What Needs To Be Done (Josh)

With all that had happened, the school year had seemed to be a roller coaster of emotions, taking her up with the adoption of her new brother, and then spiraling down again within a matter of weeks. After Tristan had been returned alive, it had hit her how short and fragile living actually was. Although he had not really spoken of what he faced when he was went missing, she knew that it hadn't been anything good. The scars he bore on his wrists and other parts of his body spoke volumes, but he always insisted that he was fine, and that it would not leave a lasting effect on him. Partially, Brooke believed him; she had heard some stories of what he faced in the streets, and knew he was a survivor, but she also knew that there were some things that would always stay with one, no matter how many years had passed... Things like what happened with Josh Murray.

Hatred was something new to Brooke, for her parents had raised her to forgive and love. She was taught from a young age that no matter what, people were to be respected, not always for what they did, but for the very fact that they were a human being. It was, therefore, an interesting position that she found herself in when it came to the Slytherin. Yet, as the months passed, she slowly began to discover that these feelings of loathing were doing nothing but harming her, holding her down like a concrete slab.

It wasn't until after the incident at the ball that she realized exactly how much she was being restricted by herself. Josh had hurt her, yes, but whenever she wished him harm or whenever she daydreamed about getting her own back, she was only furthering the damage he had done. Of course, it wasn't an easy decision to make. She spent many hours of the day dwelling over it, trying to actually make it a reality, for it was one thing to know the right course of action, but another to be able to do it.

On the day school officially ended, she had boarded the train with her brother, and settled into a compartment. Even though she had a special section reserved for prefects, she still preferred being with Tristan, especially after what had happened at the ball. About half an hour after the train had pulled out of Hogsmeade Station, she looked over at Tristan, who had fallen asleep; long rides were never his thing. Seeing him resting so peacefully, she smiled to herself, finally working up the courage to do what she had already decided was best. Standing up and quietly exiting the room, she made her way down the train, looking for the very person she had so carefully avoided all those months. Unlike the first time she had done so, however, she was doing so with no intention of threatening or harming the boy. Instead, she went with one thing on her mind: forgiveness.

Finally locating him sitting alone, she stood outside for a few moments, trying to gain her confidence. None came, and so, half shaking, she knocked on the door, waited to be acknowledged, and slid it open, just daring to take one step inside. "H-hey," she tried, her voice soft and wobbly.

"Walters. Please tell me you've not come to lecture me again, you know that doesn't end well.""

Hearing him speak, his cold voice travelling in the quiet of the area they were in only made her shiver even more. The way he looked at her, not bothering to move, his eyes seeming to pierce through her was unnerving, to say the least. His warning, if that is what you would call it, would have made her chuckle if it hadn't been so serious. She knew from first hand experience exactly what he meant, and she couldn't help but flinch at the thought.

"I didn't," she replied, trying her best to sound normal, and not let her voice shake any more than it already was.

"I-" she tried to continue, but froze, her mind drawing on a blank. She had to physically force herself to remain still, to not take a step back or run, as she so wanted to do. "I know you don't c-care," she paused, swallowing dryly. "But I needed you to know - for my sake - that I..." Another pause, another deep breath, and another awkward moment hung in the air as the tried to gather just enough courage to say what she knew she had to. "I f-forgive you," she finally managed to say, the last two words coming out as barely a whisper, but she knew he would hear her, just as she had heard him.

Okay, good, now you can leave. Just back away slowly and head back to your compartment. Her brain was suddenly working again, instructing her on what to do, but it was in vain, for her body had stopped listening, and she found herself stuck, unable to move.