Another Night In (Michael/Dare)

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

The trip back through the school had been as miserable as the walk out. Apparently the heckling earlier in the day hadn't been enough. Dare slipped gratefully into the Room of Requirement, silently asking the door not to open for anyone but Michael, then praying Michael made it all right. It was only then that he turned his attention enough onto the room to see that it was that mixed-up bedroom again.

Dare thought nothing of it. He slung his bag onto the director's chair, then kicked off his shoes and took his sketchbook to the bed. He looked at last night's drawing of Michael for a while, then turned to the next page and brought out his charcoals, beginning a sketch of Michael's left hand, that soft cloth tucked partially in one fist, the faintest glimmer of a ring on his finger.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

Michael hadn't been in a good mood when he had walked into the common room, then he had met up with that girl and his mood had darkened even more. The shower he took in the dorm room wasn't enough to calm him down, no matter how hot he turned the water or how long he stayed in. So he had given up and went to pack a bag to take with him to the Room of Requirement, determined to stay out of his dorm as much as possible, and extremely glad to see that none of the guys were in the room with him, though he stayed on high alert the whole time.

So it was understandable, his reaction, when he saw that his sketchbook had been moved, when he opened his drawer to see that his rose was in two pieces, the stem against one side and the bloom at the other. Those things Michael could have moved on from, had he not opened his sketchbook to tuck his pencil inside. That was when he had pulled his wand out.

By the time Michael had left the room with a full bag slung over one arm and his sketchbook shoved deep inside it, he had been seeing red. And gold. His dorm mates weren't going to be too happy with him when they saw their beds colored in Gryffindor's red and gold. His trunk locked firmly and the rose tucked gently into a small box in his bag, he had left, angrily shoving open the door.

When he finally made it back to the Room of Requirement, after plenty of glares sent after people and their insults, he slammed open the door, his eyes narrow and hard as he threw his bag on the floor by the bed. He paced then, refusing to look at Dare. "They're bastards, all of them," he said, realizing that he could have chosen better wording, but not caring enough to try. "I swear I'm going to pull my wand on them, and I won't feel bad about it."

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare had looked up the moment the door opened, and now, he watched Michael pace, wide-eyed. Dare was silent and still for a moment, then all at once he closed his sketchbook, set it aside, and rose from the bed. He took a few steps toward Michael, stopping just outside his path, and tried to think, unsure what to do, and wanting to do something. "What happened?" he asked. Dare had seen Michael angry before, but not like this. He was worried, not least because he could tell that Michael meant every word of his threat.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

"Do you want to know about the wanna be Death Eater whore that stopped me in the common room, the rose, or my sketchbook first?" Michael asked through gritted teeth, keeping his eyes on the floor as his hands alternated from being shoved in his pockets to running through his hair, to crossing his arms tightly over his chest. His sketchbook, the one thing that was so intensely personal, and they had just taken it and treated it like it was nothing. No, that wasn't true. They knew it meant something to him, that was why they had done it.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare's heart stopped. If Michael's sudden foray into swearing had been a surprise, if the idea of his rose being destroyed had been a letdown, the mention of Michael's sketchbook was an unadulterated shock. "Michael..." Dare crossed into Michael's path, despite the probable danger, and pulled Michael into his arms. There was nothing to say to that. No words he could give in comfort. So he offered what he could by way of silent support. He couldn't imagine how badly Michael must be hurting.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

Michael pulled away from Dare, still refusing to look at him because somewhere deep inside underneath the hurt and anger he knew that pulling away would hurt Dare, and that he would see it in Dare's face if he looked at him. He crossed over to his bag and bent, digging to the bottom of it to pull out the small box and his sketchbook, throwing them both on the bed as though he didn't want to touch them, like it would contaminate him.

"Look at what they did," Michael said, his voice low as he risked a glance up towards Dare, then quickly looking down again as he walked away. He didn't want to see the things written on the pages of his book, didn't want to read the names, the insults, didn't want to see the additions to his drawings that hurt so badly. And he didn't want to see the rose broken in two, it would break him to see any of it again.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare did hurt, and his brows knitted as he paused a moment before turning back to the bed, glancing once at Michael over his shoulder. Then he sat, reaching for the box first, though something inside him knew what he'd find. His brows tightened further when he saw that perfect rose in pieces, and he stuffed the lid back on, setting it aside.

One deep breath, then two, three passed before he could even begin to think about Michael's notebook. He didn't want to see, didn't want to know, but he needed to, he had to. Dare picked up the sketchbook, hesitating before throwing back the cover to a random page, his heart tearing at the crude drawing and cruel words scrawled across a portrait of Dare he'd never even seen. He turned the page, but it was just as bad, and only grew worse the farther back he went, the more the vandals had gained steam.

Dare closed the book and set it aside, his vision blurring with unstoppable tears. He'd heard many of those names before, some directed at him because of the way he dressed, but this was so much different. And they'd ruined Michael's art. Destroyed it. Dare didn't fight the silent tears that fell. He didn't know anything he could say or do besides stay with Michael.

"You're staying here tonight, right?" Dare asked at last, his voice shaky. He didn't want Michael going out, didn't want him to face that alone again. He didn't want Michael to hurt anyone, even if they deserved it.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

Michael nodded, facing away from Dare, unable to look at him. "There's not a single page in there that they didn't f~ up," he said, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Even the one that meant so much between them, the one he had added just a couple of days before, it was the worst. A physical pain shot through his chest as the image of what they had done to that portrait flashed through his mind, causing him to cringe slightly and hunch his shoulders over.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare didn't shrink from Michael's harsh words. He wanted to rage with him, for him, wanted to do something, though there was truly nothing he could do. Revenge would only escalate things further, and one brief glance up at Michael was enough to assure dare that no amount of vengeance would be enough. This wasn't something they could ignore, either. You just have to suck it up and get through it, and that's going to be really hard for Michael, Emilian had said. But how could you just suck up something like this? Dare shook his head, his gaze stuck on the cover of Michael's sketchbook. How could they do something like that? Dare wasn't sure if he'd only thought the words or wondered them aloud.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

Michael looked back at Dare finally, his eyes still harsh and narrow. "They've all hated me since I left the ranks, this is just a way they can come after me without proving they're members or supporters or whatever the hell they are." He thought it was at least partially true, they had found a way to lash out at him and were taking it and running. He knew they were all against his choice to be with Dare as well, everything combined into one giant hatred of Michael. He remembered seeing the words blood traitor written on some of his drawings as well.

The tension made him feel like he was going to explode, so he turned abruptly and hit the wall, a brief flash of abusing a tree in the same way the first day he had met Anna coming to his mind before he hit it again with his other hand. Then again as he imagined each person's face, every one of the guys he lived with on a block in the wall that wouldn't hurt if he hit it, therefore there could be no regret for doing it, the wall didn't have feelings.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare jumped at the first pounding of Michael's fist against the unforgiving wall. His heart thudded as he watched, stunned for just a second before he rose from the bed again. Yes, it was a release of tension, and yes, the wall didn't have feelings, but Dare was afraid for Michael. He was going to hurt himself, and then where would they be? It would be a constant reminder over however long it took to heal torn skin and bruised knuckles. Dare moved silently behind Michael, wrapped his arms around him and held on tight. It was all he could do. Michael could rage at Dare all he wanted, but he wasn't letting go.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

Michael struggled against the arms around him, almost growling at Dare to let him go as his mind was jerked back years before to when he had been being destructive because of his choice to join the Death Eaters and Emilian had done the same thing. He had fought Emilian, though he had known it was useless. And it was useless to fight Dare, though he tried to pull away, he didn't want to be comforted, he wanted to rant and rave and break something, be it his own hands or something else that had done nothing to him.

It wasn't fair to Dare to refuse to accept the comfort, or the pull keeping him from hurting himself, but Michael couldn't, didn't want to stop himself from trying to twist free and go after something, anything to get rid of the anger. If he had been thinking straight, he wouldn't have done it, would have wrapped his own arms around Dare and taken in the comfort. But the pain was too great to relax, the hurt too real to ignore even when faced with Dare's firm strength.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare only held on tighter to Michael, bracing himself against whatever struggles Michael put up. Dare's head turned, pressing firmly to Michael's shoulder to lessen the chance of getting a skull to his nose, and his bare feet spread on the floor. He didn't say a word, didn't seek to calm Michael at all, just to restrain him, to let him rage until he worked it out. I love you, Michael. Somehow it felt like the world depended on his ability to hold on for this very moment.

[Michael Blackwood-Hardt]

It took a few long minutes for the angry haze to leave Michael's mind, leaving only a dull pain in his chest that kept the pain in his knuckles at bay. He would rather have felt the pain in his knuckles. He very nearly collapsed against Dare, hanging his head and letting his arms fall to his sides, his shoulders hunching. Breathing was hard, but not because of how tightly Dare was holding him, the persistent pain in his chest made it almost preferable to just not breathe. It took all that was left of his strength to not let his knees buckle and to stay upright, though if Dare moved he wouldn't be able to do it.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Dare kept holding Michael, lending silent support and whatever strength he might give as they stood together facing the wall. His arms didn't loosen, but stayed tight, needed to assure himself that Michael was there, that when he'd stopped fighting he hadn't faded away. His adrenaline still pulsed from the struggle, but now, his eyes closed, trying to breathe in calm enough for both of them.

It was a long time before Dare opened his eyes again. He looked unseeing into the room, wondering how they were going to get through this, but knowing with every fiber of his being that they would. He wouldn't let it fall apart. His hands shifted slightly against Michael, then one dropped, his arm curving around to press his palm against Michael's. He didn't know the words to bring any comfort, but he'd show it in any way Michael would accept.