When: September 10
Where: Greenhouses
What: Evan tries to make up missed classes
Rating: PG- 13
Notes: Some adult language
A magical music player akin to an ipod hung from Evan's ears as he worked diligently on his herbology project. The voices of the baritones, sopranos and altos pounded against his ears drums, filling his mind with the vocal brilliance of Kyrie and Dies Irae, the second and third movements of Mozart's requiem. It moved him, hastening his movement so that he worked quickly, though carefully, to accomplish his tasks.
He was in no real rush however. The class would not begin for another twenty minutes, but he had missed a few classes because of illness so he had decided to arrive early and complete work others had finished the week before. He handled puffapods, round, pink pods that sprouted into flowers if dropped. Hands covered in thin cotton gloves, he transferred the pods to the respective pots, pressing them into the dark soil and covering them with a layer of dirt. The pods sprouted seconds layer, forming brilliant yellow, blue, orange and red hybrid blooms that resembled lilies, roses and sunflowers.
It was dull, repetitive work, but work he knew he had to finish before class began. After a few minutes of stuffing pods into soil he began crushing them beneath his fist in frustration. Why did they have to pot fifteen of these horrid things? Their herbology professor was a right bitch for making them do this, but he knew better than to complain. His mother would have his neck if she found he had belittled a professor, mudblood or not. She had her plans for him and staying in Hogwarts one year longer was not on the agenda.
To pass the time he hummed along with the orchestra of the song playing in his ears.
"Dies irae, dies illa solvet saeclum in favilla teste David cum Sybilla." He translated the latin words in his head, basking in their meaning: Day of wrath. O day of mourning. See fulfilled the prophets' warning, Heaven and earth in ashes burning.... A twisted and highly demented sneer curved his lips. One day it would. His lord would make sure of that. He gripped his sleeve, pulling the fabric down to assure that his dark mark was covered.
Satisfied, he continued to work and the seconds ticked on...
He was in no real rush however. The class would not begin for another twenty minutes, but he had missed a few classes because of illness so he had decided to arrive early and complete work others had finished the week before. He handled puffapods, round, pink pods that sprouted into flowers if dropped. Hands covered in thin cotton gloves, he transferred the pods to the respective pots, pressing them into the dark soil and covering them with a layer of dirt. The pods sprouted seconds layer, forming brilliant yellow, blue, orange and red hybrid blooms that resembled lilies, roses and sunflowers.
It was dull, repetitive work, but work he knew he had to finish before class began. After a few minutes of stuffing pods into soil he began crushing them beneath his fist in frustration. Why did they have to pot fifteen of these horrid things? Their herbology professor was a right bitch for making them do this, but he knew better than to complain. His mother would have his neck if she found he had belittled a professor, mudblood or not. She had her plans for him and staying in Hogwarts one year longer was not on the agenda.
To pass the time he hummed along with the orchestra of the song playing in his ears.
"Dies irae, dies illa solvet saeclum in favilla teste David cum Sybilla." He translated the latin words in his head, basking in their meaning: Day of wrath. O day of mourning. See fulfilled the prophets' warning, Heaven and earth in ashes burning.... A twisted and highly demented sneer curved his lips. One day it would. His lord would make sure of that. He gripped his sleeve, pulling the fabric down to assure that his dark mark was covered.
Satisfied, he continued to work and the seconds ticked on...
Character: Regulus
ReplyDelete--------
It truly had to be one of the most horrid subjects imaginable, in Regulus' opinion. He did not see the point in tending to plants and other weaker creatures - they served no purpose and if they were of any value to him, it was a servants job to collect leaves and other kinds of serum. NOT. His own.
His class had already completed that day an hour ago, yet Regulus was forced to stay behind until he had finished his task of collecting the leaves from the plant that they were studying in class that day. Regulus however, had been the only student in the room that did NOT manage to collect the right amount of leaves to complete their assignment for that day and had been forced to stay behind until his project was completed.
This is complete and utter RUBBISH! He thought angrily to himself as he made the attempt to corner the plant. Anytime that he made to get close to it, the plant reared its head and made to snap at Regulus' fingers. After trying this for an hour, his fingers were raw and bloodied and his patience was wearing extremely thin. He stood, wand to face with the plant.
Alright... You are going to GIVE me the damn leaves whether you LIKE it or NOT! ...I wonder if the Imperious would work against plants... I could then force it to be still long enough to give me the lea-
"OUCH!"
He drew his hand back when the plant suddenly clamped it's pointed jaw over his fingers again, causing Regulus' anger to finally spike and for him to reach his breaking point.
"ALRIGHT, IF THIS IS HOW YOU WANT TO PLAY THEN SO BE IT!"
Regulus... You're yelling at a plant. Oh god...
He began to aim every spell that he could think of off the top of his head at the plant, but it was somehow managing to dodge each and every one of the curses that he aimed at it.
"WHAT THE HELL?? STAND UP AND FIGHT YOU COWARD! I'LL - DON'T YOU SNAP AT ME!"
His voice was echoing through the greenhouse and he was barely aware that there was anyone else around when his back suddenly collided with Evan Rosier's. ...His cheeks turned a furious shade of pink.
"...Good Afternoon, Evan."