» ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ꜰᴏx || ꜰɪᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀɢʀᴇᴇᴠᴇꜱ

Part 21

"Shit."

Five cussed as he doubled over in pain, pressing his shaking hands against the gushing wound - making them slick with crimson red blood, which dripped down onto the short blades of grass beneath him.
He took in a deep and shaky breath, which wavered pathetically - cussing again as he tried to move, body paralysed in agony.

The old teen gritted his teeth tightly, clenching his jaw as he pressed against the open injury - slowing down the heavy blood flow further.
"Those commission assholes."

His gaze averted to where the two agents should have been after they were whipped away by the Whomping willow, finding nothing but the tree that was swaying along with the gentle breeze and a small spot of blood on it's branches.

'Those irritating bastards must have used those briefcases to teleport away.' He thought, blinking in the thin sheen on unshed tears.

The heavy black briefcases that the two were clutching were devices used to travel through time and space - something that the old timer can do naturally - basically high tech portable time machines.

Five eventually got a hold of himself, gathering his thoughts and taking a laboured breath.
The old teen staggered up the semi rock hill, occasionally slipping on his own warm blood and stumbling as his vision blurred - mentally letting out a string of curses.

By the time he got past the great entrance doors, his once pristine white shirt was dyed with mahogany, fabric sticking uncomfortably against his smooth skin as if someone has poured a bucket of lukewarm water all over him - red reaching out to those pearly white spaces that had been left out. It had most definitely leaked all through his vest as well - the thing feeling as though it was constricting his already shallow breaths.

"Next time I'm going to hang them with my tie."
The boy muttered as he navigated through the halls, still managing to slip by expertly - completely unnoticed by the portraits in his half conscious state.

Though, everyone has their limits.
Even Five.

The old timer slowed to a stop in the shadows of the hallways, leaning his back against the cold stone walls and sliding down uncoordinatedly.
He took shallow and pained breaths, his side still throbbing harshly - thick blood flow not quite stopping.

"What in merlin's name have you done to yourself Hargreeves?"
A voice, a mid deep voice that ran smoothly asked.
Five chuckled darkly and pushed himself up, internally cringing as he did so.

"Nothing that concerns you, Riddle."
The old teen tried to limp away back to his dorm - or somewhere isolated, only to be stopped by an arm that shot out - the boy wincing in pain at the impact, eyes scrunching together tightly.
Tom exhaled deeply through his nose, cautiously moving his arm so it wasn't pressing against the crimson wound.

"Well I'm the prefect, and you are injured - and the prefect's role is to care for and make sure that the fellow students of their house are okay or avoiding trouble. So it does concern me - whether you like it, or not."

Several oil painted eyes watched with intent at the interaction, watching as the smaller boy's legs gave way and finally collapse - watching as Riddle caught the light boy swiftly, gazing at his blood stained hands, and at his blood soaked shirt.
Watching as he did his best at healing him on the spot, and carrying him bridal style back to the Slytherin dorms.

---

Five had collapsed, yes, but he was still half conscious - and was perfectly aware of most things that were happening around him, mind whirring at a sluggish pace, eyes half lidded and wandering.

And so when he was placed down attentively on a soft bed that wasn't his own, his body started to panic a little - but he couldn't do anything other than move his neck from side to side a bit, or twitch his fingers lamentably.

His body felt like there were several slabs of heavy concrete, pushing against his torso and limbs forcefully like a deadweight - preventing the old teen's frame from shifting even a little.

His side also felt numb, agonisingly numb.
Five was sure that all those thin bullets flew straight through his flesh and onto the ground, so infection from a lodged bullet wasn't something he was really worrying about.

The heavy blood flow had felt like it had seemingly slowed to a stop, but with the amount of liquid that was dyed his shirt - it was nearly impossible to tell without a proper look.
As his vision shifted from its blurry state, to its clear state, and back to its blurry state again - like a stubborn telescope that won't focus properly - Five could make out a couple of things.

Jet black hair that fell in waves, a long black and forest green winter cloak, and a snow white bandage roll that was being carefully wrapped around his small torso with two gentle hands.
The fifty-eight year old teen mentally made a note to thank Riddle when he wakes up - he may be a little shit most of the time, but he most definitely did have manners.

Five groaned lightly as his world started spinning, everything slowly fading into nothing but black, as if someone had killed all the lights, his head tiredly lolled to the side - the boy eventually slipping into the dark unknown abyss.

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