Xenith
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"The hardest challenge is the one you place upon yourself."
~~~Unknown
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Chapter Twenty-nine
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"They what?" Fred demanded not sure if he'd heard her correctly.
"Don't make me say it again, Fred. I can't, I just can't." She choked out. Fred was nearly choking himself---she was about to cry. Chris didn't cry!
"They killed her, didn't they?" Fred asked instead. She didn't answer, but slid to the ground with a soft rustle of fabric, her head in her hands. Fred was at her side instantaneously. He touched her back lightly, not sure of how to handle such a situation. "Talk to me, Chris," he said gently, rubbing her back.
"It was the first . . . and last time I saw my brother cry," she managed through her hands and hair. "He's my rock, Mat is." She sniffled quite loudly and made a half-hearted swipe at her nose. "Severus carried me all the way back to our house. I don't know how long it was---"
"Shush," Fred said in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "You don't have to say anything more. It's all right." Chris curled in on herself, holding her legs close to her chest and burying her head in her knees. Fred pulled her close. "I'll take you back to your room then."
Chris nodded, but she wasn't ready to move just yet. She shut her eyes and let Fred hold her for a very long time.
Fred missed History of Magic.
---
Harry brought the sword down with enough force to sever his Professor's neck if he so desired. He did not. The blade stopped a hair's breath away from Professor Figg's skin.
"Well done," she said, careful not to touch the blade. "You are done for the day."
Harry moved away from her to the desk where he'd left the sheath. He slid the sword into its leather armour with a soft hiss. "What time is it, Professor?" Harry asked, wondering vaguely where the other half of his shirt had gotten to. It was a blue one and one of only two T-shirts that fit him properly.
"Two thirty-eight. You should get to bed." She replied, extracting herself from the floor. "You've accomplished quite a lot today, Harry. You should be proud of yourself."
"Yeah, sure." Harry shrugged, running his fingers through his sweaty hair.
"Really, Harry, taking me down is quite an accomplishment."
"You held back." He said quietly, turning away from her.
"Excuse me? I most certainly did NOT."
"Then how could I have beaten you? I've only had three _months_ of training and you've been doing this your whole life."
"You're a fast learner, Harry. You're very strong and have so much untapped potential---"
"Then why are we stopping? Teach me."
"You need sleep. Go back to your dorm."
"Professor---"
"Now."
Harry belted the sheath onto his waist, threw his backpack over his shoulder, and stormed from the room. He heard Professor Figg shout after him: "Get some sleep!"
"Well, bugger that." Harry muttered, storming sown the corridor, Godric's sword thumping against his thigh.
Before Harry knew it, he was outside the portrait hole and the Fat Lady. It took Harry a moment to realise she was speaking to him.
"What?" Harry said, shaking his head. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."
"Harry, dear, these late nights are really doing you in," she said kindly. "You should take a break."
"Not you too---"
"We only offer because---"
"I'm a little tea-pot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout." Harry rushed out the absurd password dryly. The portrait opened rather reluctantly.
Harry padded his way up the stairs to the dormitories, taking no notice of the door as it swung open before him and closed behind him of its own accord.
"S'that you, Harry?" Ron asked groggily from deep within the draperies of his four-poster. Harry couldn't help but smile. He never failed to wait up for him.
"Yeah, Ron, it's me," Harry replied. "Go back to sleep."
Ron groaned something unintelligible and within moments was fast asleep.
Harry stripped down to his boxers, stowing his sword in his trunk and tossing his damaged clothing to the ground. Harry stumbled his way across the dark dormitory and into the candlelit bathroom.
He was tired, but he liked it better that way. The nightmares were less persistent.
Harry climbed into the shower and let the hot waterfall, from the mouth of a rather terrifying looking gargoyle, cascade over his slender frame. //Well, not that slender any more.// Harry thought to himself, resting his head against the stone of the shower wall. He ran his fingers over his chest and closed his eyes. There weren't any scars there yet but Harry wasn't fool enough to believe that would last. He ran his fingers through his hair and held his head.
He was fifteen and preparing to take on the biggest threat to the wizarding world had seen since Grindewald. He was fifteen and able to defeat his swordsmanship instructor after only three months of training. He was fifteen and a Mage.
Harry may have been all of those things, but he still couldn't get a good haircut.
---
¸..· ´¨¨)) -:¦:-
¸.·´ ·´¨¨))
((¸¸.·´ ..·´ -:¦:- tbc -:¦:-
-:¦:- ((¸¸.·´*
---
"The hardest challenge is the one you place upon yourself."
~~~Unknown
---
Chapter Twenty-nine
---
"They what?" Fred demanded not sure if he'd heard her correctly.
"Don't make me say it again, Fred. I can't, I just can't." She choked out. Fred was nearly choking himself---she was about to cry. Chris didn't cry!
"They killed her, didn't they?" Fred asked instead. She didn't answer, but slid to the ground with a soft rustle of fabric, her head in her hands. Fred was at her side instantaneously. He touched her back lightly, not sure of how to handle such a situation. "Talk to me, Chris," he said gently, rubbing her back.
"It was the first . . . and last time I saw my brother cry," she managed through her hands and hair. "He's my rock, Mat is." She sniffled quite loudly and made a half-hearted swipe at her nose. "Severus carried me all the way back to our house. I don't know how long it was---"
"Shush," Fred said in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "You don't have to say anything more. It's all right." Chris curled in on herself, holding her legs close to her chest and burying her head in her knees. Fred pulled her close. "I'll take you back to your room then."
Chris nodded, but she wasn't ready to move just yet. She shut her eyes and let Fred hold her for a very long time.
Fred missed History of Magic.
---
Harry brought the sword down with enough force to sever his Professor's neck if he so desired. He did not. The blade stopped a hair's breath away from Professor Figg's skin.
"Well done," she said, careful not to touch the blade. "You are done for the day."
Harry moved away from her to the desk where he'd left the sheath. He slid the sword into its leather armour with a soft hiss. "What time is it, Professor?" Harry asked, wondering vaguely where the other half of his shirt had gotten to. It was a blue one and one of only two T-shirts that fit him properly.
"Two thirty-eight. You should get to bed." She replied, extracting herself from the floor. "You've accomplished quite a lot today, Harry. You should be proud of yourself."
"Yeah, sure." Harry shrugged, running his fingers through his sweaty hair.
"Really, Harry, taking me down is quite an accomplishment."
"You held back." He said quietly, turning away from her.
"Excuse me? I most certainly did NOT."
"Then how could I have beaten you? I've only had three _months_ of training and you've been doing this your whole life."
"You're a fast learner, Harry. You're very strong and have so much untapped potential---"
"Then why are we stopping? Teach me."
"You need sleep. Go back to your dorm."
"Professor---"
"Now."
Harry belted the sheath onto his waist, threw his backpack over his shoulder, and stormed from the room. He heard Professor Figg shout after him: "Get some sleep!"
"Well, bugger that." Harry muttered, storming sown the corridor, Godric's sword thumping against his thigh.
Before Harry knew it, he was outside the portrait hole and the Fat Lady. It took Harry a moment to realise she was speaking to him.
"What?" Harry said, shaking his head. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."
"Harry, dear, these late nights are really doing you in," she said kindly. "You should take a break."
"Not you too---"
"We only offer because---"
"I'm a little tea-pot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout." Harry rushed out the absurd password dryly. The portrait opened rather reluctantly.
Harry padded his way up the stairs to the dormitories, taking no notice of the door as it swung open before him and closed behind him of its own accord.
"S'that you, Harry?" Ron asked groggily from deep within the draperies of his four-poster. Harry couldn't help but smile. He never failed to wait up for him.
"Yeah, Ron, it's me," Harry replied. "Go back to sleep."
Ron groaned something unintelligible and within moments was fast asleep.
Harry stripped down to his boxers, stowing his sword in his trunk and tossing his damaged clothing to the ground. Harry stumbled his way across the dark dormitory and into the candlelit bathroom.
He was tired, but he liked it better that way. The nightmares were less persistent.
Harry climbed into the shower and let the hot waterfall, from the mouth of a rather terrifying looking gargoyle, cascade over his slender frame. //Well, not that slender any more.// Harry thought to himself, resting his head against the stone of the shower wall. He ran his fingers over his chest and closed his eyes. There weren't any scars there yet but Harry wasn't fool enough to believe that would last. He ran his fingers through his hair and held his head.
He was fifteen and preparing to take on the biggest threat to the wizarding world had seen since Grindewald. He was fifteen and able to defeat his swordsmanship instructor after only three months of training. He was fifteen and a Mage.
Harry may have been all of those things, but he still couldn't get a good haircut.
---
¸..· ´¨¨)) -:¦:-
¸.·´ ·´¨¨))
((¸¸.·´ ..·´ -:¦:- tbc -:¦:-
-:¦:- ((¸¸.·´*