Grendel's Chancler

The clock beats on the constant sound adding to the never ending clack of my mother's heels on the linoleum floor. Uncomfortable metal chairs groaned under the weight of their nervous occupants. We all sat there; quiet, palms sweaty, eyes frantic- some searching for weakness others for solace.

I swallowed deeply as I bit on the inside of my cheek. This wasn't the first time I'd come to group, nor, with the way things were going after my expellment, would it be my last. My mother would see to that, failure was what you'd call frowned upon, in my family. It was worse to fail at something than to never try in the first place.... Or, at least that's what my mother often told me. I was never perfect, in fact, I never thought I'd be perfect, the fates didn't bless me with that chance so I often didn't bother trying.

When I was a little boy, and the dreams of my past life kept me awake at night my mother use to read to me stories of old. Before I'd even known my own, i'd memorized so many others hoping that my Inkling, was like that of the heroes I worshiped. The nightmares should have clued me in to the harsh reality, but I'd been a hopeful child. Like every other boy my age I'd wanted to be the sword wielding hero saving princesses and slaying monsters.

The games were more fun to play alone, once school hit and my Inkling was truly discovered I didn't feel like slaying any more monsters. It's not fun pretending to kill people who might just be your uncle after all.

I shook my head, black hair brushing my eyelids as I ground my sneakers into the warn white linoleum. My eyes flicked quickly to the group leader, he's a tall man, thin and pale. A black turtleneck sweater swallowed up his torso the fabric pooling at his wrists falling back every time he moved one of his long, bony arms.

Vlad smiled at us with one of his signature toothy grins, his dark brown eyes flicking across the room in an inviting glance as if he could get us four to open up simply from a look.

I blinked as Margaret dropped her heavy purse with a loud thump... Demanding attention as she always did. Margaret liked attention, she thrived off it, if eyes weren't on her she wasn't happy, in fact she was down right bitchy.

Once upon a time a man wrote her as a Queen, but before that she was just Margaret... Cranky, selfish, demanding, manipulative, Margaret- just like now. I'd never really liked Margaret even when we went to school together, her superior attitude separated us. Now though, now it was a relief, if she wanted to be the center of attention by gods, I'd let her.

"Margaret, would you like to start today?" Vlad asked a smile on his thin lips as he crossed his legs amusement making his eyes flash, as if he found great enjoyment out of Margaret's openness. I'm not sure why the- girl was annoying.

I let out an inaudible groan that not-surprisingly Margaret heard, her eyes flashing me a deadly glare before she turned abruptly away facing our small group of five (including Margaret herself).

"Yesterday was bad again....." Margaret droned on, her speech about boys and memories lingered on and on and on... Like the drum.

I shook my head pushing that thought away quickly like poison. I bit my lip harshly as my head started to pound, my eyes flashing to the clock realizing I'd only been here twenty minutes I let out a silent curse.

"Something wrong Gren?" Vlad asked suddenly, my head snapping up quickly as I noticed everyone was staring at me.

"Nope, nothing," I replied quickly, my heart rate picking up as I ran shaky hands through my hair.

"Nothing at all," I clarified after an awkward silence.

"That's disappointing Gren, you've been coming three weeks already and you still have nothing to share?" Vlad tsked as he shook his head.

"I'm a simple guy," I offered lamely, my eyes not meeting his I looked around the room. My mother's body planted next to mine, Margaret on my other side, Vlad next to her, and next to my mother sat a small boy of only 11.

I focused on him, not daring to look at Vlad I watched as he kicked his legs, which didn't reach the floor entirely, back and forth, scraping the linoleum with the ball and heel of his feet. Tommy did not smile, he did not show any emotion whatsoever. I hardly knew the kid, his story some new hit with the humans made him hardly old enough to understand the thing that woman wrote about him, in a few years though he'd be just as messed up as the rest of us: Lady Macbeth and her dirty looks, Dracula and his malnourished body, Mother Grendel and her heart of stone, and of course me, Grendel in the flesh.... Tommy didn't stand a chance, I've read the story he's from and have no doubt he'll be screwed.

I was sitting across from the young Chancler of Voldemort after all a monster of a character in his own right.