Twisting a Tale ((Samaal and Wynd)

[Aimee Sinclair S3]

Aimee tied her hair back in a loose bun and sighed. She didn’t know why she bothered with these homework assignments sometimes. They just seemed so very tedious. She poised her quill on the piece of parchment and wrote her name in neat script. Her handwriting, like many other things mirrored her mother’s. Some people thought it was scary how Aimee was so much like her mother. But Aimee was proud to be Holly Sinclair’s daughter, which was why she needed to get this History of Magic essay done. Holly had never really cared much for grades. As long as her daughter was doing well with essays and papers and such, Aimee’s mother was perfectly fine. Holly expected her daughter to be just like her. Aimee knew that one day; she would grow up to be the star reporter of a magazine as well. Then, an idea came to mind. She would twist her essay about Goblin rights to make it look like the wizards were the ones being mistreated, not the good-for-nothing goblins. What a story that would be! Aimee smiled wickedly as she started to write rapidly on the parchment. She was currently curled up in a big green armchair by the fire in the Slytherin common room with a mug of hot chocolate at her side. Within minutes of writing, her essay on ‘Goblin Rights’ was complete. If Binns didn’t fall head over heels in love with this paper, he was crazy. Aimee laid her quill and parchment down on the desk beside her and began to drink from the mug. She heard someone walking up from behind her. She smiled. “Nice of you to join me tonight.” She said, without turning around.

[Wynd Lehane]

Wynd dragged his feet as he made his way back to the common room. It had been a long day. Well, a long week. First there was Ruby and then Damien followed by Valmer. Then there had also been his little night adventure trying to find Dylan. UGH! The boy had been so maddening. Who ever heard of sneaking off to the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night? Wynd really didn't care what Dylan did in his spare time but now that Wynd was a prefect it was his duty to make sure that his 'charges' were taken care of. So when one of his own roommates was out past curfew Wynd had taken it upon himself to look for and find him. Today he was patrolling the corridors looking for signs of trouble. Of course his definition of trouble was different than the other prefects. He often let little pranks slide and sometimes even bullying. Unless the odds were unfair. Then he would step in. It was cowardly to pick an unfair fight and Wynd looked down upon cowardice.

Upon reaching the common room he found it mostly empty. There were a few students here and there finishing essays and the like. What he really wanted to do was to lay down on his bed and fall asleep. But he knew that he had a Charms essay to do. He would need to collect his stuff and go to the library but right now all he wanted to do was sit by the fire and relax. The library wasn't exactly close to the Slytherin common room so Wynd was in no rush to go there. He glanced toward the fire and found that his favourite green chair was already occupied. He walked toward the fire anyway. At this point, it didn't matter. A chair was a chair. As he walked up the occupant of the green chair spoke to him. It was a girl, likely in her third year. She didn't even have the decency to turn around when she spoke. "Were you addressing me?" Wynd asked her sitting down in the chair next to her, "Or do you often talk to yourself?"

[Samaal O'Toole S5]

Ah, the bliss of coming into a nearly empty common room with all homework completed and the joy of a recent Quidditch practise on one's mind. Samaal collapsed into an armchair not to far from the fire and his eyelids fluttered softly over his dark eyes, his long lashes flickering. Thank god Adam wasn't in the common room, that blithering eejit. He would have swaggered up to Samaal, clapping him on the shoulder and guffawing when Sam told him to sod off. He would have flung himself into an empty chair and spent the rest of the night growling and sneering at girls.
Sleep was tempting Samaal, and slowly his senses slipped away from the room. He didn't hear the cracks of the fire or the scratching of quills from a bunch of students in the corner. The room became blurred as he rest his head on the side of the armchair, his mind wandering to pleasant thoughts.

He was swooping through the air on his broom, the Quaffle clutched tightly in his hand. There were no other players in the air, but a crowd was roaring beneath him. Samaal squinted through his goggles and tried to make out one of the faces, but they were oddly blurred. Only one face stood out of the crowd, the pretty Slytherin girl from his practise. Samaal smirked down at her and puffed out his chest. He scored a fantastic goal and the crowd roared in approval. He flew a lap of honour, his eyes never leaving the girl's face. Suddenly something hard cannoned into him. He wheezed an audible "Oof!" and almost rolled off his broom. The object that had slammed into him had disappeared. The crowd was shouting something, and another object winded him. Eyes streaming, Samaal squinted at what it was. It was an unenchanted Bludger, heavy and limp, the weight of a bowling ball. Something was scrawled on it in red ink. Blood traitor. Samaal dropped the Bludger and scanned the stands. Hundreds of faces weren't beaming at him, but scowling up at him. Adam was among the crowd, and he heaved another Bludger at Samaal. Samaal ducked just in time, but another came whizzing through the air, thrown by Kennedy Valak. Sam started to recognize faces, as if they were emerging from a mist. His whole Quidditch team, and all the Slytherins were in the stands, as well as their parents and families.
A chant rose up from the stands and became louder and louder. "Blood traitor! Blood traitor! Blood traitor!" Another Bludger flew at him, aimed by the pretty Slytherin girl. "Please!" Samaal begged, swerving out of the way. "I don't- I don't understand- what-?" he looked around fleetingly, he tried to land his broom, but an invisible force stopped him several feet from the ground. "What did I do?" He yelled, his voice unusually high. "Your father." said the Slytherin girl darkly, her face a grimace. "He's adopting your cousin."
"But she's not my cousin! We're distantly related through mariage!" shrieked Samaal, ducking another two Bludgers. "She is a piece of filth!" yelled a man sitting in one of the stands. Samaal blinked and tried to make out his blurred face. "But I never- I can't help it!" yelled Samaal desperately. The chant rose a level. "Blood traitor! Blood traitor! Blood traitor!" Another Bludger cannoned into his ribs, and he felt something break. "Blame my father! It's his fault!" He wheezed, clutching his burning side. Two figured rose from the stands like limp puppets. The crowd below howled in delight. Samaal soared towards them, trying to make out who they were. He felt a pang, as he realised that they were his parents. "Father! Mother!" He yelled over the chanting crowd. One of the figures roused and peered at him weakly. "Samaal-" croaked his father, "Samaal, I'm sorry. We had to choose between this or being hunted down by the Ministry."
"But Father!"
"Land, Samaal. Once you land your broom on the ground, the charms holding us up break. We will fall, but you will have time to escape!"
"I won't allow this, Father! I'll get you down."
"You can't. Just go!"
Something black whizzed through the air and hit Samaal on the side of the head. It felt as though his head had been cracked open, and all turned black.

"I'm not a blood traitor!" croaked Samaal. he opened his eyes, gasping for breath. Reality zoomed back to him with a whoosh. He was back in the Common room, not far from a popping fire. A huddle of Seventh-years were scratching away, quill on parchment. "Were you addressing me?" Samaal looked around. "Or do you often talk to yourself?" Samaal paused for a moment, his ears buzzing. Who was talking to him? Did he say the last thing aloud? He looked around, wiping sweat off the side of his face. He settled back, as the voice didn't press him on. He had most probably imagined it. Suddenly his eyes fell on a boy leaning agains the back of a large green armchair, talking to a girl occupying it. The boy was Wynd, a player on his team. Samaal's face reddened as he thought of what the team would say if he had been talking to himself aloud. Then he wondered if he had talked all the way through his dream. Then they would know that his family was adopting a creature whose blood ran as thick as mud. Samaal looked around the room quickly. No, nobody was staring at him or had shown any sign of aknowledgement. If a respected pure-blood had been howling in his sleep about filth in his family, while sitting in a room full of Slytherins, he would have at least been shot a dirty look. Samaal relaxed again and leant against the side of the armchair once more. He observed Wynd and the younger girl almost entirely hidden by the back of the armchair. He tried to fix his face back to a lazy sneer, but his features were thick with fear and doubt. He abandoned the attempt, and studied his fingernails instead.

A dirty piece of filth living under the same roof, eating the same food and sleeping in the room near his own. Samaal supressed a shudder and continued to study his nails. The piece of scum was somewhere in the same school, but he had no idea what her name was or what house she was in. Sam tried to scratch together all scraps of information he had about her. She was certainly British or Irish and was a little older than himself. Under no circumstances was the girl in Slytherin, as she was Muggle-born or a Half-blood. But there are Half-bloods in Slytherin said a nasty little voice in his head. Samaal shook off the thought. No Half-blood would ever deny being anything but pure of blood and noble of origin in his house. If some piece of scum didn't take the trouble to patch up her past, the she wouldn't be Slytherin. Perhaps Hufflepuff, the house for the riff-raff and the do-nothings. Smaal kicked his thoughts about his new adopted sister aside. With luck, she would even be his adopted sister, but just live with the O'Tooles. The most important thing, was that the Ministry caught a whiff of this and turned their backs on his suspected Murderer of a father. Samaal's mind started to grapple with the new thought. His father had never denied having killed muggles and wizards alike, going into hiding and escaping back to Dublin. This idea always tortured Samaal. Could it be, that his father's soul was a blighted as a burnt rag? Samaal felt like burying his face in his hands. No. He pulled himself back together and managed a thin smile. What did the past matter? Nobody would have to find out about what was to happen in his family, until it did. Until then, Samaal would cherish being the equivalent of a pure-blood mascot and envy of other Slytherins.

Samaal turned back to the two by the fire, eyeing them with a bemused expression. He dismissed any other thoughts that tried to persue the sensitive matter, and focused on looking at the pair.

[Aimee Sinclair S3]

Aimee smirked as the Slytherin bit back, as if he had claws. He sat in the chair next to Aimee’s, and she couldn’t help but notice his dashing good looks. But he wasn’t for Aimee. He simply just wasn’t her type. “Well yes, as a matter of fact I was addressing you, Wynd.” She said with a smirk. Aimee had a knack for knowing anything and everything about everyone in the school. It was in her blood. Her mother was a reporter, and Aimee was going to be the same thing once she left Hogwarts. “And there’s nothing wrong with talking to yourself.” She said defensively. “It’s very therapeutic.” She said, noting how crazy she must sound to this older Slytherin. “So what brings you out to the dungeons so late at night? Aren’t you a prefect?” She asked him with a raised eyebrow. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed another boy watching what was going on. Samaal O’Toole, a fifth year Slytherin. Aimee thought to herself, expertly identifying the boy. She ignored the boy. If he hadn’t made himself known yet, obviously he didn’t want to make his presence known. She eyed Wynd, and waited for him to answer.

[Samaal O'Toole S5]

Samaal massaged his temple calmly, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two Slytherins near the fire, an eyebrow raised. He had abandoned his attempt at smirking or curling his lip characteristically, but looked at them blankly. He had seen the blonde girl before, and he had heard of her mother before, some reporter called Sinclair. What was the girl's name? Ally or amy or something like that. She was obviously very sharp and Wynd's approach was amusing her slightly. Samaal ignored her and leant back into the armchair. The patter around him, coming from the pair before him, and the whispering students scratching away with their quills seemed distant and naive. They were but childish and had no idea about the worries knitting his brow. All the students in Slytherin strut about remarking about their bloodline at the top of their voices, but they had no idea about anything...
What was it like being the heir to a truely noble family, one's father being one of the most sinister wizards of all time, one's mother a Sudanese pureblood escaped from a Madrid orphanage. Half his relatives were dead, either having been killed by other dark wizards, or having been tracked down towards the ends of their lives and thrown into cells to rot. True, many wouldn't wish for their grandparents to have died a sinister, premature death at the hand of an executioner or dark wizard, but didn't this make his bloodline undoubtedly pure? Once the dark Lord were to rise once more, their would be no doubt cast upon the O'Toole family.

Samaal felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach. His family's respect would be felled once they let that dirt into their house. He forced his thoughts aside and strained to look apathetic and unimpressed. He struggled a battle within, though, nasty little voices crowing out their thoughts aloud. Samaal refused to listen to them, figeting slightly as he blanked his thoughts. He stood up desicively, striding over to the two by the fire. He clapped Wynd a greeting on the back to make his presence known, and stood beside him, looking down at the girl. She was pretty, and he wasn't sure if his attempt at intimidating her worked. Perhaps the two boys looking across at her coldly would humble her a little. There was a silence, as Sinclair was obviously waiting for Wynd to reply to some question or another. Samaal raised an eyebrow and shot him a sideways glance. Perhaps a silent explanation of what he had walked in on? Samaal smirked slightly and looked back at the girl. "Sinclair, is it not?" he said more as a statement than a question. He didn't care if he was breaking up their petty smalltalk, and he wasn't putting much thought into what he was saying. Samaal wanted more than anything to distract his mind from Bloodlines and family honour. He looked at his nails distractedly, forcing himself to ignore his thoughts.

[Wynd Lehane]

((Samaal, it was my turn ))

Wynd listened to the girl sitting in his favourite chair try to explain that talking to oneself was therapeutic. He raised an eyebrow but she continued, "So what brings you out to the dungeons so late at night? Aren’t you a prefect?" He looked her up and down deciding whether she was important enough to answer. Wynd supposed there was nothing wrong with entertaining her. He didn't want to make enemies in Slytherin. Slytherin was not full of blood traitors, that was the other houses. Besides, one could never be quite sure who they were connected to. For all he knew, the girl in front of him could have been the daughter of the minister. Why anyone would want to be related to that muggle lover was beyond him. But one could never be sure. Wynd and Ruby had learned to tread carefully with people they didn't know. One could never be too careful. One wrong move and their plans could come crashing down faster than the fall of the Dark Lord. Her blue eyes and blonde wavy hair reminded him slightly of Ruby but that didn't mean that they were anything alike. Wynd was surprised but impressed that she knew who he was. Not that that was very surprising. Many Slytherins spent all their time collecting information on all the other students. Luckily, Wynd didn't have to waste his time doing that. Damien had already taken care of that. It was amazing to watch Damien work. He had a way of getting confidential information like it was the day's weather report.

Wynd took a breath to answer her but before he could he was rudely clapped on the back. Wynd turned to see one of his fellow fifth years Samaal. Wynd had a small grudge against Samaal because for four years now Samaal had talked in his sleep. At least, Wynd was pretty sure it was Samaal. The most infuriating thing though was that it was all nonsense. He never spoke in complete sentences or even phrases that made the least bit of sense. Samaal had recently tried out for the Quidditch team with Wynd and they had both got on the team. They had always gotten along, for the most part. As long as they stayed out of each other's way. "Sinclair, is it not?" he asked of this girl. Wynd turned to look at her and asked, "Sinclair? As in Holly Sinclair? The editor of Witch Weekly?" He smirked to himself. He was right. You never knew who people were connected with. "This girl was just asking me about prefect duties, Samaal. I just finished my patrol. I'm not going to patrol the corridors all night for Dumbledore like a loyal dog. They have mudbloods in Hufflepuff for that."

[Samaal O'Toole S5]

Samaal sneered at Wynd's look of annoyance as he clapped the Slytherin on the back. The same filthy look Samaal always threw Adam, when the latter did the very same to him. Sam smiled to himself at the irony of it all. "Holly Sinclair?" Wynd had said in bewilderment. Samaal was barely taking in any of their chit-chat, his mind was stubbornly wandering again. He noticed that Wynd was smirking at him saying something. He ended his speech with an arrogant line: "They have mudbloods in Hufflepuff for that." The boy was obviously awaiting a response from Samaal. The latter shrugged, his expression blank. He wholeheartedly agreed with whatever it was about mudblood Hufflepuffs, but decided against persuing the topic on blood. Who was Samaal to talk about filth? He thought bitterly. He pulled a face as if he was sucking on a lemon peel and turned back to the girl, eying her with interest. Holly Sinclair, a most respected reporter. "Ah, yes." He crooned silkily, his face etched with scorn and every clue to a smirk. He took in Ally Sinclair's features. Pretty and an unabashed look about her, almost the splitting image of her mother. "Young Ally Sinclair, I presume?" He hoped to intimidate her with a mocking attempt at being patronising, but wasn't quite sure if he had gotten past her iron defences. Samaal's upper lip twitched to form a slight snarl, but he turned away from the girl. She wasn't as dim-witted as he had hoped. Sam exchanged looks with Wynd. His dear dormmate, Wynd. He had been a Slytherin Samaal had always respected, but inwardly accused him of talking in his sleep. Was it perhaps Wynd who muttered barely intelligable words in the wee hours of the morning, strange phrases such as "Sponge! No, dig the hole more to the left. The other wallpaper, that one's too pink." Samaal had always rolled over and clamped a hand to his ear when he heard this ridiculous muttering, but it had lost him several precious hours of sleep every night. Perhaps that was why he had always surveyed Wynd coolly, and barely nodded to him in class.

Fiddling with the stitches at the back of the green armchair, he gazed absent-mindedly into the fire. Finally Samaal strode around Sinclair's chair and settled himself in the faded leather couch nearst to the fire. He was opposite Wynd and to Sinclair's left. Samaal pulled out his wand thoughtfully, studying the dark wood. the handle was carved ornately, depicting scrolls and waves. "Anybody done anything in the duelling club?" He asked, not exactly sure were he was going with the conversation. He would dearly like to have the chance to hex somebody. Perhaps that annoying Hufflepuff prefect, whatsername. She was considerably older than Samaal, but when it came to velocity and atrocity (the two most important values in a duell), Sam would most certainly be better off. He wouldn't linger around, using those riff-raff spells that forced the target to dance uncontrollably. He wouldn't send a flock of canaries after the victim, no, he would have several unpleasant curses on the ready. What was the last one he had sneeked at peek at in the forbidden section of the library? Something horrible that caused the fingernails to grow inwards at an alarming rate. There had been gruesome pictures in the book of a man shrieking in agony, his fingernails having grown through his whole arm and were sprouting out of the back of his head. Samaal surpressed a shudder and turned back to the duo. They looked unsuspecting, ignorant about the horrible thoughts shooting through his head.

Samaal stretched out his legs, yawning for effect. The fire popped and crackled merrily beside him. It was tempting to abandon this tedious talk and slouch up to his dorm. There only sleep awaited Samaal, so he shook off the thought. If he had really fallen asleep a few minutes ago and had dreamt uncanningly realistic dreams that haunted him even now, he wasn't going to drift off anytime soon. A coffee of pick-me-up would be welcome now, would he be able to call a house-elf? They wouldn't listen to Samaal, as he wasn't their master. He would have to trudge down to the kitchen to demand a beverage. The idea of leaving his comfy couch wasn't appealing, so he leant back, hands propped behind his head arrogantly. Perhaps if he could be bothered to later, he would ask Wynd or Sinclair if they wanted to join him for a firewhiskey. Samaal praised Ogden inwardly, the inventor of the fiery liquid. Would the stinking little elves store such a drink? Samaal thought back to Paddy, the house elf back home. He scampered about the house clumsily, terrified of Father. Almost as bad as mudbloods.

Samaal's train of thought stopped, and he scowled sourly. Mudbloods would have been just as terrified of Father as Paddy is, 20 years ago, when O'Toole was on the loose, cutting down muggle-borns and filth. Sam's stomach churned unpleasantly, as if he had eaten something rotten. He resoluted to tread carefully with his thoughts, to avoid that subject. Samaal turned back to surveying Sinclair and Lehane, ignoring the little voices in his head. Before he could stop himself, he had jumped to his feet distractedly, unaware if they had spoken to him at all or were looking at him in any case. "Anybody up for a drink? I'm going down to the kitchens." He looked at the other two with a raised eyebrow, impatient and keen to get out of the limiting Common Room all of a sudden. He dared any meddling prefect patrolling the halls to confront him. A Hufflepuff docking points from an angry Slytherin was a bad enough mistake. They were potentially three against one, and the outcome would not be that hard to foresee. Samaal shot Wynd a sharp look, as the boy was a prefect too. Surely he wouldn't dissuade them from walking around the school at night? Sam was ready to sort his features into the nastiest look he could muster if Lehane showed any sign of standing between him and the door. The best scenario would be if the he decided to come with. If they got caught, the prefect could wheedle his way out of the sticky situation. Samaal shot Sinclaire a look as well, but wasn't all that impatient for her to come.




((Ideal would be if Aimee and Samaal went for the drinks, so the two could put the afforementioned plot into action. Samaal would let the story slip, she keeps it in, etc etc. Wynd might decide against going, or perhaps looses them on the way back because they are chased by a teacher (they scatter), but he finds out because Aimee confides the secret in him (the two would have to work up to their friendship until then??) So the outcome would be that they are drawn closer together (Sam doesn't know that Wynd knows). I am working on Naihm Connor, the adopted girl (might need a month or so before I can get her, but if either of you are accepted as a 6th or 7th year, you might be interested). Let's see where this all goes! Good luck!))

[Aimee Sinclair S3]

Aimee was not surprised when the other boy approached Aimee and Wynd. Most Slytherins did not like to sit in the corners listening to the conversations of others, but liked to be part of the action themselves. This Slytherin was obviously no different. The darker boy immediately recognized Aimee as a Sinclair, and for that Aimee was proud. She was even more proud when Wynd Lehane’s mouth hung open in surprise at the mention of Aimee’s name. She loved being a Sinclair. Seeing this reaction on the faces of all her classmates when they found out she was the daughter of the famous reporter Holly Sinclair was simply delighting. “Yes, I’m Holly Sinclair’s daughter.” She said with a look of pure pride on her face.

"Young Ally Sinclair, I presume?” O’Toole asked, trying to look smart like he knew everything there was to know. That was Aimee’s job. People tried to be like her, they tried to pick up every little fact they could about the people they met. Aimee, like her mother had a talent for doing it right away. She didn’t mix up names. The downside of being the daughter of such a successful and beautiful woman was that people only saw her as ‘Holly Sinclair’s daughter’. Aimee supposed this was okay, since it was a good name to be associated with, but Aimee wanted to be her own person. One day, Aimee would grow up to do very successful things, and people would finally address her by her name, not who she was related to. One day, her own fame would surpass her mother’s, Aimee was sure of it. “Actually, it’s Aimee Sinclair, not Ally.” She said dryly, trying to keep her anger inside. She would only let a bit of her anger peek out in her words so that O’Toole would get the message, but she wouldn’t be seen as overreacting to something as little as name confusion.

O’Toole took a seat next to her, which didn’t really bother her like she would have thought it would. She started to stare into the fire with a dazed expression on her face as Wynd and Samaal spoke. Suddenly, Samaal jumped up from his seat and invited the two to come with him for a drink down in the kitchens. Well, now that Aimee thought about it, her mouth was a bit dry. Not to mention Aimee was bored, and wasn’t ready to go to bed yet. “Sure, I’ll come along. What about you, Wynd? We’d be less likely to get caught if you came along.” She said truthfully. She didn’t feel like getting house points docked from Slytherin tonight. They were already in last place as it is.

((Sorry it took me so long guys!))

[Wynd Lehane]

Wynd chuckled to himself as Samaal called the girl in front of him Allie instead of Aimee. Wynd knew that the daughter of the infamous Holly Sinclair's name was Aimee. It amused him beyond content that Samaal got her name wrong. He was so sure of himself, sneering and snapping at everyone that got in his way. For someone who supposedly knew information, he was making a huge mistake. Sure, the name Allie was similar to Aimee, but the fact remained that Allie was not her name. Her name was Aimee. Anyone who read or knew anything about Holly Sinclair would know her daughter's true name. This is why Wynd found Samaal's mistake so amusing. He would not be able to intimidate her into submission using the wrong name. He laughed aloud when Aimee corrected him; the faintest hint of anger in her voice.

Wynd couldn't remember the last time that he had actually sat down with Samaal and had a conversation. Maybe the two have never had a decent conversation. That wouldn't surprise him. He had lived with Samaal for four years now but hardly knew anything about him. Same with all of his roommates. He had been sleeping with these boys, eating with them, going to class with them; and yet Wynd didn't know anything about them. He supposed that was because up until this year all that he cared about was the relationship with his sister. But now things had changed. His own roommate Valmer was dating her. Dylan had an unusual habit of sneaking off in the middle of the night which didn't bother Wynd until he became a prefect. He couldn't ever remember talking with Conan. Samaal was no different. He was practically a mystery to Wynd. Something that he would soon remedy.

Samaal suddenly jumped up and invited them to join him in the kitchens for a drink. Samaal gave Wynd a look as if to say, "Stop me prefect. I dare you." Wynd really didn't care if students were out of their common rooms after dark. He thought it was a dumb rule. But he had to keep up appearances. You never knew who was watching you. Aimee accepted Samaal's invitation and then asked Wynd to join them. Aimee seemed to think that they were less likely to get into trouble if he came with them. Wynd was not sure how. Even as a prefect he was not immune to the rules. He really should do that Charms essay but what the heck? Going on an adventure could be fun. "Yeah, I'm come along. Lead the way Samaal."