A Boy With a Brand (DayDreamer x Ritual Lobotomy)

Ritual Lobotomy

Hail the Apocalypse
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Not accepting invites at this time
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per week
Online Availability
17:00 - 20:00 +2GMT
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Adept
  3. Advanced
  4. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. No Preferences
Genres
Post-apocalyptic, Sci-fi, Fantasy, Real Life, Comedy, Mistery and Horror
GLESNI CARROW

321210efcd9b435e0ad571f48f12d119.pngLocation: Hogwarts Castle - Potion Master's Office
Time of day: Sunday morning
Interactions:
Ravena Fawley - NPC
Virgilius Hildegard - Own Character
Mentions:
Caleb O'Neill - @DayDreamer

She delayed it before breakfast for later. Then, ‘later’ came, and she was still delaying the inevitable. It wasn’t like Glesni to chicken out of something she had set her mind on. But this wasn’t just anything, and no matter how she’d flip it, there wasn’t an easy way in and out of it.

“Talk to her. Trust me.”

She insisted so many times that it was now embedded in Glesni’s head.

“Talk. To. Her.” The paper insisted again. And again.

No.

Hours after Glesni finally compromised with “I’ll think about it,” the paper bled through for the first time that morning.

“And?”

She stared at Barch, flapping his wings a few times, making himself comfortable in his spacious cage.

“And,” she wrote. “I’ve got a better idea.”

It was minutes ago, and Ravena had nothing else to say. And even if she did, the notebook was stored, and Glesni was already out, heading down the dungeon’s hallway. In front of a massive, old, wooden door, she hesitated again, but just for a moment.

Where to start? Well. How about a…

***

Knock, knock, knock.

Three times against the door. Confident. Nothing to connect her presence with the knot inside her stomach, and yet, somehow, it felt obvious.

“Yes? Come in,” the voice offered immediately after. Inhaling deeply once more, Glesni pushed the handle and entered into a spacious room. She wasn’t there to see how professor Hildegard indeed did wonders to the place. To her, it was the office with a confusing, if a slightly over-the-top way of entry. Somehow, it reached all the crucial points in the castle, so professor Hildegard was never late. But no matter which door you’d pass through to the Potion Master’s office, you would still end up entering at the same spot.

“Good morning, Professor,” she greeted with a confident stance and a proud smirk. The usual. Virgil offered her a quick glance of recognition over his glasses and a nod. “Miss Carrow! What a lovely surprise. Good morning.” The sound of the vials clanking as he proceeded to re-arrange them on the high shelf felt calming. Nothing about the man ever made any ruckus - not even the noise of the annual cleanup. She waited as he double-checked the list in his hand and nodded in approval. “My apologies, miss Carrow,” He addressed her again, descending the ladder while a few exhausted vials floated down after him. “Please, have a seat.” And not a moment too soon.

“Thank you.” Making sure not to rush towards the armchair desperately, Glesni still added as much haste to her step as possible. Once sat, she exhaled with relief. There was something about the armchairs she found comforting and safe. Perhaps it was a way they prevented fidgeting and side glances that gave a needed confidence boost. You could not maybe be a coward in an armchair. You either obviously were, or obviously weren’t. Regardless of the knot, Glesni liked to believe she obviously wasn’t.

The last vial was carefully levitated down into the box. A measured-out pair of steps passed the armchair on their way to the opposite side of a large desk. Professor Hildegard sat, adjusting his seat. “Should I assume this is about your re-applying to the Advanced Class?” He asked casually enough for Glesni to respond with a perplexed look on her face.

“I… will be re-applying, but that’s not the reason why-”

She stopped once she had realized. It was an opening, not a distraction. Studying her face briefly, Virgil leaned back into his chair, placing hands in his lap.

“How may I be of assistance, miss Carrow?”

Professor Hildegard’s direct approach was something she much appreciated. It had allowed her to be just as straightforward, and being brief meant getting it over with sooner.

“Have you managed to talk to O’Neill yet?”

“I am afraid not. Should’ve I?” Virgil asked with genuine curiosity.

“Well,” Glesni lowered her gaze down at the table as she responded. “I think he might be in trouble… Or was in one. At least.” Virgil processed her response and nodded at the end of it. “I see. And why is this any different than all other troubles mister O’Neill was, is, and will be a part of?”

“This one is serious.” And perhaps it was intended to shock him right then and there. Nevertheless, instead of prying further into it, Virgil stared at the girl with an extensive lack of amusement as if he was just told that the sky is blue. Shocker. “Miss Carrow,” he encouraged further, leaning forward against the table. “There are only a few reasons I can think of for a student to come to visit me on Sunday morning, and even fewer reasons for you to do so. Less than that, if we consider it is about Caleb O’Neill.” He paused, letting it sink in. “So yes, I am aware that the issue at hand is serious; otherwise, you would not be here at this moment.” She exhaled. A tell-tale sign that Glesni Carrow was cornered and ready to talk.

“O’Neill got caught in a fire. The fire,” she emphasized and watched as Virgil’s face lowered in an inquisitorial frown. Glesni was aware it may be everything of a reaction she would get from a man, but it was enough to encourage her to keep going. “The reason why you haven’t seen him yet is that he took a hit, and he is hiding. Only a few of us had seen it so far. I think. Still, he only has until tomorrow before it inevitably goes out in front of everyone else.” The good part of it all was that he could connect the previously known information to the face. The bad part was the most evident one; he was a Hogwarts student, and fellow students talked.

“And if it does…” Glesni proceeded when Virgil said nothing.

“It inevitably will,” professor Hildegard cut through the current and all the other ‘ifs’ to follow. Pieces were stacked neatly in his mind, and while they did, Glesni grew gradually impatient with his silence. He didn’t miss out on the fact that that was the case. He never did anything to point it out either. “Thank you, miss Carrow,” he spoke up after a while. “I will make sure I speak to mister O’Neill. If that is what would make you feel better.” Aware of the girl’s cheeks turning a barely visible shade of pink, Virgil played out the obliviousness, patiently waiting. Unexpectedly, Glesni missed out on the opportunity to elaborate on it. Instead, she brought the subject straight back to the matter at hand, staring down with a frown, somewhere between the concern and the anger.

“They will come for him. Won’t they?” Glesni asked crudely. “They always come for them.”

Silence and another glance over the glasses were threatening to throw her right into suspension. Her impatience was building up towards its cap. Yet, the professor seemed to be in no rush at all. Just how much did the girl know is what he pondered on as he studied her demeanor. And how much of it was to be of concern? He did not respond. He couldn’t. Any further information given with any chosen answer would unnecessarily complicate things. Glesni Carrow was a nosy thing. He firmly believed that nothing she did was of any genuine malice but merely a presentation of a robust teenage attitude. Still, he wouldn’t be tricked into feeding the unhealthy habit of growing up too fast.

“If that would be all, miss Carrow, I’d like to return to my obligations. If you don’t mind.”

For the first time since it was fixated on the desk ahead of her, Glesni’s gaze aimed directly at Virgil. “I do mind it,” she quickly responded before she was even aware of her heightened tone. “I do mind that you are not being honest with me!” She paused. What was she even expecting to happen? He most certainly would not elaborate on the problem further with a student, so why was she still insisting? Virgil waited while she adjusted her thoughts, lowering her voice. He had found that allowing them a moment to really think about how their message was getting across made for a lot more long-term progress. And so he did just that. It was reasonably comfortable with miss Carrow. She was already well aware of the repercussions of her behavior.

“Thank you, professor.” Glesni decided on a more straightforward approach. Bashing her head uselessly against the wall, that was the professor Hildegard, did nothing but make her look like a fool. “I appreciate your audience.” He nodded as she rose up. “And,” she continued. “I know that you would not trust me with the details, and while it disappoints me, I accept that. As long as you help him.”

“I am aware of my duties as a professor, miss Carrow. How could I not?” Virgil reassured her with a mild smirk. “I will see you tomorrow in class.”

Not the worst, not the best. That’s how Glesni would have rated the meeting. Stubborn as she was, she still firmly believed that going to miss Rosier first would have been a mistake, regardless of what Ravena had said. Unlike professor Hildegard, she was an unknown, for the most part, except for the fact that they were family. That alone was a significant disadvantage to have. Ravena was smart but deeply affected by that cursed family. She insisted on keeping the ‘good ones’ around, but as time passed, Glesni was even more confident that there was no such thing under their wing. Other than Ravena, she trusted none.

VIRGILIUS HILDEGARD

cc3eacd9029a302f41f22fcb94d30d29.jpgLocation: Hogwarts Castle - Potions Classroom
Time of day: Monday; late morning
Interactions:
Caleb O'Neill - @DayDreamer

The first hour with the fresh sixth-year students went about as well as expected. Still, even though he would love for everyone to follow quite as well, the harsh truth was that not everyone was cut out for potion-making. Luckily there was only one slightly profound side effect to a bad brew chant this time; a small setback quickly fixed on hand. Well. It was an art on its own to pull that off if he was to be completely honest. Everlasting elixirs were not the easiest to fix, and the way it went, it felt that merely teaching the proper way on paper may take time for some. But that was quite alright. If Virgil had anything to spare, it was time.

Punctual as always, Virgil broke the silence in the classroom precisely one hour after it had begun. “Ladies and gentlemen, that would be all for today.” Groans, as well as excitement, sounded here and there in the classroom. Some just could not be helped. “Please leave your work notes on my desk, and I will see you next week. You will have a list of required items for your next class by the end of the week. Thank you.”

He proceeded to write down notes on his own in admirably accurate and tidy cursives as the pile of notes grew in front of him. He hadn’t interrupted his business at any moment as he greeted the students that were leaving. One by one, until the final student approached, laying his notes on the pile. The writing stopped as chartreuse-colored eyes drifted over the small broom scribbled to the side, with a few additional notes underneath. Quite soon did it become apparent to the professor that the boy will continue to treat him with some fascinating ideas every once in a while. Additional read was always a treat, and having encountered it now as well, gave him a good sign.

“Mister O’Neill,” he called out to the boy that was just about to get on with his day. “I’d like to have a word with you. If you can spare a few moments.” It was almost sure that Caleb O’Neill would not say no. Still, the common courtesy seemed to be getting lost quite a bit these days, and it seemed to be a dying practice Virgil would like to keep alive.

“I will take only a fraction of your time,” the professor clarified, looking up at the boy.

He saw it at the moment Caleb O’Neill walked into the classroom, and now he knew what to expect. The aftermath of the accident was something miss Carrow failed to mention. Now that he was aware of it, he could have seen how it could upset the girl — anyone, for that matter.

“Ah,” he said as enthusiastically as is to be expected from a man of highlighted formal demeanor. “I see you have decided on a new haircut.” He studied a head full of hair where there once was a neat short cut. “Quite the surprise, I have to admit. I did not take you for a person that likes to hide.” It was a well-measured opening to a conversation he could only imagine was an uncomfortable one. He did not take the boy for an idiot but clarifying his priorities through such an approach usually made the easier build up. If anything, he wished to help.
 
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Caleb O'Neill
Location: Hogwarts Castle, Potions classroom
Time: Monday, late morning, 1st week of lessons

Usually the first day of lessons always was one of mixed feelings for Caleb. While excited to be back to a place where he could freely use magic, despite all the rules about no magic in the corridors, no hexing people that annoy you and a bunch of other stick-in-the-mud stuff, he would always dislike falling back to a study routine. Not that he was ever too hell bent on studying. If it was practical, he was interested. If it was paperwork, especially on topics he was not particularly interested in, it could go hang. However, as he walked last and almost late for the first Advanced Potions of the year, the mixed feelings were those of anxiety and relief. Anxiety in being noticed more than he had to and relief that so far he had managed to avoid becoming a public spectacle. Hogwarts was notorious for information spread and that meant gossiping was practically a student sport.

While he had never been particularly good at potions, he had not been a failure either. It all depended on the potion at hand and Everlasting elixirs were a particularly interesting sort. If done right, they were just that. Everlasting. He knew a couple of brooms that could appreciate an everlasting varnish and more than a couple of witches and wizards that would be more than happy not to have to go through the process of regularly caring for their broomsticks more than they absolutely had to. Those thoughts made their way on paper, like every thought concerning broomsticks did. But they ended up on the wrong paper. Instead of making his sketch and thoughts on his notebook or study notes, he instead did it on his working notes. The ones Professor Hildegard had just asked to be placed on his desk and Caleb groaned softly. He didn't have enough time to copy his working notes on a new parchment, but he did have enough time to quickly scribble the sketch and notes on his notebook while the rest of his classmates were going ahead with delivering their notes and leaving the classroom. Some gave him weird looks, but he had strategically sat in a spot where people walking in and out could only see the good side of his face. The one that was still him.

Finally being the last one in the class, he got up and placed his notes on the pile, swiftly turning around to leave. He knew that Professor Hildegard had seen his face when he had entered the classroom at the start of the lesson, but there was no reason to allow him more time to study the mess that was his face nowdays. "Mister O’Neill, I’d like to have a word with you. If you can spare a few moments.” Caleb froze midstep. He muttered some pretty colorful words under his breath. This was not a request. “I will take only a fraction of your time,” He rolled his eyes. As if he had a choice even if it was going to be the entire day.

Sighing in defeat he turned to only half-face the Potions Master. The somewhat excited tone and the fact Professor Hildegard decided to bother noticing the change in haircuts didn't bode well and Caleb refused to turn fully and face him. The comment was stinging, but the fear and anxiety were stronger than his pride at the moment. Yes. He was hiding and he would continue to do so for as long as he could. That's why he kept the majority of his burned face out of view from the man.
"If this is about my working notes Professor, I can assure you I won't be sketching on them again." He said in a tone that signified he would rather get, whatever this was, over with as quickly as possible.
 
VIRGILIUS HILDEGARD

cc3eacd9029a302f41f22fcb94d30d29.jpgLocation: Hogwarts Castle - Potions Classroom
Time of day: Monday; late morning
Interactions:
Caleb O'Neill - @DayDreamer

Oh, he had all the time in the world. The boy reacted to his word in about the same fashion Virgil had expected him to. A defense. "If this is about my working notes Professor, I can assure you I won't be sketching on them again." Professor Hildegard remained fixated on Caleb for a moment before responding with a faint smirk.

“Nothing as such, mister O’Neill. On the contrary, I enjoy some extra-curricular read from time to time, and yours seem rather interesting.” He paused before laying his glasses on the desk and neatly stacking the crooked pile of papers with his finger. The forms rearranged alphabetically, right side up, and perfectly stacked up one on top of the other without a single corner sticking out. “It is more social than educational. And if you do not wish to say anything, that is alright. I just need you to listen,” he explained briefly, clearing his throat and standing up. With his hands in pockets, he made a brief stroll from the desk to one of the large windows.

“People fail to mention one vital thing talking about heroes, mister O’Neill,” he began calmly, briefly looking through the window before turning around and leaning against the sill. “Nobody chooses to be one. And do you know why it is not a hobby or a viable career path?” Virgil perhaps looked at the boy, but no answer was expected. He was merely making sure the young man was still attentive. “Because nobody truly wants to be one,” Virgil responded to the question with a brief gesture as he continued to stroll around the empty classroom. “It is unfair, and it is lonely. Or as you youngsters would say: It sucks,” he chuckled lightly. “And I agree. It absolutely, fundamentally sucks. Not quite what a young man like you had in mind for himself, is it?”

Virgil himself was not a stranger to isolation. Even more so, he was not a stranger to being angry over unfixable things that had caused it. Social requirements and standards were more than unfair at any point in life, but they were incredibly heavy on those having a lot to prove and find their place. Decisions like his were praised, but the outcomes like his were a societal disappointment. Stopping near Caleb, he spoke again. “I am aware of what has happened to you, Caleb.” For once, he had addressed the boy with his first name. It felt more natural to do so. Genuine. “I am aware that you’ve tackled the rabid Fiendfyre without a second thought and won. Just barely.”

The point was out there to behold. Whether O’Neill chose to keep hiding his face or not, it made no difference to Virgil. He had no gain nor loss from whatever the boy decided to do.

“I am not going to praise your actions, nor feed your ego. What you did was foolish and reckless. All things considered, you are not supposed to be standing here today either. I do not think I need to remind you of how many do such a thing and live to tell,” Virgil exhaled and paused. “But your foolishness saved lives, and you escaped with your own. And you deserve to, at least, be admired for it. The scar it left? Merely evidence. And people will see it, sooner or later. They will certainly have opinions. But it is only yours to choose how it will define you. After all,” he nodded with a smirk. “They were not the ones making a decision for you. So why give them any credit now?”

There was no doubt that such a thing was easier said than done for a teenage boy like Caleb O’Neill. It was something Virgil understood on a personal level. “Besides. Despite how it may seem, you are not alone. I should not be the one telling you that. You should be able to see it. Focus on the important ones.” On his way back to the desk, Virgil reached out and patted Caleb’s shoulder in the passing.

“You seem to have more wands guarding your back than you are aware of, mister O’Neill,” he smirked knowingly, turning to clean the blackboard, full of tidy and very patient cursives. “That would be all. Any questions?” He asked as he attended to his business. “I am more than willing to listen just as much as I love to talk," he proceeded, making one final attempt to have the boy voluntarily discuss the topic.
 
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Caleb O'Neill
Location: Hogwarts Castle, Potions classroom
Time: Monday, late morning, 1st week of lessons

Caleb mentally groaned. Of course this had nothing to do with his sketches, but he had hoped the subject of his two-faced condition wouldn't be discussed first thing after class. Why would he even care to discuss it? What was it to him if he had fucked up over summer? The recognition of his thoughts in the sketch allowed a glimmer of pride surface in his mind for the briefest of moments. But just as it had appeared, it was gone when Professor Hildegard rose from his seat, initiating what Caleb knew was another lecture on his actions, his idiocy and his.....

Wait, what?! The mention of heroes was not something he expected to hear from any wizard's mouth. Sure, he had seen a couple of muggle articles about his reckless saving of that little girl, but to the wizarding society he was either a major fool or a suspect being associated with a former Death Eater. He turned to zero in on the Potions Master face. He had to be bullshitting him. There had to be a catch in all of it. He merely shrugged at the question of why 'hero' was not a job on either side of the wall of magic.

His eyes narrowed as the professor stopped near him, confirming that he was indeed aware of what went down that day. However his version of the events were not those of the Daily Prophet. It was that of the muggle newspapers and sites. Had he actually given more credit to muggle reporters than the Daily Prophet? Why?

“I am not going to praise your actions, nor feed your ego. What you did was foolish and reckless. All things considered, you are not supposed to be standing here today either. I do not think I need to remind you of how many do such a thing and live to tell,” Geez! He didn't have to tell him that. It was something he repeated to himself every day. However, he was sure that the only thing he would have done differently if he could go back in time, it would have been to react faster and slightly adjust his route. That way the flaming wolf would have never gotten to him. He would have not chosen to ignore and pretend this was not his problem. Despite what people might have thought of him, he was not a scumbag that would cower when he knew he was the only one that could actually do something to help. Truly help. Too bad all time turners were destroyed by the Ministry all those years ago....

“But your foolishness saved lives, and you escaped with your own. And you deserve to, at least, be admired for it. The scar it left? Merely evidence. And people will see it, sooner or later. They will certainly have opinions. But it is only yours to choose how it will define you. After all, they were not the ones making a decision for you. So why give them any credit now?” No! The scar was not evidence. That scar had done more to punish him than to prove that he was there and, while being a reckless idiot, he had made a difference to someone's life and family. That scar had fucked him up real good and it didn't seem like it was going to become just a patch of charred flesh with no feeling anytime soon.

As for everybody else's opinion on the matter, they did affect him. They affected his choices and options, they affected how he felt. It wasn't just the random guy on the street that would pat him on the back with a 'good job kid' but be sympathetic about it or the random witch in Diagon Alley that would eye him with apprehension. It was also the shock, the pity and the sadness it caused his friends and sister. He hated that part especially. However he stayed stubbornly silent as Professor Hildegard spoke his mind, keeping his pauses brief when hoping for a response that never came.

“You seem to have more wands guarding your back than you are aware of, mister O’Neill,” His mind snapped to attention as Professor Hildegard finished his little speech. He had tried very hard not to pull away when his shoulder was patted in what felt was another apologetic move from people feeling sorry for himself. He had also tried very hard to remain indifferent towards whatever attempts the Potions Master was going to make in order to have him talk about the subject, yet it was getting increasingly difficult. Whether this was meant to be a pep talk or a reminder that he should be more careful about his actions, Caleb couldn't tell.

"Who asked you to talk to me about this and why would you even bother? You are not my Head of House.... Sir." He added that last part after a reluctant pause. He was walking on the edge here. He didn't want to get into detention on the very first day, though perhaps that could be an option that allowed him limited interactions with everybody else outside of classes. It could help prolong the inevitable until he had more time to either come up with a plan or to come to terms with how his reality was now.


 
VIRGILIUS HILDEGARD

cc3eacd9029a302f41f22fcb94d30d29.jpgLocation: Hogwarts Castle - Potions Classroom
Time of day: Monday; late morning
Interactions:
Caleb O'Neill - @DayDreamer

The boy tried. He indeed did, and Virgil hardly did anything to push it forward. He proceeded to tidy his workspace, dusting the palms of his hands off just before Caleb finally spoke up, albeit in a rather aggressive manner that had Virgil pause for a moment.

"Who asked you to talk to me about this, and why would you even bother?” My, my. How fast they all grew out of authority. “You are not my Head of House,” it came as a harsh defense. It was a miserable attempt to repress the frustration, and Virgil acknowledged the attitude by turning to face the boy with arms crossed on his chest, eyeing him over the rim of his glasses.

“...Sir,” Caleb added as if he felt the weight of the professor’s stare on him. It counted for progress. Unlike a few minutes ago, O’Neill seemed to be more willing to bark back, even if the bark was all he had, facing professor Hildegard. And Virgil would not do anything to discourage a healthily limited fear of consequences.

Now that the Gryffindor was out of his tracks, professor Hildegard nodded briefly, reaching up and removing his glasses. “A person concerned enough to reach out,” he smirked, storing his glasses in the pocket on his vest. “And with the utmost respect to your fellow Gyiffindors and their sense of unity, it is precisely such loyalty that requires a third-person view on occasion.”

“And, you are correct, mister O’Neill,”
Virgil proceeded. “I am not your Head, but I am the one that is very well aware of the situation you have found yourself in. I believe I was a very logical choice.” The more he thought about it, the more evident it was that miss Carrow did not choose him only as a trustworthy person, but the one that could adequately handle the aggressive defenses Caleb carried around. A pot and the kettle, he thought, and it amused him. Not that far off from each other.

“Your family and your friends are concerned about you, but it is not the accident that makes them tip-toe around you. It is your attitude.” Virgil kept his tone neutral, even though the volume of it heightened only marginally. It was the tone of the educator, the one that demanded to be heard and understood. “You have allowed yourself to suffer over your own decision, and that is one of the terrifying things to attempt to fix when they have to stand aside.” And there was not a more objective truth than that. “‘What ifs’ are the most rigid state of mind because of their convenience,” he proceeded. “Once the right ‘what if’ is found, there is no effort that will ever trick mind back into reality as easily. And you, mister O’Neill, you are searching for yours. You will come up with dozens of scenarios where this had never happened to you, and a dozen more where you would’ve reacted differently, and all of this would simply disappear. Except it does not, does it? The sooner you make your peace with it, the sooner everyone else around you can relax.”

Pausing briefly, Virgil lowered his slim frame back into his chair almost without a sound.

“Besides,” he proceeded. “Do you not think that it is very unfair towards those close to you that you allow opinions of the irrelevant, moment-long acquaintances to reign over your courage to face this head-on, over their honest attempts to help you?” He smirked, shrugging his shoulders. “I believe I would be very insulted myself.” It was a dry jest with a bit of truth in it, light in nature. Intertwining his hands in front of his face, Virgil proceeded to rub the bridge of his nose with thumbs. Another quite important thing is perhaps all of his talks was that talking back was optional. He had already known more than the boy could put into words in the first place. His mind had already begun to store and assemble required pieces, and while it was an unfair advantage, he had always found it a small mercy that his mind remained undisclosed.

“Friends and acquaintances alike invest in you by reaching out. And I am confident I do not have to clarify which investments are more valuable and more beneficial for you. You are well aware of it. But the issue is, mister O’Neill, that temporary investments of acquaintances are more abundant, persistent, and often louder than those of friends. I warmly suggest you turn to those that care for you before you are forced to bare yourself to strangers under pressure,” he advised with a light frown hidden behind his hands. “I am worried that you are gravely unprepared to face such pressure.”

Yes, they would come for him. It was a thing, he believed, that was clear to anyone aware of the circumstances. But the real challenge that followed the pressure of relying on strangers, a desperate grasp to a sense of shallow belonging, was a tragedy all too familiar to him to simply let it go.
 
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Caleb O'Neill
Location: Hogwarts Castle, Potions classroom
Time: Monday, late morning, 1st week of lessons

“A person concerned enough to reach out, and with the utmost respect to your fellow Gyiffindors and their sense of unity, it is precisely such loyalty that requires a third-person view on occasion.” Caleb's brain gears were working hard on that particular reply. Besides Ainslie and Felix, who had made a raid-like effort in his safehouse, the only other person he could think of was August. August had come with the best intentions, concerned but unsure of how to handle the situation. And he was a Ravenclaw. It was highly possible he would have gone to professor Hildegard for help. It was August's Head of House afteral. "... I am the one that is very well aware of the situation ..." His eyes narrowed in suspicion. How could he be more aware of his situation than most? He hadn't been there and he hadn't been at his house either. He couldn't possibly know more than everybody else and that disbelief showed on his face. He said nothing however. His face was enough of an indication on his opinion on the Potions Master's claims.

He listened with surprising patience to all those who knew Caleb even remotely. His arms were crossed over his chest and would occasionally rub at his scar whenever something struck a particular nerve. He was aware of most of the things that professor Hildegard was telling him. He was not an idiot, or so he would have liked to think. However, there was a huge distance between theory and practise and what he had been through made it a little bit harder to apply said theory in practise. Things at home had not been the most understanding and hiding, keeping out of the way had done wonders in lessening what could otherwise have resulted in him getting thrown out of the house or weakening their status that much more than his recognition as a bastard had done.

"Are you done, Professor?" Caleb asked calmly as he now stared directly into the man's eyes. Behind all the insecurities and the jambled mess of emotions, there was a spark of defiance. Caleb had lost the battle that day but he was still fighting the war. "With all due respect to the wisdom of Ravenclaws, you do not know everything like you claim." His tone was calm if annoyed. He was trying very hard to contain an outburst that he was probably going to regret later down the road. Hell he was most likely going to regret opening up so much as he was about to right now, but he couldn't hold his tongue anymore.

"I did not allow myself to suffer. The pain that comes with Fiendfyre does not have an onoff switch. Neither do the dreams. Those superficial opinions of acquaintances limiting and affecting my options is very real and out of my control. My friends get upset whenever they see my face even though they try to hide it and that I can control by limiting the amount of times they see it." He listed firmly. "And I do entertain the what if's but without a timeturner they are nothing more than mind exercises to prepare me for the next time something similar happens."

 
VIRGILIUS HILDEGARD

cc3eacd9029a302f41f22fcb94d30d29.jpgLocation: Hogwarts Castle - Potions Classroom
Time of day: Monday; late morning
Interactions:
Caleb O'Neill - @DayDreamer

"Are you done, Professor?"

A pair of cat-like chartreuse eyes emerged from the shadow of Virgil's pale hands resting against his face. He observed the boy, respectfully returning the favor of staring directly into his eyes. For a moment, it had reminded him of a similar scenario, the one that was now over 47 years ago but felt like yesterday.

"With all due respect, sir. You don't know me!"

Not quite the same words nor circumstances, but similar intention. Without a word, Virgil made a hand gesture for Caleb to proceed. He remained unphased by the evident frustration the boy was struggling to contain. It was a feat, he imagined.

"With all due respect to the wisdom of Ravenclaws, you do not know everything like you claim." And when on earth did he ever claim such a thing? Even though petty - especially given the situation - Virgil could not help feeling insulted. If only a little. Wisdom and a know-it-all in the same sentence? Quite an ugly oxymoron. Still, he kept quiet and focused while the Gryffindor laid his case.

"I did not allow myself to suffer."

"I did not want myself to be this way!"

"The Pain that comes with Fiendfyre does not have an on-off switch. Neither do the dreams."

"It hurts. I am done pretending it doesn't!"

But for the most part, it was where the similarity ended for plenty of reasons - of which plenty was in Caleb's favor. He would see it eventually. Virgil kept his attention on Caleb patiently while the boy proceeded to note down things that ate away at him.

"And I do entertain the what if's but without a timeturner, they are nothing more than mind exercises to prepare me for the next time something similar happens," Caleb concluded. Virgil remained seated in silence for a moment, processing the information. Or perhaps finding the right words for his response.

"I've heard a handy thing once before," the Head of Ravenclaw spoke up soon after. "I was told that all of the situations came down to two very distinct groups: one contains all of the things that affect you, but you cannot change. The other has all of the things that affect you but are under your control," he explained briefly. "The first one, you should let go. The second one, you should work on. Easier said than done," he smirked. "And that is because such a concept is completely flawed. There is not a single thing that is ever so black or white, and that is where the issues emerge. It's in our intellectual nature to seek answers and get frustrated when we cannot find them. And that is because it is easier to find a new problem for every solution than the other way around." It was a Virgil-special dry jest. It was funny because it was true. "You, mister O'Neill, are doing precisely that."

Even though his expression remained unchanged, there was a slight, almost rudely persistent spark in Virgil's eyes as he spoke. There was something in attempting to reach out to the troubled minds that filled him with satisfaction. Above everything else, helping to educate and advise young people felt like his most significant accomplishment.

"And because you are doing so, you fail to see the correct angle of the issue. You are skipping ahead. Assuming things. Misinterpreting words - like you did mine just a moment ago. You want to conclude quickly, so your head hurts just a little bit less. And I've been there. And it had caused me more misfortune than the actual issue at the time." It was a brief ode to why he strongly disagreed with Caleb's notion that he knew everything or that he knew nothing of the situation the boy was in.

"Can you stand there and tell me with absolute certainty that what you are saying is objective and true?" A challenge has been set in front of the boy in a calm tone. "Are the opinions of the acquaintances truly so important to you that you wish to control them? Do your friends really get upset over your face? Or perhaps you would like them to, so you have something to point your finger at when you are asked to excuse your progressively self-destructive behavior?" And perhaps there was a bit of projection in all of it, but Virgil felt like it certainly belonged to the conversation.

"You cannot objectively grade other people's approach until you settle yours," he proceeded. "Certainly, you can start assembling puzzles from the middle or study backward, and eventually, you will get somewhere. But by the time you do, you will either have a bunch of convoluting wrong information, or you will be stuck alone with your frustration and no more people left willing to show you a better way of doing things." Opening his case once more, he neatly inserted the last pile of papers from his table.

"Pain will be with you for a while. Perhaps you will never be able to get rid of it without some help. But the dreams stop. Not like they should matter as much in the first place. They are the twisted, personalized copies of our reality. Nothing more. The sooner you make peace with yourself, the sooner they will disappear. Which is sad sometimes," He mused, packing up. "Some of them are rather tempting."

Once the case clicked the buckle in its place, Virgil rose politely, straightening out the wrinkles on his shirt until he had decided it looked presentable.

"I, of course, do not expect the answers to these questions from you right now... Or ever, for that matter. That is not the goal of my little intervention. So to say." What an ugly word that was! Whatever happened to the English language in the last few decades was beyond him. "I will urge you to think about starting from the beginning, from yourself. Everything else will fall in place much smoother and sooner than you think. There are no good or bad experiences, per se. That is all they are; simple experiences affecting us in a way we bend them to." Virgil nodded with encouragement, throwing his arms behind his back.

"And I can assure you this was a one-time thing, mister O'Neill. If you wish to speak to me on this matter further, I highly encourage you to do so, but at your own pace. I've found plenty of times that sticking my nose where it does not belong for too long doesn't seem to be rating well with the teenagers," he smirked. He had to admit that he had learned much from the teenagers as well. Especially the one he cultivated himself. Even with all of her teenage buzz, he could not have been more proud. Only sometimes, admitting to it did not do them good. Even though he now felt a great deal of pride towards the boy in front of him.

"I recall you said you have a class to go to?" Virgil added, briefly looking at the watch on his wrist. "It seems I have kept you longer than expected, mister O'Neill. My apologies. Please do specify that I've insisted on your presence. I will make sure your tardiness isn't noted. It is the least I can do."
 
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Caleb O'Neill
Location: Hogwarts Castle, Potions classroom
Time: Monday, late morning, 1st week of lessons

Perhaps for the first time since this little lecture session had started, Caleb was truly listening, trying to see the meaning behind the words. It's not like he wanted to be scared and alone, but it was hard not to at this point. But he had a feeling he was going to mull over this conversation for a while. A challenge was issued and as much as he would have liked nothing more to prove the Potions Master wrong then and there, he couldn't. So he had to think.

Apparently, that was Professor Hildegard's opinion also as he finished packing and dismissed him. "I recall you said you have a class to go to? It seems I have kept you longer than expected, mister O'Neill. My apologies. Please do specify that I've insisted on your presence. I will make sure your tardiness isn't noted. It is the least I can do." Now that elicited a small, confident smirk to appear on Caleb's face. "Have you ever known me to be late Professor?" He asked rhetorically as he secured his backpack on his shoulders. "I have my way, I would like to use your offer as a free pass for it this time though." He said before leaving the classroom, already beginning to stretch so he didn't pull a muscle on his way to what would be perhaps the only time he could get to parkour in the school and not get in trouble for it.

THE END