Tainted Bouquets Errand PV Finished

"You look like you're attending a funeral."

The voice carried from the doorway as another of Persephone's house stepped into the Potions classroom. He lingered for a moment, hazel eyes appraising the blonde as he recalled their last encounter at the Valentine's Tea Party. Jack still had no reason to doubt his original theory regarding Persephone's reasoning for causing the damage and discord she had. It took one to know one, after all, and he knew he himself did the same thing. However, their methods were different and he hadn't approved of his peer's.

Even so, Jack knew that didn't excuse his own behavior when he had tried to retaliate against the other Slytherin. He had had no right to launch himself at her like that, especially not with the ill intentions he'd had, and under normal circumstances he might have felt he owed her an apology.

As far as he was concerned, though, she owed a lot of other people apologized that he doubted she had given, especially since he figured she wasn't sorry for her actions. Thus, his urge to apologize was cancelled out by Persephone's lack of such an urge, and in the end, Jack wasn't really sure how things stood between them.

In any case, he didn't think he hated her any longer if he even ever did in the first place. Turning toward the chalkboard with a basket of blooms slung across one arm, he grabbed a chair to stand on and carried it over with his free arm.

"Persephone, Goddess of Spring and Bringer of Destruction," he spoke with a neutral voice as he began to paste roses to the chalkboard. His back was to her, his gaze on his task. "How fitting you would be found here, in the bowels of the castle, spreading dead or dying flowers wherever you go. And how fitting that in so many cultures flowers represent death."

@Persephone Barret

@Persephone Barret @Jack Burnett @Jo Morgan

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Really, Rafael wasn’t really sure why girls were so big on flowers.

He supposed that girls had always been rather confusing, really. Everything the fairer race did was a challenge to his own intellect – for instance, the typical girl changed her mind so often, it was hard to tell what exactly her wishes were. She cared too much for her appearance, and what others thought of her, so much so that she would spend hours in the bathroom putting on her war paint. Speaking of bathrooms, the females seemed to flock to the loo in packs. For some strange and sadistic reason, they enjoyed romance movies. Girls, he’d also learned, seemed to hang out with the same people they hated on a regular basis, as if enemies were actually friends. And, if their minds weren’t completely clouded by image and popularity, it was most likely because of a boy. [Or fellow girl – he supposed it weren’t completely out of the question.]

As a result, Rafa had learned long ago not to rely on the female race for solid conclusions. But, of all the strange notions that they had accepted, perhaps flowers were near the top of the list. What even was the significance of flowers? The plants, the boy had found, were rather pointless, as all they seemed to do was irritate allergies and lose color within days of being picked. They didn’t even smell all that good. They smelled like girls. He wanted nothing to do with the plants, instead opting to leave the petal-picking to the hopeless romantics.

[Granted, the boy was a bit biased regarding his opinion of the plants – he couldn’t take a whiff of flower before sneezing his guts out.]

On a typical day, Rafael would have opted to stay indoors, working on homework or catching up with his mates. Y’know, preserving his health. However, it wasn’t the case on this day. No, on the contrary, the boy had spent the greater part of the morning picking atrocious blossoms, his countenance miserable and cranky. This wasn’t for just any reason – on the contrary, the stakes were rather high regarding the House Cup this month. The Lion House was currently in second place in the competition, a fact that could sent the boy into a rant even in his better moods. It seemed farfetched, silly, that such a terrible house could achieve such a pretentious award, and he would work against the house whole-heartedly, only letting those deserving of a win achieve one. [His opinions had been rather biased as of late – he had yet to meet a kind Slytherin.] The last thing the school needed was another win from Slytherin – it was already humiliating that the Snake House had defeated them once. If the boy had any say in things, such a turn of events would surely not happen again.

So, the boy had subsequently squandered his allergies – if you could call it that – his arms laden with a towering bundle of flowers, coming in every color of the rainbow. [He was a strong believer in the universal rule: Real men only take one trip.] The boy had been traipsing down the hall for the last few minutes, looking for a suitable place to place the nuisance plants. To an onlooker, he must have looked a funny sight; even the daftest of Hufflepuffs could easily tell that Raf was having a rather acute allergic reaction, what with his red, splotchy eyes, a stuffy nose, and an agitated look on his face as a sneeze begged to escape his nose. The boy was surely soldiering on, suffering for the sake of his house. Though, regardless of his health, he felt a sense of pride in his chest, one that shone in the way he held himself. [Though he was a bit irritable, he would not let that get in the way of his work. It was his duty to uphold his House name, and he would do it proudly, without complaint.]

There wasn’t really a particular reason why Raf had chosen the potions room to put his flowers. He assumed it had something to do with the mystery of the corridors, the fact that the boy hadn’t actually explored them all that much. He simply hadn’t had a reason to, as bland as the thought was. There was something different about the dungeons, a certain sort of aura that made it distinct from the rest of the school’s sites. Perhaps it was the dark, dank lighting, or the subtle creepiness that lingered in the air, an edgy feeling coming off the area in waves. Raf had never been fond of the disturbing vibes, but he’d always been driven by curiosity. [The same curiosity that got him into more jams then he could count – if only he could turn it off.] The dungeons had been one of the only places in the school the boy hadn’t extensively explored, which could quite possibly be the reason why he had to see the floor again. Or, it could have quite possibly been the dankness of it, the need for brightness and color in such a dark and creepy place. In a world of darkness, there would always be a need for a bringer of light – and, even though the boy had a long way to go before he could truly make a change in the world, every hero started somewhere.

Which is why the boy wasted no time in rounding the corner into the Potions Room, his face disguised in the bundle of flowers. He could hardly see through the flowers, instead being forced to look down at his own feet in the hopes of keeping himself from running into a wall – there was no way he could have been able to make out the two Slytherins already decorating the room. However, the sound of voices alerted him to their presence, calm tones making up words that were intelligible over his own focus. Carefully maneuverings as to prevent himself from tripping, he proceeded to make his way into the small room. “Hope I’m not intruding on anyone,” he sounded out, his distinct Hispanic accent thick and unabridged, most likely giving away his identity. Though, he wouldn’t worry about it too much, instead setting the massive pile of flowers on the desk, making sure to brush the extra leaves off his sweatshirt.

It was then he felt something coming – a aggravated, tickling feeling in his nose, small at first, slowly growing in ferocity. With growing horror, he realized there was nothing he could do to prevent what was coming. His back arched back, his features contorting in a moment a he took a deep breath – “ATCHOO!” The noise was sharp, cutting through the air like a bullet as the pressure was released. The boy abruptly covered his nose with his thumb, trying to cover his irritated nose. “Mierda!” he muttered. “Bloody flowers… had to be flowers….”

Grabbing a bundle of purple flowers [Scottish Primroses, to an avid herbologist], he clutched the plants in his hand, regarding them with a look of pure hatred, before deftly turning to find a place to set them.
What he found wasn’t particularly pleasant. “Jack,” he said aloud, his eyes widening in a bout of surprise. “Fancy seeing you here.” Of all the people to run into, it had been his supposed nemesis. The universe had a funny way of screwing people over, didn’t it? His eyes slowly narrowed in contempt, memories of the Great Hall flooding back to him in a moment. He hadn’t gotten to exact his revenge then, but now would be the perfect time, right? His mouth forming into a scowl, his teeth gritting, he began to conspire. What's the best way to kill a snake? [/font]

@Rafael D'Spacito @Persephone Barret @Jack Burnett

Jo enters from Head in the Clouds

Jo had chosen the damp Potions room to place her flowers. It was always a bit too gloomy down there, and besides the flowers would wilt faster in the sun. There was also the added bonus of the room being a bit damper, which she hoped would keep the petals looking fresh and moist. One thing Jo absolutely loved about flowers was the way beads of water collected on them in cold, wet places. If she wanted that dew-splattered look, this was probably her best bet.

Despite what Rafa might or might not think about flowers, Jo actually found the idea of gathered flowers quite romantic. A Paleolithic hunter-gatherer who needed every moment to forage for food to store for winter would actually take the time out of their day to face the dark and misty forest, wandering from clearing to meadow searching for the most fragrant, beautiful flowers, all for the sake of winning his true love’s affection. You couldn’t just go out and buy flowers back then - that’s what made it so romantic! Jo couldn’t help but smile thinking of a day when she, too, would be able to pick flowers not for the musty old Potions room, but for someone who would set her heart aflame.

She’d had enough time to brood already while picking them, and on the way back she’d knitted some of her blue moly flowers into a crown that she had now decided, perhaps a bit rashly as she didn’t know who she was to encounter, on her head.

You had to forgive the girl for being in high spirits - it was hard to stay such a downer when everything looked so pretty and smelled so nice! The Gryffindor hummed a little ditty as she pattered down the steps. Some children might know the song (Apple Tree by AURORA for the curious) though a wizard-born might have a bit more trouble distinguishing the tune from her chirping, higher-than-normal pitched acapella rendition. Though Jo herself would have sworn she looked cute as a duckling, she might have looked more than a little mad as she ambled around the corridor, arms and head full of flowers and a warbling, bird-like song dancing on her lips.

She entered, taking more than a few moments to realize that she wasn’t alone, and immediately stopped singing when she recognized the violent Slytherin girl from the Valentine’s Party. Of course, she had no reason to suspect the girl had anything against her personally, so she bobbed her shoulders up and down in a curtsy, hoping the blonde girl wouldn’t be too offended at her current inability to bow, what with her arms full and all.

Rafa was there too, which was weird. She didn’t expect to see him at the event, either. Valentine’s parties, bouquets of flowers... could it be that the Thunderbird was a bit more romantic than he would admit?

Before she could let loose one of her signature quips, however, another boy came into her field of vision, and her hopes for a cheerful day were devoured mercilessly by a tangly Venomous Tentacula who went by the name Jack Burnett. She shuddered. Better to strew her flowers around and get out of there before things got nasty. Jack was already insufferable alone, and Jo didn’t want to imagine what he was capable of doing when paired with a girl who seemed as if she relished destruction and pain.

A dying petal slipped from the rose as it withered away before her eyes, drained of color and empty of reason. Still in her left hand, vibrant roses remained as a reminder of what once had been, her emerald eyes flickering between the two in comparison. The sun, granter of energy and life, had drained the flower’s color away, leaving nothing but a droopy flower, head held down to avoid Persy’s curious gaze. As if to mock the dead, the roses clutched tightly in her left hand shined with color, red like love, like blood.

Her housemate’s interference interrupted her train of thought, a crash on the tracks in the form of a very uncalled for remark. Persephone’s eyes trailed down as realization set in: she did look rather melancholy, a blank stare impressed onto her pale face, remaining for a long eternity. This expression didn’t change when she retorted. “The funeral of this dead rose, yes.” Sarcasm, sweet like honey, tasting of familiarity.

Racking her brain, Persy came to the conclusion that running into an ignorantly heroic Jack Burnett was one of the worst turn-of-events that fate could have implemented. Their last encounter, a splendid chat over a cup of boiling tea on opposite sides of a half-giant, did not leave them on the best of terms, but Persephone relished this fiery tone, savoring the moment as it would pass like all good things did. This wasn’t presented through her unchanged guise; the very last thing the blonde needed to do was reinforce his findings.

Burnett crossed over to the chalkboard in an ill attempt to brighten the room by coating it’s border with the wretched blooms. His tone, too, was plain, without contempt, a voice which greeted her with an odd sense of disappointment. It was possible, somehow, his hatred for her that he’d sulked in during the moment of his attack had faded, like a worn piece of clothing to be disregarded without thought.

“Goddess of spring and bringer of destruction.”

Persephone was frustrated to find herself intrigued by his interpretations, some of which she’d never liked to dwell on. ‘Goddess of Spring’ sounded far too pure to be associated with someone with such wicked habits such as breaking toes and cracking heads. ‘Bringer of Destruction’, the Slytherin knew, had always struck her as more of a home run. The girl did not indulge in chaos for the sake of chaos, a tendency like that was a step away from barbaric. Anarchy was, no doubt, her true habitat designed for her development, but all good things had to come in moderation, like a diet of sorts. It was only time to rebel when the reason was there, abrupt and apparent.

The great thing though, is that it usually was.

Before her typically fast reactions could create the ideal response, a potion of words with precise drops of sarcasm and disrespect, the scene was once again disrupted by another newcomer, a face disguised by his own bundle of beauties, growing in the prime of their bloom. His assurance of his unknowing that there was an important battle of wits occurring here was thoroughly ignored by Persephone, her ears instead focusing on the clear quality of his accent. Being the perfectly cultural witch she was, the blonde picked up on the Hispanic heritage, digging around to place which one of her peers had such a background. Of course, this wouldn’t matter because the boy would place down his flowers with haste after announcing his presence and the student’s face would be unfamiliar.

Without warning, she was overcome by a wave of stupidity for assuming the basements would be abandoned.

“You’re not intru-” The words were cut short by his sharp sneeze. Ha! Allergies. Weak immune systems were, well, for the weak.

No one panics when things go according to plan, which is probably why the all powerful Fate decided to invite another student to the dungeon party, an admittedly adorable girl who attempted an odd bow, carrying yet another bundle of love-plants. Flowers, now, were becoming a tiring theme. These past few moments happened in such quick succession that Persephone hadn’t registered the shine of recognition in everyone’s eyes, as though they knew each other. Perfect. She was in a room with strangers, who weren’t really strangers. And the ginger from hell.

Eyes retreating back to her wilted rose, she mumbled under her breath, hopefully beyond their range of hearing. “Take me with you.”

The voice claiming that they hoped they weren't intruding on anyone made Jack finally turn away from the masterpiece he had carefully been crafting on the chalkboard. He knew that voice all too well, complete with Hispanic accent, and smiled at the indication of Rafael's entrance. The Gryffindor was far too easy to play with.

However, Jack had felt somewhat bad for how he'd treated the Gryffindor Quidditch Jock as of late and had wondered if he couldn't have made it up to him with an idea of his. It would be tricky to get Rafa to partake in his idea in the first place, as the lion seemed to think that Jack was constantly out to get him and likely wouldn't buy the notion that he was genuinely trying to help. Still, who knew? Maybe he could get through to him yet. Perhaps he could even utilize a little help from his fellow Slytherin.

Rafa's sneeze followed shortly by the Argentinean identifying him by name encouraged the redhead to speak up. No use keeping quiet if he'd already been spotted. "Well, look who it is! Doth mine eyes deceive? And here I had thought I had gained a reprieve." In spite of his words, Jack couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face.

"Tsk, tsk; what's that look? No reason to frown. Your lady love's here if you'll just turn around." He was referring to Jo, the second Gryffindor to enter the Potions classroom armed with flowers of all kinds. "What a sweet song she sings; oh dear, why did you stop? Could it be all the better for you to eavesdrop?"

It interested Jack to note that Jo had attempted to curtsy to Persephone despite the obvious difficulty of her task. However, the brunette didn't seem to bother greeting either of the boys in the room other than with a brief shudder. Jack couldn't help laughing at that.

"Don't be that way, Morgan. I missed you, you know. In fact, I've got something I've wanted to show!" The redheaded Slytherin stepped down from the chair he'd been standing on to reveal the pattern of the flowers he had been pasting on the chalkboard. They were arranged in the shape of letters and symbols: 'Jo + Rafa' surrounded by a huge heart.

Heading over to his fellow housemate with his basket of remaining flowers still on his arm, he chuckled lightly. "Something the matter?" he asked in a quiet voice, still unable to hide his grin.

@Persephone Barret, @Rafael D'Spacito, & @Jo Morgan

@Jack Burnett @Jo Morgan @Persephone Barret

[font=Segoe Print]"Well, look who it is! Doth mine eyes deceive? And here I had thought I had gained a reprieve."

Jack was pushing him, poking the bear, pouring salt on the wound. Infuriating the young Gryffindor, testing the limits of his already-waning patience. The snake’s methods were proving rather effective – the young lion’s eyes narrowed only further, a look of subtle contempt awash on his features, his cool, silently-angry composure slowly slipping away from him. He was trying not to show his cards, lest the snake push him further off the edge of sanity – his feet, he could feel, were already scraping the edge of the proverbial cliff. He liked to say he felt ashamed of the sadistic in his head, the strangely creative forms of revenge floating flashing through his mind like scenes from a movie. He wasn’t. Not in the least. In fact, his ideas were closer to becoming reality than Jack realized.

"Tsk, tsk; what's that look? No reason to frown. Your lady love's here if you'll just turn around."

His dangerous thoughts paused for a second, his eyes snapping to Jack’s at such a notion. “Lady love?” he sputtered out in surprise, a bout of confusion mixing in with the agitation already present of his face. “What are you going on about now?” A bitter grin crossed his face, the bouquet of flowers suffering the abuse of his fist as the stems were crushed between his hand, the crisp cracking a small reprieve in the face of his surmounting fury. “Who on earth – “

It was then he saw her. The girl in question, the very person that Jack was so innocently jeering over. Jo Morgan, his frenemy and partner in crime. [And Transfigurations partner, for that matter.] His eyes quickly widened at the sight of the girl, his jaw dropping in the slightest. Jo – his lady love? His cheeks began to heat up at the realization of what the Slytherin was going on about, his vice grip on the flowers only growing stronger, a couple of the flower heads gracefully falling to the floor. Decapitated. But, the thunderbird couldn’t bring himself to care, as his mind was racing faster than he could register, the emotions coming at him too quickly to process.

"What a sweet song she sings; oh dear, why did you stop? Could it be all the better for you to eavesdrop?"

He hadn’t even heard her singing, he absently noted, had only registered her looks as she had walked in the door– deep hazel eyes, luxurious brown hair, a crown of blue flowers evident atop her head, her pretty face contrasting against the simple Potions room. A real sight, if he’d ever seen one. She’d always been spectacular, always brilliant, witty, acute, clever…

He quickly shook his head, the strange emotion quickly leaving on a moment’s notice. What was he thinking? He wasn’t sure – it must have been Jack’s strange words, spurring his unconscious thought on. Yeah, that was surely it. Inwardly, he cursed himself for his observations – he couldn’t just go off thinking such thoughts about a girl he hated. He did hate her, after all. Verily much so, to the point where studying with the girl was more a chore than a helpful act.

[It was hard sometimes, saying he ‘hated’ the girl. His relationship with Jo was a rather complicated one, he couldn’t help but admit, full of difficult emotions and feelings to sort out. Though he regarded the girl in a bit of a prickly manner on the outside, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of adoration for her, too. She was different from most of his relationships, in a strange, twisted way. He wished he could hate her, but deep down, he knew he really couldn’t.]

He shook his head again, forcing his eyes off the girl in question. They wandered for a moment, catching desks, cauldrons, books… and another infuriating sight.

Some wise guy had taken the time to organize a great deal of flowers into the shape of a heart. Even had the thought of a rather poetic shipping. Jo + Rafa.

"Something the matter?"

Was something the matter? Raf’s throat became rather dry at the sound of that question, his mind going blank for a few, painful seconds. He just… he didn’t know how to feel about that. Or, moreover, he did. The gesture was a spark, small but well-placed, ever so gracefully landing in the puddle of gasoline the young Slytherin had so carefully cultivated within the lion’s chest. Now, things were starting to light up, explosions of anger resounding through his being, shaking him to the very core with an intense, merciless sort of anger, a tsunami of rage that was sure to drown him in emotion. He hadn’t even processed his actions, the way his head bowed, his irritated nose twitching, along with his right eye, all indication of acting gone. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could do.

Jack had incited his own punishment.

He didn’t feel the vial beneath his hands, only knew it was there, an innocent object now the weapon of a crime. He tossed it in his hands twice, the contact with his hand making a loud noise, loud to his own ears. It was grasped firmly in his hand, the pressure alone enough to break the vial into a million pieces granted he increase it in the slightest. His eyes narrowed in on the redhead, his hand rearing back faster than he could register, the object leaving the grasp of his hands in one, painfully long moment.

It hit it’s mark. Jack’s forehead. [/font]
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- Action -
Throwing vial at Jack

[/font]

@Rafael D'Spacito @Persephone Barret @Jack Burnett

"Don't be that way, Morgan. I missed you, you know. In fact, I've got something I've wanted to show!"

There were lots of beautiful flowers on the board. And they formed letters. Words. They read...

Jo stared, numb with horror. Her lips parted and her mouth fell agape. The flowers in her arms scattered to the ground in a lifeless heap.

It was useless to think about why. Right now, the question burning in her mind was how. How had Jack known she would be there? Did he know? Had he done this on the miraculous off-chance that they would both find their way to the Potions room? And what if neither had arrived, or only one?

"Something the matter?"

A million things were the matter. What had she done to deserve this from him? He claimed to be neither a good nor bad person... but this was so deliberately, coldly evil. Did he think this was funny?

Jo looked helplessly towards the other witch. "Were...were you a part of all this?" She couldn't imagine why. It was like her brain was short-circuiting. For once, Jo couldn't bring herself to feel anger. Where there should have been indignation and rage, she felt only bewilderment and hurt.

She trusted Rafa. That was the main thing that stopped them from becoming enemies. Sure, she loved to hate on him and make fun of him, but it came from a respect she hoped was mutual. She'd never do anything to actually hurt him, and he'd never knowingly do anything that would actually offend her. There were boundaries to their enmity, just as there were boundaries to their friendship. At the end of the day, she admired him for his courage and reliability. There was nothing romantic, even if they did spend a little bit too much time together for some haughty students' liking. But this... this would change everything. It ruined the innocence and fun of their relationship. It made the two into something sullied - tainted with a crimson shame that neither deserved to feel.

Speaking of Rafa, the boy seemed to be clutching something. It left his hand momentarily, only to descend once more into his palm, casting an ever-so-brief rainbow of color onto the wall. Glass, or crystal. It seemed empty, and looked quite beautiful as it sailed through the air, slicing through the silence in the room as if in slow-motion. Jo watched motionless as if in a trance until the vial fell to the floor, shattering with a loud crack as if to signal the dashing-to-bits of her prayer that all this was only some terrible nightmare.

Her hastily-made flower crown slipped to the floor, its joyful purpose gone as she clawed her way to the board and began to furiously tear away the flowers, barely cognizant of the tears that blurred the edges of her vision.

@Jack Burnett, @Rafael D'Spacito, @Jo Morgan

When her wilted rose neglected to drag her to purgatory, Persephone glanced over her shoulder grudgingly, eyeing her company in fiery loathing. A forsaken part of her that dwelled on wishes and desires had begged for them to have vanished upon her next glimpse, a foolish thing to hope for, regardless of the magical world. Burnett was far too entertained being an executor to give the door the gift of his attention; instead, the red-headed demon indulged in his desire to rise above as the next Dr. Suess, his taunts rhyming without purpose. The demon’s current prey, an unfortunate lion (as everyone should know, the male lions rarely do the hunting in the relationship) was seemingly paralyzed by Burnett’s display of their eternal unity. On the other half of the match made in heaven, an adorable lioness, referred to by the demon as ‘Morgan’, hardly looked content with their unification either.

The Slytherin girl didn’t move, not even to turn around and face the destruction, a crumbling of ego that she herself had no part in; it was bizarre, to be a spectator as opposed to a delinquent, a role Persy had become rather accustomed to. Although her strong sense of superiority often prevented her from commending the manipulative skills of others, her contempt for ignorant tendencies triumphed that incapacity. Persephone was acutely aware of Jack’s capabilities as a trickster of sorts. The difference was, a realization that had only surfaced the crashing waters recently, his crimes were shenanigans, jokes played at the expense of someone else, an enemy perhaps. Unless the blonde was mistaken, very few people found her felonies comedic; in fact, the belief was imprinted that her only loyal fan was herself.

It was becoming a very regular occurrence that she found herself entranced in these thoughts, vines of discontent tangling neatly with admiration. The double negative somehow felt natural to her, though the description often left others looking dimwitted, staring in the distance and granting pity to the ‘poor girl, who is terribly confused in her youth’. That was how it was meant to be, the work of fate reminding her in its signature subtle way of her peculiarity. The snake was different, programmed in a new way, a mindset meant to perplex the majority, not intended to be explained. More reasonably, however, Persephone was just acting on her desire to stand out. This, no matter how conflicting, didn’t matter. Her soul was opaque.

For a brilliant yet fleeting moment, Persy was oblivious that Burnett had moved towards her, speaking in a manner that apparently suggested to Morgan that they were partners in this crime of passion. She hadn’t heard his remark, still considering purposeless ideas, instead being brought to life by her blood freezing and boiling all at once. A completely new sensation had flooded the water’s of calmness within her, tsunamis of confusion ripping everything apart. It was best to approach this as a state of body and not a state of mind: Fragility. Easily defeated.

Still without turning around, Persephone addressed the inane inquiry directed at her. “Part of this? No, chérie, I do pride myself with being above the actions of a petty trickster.” Perhaps the lioness wouldn’t see it, but a grin spread across the snake’s lips, facade entirely restored through the dependable method of sarcasm. What a wonderful life to live, where everything can be suppressed. Her lion peers here could probably benefit from a lesson of suppression. Having a tsunami of emotion? Drain the ocean.

At long last, the blonde deemed the situation worth her full attention, turning to face the demolition brought upon by her housemate. Almost immediately, a shimmer of light reflecting on crystal caught her eye, held by the lion with the accent, his knuckles as white as her own complexion. The crystal vial, fragile and willing itself to shatter and pierce its captive’s skin, rippled through the air without warning, a silence falling excusing the whisper of the air it touched. Hand-eye coordination, no matter how powerfully possessed, would be hopeless, futile.

She froze. Then, it hit Burnett, and the paralysis shattered like the glass had dared to.

Under hypnosis. Frustrated by uncalled for attacks. Triggered by glass…? What was a valid excuse?

Or, would an excuse help at all?

Justification was her specialty, Persy scarcely breathed without an elaborate reason. On occasion, especially pertaining to recent events, those reasons had to be kept private, locked away and sealed from the curious eyes of onlookers. Persephone was methodical, and God forbid anyone suggest she wasn’t. Being reckless, impulsive, it got you killed, and worse, it deceived the facade, the Persephone she had worked so hard to build, brick by brick. But slip ups were an unavoidable eruption of chaos, serial killers did it, tricksters did it, anyone who defied anything would always mess up. It was a lesson, she knew, a valuable one at that.

What did she learn from this?

Of course, Persy hadn’t realized she stood in front of the assaulter until her hands rested on his shoulders, firm and athletic. In her forest eyes, there was a newborn glow, an awakening occurring behind the closed windows, not entirely different from the one present during the majority of the tea party. Persephone couldn’t be blamed, the snake only poisoned those begging for punishment. It was, in a way, sensible. Perhaps, although many believed Persy lacked common morals, the truth was that her morality surpassed that of those around her. This was hardly her fault. On that note, she brought her knee up to his groin, her eyes never breaking away from his.

“Learn some manners.” Blunt, simple. The lion may not notice, but Persephone gestured for him to show himself out. “I do believe your business here is concluded, the house points are probably out of the question for you, my dear prodigy. A word of advice, be confusing. You, my friend, are clear as day. Stay if you wish. At your own risk.”

Burnett was probably unconscious, dreaming of the surrounding fire of his homeland, the curiosity of the demon was not a worry for now. Sadly for Persy, demons were not destroyed so easily, clinging to life like the hell-bound creatures they were. Her eyes shifted back to her latest, then to the lioness who had been ripping the love flowers from the board. Poor girl, she feigned sympathy, nearly half of marriages end in divorce. She would know, she supposed.

“Maybe you should leave them there, Morgan? They make a good memorial for what could have been.” The snake offered her a smile, venomous like no other. Morgan had done nothing explicitly sickening to warrant her malice, but even the proposal that she’d work with a demon was offensive. That was identical to suggesting she harbored ill intentions; not at all, in fact. Either morally ambiguous, or superior.

Walking over to Jack’s body, she nudged him with the tip of her shoe. “Who knew Jack Burnett versus empty vial would end like this?” Her fingers wrapped around a quill from the nearby desk, lathering it in ink and crouching down to the same level as his face. Before beginning to further her point, she cocked her neck and spoke one last time. “What, I’m gonna do this alone?”

With Rafa turning to stare at Jo, Jo turning to stare at the flowers on the board, and Persephone simply seeming to observe her fellow students, Jack's face fell - presumably at the lack of acknowledgement regarding his rhyming lines. Though when he had asked if something was wrong, he had been directing the question to the blonde Slytherin who he thought he heard whispering to her wilting rose, Rafa seemed to believe the inquiry had been meant for him instead. Typical. Or, perhaps, he was just too angry to think at all.

Whatever the case, Jack hardly saw the vial in the Gryffindor's hand quickly enough to try to dodge. His last-minute attempt was spectacularly terrible, causing him to accidentally trip over the leg of a table and fall directly into the trajectory of the oncoming vial. With force he didn't realize was possible for such a small, hollow object, it collided with his forehead. Jack was knocked out before the glass shattered on the ground, hitting the floor shortly after it.

In the sea of his subconscious, thoughts that had just previously been floating through his mind as shapeless glaciers and ice floes took a more distinct form as if sculpted under the waves of his dreams. He saw Rafa's expression as he turned to look at his fellow lion, too stunned by the appearance of Jo, perhaps, to even finish his question to Jack. At first the Slytherin had simply been teasing, but many a true word was revealed in jest. The way the tall first year had stared at his partner in crime told the redhead everything he needed to know about what was going through Rafa's head. In all honesty, it surprised even Jack, who had been expecting some retort about only liking boys or already being 'taken' by his boyfriend, Gem. Evidently, however, Rafa was not as taken as he seemed - not by Gem, anyway. For that moment, at least, Rafa seemed quite taken with someone else.

The unexpected reaction from the Gryffindor boy gave Jack a false sense of security. He mistakenly believed that he had time to study Jo's response before attempting to prepare for any backlash from Rafa. Her behavior was just as astounding to the Slytherin boy as Rafa's had been. Her countenance took on a horrified expression, mouth ajar and hazel eyes wide. Jack might have imagined embarrassment or anger from the girl, but that?

The redhead thought her reaction seemed disproportionately large to his actual act - similar to the time he called her a Lioness and she proceeded to freak out, getting irregularly angry with him for reasons he couldn't fathom. Was there really more going on here than the Slytherin had realized? A knot of something he suspected may have been guilt, regret, or a mix of both suddenly twisted his gut. Rafa hadn't seemed to have considered the notion to be so repulsive, but had Jo? How could the meaningless, indirect suggestion of a playful prankster have affected her so deeply?

He had watched the brunette question numbly, about to open his mouth to reply, but then came the vial. Out the corner of his peripheral vision, he saw it, tried to step aside, tripped, and somehow managed to bring about an even more direct hit than would have been possible without his help. He wasn't sure if it was the edge of a table or the vial itself or something else altogether that caused him to lose consciousness on the way to the ground, but he couldn't help thinking it was nice not to be fully aware of the pain upon impact.

Next to his prone body were scattered the heads of the decapitated flowers from Rafa's bouquet among the various, carefully-selected blooms of Jo's collection that she had dropped. Both students' sets of flowers seemed to have reflected their previous holders' inner emotions quite dramatically; similar to how Persephone's rose had appeared to mirror her own. In an ironic twist of fate, the fallen flowers surrounding Jack's limp form conjured up the image of a dead boy being mourned, felled by his own folly.

As clever as he fancied himself to be, there were a great many things of which Jack was ignorant of. One was the delicate situation of how a friendship could be tainted by the mere idea of romance. As he tried to have nothing to do with either, such a fear had never occurred to him as it had to Jo. Therefore, as harmless as he had meant for his prank to be, he wouldn't have been able to view it in the same evil, malicious light that the Gryffindor girl saw it carried out with.

He also hadn't been able to view the next unpredictable occurrence that followed - this time on the part of Persephone. It was unlikely she knew that the knee to the groin she had administered to Rafa could have been interpreted as karma for the metal cube thrown at Jack's own privates during the breakfast when Jo and Rafa had teamed up to attack him. Perhaps, in that vein, it was also karma that had caused an upset in Jo that severely outweighed the intent behind Jack's actions.

In any case, whether they knew it or not, it probably would have been in Jo's and Rafa's best interests to stay in the Potions classroom until Jack woke up. After all, there was still the matter of Jo's curiosity regarding how Jack had hoped that Jo and Rafa would see his handiwork. If the intelligent young lioness wished to leave just then, she would likely find out the answer to her question through some other, less pleasant means rather than from the mouth of the perpetrator himself.

@Persephone Barret, @Rafael D'Spacito, & @Jo Morgan