#igota

Christmas was approaching fast. Before Marianne knew it, she had watched her sister and Sunny Ornthalas (her muggle born best friend), dash away for the Hogwarts express, ready for a few weeks of holiday cheer. She had been filled with a mixture of guilt and regret. Really, she didn’t want to be away from her family, but, she knew it was for the best that she not bring them down. She couldn’t believe it was only yesterday and she already felt as if Dawn had been away for a month, but, she figured, that's how loneliness worked.

The night was brisk as she made her way down the corridors, heading for the library. She wasn’t sure she had any intention of studying, but at least there was a fire and she didn’t have to look at the common room. It made her sick sometimes remembering how many days she’d sat in those squashy arm chairs, listening to Roland brag endlessly about one thing or another, nodding along and telling him how amazing he was. At least the library would be devoid of any memories since, well, she wasn’t sure Roland even knew the castle had a library.

Armed with a spare blanket, a few candles, and a few good books, she entered the sacred hall of learning. It was quiet and empty as she figured it would be. Most of the other students wouldn’t be in the library even if they had also decided to remain over the holidays. Good. She wasn’t ready to deal with most other people right now. She headed to her favorite spot: the extra comfy arm chair right underneath the big window near the fireplace. She had found solace in that spot many times over the past five years, studying or vexing next to the warm hearth while watching the leaves change or listening to the musical sounds of rain fall. It was comforting. However, as she approached, she noticed that she actually was not as alone as she thought. Oh no. Someone happened to be seated in the exact place she had intended to be relaxing for the evening. His back was turned to her but she could see the clear green of Slytherin robes. “Oh, bloody hell, you’re kidding me?” she groaned in a burst of emotions, not having meant to.

At her exclamation the boy raised his head and looked around. She realized she recognized him. She’d been paired with him in dueling club once. She didn’t remember his name and, well frankly she wasn’t sure if they ever introduced themselves. She did recall him being particularly good at the full body bind. But that mattered little at the moment. He locked eyes with her. “Maybe you haven’t heard, but libraries are meant to be quiet.” he hissed, his voice ladened with malice and draped in a scottish drawl.

Marianne’s eyes narrowed, she wasn’t one to be challenged. “Can you, I don’t know, pick a different spot maybe?” she spat.

She knew she was being a bit immature and, frankly, rude, but she really needed some form of comfort at the moment and she wasn’t going to let a Slytherin, of all people, take it from her. The boy’s eyes had returned lazily to reading. “I’ve found this spot to be quite comfortable and since you have no actual possession over it and there is ample space to sit elsewhere, I think I’ll stay where I am, thank you.” he responded in a firm and final sounding tone.

Marianne blinked a few times, anger turning her face red. What gave him the right to be so clever? She opened her mouth to object further, but all she could manage was some sort of mixture between a grunt and groan. While she seemed to struggle with herself for a minute, the boy’s eyes rose once again. He studied her for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. This infuriated her further. Seething, she strode to the table one over from him, yanked the chair from underneath, and slammed the books down. Through the entire tantrum, the boy’s gaze followed her. She sat stubbornly facing him, arms crossed, finally getting a good look at him.

He wasn’t a very attractive young man. The first thing she noticed was his beaky nose. It was easily his largest and most eye catching feature. It curved downward, giving him an almost goblin like appearance. His mouth reminded her vaguely of a largemouth bass. It was an exaggeration, certainly, but the corners of his mouth did stretch slightly beyond what could be considered average length. Trail your gaze downward, you’ll see a long chin that seemed to be dotted with small bumps and what appeared to be long thin scar lines, very clear against his sallow skin. He had thick dark eyebrows, one of which was in danger of disappearing into his hairline. His hair was passable, short and neatly swept back, however, it seemed dry and with a color that reminded her of dead leaves. The style also made his larger, slightly knifed ears appear even more prominently.

His only redeeming feature seemed to be his eyes. Despite his not so lovely face, she couldn’t dismiss them. They were a bright arctic blue and, staring into them, Marianne could feel a strange electricity rocket through her nerves. She almost forgot her rage for a moment. But then, the boy spoke again. “It’s humorous, you look like you could be a seventh year but I’m quite certain you can’t be any older than twelve.”

The sudden comment hit Marianne like someone had swung a sack full of bricks into her ego. “Excuse me?” she sputtered, her face reddening once more.

The boy’s sly smile curled, revealing his uneven teeth. “You’re throwing a fit simply because someone else is in a seat you desire.” he pointed out “I can only assume your age matches your attitude.”

The most annoying thing to Marianne was that, well, he wasn’t exactly wrong. She probably could have asked him nicely and he may have had a very different response. But, all the same, she wasn’t about to sit there and let him talk like that to her. “That’s funny because you don’t look like you should still be in school but rather in a grave somewhere. How many times did you have to repeat your O.W.L.S.?”

It was a pretty low blow, she knew. Honestly, she was in too deep and all she could do was throw wild punches. The boy sighed and closed the book he had been trying to read. “If the stupid spot means enough to you to be so insulting, fine, take it.”

He stood abruptly and Marianne felt an instant wave of regret wash over her. “Ah...wait don’t do that.” she groaned.

The boy eyed her suspiciously. “I’m sorry, you want me to sit here and be mistreated when I have clearly done nothing?” he asked, his voice cutting.

“That’s...sorry alright.” She mumbled, casting her gaze to the wall near by.

The boy’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t sure he really cared to spend his evening being patronized or yelled at by a boisterous Gryffindor out to pick a fight. Considering he usually couldn’t be bothered to deal with people who he actually liked, it seemed taxing to put up with a stranger. He supposed he could do worse. Red face aside, she was rather pretty. Her messy soil hair splayed wildly, sweeping mostly to her left. She had a soft and smooth complexion, unlike his own. Her nose was small and her lips were quite full and painted with a light shade of violet. But the thing he most noticed, besides, arguably, her rosey cheeks, had to be those eyes. Ringed in tints of purple, they were a piercing, sharp honey color and filled with defiance. All at once, he realized he’d seen her before. “Have...have we met?” he questioned, almost sure they had to have.

She met his eyes again. Ah, so he also remembered. “I think we were partnered in dueling class once.” She admitted sheepishly.

“Ah yes.” He seemed to remember “You hit me with incarcerous. I had rope burns for a week!”

“Uh yeah, sorry about that.” she apologized again “I saw the jelly legs curse you cast before and wasn’t taking any chances.”

The boy’s mouth twitched into a grin at the compliment. “Your name was...Lafayette, wasn’t it?”

Now she felt like an ass. He had managed to at least remember her last name and she couldn’t be bothered with his. “Uh yeah. Marianne Lafayette.” she informed him, hoping he wouldn’t realize or care she hadn’t managed to retain his name.

“Fidius Bog.” he introduced, seeming not to care she hadn’t.

He’d started to return to the arm chair once more but stopped and turned. “If you really want the chair, you can have it.”

Marianne’s face had turned red yet again, but not from anger. Shame at the fact that even a Slytherin had more common decency then her. “Uh...thank you.”

She took the offer and traded him seats. She had expected him to leave for a different part of the library, but he took the less comfortable chair and settled back in. Marianne sat in the familiar chair and felt comfort seep slowly into her. “Sorry I bothered you.” She offered to Bog, but he raised a hand.

“You probably had your reasons.” he put simply “Most students don’t stay over the holiday’s unless they have a pretty damn good reason not to be home.”

She couldn’t argue that. All the same, she had acted like a child. “Still no excuse for me being a royal git.”

Fidius had opened his book again and hadn’t looked up, but he was grinning again “Yes, well, I don’t consider most Gryffindor’s the paragon of composer.” he teased, seeming to be relaxed again.

“Well I didn’t expect to find a Slytherin remotely agreeable.” she countered, starting to feel comfortable herself.

His eyes stop scanning the lines of text for a moment. “I suppose that’s fair.”

Marianne watched him continue through the pages. The book he was holding was bound in black leather. Gold leafing curled the front cover to create the title which red “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” She didn’t recognize the title. “Uh...what are you reading?” she asked.

Fidius turned the book around to glance at the title. One of his eyebrows started raising again. “You’ve never heard of William Shakespeare?” he returned, sounding skeptical.

She could feel her cheeks become hot once more. “Is it some kind of muggle fiction?” she shot back “Because I grew up pretty strictly wizard.”

Fidius’ mouth thinned. “He was a classic playwright.” he said matter-of-factly “Romeo and Juliet? Julius Ceaser? Macbeth?”

None of these were ringing a bell. I mean, sure, wizards read muggle works, but she didn’t usually do a lot of reading to begin with. She shook her head. Fidius sighed. “It’s a comedy where, put simply, because of a mischievous fairy named Puck, everyone falls in love with the wrong person and they have to correct it.”

Marianne wrinkled her nose. “What’s so funny about love?” she mumbled.

Fidius heard her and the grin returned. “Foolish, isn’t it?” he agreed “People throwing themselves at someone. Acting like gits to try and impress each other. That’s the real comedy.”

This was a welcome surprise. The one person who also decided not to have happy family time and stuck around seems to be as disgusted with the idea of puppy love as she was. “Your cynicism is refreshing.” she chuckled “Everyone else around here seems to be unable to keep their hands off each other.”

Fidius closed the book sharply with a dramatic scowl. “Love sick fools!” he spat “Walking around in a daze, humming.”

“And dancing.” Marianne added with a note of disgust.

“Giggling like children.”

“Don’t forget the pet names.”

The throaty growl that escaped the boy sounded almost like a hound. “Absolutely ghastly. Never in any conceivable state of mind could I imagine myself wanting to be called something as idiotic as ‘sugar pie’ or ‘honey bunch’.”

Marianne laughed. “You mean, you don’t like the sound of ‘Bogey bear’ or ‘fiddy boo’?”

She saw a shiver shot through his spine. “Don’t.”

Marianne grinned slyly. “Not even ‘my little pumpkin pasty’? Really? I thought that one was a winner with the guys. I must be out of touch with the times.”

Fidius was clearly fighting back both vomit and laughter. “I like it about as much as you’d probably like hearing ‘Buttercup’.” he shot, thinking he’d gain a favorable snicker.

However, that one hit a little close to home. Marianne’s smile instantly fell. That had been Roland’s prefered name for her, forgoing her actual name for it more often then she would have liked. When she didn’t respond, Fidius realized he had said something he ought not to have. “Sorry...I didn’t mean to…”

Marianne waved it off. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” she tried to play cool “I was just stunned by how stupid people are to call each other that.”

She was lying and not convincingly, but Bog was not one to push things. He knew people had their secrets. He decided to play along. “The whole notion is one gigantic mess, if you ask me.”

The two sat in a bit of an awkward silence. Marianne cleared her throat and started to unfold the blanket. It may have been warm in the library but it was never warm enough for Marianne. Bog noticed this and couldn’t help but ask “Bit warm for a blanket, isn’t it?”

Glad that he’d spoken first, she shrugged. “I don’t know why, but I can never really get warm.”

She could see Bog’s curious expression growing. “My dad told me I might have been hit with a stray freezing charm or something when I was little.” She elaborated, not caring to really speak on it much further.

Bog couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose it could be plausible. I’ve heard of spells having lasting effects like that.”

Marianne was settling in. “That’s why I like the spot closest to the fire but so I can still look out the window.”

Bog seemed to appreciate the comment. “I’m quite fond of that spot myself.” he said, finally returning back to his reading. “It’s a good place to think.”

Marianne smiled. Somehow, this conversation had turned out to be more comforting than original plan of brooding by the window. She reached for one of the books in her bag and produced a small green bound one that looked very worn. It was a small book of poetry from a wizard name Glenda Gildenharth. Each line was about the strength and empowerment. Her mother had read her these when she was young and, when she died, Marianne would often read them when she needed a lift.

Before she cracked it open, she took a last look at Bog. “You sure you don’t mind me being here?” she asked, a small bit of timidity in her voice.

He glanced momentarily from his engrossed reading. “As long as you aren’t one of those people that feels the need to react loudly.” He sighed, reaching into his bag.

He pulled a box of cauldron cakes and placed them on the table. He flipped it open with one hand and removed one still not pausing in his novel. “Would you like one?”

Marianne perked up. “Yeah, thanks!” she responded.