bruises burst abroke pv: asteria Closed

Getting to the hospital wing was a grueling experience for sure. The pair had winced their way up the stairs, but a part of Asteria, a part that she tried to push down the minute that the thought sprung into her head, was glad that someone else had fallen with her. The fact that she had company, even if they didn't talk much, was steadying all on it's own - and the occasional steadying hand from her companion didn't hurt either. In combat with the selfish thoughts that flit through her head were the faint tugs of guilt, for she had been the one to throw the acorn, landing them in this situation in the first place. Even if you weren't to blame the acorn, the whole thing could be placed on her. She had been the one to climb the tree, to instigate this series of events. As they traversed the halls, ill-designed for wounded students (despite the apparent frequency of injury), she was mostly silent, her thoughts rolling round and around, becoming sharper with every consideration. It was almost enough to make her almost forget the wobbliness of her legs and the sharp pain in her wrist. Almost.

It was a relief to reach the hospital wing. The clinical nature of the bed, the methodical wrapping of aches, and the allocation of medicine were all a comfort. It was easier to distance yourself from foul thoughts when you were being fussed over and prodded at. Pain was its own sort of relief in a way.

But soon enough the nurse bustled off, leaving her and George alone again, laid out in adjacent beds. She fiddled with the bandage on her wrist, unsure of what to say, chewing on her lip slightly. Thankfully, George broached the silence first. She almost laughed at his reassurance, his placement of a modicum of blame upon himself. There he was, trying to be fair again. She appreciated the effort, felt it like a balm on her more sore thoughts, but she knew where the blame lay.

Turning her head to look at him more clearly in the darkening room, she replied. "No- no, it was my fault for climbing up the tree in the first place, really." She pulled herself up slightly, propping herself up on her pillow, and actually laughed this time, as he pointed at his nose, enjoying the ability to watch his enthusiasm over magical medicine. It was sweet, a fresh sort of joy at it all that she wished she could relate to. "Yeah, it smells way better than Muggle antiseptic creams. That stuff- bleh." She stuck out her tongue at this, her face crinkling slightly. "Maybe it's all the herbs? Instead of being chemicals and junk."

Propping herself up further, she turned to fully face him, a question alighting in her brain like a dove on a branch. Her lack of a filter, that poor impulse control that got her into this whole mess, made the words tumble from her mouth like lemmings from a cliff. "So I never did ask: what made you wander the grounds on a chilly day like this? Climbing a tree, that I understand. Like, I get that. But what led you there in the first place?"

@George Henry

"Anyone would have climbed that tree," George said, in a way that made his certainty clear. It was a perfectly climbable tree, and it was just the time in the season for that sort of activity. The leaves were mostly off the trees, but not all. It wasn't like spring, where it would be like climbing into a bush. There were enough leaves for it to feel like a tree, but not too many for one to see the full structure of the branches. Anyone would have climbed it. To do otherwise would be a waste.

Whatever stuff was pasting his nose together was a magic most wonderful. His fingers pressed onto the bandage and he winced, scrunching his face into a sour scowl. The pain wasn't wholly gone, but it had gotten a lot better. He kept prodding at himself. The bandage started to peel at the edges as he exposed his half-healed nose.

"Smells a bit like mint," he murmured. "Not so much of the smell as the- the burn of it, you know. But a nice type of burn."

Maybe that didn't make sense. Whatever it was, it didn't sting like antiseptic. He turned his head away to lick the tip of his finger without Asteria looking at him, though she could likely tell what he'd done by the sudden look of consideration on his face. He nodded approvingly. It tastes like an old lady's tea, but that was still substantially more pleasant than the artificial strawberry taste of muggle medication.

"Must be that. All magic, no chemicals," he muttered, drawing out the words like an advertising slogan coming over the radio. "Better for you, surely."

Asteria's question really struck to the core of the issue surrounding who was at fault. Why had he been out walking the grounds? It was a bit cold, and getting late by the time he'd gotten to her up in the tree. Who knows how long she'd been up there, given that she seemed to think that it was strange to be out there in the first place. The whole tree was like a trap for curious 11 year olds. Curiosity killed the child, or something close to that. It gave the child a fat lip, minimum.

"I'm not really sure. I've been trying to figure out how to get around, and I think I figured a look around the outside would help me get my bearings..." he recalled. He thought he recalled. It was difficult to be sure if this was just something that made sense in his head, or something that had actually happened, but it was just as good for the two of them either way. He shrugged and then turned to Asteria, rolling over onto his shoulder to face her. Still that big, busted-open smile. "It didn't. But now I know how to get to the hospital wing."

@Asteria Kurokawa

Asteria beamed back at George, thankful for the lack of tension between the two, filing away his musings on the healing potion, her mind mostly still processing his reply to her question. Then she registered what he had said about wanting to get his bearings, and it hit a switch in her brain, a frustration she had nursed quietly and often upon arrival. Hogwarts was a maze that first years were thrown into with little to no guide. She flopped backwards aggressively, her head nearly hitting the metal rail that comprised the headboard of the bed. "Ugh! Don't you just wish that they- the professors I mean - would give us a map, or something?"

She gestured upwards aggressively, her frustration nearly palpable. "Like, a guide would be great. I was so scared of being lost for the first few weeks. It was a nightmare. Also, it's just this whole new world-" again, her hands waved frantically, "they could have at least given me a pamphlet to explain their  expectations, y'know?" Asteria huffed, turning to face George again, finally realizing that he had been poking at his bandage. "And you shouldn't poke at that! You don't know if dislodging it might do something, haven't you paid attention in potions? It's all, well, finicky and stuff!" There was a faint pang of concern in her voice, her mind going over the rules and regulations of Potions, the only class she really found she could pay attention in. Going over her thoughts, she found a faint seed of protectiveness? growing there. She felt responsible for this boy somehow, having assumed the blame for his wounds, and now there was an impetus to prevent future harm. She prodded at the sentiment, intending to analyze it when there was the time and quiet for self reflection. For now though she was in this room, complaining to this boy, trying to keep him from accidentally poisoning himself potentially. Despite her few months in the wizarding world, a vague district of magic still lingered.

Pulling herself up, she continued to stare at George, only wincing slightly, as too much weight was placed on her broken wrist. Already, the pain had mostly faded, but it still lingered, brought into stark relief in moments when she forgot that it wasn't at full capacity. Thoughts tumbled, a puzzle trying to sort itself out, snapshots of her running down hallways attempting to align with memories of tumbling. There was something there, if only she could pull it together. From the outside, she must have looked as if she was a computer rebooting, gaze directed towards a distant unknown point, the tumblers churning in her brain.

"Hm," was all that she said, as the piece wormed their way together, an idea blossoming in her mind, and she smiled faintly.

@George Henry

George ceased his prodding as Asteria caught him picking at the edge of his bandage, stuffing his hands underneath himself to try and hide the fact he'd been doing so. He turned his head to the side to face her, a blushing cheek smushed against the pillow.

"I'm not dislodging anything!" he muttered in response, grumbling under his breath. He turned over on his side fully and propped up his head, pushing an elbow into the pillow instead. With his other hand, he smoothed out the front of his bandage, which then slid down the front of his nose, exposing the sore pink of his half-healed schnoz. He's dislodged it. George had never really paid attention in potion beyond when the professor spoke about himself. He was one of the Hufflepuffs, and was a healer at St. Mungo's before becoming a teacher. He was a very nice man. It's a shame, really, that he got stuck teaching such an absolutely boring course. Here we are at the school of witchcraft and wizardry, and he's stuck teaching chemistry. Well, not exactly chemistry, but it was close enough to lose George's interest. Science had long seemed like magic to him, but now magic seemed like magic, and now science really just felt like old hat. "My nose feels better, but the rest of me feels worse. I feel like a pancake ever since I hit the grounds. The leaves didn't do as much good as you'd think they would."

Like a pancake was really the most apt description of this feeling. He'd been lucky to get away with superficial damage, but the shock was wearing off and his whole body was starting to feel like it'd been smacked onto a frying pan. You know when you've got a nice, fluffy pancake, all young and full of vigor after having just climbed a tree, but then it slaps back on the pan clean flat and doesn't even bounce. That's how you know it's going to hurt, if it doesn't bounce. He stretched out his legs and let out a whimper, pushing himself back across the cot until he was upright in it.

"Do you think I should tell the nurse I tasted it?" George wonders, pinching the bandage over the bridge of his nose and keeping it pressed over the tender area. The wild-eyed expression and cocked grin made it difficult to tell if he was being serious, but perhaps Asteria had him figured out enough to know that he was telling the truth. It was harmless, and had a nice taste, really. They wouldn't give it to children if it was liable to kill them, he thought. And then he checked inside of his jacket to make sure his wand was still on hand. "They do sell maps in Diagon Alley, but I couldn't afford one. At the shop - the shop where they sell the remembralls. And the gobstones. If I get enough money to afford one, I'll let you have a look. Might do us a bit better than just wandering the halls until we get the hang of it, because I've had to get brought back to the common room by prefects the past few nights. Don't want to get the reputation of being the poor lost badger. That's one for Jake."

@Asteria Kurokawa

"Suuuuure you're not dislodging it," she said in reply, the eye roll obvious in both her actions and her voice. "And you could ask if it's okay. It's- it's probably fine..." she faltered off, unsure of the uncertainty that she had just caused, hands fumbling at the edge of her blanket. Glancing up however, she caught the look in his eyes, the casual way in which it was phrased and her worry began to melt away like morning dew. Her mind, no longer needing to needle over the small concerns of social interaction, began to fit together the puzzle she had been trying to pull together, pieces clicking together slowly as she stared at the bed next to her.

"Yeah..." she agreed, her mind still a million miles away. "I think I feel like a truck hit me? Not that I know what that feels like-" and at that she shrugged, "but now I think I can make a good guess." Raising her injured hand in the air, she wiggled her fingers, wincing as the pain - now numbed but still present - shot down her arm. It was welcome in a way, a reminder that she was a person with a body and an existence (and if she was honest, there was that bit of her, that tiny whisper of a thought, that said she deserved it, that this was penance. She pointedly ignored it. It wouldn't do to take on the weight of the world, not now.)

And yes, George was right. There were maps to buy, people to ask, places to go for advice. But what if you didn't want to do any of those things, didn't want to be - how had he phrased it? - oh yes, a "poor lost badger." What if there was another option?

And so she said as much: "What if there was a way that didn't mean we had to buy something or ask for help?" She flailed her hand out - ow. It was the bandaged hand again.  "What if we like- made a guide to Hogwarts?" The pieces had started to fall into place, her ideas clicking, and her tone picked up its pace, the excitements rising in her voice. "Something that students could turn to if they didn't want to feel singled out or anything? Something that tells kids who don't know anything about this world what the professors or other students don't realize might be important? But also," and here again her voice faltered, her enthusiasm dimming as she began to realize the enormity of the task. "I understand if you wouldn't want to. It's- it's just an idea, yeah?"

With her uninjured hand, she scratched the back of her next, her characteristic blush rising again. Hand dropping back down to her lap, she began to fumbled with the edge of her sheets, staring at her companion. 

@George Henry

"I'm not dislodging it," George insists, muttering to himself with a sour sneer on his face. He appeared absolutely assured that him tasting the medicine was fine, even if he did have to swish his spit around in his mouth to get rid of the taste. It clung onto his tongue like a blanket of out-of-date mint. He held his hand to his face and tested his breath - didn't smell any better than before.

Like a truck hit her? She must have gotten it worse than him. The pain was mostly in his legs from where they'd hit the branches on the way down. If you stared at the ceiling and pretended you didn't have any legs, you could hardly feel a thing. A toe wiggled under the blanket, and George looked down to see the white sheet shifting around where his feet were tucked in. He really couldn't feel it. Was he going to lose a leg? Was it meant to stop hurting? He looked the way of the nurse, who was much too busy to pay much attention to his case. She'd know if he was going to lose a leg. They'd have a spell for that sort of thing.

"Hogwarts: A History - Part 2, as authored by two first-years. One of which is a muggle-born. That ought to fly off the shelves," he suggested, turning over to look at Asteria again. "We don't know the castle. We'd have to ask somebody, wouldn't we? We could ask the paintings."

He snickered at the idea. They could fly off the shelves, literally. That would be a good practical joke for the poor kids looking for their textbooks. Any wounds inflicted by his cruel snub of her idea would be immediately soothed as his derision tripped and turned into pure, enthusiastic engagement.

"We could sell our own guide. What's the opposite of a history? It could be like, Hogwarts: A... present? That makes it sound like a gift book," he murmurs, reaching up to rub his chin. The fingers of his hand are scored across with red marks, a collection of scrapes that could have accumulated on the journey up or down the tree. He pulled himself out of thought and looked over to his suddenly shy partner in injury, watching her fidget with the sheets. He took to it as well, tugging at the edges of the white fabric covering his legs until it had all been bunched into a ball in his hands. "We ought to do that, yeah. We can put in everything. No stone unturned, no rumor uninvestigated. It's too bad there's no telly in the wizard world, I think this would be a real million-pound - uh, million-galleon idea if there were."

Quill and parchment would have to do. The contents of the book were still in a vague haze in the heads of two first-years, but he was certain it'd be an absolute success. The only thing he wasn't sure of was who would get their name first on the cover.

@Asteria Kurokawa

Her face fell for a moment as George considered her idea out loud. It was silly, wasn't it? The whole idea was really, who would want something from two kids who could barely even be considered teens? She started to close inwards, hands wrapping around each other, her body tightening up. But as soon as she began to close off, she stopped, as his tone shifted more towards approval and...ideas?

"Of course we'd have to interview the portraits. And the statues. And older students. And the staff. We need to know everything from, well, everyone?" She eyed him cautiously. Would he be okay with that? She assumed he would be, based on the barrage of questions she had faced only a few hours ago. Had it only been a few hours? It seemed as it it had been months since they first fatefully met in that tree. Nonetheless, here they were. Onward, she rambled "Would you be okay asking questions? We'd probably have to ask an awful lot, poke our noses into some weird places. Hel-" she caught herself here, reminding herself not to curse, "Heck, we might even get in trouble."

"As for a name.... Hogwarts: The Present doesn't quite trip off the tongue..." Her mind flashed to the row of travel guides her dad kept stacked on one of their shelves, a line of blue and yellow and orange, with strange names in block letters, drawing on them for inspiration. "What about.... Hogwarts: An Unofficial Guide. That way people uh- they can't get mad at us if the advice leads them astray, y'know?" With this, she gave a small shrug.

By now, her body language had loosened up. Her hands gesticulated wildly, when she felt the need to emphasize a certain point or idea, and her smile had returned in full force. Now here, here was an idea, a project that was hers, that she could share easily with someone else. And best of all, George liked it. Like actually genuinely seemed as if he liked it. 

"It won't be a quick thing, uh- obviously. But it's like- it's something that people need. And by people I mean me, but also any other first year that just doesn't quite understand it. So yeah- you're right. It will sell. I'm sure of it." 

The thought of a project, of something to do with her hands, a story to uncover made the lingering headache and pain in her wrists feel as if they were nothing. This was what mattered. This moment, this idea, these plans. 

"So. Do you have any other suggestions?"

@George Henry

"I'm muggle-born, I just said! Of course I'm good at asking questions!" the boy says, his off-color comment on blood purity garnering a lethal look from one of the nearby nurses. Regardless of any nonsense about purity, the status did come with its own set of challenges. Much like how the professors and older students seemed to know Hogwarts like the back of their hand despite its infinite complexities and oddities, the wizarding world was an enigma to a young boy plucked out of no-maj's land. "And are you really going to ask if I'm okay with trouble? We're in the hospital wing, Asteria. This is trouble!" He gestures down at himself with a flourish, wincing as the sudden motion pulls loose some bandaging from his arm.

He smoothed out the cloth on his arm, massaging the aggravated wounds as he listened to her speak on regarding the title. Hogwarts: The Present might have been a bit too literal for the student body, and young students might not appreciate the facetious humor and witty reference to another textbook that they had also never read. The 'present' bit would have made a nice double meaning, as it would be a good gift for first-years. Such a shame. "I think your idea is better," he admits, regarding the title. "Sounds nicer, and less libel... lie-bility." A word he's read, but never heard aloud, creeping into his speech.

Although George might have been hesitant to support the idea at first, his initial skepticism had given way to full enthusiasm that continued as they spoke. He was smiling - though it did look a bit like a grimace at times, as he massages his tender arm - and shuffling around on the hospital bed, making his cot squeak as he turns over to take the weight off of his bad side. He had to turn his head over his shoulder and talk back to Asteria to avoid irritating himself.

"I figure by the time we've got it together and are selling it, we'll just about be experts on the subject of Hogwarts. So, really, I don't think there'll be any issues with us being not so good at it right now. Makes it easier to write for a clueless first-year if you are one, I'd say," he adds, with a shrug and a self-assured nod. Reading about the Hogwarts would likely be more practical than reading ahead another chapter into divination, although both were hazy subjects that offered little in the way of concrete direction. Both, however, were very good fun. "I think it sounds perfect!"

And he really did think so.

@Asteria Kurokawa

The relief she felt upon his approval was almost palpable. Perfect. What a strange word to use for something that she was making. But it could be? Couldn't it? They could be experts. Who was to stop them from being that? After all, there was very little that anyone could to to stop two overly curious first years from wiggling into spaces that they didn't belong. As George had said, they had both ended up in hospital wing, with nary a consequence beyond wasted time. If they were more cautious, more planned? She couldn't even imagine what they would be able to get into.

"We're gonna need, like, a plan? Like we gotta write out a list of all the people that we should interview, the ghosts to talk to, the books to read, the places to go? So we don't bother the same people twice. Or maybe we do wan to bother everything twice, see what happens? I'm not sure..." She began to trail off, hands fumbling in the air, trying to work through her thoughts. They spiraled out, like a ball of yarn batted across a room by an overzealous cat, and it was down to her to chase after the string, wind it into something cohesive again. What she really needed was her notebook, a way of putting her thoughts on paper, snatching them out of the air and saving them from their own ephemerality.

Patting her pockets, she searched for her notebook, a small purple thing, bought at a pound store, stuffed with random notes and ideas, battered and nearly full. She winced as she did so, hitting one of the bruises that had not yet fully healed, her face screwing up in frustration.

Pulling it out, she laid it down on the bed, smoothing straight the wrinkled blanket under it as she did so. "Who do we need to talk to? Where do we need to go? Any good project needs a brainstorming session. C'mon, there's no bad ideas. Especially where we're concerned, I'm sure." It was true, for her part. George was- well, he seemed like he had a unique way of looking at things. Any idea from him had the potential to lead down a new road of inquiry, a whole new batch of discoveries.

She glanced over at him, rubbing the back of her neck almost self consciously. The elation of a new project filled her to the brim, the promise and potential that it all offered. Her dad had told her to make the best of Hogwarts. Well here she was, trying to do just that. She could only hope it was enough.

@George Henry