Post by albin dimitrius allard on Sept 29, 2022 20:17:18 GMT -5
“
Lauren was dead.
She had been murdered, burned to death in her own classroom and her heart cut out.
And they had no idea who had done it.
A lot of what Professor Kobayashi and Professor Beausejour had said was lost on Albin. He remembered screaming, remembered telling them over and over that they were wrong. They had to be mistaken. It couldn't be true. He remembered his knees hitting the hard ground of Professor Beausejour's office. Besides that, it was all a blur.
Albin sat outside the Hospital Wing, alone. He wasn't sure why they had brought him there; there hadn't been much left of Lauren when they had found her, not enough to even begin to believe she could be saved. He didn't remember being led here, only Professor Beausejour's arm wrapped around his shoulders as she coaxed him into one of the chairs in the corridor.
Everything was a blur, and nothing mattered. Nothing mattered, when Lauren was dead and Albin was alone.
The topic of conversation going on just inside the Hospital Wing, door ajar, was clear, though a lot of the words themselves were muddled. Hogwarts would be closing for good any day now, and now Albin had no one to care for him. He was only 16, seven months and change from being an adult. His only parent had been murdered, and he knew no one else would be stepping up and volunteering to take him in. He'd caught the words Johnson Home for Boys once or twice.
Albin sniffled, though he found that there were still no tears. That, of course, made him feel even worse. How could he have no tears for his own mother? Instead Albin sat, staring at a spot on the opposite wall. He tried to make himself cry. Tried to make himself feel something other than shock and numbness. Didn't Lauren deserve at least that?
After a while—how long, he couldn't fathom—Albin suddenly became aware of someone sitting next to him. When had that happened? He couldn't be sure. Albin blinked, trying to force his gaze anywhere other than the crack in the stone wall he had been fixated on.
It was Professor Holmes, Albin realized at last. It was like everything was moving both incredibly slow and at breakneck speeds. His mind was sluggish, trying to comprehend a thousand different things, none of which he wanted to accept as true. Lauren wasn't dead. She couldn't be. This was all some gross misunderstanding, and any minute now she would round the corner and pull him close and tell him everything was going to be okay. Professor Kobayashi and Professor Beausejour must have been mistaken. Lauren was just away, and would be back any moment to take Albin home. She would make him soup like she had the first day she'd brought him into her home, and everything would be as it should be. It had to be. If Albin accepted anything else as the truth, he would surely come apart and never be able to put himself back together.
Distantly, Albin was able to pick out the sound of Professor Holmes' voice. His words, though, were lost on Albin, though he was at last able to pull his gaze away from the place he'd been staring at. Albin blinked, his eyes burning, and he rubbed his eyes hard enough that he saw spots.
Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he could wake up from this, and everything would be back to normal. Lauren would be just down the hall, probably cooking breakfast. All Albin had to do was wake from this nightmare.
"I want to go home." The words were whispered, his voice breaking with the final syllable. No tears fell yet, but with each passing moment they hovered closer and closer to the surface.
She had been murdered, burned to death in her own classroom and her heart cut out.
And they had no idea who had done it.
A lot of what Professor Kobayashi and Professor Beausejour had said was lost on Albin. He remembered screaming, remembered telling them over and over that they were wrong. They had to be mistaken. It couldn't be true. He remembered his knees hitting the hard ground of Professor Beausejour's office. Besides that, it was all a blur.
Albin sat outside the Hospital Wing, alone. He wasn't sure why they had brought him there; there hadn't been much left of Lauren when they had found her, not enough to even begin to believe she could be saved. He didn't remember being led here, only Professor Beausejour's arm wrapped around his shoulders as she coaxed him into one of the chairs in the corridor.
Everything was a blur, and nothing mattered. Nothing mattered, when Lauren was dead and Albin was alone.
The topic of conversation going on just inside the Hospital Wing, door ajar, was clear, though a lot of the words themselves were muddled. Hogwarts would be closing for good any day now, and now Albin had no one to care for him. He was only 16, seven months and change from being an adult. His only parent had been murdered, and he knew no one else would be stepping up and volunteering to take him in. He'd caught the words Johnson Home for Boys once or twice.
Albin sniffled, though he found that there were still no tears. That, of course, made him feel even worse. How could he have no tears for his own mother? Instead Albin sat, staring at a spot on the opposite wall. He tried to make himself cry. Tried to make himself feel something other than shock and numbness. Didn't Lauren deserve at least that?
After a while—how long, he couldn't fathom—Albin suddenly became aware of someone sitting next to him. When had that happened? He couldn't be sure. Albin blinked, trying to force his gaze anywhere other than the crack in the stone wall he had been fixated on.
It was Professor Holmes, Albin realized at last. It was like everything was moving both incredibly slow and at breakneck speeds. His mind was sluggish, trying to comprehend a thousand different things, none of which he wanted to accept as true. Lauren wasn't dead. She couldn't be. This was all some gross misunderstanding, and any minute now she would round the corner and pull him close and tell him everything was going to be okay. Professor Kobayashi and Professor Beausejour must have been mistaken. Lauren was just away, and would be back any moment to take Albin home. She would make him soup like she had the first day she'd brought him into her home, and everything would be as it should be. It had to be. If Albin accepted anything else as the truth, he would surely come apart and never be able to put himself back together.
Distantly, Albin was able to pick out the sound of Professor Holmes' voice. His words, though, were lost on Albin, though he was at last able to pull his gaze away from the place he'd been staring at. Albin blinked, his eyes burning, and he rubbed his eyes hard enough that he saw spots.
Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he could wake up from this, and everything would be back to normal. Lauren would be just down the hall, probably cooking breakfast. All Albin had to do was wake from this nightmare.
"I want to go home." The words were whispered, his voice breaking with the final syllable. No tears fell yet, but with each passing moment they hovered closer and closer to the surface.
Albin Dimitrius
Allard★
Allard★
dandy ♫
