GARDINIER, Sabriel Eurora

Sabriel enjoyed fiction. He found passion in the fantastical lands that implored his imagination, and the rich, complicated imagery that swept him off to vast worlds of both magical and simplistic tones. He also amused himself with muggle literature. And, for gripping moments, he felt entirely exposed. He had to wonder if the muggles were as mundane as the Ministry made them out to be. Tales of dragons, unicorns, centaurs and even wizards and witches themselves danced on the pages with alarming precision and often enveloped him with a sense of deja'vu.

This warrior before him seemed to be extracted from a tall tale. Meaty, burly upper arms. A stocky, unyielding frame. Black, beady eyes. Sabriel could never have imagined such monstrosity to be a student, much less one in his own Year. But there he stood, in flesh, and gripping his Firebolt in determined fingers. They weren't even sweating. He couldn't help but feel disappointed; there this boy was, caught red-handed trying to rob him, and he did not even have the audacity to feel apprehension, at the very least.

"I thought you were just being friendly," said Sabriel. He was calm, as he normally was. (He couldn't recall a time at all where he felt genuine anger), "when you asked what kind of broom that was. But honestly, if you were going to steal it, at least take the time to observe my schedule. I always return to my dormitory after Transfiguration. Or are you confident that you will escape with my Firebolt whether I catch you here or not?"

The boy--Sabriel aptly dubbed him 'Golem'--chuckled. It was not a pretty sound. Sabriel sighed once the boy started speaking; he really hated this. All he wanted was to read, just a quick book along with a snack. Was that too much to ask? But yet there is an interruption afoot -- and not a very pretty one. He knew he would never be able to stop the boy physically. And although his wand was a mere 'flick' away, he doubted he would be able to correctly conjure a spell ..

"Che!" 'Golem' scoffed rather disgustingly. "You're talking an awful lot more than you do usually. What? Nervous? You little punk, why not head up to the girl's dormitory and put on a dress?" He laughed loudly then. The punchline was lost on Sabriel himself. Discomfort and exasperation swelled inside him. Unpleasant memories threatened to break his careful mask and present to the bully his distress.

The solution was agonizingly simple. Sabriel raised his wand with a trembling hand. "Accio, broom!"

The broom flew into his outstretched fingers, leaving the bully looking befuddled.

"Immobulus!" 'Golem's' hand stopped in mid-stretch. Sabriel murmured a quiet apology, before stepping forward. It took all his strength, but he was finally able to drag the despondent 4th Year outside the dormitory, an event that left him winded with an aching chest.

From the safety of the cracked door, Sabriel mumbled a counter-spell to negate the effects, slammed the door shut behind him, and locked it. With at least fifteen more minutes to spare, Sabriel slunk over to his bed and allowed himself this brief time of peace, still clutching the Firebolt protectively.