Excuse Me. ((Cyrus & Drake)) [PG-13]

[India Nightingale]

((This may contain PG-13 material. Please read at your own discretion.))

India watched Drake slip out of the Common Room with seemingly indifferent eyes. He hadn't noticed her and she was glad of it. Where he was going on this cold Saturday afternoon was beyond her; it wasn't like she could read his mind, nor did she know him well enough. Resentment knocked against the door of her inner thoughts again and she pushed it away stubbornly. To distract herself, India gazed around the Common Room boredly, her textbook lying forgotten on her lap where she sat in the corner, shrouded in darkness. She observed the many faces of her Slytherin counterparts, chatting or doing homework, or like her, reading. None of them were paying any attention to her; it was as though she did not exist, like she lived in a bubble only she could see. India was invisible to the outside world at the moment, and she was glad of the privacy for once. Most of the students were in their common rooms or the Student Lounge - somewhere warm with a fireplace, no doubt trying to escape the freezing cold. Winter was upon Hogwarts and in a few weeks time it would soon be time to return home. India planned to spend Christmas here for the first time in six years; as much as Skye and herself wanted to keep their mother company, both felt it was best if she was left to recuperate without feeling the overwhelming burden of two teenage daughters who looked, frankly, identical.

India snapped her book shut. She stood up and, glancing around to make sure no one was watching her, made her way up the stairs to the dorms - of the boys. Ignoring her usual path to her own room, India stole up the foreign stairs in silence. She doubted anyone would catch her; no one was in their dorm alone... No one was quite as antisocial as she was. Finding the door to the Seventh Years' room, India entered carefully, a wide eye peeking in to make sure no one was inside. Once she had ascertained she had not intruded on one of the older boys, India heaved an inner sigh of relief and closed the door behind her. Now she was alone, staring at six beds and wondering which one was Drake's. "What are you doing?" India's inner conscience hissed in alarm, but she merely ignored it as her instincts took over. India had never done anything quite so daring before, and although she wasn't about to admit it, she enjoyed the thrill and exhileration. She wasn't scared of being caught - by anyone but Drake anyway. And he wasn't going to be returning anytime soon. India stared at each bed in turn and assessed them silently. Which one was Drake's? Would he be neat? Messy? Would he have clothes sprawled all over the bedsheets? Highly unlikely, India decided, turning away from the messiest bed in disdain.

It didn't take long for India to be sure that the bed that belonged to Drake's was the most ordinary of all the beds. It was casually made up, but at the same time it looked like no one had slept in it. The area was sparsely furnished - in fact, there seemed to be no belongings, aside from a trunk and a broomstick under the bed. Well, seeing the broom, India had to assume this was Drake's. The only other Seventh Year male on the Quidditch team was Pyro Blackfire, and although non-Quidditch players did own brooms, India didn't see any under the other four beds. The only exception was a very neat bed and that, India felt, had to be Pyro's. So, approaching what she was assumed was Drake's sleeping area, India stared at it for a while before sitting gently on it. She felt a sudden pang of sorrow; it came from nowhere but ate her up inside like an infection. She quickly overcame it with a bitter taste in her mouth and stood up again. Standing back, she observed the bed searchingly, then dropped to her knees to examine the trunk beneath the bed. If this was indeed Drake's, or anyone's property, India felt she had no right to look through it, even if she disliked every single person who accommodated this room. Still, she was tempted to open the chest, even if she wasn't to go through the contents.

The chest was locked. Well, that would be easily rectified. India took out her wand and in seconds it had unveiled itself without complaint. India stared into it curiously. She had no idea what exactly she was looking for; it wasn't like she had come up here to find something to blackmail Drake with. On the contrary, she supposed she was just... interested; India wanted to know what made Drake tick, what kind of person he was. That was why she didn't want him to catch her red-handed here - then he'd realise she was indeed curious about him. India didn't want anyone to think they had any sort of hold over her... Who knew what they could do? Looking into the chest, India noted the usual bits and bobs - clothes, parchment, textbooks, quills etc. However, one object on the top of the pile caught her eye. Slowly, India lifted the book out, handling it carefully. Intrigued, she opened it and blinked. Inside were drawings; flipping through the pages, hundreds of drawings. It was art of all sorts... As India trailed through them in wonderment, she noticed the same trend - all the portraits were dark and filled with sorrow. She felt her heart tug but silenced it with a sharp, "You can't be sentimental; that's weak." India didn't know if this was Drake's handiwork, but if it was, then he and she really did hold one value in common: life was a spiralling world of darkness; nowhere to run or hide, just a circle of misery, endless and consuming.

Breathing in deeply, India shook her head to rid herself of such depressing thoughts. She was contemplating too much now; if she did that too much she would be consumed with hatred and sadness again, and she didn't want that. Although India held no positive thoughts, she was no longer hopeless; she didn't spend her days convincing herself she was useless, worthless... She was better than that. Somehow she had wormed under Drake Manning's skin - well, she wasn't worming out again even if she had verbally told him she could not stand to speak to him. It was then, though, that India's ears picked up the sound of footsteps. Immediately she closed the book and shut the chest, locking it once more and shoving it back under the bed. Instinctively she stood and, with a straight, blank face, she ran for the door. The moment she opened it and attempted to leave, though, she ran straight into another body. There was no collision, however, as India stepped back straight away. Her eyes slowly made their way up the thin body, knowing it would be one of the dorm's residents and knew she was in for trouble. Well, it wasn't Drake, so she wasn't particularly bothered; she'd get out of this situation somehow, she was confident of that. Still, when India's gaze landed on a freckled face she inwardly groaned. Cyrus Thorn. Narrowing her eyes, India stared stubbornly at Cyrus' neck (he wasn't as tall as Drake, and he was thinner) and said in a clear, cold voice, "Excuse me."

When Cyrus made no move to budge, India felt her spine tingle with annoyance and dread that this boy would refuse to move and thus put her in jeopardy of having Drake see her in here with his book, which was tucked safely under her right arm. India's eyes moved up to Cyrus' face again, this time fixing their gazes together and staring straight at him fearlessly. "Excuse me," she said again, this time more forcefully. The eye contact lasted a minute. Evidently Cyrus would not move. So be it, India thought with building frustration. She would just have to make him. In a heartbeat her left hand (her dominant hand) was in her pocket, and stepping back, her wand was held to Cyrus' chest - nearing his throat. "I said," India levelled her voice threatening, "excuse me." Her eyes were cold, ice daggers pointing straight at Cyrus. Oh, how she despised this boy right now. She hated people getting in her way. "Get out of my way," India stated softly but dangerously.

[Cyrus Thorn]

Cyrus was in a brilliant mood. Truly. He had woken up that morning and had jumped (gracefully, as always) out of bed. His clothes and Slytherin robe had almost flown onto his body- if Cyrus happened to be a muggle or mudblood then he would describe the morning like something from a Disney film, where all the woodland birds and squirrels help the princesses get dressed. Of course if little rodents had been anywhere near Cyrus’ belongings he would have made sure it was the last thing the things ever did. But that aside, the point was he was in a grand mood. He felt as if he had achieved something, although the only thing he actually achieved that morning was getting two second years to butter his toast for him. Not that Cyrus was unable to butter his own toast of course. He just wanted to see if he could make them do it; and they had done it, automatically proving how idiotic and pathetic they truly were. They had reminded Cyrus that the lower years were crap. As you looked down the school, after around the sixth year, the quality of the students, their general academic abilities and the respect they had for their elders, seemed to decrease visibly. It was painful to watch, but Cyrus was just glad he had not been so ridiculous when he was in the lower years.

He considered, after his buttered toast, what he would do that day. He did have some work to be getting on with but it was schoolwork, which Cyrus rarely did anyway unless it was something that interested him; and those things were few. Pyro was nowhere to be seen in the Great Hall and Cyrus had missed him that morning in the Dormitory. They often went down to breakfast together. Well, more like they both happened to be walking in the same direction at the same time. Cyrus didn’t do togetherness, at least not with those of the same sex. He was normally perfectly happy to get ‘together’ with the opposite sex, on the other hand. But Pyro’s pristine bed was empty that morning, the perfectly made sheets folded in a manner that always made Cyrus wonder if his roommate had a personal house elf to do these things for him. Cyrus’ bed was never messy and he always took a few minutes to make it- he thought that to have a messy area where others also slept was rude and showed a lack of respect. Although Cy didn’t mind being rude a lot of the time, he had respect for some of his room and housemates. Plus being messy was never something he enjoyed. He was always smart, with clean, fresh clothes- and he never missed a morning shaving. But he couldn’t spend his day making his bed so he spent the morning researching in the library. He often did this- he was not an avid reader so rarely read non-fiction in the library. But he liked to research certain spells. In particular, duelling spells. He liked to have a new curse or attack incantation on his mind each day.

Today’s favourite new spell was Everte Statum. It was not new, far from it; Cyrus believed he had first heard about it in his third year. It’s aim was simple- to propel the opponent backwards at a speed and force that most spells couldn’t manage. It was not normally Cyrus’ manner to throw his opponents backwards. He preferred to keep them close, where he could deliver the most harm… But this little spell was sweet and obviously fairly easy to do. Cyrus kept it in mind as he left the library. It was the afternoon now although the skies outside would stay exactly the same throughout the morning and early afternoon- it was late afternoon when it would change, the blues and greys becoming darker, Winter’s early nights taking a hold on the world. It was freezing in the castle. If you spoke, your breath would show white in the air in the corridors. Of course Cyrus didn’t speak; the only students walking alongside him were lower years and as he had already proved that day, they were not worth words. The Slytherin strode through the corridors at a steady pace and didn’t delay for anything. When he reached the dungeons and walked into the common room he didn’t slow down. He had decided on his walk towards the Slytherin section of the castle that it was too cold for the clothes he was currently wearing, and fetching an extra layer in the form of a jumper would not be much trouble.

He had under-estimated how much trouble one could find when fetching a jumper. As he walked up the stairs to his dormitory, his mind still mulling over the duelling spell he had learnt and considering when one might use it, and what strengths and weaknesses it had, Cyrus expected to walk into an empty dorm. Despite this he was not surprised when he approached the door to find a girl there. It wasn’t an irregular event, to find a girl waiting for him by his dormitory. But a second glance at this girl made him note the fact that she still had her robes on, and the expression on her face was far from seductive. It wasn’t even nervous. Just… stubborn. Irritated. He saw the contempt in the girl’s eyes and couldn’t help but smile a haughty smirk, eyes flashing. In a way having India Nightingale at the door was almost better than the former thought- she could provide entertainment of a different sort. Excuse me… He recognised the tone in her voice; she did not want to be messed with. But Cyrus did not care at all. She was about to be messed with, whether she liked it or not.

He leant heavily against the doorframe, blocking her path casually as if the two were stopping to have a nice, friendly chat. When she repeated her request he chuckled lightly. “Actually, I’m quite comfortable where I am.” He smiled at India, wondering how much she hated him right then. He didn’t turn away from her gaze as her eyes stared straight into him, as if seeing through his bastard personality, trying to find something she could break. But there was nothing- the bastard personality was Cyrus, and he had long ago made sure there was nothing anyone could find in him to break. Her next movements were quick, so fast that Cyrus barely realised what was happening. Not that it mattered of course. He soon found the wand beneath his throat. “This is most entertaining, India.” He voiced with a smile. He hadn’t looked away from her eyes once but now he did so- in a manner that she would hate him even more for, he glanced down her form, taking everything in with one elegant eyebrow raised. It was then that he noted the book. It was large and tucked beneath her arm so that he could barely see it, but he noticed the corner and cocked his head.
“Is that a sketchbook?” He looked back into her eyes, lips twitching and eyes twinkling. “Didn’t know you drew, India. Didn’t know you could do much in the way of creativity, actually. Thought you’d at least be more of a poet- you know, the silent, sexy, mysteriously poetic type?” Another glance at the sketchbook, and something flickered in Cyrus’ memory. Slowly, his lips stretched into a highly amused smile. “Oh, India. I do believe that sketchbook doesn’t belong to you. Thievery is a bit low, isn’t it? And I’m insulted- I thought you were here for me and not one of the boy’s scribbles.” His voice was soft but the ever-present Cyrus edge still laced through it. He didn’t care at all about the wand still pointing at him; although it was not visible to India, his hand had, for the whole encounter, been casually at his side where his index finger was gently touching the end of his wand. If he needed to, although he found it unlikely, he could pull it out, his fast duelling reflexes wasting no time at all. As he stroked the end gently he mulled the spell over in his mind again- Everte Statum. It would be good to get a bit of duelling practise in with his new offensive spell, so he would not say no to some friendly fighting with the Nightingale girl.

[India Nightingale]

Cyrus oozed arrogance; there was really no other way to describe him, and no one suited it better than him. Assessing the other Slytherin Seventh Years, Cyrus was easily the most outwardly arrogant. Pyro was quite the gentleman despite his pride (and many would argue he had a right to be proud); Julian was too busy creating new rumours nowadays to prance around like an arrogant, smarmy git; and Drake... well, Drake had never been that self-conceited in comparison to his peers. India liked that about him. Besides the fact he was screwed up inside and lived in a world of darkness, and like his peers, treated women like utter crap, Drake wasn't obsessed with himself - and that was one of the traits India hated most about her Slytherin classmates. And here Cyrus was, acting as though he owned the world. Oh, it made India want to hex him into oblivion, but she had better control than that. She had not come here to start a fight and make a scene, and she was determined Cyrus would not trick her into doing something stupid. The only person, so far, who had managed to do such a thing was Drake; and India didn't plan on making the same mistake again.

India's gaze grew colder at Cyrus' words as he leaned across the entire frame of the doorway. She did not respond, except for a twitch of her eyebrow that indicated her irritation. India didn't bat an eyelash at Cyrus' next comment, but allowed herself to reply emotionlessly: "You have an odd perception of entertainment." Her eyes retained their ice-cool and continued glaring at Cyrus mercilessly. How Cyrus found this entertaining was beyond India. She rarely found anything amusing; perhaps she didn't have a sense of humour. Or maybe she just wasn't as sick-minded as Cyrus. "I won't repeat myself," India stated again coldly. "Move."

India was aware that Cyrus wasn't inept at duelling. Although her gaze was kept quite firmly on the face of the boy in front of her, her peripheral vision was focused on his pockets, in case he brought his wand out too. India would make sure Expelliarmus would take care of that. However, when Cyrus mentioned the sketchbook, India felt her guard drop a little. She'd forgotten that she was holding Drake's book in plain view; she couldn't exactly hide it. In seconds, though, India's guard was up again, more erect than before. "Who I am and what I do in my spare time is none of your business," India replied coldly. A poet? A 'sexy' poet? The image made even India want to laugh out loud at the irony. No, India had never been creative or sporty. In truth, India had few talents besides working herself to death. "Please factor me our of your fantasies," she added icily.

Cyrus was smiling, and that was when India knew he had figured it out. Clutching the sketchbook closer to her side subconsciously, India was determined that Cyrus would not have it. This was Drake's, not Cyrus'. Okay, it wasn't India's either, but she felt a sudden rise of over-protectiveness. She had more claim to look at this than Cyrus did. How much did Cyrus know of Drake Manning? Even though they had shared the same dorm for seven years, India doubted Cyrus had ever cared enough to wonder about his dormmates. India was sure Cyrus didn't even have a heart; he couldn't care about people. Then again, was Drake any better? Narrowing her eyes defensively, India slowly answered in a low voice, "You insult me by assuming I'd ever sink that low." She sent him a sharp glare. "Not every woman can be turned by that disgusting charm of yours. You're not as irresistable as you'd like to think." She had skipped over the matter of the sketchbook. If Cyrus wanted to make this about him - or them - then fine. Anything but the sketchbook. "I can achieve things without selling my body." Her eyes clearly showed her disgust. Still, there was one thing Cyrus had said that rankled India more than anything, and she bit back venomously, "And that 'boy' is twice the man you'll ever be."

India noted that Cyrus' arm was still by his side. She couldn't see what he was doing, but she could guess: his wand. When would the attack come? India didn't know, but she was certain Cyrus had something up that sleeve of his. Trying to distract him, India resorted to the one thing she always avoided: conversation. "I have better things to be doing than standing here with you, having a pointless chat." Her last word was scornfully hissed as though it was poison; and India kind of felt it was just that. "So, if you would move, that would save us the trouble of duelling." India's eyes levelled onto Cyrus'. "I may not be able to see your hand, but I can imagine what you are capable of with your wand. I'm ready. And you would do good not to underestimate your lower years... and women in general." India hated men who assumed themselves superior; and she had a feeling Cyrus was such a man. Well, he had some lessons to learn, didn't he? How much did he know about India Nightingale? Because in her year alone she was known as one of the cleverest girls. Well, she was intelligent, but it didn't always come naturally; for some subjects India had to strive hard to get her grades. Duelling, though, was something that came instinctively to India; it was as though she was made to fight. And, India hadn't ever let herself fight, so this - this was an opportunity she wouldn't want to miss. A chance to hurt one of the men she disliked the most? How could she not?

India had spent her life controlling herself... controlling what she wanted. However, here she could perhaps loosen a little and show Cyrus what she was made of. Although India didn't want a full-blown fight, she wanted to secure in that arrogant mind of his that, actually, the world didn't revolve around him; and it never would.

[Cyrus Thorn]

Her words interested him and he latched onto them with a smile. “My perception of entertainment? Oh dear India, entertainment is something that is so personal. What entertainment is or isn’t to me is completely irrelevant to what entertains you… but then, nothing does entertain you I suppose?” He was tempted to use her nickname- the Ice-Queen, but refrained. He had never liked it much, the smile he wore when he heard it caused by one thought; ice could be melted, becoming water. And water was the easiest thing to drain away. “How about… boys in leather.” He laughed. “Umm… what entertains India Nightingale… tell me, please? Save me from this torment. My whole life is on hold until your answer…” Another grin, but he really was curious about her nature. She was unfamiliar to him and the women he knew, and so he was instantly intrigued. In many ways Cyrus could be like a knowledge-hungry Ravenclaw. If there was something he didn’t know, he would make it his business until it’s secrets were no longer secrets to him. Perhaps India could be entertained by something… “Perhaps watching those you hate be humiliated? Maybe me? Would that entertain India Nightingale?” The mocking, amused tone was gone from his voice and he spoke in all seriousness.

“You just repeated yourself…” He didn’t linger on the fact that she had contradicted her own words. The matter of him moving and her asking him to move had bored him last time they had discussed it and he was not about to explain his current comfortable position once more; Cyrus disliked repeating himself. Her next words caused his brow to lift once more. “That’s true. It’s none of my business. Of course if I wanted to make it my business I doubt it would be unknown for long- it might be easier to feed my curiosity in the time being. However…” He looked down at the sketchbook in her arms. It was odd, the situation he now found before him. He didn’t know who the sketchbook belonged to, that was true. He was also extremely interested in her next words- had he assumed incorrectly? It was highly unlikely. He was pretty sure that the sketchbook did not belong to India. “Then I guess I am insulting you.” He grinned evilly. “Bite me.” Cyrus was not irresistible, far from it. He as a man could not make women do whatever he wanted. However, it was indeed true that most women could be turned- and turned on- by that… how had she phrased it? Thank disgusting charm of his. “You flatter me, darling. My charm… you do not deny I have one then?” Another comment from her, sticking to the normal ‘I’m an independent woman’ theory. He laughed at it. “In a common sale, there are two sides to the deal. The payment and the purchase. The latter, as you seem to be implying, a body. I can assure you that no payment would be made for a purchase not- and probably never- willing.” In other words, girl, stop being a granny and face the fact; no-one wants to touch ice. Cyrus didn’t voice the harsher parts of his thoughts, enjoying the metaphor she had given him more.

Ouch… Cyrus made a movement as if she had physically slapped him with her words, but his mouth still twitched, amused, at her comment about Manning being a ‘man’. “Someone’s got a soft spot.” Dang, this was fun. Who would have known that Cyrus could enjoy himself so much fetching a jumper? He made a mental note to fetch jumpers more often, at least when feisty girls like this were in his dorm. “Trouble? In duelling? There is never a trouble in a duel. There is an attack, an offence, and the defence. No trouble in that. Problems, issues, delays maybe. But never trouble in the idea of a duel.” These words were spoken almost to himself and, upon realising that he was letting a bit of himself slip, he bit the last word off sharply. “And I can assure you, under-estimating people is something I don’t plan to make a hobby of mine.”

In the moments that followed Cyrus thought back to his earlier notion- India telling him it was none of his business, and he in return thinking straight about the sketchbook. He shifted in his position- it was possible now for India to slip past him. But the proximity of their bodies would be incredibly close. His hand lifted from his waist, no longer needed that form of defence or attack. “So. Let’s summarise. You… have a soft spot. For the boy who is twice the man I will ever be. Right.” He smirked and narrowed his eyes. “So would I be right in thinking that you were perhaps feeding your soft spot today? Someone like you, someone like Manning. Can’t be the perfect relationship. Neither of you would ever give anything away. So maybe, just maybe, you decided to find that ‘anything’ out yourself?” Slowly, and incredibly irritatingly, Cyrus clapped his hands three times. The sound echoed around the two and crawled away, down the stairs and into the common room where people talked of harmless things and didn’t hold their wands against each other’s throats. A boring place, Cyrus was sure. “And you’ve found the boy’s ‘anything’. Or rather, his ‘everything’, if I know artists.” Cyrus did know the type. And he wasn’t actually that surprised to find that Manning was one of them; he had the whole locked-up angry thing going on for him, that was sure. “So what now, miss Nightingale? Shall you humiliate the soft spot with your find- thus giving you your entertainment, or so I presume- or what?” Ah. What a fine afternoon this was turning out to be.

[India Nightingale]

India bristled under Cyrus' manipulative words. He was trying to - trying to what? Use her for entertainment? Play with her? Get a rise out of her? A part of India wished she didn't have such brilliant self-control; otherwise, Cyrus would have been hexed to oblivion by now (now that she would've found entertaining). Also, much more would have spewed forth from India's mouth in retaliation rather than the mere pursing of lips she was currently substituting her annoyance for. India refrained from answering Cyrus' first question, but to his second comment she replied with a rare smirk, albeit a cold, emotionless one. "Boys in leather may entertain you, but it takes a lot more to make me smile." Quite seriously, she tilted her head as she maintained severe eye contact. "You would never warrant such an answer from me. I'm afraid you'll just have to put your 'whole life on hold'," she mimicked boredly. "In all honesty, I don't know what entertains me. You certainly don't," she added with a touch of derision. India let the truth spring forth, but it wasn't like she had hidden this fact from her peers. She had never - never, in six years - smiled at something someone in this school had done. Nothing had penetrated her; nothing had elicited so much as a twitch of the lips. There had been plenty of smirks and sneers... Ryann Taylor - oh yes, there had been aplenty of smirking and sneering at that love-sick Gryffindor. But smiling? Laughing? What a joke; what a bland, unfunny joke.

India narrowed her eyes at Cyrus' childish jibes, her hand unwavering as it maintained its position at his slender, defenceless throat. She allowed a small smirk, though there was still no emotion behind it. "I can't say I hate many people. On the contrary, people hate me. Even so, it would give me no pleasure to watch them writhe in pain. I'm not sadistic enough. You, on the other hand, are a different matter altogether." India's glare intensified. Her body stayed put even though she was sorely tempted to take a step forward and have her wand tap along that pale neck of his. "I... have reason to hate you," she murmured thoughtfully, for once showing the tiniest trace of emotion, before it was lost as her indifferent mask flitted back onto her face. "I repeated my meaning, not my words," India corrected coldly, lack of amusement clear in her glare. "I've tried them all: excuse me; get out of my way; move. You are either too stupid to comprehend me, or take pleasure from keeping me here. Since your reason is obviously the latter, why don't you enlighten me to your motives? I wish to leave. I am not your property, and if you do not let me go, it will not be easy or entertaining for either of us." India continued to refuse to back away with her wand; not until she was allowed to leave.

India cracked a mirthless smile at Cyrus' comment. "You're confident you can extract my business from me? You really don't give my rumours any justice." India saw Cyrus' gaze fall upon the sketchbook again, so she walked forward, closing the gap between herself and the boy before her, her eyes staring up at him fearlessly as her hand slipped further behind her back so Cyrus couldn't see it - so hopefully he wouldn't remember it and talk about it. "I could think of nothing better do it if I wanted to become an animal," she snorted at Cyrus' evil grin and his accompanying words. Bite me? Is that all he could come up with? "In fact, I wouldn't really want to bite you even if you were the last man on Earth," India couldn't help but add sarcastically. She knew well that 'bite me' was a mere phrase, but India disliked its connotations. Her eyebrow jerked upwards again when Cyrus addressed her as 'darling' - something else India absolutely abhorred. She'd always hated nicknames: darling, sweetheart, love, babe, honey etc. They made her want to shiver in disgust. India rolled her eyes at Cyrus' arrogant assumptions and replied, "Apparently so; according to the women who fall at your feet. If you weren't a lying, manipulative charmer, how else would you get them into bed? Pay them?" India snorted to herself, muttering "Pathetic," under her breath.

India shot Cyrus her iciest glare yet and immediately responded despite herself. "Good. I'm glad to hear I will never be a part of such disgusting transactions," she said in distaste. India didn't want a man and she didn't want men to want her either; hence why Drake's previous confession had frightened her away so much. She was still scared, though she wouldn't admit it; despite her fear, though, India was also reluctant to let go of Drake. Why? Why indeed, her conscience asked as her knuckles turned white from gripping the sketchbook so tightly. India distracted herself by ploughing on with the conversation with Cyrus. "You may think it foolish, but I have more dignity than most. Getting laid isn't at the top of my priority list, and even if it was, you would be the last person I would think of." India's eyes narrowed and she felt her barriers rise once more, shutting her emotions down so only her indifference remained again. She felt threatened by Cyrus' mention of Drake; now the name was in the air and they both knew what was at stake. India didn't know what to say to Cyrus' comment about her 'soft spot'. She wasn't going to admit it - and a soft spot wasn't what it was anyway. But, neither would she deny it, because no doubt Cyrus would trick her into falling into a hole and admitting all. That, India was not going to do. So she stayed silent, letting Cyrus assess her as she in turn assessed him.

In reply to Cyrus' comment about underestimation, India furrowed her brow unbelievingly. "I would beg to differ," she said so softly it was barely heard; though since she and Cyrus were so close he had probably caught it. Neither of them were touching, but India knew one single movement and he could trap her; likewise, one spell and her wand would have him flying backwards before his hand could return to his side. However, India let Cyrus talk - moving that arrogant, handsome face of his - and she listened to his words with growing dread. She neither denied nor acknowledged his questions, letting them fall onto her lead heart with that same indifferent expression. Eventually, India answered in her achingly slow voice, picking the words that would spill from her mouths in a low, deadly tone that would tolerate no more games. "It's not hard. Anyone in this room would be twice the man you'll ever be," she said coldly. "And that... that is saying something." Her wand tip brushed the nape of Cyrus' neck but India's eyes did not flicker to look. She merely continued as though she had not noticed. "I'm not feeding. As you earlier accused, I am stealing. Borrowing, really, but I doubt you see the difference." India's gaze fixed onto Cyrus' eyes, less cold but more steely. She was not sure what she had decided to do about Cyrus was the best option, but at the moment it was the only thing to do if she were to keep Drake's sketchbook a secret.

"Whoever said he and I have a relationship?" India drawled indifferently. "And what makes you think relationships - or anyone, for that matter - are perfect?" Her eyes narrowed in all coldness. India hated those words spewing from Cyrus' almighty mouth, but at the same time some truth rang in them... and she hated him for it. She waited until Cyrus had stopped his clapping - which irked India greatly, but her self-control willed her wand to remain still - before continuing. "What I came here for is not for you to know. My aims certainly will not damage him," India refused to say Drake's name outloud - that would be acknowledging she was here for him, "so you can be rest assured of that. But, you don't really care, do you? This is entertainment for you. Not for me. However, seeing as you now know I was here..." India withdrew her wand reluctantly, letting her hand fall to side. She gave Cyrus a neutral albeit daring look, as if to say, We need to settle something now. Motioning him into the room, once he was away from it, she kicked the door shut with her foot and turned to him again, glad to have the distance between them. "I would prefer you keep such a fact to yourself. But, knowing your arrogance and your desire for entertainment, you won't know how to keep a secret. I will make a deal with you. In exchange for keeping this," India held up the sketchbook, "a secret - breathing not a word to anyone - I will agree to anything you suggest. Well, with the exception of selling my body." A cold, unfeeling smirk wrapped around India's lips, and she gazed at Cyrus challengingly, awaiting his response.

[Cyrus Thorn]

She really was quite interesting. It was odd really that he had initially thought her to be merely a cold stuck-up Slytherin girl who wouldn’t let people touch her, physically or mentally, because they were perhaps contaminated with sinful thoughts… there was indeed something religious, pious about her. The thought of this amused him further. At a first impression she certainly didn’t seem to be like that; but her determination to not let anyone in, to make every word an attack or defence and not a welcome, reminded him of something so determined it was like faith. A rare thought flashed in his mind – what would happen if he offered a kind word here? A genuinely kind word. Not ‘sweetie’ or ‘darling’, or even ‘have fun with me?’, all of which would quickly be interpreted as sleazy, arrogant and rude. Which he didn’t mind in the slightest. But… how about encouraging her to let someone in- and not in the tough-love manner, but in a really nice tone, some really nice words. As the thought flickered in his mind Cyrus realised how stupid he sounded, and scoffed inwardly. Being nice? How ridiculous. The thought of that made him feel ill. Reverting back to his normal way of thinking Cyrus nodded at her words. Although he might have doubted it earlier, he was sure that he didn’t entertain her. And that was okay. Although Cy had a few goals in his life, entertaining and amusing India Nightingale was, sadly, not one of them.

“I do not hate you…” It was not a compliment, nor one of the ‘kind words’ Cyrus had considered only moments before. It was merely a fact. However Cyrus knew that his opinion of India would not make a difference to her if the rest of the school didn’t hold the same one. He was not yet significant enough in her eyes, and doubted his words would even be considered. “That’s understandable. Some people just can’t take watching others suffer. It’s a disadvantage, of course. You almost subconsciously give yourself a weakness that way. And when someone comes along who doesn’t mind watching you suffer or ‘writhe in pain’, as you so splendidly put it, it’s better to feel the same about them, rather then let them gain that control over you simply because you couldn’t return the feeling…” Oddly, there was not much emotion in Cyrus’ words here. He was beginning to consider India’s words and almost see them as acceptable - which was ridiculous and something normally never even thought about. Her next comment about having reason to hate him made him smile. “Again, understandable. And again, a weakness.” At least in his view, hating him would be a weakness. It would not however be something that Cyrus would ever use against someone. Being able to admit to hating someone was good, but admitting to yourself that you can hate, and easily, was even better. Cyrus liked hate. He liked people hating him- normally it was because they feared him.

Cyrus waved a careless hand as India began to explain herself- he was amused that she was even doing so. He was completely indifferent to explanations like this. They bored him, made him become disinterested. But her words about the two possible motives he might have for not letting her go did amuse him and he was pleased that with her constant remarks and comebacks, she kept his interest on her even if that was not what she wanted. “Maybe it’s both? Maybe I’m just a stupid, arrogant seventh year who only cares about the misfortunes of others, and sex. Maybe.” He grinned at her. “Or is that what I want you to think? Who can know.” The concept of being stupid, of knowing little, interested him. “Certainly not me- I’m stupid after all…” Where was he going with this? Even he didn’t know. He just enjoyed the words on his tongue. Stupid. Stupid. Hm. “But the latter is true.” It also interested Cyrus that despite India’s dislike of him prying into her motives for being there, in the boy’s dorm then, she wanted to find out his for being comfortable. “You’re fun.” Another grin- oh yes, India was fun. Very fun. He wondered if people had ever told her this, if he was the first person to say it. “Anything is entertaining, it is a matter of those being entertained, whether or not they turn the situation into the entertainment. I can find entertainment wherever- it is a matter of wanting to find it that affects this situation… and right now, I do want it. As for being easy; nothing is worth it if it’s easy.” It was true- Cyrus liked a challenge, which was a reason for him finding India so ‘fun’. She made him talk, made him explain his thoughts, which most wouldn’t do; most would merely accept his opinion as the right one merely due to his confidence, or, as India would think (though correctly), arrogance.

“I do not care for rumours. I listen, sure. But I do not care for them. It is whether or not the rumours come to be true before my own eyes that I care about.” She stepped closer to Cyrus then and he didn’t comment on this, although watched her movements with one raised brow, one soft smirk, two casual eyes. “I’m not confident I can get you to tell me- I’m just hopeful, perhaps. Or stupid.” Another grin at this latest word, now a favourite of his. And it grew when she continued to speak about his simple phrase- bite me- with obvious sarcasm. “Oh- but I’m a man now, am I? Well, that’s an improvement I guess.” It was then that India continued with mention of the sex and money comments. It actually made Cyrus uncomfortable that she would think of him as someone who would spend money on something he could get so easily, although obviously that was her point- if he couldn’t get it so easily, would he? Absoloutely not. And there was one word in her comments that made him frown. She had said something to truly irritate him, finally. But it was not irritation that should cause her satisfaction because his annoyance was something he recognised, acknowledged, and accepted. “I do not
lie to women. I joke, I jest, I tease. I do not… lie.” He almost spat the word, although not in anger but in his irritation. It was true; Cyrus didn’t lie. Yes, he was manipulative, and had his charms. But he didn’t lie to the girls he met because he saw that as incredibly low; and although Cyrus might be rude, harsh, whatever, he didn’t see those traits as low, unlike lying. “Despite what you may think of me, India, I’m not a liar when it comes to sex and women, attraction and affection.” He knew he was explaining himself to her and didn’t mind; if she chose to accept the words then that was good, and he would think better of her for it because it was the truth. If she chose to scoff and deny them as lies themselves then he would not attempt to press further to prove his honesty in that aspect because he would no longer care enough; it would be old. And old was not appealing.

Once again he frowned, but the curious eye was back, and the hint of amusement. “How do you know it is disgusting, India?” For a moment he considered not continuing. But he wanted to and in the end that overruled anything else, as it always did. “Sex can be wonderful, beautiful, with the right person, in the right way, in the right place… I don’t think you are foolish. I think you are naïve with the ignorance, turning something unfamiliar and out of reach to you into something awful, so that you pretend you will never need it. But you will, India. You will.” His words quiet, he doubted she would even listen to them at all. But he wanted to say them. Cyrus was not being rude in his normal manner because throughout this conversation he had found a way into India so subtle that he doubted she had even realised he had slipped through; and, ironically, he had found that insight with her comments on sex. India was scared. That’s how Cyrus saw it- not because he thought that anyone who wouldn’t have sex was instantly scared, but because her defences were so negative and strong, it was almost the only answer.

He let the next comment about being a man pass. Cyrus did not care much about what India wanted to say about him in that manner; who he was now, and who he would be in a few years, were entirely different topics of conversation. His future was certain, yet completely uncertain at the same time. He would change and he knew it. Maybe into the type of person India would consider to be a ‘man’, maybe not. But he did not care. He would not mould himself to some Slytherin girl’s ideals. A touch against Cyrus’ neck turned his attentions back to the situation with a twitch of the lips. “Ooh, careful India… you might accidentally mutter a curse – and you know how much someone’s choice of curse can say about them. Wouldn’t want to give me that much insight now would you.” Another light smile and Cyrus extended his head slightly- pushing his neck into her wand for a moment. When he withdrew, eyes still on India, there was a small red mark on his neck. It faded quickly.

“Everyone has a relationship. And as for matters of being perfect; that all depends on your idea of perfect. In a way, actually, I was wrong- your relationship with Drake might be perfect. I suspect you two shout a lot? He’s unusual… this would be endearing to you, I suppose. And he might be indifferent to you in a manner that you’ve never known- yes, that’s called rejection even if you don’t know you put anything up for acceptance or rejection in the first place- which would probably rile you even further. I don’t know, just ideas of mine, theories… but this relationship might be perfect. Perfect for your personality, so you get to speak your mind to his face. And I don’t know, maybe he likes to reject people. Another perfect aspect of the relationship.” As Cyrus had started talking he had glanced away from India’s face for the first time properly, and his hand came up to scratch his neck – it pushed India’s wand aside but didn’t knock it away so that while he scratched for a moment it was resting on his moving hand. He was voicing his thoughts as always. Voicing his ideas and theories, as said. They were probably incorrect- maybe even ‘stupid’. But Cyrus liked to think about what people like India and Drake would have in common, and otherwise. It interested him to be that nosy.

“Rest assured that you won’t damage Drake Manning?” He made a point to say his name loudly, emphasizing the syllables slowly. “Yes. It’s entertainment. But I won’t be ‘assured’ if you do not damage him because there’s nothing for me to worry about… as you have said, what you do or don’t do to Drake Manning to hurt his reputation or feelings is no business of mine and I don’t plan to make it my business. However what is my business is this little stolen artifact, seeing as I am the ‘witness’, so to speak. As you might have guessed,” A touch of sarcasm entered his voice- he was back in his environment now. “- I am always on the watch for crimes in the school. I do so hate them.” Eyes twinkling, he watched her move away, barely noticing the absence of the wand- it had always been insignificant to him. He considered her words then and nodded. “I know how to keep a secret, pathetic though this one may be.” It was fairly pathetic to him; the fickle actions of a frustrated girl to gain the attention and irritation of the objects of her desires… something along those lines, he was sure. “Right, mum’s the word, although why I’ve never known…” He trailed off again in his own thoughts. “Mothers are the most irritating things, don’t you think?” Glad I never had one. He smirked again at her next words. “I can assure you I have no desires for your-” He threw another glance over her form, eyes not lingering on anything. “-body at all.” The truth. As promised. “But anything I suggest? Interesting.” His mind flicked over all the possible things and as his ideas grew, so did his smile. Finally, he found it- it was simple, but no doubt would give him much amusement. But obviously Cyrus was not going to tell India what the idea was. For now, something to keep her seething; “Okay… well, you know I love kisses? Well, I do. But what I love even more…” His eyes flashed. “Hugs! We can practise here if you like. Whenever you see me, even in class, I want a hug. A reaaaally good hug. A big bear-hug. And a smile would be nice- you’ve got to enjoy the hugs too. That’s not too much, is it?” He smirked lightly and leant against a bedpost. An embrace was definitely not selling her body, so she couldn’t have a go at him for it. And anyway, maybe she would enjoy it. After all- who didn’t love hugs?

((;0 Sorry, I couldn't stop. Fwaaa.))

[India Nightingale]

((Oh ho. Watch me. I'll be unable to stop too. xD))

India said nothing, but shot Cyrus an odd yet still cold look. He didn't hate her? Well, he had no reason to, but why was she so surprised? Well, it wasn't often people claimed to exactly love India, but she'd always been under the impression people hated her; hated her for her iciness, her distancing glares and her silence. The events over the summer had not changed her mind, especially after regaining her memories. So, to hear Cyrus say he didn't hate her - well, that was quite something. Still, this was Cyrus Thorn, and India knew she shouldn't really care whether or not he liked or disliked her. She didn't want acceptance from others, especially not Cyrus. But, for a split second, it was nice to know that India wasn't universally despised by her peers - even if she didn't really care. "I didn't say I can't take watching others suffer," India replied emotionlessly. "I've seen people suffer. I've seen people die." It came from nowhere, but the words slipped out of India's mouth before she knew it. "If given a choice, I would not choose to physically harm someone. It gives me no satisfaction." India's hand made a circle with her wand, as if to emphasise her point. Then she smirked in cold amusement; Cyrus couldn't make her laugh, but he certainly made her want to raise her eyebrows and snort. "I said I have reason to hate you. I never said actually I hate you." India's voice grew bored. "That would be a waste of time, energy and... hate."

India's eyebrow lifted at Cyrus' ramblings. He was quite the talker; and she assumed he enjoyed listening to his voice too. India admitted he had quite an alluring voice - if there wasn't so much arrogance laced in it that made her want to puke. "Why would you care what I think?" India deadpanned nonchalently. "I have barely any opinion of you, Cyrus Thorn," she allowed herself to acknowledge him for the first time. "I don't know you. I can't judge. But, looking at the last six years, I would say my small opinion of you is rather low. What you have listed - besides being stupid, which is unfortunate - do sound exactly like you act." India glared at him coldly. Cyrus probably had no idea the effect he had on people who didn't like him; or maybe he did and he took pleasure in that too. Both of India's eyebrows rose considerably at Cyrus' next comment. After a brief silence, she gave a fake smile of appreciation and said sarcastically, "I'm so pleased to know I entertain you." Fun - no one had ever described India as fun; not exactly anyway... "I never thought anyone would try to make me entertaining," India replied. "You are the second... no, third, that finds me so. It is quite... disturbing." India was musing more to herself than Cyrus, but she quickly picked her thoughts up again, leaving them inside of her head rather than voicing them out loud.

India was only a little surprised at the fact that Cyrus didn't base his thoughts of others on rumours. He seemed the type that would; but then again, he was too smart for rumours, wasn't he? If India had learnt anything about Cyrus Thorn in the last six years at Hogwarts, it was that, besides the fact he was arrogant beyond likeability, he was intelligent. Yes, annoyingly intelligent. Like herself, whenever they had had classes together, Cyrus seemed to do well in most of them. India had always been top of her class, but she worked for those results. Cyrus, on the other hand - how much hard work had he put into his schoolwork? He seemed so lazy, like he didn't have to even try; and that irked India no end. "You're not stupid," India suddenly snapped at the upteenth time Cyrus had echoed her word with a vengeance. "You and I both know you are not stupid. Far from it." India's eyes narrowed at Cyrus' smirking face. "And no, not a compliment. Just the truth." She found a cold smirk curling onto her lips again at his next rhetorical question, answering, "Well, in time you would have to become one, right? It may take several, several years, but no doubt you'll become one eventually." India rolled her eyes. Conversation about men bored her.

India felt her eyebrow wanting to jerk up again at Cyrus' sudden temper, but she controlled it, instead staring steadily at him with her same cool indifference. Obviously she had hit a sore spot. India had never been a manipulator, but she felt a twig of desire to use this against Cyrus; if he was in her position he would be digging at it until she burst. But, India had never been sadistic like a lot of her Slytherin peers, and so let it lie. "I'll take your word for it," she eventually said calmly. "I'll never come to know the truth - and I don't want to. But what do I know?" India shot him a half withering look. "Whether or not you lie to them, they are still foolish enough to fall at your feet. Those women are as much to blame as you are." India shrugged casually. "I am no femininist, however much I hate men and their ways," she added darkly. "Sex would be wonderful with the person you love," India replied in a sick tone. "But, since I don't want to believe in love, nor do I want to experience it, it is... disgusting. And how would you know?" She shot Cyrus a scathing, contemptuous look. "Have you ever really had sex because it was the right person? Because you were in love?" India couldn't prevent the sneering tone of her voice, bitter and cynical. She shook her head vehemently and gave a hollow chuckle. "I will, will I?" she stared at Cyrus challengingly. "You know nothing about me, so don't assume you can put me into the same category as everyone else," she stated coldly. Cyrus had no idea; no idea why India hated people, hated love. The thought of growing close to others made her want to be ill. Her mind was slowly changing - but it wasn't changing fast enough.

"Accidentally?" A mirthless smirk flashed briefly. "I would never mutter a curse accidentally." India noted the small red mark on Cyrus' neck without much emotion. She didn't really care if she hurt him, as long as she didn't truly damage him. Cyrus would survive with a small red mark on his neck; a leaving present from her, perhaps. India felt her nerves shiver again at Cyrus' next words, and when he finally stopped speaking - which felt like a bloody eternity - she allowed herself a few words in reply. "I don't believe in perfection." End of story. Her gaze and tone cold, India felt her waves of irritation on the shore of her mind and scolded herself for rising at Cyrus' carefully placed words. "I did say keep me out of your fantasies. I'm sure he'd appreciate it too," she added coolly. India wanted to wince at the loud tone of Drake's name, felt extremely tempted to dig her wand right into Cyrus' neck and create a much bigger mark than before, but her self-control willed her to stop and sit silent as she always did. India finally allowed a small smirk of satisfaction as Cyrus moved onto the sketchbook rather than Drake; ironic, since previously she had least wanted to discuss what Cyrus deemed 'the stolen artifact'. "Whether it is pathetic or not is not for you to judge," she shot back. "If it wasn't important I wouldn't so easily succumb to making a deal with you." India grit her teeth and calmed her conscience. "Who knows if you'll keep it anyway." Was she really this desperate to keep Drake from the truth? He'd discover the lost sketchbook eventually. But he wouldn't know it was her - and that's why it mattered.

Why couldn't India just let the sketchbook go? She didn't know, but what she did know was that it was important... Very much so. "I don't know," India parried automatically. "I never had one." Well, you do now, her conscience screamed, but she ignored it. Better for Cyrus to not ask about her past and the recent events in her life. Anyway, it was true to some extent - India had never experienced the love of a mother... She was inclined to think it too late to ever feel such a love. India remained stoic at Cyrus' offhand comment about not wanting her body, which satisfied her. In this aspect, he and Drake were evidently very different. "I thought you might find it so," India drawled boredly when Cyrus said the deal was interesting. She was half afraid of what Cyrus might come up with, but whatever it was, it couldn't be too bad. She wanted this sketchbook, and she wanted it badly, and nothing would stand in her stubborn way. Still, the word 'kiss' nearly caused India to snort in disbelief and slight fear, but when he passed over it she was relieved. Only then, Cyrus mentioned the word 'hug', and then 'smile', and that's when India found herself the furthest from smiling. Every time? Every single bloody time she saw him? India's eyebrow threatened to fly off her face. "For how long?" was her first question. "I refuse to hug you for the rest of the year. Quite frankly I'd rather switch schools than to uphold such a deal. I'd probably grow sick in a week." Her sarcastic tone hid her anger. Cyrus knew just where to poke at her.

"Bear-hugs I won't do," India deadpanned immediately. "I'm not... big enough to bear-hug." It was true; she was much too thin. "No, I'd rather not practice here," India shot back coldly. "And no to smiling. Even if I smile it would be fake. What's the point? I don't do smiling. That would be too much." India slipped her wand in her pocket now and found her hand fisting around it hard. "But... hug. I can do hugs, if you're so desperate for them. I would've thought your girls satisfy you in that department too. Evidently not." India's conscience told her to shut up; she was beginning to talk a lot, and that's what showed she was nervous. Hugging; India didn't like hugging at all. No, she hated physical contact of all sorts, it made her want to be sick. She felt her mind screaming its fear, but she silenced it. How hard could it be? India almost flinched at the thought of hugging Cyrus, but she was determined to get through this. "On one condition, though," India said before Cyrus could interrupt. "We never hug in front of an audience. Physical contact may be easy for you, but I don't just hug people... and I can't do it in front of others." India looked away for the first time, feeling extremely uncomfortable. The more she thought about it, the more she knew she had better practice now if she wanted to pull through with this deal eventually. Cyrus was insisting anyway. Sighing in frustration, India closed her eyes momentarily, gathering her willpower, and, putting the sketchbook on the nearest bed, held her arms wide open, though her face was turned away, refusing to look Cyrus in the eye. "Come on. Hug me," she said in a strained voice. "Get the first time over and done with. Then you can let me go and be sick."

((Sorry, it'll have to be another India post before Drake comes in. Hope you don't mind!))

[Cyrus Thorn]

The girl’s reply about Cyrus’ comments about causing suffering made him bored; he’d given his answer already. If he were to reply again he would just be repeating himself, and Cyrus never did that. He did consider something she said just for a moment though. Her mentioning getting no pleasure from watching others suffer greatly interested him. It made him wonder at himself. He knew he didn’t actually feel the same, and didn’t care about whether or not that made him a bad person. He already knew he was a bad ‘person’. He also knew he was a damn good Cyrus Thorn. Although he was momentarily hesitant to admit it to himself Cyrus had to acknowledge that he didn’t mind watching people suffer at all- and would not feel bad about causing the suffering, almost the opposite. It was confirmation of control, he thought. Knowing that you could make someone suffer physically (although Cyrus always preferred causing mental and emotional suffering) was a strength he would do well to keep close. His father had once thought the odd harmful to spell to push a client in the right direction was sometimes perfectly necessary. But recently Joseph had turned soft – and his son had taken the quality instead.

He didn’t react at all to her comment about watching someone die but snickered as she made a circular motion with her hand to her wand; did she think he was wary of her? Before he could think about laughing even inside let alone aloud she continued with her words about hating him; this only reawakened the temptation to laugh. “You don’t act on reason?” He was curious about this – well what did India act upon, if not reason? There was a reason for everything Cyrus did, even if that reason was simply ‘because I can’. And if she had reason to hate him then why not just go ahead and hate him? Although he didn’t voice this question she answered anyway, and again her reply made him chuckle. She seemed lazy from these comments and for some reason Cyrus didn’t think of her as lazy just yet.
“In a way, I care about what everyone thinks.” He replied to her question with a pondering tone. “Not in the normal sense, Merlin, no...” He paused to smile at the thought of caring for people. “-If I know what people think I know what they really care about. And if I know what they care about, I know what can really make them mine.” He cocked his head again at her next words, automatically showing interest without trying to disguise it. It did interest him to see what people thought of him although he already knew what India thought of him. So it didn’t surprise him when the words tumbled from her lips. Again he didn’t respond – sure, he stored the words away just in case they might hold any relevance later with India – but the topic was past, finished, done with. No need to repeat himself. He did however latch onto her next words with bright eyes. “Oh- so something does please you after all?” Despite her sarcastic words he sensed some truth in them.

After he spoke, bringing the word ‘stupid’ back time and time again, India retorted quickly and sharply which he had not expected. So easy to rile… he hadn’t expected that so quickly either. He recognised that the words about him being ‘far from stupid’ were not compliments but took them as so anyway, nodding as if gracious. This was followed by an amused wince at her further comments about him being a man. He didn’t react much because, although she might think she did, India did not know him. Didn’t know the man he was growing to be, the man whose place he would take soon in name and authority. He nodded once more when she ‘took his word for it’ about never lying to women and grinned as she seemed to blame them. “Oh, come now. Although you appear to be immune to my disgusting charms, as you have said, it’s rare to find someone who is. Foolish, maybe. But more weak – although I’m not saying you are strong.” He didn’t think she was strong, although had only decided this moments before. She was just…lost, maybe? Drowning in the rapids; but she had found something to cling to and seemed to be hanging on with that ‘something’. The something being her hostile, walled attitude. He acknowledged this attitude and actually liked it. Made sense to him; let nothing out, let nothing get stolen. Fair enough, right?

“Have I ever had sex with someone I love…” His tone was just as sneering as hers, which she might have not expected. “Course not. Love might be beautiful, but it is indeed a weakness… but I don’t think you need me to tell you that, right?” He smirked knowingly. “However; the ‘right person’ doesn’t have to be the girl you love. Just the one that best fits the occasion.” Another smirk. It increased in confidence as she continued. “Yes. You will.” He knew it; knew that even India would feel the need to have someone’s skin against her own one day. Everyone needed that, some – like India – were just too scared of what it could mean and do to even recognise their lust.

If it wasn't important I wouldn't so easily succumb… He couldn’t help but respond to these particular words. Of course it was important – but what was more important to India was more likely the con sequences of not taking the sketchbook. Of knowing about it, of knowing where it was. The curiosity might eat at her; and some people were scared of curiosity, in case it got the better of them. Cyrus doubted this girl was immune to curiosity. “I’ll keep it…” A lie? Cyrus didn’t know. But his words were definite, bold; they seemed to be completely sincere and no doubt India would see them as that, unless she was some kind of freakishly good Occlumens at sixteen.
Something brought another reaction from Cyrus then that he attempted to disguise; a little unsuccessfully in his moments pause. It was not unusual to be without a mother. Cyrus knew many people who were motherless… but there was something about the way India so openly admitted to being so that irritated him. It was unnecessary information. As if by saying it she was asking for a reply; him admitting the same unfortunate truth, that he had never known a mother either. Well to hell with that; Cyrus hated unnecessary information like that. A waste of words and didn’t even fuel his curiosity.

Deciding what the terms of the deal would actually be brought a smile to Cyrus’ lips; openly arrogant this time. He watched her response to his mention of kisses with interest. “Have you ever actually been kissed properly, India?” Hmm… curious. He thought for a moment before laughing it off. “Of course you have. Your obsession with manning has to be fuelled by something. A drunken night, a clumsy kiss, something like that…” He knew them only to well; although of course, Cyrus was never the one with the obsession, and he was capable of holding his drink perfectly well and also preferred girls with the same sense. His grin returned at the expression on her face when he finally decided on the hugs. “How long? Well, that depends. You must know that eventually Manning will somehow find out you’ve got this thing. You’ll probably end up mentioning it in a conversation, he’ll get all angry and confused, you’ll drop the ice act and be sensitive… all that.” Cyrus enjoyed creating these ‘what will be’ thoughts in his head. They helped him determine a situation further. “So… as long as it takes.” He smiled, wondering if she understood.

Ahh… defiance. “Darling,” He cooed, knowing how much she hated the word and those like it. “- bear-hugs you will do. True, you’re ridiculously tiny.” He studied her. “Some might say in an unnatural way…” He trailed off in his own thoughts about girls and their weird habits before returning with his smile still taunting. “And you will ‘do’ smiling.” His words were firm. It was not a haggle, a debate. It was his terms – or her thievery revealed. “The point is I want it.” Reason enough. “Desperate? Sure, whatever you want to think honey. I just want those hugs and that big, warm smile…” It was difficult to keep the laughter from his tone but he managed, just a twitch at the corners of his lips and a twinkle in his odd eyes betraying him. “Condition?” Did she still not get it? He let her speak for a moment before shaking his head. “No; if we’re in a classroom, even if Manning is there- especially if Manning is there- you show your affection for me. And you’ll do it happily.” He grinned and watched her put the sketchbook down with smiling eyes too. Amazingly she then made the first move – he gasped in mock surprise before shaking his head again as if disappointed. “The deal is you embrace me, India.” He raised one arm lazily, inviting her underneath to wrap her own thin arms around his form tightly. “Come on then, darling.” His words were mocking – but an outsider would have heard them as actually loving, affectionate.

But of course they were alone; there were no outsiders. At least not until his last words.

[India Nightingale]

India gave an uncaring shrug at Cyrus' rhetorical (?) question. Did she act on reason? She wasn't really sure herself. Looking over her history, India didn't think she had acted often on reason at all. No, her past had been half impulse, half logic. It was an odd combination, but it was what defined India: she was quite out of the ordinary - not extraordinary, no, but not ordinary whatsoever. Nowadays though, India was sure she based her decisions partially on reason; she was more inclined to do so after certain events... after realising she had led a life of lies for the past decade. Life was not black and white anymore. Then again, it wasn't in colour either... Merely greys.

Grey; the colour reminded India of Drake.

Narrowing her eyes, India tried to forget Drake and focus instead on Cyrus (ironic, isn't it?). She took in his words with an indifferent expression. She wasn't surprised by what he said; they sounded just as cunning and malicious as he made himself out to be. "And then you get bored after you've had your fair share of breaking them down to the level of a human being and move on? Leave them behind?" India muttered, staring coldly at Cyrus. The words were for him as much as they were for her; the room was silent so he had certainly heard them, even if she had spoken quietly. India was determined to let Cyrus know that he would never get the better of her. So he had one advantage: he knew about her little escapade to the boys' dormitories, and more precisely, he knew about Drake's sketchbook. However, even if Cyrus had this hold over her, India knew it wouldn't last. For one, she only wanted to stop Cyrus blabbing to Drake for the next few days - until she could return the book. Second, there were worse things... much worse, that Cyrus could discover and exploit. Drake was, frankly, the least of her worries.

India completedly ignored Cyrus' sarcastic comment about her being pleased. Boredly, India couldn't help but say, "I never said I was strong. Those who claim to be strong are the ones with weaknesses." India wasn't strong though. That was the bitter truth. She had never been strong; she had merely pretended to be so, to hide the lies, the pain. India hadn't wanted to think about the damage she had caused in her short life, so all of this time she had told herself she was flawless, that she was strong and better than everyone else. Then, Duke had shattered the perfect life he himself had erected for her since the age of eight, and India had found being strong - or thinking you were strong - was just a mere self-disillusion.

"No, I won't." India's tone was calm; her irritation at Cyrus' digging into her life - particular areas of her life - was bubbling beneath the surface of her cold exterior. "Sex isn't necessary," she said emotionlessly, feeling nothing as she stared into Cyrus' bottomless eyes. "Sex is a weakness. Sex is a tool. If love is a woman's weakness, then sex is man's." India's eyes widened just a little at Cyrus' bold question, then folded her free arms around her slim torso in a protective, defensive pose. "And why would I tell you?" She graced Cyrus with a cold smile, humourless and sardonic. "Obsession?" She allowed herself to quirk her eyebrow at Cyrus at his description of her 'relationship' with Drake. "I think you've got the... wrong end of the stick." India's smile thinned at dreams - or nightmares - of Drake chasing her, clawing at her, needing her. And even though India's mind screamed for her to run, run, run, she never did.

India showed no exterior expression in response to Cyrus' 'guesses'. He was surprisingly accurate - disturbing so, really, but they failed to surprise India anymore. She was beginning to realise that Cyrus, as inhumane as he was, had a natural grasp of humans and their behaviour - even humans like herself. It unnerved her, and she knew the faster she got out of this predicament, the less of herself she would expose to Cyrus, the less vulnerable she would be. India had a feeling her encounter with Cyrus today would return to bite her in the future, but she was too absorbed in the present to contemplate what lay ahead. India chose to remain silent, until Cyrus finished his elaborate speech, and she chose a careful smirk. "Bravo, Cyrus. You've got it all right," she said sarcastically, mimicking Cyrus' previous action of clapping - though she only did it twice before letting her hands drop to her sides.

India shrugged as though she didn't care. As long as it takes? Fine. As long as it took India to return the book. Even if Cyrus told Drake afterwards it was her, that she had been the culprit who had stolen his sketchbook, India could deal with that. By then, it would be too late. But right now, she needed a few hours - days, most likely - to privately leaf through the pages of Drake Manning's life. Cyrus would not, she had decided in a rare show of recklessness, be an obstacle. India wanted to send a dagger-like glare at Cyrus when he addressed her as 'darling', but his 'endearing' terms were fast becoming the norm, so she kept her look to herself; that and she knew he was just trying to rile her, and she would not let him succeed. Her nerves stood on end as Cyrus examined her thin body, and she wondered if it was obvious to an observant individual like Cyrus that she was quite the anorexia sufferer - a condition India had not admitted until recently, when she had looked in the mirror for the first time and saw a skeleton rather than a seventeen-year-old girl. India's tall height for a girl - 5'7" - only served to pull her figure upwards into a long, slender shape. Most of her ignorant classmates assumed she was naturally thin and delicate, but if one were to compare her physical attributes to Skye's, the difference was more than obvious.

Well, Cyrus' comment about her 'unnaturalness' served to affirm India's suspicions. She wasn't bothered if Cyrus knew though, for he certainly couldn't do anything about it, or turn the fact against her. So what if she was anorexic? India was working on it... sort of. She hadn't had time to think about food recently, what with her confrontation with Drake and the regaining of her memories. India hadn't stopped to think about eating... or smiling. India wondered how Cyrus would make her smile, for it was simply impossible. Either he was an arrogant jerk or he was just a plain jerk. A bit of both, really. "And what you want, you get?" It wasn't a question, but it came out of India's mouth anyway in a bored, slightly repulsive tone of voice. Then Cyrus called her 'honey', and again, India felt the inclination to vomit. Cyrus' next demands only added to the nausea. "Fine." India stood firm and dignified, staring up at Cyrus resolutely. "However, I can assure you that it'll be the furthest thing from happy." She shot the older boy a withering look. India wasn't quite sure how she was going to pull this deal off - smiling was the worst part of it. Even hugging Cyrus in front of Drake was better than smiling. The truth was, a tiny, selfish part of India was, in a twisted way, looking forward to seeing Drake's reaction as she hugged Cyrus.

India stared at Cyrus body critically, before she moved forward on impulse. She didn't think about it, didn't rationalise - she just stepped forward and put her arms stiffly around Cyrus' taller figure. Her thin arms pressed against his side and her fingers brushed behind his back as India came to rest in front of him, their torsos together and her forehead against his cheek. Immediately, as India tried to relax, she felt the nausea hit her, a powerful wave, but a wave she controlled and pushed away. Her face lay turned away from Cyrus', her nose against his shoulder as she tried her best not to make anymore contact than was necessary. India refused to properly grab Cyrus and hug him until he was out of breath. She had neither the physical strength or the mental desire. This was a practice anyway, and it was proving to be a very uncomfortable one. Still, it wasn't as terrible as India had envisaged it... It wasn't her sister's arms, but it wasn't Duke's, certainly.

However, when the door behind her opened and Cyrus greeted the intruder in a lazy tone of voice, India's entire frame froze. Without knowing it, India's selfish wish had just come true. Rigidly, she remained motionless for several silent seconds. Then, her mind regaining the ability to process thought, she immediately drew away from Cyrus, as though stung. India had to get away, and now. Because right behind her, at this moment in time, stood Drake Manning. "Drake," India's own calm, apathetic voice managed to acknowledge his presence without even turning around. However, before India could turn and flee, she felt a firm hand close around her wrist, and flinching, she looked back to see Cyrus holding onto her with a triumphant gleam in his eye. All of a sudden, India really hated him. However, after glaring at Cyrus and failing to free herself, she noticed the the sketchbook, lying unseen on the bed. So, drawing close to Cyrus again as though she was about to kiss him, India hissed into his ear, "Bring me the book or the deal is off." Backing away, she sent him one last cold glare before snapping her wrist out of Cyrus' strong grip. Once free, she headed towards the door where Drake stood, and without even so much as a glance, she brushed past him and walked away.

[Drake Manning]

Prefect duties were overrated. Even if Drake did find a student acting out, he was hardly in the mood to waste his time scolding them. Needless to say, he had been warned many times about how his title would be stripped from him if he weren't to do his duties. And, for the same reason as always, not wanting to lose the few privileges that being a prefect had to offer, Drake went through with the motions. He was a terrible prefect, that was for sure. Then again, in thinking about all of the other seventh year Slytherin men, Drake realized that there wasn't a very good selection. Each of them had their flaws, and perhaps Drake was just the least risky choice. Now that was a rather amusing thought.

Shuffling through the dreary dungeons, he was on his way back to the common room and then the boys' dormitories. It was nearing dinnertime, but Drake was in more of a mood to just sleep than eat. His appetite had been eluding him lately. At least his appetite for food had been. Drake's appetite for other things was a vicious cycle that left him grouchy and bitter a lot of the time. It had been a while since he'd had a good drink. Not to mention, he couldn't get the thoughts of India and Brianna out of his mind. Brianna was dead, haunting his every thought, and India might as well have been dead to him. It was such a sore topic when he thought of India. As much as he wanted to hate her and to forget her, he simply couldn't. He couldn't brush her away no matter how hard he tried. Where was the old Drake? The new Drake was getting tired and depressed. He needed some of the old Drake's ways so that he might be able to forget some of the pain, even if just for a night or two.

As he neared the dormitory entrance, he heard the unmistakable voice of his roommate Cyrus uttering sickeningly sweet words likely to some girl who had been his afternoon delight. Cyrus and Drake had a lot in common, but they were still very different it seemed. Drake opted to simply walk in with the intention of passing as though Cyrus and his lady friend weren't even there. His options changed though when he walked in and saw Cyrus embracing the slim figure of the very woman whom he had been thinking about: India. Drake stopped and simply starred. Rage took over, and he felt his jaw clench tightly, his fists as well.

India spoke first, a surprised acknowledgment of Drake's presence. He watched as she meant to break free from Cyrus, but her attempt was futile as he had her by the wrist. Drake didn't even know what to do. It wasn't like India was his. He couldn't just expect Cyrus to stay away from her. That's what he wanted though. He wanted to punch Cyrus right there as though he should have known better than to touch India. At the same time, he wanted to know why India was with Cyrus in the first place. Had this been going on for a while now? Why hadn't she told him? Drake watched in horror as India closed the gap between herself and Cyrus, whispering into his ear. Then, she left, walking past Drake as though he had disappeared or something. He wasn't even sure what to do.

His eyes met Cyrus' and Drake's expression was one of confusion which was fortunately enough to cover up his anger. He knew that lashing out at Cyrus wasn't going to solve anything. It would only make it worse. Cyrus would know that this had bothered Drake, and he didn't want that. He didn't want Cyrus to know that India was able to drag him around by the heart. He just needed to be able to forget her if he wanted to do what was best for him. He couldn't let her have this affect on him, and apparently she had moved on. He should do the same.

"Good luck with that one," Drake said sarcastically, passing Cyrus and heading straight to his bed where he pulled the curtains and fell to his back. Drake hated life. Hated it.

[Cyrus Thorn]

He listened to her question with very interested eyes, watching her narrowed ones with amusement. The way she saw it, clearly, was that after he’d ‘had his fair share’, he left them behind. She saw right. He grinned wildly and nodded, the expression and movement almost unnaturally pleased. “You got it, love. Sounds fun, right? You should try it sometime.” Cy’s grey eyes flickered across hers once more, twinkling merrily. What use were people to him once he’d taken his share, after all? What could they give him then? He had plenty to give to them; but there were two sides to every deal Cyrus made. And he made sure each promise to the deal was fulfilled. With that India moved on, and he only briefly bothered to think and reply about her words. “I think you’re strong. You must be, to resist this...” And here – here he moved closer, his breath softening and become harsher both at the same time. That was the prestige. Along with that and the appraising glance he threw down the length of her body, that should really make her snarl. And Cyrus liked his girls snarling – much more interesting.

The topic of conversation that followed still irritated him. Or at least the manner in which India saw it did. She was still adamant about never needing to feel another body against her own... so ignorant of the pleasure. It hurt Cyrus to think of how happy he could probably make this girl, yet she was to proud and stubborn to let him. Though – as he had already mentioned, she was a little on the thin side for him. With a tone just as stubborn, he retorted harshly. “Sex is necessary. And of course it’s a bleeding tool – and if you haven’t noticed, you need tools. Without them, how would things be resolved, calmed, fixed? Sex makes up our daily life, our world, our universe...” He trailed off because something really was amusing him now. India’s pose turned as her arms wrapped around herself defensively. He chuckled openly, entertained. She definitely kept him interested. “That’s a no, then. Shame.” He traced a finger absently across his own jaw, not looking away from her eyes. He wished he could read her thoughts – not that she was so impossible to read, of course. But because he sensed that she was lying so much that she had fooled herself. She’d been acting out this role of the Ice Queen for so long it had taken over what once might have been a sweet girl. Although that sweet girl would not have been nearly as interesting as this feisty, stubborn Slytherin. In fact, Cyrus preferred the latter.

After smirking again at the thought of him getting the ‘wrong end of the stick’ – Cy was so rarely wrong in situations like this, after all –he rejoiced as a touch of sarcasm touched her tone. Nice. Sarcasm suited India Nightingale well. But he didn’t have time to think about her tone – because the hug was approaching.
It started awkwardly, and he was disappointed about this. His sensations kicked in though and he was pleased to feel her fingers against his back and the almost icy touch of her forehead against his warmer cheek. Interesting; she knew how to hug. One might have thought she’d hugged before. He knew that she knew despite her obvious attempts to convince him she found the gesture completely unfamiliar and new. He tugged her form closer, knowing the movement would irritated her, and for just a second wondered what it would feel like if this was a voluntary hug. Nice, maybe? Realising where his thoughts were going, Cyrus locked them away with a grimace. Of course it wouldn’t feel nice. How could it be nice without the fun of making her hug? It couldn’t. Simple as. He was just reigning in his thoughts when he realised they were not, for the first time that night, alone – a figure was standing by the doorway. And who else but Drake Manning? Oh, lord. This jumper-fetching business really was a hoot. Suppressing a wide grin of satisfaction at the newcomer, Cyrus drawled a welcome and felt the girl beneath him stiffen noticeably.

Amazingly, India stayed locked around him for a little longer. When she finally attempted to step away Cyrus hissed, a low snake-like sound in his throat, and seized hold of her bony wrist, keeping her body close. “Where’s the love in fleeing, baby?” He muttered, a devilish smirk tugging his lips into a twisted shape. The glare he got in return was followed by a movement that surprised him. With Manning so close, India was prepared to show a level of affection? As she leant closer he took the opportunity to look behind her – at the man she seemed to be obsessed with, despite her defiance to admit that. And, seeing Drake’s tightened jaw and tense posture, Cyrus did something that India would have cursed him (in the Wizarding sense) for. He winked at Drake and lowered his hand slightly from its firm position in the small of India’s back. How was that for a finish? India moved away from him then after whispering a few words. He followed her with his smirking eyes as she swiftly stepped past Manning. And then, it was just Drake and Cyrus.

There was a moment then where the two young men simply stared at each other. If Manning thought that would unnerve Cyrus then he was very mistaken; Cy was never the first to look away. But apparently it was not that sort of locked gaze – Drake broke it, but not in a defeated manner, and muttered the words that made Cyrus grin even further. Cocking his head, he replied in another lazy drawl, the words tumbling from his mouth. “That one?” He snorted, turning away Drake’s words in one sound. “She’s nothing special or different. Seriously, once you get them in here...” He waved a hand at the beds around him. “They all want the same thing.” His hand flickered to flourish his body and his eyes tracked Manning’s movements across the room with satisfaction. He didn’t look at the sketchbook once, knowing it was still there was enough. Neither did Cyrus say anything else to bring Drake back into the room for a further conversation. Instead, he shrugged off his outer layers, tucked the sketchbook safely away, and fell gracefully onto his own bed with a light chuckle. Cyrus loved life. Loved it.