outfit

The library doors were shutting themselves off like the shifting walls of a treasure vault trap. Inching by meticulous magic, an effortless flick of the owner’s esteemed wand, they shut out the sticky-fingered, raggedy-haired strays who crept in last minute to visit ghosts of due dates past. And anyone left behind was a prisoner with an impending detention as sure as a death sentence.

Juliette slipped through the shrinking sliver of light between the heavy oak doors, sailing into the tome tomb just as the two halves met their threshold with one satisfying, resounding thud.

She looked around, corner to corner, one turn of her picturesque profile, and then combed thin fingers through fiery hair and sauntered toward her target. His back was to her. Undoubtedly whatever work was left was now being perused with a hawk’s sharp eye and a swan-like glide of a wand.

From what Juliette had observed in the past couple of months, Landis made magic look easy and working in a school look like hushed, tactical preparation for an unbecoming battle. Silent and solitary and streamlined. Left to his own devices before he bothered with the rest of the world... the children.

Maybe there was something to this librarian livelihood.

Juliette had grown fond of her job, even the indignant looks the little urchins tossed her when she laid on the homework thick. But there were moments-- long ones-- when she missed the desolation of a potioneer’s private lab, or the obedience of the lines of witches weaving their craft over cauldrons in the perfumery.

Children were a new obstacle.

Landis Morgan was a new... target.

“Good evening,” she mewed, now steps behind him. Her walk became a saunter, her saunter the subtle halt of a ball at the bottom of a hill. She pressed one hip into the side of the round, central desk where books were checked out and turned back in and requested and put on hold. She faced his profile, eyeing him up and down. “Tell me, are you buried in work? Because I have a favor...”

A smile danced wickedly over her lips, tiptoeing and then dashing. The smirk became genuine, full of budding humor. Her teeth glimmered in a friendly way-- not that predator’s smile she often wished to give him... when they were arguing, bantering, blowing up thousand-year-old fortresses of stone.

Before he could think to murder her, she added, “There’s a party at Calaveras. Come with me."

It was late Valentine's night, finally time to close, and Landis had no more expected Juliette Vaillancourt to come slithering up like the Biblical tempter than he had the ridiculously inappropriate bear in his seat this morning.

Or at least, that's what he would have sworn had anyone asked. But in truth, Landis had been expecting a visit. He had been expecting something not necessarily romantic - more, in fact, like he was expecting at some point in the day to be smirked and coyly prodded at, perhaps flirted with, definitely teased. He was expecting a visit because it was Valentine' day and while he and the potions mistress were in no way involved, he knew there was absolutely no chance of her not coming to ask delicately about his lack of a date. And/or about the bear she'd seen him kick under the table at breakfast. Or both.

(He'd been quick, but not quick enough; he'd seen the glint of her eyes as she spotted the tuxedo-wearing stuffed toy, and casting obliviate at the staff table was not an option. A quick jab of her sharp elbow into his ribs could not possibly be the only jibe she had to offer.)

And as the day wound down and she'd stayed silent - unlike her singing valentines, though, to his deep disgust, or the cupids floating vapidly through the halls - he hadn't for an instant thought she'd forgotten. Now as the students trotted off to bed the adults played, and tonight of all nights there were plenty of games.

Even muffled by the carpet, he heard her heels before her voice.

“Tell me, are you buried in work? Because I have a favor...”

There was laughter curling in her voice as he turned; it matched her dancing eyes. His own gave nothing of the sort away.

"Another one?" he asked, voice politely lilting but not with the slightest surprise. Having expected her, and expected this, there was no anger, but he did give a satisfied stretch of lips at her hasty proposal. There was the briefest flash of white teeth in his quiet delight. Quick to overspeak him, she must want something that would be absolutely delightful to deny - oh. Hm.

He studied her for a moment, pressed up against his check-in desk with the most deliciously calculated languor, then smiled again.

"I'd love to. That is - you're certain you're not too tired to dance?" His eyes lowered, then flashed back up, all false concern. "I know how those children can wear on their professors. Isn't the traditional thing to do to retire to your rooms with cocoa and fall asleep in your dressing robe?" But he was still smiling, not terribly smirk-like, and that meant yes.

She continued to stare, eyes alight with something mischievous. Landis asked the question she’d wanted to hear, but he was brazen, quick as a cat. Her gaze was the only answer she offered-- and it also asked its own questions, made its own, voiceless inquiries while it soaked up the brief smile, the genuine... happiness. Or something like it.

Whether he was happy to have her request something he could deny, or happy to hear her offer end in a potentially mutually-beneficial word, Juliette neither knew nor cared.

(Well, alright, she cared plenty, but she’d be damned if she let Landis know that much.)

The second smile, the one that followed his initial reaction and subsequent observation of Juliette being Juliette, caught her a bit off guard. Again, she was in no mood to admit as much, and so she finally tore her gaze away, ended the staring game prematurely, and allowed her lashes to flutter upon her snowy cheeks while she pretended to stare at his... shoes.

“I'd love to.”

A heart skip was easy enough to mask.

Juliette barely moved at the words. She didn’t allow herself to. Not yet. Not this soon...

“Children,” she repeated in a murmur, and finally looked back up, having composed herself. “Have nothing on me. And you’ve seen me trot up hills in heels, no?” With his arm for support. But it was a minor detail. “What do you know about my bedtime attire, anyway?” She added, a tilt of her head, a lilt to her tone.

“Which reminds me-- I did return your shirt, but I didn’t have a chance to hand you your final payment.” She drew a small, emerald velvet bag from nowhere and gave it a shake. “I’ll just leave this on your desk before we head off. Maybe you should change,” she teased, eyes flitting down again, and then back up in a serpent’s fanged flash.

She moved away from the return desk and toward the private office she’d admittedly never entered; there’d been no need. She could always find him in the Great Hall when she needed to bother him. Until now.

The door was, luckily, not yet lucked. Knowing Landis, he probably put many a nightmarish hexes on it each night before leaving the library. Pity the child who thought he or she could get into the Restricted Section, let alone Landis Morgan’s office.

Juliette pushed through, flicked her wand to light the candles, and moved immediately toward his desk, looking over her shoulder only briefly, like a student out past curfew.

She tossed the velvet bag atop some blank parchment, and scanned the tabletop for a more... visually valuable bit of property. Her fingers hooked themselves into the knob of a drawer and she pulled, obviously expecting some sort of incriminating evidence to be hidden among the immaculate files and library records.

She kept her lit wand close to the drawer’s contents as she sifted through the land mine for photographic treasure.

"And you’ve seen me trot up hills in heels, no? ...What do you know about my bedtime attire, anyway?”

"I have indeed," Landis murmured back, although the suggestion of a smirk on his face indicated that he remembered who'd been supporting whom all too well. That expression disappeared as she continued - of course it did. A smirk wouldn't have at all suited the face of careful innocence he presented next, nor the open-palmed hands raised in surrender. "Nothing, nothing at all. I only dared to presume that you know better than to wear something too scandalous. After all - " The smirk was back. "Who knows when student mischief might call you out of bed?"
 
His eyes flickered down to the bag, and he held his hand out for it with a sort of casual-but-clear imperiousness that was waylaid by her announcement of putting it on his desk. Why in the world would she do that when she could just give it to him in person? Landis barely had time to frown and, delayed, glance down at his clothing (what was wrong with it?)  in surprise before she'd taken off for his office.
 
Call it his brief but intense acquaintanceship with Juliette that made him so wise, but as soon as she swept off Landis knew exactly what she meant to do. He went after her with only the briefest pause to exchange a world-weary look with the gargoyle over the doorway.
 
She was lucky it wasn't locked. It would've taken more than a simple Alohomora to open it - the precautions Landis skipped for sake of teenage tomfoollery in the Restricted section he did not hesitate to employ on his personal property. While admittedly he would have had a hard time explaining to his fellow staff why a skin-searing spell was really necessary, he still considered it useful. Out of pride, if nothing else - Landis wasn't so stupid as to leave his personal papers in his office.
 
And so he did not race after her - there was nothing incriminating to be found - and if it was personal items she was after, she'd be disappointed. Landis didn't keep much in his office. Besides the things belonging or pertaining to the library, there were a few books to read in his spare time, an empty potion vial or two, a scarf, extra clothing, maybe some candy - he wasn't really sure. Nothing important, though, of that he was certain. So it was with mild, cynical satisfaction that he stopped in the doorway at the not-exactly-unexpected sight of Vaillancourt digging eagerly through his drawers.
 
Still, Landis couldn't help a flash of annoyance. No subtlety at all... and he didn't like people touching his things. Call it animal instinct, his territorial streak, or just the secretive, anal-retentive nature of this fair-haired librarian, but it rankled his last nerve.
 
"Vaillancourt," he said, a warning in both his tone and choice of address. In three long strides he was next to her, pressing her hand away from the drawer and then sliding it closed with the patient exasperation usually reserved for toddlers. He eased a hip over the corner of the desk in a way which very clearly blocked further access and regarded her with narrowed eyed suspicion - so, maybe not so patient after all. "What do you think you are doing?"

“I’m a witch, Landis,” she reminded him smoothly. “And a rather good one, I think.” There was something of a wink to her smile, even if it wasn’t in her eyes. “It only takes a wand wave to swath myself in a properly dowdy dressing gown for the underaged cretins, don’t you agree? Of course-- that’s not counting the problematic under garments we recently discussed.”

Juliette pranced right past him, ignoring any indication in his being that he expected her to hand over the payment, right into his pretty little palm.

Once there, in his often, sifting through his things, she did not consider time. Usually alert, Juliette appeared to have reverted to some childlike state of wonder, where clocks and other such pesky measurements of manmade frivolity did not exist.

When Landis finally did catch up with her, there was foreboding in his voice. Juliette had to mask her smile as she looked up, catching his eye like a fawn in the snow.

“Still with the last names,” she murmured, ignoring his hand on hers. “Really? On this made-up holiday when I’ve just invited you a party?” She tilted her head. “But I have always wondered...” She turned away from the drawer. Close enough so that if they were both silent, heart beats and working lungs could easily have been heard. Her unoccupied hand-- her writing hand-- placed her beloved wand carefully on his desk, letting him see her fingers gingerly fall away from it. Surrender. While all of this was going on (or not going on, for the atmosphere was calm, slow, silent, and yet none of those things), Juliette’s leg found the chair’s leg. She forced it smoothly from its tidy spot, ruffling Landis’ immaculate office like a fox in its prey’s den. Her opposite hand then wrangled itself from beneath his, slinked upward between them, trailing an inch from Landis’ form. Finally, her fingers grazed his shirt, right above his heart, and she pointed at him-- or rather, into him-- with sultry accusation. “Why you aren’t called Harper.”

Writing invisibly in some unknown language over Landis’ collarbone, her fingers moved again. Finally, she reached his shoulder, and hooked him with her palm. With bossy, silent coaxing, she invited him to sit in his own chair. “I told you before, I wanted to put your last payment somewhere where you would find it.” She leaned down toward him, staring roguishly, less than an inch between two pairs of striking blue eyes in a dimly lit office. “But you don’t seem to store your personal things anywhere at all in this sad little room.” Sinking to his level, she was nearly in his lap now. Her voice was a hum, her lips too close to his for proper conversation. “I’m very unimpressed.”

The lie, of course, was drenched with plain irony. It was exactly why she liked Landis: he was guarded, a labyrinth to navigate. He drove her mad. She loved it. And she was, in fact, wholly impressed by everything about him, even if the pristine quality of his office was entirely inevitable. Like minds. And now, enmeshed.

Juliette had made the first move, she supposed she could at least finish it. Her mouth found the corner of his, delicately, coquettishly. Cinnamon hair spilled over her shoulder between them as she captured more of his lips. Her eyes shut themselves and her hands moved instinctively to his neck, not utterly innocent or unpossessive.

But as sedately as she'd kissed him, as languidly as she'd dropped herself into his lap, she reversed her speed. A resplendent sprite, she sprang to attention, having caught sight of something soft and unsettlingly cuddly over the top of the high-backed chair before she dipped down to brush the man's lips. Juliette departed, bee-lined for the corner and reached the object of her curiosity before he could magic it away from her. "Do  you have this under one arm when you're out hexing children who break curfew? Since we're sharing bedtime routines." She turned toward him and waved the little toy arrogantly, her smile positively wicked. It was, coincidentally, an adorable vision: Landis, his cheekbones, and the puffy little bear.

His irritation didn't last long. This wasn't that sort of meeting, not meant - by virtue of her invitation - to be that sort of night. She smiled before she looked up, barely a twist in the shadows of her inclined face, but he still saw it. As if by the same sort of magic that transformed her nightwear into dowdiness, Landis' anger disappeared at that.

So he was wary, a little distant, but not cold. She moved in closer and his eyes kindled with a similar intent - no, not cold at all.

At least not until her vicious little question, at which point he promptly turned to ice under her probing fingers, as stone-faced and unfriendly as any cemetery statue. The wand on his desk barely earned a glance, the chair went completely unnoticed; he held her gaze instead.

"Clever girl," he murmured, but it did not sound very complementary. "How long is always?" He wondered idly (maybe not so idly) how she'd found out, for he didn't have to wonder why she'd chosen to bring it up. Juliette had to exploit every chink in his armor that she could get her slender little Potions-making hands into, any weakness she could find. Even in the midst of his annoyance that thought seemed suspiciously endearing, like the exasperating antics of some unruly child. He was almost proud. Almost. But he refused to speak of this with her now, and didn't want to speak of it later either. Wasn't it obvious why he wouldn't want to go by his father's tainted name when the other Harpers were such disappointing specimens? And his Morgan cousins were poofters, unwilling progenitors, or girls, so someone had to carry the line - he would take any ounce of power and pureblood respect he could take - Landis Harper sounded ridiculous - there were all sorts of reasons. All personal. "But you have horrible timing. If you want me to go anywhere with you, you'd best behave." He amended this with a milder, more thoughtful, "At least in this instance."

Following on the heels of such a dangerous question Landis was reluctant to sit, particularly at the bidding of some smirking red-headed little minx. He resisted the pressure of her palm for a long solid moment before conceding the point; the fact that she was such a smirking red-headed minx turned out to be an equally compelling reason to obey.

She leaned in, and his face angled unconsciously to mirror hers. It would have been nice to say that he watched her with all the keen and calculated disinterest of some feline predator, but that would have taken more presence of mind than Landis currently possessed when faced with a Juliette who was nearly in his lap. The words she was saying were inane and not worth his attention, although he made a token effort for the sake of not seeming as distracted as he really was. Her intent was obvious, and he was not adverse. This made conversation frustratingly futile. But that, of course, was her aim - to frustrate.

"Such a pity," he said, and whatever his inner thoughts his voice sounded impressively calm. Women in his lap were clearly an everyday occurrence. "I wasn't aware I was supposed to be trying."

Then she kissed him - about time, the damned woman - but his fingertips had barely brushed the fabric of her sleeve when something behind him caught her eye and she was out of his space in a whirlwind of red hair and disturbing glee.

Once again Juliette showed her excellent prowess at calming Landis and then subsequently infuriating him even worse. He rose from the chair like some pale wrathful god, murder in his eyes and bear-limb dismemberment in his heart.

"It's Hannah's," he growled, making a swipe for the toy.

Softness kindled somewhere in the purely honed face, and Landis’ chilliness, the haunting stab of his blue-blooded pedigree, was like the springy marsh after a snowstorm: bleary, but not hazardous. Inviting, in its own disarming-- perhaps disarmed-- way.

Her question ruined that; Juliette’s fingers found their way across the stage that was his trim torso and warm throat, his exquisite collar, and the tailored shirt that hid it. Her tongue poisoned the silence. She frowned in the contours of the light, but it was a pale frown, so very small compared to the intensity of the man’s arctic stare.

A murmured “Mmhmm,” echoed and died between them, her only response to his ‘Clever girl.’ comment. She was not a girl! Clever yes, but in ways that Landis’ sardonic utterance didn’t account for; she was older than he, and, she felt, with a surge of heady ego, more experience in certain arenas.

"How long is always?"

Very babyish thoughts notwithstanding, she shrugged even as her hands wound their way around his shoulders.

Knowing that she could not hold his attention in other ways, could not thoroughly distract him now that she had... well, done just that... she decided to remain perfectly silent. He ignored her inquiry, refused with expert wintriness to tell her about his family; and so Juliette dodged his questions. Fell into his lap and pretended to be as deaf as she was intent on stealing his lips.

"But you have horrible timing. If you want me to go anywhere with you, you'd best behave."

“But I can’t lose any house points, Professor Morgan,” she teased, trying to hush him even so. She tapped his lips, his pretty, Harper Morgan lips, and shook her mane of red. “No one is holding you at wand point. You don’t have to go anywhere with me. I’m not taking orders as blackmail. I could...” She was close now. “Invite another. Or stay in... Alone.”

The modifier, the in this instance, sent a sparkle of laughter through the room: a tiny reminder of their never-dying banter, their silent pact to always one-up the other, and to flirt dangerously to their death.

"I wasn't aware I was supposed to be trying."

“Oh, you’re always trying,” she promised. “You just don’t want anyone to know... so much so that you’ve forgotten it yourself.” Her brows inclined and then fell again, daring him to correct her.

She cut him off before he could. His mouth was sweet, not like his scent, that clean, sharp cologne she’d identified even before she’d laid eyes on him. The thrill of his long fingers grazing her shirt almost made her think twice about investigating the Very Out Of Place Object Indeed in the corner.

Not a flinch. She pretended not to see him as he rose to his full height and headed at her, promises of hexes to come. She kept her eyes locked on the fluffy trinket, her smile growing by the second. She gave it a squeeze around its mid-section, and nearly cooed at its unbecoming cuteness. How disturbing. How curious...

“So you do celebrate this holiday, then,” she revealed with casual triumph. Still she did not look up. “Don’t you think you should put it in a gift bag? At least add a bow and a card...” She waved it a bit, taunting him with it. “Although now I’m impressed.” Her voice was suddenly sober, and she caught his eye, finally. She was ready to be murdered; she didn’t even need a wand for this. It was glorious, just living to see the expression on his face as she waved the stuffed bear beneath it. She stood on tippy-toe, eyes alight, brow lifted, pert little nose nearly touching his. “I never pegged you for the sentimental sort of brother, Landis. What are you giving to Erin?”

Then, before he could kill her or the bear, she held it up, like a tall child swinging a bag of sweets just out of a reach. It was in vain, given Landis’ height advantage and the fact that he hadn’t given up his wand, but she still enjoyed it, her arm lacing over his neck once more. “Tell me its name,” she demanded in a laugh. And, “Can I borrow your wand?”

“No one is holding you at wand point. You don’t have to go anywhere with me. I’m not taking orders as blackmail. I could...Invite another. Or stay in... Alone.”

Landis declined to respond. No point, now. And his pride would only have him say something to ruin the moment. Instead he noticed without comment her fingers trailing his chest, his collar, now tapping his lips, dancing all about him with her particular brand of firebrand curiosity. For Landis there was only touching with intent - he was not affectionate otherwise - but it was very bold of her, too audacious, this easy invasion of his personal space, and the thought made him smile. Only Juliette.

As for the kiss, he wasn't quite sure why it was she who had to bridge the distance, but he supposed it only another part of their game. It seemed appropriate. She'd come to him, put him in this chair, and now she had to follow through. After, though - now, in fact - it was his turn.

Well, he'd take care of the damned toy first.

"No, it's - " He faltered for a moment, sharp eyes watching the bear that she dangled so happily. "It was Hannah's gift to me." The clipped tones of irritation returned in full force. "If I'd known it would distract you so I would have gotten rid of it earlier."

But Juliette went too far - she mentioned Erin again, and the sharp edge of anger swelled - she had already stepped up to him, welcoming his advance with all the survival instincts of a suicidal lemming, and now she draped one arm around his neck and used the other to hold the thing above his head. But Landis drove her back, until her shoulder blades hit the wall. Then he unlaced the arm around her waist and settled into a more typically predatory stance, his long fingers spread on the stone to either side of her.

"It has no name," he said, very pleasantly for someone who'd driven her back with all the inexorable momentum of the determinedly single-minded. He leaned in some scant inches, casually, carefully, bending a little until they were on eye level and he could nearly forget about the toy she held above them like some demented evening-wear cupid. "Why don't you drop that."

Landis’ smile was a rare treat; one needn’t spend more than an hour or two in his presence to know as much. And so, despite her confident pushing of every invisible button she could findin the man, Juliette couldn’t help a tiny shiver when she flashed her a sincere grin. She’d seen it a couple of times now, but it still caught her off guard. And one of those occasions didn’t even count, as Juliette had been what the good, young English lads in her classes would call properly smashed.

Abandoning disarming grins for cat-and-mouse games, she used the toy like a weapon. Only once she had lured him, she didn’t exactly have an escape. Not that she wanted one.

No. Admittedly, she quite liked the closeness and danger of all of it. Her grand introduction as a high-class escort... their near-death experience in the Potions laboratory... and a library full of sticky-fingered, illiterate children were not nearly so dangerous as what was happening now, in Landis’ dark little slice of library real estate.

Was it vulnerability in his voice, or was she imagining it? He was close to Hannah. At least, a little bit closer than he'd let on. It was endearing, to think he had a softer edge. Even seeing it in person didn't seem to make her a complete believer. The anger washed over him in waves, and even Juliette, as quick-witted and quick-tempered as she was, could not quite decipher it. She could tell, however, that Erin was still the Untouchable topic.

Arms twined around him, she had nowhere to go but wherever he decided to direct her. Which happened to be back, pressed into the cool wall, with no chance of an escape, and few paths to victory. She let out a tiny breath as her shoulders met the cool, hard surface, and craned her neck a bit, further exposing the swan-colored throat, and tilting her face upward even as he brought his down to dare her with his eyes.

“Nice day for a storm,” she said, matching his pleasantness after an intense moment of silence. If they were going to be friendly... well, why not discuss the weather? “Be careful, though, I hear it’s hailing teddy bears.” Then, in surprise forfeit, she dropped the thing, and retracted her hands, planting them gingerly atop each of Landis’. She tilted her head, her jaw full of wickedness, and smiled. Her knees crept closer to his bent waist, encompassing him in a new manner. “Where were we?”

The cold stone wall of his office hardly seemed like the most appropriate place for him to be propositioning a colleague, the door still open but the students all abed; still, it didn't seem to matter much now. The heady scent of Juliette's perfume was bizarrely intoxicating, like some exotic drug, and Landis was not about to stop once he'd begun. 

"Indeed," he agreed gravely, to her comments on the weather. And with a breath of low laughter, "Sounds dangerous," as the teddy bear bounced off his arm and into the merciful darkness of the floor. Distractions well taken care of, he was silently smug and quietly victorious, but the way in which he traced her jawline with the crooked curl of his bent fingers was just as careful as the handling of any delicate Potions glass.

“Where were we?”

"I think," he said, his breath mingling with hers, "That we were about to go dancing..."

*Landis and Juliette adjust clothing*

Juliette: ...you up for take-out?
Landis: In my room?
Juliette: Of course.
Landis: Let's skip the take-out.

THE END.