(1941-06-24) Uncommon Interests
Details for Uncommon Interests
Summary: Morrow and Samira discuss a few things they have in common. Or will have, in the near future.
Date: June 24th, 1941
Location: Clock Tower Entrance, Hogwarts Castle
Related: Mirror, Mirror & Claws and Fangs

The Scottish country-side awakes fresh and verdant after the storm last night. Wispy little clouds drift across the bright blue sky, soon to dissappear in the rising sun. Most students are still at breakfast, but not hungry, Samira meanders through the halls and corridors until she comes out into the Clock Tower Entrance. She watches the swinging pendulum for a time, before turning away to approach the great stained glass window that stretches from the floor nearly to the clock's face high above. She steps into the multi-colored sunlight flooding through the great stained glass panes. Closing her eyes, she basks in its warmth.

Quite the opposite, having scarfed down a very early breakfast, another young lady approaches the forbidding entryway at a brisk pace from outside, perhaps having been off to post some letters before term ends. In typical early summer morning fashion yes, there's still a hint of eerie, ethereal mists around certain areas of the grounds, but it promises to be another glorious day in a couple of hours time.

Walking briskly, Morrow almost doesn't notice the petite dancer as she sets to stride through the currently open vestibule; her Mary-Janes click-clacking across the flagstones in a soft stacatto. But something about the play of light and colour draws her eye and she belatedly settles her gaze upon Samira, with a smile of greeting swift to follow. "Morning, Prince." Adjusting course ever so slightly, keeping her slender arms wrapping her cardigan tightly about her waist - it's chilly, still! - she approaches the Slytherin unhurriedly.

Samira ignores the approaching footsteps. No doubt, whoever it is will turn back or at least give her a wide bearth. But Morrow's soft voice captures Samira's attention and draws out a soft smile. "Good morning, Morrow." Slowly, she turns to receive the approaching girl. "You look lovely. As always."

"Oh.. thank you." Morrow casts a thoughful glance down at her attire as she draws to a halt close to the Slytherin, then back up to regard the other's features. "And you, too." Nope, no wide berth from this Ravenclaw. She seems genuinely intrigued when it comes to the exotic Prince. And she's not the only one, if recent rumours are to be believed! But she's not going to pester the girl for details on that. If she wants to discuss it, they will be forthcoming… and it's Samira, so likely no point getting one's hopes up, in that regard. "Looking forward to the feast?" Considering she didn't bother with breakfast, maybe the young lady is saving herself for gluttony later in the day? Morrow arches a slender brow, her countenance relaxed and friendly, even this early in the morning. She appears in a very good mood, indeed. If one knows the signs, anyway.

Samira's dark eyes linger on Morrow's features in return. Her soft smile widens. "I look forward to the Hogwarts Express. And the summer to come. I've given further thought to your suggestion of performing in the WADA production. I don't have much experience beyond dance, but perhaps there might be a place for me." Sliding her hands into her pockets, Samira shifts her weight from one hip to the other. "And of course, you will be there. Center-stage, I expect."

"I've no doubt you'd be a fantastic addition. It can't all be singing or lines, after all. Well, hopefully not. You never know, with Beery." Chuckling softly, low in her throst, Morrow casts her vivid eyes up to consider the vast stained-glass window for a long moment. It's rather more fetching than usual, with the morning sunlight filtering through. Nice spot. She'll have to remember it for next term. "Ohh.. I don't know about that." she replies, modestly, in regard to where she'll be on stage. To be fair, if it's a musical she doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hell. Singing is emphatically not her forte. "Besides.. it's as much for the parties as the production. You should come." Was that an invitation? Morrow doesn't socialise with just anyone.

For a moment, the brunette Ravenclaw is quiet, shifting her attention slowly back to the curly-haired Samira. And then, apparently, she simply can't help herself. Well it is the last day. Time is of the essence. "I have to ask.." Tilting her head curiously, she arches her brows in polite enquiry. "..is it true Anson Abbott and Antonin Dolohov were fighting over you?" Some girls would kill to make that claim. Not her. But some girls.

Samira blinks. It would seem someone /had/ noticed the fight. And rumors flew fast. But she shouldn't be surprised. "Ah. I think there was a quarrel between them already, no?" The little dancer side-steps and comes to stand a bit closer at Morrow's side. Grinning up at her, she adds, "I was present when one took offense at the other. It's difficult to say if my presence was the cause."

"Find me someone Abbott doesn't have a quarrel with, nowadays." Morrow's lips twist in a wry smirk. "But it's a much better slant on the story to have them pitted against one another for your affections, isn't it… and probably not far off. Dolohov certainly has a thing for you. Why wouldn't Abbott, too?" Angling her head again in that quizzical manner, the brunette watches Samira move closer, grinning ever so slightly now, lending her a wolfish mien. "..you do own a mirror, don't you, Prince? Is it so hard to fathom that boys might be trying to impress you? Somehow I doubt it."

A hint of a blush warms Samira's cheeks as she lowers her gaze. Studying the stain-glass window, she says, "I suppose it isn't. And I will admit, I'm not unaware of it." She peeks up at Morrow. "I have gotten more used to associating with boys this year. But still - old shyness lingers sometimes."

"Half the amusement is in being aware of it and doing nothing." replies the Ravenclaw, blithely dismissive of such inconsequential things as boys feelings. If such a thing exists at all. Smoothly averting her gaze, rather than continuing to obviously regard Samira - and that blush - Morrow looks to the cuff of her cardigan, busying herself straightening it with her fingertips. "Boys are, generally speaking, quite simple creatures. Only a rare few have the same sort of skill in guile and games as we do. Anson, of course, is not one of that number." Chuckling softly, the brunette rocks gently from heel to toe and back again as she recrosses her arms, gaze wandering out to the courtyard.

Samira's dark gaze lingers, watching Morrow with a soft smile. "True. A well-placed Gryffindor, perhaps? A bold heart - simple, but pure?" At last, she follows Morrow's gaze off across the courtyard.

"I'm sure he means well." Morrow doesn't elaborate, waiting a moment before returning a sidelong glance to the smaller girl, lips curving in a smile for a few beats. Perhaps merely for the sake of conversation, she adds, "..he doesn't seem to think much of Oberon, either." Goodness, aren't there any Slytherins that Gryffindor's 'Champion of the Muds' can get along with?

Samira glances back up at Morrow as she drops Oberon's name. "Ah. I don't think that there are many Slytherins that he cares for." It's likely Samira is the one exception. Tilting her head, she studies Morrow's features. "And you? Oberon has captured your interest?"

Being dainty and pretty can ensure you're the exception to many rules, one would expect. As can.. well, a complete disregard for said rules, in Morrow's case. Sure, pick one of the scariest boys in the entire school, what could possibly go wrong? "I suppose he has, yes." The young lady gives her answer pleasantly, not seeming in the slightest bit perturbed by the question. How could she be, when the upper forms have been buzzing with the news and the whispers and stealthy glances that follow? Feeling Samira's eyes upon her, she turns her own gaze more steadily back upon the other girl, arching a brow and smiling vaguely. "I imagine he captures the interest of many girls, of course."

"Mm. He does. Though I imagine you might be one of the few who could dance with his fire and emerge unscathed." Samira smiles up at her. There is no trace of jealousy in her young features. Only interest in Morrow's own well-defined eyes.

"You think so?" Oh, is Morrow herself perhaps uncertain of that? It's certainly playing with fire, though; that's the perfect analogy. Tucking her silky hair back behind her ear in a habitual gesture, the Ravenclaw settles her blase aplomb firmly back in place with a trademark flash of white teeth in a grin. "Well… I appreciate the vote of confidence, Prince. Thank you." She holds the dancer's gaze levelly. Not a touch of envy? Good. Not that Selwyn has ever restrained herself for the sake of someone else's feelings but, well. She does rather enjoy Samira. It'd be a shame to see a budding kinship stamped on over a boy. "I expect you know him rather well.. you move in similar circles, don't you." A statement rather than a question, and a gentle dig for information, perhaps.

Samira gives a slow nod. "I do." And that is all she offers without further prodding. But she remains watching Morrow, as if waitng for her next, well-worded questions. She offers insight, but only those asked for.

Aware of the enforced impasse, the blue-eyed Ravenclaw can't help but smirk. "You're really going to make me ask, aren't you. Minx." Morrow does not like admitting to weakness, especially when it comes to knowing the most interesting details about.. well, everyone. But her intrigue is getting the better of her, in this instance. And besides, after the discussion of hair and clothings, the topic of boys is a safe one to solidify a bond between young ladies.

Well, usually. Frankly, Samira's as much a mystery to her as Lestrange.

Sighing in a mildly over-dramatic manner, casting her eyes ceilingward, Morrow offers the real question, at last, in a tone that combines resignation with wry amusement. "Fine. Prince?" That vivid gaze drops back down, meeting the contrastingly soulful shade of Samira's. "I would like to know what you think of the boy. You have me at a disadvantage."

Samira's subtle smile quirks rather wide when labelled a minx. Her eyes dance with unruffled mirth. But the Prince simply continues to watch the Queen Bee of Hogwarts. "Ah. Simply what I think of him?" A slow, half-shrug and glancing off across the courtyard, she eases slightly closer at Morrow's side. She peeks off down the hall. Silence. And so, in a rather soft tone, for Morrow's ears alone, she says, "He is a dangerous young man. If you dance near his fire it could flare like an oil fire doused with water. I keep what distance I can." She peeks up at Morrow and, with a subtle smile, adds, "But perhaps you would have it no other way? Or perhaps he will continue to be kind to you."

"I'd heard of his reputation, of course.." she admits, keeping her own tone hushed, while still matter-of-fact, "But, honestly, he's been nothing but the perfect gentleman." A flit of cerulean eyes studies Samira's features with further scrutiny. "…alright, so that's what you 'think' of him. What do you know of him?"

Samira smiles up at Morrow and responds easily, "He is the Lestrange Heir. With such pure ancestry, he detests muggle-borns and even half-bloods. He comes from substantial wealth. He joins Professor Slughorn's little gatherings, so great things are anticipated of him."

Raking the fingertips of one hand back through her tresses, Morrow's features relax in increments, until she's simply half-smiling back at Prince, looking if anything only subtly amused. "Alright, alright.. I suppose you Slytherin's must maintain some semblance of mystery around yourselves." And so she lets the matter of Oberon drop. Perhaps there's nothing that can be said to deter her anyway; she is a stubborn creature. And contrary, don't forget contrary. The more she's told something is a bad idea, the more inclined she is to try it. But fine! Moving on..

"But what of you, hm?" Shifting her weight fractionally to the other hip, the Ravenclaw keeps her focus on Samira. "Tell me something of yourself that isn't already apparent or made up in the rumour mill. Indulge me."

Samira lets the matter drop with ease. Despite her warning, she seems to have no concern over Morrow's chosen entanglement. Tilting her head, her brows lift slightly as Morrow poses her new question. "Ah, me? I can't tell what might not be apparent. Perhaps if /you/ ask, I would be inclined to answer. But would you cherish the secrets I'd give you? Or set them loose?"

"I don't imagine for one moment, Prince, that you'd tell me anything that would risk any sort of social downfall." Morrow shrugs lightly, drifting toward the arching doorway and leaning a shoulder against the stone that frames one side, looking out over the courtyard as the morning sun begins to assert it's place. "Even if you did, I'm curious for my own reasons, not hounding after some tidbit of scandalous gossip. But very well, let's see.." Shifting her gaze sidelong to the other girl once again, her own features wolfishly amused and cast now in the more direct light of day. "..well, I once heard you were trained in a specific sort of foreign dancing. Why have you never shown it off, during Arts Club or some-such?" Well, that makes sense. Having a talent and not using it to take the spotlight must seem rather unusual to a girl like Selwyn.

"It has been impossible to practice without being caught once or twice," says Samira with a soft smile. But then lowering her gaze, almost as if bashful, she adds, "The few audiences I've had have confirmed my governess' instructions that it would not be an appropriate dance to perform here."

"Oh my.." For all her aloof airs and catlike indifference to most things she hears, Morrow certainly has the grace to look suitably impressed by this little admission. "..are things so very different, where you come from? How fascinating." Those glacial eyes are studying Samira with a gleam of appraisal in their depths, if only subtly. Something unsuitable for audiences here? Precisely the sort of deviant intrigue that would snare her attention. But she doesn't press the matter. "And you wonder why people find themselves drawn to you." Snorting gently, an impression of teasingly derisive amusement, the Ravenclaw shakes her head. "..I'm beginning to think that's some false modesty, Prince."

Samira peeks up at Morrow and tilts her head. "Oh? I have great pride in my dancing. I work hard to perfect the techniques I learned long ago. It delights me to incorporate new elements from other traditions of dance and movement. But more than once, when I have been caught unawares, the older boys… and a girl… they pressed me for more. Tried to touch me. In my homeland, the dance captivates as well, but… different things are assumed and expected of the artist."

As the reason behind the secrecy becomes more apparent, Morrow's features darken, shadowed with a frown. "People ought to know not to touch things they cannot afford." Clearly that's a sentiment that resonates with her.. not that anyone would dare make presumptions with her! She'd have their guts for garters, no doubt. Or at the very least they'd be on the receiving end of that very sharp tongue. The notion of the smaller and less openly assertive girl being treated this way clearly displeases the Ravenclaw. Though, she has the sense to recognise this is no tiny damsel, no matter how wide-eyed or angelic she may seem. "I trust you showed them the error of their ways?" Exhaling sharply, the tall brunette averts her gaze outside again, huffing an errant wisp of hair out of her face. "..how infuriating, to have your work besmirched in such a manner. I don't blame you for keeping it to yourself, now."

As the reason behind the secrecy becomes more apparent, Morrow's features darken, shadowed with a frown. "People ought to know not to touch things they cannot afford." Clearly that's a sentiment that resonates with her.. not that anyone would dare make presumptions with her! She'd have their guts for garters, no doubt. Or at the very least they'd be on the receiving end of that very sharp tongue. The notion of the smaller and less openly assertive girl being treated this way clearly displeases the Ravenclaw. Though, she has the sense to recognise this is no tiny damsel, no matter how wide-eyed or angelic she may seem. "I trust you showed them the error of their ways?" Exhaling sharply, the tall brunette averts her gaze outside again, huffing an errant wisp of hair out of her face. "..how infuriating, to have your work besmirched in such a manner. I don't blame you for keeping it to yourself, now."

"Rumors linger, as do curiosities. Like yours. But I have not been pressed recently." Samira bows her head slightly and continues in a rather quiet tone, "And… I appreciate your sentiment. If you wished… this summer… I would be pleased to perform for /you/." Having made such an offer, Samira watches Morrow closely now, head still bowed but peeking up at her. "If you have such interest."

Any other person might apologise, or voice hope that they had not overstepped the line. Not Morrow. Well, Samira wouldn't have explained if the curiosity bothered her, would she? That's Selwyn's logic. No harm, no foul. Noting the body-language that accompanies the pleasantly surprising offer, the brunette quirks a brow; meeting those eyes as best she can given the angle of the girl's head and the veil of sooty lashes. The response, regardless, is obvious. "..I would be delighted. And I can assure you, I know how to conduct myself better than your previous audience members." A wry curve twists across her lips. "The most you'd have to worry over with me would be my demanding instruction. And.. I think I'd likely lack the charisma required to pull it off anyway. So you're probably safe." The self-deprecation is aimed at her oh-so-British upbringing rather than her talent. Morrow's actually quite a good dancer, thank you. Not incredible. But good. But the British do tend to lack that exotic sensuality of certain foreigners, alas.

Samira smiles as her quiet offer is accepted. It brightens further and soon, with an impish laugh, she shakes her head, "Ah, no. I would be delighted to teach you. I think that if you chose, you could master it quite well. You do not lack for charisma. No false modesty, yes? You know well how you captivate others."

Straightening languidly from her relaxed lean, the girl flashes Sanira an undeniably pleased grin. "An unexpected boon from a miserably early walk! That's a good start to the last day, isn't it? I'll have to excuse myself for now, however… I haven't quite finished packing." Flitting her striking eyes over the Slytherin in a practised down-up sweep, Morrow then meets her gaze evenly. "I imagine I'll see you at the Feast? Or on the train, assuming my invitation holds out.." Ah yes, the 'party'. That should be interesting…

Samira nods, clasping her hands behind her back. "Yes. I expect I shall see you there. And… I hope you will be kind to me and guard well what I have said of Oberon. I am not so fearless as you."

"Have a good day, Prince. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" As if that narrows it down! Venturing a cheeky wink, the Ravenclaw then turns in a swirl of dark hair and strides briskly off into the castle proper, the sound of her heels eventually fading.

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