three; bruised knuckles

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CHAPTER THREE; BRUISED KNUCKLES

CHAPTER THREE; BRUISED KNUCKLES

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CHAPTER THREE

He wears his dark aesthetic like a second skin, a leather jacket and ripped jeans, black boots tapping against the wooden floor. There is a fire burning in his eyes, dark sparks and suffocating smoke and flames far from the smouldering embers in the antique fireplace. (There is something akin to challenge running through his veins and adrenaline thriving in his blood).

His slender fingers tap against the table, bruised knuckles contrasting to his pale skin, and fingernails digging into the wood. In his other hand, a steaming mug of black coffee almost burns his hand, irritating his skin, but pleasantly. He doesn't want to let go. 

“So,” he says, if only to unsettle the heavy silence between him and the strange, aged man sat opposite him, donning unusual midnight coloured robes and a matching hat. 

It was one of the first things he noticed, when he stepped past the strange brick wall into a cobblestone street, almost as if he has stepped back into a previous British era of flickering lanterns and houses of stone, flowing robes and aristocratic speak. Curiosity bubbles underneath his skin and he scans over the cafe where he looks out of place. 

The conversation and light outside is dwindling, the shadows and the silence growing, stagnant between him and his adrenaline and the wizard with his silver beard. The coffee and words left to be said are little and Nico begins to feel increasingly awkward, though the man opposite doesn't seem to notice. 

His startling blue eyes rest on Nico's face, as if searching for lies hidden within his features. Uncomfortable, he keeps his face and emotions steady, focusing on the coffee burning his throat to distance himself from the cold that dances across his skin. 

"So,” the man agrees, and his voice is low and haunting in the way it would echo through an empty church. “I sympathize with your current situation, and while it is rather sudden, I think enrolling you into Hogwarts would be fulfilling and the safest option, unless you would rather attend Ilvermorny in America, of course.”

Nico stares at the steam rising from his scalding mug. “My aunt used to say Hogwarts is the best school, Mr Dumbledore, and that you’re the greatest wizard,” he says, and glances up to see Dumbledore’s electric eyes on him.

“I’m sorry to hear about your loss, Mr. di Angelo. Would she be familiar?” He asks, something in his voice that crawls up Nico's throat, and he keeps his feet on the ground to keep himself from losing the footing of his lies. 

“We lived in America, Mr, but her name was Valerie di Angelo.” He meets Dumbledore's gaze with big dark eyes and manufactured melancholy in his words.  “Do you recognize it.” He tilts his head and leans forward, and there is something Nico can't place that flicker across Dumbledore's face, something about the way his blue blue eyes crinkle and his composure folds inwards. (There is challenge running through his veins and something akin to-) 

“I'm afraid I don't,” Dumbledore replies, the glint in his eyes renewed, composure as strong and steely as ever. Nico purses his lips and leans backwards, still not letting go of the coffee. (He's not sure if he can). 

“Oh,'' he says, and everything is how it still again, the tension being replaced by the sickly sweet sense of a mutual curiosity and mistrust.  “You are far too kind, Mr. Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore chuckles, maybe with humour, maybe without, but his piercing eyes stay on Nico’s as he produces a letter from a pocket in his midnight blue robes, sealed by a scarlet wax seal, cursive, golden writing on the front. (Something akin to adrenaline rushes through his-)

“Inside,” he says in that low echoing voice, sliding the envelope across the table, “Is a list of supplies you will need, and… as you mentioned you have no money...” he reaches into his pocket and slides a bag eerily similar to the one hidden in Nico's jacket across the table.  “This should cover all the supplies you need, and a little extra for your own use.” Sympathy gleams in his eyes, gentle in a way he's not sure why.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Dumbledore. Thank you for everything you are doing for me; it means a lot, thank you,” he says, dragging his thumb under the scarlet seal with a satisfactory tear. “My aunt would be ever so thankful.” 

Dumbledore smiles, gentle, sympathetic. “It's hard to lose someone you love, Mr. di Angelo.” He glances at his watch. “But I mustn't be keeping you. It's getting rather late, isn't it?” 

He stands and exits the café in a swirl of midnight blue. (There is adrenaline in his bones). 

-

“Nico, boy, you’ve done well.” Tom's scratchy voice rings through his ears, and he looks up from where he was cleaning the floor as if that will rid it from the blood that stains it. “This place look better already!” 

Tom smiles a toothless grin and pushes a few golden galleons towards Nico, which he takes with a small smile and slips into his pocket, fingers brushing over the purse he stole and the one he was given. “Happy to help,” he replies. “And thank you, by the way, for letting me stay here.”

He barely hears Tom’s reply from the thudding pain in his head, eyelids weighing heavily against his cheekbones.

“Night, Tom,” he mumbles, barely audible, as he begins to climb the stairs to the room he’s been granted. 

It’s fairly big, with a double bed in the centre, a large wardrobe to the left and a desk to the right. Crimson curtains swing in front of the window, a calming motion, like the rocking of a boat on gentle seas. The pads on his fingertips rub along the dusty surfaces, and his dark dark trail over the sheets that look as though they haven't been touched in years. He can't complain, and falls asleep with fingernails digging into his palms.

new notes:

the chapters are getting easier to edit because im not having to rewrite EVERYTHING like the first two, so i should be finished quicker.

old notes:

{ugh, these chapters are getting shorter and shittier. i did kinda like the start though, but the rest goes rapidly downhill from there. oops. sorry. it's moving very slowly, s o r r y. hopefully the next chapter will have better content. hahaha. }

PLEASE VOTE AND COMMENT IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO HELP A SAD SAD CHILD.

THANKS FOR READING


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