What Connected Us All

The Party

That Saturday Farren is the first to awake in the dormitory (she always is). It doesn't fit her personality to be an early-riser. Her "type" is languid and should attain the proper amount of beauty sleep. But it is as though some part of her does not allow her mind to rest.

Farren looks over to Celia. She is an early riser, too, and will probably wake soon. Celia looks so much prettier asleep. For once there is no permanently wounded expression on her face. And she isn't trying like she does while conscious.

It's not that Farren doesn't like Celia; in fact she is the only girl Farren can truly stand. But she sees the glaring flaws in her friend, and wishes to eliminate them.

This tendency of bettering people could be taken as arrogant or charitable - and Farren could argue for it both ways. But she could teach Celia how to fit in without having to loose a part of herself. That is something that comes so easily to Farren.

The blonde goes to the full length mirror beside the cabinet and examines her reflection.

Things always did seem quite easy for her: she is decently pretty, naturally fit, people yearned for her presence (and it would be churlish to say otherwise). But they don't know, do they? Because truthfully, she does not want them to know. Farren's greatest fear is that one of them would suddenly realize how very damaged and unlovable she really is. That her reign as the intimidating one would end. Will she always be this object that is nice to look at, but which you put away once the glamour has faded, never to resurface again?

XXXXX

"Morning, Ren." Celia takes the seat beside her only half an hour after Farren had entered the Great Hall.

"Hello," she says, smiling at her. "And how was your first week? We've hardly spoken. I reckon we've only got, what, three classes together?"

Celia agrees with dejection. "I've missed you. My brother was a nightmare over the summer! I think he's hit puberty. Suddenly he wants to meet the good-looking blonde girl in the pictures I take home."

She throws her head back, laughing. She has a loud laugh that may be slightly shrill at times. It is the laugh of a child before it is scolded into silence. "I do hope you mean me."

They chat, exchanging summer stories. It is primarily Celia who speaks, considering how empty Farren's summer had been. Her family has the means and money to travel; but her father rarely spent time with her in their proper house, let alone in other countries. Reciting her lone trips to France and Italy would've tortured Farren, who'd never quite admitted to her family's (if you could call it that) condition.

She is saved by the appearance of Grace, Alexia, and Jillian.

After Jillian makes a vulgar grab for oatmeal on the table, she turns back to Alexia. "What were you saying before?"

"Well I was asking whether you think I should give in to McLaggen and shag him."

Farren sees all the girls go into pensive states.

She scoffs openly. "Tiverius McLaggen? You can't be serious, Alexia. Not only is the bloke a year younger than you, but he has got about as much intelligence as a retarded chimpanzee. And he probably comes so fast you'd be pregnant before you could even perform the contraceptive spell -- the blundering idiot that he is."

At this all the Gryffindor girls at the table titter and giggle. They enjoy these little rants Farren would often find herself going off on.

But Alexia looks hurt. "But I like him--"

"Yes, yes. He makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside and you don't want to loose him, right?"

The girl wants to object, but Farren cuts her off again. "The point is, you are much too beautiful, love. You deserve more than that little boy thrusting into you. We can find you someone better.

"...But I mean, what do I know? Go for it if you really want to."

Had she been a bit harsh? Yes, but it's nicer than the disappointment Alexia would feel after the deed was done. See? All for the greater good.

Farren finishes her breakfast and rises from the seat.

"Where are you going?" Celia asks.

"I fancied a walk around the lake. Want to come?"

It is uncommonly warm for September. Several people mill about the lush green grounds, some even daring to dip their feet into the lake. Amongst them is the group that calls themselves the Marauders.

Farren feels herself blush slightly at the memory of her outburst a few nights prior. She despises blushing.

Sirius grins, spotting her from his position on the rock near the lake.

She returns it with a slightly raised eyebrow. He's quite good-looking in the sunlight.

And, after standing, he walks over to Farren. "Have a good sleep that night?"

"That would depend on whether you consider three hours a good sleep."

Sirius makes a sympathetic face and chuckles. "No, I don't. But listen--" he becomes serious, as though getting down to the real business. "The boys and I were going to nick some Firewhisky tonight and have a little get-together in the abandoned Divination classroom on the 7th floor. Would you like to join us?"

Farren is intrigued despite herself. "And how would you be obtaining said Firewhiskey?"

A half grin tugs at his lips. "I'd tell you but..."

"But you'd have to kill me?"

He looks mockingly upset. "What a horrible thing to suggest of me." Then Sirius leans forward to whisper softly into her ear. "How could I ever harm anything remotely so beautiful?"

"Can my friends come?"

Farren silently congratulates herself at seeming so unperturbed. And she mentally sends a congratulations to Sirius as well. Good touch. He'd almost had her.

Sirius looks at Celia, seeing her for the first time. "'Course they can."

Then with that she bids him goodbye -- a little briskly -- and makes way to the edge of the lake.

Another boy Farren vaguely recognizes to be in her Potions class approaches them next.

"We should get started on the paper soon," he states, rather more bluntly than a normal person would.

It is only then that Farren remembers the assignment Professor Slughorn had given them to work on together in the previous lesson.

"Well I can't tonight," she blurts out, then quickly scans her brain for an excuse. "I have to..." But the words do not present themselves. For the first time ever Farren Graham is at a loss for an excuse. She is quite astonished.

"You don't need to lie," and the twitchy boy shoots her a less than friendly look. "Tomorrow, in the abandoned Divination classroom on the 7th floor."

She nearly laughs. For being described as abandoned the classroom is sure used often.

"I pity you Ren," Celia says, looking disdainfully at the greasy haired boy as he strode back toward the castle. "Out of everyone you got paired with the most socially retarded kid. And for the rest of the year, too."

"What!" Farren exclaims. "I thought it was only for this assignment."

"Nope." Celia laughs, but stops abruptly when Farren trips her purposefully.

"Hey--!"

"I'm so glad my imprisonment humors you," she says sourly, but this only makes Celia laugh harder. "What's his name anyway?"

"Snape... Severus Snape, I think."

Dear Lord, even the name sounds alienated.

But Farren cannot help but be only minutely put off by the news. For once her Saturday night would not go to waste. She is in desperate need of a good laugh, which the Marauders could surely provide. And truth-be-told Farren wouldn't mind having Sirius Black's hands upon her. She wouldn't mind kissing him while his fingers danced along her arms and legs and neck.

A sudden laugh bubbles from her lips, and she clasps Celia's hands playfully. "Are you aware of how lovely you are, my darling?"

Celia smiles timidly. "I'm not nearly as pretty as you."

The lake glitters and looks painstakingly beautiful. Farren says as much to Celia, not relinquishing her grasp.

"Yes," Celia says in that reserved, forcibly demure voice.

This is one of those flaws so visible to Farren. Celia says this one word, yes, as though she deserves no more words. As though the word alone has taken up enough of Farren's precious time, which Celia is unworthy of.

But for now Farren ignores it, basking in the wonderful sensation of this particularly good Saturday morning. Yes, she'll worry about that later. For now she pulls Celia closer to the ledge. "Would you jump with me?"

The brunette looks horrified. "Into the lake? Are you mental? It'll be freezing!"

"Oh stop being a kill-joy. Just think of how wonderful that water would feel on your body." And as demonstration Farren runs her nails along the bare skin exposed on Celia's arms, smiling impishly.

"Fi--Ahhh!"

Fine is what Celia had been about to say. But Farren does not allow her to say as much, because she has sent them both leaping into the particularly cold water. Farren admits that it is indeed frightfully cold. And it remains so. Even as she joins in with the scandalized laughter from the audience they'd attracted, watching Celia huff onto dry land in sopping clothes.

But it really did feel magnificent to have the water glide along her skin.

XXXXX

Farren sits next to Alexia, who is inspecting herself in a hand-held mirror and reciting her flaws. She thinks it quite hilarious that, while doing this, Alexia applies even more make-up to the gobs already plastered on. If her intent is to look good, she should probably avoid resembling a clown so perfectly.

But glancing at Celia, Farren feels quite proud of herself. Her friend's normally bland brown hair has been highlighted beautifully with a spell of Farren's own invention. The make-up is so subtle that it could almost pass for natural. She is positive Celia would get one of the more attractive boys tonight if she so chose.

"Hello ladies." Sirius's voice -- she hates to admit -- now sends a little wave of excitement to a certain lower part of her body. "Are we ready to execute our plan?"

The entire Gryffindor 7th year Boy's dormitory traipses down the steps: Sirius, James, Lupin, Frank, Kingsley, and Peter.

"Oi," says James looking around disappointedly. "Where's Evans?"

Farren gives a low laugh. "Now really Potter, did you expect Miss Perfect to attend such a frivolous ceremony? Underage drinking and out of bed past hours? Just be glad she didn't find out and run to McGonagall."

"Right you are, Ren. I suppose our James here will have to make due with all these potentials." Then he winks at her. "Except for one, of course."

Farren resists rolling her eyes with effort. Really, could he try and be more obvious? It'd be a challenging feat. Sirius seems almost incapable of even comprehending the word subtlety. And she cannot help but see the lie in his eyes. Farren recognizes the pleasure he gets when he manages, effortlessly, to win a girl.

And that is why she'll be sure to make him work, if only a little.

The large group is sent in pairs with the guarantee (from James) that they would not be caught by Filch and company, by using certain paths. They trust him, and make their way through the 7th floor. Farren is paired with Sirius, of course, and he continues his relentless flirtation. She plays along.

When the last of the pairs arrive in the Divination's classroom, Lupin magically shifts the desks and chairs to the sides of the room, as well as places a silencing charm on the area. With that done, the Marauders come through with their promise, pulling out cases of Firewhiskey hidden beneath the old teacher's desk.

Farren cannot pinpoint precisely when the music came on, but it did. And somewhere between her second and third bottle she began to dance in a gaggle of girls. She stands back a moment to watch in amusement as the girls try desperately to swing their square hips in an attempt at sexiness. Are they aware of how ridiculous they look?

Though Farren's pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair make people think otherwise, she does have a touch of Hispanic in her. Her mother had been Argentine; and in fact she'd also been a semi-famous model in her country before marrying. She died when Farren was very young. But she can remember dancing with the woman to Latin music that had played from gigantic speakers in their living room.

With the memory vivid, Farren begins to sway and roll her hips to the beat. Her friends squeal encouragement, and the not-so-sober part of her cannot suppress a giggle.

Rather large hands slide across her side and rest precariously low on her hips. A muscular male has pushed up against her from behind. She does not need the whisper in her ear to know it is him.

"You are magnificent, Farren Graham. Do you know that?"

For a moment she thinks that Sirius must actually believe this. For a moment she is fooled. But then she remembers that the world thrives solely upon trickery. Believe in nothing and no one.

Farren enjoys the feel of him. But in the end she cannot allow herself to let go. This type of dancing is the kind of thing she denounced as moronic. It would be hypocritical to continue. So she pulls Sirius away from the clump of dancing masses.

He is smiling, but Farren cannot place what type of smile it is. This bothers her and she stops, attempting to decipher it. But after a few minutes of staring, his chiseled features and gray eyes distract her.

Sirius places his hands gently onto her cheeks. They look almost comical in comparison to the girl's small face.

"It's odd," he says.

"What is?"

"When you're talking -- or doing anything really -- I never notice that you're actually quite little."

Half of her brain knows she should be offended by the comment, but she cannot care too much when he's doing that. That being the whole Sirius Black thing.

He picks her up easily and places her on top of a hard surface.

"The Professor's desk?" Farren says, looking back at him bemusedly. "That is pleasantly kinky of you, Mr. Black."

He laughs. "That's Professor Black to you."

Then Sirius begins to leave a trail of small kisses upon her neck, rising very slowly to meet her mouth. Farren restrains from grabbing his head and doing it for him. And, when he finally does reach her lips, she opens hungrily for him.

There is no denying that Sirius is well-practiced in the department. For someone she'd deemed as unwanted at first, Farren is quite impressed. Though it isn't exactly how an ideal kiss would be, it comes damn near close. Those are his fingers tracing her collarbone lightly. And that must be his hand working up her skirt, caressing her thigh.

Farren suddenly stops, reminded of something. Something else - something metallic - brushing her thigh. The familiar cold takes her. Must this happen every time she is with someone? She yearns desperately for the day when she would learn to suppress this particular sensation.

"What's wrong?" Sirius asks.

"It's nothing," Farren says and continues the kiss.

Author's Note: For those of you who were doubtful about the whole "Farren being Hispanic, yet blonde" thing, I'd like to tell you otherwise. It happens. Trust me. My two sisters and I are all Brazilian and we have blonde hair, pale skin, and blue eyes... So don't go thinking she's a Mary-Sue just yet.