Coming home tonight | self para
He didnāt expect more from the night out Olivier promised him. In fact, Pierre left the castle with little expectations, half-heartedly following the strange group from behind in spite of his old friendās best efforts to get him in line with everybody else. Just out of spite, howsoever, he would always remain one step away from them, as if not walking in the same pace with them would mean he wasnāt breaking the rules shoulder to shoulder with Olivier, his new friends and freaking Lily Potter. Breaking rules he didnāt mind, though something deep down in his mind was constantly whispering about how that was a big mistake and a bad idea, not because it could get them expelled, but because the danger of being out after curfew was, for this time only, real and there was a reason Hogwarts was locked down and they had more trouble than they usually would have sneaking out. But he didnāt comment. For once, he wouldnāt be the one to kill the party vibe, even if he wasnāt sharing it.Ā
Getting inside the club turned out to be an easy part of the plan. The blonde excited girl seemed to have made fake IDs for all of them, which was convenient. Pierre wouldnāt have wasted time making them in the first time and besides, he was already eighteen. Yet, he used what the blonde girl he later learned was named Scarlet (or was it Glinda? We wasnāt sure, but one of them was the so unnecessary cover. No one really cared about any of their names, he was sure.) made for him and agreed to call himself Richard for the rest of the night. He didnāt, of course, but he told her she would. They joked about his name fitting the character perfectly because he was a dick (Lily Potter having the nerve to initiate the trend while nudging her cousin), and even Olivier understood the joke. He was a little disappointed he did. His friend was making memories with other people now, that was clear to him and didnāt hurt, but, at the same time, he was growing and Pierre wasnāt around much to pat him on the back as he was learning how to sayĀ āpsychologyā without choking on his words or having his accent transform the word into something completely different. He smiled bitterly though. A bitter smile was still a smile and Pierre knew it was the best he could give in return. The alternative was a pout and he promised he would try to have a good time.
He was really trying, in fact: ignoring Lily Potterās snark and pretending it didnāt bother him that it turned to that from regret and need for her friend back, laughing in a cheeky manner at how Dominique was trying her French on him and correcting her patiently when she was slipping and almost having the same friendly attitude, no awkwardness attached, towards Olivier. At some point, he even allowed himself to flirt for a short while with the Gryffindor boy, Tristan - he reckoned, and as soon as he made sure with a glance that Lily Potter was looking in his direction, he made a move and glued his lips to his, kissing him like he meant it, not like he did shots with Olivier and Scarlet a new moments ago. He did it as if it was easy and he realized it wasnāt as difficult as he once thought it was. Having fun wasnāt in his blood much anymore, but that was proof that it wasnāt against his nature either. It was probably more than he expected. There was a drop of hope in his eyes by that time of the night - even though his eyes turned from blue to grey from all the monotony in his life.
And then it happened. Too soon for his personal taste, an explosive potion destroyed half the wall of the club. The attacker was nowhere to be seen, though Pierre wasnāt finding it difficult to connect the dots and know itās the man that escaped from Azkaban. His heart was beating really fast - he could feel it booming inside his chest as he watched in a frozen position how most people were evacuating the club, yelling in panic and stepping over each other. The blonde girl - he knew her name by then and it was Scarlet Burke - started breathing very fast and it looked as if she was having a panic attack. Panic was nowhere near Pierre, howsoever. In fact, all he did was stand still, back against the bar they were hiding under, fingers clenched on his wand so tightly that he was about to break it, and contemplating. He wasnāt paying attention to anything but his own heartbeat, trying to fix its rhythm and calm himself. The agitation around didnāt help much, but he eventually managed to keep it under control and catch Johanna Cornerās intention to jump into battle. A few offended frowns flew towards her and he didnāt understand why (since he wasnāt paying attention to the moment before her lines were delivered), but didnāt care much at that point. They seemed to agree, howsoever. He didnāt understand why, but Scarlet was left behind, shuddering as her cheeks were soaked into tears and her left hand was holding tightly, yet in a completely wrong position, her wand, just like the right one was holding Tristanās hand.Ā
After taking one last deep breath, they all stormed into the battle, shouting hexes back. Not even the five wands pointed at the criminal were enough to take him down. They werenāt properly trained and too unmethodical to stand a chance. Pierre figured that out, so he tried to step away and get closer to the man with the dark cloak, spitting curses like crazy towards his friends (whom he called friends in his mind without even realizing). If he could get close enough, he could isolate him in a bubble of air or suck the air out of his lungs... maybe. The least he could do was try.Ā
He was steps away when he heard a pitched voice - if he turned around heād see Scarlet from behind the table, but instead, he saw a wand shooting red, pointed at someone behind him, and he knew exactly who - yellingĀ āLily!ā, and before he knew it, he took the two steps to left he needed to take in order to be the perfect shield and took the hex fully. At first, it didnāt hurt because the cut in his throat was smaller than the shock, and not even after realizing he was lying on the ground with blood pouring out of him did he feel actual pain. Instead, he focused on listening, for a moment. He heard an auror voice shout the concluding hex and then the motion before him stopped all of a sudden. He heard his name being gasped more than once and he felt a couple of bony hands trying to do something to stop the bleeding. What exactly, he did not know or feel.Ā
The last thing he had seen before pressing one eyelid against the other, as a silent conclusion, was Mercyās blonde hair and, for a moment only, it looked like his mother holding his head up, with her cold, distant icy eyes and pursed lips. He heard a couple of more sounds, probably cries, probably he didnāt know, but it all blended together into his ear, before it all cut out. Just like that.
And Lily Potter would make more bitter jokes, and Olivier would learn more English words and how to say them correctly, and Tristan would kiss dozens of other boys on their lips, and Scarlet would come up with fake names for other people, too, and Dominique would whisper French words into other ears. But he? He would never.