There was about a half-hour's worth of daylight left wringing out of the evening sky when Huxley's perennial Quidditch pickup game dispersed. It was a bizarre gathering- the boys never seemed to discuss or agree upon a meeting time, but all found themselves at the pitch at the exact right time every week. And, like a clandestine order or an alcoholics' support group or something, none of the boys really mentioned the games to anyone. They all knew from experience that as soon as the word got out of anything fun or cool or enjoyable in any way whatsoever there would inevitably be a swarm of idiots to gum up the works.

There were boys from all four houses, and there was never a hint of tension between them as they played. No one cared about house loyalties at these games because- well- the boys played in their street clothes and with the blur of the players and the shouting, it was nearly impossible to keep track of who lived in what part of the building.

They played hard and rough, however, and Huck found himself with a sweaty brow, a dirty face and t-shirt, and a bruising on his ribs that he was sure was going to disagree with him in the morning. Which is exactly why they generally played at night. They had entertained one day game and had been filthy for the rest of the day in all their classes. And they were boys, and it wasn't a huge concern, but when the quantity of sweat caked to their bodies meant that they were sticking to everything, they decided that there was only room for their games while there was time to take a shower afterwards.

Huck let his broom clatter to the stone floor and slumped into a small bench near the entrance of the pitch, leaning against the cool rock wall hard and savoring the temperature difference. Summer was already champing at the bit to begin, and there had been a few nights that were unseasonably warm, this being one of them. He rifled through the knapsack he had taken with him. A bottle of water and a bag of strawberries were the only things he managed to locate, so he decided to laze around the pitch a while longer and have a snack.

The water was still icy cold thanks to some first-rate charming on Huxley's part, and the strawberries were so dark and fat and red that he half worried touching them would cause them to burst.

He always left these nights feeling abuzz with warm fuzzy feelings, but he managed to keep his face to its usual smoldering stare as he looked off into the grounds. ...And Huck had rotten night vision, but... wasn't that a figure?

The sound of furious scratching rose higher as inspiration struck her unexpectedly.  Sitting out by the lake became a nightly ritual shortly after her first year.  Now, five years later, she leaned against the same tree, with a new sketchbook and charcoal, gazing out at the same lake.  She was utterly content on nights like these, with only the nighttime sounds of nearby owls and the occasional howl of a far-away wolf.  The darkening sky reflected on the ever-still black water turned a palette of every colour imaginable, especially on early summer nights like this.

Her shoulder-length auburn hair tickled her cheek as a light breeze of cool air swept from across the lake.  It was a refreshing sensation, on this particular evening, because even though it wasn't technically summer, the days have grown more humid and the nights' heat lingered longer than it should.  She hummed softly, closing her eyes to revel in the coolness.

Finally finished with her drawing, she looked down at it in admiration.  It was a scene from her childhood: her and her mother went hiking along the coast of their village and found a wounded bird.  It was a pleasant memory for Aurora, as was anything involving her mother, except for one in particular that she dared not think about.  Smiling lightly as she closed her sketchbook and placed it--along with the charcoal--in her bag, she took one last look out at the peaceful lake before pulling her feet out of the water.  I think I'll go for a walk, she decided, turning from her spot and slinging the bag over her shoulder.

I'm glad I took off my boots.  Smiling, she walked across the lawns and toward the Quidditch Pitch barefoot.  She loved the feeling: the grass blades caressing her toes and the thrum of the earth beneath her feet.  Her jeans were rolled up to her knees from sticking her feet in the lake water and were still wet, but she didn't mind getting dirty.

Taking in the scenery, she didn't notice how quick it took to get to the Pitch, or the boy who watched her in curiosity.

He craned his neck to spy on the girl, taking a bite of strawberry and chewing it slowly and thoughtfully. Barefoot, at dusk, on the Quidditch pitch. He smirked, thinking to himself that it sounded like he was playing a slightly-more-fun version of Cluedo.

Clothes in quite a state, he wished at times like these he had the propensity to dress more suavely; outside of classes and school functions, he favored plain white t-shirts, jeans, and the most ubiquitous variety of light brown leather workman's boot with the black rubber collar around the mouth. Not very distinguished, but neither was he.

As she wandered closer, he could make out some details. She was pretty, from what he could see across the increasingly dusky lawn.

He wasn't the type to approach women, but he had nothing against attempting to sway the odds in favor of them approaching him.

He took a greedy drink from his water bottle, and then cleared his throat loudly.

Aurora was about to drop her bag and start running gleefully about the lawns, when a rather loud throat clearing stopped her in her tracks.  I haven't been caught after hours, have I? she wondered a little anxiously, unwilling to look up to see who was there.  Don't be absurd, it's not even that late. she told herself, feeling a little better.  Sighing deeply, she turned her head to see who had snapped her out of her nighttime 'frolicking'.

There sat a boy about her age, all sweaty and dirty from what she presumed was Quidditch play, hence the Quidditch Pitch and the broomstick near him.  He stared at her curiously, making Aurora uneasy at the attention.  She was never one to be the center of attention: she usually blended into the background due to her solitary nature, and preferred it that way.  What does he want?  What do I say?  Should I just keep walking? she wondered awkwardly, but kept her outward appearance that of cold indifference.

Out of all the students she had observed, she had no idea who this one was.  He was holding a bottle of water, and beside him, a bag of strawberries.  My powers of perception are frightening, she joked mentally and fought to keep a chuckle from escaping her throat.

Standing there like a statue, unsure of what to do, she sighed deeply once more; "Is there something you need?" she asked evenly in her Icelandic accent.

Huxley's amusement was evident, and he was pursing his lips together in an effort to not laugh. His shoulders still shook slightly. It wasn't a cruel laugh or a taunting laugh, but with how squirrely she already seemed to him he didn't want to rile her up further. "Um," he said, still laughing a little, "sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out."

He took another, slower bite of strawberry, smiling devilishly as he did so. He leaned back a little and rested on his elbows. "I just usually don't see pretty ladies wandering around alone out here at night."

As he chewed, he felt sort of bad. She already seemed pretty ruffled, and he supposed that maybe acting like a cheeky little weasel wasn't the right way to go. "Do you want a strawberry?" he extended the bag. After a few moments, he shook the bag and grinned. "C'mon, they don't bite."

Aurora's eyebrows twitched at the boy's laughter.  She watched, immovable, as he took a bite of strawberry with a devilish smile.  What a curious boy, she thought idly as he leaned back to rest on his elbows.  "I just usually don't see pretty ladies wandering around alone out here at night." he said casually.

Aurora's entire face gave an involuntary twitch and she mentally cursed her brief moment's lack of composure.  So he's one those boys, she noted and narrowed her eyes.  "Do you want a strawberry?" he extended the bag.  Aurora eyed the bag momentarily before gripping her bag strap and looking back at him.  "C'mon, they don't bite."  he shook the bag, grinning.  Aurora felt a small breeze float through the air around her, ruffling her auburn hair to the side, exposing her neck.  She mentally cursed herself for wearing a t-shirt: despite the humidity of that evening, she was getting goosebumps.

Well, I do like strawberries.  If he did something to them, I'd be able to tell, so just do the polite thing and accept.

She nodded slightly and made her way toward the boy.  "Thank you, that is very generous of you," she said softly and stood before him, picking out a plump strawberry quickly and taking a step back as to not invade his personal space.  Twirling the berry between her fingers, she admired the quality of it and brought it to her mouth.

Huxley felt silly. He usually didn't smile quite so much, but he could feel his eyes twinkling. Her discomfort with him, he figured, was the source of the entertainment. Usually if someone wasn't a fan of him, they'd just tell him to piss off and that would be the end of it.

"That's a pretty accent," he commented. "Now I feel all self-conscious with my ugly voice." This was, of course, a lie-at least partly- he did think her accent was beautiful but Huck liked the sound of his own voice very much. He was probably the only one in the whole world who didn't think his own voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. It had a sleepy seductive quality that he was very proud of.

"You can come sit down if you want," he indicated all the free space on the bench. "I'm not tryin' to be a creep, I promise. You just look like you could stand to get off your feet for a minute."

The puckering sweetness of the strawberry made Aurora hum in appreciation.  Eating all but the little nub of a stem in a matter of seconds, she licked her lips greedily.  "That's a pretty accent," the boy said suddenly, making Aurora look at him as if she forgot he was there.  "Now I feel all self-conscious with my ugly voice."

Aurora quirked an eyebrow at the unexpected comment.  My accent is pretty? she thought suspiciously, mentally rolling her eyes when he harped on his own accent, not buying it for one second.  Do I look gullible?

Then he offered her a seat on the bench, and a particular comment actually made her snort lightly.  Not trying to be a creep, she thought in amusement.  Well, since he offered me a strawberry, I might as well grace him with my presence. she sighed and complied politely, taking a seat a comfortable distance between them.

She set her bag at her bare feet and looked out at the lawns.  What now?  I'm not one for small talk.

He squinted at her, still sporting a slight, smug little grin. He'd never talked to anybody with such a brick wall of defense mechanisms. One of the things he prided himself in was the ability to wear somebody down until they finally just went with his flow.

Still smiling, he shook his head and stretched his arm muscles, which were beginning to cramp up. Under normal circumstances he'd be soaking in a wonderland of relaxing white-hot water, but as it was he felt the painful onset of ache seeping in. "My name's Huxley," he supplied after a minute of silence that he guessed was probably more awkward for her than for him. "Huxley Ward. You can call me Huck if you like."

Sitting there in silence was not how she wanted to spend her evening.  The past two weeks had taken her for a whirlwind and she just wanted to relax and become at peace.  She could see him staring at her in her peripheral, and it made her uncomfortable.  Does he expect something from me? she wondered, getting a little annoyed.  He'll get bored and send me away soon enough.

"My name's Huxley," he said suddenly, causing her to look at him in little interest.

"Pleased to meet you, Huxley," she said politely with a slight bow, "I'm Aurora Bainsadottir.  I just go by Aurora," she gave a friendly smile and crossed her right leg over her left, resting her hands on her knee.  "I'm a fifth year Gryffindor," she added, thinking she might as well bring it up now rather than have him do all the talking.

All right! Progress. He felt a little like a dog or a baby, feeling so rewarded by a little smile, but it wasn't every day he ran into someone who didn't give them away freely. Even though Huck liked to mess with people, he loved to smile while he did it. Whether it was sick or sweet, he wasn't sure.

When she mentioned that she was in Gryffindor, he laughed and bit his lip. "Ooh. Well, I'm a fifth year as well," he said first, "but I'm, uh, I'm in Slytherin. Sooo if you'd rather not be seen with me, I'd totally understand," he joked.  Well... it was mostly a joke. The house rivalry seemed so bitter at times that it echoed the Montagues and the Capulets, and he didn't want her to get any comments on his account. "But for the record, it would be my pleasure to be seen with you."

She eyed him quizzically at his bout of laughter, wondering what was so amusing about her being in Gryffindor.  Ah, the whole, 'House Rivalry' thing.  Somehow, I kind of figured he was a Slytherin.  Just my luck... Slytherin cockiness knows no bounds.

"But for the record, it would be my pleasure to be seen with you." he said, making Aurora blink several times at him before gathering her wits.

"Well, you don't have to worry about me kicking you in the throat for being in Slytherin," she said simply.  "House Rivalry is an absurdity, and those who fall into the idea of separation are the reason there can be no peace in the world.  They develop superiority complexes and that sort of thinking causes war and disharmony." she said evenly, looking back out at the lawns in contemplation.  "My friend happens to be a Slytherin," she added lightly with a slight shrug.

His face remained amused until the words "kicking you in the throat" passed from her lips; at that point, his eyes widened a bit and he raised his eyebrows. Woah. It was definitely not what he had expected to hear out of this quiet and well-mannered girl...  but there was something about that which the Slytherin in him enjoyed a bit too much.

And she used a lot of big words, he noted, impressed. Shy and brainy. The combo of temperaments was pretty much his polar opposite , which he found terribly endearing.

He smirked while she recounted her views on house rivalry- he disagreed, certainly, although he didn't think his house was inherently better for any reason, but he found rivalry maddeningly entertaining. Call it school spirit, team spirit, whatever- he availed himself of it. "Oh c'mon," he teased, "Are you gonna tell me you don't cheer for Gryffindor at Quidditch matches? What kind of fun is that?"

Huck was full of even the smallest kinds of team spirit- if he got placed on a team for a class assignment, even  a group of two of three, he'd be fully thrown into a whirlwind of competitive spirit. His team was going to be the best, if he had anything to say about it. "And friends with a Slytherin, at that," he grinned. "Right, then, now you're gonna have to tell me who it is."

Aurora's expression remained indifferent until Huxley started teasing her about House Spirit.  She turned her head to look at him, wondering how to tell him she couldn't care less about House Spirit.  The fact that she had never been to a Quidditch Match might set the boy off, and she didn't want to be a speculation.  She felt like something Huxley was investigating; poking and prodding for more information, like she was a subject of interest.

"Well, I guess I'm not much fun, then." she said lightly, still stony-faced.  Unless you want to dance in the rain barefoot, she thought to herself and fought to keep a smile at bay at the memory.  The thought of dancing in the rain barefoot with Huxley crossed her mind, and she inwardly twinged.  He'd probably cop a feel or like the proximity a bit too much, she reasoned and gave a sigh.

"Vulpes Connor," she said simply with a shrug and looked away again.  "We met two weeks ago.  A chance meeting, really.  A little bit like this one, except you're looking at me like a subject in an art gallery."

He laughed, rubbing a hand through his hair and shaking his head. "You are a peach, aren't you?" he asked, cocking his head. "Or maybe a crabapple. ....Joking! Only joking!" he waved his hands quickly. This was the type of discussion he often had with his sisters, but they usually were shooting things back at him and not just frowning.

"Vulpes Connor?" he repeated, genuinely surprised. "He's the, ah... the sort of off guy with the headphones?" He made pantomimes of headphones around his ears. "And the blue hair? I'm surprised he snapped out of his trance long enough to speak. I don't think I've heard him say more than three sentences, and I live with the guy. Odd bird, that one."

It was only then that the last sentence she said sunk in, and he grinned at her. "How dare you, ma'am," he said with mock offense. "I am first and foremost a gentleman."