A/N: Wow, so this update took way longer than I expected! Hopefully this monster of a chapter will make up for the wait. I plan to update more frequently from now on. Once every two weeks if not every week on Saturdays. I made a trailer for this fanfic and posted it to my Tumblr. It's there if you want to check it out. The link is in my bio. Happy reading!
Matzy: Thank you, thank you, thank you for again taking so much time to review the last chapter! It makes me happy that you have so many ideas and theories for the story. I'm definitely aiming to write the emotional journey of each character/relationship as real and authentic as possible. I hope this chapter leaves you a bit more satisfied than the last, but if not, I still love your honesty! Xx
Chapter Ten:
A New Normal
It feels like there's oceans
Between me and you once again
We hide our emotions
Under the surface and try to pretend
But it feels like there's oceans
Between you and me
Oceans - Seafret
The eager sun shifted in the sky. It peeked through the narrow window of the girl's dormitory and sent a shaft of light across the sleeping Gryffindor. Octavia sighed as brilliant orange illuminated the back of her eyelids, its unwavering intensity indicating the late hour. She let out another long breath and squinted. The swirling vapor inside the hour-glass mounted on the far wall told Octavia that the time was well past eleven o'clock. She supposed now was as good a time as any to rise and greet the well-worn day. Not that there was anything pressing to do.
Last weekend she would have been studying in the library with a full stomach by this time. But after receiving high marks on her last exam, Octavia reckoned she deserved a break. The thought of her success brought a lazy smile to the girl's face. It perched on her lips, satisfied as a cat with cream. But the expression soured into a frown as she recalled the events which had followed. Her excitement, finding Lincoln, their kiss and then… Nothing. She had actively searched for her tutor more than a few times over the past week, but he seemed to have the uncanny ability of disappearing precisely when she wanted to find him.
A frustrated sigh ripped from Octavia's throat and she kicked off her striped duvet to roll out of bed. Her bare feet slapped noisily against the tile as she padded into the shared bathroom. She splashed water on her face and ran a wet toothbrush over her teeth. Then her tongue followed to check the job she had done sans toothpaste. It wasn't ideal, but her last tube had been squeezed dry on Thursday. She'd thought about cutting it open, but didn't want to deal the judgment from the other girls with whom she shared the bathroom.
Instead, Octavia grabbed a capful of mouthwash and gargled vigorously. It wasn't hers, but that didn't really matter. Amber would never notice if there was slightly less in the bottle. The girl would probably receive a new one in the monthly care package from her parents. Besides, Octavia would rather borrow from Amber than ask Bellamy for more money. He spent enough of the school's meager allowance on her as it was.
Octavia spit out the minty liquid and made a note to ask Raven about spells for dental hygiene, sure that the Ravenclaw would be able to help her. The Gryffindor drew her long hair up, tying it into a messy knot on the top of her head. Her gaze snagged on the reflection in the mirror and for a moment the eyes she saw staring back at her were glassy, sunken, and younger...much younger. Octavia froze and looked more closely, but there was nothing there except her own jade green eyes and the healthy flush of her newly-washed skin. She swallowed.
In this position, with her arms overhead, the definition of her muscles was more pronounced. She curled her hands into fists to further emphasize the line in her biceps. Her arms dropped to her side and she lifted the hem of her shirt. The skin that greeted her was neither flat nor soft, but rippled by the subtle ridges of well-exercised muscles. And each line stood out like a comforting stroke to the girl who gazed at them.
Octavia exhaled slowly, releasing a breath she hadn't been aware she was cleared her throat and turned sharply from the mirror, afraid that if she looked too long, her hard-won strength would slough off like rotten flesh. And all that would remain would be the skin and bones she had inhabited as a child.
That body had never felt like hers, but Octavia remembered it like it was yesterday. She remembered the bones that broke too easily and the cough that would not heal. She remembered the cold, helpless feeling of being powerless and insignificant and small. She remembered the darkness of that closet, her closet which became a world of its own when their mother had 'guests.' Bellamy was always sent on meaningless errands: to the store, though they had no money or to the playground, though they had no friends. But Octavia had been sent to the closet, that closet, where she had been left to wait and to wonder what those noises outside meant.
The orphanage had helped slightly. Octavia had been a little less frail, a little less skittish, but that cough had taken forever to heal. It was only when Jaha discovered them - all three of them - and brought the Blakes and Lexa to to the wizarding world that she had found a solution. Slowly, Octavia's body had filled out from consistent nourishment and wizarding medicine had done what no muggle doctor could for her weak lungs.
Still, sometimes the shadow of it returned. When she became too emotional or too upset, her lungs would spasm. The hint of that cough would return and it would feel nearly impossible to breathe. They told her it was all in her mind, that her lungs worked perfectly fine now, but they didn't understand. A small, simple potion was all it took to calm the attack, but even that did not suppress the memories which would surface.
Octavia rinsed her face again, careful to avoid her reflection, and treated her skin to the luxury of lotion, which was also Amber's, before leaving the bathroom behind. She rummaged through her chest of drawers, searching for any distraction. After shoving on a faded pair of jeans and a thin sweater, she left the dormitory with little awareness of her surroundings. Her mind was clouded by thoughts of the past which gave way to fresh concerns in a never ending loop. She was so distracted by her own dark mood that the person waiting in the corridor would have been completely passed over had they not spoken.
"Hey."
The deep timbre of a familiar voice pulled Octavia into the outside world so sharply that she reeled back in protest and her thoughts scattered away like insects under a newly exposed leaf.
"Oh," she breathed out even as her body stuttered to a halt. "Oh, it's you."
Lincoln gave her a quizzical look at the greeting, which she returned tenfold. In all honesty, she had not fully registered the scene before her or her place in it. It was just one of those days. And she had already spent hours looking for him since their illicit tete-a-tete. He was the one who had ignored her. If he expected anything less than her coolest demeanor… Well, he had another thing coming.
The Hufflepuff cleared his throat and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. "Are you busy? I thought maybe we could talk…"
He wants to talk? Now? Octavia stared at him impassively and he shifted on the balls of his feet, obviously thrown by her less than animated attitude. Good.
"Today's not good for me." The words fell flatly from her mouth, as monotone as her face.
"Oh, okay," he shrugged his massive shoulders easily. "That's fine. Another time then." Lincoln gave her a small smile and turned to leave without one word of argument. That's it?
Octavia breathed in sharply. No debate. No persuasion. Just a calm acceptance of her needs. Just a few simple words spoken quietly… Those words echoed through the corridor as loudly as if she had been slapped. It was so different from Octavia's normal world of rage and blown-out tempers and fights that ended with screaming that it jolted her from her daze.
"Wait!" she called after him, color flooding her voice. Her legs weren't long, but she used them efficiently to reach him in a few strides. He turned around at her command so she plowed forward, "I want to talk, too."
He frowned, "But I thought…"
"I changed my mind."
"Okay." Again that easily acceptance. "Where do you want to go?"
She smiled slightly, "Let's get out of this stuffy castle."
"Sounds like a plan."
Octavia led the way down a long flight of stairs, stopping suddenly when realization hit her.
"Were you waiting for me? Outside of Gryffindor Tower, I mean,"
Lincoln nodded and a muscle in his jaw bunched as he clenched his teeth. The slight flush of his cheeks was almost imperceptible against his dark bronze skin. He continued down the steps and Octavia followed closely behind him, undeterred.
"How long were you waiting?"
The same flush filled his cheeks, but he barely glanced down at her. "Not long."
They reached the ground floor and passed through the front doors easily. The emotion that rested in the pit of Octavia's stomach was so different than a half hour ago that she didn't know what to make of it. All Octavia knew was that on some level she affected Lincoln. That realization gave her a sense of power. And that was enough for the chaotic feeling of helplessness - that tightness coiled within her - to ease ever so slightly.
Disparate clouds bathed the lawn in patchy sunlight and a few brave souls were spread out by the lakeshore despite the chill in the air. Fall was well and truly upon them; the Forbidden Forest had adopted a magnificent, autumnal palette in honor of the early October days - all reds, golds, oranges, and evergreens.
Lincoln put his hand on the small of Octavia's back to steer her away from the other students and the brief contact shattered all her illusions of being in control. Her mind started to spin even as her stomach lurched and warmth spread up her spine. The comfortable silence suddenly felt like empty space which begged to be filled. Their feet squeaked against the damp grass of the lawn as they skirted to the far end of the lake, making the silence between them even more unbearable. Enough. Octavia halted.
"So, did you-"
"I don't know how-"
They both laughed and looked away awkwardly.
"You first," Lincoln inclined his head towards her.
"No," she shook her head firmly. "I've said a lot of crap over the past few weeks and made an ass of myself… I'd rather not do it again if that's okay with you."
Lincoln nodded that he understood, but remained silent. She tried to wait for him to say something, but the silence stretched out as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.
Octavia threw up her hands, "I mean I don't even know what you want to talk about! Is this about tutoring? Or my last exam? Or… what happened afterwards? I don't want to assume." Her words were as explosive as her initial gesture, but her voice tapered off at the end, unsure.
"Yes," he nodded and he turned to face her more fully. Still, his expression remained frustratingly closed off. There was nothing to read there.
"Yes, what?"
Lincoln took a breath. "Yes. Yes-"
"Is that it? Is that all you're going to say? Just yes?" Octavia exploded again, her nervous energy having reached its peak. "You said you wanted to talk, so talk! I can't interpret what you mean from one-"
"Octavia! Octavia," Lincoln grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. The pent up energy inside her crumbled from its tall tower at his expression. He was grinning at her. The boy was fucking grinning.
"This isn't funny!" Her fist swung around to punch him in the shoulder. A deep laugh erupted from his throat. "Ugh!" She made to push him, but he caught her wrists this time and pulled them to his chest, drawing her close. Octavia's breath hitched as his brown eyes swallowed her green ones.
"You're crazy, you know that?"
She cried out savagely and tried to pull away from him with little effect.
"No," Lincoln shook his head, still wearing that stupid smile, "not crazy. You're fiery, and unpredictable, and loud, and maddening, and if you would just be quiet for two seconds, I would tell you what I mean."
Octavia stopped struggling, heat blooming in her cheeks. "Fine," she huffed out.
He released her hands and raised his own to show he meant no harm. The smile fell from his face and an inscrutable sincerity took its place. He sighed and rubbed a hand over the strong planes of his face as if to wake himself.
"I said 'yes' because I think we should talk about all of the things that you mentioned," he started off, giving Octavia a stern look when she opened her mouth to interject. "You've done incredibly well in a short period of time. I think you could be great at potions - anything that you set your mind to, really. You just need to apply all that fire, that drive you have… which is why I don't think you need me anymore."
Her stomach lurched for the second time, but there was no warmth to it. Only cold dread. Octavia shook her head, "Lincoln that's not true."
"Octavia, please let me finish. I don't think you need me to tutor you anymore, but more than that I can't be your tutor anymore… not after last week. It wouldn't be right or appropriate."
Octavia clenched her teeth at his choice of words. Appropriate. Why did he care so much about what was appropriate? Nothing about Octavia was appropriate or right. Not her dead, junkie mom. Not the apathetic orphanage she'd grown up in. Not the toxic, constant bickering that held her and her brother's relationship together. Not the fact that she relied on Hogwarts for basic necessities like fucking toothpaste or that there was never enough for her and Bellamy to live comfortably while other students lived in excess. Nothing about her life was appropriate or right. How the fuck did he expect her to be? If that was the case then she would always, always fall short.
Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and she spun away from Lincoln. Octavia's arms hung stiffly at her side and she clenched hands into her fists, fighting to keep all the emotions inside a cool exterior.
"Fine," she agreed, her tone hard. "That's fine. Thanks for the help. I'll see you around."
She didn't look at him once as she spoke. There was no waver in her voice. And when she had finished, her feet pulled her forward so that she careened into motion.
Octavia kept her eyes trained on the castle, focusing on the details of each turret to keep the hot tears from falling. She was fine. She didn't need anyone. I'm calm. So Calm. Calm.
Lincoln caught up with her in a few strides. Warm hands gripped her forearms and pulled her around so that she came nose to nose with his exasperated face. Her eyes found a cloud to the right of his head which looked like a hippogriff. She focused on that detail instead of whatever emotion shifted in his dark eyes. She didn't see his expression soften, but she felt his hands become gentle weights on her arms.
"Damn it, Octavia," he whispered softly. "I told you to let me finish."
Her eyes snapped back to him and lighted on the soft smile which traced his face.
"It wouldn't be appropriate for me to be your tutor because it would be a conflict of interest. I like you, Octavia. A lot. And I'd rather kiss you than teach you about potions."
His words washed over Octavia and her mouth fell open, not quite believing what she had just heard.
"I guess it was foolish of me to think you knew that after our last meeting," he admitted sheepishly.
"I tried to talk to you for a week and you kept avoiding me!"
"I hadn't figured everything out! You're a bit of a freight train, O. Your confidence is overwhelming for us lesser mortals."
She threw him a look of contempt, "Well, I'm not changing how I am… especially not for a lesser mortal."
He barked out a deep laugh and pulled her into him. His eyes sparked and he gazed down at her in a way that made Octavia shiver. "I would never ask you to change."
"And I'm not that confident." Her breath caught in her throat as his arms tightened around her, surprised by her own admission.
"Duly noted."
"And you can't run away the next time you're intimidated by my sheer awesomeness."
"I won't."
"Okay," she nodded, her heart beating faster with each breath.
"Okay." His face had tilted down and rested so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her nose and see the sunlight dancing in his eyes.
She bit her lip and spoke the next words quietly, "I like you, too."
His smile widened impossibly. "I figured as much."
She raised her hand to smack him for being presumptuous, but his lips found hers and all thought was lost to the sensation of his mouth. Her arms circled around his neck and she lifted onto the balls of her feet to press more firmly against him. A breathless shriek ripped from her throat as he lifted her off the ground. His chuckle reverberated between them and Octavia took a moment to gaze down at his face before crashing her lips into his once more in a kiss that was anything but appropriate.
High above the ground and deep inside the stones of the castle, two girls raced hand in hand towards their destination.
"Where are you taking me?" Anya's voice echoed against the walls as they climbed several flights of stairs. Lexa twisted around to throw her girlfriend a wicked smile and gave a gentle tug on the Slytherin's hand.
"Somewhere far, far away."
"What does that even mean?"
"It's a surprise," Lexa replied easily, as if the answer was obvious.
"You hate surprises."
"Good thing I know the surprise then!"
They hopped off the stairs on the seventh floor and moved deeper into the castle, until Lexa drew to a halt in front of ugly, threadbare tapestry. The strange mix of pastels and heavy browns was rather disturbing considering the scene portrayed a ridiculous looking wizard attempting to teach trolls to pirouette.
Anya swiveled around, observing the vacant corridor. She snorted, "Please tell me you didn't bring us here to show me this horrid thing. What is it even supposed to be?"
Lexa barked out a laugh, "No. We are definitely not here to see Barnabas the Barmy. Just give me a moment."
The tapestry in question let out a offended harrumph and began to complain about ungrateful students. Anya immediately growled at the fabric-man and launched into a heated debate about the definition of barmy. Rolling her eyes at the pair, Lexa turned back to the task at hand.
The Gryffindor felt sure she looked like a madwoman as she paced back and forth in front of the opposite wall, muttering to herself all the while. After the third pass, the stones began to morph, twisting and turning until a large door appeared. Lexa clapped her hands in triumph and turned back to pull Anya out of her fruitless lecture. From the depths of her magically-enhanced rucksack, she produced two large coats, two sets of gloves, and two hats.
"What-"
"Just put them on!" Lexa laughed as she slid into her own coat.
"And you call me barmy," the tapestry huffed at them once they were all bundled up. The two girls did look rather ridiculous wrapped up in cold-weather gear, like big puffy marshmallows. Anya swung around ready for a full assault on the tapestry, but Lexa pulled her away and through the newly-formed door before the next round could start.
Instantly wind buffeted the two girls, making it nearly impossible to shut the door; however, with their combined strength they managed to pull it closed before turning to face the chaos behind them.
Salt spray rose, frothy and light, into the air where it was caught by the wind and tossed into a fine mist. Waves beat against rock just beyond the shoreline of the pebble beach that spread out before them. Tumultuous, gray clouds hung low overhead. The weather wasn't ideal, Lexa admitted, but it was Scotland afterall. How much better could it get?
Wind tore at Lexa's plaited hair and she folded her arms into herself to keep upright against the forceful gales. She turned to Anya, trying to keep the look of excitement plastered to her now damp face.
"Ta da!" she bobbed her head towards the rolling waves, grinning.
Anya's bright eyes widened wildly, "What is this? What are we doing here?"
Lexa frowned in response. She raised her voice over the howl of the raging wind, "You said you wanted to go to the coast! Have lunch on the beach!"
The Slytherin's mouth opened then closed immediately as ocean spray misted over the two. Anya bent forward and for a moment Lexa worried that the salt water had gotten into the girl's eyes. However, when Anya straightened, it became clear that her face was scrunched by laughter rather than pain.
"I said I wanted to go to the beach!"
"This is the beach!" Lexa cried indignantly.
Another wave crested against the rocky outcropping and water drenched the girls. Lexa shivered, her hands wrapping tighter around her middle.
"Come on!" Anya gasped and grabbed the Gryffindor by her wet jacket. She pulled the two of them away before the next wave could do more damage. They sprinted towards the door which floated halfway up the pebble beach and launched themselves out of the stormy Scottish seaside. The girls fell onto the flagstones in a puddle of water and soaked goose down. The wind was gone and they were once more in the warmly lit seventh floor corridor.
"Oh my god, Lex," Anya clutched her stomach as laughter shook her. The sound of her giggles echoed off of the stone walls and drowned out the protestations of Barnabas the Barmy at their sudden reappearance.
"Shut up," Lexa huffed and tried to fight the flush of embarrassment rushing to her swollen cheeks.
"That was priceless."
"Whatever," Lexa muttered. "I don't know why you'd want to go to the beach anyways. Seems miserable to me."
Anya propped her head up, looking at the squirming Gryffindor. "That was not the beach."
"Well, I wouldn't know! I've never been."
"Wait, what? You've never been to the beach?"
Lexa flushed fully this time at the disbelief in her girlfriend's voice.
"I haven't been many places, Anya. Orphan, remember?" She meant it at a joke, but the tightness in her voice was real and Anya's face instantly became serious.
"Of course," was all the Slytherin could find to say.
"It's fine," Lexa dismissed, looking away and wishing that she hadn't said anything.
"No. It's not fine at all. Come on." Anya hopped to her feet before reaching over to help Lexa up. "Now how does this work?"
"You've never used the Room of Requirements before?"
"Nope."
Lexa smiled, feeling slightly better now that there was something she could teach Anya. After listening to the rules for the magical room, the Slytherin followed her instructions. They shucked off their wet gear as Anya assured her they wouldn't be needing it and stepped through the magical door once more.
"Oh," a soft sigh fell from Lexa's lips.
Heat like she had never known baked the fine white sand which stretched out before them. The cerulean sky overhead was clear, without a single cloud in sight. Thank Godric, Lexa thought to herself, feeling slightly scarred by their last encounter.
The gentle lapping of turquoise water drew her attention back down, down, down to where the sand disappeared into the sea. A calm sea. So placid that only the gentle murmur of the tide distinguished the body of water from a lake.
"This is a beach," Anya turned around and spread her arms wide. Lexa could not find the words to respond so she simply nodded, stumbling in the soft ground after her girlfriend.
The Gryffindor sprawled out onto the warm sand and groaned as heat suffused her body. The feeling of the beach was so luxurious that Lexa could have rolled herself into it and never left. But when she tried to do just that, the fine grains of sand found their way into her mouth and nose. She sat up quickly and spat out the offensive material. Okay, there is a down side to the beach. She was covered in sand.
Anya laughed at her and then plunked down next to the Gryffindor. She reached for the rucksack which Lexa had dropped in her excitement and began to rummage through it.
"What else did you bring for our 'beach' trip?"
"Hey," Lexa snatched the bag away quickly. "It's a surprise, remember? I was trying to do something nice…even if it backfired epically in my face."
Anya scooted closer and placed a quick kiss on Lexa's mouth. "It's very sweet. I love it."
"Yeah, yeah, this is much better. Although I didn't really pack properly…I don't suppose you want a cup of hot chocolate on this very warm beach?"
The Slytherin laughed at the thermos Lexa held up.
"No? Well… Oh! We can eat these sandwiches. And the cake! I don't know how I thought we were going to eat victoria sponge in that tempest." Lexa looked up, grinning, and caught sight of the shadow which had fallen over her girlfriend's face. "Anya? Are you okay?"
"Yeah," the older girl smiled tightly, then shook her head as if to clear whatever bad thought had caught hold. "This is really amazing, Lex. I can tell you put a lot of effort into making it nice."
"Fresh start, remember?" Lexa leaned over and placed a soft kiss against Anya's lips. Then another. The Slytherin tasted of salt and sun.
"Yeah, fresh start."
"Come on," Lexa jumped up, "Let's see how real this ocean is."
The Gryffindor arched an eyebrow in challenge before her face disappeared in the folds of her shirt as she tore the article off. Her pants followed, then her shoes, and every last piece of clothing until she stood naked, her bare skin and honey-brown hair glowing in the sunlight. A small sigh escaped her lips as sand slid between her bare toes and warmed the bottoms of her feet. This was heaven.
"Well?" She smirked at her girlfriend's dazed expression. Anya's eyes flicked down to Lexa's sunkissed breasts and then further down still. Lexa didn't even try to suppress the laugh which ripped from her throat. "Hurry up!"
She turned, giving the Slytherin ample view of her ass before striding off towards the waves. She thought she heard the soft whisper of clothes against sand, but Lexa couldn't be sure. The water enveloped every one of her senses as she waded out and dove head first into the blissfully warm sea.
On the west side of the seventh floor and a million miles away, Raven shivered and pulled her wool cardigan closed. The tell-tale signs of autumn had just become perceptible; it was that delicate period between summer's warmth and winter's bone-cold when the chill in the air was not yet biting enough to light the central fires of the castle, but sharp enough to be felt in the bright, window-filled common room of Ravenclaw Tower.
The hearth crackled happily, unaware of its short radius. Raven wiggled towards the fire from her spot on the floor, belly pressed down into the soft, midnight blue carpet.
"What are you doing?" Jasper's perplexed query followed behind her. Raven didn't bother to respond until she had finished worming her way closer and the fire's heat kissed along the length of her left side.
"I'm cold. Throw me my books, will you?"
When Jasper remained silent, Raven glanced over to where he sat cross-legged on the rug, his back relaxed against the seat of a powder blue armchair. His amber eyes were wide ovals fixed on her midsection. Raven followed his gaze down; her shirt had ridden up from the awkward belly shuffle towards the hearth and a large swath of tan skin lay exposed.
"Jasper," Raven snapped her fingers at him. "Jasper. Eyes up here, bud. It's just a bit of skin. Don't go full virgin on me."
The boy flushed crimson and audibly cleared his throat. He recovered relatively quickly, throwing her a cavalier smirk.
"I'm only human, Raven."
She snorted and arched an eyebrow at him, "Pass the books and get over here… Unless you don't need my help with Arithmancy anymore?"
"No, no!" He gathered the pile of their books in one disastrous armful before coming to dump them in front of Raven. "I definitely still need your help."
Raven made an indignant noise as she attempted to unbend a few pages which had been casualties of the move.
"It's fine. Here." Jasper took the book from her hands and tapped his wand against the crumpled pages. They flattened out in response to his muttered spell. Raven pushed herself onto her elbows.
"Where'd you learn that? What's the spell?"
"Arithmancy first and then I'll tell you. You scratch my back and I…?"
"Annoy the shit out of me?" she asked with a smile full of false sweetness. Jasper knew exactly what he was doing. She wanted that spell. It irked her how many spells he knew that she had yet to learn. Granted her knowledge was more practical, but Jasper was the King of strange, fringe magic… not that it proved useful ninety percent of the time. But that other ten percent…
Jasper grinned at her in that maddening way of his as he settled flat on his stomach beside her.
"What?" Raven demanded.
"You're still thinking about that spell, aren't you?"
"No."
"Ha!" He twisted towards her, "Yes, you are. I can tell because your face is flushed. You always look like that when you're thinking about magic."
"I'm not thinking about it!"
"Mm-hmm," he pressed his lips together, but Raven could tell he only did it to hide his satisfied smirk.
She glared at him, "And my cheeks are not flushed. You would think for a Ravenclaw you'd be more observant."
"Oh, I'm very observant, Reyes," Jasper pulled back to face her. His amber eyes were creased at the side. "But even if I wasn't, I would still know that you get short of breath when you learn something new. Your cheeks flush and your eyes get a faraway look. I mean if I didn't know any better I would say it's what you look like when you c-"
"Jasper!" Raven hit him in the ribs. The howl of pain he let out deteriorated into a fit of giggles.
"I could- always- ask Roan-"
"Oh, shut up," Raven shook her head; her face was definitely aflame now. Another chuckle in his tenor timber brought a fresh rush of blood to her cheeks.
"So, I could ask Roan?"
"I'm not talking about this with you!"
"Why not? We're friends."
"Why are you suddenly so interested in my sex life?"
"I'm not!" he protested.
The scathing look she shot him could have shattered bone.
"Okay, okay," he rolled onto his back, still fighting back laughter. "Maybe I need tips?"
She rolled her eyes, "Don't tell me you're going after Octavia again. I can promise you that won't end well."
"How do you know? I've got new moves since my last attempt. She might be taken by my raw, animal magnetism."
A laugh tore from Raven's throat, but she immediately tried to stifle it with the back of her hand. Her shoulders shook as she glanced over at the lanky boy beside her. His angular face was painted by an incredulous, if not slightly offended expression at her mirth.
"Don't laugh," he warned her. But Raven couldn't help it. His censure sending fresh peels of laughter and causing her shoulders to shake harder. Just the thought of Jasper - skinny, bean-pole Jasper - being animalistic or sexual in any way was so difficult for her to imagine. Her head spun slightly from the lack of oxygen; she breathed out, trying to calm herself. But the laughter didn't abate.
"I said don't laugh," Jasper lowered his voice and reached over to pull the hand away from her mouth. A deep chuckle escaped her lips, uninhibited. His eyes widened in indignation; unfortunately, Raven couldn't tell how much was in jest and how much was real, which only caused her to laugh harder. He tightened his grip on her right arm and she pulled away, twisting onto her back so that she could use her left to sock him. They rolled as he tried to grab her other attacking hand. But he wasn't fast enough and it found its mark, hitting him in the gut.
"Oof," he let out a breath. Another laugh ripped from Raven's chest and she suddenly found her hands pinned on either side of her head.
Somehow in the tussle of trying to hit him, he had wound up on top of her. Her chest spasmed, rising of the floor as she tried to hold back her laughter. He stared down at her, the look in his eyes no longer playful. His breathing rattled.
"Don't laugh." He said again quietly, his voice almost pleading. Raven's eyes darted up to his and the wounded look was unmistakable. Was he really upset? She couldn't understand why. Her lips caught between her teeth and she breathed out slowly through her nose, calming herself. Jasper's brows furrowed and a look of confusion passed over his face. Or was it panic? Or something else?
His eyes flicked down and Raven was suddenly aware of how much of his body pressed down against her. Her legs had fallen apart and his hips rested against her own. And the only thing keeping the two of them from lying flush was the fact that Jasper had her hands pinned by her head.
Raven swallowed. She could easily twist them over. She didn't need her arms to get the upper hand of this situation, but moving would somehow make this situation much more intimate and Raven had no idea what the hell was going on. Her eyes darted up to his. What was-
"Guys?" Monty's voice broke over them like a bucket of cold reality. They scrambled apart. Jasper cleared his throat and threw Monty a causal wave in greeting. Everything is totally normal. That wasn't weird, at all, Raven thought.
Raven sat up and pulled down her traitorous shirt which had once again bunched up in the fray. Her cheeks felt hot, but it was probably just from sitting so close to the fire.
"Oh, hey Mon!" she smiled cheerfully. "We're just doing Arithmancy homework. Wanna join? Or have you already done the essay?"
Monty looked back and forth between them and Raven felt the heat of the fire intensify the longer he stared. He obviously thought something was going on, which was ridiculous of course. He had just walked in at the wrong moment.
"Uh, I actually told Harper that I would meet up with her, but, um… later! We can go over the essays later, yeah?" He backed out of the room, giving them two big thumbs up even as he turned to go.
"You don't have to-" Raven began to call after him, but the door was already shut.
Jasper cleared his throat again. "So-"
"So," she spoke quickly, "Arithmancy. We have to write an essay describing its historical development and the following schools of thought which it inspired. Also, we have to find the heart, social, and character numbers for our immediate relatives…" she trailed off. Immediate relatives. Fuck. That meant her mom or Finn and his parents. Talk about choosing the lesser of two evils.
"You can use mine if you want," Jasper offered, reading her mind.
She shook her head, flashing him a warm smile, "It's fine."
The awkwardness between them dissipated and before long they were both laying on their stomachs once more, scribbling out their first drafts onto parchment. Raven glanced over at his work to make sure Jasper was on the right tract. Her brows raised at the length of what he had already written in his sprawling script:
Arithmancy is an old and revered numerical art derived from the ancient Greek practice of Isopsephy. It assigns numerical value to words or phrases thereby forming a more concrete form of divination than many studied today at Hogwarts. The word 'arithmancy' can be broken down into two etymological roots from Greek: 'arithmos' which means 'number' and 'manteia' which means 'divination.' Thus, divination through numbers. This system is most commonly used to predict strengths and weakness of a person by determining their three 'numbers' - heart, social, and character. These numbers…
Raven stared at Jasper in disbelief. The sound of quill on parchment halted when he glanced up at her.
"What?"
"You didn't really need my help at all did you?"
His mouth fell open, "No, I did. I promise! I'm shit at Arithmancy."
Her eyebrows rose, expressing her doubt. She shook her head and when he continued to protest, she shoved his shoulder. Jasper toppled over and Raven smirked, feeling slightly more satisfied.
On the other side of the seventh floor, Bellamy kept a steady pace as he walked away from Gryffindor Tower. He hadn't planned on doing anything today. Just the usual morning flight drills on the pitch with Lexa and then an afternoon spent reading about the folklore and history of magic. Not that he would admit to the latter. He always kept a copy of Quidditch Weekly nearby so he could pretend to read something less nerdy.
Of course, if someone looked closely they would notice that the issue was a month or so out of date, but few people cared that much. Plus, when it became ridiculously old he could always ask Lexa for a newer copy. She didn't fit the description of horder; however, her second trunk full of collectible Quidditch Weekly editions told another story.
All in all, it was supposed to be a relaxing Saturday and it had been shaping up to be just that until a tawny bird nearly shattered the common room window. Bellamy should have known the letter it carried was from Clarke just by the appearance of the strange creature. The avian messenger had enormous wings, a deadly beak, and sharp talons which had nearly torn a hole in Bellamy's robes when it swooped in. Of course, he thought with a shake of his head. She would have an eagle instead of an owl.
Bellamy put distance between himself and the seventh floor as he descended the maze of stairs. It was probably a Durmstrang thing. The eagle. Though Bellamy wouldn't be surprised if it was just some rebellious statement rather than a strange tradition from her old school. Clarke seemed to get a kick out of being subtly subversive in every aspect of her life. It was one of the things that he first liked about her. It reminded him of Lexa in a way.
The stairs from the fifth floor shifted from the west to the east landing of the fourth and Bellamy had to pause, waiting for them to swing around again. The note from Clarke seemed to burn a hole in the back pocket of his jeans while he stood there. He felt the urge to take it out, but resisted. He already knew what it said by heart. It was short and matter-of-fact just like its sender.
B,
Library. One hour. Don't be late.
- C
Don't be late, he scoffed. He rarely arrived early that was true, but late was no different. He paused in the corridor of the fourth floor as he recalled the first class they had shared. Okay, maybe I have a small problem with tardiness, he admitted to himself. But that was different. It didn't extend to important things. Just classes.
Bellamy continued down the corridor, making his way to the upper entrance of the library. He pushed through the doors and, when he didn't see Clarke, he walked to the railing of the atrium which looked down onto the lower level of the library on the third floor. There. A head of blonde hair reflected the glow of scattered lamplight. She stood nearly iridescent in the shadows of the dimly lit library.
"Clarke," he hissed quietly, trying to get her attention. Her head snapped around and those blue eyes found him in record time. He almost snorted when she raised a finger to her lips, telling him to be quiet. Bellamy settled for a sardonic smile.
She gestured for him to come down to her; one finger pointed determinedly at the stones beneath her feet. As her highness commands, Bellamy thought, though not without some irony as he found that her bossiness did not bother him. In fact, it-
"Hurry up," she whispered as soon as his left foot hit the third floor and gave him minimal distance from the spiral stairs.
He let her halo of hair guide him back into the recesses of the library, content to follow forever. However, she soon pulled him into an alcove with a round table near the Herbology section.
"Hello to you too," Bellamy finally spoke as he settled down into one of the stiff wooden chairs. She blinked down at him and then realized what he meant.
"Oh, right. Hello."
Bellamy opened his mouth to respond, but Clarke cut him off.
"How am I? I'm great. You? You look fine," she waved her hand as she sat down in the seat next to him. "So, I met with Professor Wallace again…about the runes." She reminded him when he gave her a blank look.
"Right. Of course," Bellamy straightened in his seat, any annoyance at being dismissed giving way to his curiosity. "What did he find out?"
Her face fell instantly, "Well actually…nothing. He said that some of these runes might be the original forms of more modern derivatives. But without extensive research, it would be nearly impossible to determine their meaning to any degree of certainty… and perhaps not even then."
"So that's it then?"
"Well," Clarke replied slowly, "not exactly...I mean he was really unhelpful. Even dismissive. You know he told me that it was a waste of my time to devote any energy to this project? That it was, and I quote, 'beyond his expertise or any professor here at Hogwarts and thus definitely beyond mine.'"
"What a dick."
"I know," Clarke nodded, her annoyance written plainly on her face. "But, when I pressed him, he did say that there seemed to be a consistent theme, most likely biological. Flora and fauna, if you will. This would narrow down the possible meanings significantly and I thought…"
Bellamy watched her as she spoke, her speech rapid and overlapping in her excitement. Her eyes brightened from cerulean to sky blue and her brows pinched together then smoothed out. It was only at that moment that Bellamy registered the expressiveness of her face. He watched as annoyance shifted to anticipation, anticipation turned to excitement, and excitement then became trepidation. It was so blissfully altered from the cool, impassive exterior he remembered first observing that he lost his train of thought and barely registered it when she turned to ask him a question.
"Sorry, what?"
Clarke sighed in annoyance and her brows pinched together again, "Pay attention, Blake."
"Yep, sorry. I'm listening," he assured her as a small twinge of guilt dug at him for being the cause of her annoyance.
"I was saying that if you look at this rune and this rune," she pointed to two symbols on the sheet laid out before them, "you can see that they appear together repeatedly throughout the writing in the cave. This one," she circled the symbol for emphasis, "looks similar to the rune for 'light.'" Another sheet of paper fluttered down on top of the first. She pointed to another graphic on it, but Bellamy was distracted by the fact that this page had a torn edge and was not handwritten.
"Did you tear this out of a book?" Bellamy asked in disbelief.
Clarke flushed, not meeting his gaze, "It's fine. I'm going to repairo it back in later."
He nearly laughed, but figured that would not be received well. The Princess is not so perfect after all.
"See?" she asked him and pointed back and forth between the scribbled rune and the one on the torn page. They both had a circular twirl which formed their base, but other than that, very little remained the same.
"I don't know…"
Clarke huffed, "Okay, but look at the other one. Compare it to the modern rune for 'night.'"
Bellamy had to admit that these two symbols resembled each other more than the first pair. He looked back and forth and saw that a crescent shape was distinct in both and the bold line drawn through was the same. The ancient one had more… just more to it. The modern one was clear and simple. It was difficult to compare the two.
"Wait," he breathed out. His eyes catching on the first rune again, the one Clarke has said looked like the rune for 'light.' "See the lines that spiral out from the center? Doesn't that look more like the rune for 'sun' to you?"
"Yesssss," Clarke murmured in a hushed tone as her eyes darted between his fingers.
"So the symbols together are Sun and Night?" he asked. That didn't make much sense.
"Well, generally there are various meanings for each rune. At least in the modern interpretation-"
"I know that," he muttered.
"So, Sun and Night could mean Day and Night. Although Night doesn't necessarily mean Night. It could signify darkness or the color black or twilight."
"That's a lot of guesswork."
Clarke's eyes bored into him.
"Okay, okay," he raised his hands. "You said they appeared together frequently… maybe one is a descriptor of another?"
"That's possible," she mused and became lost in thought. The tip of her quill flicked back and forth across her lips like the twitch of a cat's tail. Bellamy swallowed and forced himself to look away.
He started spitballing at random, "Brightest night? Bright night? Darkest day? Dark day?"
"Sun," she reminded him without looking up.
"Right," he nodded. "A sun… A sun. A sun like night? A black sun? A dark sun? A-"
"Wait!" she cried out, looking up at him.
Bellamy recoiled. In the dim light her eyes looked like midnight. As if her pupils had swallowed everything else whole. It had to be a trick of the light, he assured himself. For when he blinked, Bellamy saw that her eyes were simply darkened by the emotions storming inside.
"The dark sun," Clarke repeated the words to herself. "Why does that sound so familiar? I swear I've- but I can't place it. Ugh."
Her fingers rose to pinch the bridge of her nose to ward off the impending migraine which signaled its approach by the tell-tale pounding behind her eyes. The dark sun. An odd sense of vertigo stole over Clarke. It was accompanied by the overwhelming feeling that if she just reached out far enough she would be able to draw the meaning of those words closer…. But no matter how much she strained to remember, all that waited for Clarke was more confusion and the dull pressure building in her head.
"You okay?" Bellamy asked and Clarke felt his hand squeeze her shoulder gently.
Clarke nodded. She took a breath and let it out, surprised to find the weight of Bellamy's hand comforting.
"My head just hurts. Maybe we can pick this up another time?" She looked up and his hand fell away, leaving Clarke oddly disappointed. She brushed the feeling away as he nodded.
She had another thought, "You're a history buff. Could you check for any mention of… that phrase in all your books."
"Sure," he smiled reassuringly, "It's not familiar to me, but I'll have a look. Couldn't hurt to try."
"Thanks, Bellamy."
There was a beat and Clarke glanced over at him again, surprise written across his tan face. She held in a snort. Sometimes she forgot how little people expected of her. Then again, she didn't usually give them a reason to expect much. She'd read a quote once along the lines of "nothing ruins a marriage faster than expectations." Clarke didn't think that only applied to marriage.
"Don't mention it," he shrugged finally, a small flush creeping up his neck. It made Clarke wonder if he had been more surprised by her gratitude or the use of his given name. It didn't really make a difference, either way.
"If you find anything, just send a message."
He opened his mouth, but she pressed on hastily, "You can use Mollis if you want. She'll know where to find me."
He nodded. Clarke didn't want to assume he had an owl. They'd gotten into enough tiffs from her making assumptions.
"Mollis?" He asked her as she gathered her things together.
"Yeah. It's latin for soft."
"I know," he stated and Clarke's eyes snapped to his. But he wasn't being smug. Just making a statement. "Seems a little out of place for an animal of such magnitude and presence."
"Well, I named her when she was just a chick. She was cute and fluffy and I didn't know she would become a hellion. A lovable one. But she is a force of nature."
Bellamy turned away, but not before Clarke saw a grin spread across his face.
"What?" she demanded as they walked back towards the front of the library. Her head still hurt too much to try and figure out his strange psyche.
"Just sounds like someone else I know."
Clarke glared at him, "You don't even know what I was like as a kid."
"I can imagine."
"Don't you have reading to do?"
"You sick of me already, Griffin?"
"Just-"
"Shh!" Madam Tsing hissed at them as they rounded the corner into the atrium. "Five points from Slytherin, Ms. Griffin."
Clarke gaped at the librarian then rounded on Bellamy. He backed away, making a book with his hands.
"I've got reading," he mouthed.
"You-" Clarke clamped her mouth shut at the look on Madam Tsing's face and barreled out of the grave-like silence of the library as fast as her feet would carry her.
By the time Clarke rounded the third floor, she had already thought of five different ways to repay Bellamy for the loss of house points. It wasn't that she wanted him to get in trouble; it was simply that things wouldn't be fair until they were even. Clarke supposed that was the Slytherin in her.
She cursed and stopped to shift around the stuff she was carrying. Her arms were as full of books and loose sheets of parchment as her tightly-packed bag and the weight was beginning to put strain on her shoulders. When she reached the first floor, Clarke stepped away from the stairwell once more to reposition her ample load. However, before she could shift anything the murmur of hushed voices drifted towards her from further along the corridor.
Maybe it was growing up in a place like Durmstrang or having separated parents or always only knowing half-truths, but whispers meant gold; they meant currency and Clarke was not one to ignore such a gift. She inched down the corridor, careful to keep the load of books balanced, and stopped outside of the cracked door to a classroom. As she moved closer, the voices grew in strength until hurried, choked words formed in Clarke's ears.
"-have to be smart about this. We don't know the cause. Let's not create a panic, Abby."
Abby? Clarke placed her back to the wall and peered around the doorframe to see who was with her mother. Kane. Professor Kane and Abby stood close together only a few feet from the door. Clarke ducked back out of sight quickly.
"Marcus. He's just a kid. What if-"
"That's right. He's a kid. Maybe it's some joke. We don't know yet. You've told Jaha. It's up to him to decide as Headmaster."
"It won't be enough!"
"Abby, Abby! Listen to me." The way Kane whispered her mother's name felt intimate, familiar, and it make Clarke's skin crawl. He kept speaking in a hushed voice, "We don't know what happened. We can't know. Not without a body."
A body? Clarke's breath caught in her throat.
"Atom's friends reported him missing, Marcus," Abby's voice broke. Clarke fought the urge to look around again.
"Maybe he ran away. He might have gone home for all we know… Abby… Abby, look at me! We wait the allotted time. We follow protocol. That's all we can do."
"Screw protocol," her mother's voice sounded muffled now. Clarke snuck another peek around the corner. Abby's face was buried in the folds of Kane's yellow robes and his arms were wrapped around her like a vice. Clarke's stomach dropped. She could almost hear it fall to the floor with a sickening splat. It was Kane. The reason her parents had split up all those years ago. Kane. The reason Abby had never once reached out before Jake's death. The reason she abandoned her family and never looked back. Clarke didn't know what inside of her was breaking, but she felt something tear open at the sight of them hugging. Her dad, Jake Griffin, the man who had raised her when Abby had refused, was dead. Barely four months.
Red filled Clarke's vision and she acted without thinking. She let the top book in her arms fall and slam to the floor with a sickening crack. It had the desired effect; the two professors sprung apart and her mother's guilty look told Clarke everything she needed to know.
"Clarke?" Abby's voice was thick with emotion, but the young Slytherin simply bent down to retrieve the battered title. Clarke straightened and looked her mother dead in the eyes. I hate you. Abby's face turned brittle as if she had read her daughter's thoughts.
"How much did you hear?"
"Enough."
"You will not tell anyone," Abby demanded. "Do you hear me? We're handling this."
"Yeah, sounds like it."
"I need your assurance that you won't speak to anyone about this."
Clarke looked at her mother with all of the loathing and anger left in her soul and spat out the next words with the venom of true viper.
"Go float yourself."
She didn't wait for the lecture that was surely coming or the threat of detention or any number of ways that the proverbial hammer could fall. Instead, Clarke hurried away from the stunned pair and hoped that if she put enough distance between herself and them that her vision would stop bleeding crimson.
A/N: Updates Saturday. Reviews honestly give me life and energy to keep writing. Let me know what you think here or come yell at me on Tumblr!