Well, it always was going to be a totally rubbish time..

Truly, Daedalus had grown weary of his siblings’ ways. He watched from the clock tower with thinly veiled disgust at the way his juniors pranced about as if life was spread before them with endless possibilities; oh wait, that was because it was.

Daedalus’ hands curled around the rail that ran the length of the windows, lest those that leaned too far fell, and he gave a hiss as the clenching muscles waned across his back, giving way to the acidity of the magic that spread through him, leaving a blazing trail in its wake that promised an early grave.

Releasing the rail, Daedalus pushed himself away and made for the stairs. He blocked out the screams of delight that came from below as he made his way down the rickety stairs. He busied himself with fixing his robes, determined to look far more presentable than the dirty urchins that he convinced himself that his siblings were.

Once out in the weary spring sunshine, Daedalus strode by his siblings, nose in the air, towards the castle. He ignored the shouts for him to join them in their games. He ignored them all together and did not look back until he was in the cool of the castle where he could stop for a moment and catch his breath.

Daedalus pressed his forehead against the chilled stone that the wall adjoining the door had been erected in. His hand, balled in a fist, hit at the space beside his head and he gave a long guttural, long-suffering groan that spoke only a little of his misery.

Sobering himself after a moment, Daedalus fiddled with his robes again but found he took no joy in the presentation of himself. Instead, he left the robes to fall open and allowed the shirt to wiggle from his trousers, leaving him looking rather dishevelled by the time he made it to the library which had been his destination all along.

Passing the desk of the weary librarian, Daedalus pressed forward towards the back of the room where, in amongst the stacks, he allowed himself a second moment to utterly fall apart. Then, sobering somewhat once more, he nigh collapsed into an arm chair that was beneath an open window.

Gulping in great mouthfuls of air, Daedalus brought his hands up to roll his temples about a bit, easing off the burgeoning headache.

I’ll stay here, he decided as fatigue began to take its effect on him. I’ll just stay here for a bit.

Vivianna spent very little time in the library. She frankly didn't like the large room filled with bookcases and books, and more often than not filled with people. But today she just needed to do something different, and upon her inspection the Library was practically empty. So she walked to the back of the Library, where two shelves met to form a small secluded square. Smirking a bit, she shook the shelf directly in front of her, attempting to gauge if it could hold her weight. Heights comforted her, they always had, and right now the top of that shelf was looking incredibly appealing. But after glancing at the librarian, the Sytherin simply slumped to the floor instead.

She was worried about her mother. A small voice in the back of her mind told her that she really shouldn't care about the woman, after the pitiful about of care the woman had given her, but Vivianna ignored it. The girl had known her mother was depressed, she had known it for years. Honestly, Vivianna couldn't even find it in herself to really blame her. If the young witch had a husband like her own father, she would probably be depressed too.

That didn't mean that a daughter couldn't be upset or worried, as she watched her mother shrivel away. At first, her mother just got sick a lot, was more susceptible to colds and the like. But now the once-elegant woman didn't bother to leave her room, she didn't even visit her study anymore. She had quite literally lost the will to live, and so was slowly dying.

Vivianna clenched her jaw and tilted her head back, stubbornly refusing to cry. It only took a few moments to calm herself, so when someone else entered the Library, she watched. She didn't know the boy, but she knew of him. Daedalus D'Eath was a fellow Slytherin, and a year above Vivianna herself.

The witch watched as Daedalus made his was to the back of the room, stopping in a place where a single stack separated them. She listened silently as the other student broke down. She knew the male thought he was alone, and Vivianna considered leaving so he could have his privacy.

He recovered with surprising speed, however, and situated himself in a comfortable looking armchair. The curious girl regarded him though a gap in the bookshelf that separated them, and didn't like what she saw. His eyes looked far too much like her mother's for comfort. He looked as though he'd completely given up. Vivianna hated that.

Without even thinking about what she was doing, the female Slytherin walked towards her housemate and sat herself down on the armchair next to his. Looking deep into his eyes, and disliking what she saw even more up close, her resolve was firmed.

"You're killing yourself you know," she informed Daedalus, matter-of-factly.

With rapid hands, having given leave of their deftness, Daedalus rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, despairing internally at the sight of another thrumming purple blotch looming beneath his skin under the guise of a bruise. He had not connected his forearm with anything to cause him harm. He did not bruise easily; not in the way most did. They weren’t that kind of bruises. If they had been, perhaps he would have been relieved. Perhaps he would have smirked and told one of his sister’s little friends that he’d been brawling with a seventh year. Perhaps they would have smiled and laughed and treated him the kindness that they would have treated a gallant knight. Only, Daedalus was no knight.

Ripping down his shirtsleeve, Daedalus thrust himself back against the spine of the chair, ignoring the way his muscles voiced their complaints at him. Tenderness was something Daedalus did not understand and something he had little time for. He could manage it if he could work through the pain. He compared it oftentimes to breaking in a new pair of shoes. His mother would look at him then, horrified by the crassness of his words. But then calmly he would explain that once you’d bled out into your sock and the leather rubbed against the small wound, you could no longer feel it and you could survive it until you tried to run on your leg. Disabled by the way it would smart, only then would you realise the true agony. But you’d go on until that agony came.

Daedalus would go on. It would not be days – certainly not years – but perhaps hours until he woke in the night, awash in sweat with his chest heaving miserably against his ribs. His voice would be hoarse and Adriana’s name on his lips and he would tear himself from his bed and forego all warding spells to find her. Then he’d crawl into bed, bury his face in to her bosom and allow himself a few tears. He’d sleep then, maybe, in the crook of her neck, his breath heavy with tears and his sniffles intermittently breaking the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

Until then there was much of the day to go on. His eyes drifted hazily towards the clock mounted on the wall conveniently opposite his seat. Daedalus scoffed at the sight of it. Even midday had yet to break over the sky and here he was wishing for midnight when he could fumble for Adriana’s mouth with his own and utter quiet apologises for his lack of control. He almost felt like offering them now but to whom and why, Daedalus wasn’t sure. He would have felt better for it though, he reckoned. Somehow, he wasn’t entirely convinced by that prospect either though.

Exhaling smoothly, Daedalus reached down and brushed some lint from his trousers. His lowered line of sight saw him first find the shiny shoes that he was sure belonged to a lady. The narrow feet were gawky and ill-fitting with the rest of her body – a hazard that puberty brought – but she wore a nice pair of shoes; or, well, nice by his eyes ... he didn’t pretend to understand such trivialities.

Daedalus half expected the girl to take a book, no doubt from somewhere inconspicuously close to him, and busy off. That’s generally what they did. He didn’t know whether girls were attracted to him or just wanted to buzz about him with a similar annoyance that flies had. Most probably it was the latter.

Instead though, she sat near him and presumed something that sobered Daedalus and shocked him. For a moment, he had the grace to show it upon his face but his eyes narrowed not a second later and an unfriendly drawl replaced his momentary lapse in whatever it was that he held close to his chest – a stone fortress, perhaps? Something, something that kept him safe. Her words had punctured through that though and Daedalus had no words until his wit savoured itself and saved him.

“That’s fantastic,” He spat back, mercilessly. “I am so unbelievably glad that I am allowed that amount of control. Perhaps I’ll fling myself from one of the stone parapets and make it faster. What do you think? Should I pick the Clock Tower or the Astronomy Tower? Merlin, which do I prefer? This is a tough one.”

Vivianna stared into the face of the boy in front of her. Although she was tempted to think of her housemate as a man instead, as no boy should have those eyes. She'd insulted him, that had been expected enough, but his reaction wasn't. He should have attempted to deflect or deny. But Daedalus had grown angry, spiteful, with a hint of longing in the back of his eyes.

He spoke of control in the way she did, something desired and wanted but lost. Vivianna usually had her control though, and Daedalus didn't. The way he practically spat out the word made it obvious to her that he hated that.

It wasn't until his second sentence that Vivianna realized something she'd clearly been missing. Daedalus was dying, and she'd just accused him of killing himself. She wouldn't take it back though. Now that she knew the situation, she might have used different words, but she wouldn't apologize for her first observation. He was killing himself, perhaps the illness, or curse, or poison, or whatever it was, was killing him too. But he was helping it, working with the foreign influence instead of against it.

It would have been so easy for Vivianna to apologize and walk away, but she wouldn't. Firstly, that just wasn't who she was. Most importantly, this person needed help. She wasn't sure if she could offer the right kind, or if ultimately her interference would change anything at all. None of that mattered to her though, because sitting there with what looked like a bruise on his arm, her fellow student looked so F*** alone.

The girl couldn't even pinpoint exactly what she felt for her housemate. Pity, sure, but more for the situation than the person. Curiosity, but that was always there for her when encountering something new. Compassion, which she usually kept hidden but sometimes could bring herself to. Irritation, because he was just laying there and taking it instead of trying to fight back.

The younger Slytherin's mind flew to all the things the wizard across from her could be. He was a Slytherin, so he had to have ambition. That trait alone meant that the member's of her house almost always made something of themselves. He had so much life left to live, so many things to do, people to meet, why waste what time was left? It didn't make sense to Vivianna, she'd want to make the most of every moment. Had this really broken Daedalus so much that he couldn't look forwards?

"Control," she pondered aloud, "too much and people crack, too little and you're lost." She'd been there once, she could understand that at the very least. "And if you absolutely have to, I'd pick the Astronomy Tower. It's higher up, and you'll have a much better view in your last moments, I spend a lot of time up there," she kept her tone calm, as if she was just talking about the weather. Vivianna had always found that to be the best way to deal with angered people, if you didn't want to rage back. It tended to throw them off for a minute, and give them time to calm down. Then again, Daedalus was a Slytherin too, he might know the tricks.

It had been close, Vivianna had almost snapped back with a sarcastic response. She was good at that, very good at that, but this wasn't the time. Not when the D'Eath was so upset, and she was technically the one at fault. But she still wouldn't take back her words. She wouldn't.

It had always been a different ball game with Daedalus. Life was never going to run as smoothly as his family would have liked. His father had grown impatient, increasingly so, now as he began to reach his quota on living. The time out of Hogwarts increased and his mother’s fervent desire to go on holidays with him doubled.

He enjoyed the macabre more than he did the insufferable need to make beautiful memories for his mother to cry over. He’d enjoyed the way she’d cried as he flicked through the coffin magazine she’d hid and didn’t realise he’d found. He picked the red one; because why the hell not?

It was easier for Daedalus to just think about it instead of not. It was easier to be macabre and enjoy everyone else’s despair. It kept him numb. In many ways, in thinking about it as one big game, he’d disassociated himself; as though he as someone else and not the one whose magic was killing him ... not the one who could drop at any time. But Merlin knew, he wasn’t allowed to forget for very long.

Exhaling a heavy breath of air, Daedalus twisted his eyes to look at Vivienne. He scoffed, unimpressed with her attempts to empathise with him, and sat up a little in his chair. He folded his hands in his lap and feigned a look of true interest before breaking his expression and turning his eyes away, to the window, to the shelves, to the ceiling, to the floor; he figured, if he ignored her then perhaps she’d go away.

Of course, she wouldn’t. He was now her charity case which meant she now cared. It was a true shame that Daedalus didn’t. Perhaps he would’ve appreciated it. Perhaps he would’ve indulged her like he did his mother. Perhaps he would’ve looked at her. But he didn’t. He instead fixed his eyes on the spot of wall behind her head and watched a fly buzz aimlessly at the window, fighting against something he didn’t understand, something he couldn’t really see but hurt him nonetheless.

“I don’t exactly think the view is what I’ll be worried about, do you?” Daedalus responded satirically. “While I’m at it, I should put a target down shouldn’t I?” Daedalus’ voice changed to one of mocking amazement, as though he was talking to one of his idiotic acquaintances or perhaps a disliked child. “And I’ll aim when I jump. Yes, what a fantastic idea!” His tone changed again and his eyes moved back to the girl. “Run along back to the dungeons, kid. You’re no use to me – you’re only making a nuisance of yourself.”

Vivianna examined the boy-man as he spoke, taking note of his reactions to everything she said, and the feelings behind his own words. He was even more pissed at her now, thinking that she pitied him. In a way Vivianna could understand that, the witch hated pity as well. It was a common Slytherin curse, their pride never allowing other people to get away with such things.

The witch didn't pity him though, didn't know him well enough too. The girl had never been very good with the pity-thing. Compassion had always been more her style, but it was hard to feel that if you didn't even know someone.

The Slytherin had the sudden urge to hex the student in front of her, unlikely as it was that it would knock some sense into him. He'd probably been coddled for too long, allowed to do as he pleased considering whatever was going on with him. Vivianna had never been treated that way, and the girl figured she'd turned out alright. Alright enough, anyway.

Making up her mind, the fifth year studied to face of her fellow housemate. Perhaps the girl would do what she did best, throw his emotions back in his face. It was funny, how people felt things everyday, but when forced to face them never knew what to do. Daedalus had let all of his emotions become written over his face in his irritation at her, so the half-blood figured she might as well use it to her advantage.

Sitting back in the comfortable armchair, Vivianna allowed all the nice and soft emotions that had rested on her features to drain away. "I don't pity you, you know. In fact, I've never been good with that emotion. Currently, I kinda hate you. Just sitting there wallowing in your own self-pity. I could do that too, if I wanted. I have more than enough reasons to as well. It was the reason I first started hanging out on the Astronomy tower, I used to wonder how long it would take to fall. I calculated it. I calculated all the other towers too. So, in all seriousness, if you ever do want to jump, the Astronomy tower will be your best bet because of the increase in velocity you'll gather. But you just sit here, letting whatever it is that's killing you take you, not even trying to put up fight. I thought you were supposed to be a Slytherin, we don't just give up our lives. We bloody fight for them, refuse to let anyone or anything take us. I could call you a coward, I could call you a lot of things. But I'm not going to, because I doubt I could come up with anything that you haven't already called yourself. So why even bother?" The girl allowed herself go get carried away with her speech. Her tone changed more times than could be counted, from thoughtful, to frank, irritated, sarcastic and spiteful.

Once she'd finished, the teen allowed her neck to roll backwards, cracking loudly. After a short pause of stillness, she slipped the ring she always wore off her finger and proceeded to play with it, wondering what the owner of the ring's twin was doing.

Daedalus wasn’t sure what was happening, to tell you the truth. He wasn’t sure why there was a ginger Slytherin worried about him. Well, she wasn’t worried, she’d assured him of that; but if she wasn’t worried then why was she still sat there staring at him? That was what Daedalus wanted to know. He enjoyed wallowing in the endless pit of self-pity that he’d dug for himself and he didn’t like the interruption of people who thought they were being kind or well-meaning or were just trying to do their good deed for the day. It irritated him to no decisive end and for Daedalus, today was just not the day.

“You don’t even know me,” was Daedalus’ first retort. He sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his thinning hair, wondering how much more would spring from his scalp before long. He bit down hard on his tongue, releasing it only when he began to draw blood, and looked back at the girl, his patience having already worn far thinner than the norm. “So I think you should refrain from trying to comment on my life, thank you very much. You push off with your calculations and happily chuck yourself off the best tower, I simply don’t care.”

Daedalus got to his feet which proved a little more trouble then he would have first imagined but he managed it all the same. He did not allow the strain to appear on his face and once he was on his feet he straightened his robes and took a few hesitant steps towards the main corridor that weaved between bookshelves. His hand found the bookshelf and he took in a gasp of air as a spark of pain shot up his spine. Dae reached for his forehead with his other hand and he grumble to himself before straightening up and bracing himself against it.

“Now,” Daedalus managed to speak in measured tones. “If you will excuse me I have a date with the matron in the Hospital Wing. You can come if you like. Have you ever seen your own magic in a conical flask? It’s most delightful. Come on. I know I’m not going to get rid of you yet and I would actually appreciate a hand – though, granted, you probably don’t think I deserve it. Probably I don’t but if you let me die, I’ll make sure the last thing I do is write it on my arm so everyone knows.”

"You're right, I don't know you. And I'll try to refrain from making comments, all you had to do was ask," the witch replied. It wasn't much, but at least her housemate was willingly talking to her and listening to what she was saying. Vivianna was aware she wasn't the most charming of people, but she was trying to show Daedalus that she was willing to cooperate.

The Slytherin had a soft spot for lonely people, just like she had a soft spot for scared little kids. The teen was determined to get these weaknesses of hers under control eventually, but for now she would deal with her effects of her childhood.

The witch watched as the D'Eath stood, took a few steps, and then gasped, his face contorted in pain. She was standing by the time he reopened his eyes, but hadn't moved at all, unsure of what to do. The girl frowned at the dying boy-man's attempt to blackmail her into helping him to the hospital wing.

"I don't think you don't deserve it," Vivianna corrected, wincing at the double negative, "I might not particularly like you, but I don't really like most people in this place, so that's alright. Besides, if you moped around a bit less, I bet conversation with you wouldn't be half bad." Grabbing his wrist and slinging his arm over her shoulders, she made to wrap an arm around his waist.

"You had me at conical flask you know. I've never seen anything like that, but it sounds fascinating enough. It also helps that I need a quick stop at the hospital wing myself," the fifth year stated blandly. She threw an arm upwards, so that the loose sleeve of her robe fell down to display a forearm wrapped in blood-speckled gauze.

The clumsy girl hadn't been paying much attention earlier that day and had tripped on discarded rubbish. She'd fallen, and the rough stone flooring had done a number on the soft flesh. The student had just downed a pain potion and wrapped her arm, quite used to getting hurt. Between her klutzy ways, and her volatile potions experiments, she was accustomed ended up in the Infirmary a lot.