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Iris
Lovely Friend
Posts: 205
Joined: Mon May 14, 2018 12:50 pm

[ f i v e ] beasts of enchantment and far away lands

Post by Iris » Mon Jul 15, 2019 9:19 pm

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The bickering between the woman and her Bowtruckle probably amused Draco more than it should have, but there was something about her apparent madness- no, not madness, eccentricity- that was different than he would expect. It was persistent, a sort of pattern evident in her actions, in the way that she seemed so normal for the briefest of moments, and then so odd the next, but there was something fluid in the unpredictability that he couldn't help but have some level of respect for that at the very least. A bowtruckle had a bite on it? Draco thought back to the unpleasantness of his own mandrake bite, and given that it had been a practical infant at the time, he didn't want to imagine what the bite of an adult one would be. Not that it would matter, of course, given that the victim of any bite would be long dead once the insufferable plant started screaming lest they came prepared, but he still could only imagine that the bite would leave a chunk out of any corpse it's tantrums left behind. He sincerely doubted a bowtruckle would be that bad, but given how annoying it already seemed, learning that it had any sort of bite wasn't the most welcome of thoughts. "Ah, I see. So it's a thoroughly unpleasant creature." He didn't truthfully understand what it was even so upset about, though, despite the amusement he had admittedly gained in the process of seemingly upsetting it further. It wasn't as if they were discussing how to chop it up and use Bowtruckles in a spell as a replacement for Mandrakes. Something told him that the American witch would be firmly against that sort of dark banter, let alone that actual practice, which he imagined might seem a bit macabre to her at best, given her bond to the creature.

Her playful questioning of his words about arithmancy went on to amuse him further. "Is it not obvious?" He retorted simply, though a smirk found it's way to his lips as he watched her. Despite the fact that he so concretely wouldn't, at least not verbally, he had to admit to not loathing the banter. If anything, he even actually enjoyed it. The relief of being able to talk to someone like an actual person, without judgement or suspicion, was in no way fleeting, and he still found himself basking in it. Of course, that wasn't the extent of it. If he was being honest with himself, there was something different, something more about it, about her- of course, Draco didn't always make a habit of complete emotional transparency within himself, and he wouldn't think more of it.

Ah, so she was meant to be helping with the dragons. They were having dragons again? The blonde's brows furrowed at the thought of what had happened last time the dragons had been at the school, memories of that particular task, as well as his own personal experiences with dragons filling his mind for the briefest of moments. At the mention of dragons, Draco was first instantly reminded of his own childhood experience with Hagrid and dragons, with the spectacle resulting in Hagrid's own young dragon being removed from the school grounds by Dumbledore and set off to live in a colony with its own kind and for Potter, Granger, and Weasley to be sent to detention. While it perhaps wasn't the right take away from the experience of telling Professor McGonagall about the dragon, given how the act had resulted in his own detention, the idiots in charge at the time finding the perfect punishment to lead to him being forced out in to the dark forest late in the night as a terrified eleven year old child under threat of expulsion by a half-giant if he didn't comply, the memory still brought a smirk to his lips for reasons that he couldn't completely understand.

Perhaps his distaste for the teacher was just so great that the terrifying night almost seemed worth it as he reflected back on it- so nearly worth it, as a matter of fact, that his experience of witnessing the dragons during the actual Triwizard Tournament didn't even come to mind first in the moment, though it undoubtedly should have. Still, it definitely did come to his mind, the sight of the young wizards using what knowledge they had to take the eggs from the furious dragons, watching them work from the stands. Of course his view at that moment had been tainted by irritation that Potter had been chosen to compete, but he could still remember it so incredibly clearly even now, the images of what the spectacle had looked like from his place in the stands coming so easily to him. Of course now he thought the whole thing was madness, and in hindsight he doubted there weren't many who would agree with him. Looking at the witch in front of him now, though, he supposed it would make sense for that to be why she was there, or at least what they would be using her for while she was theirs to utilize. She was right, though, when she called herself insane for offering her assistance in the matter- or at least he thought she was, those memories of dragons still lingering in his mind.

For the briefest of moments, he again found himself reminded of his late Aunt Bellatrix Lestrange. It wasn't the fairest of comparisons, Draco knew, as from what he had seen of the American witch so far, she had little in common with the insane death eater aside from her sincerity. Perhaps it wasn't her fault at all that he was reminded of the woman- it wasn't often that he wasn't, after all. It was familiar, yet always an odd feeling. She had been his aunt, and while that didn't always or unconditionally mean something given that she wasn't his only aunt and yet similarly was, it had meant everything at the time. She was family, and their family shared more than just blood- it was an allegiance, a goal, and a burden. Of course she was the insane woman who had spent a decade in Azkaban, the one who was in love with the Dark Lord and celebrated the death of Albus Dumbledore in such an odious manner. Yet, despite how memorable those moments alone would have been, they were by no means the extent of his interactions with her. He had seen her so often during the bleak summer between his fifth and sixth year at Hogwarts. She had been the one to teach him the art of occlumency, after all, something that they went over time and time again to expand upon and strengthen for when he would be stuck in the same walls as Dumbledore with such a dark secret. Years had passed, and yet he could still remember the nightly ritual of leaving his bedroom and climbing the stairs to the left of the door up to the third floor of his family's manor. Even with most of the death eaters remaining on the first floor of the large estate, he could so often remember hearing the third floor over the first on his way up, shielding himself from the sound of the woman's laughter. It wasn't usually a laughter of joy, of happiness of any sort in those moments, but of fleeting notions that Draco would feel thankful to never understand - the remains of solitude, of torment and something he couldn't quite comprehend or hope to ever understand - the moments of madness.

Draco could still remember the sounds of her madness only elevating as he reached the third floor, perfectly able to apparate despite his age but preferring to take the moments to himself instead, making his way down the south gallery and glancing over the railings to the grand stair case that connected the first two floors. Then it would be to the tower room, regardless of any laughter or silence he might have heard. Bellatrix had learned occlumancy from the Dark Lord himself, something she was very proud of, and was always made certain to remind Draco. Yet, despite her madness and her pride, it would take a lie to claim that his aunt wasn't a good teacher. She was very good, in fact, though she would often claim that it wasn't so difficult with someone with actual talent for the art. It was true, really; Draco was a natural occlumens, seldom finding it difficult to shield his mind from view, to isolate his thoughts and emotions during the hours that they spent together as the witch did her best to test him, to dig in to his mind. He wasn't infallible, of course, but with practice and coaching compounded on natural talent, he was so consistent that his aunt had claimed him to be the best she had seen at the task since the Dark Lord himself. In those moments the woman had almost seemed normal, whatever that was at the time, but it wasn't enough to make him forget. She may have been his aunt, and one of the people most useful in him surviving his sixth year at Hogwarts, but she was still Bellatrix Lestrange.

Brought from his thoughts once more when he heard her voice again, Draco blinked, eyes steadying on the witch again. His brows raised at the words, but he gave her a small nod, his gaze remaining on her. He watched as she opened the bag, before climbing down in to it. As odd as the sight might have been objectively -and oh, was it odd- it wasn't one that really phased him as one might assume. Of all of the things he had seen with the witch, walking and disappearing in to a bag was the least shocking thing he had witnessed yet. The animals were oddities, things he hadn't seen before. Someone walking in to a space that should have been smaller than it really was, for there to be a place that by all natural means shouldn't have been there? Now that was common place in his world, even if he was thoroughly convinced that whatever might lie within that bag of hers was absolutely not common place. Still, he watched her make her descent, with a mix of curiosity and something that he couldn't quite bring himself to place. It almost felt like disappointment that plagued him as he watched her disappear in to the bag, but he was quick to dismiss any notion of that as ridiculous, pushing it down and away from his thoughts as best he could, which was quite well. Adverting his gaze when she was finally gone, his curiosity didn't quite fade, and left him alone once more, surrounded by the sound of gleefully reuniting children as he felt the train begin to move. Thankfully - surprisingly - Draco wasn't left with his thoughts for long, as an increasingly familiar voice graced his ears.

Looking over to the bag, he saw an apologetic looking face looking back at him. His brows raised again as he listened to her speak, voicing an objectively odd offer for him to join her inside of the bag. It was strange, and it was unexpected - not just in it's very nature, in the place that he was being invited, but also the fact that he was being invited, and that she didn't seem at all frightened to invite him there - and yet as his gaze remained on hers, he knew within moments that there wasn't a way in which he was refusing the offer. As odd as she may have been, he actually found enjoyment in speaking with her, and if it was between seeing whatever was in that case with her and sitting alone on the train full of students for the entire trip to Hogwarts, it wasn't even close. "Do most of your creatures threaten to gouge out eyes, Deorne?" He asked suddenly, though he didn't wait for an answer before he stood, sliding gracefully from the seat. "Curious to know what I'm walking in to." Curious, yes, but not particularly concerned. Perhaps he normally would have been at least cautious, and a part of him always was, but not enough to actually be concerned for his safety in the present. Perhaps he was crazy, but she didn't exactly seem threatening. Eyeing her, Draco walked over to the bag, looking down in to it before making his slow and careful descent in to the unknown.

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Of course, it had probably been too much to hope for. The odds that she would meet such an interesting person and for that person to wind up in the same house as her at the end of the night were abysmal, but she still held hope. Rosie didn't know everything about the Hogwarts castle, but she knew the basics of how the areas were set up. Each house had their own space, with a common room for all of their students and separate dormitories divided by years and by gender. If she and Percy were put in the same house -which, naturally, was Slytherin in her imaginings- they wouldn't be in the same room. Boys and girls were apparently separated in all of the houses. She didn't mind that separation; changing her clothes would be different with girls in the room than other boys, although if the genders were mixed she already felt as if she wouldn't at all mind having Percy as a roommate either, she'd just have to find somewhere else to change and then the two could talk and study together in their shared dorm. That wasn't going to happen, though she figured it might not be too far off as long as the students weren't physically banned from the opposite gender's rooms. But even if they were banned, they could hang out in the common room together and have fun and be together in that way.

Maybe he would even like the dark arts too and they could share that interest and study the darkest arts together behind closed doors, but she had a distinct feeling that no amount of optimism would make that true. He just seemed too different, too odd in a distinctly different way then she herself was. Unfortunately, given the very nature of the arts and the many times her family had tried to drill in to her just how taboo her interests would be seen as and that they were not to be shared with others, it wasn't exactly as if she could come right out and ask him. It was off limits. At least, for now. With all of those thoughts racing in her mind, the revelation that Percy was hoping to be in Gryffindor was admittedly a little disappointing to the young girl. It was disappointing enough that her mind focused on it rather than on to the sentiment about his family having once been in Gryffindor, but not nearly so disappointing that she didn't perk up considerably when she heard the claim that even despite his preference for the house that his family had been so routinely sorted in, he wouldn't mind being sorted in to Slytherin if it meant they were able to be together more. It was an odd concept to Rosie, who had been raised with a heavy emphasis on family and tradition, but she basked in the curious sentiment all the same, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She didn't how if she would have responded when their eyes met, but she wasn't given a chance, as it was then that the boy had interrupted them.

Percy's explanation of his sister's feelings intrigued Rosie as much as it completely baffled her. "Movies?" she repeated in confusion, trying out the word. It sounded familiar, as if she had heard it spoken or read about it somewhere, but she didn't have a clue as to what it actually meant. "Oh!" Her eyes widened as a realization came to mind. Percy had said his family used a lot of muggle things, though she couldn't even begin to fathom why anyone would purposefully do that. Her eyes flickered to the curly haired boy before returning to Percy. "Is that a muggle concept?" She asked before pausing again. "Or American?" Movies. Perhaps it was self explanatory? Maybe it was something that...moved? Brilliant, Rosie- truly, brilliant. For a moment her brain flashed to the things that muggles used for transportation- well, other than ships and trains and whatever the actual hell those repulsive looking things in the sky were called, with a name she knew but couldn't remember, but she quickly dismissed the idea of their ground transportation as well, remembering that they were called cars. She had never been in one of those before, and the idea of them sounded idiotic and painfully tedious in her own mind, but she had seen plenty of them before. Besides, how could a vehicle be described as having a far away look? Cars weren't creatures, they didn't have far away looks, did they? So if not a vehicle, what else could they be? Rosie didn't know, the idea completely confused her.

"Is your sister a student here, too?'' She really hoped that he didn't have a sister in attendance too. Especially if his family was historically from the Gryffindor house, then perhaps that would mean his sister was too, and if she fancied Draco as well, she couldn't imagine that their sisters would get along. Not even an hour had passed since Ezra had last warned Rosie about the differences between the two houses, something that Rosie had been made well aware of years ago, and that Slytherins were on their own, to be among their own. Slytherins didn't get along well with the other houses, Rosie knew, but Gryffindors and Slytherins were known to hate each other. Besides, Draco was her sister's fiance, she couldn't imagine Ezra standing for some strange Gryffindor girl acting on any positive feelings for a man who had been promised to her. Ezra didn't even like sharing her snacks with Leland when he came to visit, let alone a person. She couldn't blame her though, not really- after all, Rosie had only met Percy that day and already disliked sharing his attention with others. Perhaps it was a family trait, or maybe it was just in specific situations. She didn't know, and she didn't care to think about it so deeply as to discover the truth of it. Besides, as Percy continued on to speak further, she found herself quickly distracted, her eyes lighting up with interest at his tales of the prank he had pulled on his cousin, and suggestion that they could do something to Byrne. "We have buckets," She confirmed, giggling at the absurdity of the question. Of course, perhaps it wasn't absurd. He was from a place that was very far away, after all. A place that was far away, in a world where things were done as muggles. "But he's a prefect," she detracted for a moment, sitting back further in to the seat at the thought of it. An annoying prefect, though, Rosie was quick to remind herself, thinking not of any irritating past that he shared with Ezra, but rather the more immediate past. The feeling of his hand on her head, roughly messing with her braided locks, the sight of his stupid smile, or the way he called her mavourneen. Granted, she didn't know what the name meant and for all she knew it probably wasn't terrible, but she didn't speak the language and sincerely hoped he'd find an incredibly unpleasant place to shove all of that Gaelic charm. Of course, just because he was annoying didn't mean he was any less of a prefect, and the idea of actually being involved in a prank of any sort on anyone was rather new to her. After all, that just hadn't been her interest, or her style, at home. Instead, she had held other interests.

From the time she could read, Rosie had always been something of a book worm. Not the typical type of book worm, though, as some might suspect a girl of her age to be. Rosie had never cared much for the works of fiction, for the offering of an escape from the world in which she lived to one which had been conjured up in the mind of another. It wasn't as if she thought them to be dull or uninteresting, she could see the appeal in a way, but it wasn't something that interested her. She was a witch, and she never had any interest in being one just in name alone. Her grandmother was like that, and while she respected the woman, Rosie had no interest in being like her. The elderly woman was unquestionably proud to be a witch, of her family and the purity of their blood, but Rosie had never seen her use much magic. She would have thought it was the woman's age if she hadn't seemed so lively in her complaints and insults to others outside of the family. Perhaps it could have been more to do with how the woman seemed to have others to do everything for her now. Rosie's mother's family was gone, the witch having come from a small pure-blooded line that had been wiped out in the past decades between old age and the first wizarding war, and Rosie's paternal grandfather had died decades before his youngest grandchild would be born. Rosie's grandmother was now married to the only grandfather Rosie had ever known - Grand-père Sachie - and the two lived in France, in his grand estate for much of the year and in the Adelinde family home during the summers when Rosie saw them. The couple had a house elf that traveled between homes with them, and much of the Adelinde home cared for itself- or, rather, was cared for with magic. Rosie's grandmother was always well taken care of, never having to pause to do anything for herself that she didn't want to do.

Perhaps it was that lack of need to perform her own magic that caused Rosie to scarcely see the woman so much as reach for her wand. Of course, a part of her always questioned if that was it, if that was truly the extent of it. Did her grandmother just really have little need for magic in her advanced age, offering a different sort of visual than would be offered if Rosie was observing what had to have been nearly a century before, when the woman was a young widow raising two magical sons alone in post-World War II London? Perhaps, or perhaps magic had never been her thing. She had magic, of course, but Rosie knew that some witches and wizards were just more inclined to use it- they were more practiced, more knowledgeable, better. It wasn't an uncommon thing, and though Rosie couldn't really understand the people who knew they had magic but still chose to do things in a more manual fashion than learn all that they could, she knew that those people existed. Rosie didn't have a clue behind her grandmother's reasoning, why the proud witch so rarely took out her own wand, but for whatever reason she had, Rosie couldn't relate. That was why, perhaps, Rosie held so little interest in reading fiction, even if she so rarely was found without a book on her person. Rosie didn't want to just be a witch in name.

No, she wanted to be a good witch. Not 'good' in terms of morality, because the subject of morality wasn't one that often crossed her mind. Perhaps 'good' wasn't even apt- she wanted to be a powerful witch. She wanted to learn all that she could to be the best she could be at what she wanted to do. Her magic of choice before she even received her Hogwarts acceptance letter was the dark arts, the curses and hexes that called and beckoned her, the ones that her family had warned her were considered taboo in much of the wizarding world, now more than ever. It was that interest in learning, of knowing more about magic in general as well as the darkest forms, that beckoned her to read all that she could. Of course, though all of that was true, she couldn't deny that the mention of watching something come falling down on Byrne's head sounded satisfying, even if she knew she shouldn't, even if her sister had so recently reminded her of the importance of staying on the good side of the Slytherin prefects and how it could further assist her. She knew it to be true, and yet she was curious, pulled in to the nature of Percy's words and the thought of any misery or embarrassment that Byrne might receive in the process. Her slips slowly turned to mold in to a grin in kind to the one she had seen on him. "Well...I do suppose it wouldn't kill him...unfortunately," she teased, mostly joking. "If you think we could do it." Rosie gave a nod, agreeing to the idea in equal parts as an act against the prefect and to spend more time with Percy. "Oh!" She began, her hand moving back in to her bag. She grabbed two of the packages, taking one in each hand before extending them to the boys who sat across from her. "Chocolate frog?" She offered the two, quirking a brow as she awaited their answers.

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