Saturday, April 26th
Ravenclaw Common Room
Outfit

The Ravenclaw commonroom was not known as being "party central". Most of the time it was clothed in the soft whispers of book pages being turned and quills scratched across parchment, but not much else. However, even then, it was usually full of people. It made it hard for Devlin to do his work when there was a number of people walking by that could, at any minute, ask out loud why he was doing an essay for a class he wasn't taking or a year he wasn't in.

This was why he had gotten into the habit of staying up until 2 or 3 in the morning, so that he could utilize the dark corners of the room for his more unscrupulous activities. For instance, tonight he was hunched over a small desk in the far right corner, working by the faint glow of the dying fire and the moonlight, on an essay about the number 7 for 3rd year Arithmancy.

".. Hebrews defined the number seven as "complete" and "spiritual Perfection", hence its use by the muggle Christian and Jewish religion as the symbol of Yahweh, or God. It has made its appearance in several other muggle religions as well as extensively throughout mythologies..." He murmured as he carefully wrote the assignment, attempting to disguise his handwriting. He had been caught before by using his own handwriting in a purchased essay, back when he first started. It was just his luck that his buyer was a troublemaker and had been accused of forcing him to write the essay. But since then, he made sure to write each one in a different script. Not doing his own homework helped. Didn't give them a point of reference.

He was so intent on the growing scribbles in front of him that he failed to hear someone else enter the otherwise silent room.

When the last light in her dormitory went out, Waker Nolan was forced to float downstairs in her pajamas to carry on with her incessant quill-scratching and page-turning. She had not put off her own homework until this indecent hour, but was instead finishing a rather embarrassing letter to her parents, to whom she had not written all semester. It seemed that her inspiration for such ventures only came in the dead of night, when everyone else was safely tucked into their beds, drooling on their elf-ironed pillow cases. This was actually preferable for Waker, who did not particularly care for divulging the details of her resentment toward a perfectly healthy, charming Mummy and Daddy-- or for kicking up her bare feet in a busy communal area.

Long-since robed and scrubbed clean for the evening, her hair hanging somewhat more boringly than it might after her morning rituals, Waker welcomed the seeming desolation of the common room. The lights had been dimmed to a calm yellow glow, and the view of the mountain-scape from the tower's expansive windows was admittedly stunning. Little did the Nolan girl know, but the ten or so seconds she spent staring through the glass were likely to be the last ten seconds of serenity until dawn.

Halfway from the window to a cluster of armchairs, Waker froze. It appeared that she wasn't the room's only late night occupant. Someone else seemed to be hunched over an assignment. Procrastinators. Waker frowned inwardly. Still, she took a few more cautious, measured steps closer. Perhaps someone was struggling with a conclusion paragraph or one last equation; perhaps if she extended her help, they would scurry off to bed and leave Waker to bask in the room's emptiness so that she could finish her dreaded letter. She had mixed feelings about helping people who didn't expressly ask to be tutored, because usually they were the sort of people who had no work ethic or hope, and were better left to their own devices; but this was a special case.

One more step, and the glow from the nearest mounted candle shed enough light for Waker to properly study the insomniac's profile. She froze again. Her heart jumped and her fists clenched. The arm under which she was carrying a notebook, with parchment and quill tucked in it, seemed to dig uncomfortably into her robe. Of all the people to run into the middle of the night...

Before she made up her mind to silently flee the scene (the Nolans could wait another day or two for word from their daughter), her ears registered Devlin's mumbling. The number seven? Muggle religions? Detest him as she did, her curiosity got the best of her. She leaned closer and attempted to glean some meaning from the parchment. She was less than a foot behind his left shoulder now. Waker was analytical enough in nature and knew Devlin well enough-- or, really had known him once upon a time, and quite well at that-- to know that there was something off about the handwriting.

"We don't have an assignment on the number seven," she whispered, before she could stop herself. Feelings of momentary panic shot through her body. They were largely but not entirely due to the fact that she'd jut given herself away.



(waker's pajamas & robe)

"We don't have an assignment on the number seven,"

He had been so engrossed in discussing the use of seven in Irish mythology that he had failed to hear the person come up behind him until she spoke. But it wasn't the fact that there was another person in the room with him, or that there was someone standing so close and looking over his shoulder that bothered him, it was the fact that he knew that voice. Knew it very well in fact. Freezing, his quill tip poised above the paper, Devlin kept his eyes trained ahead of him.

"Maybe it isn't a homework assignment..." He said stiffly, casually resting his arm over the part that said, quite clearly, 'Arithmancy Year 3' in the corner. His excuse was weak at best and he knew that she wouldn't accept it. She knew him too well, much to his annoyance. Waker was a painful reminder of who he once was, back when he was naive and stupid. He could deal with seeing his old friends, since he was on fairly decent terms with most of them, but every time he looked at Waker, he was flooded with unwanted and detestable feelings. Everything from longing to disdain, the former of which added anger to the mix.

Reluctantly, he turned his head so that he could caste a glare at her. But the sight of her tussled hair and full lips made his expression pause somewhere between disgust and admiration. Swallowing the lump in the back of his throat, Devlin stood, pulling himself to his full height in hopes to look a bit bigger then her. Unfortunately, she was only a couple inches shorter and the effect was not nearly as threatening as he had hoped. Rubbing his smattering of scruff, Devlin regarded her coldly for a moment before saying snidely "I don't believe what I do is any longer your business Nolan... Why don't you todder off to bed like a good girl?"
 

The awkwardness of discovering Devlin alone in the common room past midnight paled in comparison to the awkwardness of speaking to him. Waker could have flinched as she simply watched him pause at the sound of her voice; he was undoubtedly feeling a mutual discomfort, she guessed. As terrible as it was to watch, there was also a childish satisfaction in knowing that she could get under his skin just as much as he got under hers. She hated to be hated, but she liked the revenge aspect of it. She would never say so much aloud, not unprovoked, but she certainly felt he deserved it. He had changed. She had ended it, but it was Devlin's fault. Waker would stubbornly hold onto that argument under threat of torture.

"Or maybe it isn't your homework assignment," she suggested coolly. Was he tampering with someone else's essay? Was he cheating on schoolwork? Waker might not have believed it a couple of years ago, but she could hardly be surprised now. Her eyes were so focused on the paper in an attempt to not look at Devlin, that her vision went bleary. She didn't really care what dodgy thing he was up to anyway, she decided. She couldn't care. But she couldn't stand to let him get away with it, either. "Unless you've traded your conquests for an affair with extra credit." Unlikely.

Waker was slightly put off guard when Devlin stood. She was glad for the lack of sunshine that flooded the room in the daytime. She did her best to hide her agitation and keep a blank face, and also to ignore the fact that she was standing around in her pajamas without shoes or brushed hair. Ridiculous as it was, Waker would have liked nothing more than a pair of towering heels at the moment, so that she could look down at the boy. Instead she fell a couple inches short and so worked with what she had: eye contact. Devlin's own chilly aura seemed to convey quite an impressive amount of hate, too. Waker only hoped she did the justice of returning it.

"Why don't you saunter over to the washroom and shave your face like a good boy?" She snapped back pointedly, with the very slightest upturn of her lips. She didn't mean it. Devlin's face suited him quite well exactly as it was, if she were being honest. But this was the first retort to come to mind and she didn't want to seem hesitant. Especially now that her own cheeks were tinged with anger. So much for a cool exterior. But, really, what sort of deranged prat did he have to be to try to order her about? He wasn't the headmaster! "And... you know, you can change a lot of things about yourself, but your handwriting isn't one of them." She gestured to the paper, finally moving her eyes back to it. "I don't know what it is you're doing, but I know you shouldn't be doing it." Why couldn't he just melt like the Wicked Witch and be done with it so Waker could steal his chair and finish her letter? Was it so much to ask?

"Why don't you saunter over to the washroom and shave your face like a good boy?"

When she said this, Devlin let out a dramatic gasp, grasped his chest and stumbled back a step or two as though her words stabbed him. His face then morphed into a sneer and he rubbed his scruffy chin defiantly, as though to make it clear that he didn't give a damn what she thought. He liked his scruff, and so did a lot of girls. She didn't like it because she never got to experience it. He hadn't been so fuzzy back in 4th year.

"And... you know, you can change a lot of things about yourself, but your handwriting isn't one of them. I don't know what it is you're doing, but I know you shouldn't be doing it."

"Oh do you now?" He smirked, returning to his position staring down at her. Crossing his arms, he cocked his head to the side and kept the infuriating grin on his face "... Last time I checked, you don't know crap about me. In fact, you never did. Now I am in the middle of writing up a study guide for some poor little third year. If. You. Don't. Mind."

Before he turned away, he leaned forward so he was an inch or so from her face.  His grin was almost flirtatious, had there not been a malicious edge to it as he added "... And by the way, you just are hating on the scruff because you're jealous you never got to enjoy it..."

Waker's eyes, almond-shaped as they were, seemed to narrow further as she watched Devlin's melodramatic antics. It was difficult not to turn around and march back up to her dormitory like a sore loser, or to explode with pent-up rage, but she stood in her place, arms now crossed somewhat moodily over her notebook, and tried very hard to control the color in her face. She was beyond appearing unbothered, but did not want to look so much like a frigid old bat that she seemed surprised to find a sixteen-year-old boy acting like a jerk. Especially when that boy was Devlin.

Waker returned an arctic grin for all of two seconds before diverting her eyes to the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, as if it were much more worthy of her attention. Truthfully, she did not want to stare at Devlin nor his maniacal grin. He was a bit intimidating. She could feel her neck growing warm with his explanation. Was he really helping underclassmen? Why would he write out study guides in the dead of night? Even Waker, who made of habit of tutoring her peers in a professional atmosphere probably wouldn't bother copying out note cards for someone else at one in the morning. "I don't mind," she muttered back. "I don't care at all. I won't be the one serving detention if you get caught helping someone cheat." Helping someone cheat had not been what Devlin alluded to, but Waker was trying to save her own dignity by insinuating that he was doing something wrong. She would die of mortification if he had turned a new leaf (again) and had decided to devote his spare time to the children of Hogwarts.

Waker willed herself to look up at him again, just in time to find Devlin hawking in on her. Her back stiffened and she winced almost undetectably. She recovered by shifting her arms and attempting to reflect his smile-- though hers was not quite so poisonous. More subduedly bitter. "Terribly jealous." She tilted her head mordantly. "It's why I ditched you." It came out meaner than she'd really intended, but it was all for the better. Devlin's behavior since their falling out was nauseating and inexplicable. And his behavior right before it, well... she didn't like to think about it.

"I guess..." she added, more slowly and hesitantly now. She raised an almost surrendering hand. "I'll just have to take their word for it, all of your... birds... or whatever cleverly chauvinist thing you call them. Who are we on now? Julia? Jennifer? Something with a J, maybe?" She guessed impassively. Waker widened her eyes and wiggled her raised fingers before Devlin's face, nearly grazing it, and then stepped around him. She felt both triumphant and infinitely foolish. Why was she wasting so much time bickering? Why was he wasting his? She traveled the few paces to the cluster of armchairs and calculatedly opened her notebook to appear busy.

"Do you still need this chair?" The question seemed quite out of place, almost suggesting that nothing had happened a moment prior, except that it was asked with a slight strain that made Waker sound in need of water. Weak. She frowned to herself. The seat got the best light at this hour: it was as simple as that. Granted, the Ravenclaw's mind was now a million miles from the letter pressed in her notebook. She didn't look at the Matthews boy, but continued to stand behind him and stare down at the faint imprint of where he'd been sitting.

"Terribly jealous. It's why I ditched you."

This time, the pained expression that crossed Devlin's face was authentic, though he attempted to hide it by forcing a grin. It came out as more of a grimace however, since her words actually stabbed quite deeply. She may not have realized it, but she had really broken his heart. After all, she had accused him of 'changing' right after he had endured the most traumatic thing that can happen to a prepubescent boy. Maybe she was right, maybe he had changed, but either way she had hurt him deeply and had successfully managed to turn him off of smart and serious girls since. He hadn't been such a womanizer before her.

"I guess... I'll just have to take their word for it, all of your... birds... or whatever cleverly chauvinist thing you call them. Who are we on now? Julia? Jennifer? Something with a J, maybe?"

"Close.. I... Inika... But that isn't the point..." He snapped a little, struggling to keep the normally jovial tone in his voice. She wanted him still, he was sure of it. She just needed a little... persuasion. Before he could attempt to persuade her, however, she walked around him as though he was merely a lump of flesh in her way.

"Do you still need this chair?"

Doing a quick about-face, Devlin sidled between her and sat down in the chair. "Yes.... but you are welcome to join me..." He patted his lap enticingly. Before she could make a decision, he rolled to his feet and got close to her again. "Admit it Waker... You still want me...I know you do and I am going to prove it." Grabbing her arm, he pulled her to him and pressed a kiss forcibly to her mouth. After a moment of this, he pulled away and whispered lightly against her lips "See?"

Waker breathed out haughtily as Devlin divulged the identity of his latest flavor. "I'll pray for her," she offered in a whisper as she passed him, despite not being the exceedingly spiritual sort of girl.

The notebook in her grasp almost escaped-- into Devlin's lap, in fact, and quite ironically-- when the boy managed to squeeze past her and resume his place in the chair. His playful invitation made Waker's heart jump into her throat. She hadn't been expecting him to go this far. She knew him to be devilishly flirtatious around most girls, but she'd always assumed his loathing of her outweighed his desire to charm anything with legs. Why wouldn't it? But now she felt as if she were in the twilight zone. Devlin's devilish brand of humor seemed to be overstepping itself. After all, he must have known that she was none too fond of his evolved character. And Waker was confident that he despised her in return. There were few things she could say with more certainty, in fact.

But he was quick. Too quick. Waker found herself locked in a kiss-- her only kiss in quite a while, given her penchant for study schedules-- and panicked inwardly before she could react physically. When Devlin pulled away, Waker stayed rooted to the spot. Her eyes widened while her brows furrowed. Her lips parted in silent outrage,  even angrily formed the word you, but no words came out for several seconds. For a moment she even looked as if she might cry (which in itself was a feat for Waker). "What's wrong with you!" She hissed loudly. She threw up her arms so that her notebook flew across the room. "You have a girlfriend, remember?"  She looked toward the common room entrance before returning her gaze to Devlin. Almost as if she expected Inika to barge in and hex her for Devlin's actions. She dropped her hands again and shook her head, looking rather dejected. "I don't even... you're a..." She struggled for the words. Vocabulary tests could not help these situations, unfortunately. "You hate me. I don't need to be one of your jokes, too, Devlin."

"What's wrong with you! You have a girlfriend, remember?"

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her..." he murmured, shrugging offhandedly. He had forgotten how wonderful it felt to kiss those soft pouting lips. He wanted to kiss them again, fiercer and deeper this time. But before he could lean in and steal another kiss, she drew back and threw up her arms, tossing the notebook she had been using as a shield across the room. It clattered to the floor as Devlin stepped back, lest her flailing arms hit him.

"I don't even... you're a...You hate me. I don't need to be one of your jokes, too, Devlin."

Devlin's face formed a uncharacteristic frown. It was so untrue. He didn't hate Waker, he hated what she did to him. He hated the fact that she had left him when he needed her and that she had been right to do so. He hated the fact that she could see right through him no matter how sweet his words were or how genuine his smile was. It made him angry, but he didn't hate her. Unfortunately, Devlin was horrible at admitting these sorts of feelings. He could not -- would not -- admit that he knew deep inside that she had been right to drop him. Before he could, his shields would come up and he would say something mean or snide, put her in her 'place', tell her he hated her guts. Just like he was about to do now.

' I don't hate you, I never did... I love you and I just wish you would see the good in me again...' was what he MEANT to say. His brain thought it, sent it through down to his voice box and somehow, along the way, his nerve endings played a nice little game of telephone and the end result was him laughing coldly as he sneered out "... I may hate your guts, but I don't hate your lips..." He moved towards her again, leaning in for another kiss.

Waker stared at him as if he were speaking another language, words that nevertheless managed to anger her. The temptation which might have existed, was quickly flat-lining. "What she doesn't know? But habitual cheating is such a turn on." She had to cling to the last bits of her faltering composure and stop herself from screaming. Games, homework, and girlfriends were apparently all of the same value to Devlin. She swallowed the question she had been on the brink of asking, because she didn't want to know the answer. He was different now; he would not have done this sort of things a couple of years ago... Would he have?

The unexpected frown on his face did not escape Waker's scrutiny. She analyzed it as surely as she might study an equation.  She found herself reflecting it, in her own way. He looked defenseless and somehow softer. A flood of unwanted sympathy and pity and carefully compartmentalized, stowed-away memories seeped into her mind's eyes. Girlish feelings that used to make her blush. She felt bad for him. She felt bad that he lived the way he lived, and that they had parted on such terrible terms. He couldn't be happier now, could he? Waker felt guilty. Some of it was her fault, most definitely. She missed the old Devlin, but she did not know how to deal with the new one, and so she pretended he didn't exist when she could help it. "Look, Dev... Devlin," she began more quietly, almost consolingly. "I think you're just very tired and--"

As quick as the frown had come, it was gone. Devlin's laugh was like icy water being doused over Waker's head. His admission of hate should have been no surprise, but it made her skin crawl. She dodged him, and his mouth, the mouth which she had been staring at and remembering with fondness only two seconds prior. "You're vile." She slapped him harshly across the face before she knew what she was doing. Slightly startled by her own conduct, she took two steps back. She touched her own face, the apple of her cheek, just under her eye. Her mouth was parted in honest astonishment. She'd slapped him. She had never slapped anyone. "And I feel sorry for you," she added, sounding flustered.

Waker turned in the direction of her hastily-abandoned notebook, hardly able to look at the boy any longer. The hand she had not used to slap Devlin was almost welded to her wand at this point. The Ravenclaw gave it a careful wave and watched as loose sheets of parchment floated into the air and stacked themselves atop her notebook. She suppressed a sniffle and a pang of a million terrible feelings meshed into one. She was too aware of Devlin's presence. She could retreat to the opposite side of the room. The light was poorer and the couches not quite as cozy, but she would not let him treat her like this or scare her away from her own Common Room.

"You're vile. And I feel sorry for you,"

The slap across the face had been... surprising. Waker was a witch through and through, she had never, in as long as he could remember, reverted to using physical means to retaliate. Her wand was more of a hand then her own physical hand was. For her to slap him... well... she might as well have stabbed him. As the sting of the slap pricked his cheek, leaving a red welt in it's wake, Devlin stared off to the side. His jaw worked under the tight muscles as though he were grinding his teeth and for once, Devlin was struck speechless.

There were so many things he wanted to say. Part of him, the part that he had buried along with his mother, wanted to apologize. Not just say sorry, but to beg for forgiveness. To tell her that he loved her and that he would do anything to get her back. However, on the other hand, the more dominant part of him had a few choice words to say, most of which were crude and obscene. That part wished to remind her that he could make her pay for the slap and that he didn't need her. He left her, not the other way around. She was just delusional thinking that she had somehow left him. Yeah, that is what he wanted to say.

However, neither side won. Instead, he just stood there in silence as she took to the other side of the room. She was right, and he knew it, but he wanted nothing more to prove her wrong. In fact, he decided as the heavy silence between them overtook the room, he would prove her wrong. He would find someone better then her, someone sweeter, more innocent and most of all, easier to control. She would be swept off her feet and fall head over heels in love with him. Then Devlin would rub it in Waker's pretty little face that he was still worthy of love.

This in mind, he finally moved. Glancing over at her, he let the silence settle between them a moment longer before speaking. "You're wrong. You'll see." Turning, he scooped up the parchment he was working on and shoved it into his satchel. Tossing it over his shoulder, he started for the stairs to the boys dorm, saying over his shoulder "You'll regret that." With that, the door slammed behind him.