It was a Friday night and it was already dark, cold and raining outside.  There wasn't a whole lot to do on this, a Friday evening, especially when being outside wasn't an option.  And all of her fellow Gryffindors were reading or playing chess or other foolish things.  Mairead was bored and, as friendly as Ailill was, the puffskein wasn't exactly a roaring source of entertainment.  Especially when all he did was curl up in a fluffy ball on her belly and sleep.

Finally, boredom got the better of her and Mairead scooped the puffskein up and started towards the portrait hole.  It wasn't curfew, yet, but curfew wasn't far off.  Which meant if she was going to get out to do something, she needed to do so now, rather than later.  Once curfew started, those pesky prefects would start showing up around the Fat Lady's portrait on an annoyingly regular basis.

At first, her trek through the castle had had no real goal.  She was wandering simply because it was preferable to sitting still.  But, halfway down one of the back staircases, Mairead started heading to the fifth floor corridor.  Several days before, she'd passed along the corridor on her way out for a quidditch practice when she'd heard the faint, curious murmuring while passing the Care of Magical Creatures classroom.  At the time, she hadn't had the time to investigate and, once practice was over, the distraction of an hour spent on a broom had driven the thought from her mind.

She reached the corridor and made her way to the door of the Care of Magical Creatures classroom and pressed an ear against the wooden door.  There was no doubt, the murmuring was there - still inaudible through the thick wood but obviously present nonetheless.  After a quick glance up and down the corridor, Mairead wiggled the doorknob open and slipped inside. 

Almost immediately, Mairead's sight landed on the source of the voice.  Grinning, she approached the tank in the back corner, gazing in at the long, coiled body of its single occupant. 

The snake was magnificent.  With a mischievous grin, Mairead slid the lid back off of the tank and started to reach inside.

But before she could so much as get a grip on it, the door creaked open and a voice followed her inside. “I highly doubt your hand belongs in there, ó Fearghaíl,” it said, the light, pleasant tone of it dry with amusement. Its owner– Theo– stepped into what little light fell across from him, his tall form casting an even longer shadow.

And it only grew as he advanced.

Up until that very moment, the evening had been shaping up to be an uneventful one. When it’d become apparent he would be doing the patrol on his own, the Slytherin hadn’t minded; as fun as it was to spend time with his fellow prefects (whether he liked them or… liked messing with them), it was an undisputed fact that a young man such as himself needed some time alone to think, to collect his thoughts and sift through them without the distraction offered by the occasionally amusing (if ultimately inconsequential) existence of his peers. It was, in its own way, a way of meditating, so to speak—but sans the disadvantage of quiescence. This way, he had the benefit of stretching his legs, of enjoying a slow but constant change of scenery…

Of chancing upon an opportunity, a spectacular bit of phenomena known to lend initially dull evenings a rather interesting twist.

He could ask, of course, what she thought was doing, breaking into a classroom with, by all appearances, the intent to filch a creature; it was an easy enough question, and indubitably it would be amusing to see what sort of answer she might come up with. But they were alone, with a snake at the center of it all—and while he wasn’t shy about his Parseltongue, public use of it was known to unnerve others. To his detriment.

He would take an opportunity where he could.

Eyes moving toward the snake, Theo smiled… and opened his mouth, a string of curling, sibilant sounds falling from his lips. “<Don’t,>” he said, and the reptile reared back, just when it’d begun to draw close to the first year, tongue flickering with curiosity.

He looked back at Mairead and his smile deepened. “<Her hands are filthy.>”

---

After a year and half at Hogwarts, Mairead was well known amongst the prefects.  If she wasn't getting detention for setting greenhouses on fire, she was getting chased from the dungeon corridors outside Slytherin house.  But, only after the frogs destined for Slytherin girls' shirts well-confiscated.  She likely made the prefects' meeting list on a regular enough basis for them to know her quite well - better than she knew most of them. 

Therefore, it probably came as little surprise to Whitman when Mairead whirled and spoke before common sense had a chance to kick in. 

"It's none of yer business!"  Mairead countered, hand still hanging decidedly in the tank as the young Gryffindor glowered at the Slytherin.  "Why don't ye just bugger off and coddle some homesick Puffer.  This doesn't concern you."  Such tactics had rarely worked in the past; it was little surprise that Whitman didn't promptly turn and shuffle out of the classroom.  What he did instead, however, was unexpected. 

With both eyebrows hitched up in suspicious curiosity, Mairead watched as the Slytherin crossed the room towards her and addressed the serpent.  She straightened and stiffened her back as he neared, taking full advantage of every one of her 140 centimeters.  She glowered at the prefect, hardly batting an eye when he first cautioned the snake.  If the young man had spoken another language, Mairead gave no indication she'd noticed. 

“<Her hands are filthy.>”

It was the words, more than Whitman's addressing them to the snake, that riled the Gryffindor.  Mairead scowled and blinked, once more reacting before thinking things through.  "Ye callin' me a mudblood?" Mairead turned towards the prefect, glowering up at him.  She knew nothing of his own blood status; the assumption was based off of little beyond the green lining to the fellow's robes.  "Don't pussy foot around it!  If yer gonna call me mudblood, just come out and say it." 

Theo flicked her… well, everything –a dismissive glance. Contrary to what his more ignorant classmates seemed to think of him (which in and of itself was amusing, for it implied that they thought at all), the Slytherin actually cared little for blood purity. Indeed, some of his most respected acquaintances were halfbloods—whereas the majority of his pureblood acquaintances were not.

Respected, that is. In fact, their own, individual characters just went to show that blood didn’t always account for breeding, as the latter preferred to think; in their reliance on their heritage to compensate for the character and intelligence that they lacked, their ignorance showed– broad, careless and vulnerable. Open to… attack. And if someone were to take advantage of it…

Well. That was their own fault, really.

Of course, Theo hardly expected this one to have the capacity or the patience to understand – for all her prowess on a broom she seemed to be even thicker than her upperclassman, Bevans – and so he looked away, boredom heavy in his half-lidded gaze. He did not envy Raine of this one. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, as he offered the viper a hand. Its bruise-colored tongue flicked out again, curious and quick. “I was referring to the questionable state of your hands. Unless you can catalog your actions within the last twenty-four hours?”

Though he suspected he was being generous in this regard. Mairead ó Fearghail did not strike him as one who was inclined to keep note of such things, either.