding both his hands out, palms up. They trembled and shook uncontrollably, from pain or the adrenaline still rushing through his veins was unclear. He began to try and make sense of his thoughts, tuning out of reality for a while, his eyes going blank and staring into nothing.

Earlier today, he had been fine. Entirely fine. He had come here, excited for school, exited to learn new spells, brew potions, and maybe even make a few friends. Then he got a little too confident. He didn't know why, but it had been stupid. Inconceivably so. He had gone to the Ravenclaw table, and then he'd gone too far. It was meant to be a bit of fun, - messing with his fellow students, finding like minded people - but then everything messed up. He messed up. Of course he did.

So what now? What was he supposed to do? Should he just leave? After the embarrassment he had caused himself and his house, he was tempted. However, he could never leave the magic world. Not now, not ever. Besides, what was he thinking? Never mind the embarrassment, he was a Slytherin. No matter what his house thought of him. He would push it down, pretend it never happened, go on like nothing had changed. How did he get those cuts on his hands? He fell. It's a funny story, actually. But he wouldn't forget. And he'd never let anything like this happen again. He'd be more careful next time. Better yet, there'd never be a next time.

Lucette smiled and she handed her scarf to the boy and gestured for him to come down and kneel beside her. Then she turned her attention back to Xeno, who had been trying to find the right words to say. She let out a soft shushing noise, speaking softly. "It's alright... It's alright." The thumb of the hand cupping his face moved slowly over her face, trying to soothe him. He seemed like he was holding back from sobbing hysterically as if he didn't want to be seen this way. That was understandable. But she didn't want to make that knowledge obvious. 

As he offered his palms, she removed her hand from his face slowly, reluctant to let him go. She reminded herself that she needed to patch up his wounds, though, and with her hands, she tore open the small packet with the alcohol cleaning wipe. She slowly unfolded it from its small square shape and looked into Zenoxilius's eyes. She gritted her teeth, thinking of what pain he was feeling, both mentally and physically. "B-Brace yourself, darling..." 

She lightly pressed the wipe into his left palm, wiping slowly and gritting her teeth at his reaction. She didn't want him to focus on the pain, so she blurted out a question to distract him. "H-Hey. Mind if I ask your name?" 

Anatole watched the boy's nervous, shaky movements as opposed to Lucette's calm, trained hands. Somehow, she knew what she was doing. That's another thing Anatole never understood, stress. He had possessed it a lot lately, but he never knew how to control it. He just got him into situations he never knew how to conquer. Did that count as a characteristic, alongside being extremely clumsy?

Slowly, Anatole moved toward the light again, trying to mimic the girl's movements, but on different parts of the body. At least, that's what the assistant nurses on shows likeVictoria or even something different like Mercy Street did. He slid his head over to the girl's ear, brushing her dark hair back for a moment to comment, "Is there anything else you need help with? I'll try my best at whatever you throw."

This was weird. He wasn't feeling this kid's pain like he had felt Rosie's. Did the gender have to do with it, or is that just what friendship meant? You just...automatically cared for someone you like, as opposed to someone you don't know? Anatole's mind zoned out upon these and other musings instead of helping the prefect for a moment.

Watching the boy grimace, he snapped back into reality, nodding at Lucette's question. Another good idea. "Yeah, don't worry. We're not here to hurt you."

Xeno was jolted out of his thoughts by a stinging pain on the palm of his hand. He sucked in a sharp breath, snapping back to reality. At least he was a little bit calmer now that he had a plan. Some might think him cowardly for choosing to pretend it never happened; he called it self-preservation.

"H-Hey." He looked up as Lucette spoke. He blinked at her, waiting for her to speak. "Mind if I ask your name?" And just like that, his composure shattered once more. His eyes went wide, mind racing in anxious jitters, thinking of all the times people had made fun of him, laughed at his unusual name, asked if his mum was drunk when she named him, the list went on and on and on.

"I-" He tried to formulate words, give her an answer, but it didn't work. His mouth didn't work. "Yeah, don't worry. We're not here to hurt you." His eyes flickered over to the Gryffindor boy. He held onto the words, trying to convince himself of them. Taking a steadying breath, he tried again. "I'm Xenoxilius Blackthorn." Carefully pronouncing his name, making sure they heard him properly, he smiled, glad that his voice hadn't shook too much.

Much calmer now, and pleased that he hadn't stumbled through his name, as he had so many times before, he asked a question of his own. "Um, c-could you please not mention th-his to anyone? It's kind of e-embarrassing that I cried over something so small." Cried was an understatement. More like he had an entire mental breakdown.

The question was mostly directed to Anatole. Slytherins tended to be good at keeping secrets, but he wasn't so sure about Gryffindors.

I'm so sorry for my late reply! Ack, school is sucking the soul out of my life.

   Lucette tingled slightly as a whisper entered her head. The proximity of the boy had startled her slightly, but the only proof that she was startled was a brief widening of her eyes. She turned to Anatole, mumbling softly. "If you could clean up... all the spots I missed, that would be lovely." She pauses for a moment, briefly returning to her task at hand, before speaking to Anatole again. "Thank you."

  Lucette smiled as she finally learned the identity of the boy: Xenoxilius. It was a unique name, one speaking volumes of the unique crossroad the trio had encountered each other at. It wasn't like it was every day you wander past an eleven-year-old smothered in their own blood. At the least, it would be very troublesome if it was. She watched the alcohol wipes clear away the bloodied wounds on the boy's hands. Although her exterior was smoothed at the edges and composed, she was internally screaming. How could someone harm themselves to this extent? What drove him to do this? Was it... another student? Just the thought of a bullying problem made her blood boil, but she kept her head level for the time being. There was no use in jumping to conclusions; that would just distress the victim more. Her eyes lifted to Xeno as she placed the bloodied alcohol wipe on the floor beside her, their duty fulfilled. "Th-That's a beautiful name, Xeno... I hope you don't mind me calling you that?" Her lips parted into a timid smile, trying to ease the nerves that seemed to rack his entire body. Then his question came.

  First word that came to her mind: why? Wouldn't a student want to, at the very least, let their parents know what happened? What did happen anyway? What was so bad that it had to be kept from everybody? She wanted to fire off with so many questions, but that would distress him further. She didn't want to make him fear the idea of talking to her; that was a personal nightmare of hers. Moving slowly, she removed some bandage wrap from her first-aid kit. Realizing she didn't have any medical adhesive, she ultimately decided against cutting up the roll and just wrapped it around the palm of his left hand first; she would tie it up later. First things first, conversation. "...Are you comfortable with sharing wh-what happened?"