Vincent rolled out of bed with an impressive yawn, trading his blue cotton pajama pants for slim black trousers, a brown belt, and a starch white t-shirt. He stuffed a red flannel button-up into his canvas school bag, and a hat and old book to go with it. Running his fingers through his rich, dark Pennyapple hair-- a gift from his father that Atticus also shared-- the teenager stood only briefly before the dormitory mirror, and then floated out of Slytherin territory and into the castle’s twisting corridors.

The castle, though massive and curious, felt stifling today. Vincent took refuge in the raw wind and crisp leaves. The sky, though not quite blue, was a pleasant enough off-white, with mild clouds and surprisingly dry air. Leaving behind the stone and marble interior, he paused in school courtyard to take a deep breath of early autumn. It was the best weather for reading. And Sunday afternoons were the best days. He had nicked a little picnic from the Slytherin lunch table before wandering outside, too. (Granted, it was more of a brunch, since the growing boy had decided to take advantage of the much-needed, lesson-free weekend).

Vincent was the sort of Slytherin who had a Ravenclaw-ish knack for schoolwork, and a flittering air of reservation that was simultaneously very Slytherin and very un-Slytherin. It came and went, like the day’s weather.

He made it across the lawn, stepping over and sometimes kicking at the leaves that had begun to decorate the green below his loosely tied, nicely worn-in, beige suede low-top trainers. He couldn’t be bothered for a new pair just yet; he liked them worn and comfortable.

Settling against a faithful tree he’d favored since he was eleven, Vincent pulled a bacon sandwich out of his bag and began to eat with the casual voracity of a fifteen year old boy who whose body was still catching up with a sudden change in height. (This had happened almost two years ago, but he still retained a youthful slimness). He opened the book he’d brought along, finding his place and settling into the neatly-inked blocks of words once more. The marker he’d been using was a slightly-wrinkled letter from William, to both himself and Atticus.

[Outfit]

Beatrix had been up for a while... Lurking in the hallways, reading nonsense books upside down, and occasionally roaring at her reflection in the windows for a laugh. Of course, this got boring after a good four hours. Bea's attention was soon abundantly focused on how to get outside fast enough for her to jump clean over the steps. Which lasted another thirty minutes before someone had opened the door just in time for her to whisk through and fly over the steps. She landed with a very victorious stance, her hands on her hips and her feet spread shoulder-width apart and hurting from her boots. Bea's usual cheerful smile stay lodged on her face as she skipped along her merry way.

Bea's hair was fading fast from the coloring she had done long before school started. Streaks of silver-blonde poked out from underneath her hat with faded pink around the edges. She would get to redoing it whenever she could... She was just very distracted with other business. Such as stalking Professor Bombay and doing her schoolwork. It's not like anyone minded that her pink hair was fading, they'd probably even beg her to leave it blonde.

Beatrix had even started her history homework for the week. She would never do that. But Goblins were actually fairly interesting and she didn't mind researching them. Bea felt as if she would actually pass the class with flying colors if the old hag of a teacher kept up the interesting topics. Which Bea doubted. Once she was finished with her Astronomy homework, she would actually try to finish History.

After a rolling around in a pile of leaves, Beatrix heard someone coming and she hid behind a skinny tree, thinking she would go unnoticed. She clearly did as a boy her age sat down by another tree and began to snack on what seemed to be a sandwich. Her nose bounced around a bit before she leaned in closer and making herself way more obvious.

It was Vincent Pennyapple.

Bea held in a squeal and calmed herself. It was merely a Pennyapple. The two had only talked a little bit in a friendly manner, but Bea was sure Vincent was just like Atticus. Whom she had tried to be kind toward countless times only to be pushed away, quite literally, like a ragdoll. She could still feel the bruise from his last hexing into a wall. The corners of her lips nearly curled downward at the edges before she sprung from the tree and behind the one that Vinnie currently sat underneath.

Peeking around the trunk, she smiled to herself. He was so adorable, chewing his sandwich so nonchalantly. Without any hesitation, she stepped a bit closer around the tree and leaned over the boy. "Hello, Vincent... What are you up to on a cheery day like this?" It wasn't all that cheery, of course, the cold of the day was seeping through her coat. It was rather nasty, but Bea didn't mind. Another bubbly smile carved into her cold, flushed skin as she finally revealed the rest of her small figure from behind the tree.

Absorbed in the pages of the old book, Vincent heard nothing apart from the usual whisper of the wind, the birds, and the lake’s gentle waves hitting the leaf-lined shore. The sudden appearance of a classmate with impressive knit kitten ears half obscuring her blonde-and-cotton-candy locks made him pause and blink, as if something had just jumped out of his book and into the world.

Only, the book Vincent was reading, while certainly interesting, had such characters as Beatrix Dark.

“Helr--” He began, but held up a hand to signal that he’d rather swallow a bit of his lunch thank risk choking or sharing unpleasant displays. He wasn’t always too bothered with manners, but he wasn’t a troll like some of his roommates, either.

“Hi,” he said at last, after swallowing hard. It sounded like the breath one took after spending a minute under water. “Beatrix,” he added, acknowledging that he knew the Ravenclaw. They’d been classmates for several years, after all, and who wouldn’t notice someone so simultaneously spunky, spontaneous, and studious? She’d caught Vincent’s eye more than once; she didn’t blend into the corridor walls like so many of the other girls in his year. (Not that he had it out for them, or something.)

Raising a brow, he motioned for her to go on, as if he’d asked her the question, and not the other way around. Why had she suddenly appeared? Apparition wasn’t allowed (unfortunately), and they weren’t old enough to try it (again most devastating). “I’m up to...” He lifted his book, flashing the handsome hardback title of a Charms text. Then, like a lazy balance, his arm dropped back, and the other rose to spotlight the sandwich. “Lunch,” he said simply, nonchalantly, with a small shrug of a smile. It wasn’t his full smile; he was still sort of wary of her ability to simply appear like that. Luckily, he hadn’t been doing anything too embarrassing, and he wasn’t the sort of boy to get embarrassed so easily.

“That’s...” He appraised her again. “A nice hat there.” He gave a sort of cheers or kudos with his sandwich before taking another pleasant bite. He stared at her a moment longer as he chewed (mouth closed), and then resigned his dark gaze to the book in his lap. He had the childhood of looking down at inopportune times. It was more of an untraceable tic than a sign of discomfort. If he was going to have company while he read-- usually a private activity, since only the book spoke, and its voice appeared in his mind-- the curious Ravenclaw was not the worst company to have.

“What about you?” He asked at last, in a loud sort of murmur. His eyes were still on the page. “Spying on someone?” It was simply the first idea to come to mind, for no particular reason, and so he voiced it casually enough, without giving it much thought.

“Hi, Beatrix,”

Oh my. Much more peculiar than Bea thought. The boy looked surprised that Beatrix was there, even though her idea of hiding consisted of standing behind thinner-than-Bea-could-ever-be tree. Her skinny fingers tapped the tree as she watched the cute little show Vincent put on. Trying to talk with his mouth full, he looked like a child for a split second. She'd eat him up if it weren't for the fact he was a fifteen year old boy, and that'd be considered politically incorrect.

“I’m up to... Lunch,”

Beatrix narrowed her eyes and sat down next to the boy, not waiting for permission. "Hmph. Lunch? Looks more like breakfast for you. Have you been sleeping all day?" This was coming from a girl who got up early in the morning simply so she could kick open the Great Hall doors like a bad ass and have no one but a few professors tut at her. But watching Vincent chew his sandwich made her hungry. She could use a good snack.

“That’s... A nice hat there.”

Did he have a speech impediment? Pausing all the time? He was like Sasha, only Bea couldn't tell if he was innocent at all. She didn't say this thought out loud. She was more concerned about the fact that she just got complimented. "Oh... Oh! Thanks! That's a... Uh... Nice... Sandwich ya' got there." Her  lip curved up a bit and she stared down at the bacon. It would definitely make her fat. But Beatrix didn't care at the moment. Why was she thinking about bacon when the cutest boy in school was sitting right next to her? She kept this thought lodged in her throat.

“What about you? Spying on someone?”

"No! Wha- What?" Beatrix looked around like she was completely innocent. "I came out her to roll around in the leaves and maybe climb a couple of trees!" In those boots? Bea didn't think so. But she could have tried. "Do you think I stalk you? I can't help that you're always in my line of sight, Pennyapple, I can't help that I take pictures of you when you're looking the other way... Or, or sleeping." Her smile finally formed again to prove she was joking. Beatrix hadn't actually stalked Vincent... Yet.

Beatrix noticed Vincent was staring at the book in his lap. She took this opportunity to look him over. He really was adorable. She did notice this before, of course, but she was never this close to him. Beatrix leaned in towards him. She couldn't help it. She just had to-- CHOMP. Beatrix took a bite from Vincent's sandwich that he held in his hand. "Mm. That's good." She nodded and sat back where she was before. Beatrix couldn't help that he was luring her with a bacon sandwich.

She gave him an innocent smile before staring ahead of her just like nothing happened, they were just having a casual conversation. Her hair tips flickered a purple color before she settled herself down. Never had a guy made Bea feel that way before, that silly feeling in her stomach. Even though it was her own damn fault for taking a bite from his sandwich. Beatrix considered that a precious "moment" between the two now.

His eyes moved subtly to her fingers, tapping against the tree as if it were an instrument or desktop. He almost smiled, or breathed out an inaudible laugh, but he kept his expression trained. He was sure that a girl who hid behind such a tree wanted to be found... not that she hadn’t already made that clear by speaking up, pulling Vincent from the depths of his book, to the surface of the world.

Having to smile genuinely this time, he did let out a low laugh. His pearly whites betrayed his guilt. Breakfast indeed. Was he that obvious? “It’s the weekend. Who wakes up before lunchtime?” He challenged, staring from his sandwich to Beatrix. “Or do you go to bed before sundown on Saturdays?” He raised a brow at the Ravenclaw, urging her to humor him.

For some reason, this chance conversation was more entertaining than the Charms book he’d been ready to devour.

Was she making fun of him? Or had he caught her off guard? As Beatrix stuttered a thanks, Vincent realized what he must have sounded like. A moron. And a sleepy one at that. But then his ‘reading time’ had never brought out the best in his social interactions. Usually he was at his social high when lounging around the Slytherin common room, soaking up the sarcasm and superiority that drenched from his housemates’ character’s. It was always easier, too, with Atticus around... though when he was younger, having two older brothers had made Vincent oddly pensive, almost eerily reserved for a ballsy child.

“Bacon’s always a good fallback,” he admitted, nodding. He was tempted to close the book over the envelope, set it aside, and talk her to her properly. But didn’t, not for the moment. He took another bite and stared down at the words, though he didn’t really absorb them in their entirety.

“Dunno... I am rather stalk-worthy,” he mused, though he wasn’t being particularly serious. The ego belonged to William, the expert, and the soon-to-be-superstar. “But pictures?” He mocked a frown. “That is creepy. How do you get into the Slytherin common room?” He looked up from the book, catching her eye again, still wearing the careful frown. It would be impossible, even for such a seemingly quirky human. Or so Vincent believed. With another low, almost nonexistent laugh, he looked past her, to the tree. “That’s a real winner to climb. Good luck with that, I’m sure it’ll go brilliantly...”

He becoming more verbose, and they’d only just begun talking. But now that the book held less weight, and the sandwich was half gone, Vincent had an easy way about him. His stomach was no longer demanding to be fed... at least not so quickly.

Which was lucky, because before he could take another, slower bite, Beatrix beat him to the task.

“Wh--” He began, his mouth now slightly ajar. Even his brand nonchalance couldn’t mask his confusion. It would have been outrage were she from a certain group of people, but he’d never minded her.

“Have the rest,” he offered, handing it over with an amused exhale. He leaned back into the tree and stared at her, not fooled by the innocent (but admittedly endearing) expression. “You’re turning purple...” He raised a brow. Her hair was turning purple rather. “Is it some sort of charm, or are you--” She couldn’t be. He would have known by now, surely. The whole school would have known... He smiled. He sort of liked the sudden and unexpected bit of color, but he didn't say this. Instead, he reached into his bag, pulling out a flask of water and his hat. He took a long sip, as if to prove he wasn't scared off by the curious occurrence. He pulled on his own hat to ward off the wind, and waited her explanation. She would have to give one, now that she'd distracted him from his book.

“Or do you go to bed before sundown on Saturdays?”

Beatrix gave Vincent a purely malicious smirk. She appreciated that Vincent didn't exactly tease her, per say. It was an innocent joke, of course. She was happy that he played along with Bea's silly remarks. "Actually, my bed time is in fifteen minutes, thanks." Her face softened with the joke and she giggled. "Nah, I just... Like to get to breakfast early." She shrugged, timidly. Beatrix wasn't planning on telling Vincent that she liked to kick things.

“Bacon’s always a good fallback,”

"I think you should probably lay off the bacon..." Beatrix let out. It was suppose to be a joke, but it came out too natural. She flashed another one of her cheeky smiles, "I usually, personally, eat the Shepard's pies." And fruit, and muffins, and breaded chicken. That was only today, though. She sticks to her meat pies and stays as thin as a stick. Beatrix pushed out her bottom lip, nearly pouting a bit. She would always be blown away by the wind.

“Dunno... I am rather stalk-worthy,”

Beatrix let out a sputtering cackle. "Really? YOU?" She shook her head, "Personally, I think you're worth more of a crazed-fan slash killer type deal." Like the other Pennyapples, of course. Maybe not Atticus. He'd scare everyone away. The fact that Vincent didn't care for her purposely creepy remarks just made things ten times better. She could feel herself becoming more and more interested in the tired Slytherin.

“That is creepy. How do you get into the Slytherin common room?"

"By saying the password, duh." Beatrix gave Vincent an are-you-joking? kind of look. "It's quite obviously 'Rainbows and Puppies'. Any genius could figure that one out." She settled down against the tree, rubbing her hands and arms to see if she could get them toasty. No such luck. Her jacket would have to do for mediocre warmth for now. "Don't make fun of my tree!" Bea quickly snipped, smiling at the boy, "It has feelings, too! If it dies, I'm telling Bombay and he'll have a fit."

Beatrix took the sandwich, happily. "Sorry about that. A girl needs her bacon!" She shrugged and finished off the rest of the sandwich in a few bites. She was hoping that Vincent didn't have any funny mouth diseases. If a tentacle wiggled out of her throat, she knew she had a problem.

“You’re turning purple...”

She froze right then. Purple? She looked down at her hands and down her coat to see if her skin was changing. It seems that he had noticed her loss of control for that small moment. "What are you talking about?" Beatrix said, coolly. She tried not to show any form of weakness.

He was the only person to see this. Not even Zoey knew about her ability. But now that she thought about it, it really was time she did show her friend.

“Is it some sort of charm, or are you--”

Beatrix's heart raced. The charming boy watched her with such amusement that she wanted to run away, screaming, before he told his friends and they manned the harpoons. "I can explain..." Her voice cracked a bit. Vincent was crazy... No. He was seeing things... No! Not like this! She was having such a good day! "Don't tell anyone." She muttered, quickly. The last thing she really needed was people treating her more like an outcast than she already was. And for Vincent to find out... Oh, that lovely boy. Did he even care?

"Actually, my bed time is in fifteen minutes, thanks."

“You’d better hurry. Isn’t your common room way up...” He nodded toward the high towers in the distance in lieu of saying that last syllable, ‘there?’. It was strange, how Ravenclaws were possibly the most like Slytherins, if any of them were. And yet, they lived on opposite sides of the castle, stuck up there with the Gryffindors, who would probably fair better in the dungeons with the rough-housing Vincent imagined went on. Windows and sober bar fights weren’t a great combination; granted, Vincent didn’t loathe all lions, and he certainly wasn’t afraid of a scrap or balancing on a window sill (as was evident by his habit of leaning a bit too far out of the owlery’s stone crevices when waiting for word from William).

Breakfast early. Fair enough. Vincent would rather sleep and make a brunch of it. Why choose between crispy bacon and a sandwich, when he could simply have both? In the same bit of food, no less. The bacon sandwich was an underrated art.

"I think you should probably lay off the bacon..."

Looking down at his belly, flat as a board, if not nearly concave, he shrugged innocently. “I’ll take my chances.” He patted the lean muscle over his slim white shirt. It was getting chilly out, but he liked it, even if he didn’t have the insulating fate of, say, a walrus. “Shepard’s pie isn’t bad, but it’s better for dinner... because then you get to reward yourself with dessert for eating all of those vegetables secretly stuffed in there.” His mother was always trying to get him to eat more vegetables; like his brothers, Vincent had turned out long and lean. Because he was the youngest, he was also arguably the gangliest. And he didn’t quite have the passion for quidditch that gave William his strong limbs. Nor Atticus’ knack for guitar, painting, and generally keeping his hands and arms busy.

"Personally, I think you're worth more of a crazed-fan slash killer type deal."

Vincent blinked, seemed to narrow his eyes in momentary, but very subtle suspicion, and then raised his brows quite obviously, with just a hint of Pennyapple charisma. “Are you saying I’m... what the girls call lush?” He quizzed her, waiting to see whether she’d give a straight answer. Or what the answer was. Vincent rather liked his own appearance, but he wasn’t so enamored with himself that he didn’t have those typical moments of teenage-boy-self-doubt. He, like most people his age, sometimes wondered what others thought of him-- external appearances included.

Laughing once at her answer, which was a sassy and so-obvious-it-was-ridiculous-and-completely-not-plausible one, he shook his head. “You must not be a genius, then. Maybe you should get your money back from the Sorting Hat. Slytherins are allergic rainbows. It’s a prerequisite.”

His eyes shifted back to the tree. He’d never really noticed it. But now that it was Beatrix’s tree, he had the curious feeling that he wasn’t going to be forgetting about the scrawny little chunk of foliage in the near future. Surely whenever he traversed outside to laze under his tree, it would confront him. Even if it didn’t have pink leaves or fuzzy animal ears. He raised his hands in mock defeat. “I’ll leave the tree alone as long it doesn’t bother mine.”

With secret humor, he watched the small (but well-endowed) Ravenclaw devour the rest of his brunch. Maybe he should have brought more. Undoubtedly, he would be hungry again in an hour. But it was no problem, because he’d woken so late that surely dinner would start soon enough. And there were always snacks from his mum stowed away in his trunk, away from the clutches of his roommates. If he got desperate.

But the bacon-induced happiness didn’t last. It seemed that Vincent’s innocent observation-- something that should have been obvious to the girl herself-- first called for confusion, and then nervousness, and finally a whispering, vague sort of fear. Which answered his question, even if she explicitly hadn’t.

“How in the name of Merlin’s--” He began, marveling, but stopped himself. He had to approach this calmly. Even if, technically, he held the cards in having accidentally figured out her secret. “In five years, no one has figured you’re a Metamorphmagus?” He asked more cautiously. It was impressive. And slightly unsettling.

“You’d better hurry. Isn’t your common room way up...”

Bea's eyes slid up and followed his finger towards the Ravenclaw tower. Her face turned rather blank as she stared back down at the charming boy. "... I don't go to school here." She raised an eyebrow. "I sleep in the bushes and eat twigs." Funny, since no homeless person would run around in the outfit she was wearing. It was tacky and had no support. Her face finally cracked and she began to giggle. "I bet that Branwell girl goes to bed that early... She's so weird." Beatrix, of course, was one to talk. But Branwell was so finicky and annoying that Bea couldn't help but slip an insult here and there.

“Shepard’s pie isn’t bad, but it’s better for dinner... because then you get to reward yourself with dessert for eating all of those vegetables secretly stuffed in there.”

"Reward myself with dessert? I eat dessert without eating my veggies." Beatrix was known to be such a rebel, "I'm going to eat my chicken, and then a cheesecake. No one can stop me." Her smiled grew wide and she glanced back and forth between Vincent and the ground. Beatrix was free at Hogwarts. Ever since she started going to Hogwarts, she's been wearing her socks to bed... Only her socks. Vincent would be in for a shock, Beatrix thought.

“Are you saying I’m... what the girls call lush?”

Beatrix was concerned about Vincent and his knowledge of terms that girls apparently use. Bea didn't talk to many girls like that, but she understood what he was trying to say. And it worried her that he knew what it meant, also. "No," Beatrix shook her head, "I'm saying that you have a crazed-fan slash killer." She waggled her eyebrows. Would he understand that she's really trying to say he's cute? Beatrix begged to differ. Boys were stupid.

“You must not be a genius, then. Maybe you should get your money back from the Sorting Hat. Slytherins are allergic rainbows. It’s a prerequisite.”

"I see... I understand now..." Beatrix frowned and looked rather disappointed. She quietly rubbed her hands together for warmth before continuing, "You're a filthy liar. I get it." She nodded, slowly. Within a few seconds, her bounce came back. "Fine. If it's not rainbows and puppies... Then what is it?" As if Bea could trick the boy. But just as Bea suspected before, boys were stupid.

“I’ll leave the tree alone as long it doesn’t bother mine.”

"I dunno..." Beatrix's lips pursed and she tilted her head, "I see your tree eying mine..." She gently traced the trunk with her fingertips, the bark was rough and formed two little knots. Much like little eyes that peered over at her tree. Bea pretended to be utterly jealous, "If your tree tries anything with mine, I'm might just cut it down." Her tree was too young, anyways. The old tree would just slow it down from its partying and drinking.

“In five years, no one has figured you’re a Metamorphmagus?”

Beatrix shrugged and dropped her hand from the tree trunk. "People don't pay close attention to others, Vincent." Her small grin finally revealing itself once again, more hesitant and unsure, but it was there. "I guess you're my first..." That sounded wrong. Beatrix shrugged again, "I guess I'm just too smart." The grin turned into a full-blossomed smile. "So you're fine with this? Even though we hardly know each other? You're not going to get your friends and pitchforks, are you?"

A shiver finally rose into Beatrix's skin. She shook in the cold air before she finally spoke again, "Do you think the Headmistress will throw me out, too?" She snorted and then finally cackled. Poor Ollie Foley. Bea was surprised how well everyone has been able to stand the crazed Snark. Though Snark had her reasons, Beatrix didn't care. She wasn't in SAWs, yet she didn't care for Snark. Beatrix was a rebel, after all, and didn't follow anybody's rules.

“Twigs?” Vincent made a slight face. “I’ll stick to the food in the Great Hall,” he confessed with vaguely oops-sorry-but-not-too-terribly-sorry sort of smile. “Maybe when we study you in Care of Magical Creatures, I’ll give it a try.” Maybe if they were covered in chocolate, or secretly made out of pretzel. He’d been on the verge of divulging this, when Beatrix brought up their classmate, the Branwell girl. “Kit?” He asked. He knew her by name because they were both Prefects. Oh, and because they’d had class together for several years. But generally, with the exception of a few, he didn’t know many of the Gryffindors.

“Reward myself with dessert? I eat dessert without eating my veggies.”

A rebel. “And when you die earlier than most witches...” He shrugged. “No big deal, right?” Vincent didn’t really believe all of that stuff. Well, not entirely. There was common sense. But a fifteen year old had a few years to go before having to watch what she put in her mouth. Maybe the elves secretly baked broccoli into those delicious cheesecakes of theirs. He wouldn’t have put it past some of the looney Headmasters and Headmistresses of eras past. This new one, though, was a bit too militant and didn’t seem particularly the sort to focus all of her attention on the dinner menu.

“Well, if I have a killer following me, I guess we have to report hi-- her.” He nearly winked, but stopped himself. Instead he looked around in his bag for the Prefect badge he was supposed to be wearing, but didn’t draw it out. Seeing it was enough. It was still weird, that he’d been awarded the position. He was intelligent, certainly, and he also had a knack for ending fights before they became fatal... but he wasn’t Hogwarts’ most rule-abiding teenage boy. Beatrix seemed to take it in stride, whatever her behavior.

"You're a filthy liar. I get it."

Vincent laughed lightly, almost silently. His thin cheeks bunched and he looked down at his lap. “Alright. Go for it. I’ll stand there and watch you force your way in with passwords about rainbows.” Until someone came along and jinxed her silly for being on Salazar turf. “I’m never telling you the password, so...”

She would simply have to deal with it. Watching her try to get it out of him, though-- that was, admittedly, amusing... and not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

“My tree is here to stay,” he said simply. Their trees could coexist in peace, he felt. Least of all because neither could move. Unless they pulled a Womping Willow and start thrashing their limbs. Even then, he wasn’t sure either could reach that far. Sneaky underground attacks via the root, though, that was something to think about.

Harder to imagine than a pair of trees having a showdown was Beatrix getting away with her mammoth secret for so long. Anyone getting away with it, really. He’d read plenty on Metamorphmagi, and it was rare that one could control every change, even if many were self-willed, and a conscious reflection of one’s mood or character.

“People don't pay close attention to others, Vincent.”

“But most people don’t have different colored hair every season,” he pointed out. “Not pink, anyway.” It was funny, that she didn’t think anyone noticed her. Who could miss her? But she had a certain spirit about her, and he thought it was rather compelling. “I’m impressed.”

But then he found himself holding back a blush. His eyes roamed his bag again. Her first? Her first what-- Oh. That. Girls didn’t understand the way boys interpreted words. Or maybe Beatrix did, because she changed her approach.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he began, looking up again as he finally began to tug his hat over the messy brown, slightly shaggy hair. “I think the Metamorphmagus thing is sort of wicked, but you being too smart for the whole school? ... Don’t let me feed your ego too much, Dark.”

But, again, he found he liked her attitude. Besides, he’d talked his way right into that one. And it was sort of amazing-- that she could keep such a secret.

When she brought up the Headmistress, his face sobered. He stared more earnestly at her, his dark eyes taking in her lighter ones. Appraising her. Deciding how truthful to be. “I wouldn’t go changing myself into my brother or someone in the middle of dinner. Keep it discreet. But, hey, you’ve kept it for this long...”

“So,” He added, sounding at the same time innocent and up to no good. “Can I see you with your natural hair color? I think I forgot what it was.” He gave the back of his neck a rub and smiled somewhat guiltily, but somewhat teasingly. He already knew she was blonde (as if the bits peaking through weren’t clue enough).

“Maybe when we study you in Care of Magical Creatures, I’ll give it a try.”

"You don't know what you're missing!" Bea shook her head, laughing. "Perfectly good twigs out here..." She thought about it for a second, and then finally comprehended something. "Ooh, so you wish to study me now, hm? I'm a Scorpio!" She learnededed dat in hur Astronomer class. "Lets see... I like pink, I like things, I like hitting things, I like... Hitting ON things." Waggle, waggle of the eyebrows and Beatrix was done. She pulled her hat over her eyes and giggled. Nothing wrong with being in high spirits.

“And when you die earlier than most witches... No big deal, right?”

"Nope! I already gots me the scurvy, so I'm not afraid of anything." Beatrix pulled her hat back up and gave Vincent her best I'm-Kidding-You-Fool-I-Eat-My-Veggies smile. Even though scurvy was when you had lack of Vitamin C, Beatrix was sure Vincent got the joke. It'd be quite obvious if she had such a disease.

“Well, if I have a killer following me, I guess we have to report hi-- her.”

"Hmph. Her name is Trixy Hark, I believe." The rebel girl who isn't afraid of anything! And writes awful rumors on the girl's bathroom walls... Though Beatrix doubted Vincent ever looked inside the girl's lavatory. Unless... He was hiding a secret from Bea.

"Well. I can tell you now... She's GORGEOUS!" She waved her hand in the air and giggled, "But not as gorgeous as me." Bea managed to say in almost a whisper. Of course... Beatrix KNEW Vincent was a prefect. How could she not? She saw him all the time... With his little pin on. Which just added more points to his cuteness factor. A well-mannered, handsome, GOOD Pennyapple. Dreams do come true, and they come in pleasant surprises.

“Alright. Go for it. I’ll stand there and watch you force your way in with passwords about rainbows.”

"I'll battle the door! Break into the common room and find out all the Slytherin secrets-- And giggle at you lot." Bea's threat was as frightening as it was irrelevant. After a brief pause she shrugged, "I don't want to be in your stupid house, anyways-- I mean... your house..." She gave him an apologetic grin before pulling out strands of grass beneath her. With all this joking around, Bea was sure by now Vinnie was getting a bit sick of her.

"Your tree... Will be mulch with that attitude." She gave him an innocent smile. Vinnie best watch his mouth, else Beatrix would chop the tall boy right down herself and hide him in her closet. She was, after all, his fan slash crazed killer.

“But most people don’t have different colored hair every season, not pink, anyway. I’m impressed.”

Beatrix opened her mouth to speak, but was too puzzled by the last thing he said. Impressed? The edges of her lips twitched and she began to blush, the purple in her tips finally spread further, turning her head into a plum. "Oh... Err... Thanks." She murmured, smiling at the ground. She could hardly look him in the eye with him when she had the silly feeling in her stomach. Finally controlling herself, the purple leaked down and disappeared. "Oh... It took practice, mhm..." She nodded, finally gazing into the Slytherin's eyes.

“I wouldn’t go changing myself into my brother or someone in the middle of dinner. Keep it discreet. But, hey, you’ve kept it for this long...”

"... Why would I transform into Attic- Oh... That one." She puffed out her lower lip and felt a bit stupid. "Woops... Slipped my mind..." Beatrix tilted her head and glanced around. "I don't know. I wouldn't really want to do that, anyways... If I had such intentions, I don't think I would still be around." She shrugged. Beatrix never really even thought about it. But she'd definitely change herself into a Professor if the chance ever came up.

“Can I see you with your natural hair color? I think I forgot what it was.”

It sounded like he was asking her to undress. "Can't we just cuddle instead?" She smiled. Abstinence: What the cool kids were doing. As she giggled to herself, the pinkness in her hair drained and she pulled off her hat, nearly shocked from the cold. She ruffled her hair and flashed another smile. Beatrix's hair was blindingly bright, just as it used to be. It was strange having her normal hair color yet again. A nostalgic feeling filled Bea's freezing brains and she let the little pink she had before creep up again. She made it seem like she used some sort of potion in her hair... People weren't so suspicious than if her hair remained vibrant all the time.

She pulled her hat on again, "See? Hasn't changed one bit." Bea gave him a grin before sticking her hands into her armpits. She should have kept the hat on, it really wasn't so hard to see Bea's hair. Ever. But, she was cold now and didn't understand how Vincent could stand it. She just assumed he was naturally warm, which a sprung an idea, which sprung Beatrix into action. Bea pulled herself up and tackled Vincent, latching on tight to him. "You are warm!" She announced, proudly.

On the subject of edible twigs, Vincent was going to make a rather snarky comment, one certainly befitting his green-and-silver housemates. But then Beatrix turned the page, and accused him of wanting to stalk study her. Literally. Right.

He raised both brows, even as the Ravenclaw’s-- along with her gaze-- disappeared devilishly under her hat. “So you like hitting and hitting on pink things,” he summarized, in lieu or reading too carefully into what she was saying. Girls had that voodoo magic that a wand couldn’t produce, and Vincent knew they were both teetering toward flirting territory. (Which, oddly enough, he found he didn’t mind...). “You sound very abusive.”

A scurvy survivor. Uh huh. Where did these people come from? Or, rather, why hadn’t Vincent made time to talk to Beatrix on more than a casual level? (Even if they both knew she’d never battled scurvy).

“Hmph. Her name is Trixy Hark, I believe.”

“That doesn’t even sound vaguely familiar,” he admitted sarcastically, with a small frown. “You would think if I had a serial killer stalking me, we’d at least have exchanged names before she took such a keen interest.” Or maybe part of the Cruciatus fetish was never getting close to the victim.

"I don't want to be in your stupid house, anyways-- I mean... your house..."

“Oh, I see how it is,” he said simply, with a shrug. “But really, who said we wanted you there?” There was a tiny, challenging glow in his eyes, but a friendly one. “And McAdams doesn’t count,” he added quickly. That was too easy, for her to use her best friend as the key to the common room.

If his tree was going to be transfigured into mulch, this was news to Vincent, who had visited for years now. It had always been a faithful tree. He knew, come winter, when it lost all of its leaves, that it would bloom again in the spring. He gestured toward his pocket, where his wand lay in wait. “I don’t think you want to do that. I sort of have this thing... where I’m very good at reversing spellwork. And jinxing things...”

The academic one of the family, where Atticus and William were artistic and athletic, respectively.

Something he’d said had pulled the trigger: he watched the girl’s cheeks become a color that was slightly closer to shade of her pink-tinged strands. He wanted to smile, but he didn’t: instead he pushed forward, playing it off... or playing the game. Whichever, or both. “So I couldn’t get the same color from a bottle of dye? I’ve never tried those Weasley potions, but they always look sort of tempting.” Not that Vincent planned to dye his hair pink, or any color, for that matter. He would leave the quirky locks to Miss Dark. They fit her wonderfully.

She seemed to know what she was doing, keeping her... peculiarity under the radar. Vincent would have done the same, especially now. There was trouble in the air, even if no one could see it yet. Things were changing. The new Headmistress seemed less forgiving the gentle old man who had taken his leave.

"Can't we just cuddle instead?"

What?

“What?” Vincent echoed the question in his mind, and blinked. What did cuddling have to do with changing hairstyles in the span of five seconds? And why, of all things, had she brought up cuddling? Hmm...

Before there was time for an answer, to that question he watched Beatrix pull off her hat, transform her hair, and then disappear. Only she hadn’t disappeared. She’d pounced right at him. The usually quick-witted, observant boy was caught off guard. She hadn’t been joking about the cuddling had she?

With an umph, Vincent’s back pressed more snugly into the tree’s body. He peered down his chest at the Ravenclaw, newly-hatted and pinkified once again, as if the clock had erased itself and she hadn’t given a sneak peak of her metamorphous mastery after all. His face contorting into a sort of facial shrug, his brown eyes tried to take in more than just hat and hair from their semi-bird’s-eye-view. “And you’re colorful,” he murmured at last, wiggling a bit to sit up more comfortably against the tree. She was strong for her size. “It’s not that cold out is it? Do you want an extra layer?” He had brought a few things in his bag, just in case. He reached for his bag even as he asked, careful not to squash her, though he was hardly weighty himself. Just lanky.

As he rummaged, his other hand reached out and slyly plucked the hat from Beatrix’s head. It felt fair, after she’d tried to impale him against a tree trunk. “I bet this is warmer than me.” And with that, he attempted to fit it over his slightly-messy hair one-handed.

“So you like hitting and hitting on pink things,”

Beatrix let her brow crumbled and wrinkle after he said this. No! That's not what she said at all! Silly boys and assuming everything had to be connected together in strange ways. "No." Beatrix shook her head, "You're right- Muh bad. I guess you must understand me better... Creep." She mumbled that last part. She seemed utterly serious. But, alas, her giggle sprang out and she sighed. "You must really stink at studying..." Her tiny voice murmured, playfully. Beatrix was superb at studying, on the other hand. She was a focused Ravenclaw, after all.

“You sound very abusive.”

Bea's smile turn into a scowl and she lifted her hand, threatening to smack Vincent. "How dare you!" Her hand dropped and she went back to smiling, "Kidding..." She was such a kidder. But it wasn't as if Vincent didn't hit people around. He was a Pennyapple for Christ's sake. They were always beating people up. Just because they could. Then again, Vincent was different. And this lured Beatrix in like a sad puppy.

From the looks of it... Vincent didn't believe she was a scurvy survivor. Which was sad, because if she HAD convinced him, she would have been one step away from convincing him she was a pirate. Yarrrrgggh.

“You would think if I had a serial killer stalking me, we’d at least have exchanged names before she took such a keen interest.”

Beatrix shook her head as if Vincent was naive. "Nonsense. I've known plenty of people who have stalked another without even being in the same room!" Beatrix knew this wasn't possible. She was smart. Mhm, gurl had her book learnin'z. But messing with Vincent was fun, because he knew she was joking the whole entire time. Unlike others, surprisingly.

“But really, who said we wanted you there? And McAdams doesn’t count,”

Acting a little shocked, Beatrix pouted, "Ravenclaws are WAY better, anyways. And Zee doesn't count because he's not a jerk like the rest of you lot." But he totally was. Beatrix loved Slytherins, even though many of them did not like her back. "At least us Ravenclaws can tell the difference between being funny and being mean." She muttered, pulling her coat close around her. Not that he hurt her feelings, she just wanted him to feel bad.

“I don’t think you want to do that. I sort of have this thing... where I’m very good at reversing spellwork. And jinxing things...”

He definitely put a spell on the poor Dark girl. Boasting about his special talents just charmed Beatrix even more. Talented boys got all the ladies, it was a known fact. Unless they were Devlin Matthews, who made all the ladies puke from his disgusting beard. Too bad those talents had to be wasted on a rat boy. "Interesting..." Was really all she could say, "I'm proud that a fifth year knows how to reverse spells. I'd assume you would."

“So I couldn’t get the same color from a bottle of dye? I’ve never tried those Weasley potions, but they always look sort of tempting.”

"Hm... You like this shade? I don't believe you can find the exact color... But..." Beatrix picked her arm up and gently touched the boy's hair, "You're more of a... Dark blue, anyways." Her hand paused before it fell onto her lap. It took everything she had not to comment is beautiful eyes... Or how soft his hair was. As if Vincent Pennyapple would ever take her compliments to their full meaning. He probably had a lovely girlfriend... But that girlfriend would be long gone once Beatrix was done with him. A diabolical smile spread across her lips.

“It’s not that cold out is it? Do you want an extra layer?”

Beatrix snuggled herself, comfortably, into Vincent's body. "Nope. I don't need an extra layer... Not anymore, at least." Why would she ever need to get up? She felt him move around beneath her, which made her think he was going to push her off. But instead, when she turned her head, he was just looking for something. Beatrix already said she was fine! NO MEANS NO, MR. PENNYAPPLE! Before she could argue, she felt her warm, fuzzy hat get pulled off her head.

“I bet this is warmer than me.”

"NO!" Beatrix giggled, immediately reaching up to grab the hat back. Why'd Bea have to be so short!? "Eighty percent of my body height! I'm gunna freeze!" But, rather than climbing all over the guy, she let herself collapse back down with her arms draped over his shoulders. "Okay, okay... I guess this is fair enough..." She buried her face again and grumbled things like 'Shiver me timbers' and 'I'll make him walk the plank'.

Creep? She was the one with the strange affection for all things pink, and Vincent was the creep. Right. “I think you’re confusing me with a housemate of mine. But I won’t tell him. I wouldn’t want to boost his ego. It’s weird... he likes being called things like creep and prat and... tator tot.” Nah, Trent wasn’t so bad. Vincent thought he was hilarious sometimes, but he usually kept quiet and laughed from the comfort of an armchair or book propped on his knees while his brother’s friend insulted other, more obvious candidates. “I’m actually great at studying,” he assured her, though none too stubbornly. It was really not his problem if she didn’t believe him. Vincent wasn’t the most egotistical child to ever step into Slytherin’s sphere.

But Beatrix, apparently, was one of the more violent Ravenclaws. Or maybe she was just all bark... it was a kind of cute bark, too, the boy realized with a bit of an uncomfortable flop in his lean, teenage-boy stomach. She was small-fisted, but feisty. He was rather glad they had never had to go wand to wand.

"Nonsense. I've known plenty of people who have stalked another without even being in the same room!"

Vincent breathed out a little laugh, not quite a snort, but not a regular breath either. There was clearly humor in it. He was amused. “How, then? With Floo powder? A patronus?” He guessed. It was like playing a muggle board game, but there were no pieces and no rules and Beatrix had some dirty tactics up her sleeve. Patronuses could send messages to each other. Vincent, being only a fifth year, hadn’t perfected his yet. He was waiting for it to show itself. Soon, he hoped.

Furrowing his brow, or raising it, or in some fantastical feat, managing both at once, the youngest Pennyapple also placed his palm over his heart. As if to silently ask, ‘Me?’

"Ravenclaws are WAY better, anyways. And Zee doesn't count because he's not a jerk like the rest of you lot."

Darkly curious and sometimes quiet, perhaps. A jerk, he was not.

“Hey now, we haven’t even had our first duel, and you’re already calling me a jerk. Isn’t it a little premature? I know some people move fast, but...” It was funny, speaking of duels as if they were dates. Vincent could flirt, but he wasn’t either of his brothers. He was young, and he was picky. (Of course, all of the Pennyapple brothers were, relatively speaking, still quite young. And picky.) “What about things that are funny, but crude? What about the jokes your housemate Matthews tells? He knows my brother well, and I don’t think I’d call him innocent or anything...” Here was a good place to whistle with mock ignorance. Again, Vincent didn’t exactly dislike the person of whom he spoke. He was simply making a point.

"I'm proud that a fifth year knows how to reverse spells. I'd assume you would."

She was just laying it on him with the insults, wasn’t she? This was the sort of thing his father had warned him about. Girls were mean when they wanted to mean, and they were mean when they wanted to be nice. Figuring out Beatrix Dark’s secret language was a tough puzzle to crack, but he found he was rather intrigued to solve it. He didn’t plan to give up anytime soon, anyway. What better or more important thing did he have to do on a sleepy, slightly chilly weekend afternoon?

“Yeah, thanks,” he said simply, as if he hadn’t heard even the slightest hint of the sarcasm she’d spread so thickly onto the metaphorical toast she was now serving. (Except it was Vincent who had the real food, and Beatrix who was helping herself after his friendly offer to share his lunch.)

He only spend the briefest moment pondering what he might look like with pink hair. Or blue hair. Or green, even. He decided he was more than happy with his own, natural, Vincent-y color. He would leave the loud touches to Miss Dark. They suited her. Just like her hat suited her.

He didn’t tense or tremble away when she touched his hair. He didn’t even blink this time. He just sat there, and let her. His eyes appraised her as she did it. Sassy one moment, witchy the next, and blindly bold a second later. It was a game of Quidditch on the ground, without brooms.

“Dark blue is almost black... close enough, right?” He muttered, raising a hand to mess the back of his hair after she dropped her own fingers. He hadn’t minded the touch like he might if she’d been, say, a pestering second year in the library. (Not that Vincent was a bully. But he wasn’t a pushover, either.)

Finally, it was his turn to steal the quaffle. Or, er, the hat. Vincent held it away from her, moving his skinny wrists and long fingers with ease as she reached toward the garment. She seemed to forfeit shockingly quick.

But, she hadn’t. Not really. Vincent did blink this time when he found a brightly colored pool of Beatrix Dark draped all over him, apparently quite peaceably deciding to join him where she couldn’t beat him. Well, this was new.

Slytherin girls were quick. They were also teases. But Beatrix, while seemingly both at the moment, was also more underneath. Vincent could just tell. And he might have eyed her once or twice in the past, just to be sure.

Maneuvering his arms around her, he pulled the hat back over the pink-tinted blonde, and leaned into the tree. His arms fell lazily to his sides, but he didn’t request the clingy Ravenclaw move from his personal bubble. “I think you’ve confused me with someone,” he said after a long moment. His mouth wasn’t a frown, but it wasn’t a smile either. His voice was calm, and, again, a touch amused. He stared somewhere between the top of her head and the castle in the distance. Or maybe just at the tree she'd claimed as her own. It was a suspicious tree, all of the sudden. “Thank Merlin I’ve already read this book.”

Then Vincent started blabbing about some strange Slytherin boy who walked around in trench coats and scared innocent ladies. Beatrix raised an eyebrow at this. The boy seemed to be the talk of the school lately. Whether it be with Darcy, or Mystique. She had no interest. Beatrix was with a boy who was lovely enough, and easy to talk to. And Mystique should be utterly jealous. But, of course, Beatrix would never speak those words out loud. "You should be great at studying. This is O.W.L. season." She smirked at him.

Beatrix would never smack Vincent in the face. What if she harmed it and he permanently looked like he had a stroke for the rest of his life? Or... GASP! He could get a temporary bruise! The Pennyapple family would gang up and tear Beatrix to shreds... Then wear her hair like a wig! And her hat!

“How, then? With Floo powder? A patronus?"

His laugh was so cute. Bea wanted to pinch his little I'm-A-Slytherin-And-Better-Than-You sharp cheeks. "... Haven't you ever asked around school about someone before? You're a stalker, congratulations." Partially true, really depended on how often you asked about the person. Or if you just constantly asked the same boy over and over again what it's like to be in the private presence of Graham Bombay. "Who've you been asking around about, hm? Vincent, hm? You been asking around about Professor Ramsay? You're so weird." The boy didn't even need to speak and Beatrix could figure out a way to mess with him.

“Hey now, we haven’t even had our first duel, and you’re already calling me a jerk. Isn’t it a little premature? I know some people move fast, but...”

"Moving fast? Psh. You're suppose to tango before you duel. Everyone knows that. Unless you're new to dueling... You're not new to dueling, are you, Vinnie?" Beatrix took this little joke of Vincent's to it's full dangerous capability. It wasn't so much as a lesson not to play around with words when Beatrix was clearly the boss of it, it was just... A warning that Beatrix will accept his challenge. "You're totally new to it. Look at you, all flustered and blushing. I bet I'm the first girl you'll ever duel." Beatrix had only dated one guy ever and he was... Well... Awful. She hardly wanted to think about, especially when Vincent was with her.

“What about things that are funny, but crude? What about the jokes your housemate Matthews tells? He knows my brother well, and I don’t think I’d call him innocent or anything...”

Oh-ho. Getting on Bea's bad side now. Her small smile faded. "Mr. Matthews isn't funny." He was nasty, dimwitted, repulsive, self-centered, abusive, harmful to the body and mind, radioactive, and possibly transfat. "In fact, he's not even a Ravenclaw. He's a rat who drank a polyjuice potion that makes him look like a seventh year who lacks proper hygiene." She paused and took a breath, "True facts. Did you know that? Well I guess it's no longer a secret." She fell silent for basically the first time Vincent and she had been talking. "Sorry." She said, softly, before finally grinning up at Vincent again.

"No problem." Beatrix tilted her head, smiling at the boy. Her insults were the best in town, get then while they're hot. But Vincent was basically opening up this insults for her. Was he expecting her to be in awe? To be one of those dimwitted girls who didn't think about what the charming man was feeding them before launching into snogging? Not that... Beatrix was going to "launch" into snogging. And she was really impressed with Vincent. It was just a good thing that she didn't think thoughts out loud.

“Dark blue is almost black... close enough, right?”

"... Don't you dare color your hair dark blue. I'll harm you." That threat could mean anything. Whether she would punch him, hex him, or tell him he's gaining too much weight and didn't want to be married to a fatty anymore. Beatrix raised a finger at Vincent, "Those products not only can make your hair fall out, but will ruin those natural, soft curls and kill them. They'll kill them dead." Oops. A bit of a slip of the lip. Beatrix didn't mean to compliment Vincent... Then again, why would she be ashamed of a compliment?

Her hand dropped to her lap again and she blushed. Maybe he wouldn't realize she commented his attractiveness. Beatrix wanted to play hard to get... Well, she didn't WANT to. She just didn't want to come off as... Well... Easy.

But she couldn't resist the young Pennyapple. That smooth laugh, his small insults, the way he breathed. Bea blushed, but covered her face with Vincent's shirt. He smelt different, but it was nice... She was tempted to ask him what he uses so she could go off and buy it. Perhaps it was natural. "Why am I thinking of his scent? This guy probably thinks I'm nuts..." Beatrix thought. Not that everyone already thought she was nuts. Of course the fact the two knew barely anything about each other wasn't coming into mind at all.

Her hat was pulled back over her head and she relaxed completely. She wasn't going to freeze to death after all. Beatrix sent up a grin towards Vincent before setting her head back down.

“I think you’ve confused me with someone,”

"Who could I have confused you with, Vincent?" Beatrix replied, nearly hushed. Vincent could hardly be confused with any other Slytherin. Not even another Pennyapple. "Do you think I'd being doing this with someone else?" Definitely not. Bea could hardly even picture herself with Bombay, no matter how much she obsessed over him. "I don't know what rumors you've heard, Mr. Pennyapple, but I know exactly what I'm doing." Sort of. Beatrix was improvising all of it, really.

“Thank Merlin I’ve already read this book.”

Beatrix shrugged, slightly, "I love studying, of course... But... This is much better." Which is saying something, considering the girl spends a lot of her days in the library doing nothing but reading. "Plus, Professor Fleetfoot is a strange fellow."

“But if you spend too much time thinking that it’s O.W.L. season,” he pointed out candidly, with a tiny smirk, “Then you’ll probably not get much studying done.” He wasn’t too worried, though. He had a good brain in his head, and his wits about him. It was sort of like being a Ravenclaw without the full range of obsessive habits that turned them into a bunch of insomniacs. Beatrix seemed peachy enough-- very colorful, in fact-- that Vincent was sure she got plenty of sleep. And probably went on quite the adventures in her dreams.

“There’s a difference between innocence questions and stalking. I’m not a stalker. I don’t keep voodoo dolls of my favorite people shoved under my pillow and steal bits of their discarded parchment from the classroom bins.” He’d not have mentioned those particularly creepy habits, had he not witnessed some questionable behavior once or twice from more than one of his peers. Hormones could do crazy things to people. “I don’t fancy them that old,” he added lightly, in reference to the Professor, who was nice and lovely, but not his type. (Vincent being fifteen, and all.)

Tango before a duel? It was an interesting way to put it; luckily, Vincent had once been subjected to dance lessons...

“I dueled this monster of a girl from Gryffindor once. She was a fifth year and I was in second.” He wasn’t bragging. It was simply the truth. He spoke plainly, the bit of awkwardness reserved for the sudden and unexpected position of the Ravenclaw dissolving as he recalled the incident. “I don’t think she’d ever cried, not even when she was a baby... but she walked away in tears after I managed to get knots of Drooble’s Best in her hair.” Blowing Gum was quite the dangerous sweet. “But the nurse has hair regrowth potions...” Unfortunately. “And she didn’t rat me out.” He said it almost impressed; credit where credit was due.

Raising his wand, he pointed it toward Beatrix’s adopted tree, as if he were considering a one-sided duel with the skinny flora. But then from his wand shot a few light blue bubbles, completely harmless. They popped and fizzed when they collided lazily with the tree’s base. “Have you dueled a girl?” He laughed. And he hadn’t said it derogatorily, for Vincent knew that girls could be vicious in ways boys couldn’t.

And Beatrix was a strange girl.

One who didn’t fancy Devlin Matthews.

The irony of her comment was lost on both of them-- as no one knew of Devlin’s (slightly illegal) secret identity-- but Vincent still found himself chuckling. Silently. Behind a boyish smile that he managed to hide (he thought) from Beatrix. “He’s not all that bad if you likes you...” Vincent pointed out, trailing off. So far, his encounters with Devlin Matthews had been entirely neutral and rather uneventful. He simply knew the boy to be an infamous friend of his older brother’s.

"... Don't you dare color your hair dark blue. I'll harm you."

“Actually, I meant...” But it was no use. She’d assumed the exact opposite. He’d really meant that his natural color was fine and dandy, and close enough to blue that he needn’t bother dyeing it. But how did you say that to a girl with pink hair? (Pink hair which fit her well, no less.) He ran a hand through his hair again, and was content to let it go.

Until she brought up his curls.

He lifted a brow. “Natural, soft curls? What am I, an advert in Witch Weekly?” It was a compliment, but it still made him self conscious, least of all because it seemed to make Beatrix feel awkward. Clearly, she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. If they were teenagers, and (semi) house rivals, and an odd pair of people who had come out to the grounds to engage in two very different activities, there might have been less blushing involved. Oh, and if she weren’t sitting all curled up with him, like a pink, Pennyapple-dipped pretzel. (But he really didn’t mind their current position.)

“My shirt can’t be as comfortable as your crib.” Crib in the cot sense, not the ‘wicked, quidditch-playing rockstar bachelor(ette) pad in the sky’ sense that had become a phenomenon in wizarding pop culture magazines as of late.

She knew what she was doing, did she? “Are you sure you aren’t a Gryffindor. Maybe we’re all colorblind and that hair’s really bright red...” He reached up and flicked a bit of it playfully. “You sound kind of foolish to me. Definitely Gryffindor material...”

Ravenclaws would have jumped at the chance to study before cuddling with the youngest of three under an autumn-afflicted tree. “Strange? Maybe... But he’s taught me more than most people.” Speaking of learning... “So am I going to have to hex you, or can I go back to reading? Do you... want to study with me?”