Full of indifference, a downright lie. [OPEN]

[fallensiren]

Siren's chestnut hair billowed around her shoulders as she paced the Room of Requirement, her mind ablaze in irritation and fury. The room had taken on its current shape to accommodate her: soft walls in case she lost her temper, a piano in case she was tempted into relaxing by playing the ivory and ebony keys. It was unlikely. She couldn't remember ever being so inescapably angry.

The fury blinded her, filled her with a righteous sense of rage. Her breathing quick and shallow, she paced, back and forth, waiting for an answer to come to her. It wasn't enough that her family shunned her as it was - product of Squib and Muggle, though her paternal grandparents were so magically powerful - and it wasn't enough that her father had already disassociated himself from her. The owl that had arrived an hour before still filled her mind with a dark blaze.

Disinheriting. They had disinherited her. The family estates were enormous. They would have been hers. All of it. Angry tears sparked to her eyes and she brushed them away impatiently. There was no time for crying; there was time only for anger...

She slammed her hand down on the piano, and felt something - possibly something important - crack. Stifling an infuriated sob, she sank to the floor beside the beautiful thing that hadn't even accrued a dent, staring at her hand. She ached, suddenly, to be pain-free, to feel nothing. But this wasn't nothing. A letter from her former lover had accompanied the owl as well.

She gazed down at her hand, her mind brewing just below boiling point, but the pain was enough to calm her down momentarily. A sound reached her ears, and her head jerked up to locate it. Could anyone break into the Room of Requirement while she was in it? She wasn't yet sure of the absolute dynamics of the room, but she was sure she heard the sound of footsteps, coming ever closer...

[antontarasov]

It was boredom that prompted him to take a walk; boredom, and unsatisfaction with his own means of entertaining himself. His personal research was dry, those around him were giving him little or no reaction when he tried to provoke them into doing something entertaining, and it seemed nearly everyone else worth his time were busy being busy. What a slow day. What an uneventful day. What a wasteful day. Anton Tarasov, although quite often known for his instabilities in his personality, at least had one standing character trait that was easy to identify: he was always doing something. Even when the seventh year Ravenclaw seemed entirely relaxed and at ease; his mind was always up to something; analyzing his situation, others, academics, he couldn’t just let it go. Even known for his fun-loving and daunting ways, his mind was still analytical. Teasing others was merely a way to provoke others, a form of manipulation. For it was true, how much one could control another by getting them angry. The human mind was truly a fascinating thing to play with…

But now, his day was in waste, and he felt unenlightened. His research on Tom Riddle was coming to a close, having found the small details he deemed necessary. Perhaps one day he would come back and reopen the case, discovering more and diving even deeper into the dark subject. But for now, he was just wrapping up the loose ends. And what better way than to take a walk around the castle grounds, visiting the places where the Great Dark Wizard once spent his time? True, Anton was bored and needed to distract his mind with something…but at least this seemed logical.

As he strode around the ground his face appeared completely neutral; a dangerous sign from Anton. To those that knew him best that meant he was purposely concealing his feelings. It was a rarity for Anton to do things by accident; usually they were mentally thought through, even if given a very small amount of time. Of course, there were exceptions to this, but even so, usually the way Anton presented himself to others was intentional. He wore a mask, usually, a mask of a Jester; sometimes, a mask of a villain. And then there were those occasions when he wore the mask of a friend…even sometimes a sentimental one at that. But the public view of Anton was mixed. With an attention-seeking, intelligent, outspoken, manipulative, and fun-loving personality, he was well known to students. It didn’t help that his father was one of the most powerful individuals in Europe, literally controlling Sweden, and that the Seventh Year had a very large trust fund…but one wouldn’t quite dare call him popular with the students…as, well, his personality was subject to change. Some saw him as a playful joker, some saw him as a mental bully. And bullies, although, widely known and submitted too, were generally not revered.

But he’d gone on this walk to be enlightened; to feel some sort of growth and academic challenge. Tom Riddle was a fascinating figure in himself, and Anton couldn’t help compare himself to him. Although his father had stood directly against the Dark Lord, Anton couldn’t help but admire him…not in every aspect, mind you, but his brilliant genius was much to be desired. It was amazing how he could have done so much in so little time; and that it where the comparisons began. Anton Tarasov and Tom Riddle…perhaps one day the world would not only recognize one name as a powerful genius, but both.

Now Anton neared a section of the school where he knew the rumored Room of Requirement was. He wasn’t perfectly sure of the exact location, but it was in the relative area. He only wished he could set foot in the room of such historic meaning. But alas, just passing through the area had to be good enough for now…perhaps one day he would inquire of the Mage as to where the room was…someone had to know. He let a little bit of emotion surface in his face as his eyes sparkled with happiness a little. His research said the room magically transformed into whatever an individual needed...it came from an individual's focus. Just despite himself, Anton thought he’d try it out anyway; not really expecting anything to come of it…

“I need somewhere where I can be enlightened.” Anton thought to himself, continuing the thought process as he walked a few steps. And then something extraordinary happened. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a door appear.

Officially caught off guard, he saw that it was grand, and dark, as if the door of a large estate. And as soon as Anton could grasp the concept, a smirk appeared on his features, pleasure rushing through him. In the back of his mind, he truly was proud of this accomplishment. He had found the room, just as Tom Riddle and Harry Potter once had. But the emotion centered the most was distinct curiosity; what lied behind the door? He had to know.

Looking around him for a second as to make sure no one saw him, Anton stepped forward, his arm extending to the door handle. His smile widened as he pulled and the door began to open. With an exertion of power, the rest of the process was taken care of, and he quickly entered. But what he found before him came as a real shock: A girl. Clearly sobbing, he knew her face well. Although he didn’t know much about her, she undoubtedly supposedly “knew” much about him since he was sure he had displayed very outgoing actions around her in the Common Room and throughout the years. How interesting…

His face quickly sobered out, him simply staring at her. The sight was clearly supposed to enlighten him, but exactly how?

[fallensiren]

The footsteps stopped, and the door shut; in the stead of the noise was a boy, nearly a man, really.

"Oh," Siren whispered, her sob pausing in her chest. "Um."

He was older than her. A seventh year, if she remembered correctly, by name of Anton – a Ravenclaw like herself. She had heard stories, rumors, witnessed perhaps one or two interesting encounters in their mutual common room, but had never spoken to him face-to-face. After all, she'd barely even arrived. It had been a bare few weeks since she'd come to Hogwarts.

A smirk was frozen on his lips as he stared at her, undoubtedly so shocked – and amused – by the crumpled display of her in a heap on the floor, and her potentially broken hand, that he couldn't help the facial expression the resided on his features now. Um, her mind stammered, searching for an excuse, a reasoning, a way out of this. She was nevernot composed. She was the absolute picture of every hair in place, every action under control – and this, her first meeting with a new entity, and unknown entity, would of course start off with her grasping for what to do or say.

His face smoothed, seeming to sober, and the small action jerked her to life again. He probably felt sorry for her. Or was just trying to conceal his disgust. How dreadful.

That's a stupid thing to say, she ranted at herself, remembering her string of "Oh" and "Um" only seconds before. She quickly got to her feet, brushing off her clothes and letting her chestnut hair swing forward to conceal her features while she brushed away the tears. Why don't you just broadcast how absolutely miserable and pathetic you are? Have a shot at it, why don't you?

Composing herself, she glanced up. Her face smoothed into an emotionless, somewhat condescending mask, she took in her sudden companion. He was tall – taller than her, probably by several inches – with blond hair and curious blue eyes, somewhat like hers; they were a mixture of other colors besides blue.

Thinking of this, she chanced a glance in the windowpane beside her. It threw back her reflection: dark circles under her blue-green-gray eyes, but no trace of the tears he'd walked in on remained; chestnut hair still fairly kept in place, straight strands falling in casual disarray around her shoulders; clothes straightened around her slender, soft curves. Reasonable. Not her usual perfection, but acceptable.

"I apologize, you must think me absolutely absurd," she finally began, her pretty, soft voice carrying with the hint of a smile on it. Her lips turned up, just slightly; she forced them too. The pain in her hand was agonizing, but she ignored it. "I lost my temper, punched the piano...didn't do a thing to it, I'd imagine."

She turned towards the instrument, inspecting it. It didn't appear to have suffered any damage at all. "As I suspected," she sighed, and looked back at Anton – she was certain now that that was his name. She thought she may have spotted him in passing once or twice. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you get in? I was sure that no one would be able to get in the Room while someone else was here. Well, if they weren't looking for the same thing, that is. That's what Granddad told me."

As she spoke, the walls around them transformed, sprouting ornate bookcases, putting out windows and pillars. She was glad that the room had responded to her silent request. Anyone who was observant would have noticed that it had previously resembled a lunatic's room of padded walls, aside from the piano.

Her hand throbbed again, and she forced herself not to cringe. The pain would stop eventually. She hoped it wasn't broken.

[antontarasov]

Anton's analytical eyes dwindled on the girl as she attempted to compose herself. He watched quietly, not showing the effort he was making to fully analyze her position. Tears: they were absent, but the evidence was compable that he already had enough to go off without them; yes, she'd been crying. What an interesting enounter...one minute he was walking down the halls of Hogwarts the next he was in front of a crying girl in a legendary room. This is not what he had expected to find.

It was enough that she was actually in here; how could someone else know of its location? Was it that obvious? Anton had thought it quite an achievement since he had found the room that the Dark Lord and Harry James Potter had also so brilliantly set into use. Upon discovering the door, a touch of pride set in. Now, it was getting slowing inflated. But why had the room sent him here, anyways? Or was this girl even real? Perhaps an illusion?

She finally spoke, a soft, feminine voice coming out of her slender body.
"I apologize, you must think me absolutely absurd," She then went on to explain she had injured herself by losing her temper and slamming her hand into the nearby piano; at first, quite a hard sight to imagine. It was somewhat hard to picture the slender girl going into an angry fit. But Anton quickly opened his mind; he still new little about her and almost everyone had hidden characteristics, such as a temper. As she spoke, she concealed her pain with a slight smile, as if to downplay the situation.

Anton paid little attention to the younger Ravenclaw's excuse to inspect the piano, instead, his eyes still dwindled on her, analyzing her moments and trying to figure out how much pain the blow really had inflicted on her, or even if that was her excuse to cry at all. She did well at pretending to be content, not really showing any signs of pain. But Anton's eyes now drifted away from the girl, looking for outside pieces of evidence to conclude what had really happened; she obviously was not going to give him the full details. He quickly saw that the walls were padded; yes, something that someone would want when..angry. But that's all the time he got before the girl spoke again and his eyes were back on her.

"If you don't mind my asking, how did you get in? I was sure that no one would be able to get in the Room while someone else was here. Well, if they weren't looking for the same thing, that is. That's what Granddad told me."

Anton took the question in full analysis, taking his time before responding, his eyes fierce. His tone was very leveled, as if speaking a mere fact while his mind was preoccupied with something else. "Perhaps we were looking for the same thing, then, without knowing it." By now Anton had concluded that she was defiantly real, although her question had raised its doubts for a second. How was that possible? He was still taking in the question himself.

But there was also the fact that by now Anton had concluded that the younger girl was lying about her current condition of pain; or, at least deceiving him. He could see it in the stress of her smile. Staring back at her for a second, he quickly and unexpectedly walked towards her. "Forgive me," he said in a low, soft voice, reaching out for her arm. He hoped that his sudden action was not perceived as one of cockiness, it was more out of intrigue and concern. His grip was gentle, but strong, and not easily to be rooted against. His arm held it out, he used his other to graze the back of her hand gently, trying to guess the extend of the damage. As he was now in close proximity with her, he finally looked up into her eyes. Quite beautiful, actually, a whirlwind of colors. His very serious face slowly formed into a small smile, and hesitantly let go of her arm. He could tell her the obvious facts; that she needed to go to the Hospital Wing and get it looked at, but he figured she already then that herself. He also knew that it was probably awkward for her, having to deal with a form of somewhat embarrassment. But now it was his turn to ask questions, "But what brought about this event in the first place?" He finally asked, his curiosity written on his face. "Any particular reason for your being here?"

[fallensiren]

The older Ravenclaw's eyes were strangely perceptive. They seemed to track Siren's every word and move, and she felt stupidly flustered - embarrassed, even - though her features gave next to nothing away. His gaze was fierce on her, seeming to study her question through simply taking in her appearance, and he replied in a level, almost indifferent tone, "Perhaps we were looking for the same thing, then, without knowing it."

I doubt it, she thought bitterly, as she turned slightly away from him. He couldn't have been looking for somewhere to strangle his pain and anger; it was so unlikely that there was another person feeling so drowned at the same time as she. He'd been looking for something else. She was sure of it. So how had he managed to get into the room with her inside it? With her clearly dictating to the room that she wanted to be alone?

The thoughts began to swarm over her. Alone with her pain, alone with her wounded pride, alone with the screaming voices in her head that though she kept trying, unsuccessfully of course, she could never be everything that everybody wanted of her. Her Granddad wanted a powerful, successful young witch to carry on his shamed son's line; her parents just wanted a normal teenager who had no knowledge of the magical world; her friends back home had wanted that reality, too; and what did she want? She would never be sure. There was no time for her. Maybe, when a thousand different people stopped pulling her in a thousand different directions...

She started back into reality when her companion suddenly spoke in a low, soft voice. "Forgive me," and he moved toward her, gently reaching for her arm, brushing fingers across the back of her hand as though assessing damage. She saw in his eyes when they met hers that he had come to the conclusion she was denying; she needed medical attention, probably, but it wasn't necessarily urgent. Had he noticed the strain in her forced smile? She'd been sure that recently, she'd perfected it, nearly. Or maybe the tension in her neck, just beneath the skin, gave away the pain that was radiating from her probably broken hand. She wished she hadn't lost her temper. It infuriated her that after years of practice, she still hadn't mastered the epitome of self-control.

His serious face suddenly formed a small smile. Her tension and embarrassment loosened, if only slightly. Some of the strain that she felt pulling at her muscles relaxed. At least he didn't seem so terribly somber anymore. Though of course, it was absurd to expect human emotions out of everyone else when she rarely exhibited them in public herself. When he let go of her arm, his features were overcome with curiosity. "But what brought about this event in the first place? Any particular reason for your being here?"

She forced herself not to flinch, though some of the movement might have slipped out. "I have been, how do you say it...disinherited," she said, struggling for an indifferent, unconcerned tone. "My father no longer sees fit to allow the family property, wealth, etcetera, to pass into my hands." Her lips curved upwards in an amused, but somehow irritated, smile. "He's an unreasonable man. It's a long story."

For a moment, she berated herself. Too much information, too much exposed - but did it matter, really? Perhaps she really did need to reconsider what was best for her, and what was best for everyone else. I can't be everything, she tried out, in her mind, just to see how it worked, and it didn't seem right. Her nose wrinkled slightly before she could smooth it out again. She definitely didn't want to appear to be having an inner conversation with herself. He'd have her locked away for sure. The embarrassment would be mortifying.

She shrugged, her eyes drifting again to Anton's face. She hoped that this was actually his name, and that she wasn't just extremely mistaken. She hadn't been here long. It was entirely possible that she had confused names and faces. "I'm sorry, we were never properly introduced," she said, her eyes finding his again. "My name's Siren. Ravenclaw. I feel like I might've seen you around, once or twice."

[antontarasov]

He could not help but note the indifference in her voice. The way her words slipped out; it was as if her words meant next to nothing to her, but the elephant in the room clearly proclaimed otherwise. Clearly, her self-inflicted pain was evident as he had examined her arm. Content with his findings, he let her arm go. But now he couldn’t help but dwell on her controlled tone. He watched her speak as he saw small signs of pain appear in her tension us neck and stressed jaw line. Nicely enough, the pain did not transfer to her words. She still maintained a tone of indifference. She evidently was greatly attempting to mask her emotions; and doing quite well at it. Anton, being extremely analytical and observant of people’s actions, while also generally being quite manipulative himself, was used to behaving in a similar way. In control of oneself, in control of one’s reactions; that was his way. Control of oneself meant more control of one’s surrounding environment, which lead to more control of those individuals of interaction. He was not the type to lose his temper; most of his actions were a result of pre-determined decisions, even as spontaneous as his actions could appear.

Disinherited; such a foreign word to him. But the attitude of the word itself implied wealth, something he should seem accustomed to. Yet, alas, the idea of being disinherited himself seemed so far off, nearly impossible. That just wasn’t his family’s way…it just seemed illogical. Even then, if such event was going to happen to Anton himself…well, he wouldn’t think of it in such terms, nor would his parents. The way the word cut, the situation; it was almost as if the word portrayed fault on the parents’ part immediately. But then again, there was a reason the girl had chosen such word to represent her economic state….However, it seemed so…traditional, like an ordinary choice of word from the English literature of the early nineteen century. And somehow, it failed to intrigue the older Ravenclaw. Perhaps it was the fact that the North-Eastern European did not identify well with the thought, although part of him felt like he should, being from a family of wealth himself.

"He's an unreasonable man. It's a long story."
Yet at this, something inside him desired to hear more. Perhaps it was a mere desire to become well informed about the girl. Perhaps it was intrigue about what the girl thought “unreasonable.” Perhaps, it was merely the desire to keep the girl talking; to watch her struggle to maintain her composure; a somewhat fascinating sight in itself. Or, perhaps, Anton Tarasov generally was concerned. It was probably a mixture of all options.
“I have time.” He said quickly. “I’d like to hear it.” He guessed that she’d quickly summed up a description of her father for a reason, but cared little. He wanted to know, and had quickly expressed his opinion. It had not been spoken in a demand, nor in a confident way. It was merely expressive.


As she began to introduce herself, he took careful note of her name; Siren Allaway. Her first name had a nice unique ring to it, without coming off to abnormal or odd. He was not surprised by her pronouncing that she belonged to Ravenclaw; as his instincts had told him he’d seen her in Ravenclaw robes before. And even so, although part of him had suspected her to be a Gryffindor, hence the temper, she’d put remarkable effort into concealing her pain and displaying a choice of intellectual words in her conversing wit himself. The latter was at least a sign of a Ravenclaw...However; there was something disturbing that he couldn’t place her. Anton was usually a very perceptive person, taking note of people’s names and faces, and keeping track of the students at least from Ravenclaw, in all close age groups. The fact that he did not know her name prior to her introduction was quite alarming. Had he truly turned his back to Siren all these years? Or was there something else to her story? He thirsted to know.
A sly smile spread across his face as she revealed to have seen him around. Anton, although manipulative and sometimes isolated; liked to be noticed. Perhaps that was what explained his attention-seeking behavior. He loved the spotlight, only despising it when working on projects of research and personal matters of secrecy. His daring, confident actions usually were not forgettable; although he was one to change his personality around different individuals. Yet, generally, he could be noted for a flamboyant sense of humor, that to some, was seen as cruel. However, at this moment, he was still trying to analyze Siren, and the confident mannerisms that usually Anton embraced, where far gone. However, as he spent more time around this girl, he was beginning to warm up to her more. He was getting more relaxed by the minute.
“Tarasov, Anton.” He replied, a flicker of a Russian accent notable in his pronunciation. Usually, having learned English at a young age, his accent of both Russian and Swedish (both having been learned as a “first language”) were only faintly noticeable, if at all. However, when it came to pronouncing Russian or Scandinavian words, such accent could clearer. “It’s a pleasure.” After speaking these words, he smiled ironically. How odd this encounter was…he was still trying to wrap his head around it. But at least now he was starting to warm up to her.

[fallensiren]

He studied her as though she were a fascinating exhibit on display in some exotic museum. She knew that look; if she was right – and she was sure she was – and he was in Ravenclaw, then there was something obvious in the fact that he would, of course, be interested in her tight rein on herself, in her apparent intellect, in her indifferent tone. Of course – the House of perception would notice these things about one another.

She willed the strain in her neck to relax, succeeding minimally; the relief of tension was very welcome. Her mosaic, whirlwind eyes studied him as he studied her. When she called her father unreasonable – saying it was a long story – his response was quick. A thirst for knowledge, obviously; he wanted to know more about her. Her eyes flickered away from his, an automatic self-defense, as he replied, "I have time. I'd like to hear it."

But where would I start, were I to confide in him? Siren wondered to herself, catching a strand of her chestnut hair and fiddling with it. How far back into my past would he have to delve to understand? Is there any way at all that I could keep it simple – or is he going to go on perceiving the elephant in the room the more I try to evade the question?

Her argument with herself had surely gone unnoticed, but by the time it was through he had introduced himself. Anton; she'd been correct. And was that a hint of a Russian accent in his voice? It was interesting...she would have to discover more about him as well. Hopefully. "It's a pleasure," he added, with a slightly off smile, and she frowned slightly, wondering what he was thinking that would twist his lips like that. Curious.

"My pleasure, as well," she replied, smiling slightly now. The pain in her hand throbbed distantly; she focused her leftover energy on disconnecting herself from it, on riding over the pain. "To tell you the truth, I don't even know where I'd start to explain my father to you." She hesitated, words poised on the tip of her tongue, head tilted slightly to the side, looking at Anton. "He has a horrible case of hatred of all things magical. Nearly killed him when I got my letter from Hogwarts six years ago. It's why I didn't come first year; he wouldn't let me. My Granddad taught me in secret ever since...and finally he convinced my father that I needed to come here, that there was nothing more he could teach me. Dad was furious, I guess. He's a Squib – not a magical bone in his body. He hates being surrounded by all this magical crap. Disconnecting me was probably just his way of trying to make all the complicated things go away."

Her lips twisted in a beautifully bitter smile, eyes dancing. There; that was succinct enough, and if he wished to know more, then she would delve further into the recesses of her past.

She glanced to the side again, her hands slowly relaxing as she finally overrode the pain and distanced herself from the aching, broken bones in her fingers. What of this disinheritance? Did she truly care? On some levels, she supposed she did; that land, she'd always felt, was her birthright. It belonged to her. There was some magic in the soil, some beauty in the openness of the horse pastures and the endless green stretches and the smell of the earth when it rained; it belonged to her. Her father couldn't ever possibly connect with such a beauty. The soil was hard on him; the land and the weather fought him; the horses battled against his training. He could never connect to that sacred place the way she could. It was magic; it was in her blood. How had it missed her father?

But then, the pastures and the ranch had always responded to her mother. Her sweet mother, simply non-magical, not born into a magical family, completely free of any complication of wizardry. Perhaps it was just the middle ground that infuriated the earth. Perhaps it was just Siren's father who could not connect to the beauty of it, because he had landed in the unforgivable middle ground; because his bitterness had prevented him from that connection.

"Je ne comprende pas," she murmured aloud, for once allowing her thoughts to break through her levels of self-restraint. "Il ne comprende pas, aussi." I do not understand. He doesn't understand, either.

Glancing up at Anton, she composed her features into a slightly more relaxed smile, for the first time realizing they were standing a few feet apart. "Well, if we're going to discuss such philosophical things, we might as well make ourselves comfortable," she said, and conjured a squashy, comfy couch with her wand to settle next to the piano. She flopped down onto it and gestured to the seat beside her, invited Anton to join her. "I came to this room looking for a sanctuary. What did you come here looking for? I'm endlessly fascinated by this room, the reasons it lets some in and not others."

[antontarasov]

Anton took note as Siren quickly let her smile slip into a frown. How curious indeed…perhaps she was intimidated by the lightness of his mood? Or perhaps she too was analyzing him…in a deeper way than he had previously suspected? But only through more careful observation would he be able to discover the truth of such matter. It could not have been coincidence that the room of requirement had led him to her…or visa versa. He had to remember that he wasn’t the only factor in the Room’s behavior…Siren had been here before him anyways. Perhaps there was more about her then she was letting on…yet such thought was suppressed as proceeded to reveal more about herself, to Anton’s relief and pleasure.

It came as a slight surprise: her whole story about her father’s hatred for magic. As much as the idea was completely foreign to him, he found himself thinking neutrally. As more details about her father came pouring in, he found himself as an unbiased listener. The idea seemed to out of line with everything he knew that it simply was having trouble sticking with him. He still continued to process the information, yet it held no emotional value to him. It merely was presented to his mind as mere fact. When she finally concluded her speech, his face was that of a stoic. He gave a slight nod as his intense eyes lingered on her, hardly attentive to the fact that it could perhaps make her uncomfortable (yet even if he were to be more aware, he probably would have cared little.)

Finally, with a breath, his emotional sense returned to him. His quick trance was broken, and the intensity of his eyes dulled slightly. He returned to his former state. His eyes turned into more of a slight squint as he heard her speak to herself. The language sounded familiar…French, was it? Or perhaps he was completely off…he was almost positive that it was of Latin origin. As her face morphed into that of an offering smile, he returned expression, mirroring her own welcoming look. He sat down after her, still close to her from having grabbed her arm…her arm! She really should get it looked at; although, as Siren was not pressing the matter and he could guess the reason why. So, once again, he let the thought go.
As his eyes met hers, the lack of emotional reaction to her past words finally hit him. How odd it would be to be despised because of one’s abilities! How wrong! Never had he ever experienced something of the sort…logically, it rightfully should be the other way around. Anton guessed that her father surely must have carried heavy animosity for not being a magical being himself. He logically could have experienced mistreatment for such lack of abilities…only to turn around and to force opposite restrictions on his daughter. The mere thought that Siren had to resort to private teaching was abominable…she rightfully belonged in school. But was she pureblood? That was a good question, although he knew whether she was or not would not determine the level of enjoyment he could receive from interactions with her. It was just a curious question…that he dared not to ask…at least for now…It was also ironic…how she missed her first year of school do to her father’s incompetence. Anton too…well, had a unique educational experience as well. As far as age went, he technically should have graduated a year ago. But amongst Anton’s dark secrets…his past at Durmstrang fell deeply into the filing cabinet.

He’d started off at Durmstrang, as family tradition had called for. Upon his arrival as a first year, he’d been harrowed as a genius. Some of his professors had even suggested that he be moved up a level because he was simply too far ahead of the first year curriculum. But an isolated genius he was. With few friends, he spent most time by himself, getting into sorts of mischief that only a single student could. Frankly, nearly friendless, he was miserable and started to rebel. The professors were at first hesitant to punish him, after all, he was a genius in their eyes. But Anton’s manipulative, and somewhat reckless behavior resulted in his suspension from the school. He was sent home only a few days before Christmas. And the Anton that returned from the Christmas holidays was not the same that the staff had seen before. With a refusal to work, or show respect for his teachers, Anton’s behavior got even more out of hand. Only this time, he’d taken up the position of leader amongst his fellow students. A manipulative bully, he controlled those around him to the point that he was very much feared yet at the center of popularity for his age group. These dark traits finally reached their peak and the professors could handle him no longer. He was expelled. That was seven years ago. This was now. Those dark traits still existed inside him, hidden from the eye for good reasons.

"I came to this room looking for a sanctuary. What did you come here looking for? I'm endlessly fascinated by this room, the reasons it lets some in and not others."
“Curious.” He muttered in reply. He was a little hesitant to reveal what he had been looking for: Enlightenment. Usually the Room of Requirement was more specific which made him think that Siren had either perhaps subconsciously desired enlightenment herself, or he too had wanted a sanctuary subconsciously. He was confident that he had not….which brought him back to the conclusion that this was a very curious situation. Still looking at her, again he was struck by the intriguing beauty of her eyes. He quickly shrugged the thought off and forced himself to speak. “I came here looking for…Enlightenment....At least…that’s what I think. Truth be told, I’ve never been here before. This is my first time…I knew that the Room existed somewhere around here, but I’ve never actually been able to see it. You can imagine, it was quite a shocker when all of the sudden it appeared before me and I enter to find you.” He paused. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come to know of the exact location of this place? The records have been lost, believe me, I’ve looked.” He paused again, this time, smiling, “It’s kind of a wonder, to think that Harry James Potter himself, along with Lord Voldemort once used this room…So much history. It’s fascinating.” He stopped himself short here, trying not to give off to much intelligence. He had to restrict himself from going into his lectures on history and such. One thing about Anton, he preferred to keep aspects revealed about his own personality as general as possible; react off others instead of revealing too much about his own strengths and weaknesses. It kept him more in control, that way he could continue his act. He could almost be any character he wanted to be, but once he started getting too personal, he lost that ability. Only the lucky ones got to catch glimpses of his real personality, the vulnerable, exposed one. It took a close friend to see through the façade, which very much was his lifeline in most circumstances. It protected him from vulnerability.

[fallensiren]

Siren didn't yet know quite what to think of Anton Tarasov, the obviously clever, polite, and somewhat stoic Ravenclaw currently in her company. She was adept enough at reading others' facial expressions, and Anton's confused her – one of the first to do so in a long while. Strange, nearly alien emotions seemed to flicker across his face like speeding pictures, never lingering long enough for her to understand or even remotely begin to grasp what, exactly, he was thinking. An enigma, she thought to herself, intrigued – though she told herself it was an exercise in futility, to feel intrigued. The pain in her arm was distant now, masked by her curiosity as she studied his stoic face with her whirlwind eyes, letting her debriefing of her life story wind to a close.

He seemed deep in thought; she could recognize that much. Remembering, could it be? There was so much hidden behind those carefully polite, smoothly stoic eyes. Enigmas intrigued her. She couldn't stand people, and yet they fascinated her. It had been the unraveling of her many relationships, the undoing of many friendships, that she preferred to study people rather than interact with them. Acquaintances wanted no part of her scrutinizing looks, nor her pretended docile demeanor. They realized soon enough that she wasn't docile, that something of a storm was constantly writhing within her mind, her thoughts churning with careful, swift analysis.

"Curious," he muttered, in response to her question, his voice jerking her back into the reality of their situation. They'd taken seats on the couch Siren had conjured, still close together, and after this single-word, somewhat sullen reply, his eyes glanced up and caught hers for a moment.

It seemed that the smooth stoicism came down for a second, maybe less – for that short instance she could finally read something in his face, in his expression; that something about her had intrigued him. She gleaned no further specificity than that, the instant was so short before he regained that clever mask, but for the moment, she could be satisfied with that small insight.

His smile as he spoke of the room intrigued Siren. She tilted her head slightly to the side, studying him, listening to his words carefully and nodding; her straight chestnut hair glanced off her shoulders as her head bobbed in interest and agreement.

"Indeed," she finally answered, glancing away from him again to consider her own thoughts. "Potter and Voldemort, both using this very room...though under what circumstances? Nothing like ours, I'm sure." With a frown, she turned to look at Anton again. "My Granddad knew the entrance," she said, her voice curious and light. "Told me about it, when I was finally scheduled to arrive here this year...one of the last secrets of magic he managed to divulge to me." A hint of an exasperated smile curved her lips. "My father was so intolerant. I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't tried to lock Granddad in the stables by now. You'll never keep that old man chained up, though. Not a chance."

She shook her head, with it, shaking off the memories, which dropped like dead flies at her bidding. She didn't want to remember the hours of secret tutoring, the fury of her father whenever he discovered what she was up to, the quiet distress of her mother, and the slow fall of any and all friends. Her torment was not so easily forgotten; she remembered every whip-like word that had severed another connection, but now, finally, felt a strange, empty detachment from such human trivialities. They were all so boringly Muggle, anyway, she told herself, propping her chin in her undamaged hand, letting the other relax against the sofa between the two of them. "Enlightenment," she repeated, the word forming in her mouth, and her brow furrowed in interest. "Now, there's a puzzle..."

Her mind spiraled onto another track completely. If Anton was searching for enlightenment, why would the room lead to her, crumpled and sobbing on the ground, disinherited, heartbroken – if she had a heart, anyway? Not for the first time since entering the place, a shiver ripped up her spine. The room thought for itself, seemed to decide important matters for itself; it, too, was an enigma, an improbable one that she wanted to unravel.

The human being beside her would be an easier task, compared to the blasted room.

"What on Earth could I possess that would enlighten you?" she murmured, almost to herself, though her eyes lifted again to meet Anton's, searching his face thoughtfully. "Or, vice versa, what sanctuary would you need that would lead you to me?"

Her lips pursed in thought as she studied him. Anton Tarasov was obviously a very intelligent person who preferred not to let others know of that fact, judging by the way he'd cut himself off in his discussion of the history of the Room of Requirement. She wondered whether he had any clever ideas that would explain the room's behavior, and somehow thought that neither one of them could get the answer alone.

[antontarasov]

His eyes dulled and relaxed, casting a quick look down and then immediently looking back up at Siren as she responded. He was soon reminded of how differently he thought than most people...almost as if he wasn’t already aware of it, which was a great shift in feeling. The thought of comparing himself to some of the greatest wizards in recorded history, whether they were of dark or light origin, was completely appealing to him. He greatly liked to think of himself as on a similar pathway, or possessing similar attributes to great wizards. The fact that he merely was in the same room as those powerful figures; that he had found it, was a big enough of an accomplishment. It mattered little the exact circumstances to him...this was coming from a person who thrived on intellectual comparison and study. They said that when Tom Riddle found the Room of Requirement, he was pleased with himself, and Anton Tarasov was no different; even if the circumstances were very much different.
Siren’s reaction to his remark about the Dark Lord and Harry James Potter somehow triggered another side of him to come out slightly. It was merely a small shift…so small that it was barely detectable but was still present. His confidence was more exposed, his stoic expression shifted slightly into more of a look of subtle grimace. He seemed more relaxed, not so tense. Yet still, it was slight; very slight.

Yet Anton had no intention of responding to her comment. He simply waited for her to continue on, as she did. Ah…so the grandfather had known about the entrance as well… The more Anton was finding out about this figure, the more he was intrigued by him. What was this old man’s real identity? Perhaps he held a place in history long denied by him? It took a very knowledgeable man to hold such information, in addition to being able to teach a young girl with no magical experience. Anton took a slight note in his head of the matter…perhaps one day, if necessary,…he would find out more about this man...

He found it interesting how she had voiced the very same questions running through his own head regarding his entrance to the room…Taking her statements in, he paused a moment before responding. His confident mood continued to grow, but it did not steal anything away from his intellectual thought process. “Well, I’d make a point to say I feel I don’t really need a sanctuary.” His eyes traveled to the right as spoke, before returning back to reach Siren, “But I can’t account for the room’s thought on the matter.” His last line seemed to bring out even more of a grimace from him, but appeared more distanced; as if he was far away in a thought process. After a long pause, his eyes quickly came back to Siren with stunning intensity. His arm reached behind him to grab something.

“Is it alright if I draw you?” It was spoken so casually that it completely contradicted the intensity of his eyes. As he grabbed his bag, a complex smile twisted itself onto his face. Friendly; casual; innocent; guilty; devious; wrong; all such words could describe it. He reached for some paper and a writing utensil. “It’s not important, we can keep talking while I do it…I’m really fast, actually.” The complex smile returned in an even bigger degree. “It’s just something I do. Profiles, you know? Mostly just sketches of people I meet.” He looked as if put inside another world again, searching for words. And then, suddenly, as if almost too fast to comprehend, the smile completely disappeared and was replaced by a firm, almost stern look. “I’m afraid only time will tell about the reasons we’re here together. Might as well make the best of it.”

[fallensiren]

Siren let herself drown in her own words as she spoke. Solace in the unyielding facts of her life was an odd concept, but she had long since embraced that oddity. She studied her hands as she sensed Anton studying her. Her stomach lurched in unease. Divulging all these facts to a complete stranger, black and white as the words were, made her feel light-headed. It was nothing that someone couldn't discover with a cunning mind and a way with loosening people's tongues – someone with a knack for locating information – but still she felt unease. Anton struck her as that type of person. Calculating, withdrawn, somber, intelligent – the sense of it seemed to radiate from him, though if she were to guess, she'd suppose that he tried his hardest to keep that intelligence under wraps.

She caught the shift in his expression before it faded too much to be noticeable; something like a cool confidence that undeniably suited him. With it, he seemed to uncoil, less focused energy emanating from him, but a mere inner glow of smugness. She ducked her head, but it wasn't fast enough; a quick, knee-jerk smile jumped across her pale pink lips, big enough to reveal straight white teeth, before her chestnut hair swung forward to hide the expression. She was almost positive that he would have noticed, but it didn't bother her as much in this moment. The unease of a few seconds ago had passed. Anton's new, slightly more relaxed demeanor calmed her, too.

His grimace had extended by the time she looked up and his eyes reached her again. The room's thought on the matter, indeed. She wondered – as she was sure Anton was wondering – what right the room had to assume it knew the contents of their desires. Were they always so cut-and-dried, or would one day the room attempt to accommodate something so ambiguous that it would effectively commit suicide and vanish from existence for its attempt? She nearly said as much out loud, but the pause had ended, and his eyes were on her again. The intensity of his gaze made her feel as though she was sitting beneath a glaring spotlight. Suddenly self-conscious, she looked away as he reached behind them and snatched up something.

"Is it alright if I draw you?" The words were so unexpected that Siren's head jerked up again, surprise written only in the small crease between her eyebrows. He smiled, unloading paper and writing supplied from his bag. The contradictions were evident all over his face. The relaxed smile, alluring in its own way; the intensity of his eyes, a thunderstorm in the making, alluring in a completely different one. She nearly scowled. He was so difficult to decipher. So difficult to glean even a vague understanding of.

"Sure. I don't mind," [/b]she said, her voice suddenly muted. She fidgeted, feeling slightly itchy. "Just let me know if you need me to...move, or anything." She gave an embarrassed laugh, conceding to herself that she sounded ridiculous. "No, you don't strike me as the type that needs a sanctuary," she mused, feeling a lighter part of herself emerging – the joking, sarcastic, deadpan-look type. "Too confident. Too sure of yourself."

She studied her hands, listening for the telltale sounds of pencil on paper. "Then, if we were both looking for what we think we were looking for, that leaves countless options. Not that I can think of many. You, of course, could find enlightenment from my knowledge – what my grandfather told me about the room. Perhaps you were interested in that knowledge." Her eyebrows quirked up as she looked up at him, a smile twisting across her lips. Not cruel, merely interested, nearly conciliatory; she rubbed her hand and scarcely noticed the pain at this point. "And, if that follows, I was still looking for sanctuary – and because the room granted access to you, you're it. Only one theory, of course. I'm sure there's countless others."

She glanced towards the windowpane. Sunlight poured through, falling in beams across her face as she turned, welcoming the warmth. She realized for the first time that she'd felt cold since arriving at the room. Almost as if I'm thawing, she thought, and for a moment, her features truly relaxed into an easy smile.

[antontarasov]

(Ooc: I am so sorry about the delay!)


He hadn’t expected a negative response to his request to draw her; few would. In fact, his inquiry of her opinion truly wasn’t a sincere question at all. He’d already begun drawing even before she’d responded. But how odd he would have seemed to simply start drawing her without consent. With that, his smile vanished, and his intense eyes focused on the task itself; shifting back and forth between her and the paper. However, as focused as the Seventh year Ravenclaw was, he still tried his best to keep up with her current status and words. He smiled to himself as she produced a laugh of awkwardness, or more less, an internal recognition of ridiculousness. And for a second, as Anton quickly sketched an image, his mind was lost to intrigue. So often people laughed out of embarrassment! One would think that laughter had turned into to a sort of thing to feel the gap of awkwardness! He wondered when this trait had been acquired into human social behaviors, as he had taken it note of it on regular occasions. It was a typical human habit, but when had such behavior originated?

He looked up quickly as she continued speaking, a small smile still on his face. But when she professed to agreement that he did not need a sanctuary on grounds of confidence, he couldn’t help but widen it. Almost as if to say “perhaps” he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, and then proceeded to continue drawing her. By this point he had taken to studying her physical features; her neck shape, stubborn chin, soft, full mouth, and complex eyes. Upon discovering her fine details, his own eyes lingered for a second, his trance only broken by the continuation of dialogue.

His ears were only half listening. His mind was too full of his current task of sketching her. But the information she conveyed still entered his mind distantly; being translated as sentences at a slower rate than usual. It took a stop in her flow for Anton to really get the message. At the absence of sound, he looked up to meet her eyes, only to find an interested smile. It was now that he fully grasped her words. Yet of course! Her grandfather…

It was a dangerous move for anyone to get Anton Tarasov genuinely interested in them. True enough, Anton was a person fascinated by the reactions and behaviors and people; often intrigued by certain individuals, but that was different than genuine interest. Genuine interest meant that one was special. Genuine interest meant that he took out precious time to ponder them. Genuine interest meant that they were a project. And Anton Tarasov loved projects. This man…her grandfather…Anton had already made a mental note to remember him and perhaps research him further. But was there not more to Siren’s grandfather than to simply be put away for further examination in later years? And the room had sent him here for enlightenment…perhaps this was exactly what he needed! Knowledge of this man would perhaps give him something he needed to progress…something powerful, perhaps even a secret that could change the course of his dealings forever. Yes, he would find out whatever he needed to know, and make use of this knowledge. He wasn’t so much as interested in what the man said to Siren than who the man was himself. Further knowledge about him could change everything.

Although unaware of it, Anton Tarasov was currently at a crossroads in his life. He was standing at the brink of two different paths, which would lead him to two completely different destinies. He had the potential to one day become a man worthy of praise such as “brilliant” and “great” in the mind of a scholar and perhaps the entire Wizarding world. But he also had the potential to become something also described as “great”…yet further more…dark and threatening; powerful and conniving; something opposing to the forces of light and peace. And it was all because of his thirst for knowledge. Yet, here he was now; unsure of his future and only knowing that he was terrified to live a simplistic and uneventful life. Small attributes needed of the men of both pathways were found inside him. And now he had found something that sparked his interest…now he had something to research.

He hadn’t been paying attention to his facial expressions; for a moment, he’d let his guard down. He was sure she’d seen a flicker of realization within him, but probably not to the extent that he had felt internally. So he decided to play it coy and gradually get around to what he wanted. It wasn’t as if he was impatient, either. “Perhaps you’re right.” He said insightfully. “It would make sense.” He paused a second for continuation of speech. “You know, you’re quite intelligent...Forgive me, but what exactly did he say to you about this room?” He’d inquired about the room, but that wasn’t nearly all the information he wanted; not by a long shot.

Although focused upon his new goal, Anton now took time to study Siren. All these thoughts about progress and information had blinded him to her for the last few seconds. Now he was back. She was a human being, a girl, and by his judgment, quite an intelligent one at that. She was one who truly interested him. Unlike many others, she seemed to be closed and guarded; not giving away too much emotion. However, it was as if there truly was another person hidden under her skin; someone interesting and diverse. In his past few seconds lost, this hidden girl had surfaced more. Anton Tarasov couldn’t help but reveal a small, friendly smile.

[fallensiren]

[ooc - ugh, I'm terribly sorry about the delay. I've been so busy recently with school...]

Siren had the distinct feeling that Anton was fishing for something.

She studied him for a moment, her eyes sweeping his features. She'd almost seen the thought process playing out across his face: the sudden twists and turns of the roads he took to reason to himself, the flickers of realization and recognition that were so brief and small that she was sure even his subconscious was in on the constant control he kept over himself. What a dangerous, terrifying way to live; but hadn't she done the same, for the most part, whenever she could? And wasn't it more dangerous to let someone see what you were thinking, the dangers in trusting another human being to not use the information against you? Those were true dangers...the suffering of the loss of self-control...a nightmare, indeed, for those who craved their solitude and their secrets: like Anton Tarasov.

His small, friendly smile changed these thoughts. She had the distinct impression that he was battling between two selves: the Ravenclaw side that thirsted for information, and the male counterpart, interested in his female companion...she couldn't help but smile slightly in return, the sentiment turning up her rosebud lips, revealing a small flash of straight, white teeth.

"My grandfather," she began, "is a very secretive man." She paused, her lips turning in a frown now, wondering how best to explain this. "He prizes his knowledge. Hordes it, like a dragon. He was my best friend as a little girl, but then again, I never did know much about him. He tutored me, he schooled me; he revealed very little of his personal life to me. The secrets he told me were very few."

She paused again. She was quite like her grandfather, though there was no need for Anton to ever discover that. She horded her own secrets and others; she was determined to keep to herself. Less dangerous, that way, she'd always reasoned, and her grandfather had always encouraged that sentiment. It had been her survival instinct, when her family would have otherwise discovered her secret magic tutoring, and she would have been...her lips twisted; well, what was the worst that could happen, now?

"He told me about the room because he loved entertaining me with stories of Hogwarts," she finally continued, looking down at her hands in her lap, her face hidden from Anton's view. "It was one of his favorite places to go to study, or to...make mischief." She grimaced, an unseen contortion, and frowned deeply. "He was in Slytherin. Only one of his family to land himself in that house. I thought I would follow in his footsteps, but...he told me the heart changes with time, and that I saw the man who had changed. He was apparently quite the elitist as a teenager."

She couldn't help but smile at the thought. Oftentimes, she had agreed with her grandfather's previous sentiments on the subject, but she supposed that having birthed a Squib son would have changed a few things. Choose to hate the son, or choose to naturally love him and leave your ideals behind – though Siren could see little to love about her father.

"He said that this place can become whatever you want it to," she continued, lifting her head once more. "And told me the location. It was only in the context of a story involving an irate professor, a pretty girl, and a long night hiding out. That was how he discovered it, how he described the situation."

She stopped there, looking at Anton again. She wondered what information there could really help him, or was of any interest to him at all, really – but you never knew, with a Ravenclaw. Her eyes lightly considered him once more, wondering about his reasons for being here, wondering again whether this was the reason she was here; to enlighten him. It was just a room, she reasoned with herself. Nothing completely out of the ordinary or truly fascinating; just a room. A magical room, but there were probably millions of those all over the Wizarding world.

[antontarasov]

((It's fine about the wait. I understand about being busy with school and such.))


There was a sort of relief; a feeling of warmth that swept over him as Siren returned his smile. It was a mixture of some sort; as if he was filled with excitement and vigor, yet strictness and precision. Part of him felt the inside warmth that only came from satisfactory and pleasureful experiences. It was uniquely human; like the feeling a child gets when they begin a decent downhill on a rollercoaster. The other part was not. It was somewhat similar to a treasonous spy having realized that he had just discovered valuable information against his homeland. There was excitement, of course, but it had to be controlled. It had to be hidden. And it was definitely not innocent, or rather, it was the opposite. These two emotions, both innocent and dangerous, struggled to coexist inside him at the moment.

Yet these fighting emotions were symbolic of his entire personality in general; complex, shape-shifting, never reasonable defined. People never really knew the “real Anton”; it was always a different version. While there was some commonalities; love of conversation, enlightenment, advancement, inner control; most everything else was unstable. Perhaps the best way to put it was that he was an extreme in everything he did. While this girl, Siren, was exposed to a more somber Anton, other would describe him as a grimacing devious tormentor. And in fact, that was more often his face. People truly fascinated him and what better way to study such people than to trigger their reactions? But there were some that brought out a different side of Anton, and Siren Allaway was one of them…or perhaps…the environment added to it…this room. Yet, as thoughts emotions began to set in, so did Siren’s words. And after professing her grandfather’s secretive ways, Anton watched as she fell back into a frown.

"…He prizes his knowledge. Hordes it, like a dragon.”

Of course. And I the same.

“…he revealed very little of his personal life to me.”

Somehow…it does not surprise me…

Anton quickly realized a perhaps fatal move in not paying close attention to her facial expressions, as he was too caught up in processing the information. He could piece it all together later. Right now, he needed to take as many mental notes as possible. The more he could take in, the better. As she looked down into her hands, his eyes followed, his head moving closer, inward toward her. Anton’s eyes lingered on her…trying to follow her words and facial expressions carefully. As she spoke his mind began to form a clearer picture of this man…a Slytherin…socialite…the man fit the part of someone valuable enough to make further investigation of. It was not surprising, almost exciting. And as Siren finished her words about her Grandfather’s past, he found himself nodding; blanked faced, but yet still, nodding. She went on to describe her Grandfather’s story, at which Anton smiled lightly in reaction. His eyes were still glued to her, but carried no intensity. They were light, taking in her words; her actions, revealing no analyzation or calculation.

After a second of this, he looked back into her eyes, his eyes now coming back alive as he took his next words into heavy consideration. He still had not yet moved back from her, still somehow fixated with her. There was a short silence which seemed longer than it really was.

“What was his name?”

He smiled lightly to himself, looked down for a short second, and then back up again. And then suddenly, what appeared almost randomly, he smiled widely with a look a sure pleasure on his face. “I haven’t really seen you around much. It’s very ironic how we're having this place here of of all places. This room…well, I suppose it sort of thinks for itself.” The facts were obvious, yet he spoke them anyway, for reasons only Anton Tarasov knew. His next smile was devious; guilty; an obvious grimace. Yet, as soon as it had appeared, it fell away. And he was back to smiling casually, in a friendly manner.