Septimus wasn't all that nervous, though he was fairly certain that he was supposed to be. He stood at the bottom of the staircase that led up to the Headmaster's office, pacing slightly. Tilting his shoulders back, he raised his hand to the tie he was wearing, fiddling with it. No, he wasn't too nervous. He'd gone through these professor evaluations for the past three years, as was required for most new professors just to make sure they were teaching the right material and otherwise doing a decent job as a professor. Septimus, or so he told himself, wasn't worried. When he really needed to be, he could be organized enough to present his curriculum to Professor Dippet. He'd done pretty well the past couple of years, and he told himself over and over again that he didn't really need to be nervous. He clasped a page of notes summarizing what he would be teaching for the rest of the year in one hand, the other still fiddling with this tie.

How he'd found the time to prepare himself he'd never know. Following his argument with Cedrella Black in his office, a few things had happened. One was that he had come back to his office to find it clean - and nothing had terrified him more. He couldn't find anything following that. As unorganized as he was, he usually managed to find things in the mess that was his desk. But now that it was cleaned, he couldn't manage to find anything anymore. He'd basically given up trying to find the first years papers of levitating charms, figuring he could just give them all the same grades they'd gotten on their last paper.

What was worse, the house elves - he assumed it was house elves and not the dastardly Black woman herself - had organized his closet. Color coded it. He couldn't find anything that matched now. Somehow he'd managed to put together a good suit for the evaluation. It was actually much nicer than he was used to wearing, and he felt awkward in it. Like his father or even his grandfather. Someone older and wiser and he wasn't sure he liked it.

He'd hadn't even had his evenings free all that week because he'd had detentions to supervise. Not detentions that he had assigned himself. No, true to her word, Professor Black had designated her detentions to him, but not just the detentions of his siblings. He received more detentions than he knew what to do with over the week, and he'd barely had time for himself. Septimus paced for a moment more, then sat down on the stone bench opposite the stairs to the office. He continued fiddling with his tie, sighing gently.

'Affectionate' was not a word Cedrella would have associated with her family, not in the least. She hadn't grown up with good-natured pranks and gentle hazing, it had been rather more a ruthless rat race to see who would come out on top. She was no stranger, however, to passive-aggressive behaviour, and, after she'd finally cooled down, she had decided the best revenge would be to give him just exactly as he'd wanted. She had summoned the House Elves and equipped them with a colour wheel, directing them into Weasley's closet to see it organised so that everything was either matching or complimentary -- and then, as an afterthought, she had informed them his office needed to be reorganised completely. She rather thought that she was being helpful as well as spiteful -- at least she had taken the effort to be constructive.

There was nothing prissy about that. Her final act was to refer all detentions to him, if he was so convinced that he was Mr Popularity he could be the one to deal with them. For all that most of the students were well-behaved, there were a select few who saw fit to challenge her at every turn, and Cedrella was privately certain that it was only for her benefit that it happened.

This evaluation would be her first. They occurred at the beginning of the new year for two purposes -- the first, to review the previous year's effort, and the second, to look forward at the plan for the coming semester. Despite having several checkpoints upon which she was examined over the course of the previous year, Cedrella was a bundle of nervous energy about this one.

She was no more or less put together than usual -- which was to say that everything about her was flawless. She arrived in perfect time, and when she saw Weasley she had to turn her head a little, to hide a flash of a smug smirk. He was much more effectively put together this time -- and she wasn't above taking credit for it.

"Good morning, Mr Weasley," she said cordially, noting that that one errant orange curl still stuck up from the rest as though it were waving at her.

Septimus continued to fidget with the paper that outlined his entire course for that semester. Every now and again, he unrolled it, eyes scanning the page, then rolled it back up again. That happened several times over the course of about ten minutes. No, he wasn't nervous, or so he kept telling himself. He had no need to be nervous - he was a good professor, even if he was a bit disorganized. In the end, his students learned what they needed to learn, and nearly all of his students had passed their exams last year. Still, there was something that still made him nervous. Maybe it was because he was in this ridiculous suit, but he felt off his game somehow.

His hands crossed and rested on his knees, he stared intently at them as he heard footsteps approach. His mind didn't really put two and two together. There weren't many new professors at the school, only a few actually. One other was already in the Headmaster's office getting interviewed. The clicking of shoes alerted him that it wasn't a male professor, and there was only one female professor who was new enough to be doing these reviews. He tried best not to grimace as he heard the voice of Cedrella Black

Septimus pulled at his sleeves, then turned and attempted to smile pleasantly. Instead, it turned into more of a snide smirk. "Ah, Miss Black. What a lovely surprise. Up for review as well?" He asked, as though attempting to make pleasantries. He was still trying to work out what his next plan of attack would be. She'd initiated war by organizing his office and sending him all of those detentions. But now that he had to deal with her for the time being. He was stuck with her until the he was called for his evaluation. Might as well attempt to try and not kill her.

"I am," Cedrella confirmed silkily, "and the pleasure is all mine. Did you put that --" she gestured at his suit "-- together all by yourself this morning?"

She crossed one ankle over the other. Normally she might have made an effort to stand up and keep her back straight, but for Weasley she rather felt that it would be a wasted one. That, combined with her jumping stomach, made her a little more inclined to be casual. She didn't lean, but shifted her weight on to one foot, and wrapped an arm across her midsection, the other propped up on it at the elbow, fingers toying idly at a curl of hair.

She almost wanted to tell him to stand up, so she could see him properly. Cedrella liked to have things neat, and it included people -- even though she thought he was the most overbearing and insufferable person on the planet, she still wanted nothing more than to straighten him up and dust him off; perhaps lick her hand and smooth that errant curl at the top of his head. It wasn't motherly, or even particularly compulsive -- it was just that she liked things to look right, and had a very specific idea of what 'right' constituted.

Presentation, after all, was everything. She took him in afresh then, noting that he seemed a little out of his element dressed up. He had such high cheekbones and startling blue eyes that if he would just -- sit up straight and behave like a proper person (and fix that hair) the effect would doubtless be rather striking.

The manner in which Cedrella mulled this over was almost clinical -- she had long ago separated appearances from facts. Looking respectable and being respectable, she knew, did not go hand in hand necessarily -- much like most people thought she was attractive to look at until she opened her mouth to say anything.

"Ah, well how lovely." Septimus said, attempting to keep his face as neutral as possible. Part of him should have expected to see her here. But after what happened between them - the house elves, the detentions - he figured that they would have to face each other eventually. He hadn't been looking forward to it at all, especially after the explosive nature of their last conversation, but he strongly believed that he could turn the situation around if he needed to.

He grimaced, hands reaching to straighten his tie once again. "And believe it or not, I did manage to dress myself this morning." He said, not meeting her eyes and tugging the lapels on his coat. "I actually think I look rather dashing." he stated, straightening slightly and looking at her. He noticed that she really wasn't that tall, not compared to him at least. She constantly wore heels, he noticed. Wanting to test his his theory, he slipped up, standing tall and stepping a bit closer to her. He barely had to look down to meet her eyes, but he imagined her without her heels. She was puny. It made him feel a bit better.

Septimus sighed gently, slipping the paper into his pocket and freeing his hands. His eyes shifted over Cedrella, taking in every minute and perfect detail. It irked him incredibly, though he wouldn't have said something. There wasn't a hair out of place as far as he could tell, her nails seemed to all be the exact same length and perfectly rounded, and and there wasn't a visible bit of fuzz or lint anywhere on her person. Merlin, he couldn't find anything wrong with her, and that drove him absolutely insane.

However, as she shifted into a position, he found something he could comment about. A small smirk appeared on his lips, and his brows raised gently. "Miss Black, it appears that you're in some...discomfort. There's a restroom down the corridor, I believe." Septimus gestured lightly with one hand, sweeping towards the opposite direction. A smug look smoldered in his eyes, fixing them on Cedrella and his smile broadened.

Cedrella's gaze swept him as he rose and she found that the suit did fit him satisfactorily, though she had no idea what he was doing - all she could be certain of about Septimus Weasley was that she couldn't predict him, the memory of raised voices and slammed doors lingering. She wasn't concerned, really, she didn't find his temper frightening (it was more bluster than anything else), just surprising. Never mind that it was virtually unheard of to make such a scene in the Black household, she might never have guessed that such a mild-mannered, disorganised, blasé sort of a man had such a temper.

"Well. That was what I found surprising," she said backhandedly, looking up at him as he straightened himself. The suit flattered him far more than slouchy sweater vests and mismatched trousers ever would. It made his slender, lanky frame look... proportionate, because slim as he was there was no real sense that he was skinny or weak. Not now, anyway. He almost had her questioning her train of thought when he spoke again.

At once, Cedrella uncrossed her legs -- it was a leftover habit from childhood. She hadn't always been short; she had shot up like a stalk when she was little and had started slouching her shoulders and trying to look smaller. This way she could keep her back straight and still disappear a little. She tucked her other arm in so that they were folded and adjusted her posture quickly, turning her head vainly in an attempt to hide the evidence that he had managed a goal. She was colouring up, she could feel it -- but if she left now, he would think she did need to use the restroom and that would somehow be infinitely worse.

This was why Cedrella did everything so precisely and with such calculation, because otherwise there was room for people to make her feel self-conscious, however minor it may have been. Her entire life had been spent under one sort of scrutiny or another, and she found it incredibly difficult to let go in any circumstances. She wasn't sure what surprised her more -- that he had been so brazen or that she was worried, after all, about what he thought.

Bastard.

Septimus wasn't the type to value clothing for how fashionable it was, or even how it looked on him, really. He chose clothing for perhaps only two reasons: he liked the color, or the clothing itself was quite comfortable. Other than that, his closet was a disorganized, mismatched hodgepodge of sweater vests, button up shirts, and trousers.

They varied in patterns, colors, and fabrics, and how they were acquired usually was accompanied by a rather long and unnecessary story. He could tell you that his mother knitted the red woolen sweater that he broke out once the weather began to get cold, and that he acquired the tan trousers with the butter stain on the pants leg was from his birthday dinner when he was seventeen.

As it happened, he didn't take her backhanded insult as an insult. He felt surprisingly dapper and stylish at the moment, but that simply wasn't who he was. He wasn't this ideally professional person, and he probably couldn't be even if he wanted to be. Instead, he smiled confidently as her legs uncrossed as he mentioned that she looked as though she was in need of the facilities.

There was something deeply satisfied in his heart when he saw her face begin to flush. How odd. It'd always been the rumor, even when Septimus had been a student, that the Blacks bled black. But seeing Cedrella's pink face staring up at him, horrified, it was clear they were just as human as the rest. Septimus kept his smug smile in place, looking down at her, waiting for a response.

After a moment of waiting, and her silence, a brow raised on Septimus' face, the smirk still in place. "What's wrong Miss Black? Kneazle got your tongue?" He questioned, his tone outwardly and obviously teasing. He felt slightly like a boy again, despite the fact that his suit made him look infinitely older than he ever felt.

"Perhaps I didn't care to dignify it with a response," Cedrella said huffily. Bodily functions were private things that she was accustomed to pretending not to have -- in polite company she would refrain from going to the powder room more than once and she would only eat or drink anything if it was offered and everybody present was doing so -- and if she did, she did it with the sort of disinterest that implied she didn't have any appetite or thirst whatsoever. To have a near enough perfect stranger mention it broke every single rule Cedrella could think of, and one or two more she was sure she was forgetting.

"Clearly a good suit doesn't fix everything." Ruffled, though it wasn't for shock so much as for the lack of a groomed response, and still a little pink, she turned her nose up at him, unable to bear his smugness. His smile was infuriating, and she knew he was enjoying her discomfort, even though she was perfectly within her right to feel awkward, he was the one who had lowered the tone so considerably.

Cedrella didn't mind admitting that she thought his looks had improved (she had, after all, agreed with his consensus that he looked dapper -- even if it was meant sneeringly with regard to his former attire), but she would have greatly preferred it if he'd just kept quiet. The effect was spoiled somewhat by... his... by him.

His smile only widened at her response, and he had to make an effort not to bounce happily on the balls of his feet. To see the great Cedrella Black flustered had already brightened his day considerably, and he made a note that he had to do this much more often. To see her break character was astonishing, though it peaked his interest even more as to how she would react if he made her extremely angry or something of that nature. Would she yell at him, get all red in the face? That'd be quite something. He'd pay to see that.

"You should have said so then, Miss Black? Otherwise I would have had to assume that you were actually...flustered." He said, savoring the last word as though it was the last piece of his mum's apple tart.

He paused after her words, a look of confusion passing over his face before the grin was backed, though it was a surprised, delighted grin this time. "Merlin,Miss Black, was that an actual compliment coming from you? I would have never expected..." he trailed off, grinning like a fool. He took a few steps, putting his hands in his pockets and strolling around her slowly, as though taking a leisurely stroll through the park.

Cedrella clung to the idea that he was in the wrong, and it hardly mattered how affected she was -- it was his behaviour that needed accounting for. At every turn she only confirmed that she couldn't predict him. She arched an eyebrow as he grinned at her, and wondered just what had him so amused. He didn't do anything by halves, did he? Not arguments, or smiling -- either his entire body was expressing pious fury or every bit of him was beaming, and he seemed to express himself without a moment's regret. Cedrella was almost the polar opposite, outwardly. For all her efforts with regard to her interactions with others she had never quite realised just how hard and cold she came across at times. What, to Cedrella, was an effort to remain composed and polite often filtered through as clipped and frosty, and she was wholly unaware that her insistence upon containing her reactions was every bit as infuriating as somebody who expressed themselves thoughtlessly. Skilled though she may have been at lying, there was a certain sense of falseness about her that was entirely defensive and entirely beyond her grip. She wasn't impervious at all -- if anything, she felt everything much too readily and easily. It was what made such defences necessary.

She turned with him, like a doll on a music box, on the ball of her foot -- unwilling to let him out of her sight. "Suffice to say that I think you ought to let me dress you from now on," she said, lip curling just the tiniest bit. She may have conceded that he looked better, but she certainly thought she'd had a hand in it, with her little wardrobe stunt. "And you afford me no credit, Mr Weasley. We are not all so stubborn as you."

He watched as she twirled around as not to have her back turned to him. She was like some strange, suspicious animal, like his aunt's cat. The thing would stare at Septimus as a child, following him with it's eyes no matter where Septimus went, as though planning to pounce when he least expected. Was that what Cedrella Black was? Some terrifying, demon cat? Slightly amused and slightly curious, Septimus proceeded to continue to circle her, mildly interested in whether or not she would continue twirling if he continued circling her.

Septimus made a face when she commented that she should be the one dressing him. No one dressed Septimus Weasley, not even his mother since he was six years old. He had been quite persistent as a child in dressing himself - to the extent where he would rip off any clothes his mother put on him and dress himself again. Needless to say, his mother simply stopped trying after the problem persisted. He certainly wasn't going to be Cedrella Black's little doll, for her to dress up however she wanted. Especially since her need for perfection bothered her so badly. "I'll have to decline if it involves you seeing my undergarments. That would be scandalous, Miss Black. I'd hate to do such a shameful thing." He said in mock protest, a smirk still playing at his lips.

He smirked, snorting a little at her comment about being stubborn. He wasn't stubborn. At least, not that stubborn. He was just... set in his ways. That was all. "My mistake. For a moment, I thought you were actually beginning to like me." He said, though is voice was obviously teasing. He couldn't think of anything he would prefer less.

Cedrella was suspicious. To say that it was unusual in her family to make any gesture of kindness would be a grotesque understatement, nobody did anything for nothing. She didn't know what Weasley wanted, but she had been raised to think that it was something. She turned with him another few times, until it became obvious he was waiting to see how long she would spin with him for, and then stopped, arms folding over her chest immediately, temper flaring.

Talking about his underwear was no better than talking about her bathroom habits, but it was about him, and Cedrella had already steeled herself for further attempts to lower the tone. Her quick wit meant that she almost always had a retort to hand, even if most of the time she was unable to say them. This time it was as though she had lost the ability to refrain. Septimus Weasley was like a well of regret that was ever giving.

"You could always go without," she said almost helpfully, "that way they wouldn't leave a line." She allowed her gaze to flit downwards, for just a split second, to somewhere around the region of his hips.

She was good at plenty of things socially -- navigating pureblooded society was the equivalent of trying to walk blind folded through a gobstones tournament. You had to tread carefully. She could be diplomatic, she'd had years to perfect it. She could squirm out of almost any unpleasant discussion -- but what she'd never really been well-practised at was flirtation. Her idea of physical presence was entirely to do with posture and presentation. In fact, far from trying to entice anybody she had spent all her time pushing them away and fighting for anything resembling an intellectual discussion instead, so it was little wonder that it had missed her internal filter.

She had intended to embarrass him, not necessarily to be provocative in any other way -- but it was too late.

"I mean -- no," she muttered helplessly.

Slightly disappointed but still amused, Septimus situated himself behind Cedrella when she stopped turning with him, just to see if she would bother turning around again. He didn't make the connection, but he was acting just like Gilbert would when teasing either Robbie or Gen, playing a game of 'I'm not touching you'.

He continued smiling when he saw her fold her arms in anger, suppressing a chuckle as he stared at the back of her head. He wished he could see her face, but this was too enjoyable to ruin it. Still, after a moment, temptation forced him to give in, and he circled back around to stand in front of her, finding that he was still amused by how short she was.

When she spoke, his face was momentarily puzzled, before a large grin spread across his face. "Miss Black, you are being surprisingly scandalous today. And I would appreciate if you kept your eyes away from my groin area, thank you very much." He said, feigning embarrassment for a fraction of a second. He certainly hadn't expected her to actually make such a statement, much less examine that area, even for just a moment.

"No, Miss Black? What was that Shakespearean quote? The lady doth protest too much?" He asked. He slipped his hands into his pockets, and rocked gently on the balls of his feet, looking as though he was a child about to enter the world's largest candy store. Septimus tended to get excited about the little things in life, such as teasing Cedrella Black.

Cedrella only floundered for a moment -- and recalculated her position quickly. "Perhaps you're right," she said coldly, twisting to face him, "I do protest too much. The situation is so unlikely that it speaks for itself. Protest is hardly required."

She arched one eyebrow at him, still flushed, but certainly regathered. With a dismissive gesture of her hand, she added: "Though it goes without saying, Weasley, not if you were the last man on earth." A beat. "Which, for your benefit, affords you the dubious honour of having been a man in the first place -- never let it be said that I can't be generous."

His animation and his smugness were both beginning to grate at her considerably. Cedrella would have liked to slap the smirk off his face, but could not justifiably find a reason to do it. Inwardly still kicking herself for making such an elementary mistake, she vowed to be a little more guarded with words around him in the future -- even if he did make her want to scream.

Septimus raised his hands in the air, clearly exasperated and yet still amused. "Look at you now, you're still protesting." he exclaimed, his voice still teasing. He was slightly bemused by how flustered she seemed to get when he brought up the tiniest things. Still, she seemed to be calming down, which was slightly disappointing, but Septimus was sure that it would still be entertaining until Dippet came around to do his evaluation.

"Oh that's quite touching to hear. Really, anyone over me, eh?" Septimus made a thoughtful face, truly considering Cedrella Black with any other person in the world. He highly doubted it. Not someone as stubborn and prejudice as Miss Black. "I would love to see that." He said dreamily, staring off as though in blissful thoughts of Cedrella snogging muggles and muggleborns alike. It'd be quite something, or so he imagined it.

Part of him, however, was wondering what was taking Dippet so long to call him in. As much as he was enjoying teasing Cedrella, since it had basically quelled any fears about his meeting he'd had before. But he was beginning to feel anxious again. His foot began tapping anxiously as he spoke to her, though the smug grin still remained on his face.

Cedrella stared at him for a long moment, frustrated that he didn't seem to believe her. It only made her want to protest all the more, which, of course, meant that he could use it to suggest that she was doing so too much. Part of her couldn't believe she was even having this conversation with him -- and part of her was furious that he assumed automatically that she had meant anyone.

"I didn't say just anyone," she corrected him, eyebrow twitching. Somehow that bothered her the most -- that she didn't have her own set of standards. Cedrella had been raised to be as purist as the rest of the Blacks, but it wasn't in her nature to work up the broiling hatred the others had. She had the same passion, certainly, but she had turned it -- secretly -- to more intellectual exploits. It wasn't that she was revolutionary. Not really. She just found it empty and unsatisfying to be born to superiority. It gnawed at her in an intangible, distant sort of way to recognise that no matter what she did, people were more interested in... oh, not even her lineage. Something so far beyond her that it was hardly anything, and yet it eclipsed her in every conceivable way.

No. Cedrella didn't imagine for a moment that Weasley realised her criteria for -- whatever he was driving at -- extended far beyond the largest vault at Gringotts and the oldest name. If she was honest about her thoughts on it -- and she rarely was, even to herself -- she wanted to find someone impossible. Someone who was pure and rich enough to satisfy her mother and yet somehow interested in her for exactly the opposite of those reasons -- and preferably not a blithering idiot. Such gentlemen, it would seem, were in short supply.

She shook her head, sighing at he began to prance afresh. "Stop it," she said, and sank her teeth briefly into her lower lip before she went on: "You're making me nervous."

He had upset her. He could tell by the twitch in her eyebrow, conflicting with her attempt to keep the rest of her face as neutral as possible. What was it about this woman that made her want to show so little emotion? Was it just because she didn't want to deal with the outside world, or did she really not feel all that much? It put him off slightly. The women in his household were so completely emotional, it was difficult not to get overwhelmed by it at times. But standing across from Cedrella Black, it just seemed so strange. He had to read subtle markers in order to tell how things were going. It was just... odd.

"Ah, of course not." Septimus said, looking slightly bemused. "Of course, even the last man alive has to have some dough, correct? And be of noble blood. It'd be a shame for you to revive wizardkind with dirty blood wouldn't it." He hadn't meant his words to be so stinging, and was slightly surprised with himself. but he didn't apologize or take it back. No, it wasn't his fault, he told himself.

She snapped at him to cease, and he looked at her for a moment with confusion, not sure what she meant. Then he glanced down, noticed his foot tapping anxiously, then shrugged gently. "Ah, well. Yes. That happens sometimes." he said nonchalantly. He wasn't about to admit that he too was nervous.

Cedrella was unaware that she had such tells - she kept everything completely under wraps as a matter of personal defence. Had she known that Septimus had begun to catalogue them -- or that he even had been interested in doing so -- she would have been absolutely stone-faced, even though inside she was boiling. Had she known the options he had afforded her, she might have introduced a third: that anything resembling emotional weakness, for a woman of her status, and her age, in her position, was tantamount to inviting criticism on her ability to perform professionally -- particularly from her own family.

Never mind that it protected her from having her real weaknesses exploited. Until Septimus Weasley she had never found anybody so adept at finding every raw nerve she possessed.

"How like you to presume that your only flaws are in status and wealth," she said flatly, "I could illuminate you on the other ways in which you are lacking, Mr Weasley, but it might take days."

In all honesty, Septimus didn't quite grasp the expectations that families such as the Blacks but on their children. He'd grown up in a wild whirlwind of emotion - nothing was unsaid, but the environment was loving regardless. Quite the opposite of the life that Cedrella had been born into, not that he knew that. He was under the assumption that women like Cedrella were simply born these ice queens, that it was nature rather than nurture. That's why he found Cedrella amusing as well as constantly frustrating. He wondered how far it would continue before she cracked - if she ever did.

He smiled broadly at her statement, as though he was quite certain that indeed his only faults were in fact status and wealth, and there was certainly nothing he could do to change those things. His brows raised in amusement when she claimed it would take days to list all of his faults. "Oh Miss Black, I do hope you'll indulge me in just a few? Maybe then we could swap opinions. I assure you, I could probably boil down yours to a few words."

"Oh, honestly," Cedrella said irritably, "the very fact you'd even ask that question counts as one."

With one hand on her hip and the other free to gesture incredulously, she went on: "I don't think I've met a more -- boorish, stubborn, unpleasant -- arrogant man in all my life."

Cedrella paused, to ensure that she meant it, and found that she did -- so that surely was saying something, for if anybody was an authority on men who thought too much of themselves, she was certain it was her. He was the quintessential Weasley. Everything she had expected of him for his status he had proven undoubtedly was true. Cedrella hadn't really meant to give him the benefit of the doubt (rather, had he not lost his temper so readily, she might have treated him with the sort of frosty indifference she afforded her other colleagues) but she felt incensed not to have been given the option to deny him it.

"You seem to think you're entitled to special treatment -- you -- talk too much -- you shout and bawl at the slightest provocation, for a Gryffindor I've never seen evidence of chivalry -- you demonstrate a brazen disregard for even the most basic of social graces -- you're just -- so rude."

Septimus laughed wryly at at her first comment, that by even asking that he was verifying her thoughts about him already. If anything, he could be the one to say that - quick to point out everyone else's flaws but not even considering what issues she had. He listened in dry amusement as insults were thrown at him.

If Cedrella saw him as the quintessential Weasley, he couldn't help but see her as the very idea of what Black's were in his mind. She was everything that he had come to expect from the students in his class every time he saw the name 'Black' on his class list. Cedrella was only an insight into the future - what these girls in his classes would eventually become. Stoic and bitter women, who had their tongues sawed off at an early age.

When she paused after her first round of insults, he found himself speaking without meaning to. Septimus had never really thought of himself as a defensive person, but he was quick to laugh bitterly, and retort. "I can't say that I've met anyone who is as bitter, cold, and yet so insecure in my life!" he exclaimed, pausing for a moment before continuing. Part of him was quite aware that she was speaking as he was, but he didn't really notice what it was she was saying exactly.

"You could make hell freeze over with that attitude of yours! You're completely bias against people of opposite views as you -- including my siblings. What's worse, you have to impose your presence on children. And for Merlin's sake, you are just so rude." He paused in a huff, realizing that they'd just called each other the same thing. His eyes narrowed, and he attempted to slow down his breathing, not wanting to get riled up again.

"...so RUDE."

The expression of surprise on Cedrella's face as they spoke in unison had hardly registered when the sound of Dippet's door opening drew her attention. The headmaster had come to fetch them himself, of course, and his eyes were crinkled in amusement.

"Shall I join in, for the chorus?" he asked pleasantly, and Cedrella wished desperately that the ground would swallow her whole. Averting her eyes, she said nothing, but adjusted her posture and stepped quickly to one side, away from Weasley. They hadn't been outside even ten minutes -- appalling to be discovered at one another's throats as though they were incapable of co-existing in murderous silence! And right before a review.

"I shall see Mr Weasley first, if you don't mind, Cedrella," Dippet said, and signalled for Septimus to step forward even as Cedrella shook her head mutely. "Very good! It shan't be long, do take a seat."

Dippet stepped back to allow Weasley through the door and as it closed, Cedrella sank on to the bench, stomach twisting unpleasantly. Now she really was worried about her review -- what must he think?

Cedrella vowed quietly to avoid Septimus Weasley at all costs from then on.

[fin!]