Through Fire and Water PV Thomas Closed

It was no coincidence that Thomas Lestrange emerged from the secret ball unscathed. Not to imply the boy is adept at surviving dangerous circumstances. He is simply seasoned to fear for his life, creating an aversion to panic when said circumstances arrive. The recently thirteen-year-old boy has only continued to part from trivial concerns in the way of truth. The troupe of vampiric buzzingtons dimmed in comparison to greater threats Thomas has come face to face with.

While many students were left in his hospital wing, an untouched Thomas would plot the next steps in his agenda. The ball held a rare success in furthering a reliable portrayal to an older Raven, developing a thread of trust Thomas would only attempt to strengthen as time passed. However, adversity was to be found in the form of his target’s blonde confidant. Despite the vast empty spaces in her mind, she could still identify a threat. The girl now served as the next steppingstone; one Thomas would be forced to prioritize. If Marion followed up on endangering his position next to Vlad, Thomas would be forced to handle her.

Lessons were learned that evening. From Ryan’s attempt to exact her revenge, or the kiss with a sting that surely surpassed that of a mosp. The many enemies Thomas has made impeded his success, forcing him to reconsider future approaches. The worth of allies was made clear. A small, but capable Gryffindor boy with a keen sense of self-preservation assisted Thomas in various ways. Another Slytherin boy kept him focused, a lifeless security blanket, but a picture of determination. Thomas would do well to surround himself with similar company going forward.

So here we are, the week following the ball, Thomas found himself on the shoreline of the black lake, planted a top one of the larger boulders with his legs dangling below. The cool breeze from the water’s surface did enough to counter the warmer temperatures that come with summer’s approach. It was Thomas’ favored position of contemplation, an area often traveled by the would-be 2nd year. And more well-traveled by the student body during the weekend. Still, Thomas was able to isolate himself enough from others for privacy.

Distractions arrived in the form of splashes and sparks from another that chose to submerge himself in the water. The whirring source of light the boy held appeared to be the source of the impressive fire shower. Thomas found the rock with his palm, scooting his frame to hop down from his boulder, rocks scattering from the force of his sneakers. He began a steady approach, a pair of vibrant blue eyes narrowing as his features came into focus. Fox? There was no shortage of red heads at the castle, though Burnett was the first to be considered when it came to the gingas.

The cautious approach may or may not have impacted the other boy’s tenuous stumble that sent the torch twirling in the air before it found a patch of dry grass. It left Thomas with a dry smirk as he neared closer. Firefox. Arising from the shallow waters was Tan, likely too preoccupied with containing the fire that spread to notice his presence. A curious effort of containment led to a wail of pain, the boy’s elevated breaths of relief(presumably) as he plopped besides his fire-stained grass. Clearly a theme for the pairing of Tan and Lestrange, torches, fires, grass, liquor.

Thomas stood at a safe distance, opting to end his silence. The boy surely would have noticed him by now, but if not, he may be startled on the heels of his incident. “What’s the phrase? Play with fire, and you get burned? Your parents ought to have taught you that much.” Thomas took careful steps towards the boy, descending to one knee to grasp the wooden torch. He rose to his feet, the smoke trailed from the faint ashy remnants that disintegrated, teasing to reignite with each gust of wind.

Despite the boy’s eventual failure, Thomas took note of the boy’s impressive display while it lasted. A reflection of persistence to hone his craft denoted a strong quality of character. As peculiar as his inclination to torches and fire was, the level of skill was something to be admired. “What do you call that?” Thomas took a few steps past Tan towards the waters where he had just displayed this fire show. He turned back to hand the torch back to Tan if he chose to accept it, a quirked brow of curiosity. “And can you do it again?”

@Thomas Lestrange

Sitting next to the spot of burnt grass and still smiling to himself, Ruka looked his arms over for any severe burns but none of the reddened skin was as bad as it could have been and the sting of irritated flesh was next to nothing compared to the things he had gone through in his time before Hogwarts, so it was barely worth taking care of. Except, a part of him thought, he probably should have if he wanted to keep up taking care of himself beyond eating and sleeping enough to survive.

He was almost about to reach for his bag to pull out the remains of his Burn Healing Paste when he could hear the soft patter of footsteps approaching across the grass. It was to be expected, probably, that he wouldn't stay unnoticed by his peers, not with all the light and smoke and fire he'd created. Still, part of him had been hopeful to be able to return to the castle without anybody questioning his actions.

The footsteps died down before Ruka could feel another person's presence, causing him to turn his body the direction of the ceased sound with a curious frown on his face. Whoever had approached him at least had the decency not to immediately invade his personal space like so many other people around the castle seemed comfortable to do. A possible show of respect Ruka could more than appreciate.

"They taught me, alright." They. He. A parent in the past, either way. The words were directed at the boy standing at a distance, a now familiar face going by various names. Funeral Boy, Tommy, Lestrange. Ruka hadn't seen him around since their first and last encounter at the secret Ball, but the name had certainly come up in conversation; How could it not have considering the circumstances of their meeting? "But what fire does not destroy, it hardens." A small smirk accompanied one of his favourite quotes as he pushed himself off the ground as if that would bring him at eye level with Lestrange. It did, for a second, while the other boy lowered himself enough to pick up the now extinguished torch, awakening the memories of the Ball they had both attended and most likely left unscathed.

While Ruka couldn't be completely sure that Thomas hadn't been harmed after they had parted ways, in the short time they had spent in each other's company the Gryffindor had come to take note of a few things that made him believe Lestrange had kept himself away from any unnecessary danger; Retreat to safety had been one of the first things Ruka had seen him do, a sharp tongue was sure to cut through any verbal attack, an inventive use of resources would have aided Thomas in his search for self-preservation.

No, there was no doubt in Ruka's mind that if there was one person at that Ball who would have escaped it without a scratch it would be Lestrange.

Rather than stepping into his space, Thomas chose to step past it as if drawn in by the black surface of the calm waters, a smooth magnet, a siren call maybe. Invisible hands and tentacles reaching out to submerge intruders, pull them under with a lulling melody. Explore my depths and drown in them.

The thought made Ruka step away from the water instinctively. He had had enough experiences with almost drowning for a lifetime.

Only a short moment later did Lestrange turn back around to hand him his torch, remnants of smoke blurring the transaction. The words spoken were unexpected, but there were few things Ruka liked more than a surprise. People are either boring or dangerous. Thomas Lestrange exuded danger with each of his movements, every blink of his eyes. Untrustworthy maybe, but certainly intriguing enough for the Gryffindor to abandon his instinctual longing for solitude in favour of company. If recklessly daring was a defining attribute of his House, Ruka thought to finally understand the Sorting Hat's decision to put him there.

"Fire Dance," he said simply as he twirled the unlit torch by his side, ignoring the way his fingers still tingled from the burns he had suffered just a moment ago. "Can I do it again? I suppose so." He hummed thoughtfully as his eyes drifted across the water surface. He hadn't been careful enough, had underestimated the surface he had taken for a stage, but he wasn't going to make the same mistake again. "It's Performance Art," he clarified, gaze returning to rest on Thomas' face, taking in the raise of his eyebrows that held a question Ruka thought not to be asked yet. "Not really supposed to be used for causing mayhem." Shrugging his shoulders, it was Ruka's turn to raise his eyebrows with curiosity. "Though I suppose you could argue that causing mayhem is an art form itself."

Semantics and definitions; words painted a blurry picture at best. Given Lestrange's previous display of creativity when it came to using the fire he had been provided with at the Ball, Ruka could only assume he didn't care much for the intended purpose of anything. Using something to one's advantage beyond the restrictions of conventionality was a talent few possessed, but Ruka could see it in Thomas' eyes, the quirk of his eyebrows, could hear it in the tone of his voice as he spoke.

Everything had its purpose but nothing was as it appeared.

"Is that why you came over here then?", he asked, straight to the point as he liked to do. Small talk was tiring, too riddled with hidden intentions, like a slow dance around a topic too dangerous to be breached. Ruka liked to step straight into the fire rather than tiptoeing around it. "A genuine interest in the art of Fire Dancing? I didn't take you for a lover of fine arts, but I suppose first impressions can be misleading."

Fire, when controlled, a powerful asset for any wizard. One that is peculiarly of common use by the school’s undergraduates to attack, or defend. Whether to flaunt one’s newfound destructive capability, or in the short Gryffindor’s case, a form of artistic expression. Leaving him planted aside the blackened surface in amusement. Relieved perhaps,possibly elated from the thrill of containing a fire that threatened to spread along the green surface. Thomas eyed the reddened marks on his skin carefully with a flicker of amusement. “Does it feel good to harden?” There were better ways to Tan.

A chance encounter of value, a true rarity. Escaping the overcrowded chambers of the castle is a recurrent theme for Thomas. Scarcely enjoying the company of others, with the preference to distract himself with the physical act of walking. Albeit in his mind, he was running. From lingering insecurities that arrived with the lack of acceptance from his peers. He was firmly in the middle ground, to carry the name Lestrange, the connotations of purity spat upon by his father when he took his muggle mother’s hand. An action that did not go unpunished. Now a construct of dwindling clarity for Thomas, fueling every breath to obtain the truth.

Tan’s value was established from the moment the pair met, even if Burnett’s influence had a say in the boy’s willingness to assist Thomas. From providing a flame shield against mosps, to ending a dance that may have outdone the scars from any burn. The cherry on top, though thwarted, was his attack against the irked veela. Who decided to hold Thomas responsible for her blindness, as opposed to accepting responsibility herself. The only drawback was the moment Tan walked away, a mild annoyance Thomas easily relinquished. It ultimately did not effect his success.

Without the context of intent, as beautiful as the twirl and splash had the potential to be, it was easily misinterpreted. Depending on the expression of the performer, the impression ranges from a hostile member of a satanic cult; think Indiana Jones. To a spirited young performer's artistic dance. Ruka would confirm this scenario was the latter as he accepted the torch from Thomas. He nodded towards the boy. “Depends on your definition of art. Is mayhem something you find...visually pleasing?” His lips curled up to form a slight smirk, before turning away once more towards the restful shores.

It was a calm afternoon, the trees mostly stationary, intermittently swaying with the soft splashes of water against the rocks. Thomas could lose himself staring into the water, it never failed to initiate his link to the lake. What was revealed here, combined with the largest decision of his adolescence. He was drawn to it, as if submergence would provide the answers he sought. His fingertips would travel to press through the fabric of his short sleeve shirt, resting at his left tricep.

"Is that why you came over here then? A genuine interest in the art of Fire Dancing? I didn't take you for a lover of fine arts, but I suppose first impressions can be misleading."

His arm shot back to his side, a reluctant turn of the heel to face Tan again. His eyes lazily followed his frame, traveling down to connect with the green-eyed copperhead. “More so an interest when it goes wrong. Might be best to have someone around to put out the next fire, ideally with a wand and not your bare hands.” With a cheeky grin Thomas began to remove his shirt. Yes, you read that right, was he normally this forward? Before the mind went to an undesired place, Thomas would clarify the intention behind this choice. “Nice day for a swim, I could provide this protective service.” The sarcastic tones are well apparent in his voice. “Would only be paying it forward.” A reference to the debt owed for Ruka’s help at the ball.

After folding his shirt, he placed it upon dry land. If Ruka looked carefully, he would see the scar on Thomas’ tricep he touched earlier when he turned towards the shore. Thomas removed his sneakers, placing them aside his shirt. “You made it out okay, I see…” Ruka did not appear wounded in any way, he walked and talked fine, the presumption he did not receive any harm at the ball was a safe one.

Thomas slowly approached the water, finding a pleasant enjoyment in the little things. The distractions that would deter his mind from the typically distressed state. Basking in the warmth from the sun against his now exposed abdomen, the cool waters relieving his soles from the hot and sharp rocks. “What do I call you?” He requested a name of preference, a level of respect that was not given unless earned. Tan has done enough to obtain this level of respect, but time would tell if he would sustain it.

@Thomas Lestrange

A snort, vaguely laced with amusement, was what followed Lestrange's question as Ruka looked up at him, eyes sparkling curiously as he tried his best to find reasons for the Slytherin's presence beyond simply a chance encounter. Maybe there weren't any, maybe he was reading too much into it, but it had been a while since he had been approached without ulterior motives.

"Downright exhilarating," he answered easily, eyes focused on the other boy, observing each step he took, each turn of his body as he turned towards the water like he could hear voices from there that drowned out Ruka's with frightening ease. It almost made Ruka tap a toneless melody into the wood of his lit torch, a soothing One, two, three, to regain a semblance of control, but the urge was suppressed within moments at Lestrange's words.

Is mayhem something you find...visually pleasing?

Reacting took him a beat too long, eyes staring, unseeing, into the distance as he let his thoughts wander to the mayhem that had come to be at the ball. His mind filled with memories, images still so clear in his head they could be happening right in front of him at this very moment; The fire, countless buzzing insects, the whispering, secrecy, students screaming and running for safety, spells cast not just at the aggressive creatures but at each other, displaying a lack of survival instinct Ruka could only scoff at. Focus on a common enemy, eliminate the mutual threat, then engage in a battle with each other. Surviving meant knowing when and where to pick your fights; It was exactly why Lestrange had impressed him by retreating from the one he had been involved in when Ruka had first joined their little group.

"I suppose I do," he admitted thoughtfully, eyes glazed over as he recalled the feeling of adrenaline coursing through him when the lights had gone out, when his torch had successfully caught fire. The excitement had almost been out of place, should have been dimmed by the smell of flesh on fire, Jack's voice calling his name, tear choked and desperate, but that feeling of finally getting to do something, finally being useful somehow...

Maybe it wasn't so much that he found Mayhem itself pleasing, but more the challenge of trying to find his own order within the chaos. After all, there were few things Ruka liked more than a challenge.

"If Mayhem is a form of art," he started, shoulders pulled up in a small shrug. "Would you consider yourself more of an appreciator or more of an artist?" The smell of alcohol, fire, a lit torch tossed onto the grass, great intentions with a disappointing outcome; Ruka would have given Thomas the title of an artist immediately, but that didn't mean he couldn't be fond of being a mere spectator, watching, learning, drawing advantages from the artful chaos as they befitted him.

Watching and learning was surely one of Ruka's favourite approaches to gathering information; It rarely involved actually needing to engage in conversation and having to deal with the countless brainless imbeciles moving through the castle.

With his eyes still focused on Lestrange, Ruka easily twirled his torch above his head, working solely off muscle memory, nothing that distracted him from observing the way the other boy's hand moved to hold onto his own arm, an awkward half-hug to himself that Ruka would have liked to associate with some sort of embarrassment, but he could tell that it would have been a wrong conclusion.

It didn't take long for the other boy to let go of his arm again anyway, turning with surprising reluctance as if stalling for time before needing to answer. Enough time to figure out how to muddy his intentions, maybe, pick apart a loaf of information to be able to throw crumbs at Ruka, or maybe he had solely been so transfixed by the water that facing the Gryffindor instead had come as a struggle. In any case, Lestrange was quick to display some cheek, a tease about the way Ruka had chosen to control his previous accident, the lack of magic used to contain the fire.

Defending himself was an option, but Ruka was not touched enough by the words to let them show any effect on him, face remaining expressionless safe for a small spark of amusement darkening his irises. For a second, Ruka raised his eyebrows when Thomas started to remove his shirt, an unexpected turn of events. He was not going to question it, would have been happy to shrug it off - The weather was getting warmer, they were close to water - but Lestrange quickly offered an explanation, no matter how drenched in sarcasm it appeared to be.

Well, if the other boy wanted to play bodyguard, Ruka wasn't going to chase him away.

"Alway appreciated someone who can put a fire out as well as he can make it," the Gryffindor mused, nodding his acceptance of Lestrange's offer. He didn't need any protective services, could have put the last fire out with his wand just as well if he had remembered that he was literally magic a few seconds sooner, but he wasn't going to argue the excuse to stick around the Slytherin a little longer.

Watching as Thomas folded his Shirt and put it aside, Ruka thought to have seen the flicker of a shape decorating the other boy's left arm. A scar, maybe, but none like he was wearing so many of himself, not a scratch or a burn, more like a brand, an image. Before Ruka could focus on it sufficiently, Thomas had spoken again, drawing the Gryffindor's eyes away from the peculiar scar. Maybe he had just been imagining things.

"I value self-preservation," he pointed out. Something he and his redheaded Slytherin counterpart had in common, even if their definition of it seemed to differ in a few significant aspects. "There was nothing left there I'd have risked my safety for any more than I already had." There was, but Ruka wasn't about to go into that mess. It had been cleared up well enough for him to move on.

"You seem unharmed yourself." Letting his gaze drift across exposed skin for a second, Ruka could be quite sure that there were no recent wounds, nothing that would suggest that Lestrange had come to any harm whatsoever. "Did you... Get to do what you wanted to?" Helping Vladimir had been what Thomas had claimed his intention to be, siding with the one boy nobody else had seemed to want to side with during the mess of the ball. Ruka wondered what had happened to him. Had he made it out okay despite the insistent and continuous attacks of students who had placed a target on his back for reasons unknown to Ruka?

Lestrange made his way towards the water, leaving the Gryffindor standing on dry, solid ground by himself. Busying himself for a moment with swapping his used torch for a new one, setting the tip on fire with a muttered spell, Ruka turned his attention back on the other boy just as he spoke again, asking for a name the Gryffindor was sure Lestrange had already picked up on, which meant he was requesting Ruka's preference.

Strange, not something anybody had ever done before.

"Ruka will do fine," he answered easily, offering the Slytherin a small nod of acknowledgment and gratitude. "I'm not scared of a name." Unlike some. Yet another thing that differed him from his brother-to-be; A carelessness with names that could have possibly caused Jack more problems than Ruka had ever intended for him to have. Hidden identities never stayed hidden for long, not if they weren't hidden from absolutely everyone potentially involved from the start.

Maybe the carelessness hadn't been on Ruka's part after all.

"What about you?" he asked as he carefully stepped into the water as well, exhaling a shaky breath as he made sure not to go much further than where the water grazed his ankles. Once he was sure to have found stable footing, he slowly started to pick up where he left off before Thomas had joined him, twirling his flame across the water surface to create a renewed firefly effect. "What do I call you?"

There was something about Ruka that averted the many stereotypes Thomas used to define their peers. Something the boy could not instantly place if he were asked, but the atmosphere around him was one of ease. After Thomas’ questionable display on the evening of the ball, no scrutiny arrived from the shorter red-head Gryffindor. On the contrary, he did not appear to care about a vow to the consensus villain of Ravenclaw. Perhaps due to a lack of knowledge about the subject. Or could it have been the rare art of using one’s head, not quick to rush to judgement? Or merely Thomas’ inclination to use fire tactics overwhelmed the flame wielder with awe? Yes, likely this.

The sheer consideration Ruka assembled in the Slytherin’s thoughts would lead to his tolerance. Until the inevitable chagrin arrived like many before him. Though Thomas’ deterrence from connecting with others was only a reflection of the cold reality within. When you strip away the cold stares, the harsh words, and the boy was left bare in authentic exposure, he was weak. His actions were merely defense mechanisms to keep others at bay, away from his reality. It has led him to garner a fearful and intimidating reputation. But when the sun sets, and the doors close to leave Thomas alone, he was only afraid.

An appetite for mayhem was a thought-provoking question, and one it appears Ruka considered carefully as his eyes traveled past Thomas. Perhaps lost in the birds that so nearly grazed the calm waters before ascending to find a place of comfort within a tree. "I suppose I do," Ruka confirmed his stance, a surprising admittance that left Thomas lowering his visage in his analysis.



Thomas did not hesitate to make his position clear. “Neither.” A swift response, but as it settled it began to fester within Thomas. He was not one to lie unless there was something to gain. Ruka’s reverse of the question that led to an introspection that sent a delicate ripple through his veins, a slight twitch in his fingers. Or was it both? His mind declined a sense of appreciation for the look of horror on his old friend’s face when he led her to a crone. “Unless we include internal mayhem…” He could see her eyes that night. It was not the traditional brand of mayhem one would associate, but the connotations are the same. To drive one to an internal state of chaos and disorientation. At least this was the way Thomas saw it. “In that case, you could go as far to say I have a penchant to be the artist.”

The amused tone dissipated, words leaving his lips without a glimmer of amusement. It did not take a scientist or even a therapist to have the impression Thomas was not proud of the things he has done for himself. This was the problem, wasn’t it? The mayhem he thought he created within others, true or not, has only attributed to his own subconscious. He was a victim of his actions, but this was not something he would readily consider. No, it was them them them.

Ruka would continue on his careful manipulation of the torch, the topic of mayhem faded behind the flames that whirred through the air. Sending a pleasant crisp smell of firewood to accompany the passage around Ruka’s frame. At closer glance, Thomas came to respect this dance more, offering a commending nod before his approach to the restful waters. A soft sound of amusement fought to be free, a rare occurrence. It sounded more like a whimper than a light chuckle. Thomas was far too depressed for an honest chuckle. Regardless, a sure victory for Ruka to achieve the release of guard and garner anything other than a snark or scoff.

Thomas’ feet disappeared underneath the dark waters, stopping after a few steps to let the gentle waves glide into his calves. Self-preservation. A foreign concept to Thomas, not to imply he was fearless, the aforementioned fear was the very thing he would run from. In any direction, danger included. Instead of accepting his reality, he would only deny, craving answers to satisfy what he could not change. The man he sought was lost forever, there’s no changing that. But the mind gets creative in denial, finding loopholes, entertaining fanciful scenarios. Like the magic of some old crone would lead him to his answers. “And is that why you left my side?” Thomas smirked in reference to when Ruka veered his course to assist with another. It was only a matter of time before he addressed this choice. “Self-preservation?” A flicker of amusement returned, denoting there were not ill effects from his decision. Getting away from Thomas was undoubtedly preserving yourself.



“It was not smooth…” A cringe stained his lips, recalling his involuntary kiss with a girl that squashed any chance she had with this interesting choice. Thomas turned back to eye Ruka. “It went as I meant it to, but it’s not over yet.” The firefox’s connections to Burnett implied the boy could know more than he was letting on. Perhaps seizing this opportunity to extract information from Thomas and continue to build a case. After all, no one knew more than Jack of his questionable involvements. Not that it was of immediate concern, viewed as a potential asset down the road. For now, Thomas maintained his trust when he did not reveal his identity to Erin. Or so he thought.

Given Ruka’s connections to Fox, Thomas would extend this trust to him for now. If Jack had bad intentions for him in mind, he would have shown his hand by now...right? “I’ll admit, I was not helping him as a sympathizer.” A given, something Ruka would likely discover anyway. It did not matter, Thomas’ actions need to be public knowledge if he were to succeed.

Then came the exchange of preferred names. Ruka knew what many called Thomas Lestrange, but he was the very first to ask his preference. "I'm not scared of a name." The comment stuck with Thomas far longer than it should have, his head lowering, eyes finding the water as he turned away from Ruka. Surely his intention was not to call Thomas out, but it had the impact as if he did. Unlike Ruka, Thomas was scared of a name, of who his father was, and of who he himself was bound to be. The name Lestrange was a Pureblood name for many generations before Thomas, until his father took his muggle mother’s hand. Forever condemned by many associates. And Thomas? Thomas was the seed that broke the line. There was no other way to put it, that’s the way it is.

“Thomas.” Ruka’s resumption of his fire dance was more than welcome, anything to deter the empty eyes that stared into the distance. Thomas continued into the water until he was waist deep. “How far do you think I need to go, before I disappear?” Ruka could interpret this question literally, he likely would. But what was on Thomas’ mind was beyond a swim across the lake. It was simple really, how far would he have to go before there was no going back?

@Thomas Lestrange

First impressions were misleading was what they said, and as Ruka observed the way Thomas held himself, how he reacted, took in the spoken words like he was able to analyse each letter down to its rawest state, he found himself thinking that maybe, back at the ball, he had been too quick to assume he knew the kind of person the Slytherin was. Underage drunk, quick to provoke, Persephone's own match in the delivery of destruction, mind as dark as the suit he had been wearing.

Instead, Ruka found himself mildly surprised to be dealing with someone who was so quick to deny his appreciation for mayhem, who appeared almost bitterly disappointed at the thought of having caused some, if only internally. It almost gave Ruka cause to feel ashamed for his own morbid fascination, but his ties to Thomas were fresh and still weak so he had no fear of the other boy's opinions. Instead of letting shame take over him, the Gryffindor took a small step forward as if getting a little closer to Thomas would allow him to see beyond flesh and bones, into the depth of his tormented soul.

"Do you find yourself creating internal mayhem often?" he asked calmly and without judgment. Were they not all responsible for other people's inner turmoil at some point? Was it not simply human nature to wreak havoc on each other's minds and souls? "Either way you don't sound like you are fond of your creations."

An easy deduction drawn from the loss of humour in Thomas' voice, the emptiness that replaced the amusement like a leech draining the words of any prominent emotion. What kind of inner mayhem had the other boy caused in others to leave him without the slightest hint of appreciation for his own actions?

"I suppose I'd make a horrid canvas for your artistry," Ruka added with a small shrug, regarding Thomas with a smirk playing around his lips. "Life has already painted all over me." Spilled its darkest colours all over his soul, drenched him in blacks and greys and a fleck of red urging him forward, towards a glimmer of light that would pull him from the darkness. Or so he hoped. Until he had reached that point, however, he was at least certain that there was no amount of inner mayhem Thomas could create within him that he hadn't already dealt with.

Watching as the Slytherin approached the waters, Ruka kept up a steady twirl of his torch, revelling in the thrill of the heat that washed across his skin with each passing second. The sound that escaped Thomas' lungs was difficult to identify, something pained and light all at once, a contradiction that may have been reflective of his mind had Ruka gotten more insight into it yet.

Venturing further into the waters placed Thomas with his back turned to the Fire Dancer, but Ruka was still able to hear his voice clearly as he spoke, a question that he had to know the answer to already, but the Gryffindor was not above answering anyway. "No," he said easily. Thomas' voice bore no resentment or judgment so there was no reason to treat the topic carefully. "I suppose I'd have called that loyalty." He could still hear Thomas' voice urging him to learn to think for himself and it made him shudder momentarily. Never had he considered himself mindlessly obedient, and the implication that he was almost stung enough to be somewhat painful. "I know where mine lies." A fact, not the suggestion that Thomas may be flaky about his own loyalties. Ruka did not know nearly enough about who the other boy associated with to be able to talk of who he appeared to be loyal to.

For now, the assumption was that Thomas was loyal to himself, and Ruka could respect that.

"Surely there are people you would make stupid decisions for, aren't there?" Ruka's voice was inquisitive but not pressuring. Thomas would be allowed to brush the question off as rhetorical but that didn't mean the Gryffindor was not curious about the answer. At the Ball, Ruka had been able to watch Thomas interact with multiple people, even if only from afar, but none of them had seemed to be someone who's call he would have blindly followed the way Ruka was willing to follow Jack's.

Talking of the Ball elicited a vague response from Thomas, barely enough information for Ruka to get anything out of it, but the few words he spoke were still considered carefully, with a toneless hum, a curious head tilt. Whatever plan the Slytherin had been following, his actions at the Ball had only been the start of it, a catalyst maybe to kick things into gear.

The fact that Thomas had not genuinely acted out of sympathy came as no surprise; Ruka still remembered doubting that as he had watched Selim moving away at a quest for one of those desperately fought for bags, seemingly at Thomas' request, could remember wondering why the Slytherin would want to help someone his night-long associate had gone to antagonise instead. "I didn't doubt that," Ruka admitted with a shrug, eyes focusing on the point where the water washed against Thomas' legs like it was trying to push him along, urge him in further, lull him to sleep to be carried off by the gentle waves painting pictures onto the water's surface.

"Why help him at all then?" he wondered as he rolled his shoulders to relax the tension in his back from the effort it took to keep his torch steady and moving. "What do you get out of it?" Because clearly there had to be an endgame; With all of Slytherin, along with some other House's wildcards, under the strict assumption that Vladimir was the villain of the night, it seemed like a horrendously stupid idea to stand on the Ravenclaw's side unless it was for the sake of eventual benefits.

Thomas did not strike him as someone who followed a stupid idea without the expectation of a beneficial outcome.

As Ruka stepped a little further into the water himself, water tickling his ankles, he kept his eyes on Thomas' profile, trying to study his reactions and expressions as he seemed to ponder the Gryffindor's words about not being scared of a name for a beat too long. The comment had not been directed at Thomas at all and yet it seemed to have an unexpected effect, like a tranquilliser, momentarily keeping the Slytherin paralysed.

Eventually he gave a preference, his first name, a decision that came as a vague surprise to Ruka who had become so used to the distribution of last names as a form of keeping people at a distance that he rarely expected to hear anybody's first name at all anymore.

With a small nod that Thomas was unlikely to see from where he was turned away from Ruka, the Gryffindor confirmed his understanding as he lazily kept up with the movement of his arms, the circles with which he dragged the fire across the water's surface like he was threatening to drown it only to pull away again in the last second. Shortly before their death the flames seemed to be the most beautiful.

Studying the water around Thomas and beyond him as if pondering its depth, Ruka let out a low hum. "You already seem close enough to drowning," he pointed out quietly before braving a step further into the waters himself, feeling the small waves hitting the skin just under his knees. "But I've felt the urge to go further anyway myself." An empty laugh escaped his lungs as a small mistake caused the torch he had been twirling to go too far under water, drowning the flame with a sizzling sound and a cloud of black smoke being carried away by the gentle breeze surrounding them. "You only disappear when nobody sees you anymore, right?" Whichever purpose Thomas had asked his question for, Ruka had never shied from giving depth to a conversation. "Are there people keeping an eye on you?"

What do you think the first to find oil made of this discovery? This oozing black liquid that seeps through the surface, overwhelming the contents of its environment. What was green is now tainted, blackened, contaminated, neutralizing all organic life it comes into contact with. Perhaps they thought it was the barrier between humanity and the fires of hell. Why else does the dominating belief perceive a heavenly kingdom is up, and the abyss is down, beneath our feet?

Do the contents of our heart also contain a matter of this texture? A blackness that arises upon impact after the heart is impaled from the many tragedies we encounter over our breathing days. How do we get rid of that blackness that rises from the pain in our hearts, as it reaches the surface it reserves a portion for itself. Untouched, forever tarnished, and beyond repair.

Ruka was digging, drilling...bypassing the conversational stereotypes a pair may share initially. Not a favorite color, number, or a common interest. Ruka took a step forward, as if reaching out to Thomas to graze that blackened spill in his heart. To understand why it was there, and how it came to be. Thomas did not move, frozen in place, just a slight twitch in his eye from the shorter boy’s question. For others, for himself? “Ask them.” Thomas deflected the question away from himself, to the other potential recipients of his mayhem. "Either way you don't sound like you are fond of your creations."

Thomas pressed his lips together, and could only evade the eyes of Ruka in this moment, finding the stony shores with subtle consecutive nods. He was not fond of what he had done, or what he was willing to do. The blackness that has corrupted his heart has made him selfish and afraid. "Life has already painted all over me." Thomas found Ruka’s eyes again in an empty stare. “Do you think you were chosen?” As if a presence resides above, or below, prearranging the fate of each individual. Minimizing the impacts of our choices, overwhelming us with the inevitable.

How else do you explain the death of his father, a man he held most dear. A man he would do anything to see one last time. “And what kind of painting are you?” Was he life’s masterpiece, or the painting left behind in a building that burns until the foundations have tarnished and all that could be seen is blackened ash that dances along the roads of indifference.

The water’s touch was a welcome distraction, a place that felt like home. Contrasting the colors of the shores back home in New Romney with a fitting blackened tint that infiltrated the blue. The site of a vision Thomas received that clung to his memory like a toxin. Beckoning him to submerge himself underneath in hopes he would get a glimpse of what he wanted. Then came the mention of loyalty, one of the few redeeming qualities for Thomas was the dedication to stand with those close to him, even if he only needed one hand to count this group. "I know where mine lies."

A declaration that Thomas was not within this circle, and why would he be? Acknowledging some fancy fire sticks was not a stable foundation for a loyal companion. “Dancing with one snake, following another.” Thomas recalled seeing Ruka with a fellow Slytherin on the dance floor combined with his aforementioned loyalty to the infamous fox. “Even the sorting hat makes mistakes.” Thomas shrugged, he too was a victim of error. All the drunk hat cared for was the blood, always the blood. Not the contents of our character.

Ruka turned the question back on Thomas once more, prompting a more cautious verbiage as their discussion progressed. “Surely.” Surely there were, his mother and himself. Thomas would remain silent on expanding further, having navigated the perils of discussing what he cared for the most with strangers. He would evade the heightened vulnerability that arrived with the topic, refusing to allow it to bite him as it has in the past.

Then came the inevitable questions that Ruka deserved an answer to, but only received silence...for a while. Thomas aimlessly swayed in the breeze for several moments before breaking his silence. “Closure.” Thomas had reason to believe Vladimir was connected to the hags, and much deeper than he. He was the next checkpoint to unravel the path to his truth. It was surely not the answer Ruka hoped to receive, but it was the one he would have to accept for now.

Thomas remained waist deep in the waters that gently stirred. Ruka’s voice became more clear, signaling the boy at the very least had traveled enough to feel the cool sensation on his ankles. The torch still whirred in his hands, but a noticeable change of tune came upon entry. “Does the water scare you?” Thomas turned around to face the boy who still delicately skimmed the water’s surface with flame. Thomas offered a nod to his careful precision. “Those bugs never stood a chance.” A small smirk played along his lips before fading away.

"You only disappear when nobody sees you anymore, right? Are there people keeping an eye on you?”

Thomas tilted his head with a weak shrug. “You tell me.” And with that Thomas let his body fall back, sinking below the waters until all Ruka would see were the collection of bubbles rising to the surface. For that moment, he had effectively disappeared. Thomas opened his eyes to see nothing but blackness, assuming a crouched position and reaching to the lake floor. He would spin his frame around several times, as if searching for something. Just a glimpse, please…

A little over a minute past before the pressure in his chest overwhelmed him, leading him to rise out of the water. “Did it work?” Thomas quirked a brow in amusement before heading back to the shores. The wind was much cooler against his dampened skin, prompting intermittent shivers. Though the warmth of the sun subdued the chills when it was not covered by a loose cloud. “Sometimes.” Thomas admitted offering an answer the last question as he took a seat next to his folded shirt. The water still dripping from his shorts onto the dry rocks below.

Looking down the lake’s shores, he motioned to a path that led towards the distant woodline. “Not people, though. Something different.” Thomas’ icy blue eyes focused the campgrounds. “Fancy a walk?” It may have been difficult to see from Ruka’s perspective, or perhaps it was clear as day. Thomas was looking for something. The site of his vision to be exact. And if Ruka chose to follow, we can only hope a certain Auntie was not around.

@Thomas Lestrange

Questioning the amount of mayhem Thomas found himself causing did very little to gain him an informative reply and Ruka responded by tilting his head to the side, an inquisitive hum escaping his throat as he mustered the other boy for a moment as if trying to figure out what else lay hidden beneath his words. Thomas's words were defensive, deflecting, steering attention away from himself and onto his presumed victims. "I care very little for how they receive your actions," he pointed out calmly, a small shrug accompanying his words. Wasn't it true that you were the one giving other people the power to hurt you? If any of them was a victim then only because they chose to be one. "I care more for your intentions."

Giving Thomas a moment to answer if he wished to do so, Ruka would move on from the topic with nothing but a barely visible nod should he only receive silence in response to his words.

His focus was on the other boy's profile, eyes following the movements of his head, barely there, potentially caused by the unsteady position he was in, standing in the water like he did, but Ruka took them as confirmation of what he had assumed; Thomas had no pride for the things he had done, none that would overshadow the expression on his face anyway, none that tugged his lips into a smirk or made his eyes sparkle with mirth. He was like an empty shell, doing what needed to be done in order not to shatter at the slightest impact.

When their eyes met, Ruka held the gaze confidently, tilting his chin up slightly to allow for proper eye contact, as if he could see into Thomas' soul through the faded blue of his irises, could somehow decipher the complexity of his being.

"If not," he started carefully in response to the Slytherin's question, gaze never wavering. Never had he been confronted with a question like that, had never been prompted to think about destiny and coincidence, about the great mystery of life and the plans of some higher power. "then I don't know what it's all for. And I don't want to believe that it's for nothing." Too many pointless struggles were handed out by a cruel twist of fate for him to put it down to chance. If there was no bigger plan, then what was there?

Nothing.

Living and dying for nothing, fighting and surviving without reason.

That was not what he wanted to hold on for and he doubted it was what Thomas practiced his artistry for either.

"I hope I'm still unfinished," he admitted quietly. However messy his canvas had gotten over the years, no matter how dark the colours covering it, there was a never dying spark of hope inside him that held onto the belief that a few strokes of a gentle brush could still save the picture life had made of him. "And I think you are too." A gentle expression smoothed out his face for only a moment, the hint of a smile stretching across his lips, eyes lighting up as if the thought was delightful in any way. If they were all just works in progress it meant their story wasn't over yet, they could all be heading towards a better ending than they expected.

Finally trailing his gaze from the other boy's face to the water's surface, Ruka allowed himself to breath out a bout of laughter at Thomas' observations. He was not wrong; The Fire Dancer had found himself making more connections within the House of the snakes than among his own pride of lions though he couldn't say it was intentional. Apparently the inhabitants of the House of the ambitious and the cunning were just much more intriguing to him than the collection of prideful felines he was usually surrounded with.

"I don't have much House Pride," he pointed out, a grin settling on his face as he twirled his torch skilfully across the waters. "Can't let a raggedy old hat decide who we are, can we?" People were not much more than mouldable clay, changing with the seasons, learning and forgetting, so what did it matter which House the Hat had sorted an older version of themselves into? Ruka barely knew that person anymore.

Assuring Ruka of the fact that he had his own loyalties, Thomas did not do much to elaborate and the Gryffindor had not expected him to. It was enough to know that the other boy did not act purely out of self-interest, that there was someone at least he was willing to make decisions for he wouldn't usually make otherwise. Merely nodding his head in understanding, Ruka decided not to push the subject any further. Just because he had been so quick to lay his own loyalties bare didn't mean that Thomas needed to make himself vulnerable in exchange. An even playing field was preferable but had not been contractually agreed upon so Ruka had no right to protest.

The word closure was uttered after a moment of silence that had stretched itself between them like spider webs, leaving too much room for speculation that Ruka did not feel confident enough to fill. "Are you any closer to getting it?" he just asked, genuine curiosity sparking his eyes. Just because it was what Thomas had wanted out of his actions did not mean he was anywhere near to actually getting it.

With Thomas' back turned to him for a moment, Ruka had felt safe in his assumption that the other boy wouldn't pick up on his own discomfort, but just as he was starting to relax, the other boy faced him again, asking for confirmation of something that was likely obvious to someone who was paying attention.

Clearly, Thomas was paying attention.

"I can't swim," Ruka answered lightly. At least for the moment he did not feel like he was at risk of being drowned any time soon, so there was no harm in revealing this piece of information. "And I'm not eager to almost drown again." Having experienced the struggle to stay on the lake's surface once was more than enough. "You could say I'm less scared than cautious. Despite everything, I'm not looking to die anytime soon."

Thomas' subtle appreciation for the way Ruka was handling his torch filled the Gryffindor with a surge of pride, causing him to offer the Slytherin a smile. There were not many things Ruka was sure of but his own skill with fire was one of them, and the fact that the Slytherin was acknowledging it - back at the ball and again just then - was worth harbouring some gratitude for. Whether it was meaningless flattery or not, at least Thomas knew to value skill when he saw it.

Unfortunately that would also make him a dangerous enemy should he turn out to be one.

For now, however, Ruka was content to see him as a cautious acquaintance.

Momentarily distracted by his own consideration of what to label his slowly forming relationship with the Slytherin as, Ruka found himself surprised when Thomas' body collapsed into the water, almost immediately swallowed by the blackish surface threatening to pull intruders into the abyss. A few oxygen bubbles were the only thing remaining of the boy that had been here mere seconds ago, and then nothing but the slightly disturbed mirror of water.

Ruka was tempted to move in further, had taken a step forward before realising that the confidence with which Thomas had stepped into the water most likely meant that he was fully capable of keeping himself afloat. He stopped himself from reaching under the surface, but his eyes still roamed his surroundings in search of the other boy until the water finally parted again, revealing dripping dark hair and unharmed skin. "For a moment," Ruka confirmed, his own expression slowly shifting from concern to vague amusement.

As Thomas moved past him to return to solid ground again, Ruka remained in the waters for just a moment longer, eyes focused on the spot the other boy had just emerged from as if he could find something there, anything that gave him a clue to what exactly he was dealing with, but the only thing he could see was his own distorted reflection staring back at him without providing any answers.

"Sometimes," he repeated quietly as if an echo would give more meaning to the word, slowly turning to follow Thomas out of the water, the wet material of his otherwise light trousers slapping heavily against his ankles as he moved. The soft grass tickled the soles of his feet as he stepped up next to the other boy, pleasantly, like welcoming him back onto safe ground.

Safe, however, seemed relative. Thomas' motion towards the woods and his mention of something different sounded anything but comforting, but maybe there really was a reason for why Ruka had been sorted into the House he was in because his instinctive flight response flickered only weakly before being replaced with an overpowering spark of curiosity that moved his head in a nod before he slipped back into his shoes and picked up his bag and remaining torches.

"Yeah," he rasped out, gaze fixing on Thomas' face, lips stretching into a confident smile. "I'm always up for a walk."

My intentions? The young Lion of reddish mane continued to weave through Thomas’ attempted dismissal. He was not the type to tread lightly around the bush, or preserve the bubble as it descended into solitude. Ruka asserted himself calmly, though unwavering, taking the bee line to the core of his question. The why and how it came to be. He expelled this component---they, and shifted the focus squarely on the snake. Thomas would turn his frame slightly away from Ruka, effectively closing himself off. He was not ready to let the other boy in.

Thomas would feel Ruka’s gaze even as he looked away. It was without interruption, as he likely would search for the signs. Words don’t always tell the full story, and if Ruka took note of Thomas’ body language--he would notice the shame that arrived with contemplating his intentions, and his actions. It would have disgruntled the boy if Ruka did not allow the attention to drift back to himself.

”It would be a shame.” Thomas agreed, being at the typical age of questioning. To teeter on the line of purpose was a dangerous one indeed. A world without consequences, without reactions. It was this kind of thought process that would lead one to lose touch. “Your scars have meaning.” Whether physical or emotional, Thomas stated his stance. Our pain is not for nothing.

“You certainly have room to grow.” Thomas’ eyes narrowed to offer a small smile, a quip to lighten the mood from this writer’s room of an Elliott Smith[RIP] song. It certainly couldn’t be the first Ruka has heard of his debatable status as a dwarf. “Aside from the colors, or the competitive teams, the houses are a barrier.” It was a belief Thomas willed to be. Sourced from the disdain for the house he represented, ever wary to avoid the footsteps of his father. It was a conscious effort to do so.

Generalizations are a plague, a mental block that can restrict our view of someone. Not seeing them for who they are, but judging them for the actions of their peers, class, social status...their house. It was poisonous fuel that did not give the individual their due diligence. To appreciate them for who they are, for what they are--unique. No two people are exactly the same.

The spotlight returned to Thomas, as Ruka delved further to increase his understanding of Thomas’ definition of closure, and if his bouts were successful. Thomas would stare endlessly into the calm waters. “No.” Yes, his answers were short sided, concealing the roots Ruka likely aimed to uncover. But his answers were honest, his actions have not led to any further understanding for what he sought. Perhaps a result that should warrant a deeper look.

It aligned nicely. Ruka stated his eagerness to remain above water, and to remain living. And Thomas demonstrated his willingness to let everything go for the closure he sought. In between heavy breaths to regulate his oxygen intake, Thomas resumed the conversation as if nothing happened. And aside from a few slight movements in the Slytherin's direction, he remained unphased--providing an answer to his question as he found his place atop a large rock next to his clothes.

Thomas perched himself atop the rock for some time, allowing the sun to slightly bronze his skin until the moisture from the black lake subsided. After Ruka accepted his offer for a walk, the boy replaced his shirt and sneakers, beckoning his Gryffindor acquaintance along the shoreline. Thomas would remain silent as they walked, intentionally attempting to outpace Ruka as a sign the conversation would remain on hold until they reached their destination.



The pair of boys’ would near the campgrounds, the site of a party for the disorderly almost a year ago. Blossomfest, Thomas’ first experience with an alcoholic butterbeer that might have contained the ABV of bottled kombucha. Though for an unseasoned 11 year old, that might as well have been everclear. Thomas halted his forward movement, drifting to the side towards the shoreline. Even if dark, he could remember the spot clearly.

Ruka’s patience and respect for Thomas’ sensitive topics would now earn him a taste of truth. “This is where I met her.” No, she was not his true love as it may seem by his opening sentimental notes. Not the way you’d speak of a lover, instead yielding a strong level of respect. “She took me under. To show me something at the lake’s floor.” It was still a vision Thomas did not fully understand. The boy lifted the short sleeve of his shirt to reveal a scar the shape of a trident. “Gave me this.” He muttered, blue eyes remaining on the location of this memory through each word. Fondly reminiscing at the taste of hope that has yet to come to fruition.

“And then I followed her into the woods...and...” Thomas stopped himself. Though there were no signs of who he spoke, there was no telling if she lurked in the shadows of the nearby woodline. “Maybe you’ll meet her someday.” Thomas smirked, knowing Ruka would likely be met with disgust. Far too damaged to serve as another tasty treat. “She’s quite nice, if you can get past the warts.” Thomas softly chuckled before internally snapping at himself not to tread any further. The boy wiped the smile off his face, turning to Ruka. “Best I take my leave now.” Thomas looked to the castle momentarily before turning away and walking towards the wood line. "Don't follow me."