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CHAPTER NINE. . . Aching For You
"If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does." Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Anger bristles, burning in the pit of August's stomach as he stalks through the halls of Hogwarts-the starstruck nighttime falling agitatedly over the school and its students as early December sets over the school. As the weeks pass, and so did more Dead Poets Society meetings, August is quickly being ravaged by the realisation that the answer to his presentation is: there is not one singular book. The weather storms; cracking and thundering relentlessly against the stone of the castle. August ignores the stray splashes of rain that soak the bottom of his pants and whip against his face, sinking into the skin of his cheekbone with its relentlessly cold grip. The Winter wind holds a murderous rage, it works in tandem with the rain continuing to ware at the castle and August's flaming temper. He seethes, gritting his teeth, and holding the crumpled letter up to his face in a futile attempt to save his face from some of the rain. Malia is already tucked carefully into the corner of her favourite velvet couch with her sketchbook perched on her knees when he swings open the door. He tosses her the letter after squeezing the crumpled, wet paper into a ball.
"I'm going to kill them." August chokes out, chest constricted and empty of breath.
Malia surveys him with a knowing look and places her sketchbook on the coffee table before pulling the letter, eyes widening as she takes in the words taking up the pages.
"Wait, are they serious?" She asks, looking up, her expression tainted with anger. "They're seriously doing that?"
"They're always serious." August's voice is charged with loathing. He walks across the room and falls into the spot beside Malia. "It's just another disastrous part of being a family from the Sacred Twenty-Eight."
"But you're only seventeen." Malia says in disbelief. "How could they possible think this is on the forefront of your mind at the moment? You haven't even graduated, let alone thought about your future fucking marriage!"
August shrugs with a sigh. He props his elbows on his knees and shoves his head into his heads, pulling his fingers through his hair in an agitated yank. "It's just how it is. . ."
"Well, that's bullshit." Malia grumbles. Carefully, she pulls August's hand from his hair and links their fingers, squeezing tightly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."
"It's more complicated than that." August says quietly, anger draining like water down an open sink. "I can't just say no."
"Why not?" Malia presses, treading carefully. "You are your own person."
