October ought to be Callum's month. His birthday was smack dab in the middle, and anyone who dared to argue with him that the whole month did not belong to worshiping his greatness and awe-inspiring presence would be swiftly punched in the face. (Assuming, of course, it was a male daring to contradict his edict. Were it a female, then he would just ignore her. He had learned recently that girls were most agitated when you ignored their attempts at annoying you.) As such, the fact that Ferguson Amherst shared his birth month was particularly insufferable.

He had heard his classmate the night before, babbling on and on about the perfect outfit to wear. Something about fashion, it being new, and everyone being jealous of him. Naturally this discussion was between Ferguson and a female, as no sane male (even if he did care about fashion) would babble so excitedly about it. Callum himself was a big fan of fashion and made sure he was impeccable every day.

Not only was Callum Knight a fan of fashion, but he was also a big fan of this thing that the simpletons know as "sleep". A proper amount of sleep kept Callum from being too grumpy, and allowed him to feel rested and made him exponentially more handsome. So, when he heard the quiet mutterings of a certain roommate who was up and about at an ungodly hour of the morning, he was not happy. Callum was the sort of person who, once awake, had a very hard time falling back asleep- especially after he had already been asleep for a while.

He sat up in bed and stretched, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the dark. (What sane teenager got up when it was dark outside?) He noticed a small pile of presents at the foot of Ferguson's bed, no doubt gifts from his "friends" (how he had them, Callum had no idea) and family. Callum had yet to get a single birthday present. (Never mind the fact his birthday was still two entire weeks away.) Seeing these gifts made him angry. The Slytherin boy was particularly greedy, and the fact that Ferguson would be getting more gifts than he (because of his apparent lack of friends) was just a thorn in the side he didn't need. Really, Amherst should know better than to flaunt his presents.

All kinds of snide comments were building in his mind, but Ferguson had left the room before he had managed to get fully awake and stand up. No doubt to shower. He walked quietly to the presents, and snatched two or three smaller ones and stowed them away in his trunk. He locked it, and then grabbed his own things to go get ready for the morning. Yes, today was going to be a bad day for Ferguson Amherst indeed- and it was going to start from the time he woke up.


((permission from Penny to godmode))

 It wasn't that Fergie was a morning person. The fifteen (well, sixteen now) year old liked his sleep as much as the next person. He always did his best to make sure that he always had enough - dark circles under the eyes were definitely not flattering, and he wanted to avoid them at all costs. But looking good was not something that just happened. Even the most naturally beautiful people had to put in a little effort. And while Fergie was certainly not ugly, he wouldn't say he fell under the category of 'naturally beautiful'. Preperation was key.

 So even though it was his birthday, and he had every right to sleep in, the Slytherin arose even earlier than he usually did. This was his day, after all, and he wanted  everything about it - from his appearance, to his presents, to the 'surprise' party he'd hinted at Jordyn to get together, to be absolutely perfect. The presents and a party were things beyond his control. His appearance, however, was something he knew he could master.

 Sitting up with a yawn, he stretched and, after looking happily for a minute or two at the pile of presents at the end of his bed, gathered his things and made his way into the bathroom. He turned the shower water on in order to let it heat up as he undressed, so that by the time he stepped in it was just the right temperature. Nothing like a nice hot shower to wake one up in the morning! Humming happy birthday to himself, he squirted some expensive shampoo into his palm and began lathering up his hair. Today, he was certain, was going to be a great day.

Callum was quiet when he entered the bathroom. He turned on some water in the sink to wet down his hair, and then changed into his day clothes. The Slytherin took showers at night so that he could sleep until the absolute last minute in the mornings, so he didn't bother with that. Peering into the mirror, he made a few arrogant gestures at himself before brushing his teeth. Then he gathered up the few things he had brought beneath his arm, and produced his wand.

He had never really stopped to question his urge to torture his classmates. Generally there was no clear cut motive, but today there was- which would, however subconsciously, likely make his torture worse. Greed and jealousy were very primitive, very driving emotions after all. He could hear Amherst splashing away, obviously in a great mood on this, the day of his birthday. It bothered Callum. What right did Ferguson Amherst have to a good birthday when no one had even acknowledged the proximity of his own? Pft. The public. How stupid.

Quietly whispering, he flicked his wand toward the shower head. Hopefully he would get it right. Callum was aiming to turn the shower water from nice and steamy into a steady stream of sleet. That would most certainly ruin his housemate's birthday shower, and cause him to get angry. After the deed was done, Callum didn't wait around to see if it had worked. Instead he darted back up to the dormitory, stowed away another present or two of Ferguson's into his trunk for himself, and then crawled under his covers. (Never mind the fact it might mess up his uniform, he could fix that after he followed Amherst out of the dormitory for the day. A mussed up uniform was easily fixable when you owned a wand.)

 Perhaps he had spoken too soon. He'd finished lathering and rinsing his hair, and was embarking on the 'repeat' portion of his shampoo regimen when the water temperature suddenly underwent a radical, abrupt change. From being pleasantly and relaxingly warm it turned freezing cold. Literally. His shower had gone from steamy hot water droplets to sleet just like that.

 Needless to say, this was not quite what the Slytherin had expected, nor was it exactly comfortable. He let out an ear piercing shriek (followed by a string of expletives) and jumped towards the back of the shower, as far away from the icy stuff that was now flowing out of the shower head as he could get, before making his way out of the shower altogether. He paused for a few moments before wrapping his robe around him and quickly glancing around the bathroom, trying to figure out what might have caused the sudden change in temperature.

 No evidence presented itself, but it didn't take Fergie more than a few moments to figure out what had very likely happened. Callum. Of course, the boy seethed as he rolled up the sleeves of his robe, how stupid of him to think he'd be safe on today of all days. Good mood completely evaporated, at least for the moment, he stomped back to the dorm room and stood in front of Callum's bed, hands on his hips and hair still dripping with shampoo. The other boy appeared to be asleep, but Fergie was not convinced, nor was he in the mood for preamble. He got straight to the point. "What the bloody fecking hell is your problem?"

Naturally, Callum made a show of stretching and yawning, before opening his eyes and peering at Ferguson. He did not rise from the sheets, or appear very interested. Instead, he wore an expression of being sleepily disgruntled. "Some people do sleep, you know," he replied. "If that causes a problem for you, then I suppose you should either request a private room, or go sleep with the house elves. It is so very obvious that you clearly belong with the help."

Admittedly, he had not expected Fergie to come running back in to harass him. Had he thought that might happen, he would not have donned his uniform in early preparation of following his housemate out and about at this ungodly hour to torture him. As it was, he would be clearly given away by the fact he was dressed. Unless he could somehow make it seem he had simply fallen asleep wearing his uniform. It wasn't entirely unlike Callum, but it was a very rare occurrence and all too convenient to work at the moment.

"D'you mind?" he asked. "You're dripping all over my things. I should hate to have to send your family a bill to replace them. My mother is rather fond of some of you, for some rather unknown reasons." He couldn't imagine anyone liking someone related to Ferguson. He had to have gotten his problems from his family. No one could be born so unlikeable, could they? "By the way, looks like you've got problems in the rinsing department. Shame, I guess you'll never make it as a hairstylist, and you certainly won't be the prettiest girl at the ball."