another moment passing by // loki & dashiell

[abraxas scorpius malfoy]

Abraxas found the antidote was being prepared far quicker than he'd have anticipated yet he was following the instructions to the letter. Knowing where to find a bezoar didn't make him any less worried that he might poison Dash. Had he ever failed a potion before? No. Had he ever brewed a potion that was beyond his year group? Also no. All he had to go on was that he could follow instructions and the complication of the original potion producing two side effects didn't make it any easier. "They'll be here in a minute." Brax assumed that the reason he was able to get through it so quickly was because the potion was designed to be produced in a short space of time, presumably because circumstances that required it would require it rather soon. After ten minutes or so, Abraxas took a critical glance at the contents of his cauldron and allowed a short inner smile of pride before scurrying towards the cupboard to get a vial.

"It's... err... an invisibility potion. So the professors can't see the party?" It was an incredibly weak excuse but Abraxas hoped it would be sufficient for the confunded Gryffindor. He filled the vial with the potion and handed it to Dashiell. Brax hadn't considered himself significantly proficient at Charms but recent events had given him a boost of sorts. He had assumed that although he didn't struggle with the class, he wouldn't do well enough to land a job with the Ministry of Magic. Though he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to do when he left Hogwarts, Abraxas recognised the numerous career paths that stemmed from the Ministry and deemed it sensible to set his sights on the government.

"I suppose?" he replied to Dash's peculiar question. "Although not in the lake, even if it wasn't practically frozen." Brax had made the mistake only on one occasion of trying to swim in the lake. If the cold up to his knees hadn't been enough, he'd slipped on what he assumed was probably a mossy rock and found himself completely submerged in the icy waters. That had been plenty for him, especially considering he wasn't a huge fan of water as it was. Of course, he now looked back on it as just one of many good times with Dashiell and the others which reminded him just how much the contents of that vial was capable of. Directly, it would (hopefully) cure his dilemma but indirectly, it would allow those old times to continue. So long as Abraxas watched Dash like a hawk until he was able to retrieve the cookies that were presumably the source of the whole problem, everything would be fine.

[dashiell jameson peakes]

Dashiell looked up at Abraxas. They were going to be here any moment. Of course they were. Although it seemed to slip his mind as to who was going to be late. As the spell's effects began to wear off, he couldn't imagine that Abraxas wouldn't explain who was going to be late... or from what. It was just like him to drag Dashiell of to some dungeon and start making potion, and then half-explain the situation. On the other hand, if he'd intended to brew an invisibility potion, Dash could forgive his fair-haired friend. He'd always wanted to slink around the halls like a snake (although he'd never admit this in the presence of a Slytherin). He'd heard his fair share of rumours before, but if he had an invisibility potion, Dashiell would be able to amass quite a base of gossip. He would be certain to steal some of this potion for after this party that Abraxas had mentioned. Of course, the boy's minds were entirely on pulling pranks on the other Houses or slipping into showers to cause havoc. He shook his head, unsure as to why he couldn't create a clear picture of these showers: there was a strange flickering effect taking place in which the females in their towels and long hair were being shutteringly interchanged with the rough upper torsos of the boys on his Quidditch team.

As the charm's effects began to wear off and the poisonous cookies' hate began to seem back into Dashiell, his eyes focused again. He considered not taking the potion given to him. Abraxas had seemed to have had the audacity to drag him down to the cold, dreary dungeons only to practice his potion-brewing? It seemed a waste of his free time. He could have been out practicing Quidditch or something. On the other hand, Dash couldn't remember a time in which Abraxas had ever managed to poison someone with a potion and he'd let Dashiell try to take his voice via silencing charm. He eyed the Malfoy boy, all too unsure about the fluid he was about to drink. It was clear and somewhat pretty for a potion; normally the things were a dastardly mud-colour that only seemed to taste of gall.

This particular liquid tasted of nothing but shame. Dashiell jumped to his feet after it slid through his confusion, slid through his body. The potion apparently had shone a great, white light over his actions the previous weeks. From the showers in which Abraxas came out to him as at least somewhat interested in boys, to his frustration with Abraxas in their dorms, to.. The last memories were so vivid and strong that it scalded Dashiell's pride to think of them so freshly. Now, his face was as red as the ties he wore to class, and his hand tingled with the clear memory of what, what had happened in the boathouse.

"I've... got to go." Dashiell had been silent for a very, very long time. There was a great tension in the air, to the point that if it weren't for his staggering shock causing horrifically deep breathing, Dashiell might have choked on the atmosphere. He couldn't truly process what had happened in the last couple of weeks. Was it him, any of it? It seemed plausible enough and he remembered it perfectly. Those words he'd shot out at Abraxas like hexes, just moments before— they were not forgivable. He might as well have tortured his friend with a Cruciatus Curse. In his newly-cleared mind, he had a curious black spot in his mind in which Loki had disappeared, something hilarious had taken place, and he'd managed to take the antidote for whatever had happened to him. "I've really got to be somewhere else. I cannot be here." Dashiell spoke quickly and staggeringly, as if he were being pressed into a very small area.

Dashiell shook his head violently, sub-consciously grabbing the hand that had traveled so luxuriously around his friend's leg. He was choking on his own confusion— the world had made more sense when he was unawares of the world than where he was. He didn't even know that it was a love-potion incorrectly brewed that created his troubles. Dashiell was clever enough to realize that the cookies' appearance in his life were significant with that of his downward spiral, though. His mind was now in a fight-or-flight response and for once in his life he was ready to choose "flight". He'd never eagerly backed away from confrontation, even with professors; it was humourous that the very first person he'd eagerly avoid talking to about an uncomfortable experience would be Abraxas.

"I'm... sorry." The apology was heavily laden with far too many meanings. With that, Dashiell backed out of the room, still staring at Abraxas as he went. The shaky boy was unable to remain in the room, but also couldn't take his eyes off of his friend, fearing some undesired reaction. When finally he felt the entrance and passed through it with a final "creak!" of hinges, he hurried outside for air. The walls seemed to close in around him as he went, causing that he staggered as he trekked down the halls. Up, and up the staircases he climbed until the great doors outward were in sight. With fever he pushed and pushed at them, finding himself weakened and reeling with his overstimulated mind. Eventually the right-most door budged, and he escaped out to the open air. He wasn't dressed fit for the weather, but the cold air slapped him numb, and that was more important to him than his health. He walked, ignoring the hellos of fellow Housemates, looking through them as he might should they have been a house elf or ghost. He'd had the lake set in his mind, but when he saw two girls chatting loudly on the edge, he'd decided otherwise. Instead, he moved back through the castle and out another exit until he came to a place less-likely to be frequented by the students.

No one seemed to like the whomping willow, for understandable reasons. It was old, bitter, and mean: like an old dog or almost any old person. Dashiell Jameson Peakes was not with a death wish and therein avoided getting too close to the violent tree. Instead, he leaned against a particularly large rock and stared at the sky, shivering despite his disdain for such physical weakness.