Are you going to eat your feelings? Finished

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Of all the things Prat had anticipated when he left his dorm, this—wandering the castle with Siobhan of all people, with their hands loosely linked, was on the list.

The Hall was decorated as expected, the residual scent of smoke from the ruined Garden still faint in the air. Earlier, he had barely registered the way his hand had found hers and decided to continue holding it. He could've justified it then, she couldn't see, not properly at the moment and helping her along had been unproblematic enough. Responsible action even. That was all it was supposed to be. A dutiful escorting.

But now that they were walking into the Great Hall and he could see the glow of the enchanted candles, their still joined palms where neither had made any move to pull away. He was finding it increasingly difficult to pretend this wasn't happening. This was awkward and unfamiliar, maybe not to her. But to him?

His finger twitched slightly against hers.

He should’ve let go by now.

And yet he hadn’t.

He kept walking ahead, gaze fixed forward and jaw tight. The tension in his shoulders rivaled that of his first match. His mind was slowly beginning to unravel in real time, sabotaging him with thoughts he would rather not acknowledge. Like how, if his grandfather saw this, he’d have a long lecture on 'pureblood decorum' ready within minutes of notice. His father would raise a perfectly groomed brow. Even Elisa would probably tilt her head and say something vaguely cutting like, 'You’re very brave.'

The music in the Great Hall was unexpected. Something not very familiar however. Not something he would normally enjoy, but somehow it didn’t irritate him. Not now. It seemed to fit the soft vibe of the night and the way Siobhan quietly hummed along was a sight. She looked comfortable here.

He glanced at her again. She was smiling faintly, her unseeing eyes turned in the vague direction of the dance floor. Prat thought she looked, well, nice. Not in the objective "aesthetic composition" sort of way but that too.

Which just made it worse.

What was he doing?

They reached the snack tables. At last, salvation. He slipped his hand free as subtly as he could manage. He focused on the food. He picked one up. Put it down. Picked it up again. For a moment he looked like a very confused house-elf trying to make a decision in a kitchen.

He should say something. Anything.

Instead, his mouth betrayed him.

"Would you like to dance?"

It escaped before he could think better of it.

Internally, he recoiled. What had he just said? Was he possessed?

He tried to recover, clearing his throat. "I mean, you looked like you knew the song. Or something." he said, voice just a shade too fast.

That wasn’t helping.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how stiffly he was standing. "And we’re already here," he muttered, eyes not quite meeting hers. "In Rome do as the romans do or something. Unless you’d rather just find snacks."

He hadn’t extended his hand. He was too afraid she might take it. Or worse, that she wouldn’t.

It was stupid. He’d fought in duels with sixth-years (and got his kicked : /). He felt like the floor could crack open and swallow him whole.

So he waited.

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Date: 04/12/25 | Time: Late-r Evening | CC:#A94064
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His question came abruptly but she would be lying if she stated that she wasn't expecting it. The fact that he hadn't really let go of her hand until they had reached the snack table, coupled with the fact that he was practically shaking and the tension filled words he uttered towards her asking if she wanted to dance. While she was focused on deciphering the possibility of these snacks being allergy friendly, itt was amusing to listen as he was practically falling apart in his mind. Even with her abrasions to her eyes she could see that he was struggling with something in his head.

It was mildly entertaining and had she a mean bone in her body, she might have made him wait just to see him sweat a bit. This was a very unusual circumstance in which to see him so frazzled. Normally he was composed and snarky, it was a nice change of pace to see that underneath his persona and stern demeanor, that he was really just a struggling teenager like herself.

"We can dance. Consider it my way of making up for earlier. But I do hope you can keep up with me." Siobhan said unable to stifle the giggle in her voice as she took his hand again, far more confident in her dancing ability for this tempo and style as she waited for him to lead them into the fray. Once they were able to find a spot that they wouldn't knock into anyone or anything, she would show him how it was that these songs were danced to.

Get him to loosen up a bit more and perhaps drop the pureblood poise that he retained almost desperately. That was something she still didn't truly understand about wizarding society, was the Pureblood idealistic views about how to manage themselves and their families in lieu of just living life. Her own parents ran their household with a gentle yet firm hand. Everyone pulled their weight and when the going got tough, they stuck it out together. Plenty of times in her life had she gone without, the frugality of her family's life making it easy to treasure what is was they had and to place family above all else.

So in reality- perhaps she shared more than a few views with those of pureblood status. But she knew that was a barrier she might always toe the line of but never be fully welcomed if only because there was too much of a gap between lives.

But with Prat, it was getting easier to understand why things were the way they were. Even if on occasion, he was the most insufferable person she had ever come across. But for reasons unbeknownst to her, he was going above and beyond to make sure that she had a fantastic evening and to keep her company even in the darkest moments that she had experienced the last couple months. He didn't have to, and here he was: falling over himsel as he tried to understand whatever it was that was going on in the moment and just being kids.

Her hand squeezed his reassuringly that she was accepting his offer and when he was ready, they could take to the floor for a more interesting night.

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| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: @Prat Pass | 𝑴𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: @ |
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He wasn't sure what had made him more tense: the act of asking, or the wait that came after. His usually straight and composed posture felt like it was made of stiff wire now. One coiled too tight.

When she said yes, there was a brief second where his mind blanked entirely, he hadn't mentally prepared himself yet for this outcome. He wasn’t sure what hit harder: the relief or the panic.

The nerves didn’t leave immediately, but they shifted. From sharp and trembling to something softer, something lighter. Like the part of him that always expected rejection had to recalibrate. Just the hum of music and her voice giving him that response with a teasing edge. It was ridiculous nonetheless how fast the tension had dropped. He masked this shift in his confidence with a nonchalant nod, and the start of what could be defined as begrudging smirk.

"We can dance. Consider it my way of making up for earlier. But I do hope you can keep up with me."

"Those are fighting words Miss," he muttered in return, slipping back into the familiar rhythm of banter they were more accustomed to, the place he felt he operated the best at. "You better keep up with me."

Truthfully, he had no idea how this kind of music worked.

But he knew enough to lead.

He held her hand with more certainty this instance. Not crushingly or desperately. This time it felt steadier, not just hers, but also his own. No longer did it feel clumsy or accidental. It was Intentional now. Like he’d finally convinced himself, this was alright.

He guided them to an open space on the floor, mind acutely aware of every step, every inch between the two and how the air felt suddenly thicker when she placed her hand in his again. Prat wasn’t used to being this version of himself in public. He was all sharp edges and clean lines, raised on a pureblood legacy of control and posture, making sure no one saw the wiring beneath the surface. Everything about him had been designed to be measured. Even his flaws were rehearsed.

The music was unfamiliar to him but currently slow enough to breathe in, with just enough tempo to keep those dancing moving. He took the stance carefully as he relaxed into it. At least on the outside. Internally, he was still running through a checklist of things not to mess up.

The tempo wasn’t hard to follow, and the rhythm gave him something to focus on besides the flush still warming the tips of his ears.

This wasn’t terrible.

In fact, it was quite nice.

"This is nice, isn't it" he said quietly, once the silence between them had grown comfortable. "So much better than you throwing insults at me, believing yourself to be my rival." The words left his mouth before he had time to vet them. That happened sometimes with her around. His mouth moved before his instincts reminded him to wall up again. But this was his true nature, uncontrolled arrogance remained in the deepest layers of the boy's mind forever. No matter it's skin shed, a snake remains the same being.

What he didn’t tell her was he had come to like the bickering between them, much to the world's disappointment, they boy enjoyed bickering with almost everyone he met in his life.

After that, he remained quiet for a moment, content to listen to the music that was being played, he took the time to match her pace and mirror the subtle shifts in her weight and adjust accordingly. It wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t stepping on her feet yet, which tonight, was a win for him.

To break the silence between them, he began again, murmuring with his voice just low enough not to carry, "you really didn’t have to say yes." He still wasn't sure if her actions were out of obligation or just sincerity. "I mean," he added further, "I’m not saying I’m not glad you did. I am. It’s just, I didn't expect to get this far and we've run out of conversation topics."

That was true. And oddly, it was a little unsettling, finding out more about each other would only make them comfortable.

There was a pause and then he started with the heavy questions," Come to think of it, I've never asked, What do your parents exactly do for work? Do you have siblings?"

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Date: 04/12/25 | Time: Late-r Evening | CC:#A94064
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His declaration about her needing to keep up with him would come back to bite him in the butt if she had anything to say about this. This music was what she was most familiar with and while he tried to lead, she could feel the hesitancy and uncertainty in his movements. There truly was no formal way to dance to such music and she tried to get him to shake off whatever was hindering him by fighting for control of the dance.

However he was stubborn and she tried to avoid actively getting into a fight with him here on the dance floor over something as trivial and fun as a dance.

They were enjoying the silence when Prat had spoken up and thrown a soft jibe about her wanting to believe that she was his academic rival. She let out a soft sigh and rolled her eyes as best she could from the scarred tissue of her face.

"Just because you might have a few better grades then I do, it doesn't mean that your practical application is as strong. I've seen your hesitancy in Potions. Just because I had a potions accident, doesn't mean that I'm not better than you-" Siobhan poked back with a small indignant huff.

Though she had to agree, she preferred these nicer and more peaceful moments between them than when they were bickering and fighting. It would be a lie if she said it wasn't funny to see him bristle up and instinctively fight back with her. It was so out of character for her but it didn't stop her from continuing to bicker with him over the smallest things. However his voice quieted down as if he didn't want those around them to hear the vulnerability of his next words and her smile dropped slightly to match the mood between them.

"Did you think I would say no? I'm not sure if you noticed, but not many people are lining up to be friends with a blind girl pr a muggle-born." Siobhan said as her gaze wandered away from looking at him and her brow furrowed. "Aside from that, I have to fight twice as hard now to prove that I belong at Hogwarts. First as a muggle-born and now as a blind student. Why do you think I'm always studying and practicing potions?" She said as she tried to not let her lip wobble and to keep the tone in her voice from dropping too far.

The pause droned on for a minute after her almost uncomfortable statement. She sought to almost pull away from him and apologize again, but then Prat had changed the subject and asked about her family. While she was proud of her family and where they came from, she had never known such nervousness about disclosing what it was they did.

"My family has a farm. We grow fruit mostly, orchard fruits and berries. But we also have a heavy potato and cabbage patch of land. And then we have sheep and cows in our dairy pasture." Siobhan explained thinking about the emerald color of the land as the sun rose against the eastern sky.

"I have five siblings. Three older brothers and two sisters, one older one younger. I'm number five out of the six of us." Siobhan finished up as she thought about her siblings. Her brothers were much older, and far more protective of her. Eoghan had brought her to Diagon Alley once when she adopted Toaster, Declan and Cillian hadn't but they liked to help her in the garden when she was harvesting her apothecary needs for her potions stock. Her older sister Agatha would sit and braid her hair while she talked to Siobhan about her relationship while Kaitlyn, her youngest sister loved to play with Toaster and pretend to be a witch just like Siobhan.

"My family is very important to me... But I suppose it is for most people. Do your parents work? If I had to hazrd a guess, I'd assume they work for the ministry?" Siobhan asked, recognizing that she had been talking about herself too much.
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| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: @Prat Pass | 𝑴𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: @ |
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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Great Hall; Spring Ball

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He was managing it.

Sort of.

The music was a tad bit chaotic. Not at all designed for the kind of structured high society dancing Prat was actually trained in. Nonetheless, he moved with purpose, of course, because surrendering the lead to her was never an option. But he could still feel Siobhan resisting slightly. Not enough to be disruptive to their dance, but just enough to let him know she could take over if she wanted to. Which She didn’t. Probably to spare him some pride. Disgusting. Pity was worse than embarrassment.

When she jabbed at his hesitation in Potions, Prat's lips twitched in annoyance.

"I don’t hesitate. I just don’t care," he muttered near her ear, barely above the music. "Big difference between the two. Sauber’s the type to measure stupid potion foam like it’s a matter of life and death. He's a little out there in the head, I'm sure. If I wanted to please a pedantic bat who talks like he was raised in a vault full of footnotes, I’d-actually, no. I wouldn’t. I wouldn't even try. He gives me weird science experiment for a child vibes."

A slow grin crept onto his face.

"But sure, you’re better than me," he added, exaggerated enough to clearly mock her, and the last part that he didn't dare voice out 'Clearly, the one blowing off her eyebrows and more is top of the class.'

It would have been a low hit, he had no malicious intent but it'd probably come off like an asshole saying something so mean. Yet, it was weird how natural the insults felt now. Comfortable, even.

The bickering was easy. It was safe. Safer than whatever else came next.

Then her tone shifted.

And she said something else. About people not lining up to be her friend. About having to prove herself. And the mood dropped like a heavy stone into the lake.

His shoulders stiffened.

He didn’t say anything immediately. Not because he didn’t know what to tell her, that was unlikely, Prat always knew what to say; but because his usual tone would come off awfully wrong here, he resisted.

She wasn’t whining right now, she was just laying it bare to him in confidence. It made something ugly twist in his chest. He hated that feeling. She was right, probably. About a lot of things. But he didn’t know how to fix any of it, and that irritated him more than anything. So instead of offering empty reassurance, he just gave her a slow, steady nod. He wanted her to know he’d heard her,but wasn't pitying her.

"You shouldn’t adjust your standards because of your eyes," he said flatly. "You’re still obnoxious. Eyes or not."

That was the nicest thing he’d said to anyone all year, probably. A compliment buried under six layers of sarcasm and ego. But it was sincere.

When she started talking about her family, though, that threw him off. He hadn't expected that.

So many people.

So much land, her house could be considered a small district with how many people lived in it.

She talked about fruit, cows, cabbages and whatnot. The way she described it, he could almost picture it: emerald hills, people running around, sheep bleating somewhere in the background. It honestly sounded exhausting and loud. Earthy, messy in a way he’d never known.

He blinked, mildly overwhelmed.

"Your family’s massive," he said eventually, he imagined dinner in her house must be some chaotic ritual. Everyone yelling over potatoes. Hair pulling. Garden work.

And then came her question.

"Do your parents work? If I had to hazard a guess, I'd assume they work for the ministry?"

He pulled a face.

"My mother works with the Ministry," he corrected her, a little sharper than intended. "Not for. Big difference you know."

As for his father, he exhaled slowly, his dad's work was a little harder to explain.

"My father used to be an Auror, But now he handles our family business," he said, tone cooling. "Not very exciting. Just enough for us to get by in life. Then there's the obvious grandparents and aunt, they don't live with us however."

He didn’t elaborate. He never felt the need to. Not because he was hiding anything, but because most people didn’t understand that to him, wealth wasn’t something attained or amassed. It was just his normal, something he was born with and knew since he first gained conscious. It was like air. Expected, unquestioned. There was no point in discussing it like it was special.

He hesitated, then added "But it sounds decent. Like a good place to be. I wouldn't mind seeing what normal farm life is like."

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Date: 04/12/25 | Time: Late-r Evening | CC:#A94064
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Siobhan tried not to laugh as Prat mentioned his distaste for the current potions professor. Truthfully, Siobhan liked him. She thought that Professor Sauber was perhaps one of the only adults here at school besides Professor Toussaint who took her seriously when it came to the way she studied and how she had been trying to keep up with the rest of the class. It was funny to hear these words come from Prat when in some strange ways, he reminded her of their Professor in terms of demeanor.

But Prat had followed up his statement about the professor with something that was somewhat profound for the braincells trapped beneath his supersized ego and inflated sense of self. His stark reminder that she shouldn't adjust herself just because she was trying to keep up with others. Her own work was merit enough to do so without her having to be better than others.

And then he ruined the moment by calling her obnoxious and her face fell. She had half a mind to whack his head with hers just to show him how obnoxious she could be.

Despite how annoying it was, Prat had a point. She knew deep down that she didn't need to work harder in theory, but at the moment she needed to. In her soul she felt as though if she faltered for even one moment she would fall into an inexplicable inability to keep up with her peers.

But that was besides the point. They had moved on just to keep the conversation flowing just as they moved around the dance floor. To be funny, she lightly pulled him with her arm so as to make him turn faster during the spinning part. It was funny to feel his muscles tighten and constrict as he was caught off guard for a moment. Acting as though she did nothing, she listened to him correct her rather sternly that his mother worked "with the ministry not "for the ministry"

There wasn't much of a difference in her opinion.

Apparently his father was stay at home. Interesting. While her parents were both technically "stay at home," they both worked on the farm from morning to early afternoon attending to things around the farm. Occasionally, her mother made a living through midwifery but it wasn't often. Despite the family practicing more herbal remedies, her mother was strict with her patients about when to add medical intervention.

But Siobhan didn't really know much more than that. She wasn't allowed to help out yet because she was too inexperienced with the process to be of use. Agatha helped out.

Prat mentioned that seeing what "normal" farm life work would be like and she felt compelled to be honest with him.

"Well its not all sunshine and rainbows. Sure there's pretty aspects about it, but sometimes, its hard work and you want nothing more than to lay down for hours but you know you have to get up early to start it over again. Its dirty, grimy, sweaty. But my family works hard on our farm to make it home and to build a life. My great-great-great-great grandparents owned our farm first and they pass it down to the oldest sibling. So when my brother Eoghan takes over the farm after me and all my siblings move on with our lives, it'll be where he and his fiancee raise their family. It's tradition." She smiled as they continued to move and the conversation became more fluid.

"You don't have any siblings do you?" she asked quietly. "What was it like when you're a kid? What do you do all day if not go to school during the school year?" She asked. She had some idea and assumed they went to tutoring but that doesn't seem like it would be fun. Sometimes, she wondered it Prat's demeanor was due to the lack of social bonding that he shared between other kids their age.

It was hard to pinpoint. He was far too guarded. And like the "obnoxious" person he claimed her to be, she would get him to let down more and more of his guard.

"And you know... I'm not obnoxious. You're just way too guarded for barely more than a decade of life. You need to find your river and flow down it peacefully. You're more fun when you aren't hiding away in your proverbial castle." She smiled brightly using some of the hippie agenda that had been worming its way into her heart more and more often.
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| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: @Prat Pass | 𝑴𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: @ |
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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Great Hall; Spring Ball

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Prat wasn't entirely sure what to make of Siobhan's farm story around her life. Not because it wasn't compelling to him, it was. In a strangely poetic sort of way he couldn't explain if asked to. But because it sounded like a different world entirely. One filled with sweat, tradition, mud and a sense of duty passed down like a hand me down jumper.

He had no frame of reference for it, no analog to the activities her siblings and parents committed themselves to. His family worked, sure, but not in the same vein. Not with their hands in the soil or waking up before sunrise to shovel dung. If you asked his grandfather, they woke up prior to sunrise only to bury skeletons and secrets that must not be outed. Their work was cleaner, quieter. More dangerous perhaps, but carried out in offices, parlors, ministry and in private rooms with closed doors and secret seals.

He nodded when she smiled and mentioned their tradition around inheritance. "Sounds like honest hard work, A lot of responsibility, like your family carries their roots like a second spine on themselves." he murmured, his voice remained calm but with a faint undercurrent of hesitance present. It was the most poetic thing he’d said all night, and it surprised even him. "Honestly, I think I might have just lost the urge to visit a farm. EVER."

Her tale of generational duty stuck with him longer than he would care to admit. Great-great-great-great-grandparents...and yet passing it down like a crown? He found it strangely oppressive. So he asked, tilting his head thoughtfully.

"What happens if your brother doesn't want it? The farm, I mean. Do your parents still expect him to take over just because he’s the eldest? Or does he get to choose?"

"Eoghan, I mean." he wasn't sure if that was his name "What if he wakes up one day and decides he wants to be a, I dunno, a professional broom maker or a dragon tamer or something. Does he still have to run the farm just because he was born first? "

There was no judgment in his voice. Just curiosity. And maybe a faint reflection of the pressures he knew existed in his own lineage. The prison of expectations wasn’t only a pureblood luxury, apparently.

When she shifted topics and asked about his childhood, Prat hesitated, lips pressed together in brief calculation. He never spoke about this much. But tonight felt a bit- different.

"I'm not an only child. At least" he sighed, shaking his head. "not for much longer. My Parents are expecting. It's still early as far as I know, so nothing's set in stone. But soon, I won't be the only one." He shrugged like it didn't matter, but it did. He just wasn't sure how yet.

"As for what I did all day? Tutors, mostly. Grandfather taught me some things too. And when I wasn't being taught or tutored, I'd go to the stables with my mum. We own a ranch, that's where I met Icarus." There was the faintest flicker of pride and smile when he said the name. "My horse, it's white colored. Super fast, dramatic and stubborn. I love him."

He didn't usually say things like love aloud. But there it was, his feelings towards the stallion could not be explained in a lesser words.

"I also spent a lot of time with the house staff. Especially our head chef. She's been with our family before I was even born. She taught me how to cook a few things when no one else had time for me. Still does, really. I think she just like having someone curious in the kitchen, and I think she just gets bored when she has no one to teach or talk to."

It was surprisingly easy to say all this for him right now. Perhaps it was the music, or maybe it was something else entirely. She'd talked about her life openly, it only felt fair to extend the same courtesy to her. But then came her comment about being too guarded.

"You’re just way too guarded for barely more than a decade of life," she said.

His eyes narrowed. "Guarded is what keeps you breathing, Sio."

And when she added, "You need to find your river and flow down it peacefully," Prat exhaled sharply.

"Right. That’s how you drown."

Still, her words clung to the corners of his thoughts like burrs on fabric. Maybe she had a point. He didn’t say it, though. More fun when you’re not hiding in your proverbial castle. Was he? Possibly. But Prat liked his castle. It had gates and windows and secret compartments. It kept him from being vulnerable.

He met her eyes anyway and said, softer this time, "I’m always fun. Just depends on the circumstance. And the company."

Then, after a beat, he tilted his head. "So. Does anyone else in your family have magic? Or are you the first Hogwarts student in the family?" It wasn’t just a distraction from her hippie agenda or whatever she had going. He really did want to know. Because if she was the only one, that had to be a strange thing to carry. A rift between two very weirdly different worlds.

Prat fell quiet again as they turned across the floor, one arm still holding hers, leading them in a rhythm far more natural now.

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Date: 04/12/25 | Time: Late-r Evening | CC:#A94064
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Her eyes widened slightly when Prat asked about what would happen if her brother didn't want to inherit the farm. She hadn't ever thought about it but her parents wouldn't ever force the tradition on Eoghan... Right?

No that would be crazy.

"He doesn't have to inherit it. Nobody does... But- its tradition. And he practically runs the farm anyway. Siobhan defended as she thought about wether or not what Prat said could be true. Eoghan was her closest sibling despite him being her oldest sibling. He was the one she went to when she needed someone to cry to, the one she sent the most letters to, and the one who defended her and her other siblings from the bullies around town who picked on their family.

Eoghan was a rock in her life that she didn't think she or her other siblings could function without. He had been there for their entire lives and if he chose to leave town and do anything else, she was sure he wouldn't be happy.

But maybe she was wrong. Maybe Eoghan wanted more in life... She'd need to send him a letter.

It was surprising to hear what mundanity awaited the Pureblood children who were born without a close gap in siblings. Or for those who didn't have siblings at all. Siobhan wasn't sure if she could ever imagine life without her brothers and sisters even if sometimes they annoyed her or if she got on their nerves.

But family was supposed to do so. It was practically an unwritten rule that all families followed even in the most prissy of such. She assumed Prat knew this given his statment of being passed around by his family members to fill his time before Hogwarts. When he mentioned a stable, she looked (or rather her head moved) in a familiar interested gaze. Stables? For horses?

"Horses are lovely. My family had one a few years back, but she wasn't for riding. She was a retired work horse who came to live out her last years with us. She was a...lámhach, what was it- ah a Friesean Horse. I loved her" Siobhan smiled thinking back to the mare who had led a humble end to her life out on their farm. She wasn't young enough to ride so Siobhan had never learned, but she had wanted to. If not for fun but because it could come in handy with farm work.

Besides, Kaitlyn was the real horse obesessed kid in their family.

Speaking of her family, it was if he had read her mind when he posed the question about whether she had any other magical relatives. She wasn't a hundered percent sure if she had any but it was possible that she did somewhere in her ancestry. From what she had come to understand through the talkative grapevine and her readings; all muggle-borns did. However the Magic was so diluted with muggle blood that it was a rare crop up. But sometimes in the dark of the night when no other thought would keep her up, she wondered if maybe she was the only McCarty in her family with honest-to-goodness magic.

"As far as I know, I'm probably the first. Even before Hogwarts my family practiced natural remedies and we rely on runes to protect our home and farm. Muggles call it "Green Magic." Siobhan explained as she finally acquiesed the freedom to move towards him. It was easier than fighting him over it. "But I don't know if I'm the onlyone. My little sister, Kaitlyn, is only nine. Theres still a chance she could produce some sort of magical ability."

She had to admit, it was easier to talk to him about things now that she had thrown a proverbial rock at his glass house. He had stiffened up slightly when she told him to find his river, made two flippant comments that she had chosen to ignore, and then distracted her with a different conversation topic.

So she allowed him to ignore what she had said, knowing whatever it was that he didn't like about being vulnerable wasn't going to change. That just wasn't his personality. However she appreciated that as their friendship seemed to move forward, he continued to open up to her. She really didn't like that her only two friends kept such high walls up around them.

"So- You're going to have a sibling soon? Are you excited? Babies are exciting." Siobhan smiled as she took her turn to change the subject. "Would you rather have a brother or a sister?"
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| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: @Prat Pass | 𝑴𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: @ |
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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Great Hall; Spring Ball

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"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense, of course," Prat replied evenly, not attempting to press the matter further, but the quiet furrow of his brow lingered. She had answered him quickly, too quickly to ascertain things, for the cogs in her mind to turn. It was like someone swatting a fly away before looking to see if it was real.

He wasn't trying to accuse her, But it was strange, the instant reaction from her. Watching someone defend a sibling's path so quickly, so certainly, when it hadn't even crossed their mind to ask that sibling what they even wanted. Then again, most people didn't ask, they didn't think they had to.

But perhaps that was the trick of expectations. They were invisible when you'd grown up with them pressing quietly against your back, a silent weight upon your shoulders since gaining consciousness. He had learned that the hard way.

But he let it go. The last thing he wanted was to seem like he wanted to pry too deep, especially now that things between them were no longer awkward but it wasn't a comfortable long distance either. He had an apprehension for someone perceiving his words, actions and his very being.

He turned his attention to her story about the Friesian horse. That drew the faintest curl to the corner of his lips. "Yes, they are intelligent creatures aren't they. Elegant. Magnificent beings," he said with a light nod without offering sympathy for the loss. Enough time had passed that she didn't seem in mourning and besides it felt more respectful not to make it about pity. Some things were better left understood and unspoken.

His own time spent around horses had been equally functional and emotional. Riding lessons, etiquette, a brief and failed attempt at fox hunting(he didn't want to hunt) but despite his prolong time spent in the school castle, even now he could remember the feeling of a stable early in the morning: warm hay, the weighty snort of breath, and the calm solitude that only existed around creatures.

When she mentioned 'her youngest sibling,' he tilted his head, intrigued.

'No expectations to have magic, but if it’s there, then you’re just extra special. Must be nice,' he thought dryly without vocalizing it, though there was no venom in his thoughts. Just a quiet truth for some of the people born on the other side. For some of the kids, there wasn’t a choice. Either magic happened or you didn’t belong anywhere.

He’d shared more with Sio in this one conversation than with anyone for a while, and that realizing was unsettling. But not bad. Not yet. The walls were still up; mostly. But it wasn’t that terrible to let in a few beams of sunlight through.

Then she pivoted the conversation with a question that made him blink, catching him off guard.

"A baby, yes."

"I’m not sure what to do with a baby," he admitted plainly. "I’ve never been around one longer than an hour, and even that was under strict supervision."

A pause. Then something more honest slipped out:

"I guess I’m a bit excited. Nervous. My mum being home more is good for her, I suppose. Except it probably means even less freedom for me to indulge in shenanigans. And it’s not like she was especially hands-on before either. She was always working."

He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a breath.

"That sounded mean. I don’t mean it like that. I’ll live."
He glanced at her "But I think I’d like a sister. Maybe. I'm not sure why."

Once the topic passed, and the silence settled in again like a comfortable layer of fog, he glanced over at her once more to keep the conversation flowing.

"Do you have any other pets at home?" he asked, voice lighter. "Besides your chonky fur boy? Could probably roll him like a pumpkin down the hall and he’d still land with grace." The fat cat was kinda cute, if Prat could steal him, he would. He might just have to bide time by her side until the opportunity arises.

He smirked a little as he called the fur loaf fat, letting the air between them shift back into something casual once again. She’d probably get that look in her eyes again, and get defensive about him calling her cat fat.

There was a warmth to the way he said it, the kind reserved for people who had lingered in his company long enough to be familiar but not yet dangerous. That space between acquaintance and friend was tentative and flickering, like candlelight in a drafty corridor.

He hesitated only a second upon the music changes. Then turned toward her as he lightly cleared his throat.

"You seem to know this kind of music better than I do," he said, quieter this time; not sheepish, but open in a way he rarely let himself be. "Would you like to show me the way?"

It wasn’t just about dancing. She should know that. Because for someone so measured, meticulous, and always in control. Offering someone else the control wasn’t small. It was trust. And for now, at least, he was willing to give her that.

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