Post by Rister Graas S6 on May 15, 2009 10:25:37 GMT -5
He was weary as he drudged through the cool hallways of Hogwarts castle. It was spring so the stone walls didn’t put forth a bone-biting chill anymore and he relished the coolness. Humid heat was the last thing he wanted around him right now, for tonight he couldn’t really even think of settling in comfortably and drifting off to the lull of dreams. And he was weary tonight. His “druding” was really just casual strolling down the hallway, but he was tired. For the last two days he had been pulled in a number of different directions by family and demands and duties and he was feeling a bit worse for the wear around the edges. Even if he took care to keep his composition cool and carefully blank. Somehow the familiarity of such a mask came as a comfort. Lifting the book bag onto his right shoulder, Rister absently traced the smooth stone-walls with his finger-tips as he rounded the last corner – having had to take a minor detour to avoid Filch – on his way to Hogwarts kitchens. There was always someone in the common room, either someone studying late, someone up early or a cuddling couple; the library was locked after curfew and he didn’t want to head anywhere he would feel too comfortable. He had an exam in Charms tomorrow and however smart he was, even he would need to study. So despite the fact he was tired and achy and suffering from a headache and had only caught a couple of hour nap the previous night and was still being hunted by a mountain of things to sort through, he would retreat to the kitchens and force himself to study.
Brushing his fingers over the giggling pear, Rister grasped the door-knob and stepped in. The kitchen was quieter than usual – perhaps the house elves cleaned Hogwarts and took care of laundry and everything else they did during the night? – so Rister made his way to a table with four hard chairs around it. Two on one side and two on the other before the sole house-elf in sight hurried over to him, already questioning what it could get for the young master. Rister eyed the house-elf calmly. The house elves at home called him young master as well, so he wasn’t perturbed by the addressing form and he was confident enough for the house elves not to mind serving. Confident, secure, and with an air of authority around him, yet not a harsh and cruel master. The house elves served him happily enough, because it was in their nature to do so. “Coffee. Strong and black and bitter,” he ordered in a mild tone, before considering. The last he had had time to get a bit had been the morning, but getting a full supper would only serve to make him drowsy again, “And sea biscuits. Dry and bland.” “but, young master, dinner…” Rister held up a hand and the house-elf quieted and scurried away to get his order as Rister pulled back the hard straight-back chair without even sparing a glance at the softer plush seats all around him.
The legs of the chair scarped over the floor and Rister slowly lowered himself to sit. He was moody and tired but he knew form experience that treating his body without the utmost care at this point would only make things feel worse. So Rister sat with caution, stretched out his legs under the table and heaved the book bag on the table. Pulling out the tomes – the book Flitwick taught according to and the advised curriculum reading, courtesy of aunt Dana – Rister spread the books before him. His fingers found bookmarks easily and swiftly, the books opening just where he wanted them too. He had given use to all the books. He wasn’t the best student in the year or class – except in Transfiguration, where he was simply exceptional – but he was in the strong middle. And while he had some natural intelligence, he also studied for his grades. Not as much as someone who lacked his memory and experience, but he studied. And while the rest studied for their future careers and lives, Rister studied as a challenge to himself, a challenge knowing that others might one day depend on what he knew and knew not, could do and could not. It was a better motivation than most had. Motivation strong enough to keep him up for pretty much two nights in a row to scram in studying for a few precious hours he had away from his duties.
But he’d allow himself a bit of a break until the house elf reappeared with what he had demanded. Pushing the books a bit further from him, he leaned his elbows on the table and rested his face in his palms. What he did… Who he WAS suited him. It was part of every bone and fibre of his body and ever though passing through his head. But sometimes he forgot just how much it took to be the pillar of strength for everyone he had chosen to surround himself with, family and close friends alike. Especially so when his own support – his parents – were so far away. He was a smart and strong and a good heir to the Graas family-line, but he was still young in so many ways. He wouldn’t break though, even if he was tired today. The threatening buzz that warned him that he had reached his limits wasn’t running up and down his spine and limbs yet and he would have plenty of time to collapse after tomorrow’s exam. Someone’s fingers touched his temples and Rister jerked upright, his fingers grasping the wrists of whoever had touched him with perhaps a little bit more force than strictly needed. Dad had taught them some things without ever even realising, Rister supposed with a wry grimace. There was enough animal in dad to not allow anyone but mom near his head or neck and he had somehow instilled a similar restraint into his children. And Rister must have been worse than he thought if he had been so unaware of his surroundings to overlook someone being in the same room as him, whether the person had been here before or had just entered. Only as these thoughts had flashed through his head did he turn his head to see who had disturbed his lonely solace for the night.
Meredith. Rister regarded her wordlessly for a moment before releasing her wrists. “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t send me sprawling on the floor,” he supplied dryly, almost flinching at how coarse his voice sounded. The lack of sleep and food and tiredness must be catching up with his body, he reaffirmed mentally. He wondered what had brought her to the kitchen at this late – or early, whatever the case was – hour, but didn’t ask. For all the months she had so dutifully ignored him and all his siblings, before Lita had brought her over just last weekend, he wasn’t going to force her into small talk. So he merely levelled her with a look, Morgana’s face in his mind. The face of his little sister who had already sworn off marriage and even closer friendship, because she thought herself a monster. Merry hadn’t helped those matters. So he merely released her wrists and turned back to the table just as the house-elf scurried back. The coffee was steaming in a yellow mug as the house-elf handed it to him, expectantly look into his face as Rister wrapped a hand around the mug and lifted it to his lips. He had ordered it strong and bitter and the house-elf had really got both of those requests right, Rister realised with a couple of blinks as the taste exploded in his mouth. “It’s just the way your brother drinks it, young master. Young master Damon that is, young master,” the house-elf squeaked and Rister arched an eye-brow as he took one more sip. If Damon leeched in this tar in the mornings, then that might explain Ashlyn’s abruptness in the mornings, because it was strong enough to be bound to carry over their bond to an extent at least. Ashlyn was a saint, Rister decided. He would have to drag her over to the Slythering table come morning – Damon was bound to join them then – and coerce Damon into skipping his morning coffee. Though if Damon drank this stuff, Ashlyn might already be addicted to coffee as well, tough the bond surely would cut off most of the kick in it. “You got me what I asked for, that’s for sure,” Rister told the house-elf who beamed and left the sea-biscuits on a small saucer by Rister’s elbow before turning its attention to Merry. Rister ignored their conversation as he broke a piece of the sea biscuit and popped it in his mouth. Bland and dry. It was far from taste, but it would supply enough nutrition to keep him from collapsing from hunger. As if to reaffirm that statement his stomach rumbled quietly and Rister took one more bite of the dry biscuits. It would have to do; he decided and taking one more sip of the coffee, reached over to tug one of the books closer to him. Merry would in all likelihood want to carry on pretending he and his whole family didn’t exist anyway.
Brushing his fingers over the giggling pear, Rister grasped the door-knob and stepped in. The kitchen was quieter than usual – perhaps the house elves cleaned Hogwarts and took care of laundry and everything else they did during the night? – so Rister made his way to a table with four hard chairs around it. Two on one side and two on the other before the sole house-elf in sight hurried over to him, already questioning what it could get for the young master. Rister eyed the house-elf calmly. The house elves at home called him young master as well, so he wasn’t perturbed by the addressing form and he was confident enough for the house elves not to mind serving. Confident, secure, and with an air of authority around him, yet not a harsh and cruel master. The house elves served him happily enough, because it was in their nature to do so. “Coffee. Strong and black and bitter,” he ordered in a mild tone, before considering. The last he had had time to get a bit had been the morning, but getting a full supper would only serve to make him drowsy again, “And sea biscuits. Dry and bland.” “but, young master, dinner…” Rister held up a hand and the house-elf quieted and scurried away to get his order as Rister pulled back the hard straight-back chair without even sparing a glance at the softer plush seats all around him.
The legs of the chair scarped over the floor and Rister slowly lowered himself to sit. He was moody and tired but he knew form experience that treating his body without the utmost care at this point would only make things feel worse. So Rister sat with caution, stretched out his legs under the table and heaved the book bag on the table. Pulling out the tomes – the book Flitwick taught according to and the advised curriculum reading, courtesy of aunt Dana – Rister spread the books before him. His fingers found bookmarks easily and swiftly, the books opening just where he wanted them too. He had given use to all the books. He wasn’t the best student in the year or class – except in Transfiguration, where he was simply exceptional – but he was in the strong middle. And while he had some natural intelligence, he also studied for his grades. Not as much as someone who lacked his memory and experience, but he studied. And while the rest studied for their future careers and lives, Rister studied as a challenge to himself, a challenge knowing that others might one day depend on what he knew and knew not, could do and could not. It was a better motivation than most had. Motivation strong enough to keep him up for pretty much two nights in a row to scram in studying for a few precious hours he had away from his duties.
But he’d allow himself a bit of a break until the house elf reappeared with what he had demanded. Pushing the books a bit further from him, he leaned his elbows on the table and rested his face in his palms. What he did… Who he WAS suited him. It was part of every bone and fibre of his body and ever though passing through his head. But sometimes he forgot just how much it took to be the pillar of strength for everyone he had chosen to surround himself with, family and close friends alike. Especially so when his own support – his parents – were so far away. He was a smart and strong and a good heir to the Graas family-line, but he was still young in so many ways. He wouldn’t break though, even if he was tired today. The threatening buzz that warned him that he had reached his limits wasn’t running up and down his spine and limbs yet and he would have plenty of time to collapse after tomorrow’s exam. Someone’s fingers touched his temples and Rister jerked upright, his fingers grasping the wrists of whoever had touched him with perhaps a little bit more force than strictly needed. Dad had taught them some things without ever even realising, Rister supposed with a wry grimace. There was enough animal in dad to not allow anyone but mom near his head or neck and he had somehow instilled a similar restraint into his children. And Rister must have been worse than he thought if he had been so unaware of his surroundings to overlook someone being in the same room as him, whether the person had been here before or had just entered. Only as these thoughts had flashed through his head did he turn his head to see who had disturbed his lonely solace for the night.
Meredith. Rister regarded her wordlessly for a moment before releasing her wrists. “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t send me sprawling on the floor,” he supplied dryly, almost flinching at how coarse his voice sounded. The lack of sleep and food and tiredness must be catching up with his body, he reaffirmed mentally. He wondered what had brought her to the kitchen at this late – or early, whatever the case was – hour, but didn’t ask. For all the months she had so dutifully ignored him and all his siblings, before Lita had brought her over just last weekend, he wasn’t going to force her into small talk. So he merely levelled her with a look, Morgana’s face in his mind. The face of his little sister who had already sworn off marriage and even closer friendship, because she thought herself a monster. Merry hadn’t helped those matters. So he merely released her wrists and turned back to the table just as the house-elf scurried back. The coffee was steaming in a yellow mug as the house-elf handed it to him, expectantly look into his face as Rister wrapped a hand around the mug and lifted it to his lips. He had ordered it strong and bitter and the house-elf had really got both of those requests right, Rister realised with a couple of blinks as the taste exploded in his mouth. “It’s just the way your brother drinks it, young master. Young master Damon that is, young master,” the house-elf squeaked and Rister arched an eye-brow as he took one more sip. If Damon leeched in this tar in the mornings, then that might explain Ashlyn’s abruptness in the mornings, because it was strong enough to be bound to carry over their bond to an extent at least. Ashlyn was a saint, Rister decided. He would have to drag her over to the Slythering table come morning – Damon was bound to join them then – and coerce Damon into skipping his morning coffee. Though if Damon drank this stuff, Ashlyn might already be addicted to coffee as well, tough the bond surely would cut off most of the kick in it. “You got me what I asked for, that’s for sure,” Rister told the house-elf who beamed and left the sea-biscuits on a small saucer by Rister’s elbow before turning its attention to Merry. Rister ignored their conversation as he broke a piece of the sea biscuit and popped it in his mouth. Bland and dry. It was far from taste, but it would supply enough nutrition to keep him from collapsing from hunger. As if to reaffirm that statement his stomach rumbled quietly and Rister took one more bite of the dry biscuits. It would have to do; he decided and taking one more sip of the coffee, reached over to tug one of the books closer to him. Merry would in all likelihood want to carry on pretending he and his whole family didn’t exist anyway.
