Summoned

Rise was scared out of her wits. She had been called to the Chief Security Officer's quarters. And she had no idea what that could mean. Last time she had seen him, she had told him she would do anything.. and the look on his face. The look made her nervous, made her scared, and he had said she would regret it... and now... he had called her to his rooms. Rise was scared. Rise was more then scared, she was terrified.

Walking up the stairs she held her book bag close to her. She had been in the library before she headed up here, and still had her books with her. Getting to the right door, she stopped in front of it, and sighed slightly, gathering herself and taking a long deep breath, before she knocked on the door and waited.

Anything was an increasingly ambiguous term. It was something that the Head of Security Officer heard slipping from the lips of male and female students alike and since Rise had spoken the crucifying word, he couldn’t help but smirk at those with enough gall to do the same. Anything meant exactly as the dictionary defined: any thing, whatever, something, no matter what. It was literally everything and nothing, anything and everything. Rise had lent herself, in her entirety, to the word. Everything and nothing, anything and everything; whatever, no matter what. That was what she offered him and that was what he intended on taking from her. She’d offered it, too, he hastened to reassure his conscience - or what he had left of one. It was not stealing until he robbed her of something she wished not to give him. He was sure to be able to pry it out of her though. Everything he wanted. She was not a foolish little girl, despite what her appearance would suggest. No, she would do as he requested - especially if she wished to keep her life.

Death was something that Alistair was familiar with. His own personal tragedy should have taught him to empathise with those who also lost loved ones; it should have taught him not to be the cause of their loss. Let’s not assume that it did, children. The twenty four year old had seen more than his fair share of the jet of green light in his few, short decades and more often than not he would be the one casting the spell. He hadn’t learned. Time truly hadn’t taught him any humility - and neither had Azkaban. No, he was not going to be merciful when it came to the poor little blonde werewolf if he could help it. She was a bizarre little creature; lowly, even for a werewolf.

She was also weighing on his mind a fair bit, much to his immediate horror. He had attributed that to the anticipation he felt when his thoughts turned to the evening ahead, though. He could certainly digest her easier in his mind if that was his reasoning. He could make her feel important. He had no intention of romancing her. She had a silly streak - a desire to save people. If he could make her feel as if she was doing that then she would be more than willing to appease him.

Stifling a yawn, Alistair lifted his hands from the murky red water that sloshed up against the sides of the porcelain basin mounted on the tiled wall of his en suite. He brought his eyes up to meet the chocolate brown reflection that stared back at him, the grimace he worse being wiped away and replaced by a smirk. The man sighed impatiently and twisted his torso, craning his neck backwards in order to see the wound he had intelligently managed to reopen within the last twenty or so hours.

A smirk ghosted across his lips and he squeezed the sponge that was sodden and coloured with the blood that had soaked into it. He sighed impatiently and turned to the side, craning his neck backwards to see the extent of the reopened wound on his shoulder. Alistair pursed his lips and sighed once more before dropping the sponge in the basin and pulling the chain of the plug. The water immediately began to rush for the plughole as Alistair turned his attention to sealing the wound up. He did so without great difficulty but he still felt a fair bit stiff afterwards - something that was easily remedied with a potion from the cabinet to the right of the basin.

He couldn’t quite recall when it was he’d received the cut but he could remember clearly the searing pain. It was a form of the Sectumsempra that had wounded him so and he knew that the Auror had taken great delight in inflicting the spell upon him. You would be a fool to believe he hadn’t made the Auror pay for what the man had done but admittedly, it did take some time. It had taken something out of him, that spell, though he couldn’t say it had made him weaker. After all, what didn’t kill you made you stronger didn’t it? Of course it did.

Slipping on, Alistair left the bathroom, pulling the door to behind him. His head snapped up at the sound of a weak knock on the door and finally, the smirk that he was rarely seen without rose up on his lips. Alistair moved around the expensive furnishings, nearly tripping over the rug in his haste to get to the door. Part of him wished it was Zada, the other, Rise. Of course, Zada would give him what he wanted without putting up much of a fight - and she did, often. Rise, he feared, would take some time; and as it was, he didn’t know what he wanted anyway. Yanking the door open, Alistair’s smirk widened upon seeing the little werewolf on the doorstep. He chuckled involuntarily and leaned leisurely against the doorframe, his eyes drinking in her appearance which was mediocre at best. Surely not what he was used to but she was only a child after all. A woman in the Muggle world - just.

“You’re not as stupid as I thought,” he said by way of greeting. Alistair pushed the door open with his foot and gestured for her to step over the threshold. “Do come in, Ms. Lehmberg.”