Skipping a Beat PV Marshal Finished

Superstitious suspicion and immersive unease would rule this night, for Friday the thirteenth was where nightmares were wrought. When reason was intercepted by dread, and silence echoed louder than any horrific scream. On the eve when every dark shape was sinister, and every moaning tree branch threatened to wake the demons who lived within the minds of their prey.
On this night, one’s own thoughts were not to be trusted, for their darkest dreams would surely become reality. Voices not their own would whisper twisted assurances that fear was no mere emotion, but a pivotal stroke in the art of survival.
Every man for himself. Trust nothing. Abandon hope and be eternally lost to the hellish night of the damned.

A warm breeze encircled Marshal’s roving form, a welcome courtesy to the exposed skin of his arms and legs. Yet, despite the pleasing nature of the wind current’s temperature, it still failed to provide the customary sensation of comfort, as the stretching shadows refused to acquiesce to the imposed idea of warmth and peace.
Casting a hazel-tinged glance toward the Forbidden Forest, the boy watched as the trees waved their rigid limbs, creaking with aged impatience while they beckoned him closer, toward the growing gloom which slowly engulfed their trunks. Squinting for a more focused view, he could have sworn that gloom had eyes, staring with manic fervor as they waited for him to stumble into their lair.
”You’re gonna need some better bait,” he muttered, mostly to himself. ”Because let’s be honest,” A finger was raised to indicate the glinting eyes which he was certain were gathered amongst the swaying trunks, ”That’s just creepy. Who’s going to walk into your trap when you go to such lengths to give them the heebie jeebies?”
Him. He would walk into their trap, simply because the forest seemed so terribly exciting.
Sure, it was a bad idea; but he was positively full of those, and would be undeterred from setting any number of them in motion, if only he could be promised any conceivable notion of fun.

Of course, while the eerie atmosphere fell short of permeating his protective wall against unease, he did recognize the enticing pull on his faculties for exactly what it was - a bad idea.
Over the past half year or so, Marshal had entertained many sessions of inward reflection, wherein he had reluctantly determined that some risks simply were not worth the reward, even if that reward happened to be a tantalizing level of enjoyment.
Life was altogether too fragile, too easy to shatter with a single motion of flippant disregard. That much had become painfully clear following the events of the train wreck in January.
And so, with his newly achieved wisdom, he stared straight into the insidious eyes of the forest and winked, before allowing his eyes to travel elsewhere, toward his current destination.

The surface of the lake extended throughout the greater portion of his vision, slightly disturbed by the passing breeze, as small waves - ripples, really - glided in a path directed by the wind. Reflected twilight stained the gentler parts of the water, the orange glow of the sun quickly becoming a fading memory, honored in the vast painting before him.
As he ventured nearer, the colors of that painting were disturbed by a more violent series of ripples.
Following the sudden disruption, his gaze was drawn to a small rock, skipping - rather impressively - across the water’s surface until its momentum was consumed, and it sank swiftly to its watery resting place.
Inspecting the lakeside for the perpetrator of this crime against an innocent rock, he experienced a rush of excitement that no adventure into the Forbidden Forest could evoke.
Ginger hair blowing gently to one side, Evelynn stood in the last dying light of day, feet engulfed by fiery water, back facing him as she seemed to observe the lingering effects of the stone.

Treading lightly, Marshal executed an attempt at approaching the girl from behind without drawing her attention.
Upon growing nearly close enough to touch her, he spoke in an ominous voice. ”Daring of you to venture out alone on the night of Friday the thirteenth. Don’t you know that wandering ghouls traverse these waters?”
In that moment, the light of the sun seemed to dim, casting the lake in a more ominous hue.
Glancing past Evelynn, the boy wondered exactly what kinds of beings might inhabit its depths on this, the night of the damned.
”And you’re going to wake them all up by throwing stones at them.”

As the sun dipped over the mountains and out of sight, it was as though it took the last remaining warmth with it. The sudden presence of a voice sent a shiver down Evelynn’s spine that wracked her to the core. Without notice, the serenity of her mindful peace had been shattered in a way that not even a handful of heavy rocks upon the water could have done. Already on edge, she acted without thinking. The hand recently freed of its stony burden darted to wrap fingers about the hand of the wand wedged through the loose bun at the base of her neck.

“Immobulus!”

The word was out of her mouth, wand point leading her rotation and directed towards the unexpected voice, before her eyes had even come to rest upon them. He barely stood a chance. His reactions were quick, but her paranoia was the quicker. A flash of blue light erupted from the tip of her implement, impacting him enough to effect the consequence of sneaking up upon a wary girl. Whatever movement he might have been in the midst of would be stopped mid-motion. His speech, interrupted. As though someone had pressed pause upon his life, he would be frozen.

Eyes catching up with action, Evelynn had wheeled on the spot—water sloshing to spatter the hem of her dress—to take full stock of the perpetrator. “Marshal?!” Lips parted with the lofting of her brows to put her surprise on full display. “Oh goodness!” The reality of what she had just done to him set in a second later and eyes swift left and right as she sifted through memory for the countercharm. “Finite incantatem,” she murmured a moment later, releasing him of his bondage.

Only then did her gaze move past him, reflexively checking his rear towards the forest. With nothing there, and no further sign of trouble, she forced herself to take a breath, shoulders easing. She pulled her gaze back to Marshal, roaming over him to make sure there weren’t any unexpected lingering effects of her spell.

“You startled me...” A lame apology to be sure, but her words were laced with regret. Fingers lifted to comb back through her hair, twisting it back into a bun at the base of her neck to be once more secured with her wand. “What are you doing out here? Is everything alright?”

In truth, only the first few words of his morbid statement would be awarded time to leave his mouth before Eve whirled on him with a stick.
A stick.
Stick was bad. Stick could mean death by way of poofing into an inanimate pile of pixie dust, for all he knew.
He was entirely certain that Eve possessed the arcane knowledge required to end his overly enthusiastic existence, and in hindsight, the path of action he had taken was likely more dangerous than his previous notion of exploring the Forest. Sneaking up on a jumpy witch with a powerful stick would be added to his expansive list of bad ideas. But, to be fair, it was previously noted that he was full of those.

Going slightly cross-eyed as his panicked vision attempted to focus on the weapon aimed at his face, Marshal reacted quickly, moving to dive - head first - to one side. Unfortunately for him, the speed at which his mentor completed the incantation was rather stunning - an impressive feat that he would have ample time to admire while every muscle in his body refused to perform their most basic duty of moving.
It was an odd sensation. He experienced no cramps, no tightness whatsoever, and yet his body simply wouldn’t respond to his mental commands.
He tried to speak, but his lips didn’t so much as quiver, nor could he muster any sound, as his vocal chords were seemingly frozen as well.
Thankfully, his thoughts - though muddled by the sheer shock of what had just happened - still moved freely about his mind.
Well, I suppose this is why she’s a good mentor, he mused, entirely uncertain of how to feel about the situation. Here he stood before the girl of his dreams, posture awkwardly angled and hands thrown oddly to one side, his position reflecting the attempt to dive clear of her spell.
The predicament became slightly more bearable when regret softened her features, his name gracing her lips as she stumbled to make amends.

Upon the casting of a different spell from the tip of her wand, the young Gryffindor found that he could move freely once more. Standing tall, he shook his arms loosely, admiring how normal they felt, as if nothing had happened at all.
”I startled you,” he parroted her statement, a mildly flustered grin stretching across his face. ”Normally when you startle someone, they scream; maybe even stumble back a little bit. But nope.” He shook his head in amusement, any sign of anger distinctly absent. ”I feel like I should have known you would react more… drastically. I guess it was funny, though, if you think about it.” A light chuckle escaped his lips, mingling with another moaning breeze as it whisked by. ”I mean, I’m not dead, so that’s good! And yes, everything’s fine. Or at least it was before I almost died.”

How absurdly aloof he was. The moment the spell had worn off, he’d erected himself to full height, flopping his arms as though drying them out and preparing for a flight. Regret slipped slowly away to be replaced with guarded indignation. I should have known you would react more drastically, he had said. Drastically. What was that supposed to mean? Lips pursed, but she held her tongue, her only response a gutteral thrum that reverberated her throat.

“You didn’t almost die,” she countered instead, feeling the need to object to… something.

Although he’d held all fingers to himself, and technically none of his commentary had been particularly pointed, she still felt as though he were assailing her. Water sloshed again as she about-faced all over again, spray further darkening the hem of her skirt. As though nothing of significance had happened, she gathered the fabric in her right hand yet again, stooping to fish with her left below the surface of the onyx glass. Without the light of day or even moonlight worth a note given the recent new moon, she had to work by touch. It was a longer process feeling each rock, one at a time, until she found one suitable for skipping.

“Then what are you doing?” she wondered, rising with her new trophy. Her gaze remained forward, her attention fixed upon the horizon. Drops of water cascaded down the length of her forearm to fall from fingertips; and when she sent the stone skipping across the lake, a fan of droplets arced in its wake.

As Eve’s guilt melted away to be replaced by something more closely resembling disdain, Marshal’s grin fell, gradually drooping until it reached a more downturned angle. Eyebrows furrowing, he cocked his head slightly to one side and adopted the befuddled expression of one who felt as though he’d done something wrong, but was entirely uncertain as to what it might be. Was it something he’d said?
His certainty that something foolish had passed through his lips grew when she turned on her heel, swiftly showing him her back amidst a small splash, as the water at her ankles sloshed with the sudden movement.
He considered apologizing for whatever he’d done; but what good was an apology when the one giving it had no idea of why it was required? Would it still count? Would she know what he was talking about? Perhaps he was just imagining things, and she wasn’t truly upset.

An inquiry of his intentions for being there was tossed brusquely over the girl’s shoulder, further adding to his distress.
For a few moments, he remained silent, nervously chewing his lip as he contemplated what he might do to satisfy her displeasure. Ultimately, he came to the conclusion that - maybe - if he didn’t address the issue hanging between them, then it would simply blow away in the breeze. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
In that moment, he’d all but confirmed his true naivety in the ways of women. His father would have winced, his mother would have sighed, and his future self would most likely look back upon this moment to determine what - exactly - had happened to his feeble ideas that Evelynn didn’t despise him.

”I just thought I’d take a walk to see if I could find any of these monsters everyone keeps talking about,” he said, voice subtly uncertain as he attempted to gauge her reaction. As he continued, however, he slowly regained confidence. ”You do know it’s Friday the thirteenth, don’t you?” While he spoke, he slowly removed his shoes and socks, using only his feet. Now the darkening water was displaced as he waded in, wincing slightly at the initial cold, before coming to stand beside Eve. ”So what are you doing out here? Aside from waking up the demons that live in the lake, I mean.”
Bending over, the boy reached one hand to the lake’s slippery floor, searching for a rock of his own to throw.

It wasn’t often that Evelynn found inquisition met with silence. Hers was a presence that inspired communication. Whether it was an aura of trustworthiness, or a sense of obligation instilled into her conversational counterparts by her lofted status as prefect and quidditch co-captain, or simply even the air of intuition that draped from her shoulders… Regardless of the reason, when she inquired, others answered. It was a pattern to which she had grown accustomed. One that seemed especially true when it came to certain individuals, such as Marshal.

Thus, when her question fell to hang limply in the air, it gave her pause. There had been no sound of retreating footsteps to suggest that Marshal had taken an untimely leave. Nor was the query uttered so quietly that it might have gone unheard. Mid-arc, Evelynn’s arm stopped abruptly, hovering out to the side. Her own brows furrowed, she glanced over her shoulder to take a read. For a fleeting moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of him chewing on his lower lip, his expression contorted in indecision as though a war waged internally about something or other. Whatever it was, however, it passed quickly enough as he finally spoke up.

“..Monsters?” A sceptical brow flared with the doubtful echo to his comment, but requested no further clarification about that before answering the question that followed. “Yes…” That hint of suspicion continued to tint her tone as though expecting the boy to jump into some sort of flagrant declaration about the date.

He didn’t. Instead, he let that comment hang between them, a ghost in the shadow of the night it heralded. Her gaze, slate gray by the dimness of the night, fixed upon him in careful scrutiny as he removed his shoes, and then his socks. Apparently he saw fit to join her, assuming an open invitation, she supposed. She wasn’t about to correct him, or withdraw it. Really, after having spent so much of July in communication with him, these first two weeks of camp had seemed alien in a way; with the two separated into different cabins and finding themselves drawn to different activities, they’d hardly interacted at all.

“There are no demons in the lake,” came the counter, lips crimping dismissively. As easily as that, scepticism and suspicion washed away with the lapping of the lake’s meagre tide and she was back to brandishing logic against the boy’s fantastical notions. “Only grindylows and the like,” she added.

As the sound of sloshing water and the oscillating waterline upon her legs suggested Marshal’s ingress, she turned to once again face the far shore. There was no reply from her at first. For as simple a question as his inquiry to her purpose had been, the appropriate response didn’t seem so readily in reach.

“I’m—” Nervous. “—thinking,” she finally answered, punctuated by the arcing of another stone, words clipped as though it took effort to speak them at all. “The quidditch game is the day after next… and I—” Thought I would be proud to represent the school in the upcoming match. Instead, each time I attempt to envision the game to come, I simply find myself feeling under the weather.

Another moment of silence consumed her train of thought, eyes trailing after the skipping path of the latest stone as though searching the black depths for where it had gone under. She just stood there, gaze fixed upon a vague spot ahead. “I have been attempting rather unsuccessfully to devise a strategy of play.”

Marshal’s own stone skipped in congruence with that from Evelynn’s deft hand. Their residual paths were paved in circular ripples, expanding from several points of impact and interlocking to create a web of miniscule waves.
Subdued eyes glazed thoughtfully over the quickly fading pattern, especially attentive for the purpose of identifying ‘grindylows and the like,’ whatever those might be. The name almost seemed familiar, yet slipped evasively through the cracks in his mind, much like the mud which squelched between the toes of his lakebound feet.
A nonchalant shrug would signal his lack of concern as he responded, ”Granny’s toes aside, the real threat is the giant squid, I’d say. I hear he’s rather prickly about people stepping in his lake.” Splashing a hand into the water to locate another rock, he surveyed the deeper regions once more.
The comment enjoyed no basis but whispered rumors he may or may not have heard, merely intended to incur Evelynn’s suspicions. And if mention of the aquatic beast stirred her nerves a bit, then all the better. She deserved it after casting a spell at him.

Surely there had to be something that rattled her, aside from the brief moment of vulnerability that had been swiftly erased by defensive action, resulting in the loss of his ability to move.
The reaction was reminiscent of her normal disposition throughout their interactions. Any time he thought she might open up, might expose a more personal level of herself, she withdrew from the topic entirely. Like a turtle seeking the safety of its shell, she always erected her defenses, acting as though she’d been attacked, and forced to protect her innermost emotions or risk being damaged.
He’d seen it multiple times before, and he saw it again as she began detailing her purpose for being here, then stopped.
Just as the turtle, pulling its head away from danger, she seemed to stop herself, withholding something that wanted to emerge - something that needed to be heard.
Glancing quietly at her face, he saw the vacancy there.
More times than he could count, he’d gotten lost in her eyes, the wind of the endless storm within them tugging at his wings until he had no power left to resist. But now, those same eyes appeared flat, dulled by her own protective walls, which refused to let him in. In that moment, she almost looked empty, though the silence spoke louder than anything words might say.

Finally, she continued, shattering the reticent capsule of distress with an explanation that felt incomplete.
Running his fingers across the glossy face of the rock in his hand, he studied her face for a few seconds longer, hazel eyes wordlessly imploring her to let him see something more, before turning to the water once again.
Bending slightly at the knees, the boy drew his arm back and let it fly, hand traveling at a sideways angle, wrist snapping as the stone was sent careening over the lake surface, its momentum carrying farther than any he’d previously thrown.
An enthusiastic response leapt from his lips as he admired the impressive, rippling trail his throw had left behind. ”Well, that’s easy! Just go out there, knock some people off their brooms-” His head tilted in her direction, ”Lovingly, of course - score some goals, catch the snitch and win.” The tilt of his neck reversed, hands tossed gently in the air. ”I’m available if you need a new strategist, you know.”
The dialogue strayed from what he truly wanted to say, the questions he wanted to ask. But he knew taking the conversation in that direction was pointless; she would simply withdraw back into her shell, as always. So instead, he attempted to keep the mood light, and at least distract her from whatever troubled that heart of hers.

"Granny's to—" Evelynn blinked in delayed reaction as though his words were molasses, sinking in several seconds after speaking them. Sweeping a what-are-you-talking-about look to Marshal, she stopped mid movement when her subconscious psyche caught up to her, supplying the realization that he was butchering the name of the grindylows.

With pursed lips, she returned her gaze forward again, skipping another rock out across the water. Her expression hardly changed with his next comment. Marshal had hardly finished his comment before she was shaking her head at the misinformation. There were a lot of students that seemed to think the giant squid was some kind of monster. As though Hogwarts would suffer the presence of a creature that would actively engage in attempting to drown its st—alright, perhaps it might. Temporarily. While attempting to uncover how to defeat and be rid of it.

But the squid was not among them. The Giant Squid had been a hallmark icon of the school for centuries, likely. A gentle giant, it had a tendency to languish in the warm shallows of the lake and mind its own business. In fact, it was known to be something of a guardian of the waters, seen on multiple occasions over the decades, to fish from the cool waters those unfortunate first years that had taken a tumble from the rowboats on their first day at Hogwarts and return them to the safety of their wooden vessels. Some students gave it a bad rapport; and others seemed to think themselves having borne witness to attempts to drown students.

"Students ought to leave the squid alone," she tsked. While not quite accurate to suggest that the topic of the creature had touched a nerve, it certainly did overlap the subject of her responsibilities. "It's clearly written that students should not be entering into the waters without professor supervision. If that rule were actually followed, there would be no qualms. But alas... as ever... rules seem to be more of guidelines than actually something to be observed."

Nevermind that she'd broken her fair share of those. But she'd had reason to, and generally it was in the effort to save others or obtain information that would lead to that eventuality. To do so simply on a whim was obnoxious and ill thought out.

"You make it sound so simple a feat..." She knew he meant well with his light-hearted Quidditch commentary. Even still, he'd managed to dispel some of the tension. In particular, the last offer of strategic services drew a breathy—albeit brief—laugh. "I will keep that in mind," she promised, having no intention to actually take him up on it. But neither could she really focus on thinking of anything useful for the match with him here. His presence with its accompanying conversation was a touch distracting; and she didn't relish burdening him with her frustrations or putting her stress on display.

Although... the more she pondered on it... the more her mind seemed to nag at her that perhaps there was something to be said for what he'd suggested. Maybe they really ought to simply return to the basics of the game. Guard the hoops. Score with the quaffle. Catch the snitch. She'd gotten tired of trying to outwit the opponents. And the constant barrage of blatching and cheating was wearing on her and the few friendships that she had. Ami Procoppio still wasn't really talking to her...

"Maybe you're right..." she mused, her voice a thousand miles away.

Then, with a sigh, she seemed to reboot, life finding its way back to her as though realizing only just now that she was being a poor host indeed. "That was quite good. That must have been at least fifteen skips..." Evelynn remarked, grasping for a lighter topic and noting how far the most recent stone of Marshal's had travelled. "Have you been enjoying the camp? It seems ages since we've spoken properly. Which cabin did you get?"

Another joke passed his lips - in the form of Granny’s Toes - only to meet a pursed pair on Evelynn’s face. The demure expression was a constant favorite of hers, acting as the default response to his dialogue. No words - only silent vexation, punctuated by an aversion of her gaze, presumably to refocus upon the task at hand; but Marshal could never shake the impression that she’d barely managed not to roll her eyes. She was much too proper to show such obvious disgust… usually.
But despite her pointed lack of enthusiasm, the boy remained emboldened, not to be discouraged by such a simple thing as disdain - otherwise known as Eve’s general disposition, at least as far as he’d seen.
Following the girl’s turbulent eyes, a gentle smile played at his lips as he observed the next rock’s choppy path.
The rigid set of her outward graces did little to dissuade his affections. In fact, they fed upon it. With every callous act cast his way, he only grew more convinced that there was something more to her; something deeper. Something tender that remained wrapped within her protective shell.
He’d seen it before. When everything around them devolved into chaos, and his world crumbled under the weight of imminent destiny, she’d been there, her sweet voice stoppering the flow of panic and acting as a lifeline for him to hold. And it was that tone he would forever hear in her words; whether they be spoken in love or derision, they would always beat in his heart as the tune which had caressed his soul, and rekindled his dying hope.

That fact remained, even as Evelynn detailed every reason why he was wrong about the giant squid, perfectly demonstrating her prefect-ness once again. He could definitely understand why she had been chosen for the position.
”Okay, Mom,” he puffed out an exaggerated sigh. ”I won’t poke the animals, and I’ll wait half an hour to swim after eating. Should I wear my floaties too?” A brief moment would pass before he realized his mistake. ”Don’t answer that,” he added quickly.

”It is simple,” came the response to Eve’s comment on his quidditch strategy. Shoulders raising in a slight shrug, he went on. ”When in doubt, play better. That’s what my dad always said, at least.” The memory was interrupted by a pause, wherein the boy squinted thoughtfully. ”Come to think of it, I’m not sure Dad ever played any sports…” His voice trailed off, and a mental note was made to question his father on his erstwhile athletic experience.
Those musings were followed by an insincere assurance from the quidditch co-captain that she would consider his suggestion. Obviously, he hadn’t harbored any real conception that the sorry excuse for stratagem would be given serious thought. It had merely been a joke.
And yet, several silent moments later, a statement emerged from the red-head’s lips that made Marshal do a double-take.
Hazel eyes torn immediately from the inky water, they settled upon Evelynn’s face, searching for any sign of sardonic intent there. But there was none to be found. Rather, she appeared quite deep in thought, as if doing the unthinkable: genuinely considering his ‘advice.’

For a few seconds, his jaw found rest upon the lake floor, mind unable to calculate the probability that Eve had said he ‘was right.’
Finally, mouth flapping erratically, words escaped his throat. ”Say that again. No, never mind. You don’t need to. I know how much it must have hurt. Just hold that position.” Throwing two hands out, palms facing outward as if steadying the girl, he would then turn away from the lake and toward camp, which lay over yonder.
Eve’s voice met his ears again, but would go unheard as he cupped those same hands around his mouth and released a call at the top of his lungs, ”LEO, BRING A CAMERA!!”
Though it was dark, and a camera would likely fail to capture the true splendor of the situation, he needed something - anything - to hold close as a memorial of this moment. As wonderful as it was, he could scarcely believe it was true - let alone trust it would ever happen again.
Unfortunately, no response came from camp. In retrospect, such was to be expected, considering the distance. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel as though Leonard had let him down; the boy was his best friend, for goodness’ sake! Surely it was the least he could do to bypass the physical limitations of human hearing.
Alas, no camera was coming, and this moment would be forever lost to the gathering gloom.

Turning slowly back toward Evelynn, he offered a sheepish grin, gazing intently at the newest stone in her hand. ”You wouldn’t mind if I kept that rock, would you? I just want a reminder of tonight. I might never hear you say those words again.” He patted himself down as if he’d misplaced his keys. ”Come to think of it, is this a dream? It seems like a dream.”