On the Defensive PV Closed

Throughout his admittedly short time at Hogwarts, the illusion of grandeur had already started to wane from the boy. What had it been now? Nine days since the sorting hat, nestled upon his head as it was, siphoned his thoughts and proclaimed him a Gryffindor? It was a fitting house for him, he could not dispute that. He was indeed brave, noble, heck, perhaps he was even what that 'C' word was in the Gryffindor mantra. The issue, however, was that he had not learnt any cool spells yet. Nine days. No spells. What kind of pay off was that? To Cyrus, this was not only dastardly, but even fiendish to raise his hopes so high just to throw them from a metaphorical cliff onto imaginary rocks below.

Granted, he had not really paid attention to most of the classes he had attended since they had mostly been going over the 'safety precautions' required to maintain an environment safe enough to be allowed by the Ministry of Magic. Well, hogwash and boils to that! He was at this school to learn cool stuff, not how to not blow his hand off when performing a totally cool and wicked spell. It was his right as a pureblood to be able to blow off his hands in a grand display if he so deemed it. How dare Hogwarts infringe upon his birthright!

While Cyrus was busy, ruminating on such misdeeds by the governing body to his underdeveloped repertoire of spells, he wandered from the cold, stony innards of the castle towards the more vibrant greens and relieving noise of wildlife. The grounds were possibly the only saving point for this school. He could come out here, relieved from the classes of the day and the wretched eyes of professors burning into him, and simply listen to the toads jumping into the lake, the chirping of a variety of birds in the trees, and the view of a solitary child by the lake.

Wait, something wasn't right with this.

Was the lone figure lost? Cyrus squinted towards the back of the girl. He had not seen her before today, yet somehow someway she had arrived here before him. The clear answer to this was that they had skipped class. Truancy. Look at that, she was even writing stories! Cyrus was about to give her a piece of his mind, that was until she started to turn around.

Cyrus was unsure on what had gripped him, but a frequent feeling of unease had grasped at his soul, urging him to dodge away from her vision. He no longer questioned such actions, and so instinctively, rustling the grass a little more while he dashed, hid behind a tree a few short paces away.

Safe.

Alas, Gryffindors were not known for their partialness towards safety, rather it was quite the opposite. So it was foretold that the brave, noble lion emerged from behind the cover of the tree, donning his embroidered robes representing his colours and house, stalking valiantly towards the lone figure that dared truant. In his delusion, Cyrus ignored the rustling grass he continued to make as he neared the girl. Even so, he proudly, and bravely, spoke up towards the defier of the rules, careful to omit any belief that she could have both attended classes and arrived her before him, "Well, well, well. What have we here? Writing stories when you should have been at class, eh?" Cyrus posed in defiance, his hands resting upon his hips like the superheroes in his childhood comics had once done. It was a sign of power, or something like that.

@Thora Larkston

Quill still clutched in her right hand, Thora scrawled on. Years of writing her own stories had trained her hand to write at a blinding rate, yet readable, even with flourishes. This is what she loved about the Great Lake. Undisturbed, without the never-ending chatter encountered everywhere else. That is, until a low drawl from behind distracted her. 

"Well, well, well. What have we here? Writing stories when you should have been at class, eh?" Turning from her comfortable spot among the grassy stalks, Thora arched an eyebrow. Standing in front of her was a average-looking boy, a Gryffindor, according to the crest emblazoned on his wizard robes. The lanky brown-haired boy had his hands planted on his hips, a stance the redhead had often seen from bullies at Muggle school--a subject she could tell you about for hours. 

The catch? Although the boy was clearly larger than the petite redhead, his expression was obviously younger, even more naive. A first year. Preferring to remain sitting, rather than accentuate her shortness by standing, Thora narrowed her eyes at the boy. So he thought she had been skipping class to write stories. Regularly shy, Thora tried to bite back her sarcastic side. Wow. Who was this Gryffindor to order her around? Well, she could handle this. After all, he was only a first year.

Despite her inner bravado, the Slytherin's knees began shaking slightly, like when she saw mean people or bullies back at home, at Muggle School. Thora steeled herself, putting a protective layer over her normally kind disposition. As she was normally the kind one, the peacemaker, this would be hard to do...

"Hmm?" Thora asked. Painstakingly drawing her parchment out of her bookbag, she held it up. Better to let the boy see for himself. 

As the lion descended upon the law-breaking snake, more confidence was drawn into his movement. His walk developed into a more refined swagger before he stopped a short distance away. The girl was ensnared in a trap of her own making, and Cyrus Langley was the one to enact the judgement of the school. Why he was that person entirely, he was unsure. In truth, he could not care less whether she had been abiding the rules, or actually breaking them. There was simply something warming to him to have the aura of authority. After all, he deserved it.

The redhead exhaled and rifled through her bag. Was she attempting to pull a wand on him? Find a ball and throw it at him? The possibilities were endless, yet his heartrate remained calm and composed. Each subsequent action in this duet would only serve to make the interaction more enjoyable for him.

It appeared that her form of defense was not as apt as Cyrus predicted. Marvelous. Lowering his arms from his hips and sauntering towards the girl to take a gander at the parchment she held out, his hand attempting to pluck the finished work from the girls fingers. If he was able to do so, then Cyrus would go about reading the contents of the page, murmuring along the way the passages he was reading.

While it checked out on being mundane homework, it did not by any stretch of the imagination excuse the redheads behaviour. "I'm afraid this means nothing. You could have easily done this another day, while you worked on writing some blubbering fiction." Cyrus stated, shaking his head to accentuate his point before he carried on, "I know for a fact you weren't drawing though. You aren't talented enough for that." The first zinger had already made its way into the conversation. Cyrus was being slow and methodical with this girl. Start ff with something minor, laughable even, then work your way up to the punches that hurt. "I'm going to need your name and year so I can report you to the authorities." Cyrus nodded to himself again, his hands once again plastering themselves upon his hips.