Sanguinis et Omnium Fractorum//Sebastian Sallow

Of Irritation and Curiosity

The dormitory door flew open before Clara could trail her thoughts to a response within the ink. The crash of wood against stone ricocheted between the walls before slamming against her ears, and she jumped so violently that her knee caught painfully against the edge of the rickety table. The inkwell wobbled with the collision. Dangerously close to emptying its contents over the page.

What would happen if she spilled ink all over the charmed parchment?

Clara decided she'd rather not test it.

"Oi! Elmore! There's a party downstairs and I am not wasting Seventh year with you sitting up here being all morose."

Imelda Rayes had a voice like brass and a personality just as brazen. An amalgamation of barbed edges and unapologetic sharp corners that blatantly refused to mold herself to fit the role society had carved for her.

Though, Clara thought, the brunette's rough edges and unapologetic brashness were a surprisingly welcome contrast to the thinly disguised pity that etched near permanent lines over the face of the blonde hovering a step behind her.

Grace's face pinched, eyes darting between Clara and the still-undrunk tea. Pushed shamelessly out of the way and forgotten. Was she supposed to feel badly for not drinking it? She'd not asked for the tea. Perhaps Grace was expecting gratitude for the tea Clara didn't want. Irritation prickled the corners of her eyes and Clara forced her gaze back to the glowering brunette before she said something Grace didn't deserve.

Imelda bludgered on. " Just because your boyfriend decided not to—"

" Sallow is not my boyfriend!" Irritation catapulted the words before rationality could examine the phrase with any sense of calm.

Clara realized her mistake too late and Imelda raised incredulous eyebrows.

"Imelda, maybe we should just let her be. I don't think she wants–"

The taller brunette rounded the blonde. " I don't care what she wants. If I have to deal with having my best Beater gone for another Quidditch Season, then Elmore can deal with not having Sallow around for another year too. She will get off her ass, come down to the party, and enjoy herself. "

The emphasis placed on 'enjoy' felt more of a threat than an invitation and Clara exhaled through her nose, rolling her tongue along the inside of her mouth. Her stubborn firmly planted itself in the glower between her brows.

The brazen fire flickered marginally softer behind her hickory-brown irises. " I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, Elmore. You know it will be good for you."

She groaned and launched an indignant pillow toward the brunette's face. Much to Clara's frustration, Imelda caught it easily and tilted her head to the side, looking mildly unimpressed. Stubbornly refusing to give credit to the traitorous corner of her mind notioning that Imelda might be right, Clara pocketed the Protean Charmed parchment and followed her roommates from the dorm.

                                                                                  */*/*/*/*/

The common room smelled distinctly of Firewhiskey, swirled with a distorted cacophony of inebriated slurs, and thrummed with the unmistakable beat of pending regret.

What had started as an impromptu gathering between a few 6th and 7th years of various houses, seemed to have devolved into something far more unrestrained than would be wise on the night before classes resumed.

A dense crowd rocked and gyrated to a pulsating beat below an ornate chandelier at the center of the darkened room. In a far corner, a game of Truth or Dare had a 6th year whom Clara didn't know dancing lewdly on top of a table to raucous whoops and cheers. Meanwhile, a somewhat quieter group of students lounged in a circle of cushioned armchairs as Garreth Weasly passed out tiny bottles of a glittering purple liquid beneath a smoky haze.