In the Interest of Motives Closed

Interacting| @Vladimir Athanatos Mentioning| @Percival Gray

Outfit Reducio

The rain all day had been something of a dream; she had found herself staring out of windows when she would walk past them, wishing she could just lay under one and listen with her eyes closed. While it usually stopped her from being outside, the smell it imbued the air with and the calming sound, even if it was thundering, made it worth it.

San returned to her dorms after classes were over, changing out of her robes into something warm but practical. If there was one thing she hated doing was casting in her school robes, they were too constricting with specific movement patterns, and if there was one thing she wanted to be able to do while patrolling, it was moving freely. It was not unheard of for her to wear something similar to what she was wearing now, a long-sleeved black sweater topped with a grey pashmina wrapped around her shoulders.

Black jeans adorned her legs with her Prefect pin, and matching converse echoed her footsteps as she made her way toward the trophy room. Santario had come alone, or so she thought. She would have waited for an opportune moment to try and slip out of the common room without her patrol partner, Percival Gray. While she would not have wanted to lie to him, she would have if she had needed to, but even he had to go to the bathroom at some point.

As she entered the area, a familiar voice asked her name. “Yes, it is me. I am alone. You can come out.” The thought of him hiding in the trophy room would have been amusing if it probably weren’t such a necessity. People always seemed to attack him even when he wasn’t doing anything wrong, and honestly, it amazed her that he had lived to be fifteen in this school as it was. “I apologize for putting you in this position, but it is not like we get to communicate often or ever, for that matter.” Santario waited for him to come out. She had questions, as always, and she was more concerned that she had less time to ask them. This ball would not be as fortuitous as the last, and she had a feeling she would never get him alone again. This was possibly her last opportunity, and she couldn’t squander it.

Percival feel free to start creeping whenever.

He was not cowering behind a trophy stand, in truth he would not fit. Too tall, too broad,long gone were the days he could fit inside a cupboard. He was simply shadowed, the most comfortable where the light does not touch the dark of night. There was in spite of the gloomy trauma, the black curse that coursed through his veins, he found solace in the nocturne hours. A peace in the hours that most squander.

All the same, he would step out. He had nothing to hide. He was not accustomed to meeting people that were inclined to speak. He had too much pride to admit the awkward sensation he perennially felt. Always stand tall, don't give much away. He tugged at his sleeves, pulling the blue knit over the cinch of his glove.

"Nothing to apologize for," he let out a cough. His voice sounded hoarse as he coughed into his sleeve. He was not sick, he simply did not talk very often. "The concern is more the consequences those near me suffer, I am quite the liability," he tried to smile poorly as he made a weak attempt at self-depreciating humor. He eyed the door, the unlatched, tall wooden doors that were rarely if ever closed.

He would walk past her, his right hand reaching for the wand obviously holstered at his waist. The familiar, well-used length of carved chestnut wood was but a tool as all things were, one which he would use to lock the door once the doors clicked audibly closed. "Colloportus," a low, rumbling voice would incant.

Little did he know that Santario was followed. That there was an onlooker just down the hall, out of sight but not earshot. Who could see Vladimir in spite of the fact that he could not see him. The image seen from the hall would be concerning for the Slytherin's patrol partner. It was well-known that these were dangerous times, the early curfew and the paired rounding that Santario had on this evening failed to comply with this directive. Out of character, potentially lured to an isolated space minutes after curfew into a room that was rarely used. If Gray was there watching he would see the infamous Ravenclaw sealing the door of a this isolated room. He would see the lovely long, dark hair of the ever-familiar housemate. A girl that Gray knew far better than Athanatos, this being their second meeting in the course of several years. Certainly they were not friends, not even acquaintances and the rumors that swirled around the boy were troubling.

The muffled voice pronouncing the locking charm, the sound of tumblers rolling into place and the deadbolt sliding to the right. She was locked inside, alone with what could very well possibly be a monster. A fiend. The sort of man you tell children about so that they run to the safety of their warm beds in a futile act of seeking fabled safety.

"Assurances," he assured her. Not that he disbelieved the girl, he had no reason to as of yet. "You needed to speak with me?"

Interacting| @Vladimir Athanatos Mentioning|-

Outfit Reducio

Santario pulled her pashmina tighter around herself while watching him; maybe she should have worn a thicker sweater. “Pretty sure I cannot damn myself any more than I already have. I was seen willingly following you out of the ball only months ago.” As far as most anyone else was concerned, she had no real reason for following him out when he left with Erin. When he passed by her, she turned to see him magically lock the door. A hand ran through her hair, something usually done as a nervous habit. So far, this was the only thing he had done to really give her pause. It meant that if she needed to escape, she would have to take time to unlock the door, time she probably wouldn’t have.

“Expected, considering people seem to attack you without provocation.” A half-lie, she had not expected it at all, but the fact that her wand was concealed within her pashmina and quickly at hand if she needed it gave her a small amount of comfort. “Yes, a couple of things actually, and considering we probably don’t have a ton of time, I’m just going to ask in sets. Oh and, I agreed to be in a performance at the beginning of the ball… So you will have to just meet me there.” He could actually probably show up early with her, but she assumed he would rather meet there.

Oh, for Merlin’s sake, what did she all want to ask him again? Her mind had momentarily gone blank. “I guess for starters, why did you ask me to the ball? Where can I most likely find Jurgen lurking when he is not in Gryffindor? And perhaps, the most unpleasant question.” She hesitated for just a second. “Is there any good reason Victor would have walked through Slytherin’s front door on September first?” She would be observing him, unsure of how he might react, especially with her last question.

Trust was at a minimum, Santario was considering her potential paths of escape. A locked door meaning one less means to flee the rumored monster if things went awry. There was something about closed doors, barred windows, high places, and locks that people find disconcerting. The limitation, the knowledge that there was no place to go, the vulnerability that a space without words or actions afforded someone.

Still, she did not admit this. Her hand searched for her wand, a dangerous choice considering the fact that her thoughts were not hers alone. If he knew, he did not say anything. There was no change in his stoic expression, as they perhaps engaged in a dance of another sort perhaps.

“Yes, a couple of things actually, and considering we probably don’t have a ton of time, I’m just going to ask in sets. Oh and, I agreed to be in a performance at the beginning of the ball… So you will have to just meet me there.”

She wanted to skip past the usual tradition of being escorted to the ball. The awkward exchange of flowers and words. The calming walk where idle chatter gives hearts a chance to meet, to beat in cadence. The entrance, where a girl is allowed to feel lovely if for but a moment as eyes are on her. Well, not her them. He would have been there wouldn't he. He would have been seen there with her. Of course that was not wanted, he could find fortune in the idle tolerance he had earned for the time being. "Not a problem," he replied as he masked the disappointment in his voice with simple compliance.

He took a step in her direction, his legs were long so a single step covered much of the ground that parted them. There was a tension in his posture, the sort of thing that suggests that there was a steel metal rod holding him erect from his anus to his tonsils. His hands tucked behind the small of his back, an attempt to hide his own anxieties, to physically display the false belief that there was nothing to fear. That there was nothing to worry about. That everything would be fine.

“I guess for starters, why did you ask me to the ball? Where can I most likely find Jurgen lurking when he is not in Gryffindor? And perhaps, the most unpleasant question.”

She would barrage him with a series of questions, leaving no space for a verbal reply as she went from one to the next to yet another. A moment's pause, not enough for Athanatos to insert a comment, just a huff of air that carried a sound that was cut away abruptly.

“Is there any good reason Victor would have walked through Slytherin’s front door on September first?”

His face did not change, but he paled at the last comment. "Victor is dead," he claimed. No, he reminded her. "Someone is playing a cruel trick on you," he assured her. No, he lied. Letting out a sigh, deception so early. "I have not seen him," he added. A truth in this case. In a school with over a thousand students, it was no wonder he did not see the boy who was attending classes a year below where he would have been had he not died that day in August. He believed her but he was at a loss for what to say, "I would not allow yourself to be alone with... Victor." He struggled to use his late friend's name in reference to that... thing. The slight twitch to the corner of his lip was the first to betray him.

What were the other questions?

Something was pushing, deep inside Santario. It was not physical, but there was this psychic tug. This pull, this ebb and flow. This gentle tickle as if something did not belong. "I asked because I was in your head," walking, pacing, standing, staring. "Your thoughts," he corrected himself. "Therefore you were on mine," reciprocity. Prying, a bit of resistance before something would give. Something would crack. He looked down at her. She had painfully beautiful eyes.

Yes, he did stare. Not at them, through them. The eyes are said to be windows to the mind, a truth that is more accurate than those who use such a flowery statement. A gloved hand would slowly move for her, as if searching for something. He was sifting, rummaging, failing to sort whatever was in her head in a coherent manner as he skimmed over the surface. He was looking for a face, for another set of eyes. Yes, his mind was on the last inquiry while he spoke of the former.

"I also find you quite beautiful, yet lonesome in spite of the friends you have earned. That you feel alone while in a room full of people. That you have been overlooked," all truths from his perspective. "But I would like to see you," he she had not backed away he would attempt to grip her arm with a gloved hand. If she attempted to take a step away from him, the intensity of his gaze. He would step in cadence. As he left backed from him, his right would step forward to cover that very same ground. If her right, then he would bring forward his left.

"Hess is the private sort, he favors Hugh Lowe and Galton Lansdale," he answered her second question. His eyes appeared blank, as if there was nothing inside but that was because he was not there. He was looking in her head.

Relevant Roll (Contested Wisdom):
Vlad: 10
San: 1

"Please don't fight," his voice wavered. He did not appear to be exerting himself, it was more a warning. "I just... need to see him," he admitted what he was doing. Where he was looking. There was a lot in there, the girl had a lot of baggage but he tried to look away. To glaze past the irrelevant, at least in the matter for which he had come. He knew full well the consequences of seeing the intentions and hearts of those around him -- the truth hurt so much more than a sweet-sounding lie. "It looks like him," he would ultimately admit. If she backed away she would find herself backed against a wall. Unharmed of course, he was not there to hurt her although if she hurt him, be with with a spell or a slap to the face in panic, he would be far too immersed to evade.

All he had to say regarding the thing he saw, the boy she remembered was "you should run as fast and as far as you can if you see him again."

Interacting| @Vladimir Athanatos Mentioning|@Percival Gray

Outfit Reducio

He complied, something she was oddly used to with him, but it still made her feel off as if it should be out of character for him in some way. “I can back out of it, or you can walk me in early and watch as we set up. I am not avoiding you.” He had said enough times to her and made it very clear that he tried to minimalize people seeing her with him. It was not hard to suspect that this might stem from the very same thought process. Those were the other two options; whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not, they would have been the same options she had given anyone else she would have gone with. As he continued with her rapid-fire questions, Santario observed him as much as she could in the shadowed room. This was the whole point of talking in person when they could have kept the conversations to her head. She needed to see his face when he spoke.

Santario licked her lips and swallowed hard when he answered her last question first. He confirmed what she thought was true, and it made her blood run cold, and a hand reached up to grasp the white rose locket that hung around her neck over her pashmina, another nervous habit. Something she did when she wanted to pull strength from something. “I knew it was too perfect.” More of muttering to herself than to him.

That was when she felt a feeling she would never get used to but always recognize. Her eyes closed, and her face tilted down, brows furrowing. Instinct always told her to fight it; it was never fun having someone in your head to rifle through your thoughts and memories as if it were a well cataloged filing cabinet. Her fears, desires, nightmares, weaknesses, strengths, and even the things that brought her joy easily gained at a whim without any consent needed if he so wished.

He spoke again, and she looked back up at him. She had known of twice were there more? “More than just the tw-“ A question she wouldn’t finish as his eyes locked with hers, entrancing her, held in place staring up at him as if magnetized. Just like she had been in the middle of the last blossom ball. A silent battle of her instincts to keep him out versus his skilled fingers rummaging through folders, looking for a name to pluck out that would hold still framed images and movie reels in her mind. It was as if she didn’t even see his hand moving towards her because, just like Vlad, she was in her own head.

His following words, a distraction, even if honest, weakened her resolve partially as some of it hurt to hear out loud regardless of how true. “I have never spoken that out loud, but I know I am nothing special and living on borrowed time. They should overlook me. People who get attached to me will only get hurt in the end.” Perhaps, an insight for the eavesdropper as to why lately there were attempts to avoid or push him away.

His gloved hand would come too close, and instinct would kick in as she kept eye contact, but she stepped back from him. He followed in cadence as if they were locked within a dance frame, and it would not take long before her back met the wall behind her. She didn’t like to be touched; touching meant he was too close, and being too close meant he would be hurt because of her. Perhaps as he rummaged through her mind, he would sense the apprehension to be touched because touching someone broke down a different kind of barrier. “Vlad…” She didn’t know what she intended to say, letting his name fall into the room to be swallowed up by more information that he would give her.

cat and mouse only he was a much better cat than she was mouse. Each crumble of knowledge was like a piece of cheese, and she was incapable of resisting. Two names held her in place as she filed them away under Jurgen’s file. Part of her wanted to ask Alan about all of them, but she refused to get him involved with this. San wasn’t even sure if he knew her true goal, and if Alan ever found out, he would try to talk her out of it.

She took his words for what they were, a warning. Santario had a decent feeling that she would lose if it came down to a real battle of wills. He was a very well practiced legilimens, and if he were smart, he already knew all her weaknesses, or at least most of them. “I will not resist you anymore.” Obedience as she forced the memory of that night to the forefront of her mind just like the first time she would let it play out for him. Seeing Victor’s face, shouldering the door shut with all her might. She attempted to skip the parts with Percival in them. Hoping instead to cut to her talking to Victor as he sat in the chair. Her fingers felt for a pulse and the apprehension that ran through her when she felt what she did.

Vladimir confirmed that it looked like Victor, but they both knew very well that it was not him. “Vladimir, what are you not telling me? You always want me to run and hide. You of all people should understand I cannot, will not be that person anymore.” He had seen the memories of her parents’ deaths through her eyes. He knew what she went through better than even Thomas, who had physically stood in her childhood home. Asking her to run was futile.

Attempting to give @Percival Gray his opportunity to be the hero, I am just giving some exposition.

Victor Moore, his friend. His rival. They were not always close, indeed the first time they met was their first week of classes. Vladimir often sat in the front of the classroom and Victor for whatever reason chose the seat directly behind Athanatos. Victor did not care for Vladimir from the start, a consequence of the haves and the have-nots in this situation. Vladimir was a pureblood born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a silk hanky to his ass. He needed and wanted for nothing as a child and that was not the case for Victor who grew up poor, perhaps not destitute but not quite comfortable either. They worked for a subsidiary of the Athanatos pure-blooded clan. Daddy's special boy was not so special here at Hogwarts or so that was how it went those first few months. It started with little things, the back of his chair being kicked, the contents of his bag being rifled through and perhaps something of import found missing or in someone else's bag. The 'pranks' got crueler with time and back then he was just an eleven year old kid with limited exposure to other kids besides those his family had hand-picked, his coping mechanisms then (and perhaps still to an extent) lacked.

When he set his eyes on a muggle-born girl he was partnered with in class, Victor decided he wanted her more. He wanted everything that Vladimir had and Victor was more than capable of acquiring it. Yet everything changes when someone gets hurt. When someone really gets hurt. When someone feels guilty about being the potential cause and when someone goes to extreme lengths to make something right that never should have been wrong.

Nobody ever asked why spiders? Nobody ever really asked what he had done all those years ago as a foolish, jealous boy. How be fended off the darkness and dragged Marion and Victor both back to the school. He had set the darkness upon them because in that same darkened wood where he had pursued them in a covetous rage, he had come upon the crones. Corruption festering his moral fiber, he knowingly and willfully inflicted the darkness that wanted nothing of their owner so devoured his rival and the girl he wanted from afar. What he wanted was his barrier to Marion removed, he wanted vengeance against his bully and moreover he wanted them both, yes both to suffer for their trespasses against him. Marion was not kind to him also but in truth he never loved her, he simply wanted her like a possession to hold and to own.

Victory, their screaming, like a glorious opera he should have relished. He believed that he would but that was not the sort of man he was, not even at his then worst. Regret and shame painted his soul a shade of grey as he fended off the darkness that never wanted him. He brought them to the medical wing, to adults that could undo the wrongs he had committed. The atrocities. The envy-hued mistakes that would burden him the rest of his days.

The image of Victor brought a mixture of sentiments to Vladimir. Guilt, jealousy and rage among them as well as a longing. In spite of their misadventures, Victor was his first and only friend. Now he was cursed to live a redundant life as the visage of his greatest mistake is brought to life again and again, the same voice the same hopes, the same... The same but not! He would have to crush the life from him again and again. To live on only in regret of the suffering he had caused. To hunt down his greatest mistake and his truest blessing.

He had forgotten to breathe. Red in the face, he took a deep almost whistling breath through his nares. He could smell her, as close as he was. She was pretty as well, but-- this was not right was it? It was not real, it could not be. Even if he was, he did not deserve it. The way she backed away, she feared him. He could look inside and see, he could know... but he shouldn't. It did not matter, knowing or not. She should fear him, she had every right to. She should fear him for the terrible things he might do.

It looks like him. That was the best he could choke out. Laden with remorse, reluctance and regret. And also a warning to run. That Victor was not the one that she knew, not that she ever got to know the actual boy. Just a reasonable, pleasant facsimile. He had died but sadly his soul would never be left to rest.

“Vladimir, what are you not telling me? You always want me to run and hide. You of all people should understand I cannot, will not be that person anymore.”

"It's wasted," he announced "if you do not survive to fight another day." Needlessly running towards disaster without a plan or hope for victory just added to the body count. Heroics, pride and bravery mean nothing when you are placed in your grave.

@Santario Martin

Interacting with @Vladimir Athanatos and @Santario Martin

Something about patrols always gave him a bit of warmth inside, the fact it was talking to San on their journey or catching pesky students after hours was yet to be seen. Today was one of those days, and it wasn't long till they walked the same corridors all over again. Rolling up the sleeves of his black sweater, the prefect finished up getting changed and began to open the door to his room "Okay San, let's get this..." Gray said as he walked outside to see an empty common room. The only evidence of life was the front door slowly going shut, indicating that someone had just left.

At this time, only him and San should have been present in the main living room. Leaving early without him was very unlike his patrol partner, who knew well the rules of going alone . Gray double checked his surroundings as he jogged to the front door and peeked down the halfway. The faint echo of steps radiated back to him as San turned a corner, continuing her strange solo mission to a destination unknown

"What are you doing San..." he whispered to himself before quickly giving chase. To keep up he ran to the end of the hallway and extended his head around the wall, making sure he was somewhat hidden while he watched San enter the trophy room without a worry in the world. A few seconds passed before the door was locked shut by an unknown figure he couldn't see. What was the meaning of all this? most of the time San made sure to tell him she was going somewhere beforehand, something like this was unheard of.

Percival wondered to the locked entrance and firmly placed his ear next to the door. At first, he didn't hear anything but untellable murmurs, but after a few minutes, their voices got more clear and loud to pick out. Inside was the voice of San and the mystery figure, who was soon to be recognised as Vlad. Throughout the years at Hogwarts, he never really had a problem with the boy compared to everyone else, but that didn't stop him from finding Vlad strange. He was still a person Gray couldn't figure out...

They seemed to be talking about Victor first, and rightfully so. The boy had literally come back from the dead and showed up at their front door unexpectedly. Both of them also had their suspicisions on his appearance too, something of which he felt the same about. No just rises from the grave and shows up at a dangerous time like that, there had to be more to this that met the eye.

Then, something San said made him open his eyes a bit more. She mentioned out pushing people away on purpose and how anyone attached to her only got hurt in the end. Gray didn't really understand what she was saying, all he felt was warmth from the girl. Maybe it was the fact she was hiding something away that was harmful, but who knew right now. Saying that alone made him frown slightly, espically after all the time they spent together. Would all that be wasted in one second?

Inside, he could hear the tone of Sans voice become more and more uncertain. It was clear Vlad was starting to get to her physically and mentally. After all, the 5th year was an imposing figure when it came to talk and physical figure. He towered above San, and with him talking down to her he could only imagine how imtimdating it could be. Hearing enough, he gracefully pulled out his wand and aimed it at the lock on the door "Alohomora!" he said in a clear voice. Hoping the door would be unlocked, Gray suddenly gave the door a hard kick and entered in a slow yet calm manner.

For now, his wand would hang loosely in his hand as he walked in to witness Vlad keeping San against a wall, his stone cold face surpringly unmoved for now "Vlad, i'm only going to say this once. Step away from Santario, now..." he said sternlly with the grip around the wand tightening further. Whatever Vlad was about to do it really didn't look good, especially with how he cornered her against a wall like that "Forcing a girl half your size against a wall doesn't half look bad on your side does it Vlad? nor does it half make you look like a coward" he said before shooting a pissed off look to San and motioning with his head to come over "Come here San. I don't know what you saw in him but he clearly isn't actoing on your best interests..." the boy growled now before looking up to the towering figure without an inch of fear

"I swear to merlin Vlad, if you've hurt or made her feel uncomfortable i'll have no hesitation in slamming your smug face into the floor. And if you don't think I mean that, then you're really a bigger fool than I thought you were"

Santario would see a change in Vladimir's expression when Percival breeched the trophy room door. A grand, heroic entry that would cause any red-blooded witch to swoon. Vladimir knew that whatever time they were to have would not be long. He anticipated that when he was discovered that his intrusion on the girl's space would be met with aggression. This mouse turned man was listening to conversations not intended for his ears. Not that he knew exactly how long he was there or for how long, only that the back of his head was not that distinguished that it would be recognized without prior consideration as he valiantly called out the foul villain's name.

He would lift his hand from Santario, if he was in contact and comb his fingers through his hair in a straight back motion. "And why... because she is so sweet?" Look ominous big guy, intimidate. He would turn his head to look towards the Prefect. He gave the Slytherin an out, a way to run out of the way before wands were crossed. She did nothing to deserve his ire or suffer a consequence for this meeting. Vlad was tall enough that she could duck under his arm, scurry and run. "She was too lovely to resist," he claimed as he turned around to face Percival. He was in that phase of his life where he was a bit awkward, too tall for his own good. He tried to make the motion, the simple pivot on his heel appear smooth but it was choppy at best. A sad attempt at overacting that would likely be lost in translation.

Fine look awkward and nervous. The result is the same...

He warned her that being seen with him was not in her best interest. A prefect whose judgement was levied on the basis of the choices she had made would do more than diminish her in the eyes of what was likely his rival. It also made her seem less capable, competent and that was not worth the conversation that they had. It was his fault, as an older, larger, intimidating, allegedly powerful and dangerous man. No, according to the narrative that Percival would be left with there was no choice for the girl. She never chose to be in the Ravenclaw's presence after hours. At worst, she was ambitious. A core characteristic of their house. Don;t blame the woman's nature as it is your own... "You know that it is dangerous to patrol alone," not to rendezvous with him after hours. Just an overzealous girl that had started her patrol without her partner. A partner he could not help but feel mildly insecure about as he looked down at him. He was fine enough, handsome and heroic, a pureblood to boot. They had common interests, a common house, hours of time to spend together.

It was not terribly difficult to come to the conclusion that it was possible that they were intended to be more than friends. He had no claim to stake in Santario Martin, but he was dangerously possessive, jealous and in spite of his advantages, childishly insecure. Fatal flaws on their own, in combination they made a boy into a foolish, dangerous young man. He felt an ounce of distain for a boy he did not know for the virtue of the fact that he knew that in the end he was the one that was going to win. It truly was not fair.

"But now that you are about to play white knight," he did not have a wand in his hand but he still took a step towards the prefect knowing full well that a wand is a continually loaded weapon and that it was likely that he would fire. That Gray would forcibly end this encounter with the power possessed within his wand. Percival would play the hero, Santario the alleged victim in a story Vladimir was about to manufacture. "Truth of the matter is, some people are meant to play the role of the hero. Others the role of a villain... I found a pretty thing walking on their own and just had to--" Well, he was going to get slapped if he said anything more and while he feared no man he did have a healthy fear of the young woman. "So what are you going to do about it?"

If Santario professed that she had chose to speak with him, he would deny it. A shake of the head, a mouthed or stated "no," "untrue," a smarmy smile he had practiced in the mirror for moments like this. He knew how these things ended, when people got close. How they, how she would ultimately suffer for picking her associates so haphazardly. He would see her in a few weeks, tell another lie if need be if she was still willing to stand at his side. If she could forgive him. Understand why. If she could survive him.

Interacting| @Vladimir Athanatos | @Percival Gray Mentioning|-

Outfit Reducio

Wasted? He was becoming quite insufferable for the moment as he towered over her, his hand resting on her. She wanted to demand he tell her and stop acting like the stereotypical brooding dude who only ever drops breadcrumbs but no real information. Her jaw-clenched eyes started to narrow slightly as the urge to push back grew strong, but that wouldn’t happen.

The doors to the trophy room burst open, and the sound that came out of Santario’s mouth could only be described as a squeak while her head snapped in its direction. Only to be greeted by the voice of her patrolling partner Percival Gray as he demanded that Vladimir step away from her. So the Ravenclaw removed his hand from her and ran it through his hair. The words out of his mouth, however, would produce a grimace. Too lovely to resist? She glared up at him defiantly, now anger bubbling inside of her slowly turning into lividity.

But it wouldn’t be a slow burn as Percival shoved it right into high gear, demanding that she come to his side immediately. What was she, his dog?! Adrenaline-fueled rage coursed through her veins almost to the point of trembling. Was Vladimir trying to provoke him? Santario had enough and pushed herself off the wall putting herself between the boys. Santario drew her wand from her Pashmina in one graceful motion while the other hand pulled it off, allowing it to flutter to the floor. She refused to be hindered it she had to cast.

The first thing she did was point a finger up at Vladimir’s face. “First of all, just shut up. I will deal with you later.” There was the unapologetic moxie as she gave him a disappointed headshake before turning her gaze to Percival. While her wand was not directly pointed at him, her body was angled in a way that might suggest he would be her target if she had to. “Second of all, just who the hell do you think you are?! Barging in here demanding I heel to your side like some loyal beast. Vladimir has never hurt me.” Her tone was sliding in a dangerous direction; it was too calm even with her emphasized words. She was taking breaths deliberately deeper, trying to maintain control over how outraged she was. “I’m not going to play this damn bullshit game where you two puff up like peacocks and see who has the most feathers.”

She didn’t know what else to do right now, but she knew the situation that she was in had just gone from not as dangerous to exceedingly dangerous. While she was angled at Percival, she knew that she would need to ferula him quickly if Vlad got cut on anything. Others might not have been smart enough to listen to what he said, but Santario had committed every word of their conversation as best she could to memory.