Salander entered the shed and looked around. It was clean enough for what he needed to do, but best of all it was dead silent and he was alone, a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts Castle. He saw the feed barrels and unopened feeds sack lining the wall, and decided to use one of them as a temporary writing desk. Carefully he took out the folded letter from his robes, staring for a while at the cursive that bore his name then opened it.

His eyes drifted through her words, smiling and at times chuckling, as if Danika was there talking to him, telling him of her time and her adventures in the Americas. Thoughts of home barely crosses his mind nowadays unless someone mentions something of it, and when it does he could feel a gentle tug at his heartstrings, only realizing then how much he misses it. At least Danika got to see it recently. Salander has never returned home since he moved to England two summers ago. As his eyes drifted towards the end of the letter he got a little flushed, shaking his head and chuckled sardonically. Oh Danika you have no idea....

He took out a fresh parchment scrolled up within his robes and wrote her back, taking his time and telling her of things that has happened since they had parted ways in Antarctica that summer. From time to time he'd find himself staring off the dusky window before he remembers that he is in the middle of writing. As he finished up the letter he was surprised to find his face moist. He wasnt even aware he was weeping.

He sealed the letter and pocketed it, but just as he did he felt a small scroll slip into his hand. He pulls it out to see a pink parchment. Slumping back to the ground next to the barrel he stares at the other scroll. It was the letter from Lexi.

He was almost afraid to open the scroll. His heart was racing as he opened it warily, as if it was about to burst into flames any minute. He starts to read it slowly... Wasabi. So that was the owl that nearly took his eyes out when it was trying to make him take the pink scroll. He didnt know if that was because it was consistent with his luck with animals or its just a special trait with anything associated with Gryffindor blonde.

As he kept reading, he could feel his face, his whole head starting to hurt. There was just so much misgivings, so many things left unsaid that he just buried deep and hoped would never come back when he walked away. He started to quiver as the words were getting more and more difficult to read, his vision clouded. Clenching his hand with the letter he pressed it against his lips, tears now flowing freely as he stared out that dusky window. Out of the blue he struck the barrel repeatedly. He felt like a fool. A complete idiot. Was it Lexi's fault that she never said anything? But then again why didnt he ask in the first place? What was he thinking? Or was he not thinking at all?

He thought he had gotten over this by now. But if he did, why did it still hurt?

He tried to write back, but as he set his quill against the new parchment nothing would come out, his hand just trembling, and again, he could barely see what he was doing.

Hastily he stood up and pocketed the letter and the rest of his belongings. He returned the barrel where it once stood and shifted the unopened feed sack where he found it.

The feed sack-- awkward, compact, heavy......

Suddenly he slammed his fist against it. That felt good. The kind of satisfaction that he hasnt felt in a long time. He dealt it a few more blows, then angrily threw off his robes, his coat, his tie-- this uniform was annoyingly stifling! He furiously pounded his fists against the sack, pouring out all his rage, all his hurt, all those nagging, pleading, mocking voices echoing in his head....

And somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, a silent scream...

What have I become?

He kept pummeling the feed sack with such intense fury, sweat and tears all mixing together in one hazy blur. These Hogwarts girls.... that Durmstrang girl.... that Jerk.... those bullies... his father....

Anybody else want to take a shot at him?

In his blind fury he didnt even see his fist slip right past the mangled sack, slamming straight against the rough paneling of the shed, skinning his knuckles clean through the back of his hand. He cried out in pain as he staggered to his knees, finally coming to his senses.

He realizes that the sack has burst in several places and was now pathetically spilling the feeds all over the floor. He glanced down at his trembling, wounded hands. Great, one of them is bleeding and both will be about twice the size before the night is over.

He contemplated of going to the Healer. But what will he tell her? He lost a fight against a tool shed?

He picked up his tie and used it to bandage his wounded hand. With the other he shakily cleaned up the mess, trying to make the shed appear as undisturbed as when he had found it. Taking up his coat and his robes, he took one last look around, making sure nothing else seemed out of place before finally turning for the door.