Slytherin Common Room

Under the Great Lake on the Hogwarts grounds, the Slytherin common room is an uninviting chamber with green lambent light from iron chandeliers, and decorative skulls.

Behave yourselves, or heads will roll.

The year had just begun, but it was already a late night for Lorcan, whose Charms essay refused to write itself more quickly. Currently, the 15 inches he was supposed to pen was about 12 inches shy.

It was sometime after midnight, and there was an uncomfortably warm, Lorcan-shaped imprint in the huge, deep green sofa on which he was seated. The common room was otherwise completely deserted.

A sleek figure still in his school uniform ascended from the boys' dormitories and stalked silently across the common room, wrapping his fingers tightly over the back of the sofa where Lorcan sat and raising his pale blue eyes over the top of the deep green cushioning. His fellow Slytherin seemed to be totally dispassionate about his Charms essay, and Varian could sympathize, although 15 inches of a complete description of the applications of the patronus charm was sitting in the pages of his copy of The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 7.

"Hello, Lorcan," Varian said in a hiss of a whisper, releasing the sofa from his bony white fingers and creeping around to its front side to join his housemate in sitting on it. Lorcan was one of Varian's fellow students who made the albino boy feel glad that he had been sorted into Slytherin. "I hear you were approached personally by Greengrass to get in on the tournament. I had to go to her."

He crossed one leg over the other and picked at his nails, trying to look handsomely bored.

They had been classmates for six years now, and Lorcan was all too used to Varian's disturbing approach to social activities. He was barely surprised when he glanced over and saw his fingers, slightly pink beneath his paper-thin white skin, curled over the top of the sofa.

"Lenoir," he greeted, the chill in his voice compensating somewhat for the familiarity with which Varian had addressed him.

Sitting next to him were several books on the history of the Triwizard Tournament and past challenges, as well as past competitors and their skills. It was tiring research, especially when the topic made him feel so inadequate; could he outsmart a sphinx? Would he be able to evade a chimera? Was his Patronus up to snuff? Patronus - oh, his essay.

With the mention of Professor Greengrass approaching him to personally offer her endorsement, he shrugged. "I can't say what goes through her head when she chooses her favorites. What did she say to you?"

With a dissatisfied hum, Varian uncrossed his legs and crossed them the opposite way. He wanted to say something like, 'if little Malfoy were older you'd be out of the running for favorite', but that just wasn't true. Despite family ties, Scorpius Malfoy's dismal marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts did not earn him any favoritsm from auntie. "Yes, well," he said instead, tucking his white hair behind his ear and shoving a hand in his pocket, "she told me that she was surprised I hadn't come to her right after the welcome speech. Said that she would be glad to bring me along to Beauxbatons. But I doubt Greengrass is ever glad about anything I do, and I can't imagine why."

At length he wrenched his hand free of his pocket, clutching a pair of glasses which he unfolded and fitted over his eyes, magnifying them to a comically gross size. He removed a book from the top of the stack between himself and Lorcan and opened to the middle, and read aloud, "Your patronus and you. Well, Sinclair's certainly doing one of us a favor, if we'll have to use the patronus charm in the tournament."

"I don't think Professor Greengrass has ever been glad of anything. Pleased, maybe." In a manipulative, feline sort of way.

Lorcan made a spasmodic gesture towards the book in Varian's hands, too tired to properly regulate his annoyance with his property being touched. But his classmate either did not notice or did not choose to care, so Lorcan folded his hands in his lap and settled back into his chair.

He himself had only just learned the Patronus Charm. It was a mark of advanced wizardry, and Lorcan would have been damned if he didn't learn how to do it, but his had been weak and incorporeal for most of his sixth year before he went to Professor Sinclair for some advice. Annoyingly, that advice had been to think of something extremely happy, and Lorcan was not given to fits of glee.

But, eventually, his Patronus erupted from his wand in a fit of pincers, and he wondered at the significance of a crab Patronus until the stinger materialized as well. The scorpion made more sense.

"I'm guessing that's why he assigned the essay, subtle as he is," Lorcan commented, plucking the book out of Varian's hands and replacing it on the stack. "Do you know of anyone else who's interested?"

He himself had no clue, besides his brother, and that was hardly newsworthy.

Quinn slowly made her way up from the girls dormitory, she was dressed in a lose fitting night gown that flowed as she walked. She carried a small vial that was a bright acid green. A wicked smile on her face, she made her way towards the middle of the room and sat down on a couch opposite her classmates. she set down the vial, and produced her wand from her robes muttering an incantation she tapped the vial, which shrunk and flew up her sleeve.

Satisfied she spoke, "Don't tell me you two are planning on entering this tournament?" She addressed Lorcan, "I thought you would agree with my sentiment, on how wasteful the tournament is." She reached up and tucked a lose curl behind her ear.

Varian removed his spectacles with a snatching motion of his hand and placed them on the arm of the sofa, curling the fingers of one hand in around his white cheek. His normally squinty blue eyes were wide - as wide as they could have been - as he observed the newcomer to the common room, and he made a series of contemplative faces.

"No," he said slowly, and with finality on the matter. But as if to one-up himself, he added, "It's not wasteful. Where do you come up with your opinions? Do you draw them out of a hat and spout them off randomly? I'm entering the tournament to see my own mental and physical limitations, if I'm chosen. I can't speak for Lovegood, and in any case, he's got a good ten and a half inches to write on the patronus charm."

Lorcan gave Varian a withering look, utterly unappreciative of the albino drawing attention to the very small, very poor amount he had written on his parchment. He could talk a blue streak (hah) about Patronuses. But tonight, he was distracted, and not even by Varian and now Quinn; there was too much to think about and not enough time in the day to get any of it straight. These two weren't helping, but Lorcan was so weary that they were almost a welcome distraction from his distractions, not to mention his essay.

"There's almost nothing wasteful about the tournament," he said, "unless you are so unconfident in your abilities that you fear physical or psychological harm." It wasn't a barb. "I don't know why you would be, Cayn."

Quinn tried to hide her smile, as the two easily took the bait. Truth be told she was just bored having completed all of her homework during a free period she had earlier today, and now that her little 'experiment' complete she had nothing to do until tomorrow.

Rolling her eyes she spoke towards Varian, "I am sorry that I do not see the point in implementing a tournament that has never been successful... especially at a time in which there is so much that still needs to be fixing. Honestly it feels like a weak attempt to appease the masses with blood and gore. If this was a different time frame with different circumstances I would agree that this would be a good idea."

She smiled politely at Lorcan, she understood that he was not trying to insult her and for that she was grateful, "I have plenty of faith in my abilities, and know I would do fine. I just don't see the point, granted the money would be nice..." She paused to think what she would do 10,000 galleons. She snapped out of her reverie, "I guess overall I would just prefer to learn something productive this year."

Varian pursed his lips. Easily irritated, he was becoming unbearably annoyed by Quinn's presence, because she wasn't saying anything interesting, and she wasn't much to look at, either. Varian had learned from his father that women and children are to be seen, not heard, and Quinn Cayn had clearly either avoided this lesson, or refused it. He tapped his chin pensively.

"I see what your problem is. You've missed the point." He wondered how many jokes about his large and hugely magnifying glasses Quinn could have thrown back at him about missing things. "The point of the tournament isn't to maim young witches and wizards for others' entertainment. What kind of twisted, sadistic ideas have you got in that head?" he asked, flourishing his hands wildly.

"Learn productive things all you like," said Lorcan, quickly penning a sentence on his parchment in a very brief fit of inspiration. "No one is forcing you to become a contender. The wizarding world always needs to be fixed, and abstaining from everything entertaining does not make it go more quickly or more efficiently. It just makes people miserable. Miserable people don't fix things."

Lorcan was doing his very best to ignore Varian, who seemed incapable of producing a valid argument in spite of the intelligence be knew was hidden in that pigmentless head of his. Somewhere. Maybe.

Quinn shot Varian a truly horrible look, she bit back a retort about how Varain never failed to miss a point. She instead simply ignored him, she yawned it was getting late and they had potions tomorrow morning. Thinking about potions her mind wandered to her little experiment, yes, tomorrow would be a good time to try that out.

She addressed Lorcan, "I just feel the time is not right, but perhaps you are right maybe this will spur people in to action" She did not mean to sound like a sarcastic bitch but was sure she had sounded as such. "Let us hope that it will not end in death like the last one." She remembered her parents talking about the last tournament. She stifled a yawn, her night gown clinging tightly to her figure.

"Anyway it is getting late, and we have potions tomorrow morning, see you in class." she turned and gave a slight wave, she slowly made her way towards the dormitory, she paused a thought occurring to her. "That could work..." she murmured to herself, she made her way quickly to her trunk, rummaging around she pulled out her copy of advanced potion making. With a smile she laid down and began to read the list of ingredients that she would need. It was going to take a while, but she had time.

"See you," Lorcan called. He found himself watching her curves as she left. A reckless and self-interested girl, but a pretty one, too. Lorcan avoided Varian's eye contact as he turned back to the several inches of blank parchment tumbled all over his lap.

"Do you have a problem with Miss Cayn?" he asked his peer dispassionately, for the sake of polite conversation. It occurred to him after saying it that he sounded like a gossip.

Oh well.

"Not really," Varian replied smoothly and immediately, shifting on the sofa to face Lorcan. He had watched the other boy's eyes as the girl had taken her leave, but Varian, in a brief moment of unusual tact, said nothing about Lorcan's lingering gaze. Quinn was pretty, but Varian couldn't see anything past that.

"She's just typical - just because she got an O on her potions OWL, she thinks she's got some divine talent. Anybody can get an O on any OWL."