I also have to sincerely apologize for just how long this chapter took to write. I blame a nasty combination of lack of time and stifling writer's block. Another break like that shall hopefully never again occur. The next chapter should be up within half a week, perhaps less.
If you've not passed out yet, hold on for a bumpy ride. Agnst and insanity run rampant. And everyone remember, I'm playing with other people's (otherwise known as Rowling and Warner Bros.) toys. Even Brede no longer acknowledges me.
Two large spheres, blue and gold on white, remained fixedly focused on the ever-altering patterns drummed out by a long-fingered appendage attached indirectly to them. As vigilant was their gaze, the orbs followed the dance with a ravenous hunger, expressing their owner's urge to vault from her position on the mattress, which had somehow seemed to exchange the usual down for viscous, unrelenting, craggy stone.
A track of moisture, a product of her quickly dampening brow, slid gracefully past a forest of speckled melanin, eerily mimicking the behavior of the product of tears ducts.
The master of all these differing parts was sluggishly growing aware of just how impossible the irrepressible world is to ignore. Her fervently chanted mantras no longer seemed possessed of any meaning.
Like an infant, she suddenly grew aware of the somber colors of all around her. The faint essense of incense and heavy perfume pervaded her consciousness. As though not entirely of her own volition, those formerly immovable eyes haltingly lifted to absorb the wooden box and altar before her.
A lightening bolt-like thought struck her. The box isn't there. I'm not absorbed by stoicism, plastering layers of false acceptance over the tiny concentrated black hole of hurt and longing and PAIN. Blandness is no longer my shroud. The glances laden with pity aren't truly bestowed upon me once more. He's reopened the wound, awoken the sleeping, desecrated the dead. I've had enough. No more!
With that final thought echoing through her mind, in addition to several less appropriate choice phrases uttered by her subconscious, mostly related to the parentage, bathing habits, and intelligence of the other occupant of the hospital wing, Brede threw covers off as a straight jacket. She gave Dumbledore one hate-filled glance fueled by years of repressed aggression, leapt off the pallet and tore out the door.
After a remarkably hasty recovery, Dumbledore removed his spectacles and cleaned them. He replaced the crescents and seemed to deflate a bit as he slumped in his chair. The expression of defeat continued for a span of approximately ten to twelve seconds, ending with his resuming of good posture and swift exit from the room in a much less dramatic fashion.
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After the energy burst provided by the sudden rage, Brede grew aware, quite suddenly, that she was spent. Her legendary will power, the sustenance of her existence and sole reason for her current life span, had finally dried up. Her drained and much abused mind thought only vaguely,Oh bloody hell, what's the point? As miniscule black dots began to dance throughout her field of vision, Brede drew a sharp breath and steeled herself. Apparently, that niggling desire for survival had not been totally eradicated as of yet. And with that ever so slight bit of triumph at maintaining awareness also came another realization: she had just torn through school and still sat in some unnamed hallway in nothing but her pajamas.
Brede snorted. The snort turned into a chuckle. The chuckle became a solid, hardy laugh. She soon had herself in such hysterics she actually began to cry. Tears coarsed down her faced as the sound of her quite maniacal laughter rang through the anonomous hall. Brede soon realized how much of a loony she would appear to any outsider, and instantaneously came to the conclusion she didn't much care.
Her personal party did not go unnoticed for long. Of all the people to wander the (then) uncharted chambers of Hogwarts, the individual to stumble upon Brede would have to be the one and only Remus Lupin. The slightly alarming racket she'd been making had drawn him immediately, and as he screeched to a halt several paces from her mirth-crumpled form, he found the only action within his capacity to be the dropping of his jaw.
As if his confusion and apprehension radiated, Brede percieved an observer, and fearing Dumbledore, began to take deep gulps of oh so refreshing air. She never got past the "Well, Dumbldore," part of her speech, for her own eyes informed her, with what she thought was just a bit of malice, that her plan to inform Dumbledore quite cleanly that she would be running off to live with the faeries would not go over as she'd planned.
"You, my dear, are certainly not the Headmaster. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to give notice of my instantaneous withdraw from the hallowed halls of academia." Brede found that being slightly unhinged had its benefits. Her tongue produced answers much more quickly. The loss of logic would be a problem, but she'd known many who'd lived quite happily with less than she still possessed. As she moved to pass Remus, she suddenly found him gripping her arm. It was not painful, but certainly firm.
"What in bloody hell is wrong with you, Brede?" He almost seemed...frustrated? "I would like an explanation of," and with this he made a vague, all-encompassing gesture, "Everything that's been going on recently." The expression of seemingly genuine care almost broke her down, but in her somewhat compromised state of sanity, she had suddenly forgotten exactly why she'd always been so different.
She felt another snort coming on.
"Give a bloody rest, Lupin." She wrenched her arm from his grasp and backed up a few paces. The hall echoed slightly with the cracking and popping produced by her rotating neck. She wanted interference from no one, least of all a classmate with a misplaced sense of nobility. That's always been the Griffindor thing, though, hasn't it? Being noble. Being stoic. If you care about others, everything will just be peachy, won't it?
Brede suddenly became aware if the fact she'd spoken something to that effect aloud. She shrugged her shoulders and turned, determined to find Dumbledore and escape.
The determination of her classmate had been woefully underestimated by Brede, however. He would not let her off nearly that easily. He had been intrigued and concerned by her recent unease, and the kid gloves with which she'd been handled by the staff only affirmed his perception that all was not right with Brede. "What deep, dark secret makes you so isolated and vulnerable at the same time? What's wrong with you, Brede?"
As Brede flinched at his frightening accuracy, she noticed with a bit of detachment that the alarm bells that usually chilled her blood and clamped her mouth shut failed to function. Time and stress had finally silenced them. Heaving a great sigh, and figuring that her soon to be former classmate could find no way to inflict more pain on her once he knew of her issues if she was no longer there anyway, she resolved to reveal the tawdry tale. Somewhere deep inside her brain, a bit of logic clamored to be heard above the din of insanity. It squealed at her that Remus wouldn't do something like that. He was a nice boy who cared. The fact that her cold, calculating side was telling her to trust someone disturbed her, but Brede no longer cared about much anymore. She slumped against the ancient wall and beckoned him to join her. The beady stare Remus found fixed upon him was scarily reminiscent of Professor McGonagall.
"I'll be gone in an hour, so what the heck. Fasten you safety belt and secure your belongings. Welcome to my private little hell."
Yes, I know, I'm a whack job, and I promised the awful life history of Brede this chapter. It's in the next, I swear! It'll be here in a few days, and then you all can do a dance of joy or be driven to madness by its sheer horrendousness. I devour reviews like chocolate.