servant and master shall be reunited once more.
father and son shall meet again.
elio black just has to survive the year first.
oliver wood / male oc
started 2020 | ongoing
prisoner of azkaban
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12. Black Mania
WARNING: sports related injuries at the end of the chapter
THE grounds are as still as a graveyard. Silent. It's not yet curfew but the sun set an hour ago and no one is willing to brave the cold and dark. Only a sliver of a moon hangs in the sky, barely bright enough to illuminate anything. A thick, impenetrable fog has settled over the hills. In the distance, the castle stands, a hazy lighthouse in the murky, uneven terrain.
The thud of Elio's shoes against the frozen ground breaks the silence. His ragged gasps feel too loud. Every noise he makes is a target on his back, loudly betraying his position for all those nearby.
Eyes follow him in the darkness. Their gaze burns. He can feel a warm breath on the back of his neck, sharp teeth poised to take a bite. His legs ache, well past the point of exhaustion, but he can't stop. If he stops, they'll catch him. If he stops, he'll die. A stupid, pitiful whine dies in the back of his raw throat.
Somewhere from within the inky, swirling darkness, there's a scream.
No — Laughter.
Oliver yells some instructions to his laughing team, amusement ringing even in his own voice. Of course, the only other people foolish enough to suffer the winter evening are the Gryffindor team. And likely only under Oliver's strict insistence. They've had the pitch for most of the week. Elio has been exiled from running the pitch, instead exercising blindly across the grounds nearby.
Paranoia consumes him when he runs. Even with a magical light source, he still can't see anything. He's navigating with pure muscle memory alone, identifying landmarks only once it's too late. Anyone could be out there. It's an uncomfortable thought that he can't quite shake. Anyone could be out there and, as a result, everyone is out there. Every noise is a pursuer. Every shadow is a threat.
The sound of the team, however, must mean he's close to the change rooms. Safety is within reach.
Elio stumbles into the Slytherin changing rooms, his legs turned to jelly. Nothing is more appealing than the thought of sitting down. But first, a shower. A cold sweat clings to his body like an obsessive ex, uncomfortably sticky.
Dramatic shadows stretch across the room under his ball of light, moving with him. They turn into great, looming beasts. A wolf with its maw wide open, ready to feast. To feast on Elio. He shudders at the thought.
As he approaches his clothes, the light drifts over a figure. They stand in the darkness, patiently waiting — waiting for him. Even as their cover is blown, they remain utterly still. Dark eyes glitter under the dim light, malicious intent shining within them. Elio draws his wand. Something is thrown at him. He fires a hex. The figure barely manages to dive out of the way.
"You've been fraternising with the enemy, Black." Flint spits as the light reveals his face. His voice is mean in its accusatory tone, as venomous as a snake. The lighting gives his face a mean edge, making an cruel mug crueller.
