Just a drink ((Wynd and Aimee))

[Samaal O'Toole S5]

Samaal slipped out of the Slytherin Common room and up the stairs, swiftly and silently. He turned around briefly to make sure the other two were on his tail. The torches light up the dark walls at regular intervals, casting the trio in alternate shadow and orange light. Good thing Wynd had decided to come along. Samaal racked his brains, trying to remember any precious details on his roommate. If he thought about it, Samaal didn't know much about the boy, except perhaps that he was the mysterious midnight talker. Wynd was silent, if not cold towards Samaal.
Smirking a little, Samaal flitted through hallways and up spirally staircases until he found what it was he was looking for. A Still life painting of a giant fruitbowl. Casting a look over his shoulder, he tickled the yellow pear, making it giggle. Samaal wiped his hand on his robes in disgust, as if the painting of the pear had been dipped into something smelly. He cast a smug look over his shoulder at Wynd, as the entrance to the kitchens appeared. Preferably the prefect would have been either uncomfortable or flabbergasted, but to Sam's dismay, it was hard to read the boy's face. With a last icy look, he slipped into the kitchens and stood aside for the others to pass through. Samaal looked around unimpressed, he had been in the kitchens many times before. He couldn't help throwing the others another smug look, almost desperate for them to give away looks of marvel or astonishment.

The kitchens were large and warm, swarming with busy elves preparing breakfast for the next morning. Samaal looked around at the stacks of tarts and vegetables, flaggons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer lazily. He snatched a mince pie off the nearest platter, throwing it into his mouth. The nearest elf shot him a filthy look. "Get us firewhiskey." Samaal shot at him, leering and wiping crumbs off his chin. The elf jumped and bowed down to the ground. "Sir, the mister Ogden's whiskey is not permitted for Hogwarts students, Sir!" he squeaked, his nose an inch from the tiles and his eyes not daring to look up. Samaal shot a look at the others, eyes narrowed, as if it was their fault. "I dont think you understand, elf, I am ordering you to bring us Firewhiskey." Said Samaal in dangerously cold voice. The elf positively shivered, but spoke again, to the floor. "Sir, we was ordered, Sir, not to serve the youngsters Firewhiskey." squeaked the elf. Samaal felt a burning sensation at the word "Youngsters". He opened his mouth to shout, to scream, but a raspy little voice cut over his. "Respectable young Sirs and Madam, Grudger would be delighted to help you out." it sneered oilily. The dirtiest Houself Samaal had ever seen was clutching its oily little rag of a toga, and bowing low before them. The first elf shot a nasty look at Grudger. "Grudger mustn't disobey orders!" the primer squeaked, puffing out its little chest. "Aye." sneered Grudger. "But if Grudger tells masters and mistress where Whiskey is, they can gets it, and Grudger isn't disobeying orders!" rasped the filthy elf. Samaal's face twisted into an evil smile. "That's more like it!" He grinned, turning to Wynd and Aimee. "Looks like we're gonna get what we're after in the end!" He turned back to Grudger. "Lead us on." He barked. The elf rubbed its filthy little hands and lead them over to a dusty cabinet. "Sir must open it." Grudger bowed and stepped back, as if standing too close to the cabinet would get him into trouble. Samaal reached inside and took out a bottle. "Aye." crowed Grudger and he shuffled off, rubbing his hands.

"Three glasses and armchairs by the fire." snapped Samaal to the nearest elf. half a dozen snapped into action, pushing the chairs closer to the fire and whisking up glasses. Samaal was used to giving his own house elf orders, so snapping at the grubby little creatures came as a second nature to him. He took a seat in the largest chair, closest to the fire and bewitched the bottle to pout its contents into the glasses neatly. Each tumbler was poured a decent measure, and flew towards each of the trio. Samaal smiled to himself. His mother had taught him that trick to serving important guests. Sauda had shown him plenty of other impressive bits of magic Samaal often used to intimidate people. He had always tried the concealment charm with his jaw set and temple throbbing with concentration, but he had only managed to make his snail a shade paler. Once Samaal could be able to grasp that trick, he was sure it would come in useful. Disappearing at will? Samaal couldn't wait until he was a fully grown wizard. Not that his parents didn't mind him performing magic at home, but the meddlesome Ministry could create problems for him. Samaal raised his glass to the others conversationally and took a draught. The warm golden liquid scorched his tongue and rolled down the back of his throat. Samaal forced himself to keep a straight face and not express the burning within. He gave a little shudder and sighed a hearty "aah." He surveyed the others over the rim of his glass, hoping to see them blither and splutter at the taste of the liquid. He watched that Aimee Sinclair closely, eager for a flicker of emotion of any kind. He found himself following her every movement with his eyes, greedy for a sign of a flaw from Holly Sinclair's[i/] daughter. Samaal's dark eyes passed over her face. Proud and keen. He smiled to himself softly and turned back to his drink.

[Wynd Lehane]

Eyes followed Samaal as he rose and slipped out of the common room. Wynd said he would go along so he followed. Allowing Aimee to exit common room first, he trailed after the other two. This would be fun. Or at least, this could be fun. This could end in disaster after all. But Wynd thought that it would be fun. He had never been to the kitchens before although he had heard rumors of where they were. Most said that they were in the basement near the Hufflepuff Dormitory. That thought highly amused Wynd. As if each time the Hufflepuffs went back to their common room they had to have some food so they needed the kitchens near them. It also disappointed Wynd because if he ever needed to go to the kitchens, he was likely to run into some Hufflepuff students. Hufflepuff. What a wasted house. Everyone knew that that House was full of students who didn't fit anywhere else. They were too dumb for Ravenclaw, not clever enough for Slytherin, and too smart for Gryffindor. Out of the other Houses, Wynd respected Ravenclaw the most. Not liked necessarily, but respected. Some of the pure bloods in Ravenclaw were the smartest people he had ever met. They just didn't know how to put their intelligence to good use so they ended up in Ravenclaw and not Slytherin. While Ravenclaws had book smarts, Slytherins had street smarts. Ravenclaws usually spent their entire lives couped up in their tower but Slytherins were active. They took their knowledge and used it to their advantage. Take Samaal here for example. He knew where the kitchens were and would use that knowledge to his advantage, as he was know.

Wynd was happy to accept Samaal's invitation to the kitchens. He really did want to know more about his roommate. It was amazing that they could have lived together for four and a half years and still barely know each other. Samaal's surname was O'Toole. But that was about it that Wynd knew about his fellow Slytherin. Where was he from? Did he have any siblings? Who were his parents? Would he support Wynd and Ruby in the cause? They was no way to know and that is why Wynd was happy to oblige Samaal's invitation. Their friend, Wynd was a little more weary about. Her name was Aimee Sinclair. An earlier conversation had confirmed that she was in fact the daughter of the infamous Holly Sinclair. It would take a while for Wynd to warm up to her. He didn't want himself to be the focus or even the gossip in Witch Weekly. He kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye as if to judge whether she was in fact trustworthy. Samaal stopped in front of a picture of a Giant Fruit bowl, reached out, and tickled the pear. It giggled as if it was an animate object and could feel itself being tickled. Samaal glanced at Wynd as the entrance to the kitchens appeared as if he was hoping for a look of astonishment from Wynd. Wynd kept a straight face and simply raised an eyebrow as if to ask, 'Yes?' but he didn't say anything. While Wynd was impressed that Samaal knew how to enter the kitchens, everyone knew they were around here so it was not that impressive. Again he let Aimee go before him and then followed her into the kitchens.

Wynd looked around the immense kitchens but his focus was brought back to Samaal when the boy started yelling at a house elf for some Firewhisky. The house elf refused to help him because he had been forbidden to give students Firewhisky. This seemed to greatly disturb Samaal but Wynd was glad to see that the house elf was following orders. Eventually a dirty house elf named Grudger showed Samaal where to get the drink. Samaal then ordered the house elves to get them some chairs near the fire. Samaal took the largest one for himself. Tsk, tsk, thought Wynd. A gentlemen always lets a lady sit first. He gestured for Aimee to sit in whichever seat she wanted and sat once she had sat down. Wynd took the glass that had flown at him glanced down at the contents and looked back at Samaal. "Thank you, but I don't drink. Take this," he said to the house elves dropping the glass next to him. He was positive that the house elves would catch it before it hit the floor and sure enough he did not hear the glass shatter. "I want some water," Wynd announced in a calm and even voice. It was pointless to get angry at house elves. They did what they were told whether you were whispering or yelling. Seconds later one of the elves gave him a glass of water. He drank some and glanced at his companions. "Tell us, Samaal. What brings us down here?"

[Aimee Sinclair S3]

Aimee followed the two out of the Slytherin common room. She was very pleased when Wynd allowed her to go first. He had obviously been brought up well. A gentleman, no doubt. He’d probably attended a few etiquette classes like she and her brother had to. Aimee had two siblings. There was her younger brother, who was too young to go to Hogwarts as of yet. But he would be entering the school next year. Then there was Denise. Aimee almost shuddered at the name. Denise Sinclair was nothing but a disgrace. She was loud, rebellious, and didn’t follow the pureblood way. Denise had been sorted into Hufflepuff, and ever since then she’s been rotting away in that sorry excuse for a house. She walked quietly down the corridors, following Samaal and Wynd into the kitchens. Wynd didn’t seem to have ever seen the kitchens before, and his curiosity was obvious to Aimee, but it was also obvious he was trying to hide it. Aimee had a talent for these things. Her mother had taught her how to dig deeper into someone’s heart and soul to find out your story. Samaal kept looking back at them, and she could tell he was desperate to see some astonishment or get some praise for successfully finding the kitchens. Oh, please. Aimee had found the kitchens within the first week of being at Hogwarts. It wasn’t that great an achievement.

Wynd, on the other hand was a little wearier. It seemed that like most people in this school, Wynd feared getting too much attention. It was as if he was somehow afraid Aimee was going to report his behavior to her mother so she could publish it. Although Aimee cold see the story behind a prefect helping his fellow students sneak out after hours to drink fire whiskey, she could not see how her mother had the time with such small useless stories. Stories like that were for armatures, not for people like Holly Sinclair. Aimee’s mother had better things to do and bigger fish to fry. Holly Sinclair only wrote about celebrities that would interest the public, like Ezzie Mendez and Ethan Jacobs. Possibly even Mackenzie Holden. Those were the kinds of people that needed to watch out for Aimee, not boring old Wynd the nobody.

But Aimee thanked Wynd nonetheless when he let her pick the seat of her choosing. Samaal seemed very angry with the house elves, although she couldn’t see why. They didn’t do anything wrong but follow orders. Aimee shrugged the thought off and glanced at the glass. She pushed it away and watched as the house elves brought it off. “I don’t drink either. It fogs the senses and clogs the thought process.” She said, practically reciting something her mother told her the previous summer. “Elf, a glass of water if you please.” Aimee said quietly. She wasn’t in the mood for anything fancy right now. Aimee wondered for a moment why she was even here.

[Samaal O'Toole S5]

Samaal raised an eyebrow at the other two. What on earth did they expect, coming to the Hogwarts kitchens for a midnight snack and a drink? The two had ordered a glass of water each. Samaal tried to unknit his frown and manage a perplexed smile. "As you please.", he sneered, lowering his glass and dropping it, just as Wynd had done. It was evidently caught by one of the elves, as it too, did not shatter. He put his fingertips together and looked across at them politely. It dawned on Samaal, that this was a most hidious habit of Dumbledore's, so he dropped his hands and stood up instead. Samaal paced around his armchair once and stopped, leaning on its back. He surveyed the two. He felt a bit awkward with the two looking at him, drinking water. He felt a pang of annoyance and regret. He should have come down on his own without the two. Instead, Samaal looked over at Wynd, trying to look brightened. At least he could talk to his fellow roommate and team player about Quidditch. "Last Quidditch practise was quite interesting. All that blind-folding business. Of course, it seems a little tedious. All that trust-business, please! Might as well be on the Hufflepuff team." He smirked at Wynd, sizing him up. Would he addle on about how great Kennedy was, or did he have more sense then the captain? Samaal didn't know much about Wynd, and he doubted that the Slytherin knew much about him. Perhaps it was better that way, as there was a mutual sense of hostility between the two. Sam shrugged. What could be too bad about knowing more about each other? He looked from Wynd to Aimee. "Any brothers or sisters at the school?" Samaal wasn't all that interested, but he would rather have conversation with these two in the kitchens, than sit on his own in the Common room, engulfed by amazingly vived dreams.

It occured to him suddenly, what would he say, if they asked about any siblings? Would he reply that he was a lonely little boy living in an over-sized house, the same boy who spent Christmas on his own in Diagon Alley? His father was to cold to look at his son other than flare his nostrils or smirk, and his mother barely broke the silence. A muscle throbbed in Samaal's jaw. He remembered the train-journey back to Hogwarts, sitting in that compartment with only Juliet for company. His mind had been raw with the memory of his mother watching him board the train, without another word. Samaal sneaked a look at Aimee. This girl was the sort of person he would want most to keep far from his parents. She was the last person he wanted to know about Mr. O'Toole's past and the big cover-up. The muscle in his jaw throbbed some more in anguish, but he forced himself to smile a lop-sided smile.

Samaal turned his back on the two and asked one of the elves for a glass of water. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, he thought bitterly, So they should have had the decency to accept their drinks. He shrugged off the thought, and took a crystal tumbler full of cold water. Samaal took his place standing behind his armchair again, and turned back to the others. "Tell us, Samaal. What brings us down here?" came Wynd's calm voice. Sam narrowed his eyes at Wynd for a split second, but turned it into an eye-wrinkling smile. "I come up here some evenings, when the studious atmospere in the Common Room gets a little short of unbearable." He lied, giving his remark a tone of finality. He didn't want people digging too deep into his emotions. He raised an eyebrow and glanced down at Aimee. She seemed a little too sharp for his liking. She seemed able to cotton on to people's true, hidden thoughts, in the same thorough way as her mother. Samaal's face fell a little in discomfort and distaste. He took a sip of the refreshingly cold water. "Finally I've finished that mountain of work McGonagall positively heaved onto my back." He smiled thinly, hoping he didn't sound too much like a Ravenclaw. Wasn't it work their lot always talked about? Samaal had never really talked much to a Ravenclaw, so he wouldn't know for sure. He wondered if the other two had. "Ravenclaws seem to be the most decent of the other bunch. You know, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, the muggle-lovers." He pondered to himself, looking at the others. Yes, Ravenclaws were the most decent by far. Not that they were actually worth wasting time with, but he supposed that he could see himself respecting them somewhat. What would the others think?

[Wynd Lehane]

Wynd was surprised but impressed that Aimee also refused her firewhisky. She didn't drink for the same reason that he did not drink. It clouded the senses. There was a time and place for that but this was not one of those times. Wynd had entered unfamiliar territory with two practical strangers. He had just met Aimee tonight and had no idea what was running through her head. Wynd knew Samaal as a roommate, but he was unsure if he trusted Samaal as a person. Wynd smirked to himself as Samaal stood up and paced around his armchair. As if sitting here with the other two Slytherins was bothering him. Or maybe he had a disease where he could not sit still for more than a few moments. Wynd thought it was more likely the latter. However, Samaal didn't know what he was getting into when he had invited the other two Slytherins to tag along with him. Although, he had been the inviter not the invitee. He should be more comfortable around them. He was not then he should not have invited the other two to join him for a drink down in the kitchens. Samaal leaned against the back of his chair and said something about Quidditch to Wynd. "I will admit that the exercise did seem like a Hufflepuff test to me." He turned toward Aimee. "Our new captain Kennedy made us put on blind folds and let the other players lead us around the pitch," he explained to her. He turned back to Samaal. "I was disgruntled that Kennedy picked me to be his partner. As if I had to be the guinea pig for everyone else to laugh at."

"I have one sister. My twin. Ruby. You probably have met her Samaal. Right now she's dating our roommate Valmer," he grimaced at the name but tried his best to turn it back into a smile. He would have to learn to accept Valmer. Valmer was now a part of their life. Whether Wynd approved or not. He would have to approve or not be a part of Ruby's life. The latter choice was worse than the former. Besides, what would she say if she knew that her generals were arguing like petty children? Probably nothing good. Besides, Valmer and Wynd had always gotten along. This was just another step in their 'friendship' if you could call it that. It was more like a mutual respect for one another. Wynd tried his best to find some aspect of all his roommates that he could respect. He was still trying to find that aspect of Samaal. But that was due to the fact that Wynd didn't know anything about Samaal. The two had always harbored some unknown hostility toward one another. As of tonight, Wynd was still searching. Samaal seemed to be impatient, a trait that was never good. Plus, just because Aimee and Wynd did not want to drink firewhisky did not mean the Samaal had to give up his drink. He seemed to do it because he wanted Aimee and Wynd to like him. But he tried too hard.

Samaal then ordered himself some water. Again, he wanted to be 'accepted.' Wynd brought his own glass to his mouth to drink from it and noticed some dust or dirt on the sleeve of his robe. Swallowing the water in his mouth he brought the glass down and with his other hand brushed the dirt off his robes. I wonder what that was, Wynd thought to himself. He could hear Samaal speaking once again but Wynd was terribly bored with Samaal. He was doing nothing that interested him. If Samaal was not going to tell the reason that Aimee and Wynd had been invited on this little adventure, Wynd didn't care to hear what Samaal had to say. He wanted to hear what Aimee had to say. He was fascinated by her. What was it like to have an infamous mother? Of course, some people had heard of Wynd and Ruby's mother going to Azakaban for using the killing curse on muggles but most people didn't care. Aimee's mother was a reporter and a well respected one too. Unlike that Rita Skeeter who was known to just report lies about uninteresting people. "I agree that purebloods from Ravenclaw can be respected. But not necessarily liked. What are your views Aimee?"

[Aimee Sinclair S3]

Aimee could feel a strong sense of hate and hostility in the room. Aimee didn’t understand it. She was not opposed to hostility, as Aimee was proud to be guilty of that crime from time to time. But they were all Slytherins. Aimee knew that all of them came from well respected pureblood families, so they must consider it their duty to get along. It is not wise to make enemies with those in power. Her mother had always taught her that. You must be kind to all those who may be of use to you one day. The exception to this rule of course, is mudbloods and half-breeds. No matter how high in society they think they are, they simply won’t get anywhere important with their blood. Aimee valued her mother’s opinion, and listened intently whenever she offered her words of wisdom. Holly Sinclair was the perfect example of power, and if Aimee wanted to be like her one day, she had to be sure to follow her example and listen to what she had to say.

Aimee found it amusing that Samaal seemed to try to fit in with Aimee and Wynd. She didn’t blame him. In fact, she took it as a good sign on Samaal’s part. If he wasn’t good enough to meet the standards of a well respected pureblood Slytherin, then he must associate himself with all the right people and follow their lead, so he could one day become like them. He was doing the right thing. Of course, it was a bit petty to have to change for Aimee and Wynd in the first place, but it seemed he was doing the right thing in trying to follow Aimee and Wynd’s example. Aimee took a sip of her water and listened to Wynd speak…or rather complain about their last Quidditch practice. “Well, it does sound like a very Hufflepuff type task, but I see why Kennedy asked you to do it. While it may be tedious, it does promote teamwork, which is the key to success in Quidditch.” Aimee said, quoting her mother once more. Aimee was okay on a broomstick, but she definitely wasn’t good enough for the house team. Besides, it simply didn’t catch her interest.

When the subject was changed from Quidditch to Ravenclaws, Wynd turned to Aimee, waiting to hear what she had to say. Aimee loved being a Sinclair. Thanks to her mother, Aimee had gained a reputation at Hogwarts. She was feared by the pathetic, and respected by the great and powerful. While she did want to have her own identity one day, she loved enjoying the perks of being ‘Holly Sinclair’s daughter’ for the time being. “I believe it depends on the Ravenclaw. The pureblood ones can be worthy of our respect, but most of them do tend to be blood traitors. The rest are either mudbloods, half breeds, or just downright annoying.” She said as she rolled her eyes and thought of the annoying young Ravenclaw boy from Charms class.

[Carson McGreggor H6]

Carson strolled through the corridors with his hands deep in his pockets. Being a prefect, Carson had the responsibility to stay out late at night and watch for students that were out after hours. He figured the best approach was to stay near the kitchens tonight. He knew of many students (including himself, but he wasn’t going to make that a known fact) that liked to sneak out of their beds for a midnight snack. Carson sighed and tried to keep a lookout for any students that were about to come. But his mind kept wandering. He absentmindedly brushed his finger past the large bruise around his left eye. The cut beside the bruise was haphazardly covered with a small band-aid. He sighed, as more flashbacks of that night in the alley flashed quickly before his eyes. Suddenly, he heard Casey’s screams echoing in his head, making his head ache just like it did the first time. He blinked a few times and glanced around. Still no one was coming. Suddenly, Carson’s bruised eye started to throb as he remembered Hanson hitting him square in the face. He flinched as flashbacks of the bottles dropping to the floor flashed before his eyes. He shook his head.

Carson thought he saw a shadow, so he swerved around. When he didn’t see anyone, he turned back to face the kitchens. Carson stood concealed next to a large suit of armor. He could clearly see the portrait of the fruit basket from where he was standing, but he’d be damned if anyone could see him before his presence was made known. He glanced at the corridor that lead to the dungeons and he flinched again, remembering the night in jail. His back ached as the memories of the cold hard bunks flew back into his head. He could still hear the snoring and the grunting of his cellmate, even now when he was safe in Hogwarts’ corridors. He could hear the tantalizing jingling of the prison guard’s keys, even now that there were no bars separating Carson from the real world. Suddenly, Carson heard footsteps coming from the dungeons. Slytherins. Of course. Why was he not surprised that they thought they were too good for rules? As Carson’s anger flared, his eyes caught a painting of a beautiful sunset on the wall. His eyes softened and his thoughts were clouded as he remembered the glorious morning after he was released from jail.

Casey had decided to drop by Carson’s apartment in Whales just hours after he had returned home himself. That day, his head was throbbing, his back ached, and he was exhausted from lack of sleep. But Casey had definitely brightened up his day, and possibly the rest of the Winter Holidays. Carson shook his head, trying to place where the footsteps might have been now. He was distracted for several seconds before he found six feet walking casually toward the large portrait. He watched for a moment as one of them extended an arm to tickle the pear. It giggled and admitted them inside. And who says it’s hard to catch a snake? Carson mused. I’ve just caught three. He waited a few moments before walking up to the portrait. He might as well let them get settled for a moment before he moved in. Carson always loved this part of being a prefect. He loved catching Slytherins in the act. He walked in and noticed the three sitting in front of the fire like they owned the place. A small house elf approached Carson and bowed so low, his long pointy nose brushed the tiled floor of the kitchens. “May George help you, mister Prefect, sir?” Carson smiled. “No, I won’t be staying long. And neither will they.” Carson said, gesturing toward the three kids by the fire. After looking at them for a moment, Carson was able to place who they were. One was Wynd Lehane, a Slytherin prefect in Carson’s year. He never really liked Wynd, so he was especially glad he was able to bust him. Then there was Aimee Sinclair, the youngest of the bunch. Carson should go and report them to McGonagall. Sinclair’s presence in the group had definitely sweetened Carson’s find. Aimee was the daughter of the woman who wrote that awful article about Ezzie, and he was glad justice would be served to the little wench.

“Well, well. What have we got here? Don’t you guys know better than to be out this late at night? Lehane, you’re lucky I don’t go and tell Snape about one of his prefects smuggling kids into the kitchens late at night. And Sinclair, what if your mummy dearest heard about you out late at night with two older Slytherin boys? She wouldn’t like it, would she? You’re lucky I have to get to Astronomy, or I’d report you all. Now off to bed before I change my mind. All of you.”