A Rare Entry PV Finished

@Thomas Lestrange

She'd had the date marked down as soon as she'd gotten back to her dormitory after she'd come across Thomas Lestrange in the Study Room. Her original agreement to the meet had been tentative--she'd needed time to think it through--but it hadn't taken her long to decide going was both what she wanted to do and the best option. For starters, Thomas wouldn't have invited her to the Abandoned Toilets for no reason, and the location itself was enough to hint at something important, something that he didn't want overheard. Besides, there were also the implications of not coming: that she didn't care enough to get answers, that she didn't trust him. And while the second one was technically true, she was willing to give him a shot.

Since they'd last talked, she'd learned things about him, or at least heard rumors from a trusted source. Flash had warned her that Thomas was involved with the hags, asking her to be careful around him, to not let him take her anywhere. Agreeing to meet him somewhere wasn't technically letting him take her anywhere, though, and even if the hag part was true, their meeting location was nowhere near where she'd heard the hag covens were. To be safe, she had her wand with her, but considering it was rarer to see her without her wand than with it, that was hardly unusual.

The 13th had arrived, and so she was approaching the Abandoned Toilets a few minutes before the time he'd given. This would actually be the first time she'd entered that particular bathroom. It was, well, abandoned for a reason; from what she'd heard, it was grimy and the toilets didn't work. And when the bathroom wasn't completely empty, the inhabitant was almost certainly crying or otherwise having a mental breakdown. It wouldn't have been her first pick for this sort of meeting, but she supposed that was probably the point. Unless they heard sobbing, they'd be alone.

He was already there as she stepped into the bathroom. Glancing around, she decided it looked about how she'd expected. Dirty, falling apart, shadowed. Kind of weird it was this rundown when cleaning and mending spells existed. She turned her attention towards Thomas, who was leaning against the wall with what looked like a notepad of some sort. Maybe he had a list of things he wanted to say, to ask? She'd prepared to, although her notes were all in her head.

"Thomas," she addressed him, reaching an acceptable distance from where he stood. Their last interaction had made it clear he preferred skipping the pleasantries, which she was perfectly fine with. For the time being, she left it at that. She would let him start since he'd been the one to set this up. That likely meant he had something specific in mind and she didn't want to accidentally derail that by starting things in a different direction.

Thomas was left to mull over his last experience in this crumbling collection of stalls with remnants of stone, glass and dust scattered along the floors, mostly collective at the crevices on the outskirts of the room. The time of day did not matter, it was dim and without life, a pungent smell of expired chocolate frogs was the finishing touch of a room meant for the depressed.

A bill Thomas fit when he initially arrived, but steadily was working against with time. The boy was in a much better place since that day, where he attempted to hone his magical skills in a reckless downfall. Also to become an employee of Erin Ryan's dark circle, progressively working towards an opportunistic time to stab her in the back.

The memories did not linger long with approaching footsteps that echoed louder with each nearing step. The assumption was that it was his fellow Slytherin, Bridget Collins, who he asked to join him here today. Though Thomas stood wary until the visual of this new party was clarified. His eyes flickered up from his notes to find the expected company, offering a nod before closing his journal and placing it his slacks pocket.

"Bridget." The boy's expression did not change, simply offering a nod of respect at her arrival. Perhaps a hint of surprise seeped in, the boy tilted his head, taking her decision to join him as a sign of mutual trust. Or at least enough to understand Thomas was not here to harm her. "I'm going to tell you something, Bridget." Thomas started, pushing his back off the wall to approach her, stopping a few feet away so he could view the subtle changes in her eyes. "I suspect it may not be the first you've heard of this."

After approaches from those belonging to his house in addition to others, Thomas was aware word of his connection to crones was traveling through the castle's walls. Though the ones that did approach did not possess the tact of Collins, nor the apparent lack of judgement on her visage. Thomas needed a fellow student to confide in, and even given Bridget's standing as just another snake, he trusted she would deliver. "I made a deal with a coven of crones. They wander in the forest, sometimes past the tree lines and near the furthest shores of the lake."

Thomas would stop himself, surveying Bridget's reaction and allowing her reception to dictate how he would proceed. He acknowledged this information could be damaging, the possibility she walked away in disgust to inform a superior loomed, and he would not stop her. Though it would do little to impact his situation, Miss Jensen offered implications she knew of Thomas' troubles in her office last year. Yet she took no action, and even offered the boy additional responsibility that comes with the badge. Which begs the question...was Professor Jensen part of this, and could she be one of these crones in disguise. Thomas has only seen one of three, after all. Always three.

@Bridget Collins

@Thomas Lestrange

He pushed away from the wall, tucking his notepad away--perhaps not notes of what he wanted to cover, then, and rather something else entirely. His words, the declaration of having something to tell her, had her drawing in a breath of anticipation. Sure, what he had to say wasn't necessarily anything new, as he mentioned, but even just confirmation of speculation was enough to get her excited. Answers were, for better or worse, something she wanted badly. The word desperate might even fit, depending on the topic.

She listened carefully to his words, mentally storing away the details. "It's not," she confirmed; he was right in thinking she'd heard of an association between him and the hags before. These were still new details, though, adding onto what she vaguely knew of. He didn't just have contact with the hags, he had a deal with them. Hardly surprising since she was pretty sure with hags it was either that or being eaten. His deal was with the coven in the forest, specifically. The one Ravenclaw had come across last year, the surrounding terrain nearly killing them.

The most important part wasn't the information, but rather the fact it was coming from him. The word 'hag' had quite the negative connotation among Hogwarts students and a deal with one was the sort of thing that could instantly have you labeled as untrustworthy. She wasn't immune to the feelings, the mention of hags sending a chill up her spine. And yet, again, there was the significance of him telling her this. His eyes were on her, likely trying to gauge her reaction. Her own gaze had drifted past him and fixated on the wall as she processed. How was she going to respond? At a base level, her choices were limited: walk away or continue to listen. She opted for the latter, doubting much could be achieved otherwise.

Thomas wasn't trying to hide this part of him, at least. He had to have a reason for sharing. Flash's warning came to mind again, that he'd taken students to the hags, but it was too soon to come to that conclusion since he hadn't mentioned anything of the sort. Was he trying to gain her trust or something? Prefacing with his connection to such dark beings that might have been behind the spider attack and the resulting curse didn't seem like the best way to achieve that. What, then?

She had plenty of questions on top of that, too. Like what the deal he made was, or perhaps more importantly, what it had cost. That was pretty personal, though, and not currently something she needed to know. Asking for a description of the coven from someone with firsthand experience could be useful, but again, not really the most pressing topic. Looking back at him, she crossed her arms. "Alright. Can I ask why you're telling me this?"

His Slytherin peer confirmed sternly, a snake’s whispers travel quite fluidly through the castle’s walls. From Slytherin to Gryffindor, student to professor, wind of Thomas’ treehouse north of the castle now familiar. One of many seeds left to bloom through vast corridors, a confidant that would unlock the doors for eventual infiltration. From old to young, their influence extended with the passing of each day. Their time was coming.

Perhaps if Erin Ryan’s babbles were not contrasted with brutish conduct, her open comments about school officials would not come off as a radical’s dubious conspiracies. That did not stop her beliefs from festering within Thomas, day by day offered evidence to see it as reality. After all, the absence of repercussions for his well documented crone alliance was not met with any resistance from his superiors, instead...the acquisition of power.

Surely Collins could tie together the pieces of Thomas’ crumbling pride, and deduce the answer to her question. Her keen intuition has not betrayed her in this moment, perhaps she only wanted clarity. The boy’s exhibited a two-faced disposition, Bridget has seen it with her own eyes. The evening he scrapped a dilapidated plan born in the Slytherin commons. Yet despite his stand with Vladimir that evening, it did not deter the girl from sharing his company. Thomas could not blame her for this hesitance to engage.

His loyalty was a mystery, if not an aberration. A snake’s word was fickle, someone wise would place little confidence in it, rather surveying their actions for an honest understanding of the content of their character. Thomas has displayed, in front of Bridget no less, his words were used as a tool to achieve his ends. Even if he refused to accept it, Thomas was developing into the stereotype.

Why was he telling her any of this? A question that left the boy reeling, pressing his lips together, features formed into a retreating hang of the head, blue eyes found the floor. “I don’t know.” He admitted, unable to directly identify why he would trust her. Many factors came into play, her lack of judgement--even if just an act to extract information for herself, Thomas believed she would not cast him aside when given the full story.

She came to the aid of his closest and most trusted friend, Santario Martin, supplying his credence for her humane nature. The combination of compassion and respect for his boundaries were tell-tales that she was the right person to approach with his troubles. Yet his pride remained a firm obstacle in avowing his need for another in his corner. Always in his own way, impeding any source of aid with his fear to simply ask for help.

So the boy would leave her question mostly unanswered. “I said I wanted to show you something.” Thomas reiterated the initiatory reason for their gathering this afternoon. “I’m going to remove my sweater now…” He warned with an outreached palm, as if to de-escalate a presumably bewildered reaction. After taking a few steps back, his fingertips found the back of his collar, pulling the black sweater off and setting it aside. To everyone’s dismay, the top removal trend continues for Thomas Lestrange.

Without context, from an outsider’s perspective, this display might even equate to an awkward love confession. Hesitant boy, confused girl, lightly trafficked location. Fortunately, this was not the case. And the removal of his sweater was merely done in unison with him hiking up his left sleeve, turning the back of arm to give her a brief glimpse of a trident-shaped scar on his tricep. “She did this to me.”

He gave the brunette a few moments to view it. “A triquetra, myself, my ambition and my shadow.” Thomas mimicked the description auntie presented him with that night, pointing to each individual line as he spoke. “I felt it on Halloween, like she...was doing it again with a burning blade.” The boy released his sleeve, allowing his arm to turn to his natural position. “I’ve tried to get away from it all this year, I have.” As Thomas continued, he would not look at Bridget, but off into the distance. “I’m starting to accept that’s not an option.”

“There’s more.” Thomas motioned towards the set of mirrors in the abandoned toilets, squarely positioning himself in front of one. If Bridget looked to see Thomas’ reflection, she would notice eyes not resembling the color of his own, instead wide and black. His mouth would curve into a distorted smile, his mop of brown locks seemed to retreat, as if his hairline receded before his eyes.

With these revelations, Thomas would not blame Bridget if she chose to depart. His curse appeared permanent, and those that chose to associate with the boy may have only endangered themselves. Though if she chose to stay, this meeting would not be for nothing, signifying a rare step in the right direction.

@Bridget Collins

@Thomas Lestrange

His answer to her question? I don't know. He looked to be telling the truth, his body language mirroring what he said. She was hesitant to believe that, though. Why would he share without reason? There had to be one; perhaps just not something he wanted to admit aloud? Something his pride wouldn't let him state openly? Thomas was certainly something of a mystery, but she could count on one thing from him, and that was a sort of stereotypical Slytherin approach to answering questions. Everything needed a purpose, some end goal in mind. He wouldn't just be sharing for the sake of conversation.

He moved on from the question, not trying any harder to answer. She supposed she'd just be left with her speculation, then, which seemed decent enough to base her understanding off of for now. And he was continuing to share, which had to mean there was some reasoning behind it all. If he'd realized he really had no clue why he was telling her anything, he probably would have stopped.

She tensed as he went about removing his sweater. Between the warning and her own expectations of the thing he wanted to show her, figuring it was tied to the hags or something else of relevance, her brief instinctual reaction displaying something between confusion and horror was quelled. The location coupled with the fact Thomas was a boy made the situation... interesting. Uncomfortable, a feeling translated into the shifting of her weight. He still had a tee shirt on, thankfully, and she recollected her focus as she got a look at his scar. She would commit the trident shape to memory the best she could. A triquetra. Him, his ambition, his shadow. The she he referred to, presumably a hag. "What's the shadow supposed to mean?" The other two were straight-forward, but that one could've referred to a number of things. His literal shadow, the living darkness, the crones watching him.

Halloween, of course. She remembered the lockdown, most of it only vaguely. Much of the sitting in her Common Room had been eclipsed by the discovery one of her closest friends had been kidnapped, in considerable danger, and the aftermath of all that. She did recall two cries of pain, from Thomas and from Erin. It had been a worrisome thing, something going wrong when they were supposed to be perfectly safe in their Common Rooms. Their Head of House had dealt with it swiftly, though, so there had been nothing for her to do outside of watching before they disappeared into her office. So that had been related to the hags? "Erin had the same thing happen. Does she have a deal with the hags, too? That line of thought raised another point: who all had been affected? She only knew of Thomas and Erin, but if the common thread was a connection to the hags, and she'd come to the correct conclusion that Vladimir had contact with them, had he experienced something similar?

By 'trying to get away from it all year', did he mean escaping the hags? That being the case would say something important about Thomas: that he'd tried to step away. Whether his original encounter had been him seeking them out or an unfortunate stumbling across them, it meant he wasn't trying to be one of their minions, didn't want to be tied to them anymore. And escaping the hags not being an option made sense, too. She imagined the hags were not ones you wanted to cross in any way, and avoiding them could count as that, especially if he hadn't held up his end of the deal yet. Could he be in trouble, then? It wasn't likely to be something he'd come to her for, but other options were surely limited. Bridget was aware of the mistrust many of her peers held towards the staff.

Her thought process halted one more time as he announced he had another thing to show her. Following his gaze to the mirrors, she wasn't quite sure what she was looking for at first. It became apparent with a closer look; there was something wrong with his eyes. They were black, a little too wide. Disturbing. And that wasn't all, because his other features were off too. Thomas wasn't smiling, but his mirror form was, and she would not count it as a particularly pleasant smile. The last detail to stand out would be his hairline, which had receded slightly.

None of it was too crazy, but the image unsettled her. Over her time at the school, she'd gotten better at shoving fear aside and finding the right question to ask, the right action to take if the situation called for it. Tearing her gaze away from the mirror, she tried to do that now. "Does it do that in every mirror? And is that you or... I don't know. Something else."

As expected, Bridget posed questions that the boy asked himself. His understanding of his connection with crones was on the simplest of levels. Thomas now beginning to suspect it was all by design to keep him stationary. He could only join Bridget in speculation as to the underlying meaning of auntie's many utterances. "I'm not sure. An impedance that follows me. Possibly the weight of my losses." Thomas believed his shadow is what led to his pursuit of this deal.

The topic transitioned to Erin Ryan, who shared this curse with Thomas. Given their different allegiances, this status confounded Thomas. These covens acted independently, often prioritizing hostilities with each other over the Hogwarts student body. With time, it became more clear to Thomas that if the cards were played properly, these covens would destroy each other. Though before they set this war into motion, their endgame must be identified, and all of those caught in between their weeds.

"She does." Thomas confirmed, eyes still forward to view his discomforting reflection. Always subduing the slightest part of him that was concerned for Erin's well-being. The mutual bond between them spanned further than they would realize, and a path to freedom must be taken in unison. Otherwise, they will only fall to their own separate despairing end. "She's involved with a different coven." Thomas paused, pulling his sweater back over his frame.

"They gave her the ability to feel again--a heart, but like anything they give you...it comes with a price." A flicker of amusement breeched his visage, considering he rather liked the heartless version of @Erin Ryan. Straight-forward, stern and sturdy. With her new acquisition, her feelings have taken the reigns. They've dictated her decisions, placing her in numerous vulnerable relationships. For all her brute strength, she is so very weak. No longer a threat to Thomas, only a nuisance.

As if often does, the boy's reflection captured his attention. The image made him feel grimy, tampered with, no longer left to his own devices. The path of resistance has not granted him freedom. Like a private going AWOL in the military, he would eventually be found and given the choice to operate as in they instructed, or a future in chains with a permanent black mark that follows him around til his end.

"Yes, any reflective surface." Thomas confirmed there was no escaping his haunted reflection. It's a good thing the boy never made a habit out of styling the brown mop of hair atop his head, not one to be overly concerned with his appearance. Though for all he's revealed, it was his turn to request information from Bridget.

Thomas averted his blue eyes from the mirror, twisting the faucet valve, a belligerent stream dispersed into the sink, occasionally sputtering and leaving a mist to dampen the boy's forearms. He rinsed his hands, softly muttering to himself "Charming place." The boy cupped some water and lightly coated his face, avoiding looking into the mirror as he did. Turning his back to the sink, he leaned his frame against it, crossing his arms as he viewed Bridget again.

"You said it's not the first you've heard of my story. May I ask who's told you about me, and what they said?" A hidden agenda revealed, Thomas has suspected Jack Burnett to be the kind of whisperers amongst his house, but he's yet to find direct evidence supporting this. Above all, Thomas was curious of his peers' consensus, and how much of this story deviated from the truth. "I've been honest with you today, I expect you to do the same." A subtle warning, implying her access would end here if she chose to withhold information. The choice was with Bridget, to develop a thread of trust to build upon, or to go their separate ways.

@Bridget Collins

@Thomas Lestrange

Although Thomas had something different in mind than her guesses of what the shadow might represent--the weight of his losses, namely--it seemed they were all just that: guesses. A common thread amongst the things that kept happening, the fact most of what they had to go off of was speculation, tying together fragments of different things they'd heard or seen with their best assumptions. At least this time she was asking out of curiosity rather than a need to know.

So both Erin and Thomas had a connection to the hags, but the confirmation didn't exactly prove her theory. It was hard to say for certain the common element when you were only comparing two instances and the possibility of the hags having caused whatever had happened to them lost grounding if they were involved with different covens. The covens weren't working together, were they? She didn't think that was how they operated, but then again, her knowledge of hags was surely incomplete. Regardless, it was useful information. Erin had a deal with the hags, and unlike his own, Thomas divulged the details of what the deal was for. The ability to feel again? What did that mean? And, of course, there was a warning there, too. Hag deals came at a cost, she did know that.

So Thomas' condition--curse, maybe?--showed up in any reflection. That would be an interesting thing to explain if someone noticed. She wondered if it was yet another thing the Professors were either incapable or unmotivated to fix.

The conversation shifted; it appeared Thomas was done sharing and the roles were reversed. With the shift, there would be a pause. A stretch of silence while she thought. It was a fair exchange, both giving something. She did believe he'd been truthful, too; Thomas' method of dealing with questions he didn't want to answer honestly seemed to be giving a non-answer, something he hadn't done today. Bridget had no qualms reciprocating the honesty. But... well, giving a full answer to this particular question would mean involving Flash, something she was more hesitant to do.

What could Thomas even do with that information, though? As she recalled, Flash's warning was at least a second-hand account, so Thomas would have to look further to find where it had come from. If that was what he was trying to do, anyway, but it seemed likely. Rumors had to start somewhere and people definitely weren't routinely accusing others of involvement with hags when the ones about Thomas started. Maybe he'd had someone spill the secret, in which case it was certainly understandable for him to want to find out who. Besides, she got his message: if she wanted to learn more from him, he'd need something from her.

And so she started answering. "I hadn't heard a whole lot before today. Mostly just rumors around the school that you had a connection to the hags. I didn't put much weight in them until Flash mentioned he'd heard the same thing, as well as that you'd taken other students to the hags. I figured if he was telling me that he had a legitimate source and it wasn't just some gossip, but I have no idea where he got it from."

She supposed it was possible she'd assumed wrong. They had been discussing the trustworthiness of the staff, so Flash could simply have been erring on the side of caution. For Thomas, deciphering if it was a legitimate source would come down to if he actually had been leading students to the hags. She was curious to see if he'd address that at all. Granted, this was Thomas Lestrange, so she wasn't counting on it. Voicing the inquiry was considered, but it did seem to be his turn for asking questions and she'd already asked plenty. Maybe later.

The inhibitions of Thomas Lestrange dwindled in Briget’s presence. Her perception of him differed from the mainstream ideals, and her willingness to express trust and just listen to what he is saying has landed her in the boy’s good graces… for now. As she spoke, his blue eyes lay still and cold, his lips pressed together and arms folded across his chest. But when she provided a name, the boy let out a deep sigh, easing the tension in his frame and relaxing his body against the chipped stone walls comparable to a countryside motel.

“Thank you.” A first, these two words have not left Thomas’ lips on this campus before today. Positive interactions are hard to come by, and so are friends. Though Collins was well on her way to establishing herself as a person Thomas could trust, until proven otherwise. “Flash likes to talk, doesn’t he? Perhaps not as much as his dormmate, who I made the mistake of confiding in.” Referring to the chatter fox of course, but he would not reveal this to Bridget unless she asked.

Regardless, the girl’s willingness to provide an answer at the very least granted her access to more of Thomas’ information if she chose to pursue. With one swift motion, Thomas pushed himself off the wall to stand upright. He took a step closer to Bridget, blue eyes forming an intensity...a sense of urgency that was sourced from the boy’s fear. Fear of where his path leads from here. As if in an enclosed box buried underground, occasionally released to fool his subconscious and formulate the belief he was still in control.

“I didn’t want this, Bridget.” The boy’s voice cracked with a tremble in his fingertips, cold chills climbing down his spine to initiate a sorrowful release. Biting the inside of his lip forcefully, he fought off welling tears that threatened a release. An authentic moment to display his pain, which the girl across him should easily detect. And Thomas, as one that prefers to mask his emotions, would utilize this opportunity to take his leave. “I’ll see you around?”

@Thomas Lestrange

Having said her piece, she waited for his response. Would he be satisfied with the amount of detail? How much else might he want to know before the exchange was deemed equal? With the change of his body language from impassive to something more relaxed, she gathered she'd given him what he wanted. Indeed, he voiced unexpected thanks. Bridget nodded, a sort of unspoken 'you're welcome'. The reaction was notable, perhaps indicative of previous interactions with those unwilling to meet him halfway. To her knowledge, Thomas wasn't particularly well-liked or trusted among their peers, which could explain it. Funnily enough, that had a lot to do with his well-known connection to the hags, seen as unsavory and sullying his reputation, thus denying him insight into how that had become common knowledge.

She would provide no comment to his observation about Flash; it was a rhetorical sort of question, anyhow. Flash had plenty of connections, that she could concur on. Her answer appeared to give him enough to identify the originator of the information; so, her guess at his intentions with the question was right. This person was Flash's dormmate, someone sociable, and sounded to have been fairly close to Thomas, at least in the past. That narrowed it down quite a bit, enough so that she even had a guess as to who, though she admittedly knew very little of all but a handful of those in the rather populated Snape dorm. The culprit meant little to her, so no need to ponder on it for long.

Thomas had been moving around over the course of the conversation--taking steps in different directions, removing his sweater, placing himself before the mirror--but this time felt different. It was there in his eyes, the urgency and then the wetness. The serious, business-like handling of the meeting gave way to a shake in his voice that quite thoroughly caught her off-guard. It shouldn't have. She should have realized he wasn't just the front he put up, that there were pieces of a scared little kid down there somewhere, because of course being mixed up with the hags and now this curse had to be taking its toll. But no, he'd never before given hint of it and she'd missed it completely, apparently too caught up in her own problems.

Her eyes now opened, concern bled in. No doubt the whole situation had to be pretty awful, if not downright traumatic, a fact evident in his current expression; as he put it, this wasn't something he wanted, and whether that meant he'd been forced into the deal or had made a mistake didn't much matter. Hags were powerful, the Professors couldn't do enough. What he'd said about trying to get away from it earlier, had his attempt put him in danger? Considering the mention had directly followed discussion of what had happened on Halloween, they could easily be connected, a cause and effect, in which case, yes, the hags had punished him for trying to escape, would maybe do it again.

So many questions, but Thomas was turning to leave. She understood, she was familiar with the need to get away when emotions threatened to burst. Besides, she was too flustered to try to stop him. "Yeah." Her voice was softer than before, the time for analysis concluded. "See you around." Not long after his exit, and with a last look around the filthy room, she, too, would leave.

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