B is for...? pv Jack Burnett Closed

@Jack Burnett

Persephone didn’t look back towards the sorting, where it felt like thousands of kids remained waiting. The howling of the strange hat still felt far away, as if it were happening in another room. If she took a minute to listen, she would’ve realized it was moving much slower than she had initially hoped. Her time with the young boy was limited, true, but it would not be quite as restricted as Persy would have preferred.

When she noticed the boy speaking again, as if her body language was invisible to him, Persy gave it her all to allow his voice to drift away in the chaos of the hall. As noises, cheers and yells enveloped the room, his voice could not be drained away. Her attention was grabbed, likely without intention.

This git didn’t know what a mudblood was.

Persy couldn’t stop herself from feeling surprise ripple throughout her body, but she soon realized it had been inane of her to assume how much knowledge of the wizarding world this boy contained. How, exactly, had she expected him to know? He was muggle-born. Those words, although the core of the insult, had somehow flown over her head, her voice acting before her brain, likely out of rage. To Persephone, the word was second nature. It was as common as words like ‘wand’ and ‘spell.’ As quick as this realization had taken place, memories flooded in like a tsunami. Aunt Olivia claiming that her boss was a “no good mudblood.” Her own mother begging Olivia to keep her mouth clean around the young ones. The soap.

Against her own will, Persy chuckled breathlessly, almost inaudible over the cries of the Great Hall. Briefly, she turned to face the boy, eyes gleaming with the light of a million stars. To her it was somewhat entertaining, to be the one to teach him common knowledge of the wizarding world. To prove she knew more, was undoubtedly better than he could ever dream.

“A mudblood is a muggleborn. Quel idiot.” Her voice, this time around, was soft. A less intelligent boy would’ve mistaken this as kindness, perhaps, but it was clear to Persephone that this was no dumb boy, regardless of what she called him. Her voice was soft with polite judgement, malice.

For a few overdrawn seconds, Persephone stared at him, once again watching with some sort of judgement. He seemed, too, to be lost in thought. Little characteristics bombarded her, the curve of his nose or the tilt of his lips. Everyone always told Persy to begin looking at the bigger picture, not get caught in small details. But isn’t that what the “bigger picture” really is? A collection of details that make one whole image, an impression in the rock?

Once again, she turned away to look at the table blankly. Boredom wasn’t ideal of course, but the sorting was tedious and this boy was a lost cause. All he did for her thus far was cause issues, and it was plain he wasn’t worth the effort of a lesson. This point that she repeated to herself was further proven when the boy reached for her hair.

“But mum! Your hair is beautiful, why can’t I have that?”

The feeling of her mother grabbing her hair and parting it so easily, perfectly. Only a woman sent from above could do the things she could do. Persephone’s eyes never tore away from the mirror as she watched her mother braid her hair, a side at a time. Starting from the roots and working her way down. The occasional pull against her then sensitive scalp.

“One day I’ll teach you,” She’d said, her voice dripping like honey, “For now, though, just come to me before bed.”

A minute had probably flown by when Persy came to her senses, elbowing the boy in his ribs, hard. She took her hair and pulled it around the opposite shoulder, running her fingers through the braid to allow the hair to fall again. It was messy, nothing like her mother’s works of art. The memory had receded back into the dark parts of her mind. The lonely parts.

“You’re mad. Don’t touch me, ever.”

To Jack's surprise, the girl finally decided to explain to him the meaning of her toddler-sounding insult, but its meaning was a lot more simple than he'd thought it was. Instead, it was his new housemate's way of turning to him with that peculiar radiance of delight that was most fascinating. It was the closest to 'happy' he had seen of her thus far.

"What?" He barked out a laugh. "That's it? That's just one syllable less. And it doesn't even sound that offensive! What a dumb term." He supposed it might have been like a lot of other profanity he knew where the actual meaning was a lot milder than the connotations the term carried.

Tilting his head, Jack asked, "So what's a 'quel' idiot?" Evidently, he didn't know French and had mistaken the word for some other wizard term unknown to him.

Just then, however, the full meaning of the girl's insult hit him. "Wait, how did you know I was muggleborn?" the redhead asked, astonished. "I don't remember mentioning that." He didn't think he had been obvious about anything he had said or done, either. Perhaps he had been wrong?

His thoughts were sharply interrupted by a painful elbow to the ribs. Jack yelped, dropping her blonde locks to nurse his injured side. He supposed he couldn't say he didn't deserve it, but he hadn't expected such a violent response. It was kind of amusing.

"Oh no! Is it because I'm a 'mudblood'? Am I going to get my mudblood cooties all over you, Your Majesty?" he taunted with a laugh.

@Persephone Barret

@Jack Burnett

Persephone chuckled to herself as the boy spoke, on a slight rant about the phrase and its uselessness. Persy could not deny his point, it was only a syllable less and sounded rather childish, but muggle-born on it’s own didn’t taste sour escaping your lips. You don’t accomplish anything by telling someone where they come from, it’s not about that, it was about reminding them how insignificant that made them.

Wordlessly, she took that back. For her, it wasn’t about the offense or cruelty. It was, for Persephone, a self esteem related habit. Her words and beliefs were the isolated thing in her life that made her feel important, as if she wasn’t a background character in her own endeavors. Being a pureblood was futile unless you could feel special, and she would never let the sparks that feeling gave her simmer out.

She had successfully pushed his voice away until she realized he had asked her a question. Another giggle came from her throat, this one louder than the last.

“You’re only proving my point by having to ask. It’s French, my ignorant housemate. It means ‘what an idiot.’” Her eyes rolled and she turned away once again, eager to let the conversation dull and cease. Persephone understood now that there was no hope in redeeming this boy.

Another question. She wondered to herself if he would ever give up and share her need to end this interaction. The seat she had taken was beginning to feel uncomfortable, but the sorting dragged on, her peers unaware of her miserable time.

“You’re not cryptic. All it took was a little wit and I figured it out.” Her voice was confident, cocky even. This redheaded boy had either significantly underestimated her or overestimated himself. Both, she decided. Looking him up and down, there was no doubt that this boy was the overzealous type to make such simple mistakes.

While Persephone had been pushing against the confining walls, drowning in her own self-assured thoughts, he had gone back to whom she had expected, someone who mocked her. Mocking, she thought, is so first grade.

“I don’t like anyone touching my hair, for your information.” Persy retorted without hesitation, a wave of regret falling over her. She silently wondered if she had exposed herself too much, something she couldn’t come back from.

It was fine, though, she decided. Even superiors had their pet peeves, and nothing had changed just then. If anything, she had warned him ever so subtly.

I dare you to touch my hair again, you will be sorry.

There it was again; the blonde was laughing. Well, chuckles and giggles, but still a sort of laughter. Jack had to refrain from smiling at what he considered a triumph.

"Well excuse me for not knowing French," he answered, feigning indignance. "I didn't know that made me an idiot." Then as if an afterthought, he added, "Wait, did you just acknoweldge me as your housemate?"

Though the girl seemed to enjoy pretending that she wanted nothing more to do with him, it did not escape Jack that she continued to turn to converse and answer his questions when he tried to talk to her. Furthermore, he was determined to know just how she had learned what he was. Racking his brains, he was quite sure he hadn't said anything to directly give it away. There was one thing he'd said that he thought she might have been able to deduce it from, but again, that would have taken brains and more attention to his words than she had pretended to give.

"I wasn't trying to be cryptic. I just want to know what kind of wits you used to figure it out," Jack told her with a crooked grin. "You...do know that now I can't leave you alone until you tell me how you found out, right?" He wasn't used to his peers exercising their critical thinking skills. He may have underestimated her and overestimated himself, but it was a pleasant surprise. Perhaps the students at this school might have been an improvement over the students at his muggle schools after all.

At the blonde's comment about not liking anyone touching her hair, Jack regarded her musingly. "Mmmhmm," he noted. "...Are you sure it's not that you just don't like anyone, period?"

Without bothering to wait for much of a response, Jack continued, "Well, while we're sharing things we don't like, I don't like being bored and I don't like being ignored. So as long as you keep those in mind, I'll do the same with yours. Sound fair?"

@Persephone Barret

@Jack Burnett

Without thinking, a small smile spread across Persephone’s lips as he responded, though her eyes still stared at him in a twisted mix of pity and disappointment. For a moment, she pondered over their unfamiliarity with each other when blended with the strange details she continued to deduce.

Suddenly, she wished she’d paid more attention to his sorting.

“First of all, it wasn’t difficult French. Second, I can’t deny any longer- '' She dramatically lifted a hand to her face and gasped in an act of pretend exasperation, “-that you are, sadly, my housemate. I can continue to question your validity for the rest of our knowing each other.”

Persephone couldn’t deny that she was no longer bored when speaking with him, that he did, at the very least, give her something to do. Her finger remained tracing patterns on the table as she watched him for a moment, silently questioning him and his past. Old thoughts began to creep upon her again: what did the sorting hat see in this insignificant, overzealous ginger that Persephone could not grasp? Perhaps, whatever was there, she was only blind to because she was afraid to see it. Afraid that someone may be as valid as her.

But she’s not ready for that conversation yet.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” she replied, laughing tauntingly, “you basically told me. You didn’t understand the sorting, a core thing at this school. You’ve got a Welsh accent. If your parents were both wizards and Welsh, they would’ve gone to Hogwarts. Are you seeing how I figured this out yet, or do I need to dumb it down?”

It was no secret that Persephone adored herself, and prided herself immensely with her powers of deduction. The simple fact that she had to explain this to him- oh, the joy! Hardly able to contain herself, she grinned wide and tilted her head in satisfaction.

At his (hopefully) joke about her dislike of people, her overwhelming grin reduced itself to a smirk. It was slightly true, but really it wasn’t. Persy just had high standards, and she deserved to maintain those after how her life had been going. Justification wasn’t something he was owed, nor was anyone.

At his final comment, Persy couldn’t suppress an eyeroll. “Whatever. If that’s your way of telling me you won’t be touching my hair again, then fine. What sounds fair to me is you not invading people's space. But like I said-" another exasperated sigh here- "-whatever."

"French is French. It doesn't matter how difficult or easy it is if I don't know it, now, does it?" Jack answered matter-of-factly. "But ignorance is temporary while stupid is forever, so at least I've learned what that word means now and I'm one word less ignorant of that language." He smirked at her. "And two words less ignorant in general if you count 'mudblood'. So thanks for that."

The girl's antics of pretending to gasp made Jack laugh this time. He was glad to know she had more of a sense of humor than she had seemed to show. Perhaps it had just taken some time for her to decide to show it. "That's fair," he agreed at her comment of continuing to question his validity. "But we still don't know each other's names, unless you were paying better attention to that than I was, which I highly doubt." Continuing to sneer, he asked, "So...can we really say we've started 'knowing' each other at all if we don't even know who we're speaking to?"

With an admiring smile, the redhead nodded slowly as the girl explained her deduction. "Ahh...clever; very clever. More calculated than the guesses in the dark I thought you might have been making instead," Jack admitted. He could tell she relished in sharing her cleverness with him, but how could he blame her? He often felt the same. It was just difficult to get someone to admire your cleverness when they were too dense to understand it even when you explained it to them. It also gave him an idea of what might have made her start to open up to him rather than continue to ignore him as she had been doing.

Feeling very mischevious all of a sudden, Jack continued to grin his boyish grin more broadly than ever at the girl. "Oh no; that's just my way of telling you that if you respect my wishes, I'll respect yours. You didn't say anything about not invading peoples' space. However," he added, holding up an index finger, "You shared with me a good deal of information, so I'll grant you three favors in return. One for telling me about the term 'mudblood', one for 'quel', and one for explaining how you found out I was muggle-born."

Smirking slyly at her, he continued, "Whatever favors you ask of me have to be something I agree to - something equivalent to what you gave me first. So for example, the first two might be less than the last. But you don't have to use these favors up all now; you can keep them for as long as we know each other. I just prefer to settle my debts as soon as possible." Inclining his head toward the girl, he asked, "So, what will it be? Did you want me to leave your hair alone for the rest of eternity? Never to speak another word to you again, perhaps?"

@Persephone Barret

@Jack Burnett

Persephone’s lungs felt that familiar pressure, her body's way of reminding her to breathe. But her mind had frozen, glitched somehow, and she didn’t want to move too much. Breaking this trance, she quirked an eyebrow, wary of the boy’s changing tone. If it weren’t one of her deepest fears, her conscious might have registered that her own manner of speaking had begun to shift as well, into something less dehumanizing and more joking. Joking, she knew, was a doorway that lead to friendly. Friendly was the bone-chilling passage that led inevitably to The Enemy, connection. 

It doesn’t have to be that way. I can be nice without being vulnerable.

Can’t I?

At his remarks, she smirked back tauntingly. “Finally! The thanks I deserve.” Without mentioning it, Persy admired his statements, inferring he was willing to become educated. That, she thought, is a good quality for a muggle-born.

When he laughed, the fear returned, but she suppressed that for now. Just as she did everything else. “My name is Persephone Barret. I think I’m owed yours now, right? That’s how these games go?” She scoffed at him.

At the boy’s admiration of her deduction, she grinned broadly. Persephone didn’t bother hiding her pleasure with herself, arrogance was better than self-hatred. And, it wasn’t a bad thing if you deserved to be egotistical, and Persy had no doubt in her mind that she was intelligent. What was wrong with being proud of that?

“A favor, huh?” Persy smiled knowingly. “I think I’ll cash them in when I’m ready to make it worth it.” She nodded behind him, where the sorting had reached the ‘V’ section. “I don’t think we have time for you to properly settle your debt yet.”

The blonde's delight at being given 'the thanks she deserved' earned another laugh from Jack, unaware of how his behavior was frightening her. If he had noticed it and taken it for what she thought it was, he might have very well been frightened of it himself. As she kept her thoughts on the matter to herself, though, Jack remained blissfully ignorant.

"What a lovely name...Persephone," he complimented, but there was a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "Means something like 'bringer of death', doesn't it?" He recalled reading tales of perhaps the most famous Persephone - the Ancient Greek Goddess - among the many stories he found so fascinating. "Whatever did you do to make your parents want to call you that at birth?" he teased.

At the inquiry about thinking she was owed his, he chuckled softly. "Yes, that’s the way the game works," he confirmed. "At least the game I like to play. First and last, my name is Jack Burnett. I guess with our 'B' names, that explains why my name was called so relatively soon after yours."

For all her high-and-mighty talk and behavior, when she grinned like that, Jack could see the Slytherin girl was much the same as he was in a lot of ways. She enjoyed recognition for her intelligence as anyone else despite the fact that it could probably be used against her. He wondered if she'd ever thought of that. Not that he planned to bring it to her attention. Hopefully she would never have to find out.

"Mmm, well we are in the same house, so I suppose we’ll likely be seeing more of each other than most," the redhead pointed out, looking thoughtful as Persephone declared that she would save the favors he owed her. "Fair enough. Just don't keep me waiting too long, or I might just forget about them."

As if he could. Jack always made sure he was bound by his word. Favors absolutely had to be repayed or they could easily be considered an act of friendship and that was the last thing he wanted. No, best to keep things even and business-like.

He took a deep breath as he briefly tuned back into the sorting. "Looks like they'll be finished soon," the boy commented. "If we don't get a chance to talk again tonight while or after we finish stuffing our faces, I'll see you around, Barret."

@Persephone Barret

@Jack Burnett

Bringer of death. The Slytherin smirked slightly, acutely aware that the remark had not been a compliment. Of course, Persephone herself preferred to think of it as ‘Bringer of Destruction’ a more direct translation, but she hadn’t expected him to know that. Years ago, she had indeed inquired with her parents why they had called her that, though in that moment she was ignorant to it’s meaning. 

“After the rain, comes a rainbow my love, but the rain can be just as beautiful.” 

Her father had chosen the name, as if to remind the world that there was beauty in dark things. If her parents hadn’t been so oddly poetic, then maybe their own daughter wouldn’t read so much into it. Bringer of Destruction. Yes, Persy loved to cause mayhem, but what else had she destroyed in her time on Earth? Willing her mind not to visit such dark places, she replied at last, ignoring his question about her parents.

“Jack Burnett.” She nodded as he explained (quite uselessly) that it was why his name was called so soon after. “Ah yes, thank you for teaching me the alphabet.” Sarcasm dripped from her words, but she scoffed dramatically as if to tease.

He reminded her of their sharing a house, and her smile faded slightly. They were both first years and Slytherins. The blonde was bound to run into him more than weekly, and although this may have excited a simpler girl, as the boy was by no means unattractive, she bit the inside of her cheek instead. She wondered to herself if she would be able to resist a friendship looming above them.

At his joke about forgetting his favors, Persy chuckled lightly. He didn’t look like the type to forget things.

She, too, looked at the sorting as it crept close to the end. “Suppose so. See you around, Burnett.”