Headache, never again.
Just because I sleep around, doesn’t mean you can just climb onto my bed like that. Sheesh.
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Headache, never again.
Just because I sleep around, doesn’t mean you can just climb onto my bed like that. Sheesh.
Puri Hunting
A genuine and fond smile broke out across Sammie’s face. He could appreciate the dry humor of Synri as something distinctly different from his own sense of humor, yet valuable nevertheless. Too often these days, Sammie thought, did people exist without a hint of comedy.
“I’ll wait these few minutes by with impatience. It looks– and, oh god, it smells, now – utterly fantastic.” He took a long breath in, savoring the sweet scent that drifted from the oven. At Synri’s next comment, Sammie found himself asking, once again, what the other boy was gaining from this. So he asked.
“Don’t you have classes in the morning? I mean, I, personally, have no opposition to staying up all night,” he corrected. “But you’re not really getting anything out of this, are you?”
Moaning, he thought with both irritation and tantalizing something, he is fucking moaning about my pecan pie. Another blush. He made a mental not eto look up potions on how to not blush so much. If this keeps up he’d be Prince of Ponces.
“It’ll be done in a few minutes. That’d be the applewood you’re smelling.” He managed, after composing himself. He was taken aback by the question. Normally this’d be the moment that he’d angle for some sort of favor. He knew more than anyone else that once someone becomes used to his unique talents, they’d be ripe for the picking, however--
“I do,” he said, feeling a slight weirdness fill him up, “but I don’t mind skipping off a few.” He laughed. “I do well enough that I can afford to miss a few lessons.” He made a face. “Detention’ll be a bitch though.” He looked thoughtful, but he knew, without seeing himself, that he looked honest. And why not? I am. “No, not really.” Another bright smile, one of his more well used expressions, “Unless you count finding a new friend.”
There will be hell to pay if the Puri even THINK of snapping up this boy.
Patrols. The bane of Prefect-existence.
That’s a very valid point. I wouldn’t trust anyone really, if they denied it.
That does sound like my sort of competition, but maybe a question here and there? I’ll feel guilty if I just let you off the hook when you’ve already admitted to needing to study.
Alright, alright. Sheesh.
How about you? You need anything done aside from patrols? I happen to be an awesome favor-machine.
Puri Hunting
“Bit obnoxious, eh? Guess we have that in common.” In all honesty, Synri didn’t strike him as the obnoxious type. If anything, Victor was probably put off by his intensity and general strangeness, but he refrained from saying so.
Sammie popped the roasted nuts into his mouth. They were fucking delicious. “Pecan pie of friendship it is,” he agreed, except his mouth was till full so it came out more like “boogan bye of findick.” Swallowing, he gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry, dirty habit.”
He studied the other boy for the umpteenth time that night. Sure he was, as previously mentioned, a bit intense and strange, but he seemed like an alright kind of guy. Besides, if not for him, Sammie wouldn’t be about to eat what looked like a delicious pie. Finally, he spoke.
“Of course I want to be friends, I mean, I can hardly use you for your impressive baking skills and then abandon you. That would be fucked up.”
“I hereby declare this day,” his face and demeanor screaming sarcasm, “as boogan bye of findick day.” He managed to stranggle his laugh, barely. “May the Gods ever look down on this day with fondness.”
He felt Sammie’s gaze on him, and he could himself stat to blush again, which he tried to hide by hurrying the remaining steps, and popping the pie into the oven. He added some apple-wood into the flames. “It’ll give it a certain apple-wood aroma,” he said by way of explanation, still trying to hide his blush, “makes it taste better, in my opinion that is.”
Baking, he thought ruefully as he stood up and walked away from the sealed oven, the Prince of Secrets, baking. He made a face. I have sunk a new low. He banished the expression quickly then turned to face the other boy.
“It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” he smirked, “that oven cheats with magic. Don’t worry though, all th hard stuff I did with good old fashioned manual labor.” He managed to soften his smirk into a smile. “You know,” he said after a pause, and before he could stop himself, “if you enjoy the pie later, I could keep baking for you.” He realized what he said, and rushed to clarify, “I mean--you know--just to hang, and practice cooking.”
Damn. He stated to think that he’d rather have been caught by the Puri than be with Sammie.
Patrols. The bane of Prefect-existence.
Quinn sighed. “Linton had an entire conversation with a someone that didn’t involve schoolwork and the weather,” he said mildly,” Spoiler alert. It was about Quidditch.”
Oh. Quidditch Never was much of a fan of the sport. I’d go to matches, but..
Ah well, I guess not everyone can be the Quidditch buff. I’m more of the Dueling Club person myself.
Puri Hunting
Butterbeer, Sammie decided as he took another sip, was a goddamn gift. If there was one area that the wizarding world topped the muggle one, it was drinks. Nothing was quite as good as the frothy deliciousness of butterbeer. Even the liquor was better. Harsher, maybe, so that one might cough when downing a shot, but it warmed your stomach like no other.
When Victor’s name popped up, he sat up a little straighter, shaking himself out of his trivial thoughts. “Whaddya mean by that? I mean, why would he think you’re snotty?” Sammie knew little of Victor’s opinion of others, as his roommate rarely openly shared.
When Synri moved to get the cinnamon, Sammie hardly noticed. He was too busy listening as Synri explained the story of his family. It was always fascinating to Sammie to hear about other people’s families and how they deviated from his own. When the other boy finished, Sammie shook his head. “All families are weird families. Trust me on that.”
At that, he jumed off the counter and approached the table where Synri was working. He watched, head cocked to one side, with interest.
“Oh,” he was a bit surprised at the boy’s reaction, “nothing really. I happened to walk with him during patrol duty. I got the impression that he didn’t like me very much.” He smiled. “Can’t blame him really,” he added as he poured the mixture into a waiting shell, “I can be a bit obnoxious when I’m on a roll.”
He unconsciously made room for the other boy, and handed him some of the roasted nuts. “This’d taste better if we both finish it,” he said thoughtfully, “call it our pecan pie of friendship of sorts.” He laughed at his own cheesy line.
He began sprinkling the chopped nuts over the pie. “That is if you want to be friends.” A wry look crossed his face as he straightened up to take a sip from his barely touched mug of butterbeer. “I do happen to have a reputation for being--” he raised an eyebrow, in mock deep thought, “eccentric, is a nice way to put it.”
Puri Hunting
“Debts. Very seriously Of course.” He nodded solemnly. “I imagine that you have experience with them, then. Are many people indebted to you through the means of baking?”
At the word ‘hottie’, he didn’t exactly freeze, but stopped nevertheless. He couldn’t read Synri, and therefore couldn’t decipher whether he was merely playing along with Sammie’s earlier jokes or was being genuine. Needless to say, it was a tough situation to be in. So he did what did best: played it off with a joke.
“I’ll always have time for you, dearest.” He cupped his chin and flashed his eyelashes. “Besides, I mean, naturally Gryffindor is the best, no denying that, but that doesn’t mean I automatically throw Slytherins to the side. And you don’t seem snotty in the least.” A little weird, maybe, he added mentally. Though he still couldn’t tell if it was Good Weird or Bad Weird. Only time would tell.
Sammie followed Synri with his eyes as he prepared the ingredients. He seemed experienced in this particular art. “Where’d you learn to cook?” Sammied asked, still swinging his legs. “I always wanted to learn, but my mom’s a very traditional sort. Said that was a girl thing.”
“Meh,” he murmured, chopping lightly roasted pecans and popping one in his mouth. “Not so much.” Another lie, well, not technically. There were dozens of people who owed his father, therefore him, just not because of baking. They wish, he thought amused.
He was about to pour some elf-made honey when he noticed, and he almost didn’t, the slightly forced tone of the most recent joke. He quickly hid a pang of regret. Might have went too far with the flirting bit, he thought sadly, the mask on his face unbroken, I don’t even know if he likes guys.
He pushed that thought down, marshalled his will, as he was taught, and smiled yet again. “Thanks for not calling me snotty,” he continued, whisking the mixture, “though I’m sure Prince would disagree.” He reached for some cinnamon behind the boy, trying his best to look casual. “My mother,” he explained, “grew up rich, and pampered.” As all rich Purebloods are wont to be. “So she never got to cook for herself, even though she enjoyed watching their family’s maids do it.”
He added a touch of caramel, and a tiny hint of nutmeg, all with ease, and without pause, regardless of his inner turmoil. “So when she married my Father, she basically obsessed about cooking him meals, that all our maids had to do everyday was teach her hand-me-down family recipes.” He managed a fond smile, lost for a moment in memory. “being an only child, I guess she just sucked me in on the whole project.”
A grimace. “Even my grandmother, on my Father’s side, got into the whole project.” He made a funny face, a testament to the iron will that he used to reign in whatever he was starting to feel for the other boy “I guess I have a weird family.”
Puri Hunting
“Satisfy me then.” He gave his best impression of a sultry voice, one that he could hardly do without laughing, before continuing normally, “With your desserts, that is.”
At the word ‘challenge’ Sammie perked up. He tapped his finger to his mouth and kicked his legs in the air absentmindedly. Then, his eyes lit up. “My grandma used to make this absolutely brilliant, I mean really fucking good, pecan pie. Haven’t tasted one as good since she passed on. If you can make one…” He shrugged. “I’ll be eternally in your debt.”
He accepted the drink from the other boy before answering his question. “Only for you, darling,” he sung and took a sip, resulting in a bit of a butterbeer mustache. “Besides, I thought it might be interesting to get to know you. We’ve never talked much, have we?”
A pang of something shot through Synri, something he immediately, and ruthlessly quashed with all his will. No, not him.
Though, he mused, whatever it was, it was quite pleasant. In fact, he found that his mind was wandering dangerously away from Puri Hunting, and was now focused on a certain Lion. I should be castrated on teh spot. He mentally rolled his eyes.
At the word debt, he managed to choke out a laugh, “I can make one, easy,” he looked thoughtful, “though apple pies are more my thing.” His smile turned mischievous,and seductive, “Be warned though that debts are something I take very seriously.” He couldn’t help it, he was a Vanrith after all.
He sighed fondly, charming a handkerchief he pulled out of his pockets to float towards the other boy’s impropmtu mustache. “Personally, I’d love talking to a hottie like you,” he said non-chalantly, his hands darting across the now-assembled ingredients expertly, “but you seventh years, especially a Lion, don’t have the time of day for snotty fifth years like me, especially a Snake.” He turned to him and flashed him what he hoped was a disarming smile.
And of course there’s the matter of my endless wanderings of the castle, in and out, trying to root out potential new...pets. Not to mention this new project of finding out if the Puri have really infiltrated the castle.
Patrols. The bane of Prefect-existence.
Quinn furrowed his brows, blankly staring through him. “Yeah, fuck off.” It irked him that Syrni talked to him as if he was a friend, or as if he was too stupid to realise he was playing games. If he’d asked for a quill, he would’ve told him to take a walk as well.
Well, worth a shot. Can’t blame me for trying to scurry away from patrol duty.
So, anything interesting happen to you today? Aside from bumping into ol asinine me?
Patrols. The bane of Prefect-existence.
She had to smile. Anyone who kept candy on hand was good in her books, and she took the chocolate. “You’ve already figured out my weakness,” she laughed. “And of course I’ll keep you company. Patrols always go much smoother with two anyway. If you want, I can quiz you on whatever you’re working on, I probably still remember. It’s only been a year, so.”
Not much of an achievement, really. I mean, what kind of prat doesn’t like free chocolates right?
I’d rather not be quizzed though. Why don’t we just see who can finish the most chocolate while we patrol the neverending dreariness that is Hogwarts corridors?
Puri Hunting
It said something, Sammie thought, about the state of Hogwarts that people didn’t feel safe without prefects taking on extra patrols. And he knew that Synri wasn’t the only one. Grace had taken to late night patrols, as she’d told him. Hell, she might even be out right now.
And then there was Sammie himself, who didn’t like to think of them as patrols, not really. But he wandered around the castle when it wasn’t his shift, and he kept his eyes and ears peeled for trouble so really, what was the difference?
Sammie entered the kitchen and waited for the other boy to join him before clutching his heart and announcing, “why Synri, you flatter me so! Nay, don’t tease this heart of mine with empty gestures of a love that does not live!”
With dramatics done and out of the way, he jumped up so he could sit comfortably on the counter, back resting against the cabinets.
A genuine smile touched his lips. “I don’t tease Warrick,” he said, motioning for house-elves to bring him his needed tools, “unless I plan to satisfy.” He reached behind the other boy to grab a whisk before tilting his head.
“So what’ll be Warrick?” He said, tapping the end of the whisk negligently on his head, “Chocolate, or some other challenge?” For a moment, as he surveyed the Lion, he almost forgot the true purpose for his night time stroll.Almost.
He grabbed a bottle of butterbeer from a nearby icebox as he waited for the boy’s request, absently pouring them both some of the drink on tall mugs. He hgabbed one and handed it to the other boy. “Aside from wanting some pieceof what delights I can conjure up,” he said after taking a sip, mentally running down some of the more simpler recipes, “any other reason you’re up and about?”
He never forgot a smile, always a smile, even as his mind raced against the missed opportunity of tracking someone, anyone, even remotely connected to the weird going ons.
Coffee, I must have some...
“Ew. I do not think of them other than the annoying beings that they are.”
Promise to hook me up with one of ‘em, and I wont mention it again.
Puri Hunting
“Any dessert I want, eh?” The possibilities were endless, and for a moment, he was lost in his imagination. He thought of his mother’s pumpkin pie and his sister’s chocolate cake until he nearly tripped and was shaken out of his thoughts. “Well, you certainly know the way to a boy’s heart – that is, through the stomach.”
They continued down the corridor and by the time they were almost at the kitchens, Sammie had nearly forgotten the shiver he had felt just minutes before. Nearly. But the halls were still eerily quiet, and he was still suspicious.
The more he thought about it, the stranger it was that Synri had invited him back to the kitchens. Sammie was normally a trusting person, but with all that had happened, he couldn’t afford to be of everyone. Was it possible that this was a diversion?
“So tell me,” Sammie began. “Do you patrol in the middle of the night often? And do you always offer to make desserts for those you come across, or do you just make exceptions for those as charming and charismatic as me?”
He almost froze in his tracks, but, being what he was, he maintained his composure, even his smile, as he turned to answer. Where have the glory days of Lions being stupid gone to?
“In the dungeons mostly,” he said, and this not, technically, a lie. He did patrol at midnight near the Slytherin common room, slithering, so to speak, across the dungeons looking for potential pets, just not often. He smirked to himself. His night were better spent in other beds. “Some of my friends,” I have friends? “feel safer when the Slytherin Prefects take to patrolling.” They rounded another corner and he began to see the entrance to the kitchens. “I just happen to enjoy the silence so I got to exploring.”
He smiled innocently, another facade, for he was never innocent, “You’re not going to take that against me are you?” He felt one of his Contracted nearby, watching. He hoped this one wasn’t stupid enough to reveal himself. “And no,” he said with a face, “what do you think I am?” He smiled. “I only do it for the cutest ones, of course.” The kitchen door opened, and he inclined his head for the other boy to enter first.
He waited, patiently. This tim ethough he was confident, less tense. The Kitchen was full of house elves which can alarm necessary authorities if danger presented itself. Saving me, he thought with gratitutde, obsrving the sculpted face in front of him, the trouble of cursing some pretentious troublemakers into oblivion in front cutie over here.
Coffee, I must have some...
“I was not aware that I was in paradise in the first place, actually.”
“Not--not aware?! Have you not seen your hot cousins? I’d say that was paradiese. Insinuations of incest aside.”
Puri Hunting
“Some things are worth a dance with danger,” he said wisely before adding, “and one of those things happen to chocolate cake.” He offered a grin.
The other boy seemed to redden, and Sammie frowned in confusion – had he angered him somehow? He was thrown off guard farther when he was invited back to the kitchens. Still, he was curious. He had never spent much time with Synri and he seemed to be an interesting character, weird or not.
“I’m always game for more chocolate cake,” Sammie replied at last. “I mean, I have Mermish first thing in the morning, but some things take priority. C’mon.” With that, Sammie nudged him and nodded down the hall.
Dance with danger huh? He looked at the cheerful expression, if wary, of the other boy. You have no idea, do you? For a moment a stab of jealousy coursed through him. In his frequent daydremas, he had always wondered how it was to be so innocent, to be actually 16...
“That’s good,” he replied, smiling wider, anything to get to more protected ground, “I’ll even bake you one myself.” He looked thoughtful, lost momentarily in his catalog of recipes, “I could even make you cheesecake, if you fancy it.” He had always been proud of his cooking skills. He found himslef wishing, not for the first time, that Hogwarts had a cooking club.
As they walked, he continued to surreptitiously monitor all the darker corridors. It seemed that the path to the Kitchens, as he guessed earlier, was safer, if only beacuse of the burning torches that lit the halls near the area.
“I mean, I could make you most any desert you can want,” he continued, with that huge sincere smile of his, “I’m getting a little hungry myself.” Another lie, but anything to avoid an incident wherein he had to reveal himself to not just the Puri, but also Sammie.
Coffee, I must have some...
Late night?
“You know it love,” he managed easily. “Haven’t seen you ot and about in a couple of days?” He smirked. “Trouble in paradise Mantovani?”
Patrols. The bane of Prefect-existence.
“That’s as may be, but if the occasion arises, who are we to act according to someone’s expectations, and not exceed them? Not to say that getting help isn’t a good idea.” She liked Synri immediately, if only because he seemed very sincere in his desire to make a difference.
“It’s boring,” he said managing a smile, “it’s all I’m saying. I have a ton of homework to do, yet...” He shrugged. He pulled out his wand, a soft flick, which conjured some chocolates. “While you’re here,” he said, offering her a chocolate, “might as well keep me company?” He smiled, dangerously, some might say seductive, “I’d owe you.”