The Merciful Heart PV Pericles Dralt Closed

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	Pericles had arrived at the twilight years of his Hogwarts tenure. He had long since carved an idiosyncratic schedule out of the day-to-day routine, cultivating a collection of quirks, the most notable of them being how he took his food. Breakfast was a surefire time to catch him in the Great Hall. The heir placed value in starting his day amidst the community, rising early for a run before joining his peers. He spoke little, yet listened often, sifting through the morning chatter for a fleck of intrigue in the silt of gossip. At dinner, he sought his friends specifically, gathering with as many of them as he could find. Pear preferred to end the day amidst favored company, staying up to speed with their adventures (especially misadventures). Lunch was a different matter. To avoid bumping elbows and disruptive dramas, he drifted down to the midday meal as late as he could afford to, often stashing morsels in a cloth to take elsewhere. But his birdish appetite had grown again. It was harder to get by on grazing, the demands of a teenage body forcing the eccentric to subject himself to- augh- public spaces. Thus Pericles would be found perched at the end of Ravenclaw's table, picking his way through a thick cut of salmon. He ate quicker than the norm in an attempt to escape a pair of chatty Ravenclaws who had, despite the vast swath of open bench, inexplicably chosen to sit diagonal from him. It was irksome enough that rain robbed him of an afternoon flight. Feeling restless, the eagle kept his head down and fork moving from plate to teeth. His name was lost beneath needlessly loud gushing over the gala. There passed a short reprieve as their voices trailed off, and only a moment too late did he glance up, realizing the duo was staring at something beyond his shoulder. "Pear?" The Ravenclaw turned, and in that instant, the image of Finnegan cradling a bleeding fox was singed into his memory. A wide silver eye swept over the pair. Soaked to the bone and splattered with mud, sporting scraped knees and shins, the boy looked like life had seized him by the scruff of the neck and taken him for a walk. Whatever misfortune he was dragged through came with a casualty. On the precipice of tears, reddened sclera made his eyes shine like cut citrine. They glistened with guilt as the animal's rolled in terror. To Pericles, they seemed one and the same, like a tragic Renaissance painting resemblant of lost innocence. "Please, he's hurt." Lurching into action, the sixth-year sprang from the table and seized his coat from the bench, tossing it around Finn and the fox with one fluid sweep. An unfamiliar instinct urged him to hide them from the chill, from prying eyes, from the unkindness of an often unfeeling world. He simultaneously shielded and ushered them towards the doors at a hurried pace. Hunched, the animagus only whispered: "Is that a student?" He would treat an animal no less urgently, but it let him know whether they were headed for a secluded space or the nurse's office. Pericles steered them down the hall and into an alcove where a statue once stood. There, he slid the coat from of Finn's back, tossed it open on the floor, and motioned to set his burden down. "What struck him?" He didn't ask who. They would get to that later. Pericles operated with the deftness of one who had practiced for tragedy. His prowess was the product of nights spent looking back on the collection of near-death experiences he had survived, what had gone wrong, what he would have done differently. He neurotically arranged his belongings just so, then memorized the placement of each tool to maximize his efficiency in the face of inevitable disaster. Each sleeve was hooked and dragged to an elbow, a white wand drawn from the rightmost cuff then stuck behind an ear, satchel slung from a shoulder and unclasped. Plucking two vials from the potions collection within, Peri directed: "Mind that he doesn't bite you. Or me, if it can be helped." With that, he knelt low over the kit, face hardened by concentration. A dash of dittany essence hissed against the wound. Green smoke spiraled from russet fur, knitting split skin into scar tissue. The wizard gave a gruff warning- "He isn't going to like this"- as he slid a slender hand beneath its maw. Firmly forcing the kit to tilt its head upwards, Peri set his jaw and poured a splash of Blood Replenishing Potion here and there, mindful not to choke the miserable thing. His thoughts bounded ahead in a subconscious effort to chart their course. The mother would take it back, but that was assuming she could be found. Was it old enough to manage on its own? Maybe to act otherwise would have been a mercy after all. But if Pericles reached deep beneath the multi-layered veils of moral decorum draped over him at all times, he might confess that it was never the fox he was worried about. Not predominantly. He would exhaust every option in his arsenal for the sake of the mud, blood, and rain streaked kid across from him if it meant sparing him from yet another scale-tipping loss. It was the least he could do for Finn or the fox alike.
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@Finnegan Connor

As howling gales beat against the stained-glass windows, frost bled across their surface with inky fingers. Winter's cold breath filled the halls—became a claw around the throat, squeezing slowly, slowly, until all warmth had been snuffed out. It gripped him now, rooting him to the spot, his shoulders hunched, his knees knocking together, a frightful look in his eyes when Pericles jumped into action.

"A student?" he repeated, "I don't-", his voice caught in his throat. He shook his head, not because he was certain but because he could not stand to believe otherwise. "It wasn't me," he added quietly, though no one had accused him. "I didn't do it Pear, you have to believe me."

His fingers clutched the hem of Pericles’ coat, another weight on his shoulders, it did not yet offer warmth or solace, though he was spared prying eyes at least.

Herded out of the great hall, he did as instructed and set down the fox. It lay sprawled across the coat, muddying it, staining it with its blood. Its chest rising and falling in uneven jerks, but it breathed, it breathed! Finn wished that all the warmth his beating heart could conjure would be transferred, through his hands, through the kit's fur, deep down into the animal's soul, that it might be resuscitated and pulled back from the brink of death.

Pericles was working, calm and methodical, like he had prepared all his life for this moment. Maybe he had. Finn just tried to help where he could, hovering just near enough to steady the fox if it became startled. "He’s so little," Finn said, his voice thick with remorse, as though it was his hand which had cast the spell that had hurt the innocent animal.

"What struck him?"

Finnegan seemed to shrink as he shrugged and chewed on his lip. "I don't know. I never heard that spell before, I-" he swallowed down a gulp. "I don't think we were taught something like that in class." The implication would be all too easy for Pericles to deduce and the silence that followed it spoke volumes. Whatever it was, Finnegan was not about to give up any names. He had precious few friends as it stood.

"Mind that he doesn't bite you. Or me, if it can be helped."

"Like this?" he asked when Pear told him to keep the kit still. His hands trembled as he pressed down gently on its scraggly fur, careful not to jostle the patched-up wound. The little creature let out a soft, miserable noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

"Sorry," he murmured, though he wasn't sure who he was saying sorry to.

He glanced up at Pear, his hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping down his face. In silence he admired the Ravenclaw, the picture of calm and preparedness, someone who had it all figured out. What he wouldn't give to be like that, to know everything, to be prepared for anything, to have all the answers. "What do we do now?" he asked. There was a desperation in his voice, an assumption that Pericles would know the answer. He always did, right? He always knew exactly what to do.

For a second, he thought about running again. It was always easier to just run. But the fox was still there, and so was Pear, and his legs felt too heavy to carry him far even if he tried. Instead, he just sat back on his heels, shivering and hugging himself tightly.

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	There once was a time in which Pericles would have hunted down a professor for help. Whether it was lack of faith in adults, or the desire not to jeopardize Finn, he instead seemed to be avoiding them as the pair absconded. He didn't know the details of what transpired, yet he wasn't about to let the Gryffindor get caught up in something, especially if it was an accident by his hand; Pericles didn't imagine for a moment that the injury was intentional. "It wasn't me." Ah, and there was his answer. "I didn't do it Pear, you have to believe me." "I do." Doubtless, without hesitation, their trust in one another was blind. Perhaps it was forged out of desperation for someone to trust. Peri's words were emphasized with a meaningful look, one steady and certain as his voice. They did nothing to betray the grave state their patient was in. "He’s so little." "He's young and strong. He'll bounce back." He couldn't say why he'd said it. If he was wrong... well, the only option now was to succeed. Magic was his birthright, a power through which one willed results into reality. It could save the fox for Finn. Spying the way he hovered anxiously nearby, exuding the aura of one desperate for a chance to redeem what was done, Pericles endeavored to involve him where he could. This chiefly meant handing him vials to be recorked so he might take to the next step. "I don't think we were taught something like that in class." A probing eye darted up. Was the culprit an older student, or someone in Finn's year? Who? The question was clear on the Ravenclaw's face, just as resistance was plain on the Gryffindor's, and he relented against the wall. Determining blame was the least important task at hand. Falling back on muted instructions, his focus shifted to inspect his handiwork. "Like this?" "Higher, near the nape. Perfect. Steady now." As much as the kit tried to resist this rescue attempt, its squirming was weak. It listlessly pressed its paws against Finnegan's hands and arms, tried to wriggle its head out of Pericles' hand, and mewled meek sounds of protest. Each splash of Blood Replenisher was answered by a lapping tongue- first to reject as much of the liquid as it could, eventually to accept as it gave in to thirst. Maroon droplets drizzled onto the coat, marking its dark fabric with darker splotches. Maybe it hadn't been afraid at first. Maybe it believed the cumbersome humans couldn't catch it, and thought itself in on their game. An animal couldn't account for magic. It had been wrenched from the natural cycle of things, but magic would be met with magic, reversing the damage done. As Pear coaxed the kit to drink, he breathed the occasional "Shhh." He acted in calculation and concentration, unexpressive, fully absorbed with procedure. When Finn mumbled a soft "Sorry" to no one in particularly, he initially replied with an offhanded "Don't be." Then the weight of that word sank in proper. Having passed off the potion and begun wrapping the kit in his coat, Pericles paused, glancing up again. "What do we do now?" To look at him now was to look in a mirror. The sixth-year couldn't have counted the turns he had taken being the frightened, battered boy forced to make decisions he hardly understood, placed in positions that didn't feel fair, nor the number of times this school had led him to ask the same question. It carried an apprehensiveness identical to @Rebecca Lark's when she asked Is it cursed? That was the black and white of a mage's life, really; theirs was a power capable of great or terrible things. It could mend and mutilate alike. Today, Finn had a front row seat to both. Pericles' fixation faded when he witnessed him trembling while wrapped in his own arms. He wiped excess potion from his hands to his pantlegs, rocked back into a cross-legged sit, and gathered the bundled fox into his lap. It hunkered down in the folds of his cloak, doing what little it could to hide. "Now we patch you up. The potions will take a moment. Once they've set in, our friend might be ready to run. I'll need you to lead us back to where you found him." He offered a smile, confident and reassuring as he could make it. Pericles even bridged the gap between them, reaching a warm hand out to smudge a bit of hair back from Finn's worry-pinched face. The wet mop stuck up comically from his forehead. "You've carried him all the way to safety. Take a moment to breathe, 'little Arthur'. You did exceptionally well." Sliding the wand from his ear, the Ravenclaw took aim, methodically cycling through spells. "Aer Calidus" for the wet and cold. "Episkey" for the scratches and scrapes. "Ferula" to numb and bandage a stubborn gash.
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Casting Hot-Air Charm, Minor Healing Charm, and the Bandaging Spell on @Finnegan Connor

"You've carried him all the way to safety. Take a moment to breathe, 'little Arthur'. You did exceptionally well."

Finnegan flinched at the praise, his shoulders hunching inward like a bird folding its wings. There was nothing noble about what he'd done. Nothing brave about chasing a frightened animal, nothing heroic about pretending he hadn't been the one to hurt it.

"I didn't-" he started, but the words died in his throat.

The fox stirred in Pericles's lap, its russet fur still damp but cleaner now where the Ravenclaw had wiped away the mud. Its breathing had steadied, growing stronger with each passing moment. Finnegan watched it with sharp, anxious eyes, counting each rise and fall of its small chest.

Despite the hot-air charm, a cold had settled deep in his bones and it wasn't so easily dismissed. The nylon fabric of his kit had gone nearly black in places with mud and water still dripped steadily from his hair, running down his neck in icy rivulets.

The kit's nose twitched. Once, twice. Then suddenly it was scrambling, wriggling free of the coat's folds with newfound strength, like a fish slipping through fingers. Before either boy could react, it had leaped from Pericles's lap and darted down the corridor, its paws barely touching the stone floor.

"Wait!" Finnegan cried, stumbling to his feet. "You're not ready yet- you need time to-"

He lurched forward, his cleats squeaking against the stone floor. But the fox, seeing him give chase, quickened its pace. It bounded away with surprising speed, driven by raw fear. Away from him. Away from the boy who had hunted it, who had not just joined in the cruel game that had led to its injury, but led it.

Finnegan skidded to a halt, his slim frame swaying like a reed in the wind, his arms hanging limply at his sides. He barely noticed his chattering teeth, too focused on the fox's escape to care about his own discomfort.

"It's afraid of me..." The words came out choked, barely audible. "Isn't it?"

He swayed slightly where he stood, exhaustion and cold finally catching up to him. The admission seemed to have drained what little energy he had left.

He turned back to Pericles, looking small and lost in the vastness of the castle corridor. Water droplets caught the torchlight as they fell from his eyelashes, like tears of remorse he had been too proud to cry. "Should we go after it?" He didn't seem keen on chasing the frightened fox back out through the cold and wet even though the corridor was hardly any warmer.

He sauntered back over to Pericles with dragging feet, not quite brave enough to ask for the teenager's long, pale arms to wrap around him; too old and self-conscious to ever ask for a hug, yet his posture showed the truth. There was a shine of admiration in his eye as he looked at Pericles' one good eye. "I'm fine. I should go to my dorms," he mumbled. But even as he said it he knew that was not going to happen. There was an ugly truth hidden in the dejected way he said it, a strong desire to be comforted, to be taken care of: like falling asleep during a car ride home, being carried out by your father, and waking up hours later in a warm and comfy cocoon.

@Pericles Dralt

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	Pericles' wand danced like a conductor's, precise and purposeful as it wove mana into spellwork. Numbing bandages wrapped around a bloody cut, hot air turned clothes from dripping to damp, and a healing spell smudged a bruise from Finn's knee before it could bloom into a purple splotch. The wizard was too absorbed with his handiwork to realize the wriggling fox was planning its escape. As it launched from his lap and bolted down the hall, Pericles leapt to his feet, wand already aimed. It would be a simple thing to freeze the fox. Within his arsenal of magic lay the power to paralyze, immobilize, or even ensnare. He nearly acted on the impulse to trap it, as the only means of bringing it back into his care to set things right. The urge was quickly quelled by the realization that he would be doing more harm than help. There were simply some things which magic couldn't fix. Finn gave up the chase just as quickly. When he turned back, Peri's arm fell to his side, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sympathetic smile. "It's afraid of me... isn't it?" The smile faltered. Immense guilt radiated from those words, tangling up in the Ravenclaw's heartstrings and tugging. He did his best to dispel it, shaking his head as he stated- voice low yet firm- "He needs to be. Fear is a powerful instinct, one all animals need to stay alive." It likely wouldn't be tempted to romp near students any time soon. This would be a lesson learned. "Should we go after it?" "If it's well enough to run, it's well enough to go its own way." That wasn't to say there weren't other dangers awaiting the little kit. There were a great many things in that forest which would do far worse with glee, yet they couldn't trap it in the castle, ward it from harm by holding it hostage. The kit was returned to nature, which would take its course regardless of how two boys felt about it. Fetching his crumpled cloak from the floor and giving it a good shake, Pericles set about storing his effects. With the last potion put back into place, he slung his satchel over a shoulder, glancing up for a final once-over of his young friend. "I'm fine. I should go to my dorms." Pear responded with a suspicious frown and squint combo. In his experience, "I'm fine" had a funny knack for meaning just the opposite. He hadn't seen Finn this way before- tired, glum, quiet. The defeated sight unearthed a memory, one so sudden and jarring that it evoked a twitch of a grimace. He knew that look. Spells may have done their part, but there was more to be done here. Whatever cloud had passed over Peri's thoughts was banished by a warm smile. He equipped the airs of one satisfied by a job well done, as though there was nothing left to worry over, trying to lead by example. Once Finn came close enough, he wrapped an arm along his shoulders and tucked him to his side, like a bird shielding another beneath its wing. "I'll walk you. I was finished eating, anyhow." Their walk was solemn. Finn lacked the energy for his usual chatter, and Pericles wasn't typically the one to initiate conversation, so they tread in silence for a ways. He stole a sideways peek after several stairways. His company looked lost in thought, and the wet bangs Pear had smudged from his face now drooped back into his eyes. That arm slid away, touch replaced by a hand ruffling his hair, trying to lure him back from whatever dark avenues his mind meandered down. "Don't worry about our friend. I'd wager he's halfway back to his den by now, and he'll be better off resting in his own home. I'm more worried about you. You look like you could use a long bath, a hot drink... and a haircut, to be frank." Knowing Pericles, the fact that he saved his observation for the fifth floor may have been intentional. Still, he slowed his step and seemed surprised when a door manifested on the wall they were walking alongside. The Room of Requirement appeared as an elegant archway, brick, iron, and oak weaving into existence. Coming to a stop, the Ravenclaw tilted his head in a pensive expression, then gestured at the handle. "...I think it's for you."
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| @Finnegan Connor |