» The Dawn is Breaking, Private

[Calumina Sheehan]

Even the best fall down sometimes

, even the wrong words seem to rhyme

The winter weather only succeeded in making Cally more miserable than she already felt. For weeks she had been dreading this upcoming weekend, every year it provoked the same reaction out of her and every year the memories of him seemed to flutter further and further away. However, rather than sit and mope like she did for the entire Christmas break and the beginning of this new year, Cally was going to do something. She no longer wanted to sit in the library or her common room. There was no point in that, she'd accomplish nothing.

Coming up with her next course of actions, though, had proved to be a much harder task. Cally had a pile of homework to get through before classes resumed on Monday and the Ravenclaw in her, for she often questioned her house placement, demanded she got up to the library and continued working on it. Studying for hours wouldn't make a dent in her depressed mindset. It would only make her feel as if this was all she would ever amount to - a studious person.

Cally's father would not of wanted this for her. Octavius, omitting his obvious 'bad' qualities, was a decent man and wanted only the best for his family. If he was still alive to see the state his family was currently living in he'd be appalled. But such thoughts wouldn't lead to anywhere beneficial. He was gone and Cally had to accept it. Even if she didn't want to. How does one simply accept a loved one's disappearance from their lives? There were so many proverbs about time and how it affects emotions. So many of them went along the lines of 'Time heals all wounds' and 'Absense makes the heart grow fonder.' Well, it had been over ten years and Cally could feel nothing but anger at her father for leaving her so soon in life. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder, and time does nothing. At least not for her.

She continued moving quickly down the corridor, willing whatever thoughts of her father away. He always seemed to creep up on her at the worse of times and somehow he never failed in managing to keep her awake at all hours of the night. It might have been a psychological thing, guilt even for never visiting his grave. Not once since the funeral had Calumina seen his head stone, sat upon the grass that covered his body or acknowledge the painting of him that resided in her home. The memories of being 'Daddy's little girl' always proved to be too strong. She refused to believe he was gone forever. He couldn't be.

©rachel

[Lysandra Sutherland]

Absence does make the heart grow fonder. But only in the case of an absence that is healthy, an absence that is anticipated and expected. Lysandra had her own set of demons; their unhealthy claws whittled away Lysandra's willpower ever so slowly, rehashing the many wounds of old. Brett. Brett. Brett. Her absence was poison. The deepest wound of them all at the moment had festered for so long that it ought to have killed her already. But she was still standing. Practically numb to the pain now, she trudged on, day by day, struggling with such a grievous loss. Lysandra had once thought herself complete and strong, but without her companion, life was barely worth living. She tried hard to bring other meaning into her life, but along with the winter, dreariness loomed almost indefinitely.

A darkened corner of the library would be suitable for Lysandra. The sky had been pitch dark for awhile, casting a particular gloom over the flickering lights in the massive study, where crowds and crowds of people were already gathered, ripping into books and scratching inky quills into parchments. The sheer volume of human bodies made the enormous room seem so small. The mission of finding a seat, let alone the daunting task of forgoing the suffocating and claustrophobic environment that lay ahead, would be difficult to endure. Lysandra, against her good nature, decided to take a chance and make her way in.

Lysandra had walked past almost all of the tables, where she received awkward and hostile glances from the throngs and clusters of students. There were no vacant spots worthy enough for her. Perhaps she should return to her window sill where she had recently been accosted by Gen? That spot was good as any for her, even though it compromised her posture a bit to her dissatisfaction. It was a cold spot as well, but the cold sometime had a positive effect for studying--the cold kept you awake unlike the wonderful comfort of heat. Besides, Lysandra preferred the cold. The window sill it was.

It was rather improper for a lady to sit in such a strange spot, but Lysandra had no qualms. She favored such a spot for the lengthy glass window which provided good muse and scenery, and the sill itself being long enough for her to lay comfortably down if she so desired. Not that she would ever, ever lay down completely, but maybe once and awhile throw her legs up and lay them along the polished wooden board over the thick, ashen grey block of stone beneath it.

Lysandra summoned a plushy cushion for her bottom along with writing materials and a book. She hoisted herself up, situated, and began taking notes from a book. She levitated her ink and book in front of her, and kept a flat piece of back board to secure her parchment which protruded from her lap.

[Calumina Sheehan]

Even the best fall down sometimes

, even the wrong words seem to rhyme

She paused in her progression and leaned against one of the cold stones that made up the walls of the school. Desperately, Cally began to try and calm herself, the corridors of the school leading up to the library were bustling with students. Now was not the time to have an emotional crisis. Many of her schoolmates, admittably most were in her own house, gave her the same look they've been giving her since she was allowed into the school. One that spoke of confusion, a twinge of hatred and sympathy. Ever since her sorting diaster, Calumina had been 'that' girl. The one that everyone stayed away from in fear that they might catch whatever curse of luck that seemed to follow her around.

"Smarten up." She whispered to herself. "No one cares about your drama." And if Calumina thought long and hard about it, no one did. Ravenclaws were notorious being highly impersonal with the exception of the few whom had the heart of a Hufflepuff. Cally was extraordinarily happy about graduating this coming June. For the first time in seven years she would be able to have some sense of freedom.

Smiling to herself and the classmates she passed, Cally strode into the library and towards one of the corners. The corners, although not necessarily proper for a girl to occupy, provided the comfort of resembling the high windows of her father's library at home. Now that home had long ago been sold and all the books became lost to Cally. But if she sat long enough and reflected, she could conjure up the memories of sitting on the window seat chattering away to her father as he tried to focus on his work. 'I miss you Father' She thought sadly, feeling as if she was going through all the stages of grief at once. Denial, anger, acceptance, they were all there, never fading nor diminishing.

Finally, after what felt like a never ending stroll, she moved behind one of the numerous looming bookcases and peered into the corner. "Oh. I'm sorry, I wasn't aware anyone was back here." She mumbled upon seeing a certain blond already occupying the space there. Calumina had heard about Miss Sutherland's - ordeal a few months ago but her opinion hadn't changed on her. From what she understood, Miss Sutherland was a blood purist, hate filled, angry young woman and Cally had tried not to get herself caught up in all the drama that surrounded Miss Sutherland.

Suddenly she felt extremely awkward. There was no way she had the nerve to turn around and walk back through the crowd of children whom had disowned her before ever getting to know her. Those looks, although familiar, sometimes got under Cally's skin. And with today being the day that it was and her mental state, Cally hoped Miss Sutherland wouldn't mind some quiet company. "Do you mind if I join you?"

©rachel

[Lysandra Sutherland]

Lysandra opened a library book entitled Wizarding Space: Gamp's & Claude's Edition. It certainly wasn't the most thrilling to some, nor even legible to others, but to Lysandra, she had felt she attained a particular mastery over the subject. Why this stuff came so naturally was beyond her. Why she even enjoyed topics like this were still somewhat of a mystery. But regardless, she wanted to be on top of her game. The drive to surpass everyone in the subject consumed her practically to the point of madness.

And there she was. A ghost of a woman apparating in front of her, like the feel of a sudden, unexpected breeze. A woman seemingly cold and fae-like. The feeling of cold resonated with Lysandra. Her bosom felt connected to this other body and yet fractured at the presence of this haunting woman--a woman that vaguely reminded her of the ghost from her past. Brett. But this was surely not Brett. A much more beautiful and ghastly form of her coming forth from the shadows perhaps. What was she doing here?

Back to business, Lysandra thought to herself. It is merely the frigid air creeping from the window sill.

But the girl still stood there, hauntingly it seemed to Lysandra. "Do you mind if I join you" felt like words wailing in a windy tunnel. It must be the cold air from the window sill.

"Of course. At your leisure," she said nonchalantly. Lysandra felt that this girl was older than her, both in body and much older in spirit, yet the female had a striking feature of youthful innocence to her. Her piercing blue eyes and upright and calm swagger screamed Ravenclaw for some reason; perhaps it was merely because this girl did not seem like she fit in any other house to begin with.

Calumina's appearance had been so startling that Lysandra had just now come to the realization that the only space vacant was the unoccupied side of the window sill to Lysandra's right. Lysandra then added to her words: "I suppose the floor would be rather uncomfortable. And cold. Not a place for a lady, I suppose." Lysandra was probably sounding slightly nervous, and a bit redundant with the "I suppose." But the moment had her a tad flustered. But it was best to continue on. Lysandra dove back into her book, wondering if this woman were going to hop onto the ledge or not.

[Calumina Sheehan]

Even the best fall down sometimes

, even the wrong words seem to rhyme

She hadn't expected the answer to be of a positive stand point. She had hoped it would be, but it still didn't register with the red head that someone would be accepting of her presence. Cally was crazy, everyone knew it. But such callous rumors couldn't have been further from the truth, for she was far too socially aware and intelligent to be insane.

Even if she wished at times for the rumors to be true.

With yet another anxious glance towards the blond, she began trying to find a comfortable way to sit against one of the walls without causing a ruckus. If someone were to stumble upon them, they'd make the front page news. Calumina was willing to bet Lys was still fresh enough in everyone's mind for the Prophet to spin some story or another of inappropriate relations. Not that the red head was thinking of such things; she didn't know Lys, and better yet she admired the good looking qualities of males, not females.

Once Lysandra spoke again, Cally nodded softly and sat as far as she could from her on the window ledge. "Thanks." Her voice was little more than a whisper, if even that. Cally wasn't normally the type to be insecure with her words, but this situation caused her to feel on edge, and thus feel as though her mind would explode with all the thoughts occupying it.

With her legs curled up underneath her, Cally broke the strange bond with the blond besides her and focused on her charms text.

©rachel

[Lysandra Sutherland]

Shivers randomly went down Lysandra's spine. Perhaps it was the cold resonating from the foggy window, as the pair's body heat had begun causing condensation to find its way onto the rough glass surface. Or perhaps it was the further chilling of the weather as darkness crept ever so deeply into the continuing evening. How long had they sat there, without a word between them? It felt like ages,

The silence was both awkward and yet comforting. The heat between the two felt reassuring. The thought of their legs touching for warmth crossed Lysandra's mind for a fleeting second. But that was what a dress and a thick Hogwarts robe was for. Besides, it would be quite rude to break one's concentration. Something was surely on Calumina's mind. Obviously the charms, as the girl was holding an advanced text book on the subject. Lysandra's curiosity was certainly peeked when it came to discussing advanced magic with students of the upper class. But there was still a wall of discomfort between them. They both sat there, trying to envelop themselves in their books. Lysandra was quite nonchalant about having a conversation with the stranger. Her book about wizarding space was company enough. But as the time went by, the couple of glances in the red headed girl's direction discerned something odd about the Ravenclaw. It wasn't just the cold, or the inevitable feeling of drudgery that comes with studying. The girl seemed genuinely depressed about something. Lysandra could tell, mainly because she herself was particularly filled with an aching sadness. It was more than just the overall gloom of the cold night in the library.

It was at least an hour before the two had spoken. At this point reading was becoming tiring, Having to stay rigidly awake on a hard seat for hours at a time was a normality amongst school students. But there is always a time when movement is needed to get the blood flowing. At this point Lysandra could feel the empty, cold shell of her body trying to shift from being frozen: her lips and her mouth were cold and dry, and her hands devoid of warmth as she kept them hung over the top of her book of which was propped up in her lap.

The silence had finally been broken from Lysandra's crisp lips, her airway being cleared of stale air and stiffness.

"I'm parched." A brief moment of awkward silence lingered in the air afterward, while Lysandra bookmarked her page and closed her book. "...Not that it matters to you. I have decided to fancy a warm drink, and it would be rude of me not to offer you a glass as well. Hmm?"

[Calumina Sheehan]

Cally ignored the chills running down her spine and instead focused on her Charms text. She became so absorbed in her work that she didn't think about her grief, or the rising moon behind them. She didn't even think about how her leg was touching Lysandra's-through multiple layers of dress though. Being near her felt somewhat natural.

Time meant nothing. She could've sat besides Lysandra for hours and not realize it had been more than a minute. What surprised her the most, though, was that she didn't even question it. She simply decided to go wherever this bond was going to lead them.

Lysandra's voice struck her as odd. Not that her voice in itself was strange, but after sitting in silence for an extended amount of time, any sound at all seemed foreign and disruptive. Calumina felt so exceedingly awkward that she would not allow herself to agree or disagree to the blond's words, at least not right away. She wanted the silence to linger for a few more moments, she wanted the peacefulness, which had so carelessly embedded itself in her mind, to stay. And Cal knew that the second she herself broke the silence, the peace would be gone and all she'd be left with would be her memories of grief.

After a minute or two of the continuing quiet, Cally knew she had to say something so that they could at least keep a civil environment between them. If she were to come across as bitter and cruel, then Lysandra might ask her to leave, and she had no desire to move from the windowsill. 

"The kitchens ought to still be open, though it might not be wise for the two of us to travel together through the corridors." She murmured. The prophet would be besides itself if it found an unlikely friendship between two citizens of drastically different social classes. Lys saw food on the table at every meal, and she ought to have warm clothing in the chilly weather. Cally was lucky if she had a meal a day at home, the younger ones had to eat of course.

"Would you like for me to accompany you?"

[Lysandra Sutherland]

Why hadn't class mattered at the moment? And what was in that moment to constitute a friendly gesture? Perhaps it was the cold that brought them together. The deep desire to have a companion on a cold night such as this, a companion who truly understood the passion for delving into secret magical knowledge, all waiting to be found in the sea of books in front of them. Had Lysandra's decision been more of an obligation to noblesse oblige? Had it been because Lysandra admired and respected certain upperclassmen, especially Ravenclaws? Had it been because Lysandra required herself to do a good daily gesture? Had it been because Calumina had red hair? Surely, it was probably a mixture of all of these things.

Lysandra definitely respected the girl. Anyone with a thirst for magic especially. Lysandra certainly did not know how adept the Sheenan was, but she knew that Brett was strong. Even though red hair generally meant a sign of weakness, Lysandra had always found the opposite in her experience. So for her to offer a hot drink to the girl was all in all a gesture to say I respect you.

But an awkward moment had passed between them. For a long minute, Calumina stayed silent as Lysandra's mind boggled to find an answer to the girl's timidness. Perhaps class did matter, for Sheenan fashion was quite apparent throughout the halls of Hogwarts, and Lysandra had an unfortunate trained eye for these type of things. Perhaps Calumina was attempted to be rude, or insult Lysandra with her silence, a silence that spoke "isolate" from the vain Slytherin creature. So Lysandra was certainly surprised when Calumina broke from her fleeting vow of silence with a meek murmur.

The murmur was like a loud scream, resurrecting the life flow throughout Lysandra's body, as if being awoken suddenly from sleep. Lysandra didn't expect Cally would ever want to join her. Something about the moment seemed super tense, as if the universe somehow compounded upon this decision ten fold, as if the impact of this decision had strange, and dire consequences. But Calumina had been her companion for some time now, and obviously Cally required some movement as well. Why not continue our company?

"Certainly."

And thus they left the warm wooden sill knowing full well it would be cold upon return, but at least now they would have a warm drink in their bellies. It finally occurred to Lysandra that she would have had to hide the drink if they were to return, which wouldn't have been a problem, but it was probably much better off that they leave the library for the time to drink their drink without repercussion.

They both left the library without a word. It wasn't until they reached the hall that Lysandra had spoken up to break the awkward silence dawning upon them as they walked. Lysandra's first inclination was to talk about what was on her mind, and, in lieu of coming from a study session, school and theory was forefront on the brain.

"I am sure you are much ahead in your magical talent than I. So perhaps you would understand when I tell you that I was studying Gamp's advanced algorithms for expanding space time and the wand work that goes into facilitating these equations." Lysandra then explained several of the discovered algorithms and permutations of such at length. Before she knew it, Lysandra started feeling like some pathetic, recluse professor, not the lady she portrayed herself to be. "Are you familiar with any of these equations? Have you seen these equations in class, ever? I know that, being a fourth year, we are not supposed to be exposed to this material quite yet, and for the poor fools who lack an Arithmancy class have much trouble dealing with these simple equations."

Lysandra took a deep breath and waited for Cally to reply. For some reason, Lysandra then felt rude for asking the questions, mainly because she knew Cally herself probably was mentally going over her own notes.

"I apologize for asking. Curiosity killed the cat. I am sure you have other things on your mind. I realize that I did not invite you to come and listen to me profess. Soon hair will sprout from my ears, I will grow half a meter, and become a pathetic professor," Lysandra cracked a half smile.

[Calumina Sheehan]

Lysandra was talking far too much. Yes, Cally had come across those algorithms during her education at the school, but she wasn't one for talking about her learnings. She wasn't one for talking in general, even her sisters had to admit such was true. Calumina was one of the most unsocial creatures out there.

But the younger girl kept going on, and on. She wouldn't stop her talking, and it was beginning to make Cally wish she had stayed on the cold bench rather than go for such a walk with Lys. Even if they shared an unmistakeable connection. "Yes, we went over Gamp's algorithms last year, though I must admit I don't care much for them. I much prefer perfecting my wand work and readying myself for the external world. My family is not as fortunate as your own, I shall have to help provide for them all."

Taking cautious steps forward, Cally reminded herself of her place in society. She was a slum rat, any other belief would be utterly stupid to put faith in. Why did she wish she could be more? Cally would end up working in the book store or some shop as a lowly worker, and thus would be how she spent the last of her days. Maybe somewhere along the line she'd pump out a few kids, unwed of course, but Cal seriously doubted it. Men didn't interest her any.

"Oh, no. It's alright. I don't mind. Keep chatting away." Who was she to say anything otherwise?

[Lysandra Sutherland]

Prejudice. For Lysandra, the topic had come to the forefront faster than the blink of an eye, or the strike of lightning. Lysandra's expensive corset felt like it was tightening itself, and that perhaps the electricity in her body would hold contained in her frame until it bottlenecked to the point of her throat, and exploded forth in a pulsing anger. The warming conversation, as it was meant mainly to bring blood to the two girls' lips, was turned by Lysandra at the mention of aristocracy.

"My family is not as fortunate as your own, I shall have to help provide for them all..."

The sentence burned. It burned ever so terribly, burning worse than the current cold stealing the precious heat from their meager selves. Lysandra's adrenaline fueled fantasy expanded in thought; The moment of flushed anger clung like the beautiful yet painful frost on the window. And thought of windows. Windows. Lysandra had once hoped she could dismantle and destroy reality, but what a pipe dream she had deluded herself into believing even for a second. Brett was no longer there to hold her hand. The window frosted itself over, leaving her completely disconnected, nay, banished from a world supernal frozen away from sight, mind, and body. The natural fascination of spacial and temporal manipulation seemed less and less subliminal, day by day, that a particular madness had slowly begun to drive the girl lunar.

"Fortunate? Fortunate? Am I truly fortunate for being blessed with affluence? For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows. I believe scripture, being poignant, gives us wisdom to understand. Do not tell me I am fortunate merely for possessing rich parents. Everything comes with a price. Surely you understand."

The wall. The defense. It was in full force now. A natural reaction for the dramatic Lysandra.

Lysandra took a breath before yet again coming back at Cally, from what could be perceived as unwarranted frustration, and was probably not even intended by the calm Calumina to incite such anger. But that connection, the connection between them, made Lysandra passionate. Passionate for Calumina's sake. Such a beauty ought not to be such a pauper.

"If I could strip myself of all of this," Lysandra said snidely as she gestured to her refined dress which she flared forward from under her Hogwarts robes, "I would, with the flick of a wand. Pardon me for not fancying you as anything but an educated woman."

And there she was. Alone again. With Cally standing in front of her, she had already felt a million miles away from the girl, praying that the redhead would throw her a proverbial fishing line to save her from the abyss she so quickly sucked herself into. The rich Lysandra was offended by the money that tore their relationship asunder from the get-go, a vicious entity that caused so much aforementioned sorrow that it had the power to separate love with the speed of a sharpened sword. Her last hope was the prayer that Calumina could climb over all of the many unseen walls and divisions that separated Lysandra and Calumina from holy ground.

How words hurt. They had such raw power, able to sway and move mountains with ease. In this instance, they felt like slow cuts of a goring ax, where agony could be experienced with every swing until the pain drove one beyond themselves. Lysandra was screaming inside of herself, hardly able to contain the frustration she was feeling. Surely Calumina didn't bargain for this, and neither did Lysandra. If Lysandra had only never said anything, if she had sewn her own mouth shut, if she had only left and not given Calumina her company, she wouldn't have caused such a brouhaha.