Serendipity PV Dmitri Jones Closed

Dmitri Jones stumbled out into the hallway, flustered and bedraggled. Just a few moments ago, the Slytherin boy and his housemates have just got back to the castle from a long, tiring day at the Greenhouses. He was, then, looking forward to a heavenly bath just to wash off the exhaustion and the grime from the forced slave labor their Herbology professor decided to inflict on them. 

He should have known the universe finds some kind of way to say, "Hah, you thought!" 

Because, right at the moment they stepped foot onto the threshold of the Hogwarts castle, they were met with a barrage of sewer-water balloons. Needless to say, the once silent and tired group of students exploded in a flurry of shouts of alarm, horror, and disgust all at the same time. Overhead, a garishly-clothed floating man, with a wide, malicious grin was cackling and tossing what seemed to be an inexhaustible amount of putrid water bombs at the fray down below. Around him, Dmitri's housemates shoved one another aside in varying attempts at escaping a gross end--jangling the poor boy until he was pressed quite tightly into a nearby wall. 

"OY! You watch it!" He shouted over the ruckus as a first-year boy accidentally elbowed him in the gut in a desperate move to avoid an incoming projectile--which, you guessed it, ended quite unfortunately for said boy. Dmitri's classmate got a faceful of vile water just a few feet away from him, spraying him with some stray, odorous drops. "Ungh...!" The raven-haired boy pushed himself off the wall and ran to the nearest door, dodging a few rubber balloons on the way--leading him to the Small Hall where he was now hunched over his knees, trying to catch his breath.

Behind him, he could still faintly hear the poltergeist chant in its nasally voice, 

"Fidgety, fiddly firsties. Aren't they all thirsties? 
Need a drink? Let me think. 
How'd you like, I wonder; 
Fresh water from the sewer?" 

Another gleeful laugh echoed, followed by a few more shrieks from his classmates. Absolutely disgusting! UGH--Glad to have been out there, the Slytherin boy thought to himself as he brushed himself off and tried to make his appearance passable. He would unfortunately have to pass through the more frequently-used corridors smelling faintly like--he smelled himself, yep--dirty water. Squaring his shoulders and raising his chin, ready to stare down anybody who would so much as look at him, he proceeded to stride down the hallway--only to be stopped by someone calling out to him.

Dmitri turned, a tick quickly forming in his jaw from it being clenched so hard. He raised an eyebrow as he took in the appearance of the other boy--red and yellow tie, confident demeanor. Oh what house could he possibly be? The raven-haired boy faced difficulties resisting to roll his eyes. "Are you trying to be clever? Why don't you mind your own business?" The Slytherin boy said as he stalked haughtily towards the other person. "Oh wait. You are a Gryffindor. You never do." He chuckled darkly. To be perfectly honest, he was more angry at himself for letting someone see his little moment of weakness than the other boy's innocent words.

Dmitri would have said more if not for another malicious laugh echoing close by. His calm and haughty demeanor cracked for a second as he unconsciously moved a little closer to the other  boy, ready to bolt.

Max pushed himself away from the fireplace, arching a surprised brow at the tone and words from the boy. He'd done nothing to provoke the attitude - nothing that he could see, anyhow - but he realized he should've expected something like this. No Slytherin worth their salt would look at a Gryffindor and think 'Hey! Potential ally and friend!' If he'd been sorted there then he might've had the same sort of tone to anyone from the red and gold who'd tried to approach him. But beyond that...

"Clever?" Max repeated in confusion just as the laugh rang throughout the hall, clearly spooking the boy. Max's eyes widened as he realized the implications; there was actually a poltergeist messing with first-years? He'd thought it had been idle talk among the Common Room, or some first-year propagating the pranks. The thought of there actually being some garish creature going around school and pranking them was disconcerting, to say the least.

Max could distantly remember reading something about a poltergeist in Hogwarts in one of his history books, but that had been ages ago. Surely someone in the school would've taken care of that by now? He frowned uncertainly as the laughter grew closer, then wrinkled his nose at faint traces of... something. It appeared to be coming from the boy he'd called out, and if you coupled that with his words from earlier - Ah. It made sense now, and he most certainly did not want whatever the poltergeist had been doing to this guy to happen to him.

"I can't believe the caretaker is sleeping in the Astronomy Tower, either!" he said loudly, willing his voice not to crack as he carried on a conversation that had never happened. He thought he might've read something about a poltergeist fighting with the school's caretakers, and he silently prayed it still held. "Our year must be great if he's so bored that he has nothing to do!" A long pause, and only when there was no more laughter did Max allow himself to relax, hoping that was the end of it.

He let his eyes slide away from where the laughter had come from, resting them instead on this boy who had come in and started acting like he was god's gift to earth. He needed allies in Slytherin, yes, but he wasn't about to let anyone treat him that way, regardless of their reasons.

"You owe me," he said, affecting a bored tone as he pretended to take an interest in an invisible piece of lint on his robes. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that remaining calm when someone was angry could stop a fight. Or provoke one, depending on who you asked, but he retained the same tone when he looked up again. "An apology."

Dmitri flinched, startled as the other boy suddenly raised his voice--only to sag in  relief as the Gryffindor's loud words seemed to take effect, the malicious cackling fading away into the far distance. He turned back to the other boy, ready to swallow his pride and offer him thanks. "Thank y--" 

However, he got cut off as said boy started to drawl in a bored tone, picking lint off his school robes. "--Now, look here, mister. I do not know you and I have nothing to apologize for."

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes. "You think you're such a hero, don't you? Well, let me tell you--I know when someone's doing something for personal gain. You did that just now, not because I wanted you to, and not because you wanted to... save me. It was entirely self-serving," He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the Gryffindor boy, daring him to contradict, "was it not?"

Dmitri really wasn't a fan of the Hogwarts socialization system--nothing here ever comes without a price. Everything needed to be repaid, all things have conditions, everybody had to owe somebody something at the end of the day. Maybe the Slytherin was just projecting, maybe he really just didn't want to swallow his pride that far, but he knew he was right. Nobody did something for anybody from a sense of honor, nowadays--everything was just for profit. Damn capitalism and all it stands for, he thought to himself.

Behind him, the door he just entered from opened, admitting a professor behind whom trailed several of Dmitri's classmates, all of them soaked to the bone. Eyes widening, he raised the sleeve of his cloak to his nose. "Oy, you!" He called out to the Gryffindor boy. "Breathe through your mouth, quick!" Dmitri covered his nose just in time as the whole group of miserable first-years filed past them, sulking and probably not noticing the two conversing students.

For a few moments after the group has passed, the hallway would still smell strongly of sewer-water, fading away as the students and the lone professor rounded the corner.

Dmitri dropped his arm, grimaced momentarily at the fading smell of the sewer and grinned cheekily at the other boy. "Does that mean I don't owe you anything anymore?" The raven-haired boy chuckled mockingly. "I might have just spared you from that." He gestured with a tilt of his head at his classmates' retreating backs.

And there was that tone again, one that was somewhat infuriating thought Max didn't let it show on his face. He honestly wasn't sure whether he wanted to scowl or laugh - being called 'mister' was certainly an interesting thing. He'd been called all manner of things ranging from 'darling' to some words you wouldn't ever utter in polite company, but mister was a new one. He turned his laugh into a fake cough, trying to nod seriously because he had a feeling this guy wouldn't like it if he burst into laughter.

"Hm..." Max said thoughtfully at the next statement, because he was surprised anyone would even need to voice the fact that what he'd done had been self-serving. Of course he'd done it to save himself the embarrassment of whatever the poltergeist had been about to do. That, and if he continued talking to the Slytherin, he didn't want the other boy smelling strongly of whatever the poltergeist was throwing around.

He was about to say so when he was told to cover his mouth. Usually he'd ask why, but since the boy was covering his nose he decided that obeying immediately was the best thing to do. One step above that, even - he held his breath and watched incredulously as a bunch of sopping wet Slytherins tramped through the hallway. Yeah, blathering about the caretaker had certainly been the right choice.

He only allowed himself a breath when the kids had left, and that tasted utterly disgusting, never mind the smell. He pressed his lips together tightly to keep the disgust from his face, focusing instead on what the dark-haired boy was saying. He should be polite about the whole thing, act civil and say that they were certainly even, but...

"That - whatever it was - was gross," he admitted, nose wrinkling slightly. "So thank you. But you misunderstood. I'm not saying you owe me anything for making that thing leave, because I would've done it whether you were here or not. I'm no hero or whatever you think I was trying to be."

He shrugged lightly before coming to stand within an arm's length from the Slytherin. "I don't know where you come from, but where I do, being rude for no reason is usually followed by an apology. I don't appreciate being generalized as one of those 'courageous,' 'noble,' Gryffindors. I'm an Avery first, and that means that this - " He gestured lightly at the Slytherin tie the boy was wearing. " - is my blood. But since you clearly don't want to apologize and since I suppose I owe you for that heads up, how about we drop the manners and you just don't make that mistake again? That way we can both keep our pride and everybody wins."

Imagine this: You have been toiling for the whole day digging up plants from the cold, loamy, disgusting dirt and potting them into containers filled with more cold, loamy, disgusting dirt--your hands crusty from the debris that have dried. Then you had to walk all the way from the greenhouses, through the grounds, under the blazing afternoon sun, to the Hogwarts Castle, hands crusting up with dirt, robes stained with dirt, and overall feeling like dirt. All you really wanted to do was drown yourself in the warmest and most heavenly bath back in your common room and finally be able to rest your sore, aching body.

But no. 

Some freaking poltergeist had to ruin your fantasies for a good end to a bad day with a barrage of rubber balloons filled with sewer water.It also didn't help that your sore, aching body was jostled around, squished on walls and elbowed this way and that. 

To top it all off, on your way out of said mess, a student from one of the houses that you hate the most--for their bigheadedness and overall appalling personalities--had to ask about a poltergeist with that little up-tilt on the corner of their mouth that did things to your insides that you don't even want to know nor look at too close.

To be perfectly honest, Dmitri was rude. But him, having experienced all that? He had all the right to be. Today has just been an amalgamation of horrible experiences that now concluded in this confrontation between prideful individuals.

Serendipitous, indeed.

The Slytherin boy would shock Max with a cold, loud laugh after he would finish talking. Giving the other boy a calculating head-to-foot glance, Dmitri would then step forward almost to the point of invading the other boy's space with his arms behind his back. Leaning a bit foward, he stared closely at Max with his head tilted in mock curiosity. "Oh. You're one of them, aren't you." The raven-haired boy smirked and straightened. "Yep." He then proceeded to walk in a circle around the other boy. "Proper posture. Check. Entitled air. Check." Dmitri ended back up in front of the Gryffindor boy, albeit much closer this time. He reached out a finger to trace the other's jaw down to his chin. "Head held high. Check."

He stepped back and laughed coldly, nodding to himself. Things were much clearer now. "You're a pureblood. Let's not delude ourselves: you won't settle for 'everybody wins'."

Dmitri doesn't really know why he's doing what he's doing; riling up the other boy. Was he just trying to change the subject so he would not be obligated to apologize for his rudeness? Maybe. Was he showing just how interested he is in the other boy? Probably. Was he just taking perverse pleasure in the back-and-forth mockery and half-veiled insults? Most likely. All he knows is that he's waiting for how the Gryffindor's going to react and whatever that reaction will be would say a lot about him than he let on.

His offer had been a good one, a fair one, he'd thought. No apologies necessary and they could possibly progress to a civilized conversation about... something. To be honest, he still hadn't gotten far enough ahead to decide what to talk about, but it hardly mattered now. Max mentally let out a long, weary sigh when he was laughed at; was this how infuriating he was when he slipped on his mask of arrogance and started to play the game? Maybe he was just really bad at extending the proverbial olive branch.

Warily, he eyed the Slytherin boy as his polite arm's length distance was broken. He could feel his spine straighten almost imperceptibly at the proximity, and his expression went from open to shut off in less than a second, his eyes narrowing. No matter how much he tried to hide it, people coming too close always made him uncomfortable - once someone was close enough to touch, you were within striking distance.

He forced himself to keep still as the other boy began to speak, refusing to step away as he listened to Dmitri rhyme off the things that had been ingrained into him with all the expression of a stone. He couldn't really deny any of them - and why would he want to, anyway? they weren't necessarily bad things - but he also couldn't come up with any smart comments while he was being circled like a diver who'd just shown blood. His eyes flicked to the left, then to the right as Dmitri completed the circle. Too close. It took everything he had not to jerk back when the Slytherin reached out, and his hands balled into fists at his sides in an effort not to swat the hand away from his face.

It was only after a more appropriate distance was between them that he realized he'd been holding his breath the entire time, and he let it out quietly as he kept his features blank, letting the other finish. The words, at least, were familiar territory.

"Let me guess," Max finally said, his mask of lazy arrogance coming slower than he'd like. "You don't like us. What do they all say? We're inbred supremacists with a penchant for stereotyping?" He finally settled back into a smirk, the tension easing out of him. The wordplay, he could deal with. Especially now that he'd decided to give up on any pretense of being a nice boy. He wasn't a nice boy; not at all.

"It's funny, that that's usually the reason we get for people not liking us." Always, always, us versus them. If this guy called pure-bloods 'them' then Max's initial opinion of him had been incorrect. "You'd think people would realize that in their hatred of our 'stereotyping,' they're doing the exact same thing. But, I mean, that's psychology, right? Projecting your less desirable traits onto others so you don't have to hate yourself?"

He offered a half-shrug, reaching up to tap his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "You're wrong about what I'll settle for, by the way. It doesn't matter to me who else wins as long as I do. No offense, but your schooling on us is a little... lacking. You should really get a tutor before you have to learn it all the hard way."

Dmitri did not miss the way the other boy reacted to his uncomfortable proximity: the way Max straightened where he stood, the way the Gryffindor lost his ability to throw a comeback, nor the way he held his breath and clenched his fists to his side; every one of those minute actions was stark clear in the Slytherin boy's mind. Very much like the snake that he is, Dmitri could almost taste the tension thick in the air.

Max "Pureblood" Avery was strung like a bow fully pulled back.

Dmitri could deny it all he wants, but he also likes to win, himself--and this almost felt like a small triumph; getting the other boy flustered enough to shut his mouth even for just a tiny moment. 

The raven-haired Slytherin boy held back a laugh as he put on a massively choreographed pout and talked in a particularly whiny voice. "You wound me, Mister Avery," he said as he put a hand over his heart in a mocking gesture of offense, "by thinking that I be so shallow as to dislike you for being born the way you are." Dmitri shook his head and giggled uncharacteristically, as if privy to a joke only he knew the words to. "I should be the last person to judge you for that!" His giggle would turn to a full-blown laugh as he continued his tirade. "Isn't it funny how you're basically stereotyping me for saying that I stereotype you as stereotypical assholes?" That mess of a sentence made Dmitri snort.

In hindsight, Dmitri Kazimir Jones has been constantly persecuted as a child, because of the way he talked, the way he acted, the way he dressed. For being too timid, for being too feminine, for being too naive--things that he had no control over nor the power to change. It would be massively hypocritical of him to judge someone the same way he was judged. 

His beloved mother taught him to be better than that.

Dmitri wanted nothing more than to clench his fists to his sides with the way his thoughts took the path that they did--but other than a slight twitch of his fingers, the Slytherin boy refused to show weakness in front of Max fricking Avery.

"I don't hate Purebloods in particular. On the contrary, I am immensely over this blood-purity thing, and I, like most others, would like for it to shrivel up and die and stop being mentioned ever again. However, people like you seem to like to bring it up.

"No. I dont dislike Purebloods.

I only despise self-righteous people who hide their little, pathetic selves behind their few letters of a surname and the wealth and achievements and the prestige that they themselves did not have a hand in acquiring." Dmitri snarled as he glared at the other boy. 

"Tell me." the raven-haired boy would enunciate harshly, "Tell me one thing that you have achieved for yourself that does not have anything to do with your surname, or your wealth, or your influence, or anything related to your birthright--quickly."

He would not wait for an answer from the other boy before saying, "I would never ever judge a person for being something that they have no control over--birth, status, sexuality. 

But a horrible attitude? Lording the same things you had no power in creating, over other people for not having them? I will tell you exactly how I feel about that."

Dmitri Jones would then pull off his necktie harshly--wincing slightly as the piece of fabric cut into the clothed skin of his neck--before throwing it into the nearby roaring fireplace. The tie could be heard sizzling in the background, the smell of burnt cloth mixing with the pungent, leftover smell of the sewer. (The Slytherin resisted the urge to cover his nose.)

Yes, he had quite a flair for the dramatic. But he figured he'd emphasize his point.

"I dare say I know more about you than you think I do, Mister Avery," he would say, emphasizing Max's surname. Dmitri would click his tongue and shock the other boy by smirking slyly after quite an intense tirade. "And don't worry. I usually like learning the... hard way, if I do say so myself."

Oh, joy. A lecture. Out of all the things he'd expected from a Slytherin who seemed more mature than his age, a veritable tirade of anger at the bloodline political systems and things people had no control over. He wondered idly what constituted a list of things people had 'control' over. Did you have control over your beliefs if they'd been beaten into your bones? Did you have control over the way you walked when you'd only been taught one way? Did you have control over your subconscious judgements about people based on what they showed outwardly? Tell a person red is green their whole lives, and do they have control over whether or not they run a red light, thinking it's green?

Really, Max thought, as his smirk died and was replaced by a thoughtful mask, what did someone who'd had the freedom to choose their beliefs know about control? It was making a headache settle right between his brows, so he furrowed them and stared in a disbelief that bordered on amusement when Dmitri tossed his necktie into the fire. He wondered if he should point out that throwing away something worth money was the height of privilege. Probably not.

"Are you done?" Max asked, his voice quiet and introspective. "I'm sorry - my little, pathetic self didn't want to interrupt. Well done." He slowly clapped for emphasis, realizing he'd made a fatal mistake in showing Dmitri weakness. It was the proximity thing that probably did it, made the Slytherin think that he was a little boy who could be cowed at truths he actually already knew. People didn't deserve anything unless they could prove themselves.

It took three seconds to win the internal war he'd been fighting, and this time he was the one who broke the polite space between them. It still made him tense, made him want to claw his own skin off from how much it was crawling, but he forced himself to accept the feeling. It was a weakness, and it would always remain so if he didn't swallow it down. So what if Dmitri knew that it made him uncomfortable? If he used his own shortcomings against himself, no one else could.

"I can tell you more stories than you've ever read or could read about the accomplishments my parents have under their belts," he murmured, leaning forward to speak into the Slytherin's ear while he stared stonily at the paintings behind the boy. "And myself? You don't want me to have any accomplishments. You don't want me to be anything less than the devil in your eyes, because the things you have hatred towards aren't so easily fixed by hating them. It's much easier to hate a person than an idea."

He reached up to undo his own necktie, fingers gentle so he wouldn't cut into his neck. He pinched the silk between his thumb and forefinger, letting out a sigh at the richness of the material. "You're almost right. You know a lot more about me than you know." It took half a second to drape his necktie over Dmitri's neck. "But a lot less than you think."

He stepped away and closed his eyes with a long sigh of relief and a grin. That had been difficult. He was happy he'd been able to do it. Opening his eyes, he let out a small snort of a laugh, reaching up to tug the sleeves of his robes away from his wrists and spreading his arms. "There. I gave you my bravery. Now you can crucify me, like the martyr you want me to be. I'll accept the blame for all the world's problems, so go ahead and do whatever you have to. I just hope you're as good of a judge as you think if you're planning to pin everything you've said on me after a minute of us speaking."