 Post 3 PHILOMATH ❅ not one atom, but two ♪ ♪ made of starstuff ❅ def main():
Bloody hell, first years were getting to his level. FIRST. YEARS.
He might have cried if he weren't in the middle of the classroom surrounded by all the student population of Hogwarts AND their Auror of a professor. No, no, he wasn't a crier. He did not sob or sniff or do any of those things anymore. He'd sworn them off a long time ago. Stupid and unhelpful, they were. Better to get angry than get sad.
But, then again, getting angry usually got him in trouble, and there was no use getting angry at the moment. Professor Auror would never take him seriously again; he'd just assume he was completely mental and Benzi was perfectly sane, thank you very much.
He sighed again. Sane, yes. Over the mood, practically giddy with happiness? Not so much.
Benzi closed his eyes, and blocked out everyone. Watching other people succeed wasn't helping him in the slightest. Usually it made him competitive but today it just made him want to either leave the room like Sophie had - where did she even go anyways? she'd managed the bloody charm - or hex them all into next week. Neither was an option.
C'mon, Rider, think. This was important. Concentrate. Focus. He knew why he couldn't do this, after all. Deep down, Benzi knew. Shutting his eyes again, he remembered Suri's fourth birthday. Such a happy event, lots of laughter and happiness and cake. The cake had been fantastic. Uncle Jake, aunt Nina, Lucas and Alice. His ability to cast the perfect patronus was in those memories. The ones that were ruined. Benzi knew that once the longing for them went away, he'd be fine. He'd finally be 'happy'. Whatever the heck that meant.
All right. He could do this. No time like the present to let go of his dead family. He could do this.
"Expecto patro-" the incantation caught in his throat, and his wrist jerked to the right. No. No, he couldn't do it. He just couldn't. Benzi's stomach clenched painfully, his hand dropped to his side and he deflated. He couldn't. Ever so slowly, the sixteen year old inched his way to the back of the classroom and leaned against the back wall, his eyes screwed shut. No. It was still... too soon. Still too fresh. All these years and every single time this came up, it still hurt.
But Benzi didn't cry. With a stony face and fisted hands, the Ravenclaw glared at the classroom and all its occupants and he waited for the professor to move the lesson along. Enough was enough.
__________________ yeah I like tеlling stories________________________
but I don't have to write them in ink_____
_____________I could still change the end
Last edited by Daemon; 05-19-2015 at 01:31 PM.
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