Potion Perfections

"Well, there are lots of reasons. Everyone's different, hm?" She smiled at him in a you'll-have-to-do-better-than-that way.

Instead of asking again, he murmured, "The past doesn't make the person. Sometimes, we need to let go. It's the choices we make, not our origins that determine who we are."

She closed her eyes at the pain that went through her heart. It's okay. He doesn't know what I did. What we did. It's not his fault. He was trying to help. She tried to mentally calm herself.

"So tell me a little about yourself."

She shrugged. "What's to tell? I'm goth, I like loud music, I speak French, and I was raised in the Forbidden Forest."

"What's to tell...what's to tell..." he trailed off staring into the distance.

"I'm bisexual," she said grinning. That usually got people's attention.

"I could tell," he muttered, attention elsewhere.

"Seriously? How?" She put her hand under his chin and turned his head so that he was looking right at her. "Look at me when I speak to you," she said gently.

He flinched, withdrawing from her touch, fear in his eyes. "The way you flirt shamelessly with your customers, and how your 'merchandice' sells so fast. Sex appeal," his voice came as nothing more than a whisper.

"Sex appeal, huh? Actually you're right." She pulled a tiny red vial out of her pocket. "Pure pheremones. It draws people to me. Well, emotionally weak people." She put the bottle back in her pocket.

But he didn't hear that. He had stopped listening. Fear blocked everything out. He flashed back to his house.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, damnit!" his father yelled, slapping him across his face. "Have some respect, you freak!" His mother did nothing, standing there, cold. Toru withdrew more, cringing. His face had a huge red mark. "Don't hit me...don't hit me...

"Please don't...hit.."

Aveira watched his face with concern. She grabbed her large messenger bag and dug through it, finally pulling out a medium sized light blue bottle. She handed it to him. "Free of charge. It helps with bad memories." She would know. She'd used it countless times. "If you use it enough, you can barely remember them Except in your sleep. I'm still trying to find something for that."

He waved it away. "It's my battle."

"Just take it," she said firmly. "You'll wish you had."

He took the bottle with a muffled, "Thank you," and set it on the table beside him.

"Don't lose that. It takes three months to make and I'm running low." She eyed the bottle. "Only use it when you really have to. Also, don't use it right before a test. Sometimes it has a side effect of making you forget what you learned."

He smiled. "Lovely. I really don't plan on using it often, anyway."

"Wanna tell me about whatever it is that's bugging you?" she asked curiously.

He stretched. His moment of fear had passed. "Memories that I want to forget, but can't. It's nothing really. And I won't have any more of them any time soon," he spat the last sentance, putting some venom behind it.

A pained look crossed her face and she nodded. "I understand those kinds of memories..."

He started murmuring under his breath, plainly audible, "Freak, huh? I was a freak? I showed them who a freak was. AND NOW THEY ARE DEAD!!!" The shout made everyone up to fifth years hide behind something.

Aveira looked over at him in alarm. "Tell me," was all she said.

He cringed. "My parents highly disapproved of my power. They beat me constantly, maybe trying to reduce me to a quivering pulp. I was a freak, an abnormality, a 'threat' to common society. But they learned. The woodshed is a good excuse. Anything is possible in there. But they don't know what happened," he almost giggled insanely, bloodlust rising to his head.

She looked at him, an unreadable emotion in her eyes. Leaning over, she hugged him. Not the normal flirtatious one, but a real one. "You aren't a freak," she said firmly.