It's Only September: 'care for a swim?'

[Laurent Griffith]

No one should have been out of bed. The night was in full swing and Hogwarts castle was a looming monolith against the sky's heavy canvas. Stars fluctuated in and out of sight behind a few patches of velvety clouds, back-lit by a quarter moon. From where he stood, the hundreds of windows seemed dim and beautiful: soft embers in a fire slowly going out. He had missed the school over the summer, its spaciousness, its many sanctuaries and magical quirks. Home was home, but Hogwarts was special... it offered him a sense of belonging he failed to find while surrounded by his accomplished family members.

His nightly walks had resumed, like the four years before. Tonight was the first, but hardly the last. This time, however, his prefect badge burned a cold feeling through his heavy robes. The extra responsibility had come as both a blessing and curse: he now felt somewhat guilty using his "gift" to get around Hogwarts unopposed. Metamorphmagi were rare, few and far between. He'd been born with the talent as his mother had before him. Why his sisters hadn't inherited the gene was a mystery they often discussed over dinner. The latest suspicion was that it was a recessive trait in his mother's family and that his father, Morgan, also had that recessive gene. Since they were wizards, the muggle subject of genealogy was rather... difficult to comprehend. At best, they could compare it to blood purity, but that was an uppity subject to begin with.

Lark stood at the lake shore, his skin creamy under the moon's yellow glow. He'd lost some of his tan over the summer, but he'd tan again once Quidditch started. Wearing only a pair of swimming trunks and goggles, any passerby would likely keep on walking - Lark had put a Repello spell on the bushes nearest him. How long those would last or how effective they'd work was rather sketchy, so he'd hidden his robes in a hollow. Alone, the lake was an inviting, calm surface. Merfolk and a monster lived in the lake, but they'd yet to bother him. Of course, being able to breath under water was a plus. Already he'd begun to grow gills - a partial transfiguration that took several minutes to complete. He was young, but he was a pretty apt Metamorphmagus.

He entered the water slowly, letting the initial shivers work through his body. Swimming was one of his favorite activities besides flying. A few moments later, he was gone, streaking beneath the surface, growing webs between his toes to propel him onward.

[Kaleb Austin]

Though he does so rarely, on occasion, Kaleb will bend the rules a bit in order to better his knowledge of the school's grounds. Such a night is this one, where he scuttles around first the gardens and the courtyard in full robe. To the Slytherin, at least, it's chilly enough for a full uniform - no use in being casual about his wanderings, anyway. If he is caught out here, it's going to be with the excuse that he saw one of his underclassmen wandering the grounds on his last rounds, and now here he is trying to grab them.

In reality, however, Kaleb is stretching his own veil and doing some investigating. As one who prefers to work over others or otherwise alone, he sees little use in doing his adventuring doing the daytime hours. Stupid people here, stupid people there - all in the way, interrupting. Simply a shout is enough to make his teeth grind, particularly when he's trying to make a mental map of the area enough to dedicate future exploration to such an area.

The lakeside is somewhere he rarely treads, if only because he is extremely weary of what lingers within it. Merpeople, grindylows, the lake monster - and Merlin knows what else, but Kaleb knows one thing, and that's that he doesn't dream of being dragged into a watery coffin and wrapped in sea weeds to be a fresh meal.

The idea itself makes his skin crawl, and so he scuttles closer to the foliage than the lakeside. It's interesting to look into, anyway - a sea of black with the occasional speckle of star reflecting from the sky above. It's interesting to imagine that there are things that live in that water - and for a passing moment, he imagines that the stars looking up at him might be eyes, and, disturbed, flees the water's edge once more.

He finds himself between a couple of trees in a clearing. He's not quite in the Forbidden Forest, but close enough that it's a bit exciting - which is a startling thing in such a monotonous person's life, anyway. Poking out his lip, he's on the verge of going a bit deeper when he notices a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, and he starts, dipping behind one of the trees and peeking past it.

He feels silly when he notices it's a piece of cloth wiggling in a sudden zephyr. The loose piece of cloth is strewn across the grass, and it's easy to see that a small, furry sort of creature is what's to blame. At first, Kaleb thinks it to be a fox - but with a second's later inspection, his stomach does a flop when he realizes it's a bloody spider the size of a dinner plate, and he fights a bit of faintness as it starts and abandons the cloth, scuttling away into the woods.

Hurrying toward the source, he notices after a moment that the cloth is drawn from a small hollow beneath a cluster of bushes. He squints before he realizes there must be some magic shadowing the rest of what's hidden there, for with a counter-spell the situation is a lot clearer. It's a student's clothes, no doubt - and by the crest on the front, the owner is a Gryffindor.

How surprising. Not.

Alert now to the fact that he's not the only one out in the open, Kaleb then proceeds to wonder what on earth someone's clothing is doing burrowed under a bush. Maybe they've fled. Better, maybe they've been murdered and this is the killer's stash. Intriguing as these theories are, Kaleb's more interested in finding a logical reason to this hide out and once more approaches the edge of the lake with the cluster of clothing held in his arms like a dear babe.

To think that someone would be swimming in this deathtrap is almost unheard of, but Kaleb doesn't put that idea behind him. It would add up, anyway; considering the location, the spoils... he surfaces the idea that someone might be skinny dipping. He feels a lot less inclined to drop the clothing in his arms and flee once he realizes they're men's; he can deal with his own anatomy but seeing a woman in full frontal nudity is something he's not sure if he's prepared for, even if he does have the handicap of shutting his eyes.

And so, instead, he takes a perch on a rocky ledge out of reach of any monstery arms and waits with an intent stare toward the water. Busting his classmates is his favourite thing to do, even if it is compromising his own innocence in the process...

[Laurent Griffith]

Beneath the initial surface waters, Laurent was cheered to find that the temperature was far more pleasant along the shoreline. There was a steep drop-off nearby, but he wasn't after an adrenaline rush quite this early in the year. Nor was he such a foolhardy individual to presume that the lake's depths were safe. In truth, what lived in Hogwarts' fresh water lake were as dangerous as near anything in the Forbidden Forest. For whatever reason, however, there were no restrictions on the lake; none that Lark was aware of at any rate.

Thus, he'd found freedom. Sort of. Attached to his thigh with a strip of raw leather was his wand. At a moment's notice he could reach it to defend himself from an attack. Grindylows were a particularly vicious lot and he wouldn't think twice about drawing his wand just in case around them. As it was, the areas above the drop off were quiet today. He could swim at his leisure for up to twenty minutes without resurfacing. The gills were great fun, but they took an enormous amount of energy to maintain. Moving his insides around was enough of a feat without considering that he'd added an extra breathing organ too.

For a boy accustomed to swooping through the air at breakneck rates, he was a lovely swimmer. What he lacked in height he made up for in precision and core strength. Underwater, Laurent moved as though he'd been born with fins and flippers. He explored, casually examining various objects he discovered among swaying lake weeds. Tiny groups of plimpy's churned by, their long, frog-like legs propelling them in circles around Lark's floating figure. He was tempted to catch one, but they were gone the instant his fingers stretched in their direction. The unconscious gestured bemused him, but a burn around his neck foretold the end of his swim.

Ascending slowly, Lark broke the surface with a soft gasp. Treading water, he felt his skin shiver as the gills suddenly disappeared, leaving behind only a faint redness. His mother would likely tan his hide if she knew what he was up to, but he had a feeling that she'd be proud as well - once she finished scolding him. With the moon and Hogwarts to guide him back, he begun a quiet trek back to the shore. Dragging his goggles off, he held them as his feet hit the lake's sandy bottom. Back on solid ground, he walked in the direction he'd stashed away his clothes, ankles sloshing through the shallows. As he threaded a hand through his water slick hair, an odd shape caught his attention. Immediately, he came to a halt.

He wasn't alone.

Two thoughts passed through his head while he stood, staring the shadowed figure down as if he could will it away. One, he'd been found out. Two, now would be a fantastic time to practice 'stupefy'. Or maybe a Petrificus...

Blast, that wouldn't work. Using a spell on a schoolmate or, worse, a teacher was downright idiotic. Sure, he could cast and run, but they were awfully close to the Forbidden Forest. Lark didn't trust those woods, not the way he admittedly did the lake. His teeth clenched and he summoned what he hoped was Gryffindor bravado. The presence of his wand did little to sooth his nerves, but he moved forwards anyways. Within moments, Laurent stood a few yards short of his destination. In the dark, the person could pass for a gargoyle while holding that expectant pose. Having no other alternative, the blond splashed closer with a needless amount of noise. Merlin knows he could get around mouse-quiet, but he didn't want to startle a jinx out of his discoverer.

"..." Right. What to say? Hi, mind looking the other way while I break a few rules? Thanks, appreciate it... yeah, that'll fly right into the ground.

"If you were expecting a pretty mermaid, I'm afraid you're looking in the wrong lake." That was about as devil-may-care as Laurent could get. In truth, he was a Gryffindor for less popular reasons. Helping others was great, but everyone tended to remember the bloodied hero emerging from a crypt. Not the soft-spoken, selfless, rule-abiding friend that had tagged along and kept him from bleeding out all over the floor. Not that his current actions were, well, rule-abiding, but that wasn't the point.

The point was sitting smug and dry on a rock with Laurent's clothes taken hostage. Which was bloody brilliant, except Lark did not fancy explaining himself to Headmistress Chant in his swim trunks. Closer now, he could almost make out the boy's face. Had to be a guy; short hair, wider shoulders, the unmistakable outline of an Adam's apple... a flash of silver killed Lark's next breath. A prefect badge? "...bullocks." He muttered, realizing in a heartbeat that he could be kissing his prefect status good bye in the next ten minutes. As soon as that thought appeared, another followed.

What was another prefect doing outside? It was well past curfew and the rounds had been made already. Lip bitten and released, Lark took a risk. In all likelihood, this prefect didn't want his status revoked either. "I suppose you have an excuse made up for being out past curfew too. Something like, 'I'm looking for a first year' or 'I heard someone planted dung bombs in the garden'. I'm new to this, but the rules are the same either way..." He didn't like playing games like this. Verbal banter was fine, but the topic had to be infectious enough to hold his attention. This was juvenile; a game of cat and mouse, except they were both cats expecting each other to be mice.

[Kaleb Austin]

The wait is incredibly boring and makes the seven or so odd minutes he's standing there about a million years long in comparison. His patience, as always, is fruitful however and a figure at last surfaces in the distance. It's on land, surprisingly, but the way the drips of water glint off of it give Kaleb all the material he needs to make him believe he is correct in his prior suspicions.

A sigh escapes his nostrils at the attempt at a witty introductions; really, if he thinks slapstick is going to save him, he has another thing coming. Casually, Kaleb glances down to examine the badge on the front of the robes clutched in his hands. He notices, after a moment, that there is, in fact, a 'P' available on the front of the Gryffindor's robes as well, and it takes all of his willpower to stifle a laugh. It's like the whole evening has become gold. He almost forgets the monster spider entirely with this hilarious news. He's passed his apparitions exam already in his sixth year with flying colours, but he's not foolish enough to try doing it on the grounds when the training sessions are not in. He suppose they'll be walking together back to the castle - and Laurent will stay dripping so long as he keeps up this petty attitude he has going.

"Charming," he says in response, before his sneering expression drops at the other teenager's suave presentation of Kaleb's typical excuses. He remains stoic and straight-backed as always; it won't due to let a future Minister of Magic let a petty threat like that ruin his swagger.

He sums up that either Laurent is more clever than he looks, or they've renewed the orientation for prefects in the fifth year since he's been around. His tongue runs along the inside of his straight teeth as he steps forward to barely loom over Laurent at a couple of inches taller; it's enough to satisfy him in his intimidation field though as he stares the boy down his own nose and lifts his chin assertively.

"How about, 'I'm looking for the fool splashing around in the lake at all hours of the night?'," he suggests, and the corners of his lips curl up into a smirk that doesn't match the bored look that constantly lingers in his steely grey eyes. At this closer proximity, now that they are both bathed in a streak of light from the moon that reveals both of their appearances, he takes in the other boy's looks with a judging eye. Does he look stupid? Not really, and that's at least relieving. A fifteen minute walk to the Headmistress' office with someone like Mackenzie O'Sullivan would have him a first-stop trip to St. Mungo's for certain.

Letting his long pause sink in, however, he clears his throat after the silence sits long overdue and ends up stuffing Laurent's robes back into his wet arms. Crossing his arms once more afterward, the way Kaleb holds his wand is oddly comparable to how a Muggle may hold the bow to a violin; Kaleb would not rightfully get the comparison immediately, though with some further description his Muggle studies class might do him some glory. His pureblood lineage does not prevent him from attempting to understand the rest of the world's inhabitants, even if they are of a lesser class, and especially because there are so many more of them than there is in the wizarding world.

"Do you actually have a better explanation for yourself, or are you just going to let me turn you in without an argument?" he asks finally, though his voice is still icy. He brushes off his Slytherin and prefect badge together, as though to establish his authority a bit better. This is Laurent's redeeming moment to give Kaleb the decision as to whether he's smart enough to be spared or not, though from his demeanour, one might consider that he's looking for something more.

[Laurent Griffith]

Clearly, he's been judged. Whether he's been found wanting in those critical eyes, however, he didn't know. The green and silver badge he spotted on the boy's chest weighed heavily on Laurent's mind. A Ravenclaw might have taken an excuse and left, depending on the merits of his "lake wildlife research". No one gave Hufflepuffs much credit; he'd seen some of their prefects and they didn't look very flighty or weak-willed. Still, even one of those might have let him off with a suitable explanation.

Laurent didn't fidget under Kaleb's hard stare. 'Look down your nose all you like...' he thought wearily, straightening his posture all the same. At this proximity, it was obvious who had found him out. The icy expression didn't dissuade Laurent's cool gaze. In fact, he even smiled a hair at the subtle threat. Wary nonetheless, he let a brow wing upwards. He was sure Kaleb expected him to be squirming by now. Lots of people would wiggle uncomfortably under such directness. "Mm. That's a good one..." he remarked agreeably.

What was Kaleb waiting for? Laurent had heard of this sixth year and all his "heartlessness". Apparently this was a prefect with no sense of favoritism, except that he naturally preferred a higher breed of company. He couldn't recall a real moment of conversation between them, but that wasn't an uncommon phenomenon. Just his luck, too. Based on gossip alone, he could almost envision Headmistress Chant's office and the lash of her stern voice as he was stripped of his badge and -

- he suddenly had an armful of robes. Laurent clasped them to his chest, off-balance, taking a step back to steady himself. His gaze widened as he shot a baffled stare at Kaleb. Alright. So he wouldn't be naked when Chant took his badge away: he didn't know whether to feel relieved or humiliated. Kaleb's artistic stance was lost on Laurent as he fumbled with his belongings. Reeling still, he managed to set them on a dry patch of grass. "...you want me to argue with you?" he echoed softly, twisting his head to peer back up at Kaleb. A thoughtful look warred with how he pursed his lips, eying the older student with renewed curiosity. His first impression still stood: Kaleb was a lofty individual with high standards and an unwavering need to prove himself the better man. Where this chance to redeem himself came into the equation mystified Laurent. Silence fell between them once more and he estimated what sort of explanation might satisfy someone like Kaleb.

"...have you ever heard the merfolk sing?"

Not exactly a conventional method to plead for his innocence, but the line might hook Kaleb's attention where a regular excuse would not. Untying his wand from his thigh, he pocketed the leather and set the wand next to his clothes. His green eyes silvery in the moonlight, Laurent stopped to glance at Kaleb as if to make sure he was listening. 'He sounds... bored.' "There was an... accident... in my first year. I fell into the lake from a broom during flying class." He didn't mention that he'd been flying since before he could talk. Nor that a spiteful classmate had asked his older brother to jinx Laurent's broom. His father had been on a Quidditch team for years before retiring and becoming an Auror.

He began dressing, ignoring the wet slide of fabric against his damp skin. "Two hundred feet up and no wand; I should've drowned, they said. I hit the water hard enough to break an arm, but I was conscious while I started sinking." That had been the first time he'd attempted an animal morph. He'd managed gills, but he'd been in too much pain to swim. He could still remember the utter terror he'd felt, the cold of the lake as he sunk into the darkness. "I heard them before I saw them. It was... eerie. I was alone, but then suddenly they were everywhere. I couldn't do anything... one came forward and grabbed the arm I'd broken." He knew instinctively that if that hadn't happened, they would have left him to die. His scream had made bubbles burst from the gills around his neck. That had attracted the leader's attention.

"I guess they were feeling generous. Next I know, I'm rising up, with voices all around me and then I'm on the shore. Coughed up half the lake, I think. Spent the night in the infirmary and had to suffer a visit from my family... all of them." Laurent sighed, sounding world-weary.

Fully robed, he stroked a finger over his badge, all sentimentality fading. Here he was telling a stoic Slytherin a survival tale [full of mile-wide plot holes], expecting to find a shred of compassion so he wouldn't lose the prize on his chest. "Anyways. I started swimming to see if I might... thank them. Somehow. Haven't had much luck, 'cept sometimes I'll hear them..." Laurent met Kaleb square on, hair still dripping lake water. As for how he'd really survived ten minutes in the lake without air, he couldn't say. Telling anyone, especially someone whom could expose him. Headmistress Chant already knew what he was, but he wasn't supposed to tell any of the students.

"That's the truth, anyways... Do you fancy taking midnight strolls, Kaleb? It is a mild out for September." He inquired mildly, pocketing his wand. It wasn't exactly summer weather, so Laurent did shiver a little as a stray breeze passed over the grounds. Despite all he had at stake, he was still polite. He had no idea what it was Kaleb was waiting or looking for. Whether his reminiscing had stirred pity or some sort of interest beneath that stiff exterior was his only hope.

[Kaleb Austin]

If this had been a story out of the blue, Kaleb would likely be a lot less intrigued than he is. The reality of the situation, however, is that Kaleb is acutely aware of the story foretold by Laurent in detail. It’s only a legend around the school – one that no one’s specifically sure who it was anymore, but from what Laurent is saying, Kaleb has his answer at last. He wonders if Laurent is aware of the infamy of this story; he doesn’t seem to, but all at once, that gives Kaleb the possibilities of ulterior motives, or a well-sewed lie.

Perhaps Laurent is not the boy who fell, simply putting himself in the shoes. The way he fills in the blanks is rather convincing, however, and it seems to at least keep Kaleb’s attention, even if he is glaring down Laurent like he’s hoping he hurries the hell up and finishes his stupid story sometime before sunrise. Kaleb’s mind works its gears and he samples the idea finally that this is an honest truth. Does this make Laurent oblivious to his infamy? Maybe it is so, if only because it’s to Kaleb’s knowledge that it was one of his housemates who is responsible for Laurent’s alleged misfortune a couple of years prior.

In any case, the story comes to a close, leaving Kaleb with a lot of internal questions unanswered. How, mostly; how did he survive, even with the aid of merpeople at his side? The whole thing sounds completely obscure, but here is Laurent standing before him - the victim of the exact story he’s telling, alive and in the flesh. Not a ghost in the least, and with the prominent silver ‘P’ on his chest to stand for his position in the school.

The part of the story that strikes Kaleb as the most dishonest is the final statements – the ones that suggest that Laurent is taking these swims regularly, and also that he’s seeking some kind of thanks to the beings that live below. Swimming back in there seems more like a death wish – to Kaleb, anyway, but with little compassion for things he expects has a desire to eat him or otherwise, he finds little sense in the missions even so. Frankly, Kaleb sees it like Laurent is fortunate to be alive at all. He knows that supper doesn’t fall from his sky every day, and he’s sure that the same is for the merfolk in the water.

Lake Death would be more appropriate – or maybe Kaleb is just a lousy swimmer. Regardless, he pushes all of these thoughts into his personal cache of information that he stores for a later date. Whether it’s to use against Laurent or in his favour has yet to be determined. For now, he lets it slide.

In Laurent’s favour, Kaleb has almost lost sight as to why they are out there in the first place, but he reminds himself once the story comes to a close in order to keep in line. He’s wondering why Laurent chose a story to retell – probably to background the facts that he listed toward the end, but as has been stated, Kaleb still doesn’t entirely believe him anyway. There are numerous other possibilities that Kaleb could come up with but he doesn’t care enough to try anymore and is simply thankful that things have, for the most part, seemed to come to an end.

His eyes only leave Lark’s face to watch the other teenager’s finger travel over the crest of his robes. Afterward, they slip back up to stare him down once more with his usual expression still in place. What’s he supposed to say? ‘What a pity’? Is he supposed to dawdle off now with his head hung? That’s certainly not what’s going to happen.

Not that he has much of a chance to respond, because a moment later and he’s… being invited for a stroll? If the shiver that radiated off of the other teenager a moment earlier said anything, it was that a midnight walk was a bad idea – wait, what was this kid’s name, even? Kaleb tries to grab it from the surface of his memory, but nothing’s coming to mind. He’s almost certain he’s seen him in a Prefect meeting before now that the drippy blond hair is out of his eyes and the like, but still no name comes to him. He doesn’t typically dabble in the ways of Gryffindors as it is.

“I’m out here already, aren’t I?” he says finally, raising both eyebrows and turning to walk perpendicular to his previous direction. He’s not surprised that Laurent knows who he is, and he’s not about to ask how anyway. His trek is obviously in the direction of the castle; what for is uncertain. Perhaps Laurent is getting it anyway, or maybe Kaleb is just socially apt enough to lead someone indoors when they’re dripping in September weather, mild or not.

“Gripping story, I’m sure you’ll impress some first year no doubt.” The sarcasm practically drips from his mouth like a frothy dog. He turns his light eyes on the other teenager a moment before looking back to his destination. He’s moreso confused, trying to sort out why this kid is inviting him on a walk after the potential threats rather than flee or something else. It’s something he hasn’t faced yet in his current position, and so he feels the need to investigate it further; typically an individual will have smote him beyond repair at this point. This boy, however, is keen to be friendly regardless.

A trap? Perhaps; but that’s all about what Kaleb seeks to discover in life – figuring out the things that can bring him down early in his future career choice. He licks his teeth like he’s eyeing a meal absent-mindedly and smoothens the front of his robes down a bit to maintain their appearances.

“Why are you really out here? Pleasure, leisure? Perhaps you’re to be meeting someone? You certainly don’t seem shy,” he adds in reference to the lack of modesty in Laurent’s approach.

[Laurent Griffith]

Sucking air through his teeth, Laurent stood readily through the stony silence following his tale. In the four years past, he could count the number of times he'd retold the story on one hand. Mostly because few people had actually stood witness to his watery plight. The Quidditch Pitch's tall stands were to thank for that. Except for Madame Hooch and two students stealing a snog at the lakeside, his drop from the sky had otherwise gone unseen. Oh, sure, his entire class had watched him veer off toward the castle, bouncing around like a rodeo clown as his broom tried valiantly to pitch him off. Jeremy Stevens hadn't anticipated two factors when he'd asked his brother to jinx Lark's broom.

One, Lark had been taught how to fly by an expert Quidditch player. His father, an ex-Seeker.

Two, that the broom would go up instead of wobbling aimlessly around the field.

Laurent still believed that the two hundred foot fall should have killed him. If he closed his eyes and thought back to that moment, the echo of that gripping fear would spring up and latch onto his psyche. Even now, his throat felt rough and dry as he swallowed down the memory. He didn't expect the stone-faced Slytherin to believe him right away, or at all for that matter. The story itself was riddled with aspects too far-fetched to instill believability. As for who really knew what happened, Headmistress Chant had demanded an oath of silence from Jeremy and his brother. The teachers were more or less in the dark, but they knew something extreme had happened.

As for the unfortunate snogging couple, they had been the ones to fetch Hooch after Laurent hadn't immediately surfaced from his plunge into the lake. Chant had been too upset to realize they'd been skipping class at the time. Lark could still recall seeing them sneaking off as the headmistress blew her usual cool whilst demanding an explanation out of the Stevens brothers. That night had gone on and on without end. Lark had spent most of it roaming between fields of consciousness. Funny how pain was the last thing he remembered. The taste of Skelegrow was more poignant in his memories than his broken arm. Half of what he'd told Kaleb had been the absolute truth.

The other half was a labyrinthine he didn't dare enter without serious forethought. Kaleb's resounding silence knifed through him, twisting a knot in his gut. He was prepared for contempt and insult. Those eyes promised condescension or derision. In all his life, he'd never met a gaze quite so cold and aloof. In a way, it fascinated him. He was accustomed to chaos and general liveliness, but Kaleb was absolutely still, a statue carved from smooth marble. Whatever Laurent might have expected of the older boy was blown to pieces the moment he finally came to life. Taken aback, Laurent melted into step to one side of the Slytherin prefect. Kaleb was heading toward the castle, which stirred both trepidation and relief in him.

Laurent might not have been the world's best conversationalist, but there was no mistaking the tone Kaleb had taken up. Instead of rising up like a kicked dog, ready to fight for his honor, Laurent chuckled. For reasons he couldn't explain, Kaleb reminded him of his second youngest sister, Isabelle. She was the black sheep of the family and a highly argumentative one. While not so cool cut as Kaleb [who was?], she had the airs of a dignitary and a sharp tongue to match. Needless to say, she didn't cut slack for anyone, family member or otherwise. Isabelle was the sister Laurent could talk to without fear of an insubstantial answer.

Thus, Kaleb's sneering comment elicited a small, humorous chuckle. The ends of his lips tilted upward, but Lark's gaze remained on the castle before them. "I suppose it would..." There was a hint of wonder in his voice; Laurent hadn't told this story since his first year. He cared not that Kaleb hadn't received it with open arms and an awe-struck face. That hadn't been his purpose in the first place. Getting the sixth year to pay attention, properly, had been. Look where they were now, for starters. Shouldn't Kaleb have thrown him to Chant's mercy by now?

Greenish eyes rose to find Kaleb staring at him strangely. He couldn't place that kind of look and thus parried it with a simple shrug, smile still tilting his lips playfully. "Can't say I've thought of entertaining anyone that way... You're the first in a long time." He replied musingly. "I hope you didn't mind my disastrous attempt as I'm sure there were plenty of grammatical errors."

His humble humor faded. Laurent lifted his chin, casting a stare at the star-dotted sky. Kaleb's suggestive question spurred a furrowed stare out of the blond; his gaze met Kaleb's squarely. A muscle in his jaw tensed as he mulled over those questions, confused. The Slytherin had suggested one of a number of things and the younger male wasn't sure which direction to take it. "Disregarding the fact that I broke a rule of my own volition, I still take being a prefect seriously, Kaleb. I wouldn't risk dragging anyone along for fun and games..." There, that was one side of the questions.

He sighed, prodding his lower lip with his teeth. Lark moved forward, slowing to stand an arm's breadth away from Kaleb. The contradiction between their appearances was lost in the dark, but Laurent felt strangely exposed despite having donned his clothes again. "A bit of both, I guess. Sometimes I need time to... sort myself, my thoughts and so on. Don't you ever feel pressured or, uh, tense? You must, seeing how you're out here."

Hoping to have pinned down the matter somewhat, Lark fiddled with his wand in his pocket. He was still perplexed by the term 'shy'. Did Kaleb mean that he could have swam during the day? Which was true, and safer for the most part. There were so many eyes during the day; alone time should be, well, alone time. He didn't want to settle for anything in between. "You did take my clothes hostage, so don't expect me to apologize for appearing immodest. Well, if you were a girl... but you're not, so I don't see why you'd be upset." He sighed, punching down a surge of temper. It wasn't like him to get riled up over nothing and even in the midst of threats and uncertainties he was unwavering.

"What do you do, this late out? 'less it's you who's meeting someone, than it's not really my business. Walking's nice, though. It's peaceful, too."

[Kaleb Austin]

The moment the good-naturedness leaves Laurent's voice, Kaleb's eyes are back on him again with that consistent flat look he seems to maintain regardless of mood. There is, however, a distinct notice in his gaze that reflects Lark's discomforts well. Whether anything that Laurent is actually saying is sinking in or not is as much of a mystery as their exchange is itself; he continues to eye Laurent in this passing game of cat and mouse, and, Kaleb is sure that he once more has claimed his position as the cat.

The little ticks in Laurent's behaviour are extremely obvious to Kaleb, if only for the tiny bits of body language slipping through. The lip nibbling is something specific all in its own - a break through in Laurent's calmer exterior that is slowly shattering as the effects of Kaleb's carefully placed statements sink in. The claw hits deeper as the other teenager begins to retort with questions. The practise is becoming more standard as they move closer to the castle, and Kaleb directs his attention back to the building as he seems to take Laurent's banter into consideration.

"No, I don't feel pressured or tense. I genuinely enjoy the job I have - bringing attention to rules and restrictions," he drawls evenly. "I keep my house in check and other's just as, since no one else seems quite as dedicated to the task. Even the professors lack." He almost sighs the last statement, thinking of Shale Cross. Again, though, it's increasingly difficult to tell if Kaleb is being sarcastic or not; his steady pace designs a demeanour for him that makes his intentions even less obvious. With his attention not on Laurent visually, his wall is restored.

It breaks, however, with a cursory stare that hits Laurent from straight over Kaleb's shoulder. Again, it seems, the younger of the pair has gripped his attention in an unusual way. Laurent's reply is peculiar, but his frustrations are beginning to surface, and Kaleb fights back the smirk that begs to be brought to his outer layer. Next comes the darting questions, the uncertainty, the attempt to dig back at someone who has already spent his time building a mote around Laurent's feet.

He enjoys this game, and that's maybe why they are not yet in Headmistress Chant's office.

"I didn't take your clothes hostage. You left them in a bush. You would have had none at all if I hadn't," he adds, turning his face away as he peels the grand doors open to the entrance hall and is patient in waiting for Laurent to pass before he himself steps inside. The door booms shut behind them and he once more dusts the front of his robes off as though being in the open has made them dirty, though his appearance is tidy and pristine as always. "A spider the size of the bloody moon was about to take off with them. With that in mind, what was I supposed to think? For all I knew, a first year has been apprehended by a giant spider army and dragged into the Forbidden Forest for supper..."

He trails off his statement specifically because it is so comical and ridiculous. The bemused albeit sardonic expression on his face concludes that he's entertained by the thought even so.

"Being that that's about as sensible as a Muggle on a broomstick, my next best guess came with logic. Pile of clothes hidden in a discreet location by the lakeside in the night time... it's because you're a boy that you're unlucky. I would have given a lady her space," he notes.

"So what do I do in the late evenings?" He opens the second door, into the main corridor, and this time allows himself to enter first. His shoes make no noise against the stone floor as he walks. "I am fairly certain I've met someone, and it's very much your business."

He turns to give Laurent another long look, this time with the solemnity that is in his usual character returned to his face. The monotony in his voice hasn't left, in any case, but there is a searching look to him that seems to abruptly evaporate into recognition.

"Am I going to catch you out here again, Laurent?" Perhaps Kaleb's memory is not so cloudy after all.

[Laurent Griffith]

What a one-track mind this boy had. Laurent wondered if his Slytherin counterpart had even the slightest notion of this. For almost the entire duration of their conversation, Laurent had been speaking candidly, on a personal level. He had been asked a question concerning pleasure or leisure: he'd given an honest answer without batting an eyelash. True to normal conversing methods, Lark had turned around and inquired the same of Kaleb. His response?

Impersonal. Career-orientated.

In other words an enormous "what?" was rambling around Lark's brain faster than a Hungerian Horntail could fry-cook its dinner. He shot the older boy a calculating stare. Kaleb's back was to him as they advanced up the slope toward Hogwarts and all Lark could see was that straight posture, neat hair and disciplined walk. While he knew little of Kaleb personally, he could learn a lot through observation if he wanted to. So far, what Laurent had heard made him think twice about what to say around Kaleb. There was a distinct rigidity about the Slytherin. He had already underestimated Kaleb's professionalism, which the other seemed keen on taking to a level Lark had never thought to acknowledge. Did that mean Kaleb was more mature than he was? It bothered Lark that he couldn't pin down an explanation for the sixth year's behavior. Was it because he was a Slytherin? Did his parents expect him to treat school like a job?

Still, no one was immune to pressure. It was a fact of life; everyone went through various forms of pressure or stress throughout their lifetime. Laurent nearly smiled as he changed his pace to keep up with the taller boy. He didn't miss Kaleb's subtle exasperation or snide criticism either. Which brought him back to the Kaleb's strict mannerisms. Wasn't a student supposed to learn by example? Perhaps there were some teachers that didn't quite fit their leading role, but magic took all sorts of individuals to harness its wilier aspects.

Deciding to leave the issue alone, Lark pocketed his hands to warm them. Taking a deep breath of the cool midnight air, he froze, struck by a sudden stare in his direction. He was momentarily unable to exhale, bewildered by the hard scrutiny. If Kaleb was trying to rattle his cage, he was doing an exemplary job. No one usually had the time or energy to unearth the insecurities Laurent kept under lock and key and yet Kaleb was doing so without much effort.

Resigned to whatever game Kaleb was playing, Lark's features twisted into a minute frown. Ushered into Hogwart's entrance hall, he swiftly turned on his heels to watch Kaleb as he came inside afterward. His stare held only questions, absent of temper and distrust. After a pregnant pause, he gave a soft 'hmmph' as if to discard the current subject. With one hand trying to persuade some semblance of tidiness out of his wet hair, Lark gave a small, thoughtful smile. "That would have been unfortunate. If that's the case, then I suppose I owe you my thanks instead. Forgive my presumptuousness... a spider, huh?"

He hummed a curious noise, stopping to send Kaleb a lifted brow. Another curtain had been lifted, revealing a rather unexpected treat behind it. "Oh? An army of them? That would have been quite a sight." Laurent murmured, a smile tickling a lick of subtle humor across his pale visage. He caught a similar expression on Kaleb's face, much to his personal satisfaction. Kaleb had, if anything, an imagination; an active one if his last statement was any indication.

"I think the grounds keeper would have warned us, but I'm glad you're out there making sure our school isn't overrun with eight-legged crawlies." He commented with a light tone, implying both seriousness and a smidgeon of teasing. At least he still had his clothes, no matter the previous plight they might have suffered. Obviously Kaleb was polite - in a very slick, constructed fashion.

Still mindlessly floating after Kaleb without any intentions of slipping away - honoring some moral code presumably - they entered the main corridor. The door slipped shut behind him. They were a quiet pair while moving down the corridor: Lark hadn't thought to put his shoes back on. One, he didn't want to wet them [dead give away if caught]. Two, the left one squeaked sometimes. He'd shrunk them at the lake shore and hid them in his robe pockets; hopefully they were still there. Robes swaying around his ankles, his gaze met Kaleb's when he turned again. Lark blinked, accustomed to maintaining silence and composure.

In a blink of an eye, there seemed to be an intangible, nebulous shift between them. The use of his name stirred surprise out of Lark, but he masked it with a slow, serene smile. Nothing pretentious or defiant, only a certain pleasantness he usually reserved for closer acquaintances. "Only if you ask me on a walk, Kaleb." He replied, forthright.

Jade eyes flickered, shifting to the left and narrowing on some spot past Kaleb's shoulder. His lids peeled back, shock and dismay flaring through his quizzical stare. Without warning, Laurent lunged forward, snatching one of Kaleb's wrists. With a burst of urgent energy, he yanked the older boy along after him. Three steps and they were at an unmarked door. Lark suppressed a relieved sigh when it opened, unlocked. Darting in, he pulled Kaleb with him, letting go immediately once they were both inside. Hissing a sharp "quiet!" over his shoulder, he then softly pressed the door shut.

Three or four inexplicable seconds later, a sing-song voice echoed down the corridor. "Ickle Firsties, what fun to be had. Trouble, trouble, should you be out'ta bed! Ha haaa, he heee~"

Peeves, the school's infamous poltergeist, zipped past the door, unaware that he'd missed a bit of fun by mere moments. Lark winced when something banged and the evil little spirit made a loud cackle. Several moments later, he let out a low sigh. Prefect or not, it was never good to cross paths with Peeves during the midnight hours. 'Splendid company he would make. Thank Merlin for that portrait's head's up...' He thought, turning away from the door. The room was pitch black. Pulling out his wand, he muttered a soft "Luminos" and the end began to emit a low blue glow. Finding Kaleb's outline, he grinned in the mostly dark room. "Tonight really hasn't made for the best of introductions. I don't usually shove people into spare broom closets..." Which wasn't made at all ironic by the lack of brooms in the room.

Eying the surroundings sheepishly, he made no move to open the door just yet. After all, it had seemed like Kaleb had been about to let him off, sort of. Laurent did not relish the idea of giving up his solitary night activities, but he was not about to lose his badge. It was a pity, but he'd given up things far more personal than an occasional swim.

"...your wrist alright?" Laurent inquired suddenly. He had a strong grip despite his appearance; Quidditch required a decent amount of perilous flying techniques after all. He would honestly feel bad about hurting someone, even accidentally. Even to a Slytherin with ice-lined veins and a perma-frown stuck on his face. Well. Maybe that was how Kaleb wanted to be seen; it wasn't his place to judge him. If it weren't for the circumstances surrounding their initial meeting, Lark might have even enjoyed the verbal power plays.

[Kaleb Austin]

Kaleb breathes through his nose in a way that suggests he may be suppressing a laugh at Lark’s off-handed statements in terms of the spider stampede. He leaves it to Laurent’s imagination whether the tale of the obscenely large arachnid is true or not, though he doesn’t broadcast his inward concern for the creature he found assaulting Laurent’s wardrobe. The thought of whether the school is aware of their small… large-spidered problem will likely dwell in the back of his mind until asked. The thought occurs to him that he could very well ask their Care of Magical Creatures professor, but the thought of Shale Cross puts a bad taste in his mouth for the second time, even if his face doesn’t reflect it.

He is only started out of his concerns when Laurent’s closing statement hits his ear. He turns to look at him again, reserving the vacancy of his reflection even though Laurent’s passive-aggressive invitation has planted a seed in the back of Kaleb’s mind that will likely linger there for days until he chooses to do something about it. Is it even an invitation, or simply a mockery of their prior conversation? His eyes don’t leave Laurent’s face as he attempts to read his expression – that calm smile, the warmth to his eyes that Is even more confusing, and the use of Kaleb’s own name.

Kaleb’s inner investigation is brought to a halt as, abruptly, he is being yanked in a direction with such vigour that he is nearly swept off of his feet entirely. He’s in the midst of turning a fiery inquisition on Laurent once they are within the dark enclosure of the room, but he’s muted by Lark’s hiss of silence before he has the time to get out the beginning of his scolding.

The only sound between them is their breathing before Peeves’ song erupts from some distance down the corridor. In the darkness, mild surprise scours Kaleb’s expression, but it fades as quickly as it comes. He stands stagnant across from Laurent in the dark until the moment of tension passes, and as Laurent lights his wand, the dilation of his pupils are the only giveaway that he isn’t a statue standing in what once was a human’s place. He maintains his idle posture a moment longer before he turns his eyes to stare back at Laurent once more. They are painfully close for Kaleb, the only person who is typically daring to invade his personal space being his mother, who knows not the meaning of those words. Even a good number of feet are put between himself and his siblings usually, and here he is with a stranger nearly chest to chest post a dangerous encounter.

He notes it as nearly theatrical, really. The whole evening has been theatrical, in a way.

Instead of questioning the hows, the whys, all those things that one might casually present as to Laurent’s knowledge of the poltergeist’s arrival, he simply meets eyes with him instead. An inner calculation seems to be taking place, before his eyes travel from the top of Laurent’s head to his feet, and back up to the top again. There’s a moment between them where he seems bothered, and then he lifts his wand, presses it to Laurent’s collarbone gently, and whispers ‘impervius’. The water from the other teenager’s hair, clothes and skin drops to the ground like a hand shying away from a flame. Seeming satisfied, Kaleb turns to newly consult their surroundings with a bored expression, but interested eyes. He is either entirely fine, or completely disregarded Laurent’s inquiry to his well-being entirely; as always, it’s difficult to tell.

Lifting a hand, he runs his fingertips gently over the frame of the door, and then draws his palm toward the light of Laurent’s wand. A thick layer of dust has littered his skin, and he pinches his fingers together to rid his hand of the substance. As dust balls float to the ground in chunks, Kaleb lifts his eyes once more to Laurent’s to meet for only a moment where he lifts his eyebrows.

“Curious.”

He turns his gaze into the dark abyss that is the rest of the room and steps into the blackness. A few metres away, there is a whisper before a yawning warmth of light spouts from the tip of Kaleb’s wand as well. The room itself is better illuminated between the pair of them, and Kaleb stands near the centre with his head turning to investigate it better with his full peripherals. The room itself is shelved with books coated in cobwebs and a layer of dust so thick that most of the covers are illegible. Some number of chairs and desks are pushed to a back corner beside what is either a closet door or a door to another room. The furniture blocks the path, and so, for the time being, it renders Kaleb disinterested.

His curiosity leads him after to the shelf of books, where he withdraws one with extreme care, lest there be some less friendly magic tied into its order. Blowing a sea of dust from the cover, he leans out of the light to cough in a delicate fashion before sniffing and flopping it open in one arm.

“There are so many uninhabited rooms in this school. I’ll bet you a galleon this isn’t available to be entered in the daytime,” he says finally, daintily turning pages of the book with his pinky finger. He seems disinterested in it after a few more moments and glances up at the shelf before setting the book back. Turning to look at Laurent afterward, he gives him a haughty look before raising his eyebrows once more in an inquisitive fashion. He nods at the door that is barricaded by the spare furniture.

“It’s not like we’re going to be posed with this opportunity again. Are you going to help investigate or not?”

He lets his statement hang a moment, and then the corners of his mouth peel up slightly in a smirk that narrows his expression into something much more mischievous. Stepping to the pile, he outs his wand quietly and, with use of the dim light from Lark’s, begins the task of putting some chairs into the opposite corner of the room with the use of magic.

[Laurent Griffith]

Peeves was, for the most part, long gone from Laurent's mind.

With the risk of discovery fading, he had moments enough to absorb the present situation. The darkness was thick, like a cluster of shadows inching away from the glow of his wand-tip. Before he'd spoken the spell, he hadn't known what had become of Kaleb. Now he knew and it startled him from crown to toe. 'Bloody hell, why I am so short?' He had nowhere to go with Kaleb so close and therefore chose to remain in place, his eyes wide in the dim illumination. Most of his family were the touchy-feely sort and so he was aptly prepared for the invasion of space. Frankly, however, Kaleb reminded him of stories involving basilisks and their ilk. Stoic, body coiled tight, with hidden fangs poised to strike at any moment. A true Slytherin.

The severity of the silence was stuffy and poignant, almost unbearable. He was swamped by a feeling of being unable to breath. Although he wasn't panting, Lark couldn't escape the sensation of hyperventilating. Kaleb, silent as a gargoyle, drew out his wand while he looked on, transfixed. Laurent stiffened as the blunt tip brushed against his chest. He drew in a staggered bit of air, but then his lips pressed tightly together. Whatever Kaleb was about to do, he wasn't going to -

- "impervius..."

Like a warm hand passing over his cheek, a comfortable dryness spread over his body. His toes flinched in a newly formed pool of water on the floor; Lark blinked back honest astonishment. "Um..." Uncertain, Lark rubbed his free hand over his stiff hair. Flustered and at a loss for what to do or say, Laurent leaned backward. The door's rough wood was prickly against his shoulders. With what seemed to be approval, Kaleb moved away, as if to ignore Lark once again, but he then reached out. Laurent tried not to shrink away, however the movement had caught him off-guard. His insides squirmed uncomfortably and a furrow between his brows portrayed the level of Lark's inner turmoil.

Dust spores tickled his nose, likely from the stuff Kaleb had pinched off the door. Wrinkling his nose to ward off a sneeze, he met Kaleb's gaze with one of his own. He hoped it was dark enough to hide his perplexed state. "Hm?" He echoed, realizing Kaleb had spoken. 'Curious? ...I guess an unused broom closet wins out over man handling these days...' But that wasn't the end of Kaleb's changed persona. Like one of those muggle detectives, the older boy had begun investigating the room, his wand aglow. Straightening up, Laurent slowly joined the idle scrutiny. His gaze roved from corner to corner, narrowing as curiosity bubbled to the surface of his psyche. Wariness and bewilderment receding, he traced the spines of a few faded covers. They felt soft, like thin, supple leather. "Old..."

His voice sounded small in the stuffy environment. Hearing Kaleb speak, he glanced over his shoulder. Regarding him with a small, comprehensive grin, Lark tapped his wand against his palm. "I'd take that bet, but I'd rather not lose a galleon. I wonder what professor left things here and forgot to collect later..." he replied, good-naturedness returning in full swing. A soft half-laugh followed the look sent his way, but his gaze followed the direction of Kaleb's nod. "Feeling adventurous are we?"

He paused and watched Kaleb levitate chairs out of the way. Muttering 'nox', the room briefly fell into utter darkness. In a moment, there was a soft, crackling sound: light was restored as Lark held out a handful of shimmering magic. He smiled shortly, eyes darting to Kaleb with an air of delight. He'd learned the spell years ago as a child when he'd gone camping with his father. Bonding, Morgan'd called it. Letting the light hover mid-air, he copied Kaleb and began moving the stacked chairs aside. "I swear this place has rooms for its rooms sometimes. Let's see... What's behind door number one..."

When the space was clear, Lark urged the light-sphere along with his wand. Taking the lead, he pressed the door open [the handle seemed to be missing]. It gave after a quick shove, creaking ghoulishly. Before stepping inside, he sent his light spell into the room. When no alarm spell went off or random beast tried to eat his robe hems, he tentatively took a step inside. Then another, followed quickly by a third. "Well, no treasure. Not the gold kind, at any rate." He called back to Kaleb.

In fact, the room seemed more like an old office. As if a professor had once come here to grade scroll-work or relax between classes. There were more books - rows of them - and a tall stone fireplace. This room was circular however and there seemed to be no roof, like the grand dining hall. Murmuring a giddy sound, much like a child on Christmas morning, Lark searched for candles. Finding some, he lit them one by one. "S'pose no one's been here in ages." He remarked, scanning the room with renewed interest. Something shone next to the fireplace. Padding over, Lark realized that it was actually a mirror, covered in a velvet cloth. Moving the cover aside, it took several puzzled moments for him to figure out that he had no real reflection. The surface was murky, as if filled with fog. A Foe-Glass?

"Maybe one of the ol' Dark Arts teachers...?"

[Kaleb Austin]

It’s on the edges of Kaleb’s mind to scold Laurent for opening the door so carelessly, though he is relieved at least to see him take caution in entering. Luck seems to be on their side today in terms of danger, anyway, and he follows in after the Gryffindor with caution, eyes peeled for any sign of danger.

The room itself is a peculiar find. Its state concerns the sixth year if only for the fact that he finds it peculiar that a teacher would abandon all of their belongings for so long and not return for them, particularly when hidden with such precision. He doesn’t acknowledge Laurent’s statements but hears them, instead scavenging an opposite end of the room in order to take in details. He does turn his head at his final presumption, however, and seems thoughtful.

“Perhaps,” he returns in his typical drawl, nosing through the pile of papers on the desk with his wand carefully. “Or not a teacher at all.”

The papers on the desk seem not to be assignments, but diaries. The writing itself is neat and tidy but makes little to no sense, if only for that it is written in a language that is like one Kaleb has never seen. He gives it a long look before lifting a document off of the desk, brushing the parchment free of dust a bit better and squinting. No, he finds no signals from the writing that make it understandable. He is considering snatching a leaf to further investigate in the library when abruptly a whirring noise begins to sound from within a drawer, followed by a lot of rattling that nearly has Kaleb blow his cool entirely.

The sound is familiar though, and so he takes a bit less caution as he opens the drawer. Plucking the large sneak-o-scope from within the desk, he gives it a bit of a shake and sets the parchment back down on the ground. The Dark Detector dies instantly and Kaleb rolls his eyes; what was he planning to do with a bloody age-old parchment he can’t even read, plagiarize? He examines the sneakoscope a bit closer as he glances up at Laurent and wanders over to see what he’s looking into. The mirror is smoky and translucent even to Kaleb, though occasionally it seems as though he can make out a shadow strolling by behind the cloudy film. He turns to glance behind them, as though paranoid that perhaps there is someone wandering around behind them, but the room is dim and bare of life but for themselves.

“What’s one of these doing here? In an abandoned room,” he emphasizes, mostly because he’d thing such an artefact as a foe glass would be put to good use in a functioning office. “Useless if it doesn’t belong to you, though.”

He deposits the sneakoscope into Laurent’s palm after a moment of thought before moving back to the desks. This time as he picks up a leaf of scribed parchment, the sneakoscope doesn’t seem to be willing to go off, and he takes it and the small accumulated pile off of the desk carefully and slips them into the inner pocket of his robes.

Smoothing the breast of his outfit carefully to keep everything neat even with dust speckling the pressed cloth, he begins to search shelves instead. Trinkets and objects that look pretty but he doesn’t dare touch; his suspicions are rising the longer they reside in this hollow, and it makes him step back in line with Laurent, but not close enough to touch.

“I wouldn’t advise trying to take anything more than paper,” he says finally, and taps his wand to the inside of his palm in thought. “Someone so paranoid can’t have been keeping anything good in he-”

He’s interrupted by a cupboard door banging open, and something moves from it so quickly that Kaleb legitimately jumps, wand out faster than a flame to water. For a moment he stands alert, and closer to Laurent than he would normally intend to; whatever has escaped the cupboard has fallen behind the desk and blocks their path to the door. Kaleb can feel the creep of nerves behind his neck as he maintains a defensive posture.

There’s an eerie scraping on the floor before a head peeps around the corner of the desk. The sight itself makes Kaleb’s skin crawl as he watches a pool of fluid circle out from behind the table and the smell of copper scents the air, signalling the presence of blood. A hand creeps out past the head and drags the broken-looking doll of a figure, revealing it to be a young girl with dark, dead eyes and bloodstained auburn hair. For a moment, Kaleb’s face remains stony with shock before the situation seems to dawn on him a bit better.

“Lucy!”

“Kaleb,” the girl’s voice is a crackle uncharacteristic for a young girl, and Kaleb’s expression narrows a bit. “Kaleb, help me!”

A moment’s pause and Kaleb swallows before he seems to get over whatever stall he’s experiencing and points his wand directly at the impersonation of his sister. “Riddikulus!”

The girl bursts with a scream into what appears to be a kitten, which scrambles to escape the room through the door. Kaleb stares after it before hissing a tsk under his breath and pointing to the cupboards lining the side of the room.

“Dissendium!” The first set of cupboards burst open, revealing jars of things that Kaleb is presently unwilling to find out what they contain. He points to the others after. “Dissendium! Dissendium!”

One after another they burst open, but reveal not much more than still objects themselves. In one there is a nesting of random stuff with shiny things laced within, and Kaleb shakes his head as he recalls his Defence Against the Dark Arts class from just a couple of years ago where he was made to deal with these sorts of creatures. Sucking his teeth as he seems to remember finally that Laurent is still standing there beside him, he gives him a condescending stare before glancing back at the door.

“Well, it’s going to still be there when we leave. I hope you’re not scared of dragons,” he says sarcastically. He pauses after a moment, looking Laurent over before clearing his throat. “You’ve got a streak of black on your nose.”

[Laurent Griffith]

Rustling noises draw his gaze. Since the mirror was foggy and lacked a reflective surface, Lark peered over his left shoulder to see what Kaleb was up to. The Slytherin had an absorbed expression on his face - a shade of emotion in comparison to the blank reservation Laurent had already grown accustomed to. He watched his hands in particular. In Lark's experience, almost every facet of an individual's personality could be deciphered through their hands.

Those hands jerk faintly when something startled the cool-faced prefect. Blond brows rise fractionally, his lids low over the curve of his green irises. Whether his circumspect behavior was noticed or not didn't matter to the younger man. Kaleb was a profoundly mature boy, especially in his mannerisms. With a thoughtful pinch of his lips, Laurent returned to staring at the mirror he suspected of being a Foe Glass. If it was, he couldn't imagine why someone would leave it where it would be of no use to them. Or anyone, really. Silhouettes of shadowy forms slid past, indistinct as clouds in a night sky. None of them were more than a fuzzy outline; a breath of sound is all there is to announce Kaleb's arrival behind him.

"I was just wondering that myself; maybe the owner left in a hurry? ...I'd imagine it wouldn't be hard to have sent it later." Laurent mused quietly, placing a fingertip on the mirror's surface. A light caress, but there was no change in the cloudy frame. Satisfied, he's half turned to ask what Kaleb's found when an object is unceremoniously given to him. Lifting the sneakoscope to eye level, he chuckles. "Thanks. I've always wanted one," he says dryly, spinning it in his palm. Kaleb, however, is busy stuffing random parchments in his pockets. Shrugging to himself, he moves to the fireplace.

As he'd first suspected, the mantle is high enough for Laurent to step into the fireplace with only a slight hunch. Grazing its surface with a finger, he rubs a silvery powder between thumb and fore, smiling to himself. Floo powder. Not enough to activate the channel, but evidence of the fireplace's former use. "What's tha--"

Kaleb's shoulder connects with his; a wooden bang multiplies the shock of the moment. Knocked off balance, Lark pitched forward into the fireplace itself. His hands save him from a painful blow to the nose and he shoves himself back out before any soot might unfortunately blacken his white-blond hair. "Merlin!" He shouts, spinning around to find out what's caused the commotion. What he finds is Kaleb blocking his view, nearly back to chest, and Kaleb's wand is out. Lark searches for his, side-stepping to see what's spooked his companion so badly.

"...issa... is that?"

A pool of ruby liquid holds Laurent spellbound. What emerges from behind the desk only inflames the disbelief and horror. Still as stone, he holds his breath, darting a wide-eyed stare at Kaleb. 'Lucy? Who's Lucy?'

Silence. A staggering weight of terror and suspense. "Riddikulus!"

In an instant, Lark managed to connect the dots. The spell, the howl, the shape change: it was a bloody boggart! Scowling, shoving his wand in his pocket, Lark looked on while Kaleb went on a Diss-rampage. The boggart, it appeared, had put a bug in Kaleb's mood. The mystery behind the boggart's chosen appearance would likely haunt him later on. "You..."

Lark was shot down with a single look. Biting his lip roughly, he stared at Kaleb with a frustrated frown. A moment later, the calm-minded Gryffindor gave a soft, soundless breath - a kind of slow exhale - and the tension fled from his body. "Wha...? Oh! Blast... Soot." He exclaimed, ears turning slowly pink. Using the hem of his sleeve as a makeshift handkerchief, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Shoot, my hands are black too." It was true: staring down at them, he gave a helpless shake of his head. "Guess it's pointless."

"Um..." Pale green eyes lifted to Kaleb's. Hefting a single brow, he studied him solemnly. "So... you want to... go? I mean, it's late. We could come back tomorrow?" This almost sounded like the two of them were friends. The world tilted, spun and then his senses came back to him. They weren't friends. Kaleb had found him swimming, tormented him with the possibility of revoking his prefect status, and, really, done nothing to suggest friendship. This one excursion into the unknown couldn't possibly be a foundation for... anything? Doubting his sense of logic, Laurent cleared his throat with a quiet rasp. "Err... unless you're busy. Classes and whatnot. Never mind, it's no matter."

A step back gave him the breathing room he needed. The ends of his lips pinched together, forcing a small smile onto his face. Lord he must be tired if his nerves were this frayed. A shake of his head; a small turn to eye the room with curiosity and wariness. "I haven't had a chance to try 'riddikulus' before. A skipped lesson, when the teachers changed." He wouldn't ask what the thing had turned into. A girl, with dead eyes: it could be anyone, but it was most likely someone close to Kaleb's heart.

[Kaleb Austin]

Kaleb sighs through his nose at the on and off continuum of Laurent's ramble. He is staring at him for a given amount of time before he makes his way slowly back to the desk to take a few more things - a couple of quills and fresh inks from the drawers that are heavier covered in dust than Laurent, who is muttering about his condition like a bloody fool. Once Kaleb is done robbing the ancient storage space blind, he pats himself down and takes a couple of steps back to Laurent.

He seems to stare at him silently through the dark with not amused eyes, and the glint of the flames flicker in the reflection of his eyes, only encouraging his tiredness of the topic. Laurent's further rambling of whether they're leaving or not only proves more tiresome, particularly how he's going on like they're best old buddies.

Oddly, at the same time, Laurent's offer is seeming somewhat appealing. Kaleb glides his teeth along the inside of his teeth quietly as he considers the evening as a whole. He doesn't know a thing about Laurent past his name and the fact that he attracts dirt like ants to honey - and is a Prefect, but Kaleb could have told anyone this another day, once they pointed him out, and his badge. All of this is beside the point however; he can't take much more of Laurent's filth, and, pushing his comments to the side, he pokes Lark in the chest with his wand with a bit more push than necessary.

"Really, Laurent - are you a muggle? Do you use that wand of your's to pick your nose, or actually do magic? Scourgify," he almost tuts, and the dust and soot blows off of Laurent similarly to the water earlier. Clicking his tongue, he raises his chin a level as though to assert his achievement and then takes a step back from Laurent at last.

He seems to clue in a moment later, however, to the fact that Lark has just stated that he is a fifth year and doesn't even know the simple Riddikulus spell. Puffing through his nose for the hundredth time like a frustrated bull, he glances at the door; he can hear the stupid boggart banging about in the other room through the cracked door, and he tuts as he turns back to Laurent and gives him a contemplative look from head to toe and back, similarly to how he did earlier. This once over is a regular thing, to Kaleb.

"Well, think of the thing that frightens you so badly, you'd rather stick your head in unicorn's arse than see it," he says haughtily, folding his arms across his chest to keep his demeanour in check. "Then, think of something that you like to contradict it. Putting it into a funny hat seems to work worlds for some people," he adds sarcastically, brushing himself off as though looking at Laurent has made him dirty.

Turning after, he gives the room a final glance around before plucking the sneak-o-scope from Laurent's hand and stuffing it into the pocket of the other boy's robes. Giving him one more of those up-to-down looks, he gives him a gentle shove to the small of his back toward the door and nods to it afterward.

"Well, off you go then. I'll be behind you if you fuck up." The swear is almost shocking considering his typical polite front, but the boggart has put him into an exceptionally foul mood. Should the boggart have been dangerous, he may have considered a different approach, but a part of him wants to see if Laurent can actually perform the task at all.

"If you can take down the stupid things, maybe I'll go on a walk with you tomorrow night to see if this is here again," he adds hastily, though his tone is hesitant. There most be something of a reward to his presence; he doesn't want Laurent to entirely believe that he gets the glory of Kaleb by simple asking alone. What does he even call Laurent now? Kaleb doesn't think he's had a friend in his life, but at the same time, he's never met an individual quite so queer as Laurent ether.

Unable to make eye contact with the other teenager any longer with his embarrassment threatening to flush his face, he outs the candles in the room with a couple of flicks of his wand before whispering 'lumos' and peering past Laurent's heads with his wand streaking light across the floor of the room. Distantly, something lingers behind the chairs they have discarded between themselves and the other door. He looks at it hard, as though he's trying to make out it's shape; it's a known fact that no one has ever see the true form of a boggart due to their acute defense mechanism.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he whispers to Laurent with bite in his voice. "Get to it!"

[Laurent Griffith]

"Ouch!" Lark hissed, sending what might be the shortest glare in history up at the taller sixth year. A moment later, however, and that glare died off to be replaced by a crooked grin, complete with exposed white teeth. A dimple marred the smooth plane of Laurent's right cheek. Shrugging under his warm black robes, he brushed off any chance of insult in Kaleb's statement.

"You sound like my mother. She's always trying to convince me that no one except hermits and werewolves have dirt under their nails." A sigh punctuated his sentiments on the subject. Instead of complaining, he met Kaleb's lifted chin with a smooth smile. "Magic's nice and all, but I like cleaning the old fashion way - in warm water, with soap. Nice on the muscles too, after Quidditch practice. You should try it some time."

His teasing is brief. It was true that he didn't use a lot of magic, especially for small things he could resolve without a spell or charm. It wasn't that he was inept, as he had done extremely well in his previous classes. Transfigurations and Charms were two of his favorite classes, matter of fact. As it was, however, his family was once again at the bottom of this "strange" behavior. When one has five females tossing around spells like so much air...

In the end, Lark had grown up with a few habits that most wizards might regard as "muggle-ish." Bathing after Quidditch games was common enough, though, so no one might have noticed his rare-use of simple cleaning or organizing spells.

Everyone except Kaleb, Mr. Clean and Tidy, apparently. Whom, at the moment, was suggesting that he put his worst fear in a hat. Brows high, he barely had time to stutter a word on his behalf when he's half-molested and shoved in the direction the boggart had escaped. Laurent tensed up at the threshold, head tossed to the side to stare at Kaleb, hair askew. Wide-eyed, pupils dilated, he stepped forward and partially in a circle, sideways in the doorway. "Why...?" His teeth snapped together and he suddenly shook his head.

Not finishing his question, Laurent brought himself around to face the old closet directly. For some nebulous reason, Kaleb had decided that Lark was going to have his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson... right then. Without a professor. It was semi-reassuring that Kaleb was a year ahead of him and had already played games with creatures such as a boggart. While Laurent wasn't outright frightened, he was tight all over. What muscle he had stood out in lines at his neck; his breathing was sounding a bit short as well. "...I don't plan on fucking up, but thanks..." he muttered, more to himself than back at Kaleb.

A step forward and he was inside the dusty closet. Something rattled, a chair perhaps, and Lark's eyes glued to that spot. The rattling continue, scrapping chunks away from his bravado. "...How very generous of you. I think a walk and a kitchen raid might be in order if... when I've done this." Laurent shot back over his shoulder. The prerequisite aside, Laurent could barely fathom the absurdity of the situation. Kaleb wanted to walk with him again? Or, more probably, wanted to come here - but with company just in case? Lark wondered where he had missed picking up on this spontaneity. Sucking in air through his teeth, his eyes narrowed in the thin light of Kaleb's lumos.

"Such impatience. Not very Slytherinny of you, Kaleb." Lark whispered back, withdrawing his wand. Leveling it in the direction of the rattling, he took another step forward. It was probably the worst time to remember that he was, still, barefoot. Damn. His shoes were in his pocket somewhere. Just as Laurent was most distracted, a figure blossomed out of the shadows. It stepped toward the two boys, slowly. A bare foot glowed in the light.

Lark watched in transfixed horror as what could be his doppelganger moved toward them.

Everything was the same. There was nothing different about him at all; scruffy, pale, wide-eyed, shoeless. Even his badge was in place. The two Lark's exchanged green stares, mouths tightening at the same time. What separated the pair was that the boggart had no wand. Instead, he held a small mirror.

"...riddi..." Lark's voice quivered and then disappeared entirely when the boggart-Lark smiled. It didn't look right - the smile was full of bitter sadness.

"...liar. Liar, little liar. Who am I? Who?" The boggart whispered, voice a scratchy masquerade. Lark shuddered, unmoving. Boggart-Lark took a step closer, lifting the mirror as it did. Slowly, green eyes moved to the mirror and stared into it. "No face. No name. Nothing... just lies. A life of lies. That's what awaits... Forgotten, you..."

Before them, the boggart's face began to melt.

It took two seconds for Lark to scream. "RIDDIKULUS. RIDDIKULUS RIDDIKULUS RIDDIKULUS." He shouted, the first loud tone he'd used the entire evening. The spells were invisible, but Lark positively glowed with fury and something strikingly similar to resignation. An otherworldly shriek announced the boggart's frustrated end; a BANG and there was a monkey on a broom. Another BANG and then the boggart was gone - to hide itself elsewhere.

Laurent stared at the spot his other self had been. Unaware that his body shook, he slowly put his wand away. Crossing the room, he opened the door leading out into the main hall. He took a moment to check for Filch and Peeves, then moved through. Recalling his glowing ball of light, he paused, but then mentally shrugged. It would fade away, no harm done. Out in the dim light of the hall's magical lamps, he waited for Kaleb. A blank expression lay on his features, drawn taut and colorless after his encounter. His teeth hurt from pressing them together too hard; had he bit his tongue?

"...Do I pass, professor?" He asked wearily, eyes on the floor when Kaleb finally came out. They rose eventually, unfocused. His pale lashes fluttered as a smile ghosted over his mouth. "I hope nobody heard that. Merlin, that was humiliating. Perhaps you should pretend to have never met me and save yourself the embarrassment of association..." He joked weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. Truthfully, he hadn't realized how deep his fears ran. His gift was a joke and a magical miracle. A wonderful curse, he liked to call it. And now there was a chance Kaleb would figure it out. Fucking boggarts weren't supposed to talk so much.

Now all he wanted was a bath, a butterbeer and a Dreamless Sleep potion. That would stop the self-depreciation and ramblings. Whatever Lark had witnessed seemed to have destroyed a good part of his happy-go-lucky facade. Why, however, was a secret, like always.