11:45 p.m.

Late. It was incredibly late, but time didn't matter to Zoey. He was supposed to be scouring the dungeons for the curfew breakers on his prefect watch, but he figured he'd let Ava catch anyone who was breaking rules. However, when he left the common room less than thirty minutes prior, she was reading a book by the fire. So if anyone was breaking rules tonight, it wouldn't much matter as the two prefects were not performing their nightly duties. No, instead, Zoey was perched in a corner of the potions classroom, hoping to God that Gunnar wouldn't come in for any psycho reason.

Being the potions entrepreneur of his year, Zoey was currently working on a potion which the level of was beyond that of a beginning potioneer. Not that he hadn't completed one successfully before, but the one he was trying to work on now was something even Gunnar would have difficultly concocting. Regretfully, he had stolen most of the supplies he needed from the cabinets in the classroom, though he'd ordered some and had them shipped to him via owl. The ones he took from Gunnar's stash wouldn't be missed much and he doubted Gunnar would care.

Throwing in a few wings from some forrest pixies, the potion bubbled and a giant glob of fiery red smoke was emitted from the cauldron. "Oh, bloody hell! It's supposed to be mahogany!" As he let out the small complaint, he saw the door creaking open slowly. "Bloody Basilisk!" As he murmured it under his breath, he tok a step back, hoping the dim lighting wouldn't show his presence.

Outfit

For all intents and purposes, Maeve Whitman should have been in bed, fast asleep. But sleep was far from the blond's mind and so she was restless. First, she had taken to pacing the floor of her dorm room. It was a tame means of mulling over the thoughts in her head. So far, the school year as a whole had offered her little in the way of amusement for her and there were many days (and nights) when she wondered why she even bothered. If it wasn't for the social aspect of her classes, she would loathe them entirely.

With a heavy sigh, Maeve looked at the time decided to leave her room in search of excitement elsewhere. Moving into the common room, she saw Ava lounging and reading a book. Without saying anything, Maeve placed her index finger to her lips--a subtle indication that she was heading out and promised not to get into trouble--and slipped out.

She had no idea really where she was planning to go, but it didn't take her long to find some "trouble" to get into. As she was about to pass by the Potions Dungeuns, she was sure that she heard what sounded like tinkering. But then she was sure there was an exclamation coming from within.

Maeve wasn't sure what her purpose was in seeing what was the cause aside from idle curiosity. She would hardly scold whoever was within for being up past hours or
fiddling around where they weren't supposed to. She was no prefect and had no plans to act like one any time soon. But as chance would have it, she didn't need to. The very person inside was Zoey McAdams.

Stepping inside and closing the door, she quietly padded over to where he was and whispered, "It's just me, Zo." After a pause, she quietly exclaimed, "What are you doing in here?"

Outfit

As the door opened, Zoey was in the shadows, wand out and ready to curse anyone who might be a snitch. But on closer inspection, he witnessed Aphrodite herself enter the potions dungeons, blonde hair flowing and curves bouncing. Actually, it was Maece Whitman, whom he'd had a thing for since they were children, as their fathers were friends when they went to school together. It always confused him, though, as Maeve was a pureblood and he a muggleborn. Wouldn't it have been odd for her father to attend a public school?

Stepping away from the shadows, he smiled as she walked towards him. Thankfully, the lighting was still dim, so she wouldn't see any inflections upon him, whether they be blushing, or well... Anyways, he looked back to his cauldron to witness his potion now a royal blue color, which was still far from where he wanted it.

His eyes went back to Maeve, who was now only a few feet from him. "Hello Mae." He loved calling her by that. It just had a dirty ring to it, he got pleasure from it. "I'm trying to complete a rather difficult potion experiment, but as you probably heard my yelling... well, it isn't going as planned." Looking back at it, he was almost tempted to give up, but this was Zoey Gabriel McAdams, and giving up was not something he ever did.

"Anyways, it is almost midnight, my dear, and as I am a prefect, I guess I am to ask you why you aren't in bed?" He smiled at her and winked, prepared for even the craziest of answers.

Maeve chuckled lightly as she saw Zoey become startled. It was like she was an apparition or something. She supposed her blonde hair and complexion could easily lend to that vision. She and her sister, Carys, were often told how their fairness made them look like ghosts. Or angels even in the eyes of their father and anyone else who didn't know better. At least as far as Maeve was concerned. Maeve had more Grumman in her than her father would have preferred. Even if that darkness didn't have a physical manifestation, he was well aware of its existence.

A smile still played at her lips when she heard his pet name for her. It wasn't common knowledge because she hid it rather well, but Maeve despised her given name. If it wasn't for the fact that it meant 'intoxicating' she would probably grimace when hearing it every time or endeavor to have it changed outright. His usage of Mae was a compromise and it was usually saved for those who knew her the best.

Maeve's brow shot up as her friend explained his purpose. She was no slouch when it came to potions herself (despite appearances to the contrary) but even she would bow down to the mastery of Zoey when it came to that subject. He was clearly a genius at it and it was something he enjoyed. And as much as he may not be successful in that particular moment, she had no doubt he would be eventually with more effort.

Maeve stepped a bit closer and hesitantly peered into the cauldron. No surprise that it didn't resemble anything she was familiar with. She returned her gaze to his face and brought a hand up to stifle a snicker at his attempts at being a dutiful prefect and encouraging her to sleep. "Sleep? Oh right. That thing we do late at night when we're not concocting mysterious potions," she lightly teased. Her face took on a slightly more serious expression. "Ah, yes. That. Well, unfortunately, I haven't been sleeping well these days. Restless. Bored, even." She sighed and clasped her hands together. "I just don't know what to do with myself...."

Giving up on his potion for the time being, he situated himself at Gunnar's desk, even putting his feet upon the top. Pushing his long bangs back with his hands, he let them rest on the back of his head as he relaxed into his position. "I do agree, sleep doesn't become me these days. You can probably tell, I haven't gotten around to shaving much lately." His face showed some scruff here and there. He was, afterall, a seventeen year old man, and still growing.

At the mention of Maeve not knowing what to do with herself, Zoey straightened up. Smirking to himself, he got out of the chair and walked towards her. "Hmm, well I do have a smart mind." He smiled to her as he walked around her, watching her face move with his. "I'm sure I can think of something." He let the thought linger as he continued to pace around her. He'd forgotten all about his initial motive for being in the potions dungeons.

His feet stopped right in front of her, and his face was only but a foot away from hers. "We could take a midnight stroll through the castle. I know all the nooks and crannies. Comes with being a prefect." He tapped his head. "Or, we could storm the forrest, though i do believe the wolves are out around this time, and the moon does seem rather full." He let of a sigh. "Or we could, I don't know..." He let the thought fall as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her cheek.

As Maeve stood there and watched as Zoey sat himself at their Professor's desk, she briefly considered what he was planning to do when their time at Hogwarts was done. Her friend was brilliant and could likely have his choice of anything he wanted to do. The real question would be what would make him happy and what would truly challenge his genius.

Maeve would not place herself in the same league as Zoey. On many levels. But in terms of wickedness, Maeve was certain she topped out between the two of them. He was infinitely more pure than she was, no matter how much he might give  appearances otherwise.

Perhaps my wickedness is the root of my insomnia, Maeve ruminated, ducking her eyes away from his and idly fingering the outside of the cauldron he was making his potion in. When he mentioned how he'd neglected sleep and also shaving, she quirked a smile. "Ahh, yes. I have noticed." Then she teasingly asked, "Isn't that against the prefect dress code policy, Zo?" She knew full well his penchant for unusual clothing. She had stopped trying to test out "better fashion" looks on him long ago. That was just who he was.

Maeve's fingers dropped from the cast iron of the cauldron to the smoothness of the wooden table. Then she stepped away from it altogether as her eyes followed Zoey's figure in the darkened light. When he began to walk around her, she simply followed him with her eyes at first but then she slowly turned with him as he spoke.

She was reminded of their shared past and how close it made them now, even though she regrettably didn't allow herself to show it most of the time. Zoey was very much her soft spot. Her Achilles heel. And knowing that frustrated her and often caused her to lash out--at him and anyone else in the vicinity. It certainly wasn't becoming of her, but somehow Zoey always managed to take it in stride. Maybe it was because he knew what it meant deep down. And that was maddening as well.

Like even in this moment, part of Maeve itched to bite out something teasingly playful. Keep him at arms length. Dangle him like a string. The thing she did so often with so many others. But with him she had so much more to hide.

Taking a breath, Maeve steeled herself and tilted her head up to look into his face, which was now not far at all. A stroll through the castle did sound appealing as did bearing witness to Zoey's rebellious, not-so-prefect perfect side. She was sure his other suggestion would be great fun too, but it didn't take her long to forget what it was as soon as she felt his lips touch her cheek.

For a moment she let her eyes droop close and savored the softness of that touch. But then she slowly brought her hands up, pausing briefly on his shoulders before she curled her slender fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. She gently pulled his face away from hers and whispered questioningly, "You don't know?"

As his lips touched her cheek, a shock of adrenaline pumped through his veins. Maeve had always been a friend of his, a close friend since they were little. Their fathers, friends from long ago, were close to the point of brothers, and since his dad's death when he was around five, Maeve has been a support beam to him. Though he spends a lot of time with Beatrix, which Maeve respects he hopes, he always has that longing to be around Maeve.

She pulled back her head and mocked his quote. He was blushing and smiling all together, though the blushing was hidden by the poor lighting of the room. "Well, my dear, I could allow your mind to ponder what I meant by that gesture, as it was clearly evident." He started pacing again, this time stopping at the professor's desk and leaning inwardly on it. "I mean, a kiss has many meanings, does it not? In old romance, some kisses meant betrayal, case in point as Judas did to Jesus." He hoped she would understand his Biblical references.

She was, afterall, a pureblooded girl to the innards of her soul. Her mind was practically magic through and through. "But in other cases," he continued, "A kiss means love and affection, and that in it's own respect has many subcategories. Now, which subcategory was I showing you with my kiss? I will leave that up to you." He moved back towards her. "But I shall give you a hint a well." And with his final word, he planted his lips upon hers, even brushing the side of her face with a touch of his fingers.

Maeve's repeating of his words had had a hint of teasing in them and she tilted her head to the side and watched his face with interest. It seemed as if Maeve always enjoyed teasing him, or having some power over him. In so many ways, it was cruel of her to exploit that, as well as their past together for her personal enjoyment.

But despite herself, she smiled softly back at him as he spoke his poetic words about the meanings of kisses. She released him and then her blue-green eyes followed his figure in the darkness as he paced. She considered carefully his theories and her mind lingered on the one about betrayal. Maeve knew full well that if she was not careful, she could really hurt him. Maybe not so much physically as in other ways. She had never made any attempts to hide her willingness to stand firm to the Whitman tradition of keeping the pure purity in the family going. Not to Zoey or any other person she had encountered at the school who may have been Half-blood or Muggle-born. Snobbery, yes. But it was just the way it was going to be.

When Zoey finished his theorizing about kisses and started to walk back towards her, Maeve was about to say something when he leaned in and kissed her again, this time on the lips. Again her eyes closed at the touch of his lips, only this time on hers. And Maeve did return it willingly and took a step towards him so that her body was pressed lightly to his. But it wasn't long before she pulled back slightly and whispered against his lips, "Sometimes, a kiss is just a kiss. Nothing more, nothing less."

Perhaps she was lying to herself. But if that was what it took to keep Maeve Whitman from committing herself, she was completely willing.

Zoey knew Maeve well, perhaps better than even some of her family members. Growing up together, he got a sense of who she was, whats she was about, where she was going. He also knew of her prejudice against muggleborns and halfblooded wizards and witches. Sure, she would hang out with them, seeing as Zoey was around her quite often. But, as for her general stance in life, she was more a bloodline over love type of gal. He didn't regret that, and he wasn't going to give up on her either, despite his 'bad blood.'

As she talked about kisses, he just shrugged her words off and walked back to the entrance of the classroom, though he wasn't planning on leaving. Instead, he started walking around the room, and eventually situated himself behind Gunnar's desk, this time with no intention of getting back up for awhile. "Ah, Maeve, of course you'd say that. But cannot a kiss have meaning unless one is to be called such  insidious names if they just go about kissing random strangers?"

He smiled at her, but then turned the chair round to the back of the room. Upon the wall, there were old etchings into the stone. Zoey had put those there on his late night scandals with Bea a long time ago, probably his third year, her first. One was of him and her, with something blowing up. Another was Bea flying around the quidditch stadium. The last was Zoey and Maeve, holding hands and smiling. They had been bewitched to move, and it made him smile over the memories.

Sometimes Maeve both pitied and envied Zoey's outlook on the world. But then, he had the luxury of being able to live his life that way--without expectations--whereas Maeve had oodles of them heaped upon her shoulders. Many were of her own doing, but it was true that the ideal of keeping pureblood lines in the Whitman family going or being part of a lingering pureblood legacy with other families was always present. It was something Maeve took great pride in, and unfortunately Zoey couldn't possibly understand it because he was muggleborn.

No amount of friendship between their fathers could ever change that fact. Even if her own father did have a soft spot for Zoey because of that friendship, Maeve highly doubted he would be in favor of a match between the two of them. He's fine with it as long as there is no talk of marriage connected to it, Maeve thought inwardly.

As Zoey stepped away from her to return to Gunnar's desk, Maeve moved over to one of the tables and lightly rested her forearms there while leaning against it. She chuckled at his choice of words about kissing strangers. She would give him that point. But people were called names all the time and for worse things than kissing strange people.

Maeve watched as Zoey turned his chair and was now watching his bewitched figures on the wall. Rather than think about what the one of them meant, she looked away, her eyes focusing on the door. "So? Shall we walk? Or do you like hiding away in the darkness of the dungeons?"

As he continued to watch the figures of wall Zoey and wall Maeve, he could practically hear his female companions thoughts. She was very fond of her pureblood lineage, and wasn't about to break the line and marry someone who was of less-than-pure blood. But Zoey wasn't going to give up either. He'd known her for such a long time, and loved her for such a long time, that he felt it was just meant to be. No matter how many boys and girls he went through, and how many boys she went through, he had concurred she was his.

At the thought of the walk, Zoey turned back around. At the same time, however, he saw the final ingredient he needed. Ignoring Maeve, he walked right past her to the back shelves, grabbed the jar on the top, and rushed back to his potion. "I got it!" He whispered it rather loudly, but all the same, he was excited. Opening the jar, he extricated the tiny brain from the jar, broke off a piece, and dropped it into the potion. The potion bubbled, almost spilling over, and the final liquid was a dark black. Zoey was smiling to himself.

As he lingered in the moment, he realized he'd forgotten Maeve. "Sorry, my lovely, I got overly excited. You said a walk, did you not? That sounds fun, but where to at this hour, my love?:

Maeve's eyes skirted to Zoey's face again and then she quickly averted them. He did know well--too well at times. Maybe he knew that was a weakness in her and maybe he was expertly exploiting it. Zoey was cunning like that. Afterall, she knew him just as well.

Which was why she wasn't at all put off when he was instantly consumed by his poition-making. She understood that was an integral part of who he was. Besides, she had pursuits of her own.

Settling into a chair to watch him at work, Maeve perched her elbow on the table and rested her chin in the palm of  her hand. He really was a master at the craft, perhaps even more so than she originally thought. When he finally returned his attention to her, she giggled.

"Yes, a walk. Anything will do, I suppose," Maeve said. She extended her free hand towards him, palm up and indicated that he come to her. With a wicked grin, she said, "I guess whatever we can get away with..."

His eyes lingered on her face, as Greek goddess as it was. Knowing he'd probably only ever have something internally speaking with her during this last year at Hogwarts, he had to chance all he had now and work some sort of magic to win anything with this girl. He sighed, and spoke to her in his usual, silk-in-milk voice, "Hold on, let me leave Gunnar a note here."

He wrote out a small note and placed it against the cauldron, replacing the top on it:

As he set it, he moved away and take Maeve's hand. "Where to, my dear? You're with Zoey now, the wonder kid, and I have power over lots here." He did hope she didn't forget that he was a prefect.