Oswald Selwyn (selwynwins) wrote in caged, @ 2013-10-19 11:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 97-10, [ log ], morag macdougal, oswald selwyn |
WHO: Morag MacDougal & Oswald Selwyn.
WHEN: The morning of Saturday, October 18.
WHERE: Outside of Dervish & Banges, Hogsmeade.
SUMMARY: Bitter Ravenclaws, being bitter.
RATING: PG
STATUS: Completed Log
Unlike many of his fellow students, Oswald was not feeling particularly excited about the visit to Hogsmeade this weekend - indeed, he was feeling more than a little dejected. He neither had a proper date nor any money to spend, and so, alone but trying to appear purposeful, he set to wandering the village, all the while hoping that no-one would ask him any questions. He wore an expression caught somewhere between solemn and serious, engrossed as he was in trying to formulate excuses and/or lies just in case he needed to explain later why he had spent the day as he had. Financial responsibility, he decided, would be his excuse for not spending any money. Yes, that was good. He hadn’t yet figured out how to make himself seem less pathetic for hanging out with himself all day (to be followed by a mystery double-date later that evening that was sure to be dreadful - but he didn't even want to think about that), and he was still weighing his options by the time he stopped outside of Dervish & Banges to pretend to window-shop while a large group of his peers shuffled past.
“8 Galleons?!” Morag shouted, nearly screeched, she was so frustrated. The clerk waved the quotes for equipment repair in front of her, as though that would make the price somehow more palatable. She swatted it out of his hand and turned on her heel.
“No, no bloody thank you,” she continued railing on her way out of the shop, glad she hadn’t brought her telescope along for an estimate. It would only have suffered yet more abuse, preferably in contact with the clerk’s skull.
In her irritation, Morag nearly plowed right into Oswald, who was doing a fair job of pretending like he had business to take care of. But Morag knew better.
“Oi, Ozzy.”
Oswald’s gaze snapped up from where he had been keenly examining some dirt on the window, eyebrows raising at the sound of that nickname. It could only be one person, really. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to look casual, but he knew Morag would likely see right through the act.
“Oh. Hey, Morag,” he said. It occurred to him that perhaps he’d overheard something going on within the shop, but since he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to ask him about it if their positions had been reversed, he decided not to mention it. Instead, he just shrugged and said, “This shop is shit, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she spat emphatically, though Morag was acutely aware of the juvenile nature of her response. Still, after a week of reading everyone making plans and now having to watch their sickeningly joyous execution, it was hard to be in a good mood. Not when she was alone, not when she hadn’t any plans to speak of or means to make them.
“Your date ditch you?” Morag wheedled, refusing to feel (any more) sorry for herself.
She meant Brian, of course.
Judging by Morag’s reply, he had been right not to ask about what had occurred in the store, and although it was unfortunate that she was not having a particularly good time, Oswald was admittedly a little bit relieved that he was not the only one feeling bitter while all of his classmates seemingly had the time of their lives.
He wrinkled his nose at her mention of a date, not catching what she meant at all. “Date? Me? Do you know me at all?” Oswald said, frowning. “No-one even wants to be seen with me.” He eyed a group of students exiting the store across from them, their arms laden with purchases, their faces lit up with barf-worthy amounts of ignorant bliss. He wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow the lot of them.
“You’re right,” Morag said with a smirk, making to sidle a few steps to the side as though to distance herself from Oswald, but not following through. “But I guess it’s for the best you and Finkley decided to restrict your illicit love affair to the tower.”
Oswald scowled. “Fuck off. He’s got some Gryffindor bint to stick his tongue in… not that I care,” he added, though it was clear from his demeanor that he probably cared a bit more than he wished to admit. He opted instead to change the subject.
“What about you? Don’t you have some hottie to suck face with?” he asked her in a mocking tone.
Morag grimaced at the thought of Brian sticking his tongue into anything, unless it was one of Alecto’s toasters.
“I’m saving myself for Hagrid,” she said flatly, though there was the hint of a smirk brightening her expression. Strange, how much more fun it was to hate on everybody else with company. “According to Abbott we’re highly compatible.”
Of course, the memory of the innane quiz wasn’t complete without Seamus, who’d taunted her at the time, and whose name she’d paired with hers to less than satisfactory results. It didn’t mean anything, of course.
She’d burned the evidence, just in case.
Despite his best efforts to remain sour, Oswald let out an amused snort at the mention of their infamous Care of Magical Creatures professor. “Yeah, well, she’s probably right about that. You’re made for each other. I can see it now - your offspring running wild through the Forbidden Forest, terrorizing ickle firsties for years to come. It’s beautiful, really.” he teased.
Morag rolled her eyes, circling Oswald to lean a hip against the rough stone facade of Dervish & Banges’, partially in the little alley that ran between it and the next shop over.
“What’s your plan for today, Ozzy? Did you write it down? Color coordinate it? Charm the corners of the page to wave like little flags when you’re late?”
Oswald groaned and rolled his eyes. “You do realise I was lying about that, right?” he said, even though he hadn’t been - not completely, anyway. He was organised, true, but nowhere near as organised as he liked to tell people he was. If he had been, he likely would not have forgotten that he had to pay his Apparition Lesson fees, and as a result, might have had enough money left over to buy himself a butterbeer this unfortunate weekend. No-one else needed to know that, however.
“I’m going to kill time until I have to go back. Avoid the people I despise… pester you until you leave in disgust,” he added with a smirk. “What about you? Penning lovelorn poetry to Hagrid?”
“The brute probably can’t even read,” Morag mused, sure that it couldn’t possibly be a prerequisite for teaching at Hogwarts, if the Carrows were any indication.
“Nothing, really. Just seemed stupid not to take advantage of the opportunity to leave the castle… though it seems a little less stupid, now,” she added after a moment, more seriously. Her eyes followed a pair of fifth years, grinning and whispering behind steaming paper cones of roasted nuts. Her stomach rumbled.
Oswald snickered despite the fact that he actually really liked Hagrid as a professor. Still, what the man didn’t know surely couldn’t hurt him. “Pictograms, then. You’re creative, you’ll think of something.”
He, too, saw the fifth years, and briefly contemplated what would happen if he were to abuse his prefect badge in order to confiscate their food, but he did not act on it. He tried to ignore them, although he couldn’t help being reminded that he was hungry as well.
“It’s nice to get out now and again. I’d go stir-crazy if I didn’t get the chance to escape and do whatever once in awhile,” Oswald said honestly. “The fresh air and absence of duty is nice, if nothing else.”
“Should I break a few rules, so you don’t lose your edge?” Morag quipped, stuffing her hands into her pockets and shaking the few coins she there. She’d sold one of her Muggle novels to a curious third year - embellishing on the illicit content (but only a bit) - and had intended the money for tea or a new quill nib. Still, lunch would be nice...
But she didn’t have enough for two, and she wasn’t cruel enough to eat in front of Oswald. If he’d had the funds for it, he’d have been putting on his usual show of normalcy right now, which meant he didn’t.
And so she kept on pretending, because that was a skill they shared.
“Nah, you’re out of my jurisdiction. Run wild if you want, maim people, whatever. I couldn’t care less,” Oswald said, giving her a small, resigned smile. He mirrored her action, burying his own hands into the pockets of a sweater he’d repaired more times than he could remember. He could still smell the aroma of roasted nuts lingering in the cool air, so close that he could have sworn he could almost taste them.
He mentally tried to shake the thought from his head, however, and told himself he was being ridiculous. Mind over matter, Oswald. He had a whole day ahead of him, and he wasn’t about to let something as small as lunch get the better of him just yet.
He searched for something clever to say, but finding nothing, simply shrugged, defeated. “I guess I should leave you alone, turn a blind eye so you can get started on whatever nefarious deeds you’re plotting,” he said finally, worried that if he kept talking long enough, he would just wind up coming off as more pathetic than he intended. “Besides, I wouldn’t want your boyfriend to get jealous.” He meant Hagrid, but the jab lacked much of his earlier venom.
Morag snorted at his last. That would be the day.
She peeled herself away from the wall with surprising grace, inclining her head toward the bustling cart where the fifth years had purchased their snack.
“Come on, I need a hot cider and I’ll be damned if I’m going to drink alone.”
Oswald could still refuse her, but she hoped that he wouldn’t. They’d seen each other at their worst - which is to say, they’d both met the other’s father - so there wasn’t much left to lose.
Oswald did not move at first, startled as he was by her generosity. Although the two had known one another a long time, he was unused to being the recipient of kind offers from anyone, and he was caught off-guard by her request that he join her. The fact that he was well aware that she was not any better off than he was had also factored into his reaction, and he eventually met her gaze with a sheepish, questioning one of his own as he contemplated his response.
Several seconds after having been extended the invitation, Oswald gave her a small and uncharacteristically grateful smile. “All right. Well, thank-you.” he said, silently assuring himself that he would make it up to her someday, when he figured out how.