Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela
Chapter 9 - Classes Begin
(Issues)
By: Schittlez
The course of the month flew by in a manner of minutes, Harry felt; and before he knew it, October had already taken over the present. So many tasks filled his schedule to the brim and time really was a fleeting dream.
His evening lessons with Snape were continuing, to his displeasure, and he was slightly improving—at the expense of his energy and sanity.
Harry also re-instated Dumbledore's Army and stayed true to his word by holding classes every Monday evening. The headmaster himself got wind of it in no time and held a private meeting with Harry about the situation. To the teen's surprise, however, Dumbledore agreed to let it continue as long as it did not interfere with or disrespect Professor Deldri's curriculum. The only catch was that Harry had to provide a detailed report on progress and what was covered; and he had to hand it in to Professor Dumbledore every Friday ("All I ask is that you keep me updated. It is my army after all, right?")
To add to tiring matters, Quidditch season was in play and Harry arranged for practices to be held every Wednesday and Friday; though the real issue occurred when the Gryffindor tryouts session ensued and the results were posted. In Harry's decision of creating the team roster, he replaced the current Keeper. He knew he'd be snuffed for the rest of the school year by a certain someone, but he whole-heartedly believed he made the best choice. The blonde-haired, green-eyed fifth year, Peter Gladwell, was insanely quick on a broom; so much so, Harry almost considered the guy to be competition. The new Keeper also had decent reflexes and could hold his own in strength far better than just pretty well.
Unfortunately, the resentment followed him everywhere.
"That hurts, Harry. That really hurts. You replaced your best mate over a guy you barely know!"
"He was the best at tryouts, Ron. You saw him. It's a great addition to the team and I'd be a ruddy fool to pass that up. Besides, I posted you as second Keeper. So, if he can't play, you're in the game. And you still have to attend every practice... Why are you so mental!"
"Whatever."
After that heated argument, Ron began acting the way he did when Harry had his name unintentionally called and he became a champion contestant at the Triwizard Tournament during his fourth year at Hogwarts. Those were definitely the kind of memories Harry never wanted to resurface; but now he was forced to relive them. He was completely ignored and was reduced to having to hear snide remarks behind his back.
Harry's intensified hearing picked up on them very well whenever Ron was in the same room, no matter how far away the red-head distanced himself. If it wouldn't have caused the vampire teen to look suspicious, Harry would have had every nerve to march up to the unforgivable git and confront him with a few choice words of his own.
But all he could do was sigh when he witnessed a glare headed his way from Ron, all the way from the other side of the long, dinner table that night. The raven-haired Gryffindor stabbed his chops rather viciously and lost himself in a world that knew of nothing but pure rage; and it strengthened by the second.
Harry was yanked out of his 'other planet' all too quickly and the startled boy whipped around, facing away from the table, with his knife still in hand. Hermione hadn't expected such a greeting and couldn't suppress the shriek that escaped her lips. Harry only mumbled an apology before turning back around to brood over his plate.
Hermione helped herself to the vacant seat to Harry's right and lowered her head to try and make eye contact. "Harry?" she whispered. "Are you alright?"
"What do you think?" he grumbled in his goblet as he took a sip from it.
Hermione looked up towards the end of the table. Harry followed her lead as they both rested their gaze on the main cause of Harry's misery—who was still staring in their direction and produced a sneer that could rival Malfoy's. Harry growled in reply and turned his attention back to his cold dinner.
"Harry," Hermione sighed. "Please don't let Ron get to you. You know how he is."
"A miserable prat," Harry threw back.
"Well, he feels it's always hard to have to compete with you. To him, he sees everyone noticing you as 'Harry Potter' and him as just Ron ol' Weasley. He felt that if he stayed on the Quidditch team and was good at it, he would at least be level with you in that aspect. Besides, you know how much he loves the game."
"Hermione, if you came here to side with that nutcase about my decision and if you even try to defend his uncalled-for behavior, so help me I'll-"
"No, Harry. That's not it. I believe you truly tried to do what was best for the team, but remember that Ron is hurting, too. Is a sport worth all that?"
"Yeah, well, I'm not the one who's deliberately being out of line like an immature first-year," Harry snapped as he stood up from the table. "And just remember this Hermione," he added as he looked down at the sandy-haired girl with scorn in his eyes. "Not once have I ever tried to hurt his feelings on purpose!"
With that said, he left the Great Hall with great haste. His head was submerged in anger as he trotted towards the Grand Staircase.
Maybe his choice for the team was a bad decision. If he had let Ron stay on the team, he wouldn't be going through this—he had enough stress on his plate; but the damage was done and because of his so-called best friend's reaction, Harry didn't even want to let him have his position back.
The swirling emotions were getting to become too much and Harry needed an outlet fast…
He found the perfect one.
Draco Malfoy was coming up the steps of the staircase that came from the dungeon level and was about to cross paths with the enraged boy. The Slytherin noticed Harry instantly, but the Gryffindor's plan was unbeknownst to him.
Without waiting for any comment, Harry addressed Malfoy as soon as they were only five feet away from each other.
"You haven't been flanked by your cronies lately, Malfoy…" Harry smirked as the blonde-haired boy drew his attention to him. "Did your father's imprisonment help them finally realize that being a deadbeat is hereditary and now, because of it, you're not as popular as you used to be?"
It was cruel, but it felt good to Harry to let it out and make someone else miserable. He was actually hoping for Malfoy to lash out in retaliation. He was literally itching for a fight; he needed to vent.
However, the scene that played before him was the complete opposite. Malfoy walked by him as the comment was uttered; and instead of lunging at his sworn enemy when he turned around and realized what Harry said, the Slytherin just stood there in shock. He glared at first, obviously wanting to strangle his opponent. Then, he narrowed his eyes, holding a contorted face of hurt... Malfoy actually appeared as though he was in pain.
Finally, without saying a word during the entire confrontation, the silver-eyed Slytherin turned back around and quickly walked away; leaving Harry completely alone in a hallway for the second time since the school year started.
Harry was beyond pissed. Malfoy was not supposed to ignore him! He was supposed to go mad with anger, just as Harry was now. He wanted to chase after the boy and drag him back; but his adversary had already entered the Great Hall and there was no way that he was going back in there.
His blood boiled to the top of his head; he could feel his whole body grow hot. What the hell was wrong with Malfoy! The bastard didn't even throw a comeback.
Harry began to notice that his foe was becoming a shell of his former self. He was more shy and restrained; and if Harry didn't know any better, he would swear that the boy was sick somehow. Perhaps his senses were over-analyzing the situation, but Malfoy was paler in every way of the word. His skin, his hair—even his personality and stature—were fading away. Was the guy really ill?
To top it all off, Malfoy's reaction to his insult really got under his skin. The blonde sixth-year didn't even throw himself out there, as Harry had grown to expect. On the contrary, the teenager seemed to step back; he looked genuinely hurt. Maybe he went too far.
Why did he care? It was not the first time that either one of them tried to deliver vocal punches that were downright cruel and cynical—and were absolutely intended to do so. Still, something about Malfoy that night stuck with Harry and made him feel slightly remorseful. He even almost had the nerve to feel ashamed for what he did.
"Great," Harry scoffed at the empty corridor. "Something else to feel guilty about. Thanks a lot, Malfoy!"
He couldn't win no matter what he did.
Harry cursed every foul word he knew as he stomped up the steps; a few paintings gasped with disapproval while others told him what they thought of him with a few of their own favorite words. Sir Cadogan was amidst a one-on-none battle with a gentleman in a portrait, who was ignoring him, when the knight's ear caught wind of Harry's statements; but his helmet had fallen over his eyes, rendering him unable to witness the culprit. All he could do was reply, "Who bears the mouth of a savage? Alright, Come out! Come out like a man and fight... Why's it so dark?"
Harry ignored them all as he trudged up the winding, floating staircases. When he reached the seventh landing, he threw the password at the Fat Lady rather loudly, who reluctantly let him in.
"My word! If I didn't have to let you in, I'd lock you out until you learned some manners."
The raven-haired Gryffindor couldn't care less. He fell on the sofa in the common room with a huff and was thankful that he was alone for at least a spare moment. Surprisingly, the area was completely devoid of any other student; but he did leave the dinner table rather early.
He could feel his nerves prickling like they were electrified, and he knew he was undergoing a breaking point. Not taking any chances, he reached for his hip-flask and forced down a liberal amount more than a sip of the gag-wrenching potion.
Afterwards, his body grew numb to the volcanic heat of the emotions coursing through the blood of his veins. At least, he was able to think straight; but the anguish and resentment did not go away, despite Harry's hope. Those feelings burned to the very core.
Harry leaned back, running his hands through his hair. The long strands fell back onto his neck as he let out a very audible sigh, mixed with a groan; but the groan didn't come from his throat. His stomach was the source.
He rolled his eyes as he could actually feel his insides twist and rack with hunger. How long had it been since he last fed? Nevertheless, there was no point ignoring the issue. So, he grudgingly called upon the ever faithful house-elf.
"Dobby?"
The name echoed in the empty room and, a few seconds later, a small creature with long, bat-like ears and a matching nose appeared with a 'pop' and greeted Harry happily, bowing the moment he entered the common room. His appearance caused Harry's demeanor to soften ever-so slightly.
However, something was missing from the picture, Harry realized; and it was not the rainbow of belts and mittens that bunched up across Dobby's waists and hands. Harry had called the house-elf a few times over the past month that the loyal creature began to realize the Gryffindor's pattern and eventually came to answer the boy's call with raw meat already laden over a silver platter, without the young vampire having to ask anymore; but the elf's hands were empty—save for the ridiculous amount of piling fabric.
"I take it Hermione hasn't given up on S.P.E.W.," Harry chuckled as the house-elf almost fell over from all the weight.
"Yes, master Harry," Dobby smiled sheepishly. "Dobby doesn't mean to keep going behind Miss Granger's back, sir. Dobby hasn't had the heart to tell her that she's starting to really anger some of the cleaning elves. She didn't listen to Dobby before anyway…" The wobbly creature proceeded to take a step further but fell flat on his face.
Harry immediately dove down to help him back up on his feet.
"Thank you, sir."
"I thought Hermione stopped knitting for you guys. I haven't seen her doing any sewing lately."
"She has been doing it a lot less often, thankfully," Dobby sighed. "Although, every now and again, Dobby catches her putting these out and Dobby grabs them before the other elves come to clean. Dobby's not able to catch them all, sir, but it's much less severe this year," Dobby nodded hopefully.
"That's nice," Harry trailed off. "Say, Dobby… You wouldn't happen to be able to go back to the kitchens and bring me the usual, would you? I know I might have caught you off guard by calling you so early, but since no one's here right now…"
For the first time during their meeting, the house-elf looked terrified of answering Harry's question. He was wringing his hands together nervously, which only looked like he was rubbing the thick stacks of mittens around each other.
"Dobby? What's the matter?"
"Please don't be upset with Dobby, sir. But these are orders straight from the Headmaster."
"Orders?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "What orders?"
"Master Dumbledore made it very clear to Dobby that Dobby was no longer able to deliver meals to master Harry."
Harry could not believe what he was hearing. The incredible amount of ridiculousness made him almost laugh with astonishment; but Dobby's frightened glance never wavered and the Gryffindor's eyes went larger.
"Are you serious?"
The house-elf unwillingly nodded.
"But… how could he forbid something like that? That's insane!" Harry looked to the small creature for some sign of a joke, but he received none. "Come on, Dobby. You've never been the best at following rules. Can't you let this fly by?"
His pleading stare didn't alter the circumstances at all.
"Master Dumbledore made Dobby swear, sir," the elf repeated. "He was most terrifying about it. Dobby rarely sees the Headmaster look so stern. It still makes Dobby tremble."
Harry wasn't going to accept that and tried to get closer to the elf. "Come on, Dobby, I-"
But the house-elf squeaked and disapparated right before his eyes. His mouth remained gaped open as his hands stretched out to where Dobby stood only moments before. His fingers clenched together, grasping at thin air, wishing he could bring the elf back and make him admit that he was only having a go at Harry.
The growl erupting in his mid-section, though, brought him back to the reality of the situation.
"How could he?" he whispered to the flames resting in the fireplace before him.
Small groups of students were slowly piling into GryffindorTower. Harry was none the wiser. His eyes remained wide, his pupils dilated; proof that he was still residing in another zone. His brain even completely dismissed the fact that he was throwing out short responses to the passing students who greeted him. He was completely absent-minded. Luckily, they easily gave up on making idle chit-chat; it could have been because the mask on Harry's face made him appear like he was teetering on the edge of insanity, causing them to cautiously walk away.
Harry paid no mind. He had a much more pressing matter to deal with. What was he going to do about his 'hunger' problem? The set up he had going was working perfectly. Why had Dumbledore cut off from helping him? Didn't the professor sincerely state that he would aid in any way possible? Why the sudden act of disapproval?
Harry felt strongly that if ever there was a point in time he felt the worst possible hatred burning towards Professor Dumbledore, it was that moment. The audacity of the decision pushed him far past his previous anger earlier that night, if such a feat was possible. He decided that no explanation would be acceptable.
Harry brought his hands up and buried his face in them, slowly shaking his head side-to-side, trying to accomplish the impossible task of clearing his mind. What was he supposed to do now? He could attempt to maim and torture his foolish Headmaster; he felt very tempted to do so, but his immediate focus needed to be on how he was going to feed.
He supposed he could start hunting, which was what Snape had instructed him to do; but he erased the thought the second it surfaced. Harry was getting accustomed to having a hunger for blood only recently; and finally stopped cringing at the sight of uncooked meat. How the hell could he work up the nerve to actually hunt and kill living creatures?
He had Dumbledore's pass to get by the guards and enter the Forbidden Forest. That way, he'd be covered if he ever ran a little late after curfew. It stated that he was merely helping Hagrid with groundskeeper duties. However, Harry never had the intention of using it. There was no way he would allow himself to hunt. He was not going to stoop that low. Doing so would force him to honestly come to terms with being a vampire and having to fully embrace it. He did not concern himself with the fact that, in not doing so, he was a coward. Under no circumstances would he commit that act.
Lost in thought, Harry glanced at the clock resting on the table in front of him, taking in the time. It read 7:56 p.m.…
"Oh, for the love of Merlin!" Harry frantically got up off the couch. Could his night get any worse? Meanwhile, his antics had turned quite a few heads. "Sorry," he mumbled as he began racing towards the portrait hole to be let out.
It was Tuesday and he was running late for his meeting with his Potions teacher. He should have been there by eight o'clock sharp and he had only a few minutes left, which were quickly ticking by, to get there in time. All thoughts were thrown into the wind as he hopped over steps and almost over the very students he passed. Two in particular had familiar faces.
"Harry? What are you-"
"Can'ttalkHermionegottogobye!"
It took a fraction of a second to address Hermione as he jumped down the last five remaining steps from the staircase and zipped by her and Ron. Immensely stupefied, the pair could only watch as Harry tore down the remainder of the hallway, past the emptying Great Hall, and ran out the entrance doors.
"What was that all about?" Hermione asked no one in particular, not moving from her spot.
"Don't know, don't care." Ron tried to make his words sound hollow, but even he could not help himself from letting a little wonder etch onto his face.
Even though the moon was not yet whole, its pale light was intense as it shined down from the naked sky and onto the clearing within the Forbidden Forest; and even though Harry could have sworn that he was on time—although barely—the Head of Slytherin's expression depicted otherwise.
"You are exactly… one minute and fifty seconds late," drawled Professor Snape as he noted his watch. "One-hundred and ten seconds. So, it would only be fit for me to deduct, let's see… eleven points from Gryffindor."
'Leave it to you, Snape, to make my can't-get-any-worse day worse,' Harry cursed to himself as he quickly regained control of his breathing. The caving in his lungs died away in less than a few seconds.
"Sorry, Professor," was Harry's unenthusiastic reply, stating no more. He knew excuses would do no good with this man.
"Hmph… I'm sure you are," Snape sneered as he drew closer to the boy. "Either way, we are starting where we left off last week. I hope you can at least recollect that information."
Harry clenched his teeth. "Yes, sir. We were discussing wandless and elemental magic."
"And what about the topic was covered?"
"That it is prudent for one to learn the basic principals of wandless magic before they tap into elemental magic."
"And what about the relationship between vampires and elemental magic," Snape continued, showing no sign of being impressed by Harry's ability to retain what was learned.
Harry sighed before he replied. Were they going to do nothing but review previous lessons? In any case, he answered the question. He was too tired to argue. "Vampires possess the natural ability to learn elemental magic. However, they possess the power of only one element and, depending on the individual vampire's strength, could potentially learn others, but it is extremely uncommon."
"Go on…"
"Furthermore, his or her potential to adapt to their own designated element is also dependent on the individual's strength. Just because they have the ability does not mean they can master it."
After Harry finished, Snape looked over the boy with demeaning eyes and held no praise whatsoever.
"Well, Mr. Potter. Our lesson continues with the discussion of wandless magic. Listen closely for I will not repeat myself." The professor paused once more, peering down at the sixth-year again; although the student was now only a couple of inches from being eye-to-eye with Snape.
"The important factor to remember about this field of magical study is that wandless magic is raw magic. Do you understand what that portrays?" Harry shrugged his shoulders and a haughty grin swept across Snape's face. "How very surprising… when tapping into raw magic, one is tapping into their life energy. In other words, performing this form of spellwork drains a person's life. This is a key reason as to why it is not commonly performed, practiced or taught.
"The use of a wand siphons the energy; and since it holds an essence of its own, it requires a substantial amount less needed to perform magic than the spell would require if the person did not have a 'filter' if you will. Still, some wizards and witches are seen performing wandless magic. However, if you notice, it is never frequent. It is performed by older or stronger wizards and the spells they usually cast are simple, meaning it required a small amount of energy either way. Now do you understand?"
"Yes," Harry replied; but there was another question… "Professor, if that's all true, then why do I have to learn it?"
"I merely asked if you followed thus far. I did not permit you to ask a question."
Harry's hands tightened into fists before he even knew what he was doing. The day had definitely taken its toll and the price was high. He presumed he would be okay, though, since he recently took a sip of the potion. However, something still didn't feel quite right, Harry thought. He couldn't put his finger on it, but whatever it was, it was not good.
On the other hand, Professor Snape reveled in getting under his student's skin; and if it was not for the fact that the lesson had little time left to be finished, Harry was sure that his instructor would be twisting the knife in even more.
"To answer your question, it is simple… You are a vampire. Therefore, you obviously hold a life energy that far surpasses a normal wizard's. Even some moderate wandless spells, performed by a creature like that, only drain as much power as a basic spell would on a mediocre wizard in comparison. Meaning the amount required is noticeable, but is still a very small fraction of the person's energy as a whole. So, even though performing spells on that level sucks out life force, it is not enough to adequately shorten one's lifespan. Furthermore, a vampire's life energy is constantly replenished by feeding, making it seem as though their energy source is unlimited. Are we clear now?
"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.
"Now, before we begin an actual lesson on practicing the focus and performance of wandless magic, I want to make absolutely sure you are capable to proceed further. So, we will practice some more on resisting spells. Once it appears you can execute it at a level of flawlessness, we will move on... let us begin."
Harry acknowledged his teacher by grabbing his wand… and he was thrown immediately to the ground by Snape's spell.
There was nothing in the world he would not give to be able to strangle the crooked-nosed bastard.
"You must be prepared at a moment's notice and not a second more. Do you think an enemy in battle would wait until you are ready? Not everyone bends to the needs of the 'famous' Potter. Would the Dark Lord do such thing?... Arrogance will get you killed."
Despite the fact that some good points resided in that verbal blast from Snape, his methods enraged the Gryffindor boy; and Harry was not in a forgiving mood. To make matters worse, the twisting feeling in his gut returned with a vengeance. Where was the pain coming from? Why did it hurt so much?
He had no time to dwell on those inquiries because his professor was already addressing him again.
"You are wasting time, Potter. I do not have all night to babysit you. Now get up, let's go again, and this time, be prepared."
Harry braced himself as soon as he was back on his feet—and deservedly so. By the time he rose up and his knees straightened, the word "Stupefy", and the spell that followed, was shoved in his direction. The stunning spell surrounded him in a glory of red sparks. It was all he could do to resist it, but even though he learned how, it was proving to be quite hard. It felt as impossible as it did during his first lesson.
"You should be past this stage, Potter," Snape yelled over the whirling noise of his spell that had yet to take its opponent down. "This spell should have been deflected the moment it approached you. That is where your strength and focus needs to be. At this rate, you will never progress."
The Potions master's venomous cries were in a distant place when Harry heard them. He was trying to focus, but the more he tried, the more he felt like he was slipping...
The duel between teacher and student seemed to stretch into eternity, but it was only a manner of minutes before a victor was discovered. Snape's stunning won over Harry; but although it finally overcame the young Gryffindor and hit him square in the chest, the sixth-year did not fall backward. Instead, once the spell dissipated, the boy merely sunk to his knees and hunched forward, resting his upper-body weight on his hands.
Professor Snape watched Harry's back heave up and down as ragged breaths quickly entered and exited the pupil's lungs. He took it upon himself to advance towards the boy as he smirked smugly.
"It is a good thing I do not overestimate you, Mr. Potter, or I would unavoidably become increasingly disappointed in you with every passing session…" The teacher found it a little weird when he received no response from Harry—not even the usual glare, but he continued to walk forward.
"What, no snide comment? Are we admitting defeat?"
…Still no retort…
"Potter, I implore you to address your professor of I will start scheduling detentions."
The response Snape received, conversely, was not the one he had in mind.
Harry's body ended up convulsing uncontrollably, only ten feet away. The violent tremors produced within the student's muscles caused the hooked-nosed tutor to completely arrest his feet from moving any farther. All arrogance aside, the teacher actually allowed emotion to glaze over his eyes. Was it fear? Was it anger? Either way, Professor Snape was rooted to the ground, gazing at the horrific sight.
Harry's entire form twitched and shivered. The boy's fingers dug into the earth beneath him as his head shot up to face the night sky. His eyes glowed with the color of blood and his fangs had fully protruded underneath his pale, rose-colored lips. His hair blew through the air from an unknown force as he let out one of the deepest, guttural growls Snape had ever heard.
The teacher strained to collect himself, almost as if he was clashing with his own thoughts; but eventually, he began approaching the boy once more.
"Mr. Potter, I suggest you cease this charade immediately. As I stated before, I do not have time to waste on you and if you do not heed my command, I feel no regret—even in the slightest—in having to use force, regardless of whether or not you are a student."
The young vampire finally perked up to Snape's voice and countered, albeit not in a verbal way.
Harry slowly rose from the ground, never taking his bloodthirsty eyes away from his instructor. The fiery hue ebbed away, but the intensity of his stare never wavered. His green orbs displayed a passion that his whole body agreed with…
Hunger.
Harry held his menacing gaze steady as he walked closer to Snape—who had once again closed down his efforts in advancing in the direction of the creature. The unbridled Gryffindor didn't mind. He was going to have his way no matter what. His veins were pulsing and his head throbbed so much, he compelled himself to end all thoughts—just react; react to the blood-rush that was swelling inside him. He no longer knew what he was doing or was capable of. He was relying on pure instinct.
Harry's pace began to quicken as he flexed his fingers—equipped with claws, dripping with crimson fluid. Snape knew there was no getting through to the boy. So, devoid of contemplating it any longer, he made an attempt to raise his wand and subdue his maniacal student.
However, the tables turned in the blink of an eye, as the professor felt two, insanely strong grips in two different locations. It was all happening too fast. One hand cuffed his wand-wrist while the other immediately lunged at his throat. Simultaneously, Snape felt an enormous amount of pressure delivered to his chest and before he could comprehend a single, flashing thought, he was shoved to the ground.
The wind was knocked out of his lungs instantly and the Potions teacher gagged as his wide, black eyes looked up at Harry. The responsive look he received was cold and psychotic. The vampire's hands remained clasped onto their original targets as he planted himself on top of Snape, crouched onto the man's chest.
The strength Harry emitted was astounding as he rolled his head around, wildly surveying his prey. He let a villainous leer form on his face before he divided his lips to reveal the glistening, pointed teeth that were ready to dive into Snape's throat. Harry yearned for it... his veins were howling for nourishment, spasming inside him. He was going to take what was rightfully his.
Nothing could stop him… no one…
... to be continued...
Dun Dun DUN! Soap opera music
Slythindor: You're pathetic. Don't give my wonderful, dramatic creation such a lame ending! dun, dun, dun?! What is that?! Have I taught you nothing!
Gryfferin: (eyes closed)... think of a happy place... happy place... happy place...
Slythindor: (sneaks up behind him)... I WANT BLOOD!
Gryfferin: AHH! Oh Merlin, help me! (squeals and runs out the door)
Schittlez: Was that necessary?
Slythindor: (rolls eyes) What? I haven't done it in a while. Blame yourself. You haven't let us out for so long. I was built-up.
Schittlez: (glares)... of all muses, why you two?
Slythindor: (shrugs)