"That he's queer as a nine-bob note! Ugh, listen to me using a Muggle-ism – but don't tell me you haven't picked up on that, the amount of time you two spend together – which, by the way, I understand, even if Professor Shaw doesn't. The man's good company, witty and charming and all. It must be hard for you to find people who can stand up to you in conversation. A crying shame he's so verrrry Muggle-born, it’s like it leaks out of his pores. Which Shaw has a theory about, actually -- has he told you this? He says more Muggles and Muggle-borns come out, well... like Charles... as a... how did he put it? Something about the universe trying to protect itself by not letting Muggle-borns reproduce. I don't know, it didn't actually make much sense to me. I've known wizards who were like that, too, after all. And you know what? I think he's wrong." She nodded to herself, chin defiant but eyes nervous. Disagreeing with Shaw, Erik theorized, was not something she did frequently. "I think Charles is a great guy and a great teacher, Muggle-born or not, and it's a shame he won't have kids because he'd be a great father. You must think so, too, right? I mean, you're friends with him, right?"
Erik didn't answer. He wasn't sure he could speak right now without snarling.
"Right," Angel said nervously. "Um. Well, at least poor Moira finally caught on – she'd been mooning over him for years, you know, which is a little weird since she's older, but apparently that's just how she rolls because Sean Cassidy's even younger than Charles." She stepped behind Erik, possibly out of self-defense, and measured the width of his shoulders. "Cassidy's a pureblood, though, so it's hard to get behind that idea. I mean, it's not like Moira's even subtle about being Muggle-born, you'd think she was proud of it, I hear she begged to be allowed to teach Muggle Studies – blegh, you couldn't pay me enough. Here, hold still, I can just pin this... Cassidy doesn't seem to care, though, which I guess makes sense – his mother was a Weasley, if you can't tell with that hair, and they're not exactly notorious for guarding the bloodline. Okay, almost ready. Just need our masks!"
She rummaged in the wardrobe for a moment, then returned with two masquerade half-masks, both black with swirling white ornamentation. One was shaped like a pair of butterfly wings; Angel pressed that one to her face and handed the other to Erik. He followed suit, and felt a brief tingle of magic as the mask sealed to his skin.
"I'll get all the alterations done tonight," Angel said, "but it's mostly pinned into place now, so you should have a pretty good idea how it'll look." She stepped up to Erik's side, put her arm through his, and gave a satisfied sigh. "There! Don't we just go together perfectly?"
No, Erik thought. I don't think we do.
---
Charles forced down the cheese roll and chased it with some tea, trying not to notice the crinkle of the letter in his pocket every time he moved, the weight of it against his chest. There was a more urgent letter to be dealt with now.
Erik had done well, overall, with the letter to Harry Potter; Charles corrected the spelling of one word, tweaked a phrase in the last paragraph, signed his name beneath Erik's, and it was done. Before he could overthink it, he carried it straight to the Owlery and sent it off.
It was still nagging at his mind that he hadn't noticed Dolly Dursley's induction into the Potter Pack. What else had he not noticed? Rather than return to his empty quarters -- or worse, return to find Erik waiting in his quarters -- coward, Xavier -- he made his way to the Ravenclaw common room. Dinnertime was over by now, and his prefects were always happy to fill him in on the gossip.
FILL: The Better Men (18e/30ish)
Erik didn't answer. He wasn't sure he could speak right now without snarling.
"Right," Angel said nervously. "Um. Well, at least poor Moira finally caught on – she'd been mooning over him for years, you know, which is a little weird since she's older, but apparently that's just how she rolls because Sean Cassidy's even younger than Charles." She stepped behind Erik, possibly out of self-defense, and measured the width of his shoulders. "Cassidy's a pureblood, though, so it's hard to get behind that idea. I mean, it's not like Moira's even subtle about being Muggle-born, you'd think she was proud of it, I hear she begged to be allowed to teach Muggle Studies – blegh, you couldn't pay me enough. Here, hold still, I can just pin this... Cassidy doesn't seem to care, though, which I guess makes sense – his mother was a Weasley, if you can't tell with that hair, and they're not exactly notorious for guarding the bloodline. Okay, almost ready. Just need our masks!"
She rummaged in the wardrobe for a moment, then returned with two masquerade half-masks, both black with swirling white ornamentation. One was shaped like a pair of butterfly wings; Angel pressed that one to her face and handed the other to Erik. He followed suit, and felt a brief tingle of magic as the mask sealed to his skin.
"I'll get all the alterations done tonight," Angel said, "but it's mostly pinned into place now, so you should have a pretty good idea how it'll look." She stepped up to Erik's side, put her arm through his, and gave a satisfied sigh. "There! Don't we just go together perfectly?"
No, Erik thought. I don't think we do.
---
Charles forced down the cheese roll and chased it with some tea, trying not to notice the crinkle of the letter in his pocket every time he moved, the weight of it against his chest. There was a more urgent letter to be dealt with now.
Erik had done well, overall, with the letter to Harry Potter; Charles corrected the spelling of one word, tweaked a phrase in the last paragraph, signed his name beneath Erik's, and it was done. Before he could overthink it, he carried it straight to the Owlery and sent it off.
It was still nagging at his mind that he hadn't noticed Dolly Dursley's induction into the Potter Pack. What else had he not noticed? Rather than return to his empty quarters -- or worse, return to find Erik waiting in his quarters -- coward, Xavier -- he made his way to the Ravenclaw common room. Dinnertime was over by now, and his prefects were always happy to fill him in on the gossip.