Post by FINN MICHAEL KIERAN on May 31, 2013 19:41:58 GMT -8
Finn was as per usual, wandering the castle. He hardly showed up for certain classes, but managed to pass nonetheless. So when those classes came around, he roamed. Dungeons, the courtyards, the forest. Anywhere really. Today it was the corridors, or more specifically, the boys washroom. His usual spot down in the dungeon was a bit to doom and gloom for him right now, plus 8'oclock in the morning was too early to get wasted, even for him. So instead he was sitting indian style on a sink, having a cigarette and flipping through the Daily Prophet. Nothing interesting going on in the wizarding world, atleast nothing that was interesting to him. A doxy outbreak here, someone getting splinched there. Dull, boring, and mundane. Admittedly, Finn only really checked the section where people were going to Azkaban in the faint hopes that his father would finally be put away for something. No luck this time.
He began tearing little pieces of the Prophet up, and letting them float to the floor. He had been thinking about Ewan a lot lately. It was giving him nightmares, and making him drink a bit more than usual. Your own dad killing your best mate will do that to you. Needless to say he was looking haggard and worn out. He'd been going into his rages again, alone of course. He might be a bastard at times, but he wasn't going to flip out with his housemates present. They all had their own shit to deal with.
He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette and sighed, leaning his head against the mirror and closing his eyes. Memories flooded back of Ewan. All the times they had shared together, all of the ridiculous things they had gotten themselves into. A smirk grew at the corner of his lips before he took another drag.
"If only you could see me now, brother. Fucking tragedy, I am."
He had been a decent guy once. Hardly ever drank, pretty nice to most people. But Ewans death had hit him like a freight train. Now he was an indifferent, sometimes cruel person who was teetering on the edge of becoming an alcoholic. Falling from grace didn't even begin to cover it.
He flicked his cigarette across the washroom only to hear the door creak open. His eyes opened slowly and tiredly. He wasn't really up for a fight right now, so he didn't much care who it was. He could be civil.
He began tearing little pieces of the Prophet up, and letting them float to the floor. He had been thinking about Ewan a lot lately. It was giving him nightmares, and making him drink a bit more than usual. Your own dad killing your best mate will do that to you. Needless to say he was looking haggard and worn out. He'd been going into his rages again, alone of course. He might be a bastard at times, but he wasn't going to flip out with his housemates present. They all had their own shit to deal with.
He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette and sighed, leaning his head against the mirror and closing his eyes. Memories flooded back of Ewan. All the times they had shared together, all of the ridiculous things they had gotten themselves into. A smirk grew at the corner of his lips before he took another drag.
"If only you could see me now, brother. Fucking tragedy, I am."
He had been a decent guy once. Hardly ever drank, pretty nice to most people. But Ewans death had hit him like a freight train. Now he was an indifferent, sometimes cruel person who was teetering on the edge of becoming an alcoholic. Falling from grace didn't even begin to cover it.
He flicked his cigarette across the washroom only to hear the door creak open. His eyes opened slowly and tiredly. He wasn't really up for a fight right now, so he didn't much care who it was. He could be civil.
