⋆𝐃𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠⋆ - 𝐓.𝐌.𝐑

𝟎𝟏𝟒 - 𝐄𝐧𝐯𝐲 | 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞

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𝗢𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟴, 𝟭𝟵𝟰𝟰

"Doesn't seem like Warren appreciated your gesture much."

"Shut up, wallaby."

He was sitting with his... friends at the Slytherin table, watching Druella and Walburga banter back and forth about the morning incident(s).

He wanted to murder someone.

Tom had gone out of his way to show the cretins that walked the corridors of his home, that Warren was under his protection – only to have his meticulously calculated move upstaged by said girl.

Audacious chit.

He supposed he shouldn't disparage her so, considering the effect her actions had on the fit of his trousers. The amusement he had felt at her disapproval of his power play, had evaporated immediately once he noticed her stiffen beside him – Tom had watched her moves keenly, trying to pinpoint the threat that had her pulling out her wand.

Wand could've been an exaggeration, the thing looked like a shoddily polished stick.

Nevertheless, it had appeared – and functioned – as something much more lethal than a knife in her withered hands. He watched as it made a tight loop, hidden under the covers of her robe – which was all the indication of a spell being cast that he had gotten before Smith's shrill cries pierced the air.

"-for one, think Thomas had done a marvelous job-"

Ah, Abraxas had stepped in.

"-truly, walking a girl to her house table, I doubt Hogwarts had ever seen such a romantic courtship offer-"

And it was time for him to step out.

The blond had to finish the rest of his sentence through pitiful choking sounds, "-utterly Innovative, don't you think so, Reiny?"

Reinhard had merely raised an unimpressed brow at the Malfoy heir before returning to his scalding cup of earl grey, brows furrowing as he made a show of attempting to divine the steam – the Lestrange heir had Capnomancy, and had quickly become Professor Mancy's golden boy during their first year.

While smoke and water vapors greatly differed, his friend had sworn profusely that he could read the latter too – given enough peace and quiet. Tom had made the educated guess that the boy simply didn't want to be bothered during meals.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, squabbling for some semblance of tranquility before he intervened in the conversation to dissuade Abraxas from his misguided notions.

Instead of being greeted by the back of his eyelids, he was met with the sight of Warren's rich brown eyes – half lidded and glinting victoriously as she sheathed her wand, chapped lips pulled into a twisted mockery of a smile.

"-no fun, how about you 'Rion? Don't you-", "bite your tongue, Abraxas. There was nothing romantic about my gesture."

There wasn't, truly. It was entirely a display of dominance over a girl that was proving delightfully more powerful than expected and could serve his cause well in the future.

"If it was romantic, however," – ah, Abraxas had indeed managed to rouse the Black heir from his mooning over Druella's less impressive twin – "wouldn't that make our darling Thomas a necrophile?"

And it seemed Orion was in the mood to lose his mouth privileges. Again.

The grey eyed boy caught on to his glare and raised his hands to cover his lips defensively – likely remembering the morning-after-Mabon incident from the beginning of the year. Of course, Tom had no need to see his mouth to vanish it, which he did with barely a tilt of the head.

The Black scion's frantic mumbling was muffled by smooth skin, and fully silenced by Dorian cuffing him on the back of the head in exasperation.

The spell would wear off. At some point.

They were staring at him tensely, ill at ease, he hummed once to relay he had nothing more to add to their inane scrimmage and they could go on. Allowing his eyes to trail over the Professor's table to insure they remained none the wiser to inner-house politics, he continued his perusal of the riffraff until his gaze caught on her form.

She was daintily holding a teacup in one hand – he wondered what kind – periodically sipping on it as she read from the Daily Prophet that she held in the other. She sat away from her housemates, and it should've been a mind-numbing sight to behold – but it wasn't.

At a glance, his obsession with her appeared baseless, banal – there was nothing special about this mere apparition of a girl that sat alone and did nothing of note with her morning.

But then you noticed the slight shine to the air surrounding her, the malignant spells that would zing at it every few minutes, only to dissipate harmlessly upon contact.

Something within him raged on her behalf, students were throwing hexes at her in the Great Hall and not one Professor seemed to take notice or bother to stop it – this was what his display had meant to prevent.

But she simply had to go and give them something more interesting to talk about.

Images of Mulciber gurgling blood as he was being levitated out of the Magical Defense classroom flashed in his mind, of her tense posture and blazing eyes as she stared down the mangled body of her fraudulent opponent-

Merely a promising asset, nothing more.

The voice in his mind tried to soothe him, beseeching and honeyed. It was the same voice he took up to lie to others, and unfortunately, it did not work on oneself.

In the meantime, his group had moved on to the second happening of the day – unaware that it had everything to do with the first.

"Poor Augustine, I could hear the bones crack from here-", Tiberius had a latent penchant for heroism, "-do you wager, if the bouquet's yellow enough, she'd let me see her bloomers?", whenever the opportunity to bed a puff showed itself.

"Ah yes the poor cow, what is it the muggles do when they break a leg?", Druella turned to face him and he brushed off his vexation at being pulled away from watching his ghost, "shoot them dead, right Thomas?"

Amusement watered down annoyance as smirk pulled at his lips, "I believe you're thinking of horses". His self-appointed general hummed in thought for a second before clicking her tongue, "well that works too, I suppose."

Orion, that seemed to have regained his mouth a bit prematurely for Tom's taste – he'll allot more magic next time – piped up, "you heard her screams just as well as I did, Tibs, why would you want that in your ear?", he then whined as his lover slapped the back of his head again.

"You'd be glad to know, Black, that Ghostie was the one who cursed her", he found the nickname his knights had come up with distasteful – but it served its purpose when subversion of expectations was necessary.

"Ooh! Because she tripped her yesterday, I heard all about it! Feisty little Ghostie", Walburga was bouncing her seat, giddy like a child in Fortescue's. The girl had raved on about befriending Warren once she was brought into the fold – and was a prime example of the Black madness, personified. "I told you she'd be perfect, Drue!"

She tripped her?

"I got tired, that's all."

Another useful thing about Walburga Black, the girl had ears everywhere and was better at reconnaissance than even the most lowly and invisible of his outer circle. She liked to remark that her hair was so big due to it being full of secrets, and the curl pomade manufactured by the elusive person behind Elizabethan Elixirs.

"Do you wager, Smith likes sunflowers? That's yellow enough, isn't it?", there was a chorus of "shut up Tibs!"

He scrutinized Warren again, still sitting alone with her tea and newspaper – he might just bring her into their group earlier than expected.

He protected his own.

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A/n. Sorry for the late and shorter than usual chapter, been having a bit of a writer's block.

Anywhore, meet the Slytherins! There will be a cast chapter up tomorrow hopefully.