A Closed Door PV Kaegen Complete

He was scared. That was really the only thing that he was acutely aware of, everything else seemed a bit trivial. It wasn't just that he was scared for no reason, he knew very well why he was scared. He had a high chance of dying, and there wasn't a whole lot he'd be able to do about it. But as he was considering fighting back, she told him to look, and then sighed. You didn't sigh when you were about to fight, or kill, did you? He never did, anyway. That was something you did when you were tired.

Her voice changed, a lot. It sounded smooth, soft. Warm, almost. Like a cozy blanket you could crawl under by a fire. A safe blanket. Kaegen may have been more paranoid than most, but he was a little boy, and although tones and social cues were not something he had very much practice in, he could still understand a warm, calm, safe tone of voice. Or at least he could understand what it made him feel. He wasn't much calmer, but he felt himself wanting to believe her. Even if he wasn't aware of it.

It was, perhaps, good that he wasn't aware of that fact. If he had been, he probably would have assumed it was a mind-bending evil spell of hers, cast without a wand or by a minion hiding in the shadows. The boy's mind grabbed at the possibility of danger lurking somewhere with both hands, desperately trying to make sense of a world that didn't mesh with what he though of as real.

So when she said she was going to move closer to help him, his mind immediately came to the, for him anyway, obvious solution. She was trying to attack him, she was lying, she was going to hurt him and was using her soft words as a cover. His lips started to curl back in a snarl that starkly contrasted and almost contradicted his wide, terrified eyes. But then, she did move closer, slowly, smoothly. And she did gently hold out her hands. Just exactly like she said she was going to.

His lips relaxed, snarl fading. His eyes, for a brief moment, showed utter shock. Shock that he hadn't been hurt, and that this woman had actually followed through with even the tiny promise she had given him. She hadn't even tried to just go ahead and grab it. His brain scrapped the idea with the lie and immediate backstab, searching for something better, more suitable to the situation. It searched for a solution for a solid second while the shock left his face, replaced by a less intense version of the fear it had displayed just seconds ago.

It hadn't been a big promise, or a dramatic, huge gesture of goodwill, but it had been something. A promise, and then an immediate fulfillment of the promise. No conditions or underhanded anything. And she was letting him decide, she said that she wanted to help, not that she was going to. And besides all that, he was too tired to fight someone he wasn't sure he wanted to fight at all. He couldn't remember the last voice he heard that had sounded like that, assuming he ever had heard something similar.

She had to hold his arm in her hands heal it. Yeah, that made sense. It was strange seeing their skins contrast. His, the approximate color of a cold, white, sickly wonton wrapper. And hers anything but. He was scared, but he still lowed his arm a little bit, and gave a small nod.

"Alright."

He was wiling to give her a shot, more or less. He would let her do whatever she was planning on doing, come what may. But still, he really, really wanted to know why. Why she would help instead of hinder. Why she would act so differently from how grown ups should. If this wasn't a test, if she was just being honest, and good as she suggested she was being, then why? But for perhaps the first time, he wasn't sure how to ask.

Why are you helping me? Why would you help me? Why would you want to? He didn't know, and was too tired to think of a good way to express what he wanted to know. So he just kept looking at her, with confusion, and fear, and exhaustion. He would just wait, and see what she did. Move on from there, maybe ask his questions afterwards.

Hjørdis focused on nothing but the little boy in front of her. It dawned on her that he was like a scared little animal. It was like when you wanted to feed a squirrel. You could not just go rushing up to the little fellow, you had to be slow and calm. You had to hold out your palm and offer the food, giving him time to come to you. The same may have been true for this child. It was obviously impractical to wait for the child to actually seek help - it was clear enough that he did not want to seek help. He was walking about with blood dripping from his arm without a care in the world or any intention on fixing it. However, if she was patient enough, perhaps this could work.

Luckily, he was also a lot smarter than the squirrel. She could, at the very least, communicate with him and he seemed to understand her. He softened a little when she fulfilled her first spoken promise. His expression changed, almost as though he was taken back by that. Trust. Hjørdis listened to her instincts. Trust could have been an issue with him. Perhaps someone had promised not to hurt him - and then proceeded to hurt him. The Slytherin Professor could not help but wonder if the 'masked offender' was back, if the school was - once again - in danger.

A small amount of relief surged through Hjørdis as the boy consented to allowing her to inspect his arm. It was not much but it was definitely an improvement on the past five minutes, where he looked like he was about to hit her before looking like a terrified little kitten. "Okay, I'm going to hold your arm and lift the sleeve then..." She said softly. Her actions were slow, smooth and steady. She gently raised her hands, palms open as it gave an impression of being more approachable.

Carefully, she took placed her hand under his arm and lifted his sleeve a little. Hjørdis tore her eyes away from the boy's face to look at his arm. His skin was even paler than hers, to the point where it was ghastly. There was scratches and cuts all over his skin. Clumps of dried blood, mismatching against the fresh wounds. It was like the boy was constantly in battle.

Too many questions arose in her mind - and worry instantly filled her. Nothing about this situation seemed normal or right. She recalled that the kid mentioned being in the Grounds, the stables near the forbidden forest and a huge creature that existed. Did a magical creature do this to him? A part of her kind of hoped it was an attack from a scared creature over a planned assault from whoever had controlled the masked student last year... They never found out who that was, did they? At least if it was a creature, they could remove the animal from the school and move it to somewhere that was safer for both the animal and the students. And hell, she may be able to get rid of Griffith with the creature.

There were bruises, perhaps from the suit of armour that fell on him. Wounds that might have been a spell backfiring. Hjørdis hated every single second of this. He was far too young to be in such a condition. Way too many students here were in desperate need of a thing that is always taken for guaranteed and only appreciated when you don't have it: safety.

She could easily heal the cuts, bruises and clean up the blood. However, without a proper examination, Hjørdis could not tell if he had any broken bones or had been poisoned or anything. She needed answers to questions or to properly examine him but... he was not as clear with his words as she would have liked and he was far too unstable to examine thoroughly.

The Head of Slytherin pondered for a moment before speaking. She had to be clear in her instructions, if she wanted any hope of him letting her actually do her job. "I can help stop the bleeding, remove these bruises that you can see and seal the cuts too, okay?" She explained, hoping he understood that, "For me to do this, I need to get my wand..." She continued.

The last statement was a lie. She did not need her wand. Uagadou, where she graduated, specialised in wandless magic. The whole continent did not use wands as much, which was an European invention. However, Hjørdis decided that it was easier to explain to him that she would get her wand and use that to heal him than to try and explain wandless magic to him. He might have known what wandless magic was. But he was more likely to know that witches and wizards used wands. All of the other students and professors did, after all. He had one too. It was easier.

"My wand is in my left boot. I'm going to get it with my right hand and then I'll cast a healing spell on your arm. The spell will not hurt. But you'll see these cuts here close up. The blood will still be there but we can clean that up, afterwards, okay?" Hjørdis explained carefully.

"I'm going to move my hand now to get the wand..." As instructed, she slowly started to move her right hand towards her left boot. The Professor did not wear robes. She was dressed in a pair of jeans, a white shirt with blue stripes that was definitely going to end up covered in patches of red blood before long and a pair of black knee high boots. The left knee was the one she had been leaning towards the ground. Hjørdis carefully moved her hand to towards that knee before sliding out mayhaw wood wand from the inside of her left boot. Without robes, she needed somewhere to stow it away and boots made for very useful pockets when you needed one.

Taking the wand out slowly, Hjørdis did not cast the spell right away. She wanted to make sure that he had accepted her actions and was happy for her to continue. Waving a wand in front of a scared boy who clearly took her as a threat was probably not a good idea without consent. There was no guarantee that she would say the right spell... She had to just hope he trusted her enough to allow her to do this. "Can I cast the healing spell now?" The Professor asked, observing his reaction.

She said she could not only stop the bleeding, but also heal the bruises? Could magic do that, could magic just... fix you? Could magic heal that well, just make all your pain go away? He supposed that the question shouldn't be if magic could do all of that, but if she could. Magic was a tool, and a weapon. He knew all of that, but he had never seen it used for healing someone. For making someone better.

It seemed to him that if anyone was capable of using magic to heal people, it would be her. She moved so slowly, smoothly. Not scary, really. Sure, he was scared. But it was the inherent fear that saturated every thought that ran through his head. It wasn't directly associated with her any more. She wasn't holding a wand, and when he pulled back his robe and held his arm, her hand felt nice. It felt so calm, compared to his own. It was steady.

His own hands shook, were in pain. They were cut and scratched and chaotic and hurt. But hers seemed somehow above all that. He had never really looked at someone else's hand before, had never held much interest. But he felt his eyes drawn to hers. He had been touched before, it was not like the sensation was something new. But it was certainly alien. She almost seemed like she was simply above being hurt, above cuts and bruises and scrapes. She was different, and that did make him a little nervous. He was not the biggest fan of new things. New things usually meant him getting hurt.

She told him she was going to get his wand. He didn't say anything, but kept looking at her. He was, perhaps for the first time in a long while aware that he was panicking. She had even breaths, was clearly calm. It made him self conscious of his own quiet, barely perceptible breathing, of his own anxiety and complete lack of calm. So he breathed in deeply, and slowly exhaled. He could calm down too, he could match her, match this calm, powerful figure that said she was going to fix him with magic.

It was hard. His eyes intensified, concentrating on stopping as many of his thoughts as possible. No, she wasn't going to stab him. Calm. She wasn't going to turn into a wolf. Calm. She wasn't going to sprout wings. She didn't have chains in her back pocket, she didn't even have a back pocket big enough to hide them. She was calm, calm was nice. This was not a trap. But quelling his thoughts was like fighting a hydra without fire. Rule out one possible outcome and two more leaped from his imagination, ready to do battle with his desperate crusade for calm.

Perhaps it was impossible. She probably just wasn't human. But no, she felt human. She had the same amount of fingers as he did, and she felt too real to just be magicked out of nothing. By this point in time, he had been taking quiet, little breaths as deep as he could bring himself to be long enough for her to finish pulling out her wand. To ask if she could cast the spell.

"Alright."

He tried to decide if he wanted to close his eyes and wait for whatever it was to happen or if he wanted to see it coming. He decided he wanted to close his eyes, but was going to keep them open anyway, simply because he couldn't bring himself to not see what might happen to him. I mean, what if there was a possibility that he could escape, should she try and hurt him after all? No, she wasn't going to hurt. Calm, he was going to be calm. If she could be calm, so could he.

There were many situations in her life that Hjørdis had to be careful. There were times when she had to question what she was doing. Her life had a lot of stressful, worrying and intense moments - mostly all attached to her previous jobs - but there a different about of worry and tension that came with this one. She was not worried about being attacked. Yes, he was very capable of snapping and attacking her like a scared animal but she was confident in her own abilities that she knew she would not die from any attacks he launched on her. Being an auror or working in the Department of Mysteries all came with different things to stress about... Hogwarts, however, made you worry about the children.

It forced you to worry about them. As much as she tried not to, she could not help it. She was scared of doing something wrong when it came to the students. It was weird and unusual for her to feel fear. However, she was starting to gain his trust and that was something she knew was precious and incredibly fragile. The kid allowed her to try and help him. But one little mistake, one moment of surprise and that trust or faith he was giving her would shatter quicker than glass.

She held her wand as steadily as possible, careful to keep a note of her calm exterior. Years of putting on an emotionless mask helped her to hide any fears or worries she had in a situation. "Okay..." She replied as he appeared to agree to allowing her to cast the spell, "This will not hurt but it might surprise you. These wounds that you see will start to close up. But the blood will still be there until we clean it up... We can clean it after. I will now cast the spell," Hjørdis explained slowly, "Episkey," The Head of Slytherin cast the spell, which immediately started to take effect. The small cuts and scrapes instantly started to fade away till they were no longer visible. The larger wounds started to close up quickly first. They sealed up before starting to fade away.

As soon as she cast the spell, she turned her gaze away from his arm. Hjørdis watched the Ravenclaw's face as the spell worked its magic on his arm. She knew her healing spell would work on the wounds and injuries, so she did not need to watch it work. Instead, she watched the thing that she could not predict, trying to understand him. She silently observed his reactions, preparing for him to freak out on the off chance that he did.

Once the spell had fully worked, if the boy did not freak out and try to attack her or run away, then she would continue to talk. Assuming he was still there and present with her, she would say, "I will clean up the blood in a moment... First, how does your arm feel? Does it hurt anywhere? Can you bend it slowly for me and check if it hurts?" Hjørdis asked some questions, one by one, pausing between each one to give him time to react or action them. She wanted to make sure that there were no broken bones or other ailments but she could not do a thorough examination at the risk of him losing control. The pain from the wounds should have all healed up so she was hoping his arm was painfree now.

He could feel pain start to fade, tender start to magically go away. She was actually curing him, fixing him. When he opened his eyes upon feeling the change in sensation, his arm turning from stinging and hurt to perfectly fine in less than a minute. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but he didn't really understand why. He seldom did understand why the cursed blinding water started to build up over his eyes, causing the world to seem distorted and more scary than it should have been.

He didn't trust her, really, or at least that's what he told himself. She was a member of the faculty of Hogwarts, and therefore evil, with capacity for nothing but destruction, for letting in monsters to try again and again to kill him, to kill his friends. Or, perhaps, just friend. It didn't matter, the point was she was evil. And yet, he felt his heart not beat quite as fast. Or maybe it was beating faster, maybe just differently. He didn't often pay attention to his own rythmic beating, but it definitely felt off. And then there was the lack of a desire to run away.

The boy had never breathed normally. Not since the age of three had he breathed deeply or loudly on a regular basis, or without reason. Shallow, quiet breaths that didn't make much noise, breaths that were kept constant by the constant fear that ruled so many of his actions. But he could hear her breathing clearly, and her heart was not beating nearly so fast as his own. And she hadn't done anything she hadn't said she was going to do, she had kept every promise she had made to the boy. That, and there was a decided lack of wolf transformations that he could see.

A large tear slid down his cheek, but he looked more surprised about it than anything else. His off hand touched the tear gently, to feel what it was, to check to see if the moisture trail really was of his own body's making, and not some tiny liquid monster. His eyes widened, and he almost opened his mouth in silent surprise, but stopped himself, causing his chin to move a little bit, but that was it.

He should have been prepared for it after he had felt his eyes welling up, but he had gotten distracted by the woman with silver hair, the one that had healed his wounds and hadn't asked for anything in return. He had been distracted by her steady breathing and calm gaze, whereas his was anything but. In Kaegen's eyes there was madness, and it was painted there as clear as day.

His pupils didn't stay in nice little circles, they squished and grew and shrank and moved outward like an amorphous plague of black that pulled right back in like the tide, all the while jerking from left to right, up to down, looking for something to latch on to, looking for some kind of danger. Kaegen wasn't even aware of most of this. His eyes had always traveled around at high speeds, searching for danger or something of interest. The quiet, dead, still eyes were a new development, one brought about by his lack of sleep.

"You don't need to clean it up, but..."

A contract. She was going to offer him a contract and take something from him as soon as he asked for more help. He knew it was going to happen simply because it couldn't not happen. That was how the world worked, how people worked. He had paid attention to the lessons back at home, he had kept his eyes open here. Equivalent exchange didn't exist, in this world whoever held the leverage got the better end of the deal by far. And there was no leverage whatsoever that the little ravenclaw had.

But fear and adrenaline only holds back so much pain, and a chance for that to temporarily be over was much more welcome than he wanted to admit. Even with the contract, even with selling his services, or his things, to the calm, healing figure in front of him who he still had no hope of starting to understand.

Where did you begin with someone who didn't lie, and helped you? A friend, perhaps? But she was no friend, she was part of the staff. So she had to be after the deal. But, knowing what she could do, something in the boy didn't care, didn't care about the dangers. He just wanted to not hurt, even if it was just for a little bit. That wasn't a lot to ask for, and most children expected it even, demanded it throughout their lives. But Kaegen had always thought pain was a part of life. That sharp stinging bite that slowly becomes a dull throb.

"Could you do that again, just one more time?"

His robe was too big for him, and the cape and umbrella were clasped on, easily undone. He felt the material hit the ground behind him as soon as he undid the clasp, and could feel his hand start to quiver more than it should, could feel more tears following the first. He was exposing himself and he knew it and it was so much worse that he thought it was going to be. But he needed the pain gone. For just one day, and then he could move on.

His arms slipped out of the sleeves as he pulled the robe off over his head. He hadn't listened to the instructions given to flex his arm, or move it up and down, but he was too scared to think straight. A lot of instructions are lost on minds too chaotic to keep track of their own. He was, however, still able to respond to her, in a more or less loud enough voice to be heard, although barely.

"No, it doesn't hurt anymore."

That was why he was doing this, wasn't it? Underneath his robes was the emaciated, skeleton like body of a boy that looked like he was auditioning for a role as a young mummy. Most of his bones were fairly clearly visible, and wrapped around almost every available part of his body were leather belts and straps. Attached to these were pouches, bags, all manner of small container. One clearly held a book, ink and quill, other were far more vague. Underneath all of the leather straps and pouches he wore a thin, leatherish short sleeved shirt, and a fairly loose pair of ill-fitting pants, tied with a cord, instead of a belt.

It took him a bit to take off enough of the leather straps to actually manage to reach the shirt underneath, several minutes of terrified eyes and tears and shaking fingers, but he eventually succeeded, and lifted the shirt. Underneath was the price he paid for increased mobility, for incredible speed. It was the side effects of a spell he had crafted from the effects of a failed spell. If you cast Flippendo incorrectly, it launched you back hard. This allowed Kae to essentially fly, to shoot like a rocket out of the way of enemies, to have a spell that allowed him to change direction in midair.

He called the spell "Fleependo", and had no intention of stopping it's continued use. But it did mean multiple, heavy impacts to his gut and chest. The boy's entire front appeared to be a massive, black green and purple bruising, steadily ignored by a child who was firmly convinced that taking the time to try and fix himself would result in death. He would survive, and pain was a relatively small price to pay. But the knowledge that this would help in the long run did nothing to stop the pain.

He looked back up, more terrified than he had been in a very long time. He was exposed, it would be hard for him to run, he had no defense and no cloak and no broom or wand. If he attacked now he would probably just get caught up in his leather straps. It was not the smartest thing to do, or the most in character thing for the boy to be doing, but he was still a little kid. Despite his savage behavior, erratic mind and lack of compassion for those he deemed doomed, he was still 12, and still human. Or, at least half human.

"Can you... please?"

A moment of hesitation surged through her as she watched his eyes water. It should not have hurt but perhaps he was still in pain somehow? Poison? Broken bones? She had no idea. All she knew was that the Ravenclaw in front of her was... crying. Hjørdis had no idea why, however. She waited, as patiently as she could, without doing anything. The boy spoke. He told her that she did not need to clean up the blood before pausing for a moment.

Every single millisecond he took to explain the issue annoyed her. It was so slow. She felt like she had been here forever already. Of course, it was understandable. He was a scared child, he was not comfortable enough to explain everything so freely. But she was no saint. She was easily irritated on a good day. This was not helping. But Hjørdis had many years of experience dealing with insufferable people and maintaining a professional mask on her face that made it look like she was not annoyed. So she just waited, careful not to scare him and undo all of her hardwork up to this point.

It worked. She had no idea how or why but it worked. The boy opened up, if only for a moment. He asked her to do it again, which caused her to only further her worry. Was he still hurt? Did it not work?

That was when she heard a quiet whisper, saying it did not hurt anymore. He slips his arms out of the robe. Hjørdis just waited for him to be ready. Her eyes widened a little as she saw how tiny he was. 'Edgy' was an understatement. It was pretty horrific, to be honest. The former ministry worker had definitely seen worse situations in her life and much more horrific events. But this was a child. A young boy that looked like the walking dead.

The boy was covered in tons of layers, clearly not part of the school uniform. He looked as though he was carrying everything he owned on his person at all times. There were so many pockets and pouches. Surely that would get tiring. Hell, the Head of Slytherin found even just carrying her wand around to be a nuisance at times. His hands shook, tears fell from his face. The boy was a tiny skeleton with huge signs of bruising on what little fat and muscle he actually seemed to have.

She could not even begin to comprehend why he thought it was a good idea to walk around with a bruise that big, covered in layers of stuff. Heck, Hjørdis would remove every tiny little scratch or bruise from her skin the moment she spotted it. Even if it was a tiny cat scratch. That was one of the advantages to magic. Why suffer needlessly when healing magic could make it all go away in a blink of an eye?

Hjørdis had no idea what to even say or where to even begin with this child. How did he walk around like this? It baffled her beyond reasoning or logic. It sparked more questions than answers. The curiosity within her had certainly been challenged.

He spoke again, it surprised her. Please. He said 'please'. The boy really was like a terrified little child. She had no idea what happened to him or how he got to this stage but it was definitely too much for someone so young to handle. Hjørdis nodded in response, "Yeah... I'll cast it again..." She said calmly in response to him, "Episkey." She waved her wand once more.

She waited for a few moments, allowing the spell to work its magic before looking at him and continuing, "Is that better?" She asked him, hoping this was the end of the madness. This whole situation seemed so surreal to her. He was just a child, right? They were still in a school, right? This was all real... right? Boy oh boy, were people in this school weird. She should have stuck to Uagadou.

OOC: Sorry for the delay... I uh wrote this like a month ago and uh... forgot to post it... Thought I did, sorry!!

He felt the pain recede, felt his tears start to flow more freely. But even as they dropped on the ground, he started to scrabble about, long fingernails scratching the stones as he picked up the straps, tightened them around himself as quickly as he could. He moved as if someone was threatening him with a gun, and his eyes were practically glued on the woman in front of him. It was a wonder he was able to find all the buckles at all, a wonder he knew where everything belonged. So that every little patch of sickly, patchy grey skin was slowly covered by bags and belts and straps and cords and rope, little metal sticks and normal sticks, and everything in between.

There were the tines of a fork, clearly from the great hall sticking out of one bag, and some fabric that looked like it belonged to a curtain at one point or another in another container, as well as his school books, homework, quills and ink. Everything he owned that he could possibly carry, he had on him. By the time he had gotten the last buckle cinched, he had slipped his large robe back over all of it. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, this time to speak.

"I, Kaegen Deathmote, Fens-Born Scarf-Wielder, he who was called fat tadpole as a babe, suicidal idjit as a toddler, and he who earned the name Eeh before arriving at hogwarts, he who lost two and gained nothing. He whose names are given authority by grandfather, whose names were given authority by the conquerer of the 14th dark place."

He paused to bow quickly. It was low, but fast. He was clearly trying to follow some sort of protocol, without exposing himself to an attack or punishment.

"Have today been helped by you, in a great way, and at cost of your time, power and patience.

His face screwed up slightly, trying to remember something, before he started off on a kind of broken rhyme, said with as much conviction as he could muster.

"Some day your foes might surround you
The unkown on your fate might turn it's back
Fate my smile or frown, it's true
But for help but once you'll not lack
When hounded you are by countless hunts
when you find yourself bound by thread
I'll come save you, or aid you but once.
Risk my own life to spare your head."

He nodded with finality, as if his little nursery rhyme had fixed something, and then headed for the exit as best he could, still terrified, still worried, but now hurting a lot less. It had been a productive day.

Leaves thread, unless stopped.

Hjørdis watched the Ravenclaw in front of her carefully. Her heart broke at the sight of him. He was a mess. His whole body was wrecked. The boy cried as she healed him, perhaps relieved that he no longer felt the pain that he must have been feeling. The Slytherin Head of House said absolutely nothing, not even moving a centimetre, as she watched him quickly get all of his belongings together again.

He was the first to break the silence with his words, which turned out to be his introduction. Kaegen Deathmote, a name that she would have to watch out for. She noticed the scarf that he wore as he claimed he was a scarf-wielder. Every word he said was unusual to say the least but she committed each and every one to mind. They were the most that he had spoken in a while and they were important enough to each bear a lot of meaning. Hjørdis stared at him, noting mentions of 'losing two, gaining nothing' and his 'grandfather'. She could not help but wonder if he had lost his parents. Perhaps they were the two that he spoke of.

The boy continued to introduce himself, before moving to thank her.  All of it was strange but she did not mind. What bothered her was none of that. It was the words he said after he expressed his gratitude. He almost vowed to help save her if she ever needed it, even at the expense of his own life. That was something that the Slytherin did not like. He was a child. Nought but a child. He was far too young to make such promises or even feel the need to. He spoke unusually for a young child. Hjørdis stared at him.

There was a temptation that tugged at her heart. The urge to pat his head or perhaps even hug him. The desire to tell him that everything will be okay. Hjørdis fought the urge. If it were anyone else, perhaps she would have done it. But a surprise hug or pat with this child would probably worry him more. She watched his expression some more. It was still full of fear and worry. It broke her.

"You don't have to worry about me, Kaegen Deathmote," She said softly, not wanting him to risk his life for her. That was literally her job here, not his. She was the adult here, not him. She was the one responsible for him, not the other way around. Hjørdis sighed softly, she had been positioned closer to the door the whole time. She had, after all, positioned herself there to stop him from leaving in the first place. He had to walked past her to get to the door. Slowly,  Hjørdis attempted to pat his head as he went past her. It was gentle. If he allowed her to do it, the professor would gently pat his head, "If you want to aid me..." She would say softly, before glancing down at the boy, "Then take care of yourself."

Hjørdis really wanted him to come to her when he needed help. She wanted him to seek help when he was in trouble. She wanted all students to do that. But more than that, she wanted to know why he had managed to get so hurt in the first place. Here and now was not the right time, however. "Be careful and stay safe, Kaegen Deathmote," She repeated, committing his name to memory.

If he had allowed her to pat his head then she would remove it and let him leave after she had spoken. Assuming he left the room, Hjørdis would quickly follow in suit. There was nothing left for her in the classroom now. Besides, she had to make some notes on the situation. Research and knowledge was power here. She needed to know everything she could find out about this boy.

||| Leaves thread if Kaegen leaves.

He heard her tell him to not worry about her, which he didn't know what to do with. He hadn't been planning on worrying about her. She was one of the professors, she was stronger than he was, or at least probably was. He would help if she needed it, but he really couldn't spare the brainpower to think about her any more than that. He had to stay alive, she was an enigma, a wonderful exception to the rule that stated pretty clearly how you should never trust, or go near, a professor.

What she said next, however, was the just about the most confusing thing that had he had ever heard. Or at least the most confusing thing he could remember hearing. If he wanted to aid her, take care of himself? How would that benefit her? How was that something she would be gaining? Why did she want him alive? For that matter, why did she help him back there? What was her angle?

This turn of events so shocked the boy, in fact, that he didn't react hardly at all to the hand on his head, save for a involuntary, tiny twitch of a finger. He slowly turned to look at the lady standing there, staring her dead in the eyes, fear moving to the back of his mind for a moment as he attempted to rationalize why she would want him alive, why she wanted to waste a life debt on telling him to take care of himself. Was she stupid, or maybe so incredibly powerful she didn't need the help?

"What? What... what do you gain?"

His pupils were still moving, just a little, and his quiet voice was far from steady. But this was too far outside of his world. This was unacceptable. She was losing something great, something that people would kill to have, and telling him to take care of himself. She gained nothing, this could not exist, this didn't happen.