Peated (Gaspard)

She had to find Mercy, Mimosa realized in a blind panic as she left the library, the newspaper still clutched in her hand though its surface was now extremely wrinkled from how hard the child had been wringing her tiny fists since Mr. Hughes had found her in the Restricted Section. Mercy would know what to do? Mercy would know how to make her stop feeling like there was a monster inside her chest that was trying to claw its way out of her tiny body. Mercy would fix everything!

As she sprinted up the stairs to Gryffindor tower, her feet screaming out in pain at every stomp up the hard, stone steps, her body insisting she slow down but her mind desperate to find the one person who could somehow make the world go away. Reaching the seventh floor landing, the tears had started up once again, obstructing the child's vision and too late, she had painfully bumped into Bushrah. The collision caused a cry of pain to escape the young Slytherin as fresh tears spilled from her blue eyes, making Bushrah's own eyes go wide in concern.

"Mimosa, what's wrong?"

"N-need Mercy? Is she in the c-common r-room?"

"Oh no! Mercy felt ill earlier so she had to go to the nurse. She'll probably be back tomorrow, the nurse likes to keep people in overnight just to be sure. But i can help-"

Mimosa didn't need to hear more. All she'd really heard was that Mercy wasn't here. Mercy couldn't fix this right now. Automatically, her feet started pounding again, leaving Bushrah behind as they headed to the fifth floor. Gaspard was the smartest person she knew here, he would know what to do. As she ran, her mouth set in a grimace against the pain blossoming all over her body, the notion become even stronger. Gaspard always had a solution, maybe he would know how to make her stop feeling like this?

Reaching the conveniently marked entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, the child tried the door handle, only to be disappointed. Reaching up to rub her red rimmed eyes furiously, she jiggled the handle once more with her free hand. "Open! she tried but the door was impervious to her commands.

"You know you have to answer its riddle right?" A voice spoke snootily from behind and Mimosa turned, never having been so glad to see Seema Biswas than she was at the moment.

"Seema, I have to get in... See Gaspard," she managed, gesturing to the newspaper still clutched under an arm. Seema looked her over for a moment, clearly noting her distress and battling with the school rules she held in such high regard.

"Seema please... " The little Slytherin knew her voice was going to crack the longer she stood here, and perhaps Seema realized it too. A moment later, the Ravenclaw walked to the door and - ignoring the doorknob - rapped the door lightly using the eagle shaped knocker Mimosa had dismissed as decoration earlier. The next thing she knew, a pleasant, even voice rang all around them, originating from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

You often find me on clothing,
sometimes one, two, or even three,
And though I'm empty more often than not,
there's still something inside of me.

"What" Mimosa egan, unsure if the knocker had just spoken. Seema hurriedly silenced the Slytherin, walking to the door as if in deep thoughts.

"In my clothes," the ink-dark haired student muttered to herself. "Empty but full, empty but has something..." It took her a few minutes but then Seema looked up victoriously at the knocker. "A hole, Eagle. More specifically, a hole in a pocket."

With an ominous creak, the large door opened inwards, revealing a circular room beyond. Mimosa followed the other witch in numbly, hardly taking in the large windows that let in too much light and air and gave the illusion of no privacy. It was a stark contrast from the Slytherins who stayed tucked away in their dungeons.

"If you'll wait here, I'll get a boy to go fetch Gasp-" the rest of her sentence was lost as Mimosa was running again. the Common Room may be unsettling and different but the brunette had spied the stairs leading up to the dormitories, and those were the same. Sprinting up the right flight of stairs she knew lead to the boys' rooms, Mimosa dashed to the landing and hurled herself through the corridors, coming to a door marks "1" and then some words. She may have not been able to read it but she knew "1" meant "first". Without preamble she pushed the door open, scanning the room for Gaspard and found him.

The next thing she knew, she was crying where she stood, the pain in her feet and legs finally too much and the bruises on her arm beginning to redden from when she had bumped into Bushrah. Unable to close even the short distance between her and Gaspard, Mimosa simply dropped where she stood, sinking into the plush blue carpet as the sobs began anew.

A thin finger turned the page lazily from the heavy tome that was sitting propped up on the lap of the first year. The boy was sitting comfortably atop his bed against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles. Gaspard's eyes continue to dart back and forth as the took in the information on the pages and committing it to memory. The sound of his breathing, the pages turning, and the slight sound coming from the open window was enough to keep him from going insane. Loud noises he couldn't stand, but soft background barely distinguishable ones he preferred. Just as he preferred to be comfortable when he studied for pleasure and wasn't deeply researching or having to do any other work then memorization. His desk, was for such tedious things as homework and the reading that required a better surface in which to take notes.

The bookshelf assigned to him held very few personal books. It might have been a non Ravenclaw trait, but the boy did not like to share. His school books that could be easily replaceable were on the shelves. He didn't care too much about those personally. There were no knickknacks or other treasures in his space. Just his study and school items. Just those books he had a few copies of or didn't prefer to lug around and were no great loss adorned it. The book he was reading had been checked out from the library. Again, that was something he rarely did as he had a tendency to forget he did not own the books personally and had to stifle temptation to write in the margins. While he despised getting books like that, mainly for the fact that people only wrote idiotic things in the books as if the book could argue back, rather than jotting down an actual useful note.

Something caught his attention beyond the doors of his dorm. Pausing, setting the book flat, his brow furrowed and mouth curled down in concentration. There was running feet and heavy breathing? The door opened to the last person he expected causing his eyes to widen and his brows to practically disappear to his hairline as he stared in shock. Blinking, he frowned as he took in her appearance. Before he could even voice anything, she was down and before he knew it, he had come to stand in front of her before squatting down and gazing at her with as much concern as he could show.

Crying was not something the boy was used to. It wasn't something he knew how to deal with nor how to go about 'comforting' someone. Likely he was going to make this worse, but if he didn't do anything... He wouldn't put it past the girl to make his life miserable and the force that seemed to bend to her will to make it so. Might as well put some of his mother's lessons to use. Pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket he offered it to the girl. "I'll trade you," he stated looking at the newspaper assuming that that might have played a part of whatever was going on.

Of course Mimosa had not noticed that he was reading, that he was lying down or that he was in the middle of something else. In her current state, all she had seen was that he was there. For the first time today, someone was right where she needed them to be. It was both ehr tears and relief that had made the tiny witch fall to the floor, and just as expected, Gaspard was out of bed in a trice and by her side, kneeling beside her on the royal blue carpet and offering her a handkerchief.

The tears still streaming fresh from her reddened eyes, Mimosa accepted the trade, giving him the crumpled newspaper opened to the distressing story and taking his handkerchief in return. but instead of using it to wipe her eyes, the girl simply held it to her chest like she had the paper, bringing her knees up in front of her and burying her head in them as her tiny form continued to shake with sobs.

"M-m-my un-uncles," she managed brokenly in between sobs as he read the story. And even as she cried, a stupid part of her hoped that Gaspard would find something wrong, something that would discredit the article and prove that her uncles were okay. That they hand't been shot dead by bad men with guns like Elenore said they had.

"Hurt..." she managed, still not looking up from her self imposed exile in the tiny ball she was curled in. " Make i-it st-stop... pl-please make it st-stop hurting." Because he could do it. He was the smartest person in this tower, maybe even in the school. If anyone could fix her right now, it was Gaspard. He was good at fixing broken things.

And Mimosa was starting to realize that hurt in her chest meant she might be broken.

Taking the paper from the girl gingerly, Gaspard still squatting flat footed, rocked forward so he was on the balls of his feet as he spread the paper out. His blue eyes skimmed the article quickly. As he read his mouth turned down. The girl must have known the two wizards. It was confirmed when she said it was her uncles. Chewing on his inner cheek, he wondered what he was meant to do now. He didn't know how to comfort anyone, let alone this girl who viewed and took in the world in a completely different way then reality.

He was useless...and that didn't set well with him. Gaspard hated to be useless, more even than not understanding or figuring out something that eluded him. If it was something like a puzzle or other kinds of information that didn't have to do with variables that constantly changed like human emotion, the boy was in his element. Things like this, he was completely out of his depth. He was aware enough and smart enough to admit that he wasn't the right person to ask about emotions or to figure them into things since he really didn't see what they had to do with things most of the time.

As much as he loathed bringing them into situations, Gaspard knew he had to for Mimosa. If nothing else then to get her stop crying and out of his room before the whole tower begun thinking he did something to make the girl cry. Trying to think of something, he sighed and stretched out his legs so he was sitting properly with his butt on the floor. Dredging up the memories he tried to place himself back in those situations to try and recall what he felt before he opened his mouth to attempt to talk.

"I can't." he stated with regret. If anyone else had come in they wouldn't have believed he could actually be this way. Of course he would forever deny it. "It won't go away, but it will get softer and less harsh." He wouldn't offer apologies or any of the other tripe that he didn't believe in.

He really wasn't sure what he could say to her to make her feel better other than sitting here and letting her cry or rage or whatever she needed. While part of him knew that he wasn't the right person for this and he should go fetch someone who could actually help, part of him actually felt...touched. And very very confused. Why had she come to him of all people? Unless he was the last person she had come to? That would make much more sense. She had plenty of friends to make her feel better and comfort her and do that girly stuff with. He might have been the last resort if they were too busy.

"Y-You can!" the girl exclaimed amid her distressed sobs, still not looking up from her self imposed tangle of limbs and face. Of course he could. he was Gaspard Kylar, he could do anything. He could even fix death. Raising her tear streaked face to his, the girl glared at him through her grief, willing him to cut out his procrastination and just fix it, fix everything, fix her.

"You have to," she insisted before another wracking sob took over her frail body and she lunched her small frame at him, ending up with her arms around his neck and her face buried somewhere in his jacket, staining his cloches with her tears and snot as she cried into him. The girl clung to him as hard as she'd clung to the raft while making her way to school from the train station, afraid to let go in case she drowned in her own sorrow.

Unbeknownst to Mimosa, her action had resulted in her robe sleeve being pulled back, revealing the myriad of bruises slowly purpling on her arm and shoulder from her bump earlier. And should Gaspard notice, the same trail of bruises continued down her knee and into her stockings, leading to her sore and swollen feet encased in school shoes. The young Slytherin was clearly hurt and clearly in no position to notice it on her own.

All she really wanted to do was keep clinging to Gapard and trying, keep crying until there was nothing left inside her and he'd used his magic to fix her however he could. Because even in her shattered state, Mimosa knew he was one of the only people here who could help her.

Taken aback, Gaspard's mind worked on three different tracks at once which was not helping him at all. While he was very confused and trying to figure out why she was so adamant in her insistence that he could 'make it stop'. Why was she putting that much faith in him? It scared him and made him even more wary of messing everything up.

People weren't his forte. That was one of the reasons his parents had believed that homeschooling him was for the best. They had tried to put Gaspard into primary school with other children initially, but that hadn't worked out. It wasn't just that he was antisocial and believed the other children were stupid, he in his mother's words was 'precocious'. He wasn't into playtime and talking about super heroes or even sports. That had labeled him as a loner and strange. Then of course he was constantly questioning his teachers and they got tired of having to answer his incessant "Why's" and began running from him.

While he'd been fine without friends he supposed he'd come to sort of think of Mimosa as more than an acquaintance. She at least saw him as a friend, he was sure and he still wasn't sure how that had come about or why. That just added to the pressure. Then just as he had every time she had gone to hug him he froze, and he couldn't help the instant curl of disgust knowing that his precious clothes were going to be stained. Awkwardly and a bit hesitant, he wrapped his arms loosely around her waist and back.

Catching the bruises, the boy's eyes quickly cataloged everything but he was sure that now might not be the time. As it was, he had no idea why she was so desperately sure he could help and he didn't want her to rely on him. Inside he was mentally freaking out and having a panic attack while another part was pointing out that this was why he avoided people. Emotions were complicated and there weren't any way to assure the proper response at any given time.

Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Gaspard tried to pull up any information he could that related to someone crying or death. Or rather the aftermath of it since that was what they were dealing with. The only thing he could think of was to just let her cry herself out. He could think of something to say and do afterward. However, he did have to wonder why she had the paper. As far as he knew, she wasn't the type to read the newspaper. Which meant that someone had to have shown her, or asked her about it to find out if it was true? Recalling the reaction at the sorting ceremony, his mouth hardened into a frown. Latching onto something, he asked, "Does Mercy know yet?"

The usually impeccably dressed preteen tried to keep the disgust from his face at the thought of the unsavory fluids that was now on his shirt. From the moment on the train, he had just known she would be a financial drain when it came to his clothes. While his mind was screaming, he outwardly kept his calm and continued to hold the girl until her crying had run its course. Barely keeping from cringing when she began afresh. Gaspard sighed; another thing he'd been doing a lot since he'd met the girl. When she'd shook her head and loosened her grip which he was thankful for even if it was moot since his clothes were ruined.

Not used to dealing with crying and distressed individuals, he wasn't sure what the feeling was when she finally spoke again. It had to be his bad luck that the girl's best friend got sick at a time like this. Giving a slight nod to let her know he was listening, he supposed it was only natural you didn't burden a sick person and didn't seek out comfort from someone who was ill who in turn wanted comfort. Glancing down at Mimosa he had to fight a frown of his own not liking that expression on her face. She was supposed to be all smiles and baffling and not at all sad or upset.

When her expression changed, the boy nearly laughed in relief. He shouldn't be happy at her pain, but he found himself surprised to be relieved to see her face show confusion again rather than sadness. Giving her an exasperated look he shook his head. "Of course they do. You ran all the way here from where?" His tone clearly indicated that he didn't really expect a response back from her. Even those first years in excellent shape had been huffing and puffing by the end of the first day. The castle was huge! And with misbehaving staircases and ghosts, well, you could end up taking the long route somewhere.

Canting his head in thought as he stared at the arm in question, Gaspard not one to make conclusions without all the information asked, "Did you bump it along the way?" It was a known fact that adrenaline dulled some senses and you didn't really feel everything completely until it had worn off. The same with shock, which he knew the Slytherin was in.

When asked if she had hurt herself along the way, the child merely nodded. She had a blurry recollection of feet pounding floor and running into someone though exhausted and aggrieved as she was, Mimosa couldn't remember who it was that had hurt her so. "I bumed my whole sad," she managed, trying really hard to think of who it was she had bumped into but coming up short. All she remembered was that Mercy hadn't been in the common room so she had to run to Gaspard.

Reaching out once again, the young Slytherin winced, holding Gaspard as she moved to sit down, not giving him the opportunity to protest before she landed on the closet bed to their position, Gaspard's bed as it would turn out to be. Collapsing on the soft covers, the child whined painfully as she examined her own legs, lifting the robe and tracing the slowly ripening marks with erh teach washed eyes.

"I don't want to go to the doctors," she added before the Ravenclaw had a chance to comment. A sheer note of exhausted entered her voice when she spoke next. "I don't want to go anywhere tonight... Can I please stay here... I premise I'll be quiet." Mimosa didn't know much about other people, she had never bothered to find out. They were usually uninteresting and she would much rather talk about herself then them. But there were exceptions like Mercy and Gaspard and she knew Gapsard didn't like a lot of noise. He was smart, he liked reading.

With the soft plea, Mimosa curled up in the boy's bed, hugging herself tight in case something else happened tonight, something even more horrible, soemthing even Gaspard couldn't make better. Dragging one of his pillows to her tiny, shaking form, she enveloped it into her spindly arms, hugging it for dear life.

Gaspard wasn't surprised. He'd come to know the girl and that she was quite accident prone. At least she had Mercy looking after her most days to keep her out of trouble and physical harm. He was quite sure that there was that batch of Slytherins she had wrapped around her pinky that were doing the same and being subtle about it. They had been doomed from the moment she opened her mouth and spoke to them; much as he had been.

Allowing Mimosa to use him to steady herself, he bit the inside of his cheek and kept from flinching when he saw where she had decided to go. Face reddening a bit he, was about to open his mouth but thought better of it. It would be much easier and safer for the girl to stay here. He would likely endure some ribbing, but the boy decided that it would be worth it and endure it he shall. And naturally, she ensured his silence with her words and he blinked since it seemed she knew what he'd been about to say. Sighing, he gave into the inevitable and nodded in resignation. Of course he'd let her stay with him. Glancing at the small figure in his bed, because she really did seem tiny compared to the huge bed, Gaspard's lips pursed. Mind racing, his eyes flickered to the door, to the huddled girl, back to the door. Walking over towards the open door, he stuck his head out and seeing that the common room was mostly empty and that the first year boy's dorm wasn't being paid attention to, he was satisfied.

Returning to his bed, he loosed the curtains so they draped his bed blocking any curious stares if any of his dorm mates decided to come in early. Paused after the final curtain was pulled, he thought and went to rummage in his bag. Giving the tiniest sliver of a smile, he pulled out a jar of bruise balm. He'd made this himself as a project. Of course he needed it after they'd played magical dodgeball in DADA. Tucking the small jar into his pocket making a mental note to give it to the girl before she left, he joined her. Making sure to enter the bed on the opposite side of where Mimosa was, he took up his book and resumed where he'd left off, settling himself against the headboard.

"Stay as long as you want. And..." he said softly, "I don't mind if you make noise."