Humpbacked Witch Statue
 

for tdaniz
 

Sneaking back in, excuse...
 

Straightening her form, Aslan clumsily clambered out of the passageway the Humpbacked-witch afforded and back into the castle, the only evidence she hadn been here throughout the day was the fresh gravel and mud on her well-worn navy galoshes. It had rained as she'd snuck out, you see, and as Aslan wasn't able to do magic outside of school she hadn't been able to rid herself of the mess-making-muck. Glancing furtively down the corridor, Aslan smiled with some satisfaction as the coast seemed as clear as a summer's day (thankfully, because she had no patience for lying to staff).

Shaking out her messy curls, Aslan untucked her wand from behind her ears and turned her dark eyes to the mud she had tracked in with her. A Scourgify should be simple, right? Aslan hadn't used the spell much or ever, but then it had hardly seemed necessary until now. She cleared her throat softly and pointed her cypress wand to the nearest mudcaked stone. "Scourgify." She said, as clearly, but as softly as she could. A second later and the stone was clear. There. Aslan took a step back to look for others, unaware as she did that she was creating even more dirt.

Tucked away in a shadowy corner as she was, Nicky Iver would have gone unnoticed by the Gryffindor for a good long while. The lanky blonde folded her arms across her chest - she'd ducked into the corner when she'd heard a sound, also out past curfew and on her way back from the dungeons as it was- and observed. There were options here.

Cause a ruckus to draw attention to the younger delinquent, affording Nicky a clear path back to her own bed. Announce her presence before the girl got them both caught. Have some fun at the kid's expense. So many options. Twirling her wand between her fingers, she leaned against the cold stone, the fainted light reflecting in her green eyes.

After watching the unfortunate creature create more mess as she tried to clean, Nicky stepped out from her spot. "You're going to get us both caught out. Stand still."

And with that, the older girl flourished her wand and cleaned the floor and the girl's shoes.

Aslan was not known for being very alert or aware of her surroundings, she was possibly the easiest person to sneak up on in the whole castle now that Airey Flamsteed had gone (he'd been quite notorious for being easily shaken). She had believed that she was getting better, but as Nicky Iver suddenly came into her peripheral vision Aslan realized she was quite wrong. The blonde was not unknown to her, but they were anything but friendly thanks to a moment of honesty which had gained the Gryffindor Nicky's ire.

It was a problem, her honesty and something she was also trying to improve on.

"Stand still?" Aslan calmly repeated, her dark eyes hard as she watched the other girl wave her wand. She was slow, too slow to have even tried to block her, but her frustration only skyrocketed as the cleaning spell took root. Aslan glared, dark eyes burning with dislike. "I didn't need your help." She answered simply, still gripping her cypress wand.

She fwlt belittled and didn't like it one bit.

Nicky could not quite remember what the girl had done to inspire ire in the previous year. Truthfully, Nicky didn't pay her much mind at all , but she knew there was something that had irked her. No matter. It was the creature's attitude that had her going this time.

"Didn't you?" she replied, voice just above a whisper. "Tracking mud everywhere." The blonde shook her head. "You should be thanking me. I could have turned those unfortunate boots of yours into tap shoes. Or woken up the paintings. Or do anything number of things to you. But I cleaned up after you."

She twirled her wand in her hand, waiting to see how the girl responded. She could be grateful... or she could be sorry.

She was seething. Furious. Red. Red. Red. It was all Aslan felt as Nicky continued on, her whispered words were lighting a fire and it was taking a fair bit of Aslan's resolve and logic not to do something to shut the older witch up.

Confrontational? Yes. Stupid? Sometimes, but Aslan knew where she stood. "dont be stupid, if I get caught so do you." It didn't take much insight to realize the Ravenclaw had only cleaned up after Aslan to hide herself away, after all, it was clear Nicky didn't care a drop. She was cool, not in Daxton's way. Daxton was ice blue and full of a shimmering hate. Nicky wasn't blue, she was white hot, ready to explode at the drop of a hat if only given the right reason.

And Aslan suddenly had decided that she wanted very much to be that reason. She stared down the older girl, eyes glinting with resolve and her mouth pressed into a tight line. "It's not like you can apparate away from this spot or disillusion yourself quickly enough to avoid the Professors or prefects." she whispered, crossing her arms under her chest. She took a step forward, wand still in hand. Wordlessly, Aslan egged the girl on.

Daxton lowered his hand again, looking down at the Slytherin boy with his calculating gaze; he was playing a dangerous game here, and he knew it. He was, essentially, relying on this boy believing he, as a fourth year, was particularly adept at magic, and using that fact to inform his decision on whether or not to cast an offensive spell. As it happened, Daxton did know his stuff. He knew more theory about magic than most his age, specialising in a certain few subject areas. But knowing his stuff, and being able to cast it... those were two very different things.

Non-verbal as he was, Daxton had been attempting for his first three years at Hogwarts to cast spells non-verbally too, and had ignored all instructions to make an attempt at speaking the incantations. Up until the end of his third year, he had had limited, though not entirely absent, success. But now, in his fourth year, there had been some sudden and extensive developments. His non-verbal magic had suddenly started improving at a remarkable rate, but when it came to combative magic, there was only one spell Daxton had managed to fully master, due in part to the fact that most of his practicing duelling spells was done while hiding in corridors, casting at unsuspecting passers-by. Even then, he did not consider that to be a true practice; not enough that he would be certain to use those spells to overpower someone in a duel.

So he was, essentially, falling back on nothing more than a bluff with Asakura, at least until he could be certain he would win in a duel. Until then, Daxton was at least not afraid to fight, and fight dirty, in a good, old-fashioned fist fight. Those always got his blood pumping faster anyway.

Still, he watched Asakura closely, paying particularly close attention to his hands, ready for any sudden movement. None came.

What did come, was a simple, one-word question. A question Daxton had no hope of answering.

Why? Why what? There were a great many things that that question could be addressing: Why was Daxton on the statue? Why was he waving? Why had he beaten the snot out of Asakura the first time they had met? Why did anyone think that this statue was a good hiding place for a 'secret' passageway?

Plenty of potential questions, none of which Daxton could really answer, even if he had known exactly what kind of question Asakura was asking. So he made a choice between his only two options, and simply shrugged. A vague answer to a vague question.

Daxton Prince's whole demeanour bothered him.

It reminded Tak too much like some of the boys he had grown up around. The ones who quickly took to calling him names and squashing his thoughts about his mum coming for him at a young age. The ones who walked with their heads held high and their backs up straight for the sheer purpose of intimidating you.

And the thirteen year old hated it.

Especially considering what Daxton had done to him. And what he had made him do. Starting a fight, that was not something he would normally do at all. His blood had been boiling though, just as it was now. The look Daxton gave him.....

"Why did you attack me in Diagon Alley?" That was what he wanted to know. Really and truly. He had to know, before he casted his finally opinion on the boy that he already disliked, so very much.

An interesting question from the Slytherin. From his perch on the statue, Daxton regarded Tak Asakura with his cold and calculating gaze, thinking back to the day in Diagon Alley that he remembered so clearly.

Asakura, it seemed, did not.

Because Daxton had not been the first to lash out that day; in fact, he generally made a habit of actively provoking others so that they would be the one to strike first. Daxton had wordlessly provoked the other boy, who had then shoved him back, and then the fight had begun. Technically speaking, Daxton had not attacked anyone. Technically speaking, Asakura had done the attacking. Though it struck Daxton, just for a moment, that perhaps Tak Asakura realised this. He did not seem like a complete idiot.

Still fixing Asakura with that steely blue knowing gaze of his, Daxton waited a long moment, and then shrugged again. Even if the wording were different, he had no answer for Tak. Daxton fought. It was what he did, it was what he wanted to do, it was what he did at every opportunity. And he did not know why.

More accurately, he did not know why everyone else did not feel the same way.

After a brief pause, Daxton slid down off the statue, landing cat-like on the stone floor whilst minor shockwaves went through his feet; a pain he welcomed. He straightened, and continued to stare directly at the other boy.