Even Prodigies Have Problems

Vivianna had a problem. No, that was untrue. Vivianna had many problems. Some were interconnected, branching from or linked with another. Others were completely unrelated to anything else, a conflict that had seemingly sprouted from absolutely nowhere.  

There was one problem, however, that could be linked back to everything and nothing. A problem that logically seemed the simplest of them all to solve, but in practice was easily one of the most difficult. Vivianna Varnes had an addiction.

She'd always scowled down at those who couldn't make it through the day without their Sugar and Spice. She still did, in fact. The Slytherin had also always been very careful about alcohol, able to rant for hours about the harm abuse of it could do to one's brain. Yet here she was, just another lowly addict.

To be fair, her potion didn't have any negative effects on the human body. She'd been very careful about that, during the creation of her draught. After all, what was the point of inventing your own headache potion if you had to worry about how often you could take it without negative effects? Too bad she hadn't thought about addictive qualities.

Of course, she wasn't an idiot. She hadn't used any ingredients that were typically addictive. She'd just been unlucky enough to combine three ingredients that when mixed together in the right quantities just so happened to be very addictive. The were common enough ingredients too.

Vivianna had been downing at least one vial a day for almost a year, sometimes two. The last three days had been somewhat of an exception to this. She'd been gulping down three vials every day. Every day since Bertie's death.

She knew Bertie wouldn't approve. The redhead knew better than anyone what Bertie's face would look like if he'd found out. He wouldn't find out though. Because he was dead. It was just Vivianna now. Just Vivianna and her vials.

The witch was sitting on the cold floor of the Astronomy tower, leaning back against the wall. She'd always adored heights, climbing, and cold. Both this tower and the Potions Labs had always been something of a safe haven to her. They weren't anymore. The labs just reminded her of her addiction, and no matter how high she climbed Bertie was still dead. The Slytherin had nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.

Pulling the cork out of her fourth vial of the day, the teenager peered into the liquid that held so much power over her. Letting out a bemused snort, Vivianna tipped the liquid down her throat. She'd hadn't liked the taste at the beginning, only putting up with it when her headaches were bad. She hardly noticed the taste anymore. If anything, she was rather fond of it.

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out yet another vial. Fingering it, the girl wondered if it would help. If it would make it all go away. Perhaps she should try. After all, she wouldn't know unless she did. Eyes slightly unfocused, the witch began to toss the vial back and forth between her left and right hands. She'd never researched how five vials within a day would effect her body. It was quite possible that the results would be bad. Vivianna couldn't bring herself to care.

"Mustering courage?"

Rika stiffened up so quickly, hands snapping back to her sides, lower lip being gnawed by her teeth; that Reid wondered if it was a compliment that she remembered his voice so well. Past the little doorway she was standing at, inside the room, a red-haired girl tossed a vial carelessly between her hands.

The little amount of cynic amusement he felt at the thought was quickly quenched by the sight of her soundlessly flickering lips, her eyes going up and to the side. Like they did everytime she talked to...

Eyes still fixed on the moving lips, lower bitten and raw under teeth; Reid didn't waste time spitting, "That's disgusting."

Rika twisted her lip from beneath her teeth, soundless words to an imaginary voice stopping, a humiliated flush working up her cheeks. Her throat worked, Reid could see it swallowing under her turtleneck collar, and the words exited, falling over one another in a pile. "You're not supposed to be here."

She hadn't run away, without speaking, at least. Maybe Varnes had been right, atop the tree in Hogsmeade. Maybe she had met a different Rika. Maybe the older version.

Reid's gaze flicked past his sister, for a second, to the girl in the room. It turned back, only to see that Rika had followed his gaze and was now standing there with clenched fists and whitened knuckles. There were two spots of colour, high on her cheekbones, a desperate look in her eyes. Reid refused to acknowledge how the sight made his stomach turn after all this time.

"She....she's...." Rika bit her lip again, then opened her mouth as if desperate to get them out before they burned her insides. "She's faced...some things lately."

"I see your eloquence hasn't deteriorated."

A nerve in her wrist jumped, her jaw tightened...and was that brief spark....anger? Reid could not afford to believe it. Not after all this time.

Rika stood silent for a second, then forced: "She's lost a sibling."

Blankness.

Rika's hands were twitching, spasming uncontrollably by her sides. She stuffed them into her pockets, mouth downturned, speaking in a low, awkward bursts of fluency and pauses. "I....I met B-Bertie in the greenhouses....he liked my poem and....h-he wasn't really her real brother but close enough and he really talked about her and....the Itch...and....I thought I should talk to her but...." Then she met his eyes in a strange, inexplicable second and abruptly brushed past him, running into the stairwell. In a few seconds, all that could be heard was the faint echoes of her footsteps drawing away from the Tower.

He dismissed that one second of clarity, for fear. She had thought of comforting Varnes, good enough for her, but chickened out at the last second. That one second of eye-contact, so direct, so probing, meant nothing.

The girl in the room was still playing.

He took two steps, despite everything. Leaned against the doorway.

"Is that thing of any use or are you simply tossing it around for show?"

((OOC: Your POST. It gave me feels. Twin feels. Major twin feels.))

Reid was there. Reid was talking to her. Unless she was hallucinating, then Reid wasn't there. Vivianna didn't think she was hallucinating though. Then again, people generally didn't.

"Of course it's useful," the witch drawled arrogantly, her words slowed slightly by the potions running through her system. Vivianna tilted her head to the side and regarded the other teenager with the slightest of frowns. If Reid was just a hallucination, it was quite the realistic one. Her mind had gotten his tone of voice just right, and she couldn't find anything too unusual about his appearance. Then again, she did have a rather brilliant mind. It could be brilliant when it came to hallucinogenic details too.

"I made it you know," the redhead admitted honestly, bringing the vial up to her right eye, "created it. It's a headache draught, 1.5 times as powerful as Borage's full-strength version. I even changed some things around so it doesn't destroy your liver." The Slytherin let out a slightly uncharacteristic giggle. "I bet I could make a fortune if I sold it," Vivianna admitted while nodding seriously, "I'd have to wait a few years though. Potions experimentation and creation is illegal without a mastery and a permit. Oops."

The female's tongue was far looser than normal. It wasn't every day that the girl went around admitting to something like that. In fact, she never had. Sure, Vivianna had hinted to a certain trusted few about improving upon potions. However, there was a pretty big difference between improving upon a potion and creating a completely new one. Especially in the eyes of the law.

The girl had been planning upon flat-out admitting her illegal activities to Bertie on his next birthday. It would have been necessary, considering the present she'd been going to gift him. She'd finally succeeded in creating a potion she'd been attempting for years. It took effect when one soaked a quill in one dose of potion for an hour, removed the quill, and then drank the liquid. For the next twelve hours, the quill would write anything the drinker wished it to. It was basically a psychically controlled dictation quill. Vivianna had figured that Bertie would love it for his stories, not having to ever worry about forgetting an idea in the time it took him to track down a quill.

The witch frowned. She should've given the box of vials to Bertie sooner. He would have loved the potion, but he'd never get to use it now. The Slytherin supposed that she could use the pre-brewed solution for homework or her own notes. The very thought sent shivers down her spine. No, she'd burn it all. Including her handwritten instructions on how to create the potion. That was a far better idea.

Slightly frustrated, Vivianna looked down at the vial in her hand. Thinking about Bertie still hurt. That wasn't right. Wasn't the point of drinking a fourth vial to make that pain go away? Uncorking the vial in her hand with her teeth, the redhead spat the stopper onto the stone floor. The taste of the cork remained heavy on her tongue.

Vivianna was about to down the vial, when she remembered that she wasn't alone. Reid was here. The rebel-supporter didn't like that. The Dixon shouldn't see her like this; weak and pathetic. She was supposed to be strong around Reid; strong, cunning, sarcastic, intelligent, and witty. Not the mess that she was now.

Vivianna was never supposed to be a mess. She'd never allowed herself to be. Pursing her lips, the girl shook her head slightly. All of the emotions and thoughts spinning through her brain was giving her a headache. Without a thought, the Slytherin moved to do exactly what she always did upon feeling a headache come on. Take more potion.

(( Thank you Oh, and don't ask me why Reid's being such an unapologetic b*stard. His motives will be clear soon enough.))

Reid was watching.

Watched the girl explain, with a drawl and a languorous smile what the potion was all about. Watched her prattle on about the illegality of it all. Then watched away as she faded out of sight, incoherent words and mindless giggle dying out; looking at the vial with a strange sort of concentration that was.......familiar. So very familiar.

It was an absurdity. His inner voice passed judgments, when his mouth couldn't be bothered to take on the effort. Such an opportunity now, such a display of weakness. But the silence in his mind was deafening; the lack of thought echoing in its confines like a vastly deep, empty drum.

"Accio."

His wand, a twisted rod of solid yew, was in his hand and the vial zooming towards the other before either of them could blink. He raised his left hand and snatched it out of the air.

His fingers lifted the vial up to the air, turning it this way and that. The cold moonlight arced off the light, a shaft of shining fluid glistening through his fingertips. His mouth curved up, inch by inch, till the expression was a smile.......and yet nothing like it.

"Impressive, Varnes. Very impressive." His lips brushed one another to produce the 'p' sounds, tongue touching the base of his closed teeth to yield the 's', words enunciated and sharp. He moved forward, steps fluid like a shade's, till he was opposite her; bent his knees till they hit the ground and sent a wave of unsettling cold rattling up his legs. His right hand brushed past her wild, unruly hair even as they sought out the cold surface of the wall against which she was leaning, a parody of the way they had been atop the tree when he had first tried to cow her with physical proximity. Their eyes found the same level. "Pity that such creativity dwells in such a....fragile, weak mind."

The silence was loud enough to be screaming in their ears.

His hand moved from the wall, tracing down the shell of her ear with a finger. "Look at that. Lanky hair..." It skimmed past her cheekbones. "...insomniac eyebags..." By the base of her lower lip. "...ragged pupils...." Grasped her chin. "...and that tantalising hint of madness."

It was not a tender touch. His mouth twisted further in the smile, the stark show of light and shadow thrown by the moon making it look sharp enough to cut. He pretended to muse. "But that's understandable. What was that name again?...B......Bart? No.....Berkins? Ah...." A touch of satisfaction. "Bertie. Your.....brother, was he? Tragic, truly. So very tragic." His voice had never been so soft before. So very vengefully soft. "My condolences."

"Yet....it is typical." And the jagged edge was back, the cold, cold throb of indifference. He released her chin. "One strike of tragedy.....and pride crumbles. Succumbed to, of all things...addiction.." Just the faintest traces of amusement in the last word. He inched forward, and his breath hit her ear like a warm gust of wind. Or the warm exhale of a predator. "Where's the pride now, Varnes?"

The final move.

((OOC: I have no words. I literally had to get up and walk away from the laptop half way through reading. Reid's is such a b*stard, but you wrote that perfectly.))

Every word was like a knife through her heart. Vivianna had always been so good at not letting the words of others bother her. It had been simple enough to do so. People could say whatever they wished, it wasn't like they really knew her.

Her father could call her stupid and worthless, but logically the redhead knew that she was far from unintelligent. The Gryffindors could call her a selfish B****, but Vivianna could own that. Her own housemates could call her bipolar all they wanted, but Vivianna had done enough research on the condition to know that she wasn't.

Reid, however. Reid was correct. Not only was he correct in all his statements, but he knew just where to hit. Knew exactly what would hurt the most.

He'd taken her vial, but that hardly mattered. Vivianna couldn't bring herself to worry about that when Reid was kneeling in front of her, a not-smile on his face. She had never felt more trapped in her entire life. The girl had thought being pinned down by a hungry vampire was bad; it had nothing on this. Nothing.

"It wasn't Bertie's fault," the redhead mumbled quietly, feeling the need to defend him, even in death, "I've been addicted for months." Bertie's name was heavy on her tongue, and far more difficult to say than it should have been. Tilting her head to the side, Vivianna regarded the male that seemed to know so much. "Does that bug you? That all the times we've talked, you never noticed?" she asked, mustering up the strength to look into his eyes, if only for a few seconds. It was something of a pathetic attempt, but the witch couldn't have not tried. They both know that Reid had won. That she was the one sitting on the floor, torn open.

Reid had asked her where her pride was. It was shattered and stomped upon, of course, but the witch wasn't about to say that. She wasn't quite that far gone. Vivianna's only saving grace, in her mind, was that the potion had been one of her own creation. The redhead wasn't sure if she'd have been able to handle being so addicted to someone else's draught. It was rather fitting, in a way, that the only person with the ability to destroy her was herself.

She'd tried, but what Reid had said was starting to get to her. Words sinking into her skin like a poison. They'd just sink in deeper and deeper until reaching her brain. Then she'd be done for.

Vivianna hadn't looked in the mirror that day. She directed a high-powered glamor at her face that morning, and attended class like nothing was wrong. The glamor had obviously fallen, and the other teenager seemed to take pleasure from informing her exactly what she looked like. The redhead had never been particularly vain like so many other girls, but that didn't mean that she wanted to hear how her choices had messed her up outwardly as well.

He'd touched her. The touch hadn't been gentle. The harsh words it had been accompanied by, however, made Vivianna feel as if Reid had left behind open, bleeding wounds where his skin had brushed hers.

Looking back into Reid eyes, a genuine smile appeared on her face.  It wasn't a small smile either, it was a proper smile with teeth and all. Or at least, it was as proper a smile as Vivianna could manage. The potions and the situation made her grin seem brittle and slightly bitter, but the rest of the action was genuine. It seemed right, to Vivianna, that Reid be the one to completely shatter her. If it had to be someone, she was glad it was Reid.

(( I don't know how Vivianna stands him. Angelic countenance, that girl xD . Thanks though And Vivi is brilliant as always, though you already knew that. ))

"Does that bug you? That all the times we've talked, you never noticed?"


He withdrew, slowly, from the vicinity of her ear; and trapped her stare in his own.

“No.”

And her attempt to strike back, if it could even be called that, died; just like that.

He was caught in stasis, looking, waiting. Waiting, for heaven knows what. Because whatever he had been expecting, it had certainly not been……this. He expected….a sharp, stinging slap to the cheek maybe. A hex, a curse. Righteous anger, cold cutting words. He expected a fight.

Not this….this stupid smile she shot in his direction, weak and draggled and resigned, like she couldn’t possibly have anything more to say. Her eyes had lost that glaze, that numbness; but were overcast with defeat. Surrender. It made Reid want to grip her shoulders and shake her hard and demand to know where the hell had the girl on the tree disappeared.

I’m giving you a punching bag, you stupid girl. To vent the pain on. The anger. Let it out. Let it out.

“Everytime.” He started, tone low and deceptively light. His pupils had narrowed, tiny pinpricks of black amidst the intense granite grey. “Every f*cking time I think someone possesses a modicum of sense, the world has to remind me how mistaken I am.” He held up the vial, fingers entwined around the translucent glass, tilting it to the edge. “You think this is genius? You think this vial proves how excessively brilliant you are? This vial…..” The words were slow and sardonic, taking their own sweet time. “Is nothing more than an astounding example of pure, distilled idiocy. There is a reason why inventors are inventors and you are still a bloody school-girl.”

“And second.” Suddenly, the mocking tone died, and in its place was nothing but furious, cold contempt. “Stop feeling so f*cking sorry for yourself. You’re addicted to a potion. Your brother died. Well, boo hoo for you.” His fingers wrapped around her chin again, without his permission; their noses were barely an inch apart. His eyes were flaring in the moonlight. “No one in that world cares, Varnes. No one gives a f*ck. No Prince Charming is going to drop out of the sky to comfort you and tell you that everything is going to be alright. “ The last words were a horrible, derisive scoff. “However you mend, you’re going to have to do it yourself. People have gone through much worse and come out without a scratch. So for Circe’s sake, get real and pull yourself together and spare me.”

The room still echoed, even after the words were spoken and done with. He was breathing, icy air filling his lungs in fitfuls, right hand once wrapped around warm skin scrabbling along the cracks in the stone floor. His left was still locked tightly over the vial, feeling seconds away from cracking it to shards. It didn’t, though. He was almost a feet away from Varnes now, the distance settled in the few moments following his invective, but still on the floor: at the same level. His mind for reasons unknown, kept replaying Rika’s clear stare an instant before her feet had gone clattering down the stairwell. He hadn’t seen it for a long time, and almost couldn’t recognize it. That still, assessing stare amidst her stutters, like she knew, or guessed at something he didn’t. And was willing to wait, or walk away, to let him find out.

Get real. Get bloody real. And this time, he wasn’t even addressing Varnes.

((OOC: Thanks darling. Though Viv is hardly an angel, just under the influence. XD Reid is slowly destroying my heart, just so you know.
SPOILER: Viv also does something that will give Reid a scar. If you don't want that, I'll change it so he won't be permanently marred.))

She sat there. Sat there and took it. She didn't say a word. Her facial expression didn't twitch, not even her ridiculously expressive eyebrows. Vivianna just stayed completely still, absorbing everything that came tumbling from between Reid's lips.

It was then that Vivianna felt an emotion that had been completely absent for days. Anger. No, not anger. The Slytherin felt something much harsher, and much more dangerous. It was rage. The icy-cold rage that she only ever felt when truly furious.

Meeting Reid's eyes, it was as if the fog had cleared from her mind. The thought of Bertie still wanted to make her break down and weep, but the girl pushed him to the back of her mind. She had something else that needed to be dealt with right then. She could cry all she wanted later, if she had any tears left by this point.

Vivianna slowly raised one hand, and placed it gently upon Reid's cheek. Unlike his had been, her touch was light. Her skin was barely brushing his, probably making his hairs raise on end and nerves tingle at the sensation. Looking Reid straight in the eye, she allowed a wicked grin to slide across her features. Her grin was cold and hard, so very different from the brittle one of before.

"You can act as superior as you like, Reid, but don't tell me that I should get over Bertie. We both know that Barbara's death was hard for you. It broke you Reid, shattered you, no matter how many times you say you don't care," Vivianna said with a smile. Her tone was cool, with a strange almost melodic aspect. It was almost like the chilling but undeniably beautiful song of a siren.

The teen shifted, gracefully moving so that she was kneeling. Removing her hand from Reid's face, it trailed almost sensually down his arm before sliding off the end of his fingers.

Vivianna was tempted, so tempted, to reach into her bag. She'd grab a vial, perhaps even a few of them. She'd offer one to Reid, tell him how they were all her own personal inventions. She'd dare him, manipulate him into accepting. He'd pick one, and down it with a smug smile. The Slytherin wondered if Reid would still call her creations idiocy when he was convulsing on the stone floor. Vivianna was rather pleased with her newest version of the potion she'd yet to name. She'd had tremors for hours after only a few seconds under the potion's effects. And that had been after healing draughts.  

Or perhaps she could show him all of her poisons. She'd only invented one of those, all the rest being from books she'd nicked from the restricted section when looking for a challenge. Or maybe it would be a good time to try her hand at the Unforgivables. She'd never really seen the appeal, after all, there were so many good curses that wouldn't get you in half the amount of trouble. But she could certainly see the appeal now. The redhead would start with imperio, see how much fun it would be to have complete control over the proud boy. If he broke it, which he might, she'd try crucio next. Vivianna doubted she'd have too much trouble casting it.  

The Slytherin had a better idea though. She wanted something that would last. Casually reaching for her bag as if she was stretching, the teenager slipped her hand in and discreetly grabbed something. Hiding it inside her palm, she placed her other hand on Reid's upper arm.

She'd been carrying around a switchblade since before she had a wand. It had been a basic precaution, considering the household she lived in. Vivianna still carried it, just incase anything ever happened to her wand. Since she could, the redhead had used a mixture of spells and potions to make the knife a little more special than your regular blade. For one, it always stayed sharp. It was also guaranteed to always leave a scar.

Her left hand flittered upwards to rest on Reid's upper arm, while her head tilted innocent to the side. Right arm lashing out like a coiled snake, Vivianna left two bleeding slashes upon Reid's pale skin. Together they formed an x, right over his heart.

((OOC: Its more than alright. Its brilliant. Reid had it coming for him xD ))

For a few seconds, there was nothing but white-hot, blinding pain.

Then it numbed, and Reid could feel it; the heavy wetness of blood, the way it steadily soaked through his shirt, the sticking of the fabric to the ragged edges of the wound. He glanced down. That would probably scar. Then he raised his head to the girl sitting opposite him.

The smile broke over his features as sudden as lightning arcing through the clouds, a swift, dazzling thing that illuminated his features for a second, and then erased itself. But faint traces remained, especially in the eyes. And in the single quiet word that echoed in the room afterward, with just enough of a tilt to make it a question.

"Better?"

The girl the question was addressed to, the girl whose ghost touch still lingered on his arms, even through the thin sleeves, the girl whose cold smile could rival his own on a bad day, the girl who had just physically maimed him moments prior; she reminded him a little of the girl on the tree. He had just caught glimpses then: of the ruthless strike-back, the steely tone, the intelligence. He had been expecting harsh words, even a curse; but not a scar that lasted for a lifetime, or words that targeted his own chinks in armor like iron arrows. It curiously, so very curiously, sent a wave of what seemed strangely like..-satisfaction?- thrum through his chest.

Reid waited for that spark of responding anger; but apart from distant unease, and a faint roiling in his lower stomach at.....Barbara's name, it never came. "Of course it was hard, Varnes. Grief, no matter how big of a liability it may be, is a rather unavoidable thing." What seemed strange about these words, falling from his tongue now? Perhaps the fact that they lacked the mocking edge, completely devoid of malice. He spoke the truth for the sake of the truth now, not to hurt. "But what counts is how much control you let the grief have over you."

"Back when they first retrieved my sister.....her body needed identifying." The words were plain, naked. Bare. "My parents couldn't step into that room. Mother was bound to Rika day and night, and Barbara had always been Father's favourite. Before anyone could know...understand....I opened the door and stepped inside." He still remembered it. The plain white ceiling, seeming so freakishly tall to an eleven-year old, the blinding lights, the stench. "I walked into the morgue, identified her, and walked back out."  

He blinked repeatedly, clearing the sight from his eyes. They latched on to the only other living occupant of the room, clear and fearless. "What counts is how much control you let the grief have over you."

And I never let it have any. The silence which followed in his mind after that: no conscientious voice of his mother, no reprimanding stare of Rika- affirmed that this, at least, was undeniable. He never let it have any.

Of course Dr. Kramnik, the counsellor back in Bulgaria would have a different perspective on that.  He would tell Reid that there was a reason that people naturally took time to move on, to grieve and be weak. He would affirm, nodding his white old head, that crying cleansed the soul or some other rot. He would inform him, that there was a difference between being strong and fine, and being happy. But for now, Reid truly couldn't care for any of it.

The blood flow from the slash wounds had slowed considerably, now. They would soon begin to clot, and with time there would be nothing left of them but pale, white scars; criss-crossing over his heart. He didn't lack scars- mementoes of a Muggleborn in Durmstrang. There was a small, circular, blackened one on his right shoulder blade, remainder of a particularly strong Acid-Hex. He hadn't quite been able to reach the spot while applying the ointment himself. Then there was the long, spanning one at the base of his sixth finger on his left hand, when they had attempted to cut it off; the classmates had always found it freakish. A small, negligible one on the back of his knee; this was from a barbed wire in childhood when the three of them had particularly craved the guavas in the neighbouring compound. And now this, a cross over his heart. It probably wouldn't scar if healed now, his wand was still loosely gripped in his palm.

He didn't move. All other scars were black crows. Reminders of times he'd rather forget, times of rage, malice, viciousness, adrenaline, bitter nostalgia..........

This scar was different.

((OOC: Glad you liked it. :)I can't handle these two, I just can't.))

He made no move to heal himself, nor any move to strike back. Vivianna was confused, for a moment, before her eyes landed upon his smile and all confused thoughts flew out of her mind. Reid was smiling. Not just smiling, but grinning truly brilliant grin. If the girl was a poet, she'd be able to go on and on about how blinding it was. She'd never seen Reid smile like that.

But then, in the time it took for her to blink, the smile was gone. All that remained of that glorious grin was the happy shine in his eyes, and the odd tingle in her chest. Vivianna's eyes flickered down to the blood staining Reid's shirt, and then back up to his face. He still hadn't made a move to strike back at her. Not with magic, nor firsts, nor words.

Then she realized that Reid had been goading her on purpose. He'd wanted her to strike out, to hurt him. A true smile appeared upon her face at the thought. Only Reid would do that, completely aware that she was more than capable of hurting him. His temporary disregard for his own wellbeing in order to improve hers was almost sweet, in a way. Vivianna mentally laughed at herself, well aware that only she would find being insulted a sweet gesture. But it was, in a rather twisted way. Good thing they were both slightly twisted people.

"Yes, better," the Slytherin grinned, tossing her blade back down onto the stone floor. The knife slid a few inches into the folds of her bag, hidden once again from sight. It felt odd to be smiling at someone she had just injured, but Vivianna supposed that neither she nor Reid had ever been ones to follow the norm.

Reid had spoken to her. Spoken to her honestly about death and grief and his sister. Knowing that a young Reid had seen his sister's body felt like a punch to the gut. Vivianna had seen Bertie's corpse, and she was sure that the image would haunt her for the rest of her life. It certainly haunted her nightmares. That Reid had seen the lifeless figure of Barbara... it almost made her want to puke. That shouldn't have happened. It wasn't fair. Then again, none of this was.

What counts is how much control you let the grief have over you.

The words hit her brain like a blow to the back of the head. She was determined, and strong. She could take control of the situation. When she thought of it like that, everything suddenly seemed simpler. Not easy, but simpler. Vivianna was good at taking charge, of staying in control. If she compared this situation to anything else she'd faced and conquered, well, it felt like she might be able to handle it. After all, she wasn't weak. She was strong. All she had to do was set her mind to it. Her mind, the mind that still couldn't forget the image of how Bertie's face was distorted and expressionless in death.

"But you never let it have any," Vivianna stated, unable to handle how the previously unspoken words had been hanging in the air between them. But then those word permeated her brain too, slower than his others had. It explained a lot about Reid's expressionless masks and the pure strength that sometimes lurked behind his eyes. But it also meant, had to mean, that he hadn't grieved.

Reid may have managed to stay strong, sturdy, and unbreakable, but that meant he'd sacrificed his ability to bend. In certain situations he'd be far too brittle; not malleable enough to make it through. That worried Vivianna a lot more than she'd ever admit. The very idea of Reid breaking completely into a million tiny pieces was terrifying. She'd just have to ensure it never happened, no matter how much the wizard would hate her for it.

"But if you never grieve you can never recover," Vivianna commented quietly, half to herself and half to her fellow student. Clenching her right fist and then relaxing it, the Slythein leaned in to inspect the wounds her own hand had caused. The redhead couldn't bring herself to regret cutting into Reid's skin, but she doubted the male expected her to. At least she hadn't really cast an Unforgivable, the girl was pretty sure that she'd have regretted that.  

Arm moving without permission, Vivianna placed her flat palm against Reid's bleeding chest. Eyes making contact, the witch wondered if she should offer the transfer student something for the pain. Smirking softly, the redhead decided that she wouldn't. After all, Reid could handle it.

In a near-ludicrous moment, Reid almost rolled his eyes when a spark of realisation first lit itself in those dampened blue eyes, almost colourless in the moonlight. Took you long enough. The smile took him a little by surprise, though. The blade impacted the bag with a dull thunk, and Varnes actually looked pleased. And determined. As if she'd taken his words to heart.

His eyes flickered and glanced away, hand curling tighter into the wand, fingernails digging reflexively into the wood. It felt smooth, and cool to the touch. A slow, dull throb was setting into his knees; they had been propped against the floor for a long time. Air rose out of his expanding lungs, hissing out between his lips as crystallised breath. He cleared his throat.

This was a little.....off. Unexpected. Caught him by surprise. He had been talking, blankly, taunting and goading, meaninglessly but.........his right hand coiled unconsciously into his pocket; but he had never spared a thought to whether it would actually....work. Whether Varnes would get it, or whether she would be even more brassed off than before. But it....it sort of.....seemed....that it had. And he had ended up consoling her (if it could be called that). Successfully. He had made a person smile.

That hadn't happened in a long time.

"But you never let it have any."

"I didn't." Reid said. A stray thought in his head wondered if it was an achievement.

But it seemed to be the night for surprises. Something warm, and soft, and calloused, made sudden contact with his chest, and it drew in sharply, in a quick, reflexive inhale. The material of his shirt was thin, and the foreign heat seemed even more.....there, amidst the chilly air and the numbed pain. His eyes seemed to dart up, unawares and without command, grey seeking blue in a moment that seemed unreal, conjured up and unlived in this world of stone and potion and death. Realisation seeped through many layers of his consciousness before it could truly make sense: right now, she could probably feel a thrum, a barely-there beat, an ignored heart under her fingertips.

It was more breath than words, but it was there. "Recovery is rather overrated, isn't it?"




It took three more seconds of shared breath for Reid to snap back to sense.

He stood up, robes whipping against the air, abrupt and swift. His right hand was flexing back and forth, buried in the depths of the robe pocket, knuckles brushing against the cool glass of the vial. His left hand was cramped in a death-tight grip, long fingers throttling the wand. Back in the frosted glass set into the window behind her, Reid could catch a glimpse of pale, impassive, closed-off features. His own.

“Watch the hand, Varnes.” After all the contempt, the scorn, the susceptibility, the glimmer of truth…….his voice sounded empty now. Reid couldn’t care. His mind still seemed half-submerged in an ocean of surrealism, having just broken the surface to breathe in gusts of reality. There was confusion, a mild sense of disquiet, a guarded reserve. And pervading through it all was a prevailing sense of what…the….f*ck…. “Open wound there, you might have noticed. Wouldn’t want to infect anything.”