little lion man

 “A peasant— one of the lower classes who toils and irritates the monarchy,” he enunciated fiercely. “Are you an exceptionally slow human, or just a very swift-thinking potato? Hands. Take them. Towards yourself. Thank you, and good luck with all the Missus Potatoes. May all your chips get the fuck fried outta them.”

He glanced at the boy, forcing anger into his throat. He felt it bubbling---that awful, mean kind of temper brewing. Thomas would’ve gripped his hand on John’s shoulder. Anka would have called it hilarious. John strode up to meet him. “Du wütend, kleinlich, kleine Scheiße,” he muttered underneath his breath, before he looked him in the eyes and began to speak clearer. “You've backpfeifengesicht,” John explained as his hand trembled into a fist,” A face that’s begging to be hit.”

“Get your dirty peasant hands off the Self-Stirrer, biotch.”

“I am sorry---a dirty what? What did you just call me?”

Roisin’s smile grew when he spoke. John’s words said one thing, but his tone said another. Perhaps the stiff boy had some fun in him after all. “Not that I know of. John is nice, but ‘Jonathan!’– Now that’s regal as fuck.” She hummed glancing over the books he had out, casually flipping through the pages as she examined. “I suppose if you’d like, you can prepare for me?” Her eyes looked up at him coyly. “Two birds, one stone, Jonathan, m’boy– You get ready and you get to study.” Roisin leaned back, with a slight shake over her head. “Frankly, I’m really just doing you a favor.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Roisin glanced through his own sketches and notes. He let her be, for now, figuring that her attention was better spent off him. “I have to study to know not to get caught in the winds of a hurricane?” An exaggerated metaphor, but surely one she’d appreciate. He’d dealt with tornadoes before, those who swept up the dust and people as they carried along. They tended to like the comparison. “Okay,” John slowly turned to her and curiously smiled,” Humour me. What does one do to prepare for you?”

She waved it off, brushing a loose chunk of hair behind her ear. “Nothing, I just got a little too creepy for my own tastes,” Harmony elaborated. “ Sometimes I’ll start a sentence, and I don’t even know where it’s going. I just hope I find it along the way.” Her own referencing of The Office reassured her, and she decided to move on from the skull to refocus on the root. “Buy this off a weirdo near the greenhouses, then?”

“Well, it’s refreshing to hear that someone finds world domination creepy,” John remarked, now realising that it was the skull which he should assume was the creepy thing. He stowed it away into his satchel and draped his jacket back around his shoulders. He’d almost forgotten about the dandelion root. It was oddly shaped and looked like a mandrake with a harsh, pinched face. It reminded him of an old professor. “He’s not a weirdo,” John sighed,” He’s actually quite charming. You might like him if you got to know him. And I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a dandelion before but—“ he pulled out the flower from his inside pocket “—Gardeners hate weeds?”

Roisin pouted as he turned, uncomfortable with her. Too forward an approach? “I do know Conor, but he’s not got that right look that’s popular nowadays, you know?” She closed on eye, squinting the other as she stuck her arms out to frame him with her fingers. “Firm build and a strong jaw– Very in.” But then Roisin threw her arms in the air and fell back into her chair with another deep exhale. “But I suppose the world isn’t ready for a Jonathan Dreyfus, if a Jonathan Dreyfus isn’t ready for the world.” 

It dawned on him when she outstretched her arms, that this was probably just a bit. An extravagant way for a sweeping ego to amuse herself with. John still pinned himself to his desk, but his tone was playing on a slightly more jovial note. “Please. I’m trying to study,” John shook his head and careened her hands out of his direction. He sucked a breath. “It’s just John. Are people saying my name is Jonathan?” It was not as bad as ‘Johnny’, he’d admit. But he did wonder how she knew him. “Regardless. I sure as hell wasn’t ready for you.”

Roisin noted his look, but her smile never faltered. “Studying, but it’s awfully boring when you’re right there distracting me and all.” Narrowing her eyes, she leaned in a little, examining him. “Have you considered going into modelling? I know some people you could send some head shots to.”

“I’m what?” Of all the absurd encounters, in all of the absurd places---this might’ve been the strangest one. John faced away from her, forwarding himself to the contents of his desk as he struggled not to squirm under her inspection. It bothered him that he was so affected in the first place. “Uh, no thanks. I’m not photogenic. You should conscript my roommate instead. Conor O’Toole. Know him? He has the swagger of a gang leader and a face painted like the Sistine Chapel.”

“’Cause I don’t need to go in there right now? And also, I don’t have any secrets, really. Ask anyone. I’m pretty much an open book.” He paired it with a sweet smile and an extended hand. “Jake Mitchell. And look, I’ll plug my ears or something— or I can just leave, if you really prefer it. I won’t be offended.” He really wouldn’t be. The idea of leaving the guy in front of the door by himself, whispering his secrets to it hoping it’d open, was almost as entertaining as actually being around to witness it.

“John Dreyfus.” John gave the hand a firm shake. Now, that didn’t mean that he was trusting what Jake had been pushing. No one was an ‘open book’. But, what else was he going to do? Climb through a second story window? It’d be the second time in the past month he’d be shimmying down a building and this time he would have an audience. “Fine.” At least if Jake were the perpetrator, he might keep up the ruse and let him through. If not... “So, I just say it to the door?” John blew out a breath. “Your ears, please?”

Secrets... Secrets, secrets, secrets. A secret he could afford to lose would be preferable. He couldn’t lose face to a door, but a stranger was standing right behind him. John rolled his eyes and said to the door,“ One time I temporarily blinded one of my best friends for two days while trying to open a cursed book. For two nights she had terrible nightmares.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jake before trying the door again. “... Locked.” 

“Damn,” Roisin swore under her breath. Expecting a more interesting reaction, she was left with some disappointment from his only mild fear. With a dramatic sigh, she rose from the ground and sat down properly, scuttling the spider back to her before smacking a book over it. The time for wandless practice was over. “What’re you doin’?” Roisin smiled at him, curiously.

John grimaced. And even after he made a point not to avoid squashing the spider. It was a little vulgar, her show of dispassion. “That was kind,” he muttered and casted over a look. The girl didn’t appear to skip a beat. John sighed. “What are you doing?”

Jake snorted, and fished an apple out of his bag, just so he had something to eat casually to emphasize how not in a hurry he was. “Again, wizarding school—you think it’s the type of spell you can just figure out with more magic? Nah, dude. This is the one they call the Open Door, ironically.” He waved a hand at the cart. “Cart went through because it’s inanimate. But humans, you have to open your heart to open the door— so, tell it a secret. Usually something deep and dark will do it.” Annnnnd bite. And chew. And blink innocently.

So, half of that sounded like the truth. The observation about the inanimate objects was the most rational. The rest of his spiel just played into his blasé, ‘the snack is interesting’ attitude. He was more than a tad sceptical and greatly disliked the idea of opening his heart to a door. John shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. If that were true, why don’t you do it?”

This should be good. “Course they won’t. There’s a trick to it—you never been in a magical school before? They’re enchanted.”

“Well, obviously. I’ve tried the general counter-spell, the unlocking charm, ones relating to unhelpful furniture... As you can see my cart went through.” John loathed the specificity of the enchantment and he was getting snappy. “The scoundrel probably designed a predetermined counter-incantation.” Then he, in a way that failed to be casual, resorted to prying his fingers between the gap. “By all means, spectate. You must have nowhere to be.”

Roisin bent behind her book, fixated on the magic she was practicing. With so many students well-versed in wandless magic, she thought she’d brush up on it, rusty from lack of using it for less pressing things. Carefully, she waved her hand, making the spider in front of her dance on the table. Then she got the better idea to make it crawl onto the book of her unsuspecting neighbor.

John shuffled through his notes, through tabbed pages, and underlined passages. When he didn’t find what he’d been looking for he heaved up the discarded pile and moved to put it away to the side. The books almost toppled over as John caught sight of the spider on an open page. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the girl waving emphatic gestures. John tsked. “Could you send it some other direction?” he whispered over the stack,” I almost squished your friend.”

“That looked like it hurt. You okay? I could get you some ice,” he said, smirking slightly.