when you wish you hadn't (D'rorah, OPEN)

[parisnowan]

Back at the Slytherin girl's dormitories, Paris Nowan had awoken only to find that all around her were still deeply in slumber. Looking at a watch left on a nearby nightstand, she discovered that this morning she had awoken quite early; just a little before 5:00 to be exact. After listening to the heavy breathing of the girl's surrounding her, deep in their slumber, and attempting to fall back asleep, she finally concluded that returning to slumber was going to be nearly impossible for her. As long as Paris could remember, she had difficulty falling asleep when she could here even the slightest sound. The only exception she had to this was the sound of rain, which soothed her.

So, she got out of her bed and proceeded to get ready. After a trip to the bathroom, which took a good amount of time for she took much pride in her hair, she returned to her common room to look for others to socialize with. People had begun to emerge from their dormitories, but generally a barely-woken Slytherin was not the friendliest of a person to talk to and Paris found herself getting annoyed with their hostility and tiredness. Not one to just sit around by herself, Paris decided to take a walk and perhaps find someone else to talk to....She'd journey to the great hall later so that she could be able to enjoy breakfast with her friends; by then they'd all be in happier spirits.

She emerged out of the common room and into a hallway only to hear the slight tamping against the walls of Hogwarts. It only took her a second for her to realize what it was; and when she emerged out of the dungeons she gained conformation. It was raining. A sly smile emerged on Paris's face as she continued on her way. The sound of rain nearly always managed to calm Paris and gave her a warm feeling inside.

Bored and indecisive at the moment, Paris struggled on figuring out where exactly to go. She was beginning to see more people in the hallways, but few of them Slytherins and those that were, were obviously too young for her to talk to. She recognized a few older seventh year hufflepuffs, who avoided her gaze. They obviously didn’t want to talk to her, and Paris could sense their awkwardness. She couldn’t place their names but was sure that she’d met them before. They seemed intimidating by her; perhaps, they were...mudbloods. She kept her eyes on them as she passed them in the hallway; giving off an air of cool sophistication. They kept their glances in another direction. She would have ignored them if she was sure they were muggleborn, but she couldn’t remember. She tired to rack memory for information about them. Alas, she couldn’t remember...

Paris very well had a reputation when it came to blood traitors and muggleborns, but it wasn’t as if she went out of her way to hurt them or mock them. To Paris, they a waste of her precocious time. She didn’t need to make fun of them to feel satisfied. She had a life; one, she would prefer, free of contacts with muggleborns. However, when Paris was forced to interact with them…all bets were off…

She continued walking down the halls; bored and letting her mind wander. Although Paris put her heart into most classes, she wasn’t really looking forward to class today. Although in classes she often got time to socialize, today she felt like it wasn’t going to be enough. Even though she found some classes sincerely interesting, she preferred hanging out with friends and partying; the latter, she had not done in quite some time. Just these thoughts were making her a little depressed…but her thought process quickly changed; for thinking about things she enjoyed, brought her to thoughts of Quidditch…which she enjoyed most during the school year.

As captain of the Slytherin team, Paris had made it one of her priorities this year. Her love for the game could be traced back to when she was a child…back when she would practice the game with her twin sister, Lydia. Lydia always wanted to play chaser and although Paris wasn’t one to be submissive, she quite often ending up playing Keeper so that Lydia could practice on her. The two girls were supposed to take turns but eventually Paris grew to love the position and Lydia played keeper less and less. Now, it was definitely Paris’s preference and her talent in that position had won her a spot on the team and captaincy. Lydia had ended up making Gryffindor’s team, of course, but she was not a captain. This did add a bit of confidence to Paris, but she had to worry about Lydia scoring on her during games which added stress. It had happened frequently in the past, and Paris was determined this year. Lydia was not going to score on her again. But all and all, Quidditch was a passion of Paris’s and she looked forward to practices and games. It made her excited just thinking about it…

Paris continued walking down the hallways of Hogwarts, eyes open for someone she could meet up with and talk to. Alas, still, she could find no one…she was beginning to think that it would just be best if she went to the great hall now…but something stopped her. A voice. She couldn’t recognize it, but something about it intrigued her. She stopped short to face the direction of where it was coming from, and changed her direction of position, only to find that she was standing in front of a door; Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. A quite, scornful laugh escaped Paris.

Myrtle was awkward…and odd; everyone knew that. She behaved like a little girl that needed sleep, in a teenage girl’s ghost body. Paris found it hard to believe that a student at Hogwarts once behaved like that…or, perhaps the misery of living as a ghost had warped her personality into something weird? Who knew? Paris had met her on a few occasions at the beginning of her Hogwarts experience, plainly out of curiously, and had left feeling extremely awkward. But that was years ago. Now the curiosity had returned.
Not exactly sure how she was going to react to Myrtle, she slowly entered the bathroom, sincerely wondering what was going on in there. Perhaps it was nothing, Moaning Myrtle just moaning again; or perhaps it was something more….

[D'rorah Philosophy]

{{ooc: Lol, well, you've done it... got Dee RPing somewhere I told myself she'd never have any reason to go. Good show! I can securely save that I have never RPed in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom before.}}

D'rorah had awoken nearly face down in a book she had been translating the previous night and well into the morning. She remembered the clock chiming three a.m.... three-thirty... four... four thirty... and sometime after that her quill had likely dipped in her hand and slowly ground to a halt. Blinking wearily, she looked at the page on which she had been writing, seeing the slowly widening scrawl that told the story of her complete and utter exhaustion all too well. It was at that point that she looked around, wondering what might have woken her. Her gaze fell all too quickly on the culprit as the chiming clock laboriously moved around to five thirty. At the very least, she was thankful the sleep had been too short to allow any sort of nightmares to invade the slumber. In fact, though it seemed impossible, she even felt mildly rested.

She sat back up in her chair, feeling her muscles stretch awkwardly and hearing the light popping of joints had had been in awkward positions while she slept. Packing up her things quietly, she slipped up into her dormitory and gathered items for a quick shower, along with fresh clothing and robes. It wasn't a long, indulgent shower, merely a utilitarian one in which she turned the water off as soon as all traces of shampoo were gone from her waist-length hair. It appeared she had the bathroom all to herself at this early hour, so she didn't feel the compulsion to hide her scarred skin from questioning eyes as she towelled off and dried her hair.

The hair was the first thing to deal with, obviously. It was too long to leave down... at least, according to D'rorah it was. So many times she thought of cutting it... but it had always been her father's favorite and she'd always backed off at the last minute, keeping it as a memory of her parents. She carefully sectioned it up, twisting and pinning it to her head quickly, out of habit. Before long, every inch that had hung to her waist was now neatly and securely pinned on top of her head and out of the way.

That chore, done, she donned her clothing quickly. As usual, a deep navy blue outfit... collar reaching to her chin, skirt to her ankles, sleeves a quarter of an inch past her wrists... and topped all of this off with her school robes. Looking in the mirror, she thought for a moment she looked more like a relic from the 19th century... minus the puffy, crinolined skirt, of course. Of course, the thought only lasted a minute as she passed by one of the many mirrors. She glanced only long enough to ascertain that as much of her skin was covered as possible, hiding her extensive scarring.

Regathering her books, she headed down in the direction of the library, intent on a quiet change of scenery to continue her translating. She was almost certian she recalled her usual chair in the Ravenclaw common room taking on the indentation of her body when she woke up this morning--a sign that it was time for a change. She stopped around the second floor, hearing an odd sound coming from the girl's lavatory. She listened for a moment and turned in the direction of the noise in time to see Paris venturing in after the sound. She recognized the infamous bathroom fairly quickly... the room where Moaning Myrtle angstily haunted, the room where the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, twice in generations past. Knowing that no one actually used that room precisely [/i]because[/i] of those two things, she decided to see what the draw was.

At the least, she would find nothing untoward happening and would continue on to the library. At the most... well, in a place like Hogwarts, keeping one's eyes and ears opened for signs of strange activity was useful to the Lightfighters. She strode down the hallway and into the bathroom, arching an eyebrow slightly at the way the keening sound reverberated throughout the tiled room. She encountered the backside of the Slytherin student who had entered before her. Not recognizing her from Ollivanders, and not recalling having met her previously, D'rorah thought to introduce herself. "Good morning. Tell me, have you any idea exactly what all of the noise is about?" she asked, glancing around the room for a sign of its source. It was at that moment that Myrtle decided to emerge from her stall, splashing water all over the floor.

Come to gape at Myrtle, have we? she asked accusingly in her irritatingly self pitying voice, her eyes pointed at the two newcomers petulantly. This is the first time you've ever been in my bathroom she accused. Moaning Myrtle not worth the attentions of an the last few words had a mockingly simpering quality about them, [/i]almighty Ravenclaw prefect... and a Slytherin pureblood. I was a Ravenclaw you know... going to give me detention for disturbing the peace?[/i] She flew off in a fit of laughter that sounded nearly insane... but then, D'rorah supposed she'd likely be insane too if she'd spent the last several decades in a bathroom.

D'rorah's eyebrow arched slightly as she opened her mouth to respond. She searched her memory for the girl's last name, but it had apparently not endured history along with the nickname given her by the students. D'rorah would have to modify her usual form of formal address for annoying historical oversight. "Yes Myrtle, I am well aware of your history. You seem particularly agitated today. May I enquire as to why?"

[parisnowan]

{{Ooc: Ha ha, lol. *talks to applauding audience* Thank you, thank you}}

Paris stood frozen as Myrtle's groans echoed throughout the bathroom. So, this was the extent of Myrtle's tempter? It was odd to think that many years ago this ghost had dealt well with the famous Potter, as well as, according to rumor, Draco Malfoy. And even more oddly...how Tom Riddle himself had sent his horrors upon her which had led to her death. This girl had experienced so much history first hand, yet was so...insane. Although Paris was in some sort of trance while listening to her, she was beginning to get annoyed. And in the back of her mind she wondered if Potter himself had gotten irritated with her...

Potter; that was a controversial subject. Although Paris knew that if he had attended school in her own time, she probably would have detested him with a passion, she couldn't help but be grateful for what he had done. The Dark Lord had taken things too far...and someone needed to take him down, even if it was the annoying half-blood traitor. But Paris would never reveal this opinion to her grandfather, who had served the Dark Lord in his days. Still bitter about the defeat but still afraid of getting taken to Azkaban, he often muttered comments of disappointment about how the world could have been if the Dark Lord had taken control, permanently. Paris would listen, but deep inside, refute his comments. The only reason her grandfather had not been taken to Azkaban anyways, was because he had revealed the identities of other Death Eaters.

Paris thought that Tom Riddle had been the most brilliant mind to ever enter Hogwarts as a student; he only came second in great minds to Salazar Slytherin. But Lord...Voldemort...was different. He had started out with the noblest of intentions, as Tom Riddle. But The Dark Lord was different. By the end of his reign, muggleborns weren't even a priority anymore; it was all about power. He didn't care who he killed, although he did have a little bit of a preference but that was only to keep his Death Eaters happy. Tom Riddle had been the heir of Slytherin...not Voldemort. To Paris, they were different people. Tom had followed in the footsteps of Slytherin...Voldemort didn't care as long as he was in control.

For Salazar wasn't a psychotic murderer who wanted to rule the world (at least Paris had convinced herself of this). He simply wanted a pure society; he wanted what was right. He wanted to save the world of magic from filth that the other founders had so willingly let enter the school. The Chamber of Secrets was the only way...it was the only way to stop the corruption of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. But Paris believed that Salazar had not intended for the Basilisk to murder all of the mudbloods, no, he was too noble for that. She was convinced that it merely was designed to frighten, and prove that all unpure children did not belong in the wizarding world. His intentions were noble. She told herself this over and over.
But now she was here, twenty years or so later after Potter had defeated Lord...Voldemort. And Myrtle was going crazy; again.

Still in her trance, Paris did not hear another person enter the room and reacted with shock when she heard another girl speak.
"Good morning. Tell me, have you any idea exactly what all of the noise is about?"
At the sound of the older girl's voice, Paris whirled around, shocked and startled; her eyes wide and vibrant. However, as soon as she recognized her face, Paris went back to remaining calm and collected.
She recognized her face: D'rorah Philosophy. She didn't really know her on a personal level, but knew her name because she was a well known prefect to Paris. She also had met her at Ollivanders...the experience...barely memorable. What Paris did know about D'rorah was more out of emotional opinion and how she perceived the girl's personality. She had a sort of coldness about her; an icy edge that was not very friendly but very dignified; along with obvious great intelligence...

It was that moment that Myrtle finally decided to emerge This is the first time you've ever been in my bathroom! Almighty Ravenclaw prefect... and a Slytherin pureblood. I was a Ravenclaw you know... going to give me detention for disturbing the peace? Myrtle then laughed, triggering a pitiful, soft laugh from Paris, who found Myrtle's behavior awkward and pathetic. D'rorah, on the other hand, seemed very composed. She listened to her ask Myrtle a considerate question, only to listen to a deranged response. The ghost seemed outraged by the older Seventh-year's question.

"Oh, yes, you would want to know, wouldn't you? Perfect little Ravenclaw, always has to know everything!" She started laughing hysterically after making this comment and flew up to the windowsill.

Paris merely stared at Myrtle as if she was crazy; portraying a look of uttermost awkwardness, and raising her eyebrow. Perhaps coming in here was not the best idea after all...

[D'rorah Philosophy]

D'rorah's eyebrow arched sharply as Paris whipped around to face her, the shock obvious on her face. As soon as Paris' gaze calmed, D'rorah felt herself slightly confused.

"Oh, yes, you would want to know, wouldn't you? Perfect little Ravenclaw, always has to know everything!"

D'rorah looked up at Myrtle, not allowing her irritation to show. "If you prefer that we leave, I am certain that could be quite easily done, Myrtle. And you are quite incorrect, I am far from perfect." She let the barest of laughs escape her throat. "And I can think of very few who would call me... little," she added, knowing she towered above a great deal of the Hogwarts population, standing at 5'11".

D'rorah looked over at Paris, slightly concerned. The girl didn't seem to be handling these outbursts well. She seemed almost... disconnected from what was happening around her. "Perhaps it would be best if we left anyway," she suggested, somewhat concerned by the other girl's expression. Could Paris possibly be in shock? "You do realize, Myrtle is incapable of causing you any lasting physical harm?" She questioned, thinking perhaps the girl just had an all-around fear of ghosts.

She looked back up at Myrtle, finding her watching the two of them. "And you, Myrtle? Was there anything that either of us might be able to assist you with? If not, I believe this young lady and I may take our leave of your space here. We would not wish to intrude where we are unwelcome."

Myrtle hovered, sulking in the corner by the ceiling. After waiting for a few moments, D'rorah shook her head slightly and turned to leave. At the very least, she had managed to quiet the noise. "Perhaps we would be best off heading to the Great Hall for breakfast," she suggested, trying to prompt Paris in action. She fully intended that she would just drop her off at the Great Hall and then continue on to the library, as she had initially intended. This was more than enough weirdness for one morning... especially so early in the morning.

[parisnowan]

"Oh, yes, you would want to know, wouldn't you? Perfect little Ravenclaw, always has to know everything!" Truly, such ghost was insane. Why did the past Headmasters and Headmistresses let her occupy the bathroom? She was...weird...But Paris had a question now about the after life that she had never thought about about before...was Myrtle trapped here in her ghost form, or could she leave this place and venture somewhere else in the castle? And what about the other ghosts, like the Bloody Baron? Were they not capable of leaving Hogwarts or did they simply choose to stay here all these years? For if Myrtle simply just wanted to stay here, something was terribly wrong. She wondered how crazy the dead girl had been like during her lifetime...and if it came remotely close to this. For, if it had...she understood why the kid had made fun of her glasses that sent her in this bathroom in the first place...

The Older Ravenclaw next to her seemed unmoved by this, still regaining her composure and speaking in an intelligent manner, although Paris could sense some sort of irritation. "If you prefer that we leave, I am certain that could be quite easily done, Myrtle. And you are quite incorrect, I am far from perfect." She had such a dignified way of speaking; as if she were a professor or an adult. And in that moment, Paris pictured D'rorah Philosophy roaming the halls of Hogwarts as a teacher, her stern yet composed face barking ordering in a dignified way. Yes, that seemed like a good fit, but she wondering if D'rorah herself considered going into the occupation of teaching...Then something brought Paris out of her trance, apparently, she was speaking to her.
"Perhaps it would be best if we left anyway," In response to this, Paris slightly turned, a look of unconnected tiredness upon her face. She couldn't figure out if D'rorah was trying to force her to leave in a polite way, or was simply being thoughtful and was secretly as annoyed with Myrtle as Paris was.
"You do realize, Myrtle is incapable of causing you any lasting physical harm?" Paris took this question as a surprise. Of course she was. Why on earth...Her face slowly changed from neutrality to display a look that said "Are you serious?". She made no verbal reply.

Soon D'rorah was looking back at Myrtle; speaking to her again and handling the situation properly. "And you, Myrtle? Was there anything that either of us might be able to assist you with? If not, I believe this young lady and I may take our leave of your space here. We would not wish to intrude where we are unwelcome." Myrtle's response simply was to go quiet, hovering for a second without saying a word. So, D'rorah had managed to quiet her; even if it was only for a few seconds. Paris snapped out of her trance when D'rorah proceeded to suggest that they go to breakfast, heading toward the door, but then stopping to turn around one last time and make eye-contact with Myrtle, who had made her way back to the windowsill, looking quite distraught. This action taken by Paris seemed to outrage the ghost.

"Of course!" She yelled madly. "How could I expect you to sincerely care? No one ever cares about miserable, moping, moaning Myrtle!" She then proceeded to put her head down and began to cry frantically. Paris couldn't resist a sly smile. Such a mad ghost she was; Paris was beginning to think that the famous Potter had been quite disturbed himself to spend so much time with a ghost like her...and finally out of her trance, she couldn't resist a quiet reply, "With good reason." The words floated out of her mouth with a coolness; barely audible and not intended to be fully heard by the ghost. But alas, the word's did not escape Myrtle's ears.

Furious at Paris, she produced a high pitched wail that scorched the ears. Paris had never heard any scream higher pitched and more burning. She quickly put her hands to her ears, but it did little, and before she knew it, Myrtle was on her next move. Still screaming, she began to fly toward Paris, her eyes livid. And in that moment, although Paris had found a fear of ghosts completely irrational, her eyes widened; knowing what was to come.

Still screaming, she flew right through Paris, the strange ghost's eyes livid with anger.
"Urhhhckkk..." Paris produced a sound to display uttermost disgust. She took a few moments to recompose herself before finally looking up at Myrtle with her own kind of anger. Dignified and outraged, she scorned at the deluded ghost and made her way toward the door.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

D'rorah caught Paris' look of utter astonishment at her remark that Myrtle could not hurt her. Obviously that had not been the concern in the Slytherin's head at all. But then, what in the world was going on behind that strange expression on her face? She had half a mind to simply peek into her mind and find out for herself, but years of learning self-control, of respecting the sanctity of other's minds, prevented her from doing anything so intrusive.

They were very nearly free of the dismal bathroom and its echoing tiles when Paris chanced to glance back. Myrtle positively flew off the handle. "It is not that we do not care, Myrtle," replied D'rorah, still facing the door, not bothering to turn to address her. "It is simply that I have little time for foolish games of manipulation. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, you will find it necessary to become far better versed in the art of manipulation if you wish to truly draw people in."

She heard the strangled noise that issued from Paris' throat as Myrtle flew through her in anger. D'rorah knew she was next, but she betrayed no reaction. She had endured far worse from Shadows in the forbidden forest than some angsty. She did however, turn to meet Myrtle's gaze, her eyes the color of bright steel. "That," she said evenly, "was indescribably rude."

Paying no further attention to the tedious, ear splitting wails issuing from the obnoxious ghost, D'rorah continued on her way to the door and into the corridor. She could still hear the racket out here, but at least it was somewhat muffled as the door closed. She turned to Paris, regarding her for a moment. "I do not believe we have met before. My name is D'rorah Philosophy." She waited, assessing the other student for a moment to see what sort of response she might have earned.

[parisnowan]

As Paris made her way out the door, she couldn't help but feel outraged at the way that insane ghost had treated her. That was strictly...disgusting. Urgh. That was something she never wanted to relive again. Such a crazy...deluded...out of control...her thought process continued on like this until she finally calmed her self and faded out of her anger. By the time she had stopped walking in the hallway, she had simply resolved to never enter into that bathroom again unless she was extremely angry and needed someone to take her temper out on....

And now, she had broken free of that trance-like state she had previously been in before. She regained her calm, cool, and collected state that was so characteristic of her. Her face returned to that notable, smirk-like expression; so subtle yet nearly a sly smile. Her eyes dwindled over to the girl standing beside her. She was noticeably taller, and still seemingly collected, herself. She then listened to the girl speak.

"I do not believe we have met before. My name is D'rorah Philosophy."

Breathing out an air of narcissism, Paris extended her hand to D’rorah, showing a face of semi-friendliness, which was yet to be determined. Paris herself knew little about D’rorah except for her reputation as a Ravenclaw prefect and took this time to analyze her more. Obviously, even if she were a pure blood she wasn’t a proper one for she had been sorted into Ravenclaw. Perhaps a half-blood? She next analyzed the older Ravenclaw’s appearance; tall, very tall, with her hair pulled tightly back. It was a real contrast to Paris’s own mane of hair that nearly came to her waist. D’rorah also stood erect, portraying a look of confidence, Paris liked that. She preferred socializing with others of high self-esteem. And finally, Paris took this time to summarize all that had happened between them in these few moments, coming to the conclusion that this girl was obviously quite intelligent held inside depth within her; even if she masked it with coldness.

“Paris Nowan.” She said coolly, still trying to analyze D’rorah and her eyes lingering on the Ravenclaw. She took a breath, as if deliberating whether or not to say her next words. Her hesitation only lasted a second, “But I believe we have met before.” Her words were spoken cautiously, as if testing the waters and searching for D’rorah’s reaction. “At Ollivanders. And I’ve heard of you.”

Paris was not the sort of person who would pretend not to know someone just to look important. She’d experienced this several times with her friends and it annoyed her. Paris herself did not struggle very much with self-esteem issues, and, in fact, was quite prideful. This girl seemed very intelligent herself and there was no use playing games. She also wanted to see her reaction.

“I understand if you don’t remember…it was a long time ago.” She also added. Then her eyes suddenly left D’rorah, looking for a brief moment down the hall before looking back at her.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

"Well, Miss Nowan, I apologize for failing to remember you. I typically remember all of the customers I have had at Ollivanders. However, I suppose I have focused on mental energy on so many other things, it was inevitable some would slip past. Please, do not take the omission of memory personally." She paused a moment. "As far as having heard of me, I trust any tales you hear are greatly exaggerated. For some reason, I seem to have become fodder for the rumour mill upon arriving at Hogwart's this fall. I suppose transfer students normally do generate a certain amount on interest though."

She followed Paris' eyes as they wandered down the hallway and then back to her. Her gaze was subtly assessing... Paris was slightly shorter than D'rorah, her hair appeared to be the same length... even if D'rorah's was all tightly wound to the back of her head. Unlike D'rorah, she did not have pale skin and wasn't as stuffily dressed. But then, few people had the need for covering clothing like D'rorah. Her bearing was a bit haughty... and recalling Myrtle's words in the bathroom, she was apparently pure blood. That part mattered little to D'rorah. She was pureblood herself, but placed far more stock in a person's intelligence and ability to think logically than in his or her family background.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, bothered by the fact that she could not recall having helped her at Ollivanders. It really was unlike D'rorah to forget her customers... especially when knowing their wand construction gave such potentially valuable insight to the characters of their owners. "Are you certain I assisted you at Ollivanders? I have only been working there since the beginning of this school year..." Internally, D'rorah was puzzled. She was certain she had never encountered Paris at Ollivanders... and could think of no one with whom she might be confused. D'rorah had a rather distinctive look to herself... She waited, certain Paris must have been mistaken.

[parisnowan]

"Well, Miss Nowan, I apologize for failing to remember you. I typically remember all of the customers I have had at Ollivanders. However, I suppose I have focused on mental energy on so many other things, it was inevitable some would slip past. Please, do not take the omission of memory personally."

Internally, Paris found D'rorah's reaction surprising. This Older Ravenclaw's behavior was truly intriguing. Paris had never socialized with someone who had treated her in such a way; it was as if this D'rorah was an adult or a teacher. The way she chose her words and the way she presented them; it was...different from everyone else. There was so much depth in her words; yet, it fell shallow, for it was so straightforward...Intriguing indeed.

She also took this time to analyze her words once again. 'I typically remember all of the customers I have had at Ollivanders.' That was a bold comment that portrayed much confidence. The girl was quite intelligent...and aware of it, no doubt. Perhaps this D'rorah character carried a little too much pride (which was an extremely hypocritical thing to think since Paris herself was often times described by others as the epitome of pride). Paris struggled internally for she truly had never socialized with someone who behaved in this way; independent of all other social behaviors and primarily focused on propriety. There was no relaxing or casualness in D'rorah's presence, and even with living in such a dark, elegant, society, D'rorah had never met a fellow teenager that chose to behave to strictly.

It was actually quite weird, getting this treatment. She felt as if D'rorah was treating her as a student when she was a professor and Paris, being the person she was, didn't like the feeling. She never enjoyed being treated as inferior and any way and the way D'rorah had spoken to her...Was this girl truly sincere? Or was she trying to cover for something? Honestly, did anyone out there truly behave so...strict?

There was nothing wrong with D'rorah's behavior...at least, it wouldn't seem so. But Paris was yet to come across someone who followed the lines of propriety to the Q. She didn't understand what was driving her to avoid any casualness at all and found it...odd. That's when Paris fought the urge to widen her eyes as her memory came to her...She heard the words echoing in her head.

"Keep your eyes open. Watch for anything or anyone that seems abnormal. You'd be surprised with what your intuition will give way to you, my dear." The words of her father, roughly passed down from Dark Phoenix. Paris had been quite idle in her task, not one of the most devoted of the Shadow Mage's followers. And truth be told, her heart wasn't in it. But it was what her father wanted...and she accepted it.

However, she hadn't done the best job this year in "keeping her eyes open" and this incident had reminded her of her task. Was D'rorah somehow involved? Was her cold behavior merely a cover? No. That was ridiculous. It couldn't be. But Paris was even more intrigued none-the-less. Perhaps it would be best if she stuck around for awhile and tried to carry on a normal conversation?

"Are you certain I assisted you at Ollivanders? I have only been working there since the beginning of this school year..."
Paris slyly smiled at D'rorah's comment, her pride easing out of her,
"Of course." She said in a breezy voice, as if contemplating something. "However, specifically it wasn't me you helped out; My Aunt,Genevieve Yarks, broke her wand and needed a replacement. I merely got tagged along."


She sighed and let her eyes wonder before speaking her next words, "How did you manage to get a job at Ollivanders? It seems like you would need to know a great deal of advanced magic." With the way D'rorah behaved, she could believe that she already was familiar with several forms of advanced magic, but simply wanted to hear the girl's reply. Besides, Paris had never heard of a younger wizard working at the shop until she had met her there. It was kind of intriguing to Paris and she truly did want to know how the girl had landed the job.

[D'rorah Philosophy]

D'rorah could feel Paris' assessing gaze upon her. Could feel her mind working to unravel the oddity of the Ravenclaw prefect. She supposed she should be accustomed to it by now, as most people tended to find her demeanor slightly off-putting. It was a marvel that, at one of the greatest wizarding schools in the world, she would find so few who were familiar and comfortable with strict formality... perhaps it was something to do with age. Either way, she did not let it bother her, knowing that she could only be herself and not particularly caring how anyone else might feel about it. Though... so many seemed to perceive her manner as condescending when it was really a measure of respect they were being afforded. Noticing Paris' facial expression, she had some notion that that was what was happening at this particular moment.

And then she saw it, a flicker of curiosity that was more than the idle curiosity she would expect from mere student. Or perhaps she was being overly paranoid. One never knew quite whom to trust in times such as these. Any one of the students around her could be working for the Mage. Time and again she had seen how easily the Mage had inserted her agents into Hogwarts. Already once she had been betrayed by Gat Soldier... and after that she had come to question Kerridon Paradox's affiliation. Even though he had apparently been attacked by the Mage, it didn't alleviate her suspicion... the Mage wasn't known for her charity to anyone she deemed to have failed in his service to her.

At Paris' sly smile in response to D'rorah's question regarding the wand, her eyes tightened slightly for a moment. Hearing her response, she nodded slowly. "Ah, I suppose that might explain it then. I do seem to recall a replacement wand for Miss Yarks earlier in the year. As I recall the broken wand could not be salvaged. A pity, it was a fine magical instrument.

"How did you manage to get a job at Ollivanders? It seems like you would need to know a great deal of advanced magic."

Ah, an innocuous enough question. One that could be answered easily enough without subterfuge. "In all honesty, I happened upon the position by chance," she admitted. "When I arrived at Hogwarts, the shoppe was being attended by one of the professors. He asked me to fill in temporarily... and at some point, the arrangement seems to have become permanent." No need to mention that the Professor had been Mordred Kade... and that the permanence of the position had been guaranteed by his untimely death at the hands of the Mage and her minions... or that, prior to his passing, he had been her Elemental Master. It felt like lifetimes ago that all of these things had happened. Had the time really only passed in months?

"Well, I believe I am expected in the library," she began, searching for some way to bow graciously out of the conversation. D'rorah had little use for casual conversation... she had never been a particularly social person to begin with, and it was far too easy to say too much without meaning to. "Have a pleasant morning," she wished with a slight nod as she began her way down the hallway. Through the barrier of the door to Myrtle's bathroom, she could hear that the annoying wails had finally begun to ebb into something slightly less nerve grating.

{{ooc: I'm not particularly trying to end the thread... I didn't know if Paris would find an excuse to follow along or not. I just know that Dee would definitely move on to her planned tasks for the morning, rather than stand in the hallway and chat }}

[parisnowan]

Paris nodded along when D'rorah gave reference to her aunt's wand. Although Paris seemed like the sort of girl who would not find much joy spending time with family, she did actually particularly love spending time with her aunt. She considered Genevieve a brilliant witch; her independent behavior desirable. Genevieve always managed to give off an air of collected elegance, without seeming too strict or cold. She lived a life of dark glamour, old fashioned yet never boring or hardened. However, even as Genevieve was a sample of model behavior of what Paris should act like, she did have her weaknesses; on of them, her temper. In an angry fit due to finding out some undesirable news, Genevieve had slammed her wand into the wall as she had headed toward the doorway; the wand smashing in half. Her aunt had instantly felt remorse and anxiously hoped that it would be repaired. However, unfortunately, she had slowly began to suspect that it would never return to its former glory and these suspicions had only been confirmed when she took Paris with her to go to Ollivanders.

Paris was not sure if she should be surprised regarding D’rorah’s comment about her aunt, or not. Truly, D’rorah did seem like an intelligent person who was well aware of her intellectual supremacy, but truly, could a teenager remember so much? It was as if D’rorah was like the old Ollivander himself, as her grandfather had told her that the man remembered every wand he ever sold. It was sort of chilling to think someone only a year older than her was following on the same path…but, then again, not. It seemed logical…just, odd; it would be weird to think that perhaps she was standing in front of a girl that would turn into a very powerful witch…

"In all honesty, I happened upon the position by chance," D’rorah answered. Paris listened intently to her explain the rough details, nodding a little as she explained. She still found it interesting…and a little abnormal…But Paris did not have a lot of time to ponder D’rorah’s words, for she soon seemed to be on her way the other direction. This only did more to increase Paris’s curiosity. There could be two motives behind D’rorah’s flight: Merely, that D’rorah was not the kind of person who enjoyed socializing in the hallway, or, actually wanted out of the conversation.

"Have a pleasant morning," D’rorah said as she left. Paris gave no sign of recognition, letting the girl walk right past her; she didn’t even turn, seeming too immersed in thought. She stood there for what seemed like minutes; which were only seconds or less. Her mind couldn’t stop thinking about what her father had said “Keep your eyes open. Watch for anything or anyone that seems abnormal.” To Paris, this experience definitely fit the category…but did she really want to involve herself more in this? It seemed silly…pointless, and such a far shot. But her curiosity…

“You said a professor hired you.” Paris declared in a firm tone as she turned around. It was spoken as a statement to stop the girl from walking away. She breathed out her next words with ease, “Who was it?”

[D'rorah Philosophy]

D'rorah had already put her mind to her research as she began to stride down the hallway, destined for the library. As always, there was so much to do... every word she translated had the possibility of containing something that might finally prove helpful in the fight against Shadows. She knew the work would likely never end... how many scribes and scholars had made these volumes their life's work? Already, she was annoyed with herself for becoming caught up in diversion... chatting in the hallway in the time she could have completed nearly an entire chapter. Ah well, little use in regretting it now.

But then, just as she readied to set foot on the stair, just as she had already packed the conversation away in her mind, she heard Paris' voice, obviously lifted with the intention of catching her attention once again. She knew she had two options and only a split second in which to decide between them. For if her step hesitated even the slightest amount, it would be clear she had indeed heard Paris' question... and avoiding an answer would look odd indeed.

Finally, deciding there was little point in avoiding the question, considering Paris would easily enough obtain the information elsewhere, D'rorah paused and turned. Yes, it would have looked far more odd to disregard such a simple request... and anyone who had bought a wand before D'rorah had been placed in charge of the shoppe would have seen Kade there anyway.

"Professor Mordred Kade," she replied casually. Though, I hardly believe 'hired' to be the correct word, she thought to herself. It was ironic... typically people her age who had jobs did them less than half as well and expected to be paid for it. D'rorah, in her time at Ollivanders, had received no such compensation. Of course, she didn't particularly need it either. Once again considering the conversation closed, she turned to continue on her path, setting foot on the stair and beginning her descent. If Paris wished to continue this conversation, she would have to keep up... hopefully she would have exhausted her questions by the time they reached the library.

[parisnowan]

Paris had half expected for D'rorah to react in some sort of odd way...but she turned around, seeming casual and not appearing to think anything of it. Perhaps Paris's suspicious were unfounded and just a result of being overly-paranoid...but then again, since when was Paris paranoid at all? No, Paris told herself. She was not paranoid; this wasn't that big of a deal...or was it? Paris wrestled with her own conscience for the brief milliseconds before D'rorah spoke.

"Professor Mordred Kade." And that was it. After speaking her words D'rorah continued on her way, as if she wanted to end the conversation. Paris once again, could not figure out if this was intentional and she was purposely avoiding her, or if she simply did not find socializing very pleasurable. Paris was surprised to hear that Professor Kade had hired D'rorah...she remembered getting her wand from him when she was a little girl and couldn't imagine him needed help, but, alas, he judgment apparently was wrong.

But now, Paris had less than seconds to decided what to do. She could either pursue after D'rorah, and keep the conversation rolling so that she could find out more information about this intriguing older student; or decide to end it all together. If she spent anymore time deliberating, only to go after the girl, then it would appear as if she was far more than casually curious and might look suspicious. That was the last thing she wanted to look like.

She quickly decided to take it just a little bit further and see how far she could get with this older ravenclaw. She stepped after D'rorah, hoping that she would hear her out.
"Forgive me, " She said, stepping after her. "But Professor Kade? That must've been hard." She took a quiet breath, "Did he not just pass away?"

{{Ooc: I'm not sure what the cover story for Kade's death is. I'm kind of assuming that the rest of the world knows that he is dead just not why...}}

[D'rorah Philosophy]

As Paris continued in her question, D'rorah allowed a slight token of her irritation to flitter across her face. She knew that she typically held her emotions well behind the screen of an indiscernible face, and for that reason, people supposed her not to have any. She was finding that allowing a few to be glimpsed from time to time could quietly convey her feelings without wasting the time of conversation. Typically, people took the hint at seeing any sort of wayward emotion on D'rorah's face... much as one might deter from embarking on a long hike when slightly darkened storm clouds began to trail across the sky.

"If you insist on continuing to vex me with idle chatter, Miss Nowan, you must be prepared to keep up. As I have already said, I am due to be in the library at the moment. You will have to walk, talk, and listen at the same time." That said, D'rorah quickened her pace slightly--speeding up to her normal tempo of striding confidently through the halls. "And the answer to your question is 'yes'. He was the very same Professor Kade who so recently passed away."

She switched paths deftly as one of the moving staircases began to swing around, gauging her route carefully before continuing. "I know little surrounding the circumstances of his death," she lied. His death was something she was quite familiar with. In fact, she could follow the entire chain of events in her head, viewing it as if from Kade's very own eyes. He had been her Elemental Master before his death... and the entire ordeal was not something she would ever easily forget. Things would have been so much simpler overall if he would have listened to her, listened to reason and adjusted his actions accordingly. Unfortunately, no amount of D'rorah's cool headed, logical advice could have swayed him from his reckless pursuit of some odd sort of victory against Dark Phoenix upon being turned out of Hogwarts. And D'rorah had long since absolved herself of the guilt that had accompanied his death... a Shadow Warrior could only protect her Elemental Master as long as he behaved in a somewhat rational manner. Kade's obstinance had driven him to tempt fate and pursue his own destruction with a relish that D'rorah had little hope of conquering.

"I do know that he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts here before being dismissed. It was after his dismissal from Hogwarts that he died. We heard of it only briefly from the Headmistress." She continued talking, anticipating the direction of the conversation based on Paris' earlier question regarding D'rorah's employment at Ollivanders. "He selected me for the position at Ollivanders because I was an exemplary student. He seemed to have little time to tend the shoppe. And I, for the fact that I am studious and able to manage my time well, seemed to have some extra scrap of time for the task."

[parisnowan]

D'rorah's flicker of irritation produced a jump in Paris' adrenaline rush. Up until this point, the older girl had shown little emotion in her face. But now, here Paris was, actually getting something out of her, even if it was irratation...it was something.
"If you insist on continuing to vex me with idle chatter, Miss Nowan, you must be prepared to keep up. As I have already said, I am due to be in the library at the moment. You will have to walk, talk, and listen at the same time."

Irritation clearly spread across Paris' narcissistic face. Truly, she was beginning to wonder what caused D'rorah to act so...odd. Who did she think she was, a professor? She'd never met someone like this before, and the whole experience was beginning to vex her...What did D'rorah think she was doing, anyways, talking down to her in such a way?...Paris usually did not tolerate such treatment and was beginning to find the older girl's countenance purely insulting.

Yes, of course, to walk, talk, and listen at the same time is such a difficult task. The sarcastic words echoed in her mind but she maintained her composure. No. She was not going to blow this. She would hold restraint. She'd gotten enough information long enough with this tactic and thought it best if she could push it as far as she could. She quickly sped up her pace, nearly running to keep up with her. But now, she showed no signs of hostility. She simply was following like a little dog followed after her owner; determined, curious, and nearly seemingly innocent. She quickly switched paths with as the staircase began to move, quickly mimicking D'rorah's movements.

"I know little surrounding the circumstances of his death."

Ahhh...so finally she'd elaborated more on what Paris really wanted to hear in the first place. But there was no emotion involved in D'rorah's statement...just, pure, cold fact. Paris was beginning to think that D'rorah Philosophy was incapable of feeling any full extent of full emotions...either that, or she was just plainly extraordinarily brilliant at hiding them. Perhaps it was the latter of the two, for Paris could not picture someone so extremely void of sensitivity and feelings. And it was this thought that made her even more curious, Why would someone go to such great extremes to hide their emotions?

Paris continued to listen sheepishly while D'rorah elaborated on her position at Ollivanders...Paris wanted to be angered by D'rorah's obvious sense of her own intelligence, but then again, she knew that D'rorah was probably right. She seemed quite intelligent from the beginning of their encounter and Paris had come to sense it even more as time had went on.

But the more D'rorah spoke, the more Paris began to suspect. Why was she in such refusal to reveal any emotions about the matter? The man had died, and death was not something that occurred without having some impact on the individuals who knew him. Even Paris, who barely knew the man, had felt an odd sense of emotions when she found out that he had died. This older Ravenclaw standing by her and obviously known him better, yet refused to reveal anything that she felt or knew about him (other that he was a teacher.) For a second, Paris thought that perhaps this was D'rorah's way of coping with the tragedy by trying to hide her emotions deep inside. But Paris' intuition spoke against it. D'rorah was going to such extreme lengths that there had to be something hidden there.

But something told Paris she wasn't going to get anything more out of D'rorah; even with great persistence. So, a few seconds after D'rorah had finished speaking her words, Paris spoke to her in a cool, breezy voice, "Well, we all must be glad that you do have time. You seem to tend the shop quite well. I suppose I'll be on my way then, perhaps I'll find one of my friends to vex." It was a quick exit, but the occasion called for one. Although she'd stepped too far over the line, she did not want D'rorah thinking the Paris was really after all of her secrets. So, she walked away contently, as going in the opposite direction of D'rorah as they reached a hallway intersection. When Paris had met up with her friends, she surely would inquire about this older, intriguing Ravenclaw later.