Secrets PV Closed

Arlo looked up at Marion in confusion as she twisted and tried to pull her hands from his grasp. The weird thing was that the boy wasn’t restraining her, yet just holding her hands seemed enough to hold her in place. It wasn’t until she pulled hard that her hands would slip away from his. It was like she was made of feathers on the inside. The contact was brief, but one only needs a slight touch to know if something is not as it should be. In that small moment, Arlo would feel ice.

It came as a shock as he took a step back. When he questioned Marion about it, the girl would snap back at him. “Marion...no!” Arlo held his hand up on the air. The universal symbol for “I am not a threat.” “I don’t think you did anything wrong, I swear! It’s just...it’s just...your skin is so cold!” The words were blurred out as the situation continued to crumble around them. The young boy had no idea what was wrong with her, but it was scaring him. Only the dead were cold, but here she was. Standing, breathing, weak as she may be, fighting against her interrogators. Something was terribly wrong.

Drawn by the some mark on her neck, the others would begin to question her. Arlo wished he was taller or stronger or knew how to use that magical instrument he kept on his bag. It was clear they were all terrifying Marion, most of all Thomas. The little goblin’s eyes would pop wide with shock as her hand connected with his face. “No! Come on! There is no need to fight. Everyone needs to calm down!” Arlo pleaded as he took a step forward, unsure of what to do. 

Marion would explain the mark, claiming it was just a scar. From his line of sight, Arlo didn’t have a chance of eying it, even though his head bobbed back and forth trying to glimpse...something. Thomas didn’t seem all to bothered by the attack to his face as he turned his aggression back to Arlo. Pick a side he would demand. “I’m sure as hell not on your side you jerk!” The boy drew his line in the sand. 

A finger would point in his direction as Tyranni demanded his attention. “Yes! She’s as cold as ice.” Arlo answered her inquiry. “Someone’s done something to her. I know she seems involved in...something, but she’s a victim too!” He tried to stand up for her yet again.

Before he could continue, a new girl came onto the scene. Arlo didn’t know her well, but he thought he remembered her name. Something peculiar. Parsa...Perse... It didn’t matter, she made it clear that she wasn’t here for any kind of support. “Snow what!” He called out to her. “I’m not a Dwarf you moron. I’m part-Goblin!” Arlo spoke his truth. “And leave her alone!” The boy was growing red in the face as his emotions started to get the best of him. 

The next moment would be his undoing. As Marion tried to break free from Thora’s grasp, a sickening pop would catch his ear followed by a shriek of pain. “Stop! Stop! Your hurting her!” He screamed as his hands shot out and he charged Thora. Arlo was hardly strong, but he would attempt to free Marion. He would push at her and pull the fabric of her clothing. His frustration had reached a breaking point as tears came to his eyes. “Let go! Why does everyone in this house have to be so damn mean. Let go of her!”

Action: attempting to break Marion free.

The Slytherin’s approach only added to the fear effortlessly instilled throughout this encounter. A rap, a push, a cold remark, all that was necessary to stimulate the emotional third year to tears. Yes, her surrounding peers did not symbolize the support group she so desperately needed. Yet they were far from the source of these emotions, she lived in fear for what she’s done, or more importantly, what she has seen.

Marion, devoid of warmth became evident for a third person when her open palm contacted Thomas’ cheek. She pulled a hand away from the half-goblin’s delicate touch, and with her open palm struck Thomas gently on his cheek. The impact lacked in significance. A love tap, perhaps? Is she warming up to me? Maybe not warming. When you consider the emotional cycle the girl experienced on this day, reminiscent of her first teenage break-up—she being the breakee. Enough tears to be dehydrated, followed by rage, denial, and lastly…slapping a boy.

The cold body temperature undoubtedly factored into this story, but quickly an idle topic for Thomas Lestrange. Sight of the mark on her neck prompted a piercing gaze from the boy, followed by retracing his steps to create distance from her. Exacting revenge for the slap swiftly replaced with fear, the mark was something he has seen before. Only in a grotesque room on the school grounds, near a wood line. The memories entwined in this place led to an empty stare into space. “Dennis…” He remained dissociative for some time. The deductive reasoning from a calculating student [Tyr] arrived muted, overshadowed by the ponderous waves of anxiety, which onset a paradigm shift.

"Can anyone think of anything that would combine a strange marking with being freezing cold to touch? Has anyone here ever seen a marking similar to this before?"

The boy escaped his deep contemplation, fortunately in time to comprehend the only part in her line of questioning that was directly intended for him. Thomas connected with her icy blue eyes briefly, offering no more than a shrug at a pair of questions. Any refusal to withhold information and further the impending impasse would make the boy a hypocrite. A notion he would take exception to. “That’s…the dark mark.” The direct symbology behind the mark Thomas was not aware of, but it didn’t take a scientist to deduce the menacing implications.

"Because I told on them. I did everything right. Everything right and this!"

Though time has passed, these words rang through his mind. Still disoriented from the recent visual of the dark mark, Thomas attempted to drift away from the topic, hoping to avoid cross-questioning of any knowledge regarding the symbol. He refocused his gaze on Marion. “Told on them?” Them? “Only Potter was incriminated…” Does she mean to imply there was more than one responsible for this murder? In addition, was Potter even guilty if he’s the only one held responsible?

Conversation trended in a new direction with a certain blonde’s entrance. They met once before in this location. Talk about an emotional swing…to go from muffled tears in a blind stutter, to dangling the boy off the edge of an open window. Let’s just say Thomas has learned to choose his words carefully around the blonde, whose name he still did not know. The tension between them was evident, but her inclusion would’ve been welcomed earlier when Thomas offered a dark threat. She would throw someone out the window, and it would not be for science.

This blonde wasted no time antagonizing the half-goblin, followed by a threatening sentiment towards Marion. Perhaps you could out-cry her. Despite what the boy wanted to say, it appeared she held a similar stance, and was to be viewed as a potential asset in extracting Marion’s truth. Any tongue in cheek barbs in her direction would only decrease their dwindling chance of success.

The consistently impeding half-goblin interrupted the progress once more, crackling and snapping after Marion popped. [Tired.] He charged the girl who miraculously maintained an iron grasp of the third year. Thomas sat back on his heels with no intention to intervene. “Watch out, he might step on your toes.” The boy saw no purpose to assist Thora, even if Marion was to be released, she is still surrounded. An attempt to escape would be futile.

@Marion Davenport | @Thora Larkston | @Arlo Reynolds

At this point, Bridget was pretty much just poking holes in Marion's arguments. With the older girl not giving her anything new to go off of, her questions were getting more and more far-fetched. It wasn't working. She couldn't just lump disparate bits of information together and use them to construct theories.

For now, at least, she needed an actual look at whatever was on Marion's neck, be it a scar, tattoo, or mark. She moved so she was next to Thora and facing Marion's back. They had formed a tight circle around her, which probably wasn't making the third year too eager to talk. The black mark was, as far as Bridget could tell, some sort of eye. It was slightly disturbing, really, how the eye seemed to stare up at her.

If there was anything worth investigating about Marion's latest reply, it was how she'd gotten an eye, of all things. "What kind of magic gave you a scar like that?" It was ironic that was the question she asked when what she really wanted to know was what kind of magic had scarred her. How she'd ended up with blackened veins. If there was a cure for such a curse. She highly doubted Marion knew the answer to that question.

The brunette had been staring absentmindedly at the eye when something caught her attention. A popping noise. Even through the fabric of Marion's sleeve, it was obvious, highly noticeable. The shoulder completely out of its socket. If a prefect of someone else with authority walked in now, the fact Marion was injured wouldn't help their case.

"Her shoulder's dislocated," she whispered to Thora, stating the obvious. Considering the close proximity, Marion could probably hear, but she would already be very aware of that. "What should we do?" Take her to the Hospital Wing? But they still needed answers. Bridget had never dislocated anything, but it had to hurt. They couldn't leave her suffering interminably.

Bridget belonged in Slytherin more than she gave herself credit for. What did she do with those realizations? She decided to use them to motivate Marion to talk. "If I'm seeing this right, you dislocated your shoulder, Marion. I'll help you to the Hospital Wing. Or you can have the short kid help you, I don't care. But, first I need your honest answer. You've got to know something. We've been trying to get you to share for ages. So here's the deal: Tell us whatever it is you're hiding, and then you can go." Otherwise enjoy your dislocated shoulder. If what she'd just said was any indication, Bridget could be callous. But she fully intended to keep her end of the deal. "I'll also give your letter back. I promise." She wasn't too keen on surrendering their one solid piece of evidence, but she supposed between her near memorization of the contents and the fact they weren't exactly using it to accuse Marion of some crime, she could give it up. Granted, she'd probably have to wrestle with the other people in the Owlery to let Marion go. She supposed those were worries for later, though. Now she just had to hope Marion would talk.

Action | Proposing a deal to Marion

Interactions: @Marion Davenport | @Arlo Reynolds | @Tyranni Whitethorn

It was a struggle to keep up with her surroundings, the flying accusations, and the denials that kept coming as Thora's mind raced. Being a girl who liked to know things--or at least keep up with and remember what she was being told--she worked to commit as much of the conversation to memory as she could. More slapping, twisting, and yelling furthered the chaos, only adding more questions to the mix. She tried to continue concentrating. But it was getting too hard, an overload of information…

Another girl--someone whom Thora vaguely recognized as her Quidditch deputy captain--asked about Marion being cold, probably referring to what Arlo had blurted. And the 'someone else that night in the common rooms noted the same thing'? That, too, had been Thora. It was like people were determined not to remember her. Well, it wasn't exactly like she could judge, having done so little that night and been such an insignificant force in its events.

"Yeeees," she finally answered with a tiny nod, drawing out the word. "Yes, she does seem to be abnormally cold." Another nod here. There was a clear pause of hesitation between her sentences, reluctance to reveal information that she'd been hiding away for possible leverage--or if nothing else, notetaking. It was at times like these where one could tell Thora's obviously wary nature. Maybe she was in the same house as all of these people, and slept in the same dorm, but she only really trusted a few people in the entire world.

This could be valuable information. Perhaps information important enough that it would have to be entrusted to people to keep safe. It wasn't meant to be thrown out into the open for everyone to hear--no, not at all. But what was done was done. Words couldn't be taken back, or un-said. But Thora knew that if whatever other information she received privately was shared, it would be done so privately. It was necessary. But they were moving on.

"The fact that she has a mark on the nape of her neck, as well as her being cold, isn't necessarily related," she warned the rest. "It could very well be, but we don't yet know that it is." They were making way too many conclusions they simply couldn't depend on. Thora was not at all against speculation--in fact, she did a lot of it herself, just to herself--but they simply couldn't count on statements based on whim and that could be false.

Her role in this whole questioning was becoming more blurry with each word she said. And of course, her aims probably appeared different to each. Again, she'd come for answers. For information that could be pieced together and for an opportunity to be useful. But she'd somehow managed to hang onto Marion for a long time now--the third year seemed unusually weak, as Thora herself was terribly lacking in strength, as one could see in her skinny arms and frame. She wouldn't be surprised if the blonde hated her now--or, at least, thought her a nuisance.

But she'd fallen into the position of the mediator, so to speak. There wasn't much she could add to the whole conversation, some people throwing out so many questions in a breath. Besides, her holding onto Marion was keeping a relatively peaceful atmosphere, for she wouldn't be surprised if the taller boy actually decided to toss the third year out the window. And if the others chose to listen to her, she was trying to instill some logic into the argument. Thora would much rather hang back and watch things go by, but she supposed that someone had to stop everyone from leaping at each others' throats.

So she simply stood, continuing to attempt to process everything. As the freezing cold seeped into her fingers, leaving them burning as if licked by fire, then tingly, then numb, Thora seriously considered letting go. She was starting to get fed up by these empty threats, unanswered questions, and running around and around in circles. She still wasn't really helping, and had no place aside from breathing down Marion's neck. It was when the third year attempted to twist out of her weak grip again that Thora gasped and bit her lip. Hard.

For it was nothing like the previous times she'd had to hold a writhing girl by a shoulder. An unmistakable pop sounded, followed quickly by a scream, and Thora fought to maintain her composure. Merlin, she was scared too. It wouldn't be obvious, given the unemotional straight line of her mouth, but Marion had just gotten herself hurt. And it looked like she was to blame. "Wh-" The beginnings of a word burst out of Thora's mouth as she jumped, heart racing. Dislocated. "Yes, I know," she muttered as Bridget stated the painful obvious.

There was no mistaking the pop in her shoulder. The second year was holding on to the opposite joint, though, so there was no way she'd done anything to cause the dislocation--but she was the only person currently with a hold on Marion. Perhaps only she knew the truth. Her, and Marion. It wasn't like she expected the blonde to defend her, though, so again, Thora could guess at where everyone stood. Probably against her.

It came as no surprise to her when the tiny boy practically lunged at her, a barrage of accusations flying from his little mouth. It was bound to happen at some point, wasn't it? For now, Thora had a clear mind. The truth was, she had done nothing. But as he accused her of hurting Marion, saying she was mean, and nobody made a move to help in any way, either standing back indifferently or choosing to continue with the conversation like nothing was the matter. At this point, it wasn't a problem. She was used to standing up for herself--sure, maybe she was absolutely terrible at it, but at least she had experience. Maybe this time, she would do something right.

She was hurting Marion? Thora didn't exactly have a clear conscience about restraining the girl who clearly wanted to be anywhere but there, but she didn't want to be responsible for anything. She hadn't done anything, hadn't lifted a single skinny finger to hurt Marion. If one was smart and cared to look deeper into the situation, and saw that Thora wasn't--and never had been--holding onto the now dislocated shoulder, they wouldn't be in this mess. It seemed nobody minded the rising anarchy or saw the impending fight, or really paid any regard to her. The carefully hemmed-in frustration finally began to bubble up as the boy [Arlo] seemed to want to pry her off Marion, and just like that, she was on the defensive.

Her voice, previously cool and unemotional, took on an almost imperceptibly dangerous edge. Her words were drawn-out yet level, forcing themselves between gritted teeth. The slight lines on her face etched by fear of the prevalent dangers they were facing and frustration of their failing time and time again to gain information disappeared, replaced by a complete lack of emotion. A mask.

There wasn't yet unadulterated rage--or anger of any type--but her green eyes would flash slightly as she put together a counter. Perhaps not an elegant one, but still a comeback of sorts. Loosening her grip on the girl in pain, Thora would turn until she was directly facing the small boy. "I am not hurting her." A truth easily seen, if only he would open his eyes. "I'm not even touching her injured shoulder." She slowed her words even further, an action that would seem like a perfectly set trap to antagonize the frenzied boy but was really to make sure that she held her composure.

"And what was that about no need to fight?" Thora asked, repeating his own words. A hypocrite. That was what the boy was. Honestly, she was just grabbing at straws now. Her typically swift-moving brain was forming words at a horrifically sluggish speed, smashing the sentences they made together in an almost undecipherable manner she had to make sense of before opening her mouth. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You might hurt her further if you're not careful." It might've been a bluff just to get the annoying boy off of her, but it was true. At least Thora knew enough to move as little as possible, for being moved--let alone pushed or pulled--with a dislocated shoulder hurt. A lot.

How did people argue so well? A warm dryness was creeping around her mouth, leaving her with no more words despite the fact that she'd only just spoken about four sentences. But what was that saying? Actions speak louder than words? So be it. "Fine." She simply stated. As the tiny boy flew at her in a rage, she would obey, releasing the girl. As Thora did so, she sidestepped, drawing her wand in the process. It was an awful shame that she was forced to threaten with magic, as, again, it was not her intention to hurt anyone, but she wouldn't hesitate to if there was a need to. Successful spells out of the tip of the aspen wand had always been quite effective.

Attempting to dart away from the path of the boy's attack, Thora ran to take her position next to the door. She hated to keep Marion in when she was injured, but it had been her own fault. Besides, the little brunette had been drained of sympathy. Of emotion. She was done with this.

Flatly, Thora would speak up again. "Marion, that doesn't look-- that cannot be a scar. What is it?" Nurse VanCleaf treated her. That could be fairly valuable information, though Thora wasn't aware of a particular VanCleaf--unless he was here. In the Hospital Wing. The realization sent her brain into overdrive, spinning and flipping with the implications it brought. If they brought Marion to the Hospital Wing, and VanCleaf was there…

"I suppose we could take Marion to the Hospital Wing since I don't think any of us are qualified to help in any way," Thora finally said, eyeing each of her housemates. They would probably hate the idea she'd borrowed from Bridget, but the girl didn't really care anymore. They probably already thought she'd dislocated Marion's shoulder (with all of her pathetically low strength), and she'd gone too far to care.

This was the first promising lead she'd gotten, other than the strange mark with which they were getting nowhere. She'd better make use of it.

Actions » Releasing Marion; Dodging Arlo's attack; Moving towards door

Interacting With: @Marion Davenport, @Arlo Reynolds & @Thora Larkston
Mentioning: @Thomas Lestrange

Listening was a prime habit in interrogations, common knowledge to anyone with the capability to infer. Large bulks of information could be revealed through casual conversation, answers that had to be searched for rather than offered by the suspect. Underlying tones, diction, and vocabulary were essential details of speech in the eyes of Persephone, though the girl was unsure if this priority was shared by her peers, who it seemed asked the same questions repeatedly. It wasn’t for the blonde to determine whether Marion had already silently answered said inquiries, whether through body language or banter, because the past was in the past, and those responses would have to be dug up once more to greet the new ears.

“You? Harmless?” All Persy could offer in response to such a mindless claim was a laugh, taunting all on its own. Bare minimum, auditory hallucinations presented a remarkable threat. That would be pushed aside for now, however. “To continue to threaten. You may not be as dumb as you look, how am I to know? Useless attempts to dodge questions, tsk tsk, maybe you are just an idiot.”

The red-faced-goblin-dwarf-thing spoke up, defending not only himself but the criminal that stood before them, a breathing warning to any eyes that could properly see. It [who had now confirmed it was indeed a part goblin] could’ve been entranced by Marion’s extremely superficial good looks, this wasn’t to be judged at the moment either. While the girl didn’t appear or seem to be part-veela, some boys were astonishingly weak minded. With such a small body, Persephone could only assume his brain was proportional to that.

“Leave her alone? Why would I do that? To endanger my own life? To endanger your admittedly smaller one? Might as well be asking me to hurt you, which wouldn’t be that difficult considering there are vacant windows all around us. Does the wind ever carry you away?” The crybaby didn’t reward him a glance, eyes locked on Marion but thoughts elsewhere, lingering on Thomas’ silence regarding her acknowledgement. Fear could’ve swam in his veins, not too different from the unease that surrounded her in his presence, an odd sensation of being a target rather than an abuser. His tired insults had eventually decayed from memory, leaving only a faint scar of remembrance from their final moments, but the awareness of the ammo in his gun was enough to say the feeling is mutual. Perhaps it had been best for the both of them that he remained silent.

A sudden popping sound disrupted this train of thought, stealing Persy’s attention back to whom her gaze remained on, shoulder uncomfortably separated from the socket it belonged in. Even without looking beyond the silhouette of Marion’s sleeve, its condition was abundantly conspicuous, the girl letting out a whine in response to the likely extreme agony. Choking back an insensitive laugh, Persephone could only allow herself to use such an inconvenience as a teaching moment. “Feel that? It could be worse if you don’t let out what you know. Believe me, I don’t indulge in empty threats.”

Eyes trailing along the suspect, the intimidator’s attention was redirected to a strange mark impressed on the girl’s neck, puzzle pieces of an unintelligible conversation forming much later than preferred. This had apparently already been noticed by the group, who discussed it as though its carrier wasn’t in the room, amusingly dehumanizing Marion. Rightfully so, maybe, as Persephone couldn’t be reasonably sure of exactly who she was, a humanoid phenomenon that didn’t adhere to physics. Unsolvable. The implication and significance of the mark was unknown to Persephone; defying her own code as she did for the rest of the world, their conversation had been turned away, masked by useless considerations.

Goblin boy charged at shoulder girl [Thora], an interaction that didn’t exactly pique the blonde’s full interest. If appearances weren’t as deceiving as they seemed this fine day, the outcome of such a ridiculous quarrel could be predicted by someone with nothing beyond the education of the alphabet. A kindergartner attacking a twelve year old could be a realistic comparison. Maybe she would look just for the laughs. Thomas had his own commentary on that, oh how picky the majority could be.

Quick change of focus, admirable to direct attention back on the poor little injured criminal. “Hospital Wing would just raise questions as to what happened, if the rest of this school isn’t as corrupt as she. Do you really want to get in trouble?” The malicious smile was signal enough that Persy’s concerns were far from genuine. “It can’t be that hard to put the shoulder back in place, a movement of the arm maybe. But if you’re too afraid to do that-” Her gaze fell back on Marion again, an almost creepy willingness in her eyes, “-I’m more than happy to give it a try.”

Action: Continuing to threaten Marion

@Persephone Barret, @Thora Larkston, @Bridget Collins, @Thomas LeStrange and @Arlo Reynolds

Marion panicked from Arlo's touch. Just like the rest. Too close. Too many. Lots of questions. No where to go. No where to run. Could not run. Can't leave.

“Marion...no!”

Arlo held his hand up on the air. The universal symbol for “I am not a threat.”

“I don’t think you did anything wrong, I swear! It’s just...it’s just...your skin is so cold!”

It did feel cold. A sticking point really for some. She was like ice. Where some make heat, it was as if there was an endothermic reaction going on inside of her. She felt it, craved heat often. It came and went but she did not understand why. She did not understand a lot of things. He thought something was done to her, if so she did not know what. That seemed more terrifying than being accused when innocent. At least then she could say for certain that they were wrong.

“Dennis…”

LeStrange announced a name she did not know.

“You? Harmless?”

Persephone Barret did not seem to buy it. Either that or she did not care. It was likely the later, Marion looked as dangerous as a half-drowned kitten. If her assault on Thomas was any indication of her might, she was the least threatening thing in this room.

“To continue to threaten. You may not be as dumb as you look, how am I to know? Useless attempts to dodge questions, tsk tsk, maybe you are just an idiot.”

"Or you're too stupid to realize I don't have the answers you want. Unless you want me to lie," she protested once she mustered the gumption. There was a poor attempt at firmness, her voice quavered and she fought to maintain a level inflection. She was scared even if she tried (poorly) to put on a brave face. However there was little she could do to change their minds, they were hell bent that she knew more. That no matter how much she shared that there should be more. That through intimidation and clinical assessment that they could still glean more.

"What kind of magic gave you a scar like that?"

"I was bit," Marion answered with a glower. "I have never seen it, Vladimir killed whatever it was. I never even saw it but it nearly killed me." She believed that she owed Vladimir her life. She woke up in the Hospital Wing, VanCleaf was there.

Arlo tried to defend her verbally but there was not much he could do in light of the present crowd of single-minded Slytherins.

"Yeeees."

Thora announced, answering a previous inquiry about Marion being cold.

"Yes, she does seem to be abnormally cold."

So what if she was cold. There was a chill in the wintry air as the cold season refused to relinquish its hold over the Scottish highlands. Of course the chill they felt went beyond normal, something that she, well rather they could easily identify.

“Leave her alone? Why would I do that? To endanger my own life? To endanger your admittedly smaller one? Might as well be asking me to hurt you, which wouldn’t be that difficult considering there are vacant windows all around us. Does the wind ever carry you away?”

Fixated on the poor guy's height, she could not help but feel bad for him. It was not the size but the content of his character that made him outstanding her in opinion. Certainly his sides changed like the fickle spring weather but they changed not on a whim but rather on belief. It was not an agenda or a bias, something she appreciated even if it was a painful revelation to understand how they felt about her.

"The fact that she has a mark on the nape of her neck, as well as her being cold, isn't necessarily related."

Thora added, speaking about Marion as if she was not even there. As if they were talking about some clinical specimen.

"It could very well be, but we don't yet know that it is."

She added as if this was a discussion of pathology.

She tried too hard to free herself and felt a pop as she ripped her own shoulder from a socket. The girl was as fragile as tissue paper in the rain. She tried to stifle the cry that tried to rip from her mouth. The pain was not a once and a done, with each heaving breath a fresh wave of pain.

"Her shoulder's dislocated"

Bridget announced in a whisper stating the obvious.

"Wh-"

Yes, it was dislocated. Yes, she knew.

"Yes, I know."

Some took more pleasure in that than others.

“Feel that? It could be worse if you don’t let out what you know. Believe me, I don’t indulge in empty threats.”

Persephone had nothing to do with the injury, not really less one considered the panic she had instilled to be the direct cause. It was a contributing factor of course. But she was incredibly fragile, frail even. She should have known, taken greater measures to protect herself.

“Stop! Stop! Your hurting her!”

Arlo charged Thora, Thora would loosen her grip.

“Let go! Why does everyone in this house have to be so damn mean. Let go of her!”

"I am not hurting her."

Actually, she was. Trapping her. Incarcerating her, leaving her subject to the threats and questioning. She hurt herself trying to break free.

"I'm not even touching her injured shoulder."

She defended herself, not that anyone of them less Arlo cared, however it might ameliorate her guilt.

"And what was that about no need to fight?"

She reminded Arlo as the young peacekeeper became the aggressor.

“Watch out, he might step on your toes.”

Thomas taunted, apparently a core characteristic of his character.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You might hurt her further if you're not careful."

He demanded her release, by force if necessary.

"Fine."

Thora relinquished her hold on the girl and she stumbled forward, landing on a knee. She hit the stony floor hard, but the pain of her shoulder rocked her more than the fall ever could. Behind her Marion could see her shadowy silhouette of the girl drawing her wand.

"Christ," not Merlin, the girl was brought up a different way. "Leave him alone," she grimaced. She eyed the door with tear-rimmed eyes, she just wanted to get away from these crazy people. The door now blocked by the same girl that restrained her.

"Marion, that doesn't look-- that cannot be a scar. What is it?"

She held onto her injured arm and tried to brace to brace it. Her shaky legs buckled as she tried to rise, her knee scuffed from tripping. "It's a scar," she insisted.

“That’s…the dark mark.”

Thomas announced.

"I don't know what that is," Marion claimed as she took in a sharp breath.

He brought up another point, something else she had said before.

“Told on them?”

As if a light bulb went on in his head, it was only five watts but it lit up that cobweb infested attic.

“Only Potter was incriminated…”

She nodded her head. "He killed her," she confirmed through gritted teeth. "But things get complicated in the dark," she answered cryptically. "He was just the only one that they found fit to punish," there were a lot of theys and them there was the darkness. "I just remember he was there, the rest is empty," perhaps a few of the academics would understand what she meant by that. It was like waking up in a strange place black-out drunk with a few flashes of memories and with a bit of logic try to piece them together.

"What should we do?"

Brigid's concern was really for herself and perhaps her friends. Cold enough to use this to her advantage, for the most part Slytherins were all the same.

"If I'm seeing this right, you dislocated your shoulder, Marion. I'll help you to the Hospital Wing. Or you can have the short kid help you, I don't care. But, first I need your honest answer. You've got to know something. We've been trying to get you to share for ages. So here's the deal: Tell us whatever it is you're hiding, and then you can go."

She started to cry. She was hurt. She was scared. She tried to hold it back, the tears. The evidence of her distress.

"I'll also give your letter back. I promise."

Speaking was going to make it worse. Could it get any worse? Was there a way out? "Someone died. I saw it, I spoke up. It wasn't right... letting them get away with it so I spoke up," that was the incident that pervaded her life these past few years. "I never did--" she winced. "Anything else!"

"Potter," she muttered with a chill of panic as she glanced at the window. The call of the void a mere impulse she could deny. Fear does a lot of things to the mind, the desperate want to escape pain. The fear that more would come. The near certainty that there was no freedom, only a reprieve.

"I suppose we could take Marion to the Hospital Wing since I don't think any of us are qualified to help in any way."

Thora recommended. The best idea they had all day. "I would very much like to be treated," she agreed. If she stayed, they might very well kill her.

“Hospital Wing would just raise questions as to what happened, if the rest of this school isn’t as corrupt as she. Do you really want to get in trouble?”

Point made.

She never took her words for concern for anything short of her well-being. Not that withholding medical care would have protected them, just protracted her suffering. It did not stop her from telling, for condemning them for cornering her, bullying her. For the injuries she ultimately endured and suffered.

“It can’t be that hard to put the shoulder back in place, a movement of the arm maybe. But if you’re too afraid to do that-”

It was not really as simple as 'moving an arm' and it would slide into place. The pain still shot through her, her shoulder did not ache, it stabbed and her fingers tingled.

“-I’m more than happy to give it a try.”

"Don't touch me you crazy-person," she snapped and defensively recoiled.

Arlo wasn’t about to give into Persephone’s continued baiting of his height. The boy would simply wave away her remarks with an exaggerated eye roll and a swat at the air. You didn’t spend eleven years of life being a good foot shorter than the average of your age and not grow a thick skin towards the taunting. Plus the shorter height gave him great access to the shins and feet. Thomas may try to break balls, but his taunt carried truth. Arlo was not above a cheap shot. Something Perse-whatever would learn quickly if they kept it up.

“All bark...no bite.” She would learn something else about the boy as well. He was not physically intimidating in any way, but it would take a lot more than nasty words to punk him down.

He spoke too soon. As Marion attempted to free herself, a nasty pop filled the room. What had started as intense debate had turn to argument. Now it had turned to injury. Arlo’s already elevated emotions would spill over as he charged forward. It would not be his strength that freed Marion, but perhaps his action, or simply he captor had realized she went too far. Thora could try all she wanted to deny, but they all knew the truth. Regardless, she would release her and Marion would stumble forward onto her knees.

Arlo would step back, attempting to put himself between her and the others. “There was no need to fight, but look what you’ve done to her. She’s injured! And you can come down of that high horse anytime you’d like! You’ve held someone against their will and now they are hurt. Who’s in the wrong here!?” He clapped back through gritted teeth.

Still the others would carry on about the unusual marking on her neck. As Arlo turned to check on her, he would be able to see it for the first time. Although he could not argue that it surely did not look like a scar, now was not the time for further interrogation. He had one desire and one desire only. Get Marion away from these people and to get her medical attention. He would turn back towards the others, arms spread out in a stance that clearly said, “You’ll have to go through me first.”

“That’s enough! Marion, you don’t have to answer these crazy people’s questions anymore!” His emotions were heightened but he wasn’t that far off. A young girl knelt behind him, clearly injured and yet they still kept on with the threats and interrogation. They should all be scheduled for a psych evaluation immediately. “She needs help and I’m taking her to get care now. I don’t give a damn if you get in trouble. You all deserve it! Now step aside and let us through.” He called out as his long index finger scanned the room, briefly stopping on each of them. “Marion, can you stand? Come with me so we can get you help.”

Arlo will attempt to leave with Marion if she agrees to it. Toe stomps and shin kicks for anyone that approaches.

Arlo was right. Right about a lot of things. His concept of right and wrong. His suspicions. People often go with their first impression and cherry pick instances to support their prejudices. The 'scar' on her neck did not look much like a scar, not that she could see it back there. Was she really that stupid or was she hiding something. Probably a bit of both. Being as terrified as she was, she shared more than she had ever intended.

Her arm limp at her side, when her captor's grip slackened she stumbled forward and fell to her knees. The pain in her shoulder was worse than the abrasion on her knees. Her heart skipped a beat. Oh no. She looked down, scared to stand.

Arlo would rebuke the girls. Enough is enough. They got some of what they wanted, let her go. There was a feeling of gratitude that came over her. He did not seem the type and despite the panic she caught herself smiling. She would raise one knee, her good arm being used to brace herself and get back on her feet. She would look down, no blood. Just a dark area, a scrape that was dark enough that one would have thought that it was just some dirt.

She was going to leave with Arlo despite being filled with trepidation that she would be stopped, that Arlo was going to get dragged into this. "I can," she confirmed as she looked over at his fellow snakes with a frown.

Attempts to leave with Arlo

@Persephone Barret @Thora Larkston @Arlo Reynolds @Marion Davenport @Bridget Collins @Thomas Lestrange
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