It wasn’t that Anthony Hoult enjoyed laying on hard earth that was frozen and melting against his tee; it also certainly wasn’t that he’d decided to take a nap out on the grounds; and it absolutely was not that he’d decided to lay down and smell the roses –never mind the fact there were no roses in this bloody castle anyways. No, it was the very simple, mind-numbing fact that a root had decided to peak up over the ground and hidden by shards of sharp, damp, green grass to make him trip.

Son of a witch.

Tony had decided he needed to either jog around the lake, or hex somebody; the latter –quite sadly as it was the preferred option- was simply not available, so the prior had to be chosen. After lunch, the sixteen year old had dropped by his dormitory to toss his bag on his bed, shed his uniform and pull on a pair of running pants and a tight-fit white shirt, before heading out to the grounds, where he had paused for an instant with a hand on each hip, debating which direction to take, before starting to jog towards the lake. His wand had been tucked into the waist of his pants –just in case he happened to come by someone hexable.

A root had most certainly not been on his mind, but as the Slytherin growled and rolled over onto his  back, feeling dirt and moisture cling to his tee –and, in such a way, to his chest-, he decided it would just have to do. “You freaking shit,” His eyes were burning with anger as he quickly shifted position all over again: on his hands and knees, Anthony pulled out his wand and pointed it threateningly at the over grown piece of tree bark, lips pulled back into a sneer. “You’re going to regret doing that.” It wasn’t that he enjoyed talking to plants –he just wanted to vent.

Violet, bundled up sensibly for the weather with a cloak over her robes and her dragonhide gloves, jabbed a trowel spitefully into the damp earth at the edge of the lake.  She was supposed to be eating lunch, but she'd had no appetite for food, and had decided to go down to the lake and try to work ahead in Herbology, which was soothing as she could usually do it without having to use her wand.  Her lack of appetite was easily attributable to having been informed that morning that she had a detention with Professor Storm after dinner tonight.  A detention.  Her. 

Detentions were for students who - for who knew what reason - insisted on engaging in disruptive behavior or talking back or other rule infractions.  Violet never did that sort of thing - she didn't consider occasionally correcting her Professors on minor details to be talking back - because unlike some people, she was here to learn.  But apparently Professors could assign detentions for whatever reason they wanted, or without giving a reason at all, and while the Headmistress might theoretically overturn such a decision, the girl suspected she'd be unlikely to do so lightly.  Even Violet could see how that could be harmful to school discipline.

But on top of her spellcasting difficulties in general, the news of this latest indignity - and low blood sugar from skipping lunch - was not improving her mood.

So when she heard a noise and looked up to see an enormous upper-class boy trip over a tree root, and do a firm face-plant, then swear at it and threaten it with his wand, it was too much of a stress relief for her to contain herself.  She’d never gotten the hang of swearing...most swear words struck her as too funny to maintain any gravitas, and “freaking shit” was definitely in that category, particularly when directed at a tree root.

She giggled.

“I don’t think that particular tree is sentient, or even animated, so threatening it doesn’t seem likely to produce any regret, and seems equally unlikely to keep it from tripping people in the future," the Ravenclaw noted helpfully.  "Are you okay?”

Francesca was done with her lunch quickly today and stormed out of the castle with an intention to perform an experiment. She wanted to test the potency of her Peruvian instant darkness powder - a substance which was banned at Hogwarts. She needed some privacy so she decided to go to the edge of the forest and cast a small bit of it amidst the trees . She kept it hidden in a small velvet pouch, deep in her pocket. Shivering in the cold, she stuffed her gloved hands into her pockets and felt the pouch, safely nested inside. She hoped to avoid others on her way - she did not feel like answering questions and making up stories, even though she technically wasn't doing anything terribly against the rules.

The cold air made her sensitive eyes tear up a bit as she walked down the marked path. It was just her luck though, to stumble upon other students just when she wasn't looking for any confrontation. As she approached the two figures, she started hearing bits of conversation...or a monologue - whatever it was. She knew the boy - Hoult was her housemate, the tall boy she never wanted as her enemy, but not exactly someone she could call a friend. Francesca was actually not sure if there was someone whom she could call a friend here at Hogwarts.

Raising an eyebrow, her glance shifted to the girl. No, she did not know the midget, they all looked the same to her.

"That your girlfriend, Hoult? said the blond Scottish girl, in her usual haughty drawl. He looked distressed and his wand was drawn. Francesca was curious - this was an interesting scene. "Hope I'm not interrupting...an intimate moment." Now it was her time to giggle.

People, he could hex. People, he was inventive about. But when it came to a bloody treat root, Anthony was simply not at all certain how to harm it. Many studies might talk about how human beings –and he assumed the wizarding world fit into that category- were far more complex than any other living organism, but Tony had to digress: human beings were easy to hex, plants were not, which made them far more complex. Still on his hands and knees, uneasily balanced on the heel of his right palm while he brandished his wand at the root with his left hand, the Slytherin pulled back his lips, clinched his teeth and growled. Some would look and find him funny –cool sixth year, Anthony Hoult, having a fight with a tree-, but his anger was more directed at the fact that he had no idea how to hurt a freaking plant. And he very much wanted to hurt this one. Of couse, supposedly they needed water and sunlight, so if he dried it up and covered it in darkness…

…Someone giggled.

Tony’s head slowly raised, lips peeling back further –if that was even possible-, his blue eyes not at all handsome but entirely blazing with icy fire. His gaze fell on the first year with quite a bit of disappointment: he didn’t hurt the young ones, as a rule, simply because there was nothing to be proud about in such acts and because it was entirely unfair. Still, he did growl at her, a guttural sound that came from the very center of his chest and managed to pull and gnaw its way past his clenched teeth. Standing up might have helped, but the root his wand was still pointing towards was still far more important than a firstie. “No shit,” He snapped, pocking his wand at the root. “I can tell it doesn’t bloody move.”

The voice, with its all too familiar lilt, and its all too familiar haughtiness, and its all too familiar way of speaking his name, made him growl once again –not that growling was a particularly unusual response from him. With a smirk that was not at all dazzling but entirely sarcastic and angry, he cocked his head in her direction. “Giggle again, and I’ll hex your mouth shut, Francesca,” He said her name in such a sickly sweet tone that it made him want to vomit, but instead he flicked his wrist and watched the dirt dry around the root. There, that would do the job. Standing, he glanced down at his chest and at the brown shirt that had once been white and was clinging heavily to his chest. He groaned. “As you can tell,” He said, as he stepped towards the first year, reaching out to place a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I’m trying to teach a first year to do magic,” With a twist of his wrist, he turned the young one to face him, and glared down at her. “Now…” Staring at her, he tried to figure out her name, but ended up deciding he had no clue what she was called. “Now, Ickle-One,” That sounded well enough. “You are going to tell me what spell you’d use to fix my shirt,” It was actually ruined, no amount of magic would be leaving it pristine and white, but he was mad enough to want to scare someone –and Francesca was not the type to easily be frightened, so the Ickle-One would have to do.

The boy's expression - and growl - alarmed Violet sufficiently that she instinctively reached for her wand, but stopped halfway upon realizing that if he did want to harm her she probably couldn't counter it anyway, if she did know the counter it probably wouldn't go off, and finally that he wasn't pointing his wand at her anyway.  Not yet, at any rate.

She tried to think of something to say that might deflect his irritation, when she was rescued - sort of - by another older student, an almost-pretty blonde girl.  When she suggested Violet might be the older boy's girlfriend, the Ravenclaw turned to face her directly, looking baffled for a moment, then concerned.  The society of Wizarding Britain was sort of stuck in the past in many ways, and it would explain a lot if they didn't actually extend the presumed innocence of children past the onset of puberty the way modern muggles did...  Violet's awkward pondering was mercifully cut off as the girl giggled, which Violet dearly hoped meant she'd been joking.

The boy threatened the older girl - Francesca, apparently - then cast something wordlessly at the root, drying the ground around it.  It was winter, so the tree was dormant, and that probably wouldn't do anything at all...hadn't he had several years of Herbology already?  But his demeanor - so much growling...could he be a werewolf? - was sufficient to inspire caution, and Violet wisely did not point out his mistake.  It wasn't as if she wanted to help him hurt the tree anyway.

But fear filled the first-year's face again when he stood and put a hand on her shoulder, effortlessly forcing her to turn to face him with his seemingly-gigantic hand.  But rather than threatening her similarly, he only claimed he was trying to teach her magic and asked what spell she'd use to fix his shirt.  Yet his expression had not changed, and Violet doubted instruction was at the top of his agenda.

"W-w-well, given how much dirt there is, probably 'Scourgify'," she said, hesitantly. "'Tergeo' would be better if it was delicate, but I don't know the gestures for that one, and it's only exercise clothes anyway.  But...Scourgify has diminishing returns on porous surfaces like fabric after multiple uses, and it's pretty bad...it seems to me you could Scourgify it enough to get most of the actual material out, then even if there's a stain just use 'Colovaria' to turn the shirt entirely white again."  Her voice became increasingly confident as she fell back into the familiar pattern of answering questions.  "Oh, and 'Reparo', if there are any rips or snags in it," Violet added, nodding to herself.

Well, this boy surely looked like he enjoyed performing little temper tantrums all the time. Thinking about it, Francesca had a hard time remembering when was the last time she saw Hoult in good spirits. Not that she was the one to talk, but she usually kept to herself and also laughed and smiled quite often - especially when there were so many hilarious things around to laugh about. Especially when a bossy boy almost commanded her not to.

Naturally, Francesca giggled again and even louder this time, her face going completely red.

She wasn't scared of his empty threats, but she managed to calm down even though the scene in front of her looked more and more amusing. Hoult - tall as he was helped himself up by awkwardly climbing up that poor child's shoulder. The little girl looked as if she was going to loose her balance. Francesca watched with interest, with a small sparkle in her eyes, the Peruvian darkness powder experiment now forgotten. She raised her eyebrows really high as her fellow Slytherin said he was teaching the girl magic. Ha! That sounded plausible - he would be as competent at teaching first years as Francesca herself (which, just for reference, meant completely useless).

Francesca focused on the girl when she started speaking as if reciting from a textbook. Half annoyed and half amused, she listened to the list of spells the Ravenclaw so thoroughly covered. It was a bit unsettling how a first year seemed more competent in this area than Francesca who was generally rubbish at fixing and cleaning things. However, she wasn't the sort who would be bothered by such trivialities. Instead she smiled, as if encouraging the young girl.

"Ha! Looks like she's the one doing the teaching," beamed Francesca, knowing that Hoult too wasn't as studious as this child seemed to be. "Didn't catch your name," she said to the girl rather causally, not liking the nickname 'Ickle-One'.

Then a wicked thought came to her mind. Francesca, the master of making an awkward situation even worse, fought very hard to suppress another giggle. "It would be best if you take off your shirt and give it to her so she can examine the damage properly!" Francesca blurted out breathlessly, not even aware that her pale face was now an ugly shade of maroon.

Eva looked up from the ground she was studying for tracks when she heard commotion nearby.  Cursing and mocking.  She frowned a bit in disappointment.  They'd drive off promising specimen for sure with all their shouting.  Giving it up as a lost cause for the moment, she wiped her palms on her trousers and made her way through the undergrowth back to the trail.  Upon investigation, she found two older students, a boy and a girl, and a young girl.  Something didn't feel right, especially the way the boy was looking at the child.

"Hey now, what's all this then?" She asked lightly, as though she'd just stumbled upon them.  Her smile was generally friendly but it had an edge of warning the older students would likely recognize.  "Looks like you're having a spot of trouble with the ground over there.  Did it catch you by surprise?" she joked. 

While she spoke light-heartedly, she moved to stand somewhat closer to the youngest.  "I'd be happy to help you with your shirt, if you'd like, although I'd like to know my efforts won't be wasted.  If you make a habit of going around and attacking innocent trees, well, one certainly couldn't ensure the safety of your wardrobe."