to the stage

Lena grinned as she entered the classroom, ignoring her rumbling stomach. Everything was well: her daughter, her house, and most important, her state of mind. She had never felt better, but there was still something missing from the equation.

She sat on the first chair she could find and read her book.

Damian hadn't done the read for History, yet. In fact, he has skipped the previous lesson, altogether. If questioned, he would say he'd gotten injured and had to go to the hospital wing. Since the boy practically lived there, it was believable enough.

A small laugh escaped his lips as he heard the girl's stomach growling upon entering the room. He shut his book (which he had been skimming as he walked), taking a seat across the aisle from the blonde.

"Skip breakfast?" he asked dryly. "It's not one of those things where you think you're fat so you don't eat, is it? 'Cos if it is, you should dump the kid with two left feet and find a boyfriend who helps you have a more accurate view of yourself."

Damian dug around in his bag for a bit, then tossed a muggle candy bar across the aisle to land on her desk. One of the shops in Hogsmeade had taken to stocking them and despite his dislike for muggles, Damian found that he missed their junk food.

"Try it," the boy directed. "It's good. Unless you don't like chocolate. Then, there's really something wrong with you."

"Uhhh, no, actually," Lena frowned, trying not to raise an eyebrow, "it's none of the too-fat thing. That's for pussies." She shrugged her shoulders. "I just feel crappy and sick when I eat anything but dry crackers. And I puke a hell of a lot."

She stared at the Muggle candy bar and opened it gently, scanning the contents for possible poisons. "Fine," she snapped, plopping a piece in her mouth, "don't believe me?" She felt her throat clog, trying to mentally yell at her mouth to chew slower.

"Good," Damian declared, continuing to watch the girl. When it appeared that she was, in fact, becoming nauseous, he dug through his bag again. "When you're sick, you should go to the hospital wing," he pointed out. Taking a vial of bright pink potion from his bag, he rose to his feet and crossed the aisle to her desk, pushing the vial into her hand.

"It's a stomach-soother," he explained. "I made it, myself. Neither anger nor stress are that great for the digestive system. You're Uchytel or whatever, right? You and the Ravies are similar. You all stress too much over studying."

"Sick and hospital wing don't apply to me; I am only less than well for a day - or however long I don't feel well for," Lena frowned, her mouth finally choosing to obey her instructions. As she spoke, she felt like her old self again - the Lena before the break-up and the Disease and certainly before her future as 'Ashling' - or so Enya told her.

Raising an eyebrow, the Uchitel spoke, "You. Made. This?" She gesture to the vial in her hand, and shook her head. In her head, she was already comparing to... oh, never mind. This wasn't the time to think of such subjects. "Yeah, I'm an Uchitel," she replied, gently emphasizing her house name with house pride, "pft. Don't you dare compare the Ravies to us Uchitels; they've got nothing on us."

"If you say so," responded Damian. He didn't believe it, but he wasn't about to argue with the girl, either. It wasn't like Damian himself was first in line to report to the hospital wing, after all.

The boy narrowed his eyes at her in mild irritation at what he assumed to be an incredulous tone. "I've been brewing potions since I was four," he stated dryly. "Better to make stuff myself than have to ask for it. Gives me something to do, anyway." Damian retook his seat, giving an amused scoff at her words.

"You mean Uchitels are even more neurotic?" he asked. "Though your school pride would have you believe otherwise, that is hardly the case. Between our two schools, the houses that are most alike are Ravenclaw and Uchitel. You share the exact same values. None of the other houses are like that.

"Vy oba odinakovy*," Damian concluded in Russian that, though slightly accented by his native English, was otherwise wholly accurate.


(* You two are the same.)

"Oh, that's cute. Still learning Russian,"

Iva had arrived to this class on time, a smug smirk on her face. If the boy was still learning Russian, that probably meant he was still interested in her. Or another Russian, but she preferred to ignore that thought.

She picked the seat next to the Russian girl, her tiny frame shaking ever so slightly. "Good morning, Lena," she said softly, going to her book.

"Wow. When I was four I was stupid and my family tried to get rid of me," Lena dryly replied, half embarrassed that she spent her childhood doing nothing but grieve, read and grieve some more.

Trying to contain her snarl, Lena took a deep breath and gently shook her head. "Well, we Uchitels are a lot better than Ravies - no offense if you have Ravie friends," Lena argued, "not because we are more neurotic - though we are, in many ways - but because we have more potential, and... well, it makes more sense that my house pride overbears everything else."

The blonde merely laughed when Damian spoke Russian, and replied with, "Ich spreche Deutsch besser, wohlgemerkt."

The blonde turned towards the door and firmly nodded when she saw the girl from several of her classes, and waved back before greeting, "Good morning. Your name is Iva, yes?"

Damian scoffed at her. "Wrong," he contradicted calmly. "Which school or house you're in has nothing to do with a person's potential. The only thing that gives one person more potential than another is how hard they strive for something.

"Aquila Turrow, by the way," Damian added. "He's my Ravenclaw friend. He transferred to Durmstrang part way through last year, though. But I suppose, he probably doesn't have as much potential as the rest of your house because he started out here." He quirk an expectant brow at her. Regardless of any response she made to the statement, he won. She would either have to contradict herself or prove her bigotry.

The boy looked up as someone else entered the classroom, turning his gaze away again in apparent disinterest. Rather than acknowledge the newcomer, Damian simply responded to the Uchitel, instead.

"My German sucks," he stated bluntly, a good-humored smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Damian rose from his chair again, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

"I doubt the professor is coming, and I've got better things to do, anyway." Damian leaned with his palm atop Lena's desk, creating an image of false intimacy even though he kept a respectable distance. It was a show for Iva's benefit, in any case.

"Let me know when you've stopped lying to yourself, by the way," he told her vaguely. She'd probably think he was referring to her insistence that Uchitels were better than Ravenclaws. He wasn't.

"Oh. By the way - tienes unos ojos hermosos." Damian gave the Durmstrang student a parting smile, then casually left the room.