Lycanthropic Curiosity PV Oliver Thorn and Avis Marlong Complete

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It was a typical day for Oliver Thorn, but far from ordinary. The 2nd Year had grown quite used to his routine: skipping dinner at the Great Hall every Full Moon—not that anyone would notice—and returning to his dormitory immediately after his last class ended to be picked up by a Hogwarts Staff of some kind. Throughout the week following this night, Oliver had unlocked his trunk and opened a compartment his father had installed, an under-layer of the trunk, uncovering tiny pigeon holes occupied by glistening glass flasks. Once a month, for a week, Oliver made sure to drink from his supply of Wolfsbane, given to him by the staff of Hogwarts, and hid somewhere he couldn't be seen, The Shrieking Shack.

Even when Oliver was a terrifying creature, with a sharp jaw, padded paws, and a short snout; a fine coat of hair that was almost exactly like a wolf, he did not dare venture out of the abandoned, shacking house. Instead, he sat patiently, the pain of his newly changed body always making the night seem longer, the pain of skin turn into hide, of a bipedal young man contort and shape into the figure of a canine, the transformation was torture every night, every time, it became that Oliver would grow to fear a Full Moon, that when the moon is in it's final stages of it's cycle, and is nearly full enough to make him transform, Oliver tends to let out a small wince in apprehension he must return to his painful transformation soon. 

However, that was now for the next month. Oliver had endured yet another night of agony, spending the entire night awake, but in control, wandering the many, creaking rooms of the Shrieking Shack, but never talked to the other wolves, Oliver was typically a curious, young wizard, but not in times like these.

Now, he had untransformed, the feeling of man-to-wolf, and wolf-to-man are equally as painful, he could feel his newly shaped, human, joints sting of pain, his perfectly normal buttoned nose writhing with the tenderness of having recently been flattened and shrunk down from a snout. Oliver had done his best to keep his grades up this year, he could not bear to fail the 2nd Year of school, again. He will not let Lycanthropy control his life this time.

The best aspect of not being able to make friends was that it made it much easier to avoid suspicion. Oliver had told himself this innumerable times. Now it's the morning, and The Lycanthrope, now, stumbled through the Great Hall, escorted back to the Castle, Oliver had already prepared himself a fresh, change of Hogwarts robes to change into before he left the Shrieking Shack. He now limped to his seat at the Hufflepuff Table, quite normal behaviour his year had expected from the 'moody' Hufflepuff, Oliver attempted to not make the limp seem too bad, more like he had stubbed his toe, or kicked his shin into the bed-frame when getting up. But in reality the pain he was experiencing through his legs was absurd to any 2nd year, he gritted his teeth underneath his tightly sealed lips, his robes were haphazardly thrown on, buttons mismatched on his shirt, belt-flap sticking out, and the left side of his yellow Hufflepuff robes slipping off his shoulder. At last, Oliver found a quiet spot with fewer people at the table.

"Why do Hufflepuffs have to be so social? Can't even find a quiet place to sit."

He muttered to himself, slumping into the farthest seat at the Hufflepuff table, his weight sinking into the bench with exhaustion. The night's transformation had left Oliver brash, sickly, and unusually short-tempered, and even on his best days, his aloof, socially distant demeanour often gave others the impression of an immature, irritating child. With a grimace, he grabbed a piece of toast and smeared a thick layer of jam over it, such a simple action straining his aching joints. His appetite was gone after last night’s ordeal, but he needed something—anything—to pull him through the day.

He shoved the toast into his mouth, chewing mechanically, eager to finish this "meaningless" part of the day, and escape the Great Hall. Just a little sugar, he thought; maybe that would help him muster enough energy to survive the rest of the day, and whatever strength remained in his worn-out body.

Finishing another muffin and watching a few more students walk by, Avis decided she'd find a cozy place to read until class. She had a bit of time until History of Magic at 9 and didn't have the energy to climb the stairs back up to the Ravenclaw Common Room. She'd have to make her way back down to the first floor in an hour anyhow.

Collecting her leather school bag and slinging it over her shoulder, she started to make her way to the large double doors at the end of the Hall when someone caught her eye, forcing her to do a quick double take. A boy, maybe a year or two older than her, was limping down the aisle towards the Hufflepuff table. His robes were an absolute mess and he looked far worse than she had this morning, which was saying something. She watched him wince as he sat down in the farthest possible seat, muttering something to himself and grabbing for a piece of toast.

Normally, Avis wouldn't have thought anything of it, but she'd grown a bit paranoid playing her little mind game and had started to believe some of her wild imaginations. This boy was sparking another idea and with a distracted look, she slumped back down onto one of the long benches, gazing at him from across the room. As she looked closer, she noticed his shirt buttons were uneven and the eyebags under his eyes were so bad they almost made it look like he'd had some sort of allergic reaction. Up all night were we?

Every move he made made it look like he had severe arthritis and Avis felt an idea forming. Up all night? Disheveled appearance? Severe pain in the morning? All symptoms of a werewolf. She laughed to herself at the thought and was about to get up and go on with her day when a sudden realization made her sit back down again. Thinking back to the night before, Avis remembered looking out the tall windows of the West Tower as she studied, taking a moment to gaze at the full moon that lit up the sky. She narrowed her eyes. Perhaps her imagination wasn't too far off from the truth this time. The curiosity inside her was raging and her first impulse was to do some investigating. She had time, didn't she?

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As Oliver pressed his left foot into the floor of the Great Hall, a sharp pain shot up from his heel, forcing him to flinch and drop his jam-covered toast, onto the table, where it landed with a messy splat, spreading outward in a depressing manner.

He let out a weary, frustrated sigh, closing his bloodshot eyes as he rubbed his dirt-streaked fingers against his forehead, hoping to soothe the pounding headache that had been building since his awful morning began.

As he struggled internally to stay awake—fighting the urge to retreat to his dormitory and sleep away the day like he had last year, only to subsequently fall behind in his classes—the loud cawing of several owls echoed through the Great Hall. Mail time had begun. Birds of every size, shape, speed, and colour swooped down over the students, dropping parcels, letters, and newspapers in sudden flurries. Besides the desperate search for energy to survive this painfully long day, there was one other reason Oliver had forced himself into the Great Hall: to collect the parcel his father had reminded him he’d "forgotten" to pack in his trunk this year. A Stopwatch.

An early present from his father, Coriolan, given to Oliver during his first trip to Platform 9¾, not long after he had been bitten by the malevolent creature whose curse he now shared. It was a stopwatch—a strange gift, but one with purpose. It displayed the phases of the moon, tracking its waxing and waning, but most importantly, it counted down the days until the next full moon. A constant reminder of the transformation Oliver dreaded.

The parcel, wrapped in brown paper, fell abruptly into a bowl of grapes, the paper quickly darkening where it soaked up the juice from the squashed fruit at the top. With the same, tired sigh Oliver picked up his stopwatch, unwrapping it as it's golden frame shimmered in the daylight, Oliver looked down at the stopwatch, which he usually ignored after his fear of the Full Moon, the beauty of the circular stopwatch was a grand representation of how talented Oliver's father really was, he reflected on all the great things Coriolan had enchanted for him, His baggy, tired eyes watching the moving-picture of a moon slowly slim, as his head lulled and eyelids flickered. Oliver, noticing himself starting to doze off, abruptly pocketed the stopwatch before anybody noticed the oddly, specific contraption.

Struggling, Oliver slowly pushed himself back onto his feet, nearly losing his balance as he took a large step out of the bench, nearly tumbling into the nearby Slytherin's table. (And how disastrous that would be...)

Observing the boy from across the Hall, Avis noticed his slight winces and ginger movements and as she studied him with probably a bit too much curiosity, she realized his hands were coated in a thin layer of dirt as he left a streak across his forehead. She narrowed her eyes. Unless this Hufflepuff had been doing some extra credit gardening for Herbology at 6 in the morning, there was only one other place where a wizard might get that dirty at Hogwarts. The Forbidden Forest.

A sudden shriek from above broke her focus and Avis jumped a little when a parliament of owls came swooping in overhead, carrying envelopes and packages of all shapes and sizes. A small tawny owl dropped a small envelope in front of her but Avis only reached for it blindly and stuffed it into her satchel for later. She was too focused on the small parcel her subject of observation had received as he picked it out of a bowl of grapes with a tired expression. It was time to move closer.

Knowing he probably hadn’t noticed her watching him, Avis decided to do the bold thing and made her way across the hall to stroll right behind the boy, craning her neck to see as he tore at the brown paper.

A glimmer of gold appeared and Avis realized it was a small but brilliantly made stopwatch. She squinted as she walked by at a snail’s pace, looking far too obvious but throwing care to the wind. The watch was very detailed and from what she could tell, definitely did not keep the regular time. Before the boy stuffed the watch into his pocket, she managed to make out a tiny image of a moon.

As Avis was deciding her best exit strategy, the boy almost tumbled into the Slytherin table to their other side, narrowly regaining his balance. She held her breath, feeling a stab of concern. If he was a lycanthrope, he certainly wasn’t hiding it very well but she supposed he had had a long night and in truth, she was the only one watching him so closely, for now.

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Oliver steadied himself, regaining balance, whilst faking a cough to excuse his nauseated movements and pale, sickly visage, as a pack of Slytherins stared daggers; Oliver felt the weight of the Slytherins' stares pressing down on him. Their eyes were cold, silent, and as sharp as icicles; the collective intensity of their mute glares quickened Oliver's heartbeat, rattling him more effectively than any dose of caffeine could have. He took a breath, forcing a steadiness he didn’t truly feel, and threw on his best indifferent look, fighting back the shiver creeping up his spine, and marching out of the Great Hall, a younger, male Slytherin stood up from his seat and called out at Oliver as he turned his back to them.

"That's right! You better leave! Don't want to spread whatever sickness you keep getting!"

Lips quivering, his mind whirling with fatigue and embarrassment drowning out the Slytherin's words, Oliver treaded with a haste in his step, through the gap between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff table, looking for something to occupy his mind before he let his god-awful morning trip him up. Charms—yes, Charms was first on his schedule, the one class where he could cast spells with his eyes closed, though he was well aware that if he let his eyes close for even a moment, sleep would claim him faster than Professor Fresnel could snap her fingers. He shook his head, banishing the thought, his steps quickening as he glanced at the towering entrance door to leave the hall.

Oliver narrowly passed Avis as he marched out, his tired, pulpy eyes staring straight through her, the Hufflepuff's pale, sickly skin and rosy tender nose passing like a blur, too faint to catch fully. Like the wind, Oliver had bursted out of the Great Hall—next stop: Charms.

Reducio

I think a good time for Salia to join is either right now, or while Avis is following Oliver into the Corridor, up to you two.

"That's right! You better leave! Don't want to spread whatever sickness you keep getting!" a Slytherin boy with cold eyes called after the boy Avis was watching. She scoffed and gave him a sharp glare as the poor boy brushed past her with an unseeing gaze. He was so tired he had failed to notice her completely. Avis didn't know whether to take that as a good thing or an insult but at this point it didn't matter as her subject left the Hall as fast as his shaky legs could carry him.

With one last stormy look at the Slytherin (who returned the glance with enthusiasm), Avis hurried out of the doors, not wanting to lose sight of the supposed werewolf. His dark head was already disappearing through a crowd of students on their way to class and she quickened her pace, the curious moon watch lingering in the back of her mind. The stopwatch certainly wasn't meant to be used for time and all she could make out on the face were tiny images of the moon in different phases. Perhaps a sort of... moon watch? This only deepened her suspicion of the boy's possible ability to transform into a wolf. There were way too many obvious clues to just brush them off as coincidences.

The thought of what she would do if she discovered concrete evidence of a werewolf at Hogwarts passed through her mind briefly, but she shook it off. No need to worry about that now. She was still putting together her theory.

As she refocused on the boy ahead of her, she realized he must be going to class. She frowned, also realizing that she hadn't thought through a possible conflicting of timetables either. No matter. If he was heading for class now, that probably meant his class was around 8. She had class at 9 so she would simply have to locate him after her class. Shouldn't be too hard, she thought to herself knowing full well that that might prove to be an impossible task. Avis adjusted her satchel as she walked, her face dropping into a determined expression. She didn't exactly know what her goal with this was, but she was never one to say no to a mystery adventure and when her curiosity got the better of her, Avis was hard to stop.

Avis gave the girl who had stepped in front of her so suddenly a dubious glance and raised an eyebrow.
"Talk to who?" she questioned. Had this girl been watching her? She supposed she couldn't be too upset. Avis herself had been "stalking" another student as well with no shame, but there was something in the tone of this girl's voice she didn't seem to like very much.
She gestured to where her muse had turned the corner. "If you mean him, I'm really not one to stop strangers in the hallway anyway. I wasn't planning on having a conversation. He just..." Avis paused, not sure how to continue. Could she tell this girl about her findings? Did she already know and was that why she was trying to warn her? And exactly what had happened to put him in... a mood? Avis cleared her throat. She decided to probe.
"He just got something interesting in the mail and I wanted to see if I could get a closer look," she finished awkwardly. "You seem to know him pretty well. Is he a friend of yours?" she asked, leaning in a bit closer out of curiosity. Maybe this girl was some type of... werewolf protector?