Broken Ties (Dylan)

[D'rorah Philosophy]

D'rorah made her way into the common room with her satchel filled with books. She hadn't seen Dylan here in quite some time, and so had resumed her habit of finding a place close to the fireplace to study in order to have the benefit of the warmth. Knowing that summer was coming, she knew it wouldn't be long before the common room fireplaces were extinguished as students began to protest the heat. Until that happened, she would enjoy it as much as she was able.

Finding a table open near the fireplace, she began spreading out her texts around her. She had no compunction about taking up an entire table for herself, knowing no one would approach to sit with her even if she left room. She had been given a wide berth since the confrontation that day. People would rather speculate from a distance as to what might have caused her scars than actually interact with her. The other advantage to the common room, of course, was that she might catch of glimpse of Kerridon passing through. She wouldn't be able to acknowledge him or allow her gaze to linger upon him... for that matter, she wouldn't even be able to allow her thoughts to linger upon him. But still, having him nearby, even if he was only passing through, would be nice. She had missed him since their brief journey to New York. It had been a wonderful weekend, but of course it had ended too soon.

So much had happened lately... Alessandro had returned, Sam Kelley had been discovered as the new Elemental Master of Water, Niobe Blakes had been discovered as the new Shadow Warrior of Earth... the Lightfighters were complete again, all Elements currently accounted for. It was progress... now they just needed unity. Pushing these concerns aside for the moment, she turned her focus to her texts and began quietly scratching away at the parchment before her with her quill. It danced around with her writing movements, dancing across the sheaves of her notebook. Overall, she was rather happy with the way things were beginning to progress once again. She had some hope that all of the Lightfighters would come together again soon, she had Kerridon... after so many months of what had seemed like it would be endless despair, she was starting to feel human again.

[Dylan Cooper]

Classes had finished for the afternoon and Quidditch practice had gone relatively well, if you conclude that 'well' entails a few missing team members and everyone who actually showed up being slightly preoccupied with other matters. Still, it felt good to get onto his broom and fly; one of the few things that did feel good for him these days. Since his most recent confrontation with Kerridon and D'rorah in the Room of Requirement, he had largely avoided not only them, but everyone. He had even avoided all classes and meals in the Great Hall for a short period. But he knew his current self-loathing and depression, brought on by an overwhelming case of guilt, would do no good to take hold of him. Instead, he knew that facing the world was the only way to go, much as he would like to still be in his bed, curtains drawn and head on his pillow.

As he changed out of his slightly damp training robes, he tossed them carelessly into his trunk, not even bothering to dry or fold them, which he knew he would probably regret later. Regardless, he pulled on some more comfortable clothing, ran a comb through his hair maybe once before giving up on the tangled, wet mess. His hair swung around his eyes and was partially plastered to his face as he made his way from the dorm and down into the common room, his Potions work in his hands. As he emerged from the stairwell, he moved to a currently unoccupied window-side table. Taking one of the two chairs, he slid his large Potions book, half-finished essay and writing tools onto the small, round, wooden table. Only once he sat down did he look up, to less-than-happily realise that D'rorah was occupying a table not too far away, though closer to the fireplace.

Averting his eyes to the cover of the book beneath him, he read and re-read the title several times, aiming to find some distraction. He had only really been around her once since that day on the seventh floor, but that had been in a class, and was hardly the same. Still, no reason to think she wouldn't act just the same and ignore his very existance. It was no more than he deserved, and in fact probably far better than he deserved from her, but a very large part of him was coming to ache for missing her presence in his life. It was all his own fault, obviously, but that didn't stop him from half-hoping, half-wishing that maybe she would realise that he had changed and... dare he even think it, start just talking to him again? The notion was entirely preposterous, but a part of him needed to hold onto something, even if it was imaginary hope.

Taking some effort to swallow, he flipped to the page he needed and dipped his quill into the pottle of black ink he had brought with him. He was continuing on with his essay from where he had left it, re-reading the last few sentences to try and gather where he was up to. Glancing up, he couldn't help but notice that she was occupying a table alone, as she so often had before, and was surrounded by texts. Staring for a few moments, he licked his lips and cast his eyes back downwards again. He shouldn't bother her by staring, what was he thinking?

Somehow, however, his eyes seemed to keep finding her. He was, in his opinion, far beyond redemption or forgiveness, but held onto the idea that what Kerridon had suggested, that Shadow Magic had found it's way into his potion and all of this wasn't his fault at all. He felt guilty for trying to shift blame, to pretend this wasn't his fault, but perhaps it was the only way he could keep functioning. Without doubt, as his anger had begun to subside and be replaced by an irreprable guilt, he had stopped; stopped everything. Stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped talking or doing anything, for a few days at least. His skin had suffered, the marks beneath his eyes had definitely become a more dominant feature, and his hair had looked entirely uncared for. His eyes still had large shadows because his sleep was often punctured with uncomfortable dreams, but other than that he had mostly regained composure.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

As usual, D'rorah was working steadily away at the texts before her, quill dancing fluidly over parchment as her eyes moved back and forth over the pages of the texts she was working with. She was focused on her work, and so had filtered out the various comings and goings around her. Of course, for the sake of her own safety, she knew it was wise to keep some awareness of her immediate surroundings. So while she noted the approach of someone who took a seat at a nearby table, she did not look up to see who it was, quickly dismissing the newcomer as a non-threat.

It was several minutes later, however, when she felt a pair of eyes repeatedly making their way to her. She didn't look up... instead, she stretched out her mental awareness to see who was watching her so intently from the next table over without looking up. Her quill never broke its pace and she did not look up as she noted Dylan's presence. If he thought he could catch her off-guard, he was mistaken. She pushed the presence to the back of her mind, but found herself unable to ignore the feeling of his eyes returning to her repeatedly.

[blue]"If you are watching me, silently plotting your next attack, Mister Cooper,"[/blue] she spoke up, never once halting her quill or raising her eyes, [blue]"you will find I am not as unaware a target as you might think."[/blue] Her voice was cool as she spoke and she did not deign to look up at him, however she tensed slightly, ready to react if he made any move to attack her. She couldn't see how tired he looked or the expression on his face. She had seen enough hatred and loathing there already to last the remainder of her lifetime. She wouldn't be chased out of her common room and she wouldn't run off cowering in fear. They would have to find some way of co-existing for the sake of the Lightfighters and the war they were all currently locked in.

[Dylan Cooper]

He was nervous. His own body language was enough to give that away to anyone caring to watch, even Dylan himself. He surmised that whenever someone was looked at enough, they got that prickly feeling on the back of their neck, or some other tell-tale indicator or feeling that they were indeed beind watched. D'rorah was hardly unresponsive to her environment, so he tried to stop staring. He was still, however, largely falling short of that target. He wasn't prepared or expecting her mind to be reaching out to seek his, either, so completely failed to notice it. Apparently, though, she managed to learn his identity without even having to look at him, and he could only surmise that was how she had done it.

As she spoke, he couldn't help but feel slightly surprised. As per the last time they had been in a room together, in Defence, he supposed she would just ignore him; it had worked for her last time. Perhaps his persistent staring had caught her attention enough to disturb or annoy her - she certainly seemed on guard against him, and why not. After all he had done to her over the past few months, he would be extremely surprised if she wasn't. Still unsure himself as to why he had acted the way he had, he was confident she still had very good reason to be wary, even tense. For all he knew, some fit of rage or instability might yet wash over him; but somehow, he felt different than he had before their latest encounter in the Room of Requirement. He felt calmer, and not angry or violent, but confused and even slightly scared. What he had done to her, what he had thought of doing to her, was unspeakable, and he dreaded more than anything doing any more harm to her whatsoever. He supposed if nothing else, that even his presence might, but he couldn't bring himself to make any movement at this point in time; his body simply wouldn't co-operate.

For a moment he considered not replying to her; afterall, he supposed that after how he had talked to her the last time he had even bothered, he didn't really deserve to even try and explain himself. But he knew that after what he had done, he had come out of whatever psychotic phase he had been having with the same feelings he had possessed for her before he had gone to St Mungo's. It was beyond imagining or belief to think things would go back to how they were, but he had to try. That would probably start with seeking out Kerridon, as much as he was currently avoiding him due to his closeness to Dee, and finding out what he could about the potion he had been taking. Of course, since that day, he had failed to retrieve his flask back, and instead replaced it and the potion with ones from the school nurse, but he still needed to get answers; for his own sanity if nothing else.

"I..." words failed him for a moment and his voice sounded coarse, as if he had not used it for a while. "I don't want to attack you... I don't want to hurt you." That statement in itself sounded preposterous, even to him, given his recent actions toward her, but that was as articulate as he could get at this point. "I mean... I know you won't believe me, and you have no reason to, but I just... don't want to hurt you, not anymore." He choked back an unpleasant tear and became annoyed with himself very quickly. She didn't want to hear this, not now, and certainly not from him, someone who had caused her so much pain. He hoped that deep down she would know it hadn't really been him doing those things, but a poisoned potion, and that her old feelings would be renewed. If he hadn't been in a room with her, he would have laughed at that notion, but considering what he had just said he assumed laughter from him would not be accepted happily by her ears.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

A few beats passed after D'rorah had spoken, and she thought that perhaps Dylan had gotten her message and was simply choosing to remain silent. She was ready to react if he made any move toward her, though anyone watching would have simply seen her quill continuing to dance across paper uninterrupted. She didn't plan to actively seek to harm him, but she would definitely defend herself from any attack that was presented. Just when she thought the encounter might simply be over, she heard Dylan's halting voice speak speak from the other table.

Had he just woken up? His voice sounded coarse and unused. His words, however, took her attention fully away from his tone of voice. She exhaled shortly, a sound of disbelief and derision emanating from her throat as he stated that he didn't want to hurt her. Clearly, after the past months she had endured, she didn't believe the statement in the least. If he hadn't wanted to hurt her, there had been plenty of time to exercise that want since he had returned. It was his statement of "not anymore" that pulled her attention away from what she was doing. Her quill stopped its flight in mid-stroke and she looked up, her eyes narrowing.

A part of her was immediately concerned by his appearance. She paused, her eyes widening ever-so-slightly as the snappy retort that had been at the tip of her tongue was squelched. She was torn between wanting to find out what was wrong and wanting to snap at him. How dare he come here, staring at her and interrupting her research after everything else he had done to her? She didn't want to feel concerned for him. She had things to do. He had been heartlessly cruel to her for months... had physically and emotionally abused her... and how here he was, pulling at her sympathy when all she wanted was to ignore him and get on with her obligations. [blue]"What, pray tell, has inspired this sudden change?"[/blue] she asked coolly, unwilling to concede to the desire to comfort him. [blue]"Are you too exhausted to wreak much physical havoc? Or would it simply be too inconvenient to rise from where you are seated to attack me? I would so hate to inconvenience you in such a cold and callous way."[/blue] She set her quill aside, eyes narrowing a bit more. [blue]"Or has your twittering new true love gone and broken your heart, stealing even the desire to lash out at anyone else emotionally?"[/blue] she scoffed, making the statement in a pointedly overacted manner that was clearly intended to be derisive.

She could already feel the nastiness within her dissipating. Even after everything that she had gone through, she was finding it difficult to feel any satisfaction in Dylan's pain. However, in the back of her mind, she couldn't accept his emotional turmoil as genuine. Surely, this was simply another attempt to get her off-guard so that he might again wreak some havoc in her life. She had no intention of allowing a plan like that to work. If he thought he might win her back only to break her heart again, he was sorely mistaken. She was quite happy with Kerridon, even if she couldn't spend time with him openly or think of him freely. She reached for her quill once again, running her fingers slowly over the fronds on it as she arched an eyebrow at Dylan, waiting to see whether he would even bother to reply.

[Dylan Cooper]

He had completely expected the noise of derision that echoed from within her throat, or at least something along the lines of obvious disbelief. It didn't make it that much easier to bare, but at least he had been expecting it. He knew his statement had sounded ludicrous, but at this point it was the truth, despite what he had wished for before he had been forced to have a new potion created for him. Back then he had inexplicably wanted to hurt her, to cause any damage he could, and thinking back he still had not been able to find a reason. All through the last few months he had never really seemed to feel the need to think of the reasoning behind his other thoughts and any of his actions, but now it was all he could do. He had concluded a few days previously that there simply had been no reason, but ever since he couldn't help wondering. If Kerridon assured him that the potion had not been the cause or even motivation behind his actions, he could only think that he had endured a severe mental breakdown or had some kind of prolonged fit... if this all turned out to actually be his fault and not the work of any Shadow Magic, Dylan would know what to do; he would follow whatever plan of action he had to, just to make sure that D'rorah and everyone else were safe from him.

He noticed that her quill had finally ceased moving across the page before her, and he wondered what he might have said or done to trigger that; up until that point, she had been quite content to resume working, a clear indicator that she felt he wasn't worth holding up what he assumed were her translations. He could see her eyes were very clearly narrowed at him and wasn't surprised in the least, nor was he surprised by the lack of warmth in her reply; it was more than he deserved that she was even speaking to him without shouting or cursing. At her first query, he knew that he didn't really have the answer, for her or for himself, but he had to say something. "No... it's not..." he stammered slightly, trying to explain that it wasn't because it would simply be an inconvenience. What he wanted to say was that he really didn't want to hurt her, that whatever had come over him previously had completely disapparated; but things never came out quite the way someone might want.

"I don't know," he said plaintively, wanting her to believe him. "I don't know why things are different again, I don't know why I did those things to you. Ever since Kerridon took that potion off me, it's like I've come to my senses. And I'm not, you know... blaming a potion, because it had to have been my fault... but... But I feel different, everything's different," he said. There were a lot of spaces and haltings within his little speech, but he felt that perhaps he had gotten the right idea across anyway. For her, things were probably exactly the same, Dylan trying to lure her into a false sense of security, leave herself open to attack; but for him, he was simply back to having the feelings he had felt for her before all of this. He felt almost exactly as he had done when he had slipped that ring onto his finger, that ring that at this moment was tucked safely in his pocket - during his few days of complete depression, he had found the ring cast under his bed, lying neglected, and had immediately retrieved it. The only difference between then and now was the past, and the future. So much had happened, and he was highly doubtful things could be that peaceful between them again.

He saw her eyebrow was arched; he supposed she would not believe a word coming out of his mouth. The idea that this was some cruel plan of his was probably incredibly hard for her to disbelieve; of course, when Dylan had attacked her before, he had not lulled her into a ruse of security, he had just shot out. She might realise this, but perhaps would simply think he was trying more tactics. Instead of submitting her to his presence, he rose from his table and approached hers slowly. He kept his hands steadily at his sides, not wanting her to believe he was trying to hex her or something of the sort, right until he reached her table. Slowly reaching into his pocket and slowly withdrawing his hand once more, he placed the ring upon one of the books adorning her table; there was no free space for him to put it directly onto the wooden surface. "For what it's worth, I am sorry, D'rorah," he said, his eyes attempting to find hers, trying to convey that he meant what he said. They showed none of the malice or contemptment he had held before, but instead were more similar to those that she had looked into so many times before his trip to the magical hospital. And before he could do any more damage to their tattered relationship, he went to retrieve his books and retreat away from the common room once more, beginning to pile his still unfinished essay and writing tools onto his textbook.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

D'rorah watched Dylan as he spoke. He didn't know. Yes, well, that was awfully convenient for him. Suddenly, miraculously, she was supposed to believe he had changed heart. She supposed that meant she was supposed to throw aside the past few months and forget they had happened. If he was going to try to trick her into a false sense of security again, he might have at least not insulted her intelligence and come prepared with some sort of plausible explanation for what had happened. Her knuckles whitened as she clenched a fist under the table, her own anger building. She was angry at Dylan for everything that had happened. And she was angry with herself for the concern for him that pulled at the back of her mind. After everything he had done, why was she suddenly sitting here feeling concern for a tearful conversation? He had ignored her when she had made spoken to him. No, worse, he hadn't ignored her, he had taken the opportunity to make her feel even worse about herself. He couldn't even just leave her to her misery... he wouldn't talk to her and tell her what she had done.

And then he was blaming a potion. She remembered her own surprise that Dylan had been taking a potion from the Shadow Realm. She didn't know where it could have come from. And the effect? To make him hate her specifically? It seemed too implausible. It wasn't as if he had never acted against her in anger before this either... there had been that one time before his disappearance... a strange argument that had turned worse. He had stopped himself then... but now it was called back to her mind in full force. Dylan had always been a very emotional creature... and on more than one occasion, she had had to deal with the aftermath of those emotions in the form of his depression or vulnerability. She had been forced to watch helplessly as he pined away his life over one unhappiness or the next. Only this time, the emotion had been anger... and he was blaming it all on a potion. How convenient to have the scapegoat of some unknown potion for his wildly changing emotions this time.

D'rorah looked up, watching Dylan warily as he approached her. The hand clenched in a fist under the table moved instinctively toward her wand as his hand went into his pocket. Every muscle in her body was coiled, waiting to spring if the need arose. He was moving slowly, as if to show that he had no ill intention, but that didn't cause her to ease her posture any. She watched as his hand was withdrawn from his pocket, wondering what he was doing. The question was answered as he left behind a ring upon one of her books. She remembered it quite well. Her eyes moved to his as he spoke again, searching them as her brow furrowed in confusion. That confusion quickly changed first to anger, and then to hurt. They both knew the strange pull Dylan had on her emotions, and the way she suddenly seemed to be much less in control of her facial expressions when he was around. Though they were subtle, the emotions was certainly there. She sat in shocked silence as he turned away, moving to gather his books.

It took a moment for her to remember she had a voice, and another moment again to recall how to use it. [blue]"Sorry?"[/blue] she questioned, her voice quiet as she fought to keep herself in control. [blue]"You are sorry"?[/blue] She rose from her seat and plucked the ring from atop her text in the same manner one might pull a piece of lint from a good suit. [blue]"I nearly killed myself searching for you. I hardly slept or ate for months. You actively avoided me when you returned... then moved on to that nattering halfwit sixth year girl... and then..."[/blue] she trailed off, exhaling slowly as her ire gathered and she fought the urge to scream at him. [blue]"You took everything I had ever told you about myself in confidence and used it to humiliate me, hurt me, debase me in front of the entire common room... you nearly beat me to death. And all you can find to say is that you are blaming it on some potion and that you are sorry"?[/blue] She fought the urge to hurl the ring at him... along with any surrounding piece of furniture she might be able to lay her hands on. Instead, she walked up to him, grasped his hand roughly, and pressed the ring into it with a fair amount of force. "[blue]This does not belong to me. And I would appreciate if you would keep your damned baubles off of my texts. Some of them are very delicate. You wanted it back... you pursued it relentlessly. Well, here it is. Do not think you can simply claim ownership of me again with some poorly constructed story about potions and ignorance. You publicly betrayed every confidence I ever placed in you... so do not think you can play on my ridiculous sentimentality regarding you to wipe all of that away. Not now! Not when I have finally begun to heal and move on! You will not trample my happiness again. This is cruel, even for you, Dylan Cooper. You won your little game... now stop tormenting me."[/blue]

Clenching her jaw and blinking back a tear, she started to turn to head back to her table. She wouldn't leave. Oh no, this was her common room too and she was not backing down on that for a moment. She was through trying to placate Dylan and make him happy. Enough was enough already... and even though she couldn't help but feel bad for what appeared to be distress and his depleted appearance, it wasn't her problem. He had plenty of friends... people seemed to like Dylan. Let one of them deal with whatever this was. It was difficult, but she was disciplined. She ignored the guilty conscience that screamed at her to go back; no use letting him play that to his advantage against her yet again.

[Dylan Cooper]

He paused in the process of collecting his things as she responded. Thankfully facing the opposing wall, he was able to wince at her tone of voice without revealing such an expression to D'rorah herself. What on earth had he been expecting? Well, perhaps he had expected this, but he at least needed to lay some kind of foundation. If he simply continued to avoid her as much as possible for the remainder of the year until she departed the school, she would never get a reasoning behind why he had done those things. Clearly, finding out an actual reasoning for his behaviour would be key in that, and he noted to himself to track down Kerridon as quickly as possible. D'rorah at least deserved to know the why of things, what had happened to cause such a radical change in his demeanor towards her - almost every time he had confronted her over the past few months, she had inquired as to why; clearly, it was important to her. No doubt, telling her that he didn't know and that it was all a potion's fault, would not satisfy her. He didn't think it would satisfy anyone, really; he could almost imagine how pathetic he looked to her right now.

He turned as he heard her voice coming closer, and knew she was approaching him. Keeping his eyes far away from hers as she spoke, Dylan swallowed, hard, and took in everything she seemed longing to yell at him, but was simply angrily stating at this point. He knew he shouldn't, but his hand tingled as she touched it, albeit roughly and just so that she could discard that ring back into his possession. He knew that perhaps it was a bad idea, but he raised his eyes to her anyway as she concluded. Looking decidedly lost for words, as indeed he was, he quietly cleared a small knot out of his throat that was preventing him from saying the words he was unable to think of. She said that she had started to move on, and clearly indicated that she was happy. Perhaps, indeed, she would simply be better off without him entirely. He wanted her, he needed her, but he far from deserved her, and if she was happy with someone else then who was he to try and stand in her way? Not only would it be entirely selfish, but completely undeserved - she was entitled to move on, to forgot who he had been to her and what they had been together; so much the better.

"As you wish," he said quietly, clenching the ring within his palm and gathering his things quickly. He seemed to perhaps have done more harm than good, but at least he had begun to try and explain. Perhaps if he continued to show that he was remorseful, that he had not intended to do those things to her, then she would see that he no longer meant her any harm. He would leave her to her happiness with Kerridon for now; she deserved something better than him, at any rate, something far better. Collecting his things within his arms, he proceeded out of the common room door and into the hallway, heading for somewhere he could very much be alone.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

"As you wish." The words echoed in her head. They were the only thing he had to say in response to everything she had said to him. It was like she didn't even matter enough to try to argue back... he wouldn't hold on to her the way she had tried to desperately to hold on to him when he had returned. And, despite how angry she had been with him and the fact that she had already started to move on, this felt like a completely new rejection. And it hurt more than she had anticipated.

Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe this hadn't been an attempt to lure her into a sense of security so that he might spring. But why now? If it was the potion, he had stopped taking that weeks ago. It didn't make sense why he was suddenly coming to her now. She watched him walking away, feeling sadness all over again at everything they had been together that had been so carelessly thrown away. Dylan had been her first... everything. He had been her first kiss, her first date, her first dance with someone who wasn't her father. Why did it feel like so long ago that everything been perfect? The only thing darkening the horizon of their future together was the uncertainty of war... and then this.

And now D'rorah was upset. But she had no one to go to. Kerridon was forbidden while they were at school, for both of their safety. The only Lightfighter she was really close to was Bryan, her Elemental Master... but she couldn't bring herself to seek him out. Having this partially healed wound reopened made her want to push away those around her even more. And so, as soon as the door closed behind him, she carefully gathered her belongings and headed to her dormitory to deposit them in her trunk. Even though her books were usually her solace, she needed to get away from the castle, and that meant leaving the books behind here where they would be safe. She carefully warded and hexed the trunk before pushing open the dormitroy window and heading out for a flight. Perhaps the wind would calm her.