Orchids and Roses [Archive] - Chamber of Secrets

blue_rose

February 18th, 2006, 4:29 am

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Harry Potter's green eyes watched irratedly as his wife apparated onto the front lawn of the Potter house and walked briskly into the house. She was late. This was the third time in four days that Ginny Potter had waived her appointments with him without notifying him. On Wednesday, he had sat sheepishly alone for forty-five minutes in a romantic restaurant complete with red wine fountains, heart shaped butter and serenading cupids with fluffy white-feathered wings. Not wanting to ruin the night, Harry had not pressed the matter. Today, however, he was determined to confront her on the issue. He waited a few more minutes for her to locate and stood, arms crossed, with two feet planted firmly on the floor looking intently at the red cedar door.

But when Ginny Potter barged into the room, clearly more agitated than he, Harry chose to postpone discussion on the matter. Ginny violently pulled a chair and flopped onto it with a distinct "humph."

"Where were you?" Harry asked attempting a casual tone, but as his reproachful feelings were not fully oppressed, he sounded more borderline constipated than anything else.

Ignoring his tone, Ginny practically snapped "The Malfoy."

Harry stood very still for a moment and then slowly sank into a chair next to her. "The Malfoys," Harry repeated, prononucing each syllable to assure that they were talking about the right people.

"The Malfoys," Ginny replied irratibly, "You know what I hate, Harry?" She did not wait for an answer and ploughed on, "I hate that I can't be natural with the Malfoys. Merlin. Harry, I said 'Why yes it is, Xavier. Thank you for asking' today!" with properly raising her voice during her rejurgatation. Harry suppressed a smile. It was uncharacteristic of Ginny to use formal 19th century phrases.

Ginny noticed the suppression. It was a sudden call to reality and she became apologetic. "Oh and I'm late again!" she lamented, "The third time in four days. Yeah you're not the only one counting," Ginny added as a small smile sat on Harry's face. "I'm so sorry."

This was why he loved Ginny. He was an open book to her.

"Don't worry about it. I would just like it if you could tell me if you're late and we can talk about that stuff later," Harry said quickly. Then he became more cautious, "Ginny why were you at the Malfoys?"

"The ministry meeting is there tonight," she said, astonished that he did not know.
"Ah," Harry said remembering the memo on his desk. "Does this mean I will have to..."
"...mingle? Yes." Ginny finished.
"But its the Malfoys!" Harry exclaimed disbelievingly.
"I don't see what the problem is. We get along with them fine." Ginny said, answering his unsaid question.
"I know that," Harry said, "but who else would they talk to there?"
"I don't know" Ginny said glancing at the chrome clock "but if we don't tell the girls to get ready now, we'll never find out."

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Chapter 2: A Meeting

11-year-old Amelia Potter gazed idly at a ladybug whose red coat had turned a light orange and its black spots, brown. She had been dragged to a ministry thing by her parents against every one of her wishes. There was only one person her age there, Xavier. But Amelia could not possilby relate with him. In lay mens terms, Xavier was just wierd. All she knew was that he rarely came out to play and locked himself in his room.

Who does that, Amelia thought. As far as she could see, the last thing she would do is lock herself in her own room. That was punishment not reward. Unfortunately, she had no choice but to accompany Xavier. Her brothers, Sirus and Alexander, were discussing various joke products with her uncles, Fred and George. Ophelia, her sister, was in deep conversation with Aunt Hermione about house elf rights. Apparently the lastest iniative was to replace the demeaning term of "house elf" with something less crude. The legislation was meeting tough opposition. Her father was talking about magical art advancements with Mr. Malfoy. Amelia thought it was funny that Mr. Malfoy wanted to paint for a living, which had a small yet lucrative market.

At this moment, Amelia was waiting in the rose garden for Xavier to fetch brooms. She had been surprised when Xavier had proposed the idea and had blurted "You fly?!" Now she was a little embarassed by the whole situation and tried not to think of it. When Xavier did appear from the door, Amelia wished he would go back. She didn't know what to say to him.

She politely accepted the broom and rapidly said "Mymomgrowsorchids."
"Sorry?"
Turning red and wishing she had never uttered the words she repeated slowly "My mother grows orchids."
She could not tell what Xavier was thinking but he smiled and said "My dad grows roses."
"That's good," Amelia babbled feeling uncomfortable, "Orchids are exotic."
"All roses are beautiful."
"Well," Amelia replied with a tone of finality in her voice, "I guess that's settled."
Giving her a half-amused, half-confused look Xavier rose into the air, beckoning her to follow.

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Please feedback! Its on the signature

blue_rose

February 19th, 2006, 5:40 am

This is a bit dark.

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A gentle thunder rolled as lightning illuminated the dark landscape surrounding the Malfoy residence. The guests had left long ago. Mrs. Malfoy stared transfixedly out of the window of her room at the hills in the east. Two jutted out of the ground higher than all of the rest. Whether they were like white elephants, she did not know. At the least they were like elephants.

It was not often that Mrs. Malfoy thought about how she had lived her life and even rarer that she admitted it to herself. But tonight, on the eve of her son's departure to a school that would tutor him more than she ever could have, she was forced to contemplate her life decisions. It was in this room that Draco had played the role of fate and chosen what she had eventually agreed to. It was in this room that they had fought away all the fights they would ever have. And it was in that bed, with its blood-red silk sheets, and the yellow light of the night that it had all begun.

A feeling rose in her that she hated passionately. If Mrs. Zambini were in the room asking of the origin of her accent, she would have spilled every miniute detail of her life in hopes of eroding the emotion away. It was a feeling of pity, of self-hatred and digust.

As Mr. Malfoy entered the room and the door slowly creaked shut, Mrs. Malfoy turned around to face him. Draco regarded her expression and immediately knew what she was thinking of. He had no desire to speak of it. It was late and he was tired. But as he walked to the dresser, unlatching his watch he could feel her eyes glaring at his back. He knew she had to discuss it and so he turned to face her and solemly began, "Honey..." but was cut short.

"No Draco," came a cracking voice from Mrs. Malfoy, "Don't you think we should at least tell her?"

Draco sighed. It was a sigh of uncertainty and sadness, "Do you think she would be happier knowing?"

"How do we even know?" she asked angrily, hurt and leaving the question unanswered, "We just put a wand in her hand."

Draco held her softly and slowly began "The healer said..."

"To the dementors with your healer!" she nearly shrieked, her voice muffled by his body. She pushed away on the verge of tears "Did it ever occur to you that your healer may be wrong. And even if he was right, she's still our..."

At this, it was Draco's turn to interject helplessly, "They may have accepted the Death Eaters again, but they still have their old prejudices. They still don't like werewolves and its just the same with..."

"So what?! They don't like it, that doesn't mean we should..."

"No. That means she wouldn't do any better out there."

Mrs. Malfoy searched frantically for any reason and then fell resignedly into his arms weeping bitterly and moaning, "Its not fair."

He knew she was right. It was not fair. "Its late," he said softly, looking out of the window. The storm had ceased and the dark sky was progressively changing into a dark gray.

Mrs. Malfoy gathered herself and said in a hard voice "You're right" referring to more than the time.

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Well it had to be in here, or its not much of a story. Please feedback! :D

blue_rose

February 20th, 2006, 4:50 am

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"Say good bye to your mother Xavier," Draco Malfoy said in a regal manner to his son as he entered the house after dragging his son's trunk to the car. Mrs. Malfoy had just descended from the stairs and Xavier watched curiously as his parents looked at each other. Mrs. Malfoy's face showed no sign of last night's argument. A dark loose curl cascaded from her forehead onto her serene face. Her green eyes were sparkling and her lips were arched in a motherly smile. Rather, it was his father's look that aroused Xavier's curiousity. His blue eyes were searching Mrs. Malfoy's face for some sign unknown to Xavier and his lips were set unsmilingly in a manner of duty.

Hugging his mother's waist, Xavier said formally "Good bye mother."

Mrs. Malfoy broke her son's grip, knelt down to face him and recited what any loving mother would have said to a child that was leaving her for the first time. They made empty promises of writing letters every week. She told him to avoid trouble and he replied with a "Yes mother" while a mischevious glint emerged in his blue eyes. She asked him to make the family proud and, at this, he sincerely swore he would. She inspected his clothes to make certain no ugly stains shone in the light and, finally, she had the realization. She stood, tearing and said into her husband's shoulder "My baby's growing up!"

She's realized has she, Xavier thought, but sighed. He had wanted her to be happy when the idea dawned and her present demeanor was thoroughly depressing. Xavier once again hugged his mother to say "I'll grow out of my clothes, my toys and my bed but I'll never grow out of you."

At long last recomposed, Mrs. Malfoy held her son once more and then left promptly for the ministry, where her fellow Unspeakable had made a startling discovery and had urgently called upon Mrs. Malfoy to aid in further examinations.

Xavier broke the silence that had settled at his mother's departure and asked abruptly, "Where's Helen?"

Mr. Malfoy turned slowly to face his son. For a moment, Xavier could not tell what his father was thinking. Then Draco smiled and said "Why she's in the greenhouse. The roses didn't take the storm well and we need to prepare the winter draught in any case."

Xavier quickly excused himself and walked through the living room into the domed green house. A dull white light from the clouds overhead fell lightly through the panes of glass. In the room lay some of the rarest magical plants, but he was not there for them. He searched past the Tickling Fern and Bladed Tulips to finally find her in a corner of the greenhouse in deep concentration.

She could not have been older than him, although he had never thought to ask. Helen was hired help, absolutely legal in all wizarding countries. For the past few years she had been his closest companion. He cleared his throat.

Helen looked up from her work, her gypsy like features in full view. She smiled and greeted Xavier warmly, "Hello."

"Hi. I'm going to leave for Hogwarts today," Xavier said gaily.

"I trust you will write?"

"No," he said walking closer, smiling sarcastically, "I intend to forget ever having met you."

"Oh that hurts," Helen replied laughingly.

"Xavier," a voice called from the living room, "Its time to go."

Xavier made a move back, with full intention to obey and Helen raised her voice to his back, "You have to tell me all about it!"

"I will!" Xavier shouted, running to his father.

She listened and hoped him the best, yet she could not help but suddenly feel very alone in the world.

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Amelia Potter stood impatiently, listening to the heaps of advice (more like orders, she thought indiginantly) that spilled from her mother's mouth. Harry watched from a distance, as he unloaded the luggage onto a train compartment. Amelia was Harry's undisputed favorite. He habitually entertained the thought that she was a young version of his mother. Indeed, she had inherited his green eyes and her mother's flaming red hair.

Her personality, however, was far from the kind and loving one he had imagined to be his mother's. She was like Ginny in almost every way. He knew as the train whistled and Ginny Potter was forced to usher her child into a compartment, that Amelia would break many hearts and crush too many egos in her years at Hogwarts.

"She's leaving and you're standing here acting immobile" Ginny chided her husband.

Harry smiled at her and hastily said good bye to his children when the final whistle rang. Hurrying towards the exit they were met with Ronald Weasley and his wife, as well as house-elf rights activist, Hermione Weasley.

"Blimey Harry, you'd be suprised at how much a little 11 year old needs these days," Ron said absolutely delighted to meet someone else at whom his wife's critical eye could rest and observe.

Hermione and Ginny quickly hugged a greeting and landed on the platform before any further conversation.

"Anne is entering Hogwarts too this year, isn't she?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," Ron answered and added jokingly, "Honestly woman. You don't even know when how old your neice - ow!" Hermione had applied a slight pressure to his foot. Her loud voice and the moving train overshadowed his grimace, "I'm sure they'll be good friends."

"And Gryffindors. It would be an quite an upset if they weren't" Harry added.

"I don't know. Anne may go into Ravenclaw, she is my daughter," Hermione said thoughtfully. As a mother, Hermione was extremely fond of her daughter. In fact she had begun tutoring her child the year before. Truthfully, however, Hermione had hated pregnancy. She had swollen to the size of a pumpkin carriage. Her feet had ached and she hadn't been able to resist ice cream. As such, it was not surprise that they had chosen to not have any other children after Anne. Throughout the years, Mrs. Weasley had learned to have a commanding presence over her husband, although she only resentfully admitted to it. Their marriage was rocky at times, yet every fight seemed to end with the two profusely apolizing for their own idiocy.

"She may have your brains, but that's the only similarity," Ronald Weasley was saying "She's definitely me when it comes to flying and not chicken enough to go into Ravenclaw."

Ginny smirked, "You aren't a chicken? I think they have a little more than that in common. It's a good thing she has Hermione's smarts."

"I didn't say it was bad. And spiders are very scary," Ron said defensively, "and what else?"

Harry and Hermione's eyes met and they suddenly burst into laughter. "Well," Ginny said, regarding her brother on the verge of laughter, "Gender for one."

Ron turned red and sputtered, "Well. Come on Harry. Let's leave these women to their wierd talk."

Harry followed Ron, who left through the ministry exit, motioning to Ginny that he would contact her as soon as he could. Hermione and Ginny exited from the opposite route, towards Diagon Alley.

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Please feedback! (Its on the signature)

blue_rose

February 20th, 2006, 11:18 pm

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"Firs' years, this way," the deep voice of Rebeus Hagrid boomed through the narrow, torch-lit platform as students began to pour like black ants from the boxcars of the Hogwarts Express. Some of the first year students halted to cautiously examine the source of the sound. Unfortuately it was dark, the moon was a sliver in the star lit night sky and Hagrid was standing in a particularly shady area. A few giggles erupted from a throng second year students. They gently pushed a first year, with a face that was etched in deep lines of fear, towards the shadow. His father had told him of Hagrid, the half-man half-giant grounds' keeper of Hogwarts. But, by now, he had thought that Hagrid would be old, unable to ferry the first year students across. Apparently not.

He heard someone calling his naming, beckoning him forward, "Sean Lovegood Longbottom!". The voice was impatient and commanding. Finally the figure stood before him. Blue-eyed with ringlets of brown hair, Anne had an authoratative voice that was, no doubt, inherited from her mother. "Oh honestly," she said with a hint of annoyance, pulling Sean towards the lake, "Its just Hagrid."

Walking briskly she muttered in passing to Amelia, "I'll see you later." Amelia thought the whole sitution hilarious and could not hold in her laughter for poor Sean, whose face had reached unfounded hues of red. Everyone else filed into the boats that carried four. New regulations, however, rendered it impossible for more than two students per boat. The other two seats were occupied with house elves, incharge of rowing and steering the boat. The new rules would not have been enacted had it not been for a certain wealthy and concerned parent who had experienced, to his horror, falling into the lake and being dragged by the giant squid. Suddenly, Amelia found the person very contempible. All of the boats in her view were full and she was forced to sit in an empty boat, hoping that she would not be the person who took the journey by herself. Steadily, the boats around her filled and she pretended that she did not care.

When all of the boats were nearly filled, she felt hers rocking. The house elves shrieked in surprise and Amelia took hold of the sides to turn her head towards the source of the interruption. There stood Xavier. He stopped prematurely, in mid-shake, as Amelia's eyes became livid. He had not expected her. Afterall, there were three red headed girls entering the year. Blushing an apology, Xavier quietly asked "May I sit here?" Amelia looked around. It did not seem that any other person would offer and agreed with a hostile "Yes." A silence befell the crew and the passengers of the little boat. Slowly, they began to move towards the yellow speckled towers of Hogwarts. Sounds of oars hitting the water rang through the lake and Xavier searched for a subject of conversation. At last, it literally popped out of Amelia's sleeve. There, amid the sleek black of her cloak peeped a little white orchid.

Xavier smirked and asked, "Do you have something up your sleeve?"

"N-how did you know?" Amelia asked, bewildered that he had begun a conversation let alone one about that.

He pointed to the bud peeping out onto her right hand. Embrassed, she quickly stuffed the white mass up her sleeve. "Well that's the thing about orchids," she began as if she were not embrassed at all, "they're very portable. Also they smell nice. And I like them." She could see his blue eyes savoring the moment and she added helplessly "And you're going to spin this into an Amelia-is-crazy story."

At that, Xavier laughed. It was a boyish laugh, full of exhuberance and youth. When he finally stopped, he opened his eyes to see her terrifed face. Xavier frowned. He had not intended his laughter to sound derisive. "I won't tell anyone," he stated finally, utterly perplexed that she would want to hide such an innocent and trivial fact.

Relieved she began, "You know we've been bunched together a lot lately."

"I suppose," Xavier replied thoughtfully, although he didn't consider two meetings to be numerous and deserving of a phrase such as "a lot".

"May be its fate," Amelia thought out loud, fully aware that they were only eleven and that the notion materializing in her head was absolutely preposterous.

Xavier smiled. It was a confusing smile and she could not discern what it meant. She did not know if he was smiling because he wished it was true or because he found fate a ridiculous idea. He simply said, "If you want to call it that."

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Feedback please...I hope it wasn't too bad.

blue_rose

February 26th, 2006, 6:18 am

Its official...I hate my extended essay. Luckily in 48 hrs I will never think of it again...unless the supervisor tells me to revise it.

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"Creevey, Hector!" Headmistress McGonagal's voice imperiously called as a short boy pushed through the throng of fellow first years crowding around a worn hat sitting comfortably on an intimidating stool. Silence reigned while the hat was placed on his head. Hector knew where he would go. He stated it explicitly and confidently to the hat and the hat concurently boomed "Gryffindor!" Applause erupted at the Gryffindor table and seats shifted to welcome the new member.

Observing the event, as each and every one of the first year dutifully approached the hat, jumped of the stool and headed towarded a roaring table Xavier suddenly wondered why such a monotonous tradition still existed. Don't they know that it only breeds contempt and strife, Xavier thought bitterly, on the verge of anger. All the while he knew why he truly disliked the hat. It wasn't because the hat entertained a colony of moths in its time alone. It wasn't because houses were the idea of some great and discreet evil. It was because he knew where the hat would put him. His father had talked about it for years. Every Malfoy had been there. It was a tradition that dated back to the beginning of Hogwarts and he knew that he would not be the one to break it. He thought he wanted to. But not even desire could shadow the tangible evidence before him.

"Malfoy, Xavier!" McGonagal's voice broke his thought and Xavier became acutely aware of the raging silence that settled at the wake of his name. Quickly deciding to save the hat the trouble, Xavier moved through the throng grinning at Amelia who responded with a disappointingly puzzled look. For a few moments only his steps sounded in the dining room.

"Ah another Malfoy," the Sorting Hat proclaimed to only him, "Ambition to the brim, intelligence and bravery from the mother, and I don't believe it! Where did the humility come from?"

"Don't bother asking stupid questions, you know where you're going to put me," Xavier replied testily.

"You're right," the Sorting Hat said amusedly, "I was going to put you in SLYTHERIN!"

An applause boomed from the right side of the room and Xavier robotically walked towards it as the rest of the first years had. Murmurs passed through the other tables and the dwindling unsorted first year group. He chose to ignore them and confidently took a seat under the green and silver banner. He recieved no congratulation from the people seated there who simply acknowledged his existence and knew that it would be enough.

Naturally Amelia was admitted into Gryffindor and for an unknown reason, Xavier felt a surge of animosity towards the hat, his scapegoat for all relevant purposes. Conversation slowly increased in decibel levels at the other tables when the sorting was finally over, while barely a murmur exhaled from the Slytherin table. Another controversial first year had chosen a seat next to him and Xavier politely struck conversation him. It ended prematurely when a first year girl with dull blue eyes babbled to the boy, "I can't believe they let you in!" A burly boy next to her snorted, "I can't believe Voldemort procreated!"

(I thought that would be a good place to end it ;) for now)

blue_rose

February 26th, 2006, 9:46 pm

The boy ruffled his wavy dark hair and began, "Voldemort did not 'procreate' as you put it," he said loudly over Xavier's derisive laugh, "He was a bit too daft for that, from what I can tell. I didn't know that he had existed until, say, 72 hours ago. From what I've read of him since then, I am nothing like him even though the facts are highly coincidental. According to the records we are distantly related. My great-grandfather was his grandfather's brother. So no, I don't have an ounce of Salazar Slytherin...that is the name if my memory serves me correctly. My name is Tom Riddle. No I do not have his middle name although my initials are TMR. As far as I'm concerned its a bizarre coincidence. Are you still interested?"

Luckily the girl was saved by the Headmistress who addressed the students regally , "Welcome first years and welcome back to the rest of you. Mr. Haggardy has asked me to remind you all that magic is not allowed in the hallways and that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden for a reason. Kindly stay away from it. For all those interested, Quidduicth tryouts will be announced by the team captains by next Monday. The top two teams this year will go to Beauxbatons Academy for the international tournament. And I can see all of your hungry eyes, so bon appetit." She snapped her fingers and food appeared on the then empty silver bowls and plates.

The students ate greedily and between stuffing her mouth and gulping pumpkin juice Amelia was not able to converse with anyone. After swallowing her last piece of pumpkin pie she turned to Anne and asked sweetly, "So how was the ride with Sean?" absolutely unaware that Sean was only two seats away from them and could hear every single word that escaped her mouth.

"The implications of that phrase are unfounded and, by the way, I could just as readily ask you how was the ride with that Malfoy boy? I forget his first name."

At that Amelia blushed freely and said quietly, "Xavier?"

"Yes, thats the name," Anne continued buttering a roll and systematically stuffing it in her mouth, "S' ow wos't?"

"Oh, you know," she began dismissively acting to be more interested in an apple dumpling than the topic of discussion, "he's pretty weird and I don't really get him."

"Boys," Anne said in agreance, "The whole time Sean was afraid of falling off."

Amelia laughed, "I know!You know what Anne? I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Headmistress McGonagal interupted all conversation to wipe the plates and goblets clean with a clap. "Prefects please guide your first years to the dorms and good night!"

The first years lined up behind older students yelling orders at them as the rest of the school rushed out of the hall to avoid first year traffic in the stairs and corridors. Feeling playful Xavier could not resist pulling a pig-tail of the prefect in front of him who turned around prettily only to reprimand him contemptously.

"Forget it mate," Tom said behind him loudly so the girl could hear, "She's not worth it. Not that that was your objective anyway."

The prefect ignored the boys leading the first year class to the staircase behind the Gryffindor class which ascended the steps. The Slytherin's descended the stairs. The prefect spoke the password, "Cicero" and the class entered the dark-stoned common room. For the first time, Xavier knew what the beast must have felt when it had met beauty. The cold and uninviting elegance of dark tiled floor, the windowless walls and the leather couches with stainless steel frames gave a modern feel to the place. It was home. A better home than his father's house.

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Feedback please! (on the signature)

blue_rose

March 4th, 2006, 11:22 pm

Chapter 3: A Fork

"My mother always said Divination was rubbish," Anne responded haughtily to Sirus, who in his first few weeks as a third year at Hogwarts painfully realized that Divination was not a subject for him.

"I know that," Sirius snapped back at her, "But you'd think after a few days she would stop making the same prediction. Its always about this Riddle kid being bad."

"Well she didn't make a real prediction then. Why'd you sign up for the class anyway if you don't like it?" Ophelia asked, irritated at the runes that failed to decipher themselves and the increasing loudness of the Common Room.

"I wanted to see if dad was right," Sirius replied in due manner, as if he had rehearsed the answer multiple times.

"Pssh. I bet its that Patil girl," Sirius's friend, Peter Lupin, said, "Ravenclaw has the class with us."

"You don't say?!" Ophelia responded in mock curiosity.

However the conversation did not continue as Amelia passed through the potrait hole and Sirius quickly placed her under the interrogation lamps.

"I was in the Owlery, writing to mum," she said cooly to Sirius's question. It was true, she had been at the Owlery. The fact that Xavier had been there tieing a letter onto an owl was a miniute and extraneous detail, unworthy of mention.

Anne interrupted the conversation with her rumbling stomach. "Amelia, let's eat."

At that the two first years left the older students who had resumed discussion on Sirius's love life (much to Sirus's despair) in the golden comfort of the plush blood-red sofas and an orange fire.

At the Dining Hall, Anne chatted incessantly about the nature of their subjects. Amelia only partially heard her oration. She was still shocked at the fact that Xavier Malfoy, with a stress on the Malfoy part, had spoken to her without laughing at her ideas. In her first weeks at Hogwarts she had rarely seen him. Of course they had classes with Slytherin, but neither had acknowledged each other and they never seemed to be in the Dining Hall at the same time. Now as she scanned the Slytherin table a jolt of joy coursed her body when she found that he was there. She decided they would be friends. Very good friends.

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In the last few weeks, Xavier had attempted, with great difficulty, to avoid a confrontation between his friends and Amelia's entourage. Now as he saw her figure sitting calmly at the Gryffindor table surrounded by her friends, he knew that the inevitable event was only moments away. Naturally he would have to side with his friends, a group that now counted to twenty with only three that truly mattered to him. The fallout would destroy what had almost begun at the owlery.

It was as if someone had muted life. He watched as colliding spoons and plates made no sound, as lips moved seemingly without reason and as robes fluttered soundlessly. Xavier was not aware how the fight had started near the staircase. When it was his turn to taunt, he cooly and menacingly said, "I wonder what daddy Potter will think when he reads that I rocked his little girl's world in the letter."

Amelia recovered in a matter of seconds, but before she could respond Hector Creevey fired a spell at Eric Zambini. Tom retailiated for Eric and Anne sped towards the Dining Hall calling for a professor. Anyone who had seen the event would have said that Xavier had behaved in a manner befitting of one defending a side. Perhaps one or two would mention the oddity of his glare, which had been directed towards Amelia the whole time. Nonetheless his performance was convincing and earned him three greuling detentions with the Care of Magical Creatures professor and a lenghty lecture from Headmistress McGonagal.

Unfortunately, McGonagal was determined to offer everyone the opportunity to reconcile their differences, as well as punish each student. Hence, Xavier's detention would be with Amelia. She accepted her punishment grudgingly, unaware of why she was being punished. Indeed, neither Xavier nor Amelia had raised their wands threateningly at the other side. The fact that she would have to serve it with a person that had manipulated her made the punishment even more destestable. However, she did not contest the injustice of the punishment. It was her first year and arguing with the Headmistress seemed unwise. Nevertheless all of her piercing glares were directed at Xavier the days before their first detention.

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I figured it was time to start another chapter anyway :p I hope you liked it. Please feed back!

blue_rose

March 5th, 2006, 8:03 pm

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"Come 'ere Fang," Hagrid beckoned his aging canine, who cautiously moved towards Hagrid. Over his years with the half-gaint, Fang had learned things that Hagrid had never taught him. For instance, when his master commanded him "come 'ere" with the Forbidden Forest as the prominent background it was assured that they would be going into the Forest. And Fang did not like the forest. Nonetheless he obeyed his master.

"Ye kno' th' drill?" Hagrid asked the two students who patiently awaited their task. Both nodded. They had already done it two times before. For their detentions, Xavier and Amelia were to follow Hagrid and help spray the giant spider eggs with a potion to protect them from other predators, as the mother was dead. During their work Xavier had tried, fruitlessly, to apoligize. Amelia would shoot a silencing glare at any of his attempts to communicate with her. Now as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind trees of the Forbidden Forest, Xavier was determined more than ever to achieve his goal.

As he contemplated the various methods to politely spark conversation, Amelia brusquely followed Hagrid into the shadows of the forest. Xavier did not care. He knew the path well, and lagged behind the party. Eventually, he began to believe that he would not be able to say anything to her politely and force her to listen. When Amelia backtracked through the trail to assure that he was not lost, Xavier knew what he would do. She gruffly acknowledged his existence and obnoxiously turned around to return to Hagrid. At that, Xavier caught her hand and violently made her face him tightly holding both of her hands.

"Look," he said somewhat savagely, his blue eyes glinting malevolently, "for the last detentions I've been trying to say sorry. I'm sick of trying to do it nicely because apparently the only way to say sorry to you is this way. So I'm sorry. You don't have to be so offended by it. Its not like I exposed your precious orchid secret."

Biting back the pain that traveled from the grip of his hands, her green eyes looked obstinately at him through the strands of red hair that covered her face and said mockingly, “Yes and fabricating intercourse is so much better.”

Anger ebbed from both bodies. Yet neither were angry enough to ignore that they were standing dangerously close to one another. Xavier loosened his grip and Amelia pulled away creating a sizeable distance between them.

“It was the first thing that came to mind,” Xavier replied in quiet and weak defense staring at the ground.

“That doesn’t mean you should have said it.”

“Oh and what would you have me say,” he asked with his piercing eyes placed on her face.

She thought for a while and then responded, “Nothing.”

“See. That’s why you’re not supposed to come to dinner between 6 and 7.”

She opened her mouth in protest, but quickly quieted when the sound of a twig breaking shattered the air. Both stood frozen in fear. “What was that?” Xavier asked, whispering the question.

“It probably just Hagrid” Amelia whispered back.

“Yeah? Then why are you so afraid?” He didn’t wait for an answer and trudged on, “And unless Hagrid is an anigmus that can turn into a dark horse with leathery wings, that’s not Hagrid.”

“What are you talking abo-“ she was unable to finish as he roughly took hold of her hand and ran out of the forest dragging her behind him.

When the foliage broke to reveal the green grounds in the light of the moon, Xavier fired a red spark into the dark sky.

Bewildered by his actions, Amelia asked "Why did you do that?"

"What you didn't see it? You know the black horse with black wings and white eyes?" he asked with surprising calm and a hint of fear.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, beginning to think he was crazy.

"Don't look at me like that," Xavier replied, "I know what I saw."

She looked at him skeptically, "You're telling me you saw a threstal."

"If that's what they call them."

Amelia believed him. He could not possibly be so worried as to drag them both out of the forest without reason. Silence slowly settled as the two students waited for Hagrid to locate them. Then Amelia asked suddenly, "Xavier? Who did you see die?"

"I don't know," was his response. He quickly changed the subject when he saw Hagrid come towards them. "Agree to mutual public dislike?"

She shook her hand with him with agreement. He sighed in relief. "How is your orchid?" he muttered as they stood apart.

"Blooming," she responded in a whisper and then amplified her voice for Hagrid who was only ten yards away, "Professor! Over here. We got lost."

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blue_rose

March 10th, 2006, 11:43 pm

She knew some change had befell her at the detention. She had felt the material, what ever it may be, ooze and refrained from locking her knees to isolate the event. When she had come back it had not stopped and she was terrified to discover the compound that was trickling down.

As Amelia recounted the nature of the event, pale, with her knees held tightly in fear, Ophelia attempted with great effort to not laugh. The task became progressively more difficult when her little sister began to talk of "dying" and her "will."

Unable to control her laughter in silence, Ophelia interrupted, "Didn't mum ever tell you?"

Amelia who was attempting to decide the floral arrangement for her funeral, asked with unenthusiastic curiosity, "Tell me what?"

Ophelia's eyebrows met at a hill on her forehead, her eyes were lit up like lanterns and her mouth was arched in suppressed smile.

"This isn't funny, Ophelia!" Amelia exclaimed absolutely terrified and hurt that her sister could be so cruel.

"Calm down," Ophelia said soothingly, still trying to supress laughter, "it happens to all girls."

"Then how did you live?" Amelia asked in a whisper.

At that Ophelia could no longer hold her laughter. Amelia, in a somewhat altered state of conciousness, found the laugh maniacal and crass. She simply stared at her sister in a blank manner. When her laughter subsided, Ophelia faced her sister and forced her into a seat. "No one dies," she began, absolutely aware that she would be having "the talk" with Amelia in a matter of minutes.

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“How did the apologizing go?" asked Eric Zambini who lay sprawled lazily by the glowing embers of a dying fire.

Unprepared for such an interrogation, Xavier sank into a chair and replied with an automated, "Fine."

Sensing a lack of interest, Eric shuffled up and began, "Well I think its good that McGonagal made us apologize..."

Tom, who had heard more than enough of Eric to last him a lifetime, interrupted to assure his capacity to speak had not eroded, "Blah, blah, blah. Merlin, are we going to be reduced to doing homework here everyday? This is getting boring."

"It is. And that's why we should think of retaliation," said Eric excitedly.

At that Xavier slowly tore his blue eyes from the now glowing mass in the fireplace to face Eric. He had not thought of retaliation. Tom regarded the expression as odd and repeated Eric's question, "What happened at detention?"

The lie slipped easily from his tongue in its proper miserable tone, "She finally talked to me. Something about how I'm an inattentive pervert and the next time she would make me wish I was dead."

"That was harsh," said Eric stiffly.

Xavier blushed at the remark and added, "Well I may have said something to deserve it."

"Like what?" asked Tom, unsure if Xavier was speaking truthfully.

"Like none of your business," Xavier replied quickly too tired to conjure some crafty story.

"Whatever," said Tom certain that his friend was lying, yet thought it to be a minor secret. "So what about this school?" asked Tom ruffling his dark hair, determined to not sleep that night.

"What of it?" echoed Eric.

"I mean what do you know of it," snapped Tom irritably.

"Read Hogwarts A History ," replied Eric dully.

"No one publishes the best parts of a building."

"Stop trying to be witty. We're too young and its too early in the morning. There's not much unpublished material that I know of. There are random rooms. Room of Requirement. Chamber of Secrets. Head Boy/Girl quarters. Prefect bathrooms. The kitchen....."

"What about the forest?" asked Tom suddenly

"Its a forest there's not much to tell," said Xavier.

Tom looked at him incredulously, "You're telling me the big forest only has animals in it? It seems like the perfect place to bury a secret."

"Sure why not?" said Eric sarcastically, "As wonderful as this discussion is, we're supposed to be getting up about now and we have a test in Transfiguration," observing the drowsy students filling the common room in a slow rumble.

"You worry too much," said Xavier throwing a pillow at him to rise.

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blue_rose

March 11th, 2006, 9:10 pm

Chapter 3 - Forbidden

It was not until after the close of the Halloween Feast that Xavier had finally asked his mother in a letter who he had seen die. Though it was not the main subject of the letter and more a question rising from curiosity than suspicision, Mrs. Malfoy reacted with a bewildered hysteria. She rose from her dresser and in her business attire descended the ivory staircase to confront her husband. Her heels clomped "He didn't" on her way to the kitchen area, where Mr. Malfoy was comfortably reading the daily business tradings of the wizarding world with a side of coffee.

Hearing her steps he folded the paper with all intention of delivering a cheerful "good morning", for it had most certainly been a good night. However, when he saw her standing in an imperious anger on the other side of the table, he only managed to deliver a confused expression on his face. She flung the letter by his coffee and commanded him to read and reply to it. Scanning through his son's loopy cursive writing, he asked, "What do you want me to reply to? So he's made friends and he wants to know if he can bring one for Christmas. Of course he can."

"Read it again," she commanded in a measured tone, "He asks who he saw die."

After reading through it once again he replied calmly, "So he does. I suppose its about time he knew."

"Do you mean to tell me that you killed her?"

Draco looked her at sharply and replied irritadedly, "She died. I didn't kill her."

Mrs. Malfoy looked at him disbelievingly and asked in an accusatory manner, "How?"

"She was ill. You know that. Remember I took Xavier to see her when he was six or so? That's when she died."

"How did a the little girl get sick?"

Mr. Malfoy stared at her for a while and it dawned on him what his wife was suggesting. "Who exactly are you talking about?" he asked slowly.

She cried loudly, "Who you're talking about! You know, our daughter! The one that apparently died and I was led to believe was fine."

Draco looked away from her and said quietly, "Stop yelling. One of the servants may here. Our daughter is very much alive and you're closer to her than you think. I was speaking of my mother."

Mrs. Malfoy sank into a chair exhausted and relieved. "I'm sorry," she murmured softly after a while.

"I can't say I'm thrilled that you just accused me of killing my daughter because I'm not. But now that you've done it, I can't say that I blame you. It's fair, I suppose."

"I would like it if you'd tell me where she is," Mrs. Malfoy replied, conjuring a cup of tea and cakes.

"No. She's fine. She is going to a good muggle school, doing well there and, like I said, she's close to us. What else to you need to know?"

"Nothing," she said quietly.

Not wanting to dwell on the subject much longer he referred again to the letter, "He seems to have made some good friends. He wants to bring Tom Riddle here? Isn't that just odd?"

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blue_rose

March 12th, 2006, 7:19 pm

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

A snowy feathered owl glided smoothly through one of the many yellow-lit windows at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Landing gracefully onto plans of the Forbidden Forest, it hooted for attention. Xavier gently pushed it off of the map and returned to his work. He was in charge of planning their escapades to the forest. For the most part their bootless adventures had yielded nothing by injury. The owl's purple eyes stared intently at its master. Feeling uncomfortable, he entertained the owl by conjuring a goblet of pumpkin juice and unlatching his mother's letter from it. He again attempted to concentrate on the plans of the forest. Its useless, he thought miserably.

For the past few months Tom, Eric and Xavier had combed the forest developing maps of the terrain. Now that the map lay before him, Xavier did not know what path to forge. There is no logic to it, he thought, absentmindedly throwing his quill at the map to mark random locations to visit. A harsh knock on the door awoke him. "It's open."

Tom walked in carrying rolls of parchment blotched with ink. "Done," he said after dropping the mess onto his bed.

"You could be more organized," Xaiver said, annoyed more at the senseless forest than his roomate's atrocious life style.

"And miss your scoldings," Tom mocked amusedly, "I wouldn't dare to dream of it. That reminds me, can I see your potions essay?"

"Eh," Xavier replied, pretending to work on his plans in a logically manner, "if I wrote it, it'll be in the dark red book labeled Potions 1."

Tom gazed at Xavier's back in disbelief and then strode to the shelf to retrieve the book. "Has anyone ever told you that you're anal?" Tom asked flipping through the pages.

"Retentive."

"Sorry?"

"Its anal retentive," Xavier corrected, "Anal doesn't mean much."

"Case in point!" exclaimed Tom and continued, "You're like that Weasley girl from Herbology...'oh please professor, gillyweed is a substance'..."

"Shut up," came a sharp reply, "I'm nothing like that dictionary with legs. She needs to cork it every now and then. Honestly, she's so full of herself. "

"Another similarity," Tom mocked finally reaching page 89.

At that Xavier turned around to face Tom. Tom could tell his friend was flustered, yet Xavier replied cooly, "Yes, but I would like that to not leave this room."

Unable to resist Tom replied, "So you plan to stay here forever?"

"Yes, that's it," said Xavier sarcastically, "But you know I would much rather prefer if you would help me with this map, considering we are going into the forest in less than 48 hours. And if you don't want to help kindly sit your butt down and stare quietly at my essay."

"I'll help after I compare," Tom muttered apologetically.

Xavier turned around once more and attempted to concentrate. He could not believe it. Now that there were no distractions, Xavier's brain refused to think of the quest. Instead, with the mention of Anne, his thoughts focused on Amelia much to his unpleasant surprise. She had joined the pre-Gryffindor Quidditch Team, meant for those who wished to legitimately play quidditch under a house team in future years.

Xavier was dumbfounded by the move. Why she would care to waste her time (according to him) in petty pre-quidditch teams was beyond him. Of course some may have viewed their journeys into the forest in a similar light, but Xavier would indiginantly defend his actions no matter how ridiculous they were. Other than that, he had hardly talked to her and rarely thought of her. Each time his thoughts did race to her, he regarded them with confused curiosity. But tonight the thoughts only breeded annoyance.

"So what about the forest?" Tom asked, reviving him from his reverie.

"Yeah," Xavier snapped, "Where do we go?"

Looking over Xavier's shoulder, he sincerely thought for a moment. "How about there?" he asked, pointing to a spot near the centaur grounds.

Quickly drawing the path, Xavier faced him to say, "You do know that's a myth, right?"

"No, but we're going to find out," Tom said excitedly, his brown eyes twinkling.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

March 14th, 2006, 1:30 am

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"I don't see why we need to leave so early," Eric complained covered with his father's invisibility cloak, walking uncomfortably between Xavier and Tom.

"They may get suspicious if we disappear from our rooms after curfew. If we leave during free time, they'll think we went back to our rooms or something else," Tom explained exasperatedly as they carefully wove through the throng of students headed towards the Dining Hall. Outside the November sun was setting, colors of all sorts backgrounded the now leafless trees at the border of the Forbidden Forest.

"Someone's paranoid," Xavier commented, watching a certain pre-quidditch team member in red and gold dive breathtakingly to capture a small gold object.

"Obviously you've never tried to run away, sleep on a doorstep and then convince your orphanage that some big bad man with a tasty brownie was to blame for it all," retorted Tom, all the while encouraging his friends to quicken their pace.

He shot a withering glare at Eric who had burst into a quiet laughter. “Thank you so much for sharing that with us,” Xavier added with a suppressed smile.

“Yeah, whatever. Where are we going?” Tom asked, wishing to refocus the conversation.

Struggling to retrieve the map from the folds of his robes and remain invisible to the fifth year Ravenclaws barely three meters away. “We need more invisibility cloaks” Eric hissed while dogging Xavier’s elbow.

Ignoring the complaints, Xavier opened the parchment and pointed his wand at it to mutter, “Le foret qui je vais est ici.”

Tom snorted, “I’m paranoid? Mate you just assigned a random language to a map. A map.”

“So what?” asked Xavier defensively, “I like to keep things I make for myself, thank you very much. And that’s French.”

“Where are we going?” Eric asked impatiently, annoyed at their unreasonable behavior and wanting desperately to relieve himself of a yellow substance.

Silence finally settled upon the group until Xavier directed, “Past the quidditch field and before Hagrid’s cabin.”

By the time they had reached the border, eaten and rested, quidditch practice had ended. A moonless night had descended upon the grounds and the wind howled relentlessly. “Lumos,” murmured Eric, the first to awake. “Doooonn’t,” Tom moaned as Eric shook his friends awake. A few minutes later they were quietly following Xavier. Nothing happened. Eric had been expecting another perilous journey into the forest. The only disconcerting aspect of this trip was the eerie quiet.

"Oh so sorry to disappoint you, your highness," Xavier replied when Eric voiced his boredom, "but when I planned for it I did try to avoid the places that would get us killed. Not to mention, you're not the one who has to make all those potions when someone is bitten by a giant spider. I'm not really looking forward to doing that stuff again."

At long last the three figures reached a clearing. In the middle lay an white marble pedestal, showcasing a small wooden chest. A raven lay perched beside the chest, a snake slithered up the pedestal's leg. Amazed, Xavier whispered, "I don't believe it!"

Tom shoved past Eric and Xavier to turn around and exclaim, "I knew it! You owe me an arm and a leg for this one!"

"What is it?" Eric asked obliviously.

Tom, the researcher of the group, began, "When the founders of the school came together, as you know, Salazar didn't really get along with everyone. Ravenclaw hated him especially. At least that's what the records say. But there was a rumor, small yet substantial, that the two had an affair before offically hating each other. Logically it doesn't make sense. Right? I don't think Ravenclaw was pure blooded, but that may be why Slytherin doesn't like half-bloods and what ever I am. Anyway, in this footnote it talked about an endeavor that they pursued together. I think this is it!"

"Great, lets go get it," Eric said walking into the clearing, at which both of his friend exclaimed, "No!"

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blue_rose

March 15th, 2006, 2:26 am

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Uuuoh" Amelia moaned walking into the Potion's dungeon, "I'm sore everywhere and this bookbag isn't helping anything!"

"I'm sure it isn't but this is the last class before lunch" Anne soothed. In truth, Anne had become rather annoyed with Amelia's complaints. It was not that she thought them unjustified, it was just that she could no longer bear to hear them. When Amelia quieted, Anne was stupefied.

To her surprise, a Slytherin had seated himself on the Gryffindor side of the room. Amelia regarded Xavier with a mild curiosity, simply too occupied by her head that throbbed from writing essays until two in the morning and her buttocks which ached from falling off her broom. Taking her regular seat in front of him, Xavier only noted that a Gryffindor sat ahead of him. A perfect target, he thought grimly pondering how to attain a detention from the Potions professor.

He barely listened to the professor and when he asked Xavier on the whereabouts of Eric he lied, "He's staying late for Herbology professor." Commencing his lectures the professor did not hear Tom and Xavier rudely speaking as he taught. At first he scolded them. After multiple warnings the professor finally said, "I can see you two are overenergized today. So you can cut the Miss Potter's and Miss Weasley's ingredients today."

As Amelia shoved her ingredients towards Xavier, both of them smiled. Amelia did so with relief. Great, she thought contentedly, one class where I won't have to work. Xavier smiled gratefully. The professor had given him a means by which to recieve the detention.

A few minutes later he returned to her smiling mischeviously, the ingredients cut in the incorrect manner. Amelia did not run to the professor with the uneven cuts. Rather due to the mass stress that sat in her stomach like a lead ball, she retaliated in anger by hexing Xavier's mandrake roots. Justification dancing on his table, Xavier shot a spell at Amelia who rose into the air, utterly frightened.

At that, the professor interjected and demanded each student linger after class to discuss detention assignments. The final verdict called for five nights of cauldron cleaning from Xavier and one from Amelia. Out of range from the professor's scrutiny, Amelia hissed at him, "I know we agreed to hate each other but that was uncalled for!"

"Sorry," Xavier said without knowing what she had said, "When will you do you detention?"

Thinking for a while Amelia responded, "Tonight. I'll get to miss quidditch."

He tried to make her reconsider, "Why not Monday?"

"Because I don't want to do it Monday!" Amelia exclaimed regarding his shifty behavior, "Why don't you want me at detention tonight?"

"Oh no reason," Xavier replied as cooly as possible.

"Really?" Amelia asked smugly, ascending the stairs toward the Dining Hall, "Well I will be at the dungeon tonight eight o'clock sharp."

Xavier sighed in resignation and muttered "Cicero" to find an infuriated Tom sitting arms folded by the fireplace.

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Its a bit shorter than I wanted but I hope it wasn't too bad! Please leave feedback through signature!

blue_rose

March 16th, 2006, 5:37 am

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Look" Xavier hissed in the largely empty Slytherin Common Room, "We only need a few more materials and Eric can't come to class like that. Parkinson is great. He usually doesn't miss one or two random things. He leaves 10 minutes after detentions start and the office is usually open. So I don't see why you're so angry."

"You're not thinking ahead," Tom protested frustratedly watching Xavier move towards the exit, "do you think we can just open that chest?! How will we get that stuff?"

Xavier rounded on Tom and simply stared. Silence ascended upon the room. From above the clamor of students gorging on food sounded muffled through the cieling. At a mere fifteen minutes before eight the Common Room was deserted.

Finally Tom said, "That didn't come out the right way. It's not that I don't care."

"Right," Xavier replied, "I can't just hand the detention back. Parkinson will leave by 8:10. Give me 15 minutes to get the stuff. Walk around there at 8:30. If all goes well the you should have administered the potion by the time I return around ten."

"Fine. But what about Potter?"

The dark-robed receding back responded, "You just worry about the time. I'll take care of little miss tempermental."

In the fire-lit corridor, directly by the stoned Slytherin enterance Xavier met Amelia dressed in full Gryffindor garb. Despite the magnitude of his upcoming actions, Xavier curiously observed the red and gold specimen. "Quidditch makes you pretty gung-ho about your house," she explained and added, "And there's a match today. You're probably right I should come Monday."

"I was only looking out for your best interests" Xavier said sweetly.

"Oh how thoughtful of you," Amelia mocked walking briskly into the dungeon.

"Good evening," Professor Parkinson said, "I have a fitting job for you tonight..."

"Uhm professor," Amelia interrupted, "could I serve my detention on another day?"

"To what do I owe this change in heart?"

"Well, you see sir, there's a quidditch game tonight and I was wondering if we could reschedule."

"Miss Potter," Parkinson addressed her formally, "when you step out into the real world, you will not get the chance to miss meetings for quidditch games. I'm afraid I cannot allow myself to mislead you so grossly."

"But why professor?" Xavier questioned to Amelia's surprise, "Surely her productivity will be much lower if she is dreaming about the game and she may mess something up."

"Because unfortunately for me Mr. Malfoy," the professor replied somewhat annoyed, "the point of punishment is to realize the consequences of one's actions not to get the most housework done."

At that both pupils quieted and the professor assigned them to their tasks. Xavier could not believe his luck, he was to rearrange the ingredient cabinets. Upon his habitually schedule, Professor Parkinson stole away from the detention a few minutes after it began claiming, "You're supposed to learn about the consequences of you actions. I shouldn't be imprisoned for that."

Moments later Amelia could hear viles clanking, jars sliding and bags shifting at a much faster rate. Seeking any reason to abandon the sponge and the impossibly dirty cauldrons, Amelia strode over to the office to find Xavier kneeling on the floor scrumagging through the second shelf. She watched as he randomly placed items into a pile and said, "You know I don't think the professor is going to think that's organized" pointing at the pile.

At the sound of her voice Xavier slowed his pace, desperately wishing she would leave. However, after retrieving the last ingredient Xavier was forced to slowly turn around and coldly ask, "Aren't you supposed to be cleaning pots?"

"Yeah, but that's really boring," Amelia replied a bit taken aback by his hostile attitude.

"So sorry we cannot accomodate for your refined interests on this detention today," Xavier commented irratedly gathering all the materials and moving towards the door.

"Hey what are you doing?" Amelia asked angrily, surprised by his behavior.

He had to lie. Xavier turned around to face Amelia, and searched for any possible excuse to steal potions materials. He had to lie. He thought and finally said, "Oh haven't you ever mixed dragon scale powder and griffin feather dust? Its a great hallucenogin."

Before Amelia could respond, Xavier had opened the door, shoved the materials into Tom's chest and slammed the door shut. "You're a druggie?!" she asked quietly after a while.

Xavier sighed. He did not want her to think him "a druggie". He needed to tell someone what had happened. And although all the faculties of his brain told him not to tell anything to the imploring green eyes that sought an explanation, Xavier began with the map. He did not know why but he told her everything. He told her how they would sneak out of the castle and into the forest. How they had found something in the forest. How one of his accomplices had stupidly walked towards the object and was flung like a rag doll into a large tree, burns covering his/her body. He told her how the other person had retrieved the unconcious body as he had worked on obtaining the object. He expressed the guilt he had felt. How they could not run to the Hospital Wing with a half-baked explanation for the condition his friend was in. Then Xavier paused and wondered if he should continue. He ended by simply telling her that his objective was to gather all ingredients for the necessary draughts.

Xavier had thought that by retelling the events, he would feel much better. Yet all he felt was his stomach rumbling and an increased sense of guilt. Amelia was speechless. She asked him to name the accomplices. He refused saying that they would tell her if they wanted to. She asked him to elaborate on the object. He refused, once again, but provided no explanation.

After moments of silence, Xavier wished to alter the subject of conversation and said, "Yeah, so that's why you should have chosen Monday."

"No kidding," Amelia muttered.

"Who will you tell?"

"No one."

"We all say that with the best of intentions but let's put all that aside. Who would you tell?"

"No one," Amelia replied a bit more aggressively.

"Ok," Xavier said, not believing her a bit.

"I'm starved," said Amelia looking around the room, wishing that it had an enchanted cieling and rows of table with food.

"So am I!" Xavier exclaimed congenially, "Let's eat."

Rummaging through the professor's belongings Xavier found two plates that produced an infinite amount of sandwiches.

"These sandwiches are good," Amelia said plainly sitting on a side of a corner on a table.

Sitting comfortably on the other side of the same corner Xaiver replied, "Yeah. But that may just be because I didn't have dinner. So how's quidditch?"

Relieved, Amelia settled into complaining about the rigor the game required and expressing her love for the game. They discussed other subjects such as her friends, her parents and the politics of the day (house elf is so totally a demeaning name Amelia exclaimed). When they were fully satisfied with their meals Xavier knocked into Amelia while reaching for her dish and for a moment they could feel each other's breaths. "I won't tell anyone," Amelia whispered in his ear. Xavier placed a tender kiss on her cheek and whispered back, "I know." Amelia stood wide-eyed, clutching her cheek with a red face while Xavier retreated to the office to return the plates to their original location.

Muttering a spell, the mostly organized ingredients stood in order and at attention in their respective spaces. Amelia did the same and pointed at two cauldrons to clean them. Finally they hid their wands a few minutes before ten and pretended to work in silence.

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blue_rose

March 18th, 2006, 1:16 am

The light of the yellow candle was hazed by the steam that rose lightly from an ivory sink. Gazing in the mirror, Xavier absentmindedly let the water run over his hands. Stupid hair, he thought as he cupped the water in his hands and brought it up to his lips. After wetting them he began to furiously rub his lips. A knock on the door caused him to halt the action and forcefully wipe his mouth with the red hand towel from the silver holder on the dark walls. The knock sounded again and Tom's voice penetrated through the door, "It's me."

Xavier turned the dark tap off and asked, "What?"

"I need to use the bathroom."

"Wait," Xavier replied over the sound of rushing water from the sink.

Several moments of silence later another question traveled through the wooden door, “What are you doing in there.”

After a pause Xavier said, “Washing my lips.”

A thud on the door followed by a moan indicated Tom had slid to the floor, “You told her?” For some time Tom could only hear water draining into the pipes. “Yes,” came the answer. Anger suddenly rose in Tom. He had just spent four laborious hours over a boiling pot and Xavier had been gallivanting with some Gryffindor bragging about his adventures. However, Tom who generally preferred optimism simply said, “Well at least we’ll know if she tells anyone. When did you apply the balm?”

“Around four. I kissed her after I told her.”

“That’s good. We don’t want her running to the hospital wing or locking herself in her dorm. At least the mark won’t be too red.”

Xavier wanted to say that Amelia would not tell. Instead he replied, “Yeah.”

“So what’s it like to kiss a girl?”

Despite himself, Xavier blushed and said sheepishly, “It was just on the cheek.”

“More than I’ve had,” Tom replied, rising as the sound of the water suddenly stopped. The door creaked open and Tom grinned as he saw the smile on Xavier’s face.

“Well, it was a bit odd. It was a bit salty and very soft. I liked it.”

“Cool,” Tom said, “now I need to wash these clothes before the house elves come around. Eric didn’t really like the potion.”

Throwing the door wide open, Xavier walked past Tom and said, “Have fun.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Amelia Potter was not accustomed to harboring secrets. Her experience thus far had shown her that it was difficult. She wished she could share it with Anne, yet refrained as she had sworn to. Days before the Christmas Break, Amelia was glad that she would no longer have to be so guarded. After the detention, Amelia had barely spoken to Xavier. In the halls they would playfully glare at the walls behind one another, in fear of falling into fits of laughter should their eyes meet.

Apart from classwork, quidditch ruled her life. As seeker for the pre-quidditch them, Amelia was hopeful. The current seeker, Emma Sykes, would finish schooling next year. Practicing, however, was rigorous. She would reenter the common room rather crabby, and tonight was no exception.

"I can't wait till Christmas," she said to a number of people plopped on the sofas by the fire in the gold and red Gryffindor common room.

"How can you talk about Christmas now?," Anne asked while editing her Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, "We have a test in Charms, a demonstration in Transfiguration and a 'make your own potion' recipe due before all that."

"Thanks for reminding me," Amelia replied sourly, settling into a seat between Sirius and Hector.

"Its not so bad," Hector interjected, "at least we don't have pre-OWL exams."

"Yeah," Ophelia entered the conversation, "You're lucky. I have no idea what the three uses of the pigwiggle leaf are."

The group quieted for a while. Amelia thoughts moved to her white orchid. It was more or less dying. Again her thoughts reverted to home and the break with the hope of stealing another from the garden. Perhaps a pink one she mused staring into the fire. Anne revived the conversation asking, "What are you doing for Christmas?"

"The same as usual. The big party and such" Amelia responded dully, "You're coming right?"

"Yeah, I think so," Anne said placing her essay aside.

Exhausted, Amelia yawned a goodnight to all. Rather than troubling to change into nightwear and wash before sleep, Amelia's red head simply fell upon the soft white pillows. She fell asleep imagining the smell of gingerbread and images of Grandmother Weasley in red and green.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

I hope it wasn't too bad! Probably a bit tedious. New chapter next! Please feedback from the link!

blue_rose

March 19th, 2006, 3:44 am

Chapter 5: Awkward.

The days before Christmas found Mr. and Mrs. Potter planning a gargantun bash. As the house was relatively new for the Potters, they had never before held the party there. When at last the time to send invitations arrived, Ginny Potter breathed a sigh of relief. It was not easy to organize housing for fifteen extra people in a house designed to hold eight at best. The main entertainment area was another matter altogether, Ginny brooded darkly as her husband began to voice the invited.

"Hhm, obviously the family," Harry said, "your mother and father, Bill and family, Charlie and family, Percy and...family?"

"Of course Percy has a family!" Ginny answered.

"I didn't know," Harry replied defensively, "It's not like he talks to us. We see more of the Malfoys than him!" It was true. Percy Weasley's pride had isolated him from the remainder of the family and while speaking with Percy, Harry had the distinct feeling that he was talking to a stranger. Harry did not understand why Percy did not attend family functions. They had forgiven him and, yet, he seemed too offended at the fact that they felt he required forgiveness to care. In a recent quiet marriage ceremony, he had married his sweetheart from Hogwarts, Penelope. Something Percy had convienently forgotten to mention to Harry and absentmindedly shared with Ginny.

"Well invite him," Harry said, glaring at the snow-covered pines in the distance, annoyed at Percy's childish behaviors.

"Alright," Harry continued, "Percy and family, Fred and George, Ron and family. I think that does it for family."

"Done!" Ginny exclaimed stuffing the last hallowed candy cane with parchment.

"Not so fast," Harry said turning to face his wife, "now the neighborhood."

At that Ginny rose smilingly, "This time I get to stare moodily at the snow and you can put these together."

"Fine," replied Harry, returning a grin and sitting on the warm chair that had moments before been occupied by Ginny.

"Ok, the whole neighborhood. Why are we inviting them all?" Ginny asked.

"It is our first year here. We don't want to leave a bad impression."

"Right," Ginny replied, "So the Longbottoms, the Patels, the Creeveys, the Mal-..."

"Malfoys?"

"Yes the Malfoys."

"Er, do we have to?" asked Harry.

"Well it would be a bit awkward if we invite all but them."

"I know but that Malfoy boy had already caused enough trouble. He's responsible for two of Amelia's detentions!"

Ginny smiled and turned to him, "Our daughter isn't as innocent as you think. She did have three other detentions."

In all honesty, Harry was unable to place the word naughty and his daughter's name in the same sentence without a negation. The idea that his jewel of a daughter could possibly be responsible of wrong-doing was simply unacceptable. "She's not that -" Harry began only to be interrupted by his wife.

"Believe me Harry. I'm more objective about these things. She hasn't been good," Ginny said and then mocked, "Although I'm sure she's been nice."

Playing along with her banter Harry dropped the quill and loudly slapped the desk with his hands, "That's all Santa cares about!"

"So the Malfoys?"

"Yeah," Harry said scribbling the name on an invitation.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Please feedback from the link!

blue_rose

March 20th, 2006, 5:44 am

Xavier could feel a grin creeping on his mouth when he saw Tom's jaw drop from the corner of his eye. "That's your house?!" Tom asked in awe. Gazing at the mansion, Xavier could discern where such a reaction would arise from. Indeed, the majestic dark stone masonry carried an incomprehensible elegance in presence of the large clear windows. He could see the ivory staircase. The building was distinctly Slytherin, Xavier thought as they strode across the lawn blanketed in white snow. Layers of black and white coated each room and each stair. Images of snakes were inherent in the stonework. Yet for all of its grace and glory, the building seemed to represent an ancient time. It did not harbor the cold precision of the Slytherin Common Room. It curved and bent in classical manner unlike the rigid lines that adorned the Slytherin chambers.

"Its my father's house. I just live here," Xavier replied while he grasped the silver snake door handle. A few knocks later, Mrs. Malfoy greeted them jovially. She chatted with Tom about menial technicalities. Mrs. Malfoy had a habit of resorting to such conversation topics and, for a moment, Xavier felt he understood his mother. Its not that she's superficial, he thought silently observing the conversation, she just doesn't want to talk about other things.

"Xavier, show your friend to the guest bedroom," Mrs. Malfoy said motioning to a servant to carry the bags.

Xavier replied with an obeident "Yes mother."

After Tom had settled comfortably into his new surroundings ("This whole bed is mine?!"), Xavier led him to the dining area. En route Tom accidently collided with Helen, who was carrying a load of manuscripts from the library. Guilt engulfed Xavier. He had failed to write. Helen, however, seemed more concerned about the new condition of the delicate books. She waved a welcome to him and continued to rearrange the scripts. They made small talk regarding the rigors of school and were interrupted by a loud clearing of the throat which sounded from Tom.

"Oh, Helen this is Tom. He's in Slytherin with me," said Xavier hastily.

Shaking his hand Helen jokingly thanked him for ruining the manuscripts. He shyly muttered an apology and Helen excused herself from further discourse.

"Who's she?" Tom asked in a low voice.

"Who Helen?" Xavier replied, "she's a servant. Duh."

"Oh, so you wouldn't mind if I..." Tom began looking meaningfully at Xavier but stopped abruptly when Xavier threw a dirty look at him.

"Touch her and I will never speak with you again," Xavier said dangerously.

"Ahh," Tom replied suddenly interested in the color of his shoes, "you like her?"

"Not like that," Xavier snapped, "it's just I know what you would do. And I would prefer not to have to kill you after you break her heart."

"I'm not like that," Tom replied belligerently.

Xavier rolled his eyes, "Yeah and Katie Goyle never existed."

Tom swore profusely at the mention of the name, "Not my fault she's a wreck. She had it coming long before. I was only a catalyst."

"I don't care what you were," Xavier replied testily, "just stay away from her."

"Yes sir!" Tom said while mockingly saluting Xavier.

"I'll take that as a yes," Xavier replied, quickly walking into the Dining room where a snowy white owl sat patiently carrying a red candy cane.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Ugh, I wish I could get to the good stuff sooner. Please feedback from the link!

blue_rose

March 22nd, 2006, 2:44 am

Mrs. Malfoy had thought that Mrs. Potter had simply been conversing when she had inquired into a response for an invitation to their Christmas party. As such, she had wholeheartedly replied that of course they would attend should they receive an invitation. By no means had Mrs. Malfoy imagined that one would actually fly through the window in cane form. Briskly gathering the whole family, plus Tom, she filed them into the dining area aware of the course her actions would take.

"What should we do?" Mrs. Malfoy asked timidly to her husband as he read the parchment invitation.

Draco scowled and flung the paper by its red striped container on the glossy black dining table. "I'd rather opt to crawl up in a cellar and die," he declared darkly gazing out the window at the expanse of pines that separated the Potter and Malfoy residences.

"It would be rude to so blatantly decline," Mrs. Malfoy replied bitingly searching his face and desperately hoping for a change in attitude.

Determined to heighten the wall of pines simply by stubbornly glaring at them, Draco sat quietly. At last he turned to his wife and said in a sigh, "You're right. Of course we'll go."

Viewing his disgruntled face, Mrs Malfoy soothed, "I'm sure if they've invited us, they've invited others in the neighborhood. Maybe you won't have to talk to everyone."

"I doubt it," Draco muttered angrily.

Xavier, who had quietly been regarding the conversation in thought, suddenly blurted, "Mother, I would rather not go."

His parents looked at him bewildered. "Why would you say that, Xavier?" Mrs. Malfoy asked, surprised that his son should feel such animosity when they had attempted to raise him as a liberal child.

Xavier had no desire to share his reasons with his parents and luckily, Tom arrived to the rescue. "Allow me to demonstrate Mr. Malfoy," he began, screwing his face and continuing in a low voice, "Gryffindors and Slytherins?! Merlin no!"

Fairly certain that he did not like Tom, Mr. Malfoy turned to his son and imperiously ordered, “You’re going. We’re all going. That’s final.”

“Yes father.”

“Yes Mr. Malfoy.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“I can’t believe you wear these things,” Tom said fidgeting with the white bow of his dress robes which he was convinced was attempting to suffocate him to death.

Xavier refrained from chastising him and, instead, quickened his pace to reach his parents who were yards away from the swaying pines. The wind howled on the full moon night, scattering the settled snow. Dark robes rustled in the dark. As Tom neared the end of the pine border into the yellow light that illuminated from the Potter household, Xavier caught sight of a glinting metal from the folds of Tom’s robes. He stopped abruptly and Tom turned to ask, “What?”

“What are you hiding?” Xavier asked.

“You mean my concealing the fact that I really don’t want to go this when we could be working that chest?” Tom returned in mock innocence.

Xavier gritted his teeth and said “Truthfully tell me you didn’t bring the chest here.”

Tom looked beyond Xavier to the snowflakes dancing in the wind backgrounded with the dark mansion in the distance. He sighed, “You said we couldn’t try it in your house. So I thought…”

“No you weren’t thinking,” Xavier interjected angrily, “You don’t know what’s going to happen when we open it and if it leaves a mark what would we say? ‘Oh sorry Mrs. Potter, its just that Tom here decided to leave his brain next door.”

“You’re thinking too much,” Tom replied, smiling calmly, “this won’t be some explosive event. It’s a box. Remember Ravenclaw and Slytherin? Slytherin things are secretive. Like the chamber of secrets. Heck, even the Slytherin Common Room is secretive. Its behind a wall. I don’t know much about Ravenclaw, but I think books. So secretive books? What harm could that do?”

Xavier stared blankly for a moment. Then, slowly pursing his lips he replied, “I don’t believe you. Maybe we can take it back now and no one will notice.”

“I’m telling you -” but Tom’s voice was cut short by the calls of Mrs. Malfoy to come into the house.

“Great,” Xavier said sourly, glaring at his mother’s figure in the Potter doorway, “Give me that thing.”

“Where would you put it?”

“We could just bury it here. No one would know.”

“No! I’ll keep it.”

“Promise me you won’t open it.”

Tom hesitated and after what seemed like minutes to Xavier, he replied, “Fine, I promise not to open it.”

Xavier breathed a sigh of relief and walked past Tom towards the red-wooded Potter house.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Please leave feedback from the link (which should work now)!

blue_rose

March 23rd, 2006, 3:55 am

Mr. Malfoy was more or less accostumed to awkard silences, incedently a hazard of being an Ex-Death Eater. However, the unearthly silence that flooded the room, seconds after their shoes sounded on the room's wooden floor, seemed laden with toxic levels of discomfort. It was not entirely unexpected. He had offended many of the people in the room, the majority of which occured in his school years. He had alienated most of the people in the room when he had entered Death Eater ranks. And though it had been eleven years, it was as if the marks of the famous Tom Riddle stood on the polished red wooded floor between the two factions.

Mrs. Potter entered the room, beaming, and swiftly shattered the tension in the room. Tom and Xavier had already shuffled away from the enclosing and towards the mounds of cakes, cookies and gingerbread. A low whisper began to fill the room. Its worse than the silence, Mrs. Malfoy thought. Draco felt a sudden urge to laugh. It could be worse, he reasoned. Of course around half were speaking of the political nature of the party that would place the two bidders for the Minister of Magic position, Arthur Weasley and current minister Scirmegour, eating dinner next to one another. Others however, such as Mad-Eye Moody growled things such as "Once a death eater, always a death eater" in low voices.

"They look like puppets," Tom commented in a low voice, his head over a plate of sugar cookies.

Xavier raised his head to observe the crowd. "They do that sometimes," he returned, "But the question is who has the strings?"

"Voldemort?"

"A dead man?"

"Is he dead, if he still impacts them so?"

"Not as dead, but dead nevertheless."

"Too deep to talk about over a plate of cookies," Tom said subsequently stuffing a piece of chocolate cake in his mouth, which expanded to inhuman proportions.

No longer interested in swallowing gallons of sugar, Xavier watched as Mr. and Mrs. Zambini approached his parents. He pushed aside his plate and turned to Tom. "Eric's here," he said casually.

"Really? Where?"

"I don't know, at least his parents are here."

"You know who else is here Xavier?"

Quite certain the path the conversation was headed, Xavier replied coolly, “Who?”

“The Potter girl,” he returned.

“That’s amazing,” Xavier said sarcastically, “who’d have thought she would be here. Its only just her house.”

“It’s like being back at Hogwarts.”

“Correction. A twisted Hogwarts,” Xavier said, motioning towards the adults.

“You can’t blame them for not getting along,” Tom replied.

“No. I suppose I can’t.”

“But I’m more interested in who isn’t here.” At that Xavier rose indicating refusal to discuss the matter. “Oh, come on! Tell me about Helen,” Tom said, hastily following him into the throng of adults.

Xavier turned to him and asked suspiciously, “Why?”

“Because I’m curious. And I’ve run out of conversation points.”

“What do you need to know?”

“You’re making this harder than it should be.”

“See you don’t need to know anything,” Xavier replied, hoping for some miraculous disturbance.

“Ugh. Fine. How old is she”

“I don’t know,” Xavier replied truthfully, silently reprimanding himself for never asking, “Around our age, I guess.”

“Why is she a servant?”

“Don’t ask me. You know more about the muggle world than I do.”

“So she’s muggle born?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t get it. Why is she working for your dad?”

(I'll edit this post and add to this later. As for now, please feedback!)

blue_rose

March 24th, 2006, 11:51 pm

"Ugh. She doesn't really work. She's more like a person with chores. As far as I know my parents treat her much better than a servant. For example, my mother just bought her a laptop for her school work."

"How do you know she's muggle born?"

"Because my father said so. Why do you ask?"

"Well she kind of looks like your mom."

"What's your point? My mother cheated on my father?"

"It's just an observation," Tom replied embarrasedly.

A voice interrupted Xavier's response. "What's just an observation?" asked Eric, who wore on his head a Santa Claus hat.

"Your hat looks ridiculous," Xavier countered quickly before Tom could begin, "that's an observation."

"Very funny," Eric replied. Nonetheless he hid the hat in his dress robes. "When did you guys get here?" he asked.

"A little while ago," Tom said still staring at Xavier who had placed full attention on Eric.

For some time Xavier and Tom entertained Eric with small talk. Anyone who was to look at Eric would never have thought that he had almost died although some may have regarded his awfully pale skin with curiosity. Well into the conversation, Xavier politely excused himself to the bathroom, leaving Tom unable to follow. He walked towards the nearest wooden double doors, passing Mrs. Potter who in her lavender dress robes spoke animatedly to Mrs. Weasley about a mysterious thief that targeted her orchids.

Xavier smiled as he pushed open the doors to land in room full of green plants. This isn’t the bathroom he thought, shutting the doors sending the sound reverberating through the domed enclosure.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Amelia heard the door close. Ugh, she thought disgustedly, not another couple. The last couple had been especially terrible. They had settled in the mongolia corner and Amelia could still hear the sounds that emanated from the corner ringing in her head. All twelve of the orchids she had attempted to discreetly borrow from the room had managed to miraculously die. She prepared to pluck yet another from the pots. However, she stood still when she heard only a single pair of footsteps moving towards her. Panicking, she dropped her shears and moved away from the light of the moon. To her horrific surprise, she watched as Xavier stepped lightly into the opening and carefully picked up her forgotten shears. “You’re wearing a dress,” he guffawed examining the metal cutters.

“And why can’t I wear a dress?” Amelia asked belligerently as she walked into the clearing glaring at his back.

Xavier closed his eyes to the white and pink buds and prayed that a pink peck did not rest on her left cheek. Planting the scissors in a pot her turned to her, “It’s not that you can’t. Just that you seem more like a tomboy. You’re not wearing make up are you?”

“No!” Amelia replied, revolted by the mere idea of being so ‘girly’.

“Good,” Xavier said looking happily at her unmarked face, “how’s the burglary going?”

“I’m not –“ Amelia began, becoming as red as her dress.

“And here was Mrs. Potter speaking candidly about an elusive marauder that has been preying on her orchids.”

“It’s not my fault they die,” she muttered loudly, annoyed at her failures.

“It probably is,” he replied unearthing the shears. “Why don’t you just take a pot? No one will notice right now,” he explained shoving the shears towards her.

“I was thinking about that,” she began when he reached the doors, “but now that you mentioned it, I don’t think I want to.”

Xavier opened the door and the hum of alien voices gently filled the greenhouse. “Well then kindly do not join us for dinner,” he smiled and turned to leave.

“Xavier?”

“Hhm?”’

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“I know,” he replied shutting the door behind him.

Amelia turned to the orchids. Thinking for less than a second, she grabbed a pot, stole quickly out of the room and up the stairs to her bedroom.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

This party thing is taking long. Please feedback!

blue_rose

March 28th, 2006, 4:19 am

Xavier yawned as he walked onto the rugged exit from the bathroom to his room. Viewing Tom plopped on his navy blue sheeted mattress, he expressed his surprise.

"Well your parents are wierd...they're in their bedroom. There's no one in the living room and I'm pretty bored," he replied with all honesty.

"I'm too tired to be bored. Go to bed," Xavier responded, uncaringly sitting next to him.

"Ah ha ha," Tom said sarcastically as he examined the room. It was neat. Disgustingly so, he thought staring a bit longer at the enormous book shelf while scanning thr room. A curious object lay on Xavier's table with what seemed to be an attempt to wrap in red foil paper. "What's that?" Tom asked, pointing at it.

"A late Christmas present," Xavier replied offhandedly as he contemplated the many ways to send Tom to his room.

"Who's it for?"

"Your mother."

"I'm afraid its too small for her."

"Next time then."

"Where's the nearest sane person around here?"

"Asleep," Xavier said rising commandingly, "like you should be."

"Unfair," Tom whined mockingly, "I'm supposed to stay up all night to look for Santa Claus. No but seriously what do you do tomorrow just so I don't look like a complete idiot."

"You can't change what's in your nature," Xavier responded jokingly, "but, ah, we do the regular stuff. Open presents. Say thanks in very exaggerated methods. Then we eat. The rest is impromptu. Yeah, that's about it."

"Great. So that party thing..." Tom began, his voice trailing off.

"Yeah?"

"What was up with leaving me with babble mouth?" he asked, and then added after recieving Xavier's odd look, "Hey, you don't know what its like to listen to the man talk about the history of the quaffle and its relation to the Slytherin house. Not cool."

With the time he had bought from that look, Xavier replied "I was working." It was not an absolute lie, he reasoned.

"Working on what?"

"Well Amelia hasn't told."

"Is that what you were doing in the greenhouse?! How do you know she wasn't hiding it?"

"I asked," Xavier replied in slightly irratated tones.

"You must have looked like a..." Tom did not continue. Rather he looked at Xavier who had suddenly become very interested in the lines on his hands. "You like her?!" he asked disbelievingly. For the first time in his life Xavier wished there to be an unorganised pile of paper on his desk that he could pretend to shuffle into order.

"No," Xavier responded quickly, smiling in spite of himself.

Beginning to chant "Amelia and Xavier sittin' on a tree...", Tom allowed Xavier to haul him off the bed and towards the hall.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a pig?"

"Headed."

"What?"

"No one's called be a pig...because I'm not. Pig-headed perhaps."

"Touche," Xavier replied shoving him out of his room.

"But seriously," Tom said in the hallway, "that's pretty cool."

Scowling, Xavier shut the door, to leave Tom in the darkened hallway furnished alone with an ancient grandfather clock.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Please feedback from the link!

blue_rose

March 30th, 2006, 4:05 am

The picture perfect Christmas morning seemed to have, in some bizarre way, rendered Tom into yet another plain, poster-less bedroom. A sleek silver laptop lured him further into the room lit by a dull white light which filtered from flimsy curtains. Waiving ethical considerations he booted the machine, murmuring, "Now lets see what you really do."

When the door creaked open, Tom continued searching the computer. Suprised but rather indifferent, Helen greeted the criminal in all his crimson handed glory. Tom muttered back the proper phrase and Helen asked, “What are you doing?”

“This is your Christmas present to me,” Tom replied matter-of-factly, adding, “You just don’t know it yet.”

“Oh really?” she asked crossing her arms.

“Well I could just read your mind,” Tom said looking at her, “but I’m pretty sure you’d find that a larger invasion of privacy.”

Disarmed Helen replied, “Yes. Thanks for the Christmas present.”

Scanning the room, Tom found it lying on the nightstand by her bed. “No problem,” he said, unsure of how to correctly respond.

Focusing on her schoolwork she said after a while, "You won't find anything in there."

Tom tore his eyes from the glowing screen to regard her sitting at the multi-purposed dresser. "So you don't mind if I look?"

She shrugged a "no" and for the next few minutes neither spoke. "You really are a thoroughly boring person aren't you?" Tom asked rhetorically at last. "Ah ha!" he continued with distinct notes of triumph, "You were at a gaming site 63 days ago!"

"Yes, I was feeling quite rebellious," Helen said sarcastically, rolling her eyes such that it reflected precisely to him from the mirror in front of her.

Tom, however, had spotted another more interesting aspect. "Ooooh art," Tom began.

Unwilling to discuss the subject Helen unceremoniously steered the conversation to a past topic, "Thanks for the necklace."

Leaving the laptop, Tom scooped his present to her and asked while staring at the small golden gift box, "Would you wear it?"

It was not an unordinary request. Often she wore sweaters the next day from the presents pile. However, Helen found it odd that he should ask in such a manner. "Sure," she replied slowly, looking confusedly at the reflection of his figure in the mirror.

He unearthed the jeweled pendant with its gold chain from the soft cotton and stood directly behind her.

"Now?" she asked bewildered.

"No," he replied sarcastically, looking at her searching eyes in the mirror, "Wear it when I'm dead."

She lifted her shoulder length dark hair to expose her pale skin. Her clear green eyes gazed intently at Tom as his cold fingers moved over the nape of her neck to lock the piece of jewelry. Fingering the pendant when he grasped her hair to return it to its original position, she asked, "Is it a locket?"

He passed his hands across her shoulders and stared at her reflection in silence for such a long time that Helen was forced to shift uncomfortably in her chair to coax an answer from him. "In a way," he replied softly as a parting remark. A remark that left Helen absolutely perplexed for the duration of a few seconds, after which she shrugged and returned to the solving-via-factoring mathematics problems.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

A harsh knock pounded through the door, yet the voice that accompanied it was restrained and calm. “Mother said to ready for dinner.”

“Puh-leaze Xavier. Next time you want to lie like that don’t knock like a madman. And don’t use some thing like ‘ready for dinner’. Not like anyone actually readies for dinner,” came Tom’s voice clearly through the door. Further Xavier could feel cold air seeping through the cracks.

“Actually we do ready for dinner.”

“Really?!”

“Yea…but that’s off topic. What’s this about breaking into Helen’s room and freaking her out?”

“Oh come on, did you really think I wanted to talk about Eric’s boring personality. Do you think Eric would actually talk about quaffles and Slytherin history?! Although the whole Amelia affair was an unexpected positive. But, yeah, I found a handy map in your room. I commend you in actuality, the whole hologram aspect is pretty cool. And I never intended to freak her out. Just give her my present.”

“Do you have the window open in there?”

“Yeah. Pretty good actually.”

“It’s freezing and you’re insane. Er, well I guess a necklace isn’t a bad present. As long as…”

“Look if it makes you happier, believe its nothing else.”

A silence settled among the two and Tom emerged from the room. “By the way,” he added, “do you realize there are trees between your house and Amelia’s house?”

“Yea…” Xavier said slowly, taken off guard. Moments later it dawned on him and he replied on their way to the dining area, “Man that’s gross! Period. Period. Period. Merlin, I can’t believe you’d think of that. Ugh. I’m going have to wash out my brain just because of that.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

End of Chapter 5...Please leave feedback!

blue_rose

April 7th, 2006, 6:14 pm

hehe, that april fools thing got me.

Chapter 6: Unfulfilled.

"Turn your books to page 463," the low and slow voice of the History of Magic professor rang through the room. Amelia's head throbbed as a result of a combination of Binn's voice, the subject and the fact that school had just resumed. Yawning, she placed her head upon the stark white pages determined to conserve energy for Quidditch practice. Anne poked her awake and hissed, “How can you sleep?! You won’t know about the goblin rebellions when Binns asks you!”

“Goblin rebellions were about goblins,” Amelia murmured into the pages.

“Ms. Potter,” the ghostly figure said from the front of the room. Amelia immediately lifted her head as a soldier at attention and stared through the translucent teacher at a poster of the elf rights’ movement. “Please continue reading,” Professor Binns finished.

“Er…y-yes sir,” Amelia spoke slowly, searching for the possible paragraph where she should begin. She could see Xavier smirking from the corner of her eye. You’re not allowed to smirk like that, Amelia thought hotly, becoming red faced. Thankfully Anne covertly pointed her pencil to the lines and Amelia began, “The rebellions consisted of approximately…” and ended “….was the last city pillaged by the goblin forces.”

“Thank you Ms. Potter. Mr. Malfoy, if you would please continue.”

Amelia shot a seething glare at an unexpecting Xavier, who merely shrugged and began to explain the reasons of the rebellion as specified by the text. Anne kicked Amelia under the desk to gain her attention and said, “You can’t kill someone by staring at them. You’re just looking silly.”

She was right, of course. It did appear quite awkward that she should invest such high dosages of attention upon a person she openly claimed to dislike. In truth, she found him neither good nor bad. In a different world they would have been great friends. At least, that is what she had wanted before he became, more or less, the sole cause of her detentions. At the moment she was not sure if she hated him or not. The Christmas present, a glass blown orchid, was certainly a reason to not hate him. However, it was fully possible that he was mocking her. Indeed it had been sent from the S.O.S Association. That is to say the Stop Orchid Slaughter Association. Naturally, no such organization existed and, at reception, she had laughed openly. Now she did not know if he was laughing at her or she was laughing with him. Argh this is pointless, she thought annoyed at the enigma boys presented in general, at their cocky, as well as undeserved, attitudes and feeling extremely feministic.

Nevertheless she had the sense, as imprinted in her by her mother, to thank Xavier for the present. It was odd, to put it in simplified terms. She was forced to act like an uncoordinated fool, collide ‘accidentally’ into his shoulder and stuff his card into his dark robes. He returned the brush of shoulders just as forcefully, his grey eyes simply emotionless; widening only slightly at the touch of her hand. Clasping the card he glared hatefully and playfully at her.

Amelia was sickened at her untruthful ways and as the distance between them lengthened, Anne added unnecessarily, “Yeah, bumping stupidly into people doesn’t kill them either.”

“Boys are so frustrating,” Amelia cried angrily, stopping in the snow-filled courtyard.

Anne rounded back upon her friend and her eyes narrowed, “Don’t you mean Slytherins?”

Amelia sighed and corrected herself. At best she was miserable at being deceitful. At worst Anne receding figure was headed to the owlery to inform others of her suspicions.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Man, that Potter girl really hates you," Eric said that night, in the quiet of the Slytherin Common Room. Xavier once again felt the desperate urge to look busy.

Tom smiled mischeviously at Xavier and said naughtily, "Or he really likes her."

Eric turned quickly to Tom, intent and listening. Tom, however, having just been kicked in a particularly unpleasant place for any boy, winced and turned to Eric to say, "Joking, of course."

Eric's laugh sounded alone in the in the room. Stopping he looked quite seriously at Xavier and said, "You and Potter? No. No. Period. Period. No Slytherin is going to goggle over a Gryffindor. Especially not a Malfoy and a Potter. Half the wizarding world would be killed by the irony. Got it?"

"I don't like her!" Xavier exclaimed defensively, glaring at Tom.

This only affirmed Tom's belief further and led Eric to reply, "Keep it that way."

Thoroughly frustrated at the people he called his friends, Xavier gracelessly shifted the conversation. "What about that box?" he asked.

"Can't open it," Tom responded looking moodily at the orange flames of the fire.

"You tried?" Xavier asked, when he had specifically told Tom not to open the mini-chest.

"I tried," Tom affirmed, "but obviously since I never succeeded and failed to open it, I did not break that promise."

"A technicality," Xavier replied with mock rage, "you have violated the spirit of the pact!"

"At least I didn't violate anything else," Tom muttered.

"I will not have you objectify Helen," Xavier responded, slightly irratated at his friend's unjustified attention of the girl.

"Tom 1, Xavier 0. I absolutely took you off-topic."

"So the box," Xavier returned.

"The box," Tom echoed.

"You can't open it here," Eric said quietly, extremely interested in the dark tiled floor.

"We can't?" Xavier asked confusedly.

"No we have to go back to where we got it from," Eric replied from faraway.

"How do you know?" Tom interrogated.

"Well, er, I had dreams about it."

"You had dreams?" Tom repeated with a raised eyebrow.

"It makes sense," Xavier interjected, "He was the only one to walk in. Fine then, we'll go there."

"I can't go back there," Eric said quietly, clearly lost in his thoughts.

Xavier looked briefly at Eric and rose. "Don't be ridiculous," he said walking towards the dormitories.

"Yeah man," Tom said, a bit more sensitive than Xavier on the matter, "don't worry about it. We'll be there, right?"

"Right," Eric replied unconvinced, rising and walking past Xavier, into the dark hallway.

For a moment, Xavier and Tom exchanged looks. Then Xavier shrugged and asked, "Are you coming?"

"In a while."

"Suit yourself," Xavier replied disappearing into the hallway after Eric. When he was certain the room was empty, Tom unearthed a sky blue powder from his robes.

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blue_rose

April 8th, 2006, 7:44 pm

He sprinkled the powder carefully in a pan of water, marveling at his ingenius method of communication while a girl, innocently rehashing her english paper, recieved the fright of her life. Her laptop began to vibrate in uneven patterns causing her to confusedly remove her hands from the keyboard. Then, in what seemed to be a flash of a second, a face appeared on the screen upon which she dropped the machine in alarm.

The face on the screen smiled and feebly greeted her in between bouts of uncontrolled laughter. Recognizing the face at last, she forcefully picked up the laptop and began swearing incessantly. Tom brushed off the remarks and said, "The truth isn't very insulting."

For a moment she was quiet and then replied, "It isn't is it?"

"No. Not to mention I'm probably half those things you said already," Tom said smiling.

"Eh. So how did you do this and why?"

"Oh I didn't tell you," Tom said in mock innocence, "I guess I was too excited and it must have slipped my mind. Your laptop's dead, by the way. I took out the main chip."

"What?!" Helen asked in surpise and fear.

"Oh don't worry, I just needed it for a potion," Tom responded lightly, "Its not like you knew before I told you anyway."

"So all my stuff..."

"...is still on there," Tom finished and continued hoping to stray into another topic, "I read it somewhere. Magic and Technology or something like that."

"Oh really?" Helen said skeptically.

Finding no possible transition Tom simply said, "I see you're still wearing the necklace."

"Oh that was smooth," Helen said sarcastically.

"But you're still wearing it."

Looking at her neck where the necklace lay, she fingered the pendant and said, "Yeah. Funny thing about that. It doesn't come off."

"Obviously," Tom said quite obnoxiously, "why would I give you one that you could discard?"

"You're weird."

"Oh that was smooth," Tom mocked.

"Eh," Helen replied, "I wasn't going for smooth. But you never told me why you ate up my computer."

"Well your laptop is pretty depressing and I thought I would give it a boost."

"And you're the boost?" Helen asked.

"That and I really wanted to see if this would work."

"Ah. So how do I contact you?"

"You don't," Tom replied smoothly, "Yeah, so it has some minor glitches."

"I'm guessing you don't want me to tell Xavier about this."

"Are you sure you're not magical because you just read my mind. If you do choose to be so hateful in the future, I would rather you sold your computer and then I could just be caught my the Ministry."

Silence settled between the two until Helen eventually said, "Well, this is strange."

Percieving it as more of a signal to converse further than to awkwardly end discussion Tom began to ask a multitude of questions. Helen did not rebuke him. Instead, she answered each question and slowly began to return them, seeking his opinion. At the end of it, she fell freely into her bed in the search for sleep thinking she knew more about Xavier's strange friend. He neutralized the potion feeling he knew more about what Helen considered important and feeling a bit guilty at some of the half-truths he had littered in their talks.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

April 9th, 2006, 7:00 pm

The Slytherin Common Room bustled on the Saturday morning with students chatting shallowly about brand new brooms they had recently ordered, speaking surreptitiously about things unknown and yet others not conversing at all but merely communicating in a universal body language that only they seemed to fully comprehend. Most ignored the fact that on the ground above lay a beautiful January day crying for play. In the sleek and dark dormitory hallway Tom and Xavier respectfully awaited the arrival of their friend.

“What is he doing in there?” Xavier asked impatiently while leaning on the papered wall, “Trying to drown himself or something.”

Tom who was sitting on the cool tiled floor smiled slightly at the post-modern art above him, which he was attempting to understand. “That’s funny,” he said, “because he actually might have if he was older.”

“Oh thanks,” Xavier replied sarcastically as a dark head walked past them, glaring malevolently at Tom. Only Xavier seemed to notice as Tom appeared to find the girl translucent and the painting the crux of reverence.

“What happened with you and Jasmine anyway?” Xavier curiously asked, amusedly watching hatred seep from the dark-haired girl’s back.

“Hhm?,” Tom asked as if awakening from a trance. Following Xavier’s glance, realization dawned and he replied, “Oh her. We broke up, of course.”

“When did that happen?” asked a smirking Xavier.

“The first night of Christmas break,” Tom responded monotonously, clearly indifferent to the subject matter.

“That’s impossible. You were at my house the first night of Christmas break.”

Tom smiled at the fact that the house had so abruptly become ‘my house’ in place of ‘my father’s house.’ “Yeah. I owled her.”

At that Xavier’s mouth dropped, “You broke up with her by owl !”

“By owl.”

“You’re heartless!” Xavier exclaimed, looking at Tom disbelievingly.

“I’m heartless,” Tom raised his voice in false offence and irritation, “I’m heartless! This coming from the person who so easily brushed off a friend’s concerns. At least, that’s what you call him.”

“Ugh, I was tired and Eric was acting exceptionally emo. But he went to sleep fine.”

“Why are you so stupidly inattentive?! Eric snores lightly when he’s asleep. You breathe differently when you’re asleep. And I assure you he was not snoring when I came in. And guess who had to do the reassuring and cr*p? Yeah, not fun."

"I was tired," Xavier defended weakly. In truth he had been thinking about the "thank you, i owe you" note from Amelia. However, that was not a better excuse and mentionning it would only tack the converstion toward an undesirable destination.

"Well, whatever," Tom waived away the pathetic excuse, "anyway today's going to be more like Operation Cheer Up Eric."

At that Xavier smiled, "Operation CUE, its making me laugh already."

"Unfortunately you aren't the target."

"A pity. When are we going back, o master my master?" Xavier asked sarcastically.

"When we're ready," Tom said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Alright, I'll do the plotting. You extract the information from Eric as I'm apparently too immature for that" Xavier said decidedly.

"Yeah you are," Tom commented, rising from the floor.

"Hey, we're both 11."

"I'm 12," Tom said flatly.

"Since when?!" Xavier asked in mild surprise.

"Since yesterday," Tom responded simply, moving toward the opening door to greet the final member of their party.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

April 11th, 2006, 2:49 am

This is by far my longest post....

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"In the light of day?" Xavier asked staring feverishly at the map of the Forbidden Forest, frustrated at the challenge that leered mercilessly in his face. Eric had stopped scribbling on the parchment what he had dubbed his Herbology essay. Concentrating with an inhumane ferocity at the off-white paper, he pretended to be occupied with his work. Tom calmly slowed in whittling the wax block out of which he was constructing a statue of Venus for his astronomy project. As the professor had literally assigned him the task "Explain the importance of Venus using various creative methods" ignoring the term 'planet' in the work description, Tom had amusedly decided to create a sculpture of Venus. The goddess Venus, that is.

Contemplating whether to create her in classic Greek nude or clothed, Tom caught Xavier's gaze and glanced at Eric as if to warn Xavier. "For the whole bleeding world to see?" he asked rhetorically and continued, "Yes. That's why this plan needs to be good. Not that the others weren't."

Interpreting the glance as signal to shift topic rather than mere advice of caution Xavier finished with a low grumble and then began speaking to Eric about the first memory sparked by the situation, which inadvertently happened to be Tom’s most recent ex-relations. “ Hey Eric, did I tell you about Tom and Jasmine?”

Tom scowled merrily and returned to his statuette. Eric, knowing that Xavier was only attempting to alter the object of his attention, and frankly not caring, responded with convincing interest, “No. What happened?”

“He broke up with her via owl!” Xavier exclaimed animatedly.

Smiling, Eric said in sarcasm, “No.”

Before the two could start giggling like schoolgirls, the consequence that Xavier had initially intended, Tom interrupted and said coolly, “You know nothing of the conditions under which I severed ties with her.”

Somewhat irritated at the interjection Xavier turned to Tom to ask, “And pray tell, what were these conditions?”

“If you must know,” Tom replied from his work, which was increasingly taking the shape of a woman, “that break up was at least a month in the making.”

“It took you a month to decide that you’d do it with an owl?!” Eric asked bewildered.

“Not really. I mean I really liked her until that she-devil of a sister of hers decided to make her into a overly suspicious and jealous Barbie doll. And you know who her sister is? Its that prefect girl. Merlin does she hold a grudge. You’d think it’d just be easier to you know, just tell her. But, eh, we don’t know what we’re supposed to do in dating and all anyway. Who was she going to listen to? Me or her older more experienced sister? Not that I didn’t try. Then she just became annoying. But if I broke up with her then, she’d just start crying and that’s even more annoying. So it took me a week or two to get her to cheat on me. I thought, hey a week or more and she’ll be off. But she wasn’t.”

“You’re twisted,” Eric commented in horror to Tom who easily shrugged off the remark.

Xavier, however, scrutinized the map as if evaluating Tom’s story. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he said finally, “you weren’t going to see her during Christmas anyway. Why break it up then?”

Tom held up the small sculpture and carved the folds of the dress in greater detail, letting the cloudy white scraps fall onto his dark green comforter. “True. But you see,” he began lifting his dark eyes to meet Xavier’s in clear declaration, “I met a damsel locked in a glass tower, one which I may admire but not touch. And I found that I couldn’t do that. How would you expect me to be so untruthful? So I owled her. The fact that she didn’t like it is regrettable. Not inexcusable. And she seems pretty happy with Josh anyway.”

A sort of flashing anger overtook Xavier and he replied bitingly, “Do you always want things you can’t have?”

“No. I can’t have Jasmine as she is now. I can most certainly have Helen…eventually.”

“How long would you wait?” Xavier asked with narrowed eyes.

“Eternity,” Tom replied sincerely, sitting on the edge of his bed.

At that Xavier smiled, “Good because that’s how long its going to take.”

“Oh and that reminds me. The last time I saw her I told her my birthday’s July 16, so don’t ruin that for me.”

Xavier smiled mischievously and revitalized Eric’s participation in the conversation, “Did you know Tom’s 12?”

“Really?” Eric asked looking at Tom, “Why didn’t you tell me? My birthday is March 2 and I expect you all to get me a present. When was yours and when is yours?”

“23 January,” Xavier supplied pleased with the fact that he had plotted half of the route to the pedestal, “and mine’s in the summer. Too bad we can’t celebrate.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Eric persisted, “Why not celebrate?”

“Honestly,” Xavier added observing a non-responsive Tom who seemed to be determined never to reply, “you can’t be sad about getting older. You’d be a wreck by the time you’re 50.”

“Yeah,” Eric supported watching annoyance rise on his face, “why not?”

“Because I don’t feel like it. Why do you care anyway?” Tom snapped uncharacteristically, whittling at the waxen figure more fiercely. Surprised to a reasonable extent for he could not recall a time when Tom had sincerely snapped in the spirit of utter irritation to the extent of anger, Xavier smiled in an amusement similar to the one felt by Tom when teasing Xavier about Amelia.

Eric, however, did not relent, "That's not a reason. Come on tell us."

"Honestly," Xavier said viewing Tom's pursed lips, "you can't expect us to accept that as an excuse. That's something you tell strangers." For a moment the group was quiet and Xavier mused whether they were just that. Strangers.

"Com-" Eric whined a beginning which Tom interrupted with a cry and Xavier watched the then insignificant conversation turn dour.

“Because,” Tom cried, stabbing the statuette with the knife, “that day is incidentally the day my mother died!”

The smile dissolved from Xavier’s face. Eric’s mouth, which was open in ready protest, shut with a gasp. Tom did not look at either of them. Rather he gritted his teeth in the hope of not continuing further. However, he broke the somber silence quite hysterically, self-hatred increasing as every word slipped uncontrollably from his tongue. “Seriously,” he said unevenly, detaching the knife from the figurine and returning to carve the piece in fury, “what the hell am I supposed to do? Oh, 6:00 pm I was born. Yay. Woohoo. Party. Awawh 6:45 pm she died. Gah! Sorrow. Mourning. So they can just cancel each other out.”

Xavier and Eric exchanged guilt-ridden glances. They watched in partial fear as Tom’s knife moved wildly across the statuette and in an instant it slipped and carved his palm instead of the waxen mass. Tom sighed, viewing the red liquid upon the steel through a film of water. “Now wouldn’t it just be easier to leave it at because I don’t feel like it? It’s not a lie.”

“I’m sorry,” Xavier said softly gazing intently at his hands and Eric quickly seconded the apology.

“About what?” Tom asked a part of his anger transferring upon them, “It’s not your fault.” If anything, he thought while he rose and left through the door abandoning the statuette and knife, he was probably the most to blame in that room. Of course the father might be blamed for forsaking his mother. And, yet, others may have blamed the mother for her decisions. Tom, however, found that he could not blame anyone in particular. The word seemed meaningless, he thought closing the door, its essence lost in the confusion of the whole situation.

Xavier stood to follow him. Eric, however, halted his attempt to pursue Tom saying, “I think he wants to be alone.” Looking at the white wax figurine with a trail of red, Xavier replied, “I guess he went for Greek nude.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

I know, I know. Definitely a Amelia and Xavier scene next. Please feedback from the link.

blue_rose

April 12th, 2006, 1:42 am

Amelia's vivid green eyes stared in such unabashed wonder at the figurine in Tom's presentation that Anne felt obligated to shield the innocence that lingered in Amelia's face with her hand. Amelia, however, fastidiously disposed of it. "Venus," Tom began loudly, pointing at the statuette as if it was a car and, he, the salesman; an action upon which the boys in the classroom burst into laughter at the irony of the model. The girls, most of whom had recently experienced the transition into womanhood and were just beginning to realize the full extent of its reach, smiled shyly with reddening cheeks. Inevitably, some joined in the laughter. Amelia was one of them.

The Astronomy professor unfolded his arms and walked forward with all intention of punishing Tom with a detention, if not several, and awarding him a royal F for incompetence. "Wait, wait!" Tom protested, "I swear I thought of this. I know planet Venus."

Stopping, the professor gazed impatiently at him, prepared to evaluate him harshly. "So, Venus," he continued waving his wand such that the statuette dissolved into a ball and then reformed as an ancient city scene, "the Ancient Romans worshipped her as the Goddess of Love and Beauty. Much like their fascination with the goddess, today the fascination with planet Venus lies in its most beautiful and magicially relevant characteristics. The grace that the Romans adored of Venus is implicit in the path of planet Venus. Its orbit is the most circular of all planets, which for us means..."

Beginning to lose interest in the subject, an amazement when considering she had never before harbored any interest in Astronomy let alone gathered enough to lose it, Amelia's mind wandered and settled upon the presenter himself. He looked tired, yet sounded as if he was prepared to duel Merlin himself for some object unknown to her. For a moment she wondered why. However, when her thoughts stumbled upon Xavier's name her mind deftly shifted focus to him. He was sitting not three seats ahead of her, an unrecognized miracle, as she could not recall a time when he had seated himself in front of her. He stared fixedly at Tom, without taking notes. He could at least pretend to take notes, she thought irritated at what she saw as an act of arrogance.

On the topic of Xavier, a subject that had seemed to occupy her thoughts increasingly of late, Amelia felt that she had to speak with him. The questions of what to actually speak to him about and how to execute the maneuver in clandestine fashion were yet to be answered. Nevertheless, the feeling had persisted irking her during Quidditch practice, confusing her during classes and gnawing away at her head during precious and rare free moments. Now in desperation she resolved that it did not matter whether she planned conversation points and was on the verge of not caring if the whole world saw her talk to him.

The claps of the class as Tom concluded returned Amelia to reality. “Never again shall I use the word creative in an assignment,” the professor commented simply. He could not fail Tom due to the undeniable grain of knowledge that his presentation had accomplished exactly what the language of the assignment demanded. To parallel the planet Venus with the goddess Venus was indeed creative. Not the type of creativity that he had imagined, but creative nonetheless. “And replace it with planet?” Tom asked under his breath in a way that only Xavier and the wall next to him could hear.

“Tomorrow we will have Ms. Weasley presenting on Earth,” the professor continued, “for now turn to page 345 and read about the importance of the constellation Orion.”

By the time class ended, Amelia had hatched an incomplete plan, which she performed immediately. Dropping her books to create a large mess and a loud noise, Amelia insisted that Anne hurry to Charms and succeeded in gaining Xavier’s attention. Looking meaningfully at him, Amelia began to slowly rearrange her books and quills. Xavier glanced at the professor and then his friends. She did not know how he managed to discard of Tom and Eric but when she exited the room he was standing alone in the hall, half-lit by the warming February sun that entered through the Gothic windows of the Astronomy tower.

“Hi,” she began and stopped for some reason she could not identify.

“Hi,” Xavier returned slowly, after seconds of silence. “Er, did you-“ he continued when she did not say anything.
“Yes,” she answered quickly unsure of the question and quieted once again.

“Soo?” Xavier asked bewildered by her odd behavior.

“That was a good presentation,” Amelia rambled.

“Um, ok. I’m going to be late for Herbology.”

“Yeah!” Amelia replied nervously, backing away toward the stairs to the West wing, “And I’m going to be late for Charms!”

“Nice talk then,” Xavier said confusedly, retreating to the other side of the hall.

“Thanks for the present.”

“I got your note. No problem,” he replied turning to leave.

“Erm, are you doing anything Saturday? It’s my birthday and we’re doing a little thing in the Gryffindor Common Room and if you aren’t doing anything I was wondering if you wanted to come.”

Turing to face her once again Xavier asked with a smile, “You were born on Valentine’s day?”

“Yeah,” she replied laughing nervously, “My parents joked I was the perfect present to each other.”

“That’s awesome. But, ah, I don’t think its such a good idea. Me and this thing of yours in the Gryffindor Common Room. You know the whole–” Though inter-house gatherings were rare they were increasingly becoming a popular trend. This, however, did not seem to extend between the Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses.

“But I’m terrible at this whole deception thing!” Amelia complained, looking pleadingly at Xavier.

“You’re doing fine,” Xavier reassured her, “But if it bothers you so much you could just ignore me.”

“Ignore each other then?” Amelia asked holding out a hand.

Shaking it he replied, “Agreed. And I’m flattered you asked. If things were–”

“If.”

“Yeah, if. Anyway we’re both extremely late. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of any more of your detentions,” he said with a tone of finality and, at that, both departed feeling neither cheated nor awarded from the encounter.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

April 15th, 2006, 1:12 am

The dull yellow light emanating from a dying candle solely carried the responsibility of brightening the dormitory chamber. Xavier gazed at the shortening candle, his grey eyes slightly out of focus in intent contemplation. He did not know at what time in night sleep had abandoned him, leaving his conscience to confront matters he had hoped to avoid. Sighing, he longed for his home; not the building in and of itself but the people that resided. They seemed so much more simple there, or so Xavier thought.

At his house he had received the treatment of a child; incidentally a major clause of the unwritten contract upon which his birth alone acted as his signature. It meant that at no time would any person present matters of a "serious" nature to him. While this had at times irked him, it had also been the bearer of many freedoms that Xavier now felt he no longer had. At Hogwarts his fellow peers were forging "serious" matters to which he felt obligated to respond. But how? What was he to say to Eric, who apparently was experiencing some sort of emotional instability at the thought of reentering the Forbidden Forest? Or to Amelia, who he was now convinced had feebly attempted to strengthen her ties with him for some trivial and mysterious reason? Or Tom?

Xavier blinked and became aware of the heavy darkness in the room as the light from the candle itself had abandoned him. Moving towards the new source of light that seeped in through the cracks of the door, he exited the room intending to continue his thoughts in the light of the sleek Common Room fire place. To his mollifying surprise, he was not the only Slytherin unable to secure sleep. Glancing up from what appeared to be schoolwork, Tom greeted Xavier with a cheerful bitterness, “Good morning.”

“What are you doing?” Xavier asked, collapsing into a couch directly opposite of Tom.

“Homework. Sleep being the unlisted causality in detentions.”

“Repeat after me Tom,” Xavier replied grateful for a reason to leave the subjects he had been thinking of, “Detentions are precious. What did you do this time?”

“For some reason,” Tom said in a sarcastic manner, “the curfew thing is actually enforced.”

Xavier shifted uncomfortably in his seat and began after moments of silence only to have his voice trail off, “Tom, about last night…”

“What?” Tom asked looking up for his work. Realization dawned and he laughed. The lie slipped so easily from his tongue, that even he believed it for a second, “Are you still on about that? Don’t be stupid. I’m over it. I needed to think about it anyway.”

He was not sure he believed Tom. At the least, the performance was convincing yet the laugh, Xavier thought, seemed a bit overdone and even hollow. However, at the moment, all he required was a spoken response such as the one just delivered in order to waive the whole issue. Feeling somewhat happier, Xavier asked, “Did you get all the information from Eric?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I should be ready with it by Friday. He will be ready by Sunday or so.”

“So Sunday?”

“Looks like it.”

Xavier’s stomach fluttered at a new thought; a thought that he knew was absolutely idealistic and wholly pointless. Nevertheless he entertained it in silence. Satisfied with the essay he had written, Tom flung his quill onto the parchment and lay back to observe Xavier. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“No one!”

“You thinking about her aren’t you? You should go by the way.”

“How did you know about that?!” asked Xavier in confusion.

“Well once you were done being an idiot, Amelia approached one of your less intimidating friends, which for some reason happens to be me, and talked about all this girly stuff. She told me, to be short. And she was kind of bad at doing it. Man, I think she likes you.”

"Heh, who'd have thunk it? You're not such a bad friend after all," Xavier said sarcastically unwilling to discuss matters of likes and dislike and rising to leave. "By the way," he said glancing at Tom's essay on his way to the dorms, "that wasn't assigned."

"You don't say," Tom replied, seemingly indifferent to the fact.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

I apologize for the tedious-ness of the post, but I had to write something and not everything and yeah. Please feedback from the link! New chapter next.

blue_rose

April 16th, 2006, 11:03 pm

This is going to be a bit different, writing wise. Tell me if you like it or not!

Chapter 7: Hearts and Daggers.

"Alright I'm off," Eric said, hurrying towards the door with a box of chocolates in his hand and a shy smile on his face. Tom murmured a goodbye from his reading, apparently too engrossed to care. Moments later, Xavier exited the bathroom and entered the dorm to gather a small wrapped package. Spotting Tom laying lazily on his bed in his pajamas Xavier could not resist for chastising, "You could at least have changed."

"Umhum," Tom replied, fascinated by the uses of a bezoar.

"Are you listening?"

"Umhum."

"Is two plus two infinity?"

"Umhum."

"Tooom!" Xavier exclaimed aiming a pillow at his head.

"What?!" asked Tom slightly irritatedly, catching the pillow and looking at Xavier.

"I was saying," Xavier replied equally annoyed, "you should change your clothes. And eat. And sleep. And clean up your space. And I wanted to know if this room is going to be the location of anything especially gross with a girl tonight, considering it is Valentine's day."

"Thanks mom," Tom answered sarcastically, "And no, no girl will inhabit this room tonight. There isn't actually a girl to do that stuff with, not at Hogwarts at least, and I wouldn't do it even if there was."

"Do you like to pester me?" Xavier asked, rumagaging through his belongings to find his invisiblity cloak; a Christmas present from Eric.

"No that's just a side benefit. I actually do like Helen," Tom replied watching Xavier dig madly through his trunks in curiosity.

"Where's Eric?" Xavier continued interrogating, retrieving his cloak from the bottom trunk.

"Off on a date with random girl Y," Tom replied cooly, returning to his reading.

"Aw, that's cute."

Tom scowled, "You did not just say that, but it is something like that. And where are you going?" Blushing a response, Tom continued, "Aw, that's cute."

"Shut up," Xavier replied regaining his attitude, briskly heading towards the door and donning his invisiblity cloak.

"Have fun," Tom said in parting to the dark door that seemed to open and close by its own will. Certain that neither would return Tom unearthed from under his bed a pan, some blue powder and a red object that resembled a card.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Amelia Potter surveyed the Gryffindor Common Room with a certain amount of pleasure. She was now twelve which, unfortunately she was forced to concede, felt no different than eleven. She had not expected such a crowd to attend. However, after factoring in the fact that during Valentine's Day people tended to travel in two's the numbers did not seem so unrealistic. Even one of her closest friends, Anne, had joined with someone of the opposite sex and, to an extent, she felt out of place in what was supposed to be her birthday party. Nevertheless she was happy. Her sister had tied her auburn hair into a knot using one comb, making her feel much more like an adult. Her presents pile was growing rapidly. The chocolate cake was fantastic. And not one face in the crowd was sour.

Yet there was one face that was not in the crowd which irked her, for a reason unclear to her. It isn't against the law, she thought frustratedly, to wish someone happy birthday.

"Happy Birthday," came a whisper that she was quite certain belonged to Xavier. However she turned around smiling only to find a wall behind her. Frowning and feeling quite foolish, Amelia faced the crowd. Seconds later she felt her comb being pulled off and her red tresses fall upon her shoulders. The whisper came again and this time she could feel his breath on her neck. Supposing the existence of an invisiblity cloak, Amelia released a broad smile and was glad that everyone in the room was to preoccupied to notice. Walking casually to the present's table her vibrant green eyes stopped at a small red package. Picking it up, she attempted to determine the its contents.

"Don't open it now," he said softly.

"What's that?" a new voice asked. Dropping the gift as if it were a precious jewel and she the thief, Amelia turned around to find a curious Hector Creevey standing with a package in his hand.

"A present," she replied as calmly as possible.

"Open it."

"I really don't want to right now."

"Good," Hector replied happily handing his gift to her, "because I wanted you to open mine first."

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Valentine's Day had failed to have a logical purpose for Helen. She could not possibly see why anyone would want to celebrate something as fleeting and short as love. Not to mention shallow and stupid. That said, she had recently realized that a boy she liked did not like her and fairly reasoned that the event was probably the cause of her dislike of the holiday at the moment. Nonetheless, she did not celebrate. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had retired to their chambers early that night, which left a gargantun amount of unprecendented free time for Helen that she promptly wasted with a long bath. Feeling relaxed and ready to spend the night reading, she casually opened her door from the bathroom only to shut it in fright, such that only her dark curls and green eyes were visible.

"Hello," Tom said calmly.

"Tom!" Helen exclaimed loudly and quieted quickly hoping no one in the house had heard. "I'm not wearing anything," she hissed angrily at him.

"Oh, that's ok. I'm only in my pajamas," replied Tom smilingly and then added when he viewed the look on her face, "Ok. Ok. I'll turn around."

"If you look..." she threatened emptily, while cautiously moving toward her closet and randomly pulling clothes.

"You can kill me," he suggested an ending, smiling at dark wall of his dorm, "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Yeah, you too," Helen replied in a muffled voice, pulling a sweater over her head. "You can look now," she continued sitting at her seat.

"Great," Tom said turning around to watch as she fastened her curls with a band, "What no significant other tonight?"

"I could just as easily ask you the same question," Helen replied cooly fidgeting with books and pamphlets on her dresser.

"You could and I would answer. So what did you do today?"

"Nothing much," Helen muttered her answer.

"Alright, I want to see if I can send things through here."

"Oh great," Helen replied, her voice devoid of excitement.

"Right," Tom said procuring a heart-shaped card. "Happy Valentine's Day," Tom repeated pushing the card through the holographic image, half of which appeared on Helen's side.

"Thanks," Helen replied, feeling somewhat guilty about the fact that she did not have anything for him in return.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Thanks for coming," Amelia said shyly, shrouded safely in the dark shadows of the hallway.

"It's not a crime to wish someone a happy birthday," Xavier replied smoothly leaning on the wall, the invisiblity cloak at his feet.

"Yeah and I've been thinking," Amelia said directly opposite of him, "I don't think I can just avoid you."

"Ok," Xavier replied slowly, fingering her comb, "I could just avoid you."

"You could?"

"Sure. The alternative being doing something to make you hate me for the rest of our lives. So, sure why not?"

"Alright," she replied trying to mask the disappiontment in her voice.

Ignoring the clearly distraught tone of her voice Xavier asked, "So how are things between you and Hector?"

"Meh?"

"Aren't you two..."

"No! Merlin no!" Amelia exclaimed loudly to the question he had practically asked.

"Well, that's depressing," Xavier replied wondering how the comb would shine in the light.

"Why?" Amelia asked baffled at the direction the conversation was headed.

"Because its obvious that he likes you."

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Helen what would you say if someone told you that they liked you?" Tom asked lazily laying on his bed.

"Why." Helen replied simply doodling in her notebook.

"I'm curious."

"No," Helen shook her head, "If someone said to me that they liked me, I would ask them why they're telling me."

"Well wouldn't it be to know if you like them back?" he prodded.

"In which case I would ask them why do they like me."

"Merlin!" Tom exclaimed, "Can't you just tell them if you like them back or not and let it be?"

"No," Helen said cooly.

"Would you tell a person if you liked them?"

"No. Why are you asking these questions?"

"Because I feel like it. That and you haven't opened the card that I gave you and I really want you to open it and I was just waiting for you to ask that question because eventually anyone would."

"That's a bizarre way to saying please open the card," Helen said, smiling as she picked up the red piece and unlatching the hatch. To her surprise she watch as a furry white kitten walked out of the red insides of the card looking innocently at her with its large purple eyes. "Wow," Helen said softly tearing her eyes away from the small figure and looking a Tom, "Now I feel really bad that I don't have anything for you."

"Well it'll only last for 30 days. So don't feel too bad."

Helen laughed, "All you magic people. What if I was a dog person?"

"Then I would change it, but you're not are you?" asked Tom somewhat fearfully for he was quite certain that her behaviors suggested cats over dogs.

"No."

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"No."

"Why not?" Amelia asked surprised by his response.

"I like your comb," Xavier replied looking at her comb, "and you owe me remember?"

"Yeah," she answered, "But why do you want my comb?"

"Some sentimental value," Xavier waived the question, "and if it doesn't, I will give it some."

"But you could have anything else."

"No. I want this. But I'll keep that in mind and exchange it when I want to."

"I didn't think you would be the thief today," Amelia said smilingly.

"A successful heist, I would say. You're too young for it anyway," he replied pocketing the comb.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing really," Xaiver responded.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Do you ever think of your parents?" Tom asked curiously.

"Not really," Helen replied playing with the kitten, "What happened happened. Not like thinking about it will change anything."

"That's true."

"Do you think of yours?"

"Sometimes."

Feeling uncomfortable with his response she shifted the topic. "So what did you do today?"

"Ef, I woke up. I think that's plenty for a Saturday, don't you?"

"Sure. I can't believe you gave me a cat that's going to die and 30 days and told me it would die."

"It won't actually die," Tom said smiling "because its not really alive. How was I supposed to know whether or not you'd take good care of it."

"Well you should now. I'm going to be a doctor when I'm older." When he did not reply Helen asked, "Hello?"

"Yeah," Tom responded taking the pan to the toilet, "I think someone's coming. Good talking to you." At that Tom flushed the water, to find Xavier at the doorway to the bathroom.

"Were you talking to someone?" he asked suspiciously.

"Only to myself" Tom lied smoothly his heart racing.

"Whatever," Xavier replied too tired to investigate further, "you didn't clean did you?"

"You're not serious are you? Me and cleaning? Never."

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

April 20th, 2006, 1:29 am

Bargh, homework...

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Nights before Xavier had thought it infeasible to travel into the forest in broad daylight with neither man nor beast noticing their tracks. Now as he and his companions lifted their cloaks, meters away from their destination he could not help but grin. As if magically encased, the clearing was green as ever even in the frosty month of February. In the center lay the white marble pedestal with the carving of a snake on its leg and a statuette of a raven where the small wooden chest had lain; a phenomenon that had occurred during their last visit to the area. Attempting to visualize the setting with the chest in its prior place, Xavier realized that the chest itself was the most promiscuous object there. It seemed ornate with its designs, yet ordinary in an inexplicable manner. It may have been ancient or on the edge or modernity. However, with all of its puzzling characteristics, the chest appeared to best fit its rather traditional and predictable pedestal.

“Ok,” Xavier began surveying the surroundings for any alien objects or creatures, “Eric you should keep watch. Maybe that tree over there,” he said pointing to a tall pine, “Tom you can…”

“…take the chest,” Tom casually interjected while nimbly stealing the wooden object from Xavier.

“What?” Xavier asked confusedly, retrieving the chest, “We decided you would guide me through it.”

Eric and Tom exchanged glances, shuffling uncomfortably. “What?” Xavier continued absolutely exasperated with their actions, “What are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing,” Tom lied easily. Eric, however, could not and blurted in a voice devoid of drama yet filled with fear, “In the dreams the person who opens it dies when working on the trinkets!”

A heavy silence rushed into the conversation during which Tom quickly threw evil looks at Eric. He dissipated the quiet, “Yeah, but I think it could just be one of those deterrents. I mean we know its been opened before and that the person has survived because there’s a new object every time its opened.”

Xavier ignored him and turned to Eric, “Who opened it in the dream?”

“That’s irrelev-“ Tom began in protest but halted quickly when motioned.

Eric seemed particularly interested in the snow-covered ground. When Xavier was about to ask the question again in greater force Eric turned his gazed upon him and replied quietly, “You are.”

Another quiet proliferated through the three friends. “Its settled then,” Xavier said decidedly, feeling somewhat queasy while walking towards the clearing.

“What?! No,” Tom said, “I could take it and we could avoid the whole situation. If you don’t open it then it can’t happen.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Xavier rebuked the idea forcefully, “what if you die? And haven’t you read the textbook for Divination 203- Magical Dreams and Reality? No way. There are serious repercussions to not following through. For all I know you and I will both die. If it is a deterrent, great. But right now we don’t know that.”

“But –“

“You also promised you wouldn’t open it,” Xavier interrupted quietly.

Tom blinked in confusion. Realizing what Xavier was referring to he said in annoyance “Now that’s just ridiculous.”

“No its not. You promised,” Xavier replied and continued commandingly restricting Tom from countering his arguments and turning his attention to Eric, “And what are you still doing here? Something could have spotted us already.” At that Eric left for the tree quietly and clearly disturbed by their talk.

“Tom,” Xavier said stubbornly, “you’re going to guide me. And you’re going to do it with a smile. Come on!”

Yielding at last, though grudgingly, Tom followed Xavier to the clearing. “You can go in right now. There’ll be some nifty daggers all aimed at your heart that will fire. Eh, you know the counter-curse. Or just transfigure that rock,” Tom said pointing to indicate the location.

“Right,” Xavier replied with an inhuman calm, his eyes intently set upon the raven as if it was his goal.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

The grey sky was now darkening as night descended upon Hogwarts grounds. Amelia walked towards the castle, somewhat hoping that she had miraculously satisfied all requirements to use a time turner and traveled to a Hogwarts that forbade the use of magic on Quidditch uniforms thereby making it impossible to practice in the winter months. That said, she had to admit that today’s practice was certainly the most exciting. The captain had allowed her to Keep for their practice rounds, more so due to the fact that the actual Keeper had fallen ill than the idea that she was stellar in the position; a miniscule actuality that she was prepared to overlook in light of the miserable weather and the more dire pile of assignments that seemed to never slow in its growth. Sirius, however, had made the entire experience moderately stressful. Along with Peter, the two Beaters had directed buldgers in her direction with what seemed to be in higher frequency than normally. Sympathizing, the captain permitted an early departure from practice.

Contemplating her future on the team Amelia did not notice the dark dot that raced across the grounds towards the castle. The dot himself, preoccupied with the possible creatures that could be following him, did not detect Amelia though she was dressed in red and gold. Hence, the inevitable collision forcefully plunged Amelia into the snow and him upon her. Dazed and angry, Amelia pushed the body, which was already rising, off of her ready to furiously expel her rage. However when the figure straightened, searching the ground for something or another, her anger dissipated slightly. “You know,” she said smilingly, “you’re doing a bad job at avoiding me.”

Absolutely inattentive and simply not in the mood, Xavier turned piercingly to her and replied in a restrained voice while moving toward the castle clutching a chest, “Oh, so sorry. Let’s start tomorrow, ok?”

“Ok are you alright?,” Amelia asked her brows meeting in confusion while observing his ashen face.

“Great,” Xavier said in rushed tones and walking away quickly, “Nice talking to you.”

“Yeah,” Amelia muttered looking at his receding back wondering why he was in such a hurry. Inspecting the ground for a clue, she found a small glass orb containing a rose coloured fluid. Intricate designs in gold covered the clear surface. “Hey,” she called after him, “You forgot this!” He did not halt and she assumed he had not heard. Examining it closely she pondered the purpose of the piece. After minutes of pointless speculation, she pocketed the tiny orb contemplating who she could ask for an answer.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

April 23rd, 2006, 2:53 am

There seemed to be no reason behind Xavier’s concerns. Strictly speaking the chest had opened, he had successfully escaped something whose existence was uncertain and both he and the container had returned to the variable safety of the castle. Nevertheless, the feeling persisted that during some instance something had gone awry. It was this emotion that prevented him from reentering the cool and collected persona of Slytherin chambers. Instead he had discovered an empty classroom, a relatively easy task given that it was a Sunday, in which he recalled each event where some possible slip may have occurred. He had knocked into Amelia, yet reasoned that nothing had fallen as when he had retrieved the chest from the snow the lid had lain loosely on the body of the object. It was not until the Head Boy, Alexander Potter, strode into the room with a girl closely following him that Xavier was forced to go down the stairs and into the nearly deserted Slytherin Common Room, save one dark-haired, dark-eyed boy who quickly looked up at the entrance wall and upon viewing Xavier sighed in relief.

“Where have you been?” he asked observing Xavier’s more than usually disheveled hair.

“I thought we weren’t doing this acting like mom thing,” Xavier commented coolly, leaving the question unanswered and asking another in return, “Where’s Eric?”

“Asleep,” Tom replied looking intently at the small chest Xavier was carrying, “So you opened it?”

Xavier fell into a chair nearby placing the wooden chest on the table, quite happy to be rid of it. Ignoring the question he responded, “I’m starving.”

“Its not unusual to be hungry during dinner time,” Tom remarked. Xavier smiled as he regarded the expression on Tom’s face, which was fully directed upon the chest. Tom was also starving. Starving to open the chest and explore its contents. Feeling the grey eyes on him, Tom shifted his attention to Xavier. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” he asked.

“Just a bit,” Xavier replied smiling smugly and closing his eyes, as if to savor the moment even more.

“Well, at least someone’s liking it. When will we look at it?”

“When Eric’s awake,” he said simply, rising with all intention of consuming a mass number of foods in the Great Hall, “I’m going to eat something.”

“Have fun.”

“You already ate?” Xavier asked in earnest curiosity, as stuffing a full dinner in ten minutes seemed a stretch for even Tom.

“Yep,” Tom replied succinctly, and when he regarded the interrogative face ahead of him asked, “What?”

“What did you eat?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

For a moment, Tom did not respond and then reluctantly muttered, “Snickers.”

“What?” Xavier asked disbelievingly. He thought he had heard Tom say ‘Snickers’ and such a reply could not possibly be realistic.

“Candy,” Tom replied loudly.

“You ate candy for dinner?!”

Perceiving the question as rhetorical, Tom waited for him to continue. When he did not Tom looked away and said, “I don’t see why you’re so interested in my eating habits.”

“Because you decided not to be,” Xavier replied annoyed with the very comment.
“That’s preposterous. And we agreed no mom-ing.”

Looking desperately at Tom he moaned, “But its not smart.”

“Its not smart to dig your own grave either,” Tom replied bitingly, rising from his seat.

An anger seized Xavier and his grey eyes flashed at the bitter ones that persisted in glaring at him. “What were we supposed to do?” he asked with an edge in his voice.

“Not open it?” Tom suggested, shrugging.

Tom was saying this. Tom. The one who had proposed the idea. He had been the architect. How dare he suggest that, Xavier thought angrily. Yet only one more thought later, he felt more embarrassed than anything else. Softening Xavier replied “You did not say that.”

Scowling Tom began, “Or I-“

“Non-pureblood success rate is much lower,” Xavier interrupted automatically.

“Success rate is there though! And only 15 ever attempted. That statistic is irrelevant.”

“We’re not going to discuss this!” Xavier responded furiously.

“Why not?!” asked Tom.

“Because it happened!” Xavier burst. Calming he continued in a monotonous tone, “You do too much thinking about things that are already done. I think that’s why you’re not eating and I also think its absolutely stupid.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Tom lied.

“Right,” Xavier replied sourly, “I’m off.”

“Have fun,” Tom retorted loudly and in equal animosity, which manifested itself not only in his voice but in the act of hurling his Potions textbook in the fire.

It was then that Xavier grasped the heavy weight of idiocy that had littered the whole encounter. “What was that?” he asked, a smile creeping on his lips.

Detecting the laughter in his voice Tom, too, understood how ridiculous the situation would have seemed if he were observing. “I don’t know, but I’m going to need another one of those,” he replied beginning to laugh and then adding rather seriously, “I’m still cross with you.”

“Its mutual.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

April 25th, 2006, 3:02 am

Eric snapped. It seemed inevitable that he should. After all Xavier and Tom had pursued a battle consisting of biting words, splicing tones and damning arguments for upwards to 20 minutes. Indifferent to the conflict he had ignored the majority of it, hearing words and phrases such as "ulcer", "stupid", "savior complex" and "memory dweller." He had simply stared at the ornate chest a head of him pondering the oddity of the entire situation during the conversation. People eleven did not think of dying. How had it happened? Shaking his blonde head, he could barely remember why they had begun scavenging through the forest, vaguely recalling the intense boredom prior to the quest. Fairly certain where his mind would wander upon the surfacing of that thought, Eric forced himself to listen to the last thirty seconds of their talk in hopes of delaying contemplation.

“Shut up already!” he exclaimed, stepping toward the chest and between the two opposing parties. Sending unjustified yet admonishing looks to his left and right, he said angrily, “What are you two fighting about anyway? Look Xavier” Eric continued, turning his blue-green eyes piercingly upon Xavier, “I seriously doubt Tom here is dumb enough to starve himself to death. It’s a painful way to go and if he really wanted to, which I don’t think he does, there are lots of other options.” Then he turned to Tom, “And you. Let it go already! It happened. Stop having fantasies about time turners and the lot because its not going to happen!”

A stubborn ‘humph’ emanated from each side and Eric, in turn, threw up his hands in frustration. “What-ever. Can we just open this thing?” he said annoyed with their responses.

“Yeah,” Tom replied his attention suddenly directed absolutely toward the wooded object placed on a dark marble table. There were few objects in Tom’s life that fully captured him in awe. In regards to the chest, Tom could not help but feel a certain amount of pride. It was no longer a footnote in an ancient text as it had been, nor was it a subject discussed in standardized books. It was a discovery, and more importantly, it was their discovery. Though in the past 400 years seven others had discovered the same artifact, every groove and every carving of the object suggested its undying loyalty to them. They were now members of a select few and it was this that Tom found most appealing. Eric had opted in for the adventure and Xavier simply found the idea of a challenge irresistible. In truth, all would have preferred to have found it by themselves and, as thus, each acknowledged the existence of “m” and “e” in the word “team” as they beheld the object upon the glossy, dark surface of the table.

"Right," Xavier replied to the calming silence that had settled abruptly upon the three Slytherins. Fishing objects out of the majestic yet petite box he began, "Basically we have six objects here. And a booklet. Its like a manual, I think."

"Lets read it then," Tom interjected in the commanding tone of a child asking an adult for some precious object.

"I'm getting to that," Xavier responded irritatedly, his grey eyes smoothly returning a gaze towards the impatient dark eyes that prodded unreasonably. For the most part, the black leather backed book seemed ordinary. In fact were it not for the imprint of a unified snake and raven it could have been found in any bookshop in any time period. Xavier carefully lay the dark book unto the glossy surface of the table as if it were some eroding manuscript that required specific handling; an act that Tom found most exasperating.

Ignoring Tom as well as the annoying hum that sounded from the small book upon opening, Xavier concentrated on the text. Parts were written in English, the rest in codes consisting of various languages. He began to read the opening remarks but stopped suddenly as Tom snapped the book shut.

"Hey!" he said angrily, looking sharply at Tom, "What was that f-"

"Eric?" Tom asked softly, ignoring Xavier's comments.

Turning, Xavier found a dazed Eric staring blankly in return. He seemed to be awakening from a trance he did not recall being in for the looks of his friends confused him. "What?" he asked in ignorance. Tom and Xavier exchanged looks and then faced Eric once more. "Was it the hum?" Xavier asked curiously.

"Had to have been."

"What are you talking about?" Eric asked once more, this time with a hint of anger in his voice.

"Er," Tom said uncomfortably, "well you went into a trance or something."

"Did I?"

"Yeah," Xavier said, "do you remember what I read from the book?"

Eric's brows furrowed in confusion, "You didn't read from it."

"I did."

"Hhm," Eric said slowly, "so I guess I shouldn't or can't really help with the objects then?"

Tom and Xavier quickly became interested in anything not in Eric's proximity. "No," Tom replied quietly after a while. Sighing, Eric left the room; fear being the utmost emotion on his mind. It was not necessarily that he was so dissappointed in not being able to solve the mystery of the unknown objects, as both Xavier and Tom thought, it was more that, thus far, all of his dreams had been fulfilled. Xavier had opened the chest. He had been entranced by the songs of the book. From the information available to him, all had gone as planned. It frightened Eric that such things should happen, for it practically painted Xavier as a dead man. Furthermore, there was nothing he could have done to change it because it seemed the dreams could not be altered. And as he thought of these subjects, Eric had to wonder, despite the weight of the matter, whether he should have been sorted to some other house.

Hours later, Tom and Xavier emerged from the dormitory and stepped into the deserted Slytherin Common Room where Eric was on the verge of falling asleep. He bolted up when the two lazily fell into a sofa nearby. Their grim looks fostered a questioning expression upon his face to which Tom replied flatly, "There were seven objects."

"Where's the seventh one?" Eric asked.

Xavier responded after moments of silence. It seemed natural that he should utter the word. "Potter."

"Oh goody," Eric replied bitterly. However a part of him was overjoyed. Amelia had never intercepted an object in his dreams. It meant that they could be changed. "When are you going to go get it?"

"Tomorrow," Tom said and then thought aloud, "This is so messed up."

Both knew what he was referring to, yet neither wished to continue and, so, Eric smoothly tacked the conversation into another direction. "Tell me about it," he muttered loudly, "I think the hat messed up when it sorted me."

Tom's hollow laugh filled the room. "I'm pretty sure someone spilled a bit of wine in it before the sorting," he said afterwards, "The thing was seriously considering putting me in Hufflehuff."

Eric snorted and Tom turned, in hopes of observing a similar reaction from Xavier, only to find dissappointingly inqusitive grey eyes staring back at him. "You're not serious." Eric said in disbelief.

"No. Actually I am."

"The hat went on a rant about random things before assigning me to Slytherin," Xavier said quietly, rising to his feet his lips curved in a smile and leaving on the departing comment of, "I demand a re-sorting!"

When Tom was certain Xavier was out of a hearing range, he asked Eric, "Do you remember the last trinket he'll work on?"

"Yeah its the first one he plans to work on," Eric replied, glad that Tom had finally asked the question and even happier now to tell him knowing that he could change it, "the potion that tells you one thing that you really want to know. Forgot its name though."

"Funny," Tom murmured gazing into the fire, "I was going to take that one anyway."

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

May 8th, 2006, 11:22 pm

Back on track! Please feedback!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Amelia stood in wonder at the creature before her. It resembled a horse. However, its tail and mane were composed solely of fire. It's chestnut body glowed with an orange light and its hooves seemed like red hot glowing irons. She began to back away slowly, yet the creature's sad eyes beckoned her forward. It had enchanting eyes, or so she thought. She extended her hand to pat the creature like one would do to any horse. The creature backed away, as if on purpose, to reveal the charred wood where its hooves had formerly lain. Some part of her head should have then informed her that petting the animal as some ordinary pet would be unadvisable. Nevertheless she persisted in attempting to touch the creature, which moved farther away from her and closer to the wall. It was not until Xavier distracted her by entering the room that she awoke from her reverie. Turning around in surprise, Amelia began to ask, "How did yo-"

"What do you think you're doing?" he interrupted coldly, "You're not supposed to touch it."

Hurt by his condescending tone Amelia replied cooly, "Well you are supposed to be ignoring me. So much for supposed-to's."

Gazing at the horse-like creature he responded mechanically, "Look I don't have time for the usual banter," well aware of the impact the categorization of their meetings would have on her.

Looking from Xavier to the animal, realization dawned. “You’re here for it aren’t you?” she asked quietly.

Although he was not sure whether it was the tone of her voice or the way she had phrased the question, his directed his gray eyes upon her. “If you must know, yes,” he replied softly.

He knew what she was thinking and when the silence ended by her commanding voice he smiled. “You can’t have it,” she said rather seriously, fixing her verdant eyes upon his, “We have to tell a professor. Maybe Hagrid. You should tell them–“

“Amelia,” Xavier interjected with a pained expression on his face, “do you remember we had a promise?”

“Yeah. You are supposed to ignore me.”

“No,” he said kindly pulling a comb from the folds of his robes, “the other promise.”

The calculations for his implications were conviently simple and as such it did not take Amelia long to comprehend what he was suggesting. “Well, yeah. But you can’t possibly-“

“You said I could trade it for anything, remember?,” he said quietly, “I want to trade it for what’s standing behind you.”

“Hold on just a minute,” Amelia said angrily, “What makes you think I’ll give it to you? It’s just a comb and this could be dangerous.”

“Amelia, it was a promise. It’s not so much the material thing we’re going to exchange as much as the act to upholding the promise that matters.”

“Xavier…,” she replied weakly, recognizing that she had quite rapidly lost any options.

“No Amelia,” he said in a hard voice. Certain she would not refuse, he extended the comb toward her and continued “Choose.”

Perhaps it was peer pressure or maybe it was simply Xavier yet she knew that she would accept. Sighing in defeat, she grasped the comb and wondered aloud, “What would you have traded it for if not for this?”

“That doesn’t really matter now,” Xavier replied, his focus shifted wholly upon the animal before him. A soft hush breezed through the room as he contemplated the ways to smuggle the creature into his dorm without being notice, a relatively difficult task considering the animal’s size as well as its brightness. Amelia was left to twiddle thumbs aimlessly during the session.

Moments later Tom, much to Amelia’s pleasure and Xavier’s annoyance, interrupted the silence. “Someone’s coming,” he said hurriedly.

“No one in this dorm,” Amelia replied comfortingly, “It’s a Slytherin v Gryffindor game today. The school’s practically deserted. I would have gone too if it wasn’t for my homework.”

Tom nodded to her response and then groaned upon viewing the scene. "You opened it," he moaned.

"It's not my fault," Amelia replied defensively, "I dropped it by mistake."

"No one's blaming you," Tom said reassuringly, although, to him, she seemed to be completely at fault for at least unleashing the creature. Focusing more at the horse-like creature, he had an epiphany. "Wait, aren't those - "

"extinct? Yeah," Xavier answered bitterly.

"Gargh, stupid tree huggers," Tom said darkly, "This has to be a Ravenclaw's doing. What are we supposed to do with it?"

Xavier laughed softly as he considered Tom to be the closest thing to a "tree hugger" that he had ever met. Amelia, however, failed to see the humor and began rather hotly, "I'll have you know-"

"Relax," Tom interrupted smiling calmly. Pulling her towards him, somewhat afraid that she would attempt to touch the animal for indeed it seemed she would, he continued, "I'm just venting."

“Let go of her,” Xavier said suddenly, only then realizing that Amelia and Tom were much too close to one another.

Amelia blushed and Tom obeyed laughingly. Xavier’s remark only further confirmed his suspicion that Xavier liked Amelia. “Awh, he’s no fun,” he joked to Amelia who giggled in response.

Thoroughly annoyed Xavier said, “Am I the only one who realizes the severity of this?”

“No,” Tom replied and then smilingly explained to Amelia, “Wouldn’t want you to get burned or anything. We’d have a hell of a time telling the nurse what happened and not getting in trouble for it.”

“Right,” Xavier said, his voice laced with remnants of irritation, “Where do we take it?”

“The Room of Requirement?” Amelia offered, “It can’t stay here that’s for sure. How will you get it there?”

“Invisibility cloaks?,” Tom said, “I’ll just charm the insides. What will we do with it when its in there? I mean eventually someone else will try to go into the room.”

Xavier shrugged, “I think it would be best if we transfigured it.”

For a moment Tom was silent and then burst sarcastically, “Oh yeah. That should be easy. I mean transfiguring magical creatures is right here by how to make dead people alive again. Piece of cake really.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Xavier asked defensively.

“No,” Tom retorted, “I’m just saying we have a short window in which to do this. The quidditch game won’t last forever. And this may take time. I’m just saying we’ll have to be careful. That’s all.”

“Right,” Xavier responded after a while as laying out the invisibility cloaks. A white light erupted from Tom’s wand and settled gently upon the cloaks.

“Can I go with you?” Amelia asked as she viewed the spectacle. Xavier looked at her suspiciously and Amelia continued motioning towards the pile of homework on her desk, “I really don’t want to do this work.”

Tom and Xavier exchanged looks and it was then in the yellow light that filtered through the windows of her room that she came to realize the depths of the friendship in front of her. What more, she understood that neither were willing to admit the existence of such things. Tom shrugged and added, “We could always use another hand.”

“Alright,” Xavier growled.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

May 21st, 2006, 11:30 pm

I'm sorry for the wait. Please feedback from the link! Again...sorry.

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“What is it?” Amelia asked regarding the crouched fiery creature that had only moments ago gratefully accepted a chain as if thankful to be tied. They had arrived to the Room of Requirement with few distractions save Peeves the Potterologist who had caught a glimpse of the flaming tail. He had only begun to bombard the small group with colored balloons filled with water when a severely cross Tom blasted him onto the other side of the school. Upon entering the room, which had transformed itself into a stable made of rigid fireproof cloths and plastics, Xavier had left immediately for a textbook to aid with the process of transfiguring magical creatures. Although his departure had generated somewhat of a dissapointment in her, Amelia was mainly fascinated with the animal and, as such, waited patiently for Tom to respond.

Having completed an inspection of the premises, checking for items such as food, Tom finally sat next to her and replied, “It’s a heliopath. They’re spirits of fire. Weird stuff. They used to exist in great numbers but after a while there were less and less places they could go and eventually they became extinct.” Looking at the heliopath in front of him he added, “Well at least they were extinct.”

“It looks so sad,” Amelia commented gazing into the creature’s resigned eyes.

“You would be too if everything you touched turned to ashes.”

“Don’t they touch each other,” Amelia asked taking her eyes off the heliopath and facing Tom. “I mean if they don’t how do they…” her voice trailed off as she blushed slightly.

“…have babies?” Tom offered, smiling. Amelia nodded her cheeks turning a deeper red. “They are fiery spirits so I thought that they couldn’t procreate. But actually they’re asexual,” Tom continued and upon viewing her brows furrow as he uttered the word ‘asexual’ he explained further, “as in they have both the male and female parts and can do it alone.”

Amelia looked quickly away from Tom and seemed particularly interested in examining the heliopath, as if embarrassed by what had said. After all, it had been only recently that she had discovered how sexual creatures procreated and the idea that there were other kinds had never occurred to her. Not to mention, to be told how one came into existence is a fixating subject and a rather disturbing to speak of to strangers. Tom, on the other hand, having been fascinated by reproduction at an early age, was quite comfortable discussing it.

“Tom” she said suddenly after a moment of silence, “what are those dark spots on it?”

“Well they are spirits of fire ,” Tom said wearily, his dark eyes focused on the heliopath, “Water doesn’t rub them right. Its actually supposed to be quite painful for them.”

“Can’t we do anything?” Amelia asked after a while.

“No,” Tom replied simply, leaning his back on the wall, “It gets better on its own. I don’t think you’re feeling the whole isolated vibe here.”

“Is that why you were mad at Peeves?” asked Amelia, thinking him to be rather caring should he answer yes.

Tom was silent for a moment. Then he replied quite haughtily, “Peeves just annoys me in general. He needs a life man.”

“Oh,” Amelia said turning to him, “How do you know so much about heliopaths anyway?”

“Because I’m interested,” Tom responded.

Recognizing that the subject of the heliopath had more or less been exhausted, Amelia asked, “So how is your girlfriend?”

Tom had almost forgotten about her. In truth, he had only had dinner with her once, which for some incomprehensible reason now meant that he was obligated to be her boyfriend. “She’s fine,” Tom replied hollowly, “How’s Creevey?”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Amelia exclaimed, irritated by the recent suggestions from certain Slytherins that such was the case.

Tom smiled at her annoyance and retorted softly, “I never said he was. All I know is that he’s a friend of yours that happens to be a boy.”

“So what,” Amelia replied hotly, “He’s a friend who’s a boy. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Tom assured, confused yet sufficiently entertained by her increasing anger, “I’m just asking because he was in the Hospital Wing a while back.”

“Oh that,” Amelia said flatly after a while, “he’s fine now.”

“Good,” Tom replied, closing his eyes savoringly. The room had become quite cozy in the past few minutes due to the heat the heliopath emanated. He was about to inform her of his intentions to nap when she asked tentatively, “Does Xavier have a girlfriend?”

“Well Eric Zabini is practically a girl and a hell of a friend,” Tom joked.

Amelia smiled and said, “I’m being serious.”

“If you’re dying to know,” Tom said finally in an honest voice, “I’m quite sure he’s determined to be a bachelor for his whole life. I mean I’m dealing with the girls that are curious about him and he’s not interested in right now.” Then his eyes snapped open and he grinned handsomely in her direction. “You’re not one of those girls are you?” he asked.

“No,” Amelia replied much too quickly to the question. At least, she did not think she was.

“Great,” Tom said, closing his eyes once more and resting his head on the wall. “I’m going to go to sleep now,” he murmured.

“It’s only 7 o’clock!” Amelia exclaimed in surprise.

Tom opened his eyes groggily and responded, “You’d be sleepy too if you were up till five figuring out how to get into a house that wasn’t yours.”

“I could find you a pillow or something,” she said softly, rising to scavenge the area.

“No,” he said, “Walls work just fine.”

He watched through tired eyes as she explored the room. Gazing at the heliopath for some time, Amelia contemplated ways to possibly make it happier. It simply looked to sad for her bear. Searching the room she found a pile of dead ferrets. After understanding that they must be part of a heliopath diet, Amelia picked one up by its tail. Maybe this will cheer it up a bit, she thought while moving towards the heliopath.

The flaming creature rose when it saw her advancing. Though it was famished, it backed away as she continued to close the distance between them. Tom saw through blurry eyes, a red head walking to the heliopath. The action seemed bizarre to him. The heliopath had reached the corner. It began to stomp its hooves as if to warn her to stay away. This action seemed even more unexplainable than Amelia's. At last Amelia outstretched her arm revealing the dead ferret. It was then that Tom understood what was happening.

He bolted up when the heliopath inhaled, finally giving into its hunger. Tom ran towards them, hoping it to be some sort of a bad dream. "Amelia no," he said in a panicked voice. Reaching her, he pushed her away from the heliopath which had opened its mouth. A jet of flames lighted the entire room with an orange glow. The ferret dropped unmarked onto the floor and Tom knelt by it, clutching his left arm. A searing pain traveled through it and he bowed his head to the unbearable sensation.

"Tom?" Amelia asked shakily, fear rampant throughout her voice.

When Tom did not respond immediately, her despair increased. Breathing heavily, he finally said with an effort in a voice devoid of feeling, "You know, we weren't joking when we said that we don't want you burned."

"I'm sorry," Amelia said, his image becoming blurry as tears appeared in her eyes.

Tom closed his eyes to the floor as his head began to throb. Clenching his teeth, he replied in a ragged voice with an attempt to calm her, "They like their food charred. You couldn't have known that. I doubt even Xavier knows."

"I'm so sorry," Amelia repeated. The tears began to fall. Injuries were common in quidditch. If fact she had once seen a player fall off his broom, only to land on the ground with two severely broken limbs. The broken bones had jutted out, creating a clearly visible bump. That, however, seemed like nothing compared to the scene before her. The sleeve of his robe had mostly disintegrated, save a few shards that were deeply embedded in the confusing mess of blood and blackened skin.

"It's not so bad," Tom breathed after a while. "Amelia. I need you to listen carefull-"

Amelia, however, was not listening at all. "You need to go to the Hospital Wing..." she interjected breathing between sobs.

At that, Tom's head snapped up and he opened his dark eyes in determination, "No," he interrupted, but Amelia did not seem to hear.

"We have to tell someone," she continued desperately, ignoring his dissent and rising suddenly. "I'll get Madam Pomphery," she said wiping her tears and exiting the room.

"Amelia no," Tom said in a stronger voice. He rose to follow her and possibly stop her, absentmindedly brushing the ferret towards the heliopath. The creature inhaled once more and the again the room was filled with an orange glow from the fire it emitted. The flames missed their furry target and instead hit Tom's back, upon which everything descended into a darkness.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

May 27th, 2006, 6:17 am

The mass of students piling into the building, signaling the end of the quidditch game, only further served to disorient Amelia as she searched for the Hospital Wing. On any other day she would have easily reached it. At that moment, however, the area seemed to escape her with the same swiftness of the students that were entering the building in either cheering or sulking. On any other day she would have harassed any one of those students into spilling a minute-by-minute rendition of the game. At that moment, however, she was simply too distraught to inquire on something as meaningless as quidditch.

It was in this condition that Xavier spotted her roaming the halls looking rather upset. It was in the same manner that she received Xavier in one of the many dark corridors of the main hall. Sometime during her retelling of events in between apologies, the tears appeared once more. At first she attempted to stifle them, but before long she allowed them to polish her green eyes in innocence and streak down her pale face. He consoled her as much as possible and coaxed the last words from her trembling lips, nevertheless finding the entire situation extremely uncomfortable.

“…so I had to leave,” she finished as he retrieved a white handkerchief from the dark recesses of his robes to dry her face.

“Ok Amelia,” he said decidedly, his voice clear and calm, “now I need you to get Eric…”

“Xavier, no!” Amelia interrupted shakily, yet with persistence, “we have to go to the Hospital Wing. You can’t do this alone. He’s your friend! He’s hurt. Don’t you see? This is too dangerous. You have to tell them everything!”

She did not know what he was thinking and searched desperately for some shadow of a clue in his clouded gray eyes. However, he calmly finished wiping her face and then said, “Ok Amelia. But if we’re going to do this, you have to tell me everything. From when we crashed to right now.” To her furrowed brows he explained, “Our stories will have to be congruent.”

She began to recount the series of events that had led to their current situation meticulously. He was not listening. In fact the congruency of stories had nothing to do with his plans. He could not tell her that they had consciously bashed, dismembered, and bruised not only countless school policies but also a few wizarding laws in the process of reaching to what was now. To report themselves would mean expulsion for Eric, Tom and Xavier. It would be the ultimate disgrace upon the Malfoy name, or at the least what was left of it. He remembered vividly the day in September when he had left for Hogwarts and his mother had asked him to make the family proud. At that time he did not know of the other implications for Eric and Tom, yet was quite sure that they would be as destructive as his. In short, he could not permit her to spill the details.

By the time she had finished, Amelia had gained some composure. Although her worries manifested themselves through etches on her face, she was no longer crying. She had tamed her fiery red hair and set it behind her shoulders and her almond eyes only emitted a sense of urgency. “Do you still have the comb?” Xavier asked her softly, his mind set.

Befuddled yet compliant in the hopes of a speedy delivery, Amelia dug into her left pocket to reveal the metallic object reflecting the light of the main hallway behind her. “Yeah,” she said staring at the comb and then at Xavier, “but wh-“

Before she could even finish the sentence Xavier had taken hold of her left hand and closed the already small distance between them, sandwiching both the comb and the handkerchief in their hands. Rounding his left arm around her, he pointed his wand at the back of her neck. Taken completely off guard, Amelia was in no position to respond. Her emerald eyes simply widened when she felt the cold wood touch her neck. His face was just as coded an incompressible as it had been a few minutes ago. Nevertheless, she thought she saw the remnants of some unspoken apology in his eyes.

He uttered the spell, “Obliviate.” She fell forward from the force and onto his chest. For a while she lay motionless, propped solely by him while he concealed the wand with his sleeves and waited for her to wake. He had never before modified the memory of a human. In theory he had taken the safest and most effective route, yet the possibility of complications were always there. As thus, he could not run out of the place and leave her to rise alone. When she did awaken, Amelia did not remember how she had ended in his arms. “Xavier?” she asked in a daze caused from a severe headache.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, improvising each word, “I didn’t know how else to talk to you. So I stunned you.”

She felt too groggy to be angry at him or even properly chastise him, for that matter. “What did you want to talk about?” she asked wearily.

“I wanted to return the comb to you,” he replied, bringing her attention to their clasped hands. He carefully picked up the piece and proceeded in entwining it in cherry locks while she blushed deeply despite her aching head.

Then, as if coming to her senses, she asked suddenly, “But what do you want to trade it for?”

Now it was Xavier’s turn to redden, and he did so quite magnificently. The spell seemed to have been rather accurate in its work as she seemed to remember everything other than the orb and the situations related to it. He had not thought of what to exchange the comb for and had an unreasonably limited array to choose from. Then he leaned closer to her and whispered, “For this.” In a flash he had rushed to kiss her cheek that had moments ago been covered with salty tears.

“Xavier?” she murmured, alarmed by his un-Xavier-like behavior yet delighted at the same time.

He ignored her probing tone and breathed in her ear, “You’re wonderful.”

Then, just as quickly as he had delivered the peck, he removed himself from her and stood back. Her rosy blush had reached new shades of bright red, and she touched her cheek with the napkin. She did not know what to do, and for a moment, felt she would burst into tears for an unexplainable reason. Nonetheless she managed to somehow say good night to him and excuse herself from the bizarre event.

A dark-haired, blue-eyed boy, who had been idly discussing the results of the Quidditch game in the main hall, watched in surprise as he saw the redheaded girl bolt from the dark corridor clutching her cheek. His eyes widened even more when, moments later, he saw a boy with signature gray-Malfoy eyes emerge from the same corridor headed in a different direction, running at a quicker pace.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

May 28th, 2006, 3:48 am

I graduated!!! I'm so happy. This is extra long...considering I haven't posted in an extra long time :D. Please feedback from the link!

Chapter 8: Surprises

“I’m fine!” Tom exclaimed in an irate manner, rising from the bed only to be shoved back down by a forceful hand. Two days had passed since they had retrieved the heliopath from Amelia. Helen had replied to Xavier’s owl promptly and gladly accepted the task of caring for the creature provided it was transfigured into a white cat with lavender eyes. Initially, Xavier had rolled his eyes, muttering “girls” yet suspected some deeper meaning behind the request when Tom had smiled slyly upon hearing of it. Nevertheless he had decided, in the space of the time during his morning shower, to await patiently for the right time to permanently destroy the possibility of any possible relation between Helen and Tom.

“Shut up,” he heard Eric reply authoritatively on the other side of the door, “you’re staying here. We’ll make the excuses for you today.”

“But when you were burnt, you came back after two days,” Tom argued, gingerly rubbing the shoulder where Eric’s hand had been moments ago.

“Yeah, well I didn’t have 4th degree burns and the ingredients were fresh,” retorted Eric bitingly.

“But-“ Tom began to respond.

“No but’s ******,” Eric said angrily and pointed meaningfully at his cauldron behind the green and silver covers of his bed, “Do you know what that is?” he asked, continuing when Tom shook his head, “It’s the Draught of Living Death. Don’t force me to use it.”

Tom scoffed, “ You couldn’t have made the Draught of Living Death.”

“No,” Eric responded, the glint in his blue-green eyes dimming slightly, “but Xavier could.”

“Did he?” Tom asked skeptically.

“Yes I did,” came Xavier’s voice from the bathroom door, muffled by a towel, which was in the process of drying his hair. “It was actually pretty fun to do, and the modified directions in that book were rather helpful.”

“You have a very perverted sense of fun,” Tom said darkly, leaning back in his bed in a huff.

“And you have a very distorted sense of everything, really,” Xavier replied coolly, “Seriously, I can’t believe you didn’t tell Amelia to use the tongs when feeding a heliopath.”

“Oh and I was just supposed to know that she would try to feed it was I?” Tom defended, looking obstinately at him as he gathered his books.

“What I don’t understand,” Eric interrupted, “Is why you took the Potter girl along anyway.”

To that, Xavier turned to him and said almost automatically, “We needed an extra hand.”

Visibly becoming enraged, Eric began, “Yeah, but-“

“Calm down,” Tom interjected, amused by his anger, “Its not like we were going to let her remember it anyway.”

Xavier looked stonily at Tom for a moment, as if he had been unaware of such a plot. “Seriously,” he said finally in a believably matter-of-fact tone.

“Great minds think alike,” Tom added in a sage-like voice, a smile creeping on his face upon the realization that Xavier’s remorse for his actions, clearly evident through the placidity of his face, was the signature to verify his suspicions.

“Correction,” Xavier snapped, his grey eyes once again animated lividly, “that implies you have a mind, which you obviously don’t. What were you thinking anyway? Do you realize that if she had acted maybe two minutes later, she would have been hurt? How would we have explained that? Oh so sorry professor, but Tom just decided on the last minute to fall asleep and practically kill this Gryffindor. Oh no professor it has nothing to do with hating Gryffindors…or…wait yeah, yeah it do-”

“Xavier!” Eric exclaimed a warning, interrupting his semi-serious rant.

“What?” Xavier asked sharply turning to find a dumbfoundingly unexpected scene in which Eric’s attention was focused on a pale Tom who seemed to have drifted somewhere far from the topic of discussion. To a mouthed what-did-I-say, Eric could only responded with a shrug as he too was equally blind as to the reason behind Tom’s behavior.

“Tom-” Eric began after a while when Xavier had left both confused and exasperated.

“You’re right,” Tom interjected hollowly seemingly interested in the lines on his hands, his tone alone making clear that at some point a chord had been struck much too violently, “I’m tired. Make the excuses.”

Tom sighed as he heard a click as the door closed. Laying down, it occurred to him that he technically had nothing to do. His body however had already begun to reminisce, much to his dissatisfaction. His stomach turned unpleasantly and something that could be classified as dull pain creeped up from it. The high-pitched voice of a woman echoed in his head. Through blurred eyes, he was vaguely aware of a white creature leaping tenderly upon the covers asking with normally irrefutable wide purple eyes to be petted. Closing his eyes, he allowed the feeling to dominate.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“Malfoy.” The hard and clearly aggravated voice reverberated through the empty hall that would in mere minutes be filled with students eagerly stampeding to the Great Hall for lunch. A boy with blue eyes slitted in suspicion and unruly black hair came into view.

Rather unsure of the reason for the encounter, Xavier could only respond with a stoically cool, “Potter.”

“What exactly did you do?” Sirius Potter asked angrily walking quickly towards him.

“I don’t know,” he replied in a somewhat sardonic manner, “Why don’t you tell me what I did?”

And though Xavier himself was clueless as to what he did he considered simply running away as the third-year vexedly advanced into something he would like to have termed his personal space. “Don’t play stupid with me,” Sirius responded dangerously, “What did you do? Slap her?”

“Slap who?” Xavier asked annoyedly yet backing away from the considerably taller Sirius nevertheless.

“Amelia!” Sirius exclaimed.

For a moment, Xavier did not respond. His heart began to beat faster as he wondered how much Sirius knew about that night. Regardless, he knew he could not possibly reveal the true intent of the situation and was mildly interested in the measures Sirius would take. “Oh her,” he said finally in a convincingly lackadaisical fashion, “In my defense, the git does have a tendency to be rather annoying.”

Within seconds Sirius charged and easily overpowered the first year onto a wall. Sliding Xavier up to his eye level on the wall, Sirius grunted loudly, “Listen you little runt. That’s my sister you’re talking about and I won’t have anyone bullying her.”

Biting his tongue to the pain of being thrown onto a stone wall, Xavier replied in a taunt “You have a very ironic way of showing it.”

Suddenly Sirius’ face was emotionless, a sight much more frightening than any amount of rage could possibly carve. He released Xavier and drew his wand from his robes.

Xavier scowled. He can’t be serious he thought, drawing his wand nonetheless. Time passed at an alarmingly slow rate as Xavier anticipated Sirius’ first attack. After a while he began to wonder if Sirius would actually even care to cast a spell. Then, as if he had finally decided upon some very important moral issue, Sirius cast what seemed to be the Bat-Bogey Hex, which Xavier shielded against yelling “Protego.” Taking the whole situation much less seriously than Sirius, Xavier pointed his wand at Sirius head, saying “Avis.” A group of twittering birds erupted from the wand, heading ominously towards Sirius. Upon reaching their destination they began to peck most irritatingly at his head.

Before Xavier could afford to roll over laughing, Sirius had disposed of the fluttering irritations that had managed to deliver severe cuts upon his face. Furious, Sirius aimed a spell that he had only heard of yet never used. “Sectumsempra,” he said loudly. He had not intended to use it. In fact he had simply wanted to bring to light the importance of the matter. It had been the first thing he could think of and he had half- expected Xavier to dodge the spell. And had they not been so occupied, they would have noticed the streams of students leaking from classrooms signaling the beginning of lunch.

Xavier, however, did anything but even come close to dodging it. He had sent a silencing charm in Sirius’ direction and, as thus, found no time to move from the oncoming attack. It felt as though someone had ripped his stomach open and it was then that Xavier realized a small crowd had formed around them. Ophelia was one in the number to spot Sirius glaring at something or another. She pushed through the ring of people around Xavier and Sirius to find both students glaring at one another.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked Sirius angrily, standing between them.

Sirius moved his mouth rapidly without a sound escaping his lips. Xavier would have laughed at the scene in front of him had it not caused the pain at his waist to worsen. By the shock in Ophelia’s brown eyes when she turned to him for a response, Xavier could only guess that he had become considerably pale. It was only after Professor Flitwick scattered the crowd and ordered with pursed lips both Sirus and Xavier into his room that he was able to find the strength to point his wand at the wound and mutter the charm to heal it.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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blue_rose

June 4th, 2006, 2:21 am

There seemed to be no end in negotiating their punishments. Not surprisingly, each Head of House wished that the other house's student to serve a longer sentence. By the time they had decided on a suitable punishment for each student, the last rays of the sun graced the increasingly dark sky. While he could have complained endlessly about simply the physicality of the punishments; having to do them with Xavier Malfoy made the whole situation all the more unbearable, even when the fact that their parents would be contacted was overlooked. This last part troubled Sirius greatly. In fact he half considered not returning to the Gryffindor Common Room at all that night. When he did enter the chamber, it was of no great stupefaction that the all the Potter siblings, with a few cousins, were gathered there awaiting his arrival.

“Uhm…” Sirius began to respond to the incriminating glares of his friends and family.

“Do you have any idea how bad this looks?” Alexander, the eldest in the bunch, asked in a hard voice.

“Seriously,” Ophelia said, “you’re thirteen. He’s just eleven. It might have been better if it was the other way around. And you used the cutting curse?! Dad’s going to go bonkers over that one.”

“Look” Sirius defended angrily, “I don’t see you’re taking his side. He slapped Amelia! And called her a git!”

Everyone looked at Amelia to respond. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The rumors had spread in wildfire fashion with extra dry wood in the school. In fact the Malfoy-Potter fight was the hottest topic of the year. All of it for a kiss? Amelia found the whole concept disturbing. She did not know what to tell them. She did know she could not lie. She knew, also, that to tell them the truth would deflate completely any support for Sirius. She knew further that Xavier had affirmed the alternate reality in which he had ‘slapped’ Amelia. Could a lie said a thousand times over by a thousand people become truth?

As all of this whizzed through her mind, she suddenly fixated on the fact that Xavier had led Sirius to believe that he had slapped her. It occurred to her unexpectedly that he was pushing her away. Tears welled in her eyes at the thought. Frustration born from the unknown reason for those tears, colored her cheeks a rosy pink. Had she been in a more rational mood, she may have realized that the steady stream would save her from ever having to explain the matter. She felt a hand around her shoulder pull her into a body. To the hugger, Ophelia, and the rest of the group Amelia’s behaviour indicated some sort of bullying which they assumed originated from the Slytherin in question.

“My dad always said the Malfoys were a bad lot,” were the last words she heard when ascending the spiral staircase with Ophelia.

“I know,” Hector Creevey backed, “and especially Xavier Malfoy. He’s so uppity. And cold. And annoying. And…”

“We get it,” Alexander interjected and then rounded on Sirius, “But fighting’s not the answer. Dad will be angry about this anyway. No matter how much this Malfoy kid is the devil in material form.”

“But Alexi,” Sirius said, “this kid’s evil. I mean he wouldn’t give the counter curse for his silencing charm until he got some dittany from the professors. What the hell would he need dittany for? And he was so haughty about it.”

“I’m not debating his evil-ness,” Alexander said somewhat sourly, thinking it quite impossible to persuade the group otherwise, “and he would need dittany for the cut. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pretend to be an angelic Head Boy.”

It was no secret to the group that of all things, Alexander probably despised Head Boy duties the most. Not only were they irksome, primarily due to the reason that the job was more symbolic than anything else, but they were time consuming. True Head Boy/Girl privileges had long since lost their power. They were reduced to some police force with palace-like chambers. Not that he complained about that. The Head Girl was a very pleasant, easy to converse with, Ravenclaw. If he was not already in love with Lily Lupin, he may have even considered asking her out on a Hogesmeade day. Yet, of late, their relationship had become rocky. Yes, he thought running his hand through his dark hair as he approached a Ravenclaw who was tapping her watching meaningfully, he would ask her to a Hogesmeade day.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“How was detention?” Eric guffawed the minute Xavier entered the room after serving his first sentence. Four hours of trophy cleaning with an imbecile of sorts and without magic, which had ended at a most unpleasant conclusion for him, had drained Xavier of all patience. As thus it was not surprising that he had snapped, “Shut up” as a greeting that night.

“Not ready to laugh about it yet, huh?” Tom asked from his sleep-inducing Transfiguration reading. It had been a rather unwise decision, according to his Transfiguration professor, to have missed class on Thrusday. As thus he had been assigned a long reading assignment, at the end of which he was to orally present the nature of magic necessary to transfigure an animal into an inanimate object.

“I'm not even half-way on this two month torture train of detentions. What stupid inclination could possibly inspire you ask such a ridiculously rhetorical question?” Xavier snapped another response, throwing opening a copy of Potions Moste Potente on his bed and subsequently throwing himself on the bed to begin reading; somewhat of a misguided motion considering his stomach was still attempting to heal. Tom and Eric exchanged uneven glances.

“So….erm…er…” Eric faltered.

“Spit it out!” Xavier exclaimed crossly, his gray eyes slanted coldly.

“Oh stop it already,” Tom interjected lightly, marking his page and closing the book, “No need to bite our heads off. We need to talk about, er, borrowing potions materials for your cauldron cleaning duties.”

“What's there to talk about? I know what I need to get,” Xavier said curtly yet in a softer tone.

“Oh yes and we all know what exactly you're getting because we're all just good little legimens here and we all you you are a horrid Occulmens,” Tom mocked as he stroked the white cat that had moved from Eric to him when he had become occupied with his homework.

“Haha,” Xavier replied sarcastically, somewhat calmer, “Why do you need to know what I'm getting?”

“So we know where and what to hide it in” Eric piped in, pleased with his half finished on his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay.

“I have that stuff,” Xavier said evenly, “and I haven't finalized the list yet. But I'm definitely getting some more dittany.”

“What it still hurts?” Eric asked frowning.

“Urgh, no” Xavier said impatiently with an uncanny swiftness, “I need the dittany to prevent scarring . How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“Yeah well at least next year we won’t have to worry about stealing materials. You two are going to divy up the things we might need,” Tom said in an authoritative manner.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eric asked suddenly, looking squarely at Tom, “You have to pitch in too.”

Tom nearly stuck out his tongue and replied coolly, “I’m poor. It would be highly insensitive of you to ask that of me.”

“What-ever,” Eric waived, “Hey are you working on the other stuff in the chest yet?”

“I am,” Xavier supplied a response.

“Oh, how far are you?”

“Meh, not far,” he replied and then added sounding somewhat miserable, “I probably won’t get to it until break considering I’m going to working to make this bloody castle spotless for the rest of the year.”

For a while it was silent and Xavier was able to begin reading. Unfortunately, much to his displeasure, Eric appeared to have a severe case of logorrhea. “It was the oddest thing,” Eric said having completed the last essay due the next day, “I was talking to some other Slytherins and apparently we aren’t supposed to have friends…just ‘groups’.”

“Who says we’re friends?” Tom asked in return.

“Seriously, like I would befriend a social butterfly,” Xavier supplied sarcastically motioning towards Tom.

“Honestly, me and a crybaby,” Tom said smilingly indicating Eric, “never.”

Eric grinned in return, “Yeah I guess me becoming friends with a crazy evil sorcerer in the making is stretching reality a bit.”

Then glancing at each other, all fell into a fit of silent laughter, at the end of which Tom gasped, “Well I have an excuse. I’m half Hufflepuff. What’s yours?”

“I didn’t get the memo,” Eric said automatically.

“I'm independent by nature. You really can't expect me to know this kind of stuff,” Xavier replied.

“But you know Xavier is going to be an evil sorcerer,” Tom smiled jokingly.

“Yeah, what’s with all the restricted section books anyway?” Eric asked, moderately more solemn about the topic.

“Big Daddy Malfoy thaught the big bad scaury dark books would kill me,” Xavier responded mockingly.

“Oh and a deprived childhood! Perfect backstory,” Tom chirped in a smirk.

“Yes very much so,” Eric backed, “And we could be your minions.”

Xavier laughed and then replied, “My father had minions…not that I consider you to be my minions.”

“And right now he’s thinking ‘my little minions’” Tom said, rubbing his hands evilly.

“Hey I’m 12,” Eric said suddenly, glancing over at the clock.

“Congrats mate,” Tom said in particularly high spirits, “lets celebrate. Paint the school green and silver?”

“The only thing you’re doing is going to sleep,” Xavier said quite matter-of-factly, “I am not , I repeat not, carrying your bags tomorrow.”

“Unfair!”

Xavier ignored Tom and turned to Eric, “So what do you want to do?”

Eric shrugged, “Go hiking?”

“In the night?” Xavier asked skeptically and continued to a shrug, “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh honestly,” Tom said restlessly while throwing a pillow towards Xavier’s direction, “I wouldn’t be so up tight about everything if I was going to die any day now.”

For a moment they were all silent. Xavier caught the pillow and lay back in his bed. “You know,” he said finally staring at the ceiling, “that whole thing seems so surreal.” Then, sitting up he asked curiously, “Can you really hike at night?”

“Well you could I suppose,” Eric said.

“Let’s go,” Xavier said, “they’re sending the owl to my parents about yesterday tomorrow, which practically means the rest of this year is bound to be miserable anyway.”

“Awesome, I’ll-“ but what exactly it was that Tom would do was interrupted when a pillow hit him squarely on his left shoulder. “Owww,” he complained, “that hurt.”

“That was the point,” Xavier said coolly, moving towards the door, “go to sleep.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

I'm sorry...the second part is a bit looooong, and random at that. But it has a point...I swear. That and I was having a hard time writing it anyway. Please feedback from the link!

blue_rose

June 9th, 2006, 10:26 pm

Mrs. Malfoy could see the muscles on his neck tense in a silent fury from the edge of her cup. He finished reading the notice from Hogwarts and for no reason in particular skimmed through it once more. It was unbelievably lenghty. That letter. The dark green ink that shone in the morning rays of the sun, spread in the regal and loopy fashion that was of Professor McGonagall (to this day he found it difficult to refer to her as Headmistress). It informed him in a bizarrely calm and refined manner that his son had been involved in a ‘brawl’, though by the recounting of it anyone may have called a crude form of dueling. More importantly, however, it was a brawl with a Potter.

Draco smirked. She must have written many drafts of this he thought. The second piece of parchment seemed to be especially for the Malfoys. It informed him very coldly of the regulations of the school and that she would not hesitate to expel Xavier the instant at which he even sought to set a foot farther beyond the line than he already had. Such a warning was not unexpected. It was not astonishing that McGonagall tolerated the Malfoys. After all the current head of that family had played a significant role in the death of a friend who she had, at the least, cherished very dearly. And Draco had found that the saying “Hell hath no fury than that of a woman” spared no exaggeration but perhaps if it were written in distinctively stretched letters. In the end, however, she had owled the Hogwarts letter to Xavier based solely on the fact that it was her duty as Headmistress.

His wife’s worried voice focused his attention once more on the subject of the letter. “What is it?” she asked a frown spread on her lovely face.

He allowed the letter to slide effortlessly across the onyx table and dipped a biscotti into his morning coffee, torn between extreme anger at his son’s actions and pity for the injustices Xavier would likely face at one point or another for the actions he had taken. Mrs. Malfoy, however, was reasonably more decisive on the sentiments that would be conveyed to their son. Then, as if a neighborly woman had perused her mind, she heard a knock on the main door. Helen’s cheerful voice echoed into the lunch area as she greeted two grim looking adults carrying a piece of parchment strewn in green ink.

Draco sighed and lay his head to place his cheek on cool dark surface of the marble table. Helen would lead them to the living room, where Mr. and Mrs. Potter would sit awkwardly in the luxury of the manor that had earned it it’s historical site plaque. Not long after, he and his wife would enter the room and they would bypass the formalities to dive most unceremoniously into the matter. Somewhere in the conversation Harry/Harold/Mr. Potter (he would only know what to refer to them as after they would refer to them) would understandably lose his temper. After being calmed by his wife, they would return to some rational discussion in which both sides would apologize for both the conditional and inexcusable actions of their children. However, they would inevitably end with a harsh judgement on Xavier which he would accept, mainly to see them leave but also because fairly defending a person for striking a girl was an impossibility. Yes, he was about to begin a quite an adult conversation, in the middle of morning coffee no less.

"Do we have to?" he asked his wife as she rose from her chair to recieve their guests, the two papers in her hand.

Mrs. Malfoy turned to him and for a moment he smiled slightly. She stood in front of him looking so determined that he was sure she would drag him by the ear to the living room should he have expressed a desire to avoid them. In that moment when the morning sun transformed her eyes into shining emeralds framed by soft dark curls, when a situation such as the one before them recontructed her whole stature into one that could have led a hundreds of wizards into a battle they would certainly lose, he knew very clearly why he loved her. Why he had married her. Why the world had managed to melt away into the irrelevant. And why confronting the Potters would have been impossible without her.

"Alright," Draco heard himself say softly before he gently kissed her. "But I don't think they need to see this," he continued as he removed the second peice of parchment and placed it upon the smooth surface of the table. Her eyes shifted from her husband to the parchment peice, and for a second he thought she would begin to argue. But then her lips curved into a smile. She leaned in to return his kiss and upon clasping his hand, led him to the living room. Not long after, a pair of green eyes belonging to one much shorter than Mrs. Malfoy discovered the discarded portions of the notice and skimmed through its contents not without a certain amount of shame.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

blue_rose

June 11th, 2006, 11:08 pm

“Oh come on,” Alexander whined, theatrically leaning against the entrance to her room. The girl shot a silencing glare in his direction from the top of her book and he responded with an unfazed grin. Tousling his already messy jet-black hair he casually tumbled onto the end of her bed and in a manner anyone else would have defined as cute he asked, “Please?”

Setting down her textbook she replied testily, “I’m not going to help you cheat on Lily.” She had easily sliced through his ruse. He should have expected it. While Nicolette Finnigan may not have been the prettiest witch flaunting around at Hogwarts, she was most certainly one of the brightest.

“I just want to see if she still likes me,” Alexander defended softly, finding the polish on the wood floor rather fascinating.

He saw her lean back in her chair and exhale an exasperated sigh. “Here’s an idea,” she replied, her eyes closed, her voice hard, “why don’t you just ask her?”

To that, Alexander scrunched his nose and said, “I haven’t the slightest clue what that blasted hat was thinking putting you in Ravenclaw.” Nicolette responded by heaving the hefty book in his direction. He ducked to dodge the flying object and continued, “Neither of those things were creative. Plus,” he added in a cheery voice, “we can’t have you be a Hogsmeade virgin all your life. It’ll be fun.”

“No,” she said stiffly.

“Come on Nikki, you can’t go through Hogwarts and never go to Hogsmeade even once. And it’s a lovely day. I’ll show you all the sites. The Shrieking Shack, Three Broomsticks, the candy stores-“

Nicolette interrupted his reminiscing with a curt, “No.” Frowning, he rolled to follow her moving frame which was headed towards the exit. He reached for her hand and roughly pulled her into the bed while he sat up. “Why not?” he asked, with ample annoyance proliferating through out the question.

“You really want me to get into a moral debate with you, do you?” she replied irately, struggling to break free from his grasp.

“Never heard of the expression ‘all’s fair in love and war’, huh?” he retorted, firmly holding her down.

Nicolette sighed. Hundreds of counter arguments surfaced in her mind and for the sake to time she shifted onto another stand. “NEWTS are coming up.”

“So?” he asked incredulously, “They’ve been coming up since the last 6 years. You won’t score any lower if you don’t study for one day. Lighten up.”

“Fine,” she said at last, her voice almost hollow. He released her instantly, smiling but she responded only by quickly leaving. Upon review he found her reception acceptable. It may have been the least enthused acceptance he had ever received. However, more than that it almost seemed sad. And then a thought he could only identify as ridiculous appeared in his mind. He shook his head in disbelief, yet could not help but utter with a frown, “Nikki?”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Helen tensed. One of the guests had begun to shout. His voice could be heard clearly through most of the dining rooms and managed to seep in the form of unintelligible noises into the kitchens. She could imagine the cook clicking her tongue disapprovingly at the noise. She did not like to be disturbed while preparing menus, be they for a party of two or two hundred. From what she could discern, the man was Harry Potter; a name of little consequence to her as she was not familiar with wizarding history. She peeked slyly from the side of one of the entrances to the living area.

A rather impressive scene awaited her. Mr. Potter was standing, red-faced and furious, rambling extremely inappropriately to the chair straight ahead of her, where Helen assumed Mr. Malfoy was seated. The red-haired woman next to Mr. Potter, no doubt his wife, was sitting on the couch looking possibly angrier than her husband; even she could see that a part of that anger rose from Mr. Potter’s actions. Mrs. Malfoy’s face was attempting with great effort to not engage Mr. Potter in an argument. At times her mask dropped unexpectedly to reveal rising levels of frustration.

From the content of Mr. Potter’s discourse, she most identified with Mrs. Malfoy. He made wild assertions, accusing the Malfoys’ of rearing a womanizer. He could not be referring to Xavier, she thought, shocked at the very idea. He then charged them with being ungrateful. Ungrateful for what, Helen thought confusedly. It was only when he began to rant something along the lines of ‘child labor’ that Mrs. Potter finally quieted her husband by means of pulling him onto the couch and whispering some magical phrase that was very effective in calming him.

What does he know, Helen thought hotly as she heard Mr. Potter apologize lamely. She wished Mr. Malfoy would order them to leave. She wondered why Mr. Malfoy had sat quietly through the entire monologue. Why had he not defended them and pointed out at the least the unjust exaggerations littered through Mr. Potter’s assertions? Although it was evident that behavior such as the one displayed moments before was abnormal for Mr. Potter, he had nevertheless delivered a terrible first impression. Mr. Malfoy simply accepted the apology and began to speak as if Mr. Potter had said nothing at all. Coward, she thought, upset and somewhat hurt. She did not care to know what else they would discuss.

What does he know, she thought once more, turning on her heels to head to her room. He would rather have her made into some charity case. Or perhaps lock her in some special orphanage with others who knew about the wizarding world. She wanted neither. If anything she preferred the treatment she received at the Malfoy manor where she was allowed to work for her stay. As such she was obligated to no one. Not to mention, there were at least some scraps of a family in the house as opposed to none at her other options.

Helen sighed. Hating a person so intensely for so long was tiring. Indeed, she was surprised that others could hold grudges for years let alone days. She also had the nagging inkling that she had misjudged Mr. Potter. When she later read of him in books borrowed from Xavier, she would feel rather sheepish about her first impressions of him. She unlatched her laptop to lose herself in her english assignment, which was due on Monday. Unfortunately a dark-haired, dark-eyed distraction awaited her.

blue_rose

June 19th, 2006, 10:36 pm

Post is above! Please feedback from the link.

I should have posted this ages ago, but I had my graduation party yesterday and we were preping the whole week. Insane man. Throwing parties is hectic!

---------------------------------

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“And this,” Alexander said excitedly, waving his hand gracefully as if to introduce an ancient monument, “is The Three Broomsticks. Butterbeer at its finest. Always crowded. Decent service. Shall we go in?” Nicolette scowled. This would be where they would meet Lily. For some twisted reason the scowl translated as a yes in Alexander’s mind. He took her arm, much to her discomfort, and opened the door to reveal the very woody and noisy interior of the pub. Alexander waved jovially to some of his friends as they navigated through the sea of sweaty students to an empty table.

Upon reaching a table that met such a description, Nicolette was quick to seat herself in the closest chair, determined to not rise for anything for the duration of their stay at the pub. An unwelcome fly kept her company as Alexander braved the slosh of students once more to buy them drinks. Nicolette smiled slightly. That was one advantage to accompanying Alexander. He had promised to pay all expenses. If the trip became too unbearable she could access this promise for a shopping spree. A shopping spree for books, of course. She soured, however, when it occurred to her that Alexander may have been seeking to bribe her into silence. It was in this foul mood that she heard one of Alexander’s friends greet him with the name of Alexi as he tunneled through the throng of students and back to their table.

“Alexi?” she asked with a raised eyebrow as he sat next to her.

He smiled as he regarded the expression. “Nikki,” he said sweetly while he pushed a butterbeer towards her. The clanging bells, indicating the entrance of new persons, could barely be heard in the ruckus of the room. Alexander, however, had a clear view of the entering students. He swallowed. “Lily,” he nearly squeaked. It seemed that Alexander was reconsidering his plan. Nicolette was not sure why. If anything, the girl that entered looked to be the type that would forgive even something as egregious as cheating. Her beautiful long golden hair, light-brown eyes and slightly tanned yet soft skin were only some of the reasons why she was one of the most popular girls in school.

Alexander, however, knew Lily in many more ways than Nicolette could imagine. Lily was livid. Beyond the soft features he detected the rigid neck, the mechanical hello’s and the forced smiles. “You know,” he said his voice lightly seasoned with fear, “maybe we’ll do this another time. I mean you didn’t want to come or anything,” he said, taking his eyes away from Lily and looking at Nicolette, “and I feel kind of bad about that. So here,” he continued as he handed her galleons, “there are some great book shops here and I’m sure they have our books in stock so you can study and all.”

Nicolette could not help but laugh. “Are you that nervous about this?” she asked. He replied with a glare and she continued, “I mean you should really go along with this. I’ve already lost precious hours of study time.”

“You just want to see me squirm don’t you?” he asked darkly.

“My fee,” she said, tipping her butterbeer in a mock toast with a smirk. She took a large gulp of the warm liquid and frowned as she regarded his terrified expression. She sighed. “I’ll go if you want me to.”

This, however, had come a few minutes too late. Lily had spotted Alexander and if she were to leave in that instant they would meet. Instead Alexander carefully shoved her under the wooden table. Nicolette felt he right knee jam into something hard, as if she had kneed a person on the back. But she knew that was impossible and accepted the butterbeer from Alexander. He firmly ordered her to remain there. She shrugged and began to recite in her head four features that identified vampires.

“Find anything interesting down there?” a voice asked.

Alexander jumped. “Er, no,” he replied, his tone a bit higher than usual, “just my feet.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “You know, the strangest thing,” she said sitting next to him, “I thought you were here with someone else.”

Alexander scratched his head, “Really. That is odd.”

“Ummhhum,” she said. A tense quiet settled between them. Then Lily suddenly peeked under the table and Alexander confessed loudly, “We’re just friends!”

Nicolette grinned shyly at Lily’s face and lifted herself unto the chair opposite to Alexander. Lily’s face contorted as she looked from Alexander to Nicolette. “Just friends, are you?” she asked threateningly. “Then why-“ Alexander and Nicolette, however, never did discover what was to follow that why, for at that moment a strange phenomenon began. The fans in the pub were spraying butterbeer in the whole compound. A whole stream of butterbeer had landed in Lily’s mouth muffling her complaints and eroding them to odd gurgling sounds.

Others in the building made a wild dash towards the door in unison. Girls who had woken during early morning hours to painstakingly fix their hair in beautiful buns for the day began to scream. A few, like Alexander, laughed. They, much like Alexander, were probably grateful for their luck. He could have sworn that their table too had started to laugh. Shrugging, he joyfully emptied his pint onto Nicolette. “Cheers,” he said to Nicolette, who had begun to curse profusely under her breath. “Come on,” she muttered, taking a hold of his hand and following Lily, “she’s the smart one here.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Eric and Xavier burst into laughter as they watched the entire Three Broomsticks empty from the safety of their dry spot under a wooden table. Hiking had somehow turned to stealing rickety Firebolts from the broom cabinet at school and flying aimlessly for hours under their invisibility cloaks. It was then that Eric had discovered the true intent behind the entire escapade. He had answered Xavier’s questions as best he could and felt, to an extent, he must have done a decent job because he interpreted their day at Hogsmeade to be a reward of sorts.

They had arrived to the small town completely ignorant of the fact that it would be the same day that other Hogwarts student would visit the sleepy town. As such they had abandoned their cloaks and brooms near the forest at the edge of town. It had been somewhat of a nasty shock for the pair when they witnessed masses dressed in black littering the streets, going in and out of various joke shops all adorned in Hogwarts garb. Running as quickly as possible to their brooms, the two first years violently prayed that they had not been spotted. Eric was about to suggest that they had better return to the castle, when it dawned upon him that the day may actually be more fun if they stayed. Xavier had shrugged a reply and they had flown back to the town.

They had started with a gaggle of particularly annoying 5th year Slytherins. Hovering over the group, safely under their invisibility cloaks, Xavier and Eric had released many chocolate frogs. They landed on the group below. Screams erupted more from the surprise than any fear. Then utter silence. One of the girls had taken a frog and bit heartily into it. Glares from the other girls bore into her and she replied in a muffled voice, “They’re just chocolate frogs.”

Although the day had begun nicely, with beautiful sunshine, it had disintegrated into an overcast and gray afternoon. As such they had targeted indoor areas, eventually ending up at the Three Broomsticks. After a day of mayhem they walked back to their makeshift camp rather pleased at pestering the older Hogwarts students. In all fairness, there seemed to be a growing sense of entitlement among the upperclassmen of Hogwarts which literally made for some traumatic first year experiences for a select few students. And while neither could fully justify their actions, Eric, for one, was pleased at having expulsed the large amount of bottled up mischief that had settled in him from acting so unbearably proper for the entire year.

“We should have brought Tom,” Eric commented suddenly, breaking the lull placed by the overhead graying skies and greenery around them.

“No,” Xavier replied after a bit of thinking, “this isn’t exactly Tom’s cup of tea.” Eric gave him a look as they approached their belongings in the woods. If anything, causing a controllable chaos would be Tom’s specialty. Xavier continued as he felt explaining his rationale was in order. “He doesn’t do random pranking. He would have to justify it with something like so-and-so did this and that or something like that.”

“And you don’t have to justify it?” Eric asked skeptically, for indeed he truly felt that most of the students they had pestered through the day deserved it in some way shape or form.

Xavier shrugged and collapsed on a patch of soft moss under an old oak tree. “Everyone’s bound to have been, be or will be annoying at some point in life. I’m not really going to bother thinking about if person X deserves what he’s getting. Not like I’m going to hurt someone by doing this stuff anyway.”

Eric considered the remark nearly profound yet dumbfoundingly obvious. Yes, they were all bound to annoy someone, some point in life. They would all make mistakes. But, he wondered if all would regret making them. Or would even notice they had been mistaken. Had they been mistaken in their pranks that day? Did it matter? If not, how could they be expected to learn from them? He shook his head fiercely to desert the thought and instead thought upon the only possible distraction; the quiet that had settled between them. He had not noticed it till then and suddenly wondered if Xavier was sad. At that point it seemed irrelevant to him why he wonder such a thing, as Xavier had made no clear behaviors indicating such an emotion. He found it more important to wonder if he cared. After all, if he did, it was surely an indicator of some friendship. He exasperatingly discovered that he was not sure.

“I can’t believe we have to do this for another six years,” he complained.

Xavier opened his eyes. He had rather enjoyed the absence of conversation. “Do what?” he asked somewhat annoyed.

“I don’t know,” Eric admitted lamely, for he was quite unsure what he himself had meant, “the whole school thing I guess. I think they expect us to act like old gruffs or something. Always hand in homework in time. Speak only when spoken to. The whole nine yards.”

Xavier laughed. “Do you know what ‘old gruffs’ means?” he asked peircingly and then delivered his opinion on the matter, “I like it. At least we know what we’re supposed to do that way.”

“Whatever,” Eric replied, discouraged considerably by his mistake. “We should get going,” he said finally, moving towards the shopping bags, which were filled with potions materials. He froze abruptly as the bushes near the bags moved. Alexander Potter emerged from the greenery and said with a smirk, “I believe I’ve caught you quite red handed.”

blue_rose

June 21st, 2006, 4:30 am

Post is up! Please feed back from link! Need sleep.

Draco Malfoy sighed and closed his eyes, in an attempt to perform some bottled form of meditating. He alone sat in the golden comfort of the manor’s living room as Mrs. Malfoy escorted their guests to the door. He strove to focus on that. She would lead them to the door, politely say good bye, whisper something female or another to Mrs. Potter and carefully shut the ebony door with a grace equal to that of a refined 16th century baroness. All in the name of saving face. It was then that the raging thoughts crashed with parricidal fury unto the quiet, cool solitude of imagination.

By the time Mrs. Malfoy returned to the room, he was glaring fixedly at the white marble floor. His fists were clenched in anger, his jaw set with the same emotion. His gray eyes stormed with such violence that one may have expected the marble in their view to crumble in agony. “Draco,” she said softly with a reassuring voice bordering lightly on soothing, “It’ll be fine.”

He directed his gaze at her, unconvinced and enraged. “Bloody hell, it’ll be fine,” he said in a dangerously low voice, almost growling the words. Mrs. Malfoy contained her sigh. She knew her husband was in the process of overreacting and had yet to reach the climax of the unbelievably predictable path. She was about to respond when he stood and roared the words both of them knew he could never have delivered to the ears they were intended for.

"Nothing gives that son of a mud-blood the right to waltz into MY house, criticize MY methods of running MY house, raising MY children, or accuse me of being ungrateful for their ruddy help and prance back to their little house next door as if it’ll all be fine. I don’t care if scar-face here saved the whole d@mned world. Nothing gives him the right. Do you know what the bloody portraits would be doing right now if they weren’t locked up? Laughing mercilessly. Do you know what I want to do right now? I… I…”

He found the English language, with its multiple synonyms and expanded vocabulary on the matter of inflicting pain, was failing him. His eyes flashed turbulently at the ornate fireplace, where they had rested for the duration of his rant, that in a few minutes he would come to realize as preposterous. He made a movement to show his spouse the nature of his bestial desire but discovered his hands bound by hers. Their eyes met and from the emotion in hers and the pleading frown on her face, his knees buckled and they landed once more on the sofa. For a moment, Draco looked around the room, dazed and confused by the expression on his wife’s face.

And then he remembered. He recalled that there were numerous reasons for gratuitous behavior towards their neighbors. Reasons that even his wife was not privy to. He blinked. Of course Harry had the right. If anything Draco had probably forfeited the right to display any anger or emotion beyond friendly to the Potters. He released a much needed sigh. Mrs. Malfoy, who had watched her husband travel from hatred to anger to regret to depressed, finally seemed to find her voice and utter his name.

"I'm sorry," he breathed into her chest, with closed eyes , "I shouldn't have said that."

Mrs. Malfoy looked at the blond head beneath her. She was not sure what he was thinking as he stared blankly at the conjunction of their hands. The room settled into an uneasy silence. They remained in their awkard positions, with her knees on his lap, through the duration of it. Then Mrs. Malfoy shifted to the space next to him and settled comfortably onto the sofa. She rested her head on his shoulder and asked “Draco?”

“Hmm?”

“Has our daughter ever done anything like this?” she asked timidly, as if probing the extent of his temper.

Draco sighed and momentarily considered simply shouting furiously at his wife for the sake of avoiding the topic. Regardless he replied with a soft, “No.”

“You’re never going to let me see her are you?”

As long as I can avoid it he thought immediately, but responded with a cool “Probably not.” He was well aware of the fact that his wife thought that to a large degree his actions with their daughter were fueled by ancient Malfoy principles; the same principles that spoke of the importance of pure blood. He did not venture to convince her otherwise. In many ways he did not care to explain that his measures were more protective than anything else.

“Things are different now,” she whispered.

“You know they’re not,” he replied in a pained voice. His wife was oblivious just how static the wizarding world had remained. She did not know how difficult it was for him to gain commissions, or that his latest enterprise had less to do with his interest and more to do with the lack of work. Again, he found no reason to explain such things to her.

“You have to understand. I’m – “

“- a mother first,” he finished and added, “I know. I’m a father first too.”

Mrs. Malfoy sighed. “Someday I’ll make you understand,” she said contentedly, rising from her comfortable seat. “But right now I have to go to work.”

Draco smiled and replied to the receding silhouette of his wife, “I look forward to it.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“Xavier did something bad didn’t he?” Helen asked flatly to the brown-eyed boy in the screen, as she absentmindedly stroked her new pet cat. It had taken a while for Tom to calm Helen. At the beginning of their conversation, anger had radiated from her so intensely that he had seriously considered ‘accidentally’ pouring the solution into the toilet and engaging in conversation with her another day. This however had not been the case and Helen had found that Tom was surprisingly easy to talk to. It was something Tom had intended to reveal to her at any rate and at this point in their discourse he was simply probing her thoughts to better acclimatize to her somewhat unique personality.

“I guess you could call it bad,” he replied, settling lazily onto his seat.

Helen who was comfortably resting on her stomach in her bed, propped by her elbows sent a questioning glance in his direction to which he answered shruggingly, “He’ll tell you if he wants to. It’s really none of my business.”

“Mr. Potter called him a womanizer,” she said slowly. “Of course he was getting a bit carried away by then. I mean I know Xavier wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“How do you know that?” Tom asked with a raised brow.

She looked affronted by the mere implication of the question and said defensively, “I mean I know he’s not perfect or anything. He can be very rude and inconsiderate sometimes but he doesn’t do anything like hit girls or stuff like that.”

“Really?” Tom asked mildly interested. To him it seemed as though Xavier had been very effective in delivering an angelic impression to Helen. He, of course, knew better. Together they had broken countless rules, fooled Mr. Haggardy and reeked havoc upon a few unsuspecting students.

“Yea really,” Helen snapped becoming annoyed, “Great friend you’re being right now.”

“I know aren’t I wonderful,” Tom said sarcastically and upon receiving a scowl he added, “Look. Even he’s confirmed that he did it. I mean after that I don’t really think there’s much left to do here.”

“He’s lying,” she pouted.

“I agree,” he said quickly and then changed the topic rather unceremoniously, “What will you name her?”

Helen looked down to the cat that was nestled cozily in the space in between her and the blankets. “Midnight,” she said finally.

“You know, for a girl, you’re weird,” Tom said openly, perplexed at the decision. Even he was hard pressed to answer why anyone would name an ivory cat, with large lavender eyes, midnight. Of all the names , he thought exasperatedly.

“Thanks, I’ll take it as a compliment,” Helen replied her green eyes twinkling playfully. "You know, for a cat, she's really energetic and friendly."

“I should think so. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why you named her that will you?” he asked.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what Xavier did will you?” she mocked, offering a compromise.

For a moment Tom was quiet. He looked uncertainly from the cat to Helen and then replied firmly, “No, I don’t suppose I will.”

"Where is he anyway?" Helen asked curiously.

Tom shrugged unconcernedly and then, with a frown, once again changed the topic abruptly to what he had wanted to discuss from the beginning of their conversation. "Helen, you don't know much about the wizarding world do you?"

"Not really," Helen replied coolly, thinking it rather irrelevant, "Xavier's shown me a lot of spells and things like that," she said smiling upon a memory, "He did Cheering Charms on me once. Those were pretty funny. But I don't know much about the wizarding community why?"

"No. I just thought it was odd that you didn't know about Mr. Potter."

"Know what?" she asked confusedly.

"When's your birthday?" Tom asked suddenly, an idea forming in his head.

She glanced at him suspiciously and slowly replied with a shrug, "We celebrate it with Xavier's, why?"

"I know exactly what Xavier's going to get you for your birthday," he said happily.

Helen's eyes narrowed, but before she could ask him what half-baked scheme he was concocting, she heard footsteps. Instead, she waved a quick good-bye to Tom and quickly slammed the lid of the laptop onto its body. A few minutes later Mrs. Malfoy entered the room looking confused. She scanned the room to find only Helen and the cat.

"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," Helen said brightly.

After scanning the room once more, Mrs. Malfoy asked, "Were you talking to someone?"

Helen supressed a nervous gulp. It was forbidden for servants to invite guests to the manor without the permission of Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. This was especially true for Helen as Mrs. Malfoy seemed to view the girl as the daughter she had almost had. "N-no Mrs. Malfoy," she said in an unusually high voice, "but I found this cat near the gardens today and I was wondering if I could keep it."

The older woman's eyes travelled from the cat to the girl and replied softly, "Yes. But be sure to care for it properly." With that, Mrs. Malfoy left a particularly happy Helen and a very sleepy cat.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

blue_rose

June 29th, 2006, 1:07 am

Chapter 9: Ingredient

March passed slowly into April. It seemed to Xavier as if time was treading in a deep molasses, moving at speeds that created the illusion of a static world. He had settled into the routine of his dull life; which consisted simply of waking, eating, attending class, serving detention and sleeping. Nevertheless, he found the entire experience rather curious. Although almost a month had passed, the school still whispered endlessly about his one confrontation with Sirius Potter; a gossip subject which had inevitably mutated into a discussion on his character, none of the judgments being all too flattering. Xavier responded with mute apathy, for their perceptions mattered little to him. While other houses were condescendingly harsh, Slytherins reacted positively, inviting him to celebrations, encouraging the behavior. To this Xavier could not help but snort. Of course the school simply could not resist being predictable , he thought scathingly.

However there were surprising reactions which, upon discovery, dumbfounded him. Most notable was that of the Head Boy, who after cornering Eric and Xavier had offered a compromise of sorts. Well aware of his brother’s short temper, Alexander had proposed to seal his lips regarding his discovery of Xavier should he agree to not arouse Sirius’s temper. At first Xavier had been unwilling to accept such an agreement, and momentarily believed that he had gained some power to negotiate when Lily Lupin had appeared from the bushes. Xavier had only to piece the two together to understand what had happened in the bushes before their arrival. Alexander, however, had not been so careless. For his silence regarding Eric’s appearance in Hogsmeade he had demanded that both Xavier and Eric keep secret what they had found in the woods. After some convincing Xavier agreed to his proposal, and both Eric and Xavier returned to Hogwarts luckily unseen by others.

He was now faced with the gargantuan task of baying Sirius’ temper; a considerably difficult duty as performing such a feat shared uncanny similarities with attempting to please a dragon intent on having it’s appeaser for lunch. At any length, Sirius seemed to have inherited a quick temper, most probably encouraged by some bizarre childhood. He also appeared to become increasingly annoyed with Xavier’s existence in and of itself. As such, Xavier believed avoidance was the best policy. For most of the time this worked. During detentions, they would ignore one another completely, only acknowledging each other when dividing their jobs when cleaning. Early on, Xavier had learned to not argue the method by which Sirius divided the room.

The remainder of the Potter clan, including friends and cousins, ignored Xavier completely. At times, Hector Creevey would show signs of following Sirius in attempting to make his life somewhat of a living hell. And while Amelia was initially upset about the entire situation, she had by now forgotten about it; once again consumed by Quidditch, which according to rumor, she had begun to excel at for her age. All in all, Xavier found that he had nothing to complain about. Though Hector's behavior was a sickeningly obvious sign of his attraction to Amelia, she ignored them with the same fervor that she ignored Xavier.

Regarding his friendships with Eric and Tom, they had all decided to mingle with different Slytherins. While Xavier did not know why Eric and Tom had agreed to it, he was convinced that it would be best to throw off any suspicion. Eric infiltrated the defenses of various radical Slytherin groups with ease. Tom found no difficulty in befriending their entire year. Xavier had chosen rather arrogantly to select friends based upon set criteria. There were only two thus far. The person had to be intelligent. And, as the other three houses were not very pleased with him at that time, they had to be Slytherin. The group formed quite slowly. Periodically Eric, Tom and Xavier would abandon their groups. Xavier recalled that today was such a day. Tom had been sure to enlist Xavier for their Potions class, more so because he was failing dismally in the class than anything else. And though, Tom had not forgotten as he entered the Potion's dungeon he stared across to the unofficial "Gryffindor" side of the room. He had been doing so for the last few weeks. What had not happened before as occurred now was his face lighting up as he set brown eyes upon an empty chair situated next to Amelia Potter.

For weeks, he had watched Anne Weasley seat herself promptly next to Amelia, as she had the entire year, in frustration. Now, he seized the opportunity swiftly and slid effortlessly into the seat beside Amelia. Amelia looked mildly surprised. It was not unusual for Tom to frequently bounce from seat to seat in class. What more, the majority of the year held no grudge towards him and, as such, he found it simple to seat either Slytherin or Gryffindor. Anne, on the other hand seemed displeased. She looked from Amelia to Tom and was about to begin arguing when the professor called the class to attention. Irate and disgruntled even more when she saw the only available seat, Anne huffed in a fury to the desk.

Tom watched as Anne took a seat next to Xavier, who was glaring unforgivingly at him. Tom grinned in return and opened his tattered Potions book as class began. Amelia met Anne's gaze apologetically. The professor commenced with his lecture to the class, supposedly oblivious to the seating arrangement. Tom easily lost interest in the presentation and looked at Amelia, who was dutifully taking notes. However she seemed to view such a task as more of a chore than anything else.

"I hate potions," Tom muttered to her, while the professor droned on.

"Me too," she whispered in return, smiling slightly. It was something Anne would never have allowed her to admit. She would not have begun conversing in the middle of a lecture and, in truth, Amelia thought it rather exasperating that she should be such a laced student.

"I think I'm failing," he said indifferently.

"Hmm, I'm barely passing. What's the point anyway? I can just go buy this stuff can't I?"

"Yeah," Tom replied. The conversation halted temporarily as the professor asked a question. Anne's hand, as per usual, shot right into the air. Xavier's hand also rose. It was a bit of a surprise for the Gryffindors. Xavier had lost 60 house points for Slytherin and was desperately attempting to gain back those points by answering questions in class. However, he had avoided doing so in his classes with Gryffindors up till that point. For the next few minutes Tom and Amelia watched silently as Xavier answered the questions and Anne's mouth dropped to levels never before witnessed by others.

"It's all your fault you know," Amelia said with a soft smile, as she viewed Tom gazing at them, evidently amused.

"They hate each other," Tom said in a low voice, stating the fact and hoping to engage Amelia in a much wanted discussion.

"I don't blame her," Amelia replied as the professor instructed them to begin chopping their daisy roots evenly for the Shrinking Solution.

Something in the bitterness of her voice forced Tom to turn his head to her. "You blame him?" he asked simply. Amelia could not bring herself to face his clear and questioning brown eyes. Instead she focused fervently on her roots.

"Shove it Weasley," Xavier's voice traveled clearly to them as he addressed an astonished Anne, "I'm just redeeming the points I lost for Slytherin. At least have the decency to stare with your mouth closed." Anne caught herself and shut her mouth tightly. Xavier smirked. "And I apologize for ruining the homegrown notion that all Slytherins are dim-witted gits."

Anne gasped. "I never said that," she sputtered angrily.

"You thought it," Xavier replied, placing the cut roots aside and beginning to juice the leeches.

"No, I don't blame him," Amelia responded at last. However, she felt uncomfortable discussing the subject and continued, "So because we both hate Potions I think we should divvy up this stuff. You skin the shrivelfigs and I'll finish the roots."

Tom shrugged and picked up a shrivelfig. He had noted her unwillingness to discuss Xavier and, as such, began a conversation regarding Quidditch; a topic she would speak endlessly on. Meanwhile, Anne and Xavier had disintegrated conversation into an argument.

"I'm telling you," Xavier said with an annoying calmness in his voice, "It won't work."

"But it should," Anne insisted, "If I just add a pinch of dragon claw powder..."

"No Weasley," Xavier interrupted, "it'll just neutralize with the caterpillar bits."

"So if I add more caterpillar bits..."

"You'll get a black sludge of nothing," Xavier finished.

"Ugh," Anne puffed, thoroughly annoyed, "I don't know why I even bothered to ask you. Honestly, you’re so pessimistic."

"An unfortunate clause in the description of a partner," Xavier retorted icily, "you could at least try to follow it without being too judgmental."

Anne snorted, "As if you're any better." Xavier ignored her and furiously chopped his caterpillar. Tom had viewed the incident from the corner of his eye, finding it very humorous. Amelia was much too absorbed in predicting who would play in the finals of the Quidditch World Cup being held in Saudi Arabia that year. And though Tom had barely listened to her, Amelia had become quite comfortable talking to him. They exchanged their cut root and skinned shrivelfigs. Juicing the leeches while Tom cut the caterpillars, Amelia began to hypothesize how each of her predicted teams might win or lose.

Tom interrupted her in mid-sentence. "He didn't slap you did he," he said, sending her a knowing look.

Green eyes widened in shock as something went splat. She looked blankly at the mess on her robes as a result of too quickly juicing the leech. Then she focused, attempting to hide her surprise; something she failed at miserably. "How did you know?" she asked.

"I didn't," he replied handing Amelia her cleaning towel, "but I do now."

Amelia reddened as she realized she had been tricked. "I didn't say he didn't," she muttered, cleaning her robes.

"Good try," Tom said reassuringly, "I kind of guessed anyway. But if he didn't, why do you hate him?"

Her head snapped up from her work. "I don't hate him," she said slowly. "It's just-"

"Watch it Weasley!" Xavier exclaimed loudly, pulling Anne away from her cauldron. The entire class stared at Anne and Xavier. It seemed the professor was dozing in his office.

"Let go of me," Anne shrieked to no avail. Xavier was staring intently at Anne's cauldron. The solution in it had turned an ominous black, bubbling dangerously. And then as if on cue, the mass dried and exploded into the air, leaving the ceiling above the cauldron blackened and the cauldron itself in pieces. Anne watched wide-eyed as black dust settled. Xavier released her. The professor was on the other side, red-faced. "Riddle Weasley," he barked unpleasantly, "switch partners."

"Great," Xavier said bitterly, looking menacingly at the darkened ceiling, "I'm going to have to clean that. Thanks."

"No problem," Anne said angrily, "It would have worked."

Xavier scoffed disbelieving while he ladled his finished product into a vile for grading. "You're right," he said with a voice dripping of sarcasm, "I must be mad. There's no charred ceiling after all. Are you imaginary too?"

Anne scowled as Tom approached and left immediately when he arrived, ignoring completely his warm hello. Tom received similar treatment from Xavier, who glared at him accusingly. "Thanks a lot for leaving me with the know-it-all princess from hell," he said with more than a hint of anger. With that he grabbed the ingredients from Tom and began to make Tom's solution, without uttering another word for the remainder of the class period.

blue_rose

July 6th, 2006, 12:44 am

First, thanks to nobi_fawkes and Scamantha for putting the link to the fic on their sigs. This isn't the first time I noticed but I think a thanks is in order anyway.

By the time the class was dismissed to lunch, heavy gray clouds drifted along the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Thunder rolled gently among the clouds and occasionally they were lit by lightning. It reflected Anne's mood precisely. She was not sure where exactly to direct her anger, at the robber that had stolen her perhaps God-given seat next to Amelia or the scoundrel she had been forced to endure the entirety of an hour with. She huffed down into a seat next to Hector decidedly and subconsciously chose to focus her wrath on the one commonality between the two; the fact that they were Slytherin. Glaring an acknowledgment to Hector’s greeting, Anne moodily stabbed her potatoes.

It was not necessarily that she believed Slytherins were unintelligible rats. However, as her father had most poignantly put it, they did possess rat-like tendencies that made them seem unintelligible. Anne recognized the distinction as fine, yet essential. Thus far this had been her experience with Slytherins and, in all honesty, she was fully unwilling to add voluntary experiences with the group owing to the unpleasant experiences she had witnessed so far with them. While she could not deny that she had been surprised with Malfoy’s performance in class, she now attempted to classify the behavior as typical. She reasoned that quietly sitting in class was Malfoy’s rat-like tendency and that this made him seem unintelligible. His out burst, she concluded, was some sort of glitch in his system.

Whether or not he was truly intelligent was debatable in her mind. After all, Malfoy merely had to have read a chapter ahead the night before in order to answer the questions posed in class. Yes, she thought with a bitter smile on her face, that’s it exactly. She had solved any mystery Malfoy could possibly have possessed with her simple conjecture, which was quickly making its way into a theory. Sighing involuntarily, Anne also decided that she felt much better knowing this. Rigorous cutting of the steak on her plate, however, suggested otherwise. She scanned the Great Hall and momentarily locked defiant brown eyes with Tom Riddle who was seated comfortably at the Ravenclaw table chatting nonsense with the nonsensical. Another victim to my theory, she thought recklessly and continued scanning the room.

"Anne!" Hector exclaimed loudly, his voice slicing through chatter of the Great Hall and landing squarely in her ears. It was his fifth attempt to spark conversation with her. She had been unresponsive to his last four vain attempts. Now thoroughly annoyed with her head-in-the-clouds attitude, he seriously considered smacking her on her head to gain her attention. That, however, would not be necessary as Anne finally seemed to recognize his presence.

"What?" she asked sharply and stopped abruptly, shocked by the anger in her tone.

"What's up with you?" Hector asked darkly, not at all pleased at her hostile behavior, for he had only recently begun to think that they had indeed become friends.

Despite her efforts to calm herself, Anne's eyes blazed at the comment. Are all boys this thickheaded? she thought angrily and replied in a similar voice, "Did you temporarily go blind during potions? Malfoy and Riddle-"

"Oh, that's what this is about," Hector interrupted calmly. Anne looked disgustedly at him as he shoveled a brownie into his mouth. It was not that he had forgotten. It was more that he thought that Anne would have moved on by now. She had told him on countless occasions that Malfoy was not "worth it". He could not understand why she was incapable of repeating the phrase to herself.

"Yeah," she said at last, increasingly becoming irritated with anything that moved.

"They're not wor-" Hector began but was rudely interrupted.

"They're gits aren't they?" she asked in a rush, gazing lividly at Malfoy, who appeared not to notice.

Hector directed his gaze at Malfoy. He was sitting among a group of Slytherins; nevertheless he looked distant and aloof, periodically gazing hopefully at something beside him. Hector could not see that it was a book or hear what they were discussing but something about Malfoy made him desperately desire to Transfigure him into a punching bag. "We've already established Malfoy's gittedness," he replied smoothly. "But Riddle," Hector hesitated as Anne glared at him as if daring him to disagree. "He's ok," Hector said firmly as he saw no point in lying about such a thing to her.

"But Riddle and Malfoy are-"

"-aren't exactly friends," Hector finished, motioning to the two boys who were sitting far apart from one another, not to mention on different tables altogether. "Besides," he added in a more light-hearted tone, "I'm your friend, does that mean I'm automatically smart like you?"

Anne scowled at the compliment. "There's something there," Anne replied, "they were inseparable beginning of the year."

Hector shrugged. "People change," he responded, "Who care's about them anyway?"

Anne sighed. "I suppose you're right," she grumbled.

Hector grinned and changed the subject. While Anne considered Hector Creevey neither bright nor dull, he did provide good company. He always seemed to be eager and open. She had witnessed him both comfort and fight for others. When she had first seen him, a single word had appeared in her head. Gold. His brown eyes were so light they resembled perfect honey-amber orbs. His dark blond hair was the color of a beautiful sunset. She had found that in many ways Hector heart was also golden. In some respects she admired him for being more of a Gryffindor than she could ever admit to being. In other ways she found him absolutely abhorrent. For example, at the very moment he was speaking with a full mouth, sputtering food around the Gryffindor table.

Anne would often involuntarily relate people with colors for a reason long forgotten. When she had first spied Malfoy and Riddle at the Slytherin table in the beginning of the year she had wistfully thought of light and dark. Of course as it now appeared, light was actually Riddle and dark was Malfoy; the odd connection caused her to snort loudly into her potatoes. Beside her, Hector had stopped talking. In fact, she noticed that the Great Hall itself had become quieter. Anne directed her attention to the scene unfolding before her. A dark haired boy in Gryffindor robes was standing with his back to her near the Slytherin table speaking to Malfoy. She could not hear what he was saying because the Great Hall was not absolutely silent. She noted that others were still conversing about things such as the next Quidditch match in distasteful oblivion.

Whatever the older boy was saying, it was clear to Anne that it was irritating Malfoy because he had closed his book; and by the looks of it closed it rather forcefully. His face, however, was emotionless. The Gryffindor boy turned slightly and to Anne's shock, she recognized him as Sirius Potter. Anne gaped momentarily at the situation. Two minutes and a inaudible gasp later, Hector grinned evilly beside her. "For your pleasure," he said slyly.

Anne gasped quite audibly at that. "What do you mean by that?" she asked somewhat timidly, afraid to hear the answer. On the other side of the Hall, she watched as Malfoy's face burst slightly with emotion as he glared at something on his left. Following his gaze her eyes landed on Riddle, who stared back at Malfoy with an unreadable look in his eyes, two wands in the grasp of his hand.

"That you can take it as that," Hector replied, "Really though, Peter made a bet with Sirius. That he couldn't get Malfoy to fight him. Meaning Malfoy casts the spell first and all." Anne looked at Hector incredulously as if to say so what. He looked away and responded, "Well Sirius doesn't back down from dares. And it's more of a dare than a bet." Boys, Anne thought bitterly. "Anyway," he continued with a grin, "He doesn't seem to be doing anything right now. I'll go see if I can help our buddy Sirius."

Before she could catch even the back of his robes to stop him, Hector was beyond her reach. Anne swore lightly. She rose and followed Hector to the end of the Ravenclaw table, where she took a seat in a quiet area to hear what the boys were saying. On her way she glanced at Riddle. They can't be friends if he disarms Malfoy and leaves him to them, she thought. She tried desperately to tell herself that Malfoy deserved what Sirius and now, Hector, were saying to him. Nevertheless she watched in horror as Sirius and Hector taunted and Malfoy stared unmovingly at them. He did not say a word. Above them the ceiling was a mass of dark ominous clouds. It occurred to her in random that Malfoy had inadvertently saved her from an unpleasant trip to the Hospital Wing during Potions. She should have thanked him for that.

Malfoy remained as coded as ever. Then, Hector made a nasty comment about Malfoy's father and his Death Eater days. In a flash Malfoy jumped up. His face contorted and, before she could identify the emotion on his face, all the candles in the hall blew out in a whoosh of air. One or two shrieks of surprise erupted from other tables as Anne's eyes adjusted to the darkness. As the picture came in again, she saw the Headmistress had arrived in the scene.

"Is everything quite alright here?" she asked sternly, her lips pursed tightly into two white lines on her face.

"Lovely," Malfoy replied before the others and with an apparent effort to control himself, "Although it does seem that the candles have retired for the day, Headmistress."

The Headmistress eyed the group carefully. "Very well. Carry on then," she said returning to the Professor's table to the left. Simultaneously, Malfoy departed to the right and passed quickly through the exit. Hector shrugged at her and the three Gryffindors returned to the respective table. Sirius, rather depressed at losing his bet, was sulking considerably. A conversation on Quidditch was struck and the events of the day went undiscussed. Anne remained keenly observant of the room and, consequently, was the first to notice Amelia had entered the Great Hall.

"Where were you?" Anne asked with a touch of annoyance when Amelia took a seat next to her.

"Quidditch Pitch. Thought I'd get some practice" Amelia replied looking very wind swept, "Did I miss something?"

Anne informed Amelia of the situation. During her recounting of events, an odd look appeared on Amelia's face, almost regretful. While this puzzled Anne, she was relieved when Amelia replied, "He deserved it I guess." It was what she had expected her to say. Amelia then dug into the food before her, eating rapidly. Moments later she spied a boy with stunning blue-green eyes leave the Hall alone. She wondered if he was a friend of Malfoy's. Alexander then took Sirius to a side of the room and, after a brief talk, he too exited the Great Hall. A few minutes passed and Riddle stood, looking intent on leaving. The two wands were no doubt in the pockets of his robes. A girl however seemed to make this impossible.

That night, Anne Weasley would ponder the day's mysteries. In time, however, like all puzzles one is ashamed to admit to being defeated by, she would abandon it. Course work would once again become prevalent in her life. Any remorse she may have felt for Malfoy would easily be eradicated during their next encounter; after which she would choose to simply label him as 'bad' for time efficiency and a pride that refused to accept defeat. Exams would soon begin to receive her full attention, leading her to ignore both her friends and her surroundings. Nevertheless, the year would not be wasted on her. She would learn to never again ignore her remarkable friends.

blue_rose

July 12th, 2006, 10:15 pm

Eric Zabini felt as though he had searched every nook of the castle. Now in the Potions dungeon, he ran a hand through his soft hair and wondered why he had not thought of looking there first. The cool, damp room was practically empty. The professor had most probably left for lunch and the single student in the classroom was seated on the unofficial Slytherin side of the room with a head of unruly blond hair. He had not stopped chopping some ingredient or another when Eric had entered. In fact, he was quite sure the boy had not cared to notice that someone else had entered the dark confines of the dungeon. Having found him, Eric was at somewhat of a loss as to where to go from there. From what he had gathered through the course of the year was that in such situations it was best to wait patiently outside the door instead of actually confronting the scenario. And, in all fairness, the increasing force with which Xavier cut his ingredients did not encourage him to tread away from the strategy.

For a few seconds Eric stood dumbly at the dungeon entrance. Any passerby would have seen the on-going internal debate in the twelve year old displayed clearly on his face in that time. Through luck or perhaps something more controlling, no such persons were around. At last, he gritted his teeth and walked forward. After all, they were supposed to be friends. Whatever the hell that means, he thought with a hint of acrid skepticism but more in fear than anything else. At each step it seemed that the chopping became louder, his doubt stronger. He was not quite certain what he was afraid of or why it . Nevertheless he took a deep breath and said uncertainly, "Xavier?"

Xavier did not bother to greet him or even ask why Eric had suddenly forgotten of the well-established idea of personal space. Instead he plunged into the perceived heart of the matter. "How many times does a person have to say sorry anyway?" he asked furiously.

Eric sighed in relief and an emotion which he was not prepared to acknowledge. Walking past his fellow Slytherin he briefly patted Xavier's shoulder lightly before saying, "It's only Potter and Creevey."

"I know that," Xavier snapped sharply, flinging ingredients in his cauldron without any apparent logic behind the action. For a few moments Eric watched quietly as Xavier continued throwing the ingredients in the cauldron. "So..." his voice faded into nothingness as he viewed Xavier's expression of disgust intensify in a flare of energy.

"Bloody brilliant isn't he?" Xavier said loudly as he violently stirred the solution in the cauldron. "Some people become locksmiths or aurors and live out the rest of their pathetic lives," he continued when he saw Eric's confused face, "but no, that wasn't enough for my father. Oh no. He had to become a Death Eater. I mean, honestly, what in Merlin's name compelled him to do that? And that like father like son argument is dumb. Do I seriously look stupid enough to join a cult that thinks it can take over the world? Can you say unrealistic? And don't even-" Xavier's rant stopped abruptly while he examined his potion. "Give me your wand," he ordered flatly, his hand outstretched in Eric's direction.

"Huh?" Eric replied with a dazed look that made his eyes look more green than blue.

Xavier cocked an eye brow and repeated slowly, "Your wand."

“Oh, right,” Eric replied and promptly handed Xavier his wand. He watched silently as Xavier shot a few spells above the cauldron. Questions rose in his mind and though he did not know whether Xavier would answer them, Eric attempted to pose them. “Why are you at Hogwarts anyway?” Eric asked curiously. To Xavier’s sharp look, he replied, “I mean it’s not like there are a lot of Death Eater spawn roaming around here. The only other thing close to it in our year is Katie Goyle and they don’t really even know if she’s actually related to Mr. Goyle.”

Xavier shrugged and added the question to a mental list of questions to ask his perpetually evasive father. “An education for a tight budget?” he speculated and then added darkly, envisioning himself being home schooled in the comfort of his room, “Or they may have just wanted to torture me with this place, because I must say it’s working quite well.”

“Yeah, well it’s only a month or so,” Eric replied, wondering if lunch had ended, “then exams and we’re home free”

“I suppose,” Xavier said, bottling the solution in his cauldron.

“What were you making anyway?”

Xavier grinned, “The next assignment. Weasley is going to freak.”

“That’s if she comes to class tomorrow,” Eric said slyly. He was about to explain when Xavier’s lightened mood seemed to abruptly take a turn towards the darker corner. He turned towards the exit to find Alexander Potter standing there.

Xavier, needless to say, was not pleased. The last thing he wanted to see at the moment was another Potter. “I haven’t the slightest idea why you’re here,” he said sourly, “I don’t recall having severed any part of our agreement.”

Alexander frowned. “I came to apologize,” he said ruefully, “Apparently it was some sort of bet. My brother can be a bit of an idiot some of the time. Not often though.”

“Wonderful,” Xavier said darkly, doubting Alexander’s last statement regarding the frequency of Sirius Potter’s bouts of stupidity, “apology accepted. Now we have to get to Herbology.”

“Wait a moment,” Alexander said, as he blocked the only exit from the room, “I also think that our, er, agreement is going to have to last until Sirius finishes Hogwarts.”

Xavier glared at Alexander. “Are you trying to make my life miserable?” he asked rhetorically, more loudly than he had intended. “No. Never in-”

“Oh and you would like to see what would happen if I told the Headmaster about your little escapade?” Alexander interrupted. This seemed to stop Xavier from arguing. “Sorry,” Alexander continued, “I prefer not to blackmail, but it does seem to be the more effective route when it comes to Slytherins. In any case, I suppose I’m going to have to make some concession for this. I guess it’s not absolutely fair that you can’t say anything if his taunts become personal. In the case that they should, I would like it if you would continue to ignore him. But if you can’t, you can use some Level 1 hexes if you like.”

“Really?” Xavier asked uncertainly. At heart, he knew it was a minuscule concession at best. Level One hexes were limited to small and basic hexes that would, at their worst, cause nosebleeds. Xavier was more surprised at the offer more than anything else. He knew he would never have to access the benefit because of his current arrangement with Tom and Eric. As they were not perceived as friends, it became extremely simple for one to avenge for another without throwing suspicion onto the actually person seeking vengeance. To no one’s surprise, Tom had devised the idea and as far as he could tell, it was a brilliant suggestion to the problem of enduring Sirius Potter.

“Yeah,” he heard Alexander reply, after looking suspiciously at the pair of Slytherins.

“You’re right,” Xavier said, “it is an effective method.”

Alexander grinned at Xavier’s acceptance. “What are you two up to down here?” he asked curiously.

“Make up assignment,” Xavier lied, pointing to the vile on the desk. “Zabini was being prat,” Xavier said irately, setting the scene for Eric’s entrance.

“Not my fault,” Eric replied, as coldly as he could manage, “he’s the one who can’t work with people.”

Xavier opened his mouth to retort but Alexander cut in as he viewed the Head Girl. “Lovely” he said absentmindedly. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he continued looking meaningfully at the Ravenclaw passing by without a care about being excused or not. “Oi, Nikki,” he called loudly, “Wait up.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Dawn broke with an illuminating intensity over the Malfoy mansion on a very particular day in the third week of June. Mrs. Malfoy looked serenely at the landscape. Hills rolled gently in a sea composed of trees. The rays extending from the tallest hill, behind which the sun was situated, brought promise of a wonderful day. And, indeed, she surmised that it would be a wonderful day. It was during times like these that Mrs. Malfoy could not possibly understand why the man before her would move as far away from the location of their house in the instant that the opportunity arose. He had been mentioning the possibility with increasing frequency in dark quips or jestial manner and, as any wife, she had begun to wonder if any substance lay behind the remarks.

Over the years, Mrs. Malfoy had become very fond of their home. The thought of leaving it now seemed unfathomable. A part of her did not want to believe that it could be replaced. That the lucious gardens and cool streams existed in another place. She did not know how her husband had become so disillusioned, but, as far as she was concerned she was very much entranced by the place. Nonetheless she was well aware of the fact that if Draco would insist, she would move away with him. Glancing at the clock she saw it was still relatively early. Certainly too early to be awake. She looked at her sleeping husband. He had returned from work at too late an hour for her liking. Every few weeks the studio would send information on clients seeking a painter. By the demeanor with which he had entered the house yesterday and the exhaustion potrayed on his face, she could only surmise that it had not gone well.

Draco stirred and upon being greeted by the pensive look on his wife's face stifled a yawn. "Is there a reason why you're awake at such an ungodly hour?" he murmured half asleep.

"Is this place really that bad?" she asked in return, watching him intently.

For a few moments he neither did nor said anything. So much so that she began to think he had fallen asleep again. Then, she felt him draw nearer and rest his head on her shoulder. "Do you like it?" he asked in a whisper. She nodded and he continued in the same voice, "I like what you like."

"I wish that was true," she replied trying to burrow into his chest.

He pulled away, fully awake and managed a small smile. "Me too," he said. This appeared to be the wrong thing to say because just as soon as he had said it, Mrs. Malfoy had started to cry. Mr. Malfoy was rather surprised. In fact, his wife rarely cried. And when she did, it usually had nothing to do with their location. He attempted to console her. "But let's be practical dear," he said in a soft voice, "Xavier is already enrolled in school here. You have a great job. And really, moving isn't an option."

This only seemed to aggravate Mrs. Malfoy more, fresh tears travelled down the two streams left behind. At that point he decided it would be better to have silence dry her tears rather than attempting to calm her himself. For a few minutes neither said anything. He wondered if it was her time of the month, or close to it. He wanted to know if anyone had created a How to Comfort Crying Women for Dummies issue and, if so, could he order it without the plastic cards muggles used to buy so many things. After what seemed too long a time, Mrs. Malfoy wiped her face for the last time and asked in a husky voice, "How is work going?"

Draco shrugged, "Work is work." Under her questioning gaze he elaborated, "Oh, come on. I am working in art here. Some artists die poor, in rags, and fifty years later people decide the artist was a visionary. In relation to that I think I'm doing much better."

Mrs. Malfoy frowned. "I wish you'd quit that stupid studio. I can do without a few servants, you know. Like that gardener. He doesn't do anything anyway."

Mr. Malfoy shook his head. "We're not firing any of the servants. And definitely not the gardener," he said and then added in a concessionary tone, "But the studio isn't sending a lot of work my way."

"So leave," Mrs. Malfoy nearly pleaded, the desperation becoming evident in her tone.

Again, Mr. Malfoy shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "But I've been thinking," he continued slowly, as if deciding upon something and hesitating before finishing, "of painting for muggles."

"For muggles?" she repeated.

He avoided her penetrating gaze and said carefully, "Yeah. Why not?"

Mrs. Malfoy said nothing for a while. Draco could not see how she reacted, his eyes fixed with concentration on the dark red silk sheets covering them. She imagined hugging her husband in an over-the-top fashion, kissing him endlessly and whispering sweet cliched phrases into his ear. She cringed at the idea of so blatantly comparing the Malfoy family's past to its present and intended future. Instead she smiled and said softly with a squeeze of support, "I think it's a great idea."

"Thanks," he smiled in return.

Mrs. Malfoy looked beyond her spouse and thought that the day had just become brighter. Then as if ticking off each reason why today was so much better she said, "And Xavier returns from Hogwarts today!"

Draco frowned slightly, "We're going to have to have a talk with him."

"About more than just his behavior."

Mr. Malfoy's brows furrowed in confusion. He was about to ask her to extrapolate when the maid rushed into the room and with crimson cheeks slowly retreated back towards the door when she saw that neither of the Malfoys had yet readied. Mrs. Malfoy stopped her and asked for breakfast on their balcony. The maid nodded and exited as quickly and as quietly as she had entered. He waited patiently for Mrs. Malfoy to explain. However, it seemed that questions would have to wait until after his wife's morning routine, which was sure to last a good hour if she hurried. Grumbling he followed his wife into their bathroom and began to brush his teeth while Mrs. Malfoy performed some womanly acts that to this day baffled him.

Five minutes later he was seated and prepared for breakfast, Mrs. Malfoy was still in the bathroom soaking in the bathtub, carefully cleaning every part of herself. Why she had to do all of this before breakfast was beyond him. More than just his behavior . What was that supposed to convey? Surely Xavier was a bit young for the buds and bees talk of life. Besides, it was probably a Malfoy tradition to bypass the talk altogether. He could not recall ever being told about such things from his parents. A full hour later when Mrs. Malfoy had finally joined him and the maid arranged the breakfast, he was still brooding.

"What do you mean we have to talk to him about more than just his behavior?" he asked.

Mrs. Malfoy sighed, "He's asking questions."

"What sort of questions?"

She fixed her eyes on his, "About his father's side of the family."

"Begun to rot his mind over those things already," he said cooly, "remind me to introduce him to Occumlency when he comes back."

"I've told him nothing," she said, gritting her teeth somewhat, "and I think you should actually talk to your son for once instead of throwing books at him."

Draco winced involuntarily at her evalution. "You're right," he said quietly, after an uneasy silence between them. "He does deserve to know everything. But, honestly, I don't know where to start."

"You don't have to tell him everything in one sitting," she said softly and encouragingly.

"I couldn't do that even if I wanted to."

"Start with Hogwarts," Mrs. Malfoy offered thoughtfully. At least, she thought, that would have relavance to Xavier's life.

Draco shrugged, "I suppose."

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

blue_rose

August 18th, 2006, 1:13 am

Chapter 10: Colors.

The start of vacation and Xavier's return to the Malfoy mansion was marked by something he would forever remember as "the talk". For the most part it was a rather verbose, repetative and, therefore, long lecture of sorts from his father. In it his father had admonished him for his ruffian-like behavior and, more or less, ordered him to avoid the Potters; the threat being a punishment of something or another which Xavier had forgotten of by July. However, this was a mere sixth of the talk. In fact, his father then went on to criticize Xavier's "elitist" behavior. At the beginning of this part of the speech, Xavier looked at his father disbelievingly. Perhaps the next portion of the lecture would talk about the faults of his toothbrushing techinque, he had thought darkly. However, by the end, Xavier had begun to agree with his father that some popularity or, at the least, tolerable standing with his peers was important. The lecture came to an odd stand still when his father opened and closed his mouth several times, as if thinking and rethinking the idea of telling him something. Xavier had taken it as an Intermission of sorts. A short one at that, for a few moments later his father had snapped onto some choice and explained the stork-less version of how lives began. In closing his father had introduced him to Occumlency and it's partner, Legimency.

The books pertaining to those subjects remained on his desk in prime conditions, sealed and forgotten as a much more time consuming task had caught and held his attention for the last two weeks. The ancient leather bound book that accompanied the chest they had found in the forest was filled with codes and riddles. In order to safely use the objects, the person first had to understand what they were and, as such, was required to decipher the text. The task took the majority of his time, and even carried the characteristic of becoming much too tedious and monotonous for the attention of an eleven year old approaching his twelveth birthday. It was at such times, when the excitment of a mystery became a chore, he attempted to practice charms and spells. In most cases Helen would be the target and they would practice in an empty room in the house. There were, however, some spells that Xavier had copied from books at Hogwarts that he knew his father would disapprove of using in general. Therefore he had scouted a location in the nearby woods between the Malfoy and Potter residences.

That was where he and Helen were headed today under the guise of 'play'. Due to some alien thought process Helen had begun to refer to him as sir. He could not understand why and ocassionally it bothered him, as it did at that moment. After a few minutes of bootless contemplation, Xavier sighed frustratedly and decided to revisit the anamoly another day. Helen pretended not to notice Xavier's reaction and following him quietly into the woods. This irritated him possibly more than anything he had ever experienced. Why do they always complicate things?, he thought angrily. He momentarily directed his rage at every woman that had ever existed, the prime target being a certain Potter that demanded an apology for some Merlin forsaken reason. As far as he could see, he had no reason to apologize. Naturally, he had refused when she had asked him. Needless to say, Amelia was very cross at his answer and left in a rather nasty mood. All in all, he could only hope to not see her as they entered a small clearing in the forest. After all he was supposed to avoid anyone or anything Potter.

He turned to Helen and began to outline the options for practice. In reality there was only one option. Xavier knew she would refuse one choice on face and the other would look more pleasing if told after the first unthinkable option. "The first choice," he began, "is Legimency. Basically I would access your memories and, indirectly, some thoughts."

"Is that like mind reading?" Helen asked, as if seriously considering the option.

Xavier scrunched his nose. "Yeah. But real Legimens don't like to call it that. And this is my first time, so I probably won't get far. You shouldn't be too worried about me finding something you want kept secret."

Helen shuddered regardless of his assurance. "I don't think I like the idea of you reading my mind," she said quietly.

Xavier smiled understandingly. "I wouldn't like the idea of someone reading my thoughts either. The second option -" his voice faded as he saw Helen's gaze shift from him to something behind him. A part of him hoped and prayed Amelia was not standing behind him; although he knew she was. Silence hung heavily in the air, as if waiting for her to speak. From the corner of his eye he could see she had moved mainly to face his side. When she did speak, Xavier ignored her and spoke before Helen could acknowledge her.

"The second option is a very diluted form of -" he began only to be interrupted by Amelia.

"Are you ignoring me?" she asked, her green eyes narrowing in some skewed form of understanding.

A smile creeped upon Xavier's mouth as he stared fixedly at Helen. "'Never speak to me again'. Those were her exact words," he said cooly. Helen looked from Amelia to Xavier in clear confusion.

"That doesn't mean I can't talk to you!" Amelia exclaimed, slightly hurt.

His gaze remained upon Helen. "Are all women like this Helen?" he asked maliciously, "She can chatter as she like and I'm required to listen? Who does she think she is the Queen of England that I have to follow her every petty command?"

"I'm trying to apologize," Amelia cried.

"And now she's doing this apologizing thing," Xavier said as he stared at Helen, "Did she seriously think that I agreed to her order? Doesn't it occur to her that maybe I'm ignoring her because I want to?"

Amelia's eyes flashed in anger, "Ooh, Xavier whatever-your-middle-name-is Malfoy -"

"She's trying to sound serious by saying my middle name," Xavier gwauffed, "but the problem is that she doesn't know my middle name. So she sounds stupid more than anything else. You'd think she'd have figured it would by now. My initials are on the kerchief. XDM. What else could she think the D stood for? David?! It's Draco by the way. Well, actually, it's Draconius but, hell, I'm willing to let it slide."

Amelia blinked back her tears. "Fine," she said at last, backing into the woods, "I hate you too." The instant she found the tree line she turned and ran. Silence followed as the sound of her steps diminished the farther she ran. Helen could not read Xavier's face in those moments and when he spoke again it was as if Amelia had never been there. "So the second option is a very diluted from of the Imperius curse. I would be controlling you but only if you agree to being controlled. It's like a practice step to the real thing, but the real thing isn't legal so I can't do it. Anyway, I promise not to make you do anything embarrasing. I'll make you walk around in a circle or something."

Helen nodded and then asked quietly, "Can I say something sir?"

Slightly annoyed by her unexplainable behavior Xavier shrugged, "Sure."

"That was really mean of you."

"It's really hard to avoid someone if that someone keeps popping up on purpose Helen," Xavier snapped sharply. Helen jumped slightly at his tone and merely nodded uncomprehendingly. As he cast the spell she was left wondering why he would want to avoid Amelia and he again contemplated Helen's new found sense of replusive obedience.

blue_rose

September 3rd, 2006, 7:04 pm

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

For the past few weeks of summer Helen had acted as the most obedient of servants. Tomorrow, she would tell anyone who asked about her termination of such an attitude that it was merely a project for school to be conducted over the summer. Tonight, however, she was more occupied with catching a very elusive object known as sleep. And although there was no concious reason as to why she began to think of why she had acted the way she had the last few weeks, in the next few moments she would not be able to think of anything else. A part of her was determined to call it unreasonable. Nevertheless doubt filled her with a name. Chelsea. A rich and, therefore, popular girl who tended to prey upon not-so-wealthy girls that refused to bow and forever become the equivalent of ladies-in-waiting to her. Not surprisingly, Helen was one such girl. Unlike others in this exlusive group, however, Helen was considerably more tempermental and, worst of all, came with a brain.

Perhaps that was why Chelsea had never confronted her before the last day of school. Whatever the reason, Helen was rather pleased by her inattention and, conversly, very angered when Chelsea did notice her on that day. How Chelsea had recieved word about her lodgings and their relation to her work remained a mystery. Yet on that day, Chelsea Harrison had managed to speak at length on the subject and the 'obvious fact' (or so to her) that Helen not only did not actually work but lived solely through the charity of the houseowner. Helen had listened quietly, red in the face, and the instant Chelsea had stopped to take a breath she began to accuse Chelsea of lying. She asked why a 'rich' girl such as Chelsea was attending public school and if living in a trailer park had anything to do with the notion that perhaps Chelsea was not as rich as she liked to think, regardless of the Burberry fashions and Armani purses.

What Chelsea said next seemed to ring in the night air. "Alright, maybe I'm not that rich and then, just maybe, you're not much of a servant. Have you even called your employers sir or madam? My servants do it all the time." Helen had retorted with a deadly calm, a voice more frightening than the loudest of rages, "I don't work for you." Certainly a girl so stupid as to equate the policies of two different families so automatically could not possibly say anything worthy of considering intelligible. That was what she had convinced herself of as true. Yet, for the last few weeks she had also convinced herself that she could and for some of the time, did, live the life of a servant as defined in the eighteenth century. The kind that swore a lifetime service to his/her master, obedience unlike any other and a willingness to even die for the master.

Unfortunately it seemed that this sort of service was cumbersome. Nonetheless she had endured five weeks and two days of it. And, shamefully, what motivated this endeavor was the selfish urge to simply prove a chattering, Prada-clothed girl wrong. Helen shuddered at the thought. No. She was beginning to believe the summer school project story herself. The doubt persisted and, after a few minutes of struggling, she yielded. A part of her had not wanted to believe that the words of such a weak-minded, pretentious girl could affect her so thoroughly as to refrain from chastising the youngest of the Malfoys at a very appropriate moment. Helen yawned as her heavy eyelids dropped. At least my actions were justifiable, she thought drowsily, his are inexcusable.

The next day, she was glad that only few remarked on her change in behavior. Mostly, goofy smiles appeared on their faces when they realized it and this annoyed Helen slightly. She wished they would ask and, then, she could provide a logical explanation rather than have them dream up some reason for the change. However, all she could do was purse her lips so that they would turn a light pink in response. The morning flew by without consequence. She avoided any area near Xavier and as such there was little for her to do other than assist the cook in the kitchens. So, when she did somehow find herself in his rooms she cursed the cook to places arguably worse than hell.

Xavier could sense her anger when she walked in. After all, he had known her for practically all his life. She placed the food tray on a table and asked cooly "Anything else?"

He turned to her and hid his surprise when he saw that she was glaring back at him, instead of the ground. "You didn't call me sir," he said with a friendly smile.

She bit back a scowl and replied in a voice laced with ice, "Nothing to call sir to."

"So you're done with it?" he asked, and when she failed to respond, continued, "Thank Merlin! I thought it would never end. It was very irritating by the way."

"I would never have guessed," she said distantly, the same cold look in her eyes.

"Are you mad at me?"

Helen's eyes flashed. "Oh no, I'm perfectly rosy with you," she replied, sarcasm emphasizing the phrase, 'perfectly rosy', "I mean you just made a girl cry and pretended like it never happened. The world is just delighted with you right now."

"Oh, Merlin forbid that I possess some capacity to be rude," Xavier shot back, reflecting the venom in her voice back to her.

Helen's eyes narrowed. "You know what?" she asked, "I'm beginning to believe you really did deserve worse than that detention and the headmistress should expel you right now."

Xavier rolled his eyes. He seemed to be deciding upon something. Silience settled, but before she could begin to speak, he cut in, "Look, it's not like I'm not sorry for what happened."

"When I consider that you're standing in front of me right now, I know that you're not half as sorry as you should be," she said harshly, her green eyes fixed in a glare at him.

Xavier opened his mouth to say something and shut it suddenly. His eyes flashed with discovery. He had been about to say, "Fine, take her side." The very thought of the remark had generated an epiphany. It had just occured to him that there were no sides. In fact, if the situation was missing anything, it was sides. In the distance he heard a knock on the main doors. He looked at Helen, realized he was still arguing with her and that it was his turn to respond. The knock sounded again.

"Are you going to get that?" he asked slowly as Helen glared on, as if daring him to order her to do it.

"Are you going to grow up?"

Xavier smiled in honesty and replied, "Maybe if you get that..."

"Oh, shut up!" Helen exclaimed.

Nevertheless, he was sure that she bit a smile away as she left the room. Instead of attending to his stomach, he found himself lying on his bed. There were no sides. Furthermore, his father's dictates were no more different than rules at Hogwarts. What his father did not hear of or see could not exist in his world. Therefore, he could persue any relationship with Amelia as long as his father did not discover it. If his father did not discover it then, technically, he had not broken any rule in his father's world, which, he decided, did not necessarily have to coincide with reality. Besides, he thought, what psychotic father would want to make his son biased, unless he thought that his son was already biased and could not be helped, making the best solution the order to avoid the biased item? The answer, naturally, was 'not his father.'

Feeling satisfied, he rose to eat lunch. When he had finished he was feeling particularly productive and decided he would likewise finish his History of Magic essay asigned for the summer. He made it halfway to the door leading to his study area when the door from the hallway opened and a smiling dark-eyed, dark-haired boy entered his bedroom. Tom Riddle had returned to the Malfoy Manor.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

blue_rose

September 9th, 2006, 8:46 pm

Xavier withheld a groan. It was not exactly a surprise to see that Tom had finally chosen to visit the Malfoy Manor. According to a letter from Eric, which, frankly, he was rather clueless as to why Eric had cared to write, Tom had witnessed some very productive days during summer break. He had managed, in some 'muggle' way, to secure a release form for himself and, days later, left the orphanage where he had stayed. Being twelve, he had found little work and, thus, was puportedly spending the summer in different homes belonging to his friends from Hogwarts. It seemed that Eric's house was the first to experience this, leaving a gap of five unaccounted days in which Tom's actions were apparently only known to Tom. In the letter Eric had noted strange behaviours emitting from their friend. At the moment Xavier found none of these observations and dismissed them as fictional. Tom did, however, look different. He was thinner and Xavier supposed that suited him. He had also grown two inches above Xavier's height and that could only annoy Xavier. It looked as though there was some purpose in his brown eyes. Xavier shuddered to think that it could possibly have to do with their youngest
servant.

"Long time no see, eh?" Tom grinned and, in that greeting, Xavier understood that he would be seeing Tom for much longer than could be anticipated, or even considered normal for the stay of a visitor.

Nevertheless, he rolled his eyes and coolly replied, "It's only been three weeks."

"Oh, you're counting?" Tom asked slyly, seating himself on the bed.

"Yeah, counting the days of hell-less existence," Xavier said causally and plopped into a seat.

Tom's grin faltered slightly, "From what Helen tells me it seems to be far from that."

Xavier stifled a laugh and replied sarcastically, "Oh no, there's trouble in paradise?"

"Yeah, something about a fight."

Xavier smiled bitterly, "Is that what Helen called it?" Tom looked at Xavier curiously, as if to say that was indeed the adjective used. Xavier smirked in spite of himself and leaned back into his chair, "It was more like me bashing every word that came from Potter's mouth and her crying about it."

At this point Tom's frown was quite pronounced and he asked slowly, "You made Potter cry?"

"Yes. Why, is that so difficult to do?" Xavier asked in return. Tom glared at him. "What? Not my fault she's so spineless. She's the one who didn't talk back."

"She's a Gryffindor, Xavier!" Tom exclaimed.

"I haven't told you about my drugged-hat hypothesis?" Xavier said indifferently.

Tom looked at him sharply and replied, "She deserves Gryffindor."

"I hope you mean that in a bad way," Xavier said, idlly playing with a loose thread on the chair.

"You know I don't," Tom replied bitingly.

Xavier scowled convincingly, "Enough about Potter. I need to find a way to be more sociable."

"More sociable?" Tom repeated with a cocked eyebrow. "I just want to inform you that even miracles couldn't do that," he continued.

Xavier grinned, "Pretty much. But I was thinking Quidditch."

Tom shot Xavier a searching look. He knew what Tom would say. "Are you trying make Potter like you or hate you?" he asked, grinning stupidly at the sharp look Xavier sent him.

"Merlin. Riddle, the world isn't solely composed of Potter," Xavier replied in a mocking tone, "If I didn't know any better I'd say you're taken with her. She does seem to be the only object in existence in your mind."

"I guess it's a good thing you know better then," Tom replied coolly, "after all there is another set of astonishing green eyes in this area."

Xavier refrained from critizing Tom direct and said in a non-chalant tone, "How many times do I have to tell you that my mother is strictly off limits?"

"I was referring to her younger version," Tom retorted, a neutral expression on his face.

Xavier rolled his eyes. "She'll never like you."

"Thanks for the ego boost," Tom replied sarcastically.

"Any time, any time," Xavier replied with even sarcasm, "although I'm sure Eric built your ego up beyond proportions already. I'm only trying to return it to its natural level."

Tom's eyes lit like lanterns in genuine awe, "Hey, did you know Eric's a metamorphagus?"

Anyone who had seen Mr. and Mrs. Zabini would have known such a thing, but Xavier prodded regardless. "And what made you think that?"

"Well his father is an African. He said he can't control it too well though."

"That's a dampener," Xavier reflected in earnest, "we can have him smuggle things in when he gets a hold of it though."

"Yeah," Tom responded, clearly thinking of every possible thing Eric could do for them. "So, what's there to do around here?"

"What, you didn't do everything at the Zabini's place?"

Tom scowled with a supressed laugh and replied, "No. I don't think his parents like me very much. Something about wrong values."

"There isn't much to do around here," Xavier stated honestly, as if the fact was a particularly annoying thing to admit, "this house is pretty time-consuming. There are supposed to be some Dark objects here and there, but I think the Ministry took them all. Stonehenge isn't far off."

"No Fourth-of-July celebrations or anything?" Tom asked.

Xavier eyed Tom and asked, "Fourth of July?"

Tom's eyes started for a fleeting moment and he explained vaguely, "Oh it's a Muggle holiday for the Americans. Like Mardi Gras for the French muggles or Midsummer's Day for British muggles. Aren't there any ministry celebrations?"

Xavier shrugged, "I don't know about any ministry celebrations. My birthday is coming up, so is Helen's. We're going to celebrate those."

"When's your birthday?" Tom asked in curiousity, recalling that he had never actually heard Xavier say it.

"The seventh," he replied uninterestedly.

"Of July?" Xavier nodded. A grin creeped up Tom's mouth, "Of 2007?"

"No, of 2010," he snapped irritatedly, "Of course I'm not in the same year as you."

"So you were born 07-07-07?"

"It gets even better," Xavier said slowly in a sickeningly sarcastic tone, "Guess what time I was born."

"7:07?"

Xavier shook his head, "8:17. Which happens to be 7 hours and 77 minutes."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Exactly what I think," Xavier replied.

"But isn't six sevens a bad thing?" asked Tom.

"My father was 27 when I was born," Xavier said indifferently.

Tom whistled in awe. "Pretty crazy," he said and then changed the subject as they were at somewhat of a standstill, "Have you finished the summer homework?"

"I still have to do the History essay. The rest of it is done," Xavier replied casually. Upon viewing the look on Tom's face he continued in exasperation, "Yes, Tom, you can copy them."

Tom rose to follow Xavier into the study room with a thankful smile on his face. When he entered the room, he noticed that it was uncharacteristically messy. Papers and open books lay strewn on the floor, causing any person to navigate through carefully through the mess in order to get anywhere in the room. His eyes settled on a vial of blue-green potion on Xavier's desk. His stomach squirmed uncomfortably as Xavier stopped rummaging through a pile of books on a chair. "Here," he said, handing a manilla colored folder to Tom, "I like my herbology essay the best, it's quite amusing if I do say so myself. Read the first paragraph."

"I'll read it later," Tom replied squimishly, "How goes the Draught of Knowledge?"

To a large degree, Xavier had given up trying to make Tom use the correct name of the potion. In truth, he even agreed the Latin-based name was a rather irksome thing to try to remember. He shrugged and replied, "Almost done."

"What exactly do you have to do for it?" Tom asked in quiet curiousty.

"Well if I want to die I could just drink it," Xavier replied somewhat annoyedly, "But considering that I really don't want to do that, I have to make a bunch of other potions for it."

Tom stared at Xavier's desk quietly for a few minutes. Xavier could have sworn he saw something flash in Tom's brown eyes. He recalled that when they had decided to divide each object between one another, Tom had said that if he had the opportunity to work with the Draught of Knowledge he would ask to know the secret to world domination. And suddenly, he felt the urge to rush Tom out of the room and put as much distance between the vial and his friend. A soft 'oh' sounded from Tom. Xavier looked at the clock on his desk and said with as casual a tone as possible that sounded more like a mumble than anything else, "Come on, it's almost time for dinner."

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

blue_rose

September 16th, 2006, 8:04 pm

"It's true!" Amelia exclaimed in annoyance at her sister's reception of the fact that, indeed, Tom Riddle had had some twenty different girlfriends in the past year. She bit irratatedly at her sandwich while Ophelia pursed her lips in a curved smile, attempting to hold in her laughter. However, after a few seconds she could no longer contain it. Amelia glared at her sister and upon viewing this Ophelia reduced to giggles in between attempts to bay her laughter. At last she asked, "Amelia do you know what a relationship is?"

Amelia gasped, affronted by the question. "Of course I know what a relationship is," she replied, "it's when you have a girlfriend and go on dates with her, or him."

Ophelia clicked her tongue knowingly. "Relationships aren't like socks. You can't change them every other day and say you love all of them."

"But he really did have a lot of girlfriends," Amelia argued, "one girl was so devastated when he broke up with her that her friend sent him hate-mail!"

Ophelia looked at her incredulously over the rim of her tea cup. "How long did were they together?" she asked with narrow eyes.

Amelia chewed the last bit of her sandwich thoughtfully. "Two weeks, I guess," she said finally.

Ophelia diverted all of her concentration into swallowing her tea instead to sprinkling it out unto the table and her younger sister. "Amelia, two weeks means nothing to little."

"But-"

"Did he kiss all his girlfriends?" Ophelia interrogated her.

Amelia looked at her, unsure of the answer. "Well-" she began slowly, "Well at least on their cheeks."

Ophelia rolled her eyes, "Dad kisses you on the cheek all the time Amelia."

"That's not the same! His kiss is different," Amelia argued.

"Oh and you've tried his kiss?"

"No!" Amelia exclaimed, offended thoroughly, "But they are different."

Ophelia shook her head. "Alright, how many wickets did he knock off for each girlfriend?"

"Wickets?!"

"He can't have reached the hoops and quaffles area yet."

"What are you talking about?" Amelia asked, confused with the exact relationship between quidditch and dating, provided that a relationship existed at all.

Ophelia waved her hand absently. "You'll understand when you're older," she said matter-of-factly.

"You're not that much older than me," Amelia said, feeling patronized.

"Of course not," she replied, "but it'll be better if you're told later. Anyway, I don't see what the problem is."

"He came to see me today," Amelia responded, remindering her sister of the intent of the conversation, "and, I think he likes me."

"What makes you say that?" Ophelia asked.

"Well he came to visit me!" Amelia exclaimed, "and we weren't great friends at school. We weren't enemies or anything, but not great friends."

"He may just want to be friends," Ophelia shrugged.

"I hope so," Amelia replied moodily.

"And that means you don't like him."

"Not like that. But, if he...maybe...well, I don't know..."

Ophelia interrupted her sister's clear indecision. "Look Amelia," she interjected, "you don't need to worry about things like this right now. You're still twelve and no one will be too offended if you say you're not ready or interested. Not to mention, your friend here hasn't been in any real relationships. Good ones last six months or more. Some are on and off. But none are two weeks and we're through. For all you know, he just wants to be friends."

Amelia sighed in relief and secret disappointment. "I guess," she replied. A part of her had wanted to rush into a relationship for the experience, but, mostly, so that she could inch closer towards the glamoured state of a teenager. As thus the realization that she was not ready was quite disappointing. Nevertheless, it relieved a considerable amount of pressure from her; for which she was grateful. However, the thought of possibly forming a friendship or something more with Tom Riddle seemed to find it's way back into the center of her attention. He's not that bad, she thought. He was certainly better than other Slytherins, for whom the main representative as far as she was concerned was an arrogant blond boy who should neither be named nor thought of. After all to do such a thing would only inflate his abominable ego and such an act could never be tolerated by a Gryffindor of her nature. No, Tom Riddle was much better than the average Slytherin. Unlike them, he was gregarious. Unlike them, he was personable.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

The lazy summer evening found Xavier and Tom in the branches of an ancient oak tree. It lay firmly in the back grounds of the Malfoy residence, a lone tree in the midst of sea of green grasses waving lazily in the wind. In half an hour, students in brooms would gather overhead for the first quidditch practice of the summer. For the case of Xavier Malfoy, it would be his first quidditch practice ever. Quidditch never had and never would capture his attention. He could not imagine what joy people found in throwing balls through hoops or aiming heavy lead balls at the heads of others or even searching endlessly for a small fluttering ball the size of a pea for all relavant purposes. If anything it seemed predictable and even mildy boring.

Yet there he was in a tree, with a broom somewhere in the branches next to him, waiting to do just that. In all honesty he had not thoroughly planned his new venture. He knew of his desire and the medium in which to attain it. However, the course through it was to be entirely impromtu. Or so he had convinced himself of that. In truth, there were too many variables, too many unknowns to be certain. This, unlike quidditch, was considerably more interesting, even exciting. He leaned his head on the trunk of the tree. A voice from below alternating the phrases "She loves me" and "She loves me not" informed him that Tom had finally found a spot to sit, something that, for some reason, had taken him longer to do. At that moment he was still attempting to decide whether Tom was competition or simply unsituable for Helen.

Tom's voice traveled loudly through the leaves. "She loves me," he said, plucking a petal from the red rose he had found in the gardens.

"I heard you visited the Potter girl," Xavier said casually, watching as one flyer hovered in the sky awaiting the start of practice.

Tom stopped plucking the rose. "She told you did she?" he asked, smiling wryly.

Xavier smiled tartly knowing well that the 'she' was meant to refer to Amelia. "Yes," he replied, "my mother did happen to mention it in passing."

"How kind of her," Tom said, "Amelia's a nice girl."

"Only nice?" Xavier asked as teasingly as he could manage.

Tom examined his half plucked rose and then allowed his eyes to wander over the majestic tree. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "they say love is like a flower, but friendship is like a tree. She could be more than nice, but nice works just as well."

Xavier laughed, "I suppose. Who's the rose for?"

Tom grinned wryly, plucking at his rose again, "Wouldn't you like to know? She has the most vibrant green eyes I've ever seen."

"More like a curious conversation point, but I suppose we can play," Xavier replied, "Green doesn't quite narrow my list."

"She has my heart," Tom said in such a serious manner that Xavier was left wondering how literal the phrase was intended to be.

"Much too cryptic of a condition to analyze," he responded absently. An older boy with jet-black hair followed by a red-headed girl had joined the lone flyer.

Tom smiled as the last rose petal fell into a pile at the bottom of the tree, "Who ever she is mate, a rose told me she loves me."

"Ah, but isn't love so simple," Xavier said staring intently at the growing group overhead, "friendship too complicated. There are only so many kinds of love, the types of friendship are infinite aren't they? How can you know what sort of friendship a person is looking for or even, for that matter, if the person wants it?"

For a moment, Tom was silent. He stretched on the branch to lie comfortable on it. "I suppose I can't know for certain until I ask and by then it might be too late," he replied looking from the petal-less rose to the pile at the bottom.

"Ask your lover or your friend-to-be?"

Silence. Tom turned so that his back was lay on the sturdy branch. "Ask my friend at present," he replied so quietly that it travelled as incoherent sounds to Xavier.

"Did you say something?"

Tom stared quietly at the green leaves above him. "Yeah," he said loudly afterwards, "aren't you late for practice?"

Xavier observed the group of students above. They were flying around chatting, by the looks of it. Probably talking about the lastest quidditch results, something he had taken to memorizing as if the scores were life-saving spells. Xavier sighed and said monotonously, "I suppose, but it's going to be so terribly boring."

"Hey," Tom replied, "don't knock it before you try it."

Xavier grabbed his broom from the branches. "I suppose," he said skeptically and rose into the air slowly as if doubting that anything remotely interesting could happen on the first day of practice. Tom watched Xavier's dot in the sky join the other dots. Then he looked to the ground, where red rose petals lay on the cool brown dirt and tried to think of a way to safely get down from the tree. There was a curious cabinet in Xavier's study that he wished to search thoroughly.

blue_rose

September 24th, 2006, 4:37 am

Sirius fumed silently as, yet again, Amelia left for quidditch practice without him. Two days into the start of the summer quidditch season, he had managed to recieve a seven day suspension from the team. It was more than expected. What else could they have possibly thought he would do if he were given a broom, a club and a flying Malfoy, he asked himself irritatedly as Amelia flew towards a group of flyers overhead. A bark near him caused him to tear his eyes away from the blue sky and look into the blue eyes of their dog, Padfoot. Sirius grinned. If any other canine had been called his nickname he would have been offended. Padfoot wagged his tail merrily and barked once more. "Yeah, yeah, I know," Sirius replied as he picked up a stick and subsequently tossed it towards the woods. Padfoot bounded immediately and, once again, Sirius' attention was directed to the dots in the sky.

Of course the fact that Malfoy seemed to intentionally throw the quaffle in Amelia's path upon every occasion only escalated the situation. It did not occur to him then, nor now, that perhaps he was attempting to capture her attention. Instead, he thought that it was what any sane individual would have guessed. A base form of bullying. As such he had felt obligated to, for lack of a more precise term, protect his sister. The result had been a magicked buldger that followed Malfoy like a cruise missile on a locked target. At first Malfoy did not recognize the change in the buldger. However, by the end of practice when the crazed object continued to follow and hit Malfoy after he had landed on the ground, even Madam Hooch knew something was wrong.

Needless to say the former quidditch referee at Hogwarts was outraged. She realigned the buldger and threatened to end the program unless the perpetrator claimed responsibility. In the end, Sirius confessed and for his honesty he was not expelled from the program, rather suspended. Unfortunately, that would be only the beginning of his punishment. His mother had grounded him when she discovered the fact. And when he had tried to tell his father that his motivation was primarily to protect Amelia, Mr. Potter simply could only shake his head. All other reports had suggested to the contrary. It was then, on the porch, as he watched Padfoot return with stick in mouth, tail wagging more furiously than ever, that Sirius Potter suddenly felt as if he were being framed. That someone specifically did not want him to attend practice. That Malfoy was a potential candidate as this someone, if not the only possibility.

He looked to the sky. Why would Malfoy want such a thing, he wondered. The answer came just a readily as the question. Was it possible that Malfoy was trying to turn the team against him? After all, causing him to act like a criminal did seem to antagonize him quite a bit. Padfoot dropped the stick in his lap and barked. Sirius ran his hands through the dog's dark hair. Up above the group of quidditch players had long departed for the pitch. "What will we do with Malfoy?" Sirius murmured to no one in particular. Potential ideas, pranks, and solutions raced in his mind. Things he could do after his suspension without being blamed. For now, however, he could only take comfort in the fact that he had one ally in the air at the pitch.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Xavier swerved away from a bludger only to be whacked loudly on the arm that was holding his broom, by a club that was supposedly there to protect him from the very thing he was avoiding. He groaned audibly as he passed the quaffle to another player and the Beater apologized rather dishonestly. "Sorry, only trying to play my position," she said airily. Xavier glared at her and she smirked in response, absolutely immersed in her element. "You're on my turf now," she whispered with a glint in her eyes.

Xavier rolled his eyes at her back as he attempted to revive some sensation in his arm. In those seconds the opposing team scored. He flew towards the opposite side to gain possession of the quaffle and re-engage in the game. All in all, he could not complain about quidditch as a sport. It was not the most exciting thing he had ever experienced. As he was not accustomed to riding brooms every day for hours, he had awakened very sore in the last few days. However, the reaction of the group upon his registration was more interesting. For example the female Beater had renounced her earlier position, specifically to be a Beater. Frankly, Xavier thought that she was a better Seeker. He had expected her to be angry, not quite as furious as she was, but angry nonetheless. He had wondered when it would end and when he could begin to talk civilly to her. Now, he wondered if it would end.

A teammate passed the quaffle to him. Xavier processed his options and could not believe how nearly perfect his situation was. Two chasers from the opposite team flew towards him from the goal posts. The Beater had let down her guard and was focused on looking for bludgers near the hoops. He grinned widely and aimed the quaffle at the Beaters broomstick, which bounced off the stick and into the right most hoop. The Beater turned abruptly in shock while the quaffle was thrown in the air once again.

Xavier shrugged, the grin still prominently displayed on his face. "Just trying to play my position," he said casually. She narrowed her eyes and he continued, "And if I can't feel any turf beneath my feet how can it possibly be yours?"

"It's an expression," she snapped.

Xavier smiled in amusement, "Rather ironic one to use for the situation wouldn't you think?"

The Beater glared at him and flew towards the other side of the pitch where the game raged viciously as the chasers from the opposing team attempted to score. In the end they lost by ten points when the other team caught the Snitch. Regardless, Madam Hooch declared that she was proud of both teams; although to Xavier it seemed that his team deserved to win and would have, were it not for their lousy Seeker. Thirty minutes later, when the majority of the people had returned home, he decided to finally confront her. Today would be as good a day as any, he concluded as it seemed that she would never relent.

He had discovered from the peeved groundkeeper that she normally left late. As such, it was not very surprising when he found her in the girl's locker room. She turned her head when he opened the door and then promptly returned to stuffing her bag with her belongings. "Hi," he said, smiling uncertainly.

She did not respond. "Wonderful weather we're having..." he trailed off. She ignored him. A few minutes passed in silence. At last he burst, "Look, Potter, I'm going to be forward," he said authoratatively, "I'm not going to apologize or try to explain why I did it. I will say that it was stupid. Extremely stupid. Now that I know that I'm trying to make up for it. You can be a Beater and aim bludgers at me all you want, but it won't change anything. I'm not saying I don't deserve it. I probably do, but I'm not the judge of that. But you're a much better Seeker. That's your position. I don't see why you have to compromise your spot on the team for your hatred of me. It just doesn't make any sense. Like I said, I'm not apologizing. It would be better if you'd just forget it. And I'm not apologizing but I'm not particularly happy about what I did. I wish I hadn't. Time turners are in limited supply, I hope forgiveness isn't."

When he finished, he felt just as he had when he had confessed to Amelia about his escapade into the forest with Eric and Tom. Hungry. Amelia zipped her bag. Throughout his speech she had remained blank. At last she said, "This is the girl's locker room."

He stared at her as he headed towards him; actually towards the exit that he was blocking. He smiled apprehensively and replied, "I'm not in it."

She met his grey eyes evenly and said rather emotionlessly, "I didn't like being a Beater that much anyway. I can be one though."

"I don't like being a prick that much either. But I can be a very good one," he responded. A faint smile graced her lips. "Do you want to fly back with me?" he asked.

"No," she replied, surprised by her the firmness in her own voice.

He looked at her oddly and asked, "Are you sure Potter? I do live right next to you, you know."

She nodded, "I'm sure."

Xavier shrugged, "Suit yourself. I guess you'll be stalking me the entire way there."

She grinned mischieviously, "No, Malfoy, you'll be stalking me the way there." At that she mounted her broom and he bounded from the boy's locker room to fetch his own broomstick.

blue_rose

September 30th, 2006, 9:23 pm

Post is above! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease feed me back from the link. I hope you liked it! I'm sorry it's a bit shorter than the others...

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A loud unabashed belch rang through some hall in the Malfoy mansion. The ancient papered walls seemed to recoil at the noise, as if no such unrefined manner had been conducted in their presence in all their long existence. If there was one thing Tom loved about his friend's home it had to be, without a doubt, the food. It was somewhere near the end of his mental list of all the delicious foods he had enjoyed at the mansion that it occurred to him that he had never entered the hall before. He looked curiously into the rooms. Some were empty, others were locked and many, unbeknownst to him, lacked doors altogether. Therefore, when he did find a chamber occupied with some object he felt more than obligated to investigate its contents. Large windows covered the wall opposite to the door, allowing the afternoon light to spill over a sea of white sheets covering easels.

Tom surveyed the room intently. His footsteps intruded rudely upon the eerie quiet that proliferated through the space. He fingered a few sheets wondering what was behind them. Obviously they had to be paintings. Painted, most probably, by Mr. Malfoy. He reached a sheet slightly yellowed by age and instantly started at the faint music he heard shortly upon finding it. Somewhat disoriented he searched for the music, seemingly by a piano, and found a vent in the corner near the easel. Evidently a music room lay not far off. Attention once again directed upon the covered painting, he took hold of the sheet uncertainly.

He quickly glanced to his left and right and dived under the sheet. After his eyes adjusted to the darkness under the sheet, Tom looked at the painting curiously. It was named "Possibilities" and depicted a group of children playing in what seemed to be a park. All with some combination of grey eyes, blond hair, dark hair and green eyes. One looked convincingly like Xavier. Another he would have sworn was a young Helen. The others were foreign, although a blond haired girl did capture his attention. So much so that he had not seen that someone had opened the sheet.

"It really does look better in the light," a silkly voice said behind him.

Tom jumped and turned wide-eyed to face his captor. "Mr. Malfoy..." his voice faltered.

"Mr. Riddle," Draco replied smoothly.

Tom shifted uncomfortably and, after moments of guilty silence, he blurted, "It's pretty."

"Thank you," Draco said and added, "It was commissioned by the local school."

"Oh that's interesting," Tom responded automatically, refraining from raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"As I understand it Hogwarts does assign quite a bit of homework over the summer," Mr. Malfoy stated suggestively.

"Yes sir. I should start," Tom replied.

"Excellent idea," Mr. Malfoy said as Tom exited rapidly.

That was awkward, Tom thought as he passed the library and entered the dining room to find that Xavier had returned from quidditch practice later than usual. Xavier mumbled a greeting through a mouth full of food. Tom sat on a chair opposite to him and asked, "How was quidditch practice?"

Xavier shrugged and after swallowing added, "The usual."

Tom toyed with an apple from the fruit bowl and replied, "What an infomational reply."

"In my defense, I am eating," Xavier said with a grin.

"Point taken," Tom responded, biting into the sweet fruit. "Is Potter any better?" he asked after chewing for a few thoughtful moments.

Xavier's eyes narrowed. "I didn't know I cared about that," he replied stiffly.

"Of course you care," Tom said idly.

"No I really don't," Xavier countered irritatedly.

Tom met Xavier's eyes squarely, with a crooked smile on his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about mate," he replied, "but I was referring to her quitting seeker and all."

Xavier's chewing slowed. "I was talking about that too," he replied airily after swallowing.

"Sure you were," Tom said skeptically, eyeing Xavier's dessert. "Are you going to eat that?" he asked pointing a fork at the three layered chocolate cake.

"Probably not," Xavier said unconcernedly, "Why?"

Tom reached over and pulled the desert to his side of the table. "Because I'm hungry," he replied simply.

"It would be wonderful if you could refrain from eating my family out of money and home."

"I have a high metabolism," Tom replied nonchalantly, cutting into the dessert greedily, "It's a curse."

"Oh I'm sure," Xavier responded, placing his napkin his clean plate and leaning back into the chair. "So what have you been up to?" he asked.

"Is there someone who plays the piano here?" Tom asked in return.

"Helen's learning," Xavier replied, after a while.

"She's good."

"And how would you know if she's any good?" Xavier asked somewhat haughtily.

Tom chewed the last bit of his cake. "I heard her. But I guess I wouldn't know either way," he admitted. "Does her tutor know about the magical world?"

"Helen's a very do-it-yourself person," Xavier stated matter-of-factly, rising with the full intention of finishing the book on legimency his father had given to him.

"Oh a trait we both share," Tom said brightly, following Xavier, "maybe I'll go talk to her about it."

Xavier stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He turned to Tom and said rapidly, "You are not a do-it-yourself person and my history of magic essay is finished if you want to copy it."

Tom thought quietly for a while. At last he replied, "I really need that essay."

"Brilliant."

"We really do have a lot in common though," Tom said in a serious tone, as he followed Xavier into his room.

"No I honestly don't think you have anything in common with her," Xavier responded annoyed at his suggestion, "Maybe one or two things but definitely not enough in common."

Tom shrugged. "Have you gotten her a present yet?" he asked quietly, marveling at Xavier's increasingly disorganized study.

Xavier pushed the essay into Tom's chest. "No Tom, I'm the absolutely horrible person that waits ten minutes before the celebration to pick up a sock and deliver it as a birthday present," he ended sarcastically.

"Right," Tom mumbled, looking at the essay quietly.

Xavier took a seat behind his desk and began to study his legimency book. After a few minutes, he recognized that Tom had not left. "What?" he asked.

"Um, well..."

"Aren't we articulate tonight," Xavier said sarcastically, puzzled by Tom's unusual behavior.

Tom swallowed and leaned onto a side of the bookshelf. "Actually," he said at last, "I was speaking to Helen the other day and I realized that she doesn't really know that much about the wizarding world. And...uh...I thought that 20th century wizarding book would be a good present..." his voice trailed off.

Xavier looked cluelessly at Tom for a moment. "Alright," he said slowly, "then get it for her."

Tom bit his lip nervously. "Um, I can't," Tom replied, pronouncedly dejected.

Xavier's eyebrows joined in confusion. "Uh, why not?" he asked.

Tom looked at the floor. "Books cost money and I don't have any let alone a wallet to keep it in," he said shamefully after a while.

Xavier looked away, trying not to concentrate on the awkward turn in the conversation. "Well you can take it and give it to her as a present," he suggested after a while.

"I have presents already. I really hope both of you like them," he mumbled as the floor became hazy, "but I thought it would be a good present anyway."

Xavier looked guiltly at the floor. "Alright," he said, "I'll give it to her. Stop looking so dejected already."

"Thanks," Tom replied with a scratchy voice, staring fixedly out the window beside a cabinet.

After a few moments of silence Xavier rose and said, "I'm going to get a snack. Do you want to come along?"

"Later," Tom replied quietly.

Xavier shrugged, "Suit yourself."

It was minutes after Xavier left that Tom took a deep breath and wiped a lone tear from his face. He stared intently at the cabinet. A part of him was still trying to justify what he was about to do. Technically, assuming that Eric's dreams portrayed future realities, he would be acting nobly in the best interests of a would be friend. However, that was not the only reason behind his theft. These selfish reasons made him wonder whether he should have felt guilty or self-righteous about it. Tom contemplated the predicament for the entireity of a few seconds, opened the cabinet, over rode the minimal securities and deftly hid the vial of blue-green potion in his pant pocket. That night he swallowed the vial's contents. Upon the realization that the potion's effects were not instant, he went to sleep disappointedly.

blue_rose

October 7th, 2006, 11:53 pm

This post is a bit odd, random and somewhat nonsensical. Just go with it...or against it. I don't know. Yeah, let the mad randomness begin...

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

White. It was the color he had been instructed to wear. Although he could have reasonably argued that of all the days in the year, today he should have the choice to wear whatever he may please Xavier refrained. And for the sake of some sanity he overlooked the base reason behind the refrain. That, however, did not make the task of consuming the full contents of his plate without rendering his shirt dotted with off-white marks any easier. Birthdays at the Malfoy manor were celebrated rather methodically. The main event would always be the afternoon luncheon which was held in the garden that was now filled to the brim with roses of all colors and shapes. Then, depending on the person whose birthday it was, presents were given and the rest of the day would be conducted in adherance to the wishes of the birthday boy or girl.

Tonight, Xavier did not have a bedtime. Better yet, he was not required to attend the formal dinner that took place each night. It would be the perfect opportunity to drink the potion and allow it to settle. As far as he was concerned the vial was in his possession, safely tucked away in a discreet corner of an old cabinet. Although it was the most pressing issue, at that moment he was occupied with concealing his initial reaction to recieving a broomstick from his father as a present. His mother had informed him that father had played quidditch during his years at Hogwarts and Xavier could only conclude that some desire that he participate in the sport served as the main motivation behind giving such a gift. He smiled and delivered the appropiate thanks despite the fact that he harbored no interest what so ever in quidditch.

Perhaps that was the reason why Helen refrained from squealing when she opened her present from Mr. Malfoy. A new art set. She almost mimicked Xavier's reaction. Upon the recpetion of his mother's present, a book on Magical Theory, Xavier attempted to keep his responses constant. However, admittedly, he would have preferred the text to the broom on any and all occasions. Luckily, Helen was only required to respond similiarly when she found a less exciting scarf with earrings gift from Mrs. Malfoy. When exchanging presents with one another Mr. Malfoy was forced to excuse himself for a fireside call in the living room. Xavier was actually moderately surprised by Helen's excitment upon recieving the wizarding history book. That said, he was considerably more excited about her present to him, a latin version of Metamorphoses by some muggle named Ovid. While Xavier knew nothing regarding Ovid, he was attempting to learn more latin.

This left Tom's presents. To a point Xavier was apphrensive as Tom had requested that they wear white. Not to mention that Tom, too, was dressed in white. Maybe it's interactive, he thought perceptively. Helen noticed that Tom looked rather pale. Perhaps he's nervous, she thought. By this point, they were both staring at Tom, who had failed to hand over boxes of presents. Tom's gaze alternated between Xavier and Helen.

"Er, it's under the table," he explained evenly. Two heads quickly dipped beneath the table and slowly returned above the table's surface.

Helen stared strangely at the clear bag, dumbfounded and at a loss of words. Xavier seemed to be contemplating something or another and it was Helen that found her voice first. She untied the ribbon from the bag and said in an odd voice, "Er....thanks for the bag of," she paused to check for certain what the contents of the clear plastic bag truly were, "...of colored powder."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Tom smiled with some effort and in the next moment Helen was acutely aware of the fact that her face was covered in a light blue powder. "Your welcome," Tom replied. She blinked. Xavier's eyes narrowed in curiousity. She put a hand in her own bag and gathered the purple powder in a fist.

"Isn't this some obscure celebration technique in some remote culture?" Xavier asked. Helen released the powder on Tom's white shirt with an evil grin on her face.

Tom looked playfully at her in return and replied, "Who're you calling remote? There are like more than a billion of them around."

Helen's green eyes brightened. "Oh we talked about it in class once," she recalled, wanting desperately to color Xavier, "something Middle Eastern I think. But its a religious holiday, you know. Way to respect their religion by stealing a part of it for a birthday."

Tom shrugged and aimed a fist of powder at Xavier, "Not original, but it works just as well. And it helps celebrate the death of a witch. That's very unfair if you ask me. Might as well help celebrate the birth of a wizard too."

Xavier shook the powder from his continually messy blond hair. He realized that, clearly, neither of them had thought of this through as Helen's purple powder landed at the left sleeve of his shirt. "It's addictive," Helen told Tom, who had begun to dodge her puffs of powder.

Xavier reached into his bag of light green powder. He watched as his hands wove in and out of the powder that glittered in the light of the afternoon sun in mesmerizing fashion. He felt another cloud of powder land upon him. After a moment, Tom and Helen gathered around him in curious confusion. A mysterious glint flashed past Xavier's grey eyes, barely able to contain himself. They moved closer and the next thing they knew both were covered with green powder as Xavier stood abruptly and released most of the contents of his bag into the air.

Xavier laughed as Tom and Helen processed the event. "Merlin....you...two," he gasped between fits of laughter. Helen's head snapped in his direction, a vengful smile on her face and his laughter died away. He looked from Tom to Helen, smiled nervously and bounded for the oak tree. Helen leapt after him, cursing him ostentatiously and Tom followed accordingly.

Mr. Malfoy returned to the table in time to witness their absurd exodus. He shook his head at his smiling wife. "You're spoiling him," he said gazing that the figures that were now dots in the horizon. Mrs. Malfoy took his hand and stood to lean against him. "He isn't going to be a kid for much longer," she replied looking out at the ancient oak tree.

"You're wrong about that one," Draco said ruefully. "He never was a kid. At least not like that," he finished, motioning towards the general field of the manor back grounds.

She looked at her husband, causing him to tear his eyes away from the oak tree. "Well then," she responded, "I suppose it's good for him to have some experience." Her hands moved to the collar of his suit jacket and he became aware of the nearly non-existent distance between them. "Experience can be very helpful," she breathed, her green eyes holding his gaze, "in some cases." His eyes moved to her lush lips, his hands to her waist. Their proximity prompted the congregence of their lips in one long kiss. In that moment, life was very clear. In that moment, he knew that every choice, every mistake and every action was worth it. Their lips parted and doubt coursed through his viens as always. He ignored it as their lips met once again.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Tom ran for the forest the instant Helen and Xavier were occupied. One with coloring the other distinctly green and another with climbing the tree in which the other sat, with every intention of severly coloring or harming the other. She had not decided upon it yet. Tom could not help but smile at how nicely his plan was unfolding. With some luck Xavier and Helen would hopefully realize that he had left and follow him into the forest, giving him enough time to initiate the next stage of his gift. Or plan. He was not quite sure what the true purpose of his "present" was. It would, given that everything went accordingly, simultaneously leave two happy birthday kids and give him some time before Xavier realized that the vial was missing.

He reached the forest and continued running across the expanse that housed both old and young trees alike. Of course it was entirely possible that Amelia absolutely hated Xavier's guts. However, he suspected otherwise. When he found the tall metal fence that seperated the two properties, he searched for the metal bar he had previously loosened and crossed through the gap. It was almost 4:00 p.m., and as per her ordinary routine (something Tom had taken to memorizing of late), Amelia would be outside either practising on her broom or playing with their dog. When at last the trees broke unto green field, Tom was glad to see that Amelia had not yet risen into the air with her broom.

He grinned and caught her attention. "Hey, Potter!" he called, heaving breaths in between, "Want to play a game?"

Amelia looked in his direction and slowly realized who the stranger was. She smiled and shrugged. "Sure," she yelled across the field, "What is it?"

Tom shook his head. "You have to come here first," he gasped loudly, feeling somewhat light-headed and beginning to wonder if the potion was beginning to take its effects.

Amelia ran to the edge of the forest and after catching her breath she asked in curiousity, "What's the game?" However, in full honesty, she was more curious about how much paler Tom looked from the last time she had seen him. That and the fact that he seemed to possess sweat that was tinted with an assortment of colors.

A devilish grin spread on Tom's face and he quickly threw a fist of blue powder in her face. "That," he replied throwing her a bag of pink powder and running into the forest.

Underneath the blue powder her face was becoming red. "That's your game?!" Amelia yelled furiously, following Tom into the trees. "Ooh I'll show you..." she called after him. Amelia was determined to seek revenge. She chased him beyond the fence. However, Tom seemed to have disappeared. She continued running but slowed considerably before nearly pummeling Xavier into the ground. Instead she was standing in front of him breathing heavily in the afternoon sunlight that was scattered by the trees surrounding them, her pink powder spilling effortlessly unto his pants from the bag.

She looked at his pants in slight embarassment. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Quite alright," he murmured, raising his bag to release the remainder of his light green powder upon her shirt.

He was sparsely covered in powders of lavender and sky blue and primarily colored pink by her powder. The surprise in his silver eyes was just as pronounced as her's. Something in her stomach fluttered. A part of her cursed silently at the foreign sensation. Her cheeks became pink and she suddenly realized that she could feel his breath on her skin. She barely noticed the flurry of glittering purple powder that enveloped them momentarily when Helen released some from her fist.

"You know, I never forgave you," she whispered distrustingly.

A small grin graced his lips. "I never apologized," he responded softly his eyes searching hers. "But I do want to apologize for slapping you," he said finally.

She smiled and, shocked by her own forward behavior, tip-toed a bit to place a kiss on his lavender cheek. She pulled away and, now it was Xavier's turn to go slightly red, replied in a hushed tone, "Now we're even." She felt into her pocket and retrived a white napkin. It did seem like a good time to return it, as she took hold of his hand to sandwich the cloth between their skin. "It's yours," she replied softly at his questioning gaze.

"Aaawww," a voice came from behind Xavier, "that's so cute." Xavier turned to find Helen looking happily at them. "Wait till I tell Tom!"

Amelia blushed. Meanwhile, Xavier responded by chasing after her and yelling empty threats such as "Helen I swear..." She followed them both and for the next half hour the forest was filled with squeals, shouts, and yelps of joy emitting from the trio of children. In the next thrity minutes a dark-haired boy would also feel the ground beneath his feet and the air around him give away into blinding darkness.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

I would really like to know what you thought about that. No, seriously, I would. Please feed me back from the link on my signature! And thanks for reading!

blue_rose

October 14th, 2006, 10:26 pm

Chapter 11: Endless.

A faint hum sounded from some unknown location and he wished it would dissipate when the hum gradually became louder. He stirred slightly, hoping to quell the noise only to gain the knowledge of the fact that he was on something very soft. He slowly lifted heavy eyelids, that felt as though they were composed of lead. A hazy and obnoxiously bright scene awaited him. After many blinks the blurry environment came into focus and he realized that he was in a room. He did not attempt to recognize it. In fact, he was investing every one of his energies in not remembering anything. He sat up slowly, understanding the new found soreness that pervaded through his body. He did not think of why he felt so tired, in fear of an answer. He looked dazedly at the back that had never stopped humming, beginning to find the hum rather seductive. He stayed there, his hands supporting the majority of his weight to uphold the position, as she continued to hum.

When she turned around, she found him looking at her in complete exhaustion. She squealed and dropped the large sringe in her hand, much to his grateful observation. "You're awake!" Helen beamed and shot out the door.

He next recalled Mrs. Malfoy embracing him in what he could only imagine as a motherly hug. As thus the embrace made it harder to keep at bay the tears. It was in that embrace that every memory of what he had come to know in the last few weeks painfully flooded through him. He knew he was in the Malfoy manor. He knew why he felt tired. And he now knew what he had, thus far in his life, wanted to know more than anything else. He wished she would disappear from the room. He wished that she had never come. Despite the desire, she held him for what seemed to be a scorching lifetime.

When she did release him, she brushed a stray hair from his face and asked him how he was feeling. He yawned, hoping it would result in her departure faster. She asked if he wanted to eat or drink anything. He shook his head, mentally screaming at her to leave. She asked if he needed anything. He shook his head once again, knowing that he no longer needed anything. She asked if he wanted to know anything, in hopes of recieving a verbal response. He thought for a moment, and asked in a voice scratchy from disuse, what time it was. She told him it was around noon, that he had been asleep for three weeks and that they thought it may have been the result of a sickness caused by severe food poisoning. She wondered if it would result in any reaction.

He did not react. Instead he only nodded and yawned once more. Mrs. Malfoy smiled encouragingly and allowed him to rest by leaving. Helen, however, had not exited. By now, her smile had darkened and gradually transformed into a frown. She looked as though she was unsure of whether to cry, laugh or scream. "Don't you ever do that again!" she cried, "I swear I'll kill you if you ever scare me like that again."

He nodded. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely.

She searched his emotionless face with glistening emerald eyes. She blinked and sighed. "You should go to sleep," she replied.

He nodded. "And you'd better wake up by tomorrow this time!" she ordered. He nodded, feeling the muscles of his neck tiring from the motion.

When she did leave, he lay his head on the soft pillows and sighed as the room came into sharp focus through a film of tears. He felt his stomach turn in remembrance as he buried his face into the pillow. For not the first time in his life he wished he could forget everything he had ever seen.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

It would be two days after he awoke that Xavier would finally enter his room. By then he had already asked Helen for some books from the library to keep him company and his wand. Thus far he had managed to avoid eating most solid foods, claiming a queasy stomach. He had developed a chronic cough that he surpressed as much as possible due to the fact that it was not a symptom of the supposed sickness he had. In those two days, practically the entire world had visited him. The exception being Xavier. As thus it was not difficult for him to deduce that Xavier was particularly angry at him.

In any other situation Xavier would have noticed how attentively Tom read books. Almost spell-like in nature. Regardless the force with which he shut the door to Tom's room broke his mesmerized attention. He attempted to grin as Xavier strode over, considerably less angry than he had been at the beginning of the whole ordeal. "Long time no see," Tom said, a bit of apprehension sounding clearly in his voice.

"I've been busy," Xavier stated as he sat in the chair opposite to him by the unlit fireplace. Sunlight softly filtered in through thin curtains. A vase of various yellow flowers lay on the glass table behind the two chair. "Nice flowers," he muttered.

"Helen's a bit more sentimental than I thought," Tom shrugged, regarding the arrangement. The room fell into an inky silence. Xavier looked curiously at the carvings on the wooden leg of the table while Tom pretended to read.

"Xavier, I -" Tom began and was interrupted instantly by him.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" Xavier asked, standing up suddenly. He glared furiously at Tom's pale figure. "Were you even thinking?!" he asked, his voice louder than before. "I mean, honestly, the tear was a nice touch and all but you could have just asked for the d@mn vial. Then you just had to drink it here. Gave no thought whatsoever to running away. Brillant plan, really. Especially when there's a 40 kilo sentimental little girl around, who for some Merlin forsaken reason thinks you're more than a scumbag. If she hadn't found you, I swear I would have left you there under an invisibility cloak before all this mess. To top it all, a whole month of work down the drain because his highness here simply decided to chug it down. You're lucky you're a mudblood. And it's a good thing you're an orphan. Your poor parents would have bloody had a coronary if they existed. Deceptive little devil."

By now, Tom had begun to glare back. He rose, gingerly transfering his weight to his feet. "What was I thinking?" he asked rethorically, anger just as evident in his tone, "I was thinking about something Eric said and I know you've heard. I thought it was the only way and I know it wasn't well planned. I didn't think it out because I didn't want to waste time. I didn't ask you for it because you and I both know you would never have given it. I never knew she would find me and, frankly, I would have preferred to be under an invisibility cloak. But that wouldn't have made things any right. Just like you trying to keep your feelings for Amelia invisible doesn't make things any right."

At that Xavier interjected. "I'm not keeping any of these alleged fictious feelings for Potter invisible," he said through gritted teeth.

"Oh really?"

"Really."

"Stop lying!"

"Go to hell," Xavier spat angrily.

"No, I'd rather not," Tom replied bitterly, "I've heard it's an unpleasant place."

Xavier glared at Tom. "Fine, Riddle, if you must know, I do happen to harbor feelings for the Potter next door. I don't know what kind but if it let's you sleep at night, you can think they're the positive sort. That's also very different from lying to a friend, stealing his property and then leaving him a mess to clean up afterwards."

"Eric said - "

"I wouldn't have died you bleeding little git!" Xavier interrupted.

"You don't know that," Tom replied in full agigtation, his temples throbbing from the loud voices.

"I do know that."

"How?!" Tom challenged, his throat beginning to itch unpleasantly.

"I just do," Xavier replied irratatedly.

"Well I didn't know that," Tom responded stubbornly. Xavier opened his mouth in retort. However it was from Tom the next noise erupted as he fell into a fit of coughing which landed him on the floor with his back against the pillars of the fireplace. Xavier stared fixedly at the vase of flowers on the glass table as Tom caught his breath.

"The potions aren't helping are they?" Xavier asked in a strained voice.

Tom looked at the floor, fighting to keep from coughing. "It's not so bad," he responded while his stomach curled into itself in pain.

"You didn't answer the question."

Tom looked turned his head to look out the window. "No," he replied hollowly.

Xavier faced Tom, who was still staring at the field, and threw a vial into his lap. Tom turned his head to the vomit colored potion.

"Induces fever, vomiting, colds and nosebleeds," Xavier said as he picked up the vial. Tom looked from the vial to Xavier. "Some of the symptoms that you don't have that makes the healer think it wasn't food poisoning," he explained. Tom nodded, although he was not looking forward to swallowing the concotion. "Oh," he added, "and you're now allergic to mushrooms." He continued at Tom's questioning look, "There aren't many allergic reactions or food posioning sicknesses that cause comas in magical people. In case you don't know, the story is that you contracted food poisoning from a sinister mushroom that you were not aware you were eating because it looked like roast beef." Tom snorted. "Yeah, I was more convincing in front of the healer."

"This should be a positively wonderful month," Tom said sarcastically, eyeing the potion.

For some time the room was embedded in silence. Then Xavier said in a serious tone, "Tom, I'm not sorry for what I said."

Tom pulled off a shrug to the best of his abilities. "I deserved it," he replied and held up the potion, "Just like I deserve this."

"It's actually a bunch of wizarding wheezes' candies, so it should taste pretty good," Xavier said, when he was uncertain as to what to say at all, "and the tear was a nice touch."

"You fall for the sappy stuff too hard," Tom responded, "any other person would have thrown me out by now."

Xavier smirked. "Yes, I can just imagine the Daily Prophet headline if I could get my father to do that," he mused, "Former Death Eater Abandons Poor Helpless Ailing Orhpan Unto London Streets. When you're only truly a manipulative little b@stard."

Tom rolled his eyes but smiled in return. "Thanks," he said sarcastically, "I can just feel your loving nature overflowing here."

"Certainly, certainly," Xavier replied with even sarcasm, "Helen's the one for those things."

"I noticed," Tom replied. He looked at the clock and continued, "Speaking of Helen, she'll be here any moment."

Xavier looked to the clock. "And I'll be late to quidditch practice," Xavier added moving towards the door. "Don't forget to drink the potion," he said and Tom nodded before he left.

"Cheers," he said grimly when Xavier had left. He swallowed the contents of the vial and momentarily marvelled at it's wonderful taste. That night, his first round of nightmares began.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Please feedback!

blue_rose

October 21st, 2006, 11:07 pm

Alright the post is a bit short, but pretty revealing. I don't know how permissible the material is. So if you're under 18 kindly refrain from the spoilered sentences. Most of it is implicative not declarative so you get the general idea if you've ever read anything describing what is hinted at by the unspoilered sentences. Frankly it's not very graphic but just as a precaution...use some discretion.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Sirius' return to the summer quidditch program had caused, much to Xavier's displeasure, a return to the status quo. The only difference seemed to be that more buldgers came in contact with him. In effect he had learned to be skilled at dodging the menacing black orbs. Amelia had returned to her Seeker position, something he was rather grateful for. Although he had never thought that highly of the sport, he was not fond of losing. Unfortunately that did not make sport any more enjoyable when faced with Sirius' deadly aim at targeting any inanimate object at him.

As thus, his foul mood upon returning from practice was understandable. It was in this mood that Xavier noticed a muffled crinkling emanating from his pocket as he sat down to finish reading the Occulemency book. It was somewhat of an absurd observation when he considered that the only occupant of the pocket was a napkin. He slid the napkin out and noted that it had been returned from Amelia a week or so ago. Unfolding the soft white sheet he discovered a scrap piece of paper hiding inside.

There’s a swing in the forest.

He perplexed over the note from an unidentified source. Initially he thought that it was from Amelia. After all she had returned the napkin to him. As such, it would be logical to assume that this ‘swing’ in the forest was a sort of an invitation. However, should she have left the cloth in a more public place, the note could have been from any Potter. The only other Potter that would care to see him in an isolated location, without a wand would be Sirius. For moments the possibility seemed realistic. But he dismissed it on the basis of impracticality for the aggressor. He doubted it was from the former Head Boy. Alexander’s handwriting was much too illegible, as he had come to know through countless notices posted by the Head Boy on the main bulletin board. They had always attracted the attention of many students because the Head Girl berated the Head Boy about his handwriting on each occasion.

Therefore, he concluded that the note belonged to Amelia and returned contentedly to studying Occulemency. A week later he would locate the swing in the Potter properties and leave a sign of his arrival.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

The dreams, or more precisely, the nightmares, were always the same. Whether he was feverish or nauseated they never changed. He awoke in a cold sweat at times surprised, during others completely submissive. On some level he considered the scene as a variant of justice, a testament to the fact that to imagine an unknown past never resolved the truth of the event. It was the part of his unconscious reverie that he feared the most. It would begin like some eerie horror movie. A shady alley in the dead of night where the only light came from a flickering street lamp that threatened to burn out at any moment. At first the picture was hazy. Eventually two figures came into an unfocused view. One pinned the other against the alley wall. After brief resistance the other weakened. Then the insidious camera through which he dreamt it all, slowly zoomed into the figure against the wall.

It settled upon the person’s neck and the entire scene became focused when he found to his dismay that his mother’s necklace adorned the figure’s neck. Zooming out he saw the girl’s terrified brown eyes staring into the other figure. Her straight dark hair had been muddled by the other figure’s force and her skin was pale in the dim light of the street lamp. He only saw a crooked smirk on the face of the other figure when the street lamp flickered off. In the dark, the sound of a zipper unzipping proliferated through the silent streets. The lamp flickered on. He saw the girl fighting to get away. The lamp burnt out leaving the entire space dark. He heard a muffled scream and then, for the longest time, haunting groans. The last thing he heard before awaking one night gasping for air, was whimpering.

He gulped breaths of air, feeling a pain on his right arm. Disoriented he looked in the dark to discover Xavier towering over his bed. “What the hell are you doing?” Tom hissed at him.

“Drawing your blood,” Xavier said simply in a hushed tone, “It would be a lot faster it you could stop tossing around. Honestly, what are you doing running a marathon in your dreams or something.”

“Yes, thank you,” Tom whispered acridly, “I can see that. But can I ask you why the sudden fascination with my blood?”

“Trying to find a way to get rid of that cough,” Xavier replied succinctly, “Many magical properties in blood. May be of some help.”

“While you’re at it look for some way to get rid of the effects of that potion because the ones right now aren’t really helping.”
“You just have to drink the second part for that,” Xavier responded, “and I’ll present that to you –“

“-later,” Tom interjected bitterly, “Great. Just Great.” He turned his back to Xavier allowing his right arm to be in the range of the charm. Xavier shrugged at the motion. Tom discretely wiped the sweat off his face and neck, not wanting to sleep in fear of dreaming and wishing not to be awake simultaneously.

“Hey Xavier?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you make me a dreamless sleep potion?”

“I don’t have the ingredients,” Xavier replied, “Not until we go to Diagon Alley for school supplies, which should be in a few weeks.”

Tom sighed. “Why?” Xavier asked. “I mean,” he continued, “I could try to –“

Tom shook his head. “Nothing that awful,” he replied.

Xavier squirmed uncomfortably. “Right,” he said after a while, “Hey I forgot to ask. So what’s the secret to world domination?”

“I didn’t ask about that,” Tom replied truthfully after a decisive pause.

“Oh,” Xavier replied in a veiled monotonous tone, which suggested to Tom that Xavier did not believe a word of what he had said. Silence clung heavily to the air as the charm wore off and the vial filled with blood. When it ended, Tom regained the use of his arm. Xavier informed him that he would tell Tom if he found anything in a few days and left him to another sleepless night.

blue_rose

October 29th, 2006, 10:26 pm

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

He had never truly understood the mechanisms of the world. Just like the blanket of thick fog that rolled over the Malfoy field in the rising sun, they had managed to perplex and cloud his comprehension. The list of such confusing entities was extensive for Tom Riddle. Writing, reading, mysterious fogs and even various silverware were a few in that list. Perhaps it was the recognition of his inability to grasp these concepts that had rendered him sane. Perhaps it was their general irrelevance. However, there were a few unknown details that had always played a role in his life. He had imagined them into existence as some scientist may imagine a theory into the world. Unfortunately, he had done so with little knowledge of the months before his birth. When the ultimate test appeared through Xavier’s vial he had been unable to resist confirming his theory, only to find his imagined past was more than far from the truth of the matter.

He heard the door knob behind him jiggle. The cause of the distraction soon realized the door was locked and knocked softly. Tom knew he had to open it, although at the time he had no desire what so ever to leave the plush comfort of the blankets. He drew his knees closer to his chest. The knock became more pronounced and Tom rested his head on his knees. If he ignored the knock, the intruder would leave thinking him asleep. Yet the knock grew louder. He finally sprung off the bed and mused his hair. When he opened the door his face reflected perfect sterotypical irritation. Xavier glared in return. "Since when do you lock the door?" he asked harshly as he walked in. Tom shut the door, careful to lock it.

Tom replied in a slightly husky voice, "You're a wizard. Shouldn't be too hard to unlock it."

Xavier rolled his eyes. "You're forgetting this house has been wizard property for generations. When they made the locks they wanted just as my privacy as the muggles got through them," he said coolly.

"Then I guess magic wouldn't have helped with that," Tom responded, seating himself on a chair by the fire, that was now a mass of glowing orange embers.

Xavier bit away an acrid reply and instead took a seat opposite to him. "Blood tests didn't really say much," he said, advancing to the intent of the meeting, "not about the cough anyway." Tom looked away from Xavier and to the burning embers. "If I read the book right, that's supposed to mean that whatever is causing it is localized at some point. Probably the lungs considering it's a cough."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Tom inquired hollowly.

Xavier shrugged. "It's a good thing," he resumed, "at least you won't develop any other symptoms. Doesn't really say much about how to get rid of it though. If it doesn't go away in a month we could look at something to do with it."

Tom nodded and the room fell into silence. Xavier had the distinct impression that Tom wanted him to leave. As thus he hesitated. "Hey Tom," he asked, "were you born in Britian?"

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Of course I was," he said with an edge in his tone. "Why?" he asked, looking suspiciously at Xavier.

"Are you sure?" Xavier asked, "because the blood test said that your parents probably weren't - "

"Muggles move around all the time Xavier," Tom snapped, glaring at the dying fire, "I wouldn't know if they were British or not, but that doesn't mean I wasn't born here."

For a few moments, Xavier looked thoughtfully at Tom's turned head unsure of whether Tom was telling the truth. "It was just a question, you don't need to be so defensive about it," he replied at last.

"Yeah, well I'd like to know what you're going to do with my blood before you start doing every test on it," Tom said irritatedly.

"I was just practicing."

"Why don't you practice on your blood then," Tom demanded angrily.

"Because it wouldn't be nearly as interesting," Xavier shot back, surprised yet apathetic at Tom's rather negative reaction.

"Wonderful, next time you want something interesting just ask and I'll see if I have any in stock," Tom replied bitterly.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Well that's what it sounded like," Tom said, "Now are you done, I want to go back to sleep."

"No I'm not finished," Xavier responded haughtily, "about your dreamless potion." At that Tom's head snapped at attention. "Mother said we'd be going to Diagon Alley the day Hogwart's letters come in," Xavier continued, "That would be two weeks from this Sunday. Does that work?"

Tom looked to the carpeted floor and nodded. "Thanks," he murmured quietly after a while.

"Don't mention it," Xavier replied, "Seriously, don't. Certainly not to anyone other than me."

The shadow of a grin creeped upon Tom's face. "Good advice there," he responded. "What's going on in quidditch and?"

Xavier clicked his tongue. "Wrong way to turn the conversation mate," Xavier said dissapprovingly, "let's just say Potter's complicating things."

"What Potter too pretty for you to look at the quaffle," Tom teased.

Xavier scowled. "Yes, Sirius Potter is so attractive," he said sarcastically, "especially when he's trying to kill me. Oh, that's the Potter I was referring to the other day, and, you know, I really don't like him."

"Your denial is touching," Tom replied, "pathetically obvious too."

"Maybe it's obvious for you," Xavier said, "let's keep it that way. Besides I have a right to lie about some things to you."

"I don't see why," Tom replied, "not like I'm lying obviously to you." Xavier shook his head in disagreance. "Yeah, about what then?" Tom challenged.

Xavier could feel the air tensing. "If you didn't ask for the secret to world domination," Xavier said quietly, "then what did you ask for?"

Tom looked away, as though attempting to decide something. "What would you have asked about?" he asked evasively.

Xavier shrugged, "I don't know. The meaning of life or something like that."

Tom snorted distantly, "No wonder Eric thought you'd died. It would take forever to answer that if it took three weeks to..." his voice trailed off.

"To what?" Xavier asked when Tom did not continue for a few minutes. Tom's mouth opened and closed, reconsidering under the pressure. He opened his mouth once again, and again it closed contemplating once more.

Finally he cleared his throat. When he spoke his voice was detached, beyond hollow. "I don't know why but I always thought that my parents must've loved each other very much. That they'd made a baby room in a house, put my ultrasound photo up in there somewhere. Then something bad had to happen and my dad died in some freak accident. Mum died after giving birth and I became an orphan. At least with that I could use the idea of their...their..." his voice faltered, "of what could have been."

Xavier's face was oddly masked as Tom continued. "But it was nothing like that. They didn't even know each other. She couldn't have been older than twenty and he forced her. When her parents found out that she was pregnant, they wanted her to abort." Images flashed past his eyes and some part of him wished she had. "But she wouldn't," he continued with a sigh, "and she ran away. She decided she would leave me at an orphanage after I came out." He snorted, "It's strange to know that my life wouldn't have been so different even if she'd lived. That's what I wanted to know."

Had he not been so occupied, he would have noticed Xavier was no longer sitting. "If you don't want to tell me that's fine," he said sourly, "you don't have to lie like that." Tom cringed while Xavier exited angrily. He stared emptily at the pile of ashes that was formerly a raging fire. He closed his eyes, unable to believe that he had not expected the reaction.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

A morose air hung heavily around Tom when Helen entered with lunch later that day. He seemed to be reading a book, and did so in such diligence that he did not notice that she had brought lunch. It may have been the fact that he had never before ignored the arrival of food or something else altogether, but it caused Helen to hug him. The gesture’s mollifying effect shocked Tom. He briefly leaned on her before she pulled away. To his questioning look she explained, “You looked like you could use a hug.”

He nodded with a smile that failed to reach his eyes. She smiled in return. "If it's Xavier I swear I'll -"

"No," he replied, quickly interjecting, and wondering the extent of her knowledge in the matter, wishing it was a simple coincidence. He changed the subject hastily. "More like the Daily Prophet..." he muttered, sending a sideways glance at the newspaper on his bedstand.

"Oh," Helen said understandingly, "just ignore them. They're being ridiculous." Tom did not respond. There had been a recent blurb of the ten most unfortunate names. Among people named "Rumple Dimpkin" and "Scaly Stunpike" was his very own name. Although a blurb to indicate that the newspaper had truly nothing to report, it filled half of the last page of the first section. Initially Tom had found the report hilarious. That was until a substanial number of owls flew in and littered his bed with letters from readers the day before.

"Helen?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you check out some more economics books for me?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied. Tom's fascination with economics was some what unsettling when she considered that he had practically asked for the entire economics section in the library. As thus the librarian refused to allow her to take the whole collection and she was forced to make regular trips for all the books. When she had inquired into his interest he had cryptically replied that he liked economics. "Which ones?" she asked.

He specified the names and she nodded, mixing the last of his potion into the orange juice. "I can't believe Mrs. Malfoy let's you do this," he muttered as she handed him the glass of juice. He made a gagging noise as she instructed him to drink it. She stuck out her tongue playfully.

"I'm going to be a doctor remember," she said, as she tipped the juice into his mouth and the liquid boiled down his throat. He coughed when she removed the cup. "Either that," he gasped between coughs, "or a murderer." He wondered if there were any negative effects to mixing orange juice with the potions.

"I resent that!" she exclaimed, while a wave of nausea and weak knees confirmed his suspicions.

"I do too. I don't know what got into me," he patched hastily.

"That's better," she said so sweetly that it made him laugh. She smiled momentarily, placed the tray on the bed and then said without laughter, "Now eat your food."

His stomach turned uncomfortably at the sight of the soup. "No thank-you," he replied, turning slightly green.

"What is it with boys and food," she said exasperatedly, "I'm not that bad of a cook, you know. Ok so I only know how to make noodles. But I make good chicken noodle soup, thank you very much. And -"

Tom stuffed a spoonful of the soup in his mouth hoping it would quiet Helen. "Yuuumm," he said, knowing that he would regret having swallowed the soup in an hour or so.

Helen grinned devilishly. "Just kidding," she said, "I didn't make the soup, but I'll tell the cook you liked it."

"You are evil," he replied darkly.

Her green eyes twinkled in the sunlight that filtered in through the open windows. A moment later a scrawny barn owl flew in and dropped a letter on his lap. "Great, not another one," Tom muttered, breaking the wax seal of the envelope. "I can't believe people would be so offended by a name," he said as he retrieved the parachment in the envelope. Helen sat cross-legged on the end of the bed and regarded Tom curiously. Although there had been some thirty letters regarding the subject he had opened every one. "Some privacy?" Tom asked as he looked up from the letter to discover that she was staring intently at him.

"MMmmm, no," she replied.

He withheld a scowl. "Fine, you read it then," he said, throwing the letter in her direction.

She scanned the contents of the page and summarized in her best old lady voice, "Oh you poor poor lad. And with no family, so sad. Come to my house. I'll give you candy and..oh!..a new name. Your cruel mother!"

"She sounds like the evil witch in Hansel and Gretel," Tom commented when Helen finished. She snatched the letter from her. "Like I ever said I wanted to be adopted," he scowled unflatteringly.

"No?" she asked.

"Nah, gave up on that one around eight," he waved dismissively. "Oh and you can tell the cook that this owl liked her soup too," he added. He motioned to the barn owl that was dipping it's beak in the soup, grateful for having a reason to not consume the remainder of the rapidly cooling soup. The owl hooted happily, having finished half of the soup and flew away without awaiting a response. Helen shook her head and walked the tray to the glass table.

"Tom why don't you just change your name?" Helen asked, gathering the vials on the table.

"Why should I?" he asked stiffly.

Helen shrugged as she poured hot milk into a glass. "It just seems troublesome to have a name like that in the wizarding Britian. You saw all the mail." Admittedly Helen did have an arguable point. One or two of the letter authors in their superstition had suggested that they believed him to be some evil entity sent to continue to work of the former Dark Lord. Needless to say, Tom thought they were more than lacking in mental abilities.

"I don't have to be in wizarding Britian forever," Tom replied looking at his hands, "besides it's one of two things that I have from my mother."

She added sugar to the milk and stirred thoughtfully. When she turned around with the glass of milk in hand she asked curiously, "What's the second thing?"

Tom's gaze moved from his hand to her face. "It's around your neck," he replied softly. Helen's verdant eyes widened in surprise as the glass slipped from her hands. It fell to the floor, shattering to pieces and leaving a pool of white upon the marble floor. It was with the same surprise that another green-eyed girl gently picked up a red rose from a swing in the middle of a forest.

blue_rose

November 5th, 2006, 2:55 am

A long post. Tedious even. Although it has a purpose

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

The undeniably lethargic days following Xavier's exodus from, for lack of a better term, his entire life, passed in a summer haze that Tom would only come to appreciate years after that week. A strange bliss wove through them as though some entity had designated his contended state as deserved. They were days filled with two curly haired women, one that he was more than convinced he would never be able forget and another through which he came to despise the dependency that he could no longer overlook in the insinuated relationship. Mrs. Malfoy, to the best of Tom's judgment, was an ideal mother in many ways. She was caring, perceptive and emphatic. Furthermore, she carried a wisdom that only the exerpience of motherhood could bestow upon a person. He could not recall a time that he had ever required the presence of such a figure. Perhaps it was this lack of necessity that caused him to only percieve the ownership that sinously intertwined with her caring nature.

Need, however, was a relatively simple concept. Man could supposedly survive with food, water and oxygen alone. Nevertheless people aspired to be more, not from a need but from a desire so persistent that the mind could not distinguish it from necessity. Not every one of these desires could be satisfied, and he had reached to a point in which he did not desire a hope that had gone unsatisfied far too long. He would easily have antagonised the motherly relationship in general were it not for the sound thought that he no longer wanted a parent. It was this that allowed him to bear what he knew to be a relationship that would end in time. Through it he could forget her caressing gestures that he saw as meaningless. After all, what meaning could a gesture attain if it was used regularly? The absence of a response to the question led to it's identification as rethorical made such gestures meaningless by default.

Conversely, while in a technical world he did not need Helen, he had increasingly discovered that he desired a relationship. Her truths were absolute, her lies trivial. Her honesty rose to levels lethal for his liking, yet her intelligence reserved an innocence foreign in many others. She could easily make him to smile when he awoke from a nightmare and, with the same ease, cause him to impatiently await sleep. He mused about writing poetry pertaining to her, but knew that his troll-like grace with words would not suffice for the matter. He partly understood Xavier's protective behavior regarding her, especially from him. Admittedly he had failed to be a proper friend. However with respect to every other role he had been handed, his successes lay mostly in his friendship with said Malfoy. Perhaps the lazy week was a sort of reward for these accomplishments. A potential deserved chance for redemption, although some part of him firmly held that he had nothing to be redeemed for.

A friendship with Xavier was crucial to Tom in ways he would not willing admit, yet horrifically recognized when a situation required it. Hence, when Xavier did enter the room that Sunday morning he was more than grateful for the opportunity to make amends. Unfortunately he was simultaneously feverish at the time, a condition that rendered him extremely sluggish, flushed and blurry eyed with a pounding head and a running nose. As thus he remained under the warm sheets, seemingly ignoring Xavier when he closed the door behind him. Xavier scowled at the gesture's percieved indication and hopped atop the glass table, his feet dangling in the space of air between the table and the cold marble floor.

"You can stop pretending to be asleep," he said after a period of silence, "I know you're awake." Tom sneezed underneath the blankets rolled onto his side, while attempting to clear his nose. "Whatever," Xavier shrugged when he saw that Tom had no intention of moving at all from the bed what so ever, "I hope you know you deserved it. Even if you were telling the truth."

"Caught on have you?" Tom asked, in a nasalated and exhausted voice.

Xavier glared at the mass of blankets before him. "Yes well," Xavier replied somewhat bitterly, "after the thousandth time of Helen pestering me about it all, seeing you awake very early in the morning in what was that," Tom flushed even more angrily as Xavier placed the word, "the fetal position and crying to my mother of all the people in the world, you tend to catch on as you called it." Tom's implied response hung defiantly in the air as Xavier continued, "I'm not going to bother asking why you would want to know something like that. Really, though, of all the irrational things to waste it on, it's pretty amazing you chose that. For your information, I'm not going to apoligize when I'm not at fault. It's not exactly easy to tell when you're lying and I'm not the one who's making you lie like that. You need to be semi-honest here some of the time. I admit I acted rashly but then anyone who thought you were lying would have. Either way, you're going to have to tell me whether or not you'll change before I leave this room today."

Tom bit his lip as he considered the possibilities. His throbbing head however was least concerned about the presented ultimatium. "Could you not speak so loudly?" he asked groggily. He supposed it was proper not to respond at all to the question and continued, "Of course you wouldn't understand why I would ask for that because you don't know anything about -"

"And I really don't want to know anything about it," Xavier interjected quietly.

"Right," Tom muttered while his eyes weakly adjusted to brightness above the blanket covers. I really don't want to tell you either, he thought and continued, "But I'm entitled to have some time to not feel wonderful about those things. I am actually trying not to lie here so I guess you have your answer there and I wasn't expecting you to apologize."

Tom buried deeper into the blankets when he saw that there was an equally depressing rainy scene awaiting outside the windows. He surpressed a cough while Xavier shattered the quiet. "You look dead," he commented shortly.

"I'm sick," Tom corrected, staring out the window and into the mass of grey clouds. "It's a great feeling, you should try it some time. I would recomment it to anyone" he added sarcastically, smiling faintly.

"I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll pass."

"The daily news of quidditch?"

"You have a gift for souring things don't you," Xavier replied darkly, "if Potter could just shatter his skull against a wall every now and then, things would be fantastic. I can't even talk to anyone else if he's around."

"Maybe you should practice," Tom said after a while.

"Practice at making false friends?" Xavier asked more for the need of clarification but not without a hint a skeptcism.

Tom shrugged. "I suppose," he replied, "try it on some muggles or something."

Xavier shook his head. "I don't know how you come up with these ideas," he said, contemplating the possibility nonetheless.

"I definitely didn't come up with it," Tom said with a grin, "people practice being good at sports or tests, why not at being friends?"

"I can only think of around a hundred moral objections to that," Xavier replied sarcastically, "not to mention it wouldn't help with the Sirius Potter issue."

"No offfense Xavier," he said with a small smile, "but you can't really expect to become bosom buddies with Potter here."

"I'd murder you if you weren't so pathetic right now," Xavier responded, when he could not find anything to fling at Tom.

"How kind of you," Tom said. "Honestly, you need to stop taking yourself so seriously," he continued, "you're just giving Sirius more fuel."

"Oh excuse me for having some sense of family honor," he said irratatedly, "I, unlike you, have to care about those things. One of those annoying Malfoy rules."

"Wasn't mudblood hater one of those rules too?" Tom asked, challenging the credibilty of such rules.

"For all you know it still may be," Xavier retorted icily.

"You're not in a position to have such extravagant codes."

"That doesn't make it any easier to laugh it off," Xavier grumbled.

"I don't care if you're laughing with or at him Xavier," Tom replied authoratively, "they wouldn't know the difference. You just can't act like an offended little kid all the time."

Xavier glared at the floor for a few moments and then mumbled, "I suppose you have a point."

"I always have a point," Tom replied pseudo-sagistically.

"Don't get too cocky about it all," Xavier said slowly, "I'm still not sure about your practice-on-a-muggle idea."

"You'll come to see the wisdom of my ideas in time," Tom said in an arrogance befitting a king.

At that, Xavier did not hesistate to lift a heavy economics book and toss it threatening. "These things can do a lot of damage," he said after feigning contemplation.

"I'd like to see you try," Tom replied.

Xavier rolled his eyes. "Economics," he commented as he looked at the cover. He looked at the other books in the pile. "History of the London Stock Exchange, Stock Brokering for Dummies," he read the titles, "what sort of muggle rifraff are you bringing in here now?"

"The best sort," Tom replied innocently, "but on that I was wondering what you knew about aging potions and time turners."

Xavier looked at Tom suspiciously from the rim of one of the books. "Do I even want to know?" he asked.

"Probably not," Tom replied, "it's not thoroughly legal if that's what you're asking."

Xavier weighed the options hastily and asked, "What do you want to know?"

"How do you make a time turner?" Tom asked in turn.

Xavier looked incredulously at him. "I could look it up," he replied. He could only remember that their use was highly restricted by the Ministry.

"Aging potions too."

"Those aren't that hard to make," Xavier replied.

"No, I need some temporary ones with a large jump periods."

"I want to know what this is all about if and when you get away with it," Xavier said.

"Of course," Tom replied, "Unless if you want to stick around when Helen comes around I think you'd better get to searching for those things."

"I'd rather not have to suffer one of her moods," he replied and to Tom's questioning eyes explained, "She's really sorry she forgot about your birthday."

"Hey Xavier?" Tom asked while Xavier reached the door. "How did you get in?"

Xavier shrugged. "Magical locks do have their weaknesses," he replied. "Namely, magical keys," he finished while displaying the ornate and ancient metal.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

blue_rose

November 12th, 2006, 11:42 pm

A very Tom/Helen post awaits below. You have been forewarned of any tediousness mainly because I can't decide if its too long or too short. Please feedback!

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Xavier!" she shouted through the wide expanse of trees. Helen sighed. He seemed to have disappeared yet again. Over the past two weeks this exodus had become pronounced. They would enter the forest as per usual under the excuse of play. He would cast one or two spells and, then, mysteriously vanish. In the beginning she had worried and searched in vain to locate him. Later he had suggested that it was she who he had lost in the forest in place of the opposite. However, when the phenomon continued occurring with no plausible explanation in sight, Helen simply chose to ignore it. After all he returned unscatched each time and, as such, he could not have been in danger during those times. With this wisdom formulated from past experience, Helen walked to the house at a leisurely pace. In a few hours a broiling afternoon sun would set the cooling morning air ablaze in heat and light. The Malfoy Mansion would sparkle in the ever increasing light and at the end of the day, dim to welcome a humid night.

At that moment, Helen discovered an inexplicable urge to sketch the mansion, as though to preserve it for some future in which it would not be capable of surviving. To some extent the eradication of the mansion appeared likely to Helen. From the book she had recieved from Xavier for her birthday, Helen had come to understand the nature of wizarding society. Much of it involved detesting the ideas of some Dark Lord she had not bothered to memorize the name of. One such idea was the superiority of pure blood and the Malfoy mansion could easily be seen as a testament to the preposterous idea. Mrs. Malfoy had assured her that nothing of the sort would take place as much of the wizarding community had contributed to the restoration of the mansion. Helen, however, reserved some doubt and it compelled her now to attempt a plan for the sketch.
Surely she would include the mansion. The gardens. The vast field of grass behind it. And of course the ancient oak tree, she thought as she laid her eyes on it. It was then that she noticed something white among the sea of fluttering green leaves. Her curiosity lured her to the towering giant and in the next moment she began to believe she had imagined the white creature altogether. Shrugging she sat at the base of the tree and continued planning her sketch; using a small twig, yet a youthful green, to trace fine lines in the bare ground. It was after the addition of the glass greenhouse that Helen felt something small hit her between the shoulder blades. She found an acorn nearby and quizzically glanced above her to discover nothing but leaves swaying lazily in the breeze and returned to her plans. When the third acorn fell she jumped up quickly, glaring at the canopy and, to her surprise, realized two brown orbs staring back in reserved amusement.

"What are you doing up there?!" she asked more loudly than intended.

He held a finger to his lips and said in a low voice, "Please don't be so loud."

Helen glared at him and moved closer to the trunk, only then understanding that he had climbed rather high up in the tree. "Fine," she hissed somewhat angrily, "What are you doing up there?"

"Hello to you too," he replied smoothly.

"You shouldn't be out here, and definitely not that high up," Helen said with faintly pronounced concern. She began to move away from the trunk of the tree and into the sunlight. "I'm going to get Mrs. Malfoy."

“No wait!” he called when she reached the edge of the shade cast by the oak giant. “Don’t tell her I’m here!” She turned to regard him curiously.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Enjoying the scenery,” he said briskly. She continued staring disbelievingly at him. After a few seconds of this, as though cracking under the pressure, he burst, “Alright, alright. I’m hiding from Mrs. Malfoy. You would too if she gave you shots all the time!” he defended rubbing his upper right arm gingerly. The supposedly safer technique had become injecting modified potions for faster effects. Quicker or not, his arm was in severe opposition to the treatment.

She looked thoughtfully at him for a moment and walked closer to the trunk of the tree. “You can’t get down, can you,” she replied flatly

He flushed quietly. Perhaps it was the stark contrast of blood rising to his cheeks to the rest of his face or the fact that she was seeing him in the sunlight, but it was then that she became aware of how pale Tom seemed with respect to his surroundings. “No,” he murmured at last.

She sat at the base of the trunk and gazed up at his figure. “I really should tell Mrs. Malfoy you know,” she said ruefully, “You’re going to have terrible sun burns if you stay there too long.”

“You can tell her and repair your conscience later,” he commented.

“Not likely,” she responded teasingly, “you’ve defaced it too much already.”

“My apologies,” he said sarcastically.

Helen feigned offense and replied, “Apology not accepted. You’re not taking me seriously.”

“I’m sorry,” he corrected almost immediately. She smiled up at him, slightly confused. “And what are you doing down there?” he asked pointing to the plans of the sketch.

“I’m thinking of drawing the mansion,” she replied.

“Can I see it after you’re done?”

She looked at him and blushed. “They’re really not that good,” she mumbled.

“I just want to see it,” he pressed coolly.

After some deliberation she acquiesced. “Do you actually make the chicken noodle soup?” he asked her after a short pause.

“I could try,” she shrugged and then snorted, “I’m sure you’d like it just as much as you like the cook’s soup.”

“No,” Tom insisted, “I would eat it all.”

She grinned at him. “Is that a promise?” she teased.

Tom looked thoughtfully at her in return. “Yes,” he said in a tone that was in no way mocking.

After an uncertain glance she stared at her plans of the sketch. “Then I’ll make it for you,” she said in a voice that bordered a whisper. “How are you going to get down?” she asked after a while.

Tom plucked a leaf from the tree and shrugged. “I could just jump off,” he replied and upon viewing a slight grimace from an odd angle on her face added, “you’d have to put a mattress down there or something. Or you could just call Xavier and he could use some magic.”

“I have no idea where Xavier is and I couldn’t lift a mattress all the way over here without someone noticing,” she said while assessing the options.

Tom twirled the leaf between two fingers. “Then I guess you’d better catch me,” he said with a smile as the leaf slipped from his grasp. Helen arched her neck in time for the leaf to gently land on her face. She removed it and held it to her side with some an odd determination that seemed to lack any purpose at all. She smiled in desired confusion while he searched her eyes with neither a smile nor a frown. At that moment she should not place the emotion on his face, yet a part of her knew she agreed with it. “Helen I really like you,” he said in a voice that though soft shattered eye contact between them.

“Why?” she asked attempting some form of composure as small butterflies playfully tickled her insides.

He paused decisively before replying. “At first it was because you reminded me of someone,” he admitted. Her smile faded slowly yet rose rather quickly when he continued, “But then, I saw how different you were for her and that I liked those differences more than the similarities. Now you don’t even resemble her and I can’t begin to explain why. But I do have one.”

She blushed and fingered the leaf in her hand. “Like me like me?” she asked, suddenly standing up to face him.

“Like you like you.”

She smiled shyly, biting her lip nervously every so often. From the mansion she heard her name being called. A few minutes of this behavior led Tom to say uncertainly, “If you don’t –“

She shook her head with a broad smile. “I – “ she smiled while her name became louder, “I have to go.” At that she ran towards the mansion, leaf in hand. The plans of the mansion lay ruined in a slew of shoe prints. Tom grinned after her departing figure, momentarily forgetting that he was stranded on the tree and afterwards not caring about the predicament. Later in the day, Helen would laminate the oak leaf and in the night the last set of ceaseless nightmares would poison Tom’s dreams.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

blue_rose

November 19th, 2006, 6:56 pm

Post is above! I hope you liked it and feedback on it! Note: feedback link is on the signature.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Oho!" a wisely aged yet plump art teacher exclaimed upon viewing one of her pupil's clay creations. The blue eyed boy next to him, not surprisingly the only other boy of the class, mouthed the next words that erupted from the woman in a low but high pitched voice. "Oh dear!" Mrs. Flathery exclaimed, "That is so wonderful. Look at the detail!" Xavier rolled his eyes. "Class" her voice rang shrilly, her hands motioning to the pottery on the desk, "now class, this is a wonderful example of simple but meaningful art..." she began to drone like an overpowered plane fan.

Meanwhile the creator of the clay product effectively hid behind the imposing figure of the teacher. It was yet to be his second day friendship practising on muggles and he was already regretting having asked Helen to aid him in securing some regular muggle activity with forced muggle interaction. She was seated four spaces in front of him, now chatting with some friends as the teacher had finally ceased torturing them. Clay was a terrible thing. Xavier had reached this conclusion after careful thought on the matter. Specifically two seconds after it had managed to ruin his shoes on the first day. A few minutes later the teacher excused herself citing a breakthrough opportunity for herself. Mrs. Flathery supposedly recieved such requests on a daily basis. Yet, none of these opportunities had freed them of her. It was a true tradegy.

"Ooooooho!" the boy next to him mimicked after a while drawing the attention of the entire class. He pointed to Xavier's lump of clay, that only after copious servings of artistic licence could be considered a replica of a garbage dump. "Oooooho," the boy repeated in a high pitched voice, "how wonderful! What detail! Oooh my prodigy. Jesus' son, what grace! What style! What elegance! Ooooho." Xavier smiled and shook his head while many girls giggled. Some smiled shyly, apparently impressed. Others, and Xavier noted Helen in this group, were not as pleased. However, moments before she could beginning chiding, Xavier caught her attention. They exchanged looks and for a moment her eyes flared angrily before complying to ignore the boy.

The teacher returned to the room and once again the class concentrated on their clay, a low buzz of chatter prevalent in the space. Xavier's eyes swept over the room as his attention wavered. The dark-haired boy next to him hammered his clay with a fist. "I feel like such a pansy," he muttered.

Xavier snorted, "Perhaps if you make a pansy from the clay, you'll be the next Flathery prodigy."

Color left the boy's face. "Not funny mate," he replied. Xavier laughed. "Name's Zach," the boy supplied.

"Xavier."

Zach's face scrunched. "Can't shorten that any?" he asked.

Xavier rolled his eyes. "Can you think of a remotely manly abbreviation for Xavier?"

Zach disguised his outburst of laughter with a cough. "No," he replied and with a smirk added, "Zavie." Xavier shot a seething glare in his direction. "Sorry," he amended in sincerity, "Xavier."

Xavier returned to the futile task of molding his clay into a hat. More than ever, he wished he could use magic. "Up for a game of cricket after this," Zach paused, " girly stuff is done, Xavier?" He glanced shortly at Helen before accepting the offer. "Great," Zach continued, "one of my friends skivved off. His mum's taking him to finishing school classes. Can you believe my own dad put me up to this?" He looked disgustingly at the blob of clay that he had been attempting to roll into a telescope head. "What are you in for?" he asked.

Xavier shrugged, "Dragged along." Compared to Zach's ball of clay his efforts to convert his lump into a chair were moderately successful. Zach nudged at his elbows. "Is there are girl?" he asked, staring at Helen's back. Xavier turned his head slowly from his clay piece to face Zach. "Come on mate I saw you looking at her," he said. Xavier's eyes narrowed. "So you don't have a thing for her?" he asked as though suggesting that a response in affirmation would indicate that he would pursue her.

"No," Xavier replied quickly. "Actually yes," he reconsidered. "Oh Mer-" he replied, "-god, I don't know about that girl. But she's off limits. Got it?"

Zach nodded. "Relax mate. It was just a question." After a few moments of quiet molding, Zach said, "So there is a girl." Xavier's hand involuntarily clamped upon a leg of the chair.

"Did your mother teach you such wonderful manners," Xavier shot, somewhat peeved at the boy's intrusiveness.

Zach paused before replying. "You know, my dad says a stranger is the best person to tell if you have problems. They have no right to judge you and they can't ruin anything for you since they never know who you're talking about."

Xavier stared blankly at the three-legged chair. "Fine," he replied dully, "there is a girl."

"And you have a thing for this girl?"

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen," Zach replied proudly, "now you can answer my question."

"It's not really a question," Xavier mumbled.

Zach scowled. "Stop beating 'round the bush. Do you have a thing for her or not?" he replied.

Xavier sighed. "I really don't know," he responded. "It's complicated. I mean I don't really know her and she can be a bit odd sometimes. Or maybe I'm the odd one. Either way we don't always agree. Plus she's in another hou- er, league from me. I think her's is lower, she thinks mine is. That has to be one of the things we don't agree on. And, what's the rush anyway? It's not like I don't have time to get all that straight right?"

"I suppose," Zach shrugged, "my dad says that in...things, you have to know you have a thing for the person before starting anything or things get all mixed up."

Xavier smirked at Zach's apparent inability to say the word "love" and replied, "Your father sounds like a smart man. Your mother doesn't seem to say much though."

"You'd have trouble saying much too if you were dead," Zach replied stiffly.

"Sorry," Xavier mumbled quickly.

"No judging remember?" Zach replied cooly, "What position do you normally play in cricket?"

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

A stormy night descended upon Malfoy grounds a few days later. Thunder clapped outside while within the mansion occupants lay in various states of slumber. Mrs. Malfoy stoked the orange logs in the fireplace, more to keep awake than warm. Of late Tom had indirectly indicated fitful sleep and the same motherly characteristics that had noticed this now drove her to dazedly stoke fires in between yawns to keep awake in his room. Although she reserved concerns regarding his health, it was difficult to overlook some of the more obvious oddities in the boy.

It was easily evident that Tom Riddle was frigid to some small gestures and did not want her to express such things. Yet she continued, truly beleving that he needed them. After all it had long been established that no one could grow in absolute isolation. Love was known to be one of the most powerful protections in the world. The proof of that slept in a neighboring house. The concept was integral to her research in the Department of Mysteries and the idea a person, more precisely a child, that would negate it all was in many ways chilling. Shivering, she poked at the fire and settled into a chair that in its comfort lured her into sleep.

When she awoke next, the fire had died leaving dark shadows playing uncertainly on the walls. She turned towards the bed at the recognition of the sound of rustling sheets. A flash of lightning briefly lit the room in dull white light to reveal a boy in restless sleep. The rustling ended in a tangle of sheets and Mrs. Malfoy quickly shook Tom. He jolted awake in sitting position after a few shakes, clearly disoriented. Outside, thunder rolled and again the room was lighted momentarily. He looked fearfully at her for some time and then looked away. "Tom, are you alright?" she asked softly.

He took a deep breath before facing her. He nodded slowly and Mrs. Malfoy once again marvelled at the barrier. "Did you have a nightmare?"

He shook his head and lay with his back to her form. In a few minutes she was convinced that he had once again fallen asleep. She returned to vainly attempting to excite the logs into flame and after a dozen of such tries she too dozed off. It was only after what he judged to be a half an hour that Tom dared to open his eyes. An hour later that he stirred. And another hour later that he abandoned the effort to inhibit thought. He sighed and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. He recalled reading that dream mutations were common in something or another that he could not remember. Regardless he now understood why Xavier had taken Eric's dreams lightly. It was primarily due to the fact that they lacked the ominous air that proliferated in his new nightmares.

He had never made it past viewing what was presumably his teenage face in the nightmares as his chest tightened uncontrolably at the sight of who had replaced his mother in the dream. They began in their normal course and upon the inky film-like view of his mother the dream diverged. It once again focused upon the necklace. The skin of the woman darkened to a tan color, the ornament slightly faded. Slowly the entire girl came into view. Delicate bones jutted to adorn the bottom of a slender neck. Her lips formed a grimaced frown, uncertain and perhaps pleading. Dark curls fell on her forehead above terrified green eyes. Upon first viewing it was only then that he realized who the woman was and any doubt in the matter was easily erased when he noted that she was against a white paper wall. A wall that belonged in a room which he was known to enter but once but had sneaked into countless times before. A room that was connected to the one he lay in by a mansion of ancient grandeur. There was almost no need to for him to see who she was afraid of and yet the initial shock numbed every part of his body. He was towering over her. A smirk on his own face before he awoke.

"I wouldn't," he mumbled to no one as lightening revealed Mrs. Malfoy in deep sleep. Tonight she had awakened him. In his confusion, the dull light and Mrs. Malfoy's general similarity to the girl in his nightmare he had, for a frighening moment, believed that the events he dreamed had transpired into reality. "I wouldn't," he voiced once more, in an attempt to persuade himself. Yet doubt, truth or some combination of the two dropped heavily in his stomach. A rush of silent wind verified it as true and a part of him knew that the nightmare was true, would be true and, in the least, was a feasible possibility.

He had distanced himself from Helen recently and he knew that such a move probably confused her. However it had proven to be a difficult thing to do given his current situation. She had always seemed to sneak in when he had nearly succeeded. The solution had been simple to concieve, difficult to execute. He sighed, knowing it had been the most viable option.

____________________________

It was with cheeks flushed, eyes dry and head throbbing in fever that Tom saw Helen in the afternoon carrying in a tray of food. She began chatting jovially to him and after the fourth unanswered question spilled from her mouth she turned with concern to him. "Helen I had a dream," he said in a scratchy voice as she walked towards him. "Actually, it was more of a nightmare," he mumbled while she placed a hand on his forehead. "And in it -"

"Tom I think you have a fever," Helen interrupted, "you should lie down. I'll get Mrs. Malfoy." She put her hands on his shoulders to gently force him into the position. He pushed her hands away angrily.

"Will you just listen to me," he said frustratedly. Helen stared quietly at him and then backed away slowly. "I had a dream," he said hoarsely, "and in it I realized I made a mistake. Now that I think about it, it really was a big mistake. You only remind me of her and I made up the differences to believe otherwise. But the truth is I don't like anyone other than her. I can't like anyone else more."

Helen's brows knit in confusion a contemplative frown on her lips. She stared blankly as he breathed heavily. "Tom please lie down, I'm going to get Mrs. Malfoy," she pleaded. His anger flared slightly and he lay with his back to her. He heard her steps become faint as she moved towards the door. His voice stopped her at the door. "Helen, I really don't like you anymore," he said tiredly, "I may even hate you."

"You're delerious," she said in an effort to convince herself rather than to inform him. Nevertheless her heart lurched at his words. She walked away mouthing every now and then, "He is delerious." Tom burrowed his head into the pillow. "I wouldn't," he uttered into the soft object. He would not follow in the footsteps of his father. He would not create a mistake that would divide someone's family and end in that person's death. And even if he should, he would take all measures to assure it would not be Helen.
____________________________

He was delerious, Helen thought the next day when cleaning the glassware. She repeated the thought every time she dried the dishes. The cook was in the adjacent room preparing dinner and Xavier had yet again disappeared into the forest. She focused on the thought and yet a voice in her head questioned, Well why are you on dish duty then?. Her heart sank. She had neither heard of nor seen Tom the entire day and such an anomaly was only possible if Tom had willed it.

Helen cleared her throat. She firmly held the belief that he had been delerious and that today was a simple coincedence. However, when she would not so much as find a glance of him in the house for the rest of the summer, when she would no longer recieves surprises on her laptop and when he would not return to Malfoy Manor for the next five years she would come to understand the truth of his statement. She would briefly shed tears. However she would ultimately forget Tom Riddle. It would not be from spite or from sorrow, but from the general passing of time, events and such that required her attention. Conversly, he would obtain all the time in the world to remember her.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Xavier fell lightly into the three foot depression in the ground of the forest. The clearing in the forest recieved ample shading from the setting sun due to an overgrown maple tree at a corner. He promptly crossed the carpet of soft green grass to the maple tree, expecting to find a new orchid lying on the cherrywood swing hanging from a branch of the tree. Instead he found the ropes of the swing completely covered in an alternating pattern of red roses and white orchids. On the swing the culprit sat with dancing green eyes staring somewhat dully at the ground. He slowed his pace and hid the rose in his hand before she lifted her head. A strand of auburn fell on her face having torn away from her braided hair. She smiled as he approached, although he was less expressive. "Potter," he addressed her coolly as he presented her with the rose. She held the flower and he released it from his grasp. "Malfoy," she replied with an equally cool tone.

Xavier straightened and looked questioningly at the ropes of the swing. "You would do it too if you were being driven mad by the boredom of having to wait all day for something like this," she responded to the silent query. Xavier shrugged in an attempt to disguise laughter that shook his entire body.

"Scoot up then," he said smoothly while he moved to the back of the swing, "those are my roses up there after all." Amelia did not budge. Instead she teased, "They aren't yours, they're your father's roses."

Xavier pulled the swing back and threatened to release it. "Yes and those are your mother's orchids and this is your father's swing," he replied with celerity, "did I miss something?"

"Yes," she said sticking out her red tongue, "you have to push me seven times and I get to ask you seven questions. Then you can come on."

Xavier's grey eyes stared in veils at her. At last he released the swing and called, "One."

"What's your favorite quidditch position?" she asked.

Xavier snorted. "Chaser," he replied. "Why else would I be one?" he asked rethorically.

"Two," he called.

"I get to ask the questions," Amelia scolded lightly, "What's your favorite color?"

"Silver," Xavier said simply. "Three," he said.

"Does your dad really hate muggleborns?" she asked with some hesitation.

Xavier shrugged. "They just annoy him," he responded briefly and called, "Four."

"What do you think of my brother?" she asked. Xavier looked at the swing returning and did not push a fifth time. When she turned around he asked, "Which one?"

"Sirius," she replied as she was under the impression that Xavier knew little about Alexander.

"I think you know what I think of him," he said darkly and called, "Five."

Amelia sighed sadly. "Ok, number five," she said, "What's the meaning of life?"

Xavier smirked. "Haven't you heard?" he repsonded. "It's Q. But sometimes it I or M or A or B or C or," he pushed the swing, "six."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Amelia asked uncertainly.

Xavier scrunched his nose. "No," he said slowly, "why do you ask? Seven."

"No questions remember?" she said.

"No," he answered sarcastically, "I forgot. Now make room."

"But that wasn't my seventh question," Amelia whined.

"It was question seven though," Xavier pointed out. Amelia grudgingly created room in the moving swing and he ran with it as it moved away from him to jump on it with his knees to the board. The action slowed the swing considerably. She looked acussingly at him while he grinned at her. She scowled and began to push off from the ground. "Seven questions then?" he asked looking at her.

"No, not seven," Amelia said irritatedly. Xavier witheld a laugh and looked around. The oddest aspect of the place was fact that it was three feet lower than the land in the rest of the forest. He remembered something his mother had told him. "Just one then," he said in a faraway voice. Amelia aquiesed but not without comical bitterness. "Did my father sell this land to your father?" he asked after a while.

Amelia looked at him strangely. "I suppose," she responded, "Why?"

"No questions," he murmured as the momentum to the swing died down and Amelia began twisting ropes of the swing into a braid by turning in circles. The truth had not quite dawned on him at that moment but some part of him knew that they were situated on a graveyard of Malfoys formally removed from the name.

Her voice tore him away from the thought. "Do you think things can stay like this forever?" she asked. He stared blankly at the intertwined ropes for a few moments.

"You have to let go eventually," he whispered softly unto her face, not realizing the great distance dissolved at looking down at her. The proximity created butterflies in her stomach. She arched closer and he leaned in slightly. Her eyes closed, the realization of the moment barely sinking in. Ultimately, however, his lips landed on her forehead and hers brushed the space between his brows. Her feet lifted from the ground they spun in a circle. She opened her eyes. He straightened. She stared at the setting sun before them. He looked ahead. The swing came to a stop and her feet rested on the ground once more.

"Friends then?" she asked after a while. He nodded. She smiled sadly and replied teasingly, "We'll make a Gryffindor out of you yet."

"And I'll renounce my name if you're not somewhat Slytherin after all of this," he said coolly.

"That," Amelia stated loudly, "is impossible."

"Either way, congratulations on being my first girl friend," he responded. Amelia looked at him oddly. "Friend that is a girl," he explained.

"But you have friends that are girls," Amelia responded confusedly.

Xavier laughed. "Amelia you have so much to learn," he said afterwards.

She smiled uncertainly at him. "Well you aren't my first boy friend," she said thoughtfully, "but congrats either way."

"Thanks," Xavier replied smugly, "I think its very deserved when you consider befriending you is like trying to become friends with a Hungarian Horntail."

"Hey!" Amelia exclaimed in affront. Xavier jump away from the swing. "I'll show you Hungarian Horntail," she cried while he escaped from the flowered swing in a graveyard, Amelia at his heels.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

blue_rose

December 2nd, 2006, 10:56 pm

Post is above! It's for last week, this week and next week. Final exams are coming! *eep* :scared: I hope you liked it! I apologize for any spelling errors and I know there are some in there. Please feed me back from the link on my signature!

Part Two is below. It's been five years. They're older...naturally. And the rest is as written. Please feed me on this! Warning: It is a bit long.

Part II
Serpentine Intents

Chapter 1: Beginnings

Impossible. Perhaps that was the only accurate descriptor of the assignment he had been handed. The young investor's eyes flicked across the memo. He allowed every ounce of his body to curse at his superiors for a fleeting second. Two hours. Two hours to compile a weeks worth of information for the assessment of a stock company in the interests of a man far too rich to bother making richer. Another few seconds passed in the ringing office on the 63rd floor of the financial firm for the sheer hatred of the expansive divide between wealthy and poor of London. Two minutes later he requested the relevant information. After an hour of imagined yet deserved cruel punishments for his superiors, he was prepared to run the program and print the results. It was then that his cellular phone rang. His brows furrowed. He had yet an hour and some law at some time should have illegalized the right of his employer to obtain his mobile number. He snapped his name into the phone and followed it with a proper, "how can I help you sir?"

"You'll never guess where I'm standing," came the reply to his surprise, "I couldn't believe it myself."

"When did you get a cell phone?" he blurted, ignoring the prompt and spurring the computer to print.

"Borrowed it from Helen," Xavier said, shrugging and glaring away from the suspicious gaze of the doorman.

He began to scribble down orders on a notepad for his secretary. "Does she know you've borrowed it?" he probed with a teasing grin.

"She will when realizes that she didn't misplace it," Xavier said, staring curiously at the muggles passing by in automobiles.

He laughed lightly while he placed the note on his assistant's desk. "And from where are you calling?"

"Maybe you should tell me," Xavier said bitterly, "Better yet tell the person who's here with me. Are you sure you gave me the right address?"

"Yeah," he replied slowly.

"Then I hope you didn't do anything too illegal to get this," Xavier said, glancing up at the tall and seemingly expensive skyscraper, "because your doorman is worse than McGonagall during OWLS."

"You're supposed to be playing muggle," Tom replied in an empty elevator, "and please tell me you didn't bring your owl."

There was a pause. "He's in the invisblity cloak," Xavier said in a low voice.

"Xavier!" Tom exclaimed, shocking muggles in close proximity with his outburst in the underground.

"Calm down," Xavier hissed, surveying the area, "What are you, anyway?"

Tom paused and replied, "Twenty four."

"Since when -"

"Since you were in front of me," Tom replied irritably, looking disapprovingly at the display of his friend with cases that must have looked at least a century old to anyone walking by.

Xavier rolled his silver eyes when he spotted what he presumed to be Tom. "It's official, your life is terrible," he said into the phone, snapped it off and stowed away in his suit.

"It is," Tom replied grimly, looking down at Xavier who was at least a head shorter than him even when he was seventeen. Xavier motioned towards the stoic doorman with his head. Tom smiled sweetly at the doorman. "Hello Mark," he said, dragging Xavier to the entrance, "this is my friend, Xavier and he'll be going in and out of here for a few days. Three days, actually. I should have notified the office earlier but it slipped my mind."

The doorman appraised Xavier who refused to disguise his offence. "Of course sir," the doorman replied holding the entrance. Xavier thanked the man in an obscurely kind yet rude manner while he carried the trunks in only to be taken from him. "Bell hop," Tom whispered in explanation.

"I know that," Xavier snapped, looking in awe at the lobby of the complex. A marble fountain in the center of the room served as the center piece of the modern building. Panes of white lights supplied the illusion of eternal day. The multicolored tiled floor beneath his feet complimented the twisted chandeliers on the ceiling. He could not quite decide whether it was modelled after a horror scene or some futuristic design.

"Could you not stare as though you're some homeless man," Tom said in a low voice, steady yet saturated with anxiety.

Xavier walked onto the elevator, behind the bell boy. "Do I look homeless to you?"

Tom regarded Xavier's dress for the first time. The suit seemed new and like anything around him, expensive. "No," he replied at last, "I'm surprised you weren't mugged. Is that Versace?"

"Father had an exhibit in Italy," Xavier replied. His father's success in the muggle world was faintly recognized in the wizarding Britain. Regardless, the fortuitous event had proven to complicate more than simplify life. "He took mother and a credit card along," he continued with a hint of darkness, "he's taken her to France too. Merlin I hope he doesn't give her the credit card again."

"My condolences," Tom grinned, while he tipped the bell boy and began to search for his keys. Xavier glared a reply. Some aspect of himself truly believed that his mother wished he were a girl who she could dress and pamper. Luckily his father was thoroughly opposed to such horrendous treatment. Unfortunately neither of their stances on the matter impacted his mother's actions.

"You are here for only three days aren't you?" Tom asked uncertainly.

"You must have missed the memo," Xavier replied in a dry sarcasm, "I intend to never return to Hogwarts."

"Don't talk about memos," Tom said darkly, "I wouldn't blame you for not going back." He handed Xavier a spare key. "In case you need to get in," he explained.

"I wish Riddles were this Obvious," Xavier said, the sarcasm or more importantly the annoyance that was Hogwarts not having left his voice at all. He fidgeted with his trunks and pulled out a vase with a white orchid. "For your decor," he said smoothly expecting the room to be just as well furnished as the lobby. He turned to find a completely empty apartment with barren walls, uncovered wood floors and large windows overlooking the better half of London. "Or should I thank myself for giving you your first piece of furniture?"

Tom scowled and snatched the vase from a grinning Xavier. "I'm renting the property out during school," he explained, placing the vase on the floor near one of the large windows. "So, obviously I agreed to let the tenants furnish it to their liking. I would be more concerned about the fact that you're giving me a vase and a flower?"

It was Xavier's turn to scowl. "Helen made the vase," he said irritatedly, "and she's attempting to proliferate the view that she is a budding artist. That and she happens to be well versed in the art of persuasion which obviously means I am helping her, especially after the doctor-to-be thing fell out."

Tom shrugged. He had not been keen of discussing Helen, a fact whose motivation was unknown to Xavier but was very pleased of nonetheless. "It is a nice vase," he said slowly as he moved into an empty room, "although I wouldn't know much about that."

"Do you have company?" Xavier asked when he located two muggle sleeping bags in one of the rooms. Next to them he found a small black machine engraved with the symbol of a bitten apple. A notebook computer.

“Yeah, Eric is doing his internship at St. Mungo’s,” Tom responded while Xavier moved closer to the computer in curiosity. “He, unlike someone I know, was kind enough to tell me he was coming,” Tom droned as Xavier hypothesized the location of the power button. “And could you also keep away from my computer,” he said as Xavier turned his head to find Tom by the doorway, “It’s worth more than you’d think.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

An eerie quiet seethed through Malfoy manor when a yellow taxi cab rested in front of the building. The afternoon sun radiated heat in unrelenting light over the ever green grounds. Two figures appeared from the cab which departed quickly after unloading its contents. The two individuals moved slowly to the entrance. One sighed every so often while the woman remained stubbornly silent. Having been married roughly twenty years to the woman, Mr. Malfoy was well aware of the fact that his wife was angry, disappointed and, above all, afraid.

Their trip to Paris had started well. They had visited every wizarding attraction and, to his now dissipated dismay, she had bought another closet of muggle and wizard clothes for Xavier. For the first few weeks, she had reveled at the beauty of modern muggle architecture and they had enjoyed pleasant nights. A copy of the Daily Prophet effectively ruined their last day there when they toured the French Ministry of Magic. She had become quieter as the day progressed. And that night, they had fought.

____________________________

“You and I are the only two living wizards in England that know about her,” Draco said somewhat angrily. Soft violin music accompanied with a deep voice muffled into the room from the streets of Paris. Night had long ago settled upon the city, day would creep into the darkness minutes later. Nevertheless, both of them were determined not to reveal the exhaustion inevitably caused by the lack of sleep.

Mrs. Malfoy’s eyes darkened, the conviction of his voice lost to the music. “They were sisters, Draco!” she whispered harshly, “Sisters on the same floor, in the same cell. Is it entirely implausible to think that something may have slipped? And if she knows -”

“And if she knows, so what?” her husband demanded, “There’s no evidence that she’ll mobilize. Even so -”

“She will mobilize,” Mrs. Malfoy interrupted in desperation, tears stinging her eyes, “the Prophet just got wind of it. The aurors were acting strangely weeks before we left. There were healers from St. Mungo’s and wardens from Azkaban going in and out of that wing! It didn’t make any sense to me back then. Now, I don’t know how, but the ministry is sure she’ll mobilize and you know who she will try to recruit first. She could easily use our daughter and I will not have her in that danger!” By now tears sounded in her voice. "She could divide..." her voice faltered away.

"And what would you call this?" he asked quietly. Draco's jaw tightened as his wife breathed heavily awaiting his rebuttal. The music wafting in through the windows dominated sounds in the room with a maddening grip. "Should she know our daughter exists,” he spoke assertively, “finding her in muggle Britain would be difficult to say the least, if not impossible. I assure you her safety and, if in a year, prospects seem bleak you will undoubtedly find her in our home.”

____________________________

In retrospect he was not certain whether it was protection or desire that had zealously fueled her through the remainder of their argument. Afterwards only technical phrases such as "Please pass the butter" had emanated from her. He had, in futility, attempted to speak lightly about their trip only to be met by a cold and mute response. He was not quite sure for the reason behind her anger. He had compromised. Perhaps in the lightest sense of the word, but compromised nonetheless. He knew that his wife had never understood his actions with respect to their daughter.

They approached the entrance and he sighed once more as he knocked upon the door. Minutes passed by quietly and he knocked again, silently cursing the servants. After a third, loud and obnoxious knock Mrs. Malfoy looked concernedly at him. Most she’s said today, he thought darkly. He opened one of their bags and began fumbling for the key. Mrs. Malfoy resumed knocking on the door. When they finally entered the house there were two factors that could not be overlooked. The house was empty. What more, it felt as though they had stepped into a furnace indicating that it had been evacuated for a while.

Heels clicked upon the marble floor as his wife entered. “Hello,” she said loudly. When no one answered, she exchanged an anxious look with her husband. She searched the lower floors while he bounded up the spiral staircase. In every room he heard her call for Xavier and with each room her voice became more and more frantic. Apart from that each room was mysteriously deserted with no clear sign that anyone had recently inhabited the space. When he reached Xavier’s room he was surprised to find it somewhat of a mess, as if someone had left in haste. She passed through the waiting room, the living room, the kitchens, and even looked twice in the greenhouse before she found a letter upon the onyx dining table.

She read the note and breathed a sigh of relief before directing her husband to the dining room. “Where is he?” he asked harshly.

“He’s fine,” she replied shortly, “he’s says he’ll be at a friend’s place until school starts.”

Draco breathed deeply. “Great,” he murmured looking out at the backgrounds of Malfoy Manor. He smiled uncertainly. “For a moment there, I thought –“ he stopped abruptly when he found her attention directed fully toward the letter, green eyes shining with tears. “What is it?” he asked in confusion.

“Draco,” she replied as her eyes turned to him, “he knows.” He moved towards her, grey eyes questioning. She handed him the letter.

Dear Father and Mother,

Welcome back. I hope you enjoyed a pleasurable trip to France without any plastic nuisances inhibiting your joys. You are most probably wondering why the house is so empty. The doorman’s niece passed away a few days ago and he has left for the funeral. I didn’t think you would object. Helen is still at her camp and the rest are on their vacations as you specified.

I am leaving for London and will be there at a friend’s flat until school starts. I will write when I’m at Hogwarts or you may use the mirror. Although, it would be preferable if you could wait until I contact you. Anyways, I hope you had a successful trip and I will see you during Christmas break.

Xavier

P.S. A retired healer came looking for you father. I informed him you were both out of the country, but by some ploy of his, I was more or less forced to offer him dinner which he readily accepted. We had an illuminatingly green conversation, to say the least.

His eyes browsed through the letter once more, not quite focusing on the words on the parchment. He felt a weight rest on the side of his shoulder. Mrs. Malfoy closed her eyes. "Christmas," she murmured. He turned to face her when she straightened and locked eyes with him. "Christmas," she repeated, defiant in his perplexed gaze, "Bring her back by Christmas."

Draco shook his head. "No, she'll finish her schooling this year. I will explain to Xavier," he replied as he felt her grip on his arm tighten. "She's like you in that respect," he said in an attempt to console her, "intelligent and all."

"At least give me a name," she demanded. Mr. Malfoy moved closer to his wife. He sighed in resignation while she showed no sign of relenting. His lips landed perpendicular to her ear. The breath of a name that had not so much as been whispered before escaped into the air, obedient and ephemeral in it's nature.

blue_rose

December 22nd, 2006, 1:10 am

Posted below! It is a bit long. :( Sorry, it's just that I think I've been toying with the idea of them all grown up for so long that there's too much to put in. Believe me I shortened it. Anyways I hope you had a good Christmas morning (if you celebrate. We don't but either way I had no work and that's always awesome :D). I also hope you laugh a bit while you read this post ;) . Please feed me!

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Daddy, no!" Anne Weasley exclaimed in protest. The image on the mirror of her father sighed in exasperation. At sixteen, his daughter had proven to be all that her mother had been at the age; an accomplishment as well as a cause to curse Merlin. His wife refused to acknowledge it, however, and in this war between mother and daughter he had been forced into the role of messenger. Three days before Septemer the first, Anne and her friends had yet to return from their trip to Greece. To be concerned was natural, and as far as Ronald Weasley could ascertain it was reasonable at this point to demand them to return.

He took a deep breath. "Sweetheart, school starts in three days -"

"Yes, so that means we have two more here," Anne interjected with a staunch expression that none would have assumed possible on such a delicate face.

Mr. Weasley's face darkened as his anger rose. "No you do not have two days there," he replied in a low and dangerous tone, "31st August is the dinner party and all of you have to be here for that."

"Why don't you and mum go to the dinner party by yourselves?!" she demanded impertinently. "You do nothing but sit and talk about the same things over and over. It's so bloody boring. Besides I sit and talk with the same people I see at Hogwarts all the time."

"You go because you have to and you won't see them all there this year," Ron yelled somewhat red-faced at this point, "You are going to that dinner party whether you like it or not. Now I want all of you on the next portkey back here! Am I understood?"

"Perfectly," Anne spat in return, "we'll be back the 31st for your precious party, because there's a precious party here tomorrow that I already agreed to long ago. It's a bit of a national offense to back out so late around here."

Ron looked angrily at his daughter. "Fine," he replied breathing deeply, "I'll tell your mum that."

Anne sighed, knowing that the phrase dictated the end of topic. "How is everyone?" she asked.

"The ministry is in a bit of a huff right now," he replied "what with that mad woman running about somewhere. Other than that everyone's fine. Did the tour of the Parthenon work well?"

"Yeah, they let us in just before it closed," she said with a twinkle of interest in her dark eyes. In some respect it was strange how they could switch so simply from sheer hatred to pleasant conversation. But after practising the technique for the better half of four years it had easily become commonplace. After an hour of slaughtering irrelevant topics, the general irrelevance of their fight became apparent and her father had the courtesy to find an urgent issue that required his attention. By two in the afternoon she, along with Amelia Potter and Hector Creevey, were in the Diagon Alley equivalent of Athens, at an ice cream shop that the humid air had lured them to. At a point, Hector excused himself to duck into a quidditch store that had caught his eye despite the heat.

Anne watched him leave thoughtfully. "Amelia," she blurted after a distinct silence, "Hector is a boy."

She turned to her best friend of six years, who was attempting to supress a snort. Amelia ran a hand through her short auburn hair to clear it from her face. Verdant eyes, brimming with laughter, looked down at her. Although her build was that of a seeker, slim and flexible to maximize speed, she was taller than Anne. "Anne, I know you got all Outstandings on your O.W.L.S," she said in a rich voice, "but sometimes I have to wonder."

Anne rolled her eyes and laughed dryly. "But he is a boy, and we're girls," she said and upon viewing her friend's unconcerned face added, "so you've never thought of him as a boy?"

"I think we've already established that he's a boy, Anne," Amelia replied with a faint smile.

"Don't give me that," Anne said with a suspicious look, "I saw you with him yesterday and you didn't come back to the room last night. What were you two doing?"

Amelia blushed, confirming Anne's thoughts. Anne's eyes narrowed as they always did during these times. Amelia's gaze dropped to her ice cream. Anne bit her tongue while a smile spread acroos her face. There were only so many things that they could have done. "We were doing nothing, if you must know," she said primly, playing with the cherry on her sundae.

"Amelia - "

"And what about Nicklaus?" Amelia intergected the question quickly in full hopes of diverting the converstion.

Anne purposefully chewed the fresh strawberries in her ice cream slowly. "I don't think I like him very much," she responded curtly.

"But why?" Amelia asked dumbfounded, "He's so sweet and he even invited you to stay at his house. He's even -"

"- more brainless than a snail," Anne finished.

Amelia savoured the hot fudge thoughtfully. "Well," she said slowly, "he was smart enough to like you."

"Stop trying to defend him," Anne responded, frost in her voice, "I don't like him and that's it."

"If you're looking for smart boys," Amelia said teasingly, "maybe you should look at Malfoy. Word has it he recieved Outstandings in every subject that could be taken to an OWL level. You could stand outside together."

Anne punched Amelia's top arm. "Not funny," her friend replied quite seriously. "Actually I have a theory about him," she said after a while.

"Who?" Amelia asked. "Malfoy?"

Anne nodded. "I think he must be a pansy," she said shortly.

"He's not a flower," Amelia said confusedly, sipping water after finishing her extremely sweet ice cream.

"No," Anne replied, "I mean homosexual."

A moment of awkward silence passed between them. Amelia focused every effort into the act of swallowing the water in her mouth rather than spurting it all over her friend's shirt. Afterwards she bit the wall of her mouth below her bottom lip to keep from laughing. "You mean Malfoy - " she said at last in a strangled and disbelieving voice.

"Well think about it," Anne rushed, "he hasn't had a girlfriend ever. He shows no attraction to women and he -"

"Anne, I don't think he shows attraction to men either," Amelia said slowly.

Anne looked strangely at her. "Maybe he's asexual," she murmured.

"Anne - "

"You have to admit he's extremely odd though," Anne interrupted before she could begin.

"Yes, he is," Amelia replied, "but then anything that doesn't cause him bodily harm doesn't matter."

"Right," Anne said slowly, "so are you excited for Hogwarts this year? Not a lot of Slytherins will be. They'll probably make life miserable, now that I think of it."

Amelia shrugged, "I'm glad Uncle Lupin will be around and the Slytherins can't ruin that for me."

"I still think he's homosexual," Anne said darkly.

"Whatever you say," her friend replied hastily, even though she knew better, "I think this is the best ice cream I've ever had."

"I mean he's -"

"Best ice cream ever," Amelia interrupted.

Understanding that she no longer cared to listen to the matter Anne sighed. "It is good ice cream," she replied thoughtfully.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Weasley!" the name played from his lips in a sneer of utmost contempt. "What do you mean Weasley is the prime choice for Head Girl next year?" he demanded.

Eric Zabini shrugged. "Just that Prefect Malfoy," he replied dully, his vibrant blue-green eyes inexpressive. He sipped his tea moodily. "She ranks second in class, has been a prefect for two years and, worst of all, McGonagall is fond of her. She's a shoe in."

"Bloody hell, I might as well drown in the lake," Xavier grumbled, finding it difficult to focus on the importance of gillyweed in light of the disturbing news. "And she's second in class?" he asked, looking somewhat accusingly at Eric as though he should have held the title.

"Exceded charms and history," Eric explained, "Averaged divination. I'm sure she was just as surprised to see you as first."

Xavier turned his gaze to Tom who was typing rapidly on his sleek computer. He meet Xavier's glare and stopped typing. "Oh come on mate," he replied exasperatedly, "me? Second in class? The suggestion puts your intelligence in question. I trolled potions and astronomy. Averaged most of the rest. Exceded history and herbology. Outstanded magical creatures and charms. Oh and muggle studies, but that was a given."

"The desperate hope in excess," Xavier muttered moodily, partly marveling at the fact that someone could actually recieve a Troll on they Astronomy O.W.L.S., "Weasley. Well being a Head Boy isn't that important. It shou - "

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom interjected irately as he snapped the lid of his computer and strolled out of the room, "of course it is and it's only Weasley. We can always find new ways to make her life hell."

Xavier looked confusedly at Eric. "Did I miss something?" he asked, silver eyes sweeping to the exit of the room.

Eric's face froze oddly between a smirk and a look of distaste. "He didn't tell you about his second job?" he posed in return. Xavier shook his head. "He's an escort," he replied disapprovingly.

"I need to eat somehow and they have very good food at the locations the women go to," Tom replied as he returned, buttoning his shirt. Xavier looked as though he was about to burst into laughter. "What?" Tom demanded putting on a vest, "It's a respectable escorting service."

"And what sort of women do you escort?" Xavier asked in a strangled voice.

"Most of the time they're older than your mother," Tom replied and, sensing Xavier's next question, he added, "no, I don't sleep with those. Although the younger ones..."

"Merlin stop," Eric cried, "I don't want to hear about the state of your affairs, thank you very much."

Tom smiled sardonically while Xavier only shook his head. "I'm 24," Tom shrugged, "and the sort of drives that require pleasure more urgently are - "

"Oh shut it," Eric snapped, "the drive you're referring to is no different when you're sixteen."

For a moment Tom seemed confused while donning the jacket of his tuxedo, but at the coughed name "Isis" from Xavier he resumed stance in the argument. " Am I to assume then that you have none of these drives present in yourself?" he asked teasingly.

"No, you're to assume that I don't want to jump every girl that walks down the street," Eric replied evenly.

"Ah," Tom smiled knowing he had Eric cornered. He looked over to Xavier and asked, "And who is the one woman that Zabini wants to jump?"

Xavier met his gaze with smooth apathy. "Don't look at me," he said silkly, "I'm not getting into this. Although a completely neutral, unbiased view would say -"

" - it's Burke," Tom finished in full jest. No living person on the planet would have wanted to jump Burke for fear of not only their health, but their lives.

"That’s on my list right next to suicide,” Eric replied testily.

“Yes, and to be fair, I only jump one woman as 16,” Tom added.

“It’s still wrong,” Eric retorted, feeling as though the pair of them were severely lacking in any decent sense of morality. “You don’t even know her.”

Tom shrugged. “Don’t knock it before you try it,” he replied simply.

Xavier smirked and noted the spot on the page where he had stopped reading. “The irony there being that to try her you would indeed need to knock her,” he remarked sardonically.

Eric threw his arms in the air in exasperation and defeat. He surrendered himself to quiet resistance by reading parts of their new transfiguration book. “Right, I’m off,” Tom said, brushing off his suit. He walked over to the vase and picked the orchid, “Always greet a lady with a flower."

He walked to the door and turned suddenly, "Also, before Eric tells you something vile when I’m not around to defend myself. My first job was going to the future to peruse stock values of a recent past and then to travel to that past to bid on the proper shares. That got me this penthouse and some other things. My second job is as an investment analyst. Very technical and very boring but it pays the bills for Hogwarts, utilities and such. Third, as you see, is to escort fine ladies to very tasty dinners. And sometimes as an insomniac I hand out flyers for night clubs, along with some other things that even you would consider inappropriate. Weekends is working at an animal shelter or ice cream shop and I think that’s all. Any questions?”

Xavier looked oddly at Tom. Frankly, he could not have cared less about his friend’s many professions. Nonetheless the concept was intriguing. “Yeah, is there anything to eat here?” he asked.

“There’s a good Indian restaurant on the first floor,” Tom commented, “nothing here. Oh and when you’re working on the locket go to the fourth room on the left out of here. Go past all the doors until they end and on the last door just do as it says. There’s a gym on the 16th floor and when they ask how you’ll pay for it - ”

“I did take Muggle Studies, Tom,” Xavier interrupted annoyedly, “I’ll have it billed to you of course and you don’t need to give me word-by-word instructions as to what to say to the clerk.”

“Right,” Tom said apprehensively. A part of him hoped that they would simply remain in the room instead of acting strangely, however unintentional it may be, in the building. Nevertheless he bade goodbye as he was beginning to run late.

Eric moaned after he had left. “Why do you encourage him Xavier?” he asked from his work. In fact, as he thought in retrospect, there were many things that Xavier could have said to end the quarrel.

“I don’t recall saying you were wrong,” was the reply. For a while of quills quietly scratched on parchment. “Besides it’s entertaining to watch you two bicker like an old married couple,” Xavier added with a satanic smile. A pillow flying at high speeds, directed at his head was the sole and concise response to the remark.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

A/N: This is a FF at cosforums.com and therefore there are no homosexual characters listed here. Not that any of them were intended to be homosexual in the first place >_<. I hope so far in the fic that it's obvious that not everything the characters say is actually true. Anne is just a bit crazy that's all...more like, smart but mistaken. Meh she's just trying to make sense out of an inaccurate and incomplete set of data and that tends to lead to nonsense. Can't blame her for being curious and it is around this age that you begin to wonder what people you know exist prefer. >.< At least it was for me and my friends.

blue_rose

December 26th, 2006, 5:47 am

:wow: Four pages are a bit suffocating for a fanfic thread >_<. I won't lie. This is a tedious, boring, but necessary post. The good news is that it's short :D. Please feed me back!

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Xavier sighed in frustration. The dry and dark room seemed to consume him more and more as the leather bound book mocked him with the glee of knowing what he could not. Over the past five years they had worked through four of the six objects. Admittedly, Eric had mostly watched and Xavier accepted that he could not fathom the implications of that given that the basic assumptions held. However, in that time, they had encountered one object which was not described in full. A pair of knives that upon unsheathing attempted to stab their owner to death and nearly had, Xavier recalled with a wince. Needless to say the incomplete description of the ancient locket in his hand was unsettling. The initiation steps were detailed precisely. Beyond that, there lay a cryptic quote in Aramaic. It contained the words 'love' and 'rule' which altogether gave little conclusive evidence hinting to the nature of the object.

The locket itself had reached an age at which it not only could have been considered priceless, but equally ageless. It was in the shape of a heart with intricate designs on both sides. It contained a liquid that he was supposed to drop into a mixture that he had been preparing for the last few hours. With a mere day before the first of September, he was beginning to regret delaying work on it although he knew the delay was well worth it. His father was stoically set against the idea that he pursue a career in politics and to his father's displeasure, it was perhaps the only thing Xavier cared to pursue. Unfortunately, his father had made it inconveniently difficult to make the ministry a viable option for his future. However, with his vacation to France, Xavier had seen and effectively seized the opportunity to become acquainted with ministry officials.

For the last two days he had met with the ones that had responded to his letters. Luckily, one official had allowed him to job shadow for the two days. His name was Percy Weasley and, frankly, Xavier thought little to nothing of the man. It had been ridiculously simple to acquire the position after praising practically every aspect of Mr. Weasley. There were of course those that had simply refused to reply, as was the case for the offices of Hermione Weasley. Regardless he was not daunted. It had taken a patient four years to get on the sweeter side of Headmistress McGonagall. A few unanswered questions were not all that unnerving.

Nevertheless, the detour was time consuming as well as distracting from the locket. He turned to the brightly colored solution brewing in his dark cauldron. He waited patiently for it to steam. Meanwhile the woman on the front page of the Evening Prophet continued to cackle. Of course, there was her. He could not quite understand why they had allowed her to live. Any naturally reasonable person would have severed her head from her body with a blunt axe. Yet, on some insanity charge she was instead jailed at Azkaban. And, now his great aunt had managed to escape. It had sent the ministry in an uproar. Changes in Hogwarts were rife. Tensions were rising and had already claimed their first victim.

To top the familial dysfunctionality, he had recently discovered to his inconceivable discomfort that there existed a person with whom he had shared his mother’s womb for the better part of nine months. A girl with green eyes was the only description he had been supplied from the retired Healer that had assumed that Xavier knew about such matters. He had pondered the matter carefully and, ultimately, decided it was impossible to know anything for certain if his father had wanted him to know nothing. All in all, at no point thus far in his life had he wished to be an orphan more than the last two weeks. Cruel irony would have it that such was the day to day case of the person whom he was to call sister.

A rosy scent filled the dark room as florescent steam rose from the surface of the cauldron. Yawning he wondered what time it was. Just as reflexively he wondered if Amelia’s break had fared any better than his. Shaking his head of the thought, he found the clock displaying an ungodly hour to be awake. Apprehension mounted while the decided uncertainty of the predicament became more and more apparent. Eventually he simply shrugged and allowed the drop of burgundy liquid to touch the surface of the mixture. The solution turned an ominous and radiant verdant. A silver and onyx ball formed around the drop, hovering above the green mixture. It swelled, slowly filling the entire room with light. At a point the mixture morphed to a rich plum and began to hum.

Xavier backed away from the cauldron as the massive sphere shook, ready to burst. The sphere reached a peak in its vibrations and just as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Moments of still silence passed, spent in looking suspiciously at the orb. Then, as though on predestined cue, an explosion of light filled the room, all noise muted. The force of the blast shoved him against the wall. Before another wave of blinding light gave way to unconscious darkness, he inhaled sharply while a pain tore through his right arm. Seconds later, a sixth year girl awoke with a gasp in a bed not far off with a similar pain emanating from her back.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

blue_rose

January 4th, 2007, 10:37 pm

Post is below! It may be a bit confusing, but if you get through it all I hope it makes sense :D ! It's long, but mostly dialogue. Please feed me back!

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“Just the chocolate frogs,” Eric rushed impatiently and, in an attempt to sound less than borderline hysterical added, “Please.” The elderly lady’s eyes widened slightly at the interruption to her recitation of the full list of confections available on her candy cart. “Of course deary,” she said in a sweet yet shaky voice. His eyes darted up and down the train car’s burgundy corridor while she searched in a painstaking slow manner for the frogs.

After five minutes of quietly watching the woman’s hand flick past them four times, he pushed the hand away and grabbed a few boxes. “These are five chocolate frogs,” he said with an edge in his tone. “I owe you five knuts.” He handed her the money. “And you have a good day.” He forced a strained smile. His stomach sunk when he caught a movement in the corner of his eye with mere seconds from returning to his compartment.

“Any louder Zabini and everyone would have thought that the train was on fire,” a husky voice he knew too well stated blandly next to him.

“Burke,” he acknowledged. Cold sapphire eyes swept over his frame, while he repressed the urge to shiver. The candy cart lady had begun her recitation once more.

“Forgot the compartment number?” Burke mocked coldy.

He searched for some excuse to explain his absence from Burke’s compartment. “You must have forgotten it,” he retorted smoothly, “I was the first and currently the only one there.”

“371?”

“498 actually,” he supplied, fabricating each word, “We were there last year.”

“Jelly Beans,” replied Burke thinly to the old lady’s question. “Well do try to find us at 371,” a delicate hand touched his chest with an offer of a bag of jelly beans. “Lysander Yaxley just transferred to Hogwarts and he has an interesting proposition.”

He took hold of the bag and looked at her towering figure as though he had swallowed something especially bitter. A smirk crept on Burke’s pink lips, a color that never seemed to reach her cheeks. He watched as she left, her slightly curled hair a dark blanket on her icy skin. It was only when the candy vendor asked if he wanted anything else that he had the sense to return to his compartment, which did indeed look empty.

He locked the door behind him and hesitated, wondering whether he should say something. In the end he settled for a seat next to the window. A few minutes later the compartment door slid open. This time the person entering pried a wand from his pocket and was sure to seal the door with a charm.

“I don’t like this,” Eric muttered as Tom sat next to him.

Tom shrugged as he weighed his candy options. “I don’t see you coming up with any brilliant alternatives,” he said flippantly before taking the bag of jelly beans.

Eric blanched. “What if he doesn’t wake up?” he asked numbly.

“Have a frog,” replied Tom, tossing him a box, “and stop being so anxious. Makes people think you have something to hide.”

“I’m not anxious!” Tom cocked an eyebrow. Eric sighed exasperatedly and ripped the box open. “Shut up,” he murmured. After years of befriending the two most inconspicuously discreet students in Hogwarts one would have thought he would come to possess some talent in the field. “What have you heard on Yaxley?” he asked at last.

“Little,” Tom replied, “he hasn’t left your circle’s compartment which means he’s destined Slytherin. He was expelled from Durmstang. No one knows why though.”

“Should we try to wake him?” Eric asked suddenly.

“Should I try to force you to reveal your mullato self?" Tom rebutted mockingly.

“But he can’t sleep into a horseless carriage can he?” challenged Eric. "Besides," he added offensively, "it would probably be more harmful for me to change into my so-called normal self. They'd start thinking they had a new student that was obviously mad because he insisted that he went to the school..." his voice trailed off. Tom stared at him, as though attempting to force him to continue. Eric pursed his lips shut. It was the most he had said on the matter, and even so, he had said it half jokingly.

“Oh fine,” Tom growled at last, “You know for a boy Xavier has been fainting a lot. Maybe it’s a Malfoy trait.”

Eric’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What does that – “

“I may be blind Riddle, but I’m certainly not deaf,” a tired yet determined voice intoned from the opposite and seemingly empty window seat.

“Just checking,” Tom smiled.

Eric glared at Tom. An invisibility cloak collapsed unto the floor as Xavier stretched slightly. His head was throbbing and his chest felt as though it were wrapped in a corset pulled two times too tightly. After some point he had reasoned that these were caused by his actions with the locket earlier. He had, however, failed to find a solution in the day before term began. Nevertheless he had the nagging suspicion that it was related to the invisble screen of white placed before his eyes that prevented him from seeing much at all.

"How thoughtful," Xavier replied dryly, "Did you finish the sensory revival potion yet?"

Eric hesitated unable to meet the questioning but clouded gray eyes of his friend. "There are some more ingredients I need to nick from the hospital wing," he conceded at last, "It won't have a long time to sit though, so it may sting a bit. Actually, a lot."

Xavier shrugged. "As long as it's not lethal and I can attend classes tomorrow..." he cut off with a yawn.

"Right," Tom said checking his watch, "I'll intercept whoever they've sent to get the prefects that are late for the meeting."

He made to stand when Eric pushed him back down. "No, I think I will," he stated firmly.

Xavier paled. "You're going to leave me with him ?" he asked rethorically, "I'll be dead in an hour."

"Honestly mate," Tom said standing up once more, "and believe me that's not something you want on your conscience."

"Your friends are morons," Eric responded with a tone of finality, looking at Tom, "mine will get suspicious if they so much as get a whiff of strange-ness coming from me."

With that, he left the two protesting Slytherins. Tom stuffed his hands into the pockets of his frayed jeans. "Maybe we should tell him we're never serious one day," Tom said with a grin.

"Perhaps it is too much to suppose he'll come to that conclusion by himself," Xavier replied.

Tom shrugged and began explaining how they planned on getting inside the castle undetected. After practicing in the small space for some time, Tom handed him a strenghtening potion that he downed completely. He ignored the bitter aftertaste that clung to his tongue. Tom fell into a seat opposite to him and asked, "Do you know what it is yet?"

"If I did I would not be drinking potions every couple of hours and entering Hogwarts under an invisibility cloak," replied Xavier, with a hint of annoyance.

"I guess," said Tom, looking thoughtfully out at the rolling countryside. "You know there's going to be a rumor starting about you," Tom grinned as a barn sped past. Viewing Xavier's obvious disinterest in the matter he added, "It'll trace to someone from Gryffindor." At that Xavier perked reflexively. "I heard of it from Creevey, but I don't think he was the original person behind it."

"I'm not so bloody interested in this rumor of yours to suffer through your pregnant pauses," stated Xavier testily.

Tom grinned. "It says you're homosexual."

Xavier snorted. "How fascinating," he replied sarcastically. "Allow me to hypothesize who conjured this pathetic idea," he continued, "Weasley. She can't fathom that someone may not like her because she's the babbling brook of idiocy. No one would believe it."

"No," Tom said, "I think I could spread it successfully."

"And I would kill it in less than twenty-four hours."

"Is that a challenge?" Tom asked mischeviously.

"Could it be anything else? Set the terms."

"We start two weeks from whenever you get better. Anything legal goes. If I convince all of Hogwarts that you are gay for forty eight hours then you have to get all the prefects and professors off my back for one day of mayhem and mischief."

"If your rumor is killed within 24 hours, you must swear to do any one thing I ask you to."

"Agreed."

"Agreed." Nevertheless, the proposal was the far from the most urgent issue on their minds when the train eased to a stop at Hogsmeade and what would come to pass as the most memorable year at Hogwarts for many students, commenced.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

blue_rose

January 15th, 2007, 7:40 pm

End of chapter one of part two! Please feed me back. I hope you liked it!

This is a longer post... I hope this explains some of the stuff that was confusing the last time! erm...some joking in the second part. Not to serious or graphic. But er if you have an imagination...well I'll leave it at that.

Chapter 2: A Meeting

"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat boomed the house of the final first year. If the student was pleased with her placement, she did not show it. Instead she chanced a fleeting look at the professor's table and trudged to a seat in the house she belonged. Amelia's eyes followed the girl and flicked across the entire Slytherin table. It was then that she noted a person missing from the line. She slipped an old piece of parchment out of her robe as Headmistress McGonagall caught the attention of everyone else.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she whispered softly such that not even Anne, who was sitting next to her, noticed. Ink seeped upon the parchment. The great hall was filled nearly to the brim and few were moving about the castle. Peeves was on the sixth floor. Her roaming eyes finally rested at the dot she sought. Hospital wing, she thought, what is he doing there? Another dot, labeled Tom Riddle, which was previously on the third floor entered the wing also.

"Who're you looking for?" a voice whispered curiously. Amelia started from her perplexed mood and faced Anne. Food had appeared on the plate and chatter had resumed, mixed with sounds of clinking silverware.

"Nothing," she replied nervously, folding the map clumsily and stuffing it away. Her heart raced as it always did when situations required lies. After all, Anne had informed her of Xavier's absence from the Prefect meeting. She had no desire to instigate what would happen in the event that Anne discovered he was not in the hall through the map or by simple observation.

Anne smiled. "He went to the bathroom," she said. Amelia breathed in relief and helped herself to turkey. Lately Anne had taken her every measure as an indicator of her exaggerated curiosity of Hector Creevey; which, as far as Amelia could tell, had been fully imagined by Anne. It was the first and would be the only moment that she was grateful for the supposition.

"So what's your first act as quidditch captain, Captain?" Anne continued, when she found Amelia unresponsive to the comment.

Amelia wrinkled her nose in a manner Anne would have considered dainty; a fact that Amelia would refuse to admit. Her surprise at being named Quidditch Captain had annoyed Anne greatly. She could not understand why Amelia would be so modest. She was a wonderful Seeker, practiced ten times more than other players and had the terrible O.W.L marks to prove it. Of course terrible in Anne's view was average, but Amelia carefully avoided the subject. And, frankly, neither was she in the mood to listen to a "You're too modest" lecture from Anne. As such she settled for the "I don't know" response.

"Don't know what?" asked Hector as he plopped unto a seat next to Amelia. She glanced at him in welcome before returning to her food. In his fourth year, Hector Creevey had become the lead Keeper of the Gryffindor team. Although not considered the most handsome at Hogwarts, there were times when she saw him that begged her to differ with the view. Days of practice had rendered his skin a tan colour. She believed that his success in Keeping had been due mostly to his build which was medium in every way. A strand of straw colored hair, fell over his most drawing quality. Intense light amber eyes, that she had seen both flared in anger and joy, stared boldly at her.

"Captain call," Amelia explained bluntly.

Hector nodded knowingly. "I think your first order should be something ice breaker like," he supplied, grabbing a chicken leg.

"Shouldn't it be getting Chasers and beaters?" asked Amelia, "You know, filling in empty positions?"

He shrugged. "You'll definitely have to do that at some time," he replied, reaching for the rolls, "but -"

His voice faded slowly when he realized he had grabbed her hand instead of the bread. Both of them quieted noticeably. She looked at him in confusion, as his hand was still over hers. He focused on the wall behind her. She could feel color rising to her cheeks. He was grinning rather stupidly. And, suddenly, Amelia could feel Anne's eyes upon them.

Stop blushing like a dimwit, a voice cringed in her head as his golden eyes met her gaze evenly. His face was not nearly as pink as hers, but she noticed Hector biting his lip periodically. "Er -" she said awkwardly. At that his hand quickly let go, as though it had touched a burning stove. Hector cleared his throat and pointedly ignored Anne's smile. They hastily ended the discussion on quidditch and Anne began chatting about werewolf rights. Luckily, before Amelia and Hector fell into their food in boredom Headmistress McGonagall addressed them.

A tension that had been present even at Platform 9 3/4 mounted as she reviewed baseline rules and welcomed the first years to school. A few eyes occasionally flitted to the Slytherin table as she moved further into her speech and increased exponentially when she began announcing the professor. "Lastly I ask you to welcome Professor R.J. Lupin to our school when he arrives tomorrow," she said above the humid strain in the Great Hall, "He will be joining us this year as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. He has taught here before and I'm sure you will learn much from him this year."

Polite clapping sounded through the hall. "Professor Abbott has agreed to the Potion's Master position." Once again there was clapping. "In addition Professor Lupin shall oversee Slytherin House as the Head." There was a collective intake of silent air. Almost all heads turned to the Slytherin table for a reaction, half expecting protests and jeers. Most of the first years were oblivious of the statement's implications and stared confusedly back at the faces of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. The remainder of them looked at the table. There were no open jaws, save those of the other tables. There were no noises, save those of soft thunder resounding from the enchanted ceiling.

Silence stretched for what seemed like minutes, and then there was reserved clapping. Amelia thought it was worse than anything they could have done. It was almost as though a warning of the announcement had reached them. Slowly the other tables joined in, somewhat apprehensively and then gradually becoming enthusiastic. Headmistress McGonagall continued her speech and by the time it finished Anne was looking suspiciously at Hector. He avoided eye contact, not actually hearing a word McGonagall said.

"You tipped them off," she said accusingly as the last of the Headmistress' words reverberated off the walls. Amelia turned a shocked face at him. Hector rose slowly, as though he was unsure what he would say in return.

"Correction," he responded, "I told Riddle who probably couldn't stand not telling them. I'm not responsible for his actions."

"I suppose not," replied Anne. Of all the Slytherins, he was perhaps the only one she was not slightly hostile to. After all, he was probably the most popular boy in the school and the most personable Slytherin of their year. However, although she could not despise him for it, she did disagree.

"Plus," said Hector, "they had a right -" Anne looked sharply at him and he hesitated. "They did," he finished simply.

"We also have a right to know which one will become too ambitious one day," she replied with an edge in her voice. "And we manage to get by with just guessing," she ended bitingly, before leaving for her Prefect duties.

He gaped at her departing figure. Yet, the implied meaning of her words would become commonplace in time. It would be surprising how quickly the word ambition would become synonymous with evil. Even more shocking would be the truth in the change. Yet, Amelia secretly agreed with Hector. He sighed. "Whatever. She's always right," he murmured.

Amelia smirked. "And don't you forget it," she teased.

"Shut up."

"Hey, I am your captain," Amelia pointed out as they exited the Great Hall, "talk like that could get you kicked off."

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

The first two days of classes passed in a sleepy haze for Xavier. He would later express outrage at being largely unconscious for the first day in years that Slytherin had been without a Head of House. It would involve long, lucid and satiric tangents of how the entire world could have fallen to his knees in 24 hours of an unmonitored Slytherin. That, however, was in a future far distant from Wednesday. And on this third day of classes he would count four times when he fell asleep during classes, with the fourth professor ordering him to the hospital wing. He next remembered standing before the hospital wing, feeling extremely sore and bruised. Although he did not remember how the bruises had appeared, he suspected Eric and Tom were involved.

He returned to Slytherin House a week later, feeling much more refreshed. Any symptoms had disappeared. He replied to any inquires by saying he had fallen down a set of stairs. It provided fresh gunpowder for snickering Gryffindors and, as such, alleviated any suspicions that the story had been a fabrication. No group of Slytherin had reason to question it. Although the younger student's were unaware, Slytherin's groups were as diverse as they were divided.

The majority of them had accepted unofficial rule from Tom Riddle. The few that resisted connected to Eric. The last, apathetic group acknowledged no true leader and invested vast amounts of time arguing that anarchy was the only natural order in the universe. Xavier could more or less be seen associating with this group, not necessarily because of its outlandish stances. It also featured intelligent conversation, something most of Slytherin lacked. Of these three overall disproportioned groups, they shared one desire. To destroy the others silently and stealthily.

Xavier blinked. That his thoughts should focus on the organization of Slytherin House was uncommon. It was more than a sign that attention from his work had strayed. He looked idly at around the room and smirked. It seemed Salazar Slytherin had believed in seniority among other discriminating properties. The room was much larger than the one they had occupied as first years. It had four private bedrooms, a bath and a small living space. And while they had each provided different reasons explaining the unusual living arrangement, Tom's had appealed to Hogwarts. To keep friends close and enemies closer.

Tom dropped his Transfiguration book. "Xavier?"

"Hmm?"

"Suppose you were an animagus and fornicated -"

"Tom there is a reason why wizards maintain theirs minds after morphing," Xavier interrupted.

"I know," replied Tom quickly, "but hypothetically speaking if you as an animagus fornicated with an organism of its animal form, would you consider the result your children?"

Xavier raised an eyebrow at him and thought for a moment. "Technically speaking," he said slowly, "they would be your animagus' children. That supposes you can actually pass genetic material."

"Hmm," Tom murmured before picking his book up again. They returned to their reading quietly, not noticing the image of Draco Malfoy on the mirror above the mantle. A few moments later Xavier asked, "What do you know about twins?"

"They're in the womb at the same time," Tom said slowly, looking at Xavier questioningly. In a flash, something sparked in his brown eyes. "Actually," he continued, "twins interact a lot before birth. Kicking, touching and such." Xavier was silent. Tom snorted at a thought. "Just think," he said, his voice trembling in laughter, "twins could have locked lips -"

"Merlin, Tom," Xavier interjected, extremely uncomfortable with the general direction his friend had taken. "You are a b@stard," he continued, "I don't even know why I asked you."

Tom bit his lip uncertainly. "Why did you ask?" he questioned. Draco cleared his throat and, at that, both boys froze. "Hello father," said Xavier in a strangled voice.

Draco held up a piece of parchment. "I received your owl," he said smoothly.

"Impossible," he replied, mirroring his father's silky voice, "I never sent one."

"Could I speak privately with my son?" asked Mr. Malfoy, directing the words at Tom.

Tom shrugged. Xavier waited for the click of the lock to sound before facing his father. Draco looked over the parchment once again. "Illuminatingly green?" he murmured, attempting to stall the conversation. "Does-"

"I have a sister," Xavier interrupted his father bluntly. "A twin no less. Were you ever going to tell me?"

Draco ignored the question and exchanged the parchment for a large pile of papers. "I understand you've been busy this summer," he began as he flipped through an array of letters addressed to various Ministry members, written in his son's handwriting. "I'm sure you have a lovely explanation."

"Sister?!"

"Politics?!"

The two Malfoys glared at one another. The younger seemed to be a slightly flawed replica of the elder. At last his father broke off. "I thought I had brought you up to be more intelligent than this," Draco said, "The private sector is better suited for Malfoys right now."

"Oh care to clarify that statement, father?" Xavier asked viciously.

"You know exactly what I'm saying," replied his father in a low voice.

"Then you should also know that you're the last person I should be taking advise from on the matter," Xavier defended ruthlessly. When he heard no objection from Draco he tacked the conversation towards another topic, "It's very surreal to be told you have a sister by the healer that delivered you. Even stranger to walk past every green-eyed girl and think that she could be my sister."

Draco's jaw clenched visibly. For a time, there was silence. His father stared undecidedly at the papers in his had. At last there was a sigh. "I suppose I should explain," he said, facing his son's scrutinizing glare.

blue_rose

January 24th, 2007, 3:05 am

For a split second, some aspect of Xavier's glare changed. It was as though he was contemplating whether he wanted an explanation at all. Nevertheless, it was but for a second and in a blink scrutiny once again faced Draco Malfoy. There was another sigh while he collected the words. At last he cleared his throat.

"Understand that the times you and your sister were born, were quite different from what they are now," he began, "Also, I'm sure you're quite aware of this already, but Malfoys tend to be a bit on the ambitious side. Shortly after birth, there were some rudimentary tests and it was determined that your sister would be highly unlikely to display any magical ability what so ever. I believe you are aware of the term squib. Your mother did not see the problem but I did. Opportunities for squibs in the magical world are limited even today. And, though you may not know it, they're limited even in professions that require little magic at all. In contrast, a squib could literally be the leader of the muggle world if there was proper drive or desire for such a position. Naturally, there was no doubt that she would recieve a muggle education, equivalent to a magical education at Hogwarts. And, that, is exactly what she is doing now."

When it was clear that his father had finished, Xavier asked tentatively, "She wants to be leader of the muggle world?"

"Her ambitions are her own," Draco responded slowly. A few seconds later, he recognized the question as a comparision. "The circumstances would be completely different," he added in a rush, "the private -"

"You haven't quite explained why no one else seems to know of her existence," interrupted Xavier plainly, looking somewhat accusingly at his father.

Draco sighed. "No, I can't say that I have," he afforded, "but there are certain reasons for that as well."

"Care to elaborate?" Xavier asked with an icy glare.

"No," Draco said firmly, "now these letters -"

"Father, this may be premature," Xavier interrupted at a sudden, nauseating thought, "but Helen -"

"I will not speak futher on this matter, Xavier," Draco interjected loudly.

Xavier stared at his father, on the cusp of protest. However, he knew he had somehow reached an impassable limit, struck some chord that had not been plucked in years. He shrugged half-heartedly. They recognized a mutual concession between one another. "As you've probably already seen, Hogwarts has undergone some changes this year," Draco continued. Xavier snorted at that comment. "Bellatrix Lestrange's escape is no laughing matter," Mr. Malfoy responded sternly.

"Father what do you know of Lestrange?"

"She's the last of the Blacks," Draco explained, "Historically speaking, you know that Malfoys follow more or less the Slytherin route. The Blacks, on the other hand, have had their fair share of deviants. It was why my grandfather was wary of creating ties with them. He had no real choice on the matter, actually. It's not as though there were many pureblood traitor-less families left in England that the Malfoys weren't connected to already at that time. My point in this is that blood was an emphasis and Lestrange grew believing in that. She became a Death Eater, married a Death Eater. And, particularly preferred the Cructacius Curse above the other Unforgivables. She was devoted to the Dark Lord, to the extent of accepting Azakaban simply to prove her devotion twice. I think she actually believed he was alive the last time I'd heard of her. All in all, she is not to be underestimated."

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Yes but my contacts -"

The voice broke off abruptly when Eric opened the door. He glanced at the speaker, before turning to Burke. "I hope I'm not interrupting," he stated idlily.

"How good of you to grace us with your presence today Zabini," Burke mocked, inviting him to a seat. Her frost-like gaze surveyed him shrewdly. After all, he had missed their general meeting that night, as well as on the train. She turned to the speaker. “We can trust him,” she stated blandly.

Eric smiled inwardly. He knew Burke trusted few in her circle, which was composed of fifteen or so sixth and seventh years. He was one who she should not have trusted into the inner circle of five. The successful deceit was at the least one thing he had accomplished. Burke, more or less, headed the group. To her right was Tristan Hitchens, her current romantic relation.

Eric was at a loss in understanding Hitchens’ induction into the inner circle. He was a slightly below average student and seemed to know little to nothing. Perhaps his only redeeming quality was his skill with knives. In reality, Tristan’s obsession with knives was more disconcerting than anything else for Eric. Chase Bulstrode, a seventh year, sat in a corner of the room. Although his best contribution during conversation came in the form of grunts, he was extremely talented in hexes and curses. He was also perhaps second most knowledgeable in the Dark Arts next to the fifth and final person in the room.

“You’ll need one of these,” the speaker said, motioning towards a pile of amateurly bound books to his left. As he looked around the room he saw that everyone had one. He avoided the speaker’s gaze and picked up one of the books. He winced when a hand painfully clasped his wrist. Eric glared at the speaker. “No wand tonight Zabini?” asked the speaker, his voice naturally derisive.

“You know each other,” Jasmine asked with a lilt in her voice.

"A week of classes have passed Burke. I apologize if it pains you to strech your imagination so far."

The speaker looked at Eric for a moment and smirked. “The resemblance is striking isn’t it?” he asked softly.

Striking was an understatement. In fact, both shared the same vibrant blue-green eyes, similar face structure and noses. If there was one noticeable difference, it was the speaker’s curly blond hair to his straight hair. Nonetheless, it would not have been altogether too surprising if someone mistook them as brothers. Eric’s glare sharpened. He understood the question as what it truly was. A threat. He pulled away from Lysander Yaxley’s grip and snatched a book from the pile. “Uh…” Chase intoned from the corner of the room.

“Articulate as usual, Bulstrode,” snapped Eric, to the best of his abilities. He turned to Jasmine, who stared back in disinterest. Tristian, however, looked from Lysander to Eric and back again. There was a flash of understanding in his normally incomprehensive features. He said nothing. Rather, he began flicking a pocket knife between it's positions. “Yaxley, thank you so much for the Dark Arts book,” he said politely and added with biting sarcasm, “We here in England are exceedingly ignorant in them.”

Jasmine snorted. “This one actually tells you how to do it Zabini,” she said, “not the rubbish of ‘The killing curse is Avada Kedevra.’ That’s not exactly very helpful in actually performing the curse.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to learn the Unforgivables? Why?”

“If you intend to serve – “ Yaxley began before being interrupted by Burke.

“It’s time, Zabini,” she spoke with a razor’s edge in her voice. A knowing look passed between her and Yaxley. “Why?” she challenged her eyes not leaving Yaxley, “Afraid you can’t do them?”

“Not at all Burke,” Eric managed to choke out as coolly as possible, for he was quite sure there were a few he was incapable of doing.

“Right,” Yaxley said, “now, as I was saying, my contacts at Durmstrang are a bit strained at the moment. I can’t get a hold of further texts for a while. This one is a good summation of the majority of curses. Hex invention books won’t be in for a few months, I’d say. But, I’m sure it’ll take them that long to understand the theory and practice of these curses.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

A week passed in a relatively uneventful manner. An increase in pranks was observed with, a few of them directed towards the new Slytherin head. The majority of the culprits went unpunished early in the week. As a prefect Xaver was obligated to inform the professors of any leads. However, there were times that he had turned into the defense corridor to find one or two first years setting up a prank. In those moments he simply walked away, taking no notice of the students. And, although many of the responsible had been rounded by mid-week the frequency of pranks remained constant.

At the end of the week, Eric returned from another meeting feeling very tired. They had yet to attempt dark curses, and he was already exhausted. The door to Tom's room was open, which indicated lessons of under way. By the sounds of it, they were going badly. Every now and then Xavier's frustrated voice could be heard, yelling instructions. Eric grinned and settled on the couch. His A half an hour into his Transfiguration essay, his attention wandered.

"You're making this far too difficult," came Xavier's voice, "just point and see what happens."

The words 'Avada Kedevra' were heard, followed by a short silence. "How was that?" asked Tom.

"You might want to point at the target next time," replied Xavier, slightly annoyed.

A few minutes passed in silence broken ocassionally by the recitation of the Killing Curse. On the twelveth attempted Xavier interruped Tom. "Are you drunk? Drugged?" he accused.

"Drug free for twenty four hours," came a cool reply.

"Your pronunciation is wrong," supplied Xavier, "It's uh-VAH-duh kuh-DAH-vruh."

"Ah-"

"No," interjected Xavier, "uh."

"Right," Tom responded, "uh-vah-daaaa...sorry what was it again?"

"I swear you're thick in the head," muttered Xavier. Tom laughed. The next few minutes were fruitlessly spent on pronunciation.

"Alright just try that," Xavier ordered.

This time there was a flash of faint green light. When it ended, there was complete silence. Eric curiously moved to the room. Xavier was staring at the plant they were using as a practice target. Tom was supressing a laugh, and so, sounded as though he was s******ing. "I actually think it perked up that time," commented Xavier a bitter smile on his face. "It's official, Riddle," Xavier continued, "you're hopeless. Completely and utterly hopeless."

"This may help," Eric offered, holding a paper bound book in his hand.

Xavier summoned the book and said, "It really was less turgid before that."

"How was your meeting?" asked Tom, while Xavier browsed the textbook.

Eric leaned on entrance of the room and made an unpleasant face. "Burke is a madwoman," he responded. Tom snorted. "I'm serious," Eric insisted, "she should be in an asylum somewhere."

"Get away from them for a while," Tom suggested, "I need a minion for a new prank."

"No more pranking," Xavier stated before Eric could reply, "prefects are doubling duties starting tonight. The Head Boy is very angry at the moment. Let them cool off for a week or two. Where did you get this book?"

"Yaxley."

"I can't believe they don't sell these here," Xavier said, "then I wouldn't have had to wait for 4th year to find the older version in one of the closed rooms at home." He tossed the book to Tom, who looked at it skeptically.

"Why am I doing this again?" Tom asked when merely the length of the text next to him seemed to cause temporary amnesia.

"It's about time, Riddle," Xavier responded, "even the Aurors cast them to get a better understanding of them."

"Sure," said Tom, "but I'm not going to be an Auror."

"It's good to know some general things," Eric said slowly.

Tom sighed. "Whatever," he responded tonelessly. "Hey, can I ask how Hufflepuff became Head Girl?" he questioned, staring at Xavier.

Xavier grinned. "Hufflepuff adores me," he replied, "Why? Thought I couldn't get her the Head Girl position?"

"Yeah, but Ravenclaw as Head Boy was a bad choice," Eric informed.

"Not at all," Xavier said, "he's very predictable when he's angry. And I'm sure Tom will help me in that field."

"At your service," Tom replied with a smirk, "But, uh, about this Yaxley."

"Tom you probably shouldn't go near him even with a six foot wand," Eric replied, "This is his third time as a seventh year and I don't think it's because he's dull."

"Do you know why he was expelled from Durmstrang in the first place?" inquired Xavier.

Eric shook his head. Tom and Xavier exchanged a look. "Perhaps Aziz can be of service," Tom supplied.

Xavier nodded and Eric felt sick. "Speaking of Aziz," said Eric, "there's an arrangement of flowers for you."

Tom grinned and suddenly looked forward to tomorrow. Eric had reached a faint shade of green. "Eh, Zabini, I forgot to ask you," began Tom and rushed before Xavier could stop him, "would you consider offspring from your animagus form your children?"

For a moment Eric seemed confused. Then, his face turned a paler green with a hint of pink. "Don't do that when you morph," he murmured before returning to his Transfiguration essay.

Xavier rolled his eyes as he rose. "Read the introductory chapter," he instructed Tom.

Tom groaned. "It's your fault," Xavier said, "I would help but I have double duty tonight. All thanks to you."

"The pleasure was all mine," responded Tom sarcastically. Yet, he felt a numbness course through his body when he opened the book to the introduction.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Pronounciation of Avada Kedevra is from HP Lexicon...

blue_rose

January 29th, 2007, 3:16 am

Below is a long, strange and an absurd post. I won't lie. But it's here. Please feed me back! Implied things. But it's not explicit, a lot of it depends on your imagination and I'll stop repeating myself now.

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"So this is what Xavier Malfoy does in his spare time." The words caused him to jump up from the ground in shock. A book instantly vanished from his hands and they were suddenly consumed by darkness. He relaxed when he identified the owner of the voice. Any other student would have found it odd that she was dressed for the height of winter on the last warm night of the year. Amelia smiled at the surprise he had almost expressed, for it was too dark for her to attempt to read his face. "Was that a muggle science book?" she questioned teasingly.

He ignored the question when the thicket of clouds rumbled warningly. "Do you have your broom?" he asked instead.

She nodded and seconds later added embrassedly, "Yes."

"Above the clouds then," he said, a commanding tilt to his voice, "before it begins to rain."

She kicked off and Xavier let out an exasperated sigh. He aimed his wand at the cloud cover and muttered a spell. The clouds parted to form a clear opening, around the size necessary for a flyer to pass through. Moonlight effused through the hole. He waited for a moment before pushing off the ground, reveled slightly in the weightlessness of hovering a few meters above the ground and then, shot off to towards the hole. Breaking past the clouds, the light from the half moon was breathtaking, the sea of clouds below him reflecting the soft glow back towards space. With Amelia no where in sight, he drifted over the clouds, wondering what she had in mind for the night.

She had asked him to bring a flying carpet, a request that he had promptly refused as he lacked the means to obtain one. He suspected that the night would involve a random argument they had developed about the use of carpets in quidditch. When she found him, he was balancing effortlessly on his broom idly sending colorful sparks from his wand. A part of her envied his ability to use a broom as though it was a wide window ledge and make it look so easy. Flying, however, was not a recreational sport for Amelia. She was always acutely aware of broom positions in terms of their maximum velocity, and she wagered he could travel perhaps twenty kilometers per hour at best. He pointed his wand at her and she felt a gust of warm air drying the dew that had formed on her clothing from penetrating the cloud layer below them.

"Miss me?" she asked with a smile.

His gaze shifted from the roll of carpet under her right arm and to her face. He cocked an eyebrow, looking as though he was seeing her for the first time. "No. How could I have missed you?" he asked with a sarcastic grin plastered on his face. "Did you miss me?"

"No," Amelia replied airily, "you should know I stalk you constantly so it's hard to miss you. I've already begun to string my first name with your last, set a floral arrangement for our marriage, pick names for our babies..." her voice teeterred and then joined in his laughter.

"Nice carpet," he commented dryly, when his bout of laughter had passed. Amelia straightened, biting her lip to keep from laughing. She unfurled the carpet and set it floating between them.

"You know when you said quidditch could be played on flying carpets?" asked Amelia. The moving clogs in her mind could be seen from miles away. "Yes," he responded. He refrained from saying the idea was presented flippantly even jokingly. Amelia moved her mouth from side to side. "Well tonight," she said with confidence, "I'm going to disproove you."

For a labeled friendship, they seemed to argue more than anything else. Neither could quite explain why it had lasted or how she had come to accept his definition of a friendship. A condition in which they barely spoke once a week, avoided one another publicly and, as far as Hogwarts was concerned, extended civilities solely for the sake of civility. Xavier had explained that this would bypass any complications; not that she had understood his reasoning at first.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Saturday dragged in such a molasses that, on numerous occasions, Tom found himself staring at clocks scattered around the castle. Time travelled even slower under the cloudy skies outside the castle walls. When the sun finally set, he genuinely smiled for the first time that day. He forced himself to suffer through dinner, listen to the school's unofficial news source and nod politely as though the state of girl X and boy Y was of great consequence to the functioning of the universe itself. At long last, nine o'clock neared. He excused himself into his dormitory, not to be spotted by any other students until the sun rose once more. When he reached the Room of Requirement at five minutes to ten, he thought of the only word on her note to him. Chocolate. Five times. Then his hand reached for the door knob and turned slowly. Soon after the soft click of a door closing could be heard in the hall.

He could feel the eyes of the girl in the room on his back as he hung his invisibility cloak. Chocolate eyes met his and her pink lips curved in a slight smile. Soft music played in the background. She passed a delicate hand through her long hair and a silent greeting was exchanged between the two individuals. He walked towards her and, while indicating his Hogwarts uniform, asked quite conversationally, "So what do you think?"

She rose from the bed and in two sweeping steps her slender frame stood inches from him. She glanced over his robe with false interest and circled behind him. "Too much clothing," she whispered into his ear, the faint accent in her voice betraying her foreign education.

"Is that so," he murmured, dark lashes draped over his eyes, while robe draping the remainder of him slid unto the floor. He felt his tie being loosened and instinctively caught the responsible wrist. "I'm afraid you're in the same sorry state of affairs," he whispered softly, twirling her so that her back faced him. The buttons of her aquamarine dress met his hand, that performed with such practiced precision that moments later they were moving across her soft skin. It was the color of cream treated with a few drops of heavily brewed, bitter coffee.

It was two shades darker than her mother would have preferred. Her eyes lowered at the thought. Isis Aziz was well aware of the fact that her mother would have preferred much more than she had delivered in her life. The ephemeral frown on her lips was lost in an inviting peck at his ear. The daughter of the Egyptian Ambassador to the Ministry of Magic, Isis had entered Hogwarts in Tom's fifth year. Her father had been severely dissappointed when he heard that she had sorted into Slytherin. It was added to her list of many failings, while she merely shrugged.

She was the girl whose neck line plunged far too much and whose skirt never seemed long enough. And yet to many of the older boys, the opposite was true; her neck line did not plunge far enough and her skirts concealed too much. However, she was mostly inconspicous in classes and among others. Some girls would swear that her apparent oblivion to the effect of her dress on students of the opposite sex was a complex ruse to lure them away. Fortunately, they had more proof that unicorns were evil than they did of her culprity.

She gasped slightly when his cool lips touched the nape of her neck. He could now feel her hands running through his wavy hair. He gazed into her blazing eyes, the attraction between the two undeniable. Her hand came gracefully to his cheek, a seduction in her eyes that no man could ignore. "Your parents were correct to name you after a goddess," he said softly.

She pressured him slowly onto the silken sheets of the bed. He leaned closer to her and she felt soft kisses on her shoulder. Hardly breathing, her lips politely returned them. At some point forgotten by both, she was cornered into the bed. "And yours in naming you after a saint," she murmured, conversation becoming less and less relevant by the minute.

He backed away for a moment. "Eternally at your service," he whispered before his lips sealed hers, both of them barely concious of the words that lingered behind in the soft music of the room.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

She looked down and found she had never regretted any action as much as she regretted moving her neck muscles so faintly. Her throat tightened from the refusal to complete a fearful gulp. A cold wind gushed past her, biting at her reddened cheeks and awareness of the high altitude flooded her senses. Then a red light flickered below and a sudden rush of excitement pervaded through her fears. Nevertheless, when his broom halted parallel to hers, her gaze was glued to the red indicator below them. He observed her quietly. If Amelia Potter could have been summed in one word, that word would have been stubborn.

While she had easily shown that carpets took too long to reach maximum speeds, Xavier had suggested that if proper momentum was applied that the time would shorten considerably. He gave the example of a person falling onto a carpet suspended in midair. The force with which the person hit the carpet would momentarily counteract the magical force in the carpet, sending both flier and carpet plummeting to the ground for a few seconds. The emergency mechanism would become activated and then shoot both back towards the sky. Unfortunately, Amelia had somehow managed to convince herself that he was seriously counteracting her position with the argument and was now determined to disproove him. And so, far below them lay a carpet suspended in the air.

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

She blinked at his question, her eyes on the carpet. "No," she lied. Her gaze quickly met his and she added hurriedly, "Are you?"

"You're taking the fall," he shrugged. "From this height, you would be dead before even hitting the ground," he commented looking at the cloud layer below the carpet.

"No more science books for you," she scolded with a small smile, "Don't you know that courage is fifty percent ignorance?"

Xavier grinned. "Is that an overall statement on Gryffindor house?" he mocked.

Amelia snorted in disbelief. "Now?" she asked, after a while of silence.

Xavier fired a green light at the flickering red light on the carpet. A cylinder of various colors formed in the distance between them and the floating rug. "Lucky shot," Amelia muttered.

"You'd like to think that wouldn't you?" he smirked. "Not now, though," he answered to her previous question, "It's too windy. When all the colors turn a confluent green, you can dive."

Amelia nodded. Swirls of blue and red mixed with the yellow cylinder. At last the colors darkened and the cylinder stood as a bright green. "You have your wand right?" she asked suddenly.

Xavier refrained from raising an eyebrow. "Targeted at you the entire time," he assured her.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

He always slept afterwards. And she watched, her head propped up by one arm and body wrapped loosely in a white sheet. Interestingly though, the normally placid expression on his face rarely made for good entertainment. It normally led to scribbling words in a language that few at Hogwarts could read. In fact most found it more asthetically pleasing than meaningful. The small leather bound book each of sketches, caligraphical illustrations and peoms were contained in had been a present from her sister. There were a series of classical Middle Eastern and South Asian poems littered in the back. She flipped past the first page, it's contents dedicated to the giver, and around half-way through the book found a blank page.

Although his expressionless features provided little inspiration, she found herself recalling a look his face whispered when waking. It lasted for a fraction of a blink but she had noted it twice. A single crease took over his forehead. The haze of sleep overcame his eyes and, yet, a glint of sadness shone dully in the brown orbs. A frown occupied his lips. She smiled while biting the tip of her quill. Before that expression, she had thought his mouth incapable of bending in that fashion. It was what, she now imagined, would be the face of a person that had rejected something precious to themselves. Some gold. Some power. Some recognition. Or even, some love.

Taking the quill away from her mouth, she began scribbling. He slept so deeply that the scratching of her quill did not illicit so much as a stir from him. It was only after she finished that she realized she had written about a person she did not know, nor would know. What she did know of him, contradicted the presence of that expression completely. She had never asked him why he had agreed to their arrangement. And she knew better than to expect an honest answer in the event such a question was posed.

She sat up with legs folded beneath. Their arrangement, itself, was simple. What they knew of one another came from the general gossip of Hogwarts. As far as they were concerned, life histories were irrelevant in their interactions. He would answer when she called. After all, there were times in the month when some women simply did not wish for such company and Tom was not interested in monitoring these desires. At times, they amused one another with certain talents and gifts. Yet, they assumed that the words uttered between them were worth less than a lie; they were pure fiction. All in all, the assumption was very comforting. She could have confided in him her deepest secrets and he would never find any need to remember them.

Placing her arm on the crook formed by his overlapping legs, she rested her head upon him and pushed slightly. Initially there was no reaction. Then a yawn escaped through his body and he sat up, the blanket sliding off his bare chest. She turned head away from his feet and he found her staring coyly at him and leaned upon the palms of his hands. "Hullo," Tom said sleepily.

"Do you know what I like about you the most?" asked Isis, her dark hair forming a curtain half drawn against her right eye. Her mouth was set straight with sincerity. For a moment he marveled at her ability to simultaneously seem so serious and naughty.

Tom grinned. "That I can make you blush in places you thought would never turn pink without barely lifting a finger," he answered with a lilt in his voice.

A faint smile graced past her lips, bitten back by her teeth. A concious hand moved to the area directly beneath her belly button and she regained her composure. "Legs," she murmured, refusing to address his comment altogether, "long legs." Her hand moved along the sheet covering the object of her current speech. "Height is everything," she continued, "or, proportionality, I should say." The palm of her hand contacted his well excercized abdomial area. "But long legs give way to whatever is above them. Well built torso, broad shoulders, everything really. Just think what a catastrope it would be to be two feet shorter. Stout." Her nose wrinkled, "All in all displeasing at a faraway glance."

He was hardly listening. With that tone she could have said the world was ending and he would have shrugged gratefully. When he noticed she had stopped, he placed a cool finger underneath her chin and brought her to face him. "Shallow as usual," he commented, gazing fixedly at her plush lips. She moved teasingly close to him, her nose touching his, lips mere centimeters from one another. She held him there, basking in power she possessed over him for those few seconds. A smirk later she pulled away, reaching for her necklace.

"Well Mr. Riddle, do schedule another session on your way out with my secertary," she said a mock twinkle in her voice. He watched as she fumbled with her necklace. She had the prettiest jewelry. They contained exotic designs, were extremely heavy and believed the to be real. He put a palm to her necklace. She met his insistent gaze rebelliously. Then she smiled. "I knew of my blushes long before you, Tom," she whispered, loosening her grasp on the necklace. It fell away when their tongues made contact; moments later the sheet wrapped around her followed suit.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

The rush of adrenaline was unimaginable. In fact, it continued coursing through her veins half an hour later. They had exhausted most of the uncontroversial topics regarding school, quidditch and classes. Xavier had enlarged the carpet and was lazily twirling a loose thread with his wand. Night was at it's climax and it seemed that the storm below the clouds was slowly drawing to a close. Although she had failed to notice before, she now realized he had grown. He was a full head taller than her, which suited his figure. His platinum blond hair was somewhat longer than usual and fell over his eyes. A penetrating silver that she believed could see past everything. She unexpectedly found herself wondering why he had never been in a relationship. How many girls had asked him? How had he detracted them all? What was he waiting for?

And one question sliced through her thoughts. "What?" he asked. In that one word she had an answer to all her questions. His tone was amused, oblivious and unaccepting altogether. He carried the worst personality she had ever known. While her pride would not let her realize it, Amelia's thoughts of him changed frequently. The true confusion rose from the quickened pace of this routine. "What?" he repeated, his tone more insistent.

"Sirius went to Kashmir," she replied automatically. In his seventh year, her brother had suddenly proclaimed his love for Chandani Patil. Too suddenly for Amelia's liking. And, then, they had decided to take part in a wizarding humanitarian effort. Patil had said it was her attempt to return all that her culture had given to her. Amelia believed it to be a romantically beautiful reason to offer her services. She could not, however, understand why Chandani had taken her brother with her. Worst of all, Amelia's parents had agreed to it all.

Xavier, on the other hand, was more than pleased to hear that his school enemy was in a different continent altogether. "Good riddance," he muttered.

"What?" she asked. In her fears she had not heard him.

He cleared his throat. "Goodness," he answered.

"What if he gets hurt?" she whispered.

"Then he wouldn't want you to worry about it happening." She smiled faintly at his cheeky response. "Besides," he added jokingly, "if he dies that's one less person you have to please."

Amelia gasped. "Shut up," she said in annoyance. "I do whatever I want," Amelia continued, "I don't care what he thinks."

Xavier smirked. "Potter could ask you to jump off a bridge and you would," he said matter-of-factly.

"Sirius would never ask me to do that!" Amelia exclaimed. "And if he did, he would have a goo-" she stopped abruptly. Nevertheless, his confirmation lay in that unfinished sentence. No matter how much Amelia liked to believe she was completely independent of what others thought, Xavier knew that she was far from such an ideal.

"I know what he wouldn't like," Amelia said after a while, grinning, "me getting a boyfriend."

"I pity the poor bloke you'll use simply to make a point," said Xavier idly. Amelia blushed and his wand relieved the loose thread. "I see," he continued knowningly, "so you actually like this fellow?"

Amelia chewed her bottom lip. "Hector is really nice," she said finally.

Xavier looked as though he had been forced to swallow a quart of lemon juice. "Of all the bumbling idiots, you have to choose the king don't you?" he commented primly. Amelia frowned disapprovingly at him. He did not know Hector as she did. After all, she was his best friend and Xavier was increasingly becoming his worst enemy. She began wondering why she had told him when he added, "Besides, Potter would be thrilled to see that you have chosen his minion."

"He's not a minion," Amelia defended, "And, Sirius wouldn't like it." Xavier looked at her skeptically. "He wouldn't!" she burst in annoyance.

Xavier rolled his eyes and she huffed in irritation. "What were you doing in the Hospital Wing the day before classes started?" she asked, jibbing the conversation in a new direction.

"So you do actually stalk me," Xavier replied. She shot him an annoyed glare and he continued smoothly, "Amelia, why do people normally go to the hospital wing?"

"To cure something or another," said Amelia slowly, unable to determine the direction he was alluding to.

"Is there any other reason to go to the hospital wing?"

"No, but -"

"Then logically speaking I couldn't have gone there for anything else," he interjected, "Is that not right?"

"No it's not," Amelia responded curtly, "Why was Tom there then?"

Xavier bit his lip. At last, Amelia was certain he would elaborate fully. "You have to promise not to tell anyone," he said quietly. She nodded. "I mean really promise Amelia," he insisted firmly.

"I do," said Amelia solemnly.

"Alright, keep that promise in mind," Xavier began and Amelia released a noise of frustration. "I'm sure you know you that your wonderful Professor Lupin is the new head of Slytherin house," he said acridly, "we simply want to welcome him."

Amelia frowned. Something in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. "Give Uncle Lupin a chance," she said softly.

"If he needed a chance he wouldn't have accepted the post Amelia," said Xavier sharply.

"They're just trying to protect us from -"

"They're trying to protect you," interrupted Xavier. She stared at him in disbelief, delicate brows furrowed with confusion. "Oh come on Amelia," he exclaimed exasperatedly, standing suddenly, "When the mantra of he ministry is basically 'not one person who got into Slytherin that didn't go bad,' roughly paraphrased for your darling uncle, and the bloody Bellatrix Lestrange running amuck, you actually expect me to believe that all of this is a beautiful coincidence? That the first time in the History of Hogwarts, the Slytherin Head is a non-Slytherin is not related to that? That the proposal for the Slughorn Christmas Ball, which was left untouched for from it's conception, just sailed through the Board of Governors by it's own volition? How convienent, it's all coincidental."

"What are you talking about?"

"They're protecting you," Xavier said through gritted teeth, "Watching us."

"That's not true," Amelia insisted.

"Not one ex-Slytherin on the Hogwarts staff. Basement patrols are practically forbidden to Slytherin prefects. No, Amelia, naturally you're right. They're just trying to see how far we'll stretch before razing the entire castle to the ground, that's all."

"You wouldn't -" Amelia whispered, her voice filled with terror.

Xavier glared down at her. "Of course not," he responded, "I have little reason to be suspected. Tom has even less."

"Then why are you doing this? It won't matter and won't change anything," she demanded angrily, standing up herself.

"What Slytherin house has to say will always matter," he said , "and I want answers."

"If Professor Lupin ends up in the hospital wing, I swear - "

"Don't be ridiculous," Xavier said bitingly, "What use would he be to me over there? Remember your promise."

"I -" she began on the verge of argument and stopped when he sent her a sharp and disarming look. "Fine," Amelia snapped, snatching her broom, "but remember, stray a hair too far past the line and Gryffindor will retaliate."

blue_rose

February 6th, 2007, 11:03 pm

Post is above! I hope you like it and please feed me back.

Post is here! One implied thing, but you're not likely to get it. And no worries nobi, this is no where close to you 24 page post :p But, it is pretty long.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Somewhere above the ground or above the clouds the sun was rising and Saturday was ending. This realization dawned upon Tom rather slowly as he the placed a picture of his soon-to-be girlfriend upon the table. Slytherin truly had compromised everything for the sake of secrecy, he thought. Savoring the tangent his mind had fallen upon, he continued to desive wild, generalized and idealistic thoughts on the founder of his house. That was until a very pecuilar phenomenon appeared on the floor of the room. Wet shoe prints appeared there with no shoe in sight. The clogs of his brain creaked until a question finally escaped him. "Why are you wet?"

The shoe prints halted. Something rustled beyond the orange glow of the fire. An inquiring face came forward and Tom simply explained, "Shoes."

A damp eyebrow rose skeptically. "What shoes?" asked Xavier pointing to the unmarked floor.

Tom shrugged, noting the wand by Xavier left side. "Why are you wet?" he asked again.

"Why are you naked?" Xaiver responded evasively.

"I take it you fought," Tom said casually, "you would have dried yourself off by now if you weren't angry."

"What a brilliant deduction," Xavier relpied in a slippery yet minutely sarcastic tone, "of course you forgot to mention the part where I intentionally soak myself in ice water, become hypothermic and miss Monday classes."

Tom grinned. "That was my second guess," he said in a serious manner. "It's easier to do that in the bath though," he finished, his head motioning to the open and lighted bathroom door.

It was then that the third and final resident of the dormitory entered the room. His worn expression barely registered surprise from finding the room occupied. While he was aware of Tom's nightly rounds of the week, he did not know that Amelia Potter so much as kindly addressed the other boy in the room. Xavier sought some excuse as Eric glanced from his soaked dress shirt, to the lit bathroom door, to Tom's supposedly bare form. The door behind him shut with a soft click and Tom opened his mouth. "I don't even want to know," Eric interjected before Tom could begin.

"But I have a wonderful explanation," Tom called after him when Eric disappeared into a room.

"I've just been called pretty," came the venemous response, "my manlihood has been tarnished beyond recognition and I couldn't care less for your explanation."

Eric followed a robe that flew out of the room. It struck Tom on the head. "By a boy or a girl?" asked his muffled voice as he drew the cloth away from his face.

Eric did not possess the energy to glare at his friend incredulously. Instead he responded bluntly, "By both" as he walked over to his room. "And if you find ashes of that couch tomorrow know that it's your fault," he added turning into his room.

"I'm wearing boxers!" was the last reply before a door slammed loudly to indicate the end of the conversation.

"Room ate you clothes?"

"No," Tom said airily, "it's my nighttime hobby to prowl the tunnels of the dungeons and moon unsuspecting Ravenclaw prefects as well as any other unfortunate vermin lurking about."

"One or two Hufflepuff prefects sneak in sometimes," Xavier corrected.

"Same thing Mr. Anal Retentive," Tom replied, "But at this rate I'm going to have to do just that. Unless if the room decides to spare me something to wear."

Xavier was about to reply when he noticed the figure in the pictures next to him bobbing up and down. "Who's that?" he asked motioning towards the girl in the photograph that was now flipping her hair away from her face frivilously. It was as though she thought there was an invisible mirror between her and the frame. She was admiring her the shape of her form in her dress when Tom responded, "The new girlfriend."

Xavier smirked while Tom continued in a very benevolent tone, "I'm telling you she's the one. She has it all. Brains and," he pointed to her finely shaped breasts, "looks. A pity the brain is a bit out of shape as she hasn't read anything other than Teen Witch for the last two years. Anything she says about a semi-intelligent topic tends to make people cringe. Although I could tolerate her senseless cosmetics chatter until parts of her begin to sag. Then I'd be compelled to mercifully put her out of her misery. Not to worry, I'm sure she'll be firm for the rest of this year. It'll take her that long to realize that our prorities are completely different. She will then feel morally obligated to tell me this and break up with me. And, once again, I return onto the market a heartbroken Romeo-"

At this point, Tom had become overly dramatic and Xavier interjected, "You do know most people enter into relationships intending to make them work rather than planning to destroy them?"

"Most people also enter them with people they like," Tom shrugged. It had long been established for Tom that the game of dating carried subtle yet signficant impacts to an overall image. Futhermore, if played properly, it formed what he termed as alliances between hazily bounded cliches. Theoretically speaking he could have had more influence on them than most Prefects or Head of House had on any Slytherin student. The girl in the photo was simply a route into an emerging group that he had yet to gain any power over. "But then most friends don't squabble at every sight of one another," he added.

"Yes, well, it's difficult to avoid that when one insists on being an air-headed, spoilt, belligerent apparation," Xavier responded bitterly. Or when the other is arrogant and apathetic, Tom thought. "I suppose I can't blame her," Xavier continued after a slight pause, "She does have her head in the clouds for most of the year."

"You can only fight about that so many times."

"That is where you're wrong," he said monotonously, "apparently it's also immoral to practice legimency even when the person is willing."

Tom looked at him confusedly. "You fought about performing legimency on Eric?"

"He's too occupied for it now though," Xavier answered, "So I needed an new subject -"

"-and you asked her?" Tom interjected the question incredulously.

"Not as though she would have anything she would need to hide from me," he retorted. He, then, snorted and added blandly, "Perhaps her first and only quidditch loss would be a traumatic experience that she would feel compelled to hide. Besides, it would not hurt her to practice some Occulemency. I don't even need to recite legimens to access her surface memories and emotions."

"I can't believe you asked her that," Tom said shaking his head all the while.

"It slipped," Xavier replied unconcernedly. Things tended to slip in front of Amelia. Tom had refrained from pointing this out to Xavier. "Anyway," Xavier said lightly and looked at Tom meaningfully, "I've run out of options."

Tom bit his lip, mulling over his friend's suggestion. At last he shrugged. "Sure," he muttered, "but can I ask why you were practicing on Eric first?"

"Good. Starting next Friday then. Eric's a decent Occulemens," Xavier replied, "That and there's a memory somewhere between age four and five that I can't open. He said if I could amass the skill to access it, I deserved to see it."

"Liar," Tom said, thinking the memory must have been more difficult to isolate, "he said he'd point to two threstals making love in mid-air before retiring to his room on his honeymoon night."

"Your confidence in me is so touching," Xavier replied curtly.

"I wonder if threstals can do that," Tom said with glazed eyes.

"I swear if Magical Creatures becomes another discussion on sexual habits -"

"It's not as though I can look this stuff up in a book," Tom interjected, "stop ruining my education."

"Oh please, Professor Hagrid only turns red and begins grunting nonsense when you ask those questions," Xavier said firmly, "The lone Hufflepuff and I have to suffer through all this."

"I've always wanted to ask him how half-gaints come about," Tom continued, absolutely immersed in the topic, "I mean it's not as though the person doesn't realize it's a giant. And isn't it awkward for the gaint to participate in such activities? I mean if the giant could basically kill the person without realizing it."

"There aren't many mules either," Xavier shrugged, "but they are possible. And don-"

"I said I wanted to ask," Tom interrupted, "not that I actually would."

Xavier shook his head. He sighed and stood sleepily. "What ever," he replied, adding as a late afterthought, "Oh, we're planning something big."

"Really?"

Xavier nodded. "It has something to do with Lupin and something from the hospital wing. The goal being to gain a referral to a peeved Slytherin Head. Any suggestions?"

Tom thought for a moment. Then his face lit and he blurted, "A party!"

Xavier rolled is eyes. "You need to cut down on whatever potions you're taking," he replied, walking towards his room.

"I'm serious," called Tom. Xavier shook his head and slammed the door his room shut.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

The coming Monday signaled such a cease in pranking activity that the Head Boy slept peacefully, congratulating himself for his accomplishments. Signs did not however suggest a continuation of this peace as he awoke from a nightmare the next morning. The same frown he awoke to would creep unto his face when he discovered the scene Xavier Malfoy found in the Great Hall. Tuesday had passed rather sluggishly for Xavier that morning. The new Potions professor had clearly displayed her inability to teach the sujbect, yet again. Discussion had degraded to aiding other students with their Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. More than half of the History of Magic class had slept past Professor Binns' lecture. Xavier suspected that even his quill had begun to droop towards the end of class. After glancing through the window in history class, he had found that even the day was a dour gray. In fact, out of the remainder of the day, he was looking forward to lunch the most. He came down the stairs skipping two steps at a time and landed to an unusual sight.

Most of the classes on the first four floors were still in session and the students in the higher floors were slowly making their way down to the Great Hall. Meanwhile two small groups of young students were metres away from the entrance of the hall, glaring at each other with an intense hatred that he had never observed on anyone younger than thriteen. A brown haired boy on the right spat something. Too far away to hear the remarks being exchanged, he approached them cautiously. Meanwhile a dark haired boy on the left lunged at the commenter.

By the time he had arrived within a hearing distance, a small crowd had gathered around two grouping, engulfing them from sight. As he naviagated past the crowd, he could heard angry yells and jeers as they slowly mixed with cheering. When he found the center, the groups had fused into the growing crowd. The dark haired boy had pinned the other unto the ground. Blood was trickling from the other boy's nose. A girl on the opposite side was demanding they stop, her voice barely audible from the din of the crowd.

The towering boy began yelling at the other with a red face. "DON'T. YOU. EV -"

There was a booming pop and suddenly the dark haired boy was suspended in the air clutching at his neck. "They did not make first years like that when I was growing up," Xavier thought aloud.

"Tell me about it," a girl next to him muttered. Beautiful violet eyes met him when he faced her questioningly. "That's my cousin," she said, pointing to the boy with the broken nose.

A sound of comprehension escaped him while his eyes breathed in the rest of her. Soft blond hair cascaded to her shoulder blades. Skin the color of newly fallen snow betrayed color at her cheeks with a light pink. She could not have been older than him and he would come to find that she was not. She was considerably shorter than him. At the least, by a foot. Long blonde lashes surrounded the most innocent eyes he had crossed in his life. A bright purple, they showed some distress from the situation. He was wondering what they spoke under normal conditions when a girl pushed past him, into the circle.

"Stop this, this instant!" she shrieked commandingly. The entire crowd became still. Silence lay shattered when the girl turned to him and chastised angrily, "You're supposed to be a Prefect."

Neither could control the sneer at the sight of one another. "No need for that Weasley," he answered coolly, "you are here after all."

Anne consumed a snarl and turned back to the first year in the process of choking the boy in the air. "Stop right at this moment," she ordered dangerously.

"Why?" the boy demanded.

"I am a Pre-" Anne said through gritted teeth when Xavier walked forward after noticing the other boy was far too blue to survive her slow process of persuasion.

"Because Hogwarts doesn't condone this sort of behavior," he interrupted her imperiously, "neither on her land, nor of her students. Now realease him if you so much as intend to stay here for another hour. We do have the skill to bring him down as well, but in doing so, you would be expelled in less than a half an hour. Eleven year olds don't last long in Azkaban either."

The boy glared at him. Xavier sighed and pointed his wand at the boy suspended in the air. Slowly, however, the brown haired boy lowered his wand. And in an instant, the other boy crashed onto the ground, gulping large breaths of air. The crowd slowly began to disperse, filtering into the Great Hall for lunch. The brown haired boy began to walk away when Xavier commanded, "Don't move another inch."

"Care to tell us what happened?" Anne asked, while rubbing circles on the other boy's back to help facilitate breathing. The brown haired boy glared at her. But before he could respond the other boy had escaped Anne's weak hold and charged towards him.

"Enough!" Anne exclaimed. By the time they had pried the two boys off of one another, the brown haired boy was sporting a blue bruise on his left cheek and the other was bleeding through his lips. Restraining them firmly this time, Xavier growled, "Shut up." Both boys stopped struggling and breathed deeply. They reduced to glaring hatefully at one another.

"Good. Now -"

"He started it," the dark-haired boy spat, "he called Kristin a...a...he called her a...a...MUDBLOOD!"

"She is a mudblood, you moron," the other boy said in a low voice.

"She is my friend," the boy raged.

"That doesn't change -"

"Silencio" Xavier interjected and both boys fell into mutely howling at one another.

"We're not supposed to use magic on them!" Anne argued irately.

"Shove it Weasley," he replied, his voice unable to supress his dislike of the Gryffindor Prefect, "they won't shut up. That's an undeniable fact and, when you're around, I'm in the mood to bicker not in one to listen to bickering."

"I'm not all too fond of you either Malfoy," Anne spat.

"But let's act like adults for this once," he said as coolly as he could manage, "for example I won't make any remarks about your terrible analysis in Astronomy or your balding head and -" He cut off when Anne placed a hand on her hair. Xavier smirked, "Oh aren't we a bit self-contienticious today," he ended scathingly.

"AD-ults. Malfoy." she snapped, grabbing hold of the dark haired boy once more.

Their small argument had somehow managed to capture the attention of the two eleven year old boys. Anne met the gaze of the boy in Xavier's grasp. "Now, the term you used was highly offensive," Anne said, "It was also vulgar. Muggleborns are not lacking in any abilities from other wizards and witches."

The boy began mouthing something but this was lost when Xavier addressed the boy in Anne's hold. "Even so," he said, "Hogwarts specifies no rule against using this term. And apart from that your reaction was clearly unwarranted by the rules." He pressed tightly against the brown haired boy's right arm with his thumb. To boy looked up at him and he continued, "Both of you will be punished accordingly. I suggest you act civilly to one another. The Headmistress likes to make punishments an opportunity for apologies. And expects they are made. Believe me. I know."

The boy in Anne's grasp began mouthing inaudibly. Xavier was looking at him sternly when the Head Boy arrived upon the scene. By now only a few people lingered by the entrance to the Great Hall, idily chatting. Coming to a sudden halt from running down five flights of stairs, he gasped for air. "What happened?" he asked. Anne launched into a breath by breath recount. Far into her retelling, his stomach growled and he forfeited the boy to the Ravenclaw.

A voice stopped him at the doors of the entrance to the Great Hall. "I suppose I should thank you," it said.

He turned to the owner of the vanilla like voice, and shrugged. "It's my duty," he responded to her grateful violet eyes and added, "as a prefect that is."

"Thanks anyway," she said with a smile on her rosy lips.

"Are you new to Hogwarts?" he questioned curiously.

"No," she responded, "I'm not."

"Impossible," he said disbelievely. "I would have noticed if..." his voice trailed off. "At least tell me you are in none of my classes," he offered. The girl cocked her head slightly in denial. "Well," he said, offering her a hand, "I'm Xavier Malfoy."

"I've heard," she said, her tone bearing the faintest bit of shyness like a music note forced into fermata.

Her cool hand slipped into a firm intensity she had never known. Sound filtered out and she was barely aware of her hand shaking his. It was as though ice had contacted fire and dew was forming in the sweet air hanging in between. Her gaze avoided his and travelled down to places she rarely thought of. If Xavier noted that the gesture was far too long for a handshake two minutes later, he said nothing. The girl began wondering when the water would begin to drip onto the stone floor when she realized it was not water at all. It was sweat. Her sweat. From her palm. She pulled away in an instant, flushing.

The last thing he remembered hearing before entering the noise of the Great Hall was the brown haired boy. Having been asked his name just after the silencing charm was removed, he responded, "Stephan Kent, and I am a mudblood."

That night she would recall Xavier in one of Hogwarts' four towers. She would stare emptily in space and regain thought only to realize she had been staring into the hand that had touched his all along. A smile would claim her lips. The foolish thought to never wash the hand again, would grapple her mind. Meanwhile, in another tower, two hands would intertwine, shyly finding each other's palms. And in the bowels of Hogwarts, after a long and trying night, the rythmic flicking of a pocket knife would halt and contact it's one true thrist.

House of Slytherin
:slyth: 2023 - 2024 :slyth:

http://lh6.google.com/image/hazytwinkle/Rc4ra15w6VI/AAAAAAAAANc/QBN6dmJAvR8/Tristian.jpg?imgmax=144 http://lh3.google.com/image/hazytwinkle/Rc4raF5w6SI/AAAAAAAAANE/rvzROjLMYVI/tom.jpg?imgmax=144 http://lh4.google.com/image/hazytwinkle/Rc4rbV5w6YI/AAAAAAAAAN0/dRU3DCyoCCo/jasmine.jpg?imgmax=144
http://lh5.google.com/image/hazytwinkle/Rc4ral5w6TI/AAAAAAAAANM/4n_c4kfMy5E/Amrita%2520Rao.jpg?imgmax=144 http://lh5.google.com/image/hazytwinkle/Rc4ral5w6UI/AAAAAAAAANU/SJaOmzLcEBU/xavier.jpg?imgmax=144 http://lh3.google.com/image/hazytwinkle/Rc4rbF5w6XI/AAAAAAAAANs/fXDbiF-5r-E/xavier3.jpg?imgmax=144 http://lh3.google.com/image/hazytwinkle/Rc4rbF5w6WI/AAAAAAAAANk/y3rPMtCoXEM/Lysander.jpg?imgmax=144

blue_rose

February 17th, 2007, 5:48 am

End of chapter 2! I hope you liked the post and please feed me back from the signature. I'd really appreciate it!

New chapter below. Erm...sterotypes of homosexuals in play. It's just in a bit of a joke sequence. Hopefully you'll laugh. Anyways I hope you enjoy the post and please feed me back afterwards!

Chapter 3: A Fork

A stifled cry of rage could be heard when Tom returned from breakfast the next morning. Smiling slightly, he took a seat near the fireplace and buried his face behind a copy of The Daily Prophet. He could hear cabinets being pryed open and slammed shut in the bathroom and his smile broadened. At last the door open and Tom willed himself not to peek over the newspaper. Footsteps passed him and another door closed. Rapid tinkling of metal emanated from the door. Sheets shuffled in the room and finally the door opened. Tom kept his face hidden behing the news paper until someone cleared their throat loudly behind it. He allowed to paper to droop slowly, inwardly laughing with a straight face etched on his features.

"Is there a reason why my clothes no longer fit me, Riddle?" his voice was murderously low.

"You grew?" Tom suggested, a corner of his mouth threathening to twitch into a smile. He kept his gaze at Xavier's face, afraid he would abandon all respectable composure if he looked any lower. Xavier glared at him. "You brought this upon yourself," Tom shrugged, "It's been two weeks."

"Ugh," Xavier muttered. His robe pinched tightly at his chest and waist. The sweater underneath clung to his shirt beneath. His pants felt as though they were cutting circulation to crucial nether regions. In fact, at that moment, he could have convinced half of the staff that he was under the Immobulous charm. "Are you out of your mind?" demanded Xavier. "Did you honestly think that I would leave this dorm -"

"Oh but you will," Tom interjected, a mischevious grin on his face, "because without this you've automatically lost." A ray of confusion escaped Xavier's mutinous glare and Tom continued, mocking teasingly, "Did you honestly think I hadn't heard about Ravenclaw girl and your little date?"

Xavier straightened. "Oh yes, because the Hogsmeade Museum is a prime location for a date," Xavier replied with a stiffness in his sarcastic voice.

"Going anywhere semi-private with a girl is a date," Tom said filppantly. "The point is you started before our bet so you either accept defeat or wear that," he ended, indicating his friend's current attire.

"Those grounds are contestable. No where did you specify restrictions before this bet began. If I should choose to go to a museum with a girl, which can hardly be considered a date, you can't really claim I violated any rules you set," Xavier responded, "Now change my clothes back."

"What you can't do that yourself," Tom retorted.

"I could, but there are some 120 different charms for clothing modification," Xavier snipped, "and that would take a long time; more than what I have at this time. If you just tell me -"

"You should get started," Tom interrupted indifferently.

Xavier sighed in annoyance and fell into a seat. "What do you want?" he asked, anticipating a compromise.

Tom shrugged. "I need a diving board," he answered, "You need to speak in a higher tone, or adapt some isms , or wear those pants."

"That would be illogical," Xavier replied, "If a person changes randomly - "

"It doesn't need to make sense," Tom interjected.

"I won't help you there."

"Then it seems you'll be wearing ill fitting clothes all semester."

"B@stard," Xavier muttered.

Tom's lopsided grin lasted shortly. "My prank-i-ness must be expressed at a constant rate," he responded, "otherwise it builds up and bursts dramatically."

"We're looking for dramatic burst," Xavier responded. He curiously noticed a dull glow emanating from his black pants. It was a while before he noticed they were leather and a wave of nausea flooded through his mind. He jumped away from the couch unexpectedly and Tom snorted in reaction.

After searching a fourth time for something remotely wearable in his wardrobe, Xavier returned in a contemplative mood to the fireplace. With one look at Tom's expression when Eric walked in minutes later, Xavier knew his first test was standing in front of him.

"Aren't you late for class?" asked Eric.

Xavier opened his mouth to respond but Tom rushed simply, "Eric, Xavier is homosexual."

At first Eric seemed confused. After all the word was uncommon in Hogwarts jargon. "Homo..." his voice began questioningly and ended abruptly in a spark of understanding. His eyes widened as he surveyed Xavier's clothing. When his gaze reached Xavier's stoic face, his eyes suddenly moved to his feet. "Er, well, it's alright if you prefer," Eric spoke awkwardly, ", er, you know, men. I mean as long as you..." his voice cut off suddenly. "Actually I didn't know wizards could do that," he began rambling, "You must be the first or something. It's really pretty interesting -"

"Zabini you twit," Xavier interjected harshly, "I'd much rather prefer hogs to men. Women are naturally highest on this list."

"He's a tad bit in denial," Tom followed. "Think about it. He's never had a girlfriend -"

"-oh and he has practically dated every girl in our year and above," Xavier interjected, referring to Tom. "Honestly, I wonder what that could mean," he said sarcastically, folding his arms.

Eric looked from Tom to Xavier, unable to take a position. "To misinterpret feelings towards select women is no indication of a preference in men," Tom stated flatly.

"And to acknowledge that life is composed of more than just women and sex isn't either," Xavier argued.

"Yes it is, Xavier," Tom said slowly, as though he were attempting to persuade a toddler that the sky was in fact blue, "because other than women there are men..."

Xavier snorted disbelievingly. "I'm sure you'll find plently of books on women and men in the library," Xavier responded while rolling his eyes, "That topic is right next to the latest potions journals and charm inventions."

"Actually -"

"Shut up!" Eric exclaimed. Xavier and Tom glared at him simultaneously. Both anticipated a verdict, but none came. There was a groan from Eric before he disappeared to his room.

"I won," Tom muttered.

"Not in a million years," Xavier replied.

When the door opened, a flurry of clothes flew into Xavier's hold. There was a distinct mutter from Eric, "You're late for class." This was followed by a roll of the eyes at Tom, to which Xavier smirked before he went into his room. And on his way out of the dormitory, Tom's voice could be heard insisting, "But really, Ravenclaw girl is part of his denial."

To his relief there was a snort of disbelief from Eric. Nevertheless he knew the upcoming challenge would not nearly be as fair. He also knew that Tom's delivery would not be as sloppy and would most likely be to people he hardly knew existed, let alone spoke to on a regular basis. And, in that sense, Tom Riddle had failed. He had failed to convince his opponent that his task would be simple.

"He's pretty good," Eric mumbled when Tom affirmed that he was indeed the new subject in Xavier's Legimency studies.

Tom shrugged. "I've been practicing," he replied.

Eric shook his head. "I mean he's really good," he said, "as in, if you have something to hi-"

"-then you're the last person I should be taking advice from," interrupted Tom, pulling the newspaper up again with a slight snap. Eric simply stared into the headline of the Daily Prophet and none could have discerned his thoughts in that moment.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Blurred letters faced her as her mind wandered away from her homework. She blinked and, at once, everything came into sharp focus; including her mound of homework. She nibbled at the quill while surveying her utterly hopeless Transfiguration essay. Beside her, Hector Creevey was scratching away furiously at his Astronomy homework. She flipped through her textbook. Through books borrowed from the library. Through her notes taken half-heartedly in class. And, yet, her mind refused to attend to her homework. Instead another thought chewed repeatedly in her head. At last, with a sigh, her hand abandoned the quill upon parchment drenched in ink. Hector seemed to notice for in a few moments his questioning amber eyes were upon her.

"Do you think they're watching them?" she asked slowly. "The Slytherins, I mean," she clarified.

Hector slouched into the soft burgundy couch and observed her curiously. "Did Anne tell you that?" he returned in a knowing voice.

Amelia merely shrugged, which sufficed as an affirmation for him. In fact, their most substantial conversation had surrounded around the extent of the flatness, thinness and grayness of her dark hair. Amelia had assured her it was already more than perfect. Not that it had stopped the furtive glances she stole at the mirror from time to time. Of late, Anne had been occupied to the point of habitually falling asleep on her homework. She had tried to warn her friend that she was the head of too many clubs, involved in too many projects and expected far too much of her grades to function properly. Normally, in such times, she admired her friend. Unfortunately, she was afraid that Anne had stretched too thin for the year.

“…so, yes, I suppose they ought to be,” she heard Hector finish, “but I did think it was strange when she said that.” Amelia nodded, not quite sure what she was agreeing to. Hector examined her. “You didn’t hear a word of what I just said did you,” he stated flatly.

She looked at her essay guiltily and leaned into sofa, sitting next to him. “You really think they ought to be?” she asked cautiously. “You know, watched?”

“I don’t think all of them deserve it,” he replied, “and they should probably also have an eye on the other houses.” He paused and then snorted, “But, it’s only a matter of time before Malfoy joins.”

“Malfoy wouldn’t –“

“Amelia! This is Malfoy we’re talking about!”

“I don’t understand what the fuss is all about anyway,” said Amelia, ignoring Hector’s comment altogether. “We don’t even know if the woman will do anything and she hasn’t done anything so far. For all we know she’s in some small European town working as the batty, old, fruit lady in the local market.”

Hector chuckled and Amelia smiled. “I’m sure everyone would be thrilled it that was the case,” he responded, “but either way, the security couldn’t hurt us.”

“Couldn’t it?” challenged Amelia, “There’s no guarantee that the Slytherins are being thoroughly monitored. And it’s not as though any Slytherin is about to become Minister of Magic anytime soon. What if this drives some of them over the edge and onto her side?”

Hector frowned. “I guess I never thought about it that way,” he said slowly, “but if it doesn’t, then we would know who our real friends in Slytherin are and that’s a feat itself. It’s not as though they’re very honest in the first place.”

Amelia wrinkled her nose, contemplating another angle to the situation. Finding none, she sighed. “It’s late,” she mumbled, rising with all intentions of sleeping. His hand grabbed her right wrist. He pulled her gently towards him. She jerked into an awkward spin that landed her knees upon the sofa and her face in a pool of confusion.

“Is that really what you wanted to talk about?” he asked, his voice both toneless and objective.

She shrugged. “It’s been on my mind lately,” she admitted, feeling his eyes bore into her vibrant green eyes, whose gaze refused to meet his.

“Nothing else?”

She feigned paramount interest in a loose thread on the sofa and took a deep breath. When she spoke her speech was rapid and feverish. “You know, Anne is really working too much. At this rate, she’ll be dead before Christmas. We should talk to her. And the quidditch match is only a few weeks away. The chasers really need to get their game together. The beaters are decent but they could be much better. Oh, I’m also about to fail Potions. Which is a very bad thing because then I can’t be an Auror and I would probably be the first Potter in who knows how long to not be an Auror. Did I mention that quidditch –“

“And last night?” Hector asked, interjecting the question with haste.

Her mouth snapped shut abruptly. Looking at him, she found his gaze was no longer on her form. “Erm…well…I -,” she floundered, “I liked last night.” She bit her lip nervously. “A lot,” she added softly. His grip on her hand loosened as his eyes began searching hers. “But,” she continued, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.” To his questioning gaze she explained, “I am captain and you are the keeper. If I take a suggestion of yours I don’t want others to think that it’s because you’re my boyfriend or anything. Or think that your practices are easier because you’re my boyfriend.“

“I could quit,” he said with quiet sincerity.

“No you couldn’t!” she exclaimed, slightly outraged by the idea, “I need at least one good player on the team!”

Hector grinned, “You’re a good player too.”

“Just let me think about it,” she said slowly.

He nodded.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

As the end of the week approached, there was a change in Tom that most could not place. He came into the dormitory much earlier than usual to pour over countless Occlumency books. Eric suspected that Tom slept sporadically and by Friday he had used the dark sanded time turner ten times. His room slowly became an utter mess of parchment, ink and books; although the house elves would have insisted that this was far better than the mass of clothes that regularly decked the room’s floors. There were times between Wednesday and Friday when he felt supremely confident. Afterwards came the arbitrary, uncouth curse at such a thought and a return to practice. On Friday, he delayed to Saturday. Xavier simply shrugged. When he was two hours late on Saturday, Xavier raised an eyebrow. And when after eating breakfast there was still no sign of Tom, Xavier finally swung open the door to his room in a very loud and obnoxious manner.

Tom tightly shut his eyes at the sound. If he were in the mood to linger or admire the interior, Xavier would have the noticed large, enchanted windows upon the walls. Or the silver foil work on the papered walls. But, at that moment, his irate mind saw two things; an extremely filthy room and a time turner sitting next to his friend on the bed.

“Do you have to be so loud?” asked Tom.

He took a seat on a stray chair next to the nightstand, after removing quills and books from it. “Do you always have to live in rubbish?” he countered.

Tom ran his hands down his face and squinted momentarily at Xavier. “Yes,” came the tart reply, “I happen to flourish in rubbish.”

“Like any weed,” commented Xavier while clearing the armrest of parchment.

Tom smiled in mid-yawn. “What day is it?”

“Saturday.” When Tom sat back, supported by his hands and asked Xavier to continue he was not sure how to respond. “Er, it’s the 21st of September. The year is 2023. The Minister of Magic is –“

“Oh yeah, it’s the Legimency thing today,” Tom interjected when he finally remembered.

“No Riddle,” Xavier mocked coolly but also with equal sarcasm, “I actually enjoy coming into your room in the morning to make sure you’re alright. It would have nothing to do with the Legimency thing, as you so articulately put is as.”

“You’re so caring,” replied Tom with a matching tone. It was then that his stomach growled. “You wouldn’t happen to have any food?” he asked.

“Breakfast is over.”

“Looks like I’ll have to go to the kitchens, then,” Tom remarked, somewhat relieved at further delaying the Legimency session.

Xavier tossed him a parcel. “No I don’t think you will,” he stated plainly. Tom stuffed the toast into his mouth, cheeks bulging out at reaching maximum capacity. He proceeded to do the same with a muffin when Xavier said, “I hope you know food can only run away when it’s alive.”

Tom eventually swallowed and pointed at him with the half-eaten muffin. “Next time you haven’t eaten for twenty four hours straight send me a postcard,” he replied.

Xavier scowled. “Why are you using the time turner?” he asked.

"Where's Eric?"

"That was smooth," replied Xavier sarcastically. He summoned the time turner and continued, "I thought you were done with all the transactions and retiring for the school year."

"I am," Tom responded slowly, as though choosing his words carefully.

"Huh, and you're still using the time turner because..." Xavier prompted.

"Because, well, for the regular stuff," Tom mumbled, "Boosting endorphin levels, things like that."

"You shouldn't need a time turner to exercise."

"What can I say," Tom replied, his voice aloof and mocking, "there simply aren't enough hours in the day for my busy, busy life."

Xavier snorted. "What ever Riddle," he said, "I made the time turner and I have every right to take it back."

With that, Tom could not argue. In fact, it had taken Xavier six painstaking months, after completing two months of research on time turners, to craft the thing. A mixture of mostly black sand with small amounts of red and brown sand had been used, with partly petrified wood encrusted in silver to support the glass structure. This accomplished two very important feats. The red sand made the time turner undetectable during time jumps and black sand allowed for longer time changes. The frame was constructed to counter some of the volitility of the mix of these grains. "But what am I supposed to do without it?" Tom asked, a discernable tint of a whine in the question.

Xavier shrugged. "Does it look like I care?" He fiddled with time turner and ignored the dumb stare Tom was sending at him. At last he said, "Urgh, go exercise with that Hufflepuff gossip. Merlin knows she could use it."

"McMillian is nearly obese," Tom commented dryly, "It would only just be an unforgivable insult to ask her to exercise no matter how daintly it's put."

"Again, does it look like I care?"

Tom scowled. "Where is Eric? I needed to ask him something."

"He's asleep," replied Xavier, becoming agitated at the time wasted in order to begin his practice, "and whatever you need to ask him can wait."

"Can I at least change?" Tom demanded exasperatedly. Xavier firmly shut the door on his way out. When Tom entered the living area, Xavier had reached page 64 of a hex invention book. He bypassed a comment on the excessive amount of time Tom had taken to become newly dressed and pointed his wand at Tom's chest. "Ready?" he asked lazily.

Tom nodded, his face completely impassive. He heard the spell being spoken and almost instantly felt fingers crawling on his mind. The room had vanished into a large mass of white light. He could feel the hands digging deeper. Then, suddenly, the light subsided and the room came back into view. Xavier had felt something in his head tearing and had immediately broken eye contact. His temples throbbed and his breathing mirrored that of a person that had been under water for five minutes. "What the -" he gasped and Tom smirked for the first time that day.

"Try again," Tom responded nonchalantly. If Xavier had spent the last five years learning to pry open the minds of others, Tom had spent them closing his from all others.

After regaining some composure, Xavier met Tom's confident gaze evenly and with narrowed eyes. "And here I was thinking that I shouldn't be too harsh. That you were an amateur Occlumens at best."

Tom grinned. "Even the best can be mistaken."

"Misled," Xavier corrected primly, "I'm never mistaken."

blue_rose

March 7th, 2007, 11:51 pm

Post is finally here. I couldn’t get it on…otherwise it would have been up earlier. It’s a bit longer than usual, but not much longer. Anyway, it wouldn't let me post the whole thing in one post, so it continues to the next. :D Aren't you excited? Now the last post will actually be the new post... I hope you enjoy it and please feed me back!

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Anne Weasley breathed calmly. A soothing aroma wafted from the pool-like bath in the Prefect Bathroom. Inviting bubbles resting lazily upon the water's edge lured her into tub. The warm water gently relaxed her tense muscles. Once again, she exhaled deeply, glad that the frivolous, giggling portrait of a mermaid had not awakened. Over the course of the week, people had begun grating at her nerves. It seemed as though one fiasco followed another. On Monday the Charms test was moved up to Tuesday. On Tuesday her Potions partner added gillyweed into their potion, thinking it was kelp. Chaos ensued shortly. On Wednesday the Head Boy doubled patrol duties. Again. On Thursday she unearthed supreme neglect on the part of the committee members in planning of the Slughorn Christmas Ball. And yesterday. Well, yesterday, the Headmistress more or less informed her that her petition to the Governors Board, requesting a school newspaper, had practically been discarded without so much as a glance.

All in all, however, the week had been relatively kind to her. There were no major presentations to prepare for, No grueling tests to study for. The Charms test had actually been more of a reading quiz. Anne sighed and turned her thoughts to what she considered the less meaningful aspects of Hogwarts life. It's gossip. In fact, the gossip matrix at Hogwarts had evolved into quite a complex structure. She could not know whether someone had transformed it or whether she had only now begun to notice it. Last week a curious rumor had sprung from it's mysterious bowels. Although the rumor was still in it's infancy and few had been exposed to it, it had struck her immediately upon hearing it. It was akin to the thoughts she had shared with Amelia in the ice-cream shop in Greece. Some had validly criticized it, pointing mainly to a Ravenclaw girl that Malfoy seemed to frequent. Frankly, however, she knew the publicized depths of that relationship were nothing but exaggerated.

Nevertheless, she had her doubts and they originated primarily from the Ravenclaw's mouth. Anne had known Violette for nearly three years now. While she was not extraordinarily bright, she was a Ravenclaw in that she worked diligently and completed tasks satisfactorily, at the least. She also knew that Violette was shy and rarely spoke to strangers, unless if in a supremely comfortable situation. Given the few words that she spared when talking of others, Violette spoke of Malfoy as though he were some type of a god. Or Merlin. Anne's nose twitched unpleasantly at the thought. She released a sound of disgust and it was then that the door to the bathroom swung open. To her horror, Xavier Malfoy strolled in and began rummaging through one of the cabinets. She gasped loudly when the initial shock wore off. Quickly, she crossed her hands and legs over the more private aspects of a woman, pulling soap bubbles toward her form in the one swift motion.

Xavier turned to the source of the noise and his face contorted in annoyance almost immediately. "Don't you knock?" Anne hissed irately while discreetly dropping the entire bottle of bubble bath soap into the tub.

Anger flared momentarily in Xavier's eyes. "But Weasley," he responded coolly, "you look tired so I'll kindly refrain from mentioning that I thought you were a male when I walked in."

Anne seethed. "Look, Malfoy, if you don't want to answer me I might as well curs-" her threat stopped abruptly. Her wand was still in her robes. Her robes were on the bench six feet away. And to access her wand she would have to leave the tub in Malfoy's presence. Anne paled with the realization that she was defenseless. Xavier seemed to notice this and was smirking.

" - curse me, Weasley?" he prompted in a derisive tone. She scowled and soon they were left in silence. When the water had reached frigid temperatures and he had not yet finished sorting through the cabinet she became aggravated. She pulled her bath towel into the water.

"Do you mind?" Anne demanded harshly.

Xavier turned to her and looked as though he had forgotten she was there altogether. "No I don't," he drawled, "but thanks for asking."

Anne suppressed a low growl. She stared at the water for a moment. "At least turn around," she ordered at last.

"I'm not particularly itching to see your flab," Xavier growled, for he had long ago turn his back to her.

This time, Anne smirked. "It's alright," she sneered, "I hear you don't swing in that direction, if you follow my drift."

Xavier snorted. "Actually, Weasley, there is one instance in which that would be true," he replied in a seemingly thoughtful tone and Anne's eyes widened at his words, "if you were the only woman on the planet I would gladly explore the alternatives."

Her eyes formed into slits and her lips pursed. She chose not to dignify the remark with a response and instead walked past him. Half way, her grip on her wand tightened and she shot a spell behind her. It narrowly missed Xavier and landed into the extremely bubbly bath water.

"You missed," he commented dryly.

She turned and mumbled another spell. A blue flame erupted from the tip of her wand and touched one of the bubbled. It burst and an orange fireball took shape. The fireball in turn burst surrounding bubbles and they emitted the same orange flames. In seconds the entire surface of the bath water began to spit fireballs.

"Next time, hope that I miss again," she replied in a low voice.

Xavier rolled his eyes. Only Weasley would think it an accomplishment to combine two subjects for such an effect. As she stalked out of the room, Xavier lengthened the size of her towel. He had become rather proficient in clothing modification charms. On her next step, Anne placed her foot on the dragging towel. She stumbled and reached what could be described as the near perfect position to be spanked. And it was then that Xavier forcefully slammed the door shut. It smacked upon Anne's behind, which was inconveniently in the way, propelling her forward, onto her knees and, most importantly for Xavier, out of the room. Muttering a cleaning spell at the tub twice, he returned to storing the time turner in a safe and secure place.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Some of us wake up before noon," Xavier responded to Tom's quip at being awoken so early. Of course, it would not have happened had Tom not been sprawled on the couch.

Tom barked a laugh, which ended with a large yawn. "That IS funny," he said with thick voice, "Hhmm, do you have anything for headaches?" he inquired. "Lately there's been a nagging voice in the back of mind piping in about everything," Tom explained, standing and stretching slightly, "I think it's my conscience acting up again. I'm telling you it likes the sound of its own voice too much for my patience. It begins grating at my nerves after about ten seconds. And last week," at this Tom s******ed while heading into the bathroom, "it wore tight leather pants."

Xavier scowled. Eric bit back a laugh and this resulted in an awkward grin upon his face. Xavier glared at Eric. His day had not begun well by any means and he had the distinct feeling that it would not become any better as it waned. Two things, apart from the fact that he had been forced to speak to Weasley, irritated him. The first were her progressively unpredictable movements which made it increasingly difficult to avoid the wretch. The second was her knowledge of the rumor. If she had heard it, it would only be a matter of days before the Hufflepuff gossip machine stumbled upon it and, after that, a few hours before the entire school whispered it. At best, his window of opportunity to stamp the rumor into oblivion was shrinking rapidly. In such a brooding mood, it took Xavier a while to realize what Eric had been chattering about for the last ten minutes.

"...I just don't know about him," Xavier heard him say, "He hasn't shown any connections to Lestrange as yet. But he is also 20 and he isn't thick enough to fail school three times."

Xavier nodded, feigning complete comprehension of the situation. "We're just going to have to find out then," he responded.

Eric agreed and reduced to staring at the crackling orange embers glowing on an ashen log in the fireplace. Xavier turned his thoughts to the gaining a vulnerable attention from their Head of House. The best option seemed to comprise of losing the current bet and allowing Tom the one day of mayhem. Eventually it would cause the faculty to question their students. However, admitting defeat to their current challenge did not appeal to him. Especially to Tom. Not to mention, it was in his best interests to win the bet. If anything, he would have to request a truce and then plan from there. Meanwhile, the blond opposite to him developed the nagging suspicion that he was forgetting something rather important. Neither of them seemed to notice when Tom plopped upon the center couch. He stared from one to the other and made an impatient sound.

"I swear if the two of you woke me up to stare at the fireplace your necks will be bent in impossible directions come tomorrow morning," he said loudly when both had failed to acknowledge his attempts to garner their attention.

Eric turned to face him but Xavier was the first to speak. "How efficient is Aziz?" he asked. Tom seemed confused. "At extracting information," Xavier elaborated.

Comprehension dawned upon his face. His mouth alternated sporadically between a smile and a toothed grin, torn between the knowledge of Eric's glare and the crass answer his heart wished to utter. He looked to Xavier, carefully avoiding Eric's gaze and replied, "Mate, let's just say she could have extracted every last drop of information from Merlin himself." Xavier raised an eyebrow of skepticism. "Alright," Tom acquiesced, "maybe not Merlin. More like Salazar Slytherin. Of course the information" he added with a full grin, "would be raw and hard to comprehend, what with all the moan-"

"- you don't need to get into her extraction methods," Eric snapped.

Tom paused and then shrugged. "Either way, I can't get her to do anything."

"Why?" asked Xavier.

"We have an agreement," he replied vaguely, "and you have to understand that's the last thing I want to violate."

Xavier nodded and turned to Eric. "Do you think Yaxley would fall for it?"

"I ..." Eric hesitated.

"He's a twenty year old with nothing in his age range," Tom cut in, "and it's not like the man's a virgin."

Eric's mouth moved to a side unsurely. "Actually..." he said and diverted his gaze meaningfully.

"I suppose that was too much to assume," Tom said sarcastically.

"It's not like he would refuse or anything though," Eric added a bit darkly.

Xavier took a deep breath. "Alright," he said, "Tom I've discovered your ventures with Aziz and, with that as the blackmail material, she will perform this one job for me. Or daddy dearest receives a nasty shock. Does that work?"

"She has criteria for the men you know," Tom commented.

"That is not my problem," Xavier responded. "Besides," he added, "we wouldn't want Eric to have to find a way to discover the state of Yaxley's anatomy. Perhaps if he hid in the laundry hamper -"

Xavier's voice was interrupted by a loud curse from Eric, upon his recollection of the forgotten event. He sprang from the chair, muttered something about being late and raced out the door without another word.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

He entered the room expecting the ever persistent tardy remark from Burke. Instead he discovered the room nearly empty. Tristan Hitchens was sitting in a corner, absently flicking a pocket knife. Eric knew that the general meeting would have ended half an hour ago. Of course that did not explain the absence of Bulstrode, Burke or Yaxley. Neither did it elaborate on Hitchens' sole presence in the room. It was Burke's room after all. He is her boyfriend, he reminded himself. A particularly loud snap of the knife further reminded him that he had been foolishly standing by the door far too long to be acceptable. He cleared his throat and stepped in. Hitchens jumped slightly, but the flicking of his knife became slower.

"Where is everyone?" Eric asked.

Hitchens raised his shoulders, indicating he did not know and, moreover, did not care. Eric bit back an exasperated snap at him. He sank into one of the chairs. In a few minutes he began scrutinizing the ceiling. Hitchens was truly a bore. How any woman could care to have him as a boyfriend was beyond him. Eric was convinced that most of the time the boy believed he was the only person in the planet. He had never thought a person could be so socially inept. For example, most people said hello when a person walked in. They did not snap knives open and shut in public company. And they did not lead people to wonder what furry creature's blood had adorned the knife's blade the night before. As far as Eric was concerned, the list continued with no end in sight.

With a sigh he began sifting through the books on Burke's desk. If he was to wait, he could at least begin the Charms reading assignment. Time passed and, at some point, Hitchens excused himself to the bathroom. In reality he had just left without a word, but Eric assumed he would not stray far. When he returned, there were a handful of assorted knives in his hand. A shiver ran through Eric's spine upon glancing this and he quickly stared back at the book. Not sure what to think, he waited. A muffled 'thunk' sounded through the room and was followed by the flicking of another knife. Eric looked up to find a dart-like board mounted on the wall Hitchens' was facing. The cork board was worn and the surrounding stone spoke of times when the targeter's aim had missed. There were many, although they seemed to be old. He attempted to concentrate on his reading but such a thing was difficult to do with the noise in the room.

Luckily, when he thought Hitchens would never throw the last knife, the door opened. Hitchens failed to take notice. Burke, Bulstrode and Yaxley walked in with a stranger he had never met before. He was too old to be attending a school, perhaps in his mid-twenties. There was something inherently intimidating in his azure gaze even though Eric could not place the source.
"Late again Zabini," commented Burke coldly.

"What an astounding observation," Eric replied coolly.

"Well thanks for this mate," Yaxley said, addressing the stranger.

"Not a problem," the stranger replied, handing Yaxley a packet of loosely bound parchment.

Yaxley responded, but Eric noticed that something had changed. The familiar sound of a snapping pocket knife had died away. Eric looked inquiringly at Burke. "Oh of course," she said in a thin voice, "you wouldn't know who this is. Allow me to do the honors. Zabini this is -"

But a voice that sounded as though it had not been used in days interrupted her. "- Damien?" Tristan Hitchens walked past Eric, his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?" he asked with a strange hardness, that few knew the cause of, in his tone. It wasn't anger. Nor was it annoyance. It was fear and upon this realization Eric felt slightly sick.

"What's wrong Tristan?" Damien asked, his tone almost mocking, "Aren't you excited to see your brother?" He put an arm around his brother but Tristan glared at him. His arm's grip about Tristan's shoulder tightened. "What? I can't come to see how my dear baby brother is doing?" he asked with innocence feigned horribly, "You know, these private schools really do destroy the family unit. Especially when they're so demanding."

At this point, Eric was thoroughly confused. Tristan pulled away from Damien. Yaxley laughed. "Anyway," Yaxley informed smoothly, holding the manuscript in the air, "hex invention texts are in." He tossed the text to Eric who caught it wordlessly. Over the weeks Eric had been able to control his distaste for Yaxley to a greater degree. Yaxley seemed disappointed.

"I'm making copies," Burke added and left the room shortly with Bulstrode, who was apparently integral in making copies.

Yaxley instructed Eric to read the first chapter and then give it to Hitchens to read. Evidently, everyone else had already read the first chapter. Eric groaned inwardly when he was once again left alone with Hitchens in the room. Damien patted his brooding brother on the back, perhaps a bit too forcefully. "We'll have to catch up soon brother," he remarked as a parting comment. Eric had never seen Hitchens more livid in his life. When they had left, Hitchens resumed targeting the knives to the cork board. This time the throws were much more forceful and the blows on the board much more damaging, but more importantly, louder. When he missed the sound made Eric's teeth cringe. All in all reading became somewhat of a difficultly once more.

"Do you mind?" Eric finally cut in, rudely as his patience had been sapped dry, "I'm trying to read here."

Hitchens, obviously, did most certainly mind for the next knife was hurled at him. It cut cleanly through the entire manuscript, landing beside his right foot. Eric glared at Hitchens, who unfortunately was glaring back ten times more intensely. He simply repaired the text and resumed pretending to read. Again the knives were directed at the board. Eric found his window of opportunity when Hitchens went to the bathroom. He seized the moment and read with a feverish quickness. It was half an hour after finishing that Eric realized Hitchens had never returned from the lavatory.

blue_rose

March 17th, 2007, 9:36 pm

There's also a new post above if you scrolled directly to the bottom!

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

"Why were you late today?" she questioned, intertwining her hand with his underneath the dining table. He played thoughtfully with his food, knowing that he would have to answer. She was, after all, his girlfriend. After some time girlfriends tended to believe they were entitled to know everything; they simply had to inquire and expected some thorough answer. Vague answers excited them in an upsetting fashion. She was not, however, without credit. Jasmine had taken care to avoid overlapping their time in the Great Hall with the rest of the group, which was entertaining Damien Hitchens. It was rather apparent to her that he did not, to put it lightly, enjoy the company of his brother. And it was rather apparent to him that this would eventually come to become another point of inquiry. Thankfully, his imagination possessed the stamina to invent an explanation.

Her normally icy gaze had warmed to a notch below the appropriate level for their relation. In that moment he thought her blue eyes were beautiful. Such large irises were not intended to scrutinize with narrow glares. "Tristan?"

She should have never spoken. His hazel eyes blinked unto her pink lips. They may not have been the fullest in existence, but he could not think of a better place to rest his tired lips. They began to purse into white lines. "Overslept," he replied quickly. He squeezed her hand and, brushing her left cheek, whispered into her ear, "Can we go somewhere? I want to tell you something."

He knew she could not decline had she wanted to and, from the speed at which she complied, he suspected she had no objections. They stole into a spare classroom not far from the Great Hall. At the head of the desks there was an enchanted forest clearing. It seemed to be an ancient relic of occurrences in the room that had passed long ago, like a scar. It was dark as the sun had set outside the castle a couple of hours ago.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asked, when the door was securely shut. He took a hold of her wrist and pulled her towards himself. His lips touched hers. She pulled away slightly, surprised at first. Then she kissed him in return. Within seconds their tongues began flexing and exercising. After the initial novelty of this act wore off, her hands began wandering over his sweater. The next time she pulled away was in order to catch her breath. She could not recall how she had ended with her back to a tree. "Is this what you wanted to tell me?"

"I missed that," he admitted.

"I've been busy," she replied. Both he and she knew that this was an understatement beyond metaphorical comparison. "And there's still a lot to do," she added, failing to specify, as always. He kissed her again and this time she pulled away sooner, gasping lightly. "Did you know that this used to be a divination classroom?" she asked, knowing better than to expect a pointless response. "A centaur taught it. I wonder if anyone foresaw -"

He began kissing her, completely uninterested in the classroom's past and somewhat confused as to why she would care to share such nonsense. When her hand once again began to run on his sweater, it pried away one of the shirt flaps from his pants. It contacted the warm skin underneath and wandered upon the smooth surface until it arrived at a new oddity on the tip of a hip bone. At first, she could not identify it. She unlocked her mouth from his and he settled for her collar bone. She allowed it, knowing he would not bruise her neck. Fingering the area she thought the flesh was softer than the surrounding skin. It rose to form a thin rod-like cast upon the bone. He moved to the part on the other side of the neck, beneath her collar and she suddenly realized it was a scar.

She was about to ask him about it when the door blasted open. She stopped him from scrambling away by placing her other hand at the back of his head. He heard an displeased cry from behind him. "Classrooms are not to be grounds for these activities," came a harsh voice, "And it's against rules to magically modify the doors."

When he turned around, he thought she looked familiar. She was probably in one of his classes. Her lips tightened at identifying them. "You're lucky a professor didn't find you, or it would be points from Slytherin," the girl said.

Jasmine scowled. "Go ahead Weasley," she said coldly, "you can subtract the points." She began making her way to the door and Tristan followed. "By the way, what does that bring the total to?" she asked rhetorically. "Oh, that's right," she continued, facing Weasley squarely, "Negative seventy. If you haven't noticed, we stopped caring about those things a long time ago."

Weasley did not respond. Instead she directed them to the Head of Slytherin House, who punished them with two nights of detention. They returned to their dormitory and she was relieved to find Damien Hitchens had departed. Anne would return to Gryffindor House, denying that she had ever pondered Burke's comment.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“Last week?!” Anne exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, feeling a bit jilted. Their dormitory had emptied to celebrate Gryffindor’s win over Ravenclaw in the first quidditch match of the season. Around eleven, Amelia had considered ordering her teammates to bed, but ultimately decided against it. Their win was marginal at best and had been due more to luck than skill. However, to host a game in the beginning of October was unnaturally early and, as such, any win deserved a celebration. Amelia, however, was feeling sore and had retired early. When Anne returned from her prefect patrols, she was not particularly lively.

“You were busy,” Amelia said and, not wanting to squirm on the subject for too long, added, “You work too much.”

Anne ignored the remark. “You have to tell me everything,” she replied while laying her stomach on the bed and her chin upon a pillow locked in her arms.

Amelia chewed her lip nervously, “Erm, well,” she said uncertainly, “it was raining. We were cold and, then,” she shrugged, “we just kissed.”

Anne scrunched her nose. “That can’t be all,” she insisted, “Did you like it? Does he like you? Are you two dating now? Have you not talked about this since then?”

“What is this,” Amelia snapped, “twenty questions?”

Anne’s eyes widened, sweetly pleading her to continue. “You know you want to tell me,” she said matter-of-factly.

Amelia scowled. “It just seemed right at the time,” she replied gruffly, “And he’d better like me. We’ve known each other since first year. I told him I would think about it and we did talk about it.”

“How long have you been thinking about it?” Anne inquired.

“Two weeks,” she said in a small voice.

“Two weeks?!” Anne exclaimed loudly.

“Don’t wake everyone,” Amelia hissed.

“By now, he must think you’re not interested,” Anne ascertained.

“You’re making me feel so much better,” she replied sarcastically.

“Sorry,” Anne said quietly and, after a moment of silence asked carefully, “You are interested aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Amelia. “I mean we were pretty good friends before this…” her voice faded away.

“So?” Anne asked a bit belligerently, “That doesn’t mean you can’t be good friends after it. You can’t even know if there will be an afterwards.”

Amelia looked away. “It could be a bit awkward,” she said, staring into the dark night outside the castle, “I’m quidditch captain and he’s a teammate…”

“This isn’t professional quidditch,” Anne interrupted, “you can have relationships with teammate and even I know him better than to think that he’d expect favors for being your boyfriend.”

Amelia bit her lip. “And,” she began, hesitating slightly, “The three of us have been friends for a while now.”

“So?” Anne prompted, unsure where Amelia was headed.

“So,” Amelia repeated slowly, “You don’t…”

“Don’t what?” she asked, completely confused.

“Youdon’tlikehim?” she asked hurriedly.

“Sorry,” Anne said, her brows furrowing with further confusion, “Don’t wha-“

“LIKE HIM?” Amelia burst loudly. Anne’s lips twitched a friendly smile and, then, she descended into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “Anne!” Amelia exclaimed. She could not see what was so funny.

“You’re serious?” Anne gasped upon viewing her friend’s expression. She giggled. “Amelia, you are a nut,” she replied, “I didn’t even realize Hector was a guy until this summer!” Amelia frowned. It did not take long for such feelings to develop and she felt the answer was insufficient. “Oh, Merlin,” Anne responded exasperatedly to her frown, “No, Amelia, I do not like Hector Creevey in any gross or mushy way.” She barely hesitated before adding in a matter-of-fact tone, “I like someone else in that gross and mushy way.”

blue_rose

March 31st, 2007, 11:33 pm

Here's the post! I hope you like it!
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A dark lock obscured his view of an obnoxiously lively and independent ant. Exhaustion ate away at a portion of his mind, nibbling painfully at his fleeing attention span. His muscles burned from over-exertion that had ended half an hour ago. He bounced unto his bed. For the first time in his life, Tom Riddle cursed at the finite qualities of time which seemed to work against him as though they were fueled with a vendetta of sorts. Worst of all, his failed attempts at a curse that controlled reflexive movements had elicited a lengthy monologue from Xavier. Parts of it made him smile and others made him cringe.

He tuned the majority of it out and had the feeling that Xavier was punishing him for his successful campaigns in their bet. A small smile graced his lips. He was sure that the weight of whispered rumors and calculating backwards glances were beginning to bore into Xavier's mind. Eventually they would sprout, allowing for a simple victory. And, then, the real fun would begin. There was almost a glazed expression in his eyes at the thought. Not one to overlook such things, Xavier snapped in mid-tirade, "I'm not talking about breeding half-unicorn half-threstal mutants. You don't need to look so excited."

Tom frowned instantly. "What's the point of this anyway," he muttered.

"You just have to want it," Xavier insisted.

"Why the hell would I want to control the reflexive movements of an ant," Tom retorted, "And what can be so terrible that I would want to kill a plant?"

"They aren't exactly the best specimens to practice on," came the reply from gritted teeth, "but if you can't do this on them, you're not even going to get a nosebleed from a person."

"See now you're really confusing me," he said, "I was under the impression that I'm supposed to want to hurt or control something. When did size begin mattering?"

"Since before common sense was discovered," Xavier said curtly, "Try again."

"Look, I don't see the point in this," he replied, "Dark magic isn't a resume builder."

"The point Riddle," responded Xavier almost exasperatedly, "is that, one day, when someone is trying to kill you, you can inflict say the curse you're trying to learn right now. That way, you might not die. Unless, of course, you had tea with the person before the whole thing and when nibbling a sandwich spontaneously decided to tell the b@stard the shield charm that repels it. In that case - "

"You're so caring," Tom interjected sarcastically.

"Teaching someone is almost indisputable evidence that you completely understand what is being taught," Xavier scowled.

"I should have suspected selfish motives," Tom replied.

Xavier coolly posed the rhetorical question, "Are there any others?"

"Um, the one where we do good things to help others" he replied, a lilt of mock innocence in his voice.

Shaking his head, Xavier smirked. "The myths you spread about Slytherins," he said and, then, motioning to the enlarged ant continued "Try again."

"Those myths are going to make you Minister of Magic one day," Tom quipped matter-of-factly. Xavier refused to reply and, within seconds under his glare, Tom sighed dramatically. They returned to the spell. By the end of the hour, he managed to prevent a reflex of the ant's antenna. However, this outcome had only been achieved after a half an hour instructional in which Tom had lost track of how many times phrases equivalent to 'this is so easy a blind-folded rabbit could do it' spilled out of Xavier's mouth.

By the time his successful attempt surfaced, Xavier had demonstrated the spell nine times and, in a purely clouded moment, had destroyed the fern that Tom had failed to kill in the first lesson. And while the moment remained a blur he could not forget the ferocity with which his heart thumped at the almost familiar sound which followed the verdant light. Tom sank into a seat on his bed. Deciding to accept the attempt rather than point out its flaws, Xavier pulled up a chair and rested his chin upon it's back.

"Are we done?" Tom asked, feeling sleep crawling from the back of his mind. Xavier nodded. "Good," Tom said plainly. Tossing his wand to Xavier, who failed to catch it, he continued, "Now go burn my wand."

Xavier laughed dryly and Tom stared at the ceiling, his back now firmly against the mattress. The wand continued rolling on the wooden floor seconds after the laughter died. "Twelfth of October."

For a while, confusion replaced fatigue and, then, a uncontrollable grin spread upon his face. "Accepted defeat?" Tom asked, propping himself up with his elbows.

"No," Xavier responded irritatedly, "Thursday the twelfth of October is the night of the full moon."

Tom's eyes widened, but the grin remained, "So the fun begins the thirteenth?"

"At midnight, to be precise," Xavier added idly.

"We need to throw a party anyways," Tom commented. Xavier seemed skeptical. "All the other houses already had their first party of the year," Tom explained, and began counting them off with his fingers, "Let's see, Ravenclaw had one because the top twenty students in seventh year are all Ravenclaws. Hufflepuff celebrated for the Head Girl and Gryffindor just had a party for their first quidditch win of the season. That leaves us party-less. Our seventh years are way too lazy."

"And what absolutely innocent, legal gathering do you have in mind?" asked Xavier sarcastically.

Tom smirked. "If we begin at ten in the night, the prefects have to see to it that the lower years are in their dormitories. They would also have to lock and charm the dorms shut, so that none of them leave and no sound goes in."

Shrugging at the relative ease of the task, Xavier said, "Consider it done."

Tom nodded, chewing his lip thoughtfully. "So naturally, its fifth years and above. Too late to get a live band. Honestly, though, I know a fifth year that can do wonders with a wand and a radio. The firewhiskey supplier has contacts for any beverages necessary and they can be bewitched appropriately. Oh and the desserts can be spi-"

"Right, and what exactly would we be celebrating?" interrupted Xavier dryly.

Tom's mouth hung open for a moment. Sitting up, he stalled to respond. "Well," Tom said slowly, "theoretically, we don't need a reason." Xavier seemed unconvinced. "Who says parties are strictly celebratory?" Tom continued demandingly, "They can be an act of rebellion too." Xavier raised an eyebrow. "Alright, maybe not in the dueling, curses flying through the air sense," he faltered, "but as a precursor to the thirteenth itself. Most of it will be rule breaking anyway. The real question is, what about the Ravenclaw prefects?"

Xavier shook his head. "The Ravenclaw prefects will not be patrolling on the twelfth," he answered, "there's a speaker coming to the Great Hall. The topic is magic on the quantum level for..."

Tom's brows furrowed. "So that's..." he interrupted slowly.

"Geeks galore," Xavier finished, "and, incidentally, a Ravenclaw prefect magnet. It ends at eleven with a thirty minute follow up for questions. Hufflepuffs will probably patrol the dungeons that night."

"Do you already have the distraction planned, then?" asked Tom.

"I'm going to the talk," Xavier replied apathetically, "the distraction's all yours."

"You're going to miss the party of the century," Tom informed as Eric entered the room. He began searching for something on Tom’s cluttered desk.

Xavier stretched and rose from his seat. "If it's going to be the party of the century then it better only have started by the time I return," he commented, while motioning to a loosely bound book, and continued, “read the third chapter and practice that spell.”

Tom sighed. "But...I don't think..." his voice trailed off when he stared numbly at the book.

"What?" asked Xavier after moments of silence.

"Nothing."

Xavier shrugged and a few seconds later there was a click of the door closing. “Are you looking for something?” Tom asked the obvious.

“Yeah,” Eric muttered as he continued to search in the mesh of Care of Magical Creatures essays, “where is that dark arts book I gave you.”

“Here,” Tom replied, tossing the book on the desk, “and tell me you’re shredding it.”

“I wish,” Eric gwauffed. "You really can't do them," he stated flatly.

Tom shook his head.

“Me too,” Eric said.

“I don’t get it,” Tom replied, “it looks…”

“…so effortless…”

“…and after doing it once…”

“…it doesn’t become any easier…”

“…the theory is so vague…”

“….it might as well not exist…”

“This must be what if feels like to be impo-“

“Why is everything always sexually related for you?” Eric questioned irately, “What are you going to do with a NEWT for Magical Creatures anyway?"

“Hey, Eric, are you sure you’re not a biracial girl?” Tom retorted calmly, “How are you going to be a Healer, even with all the NEWTs in the world?” Eric bit his tongue at the latter question and glared at the stupidity of the former. Nevertheless, they had reached at an indefinite silence where both were aware that in order to advance they would need to supply answers neither were quite willing provide.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Two weeks, four days, nineteen hours. She had left the question unanswered two weeks, four days and nineteen hours. Amazingly, time did not at all make the decision any easier. She had considered the arguments and, in a fog of uncertainty, considered them again to repeat the process nearly five times a day for the last four days. To some this may have seemed preposterous. Amelia Potter, however, had seen far too many friendships destroyed due to furthering relationships and was by no means willing to compromise their friendship for such ephemeral ties. And, perhaps this was the point of true concern. That he may have in some way believed that the same feet which would step forward could never step backward in retreat and, she, for an inexplicable reason, was almost sure they would.

Nonetheless, Anne’s response to that willed it’s reason upon her. She could never be certain that there would be an end. Meanwhile an illogical part of her almost screamed that reason would have nothing to do with the outcome. Hector had not demanded a reply, or even as much as hinted to the subject. He had been very understanding and, it was in these times, that Amelia could not help but think that he was perfect. Nevertheless she partly wished for spontaneity, and that was exactly what Hector Creevey would deliver that day.

Quidditch practice had ended earlier than usual as they had another two months before their next match. Fall had only recently begun to color the trees. A whirlwind blew a few leaves past his momentarily contemplative form. He stood silently, with an ear on the door to the girls locker room. Waiting patiently for the click of a closing locker, he almost reconsidered. However, her response was far from overdue and he could not possibly wait another month.

When the click sounded clearly, he entered without hesitation. When she turned around, she found herself practically cornered against the metal lockers. “Hector?” she asked uncertainly, refraining without success from blushing.

“Amelia,” he replied with his best efforts to utter the name simply. He was mere centimeters from her. His bated breath tickled her cheeks a brighter pink. She thought she could hear his heart beating wildly, which made hers race immediately. His amber eyes were searching hers, which were slightly downcast. Yet, she did not squirm away and he did not attempt to free her because in some way she found herself enjoying the proximity rather than being nervous. “Have you thought about it?” he asked at last, feeling foolish for not having spoken in the past few minutes.

Amelia bit her lip and pushed against the locker, discovering in this desperation that metal was not at all malleable at room temperatures. In fact, this act only caused Hector to move closer. “I –“ she whispered as her blush began mirroring the color of her hair. Then, her bright green eyes suddenly met his as though decided. “Well, Creevey, you are a Keeper,” she whispered, admittedly surprised by her boldness.

“Then stop Seeking,” he breathed softly.

“I have to warn you,” she replied, “I tend to keep seeking after finding.”

“I’m no less of a keeper when I’m kept either,” he said.

“I’m very inexperienced,” she said uncertainly.

“And I’m no Casanova,” he commented.

Amelia smiled, her plush lips nearing his. He would have kissed her had a crash not resounded from the row of lockers behind them. Unfortunately a first year had opened the quidditch chest and accidentally unleashed the buldgers. Needless to say, it created quite a mess in the locker room which took a while to rearrange. Hector was forced to take the first year into the castle for a broken wrist, leaving Amelia alone to clean the mess. An hour later, she found him at the entrance to the Great Hall somewhat cross with him.

“How long have you been waiting to use that seeker line?” she asked, a bit annoyed.

Hector grinned. “For a long time,” he admitted.

“I see. So, Hector Creevey has a thing for seekers,” she teased, elbowing him suggestively.

“Just one,” he said softly.

She smiled, and then remembering that she was not pleased with him, quickly retracted it. “You didn’t come back to the locker room,” she accused him.

“You’re so naïve,” he said laughingly, touching the tips of his fingers to her forehead, "I was giving you time." Amelia seemed confused. “Don’t you know girls have to commit everything about their almost-first-kiss to memory?” She gave him an odd look. “Like the time, the place, the sensuous odor of dirty socks and sweat –“

Amelia wrinkled her nose. “Oi, Casanova, we were in the girl’s locker room,” she interrupted him. “It doesn’t smell like socks and sweat. Besides," she added more softly, "the door was open.”

Tangling his hand with hers, he inquired in a hushed tone, “What did it smell like, then?”

Her smile disappeared and her eyes left the image of their hands to meet his. “Like fall,” she murmured.

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Please feedback!

blue_rose

April 8th, 2007, 9:16 pm

I think I'm back to posting once a week...sorry about that, school has been time consuming. An extremely long long night is written below. Like a six page night. So I decided to post it alone. I'll post next weekend again, considering I already have half of it finished :p . It's more relationship than plot centric but I hope you enjoy it all the same! Please feed back!

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Amelia could not quite explain why she felt so nervous standing in the balcony of the Astronomy tower, five days after consenting to Hector. She ran a finger through a crevice in the stone ledge. Perhaps it was the fact that some had nothing better to do than to start pools estimating the approximate duration of their relationship. Amelia shook her head. No. That was anger. Besides, the tardy Slytherin she was to meet would have more than enough of that to supply for the night when she considered the rumor that was spreading regarding him. She also considered the fact that she was moments away from discovering his reaction to her actions. That’s silly, it’s only Xavier, she thought. She had never been afraid of heights before, and yet it seemed to be the only logical explanation for her sudden nervousness.

“The astronomy tower is officially off the list,” a voice muttered darkly behind her. She turned with an inquisitive look in her emerald eyes and discovered, to her momentary confusion, that no one was there. “You should realize it’s rather far from the basement,” the seemingly source-less explained flatly. Her cheeks reddened when she realized he was using his invisibility cloak.

“When you figure out how to review for the astronomy practical in the basement let me know,” she commented tightly.

“I will,” he snipped from a location behind her left ear. She turned around and placed the palms of her hands on the balcony’s ledge.

“Is that really necessary?” she asked quietly.

“Amelia, did I ask the professor for permission to use the tower after hours?”

“Well, no,” she replied slowly

“Has curfew passed?”

Her face was rapidly forming into a hue of magenta. “Yes –“

“Then what possible rule-abiding alibi can I have for being here with a person I supposedly hate?”

“It’s just annoying to have to talk to an invisible person,” she hissed in frustration, “and if someone walks by, they’ll think I’m some nut job!”

“Who’s going to walk by at this time in the night?” he asked with a level tone.

“I don’t know,” she said lamely, “It’s just weird.” She began flipping through her notes. “Hey,” she said somewhat absentmindedly, “don’t you have a patrol tonight?”

“Yes,” he replied while fingering his time turner.

“Hmm, so what are you doing?” she asked, looking up from her notes. “Using polyjuice potions?”

Xavier pocketed the time turner. “You could say that,” he said vaguely.

They began reviewing the constellations, their respective stars and the motions of the planets. As it turned out, sixth year Astronomy was far more difficult that she had anticipated. There was a lot of memorization involved in reading the night skies. Further, Astronomy had become more technical of late. All in all, however, she enjoyed the subject to other classes such as History; which she had decided not to continue into her sixth year. They had finished reviewing the planets in their solar system when she began thinking that a break was long overdue. He, however, simply continued unto the constellation Orion. Half way into his speech regarding the planets in a key constellation, she blurted rather unceremoniously, “I’m dating Hector.”

“I know,” he responded, after some time in silence.

“You’re not jealous are you,” she teased, “Hector is a very good kisser, but I don’t think he likes men.”

Xavier jabbed his wand under her left rib. “Seriously, Amelia,” he said threateningly, “there are about five very wrong things with that statement.”

Amelia smiled. “I’m just joking,” she replied, “but you have to admit its pretty funny.”

“Actually, I don’t,” he replied curtly.

She stuck out her tongue. “Killjoy.”

“Liar.”

“I only said –“

Xavier shook his head. “You haven’t kissed him yet,” he clarified.

Amelia blushed. “How did you know that?” she asked.

“It’s just obvious,” he replied. “Who would call the side-kick of my arch enemy a good kisser anyway?”

Amelia pushed the wand away. “Your arch enemy’s sister and his side-kick’s girlfriend would,” she replied irately, “For your information, I happen to be both. Why do you hate him anyway? He’s sweet, nice, brave -”

“- thick-headed, foolish and a prat,” Xavier finished, “You don’t really know Creevey.”

“You don’t know him,” she argued only to be met with silence. “Either way, I guess we’ll see who’s right,” she stated after a while.

“Who says we can’t both be right?”

“That too,” Amelia muttered.

“Who says we can’t both be wrong?”

“That option’s in there too,” she snapped. Xavier was smirking. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you,” she said darkly.

“Very much.”

Amelia sighed, unable to release her grasp on the thought that despite all of her efforts Xavier and Hector would never truly behave civilly with one another. For some reason it was a saddening thought. “What’s your patronus?” she asked in a heavy voice, not yet prepared to return to studying.

“What’s yours?” he rebutted, checking his watch.

“A phoenix,” she replied simply. “Is yours a dragon?” she questioned curiously.

“By that logic my child’s patronus could be a new house,” he smirked with the reply.

“I bet it’s a snake,” she said brightly.

“That’s Zabini’s patronus,” he affirmed.

“Then what is it?” she demanded in a huff.

“Well it’s not a dragon or a snake,” Xavier replied, “if you keep going you might get it before sunrise.”

“It would be much faster if you’d just tell me,” Amelia said sensibly.

“It would also be much less entertaining,” he replied idly.

Amelia laughed. “And I thought you were a killjoy,” she countered with a large smile.

“It wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong,” Xavier stated, checking the time once more.

Amelia estimated his location and forcefully thrust her elbow into what turned out to be his chest. Surprised at the force of the blow, he fell backwards. A watch dropped unto the stone floor and the hood of his cloak fell away. The cloak itself lay in disarray exposing part of right arm and his left leg. As a whole it left a strange impression of a person for the total of twenty-eight seconds.

“Watch it Potter,” Xavier growled, scrambling to pick up the watch from the floor.

Amelia blushed. “I didn’t realize you were that close by,” she mumbled apologetically.

“You’re an awful liar,” he replied angrily, attempting to spur the watch back into functioning by an irrational means, as he had exhausted all rational methods.

Amelia’s brows furrowed. “I only pushed you,” she retorted, “you don’t need to get so angry.”

“Do you know what time it is?” he asked with a hint of desperation, ignoring her comment.

“One-ish,” she said slowly, “What’s going on?”

“Your wand,” he replied, “give me your wand.”

“Wh-“ she began, but froze when he felt through the pockets of her robe and retrieved her wand. He repaired the watch and threw her the wand. She returned to her senses in time to catch it.

“Great,” he said flatly. He pulled the hood over his head and she lost track of his movements.

“What?” she asked. “Where are you going?” she asked when no reply was heard for some time. “Xavier?”

“Shut up,” a voice hissed behind her, “your boyfriend is coming.”

“What!“ she exclaimed.

He forcefully turned her to face the telescope. “I should be the one who’s surprised that you told him you would be here,” he breathed into her right ear, “Now look at the stars and pretend to study.”

“I didn’t tell him,” she whispered, placing a hand lightly on the telescope. He left her in silence, wondering whether he had heard her. Biting her bottom lip she turned the pages to her textbook. She stopped at a page discussing Jupiter’s moons. After positioning her telescope to Jupiter, she began scribbling into a parchment roll. A few minutes later, she began questioning Xavier’s judgment. Perhaps he was mistaken. When a pair of hands wrapped about her waist moments later, however, she scolded herself for these thoughts. However, even with the knowledge of his coming, she jumped slightly as his forearms crossed across her waist.

“You’re up late,” he commented into her auburn hair while she straightened away from the telescope.

“I have an astronomy test on Tuesday,” she replied and pointed out, “you’re up too. Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” he said tightening his hold upon her, “maybe you should help me fall asleep.”

She blushed at the thoughts that arose from his words. “How did you know I was here?” she asked, leveling her voice to the best of her abilities.

“I saw you on the Marauder’s Map,” he answered simply. Her heart skipped a few beats.

“Did you see anyone else?” she asked quietly.

“No,” he said after a while, “Why? Have you already started cheating on me?”

Amelia laughed in relief. “It’s true,” she replied, “astronomy is very attractive.”

“Hmm,” he said softly, “do you need any help studying?”

“No I think I’m almost done.”

“Are you sure?” he probed, “I’m an astronomy genius.” He began pointing to random spots in the sky. “See that’s a circle and that’s a hoop.” Amelia laughed. “And there’s a lion,” he insisted solemnly.

Amelia spun around in his arms, laughing all the while. “I don’t know where you see these things,” she replied, placing her arms around his neck.

“Do you want to know what the lion is asking his lioness?” he asked gently.

“What?” she inquired faintly.

“Can I kiss you?”

She blushed, her gaze falling to his elbow. “Do you want to know her answer?” she whispered. She tugged at his neck. He bowed his head obediently and pulled her waist closer to his body. Her head rose and clumsily brushed against his cheek. His hand moved to her chin, leveling it. Her lips touched to his awkwardly. She moved centimeters from his nose, the breaths from her parted lips warming his cheek. Smiling, he advanced and closed the ephemeral gap. When his lips found hers this time, a tongue accompanied them into her mouth’s cavity and a sensation of bliss coursed through her body.

“Even if that is allowed, I doubt either of you have permission to do it here, at this time,” a voice said, somewhat disgustedly. Amelia broke away immediately to face the intruder.

“Malfoy,” Hector sneered, his eyes turning dark.

Xavier gagged. “Thank you so much for that,” he said coldly, “It’ll make potent material for my nightmares. By the way, this is the part where I tell you both to scramble back to your dormitory and that all punishments will be dealt with in the morning.”

“Uhm,” Amelia said loudly before Hector could retort and the entire situation spiraled beyond control, “I have permission to be here.” She sifted through her notes and handed him the professor’s signed statement.

Xavier received the parchment from her roughly and surveyed its contents. “Alright, Potter stays,” he corrected, handing the note back to her, “Creevey you’re not mentioned in there, so I suppose you have no reason to be here.”

“You mean other than punching you into a pulp,” he growled.

Xavier smirked. “Creevey you’re wandless, it’s late, Potter’s impressionable and you can’t begin to fathom what people will say tomorrow about what happened tonight if you so much as pinch me,” he replied condescendingly, “Once again your stupidity surpasses all expectations.”

Hector clenched his hands into balls of fists and took a determined step forward. Amelia, however, placed a hand on his forearm when he attempted to raise a fist. “In the morning,” she whispered, so that only he could hear. He continued glaring at Xavier, but grunted nonetheless.

She sighed deeply when both of them left. Leaning upon the ledge, she could not help but smile broadly. Her eyes sparkled in the black of the night. A joyous warm glow pervaded through her insides. Then a thought entered her mind and the smile faltered. She wondered if Hector had been lying. How could it possible that he had seen her at the Astronomy tower on the Marauder’s Map, but not Xavier? Her stomach churned unpleasantly. Her smile disappeared completely and her eyes flickered.

“That is a wonderful impression of a bipolar person,” a strained voice commented.

Amelia jumped and then, laughed dryly. “Well I am hearing voices,” she replied. “How long have you been here?” she asked.

“Some time,” he replied nebulously.

“Did you have to cut my first kiss so short?” she asked somewhat rudely.

“You didn’t have to see it twice,” Xavier muttered darkly, more to himself than as a response.

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “Nothing,” he said.

“How did you know he was coming?” she inquired.

“That doesn’t matter,” he replied, “Why did you leave the Marauder’s Map lying around where he could find it?”

She sighed. “I just forgot about it,” she said lamely, “How could he not know about you being here?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he responded idly, “I doubt the prick was lying, but if he was then I can just erase his memory." Amelia gasped. “I’ve become pretty good at it,” he added, in an attempt to console her.

She shook her head disapprovingly. “Let’s just finish reviewing,” she said breathlessly. They studied the remainder of the material relatively more quickly and much more quietly. They stopped when she reached a point where she thought she could not memorize any more star properties. She was exhausted and had now been working on four hours of sleep for some thirty hours. Sleep deprivation began hazing her perceptions, in all their forms.

“Hector really is a good person, Xavier,” she said, launching her final attempt to convince him.

Xavier yawned sleepily. “I’m sure he is human,” he replied lightly, yet tiredly nevertheless. She could not tell if he was speaking to satisfy her or whether he was voicing honest thoughts. “I don’t doubt your judgment so strongly,” he continued, “but hating a person is more than just a focus on their negative qualities.”

“I don’t think I know what you’re saying,” she said in mid-yawn, sinking slowly onto the floor.

“That’s a shame,” he said drowsily.

Her eyelids began drooping. “Did I tell you, I never told him?” she mumbled.

“That’s unfortunate,” he said quietly, “they say honesty is the best policy.”

Amelia giggled. “What moron said that?” she asked and continued before he could respond wittingly, “He’s so sweet. I’m going to tell my children – “

“Don’t you have some girl friend to tell this to?” he interrupted agitatedly.

Amelia chuckled. She tended to find everything hilarious when thoroughly sleep deprived. “Hey,” she said suddenly, “I forgot to ask about Ravenclaw girl!”

“Violette?”

“You two are already on a first name basis,” she noted suggestively. He merely shrugged and remained silent. “She’s cute,” she commented.

“Amelia you’re so tactless,” Xavier responded dully.

“They say I get it from my dad,” she smiled. He did not reply. “So are you two thinking of…” her voice faded away.

“Thinking what?” he asked.

“You know,” she blushed.

“What are you –“ there was a flurry of noise as he stood, suddenly understanding her question. A rush of energy melted the drowsy could forming in his thoughts. “Does the word platonic have no bearing in your vocabulary?” he asked harshly.

“I just thought…” she faltered, “Well she’s just much more dateable than most of the other girls you’re around and people are saying things.”

“Then allow me to clarify,” he snapped, “it’s absolutely platonic. One-hundred twenty percent platonic. Like you and me.”

Those words hung heavily in the air, staling as he left. She stared blankly down the corridor. A few moments later, a small smile graced her lips. The thought that, somehow, platonic did not quite describe what she had heard filled her mind. She collected her things, musing that he was perhaps days from realizing this. That, however, was not the thought that followed her into her sleep that morning. Rather, it was a thought of the other platonic relationship he had mentioned. The thought that she had never quite seen their relationship as platonic stung her head seconds before she fell asleep. It invaded her dreams mutating them into nightmares. Inadvertently, they were nightmares she would never remember experiencing. The thought that spurred them would shuffle into the back of her mind, patiently biding it’s time.

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Thanks for reading and please feed me back from my signature!

:gryff: Vacillations Of Courage :gryff:
Three Gryffindors in the Class of 2024

http://lh4.google.com/image/hazytwinkle/RhSI_IwHA-I/AAAAAAAAAPU/SRxf_1z3iaE/yeah....jpg?imgmax=512

blue_rose

April 21st, 2007, 9:30 pm

Sorry for not posting last weekend. Finals are coming up so I guess it stays at once in two weeks... :( and, some intelligent person decided to make life miserable for undergrads during the last two weeks of school. Here's the post though! I hope you enjoy it...it's more of a builder to the next posts.

Chapter 4: Forbidden

“How can I be of assistance to you this afternoon Mr. Malfoy?” she asked. For the second time in the month she entered her room to find him silently situated upon her bed. Having long learned to disguise the surprise of discovering strangers in her room, she addressed him coolly.

“You could start by not calling me Mr. Malfoy,” Xavier replied, reflecting her tone, as the door behind her closed and locked.

“Certainly, Xavier,” she smiled as he leaned his back upon the bed’s headboard.

He turned his head to face her, sending her a solemn look that led her to deduce there was only one way she was to refer to him. She unloaded her books unto her desk. “Wonderful,” he said in return, studying the odd poster that one of Isis’ roommates had hung of the wall opposite to the bed, “Have you given any thought to my proposal?”

“Of course,” she replied lightly. It was difficult to ignore the first blackmail threat she had encountered at Hogwarts.

“Good,” he said almost smugly, “because I’ve thought of your favor.”

A misunderstanding when he had first introduced his proposal had already ruled out one possible favor. However, she thought he would have chosen another seat far away from her mattress had he truly meant it. It would never occur to her that this action may have been deliberate, perhaps because it was irrelevant or she did not care to.

“Is it so necessary to rush?” she asked, picking a comfortable tank top from her closet. Removing a folded piece of parchment from her robe, she placed it upon her pile of school books. “Every single piece of photographic and audio evidence you’d need to convince my father,” she continued plainly, “Make your offer and I’ll decide whether or not I want to give this to you.”

She imagined his face falling uncharacteristically in surprise and savored the thought a moment before turning to face him. He, unfortunately, did not seem nearly as shocked as she had imagined. In fact, he was smiling slightly. It dawned upon her that he had anticipated the move.

“I want you to,” he paused searching for the proper term and continued seconds later, “evaluate Yaxley at your earliest.”

“Evaluate him,” she repeated with a lilt that indicated she did not quite understand. He nodded, while she remained wholly oblivious. A few seconds passed with a frown across her face. Then her mouth returned to its original position, a soft smile. “I see,” she said, “and what would I be looking for?”

“You’ll know when he tells you,” Xavier answered, “or shows you.”

“Why?” she asked, suspicion saturating her voice.

“I have my reasons, none of which I find necessary to share with you” he replied and added uncertainly, “He wouldn’t refuse, if that was your concern.”

Isis diverted her gaze from him. “I had no doubt about that,” she said, “but Yaxley isn’t someone you want to get on the wrong side of Malfoy. It’s some miracle he’s even at Hogwarts.”

It was Xavier’s turn to look at her suspiciously. “If that’s the case,” he replied lightly, “then that’s all I need you to verify.”

She frowned at him, considering her options. At last her hand went to the piece of parchment atop her books. For a moment, she fingered it as though reconsidering. “On one condition,” she murmured, “how did you find out?”

“The room of requirement doesn’t know how to keep secrets unless if it’s specifically required to,” Xavier answered immediately.

The parchment landed firmly in her pocket. “I’ve never seen Yaxley without a shirt before but I imagine it would be a pleasant experience,” she said coyly, “as long as you uphold your end of this bargain and assure that you will never use this as a means of blackmailing me again.”

“Brilliant,” he replied as he made his way to the door. “You will need to intoxicate him quite a bit,” he continued coolly and, ignoring the fact that Isis was slightly insulted by the remark, added, “There’s going to be a small party in the common room on the twelfth. Be sure to tap all of his glasses with your forefinger three times otherwise you’ll be serving him butterbeer all night long.”

“I do have an innocent reputation to uphold,” she said before he opened the door.

“Don’t we all?” he asked,

“Well half of the school has the sense to think there’s a reason to suspect a person that claims to study nineteen hours a day. Now I know there is,” she replied matter-of-factly, “I think this could serve as wonderful blackmail material, don’t you?”

“You’ve never blackmailed a person Aziz,” Xavier answered, “It’s not nearly as easy as you think. Besides, I do study nineteen hours a day. I can’t be held responsible for the school’s misconceptions regarding the verb. For example, I was studying as we spoke.”

“And what did you learn?” Isis asked.

“That your bed is uncomfortable,” he said plainly, as a parting remark, “Actually, everything you own is very uncomfortable.”

The door shut with a soft click, leaving her alone in the room, wide-eyed and frozen as such for a few moments. Then, she changed her clothes, went to the Great Hall, nibbled on her dinner and finished her homework. All the while a strange numbness coursed through her body, affecting her motions; even her thoughts. That night it accompanied her through dreams she would forget upon awakening once more.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“No,” a voice resounded strongly throughout the hollows of a high ceiling a few days later, “I won’t have any part in your twisted ‘parties’ as you call them.”

“Yaxley has to be there,” Tom replied calmly, “and we all know he’s not going to come by my invitation.”

“He’s not going to come by my mine either,” Eric retorted, “and I have a Charms test to review for.”

“Of course not by yours,” Tom said nearly condescendingly, “but maybe with Burke’s.”

Eric snorted. “Oh and she’ll just pounce at my invitation,” he replied sarcastically.

“She will,” Tom said cryptically.

Eric stared at Tom as though he had grown another head in the time that he had responded. “You’re weird,” Eric said lamely.

“Any combination of the words Lomley, music, and Yang strung together in a sentence should be more than enough,” Tom replied coolly.

“Why would she care if your girlfriend and Lomley are there?” he asked incredulously.

Tom opened his mouth to respond but no sound followed the motion as his eyes averted to the entrance behind Eric. When his voice did return, he asked “What happened to you?”

Eric turned. Xavier closed the door behind him. There was a placid satisfaction on his face and a series of scratch marks on his left cheek. It was as though, someone had slapped him and in mid-motion decided instead to draw blood. The area surrounding it had reddened, contrasting with his naturally pale skin.

“Weasley and I have reached an understanding,” he stated simply, triumph glowing in cold gray eyes, “would you like to admit defeat now or wait until tomorrow?”

Tom ignored the question and commented, “That’s what you get for trying to rob a feline. They’re very possessive animals.”

“I only pulled her whiskers,” he rebutted, “The daft would want to steal from her.”

“You’re both weird,” Eric muttered.

“Should we tell him?” Xavier asked, taking a seat by Eric.

“I haven’t lost yet,” Tom replied, shaking his head, “besides he’s absolutely convinced you’re homosexual.”

Reddening, Eric sputtered incomprehensibly. Xavier idly chose a chapter in his Legimency book. “I…a- not…I don’t think that!” Eric finally managed to exclaim, “Never mind that chattering about Weasley, cats and that can have no connection what so ever.”

Tom sighed dramatically. “Aren’t we naïve?”

“I believe there are only obscene responses to that,” Eric quipped irately, slouching against the sofa’s back. Silenced succeeded the comment, until a few minutes later when Eric suddenly asked “What happened to that locket from the chest, anyway?” Of late, he had failed to keep track of such things.

Xavier raised his shoulders. “I have a darkening imprint of a snake wrapped around my upper arm,” he said conversationally, “but other than that, there’s nothing.”

Eric’s eyes widened. “What does that mean?” Tom asked carefully.

“I’m not sure,” Xavier replied dully, “but it’s becoming darker. The book says nothing about it. Or, at least, it says nothing useful about it.”

Tom frowned. “The last trinket without an explanation in the book…” his voice trailed off.

“…nearly killed you,” Eric finished, looking directly at Tom. He shifted uneasily under Eric’s gaze. Xavier feigned avid interest in a peculiar artistic rendition of the mind.

“He wasn’t nearly killed,” Xavier commented awkwardly, his eyes still clearly fixed upon the book.

“Yeah,” Tom added quickly, “more like nearly unconscious really.”

“Don’t give me nearly unconscious,” Eric snapped, “I calculated the blood loss figures and any healer would have told you to sit quietly in bed for two months unless if you want to compromise some magical abilities and some other functions. It’s only been five months and you can’t know the full effects really until a year or so. You should probably have gone to a healer already. Honestly, do you even remember what you had for lunch today?”

“After six years of eating the same bland food from the Great Hall, I doubt you remember something as pointless as that,” Tom argued, “and I’m not showing any symptoms either.”

Eric glared at Tom, suggesting he at the least disagreed with the comment. He adamantly avoided the gaze. Then, Eric stood and sighed. “At least the locket is the last one,” he muttered. Tom refrained from biting his tongue.

When Eric had retreated to the bathroom, Xavier stated, “Next time, you could just answer him and we can’t tell him the locket is the last one for much longer now.”

“He never answers my stupid questions, I shouldn’t have to answer his,” Tom replied stubbornly.

“I hope you know there is a canyon of a difference between asking someone what he had for lunch and asking someone if he is actually a girl in true form,” Xavier said tersely.

A puzzled Tom stared at him, while Xavier resolutely ignored his gaze. “You're taking his side, aren't you?” he asked heavily. When Xavier made no indication to respond, Tom continued, “I had peas, mashed potatoes, gravy, a meat pie, chocolate pudding and pumpkin juice.”

“I never actually said I agreed with everything Eric said,” Xavier replied shortly.

“I did think the teaching-is-proof-of-learning excuse was pretty flimsy,” he said, after the realization had slowly dawned upon him.

Xavier shrugged. “It wasn’t an excuse, just a reason.”

“I’m just as bad at it as Eric is,” Tom replied, “unless if he was lying to me.”

“Zabini thinks he’s bad at everything he’s average in,” Xavier commented dryly.

Tom did not waste the energy to sound the obvious ‘oh’ that formed in his mind due to this comment. In fact, before he could reply at all Eric had returned from the bathroom, holding a piece of parchment. “Who’s is this?” he asked, motioning to the paper. Tom grinned despite himself.

“That would mine. It’s my love letter to Yang,” he said coolly.

Eric’s brows furrowed suspiciously as he once again read the first few lines scribbled on the parchment. “Riddle,” he replied, “this is a recipe for a chocolate cake.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Obviously,” he said exasperatedly, “I’ve written it in invisible ink.”

“Invisible ink?”

“Well, yes,” he responded, “of course, it’s the less complicated muggle version of using my semen as ink…” Eric blanched and dropped the parchment as though it had scorched the tips of his fingers. Tom’s smile widened. “I thought a sentimental person would think it romantic,” he continued mockingly.

Eric’s eyes narrowed. “That’s possibly the sickest thing I have ever heard in my life,” he retorted, “and try not to leave these things lying around in the bathroom.”

With that, Tom witnessed the most controlled form of storming out of a room ever exhibited among wizards. “I thought it was a good idea,” he commented, looking discouragedly at Xavier.

Xavier, who had not followed the conversation completely, murmured, “Tom, you’re a genius.”

“Yeah, I know it’s obvious,” Tom responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. Xavier disappeared into his room. “Wait,” Tom called, following him into the room, “what did I say again?”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

blue_rose

May 8th, 2007, 7:46 am

Post is below! I hope you like it and please feedback!

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

The remaining days before the thirteenth were marked by three developments. The first included a near complete eradication of rumors stipulating a certain Slytherin's preferences. Despite Tom's most adamant efforts to prevent it's elimination, he would eventually come to confess that Weasley had always been the weakest link in the chain. When Tom inquired into his indebted service due to the loss, Xavier briefly considered replying definitively. Nevertheless, he opted to leave the service unspecified rendering Tom both confused and incapable of negotiating terms. On the day of the twelfth they would explain to Eric the nature of their bet. Eric would understandably fling irrational insults at Tom and voice marginal amusement, as well as clear relief in Xavier's victory. When he would ask how Xavier had managed to convince Weasley, Xavier and Tom would exchange devious looks. Xavier would mumble something about muggle-wizard interaction charms and Tom would promptly distract the conversation away from the subject.

The second, to Xavier's insurmountable pleasure, referred to advancements in Weasley's return to a predictable schedule. For Xavier this had involved a good bit of effort. He had been forced to resort to rather desperate measures. They included, among other disturbing things, discovering that Anne practically goggled over Longbottom and that Longbottom had remained completely oblivious to such a fact for the better part of a month. Contrary to her character, Weasley had not directly confronted Longbottom. Luckily, Xavier had not needed to instigate such a conversation. For whatever reason, Tom had accepted the task and Xavier sensibly did not to inquire behind the cause of this motivation. From there, the rest of the plan progressed smoothly and, for the most part, he no longer inconveniently ran into the wench.

The night of the eleventh would be no exception to this point. After patrolling and restocking the Potion's supply room, he returned to his dormitory with all intentions of falling asleep. Unfortunately, his dormitory was in no shape to accommodate for such a request. In fact, it bore a striking resemblance to a warehouse. Panels, spires, columns and pieces of unassembled artifacts flooded the living area. Entire barrels of butterbeer filled his room to its brim. Eric’s room housed boxes of powders and tanks of various gases. The final room was occupied with, perhaps the most crucial material, glassware. By the time Xavier returned from his patrol, Tom had already sealed each room; thereby making it impossible to access anything in each room without following a proper protocol that only Tom knew completely. To this news, Xavier shrugged, grumbled slightly and eventually settled upon reading a book on invisible inks.

“Do you really think we’re going to need that much?” Eric asked, “I mean, even assuming that all the fifth, sixth and seventh years come and also assuming that all of them regularly halve their lives by consuming so many drugs at each party, there would only be four hundred or so people there to cater to.”

Tom shrugged, dropping sets of blankets on a chair. “Don’t worry,” he grinned sweetly while throwing a blanket at Eric, “I’ll have what’s left, just to satisfy your whims. The butterbeer will definitely be gone though, everyone will have that. The powders are only sugar unless if they’re charmed, so that’ll probably also go. The gases I’m not so sure about. There aren’t as many people having them, but some might end up liking it. Anyway, we’re minimizing risk because the canisters degrade them into air twenty minutes after unsealing. There won’t be an actual need to dispose of that.”

Stuffing the pillow into a corner of the couch, Eric shook his head disapprovingly. “I don’t need that on my conscience,” he grumbled in mid-yawn.

“Correction. You don’t need a conscience altogether,” Tom replied lightly, “besides its not likely that anyone will overdose on sugar or butterbeer. Of course there may be one or two Hufflepuffs that stupidly decide to convert their beverages when they don’t want to - ”

“ – but the world would be better off with one less Hufflepuff,” Eric interjected.

Tom smiled. “See,” he pointed out, “no conscience.”

“No, honestly,” Eric insisted, “in Transfiguration, McMillian told me you could reverse a spell by holding your breath for a minute and a half after casting it. Forget that I was completely uninterested and made it rather clear that it was bullocks. The woman wouldn’t take a hint, fired a spell and nearly passed out.” Tom fell into a fit of laughter. “Then I tried to explain why what she said was utter nonsense,” he continued with a small smile, “and it was like her head was in the clouds the entire time. I don’t think she heard a word of what I said.”

Tom chuckled. “She was probably imagining that you were actually a mulatto girl with a huge crush on – OW!“ Tom rubbed his left forearm that smarted a red after coming into contact with the panel Eric had flung in his direction.

“Once more Riddle and I swear…”

“If you ask me, I’d say you’re the one who didn’t get the hint,” Tom interrupted him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Obviously,” Tom replied exasperatedly, “she likes you.”

“Obviously,” Eric mocked, “I now have grounds to institutionalize you in an insane asylum.”

“Wait,” Tom said in an astonished tone, “are you trying to tell me Hogwarts isn’t an insane asylum?”

Eric laughed dryly. Very dryly. “The Lomley, Yang thing actually worked on Burke,” he commented, “I still don’t know if Yaxley will come though.”

“Do I ever tell you anything that doesn’t work?” Tom questioned with innocence purposefully faked horrifically.

“He really tunes out doesn’t he,” Eric stated flatly, indicating towards Xavier who was apparently avidly reading about invisible inks in the light of the fire.

Tom shrugged. “Probably because you’re so predictable,” he replied, “no point in listening I guess.”

“I suppose not,” Eric said unsurely.

“Hey Xavier,” Tom said a bit loudly in order to gain his attention, “anything exciting about the patrol tonight?”

When Xavier made no indications of hearing anything Tom had said, Eric frowned. As further attempts to rouse him failed, Tom inched closer until he cast a shadow upon his friend’s chair. “Xavier?” he murmured softly, lowering his knees next to Xavier’s feet. Cupping his left cheek, Tom noticed that his jaw was tense; shortly realizing his entire body was in a similar state. His pupils were dilated, his eyes not quite focused upon the text. Panic slowly seeped in to replace the initial confusion of the moment. Lifting his chin, Tom saw a thin rivulet of blood sprouting from the edge of his mouth. “Eric, I think – ”

Eric, however, did not wait for an explanation. Rather, in the next second, he had already levitated Xavier into the air. Tom wordlessly took the book from Xavier’s hands. A few minutes passed in which Tom came to realize his complete uselessness in such situations. The third time Eric checked for a pulse, Xavier’s eyelids drooped slightly. This was shortly followed by the eventual relaxation of his body, which also resulted in a pool of blood spewing from his mouth. Tom funneled the blood into his wand and Eric similarly extracted some from Xavier moments later. In the following hour, Tom would do as Eric instructed and three hours later they too would fall asleep.

Xavier awoke the next morning somewhat disoriented. Turning to face the fireplace, he dimly wondered how the pillow beneath him and the blanket covering him had appeared. Glancing around the room, he discovered that both Eric and Tom were fast asleep. He groggily attempted to recall the previous night’s events only to find that he could not quite remember anything past returning to the dormitory. Just as he could not quite place the identity of the woman’s face in the hearth of the fire. Bolting upright, he blinked and saw nothing but a fire blazing in the darkness. His heart continued racing for a few moments as he stared intently at the fire, where he could have sworn he had seen a face. He would however become distracted from the thought when Tom stirred at the end of the couch, his head propped upon the armrest by his arms.

“Xavier?” he mumbled sleepily, his head rising slightly.

“What happened?” Xavier asked.

“You want the long version?” Tom posed quietly, now fully awake.

“Not really,” he replied.

“You gave us a bit of a scare, really,” Tom began, “Eric said it was a neurotoxin, though. And a pretty pointless one at that because it’s only effective on muggles. Wizards have an automated magical response to it, so the person who tried to poison you had to have been rather stupid…”

“Do you know the name of this toxin?”

Tom shook his head and held up a book. “Eric used this book to identify it,” he replied.

Xavier took the book and placed it atop the book of invisible inks with a sigh. “This is going to be a long day,” he said flatly.

“Should probably have some breakfast then,” Tom replied nonchalantly.

Xavier looked down at Eric, who was sleeping at the foot of the couch. “He’s going to pester me about this for the next month, isn’t he,” Xavier commented.

“Yeah,” Tom replied to the unasked question, “make it two months to be on the safe side. He still hasn’t stopped about May yet.”

Xavier shrugged while stepping over Eric. “Tom, it’s impossible to troll Potions,” he said, his head reeling from the act of standing up, “You get a dreadful if you show and just put your name on the examination booklet. In that sense, he’s justified.”

For a minute Tom did not respond as he watched Xavier balance and eventually lean on a chair for support. “He’s also become violent,” Tom later stated in a matter-of-fact tone that could have amused anyone, “he hit me with a panel last night.”

Xavier laughed. “I don’t recall,” he replied smilingly.

“Great. My only witness doesn’t remember,” he grumbled theatrically. “And I was going to sue,” he added ruefully, “what a shame.”

“You probably deserved it,” Xavier said.

“Some friend you are,” Tom yawned, stretching over the newly vacant couch. “It starts with hard objects,” he sniffed, “and then goes to heavy objects. Then jinxes. Hexes. Until, eventually, he comes to the big A.K.” Xavier laughed silently. “I’m glad you find my fatal predicament so funny,” Tom added sourly and Xavier’s laughs only intensified.

“Enough,” Xavier gasped at last.

Tom grinned sleepily. “You’re supposed to take those,” he said, motioning to a set of vials on the table, “only after you eat though. At least I think that’s it, I don’t know why else those cookies would be there.”

Xavier nodded. “You’re both going to be late for class,” he said when he noted Tom drifting back into sleep. Tom turned around and mumbled that it had been a long night. Xavier simply shrugged and slowly made his way to the bathroom. Above the ground, the sun rose upon the twelfth moving along the sparsely clouded October sky with a painstaking slothiness as roughly half the students of Hogwarts anticipated the peak of October’s full moon.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Please feedback!

blue_rose

May 16th, 2007, 12:45 am

A long post...but I hope you like it!

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“And so the brave lioness ventured into the snake’s pit,” commented a drunken voice from behind her. Turning, her shockingly green eyes fixed upon the host of the party.

“You’re completely drunk,” she replied, walking over to him while shaking her head.

“An observant one at that,” Tom hiccupped as he stepped forward, “rather ironic when you consider lions can only see in black and white.”

Amelia laughed. “Occasional shades of grey,” she replied, “but snakes are pretty blind.”

“You’re right there,” he murmured into her ear, “but we can sense when a warm body is around. Even when a body gets warmer with, let’s just say, passion. Somewhat of a more useful trait, wouldn’t you agree?”

Her skin tingled as his liquor-saturated breath fell upon her neck. “Tom -” she began slowly, but stopped abruptly when the song ended. He pulled her to a sitting area where the fireplace glowed with green and white hot flames. “Is that in Russian?” she asked distractedly, attempting to focus on anything other than her racing heart.

“Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Swahili, Urdu,” Tom slurred, “anything to make them…” He motioned to the crowded dance floor. For a moment, she followed the gesture in confusion. Tom mentally counted down the seconds until the realization struck her. At negative four, her eyes widened.

“Oh Merlin,” she muttered, turning her back to the scene and sinking into a chair. “Some things just shouldn’t be legal.”

Tom chuckled. “Have a drink,” he suggested, “it makes everything better.”

She raised an eyebrow in his direction while he proceeded to grin stupidly. Sighing she picked up a shot glass of butterbeer from the next waiter that passed by. Licking her forefinger and middle finger, she pressed them against the bottom of the cool glass and watched in fascination as the butterbeer turned a shade of bright green. In the next minute, the glass was snatched away from her by a seemingly annoyed Tom.

“Are you mad?” he asked angrily in his drunken haze. He downed the absinthe in one swig. “Where did you learn that?” he demanded, pointing accusingly at her with the emptied shot glass.

“My brother came to one of these last year,” she supplied, “I just wanted to see if it was true.”

Tom collapsed clumsily onto the chair. “I can’t believe he told you about the sibling loophole,” he said darkly, recalling that he had invited Sirius Potter the previous year as an olive branch extension. “I have to fix that,” he continued, beginning to ramble, “next time it could be a second year, or worse, a teacher’s pet. You should thank me, you know. I just stopped you from shaving a good four years out of your life. Mad little girl – ”

“Are they all drinking butterbeer?” she asked incredulously, in her best attempt to distract Tom.

“No they’re not all drinking butterbeer,” he scoffed. To her imploring gaze he explained, “It doesn’t change color when its transfigured. Unless if it's absinthe, but that's age and fingerprint protected.”

“So who’s drunk?” she asked looking curiously at a couple near a lighted ice sculpture of an eagle.

“Can you really tell?”

“It’s possible that the sober ones will soon be too sleep deprived and seem drunken too,” she shrugged.

“A fair number are acting drunk and some don’t know how to transfigure their drinks,” Tom added.

Amelia smiled. “I suppose drunk is a relative term,” she replied, “but no one here is as drunk as you and it’s not even midnight yet.”

“Which doesn’t at all explain why Amelia Potter, daughter of the famous Harry Potter, sister of the infamous Sirius Potter – that’s how he’s referred to in these parts of Hogwarts – and beau to the heir of the Creevey fortunes, has decided to grace us with her presence in this humble gathering…” his voice faded away as he realized that everything was becoming rather hazy and blurred.

She punched his arm. “You make it sound like I’m some trophy they all own with no credits to myself,” she sniffed offendedly.

“Forgive me,” he grinned lazily as an odd ringing noise filtered out the music, “I’m drunk. I meant to say the best Seeker in Hogwarts history somewhere in there. Where’s your Keeper anyway?”

“We have a scrimmage with Hufflepuff tomorrow,” she replied and, lowering her voice, continued ”I wanted to talk to Xavier.”

Resting his aching head upon the back of the chair, Tom stared dazedly at the fire. “Well you’ve come to the wrong place then,” he said loudly, “there’s a talk in the Great Hall. Thanks for the hallucinations, by the way.”

“How many have you had?” she inquired with a frown, disguising her disappointment in discovering Xavier’s absence. The same frown bore into a hasty apology whispered warmly into the cool night air in the shadows directly past the entrance to the castle.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Ties. Eric suppressed a grumble as he loosened the suffocating grip of the garment. He was not sure why the party required formal dress. There was nothing at all formal about the music blaring in the dancing area. Neither was there anything formal about the sort of dancing taking place in the party. In all honesty, the dancers may as well have stripped themselves of the cumbersome clothing and proceeded in their dancing much more comfortably. Of course, Eric was very pleased that such a thing did not occur as he shuddered to think what most of them would look like without the clothing. However, to his extreme discomfort, some of the girls left nothing to the imagination, although as the night wore on, and students from other houses entered, these girls became more and more scarce.

Sighing, he took a seat on the long booth sofa, keeping ample distance between himself and the other occupant. Surprisingly, the entire group had showed for the party, thirty minutes after it had begun. They had then entered one of the many curtained booths lining the dance area. Here, to Eric’s misfortune, Burke had ordered for him and Hitchens. Shortly thereafter, Burke had exited with Bulstrode and Yaxley had wandered over to the bar. This left only Hitchens for company, who seemed rather content quietly playing with a knife. It was a few minutes after they left, that Eric began to think that he was serving as ad hoc babysitter. Only sitting with babies would me much more exciting, thought Eric darkly.

Slumping slightly in his seat, Eric had plain view of the bar through the gossamer curtains. A small smile appeared on his lips when he saw that Aziz was catering to Yaxley. At least something would occur as planned. His eyes wandered past the dance floor, which was now exceeding capacity and overflowing into a lounging area near the fire place. As he looked at the rest of the common room, it occurred to him that preparation for this party had not been a simple redecoration but, instead, a full desecration. In essence, Tom had converted the common room into a night club.

The few paintings in the common room were curtained with velvet cloth. The bare walls near the entrance sported murals. To the left of the entrance was an enchanted mural of a snake in conflict with a lion in a forest. An eagle hovered above them, occasionally swooping down to attack either of the two. In the background there stood a badger no longer certain of its loyalties. As the night wore on, the mural would depict the famous exodus of the snake from the forest. On the right of the entrance were a series of graffiti like sketches. From time to time, phrases for general humor appeared on it.

In front of the entrance was a fountain with a spiraling serpent, sculpted in ice, lighted green, and spouting water from its opened mouth. To the left of the fountain lay the booths, bathed with soft yellow light overhead. The remainder of the room was lighted from the floor and the walls, where panels of white lights lent a surreal feel to the general lounging areas and dance floor to the right of the fountain. All in all, for a swiftly planned party, it had turned out quite decently.

But the service is cr@p, he thought, somewhat rudely. Glancing at his watch, he realized that it was not the service as much as the company as only ten minutes had passed. Groaning internally, he cast a sideways glance at Hitchens, who was actually dressed more semi-casually than formally. Hitchens had not moved so much of an inch. In fact, he was still staring at the same spot four feet away on the stone floor, rhythmically flicking a pocket knife. What can be so bloody interesting about a knife, he wondered irately. A nasty voice in his head suggested that perhaps he should try it sometime.

He was only beginning to become familiar with the idea that he would probably never speak for the remainder of the night, when a disaster walked into the booth, unwelcome, and plopped herself between the two boys. In actuality, she had plopped herself onto Hitchens as a coarse but audible sound escaped from him. Turning, she quickly apologized while he pulled himself away and resumed fiddling with his knife. Frowning at his response, she turned back and said cheerfully, “Hi Eric!”

Eric’s eyes narrowed as he momentarily considered snatching Hitchens’ knife and savagely amputating the girl’s tongue. They were not on a first name’s basis. Not in the least. “McMillian,” he acknowledged in a strangled voice.

“How do you like the party?” she asked but did not wait for a response. “I think its wonderful,” she said, placing a hand on her chest, “I mean sixth year is so busy. There’s so much homework, that there’s barely enough time to eat!” You do more than enough eating, thank you very much, Eric thought snidely as McMillian continued rambling. In truth, he realized that this was a bit of an exaggeration because in all probability McMillian was a healthy and strong girl who simply shopped for dresses a size smaller than intended for her. However, by now her overly strong perfume was successfully suffocating him and making his eyes water. Her make up was put on in a fashion that made her seem clown-like and there were beads of sweat forming on her massive forehead. Only anything remotely negative about her in thought could serve to bring pleasure to him at this point.

“So it’s really good to get some time to see all of my friends,” he heard her say. “Although some of them are acting a bit strange,” she admitted with a frown, “I have no idea why either.” Of course you wouldn’t, thought Eric. “You know Tom Riddle?” she asked, again not giving him time to respond, ”He’s acting a bit strange. The butterbeer is probably getting to him. I mean he’s so…hyper.” A strained smile appeared on his face. Then why don’t you go join him, Eric thought, unable to ask her as she continued speaking quickly.

At some point in her chatter, Eric began to find the spot four feet away on the ground quite interesting. He sporadically nodded at her pauses, until fifteen minutes later when she asked, “Do you want to dance?”

In mid-nod he recognized what she was asking. His head angrily snapped up to face her and he replied coldly, “No, McMillian, I do not want to dance and most certainly not with you. I happen to know that subtlety never really was a forte of yours, so to put it very bluntly I would rather not have to see you ever again in my life. I haven’t the slightest idea why you’re even talking to me right now but I hope that’s clear because your malodorous perfume is giving me a headache. Two more minutes near you and I might do something rash.”

For a few seconds her mouth moved mutely. And then she muttered meekly, “Oh alright.” From there, she exited quickly, disappearing into the crowd. For some time, Eric stared angrily at a section of the curtains. Then, he considered apologizing until he made it to the steps exiting the booth, where he reconsidered and slouched back on the booth with his arms crossed. A few minutes later he noticed the absence of clicks in the booth. Glancing at Hitchens, Eric found a bit of a sardonic tint in his features.

“It’s not funny,” Eric growled. Tristan lightly ran his index finger across the blade’s edge. “It’s not,” Eric insisted.

It may have been the dull lighting, but a moment later he could have sworn that Hitchens was smiling faintly. Very faintly, but smiling nonetheless. “I suppose she had it coming,” said Eric, “she’s been irking me for the last four weeks whether it was doing something irrevocably stupid or chattering senselessly.”

At long last the food arrived. “Veal,” Eric said disgustedly as his stomach turned, “do you like veal?” Tristan merely shrugged and proceeded to redistribute more than actually consume the substance on his plate. “Just trying to figure out why your girlfriend so graciously ordered it,” commented Eric. Turning to the student that had brought the food he asked, “Do I have to pay for this?”

She shook her head. “It’s all coming for the kitchens,” she explained, “but they did have a problem finding the veal.”

He handed the platter back to her. “Can I please just get some vanilla ice-cream?”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

To her horror, he had not moved. In fact as the seconds passed with an agonizing slowness, he showed no signs of being alive whatsoever. She faintly wondered if he had even heard her apology. He simply stood there, his features frozen in subtle surprise.

She began to regret having come outside the castle or having said anything at all. A cool breeze flushed through the chilly October night, causing her to shiver while the regret near the walls of her heart swelled at an alarming rate. Soft thunder rolled in the clouded night’s sky. Chatter murmured from the entrance of the school.

They were standing in the vast darkness directly past the tip of light peeking through the open doors of the castle. She found herself staring at the roll of his sleeve near his elbow. She blinked as somewhere the clock rang to midnight. While her heart raced, his mind sped just as quickly. He could not allow her to leave and report to her Prefect dorm-mate. It could have resulted in the untimely end of the event only beginning to flourish below the ground.

He had planned to simply talk her into staying by discussing the rather ludicrous theory regarding the evolution of wizardry in the presentation. However, he had not counted receiving a kiss anywhere in this strategy of his. And though he had promised to prevent Smith from returning to the dormitories at all costs, Xavier hesitated.

This must be what guys do when they don’t like your kiss, she thought wildly. Not that she had ever had any experience in such matters. In the distance someone, probably the headmistress, signaled the end of the presentation. Feeling foolish, a blush appeared on her snowy cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she repeated in a mutter, her voice surprisingly hoarse.

She backed a few steps away and walked towards the closing castle doors. His hand hastily caught her upper arm when she walked past him. The door closed firmly and the final rays of light vanished as her lavender eyes found his back to her. “Don’t be,” he murmured.

Thunder clapped loudly in the skies above. He pulled her directly in line with him. She diverted her gaze to the ground. “Xavier –“ her voice faded quickly when her throat caught. His grip loosened. She felt a finger trace down her arm and bit her cheek involuntarily. Fingers twined with hers as his hand clasped hers. Raising it to his lips, he kissed her hand tenderly. His next words landed on the back of her palm. “Don’t be sorry,” he said softly, “because I’m not.”

A violent gush of wind ushered with it the spread of a genuinely toothed smile over Violette Smith’s face. In its force, the thinning clouds were pushed away and moonlight splayed unto the ground. And, while a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin stood in the uncertainty of their futures at the foot of the castle; inside it, a terrified first year Hufflepuff awoke to the blood curdling howls of a werewolf long denied of its freedoms.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

He was a virgin. The thought coursed through her body with chilling clarity. It was the only explanation for the blatant acts that had screamed inexperience only an hour before. In all fairness, however, he had performed quite beautifully. As instructed, she had taken him into the fourth private room when she had considered Yaxley appropriate for the occasion. Rather than finding a booth in this room, as were present in the other three dormitories-turned-parlors, a bed decked in maroon sheets lay at it’s center.

Staring at swirling puffs of glowing vapor hovering near the ceiling, Isis Aziz frowned. Yaxley had not yet afforded any information that she was already aware of. What more, she did not know what exactly she was searching for and there was always the possibility that Malfoy could blackmail her once more should she have failed.

Sighing, she carefully sat up in the bed and lit a nearby candle. Shadows danced upon the papered walls and, yet, she did not quite see them as she considered her options. Discovering that they were pitifully limited, she decided instead that in the event Yaxley failed to garble anything of consequence, she would simply offer her knowledge in the matter. Granted that it would not be as extensive as would be preferred, but she knew that at the least it was better than nothing.

Her suspicions of the man beside her had begun upon hearing his age. That at twenty, he was still in school astonished her. For the most part, he seemed woefully ignorant. There were, however, what she termed, slips in what she now considered a ruse. For example, not two weeks ago he had successfully cast a charm on his first try when it had taken everyone else a fine two hours to cast.

While she did not know the specifics of his transfer to Hogwarts, she could be sure of one thing. He had not been expelled from his previous school. Her father had made it painfully clear that the headmistress did not accept any expelled students when she came to Hogwarts. It had been one of the many pillars in his argument for removing her from her previous school.

Finally, she knew that Yaxley – along with Bulstrode, Hitchens and Zabini – frequented the dormitory parallel to hers, across the hall. After drawing presumptuous conclusions from the fact that four men visited Burke so often, she had discovered that she was terribly mistaken. Burke had always made it a point to associate herself with magics otherwise left untaught at Hogwarts. Any Slytherin would know this by the second week of the school year; either through word of mouth or the hard way. Isis winced at the memory of finding out the hard way.

What most people did not know was that, in addition to Burke’s experimental nature, she championed beliefs nearly as antiquated as Hogwarts itself. At least, this was what Isis had surmised from a handful of talks with the woman last year. This year she had made no indications of such stances but, this was to be expected. From what she had seen thus far, it was likely that Yaxley shared her sentiments.

Looking at the sleeping Yaxley beside her, an involuntary groan escaped from her lips. Thinking these scraps of nearly baseless reservations would not suffice, she considered her final option – gossip. He was never mentioned in the mainstream gossip of Hogwarts. She had, however, heard the strangest things from a pair of quiet seventh years regarding Yaxley. They had spoken about something of a pact to kill and momentarily related it to Yaxley. It was a long shot and, in all likelihood, they may have been joking all the time. But the night was yet a young one in the morning and she considered that Yaxley would be too drunk to remember.

“Time to wake up Lysander,” she whispered in the dull light as her right hand wrapped around a materializing knife. Her left hand ran through his dirty blond curls. The blade moved delicately across his skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Slut!” he hissed venomously as he felt the blade carve above his lowest rib. The resulting numbness sliced through sleep’s haze. She stopped sliding the knife, shifting her gaze to his placid face.

“A token to seal your perfection,” she murmured as the bloodied blade vanished and her hip contacted the tendering wound.

Lysander sneered, a sudden hatred boiling in the pit of his stomach. “How can you live with yourself,” he breathed harshly, “you’re nothing but a whore.”

She smirked and leaned over him, her hair forming a curtain that blocked the candlelight. “I merely offered my body for a moment’s pleasure,” she replied, her mesmerizing brown eyes attempting to meet his, “but you, Lysander, you sold your soul the moment you vowed to murder,” her voice began to fade when the sharp gaze of his brilliant blue-green eyes locked with hers, “for little more than an impossibility.”

“I’ve more than vowed,” he said darkly, sending an involuntary shiver prickling down her spine.

“How can you live with yourself?”

His arm wrapped tightly around her waist and pulled her body towards his chest. Their lips met, answering her question and all of its nuances. For the next few hours two lives became confined to progress beneath the sheets.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

I hope you liked it and please feed me back!

blue_rose

May 26th, 2007, 7:38 am

The end of the party...its four and a half pages. I'm putting a warning-ish on part 2 for being more on the PG-12 side. Not really THAT bad though.

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“Seventy-nine,” he slurred as the clock struck a quarter past four. Amelia’s eyes widened. In the course of the last five hours, they had separated. She had found other Gryffindors, who were easily the minority of the party at a mere sixty students. Gradually, people had moved from dancing to gaming and, finally, leaving all the while eating and drinking in each process. By the time she had found him again, the crowd had thinned to a comfortable size. There had been no sign of Xavier and, yet, she was certain that he had returned.

“Seventy-nine,” she echoed incredulously, “you couldn’t have had seventy-nine.”

A frown marred his features while his fingers alternated between numerical positions. Then, he grinned. “No that’s twenty-nine,” he corrected.

She scrutinized the convinced face in front of her. “How are you still alive?” she asked skeptically.

He shrugged off the question and picked up another shot glass from a server, pressing wetted fingers to the bottom. Downing the contents, he stared intently at an empty corner to the left of the fireplace. A few seconds elapsed, and then he picked up another glass. She snatched the glass from him. “That’s it,” she said imperiously, “you’re done.”

He ignored her and tore the glass from her hands, downing it as he had with the previous one. Pursing her lips she pulled him away from the couch. He stumbled to his feet. “You’re going to tell me where your dormitory is,” she ordered, steadying him.

“Don’t be such a girl scout,” he mumbled, picking up another glass. Amelia’s bright green eyes flashed. She irately took the glass and pointed a wand at him.

“I’m also completely sober,” she threatened, grabbing his collar when he lost his balance.

“But it starts over with every new drink,” he argued, leaning against the wall and making meager advances to his dormitory. “And the beginning’s the only good part,” he added with a frown.

“Beginning of what?” she asked confusedly.

He stopped walking. Its like he is catching himself from making a mistake, she thought as she observed him curiously. “Nothing,” he responded at last and pushed open the door a bit too forcefully, staggering into the room.

Maybe not, she thought sheepishly as she followed him into the dormitory. She grasped his sleeve, when he nearly fell down a small set of stairs. “Those are stairs,” she informed him plainly.

“They look like escalators though don’t they?” he grinned the question into her strawberry colored hair. And though for his drunken state they were maintaining an amiable distance, her sober state acknowledged that it was far too close for comfort. Gritting her teeth, she looked around with tantamount interest at the ceiling. His arm draped around her shoulders. “Su casa es mi casa,” he said motioning to the room. “Wait, that’s not right –“

“It’s so big,” she blurted.

“Slytherin believed in seniority and rewarding people for accomplishments,” he explained.

“Huh,” she replied in a small voice, “which one is your room?”

“You can’t go into the rooms,” he answered indignantly.

“I only meant –“

“No,” he interrupted motioning to the sofa by the fire place, “you can’t go in.”

She noticed three makeshift beds, two on either side of the couch and one on the couch itself. One was already occupied by a sleeping blond and some book or another. “Great,” she said sourly, pushing Tom on the couch, “he’s already asleep.”

He mumbled something about how it was not his fault, and went to lay down on the bedding when his shoes were magically removed. She proceeded in removing his socks, jacket and tie. “Why do you do this?” he asked when she finished.

“Because every time someone tries to establish themselves as the school drunkard you beat them,” she chuckled, sitting on the other side of the couch with her legs folded on the cushion. He gave her an odd look. “Because we’re friends, you idiot,” she said exasperatedly.

“We are?” he asked, completely sincerity reflecting in his brown eyes. She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, moron, we’ve only just been for the last five years.”

He lay his aching head on her lap and peered up at her. “Then, as a friend,” he said, irresolution wavering in his voice, “can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” she said, somewhat confusedly.

His eyes fixated on a pattern on the ceiling above them. “Suppose,” he began unsurely, “suppose, you liked a person. I mean loved a person. At least you like this person more than you’ve ever liked anyone else before, and will like them more than anyone you’ll find in the next decade. The person likes you too, at least that’s what they say to you when you ask. But then you figure out that if you like this person you’ll hurt them. And really hurt them. Not the I-slept-with-your-best-friend hurt but possibly the it’s-been-twenty-years-but-I-still-can’t-forgive-you-for-what-you-did kind. What would you do?”

“I love him and I would definitely hurt him,” she summarized with a questioning lilt in her voice. He nodded. “Would I kill him?”

He shook his head. “But some would refer to it as a fate worse than death,” he murmured. She immediately imagined a person receiving a dementor’s kiss.

“I don’t know what I would do,” she said sadly, “If I didn’t love him then it wouldn’t happen?”

His eyes closed. “It wouldn’t.”

She looked away from him. “Then I would have to tell him why we couldn’t be together and would probably end up not seeing him that often.”

Brown eyes opened in time to see her swallow hard with sharpening clarity through a film of water. “Now suppose the person you liked was a muggle,” he said coarsely, “A muggle that would be more likely to trust that aliens would invade than what would happen to them. The skeptical type that would take the truth as a lie in an attempt to spare feelings or a bad lie in general. The kind that could spot a lie or a set up of yours more quickly than you can blink. Suppose you left without a word, a note or any real explanation.”

Her green eyes met his, mingled in horror and dejection. The thought that this situation was not completely fictitious crossed her mind. “Did this hap-“ she began be he interrupted her.

“Suppose you did.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she replied.

“Suppose you did,” he repeated simply.

“Tom what did you –“

“My question is,” he said a bit loudly over her voice and then lowered his voice, “My question is, would you regret it?”

She looked as though she would protest for a moment. “I –“ but she stopped herself. Instead, she followed the sickening roll in her gut and placed a cool kiss on his warm forehead. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head farther into the cushion and away from her lips. “Anyone would,” she whispered.

Clearing his throat, he spoke with a soft smile into her auburn hair, “It was only a hypothetical question Amelia.”

For a while she did not move. Then, Amelia straightened and smacked him on the arm. “You idiot,” she scolded, relief tinting her tone, “you have no idea how terrible that was, what you got me thinking and I have a boyfriend!”

“I’m better at it drunk,” he murmured honestly. His eyes opened to an all too familiar scene that he knew only he could see under his present condition; the scene of a green-eyed girl with dark curls desperately asking a brown haired boy of his stature to yield. He had long accepted a resigned desensitization to the scene as it had played on numerous occasions in the past few years. Focusing on Amelia, he sighed and added, “I have no idea why, but I am.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

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EDIT: Second part is deleted. Sorry about that. If it's edited, it'll be in the next post but, really, I could imply it somewhere else. I didn't realize it was that bad. Thanks for the warning, it won't happen again...

Please feedback from the link on my signature!

blue_rose

June 10th, 2007, 9:51 am

Here's the new post! It's 3 to 4 pages long and I hope you like it. Please feed me back!

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Perhaps he sleeps with his eyes open, Eric mused for it seemed as though Hitchens had remained rooted at the same seat for the entire four hours that Eric had been away from the booth. Some may have argued that he had shifted slightly to the left and while this would have been a considerable feat for the fixture Eric had begun to compare Hitchens with, he considered the detail rather irrelevant as he checked his watch. In roughly thirty minutes Slytherin common room would be restored to its previous state, countless underlings would flock to bathrooms in droves and if Hitchens shifted left every sixth of a day, he would never hear the end of it from Burke. Although the idea of Hitchens being trampled by a stampede of children did seem appealing to him at that hour.

People were exiting the party quite rapidly from places he had not known existed. He cleared his throat hesitantly at first and when this did not so much as shift a muscle in Hitchens, he cleared it more loudly until he reached a level that resembled a cat attempting to cough up a very large fur ball. What does a person have to do to get this guy’s attention, he grumbled inwardly. Finally he resorted to tearing the knife from his hands. This resulted in a distinctly negative reaction from Hitchens, who bolted up and glared at him. “Only admiring the handiwork,” Eric said dryly, pushing it back into Hitchens’ hand. “Burke said we’re to go to her dormitory.”

Hitchens began walking and Eric fell in step, stuffing his hands into his pant pockets. The silence that accompanied them for the stroll was so deafening that at one point Eric considered intentionally bumping into a pack of giggling girls. Unfortunately the abandoned hallway could not grant that request. He attempted to walk faster, but realized that he would have to break into a run to move any faster. And, yet, Hitchens was walking at a leisurely pace. The explanation for this, of course, was that Hitchens was noticeably taller than Eric. He was also in a noticeably better condition, having not left the booth. By contrast, Eric had left his coat in his dormitory. Some girl had snaked off his tie and it was only after she had undone two buttons of his shirt that he realized that she was not properly lucid.

A small smirk played at his mouth with the thought of those not properly lucid. He wondered how Yaxley was enjoying his morning. Perhaps Aziz had overestimated his abilities and he was currently drowning in his vomit. And as he was contemplating the many ways Yaxley’s night could have come to an untimely end, he nearly walked past the man himself. Taking no umbrage as Hitchens continued down the hall, he seemed to be in a disappointingly fair state. “Zabini,” he greeted coolly, a buzz in his voice betraying the night’s events.

“Yaxley,” Eric returned placidly.

“Come to the girls’ dormitories this early often?” His tone was mocking and Eric refrained from cringing. When he did not respond Yaxley continued, “Off to Burke’s?” Eric nodded. “I’m not needed, right?”

“She didn’t mention you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Eric replied stiffly.

Yaxley nodded and continued down the hall in his slightly drunken gait towards the boys’ dormitories. Eric glared at his back for some moments and then hurried to the end of the hall, falling in step with Hitchens en route. He was about to take the left at the corner when Hitchens suddenly turned right. “That’s not Burke’s room!” Eric exclaimed, reaching and missing the hem of Hitchens’ suit jacket. “That’s –“ a collective scream emitted from the room as the door closed. Frowning, he finished lamely, “-the girls public bath.”

He stood uncertainly at the corner, faced towards the door, unsure whether he should follow. When three girls fled from the bathroom seconds later, he turned on his heels.

“Where’s Tristan?” Burke asked immediately upon opening the door to a cross Eric. Taken aback by her voice’s ability to actually express mild concern, Eric mutely glared at her. “I don’t have all day, Zabini,” Burke prompted icily.

“In the bathroom,” he replied gruffly. “The girls bathroom”

“Maybe he’s allergic to veal,” she commented contemplatively. Eric bit back the obvious and irate response. “Either way,” she continued, “I suppose you’re the main person I need to speak to.”

“I’m waiting,” Eric said when her pause transcended to mutual silence.

Her oceanic eyes appraised him almost hesitantly. Sighing, she replied, “As of now, Tristan is in your charge while at Hogwarts.”

Eric’s brows furrowed. “I don’t think I understand.”

Jasmine shrugged. “As in you’ll be partnered with him in any class I do not have with him. You’ll walk with him to classes, check his homework and if he wants a scone from the kitchens at one in the morning, you’ll get it for him. Get the general idea?”

“I see,” Eric responded slowly, not quite meeting her gaze, “and may I ask why I’m –“

“This is not an optional assignment Zabini,” Burke cut in coldly, “I suggest you get used to the idea.” He seemed on the verge of arguing when Jasmine commented, “Consider it a revaluation of your membership.”

“Have I done something to bring that into question?” Eric demanded.

Sighing Burke replied, “It’s not so much what you’ve done than what you haven’t done. Now, you should find Tristan.”

“But he’s in the girls bathroom!” he exclaimed with a small whine to his lilting tone.

“And as of today you’ve become his best friend,” Jasmine answered grimly, closing the door to all negotiation. In his frustration he could not even laugh at the comical sight of an equally displeased seventh year girl covered in a white sheet; making a terrible impression of a ghost.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“Not now,” groaned Amelia to a set of hands urgently shaking her bedspread. When the shaking did not yield she murmured in her sleep, “But mum, quidditch practice is canceled.”

Exasperatedly, Anne pulled the covers to the floor. Shivering, Amelia looked irritatedly at her. “Amelia,” she said loudly, “wake up.”

Blinking groggily at her she replied, “I don’t have class till ten today, Anne.”

Before her head could fall back unto her pillow, Anne said quickly, “But it’s about Uncle Lupin!” Amelia bolted upright. “Something’s not right,” she continued, “he’s in the hospital wing and –“

“How did he–“

“I don’t know,” Anne answered immediately, wringing her hands worriedly. “But yesterday was a full moon…” her voice faded away.

“Let’s go,” Amelia filled in the silence, as she began rummaging for a clean shirt.

“Now?” Amelia’s verdant eyes regarded Anne disbelievingly. “It’s just” Anne faltered, “they probably won’t allow students in. He probably needs his rest and -”

“Then they can tell us that,” Amelia interrupted her, grabbing Anne by the wrist and pulling her to the door.

They filed past a set of girls covered in some sticky goop. Amelia deftly ran down the stairs, barely noticing the ice patches. Anne’s eyes widened at viewing the mess the Gryffindor common room had become. Someone had ripped apart pillows. Feathers were strewn every which way on the red and gold carpets. Tables were upturned, furniture had been displaced and a group of onyx chess pieces lay near the fire, which burned green with the Slytherin emblem. Her jaw tightened, but Amelia exited through the portrait hole as though she had not seen the mess. As they walked past a professor interrogating a Slytherin student, the Fat Lady pointed at the boy and accused him of being responsible of the mustache she was sporting. When the Head Boy attempted to recruit Anne two floors down, Amelia snapped that she was occupied and walked past him without another explanation.

As they neared the hospital wing, they could see three wizards in front of the doors; the school mediwitch and two Aurors. One of the Aurors with flaming pink hair was speaking animatedly and seemed to get angrier with every word that passed through the mediwitch’s mouth. By the time they reached the doors, the other auror had left and Nymphadora Lupin approached them with a strained smile.

“Hi girls,” she greeted them, discreetly blocking the door.

“Hi Aunt Lupin,” Anne spoke before Amelia could ruin potentially all chances of discovering anything, “what are you doing here?”

“Is Uncle Lupin alright?” Amelia rushed before the Auror could respond.

Mrs. Lupin’s gaze met Amelia’s. Then she sighed. “I suppose it’ll be all over the school by tomorrow anyway,” she replied. She paused, while Anne looked at her expectantly and Amelia wore an unreadable yet intense expression in her bright green eyes. “He’s going to be fine.”

“What happened?” Anne asked.

“We’re not sure,” Mrs. Lupin responded in an automated tone. At the insistence of the two school girls, however, she finally yielded. “Alright, you two know that this is not to be repeated to anyone,” she said haltingly, “the Ministry will publish it’s final report –“

“Is there an investigation?” Amelia blurted.

Mrs. Lupin eyed her honorary niece, and nodded. “There were apparently some complications last night,” she stated, “the wolfsbane did not prevent your uncle from transforming into a werewolf. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but the DADA classroom isn’t in a good shape. It seems that there was something wrong with the potion. We’re trying to figure out whether it was tampered with or if someone contaminated the ingredients. Remus has been making wolfsbane for some years now, so we doubt that he missed a step but he hasn’t awoken yet. We’ll get a better picture of what happened when he wakes up.”

“Can we see him?” asked Amelia.

Mrs. Lupin looked to the mediwitch, who shook her head. “Not today,” she said firmly, “transforming at his age is a tricky procedure. He will need his rest. Not to mention students are not allowed to visit during class hours.”

“You should get to your classes girls,” Mrs. Lupin added, “He’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll see you two for lunch.” Anne and Amelia nodded as the two older witches disappeared into the hospital wing.

“This is all my fault,” Amelia muttered as the door closed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Anne countered, “no one could have known this would happen. I wonder if someone did it on purpose.”

Amelia only shook her head for she knew that someone could have known and that someone else had done so on purpose. With her mouth set in a frown, her hand formed into a fist. She would clearly define the consequences of his broken promise upon the first view of as much as his silhouette.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“There’s a beach on the sixth floor, a rainforest near the Great Hall and if you can make it for dinner the enchanted sky will be raining chocolate pudding,” Tom stated, not without a hint pride. As lunch peaked upon the school day, the cause of the raucous proliferating through the castle contentedly plopped unto the couch, his brown eyes alight with mischief. The Head Boy had spent the morning primarily out of classes and delegating tasks furiously. His fruitless attempts to bay the cause of the sudden influx in rule-breaking could only illicit smiles upon Tom’s face. While Prefects were perfectly capable of cleaning the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms and trapping the enchanted pieces wreaking the havoc, professors and staff had scheduled clearing of the more permanent pranks after the school day.

Xavier shook his head disapprovingly. “Pandora called,” he stated primly, “she demands you return her box.” Tom chuckled. “But, seriously,” he continued jokingly, “by the end of all this, they’re going to fix Slytherin House Points to negative infinity for the next three years.”

A dreamy expression filled his friends eyes. “Ah, the mission statement of Pranksters Anonymous,” Tom sighed with a smile. “The only way Slytherin can have a negative infinity standing is if the other houses have infinite standings,” he expounded, “Imagine a three way tie for the house cup. If only it could be a four way tie. I wish I had that level of control and the resources for something like that.”

“Your interests always were unorthodox,” commented Xavier.

Tom shrugged. “If everyone wins, then everyone has lost.”

“The Head Boy will die of shame,” Xavier said idly.

“The Head Girl is taking things much better,” Tom noted, “I mean for a pious girl who’s just lathered herself with whipping cream.” To Xavier’s questioning gaze he said, “We replaced her shaving cream.” Xavier began laughing. “The worst part is,” he continued between laughter, “she didn’t even notice.”

Xavier and Tom collapsed into a collective fit of laughter. Minutes later this was silenced abruptly by a girl voice. Jumping, Xavier looked towards the mirror, where the girl was still loudly calling. Her forest green eyes were searching worriedly. A stray dark curl from her ponytail rested on one of her rosy cheeks. “Hello,” she called loudly once more. Xavier’s teeth cringed involuntarily.

“There are no bad connections in mirror communicatives Helen,” said Xavier.

Helen replied skeptically, “Yeah, then why can’t I see a thing on here?”

“There’s a reason why muggles can’t use them,” stated Xavier, searching for his wand. His grey eyes rested on Tom, who was stumbling up the steps and towards the door.

“I forgot,” he said distractedly, “I have to check on something.”

With that, Tom exited quickly. Xavier shrugged and picked up his wand. Charming the mirror, he posed, “ Is that better?”

“Yes,” came the sniffed reply.

“You know the staff isn’t allowed to use the mirrors in the studies,” Xavier chastised.

“I know,” she said somewhat worriedly, “have Mr. or Mrs. Malfoy called you?”

“No,” Xavier said with some confusion, “why?”

“No reason,” Helen responded under his suspicious gaze, “you know I hear I can throw things at you through this and if you keep looking at me like that I just might.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

Please feedback!

blue_rose

June 24th, 2007, 5:46 am

Here's the new post! It's a little more than four pages. I hope you like it! One more post till the end of the chapter!

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Looking around the Hospital Wing, Eric faintly wondered if some sort of war had begun. Never had the wing been so occupied. Nearly every bed was being used and students both with and without reason were flooding in, complaining of colds, nosebleeds and broken bones. While a handful of the injuries were worthy of concern, Eric had found that the majority were the workings of students who wished to be excused from class for a variety of reasons ranging from the desire to view some of the pranks brandished in the halls to avoiding boring lectures. Eric had even seen Potter and Weasley come in at separate times, faking injuries no doubt to visit Professor Lupin who was situated on the far end, curtains drawn.

As lunch time approached, the flow of students trickled to a steady pace. The other volunteer seemed to have disappeared and he was in the process of leaving when his mentor asked him to locate her. Minutes later, after searching in the corridors and the Great Hall, he approached the supply room in an irate mood. Two voices could be heard as he neared the room; which, as a rule, was not known as a popular place for covert dealings of any sort.

“I already told you,” came a girl’s defensive voice, “I filled the tub and didn’t realize it was scalding hot until after sitting in it.”

Another person sighed. “Fine,” replied a familiar voice that he immediately recognized as that of the other volunteer, “I won’t ask again.”

Neither seemed to notice when he opened the door. The other volunteer was rummaging in one of the cabinets while someone covered in what looked like sheets of black, quite literally from head to toe, watched. It was only when he cleared his throat loudly that the two of them turned to him. The volunteer backed away from the cabinet and was about to defend her actions when Eric cut in, “Honestly, I’m too hungry to care. Madame wants to see you in the infirmary.”

She nodded and, turning to the person in black, commented, “Well I’ll have to go to her office for the balm anyway.” The person nodded, and looking at Eric, asked, “Can you stay here for a minute?”

“Hurry up,” Eric muttered as she passed him and disappeared through the door. His stomach growled unpleasantly. “Nice dress,” he commented, when a few minutes passed in silence.

“It’s called a burkha,” the girl snapped, “and not exactly something uncommon to be worn during Ramadan.”

He regarded the girl curiously for a moment. She seemed familiar, although such a thing was difficult for him to judge given her attire. He then realized that she was the same girl who he had passed in the morning. Then she had been covered in white sheets. Smirking he replied, “You’ve never struck me as a particularly religious person before, Aziz.”

“How, where, when, or why I choose to practice religious beliefs that may or may not be sincere is none of your concern Zabini,” Aziz retorted.

“Not mine,” Eric afforded calmly, “but I’m sure the Headmistress doesn’t like to see the dress code violated. Not that I mind, it covers almost as much as our full uniform. Add a veil and it’s practically the same thing.”

“Brilliant commentary,” Aziz muttered sarcastically.

Rolling his eyes, Eric responded with a mirrored tone, “Well I do try.”

A few minutes dragged by in heavy silence. “Why are you even here?” Aziz inquired at last.

“To make sure you don’t steal anything you’re not supposed to,” Eric replied, looking somewhat hopefully at the door. Turning to Aziz, he added, “Nicking things from the infirmary’s supply closet is an established business after all.”

At that moment, the other volunteer returned. “Well here’s the balm,” she said indicating a small bottle, as Eric passed her, “apply it lightly to the areas every day for two weeks or until it’s faded off and the -”

The last thing he heard before leaving was Aziz’s interjection, “I’m going to need more than this.”

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

He had missed the fury that flared in the verdant eyes across the hall. He had missed the bee-line directed at him. The protests of the few students standing in her path. The barely audible questions hurried by the two sixth years in her wake. And as his argument with a student regarding the sanity of the previous night’s lecturer eclipsed, he nearly missed the slap across his right cheek.

The resounding whack echoing in the halls, however, told him he had not. Noise surrounding them dimmed as his cheek began to sting. Surprise proliferated through his thoughts but failed to reach his features. Turning to face the culprit, he found her more livid than ever.

Her glare regarded his taut expression and infuriated thoughts raged through her head. Had he missed the fact that he was responsible for Uncle Lupin’s stay in the infirmary? Had he forgotten that he had ensured her such a thing would not happen? What pretentious aspect of himself had imagined that he would escape blame?

In the seconds as her anger intensified, a carefully worn smirk spread across Xavier’s face. “Well if you must be so blunt, Potter,” he spoke snidely, “at least slap me with a smile, or someone might mistake it as a genuine threat and we wouldn’t want that –“

However, before he could finish a spell shot out of her wand. He deflected it and it grazed past a bystanding third year. ”Amelia!” Anne exclaimed disbelievingly, as students cleared away from the two sixth years.

“My mistake,” Xavier murmured, and fired a spell at Amelia. Anne’s hand reached for Amelia’s arm, before the situation could spiral downward, but Amelia retaliated and Hector Creevey’s grip on his wand tightened.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“Mister Yaxley, why don’t you get us started with the topic and share a dream you’ve had with us,” the Divination professor prompted. Lysander reluctantly tore his eyes from the window to fix the professor with an apologetic look while cursing inwardly. Everyone knew that perhaps two of the twenty seventh years in Divination actually cared to become Seers. To the rest, including himself, Divination was another free period. The fact that the professor remained oblivious to this baffled him to no end.

“I’m sorry Professor, I just –“ he began declining, but viewing Aziz staring out the window as he had been a few seconds ago, he turned to the professor and changed tact, “Actually Professor, I do have a one. It’s even recurring to some extent.”

The professor nodded the approval to continue. “There’s a girl and she seems lost. I would be too because it’s almost pitch black and it’s cold,” Yaxley continued and though Aziz did not face him, he knew she had begun listening, “There’s only one light and it’s far away. I think she’s scared but won’t admit it. She starts walking toward the light, head bowed. The light gets bigger and bigger and then it barrels through her. A freight train’s whistles go off and I wake up.”

“And this dream is recurring?”

“Slightly,” Yaxley replied levelly, “but sometimes it’s a boy or an old woman or a child.”

“Are these people you know or have seen?”

“I don’t think so but I don’t really get to see who they are,” Lysander said slowly. Aziz turned to him abruptly, appraising him. He was beginning to enjoy Divination and the new outlet the previous night had opened for his entertainment.

“What do you think it means?”

“Obviously that someone should avoid dark and cold tunnels,” a boy across the room muttered. The students around him laughed and Lysander smiled. The professor spent the next five minutes quieting the class, while Aziz’s gaze remained upon him.

“I think she must have known she would die,” Lysander added when the professor attempted to redirect the lesson, “because her head was bowed, she could probably see the tracks. Perhaps it’s a suicide?”

“Perhaps,” the professor afforded, “but I don’t think you are fully grasping the meaning of your dream. Any other ideas, anyone?”

Lysander examined the divination book with feigned interest. Aziz’s hand went into the air. The professor called on her and Lysander stared into the student opposite to him. “If I may professor,” she said politely, “I think it could have been a murder guised as a suicide.”

Lysander head snapped in her direction, but she avoided his glare. The professor, meanwhile, had lit up. “And what makes you think that, Miss Aziz?”

“Well, she was killed by a train,” Isis replied and, meeting Yaxley’s glare squarely, began to add, “and trains are classic symbols of –“

“Well page 366 will elaborate on that,” the professor interrupted. And, with that, the class began their reading assignment for the rest of the period.

When the professor dismissed them an hour later, Yaxley waited until most of the class had disappeared and followed Aziz out of the door. Grabbing her arm tightly at the bottom of ladder, he pulled her toward the ladder roughly. Biting her tongue, she kept her face blank, willing herself to deny Yaxley the satisfaction of seeing her wince.

“I would be careful if I were you Aziz,” he said in a dangerously low voice, “grasping the plot too well can end horrifically.” Pure malice flared in her brown eyes. She wrenched her arm from his grip and walked down the hall without a word.

:gryff: :huff: :rave: :slyth:

“Intolerable! Disgraceful! Reckless! You should all be ashamed!” The Gryffindor Head of House fumed at the four students in her office. “Starting a duel in a crowded hallway. Starting a duel at all! What were you thinking?” she demanded.

Xavier stared fixedly at his shoes; as did the rest of the students. It was never advisable to speak when she was so cross that she was on the verge of a yelling at them. “And the spells! You’ve defaced three portraits, that suit of armor will never be the same and, frankly, students have been expelled for less. So, I would start explaining if I were in your position,” the professor huffed. “And you two,” she continued, alternating her gaze between Anne and Xavier, “you two are prefects. You’re to be models for the younger years, as are the quidditch players.”

“Please professor,” Anne interjected, looking quickly and pleadingly at the professor, “I was just trying to stop them.”

Xavier’s head snapped up. “Oh yes professor,” he said irately, “I only just misjudged her attempt to incinerate me as a threat to my life and retaliated with something she didn’t find to be agreeable either.”

“I wasn’t trying to incinerate you, Malfoy” Anne denied vehemently.

“You mean to say you have powers of foresight that knew I would deflect the curse and then could be blamed for scorching the boat painting?” Xavier shot back, “No offence Weasley but that only makes you sound more sinister.”

“I –“

“Enough,” the professor interrupted sharply, “I will not have a rematch in my office! Now how did this start?”

“Potter slapped me –“

“- and you reacted with a curse?” the professor asked in an appalled tone.

“No,” Xavier answered with measured calm, “she slapped me and then fired a spell at me. I was only defending myself.”

“I was trying to stop them,” Anne answered stubbornly, when the professor inquired into her role. Xavier was about to protest when the professor interrupted him.

“And Mr. Creevey, how did you become involved?” she asked.

Hector, who had not utter a word thus far, looked directly at the professor and replied honestly, “Amelia’s my girlfriend, Professor. I couldn’t just sit and watch when Malfoy tried to hurl the armor’s helmet at her.”

“Don’t you think it would have been better for her if you had called a professor earlier to stop the whole thing?” Hector’s jaw tightened, but he did not respond. “And a helmet, Mr. Malfoy?” she inquired, turning to him.

“Actually I aimed it at Weasley,” Xavier corrected, “Potter got in the way and , between the two, I wasn’t terribly picky. I figured if I could knock one unconscious the other would stop for some time to worry of the other and I could stupefy her as well.”

The professor nodded and turn to Amelia. “Ms. Potter, you have been quiet during all this,” she commented, “why did you seek Mr. Malfoy out to pick a fight?”

For some time she glared at Xavier. Then, frowning, she responded, “I heard that he had basically called my brother a tramp and, as he isn’t here to defend herself, I wanted to correct the mistake. Malfoy can be forgetful so I thought if I told him strongly…”

“And you sought a duel?” the Professor attempted to clarify. Amelia nodded, looking guiltily at her feet. The professor was about to comment when a second year scampered in and delivered some papers. Looking them over, the professor seemed relieved.

“It seems that both paintings and the helmet can be repaired,” she said at last, “nevertheless, I will take fifty points a piece from each house. Ms. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, the Headmistress will be informed of your roles in this fight and I daresay it will not bode well for your Head Boy and Girl bids. Mr. Creevey and Ms. Weasley, you will both serve six nights of detention. Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Potter, seven nights beginning tomorrow. You are dismissed to Mr. Haggardy’s office and he will hand out your punishments.” She shuffled through the rest of the papers as the students began exiting. As Xavier reached the door, the professor called, “Mr. Malfoy, if you could stay a minute.”

Xavier turned at his heel and sat down once more. “Professor, I don’t mean to impede, but is this going to be long? I have to get to class.”

The professor eyed him and then handed him a sealed envelope. “You are going to be questioned about your involvement or lack thereof in the events that took place in the Potions Room during the night of the 11th of October,” she explained.

“Eleventh of October,” Xavier repeated slowly as he examined the envelope, “Questioned by whom?” He did not, however, need to hear her respond as he turned the envelope and found the Ministry seal on it’s flap.

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