#by haps

Phoebus could honestly commit mass murder at the moment. This Great Hall wasn't like the one at Durmstrang. There the headmaster there would encourage quieter conversation, people spoke like actual human beings--unlike the banshees at the Gryffindor table. He was so very close to make the floating candles turn up-side-down and have them hurl unto their ever-open mouths. The thought made him smirk as he finished his food, though he left rather quickly afterwards.

His gaze was on the floor as he made his way back to the Slytherin Common Room. With any luck there was nobody there. With a bit more luck than that, Damia would be there. Their interactions after that certain incident in the corridor had been scarce. He feared that perhaps he has scared her away somehow, maybe that he had come on too strong for her liking. Phoebus knows he should be glad that she wasn't so interested, that way he could keep away, and not get himself killed.

He couldn't help himself. She was intoxicating.

What had happened thus far could be more than his sure execution, but she apparently liked him more than she let on, as he wasn't dead quite yet. But if he were honest with himself, that was the least of his worries--his parents would surely kill him first before the Dark Lord could..

And to his own annoyance, the worry diminished as he saw her--the smirk on his face was there before he could stop it. Also before he knew it he had sat on the couch opposite to hers.