Hogwarts was a fun time. At least Atticus was able to do things away from his siblings. He loved his family, he really really did. But sometimes he just needed a break so he could do other things. He didn't want to leave his common room at all. It just might help him out if he stayed in the room and stopped dealing with anyone else. Maybe he could just stay here forever. Other then when he went to class, maybe he should just stay in the common room? It was safe there.
Still, he held onto his new knife. The door to the common room opened and he held onto it carefully. When the door closed, he decided to strike. Without any hesitation, he threw his knife at the spot right above the door. If he was lucky, the knife would hit the spot right above the new person's head and not actually hurt the person.
Oliver rushed into the common room so that he could get upstairs and ignore the whole world--but suddenly there was a terrible noise above him and he squeaked and dropped to the floor, because clearly he was under attack. Ignoring the soreness of colliding so suddenly with the floor, Oliver looked up to see...a thing poking out from the wood an inch above where he'd been standing only a moment ago.
What was that? He stared at it. It was...weird. It looked kind of sharp and dangerous, but he couldn't really tell what it was. He narrowed his eyes and craned his neck upward, but because he knew he couldn't get a proper look from where he was on the floor, the boy clumsily got to his feet and stared at the sharp object.
Atticus felt free to know his knives without any trouble. But he was going to have to figure everything else out. Why were they dealing with all of this? The other boy looked like Atticus had just almost murdered him, which was always a possibility. But Atticus wasn't that mean. Instead he sighed and looked at the kid. "Just bring it back to me." As if it was the kid's fault.
Oliver continued to stare for a moment longer before reaching up to pry it out of the wood. No luck. In a great display of his weakness, he pulled and pulled until suddenly he was sprawled out on the floor once more, and he saw blood--his blood, from a small cut across his forearm. It really wasn't a whole lot of blood, but, very confused and very concerned, the boy dropped the knife onto the floor with a clatter and grabbed the very spot he'd cut.
If Atticus wasn't angry about the lack of a knife in his hand, he would laugh at the other male's attempt to have any sort of muscle at all. It was hilarious and probably wasn't supposed to be. But oh well. He shrugged to himself. He did go after his knife first and then looked at the kid. "You'll be fine." Why did this kid just cause so much trouble?
Oliver just stared at the cut, which was easier to do than looking at Atticus, never mind responding to him. He didn't seem very nice, but Oliver wouldn't argue. He probably wouldn't really do anything, knowing him. After a few moments, he did finally look up at Atticus, but only because he tried his best not to be rude, despite his quirks.
"S-sorry," he mumbled, as if this whole thing had been his fault. It might as well have been.