The Warblers, But In Hogwarts [Discontinued]

Chapter Eleven

"So, someone becomes an obscurial by their magic being repressed," Kurt summarized from his book. "It says you need to understand you were repressing your magic, understand why you were repressing your magic, fix the problem that was making you repress your magic, and learn that you don't need to repress your magic any longer."

Blaine rubbed his temples. "I'm sorry, say that again? It's a lot to process all at once."

"Here, we'll go through it step-by-step. Your magic is this way because your magic was being repressed. Do you understand that you were repressing your magic?"

He hesitated.

'You. Are. Not. Magic,' the voice in his head echoed in a growl. 'Not under my roof. Got it? Your whore mother was, but you won't be.'

"Blaine?"

He looked back up at Kurt. "Yeah. Yeah, I was repressing it for a while. A long time, really."

"Okay. Do you know why you were repressing your magic?"

"My... My mom was a witch. She died when I was young. My father only found out she was magic after she died. And then I..." His mouth was dry. He clenched his hand into a fist, then slowly relaxed his muscles, calming himself down. "I started showing signs of magic, and my father tried to beat it out of me."

He braced himself for apologies, for sympathy, for the 'oh you poor thing.'

But Kurt reached across the table, gently took his hand, and kept going. He didn't press it. "The next step is fixing the problem that made you repress your magic. Is he out of your life?"

"Yeah, he got arrested. I live with my aunt now. She's a witch. She encourages my being a wizard."

"That's good. The last step is to learn you don't need to repress your magic any longer, so that must be the step we're working on together."

"I know I don't need to repress my magic," he pointed out.

Kurt looked up at him from the book. "Well... Logically, I'm sure you do. But in your bones, do you know it? Do you never think about situations in which you'd have to repress your magic, or wake up from a nightmare and not automatically think 'it's okay, I don't have to hold back my magic anymore, I can be myself?'"

Blaine was quiet. "You... You're right. Does it say that?"

"No. I..." Kurt hesitated. "I know it's not nearly the same thing, but I used to be bullied for being gay. It took me a long time to wake up from a nightmare and immediately think 'it's okay, I don't have to hide who I am anymore. Nobody's going to hurt me.' To not immediately run through who would be somewhere and if I had to dress plain and drop my voice around them whenever I left the house."

"Oh. But you did it?"

"I did. And I know you can do it too. It'll take time, but we have time."

"Do we?" Blaine asked half-heartedly.

"Of course we do. What's wrong?"

He sighed. "Just... I don't know. I'm not sure about this. Has anyone ever had this work for them?"

Kurt let go of Blaine's hand and gestured to the books across the table. "If they have enough information to write all these books on it, then yes, it's worked."

"I guess... It just seems so... Hard. It'd be easier to go to Azkaban."

"No! No, absolutely not," Kurt said sternly. "Look, if you don't want to do this, I can't force you too. I want to help you, but I can't if you won't let me. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. But I am not letting you go to Azkaban."

Blaine frowned. "What's so bad about it? I mean, you told me about the prison guards, and Sebastian said how they were 'horrible, dead things' and how they suck out your soul but not really much more than that."

Kurt took a breath. "It is... Cold. It is so, unbelievably cold. You can see your breath, but more than that. It's the atmosphere. It's silent until you get close enough to the cells. When you get close enough to the cells, you can hear the prisoners talking— mumbling to themselves. The dementors make them— they drive them insane.

"It's torture just to visit as a guest. Your mind, no matter how hard you try, goes back to the worst moments of your life— to, to the moments when you were scared. When you were the most scared you'd ever felt. Your limbs feel heavy— like lead, they feel made of lead. Your brain screams to leave, but every muscle in your body is too exhausted to move.

"When you manage to drag yourself out, still you aren't really— you aren't quite yourself until you're off the island, off it completely. Then the warmth returns, you can breath again, your limbs work. You can think clearly. It's the worst place I've ever been. It's the worst place that exists. If there's a hell, it can't be worse than Azkaban."

It was quiet. Kurt had a haunted look in his eyes, like he was being visited by the Ghost of Christmas Trauma.

Blaine wished he hadn't asked.

"So... Learning that I don't need to repress my magic, you said?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, looking back at the book.