In a world ravaged by good and evil, those toeing the line find solace in nothing. Blood runs thicker than water, but is risking your life and livelihood for a war you never wanted a part in worth it? Is becoming a monster in the eyes of some, and a...
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Madame Pomfrey tutted to herself quietly, before pointing her wand at Anthony's head, "head injuries are difficult, Goldstein. Don't make a habit of it."
Anthony smiled weakly at her, "no ma'am."
He allowed Maeve to sling his arm over her shoulder and led him off the raised platform where the injured were being treated. Micheal sat in a corner, eyes blank, and Maeve turned to head towards the Ravenclaw boy.
Anthony fell in a heap by his friend while Maeve sat more delicately.
"It's a miracle you didn't get hurt as much as him and you don't even have a wand," Micheal wasn't even looking at them. His tone was a touch miffed, but Maeve didn't hold it against him. She didn't respond, only took her wand from her sleeve and raised it over Anthony's leg, murmuring healing spells under her breath. His leg had been his with some strange spell that had covered his entire left leg with such deep lacerations it was a marvel he hadn't died of blood loss. The sad thing was that it was deemed superficial enough to be treated by an untrained healer. Micheal glanced to the side at her muttering and started, "you had your wand the whole time?"
Anthony winced, but something came over him and he giggled quietly. Maeve and Micheal both stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. Anthony waved off their looks, "it's — it's just that you finally found something you're actually good at."
Maeve could've smacked him.
"Don't look at me like that!" He raised his hands placatingly, "maybe your dream of being an Auror is reachable. Maybe you're a secret dark wizard destroying maniac and we never knew it until now."
Maeve gave him a break, assuming he was probably loopy from the loss of blood, "I just can't believe that I could've gotten a better mark in Defence Against the Dark Arts if I'd forgone my bloody wand."
"Well, it doesn't make any logical sense," Micheal shook his head, "what wizard is more powerful without their wand?"
"The attendees of Uagadou," Anthony said automatically.
Maeve stared blankly at the two Ravenclaw boys, who were staring at each other with wide eyes, "I don't think now is the time."
Her words were gentle but firm. She was no stranger to the Ravenclaw search for knowledge and answers, but her eyes had moved to the centre of the Great Hall where their dead had been arranged. People grieved on the other side of the room.
"You're right," Anthony said, though he seemed reluctant to drop the topic.
Maeve stayed sat uncomfortably on the cold stone floor with her eyes trained on the dead for a long time. From afar, they seemed so removed from reality she could pretend they weren't gone, but their crying friends and, in some cases family, punctured a hole in the fantasy.
"I wish this could've been avoided," she said, mostly to herself.
When her companions didn't respond, she glanced at them, only to find them eyeing her suspiciously.
