(10:30pm)

Cinaed's descent into the dungeons had been quiet and uneventful.  Just as he knew it would be.  His little, delicate seventh year pawn was scouting the corridors in the above for signs of prefects or other prying eyes.  And, waylaying them if they decided to show.  She was a pretty little thing - with just enough evidence of her mother in her features to please the eye.  Ahh, but Persephone Grosvenor.  That was a fine woman. 

He was chancing another after hours excursion for this little meeting.  The ten o'clock count at the Bridge House had come and gone without anything remarkable to write home about.  As soon as the lanterns in the hallway were extinguished, Cinaed had shifted and winged his way the courtyard of the Black Chimaera where, with Katz' carefully whittled wand securely concealed within the lining of the sleeve of his leather cloak, he apparated to the boundaries of Hogwarts.

While the young Ava had no real understanding of what she was doing, her role as sentry had provided Cinaed with a undisturbed entrance to Hogwarts.  It had been over ten years, but his feet knew the path well.  It was amusing to him to think that the last time his feet had trodden on these steps, he'd been an awkward, gangly teen, scampering up to join the fighting at the Battle of Hogwarts.  A spur of the moment decision and, yet, here he was.  Having, since then, put on a last inch in height and filled out considerably. 

It appeared the portraits of Hogwarts had yet to grow in wisdom since his days in classes.  They seemed just as willing to swing open for ex-Azzies with the password these days as they had been when the fat lady had swung open for Black.  Cinaed tipped his head obligingly to the portrait as he stepped through into the Slytherin Common Room. 

A broad, grin spread across his face.  The memories.  It was remarkable.  Being back.  Now it was time to see if there were those among the House of Slytherin who were worth their meddle.  Nodding in greeting to the handful of surprised students still lingering in the common room, he lit a cigarette from the embers in the fireplace and set himself in one of overstuffed black chairs.  He'd wait.  Rumors would spread quickly enough through the house and - as ambitious as Slytherins were - they were also curious. 

"Evening," he said, with a nod towards what looked like a first or second year perched in a chair opposite him.  "Bit past your bedtime, isn't it?"

Ava had been told to go and create a diversion. She wasn't sure who by, and she wasn't sure why. But she was told to. So she was going to. It was supposed to be her night off prefect duties, but she was sure she would be able to go and make sure none of the others were hovering around the dungeons or the entrance. If she needed to, she would create a diversion. She was good at those - she'd been practising, though she wasn't too sure why she had been. It just felt like it was the right thing to do.

So at ten minutes to ten, Ava pulled a jumper over her head and stuck her feet in a pair of slip-on shoes, and made her way through the common room. Nobody asked any questions. Nobody even looked up. Most were heading to bed, save one or two late-dwellers.

She walked purposely through the dungeon corridors and up to the entrance hall. So far, she hadn't encountered anyone suspicious, and the only way they would be able to get down the the dungeons was past her, through the corridor she just came from.

A fifth year Hufflepuff was manning the entrance for the moment. "You can go now." Ava shot at him blandly, a bored look gracing her features. The boy looked up like a rabbit in headlights and gave a 'huh?' at her. "I said you can go now. I'm here." She spoke as though he should know who she was - or at least know she was a Slytherin. The boy shrugged and stalked off in the opposite direction, probably to ask one of the professors if maybe he was manning the wrong part of the school...

Vienna surveyed the man seated in her favourite black chair with cold green eyes and was instantly intrigued by his presence. Here was a man who clearly did not belong in the Slytherin Common Room but yet seemed so at ease with his surroundings that Vienna could almost forgive him for his trespassing. The most peculiar thing about the man was not his outlandish hair or his age, but the way he held himself. Vienna was grudgingly impressed by his assertive air and devastating calmness. Curiosity grappled her and for the moment, Vienna forgot about Ava and how she had been looking for her fellow Slytherin all night. Prefect duties, she quickly assumed and dismissed her friend from her thought.

Putting on a mask of perfect indifference, Vienna descended the stairs, her perfectly manicured nails glided across the marble banister. She was determined to put up an act that would rival his. Vienna walked towards him, calmly and coolly and with all the privileged upbringing she could muster. Her eyes met his without flinching. There would be no weakness in front of someone the likes of him.

To be quite frank. Vienna wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish by approaching him. She had no knowledge of his person or his intentions but she knew she wanted to know more. It was, simply put, curiosity in its most dangerous form. But beneath it all, there was also something else, an intuition almost, something that bespoken of power and hidden ambitions, a social mechanism that triggered when two very driven and ruthless individuals are put in the same room. In the event of such an occurrence, one of the two things always happened: they clashed or they collaborated.

Vienna stopped in front of him and smiled a humourless smile, “You’re in my chair.”

Callum had been in the corner of the common room, doing his crunches and push ups for the evening. His dorm mates got annoyed with his quiet grunts, and he wasn't in the mood to punch anyone (shocking!) so he had opted to do it downstairs. Besides, he might run into Evie or some other pretty Slytherin girl and they could ogle at him. Callum liked it when girls ogled his goodies. It was a pity that the older, better looking ones didn't do it quite as often. Generally he had a gaggle of third or fourth years trailing him.

He paused in a semi-upright position when he heard a male's voice that clearly did not belong. He was telling someone to go to bed. Was there a professor in here? Callum cocked his head curiously. The voice had sounded entirely unfamiliar. Then again, he didn't take all of the electives so perhaps...

The Slytherin hauled himself to his feet and cinched his dark green robe around his waist. He followed Vienna with his eyes as she came down the stairs, and came to a halt in front of a man he was quite certain he had never seen before in his life. Callum chortled at her comment, and went to stand by her side. If this guy wanted trouble, Callum didn't want Vienna to be on her own. (Then again, it was only the worst type of men who would target a girl, especially a child in comparison. But if this man was just hanging out in their common room, and obviously had no business there, he could very easily be the worst type of man.)

The guy did look very comfortable, though, and not the least bit nervous. That was a bit unsettling. Someone who was breaking and entering in a place like Hogwarts should not look like he had no cares in the world. "Oi," Callum finally barked, giving off a precisely different air than Vienna, "Who the hell are you and what are you doin' in our common room?" Callum did his best to look threatening and intimidating. But, considering he was just sixteen where the man was older and likely much more experienced, it wasn't very effective. (The plush green bath robe probably didn't help either.)

Though he'd never met her in person, Cinaed had no trouble recognizing the striking seventh year that stood in front of him, boldly announcing her ownership of his chosen seat.  What he'd seen through the eyes of the imperioused Ava had left him with no doubts about Pascal's potential though the brashness with which she approached him only proved to fortify his high opinion of her.  She had potential.  There was no doubt about that. 

But, if she was going to serve the purpose he had in mind for her, there would have to be no doubt about who was calling the shots. 

"I'll be sure to leave it for you when I'm done, then, Ms. Pascal," he replied, simply, with a casual air that, despite it's conversational tone, held a finality that made it clear he had no intentions of pursuing this line of discussion any further.  He lifted tattooed hand and pointed towards one of the empty chairs, about to invite her to take a seat when a second voice barked from the corner. 

Cinaed's gaze slid from Pascal to the first year still sitting in the chair to the origin of the voice.  Like with Pascal, meeting the young man in person was proving to confirm the first impressions he'd garnered through their classmate.  "Good evening, Mr. Knight," he offered, extending a hand to the young man as if they were two mates meeting in a bar.  He gave no indication of having noticed the young man's confrontational tone.  "And, while the sentiment is touching, I'm sure, I have no doubts Ms. Pascal can see to herself." 

Now, to answer the lad's questions.  "Name's Cinaed Tawse," he offered, offering his hand to the young man this time.  Whether the name would strike true with either of them was uncertain.  The Pascals weren't, exactly, the sort to frequent a place like the Black Chimaera - though if his name had managed to come up amongst the Grosvenors, who knew.  Whether the lad's father would have brought him up in conversation was, likewise, uncertain.  But, chances were, he'd found out soon enough.  "Take a seat," he offered as much as he commanded.

Who is he? Why is he here? And how does he know my name? The absurdity of this situation was not lost upon Vienna. She listened with alarm and annoyance as he casually dismissed her claim. Who did he think he was, pulling a power move like that?
 
Vienna did not like to be patronized, especially by a dark, unsavoury character the likes of him. Throwing caution to the wind, her eyes narrowed and flashed dangerously at the man. This wasn’t about the chair so much as it was about a stranger waltzing in and usurping her rightful place. The man gestured towards the empty seats around them and motioned for her to sit down. Vienna arched an eyebrow but did not move. Arrogance prevented her from obeying his wishes while pride stopped her from stomping her little feet because she didn’t get what she wanted.  Between childish rebellion and compliant obedience, Vienna chose inaction.

She stared at him with damning silence and contemplated her next move. Vienna was no match for him. If he could break into the Slytherin Common Room, there was no doubt he could break her little neck too. With a haughty tilt of her chin that would’ve made Salazar proud, Vienna stared down at the intruder and was about to ask him who he was and why he was here when a distinctively male voice stole the words from her mouth.  Vienna turned around in mild surprise and found a fifth year by the name of Callum Knight flanking her side. Evie had spoken about him once or twice with a sickening reverence that left no doubt in Vienna’s mind about what she truly thought about him. She acknowledged his presence with a polite nod and turned back to the intruder. The man sitting in her chair offered his hand to Callum and introduced himself as Cináed Tawse. Vienna flared. Another power play. The fact that he had not offered his hand to her was a deliberate snub that further undermined her control of the situation.

Tawse...How that name rang a bell in her head. She looked at him with a frown. Oh yes, now she remembered, he was one of her Uncle Bergen’s lot, wizards who took Voldemort’s side during the Second War, a staunch purist whom her father had briefly mentioned in passing. She thought most of them had died by now, either during the War or in Azkaban, rotted away like Bergen Pascal.   

“I’ve heard of you,” Vienna sneered coldly at him, “You’re a criminal and a purist scum; give me one reason why I shouldn’t alert the authorities right now.”

Tawse? Callum knew that he ought to recognize that name. His brain began to filter through names that his parents had taught him, but nothing very concrete came up. He was fairly certain, though, that he had heard his father mention him at least once or twice, generally in hushed tones. Mr. Knight was not the sort to let Callum in on his activities, whatever they may be, and Callum generally had no desire to ask. It was none of his business, and he had found out that quite a bit of what his dad did was particularly boring.

He was surprised that he seemed to know Vienna, and even more surprised that he did not give her the seat. Callum arched an eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, he did as he was told. Callum sat down in one of the vacant chairs, pulling it closer. Whoever this man was, he had a set on him to waltz into Hogwarts. When he heard Vienna say he was a criminal, his interest was drawn.

"Scum?" Callum asked. "Since when did being a purist make someone scum? Are you insinuating that half of our house is scum, Vienna?" Callum was definitely a purist himself. He knew quite a few people who were. He was well aware that quite a few in the world disliked their views, but he saw nothing wrong it. And really, being a Slytherin made it difficult to disagree with the purists. Most of the Slytherins (at least the ones who were worth a damn) were generally purists. Among other supposedly not so desirable qualities.

"You know my Da, don't you Mr. Tawse?" he asked Cináed. "I think I might have heard him mention your name before. How did you get in here? I didn't think that people were just allowed in or out of this place." His contempt had, quite obviously, turned rather quickly into pure curiosity and at least a little bit of admiration in how he had managed to get into a place like Hogwarts.

It was very telling, watching how each of the two youngsters responded to his soundless but unmistakable direction to sit down.  With very little hesitation, Callum took a seat, even drawing it closer to where Cinaed sat.  Vienna, however, remained standing, seemingly wavering between wanting to remain quietly stubborn and, perhaps, throwing a fit.  Cinaed nodded his head towards the young lad, approvingly, before looking back at the seventh year.  A little defiance wasn't a bad thing - it all depended on what she chose to do with it. 

If the first impressions he'd established of her had been false - a possibility, since it was based of what he'd seen through her close friends' eyes - he could always readjust his plan.  But, like his refusal to relinquish his seat, by shaking hands with Callum and not her, he'd reinforced the fact that he really couldn't be undermining Vienna's control of the situation - she'd never had any control to begin with. 

"I'm hurt," he offered her after her brief and harsh assessment of him.  "I'll admit, I understand the value of preserving the integrity of wizarding blood."  A purist by any other name.  "But - I've paid my dues.  It pains me to think the past might be held against me."  He didn't bother repeating his gesture for her to sit down.  She could remain standing if she preferred.  But, he'd be comfortable.

Cinaed was pleased with the young man's retort.  There were, indeed, many purists amongst the Slytherins though the current culture of the wizarding world didn't exactly reward people for their honesty.  Being honest in this day took a spine.

Cinaed appeared unconcerned about her threat.  The concern had, of course, been in the back of his head.  But, if she left to contact the authorities, he'd see to it that Ava waylaid her long enough to slip out.  At some point, that other Slytherin would be joining them.  "Because, while your blatant distrust is flattering, I know your curious enough to have prevented you from seeking them already.  And, I know you aren't exactly pleased with the current state of things."

Cinaed looked to Callum and nodded.  "Mr. Knight and I familiar with each other.  He's a good man.  And, from what I've heard, you take after him."  And, from what he'd seen.  He grinned, slightly, at the young man's question.  "I opened the door."  It was a lie.  Of course.  And, it was blatant enough that if the boy had a brain, he'd know that, too.  But, he didn't need to know any more specifics.

"But back to your initial question."  He looked back to Vienna.   "I suspect that the school remains rather ... one sided ... when it comes to your education.  Lots of Defense Against the Dark Arts but not that much that helps you fully actualize your abilities as a witch.  Or wizard.  You receive the same education your lesser bred classmates receive."  He fished a packet of cigarettes out from his pocket and slipped one out.  "Or, werewolves."

It was one thing to be denied a seat, it was quite another to be belittled. Vienna glared daggers at the man. If she could not kill him with her wand, then perhaps she could do so with her eyes. Vienna crossed her arms and remained where she stood. Her cold green gaze met his squarely. Although a Slytherin in the truest sense, she had one lonely Gryffindoric virtue—she was very brave. He could be Voldemort reincarnated for all she cared, but Vienna swore she would get him back for this.

He was a charming speaker, she would give him that, but it did little to better her opinion of him. She listened to his words half-heartedly with a scornful scowl. A purist by any other name was just as filthy. Vienna glared at Callum, who seemed to be eating up his every word. His puppy-eyed admiration made her sick.  Give the ignorant rabble a charming man with big ideas and they would blindly follow.

She sneered at bratty Fifth-Year’s challenge and retorted, “I’m afraid you misunderstood me. That half of our house you speak of, they are not scums, they are imbeciles, too lazy and scared and stupid to think for themselves. People like him,” She looked at the man darkly, “Are scums. They are willing to go to any lengths, however despicable, just to prove themselves pure only to find that their line has been tainted long before their birth by some half-assed Muggle who knocked up their great-grandmother. Don’t flatter yourself, Knight, no one is ‘pure’ anymore, look back far enough and you can always find a Muggle tucked away in the ancestry, even in a family as illustrious as yours.”

Vienna was aware that her belief stood in painful contrast with the majority of the house. When Mal and Laney were still in Slytherin, Vienna had to tread very carefully with the two in order to preserve her good standings within the Quidditch team. Now that they were gone, and Vienna was a Seventh-Year in her own right, she no longer made any attempts to hide her beliefs or to tolerate those who differed in their opinions.

Vienna turned her attention back to Cináed with undisguised contempt. Her hard green eyes dared him to give her an answer that wouldn’t send her running to the nearest professor at the first filthy word spewed out of his mouth. She winced inwardly to herself as he fished out a pack of cigarettes and mentioned that dreaded word: werewolves. Her confidence wavered.

How did he know?

His knowing gaze made her feel like a hypocrite. Vienna broke eye-contact with him and looked away. Here she was, arguing the rights of Muggleborns with disgusting righteousness when barely two weeks ago, she was advocating for the removal of werewolves from civilized society. What made her so different from the purists she so despised? Cináed’s words echoed in her mind. Perhaps they were more alike than she cared to admit.

“Some of us are more equal than others,” Vienna replied stiffly. She hated him for bringing up her hypocrisy. Vienna crossed her arms defensively and frowned. She was tired of this game. “What are you proposing?” She asked crossly.

Imbecile? Had she just called him an imbecile because he happened to believe in the sanctity of magic and preserving the bloodline? He frowned deeply. Had Vienna possessed dangling genitalia, he would have socked her in the jaw then and there, no questions asked. But, since her genitalia was not dangly, but was (he assumed) of the prettier, tucked up inside persuasion, he could not just punch her in the face. He didn't hit girls, however much he seemed to want to these days. Vienna had just soared up the "Girl's I'd Like to Kick In The Face" list- right below a few stupid Hufflepuffs. By principle he could not allow her to be any higher than a Hufflepuff on that list, as it would be house treachery.

"Did you ever think, Vienna, that we are taught about the importance of preserving our bloodlines as a way to discourage from those mishaps? Accidents happen in every family. I would assume that you would know that by now... Then again, most parents don't have the heart to tell their children that they are accidents. Pity, I can't imagine how absolutely horrid it must to be the unwanted child. Being first born male I have always been showered with praise, attention, and am in line to live a happy, fulfilled life because of it."

He turned to face her directly before finishing up his little tirade against her. "You must let me know, after you graduate, how being a bitter, elitist, frigid witch suits you. I would use the more appropriate term in that sentence, however, my mother taught me to mind my tongue in the presence of the fairer sex." It was much more than was necessary, and Callum was aware of it. However, letting her stand there and run over his beliefs and the beliefs of his housemates was not something he could do. Callum was sick and tired of taking crap from the women in this school, it was time to fight back- figuratively, of course.

His anger was replaced slightly by pride when this strange man, who had no place in Hogwarts and probably shouldn't be instilling any sort of positive emotion in Callum at all told him that he took after his father. Callum idolized his dad, and had always wanted to be just like him- except better, naturally. And here was this guy, telling him that he was taking after his dad. And then he said he just opened the door? Bloody brilliant! Callum liked how this man conducted himself, especially how he managed to not allow Vienna to press his buttons.

And then, Mr. Tawse had to start preaching the very things that Callum had always believed himself! He was shocked to hear an adult go on about those who were lesser bred, those who did not deserve an equal education. He also agreed that the standards were dropped significantly in order to allow muggles to keep up. Any kid who grew up in a magical household was already miles ahead of those stupid muggle borns, but they hard to start at the beginning anyway, lest some dirty little mudblood get confused or not understand. It was far from fair. And of course, as was also pointed out, there had been a werewolf in the school. Werewolves were dangerous and had no place in the halls of Hogwarts, no place at all!

"Now you're talking sense!" he said to Vienna. "More equal than others indeed! Can you imagine how much farther ahead we would be if we didn't have to start from the beginning so those stupid muggles could learn enough to keep up? They don't know a damned thing when they walk in this place, and it holds all of us back because of it. Starting at the basics, stuff we learn as little kids, just to offer a magical education to idiots who don't deserve it. My da told me that most muggles go back to muggle life after they leave this place, waste our time and our money. If they gotta learn this stuff, then they should learn it separate from us. Naturally someone with a strong magical background is far more advanced." He knew Vienna likely disagreed, but didn't care. He rarely got a chance to voice his opinions on the matter to someone who would listen without cutting him off or calling him a prat. This strange man who had waltzed through the (metaphorical) front door into their common room didn't seem the kind to do that.

If  Cináed had noticed Vienna's cold, vicious glare, he gave no indication of it as he propped the cigarette in the side of his mouth.  When he'd first been released from Azkaban, he'd shamefully hid anything that even remotely illustrated his wandless status.  Over the last couple years, the more he'd learned to use his ex-Azzie status to his advantage the more he wore his lack of a wand proudly on his sleeve.  It was part of his appearance now - just as much as his beard and hair and the little white rabbit's foot dangling from a button hole on his cloak.  Not that he wouldn't rejoice the day the Ministry decided he'd be fit to possess a wand again.  But, in the meantime, he had no intentions of hiding his convict status. 

Casually, almost lazily,  Cináed slipped a match from his pocket and lit his cigarette.  "Too lazy, scared and stupid to think for ourselves?"   Cináed repeated, quietly, after exhaling a lung of smoke towards the fireplace.  "Ahh, yes, because believing in the sanctity of wizarding blood is such a clichéd idea in this day and age.  And such a welcomed one."  His words weren't laden with the sarcasm he felt behind them.  If the girl had half a brain she could fill in the sarcasm herself.  But, there was no doubt being a purist - and being a vocal purist at that - didn't make one very universally popular these days.  It was hardly a path that represented mindlessly going with the flow.

"Indeed,"  Cináed admitted.  "Even bitches from the most carefully protected lines of sheepdogs may be bred by a wayward cur.  But, that doesn't mean you throw up your hands and let the dogs be bred by any passing mutt after that.  Ever watched those dogs?  It's magnificent, really."  The last comment had been made to Callum as if casually discussing sheepherding had been his original intention all along.  But, quickly, he turned back to the topic at hand. 

"While the Tawses have remained pure, I have to admit there are many purely mixed or even purely muggle septs in our clan.  Magic exists well back into the early days of my clan but the dirtying of some families by muggles have left them ... magically sterile."  Always a wizard first, there was no doubt  Cináed identified just as strongly with his clan's history.  "It's about what we all do to protect the future of our own bloodlines.  Many bloodlines have been tainted and weakened, but we can restrengthen them."

Even without continuing to watch the girl,  Cináed was well aware that her glare had ended.  Just as casually as before, he took a long, slow drag off his fag.  Time to seal the deal - time for her to decide.  She couldn't continue to stand there wavering between a temper tantrum and defiance indefinitely.  He couldn't proceed until she'd committed and it seemed she wasn't going to commit until the choice laid out in front of her.  Using one hand on either arm of the chair,  Cináed pushed himself slowly to his feet and took a step towards her, looking down at her.  The young Knight lad was taking it upon himself to verbally admonish  Pascal but  Cináed simply lifted a hand in a clear sign that he should be quiet.  He took a long, deep breath off the cigarette again before speaking. 

"These are all symptoms of a bigger disease.  Of the Ministry fearing what we really could become.  Weakening those of us who are naturally stronger out of fear.  Convincing us we are all equal.  But, of course, if you aren't convinced - or don't care ... well, you can either sit down or piss off.  Those are your options.  I'm not going to waste my breath offering a proposal to a seventh year who can't even decide if she wants to sit down or throw a fit." 

But, what the young man was saying was right and, if the young woman chose to listen, she'd already have an idea of what this proposal would be.  To help those of worth realize their potential.  To participate in something bigger.  To not leave the hands of fate and change into those idealistic brats who thought burning down a hospital wing would bring about a foolish and non-existent equality.  But, she had to commit.  She couldn't waver. 

Any response on Vienna's part to Cináed's bluntly scathing appraisal of her was interrupted by the appearance of a tousle-haired 5th year, Erin Harper, coming from the boy's dorm with a book and some parchment hanging listlessly from one hand. He paused at the edge of the room, regarding them blankly- his eyes flicked from Cináed, to Vienna, and then to Callum before returning to Cináed, whom he examined with open, intent curiosity.

He'd come here to write his Potions essay. It was due the next day; let no one say Erin was anything but a procrastinator. Of course, to find the common room empty but for this odd little triad didn't seem promising for his essay. There was Callum, whom he knew somewhat well, he supposed, then this 7th year Erin vaguely remembered as being named after a city- Venice? Vienna? Vienna- so strikingly pretty that she was kind of scary, Slytherin to a T. She looked furious. Then the stranger, the most interesting one of all. Erin didn't recognize him. Rough-looking fellow, too old to be a student, definitely not a professor, and smoking- psssh, Erin couldn't get away with that. Unfair. Well, there was really only one thing for it.

"Nice hair," Erin said mildly as he finally came into the room and went straight for the middle of the rug, not in the midst of Callum, Vienna, and Cináed's little cluster, but rather to another part of the room. He sat down with a thump, flung the book and parchment down beside him, but smart him- he didn't pretend to start reading. Like any of them would have bought that. Instead he tilted his blond head at Cináed, as though Vienna and Callum didn't exist at all (which, for his purposes, they didn't) and only the stranger was the interesting one.

Erin honestly hadn't known the man was here. Whatever news had spread- and it had spread quickly from the few who'd fled the common room at Cináed entrance- Erin hadn't listened to it. He rarely did. But this was not an unwelcome surprise. It all depended on what the man was here to say, or do... Erin would be so disappointed if he was only a visiting relative. One, in this case, with a forgetful disregard for the hour.

Vienna dismissed Callum’s insults with an acidic sneer. The brat was really starting to get on her nerves. As her father would have called him, he was “one of the lowest of the lows”. Every filthy word that came out of his mouth irked her. His use of colloquial terms like “Da” and “Gotta” bespoke of an upbringing deprived of class and etiquette. Vienna was thoroughly repulsed by him. No self-respecting Pascal should have to associate with someone the likes of him. What was Evie thinking?

“I assure you, the Pascal family does not breed like rabbits,” Vienna leered at him, “Unlike some.”

Callum was truly an imbecile, in every single way. She ignored the rest of his glorified sermon. He was quoting her completely out of context. Her disdain for werewolves certainly did not extend to the Muggleborns; at least, she didn’t think so. But fearing that he would once more bring up her hypocrisy, Vienna chose to remain silent. Her eyes wandered to Callum, and then back to the man, who lost no time in making a mockery of her beliefs. His words cut through her like a sharp blade. She looked up at his towering form and felt a cold shudder run down her spine.

It was the ultimate irony, having spent her entire life talking down to people, that she would one day be on the receiving end of her own medicine. Vienna blanched considerably at his crude analogy until she was deathly pale. Her lips trembled slightly at the indignation of the situation. Everything about this was so wrong, the way he patronized and belittled her, the way he seemed utterly and completely unfazed by her attempts to provoke him, everything, absolutely everything.

Her gaze wavered.

In her heart, she knew he was wrong. She was sure it. He was a bigot. But his bigotry was not without sense. Vienna was reminded of her First Year, of her annoyance at her Muggleborn peers, of their amazed “Ooos” and “Ahhs” that permeated every festivity and every class. Her parents had always stressed the importance of personal merits over inherited traits, but even then, Vienna knew that inequalities existed. Some people were born prettier than others, some smarter than others, and some richer than others. Surely,  the same concept applied to blood as well? Here was a man who sincerely believed that people like her were inherently better than the rest and why shouldn’t she listen to what he had to say?

For the first time in her life, Vienna was uncertain of what to believe. She opened her mouth and closed it again. She had no defence against his argument. She looked up at him. He wanted an answer and he wanted it now. A defeated sigh escaped her lips. Vienna swallowed her pride and sat down beside him.

“I—” She began but was interrupted by the arrival of another Slytherin.

Lovely. The last thing she needed right now was an audience to witness her humiliation. The blond complimented the man’s hair and ignored both her and Callum. Vienna frowned a little at the snub. If he insisted on slighting her, then she would not bother to acknowledge his presence either. 

“Although it pains me to say this, I suppose that you do have a point,” She gritted her teeth and muttered,  “Society should not always bend backward to accommodate the lowest common denominator. Personally, I don’t think that anything can be done about this, but clearly, you do not share this belief or else you wouldn’t be here right now. I have laid down my cards, and now it’s your turn. What do you want from us?”

OOC: Hoping it's Okay I jumped in the way I did....thought it would make things more interesting and help with the Maeve/Vienna friction....

Outfit

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Maeve loved being an older student in the school and having a little more freedom to do as one wished into the wee hours of the evening. It could have been something like leisurely reading or finishing off some lame class assignment. But it was also ideal for the occasional foray into concocting intricate plans for taking over the world. Or something like it.

In any case, Maeve wasn't ready for sleep just yet, as had been the norm for her since beginning her seventh year. Her insomnia was becoming so chronic these days that she had started to look into some ways to remedy it. For now, it took the form of late night wanderings. Little did she know that on this night, there would be plenty for her hungry little mind to feast on.

Despite the hour, she still hadn't changed into clothes more appropriate for sleep. As the blond hardly knew when exactly sleep would come. Picking up her robe and her wand (just in case), Maeve left her dorm and headed down to the common room, expecting it to be quiet as per usual for that hour.

But she ended up entering in the midst of a very heated conversation. At first, Maeve thought it was simply an argument between younger students and thus she really had no interest in it. But as she inched closer, she realized that one of the major components of the little chat belonged to an outsider. Clearly the man had the intrigue of anyone in sight and for that reason, Maeve's attention was momentarily drawn away from the fact that one of her chief rivals, Vienna Pascal, was going toe-to-toe against him and that she should eagerly root for her to fail miserably.

Almost without a sound, Maeve came down the last of the stairs and quietly padded over the floor to the nearest vacant seat, her blue-green orbs took in the visitor with interest. She did not know him personally, but he was familiar to her. She remembered seeing him in the company of her cousin several times in the past. The older Melanthe, who dabbled in her own share of dark endeavors, had never divulged who he was but had assured her that he was no one she should worry her pretty little head about.

It was Melanthe's blanket approval that accounted for why Maeve wasn't as quick to regard the intruder with the same air of suspicion as the others, particularly Vienna.

She would put up a fuss, Maeve silently lauded. After folding her robes neatly over the arm of the chair she had taken up (perfect with a prime view of the action), she stuffed her wand into one of the pockets of her dress and fumbled around in the other until she came up with a nail file. She crossed her legs neatly and fixated her patented bored expression on her face as she proceeded to "pretend" that she was intent on filing her nails.

And while she was quite intent on making sure that her nails were perfectly divine, Maeve was quite the multitask-er. Besides, watching this show was priceless. Watching Vienna get knocked down a peg or two was absolutely something she never minded seeing over and over again. Sure, she loved the idea of being one to do the knocking down, but she was fine with it as a spectator sport.

Though her face remained impassive, Maeve did perk up as she heard the man divulge his name. Knowing he was connected to Melanthe somehow and now seeing him there naturally had her interested in his motives. She curiously watched him interact with Vienna and also Callum Knight, her ear listening for bits of information that would flesh him out even more. And then Vienna's accusatory voice was labeling him as a criminal and a purist and that made things a lot more interesting for Whitman. So that must be why Melanthe was canoodling with him.

Much of the rest of the conversation was enjoyable for Maeve to watch from her place out of the way. In the back of her mind, she was keeping track of the verbal barbs tossed between the parties and was positively giddy in the knowledge that Vienna was falling behind in the tally.

Though it was becoming harder and harder to maintain the Whitman purity (with one branch already dangerously close to mucking it up), Maeve was confident in her own lineage. It was a great source of pride with her and one she admitted to being snobbish about. She had no qualms about interacting with Muggleborns and halfbreeds at school, but when it came to being serious about one's heritage, certain steps had to be taken. That was just the way things were. At least the way they had been while she grew up. And limiting though it may be, deep down inside she was committed to it.

So Maeve barely bat an eyelash as Cináed and Callum made their arguments. She would have felt that way even if Vienna wasn't the one attempting to discredit it. Even as the topic seemed to shift towards the more recent treatment of Werewolves, Maeve's superior beliefs held firm. She, like the rest of her family, was a supporter Headmistress Snark's 'reign'. And much of what this stranger was saying was in line with quite a bit of what she often thought but tended to censor in public, simply because it was not savory to say.

Maeve finally paused her task of nail filing to watch the last few insults slung among the trio before Cináed posed a challenge to Vienna regarding her desire to report him. Her eyes flew to the other girl's face, waiting with baited breath for her response. This was too good to miss. Vienna Pascal about to give in.

She loved it. It tickled her green.

Just as quickly as Maeve allowed herself to feel triumph, she attempted to reign it in. She replaced the file where she had gotten it earlier and finally stood, sauntering over to where the rest of her housemates were standing before the visitor. Flashing Vienna a detestable glare, she quipped, "Cards? Puh-lease, Vienna. You never had any cards in play to begin with." Then turning to Cináed, she boldly declared, "Whatever you're here for, I'm in."

Maeve Whitman didn't need an invitation. She was ready and rearing to go....

Callum was glad that Mr. Tawse seemed to be supporting his line of thought, and then further expressing it with a rather appropriate analogy. Callum could argue that preserving bloodlines was nothing like breeding dogs, but it would be a lie. Breeding of people was the same. Their pedigrees mattered, and it was all for show. They dressed well and practiced manners and did their absolute best to impress others. Everything in the Pureblood world was about show. They were always on parade for one another, competing.

Ah! Magically sterile. Now that was a phrase Callum would have to remember! "But of course," he interjected, "the ministry has disillusioned so many of us into believing that is ridiculous. Naturally diluting magical blood too much would take all of the magic out of it. It makes perfect logical sense." Callum was, of course, ignoring the instances of squibs.

His line of thought was interrupted by the arrival of another Slytherin student. Erin Harper was decent as far as most of his housemates went. He liked the boy's nasty attitude, it matched his own rather well. Callum did find it a bit curious, though, they he had not decided to join the group. If he had come down and seen such a gathering he would have had to be right in the middle of it. Then again, maybe he was just a bit too nosy for his own good. Callum hated being left out of whatever was going on.

Callum was surprised to hear Vienna consent the point. He was the sort who would claim that he would eat his own hat before thinking that something like that could happen. He wanted to make a smart comment about it, but before he could another voice filtered into the conversation. Word must be traveling fast. Really this was going to be interesting. He wondered how long it would be before it was all over the school that some random man had been able to infiltrate the school to the point of landing in the common room... Word like that would definitely not go over well with those higher ups, especially if it was found out that he and those present had not sounded any sort of alarm.

Maeve was a girl that he was on the fence about. She was very pretty, there was no doubt about that, and Callum was a sucker for any beautiful girl who wasn't rude to him on a regular basis. It was his one true weakness. Of course he was never going to admit such a thing, and he would sock the first guy who told him the truth about it. Callum was stronger than that. He couldn't help but to chuckle when she said she was in and criticized Vienna so openly. "I'm with Maeve," he added with a grin. "Whatever you've got planned, I want to be a part of it. This place needs some serious changes, and if I get to be a part of it, then I want in."