The sunlight of the open street grew distanced as I was dragged back into
Knockturn Alley. As my temple hit the rough stone wall, everything faded to
black for a moment. When my mind resurfaced from unconsciousness, my vision
was blurry and my head throbbed just like it did right before a break-down.
I was on my knees, my back against one of the walls, and there was someone
standing over me. Someone with a club in their hands. I went cold: the
chance of me getting out of Knockturn Alley were rapidly disappearing.
Fighting down the nausea that always heralded a breakdown, I got shakily to my feet. My head was swimming, and my hands shook, but I had more important things to concentrate on. Like surviving long enough to get out of the alley, for example. I had my back against the wall, and as my vision cleared, I saw that there were more than one man trying to bring me down. Some of them, like the first, had clubs or the like, while others seemed to prefer their fists. If only I wasn't so dizzy, I might have had a chance: as it was now, with blood running down the side of my face, and my body so weak after weeks of injuries and lack of food, I'd be in luck if I got past the first man.
The club headed for my face was avoided by ducking desperately out of the way, nearly falling to my knees again. I tried to push my way between two of them, out into the sunlight again, but someone threw an arm around my neck and nearly strangled me. I choked and my vision went blurry once more, dragged back into the dark. Dredging up reserves I didn't know I had, I twisted and pulled, getting out of his grasp somehow, and spun on my heels, my back now against the sunlight, facing my attackers.
A small crowd had gathered to watch gleefully as the Knockturn residents beat me up, and at the back of the crowd, I could see the red-headed woman whom I'd first assumed was a veela. She was laughing wildly, and the sense of unease came over me again, just by looking at her. I would have watched her more closely, but she disappeared into the crowd and one of the men swung another punch at me. I ducked out of the way, caught his wrist and twisted, no longer thinking about what I was doing. I kicked, punched and bit like an enraged cat, twisting and ducking, and, at one memorable moment, pushing myself off the ground before planting a foot in the ribcage of one of my attackers.
I felt like I would pass out at any moment when my attackers finally backed off, probably only to catch their breaths before having another go at me. This time, I vowed to myself, I'd be prepared for it. Lifting my hands, I prepared for the infamous last stand. Just like in the Forbidden Forest with the Graphorn, the knowledge that I wouldn't come out of this alive came over me. Shrugging my wand out of the wrist-sheath I wore, I tried to remember a useful spell, but the throbbing headache had driven them out of my mind.
"This is just the highlight of my day," A voice informed us all from behind me. "I come to look for you, after having to go through the trouble of finding out where you'd run off to, and I find you fighting in the street in Knockturn Alley."
Lucas. Who else would it be but him? But he had never been as welcome as he was now: the crowd seemed to thin out and disappear at his words, leaving only the men who had attacked me standing there uncertainly.
"It isn't by choice," I said, spitting out some of the blood that was pooling in my mouth.
"I figured." He said, stepping up beside me. "Now, gentlemen, I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than to beat up my student."
They took one look at him and disappeared into the shadows. I straightened back up and slipped my wand back into my sleeve, wiping ineffectually at the blood trickling down the side of my face and out of the corner of my mouth. Lucas picked up my bag from Flourish & Blott's, grabbed my shoulder and dragged me out into Diagon Alley again. My fingers were cramping, and I tried my best to pry them apart again, but they rather looked like claws.
"Have you lost your mind, Zabini?"
"I don't think so," I said miserably, clutching the sides of my head. "But it seems to be going right about now."
"What the hell were you doing in Knockturn Alley, you weak-minded child?" He demanded, sounding more upset than I had even heard him.
"I didn't mean to: I'd just bought some books, and was reading one of them on the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, and took a wrong turn," I said desperately. My headache was escalating into the unbearable.
"Do you have any idea what goes on in there?" Lucas snapped, ignoring my explanation. "Borgin & Burke's isn't half of it, and they keep severed hands of thieves in there."
"I think I'm going to be sick." I announced in a small voice, doubling over suddenly.
"Oh now you aren't." Lucas hauled me upright again. "Not in the middle of the street you're not."
He led me, or rather dragged me, inside the Leaky Cauldron and up the narrow stairs to my tiny room. I had opted to wear my uniform and school- robes that morning, so most of the clothing I'd bought were lying in a tangled heap on the floor. Muttering about messy teenagers, Lucas kicked it out of the way and dumped me on the bed. I curled up the best I could while still remaining upright, and bent over. A bucket procured from somewhere was shoved between my feet, and I let the nausea take over.
When it was finally over, the bucket was taken away, Lucas muttered some spell, and I felt clean again. The taste of vomit disappeared from my mouth, as well as the lingering taste of my own blood. Not that the worst of the headache was over, I could feel the itching of bruises forming on my chest and back, and the sting of bloodied knuckles. Straightening up gingerly, stopping every now and then, anticipating the nausea that didn't strike, I sat up straight again. Lucas was towering over me in the manner of tall people everywhere, arms crossed and glaring. For a split-second, he looked afraid, but then he quickly masked it up with a rarely seen anger.
"Thanks." I managed weakly.
"I would say that you're welcome, but I don't ever want to deal with this again." He snapped. "I don't wish to get into the habit of patching up my students. If that was the case, I would have become a Healer, not a Defence teacher."
"I'm sorry," I whispered, to my horror choking on the words and feeling like I would break down in tears at any moment. "I didn't mean t-to br-reak down l-like t-this."
"Calm down, Zabini," he crouched down on the floor. "This is not the time to fall apart. You will get time for that later, but now is not that moment. I'm going to patch up your face as best I can, then we're going to bring some order in this chaos of a room, and then we're going to eat. The rest we can figure out later."
He sounded so unlike himself, much more like a caring older brother than the towering enraged teacher he had been only moments ago.
A few quick healing spells later, and my face was as good as new. Lucas found my trunk and started putting my newly acquired library in it, while I untangled the clothing and brought some semblance of order to the floor. After I was finished, Lucas led me downstairs, deposited me at a table and ordered lunch. It all happened so quickly that I didn't even have time to protest that I could pay for myself. Lucas, as usual, ate like a midget, while I tried to eat slower than my hunger demanded. Everything put in front of me gradually disappeared, until even Edith claimed she'd be ruined if she fed me any more.
"Is there no bottom to your stomach, Zabini?" He asked after a while.
"At the moment, no." I said, finishing off a sandwich. "Why are you here? It isn't as if it's normal procedure for Hogwarts teachers to come check up on students over the holidays. Unless the student's Potter, of course."
"You're a walking disaster," he reminded me. "I came to check up on you because I didn't know ho you were doing, and I needed to know if you were close to a breakdown or not. Apparently you were closer than I thought."
"No I wasn't," I protested. "Normally, I'd be burning houses and exploding things about now, but I'm not. I just got nauseous, got a headache, things like that. If I had a real breakdown, Knockturn Alley would be burning."
"I suppose." He looked thoughtful. "But leaving you here would be an unneeded liability. Your training has been severely lacking over the school year: mere theoretical discussions and self-practise doesn't seem to be enough."
"What do you suggest I do then? It's not as if I've had much choice!" I snapped.
"I suggest that I will personally monitor your training from now on. Despite your efforts, some magic leaked out of your control, which it probably the only reason to why you are sitting here right now." Lucas looked deadly serious. "But a rented room at the Leaky Cauldron isn't the ideal place for wandless magic training."
"And where should I relocate to? Greenland?" I knew I was being childish, but today hadn't been a good day, and breakdowns didn't make it any better.
"No. I was thinking Scotland," Lucas said smoothly. "I happen to be taking care of a rather large house, on a rather large, abandoned moor, which should ensure enough privacy."
"You're talking about your house, aren't you?" I asked gloomily. He nodded. "Figures. Well, what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger. Or, in my case, makes me throw up and burn things. Fine, I'll go, but I can't promise to be on my best behaviour."
"We're leaving as soon as you've packed." He said. "I'll be waiting right here."
Grumbling to myself, I trudged up the stairs and started throwing things into my trunk with more force than needed. I had just been more or less ordered to spend the summer at my professor's house. A rather unpleasant professor at that. While Hermione would have jumped at the chance, no matter what professor, I was more hesitant. My summer wouldn't consist of writing essays or doing homework: it would be bone-hard training from the beginning to the end. I'd be sweating blood before I came back to Hogwarts.
Seeing as next year was our N.E.W.T-year, Lucas' promise that there would be a time to break down seemed far off. Perhaps even as far as next summer. Suddenly, going insane seemed like a viable option. But Lucas probably wouldn't be allowing any time off for insanity. He wouldn't allow time off, period. Stuffing the last things into my trunk and snapping it shut, I went downstairs again. Lucas was still sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee and staring at the wall.
"I've packed." I announced dully as I stopped by the table, not sitting down.
"So I see. We're going for a little walk." Lucas said, putting down his cup and throwing some Knuts on the table.
Into Diagon Alley again, he led the way down the street, the crowd parting before him seemingly without thinking about it. He seemed to radiate a field of intense privacy, so strong that even people who weren't looking directly at him felt it so strongly that they stepped aside for him. He passed Flourish & Blott's, Madam Malkin's, Fortesque's, Quidditch Supplies and Ollivanders without a second glance, and turned sharply just before reaching Gringotts. The narrow street we ended up in was nearly empty of people, and there weren't any shop-signs. In the most bland of doors, a man was standing, looking perfectly ordinary, but when he saw Lucas and me, he smiled.
"We were waiting for you, Vincent." He said.
"I had someone to take care of," Lucas replied, gesturing towards me. "A bit of complications, bit it's handled now."
A bit annoyed at being treated like a complication, I wondered silently at why we were in this nondescript street talking to this nondescript man standing in his nondescript doorway. It made no sense, because Lucas had said his house was in Scotland, and as far as I knew, this wasn't Scotland. It wasn't even the way to Scotland. Lucas and the nameless man went inside, and not wanting to be left alone again, I hurriedly followed.
The only way to describe the room was, just as with the man and the street and the door way, nondescript. It was normal. It was so normal that not even Muggles would comment on it. In fact, if it wasn't because he lived off Diagon Alley, I'd believe the man was a Muggle. I was invited to sit down in one of the bland armchairs while the man and Lucas disappeared through a door which shut tightly behind them. And the rest of the wait was silence. Not even the ticking of the clock could disturb me any more.
I spent the time mapping out my face with my fingertips. Lucas' healing spells had done their job, but they were quick, patchwork almost, and the cut at my temple had already become a scar. Had Madam Pomfrey healed me, there wouldn't be so much as a mark, but I found I didn't care. I'd survived a fight in Knockturn Alley, and even if the war would throw worse at me, that might well have been the only preparation I would get.
Lucas returned from the room some ten minutes later and swept out the door without a word. The owner of the house seemed to have disappeared, but I took off running after Lucas immediately, so I could just have missed him. Whatever Lucas had done in that room, he didn't even offer a raised eyebrow of explanation when I caught up with him. Instead, he just hurried back towards the Leaky Cauldron and the crowd parted to let him through once more.
Annoying, that habit was.
''''''''''
After a nauseating ride through the marvel that was Floo systems, I tumbled out onto a green carpet in a room much too large for the amount of furniture in it. Lucas made a much more controlled entrance, and brushed away the ashes on his robes calmly. It was obvious that he was familiar with the room, and dismissed them as such: I wasn't quite to ready with letting it go.
The sheer expanse of the floor reminded me of our house, the one that had burned down, but we had had more furniture in the rooms. My mother would never have accepted to put a rug in the middle of a room, dump two armchairs and a table on it, and leave the rest of the room bare. Lucas looked at me in something akin to amusement in his eyes, and I shut my mouth with a snap. It came as a surprise that Lucas would live in a place such as this: I'd always imagined he's live in some dark and dreary castle somewhere, with a mess of books, poisons and sufficiently killed chocolate around him. This place, while suitably elegant, seemed much to light and cheerful for the likes of him.
But then again, it had probably belonged to his family for generations, so it wasn't really his place to change it.
"Finished gaping like a fish now?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes." I tried not to sound surprised, and succeeded reasonably well.
"Good. There are a few ground rules you should be aware of before unpacking: While you are allowed to be up all night, I won't be forgiving on you in the morning. If you fall asleep in the middle of a lesson, it's your loss, and will probably result in a few bruises on your part." The expression on his face said clearly that he would be delivering these bruises. "Protesting that teacher/student abuse is outlawed won't help, since, during summer, I'm not technically your teacher, and you are not my student. And believe me, those bruises will be well earned."
"I bet." I muttered, putting my trunk on the floor.
"Further, there are certain areas of the house you're not allowed in, which ones will be explained later." He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "The kitchen is downstairs, and if you're hungry, you'll have to cook for yourself. The House-Elves left years ago, and I can't be bothered to cook for you, or for me, for that matter. I believe that at your age, you should be able to cook to feed yourself. If you have questions about the education you will receive, you're of course allowed to bring them up to me, but don't expect me to listen to all of it. Understood?"
"Perfectly." I said. "You sound a lot like a teacher. Be proud of yourself."
"Thank you," he nodded, "You will be staying on the second floor."
"My, my, you're fast: I haven't been here five minutes and you've already arranged a room." I said, grinning. "Efficient."
"Stop smirking: all you get is a desk and a bed." Lucas said. "And a box for your clothes. If you're lucky."
If it hadn't been for the fact that he said it with such a straight face, I would have believed he was serious. No one could have a face as straight as that when actually being serious. It turned out that his concept of "a box for your clothes" consisted of a whole wardrobe. Sometimes, I was sure he was making fun of me. Closing my eyes and wincing, I realised I wasn't thinking straight. I wasn't even thinking in circles, and on top of that, my headache hadn't gone away. Sleep was definitely in order.
Unfortunately, Lucas was turning out to be a sadist, and wouldn't let me alone. He insisted, for some strange reason, that I needed to know my way around the house. It would have been nice if I had been properly awake, since I missed most of the grand tour and ended up falling asleep on my feet. In the living room. On the green rug. Lucas must have realised the futility in trying to wake me, since when I returned momentarily to reality I was sitting in one of the armchairs. Grateful that I was no longer lying on the floor, I passed back into sleep and stayed there.
'''''''
Ending Notes: This might not be the best chapter I have ever written, but it furthered the plot somewhat. And made me realise I'd have to revise some of the third part's plot. Gah. Glodysnutsing gah.
Fighting down the nausea that always heralded a breakdown, I got shakily to my feet. My head was swimming, and my hands shook, but I had more important things to concentrate on. Like surviving long enough to get out of the alley, for example. I had my back against the wall, and as my vision cleared, I saw that there were more than one man trying to bring me down. Some of them, like the first, had clubs or the like, while others seemed to prefer their fists. If only I wasn't so dizzy, I might have had a chance: as it was now, with blood running down the side of my face, and my body so weak after weeks of injuries and lack of food, I'd be in luck if I got past the first man.
The club headed for my face was avoided by ducking desperately out of the way, nearly falling to my knees again. I tried to push my way between two of them, out into the sunlight again, but someone threw an arm around my neck and nearly strangled me. I choked and my vision went blurry once more, dragged back into the dark. Dredging up reserves I didn't know I had, I twisted and pulled, getting out of his grasp somehow, and spun on my heels, my back now against the sunlight, facing my attackers.
A small crowd had gathered to watch gleefully as the Knockturn residents beat me up, and at the back of the crowd, I could see the red-headed woman whom I'd first assumed was a veela. She was laughing wildly, and the sense of unease came over me again, just by looking at her. I would have watched her more closely, but she disappeared into the crowd and one of the men swung another punch at me. I ducked out of the way, caught his wrist and twisted, no longer thinking about what I was doing. I kicked, punched and bit like an enraged cat, twisting and ducking, and, at one memorable moment, pushing myself off the ground before planting a foot in the ribcage of one of my attackers.
I felt like I would pass out at any moment when my attackers finally backed off, probably only to catch their breaths before having another go at me. This time, I vowed to myself, I'd be prepared for it. Lifting my hands, I prepared for the infamous last stand. Just like in the Forbidden Forest with the Graphorn, the knowledge that I wouldn't come out of this alive came over me. Shrugging my wand out of the wrist-sheath I wore, I tried to remember a useful spell, but the throbbing headache had driven them out of my mind.
"This is just the highlight of my day," A voice informed us all from behind me. "I come to look for you, after having to go through the trouble of finding out where you'd run off to, and I find you fighting in the street in Knockturn Alley."
Lucas. Who else would it be but him? But he had never been as welcome as he was now: the crowd seemed to thin out and disappear at his words, leaving only the men who had attacked me standing there uncertainly.
"It isn't by choice," I said, spitting out some of the blood that was pooling in my mouth.
"I figured." He said, stepping up beside me. "Now, gentlemen, I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than to beat up my student."
They took one look at him and disappeared into the shadows. I straightened back up and slipped my wand back into my sleeve, wiping ineffectually at the blood trickling down the side of my face and out of the corner of my mouth. Lucas picked up my bag from Flourish & Blott's, grabbed my shoulder and dragged me out into Diagon Alley again. My fingers were cramping, and I tried my best to pry them apart again, but they rather looked like claws.
"Have you lost your mind, Zabini?"
"I don't think so," I said miserably, clutching the sides of my head. "But it seems to be going right about now."
"What the hell were you doing in Knockturn Alley, you weak-minded child?" He demanded, sounding more upset than I had even heard him.
"I didn't mean to: I'd just bought some books, and was reading one of them on the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, and took a wrong turn," I said desperately. My headache was escalating into the unbearable.
"Do you have any idea what goes on in there?" Lucas snapped, ignoring my explanation. "Borgin & Burke's isn't half of it, and they keep severed hands of thieves in there."
"I think I'm going to be sick." I announced in a small voice, doubling over suddenly.
"Oh now you aren't." Lucas hauled me upright again. "Not in the middle of the street you're not."
He led me, or rather dragged me, inside the Leaky Cauldron and up the narrow stairs to my tiny room. I had opted to wear my uniform and school- robes that morning, so most of the clothing I'd bought were lying in a tangled heap on the floor. Muttering about messy teenagers, Lucas kicked it out of the way and dumped me on the bed. I curled up the best I could while still remaining upright, and bent over. A bucket procured from somewhere was shoved between my feet, and I let the nausea take over.
When it was finally over, the bucket was taken away, Lucas muttered some spell, and I felt clean again. The taste of vomit disappeared from my mouth, as well as the lingering taste of my own blood. Not that the worst of the headache was over, I could feel the itching of bruises forming on my chest and back, and the sting of bloodied knuckles. Straightening up gingerly, stopping every now and then, anticipating the nausea that didn't strike, I sat up straight again. Lucas was towering over me in the manner of tall people everywhere, arms crossed and glaring. For a split-second, he looked afraid, but then he quickly masked it up with a rarely seen anger.
"Thanks." I managed weakly.
"I would say that you're welcome, but I don't ever want to deal with this again." He snapped. "I don't wish to get into the habit of patching up my students. If that was the case, I would have become a Healer, not a Defence teacher."
"I'm sorry," I whispered, to my horror choking on the words and feeling like I would break down in tears at any moment. "I didn't mean t-to br-reak down l-like t-this."
"Calm down, Zabini," he crouched down on the floor. "This is not the time to fall apart. You will get time for that later, but now is not that moment. I'm going to patch up your face as best I can, then we're going to bring some order in this chaos of a room, and then we're going to eat. The rest we can figure out later."
He sounded so unlike himself, much more like a caring older brother than the towering enraged teacher he had been only moments ago.
A few quick healing spells later, and my face was as good as new. Lucas found my trunk and started putting my newly acquired library in it, while I untangled the clothing and brought some semblance of order to the floor. After I was finished, Lucas led me downstairs, deposited me at a table and ordered lunch. It all happened so quickly that I didn't even have time to protest that I could pay for myself. Lucas, as usual, ate like a midget, while I tried to eat slower than my hunger demanded. Everything put in front of me gradually disappeared, until even Edith claimed she'd be ruined if she fed me any more.
"Is there no bottom to your stomach, Zabini?" He asked after a while.
"At the moment, no." I said, finishing off a sandwich. "Why are you here? It isn't as if it's normal procedure for Hogwarts teachers to come check up on students over the holidays. Unless the student's Potter, of course."
"You're a walking disaster," he reminded me. "I came to check up on you because I didn't know ho you were doing, and I needed to know if you were close to a breakdown or not. Apparently you were closer than I thought."
"No I wasn't," I protested. "Normally, I'd be burning houses and exploding things about now, but I'm not. I just got nauseous, got a headache, things like that. If I had a real breakdown, Knockturn Alley would be burning."
"I suppose." He looked thoughtful. "But leaving you here would be an unneeded liability. Your training has been severely lacking over the school year: mere theoretical discussions and self-practise doesn't seem to be enough."
"What do you suggest I do then? It's not as if I've had much choice!" I snapped.
"I suggest that I will personally monitor your training from now on. Despite your efforts, some magic leaked out of your control, which it probably the only reason to why you are sitting here right now." Lucas looked deadly serious. "But a rented room at the Leaky Cauldron isn't the ideal place for wandless magic training."
"And where should I relocate to? Greenland?" I knew I was being childish, but today hadn't been a good day, and breakdowns didn't make it any better.
"No. I was thinking Scotland," Lucas said smoothly. "I happen to be taking care of a rather large house, on a rather large, abandoned moor, which should ensure enough privacy."
"You're talking about your house, aren't you?" I asked gloomily. He nodded. "Figures. Well, what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger. Or, in my case, makes me throw up and burn things. Fine, I'll go, but I can't promise to be on my best behaviour."
"We're leaving as soon as you've packed." He said. "I'll be waiting right here."
Grumbling to myself, I trudged up the stairs and started throwing things into my trunk with more force than needed. I had just been more or less ordered to spend the summer at my professor's house. A rather unpleasant professor at that. While Hermione would have jumped at the chance, no matter what professor, I was more hesitant. My summer wouldn't consist of writing essays or doing homework: it would be bone-hard training from the beginning to the end. I'd be sweating blood before I came back to Hogwarts.
Seeing as next year was our N.E.W.T-year, Lucas' promise that there would be a time to break down seemed far off. Perhaps even as far as next summer. Suddenly, going insane seemed like a viable option. But Lucas probably wouldn't be allowing any time off for insanity. He wouldn't allow time off, period. Stuffing the last things into my trunk and snapping it shut, I went downstairs again. Lucas was still sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee and staring at the wall.
"I've packed." I announced dully as I stopped by the table, not sitting down.
"So I see. We're going for a little walk." Lucas said, putting down his cup and throwing some Knuts on the table.
Into Diagon Alley again, he led the way down the street, the crowd parting before him seemingly without thinking about it. He seemed to radiate a field of intense privacy, so strong that even people who weren't looking directly at him felt it so strongly that they stepped aside for him. He passed Flourish & Blott's, Madam Malkin's, Fortesque's, Quidditch Supplies and Ollivanders without a second glance, and turned sharply just before reaching Gringotts. The narrow street we ended up in was nearly empty of people, and there weren't any shop-signs. In the most bland of doors, a man was standing, looking perfectly ordinary, but when he saw Lucas and me, he smiled.
"We were waiting for you, Vincent." He said.
"I had someone to take care of," Lucas replied, gesturing towards me. "A bit of complications, bit it's handled now."
A bit annoyed at being treated like a complication, I wondered silently at why we were in this nondescript street talking to this nondescript man standing in his nondescript doorway. It made no sense, because Lucas had said his house was in Scotland, and as far as I knew, this wasn't Scotland. It wasn't even the way to Scotland. Lucas and the nameless man went inside, and not wanting to be left alone again, I hurriedly followed.
The only way to describe the room was, just as with the man and the street and the door way, nondescript. It was normal. It was so normal that not even Muggles would comment on it. In fact, if it wasn't because he lived off Diagon Alley, I'd believe the man was a Muggle. I was invited to sit down in one of the bland armchairs while the man and Lucas disappeared through a door which shut tightly behind them. And the rest of the wait was silence. Not even the ticking of the clock could disturb me any more.
I spent the time mapping out my face with my fingertips. Lucas' healing spells had done their job, but they were quick, patchwork almost, and the cut at my temple had already become a scar. Had Madam Pomfrey healed me, there wouldn't be so much as a mark, but I found I didn't care. I'd survived a fight in Knockturn Alley, and even if the war would throw worse at me, that might well have been the only preparation I would get.
Lucas returned from the room some ten minutes later and swept out the door without a word. The owner of the house seemed to have disappeared, but I took off running after Lucas immediately, so I could just have missed him. Whatever Lucas had done in that room, he didn't even offer a raised eyebrow of explanation when I caught up with him. Instead, he just hurried back towards the Leaky Cauldron and the crowd parted to let him through once more.
Annoying, that habit was.
''''''''''
After a nauseating ride through the marvel that was Floo systems, I tumbled out onto a green carpet in a room much too large for the amount of furniture in it. Lucas made a much more controlled entrance, and brushed away the ashes on his robes calmly. It was obvious that he was familiar with the room, and dismissed them as such: I wasn't quite to ready with letting it go.
The sheer expanse of the floor reminded me of our house, the one that had burned down, but we had had more furniture in the rooms. My mother would never have accepted to put a rug in the middle of a room, dump two armchairs and a table on it, and leave the rest of the room bare. Lucas looked at me in something akin to amusement in his eyes, and I shut my mouth with a snap. It came as a surprise that Lucas would live in a place such as this: I'd always imagined he's live in some dark and dreary castle somewhere, with a mess of books, poisons and sufficiently killed chocolate around him. This place, while suitably elegant, seemed much to light and cheerful for the likes of him.
But then again, it had probably belonged to his family for generations, so it wasn't really his place to change it.
"Finished gaping like a fish now?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes." I tried not to sound surprised, and succeeded reasonably well.
"Good. There are a few ground rules you should be aware of before unpacking: While you are allowed to be up all night, I won't be forgiving on you in the morning. If you fall asleep in the middle of a lesson, it's your loss, and will probably result in a few bruises on your part." The expression on his face said clearly that he would be delivering these bruises. "Protesting that teacher/student abuse is outlawed won't help, since, during summer, I'm not technically your teacher, and you are not my student. And believe me, those bruises will be well earned."
"I bet." I muttered, putting my trunk on the floor.
"Further, there are certain areas of the house you're not allowed in, which ones will be explained later." He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "The kitchen is downstairs, and if you're hungry, you'll have to cook for yourself. The House-Elves left years ago, and I can't be bothered to cook for you, or for me, for that matter. I believe that at your age, you should be able to cook to feed yourself. If you have questions about the education you will receive, you're of course allowed to bring them up to me, but don't expect me to listen to all of it. Understood?"
"Perfectly." I said. "You sound a lot like a teacher. Be proud of yourself."
"Thank you," he nodded, "You will be staying on the second floor."
"My, my, you're fast: I haven't been here five minutes and you've already arranged a room." I said, grinning. "Efficient."
"Stop smirking: all you get is a desk and a bed." Lucas said. "And a box for your clothes. If you're lucky."
If it hadn't been for the fact that he said it with such a straight face, I would have believed he was serious. No one could have a face as straight as that when actually being serious. It turned out that his concept of "a box for your clothes" consisted of a whole wardrobe. Sometimes, I was sure he was making fun of me. Closing my eyes and wincing, I realised I wasn't thinking straight. I wasn't even thinking in circles, and on top of that, my headache hadn't gone away. Sleep was definitely in order.
Unfortunately, Lucas was turning out to be a sadist, and wouldn't let me alone. He insisted, for some strange reason, that I needed to know my way around the house. It would have been nice if I had been properly awake, since I missed most of the grand tour and ended up falling asleep on my feet. In the living room. On the green rug. Lucas must have realised the futility in trying to wake me, since when I returned momentarily to reality I was sitting in one of the armchairs. Grateful that I was no longer lying on the floor, I passed back into sleep and stayed there.
'''''''
Ending Notes: This might not be the best chapter I have ever written, but it furthered the plot somewhat. And made me realise I'd have to revise some of the third part's plot. Gah. Glodysnutsing gah.