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Merry was not sure why she had signed up for the Duelling Tournament. When she lost to that Longbottom girl, she decided not to bother participating ever again. It was an unfair competition which gave an advantage to the richer and more important participants. A lot of rich fathers had payed the judges so their little useless daughters could at least pass to the second round. Merry was rather glad to see that little Ravenclaw Beatrice Skye win. She used to be a slum rat just like Merry before she got adopted and, well, Merry rather enjoyed watching her kick Burke's ass. Hopefully that taught the blood purist purebloods a lesson.<p>

The only reason she had decided to sign up once again was that she could use magic during the summer. She was sixteen years old, so she would have to wait until the last day of December until she could practice magic freely without worrying about the Ministry's stupid laws. It annoyed her that she had to live like a muggle during the summer. She was skilled enough not to use some dangerous spell that would get herself or someone else killed. Still, Merry did not want to get in trouble and sent to Azgaban. It was just one year of patience.<p>

She could not use magic to practise, so she would have to prepare herself only by studying the theory of a spell. That did not bother Merry, but it meant that she couldn't use a spell that she had never used before. <p>

Holding a huge book full of dark spells, she entered in the empty cemetary. Her wand was in her pocket, even if she was not going to use it. She just didn't like leaving her wand at home. It made her safer having her wand with her. It made her feel powerful.<p>

A normal girl wouldn't chose a cemetary to read about spells which mostly had to do with death, but Merry was not an ordinary girl. People often concidered her weird and the brunette did not blame them for that. If someone didn't know Merry he would assume that she was some deadly and dangerous person. The Slytherin could become deadly and dangerous if someone angered her, but she was usually a pretty normal girl.<p>

She sat in a bench near the grave of some woman and opened her book. The cemetary had the silence needed for her to concentrate. Merry hated the noise of the Slums. If she ever became richer, she was going to buy a house in the countryside, away from the stupidity of almost everyone at Hogsmeade. She could not stand her neighbours and if she was a little bit more mentally unstable, she would most likely made their heads explode while they slept.<p>

<font color="#fffff">" Oh"</font> Merry exclaimed when she turned the page and saw a picture of a woman, whose body was twirling and twisting around as if it was made of rubber. A smirk appeared on her lips as she imagined Longbottom twisting and twirling like that in her stupid corset. Her eyes turned to name of the spell and then started reading the theory about it. It was a pity she couldn't use spells like that at the tournament.</p>


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Intimidation was a re-occuring theme in Petals little life, and her daily dose was usually delivered by humans. Scratch that, it was always the humans. There is a one-hundred per cent chance that when the little house elf groggily crawls out of her potato sack every morning she will at some point be affronted with a witch or wizard that isn’t overly fond of house elves and they will do their damned best to make that extremely clear to her. This was a fairly new unfortunate statistic, really, because before she had somewhat become one with the carnival, she worked alone and quietly in large manors, spacious city apartments, and almost always out of sight. It was rare a cruel word was said to her… and now. It was quite the regular occurrence.
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Therefore, not a soul can blame the little creature of her acute fright and anxiety upon seeing a young witch sat upon the grassy moors of the cemetery, reading a book that could for all petal knew, detail dark magic and harmful jinxes. In fact, upon the environment being above a few hundred dozen rotting corpses, it was quite likely indeed that she was making a solo effort in summoning Inferi! Yes, Petal did know of such things! No, the little creature could not read, but she could hear, and she heard many grim things while working for certain unforgivably influenced masters. Could this brunette girl be a dark witch?
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Petal said nothing, however, and just looked, the issue of intimidation cropping up once again. If she was to question and inquire, who’s to say this girl would unleash a terrible hex upon the little creature, or simply a hard back of the hand across her bonce? It was none of Petals business, anyway, Petals business was flowers, and so far she had gather quite a hefty sum of bouquets from the little round stones dotted in lines. It was a mystery as to why people would just leave perfectly pretty bouquets here and why here, over the tops of dead bodies? Why not lined across the high street or scattered in Padmore Park? Humans were curious sometimes, debatably more strange than Petal! She nearly had a little chuckle at this, but froze upon the young witch exclaiming a little “Oh!”. Was she beginning to chant? Oh goodness oh gracious! That would not do at all! Thankfully, she still seemed immersed in her book, sitting happily upon the bench, not noticing Petal as of yet. Maybe she should make the most of the time by leaving, just apparating back to the carnival before the human begins to get tricky, yes. Yes, that should be done. But wait – there were more flowers!
<p>
Upon that eager thought, she had stumbled around to inspect the area, but only for her right heel to stub a short rock jutting from the ground. With a squeaky yelp, she found herself sitting down on the slightly soggy grass, her current amount of held bouquets now rolling across the ground. Oh bother! Silly Petal! Stupid Petal! Silly, stupid Petal!


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Half of the spells in the book would probably not be appropriate for the student duelling tournament. Even a man wouldn't probably dare to use such powerful curses against someone. Some of the hexes described in the book were probably almost as dangerous as the unforgivable curses. Only someone really crazy would actually attempt to use such spells against someone.<p>

Merry could be rather vicious, perhaps even sadistic, but she was not crazy. She did not want to be concidered a dark witch and probably get sent to Azgaban for making one's organs explode. She wanted a better future, better than the one her parents could give her and it would be really help her to spend some years in Azgaban. Perhaps she could become an auror or a hit-witch and use her knowledge of dark magic for a good cause. Professor Sleptov used to be an auror, after all, and she had learnt most of the things she knew from him. Sure, Professor Sleptov did not exactly encourage her to read books like the one she was currently holding, but the witch knew some basics thanks to him.<p>

The squeaky voice made her heart jump and she found herself pulling her wand out to point at the petite creature which had just fallen on the ground. There were flowers around the creature ( which was apparently a house elf) and Merry could swear that she had seen the same red roses on the grave of some rich pureblood who had died a few months ago. Could that creature possibly collect the flowers people put on the graves of their loved ones? That seemed as a creepy and yet fascinating possibility for the young witch. She knew that there were some potions which requiered flowers from a cemetary as one of the main ingredients. Most of these potions made the person who consumed them die instantly, which made Merry wonder if this house elf was working for some dark wizard (preferably someone who could take her under his wings and teach her everything he knew).<p>

<font color="#fffff">" What do you want here, imp?"</font> Merry asked the house elf. Imp certainly sounded better than House Elf, though she doubted that this was the creature's name. House elves had stupid and squeaky sounding names, such as Bibsy or Popsy.

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”Flowers! Petal wants flowers!” is all the petrified creature could think to squeal. At least it was quite a direct answer to the rather aggressive question, and would perhaps grant her mercy from the sharp wand pointing right betwixt her wide, fearful orbs. Quivering, the house elf looked up the base of the magical weapon to the face that beheld it and its victim. Pale, freckled, green eyed; hardly features to fear, but nevertheless sparked with vague contempt for Petals presence. Apparating would be the key method of survival here, but she couldn’t help but look longingly at the flowers sprawled on the ground, her heart yearning to avoid leaving them. That’s why she came here after all! Petal couldn’t very well just abandon such a personal mission.
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She slowly, carefully and fully aware of her vulnerable position, picked herself up from the floor – hoping to grab at least one or two pretty bouquets before she apparated like a bat out of hell. Suppose if this witch was of a dark influence, as Petal dreaded? What terrible hexes, jinxes and curses did she have under her sleeve which would make even the most hardened Ministry worker wobble? Petal didn’t want to discover, of course, but one can’t help but be somewhat curious. A voice in the back of her head assured that if she didn’t do as told, or keep a safe distance, then hat cat-like curiosity will be deeply sated. This dark thought was quite the incentive to apparate as soon as possible.
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Petal could only assume this young witch wasn’t present at Asphodel Cemetery to mourn over a closely lost life, though then again…perhaps she was. The young woman was dressed in quite dark, subdued colours, perhaps the grave she was sitting by was that of a relative, and Petals assumptions were all horribly wrong. Or maybe she was mourning over a loved one, but was still a dark witch!? Perhaps she was so desperately lonely without the person lost to the tides of old age or unfortunate accidents that she wished to perform dark magic from that there book to raise he/she from their morbid slumber for a hug? Petal wasn’t sure she’d even do that for Jezabella Morgan… though, of course she would if her master asked for such a strange funeral request.
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Eye contact was made, and the house elf suppressed a shiver. Inferi were of human ghost stories and grave imaginings, there was not a single report that had met Petals ears of such an act being executed, though some records aren’t taken, and some occurrences are never found. Wouldn’t it be a funny thing if the first was to be counted in Hogsmeade, just when Petal had rolled by coincidentally with the carnival? What terrible luck! But in all seriousness, the young witch was intimidating, yes, but was far too young a human to be a master of dark arts. Even Petal knew enough about their magic to understand the years it takes to perfect even one area.

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Merry raised an eyebrow at the creature, but she lowered her wand and then put it back in her skirt's pocket. She wouldn't care less about some house elf. She had important things to do and she couldn't waste her time with that squeaky little thing. Still, Merry was curious why that house elf wanted the flowers. Her owner surely wanted them, not the elf.<p>

<font color="#fffff">" Why do you need flowers?"</font> Merry asked the house elf this time more politely, with a hint of curiousity in her voice. She hoped that the creature wouldn't start screaming like the house elves at Hogwarts. Some of them were just annoying when they started hitting their heads against walls for sharing some super important information with strangers. Most girls would pity them, but Merry didn't. It was their own fault wizards treated them like slaves. They could use magic, they could easily rebel against those who mistreated them.
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What a strange inquiry from a human! Though her voice certainly didn’t express any sort of care for the house elf’s hobby, it had a tinge of curiosity. This darkly amused Petal, for of course beautiful humans would be confused as to why a creature as ugly as Petal would want to collect the most beautiful objects held by the world, they were a contrast, a strange mix. The inquiry in fact made a lot of sense. “Petal needs flowers for bouquets…” she replied, her voice less high-pitched, slightly breathless at the fright she had just experienced. The beat of her often high-maintenance heart (in regards to the number of threats she experiences everyday) slowed considerably now that the witch had lowered her wand. Her orbs looked from the ground where flowers were still scattered, back to the human, up and down.
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“Petal makes bouquets.” She added, if it wasn’t obvious already, fiddling her fingers together nervously. Could she leave now? Continue her flower collecting in peace? Petal certainly hoped that none of the pretty blooms she had found in the human graveyard had been damaged by the abrupt fall, for they were all in such excellent condition – as if someone had made a lot of effort to keep them that way. Of course, Petal still couldn’t fathom why. Humans were sometimes stranger than house elves in some sentimental regards. Though, she certainly couldn’t talk, what with her eternal, clingy attachment to every master she ever finds upon, cruel or kind. Many a human would argue that is indeed very strange and it was – though Petal would never admit it to herself.
<p>
At least now she could conclude the witch wasn’t a dark one, for the dark ones are more trigger happy, and a dark witch would never put her wand down. The book was still a mystery, and the want to read such a big book in a cemetery was odd also – but nevertheless, maybe she was a nice witch. Just with a few brain pipes badly fitted, a few screws loose perhaps. Petal briefly made a little u shape with her mouth, but dropped it, still realising she was in the deep end in regards to the humans suspicion – or at least it seemed that way. Though her weapon was safely tucked away, there was an element of mistrust embedded in her countenance that worried Petal. Though humans always seemed to make Petal worry.

<p>
She chewed her little lips, half in anxiety, half in habit and bent down to pick up more of the sprawled flowers, keeping a cautious eye upon the young witch standing tall before her. Oh, this one was especially colourful – blue, oranges, pinks, yellows and purples! It certainly didn’t fit the dreary landscape they were placed in. They were very beautiful though, not a single appreciator of flowers could deny that. Oh, and this one was very sweet…Petal was beginning to forget the presence of the human. Colourful distractions seemed to be the bane of a small brain.

<br><center><div style="-webkit-border-radius: 50px; -moz-border-radius: 50px; border-radius: 50px; background-color: #97634D; text-align: center; line-height: 150%; color: #ffffff; width: 250px;"><b>Tag:</b> Merrythought | <b>Words:</b> 510 | <b>Notes:</b>ooh!</div></center></div><center><small><i>Template by Anastasia</i></small>
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Stupid little creatures, no wonder why they were slaves. Merry sighed and sat back on the bench she was sitting on before the house elf interrupted. <font color="#fffff">" I suppose you sell those bouquets?"</font> Merry asked the house elf, sure that it was pointless for her to ask. Of course the stupid elf sold those bouquets, what else could she do with so many flowers? Make potions? Merry doubted that the house elf knew what a cauldron was.<p>

<font color="#fffff">" Who is your master, Petal?"</font>Merry asked the creature as she placed her book next to her. She was not planning to start a convesation with the house elf, but she couldn't concentrate with her collecting flowers around her. Merry went to the cemetary in order to be alone for a while and her plan was apparently ruined by this sorry creature.

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