-There Is More To Fear Than Fear Itself- -- Gatherplace

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Date Posted: 18:29:58 03/25/02 Mon
Author: Ron Weasley
Subject: -There Is More To Fear Than Fear Itself-
In reply to: Lissane Krauss 's message, "Matters of high importance..." on 18:51:25 03/23/02 Sat

-Silent had the male been upon learning the truth, but restless yet was his gaze. With sullen curiousity the youth peers upon those who greeted the British. Those who came to watch the American equivalent of a Sorting Ceremony-

"You might belong in Gryffindor

Where dwell the brave at heart

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart"

Ah, another Weasley. What are you, the sixth? And one more to go after this. Oh, you don't like to be referred to as the sixth, eh? Don't get used to it boy, or you'll never be anything but just another Weasley. Don't let them refer to you as another one. There are great things in store for you, but only if you are more than just "another one". In any case, for this moment you must be yet another Weasley to become...GRYFFINDOR!

-The youth would never be anything but a Gryffindor in his book. Just like Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, and Ginny-

-Where was Fred again? There was that nagging feeling there, like he should know, like someone had told him only moments before of the prankster. But her couldn't remember-

-He stumbled a bit on the pavement, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. It was still weak, as Ron's faulty memory recalled. Buried alive. That was a horror he never wanted to go through again. But because of that ordeal, he wasn't just "another one" anymore-

-The second Boy Who Lived. The Boy Who Lived and The Boy Who Also Lived, best friends. How utterly ironic. But it didn't quite fit. Maybe he was Dead Man Walking-

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[> [> Present the Fear -- Kern Adouv, 19:19:25 03/25/02 Mon

size=1>Gaze was caught by the slight stumble, causing femme to revert attention to the copper headed youth. Features softened as she studied the youth and his peers, and one slight appendage was raised in some sort of awkward wave, hoping to calm their spirits the slightest and to ease the tension that had formed in the air.

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[> [> [> -Fear Hinders More Than Death- -- Ron Weasley, 15:32:01 03/26/02 Tue

-The gesture is noticed and the youth pauses in his progress, emotionless orbs scrutinizing the femme. A curt nod finally becomes his acknowledgement of the wave, though no more occurs. A smile required far, far too much happiness than the boy had. Happiness that he felt that would never be had again, so devasting was the emotional damage-

-There was a gaping hole where his heart was. It felt as if it was physically there, but the pain was all in his mind. He couldn't bring himself to feel anything more than fear and pain, no matter the willpower-

-Stumbling yet again, victim of poor health, the young man doubles over momentarily, deep, wracking coughs issuing forth from pinched face. A hand reaches out to the wall to steady himself as his frame is straightened and iris flickers to the stable structure-

-The walls! So close, so close, they were closing in on him, he couldn't breathe! No, God no, don't do this to me, I don't deserve it, I'm not dead, please, nonononononono!-

-He snatches his appendage from the wall as if burned, staring at the blank surface in horror and fear. For half an instant only terror is clear in mahogany eyes and then, with an obvious act of willpower, it too is gone, as if he had never beheld the wall-

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[> [> [> [> Takeoffs and landings -- Raine Whetherford, 18:36:23 03/26/02 Tue

A petite adolescent anxiously shifted amongst a gaggle of the familiars of her house, most of their number reserved to the Kilborg district in the place of congregation. Despite being among confidants of perdurable years, the golden tressed female is ill at ease. Perhaps it is the advent of the novel students from across the unpredictable Atlantic that has mildly intimidated her to the point of apprehension perturbing her easily shaken nerves. She askancely flicks her turquoise optics to the ingressing crowd of deflated spirits, their dolor causing compassion for their plight to spark within her benign being. She never had to endure such a paralyzingly painful situation, although sometimes she ponders if she wishes she would have, as she believes that anguish will ripen to wisdom when time heals the open wounds. Nonetheless, she seats herself at the table before her, crossing her arms upon its wooden surface and angling her head to rest in the crook of her right elbow. From this sideways aspect, she piteously contemplates each face as they emerge into her line of vision. Riveted to the headmaster's announcements of which houses the grief afflicted strangers will be assigned to, the lithe and slender figure's forest hued eyes ping pong with a cleverly hidden, thrilled charge. Her image, soft to the eye, is slightly obscured by a few who are standing upright in front of her, and she makes an effort to be able to imbibe the newcomers with her teal oculus. This calls for for an ascendment of her caramel colored apex to stretch in upraisal so she can study the new additions to their school. Imaginably, by chance, she can meet some mere aquaintances and maybe more. Healthily full and pink toned lambrums adorn a barely discernable simper. Maybe...

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