Osmosis pv Mae

A windstorm of green and silver robes departed from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom at the professor’s cue. The young Slytherin walked quickly, a false sense of confidence in her step that was fully unsuitable for a girl who did not know where she was headed.

The library would be a good choice. Maelys had already completed everything on her to-do list. (Okay... Perhaps that was a slight exaggeration.) However, it would be a waste of the notes she toiled over through the class period if she were to not review them. She would be victorious against her Defense test. All she needed was a study session.

Hence, Maelys boarded a moving staircase without hesitation. First, she needed to visit her dormitory for a change of clothes. She did not wear robes unless forced. Slytherin green was a nice color but currently it was also the only hint of color in her outfit. Maelys rarely chose outfits with less than three colors if she could help it. There was also a dreadful lack of jewelry or any form of accessorization aside from the dark green ribbon currently holding her ponytail. Her pink wrap top would be cute…

Navy skirt or lacy, polka dot skirt though? The young witch chewed on her lower lip as the staircase swung higher than expected. “I asked for the dungeons!” The first year’s irritated remark echoed through the empty corridor. It was rare Maelys made mistakes like this. Usually she was so good about retracing her steps in the castle and landing exactly where she expected.

A scan to her left and to her right proved her surroundings expressly unuseful. This was not her dormitory, nor the library, nor any place Maelys had acquainted herself with. She should have brought a friend but no. Mae had chosen to go alone lest she be distracted. The introverted girl had a proclivity to talk excessively when overly comfortable.

Currently, however, she was insufficiently comfortable and very much lost. She proceeded down the hallway with an attempt at calm, reserved posture. Her eyes darted from left to right, landing on a doorway. Could that be a back entrance to the library? Maelys’ pace quickened. She stood at one edge of the entrance, just daring enough to take a look inside.

“Flipendo!” The command caught Maelys by surprise. Spell practice? The young witch noted the dummies. This was, pretty obviously, some sort of club space for dueling. She took a small step backwards. First years were most likely not allowed in. Mae pursed her lips. She had recognized that spell— it was one from the first year syllabus.

Maelys took another glance at the boy. Vaguely tall, confident, casting complex spells… He seemed handsome (Was that the word?) in the way where he knew what he was doing. He appeared as such, at least. Maelys could learn a lot from watching him, or so she figured. As her old teacher told her repeatedly, “A demonstration is worth a thousand words.” She could review her notes with her roommates after curfew.

The Slytherin took one quiet step into the room and then another. Hopefully, she wasn’t making a mistake. A glance around afforded her the knowledge that she wasn’t going to be immediately kicked out. Still, the boy didn’t notice her and Maelys preferred to keep it that way. She took a seat on the bleachers directly behind Archer, one leg elegantly crossed over the other.

Her notebook sat open and ready in her lap. She had made two sections: one for spells she didn’t know and one for those she had learned. The latter was not an extensive list, however, she wanted to observe the boy’s practice— what lead to a failed casting versus a successful one.

The boy still seemed thoroughly concentrated. Hence, she settled in with a small, self-satisfied smile, the variety familiar to those who were acquainted with the Slytherin girl. Her quill twirled idly in her hand, dotting the paper with misplaced ink between notes. Perhaps she had invented the most brilliant study technique yet.

Maelys did not bore of subjects easily. Her mind was sufficient company alone— analytical and hyperactive, and with a tendency to anchor on one focal point until all possibilities had been explored. It was clear in this way. The witch enjoyed the company of others but she liked making sense of things more, especially after several periods surrounded by a cacophony of first years.

As if she were not one herself. The eleven-year-old was neither a kid nor a grown-up, rather some secret third option. She had more in common with the former, for obvious reasons. However, she had no interest in trying to eat the potions ingredients when they were left on the table or using her wand as a pretend sword in "combat." (Not her wand at least. If one were to hand Maelys a non-magical stick somewhere outside of class and challenge her to a stick duel, perhaps she would oblige. She was not opposed to whimsy.)

It was mostly boys who behaved in these ways as Mae observed. Boys developed more slowly, as her mother told her. That was why they were rude, had horrific hygiene, and didn't care about the same things that Maelys did. They had a prolonged need for recess and crude humor that, by middle school, most girls found aversive.

Maelys found herself within the "most girls" category often. She understood how girls worked. Of course, there were mean ones but it was easy enough to make friends. Contrarily, the Slytherin had little in common with boys so, unless there was a common activity, conversation was hard.

It was a common issue, as it seemed. Most girls spent a great deal of effort trying, finding ways to get closer to the boy they had an interest in. Maelys didn't understand it. Most boys were trolls or got Trolls in their classes. Why would she spend so much time chasing after a glorified, confusing dungeon creature?

She, Maelys, who had written a page-long segment on the manner in which this duelist cast his arm forward, did not need a man. Perhaps, she could learn to have one. For now, she had her Defense test to prepare for. (Despite the semantic difference, the two were categorized together in the mind of this witch.)

Hence, with great precision, her attention remained rapt on the boy. He had stopped casting at this point, allowing Maelys a break to rest her hand. Was water a preferred drink to foment arcane power? The Japanese witch was in the habit of morning tea but she could switch if it would give her an advantage.

Her gaze followed the man idly, a few seconds on and a few seconds off. She wouldn't want him to catch her staring. Maelys placed her hands on the bleacher behind her, bending backwards to stretch her ribcage. She had been sitting for an extensive period.

"You happen to have a hair tie?" Maelys met Archer's eyes with a blank, wide-eyed stare.

He had seen her staring certainly. Why else would he ask her of all people? It was probably a test. The combination of her robes and her notebook gave off serious loser-who-doesn't-know-how-to-talk-to-guys energy. She had been caught red-handed and forced to perform on the spot.

"Uhm. Hello!" A weak rendition of her best smile came across her expression. Excellent start. "Let me check," she added, glancing from one wrist to the other. Not one hair tie. Her hair was already in a ponytail from the ribbon, hence, there was no reason for her to carry a spare.

"Nope..." Mae hesitated with a grimace. "I do not. Unfortunately not." She felt bad turning the boy away after using his skill for her own benefit. "I do, however, have this one." She pulled on the end of her ponytail ribbon, letting her hair fall loose. "I'm not sure if it is, you know, your style but it's all I've got." Maelys held it out. Did he know how to tie a bow? He probably did given that he could cast all of those spells. It was a simple skill in comparison.

A swift exit would be in Maelys' best interest at this point. She had been cornered, caught in a conversation for which she had not planned. The young witch did not appreciate spontenaity. She was taking multi-page notes to eliminate all undue elements of chance of exam failure. Unfortunately, she did not possess the foresight to have thought of taking notes on how to engage in this particular conversation. That would require a talent for prediction even she did not possess.

Building onto the misfortune, Maelys was currently seated staring wide-eyed at the boy. One would think she had seen a ghost, albeit a generally pleasant one. He naturally didn't flinch at the ribbon. This specimen did not behave like a brutish troll, which, to Maelys, meant she liked him quite a lot. (Never mind that she had spoken a grand total of twenty-nine words to him so far. The Slytherin's standards were abysmal.)

She thought to make a note of said observation but stopped herself. The boy was tall and could probably see over the shield of her bent knees. It would be best saved for her private notebook which remained, as always, in the confines of her locked trunk. The diary was sporadically updated, sometimes written in Japanese for additional security, and, of course, highlighted over in sparkly pens. The young witch believed glitter to be imperative. Her nails, which she had done freshly before the start of the school year, had a glittery effect along with her chosen eye makeup.

Hence, it was surprising that she had opted for a plain, blue pen. It suited both the boy and the sport of dueling well. He didn't seem to be one who preferred colorful things. She could assume as much from his manner of speaking.

"No worries," Maelys chose a relaxed response, "I have more in my dormitory so you can keep it." What was she saying? She did have an identical one along with others for every color of the rainbow. However, she did want it back. It was hers. She wore it quite often since it matched her uniform. Now, if she lost the other one, she would have none left to wear during classes. Still, it wasn't as if she were going to ask for it back. That would be rude. Instead, she smiled, nodding to confirm her previous (false) statement. She lent her friends things sometimes. It was a good start for the guy who she liked to have something of hers, no? Mae thought so.

Maelys blinked at the question. It was the third day of her first year. She knew very little. "Green Sparks Charm, Red Sparks Charm, Curse of the Bogies, the sauce-making spell..." She chose to list off the Defense spells first before continuing, "Dancing-feet charm, mending charm, whistle to watch... Those kinds of things." The Slytherin paused. "Oh, do you mean from this? Stance, confidence, hydration. I'm trying to figure out what causes a spell to, you know, fail or succeed." All that she had mentioned probably seemed menial to the boy, still unnamed in her mind. What else could he expect from someone on their third day of magical education?

Maelys would have been so much more at ease had she not been dumped into this plan by the magical world's most nasty moving staircase. Surely, if the creature had any mercy, it would have detected the age and highly limited knowledge of the girl who rode it in a similar way to how the sorting hat determined her a Slytherin. That was not the case. She simply had to be here in this state in her robes (a poor fashion choice on the part of wizardkind) with her hair now a mess on top of the prior crimes.

She could be wearing a normal person, cute outfit right now. Instead she's standing here like this. The Slytherin girl fidgeted with her fingers, palms growing warm at the thought. She was, very unfortunately, off-book and off plan.

That wasn't to say Maelys hadn't thought through this situation in the past. She had. Extensively. However, all of her dreams on the subject occurred in front of a cinematic, airbrushed sunset. She was in a couture ballgown and Sir Dream Prince the Fourteenth was in a tuxedo. Furthermore, and most importantly, the prince was not physically in front of her. No living, breathing man was actually present.

That did not correspond to her current situation. The boy, Archer, as his name turned out to be, had introduced himself and, by virtue of the act, was waiting for a response of some form. However, instead of responding, Mae was currently occupying herself by staring up at him with wide eyes as if she were some kind of lost forest creature.

"Maelys Delarosa. I'm a first year Slytherin." The response came a beat too late. "That's cool!" Her nature changed as soon as it had settled, as was common in the girl. She was never the same for too long in either emotion or attitude. "So, you fight other houses? Like, for sport?" Maelys continued. The young witch was unfamiliar with the concept although it did not surprise her. The few tales of magic she remembered from her father included great amounts of action. There was always a bad guy, a high-speed chase, and spells being flung about. He was a liar, or so her grandmother said.

Mae didn't know whether to believe her but, in this case, Archer appeared as a perfect gentleman. He didn't seem the type to be killing innocent students or hiding illicit activities from the professors. (This dueling team thing seemed as if it could be prohibited if magical combat fit her father's description.)

"You should believe in yourself, because the spells certainly aren’t conscious enough to do that for you.”

It was as if he could read her thoughts. She nodded, saying nothing particular in return. She did not trust herself to respond. Any response that she could humanly give would reveal the true nature of her sentiments to a level Mae was far less than comfortable with.