Sweet Sacrifice ((Cyrus))

[India Nightingale]

It's true, we're all a little insane.
But it's so clear, now that I'm unchained.
Fear is only in our minds, but it's taking over all the time.
-- Sweet Sacrifice, Evanescence

India glanced at her watch impatiently. He was late. It was so typical and she had expected it, but it annoyed her nonetheless. Breathing evenly out of her nose as she stilled her rising irritation, she crossed her legs and arms and leaned back into the bench, forcing her shoulders to relax. She was too tense... and she refused to let one man - other than Drake, who she had admittedly given up on - rile her so. Collecting her dignity and schooling her expression into her usual one of cold indifference, India waited for Cyrus Thorn to come to her.

It had been three days since the incident in the boys' dormitories. India had been avoiding Drake (not just because of their prior argument, but because she did not know if he had noticed his missing sketchbook) and in doing so had not managed to see Cyrus much either, since they were in the same house and year and took some of the same subjects. Not that India had wanted to see Cyrus either - not in public anyway; not with the deal they had made. So, to an extent, India had been avoiding Cyrus until she could corner him alone and take the sketchbook from him.

And now was the time. India had owled him and requested he meet her here, in the Courtyard, in the evening after dinner. It was dark already and the cold was growing more apparent, and although India was cold, she would rather suffer from hypothermia rather than hug Cyrus in front of the entire school - smiling at the same time. The thought repulsed her to the core. It wasn't as if she hadn't caught hypothermia before anyway... That one time had been a scare but Duke had efficiently taken her to St Mungo's. Afterwards he'd given her a lecture. Well, Duke was in Azkaban now, and he wasn't India's guardian. She could do what she wanted.

Finally the approaching sound of soft footsteps alerted India to an intruder. Looking up, she saw the familiar figure of Cyrus appearing. Her gaze grew colder to match her body temperature. Standing up, she left the bag she had brought to conceal the sketchbook when she returned to her dormitory and stood a metre away from him, eyeing his smirk coldly. "Where is it?" India demanded in a steely voice, her arms protective across her chest. If she stayed out here any longer her body would freeze.

When Cyrus refused to move forward and give her the sketchbook, India heaved a long sigh. Obviously she had to uphold her end of the deal. Sending Cyrus a long-suffering, hateful glare, India slowly approached his taller figure and wrapped her arms stiffly around his torso. She refused to put her hands on his neck or shoulders... But at least he was a source of warmth. Closing her eyes in the dark, India bit her lip as she stayed immobile, counting ten seconds in her head. Finally, after what felt more like ten years, she pulled away, putting good distance between them again.

India stuck an arm out and glared at Cyrus, insistent on getting her half of the deal. "Okay. Sketchbook. Now." She shot him a withering look. "Please."

[Cyrus Thorn]

Contrary to Cyrus’ joyful – at least, joyful in his own odd manner – character when he and India had first met, he was now in quite a foul mood. Something was missing these last couple of days. Almost as if... someone was missing. Which was of course a simply preposterous thought. Cy didn’t need for anything. That was consistent and would never change. With this in mind he pushed the thoughts beneath an image in his mind – of little India Nightingale. Oddly, he didn’t feel the usual smirk pulling his lips when he thought of his situation with the sixth year girl. This instead made him frown. It was not in Cyrus’ nature to mistake his own feelings, his own thoughts, for something else. And he didn’t like it when parts of him were disconnected. The strongest problem – not for him, but for those around him – with Cyrus being in a horrid mood like this was that he was a totally harsh idiot to everyone else. When he was happy, he hurt people because it amused him. But in this mood… he wasn’t even amused; just resentful, feeling the need to lash out and see the pain flash in their eyes. That did not amuse Cy, but it certainly interested him. He wondered how much it would irritate India to. And he wouldn’t have long to find out.

Admittedly, he was late. He never made a thing out of being late – but if you were clever, you knew that when he was over twenty minutes late, he really disliked you. Under that, he merely didn’t care at all. And if he was early, he cared too much, and you were in deep trouble. So really you couldn’t win – unless he was on time. And that was just silly. Don’t get your hopes up.
It amused him that she requested their meeting so late – so far, the hugging hadn’t commenced in front of an audience. Cyrus was actually contemplating caring enough to place himself near India some time in the near future when people would be around… it was a notion that had crossed his mind, sure. But now in his awful mood, Cy couldn’t care less about the hugs, or even the little deal they had made. Before he made his way down to India he drank from his flask a clear liquid, relishing in the wince that followed. When he finally made it down to the allocated spot, there was a dark frown deep on his face and a straight line where his usually smirking lips were.

When he faced her – or rather, she rose to meet him, (true respect)he did attempt a smirk. But it was half hearted, and when she glared in return he couldn’t be bothered to be irritating even in that sense. And so when she did speak, he did not respond, simply because it was the easiest thing to do. Instead he stared blankly into her eyes and didn’t see her, didn’t see the girl at all. It was only when she stepped forward and awkwardly touched her form to his that Cyrus flickered to life. He snapped into motion just as she drew back, though didn’t show any recognition of the hug – not even a satisfied pat on her backside, as he normally might have. And then she threw an arm out, and he simply stared at it. His mind was speeding through everything about the deal and he had just one sole purpose – time to be Cyrus Thorn in a bad mood, finally. Had India ever seen his bad side? Well, some might say that he only had a bad side… but he could be a real Slytherin when he wanted to.

First he cocked his head to her ‘please’. She was… begging, almost? “Reached a new low, ice girl.” He hissed. “Begging for Manning’s sketchbook like this? If I told him you did that he’d probably be disgusted, you know? And he wouldn’t go near you then… who wants a desperate, melting ice cube? But then – he doesn’t even go near you now, does he?” He laughed and the sound took over, breaking glass cutting through the night’s peace. His mouth twisted into an unnatural grimace as he continued. “He didn’t even have the balls to acknowledge you the other night… though you couldn’t get more desperate, and desperate is probably the only thing he’s able to get.” The words were spat from his mouth, getting more and more aggressive. “What if I told you I burnt the sketchbook? What would you do then – hunt around for his diary, his pants, anything just to link you to Drake Manning?! And you…” he threw a glance down her shivering, frail frame with disdain. “who would want an emaciated thing like you anyway? Even for company, you’re nothing – no laughter, no joy, no life. What can you give a man, India?” He scowled and whipped the sketchbook from his bag. “Have the blasted thing if you want it so badly, girl.” Throwing it down by her feet he looked back into her eyes, his flashing fiery embers beneath the grey. “The artwork is awful.”

Cyrus paused for a moment, barely satisfied with his quick-fire comments. He was about to turn and leave – but the fires held him in place. He wasn’t just looking for someone to insult, he wanted the pain he had given sent straight back at him. Hopefully, India would be kind enough to do that for him.

[India Nightingale]

India's face froze at Cyrus' first words. She was not a people person; she used to hate people, used to hate kindness and love and all that sappy stuff. Although she had changed, her dislike of others had all but altered, and she still had very little grasp on the human being. However, even India could tell straight away that this Cyrus was not exactly the same Cyrus she had met in the boys' dormitory three days ago - or rather, this was the same Cyrus but with a different mask on now: his true Slytherin colours. India was neither amused or fearful of Cyrus' change in mood. She didn't care how he felt. She wanted that sketchbook, that was all. Then she would leave. However, Cyrus' words struck a chord in her and it took all her might not to lash out at his nickname of 'ice girl' for her. India was not offended - she had been called worse - but she did not appreciate others degrading her.

Ignoring the jab at her nickname, India proceeded to calmly explain in an icy tone, "Your ego is getting ahead of itself, Cyrus. I was being sarcastic. I would never beg. You may treat people - especially women - like animals who belong to you, but even I have more self-respect than that." Her fingernails dug into her cold skin to prevent herself from shaking. The frost-like atmosphere was truly setting in. "You will give me that sketchbook because we made a deal," India continued in a low voice, her eyes fixated on Cyrus' dark ones. Her hand remained stretched out, waiting. Cyrus' comments about Drake made India mildly angry, but barely elicited an outward reaction. "And who are you to say how he will react? You know him well enough to assume he would be disgusted with me?" India asked coldly, a slight sneer in her voice at the thought of Drake's reaction to such knowledge. She knew he would be angry, no doubt; but India did not fear it. She did not fear it because she knew Drake would sink to lower lows to discover more about her.

"I doubt you know more than ten facts about Drake Manning," India hissed softly, adding scornfully, "And if it meant he would stay away from me, I would have stolen his sketchbook right in front of his face." Unintentionally India was revealing her complicated relationship with Drake to Cyrus, but she didn't care. She was sick of Cyrus making ill jabs at her motives when he had no idea that Drake was really behind their whole situation all along. It was his fault, not hers. India bristled at Cyrus' choice of vocabulary to describe her, but she refused to rise to the challenge; because that was what he wanted, right? She could tell from the look in Cyrus' eyes. They were like Drake's: they needed her to reciprocate the malicious intent, the snide comments. India would not give Cyrus that satisfaction. Not yet. He had enjoyed toying with her frustration three days ago - now she would repay the favour.

"I can understand your choice of 'desperate', which I'm not," India started to smirk despite her inward feelings, "but 'melting'? What gives you that impression? Because I'm cold?" She dropped her arms and threw them wide, like a bird stretching its wings for flight. The cold seeped into her thin clothes and a slight tremor ran through her body, though she ignored it. "I'm human, Cyrus. But, I'm sure you already knew that," she mocked unfeelingly. "You enjoy toying with us, don't you? You're so good at picking out our human weaknesses, our human flaws. Well. Take your picking." India's slender fingers stretched, quivering in the chilled wind of the evening. "I'm human. Take your best shot," she challenged confidently. "At the end of the day, you're just as human as the rest of us. You have weaknesses. You have flaws," she bit viciously, though without anger, just relish. "You make yourself out to be the perfect saint; untouchable. People can see right through you. Just like you can see right through them."

India allowed herself to laugh with Cyrus, though hers was cutting, sardonic; more to herself at his ridiculous comment. "You really have got the wrong end of the stick," she told him calmly. "On the contrary, I have been the one avoiding him..." India tilted her head to stare at Cyrus with a cruelly amused expression. "And to think, you think you know me so well," she said softly. "You think you know Drake so well, and yet you know nothing about him. Of course he wouldn't acknowledge me. He thinks you and I... Well, you can work that one out for yourself." India shrugged. Drake coming in that day hadn't been planned, but she had managed to cover it up as if it were something else entirely; and she was pleased with its effects. She wasn't sadistic enough to enjoy the thought of Drake suffering, but she knew the image of herself and Cyrus implanted in Drake's mind would elicit a reponse from him eventually. India needed him to come to her; otherwise, she would be the one to confront him and end this stupid game they had been playing for so long. India wasn't running away from Drake or her feelings for him anymore - and Cyrus would not stand in her way.

Fear shifted her stomach and India's eyes narrowed at Cyrus' threat, but her common sense told her to remain calm. Observing Cyrus and calculating his personality in his head, India doubted he had burnt Drake's sketchbook. No; it wasn't like him at all. "You haven't," India stated bluntly, her arms winding back to the sides of her torso and grasping tightly. "And if you have, then," she shrugged without emotion, "I couldn't care less." India's eyes drilled into Cyrus'. "You made the wrong assumption of thinking I care about the sketchbook. That is untrue. If you burnt it, it is no one's loss but Drake's. Since you burnt it, I would feel no guilt." It was true that had Cyrus indeed got rid of Drake's sketchbook, although India would have regretted such a deed, she would not have felt inclined to apologise to Drake or take blame for such a thing. After all, she had not instructed Cyrus to burn it. That would have been of his own accord. As if India could command Cyrus to do her will.

"I am linked to Drake whether I like it or not," India muttered to herself, looking away from Cyrus. His next words, though, struck her deeply in the heart, leaving her hollow. However, it was the truth - and although the truth hurt, it didn't hurt so much the second, third time it was given. "And you are?" India challenged, her cold mask returning, along with that streak of Slytherin sneer. "You think you're so perfect. Nothing is perfect and you are just as flawed as I am. You think you laugh? You think you have joy? You think you have a life? Do you really think you could give a woman what she truly wanted? A real woman?" India threw all of Cyrus' accusations back at him. "The real world, Cyrus, is imperfect, and I am imperfect. Unlike you, I know that, and I can accept it. I have never wanted to give a man anything and I do not need to give anything to you or Drake, or anyone else. Do you think I care at all?"

Still, India thought inwardly, even if she didn't think she could give a man anything, even though she doubted she could make anyone happy, Drake had still wanted her; he'd still told her she meant something to her. And he had been destroyed when she had rejected him. What did that say about her? India didn't know. Could she have such an impact on someone's life? Whatever the answer, she could only bring evil and darkness to others... but she was hoping Drake could change that, right? That was why she was actively pursuing him indirectly, right? India watched Cyrus fling the sketchbook to the floor and felt a stone of relief sink in her stomach, but her heart leapt at his careless handling of it. Her reaction barely showed, though, as slowly, she bent down and picked it up. Her fingers were shaking from the cold, pale and blue, but they closed firmly around Drake's sketchbook, and with unknown gentleness held it to her chest protectively. "I'll decide that for myself," India threw back at Cyrus bitingly.

A long silence heralded a staring contest between Cyrus and India. She observed him carefully, her face guarded and closed, until she turned her back on him and proceeded to cautiously place the sketchbook into her bag. Zipping it up, she took it and looked back at Cyrus again. Her body called for warmth and she would not deny it. India would not willingly stay for Cyrus. "What do you want from me, Cyrus?" she asked calmly, quietly, her eyes bright in the night when they had always been dull before she had rediscovered herself. "Do you want me to scorn you like you scorned me? Do you want me to become a twisted, bitter version of you?" India shook her head, blonde hair grazing her cheeks. "If you think you will convert me, you are sadly mistaken." And with that, India turned again to leave. She didn't know if Cyrus would stop her, but... she had said all that was to be said.