Lessons Learned and Enemies Made PV P. Barret Finished

@Anastasia Beckett

Mentor. That word echoed in her mind; all other thoughts had been deserted in favor of the one that brought the most disappointment. In need of assistance. Stomach lurching, Persephone’s eyes remained glued to the floor as her legs marched pompously, almost a separated entity from the apprehensive soul. Meeting the gaze of the passing students, members of the majority that were habituated in this woeful lodging in the shadows, it was a chore, one that would be joyfully procrastinated until necessary. Even overtaken by a cliché twelve-year old’s nightmare, embarrassment, the girl’s pale hands remained tight in a frustrated fist, combing through the givens in search of a concealed escape. Or, at least, the potency to blow this away in a breath of chilling, neglected air.

The apple hadn’t only ‘fallen far’ from the tree, it had detached itself before ripe, rolled relentlessly into the freeway, became roadkill, and then withered away, completely unkempt. While her mother, almost easily acknowledged instead by Amelia, had excelled in Transfiguration, Persy found the subject nearly impossible to grasp, chasing her tail in circles until the dizziness erupted in sickness. Teeth snapping hungrily at its prey, always a centimeter lingering in distance, the class wasn’t void of her fair efforts. Studying for perpetual hours, actually offering undeserved attention in class as opposed to scribbling quick notes on deficient plans. It was all abandoned to excel in this class, even the one she cared about perhaps, the complete least. Amelia being gifted at it, well, that made perfect sense; the woman was a master at making things into what they weren’t. According to Alexandre, so was his princess. A fading crimson sphere would appear in the symbolic orchard; the apple had been overlooked.

Physically shaking her head, the train met its tracks once again. Giving fair effort meant no laxity; this gloomily qualified the young blonde for the assistance of a second-year mentor, as though introducing the criminal to a new, fresh, worth-while victim was a brilliant idea. Persy would verbally scoff at there mere thought, apparently to herself, the only loyal listener to the poet’s song. Even before meeting eyes with this damaged soul that would accompany its true twin, the first year pitied the one burdened such a daunting task. Persephone couldn’t appear eager, that would be a lie of the demeanor, a façade she had no interest in maintaining along with the others. A million was a million too many on its own. However, this head-held-down, kick-me-sign conduct was a far worse one, but it had set in cancerous, blade-like nails scratching at white skin until it was raw, red with the blood that threatened to trickle. She glanced up, the door nearly within reach.

Latecomer wasn’t a title often associated with the punctual blonde that eased through the door, the armor shielding her nearly opposite of what aura spread through the corridors moments prior. Today was a different occasion, though, where the sun had drained the energy and her feet had begged to trudge along the hallway. Doubting it mattered, only a few minutes had flown by since the discussed time, Persy forced those green eyes up once again. Sitting at the table, fingers lightly drumming against the hollow desk, was an apparent second year, brown hair falling over her face. Persephone would quietly clear her throat, glaring at the ‘mentor’ with a certain aversion that could only evolve from a crushed superiority complex. This girl, wearing her stupidly well-shaped eyes like a weapon, was better than the blonde that stood grudgingly in the doorway to figurative hell; this only extended to one field, of course. The field of many faces. How bad was it really, to not be skilled in changing the designated physical make up of an object?

And, Ares forgive her, how was transfiguration useful in a duel? Ah yes, please wait a moment while I make this rat into a teacup, then I can drink your blood!

“Okay, kiss-ass, or is it Ms. Kiss-ass to me?” A rough beginning, sure. Perhaps Persephone was to believe this girl’s intentions were entirely beneficial and pure. The dark truth that no one seemed to see, seemed to accept, was that nobody is completely selfless. That is just the weight of the world. A condescending smile ignited, but the blonde would remain stiff in the door. “I’m so excited to begin.”

Her fingers began to drum faster as she waited and one foot began to tap. At that moment, the Gryffindor was the picture of pent up energy. Probably had something to do with the obscene amount of coffee she had consumed that day, but that was a conversation for a separate time. She was bored and mildly irritated. She had only arrived a few minutes before the appointed time, so, unless she just had no sense of how quickly time passed, the first year was not only stupid, she was also late.

Someone appeared at the door with an absolutely peevish demeanor, and Ana's eyes flicked up and down, assessing the younger girl as was Ana's habit. The girl was short and rather stout, a sharp contrast with Ana's tall and lanky figure. The girl had a similar skin tone to Ana's, meaning she was concerningly pale. The girl's light hair combined with the fair complexion made Ana idly wonder if the girl was an albino or a seer or something. Ana was a competitive person, and, having grown up with her parents comparing her to practically everyone her age, unconsciously competed with pretty much everyone she met, especially people that came across as even slightly threatening.

The blonde spoke after a moment. Ana focused more on the accent than the words at first. It was far different than the normal upper-class British accents Ana had grown up with. She had spent enough time in France and spoken French long enough to recognize a French component to the girl's voice, but she couldn't seem to place what else there was beyond the French and English bits. There was definitely at least one other accent, possibly two. Whatever it was, it wasn't something Ana recognized, which lead her to the judgment it was clearly lower class. She was familiar with most accents of the upper class of wizards, which this girl wasn't. Ana's feelings of superiority that had been started by the fact this girl was late and bad at Transfiguration and fuelled by her perceived superiority in looks skyrocketed at the idea of this girl being some poor street urchin type. Sure, her complex implied that her family, like Anastasia's, had kept her inside much of the day, which lead to the conclusion that the girl was not a street urchin, but for now, Ana was going to let herself have that.

Focusing on the girl's words, she arched an unimpressed eyebrow. Who on Earth greeted people like that? Anastasia was what many would call "bitchy" and "abrasive" and "overly violent", but even she didn't greet someone who was trying to help her like that. "It's Miss Beckett, actually," Ana said. She gave the girl a gracious smile, even though she obviously didn't deserve it. This girl was clearly not appreciating the favor that Ana was doing for her, which was irritating. Sure, Ana's motives weren't purely altruistic, not even close, but did it actually make any difference to this girl? Quite frankly, no, Ana didn't think it did, which meant this girl was just a peevish little whiner. "I can see why you're struggling in school though, what with your inability to call things what they are and your apparent disregard for punctuality. No matter, take a seat and we can begin."

Ana's parents would have been proud of her at that moment or at least approved of what she's said. Ana's reply had been both dignified, and spectacularly passive-aggressive. Peak Beckett. Aristocratic Purebloods as a whole were snotty, catty, and generally behaved like a bunch of mean teenage girls, but the Becketts were some of the worst. Ana supposed that was where she had gotten it from. Even when she was little, she had always been something of a girl bully, and that wasn't something that had gone away when she'd grown older. If anything, she had become more so. If the young pureblood had possessed any self-awareness whatsoever, she might have contemplated what sort of parents were alright with that behavior, yet discouraged behaviors like apologizing and crying, but the brunette though far too highly of herself and her parents for that to even cross her mind.

@Persephone Barret

@Anastasia Beckett

Standing in the doorway, leaned against the frame in a feigned way of ease, Persephone took a brief moment to observe the girl, almost analytically, like a life-changing discovery had been made. That gaze, a million emerald daggers taped together to form a sphere, could’ve stabbed someone then and there, ideally the ‘mentor’ that glanced the blonde over in such a critical manner. Where Persy was rather short and clinging to the essence of a child-like appearance whereas the matching soul and demeanor were long gone, the brunette was taller and slightly resembling a ruler. An admittedly pretty ruler, one of the slender ones with the youthful patterns that slapped around your wrist, a brag of wealth and culture to your elementary school peers. This girl radiated an aura of confidence, not remarkably different from the intimidating-for-four-foot-nine-inches energy that the shorter blonde possessed. Between them lie a figurative blade, one that Persy would allow the girl to hold, cherish, nurture that imagined universe of superiority, before stealing it away and watching the countdown of self-destruction.

To an outsider, someone peering through the window that hadn’t been cleaned since the previous year’s spring celebration, the aversion looked surreal. Burning flames in those green eyes, like a ceaseless forest fire that destroyed everything it touched, it was a sublime sight of beauty. Having someone in your crosshairs, target aligned without flaw over those ridiculously well-shaped eyes, it was an adrenaline rush. But the observers would wonder and wander through a labyrinth to find the answer. The two just now made acquaintance, barely within ten feet of each other, yet the horn had been blown: why? Kiss-ass here, well, she had come armed and dangerous, wanting to be hazardous, wanting to strike fear. Perhaps in a blinding desire to say ‘Ha! You need assistance in a class I’m good at, you’re a failure! Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah!' The apple, left dazed and confused with tread marks and no true shape, melting ice, was not going to take that tone. Even before the brunette spoke, striking Persephone in porcelain skin, the rifle had been raised. Persephone was not a magic-oriented fighter; that was far too merciful.

It wasn’t charisma that made Persephone listen to that soft voice, nor was it admiration for the upper-class of Britain. First of all, the Slytherin had become essentially immune to the effects of charisma after years of bowing down to the lord and savior of love-ambushed condescension; it was a sonata of love and loss, one that never ceased yet played those conclusive bass notes every other measure. Second of all, the brunette’s accent carried no distinct tone, a proper portrait of all that was good and bad in the magnificent stories of the elite. Pity washed over her, not for the drumming, excess energy girl that spoke so similar to an authority, but for the potential that had been wasted. What was there to admire? The loveliness she hadn’t earned? The reawakening after the heinous childhood of existing underneath the snobbiest and arguably deceitful pureblood family such as the Becketts? No, that warranted more repentance for a girl who was dead long before her heart stopped beating.

Pushing herself from the doorway, a clear visage of dissatisfaction shown in that lack of shine in her gaze, she wondered where the brunette got her nerve. It was early on in life, too early to have become pretentious enough to adore that twinkle of reverence in the eyes of an innocent, just in the presence of someone so aristocratic. Persy gradually approached the desk, rewinding and hearing those words from the mentor’s lips, like a curse without the Latin. “If I may ask, kiss-ass, what have you done to deserve the ‘miss’ really? Are you exhausted from all the hard work of getting what you want and endless respect from people you deem unworthy? When you do something worthwhile, ask again. Politely.” Skip the formalities, they were only there as a courtesy that this pure-blooded elitist did not earn. It wasn’t incredibly astounding that she addressed Persephone like a spider, perhaps the blonde didn’t appear a pureblood. Sometimes, though, it didn’t really seem like it mattered. She’d met muggleborns that were more real than Miss Beckett.

“How presumptuous of you to assume I struggle in school just because I’m not a master at having two-faces. Even better, how presumptuous of you to assume your family makes a difference to me. Maybe you’re a self-important witch out there,” She pointed back to the door with a sinister smile, “But in here? I’m not intimidated by you, nor have you earned any respect. But yes, oh please, let’s begin so we can end.” The blonde slipped into the seat, watching the brunette expectantly, as if daring her to react. It wouldn’t make a remarkable difference how clever or conceited her retort was, but it would, without a grain of doubt, make for a good laugh.

Ana sighed and rolled her eyes. She was so not in the mood to deal with this petulant fool. Ana didn't have a superiority complex. Well, maybe she did, but it was only really noticeable when she was around people like this bitch that Ana was in fact superior to. The tension in the room was palpable, with flames practically shooting from both of the girls' eyes. Ana knew she was a tad abrasive, but even for her, this was an instant feeling of utter and complete loathing.

This was already getting old, and she quite wanted this nonsense to be over. She intended to leave the moment that the hour was up, regardless of whether or not they were done with whatever they were working on. She had so many better things to be doing than dealing with some plebeian like this. Resting her chin on her fist, her eyes lazily flicked around the room. "First off, not that I would expect one as slow as you to know this, Miss is generally the way that people with any measure of propriety choose to refer to a young female with whom you not well acquainted," Ana said, her tone soft but sharp. This pale doughy fool was already grating on her nerves, and it was becoming more and more clear that they weren't going to accomplish very much in their time together. "And secondly, I am doing you a kindness. Furthermore, I, unlike you, had to exhibit a certain level of skill to be here. So, if you choose to behave like an uncultured fool, I certainly can't stop you, and quite frankly, I don't much care. Do take a seat so we can get this over with."

Ana chuckled inwardly when the girl said she wasn't intimidated by her. As Shakespeare said "The lady doth protest too much, methinks". Ana didn't try to intimidate people, it just happened. If this girl was foolish enough not to at least be wary of Ana, that spoke badly of her intelligence. That combined with her struggle in a subject that Ana found fairly straightforward and enjoyable meant that Ana didn't certainly didn't think particularly highly of this girl's wit. That may or may not have been a mistake on her part, but that was her conclusion.

The blonde sat, although Ana suspected that was unrelated to her prior demand. At least they agreed on the subject of not wanting this mess to last longer than absolutely need be. "Is there a specific spell that you were struggling with or just the subject in general?" Ana said. If it was a specific spell, she supposed that she could just make her practice it over and over again, and maybe discuss some of the theory behind it. If the subject in general gave her difficulty, Ana supposed they would have to start with the theory and go from there. When she had started at Hogwarts, she had found the theory rather tedious, but now she knew better. The theory was fundamental to the subject, and if you didn't understand it, you could hardly turn a match to a needle, much less the more intricate spells with living creatures that came later on.

She glanced back at the first year transfiguration textbook she had borrowed, as well as the notes from her first year that she had found helpful. If this girl was idiotic enough to just want to waste both of their time, then there wasn't much Ana could do about it. However, Ana was still somewhat willing to actually be helpful, seeing as that would mean they wouldn't have to meet again to go over this. Then again, if Ana was too helpful, Professor Lian might ask her to help this fool again, and that wasn't something Ana wanted either, seeing as she could hardly tell the professor that she liked so well that the Slytherin was a whiny little bitch that she didn't want to help any further. Well, she would burn that bridge when she got to it.

@Anastasia Beckett

For someone that lay such despising eyes on the concept of hypocrisy, Persephone often thrived in its valleys, swam in its waters, and settled in its air. Each word that slipped from the elder’s mouth was a crafted and practiced assurance of superiority, terms to which many would drop their jaws and lose themselves in the riches of awe. Echo bouncing from wall to wall, confined in a space that was anything but safe, yet the brunette continued to speak without saying much of anything. Carrying herself like a cult leader, shooting at the younger girl’s feet to live in the dance. With a breath of exhaustion, achy from the reigns of her company, Persy slid uncomfortably in the rough seat and pretended that it wasn’t that same routine that lulled her to sleep.

It was rather miraculous that Beckett insisted on getting lost in a lecture of respect as though the knowledge would seethe into someone that held it no higher than the anatomy of a bug. According to the second year, who could’ve admitted to murder without so much as a blink, being a stranger earned a title of admiration. Disagreeable, obviously, but there was no saving those that were brought up by the toxins. Even before fleeing to the designated topic, the art of camouflage and trickery, her voice had already adopted that of a leader, an instructor. Regardless of the effort Miss Beckett gave to a black-hole of hopelessness, her arguments went from ear to ear and drowned in a song that no one else heard.

The line was swiftly drawn and crossed, and the young Slytherin didn’t bother suppressing a bottled laugh. What had been known upon arrival was confirmed in that amusing moment. “You are a complete lost cause...” Half-way through, Persy’s breath sharpened in undying hilarity, worn as a conspicuous grin. “…if you think this is doing a kindness. Inflating your own ego is only kind to you, go help the poor.” It went deeper than it seemed, though it was admittedly difficult to explore the depth of a kid’s swimming pool, where the sun shone upon even the darkest trenches and lit it with its infinite fire.

Beckett’s following attempt to tackle game beyond her would be rebutted quickly, and with little more than a condescending, puzzled visage. “Oh, fantastic. To help me, they gave me someone who doesn’t even know definitions. Am I seriously lacking education or taste, simply because I don’t put up with your entitlement? Way to prove the damn point.” There were other ways to interpret what the elder girl had initially said, but they were all irrelevant compared to the one that reflected and devoured her in the bleakest night. And, ignorant, she was not. A pointless subject did not paint someone pink or blue with ignorance.

Struggling. It was an indisputable truth that Persephone’s grade grazed the floor of the Pacific, but the word in itself sent her spine crumbling into itself, diminishing proper posture. One term held no power aside from the truth it was composed of, the world that it described and how it fell into the perspectives of others, with little grace. Yet, when it was so clearly true from one glance at that unfairly defining sheet of parchment, there was no worthy combat or soldier to indulge. Rising from the ashes like a phoenix, it was proper, but there would always be the remnants of what had once reduced the bird to dust. Still, no point taking it with her back to a wall.

She turned her head to glower at the other girl, a stare as threatening as unlit dynamite. “The whole concept.” Her answer was short, but ferociously delivered with the bite of a starved wolf. There was no delay riding into the curb, shifting the blame from one to the other in a game of unwanted catch. “Aside from a grade, why do you think highly enough of yourself to think you can improve others? If you want my assumption to be anything but a whirlpool of spiraling ego, you’ll have an actual answer.” In truth, the heir’s answer held no weight on the course of the events that already flowed through Persy’s mind, but it taunted an excuse that couldn’t be argued. Even if that was merely a ploy of the light, it was valuable data for a studied question: how do the self-centered justify their perspective? For Persephone, the answer was… well, there wasn’t one. The inquiry didn’t apply.

It was truly a pity that smacking random people was generally frowned upon. Not that this had actually stopped her when she was particularly committed to hitting someone, but it did at the moment. That and the fact that this girl seemed just like the type who would go whine to a prefect or a professor about it. While the picture of her hand making contact with this blonde little brat's face brought her quite a bit of joy, it probably was not worth the consequences Ana would face for doing so. In any event, she wasn't going to give this girl something to use against her. Ana could, despite common belief, control herself most of the time and there were far better ways she could make this girl's life harder that offered fewer consequences for Anastasia.

Ana's eyes rolled exaggeratedly at the girl's words. Was she going to argue about every blood thing? First she was combative about what she was going to call Ana, not something that Ana typically found to be the case when she interacted with a stranger, and now she was disputing the obvious fact that Anastasia was doing her a favor. Even if Ana did acknowledge the fact that this was something of an ego boost for her, she got far less out of this exchange than Persephone did. At most, Ana got to feel superior and maybe have a teacher think better of her, while the blonde got tangible help in a subject she clearly needed it in. In any event, it seemed to Ana that this was going to be a very long and not even remotely productive hour. "color=#FF8080]From what I've been told about your marks, I'm not the helpless cause,[/color]" Ana said coolly. She wasn't even going to dignify the comment about helping the poor with a reply. First off, Ana's parents were very proud and vocal about the fact that they donated often to various charities, and secondly, Ana was clearly helping the poor at that exact moment. Whether or not this girl's family had money, and Ana doubted the did, she was so ill-bred that she was certainly what Ana would classify as poor.

Oh Good Lord, she really was going to fight about every little thing. Ana half wanted to transfigure the girl into a mouse or something similarly small and quiet, but sadly, that wasn't an option. What was she going to insist upon arguing about next? Maybe the definition of transfiguration. No, that wasn't small and stupid enough. More likely the definition of magic or what exactly the function of a wand was. What on Earth was she even talking about when she said Ana didn't know definitions? Oh for God's sake, she was referring to Ana calling her uncultured. Ana completely stood by what she had said. This girl was behaving as though she had absolutely no upbringing. In any event, Ana hadn't actually called the girl uncultured. She had said she was behaving like an uncultured fool. Two completely different things. If the Slytherin chose to interpret her words differently, that really wasn't much Ana's business, now was it?

Ana sighed slightly when the girl said she didn't get the concept. How could she be this far into her first year and not even understand the concept of Transfiguration? God, this really was a complete and utter waste of Ana's highly valuable time. Even if the girl had been willing to cooperate, which she most definitely wasn't, Ana couldn't work miracles, and getting someone this brainless to understand the subject in an hour would absolutely be a miracle. Before Ana could actually get to explaining the subject that so baffled this girl, she felt the need to demand answers from Ana as to why Ana thought that she could improve others. "Are you here to learn anything or just to hear yourself speak? Because if it's the former, kindly stop this nonsense and focus. If it's the latter, as I suspect, while I pity you for not being able to get anyone to speak to you for an extended time unless they are required to as well as the fact that you think so highly of yourself and the sound of your voice, I have far better things to do, and I can absolutely do them in this room as we are supposed to be here for the hour," Ana informed the Slytherin. Ana honestly couldn't care less what this girl's assumption of her was. Still, she brought up a good question. Why did Ana know that she was capable of improving others? Her friends had more than once asked her for help on flying or transfiguration, which to her more than proved she was a decent instructor. Additionally, there was an aspect of iron sharpening iron. If she was helping someone of any intellect, in her mind anyway, she knew that both would benefit from her help. Quite unlike this mindless fop.

@Anastasia Beckett

Even in the solid hush of the classroom when neither girl spoke, listening carefully to each change in the wind with her head theatrically tilted, Persephone still couldn’t hear Beckett’s name being called to collect her award. With such an intense flaw, there had to be a perk, some kind of compensation to atone for being the most insufferable person living in cherry blossoms of ignorance. Glare trailing back to the elder girl, there wasn’t a trace of doubt that she was her own sun, moon, and cornucopia of beauty in tied stars, all that gave the world its loveliness to compensate for its inequity. Whether that was connected to the power in a surname, the rule in facial symmetry, some other virtue, it couldn’t be said for sure. But per each jab at what Ana lacked behind her bastion of poise, there came a readied retort, a shot of paranoia.

At said retort, a declaration of hopelessness on behalf of Persy’s grades, the blonde only let out a humorless breath. First and foremost, contrary to the boxed cell of failure that the mentor entrapped her in, a mere mark was improvable. The disappointment that flushed her face wasn’t credited to a lack of effort, not with the countless nights of studying until the dreams nearly resembled tranquility. Unfortunately, the world was made of an unfair core and it wouldn’t ever balance the way karma claimed, so suffer she would before sinking to her knees for help. And as that was an unimaginable surrender, suffer she would. If the young Slytherin were to dedicate pride to ameliorate that shameful mark, she sure as hell wouldn’t do it in the presence of a Beckett like this one.

Alas, she would have to occasionally cooperate. Just to reel the blood-purist, a mindless fish with a hook through her lips.

But not now. The hole had been dug deep enough to forsake that aura of pity for a life not yet lived. Persephone would operate under the assumption that Professor Lian wouldn’t appreciate a hindered mentor, eliminating the possibility of easing under the trickle of blood. Aside from that alone, violence wasn’t always the ideal approach; under a rare circumstance, attacks were best executed under a blanket of shadow and deceit, a six-month plan where Persy wasn’t sure she would live to fulfill it. Aging beyond her years, she was, so things would have to be impulsive, wild, and most of all, destructive. To leave her handprint on the Beckett’s life, possibly out of a sheer craving for disruptions, it would need to be known.

“You’re avoiding my question. What makes you so special, aside from the obvious?” If the words, spoken in the same biting manner, were construed as flattery, that was hardly an issue with Persy. Rather, proof that the elder student was hypnotized to accept the love she thought she deserved, no matter how laced with odium. In this case, the obvious was defined as her name, marks, undeserved looks, all that made her a Beckett. It was a true disgrace that the girl didn’t earn a single ounce of the admiration she was given. Really an unfit guide.

Given no caveat, when the lecture was launched into without warning, the blonde got a sense of her position in relation to the girl’s limit. Persephone was far from a waste of time, a waste of words or breath, though fine literature cannot be esteemed by the illiterate. Teach them to partake, but they cannot be taught proper taste, judgement, a well-liked morality, though a subject can be demonstrated through hard work. Comparisons were useless; Persephone and Beckett’s flaws were miles apart. “My voice is rather lovely, isn’t it? The subtle French accent must be credited to my father—French pureblood line, you know. Very aristocratic, but I don’t request you call me miss.” That wasn’t like her; speaking of him in such an indebted tone twirled like a foreign tongue. But vague introductions had been called for by now, by these remarks and glowers of revulsion. However, it was like her to bluff.

“People don’t like talking to me because they don’t like the truth. That’s not an issue with me.” Though that reassurance was a direct response to a low blow from the elitist, it soothed Persy far more than it would the initial assailant. Poke and prod so blindly, you were bound to hit a nerve, but no one was so gifted at that like another nemesis of hers. To the luck of the fighting first-year, there were worse nerves to hit, to send a true electric bolt. “Could we skip this futile bickering and get back to my point? I doubt you’re much for teaching people you deem ‘scum.’ Answer the question from before.”

@Persephone Barret

This girl wasn't even close to making this easy for Ana. The girl's questions were foolish and frankly none of her business, even if they did strike a chord in the Gryffindor. She had quickly learned that privilege and birth could only give a person so much, the rest as up to them. That her pretty face could merely get her to the door and it was her job to get through it. Despite what this girl or for that matter any of Anastasia's numerous enemies might have believed, Ana worked hard to achieve her goals. She would readily acknowledge the fact that she was born standing one hundred paces ahead in the race of life, but she liked to think she had made the most of it. The three areas where she actually felt the need to devote energy were all areas she excelled - flying, schoolwork, and social standing.

While she might not show it, she studied with practically every spare moment and was incredibly proud of the fact that she had yet to earn anything less than perfect marks. Even though she was behind in work, she was managing to stay on track and keep her perfect record unblemished. While some might suspect that Ana was naturally gifted at Quidditch and flying given her parentage, nobody could argue that she hadn't trained as hard as she could from the moment she had first mounted a broom. And while some might be of the opinion that Ana was a nasty bitch, Ana had a certain reputation of regality and excellence that struck fear and awe into younger students. All of these were things that Ana had put in the time and work to achieve on her own, not just because she was a Beckett or a pureblood or wealthy. They were her accomplishments, and she felt no need to justify herself to this failure.

One might wonder how a girl so young and so relatively sheltered would have had the opportunity to develop such utter and complete faith in her own superiority and excellence. It was quite simple, really. From a young age, Ana had learned that nothing she did was ever good enough for her parents, that she couldn't depend on them for ego-stroking. She had quickly learned if she was not well assured of her own preeminence, then nobody else would ever be. Her fate was her own, and all of her privilege and luxury and advantages summed up to exactly nothing if she didn't make something of her own.

Ana rolled her eyes delicately at the girl's repetition of her stupid question. Only someone who wasn't special would so desperately demand an answer to such a shallow question. She wasn't vain enough to take the girl's comment as a compliment, although one less suspicious might. "Besides the obvious. Simple. Some people are simply better than others," Ana said confidently. That was the hard truth of things that people didn't want to hear. Who your parents were or where you were born didn't matter. You did, and there were just people who were better and people who were lesser.

Ana scoffed as the girl began to list the merits of her own voice. She managed to contain a chuckle when the girl said she or rather her voice was aristocratic - people who had to tell you they were by definition were decidedly not. Anastasia Beckett never had to tell anyone that she was from a family of great renown, they could tell that from speaking to her. "And you consider yourself an arbiter of truth? Really, I imagine that you're just full of knowledge no one else is privy to," Ana said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Yet another thing that if this girl had to tell her for Ana to know it, wasn't the case.

"As I previously said, I owe you exactly nothing in the form of an answer to your foolish question, so unless you would actually like to get started on our purpose for being here, I have far more important things to deal with than the wonderings of someone who has to tell everyone how smart and aristocratic she is," Ana said, her dark eyes flashing dangerously. This was nonsense. Anastasia Beckett was special because she was a Beckett, because she was pretty, because she was wealthy, because she was smart. Who needed to know the answer to an intangible, and in Ana's not so humble opinion, irrelevant musing?

@Anastasia Beckett

Their conversation had become a scrambled mess, where discontent ruled and hypocrisy went to thrive. Ana Beckett was a cathedral of spiritual fire, barely in control of herself, red falling to her fingertips where one could almost watch the flames spit away. An orange blaze, or the shadow that loomed behind it, dancing against the floor in whatever direction the wind took it. When Persephone whistled and sent the girl one way, there was a push-back, one not anticipated, whether it was disinterest or frustration that had simply passed the point of being measurable. A mess. A forest fire from a match, and they were trapped, but the pristine pureblood that knew those waters, or those storms of inferno better yet, would only melt into that which fueled her. Ana was safe in her own chaos, and the younger blonde would burn her flesh away.

Unless it was combated by her own anarchy, that which she introduced and held under an alluring gaze, the water to Ana’s flames. That battle was one that repeated like an annoyingly catchy chorus, but water always reigned triumphantly. It brought an unprovoked smile to the Slytherin’s lips, and she could feel the steam rising already. When it cleared, Persy would take her confident leave, but not to never return. To do more damage and be struck by the effect it had in the following months. To admire her own work from the point-of-view of a bystander. But the ring had to be shattered first, so the slight worry that she may have contracted, that ailment had long since healed.

Somewhere within the crumbling branches and shriveling leaves, there was a message to be heard, scrawled distantly into the trunk of a tree. But when that messenger failed and that tree was swarmed by fire, someone had to serve the duty they’d so carefully avoided, and be the messenger’s messenger. Ana needed to learn, learn how they were all alone, how she was bound to be left whether by others or herself. The second year brunette would bat her eyelashes and blow away whatever good points were made. She served herself, an embodiment that some people were better than others. Though the shoe was on the other table, which was turned, and Ana, of course, was clueless to the dealt cards.

She was not the better one.

A young one caged within the thoughts of an old one’s head so much so that it scared the demon of sleep away, that was also hardly better. But it was awake, it was alive, knowledgeable, fake-deep perhaps. Persephone wore those truths that burdened her not only as bricks upon her frail back, but badges along her chest. Ribbons pinned to her robes, clips to hold that coiling hair away from elder eyes. No words could do this truth justice, nothing that could pierce the thick skull of Miss Beckett, that breath was better saved for the final dive. Instead, she’d smile as a mother musing her children. Pretending to understand, encouraging whatever growth awaited.

It was admittedly funny though, that wasted drip of sarcasm as though the taunts she spat were anything less than flattering and honest. That was all it was, petite pureblood Beckett echoing the thoughts that already rang within Persy. With that artificial grin faltering into a smirk, the Slytherin would blatantly ignore whatever pitiful attempt at a jab that had been. “Ah, what more can I say? I am simply enlightened.” A faded scene played in her head, a purely white figure, asking if you could handle the truth. If you said yes, you learned, and you died.

“How dare I question the mouth from which the knowledge comes? Not as though I, as a student, have a right to know who I’m talking to, no, that doesn’t sound right, does it?” Ana’s sarcastic voice had been sourly stolen. “I tell you these things because I’m sadly aware that you’re too fucking dumb and narcissistic to figure it out on your own.” Any trace of poise had faded away with those final remarks and those only, as just after, Persy’s back straightened once more. The flicker in their eyes, though of brutally different shades, matched. Clearly the question had gone unanswered because the brunette’s maids weren’t here to translate the speech of rodents to royalty.