cribellate | SERAPHIM DIAS

[Whatever it is--a show, submissive or promising or whatever--he likes it, and it quells whatever irritation there might have been (small, minor, under the surface) at her request. Temporary, maybe, but good enough for now. The kiss seals it, makes his skin prickle a little--so when she asks, he's ready to take her hand, with a smile that's more a smirk than anything else.]

I'd never let you go off to shower alone.

[And he steps back, tugging at her.]

Lead on. I'll be your escort, see that you get there safe. And then some.

[Her fingers lace with his, they're holding hands, and for all that she's a mess and anyone who caught more than just a glance of her would be suspicious, they look -

Cute. It's strange. She doesn't cling, she just leads him up to the prefect's bath, and looks back at him. She's not a prefect, but it doesn't matter, she knows the password, of course she does.]

Well, this is where I should leave you for the night.

[There's a smile on her face that is perfectly satisfied with that, with making him wait to see more of her skin.]

But I suspect I'll see you sooner, rather than later, won't I?

[He doesn't let go of her hand, even though they're standing in front of the door. And it's not as if he needs a label to tell him what room this is--he knows the school, and anyway he's been here before, even if he doesn't know the password for the week.]

Or you could see more of me now.

[It's not a forceful suggestion, and honestly it probably won't suddenly become forceful, not with the way he's grinning. But she's going to give him some response, something that prolongs the game and the chase--and he likes that nearly as well as the act itself. Pushing a little to get that is natural.]

After all, you don't know what's waiting in there. Might need a bit of help.

Oh, I think I'll manage.

[She leans in and whispers]

Wouldn't want to spoil the reward, would you?

[She slips her hand from his and whispers the password, and slips in quick.

The next week, she'll keep giving him that same slip, because she's busy, focused on things like should she be doing this, should she keep this up, where could this possibly go? But she smiles and studies and brushes by him with a flick of her hips, she can't help it, she can't.

It's a gloriously sunny day, for all that it's freezing, and she's sitting out studying near the lake, bundled up in her scarf and cloak. It's been a damp fall, and now it's sunny and she needs the weather, and she thinks, what in blazes is she going to do, will she let him near her again?

(Yes, of course you will, she responds to herself.)]

[He's not looking for her, not really. The game's a good one but he's reluctant to rush it, to come off as too eager. He wants her but he doesn't need her, and he's not about to let her have power over him.

So he grins at her when he sees her in the hallways, and when she moves past him he watches her go, he gives himself that small indulgence. It's better than nothing, while he's waiting.

But one day he's down by the lake, chucking rocks in it, and he sees her, sitting there. He recognises her even though she's wound in a muffler and wearing her cloak. And he directs his meandering towards her, until he's standing just a little ways off, watching her.]

This can't be what you do for fun.

[She looks up and tries not to let herself get too eager about it. He's looking sufficiently delinquent for the both of them]

I'm a Ravenclaw, isn't it part of the description?

[She moves her bag over, if he wants to sit.]

Sitting outside in the bloody cold is meant to be clever, now?

[He stays where he is, for a moment longer--but then shoves away from the tree he's leaning against and comes to sit down beside her, taking his hands out of his pockets. He gets out a cigarette while he's at it, and offers her one.]

Want one?

I rather like the cold-

[She takes a cigarette and waits for a light. She probably won't finish it, but it's a far cry from the first day, where she didn't take one at all.]

And what are you doing here, pray tell? Not looking for me.

[He follows with his lighter, heavy and silver and old. The Black family crest is on the side, and he rubs at it, once, after he's lit her cigarette. They would kill him if they could see him now, slumming it with a muggle. That only makes him happy to keep going, because for all he's the good and dutiful heir, he does like to push it a bit at times. Might as well go for it now, while he still can.]

I was just taking a walk, of course. Have you seen the merpeople in the lake?

[She takes a breath of that smoke, and reaches for his lighter, to look at it. Her fingers catch his hand as she looks it over]

I have. And the giant squid. I spend a lot of time out here.

Do you believe it?

[She asks, tapping his family crest. Maybe this is a loaded question.]

[He looks down at the lighter, his nose wrinkled a little.]

Wouldn't carry it around with me if I didn't. Though I like tarnishing that purity every now and then. Obviously.

[She's key to that tarnishing--it's an insult, maybe, and he doesn't pretend otherwise.]

I s'ppose that bothers you.

Should it?

[She takes another breath of her cigarette]

You had your fingers up my cunt either way, didn't you?

[She purposely uses the vulgarity, because maybe it breaks some of the tension, maybe it's to remind herself.]

I never dreamed of a pretty picturesque marriage with you, don't worry.

[It breaks the tension, and it's hot, as well, in its way, a little touch of the dirtiness that he witnessed firsthand. He smirks, a little, taking a drag on his cigarette as well.]

Wasn't a great deal pure about that, that's true.

[But the way he eyes her, the way he smirks around his cigarette--that's enough to say that it was an impurity he didn't mind. Appreciated. Liked, even.]

Does this count as me finding you again, I wonder?

[She laughs, then, and pushes his cigarette away from his face, holding her own slightly back, to press their mouths together.]

Does it?

[She pulls back and there's a grin, and that's when she gets covered in mud and lake water, and the smile from her face drops. She looks like she's about to scream, as she looks around, because what happened, it wasn't him, his hand wasn't on his wand-

And she sees them, at the top of the hill, a gaggle of girls, Slytherins - there's the Greengrass girl, and she thinks that's a Bulstrode but mud drips over her face before she can make it out.

But it's cold and she's gasping for air and reaching for her wand-]

[But Sirius is faster. He whips his gaze around as soon as the mud hits Sera--and he's on his feet, his wand out--

And he'll regret this later, probably, because later they're going to ask why he'd defended a mudblood, why he'd bothered, why he hadn't laughed--slumming it is all right, but you don't forget where you come from and who you are, no matter what--

But Sirius' temper is up, and he flicks his wand at them. He's clever, so even from a distance, the spell takes: mud, if they want mud, they've got it, up to their collective ankles, sloppy and black and sucking at their stockings.]

Looking good, girls!

[She gets up and grabs his hand, and they're giving out cries of shock, because there's mud everywhere, and she's pulling him. One of them is screaming his name, but Seraphim isn't sure if it's a vow of revenge or a plea for mercy]

Come on-

[It's not running away, not really, she has her bag in one hand and it's covered, but she'll deal with that (mud all over her schoolthings, she pales to think of mud all over her homework, she's a Ravenclaw at heart), and mutters a nasty little hex as they pass the girls working to get out of the mud.

Their hair - turns a particularly nasty shade of gray, and their skin grows boils, but they won't notice it until they're back and they've showered.]

You didn't have to, I could have-

[She's dripping mud on him too, but that's all right.]

They'll tell your brother-

[Someone will tell her brother, that's even worse, she thinks.]

Come on!

[She's leading them back into the castle, tracking mud everywhere, but she doesn't care, and Sirius, he'll have to put up with it because she's not letting go of his hand.]

Edited 2013-10-28 16:28 (UTC)

[He doesn't see her hexwork--they pass by too quickly, and it's too subtly done--but when he hears about it later, he's going to laugh, because it's funny. No matter who worked the spell, it's funny, and those girls deserved it. Girls, by and large, deserve a great deal, especially these ones--gossipy and small minded and boring, boring, and that's their greatest flaw. They're about as interesting as bowtruckles; their only saving grace are their names and their appearances.]

Like I care what my brother thinks--

[Regulus is irritating, for all that Sirius is grudgingly fond of him. But it's not Regulus he really ought to worry about in this, it's what Regulus will do with the information, unless Sirius can shut him up and stop him from writing home. There's slumming and then there's defending a mudblood from his peers, and of the two of them, the first is tolerated and disliked, while the second would be tantamount to treason.]

This way.

[He tugs at her hand instead, reversing their direction--they're in the castle, but he's got a different destination in mind than wherever she's leading them. Their palms squelch together as they run--a mudblood covered in mud, covering him in mud too. It's kind of appropriate.]

[Seraphim follows, then, for the first time he's leading and she's following, and she's all right with that.]

I'm hardly afraid of what your brother will think of you as much as what he might say-

[She begins, but then, well. She's trailing behind him, dripping mud everywhere, and she knows that at some point Filch will see and curse and then threaten students with the thumbscrews again, but it doesn't matter.]

I think being afraid of Regulus at all is unnecessary.

[It's bravado talking, because Regulus could ruin everything, and probably will. That's just how he is. He won't even do it with malice, not necessarily, it will just happen, and he'll apologise, but say you're better off--

Sirius scowls a little, and tugs at her hand impatiently, stepping up his pace. They're in a disused corridor now, empty classrooms--it dead-ends just ahead, in a large statute of a warty wizard. Sirius strides up to him and kicks along the bottom of his wide plinth--there's a grating sound, and a panel in the stone wall slides open, just behind the statute. A secret room.]

Ladies first.

[She didn't know about this one - she knows about some of them, but Hogwarts has secrets, and she can't claim to know even a small fraction. She steps inside and sets her bag down]

And here I was going to take you to the showers.

We're going there right now. Prefect's bathroom. Better to take the back way, for now. Filch is going to be out for blood once he sees that mud.

[There's fun in getting detentions, yeah, in being so fucking audacious about it that you just don't even care--but there's fun in avoiding them as well, and that's the sort of fun Sirius is out for right now. You can't fool around in detention--or, well, you can, but better to be certain that today's opportunity with Sera is the one that he wants.]

Merlin. You're a mess.

[She's slipping her cloak off, and her scarf. They're heavy and wet and she takes her wands and casts a handy little carrying spell for them and her bag, until she can get them back up to the Ravenclaw tower to get cleaned.

(There's a parchment cleaning one, someone up there has it, she thinks, they'll help her fix it.)]

If I get a detention because of those girls, I'll cover them in so many boils and pustules and warts they'll never get a date again, you mark that. I'll turn Greengrass into a bloody pig if I have to.

[Her uniform is wet and parts are muddy but she doesn't look quite as horrible without the drenched outer stuff on - except for the mud in her hair and on her face]

You'll clean me up, though, won't you?

[He laughs at that string of threats, and--even in the murky semidarkness of the secret passage--reaches out to push his thumb over her cheek, a surprisingly gentle touch. It smudges off some of the mud as well.]

That sounds hot. Can I watch?

[A little off her other cheek as well, and he leans down to brush his mouth against hers--barely, just barely a kiss--]

I can't promise you'll be very clean when I'm done with you. But you'll be less muddy, anyways. All right with that?

You can watch whatever you like, where I'm involved.

[And isn't that teasing. There's mud over her mouth, so she's a bit glad he's not kissing her more than that, but the tease makes her breath catch just a bit.]

I'll settle for not muddy, yes. You have to promise me one thing.

[She gives a quick little smile]

You have to help undress me.

[He's going to take advantage of that declaration. Whatever he likes, whenever she's involved--that's the sort of thing that inspires a little shortness of his breath. Couple that with the request she makes of him, and he could very well push her up against the wall right now--

But he doesn't. He shifts his hands down, to grip at her hips, tugging her a little closer.]

Do I get to use my hands, or do I have to try for teeth?

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