September 25
6:41PM

It came time, towards the end of the month, when Ethan was obligated to write his Grandparents a report on his stay at Hogwarts so far. Honestly, the entire ordeal was quite bothersome, since he already knew they received enough reports on his actions from the school itself. Perhaps they worried he'd fall somewhere near his fathers shoes, after all.. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, now, does it?

Bleeding bats, he thought, as he huffed is way up the stairs towards the Owlery. Now, Ethan Krosse loved his grandparents, not a soul could even cast them a shameful glance in his presence without reaping the consequences that came with such actions.. But the old fools were a bit too overbearing. He had never, in his own right, given them any reason to fret over him so much. Of course, it could also be the absence of his sister, Patience, that had them so twisted. Loss of a Granddaughter, firm hold on the Grandson. Good riddance to the brat and her bleeding mudblood mother. A better life was laid before him because of their actions. One that would hold little sorry, little remorse, intertwined in utter safety. Thanks mum.

Finally reaching the top stair, Ethan paused and gave a look out towards the grounds. Well, if anything, the view was definitely worth the trip. Beat sitting in that cellar they dared call a Common Room most any day. Even if the air was beginning to get a bit nippy. He cocked his head slightly to the left, clutching the prewritten letter in his hand. Well, he couldn't very well dillydally there all day, errands must be completed and tonight he might actually enjoy a good dinner with his housemates. Well, maybe.

With a rather bored sigh, he ripped himself from the view and stepped inside the Owlery, coughing immediately at the scent that filled his nostrals. How he hated these blasted birds. The smell was enough to turn the stomach toxic, forcing the bile straight up the throat. You could taste them through their scent. Rushing, quickly, to the closest bird to him, he reached out his letter towards his beak. The bird hooted at him, and Ethan shook the letter rather impatiently at it. This must have annoyed the owl, because his beak did not direct itself to the parchment letter, but instead struck the forefinger that lay on top of it.

A stinging pain ran quickly up the finger, through his arms, and announced itself in his brain. His eyes shot open and he dropped the letter, bringing his finger up to eye level to inspect it.  A crescent moon, the shape of the owls beak, was apparent. The gash, deep enough to bleed, but not hard enough for him to have lost his skin to the birds apparent appetite. Damn. With a glare at the owls direction, Ethan took to the next closest one. If the school wouldn't notice it lost an owl. that devil would surely have met his maker today.

Madam Hooch's knees didn't do stairs anymore.  At the age of 92, she wasn't nearly old yet, but nearly 50 years at Hogwarts and her thousands of staircases was a trial even the most stalwart of joints might protest to.  She was flying in from her Edinburgh home for an evening staff meeting.  The weather was still perfectly amenable to an open air trip, so she'd donned her long-sleeved gloves, heavy over-robe and set out at a high altitude, following back roads and avoiding all the muggle sprawl that was growing larger and larger in Scotland.   It was nearly a 3 hour flight for most riders, but this was Xiomara Hooch one of the fastest fliers in the country.  She did the trip in a leisurely 2 hours.

Her first stop was the Owlry, and she glided directly up to the large open air roost.  She wasn't pleased to see Ethan Krosse there.   She wondered if he didn't feel feelings, he'd behaved so atrociously these last six years.  She pursed her lips as she stepped so the wide stone window sill.  

"Evening, Krosse."

She leaned her broom against the wall and moved around the roost checking for eggs or hatchlings - she was very fond of owls.  Looking over her shoulder again, she wondered why he hadn't just sent his letter and be done with it.

"You alright? Your finger?"

Where, exactly, did that letter fall? Damn you, owl. Damn you to the pits of Hades. First his bloodied finger, now the lost letter. He didn't have the materiel, nor the patience, required to write another one. His Grandparents wouldn't be pleased if he were to send the Owl late, either. Better get to checking the hay. He must have kicked it under someplace when he sought the second owl. His mistake? No. Ethan Krosse did not make mistakes.

The aroma of the room was infesting is senses. Almost too much to bare. Why hadn't he his own Owl, you ask? Well, as "proud" as his Grandparents were of his achieving a placement in Slytherin, you couldn't very well keep an owl locked in the cellar, could you? Maybe he should have... Would have been the perfect thing to use to cure his curiosity about the fireplace. Well, no matter. The fact of the matter was that he did not own an owl, or any other pet. Too bothersome to deal with. The fact that his house mates insisted on keeping their animals was enough in itself. Filthy, vile, creatures.

Kicking at some more of the hay, he saw the gleaming wax emblem of his letter and lowered himself to grab it, completely unaware of Madam Hooch's entrance. "Evening, Crosse." With a start, he stood and turned, quickly, to face her. Ah, yes. The flying instructor. He recalled his first year when she was teaching them to use their brooms. He had hovered, soared, completely ignoring the simple instruction she had laid out for them. Earned him a day of detention, even though he hit the wall and was bound by the Hospital Wing. Could you imagine? First, you bloody yourself and the following Saturday you're stuck cleaning chalkboards, magicless.

He nodded in acknowledgement, still gripping his letter. Well, it was after that entire incident he had told her it was her total incopetence as an instructor that had caused him to injur himself, and he swore he'd never use a broom in her presence again. "Brooms," he had told her, "seem to hold their own manners and instincts. Mine was desperate to escape you." The memory brought back a wicked smile to his lips.

"Madam Hooch, to what do I owe the great honor?" Ethan asked, careful to stay away from the birds evil beaks.

"You alright? Your finger?"

Really? As if that old hag gave a damn if the bird pricked his finger. He knew her much better than that. "Quite alright," Ethan assured her. "Just feeding the little--angels--some treats is all. They so rarely recieve appreciation for the things they do."

Hooch squinted at Ethan.  He was more full of shit than the owlry was today.  Most of the staff was onto him by now - teachers talked; he was harder to catch in the act than most of the thugs, but his syrupy sweet forgeries were transparent.  Hooch felt it wouldn't be completely out of line to suspect there was nothing nearly so innocent than his purposes in the owlry, nor the way by which a little bloody crescent moon had appeared on his index finger.

"Don't try any of that on me, lad," she warned coolly.  "You treat the owls with care and they'll keep their beaks to themselves."  As she did this, a sweet male barn owl opened one eye.  Hooch rubbed his tawny belly with the back of her fingers.

With the seventh years, it seemed to be on her mind as much as the next professor's what plans the students had for the end of term.  The diligent ones were likely already setting the stages to an internship or apprenticeship with a master.  But so too would the most ambitious of Slytherin, securing proper contacts to make a smooth transition from school to career.  Yet others would likely take a year to cavort, enjoy their freedom.   

"What do you plan to do with yourself this June?"

You treat the owls with care and they'll keep their beaks to themselves, Ethan mentally mocked, grudgingly, with an annoyed eye roll. He never quite understood what it was about Madam Hooch that made him feel so...Bitter. It all didn't match back to that day in flying lessons, of course, Ethan had it out for her since his first lesson with her. Perhaps it was her cool and collect demeanor that frustrated him. She never really seemed to hold any emotional connection with her surroundings. Strict and stern, yes, but that hardly was enough to call 'emotion' from her.

He inhaled deeply, as he watched her stroke the belly of the owl closest to her. Ugh. The same bleeding owl that nicked his finger. Well, he should have known better than to expect she'd accept the answer he had given her. It was no secret that the entire castle knew of his antics, but Madam Hooch never felt the need to hide the fact that she just didn't trust him. With good reason, too, he supposed.

She inquired to his plans after the term ended. He cocked a brow, deliberating the answer he wanted to give.  Allow this conversation to go smoothly, as she was apparently trying to do, or trip up some words and see how far she'd allow him to push her limits? The joys of such decisions! Carefully, he responded, "Why, I'm hoping to attain an internship in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Hooch!" His words held that duh-even-YOU-should-know-that! tone to it. "Can't very well bide my time flying over landscapes or watching Quidditch, can I?"

"A very respectable choice," Madam Hooch replied, still doing her happy duty of checking up on the owls. 

Krosse was such the little snot, the words he spoke barely telling the whole story of his resentment of authority.  And he had natural reason to despite herself.  They'd not gotten on at all, even in his First Year.  And his name was frequently passed around the staff room mouthing off in this class or that. 

"Magical Law Enforcement is thrilling and honorable - I'm quite sure you'll learn a lot.  And it's a much more prudent choice than Quidditch or broomsticking, which requires at least a baseline aptitude.  Very prudent choice, Law Enforcment.  I trust your grandparents are in support?"

His Grandparents couldn't be more thrilled. They had wondered, since his placement in Slytherin, if the apparent choice in which he chose to lead his life would darken him even more. It hadn't. Ethan Krosse was your Class A Slum, but he knew how to approach it with respect and athority. Something that took some natural talent and required skill. He wasn't an idiot, however, and he knew where lines could be crossed. Approaching the world as an adult expected patience and smart decision making. If Ethan held an appitite for school, he might have chosen to be a lawyer. Better money and more use of wordplay. Becoming an Auror, well, that required cleverness, if nothing else.

"My Grandmother worries," Ethan answered her, looking about the owls as Madam Hooch was doing. He didn't need anything special, just one that wouldn't lose the letter or snap at his elders. "She feels that my hunger for justice might be ill sought in such an occupation." Bullhockey. What Soila Krosse most worried about was Ethan's missuse of power. Even he knew that. "I digress, however, in mentioning that. She hasn't the understanding on what a--what was your word, Professor?- Ah, yes, honerable choice it is."

Deciding on an owl, he held the note out to him. The bird snatched it in it's beak. "I trust your rounds in the Owlery are quite finished, Professor?"

Hooch furrowed her brow as she fluffed straw nests, and swept away piles of fur and bones - the remains of owl meals.  She didn't understand how everything that came out of Ethan's mouth had to be a performance.  Everything was so calculated.  She had wondered to herself if his self-esteem was so low that he had to protect himself always by holding back anything genuine.  Or if he was just a despicable little monster.

"I am quite finished," she admitted.  And as she dusted off her long-sleeved gloves and took her broom from where it was leaning against the wall, she said, "Your Grandmother may be right.  It can be difficult to pursue justice when you must work for a boss.  You don't have the freedom to always do what needs to be done."

Like smack students in the mouth.