Lost & Found PV Jack Burnett Closed

"Whoa. Someone's frustrated," an amused voice commented, the smile audible without even seeing its owner. A redheaded boy in Oliver's year and house was grinning lopsidedly as he watched his peer seem to panic. The spine of a book titled A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot rested on his shoulder as he supported it, his wrist angled casually. "And almost late. Aren't we in the same class next?"

They hadn't formally met, but Jack liked to keep mental note of each of his classmates, particularly fellow first years in Slytherin. After three months, he was fairly confident he was right about the boy before him being a classmate. So then what was he doing so far from class? Jack sneered. "You planning on skipping?"

From the way the other young man had been checking his watch prior and cursing at no one in particular, Jack suspected this wasn't the case, but thought he'd be facetious and ask anyway. From what he could remember, this kid mostly kept to himself, so he hadn't really gotten a good idea of what their other housemates and classmates thought of him. Was he a loner on purpose? The only way to find out seemed to be to talk to him directly and actually get to know him somewhat.

Oliver's expression curdled like sour milk, unbecoming of a boy so young. He drew himself up, taking in the other's appearance with scrutiny. There was a faint veil of recognition flickering wary in his eyes, but at this point, Oliver had made no friends and considered himself a social ghost. No offense towards the actual ghosts patrolling these mournful halls. "And you?" Oliver shot back. "What's your business here, if you say that we're in the same class?" His accent was prim and just above the common kind, obviously indicating something of a well bred family. Even though he was just a half blood, from a vaguely shit town in southern England.

"I'll have you know," he piped up tensely, "I don't intend on becoming a truant while I have plans to apply for the prefect spot." Oliver wrapped his history book to his chest, his wand hooked underneath his thumb protectively. The slender wood dug an indent into his skin. However, he looked all the more sour with each passing moment, looking years beyond his age, though there was an air of inexperience and hesitation to him at this sudden confrontation. What did the other boy want from him? To chat? To tattle?

The more the brunet talked, the more Jack's eyes sparkled, as if slowly coming to the realization that he had stumbled upon the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in all his 11 years of life. How had he not thought to talk to this guy before? From now on, oh, he was going to keep an eye on him for sure. It was just so extremely tantalizing how the curly-haired Slytherin just dripped with what Jack assumed to be insecurity.

Unbeknownst to either boy, Jack was similar to Oliver in that he was intentionally friendless because he thought himself as above making them. In Jack's case, however, his snobbery had less to do with upbringing and more to do with the redhead's idea of intelligence. He believed himself to be much cleverer than the majority of his peers, but rarely wearied of testing it.

As blatant as the irked young man was being about his pride, Jack almost couldn't control himself. He was dying to take a jab at this boy's buttons. However, his classmate's own question prompted him to gather his wits once more. Also like Oliver, Jack had his own desired self-image to keep up and he couldn't afford to be careless lest it be in jeopardy of being ruined.

Just like the boy before him sought to maintain a prim and proper facade, Jack enjoyed wearing the mask of the class clown - the joker, the delinquent, the kid who messed around all class and didn't give a damn about his grades. Truthfully, though, he studied hard every night, relishing in the power of his own knowledge and its gain. In fact, though he guarded his secret fiercely, history was and always had been his favorite subject, even in muggle school.

So as much as Jack would have loved to stand there and toy with his new acquaintance all day long, mentally, his top priority was to get to his precious history class on time. He couldn't let Mr. Future Prefect know this, though, so what to do?

First things first - answer the question he'd been posed. There was no way he could tell this kid that he was so far from class because he had come to retrieve his book from where he'd left it when he'd been reading it in the bathroom earlier that morning. So how interested was the guy in really getting an answer? Jack was willing to bet not very; he seemed likely to have just asked the question to have avoided answering his own. Time to call him out on that.

"Ha! Nice try, but that ol' 'answering a question with a question' trick isn't going to work on me," the redhead snickered. He walked over to drape an arm around his peer as if they were good friends. From the other boy's body language, Jack was certain he'd just love that.

"No one said anything about you becoming a truant, but I'm so honored that you care enough about my opinion of you to let me know," he told him with mock gratitude. Then, with a sinister smile, he leaned over to whisper in his ear, "But seriously, a prefect? With that mouth, even as a first-year? I'd love to know what kind of colorful vocabulary you have when you're prefect age. What will the teachers think?"

Straightening up, as if reaching a revelation, he tapped his book and announced, "You know, I think I'll go ask our teacher! He's bound to know if first-years can still become prefects with language like yours. I mean, isn't it proven that people trust other people better if they use profanity? Wow, you're a genius!"

Jack turned as if to go, beaming from ear to ear at Oliver over his shoulder. "Tell you what; I'll run ahead and let our history teacher know. He might even be so impressed, he'll forgive you for being late to class!"

The sudden advancement of a foreign body made Oliver shrink backwards with disgust; the heavy weight of his peers' arm draping over his narrow shoulders made him stumble a little. His nerves curled with irritation, the tips of his ears singing with a blush. Oliver's eyebrow twitched, his youthful features warping as he gave the boy a mighty heave to push him away. "Oh- shove off, will you? You needn't act like the schoolyard bully," he spat, "touting your 'friendship' to anyone who'll listen." His tone had real venom, though his body language reflected none of the swagger his fellow Slytherin. Oliver gave an exaggerated shudder in response to having been touched in such a casual way, brushing off invisible germs from his robes.

"And you-," Oliver flushed deeply, finding himself in the weaker position of the two, "you wouldn't dare. Professors don't give a damn about what students say in their private time, and don't make me laugh with trying to threaten me." He thought back into his memories, trying to filter through his peers to try to recognize faces, recall experiences- had he ticked off this idiot somehow? Oliver had never been the most warm to his peers, preferring to sit off by himself and do his own work, nor did he ever spend a lick of time in the common room. He shook his head to himself. Whatever happened, the boy had no right to flounce in and shake his ego all over Oliver's face. "You know what that you can do? You can go and take whatever sour little attitude you have and shove it in the trash, will you?" He hugged his history book closest to his chest, sighing at the fact that he would most certainly be late to class, if he showed up at all.

Oh, that shudder. Jack couldn't have asked for a more delicious response. And yet there it was, complete with ruddy ears, eyebrow twitch, and even a brush-off of potential plebian germs. His grin only grew broader at the mousey-haired boy's complaints, however, until his jaws and cheeks ached. He even momentarily forgot that he was trying to get to class on time as he made a smooth pivot on his heel to face his peer once more.

"What?" On the verge of a fit of laughter, he asked, "How can you accuse me of being a bully and touting friendship at the same time? No, no, what you and I have is much stronger. Think of it more as an idol-fan relationship. I am in awe of your magnificence!" It seemed Jack was far too accustomed to the venom Oliver seethed to allow it to deter him in the slightest.

"Laugh? I'm surprised you presume to know the meaning of the word." He leaned in again, this time directly face to face with the other boy, a sickly-sweet smile curving Jack's lips. "If professors don't care what students say, why are you telling me I wouldn't dare? It shouldn't matter then, right, if I tell him or not? I suppose prefects can't expect to be model students every second of every day - or, wait. Wasn't that the point?"

As Oliver continued on with a suggestion for Jack, the redhead could restrain himself no longer. He doubled over with laughter, tears fringing his eyes, until he could hardly stand because his knees were so weak. When he had finally managed to regain enough breath to speak, he gasped between fits, "My - my attitude is sour? Sure someone isn't projecting, Your Royal Highness?"

"Please," Oliver gave the other the most biting glance he could muster. "Welsh fodder is obviously much lesser than British pureblood royalty," he said in a high pitched tone, both mocking Jack and the others who shared that opinion- he himself could not give much less of a rat's ass. But anything to poke and prod at his tormentor, to find any sort of weakness that he could stab at and then scamper away. Oliver lowered his vision, glaring at his peer through his eyelashes. What an absolute ass. Completely lacking in all the polite and proper Oliver had been raised with. He'd have gotten a quick crack in the face if he dared volley that sort of talk back at his mother or father.

Oliver turned up a nose at Jack with a 'humph.' "'Friendship' as in I was being sarcastic, you weevil," he responded thickly. His knuckles were bone white from where they clutched his book. Despite his shuddering attitude, he did not move away. It indicated a greater desire to stand his ground and fight what was clearly a pointless, childish battle- saving your pride was important. Plus, Oliver hadn't the slightest idea on who this person really was. For all he knew, this boy was the most popular of their grade, and therefore leveled a lot more influence over Oliver's fellow first years. It would be humiliating if he had all this mortification pushed back at him through the form of potential bullying. "Then if I be late, you be late with me too," he finally spat, digging his sneaker into an invisible crack in the cobblestone to punctuate his point.

"Oh, yeah, sure!" the redhead agreed with sarcastic enthusiasm. "Much lesser. But you know what, Mr. Prefect Profanity? I wouldn't trade with you for the world. Not to be a pureblood, royalty, British, or unpaid management in charge of a bunch of hormonal teenagers. Which is basically what being a prefect is."

Still swaying with a lack of oxygen and weak knees, Jack leaned against the corridor wall as he continued, still beaming. "In all honesty, I feel bad for you. As a pureblood, you're probably inbred somewhere along the family line. As one of the British, everyone's likely to just write you off for being a snob, though I guess in this case it's true. And as for being royalty? A prefect? At the top of the totem pole with all the power in the palm of your hand? Worst place of all."

He wagged a finger at Oliver meaningfully. "I mean, think about it. Once you're at the top, you can never relax. You've got to spend your whole life fighting to keep it, glancing over your shoulder, watching and waiting for someone to stab you in the back. You'll be doing all you can to keep them at bay, knowing that it'll never be enough and that it'll only be a matter of time before someone gets the better of you.

"All your supposed psychophants might bow their heads like dogs at your feet, but in reality, they'll be keeping as close to you as possible just to wait for the perfect opportunity when you slip up - because you will - so they can tear you apart and take what you have for themselves. That's what having power is like. And as a prefect in Slytherin, of all houses? The house of ambition, deceit, and cunning?" Jack whistled loud and long. "That's some real tenacity you've got there, Your Highness, if you've got your sights set on that role in spite of it all." He paused. "Oh, and idiocy. You'd be an idiot to want that."

Shit. What time was it? He'd been talking too long. Were they already late?

Jack frowned mentally. In his quick glance about for a watch, he happened to notice how tightly Oliver was gripping his book. It had been bothering him for a while, because he had originally intended to make a grab for the other's book or wand and make a run for it to be chased, but the other Slytherin was clutching his possessions far too tightly for either of those to be an opiton. Jack had hoped his engagement with his classmate might have distracted him enough to loosen his grip a bit, but if anything, it seemed to only have made him hold on tighter. What was up with that?

With a soft sigh, the redhead attempted to mellow his manner toward Oliver, simultaneously doubling it as an exhale to calm himself in his inward panic about missing class. Scratching his head, he asked casually, "What makes you think I'm sticking around here? Just because you're going to root yourself to that spot for who-knows-what-reason doesn't mean I am."

Oliver then rolled his eyes. "Really? I was only being sarcastic- I'm as halfblood as they come," he sneered back this time, loosening his grip on the book. However, thinking back to his father's old family, there was definitely some incest back there. He shuddered faintly. Once he graduated, he was moving to the South America and never looking back. God knows, with his luck, he might become amorous with a distant cousin. But he did find it strange that his peer had so suddenly poured all of this- what sort of felt like envy or plain jane anger. Oliver, however, kept his trap shut about all of that... for all of three seconds.

He scoffed at the wagging finger. It reminded Oliver of a condescending old lady trying to assert their superiority. "And god, don't dump your complex on authority and power on some boy in a corridor; you need more friends to dump all that mess on!" He snapped, beginning to edge his way past Jack. Oliver rather liked history and he had spent a good lot of money on this damned textbook, so he would be hesitant to part with it. If it were to be snatched away, Oliver would surely give desperate chase after Jack.

Jack snorted at that. "What does that even mean, 'I'm as half-blood as they come'?" he asked, once more forced into gasping by insistent laughter. "And if that's the case, what the heck are you going on about purebloods for?"

The other boy was actually smiling now. Well, a sneer counted as a kind of smile, right? And his knuckles weren't as white on his book anymore. And then more shuddering. This kid was weird. Jack wasn't sure whether to ask if he was alright or to tease him some more.

Waving a hand dismissively, he retorted, "Oh, put a sock in it. First you're Mr. Future Prefect and now you're 'some boy in a corridor'. Will you make up your mind, already?" The mention of friends, however, caused Jack to freeze and his eyes to widen momentarily. Allowing the other boy to slide past him with his book, he faltered, watching the other's back with intense curiosity.

Could it be possible they shared something else in common? That perhaps this boy, too, enjoyed history, and that was why he had been keeping such a tight grasp on his book?

Not a chance. Jack doubted his peer loved history as much as him, anyway. If so, why was he hanging out around here, making arguments on behalf of bloodlines he wasn't even a part of, when he could have been focusing on getting to class on time?

Then it hit him.

That was why he'd been looking at his watch when Jack had first seen him. That was why he'd cursed aloud to himself. Twice.

"...You don't know the way to class, do you?"