Lake

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Witch of Rebirth]

"Well I had some spare time so I decided to come down to the lake and attempt to skip some stones." Primrose frowned for a moment and looked down at her wand. "It's not working out so well."

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

"You need to flick the stones, not throw them," Esther advised. The little kitten finally wriggled out of his owner's grasp as she bent down to pick up a flat stone. "Watch." And she flicked the stone towards the lake, the stone skipping three times before plopping into the water.

[Vanessa]

The cold breeze rippled the surface of the lake, which looked black in these winter days where everything was blanketed by white. Bruce was well-protected from the frosty winds, his scarf and coat enchanted for warmth. He'd taken the liberty of coming outside with Ace, who still came out to hunt snowflakes on the shore.

The impressive largeness of it, made grander by snowfall, reminded him of his home. Slightly imposing against the light grey winter skies, surrounded by mountains, everything feeling slightly empty.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

Since when did I become a delivery boy?

Daniel scowled as his face was met with a cool breeze. He'd only meant to talk with Nyx about why his potion received only an E, when clearly it surpassed everyone else's, and instead was sent on his way to Hagrid's to collect a few ingredients.

He wore his cloak and house scarf (both charmed to emit warmth and keep the snow off) as he made his way to the half-giant's hut.

[Vanessa]

As he followed his pet back to the school, he caught sight of another figure in front of him. Nearing the person, Bruce could see that it was that charming Slytherin fellow, Summers. What could he possibly be doing out in this cold? He'd have guessed that the dungeon of a common room they had was cold enough.

While Bruce didn't have any particular craving to pester the prefect, Ace seemed to have other plans. The feline bounded through the snow towards Daniel, tail lashing excitedly.

"Get back here," Bruce called, although he made no move to stop the cat and his voice was passive.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

The sight of an excitable cat approaching him did nothing to improve his mood. The sound of Ackerman's voice did nothing to improve his mood. Daniel sent a Knockback Jinx at the cat before it got too close. Just like before, it seemed.

"Keep your cat under control, Ackerman," he called to the Gryffindor.

[Vanessa]

"You seem to be doing a good job of it," he replied, watching with mild amusement as Ace hissed at Daniel before speeding away into the castle. He was either stupid and never learned, or a persistent little bastard.

"What brings out into the daylight and fresh air, Summers?" Bruce asked.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

"That, I believe, is none of your business."

With a roll of his eyes, Daniel started towards Hagrid's Hut. The sky darkened, clouds circling. He stopped in his tracks, brow furrowing. He pulled his wand back out, gripping it tightly. Suddenly, there was a flash of lighting, and a skull appeared in the sky. A snake slithered out of its mouth.

Perhaps one of the very few people who paid any sort of attention to History of Magic, Daniel knew exactly what it was.

"Ackerman, get inside."

[Vanessa]

"What the hell is that?"

The sudden stirring of dark clouds immediately put him on guard. His wand was out in a second, head raised to the sky. Bruce didn't recognise the grotesque symbol, but it still sent chills running down his spine. It completely took over the sky, blotting out the sun with its malignant grey and toxic green colour. Although Bruce had never been very superstitious, he could not deny the could feeling in the pit of his stomach: was this some sort of omen?

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

"That wasn't a request. Get back to the castle."

Daniel had done his research. He had been on edge ever since returning to school. But who had been killed? Of course, there really was only one way to find out, and he didn't need a companion to help him. Besides, no one would be missing him.

[Vanessa]

(((view spoiler)[but he does because he's the Doctor. (hide spoiler)]))
"And what about you?" Bruce really didn't have any reason to care about Summers' safety. He did, though, wonder about that skull image that loomed over the school, suggesting impending doom in its dark, pitted eyes. Part of him felt a little suspicion towards Summers, but it was quickly waved off. However cold and unsociable the Slytherin was, he didn't seem like the sort to be associated with whatever untold horrors the mark brought.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

"Right behind you," he replied, tone flat. "Now go."

Of course, once Ackerman was well on his way across the covered bridge, Daniel would go back. There was no way he'd be let back out to see what was going on, not to mention he'd probably have to tend to the whines and complaints of his fellow housemates.

[Vanessa]

Whatever, he thought as he started back towards the school at a brisk walk. Bruce didn't look at the mark again. It wasn't like he had to - the image was burned, in all its dark glory, into his mind. What did it mean? It wasn't good, obviously, from Summers' reaction, but that left much to be desired.

"What is it?" he repeated as he neared the school, quickening his pace.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

As Bruce walked faster, Daniel seemed to slow his pace. Last thing he needed was a professor on his tail. As the Gryffindor entered the castle, he raised his wand, and the door slammed shut behind him, locking into place. The slam from the door was sure to attract some attention.

"Ask Binns," he called back before turning and sprinting off towards the forest.

[Vanessa]

"Wh - " He released a growl, scowling at the door. Out of desperation, Bruce tried the unlocking charm. To his surprise, it actually worked, and the lock clicked open. "A - ha!" He barely felt the stares on him as he swung the door open and bolted out, a wild crazy grin broad on his face. That idiot Slytherin hadn't thought to lock the door with magic, thinking he'd been so clever locking Bruce inside.

His breathing was ragged by the time he made it to the forest. Bruce paused to catch his breath There was no immediate sign of Summers, but he was sure to be near.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

((shall we poof to the forest?))

[Vanessa]

((To the forest~))

[.]

******

A small, still breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees which encircled Black Lake. It was quite a ways off from the warm interior of the castle, and therefore quite unusual for someone like Ingrid McGovern to be sitting quietly by the dock, clutching a cup of tea that was magically keeping warm. Unfortunately the charm she'd cast upon it was sputtering - occasionally she'd suck in a breath as boiling drops of tea would spill on the misty edges of the water; a mere moment later she'd be holding a frozen teacup.

Blonde curls tumbled down from her furred hood, moving as she turned her head to inspect the silhouette of a bird against the murky sky. Even now in the depth of winter Ingrid made sure to point out her (sometimes eccentric) sense of style, with her vividly patterned stockings and plush, cashmere skirt, floating around her waist and settling on the wood of the dock.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

He could have been studying for the upcoming pop quiz that really wasn't going to be so surprising, considering Jayfox had told them. Regardless, studying was always boring, and never really worked anyways, so Cecil found himself wandering aimlessly through the snow until spotting the familiar blonde. No one else was around, clearly more inclined to stay by the fire on a chilly day. Desperately needing some sort of distraction, he made his way over to her.

"Afternoon, Ingrid," he greeted. His tone was not unfriendly.

[.]

Ingrid's luxurious mane of hair flicked over her shoulder as she turned suddenly, her silent reverie interrupted. The speaker was the tall Gryffindor boy known to her family as "Master Graham". As another affluent wizarding family, she'd known the Grahams since early childhood and due to a series of unfortunate circumstances Ingrid was quite sure Cecil would only have spoken to her at school if she was the only person there and he was alone - such as now.

"Hullo," she chirruped, tossing her head back to look at him with wide blue eyes, mouth slightly pursed in a wary manner. At age seven, no one would have suspected her of filling Cecil's soup with so many pumpkin fizzes it had erupted in his face when he tried to take a spoonful. He'd gotten back at her, of course ... and she never was quite sure what kind of a mood he'd be in.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

Ingrid McGovern was perhaps one of the only females at Hogwarts who Cecil hadn't flirted with. The rivalry between the two went back as far as he could remember. At first, the pranks were simple, harmless. Salt instead of sugar in her tea, sneaking some chillis into her dinner, "accidentally" tripping her into the mud when their parents' backs were turned. And then, at age eight, his mother trapped a boggart in the attic into a wooden box, which she had that house elves dispose of. Cecil stopped them, and he took the box, carefully wrapping it in silver wrapping paper with a gold bow. He'd dropped it off in her room the next time he visited without so much as a note attached. Of course, no one suspected him at the time. How could the innocent boy do anything like that?

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, stopping once he was a few feet away. "Not really your type of weather."

[.]

"What exactly is my type of weather?" Ingrid asked with a haughty sniff. From her eyes it was clear she was remembering the Boggart incident as well.
No clothes, she's screamed aloud, falling to the floor in a dead faint. No clothes! The Boggart had been taken care of by her father, but no one quite knew what she was talking about and the sight of her bare-as-bone wardrobe was enough to haunt her for weeks, even at the tender age of seven.

"I like going outside," Ingrid said with an indignant huff of air, peering down into the murky waters. "I just thought it would be warm - auuuuuurgh!"

A huge, suckered tentacle shot out of the water and snatched Ingrid's forgotten teacup from her side. Just as suddenly it was gone, the only indication of its existence being the dissipating ripples in the water. Ingrid, meanwhile, had scooted away so quickly she'd nearly tripped and fell into the water, staring at the lake with huge and fearful eyes. "They should have that thing killed," she spat, wrinkling her pert little nose to mask her terror.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

Cecil was about to respond when the tentacle shot out of the water. He himself took a few steps back, shocked, but he soon found himself again, and began to laugh. First because of the absolute absurdity of the entire situation, and second--

"Oh Merlin, Ingrid, the look on your face," he said, hardly trying to contain himself. Once he'd calmed down a bit, he continued, "Relax, it's just trying to have a bit of fun is all. You and the rest of your house are so high strung."

[.]

Gazing up at the Gryffindor student with those comically huge eyes, bottom lip trembling, Ingrid suddenly changed her demeanour. She took a haughty sniff and tossed her head, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest. Her skirt billowed in the wind; she looked quite dishevelled, especially for a McGovern.

"And you and the rest of your house are blundering, impulsive, fools,"she snapped angrily, marching away. Her patience was short with Cecil - truth be told she didn't actually harbour any dislike for the Gryffindors. And it was just like Ingrid to react childishly to a situation like this.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

"Ooh, ouch. I'm hurt. Right there." He patted his chest. Cecil let out another bout of laughter. It was almost as if she had turned into some parody of herself, angry and wild rather than calm and refined. Shaking his head, he turned and continued to walk around (keeping a fair distance away from) the lake.

[.]

"OK. You know what, Cecil? I'm quite sick with this."

Ingrid's voice was quieter now, clearly trying to get ahold of herself. Smoothing down her skirt, she pulled her hood a bit more tightly around her face, bunching her curls together before approaching the Gryffindor boy.

She couldn't pinpoint exactly why it hurt to see him virtually apathetic to her - after all, she hadn't done very much to him since the age of six. It was probably due to her high breeding, she established, and need to consolidate any social relationships her parents had formed. A small wave of panic rose up inside her. Social courtesy was one of her strong suits. If, after a decade of trivial pranks, Cecil and she continued to antagonize one another ... what good did that make her?

"What exactly is it that I've done to you? Salt in your tea? Embarrassed you in front of your friends? Broke your toy broomstick? Stolen your diary? Any significant childhood trauma, perhaps?"

She faced Cecil with her arms still tightly wound across her chest, bottom lip sticking out just so slightly, rounded little chin jutting out. Her voice shook with indignation and asperity, eyes glaring at the significantly taller boy.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

"Am I not allowed to laugh at things I find comical?" he questioned. "You're acting like that--" he gestured at the lake "--was my fault. Not every bad thing that's happened to you is my fault, much less that. Really, it wouldn't hurt to laugh every now and again."

In all honesty, Cecil wasn't quite sure why he loathed her. Perhaps it was the desperate need to defy his parents in any way he could, no matter how rash. Or perhaps it was because the look on her face when she got annoyed close to priceless. In any case, he wasn't in any hurry to change their relationship nor did have the inclination to begin with.

((aha that's not relevant anymore))

[.]

"I'm not talking about what happened there," a finger pointed savagely to the lake, "and you know it. I'm talking about the past decade we've known each other and why you feel the need to act like a moron when we could very well ignore each other and be done with it."

Her words escaped, tumbling over each other in their haste to get out, each one more biting than the last, and in those wide azure eyes - usually so busy narrowing with delight or condescension at an inferior - betrayed a childish fear, and the contrast of a frightened and frustrated confrontation.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

"We both know we can't ignore each other." His tone was uncharacteristically bitter--just slightly, but not unnoticeable. He would have loved to keep Ingrid out of his life, but unfortunately, circumstances prevented that from ever being the case. "Must we go over who started it? Because as I remember it, it was only our second encounter when you decided to make a bloody idiot out of me. The real question here is: why the hell did you do it?"

A scowl formed on his face as he towered over her, expression between disgust and anger. "Because the reason why I act like a 'moron,' as you call it, is because of you."

[.]

There was an incredibly long pause, tense and heated, as Ingrid's disbelieving features flicked over Cecil's. A part of her was quite frightened at the way he was acting, but of course, as it had always been with them both, their anger redoubled on each other. His angry spark seemed to erupt on her gasoline and her usually melodic, high-pitched voice scared quite a few birds from the trees.

"Excuse me?" she thundered, eyes blazing. "Are you trying to possibly pin this on a six-year-old putting pumpkin fizzies in your soup?! It was a childish prank, Cecil, by Merlin's beard! Get over it! I've certainly gotten over the awful, awful things you've done to me! After one prank!"

Ingrid was now looking at Cecil with the utmost contemptuous disgust, a look she'd quite perfected over the years, eyes shooting daggers with utmost precision.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

"You're not the one who was locked in a room overnight because of something I did to you!"

It was out before Cecil could really process what to say. Perhaps it was the desire to always have a sharp comeback, the need to one-up her in everything he could right away. He hated revealing any moment of weakness, which was clear from the amount of times he'd laughed off every prank pulled on him, from Ingrid or otherwise, while under the scrutiny of the public.

The memory was one of the worst, and Cecil had tried countless amounts of times to erase it. The moment he lifted his spoon, the orange soup erupted in his face. He had been close tears, not because of the liquid burning his face, but he knew--oh, how he knew--how his mother would react once they were home. One look at Ingrid and it was obvious what had happened. His mother shouted at him for half an hour before allowing him to explain himself, though she stopped listening after he attempted to blame the McGovern's girl. After all, how could that pretty, little thing be capable of doing such an atrocious thing? Obviously, it was Cecil's own foolishness that had landed soup on his face, and he needed to be taught to own up to his faults. Into a bedroom in the corner of the house where he wasn't meant to go, told to sit in the middle of the room and not move until his mother came back to fetch him in the morning. He moved once within the first hour: to the door to call out an apology to his mother, but all it earned him was an extra hour in the room. A house elf, a new one, visited him once, long after everyone was meant to be asleep, to give him his favourite sweet at the time and to comfort him for a bit until he fell asleep.

He stopped calling his mother "Mummy" after that.

((sorry for the ramble; I thought that I should have gone into it a bit ^^"))

[.]

[No, it's good you did!]

Quite nonplussed, Ingrid continued staring at Cecil, though the burning fire in her gaze had died down, mollified.

There was a long silence again after Cecil's outburst, and Ingrid looked down, chewing very slightly on the corner of her lip - something expressly forbidden that she hadn't ever done before.

"She locked you in a room because you had soup on your face?" she asked, quietly. It was with all due credit to Ingrid that she cloaked her incredulity, and for a moment she appeared genuinely abashed for what she had done. True - how unfair of him to assign all the blame on herself and his mother after accusing her of blaming him for all that went wrong in her life - but she would have killed for a bit of civility after he'd began to torment her for years.

Tactfully she remained quiet, though her eyes were getting dangerously leaky as she realized that there was a fat chance of someone like Cecil looking past his own fear, and as always, Ingrid got upset when she didn't get what she wanted.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

Here, Cecil held his tongue, teeth clenched, hands balled into fists. He was tempted to answer; it would make her feel guilty to know (more so than what she probably already felt). But to deny her an answer would frustrate her, which would at least give him some satisfaction.

"I don't have to answer to you," he said instead, his voice hard to mask his fragility. He turned abruptly, and started off again.

[.]

Ingrid felt a part of her break off and fall, deep inside, when he gave her that look. It wasn't one of the usual mischievous, haha-hope-that-hurt stares. It quite plainly wished her an awful death.

"Cecil."

It was a tone so uncharacteristically soft, so unexpected from Ingrid's well-protected public image, that she was shocked herself. But it was truly nothing compared to the next word she uttered, softer still, quiet and patient, imploring.

"Please."

Ingrid's entire bottom lip was being tormented by her upper teeth, her long eyebrows furrowed into her eyebrow with concern, a small slight figure by the windy lake.

[Iviana (The Sign Painter)]

She had always been good at acting. How else could she have gotten away with so much over the years? But he wasn't about to let himself fall for any of her tricks. Not now, not ever. And so he continued walking without so much as a glance back at her.

"No," Cecil replied without skipping a beat.

[.]

It's not going to happen.

He wasn't ever going to forgive her. "Hypocrite," she muttered, but there were angry tears that threatened to fall and glitter her face. With a sigh, Ingrid tightened her mouth and pivoted on her heel, bowing her head, boots kicking high off the ground.

[and faaaade]

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Witch of Rebirth]

The air around the lake was warm today, and felt good on the creamy skin of the Ravenclaw student, who had stripped of of her robes into casual clothes consisting of jeans and a t-shirt. She sat along the bank of the lake with her little rabbit, Jigsaw beside her. The brunette had her wand out, pointed at her pet with an apologetic smile on her lips. "Sorry, Jiggy," she apologized with a twitch of her wand. "One, two, three, ferra verto.[no idea how to spell that.]

Jigsaw didn't move, but just looked back at her with wide eyes. Sighing, Bryorny flopped back onto the shore with a sigh. She would never be able to get any transfiguration spells right, she would fear.

[Hope]

"You might not be getting results because you're not even saying the spell right." The voice--playfully amused but at the same time slightly mocking--belonged to Clara, who, by chance, had also decided to come to the lake to practice some spellcasting (she herself was having more trouble than she liked with the Aguamenti charm) and the lake was a perfect place to practice it. But when she heard the struggling fifth year, she couldn't help but make her way over. After all, she prided herself on her expertise in Transfiguration. "It's not pronounced with an f," she went on, drawing her wand and tapping the air for emphasis. "It's pronounced with a v. As in, Vera Verto."

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Witch of Rebirth]

Bryorny turned to look over her shoulder, a small smile of gratitude crossing over her lips. "Thank you!" She turned back to Jigsaw with her wand in the air, pointed again at his direction. "One, two, three, Vera Verto." She gave her wand a final flick, and watched her pet transform. It didn't exactly look like a glass. Actually, it didn't look like a glass at all. It looked like her rabbit (it still had the fur and face of Jigsaw) had been horribly disfigured and twisted up at the stomach. Bryorny made a face that made it look like she was the one in her rabbit's position. She flicked her wand again, and Jigsaw was back to normal, if not a little afraid. He scampered off to the grass above them, leaving Bryorny feeling guilty. "Thanks for the help, anyways," Bryorny said as she turned back to the other witch. "My name's Bryorny." She stood up to give Clara an outstretched hand.

[Hope]

A small smile parted Clara's own lips, and her hand met Bryorny's, cool on warm. She shook firmly. "I'm Clara." Keen green eyes were narrowed at the younger girl, making her look more catlike than ever in her amusement. "That rabbit of yours isn't going to be quite so partial of you if you keep this up," she teased. She nodded back into the brush, where the creature had fled. "After that mishap, I'd suggest giving him a whole basket of carrots tonight. Or whatever it is he especially likes to eat."

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Witch of Rebirth]

Bryorny nodded in agreement, her clear turquoise eyes showing her sadness. "I know. Poor guy. I wasn't allowed in to use an animal because the class was full. The professor said I could use Jigsaw and he would be fine." She but her lip, looking out to where her rabbit was eating grass. "It didn't look like he was fine, though."

[Hope]

The Slytherin gave a little laugh and waved a dismissive hand. "No, he will be. He's just a little spooked, that's all. And I can't blame him--if I were being targeted by even slightly ignorant witch, I'd get a little scared too." The comment, though obviously meant as a tease, was accompanied by a signature catlike smirk--the Russian Blue smile she was so famous for--that made them not quite as innocent. After all, there were times when Clara couldn't resist being just a little venomous.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Witch of Rebirth]

Bryorny chose to ignore the smirk, though it made her drop her eyes to the ground. The smirk was rather vicious, but so far, Clara hadn't said anything downright hateful, and so Bryorny kept the conversation going smoothly enough. "Understandable. It's going to take a week of pampering to get him to forgive me again." Already, the rabbit was beginning to draw back towards the shore. "Do you have an animal of your own here, Clara?" She asked, looking back up to meet the cool green eyes.

[Hope]

"Sure." The smirk dropped, now that the opportunity to tease had passed, and Clara nodded amiably enough. "A great-horned owl named Talon. He was my father's, and his father's, and his father's--and so on and so forth for more generations than I can count." She laughed again, mocking her own pureblood status. "What about you?" she returned the question. "Anything interesting I ought to know about you besides the fact that you're not-so-good in Transfiguration and you have a tricolored rabbit?" She wasn't trying to be rude, of course--just displaying some of the blatant curiosity she was also known for.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Witch of Rebirth]

"Hmmm." Bryorny brought a finger to her chin and rubbed it in thought. Was there anything important for this Slytherin to know? She didn't think so, but then again, she didn't know what it was that Clara wanted to know. "I'm a pure blood, you already know about Jigsaw over there, I have a brother in Hufflepuff, and nothing else rather exciting on myself." She shrugged, not feeling the need to mention that she was a rather ungrateful little girl. That was information that no one needed to know without seeing for themselves. "I'm not really the most interesting gal around."

[Hope]

"Eh. I beg to differ." Another smirk, this one amused instead of taunting. "Pretty much everyone who goes to Hogwarts is interesting to some degree, am I right? If that weren't true, none of us would be here, because none of us would be magical." Who knew bantering with a Ravenclaw could be so easy? Clara decided that she like the younger girl; when Ravenclaws weren't distracted by their enormous egos, they were actually tolerable. She would have to make a note of that.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Witch of Rebirth]

"Then in that case, I would say I'm special for being able to use magic that is not Transfiguration related." A small smile was on Bryorny's lips, and she, too felt a warm liking to the Slytherin. She hadn't thought it possible to actually be friendly with someone in the Slytherin House, but apparently not all were as evil and caniving as they seemed. It was certainly refreshing to know that not every person was exact to their stereotype.

[Hope]

Clara laughed. "And what types of magic do you specialize in, might I ask?" Perhaps, if she was lucky, Bryorny would say charms, and she could offer her a quick lesson (though she doubted the fifth year would know about the water-making charm--the Slytherin herself had only learned it last week.) Still, she supposed it couldn't hurt to hope. Ravenclaws were known for being curious and intuitive--maybe this girl had studied ahead.

[*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Witch of Rebirth]

"I'm fairly good at charms and herbology," the younger Ravenclaw replied, unaware that she had given the older Slytherin a reason to jump up for joy. Although Bryorny had a much stronger knack for herbology, the Ravenclaw was well enough in charms to help out the Slytherin.

[Hope]

Clara might have actually done so, had she been a more energetic person. As it was, she only smiled and clapped her hands in delight. "Really? Well, how about I make you a deal then? If I promise to help you get Vera Verto down, will you help me out with some charms I can't get the hang of? I always end up getting paired with the stupidest partners." A slight, good-natured roll of her eyes: whether the girl was teasing or not was unclear.