Serpens

Warmed in the sunshine, never felt before,
the gelid Triones attempted vain
to bathe in seas forbid: the Serpent cold
and torpid by the frozen Pole, too cold
for contest, warmed, and rage assumed from heat
bootes, troubled by the heat, took flight,
impeded by his wain.

What can he? Much of heaven remains behind;
a longer distance is in front of him--
each way is measured in his anxious mind.
At first his gaze is fixed upon the west,
which fate has destined he shall never reach,
and then his eyes turn backward to the east.
So, stupefied and dazed, he neither dares
to loose the bits, nor tighten on the reins,
and he remains ignorant of the horses' names.

- P. Ovidius Naso: Metamorphoses

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The common room was quiet and still.

Most of the Slytherins had retired for the night long ago; however, Pansy had lost two days revision to a particularly stubborn cold earlier in the week, owing to her initial refusal to take the Pepper-up, and N.E.W.T.s were looming on the horizon. The fire had died, but she couldn't be arsed to stoke it; a flick of her wand and a simple Incendio seemed too much of an effort. Shivering, she drew her arms around herself for a moment, rubbing her upper arms briskly, and then reached for her Charms notes atop the low-slung table running parallel to the couch; the words swam, her impeccable writing blurring in upon itself. She stared at the parchments blankly. "Shite." She threw the notes down once again, rolling her eyes as the parchment hit the table a touch too fast and skidded across its marbled top and fell over its edge, and curled breezily to the floor. She rubbed at her temples, muttering to herself, tired and cross. "Bloody protean charms."

"Protean charms help you predict and display patterns."

She startled, turning at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Oh," she said, "it's you."

Theodore was studying her, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against one of several marble support columns positioned throughout the dungeons; his sleeves were rolled back and he had pushed them above his elbows, and through the shadows she could see the slightest hint of his green and silver tie licking at his throat.

"Where's your better half?" he asked, amused.

"Fuck off, please," she said lightly, studying her fingernails, which were suddenly beyond fascinating. Is there really anything more lovely than sheer pink varnish? She tried to distract herself. I think not . . . .

"Perhaps the wee lad is off practising his Seig Heil," he countered, unfazed.

She had no idea what he was talking about, so she stared at him silently.

"It's a Muggle phrase," he clarified.

"Oh sod off -- you and your bloody Muggle phrases," she said. He made her angry, always, snaking into her and boiling her blood by his mere existence. "What kind of self-respecting Slytherin takes-" She spat the words. "- Muggle Studies anyway? Go away! You make me sick!"

The corner of his mouth lifted. "I dunno. Probably the same kind of Slytherin who watches things constantly and has a unique opinion, but never does anything of important with it." His eyes bore into her. "A stupid Slytherin. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

"That's complete and utter shite."

"You swear too much."

"Fuck off," she said silkily, putting her hand up. "Yet again."

"Ready for the N.E.W.T.?"

She rubbed at the back of her neck, the fight draining from her. "Mmm," she acknowledged finally, with a resigned sigh. "Getting there."

"Want help?"

She considered him for a moment, then shrugged. "Whatever." He was excellent at Charms.

He considered her for a moment longer, and then used his shoulder to shove away from the column in a subtle display of adolescent masculinity, and sauntered over, sprawling onto the couch next to her; his knee banged against hers as he spread himself across the creaking leather. He drew his wand with a practised air, incanting casually, "Accio notes." Her Charms parchments rained down over them and he gathered them efficiently; licking his thumb, he sorted through them, quickly restoring them to order, and then repeated himself. "Protean charms are for the prediction or the display of unique and specific patterns . . . . "

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