Liquid Sleep

Damian lay atop one of the study tables, knees bent. One might have taken his cavalier pose as a general disregard for the mass knowledge held upon the great library's shelves. The boy's attitude toward the books and the library itself were quite the opposite, of course. He craved knowledge was power. Knowledge could bridge the chasm of blood.

Most people had vacated the grand room at this hour. Curfew was fast approaching, and only the most studious youth remained. None in the obscure corner where Damian waited, of course. He didn't like to make transactions in public, even if it was a perfectly allowable potion he was selling.

Digging the vial from his pocket, the boy peered at the fluid within for a moment before letting his hand rest atop his stomach, fingers curled loosely around the glass. The girl ought to be arriving any minute, now.

Heart thumping, Frances glided through the halls, sneaking in against one of the marble silhouettes of statues as she narrowed her eyes to sense a presence of the watchers. Only a few minutes left before curfew. Time was passing away. She needed to hurry.

The potion. The substance she had desired for so long since... her second year. She recalled raising her hand up in the air to get Professor Taryn's attention, enumerating potions that can be brewed by their age. And for longing, she wouldn't have the dreams, the nightmares anymore. Even if... those dreams can appear to be good ones. She cannot dare think about them again.

Haunted, the Slytherin crept inside the library door as she scanned the room for the familiar Hufflepuff. Smirking, she walked noiselessly, stopping few feet away from the boy.

"I'm here." she started, crossing her arms, "So how much?"

Damian had heard the girl approach, of course; her quiet breathing, the beating of her heart, the near-silent footfalls he would never have caught without his sensitive hearing. He gave no indication that he had heard her, though. People who walked quietly generally didn't like to be heard coming.

He turned his head to look at the girl, sitting up and pivoting so his legs hung over the edge of the table. "Just on time," he remarked needlessly. The boy held up the vial for her to see. "Seventeen galleons." It was three less than he charged the shops. Dreamless Sleep was not an inexpensive brew, but when one didn't need to pay for potions ingredients, they could charge less when selling it.

"Okay." the Slytherin muttered, digging her right hand into the pocket of her blue jeans and fished out a small sack made of silk. For once, she paid for something, without regretting the price, the somewhat valuable price. She will do anything for her own good. Just to escape from the glass case of horror and pain.

Glancing one last time at the golden coins and counting the amount back through her mind, she sighed as she stretched her arm out, "Here. Tell me what to do with it. How. And how long will this one last. I'm not going to pay seventeen galleons a day just to get away from every night of those... stupid dreams."

"Hey," Frances spoke, in realization for the first time since her eyes adjusted to the moonlit halls of the library, "Aren't you supposed to be a fourth year? I thought I've met you once. You were a year younger than me. And now, I'm seeing you in my Potions class too. Huh."

Damian rose to his feet to accept the payment and slide it into his pocket.

"Right," he began. He was going to give her a run-down, anyway. No way was he handing a potion to someone without making sure they knew how to take them. "That vial holds three full doses. Depending on how long you usually sleep, you could probably ration it out to five. I wouldn't spread it over more than six nights. It works best if you take it on an empty stomach, so make sure you don't eat or drink anything for two hours before bed."

Damian gave a small amused smirk. "Um, no, I'm the year I'm supposed to be. I just look a bit younger. Though, I was rather short back then. Maybe you just didn't see me over your cauldron," he joked.



OOC: Ah... yes. Um, Dame kinda magically aged a year without explanation. So, technically, he did start out a year younger, but he isn't a year younger, now. We kinda all just squint and pretend nothing odd happened.

Shaking her head, Frances answered back in the simplest manner she could ever do, "What if my situations are worse? I always avoid nap time. The dreams are still there. Every time I sleep. They're there." she smirked with a shrug, accepting the consequence in full manner, and resumed, "Works for me."

The Slytherin frowned after a second's notice and contemplation, coming into a conclusion that she has yet to leave her beloved muffins for two hours before going to bed, rather the exact irony of yesterday's dream. Where, she desired for death through starvation. What she said to the Gryffindor was right, the world is upside-down now.

"Oh..." she began, raising an eyebrow, more confunded than ever, and stuttered, both of her eyebrows into a deeper furrow, "Then... why... uh... I... don't get it. What? How... come?"

And with a nod, she was dumbfounded, still, not that a coward to give up asking, "Have you drunk a potion or something? Brewed something? Because seriously, I know I've seen you before with Juliet. You were a first year while I was a second year." she paused and smacked her lips, "Or... because I missed fourth year..."

"Keep it to three doses, then," Damian advised.

The boy raised an eyebrow at her. "No... If I wanted to skip a year, I would have just passed the exams and skipped a year. Taking aging potions at our age can have adverse effects on growth.

"J.J. is my housemate, and my friend. Of course, you've seen me with her." Damian shrugged. "You're mistaken, or just remembered wrong. I'm fifteen, my birthday's in August - I'm supposed to be fifth year."

Torn between the need to nod and to shake her head, the Slytherin remained silent instead, no any other choice, and extended a hand towards the boy, "Just give it to me. I'll do whatever I want with it." she sighed, pushing her dark thoughts into that sack of hers in her brain, hacking for some sort of presence of goodwill and patience, in denial of overdosing. She'd hope not to. She can't. She won't. Not again.

"Fine. You have your own reasons. And I have mine." Frances mumbled, shrugging her shoulders, "And I'm not even sure if I was on my brink of sanity then. Before. Three years ago. Whatever."

The narrowing of Damian's eyes was so minute that the action might have been imagined. The very slight hesitation before he handed over the vial could have also been a trick of a person's mind. "It's your potion," Damian uttered noncommittally.

He refrained from further comment, gazing placidly at the girl. In a way, it was flattering that she believed he had skipped a year - he had certainly contemplated doing so; most of his classes were insufferably dull. Still, that wouldn't explain his age. If he had skipped a year, he would have had to magically age a year, as well. Damian was fairly certain he'd had remembered going through such measures.

"It's curfew, now," Damian stated, instead, glancing at the clock. "I'm on rounds up on the sixth floor. Cromley's starting in the dungeons, but he doesn't do anything. Leonid's first and second floors, though. I'd take the back way to avoid him. He catches you, he'll assign you detention, even it is only a couple minutes past.

Good night." He gave a parting wave and turned to leave.

Shrugging, the Slytherin pocketed the vial and gave one last stern look at the boy. At what seemed to be, a boy who had magically and unknowingly skipped an age or a year. Well, it's just a guess isn't it? It could be true.

Still, that's what she believes in. Something fishy is better going on.

"Prefects." Frances muttered unintelligibly and started her way out the room, rotating her ankles about and walked silently across the wooden floor, taking a final glance at the mysterious Hufflepuff before disappearing into the darkness of the cold night.