Finished Hunt for Justice Elena

Slamming the door behind her, Elena pivoted on her feet before crashing down against it, landing harshly on the ground and throwing her head between her hands, sighing deeply. Today had been. Impossibly long. The one-who-must-not-be-named had drained every single last ounce of energy left in her body, it was surprising she could even move a limb. The brain-lacking, overcooked shrimp she had be literally dragging behind her earlier this morning had managed to give her in a few minutes a bigger migraine than any of her sleepless nights, and that was quite an achievement. She still physically recoiled at the simply thought of him, though he had been... less horrid at the end. The mixed opinions she had of him were conflicting - on one hand, she could not stand his existence ; on the other hand, he sometimes managed to be amusing. Rarely, though. Yet he reminded her of a dear friend, who had been equally disagreeable at first, and that she now adored, and believe it was reciprocated. A deep breath through the nose, exhalation through the mouth. Nice and slow.

Violently throwing her bag off her shoulder, and kicking it hard enough to make it slide up to the feet of her bed, she followed its course by crashing on the soft mattress, letting out another long sigh. I hate everything. What am I doing here.

After a good ten minutes of contemplating her life choices and another ten minutes spent simply staring at the void, she rose again, deciding a small walk outside would possibly lift up her spirits. Not bothering taking anything but her current read, she swallowed an aspirin before making her way downstairs, avoiding the crowds of students rushing up and down the stairs. A flash of white lingered in the corner of her vision, sign she should actually be laying in complete darkness but hey, she was still standing. Shivering at the sheer thought of trying to find the infirmary again, she swallowed her incomfort and dove through the common room, smiling at some raised heads, praying no one would stop her.

Victoriously managing to reach the stairs leading out of the tower, she hurried downstairs and took a shortcut, expecting to find a less crowded area. Indeed, she was right, no longer a sea of infinite students chatting and laughing loudly, but a singular being.

Who was staring right through her.

Dear Merlin, please don't talk to me don't talk to me don't talk to me-

“Finally. I believe you are the person who can fix this disaster.”

.

I beg your finest pardon ??

Double checking that arrogant, rude moron was addressing his disdainful (headache, remember, she's biased) words to her person, she came to a halt before glaring at him. "Well, good evening to you too," she hissed, not in the mood for sugarcoating her words or tone.

Cruelty was not at her core, and emphasizing his lack of courtesy appeared to be the summum of her abilities in the matter. So, despite the little impact it had on her interlocutor, a hint of guilt tugged at her stomach as soon as the words left her mouth. Sucking in a deep breath, she relaxed the tense and sore muscles of her shoulders, trying to retreat in the peaceful inner world she had spent years to build. When she was nestled between the walls of this imaginary place, little would affect her, and the serenity that usually inhabited her would return like waves brushing the shore.

However, it had its cracks, and a few tenacious souls occasionally managed to slip through and reached her even there. Today, apparently, was quite the popular date, as she had never faced this many irritating beings in such a short timelapse.

Raising an eyebrow as he stepped closer, Elena only cocked her head upward, clearly unimpressed. Who on earth does this boy thinks he is ? The Queen of England ? The blonde always had an allergic reaction to those who thought themselves superior to the rest, and acted accordingly. Though naturally timid and appeased, her wrath was incredibly sensitive to that particular breed of humans, and in her wake all pacifist feelings seemed to simply vanish. It was a phenomenon she feared and tried so suppress, as it seemed like an open door to what was looming within her head. Control was the key, that door were to remain locked at all times.

Counting the amount of breaths she took, she forced herself to produce the shadow of a smile, parting her lips to reply in what promised to be a tensed tone, yet she found herself cut short as he kept on talking. Head tilting slightly to the side, her eyes narrowed as she let him rant about what appeared to be a serious crime against humanity - bunk beds. A sigh escaped her, and she looked back at him, already weary of their interaction.

"Respect goes both ways," she finally replied with a pinched tone, running a navy gaze down his figure. He looked younger than herself, surely a new first year given his indignation at the mere thought of sharing a room with another person. "Little would enjoy being so rudely addressed, and I am not one of them." A greeting was the bare minimum, but apparently standards were different from where this self-sufficient idiot came from. "Next," she continued, weaving a sigh to her voice, "dorms are meant to be shared. There hasn't been any exceptions to the rule, and I'm quite certain it will remain this way." He wasn't the first dense aristocrat to require a change, and he certainly won't be the last. "Now," she concluded, a glimmer of sarcasm lighting up her blue eyes, "if you wish to share your thoughts about your 'high expectations' for this school, it will be my greatest pleasure to bring you before the headmaster."

She frowned slightly at his question, sensing as well an air of familiarity she couldn't pin. His hair fell in carefully tousled brown waves, and framed two clear hazel eyes. He evoked a particular sensation to the young girl, a distinct scent of sea salt merged with the dusty covers of old books. Tucking a golden strand behind her ear, the blonde flashed a smile. "I'm quite sure I would have remembered someone as agreeable as you."

Why on earth would someone who appeared to dislike hogwarts this much would even be standing here in the first place, was something Elena was currently failing to understand. It's one thing to be insensible to the castle's charm, it's another to make it everyone else's problem. He appeared to belong in the precise class of people she could not bear, no matter how hard she tried - arrogant, self-centered individual who have been pampered their entire life and thus believe things must go in the exact direction they point, or the world would cease to spin.

Her impatience was growing by the second, as she could clearly see each word she uttered flew right above his head. Or landed at his feet, given he seriously believed she had even considered the option of taking him to the head of the school. "Obviously," she replied, incredulous. "You don't seriously believe this is a matter of enough importance to drag it in front of someone who has much more pressing things to deal with ?"

The mere thought of imagining this first year furiously scribbling a letter, demanding amends for someone had dared breathed the same air as his expensive aristocratic lungs, was incredibly amusing, though she knew any sign of laughter would be instantly perceived as mockery and cause more banter, so she kept an unimpressed expression. One that still shifted into an amused eyebrow raise as he practically stood on his tipy-toes, forcing a laugh out of his crisped mouth. What in stars' name am I doing here? Growing weary of the absurdity of the conversation, she crossed her arms and tilted her chin upward to meet his gaze, smiling sharply. "Are you done ?"

Her nose crunched upon hearing his remark about the - poor, may their souls rest in peace - servants tending to him, and she assumed, to his family. You can truly see one's heart by the way he treats those who serve him, and Elena could just say she was not surprised by his disdain. Though he truly did felt familiar, she could not fathom the possibility to have ever been more than strangers with someone who had such little care towards the world surrounding him. "That is not something to be proud of, I'll have you know," she retorted, "and as I said, I am positively certain I would have recalled encountering someone so self-centered."

"Et pour ton information, je ne suis pas sourde."

Gentle waves brushed the shore as the sun dipped low into the ocean, the sky transformed a canva of pink and crimson streaks. The moon was visible, partially hidden behind silver clouds — blinking playfully at the other celestial being slowly disappearing behind the horizon. A gentle breeze blew through the scene, agitating honey strands. A girl, not taller than a couple of apples, was rushing at an all-mighty speed, a bell-like laughter rising in the evening's crisp air, lungs wheezing and a smile that could detach the sun from its orbit splitting her face in half. The girl tripped, collapsed head first into the sand before emerging, spitting all the small grains out with a disgusted expression, before cracking a laugh and rolling down the hill.

France. It had always been the prized destination of her every vacation, ever since she knew how to breathe. Summers and winters spent scouring the country, discovering every landscape known to man, running along the beaches of Normandie, exploring the volcanos of Auvergne, taking a stroll through the streets of Strasbourg. And yet there wasn't a year that had passed without the little family returning to her mother's roots — the south, Nice and its never-ending promenade, Antibes and its lovely beaches, Fréjus and the long walks by the sea. For a moonchild, she truly beloved this little piece of land blessed by the sun, adorned by the ocean. France had been and will forever be a very special component of her person, one she cherished and treasured for the memories it had brought her.

“Tu es française?”

A frown creased her eyebrows, as she trailed navy eyes up his character. Well, at least the obnoxious arrogance he plastered, additionned to the self-sufficiency with which he carried himself made sense. Though what on earth was an eleven years old french boy doing in a castle lost in the middle of england, that was left unanswered. She had first mistook his pristine pronunciation with one of those intellectuals aristocrats who firmly believed any sentence in a foreign language would sound more intelligent than if they had uttered it in their native language, but his accent was unmistakable.

Ignoring the moronic statements preceding his inquiry, the blonde flashed a sharp smile at his bewildered face. "Française ou non, cela n'a pas d'importance. L'important, c'est que parler une autre langue ne te donne en aucun cas le droit d'insulter quiconque derrière son dos, donc si tu as quelque chose à me dire, tu me le dis en face." In her short two days of experience as a prefect, the raven had never came this close to give someone detention as she currently was.

She was about to continue her rant and demand theatrical and completely heartfelt apologies when a single word rose between them, one that made the wave of indignation that had washed over her fade, then retreat.

“Elena?”

"..."

"Camille ?"

Tousled brown waves and a devilish smile, the cold contact of the sand under the warmth of the sun. Hazel eyes, sparkling with mischief as they raced into the sea, not caring about the heavy coats weighing on their shoulders or the sharp icy bite of the water. Interlocked hands, frantic giggles as they achieved their third failure at climbing atop of a century old tree. Laughter, and the excitement of knowing a friend awaited your arrival each time the plane landed.

"How- ?"

A prolonged stare followed his statement, accompanied by a distinct narrowing of ocean blue eyes, dubitative expression distorting porcelain traits. Covering venomous words in saccharine honey did nothing to sweetened the aftertaste that lingered once spoken, and no matter how little respect this Frenchman appeared to withhold for his elders, he had to learn manners were mandatory if he expected anyone to appreciate him. "Flattery won't do you any good," she retorted, arms crossing over her chest.

Her words shifting back to english was natural, as the two languages had woven themselves completely through her veins. Despite the roots of her mother being only partially embedded in France's soil, she was still born and raised carrying its heritage, traditions and dialect. Yearly vacations were mandatory, and unplanned escapades during a weekend had often occurred, delicious appartés from kindergarten's oh so dull and morn routine. From the high mountains of the Alps to the flowing seas of the Côte d'Azur, from the history of La Loire to the salted air of Bretagne — it was a country she knew and loved, one that had gifted her tired soul many precious gifts.

One of which was currently standing before her.

Camille had been a twin piece of her heart, someone she had yearned for while away, melted with joy upon their reunion each summer, a soul encountered under the bright sun of the Mediterranean Sea, whose laughter had walked countless miles by her side. A laughter that had, one day, vanished without trace. Not a word, not a breath uttered — merely a deafening silence and a friend who had disappeared from the surface of the Earth. It was her first loss, one she had wept for during weeks, heavy heart and no uncontrollable laughter had echoed through the empty beach to lighten it.

And this toothpick-sized — sure, taller by a few inches, but it was not her point — arrogant boy facing her dares break into a smile and chuckle? Had he not even the slightest hint of idea how much his absence had hurt her ? How much she had missed the summers spent by his side, racing each other in the sand, daring to stumble fully clothed into the ice-cold ocean, approaching wild cats and chasing seagulls ? Fist clenching, her blue gaze hardened, and her body imperceptibly leaned back, forts of composure erecting themselves around her trampled heart.

"Not necessarily a bad thing, no," she repeated, voice as sharpened as the edge of a sword. Hurt feelings shadowed a rational head, and what was originally aimed at his babel tower-sized expectations as to his environment was twisted, instead interpreted as the entirety of his previous life — her included — was not worth his time or presence. Not even a letter , not a word.

Her eyes only narrowed further as he continued, and a scoff escaped her upon hearing his last sentence. "Seriously?" Taking a step closer, her chin tilted upward, ice-cold navy eyes meeting playful — always — melted coffee ones. "You disappear without a trace for years, and all I get is a half-hearted apology and a 'how have you been' ?"