Why did they always have to do this? Why did they always have to bring him down like that? He was just being hopeful, but they were mean. "Redirect your episodes" if he could he would! He was angry.

He needed Lupin to have gone through Hogwarts as a werewolf. He needed to be able to go to Hogwarts. He needed it like he needed air. It was nearly impossible for him to adjust to being a werewolf; he had regressed to the point where he needed to see Mara twice a week instead of once a month. He didn't speak for months, he locked himself in his own little world, everyone was treating him differently and when he did start speaking again, he had to be careful what he said so he didn't reveal himself; keeping secrets had always been difficult for him. He was "too talkative". He'd heard that phrase over and over again in his life, enough to recognize when people were disappointed in him.

He squeezed himself under his four poster and held onto the fringe of the rug.

Everything was swimming in Cepheus' head. His bones were cold and it was hard to breathe. Tears gushed from his eyes as he held of for dear life. Hot air pressed on his face, transfiguring his lungs to cotton; his brain spun around in his head, and he couldn't hear anything but his blood rushing to his throbbing head.

Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? Why can't things go my way? . . .

*

The next thing Cepheus knew was a soft flutter of waxy gray wings propelling themselves through the underspace of the bed. He traced it with his eyes as it looped around forgotten toys and books and other various things that had been hidden here over the years.

"Hi, Patrick," he held out a finger for the tiny toy Ukrainian Ironbelly whom he had gotten at Ismelda's Toys and Novelties in Diagon Alley on August first, 1991. It was one of Cepheus' newest dragons. But not the newest newest; his newest dragon was a Norwegian Ridgeback that he named Spot because of the big brown spot on its left cheek. He got Spot on April eighteenth, 1994 as a present from his Great Aunt Elsa.

The dragon bit his finger with dull, plastic teeth that didn't hurt. That was how he said 'hello!'

Some people say that the magical dragon toys weren't sentient and couldn't develop their own separate personalities; clearly, those people didn't pay attention. Every single dragon Cepheus had in his room had its own separate personality; no two were alike in any way but appearance.

"Sorry you had to see that," he allowed the dragon to perch itself on his forefinger and shuffled out from under the bed. "How are you doing today?" He sat down on his gray comforter, and a few more toy dragons swooped down to land on his shoulders and on the emerald green canopy dressings.

In all, he had 417 dragons; 61 Norwegian Ridgebacks, 39 Hungarian Horntails, 26 Antipodean Opaleyes, 55 Chinese Fireballs, 41 Common Welsh Greens, 37 Swedish Short Snouts, 30 Peruvian Vipertooths, 24 Romanian Longhorns, 36 Hebridean Blacks, and 68 Ukranian Ironbellies. It wasn't that Ukranian Ironbellies were his favorite kind of dragon; they were just the most common ones in toy stores. Cepheus' favorite kind were Chinese Fireballs, followed by Romanian Longhorns and then Hungarian Horntails.

They all swarmed around him to see if he was okay. He was. He was fine. He just needed a minute. But he appreciated their sympathy.

"Hi, everyone. I'm okay. I'm okay. Mum and Father were just making me feel sad." A few dragons flew up and landed on his shoulders, his head, and his lap. "I feel better, though."

The dragons were nicer than most people, as he had found. They don't talk too much or bring you down.

Not quite ready to go back to his parents again, Cepheus spent the next several hours with the dragons, and only had contact with his mother when she came into his room to check on him and ask if he wanted lunch.

"No thanks." Cepheus didn't even look up to her. His stomach was growling, but he didn't really feel like eating at that particular moment.

With a sigh, Mum sat down on the bed next to him and put a hand on his left shoulder. "Sweetheart, you should come down and eat."

"I don't really want to. I'm busy."

"You need to. It's lunchtime. Come down and eat with us. We miss you." Mum spoke sweetly, stroking Cepheus' hair.

Hesitantly, Cepheus nodded and stood up. "Okay fine."

Lunch was good. They had some shrimp dish with a fancy French name and a side salad.

Afterwards, the three of them went out and played Quidditch for a little while.

Hours later, it was time to go get Draco.

___________

Sorry it took so long!

I started college so I've been busy.

Love ya!

CC