Late Nights; Huge Frights (Louis, Ravenclaw Tour)

[damien]

It was late; very well past curfew. Damien was surprised he hadn't been caught going back to his dorm. Of course, he had gotten in at this hour before, but never before had he accompanied Vivianne all the way back to the Slytherin common room before having to go back to his own bed. It was quite daring of him to do on the first night back, but in his eyes it couldn't be helped. Vivianne had been...very excited to see him, as he had been to see her, and while they usually would have chanced staying away all night, Damien couldn't.

He didn't know if even falling asleep with Vivianne in his eyes would keep the nightmares from coming back.

He didn't want his girlfriend to see him with these bloody things, not ever, so he had totted her back to her dorm. Which put him where he was now, slowly cracking open the door to his dorm and tiptoeing in, before shutting it softly behind himself. For a big bloke, he had gotten pretty good at sneaking around; practice did make perfect, after all. Slowly, he moved his way through the room over to his bed, and as he neared his trunk he slipped off his shoes--and promptly stubbed his toe on the corner of the blasted thing. Dey bit back a curse, pushing his shoes with his uninjured foot to the side and bending down to open up his trunk and rumage around inside.

Looking down at his rumpled appearance, he couldn't help but smile a little. Quickly, he stripped off his robes and folded them, setting them on the edge of his trunk to remind him to get them cleaned. His school uniform was quick to follow into the trunk, and then as fast as he could he jammed on some pajama bottoms and a cotton t-shirt, holding back a shiver that wanted to set in from the cold. Damien glanced at his socked feet and slipped those off too, and then plunged his hand into his robes to extract his wand. All set, he climbed slowly into bed and stuck his wand onto the bedside table, but didn't bother to lie down. He didn't want to sleep yet anyways.

Finally, as he got settled, with the covers draped over his legs comfortably, he let his alert eyes take in the rest of the room. Maybe it was a miracle that he wasn't exhausted, but Damien didn't want to think on it. He didn't want to think about the lack of sleep he'd been getting because the nightmares woke him every few hours. He didn't want to think about why he had those nightmares in the first place. Dey really didn't want to think about how he needed to get more sleep, or how Vivianne had probably wanted to fall asleep together tonight. No, all he wanted to think about was why every other seventh year Ravenclaw seemed to be asleep, except for one.

Louis Weasley. If he wasn't mistaken, the boy's eyes were open, even if he hadn't said anything. Yet. They'd run into each other at night quite a few time, when Lou was usually awake while Dey snuck back in from spying or, lately, from meeting up with Vivianne. Usually, few questions were asked from either party about why the other was awake. Damien was curious, sure (he was a Ravenclaw, duh), but he didn't usually plan on answering any questions of Louis' on where he disappeared to, and so he considered it fair not to even bother asking some about what was haunting the part veela at night.

Tonight, though, Damien felt odd. Slowly, his left hand reached up to rub over his cut cheek, before the fingers dipped to gently prob the tender bruise on his jaw that gave him a five-o'clock shadow look. He felt drained; his body was tired even if his mind wasn't, and his emotions felt like they were running on empty. Getting upset, getting angry, feeling worried and even feeling relief--he had felt it all over the break. He was more of a mess now than ever. Hey, leaving your house with your little brother would do that to you. Finally escaping an abusive home while leaving your loving mother behind seemed like a good reason to feel emotionally unbalanced to Damien.

"Louis?" he asked in a rought whisper, and reached for his wand and turned on the single lamp by his bedside. Soft light flooded part of the room, and he could better see his dormmate now. His dormmate who was awake when he was feeling so odd. So...chatty, almost. "What are you still doing awake?"

((good? bad? change anything for you?))

[.LOUIS HENRI WEASLEY !]

Whoever coined the phrase "Just don't think about it" needs to be beaten with his own stupid.

One by one Louis watched his dorm mates drop off to sleep, their collective breaths deepening, growing more even. The familiar music of rustling sheets and hitched inhales almost comforted Louis; it was that same tune he'd heard every night for the last seven years. It was relaxing, almost, listening to them sleep and feeling the heaviness of slumber in the air. Louis could almost breathe then, could almost fall off to sleep himself.

Of course, he knew better.

He'd risked it the first night he'd stayed in the castle in his first year. Louis thought being surrounded by those he knew wouldn't hurt him would save him, comfort him, but the sense of security he felt that night was quickly realized to be false. There was nothing wrong with the other boys, and Lou didn't have a problem with them. But he was willing to bet money they didn't think the same thing. Louis didn't exactly make for a good dorm mate.

That first night Louis woke up in a cold sweat, skin sticking to his sheets, breath ragged, lungs aching from screaming. Jolted back to his dorm room after the fantastically realistic vision of his nightmares, Louis remembered staring into the face of Damien Inglebee, who had shaken him awake. The embarrassment and self-consciousness Louis felt that night was enough to secure his future as a night owl for the remainder of his Hogwarts years.

But it wasn't like that every night. Some nights came with the gift of effortless sleep, quite usually the result of a torturous previous night. Still, Louis didn't complain when his head hit the pillow and his sleep was dreamless, his body too exhausted to even turn over. He'd gladly exchange a week of hellish dreams for one night of blacked-out passivity, so long as those dreamless nights were a guarantee.

But Louis had a feeling his next real sleep wouldn't come for a long, long time.

It was their first night back at Hogwarts, surrounded by friends and classmates, settling back into the familiarity of Ravenclaw Tower. Louis could have cried in relief when he sat back on his bed for the first time after returning from Shell Cottage - his holiday had not been well. Oh the family parties were fun, exploring the local town's festivities were intriguing, and Louis never failed to have a good time amongst the social types, being one himself. Everything had gone well, and Lou planned to return to Hogwarts refreshed and ready for the next bout of the school term. But on the day before he would leave to catch the Hogwarts Express, Louis' light of happiness and inhibition was snuffed by the one person he expected never again to see.

It was the boy from that night in the park. The night Louis would have died.

It might have been just a passing glance, really, but from the moment Lou recognized him, he could not for the life of him tear his eyes away. The boy was older than him, around 19 or 20, and big. He had the distinct air of someone with a "fuck the world" attitude, and when he caught Louis staring at him, Louis was visibly shaken.

As was the boy.

Apparently he recognized Louis, and the look on his face was inexplicable. Shock, primarily, and fear; but then a darkness seemed to pass over the boy's face and his eyes narrowed, penetrating to Louis' core and resurrecting memories he had tried to seal away since that night seven years ago.

Just don't think about it, Louis mocked in his head, turning on his back and lacing his fingers behind his head. The hour was late; cold moonlight streamed through the windows and threw silvery, patterned shadows over the faces of his sleeping dorm mates. Stars winked light years away, and planets spun in their graceful, dance-like orbits, and still Louis would not sleep. Not until exhaustion claimed him would Louis dare shut his eyes.

He turned his head to look over at the empty bed on his right, the one belonging to Damien. The sheets were still tucked tight under his pillow, and the canopies drawn neatly back behind the beams of his four-poster. Louis frowned but was not surprised at the absence of his dorm mate. It was a common knowledge between the two of them that neither slept easily or without a fear of some sort, but an unwritten rule prevented them from speaking of their respective demons. Not particularly keen to divulge his own secrets, Louis couldn't ask Dey what was wrong with him without being a hypocrite. So their late-night wanderings were left undisclosed, though Lou was finding himself more and more curious.

He shifted his head again on the pillow and gazed at the ceiling, the rafters of their uppermost dorm room in the tower filled with inky darkness. Just as he began to strain his eyes, attempting to piece the veil of shadows overhead, Lou heard the careful footfalls of someone sneaking back into the common room. Lou knew those footsteps. He recognized Dey's pattern of a quiet heel-toe, the nearly silent unlatching of the dorm room door, the measured steps of him padding to his trunk. Louis did not stir.

Ah, but Dey miscounted and overstepped his route. Louis heard him catch his breath as he knocked into his trunk, and he fought the impulse to ask if he was alright. Watching Damien out of the very corners of his eyes, he saw the flash of a cut on Damien's cheek made silver in the moonlight, the shade of a bruise on his jaw. Something had happened... but it was not Louis' place to pry.

He let his gaze wander back to the ceiling as Damien changed into his pajamas, figuring it would just be another night of silent conversation. Communication between the two of them at this hour was rare but not unpleasant, though normal situations dictated Louis' expectations be appropriate. He was already settling in to their common silence when, unexpectedly... Damien spoke?

"Louis?" Damien whispered roughly, shifting in the darkness to turn on his lamp. Louis' pupils contracted suddenly and he squinted, throwing a hand up to shield his eyes at the sudden shift in brightness. "What are you still doing awake?"

Still laying on his back, Louis lowered his hand and turned his head, his eyes adjusted now to the light. He tugged idly on the covers with that one hand, pulling them up higher over his black tee shirt, while he gripped the hair on the back of his head with his other hand. "What do you mean, 'What am I still doing awake?'" He whispered back, not rudely though a bit shocked at the forwardness of the question and the implications behind it. He shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable and continued, "I'm always awake now. You should know... You are, too."

[damien]

He felt stupid as soon as the question left his mouth, something that Damien found slightly ironic. Really, though, what had he been thinking? Louis was always up at this time, wasn't he? Or almost always. As the light flooded the room and Louis quickly shielded his eyes, Dey let his gaze wander up to the ceiling briefly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. The suddenly demanding curiosity inside of him hadn't went away, but now he felt like an even bigger idiot, because how would he be able to quench this thirst and at the same time not offer up any information about himself? Like the story of how he got this cut, or bruise; to not answer any questions directed his way would make him a hypocrite. It would be best to just shut up now, end the conversation quickly, and pretend to go to sleep.

When he looked back down to Louis, he realized that the other Ravenclaw boy was still lying down in bed, and not partially sitting up like he had first thought. Watching Lou pull up the covers a little more, Damien briefly wondered if he had just been about to drift off before he snuck in and woke him up. After just a second of thought, though, he realized that was highly unlikely. The part-veela seemed to have two settings when it came to sleep, settings that Damien himself knew well because he had them too. There were the nights where Louis didn't fall asleep until much later than this, out of complete physical exhaustion, roughly around the same time that he was finally passing out. Then there were the nights where Dey would sneak in later, from spying or being with Vivi, and see Louis already sound asleep, looking so tired that it was obvious he wouldn't even move an inch before waking up again.

Considering they were in between the two times where Louis would be sleeping, Damien knew it must be the former setting that the boy ran on tonight. Which was good, because it meant he hadn't bothered him, but at the same time was bad, because that meant there was just more time to fuel his curiosity. He knew that, in the odd, almost nostalgic mood he was in, having a person who had continuously made him wonder about what was keeping him awake as well was not a good thing. He wouldn't be able to just 'go to sleep' like he should. He would continue to ask questions--who wouldn't be curious when you'd waken a kid up from a nightmare that caused a screaming fit?--and then, eventually, have the questions turned on himself. He knew that the smart thing to do would be to listen to what Louis said, make an excuse to shut up, and turn onto his side. It would be the Ravenclaw choice.

Apparently he wasn't feeling like much of a Ravenclaw today.

At Louis' words, Damien felt a small flush rise to the back of his neck, again being reminded of how stupid his question and how stupid his choice. Here was his easy out, however; all he would have to do is say, "yes, I suppose I am" with a dismissive tone, say goodnight, turn off the lamp and roll over. It would close the conversation, and it was quite possible, even probable, that Lou would leave it at that. After all, he wasn't offering up any more information than, "I'm always awake now", and he was a smart bloke; he must have known Damien wanted a little more than just that answer. Even if he had been stupid enough to phrase his question that way, there was some obvious hidden meaning behind it. Like the shameful fact that he wanted to, suddenly, know what kept Louis awake, what gave him nightmares--what made him just like Damien.

"Sometimes you're already taking a kip when I come in," Dey pointed out softly, sinking down in bed a little and tugging the covers further up his body to rest at his stomach. Taking a deep breath, his dark eyes glanced at the lamp before looking back to Louis and forging on. "But I suppose I didn't just mean it that way." Taking a deep breath, Damien let it out slowly, reaching up with one hand to gently prod the bruise there again, his fingers barely grazing it before he was wincing--it was horribly tender. "I'm always awake too, for reasons, yeah? I guess...I just wondered if you were staying awake for similar ones."

He didn't look at Louis as he finally said this, and instead turned his head to stare at the ceiling again, like his dorm mate had been doing earlier. Well, there went getting out of this quickly. Damien let out a silent sigh and slid down until he was lying flat on his back, before finally looking back over, crossing his arms behind his head to prop them up. "You don't have to say anything," he added, that tiny logical part in him giving him some hope, and giving Louis a chance to escape. "But...well...we're both up and wide awake. For at least a few more hours. And the things that appear at night..." Damien paused and licked his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. "The things that appear at night seem a little less scary when you see them in the light." Gesturing vaguely towards the lamp, he moved his hand back behind his head, and turned his eyes downward.

((...i don't even know how to apologize for the lateness and fail.))

[.LOUIS HENRI WEASLEY !]

Any off chance he had of sleeping tonight was promptly thrown out the window by Damien's needling. Poking around for information, sticking his nose where he oughtn't... Honestly, what had so suddenly piqued his interest that Dey felt the need to make friendly now, after almost seven whole years of sharing a dorm, classes, meal times? A bit miffed, Louis looked out at the stars for a bit, considering Damien's comments.

He wasn't going to deny that he was curious about Damien's demons as well, but Louis didn't feel the particular need to seek them out at the moment. He supposed he was content enough with their odd relationship, the one where neither asked questions, or made assumptions, and the only words exchanged in the sparkling pre-dawn hours were of the careful, cordial sort. Things like, "I hope I didn't bother you coming in," to return with a polite "Not at all." Words of that nature. Not, Maybe we're both awake for similar reasons.

Louis's lips were a thin line, taught in annoyance and exhaustion as Damien chattered, uncharacteristically, on. ""Sometimes you're already taking a kip when I come in, but I suppose I didn't just mean it that way." Well, obviously, Louis commented in his head tiredly, in no mood to play sly games of "subtle" implications. The fact that he had offered little more than "I'm always awake now," was testament to this fact, feeling that Damien, a clever boy very deserving of his Ravenclaw sorting, would pick up on it and let things alone. Curiosity was one thing, Louis knew. He was, too, intrigued by the possibility of finding a common ground in their uncommon situation, but that was all. A mere passing fancy. Nothing to lose his head over, or make himself uncomfortable.

Damien, however, appeared a bit more insistent that tonight be the night they bond or whatever. Louis had to hold back from rolling his eyes.

"The things that appear at night seem a little less scary when you see them in the light," Dey suddenly prophesied, his tone perhaps hesitant. Louis snickered inwardly. At least he had the decency to hold back a little. This talk was already a bit too "chummy" for Louis's tastes.

"Mphm," Louis shrugged, biding his time while Damien situated himself more comfortably a bed away. So this was it, then? Were they suddenly going to break down and bare their souls, reveal their inner tortures, have a good, hearty cry? Louis hadn't told a soul about the circumstances in his tenth year of life, and he didn't have plans to do so in any foreseeable future. But the way Damien brushed his fingers against the dark on his cheek, hardly daring to apply pressure... Well, it looked familiar. Louis turned his head the other way and stared out the window.

There was a long silence then. Damien had put it so vaguely, so eloquently, that if their "talk" hadn't already had an air of concern about it, Louis would scarcely have guessed what Dey was going on about. But was this something he really wanted to bring up now, after the incident was refreshed so recently in his mind? Was this something he wanted to share with almost a perfect stranger, a boy he'd practically lived with for seven years, but the only thing he knew about him was what he looked like when he woke up in the morning?

Not really, no.

But strangely... yes?

"...I see stars," Louis said plainly after a while. They looked so cold tonight, like they were shivering in the wind that beat itself against their window. It must have stopped snowing then. He looked up into a cloudless sky, still not having come to any semblance of a decision.

"What has you so curious, Damien?" He finally settled for, passing the conversation back to him. "What do you want from me?" His tone was not rude though by all means Louis wanted nothing more than to end the conversation right there. If it wasn't for this damnable curiosity nagging him, though...

[damien]

He felt incredibly stupid.

What was he doing, asking after Louis' problems after seven years of the two practically ignoring the fact that the other was up? He was pushing it, being intrusive, trying to get into a business that wasn't his and where he didn't belong. He had his own problems, why should he care about this blonde-haired boy's? Damien, however, just couldn't get over the nagging he felt in his stomach, as he stared up at the ceiling, half mentally cursing himself, half praying that Louis would tell him what he wanted to know. It was curiosity at its almost fullest. Seven years of staying up together, seven years of recognizing that the other was haunted, and yet never before had they approached the subject.

Well, he was taking the plunge, stupid or not. He already had, actually, and now all Dey could do was raise his eyes back to the ceiling, with the bruise on his jaw throbbing and his hands tucked behind his head. Maybe Louis wouldn't even say anything. In a way, he was partially right, and partially wrong. "Mphm." It hardly counted as a word; more like a noise to stall for time, and with that noise, Damien felt like hitting himself in the face. Now he felt even more stupid. Of course Louis wouldn't want to share anything, not now, not after all those years of unspoken agreement that each was sleepless, but neither was going to indulge in why. He was practically breaking a tradition, he was.

Now not only was he feeling stupid, but increasingly confused. The urge to know, the curiosity, had welled inside of him so suddenly, and now he felt it receding, a passing feeling that meant nothing. Was it because of what had happened over Christmas that had him wanting to spill? After all, Christmas had been bad--certainly not the worst for him, not the worst pain he had ever had to deal with, but the worst when it came to his brother and his mum. Things had gotten so out of hand, and he had been so fed up, that he finally left, after all those years of oppression. Maybe it was the bit of joy he felt at finally being free that had him less tight lipped about his life.

Mentally shaking himself, Damien let his eyes drift close, ears picking up the sounds of all the other boys sleeping, as still Louis said nothing more. It struck him that he might not saying anything at all--'Mphm' was actually pretty dismissive, when a person contemplated it. Just as Dey, in his feelings of stupidity and slight shame, was about to tell Louis never mind and turn off the lamp, the boy spoke. "I see stars." These were actual words now, but they made no more sense than the noise he had made earlier to stall. Damien didn't understand, but somehow he didn't feel the need to ask, or the wand for Louis to explain his meaning, make things clear in the darker Ravenclaw's mind. He let his eyes flutter open, turning his head to look at his roommate better, and then letting his eyes drift to the window, taking in as much of the stars as he could.

Finally, words that made sense, and prompted a response from him. What did he want? Why was he asking, and feeling so curious tonight? The reasons he had thought of made sense, but they wouldn't make any sense to Louis, unless he decided to spill his secrets first. Now he was regretting opening his mouth, regretting starting this, and no longer wanted to talk about this. Or at least, he told himself that, as he moved his hands from underneath his head and let his hand brush the bruise on his jaw again. The truth was, no matter the reason, he was still curious, and still wanted...something from Louis. He wanted something period.

Maybe he just wanted somebody to understand.

Taking a deep breath in and out, Dey moistened his lips, lowering his eyes back to his roommate from where they had drifted up and up, taking in the rafters and the far away, dark ceiling. "I don't know why I want to know, to be honest," he said, hoping that Louis believed him. He didn't really have anything else to offer. "I don't know..." He trailed off and let out a frustrated sigh, although it was clearly at himself, not at Lou. He didn't know anything anymore. He was failing as a Ravenclaw, failing the House and the prestigious name of the intelligent founder herself.

Another pause as he collected himself, before he was impatiently sitting up a little, eyes boring straight through the darkness to the others eyes. "I want to know if you're like me," he stated boldly, voice quiet but calm, clear. "I'll admit it--I'm curious about why I can see you awake almost every time I am. I don't know why I want to know. Why do any Ravenclaws want to know anything?" The bold air about him diminished as he sat there, and he sank back again, turning onto his side slowly. When he spoke, it was to the lamp.

"But people don't always get what they want. So if you'd rather, as I'm sure you would, we can just drop this and move on with our sleepless lives, Louis."

[.LOUIS HENRI WEASLEY !]

Alright, so maybe there was something about Damien's tone that ruffled Louis's feathers. Like he was being... genuine? Louis frowned; he'd never really known Damien to be that open of a person, let alone curious and all. Not that he really knew Damien anyway, but this sudden onset of "guy talk" had Louis unfortunately hooked.

Louis tore his eyes from the winter skyscape outside their impossibly tall tower and glanced quickly towards the other bed. He had caught Damien's eyes for only a moment, but it was enough- there was an intensity to them that Louis could read even though the dim light, loud and clear. It made him slightly uncomfortable, actually, to see his dorm mate so serious (even more so than usual), and looking directly at him. Lou had to turn his head away.

He was right, though. Ravenclaws were characterized as insanely curious people, and not just about schoolwork. Why shouldn't he try asking? If Louis had been caught in the same mood, he would reckon he'd do the same thing. Although, admittedly, where he generally tended to stay in the dorm room or sitting by the fire, Damien was off about the castle presumably dodging prefects and snitching portraits to do whatever caught his fancy. Damien appeared bolder in that aspect. Still, now that the subject had been established, Louis wondered if he couldn't find a sort of kinship in his fellow night owl.

But again there was a silence following Damien's words, where Louis waged war on his mind. He debated the idea of simply telling Damien what his deal was, at the same time trying to convince himself that he was leaning towards "yes" only to get Dey to go to sleep. But he couldn't deny the desire to find a commonality between them, the idea of someone else having the potential to understand too tempting an offer...

He became eerily still as he thought, leaving Damien hanging in the meantime. He had offered him an easy out, after all. "But people don't always get what they want. So if you'd rather, as I'm sure you would, we can just drop this and move on with our sleepless lives, Louis." Granted, it was said in a rather melancholy tone that made Louis as unsure as ever. Damn it, he swore in his head as he, twice, opened his mouth to say something. And twice, he failed to say a word.

Third time's a charm?

"...I... suppose I might be slightly curious as well," he said in as off the cuff kind of way as he could muster, all hopes of being able to escape the fate of their conversation thrown out the window. He wouldn't lie, he was wary of the consequences of where this might lead. Damien might just have insomnia, for all he knew, or his reasons could be far worse than Louis's. Maybe Dey would end up hating Louis, or vice versa. Contrariwise things could work out, in the end, he supposed...

"About why you hardly sleep," Louis clarified with a lame finish, sitting up now and leaning his chin on his fists, arms propped up on his knees. The covers fell away a bit at his back and he shivered slightly, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. He liked the cold. It was completely opposite of the humid, sultry weather of that summer he was ten, and he reveled in the cleansing feeling of cold air. It was for that reason he went shirtless when he slept, even in the winter. But he dropped his arms to hug his knees, unconsciously protecting himself from the implications of the conversation he had decided to have.

Louis shook his whitish hair out of his eyes, finally bringing his gaze over to Damien again. Damien, for his part, was gazing through the shadows above him, gingerly touching at the bruise on his jaw, almost experimentally, or as if he was remembering something. Louis frowned. Did he really want to do this?

"...My reasons left scars, too." Louis said simply, shrugging his shoulders up around his neck. He nodded to Damien's bruise, a physical manifestation of the other boy's own horrors, but Louis didn't mention the fact his scars were his memories. He didn't offer anything more. Not yet.

[damien]

It seemed as if tonight, the thirst of his curiosity would be quenched. It was a huge surprise, in all honesty. When he heard Louis' voice cutting through the silence, his eyes even widened a little, and his body moved a little, almost as if he twitched, in the want to turn over. Damien didn't, though, and instead kept staring at the lamp, staying on his side, carefully controlling his breathing as he tried to figure out just how far this was going to go. It seemed, if their words were any indications, that both might be giving insight into their lives, their nightmares--both might be telling things not usually said, because those would be the explanations to their insomnia that seemed impossible to overcome.

Was Damien ready to tell him that, though?

He barely knew Louis, aside from the fact that the boy was part veela, came from the enormous Weasley family, and was of strong enough mind to belong in Ravenclaw. That, and of course that fact that something haunted him enough to keep him up at night. Now, he wouldn't really consider Louis a friend. They weren't enemies, but all evidence pointed to the fact that they weren't close. Now, telling Vivianne had been more of an accident, but telling Ada, his best friend and practically his sister, had been a hard thing to do. Damien, watching the lamp, with his breathing deep and even as if he had fallen asleep, wasn't sure if he could do this again with a boy that he might as well call a stranger.

When the other Ravenclaw's voice sounded, Damien heard the sound of him moving in bed, and barely turned his head to watch him sit up out of the corner of his eye. Again silence fell, and he made no move to break it, didn't feel that it was necessary for him to say anything yet. He had the feeling that Louis wasn't done speaking, and slowly turned his head away again, although his body shifted so that he was lying on his back once more. His hands rested lightly on his chest, and while Dey waited for the conversation to continue, he let his left hand raise to curiously graze against the livid bruise on his face.

It hurt just the same as it had before, and his fingers jerked away so that he wasn't apply pressure. When he thought about it tomorrow, he would go get the bruised fixed up by one of the healers in the Hospital Wing, because it was going to keep drawing too much attention, and too much worry from Vivianne and Ada. He shook the thought from his mind, though, actually turning his head to contemplate the ceiling again, as if moving around would really make him stop thinking about such things. Taking in a deep breath, he was just about to let it out in a silent sigh when Louis spoke for a third time. There was nothing of great interest in his tone, and his words were innocent enough.

Yet they had Damien letting out his breath in a loud sigh of surprise, his eyes snapping to the other boy and his body jerking up into a sitting position before stiffening as if in horror. For a few moments that felt like forever, but barely lasted any time at all, he watched Louis with wide, dark eyes, his heart hammering like the wings of a hummingbird. He saw the nod that Louis sent his way, but his usually rational state of mind had fled to be replaced by horror and fear. Never, not for one second, did it cross his mind that the 'scar' being referred to was the bruise that was easily visible on his face. The only thought that 'scar' brought was of his darkened back, with its many ugly mutations, caused by the very man who was the cause of this whole conversation.

"How do you know about the scars on my back?" he heard himself blurt, not loud, but not quietly controlled as before. His breathing hitched, panic flaring in his eyes, as he mentally calculated all the time Louis could have possibly seen his back. He was careful when he changed, careful about any time his back my be viewed, so for the life of him he couldn't understand how Louis knew.

Then it hit him. The breath left him in a whoosh, and he touched his bruise again, with pressure, the pain jarring him back into his rational state of mind, Damien's heart stilling for a moment before beating at the same fast tempo. He meant the bruise. He didn't mean the scars on his back. He couldn't. "Oh...You meant..." Then he trailed off weakly, just staring at the other Ravenclaw, now mentally cursing how stupid he was. How very, very stupid he was.

Well, he knew now how he would be telling Louis about his own nightmares. It seemed it would now be started by the Vivianne route. Blurting was apparently his forte.

[.LOUIS HENRI WEASLEY !]

That feeling. That weird feeling you get when time slows down but your heart still hammers against your ribs a thousand times faster. That feeling, where every movement feels exaggerated and every emotion is grotesque, and you know you've crossed some line you didn't mean to. That feeling, the unwanted, unwelcome, untimely feeling... The room was thick with it. Louis could taste it, and it tasted like blood.

Damien immediately sat bolt upright in his bed, stiffening and looking wild-eyed at Louis, trapped, like a feral cat in a cage. Louis dropped his hands from around his knees in alarm, his own eyes widening in confusion as Damien's breath grew suddenly tortured, his face, pained. There was a beat of silence, strained, poised like the tip of a knife on rosy skin, ready to cut, to break and shatter and never go back. Ready to change things that no one could ever be ready for.

"How do you know about the scars on my back?"

The knife plunged.

Things were changed.

Louis went very, very still. His hands, dropped onto the sheets, felt heavy at his sides; his lungs were filled with tar; his head was thick and full of thought. Unwelcome thought. Damien's scars... They were real? Louis had only been referring to the cut on the dark haired boy's cheek, the shadow of an ugly bruise on his jaw. He had seen the way Damien gently brushed the swelling with his fingertips, and wince every time. That was all Louis had meant. Those scars. He had assumed Damien had gotten into a fight over the holidays, perhaps something more than a tussle. But that was it. Louis hadn't ever entertained the idea of something darker, and deeper, and much more painful. But he wondered then at his own naiveté, and how maybe he had had enough of his own suffering to assume anyone else could suffer more greatly.

He was always was a selfish boy.

Somewhere on the grounds the wind picked up, tossing the boughs of the trees about, moaning through the bare branches. The windows rattled tiredly in their frames and the boy across from Louis stirred as Damien raised his voice above a whisper. Louis eyed the sleeper but didn't move his head away from a now very thoroughly shaken Damien. He thought it best not to move at all, actually. This was something that to sink in. This was something that made Louis see Damien Inglebee in a whole new way.

Scars on his back. The first things that leapt to Louis's mind was a savage beating, like Damien was the victim of some cruel, inhuman punishment. He couldn't assume his dorm mate could have such a violent reaction if his scars had resulted from some childhood accident, like playing with a stove or falling from a tree. No, his reaction solicited a much greater hardship, one that Louis didn't like to imagine. And he hated how intensely the curiosity burned in him now.

The sleeper across from Louis quieted and fell easily back into slumber. "Oh... You meant..." Damien stuttered nearly inaudibly, coming to the conclusion Louis originally intended and looking horrified with himself. Louis still had not moved, but watched Damien now, his eyes steady and almost mute. You wouldn't have guessed it by looking at him, but Louis was frightened. Was this the common ground he had pondered at only moments before? It seemed a twisted, macabre thing now, and he honestly debated ending the conversation right there. He owed Damien that much anyway, an easy out. Just to lay back down, wait for morning and act like this icy night never happened.

So it was astonishing when Louis realized he was standing.

He didn't remember pulling back his covers and putting his bare feet on the floor, or pushing himself up from his mattress, or standing. He didn't remember walking the few steps from his bed to Damien's, or looking down at the larger boy with a distant, robotic, but mildly curious expression.The feeling that tasted like blood in his mouth prevented Louis from thinking clearly, and put strange ideas in head. Ideas like maybe he'd found someone who would understand, or someone he could finally talk to. Someone who would understand better than Louis did.

Louis blinked. Did he want to go this far? The curiosity that drove him was insatiable, would only quit, could only quit when he knew for sure. But if Louis was to do what he was about to do, there would be no going back. For either of them. Damien's secrets would be revealed, and Louis would have to share his own in return. Secrets that, now that he thought about it, would probably pale in comparison, and only further prove that Louis was as self-centered and over dramatic as everyone claimed he was.

He stood directly at Damien's side now, facing Damien's profile and wondering what in all the hells he was doing. The bloody taste in his mouth grew stronger as Louis's gut intuition kicked in, and now, as he bent and carefully wrapped his fingers around the hem of Damien's shirt, he knew he wasn't wrong. Something terrible had happened to this boy, and the morbid, disgusting curiosity that started this whole fiasco twisted in anticipation in Louis's chest. He felt sick at the feeling. At himself.

There should have been a louder atmosphere for this, he decided. The small shffing sound Damien's shirt made against his skin as Louis pulled it up past the boy's shoulders was hardly fitting for the enormity of the situation. It should have been like in the movies, with dark music playing long before hand to prepare Louis for what he was about to see. What he was seeing. But nothing could have prepared him for this.

Damien's back wasn't merely covered in scars. It was made out of scar tissue and unhealed bruises, the type that looked like they were never going to fade. Deep, thick veins of twisted tissue coursed over his skin in a horrific pattern like tree bark, and Louis thought that on first sight he was going to pass out. The skin was uneven and gnarled in some places, stretched thin in others. It was puckered and painful, and Louis should have dropped Damien's shirt back down, but he couldn't. His eyes could not drink in the picture before him fast enough, couldn't take it all in in one look.

Finally, though, Louis stepped back. His eyes were large, scared, and no longer emotionless; in fact, they were bright with feeling. His hands shook and he had to clutch his elbows to keep them still, but even then his body was in shock. Damien. Damien. How could he have known this boy for so long, but not know anything about him? What had happened? Louis opened his mouth the smallest bit to speak, but he shook his head. He couldn't say anything. Instead of trying to form words, his mind was preoccupied examining the details of Damien's back, of analyzing the implications, coming to conclusions. So Louis couldn't speak. Not for the life of him could he speak.