Lost & Found PV Jack Burnett Closed

"..." Oliver considered telling the truth, cocking his head and letting his unruly hair bob. Would his peer take that and begin to mock him again, like he was continually doing? Or was the other also lost? In case of the latter, they were both surely screwed out of being anywhere near on time for class. They'd surely get a few points lost from Slytherin's emerald green vial, as well. Oliver inwardly groaned, his eyes fluttering shut with annoyance. This threw a giant wrench in his day- why couldn't he have just pretended to be ill? Stayed in the rooms and wrote letters back to his parents? ... And would his fellow House members sneer at him for having lost points to such a trivial thing? Oliver suddenly shook his head, dispelling those strange negative thoughts into dust. That didn't matter.

"I'm not a prefect yet, if you have already forgotten that I'm only a first year," Oliver interjected primly, making sure that point had been made. "And yes, I am lost. I took the long way, and took a wrong turn or two." He framed it as casually as he possibly could, his narrow shoulders drooping into a slouch as he exhaled. Oliver tilted his chin up, meeting Jack's eyes suddenly. "And you? Were you following me?" Oliver hissed, advancing closer for a moment before he stepped back on his thin ankles, retreating deeper into the shadow of the corridor. He wore childlike shorts beneath his robes, showing his bony shins, the color of milk. The whites of his Muggle sneakers were colored in with blue and red marker.

Putting his fist on his hip, Jack countered, "You were certainly acting like you wanted to be treated like you were already a prefect." But his tone was softer than it had been. He respected the other boy for telling the truth, especially when before it had seemed so difficult for him to do so. Why he had only chosen now to admit his problem was beyond Jack, though the redhead suspected that maybe his teasing of his classmate hadn't exactly made him feel like he could confess a mistake.

He guessed, perhaps, that a truth for a truth might be enough to make amends. If this kid didn't have any friends either - because now that Jack thought of it, he hadn't seen him around much of anyone else - then why should he worry about his reputation being ruined? Who would the other boy tell?

Hazel eyes locked onto milky brown when their gazes met and he smiled slightly. This time, his classmate really did seem to be asking him a question because he wanted to know Jack's answer; not simply to avoid having to give his own. "Nah, I wasn't following you." He nodded toward the abandoned toilets. "I was getting my textbook back from there. I'd been reading it in there this morning and I had to hide it when some goons were chasing after me."

Jack watched the advancement and then retreat of his peer, raising a brow. "Just so you know, though - " Darting forward, he snatched for the other's book. "- if I wasn't following you before, I'll definitely be following you around now."

"Goons?" Oliver made a face. "It's no wonder why you're bullied, by the way," he supplied. "If I were older, I wouldn't hesitate to drown your textbooks in the toilets," Oliver added sharply, disregarding the prim tone he had taken to really dig in to spite. First years were often the target of stupid pranks and faceless harassment- Oliver's survival tactic was to melt into the background and make sure he was least memorable person in the room, which was embarrassingly easy. He needn't get force fed puking pasties or something equally awful like that. However, Oliver could see how the other's attitude could rub on other students's nerves long enough to warrant bullying. Ahem. Maybe the other deserved it.

When the other smiled at him, he did not smile back. He only frowned, baring his teeth a little into a snarl. Oliver made to make another insult, but he found his book being snatched away and his hold on his hand releasing; the wand clattering to the stone floor while his arms were woefully book-less. Oliver stumbled, but caught himself. He straightened up, his expression twisting into one of shock before morphing into something more resembling burgeoning fury. "Hey!" His pallid complexion immediately colored a deep red with fury, his hands squeezing into fists. "Give it back!" Oliver shouted, his shrill tone echoing down the hallway.

The redhead shrugged at Oliver's comment about his being bullied, chuckling lightly. "I'll admit I tend to get on people's nerves, but I have my reasons. Why would you have to wait until you're older? Worried you'd fall in if you tried it now?" he taunted with a wink.

"Hmm...interesting expression. Not what I was expecting," the redhead voiced aloud, watching the series of transformations that Oliver's countenance experienced before bolting. "How fast can those coloring book substitutes you call sneakers take you?"

Down this corridor, turn that corner, up that flight of stairs... in spite of his show of antics, Jack flew through the castle with the grim determination of one on a mission. Thanks to his frequent bully-fleeing, he thought he knew the general layout of the areas first years were allowed access. Many a time he had used that nook to lose a pursuer, or that cranny to stow a stash of exploding bon-bons. First and foremost, though, his destination remained a place of learning for his favorite subject and his will not to miss a single moment of the professor's lecture was fervent.

Why had he bothered to take the time to steal the book at the increased risk of being late? Was it out of concern for the other boy's grade or well-being? Certainly not. Surely it was only for his own gain - for his amusement in watching those spindly, pale legs race as fast as they could after him. To satiate his curiosity of just how much the book and subject meant to the other Slytherin. There was no way he would have simply wanted to help a fellow student find his way back to class 'out of the goodness of his heart'. At least, that's what he told himself. Jack Burnett didn't do things for others unless he had something to gain from it.

Well, that or to repay a debt. And he supposed he did owe the kid a little bit for providing him with such entertainment.

Once they were getting close, Jack snuck a peek at the inside covers of the history book, wondering if he might have been able to find a name inside before its owner caught up to him and demanded it back.

In slanted scrawl, on the very top left corner of the inside of the book, read Oliver Averill. There were also doodles, dribbled unhappily across the free space in between a few of the first pages. They were messy, for their owner was unused to using quills. (Oliver would rather have a ballpoint pen.)

The book's desperate owner scrambled after the thief, the relatively cheap soles of his sneakers squeaking audibly against the stone. "Stop- stop it!" Oliver shouted hoarsely after Jack, his voice bouncing off the tight corridor walls and waking up a few idle ghosts along the way. He was screaming ugly profanities as he tripped around the corner, stumbling quickly down the hard steps. Oliver was as graceful as a newborn giraffe, tangling over his legs and feet as he kept up his chase. "Give it back! Give it back!"

If he knew a few useful spells, he would use them! If Oliver was back home, stuffed in a cramped elementary school, he would have to hurtle down hallways to retrieve stolen goods. Being a burgeoning wizard, he could jerk his wrist and stun Jack or- or- but Oliver could do none of those things and was stuck running like he was a muggle boy again. He fumed silently, his lungs expanding and contracting with jerky spasms in his chest at the giant bubble of anger that suddenly bloomed. Oliver had a burst of adrenaline, his robes fluttering as he began to close the distance between him and the other boy. He didn't even think to take into account that there were other classrooms, with professors peering out their doors with the last few student stragglers staring like owls.

"Give. It. Back!"

The obscenities that out-stripped their speaker in speed elevated Jack's brows and lifted the corners of his mouth once more, but he dared not pause to look back. If there had been any question of this Oliver's desire for his book before, there definitely wasn't any longer. Satisfied with his discovery, Jack tucked the text into his cloak and under his arm alongside his own, leaping over another student's foot and narrowly dodging an elbow. He had little fear of being caught by spells, for he assumed if that was possible, Oliver would have saved his voice for those instead of what he was spending it on instead. Almost...there...

The adrenaline that had aided his swift departure flooded through, causing a certain giddiness. He hardly noticed how his own lungs seemed to stab into his chest with each breath, intent on getting what they needed from him. Just as the entrance to their destined classroom was in sight, Jack realized too late that he shouldn't have slowed his steps yet. As he all but halted before the threshold of the doorway, he had a split second in which he could only tense up in anticipation of the infuriated hunter he expected to come crashing into him from behind.

He was pissed, and it fueled his adrenaline despite his burning lungs. He wasn't a very good sprinter, despite his long coltish legs. Oliver did try to stop his momentum, skidding violently before colliding face first with the other. "Augh-!" He fell gracelessly, tangling over Jack's body like a falling tree as his palms scraped the ground in an effort to stop himself from falling. His knees hit the ground last, the meat of his hands having smacked the sharp cobblestone edges of the Hogwarts floor. Oliver was stunned, lying still for a few awful moments on the ground. He rolled over, getting caught on his long robes as he folded himself over.

Oliver hissed in pain, curling up on the ground before trying to sit up. He rubbed at his bare knees with his aching palms, knowing that bruises would surely form soon. He stared down at his open palms, flexing his joints tensely to test their ability. Oliver made a face, his pain easing into anger. He stood up, wobbling a little as he caught his breath. Oliver leaned down and wrenched his book back into his arms, his expression wrapped into the most ugly twist of sourness and bitter anger. "You're such an idiot!" He shouted, resisting the urge to belt the other boy with his shoe or fist. "Why have you got to mess with me? What have I done to you?" He shrieked, wrenching his hands into waving fists.

As most days, Zahid had been in his classroom a bit early since he preferred to have all his proverbial mallards in a row before starting his lesson. He had hated it when his professors at university had stood in front of the lecture hall and needed the first five minutes of their lecture to get their notes in order. So, he was once again early and waited at his desk for his students to arrive.
Most of them were already trickling in and he kept a mental tally on who already arrived – if he paid attention he wouldn't have to bother with taking roll. Less time wasted, more time for history.

Just as he was about to wave his hand at the classroom door to close it – despite still missing a couple of students – when he heard feet trampling down the corridor outside and decided to just begin the class and close the door after the stragglers or rather tell the stragglers to close the door behind them.

“Alright, welcome back to History of Magic. Today we will be talking about--” Stopping abruptly, Zahid turned to the commotion at the classroom door. While he appreciated the students presumably attempting to make it in time to his lessons, he would prefer if they made it there without injury.

Suppressing a sigh, he made his way over to the door and the tangle of limbs that should be the last two of his first years. “Well hello boys, glad you could make it.” he greeted them with a wry smile. Watching as Mr. Averill got back up on his feet, he refrained from commenting on the boy's language – as long as they did not escalate, he would overlook it just this once.

Giving the boys a quick once-over to see if they'd suffered any injuries worth worrying over (read: worth sending them to the infirmary over), he waited to see if the seccond boy needed any help back up. If Mr. Burnett needed help getting back on his feet, Zahid would offer the boy a hand to pull him back up. If the two students began to begin to curse at each other in anger he would tell them to watch their language and remind them that there was no need for such words over an accident. If they only had a small scratch or two, he would send them on to take a seat and resume the lesson as they could always go to the hospital wing afterwards. If they seemed to be worse off than that [and I assume they are slightly worse off than just a single scratch as the original question was about sending them to the hospital wing] Zahid would sigh, and send them off towards the hospital wing with a reminder to “Be more careful next time.” before returning to his classroom to resume the lesson.

"ACK-!"

When Oliver collided with him from behind, Jack's arms flailed wildly, automatically attempting to brace himself from the impact of the impending fall. His hands scrabbled for some hand-hold, resulting in his dropping of the textbooks which struck his side and leg in their haste to meet the floor in an untidy heap. Like the other Slytherin boy, the redhead found the stonework of the Hogwarts castle rather unforgiving of awkward young limbs. Of what he was aware, he managed to obtain a couple of cuts, a few scrapes, and what was sure to be some pretty apparent bruises in a bit. He panted heavily, still trying to recover the air his lungs had required for the rapid trip to reach their classroom.

Not that high-speed chases through school halls, angry curses flung his way, or youthful injuries caused by reckless behavior were new to Jack. His banged up and scarred knees and elbows could attest to that, but he didn't regret any of it. Even as he groaned softly from the ground, extricating himself as best he could from Oliver, he couldn't help thinking that he hadn't had so much fun being chased in a long time. With the threat of missing his favorite class, no less. But they had made it and that was all that had mattered, right?

Apparently not. With a word of gratitude, he took the professor's offered assistance to get back on his feet. But while he thought he could accept the ensuing physical pain as an appropriate price for his and Oliver's hasty arrival, being sent to the hospital wing was another issue altogether. They had made it just in time for class, only to be turned away in order to treat the damage they had sustained in their rush to get there. The irony!

Jack might have tried harder to stay if he hadn't noticed he was getting blood on everything from the cuts on his hands. The Slytherin would have assumed that the professor, if no one else, could have easily thought of a spell that would have healed all their minor cuts and injuries, but either there was no fix so easy or the professor was more determined not to hold up the class more than it already had been. After Oliver had grabbed his textbook off the floor, Jack picked up the remaining tome with a heavy sigh.

To stave off the crushing blow of disappointment, the first year tried to see the bright side of their situation. If they missed this lesson, that meant that Jack would have a reason to request a make-up session with the professor in private. And a private lesson meant he could ask as many questions as he wanted regarding wizarding world history without worrying his avid passion for the subject would be revealed to his classmates. That seemed to put him in much better spirits as he began to make his way back down the corridors toward the hospital wing and he cheerfully turned to his new favorite Slytherin to see how he was faring.

What he wouldn't have given then for a photo of the brunet's expression. "Aw, come on. That wasn't so bad! I saved you from wandering the halls forever, didn't I? You should be thanking me."

Words cannot describe the humiliation he felt, standing there with his scraped-raw hands and knees, his mouth curved into a perfect 'o.' Oliver had a high opinion of professors, looking up to their skill and prowess, and having him be so utterly... mortified made him nearly sick to his stomach. His parents had stressed appearance to him from a young age (his messy, uncombable hair could never be helped though), so this stressed him something awful. His face was the color of an overripe tomato, Oliver couldn't even open his mouth to say sorry to Professor Masoud, only nodding like a dunce at everything the older man said. His arms were slack by his sides, his spine slumped over as he watched the professor's back swivel around and retreat back into the classroom. The last thing he saw were the faces of his peers, giggling and murmuring to themselves as the heavy door swung shut.

"..."

Oliver swiveled to stare at Jack. He proceeded to lift his book and clobber Jack in the shoulder, absolutely furious now that the embarrassment had ceased. "You're so annoying!" He shrieked at Jack- at least he knew where the hospital wing was, as he had gotten ill at the beginning of the school year. Oliver pulled the history book to his chest, which was actually Jack's book in reality, and began to stalk off, radiating pure fury.