Just Past Curfew PV Cecily Quinn Finished

As she exited the coziness of the Ravenclaw common room, Cecily was starting to regret this whole Prefect thing. It was late, and she was tired, but nope, she had to patrol, because there were inevitably students that liked to make this hard on the prefects. Right, because curfew only applied to some students, and the rest were free to run around causing trouble at all hours of the night. Really, was it so hard to just be in one's common room by 22:00 each night?

As if on cue, Cecily heard a sound akin to someone falling down the tower stairs, and felt her hope of this being an easy night tumbling down with it. Increasing her pace, Cecily made her way down the stairs in the flickering torchlight, ready to deal with whomever was audacious enough to ignore curfew, not to mention potentially injure themselves whilst doing so-- which would only make more work for the prefect. However, the blonde stopped in her tracks as she rounded the steps and almost tripped over the offender-- a familiar dark-haired girl curled on the floor in pain, books scattered on the stairs around her.

"Celynne?" Cecily awkwardly knelt a few steps below her dormmate, not quite knowing how to handle this situation. She had dealt with infractions in the past, but nothing that required emotional support. Cecily knew she wasn't the best people-person, but it seemed pretty obvious that Celynne was making her way up the stairs to reach the common room for curfew when whatever happened. So she was technically breaking curfew, but also there was an apparent reason behind it, i.e. the girl's obvious pain. Cecily, in the true nature of a Ravenclaw, knew she should get as much information as possible before making a decision on Celynne's punishment.

"Are you okay? What...what happened?"

Incommodus.

Cel’s head swam, drifting in and out of consciousness arbitrarily, looking into her old home, if it could be called even that, and the walls of the Ravenclaw Tower. She tried to latch onto the latter, trace the cracks veining through the curved walls, the warm glow of the torchlight against the stone, the cold shafts of moonlight twisting through pockets of window. There was also, apparently, the freezing press of stone against her robe, the cut of stone on her back. To her relief, the memories began to fuzz, the present growing clearer.

Someone— right, Cecily—had helped her up, apparently again, and was trying to get back to the Common Room. Right… Common Room… Cel’s mind wandered, twisting her gut as she was half-raised upright. Normally she would worry about the stairs, the precarious position they were in, but she was more focused on bringing her mind back to the present to notice. “Thank you,” she remembered to say in response, at least, to something the other girl had said about helping her back to the Common Room, grateful for the extra support.

Then she felt only air carrying her.

Ow, her half-conscious mind thought mildly, dizzy and disoriented. Ow, it observed again as the stone steps cut into her side, bruised her bony elbows. Her vision blurred and burned, nerves stinging and barking as the young girl, still not fully present in the mind, tumbled down the stone steps. Each punch and kick that the sculpted stairway gave her brought her closer to reality, though whether or not that was a good thing, given what reality offered at the moment, remained to be seen. Each strike became a little more sharp, a little more painful, although by some stroke of mercy nothing touched her head.

When Cel finally skidded to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, the fog muddling her brain had been replaced by the bruises and lacerations now piercing her body. Well, at least she was conscious. Her mind still took the three second that she had used to instinctively roll onto her back that that particular plan was likely not the best idea, but too late—Cel could only yelp in surprise as the agony pulsed, cutting into her back, her joints. Falling down stairs, she noted dizzily, was not a recommended experience. Her heterochromatic eyes, for once as disoriented as they looked, began to slip shut.

They snapped open again. Cecily. She’d forgotten about her! Cel groaned in exasperation, in frustration, in utter despair. Well, she seemed to be… um, not dead, at least. “I’m fine,” Cel whispered, then repeated the phrase. Her voice bounced around the stone hollows, echoing back at her infinitely. I’m fine. I’m fine. How incommodus this situation was. How she wished that she’d gotten back just a little earlier, broke down to her nightmares when her dormmates could call for the nurse without any of them getting hurt. “Are you okay?”

Quick calculation easily came to the same realization that the distance to the Hospital Wing was a long one. Two flights of moving stairs… ugh. In their current state, too. “We need to get to the Hospital Wing,” Cel muttered over again aloud, stating the obvious as she willed herself to sit up. She achieved her goal and propped herself against the bottom step, ignoring the complaint of her bones and the cold bite of the surface. ...Yeah, no, she wasn’t about to walk all the way there, or climb the steps to the West Tower again, with injuries sustained. There had to be someone else, right?

”What else is on this floor? Maybe we can ask someone for help, if anyone is around…” For once the young girl willingly sifted through her memories, trying to remember what rooms existed there. “Transfiguration is here, but that won’t do anything; Professor Lian keeps it locked when she’s not there. I don’t… know…” She trailed off, casting a cursory glance around the space they’d fallen into. No way could they climb uphill, all the way up the spiral staircase. No, the most likely outcome then would be them falling down the stairs a second time. That would be… not fun.

Mindlessly Cel reached into her pocket of her robe as if urged, the rustle of fabric nearly silent compared to the crackle of old parchment within. She’d bought the Marauders’ Map in her First Year on a whim—it had been interesting, at least, sitting in the Weasley’s joke shop, and Parker had encouraged her to purchase it, eyes twinkling in that peculiar way that wise old mens’ eyes did. And so she had. She was glad for it now, for the decision may have saved both her and Cecily from lying on the stone floor till dawn rose to greet them. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” she intoned, voice echoing through the halls loudly enough to make her cringe just slightly. The girl made certain to note her volume later on.

Ink bloomed across the parchment, flattening the crinkled material and sketching out thin lines across the fibers. A majority of the dots that spilled themselves out grouped among the Common Rooms. “There’s Ravenclaw,” she murmured to herself in quiet soliloquy, “and that’s Slytherin in the Dungeons, must be nice to be under the Great Lake. There’s Dorian, wow, he’s actually inside after curfew for once, has to be… Gryffindor.” Cel lowered the map, squinting in the darkness at a corridor splitting off to one side. “It’s over there isn’t it?” Not waiting for an answer, she shifted toward a nearby sconce for better reading light, ignoring the stab of agony that lanced through her spine like lightning with nothing more than a wince.

”Perfect.” She smiled faintly with the kind of satisfaction that one can only earn from solving a particularly tricky problem and nowhere else. A couple of the Gryffindors didn’t seem to be quite asleep yet, although she  she didn’t see any of the current prefects inside—they must have been elsewhere, patrolling most likely. Probably if she knocked she smiled faintly with the kind of satisfaction that one can only earn from solving a particularly tricky problem and nowhere else. A couple of the Gryffindors didn’t seem to be quite asleep yet, although she  she didn’t see any of the current prefects inside—they must have been elsewhere, patrolling most likely. Probably if she knocked or asked the Fat Lady, someone would help, unless the Fat Lady was off visiting one friend or another. Would she even be sympathetic to their reasons? Could people hear knocking through the door? Well, they could figure that out later… after they got there. “Come on,” she sighed, steeling herself for the treacherous journey ahead.

Cecily grimaced as she leaned back against the wall, listening just enough as Celynne checked her Marauder's Map to hear the girl's plan. She immediately disliked all thoughts of it-- asking for help was, in Cecily's experience, typically humiliating; but then, the Ravenclaw had always held self-sufficiency in high esteem, so maybe she simply imagined the humiliation. Regardless, it was never high on her list of things to do. But asking help from a Gryffindor? This, this was a whole new level of humiliation. She was by no means an elitist, but her imagination was already not letting her ever live this down.

It wasn't like they had much of a choice, though. It was suck it up and go find a Gryff or lay here until someone trips over them in the morning, which would make Cecily feel utterly helpless, which was her least favorite feeling in the world. The better choice was obvious: they would make their way to the painting that guarded the Gryffindor common room and-- what? Politely ask the Fat Lady to open up? Knock? Would anyone even be able to hear them? There was only one way to find out.

"Okay. Let's get this over with," Cecily grumbled, wincing as she pushed herself up the wall to a standing position. She held out a hand to the other girl, hoisting her up. Step by step, mimicking their journey up the tower stairs, the girls limped their way down the corridor, this time leaning on each other. Cecily tracked their two tiny dots on the map as they followed the ink towards the mass of Gryffindors. As they made their way closer with ever painful step, the flaws in their already iffy plan became more and more apparent to the Ravenclaw. Besides the whole issue of if anyone could even hear them, if they knocked, it would most likely be blatantly obvious that they were from another house, as everyone who belonged there would know the password. Hopefully, someone in there would deign to help them anway-- Cecily expected nothing less from the chivalrous house.

Cecily sighed in exasperation when they finally reached their destination. The Fat Lady was nowhere to be seen. Knocking it was, then. Cecily reached up and banged the heel of her palm against the frame of the painting a few times before stepping back. They had no guarantee that anyone had even heard, no way to know, so the best they could do was hope and wait.

Nemo moratorium omnibus horis sapis.

Cel tucked the map into the other’s hand as discreetly as possible before taking the proffered hand. Something about having such a crinkly piece of paper in her fingers made her anxious, the crackles and pops made by rustling the parchment around piercing the silence unnervingly. The little strength she had left surprised her; she nearly fell over forward from overextending as she pulled herself up in an effort to aid. The weariness, it seemed, was mostly mental.

Walking the corridors was just a bit better than climbing stairs, but after two tumbles down the hard stone steps, neither journey looked very inviting. At least there was less of a chance of getting even more hurt, but hopefully whatever Gryffindor ended up answering the door—if anyone was even there at this hour—would be more help than harm. Gryffindors could be kind of… difficult sometimes. Then again, so could people of pretty much any house. Including her own. In some cases emphasizing her own.

“Woah,” Cel muttered as she shook her head, getting rid of the dizziness that followed. Her vision blurred for a second, blood pulled by gravity. “Sorry. I’m okay now. Let’s… let’s go.” Hopefully she hadn’t gotten a concussion. What did getting a concussion feel like? She’d never gotten one before, but she’d heard many stories of not realizing that someone had one until he or she passed out from the trauma. Had she hit her head? She couldn’t remember. Was that a sign, a symptom of concussion? Well, she did just fall down a flight of stairs in the middle of the night; maybe she was just tired…

As they passed the window, Cel caught a glance of herself in the glass: Hair tangled as a rat’s nest, not all that much more than usual, though that wasn’t saying much at all. Her skin was pale from not seeing enough of the sun, and her form seemed weak in general. A couple of bruises had begun to form on the skin she could see of her arm, and the torchlight illuminated the dark circles under her eyes maybe a bit better than she would’ve wanted. In short, she really needed to get more sleep and adopt a healthier lifestyle.

Eh, screw that; the bags under her eyes were prada.

Well, the sooner this was over with the better. She lifted her head briefly, blinking as her vision sharpened, noticing a pause in Cecily’s gait—the portrait frame came into view, as well as some of the leaves and landscape painted in the background, but the lady herself seemed to be in absentia. Probably off visiting her friend or something—Violet, was it?—like Eris had said she did sometimes. At least Cecily had volunteered her three knocks; she was too tired, too in pain, too fearful to do it herself… she sank into another dreamy flow of thought and slow-moving consideration, falling another layer into unconsciousness as she sagged against her dormmate.

By the time she realized what had happened and pried her eyelids open again, sleepiness already beginning to crust on her eyelashes, the empty portrait frame had been swung back to reveal a redheaded girl, looking a bit puzzled and a bit disapproving, with concerned words. Seriously, what was it with redheads in Gryffindor? Why were all the redheads Gryffindor? Maybe it was the red house, but still. The only other redhead she knew who wasn’t in Gryffindor was Ami, and… well, she didn’t want to think about that.

Then again, she didn’t know very many people.

The girl who’d answered the door—answered the portrait hole?—answered their knocking was still on the young side. Likely a First Year, possibly a Second Year because she hadn’t seen her in any of her classes, although she rarely paid attention to who was in her classes, probably not a Third Year. Then again, some people in her year still looked like they were nine, so no assumptions there. Well, at least she hadn’t yelled or announced her displeasure for the whole castle to hear yet. Hopefully it would stay that way.

“Do we look like we’re all right?” the young Ravenclaw countered. The words were vitriolic, but her tone was less irritated and more amused, even with the mark of weariness that drained her posture. It could not be mistaken for an insult or a snap. “Long story short, we just fell down a couple flights of stairs, hence… this,” she gestured loosely to their disgruntled appearance, “and would like some help getting to the Hospital Wing or waking a teacher. If you please.”

A response to the desperate knocks, came quickly. A small redhead, surely a first-year, opened the portrait hole with an expression that conveyed a mixture of irritation and inquisition. We're very much not alright, Cecily thought, annoyed at the girl's first words. Nothing about their current appearance should have conveyed "alright"; the Ravenclaw almost laughed as Celynne voiced her same thoughts.

Her fellow Ravenclaw explained their situation, and Cecily just nodded along. Celynne was doing a good job talking, and God, Cecily was so, so tired. Every time she blinked, her eyes stayed closed for a second too long. All she wanted to do was sleep. This was an uncommon feeling-- the Ravenclaw usually stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, usually enthralled by a novel, too tired the next morning to get out of bed for classes (not that classes were any sort of incentive to wake up). But tonight seemed like a particularly good night to collapse into bed at a reasonable time, sleep the night's events away, and wake up in time for class to find out that this was all just a weird, bad dream.

If only real life were that easy.

"Yeah, um, is your Head of House around? Or...something...." Cecily couldn't even form complete sentences. The girl just needed a solid nap. But also...a lift. Hogwarts needed a lift. Damn magical staircases captured the fascination of the students...unless said students were injured and unable to walk down them. That probably wasn't usually a problem though. Most Ravenclaws were too smart to get themselves hurt at the top of their tower. Ugh.