Afternoon

After this gathering in room of requierment, Miseria decided that it was about time to learn some new spells and all other things to protect herself. Also, as Andrew declared himself as a leader, she thought that it was good to have someone who knew something more and just be as a help. For Miseria, leadership was just a nonsence. She didn't want people to follow her leads and act the way she wanted. And so she didn't do as the others told her. She was always by her own, but not most humans like she – Miseria had her own rules.

She held three books in her hands, one of them was hers, and sat down near the lake on a grass. It was perfect and warm, though, not much of a sun. Good for her. Miseria was pale for a reason. It was painful for her to come out in a sunlight and stay out for a long time. But like everyone, even she could get a little tan.

OT: whatever for the first post. I didn't have much ideas. .___.

((Meh, it's ok.))

James Wake rarely took "walks." They were but a mere formality, a waste of time and breath. But on this day, he had been coerced into a drudging trudge along a predescribed line. His usual, veritable fortress of solitude had been invaded, and as only one boy, James Wake could no longer enjoy his silent reading in the common room. People were rather annoying. They had questions, jokes, some even sang. Some would strum their little instruments and erupt into a cacophony of poorly distributed notes with offensive and foul language.

James Wake was forced to take a hike. But he never really felt inclined to walk the full distance. It was no obligation. Just a promise to himself, one that he could easily break. What was the purpose of the walk? Once he returned home, his uncle would pull him into a world of muscle fortification for three months. Not pleasurable, in the least. James was not even comforted by the wind rolling across the school grounds. He spotted a familiar face, and decided to sit beside her, in hopes that she also intended to read.

"Hey Miseria," James said as he sat on the grass besides Miseria Manson.

Not like James, Miseria actually loved to be outside, and read. People in Hufflepuff's common room were always talking, though, but it didn't disturb her. Today was just the day when she didn't want any of the curious questions about her sudden interest in all those spells.
Warm wind made her look actually like a normal human. It added a little blush on her cheeks which only proved that she wasn't the real undead like some of the students thought.

She turned slowly another page, but then flinched when she heard someone greeting her. Pushing her blue hair away, and looked at Wake, who sat besides her. „Hello, James,“ she said. For a moment, she concidered closing the book, but then again, he didn't know that she was in the PA, so that didn't matter. Perhaps, like everyone, he'd think that she was just showing another interest in charms.

"What are you reading?" he asked sincerely. In his mind however, he was drifting off to other thoughts. What would he need to finish once the Common Room freed up? What did he need to review for tommorrow? Were there any reports to write to Majere? What a pain.
James, while waiting for an answer flipping out a textbook of his, the heavily edited Defense against the Dark Arts book. His notes and annotations created bits of paper sticking out about the book in such a manner, the librarian would have flipped. Regardless James Wake cracked open the tome and whipped out a pencil. Maybe there was something else worth adjusting.

Actually, Miseria never waited for this converence with James. They were too different to find a same langage, however, it seemed that both of them were somehow into education. Miseria did this all of her will. She didn't waste much of her time by going outside and hanging out fith the friends or something like that. She loved reading and that was what counted the most. And after little meeting with Chester, she wasn't really concerned about getting further than Khaat's house in Hogsmeade.
„Oh, just spells,“ she replied, turning her face at him. It was nice to see that someone really was into the homeworks. Yet, she had to be careful with him. He was from the Imperium Squad and now, he will probably turn into the Death Eater as well. Sad that such humans were wasted in this dark art, while they could just be helpful for the others. „You have pretty cool hand,“ she said, looking now at his alchemic arm. „Can I see it?“

"I'm not sure if 'cool' is the right term for it," James replied, as he pulled his sleeve back. The Alchemic Arm shone dully beneath the light. The lack of sun lead to a lack of luster as he proffered the faux hand to the girl. "To me, its nothing more than a headache."
Oy! I take that offensively!
The fingers clacked in place as he tried to keep the arm as still as possible. It was difficult to do so, after years of relying on it. At times, James wondered if it was natural to simply accept it. He had formed a symbiotic relationship with the arm, working with it, but never attempting to destroy nor replace it. Was that natural? James certainly hoped not. Being simply human felt too... mundane.

Miseria raised her eyebrows at James' remarc and she carefully took the arm in her hands, looking it from the every corner. Book was placed on the others so that they wouldn't disturb her. „It's a nuisance for you?“ she asked, looking up for a moment at him. She didn't know anything about such things, nor about James, so that her questions might've been really stupid or even too personal. „How did you get it?“ she asked, holding and touching the alchemic hand carefully as if it was able to feel something.

"That's a story I'd rather keep to myself." The hand jerked slightly as if James had remembered something quite painful. "I can tell you why I needed it though." James preferred to discuss his life before the age of 6. Although the memories were painful, at least he could come to accept them. His dead family was dead. Alan Wake, however, was still a living breathing nightmare.

Miseria raised her eyebrow, and let the hand quickly go when it jerked. She didn't know if it was because she held it, or some other reasons. „Oh,“ she said. Yes, it probably was a personal thing, though, she was impressed when he told that he can tell her why he needs it. „Sure,“ she replied quickly. It was always interesting to hear other stories, and right now, James' might be even interesting. Also, there was impressing her the thought that the new people, who she got to know – something always happened to their families. Zakk's mother was dead, and father was in Azkaban. By his words, she could only think that he was close to death or even gone already.

James was relieved that she didn't pry into how he got the arm. That would have been very different than describing his old life. He decided to make it like a story. "I grew up in a little town in Germany. The majority of the population were all werewolves. They all disappeared on nights of the full moon, leaving the children alone at night. I didn't mind really. The wolf howls would comfort us for the first few years. But over time, as one matured, the wolves began to treat you differently. They were wild animals, of course, but when you're six, that doesn't matter as much. On my sixth birthday, they decided I was ready. They took me out to the woods, and they had a huge ceremony. My dad was supposed to be the one who would bite me. So, in the biggest clearing they could find, the adults and older kids lit lights and hung banners. They always treated it like it was some kind of celebration, whenever a kid was ready.

"So, I was brought to this clearing, a six-year-old child. I was a little bit frightened- the sun was setting, and I knew that there was full moon on the rise. Naturally, I was frightened, but it was really cool. There were only a few full-fledged wizards in my town, but they did things that I've only just learned to do. Imagine, watching them create dragons from fire, showing me all the spectacles magic promised. It was mesmerizing at the time..."
James trailed off as he inhaled sharply. He'd said too much, opened too far. Not that it mattered. The werewolves from that time no longer mattered. Just the memory.