Title: open to interpretation
Prompt: Morpheus, Greek God of Dreams
Word Count: 1335
Rating: G
Pairings (if any)" See previous
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): Mentioned death in family; OC-centric
Summary: Somehow, she manages not to ruin everything, which would no doubt please Ebony greatly.

Megan could only imagine what Ebony and her date were talking about as she made her way down Diagon Alley with Loic. The ink-haired girl had a habit of sharing embarrassing tidbits of people's lives in an effort to gain compensation, so there was no doubt that Thaddeus knew about her semi-crush on his brother back in fifth year. She mentally groaned.

But there was nothing she could do about that. So, pushing those thoughts aside, she met the man's gaze and tried to smile as genuinely as possible. Let's try this flirting thing, I guess.

Before she could speak, he returned the smile and made her lose track of her thoughts. It was a different quality of smile than she was used to; Locke and Cylan had always done so platonically, but this was just a bit more intense and completely breathtaking. She didn't know what to say, so she let him start the conversation.

"I gather you're not fond of large groups."

A soft sigh escaped her. He understood.

"Not always," she admitted, appreciating his apparently genuine interest in her words. "I just like to follow along, for the most part. Ebony is always glad to take the lead, so it works out well enough."

Loic nodded. "Sounds a lot like Thaddeus. He's happiest when surrounded by all of his loudest friends who hang on his every word." He was good-humored about it, but she could imagine how frustrating that could be.

"I'm glad I live alone. I don't have to deal with that mess."

She had her hobbies to keep her company, and chaos such as a boisterous sibling—or friend, for that matter—were not conducive to her research. Hundreds of potions ingredients gone to waste, manuscripts and delicate Charms ruined from curious visitors… It was the only reason her friends were able to get her out of her residence: She was in fear of visitors messing up her things, or critiquing her work before it was finished.

He cocked his head curiously as they rounded the bend. "Do you have a flat nearby?"

Megan shook her head. "I stay in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop over in Hogsmeade. Mr. Scrivenshaft was very generous to let me use a backroom."

"In exchange for labor, I suppose."

She smiled. "It's more of being a safari guide, with how those shelves are organized. One of these days, I'll simply snap and flip the entire store over." Blushing lightly when he chuckled, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and inquired, "What about you?"

"Do you mean, do I have a flat?" She nodded in reply. "I moved out of my family estate last month, actually. It was about time I had a place to call my own."

"That's nice." Debating with herself on whether she should share more, she eventually caved. "Yours was willingly, at least. Mine was a bit dramatic."

His gaze was sharp, but not frightening. He was merely curious. "What happened?"

"I was kicked out." Sighing in remembered frustration, she explained, "Ever heard of that old stereotype of stepmothers being evil incarnate? It's pretty spot-on."

"Did you have an argument?"

Megan's smile was bitter. "That would suggest I had a say in the matter."

Brows furrowed, he asked what everyone else already had: "Why didn't your father stop her?"

She inhaled deeply, silently letting it out again. This was always the hardest part of sharing. "He would have, were he alive. He passed eight months prior." Calculating, she added offhandedly, "It's been a little over two years."

Here was where the playful mood truly lied to rest. Loic's expression turned solemn, and he murmured, "My condolences." He didn't know the full story, and she wasn't planning on telling him. In fact, what am I doing, giving him my life story on the first date? Ebony would hex me!

"Thanks," she mumbled. Wiping sweat from her forehead, she tried to dispel the dismal atmosphere she had inadvertently conjured. "Merlin, do I know how to ruin a perfectly good day or what?"

His lips quirked. Score! "It's hardly ruined. The weather is still mild, for a summer day." It was a silent acceptance that the subject should be changed, and the quip about the climate was typical snake humor. Small talk: The cure-all slash cover-up for Slytherin conflicts.

"True," she grinned as they finally stepped into the place she had wanted to check out: The junk shop. As a child, her father had passed this store without comment, but she had stopped to peer inside the dusty windows and absorb as many peculiar sights before he tugged her along. The dark silhouettes had been intriguing then, and the cluttered shelves and tables randomly arranged throughout the shack tempted her now.

It's like a magical Goodwill.

It wasn't surprising that Loic didn't look too excited by this detour; he carefully stepped over a toppled pyramid of blocks as he asked, "This is where you wanted to go?" The way he wrinkled his nose after brushing against a dusty table was, she'll admit, kind of cute.

She shook the thought out of her head before answering. "I used to browse these sorts of places with my stepmother, and while there is no love lost between us, I did enjoy finding the occasional gem." Eyes brightening at a pile of books, she maneuvered her way to them, muttering, "Ah, here we go… what do we… have here…"

"I doubt there are many "gems" among this rubbish."

"Maybe not," she admitted, placing How to Keep Track of Your Remembrall back on the table. "But it's a lot quieter than Madam Malkin's—and less crowded, although the dust is wreaking havoc on my allergies." She then gave a small gasp as she lifted a circular net lined with feathers. "This is a dream catcher! Granted, a Muggle one, but it looks to be in good shape."

Coming up beside her, Loic commented as she toyed with the web of strings, "The Greek believed in a deity of dreams, calling him Morpheus."

"Really?" She held the dream catcher to the light, examining it with a contemplative expression before she decided against it and replaced it. "I can't remember much about Roman and Greek myths. I'm more interested in the kind involving dragons." After a moment, she realized what she had said and laughed. "But I guess those are simple facts for wizards, aren't they?"

Rummaging through the trash as the elderly man at the counter slept, Megan picked up a small, chipped stone. She squinted as an indentation proved magically crafted, and as her companion watched she traced the straight line before deciding, "This is a rune. But I can't figure out which one…" It could have been iss, a rune of ice, structure and order; naud, a rune of emergency and hard work; or even tyr, representing all of the courage and masculinity Godric Gryffindor was known for. There wasn't enough power left in it to provide an accurate identification, either.

She palmed it, placing a handful of coins on the counter as instructed by the sign that would surely cover the price of the useless item. Something about it felt familiar, though; no matter what the stone had once done, it had been tossed aside once it proved of no further. No attempts to repair it had been made, it seemed. She could relate to that.

"That's hardly a gem," he teased as they exited the shop soon afterward. She was surprised to find herself smiling.

"No," she agreed, "but it's… interesting. Ancient Runes was my best subject back at Hogwarts." And she knew exactly where she was going to place the stone, too; on her dresser, to the right of the enchanted dragon figurine her mother had bought her, in front of the frame holding an old—Muggle—photograph of her parents before she was born. Each time she'd see it, she could imagine it represented something different—like a divine message from the gods.

-Dragon