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Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 29, 2007 15:58:29 GMT -5
It had been a week or two now since Dylan had first entered the Hospital Wing. Given the state he had been in on such an occasion, he looked remarkably better. His hair had grown back to reach a short length, and while it by no means resembled his previous style, at least there was hair present. He had D’rorah and her knowledge of potions to thank for that. It was still the same dark brown colour, but no longer contained the stringy look that had offered a handsome sort of loping effect on his face. Instead, it was short and spiked, different pieces shooting off in odd directions to give a generally unkempt kind of look. The scars of his boils had receded into nothingness, so that, thankfully, he no longer held the dull red circular marks all over his body. The only thing that had not changed were the gashes all across him; his chest, back and arms were covered in the abnormally straight wounds, and he still held one over his throat. Luckily, the blood flow of that one had been stemmed early enough to prevent a major loss of blood.
Having just made his way up the numerous flights of stairs that led to the Ravenclaw common room, he was physically exhausted. Over the past week that D’rorah had been at his side, she had improved his recovery immensely, through both her telepathic abilities available to soothe his mind and rid him of the nightmares that haunted his mind when she wasn’t there, and her mere presence. Just knowing that someone cared enough to stay by his side that devotedly had improved his demeanor and self-worth issues significantly. Lowering himself gently into his favourite chair before the fire, he sighed in a fatigued manner. Briefly closing his eyes to try and stop the aching of his head, he allowed a deep breath to be inhaled.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 29, 2007 17:02:56 GMT -5
D’rorah made her way up the stairs from the library. She had stopped by the infirmary to visit Dylan and had been informed that he had, in fact, been released not very long before. The soles of her shoes tapped quickly away at the stone floors as she walked hastily down the fourth floor corridor, waiting impatiently for another tedious riddle from the brass knocker which guarded the Ravenclaw common room. The knocker, ever-appreciative of the opportunity to attempt to stump her paused for waylaid her for several seconds with annoying personal questions. You’re here to see the Cooper boy, aren’t you? You know, I just saw him come in. Been a while since he was up here, hasn’t it? In a hurry? Come now, haste makes waste… even for angry sparrows.
The features of the large brass knocker seemed to create a face. And at the moment, it seemed that that face was mocking D’rorah in her desire to enter the common room without any more unnecessary delay. Finally, the requisite riddle was delivered with an intertwined admonition against her cold demeanor, prompting a curt answer from D’rorah before the door finally swung open. She spied Dylan almost immediately, seated in his favorite chair before the fire. “I was told that you had been released,” she remarked softly, coming up behind him. That small statement was all that issued from her lips as she came around to face him. Her face, unreadable to so many, showed a slight hint of concern written in a language which only Dylan, of all her peers, had bothered to learn to read fluently. A million things were on her mind, guilt for what had happened, guilt over the confrontation that had taken place with Astraeus during his stay in the infirmary, anger with whomever had committed the heinous act, relief that he was finally well enough to re-integrate into the student population. Yes, her mind was a maelstrom of emotion, though her face registered only a hint of concern as though more than one slight emotion at a time would overload its capacity for expression.
She sat at his feet, resting her head against his knees as she looked up at him, wondering how he might be feeling today, how his mental state might have changed now that he was out of the infirmary and expected to resume student life as though nothing had happened.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 29, 2007 17:06:55 GMT -5
Hearing a soft voice behind him and recognising it well, Dylan’s face found a light, half-hearted smile. His eyes contained a complete lack of happiness, however, and made it seem as if the smile was not even there. His sad eyes followed her progress as she came around the side of his comfortable leather armchair, its colour of course matching that of Ravenclaw house. Realising fully the worry she held in her expression, he wondered how he’d come to decipher her feelings so well. Admittedly, they’d spent a lot of time together, and a large portion of that time he had observed her features, soaking in the beauty they held. But it was more than that; he himself didn’t generally show emotion in social situations. Generally, however, no-one had really been around that he’d cared to reveal his emotions to. When he was around his recently-acquired friends, though, he held his heart on his sleeve. Perhaps his normal lack of much expression had given him an understanding of what she was feeling and thinking when she herself held such visages. It seemed the death of his father and the resulting closed-off nature he’d presented to the world had come in handy afterall.
As her head came to rest against his knees, he found her eyes. They seemed so familiar and yet during his stay in the infirmary they had seemed so distant from his own. It was nothing that she herself had caused, but the detachment he’d felt from the world after Aiden’s death had departed forcefully on the night of his attack and in the ensuing weeks. Somehow, none of this seemed real; nothing meant anything anymore. He loathed himself for thinking such things… She had been with him the moment he had called to her, and was here now. She was standing by him in what was perhaps his greatest time of physical need, and though he couldn’t help but feel these things, he was angry at himself. She did not deserve this.
His eyes unable to remain within hers, an occurrence in itself which was completely out of the ordinary, they focused instead on his hands. They seemed to prefer such a thing lately; the only part of him that was presentable to the world anymore. Thoughts of the impending school days came to him and he shut them out forcefully; he did not need to worry about that while there was still so much swirling through the vaults of his mind.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 29, 2007 18:29:59 GMT -5
D'rorah watched as Dylan first offered a ghost of a smile, his eyes still almost... dead looking. And then, his eyes drifted away from her own to dwell on his hands. Reaching up with her own hands, she took his hands in each of her own. "You know," she began quietly, "we could alter your robes together. And..." she trailed off. "It does become easier with time... the guilt, the pain... the sheer discomfort with just being in your own skin... it does ease."
She squeezed his hands. There was so much work, so much research to do, but all that had been pushed out of her mind by his need. "You never did teach me to fly," she remarked in a mockingly disappointed tone of voice. There were a million things she would rather do than mount a broom again, but she remembered how his eyes lit whenever he thought of flying and thought that perhaps she could coax him out for an afternoon ride before the indoor curfew went into effect. Maybe, just maybe that would help a bit. "Did you think you could simply put me off until I forgot, Mister Cooper?" she teased. "I even have a broom for the occasion."
She looked up at him, hoping to find his eyes, her own reflecting only happiness at the moment. He hadn't changed as far as she was concerned and she refused to sit around like they were at some sort of funeral... she wanted to show him that things could be normal again if he wanted them to be.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 29, 2007 19:06:13 GMT -5
Predominantly seeing her hands clasp his, the touch was largely lost in his depressive stupour. Swallowing harshly at her initial words, he dreaded the task already. He’d been attempting to suppress any thoughts about his appearance, to have the fact remain a non-verbal being that could be ignored. He liked to fool himself with these little deceptions, even if it didn’t really fool him at all. Somehow, though, it always seemed to make things that little bit better. Now, however, it was presented to him almost on a silver platter. With lost eyes, he found hers once more, unable to bare the pain alone for much longer.
At her next words he nearly jumped to an apology; he was so ridden with guilt and self-deprecation that he just assumed everything was his fault. It took him a lot longer than usual to realise that she was teasing him. His hard expression slackened slightly, revealing what could possibly be a glimmer of a smile. Had he looked in the mirror, which he certainly did not intend to do for some time, he wouldn’t have even noticed it himself. His smile brightened slightly as she continued her teasing, and though it faltered ever-so-slightly, it still remained.
Even if perhaps he was not in the best condition to fly, some fresh air and being surrounded by his element at its most natural could most certainly not hurt. Even having the plant Susan had brought him nearby had aided him just that little bit extra during his stay in the infirmary. Standing, his hands remained in hers. His eyes found hers once more, and did not reflect as much sadness as they had previously. They were not expressing any happiness, but it was an improvement, anyway. Stepping forward, without a word, he took her into a fierce embrace. Savouring it, closing his eyes against the world, for a moment it was just them.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 29, 2007 19:28:32 GMT -5
D'rorah watched as Dylan seemed not to acknowledge her teasing, his face remaining blank. Slowly however, a slight smile began to creep across his face as she had continued. It wasn't much, but it was certainly a start. She assumed that meant she had hit upon an activity he would actually enjoy doing. She stepped back slightly to allow room as he stood and soon found herself pulled forward into a fierce embrace.
Her arms wrapped around him and her chin came to rest in the angle where his neck met his shoulder. For a while, she just let it be, holding him with the same ferocity with which he held her. It felt good to once again feel the reassurance of his embrace and to know that he had not allowed his own physical disfiguration to change him so much that he no longer desired her company. She had been somewhat concerned about that, but still determined to carry on as though things were largely the same.
After a while of standing there with him, she smiled. "I love you, Dylan Cooper." The words were murmured softly into his ear, betraying the depth of her love for him for anyone present to hear. She had decided there was no longer any point in maintaining the secrecy of their relationship. While they wouldn't flaunt it, both being relatively discreet people, she would no longer go out of her way to mislead others. It seemed that her ruse of not being linked with Dylan had fooled no one... he had still been grievously injured.
She allowed them to simply stand there, waiting until he was ready to move, to acknowledge the world again.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 29, 2007 19:49:05 GMT -5
Wanting to simply stay there forever, he recalled the last time he had wished for such a thing. Back in Tel Aviv; before the attack. So it seemed not everything had changed in his life - - he still loved her, and she was still right here with him, quite clearly returning such a strong adoration. Hearing the soft words in his ear, his expression broke into a smile in earnest. Relief washed over him; he was no longer confined within the Hospital Wing like an invalid, the scars that could had mostly healed, and he was returning to the everyday stretch of things.
It would take some adjustment, and he really needed to adjust his robes… But surely everyone would realise the change. Everyone would know, if they did not already. Such a thing was only bad in his books, on two levels. No-one would look at him the same again, not unless they had been good friends before the attack. In addition to that, it would create stirrings of rumours about who might have done it, and anything of the sort might contaminate the true information, thus lessening his chances of identifying the correct person. The debate within him was still strong, however; did he really want to know who had done this? Yes… and no.
Going stir-crazy within the infirmary had done little to reduce the clutter in his mind. He had had plenty of time to think, yes, but he had still come to no conclusions. As long as he had remained there, he had been absent from the rest of the world. Nothing had been conclusive; everything had been dependent on circumstance or the situation. Lying there, day after day, barely able to move, had done nothing to aid the recovery of his mind, and surely that was more important than the recovery of his body. Nevertheless, he was out now, and could perhaps, in time, begin to mentally recover from everything he had endured.
Pulling back from the embrace reluctantly, Dylan found her eyes. Without the worry evident, he liked them a lot more. The happiness within her was infectious, and reminded him of times past. Perhaps things could go back to the way they were… Perhaps they would not need to. In any case, he would simply go with the processes instead of hinder them. He didn’t have the energy, to begin with.
His hands in hers, he released one and remained holding onto its partner. Producing his wand, he knew that the effort required to make his way up the spiraling staircase far exceeded that to cast the desired spell. “Accio broom,” he muttered quietly. Waiting a while, he saw no evidence that it was coming. Gaining a frustrated look, he flicked his wand again. “Accio broom,” he said, his voice more solid. Given that no broom came down the steps leading to his dormitory, Dylan cast his eyes downward in shame. He had always been a good spellcaster… This was completely unfamiliar territory for him. Angrily, he flicked his wand again. “Accio broom,” he commanded loudly, not caring who heard or was disturbed. Finally, he saw his broom emerge into the common room and took it quickly.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 29, 2007 20:20:24 GMT -5
D'rorah smiled as Dylan pulled back and gazed into her eyes. His wand was produced and he uttered a summoning charm, waiting for his broom to appear. She watched as he became more agitated with each failed attempt until finally, mercifully, the broom appeared. Feeling almost ashamed of the fact that she herself was not traumatized and had nothing to bar her from casting the spell effectively the first time, she drew her own wand from her sleeve and gave it a light flourish while speaking the command softly. Her own broom, newly acquired for the purpose of allowing Dylan to instruct her, obediently emerged a few moments later, stopping just in front of her.
"It all improves with time," she replied simply, as though she felt the need to offer an apology of some sort for her ability to summon the broom on the first attempt. She stepped in closer to Dylan and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Give yourself time... do not be impatient... but most of all my love," she paused significantly, "do not blame yourself for your shortcomings while you adjust." She ran her free hand through the new, spiky hair atop his head and smiled. "It feels very nice short, actually." The compliment was genuine. The short hair revealed more of his features, highlighting the face which she had always found to be so striking.
"Come then," she added with a smile, leading him out of the common room by his hand. She didn't want to dwell on his inabilities at the moment. She had addressed the concern and was hoping he would follow her example of continuing on with life. If not, this trauma truly would defeat him and she wasn't sure she could bear to watch such a thing happen.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 29, 2007 20:50:41 GMT -5
Watching her broom appear first time, he would have flushed with embarrassment if he hadn’t been so frustrated with his own weak attempts. At her words, he just hoped she was right. Coming from anyone else, someone who was not as close to his heart, or someone who had not endured an experience so similar, he would have blatantly ignored them, turned on his heel, and excused himself without a word. But he had a vague inkling that if anyone could make him believe such a thing, it was her and only her.
Feeling a light kiss to his cheek, he sighed mournfully. For a brief moment, his depressive stupour nearly overcame him once more; but Dylan Cooper would not be set back by one small obstacle, especially not when he had D’rorah at his side. Her encouragement, her patience, helped him to aim for more, to withstand more of anything before caving in. She gave him something to be strong for. And while it might not seem like simply allowing her to lead him from the common room and agreeing to go down to the Quidditch Pitch was very strong, it was harder than one might imagine for Dylan. Every muscle yearned to remain seated, stagnant before the glow of the fireplace. His mind screamed at him to escape, to be drowned in the eternal darkness of unconsciousness. And yet he withstood it, for her.
Telling him to not be impatient was an ironic sort of statement; he was one of the most impatient people he knew, including his mother. It was so much easier to blame himself for everything, but it would destroy him, too. He needed to get out, get some fresh air, and find something to release all of his negative energy into. Flying would do, for a start. A small smile cropped up onto his face, soon to be gone. “It’s not right…” he commented quietly as she ran her hand through his hair. “It’s not… mine,” he finished.
Sighing once more, he allowed himself to be led from the common room and through the halls. He caught up to her, though only just considering his far-slower-than-usual pace. They reached the first set of stairs and he winced on the first. Going up them had not been fun, but it appeared going back down them was even worse. Grimacing, he continued. Every now and then he would utter a small gasp that he was unable to contain; the rest, however, were subdued. He didn’t want to alarm D’rorah, afterall.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 29, 2007 21:28:59 GMT -5
D'rorah nodded in understanding as Dylan replied that the hair wasn't his. "Nevertheless, it looks quite dashing on you," she remarked, refusing to abandon the smile she had brought to her face.
Hearing Dylan's pained gasps as they descended the stairs, she felt somewhat guilty. Perhaps he really was not yet physically well enough to be up and about. She had been thinking that getting out would be good for him, that it might cheer him some. Knowing it would only undermine his self confidence to offer to help, she resisted the urge to reach out to him, to take his arm and allow him to rest his weight on her shoulder. She did slow her pace however, to remain directly in step beside him.
As they finally reached the ground floor, she put her arm around his waist to continue walking. "You promise not to let me fall, right?" she asked in a tone that was the very verbal embodiment of wide-eyed innocence.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 29, 2007 22:00:24 GMT -5
Reaching the ground floor after what seemed hours of shooting pain and an aching on his hips, he just managed. Being bed-ridden for two weeks had done nothing whatsoever to aid his progress on foot. Going up three flights of stairs to reach his common room had been quite enough as far as his legs had been concerned; Dylan was only glad it had been a while until D’rorah had found him and suggested this walk. Glad that Madam Aku had forced him to perform those painful leg exercises once he was capable and his wounds were fading, he felt D’rorah’s arm slip around his waist.
Exhausted from the effort of clambering down five flights of stairways, he found the support she added helped him greatly. At least now he wasn’t required to focus every ounce of energy in putting one foot ahead of the other. Just because he could, and because he knew she would understand, he draped one arm across her shoulders. Hearing her words, his eyebrows creased with the creating of a soft smile on his features. Wondering if he could indeed promise that he wouldn’t let her fall, he privately thought there was more of a chance of himself falling given his still weakened state. Avoiding the answer of the question but not lying to her, either, he made to nod and stopped himself at the last second.
He was prone to headaches, presumably an after-effect of his head being set on fire, and such a thing was not the best of ideas. “You won’t fall, Dee,” he offered quietly, his smile remaining. For once, it was a very genuine smile, albeit not large. Truth be told, it was a combination of having such a wonderful woman at his side and the prospect of being surrounded by his element at its greatest power once more; not to mention of being within the Quidditch Pitch and possibly even flying again. If only he could fly, he could feel that rush of adrenaline, that listless falling to the earth of every problem in the world as he soared higher and higher, defying gravity.
Departing the castle, he wondered how long they had until curfew and, assuming the times had not changed during his brief stint in the infirmary, they still had at least five hours. He had been released early in the day, afterall, following one last check-up and fussing over by Madam Aku. Gradually treading over the sloping grass, the young couple soon found themselves approaching the Quidditch Pitch. Ever nearer… he had nearly reached it now. Every step was bringing him that much closer to the joy that Quidditch gave him, and the element about him infused him with energy he had never perceived that he could gain in such a state.
Finally they reached their destination, and he gently slid his arm from about her. “How often have you flown before?” he queried lightly, his eyes steadily gaining light. Though they were still slightly darkened, he knew that if he felt stable enough to rise into the air, that pervading darkness would disappear immediately.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 29, 2007 22:22:44 GMT -5
D'rorah would have smiled to feel Dylan's arm around her shoulder, except that she knew that it meant he felt too weak to walk unaided. Showing no sign of her concern in her face, she decided to merely enjoy the closeness with him that she had missed over the past weeks. It was hard to believe the weekend in Tel Aviv had been so recent... it felt like so long ago. Savoring the closeness, though regretting the reason it had come about, D'rorah followed Dylan's lead toward the quidditch pitch, enjoying the fresh air and light breeze which teased loose a few wisps of her hair.
As he removed his hand from her waist, she turned to face him, casting her eyes about somewhat sheepishly at his question. "Well, I have ridden once... but I do not remember much about it other than that I somehow managed to collide with a tree." It wasn't so much the failure she was embarrassed of, but the fact that she had not continued trying until she had gotten it right. At the time, flying seemed rather silly... it was the one class all of her fellow first years had looked forward to--and the one class she had not cared for because there were no books and the Professor had almost immediately set her out as fair game for her classmates by picking at D'rorah's dismal flying skills. No, she had dropped that class in favor of enrolling in a third year elective ancient runes class. That, she felt, was a respectable way for a student to spend time, unlike whipping around on some old bundle of sticks for no particular reason.
She smiled a bit. "You really are starting from scratch here. If I turn out to be too great a disappointment, I could simply watch you instead."
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 29, 2007 22:58:59 GMT -5
Resisting an urge to laugh, he remained content to simply broaden his smile. “Well… there aren’t any trees, but you don’t want to hit the stands,” he commented quietly, his mood improving by the second. Releasing his broom, it hovered at the perfect height for him and, revitalised by the earth around him, he moved easily to her. Every ache, every pain seemed to lesson in light of the imminent happiness that was sure to ensue. Wondering just how bad she would have to be to crash into a tree, he supposed that at least it had been her first time… He assumed it had been, anyway.
Gently taking the broom from within her grasp, he released it and allowed it to hover. “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he added softly, a small smile still evident. Apparently, this was exactly what he needed. “I’ll go with you to begin with, if you want,” he suggested lightly, knowing there was probably more safety in numbers considering her obvious lack of flying skill and his weakened state. Waiting for her to climb on, he followed suit. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding firmly but not enough to hurt her, and his body leant against hers. “Now,” he said quietly, unable to whisper due to her slightly longer torso. “Grip the handle with both hands, your quill hand in front of the other,” he continued. “When you’re ready, push off lightly from the ground. It’s quite solid today, so you shouldn’t need to propel yourself too much. When you’re in the air, just glide and lean forward a bit.” That done, he made sure he was ready for when she chose to take off, the nearness of her clogging his senses somewhat.
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Post by D'rorah Philosophy on Nov 30, 2007 0:25:41 GMT -5
"No trees... but the stands are a much larger target," she observed dryly. "I have difficulty seeing how I could fail to hit them."
She nodded at his suggestion that he would go with her. She only hoped that she wouldn't send the both of them hurtling into some nearby stationary object. She stood over the broom and momentarily felt Dylan behind her. Feeling his arms wrap around her waist, she took a deep breath to try to clear her head of the thoughts that suddenly popped into her mind. She followed his instructions as he pressed against her, left hand at the front of the broom, right hand following closely behind it.
She took a deep breath once more before kicking off from the ground, feeling her heart race slightly. She kicked perhaps a bit too vigorously, for the broom rose rapidly and unsteadily into the air, jostling the both of them around a bit before she was able to get it under control. She was ready at that moment to call an end to the lesson, to make some excuse that this was enough for one lesson.
When she leaned forward, the broom began to drift back towards the ground instead of moving forward as she had hoped. Her usual calm demeanor was at a loss and at the moment, her palms were damp with sweat as she fretted over her next move.
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Post by Dylan Cooper on Nov 30, 2007 4:33:17 GMT -5
Smiling at her comment, he braced himself for what was to come. As she kicked off, he was glad that he was holding on just as he was; had his grip been any slacker, he might have fallen a few metres to the ground. It was not something high on his agenda at present. He knew immediately, through both his experiences of D’rorah and his knowledge of how one should be on a broom, that she was uneasy. “You’re alright,” he uttered quietly, hoping to reassure her.
His arms gripped her more solidly as if telling her that he had things under control; a concept which, of course, was ridiculous, but Dylan knew his way around brooms and suspected that she was not all that bad at flying. He had full confidence in her, in fact. She had only ever tried once, afterall, and everyone was a bit iffy on their first attempt. Not only that, but that had remained her only experience thus far and he suspected her so-called ‘lack of ability’ was more due to a severe lack of confidence in something that had no basis in textbooks.
Feeling her lean forward, he mirrored the action but only moved about half the amount. “Lean back into me,” he suggested quietly, knowing she was too far forward. He felt good… solid. He felt like he always did upon a broom; as if nothing could harm him. He felt like his old self again. His arms slid down hers and rested atop them, all the better for him to feel the movements of her hands. “Take a deep breath and relax a bit,” he said softly, his voice carrying easily over the relatively still air. As it was, her hands were gripping the handle too tightly; one required the lightest of touches to transfer a desired movement to the broomstick, and her strong grip would create only heavy jerks of motion. Not many people realised, but there was an art to being able to fly well.
His body was truly relaxed for perhaps the first time in weeks, his hands resting upon hers lightly and his body against hers. “Point the nose of the broom up slightly,” he added, her scent continuing to affect him in ways that were not entirely appropriate for flying. “Gently,” he commented, suggesting in that one word that she need not be so forceful.
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