Blackbird

Chapter 5: A new Normal and a Fistfight

James was still continuing to pop up. I don't know how he found me, but he did no matter what. It's like he always knew where I was. It was unnerving at first, but I got used to it.

He dragged me into all sorts of trouble. Some of which I might've enjoyed, but definitely wouldn't be telling him about. Snape with red hair was pretty funny. I learned loads of new spells, that seemed stupid, but were really fun to use. Turns out, James is a whiz at Charms.

Today after classes, unlike every other day before, he didn't pop up outside the Transfiguration room.

Not that it mattered, more time for that essay I was just assigned. I made it to the library without any interruptions, and had to cast a quick glance over my shoulder. His prolonged absence was making me nervous. He could be planning something.

Or he could be hurt. With the amount of common sense the boy displayed, especially when paired with my brother, it would make sense.

I had to shake the thoughts away before returning to my essay, but it was no use. Where was that boy?

Focus Aquila. Essay. Grades are important. Don't you remember last time when you nearly failed History of Magic?

And suddenly I'm shaking. Uncontrollably.

Bad thoughts Aquila, bad thoughts. We don't think about them, remember?

Then what do we think about?

Sunshine, the smell of books.

I'm trying to read the letters on the textbook but they're all running together, and the words aren't making any sense. The more I try to focus the worse it gets until I'm ready to throw the book against a shelf and watch it all come crashing down.

A bit like I seem to be feeling really. How poetic.

How pathetic.

And I know I can't stay here any longer. The book is slammed shut with far too much volume, but I'm too far gone to care. I don't know where my feet are taking me, all I know is that it's away, and away is good enough for me.

It's weird because I'm acting like I'm calm. There's no difference to anything. But on the inside all the emotions are bubbling like a potion gone wrong, just waiting to explode.

How I want to explode.

But instead the pressure just builds. Someone forced a cork much too big on my cauldron and I don't know how to get it off. How to feel.

I'm frustrated because there's no reason for me to be and I can't help but want to scream at the top of my lungs anyway.

There's a scuffle happening in some courtyard I don't remember walking to, and I'm so close to walking right on by. It's what I always do, really. I'm not some hero. I don't step into others' fights. Sometimes people need to punch someone else to move on with their lives, and I'm just glad it's not me.

But there's a shout, and it's so familiar all I can do is freeze.

The number of times I'd heard it, all come flashing through my head. Mostly muffled through the floor, but occasionally the startled yelp would come when I jumped on his bed without warning in the mornings, or suddenly appeared while he was thinking.

I normally walk on by, but that cry. So painfully familiar. My bag is on the floor in an instant, and I'm running far faster than my brain is moving.

Are you an idiot???

Probably.

And all the sudden I'm in the middle of fists and blood, and there's nothing magical about fist fights. It's all desperate blows and anger. But normally the person with the highest pain tolerance wins. It just so happens that us Blacks happen to deal with a lot of pain.