Oh, Ophelia | C. De Vil

Fifteen; The other side -> The boys

ZEVON, it seemed, was the last one to wake up. "Oh, your finally awake," Harry said.

Zevon ignored him. "Where are we?" He asked Junior. The older boy shrugged.

"No idea," he said. "The guards caught us, and here we are,"

"So we're either in Adam's stupid school or in prison then," Zevon said dryly.

"They don't have beds in prison, idiot," Harry glared.

"You think I don't know that? You didn't let me complete my sentence," Zevon rolled his eyes.

Junior sighed, knowing another argument was going to break out. "Can you both be quiet?"

Harry and Zevon ignored him.

"This is all your fault," Harry accused. "If you had just let me save Cj, none of us would be here right now!"

"It's your fault as well," Zevon retorted. "I have potions for almost anything. If you had just let me save her, I would've made her -- then the rest of us -- invisible and we all would've escaped."

"Guys," Junior said. "Maybe you two should stop arguing and help Gil and I figure out a plan to get out?"

Zevon and Harry glared at him. Junior gulped and backed away, looking quite like a scared puppy.

"I'll just use one of the potions -" Zevon said.

Harry interrupted. "You can't. They've taken all our things and they probably took yours as well,"

Zevon's eyes widened. "You're joking! Not my potions!"

"Where did you keep those potions?" Junior asked, watching as Zevon searched his pockets.

"In a little box. It was enchanted to be bigger on the inside. I found out when we came to Bore-a-don." Zevon said. "I can't find it!"

"They probably opened it and took it," Gil said. He had been unusually quiet. Though, that must have been because Harry and Junior had asked him to "Shut up!" earlier.

"They couldn't have enchanted it! It was a magical lock! Only those related to the Groové family can open it!" Zevon said, running a hair through his hair in frustration.

"Anyway, we have to get out of here." Harry shrugged.

"Wait a minute," Zevon said out-of-the-blue. "Why didn't any of you wake me up?"

"Should we have woken you up?" Gil asked.

"Ignore him. We were all panicking and waking you up just slipped our minds." Junior said.

Zevon face-palmed. Why did he have to be stuck with them?

"Ah, you're all awake!" A deep, masculine voice said. "I would've proclaimed you dead if you weren't awake."

They all jumped.

"Who's that?" Zevon whispered headedly to Junior.

"I don't know. He just came in here and then went out again without saying anything a little while ago." Junior whispered back.

"I am," the man continued. "Gerald Terry. Your teacher." He gave a nasty grin.

"Now, volunteers for our first project," Gerald said, looking at all of them. "None? Well, that wouldn't do. Ah, well, never mind. I'll pick."

"You," He pointed at Junior. "Gaston Junior right?"

Junior gulped. "Um-uh-yes sir."

"Come here," He said.

Junior walked over to him. Gerald observed him.

"Hmm," he said. "Hair's all okay. We should bleach it though-"

"Bleach it!" Junior yelled. "Why?"

"Because I said so." Gerald snapped. "Now shut up or it'll be worse."

Junior kept silent, but he glared subtly at Gerald.

"Now, hmm, you should wear suit number 0098." Gerald said. "Tell that to the guard outside, will you? Or better," Geraldine took out a paper from his pocket and wrote something on it. "Give it to him. Another guard will replace him after you two leave."

He chased Junior -- who protested -- out and closed the door. "You," he pointed at Gil. "Gil Gaston eh?" Gil, who went pale when Gerald pointed at him, nodded, whimpering. "Hmm. Come here."

Gil walked over to him, shivering. Gerald looked at Gil's hair and shook his head. "Your hair won't do. We have to cut it."

"No, not my hair!" Gil yelled, devastated.

"Quiet!" Gerald barked. "And you'll wear suit number 0987. Now go." He wrote something in a piece of paper and gave it to Gil. Gil, too, was chased out.

"You," He pointed at Harry. "Harry Hook. Come here."

Harry tried to hide his fear and walked up to him. "What are you going to do to me?" He asked.

"Hair cut. It's way too messy. Maybe a buzz cut. And suit number 0500 for you." Gerald wrote something in the paper and gave it to him. "Now go."

Harry left, not wanting to be kicked -- literally -- out.

"You, the last one," Gerald grinned grimly. "Zevon Groové."

Zevon walked up to him with an indifferent face. I mean, it's not like life can get any worse right?"

"Hair's alright. Just too messy-" Gerald said, observing him.

Zevon patted his hair and flattened it down, making it look neat before Gerald could finish his sentence.

"Oh, I see." Gerald said, surprised. He cleared his throat. "Well, hair's all good. Suit number 0001 for you."

Gerald wrote it down and gave the paper to Zevon. He snatched it from Gerald and walked outside. It was clear to say Zevon just couldn't care less.

If only we could say the same to poor Harry. He was pale when he sat down in a chair the guard pointed at.

"You'll be fine kid." The guard, Luc, said. "It's just a buzz cut."

"O-okay," Harry said faintly.

A few minutes later, loud scream was heard from Harry James Hook.