- Messages
- 19,284
- OOC First Name
- Emzies
- Blood Status
- Muggleborn
- Relationship Status
- Married
- Sexual Orientation
- hetrosexual
- Wand
- Knotted 12 1/2 Inch Sturdy Fir Wand with Thestral Tail Hair Core
- Age
- 4/2015 (46)
</SIZE>
As it turned out, for the very time something was seemingly going his way. It was the very first time since getting that first letter that the feeling of hopelessness did not exist. That since everything that had happened to him over the past few years was going to be excused by this one ray of light. In all honesty, for the colourblind teen he would be okay with it. That his one ray of light would always be Hogwarts. it didn't matter if his home life took another turn in the opposite direction. That it didn't go how it was meant to, as long as he always got to go back to Hogwarts. The one place he actually felt at home. The only place he would ever feel comfortable calling home, at least for now. And even more so, considering outside of Hogwarts he was technically between homes. It wasn't exactly how he imagined returning for his second term in his fourth year, but it was okay. He would put up with it. He would deal with it like he has dealt with everything else. With tiny shreds of hope strung together in a desperate desire to have a life that resembles anyone else's in Hogwarts. Because he knew, Stefan Archer knew that no matter how bad anyone else said their life was, he was pretty sure his was worse. Colourblind, parentless, with only the clothes on his back and what he'd left at school. Which, in reality was not much at all. He was a teen with so little it wasn't hard to believe that everything he owned could probably fit in a plastic bag. The school books maybe not, but the rest of it. It was always something he'd been okay with. He watched at the start of every term everyone bring a huge trunk full of stuff, with sometimes one or two other bags, and then there was him with his old small backpack. He wondered how a person could have that much, and still need more. He had never been given much, and never had much but he'd never had enough, where as these other people had everything and wanted more. It was one of the inequalities that had made him laugh more than anything else. But now that he had pretty much lost what had remained for him in the muggle world, he was truly puzzled. It was why despite the very late time that he was arriving back at, he had no desire to go straight to bed.
Stefan Archer's life had taken the worst possible turn in the past few months. He could no longer sleep full nights as the memories raged through his mind at all hours, and each time he had to remind himself it was in the past. It was despite how much rest he had supposedly gotten during his time away, the boy looked as though he hadn't slept in years and considering the boys thin frame it was hard to believe that he was even still standing. He felt constantly tired, but he couldn't sleep without being awoken by his nightmares. He was constantly cold because of his thin frame and huge amounts of lack of sleep. It was an endless circle that he saw no end to because of how vivid his dreams could be. He was just thankful that he would not ever have to put up with it ever again. Well, not from a blood relative. Since he had none of those left. But Stefan could deal with that a lot more than he knew he had ever dealt with his father. He was now just waiting for his friends. He'd sent a letter to his friends moments before telling them to meet him there, in the great hall. He knew that he couldn't exactly just turn up again. He knew that he had caused his friends some worry. He knew that doing something like that was not exactly nice but there was no helping it. It wasn't like he would've been able to. He knew he owed them an explanation and he knew no better time than when the rest of the school was asleep oblivious to the colourblind boy's reentrance to the school. He did however let out a long sigh. Stefan had been sitting at the slytherin table for an hour, he had no found the courage to go yet. How did he explain the small bag of what remained of his stuff. The clothes he'd been in at the time, that had been fixed but were still not clean. His blood was pretty much dried in all over the painstakingly pale colored t-shirt and jeans. He knew that he really should do it then, since he was back at Hogwarts and could finally do a little bit of magic to help make things a little better. He was sitting with his arms around his chest, his ribs had still not completely healed, the doctors said that it was due to the fact they'd been broken and bruised on so many other occasions that they would always take longer to heal. That and it had been a pretty bad few breaks.
However Stefan did overall look slightly better. He didn't have any bruises on his face, his noise was dented from being broken, but it had healed and no longer caused him any pain. He had a few tiny bruises on his arms, but they were old at this point and almost completely gone. His hands had many scars on them, but that was nothing new. His pinkie finger on his left hand had an odd shape to it, but it wasn't broken. Like everything else. Nothing was actually broken or what had been broken was now healed. He just had live with the memories that each scar and previous break caused him. Stefan tried his hardest to not think too much about it when awake but it was hard to not. Stefan was still skinny, but even that looked a little better. He'd gotten a small meal a day and while Stefan had not always been too hungry he was slowly getting better in that field too. Things had never been better for the teen despite how most would not claim his life to in any sense be good. Stefan was the kind of guy who took his victories when and where he could get them. And considering his life so far this was about victory number 3. He was just however happy to be back at the school. He didn't know how he was going to phrase it, he didn't know how he could. What to say, what to leave out. How could he even look his friends in the eyes and tell them. How could they look at him, knowing what they would soon know. But Stefan needed to tell them. He needed to explain at least a little to them. And hopefully afterwards they'd still want to be friends with him. If they didn't Stefan would just live with that. He had to. So instead of watching the door Stefan stared at his hands and began to create what he hoped would be how he explained everything to the only people left who cared about him.
<SIZE size="50">Stefan Archer's life had taken the worst possible turn in the past few months. He could no longer sleep full nights as the memories raged through his mind at all hours, and each time he had to remind himself it was in the past. It was despite how much rest he had supposedly gotten during his time away, the boy looked as though he hadn't slept in years and considering the boys thin frame it was hard to believe that he was even still standing. He felt constantly tired, but he couldn't sleep without being awoken by his nightmares. He was constantly cold because of his thin frame and huge amounts of lack of sleep. It was an endless circle that he saw no end to because of how vivid his dreams could be. He was just thankful that he would not ever have to put up with it ever again. Well, not from a blood relative. Since he had none of those left. But Stefan could deal with that a lot more than he knew he had ever dealt with his father. He was now just waiting for his friends. He'd sent a letter to his friends moments before telling them to meet him there, in the great hall. He knew that he couldn't exactly just turn up again. He knew that he had caused his friends some worry. He knew that doing something like that was not exactly nice but there was no helping it. It wasn't like he would've been able to. He knew he owed them an explanation and he knew no better time than when the rest of the school was asleep oblivious to the colourblind boy's reentrance to the school. He did however let out a long sigh. Stefan had been sitting at the slytherin table for an hour, he had no found the courage to go yet. How did he explain the small bag of what remained of his stuff. The clothes he'd been in at the time, that had been fixed but were still not clean. His blood was pretty much dried in all over the painstakingly pale colored t-shirt and jeans. He knew that he really should do it then, since he was back at Hogwarts and could finally do a little bit of magic to help make things a little better. He was sitting with his arms around his chest, his ribs had still not completely healed, the doctors said that it was due to the fact they'd been broken and bruised on so many other occasions that they would always take longer to heal. That and it had been a pretty bad few breaks.
However Stefan did overall look slightly better. He didn't have any bruises on his face, his noise was dented from being broken, but it had healed and no longer caused him any pain. He had a few tiny bruises on his arms, but they were old at this point and almost completely gone. His hands had many scars on them, but that was nothing new. His pinkie finger on his left hand had an odd shape to it, but it wasn't broken. Like everything else. Nothing was actually broken or what had been broken was now healed. He just had live with the memories that each scar and previous break caused him. Stefan tried his hardest to not think too much about it when awake but it was hard to not. Stefan was still skinny, but even that looked a little better. He'd gotten a small meal a day and while Stefan had not always been too hungry he was slowly getting better in that field too. Things had never been better for the teen despite how most would not claim his life to in any sense be good. Stefan was the kind of guy who took his victories when and where he could get them. And considering his life so far this was about victory number 3. He was just however happy to be back at the school. He didn't know how he was going to phrase it, he didn't know how he could. What to say, what to leave out. How could he even look his friends in the eyes and tell them. How could they look at him, knowing what they would soon know. But Stefan needed to tell them. He needed to explain at least a little to them. And hopefully afterwards they'd still want to be friends with him. If they didn't Stefan would just live with that. He had to. So instead of watching the door Stefan stared at his hands and began to create what he hoped would be how he explained everything to the only people left who cared about him.