23 Mar 2022, 18:58
Books and Bruises
hex: #3a5948
"You're not a Gryffindor."
Unsure why he was suddenly offended, Wyatt cocked his head to the side. He narrowed his eyes as if studying Draven rather than scolding him. The boy had taken a candle from where it levitated in the air and used it to get a better view of Wyatt’s face, and it intrigued him. It was far more common for people to look away when they saw him, and if they did stare, their gaze was never as kind as Draven’s seemed to be. Not that he looked overly fond, but he didn’t look scared nor did it seem as though he was trying to be intimidating.
Draven laughed, and Wyatt stared at him with plain confusion written on his features. Again, unsure of why he felt offended in some way, though not on a deep or personal level. Gryffindors were meant to be striking, assured, courageous. Brawny? Wyatt was none of those things. He felt like a dull blade. Briefly, he wondered if dull blades ever felt the way he did; like they were only half of what they used to be. Regretful, that they weren’t as sharp as they once were? But then he told himself they were just objects, unfeeling.
Wyatt considered the stars beyond the window. They were so consistent. He told the boy his name.
"Wyatt. It fits you."
As they shook hands, Draven spoke his name with a grace no one had given it in a long time. Wyatt pulled away after one shake with half-concealed haste, suddenly aware of how cold his own hands must’ve been due to the warmth of Draven’s. He shouldn’t have taken his hand; What if the boy thought he was odd?
Well, maybe Wyatt should think this boy was odd. He was told “Wyatt” was supposed to mean something along the lines of “strong in battle,” which he never identified with. Whenever he threw a punch, he felt sick to his stomach. This boy didn’t know him if he thought the name could act as any sort of descriptor. Which was true, he didn’t. Sometimes Wyatt could feel himself belonging in the name, he managed to remember. When spoken, it sounded stubborn on your tongue, unmoving. These days, Wyatt didn’t much identify with that.
Draven had closed the window. Wyatt didn’t understand. He liked it when it was a bit cold. The temperature made him feel like he could withstand something or like he was a cold-blooded reptile. The warmth was a little too comforting, and Wyatt didn’t know if he trusted it. He certainly didn’t know if he trusted this boy. Wyatt felt himself say that he was here because he couldn’t sleep and wanted to make an attempt at productivity.
"The house elves get mad at me if I don't return the books after a few days," the other boy grinned. Wyatt looked at his teeth. "I've gotten chewed out by them before for stealing half the library."
A thoughtful hum rumbled in Wyatt’s throat. He never spoke to the house elves. In shadow, he’d take some books and hide out in his room to read them. His guess that the elves would fuss over missing books if you were to cross paths was, in fact, only a guess. It gave him a sense of pride to be right about someone or something again. He was grateful that he stuck by avoiding as many people as he could. No fuss.
"We can go anywhere," Draven pointed out. He sounded airy, or whatever the younger sibling of whimsy is. Not dreamy, but not entirely here. "Or we can go back to the dorm, and lay in bed for another four hours…"
Draven trailed off, and Wyatt studied his face, trying to put together what he seemed like he wanted to do. If he was up and still here, sleeping wasn’t first on his list of priorities. Also, the way he put it, it sounded like he thought sleeping as much a chore as Wyatt did. And chores were boring. So, he wanted to go somewhere it seemed. But Wyatt had to propose a place to go, right? If Draven hadn’t specified, maybe he was purposefully leaving it up to him! But decisiveness was never Wyatt’s strongest suit. Decisions, decisions.
“I don’t really want to go back to my dorm,” Wyatt said, distantly. Hesitantly? He didn’t share a room with anyone, but Merlin, if someone like Hanako heard the click of his door, they were probably standing guard waiting to annoy him. Or was that a self-important assumption? Whatever, the chance was too great. Wyatt could make them wait. “I hear the greenhouse is rather nice at this time, or the lake. Or the quidditch pitch.”
It was. Wyatt trained there often, in early hours of the morning or late into the night. He sighed.
Interacting: @Draven Mirador
Mentioning: Hanako Tone
| “If you ever need anything please don't hesitate to ask someone else first.” - Kurt Cobain. |
Sta: 15 | Eva: 20 | Str: 6 | Wis: 9 | Arc: 9 | Acc: 11 Parselmouth | Prodigal DADA | Fearless | Muggle Condition |
5 Jun 2022, 21:09
Books and Bruises
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@Wyatt Starkey
| ── | "The quidditch pitch" Draven chuckled, absentmindedly going to rub the spot on his arm, were bruises had started to blacken from the day before. He was covered in them, although you couldn't tell just by looking at the boy. His sharp, severe features didn't leave much to the imagination, or so people thought. Draven was uncomplicated. Drawn in bold, clear lines that showed up against parchment paper like a drop of blood on linen sheets. There was no reason for him to be up at the crack of dawn, with a broom he'd smuggled in his trunk and kept under his bed wrapped in cloth, away from prying eyes. No reason at all for him to be on the quidditch pitch every morning, trying to teach himself to fly. And yet he was there, day after day, wobbly and unsure of himself, falling more than staying in the air. Gravity had become his best friend and lover, rushing to embrace him at the slightest hint of hesitation. He'd figured if he didn't fall of his broom at least once, it wasn't a good practice session. "You spend a lot of time there?" If he did, they'd never run into each other. It was a good thing, one Draven had the gods to thank for. The last thing he wanted was another student watching him as he fell on his rear end. Especially an older one. Especially one who could probably hold his own on a windless, clear day. Pushing his chair backwards, Draven swiped away invisible dust from his lap and coat, offering his hand to Wyatt. "No point in staying here. I don't fancy a house elf dragging us out by the ears." Draven more than Wyatt. It wasn't often that Dray was shorter than other students, and yet there he was, something like two inches below the other. The castle was somehow darker, hallways stretching out for what seemed like forever, dark Blackstone walls looming over the two boys as torches flickered on the wall. It was a stark contrast from the well lit library, with its friendly candles floating all about and the smell of parchment paper. In the dark, Hogwarts was an unforgiving, unwelcoming place with dank stones and noises which Draven didn't want to spend too long thinking about. So he didn't. Instead, he breathed a Lumos and white light flickered to life. For the first time, Deimos stirred in his cloak. The tiny spider had been curled up against his side, only the tip of a hairy leg peaking out from between the folds of cloth, looking up at Wyatt with dark, bottomless eyes. Deimos had the air of a predator taking in its next meal, sizing up the other student and purring quietly. Chattering, the spider hooked its legs into Draven's coat, climbing up to the boy's shoulder. Draven gave the spider a look. The spider gave Draven a too wide, venom dripping grin. It was so, that the two boys made their way through the castle, systematically finding their way to the front doors. Whenever a ghost stirred, they'd freeze, heart pounding in their throats. But it wasn't too long before they found themselves on the fields. Moonlight reflected against the snow, blindingly white even in the night. The snowfall from earlier had quieted to a trickle, huge flakes falling lazily amongst the stars, peppering the boys in ivory, wind caressing their cheeks and leaving red kisses amongst their skin. With every step they took away from the castle, the tension in Draven's shoulders ebbed away. He breathed easier, his gait got lighter. They were making their way to the lake, despite not having said a word in a long time. Behind the two boys, snow quickly filled the prints they'd left. The good thing about Hogwarts was how massive everything seemed. The lake stretched on forever, banks spotted with untouched snow and boulders larger than life, their sharp edges obscured by the blanket of white. Icy shone dully, something moving underneath the surface of it. Even in the dead of night, the occupants of the lake didn't sleep. Wyatt and Draven knew this all too well, having spent many a night staring out the glass windows in their dorms. Sometimes, Draven kept watch. Other times, the merpeople watched them. It was comforting, in a way. Knowing they weren't alone. Draven didn't break the silence that had settled over them. One of the jagged rocks was hanging over the ice, a rivulet of water still making a valiant effort at trickling over the side. It was there, that Draven ended up. Fingers digging in the grooves and edges, somehow managing to be graceful as he climbed over the frozen surface. When he reached the top, he offered Wyatt a hand up. Deimos cooed, casting out a strand of web and dangling down over the lake swaying in the breeze. | ── |
@Wyatt Starkey
ITS STILL RAINING. WHY IS IT STILL RAINING? sta • 13 | eva • 8 | str • 1 | wis • 15 |arc • 7 | acc • 9 |