//So, you know how people give one another the cold shoulder? I imagine that after fights Eric and Richard do that, but sometimes they go the extra mile. If one of them approaches the other and the other is still mad at him they’ll just look at them nonchalantly and speak another language. Like can you imagine:
Richard: “Eric, have you seen my book?”
Eric: *Glances up at Richard and replies in German*
or
Eric: “Rich, where’s my coat?”
Richard: *pretends to read whilst replying nonchalantly in Scottish Gaelic*
Smaller and smaller the circle of protection shrunk. The streets, as far as Eric was concerned, were teaming with Death Eaters. Behind every building, peaking through the cracks of every window, hiding in the flickering shadows of the night they were there. They were listening.
Crows. A bunch of god damn crows they were. And just like a flock of crows, the Death Eaters brought one thing and one thing alone when they merged: A murder. The Slytherin didn’t even have to think twice to know who’s murder would be dripping scarlet upon walls next. One thing was certain he had to get out of here. Running away, that was easy. Anybody could run away. But to shake loyal dogs loose?
-------------------------------------------------
The holidays came and went as quick as a bird’s wingbeat. Frankly, in spite of the circumstance Richard found himself in, this was probably one of the best Christmases he had in years; or at least it was the least lonely Christmas he’s had in years. It was just like the old days: He and Eric exchanging presents, albeit rather small and crap ones, but it was the thought that counted; Richard desperately failing to cook a proper Christmas dinner and Eric just getting a laugh out of his best friend’s failures; and of course the two getting absolutely, piss drunk on New Years Eve and waking up with sickening hangovers the next morning before pushing and wrestling the other for the toilet. It was just like they were foolish, naive boys again. No fighting. No raised voices. No talk of You Know Who. None of that. Nothing but a cloud of golden innocence. Sure, Richard, and he was pretty sure Eric, wished that Pheli was there, that way their trio would have been complete. Still, it’s better than nobody.
And yet, as quick as a bird’s wingbeat, reality seeps in through the golden cloud’s cracks. It waters it down, down, down until it inevitably pours.
“Och, I really hate classes after the holidays,” exclaimed Richard, as he staggered through his house’s door and began to make his way to Eric’s bedroom where he could hear the Slytherin shuffling about. “I used to hate it when I was a wee boy, but now I loathe it! At least back then it was just a few leafs of homework to do. Now? Now it’s basically, ‘Ey’, welcome back from the holidays. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Here! Have a whole bloody mountain of paperwork to check’. A bloody headache, I’m tellin’ ya’, man.” The Hufflepuff professor stopped at the doorway when he noticed Eric shoving clothes into a suitcase. “Goin’ somewhere?”
Eric didn’t even turn around. He just continued to fold his shirt up. “You’re home earlier than I thought. I was gonna do this when you were still at the castle, thought it would ease the sting that way.”
Richard’s lips folded into a tight line. “They’re here, aren’t they? They’ve found yer’ location?”
“Pass me that book over there?”
“Have they tracked yer’ location?” asked Richard, his words harder this time, but absolutely bubbling with concern.
“I’ll get it myself.” Eric was about to swipe the book from off the bedside desk, until Richard slammed his hand down over its cover. His blue gaze not leaving the Slytherin’s expressionless face for a second, even if Eric wouldn’t even spare a glance back. “Yer’ hands on me book, Rich,” he muttered.
“You don’t have to go, Eric. We can fight them together!”
“We?” This is exactly what he was afraid of. Eric’s face scrunched up with confusion.
“Aye! We! You don’t have to fight alone, Eric. I’m a lot stronger than I was last time. I know a ton more spells than I used to. I’m a professor for God’s sake!”
“Ye’, a professor for magical creatures,” he scoffed. “These aren’t Cornish Pixies, Rich. These are Death Eaters.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m a lot stronger now! You can hide out here and if any of them come our way we can just fight the ourselves. We don’t need to call on the aurors if you don’t wanna, and you don’t have to keep runnin’.”
“Runnin’?” Eric let out another scoff, but this time it sounded more like a hiss than a laugh. “You actually think I’m runnin’ away from them. Feckin’ hell, this was easier than I thought.” He tried to lift the book up again, but Richard planted his hand down on the book’s cover, a little firmer than last.
“Isn’t that why yer’ leavin’?”
“Who said I was runnin’ away from them, Rich? Towards them is more like; now get yer’ hand off me’ book.”
“What the hell does that even mean!?-- Don’t play dumb, Eric. Yer’ runnin’ away. I know ‘cause it’s what you always do when yer’ scared. I can see it in yer’ eyes! You always try and run! You think that’s the best way to--” A gasp escaped Richards throat as Eric grabbed him by his collar and shoved him against the wall. He felt the back of his head back against the surface, but the Hufflepuff didn’t flinch. With Eric’s arm pressed against Richard’s throat, their knife’s glares squared in on the other.
"Oh, shut up!” The Slytheirn spat. “How thick do you have to be!? Ye’ actually thought I came back here ‘cause I wanted to become friends again? ‘cause I missed ye’ and Pheli? I'm not a child, Rich!”
Richard tried to pry the other’s arm from off his throat, but, as per usual, Eric was stronger. A hacking cough began to bubble up from deep within the Hufflepuff’s throat as he let his fingers clasp around Eric’s arm. He could feel the snaking lines of his tattoo. “Why did you come back then?” he heaved.
“Buyin’ some time,” Eric shrugged nonchalantly. “Things were lookin’ rather bleak for us Boys In Black. So, we all thought it be best to stay low for a while, and gather intel in the meantime before regroupin’.”
“That’s shite.”
“It’s the truth, Rich.” Eric pressed a little harder, emitting another cough from the Hufflepuff. “Sometimes the truth stings like a bitch, eh?”
“You can’t scare me, Eric,” he croaked. “I know what yer’ doin’. Yer’ tryin’ to shake me lose so you could run off without me followin’. I’ve known you for ten years now. Yer’ a Slytheirn’, yer’ good at manipulation. Don’t try to trick me, I know how this works. I don’t care what you say. I’m comin’ with you.”
Little shit. A smug and rather empty smirk tugged on the corners of Eric’s lips. “Scare you?” he chuckled, as he tilted his head. “Nah. If I wanted to scare ye’, you’d be drownin’ in a puddle of yer’ own blood. I really don’t wanna have to let it get to that, Rich. Now let go of my book.” Eric’s words were smooth and almost mockingly unperturbed. Richard could feel his own heart plummet into his stomach before having it churned up. With a stiff glare still locked squarely onto Eric, Richard just nodded.
Once the Slytherin released the younger and finally managed to swipe the book from off the table, Richard rubbed his sore neck and let out a train of hacking coughs before letting a static silence take charge. Eric’s case closed with a sudden snap as the Hufflepuff just stood there with his arms hanging on his sides. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.
Richard’s brows remained pinched as he did his best to study his friend. What the hell did Eric think he was doing? This was bullshit.
“Give my best to Pheli.” Grabbing his case, Eric was about to leave the room until Richard marched right in front of him.
“I don’t believe ya’,” growled Richard, standing as straight as he could.
“Out of the way, Rich,” tut Eric, as he simply shuffled passed the smaller man.
“This is shite,” he hissed, as he took his place in frotn of Eric, once more, in the middle of the hallway.
“I’m losin’ my patience. Don’t make me hurt ye’, Rich. Out of the way.” After about five paces, Eric made it to the living room. He was just about to extend his hand and reach for the main door, until Richard wedged himself in front of the Slytherin, yet again.
“Yer’ not as clever as you think you are, Eric. I’ve seen through yer’ bullshit from a mile away in the passed, and I can still see through it now. Yer’ not leavin’. Yer’ not gonna run, at least not without me.--I don’t believe ya’ for one second, mate. You came back ‘cause you felt guilty!” barked Richard. “You felt guilty for abandonin’ Pheli and I. It was eatin’ you up inside; it still is. I can see it written all over yer’ face. So, don’t try and act like you don’t care, cause I know you do. You have fear written all over yer’ fuckin’ face.”
“You came back ‘cause you were terrified of the person you were becomin’! You came to me ‘cause you wanted to feel like the man you once were. A good man. The man you still are. The man I know you are and always have been! I don’t know what the hell yer’ tryin’ to prove, man, but whatever it is yer’ just gonna end up goin’ no where or diggin’ yer own grave if you go alone.” A beat. “I know Pheli isn’t here, but right now it’s you and me, pal. You and I have gone through hell and back and somehow made it. And you wanna know somethin’? The honest to God truth? The truth is if you leave-... If you leave I’ll just be more scared than anythin’.” Extending his hand, Richard placed a hand on Eric’s shoulder before gripping it a little tightly. “Look,” the Scotsman’s words softened now, “I get it, we’ve all done shitty things. That doesn’t make us shitty people, Eric. Sometimes the best thing to do is try and mend those shitty things as best we could, but we don’t have to do it alone. I’m comin’ with you and that’s final.”
“Sectumsempra,” cried Eric, as he flicked his wand at the Hufflepuff. A small, flash of white launched itself at Richard, catapulting him onto his now smashed table. The Slytherin’s heart leapt in his body. He wanted to break his stone-cold expression and cry at the sight of Richard trembling and gasping in his own dripping pool of red. The claws of red dribbling through Richard’s shirt was enough to make Eric wince, or at least it would have been if he wasn’t busy keeping this act up.
“I warned ye’,” mused Eric, as he bent down to get a better look at his horrifying work. He could feel Richard’s warm blood stick to the knees of his pants. Feck. Feck. Feck. “Everythin’ I told you was the truth, Rich. You said so yer’self, manipulation is a Slytherin’s speciality. I’m just amazed that after all this time you fell for it, again and again and again. You never learn do ye’?”
Richard opened his lips to try and get a word out, but all that escaped his throat were mewling whimpers. The world was painted in red. His body couldn’t stop shivering. Just then he felt Eric turn his arm over with the tip of wand. The now fleshy words ‘Mudblood’ remained etched upon his white skin.
A small shiver travelled up Eric’s spine “At the end of the day you are and always will be nothing but a stupid, useless, filthy mudblood. At least I managed to get some use out of ye' while I still could." Standing up right, Eric grabbed his suitcase and placed his wand back into his pocket. “Goodbye, Richard.”
Step by step Eric trotted further and further away from his injured friend who was laying barely conscious in a river of cuts, blood, and glass. Step by step, the further the Slytherin got from his misdeeds, and yet the image continued to stain the frontal lobe of his brain, and the inside of his eyelids. Red. Pools of red.
His palms began to coat the handle of his case with a fresh layer of sweat.
Leg after leg he marched.
Street sign after street sign he crossed.
‘What have I done. What have I done!?’
Eric’s mind, along with every fibre in his moral being was screaming at him to turn around, heal his best friend--and possibly one of his only friend’s-- cuts, and make amends. Wash the sins of scarlet away. He couldn’t dare to drown in anymore red.
Breathe. He couldn’t breathe.
But his legs kept on going. One leg after the other. Further and further.
II @ericbrandonrp
“A Hogwarts Hufflepuff professor harbouring a criminal. This is like some kind of sick joke.-- Tell me, Mr. Mayhew, what exactly is your relationship to Eric Brandon?”
“I guess you can say he and I are somethin’ of old friends.”
“He’s a Death Eater.”
“He’s an idiot.”
( @ophelia-hendrix II @ericbrandonrp )
‘ The now early, dawning light creating a triangle of fragile light upon them in the wee hour of the morning, indicating their last day of summer, and this h u g .
