/ fever

[Serena Lovelace]

U R A fever
U R A fever
you ain’t born typical

Serena had friends. Really, she did. She just... preferred to do this in her spare time, that was all.

She was sprawled out (alright, well, not sprawled necessarily, because let’s be honest, a lady does not sprawl anywhere, not even in the comfort of her bedroom; no, Serena was more... slightly disheveled, a little unorganized, surrounded by papers while lounging comfortably in a chair near the fire in the Slytherin common room – but she was not sprawled, Circe, no) with practically a thousand genealogical charts strewn every which way across her feet; all Pureblood, of course, because that’s – well, that’s what she did in her spare time, all right? She studied for her future. How embarrassing would it be if she turned up to a gala and didn’t know anyone’s names? Anyone’s family histories? Any of the gossip surrounding every single last person in the room? Why, she’d be a horrid conversationalist! How ignorant she would seem! Merlin, no, Serena would never be made a fool of because she was underprepared. The word “underprepared” hardly even exists in her vocabulary or mind because she uses it, thinks it, says it so infrequently, because – well, it is simply not a factor in her life. Obviously. Who do you think she is, some neanderthal? Some Cro-Magnon? Serena is sophisticated. She is knowledgeable. She is perfect Pureblood wife material and a lady in training and don’t you ever forget it, thank you very much.

Little beady eyes bored into the pages of the current family tree she was reading: the Pryces (which, if you knew anything about that – well of course you would because practically everyone knew about that, the recent scandal with Priscilla and that horrid father of hers – was quite scintillating for a little gossip monger like Miss Lovelace). Poor little Prissy. Losing her shot at a husband and at respect all in one fell swoop. Serena had to hand it to Alecto Carrow, though. That took some serious digging. Thanks to Prissy’s grandmother that particular family secret was kept under lock and key. But Serena had met Miss Carrow a few times and she was not at all surprised that the woman had... a very persuasive nature to her. It probably was no trouble at all, once Alecto knew who to get to. Serena couldn’t help but wonder, who snitched? Well, assuming anyone snitched. It could have just been that Alecto had a sneaking suspicion, wanted some dirt on Priscilla for whatever reason and just happened to stumble upon the rightr information at the right time. Either way, Serena was absolutely dying to know all the juicy little inside details about this. Now that she had been given the astute responsibility of taking over the Tabloid in Rita Skeeter’s stead, she had to know everything about everyone – more than she already did. And she had to tell everyone about it, most importantly. There were so many salacious stories traveling about the school these days. Little gems. Like pretty butterflies flittering around, waiting to be caught. And luckily Serena has a very, very big net.

Come to think of it, Priscilla hadn’t been to school lately. After winter holiday she seemingly... poofed out of the radar. A political tactic, no doubt instituted by that weasel of a grandmother. Dear me, Serena thought to herself with feigned concern, where, oh where, would sweet Prissy Pryce be without that grandmother of hers? Well. Dead, probably. Alecto is rather overly attached to her little brother, and Amycus was ever so fond of Priscilla before he found out she was a blood traitor. Hmm. No matter. Serena had been friendly as ever to Priscilla when she needed to be, but she privately (or perhaps not so privately) reveled in the fact that the playing field had lost another frontrunner, and that it was now even more likely that Serena would get the chance to be considered first for arranged proposals and marriages. Most of the eligible girls in society were only one or two years older than her, after all, and soon enough it would be her turn for the spotlight. The fewer the girls who had gone before her, the better. Left more bachelors for her to pick from. Now, Serena has never been overly concerned about her chances for marriage, but it’s always a relief to know you’re one step ahead of the less fortunate. Nothing like an ego booster right before proposal season. Thank Merlin for that failure of a girl Priscilla Pryce. Thank Merlin for failures in general! Serena just loved it when she got to watch people lose. How satisfying it is to be reminded of how superior you are to everyone else.

But just then there was sound. Serena wrinkled her nose and glanced above her ream of parchment when she heard the footstep fall nearby. Hmm. Odd. It was late – Serena was always sure to come down to the Common Room when it was later, so she wouldn’t be bothered by going over her charts and making the appropriate changes or corrections or additions – but no, that was clearly a footstep which could only mean that someone was clearly here. Which could never lead to any good, because who stayed up this late on a school night besides Serena, who actually had a legitimate and monumentally important reason? She curled her legs up into her self like a tiny cat when she heard the steps getting closer, but she couldn’t make out the figure of the intruder because it was exceptionally dark in the commons at night. So, "

Lumos," she said, pointing her wand at the nearest lamp. Almost immediately after she wished she hadn’t.

"Roxanne," she intoned, severely. She would normally refer to every young lady as Miss followed by their appropriate surname, but this girl – this thing – she would not suffer the privilege. She was a Slytherin but she was not one of them. She was filth. Scum. Mudblood to the core. The disgust seeped out of Serena and she made no effort to disguise it. And why should she? Roxanne Reid was a disgrace to Salazar Slytherin’s legacy, and everyone in the House felt so – Serena was sure of it. So she was quite, quite justified in her ill treatment of the girl. Quite justified.

"And what are you doing up at this hour?”[/b][/blockquote][/color]

^reid

[Roxanne Reid]

When Roxanne wakes up, it's sudden and she's gasping for air, her fingers unconsciously flying to her throat and her heart pounding painfully in her chest. She can feel cold sweat rolling down her spine, uncomfortably pooling at the small of her back. Trying to calm her pulse, Roxanne pushed her hands through her hair and felt strands cling to her neck, which was also slick with sweat. She cringed and made a face and then leaned against the wall behind her bed, trying to recall the nightmare that had had her fearing for her life. She closed her eyes tightly and flashes of the dream returned to her, memories that aren't quite memories because they'd morphed and manifested into her fears. Her father choking her mother, except it wasn't her mother anymore, but Roxanne herself who was clawing at his wrists and sobbing brokenly and saying that she still loved him even as her lips started to turn blue, even as he tossed her away from him like a rag doll so that she landed on a coffee table and it broke under her sudden weight, littering chunks of wood around her equally broken form. But then when she raised her tearful face, it wasn't to find her father, but rather a man who's features were as obscure as his personality because she'd never met him before, and yet, in the dream, she continued to insist that she loved him, that she forgave him, and she now realised, with a sick twist in her stomach, that he was supposed to be her husband. It was funny in a completely non-humorous way how your own mind attacked you when you were in your most vulnerable. People learned how to defend themselves against other people, but did they realise that it was often one's own self who was most dangerous to their well being?

With a dark scowl, Roxanne threw the covers off her legs and headed towards the bathroom, determined to wash away the remnants of the nightmare as thoroughly as possible (as hard as she tried to ignore it, the way her hands shook as she pulled her nightgown over her head was unmistakable, and she didn't need to look in the mirror to know that she was deathly pale). She comforted herself with the reminder that she'd only been so affected because it had been so long since she'd had a similar dream, so of course it had shaken her up a little. It wasn't cowardice, it was understandable. She turned the tap on and made the water as hot as she could stand and then simply stood under the spray until her skin turned a dark shade of pink, and then she completely switched the tap to the other side, gasping as the now-ice cold water poured onto her. When her teeth began chattering loudly, she turned the shower off and stepped out, shivering violently as she grabbed one of the many large, fluffy towels available and began rubbing herself dry, a little more roughly than she normally would. Realising she'd forgotten to bring a change of clothes, she sighed and wrapped the towel around herself, picked up her sweat-soaked clothes and wand and left the bathroom. She lit the tip of her wand long enough to find something to wear and then proceeded to dress in the dark. It took a little longer and she fumbled with the ribbons of her gown for about two minutes before she finally got it tied appropriately. She then grabbed her wand once more and left the dormitory, knowing that she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep tonight and she would rather not stay in bed until breakfast time because she was bound to get extremely restless and she would end up with the covers tangled around her legs, lying at an awkward angle on the bed, her eyes closed tightly in frustration while sleep continued to escape her. She'd been there, done that before, after all.

Originally, Roxanne had planned to take to the Quidditch pitch and do a couple of laps on her broom, thinking the fresh air might help clear her thoughts and make her forget all about the awful images her unconscious mind had conjured. However, she hadn't expected to find someone still in the common room, considering it was well past midnight and a school night. For a moment, she hesitated by the common room door, torn between forgetting about it and leaving or finding out who it was. In the end, curiosity won out and she approached the small source of light, which suddenly became brighter and Roxanne instantly - and unfortunately - recognised who it was. Serena Lovelace. Quite possibly one of the most annoying Slytherins Roxanne had had the misfortune to meet, if not the most. Already she was grating on the redhead's nerves and all she'd said was her name. But somehow, the fourteen year old had the ability to put an incredible amount of disdain in just one word and Roxanne could practically feel the waves of superiority Lovelace gave off, it was almost tangible. Honestly, whoever had enabled the little bint ought to be hexed to oblivion.

Honestly, Roxanne wouldn't have bothered with her if it wasn't for the fact that Serena constantly looked down her pert little nose at her all the damn time just because the blonde's mum and dad were witches and Roxanne's weren't. Like somehow that made her better. And while it was a thought that was shared by most Slytherins, hence why Roxanne didn't have very many Slytherin friends (well, she didn't have very many friends, period), Serena's superiority complex was more aggravating than most because, well...the girl was annoying, that's all there was to it. And thus ever since they had met, Roxanne had made it her personal duty to make Serena as miserable as possible by poking fun at her and pointing out any gaping flaws that the girl seemed completely blind to (even if a few were exaggerated by Roxanne herself, but wasn't saying Roxanne's blood was equivalent to mud simply because of her heritage even worse?).

Ignoring the blonde's question, Roxanne took a closer look at the parchment scattered around the tiny girl, snorting when she realised what they represented hundreds of genealogical charts. "Researching your future husband, Lovelace? What, scared no one's going to be interested in boring, naive little Miss Serena and that you're going to have to stalk and kidnap one of them? Blimey, I wouldn't be surprised if that's the only way you wind up getting married, 'cause I don't know what fool would ever willingly wed a complete lunatic like you," she scoffed. Her words were, perhaps, meaner than they normally would, but pieces of the nightmare were still pierced in her skin and, until she completely dislodged them...well, it meant she'd be more than just her usual bitchy self to the blonde.

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