ROGUE-Sorceress - Sorry. Just a typo ^___^;;
Zephyr - Bleh, Essaies...
Greer - Personally, I don't think Harry's goth, since I've met a few
real goths-- one of which is Leigh's boss, Pera. *shrugs* But
different cultures have different ideas of what a true goth is. Hell,
_I've_ been called goth, mostly by the people who equate
black pants + black shirt = goth
I'm still lacking players for Lupine Night. So far, the taken cast
are Pansy/Fujin, Ron/Nida, Harry/Squall, Draco/Seifer, and
Ginny/Rinoa. We still need Hermione/Selphie, Tom/Adel, Dean/Irvine,
Seamus/Zell, and Blaise/Quistis for the mains characters and a number
of supporting characters. Please, join! We all want to play, since
it's going to be such fun! *big sparklie puppy-dog eyes*
http://icetemple.tripod.com
I still retain the fact that I do NOT own Potter or anything related to him.
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter forty-seven: Emotions
The Itch
---
There was a sound reminiscent of a lightning bolt hitting asphalt all
of three inches in front of one's nose, accompanied by the thundering
crash of thunder. The runes on the door flared with eldritch power
for a split second, blinding even the Weapons, before they slammed
open, crashing heavily against the wall they were built into.
Harry blinked the spots out of his eyes, "Whoa..."
"What?" wondered Malfoy, who was still trying to see
correctly, "What's in there?"
"I don't know," the other teenager grinned lopsidedly, "It's just
that I've got green and purple spots dancing the macarena right in
front of my eyes."
"Harry..." Granger groaned, rubbing at her eyes.
"What's the macarena?" the pureblooded blonde wondered, rather
confused. Harry snickered, and Granger sighed.
"A muggle dance. We pretend like it never happened."
---
Blaise couldn't sleep. He'd fallen into a soft slumber that he'd
awoken from a bare half hour later, and trudged out of the Gryffindor
dorm room in search of something to do. The four months he'd spent in
the Center had conditioned him to get the most rest possible in the
shortest amount of time. He would take another nap later, but right
now he was to keyed up to sleep.
So the Druid wandered.
His fingers brushed the cool stone of the walls, hearing the echos of
the dead rippling through the halls-- and not the ghosts that
regularly wandered the castle, but those who had died on the lands
where the castle had been built for eons. Those who had a connection,
but hardly one strong enough to hold them physically to this plain of
existence. It was his gift, and it was his curse. Something that had
been a part of him for as long as he could remember.
With a shake of his head, Blaise dismissed the voices from the
forefront of his mind, surprised to find himself standing before what
should have been one of the empty classrooms in the dungeons. There
were complicated charms on the doors to lock them, but seeing as they
were open, the charms were currently inactive. Within was Nate,
fingers moving slowly over that strange muggle device he always
totted around.
The Druid watched, curious, as Nate halted his playing for a moment
and began to mutter words under his breath, bouncing his head to some
beat Blaise couldn't hear, before the bass guitar came in once more.
"Cut my life into pieces
this is my last resort
suffocation, no breathing,
don't give a fuck if I cut my arm
bleeding
This is my last resort.
"Cut my life into pieces
I've reached my last resort
suffocation, no breathing,
don't give a fuck if I cut my arm
bleeding
Do you even care if I die bleeding?
Would it be wrong, or would it be right,
if I took my life tonight,
chances are that I might--"
"You don't strike me as the suicidal kind, Nathaniel," the druid
interrupted.
"I'm not," Nate lifted his head, giving a soft, bitter chuckle, "You
know, that's the song Schlatter and I played the night he killed
himself."
Blaise remained silent, as Nate's bitter gaze turned over to the drum
set. He continued after a moment, "Sometimes... I think... that maybe
I should have realized it, ya know. Schlatter wasn't normally a fan
of Paparoach, and especially not of suicide songs."
The Ravenclaw sucked in a deep breath, "I should have--"
"Quit beating yourself up over it," snapped the Slytherin, "He's
dead. We all know that. He killed himself. We know that too. It's not
your bloody fault."
"I was his best friend!" Nate bellowed, leaping to he is feet, deep
brown eyes flashing angrily as he stalked towards the Druid. Said
Druid watched this boy with some shock; he'd never seen Nathaniel
Calaveras this riled up. Never, "I should have seen it!" he spat,
self-incriminating, "But I didn't, and he killed himself," he seemed
to deflate after a second, sinking in on himself.
"He killed himself... am I that much of a bad friend? Did he hate me
so much...?"
"I think... I think the world was just getting to him, Nathaniel. His
parents pressuring him to become a Deatheater, his crush on your
sister, the weight of his school work..." Blaise shook his head, "God
knows I would likely have done the same."
"Two weeks," Nate husked, "Two weeks, and he would have been free of
it all. He could have been here, him and me, training with the rest
of you, instead of wallowing in self-pity..."
Blaise took a chance-- he threw an arm around Nate's shoulders. He
was a bit surprised when the older boy crumpled against him, sobbing--
unused to such a situation, Slytherin as he was-- but he enveloped
the seventeen year old in a strong hug. Nate needed this. Nate needed
a lot of things.
Nate needed time. But the only way for him to get the time he needed
to recover, was to enter the training center.
And how the hell could they manage that when Katar, Gunn and Dart
were adamant that only people who were training were allowed in??
---
The two Weapons and the Enchantress slowly slipped into the room
behind the doors, and all of them-- even Harry-- jumped when they
slammed shut behind them. Potter scratched the back of his
head, "Were the supposed to do that?"
"No," Granger eyed the large doors with no small amount of
mistrust, "No, they should have remained open..."
"And they would have," a woman's voice cut in, "if I hadn't charmed
them to close automatically, twenty years ago."
Slowly, they turned, ready to grab their weapons and athame if a
situation arose that called for such methods of battle. They could
see nothing that would have spoken as such... until a ruby light
flared from a stone inset into the floor, six feet into the chamber.
The light expanded, and revealed a ghastly red-tinted image of Lily
Evans, standing in the direct center of the chamber. The image
smiled, "Would you three introduce yourselves? From the looks on your
faces you already know who I am."
Now, how were they going to explain to this spirit-image that one of
the boys was her own son?
---
End Chapter
Yeah, short, I know. Bleh. I wanted to write more, but then I told
myself, "if it really is a snow day today, I can write more at seven
in the morning" (it's two seventeen, according to my computer clock,
right now). It's been snowing hella lots lately, so... here's to
hoping and praying that I get as snow day, and some time to work on
Lupine Night. (http://icetemple.tripod.com, if you've forgotten)
Zephyr - Bleh, Essaies...
Greer - Personally, I don't think Harry's goth, since I've met a few
real goths-- one of which is Leigh's boss, Pera. *shrugs* But
different cultures have different ideas of what a true goth is. Hell,
_I've_ been called goth, mostly by the people who equate
black pants + black shirt = goth
I'm still lacking players for Lupine Night. So far, the taken cast
are Pansy/Fujin, Ron/Nida, Harry/Squall, Draco/Seifer, and
Ginny/Rinoa. We still need Hermione/Selphie, Tom/Adel, Dean/Irvine,
Seamus/Zell, and Blaise/Quistis for the mains characters and a number
of supporting characters. Please, join! We all want to play, since
it's going to be such fun! *big sparklie puppy-dog eyes*
http://icetemple.tripod.com
I still retain the fact that I do NOT own Potter or anything related to him.
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter forty-seven: Emotions
The Itch
---
There was a sound reminiscent of a lightning bolt hitting asphalt all
of three inches in front of one's nose, accompanied by the thundering
crash of thunder. The runes on the door flared with eldritch power
for a split second, blinding even the Weapons, before they slammed
open, crashing heavily against the wall they were built into.
Harry blinked the spots out of his eyes, "Whoa..."
"What?" wondered Malfoy, who was still trying to see
correctly, "What's in there?"
"I don't know," the other teenager grinned lopsidedly, "It's just
that I've got green and purple spots dancing the macarena right in
front of my eyes."
"Harry..." Granger groaned, rubbing at her eyes.
"What's the macarena?" the pureblooded blonde wondered, rather
confused. Harry snickered, and Granger sighed.
"A muggle dance. We pretend like it never happened."
---
Blaise couldn't sleep. He'd fallen into a soft slumber that he'd
awoken from a bare half hour later, and trudged out of the Gryffindor
dorm room in search of something to do. The four months he'd spent in
the Center had conditioned him to get the most rest possible in the
shortest amount of time. He would take another nap later, but right
now he was to keyed up to sleep.
So the Druid wandered.
His fingers brushed the cool stone of the walls, hearing the echos of
the dead rippling through the halls-- and not the ghosts that
regularly wandered the castle, but those who had died on the lands
where the castle had been built for eons. Those who had a connection,
but hardly one strong enough to hold them physically to this plain of
existence. It was his gift, and it was his curse. Something that had
been a part of him for as long as he could remember.
With a shake of his head, Blaise dismissed the voices from the
forefront of his mind, surprised to find himself standing before what
should have been one of the empty classrooms in the dungeons. There
were complicated charms on the doors to lock them, but seeing as they
were open, the charms were currently inactive. Within was Nate,
fingers moving slowly over that strange muggle device he always
totted around.
The Druid watched, curious, as Nate halted his playing for a moment
and began to mutter words under his breath, bouncing his head to some
beat Blaise couldn't hear, before the bass guitar came in once more.
"Cut my life into pieces
this is my last resort
suffocation, no breathing,
don't give a fuck if I cut my arm
bleeding
This is my last resort.
"Cut my life into pieces
I've reached my last resort
suffocation, no breathing,
don't give a fuck if I cut my arm
bleeding
Do you even care if I die bleeding?
Would it be wrong, or would it be right,
if I took my life tonight,
chances are that I might--"
"You don't strike me as the suicidal kind, Nathaniel," the druid
interrupted.
"I'm not," Nate lifted his head, giving a soft, bitter chuckle, "You
know, that's the song Schlatter and I played the night he killed
himself."
Blaise remained silent, as Nate's bitter gaze turned over to the drum
set. He continued after a moment, "Sometimes... I think... that maybe
I should have realized it, ya know. Schlatter wasn't normally a fan
of Paparoach, and especially not of suicide songs."
The Ravenclaw sucked in a deep breath, "I should have--"
"Quit beating yourself up over it," snapped the Slytherin, "He's
dead. We all know that. He killed himself. We know that too. It's not
your bloody fault."
"I was his best friend!" Nate bellowed, leaping to he is feet, deep
brown eyes flashing angrily as he stalked towards the Druid. Said
Druid watched this boy with some shock; he'd never seen Nathaniel
Calaveras this riled up. Never, "I should have seen it!" he spat,
self-incriminating, "But I didn't, and he killed himself," he seemed
to deflate after a second, sinking in on himself.
"He killed himself... am I that much of a bad friend? Did he hate me
so much...?"
"I think... I think the world was just getting to him, Nathaniel. His
parents pressuring him to become a Deatheater, his crush on your
sister, the weight of his school work..." Blaise shook his head, "God
knows I would likely have done the same."
"Two weeks," Nate husked, "Two weeks, and he would have been free of
it all. He could have been here, him and me, training with the rest
of you, instead of wallowing in self-pity..."
Blaise took a chance-- he threw an arm around Nate's shoulders. He
was a bit surprised when the older boy crumpled against him, sobbing--
unused to such a situation, Slytherin as he was-- but he enveloped
the seventeen year old in a strong hug. Nate needed this. Nate needed
a lot of things.
Nate needed time. But the only way for him to get the time he needed
to recover, was to enter the training center.
And how the hell could they manage that when Katar, Gunn and Dart
were adamant that only people who were training were allowed in??
---
The two Weapons and the Enchantress slowly slipped into the room
behind the doors, and all of them-- even Harry-- jumped when they
slammed shut behind them. Potter scratched the back of his
head, "Were the supposed to do that?"
"No," Granger eyed the large doors with no small amount of
mistrust, "No, they should have remained open..."
"And they would have," a woman's voice cut in, "if I hadn't charmed
them to close automatically, twenty years ago."
Slowly, they turned, ready to grab their weapons and athame if a
situation arose that called for such methods of battle. They could
see nothing that would have spoken as such... until a ruby light
flared from a stone inset into the floor, six feet into the chamber.
The light expanded, and revealed a ghastly red-tinted image of Lily
Evans, standing in the direct center of the chamber. The image
smiled, "Would you three introduce yourselves? From the looks on your
faces you already know who I am."
Now, how were they going to explain to this spirit-image that one of
the boys was her own son?
---
End Chapter
Yeah, short, I know. Bleh. I wanted to write more, but then I told
myself, "if it really is a snow day today, I can write more at seven
in the morning" (it's two seventeen, according to my computer clock,
right now). It's been snowing hella lots lately, so... here's to
hoping and praying that I get as snow day, and some time to work on
Lupine Night. (http://icetemple.tripod.com, if you've forgotten)