Nearly Witches

Summer was coming. It was easy enough to tell. You could practically smell it in the air. But the prefect wasn't overtly happy about it, not when summer had had so many negative connotations in his life.

Giving his head a little shake, he continued down the street, the Familiar that he still hadn't gotten around to giving back (Though, Nightmare was spending less and less time with him. She'd probably just never come back one day. He ignored the sudden flux of sadness.) - at his side.

He glanced down at the cat for a moment before dragging his gaze back upwards. And that's when he saw her.

And for a moment, he forgot how to breath. His heart suddenly began hammering in his chest. It was her, unmistakably Monique Lambert.

And she was moving towards him.

Finding himself rooted to the spot, his blue eyes simply widened as he watched the redhead move closer and closer to him, the group of friends she'd been with watching the two of them curiously.

"Well, well, if it isn't little Rousseau all grown up?" she grinned, the look more devious than happy, more sinister than amused.

"L - L -" But the words escaped him. He couldn't even say her name. So his mouth simply flapped open and shut, nothing concrete coming out.

Her grin only widened, her brown eyes flashing. "You still have that same way with words, don't you? I still don't see what people see in you." She shrugged a shoulder, her crimson hair rippling. He hated himself for being enthralled. More so when she caught on, leaning towards him. "I wonder what would happen if they knew?" Monique murmured into his ear. "If they knew that underneath all the ego and bravado, you're nothing more than a sad little boy."

She pulled away, rocking backwards on her heels. "I'm sure you're little fan club would abandon ship. I always told you that them, your friends, they will one day." She hummed softly, moving her purse from shoulder to shoulder. "Maybe throwing roses at them will work."

With a smirk and a little wave, she'd turned away. It was only then that words came to him, suddenly and fast and furious. But by the time Julian had opened his mouth to say them, Monique was long gone.

He stared after her, as he always seemed to do. And just like the first time, his heart, or where it had been before she'd ripped it out all those years ago, hurt.

It was Nightmare that brought him back, tearing him away from his thoughts. He glanced down at her, for a moment just staring before the look in her eyes translated into something. "No," he said, his voice much too weak for his liking. "She - She's not worth it." Shaking his head rapidly, he stared down at her for a moment.

He glanced back in the direction she'd disappeared in before turning around, running through the streets until he came across the store he was looking for. Julian stepped inside and wasted no time buying out the flower store of every rose they had.

With the basket in his hands, he walked, not stopping for anything or anyone until he found himself deep enough in the woods. Propping himself up with a tree, he sat cross-legged, the basket beside him.

Julian pulled out a rose, staring at it blankly for a moment. But it was without hesitation that he plucked the first petal off, tearing it into red confetti and scattering it across the grass. He sung softly as a pile of dethroned stems began at his feet, his head bowed.

"Dès le premier jour, ton parfum enivra mon amour. Et dans ces instants, j’aimerais être comme toi par moment. Mais depuis ce jour, je n’ai qu’un seul et unique regret."

Spoiler:

Ondrea hadn't meant to listen in. She really hadn't. But with her hearing, it was almost impossible. And really. When had she ever encountered Julian Rousseau speechless?

As she continued to listen, a number of things suddenly snapped into place. Missing puzzle pieces now filled in the holes in the picture and everything made perfect sense. Or at least, perfect enough for Ondrea.

The werewolf started on a collision course for the redhead, her face unmistakably lighting up as she drew near. "Monique!" she exclaimed happily. She took the older girl by the arm. "You girls will us excuse a moment, won't you?" Ondrea asked sweetly. "I'll be really quick." She pulled Monique aside before anyone could properly respond.

"Let go of me!" Monique growled, yanking her arm away from Ondrea while trying to maintain her controlled composure while in view of her friends. "What do you want, Miss Stammer-a-Lot?"

Ondrea tsked, ticking a finger in the redhead's face. "I haven't stammered in years." She leaned a bit closer, the movement almost intimate. "And I know you know people don't call me that, anymore. I've a much... different reputation, now."

Monique looked like she had swallowed something particularly sour. "You still haven't told me what you want."

"That's simple," Ondrea responded, tone chill, even as she almost casually reached forward to briefly rest her fingers against Monique's wrist. She smiled; it did nothing to ease the jealousy with which she laced her words. "I saw you talking to Julian. I have a problem with that. See, he's mine."

"Rousseau?" Monique's tone was incredulous.

Ondrea's eyes flashed dangerously. "I don't appreciate your tone," she warned. "Here's the deal. I don't care what the reason, I don't want you talking to him. Don't even speak his name. If I find out you did otherwise. Well," Ondrea reached out to fix the other girl's collar, "let's just say people will be saying some very interesting things about you."

"You wouldn't," Monique gritted out between her teeth.

"Oh, but I would. See, people already know I'm bi--and I don't care nearly so much about my reputation."

"I am not bi!" the redhead hissed.

Ondrea gave a tender smile. "Oh, I know that. You bash people who aren't straight enough to make that perfectly clear. But really, who do you think people will believe? You know how rumors work. People love to watch the mighty fall." She reached out a hand to caress the older girl's cheek. Monique instantly slapped it away. Ondrea's expression turned hurt and the redhead's eyes widened in horror.

"Don't do that!" she demanded frantically.

Ondrea's gaze was downcast, expression still stung. There was humor in her voice. "But I already have, and your friends saw it all. Stay away from my man, or it'll be more than an interesting exchange on the street."

With that, Ondrea turned and walked away, shoulders ever-so-slightly hunched until she was out of view. Drawing a deep breath in through her nose, the werewolf soon picked up Julian's scent. She followed it until she found him. Sitting beside him, she gently nudged his elbow.

"Hey," she said softly. "What'd the roses ever do to you?"

He stopped singing, holding the petal in his hands between two fingers, hardly looking at it. He could've easily continued singing. Switching to English and finishing the song would've been simple, but at the moment he preferred the silence. It reminded him that he was alone. That in the end, he'd always be alone, whether everyone meant to or not.

Julian gave his head a little shake, trying to rid himself of all those negative thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he went back to tearing the petals apart with a newfound ferocity. All of this was her fault. She'd practically ruined his entire life. He'd been happy, a little niave, but happy. Sure, he was happy now, but just one look from her and that had come crashing down.

He tilted his head slightly, the sound of footsteps reaching his ears. Glancing above at the tree's branches, Nightmare simply gazed back at him, mewling softly. He returned his gaze back to the foret, continuing to tear apart roses. Let them come. What did he care? As long as it wasn't Lambert or any of her friends, he couldn't care less.

Offering Ondrea his best imitation of a smile, his gaze dropped back down to the basket of roses, frowning down at it. Nudging her back, the prefect shrugged his shoulders. "I hate roses," he said, his voice cracking. Exhaling slowly, he gave his head a tiny shake. He wasn't going to cry. She wasn't worth it. She hadn't been for almost three years. "And besides, there are worse things to do with my fingers."

He glanced back at her, tossing the petal-less stem away. "You know." It wasn't a question. If she was here and completely unsurprised to see him destroying roses, then obviously she'd overheard his half-sided conversation with Monique. "So," he murmured, looking away from her as he grabbed another rose. "How'd you like Lambert? She's a real sweetheart, that one." Julian laughed, though there was no humour in it.

Ondrea took the basket holding the remaining flowers away from him, taking one out before setting the rest aside. Twisting around, she settled so her head lay in his lap.

"Play with my hair." It was a request, as well as a suggestion. The repetitive movement would serve to continue to sooth him, even while Ondrea would enjoy the luxury of having her hair played with.

Ondrea studied the long-stemmed rose between her hands, a finger lightly playing over the sharpened point of a thorn. "You shouldn't take it out on the roses," she spoke softly, gaze remaining on the flower. "Do you know why roses have thorns? I asked my aunt once--she's a florist. She said it's because they are afraid of getting hurt. I used to wish I was more like a rose when I was girl. At least they try to protect themselves. I was always like those flowers in the grass that everyone tramples on without even noticing." Light brown eyes sought out his. "You shouldn't blame the flower."

The werewolf didn't bother to confirm his statement, her lack of denial confirmation enough. Instead, she wriggled a bit closer, setting the rose aside.

"Never been a fan," Ondrea answered frankly. "Monique is an awful name, anyway. It sounds like something you name those squash-faced dogs that are so ugly, people call them cute to be charitable. Kinda resembles one when she gets all sour, doesn't she?" The werewolf made an exaggerated expression to illustrate her point.

Arm bent at the elbow, Ondrea had wrapped a hand loosely around his upper arm, thumb rubbing soothing against the muscles there. "Don't worry about her, anymore. She should be keeping to her bitchy, sanctimonious self, now."

He glanced over at her, huffing softly but not saying anything as she took the flowers from him. Had he expected any less? Julian had been sure, if someone walked upon him had any intention of staying, they were going to take the flowers out of his possession.

Blinking down at her, he rolled his eyes at her. But it didn't stop the fond grin from slowly spreading across his face.

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured, tossing the rose stem he held into the pile before he curled strands of her hair between his fingers.

"Then tell me, what should I take it out on?" Julian asked, raising an eyebrow at her. Sighing softly, he rubbed at his eyes. "Because honestly, the only other option is hurting my throat." He frowned, rubbing at his throat on impulse. There was another option, the one he ignored steadfastly. He wasn't going to do it. No matter what. If he was going to make promises to himself, he'd might as well keep them.

"You still are a girl," he pointed out, shrugging his shoulders. "Unless there's something you haven't told me?" A tiny smirk flitted across his features before his vision settled on the basket of roses again and he was reminded of just why he was here.

He glanced back at her, his lips twitched, uncertain whether to form a smile or a frown. Settling on pulling his lips into a thin line, he stared blankly down at his hands. "I'm not blaming the rose. It was never the roses fault. It was always mine. For being naive, for being stupid, for being so damn innocent then....All my fault."

Julian let out a little snort of laughter, this time more real and amused. "And when she's angry," he added quietly, memories of her words, harsh and bitter and still sending shivers up his spine, running through his head. "It's like all hell's broken loose."

He tilted his head down at her, his expression blank before his eyebrows knitted together. Blinking at her for a few seconds, his eyes widened. He shouldn't care. Why should he, when she never had? But if he could flip a switch and stop, he would have done so a long, long time ago. "What'd you do?"

Her eyes closed in obviously pleasure as his fingers threaded through her hair. Ondrea was half-certain that a person could get her to do almost anything if they would only play with her hair. Not that she would ever say as much. It was seldom wise to voice one's own weaknesses, after all.

"You could take up a hobby," she suggested, eyes reopening. "Hobbies are good. Or do target spell practice. That's always useful, and satisfying." She rolled her eyes at him, not bothering to point out that she had obviously meant when she was a little girl.

Ondrea pinched him lightly, both in reprimand as well as to draw his attention back to herself. "There's nothing wrong with being innocent. The fault lies with the people who take it away. ... you're not allowed to blame yourself, Jully," she murmured softly.

"Oh, please. Didn't I just say not to worry about her?" the werewolf admonished. "I merely threatened her precious reputation. And I might have misled her in regards to my intentions towards you." She shrugged, clearly thinking it was no big deal.

"You say that like I don't have hobbies," he huffed, continuing to run his fingers through her hair. He was supposed that it was better than pulling petals off of flowers, if only because she was here. But let that thought go unsaid and hummed softly instead. "You know, like star-gazing and music. And I suppose I read enough to call it a hobby, so there, three should be enough." Julian nodded, though he added, "But target spell practise does sound fun. Maybe I'll give it a try."

He frowned lightly, making a large show of rubbing where she'd pinched. Glancing down at his arm, he paused, absentmindedly flexing it. That he'd somehow managed to remain hopelessly innocent despite everything his parents had thrown at him irked him. If they hadn't loved him, why had he expected her to? "It is when you missed every sign, every action, every lie. I don't think I even realized what she'd done and how much it hurt until she hit me over the head with it." He brought one hand to rub his hdad, ruffling his hair.

"Force of habit," he shrugged, meeting her gaze. "I-" never really got over her. "-had a crush on her for years." He shrugged again, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes. "Ah, the reputation. When doesn't it work?" Julian raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "And just what are your intentions towards me, Ondrea Montgomery?"

Ondrea snorted. "Clearly, they're insufficient if they can't channel your emotions enough to prevent you from savaging flowers." She left the other things unspoken and shot him a quick grin. "I'd join you for the target practice, if you'd like.

"Is it?" she said very softly, gaze momentarily slipping into the middle-distance. "I'd rather not blame myself for things like that, personally."

Ondrea dragged her gaze back from wherever it had gone, focusing back on his. She licked her lips, feeling uncertain and suddenly vulnerable in light of the confession she was about to make. But he needed to know that she understood. Maybe then, he would find it easier to not be so hard on himself.

"Lisette was my first crush," Ondrea spoke in the barest whisper, only just audible to human ears. "My parents sent me to Hogwarts because I was acting strangely -- even for me. They thought I was being bullied, but really I just didn't know how to deal w-with li-king a-another girl, ins-stead of a boy. L-l-" She stopped to drag in a calming breath to halt the old habitual stammering. At some point, she'd started looking past him again. When she continued, her voice was a bit louder, but hoarse as well.

"Like normal girls. I never really stopped liking her all that time. When she told me to kiss her..." Ondrea gave a bitter laugh and shook her head. "Merlin, I should've known better."

She poked his side half-heartedly, still not meeting his gaze again. "So, I understand where you're coming from. At least a bit. Even if I am dealing with it differently." She chewed on her lip a bit and swallowed.

"It never doesn't work," Ondrea managed a small smirk. "You're my best friend, Jully. Though, while talking to pug-face, I may have referred to you as 'my man' and told her to stay away. At least once or twice. Maybe." Her impish grin confirmed that she had done just that. She then added sternly, "I won't let people hurt you."

He shrugged a shoulder. "Stars aren't out. Besides, I'd have to go all the way back to school and get my cello. Too much work." Julian sighed dramatically, a tiny smirk worming its way onto his face. "That'd be nice," he said softly, grinning back at her.

Julian simply shrugged, tilting his head back against the tree. It was easier if he blamed himself. At least that way, he could make sure nothing like that ever happened again. Love was simply something that didn't agree with him, familial or romantic. It was one of those things he'd just come to accept.

The boy glanced back at her at the mention of Lisette's name. Whatever he'd expected her to say, it hadn't been that. Wincing, he bit down on his bottom lip, clasping his hands together. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, anything, that could possibly make her feel better. But comforting words had never been his forte, and he failed to come up with anything.

Taking one of her hands in his, he looked down at her. "Drea," he murmured, squeezing her hand softly. "I don't know what to say. But I am sorry, even if it is all done and dead and over." He nodded slightly, though he hated that nothing else to say was coming to mind.

Julian let out a little laugh, shaking his head. "You never fail to amaze me, you know that?" He grinned down at her. "Thank you," he said softly, squeezing her hand again. "And trust me, no one's going to be allowed to hurt you either," he promised, his heart fluttering slightly from his own words. But they were true. He needed Ondrea, and if there was anything she needed from him, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

Ondrea gave him a wan smile. "It's not your fault," she said simply. "I'll forget, eventually.

"Well, I am a rather amazing person," the werewolf quipped with an impish grin of her own. Her face heated at his promise, a bud of warmth forming in her chest. She squeezed his hand in return instead of voicing a reply. She made no move to change her position, content to remain as she was for the moment, just enjoying Julian's company.