(1941-06-23) Mirror, Mirror
Details for Mirror, Mirror
Summary: A perfectly innocent conversation about exam results takes an interesting turn… look out, peasants.
Date: June 23rd, 1941
Location: Entry Courtyard, Hogwarts Castle

In the late afternoon, after most classes have let out, the entry courtyard of Hogwarts echoes with the chatter and laughter of a small collection of students. A pair of Fourth Year boys huddle together, casting glares over their shoulders at a pack of Slytherins across the courtyard. At the center of the nest of serpents, a tall, dark-haired boy sits on a stone bench, leaning back against a pillar. He stares directly at the boys, wearing a subtly menacing grin.

The penultimate day of term! Finally! The review classes have been dragging terribly, especially with the glorious summer weather outside - yes, the sun has been shining in Scotland. It's a gosh-darned miracle. Now, with the dwindling afternoon casting long shadows across the high walls and ancient flagstones of the castle, the air is a little cooler. In fact, if one's paying attention, there's a threat of thunderstorm on the occasional wisp of breeze. Sometimes you just get a feel for these things.

If such trifling concerns as the weather bother a girl like Morrow Selwyn, there's not a trace of it in her bearing as she strolls out into the courtyard; followed, unsurprisingly, by her usual little coven, chattering quietly amongst themselves in that oft unsettling way girls do. Their fearless leader largely seems to ignore them, her blue eyes roaming over those present as if in search of someone in particular. How often does that happen? Not very. Selwyn's more the 'wait until they come scraping to you' sort of person. Alas, needs must.

With a subtle(ish) double-take as she notes the dark-haired Slytherin at the center of 'that' group, the brunette briefly follows his gaze to the glowering youngsters nearby, expression remaining indifferent and attention swiftly averted as she decides she's uninterested in the pair. Nope, she has a specific target in mind. Waving her companions in a vaguely shooing gesture, silently bidding them not to follow, she starts toward the group of serpents, entirely without hesitation.

Every time the Fourth Years glance back at Oberon, his wicked grin gets a little bigger as he delights in fuelling their worries about what he might be thinking. He doesn't seem to notice as his companions quiet down in awe at the arrival of the striking Morrow Selwyn, until one of them taps his shoulder. Glancing up, his attention is directed to the Ravenclaw, and his smiles turns instantly from wicked to warm. "Hello, Selwyn. You're looking lovely, as always."

"Lestrange." The polite greeting is returned in kind, the still quietly formal use of surname seeming perfectly fine by the young lady. Well, she's smiling, anyway. Though that mannerism rarely touches her cold eyes. There's a fleeting glance, too, over his cronies… but she's not familiar with them, nor are they her reason for walking over without preamble. So she dismisses them, settling her gaze back on Oberon as she draws to a halt and comfortably folds her arms across her midsection.

Accepting the compliment with a vaguely feline quirk of brow and hint of a coy smirk, she then relents to demurely flitting her eyes downward for a splitsecond. "Thank you." And then it's straight to business, seeing as his prior distraction appears to have fled. Probably wise. "I wondered if I might ask you a favor. If you've a moment."

Oberon dips his head in acquiescence, shifting over to make more room on the stone bench and patting it invitingly. He glancing up to his onlooking housemates. "Piss off, lads," he says with convivial humour. "The lady and I have something to discuss." He earns a few returned jests and kissy-noises, but his Slytherin cronies move off, giving them space. A few drift toward Morrow's own flock for a bit of fraternization. "Ignore them," Oberon says to Morrow. "They're good lads, but they're as mature as tadpoles."

Harriet and Audra look delighted by the approach of the bolder Slytherin boys, sparkling and blossoming under the attention. Rosetta, frankly, looks like she's been sucking lemons. Ah well. Eyeing her companions in wry amusement as she herself takes a seat unhurriedly beside Oberon, Morrow gently shakes her head; summarily despairing of such displays. "They're not alone in that.." she mutters, before settling herself properly, legs elegantly crossed at the knee, and turning her gaze back toward the older boy beside her. Not in the slightest bit perturbed by the laddish mocking, apparently, the brunette's smile returns; a vague, habitual curve across her lips, the mask everyone expects from the Ravenclaw 'Queen Bee'. If a Fifth Year can claim such a lofty title.

"I'm staying on to take NEWTs." she begins, matter-of-factly, clasping her hands upon her uppermost knee. She's abandoned her usual cardigan today, given the balmy heat; electing to wear the blouse and blue-bronze tie without additional layers. And yet, somehow, she still pulls off 'fashionable' within the vaguely rakish ensemble. "Charms and Transfiguration. Only.. I got an 'E' in Charms." The displeasure in admitting this, as a Ravenclaw to a Slytherin, is cast across her elfin features in a fleeting shadow.

Oberon pinches his lips to stifle the chuckle threatening to escape. "Only an E. Well, you might as well give up now," he says with a smirk. But he quickly shakes his head. "I'm sure you'll be amazing in NEWTs. But…why tell me this?"

Allowing a wry chuckle herself, even if he manages to suppress it, Morrow doesn't even bother summoning an impression of affront. Of course she has unreasonably high standards. Pure-blood. Eagle. Female. All of those facets rather demand it. "I got an 'O' last year.. and one this year in Transfiguration. If I'm going to be moving on to NEWT classes, I want to be prepared." Also known as 'I want the full house, damnit!' in academic circles.

"And yes, well." Now she pauses, though it's mere affectation; the actress in her rarely far from the surface even in the simplest of exchanges. Tucking a wayward lock of dark hair behind her ear, she regards the boy contemplatively. "I have it on good authority that you're particularly good at Charms, Lestrange. And - please understand the pride-swallowing it's taking for me to ask - I wondered if you might be willing to give me some extra tuition..?" The subtle inflection and arch of a slender brow renders it a gentle enquiry. Literally soft-spoken, too, as if she expects some passer-by to overhear and sign her up as the next village idiot in Hogsmeade. "I've struggled with the Reductor Curse, in particular…"

Oberon lifts his head for a slow nod as Morrow explains her purpose. "Ahhh. Well, I should warn you that I got an E on my Charms O.W.L., too. But marks aren't everything." What an unusually subtle way for Oberon to brag about his skill with a wand. He takes a moment to consider, in which his gazes drifts, looking Morrow over from head to to and back again, eyes lingering on her face. "I suppose we'd only have today to do this. That is, unless you want to get together over the summer. The Reductor Curse can be an unruly beast. We'll need time to master it."

Credit where it's due, the Ravenclaw is well enough used to such looks - albeit usually from a distance - that she doesn't seem bothered by Oberon's wandering gaze. If that's the price of getting her own way, he can look. No harm ever came from looking! Glancing dubiously skyward for a moment, Morrow captures her lower lip gently between her teeth. "There's not an awful lot left of today.. though I suppose it depends how dreadful I am, doesn't it?" Those glacial eyes lower, meeting Oberon's steadily and accompanied a splitsecond later by a renewed half-smile.

"I wouldn't presume to demand your time, Lestrange, especially during the holidays. Though, I'm game if you are." She's not going to be the one to decide that one, clearly.

Oberon's mouth curves into a confident smirk. "You're demanding nothing. You're asking. More importantly, you're trying to better yourself. My father raised me to value self-improvement. I think I can find the time. In fact…I think we should make a date of it. Literally. After the term is out, you and I should go out and have some fun."

Does she consider what exactly his idea of 'fun' might entail? Nope. She doesn't concern herself with such boring details. Let's face it, with a match made in Hades to the extent of this one, anything is likely to end up entertaining at the very least. Besides, it might infuriate certain would be rivals. So her answer is simple.

"You're on."

Oberon's smirk spreads into a smile, his eyes lighting up as she returns his admiring gaze. Not many girls would look so boldly, and her forthrightness seems to have snared his attention. "I like your style, Morrow." His hand extends toward her to briefly touch her knee. "You like the theatre, don't you? We'll have to see if anything is playing in that little place on Whimzick Alley."

"I do, yes." The brunette has the good grace to look appreciative for Oberon recalling that detail. This conversation has certainly taken an interesting swerve - Morrow can practically feel the eyes of her friends over there boring into the side of her head and she invites further consternation by ignoring them utterly, keeping her focus solely upon the Slytherin boy she's seated with. No, not even a bat of a lash at the touch to her knee, though perhaps a fractional twitch of her lips in a more pronounced smirk. Smile? Somewhere in between, let's say. Oh dear, the rumour mill is going to spin out of control.

Good. If she had any issue with that, she could have asked one of her housemates, couldn't she?

Learning swiftly from his responses, no doubt squirreling notes away in the back of her mind, the pretty Ravenclaw spends a moment in simple idle regard of the Lestrange's intense features, before eventually breaking the comfortable silence. "Well. If that's settled, I should likely let you return to.. whatever it was you were doing." Loitering? Tormenting? Whatever. She doesn't seem unduly concerned with how he spends his time.

What was he doing? Oh yes, those poor Fourth Year Hufflepuffs he was mentally torturing. Oberon glances to where his victims were standing, only to find that they've vanished. He shrugs, unconcerned. "It was nothing important. If you like, I'll walk you to wherever you're going." Oberon rises, and suddenly he is the very image of propriety, one hand at his back, the other at his midsection, bowing in gentlemanly fashion. He extends a hand to help Morrow to her feet, ready to turn and place it into the crook of his elbow. Of course, he cannot quite help his usual little smirk—just a dash of playfulness at the display.

Oh no. Someone who courts attention for their own amusement even more than she does? Who knew such a creature existed! But, never one to be outdone, Morrow permits a chuckle, low in her throat and grins wolfishly up at the taller boy as she places her hand in his. Acutely aware of onlookers - isn't she always? - the young lady tosses her dark tresses back from her face as she rises to a stand, nowhere near his towering height but no tiny pixie either, and oh-so-casually allows her hand to be guided into the crook of his elbow. "How kind." It won't be a long walk, seeing as her intended destination was only the Ravenclaw Dorm.. but neither he nor their audience need to know that right this minute. Still blithely refusing to meet the eyes of her abandoned companions, Morrow instead tilts her head in order to look up and aside at Oberon as they set off, murmuring a hushed aside, laced with amusement. "..you're enjoying this, aren't you." Well, who's she to talk. It's fabulous.

With her hand in his elbow, Oberon rests his other hand upon it, if only for a few moments. He glances toward the gaggle of Ravenclaws and Slytherins, earning both nods of approval and a few shaking heads from his housemates. More than a few snakes tend to think of Slytherins as the master race, and anyone else might as well be a mudblood. It seems that Oberon has a more enlightened view. "As much as you are," he murmurs back to Morrow. "Face it, we'd make an impressive couple. Just look at their faces."

Also fortunate is the undisputed fact that Morrow Selwyn doesn't give a fig what anyone thinks. She's rich and she's pureblooded. Surely being sorted into the House that prizes 'wit beyond measure' only tops that into a perfectly winning trio of qualities? Such confidence in one's place.. maybe that's a large part of the reason behind any unreasonable dislike of the girl on principle. Besides, she's never anything but pleasant to members of Slytherin House! So many arguments in her favour. She doesn't voice a single one. She simply meets the few glances of anything other than approval with that mildly predatory smile in passing, waiting til she and Oberon are far enough out of earshot to venture a reply. "Well of course we'd make an impressive couple." she partly echoes, chancing a teasing grin sidelong. "..look at us." No, she's not going to fawn and pretend he's the most dazzling, best looking, more desired. But offering equality on those gauges is a hefty compliment, from her! Otherwise content to stroll, she keeps pace with his longer stride gracefully enough. "If only I had an 'O' in Charms." she sighs, in faux-resignation, a rare spark of wicked humour in her gaze as it wanders. "Then it would be the full package."

"We'll get you there. By the time you take your NEWTs, you'll be as masterful with charms as you are with charming me." Oberon starts to smile, then frowns and sighs immediately. "I apologise. You are not some trophy girl to titter at my awful jokes." He gazes down and sideways at her. "You're Morrow Selwyn," he says, as if those words should speak for themselves, and it seems he expects them to, offering no further explanation.

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