Kick Rocks pv mahlioz evethisawe

At the front of the classroom, a freshly washed chalkboard held one of Draven's nightmares. 'PRESENTATIONS' was written in a bold, neat font, with the professor standing behind his desk and watching the class expectantly.

Draven's desk was rather notably empty. It wasn't like he'd forgotten; in fact, the paper had been at the forefront of his mind for the better part of a week. He simply...hadn't done it. Every time he'd sat down, willing himself to start chipping away at the assignment, his mind had fled toward the newspaper headline.

'WILL THE RAVEN SING?' had been plastered on the front pages, with a picture of his father- a face he hadn't seen for years, neatly edited in. The piece was written like gossip, inquiring about the journalist's writing career and his health. Asking questions Draven himself wanted to know the answer to.

He'd clipped the picture. A frail man with graying hair and hollow eyes looked back at him. He'd come to terms with his father dying in that hospital. He'd resigned himself to going to Abbadon's funeral like he'd gone to Iris', and watching family members he could barely name gather to pay their respects. The speech he'd written up years before was still sitting folded at the bottom of his bag, preserved by plastic and magic.

He hadn't prepared himself for the possibility of his father getting better.

Or for the horrible gnawing pain which had come with the idea of seeing him again.

His desk was empty.

Around him, students chattered amongst each other. Several had already gone before him, though he wasn't quite sure what exactly they were supposed to be presenting. His name was 13th from the top. That gave him quite a bit of time to sit and stare unseeingly at the wood, his father's gray eyes burned into his brain.

Perhaps he'd see the old man over winter break. Go back to the Manor. He pictured it- arriving at the front door, uncertain if there was anyone beyond it. Imagined himself climbing the stairs spiraling towards his father's study, the way his legs would ache by the time he reached the top. The knock on Abbadon's door, and the fear of it going unanswered.

Did he even want to put himself through that? Could he handle it? If he arrived at the Manor and found it as dead as it had been for the past three-

"Draven," the student beside him was grabbing his arm, a hushed whisper breaking through the fog inside his head. Draven jerked sideways, just barely managing to stop himself before sending the girl tumbling. He wasn't strong, but that didn't mean much when you were off balance. And hitting women wasn't a good look.

"Don't touch me, Summer," he snapped, venom dripping off his tongue. His voice rang much too loudly. Oh Merlin.

He looked up.

And, as expected, was met with a majority of the class staring at them. Along with the professor. Great. Fantastic. Incredible.

"Sorry," he said automatically, not quite sure who he was apologizing to, or what for. It didn't really matter though.

"The assignment?" Professor Sauber asked.

Right. Assignment. Presentations. School. Draven cleared his throat, feeling his mouth go dry. He liked Professor Saubar. The man had a steadiness about him that kept the class in check, it wasn't often potions got chaotic or loud. The Professor reminded him a bit of his d-

"I didn't do it." His voice was too loud. Again.

The professor's jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, Draven considered grabbing a shovel and starting to dig a hole.

"You had three weeks to prepare," Prof. Sauber pointed out, something unreadable behind his tone. Merlin. Draven hated it when the guy talked like that. Like it mattered. Hated the class too. The way they were gaping at him, as if they'd never flunked an assignment. Like he was the only one who'd ever made a mess of a presentation. Like the presentations mattered in the first place.

"I don't need this shit," Draven snarled, grabbing his bag. He hadn't unpacked anything anyway. As if an essay on dittany would have any impact on his life. As if this class would change anything. The school was so small, the assignment so insignificant, and the looks he was getting so stupidly, utterly surprised.

They could kick rocks, all of them.

Shouldering his way out of the classroom before anyone had a chance to protest, Draven let the door slam behind him.