1A/N: The full servitude of my literary endeavors favor me to acts of completion. I am determined to keep posting chapters more frequently than before. And for those who have instilled their faith in my writing style, well, you know how badly I ramble... even in typed words. My apologies. I will, however, continue to add a dash of mystery to each and every chapter, along with the characters, which give it strength with each word written.
Out of the Woods
Everyone jumps except for me. My focus was strong, yielding to the almost empty parchment. Quinn was the first to recognize the accent of the professor's vocals. Had it not been for Liana, holding her at bay, she would would have flown down the stairwell a wink too soon.
"Now, now Nolan." Mr. Emberson pats his former colleague on the back for good measure. "I have retired from teaching and for good reason." Their voices bleed through the walls enough for us to seize our positions.
Quinn takes the lead by opening the door, just a crack. Joslyn pops her head a top of Quinn and so forth as Liana and me join suit. The four of us creating a totem pole of misfit guidance.
"Merlin, he looks good in a vest. Don't you think he looks good in a vest?" Gracen clambers an arrogant fascination of style through infatuated pursuits of longing. I roll my eyes backwards while massaging the throbbing temples wanting to implode.
"That burgundy tie really makes his eyes pop." Emberson chips in.
"Shhh," Hartly quiets the chatter.
"Thank you," I state to no one in particular.
From in between the balusters, we see Professor Woods ignite the flames in the newly placed wood in the fireplace before continuing. "The Minister has many faults. One of them being poor attitude when it comes to the educational awareness of young witches and wizards. He fears the next generation. He should. They are far beyond an intelligence I acquired in my youth." Mr. Emberson offers him some tobacco for the pipe laying on the nearby table. He graciously accepts the gift, puffing out a cluster of smoke that resembles a dragon, beating its wings in mid-flight.
After a few more intakes, Joslyn's father speaks. "You talk as though you've surpassed my age. And with great difficulty, I might add." Professor Woods chuckles at the notion. "It is not the Minister that troubles my burdens." He stops to gaze at the portrait of Josyln, smiling precariously, on the mantlepiece. "I have high hopes about an unknown future for my daughter. How she grows in morality is of great importance to me."
"Mitchum Thompson is an arrogant prick, incomprehensible in pride. Why the Minister appointed him Headmaster of Hogwarts, I will never know."
"He has prejudices towards differences in character. My daughter comes from a long line of Changlings. Every descendant given birth to, loses their mother. It's a curse they bare because it is so rare for their existence-"
"They're almost extinct, by claims in wizarding history." His friend solemnly adds. Josyln's tips and roots start to claim a bluish hue in color.
"It's an unfair miracle -to lose the love of your life and have the hope of love lying in your arms at the same time."
"I can't imagine a greater pain, Richard." He consoles. Both shake their heads in an unspoken grievance. "I sense Thompson is not the only source of refusal."
"I can't walk into a classroom again. Not while my memories are still intact. Surely, you understand?"
"Of course," Our professor goes to pick up his briefcase with little pause. Sliding a piece of paper across the table. I notice Mr. Emberson's pupils grow larger as his finger played about his chin. It was clear he rejected the proclamation with every fiber in his being. What he was cursed with was an unbearable thought. Something, not even his own daughter was aware of until that moment. She knew her mother died giving birth to her. What she didn't know was that it had been a fate of certain lineage.
"My boy, you are stubborn." He proclaims
Professor Woods smiles at an interval and states. "I learn from the best." Turning to the fireplace, he unravels a small bag of powder to hold. He pauses, not wanting to take leave yet. "Some odd years ago, I had a professor who knew magic wasn't the greatest weapon a witch or wizard could behold. That our race was most fortunate when it came to those without magic. He was a great mentor and father figure to me when I had no one else to look up to. It would be a shame to watch him wither beneath a wizard with no former consideration of the word compassion. I despise refuge when it means surrender. I knew the man beneath the wizard. He does not deserve to refrain from happiness, no matter the expense of hatred and loathing of past regrets. He deserves more than this." Joslyn's father exchanges a nod while focusing his gaze elsewhere. "You deserve more than this." With a flashing swish, he was gone. The piece of paper mocking him across the tabletop.
Joslyn pulls away from the group first, causing Liana and I to crumble onto Quinn. "Hey," she angerly swats at Liana and me. Liana pushes off, swatting Quinn in full disclosure. As Quinn rises to her feet, I glance back at the table to realize the letter was gone. So much for the effort, Nolan.
"Jos?" I hear Liana pleading for her to speak.
"It's my fault she's dead, you know?" Her teary eyes refused to pour out its contents. "Mine!" She screeches. The color within her hair switches from blue to red faster than any of us had witnessed. Her nails and eyes following suit.
"It's not-" Quinn steps forward to touch her arm.
"No," she spins around, looking out the window. "I always had this knot in my chest every birthday. Every time my father wished me well. He could never look me in the eye, and I never knew why."
"He's in pain-" I try to interject.
"-because of me. Because of how I remind him of my mother. He should hate me. I already have this guilt."
"Don't you think he fears the same fate for you?" Joslyn turns around slightly. Liana and Quinn give me a cautious look of hindrance. "Make no mistake about that man down there. He loves you, with every fiber of his being. The last thing he does is resent you." A teardrop falls down the side of her cheek as she wipes it away. "You're like the phoenix, Jos. You rise from the burning embers that claim your heritage, just like your mother. He is more than grateful for your life because it is hers as well." It was hard for me to not dwell in my own misery of having lost my mother before Haiden, but I could not bare to let my friend suffer the same grievance.
Jos wraps her arms around me, squeezing as tight as she possibly could. "I feel like I'm missing pieces of myself." She confides.
"They're gone, Jos. Not forever, though."
"Okay, enough." Quinn takes a levitated stance in the room. "I say we have five days till we board a train to school."
"Isn't it four days?" Joslyn asks un-breakingly.
"In four days, we-"
"Nope, it's three days." Liana confirms as I nod in agreement.
"Really? Three days-" A smile cracks Joslyn's stiff features. "Fine. We have three days to prepare-"
"For what?" We all question together.
"Let me finish. This is getting annoying as talking to Kingston, alright?" We all un-spokingly willed ourselves to remain silent. "As I was saying before you all-" Her voice becomes more regal with importance. "We have three days to prepare for the most epic year of our lives. And I'm not talking about Potions, Quidditch or Dark Arts." Eying the three of us, we shoot a defensive glare back. "-or Charms. Happy?"
"So where does epic begin?" Jos prods.
"Where it always does. Diagon Alley."
The air was brisk and fresh among the London streets that morning. Quinn kept a steady chatter of conversation with Joslyn while Liana and me trudged behind at our own pace. Our discussion consisting of newly appointed Prefects within the following year. That, and the form of my evasive tactics from the Everhart bloodline entirely. Some confrontations were better suited around stone walls, whose armor of magic aided helpfully when it came to protection. Two more days to go; I told myself. Only two. After that, I just become invisible again.
"Hey Quinn, did you sign up for House Prefect?" I ask curiously. Many overachievers were in the running.
Without skipping a beat, she replies. "You bet Kingston's liquid luck I did." A small smirk stamps her signature pride in one-upping her cohort. Since Gracen's first day in Charms class, the contemplation of her success over him had grown increasingly rabid with competition.
"If only he had liquid luck, I wouldn't be in stealth mode." Mumbling graciously under my breath, Liana catches the last few words of somber sarcasm. She touches my shoulder briefly while the other two enter the Leaky Cauldron.
The place was oddly vacant of visitors for the time of day. Unnatural, considering the amount of business it had over the past Summer months. From the few residents inhabiting the surroundings, Ava Leondre, barkeeps to both the Leaky Cauldron and Three Broomsticks, yawns woefully around the corner. Her eyelids wan slightly until our presciense causes a shocked and startled response.
"Oh my, you lot grow up faster every time we meet." Of course, it is our tradition before every school year. Afterall, most of us had bumped into one another the following years because of the Leaky Cauldron. It's a watering hole for heavy thoughts and, to many, gossip. "Joslyn, your hair looks different. Have you cut it?"
"Something like that." She winks from the corner of her eye at us before engaging the conversation once more. "Business been slow lately, Mrs. Leondre?" Four cups of spiced pumpkin juice levitate onto the bar top as subsequent sugar sticks provide a tasteful decor to the drink.
"Ugh, I have not heard that name since my late husband's passing, my dear. No, no. I prefer Ava-Rose." Ringing her hands of the moist towel, she flings it onto the sink. "It has been quiet this past week alone, darling. I have no answer as to why." A sadness washes over her until she looks to us. "But, I am glad to see your faces again. It brings me joy instead of sorrow."
"Ava," Quinn taps Ava-Rose's hand for comfort. "What is it?"
"It is none of your worries, I assure you." Mrs. Leondre deflects.
"Nonsense, you're like family to us." Liana proposes, and a cheery smile captivates the barkeeper.
"A mother to be exact, Ava." I add. Her eyes wander to the pub's window for a bleak moment. The expression on her faces more stern and dismayed than in past instances. Something was troubling her, and it was unlike her character to keep it hidden. In the years we had known her, she was as much of an open book as you could get.
"Is something bothering you?" Jos breaks the women's trance. Biting my lip, I digest the appearance of the embroidered crest on the black robe of the passerby.
"More like someone is bothering you." I state as the others eye me curiously.
"Everything is fine, my dears." Mrs. Leondre diffuses. "Now, what is this I hear about a proposal?" Choking back my drink, I can hear snickers erupt from my fellow friends. Not again, my eyes roll up into my skull upon the notion. "Now, out with it. You know how I hate to be out of the loop." Quinn exchanges a look with Liana and Joslyn before watching me slump down in my chair.
"You know rumors lie." Jos covers the truth.
"They also have a strong opinion from what I hear." His voice sneaks up from behind Quinn, who smacks him relentlessly.
"Hell, Kingston!" She breathes out, calming our nerves. "Do you always surprise people like that?"
Fred's smile suits the chuckle from his lips before offering a belated wink towards me. "Only untamed witches like yourselves." Smacking a hand across the bar, he relishes in Quinn's tucked lip. It was as though she had a few choice words to express but was so infuriated, she could not voice them. Knowing this, Fred acted unsuitably charming to the witch who knew him least of all. "Dear Ava-Rose, what admirable concoction have you graced us with this fine afternoon?" I roll my eyes at his desired wordplay. Glancing at Quinn, I could sense her hostility growing ever so slightly at his prescience. That, above all, made me smile. This was always the beginning of their wonderful disputes, and only minutes in the making.
Mrs. Leondre blushes, simply waving him off. "Just an old recipe my grandmother sweared by." Nodding in wake of its actual origin, she mumbles the following sentence. "Matter of fact, I believe she did have quite a bitter tongue while making the brews." She claps her hands enthusiastically, startling us all. "I have just the brew you'll absolutely love. Not as sweet as spiced pumpkin, but it has a 'kick' to it." A wink allows Fred to swallow his sugar-coated insides.
"This oughta be good." Quinn voices into her cup as my fellow Potions master took a seat next to her.
"C'mon Quinby." Batting his lengthy lashes and pouting remorsefully, he teases her. "One day, all that pent up aggression will be expansive, if not thrust upon all my future accomplishments. I'll be sure to throw mention of your name as reference for an alternate source of motivation." Even Joslyn's mouthed words read 'jerk' around Fred's fiery mess of hair.
But Gracen, herself, as many tend to forget, is the true master when it comes to Charms. Being anything other than respectful to her was a crime in and of itself. Her concentration pursues a much different orientation when threatened by an absolute idiot. She chooses her words carefully, knowingly, while tilting her head towards him and waving Joslyn off. "It is devastatingly sad when you have to be motivated to achieve glorious attributes." The screeching skid from Joslyn's stool raises a red flag. "Not to worry, love. There's always something to strive for in terms of perfection. An image, perhaps. But, you need not recognition when subsequent to your successor. I will, gladly refute your name on behalf of your narcissistic bigotries of success."
I don't know if I imagined steam pouring out of Kingston's ear or fire shooting out of Gracen's mouth. Either way, both would have been perfect depictions at that moment. In silence, the rest of us sip the spiced pumpkin juice until Ava returns.
"I think you'll love the flavor of this one." Pausing, she notices the unbreakable stares between my two friends. "Did I miss something?" Tilting her head to one side, the barkeeper attempts a winning smile at the brew settled in the glass before her. "Here you go, deary. Straight from the cauldron, as they say." Liana and I exchange a glance with one another while Joslyn messes with the tips in her nails. Once settling on a mood, she nods agreeing to nudge Fred with her foot. After the jolt, their gazes broke. Heart-wrenching as it was to witness the two natures of arrogance fight.
"Thank you," Kingston musters while averting his attention to the bubbling froth coating the top portion of the drink.
"Mrs. Leondre," Liana stumbles through her words. "Ava-Rose, sorry-" A single sip down the bar allows a small gasp of wretched gagging from Kingston. I attempt to hold my drink instead of spritzing its contents out in a spurt of laughs. "Who is that? In the picture?" Curiously, I follow her pointed finger in the direction of the alleged, framed photograph. "She looks so familiar."
Mrs. Leondre pauses, frozen mid-wash with a bar glass and wash cloth, her expression bleak in a manner of grief. It was then that I recognized the familiar features alongside the once, youthful, barkeeper and her faithful companion. Her smile was bright, radiant in a way that made normal instances long for its favored happiness. One, I began to know faintly through the years, drowned in my own dread of circumstance. But, things must pass; must move on in order for us to dwell on better fears that cloaked the world in tempered ignorance.
"A dear friend," she replies.
"You are not seriously tagging along?" Quinn flips her hair to one side, gives us an annoyed look of torture, and shoves forward past her non-Muggle, enemy.
Kingston bellows a definitive sigh of epic endangerment along with his notion of being the fifth rusty wheel in our group. "There's no comfort without magic to satisfy my needs. I have an attraction to chaos and a well-versed additive to support my needs towards it." A chuckle escapes from Liana's mouth while we walked onward into the square.
"If only, if only..." Shaking her head in mere disappointment while tapping her wand to her palm, Gracen expresses a sinister grin. "-time didn't move so slowly before the start of term." A sparkling flame whizzes through the throng of witches and wizards, who looked back in amusement.
"No way." Fred nudges my side, invading Quinn's serene space for a second. "Wishing stones!" For whatever reason when Kingston grew exceptionally excited about something, he had a habit of high-fiving. I had no problem with this. Our uniquely disturbed Charms expert, unfortunately, did.
"I am all that cherishes without keeping score.
With a habit towards attraction,
then alike, all the more.
I thrive in light but alone in dark,
of which a soul captures my essence from the start.
Raw and relinquished from passer notions,
I offer hope amongst those with kindred devotions."
"Hmm, poetic for a rock." Quinn mocks, tossing it back into the cauldron.
"It's a stone, Ms. Cynical." Kingston catches the piece mid air before examining it closer.
"It's an in-adamant object with no purpose in sustaining magical energy. Believe me, they are the least preferred thing a witch or wizard can, nor should enchant. It's a scam simple Muggles would place faith in." She huffs while crossing her arms. Dignified or not, I shell over some of my coins, along with Kingston, to purchase the odd stone that emblazoned a dark red hue.
"Oh, they've got new riding gloves in with Quidditch Supplies this year." Passing by the shop, I notice the drool encasing my friend's face. Liana eyes me knowingly as the tug of separation occurs in the madness of the rush.
"I'll go with you." Lee offers, nodding to the rest of us. "If I'm not back in an hour, you know the drill." A small flicker of her fingers was all that was left before they disappeared.
Kingston nudges my shoulder at the Potions shop up ahead. Of course, our excitement in entering thus establishment was far less shared with an un-enthused Quinn. "Oh Merlin, not again." Rolling her eyes in wake of the split read unbelievably scorned by abandonment. "I've gotta stop by Olivanders. See what type of detailing he can do after another year's worth of enchantments."
"Yeah, it's extremely important to mend your wand of splinches." Slapping Kingston in the side was just a bonus in befriending the absurd comment meant to infuriate her. Still, my expression was ever so slightly rigid after the passing of a specific group of students. My gaze broke some time after my concentrated look and after Quinn's sarcastic remark.
"Fine. You two have fun with your Chemistry sets while I accomplish something productive aside from over-rated vials of liquid." As she finishes, her entire figure smacks into a former house member.
"Davon!" Fred leaps from my side to slap an embrace from his fellow Quidditch player. Poor Quinn ends up sandwiched between the two as she bottles her unrequited rage from less noted anger management issues.
"Kingston!" Brysen's hug lingers past her head as I tried not to break a smile. It didn't take long for her to explode, especially when being held against her will -something she never stood for.
"Man, you beefed up over the Summer. You didn't take me seriously about that muscle max formula I etched in that notebook using crushed mandrake roots?" A chuckle escapes his breath as I lose one of my own.
"Holy, King Arthur's ghost." He exclaims without missing a beat. Apparently, we've all been apart for far too long already.
"You're crushing Quinn." I state for the record. They pull apart, laughing as she smacks the two.
"I'm seriously considering an entrapment spell that binds my enemies at will for my signature cast." Fred was intelligent enough to actually take a step back at the threat. Brysen, not so much.
"You're already on the chapter of bondage?" He motions enthused. "I studied that at the tail end of term last year. Interesting stuff. Hardcore restraint methods if you ask me. But, I've just got a mild liking of the subject between classes. Dark Arts doesn't really tickle my fancy as much as Quidditch."
Speechless my friend was in the moment, which was odd enough, she stuns herself with an inflated ego. Her competition was herself; a messed-up, psycho-perfectionist, but mostly herself. And there I was, unknowingly, encouraging the interaction while the two stood face to face.
"I see she's met her match. About time." Kingston whispers over his shoulder to me. For a brief second, I smirk, making up my own mind as to whether a laugh would be a suitable form of acceptance. Joslyn lived and breathed Quidditch since she had been old enough to hold a broom. A punishment set by regards of her father, who would one day think it coincidence for his un-behaved daughter with a brash attitude. Quinn loved books, the comfort of reading clean, crisp pages with printed letters. Safe to say that dirt and grime and sweat would never appeal to her personally. But all the same, an extraordinary piece of talent opposed her in a setting, in a world of smarts, she claimed ruler ship over. Magic be damned if this influence secluded her lesser intelligence. That bond more toxic than a brew Fred and I could concoct. It was all sudden.
"See you've found your mate there, Kingston." Brysen chuckles in wake of the tension. Intentionally, I blush and offer a gaze anywhere but where he intended.
Fred was quick to diminish the moment. "But of course, I never leave the graces of my sweetheart to chance. You know that." Draping an arm around Quinn's shoulder about gave her an immediate stunned expression from his display of warmth.
Brysen scratches his head confused yet entirely amused as my friend shoves her disturbance away. "You seriously need a re-cap on that Divination course again if you think the future involves the two of us. That is one prediction that even a prophecy gem would not contain and would thus shatter its contents even if the possibility existed in another universe."
"This is another universe." Kingston retorts confidently.
Gracen tousles her hair before changing the subject. "Uh, I don't have time for this debate. I forgot they're having a book signing at Flourish and Blotts."
"Book signing?" That's why I rushed to put on two completely different socks.
"Yes,"
"No way, who's signing?" My red-haired friend inquires.
"Professor Woods, of course." She states matter of fact. "One of the youngest author's to have ever written a fictional novel about the Dark Ages. It's suppose to be one of the most outstanding pieces of literature to date. Can you believe it?"
"No," Brysen mumbles underneath his breath while Fred knocks his elbow into his friend's side. Quinn catches the sour enthusiasm from the two and waves them off.
Grabbing a hold of my arm, Quinn captures my leftover freedom. "I don't know what your plans were earlier but I need moral support from someone sane." Turning closer to whisper in my ear, I become somewhat offended by her next assumption. "You're the only one sane enough to have a decent conversation with him. You know, without sputtering loose sentence fragments all over the place like his other admirers. Please? I know how formerly acquainted you are with him. It'll make my attempts seem less desperate."
Fred eyes me across the way as I overlooked Quinn's determined stare. I did have plans before Brysen showed up. Still, Kingston's stern expression amused a part of me. Now, I finally understood Quinn's addiction to torture. She had a way of convincing you to do the opposite and not just for her own sake.
"Fine," I utter, despite the glare I reciprocated from Kingston. Gracen tugs urgently on my limb as she hastily shoves through the two to get to the shop on time. I follow, flailing behind her as I catch a glimpse of a deflated smirk from the two. Past priorities hath taught me to be somewhat inclined to pure lunacy, and I was entranced by all things insanely derivative. At least, I wished.
A familiar scent encases my memories the moment we walk in. The smell of parchment, few and far between, wrapped in ages of curious souls seeking truth either through experience or pure instinct. Either way, its familiar welcomes me like an old student waiting to inhabit its inked pages. How my mind spins in previous ventures of whim. To be like the characters in those sacred books Muggles fantasize about. Not those driven by power but those who seek to understand its lengths. The ones with simple lives and simple goals. They are my heroes all the more.
"Look at this crowd." Catching me off guard, Quinn waves frustrated at the sea of wizards and witches crammed into the confined space. This was why the streets were so quiet upon arrival. "We've got to get closer. Any ideas?" Her panicked approval for guidance amused me entirely. Were it against her character to be utterly demanding and persuasive? Perhaps, not. But, notions are too eager to judge accurately; while as, emotions are faster within their realm of sincerity. She had a sense of sincere motivation, not the lust like like those shown around us continuing to shove and banter facts untrue about our professor. Quinn was driven.
"Follow me," I instruct.
"Where? There's no where to go." She protests.
Pointing upwards at the staircase that revolved around the entire room, I nod in complete confidence. "Except up. C'mon." It took a couple of deep breaths before she placed her first step that ascended the staircase. Where the reluctance came from, I still have no clue. Especially when Joslyn would have leaped through the crowd at any cost to gain a signature. Something dwelled inside my friend. A fear I, alone, couldn't place and didn't want the responsibility in doing so. The further we climbed, it seemed as though the air got thinner, more dense. When we reach the centerfold of the staircase itself, a loud voice boomed about the room.
A book plops on top of the intricately-carved, wooden desk. "I would like your undivided attention, please. As we welcome a dearest of legendary achievements, both in and out of this world-" Mr. Cambridge, owner of the bookshop, winks back at our motivator. "-Professor and Author, Nolan Woods!" Clapping follows his introduction. "And of course, his critically acclaimed novella de manifique: Simple Souls, Darkened Rage -The Dark Age. A work of brilliance is it not, Mr. Woods?" A giggle erupts from a third year dressed in the Hufflepuff colors. Her friend silences the laughter by stomping on her foot. Odd cycle of friendship is and what we do for embarrassment? Oh, the horror.
"Is that what they call influential writing these days? I'm not much a fan of elated intelligence. Mind you, my research pertaining to the subject matter was certainly grueling, above other things. Take to heart that I am as much an observer of life as much as I am an advocate of the later. I do not accept judgement on my writing as an act of brilliance, but of certain reality. What we know in and of the darkest of times. The sacrifices, the secrets, the torture, held within those moments the world is blind upon observation." Quiet instills the crowd, looking in to the owner for direction.
"I-I find it refreshing to have such an independent mind conquering the depths of darkness amongst its people. I'm enthralled with the masterpiece and what it represents. Everyone in this room can attest to those high standards." Without missing a beat, they cheer upon command. The drones of them, wondering what to think of his mind?
I had a small chuckle escape my lips in midst of the uncertainty. "Imposters of the written language." I remark disgusted.
"I know. Did they even read its contents? How it exercised vivid imagery with stone-cold brutality? Oh, you could taste the blood on the inked pages from the suffering slaves of masked vengeance. They must think it's a joke, a mere story of longing. One that details tragic even before the beginning chapters!"
"Shh," I quiet Quinn as the applause dies down. "He knows what purpose he bares to the community. Let him confide in noble words of refute before aiding in his rescue. He is but the most eloquent professor of our time. Let him acquire his nature of truths. He knows who and what they stand for." The second I finish my rant, she nudges my shoulder to look down. Professor Woods glances up at us for a bleak moment to smile in what appeared to be gratitude. Never say I shouldn't have bit my tongue at the time. My cheeks flush a solid burgundy before retaining their normalcy.
"Refreshing indeed," he states unaffected by our intrusion. "My characters, although eccentric, stubborn, and headstrong, will exemplify a simmering bravery along with their courage. Boundless to the chains of the era they inhabit. There will be loss. There will be sacrifice. But without either compromise, their world will shatter, piece by piece. They laugh the joys. They cry the sadness lost from them. They offer the humility of man, just as their Gods had intended through fateful measures of reluctance. To find one's true wish above the waters of uncertainty -Why, that is what draws the blood-lust of romance. The tension of losing the most important, most shattered piece of ourselves. Could we sacrifice such in the darkness of such light over the ages that time hath not acknowledged appropriately?" Again, the crowd was lost on his words. Quinn and I stare blankly at the Renaissance Man in awe. Otherworldly, he definitely was. "Of course, you'll have to dwell within the inked pages to understand the rest."
Once finished, Mr. Cambridge speaks to the speechless throng of witches and wizards. "Charming, Mr. Woods. I can assure you, your words are never a waste on paper. Now, are there any questions your admirers would like to ask of you?"
"Oh, Ava-Rose's bitter brew. Let's get out of here before it's too late, and we get trampled by the witch holding six copies of the written beast. Please, I beg of you." Never say I didn't stand up for something. I merely wanted to avoid being crushed by Mr. Wood's drooling admirers. Quinn, though not drooling, was entranced by our Potions professor. So much so that she ignores my plead and slinks down the opposing set of stairs leading to the carved desk. "Quinn?" I follow, dually noting her much needed therapy session after this.
"Yes, a question over here?" The book keeper calls on the lucky witch with her hand raised.
"Do you have a wife, Mr. Woods?" Her faces flushes red, as does the witch standing next to her.
Nolan takes a deep breath, holding in a belated chuckle, before offering a direct answer. "Why, not yet." Another hand shoots into the air for another question.
"Are you in love?"
"-With my passions... for both Potions, literature and of course, teaching. I plan on an extraordinary year with my students." Selecting another hand in the air, he about deflates from the excitement of their questions.
"So, you don't have a significant other?"
"Not at the moment. I have passions for life. Anyone have any questions about the book?" Searching amongst the faces again, their hands descend downwards in diluted anticipation.
"Can't believe not a one of them has the decency, the respect to ask-" My friend steadily raises her hand as we stood aside from the crowd in the bookstore. "-a question?" I trail off as our professor's eyes grew in warmth at our postures. Posers, he knew not of our characters.
"Yes, Ms. Gracen. You have a question about the book?"
She takes a single breath, relieving the pressure of the number of eyes falling upon her. I was silent, awaiting her input. "You talk about losing the most important, most shattered piece of ourselves within the book. Have you, yourself, sacrificed something so great it impacted your life in light of the darkness you write so passionately about?" The room grew still, having time stand still. Something about his face concerned me. An alarming sense he was struck by an insulting emotion to the pieces shattered. A remembrance of the mourn. I couldn't deny his reflection of grief alike the loss of my own. I knew in that instance the passion which drove him to the brilliant madness he denied from the start.
"I may have unwillingly sacrificed things that were shattered from the start. Of course, their importance makes my darkness fade, little by little, every day. Light is a very odd enigma when surpassed by tragic events. It bleeds into the crevice of fateful woes. Time offers acceptance in such but never a willing compassion. Both my hopes and fears are written in stone and try as I might, I cannot carve a new path from the beginning. The only light that bares remorse is that of past regret. My book allows the reader to move forward through the tragedy to find their light, their hope. That's all we can ask of this day and age."
Breathless, we were. The resonance of clapping sounds after his speech this time. "Thank you, Professor." Quinn shakes his hand as a light flashes from the camera. "I have no words for your brilliance."
"Brilliance hath nothing to do with what our emotions encounter. Poetic souls are appreciative of one another, Ms. Gracen. I shall not forget your wit outside my class." Signing her copy, she beams with excitement. "You both share my passions quite well for your age." He winks, readying to sit and routinely sign the rest of his copies.
We both turn to walk away before the rush consumes us. "That tie really brings out the color in his eyes, doesn't it?"
"Maybe," I state, waving to Liana and Joslyn in the corner entrance as Fred and Brysen move to meet them. Quinn was still struck by passion that she hadn't noticed our friend's hair turn deep red.
"Ah, and that voice? You heard his voice, right?" She squeals.
"You mean, the thing he talks with?" Why, no. I thought my teaching came to me telepathically. "You better dial that admiration down a peg. Kingston might get jealous."
"Mar, seriously? Think his shattered piece was something he lost?" At this point, the thickened grace of witches and wizards moving to the side and out of the way was near impossible. We should have been out of the woods by now.
Pushing another cloak, I stumble into my past. His eyes as bright as the moonlight, yet bluer than the skies during daylight. "Someone he lost." I state staring up at my promised future with a withered heart, not yet carved in stone.
A/N: Marisole has an awareness of the sufferings to those who surround her. What light shone that night in the castle where Haiden left her torn and speechless is mere fragments of whom she could be. Everyone longs for the familiar certainty of life beyond the single breath they take. And even if those last words could be put to ink, whose name would she carve on the stone, imprisoned from future promises?