-- Outfit. -- -- Noon. --

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"Dusty books... So dusty..." a faint sneeze, "... All over my pants... Ugh."

The restricted section of the library was always Murphy Urquhart's favorite. Forbidden knowledge was always the most interesting. While students had to ask permission to use the dark section of the library, nobody was around and Murphy was utterly bored. She had slipped in without second thought. Murphy enjoyed her muggle literature, the endless murderers and bizarre deaths were her cup of tea. The Zodiac had always been her favorite. While she thought his killings were mundane compared to the many others she read, she loved the way he taunted the police. The way he wrote and draw. It was artistic. Elegant. Crazy.

However, dark magic had its own feel to it. The more Murphy read about it, the more she felt squirmy. It was thrilling. Wizards had their own definition of disgusting. Magic itself was interesting, as it could heal and it could destroy. She read up on poisons and forbidden potions and even necromancy.

But she discovered something new... A horcrux. It was an incredibly disturbing idea. While she herself would never dabble in dark magic, it was interesting to read. The ultimate evil. Surely no one had ever done such a thing... Right...? Murphy found herself more depressed to read it than anything. Surely someone made up this idea, to tear one's own soul apart. Someone thought of the awful idea. The book she had described the process in vivid details. First she'd have to do something completely barbaric and evil, say kill someone, and then use a spell to bind a piece of her soul to an object, any object. Or even a living thing. The worst part of it all was that, in order to reverse it, she would have to feel complete remorse for her evil acts and the process was utterly painful. Even fatal.

She supposed it sounded a bit romantic, it did. If one were to give a piece of their soul to, say, a loved one. So if they would die, they'd live in their loved one. Or if their loved one died, a piece of their soul would be destroyed. Oh, how beautiful. If it weren't for the fact that the process was so incredibly gruesome, it'd be something considerable. It brought a tear to her eye, thinking of it. The thought of it was utterly beautiful.

She closed the book and pushed it back into shelf adjacent to her on the floor. Murphy sniffed and wiped her eye with her pale wrist. She hated working herself up over such a stupid thought. She was inspired by the book, to paint a picture of some sort. A long shadow bonding itself to a girl, its black fingers wrapping themselves around her heart. Bound by the soul, by the heart, by the fiber of their being. Murphy felt her cheeks heat up. It would be beautiful.

Murphy knew better not to tell anyone about what she read. She would keep it to herself. While Murphy had simply been looking for a good read, there was possibly that one person out there who would consider the idea of a horcrux.

With completely conspicuous steps, Murphy exited the restricted section and began to make her way to the doors. She had plenty of black paint, as she had to stock up on it (she used black a little too much.) And since red was her favorite color, she had a nice, fresh bottle to use on the heart. She'd make the girl blonde. Long, blonde hair with big brown eyes. A cute, petite girl. Murphy didn't ever paint anyone in particular, unless it was herself or a friend by request or... Even her ex-boyfriend (she always gave him talons and claws and a hole where his heart would be. Just like the boy himself.) The girl would be nameless, but she could already hear people asking who she was.

In her mindless ramblings within her thoughts, she hardly noticed her hip strike someone's book to the ground, which had been laying on a desk. Their papers fluttered about, circling her ankles and launching themselves across the library. She paused as a few of the papers trapped themselves under her boot. Murphy's face blushed and she turned around, seeing the mess she had made.

"Oh... Oh, I'm so, so, so sorry," she said, softly, her long fingers fumbling against her sides. Murphy dropped to her knees, picking up the papers that surrounded her. "I- I'm not usually so clumsy... I..." she stopped talking. She felt incredibly horrible.

Demitria needed some alone time after everything that had happened in the day. Her hand drifted up to the beautiful necklace that was gracing the pale Russian’s neck. It was expensive. After all, what proper pureblood would buy something not expensive?

Still, her mind was whirling as she made her way deeper into the library. Xavier was one of her best friends. No, he probably was her best friend, but he had up and ignored her for months. Months. It had been three of the most difficult months of her life and that little bastard had just passed on by.

But she had forgiven him. What else could she have done? He had come to her doorstep, very literally, and begged for forgiveness. And Slytherins don’t beg. Rich, pureblooded Slytherin princes weren’t supposed to beg for forgiveness from anyone. Yet he had. He had even given her the beautiful silver and emerald necklace that lay elegantly in the hollow of her neck.
 
Sitting down in a section of the library far at the back, near the restricted section, she began summoning books to her. She probably wouldn’t read most of them; they were just for show so she could think.

Mimi Strelnikov was worried. She knew that Xavier was profusely apologetic for his behavior, but it wasn’t just him. Kitty and Arielle had been distant. She had never been close with the other Slytherin girls, besides Neely, and the latter was busy with her own school issues. Sophie had been consumed by the death of her mother. Dax and Dion were seventh years; she couldn’t count on them for close companionship.

Only Leon had been there through the storm. And she only saw him in the Room of Requirement… vaguely, the Slytherin Countess wondered whether those outside of the stone hall that appeared for them would ever know of the budding… something… that was appearing between the two.

Suddenly, all of the books that Demitria had piled around herself crashed to the floor. The tiny Russian shrieked as a few rather large volumes fell on top of her. She let out a few curses in her native tongue and pushed the dusty volumes off of her.

The blonde girl was about to snap at the offender when she realized it was a Gryffindor 5th year she recognized from classes. That didn’t stop the harsh words, though. It was the fact that the other girl was apologizing. Demitria swept a hand through her magically straightened locks. People had been apologizing a lot. If the other girl was going to be nice, then there was no reason to be a bitch.
 
“Don’t worry about it,” the tiny 5th year said, her Russian accent lighter than normal. “I really wasn’t using any of those anyway.” Pulling back her sleeve, she sprung her blood red wand out of it’s spring. “What good is magic if you can’t use it?” She looked around her as she began to swish her wand and the books straightened themselves out. There was nowhere the other girl could’ve come from… except the restricted section. Demitria’s eyebrow raised. She knew that most students were intreauged by the magics deep in the ancient volumes in the back. She, on the other hand, knew enough about them first hand. She didn’t need to read text books…

Casey was not commonly in the library. To study solely from from books was lacking in his mind, despite what his head of house Landis Morgan preached. The world needed more books straight and to the point. List out the incantation of the spell and what it does. Leave the history for those that stayed awake in History of Magic.

But books had a minimal value to him. On his secured table there were the latest editions of En Guarde!, Duelling for the Dedicated Duellist, History of Defence...NEWT level. How laughable.

He felt superior, using these reference to check-mark each spell he had become successful with...success at this point being that he could cast it and not immediately faint, reviving later as his elf Dingy applied smelling salts and washcloths. Casey hated having that happen to him.

At least this part of the library was secluded. At another table was Demitria Strelnikov, of the Slytherin-stupid Royalty. Yes, impressing people to get them to do what you wanted was important but the surface level of the pageant tragedy "royalty" was just too much. Casey couldn't care less what people thought about him as long as they say how powerful he had become. Well, Demitria had finally made up with that boyfriend of hers and accepted his present, maybe that would get her to shut up for a while.

And...emerging from the row towards the restricted section was Murphy Urquhart. The girl who would stroll down Knockturn Alley for the color. What had the Sorting Hat been thinking? Not that Casey thought she should be in Slytherin, it was still interesting on which people broke their house moulds. Gee, Mr. O'Doherty has the old family, half of them in Slytherin, they crap out money without even trying and all their "friends" have illicit business on the side, he MUST be destined for Slytherin. He had squashed the Sorting Hat half out of disgust at the prospect of Gryffindor (big-shot goodie-two-shoes) and half out of the inevitability of Slytherin.

He'd still been toying with the idea of researching in the restricted section. Off limits to unauthorized students but what of house elves? Though Dingy was spineless to try to enter. Well, the Library was curated by the Librarian and not the House Elf legion, and Mr. Landis seemed shrewd on his protections of late. Which brought to mind the question of how Murphy had slipped in.

A snort escaped Casey's lips as Murphy knocked over Demitria's books. How humorous.

He offered his commentary on the resulting confusion while looking down at his list of spells. His voice sounded bored but louder than what was necessary in the library. "Excellent maneuvering, Urquhart. Might I suggest growing some whiskers?"

Demitria. Not exactly a girl Murphy had ever really crossed before. She saw her in classes, but, obviously, never talked to her. But she recalled the girl hanging around some of the ruder girls in the school (not that Murphy had anything against them) and perhaps even the head boy a few times here and there. But Demitria always look kind of pissed... Perhaps that was just because she was Russian or something of the sorts. Murphy could relate, though, with her brow always seemingly knitted and her mouth a natural frown. Basically, Murphy was a bit indifferent towards Demitria. She hardly knew the girl.

“Don’t worry about it,”

And she was pleasant, too. Murphy's blue eyes hesitantly flicked up to the Slytherin's face. What caught Murphy off guard about the girl was that she basically fit the description of the victimized girl in her future painting. Only, Demitria's eyes were obviously green, and not a chocolatey brown. But the rest of her... The tininess... The long, blonde hair... The big eyes. Murphy cleared her throat and her eyes dart back down to her own, long, paint-stained fingers. She never painted anyone she knew. It was a mere coincidence that Demitria nearly fit her description perfectly. But Murphy began to wonder if her idea was subconsciously based off of the girl. Demitria was pretty, in that exotic way. She wondered if all her paintings were based off of people she didn't even know were based off of.

Was her short, muscular Quidditch player actually just George Carter? Was her blonde-haired loner actually just Erin Harper? Was her pink-haired, ecstatic ragamuffin really just Beatrix Da-- No. That was totally nothing close to Beatrix. But... Murphy began to think... Her fingers paused around the edges of the papers.

“What good is magic if you can’t use it?”

She watched as the papers slipped out of her hands, to Demitria. Murphy froze. How could she possibly forget that she, herself, was magic? She had just been reading about magic, and she had her wand right in one of her side pockets. She felt incredibly stupid, for once in her life. She was so used to being smart and clever and... "Sorry," she mumbled again, rising to her feet and towering only just a tad over the other girl. "I got caught up reading something rather..." a pause, "off putting. I'm out of my wits right now." She let her gaze move back up to the girl's face, away from her own feet. She knew she had to stop being so self conscious over the dumbest things.

"But I suppose no real harm was done, right? Like you said... You weren't... Using them," she tilted her head to the side and tightened her jaw. She felt out of place and awkward. She wasn't sure how much longer she wanted to stand around apologizing to the pureblood... With a rather nice necklace around her neck. Murphy had no mind for material possessions, however.

"Excellent maneuvering, Urquhart. Might I suggest growing some whiskers?"

Someone just said something incredibly stupid and they knew Murphy's name. Her fists tightened along with her jaw as she turned to see who addressed her. Normally, Murphy enjoyed a good insult and would laugh along with whoever teased her. However, she enjoyed a good insult. How on Earth would whiskers help when she had bumped her hip? Unless she grew the whiskers on her hip, it was highly unlikely they would help. As whiskers were meant to help a cat tell if it could fit its fat buttocks through a tight space, it was a pretty nice joke on that part. For a third year. And that was exactly what had called her out.

How did the boy even know Murphy's name? She was nameless at Hogwarts. Hardly any of her classmates knew her, yet alone a third year Slytherin. But she didn't question it too long. Slytherins were just like that.

"Aye, you little wank stain," Murphy replied without another hesitant beat, "Might I suggest you keeping that tiny mouth of yours shut, yeah? Unless you got something funnier than whiskers... If so, I'm all ears." Her mocking smile set into place before she brushed off her sleeves and turned back to Demitria,

"Not studying anything interesting, then?" her smile turned into a pleasant, toothless grin, "Then again, studying just isn't interesting, now is it? And if you find something interesting, it isn't interesting for long, because you have to find it interesting for the sake of getting good scores on the NEWTs." She was talkative today. But sometimes insulting children excited Murphy.

Outfit

Demitria had noticed the other Slytherin sitting at a table near her. She had just chosen to ignore him. Mimi Strelnikov was usually the most accepting and brightest Slytherin in the dungeons, but the third years putt her off. Seriously, first there was Clogg-Spleen, the bigoted idiot, Foley, who wasn’t terrible, but they avoided eachother if they could, and this baby faced O’Doherty who she barely even knew but he sneered at her every time she passed.
 
Children. Ugh. She reminded herself to never have any. She loved babies and toddlers, but once they were the age of 2-4th years, they were intolerable. She sighed deeply before flicking her blood colored wand around her once more to make sure all of the papers she had out would stay in place. 

"I got caught up reading something rather..." a pause, "off putting. I'm out of my wits right now."

She raised an eyebrow as she looked at the direction in which the Gryffindor had come. The restricted section? She smirked. Off putting indeed. Strellie wracked her brain for a name to connect to the Gryffindors face, but couldn’t come up with one. This was a surprise for the information hoarding Slytherin. With her ties in nearly every group of the school, she couldn’t believe that she didn’t even have a last name to put to it. Especially since the girl had lips shaped exactly like hers… the only difference is that the Gryffindor didn’t do them justice. There weren’t many other girls in the school with perfectly shaped rosebud lips. 

She let out a bell-like laugh, “I’m sorry, but I can’t for the life of me think of your name. I’m Demitria Strelnikov.”

Then the damn third year had to go and rain on her parade. Why couldn’t children keep their traps shut? Her lips which had been in a half smile fell into a perfect sneer. Whiskers? Really? Since it was the Gryffindor’s hips that had hit her stack of books, it didn’t even make sense. Mimi’s hyper-rational brain was reeling trying to think of why whiskers would even be relevant.

“O’ Doherty,” Mimi sighed, hiding her internal frustration with every third year in existence, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to be nice to strangers?” They can be useful someday, twerp. The 5th year didn’t say the last part, but a Slytherin would understand it anyway. That’s why Demitria endeavored to be at least cordial to the vast majority of the school. If they were against you, how could you expect to succeed?

When the Gryffindor turned back to her, Demitria’s rosebud shaped lips became a smile again. She felt a few wisps of veela charm come off of her, but she tried to pull them back. No, she though, I can do this without being a veela. “I know exactly what you mean. I’m not bookish at all. I prefer hands on. Herbology, DADA, and Astronomy are my subjects. The only times I ever use books are to pass my classes or read for fun. With OWLS coming up, though, there's not much time for anything fun.”   

The insult should have set him off but Casey snorted again with fleeting mirth. After all, he had started it. Wank stain?  Way to show how much more mature you were than a 3rd year that came up with "whiskers" off the top of his head. How many times did she crack that one out at parties?

Demitria giggled, quick to side with Murphy. Casey found peers his age too grounding, there was no way they could match his skill. So be played up imaginary rivalries with the next few levels of students. Age seemed arbitrary to understanding magic. Anything a fifth year could do, he strived to do better. And Demitria was quite the fifth year. Elegant, competitive, ambitious, surprisingly outgoing amongst the glum Slytherin dungeon. Very much like Casey minus the friendliness, and the truly ambitious in Slytherin butted heads as often as they worked together. So much like Casey, in fact, that he wondered if things had be different could he have been just like her...?

He terminated that line of thought. Weakness came the thought that floated up from the recesses of memory. His grandfather Ainbheartach was quick one pointing out weaknesses when he wasn't guzzling gin. His mother had most of these weaknesses. Most women did, according to Ainbheartach, but Casey's mother even more so because she was a muggle.

Speaking of mothers, Demitria was very quick to use tried and true methods to defend Murphy. “O’ Doherty, didn’t your mother ever tell you to be nice to strangers?”

That hardened him, all amusement of the off hand conversation gone. He fumed inwardly as the girls went to talk of upcoming exams. "She tried," Casey said in the same flat tone, "on the days she had the strength to get out of bed! Unfortunately my grandfather knocked that nonsense out of me, so I guess you have the better grandparents."

"Not that friends help you when it comes to individual assignments. Name one other third year that can comprehend spells at NEWT level."