trans_9 | Spared [Open]

Entry tags:

Spared [Open]

"Reducto!"

Cedric had found a spot in the grass of this strange city's park from which to work on his spellcasting, starting with some target practice. He'd pushed back the sleeves of his plantsuit as far as was possible and made long movements with his wand, alternating between creating fast streams of bubbles and shooting them down. The almost childish game of bubble-popping was a simple diversion from the stream of thoughts that was flowng just as fast, one that hadn't stopped since the moment he realized he was alive: I'm about to die. It was hard to comprehend, when it seemed like his life had been going so well just hours ago.

Yet these Ohm had thrown everything off balance. Cedric had gone straight to Stacy to ask for his memories restored, as he'd never rest until he knew the truth of what happened. It had been just as hard to remember as that unicorn princess had predicted. Sure, the curse that was meant to kill him had been thrown off by another attack, but he'd heard awful yells. Harry's. When the sedation had worn off and he'd opened his eyes, he'd had to struggle not to scream.

That was what had happened to disrupt the course of history. For now, he had been given days, weeks, maybe months or a year or two to live, that long until he left this crew behind and met his fate. People had talked about their worlds being restored after the war. The Ohm were supposed had something that would fix things as they were meant to be, and 'meant to be' was his death. If he didn't die during the war, he'd be meeting his end immediately afterward. Time couldn't be changed, not even with a Time Turner. It had to happen.

Cedric was living on borrowed time. No one knew how long it would be until they won. They were going to win, he was sure. A small selfish part of him hoped that it would last a while, that he would have time to finish his unfinished business and learn more, but that was unfair. He couldn't allow the needless deaths to hang over his conscience any longer than necessary. The countless innocents killed during the Ohm's attack needed to live, not him. Billions of lives resurrected in exchange for his death, that was fair. He was the spare, not them. No matter what his father said or the Goblet decided, he wasn't special in the eyes of the universe, was he? He was just...

The spare who had been temporarily spared. A bubble waiting to be popped. Pop, pop, pop went the bubbles as his wand moved more precisely. If this was all the life he had left, he might as well do it right.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Howard raises his eyebrows at that. Something in Cedric's tone sounds familiar. You don't say this is the rest of your life unless 1) your life sucks or 2) you are expecting to die. Given the caliber of people Stacy collects it could very well be either reason, and Howard could find it in him to empathize with both.

"It's kind of overwhelming, when you think about it. Everything's free here. Not many places you can say that about."

Cedric hadn't even thought about his lack of money, except for the exchange with Rarity. He still wanted to visit her shop and get some proper clothing, as he really hated this plantsuit. Would these people have taken a few sickles and knuts?

"I've been offering to help out. I can't just take things without repaying. I know there's a clothing shop, but what else can you get around here?"

Howard makes a little checkmark in mental profile he's making of Cedric, the little box labeled 'sucker'. You don't get by long in the harsher places of the universe without learning to take and take and take without bothering about what you owe.

"We got a restaurant Sasami's running, and me and at least one other person collect junk and stuff for people to look through. And there's all the jobs in the departments. I'm in Medical, my friend's in Security, all that. What're you good at?"

It's a question with two intents - to find out what Cedric's interests are, and hopefully to feel around what those magical powers are all about.

Cedric's hand slides up the wand out of habit, feeling the connection there that keeps him safe. It's going to be his best friend during the war, he can already tell.

"I've been studying magic for the past six years. We learn about potions and magical creatures and star charts and predictions, but I like Charms and Transfiguration best. I think I'll need the defencive spells most, though. I was just using one---the Reductor Curse. It blasts things apart."

He looks up at the sky longingly, wishing he could fly up and take a look. "I like flying and Quidditch too, but I don't think the ship saved my broom. It's not really important anyway."

Howard takes the slightest step back when Cedric moves his hand along the wand. Just in case. Howard's still resting lightly on his feet, ready to bolt. The comment about blasting things apart doesn't reassure him much.

"I don't know what half those words are," Howard says with a confused little headshake. "Can't you just find any broom and I don't know, hex it or something?"

Aw, Cedric is very harmless. He thinks on that for a moment. That does seem like a good idea, but it will take some work.

"I'm not a broommaker, I'd have to study it. I could probably learn the cushioning charm easily enough, but the levitation and navigation charms aren't as simple as a Wingardium Leviosa."

If only they were! That would really be something, to have a Quidditch-quality broom he'd made himself. "I've thought about trying those Sensorium things for a ride. It won't be real, but I'd still like to try it out. And Quidditch is just a sport we play on brooms. I think it's a bit like the Muggle sports rugby or football, but more dangerous."

Howard makes a face that pretty much covers his opinions on sports. For the shortest boy in his grade, they were never much fun. "Honestly, I thought only witches used brooms. So you're what, some kind of sorceror? Should I be worried about you flooding the castle?"

And it's a shame, because the shortest boys often make excellent Seekers. Cedric's on the large side for someone playing that position, and it shows: Harry's always been the better player.

Regardless of what he might think of sports, Howard seems concerned about magic. Oh no. He hopes he can quell it before another round of riots starts.

"Actually, we call ourselves wizards. And no, not unless there's a good reason for the castle to be flooded. I don't use my power to make trouble. Wouldn't really help anyone, and I don't think it's funny. I'm not that kind of wizard."

Other wizards, unfortunately, are.

"It was a joke. Do they not have Fantasia where you're from?" Really, Howard's toned down the pop culture references in the last few months, if only because nothing takes the wind out of his sails like having to explain his smartass comments, but sometimes they just pop out naturally.

Cedric sounds like a good enough guy, which, in Howard's opinion, means he's either naive or incredibly powerful. Howard's leaning towards the former, given how much Cedric talks about having to learn new things. It doesn't occur to Howard that maybe he's just holding Cedric to a really paranoid, cynical standard.

He unwittingly verbalizes Cedric's thoughts. "And there's another kind of wizard that does use their power to make trouble?"

"Fantasia?" Cedric's puzzled face says it all. No, he generally wasn't given access to much muggle entertainment. It was a shame, because he gathered that some of it was quite good. Even if the methods were silly.

"Yeah. The ones who care about blood. They think they're better than Muggles just because they were lucky enough to be born with magic. And then they start sneering at people who have Muggles in their families. I've got magical blood, but some Muggle-borns can best us all."

"It's a movie. You know, moving picture and all?" Not that Howard knows that pictures actually move on their own in Cedric's world. "Anyway, there's a sorcerer who floods a castle and Mickey Mouse has to fight a broom army or something. I saw it when I was a kid."

He snorts. "Oh, so it's basically Wizardland's version of racism. Gotcha."

"Oh, a film! Yeah. I've heard of them, I just didn't get to see too many. Wizards are weird about using Muggle things sometimes, don't trust it. I just never learned. At our house, we told stories around the wizards' photos."

Those had always been fun Thursday nights. Telling grandma why the little Cedric waving in the photo was all covered in mud.

"Yeah," he said awkwardly. "Some people buy into it more than others. There was one house at my school that wouldn't even let Muggle-borns join. It's all nonsense, of course."

He flicked his wand and silently cast a levitation charm on a few blades of grass, calming himself by watching their patterns in the air. It was one of the few spells he'd mastered without having to say the incantation.

"Do you work somewhere around here? I've been told to join Magical, and I've heard of a few other departments around. I'm just wondering what's out there. I'd better find something to work on."

"No offense, but that sounds really, really boring." Unless they're photos of explosions or something. All Howard can think of is how he never had the patience for sitting still and watching his relatives' photo slideshows at family reunions. "So Muggles are what you call people like me, right? Without magic? But people can still be born from Muggles and have magic? How does that work?"

Howard takes a step back as he watches the levitation charm.

"Yeah, I work in Medical. Been pretty quiet lately, but when it rains, you know. It pours. Usually blood."

Edited 2011-10-05 04:11 (UTC)

"It's not so bad when you go flying afterward." Cedric would always love that part.

"Yes, there have been Muggle-born witches and wizards. There's a lot of them, actually. And we don't really understand why, it just happens."

The wizarding world had many wonderful things, but it fell woefully behind with any sort of scientific investigations.

"So you're like healers, but you use those technology things? It's got to be one of the hardest jobs." Watching people get hurt, the pressure, the pain...he'd always felt uneasy in the hospital wing, no matter how much he'd trusted Madam Pomfrey to put him back together.

"I don't think I'd like flying. Sounds like you run a risk of falling." Besides, Howard's seen up-close what happens when teens fall several stories. It's far from pretty.

"We have healers too." He shakes his head. "It's not that bad. Mostly it's just being able to think fast and stay focused, which I'm actually pretty good at. You go through so many jackets with all the blood though, for serious."

Right. Muggle medicine. It was supposed to be quite good for the ordinary wounds they faced here...ordinary was very likely to be gory, of course. He didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Then you see a lot of non-magical wounds? Holes, tears...and worse, huh?"

Oh boy.

"Sometimes. Sometimes we just get weird stuff, like this magical clock that turned people into little kids. I never got my thank you card for helping figure that out, by the way." He gestures pointedly at Cedric, as if it's Cedric's fault no one appreciates him or something. "You sound like you've got a weak stomach for that sort of thing."

"Not about injuries, no. I'm a Seeker, I see the worst of them. Concussions, broken ribs, bad slices, splinter incidents. And the tournament was worse, I've almost been cut to pieces and had my face burned off. It's more...I just want to feel it. The scope of the war."

That was the thing that was new to him. He'd train and fight hard, of course he would, but he needed to be ready.

"What's a Seeker?" Howard gets the feeling that Cedric means something more than someone who just looks for things. Must be a wizard term. "Worst I've had is a bitten foot so far, and some cuts and bruises. But I've been real lucky. Normally kids like me wouldn't last half this long in a sort of war situation."

Lucky and smart. Although given how many stupid things he's done for the sake of the mission, lately, 'lucky' seems to be outweighing 'smart'.

"Oh! Sorry, I should be more careful about my words. A Seeker's one of the positions on a Quidditch team. We catch the ball that's worth the most points and usually decides the game, so we get fouled most often. Large flying balls regularly crashed into me."

Cedric wasn't making Quidditch sound very fun, was he? Ah well, just flying was one of the best parts. "So the crew's good at organizing and protecting each other, then?"

He hoped that was what it meant.

"So you're really serious about this Quidditch game stuff. You're like an athlete," Howard says in a tone that one usually reserves for people who pick their nose in public. But then he lightens up a fraction. "I guess that means you're pretty fit, though. I've been getting into shape, running and stuff."

He shakes his head. "No, we're awful at it. But it's not really our fault. Spacey Stacy doesn't give us near enough information to organize jack. And if you ask too many questions, the Daligig break your legs."

Edited 2011-10-07 23:59 (UTC)

"That happens?" Cedric looked rather alarmed. "They're the ones who placed us in this mess, we're the ones putting our lives on the line, and we can't know what's happening and why?"

Well that was entirely backwards in his opinion.

"Supposedly, Han shot first. I mean, my patient. Their name isn't actually Han, that's just a movie thing. I can't use their real name because of confidentiality, you know?" Howard defaults into his babble mode, which is one of his favorite retreats when he's talking about something that makes him nervous.

"But yeah, pretty much, we aren't allowed to know much. We don't know if we're on the right side of the war. We see glimpses of battles and the Ohm destroying stuff, but anything can be painted to make one side or the other look bad in a war. And we go on missions where we end up stabbing the people we're supposed to work with in the back as often as we don't."

He makes a stabbing gesture with one hand. "Not literally stabbing people in the back, but you get my drift."

Cedric's eyebrows shot up. Yeah, that was a definite problem. "That's true. I've just had my memories restored, but...since they were edited out in the first place, they could be edited or false?"

Things were so incredibly confusing. He didn't like the mentions of backstabbing and betrayal, but he would do what he had to.

"To sum it up, we're flying by the seats of our trousers. In a manner of speaking." Plantsuit material, in his case, as he hadn't been down to the boutique to get some trousers yet.

"You never know." Howard shrugs. "I, for once, would be royally ticked if I got stuck with these memories by accident. But I got a bitemark and whip scar that match up with my memories, so that's something in the 'probably real' column.'

He makes a noise between a giggle and a snort. "'Trousers'? Man, you really are British."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject