Like Wonderland or Neverland? PV Persephone B.

@Jack Burnett

Widely distributed among the population of idiots that scavenged through the corridors and sacred grounds of Hogwarts were very, very moronic philosophies. Rolling down this river in the sanctum of critique and cruelty, it was quickly established that its current was familiar, flowing to the changeless ocean as it did every moment before and would every time after. It would carry Persephone passed the same trees, the same habitats, the same mountains, an untouched natural order that's only difference would be through the pollution of human travellers. Unlike them, Persy left no trace. Regardless of the enduring view, something new would always catch that emerald gaze. A baby bird, perhaps birthed only days before. A tree sprouting its leaves after a dreary and deadening winter, one never rewarded her full attention before today. No matter where, no matter the familiarity of your surroundings, there would always be new things to notice, to let consume you. Never would Persephone know a person fully, for an example, but circling back to the headwaters, new opinions and formations in the world of philosophy would always develop.

Now, walking through the Grounds with ridiculous purpose, warming air seething beneath that pale skin yet the sunshine never leaving its brand, that new emergence made itself known to Persephone, though avoiding it and remaining in that box of bliss would’ve likely been ideal for everyone around. There were some philosophies (for valuable note, in this scenario, that word did not only refer to the beliefs of the people that get paid to pander, rather just the generality of the majority’s ‘quotes to live by’) that even the shell of disbelief could not argue, or at least not for prolonged periods of time. It seemed popular, especially with those who indulged regularly in cardio such as Persy, to repeat and repeat, of course in more verbose ways, no excuses. At even the mere thought, the quietly strolling blonde choked away a condescending laugh, pondering excuses that could arise through such an imaginative need for rationale.

Since first beginning to partake in errands such as this, Persy had found unnecessary alleviation in the bed of house points that lie beneath, a safe zone to fall in for the stunts her mind begged to pull. Each time, walking into whatever hell that awaited behind chained doors, the blonde would ask herself where the boundary lies, where the house points become a mute bribery in a scenario more deadly than the lethal injection. And each time, she would enter that room without really entering, separated indefinitely by the wall that stood between the dimensions of her and the sought after. On the other side of the lake, reflection distorted, the people were warped. When this question was asked, a real answer was never given, one that would sicken her to the point of throwing up.

Today, that excuse was inapplicable. Signing up for a limited spots errand in itself was shameful; it exhibited desperation for a reward, and desperation in any of its finer forms was still heavily resented. Beside this already incriminating fact, the chore offered no house points and instead, worthless chocolate frogs. Persephone was no collector, such a childlike offering hardly fell into the ritualistic patterns of early-established maturity. Isolating the tolerable factor, having to clean, wouldn’t serve as an excuse either. Though the snake had spent countless years cleaning for the house (pick the bottle up, Perse), it still didn’t warrant a wasted day for no reward. Briefly, she’d considered dropping away, reopening that spot to someone who cared. Rubbing her arm mindlessly, the trail to the greenhouse longer than ever before, Persy couldn’t recall why she didn’t relinquish this when that option was accessible.

And then the memory flooded back, a tidal wave with no apprising other than that obscured swirl of the water. To her thorough surprise, an owl uncannily similar to the previous had fallen into those insensitive hands, as though its sender was oblivious to the world presented before them. That was on the brink of enviable, the blindness and deafness to the reality that shrieked. Regardless, Jack Burnett was no excuse in himself. He’d kept her name on that list with the scrawl of a letter, a trap for the bear that lurked around, though the objective of the day was unknown.

Perhaps the red-headed boy would trust that the steel guard surrounding had fallen upon her arrival. No. Not around him, a walking archetype of all that should be circumvented. There was more than that under that scarred flesh, Persy knew this, but it wouldn’t be enough to relieve him of the titles he’d been so kindly assigned. Perhaps he wasn’t the excuse, but rather the reason. Were those the same thing? Persy didn’t believe so, but that was too much to consider as the greenhouse finally edged into view, one of the few times that sight had come as a consolation. As of late, between scheme number one and scheme number two clashing so harshly (not to mention the complete decay of a reputation during reconnaissance, damn witness), the stress was immense.

Yes, because spending this lovely day in the presence of a soul-sucking demon would surely alleviate that stress.

Stepping into the greenhouse with forest-green eyes immediately locked on Jack, observing him from what felt like a secure distance, not disturbing the hostile wildlife. The boy did not strike fear in that audacious soul, but his existence evoked a sense of unease, an undoubtable side effect of leaving hell before puberty took its course. Once again, like a strike with a baseball bat, amnesia stole her consciousness and left the hollow shell confused as to why this had truly required the attendance of someone who was neither engrossed in this errand, nor considered a friend. Persephone’s inclination for unwarranted curiosity among other things pulled mercilessly, a magnet’s typical strength only multiplied by loathing. In the very least, the girl could appreciate his unwillingness to mask the ill intentions, sending reminders. He hid other things.

Clearing her throat upon realizing that this silence had lingered much too long, Persy announced herself. “Didn’t take you as a cleaner. Should’ve known better for someone who shines shoes the way you do.” That dig may go under the radar; the blonde was too symbolic for her own benefit. “Let’s not be super subtle or cryptic about this. Why did you invite me to this? We aren’t friends. Not really acquaintances. You don’t look like a guy with a plan, though.” Just a dog chasing cars. Breaking eye contact and not waiting for another word, Persephone kneeled, scooping fractured pieces of an older pot into her palms, familiar like reliving a memory.

When Persephone came in, Jack was crouched on the floor picking up shards of broken pots scattered about the floor of the greenhouse. He carefully placed them in a bucket to give to Professor MacTavish later to dispose of or repair or whatever he meant to do with them. Perhaps he could even attempt to try repairing them using the Mending Charm if there were enough pieces, but that would have to wait until he had done the main cleaning of the place first.

Absently collecting the pieces of pottery, he was not aware of his fellow Slytherin's presence until she cleared her throat. The redhead looked up then to meet the blonde's emerald gaze and grinned in response to her unconventional, witty greeting which was presumably meant as an insult. With a quiet grunt of effort, he pushed himself off the ground and steadily rose to his feet as she followed up her scathing remark with a question.

"'Someone who shines shoes'? Me?" he laughed, wiping his brow on his arm as he re-rolled up the dusty sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbow. They had already started to slip back down. "Maybe if you mean by spitting on them, sure. Otherwise, I'd have to assume you're mistaking me for Flash Holmwood."

Setting down the bucket a moment, he dusted off his hands as he turned to face her properly, still beaming as though Persephone had offered to do his homework. "'Not super subtle or cryptic'?" the boy repeated the girl's words back at her again, taking a step back dramatically as he feigned shock. "How unlike you, Goddess. I thought you were above the simple, banal straightforwardness of lowly mortal conversation."

Propping himself up with his arm against the edge of a worktable, Jack inclined his head toward Persephone, his grin morphing into a self-satisfied smirk.

"I don't look like a guy with a plan, do I? Excellent. All the better for people to underestimate me," his obnoxious voice merrily declared. When he spoke again, however, his grand, theatrical demeanor dressed down to something more casual.

"C'mon, Barret. You're an intelligent snake. You tell me. It's no fun if you don't at least guess," the Welsh boy teased, clearly enjoying himself.

"Besides, I'm certain you know better than to: one," he began, holding up an index finger, as he started to count off, " - think I would just give away information when I can use it to my advantage; two, expect me to answer such a vague question with specifics you have yet to specify; and three, believe I'd provide you with something unless I got something in return."

Readjusting his stance, he crossed his arms over his chest. "You've always made people work hard for answers from you in the past. If you expect a direct, honest answer from me, I'd like one in return. Sound fair?"

@Persephone Barret

@Jack Burnett

The splintered pieces of that older, smashed pot scratched at old wounds not inflicted by such a dull force, whitened by the scarring of time, scents and sensations no longer belonging to the greenhouse she kneeled in. Pale hands, bloodied and damp, were quite clean now, but felt the same, youthful and experienced. While the world had carried on in synthetic bliss, pulled Persephone’s limp body down the walk of an arduous timeline, the blonde’s mind and soul were left in those scattered memories. Memories that couldn’t be recalled, only felt through the senses they tainted and drained. They’d burn in a fire that wasn’t prepared to be lit, drenched in gasoline, match in hand. Something would always keep it there.

A life gone from the one lived now was disturbed yet again when the ginger stood from his own position, almost delighted to wilt in her presence. The girl radiated antagonism, resentment, as existing in the room with him brought blood to its boiling point and far beyond. It was the kind of scowl that killed the flowers that could bloom here in those cracked pots and strewn soil. Still, a laugh was a laugh regardless of context, and a deep insult in any that could define it. He’d been absorbed in his task up until her throat cleared, and she vaguely regretted not residing in that silence. Matching Jack’s position out of some alien instinct, the remembrance fell from Persy’s hands and into the echoing bucket with a wail of desertion.

Ginger from Hell rolled his sleeves up with a sickening chuckle; perhaps gasping in blazes multiplied the impact of even the weakest heat. Persephone’s remained low. “If I’d mistaken you for Holmwood, I may not have been so rude.” That rat had spread its plague and fled, calmly waiting for the deaths to fall in its trail. A subtle aura of respect couldn’t be denied, however. To do what had never been done, to bend boundaries as a wired sculpture, and to claim it all for an imagined greater good. Perhaps that aura was the unacquainted emotion of pity.

That smile was sinister; it didn’t falter under the burden of impoliteness, accustomed to it, prepared for it even. When their eyes met, the gazes melted into a storm of opposition that was terribly one-sided. Jack danced like The Riddler with the mind of someone much more advanced, centered around a preciously selfish agenda instead of the bare attention from her mockery. Persephone discarded his words as irrelevant, hidden at their feet in the mess that drew them, though if they hadn’t been blurred by his theatrics, perhaps that praise would’ve been recanted. He moved to riddles and symbols that went beyond his own sorry head, just to keep up, to lock her lavish eyes on his rather than the board as it changed.

On another note, when would he cease with this Goddess thing? It sounded awfully affectionate when held to the dim light of ‘demon’.

When the theatre lights shocked into darkness and left him to sing to an absent audience, the Slytherin’s attention was yanked yet again to the words he spoke, the tone in which he delivered them. With every phrase, that glee eased into an insufferable taunt, phrases of applause to be countered with puckered lips of disappointment. Their joint sight, though, was crucial; Jack was only slightly past the simplicity that lured the majority into incompetent traps. “That’s exactly it, maybe. I’m intelligent, and therefore cannot make sense of the stupidity that brought you to the company of a disliked peer.” Her point was valid; he could only dispute it with tasteless lies.

Yes, she knew so well. The limits of assumptions and estimations were close, too close for Persy to depend on. Few formal conversations with him prefaced this raw moment, or held any depth or meaning above futile contentions or careless attacks. All that could be said with a smug overtone of certainty was that it had been ruined, to his credit. That which was touched by his entangling vines was demolished; Persephone was not the only bringer of destruction in the greenhouse. He, however, didn’t have a good excuse. “I think you owe some favors though. May not use them, I rather enjoy knowing you’re indebted to me,” the girl thought aloud.

The boy crossed his arms, protectant. Perhaps, though, that gave too much recognition. Jack could very well have been pouting. Persy scoffed quietly, letting her questioning of his torn logic be well-known. “If you think calm and collected is fair, okay. You need to answer my question first, and I’ll give you a singular one in return.”

The remark regarding Flash caused Jack to hesitate before his laughter reverberated off the smudged greenhouse window glass. "I guess it's best you hadn't, then," he mused aloud once his chuckles died down. "I much prefer your raw, sincere audacity to any scrap of a well-mannered facade. But you probably know that by now."

Her barb about being unable to make sense of stupidity elicited a snicker all its own. "'Cannot make sense of the stupidity that brought you to the company of a disliked peer', she says..." he paraphrased, as if speaking to an imaginary or invisible third party.

"...And yet...what more sense is there to be made of the stupidity that brought her to company of that very same description?" A sparkle of what might have been fond amusement twinkled at the edge of his eye and the corner of his smile. He unfolded his arms and went to retrieve a broad-headed broom leaning against a wall. "I don't recall ever saying I disliked you."

He nodded in acknowledgement of Persephone's mentioned favors as he picked up the broom, looking it over. Then he snatched up a dust pan which didn't appear to have been used in some time judging by the fragile cobwebs that trailed from the handle to the corner it rested in.

"I do," the Welsh boy agreed without glancing up. "And I'm sure you might not; especially considering how uneasy I am having debts held over my head," he added with grim humor. "But perhaps I've ironically grown complacent due the enjoyment you've found hanging on to those favors instead of using even a single one since the start of the year."

Ambling back over to his housemate, he held the broom out to her. "Care to be the one to sweep? That way you don't have to crouch over and cause your back to ache," he offered, waving the dust pan for emphasis. "As for your question...'why did I invite you to this'? Hmm..." The redhead screwed up his face for a moment as if thinking really hard.

"...Perhaps for the same reason you decided to accept said invite. Is that a satisfactory answer?"

@Persephone Barret

@Jack Burnett

As much as Persephone wished to demean Jack, rule him simple and crude, he was more than one word, one description, a two-dimensional image with everything in plain view. Through dirty glass, the sun lit up the greenhouse along with his grin, untimely at best. With some power supplied by surfs of naivety, he found humor in every cruel remark, every mean of brutality the girl could spit and mold, or worse, twisted it into a new creation. A remark intended to imply his unremarkable mask of hazel, his inferiority to peers that remained drenched in the black plague, taken with a certain delight. Retorted with some commendation meant to mollify her, perhaps, but ended painting the blonde in further frustration. Everything the ginger said and did stole him from the archetype Persy encased him in, perhaps the one he loved best, craved least.

Persephone quirked an eyebrow when his laugh died down as they all did, though the bliss did not leave his voice, swaying along. “I know you hate what you’re meant to love and vice versa.” It could be the only time the blonde admitted the existence of one of his distinctions, that which dragged him from purgatory and separated him from the monsters it bred. “So, I suppose I did know that already.” Even in the golden hours, the young Slytherin was not luminescent enough to distract from the words she said, the graves she dug, enough to compensate for her demeanor. She was not intended to be preferred one way or another, never at all. Though perhaps the boy was drawn to convolution, to the works on an enigma that defied physics and logic like elastic, and to that, she applauded him. The mere thought made a smirk pull at her lips; individuality was not to be denied.

Mockery would carry the demon a similar distance to flattery: nowhere at all. To excuse the behavior, it would be tied to a soaring leaf, powerless and defined by nature. In his case, foolishness. “Curiosity as to why it’s me you invited. Unless—oh no—” Her emerald eyes flickered back to the doorway in melodramatic terror, sunshine melting in more without the hindrance of grime. “—should I be expecting another person? My god, I really must fix my hair.” Lazily running her fingers through it, eyes rolling as though the sarcasm wasn’t quite conspicuous enough, she scoffed at the simplicity once more. Not being a permanent trait did not extinguish it entirely. He moved toward the nearby broom, a respectable sign; perhaps they could finish in silence.

Too good to be true. “It doesn’t matter what you said. It matters that you don’t charge people you don’t dislike, not generally anyway.” Unless he was keener than once believed, but the blonde could award him no more credit today. It was already tiresome. His gaze was locked on the broom and dustpan held in his hands, unsurprising if his knuckles were to whiten, though his mind seemed to wander farther than hazel eyes. They weren’t the type to darken under blackness, that could be said from a measly glance. “I find they seem more useful in the scenarios I don’t use them,” the blonde justified, watching for any sudden movement, including that which wouldn’t come.

At his poor attempt at chivalry, or a shameful insult holding no context or burn in its blaze, Persy couldn’t refrain from the bubbling laughter in her throat. His face held no expression that answered for the humor or its origin, and that made withered giggles reignite freshly. “I don’t have the slightest clue what you’re implying that for, though feel free to inform me. The words of the dull are, oddly enough, the complicated ones.” Persephone couldn’t have been much older than Jack in all ways except soul, where each organ failed, and life was expendable. An aged soul wouldn’t wear her back down, though. Still, the girl accepted the broom and feigned courtesy to further their interaction with minimal obstacles.

The demon riddled her with a twisted visage. “No, it isn’t a satisfactory answer. Try again.” Giving him a moment to think, the Slytherin’s stare trailed downward at the floor, beginning to sweep and dawdle in the images of hardwood flooring that flooded back.