Something Wicked This Way Comes PV

╔══════════════☩══♛══☩══════════════╗

Interacting With: @Hjørdis Jensen
Mentioning: @Jo Morgan

╚═══════════════☩══✦══☩══════════════╝

[font=Segoe Print]“An owl dropped it in the Headmaster’s Office?”

It was curious, quite unsettling in a mysterious way, Nora’s obliviousness to the letter’s whereabouts, ignorance to its contents and meaning. Which, in hindsight, made sense, her not being able to make sense of the incoherent riddles, scribbled upon the parchment in the neat handwriting of the Headmaster that had forsaken their school all those months ago. In the mind of the young Captain, Rafael had always assumed that, by taking the letter to the Slytherin Head of House, all his answers would be answered, his suspicions alleviated by her kindly words – however, Nora’s response had utterly shocked any hope of new information from his consciousness, leaving the child reeling and hungry for knowledge that the woman supposedly didn’t have. All their hard work, and for what? Another question mark? No, he would have nothing of it. The boy had learned long ago not to trust Slytherins, even those with lovely smiles and kind words, such as the teacher so gracefully occupying the presence of the two first years. She knew more, he could only convince himself more as the moments wore on, his brow furrowing and gaze sharpening in the slightest as he looked upon the professor in front of him. She had the answers he desperately craved – but how to coax them out?

He silently listened to Jo speak, words idly floating past his ears as he leaned forward on the table, slipping a careful façade over his facial features, the same façade in which he used to obtain answers from his shady peers all those years ago in Argentina. A careful, calculating gaze, knowledgeable in ways an onlooker wouldn’t be able to properly put their finger on, brown eyes piercing into those of the Head of House in the most acute sort of way, telling her very clearly with a simple gaze that he knew she was withholding information. Even if it were his own suspicions as witness. Though, Jo herself was making quite the interesting argument – she’d studied the information that closely, now, did she? Well, it seemed as if his lovely frenemy was a stronger ally than she let on. He’d better make even in the next few moments, then, prove to himself that his presence in the conversation was just as important as those of his lady peers. It all depended on Nora’s aptness to the situation, whether she would call his bluff, or fall to his absolutely flawless acting. Would she see through the mask the boy had so carefully placed upon his face? Would she find what cogs were turning within his mind, what devious plots the boy was spinning into reality?

He would give such dizzying concepts no further though, instead opting to mull over his next words carefully, cocking his chin up as he regarded the lovely Professor. Acting aside, the boy was no Slytherin, never had been, and would consequently choose a more direct approach in finding answers. “It’s strange, such close relations, don’t you think, Professor?” he would ask wryly, a small, knowing smile slipping upon his features. “Which makes me wonder. What’s the significance of the hags in our ‘current story’? You see,” he lowered his voice, chewing on his lip for a moment before continuing, “Lear seems to make it quite clear that the creatures are an issue. Hags are ever-present in our midst, it’s there, scribbled upon the letters. Its just a matter of how, isn’t it, now?”

It was a risk, he was putting himself on the line, no real knowledge to back him up, save for the feeling of intuition burning like a wildfire in his stomach, spurring him on with a renewed fervor, words dancing on the edge of his lips, ready to pierce the air with their urgent importance. He didn’t come here on a wild goose chase, he wanted answers, dammit! If it meant embarrassing himself in front of his frenemy, then so be it. The issues at hand were bigger than his own ego, he knew that much, knew that a real Gryffindor would push the end of their comfort zone if it meant extracting the truth from an unwilling source. There would be one way to find out, and it would be to dance around the question like a coward. The boy would watch the Professors facial expressions for tells, her words for dual meanings, scrutinize every movement of hers with the eyes of an eagle. “I know you’re hiding something,” he would say, words smooth as they rolled off his lips. “The fact alone that you’re not saying anything foreshadows something ominous in our midsts, a darkness that at least we need to know about, if we ever want to make sense of the facts laid before us today. Now, what information are you withholding, Professor Jensen? What aren’t you telling us?” [/font]

OOC • I really can't be sure of what information has been cleared by staff, but this is out there. Feel free to embarrass my kid, if needed~

 

Hjørdis nodded, in agreement with everything Jo said about the hags eating children and also using rudimentary magic. She frowned a little at the words that Jo said. The potion part made sense. It was something Price brought up too, potentially connecting it to the attacks that happened around the country. One specifically where patrons of the Leaky Cauldron were poisoned with the Draught of Living Death. It could easily have been a coincidence, of course but perhaps too much was at this point to be considered such.

"I wonder..." She said softly, wondering why the young student thought that Lear expected the two first years to go to Hogsmeade, "What makes you think he expected you two to go to Hogsmeade? If this is the letter he wanted me to receive, maybe he expects me to go?" She asked, wondering if there was actually anything they could find there or if this was connected to the Leaky Cauldron incident. Perhaps they had more information than they had let on, however. It could be that these letters were addressed specifically to them or there was a fourth letter telling them he expected first years to go. She had no idea, but she wanted to check if that was the case. If it was, it changed everything. If it was just the girl's guess, then it could have been false.

"Though... There was an incident in the Leaky Cauldron recently, where twelve people were poisoned with this very potion... They are not located near each other, of course but both of them are similar establishments..." Hjørdis explained, kind of hoping that the children did not know what Hog's Head actually was. That would be highly concerning, given their age. However, it was similar to Leaky Cauldron - which they would recognise as the entrance to Diagon Alley, at the very least.

The boy spoke, asking how the creatures were connected to the situation. If she knew, why would she be wasting her time here? Did he really think she had nothing better to do than to listen to them tell her the same information over and over? It was because she did not know how that she stayed. Talking about it might help uncover some new information. Something she did not see before. "I don't know how. I wish I did, but I do not. However, both letters are addressed to the same person. Dolores. I don't know if Lear knew one personally but the only one I can recall is the infamous one, who was murdered. Not by Finnley, as written here but still murdered. Dolores Umbridge. Her name is all over the news, also with the accused - that everyone better knows as the Boy Who Lived... It happened a few years ago but the trial is still going on..." She did not answer his question - because she did not know the answer. However, she shared what she did know. Facts. However, she added her opinion thereafter, "Whilst I have no evidence for this... if I had to hazard a guess, the mention of 'hag' or 'evil blood war' has to be connected to either Dolores, whoever she is, or Finnley. Hags are women, however," She added, wondering who the Dolores was.

The letter was written as thought it were to a past lover. Yet the sign off. There was something so weird about the sign off. Why would you sign off a love letter as 'Headmaster Lear'? Not Solomon? Not his initials, not even his full name but rather his title... She was a very professional woman, and ended most letters as professionally as she started them. Yet she would never write a love letter and sign off as "Professor Jensen" or "Head of House Jensen"... That was weird. It blurred the lines of personal and professional. It made her think it was not a love letter.

The Gryffindor boy continued to talk... There was one thing she hated about working with students was when they thought they were superior. That they knew far better than their adult counterparts, that they could force information out of them or do whatever they wanted. It was honestly rather laughable, really. She had a lot of respect for some children. They were far better than many adults that she knew. But sometimes, they were just irritating little brats that thought far too highly of themselves. Manipulation was not a skill that the young boy had. Not even slightly. It might have worked on other students, his tactic. But Hjørdis highly doubted any adult would suddenly give in to his desire for information. At least, she would not. Did she think they deserved to know the truth? Of course they did. Every student here did. This situation was dangerous and they needed to understand that. But that was not a decision she could make, nor one she could disclose lightly. All she could do was tell the students to stay out of known areas of danger. Luckily, the hag that attacked the three professors a few months prior was deep within the Forbidden Forest. And, it was forbidden. It always had been. That kept them safer.

If the hag returned, however, they needed a plan. That was where she was struggling. It was also impossible to tell if the hag was even still there. She had asked Griffith to use the arsenal of creatures at his disposal to find out. He had yet to find any information for her. Of course, she also thought he was an insufferable man and likely could not rely on him but that was her starting point. "Well, I am certainly enjoying being accused of things without any proof. You both show up with letters, apparently for me, which you've kept hidden for... how long now? You expect me to know everything about them, based on the fact that my nickname is in one of them. Note, not even my real name or my full name. My nickname. A very common nickname, mind you. And yet you have not actually given me your own names... I get nothing out of hiding anything from you nor do I need to sit here and take anything you say seriously when there is no proof that you did not write these letters yourself... If you're here to simply accuse me of hiding information from you then please, go waste someone else's time. I have far more important things to do than defend myself to a child," Hjørdis replied rolling her eyes. The boy, she was done with him. He was just an irritating little brat to her. He expected information, even when there was not any.

She turned back to the girl, who she actually still had some respect left for. Of the pair of them, she was actually the more knowledgeable one, the more respectful one and the one that seemed to actually be onto something, "No need to apologise for talking. Sometimes, it helps to clarify things..." Hjørdis explained. Talking out aloud or to someone else sometimes helped you to figure out the answer, "If these letters are real... At least two of them are connected," She pointed to the first two. They were both addressed to one 'Dolores' and they both shared the same coloured ink, which she pointed out to the students, "Do you know which of these was written first, by any chance?" The smallest details mattered in this situation, where they needed to make sure they had the information in the correct order. She sighed softly.

Was the third letter connected to the first two? Perhaps. But their only connection was the ingredients that could be related to the hag connection or the fact that an evil blood war was mentioned and then ogres. But was that enough? This one was not a letter to Dolores. It was not a secret letter. It was a real indication of a warning. It was written very differently.

There was one thing Jo asked that she did not want to reply to but she did nonetheless. It was for their own safety, "I do. He does not spell his name in the same way and other than the shared first name, there is no evidence of anything else. Me telling you this does not make him guilty of anything. I want you to understand that first. It is very possible that there is another Finnley. After all, we do have students by this name too and without knowing who Dolores is, it is very possible that there is another Finnley who is somehow connected to Lear and her in a way that we are not aware of." Hjørdis warned the student, not wanting her to jump to immediate conclusions.

"However, there is a Finlay working here. I will ensure that professors watch him and monitor his activities, in case he has any connection to this. But since you know, he is one of the school nurses we have at the wing." Hjørdis admitted. In truth, she had already asked Lian, Pendrast and MacTavish to watch him and check on his activities during the professor meeting. She also advised that none of them trusted him. But a letter with his name did not admit guilt. It was as meaningless as a letter with her own name in it. Yes, she was the only "Nora" she knew at the school that Lear might write to. But Lear and her barely spoke before his disappearance. Why he would address it to her specifically baffled her.

She picked up the third letter. The ink was different. It was a blue one. Was this intentional or perhaps, just the colour that he had on hand when he wrote it. Lear... wanted them to evacuate the school didn't he? They should do that... Why were they not doing that...? Time was of the essence, he wrote. "Ogre release imminent...?" She said out aloud softly, rereading it. If an ogre attacked the school, she knew this was real. Or... could he have meant the giants that attacked at the ball? Was she actually meant to go to Hogs Head or was she meant to see the correlation between these sentences and Leaky Cauldron...? But he not specify the Leaky Cauldron and he could have done. It would not have changed much as the sentence would still have started with A. "I'll visit Hogs Head. I don't know if I'll find anything but... I'll go..." Hjørdis said to the girl.

OOC: I love you, Rafa!

╔══════════════☩══♛══☩══════════════╗

Interacting With: @Hjørdis Jensen @Jo Morgan
Mentioning: Aurelia Notresvace

╚═══════════════☩══✦══☩══════════════╝

[font=Segoe Print]There was something about the way Nora spoke, her ill words, aggravated tone, that just… God, it killed Rafa. He could feel the very hairs on his arms prick upwards, his eye twitching in the slightest as his grip hardened around the wood of the table, a vice ready to snap the substance in two. He could feel his temper flaring dangerously, the same way it did when he was crossed by someone so blatantly lesser than him – perhaps he had once held a respect for the Professor, as she had been put in a place of leadership. However, any semblance of likeness between him and the Slytherin Head of House had died right in that moment, now fueled with a fiery sort of enmity, the sort that burnt down buildings and damaged relationships. He was embarrassed – the teacher had thrown a knife to his ego, left him crippled and bare in his own emotions. She’d knocked him down. But what she most likely hadn’t anticipated, was the drawbacks. He’d gotten back up, and now, he was angry, pissed in the most acute sort of way, a hornet’s nest aggravated by a quite unnecessary prod towards his pride. She would pay for that one. It didn’t matter if she was in a place of power. Power was artificial, a sort of propaganda used to instill fear in those who gave in to it. Her title was only a word, and nothing more. She wanted to play dirty? That was more than fine with him. He came for answers, not for a talking to by some irritable Slytherin HoH. And by God, he wasn’t about to be treated by a mere student. The words were dancing on the tip of his tongue, his nostrils flaring, shoulders stiff, much like a wolf rearing to attack its aggressor. It was the natural reaction, to defend oneself. It was in this way, that the boy rationalized his words. He opened his mouth, ready to release his dialogue on the unknowing assailant –

– and Jo’s foot came down on his own.

The pain he felt in that moment was excruciating, the same sort that he’d felt when he’d broken his arm in his youth. The reflex was instantaneous, as were the words that escaped his lips – “Mother-fucker!” he growled through gritted teeth, his eyes shuttering closed as he immediately brought his foot upwards, holding it as he jumped up and down. His vision went white, tears dancing at the edge of his eyes, his breath stopping for a moment as to halt the pain. Why the hell would she do that? What, was she mad? How could she not see the situation for what it was? And, here Rafa was, thinking he had a smart partner. A real shame, who knew. They were probably working together or something. It was an entertaining thought, and for the few short moments that his foot throbbed in excruciating pain, he allowed his mind to wander, images of the Professor and Jo dressed in all black creeping about in the halls. There was a reason he stayed out past curfew, and it wasn’t to gaze at old, musty pictures of grandpas. The most dangerous things happened at night, anyone who’d lived on the streets could tell you that much. He was growing even more suspicious now, the wheels in his head racing to properly come up with a reason Jo would so swiftly betray him. Either she was trying to pull a quick one on him, or… did she seek acceptance in the eyes of their older, more tenured peer? Was it that she sought respect? Likeness? Alliance?

No matter. If Rafa was alone on this one, so be it. Jo could break both his fucking legs, there was no amount of pain that could stifle the voice of justice. His voice was smooth, practiced, the words floating out his mouth in a seemingly rehearsed manner. “That’s real cute,” he would start, cocking his head to the side sarcastically. “You think, what, because you’re a professor, we’re supposed to just trust you?” he laughed, a wry smile coming over his face as he shook his head, almost spiting the teacher. “Truth of the matter is, a woman died in these walls, and while you may sleep at night telling yourself the man responsible’s in prison, we” he nodded towards Jo, alluring the pair of them, “both know otherwise. And you know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe the aggressor isn’t Finnley. Maybe it’s one of you.” He spoke the word accusingly, cocking his chin up in utter disgust and disdain as he regarded the teacher in front of him. “It’s been made more than clear that someone with ill intentions can sneak into the school. But how? Who lets them in? Do you even care, about making this school a safe place? Are you even listening to our warnings? Do you find pleasure,” he growled, “in telling me I’m wrong? Last I checked, you still haven’t answered my question. Hiding something, are we?” he leaned forward, allowing his weight to rest on his good foot, tucking his hands in his pockets, as he cocked his head once more, raising an eyebrow with a smile. “Dancing around the matter only goes to further prove my point. You Slytherins are supposed to be good liars. No one taught you, apparently.”

“It would have been less time,” he continued in a growly voice, “if you’d actually cared to respond to our owl. Understandable, you’ve got kids to look down on. Busy, saving the world? We are, too.” He shrugged, gritting his teeth, his demeanor slipping for a moment – he was angry, and visibly so. “But unlike you, I can feel confident in knowing that I’m doing absolutely everything I can to solve this mystery. I’m giving you the whole story. You’re withholding information.” He was sure of it now, and there were no words that could change his mind. “Are our names really important? We are, as you’ve stated, just children. Children with eyes, ears, information. Why should you be so quick to assume that we want to play tricks? This emblem,” he pointed at the Lion adorning his right chest, “should be enough to tell you that we’re speaking business. We have our house’s name to defend, and anything less than that? Any indication that we mean to dishonor the man who liberated us from You-Know-Fucking-Who is a bloody insult.”

“What is it that you said? To not apologize for talking, clarifying things? Well, let’s just clarify one thing really quick. I’m not doing this for a laugh, or for glory. I’m doing this to restore honor in my house, and an innocent man. And to protect my friends from whatever the fuck is going on at this school. And I’m willing to go lengths for that, unlike some people,” a passive aggressive comment towards the both of his peers, “who want to dance around questions and insult me for calling people’s shit. I don’t trust you, Nora, because I don’t know you. It’s not like you’ve ever done anything to deserve it.” Coming from a child that didn’t trust easily, that shouldn’t have been a surprise. Still, it was strange, how quick she was to assume that he would just trust her with such important information, especially when they went through so much to get it in the first place. “You do get something out of hiding. Answers. Information. Investigation’s a two-way street, we came here for answers. Either you’re playing dumb, or are as ignorant as you’re acting. Either way, you’ve been no help to us.” He snatched up the letters on the table, gripping them in his fist with a stark ferocity. “You’ve got more important things to address? Off to it, then. You’ve certainly not got the safety of the student body in mind. And we don’t need your help to restore our honor. Jo, I need to speak with you.”

He was more than risking a detention with his harsh words, but to be completely honest, he couldn’t bring himself to care. It felt good, almost therapeutic, to get that off his chest. And, even if he faced the severe repercussions of his actions, at least the Professor knew how strongly felt about the matter. He would have no time to further consider this, however, his hand wrapping around the wrist of his so-called investigative partner. It was her, that he now had to deal with. Promptly pulling her up from her seat, he made quick work to drag her over to the bookshelves, far away enough that they both wouldn’t be hurt, should they keep their voices down. It would be then, that he would properly tell the girl how he felt about the matter.

He would start with a sarcastic remark. “You going to break my leg? I’d hurry the fuck up, we’ve got a case to crack." He stepped back, so that if she wanted to take such an offer literally, she could properly square him up. It was a legitimate offer. He was done, playing coy to preserve feelings. His palms were facing up, his pointer and index finger wiggling back and forth, as to provoke her. "Here I was, thinking you had your wits about you. You want to trust her, when she supports the killer and avoids questions? Are you bloody mad? Look.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to relieve the anger he now felt. “I understand you want answers. I want them, too. But I’m just afraid we’re going about it all wrong. Just because she’s a professor, doesn’t mean I’m about to trust her with evidence, especially when we’ve worked so hard to obtain it. The way I see it, we have to options.”

“Option A,” his face soured in the very slightest, “we give the letters to Professor Jensen. She’s a teacher, with connections. But we’ve talked to her. Either she’s hiding something, in which case we’re sending off the little evidence we have, never to be seen again, or she knows as much as we do. Which means, what, she goes to Hogs Head, and doesn’t find anything? And, what if she does?” he shook his head, an eyebrow raised. “Do you really think she’s going to share what she finds with, what did she call us? Children, I think was the word she used.” His words were uttered with pure disdain, his feelings for the Professor more than apparent. “Or, we go with Option B. I take the letters to the Hogs Head.” It was a legitimate offer, one he was keen on seeing to in its entirety. “You know me. There’s nothing I want more than to restore my house’s honor. I’ve bought a Fake Permission Slip, I look older. And I can take a third with me, someone with their head about them. Someone we trust, and that has the student body's safety in mind, rather than her own agenda. Aurelia, maybe.” He exhaled sharply, gritting his teeth. “That way, we’re guaranteeing answers, and we don’t lose evidence. Who knows? Maybe we’ll discover something the teacher’s don’t know. Like who the hell murdered Umbridge. And how they got in the castle, in the first place.”

“I’d have half a mind to just take these letters without asking you. But I can at least respect that we’re in this together.” A not-so-subtle prod towards her eagerness to sell their souls to the devil. “You’ve seen my case, and you’ve seen hers. Now, you’re cheeky, I’ll admit it. Your brain is telling you to go to Nora for assistance. But my gut? It’s telling me something else.” He crossed his arms, letters still held safely in his hands. “So, Jo, what’s it going to be? The Professor? Or me?” [/font]

OOC • Nora, once again, feel free to wreak havoc on my son. He's more than earned it, and on more than one count. Furthermore, Nora and Jo, I legit apologize, posting this just feels wrong. I love you both, and want you guys to know that my son's feelings are in no way my own. I only have love and respect for you both, just want to make that totally clear going forward~