 PHILOMATH ❅ not one atom, but two ♪ ♪ made of starstuff ❅ def main():
So many things happened and Sylvie had trouble concentrating, because apparently a scorched face was VERY HIGH UP THERE on the list of highly distracting things that HURT, a LOT. The ice helped somewhat, but she could hardly focus on that either.
Wishart was saying stupid things, and Sylvie shrieked and rolled away from the direction of his spell, absolutely not caring if it was supposed to be helping her. NO MORE WANDS FROM PROFESSORS. Her own was useless in her hands, shivering and shaking from pain and fear and anger and worry and pain, lots of pain.
Ainsworth was still standing, and Sylvie felt her eyes well up with tears just from his voice and it was the worst thing she's ever felt, right up until another of the Scrimgeour's people showed up and she tried to scramble to her feet, away from everyone who were very likely to hurt her more. She hadn't actually broken any rules this time, and she'd gotten a dark hex to the face. Professor Hirsch had never let them use dark hexes, and now she understood why.
She'd just managed to get on her knees, her left arm useless to her as it too throbbed with pain, careful not to drop her wand. Turning to Chloe with a grimace, she wanted to ask for a little help once she was done with the kid but then FLETCHER appeared and she froze. If Ainsworth was capable of jinxing her, what would Fletcher do? She was rooted to the spot, knuckles white as they gripped her wand as tightly as she could, scorched and mangled face slowly turning to watch the events unfold.
She was not relieved when they left. She was a little relieved when Zoryn popped right back up, almost as good as new. Davis was talking, Chloe was being helpful, Wishart was doing something or other and she.... needed to go. Right now.
Barely holding back a sob, she heard what Zoryn said as she got to her feet heavily next to her. Through unnaturally puffy, beady eyes she weakly surveyed the scene before her before glancing down at the throbbing welts on her skin. If her arm looked like that, and her face felt the way it did, she could only imagine how disfigured she was right now. Probably unrecognisable.
Another sob bubbled up and she couldn't stop it this time, nor the one after it or the following one after that. The tears HURT and everyone were okay but her, everyone just had small welts but her, useless, helpless, stupid Sylvie. Without a second thought, the seventeen year old turned on her heels and started to run out of the hall, professors and the hospital wing be damned.
__________________ yeah I like tеlling stories________________________
but I don't have to write them in ink_____
_____________I could still change the end |