Peter told Edmund when he first came to the Scholomance that, if Scorpius Lake saved his life, the polite thing to do was not to mention it.

It's been a year and a half. Edmund's life has been saved by Scorpius Lake three times, and every time, he's thanked him politely but not effusively.

Scorpius Lake is not going to save Edmund's life tonight.

Edmund is so tired of this place. He's met everyone and he doesn't know anyone. He misses the sun, the sky, real fresh air. He misses people who aren't clawing for their lives, desperate for the crumbs that he can give them to help them survive. He misses his siblings, who he could talk to at any time but who he hasn't talked to in three months because every time he considers it the voice-that-isn't-a-voice in his head asks if he wants to distract them from what's actually important with his bullshit.

Every night for the past three nights, Edmund has woken from his sleep. He has sat up, robotically, in his bed, and swung his legs out. He has slowly - painfully slowly - walked towards the door.

Every night, he has given up and gone back to sleep.

Tonight, his fingers wrap around the doorknob and he turns it and he steps outside and - as the flapping of wings and the chittering of mandibles grows louder - he feels...

relief.

His eyes close.

Peter told Edmund when he first came to the Scholomance that, if Scorpius Lake saved his life, the polite thing to do was not to mention it.

It's been a year and a half. Edmund's life has been saved by Scorpius Lake three times, and every time, he's thanked him politely but not effusively.

Scorpius Lake is not going to save Edmund's life tonight.

Edmund is so tired of this place. He's met everyone and he doesn't know anyone. He misses the sun, the sky, real fresh air. He misses people who aren't clawing for their lives, desperate for the crumbs that he can give them to help them survive. He misses his siblings, who he could talk to at any time but who he hasn't talked to in three months because every time he considers it the voice-that-isn't-a-voice in his head asks if he wants to distract them from what's actually important with his bullshit.

Every night for the past three nights, Edmund has woken from his sleep. He has sat up, robotically, in his bed, and swung his legs out. He has slowly - painfully slowly - walked towards the door.

Every night, he has given up and gone back to sleep.

Tonight, his fingers wrap around the doorknob and he turns it and he steps outside and - as the flapping of wings and the chittering of mandibles grows louder - he feels...

relief.

His eyes close.