Super

26 - I'm Voldemort Now? Fan-Fucking-Tastic

"'You don't understand!' whined Pettigrew. 'He would have killed me, Sirius!'

'THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!' roared Black. 'DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!'"

– Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Annie's POV

It felt weird to be grieving over someone I barely knew. Poor Arson. He was just a kid. He didn't deserve this. Would I be so sympathetic if he wasn't "just" a kid? Would I still think he didn't deserve any of this? I thought back to a few weeks ago when I arrived at the old abandoned skyscraper to find nearly everyone either missing or unconscious, including the Invisible Hand, while an unfamiliar super knelt over the various bodies, healing them whilst all the while trying to avoid looking at the dead thirteen-year-old in the corner.

It had taken three hours to rally everyone back together. It had taken another hour to find Lodestone and get him back. The poor boy was so broken, I wasn't sure how back we'd gotten him, but at least we had some hope.

"Annie!" My brother's voice called from the other side of the door, "I'm leaving..."

I forced my gaze away from the spot it had focused on when I zoned out and slowly unfolded my limbs. It was the first time I'd moved all afternoon since I sat down in the desk chair and the insides of my elbows and knees ached with a stiffness I wasn't used to as I crossed my room to open my door.

Terry stood, shoulders sagging from the weight of his bags in my doorway. Seeing my brother only reminded me of everything wrong with this city and its villains, including one I was refusing to mention. Off he was leaving to work for a bunch of assholes claiming to be protecting the world from bigger assholes, but in reality, not doing anything except sending Terry off to nearly be killed with each mission. Did that make sense?

"Annie-" Terry started to say. Over the past few weeks, he'd learned to read my emotions well, which was funny considering I had barely let him see me. I'd locked myself away in my room, blasting my music and watching Friends reruns like some Tom Cruise reject. Some distant part of me acknowledged how over-dramatic I was being, especially since I barely knew the kid, but at the same time, he wouldn't have died if it wasn't for the boy I had stupidly trusted.

"Have a safe flight," I said quietly, about to shut my door again before Terry caught it with his foot.

"Ciaran might be an asshole-"

I stopped him with a glare. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Sorry, He-who-shall-not-be-named-"

"Terry, can we not talk about this right now?"

Terry sent me a sad look before enveloping me in a hug. A few minutes later, he was gone, though I don't remember him leaving. I turned back to my room. It was a mess. There were stacks of clean clothes everywhere from where I had just piled them in heaps next to my dresser, too lazy to actually put them away. Dirty plates and glasses were strewn across my desk and windowsill while dirty clothes lay in a clump at the foot of the bed. A spot by the window flickered in the late afternoon sun filtering through the window and I let out a phlegmatic sigh.

"Go away," I said, my voice cracking from barely speaking over the past few weeks.

Ciaran flickered into view, his super suit absent as he reclined against the wall next to my window, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his sweatpants. I refused to meet his eyes as he crossed the room to where my glare was metaphorically burning a hole straight through his wrinkled V-neck.