Playful Rivalry PV Sarah Lightwood Closed

Sarah was irritated, she had been all day. The itch just below her skin had taunted her since the moment she’d stepped foot into the Great Hall for breakfast that morning. Had you asked her, she’d not be able to pinpoint the exact thing which had started it - perhaps the loud thrum of chatter which always accompanied you in the Great Hall had gotten the best of her or the fact that she’d been up most of the night finishing an essay for History of Magic she’d been neglecting had sucked away the patience she usually had for mornings. She wasn’t certain what it was, but she’d known she had to get out.

Grabbing an apple from the end of the Slytherin table and earning slightly worried looks from a few of her classmates, Sarah had quickly fled the room and found herself casting a warming charm on her robes as she found a seat out in the courtyard to enjoy her breakfast. She’d hoped the fresh air would calm her down, dull the anxiety which seemed to prickle her head to toe. But it had done little other than cause her usually pale cheeks to burn pink as the cold air not shielded by her charmed robe managed to find her skin.

The irritation hadn’t eased for the rest of the day, her lessons dragging at the pace of a snail which did little for her fried nerves. It was as though her subconscious was trying to warn her of something. It was the feeling she often got just before she went home to see her father. Unsurprisingly, the thought of the man had not helped either and she’d decided it best not to surround herself with anyone. She had a tendency to say things she didn’t mean when she felt like this and she wanted to avoid any more drama if she could. So she’d not returned to the Great Hall for lunch - instead nipping to the kitchens to pinch a treacle tart from one of the trays the house elves were carrying - nor had she seen it fit to return for dinner.

She’d strongly considered returning to the common room and having an early night to try and sleep off her mood which she could admit was likely at least part due to the measly three hours she’d managed last night. She’d then contemplated the library which she thought might be quiet at this time, most students happily eating and then getting ready for the evening. But having climbed the stairs to the library and seeing the number of students in there, she’d quickly turned back and resorted to her final option: dancing.

Since she was small, dance had been a means of escape for the Slytherin. She’d learned how to lose herself in music and focus solely on her body and the way it moved. When she’d grown up and lost her mother and brother, she’d once again fell back on dancing, letting it consume her. It was a crutch she wasn’t sure she’d ever let go of, and something she often found herself doing when she was down. With a quick summoning charm, her pointe shoes were slung over her shoulder and she was making her way to the rehearsal room. At least I won’t run into anyone there, she’d thought as she turned the last corner towards the room and swung the door open.

“Crap,” She quietly cursed herself for jinxing it as she caught sight of the boy who stood in the centre of the room. Her annoyance towards his presence was unjust, he had just as much right to be here as she did after all, but she was running on practically no sleep and a day full of irritations which she couldn’t shake and the horrendous sound which came from his seemingly far too big trombone was the last straw.

“For Merlin’s sake, I’ve heard mandrakes more in key than that,” Sarah said, her words edged with the irritation which had even building up inside of her all day. Her thick brows were slightly furrowed, making her already narrow face appear ever more angular - all sharp cheekbones and bright eyes. She let out an exasperated sigh as she started to pull her hair up into a messy bun, more for something to do with her hands than anything else. Had it been any other day, she might have caught he sneer in her voice, realised that her words might cut deeper than she’d actually intended, but she was too preoccupied with her own bad mood to really register that walking in on someone and insulting them was ‘a bit not good’ as her friend Amber might say.

Interacting with @Sarah Lightwood

His reaction to her words was immediate and Sarah felt a strange sinking within her stomach. Her own irritated mood had dampened the already lacking social skills she had, and she’d spoken without thought or care. She cringed inwardly, insides tensing as the boy clearly tried to hold his words better than she herself had done. Outwardly, though, she was a picture of unfazed poise, the regret which had flooded her not showing though her raised brow and slightly downturned lips.

The Slytherin was quick-witted and more intelligent than one might suspect, but her quick tongue was known to get her into trouble. Her father had spent years trying to teach her the ways of upper society – prioritising social etiquette and how to make the family look best over what the young girl had wanted. Unsurprisingly, she’d bitten back and taken every moment she could do poke and prod her father’s stiff upper lip. He’d snapped, more than once, but never out of the comfort of their home, never in front of prying eyes. With years, she might realise why her father had worked so hard to quieten her tongue, something which he himself had had to deal with for much of his life. Despite their differences, they were, after all, far more similar than either might want to admit. But this, paired with an innate curiosity to stick her nose where it shouldn’t be, often led her to situations like this.

The boy’s words were harsh, clearly as irritated, if not more so, than Sarah’s own. It certainly wasn’t the first time another student had essentially told her to piss off, but it held an edge she didn’t often hear from those her age. Especially not from a Hufflepuff, a part of her subconscious supplied.

She felt her fingers twitch, itching to reach into the pocket of her robe and wrap around the aspen wand within. Most students wouldn’t dare throw a spell or two at another student outside of the classroom, but she knew from personal experience that there was a choice few who would. She managed to resist the urge to arm herself, knowing she probably couldn’t afford to get herself into any more trouble lest she face potentially being removed from the school – something at the very end of the list of things she wanted. Instead, she turned to face the boy head on, forcing her body to relax into disinterested boredom, as she leisurely let her eyes size him up.

A thousand insults raced through her mind – quips about his lack of musical talent or digs about spending more time on particulars than practising. But as he spoke again, they all disappeared, replaced by the overly specific image of musical note using her neck as its personal pint glass. Her lips formed around a mildly confused smirk as she huffed out a surprised sound. The irritation which had been fuelling her all day seemed to momentarily take a step backwards, replaced by bewildered amusement. In hindsight, perhaps laughing at the boy who’d just tried to insult her wasn’t one of the smartest things she might have done. And if she’d thought to look closely enough, then she might have seen the barely hidden emotion which his eyes were currently swimming with. But she didn’t, and she couldn’t help but laugh anyway.

“Are you suggesting a word might like to feast on my neck like some sort of supernatural minibar?” She asked, right brow raised questioningly. It was quite the thought, rather ridiculous, but creative, nonetheless. She’d certainly never been insulted and threatened to become the main meal of a word.

“I’m sure Bram Stoker’s Dracula would have been considerably less formidable had its anti-hero took the time to use a straw to drink his victims’ blood,” She added with another light chuckle before realising that just moments ago she’d been insulting the boy and that a friendly conversation wasn’t something they were currently having. Still, she’d already spoken, and she wasn’t one to go back on her words, so she simply watched him for a reaction. Perhaps she might even apologise for her admittedly unnecessary and unkind words depending on it.

Interacting with @Sarah Lightwood

Sarah took a small about of pride at the boys slightly confused expression. He’d no doubt been expecting her to throw some form of insult back at him in a bid to win whatever she’d accidentally started. She hated being predictable though, disliked the idea of people knowing her next move before she did, so the hesitant pause he took was more than welcomed. That said, a part of her was still readily poised to snap back and indignant comment or grab for her wand should it come to that. She blamed her distrust on the boy she’d met last year who’d thought it fit to shove her into the Great Lake. Even she was aware that she’d been more on guard since.

The edge to his voice which had taken Sarah by surprise before had disappeared though annoyance was still evident in his tone, even if it was masked by uncertainty. His attempt an insult was less successful than before and he hasty attempt to reword it showed the Slytherin that he knew it too. She bit her lip to avoid it from slipping into one of her signature smirks – extremely humoured by his insinuation that she’d taste bad. She’d certainly never heard that one before. She thought back to a few nights prior, when the girls in her dormitory had decided it time for a ‘sleepover’ despite them sleeping in the same room every night. They’d consumed copious amounts of sweets and chocolates, so much so that she wouldn’t be surprised if the next day her blood had comprised of more liquid sugar than actual blood. Perhaps I’d taste sweet, she considered, before bringing her attention back to the boy before her.

“I’m actually sure I’d taste delightful. Somewhere between treacle tarts and sticky toffee pudding,” She mused allowed. Eventually she couldn’t hide her smirk any longer, and her lips curled upwards, thoughts of chocolate running through her veins and silly insults clouding her judgement. She still was certain if grinning at the boy was her best bet – perhaps he’d throw a spell at her, or simply punch her in the face if her thought he was being laughed at. She winced at the idea of having to explain how she’d ended up in the infirmary this time. Last time had been bad enough. Apparently accidentally bumping into a fourth year with a short temper was a stupid thing to do, though it wasn’t her fault that the bigot had been insulting one of her housemates and Sarah happened to have very little patience for those using the word ‘mudblood’. Brumby had not been impressed – or at least he’d claimed not to be, though Sarah had seen the small smile on his face when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Words brought her back to the present, stray thoughts floating away as she focussed on the Hufflepuff again. The almost imperceivable uptilt of his words had Sarah relaxing slightly as she realised the irritated edge was giving way to humour. “You’re right. Perhaps I’ll go and write a book about zombies who require a knife and fork to eat the brains of their victims,” She said, tone serious as though the was actually considering writing such a novel. A small part of her pushed the idea to the back of her mind to potentially come back to later.

“Look, I actually do have manners, believe it or not,” She found herself saying eventually, her mouth seeming to want to apologise without the permission of her brain. She made little attempt to stop it though. “It’s no excuse but I’ve had a crappy day and thought I might actually be alone in here.” Sarah wasn’t one to apologise all that often, never really having the need to. She’d not apologised to her father in years, enjoying irritating the man more than perhaps necessary, and her friends knew what she was like with her quick tongue which spoke before she thought. That wasn’t to say that she never apologised, she did if she was in the wrong, but it didn’t come easily to her which was why her next words were hesitant. “I’m sorry, it was rude of me to barge in and insult you like I did.”

Interacting with @Sarah Lightwood

The exasperated look the boy offered her made Sarah practically preen. Teasing people was one of her most favourite hobbies. She wasn’t a nasty girl by nature, in fact quite the opposite, but she never could resist a bit of playful teasing. And the look on the boy’s face when she’d responded as if she actually had considered being eaten before, was what she lived for. It was only made better when for a. few moments a considering look overtook his features as if he too was now considering the nuances of his own flavour. A small voice inside her head suggested he might taste of apple turnovers – with extra cinnamon like how her mother used to make them. The thought was strange, even coming from the decidedly odd Slytherin, so she quickly forced her brain to move on.

Instead, she focussed on the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth and the clear frustration he was currently feeling because of it. she could practically see the internal war within him as he forced his body to react the way he wanted it to, trying not to smile. She supposed there was a compliment in there somewhere.

His comment about sticky toffee pudding only made her grin grow wider, all pearly white teeth and too-sharp canines. The insult was weak, barely an insult at all, and followed by a compliment which told the Slytherin the initial malice which had filled the boy was now gone. At least mostly gone. “My brother used to say I looked a bit like a shark when I grin. That or a grindylow,” She mused, the thought leaving her mouth before her brain had had time to process it. When it registered, she realised how irrelevant it was. She also realised she’d not thought about Albert and his teasing for too long. She’d make sure she visited him and her mother over the Christmas break – she’d take a bunch of lilies from her mother’s old garden too.

“A mystery novel? Sounds about right,” She agreed, the boy’s enthusiasm for her ridiculous idea seemed to make it almost slightly less ridiculous. “We could make the zombie self-aware. Have him join the police force so he can hide any evidence which might link him to the murders,” He thoughts started to run away with her yet again and she found herself trying to plan the rest of the work she had to finish his week around when she could write this novel she was now invested in.

The young Slytherin was slightly worried that her apology wouldn’t go over well, but the smile – finally – which overtook the boy’s face settled those nerves immediately. She took his hand almost too quickly, laughing playfully at him as he stumbled over his words. “The pleasure’s all mine,” She grinned as she shook his hand with an overly dramatic vigour. “I’m Sarah. Sarah Lightwood.” She introduced herself, taking a second to consider just how crazy their entire interaction had been. She was certain she’d felt more emotions in the short moments she’d spent in this room than in any other first meeting she’d ever experienced.

She’d noticed the low grumbling of his stomach, felt it mirrored in her own. She knew she became crankier when she was hungry, and she’d neglected her stomach for most of the day. She wondered whether Ross had done a similar thing. It would explain why the Hufflepuff – who Sarah could tell was a friendly person despite the harsh words they’d shared to begin with – was being just as argumentative as her. Perhaps they both just needed food. She pursed her lips in thought. She didn’t want to go the Great Hall, coming here had been her escape from in it the first place after all, but she knew they could probably both do with something to eat. A few moments later, having decided against a few ridiculous ideas, she remembered the box of chocolates her Aunt Helena had sent her last weekend from her travels in Switzerland. The Swiss do chocolate so much better than we can, her letter had read, with the small square shaped box attached to it. She lifted her wand, twirled around nimble fingers three times, before casting. “Accio chocolates,” She said as she flicked her wand and held out her spare hand. She sent Ross a wink, and ten seconds later the small box of treats her aunt had sent were sat neatly in the palm of her hand.

“I think we could both do with something to eat,” She said as she lifted the lid off of the box and held it out towards the other first. “A peace offering,” She smirked, waiting for the boy to take one before taking a chocolate herself. She didn’t have an overly sweet tooth, but her aunt had been right, there was just something special about chocolates made by the Swiss. Ross should feel privileged that she was allowing him to share them.

As she shook his hand with far more enthusiasm than expected, his small smile turned into a laugh. This was the year of the handshake for him. Normally people never tended to return them and he had to uncomfortably put his hand down, but he appreciated finally being able to get a complete one. It felt as if he had just completed a Sims wish, because it gave him a sense of fulfillment.

The girl's name both shocked him and did not at the same time. On one hand, wizards tended to have 'wood' in their name. It was an odd thing he had discovered. Flash HOLMWOOD. Leonard OAKSworth. He just seemed to be meeting more and more of the same people. But that was the thing: She was NOT LIKE THEM and seemed to make an active attempt to not be like them. Her reaction to distress, her hair. It was all different. That's what shocked him about her having such a classic name such as 'Sarah.'

"... could i call ya Toffee instead? I think it's more fun." He inquired bluntly.

Perhaps it was the remark she had made earlier or how hungry he was- it worked better than just plain 'Sarah.' She was more than just a simple 'Sarah.' Her next action proved it, as she summoned chocolates from nowhere. That was the spell he had been wanting to learn from his Grandfather's book! He was far less impressed by the chocolate and more by the fact she knew it. Was she... like him by chance? He stared in awe as she offered him the chocolate. As he snapped out of it, he grabbed one from the box with no hesitance. He was starving and it was clear his more animalistic urges were taking in. As soon as he shoved it down his maw, he instantly recalled the spell.

"Peace, only if ya explain how you did that spell for me. I've been practicin' that one for AGES and i still can't get it." he remarked.

Interacting with @Sarah Lightwood

Sarah found she was smiling far more than usual. Comments about shark teeth and brain-covered dirty dishes forcing laughter out of the girl. She found it surprisingly refreshing – to be able to laugh and smile and not have to think about the consequences the action might bring. The mask the Slytherin usually kept firmly in place, hiding each and every emotion which flitted through brain, seemed to have slipped the moment she’d stepped foot in the rehearsal room. Her anger had been misplaced, her annoyance over the top, and now her joy was on full display for just about anyone to see. It should have felt more disconcerting, and in a few hours when she was sat alone in her dormitory she’d no doubt feel that way. But right now, she let herself revel in the light-hearted banter the two seemed to have slipped into somewhat naturally.

If the hand which covered the boy’s mouth for a few moments told her anything, it was that she was not the only one who’s emotions seemed to be difficult to control this evening. He seemed unnerved by it, anxious fingers getting distracted by the ring he wore. It was a familiar movement; one she too was guilty of. It was one of the reasons why she’d started wearing her mother’s ring around her neck instead of on her finger. Of course, it’d done nothing to stop her fidgeting, hands seeming more than entertained by her wand or a nearby book or a stray strand of hair.

His laughter was a relief, seemingly signalling the ned of any remaining tension which lingered between them. Not that it had been difficult for it to diffuse. It had been surprisingly easy. Worryingly easy, in fact. She tried not to dwell on it, though distraction wasn’t difficult when he was asking if she’d allow him to call her toffee.

Strange, was the first word that came to mind. For one to receive a nickname, it suggested they planned to be around you long enough for it to be used. She wondered whether this stranger was planning on meeting with her again. Oddly enough, she didn’t hate the idea. It was uncharacteristic of the girl to be so overtly friendly, yet for the boy already offering her a nickname and smiling at her frankly silly ideas for novels, it seemed wrong to offer him anything less than friendship.

“Toffee?” She said, absently letting the word roll from her tongue. She knew herself certainly not to be as sweet as toffee, but found that she liked the name all the same. She smiled. “Toffee it is. But only if you get a nickname too,” She said, chewing on her lip in thought. She’d never given anyone a nickname, nothing more than the shortening of a name at least, and found she wasn’t sure she knew enough to offer Ross a proper one. But then it came to her and she knew it was perfect. “Whizzbee,” She said with a grin, eyes slightly wide in a display verging on manic. Sour on the outside, sweet on the inside, a seemingly accurate description of their first encounter. And it was just the right level of embarrassing that the playful teasing she was so enjoying would continue. Not to mention Fizzing Whizbees were one of her favourite sweet treats.

She was pleased to see the boy quickly take the offered chocolate, partially having expected him to deny it – out of politeness or wariness she’d not been sure. Realising the pair were still stood in the centre of room, and that her legs were starting to grow restless, she sat down. Deciding the few steps to the side of the rehearsal room where a wooden bench was sat, she made herself comfortable on the floor with a grace befitting the dancer. She looked up at the Hufflepuff expectantly, eyes flicking between his and the space on the floor in front of her.

“And here I was thinking my chocolates, carried by my family owl from Switzerland by the way, would be enough,” She said in a faux serious voice, popping another chocolate into her mouth to try and hide her grin. It didn’t work half as well as she hoped it might. Instead, she kicked the small boxed a few feet away from them – it sliding across the floor before coming to a stop. She glanced up at him, one dark eyebrow raised expectantly. The Slytherin tilted her head in the box’s direction. “Summon the chocolates and you can have another,” she reasoned, always having thought doing was the best way of learning. “Just put the emphasis on the ‘ah’ sound at the start, and picture the box in your hand.”