(1941-11-15) Cold Blooded
Details for Cold Blooded
Summary: On an unseasonally cold autumns day, the Snakes all come together to coil up in front of their common room fireplace.
Date: Tuesday November 15, 1941
Location: Hogwarts - Slytherin Common Room

It is a fall night. The weather is cool and fair.

The Slytherin commons room is a low-ceilinged, dungeon-like affair illuminated during the day by a multitude of greenish lamps and a roaring fire which also works to partially ward of the perpetual chill of the dungeons. The common room is filled with low-backed, black and dark green leather sofas and armchairs accented with buttons that create dimples deep in the upholstery. For the decorative carvings of the dark wood cupboards, the columns, the mantelpiece, and other architectural details of the room run strongly towards snakes and skulls motif. All these details combine to create a quite grand atmosphere with a touch of spooky and cold.
Day or night the enchanted windows are filled with an eerie green glow from the water on the other side. Occasionally the Giant Squid and other residents of the Black Lake will swim by the portals. Over all the common room has a sunken ship feel, though is oddly enough also gives a strange cozy sense as well.

A bitter cold has settled over the country-side surrounding the castle, heralding the coming winter. Of all the common rooms, Slytherin is the coldest. Even in the warmest of nights, the perpetual chill of the dungeons sinks deep into Samira's bones. After more than two years at Hogwarts, it doesn't look like she will ever aclimate to the cold.

As usual, Samira has claimed one of the leather armchairs closest to the fire. She has taken the blanket from her bed and sits wrapped up, cozy warm. Her white cat, fluffy as ever, is tucked in with her. It purrs in a low, contented rumble. Samira seems just as peaceful, gazing into the fireplace, entranced by the flickering flames.

Riddle returns from Herbology, which means he's got his outer winterware layers on, including some er muffs that doubled as protection as there were Mandrakes being re-potted in one of the Greenhouses as they were leaving. The fingertips are plucked at of his leather gloves, loosening them before fluidly removing them and tucking them into his pockets. "That fire has never been more inviting." A truth wrapped inside of a compliment laid out in a casual daper way. "Might I beg you to share it a while Samira?"

Samira's gaze flits to Riddle at the sound of his voice. She smiles. Always a smile for him - the secret leader of the Knights of Walpurgis. "Please. Do join, Tom," she murmurs, stirring within her blanket cucoon to sit up slightly. "Ya salaam, it has been so cold. Even for you, ya sadiqi." She calls him friend. But once before, she told him that the Arabic word carries greater nuance. Confidant might be a better translation.

Riddle sheds the rest of his heavy layers and hangs them on his peg. Then he pries the muffs away from his ears, lifts them up, hangs them up in a bit of a rigid way that is meant to represent how cold he is, so cold he moves like a robot. "It's not even winter." Rubbing his hands together he strolls towards the couch and forgoes his high backed usual chair to sit with her on the couch. Another throw blanket is slid over his lap covering his hands to start the thawing process. "I'm glad to see that you are handling the cold. I remember your first nights here, we all thought you just might crawl right into the fire and curl up."

Samira watches as Riddle hangs his layers with such meticulous care, the warm glimmer of firelight reflecting in the shine of her dark curls and eyes. As Riddle settles down on the same couch with her, Samira stirs further. Disturbed from its sleep, her cat jumps out of her lap with a little murr. But Samira's attention remains on Riddle. Shifting closer, she seeks to settle in against his side. "Still the cold sinks in so deep. But yes… not so painful as when I first came."

Riddle has just come in after Herbology and his layers of outerware are hung recently on a peg. There is a high backed leather chair by the fire that is rather considered Riddle's seat, because he always sits there. Even when he's not sitting there, people tend to leave it vacant. It is a bit odd all that considered that he's sitting instead on the couch beside Samira. One arm lifting to rest along the back of the couch so he can better turn to face his companion on the couch, Samira. Both under seperat throw blankets, Samira much more cocooned than Riddle who is just sitting with one casually over his lap and one hand. "It's a bit of a shock that it's only a handful of weeks before Holiday is going to be upon us. Will you be staying with your brother again?"

Samira settles against Riddle's side as he rests his arm along the back of the couch. All bundled up in her blanket, she looks cozy-warm. Staring off into the fire, she offers a light nod. "I imagine. He…" She pauses, glancing off to the side. "He is keen to continue teaching me what a good Azam should know." A chosen few, even among the Knights of Walpurgis, will know what this means. Over the summer break, her brother had taught her dark magics.

Mackenzie enters from the hallway in a bustle of movement, going immediately over to stand by the fireplace, rubbing her hands together. "I hate this fucking cold," she complains loudly. Noticing Riddle and Samira holding a conversation, she quiets politely, shooting them an apologetic smile. She turns to face her rear to the fire, warming that side of her as she looks first over Riddle and then Samira appraisingly and unabashedly.

Riddle bows his head in a genteel manner towards Mackenzie, her language doesn't seem to phase him one bit. After all Mackenzie's cousin is one of his closer friends, he's quite desensitized. The snuggling in of Samira into his side is not leaned away from, nor is it something he leans into either. They rather look like some muggle etiquette book. Some Rockwell painting. "We were just saying it's unseasonably cold. Offer you this blanket?" He lifts up the hand that's under the blanket to offer it up some towards Mackenzie.

"Tom?" A yearmate has rather timidly approached and reluctantly interrupted, "Would you mind coming and taking a look at this plant. Whittle said that if it died I'm going to fail and this cold weather… you really seemed to know about it all in class just now…" The hand that was resting on the back cushion behind Samira lowers to give her shoulder a little squeeze. "I'm sorry. I will be back as soon as I can." The blank expression on Riddle's face has his year mate as uneasy as a glare would as Tom rises and gestures for the interrupter to lead the way into the dorms.

Samira tilts her head to stare back across at Mackenzie. A subtle smile quirks upon her lips. She seems as comfortable and content as a cat on settled over a heating vent. However, when one of Riddle's classmates comes to take him away, she might as well make a little murr of protest. But, as Riddle, ever the gentleman, begs her pardon, she smiles with a languid nod. And as he heads off, Samira curls up on her side, resting her cheek against the leather couch cushion. Once again, she gazes across at Mackenzie. "Hello."

"Hi," Mackenzie says in response, her eyes focusing solely on Samira now, "I don't know that we've properly met. I'm Mackenzie Lestrange." She purses her lips a moment before adding, "And you, Miss Prince, are a hotbed of rumors and stories." She grins ferally, brushing her hair back out of her face to sit properly about her shoulders.

Samira smiles across at Mackenzie, an untroubled hint of mirth flickering in her eyes like the firelight. It would seem that she knows well of the rumors fluttering and flitting through the school about her. "Samira. You should call me that."

"Samira then," Mackenzie accepts, shifting her weight to one hip as her smile only deepens, "I suppose they are rumors and not facts for a reason, though I would -love- to know how much is true." She lifts her chin slightly to look down at Samira challengingly. "I suppose you'd not be so open with a near stranger, though, about the Dark Arts," she says, "Unfortunate."

The entry of the Slytherin common room is opened and soon a dark featured teen steps inside, his hair slightly overgrown yet brushed neatly across his forehead swept back so as not to interfere with his vision. As the flickering light which illuminates the commons crests his features, the shadow of the dungeon outside is cast aside leaving only the intense gaze of Antonin Dolohov as it sweeps the room. The boy's eyes rove across those gathered before marking Samira with a slight pause though there is no outward sign of greeting. His feet do carry him in the direction of she and Mackenzie, however as he slips the cloth satchel from his shoulder to drop to the floor once near the couch.

Samira laughs, her eyes shining with impish mirth. With a cheshire cat smile, she closes her eyes and stretches, arching a bit in her little cucoon. Then, releasing a content little sigh, she settles and snuggles deeper under her blanket until only her eyes are visible. At last, she murmurs, soft and slightly muffled, "It's dangerous to be curious of such things." The sound of a cloth satchel dropping to the floor makes Samira blink. Although she tries to peek over, Antonin is just out of her view.

"Doesn't make me any less curious," Mackenzie responds before looking over at the source of the noise and giving Antonin a welcoming smile. Her weight shifts again, as if she's unable to keep still as she warms herself by the fire. She takes this time to inspect Antonin as closely as she previously did to Riddle and Samira, looking for something in him that she may or may not have found.

Antonin turns that intense gaze upon Mackenzie, his eyes fixing upon her with an almost challenging glare as stands without moving just on the other side of the sofa for a moment. "Lestrange," he says bluntly in greeting before stepping around the end of the couch into view of Samira. He does not offer her another gaze and he settles himself at the opposite end of her, nor does he ask or wait for invitation to join her. One arm is rested atop the arm cushion of the couch while his left foot raises to rest his ankle across his right knee. His every movement speaks of intention, a certain rigidity, even as a very slight smile curves the corners of his lips upward, his eyes never leaving Mackenzie.

Samira blinks across at Mackenzie, peeking out at her with impish mirth. However, as Antonin greets the other girl, her head turns. She watches with keen interest as he settles down with her on the sofa near her feet, where she'd been sitting herself a moment earlier. Her gaze flits from him to Mackenzie. But then, watching the Fourth Year, she murmurs, "Hello, Antonin."

"Dolohov," Mackenzie responds in kind. She stares at him for a moment longer before seeming satisfied with whatever it is she finds. "We were just talking about the rumors about Samira," she says, her smile turning amused, "I heard she dances naked in the Forest at night." She folds her hands behind her back, her left holding her right, as she looks between the two for response.

Antonin rolls his eyes slightly at the mention of what the conversation centers around as he turns his gaze on Samira. He looks at her for a moment before dipping his head in greeting and saying, "Samira." Turning his eyes back on Mackenzie, he shrugs his shoulders lightly. "Who doesn't?" he asks in reply to her mention of the rumor. "The rumors surrounding Samira are her own. I do not concern myself with her business, nor should any other self respecting witch or wizard. Worrying about who is dancing naked in the forest does not make oneself any stronger."

Samira blinks, rather surprised. Glancing at Antonin as he offers his rather measured response, Samira eases herself back up into a sitting position, gaze lowered. Though a soft, unconcerned smile lingers on her lips, keen eyes might detect a subtle hint of warmth in her cheeks. Glancing across at Mackenzie, she murmurs, "Such wild imaginations… It's far, far too cold to dance like that."

Mackenzie seems completely unperturbed by Antonin's comment and rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "Knowing things gives one power, which is strength," she suggests almost idly, "But more importantly, knowing who does what gives you information about who to go to when you want to learn things. Be it new spells or how to dance. What the school doesn't teach you have to learn from somewhere." She purses her lips as she looks back to Samira. "That is a terribly good point," she concedes and her eyes turn upward as her mind churns in thought.

"Lestrange, no one is denying that knowledge is power. I am curious what exactly it is that you think might give you power should that particular rumor about Samira be true," Antonin says with a hint of amusement in his tone. He frowns as he turns that intent gaze back upon the Slytherin female on the opposite end of the couch from him and eyes her. "In any case, were I looking for power I think I would explore other options than frolicking about the forest in the nude… no matter how enjoyable such actions may be."

Samira tilts her head, watching Mackenzie curiously as the other girl's mind seems to whirr. But as Antonin seems intent on questioning Mackenzie himself, she glances to him. His mention of how enjoyable dancing nude in the forest might be, makes her blink and glance back at Mackenzie, still curious. For the moment, she remains silent and watchful.

Mackenzie focuses back on Antonin and grins. "If it seems enjoyable, why not find out if that person might be able to teach you," she argues, "Though, if I were pressed, I would say dancing naked would give a woman power over many men and even some women." She blinks, as if thinking of a caveat, then does speak it, "Assuming, of course, that you were any good at it." She reaches up, running a hand through her hair to push it out of her face, the long strands settling behind her shoulder.

Antonin spares Samira the faintest half smile, the mere lifting of the corner of his mouth on the right side, the side furthest from Mackenzie's gaze before his expression shifts once more to inscrutable and he turns his gaze back around toward the other girl. He offers a nod of his head. "I assume that is the fatal flaw of all things in this life, yes? All things can hold a certain allure, or some small amount of power so long as you are good at them. If not, then they taper away into normalcy or into outright weakness."

Samira runs her hand through her wild, dark curls. Still a bit sleepy, she rubs at her scalp. Despite her calm, relaxed manner, the warmth in her cheeks deepens, growing a bit more noticeable as she averts her gaze. Head tilted, she peeks back over at Mackenzie. "You are a curious one. Is your curiosity perhaps that you want to see? Or… is it that you want to learn?"

"Learn," Mackenzie answers Samira without hesitation or shame, "Always to learn. I don't have the time to learn all I want, but I will learn all I can if it kills me. The school only teaches you so much magic. You have to seek out the rest yourself." She seems, for the first time, to notice the color of Samira's cheeks, which serves to amuse her all the more. She is one who struggles not to smile and fails at doing such.

Antonin can't help but allow the grin to break his features and a chuckle to escape him as he looks from Mackenzie to Samira and shakes his head. "In any case," he says with a laugh, "I don't suppose either of you know of anything else worth noticing going on in the castle? Any word on when the next dueling club meeting will happen?"

Samira smiles a bit over at Mackenzie. "I see. Mm. It isn't an art to pick up in spare bits of time. It takes a lot of practice to even just keep it. To build the strength? Longer and harder still to do." At Antonin's question, Samira glances to him "Hm? I don't keep track." She looks to Mackenzie. "Are you a duelist?"

"Similar to running, then," she says of dancing, "I rather enjoy that." She shakes her head, her grin falling away to placidity as she addresses Antonin. "I apologize, I don't know when the club is meeting next," she said, "I'm not much for dueling myself. Learning and practice are good, but in a real fight, you're not going to rely on putting your wand at the ready and bowing and such." She rolls her shoulders in a shrug, shifting her weight once again.

Antonin nods his head and waves a hand dismissively. "The bowing and the wand raising and all I can understand what you mean. It seems like it is left overs of older tradition, but the dueling itself I find fun. I would like to try and duel two people at once sometime, though I am not sure if that is against the rules of the club. It would make you faster. Make you think on your feet quicker," he says.

Samira lifts one of her shoulders out of her blanket in a half shrug. "Mm. Not sure if it's so much like running. I don't know running. But for dancing - the dancing of my homeland, the core muscles are hard to build. You ache, aaache, when you're learning. Hurts to breathe." She falls silent as Antonin and Mackenzie veer off into discussing dueling further. Her eyes half close and as an enormous yawn overtakes her, she curls up on her side once more.

Riddle's shadow appears in the doorway to the boys dormitory before he appears still waving one hand in a dismissive way. Accolades of gratitude echoing in the hall after him. "Just make sure to put the bag over it at sundown, off at sunrise and a quarter turn every day before lunch." His expression cool as the gratitude continues and only fades once he's out of sight of the dorm entry. Though his movements are always very fluid, serpentine even, there is a momentary hitch in his return to the couch when he finds Antonin where he was sitting. The hitch is for but a fraction of a fraction of a mere moment and his course of movement takes him to his usual high backed chair. It is a large chair, a seat an a half really, bit by bit over the years he fills it more and more. There is a flick of movement in his eyes as he settles into his chair. The go from Samira to the bit of open space beside him on the chair as he sits to one side so that he can lean on the arm of it. "Duelling?" He nods, "Must not devolve into savagery. If you don't have the time to bow to your opponent before you kill him, then you obviously deserve to lose for getting yourself into such a predicament." He rests his chin on his hand and gives a twitch of a charismatic smile.

Mackenzie's eyes flick over to Samira, nodding once at her information given before focusing on Riddle. She chews on her lip for a moment as she ponders his words, eyes focused intently on his. She didn't seem to have noticed the halt in his step, or if she did, she's certainly showing no indication of it. "Bold words," she finally says, "I suppose I would take whatever advantage I could get in a fight, truthfully, and skipping the bowing part seems like one to take."

Antonin stills as Riddle reappears, his eyes going to the other Slytherin boy and he makes to rise from the couch so that Tom might take his seat. When Riddle takes the chair, Antonin eases back into his own seat and nods his head, "I can see what you mean, Tom," he says, though it is entirely possible that he really does not.

Samira lifts her gaze and then tilts her head to watch as Riddle settles down in his usual chair. She smiles a bit. Much like a cat rousing from sleep, she streeetches and sits up again. Closing her eyes, she extends her arms over her head, arching. Glancing back over at Riddle in his chair (seat and a half), she tilts her head, looking thoughtful Considering. Then at last, she rises and shuffles, still bundled up in her blanket, and settles in with him. It's a bit snug, but Samira sinks down, looking quite content. So warm.

Moira scurries out from the girls dormitories, brow furrowed in a chastened expression. She glances back to make sure that the girls that had been berating her weren't following. When she brings her eyes front again, she quickly dips them down before any other Slytherins present catch her gaze and decide that the half-blood insulted them by looking into their eyes. Clutching Charms for First Year to her chest, she makes her way around the room, seeking an empty space to settle in and study.

Riddle will not look smug, will not look smug, will not look smug! Try as he might even Tom Riddle can't totally hide a bit of pride when Samira does take up the the sliver of leather beside him. Again it's a rather fleeting micro-expression before he shifts in the chair so that Samira can get as comfortable as possible. When Moira dodges his gaze like he were royalty there is another micro-surge of pride again.

Mackenzie purses her lips for a moment, watching Samira critically but not saying a word of it. When Moira enters, the noise draws her attention and she sneers at the half-blood in her house before looking back to her peers. The look remains on her face, much like someone who has smelled a sour odor and is determined not to say anything of it.

Samira catches a flicker of Moira, the little ginger half-blood. Such a curiosity in their house. This was the only house that made sense to Samira. She watches the abashed firstie with idle interest, as one might watch a scraggly little goose trying to fit in with a flock of swans. But as silence settles further over their little group by the fire, Samira's eyes drift shut.

Moira takes a seat by one of the windows, the green glow from the water beyond casting her into sickly hues. She shivers at the chill, but she left her outer robe in the dorm, and has no intention of braving her tormentors to retrieve it. She opens the book in her lap to a bookmarked section. After taking a few moments to read and mouthing quietly to herself, she draws her wand. Aiming it at the door of a cupboard by her seat, she quietly incants, "Colloportus." Any more experienced witch could see how her wandwork was too tense, restricting the necessary flourishes. The cupboard door suddenly swings wide open, the SLAMS shut. Moira flinches, shrinking into herself.

Riddle squints a wince at the sudden loud noise. "Woodcroft." A million hexes and insults are all wrapped up in just the hiss of her name. "Could you not? Would you like to be shown the way to the Charmitorium? Some place where it would be safe for you to try to do magic?"

Mackenzie rolls her eyes broadly, bringing them to rest on Moira. Her frown has deepened with the intrusion on her senses and she stares pointedly at the younger girl, waiting for her response.

Samira flinches at the SLAM of the cupboard and casts an irritated glare in its direction. With a sigh, she rises from Riddle's chair. "Tusbih al-kayr…" she murmurs in Arabic, shaking her head. It's something she tends to say before heading off to bed. It would seem she's decided that drifting off with a little half-blood messing about won't be an option. And so, she shuffles off.

Moira attempts to will herself out of existence. No, that doesn't seem to be working. She dips her head, glancing toward Tom, but never quite looking at his face. "Nae…sorry," she mumbles. "I'll stop." She closes her book ever so slowly, lest it make even the slightest sound when it shuts. Afraid to move (because Slytherins hunt by movement), she says put, pulling her book to her chest and staring anywhere but at her housemates.

Moira just cost Tom what might be the first actual bonified snuggle he has ever recieved. The steely gaze leveled on the redhead broadcasts that she might spend the rest of her life paying for this. This expression actually lasts as he helps Samira up and his expression only changes when he looks to bid Samira, "Have a good catnap."

Mackenzie glares at Moira for a momet longer before focusing back on her own clique. "Goodnight, Samira," she says, forcing a smile back onto her face. Looking to Riddle for a moment, her brows rise in a faint wince at his expression of loathing. "Anyways," she says, trying to draw the conversation away from the disgusting half-blood, "Where were we?"

Moira peeks up at Samira as she is departing. Everyone is bidding the Egyptian girl good night. Moira pinches her lips, uncertain whether it would risk offering insult by remaining silent. Impulse takes open, and she blurts out, "Good night!"

Riddle chortles a little more derisively than he usually gets when Moira bids Samira good night. "I believe we were speaking on the necessity of doing our best to not allow ourselves to become savages, even in the face of a spontanious attack. Of course if one is some how surprised, no no fault of his own, then a bow can be despensed with. But the art of the duel should be respected. So if you are in Duelling Club, you should act accordingly."

"Well certainly don't -break- the -rules-," draws out the one who is constantly caught breaking the rules, "If you're going to be in Dueling Club, duel properly. Otherwise it would be…" She searches for a word for a moment, finally finishing, "Fight Club." Reaching up, she covers a broad yawn before stretching a bit. "I may be not far behind Samira to bed."

Moira purses her lips pensively. Here are Slytherins speaking of honor and respect. Is Duelling Club the key? Her gaze is drawn toward Tom and Mackenzie as she eavesdrops.

Riddle glances towards Antonin that's nodded off as well. "It seems like everyone is losing the battle against sleep. I blame the cold. It really does just make you want to curl up into some blankets and doze. Think I will get myself a cup of tea to avoid the epidemic myself. Studying to do and such. Rest well Lestrange." He bobs his head in a bow like bidding of farewell as he stands up. "Speaking of Fight Club." He looks towards Moira. "Miss Woodcroft. Do you know the way to the Charmitorium? I would be happy to show you the way. You won't get any better if you don't practice. It would be best if you practiced in a place that was meant to be blasted about."

Mackenzie nods in return, yawning one more time before heading past Moira without a look back. Her sneer is clear in her voice as she mutters, "-Miss- Woodcroft," and shakes her head before disappearing into the dorms.

Moira does not answer Tom at first, and flinches when Mackenzie speaks her name, as if expected to be struck. She swallows hard and shakes her head, her voice cracking and barely audible. "Nae…thank ye. I…I ken where it is." She slips down from her seat by the window, and staying to the edges of the room, she makes her way for the door to the labyrinthine corridor, each step carrying her a little faster until she is gone.

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