peytonroseyaxley

There weren’t many people that could make Owen Page come running with his tail firmly between his legs, but Peyton Yaxley was one of them. He had long been awaiting the day when it would click in her magnificent head that he had hid out at her least-favourite son’s home. Owen of all people was aware that she loathed Aaron with a passion; not that it stopped him being friends with either. Aaron had been his greatest ally for years, as had Peyton, but they were both valued for different things. Besides, the Page male wasn’t fond of picking sides in a war that he knew would not benefit him in the slightest. So, as intelligent as he was, he resided in Aaron’s home for as long as he could. Until he heard her sweet tones vibrating through the home and calling for his presence.

The door hadn’t reached his hearing as the boy had been in a deep slumber. Sleep didn’t frequently visit him and thus when he managed to drift off amongst his nightmares; it was difficult to rouse him. Usually he awoke at the oddest hours kicking and thrashing, calling out for people that were no longer there. Yet when her voice reached the room his room -- he had forced Aaron to set aside his own room for when he visited -- his head snapped off the feather-filled pillows and his eyelids opened to reveal startled grey eyes. He felt like he was being called by his mother for some naughty act, something silly like having nipped Millie or spilled cookie crumbs and milk all over the floor. But he knew exactly what the ancient vampire had come for, and part of him wished he had denied the Dark Lord. At least he would have been killed quickly.

xscoutbanning

Owen was a master of concealing his true emotions from corrupting his expressionless face; and now was no different. Scout’s words registered in a way with him that boiled his blood, a way that made him want to clench his jaw and start ranting and raving around the room. But he didn’t. In the months he spent cooped up being mercilessly tortured by Death Eater after Death Eater, he had learned an impeccable amount of self-control. He was taught that sometimes calculated plans of attack faired out better than crazed killing sprees. His steely gaze flickered down to her hips, to her arms, to the hollow of her cheeks and he resisted the urge to pull her to his chest and rock Scout like some damaged child. He wasn’t going to patronise her.

hopebridgetteyaxley

As beautiful as he was when he was awake, brooding over how awful his life had become and just how much he loathed Hufflepuffs, there was no expression or words that compared to how Owen Page looked when he slept. Through the night, his dangerous concoction of muggle pills had eventually come into play and lulled him into a sleep deeper than he had in months. Not a single nightmare disturbed him, nor did any dream, and it was all just emptiness. He had stirred away from the warm body as he slept, moving to lay on his back with his arms and legs spread out. An arm still lay beneath Hope’s slim frame, his jeans having been removed in the late hours of the morning.

His normally creased expression, either infuriated or annoyed, had been smoothed out, making him appear more youthful. His puffy lips had parted -- his breathing deep and slow to match the rise and fall of his bare chest. Owen too had his own scars, only his were an obvious set of claw marks beginning from his left shoulder and ending at his right hip. A gift from Greyback, scars too-deep, too unnatural to be hidden by the magical qualities of dittany and spells. Movement made him stir and he yawned, his body fully stretching out to only make him appear taller than he was -- as if he hadn’t been freakishly tall as it was. His toes went over the edge, his elbows bent against the headboard and he curled his arms around the hybrid once again. His thick leg draped over Hope’s bare leg, his face pushing against her neck as he nuzzled it like a dog would another.

abigailgracefletcher

It was strange how they had come so far -- from strangers, to heated lovers, and now to people who really had nothing more to say to one another. Owen could apologise to Abigail for all the horrific things he had done to her, and even to his other victims, but where would be the point in that? It wouldn’t fix things; it wouldn’t undo the torture or the harsh words they exchanged, the expression of hate and the denials of love. It wouldn’t change a damn thing. He barely ever apologised for anything and even then, why change one’s behaviour so far into the game? But he pitied her for losing so much so young, and he pitied her for having so much faith in the good of all things.

“There isn’t a single person on this planet that isn’t selfish -- wizard and human alike.” Owen’s husked tones became softer, almost soothing in a way and they lacked their usual hostility. His amber-flecked grey gaze moved from the Gryffindor to stare across the lake, his body tightening to stop the onset of shivers. “You want your parents back, and for this bloody war to come to an end in rainbows and unicorns. Voldemort wants to lord over us all, with even Death Eaters beneath him in the long run. And me…” He trailed off and briefly allowed a shiver to ripple down his spine, the Dementors having affected him terribly. “I want to forget everything and play Quidditch.” Owen tipped his head back against the bark of the tree and stared up into the thick canopy. “But we can’t. Your parents will never be back, I’ll never play Quidditch the way I wanted to because we’re fighting a war, and we’re fighting each other.”

sapphirecarrow

lyrafossil

Hand dragging along the beginnings of a beard on his strong jaw line, the amber-flecked steely eyes of Owen Page watched the grounds before him. He had only emerged from the woods, after having jogged about in a very different form moments before it. He still possessed a wild look, a glint in his beautiful eyes that said; I’d sooner be back in the trees. These days, he felt more whole when he was roaming the forest in one of his many animagi shaped. The animal that animagi took represented their inner selves. Owen’s first change had been that of a large grey wolf and it had remained his favourite since. The older he grew and the more he practised, he was quick to learn he was the first wizard possibly of changing into any animal he wished. There was only one factor that remained the same; the colour of his coat and his eyes that were just as grey. He was still decked-out in his school uniform as he had come straight from class to blow off a bit of pent-up steam and energy.

His emerald and silver tie glinted in the soft sunlight and his white shirt was pristine -- apart from a small speck of blood on the tip of his collar. For a change, it wasn’t human; he had killed a small deer to help with the stress-relief. The male advanced forward, coming into the view of the students who ventured outside after class and many were too afraid to even look at him.

Owen had a reputation that had taken him some time to build. The castle feared him, they were intimidated by him -- and it was no wonder. At six feet and four inches with a body that consisted of pure muscle, it was easy to see how he could have that effect on people. Not only that, he was a cruel, arrogant and selfish man. He had done things many people wouldn’t even think about in their wildest fantasies and he had done them without batting a thickly-lashed eyelid. Part of him had died long ago and somehow, it was as if he had ceased to feel empathy for others. He tortured, he killed, he ridiculed… and he didn’t care. Misery loves company and he was as miserable as they came. The Slytherin continued up the short path, replying to those that greeted him, completely ignoring those he didn’t know or rather relieved were purely irrelevant. Something that did grasp his attention however, was the sight of a wolf pup and a person walking alongside it as though it was the norm.

teamstonem

This could all go one way or another, depending on Owen’s mood. The bulging muscles in his arms flexed at the anticipation of an oncoming bludger and his eyes glared down at the grassy pitch. It all was riding on his mood and how he had taken to the Stonem male, whether he wanted to help him or make him look like a total idiot. While the latter seemed fifty shades of entertaining, he was going to do something so out of his own character that he had to raise his eyebrows at himself; he was going to help him. He was going to make sure he did well in front of the IQA, he was going to befriend him, and then he’d have a full pass to all the fun extra-curricular activities the team got up to. There were perks to having a friend on the national Quidditch team.

The bat spun in his hand and his lips pouted out as he whistled lowly, seeming all-too-comfortable with the entire situation. No nerves came to Owen because it wasn’t his career on the line -- it wasn’t him being watched like a hawk by the people below. Though, he did have an idea that his actions were being monitored; anyone who knew anything about Quidditch was well-aware of Owen’s volatile reputation, they didn’t want their new star-player to be damaged because Owen got a little bludger-happy. There was a crack like thunder and Owen’s engraved bat made contact with his first bludger, the iron-clad ball shooting directly for Jay and shockingly enough, not for any serious body parts. He had a habit of aiming for the head or the gut. If there was one thing about the Page boy and Quidditch it was this; he never missed.

aarondionyaxley

As a finger was swiped across a wound on his cheek, Owen could only clench his jaw and glare at the vampire. Yet he didn’t make any move to stop him or resist him. He allowed the venom to be wiped on his bloody face, and honestly? He was relieved when he felt the effects happening almost immediately. The ghastly gash began to knit together, the pain that ached through his body began to lessen, and he generally began to feel more like himself. He wasn’t as sore, or as cold as he had been constantly since the Dementors had been used on him endlessly, and his posture relaxed. He sagged in relief, the beginnings of a wolfish smile twitching at one corner of his lips -- it never fully came, he stopped it before he looked ridiculous. As glad as he was of the help, he felt weak for taking it. The men were too alike in ways and polar-opposites in others.

Owen had sat in silence for a while as Aaron told of his plan, how the Yaxley manor could be used as a safe house if the need be. But Abbie would never do that -- she would never trust him enough to willingly go anywhere. “For as long as I’m at Hogwarts and so is she -- she’ll be safe.” He was determined never to raise a wand to her again, nor allow anyone else to. “But everything is bound to blow-up soon… This war everyone is waiting for to happen, it’s obviously approaching, and even I won’t be able to convince her to hide it out and stay hidden.” She was stubborn, determined, and was one of those irritating people who would put her own neck on the line for her friends. “She has no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.” His head shook and his scabbed hand lifted to push back through his sandy hair. It was no secret that he blatantly loved Abigail Fletcher and all her faults, but he would never admit it. Not for any amount of money or freedom in the world.