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Abraham squeezed Waylon's hand gently. "I am not under any circumstances leaving your side. We have to make it to the castle, now, I want to know where the fuck the headmaster is."His voice was once again strong and determined, almost startling Waylon. The Head Boy's eyes flashed with hope as the Arietem surged back to his usual, haughty self. The two lifted each other, with Natasha in tow, and headed off the beach back to the rest of the students running for their lives. The prefects were doing what they could to keep their shields up, though the death eaters and dementors were hitting them hard.
"Schwarz is down. I don't know if you knew or not, but he was hit bad," Abraham finally expressed as he came closer back to Earth. Through the battle, Waylon attempted to reflect the best reaction he could: a faint “uh-oh” face. Deep inside, Waylon wanted to scream and piss himself, but at the moment he had to watch Abraham's – and ergo Natasha's- backs.
By the time they got back to the larger group of students, it seemed like the thick of the battle was at its peak. Seeing that the majority of students had congregated together around the 7th years near the carriages, it seemed that most of the stragglers were fighting their way to the rest.
“Fumos!” Waylon exclaimed, a large puff of smoke billowing from his wand to cover the youngest of Magnus Grexx. Running around the rest of the group, he had hoped the smokescreen would catch onto the trees and cover them as they made their ascent up the island. While it wouldn't make them any less obvious, it would seriously hamper the death eaters' foci and capacity to cast spells.
Waylon was not an offensive duelist – he was barely a defensive duelist. He liked obscure, passive spells; the whole firefight was putting his pacifist spellcasting to the test. Facing men and women who wanted to kill not only him but also the lowerclassmen, and there weren't no two ways about it.
“I cain't do this! I'mma bouta lose my mind!” Waylon exclaimed, reaching out to grab Abraham's hand, once more seeking comfort in the other boy's soft fingers. The contrast against Waylon's rough ranch-ready hands caught him for a moment – the irony of a Frenchie Arietem and Texas tornado from Cervus was almost enough to make Waylon crack up. Well, it was enough. Waylon started giggling like a Catholic school girl – then he was downright guffawing, almost choking on his sneers and jeers.
Waylon and Abraham had never been an official ticket. Well, they've been an unofficial one, either. But since they were boys as first-years, they had a strange connection. Waylon was much more quiet back then, but Abraham was always – well, Abraham. As they got older, they noticed each other... in other ways. Generally, nobody asked as a matter of course, and neither one would divulge the details of their interactions. But usually, there only two moods the two could be in while in the same room. If it started with a flirt, they would be flirting the whole time; if it started with some sort of assertion, then the two would act like really dumb bulls dukin' it out for dominance.
It was this point that a mob of dementors had navigated themselves through the smokescreen and began to freely attack the mob of lowerclassmen. Damn, of course, you idiot! Waylon thought to himself, Freaking smoke-people would be able to see through smoke! Waylon gritted his teeth, shifting his boots in a territorial manner. “Y'all about walkin' on the fightin' side of me,” he said aloud. Still holding onto Abraham's hand, he used his other hand to cast circles with his wand. Pointing towards the dementors, he shouted, “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”
Abraham thought about holding Abraham's gentle hand, holding it tighter. Despite everything, the ins and outs they've been through over the years, Waylon had always had lots of fun with the Arietem captain. They were stupid friends and even more stupid rivals, but they never were selfish about it.
The first time they held hands was in the library, back in their 5th year. It happened by accident, reaching for the same book, but Waylon's hand just felt secure in Abraham's grasp. It reminded Waylon of his mother's hand – yes, Abraham was hunky and masculine- but the same gentle, confident command of her hand seem almost mirrored. It was like he was a little boy, again, with his mother in the hammock out back under the stars.
To Waylon's surprise, the spell was much more powerful for him than had been previously. In fact, the first time ever, his patronus corporealized – a wolf, no surprise. The wolf trotted around like a dog and then jolted towards the dementors, colliding against them like a shepherd dog. It was a good representation of Waylon – he was nothing but a cattle herder back home, and in terms of everything, he was a wolf. Loyal and protective of the pack, his responsibilities and those he cared for, Waylon W. Wolfsbach was not a leader, he was a servant of the whole pack.
As his patronus dissipated and the dementors with it, Waylon felt himself go weaker around the knees and let go of Abraham's hand. He had to stop for a moment to regain his composure, as the urgency to vomit seem to take over.