For once, the Slytherin Common room was empty—wondrously, gloriously empty.

It was during those brief snatches of quiet that Gracie chose to hang about there, out in the open where anyone could walk in on her but, for a while, wouldn’t. As a whole, she honestly, genuinely liked her Housemates (most of them were amusing, if not actually likeable) but when it came right down to it, the fifth-year liked being able to hear herself think, too. There was something about teenage worries and petty dramas that just. . . didn’t allow that to happen. But now. . .

Green eyes gave their surroundings one last look before their owner let herself sink into comfort once again. Being alone, Gracie decided, and not for the first time, was bloody nice. For one, it allowed her to take up an entire couch. Say what you wanted about Hufflepuff or Gryffindor couches, everyone who was anyone knew that Slytherin couches were the best. They were long, luxurious stretches of cushions and leather and right now one of them was allll hers.

. . .Well, mostly hers. But an oversized tomcat hardly counted, didn’t he? Not when he was just as content to stick to the floor.

“Bloody, sodding nice,” Grace sighed happily aloud as she gave in to that need to stretch. Haphazardly, choppy hair fell over shoulders, and darkly painted toes reached over the opposite armrest with ease. Sure, the movement would have the pair of boxers she wore riding dangerously high, but at the moment Gracie was alone and far more concerned with the article of clothing dangling from her fingers.

It was a tie. Silver and green, she’d found it lying around earlier, somewhere in the Common room. Someone was probably looking for it. . .

Greebo—her cat—stared at it intently. Ah, what the hell. It was the Maine Coon’s, now.

“Like it, too, do you?” she murmured under her breath, grinning slightly. To and fro, the tie swung in the air—and then abruptly bounced up out of range as soon as the Coon took a swipe it. “Too slow!” she cackled, swinging it teasingly into the cat’s face again. “So slow. . .”

Ten seconds later, Greebo succeeded and a small tug-of-war ensued. By the time she managed to fully extricate it from the cat’s mouth, the tie was a soggy, mangled mess. “Oh, fu-”

Time to plan. Casey had a few parchments in hand, plans for the future. First was the acquisition of a Pensieve. The O'Doherty fortune could pay for hundreds but only one was needed. The market for those were unusual, mostly special commissions for institutions and not for the private buyer. He needed to secure one before June was over if he was to prep his mind for Occlumency training in autumn. Professor Ignan Storm was difficult to impress and Casey inferred that the elder man was still not convinced with Casey's request for the training. Secondary to securing a Pensieve was scouting the field for other possible Occlumens mentors. It would be simpler to keep training to Hogwarts but backups were important.

Casey would have Dingy start right away looking at locations of rumored Pensieve makers but the house elf could only spare a minute this morning. Dingy was covered in shingle dust; the elves were tasked with rebuilding the roof of the right wing of the manor. Aunt Maeve had been...vehement on forcing a lover from the grounds after a torrid affair.

Perhaps the greenish like diffused from the lake would be more soothing. Casey left his dorm room, believing the common room to be empty. He heard noises and quickly vanished the words on his pages with his wand. The sounds of struggle from one of the sofas.

“Like it, too, do you?” Gracie Slant was flipping a tie in the air. “Too slow! So slow. . .Oh fu--”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Casey moved for a better perspective. Slant had a chewed up tie, rescued from a mangy lump of fur--

"*ACHOO!!*"

A cat. Damnation, that flared up his allergies.

Casey managed to extract a handkerchief from a pocket before the next sneeze. "Stressing your uniform, Slant? Partially digested must be in this month."

Sneeze? Try explosion. Nearly had her heart stopping there, for a bit. . .

A glance behind her, though, would reveal a small face, a younger one—one of the third years, Gracie realized. The grumpy, sickly one with the forehead and the temper and. . . one of her absolute favorites.

She beamed.

“Casey,” she greeted the boy cheerfully, propping her elbows on the edge of the couch. There were dreadfully few things in the world that made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Making that sweet, disdainful little face twist with annoyance was, unfortunately for the third year, one of them. “Sweet, sweet Casey. Is the explosive nose look in this month and I simply wasn’t aware?”

"Not so much 'in' as 'activated by that fleabag of yours'." A different noun than 'fleabag' came to mind but it was very old fashioned and, instigative coquette or not, a gentleman had standards of minimal politeness. Of course, for a O'Doherty gentlemanly behavior was simply not saying it aloud.

"Not that we trade fashion tips," Casey said through a mouth of handkerchief. Casey was never one to prolong the wear of night clothes. Dressing was the first thing he had done today and everyday; currently an outfit akin to the standard uniform but in dark earth tones instead of black and green. Gracie Slant, it seemed, had rolled out of bed in her pajamas...or as Casey's grandmother, Neasa, might call them: "undergarments"

Of all those upperclassmen annoyed by Casey's attempts to upstage them, Gracie Slant took delight in turning the tables. Whereas Morvin Sharp would stab you through the chest like a manticore, Slant was like a hag waiting to lure in the kids with, what was the muggle bait, gingerbread? And...was this the start of a joke? Sharp was sharp, and Slant was slanted!

Casey kept his handkerchief over his face, naught but a pair of eyes giving a death gaze to the offending dandruff spewing cat.

Unlike O'Doherty, another third year was soundlessly creeping into the common room; She slithered towards the pair, barefoot and biting, "And we're better off fer it I'm sure," Naomi Foley then hugged her chin to her shoulder before moving past Casey in her black shorts and long night shirt. Her opinion of Casey was hardly unknown: she thought his attempts at over-achieving were stupid considering how sick he always made himself, especially since she actually had the stamina and endurance so also didn't limit her abilities only to a third year curriculum (then she wondered what driven Slytherin would.)

Then, turning to a critical eye Slant's soggy tie, she lilted, "Ewh." Her shirt ruffled with a cocked hip, curling a chocolate leg onto the armchair of the couch as lazily lifted a finger upwards, "'Someone's whining for 'dat," hence why Naomi escaped to the common room, "So look''s best off firewood," then she kneel-ed down and entertained herself with the cat, "Maybe a snot rag, fi' you go on and charm  it up," Naomi's eyebrows skipped up with her terse and teasing tone; as if the Gracie Slant were a witch to offer a handkerchief.

Huxley trudged around the dorm, collar popped expectantly through the neck of his sweater, searching in vain for his tie. He wasn't a huge fan of the tie, and would prefer at all times to be clad in a tight t-shirt or... or a noose, or anything but a tie, really. He lifted his bedskirts and thought he'd located the rogue article, but it was only a pair of silk panties. No doubt taken by himself as a souvenir. Oh, son of a ...gun. Besides the renegade undies it was a spotless miracle under his bed, and for the first time that was a bummer.

Why couldn't I lose the robes? he asked himself furiously. I never wear that poxy shite anyhow!

He stuffed the underwear in his pocket and walked into the common room dejectedly, scouring once again the stupid chairs and endtables he had already examined. O'Doherty and Slant were having some kinda bizarre conversation about his allergies- God, was there anything that didn't make that kid sick? He actually felt quite bad for Casey. Huck himself suffered from a plethora of stomach ailments and couldn't really eat anything aside from meat, fruit, and vegetables. He knew how much it bit to have an ongoing health issue.

Allergies were kinda the dorkiest of the chronic ailments, though, as far as he saw it.

"Oi, you guys seen a tie anywh-" he started, before he glanced over to see the pathetically mangled tie in question in Gracie's hand. "Oh. ...There it is."

He had to laugh in spite of himself.

If Gracie could hear his thoughts, she would have laughed out loud. As things stood, though, she had a pretty good idea. . . “No, we don’t,” she agreed, looking as amused as ever. Whether it was because of the third year’s tart reply or the glare he was giving darling Greebo, one couldn’t say. The unimpressed vibe the cat gave off was a good guess, though, too. ‘Fleabag’ indeed. “You’ll have to wait a few more years before you can use any of mine,” Gracie added, grinning. “For height, and all. It’s easier if you’re taller.”

She almost sighed at the thought. A world without a tiny Casey would be a tragic one, surely.

But in the meantime, she’d amuse herself with the ones who wouldn’t. All these ickle third years—just where were they all coming from? “Oh?” Gracie turned to Naomi, head tilted to the side. “Hmmm. . .”  The suggestions would be given some consideration, because for some reason, simply tossing it away struck the fifth year as a waste. Gracie gave the tie a long, thoughtful look and swiftly came to a decision. “Burning it is out of the question,” she declared. “I mean, why burn it when it’s fit for other things?” Like a finding it a resting place under someone’s pillow.

Naturally, Ward and his sodding, distracting laugh would cut that train of thought short. “Huxley!” Gracie beamed. Then, her face fell. “Damn. Sorry,” she said, grin turning sheepish. “If I’d known-”

Green eyes caught sight of that bit of clothing peeking from his pocket. The color—and the lace—were very, very familiar. “Huck,” she murmured, eyes narrowing dangerously, “that’s not mine, is it?”

Wait a few years to use some of HER fashions? Casey was fine with his tailored outfits and was not about to wear girls' clothing. And he hated being short, he was barely a few inches above Clogg-Spleen.

Sadly Body Bind Jinxes could not transmitted to cats via gaze alone. Distancing himself from the creature, Casey stifled another sneeze as Slant and Foley talked. Then when Huxley showed up, Casey suppressed a smirk under his handkerchief. Then the vibe changed quickly on the Slant Spectrum. Casey was rarely privy to such events as they happened. He couldn't help himself.

"Wait, if you have his tie, and he has your underwear...no..."

He collapsed on another couch and nearly inhaled his handkerchief.

"WHA HA HA *ACHOO!!* HA HA *SNORT* HA *COUGH* HA *MMPHH!!*"

He shrugged amiably. "Well, I mean... that's okay. I don't like the thing much anyway. I'll look well rugged with a beat up tie like that, anyway, I reckon. God made dirt; dirt won't hurt."

Upon hearing her question- and realizing that far more of the garment was peeking out of his pocket than he had originally realized- he froze up a little. However, after thinking on it for a split second, a broad smirk wormed its way across his face. "Are they?" he asked, pulling them out and examining them. "I usually don't get the pleasure of owning souvenirs of towns I've never been to."

Casey's laughter only solidified his air of cheeky little pervertdom. He squinted in mock suspicion and pointed the index finger of the hand holding the underwear towards Gracie. "You know, O'Doherty's got a point. But I feel like I'd remember that. Have you been doing the Confundus charm on me behind my back? Or is it something simpler, like a roofie in my butterbeer?"

Of course, once Veronica's brother entered the room Gracie's attention was instantly zeroed in on him, and Naomi ignored the comment about whether or not the undergarments Huxley carried were hers, the younger witch would prefer the question went entirely unanswered.

But oh, Casey.

With her churning eyeroll and harsh cut to her lips, Naomi nearly felt asphyxiated by her classmate's immaturity, but she handled it like she handled most situations.

With a shoulder facing away from Casey, Naomi slipped a twisted wand between her fingers, which lazily spun a spell at the incapacitated blonde, "Mimble Wimble[1] bumble-head," contrary to her tone, the spell bolted from Naomi's wand towards its target. The third year Jamaican was hardly fair, in her spell-casting, but, as far as she was concerned, O'Doherty had it coming. It was one thing to just laugh at Huxley, it was another to be obnoxious.

Then, acting nonchalant, Naomi poked her wand into her curls and acted ignorant to Ward and Slant's conversation, despite understanding and hearing every word of it.

1.	Tongue-tying spell

For a moment, the garment would get another, narrow-eyed look—and the storm cleared. “My mistake,” Gracie demurred, grinning slightly. One shoulder lifting in an elegant half-shrug—and ignoring the third years just as easily—she supplied, nonchalantly, “I must’ve mixed them with someone else’s.”

How she possibly could have, she’d leave it up to them. For all they knew, the answer was more innocent than they could guess, but Gracie always believed in freedom of choice. Sort of.

And as for memory-altering maneuvers. . . well, that would get another, different sort of smile entirely. “Flatterer,” she smirked back, leaning away from the couch. The movement would have that already too large shirt slipping further down a shoulder. Mangled tie still dangling from her fingers, she asked, “Do you want your tie back, or what?”

During Casey's giggle fit something happened that wasn't part of his usual allergies. He choked, felt his tongue tie into a knot. Though he was still shaking and coughing his eyes were on high alert. Who did that? He knew the effects to be of the Tongue-Tying Curse. Slant and Ward were having their coy discussion over the articles of clothing so he doubted one of them had done it. That left Foley; and she was much to calm for the proceedings. This would be something she was cabable of, secretly hexing an opponent and preventing them from fighting back. Clever little rhymes with witch.

So she wanted to play silent warfare? He could summon something at her head but he doubted he could get his nonverbal summoning trick to work that way. Luckily he did know what it was like to cast magic nonverbally. Going forward, it would be useful to practice a few nonverbal duel spells into ease for just these kinds of scenarios. Possibilities went through Casey's mind. Cross her with a nasty jinx? Tongue-Tie her as well? No, it should incapacitate her magical ability in a similar fashion and prevent her from fighting back. Then the idea came to him.

He concentrated hard, the way one needs to with nonverbal magic, the word bouncing around his mind. He channeled his anger at being tongue-tyed. Then when Foley had her attention on the cat and Slant/Ward costume drama, Casey thought Vibrodigi[1] and the spell went off towards Foely.

To mask this action, Casey made motions as if he was trying to clean his handkerchief with his wand. However the tongue-tying was making that difficult. Scourgify became "Skur-glib-faybb," and instead of cleaning his handkerchief, Casey wound up turning it into a purple tablecloth. "Whag da hegg!"

1.	Jelly Fingers since the incantation is unknown, I also added it to our wiki to match Jelly Legs

An eyebrow rose as Naomi watched Casey pull out his own wand right after she hit him with a spell, and she hardly believed that he would do anything other than retaliate; she did call him an butt-head, after all.

So, rather than sit to wait and see the effects of O'Doherty's casting, Naomi smiled and ceased her playing with Slant's cat and rolled herself off from the couch and leaned away, and then she noticed the movements of Casey's wand for what they were--the Jelly-Finger curse and she gave another roll of her hazel eyes.

But at that moment, of course, Slant's cat decided to jump up and take her place, and got hit by the boy's spell. The cat's paws slipped out from under it and the creature rolled off the couch and began falling in the air. But it quickly adapted to the sudden disability and turned to land on it's heels and then steadied itself with its furry behind with an unpleasant mrow.

Naomi shrugged a shoulder to her cheek, "Sorry O'Doherty, but you're not exactly unpredictable after drawin' a wand,"
if the witch were trying to be truly innocent of hexing Casey then she wouldn't have bothered blatantly saying the spell out loud in the first place, and, for a spending so much of her youth in Mungo's for duels with her siblings, a wordless spell was hardyl a surprise for her.

"'Fi I really didn't want you to know it was me 'wouldn't have bothered adressin' you as an idiot," Naomi's tone was lightly bittersweet and melodic, "but maybe your ears were too stuffed t'hear,"then her voice curled with a merciless growl, "Or you were too busy bein' obnoxious."

It was a rarity for Naomi to stop and actually use words to explain to someone what a dolt they were being, but after her talk with Morgan, she figured she should try it a little bit. Surprisingly, it was rather easy to accomplish with people who annoyed her.

Huck accepted his tie with a smug little smile. "Thank you soooo much, darling," he said. "I really appreciate it." It was a little bit trickier to do the frayed tie, but he managed it fairly easily with his nimble fingers. He had just finished cinching it to his neck when Casey and Naomi began hexing each other. He never got to finish tying- or finish putting his collar down- and instead stood dumbfounded watching the kids have their spat, aimlessly pulling the knot of his tie back and forth.

Of course, he knew the younger kids pretty well being as he shared a fake home with them and his kid sister was in their year, and as such he knew the third-years tended to be a little more hotheaded than their year-five counterparts. But they usually didn't hex each other for no reason. Ah, to be young, he thought wistfully.

Shaking his head, he realized he had forgotten what step in the tying process he was at. Fff...

"Why did you have my tie, anyhow?" he asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. He sounded more interested than put out.

Snorting softly, she looked away, shaking her head ever so slightly. Oh, Huck. She would have sighed, too, if she didn’t think he’d figure it for a swoon. A wisecrack here, a smirk there. . . and oh, so knowing of the effect he had on others—specifically girls. Particularly girls.

With an arm slung behind the couch, Gracie watched the third-years go at it, all wrapped up in a world of their own. Casey versus Naomi—and Greebo, she noted with a hint of smile; every single hair on his back was raised on end. If looks could kill. . .

Poor, poor Casey. Making friends never did come easily to him.

“Hmm?” she murmured distractedly, watching the feline advance on the third year. The tomcat looked ready to leap. “Oh, well, funny thing, really,” she began offhandedly, slowly tearing her eyes away from the scene. “You’d scarcely believe. . .”

Her eyes fell on that sorry mess of a tie. “You’re not seriously going to wear that, are you?” Gracie asked, incredulous. It was covered in cat spit, practically in shreds-

She paused. Sweetly, she added, “If you could, that is.” That he seemed to be having a bit of trouble hadn’t slipped past her.