One Track Heart

“And what if he is, will you defend my honor?” Eavan posed the question with a teasing grin, turning it into a joke to avoid thinking about how the idea was strangely pleasing. Despite outward appearances, which Eavan meticulously curated, she was quite self-sufficient, in her own way. She took care of herself and her reputation, she didn’t depend on others, and her accomplishments were her own. She didn’t want anyone fighting her battles for her, and she certainly couldn’t have Lucas making a scene on her behalf. But part of her, not the vain part but something similar, wished that he wanted to.

Eavan shook her head, as much for her sake as for his. “Not that it matters. Lucian is being a perfectly charming date.” Which was true enough, nevermind that Eavan didn’t trust charming people as a rule. And nevermind that Lucian wasn’t the date Eavan truly wanted, he was the right choice. That was a mental calculation she was well used to making, the same way she was used to putting herself on display and being admired without being seen. That didn’t mean she liked any of it.

Ultimately, that was what led her out into the truly horribly cold night. The nagging dissatisfaction with her lot in life, and the hope of a reprieve, no matter how temporary, that Lucas provided. Just standing next to him felt like coming up for air, secure in the knowledge that there were no expectations to live up to, that he didn’t want anything from her the way everyone else did. This was what gave her the confidence to shrug and answer his earlier question truthfully. “There are just too many people.”

who: open @noxstarters

she's uneasy. she's unsure why - everything seems to be going fine enough. she's keeping to herself, as per usual, and just observing - but something feels off. rita tries to shake the feeling from her shoulders and attempts to slip through the crowd ( much larger than she'd anticipated it being ), a chill running down her spine as her bare shoulders rub against the silks and satins of the everyone's evening wear. she's not paying attention, and is trying to find some air so she can just breathe - when she hears the classic sound of fabric tearing. except it's not her own, and she stops to glance down and see she's stepped on the back of somebody's clothing. there's a fresh, long rip running up their leg and it's her fault, and the blonde tries not to get too overwhelmed from it all. "fucks sake," she sighs to her self, taking her high heel off the fabric and fishing around her dress for where she's stowed her wand to fix her error. "...sorry," she apologizes, knowing this time it really is her fault and she can't just blame it on somebody else. "really," she adds with sincerity. "wasn't watching where i was going." finally she fishes her wand out and attempts to wrack her brain for a charm that would fix the situation.

As a general rule, Eavan didn’t like crowds, but she was willing to make an exception when dancing was involved. She’d only just arrived arm in arm with Lucian, as was appropriate, and they were drifting through the crowd, sometimes together and sometimes apart, making the rounds and saying hellos. She was also experiencing a small amount of envy over some of the dresses she was seeing, feeling, as she’d known she would, like her dress was less than it should have been. On the other hand, the slight wound to her vanity was soothed by seeing the people wearing gowns that were far too much for the event at hand, like Dolores Umbridge’s gown, which looked like it belonged at a quinceañera. 

Eavan was allowing herself to sneer delicately at the pink monstrosity when she felt pressure at the back of her skirt and heard the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping. Eavan turned and, seeing Rita Skeeter, her eyes flashed. If the Ravenclaw thought she could deface Eavan’s dress as some kind of petty retribution for her, entirely justified, reaction to Dolores’ dress there would be hell to pay. But when Eavan met Rita’s eyes, she found genuine remorse there, and the blonde had an overall air of distraction that seemed quite out of character. 

It didn’t change what had happened, but it did deescalate Eavan’s anger, leaving her simply annoyed. “Well you should watch where you’re going. A simple ball is no reason to lose your head.” Seeing that Rita was fumbling for her wand, Eavan added, “Absolutely not. If you can’t even pay attention to where you put your feet, I don’t want you doing magic anywhere near me. You’d be as likely to make matters worse as to mend them.” With an almost pitying, and certainly condescending, look at Rita, Eavan produced her own wand and deftly coaxed the torn fibers back together.

Lucas was having a fun time at the ball, he really was, he just needed to step out. He's never had the greatest social battery, especially in comparison to some of the other people in Gryffindor (seriously that house *loved* to party, it drove him mad sometimes. He would be fine to go back inside and rejoin the festivities in a moment, he just needed air and some peace and quiet. It's a beautiful night, too, really. There was a light snowfall but the sky was clear enough that the moon and stars were both bright enough to illuminate the grounds, or, maybe that was the light shinning out the windows from the party *inside*. Not that it mattered, really. It was almost a shame that the ball wasn't being held *outside*. There wouldn't have been such a need for the decorating committee because the scenery was perfect, in his opinion. He's so enthralled with watching as the snow falls, he almost doesn't hear as Eavan steps outside and approaches him. Almost. An easy smile falls on his face when he looks at her. She looks gorgeous in her outfit, really, he has no idea why shes out here alone, the idea of her not having a date by her side was incomprehensible, in his opinion. "Hey, you okay?" he asked.

Eavan was enjoying the Yule Ball, she had an attentive date who was a good dancer and wanted to spend as much time on the dance floor as she did. True, she might have chosen different music if she’d been in charge, the mix of modern pop and rock didn’t lend itself to any ballroom styles, but she’d decided not to complain. Still, it was overwhelming, the feeling of being on display and the constant demand for performance. She’d been dancing gracefully, smiling brightly, and laughing sweetly all evening, and it was beginning to wear. So she’d made vague excuses to Lucian and planned to catch her breath in one of the corridors off the Great Hall.

If anyone suspected that Eavan changed her destination to follow Lucas Wood outside, there were no witnesses to provide proof; she’d checked. Eavan had long since given up pretending that her interest in Lucas was simple curiosity. She couldn’t deny that his presence was soothing, that she preferred his company to anyone else’s, nor could she entirely curb the instinct to seek him out, but she could choose to ignore the reality of it. And she was very good at ignoring things. 

She ignored the cold that cut through her dress, the crunch of snow beneath her heels, and the familiar voice of reason telling her this was a bad idea. She did her best to ignore how good he looked in his suit, and the way his soft smile made her heart stutter and flip. She couldn’t ignore the answering smile that grew on her own face. 

“I’m fine, I’m just slightly hiding.” Something Eavan wouldn’t have admitted to anyone else, but she could say to Lucas because she knew he was hiding from the melee of the ball, too.

who spends hours putting up lights only to get tangled in them and storm off?

who accidentally eats a whole box of christmas chocolates in one sitting?

who insists on watching the cheesey hallmark christmas movies?

who insists on playing nothing but michael buble in the few days running up to christmas?

who gets their presents wrapped at the mall so the other cant go snooping

who insists on making snow angels?

who put christmas outfits on all the pets?

Do they go to family’s or have a quiet day in?

who insists on wearing matching ugly christmas jumpers?

Who waits up until midnight to give the other their present?

Who insists on hand-made presents only one year?

Who puts mistletoe on every door frame?

Who gets too drunk at the work christmas party and has to be picked up at 9:15pm?

Thank Merlin the Hallows Eve events were over. Dahlia had wanted nothing to do with it and being there made her skin crawl. Being back in the walls of Hogwarts was where she belonged. And the library was one of her favorite rooms. The warmth of being surrounded by books and the lighting was perfect. It was quiet. She could breathe. Nothing was anxiety provoking so her body was able to regulate itself. The library was more than a favorite room but also a bit of a sanctuary for her illness.

Not unlike most days Dahlia brought her Potions books and notes with her, found a lone table and prepared herself for a good study session. She didn’t have any assignments due — she had done them already. This was for her enjoyment and further insight. If she was going to be the best she had to put the work in.

Unfortunately as she began reading and underlining her book, making notes in the margins, a shadow loomed near without saying anything. “If you’re going to watch me you could at least move out of my lighting.”

Eavan had always loved the library. She couldn’t spend too much time in it, of course; it wouldn’t do to seem anti-social and bookish. But she spent what time she could there, pretending she needed to study for her classes when she was really pursuing her own interests.

It was in this haven that Eavan first got to know Dahlia Greengrass. As a child, Eavan was always told that Dahlia was destined to die young, and thus not a worthwhile ally. It was in the Hogwarts library that Eavan realized that, while she might not be a worthwhile ally, Dahlia was pleasant company. Disapproving sniffs at the antics of their fellow students turned into exchanges of judgement as they discovered a mutual disdain for the general population. The friendship was truly cemented when Dahlia noticed that Eavan was reading books from the restricted section and they unlocked a shared intellectual curiosity.

Today, Eavan had a book on the uses of blood in potions, a topic she felt people were unnecessarily squeamish about, but knew Dahlia would appreciate. She smiled slyly at Dahlia’s sharp tone, not put off in the least. “If you would like me to leave, I would be happy to enjoy this text in solitude.” Contrary to her words, Eavan moved to sit beside Dahlia as she spoke.

Peter was standing at the side having a smoke when he noticed a passerby stumble into Eavan and spill an entire drink down her dress. He hadn't even caught onto the fact that he was staring by the time Eavan looked up at him with a sharp glare. A drink in one hand and his lit cigarette in the other, Peter raised his arms in faux defence. "Don't bite, I'm just an innocent detective" A smirk on his features, "Although, you could add it to your costume? A beer stained..." Peter paused for a moment, "fairy..angel thing?

If Eavan had realized it was a marauder she was speaking to, she wouldn’t have said anything. Despite being in a different year and house from the four Gryffindors they were still a significant annoyance in Eavan’s life. As a rule, she did her best to ignore them whenever possible, and she certainly wasn’t above turning her back on one of them and simply walking away from a conversation, but Peter’s comment piqued her curiosity. “How exactly are you a detective?” She narrowed her eyes and delivered the question in a haughty, disbelieving tone to disguise her interest in the answer.

In the next breath, Eavan was rolling her eyes, already regretting not immediately dismissing the boy. She would have been more surprised if he’d recognized her costume, but his recommendation was preposterous. Why would she ever want to include beer stains in her costume? And she could hardly be seen dressing up as something from Muggle children’s stories. Not to mention she wasn’t entirely sure what an angel was. There were so many things wrong with his statement that it was hard to decide where to start, but ultimately she settled on, “Goddesses are not beer-stained.”

"i've had it with this wonky thing!" he assures the other with a sneer, throwing his wand down on the ground - as soon as it hits the floor, it sends a series of sparks ricocheting off the corridor halls, just nearly missing eavan and ludo.

"i've to go get it myself, they said. but i can't just go to diagon alley whenever i want, can i?" he complains, blinking as he tries to gain some sort of visual of eavan. at least he can recognize her voice. "what are you doing out here, anyway?" he asks, massaging his side.

@ivelisseeavan

Eavan saw what Ludo was about to do just before he did it, but she held her tongue. It was better if she wasn’t too observant, if no one knew just how much she noticed; she’d learned that from her mother. Instead, Eavan subtly flicked her wand, sending Ludo’s discarded wand spinning away from them so the sparks that inevitably followed bounced off the walls. With the immediate danger out of the way,  Eavan refocused her glare on Ludo. “That is all the more reason to do something about it. You had an entire summer to visit Ollivanders.” Eavan did not disagree with the elder Bagmans’ apparent assessment that Ludo should take responsibility for his own wand, but neither was she terribly surprised that he obviously hadn’t.

Eavan declined to answer Ludo’s impertinent question. Just because she had perfectly acceptable reasons for being where she was, didn’t mean she had to share them, and she didn’t want to give him the impression that he had any right to information about her life. She watched his rapid blinking and cataloged it along with the way he was listing to one side, as if favoring his ribs, and the coughing fit he’d had. Obviously, he needed the hospital wing, but she didn’t particularly want to offer help unless she had to. “Why are you blinking like a deranged owl?”