Closed Open to 5th yrs Call Phantomnation

House Colors: Slytherin

At the mention of the incoming Gryffindor v Ravenclaw game, Piérre returned his own wry smile. "I have no doubt I'll have the honor of seeing the most excellent Ravenclaw strategies in action, then?" He verbally poked lightly. "You made it to finals with Durmstrang once for a reason, though admittedly I think I'll sit in on the Ravenclaw vs Slytherin and vs Hufflepuff matches as well. Gryffindor..." He tired to find the right words. "Honestly it marvels me as to where they find so many willing young kids... but dang are they easy for the more 'mature' house teams to absolutely demolish at a moment's notice." He hummed in consideration, reflecting on just how different the team composition was ever since he had once played on the team as a Keeper all those years ago. Quidditch for some reason just didn't possess the same sparkle as it once had for the boy who had played under Captains D'Spactio and Decipio--that time when Gryffindor had once been at its peak before it had slowly disbanded all its former members: including Piérre himself.

Despite what others may have thought, the boy did have watchful eyes even when he rarely began to speak what it was that was on his mind. As such he had watched the girl as highly restrained and simplified words had left him. He watched the way that she turned down her glossed lips, the unconscious shifting flicker of her eye that indicated a disbelief of some kind or otherwise a puzzlement which was so frequently to be noted in tandem with the human adjustment of the lips and lower face and very quickly decided to clam up after the brief offloading. There was no interest to be found here, as he had feared, and his ramblings had fomented yet another suspicious look that likely saw him in the light of the queer. It was time to turn off that part of himself in best interest of being able to preserve what little time he had remaining to speak without completely defacing the carefully constructed mask of 'normalcy' that he had spent so much time maintaining and attempting to keep secured to his cheekbones and holding onto his nose.

And yet still was there not a truth in her words that Piérre knew so well like a record that played the same song so that the people could dance the same dance. "A shame that my head is the only place I am capable of staying in, then." He said softly with a still slightly sad upturned smile that shimmered twice as bold in his eyes. "What I would give to know what it is that others truly think. Perhaps it would get me out of my head--at the least it would make it easier for me to put aside the things that get me so deep in it to begin with." For even kindness could only take a soul so far without knowing what it was that the other souls that he found himself around on a daily basis with needed from him as well. Vocalizations of the soul--as it turned out--was much harder to construct in total silence, and the filter of one's own mind often neutered from the final words the most important seeds of truth that one could find most helpful to the purposes of determining that exact need.

Just as he had eventually been willing to call the instance a dream, and even as Aly helped to console Piérre with the curious and not-totally-believed hypothesis, Piérre himself filtered away the words that would ostracize him more--the effort of which was becoming eerily more and more simple to do. He was willing to nod along with her words, allowing a genuine smile to crack across the mask and continue its good work in being the external shell that hid the mind so deeply ensorcelled. "Just a dream." The classroom began to shuffle itself, rearranging and preparing to dismiss its students. "Forever is a long time when considering even the ages of history compared to the ages of the universe, I wonder what the secret to his finding and ensuring it was."

The boy watched Aly collect books and her items, still wondering as an aside to himself if he had really managed to clean up all the glass. The tips of his fingers were resting lightly on one of the cracks, his fingernail catching lightly on it in idle amusement--they would not sink into the placid surface. "Perhaps I should try to find more of my own crowd. Perhaps I'll see you around." A flash of teeth in an amused smile. "It was nice meeting you, Aly. Have a nice rest of your day."

Continuing to smile as the rest of the class cleared out, Piérre picked up his things afterwards with the presence of the mirror there at his side still as a pressure in his mind. What he had seen was something that would not leave him soon, he well believed. But... not all of it was for naught.

Aly Salinger. Another name now that he knew. Another face to remember, another individual to watch and to watch over. She would not be forgotten.

Things would occur as they would, and perhaps the future was yet unknown and unseen to most all, but at least the memory would remain. In the end, was that not all anyone had left that was truly and wholly theirs in the end?

The memory of the girl, the memory of the dream vision. Both would exist together in his mind: entwined as they would be, recalled when they were needed, cherished when called upon, and remembered even when undesired.

In the end, and for the better, Piérre's memory at least did not pick and choose.

@Aly Salinger