(1939-10-10) Payment for Help
Details for Payment for Help
Summary: Meeting up on the rooftops, Angelus asks Madeline about the story the poster pertains to. And in payment for her help, decides to turn her in for her simple wand lighting spell.
Date: October 10, 1939
Location: Viaduct View Louvre, Hogwarts

Madeline has been scarce since Wednesday - rarely seen in the common room, dismissing herself from meals as quickly as possible, and taking refuge out on the castle grounds - or up here in one of the louvres, if it's drizzling. Her wand provides some light as she leans back against a stone wall, a book and parchment balanced on her knees, and writes - dipping her quill periodically in ink.

The roof was a place to go when he wanted to be alone; away from the crowd of people he both hung out with and other students around school. The fourth year Gryffindor climbs up the stairs and pushes his way out onto the roof, his robes neatly falling around him, flapping at his feet as he walks to the railing. Leaning his hands on top, Angelus peers over at the grounds below, releasing a sigh as he thinks.

The sounds of footsteps and a sigh bring Madeline's attention towards the other student - and she lets a quiet sigh of her own. Great - just what she wants. Angelus. She turns her attention back to her page, her quill hesitating due to interrupted thoughts. She has to re-read the sentence she'd been working on before she continues working on her story, a determined frown on her features.

Angelus doesn’t notice the girl as he stares over the railing, focused on the land far below, pulled into his thoughts. A mischievous smile eventually flickers at his lips, and the youth draws back a step as he dips his hand into his robes. The bag is only partially pulled out as his blue eyes scan the rooftop and the youth clears his throat as a brow arches, catching sight of his housemate. “Oh,” he lets out on a soft breath, tucking the bag back into his robes. For a moment he frowns at her, a hand lifting to stroke his chin before he smirks and brings his head up with an air of self-importance. “Evans,” Gel greets. “Has the roof,” he says as he gestures around him, “become your hideout?”

Madeline keeps her attention on her writing - so focused, that she doesn't even notice him pulling out and then putting away the bag. "I don't know," she answers quietly as she works at scratching out another sentence. "I guess. Maybe. Not really."

A hum escapes the youth as he lifts his hand to flick a hand delicately at his blonde curls, fixing what strands might think they can leave their place as his eyes roll upward. Madeline could have not even been there for all Angelus pays attention to her. Only when he lowers his hand, a smirk twitching at his lips, does he rest his blue eyes back on the girl, tilting his head a little to one side. “Well I was hoping you could help me out again, Evans,” he says with a casual shrug. He approaches, sighing as he crouches next to her.

Madeline frowns slightly - not sure where Angelus is going to go with this. "With what?" she asks, keeping her gaze on her page, instead of the boy. Even if she is having more than a little trouble concentrating on her work, now.

As Angelus crouches beside his housemate, his head tilts, catching the light. He leans, looking curiously as he frowns. “Er-“ For a moment, the youth forgets his words, blinking. Clearing his throat and giving a shake of his head, he leans even closer to Madeline as he hisses quietly, “What are you doing? You know, you can still have some House pride and not try to lose our House points.” He lifts his fingers to massage his forehead as he sighs.

"I've earned the house more points than you have," Madeline counters. "And when have you ever seen someone lose points for wand-lighting?" she adds, rolling her eyes.

Well. At least she still has some of her usual fire. As Angelus crouches beside her, though, she tilts her book and the words written on the page away from him slightly.

Angelus blinks, quirking a brow as he regards Madeline. He clears his throat and lifts his head, releasing a sigh. “We’re the only House that has an empty hourglass,” he murmurs. He eyes the wand with a troubled frown, and then rolls his eyes. “Not yet,” he says quietly, and with a shake of his head points at her wand. “You know the Headmaster wouldn’t be pleased. Turn it off and we’ll pretend it wasn’t lit.” He sighs and adds in quickly, “And then if you can help me find out what the story of the new poster is about, please.”

Flint can go hang a salami, for all Madeline cares. But at least she has the sense not to say it. "I need it to see what I'm doing. If I lose points - oh well. None of it really matters, anyways," she answers, her tone rather lackluster and listless. "You can report me if you want to, I don't care."

She lets out a sigh before adding, "It's about Peter Pan. They drew Flint as Captain Hook - Peter Pan's enemy, who's an evil pirate. Hook's scared of the tick-tock croc - a crocodile that swallowed a clock, and ate Captain Hook's hand. And liked the taste of the hand so much, he's always trying to get the rest of Captain Hook."

“It does matter,” Angelus snaps before he can stop himself. He inhales sharply, lifting his hand to his head and shaking his head. “Evans,” he lets out on a sigh. On a softer tone, one trying to be comforting, he says, “Just because you don’t like what’s happening doesn’t mean you should give up. We are Gryffindor,” he adds as he lifts a brow. “We don’t give up. Even when things seem grim.” His blue eyes flick to her wand, to her book curiously, but then tilting his head as he focuses his gaze on her, listens.

“He… ate a clock?” Angelus wears a puzzled expression as he blinks. A hum escapes him, considering. “Peter Pan is a, what? The hero of the story? A thief? What’s the girl with the wings? A pixie?”

"It doesn't matter," Madeline repeats. None of it matters. She keeps her gaze still locked on the page in front of her.

"He ate it by accident," she confirms. "And Peter Pan's a boy who never grows up. He lives in a magic land - Never Land - and he flies with the help of Tinkerbell's pixie dust. Tinkerbell's a pixie and a fairy - it means pretty much the same thing, to Muggles. And Peter Pan's not really a thief he's just…" She shrugs her shoulders uncertainly. "He leads the Lost Boys. He likes to have adventures, and fight the pirates, and save the Indians and… stuff. And he likes stories."

Angelus draws in another sharp intake of air, but he simply rolls his eyes and fixes his gaze on her. As he listens to her a brow arches and intrigue flickers in his eyes, letting out a ‘heh.’ “Interesting,” he remarks, humming softly as he nods his head. “That sounds… brilliant. Peter Pan?” he asks, craning his head to the side. He’ll have to take it an official look at the story over the next Hogsmeade weekend. “Thank you, Evans,” he says, an appreciative smile flicking against his lips. “Thank you.”

A moment passes and Angelus remains where he is, crouched by the girl. A sigh rolls off his tongue and he reaches out for her book, trying to rest his palm on the pages. “Evans.” His tone takes on a firmer tone as his chin lifts, frowning at her. “We aren’t done here.”

The book is closed - just a random textbook she's using as a writing surface for her parchment. When he reaches for it, Madeline hugs her book and her papers protectively to her chest, giving him a look that manages to somehow be both alarmed and defiant. "I'm still allowed to write! None of the rules say I can't write," she insists. He can't take away her story!

Angelus withdraws his hand an inch when she lifts the book - and parchment - up, fisting it briefly before he spreads his fingers. A sigh escapes him and the youth gives her a pained look, cocking his head. For a moment he struggles, turning his head away from her as he closes his eyes, his chest rising as he breathes in. “Evans,” he hisses out on a sigh, almost sympathetically. Switch, he urges himself silently. It takes a little bit of effort to pull himself away from his current persona, trying to focus, but a heavy sigh escapes him as he slides his gaze back onto Madeline. “Evans,” he says coldly, a look of steel in his eyes now. His sigh escapes him in contempt as he leans his arms into his lap, rising to his feet, using the toe of one foot to nudge her lightly. His tone is arrogant as he speaks, “I don’t care about your bloody book; I care about the wand. You’re using magic when you shouldn’t be, especially for being less than a witch.”

Madeline angles her body away from Angelus, her grip on her book and papers only growing stronger as tears start to fill her eyes. She'll never be a witch. They won't let her be a witch. She doesn't want to be a witch, anyways. "Just leave me alone. I just want to be left alone."

Angelus locks an icy stare on the girl, silent for several seconds. He nudges his foot at her again, frowning with dissatisfaction. You don’t care, she’s lesser than you. A smirk flicks against his lips, tilting his head as he looks at Madeline smugly. “No,” Angelus responds with a sneer. “I can’t do that, Evans. You broke the rules and I have to deal with that. So let us go to Fli-“ He lets out a sigh and shakes his head. “Dumbledore,” he corrects himself quickly. “You are stubborn, but if I have to I will take out my wand.” He clasps his hands behind his back and bounces once on his feet. “So let’s make this easy.”

"Fine," Madeline answers flatly, not even bothering to argue. She tucks her parchment papers away inside her book, and her book inside her book bag. Perhaps surprisingly - it's her MUD book, and it seems to be the only book she's carrying. She then picks up her wand - which remains lit - before she stands to follow Angelus, her gaze directed down and away from him.

Angelus hums thoughtfully, watching the girl before his smugness grows, tipping his chin with superiority. “You shouldn’t have attempted the spell. Who knows what could happened, Evans. A year,” he informs, a contemptuous ‘heh’ escaping him. “You think you’ve learned enough about our world to cast magic on your own? The movement of the wand can still be so complicated to beginners,” he says, condescendingly. “Oh.” His eyebrows lift in surprise, but then a pleased smile slides across his face in contempt as he gestures her onward. “Then let’s go find the Professor.”

Madeline doesn't answer - and she still doesn't dis-spell the charm. She shoves her wand - still lit - into a pocket in her robes instead and simply starts walking. Why is it so much to just be left alone to write her story?

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