The Burrowing of a Badger

It was mid-afternoon on a typical Tuesday, and Francesca was incredibly glad to be done with classes for the day. She'd just had Defense Against the Dark Arts, and was an odd cross between pleased and frustrated by the events of the day's lesson.

Defense was by far the girl's worst class due to her complete inability to do well when it came to practical applications. No matter how hard she tried, the spells taught always seemed to be just a small step beyond her ability. Cesca hadn't managed to produce a single result the entire class, no matter how clearly she pronounced the spell's incantation; leading to her frustration. On the other hand, she'd gotten an O on an assignment that had been handed back, which was a step above her usual Exceeds Expectations on DADA essays.

Cesca was headed back to her dormitory, an unusual occurrence considering the time of day. Other than at nighttime, the blonde tended to spend little time in Hufflepuff territory. The badger house was a terribly friendly group, not that Cesca had anything to really compare it to, and the teenager found it all a little unsettling.

Her favorite place in the Hufflepuff Basement, other than her bed, was a tiny little nook in the back corner of the Common Room. The nook was a small indentation in the wall, hidden between a table and an old bookshelf. Someone had long ago thrown a beanbag into the cubby, and Cesca curled up there every so often. The witch had never seen anyone else in the spot, and for some unfathomable reason, it pleased her greatly.

Padding softly down the half-flight of stairs to her dormitory, the Malfoy smiled slightly to herself. The lack of homework to be done that night had been a very welcome surprise. Turning the doorknob of her door and pushing it open in a single practiced movement, the teenager slipped inside the room and shut the door smoothly behind her.

Eyes automatically moving toward her area of the room, Cesca froze. Her roommate Alisha was digging through a trunk that was most certainly hers. Francesca knew that, because the trunk in question was her own. Letters and clothing were scattered all over the floor, and the blonde momentarily forgot how to breathe.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Cesca asked, voice colder than ice and sharp as the spikes on the tail of a Hungarian Horntail. Never had the Hufflepuff felt so exposed.

((OOC: I had way too much fun writing this ))

Saving lives was hard work.

No, really. There were long, angry rope welts scored down the entirety of her arms, purple bruises on her abused knees, not to mention scraped knuckles- all a consequence of vaulting off ledges and dangling over the Astronomy Tower to save a Slytherin boy. And to top it all off, her whole skin seemed to be shrunk tight over her overlong, gangly skeleton- a natural consequence of dry winters and a girl who simply couldn't be fussed to put on moisturiser.

It wasn't like Alisha didn't care for personal grooming- oh no, she cleaned up rather well when she fancied it. But seriously, would you really spend an hour copiously applying Dr Sleakazy's Glowing Skin Moisturiser while there was a magical castle to be explored? She had half-forgotten the secret passages and all the doors that pretended to be walls- and was determined to rediscover them all before the week ended.

Worst of all, the reason she had to go around flinging herself off towers to save knights in distress inspite of being a witch: she couldn't quite find her wand.

Of course there was the maple wand, and it was brilliant at Charms and all that; but Alisha found herself at sea without her trusty sycamore. You tended to bond with a magical piece of wood after it had been through three skirmishes in foreign countries (and a fight with a moody badger) with you. So here she was, kneeling on the floor in naught but a white school shirt that reached mid-thigh, flinging object after object out of her dorm-mate's trunk in search of her wand.

Why the dorm-mate's and not hers? Because Alisha had the sneaking feeling that Miss Buttercup-Curls didn't adore her as much as the rest of the inhabitants of Hogwarts. She wouldn't use the word dislike. It was a very strong word.

Yes, Alisha was highly observant that way.

And yes, she'd misplaced her uniform too, in case you were wondering. However did you guess?

Alisha tossed yet another sculpted/engraved thingy over her shoulder, hands scrabbling through clothes restlessly. The object landed with a crash, fairly reminiscent of breaking glass. She couldn't be much bothered, half her mind was still occupied in brewing up a plan to sneak into the Headmistress's Office. Saving a Slytherin boy from dying by falling from fifty feet and cracking his skull: was surely very heroic. Heroic enough for the Hat to finally admit, after hundreds of altercations that Alisha had initiated by breaking into the Office- that it had made a mistake in Sorting her. Barmy old codger.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Eating a Pygmy Puff in Lithuania; what does it look like?" The irritated words escaped her. Alisha's eyes scanned over a piece of parchment, letter apparently, that she had unearthed from the bottom of the trunk. Said trunk which was now absolutely empty. Darn......it wasn't here. All that work in vain.

She got up to her feet, knees creaking in protest from being bent too long, shirt hem whispering about the skin of her thigh, tickling slightly. She scratched the area absentmindedly; then turned.

Aw crap.

"Ehrm....." Alisha extended her hand, acutely aware of the crumpled ball of parchment lying innocuously on her palm. The word AWKWARD seemed to be floating in the air between them. The corner of the 'A' bumped off Buttercup's nose. "Your....letter?"

Cesca had always avoided interacting with Alisha Merchant. Well, when it came down to it, Cesca circumvented doing most things that involved other people as often as possible. Her housemates had long stopped being surprised when the girl didn't do homework with the rest of them, or wish her dorm mates goodnight as the others did.

But Alisha Merchant had always been in a class of her own. On Cesca's very first night at Hogwarts, as soon as she'd gotten over and accepted her house placement, the girl had made a list. She hadn't learnt until later that lists were something of a trend within her family. Whenever stressed or unsure, especially when other people were involved, Malfoy's made lists. She'd found one in her brother's dorm during her second year; the list had been at least three feet long and entirely dedicated to Albus Potter. Cesca hadn't forgotten about it, just incase she ever needed another piece of blackmail. The blonde had even found a list written by her father a few years back, on possible tactics he could use to handle a particularly annoying third cousin. Cesca's list, had been about her housemates.

The young girl had jotted down what little she knew about the Hufflepuff Prefects, inscribing in flawless copperplate which of them would be the easiest to manipulate. She hadn't known much about the boys in her year, having only had one meal to observe them, but she'd taken notes on them too. Brody Smithson had looked to be the most sensible of the lot, but it was also quite possible that he was simply the calmest under pressure. The boy with the last name that sounded like the word ballad had seemed both crude and unintelligent to her eleven year-old mind, and Cesca had written that she hoped he'd grow up.

Most of her roommates had been easy enough to peg. They were shallow, boring, and ordinary; classic examples of why her house had gotten the reputation for being the place were the leftovers got dumped. They'd be annoying, but Cesca had been positive that they'd leave her alone given enough time.

The Malfoy had been completely correct looking back. Brody had been the most sensible male in her year until he'd transferred to another school. John Ballat had been a right mess until he'd gotten over himself and grown up, and most of the girls in her dorm were mindless and pathetic, their biggest problem in life being that they were all crushing on a 5th year Gryffindor named Dan.

Merchant, was another story entirely. At first glance, Cesca had grouped her in with the rest of the girls. It hadn't taken her long to reevaluate that decision, however. Alisha was different, and not in a good way. The other girl was ridiculously naïve, more so that Cesca had been at half their age. But there was something in her eyes sometimes that reminded the blonde of Scorpius in the presence of their parents. And so, over three years later, Alisha Merchant still remained an unknown. Still no more than a dark inked-in question mark on Cesca's old list.

"Yes, that is my letter," she responded coolly, in a tone that was almost but not quite sarcastic. She was tempted to continue, add how of course that was her bloody letter considering that it had come from her trunk and had her name written on the front. She didn't though, because Cesca knew herself well enough to be aware that she wouldn't be able to restrain herself. Her words would come out irritated. They'd give away her feelings, her emotions. Cesca needed to loose her temper right now like she needed a hole in the head. That is to say, she really really didn't.

Taking a deep breath and then running her tongue over her bottom lip, Cesca caught Alisha's eyes and bore into them with her own. "Care to explain what, exactly, you were doing scavenging through my trunk?" the blonde asked with a single raised eyebrow, striding past the other Hufflepuff and elegantly snatching the letter out of her hand as she did so.