doom patrol (ex_waylaid211) wrote in from_the_ashes, @ 2009-11-25 13:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | char: gerard, char: pete |
Who: Gerard and Pete
When: first free moment in a house-elfless Hogwarts, some time in the distant future
Where: huddled in the courtyard with a bottle of vodka or three
What: Pour one out and light a pyre for our fallen comrades in cosies
The last feverish Ravenclaw was stable and sleeping in the infirmary. Patrick was out on patrol, roaming the corridors and checking the grounds for any signs of trouble -- knock on wormwood, but Hogwarts actually seemed relatively quiet for the night. And Mikey was off doing something mysterious and hopefully cathartic-- he wasn't in his room, but Gerard's new and improved pocketwatch had his brother's hour and minute hands pointing to 'ALIVE' and 'NONE OF YOUR BLOODY BUSINESS' respectively. Obviously fine, wherever he was.
Gerard was left with fuck-all to do, so he'd settled down with his stash of liquor and smokes with the intent of getting thoroughly shit-faced. Fucking werewolf metabolism made it a bit difficult, but he was determinedly plowing through his bottle of pumpkin vodka -- the first go-round had been wretched, but the taste had grown on him after he'd cast a refilling charm or two.
He huddled into the shadow of the stone column and stared gloomily out at the moonlit landscape. They'd all taken turns with the cleanup, and though the grounds were still a bit battered, the more gristly reminders were gone. Fuck, all of the house elves, every single one -- gone, just like that. Gerard's eyes watered -- they'd have hated going out like that, was the worst thing. The Hogwarts elves had loved their jobs, loved the children and the castle, and to have been turned into shambling monsters -- it was Gerard's job to stop things like that from happening, and he'd failed them. And now they were all dead and in little pieces. He'd never even learned the Owlery elf's name. Or which of them had kept rearranging his action figures into mock-battles each morning, or whether Poggy had managed to figure out the perfect charm to create a carbonated Muggle soda.
Fuck, his bottle was empty again. Gerard squinted at it and prodded it with his wand, but he must have incanted a bit wrong because instead of refilling with delicious, terrible pumpkin vodka, it just exploded in a rain of stinging glass.
"Bollocks," Gerard said morosely, and shook shards from his hair. He wasn't nearly drunk enough and now the vodka was gone.