Hesitant Reunions

[Dylan Cooper]

A discontented frown upon his face, Dylan Cooper meandered, albeit purposefully, through the halls of Hogwarts. He was intent on his destination, yet a voice in the back of his mind tried to turn him away, and hence slowed his pace. Debating with himself mentally as he went, he disregarded and in fact didn’t even notice the larger proportion of the student body that passed him by as they went hurriedly to classes or eagerly down to the grounds for a seemingly well-deserved break from lessons or assignments. Managing to notice only those he was forced to side-step due to their complete disregard for him and their apparent inability to move out of his way, he gradually approached the library, the most logical place he could think of to find the very person he sought.

Pushing aside the wooden door before him after a quick glance through the circular pane of glass set in the centre of it, his eyes scanned the room and didn’t immediately find D’rorah. The last time he had seen her, she had been almost certainly radically different, however, and not in the best shape, but as he moved further into the room and finally located her, he took in the differences. Her hair had new streaks of darkness and gray, and her skin was an ill-coloured hue, almost grey itself. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but this had certainly not been it, and it unsettled him to the core to see her that way.

Huddled over her work; he assumed it was translations or something of the like; he approached her somewhat more cautiously than he might usually have, and simply waited for her to acknowledge his presence. He was harshly reminded, as he stood there, his eyes lingering on the minute and sometimes painfully obvious differences in her, of the first time they really met; the setting had been almost identical, but both of them had been much more whole then. He himself had been through a lot since then, and she quite clearly had too.

Giving up waiting after only a few seconds, or rather changing his decision to let her begin the interaction, he spoke in his usual quiet voice; one extremely appropriate for the library. “May I sit down?” he questioned softly, his lips almost unwilling to speak those words, and his feet somewhat wanting to simply turn and walk away. But he knew he could not, would not. He loved her more than he loved anyone else in this world, and he would not let her fade from his life in such a way, no matter how she had changed; she deserved more.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

D'rorah had taken to spending all over her free time in the library. Though she had never been particularly social before, now she was even less social, her emotionless state wiping away any need she might have felt for social interaction. Though her memory was not affected by the brush with total corruption, she tended to call on memories less often, no longer being prone to sentimental reminiscing.

So she sat, head bowed over her books like a daily devotion. There was nothing in her days now outside of translation, physical training, and schoolwork... and the struggle to hold onto her soul. That was always present, and would be until she joined with her Elemental Master.

So engrossed, she did not even notice as Dylan approached her table. Even when she spoke, the words merely echoed on the edge of her consciousness, taking a few moments to register. She finally looked up, her pupils dilated from the low late of her table area and taking several moments to refocus on Dylan after having been closely focused on the texts in front of her. She stared at him emptily for a moment, the quill in her hand gradually skittering to a halt as she finished the sentence she had been writing.

"It appears you are quite free to sit, Mister Cooper," she replied tonelessly. Something prickled at the edge of her mind, as though a memory, or rather a flood of them, wanted to rush forth at seeing him. Her deadened darkened eyes, having lost none of their piercing intensity regarded him for several moments, trying to place the internal sensations. Unable to come up with anything on her own, she decided instead to merely ask. "Was there something you wished for my assistance with?"

Keeping her ears tuned to him, she returned her eyes to the pages she had been working on and her quill began writing again. "I have much work to catch up on," she remarked absently.

[Dylan Cooper]

As her eyes raised to him, his own widened at the previously unnoticed dark tone of them; where before her eyes had been that lovely grey he had so often lost himself in, now they were completely different, as if they didn’t even belong to the D’rorah he knew. But then again, he hardly knew this new Dee; cold and detached as she was acting toward him. The complete lack of tone in her voice as she replied sent his heart wrenching and his self-esteem plummeting, and he flailed aimlessly for a minute, unable to collect his thoughts once more.

Swallowing tersely for the encounter to come, he took a seat directly beside her, instead of his somewhat preferred opposite. He was simply afraid of the way he would be received; and with good reason, given the way she spoke to him. But sheer determination and love caused him to set himself next to her and push through his own inadequacies for her benefit. She needed him now, and he knew it; she needed him and all of her friends to help her remember who she had been, who she still was underneath this cold, hard surface.

At her question, he pondered what response he would give carefully. He was almost too scared to tread anything less than extremely cautiously, and if he went about this the wrong way, or made one wrong move, he might lose her. As she didn’t seem too open to friendly conversation or anything remotely like it, he made a point to himself to avoid the use of her nickname. “No… I just wanted to see you. I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice soft and full of emotion. Leaning over slightly, unwilling to place his hand on hers and disrupt her flow of sentences across the page, instead he kissed her cheek softly.

“Can I help?” he asked quietly, referring to the work she mentioned. He knew it was a relatively stressful business, sorting through the various texts and cross referencing everything, and perhaps thought that it was a way to get through to her if expressing his feelings didn’t work.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

As D'rorah felt Dylan kiss her cheek, her quill came to an abrupt halt. Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion as she considered his statement that he had missed her. He quickly moved to a more comfortable topic--her research. "Yes..." she answered hesitantly. "I believe I could use a bit of assistance with my translations." Her words slowly begant to come more easily as she moved onto a safely academic and non-emotional conversation. However, they remained mostly toneless. "I currently have a text in Ugaritic, Akkadian, Greek, and French," she remarked, gesturing to each in turn. "None of them seem to yield anything particularly helpful, but the information seems corroborated from several different sources; so it is accurate, at least."

She looked over at Dylan, not seeing that he had a bag with him at the moment. Assuming he would need at least a quill, she reached into her bag and removed extra quills and pushed her bottle of ink so that it would be close to both of them. As she handed him a quill, her hand brushed against his. The warmth of his fingers was so startling against the chill of her hands, and caused her to jump slightly in her seat.

Seeming temporarily thrown off once again, she pulled her hand away and picked up her own quill. "As you can see, these are the points I have already cross-referenced," she said, seeking to regain control of the conversation and herself. "The pages all seem to follow a similar format, so they must have been written by formal scribes of the Order..."

She looked over at Dylan as she trailed off, trying to get in-tune with memories that he elicited. Her eyes searched him quietly. She knew their history, but couldn't summon the emotional significance of that history.

[Dylan Cooper]

Receiving a reaction, and yet no verbal one, to his actions and initial words, he supposed it was only natural. From all he had read, he believed that after her extremely close corruption, her emotions would be largely dulled or even completely absent; he could only hope to bring those back and help her by giving her a sort of crash course… By starting back where they had left off, with anything from holding hands to light kisses, so that she could become more familiar with her past and her emotions. As far as he was concerned, he thought that was the best thing he could do to aid her recovery; aside from finding her new Elemental Master, that was.

Glad that she had at least accepted his small offer of assistance, he nodded slightly and found the smallest of headaches rise into his mind; an improvement by far upon the painful and lasting headaches he had gotten from such a movement in the past few months. An ever present reminder of the recent events of his life, he moved quickly past it and kept his focus on the young woman seated beside him. Taking it as a positive sign that she neither moved further away from him, and that she moved her ink between the two of them, as small as those accomplishments were, he began to become secretly hopeful.

Reaching for the French text, he pulled it before him and accepted the quill she offered; their hands brushing as he did so. Noticing her jump slightly in her seat, he avoided making any reference to it and simply became slightly distracted as he wondered why she might have reacted so drastically. Assuming such contact was simply out of her comfort zone at this point, or beyond her emotional capacity, he refrained from tensing his jaw as he watched her with quiet eyes. Picking up her own quill and speaking about the translations once more, he wondered if she remembered… There was no reason she would not recall who they were together, or had been.

As she continued and eventually began to trail off, he raised his eyes from the French text before him up to her, and found her own eyes on him. She seemed far more comfortable with conversation based on the research, and he wondered whether or not to simply allow her that small comfort or to stretch it slightly. “I’m glad you’re back, D’rorah,” he said lightly, purposefully reaching his hand to hers and offering a small, flickering smile, as his eyes attempted to find hers. This time not moving onto the topic of research, he would allow her to deal with this as she saw fit.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

"Glad..." D'rorah repeated the word and allowed it to trail off as though she could not make heads or tails of it. "Glad..." she repeated again, more quietly. She watched his smile and did not move her hand away as Dylan's hand approached. "I..." she trailed off as though trying to compose the words.

"I have so many memories of us... but I am not that person now. I cannot... love...," she fumbled slightly over the word, "I cannot love you as I once did. Everything exists only as fact. Logically, I know that you expect more. But I am incapable of offering anything you are accustomed to." Her voice barely changed in tone or pitch as she spoke, doing her best to convey feelings that she could no longer summon and could barely even identify in retrospect.

"Perhaps, with time, they can return. I have no documentation for this situation. Never, in any of the history I have read, has a Shadow Warrior come so close to corruption and survived." She rubbed at the scars on her wrists absently. "Most do not survive the procedure with the crystals in the first place."

She knew in her mind that in the past she would have offered some sort of comfort to Dylan. However, being unable to gauge her own emotions or to properly react to Dylan's, nothing seemed logical. She had explained the facts, that should be enough... even though there was a nagging cry in the back of her mind that she needed to offer more. Everything was a jumbled mess. Even a girl who typically controlled her emotions and preached logic over emotional reaction could not function quite the same when the emotions she so disdained were completely denied to her. She looked over at her hand, joined with Dylan's, and studied it for a second before her eyes returned to his. She could feel the jumbled thoughts below the surface, but nothing seemed to bring them to the forefront and help her make sense of it all.

And so, unable to really feel embarrassed or uncomfortable and unable to determine any further course of action, she looked into his eyes again for some clue of what she should be feeling. Coming up with nothing, she finally removed her hand and turned her attention back to her texts. For the time being, there was work to be done. And it could easily be done with emotions or any other sort of distraction.

[Dylan Cooper]

As she quietly repeated the same word over, he considered what might be going through her mind as she did. Though of course he truly could have no idea, her being an entirely different woman after returning to the castle, he set aside his small hopeful voice in place of one decidedly more logical. Without her emotions, she was all fact and logic herself, devoid of emotional reasoning or the compassion and love she might normally associate with the situation and the memories she stated still having.

Unable to stop the smile on his features from faltering as she continued to speak in that same, detached tone, he sent his eyes toward the table, unable to seek her own any longer. But as it was, he mentally slapped himself; this wasn’t the time to feel sorry for himself or become riddled with self-doubt. She needed him for this, and he was not helping by reacting to her words this way, no matter how much they hurt. He could only appreciate that the way she spoke was the only way she knew how; that she was not, at least, intentionally hurting him. That being just about the only thing he could cling to besides the past which was quite obviously just that; the past; he raised his gaze once more.

As she rubbed at the scars adorning her wrists, his eyes avoided those areas unintentionally; as though he could only deal with so much at a time and chose to avoid that particularly nasty memory at this point. Who knew if that was actually true… Certainly he himself would deny it to everyone – even D’rorah, now, not that she would care. Frowning back down at the table, he took a deep breath and swallowed, his eyes moving back up to her own darker pair. Watching as she gazed down at their hands, he simply wished more than anything that he could find a way to get Dee back, the woman he knew and loved. He knew that if he could have her back, could hold her in his arms and hug her tight, intertwine their hands and kiss her cheek, that everything would be okay again.

As she searched his eyes, he willed for her to see how he had felt, how he still felt about her. But she seemed not to notice; or otherwise it simply meant nothing to her in this emotionless state. Feeling her hand withdraw from is, he took a moment to feel a deep sense of loss before pulling himself back under control; he had not lost her yet, and he would do everything in his power to keep it that way. Returning his attention to the text he had yet to begin working on, he took the quill she had given him, dipped it in the inkwell, and began, his mind running through what adorned the page before him while his heart still churned with the unfortunate nature of this encounter.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

D'rorah could not seem to pull her attention entirely to her translations. Something in Dylan's expression lingered in her mind. Her eyes were drawn to the inkwell as he inked his quill. She looked over as he began reading over the text he was to translate. Seeing that he had already set to work, she pushed her mind away from whatever had caused her to pause and began working through her own texts. There was so much work to be done... but, she wondered if her translations would be as useful without the use of her emotions. Surely, they would be just as accurate... but it was a bit more difficult to imagine the motives of those in her texts without her own emotional knowledge as a reference point. Assuming she could either read for emotion later, or delegate the task to another, she pressed on, pushing aside the inconvenient fact that subtle clues in the language would be missed by whomever read the translated version at a later time.

It would be far more helpful for the others to know the languages. Of course, since very few people were multi-lingual, and even fewer still were fluent in dead languages, it was an inconvenience that would have to be worked around for now. Hearing the bell sound for dinner, she looked up and set her quill aside. "I seem to have reached my capacity for translating at the moment," she announced quietly. "Perhaps it would be best to set this aside for another time. In any matter, you should have dinner." As she spoke, she quietly gathered her things into her satchel, packing them all neatly and efficiently away so that nothing would be damaged or needlessly jostled as she walked.

It occurred to her that dinner would be a good idea for herself as well, as she had been somewhat lax in seeing to her own nourishment of late. At the same time, she realized that her appearance in the Great Hall would only generate inconvenient questions and draw unwanted attention to her. She was fairly certain it wouldn't be worth the time and effort required to avoid the questions that came her way. Besides, no matter the answer, there was the possibility that someone in the crowd would become suspicious and take to spying on her or the others or that someone would report her strange appearance to the Ministry. She wasn't quite ready to return there.

She looked over at Dylan as she closed her satchel. "You know, I am learning to simulate emotion," she remarked. "I believe it will be useful in interacting with others and attempting to merge with the crowd. I only tell you that so that you will understand if you see something you perceive as emotion from me... it is likely only an act." She paused, thinking for a moment. "I could offer to do the same for you, though I know you would decline. With time, I am certain I could teach myself to react in the very same way I would have reacted before this brush with corruption. However, it would only be a simulation, nothing real. Would that ease your pain?" she asked. "I can see that you are in pain... or struggling with something. If it is any further consolation, I can say honestly that the love I felt for you at the time was undying." She paused, hoping her words were coming out right. "I did love you very much, Mister Cooper."

[Dylan Cooper]

The sharp ringing of the school bell nearly failed to intrude on his silent musings and concentrated state, dull as it sounded to such a distracted young boy. As he heard D’rorah speak, the flow of his quill stopped and his ears perked up, but his eyes remained targeted and unfocused on the paper beneath him. Raising his gaze only when she finished speaking, he found it odd that she had in fact actually set her quill aside; if her reacting to any external stimulants hadn’t been odd in itself. Normally she had been one to work through not only dinner but all other meals as well, and the fact that she was suggesting the stopping of translating sent a small jolt of surprise through him.

Then again, the words “you should have dinner” applied to him only; perhaps she wished for less of a distraction and was simply using any excuse to implement those desires. Neglecting these debatable thoughts in favour of slightly better ones, he closed the text he had been working on gently and slid it towards her, as well as the parchment on which he had written. Raising his eyes as she spoke once more, he raised one corner of his mouth in what was anything but a happy expression, but a small one of slight acceptance. He was actually quite thankful, despite the meaning behind it, that she had let him know she was likely to fake emotions she did not feel. He could envision exactly how painful it might be to perceive emotion from her and have his hopes raised so drastically, only to find them shattered and torn upon the realisation of reality.

Giving a small, empty smile at her question, he shook his head slightly, careful not to cause himself even a minimal amount of pain. Easing himself into her next few sentences, his eyes focused tersely with the unexpected words she chose to finish with. Overwhelmed with both the love he felt for what they had shared and the pain of realising it was no more, the conflicting feelings caused a shaky, teary smile to emerge onto his features. Unsure as to how exactly he wanted to react, he tilted his head up and down slowly several times. Looking down to his fiddling hand, he saw a quill playing over it and extended his arm, filled with enough emotion to almost compensate for her lack of it. “Thanks for the quill,” he muttered quietly, his eyes attempting to find hers.

Hitching his backpack onto one shoulder, he stopped just short of taking his first step. “If you wouldn’t object too strongly… Why don’t you join me for dinner?” he said quietly, a tiny idea popping into his head that he hoped against hope he might have the opportunity to test out.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

“Thanks for the quill,” he muttered quietly, his eyes attempting to find hers.

"You are welcome," she replied, thinking that it would be helpful to be able to read his emotions. He was in pain--she could see that. But he was attempting to take everything gracefully. It could not be easy to so quickly lose someone you loved. In fact, it could only be devastating. She almost felt cheated out of her inability to feel her own loss at the moment... but then, that would have been an emotion too, which was something her mind and body would not allow her at present. She knew that she would never forget just what it felt like to teeter on the precipice of corruption, unable to feel emotion or enjoy life. It was, at best, a half-life. She watched as Dylan similarly readied himself to leave, but hesitated.

“If you wouldn’t object too strongly… Why don’t you join me for dinner?”

"I would prefer not to be seen in the Great Hall," she responded. "Far too many inconvenient and dangerous questions might be generated regarding my abscence and my current appearance. I do not believe the Ministry would take me directly from the school... but anything which causes too much of a stir among the students could well land me outside of the protection of Hogwarts. And I do not believe I would be successful at escaping a second time."

She started to walk away but turned back, something within her pulling a memory to the forefront of previous dinners with Dylan in the kitchen. The house elves... well, she wondered if they would be likely to appreciate her appearance. That could quickly become just as disastrous as she imagined dining in the Great Hall would become. "Is there somewhere else dinner might be?" she queried, feeling as though she might owe him at least the company of a quick meal. Perhaps it would help him to ease his pain... if nothing else, her body could use the nourishment.

[Dylan Cooper]

Nodding sadly, but only slightly, at her reply, he focused his eyes on one of his hands that was currently motionless; dead, just hanging by his side. It was so… vacant of any kind of movement or life, hanging so pointlessly, so uselessly. Unable to look at her face, unable to remain looking away, he finally raised his eyes and viewed her features carefully, as if attempting to memorise them before he lost the right to look at them aimlessly for as long as he usually did.

What he meant to say was that he didn’t intend to eat in the Great Hall, either; that he too attracted undue attention due to his slightly disregarded appearance and melancholy face. But none of that came out, none of it. As she concluded her first set of sentences, he emitted a soft breath of laughing contempt under his breath, his eyes unfocused on the floor beneath his feet. The very thought that she’d even had to escape a first time made him angrier than he knew and without even knowing it his jaw clenched.

Raising his eyes to see her starting away, he sighed sadly, but had his hopes raised inexorably as she turned back around. It turned out that he hadn’t needed to mention his alternative thoughts, considering she herself brought up exactly what he had been thinking of. Nodding once, accepting that she was doing this not out of any compelling desire to be with the man she loved, but rather what was most likely, and what she likely saw as a polite little obligation to someone she had so many memories of.

Nevertheless, he would not decline the return of an offer he himself made. That would just be silly. Normally, he might refuse to tell her, take her by the hand, and lead her away. Today was not a normal day, though; instead, he chose to display their options. “I was considering the kitchens… Then decided that maybe the Room of Requirement might be better. Considering the attention you don’t want to receive, maybe I could drop into the kitchens and get some food, then we could head up to the sixth floor…?” he said lightly, ending with a questioning lilt.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

"The Room of Requirement," repeated D'rorah slowly as she considered the offer. It seemed she had been spending so much time there lately. She had recovered there after being rescued by the other Lightfighters, had met with Cavan there to go over his research. It seemed the safest place, and could be brought forth to resemble nearly anything she wished. But then, what did one without emotions wish for? Nothing at all, apparently.

"Very well," she agreed after a few moments' contemplation. I meal which wasn't accompanied by stares or beleaguering questions from ignorant students would be the most preferable option. "I will meet you in the Room of Requirement then, if you will see to the food."

She surveyed Dylan one last time, her eyes sweeping over him as her mind pushed her to remember something that had apparently been lost along with her emotions. Unable to grasp whatever thing it was, she instead turned and continued her way out of the library. With all of the students in the Great Hall at the moment, it should be quite easy to slip up into the Room of Requirement without being noticed.

As she traveled up the stairs, she kept to herself, avoiding groups of chattering students whenever she could and meeting their stares challengingly whenever she couldn't avoid a few of the braver ones. On the sixth floor, she paused, trying to summon a pleasurable place to eat in her mind.

Finally, she settled on a recreation of her dining room from home in New York. It was easy enough to recall; having grown up there, the details were fairly firmly etched into her mind. As the door finally appeared, she stepped through to find a table freshly set with linens and plates. It was an exact recreation of the Philosophy dining room, down to the oak floor beneath her shoes. Satisfied, D'rorah took a seat close to the end of the table, deciding not to take the actual head seat herself.

[Dylan Cooper]

Hopeful that she would respond positively, but trying constantly to suppress that in case she denied his offer, he pertinently kept his eyes away from her. A small light flaring in his eyes as she accepted, he nodded once, accepting to go and get the food while she headed straight up to the sixth floor. He had half hoped for her to walk with him, back down to the kitchens where they had shared so much, and back up to the Room of Requirement, just so he could get a few more minutes in her company. But at least she had agreed to eat with him; that was something, anyway.

Looking up, finally, he saw the double doors swing shut behind her and emitted a soft sigh. Hitching his satchel into a more comfortable position, he followed and, once into the corridor, headed in the opposite direction. His shoes impacted on the marble floor with small clicks as he headed down to the main foyer, and he refused to meet the eyes of anybody he came across along the way. There weren’t many people left lurking the halls, and most of them were headed in the same general direction, down to the Great Hall. But as he strode lightly across the Entrance Hall and down towards the kitchens, everyone else was left behind and he found himself alone.

Taking the opportunity of having no restraints for the first time since meeting D’rorah in the library earlier, he rested his back against the wall and slumped downwards, his knees bending in accordance as he brought his hands to his head and ran them through his hair, where they stayed. Breathing heavily, he no longer fought for control of his emotions, and let out a small breath of every mix of emotion he had experienced over his encounter with her. Anxiety, worry and sadness, were all rolled into one. With that out, he took another moment or two, taking his time, before making his way to his feet.

Reaching the kitchens, the pear still giggling behind him, he was approached by several house elves, one of whom briefly complained about his recent lack of visits. Requesting a whole host of foods, and specifically some he knew were favourites of his companion probably by now waiting seven or so floors above, the troop all dispersed to get food and drink. Standing by the entrance and taking the moment to check his watch, many of the elves returning soon after laden with foods. Thanking them and promising to visit soon, he turned on his heel and began making his way back up the castle.

Finally reaching the sixth floor without any incident, thankfully, he found the door that was not usually there, opposite a certain painting, and opened it with a hand he managed to free up by placing one of his baskets on the floor momentarily. Opening the door before him, he entered through into the room with a small smile and his hands full of baskets that contained various foods and drinks. Not recognising where she had chosen as their dinner location, he was nevertheless not surprised at the table and linens upon it, the oaken floor and fine plates set, given D’rorah’s personality. She would, he suspected, in her present state prefer rigidity and formality, prefer a finely set table over anything spontaneous and fun like a picnic or a casual dinner. Not that he was complaining, but it was just one more thing that reminded him that this was not the same woman he had been dating.

Setting the wicker baskets onto the floor beside the seat he had chosen to occupy, the one opposite to D’rorah herself, he withdrew every item and placed each one onto the table between the two of them. Finally, he took out two plates covered in foil and set one onto her slightly larger plate, and one onto his own. “I hope you like it,” he said with a small smile, pushing away the notion that someone without feeling couldn’t really be pleased with anything. Letting her see for herself what was beneath the covering, he waited until she had revealed her meal before unveiling his own and beginning on it. Personally, he’d never tried it before, but had felt that for the moment it couldn’t hurt to have the same meal as her, if only for the sake of consistency.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

D'rorah looked up as Dylan entered, her eyebrow arching slightly at all of the baskets he carried, wondering silently if he had invited others along as well. Wicker baskets... well, she supposed that would be the easiest way to carry so much food. Perhaps it was a logical choice. She watched as Dylan emptied the contents of the baskets onto the table between them, dish by dish. Receiving no request for help, she offered none.

In response to his expressed hope, she nodded, "It seems far more than adequate." Her eyes passed over the dishes. She saw a greek salad, small red cherry tomatoes gleaming like little jewels in their nest of greens and studded with olives. A platter of stuffed grape leaves also appeared along with the requisite tzatziki sauce, other delights: hummus and pita bread, spanikopita, a lentil pilaf... it was an amazing spread. And then, as a main course for each of them, a falafel platter, one of her very favorite dishes. It even evoked the memory of the taste of wrapped falafel sandwiches in Tel Aviv.

She knew, logically, that appreciation and gratitude would be the correct response for this... only her execution of some vague facsimile of the emotions eluded her mental grasp. It was easy enough to do with words, but difficult to adequately express the expected response.

"Thank you, Mister Cooper," she settled on finally in her quiet, toneless voice. "My memory of these foods is that they were comforting favorites," she clarified, attempting to offer a bit more, but still managing to fall short. It was not long though before she abandoned any attempt at emotion as her hunger took over. It had been so long since she had allowed herself any sort of expansive meal... no, she had fallen very quickly into her habits of work and study, neglecting nutrition. And so, she began to serve her plate, her tongue anticipating the flavors it would soon experience during dinner. No offering went untasted and she soon found that deep hunger sated, her belly no longer nibbling at her mind. Amazing that she hadn't noticed it until food had been placed before her.

As she ate, she occasionally glanced across the table at Dylan, but could think of nothing she might say to him. She had no interesting revelations from her latest research, nothing they hadn't all heard a hundred times, nothing she herself hadn't read what felt like thousands of times... all in different voices and different words, but all essentially the same. And so, she was silent except for the quiet sounds of eating.

[Dylan Cooper]

Half hoping for a response like ‘How lovely that you put so much thought into this’ or ‘Wow, Dylan! My favourite!’, he realised that such a thing was entirely unlikely, and certainly improbable. What he expected, however, was much more realistic, and exactly what she delivered; a simple statement said without any meaningful emotion. Angry at himself for hoping for what might as well be a miracle, he sucked it up and instead just focused on the food before him.

He’d never tried falafel before, but Dylan wasn’t really all that picky about food; his mum had always put new and adventurous things before him, and he’d gobbled them down mercilessly. He recalled that she’d always rather liked that quality in her son. Consuming the food quickly, almost regretting his decision to ask her along for dinner, he was only anxious now to get out; to get away from her, from everything.

Seeing that his plate was emptying at a rapid speed, he began to anticipate his departure even more. The idea of escaping from this cold, detached student before him, a painful reminder of the amazing woman she had once been, was extremely pleasing to him; or rather, simply exactly what he needed right now, like nothing else would do, like there was nothing else he could handle but to run from the room and never look back.

Setting down his knife and fork and chancing a look up to her face, he saw the expression she wore and stood up, his chair being pushed back. “I… can’t do this,” he said finally, exhaling with a quick sigh. Clenching his jaw, his eyes unable to look at the shell before him, he turned toward the door and simply left. Perhaps it was rude, but he didn’t really care right now; he also doubted somehow that she was disappointed or upset about his sudden departure.

After taking a few quick steps down the hallway, he soon began to run, and before long he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know where to go, where he could go, and he thought of his best friend in the whole world. Unfortunately, that person was currently gone; a mere shadow of her former self. Instead, he headed toward the Gryffindor common room, to find a certain fifth year.