it’s a highly misleading job. whenever students inquired about the gleaming badge sitting on spotless pressed uniform claiming the house of yellow and black - he tried to tell the utmost truth: that he’d been handed the position of a prefect solely due to exemplary behaviour and a spotless student record. without a doubt, the kids always went on to say things like that sounds fun or it must be pretty exciting. lu already knows what’s written into their minds without needing them to verbally express it: day dreams of flittering through hidden corridors whilst flaming medieval - style torches bathe the scarcely tread paths in light, or sitting in on exclusive meetings discussing life or death scenarios with the headmaster. it goes on, and on.
this is where the white lies started to seep into the conversation. biting his tongue was never a thing the hufflepuff was good at, but due to not wanting to crush their dreams in one fatal blow, he refrained from citing words of truth. after all: he was once one of those hopefuls. sounds fun, it must be exciting. the unsaid words: i want to have fun, i want to experience something exciting for once.
his memory never fails him and today is no exception, remembering clearly joining the school as sanguine as the next guy, coming across an elder and saying the exact same words. thinking that maybe one day he’d also like to be in that position of authority. wishing that he became comfortable enough to truly submerge himself into a role. ( unlike mahoutokoro, where comfort for him was never an option. )
the cold hard truth, no bitten tongues, no sugar coated glazings. being a prefect was neither fun nor exciting.
being a prefect meant sleepless nights hanging beneath languid eyes - masses of work piled on top of responsibilities he wasn't qualified to deal with - and it meant dealing with people - drunk people, people who thought they could worm their way out of sticky situations, people who thought over-cast castle corners were safe havens for lip locking and other intimate acts. sometimes lu wondered if he was dead and this was how purgatory had presented itself to him: an endless string of rambunctious students with the imperative need to make life as hard as possible for him.
he'd spent his day holed away in the sun-lit corner of the hufflepuff common rooms, little freckles of dust dancing in a steady beam that shone through the window and onto his charmed note book. it was an invention that every so often needed tweaking, but for now seemed to be running smoothly, jolting in steady intervals of five minutes by three minutes to pick up on another two or three points being added or deducted from the hufflepuff house as the sun rose and dipped. it’s only upon the fierce scribbling that threatens to snap the nub of his quill that lu detaches himself from his charms project, discussing the positives and negatives of a blood bond, muttering as he sees a steady stream of one reoccurring name bringing forth a hurricane of negatives amongst the good deeds that his fellow house mates had carried through that day. a name with a face, and with that face, brought a penchant for chaos of the most prohibitive of levels.
park bloody bogum.
