Name: Richard Donnohan

Gender: Male

Age: 15

Wand: 10" Rowan, Hippogriff Talon

House: Former Gryffindor, Current Lion

Most Personal Desires:

1. To lead the way.

2. To be great.

3. To have someone to love.

As Richard looked up at his new school, this 'Patronus Academy', he started to wonder what he was even doing here. The Dark Force wasn't going to stop with Hogwarts. Ever Richard knew it was the people they were after, not the buildings themselves. But this school was supposed to have higher protection, it was supposed to be safer than Hogwarts could have ever dreamed of. Richard remembered his first day at Hogwarts, how he had been so excited to join that Quidditch team, to play on the same side as his brother. Patrick. The two boys were almost identical, only Richard wasn't as tall. Both were lean and broad-shouldered, with wavy blonde locks and a pair of stunning grey-blue eyes. They were the spitting image of their father, William. Richard had looked up to his brother possibly more than he had looked up to his father and he could still see Pat's face, gleaming with pride as he raced after the the Quaffle.

But another image flashed through the blonde's mind, and he screwed his eyes shut, trying to forget the last time he had seen Patrick. That was a memory that he worked so far to forget, to leave at the school that he had fled. His mum and dad had pressed and pressed for him to tell them what happened, but Richard couldn't speak about it. He could hardly even think about it, and soon his fists were clenched. Today was a hard day to forget, and he soon found himself reliving the terrible memory. Patrick's stunned face as the students began running past him, his eyes searching for Richard. People were screaming, crying, shouting. Some were frightened, others were looking for friends or siblings. Amidst all of the shouting, the younger Donnohan managed to find the elder one. Their grey eyes met and they both rushed forward, shoving against the dissipating crowd. Patrick always looked out for him, no matter how much in danger he was and this was no exception. As the jet of light came towards them-

Richard bent over and lost his stomach behind the bushes. This time the memory had been so fresh and sharp and so damn clear. He'd seen death that night, more than he ever thought he would. Gruesome deaths and quick deaths; he'd even seen souls being sucked out of children, their bodies falling to the ground, limp. Richard looked around as he wiped the bile from the corner of his mouth, and seeing no one he moved into the greenhouses. Feeling disgusted with himself, he quickly located a water hose to rinse out his mouth with. He even rubbed a bit of the cold water on his face, as if to wash away the memory. While he missed his friends, he was glad Reagan, Reggie and Damon hadn't been around to see him like this. Richard wiped his face, attempting to dry it off. His chest ached like it did whenever he was remembering, whenever he couldn't just forget.

He'd thought that since he'd be away from the house and from his mum, Richard would have less reminders of his dad and Patrick, but he thought of them even more. Especially Patrick. There was just something not right about everything that was going on, especially his brother. One minute he had been leading the way and the next he had gone, nowhere in sight. Richard had spent his morning at the Quidditch Pitch, flying around. It seemed to be the only thing to get his mind off of the attacks, and he often found himself doing whatever he could to forget. Remembering was too hard, especially when he remembered how great his life had been. Patrick, the most popular bloke in school, someone everyone looked up to. Quidditch Captain, Head Boy. Everything. And now he was gone. Not to mention their father - he'd been so upset when Patrick hadn't come home. What he said still chilled Richard to the bone. "I lost both of my sons that night." How could he have said such a thing? Sure he was angry and upset, but still... Before Richard had a chance to clear things up, his father was killed as well.

Suddenly the greenhouse door swing shut, Richard instinctively ducked - he wasn't sure if students were allowed in here or not. But as he looked up, it was someone he wasn't expecting. Light brown hair framed her face, the darkness of her eyes is emphasized by the paleness of her skin. She had been considered beautiful and regal in the past, but after the attack on Hogwarts and her family, she appeared to have shrunk in on herself. Shadows of her former regal nature remained, but they were only shadows. Her name was Constance Bennett, and she'd lost her family to a group of rogue Dementors before the Hogwarts attack. He remembered feeling sorry for her, and for the looks she got in the hallways. Back then he could have never imagined losing a family member to something like the Dementors, but now that he had lost not only his brother, but his father as well, he didn't feel so sorry anymore. In fact he felt bad for pitying her, and not only that but he knew why she acted like she did. Before, she had been popular, just like he had. Now he wanted to do just what she had done - he wanted to cut himself away from everyone, to cut his own heart out.

She didn't noticed him at first, but then he stood up straight and their eyes locked. As he looked into her eyes, he could see that same gut-wrenching pain, that same lack of spirit he fought so hard. But he couldn't hide it. Not now. Not after Patrick. Not after his father. Richard's grey eyes gazed into hers through those long yellow lashes of his, and he wondered if she would run away from him, like she ran away from everyone else. She always seemed to disappear whenever she didn't want to be found - it was something he had noticed about her before. Whenever Constance didn't want to be found, she wasn't.

The girl took a few steps forward, which surprised Richard. He had expected her to just walk right back out. Her fingers slipped into the baby Devil's Snare plant, and Richard made his way around to the opposite side of the table. "I was expecting the greenhouses to be empty," she said to him, and there was a small silence before he answered.

"As was I," he admitted truthfully.

"Not many students show an interest in Herbology this early in the year," Constance said, something resembling what might have been a smile crossing her lips. He nodded, almost wanted to smile himself. Richard had never shown an interest in Herbology, in fact he was quite terrible at it. He rarely even showed up for the class. There had been a rumor that it would be combined with Care of Magical Creatures, another class he did not particularly enjoy.

"Not many students show an interest in Herbology at all, but you'd still be surprised who you find in here sometimes," he replied, and looked back up at her. They were so different as people, but he was starting to get the feeling that they had more in common than either of them knew. The row of Devil's Snare reached over to him, and he too found his fingers winding in the soft leaves that were hardly strong enough to grip his finger. That was what he felt like - trying to hard to hold on to his life as it once was, but realized himself unable to find the strength. But Constance had lost her whole family, and Richard still had his mum. One last person to cling to, but neither of them spoke at all. They would soon become strangers at this rate. "Is this why you hide?" he asked after a small moment of silence, looking back up at her with that same expression on his face. Because that was all Richard wanted to do. To hide away.

Richard remembered Constance before her family had been taken. She was a socialite, a spotlight stealer. Though Richard had never gotten intertwined in her little group, as there were too many cold bitches like Isis Frost, he had dated several of her 'friends', and had been just as much of a social butterfly. He was popular, just like his older brother. Probably even more so, but Patrick was always older, always better at everything he ever did. Just like every time he thought about his older brother, a jolt of pain went through his heart. He then noticed how Constance's eyes never looked up again, as if she were willing herself not to meet his eyes. He understood, but at the same time he wanted so badly to talk, he wanted to talk to someone who understood. He hadn't been able to think about telling Damon or even Reggie, but why did he want so badly for this girl to open up to him? Or at least not shut him out.

Richard's question had been completely sincere. He felt the desire to hide his feeling, to hide himself from the world. To cut off all ties between him and his friends. That had actually been his plan - finish school and then get the hell out. But he knew that would only tear him apart even more. Constance's reaction was instant. She froze up, and Richard could see the fear. How he knew he would react if someone asked him how his father was, how his brother was.

"I'm not the right person for... this." She had no idea how right she was for this. Richard didn't want to let this consume him as it was already doing. He wanted to tear the ache right from his body and cast it aside, and he wanted to do this so badly that he would do anything. The girl turned around, putting her back to him. As her skinny arms wrapped around herself, he noticed that she was entirely too thin. Had she always been that skinny? "I can't... talk about this. You'd better leave." What? Richard felt it, a cold hardness in his stomach that made his fists clench. He was torn between empathy for her and anger. She wasn't the only damn person in the world suffering! The idea of searching for Damon just to talk about his feelings made him want to wretch again. That was when he made up his mind.

"Leave."

Her tone had begged him, but he would not give it. "No," he replied, his voice just as pathetic as hers had been. "Not until you tell me." With a shaky wave of his wand, he locked it from the inside, so that no one could get in. One could easier get out of the greenhouses, as the only way to lock it was from the inside, but he wasn't going to let someone interrupt this. Moving around the table, he took a few hesitant steps towards her, but not too close. "Talk to me."

"You didn't want to talk to me when my family..." Richard swallowed hard, knowing just how hard it would have been to finish that statement. But it still cut him. No, he hadn't tried to talk to her. Why should he? She ignored everyone, shunned her closest friends. She became a recluse. Richard had still been on top of the world, only worrying about the next Quidditch match and how many girls he'd score at the afterparty. "No one wanted to," she added quietly.

"Would you have spoken to anyone? Don't lie to me and say you would have opened up then." He took another step closer, but still kept his distance. Her back was to him, but that didn't matter. Something told him to stay, and he wasn't leaving until he knew why.

"You have friends," she said, almost accusing. Yes, he did. But he couldn't talk to them any more than she had been able to talk to hers. How could he? They hadn't known what he had. Neither of the Weasley twins Reggie or Reagan had lost anyone they really cared about. Saywer had lost her brother, but he had never been particularly close to her. Parker was just out of the question: he couldn't break down like that. And Damon... well, he still had whatever kept him going. Richard didn't. He'd lost... everything. "Go to them. They know what you want. I don't. I can't... help anyone." Her voice was beginning to shake, and Richard felt that pang again, that pain that cut him to the bone. "There's nothing I can do."

"Just... go. Please." He was torn. Half of him heard the plea in her voice, and knew that he should go. But the other half knew that he had to stay. He couldn't become what he knew he would, and he knew that would happen if he left. So what could he do? Richard's feet couldn't move, and he felt frozen, watching Constance collapse in on herself. He knew that was what was going on inside of him, but he was as helpless to stop it as she was. "I'm not going to leave you. Don't you understand that? I'm not going to just leave and act like everything is okay when it's not. Why can't you see that?" But she had a question for him, too.

"How do you talk?" she asked, but Richard didn't answer. He had been wondering this himself, but he knew that he would find a way if he was given the chance. If Constance would only give him the chance. Isn't that how people healed? He saw what was happening to his mother, how she was slowly dying away, but poisoning everyone around her before she went. Like Richard. Because she never talked. She just stayed in her damn glass house and put on a show, writing to him and telling him not to come home. "You can't talk about... things like that." Richard took one more step closer and stopped there, knowing that he had already crossed enough lines for the day.

"You can. I promise, you can," he assured her, and truly believed what he said. Richard never said anything and didn't mean it, it just wasn't the way he did things. Like Constance, he'd been the party boy. Hitting on all of the pretty girls, though not in a way that would cause them to look down on him. He was a Quidditch player since his second year, a damn good one. He'd been to every party in the Gryffindor Common Room since he was twelve. He wasn't called 'Playboy' by his closest friend for nothing. But, like Constance, Richard was starting to get the feeling that this was all over for him. He didn't want that life any more than he wanted to jump off a cliff; while it would be welcome, it just wasn't going to happen. So far he had tried so damn hard to pretend it wasn't so, to pretend he was the exact same. But he wasn't.

Then she looked up into his eyes, and he could see her. Her pain, her sorrow, her grief. He could see himself in her eyes, reflecting back at him like a mirror. She was breaking apart. Tears fell down her face, and Richard fought to keep them out of his eyes as well. "I can still hear Bess screaming." The statement struck him like an arrow, but he didn't say a word. "When it's dark, and there's no one there... I hear her, Richard. She's screaming and I can't-" she cut off, and took a step away from him, and he could hear her sobs now, and see them racking against her frail torso.

Finally, he could help it. Richard moved forward, pulling her closer to him. She was smaller than he thought she would be, and he got the impression that if he applied any kind of force she would simply break in half. "We can't change the past, Constance," he said after a moment. "You don't know how badly I wish I could, for the both of us. For everyone." Richard's voice wavered here, and he had to pause. "Your family loved you-" he said, and his voice caught here. He couldn't go on. Her family loved her. Richard thought of his father's last words to him, and his mother's orders not to come home and suddenly he was fighting, too. But somehow, it was Constance, who was falling apart as well, that kept him from completely crashing.

"Don't let go." This caught him by surprise, and it took him a moment to fully register what she had said. Don't let go. He responded by giving her a gentle squeeze. She must have been just as taken aback by her own statement as he was, because she began to wipe her eyes and get ready to pull away. "Sorry." He didn't understand why she was apologizing. Out of all people she had nothing to be sorry for. "I'm just... I don't know how to do this." But then he understood. He didn't know how, but he knew that if he could be strong now, he could be strong whenever he needed to. "This is why I tell people to leave." She kept wiping at her eyes, and soon Richard reached out and took both of her tiny hands in one of his, and with the thumb of his other wiped away a few stray tears she had missed. Her apologetic look made him truly sad, and he wanted to just wipe it clean off her face. "I should have been with them."

Instantly Richard froze, his mind jarring before reeling back to that same old clip he had tried so hard to burn away. Patrick's stormy gray eyes narrowing as he searched through the crowd, scanning the faces of children until Richard finally caught his attention, before they were tragically separated. The younger boy's breath caught in his throat as his father slammed him against the wall, his face turning red as he demanded an explanation, and finally the slamming of the front door, marking the last time that Auror William Donnohan would ever be seen alive by his family. This is all your fault. His mother's words echoed through him and it took him a moment to regain himself, to bottle all of this up. He was a bit better at hiding than Constance was, but he knew with a wave of grief that it would only come back later and hit him harder, and even harder the next time. He didn't know what he would do when it became too much, but he could only hope he would learn how to cope with it by then.

"I'm not leaving. I don't know how many times I have to tell you. And you have nothing to be sorry for. So stop with that, okay?" he asked, offering a small smile in return. Once more, he wrapped his arms around her frame, resting his head against hers. In a soft voice just next to her ear, he whispered only three words: "Don't let go." He wondered for a moment, if someone were to put their two hearts together, would there be enough left to make a whole one again?

"I won't," she told him finally. "I'll... try." He only nodded to this, as his throat was closing just as well, and he didn't want her to hear his struggle. Not when she was dealing with her own. "I don't know what to do without them. I need them to come back. I need them." Richard didn't know what he needed. He couldn't return to his old life, he didn't think that it would welcome him back as easily as it would for Constance. Her family probably wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with them, but it wasn't the case with Richard. After Patrick, his family had blown up, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but broken hearts and shattered glass.

"I know," he told her gruffly. "You keep living, Constance. You don't just give up, but you live in their memory. You don't have to forget them," he tried to explain to her, but felt almost distant from his words. As if someone else was saying them to him, instead of the other way around. "Or else they will have died for nothing." Like Patrick. You survived while your own flesh and blood did not. You should have stayed with him. You're no son of mine. I have no sons anymore.