Might as well face it: you're addicted to love.

The clatter of water against the slate roof tiles was what first roused Daedalus D’Eath from the slumber that had eluded him until the clouds had grown swollen with moisture. The uneven tiles that sat upon the roof sent the water spurting this way and that, uncontrolled but laden heavy with kinetic energy that was surely, reluctant to be expelled. The sound had the appeal – or lack thereof – of tin pots being banged upon in the same erratic manner and the weariness that had afflicted the young man since time immemorial. His eyes opened in a gradual way, never really truly blinking back but never really falling shut again either.

Around him, the emerald and coal covers were wound around his legs, cocooning him and preventing his movement. His fingers felt for his hair, his face, as he woke from nightmare into a pseudo-hell that he had been allowed to forget for Christmas. Yet, here again he was and his side hurt; just beneath his ribcage. Yet, for now, Daedalus paid it no mind, well aware that the smart of his skin was another bruise. He did not allow it the attention it demanded of him and instead placed it away in a box within his mind and cast it somewhere, into one of the deep chasms that he kept for such realisations in the din of rainfall in the dark morning that the dungeons had drawn out for him.

Untangling himself from the silken sheets, Daedalus lifted himself hesitantly from the bed, careful to not misplace himself and cause harm. The softness of the rugs over the stone floor was enough to make his eyes fall closed again, the contemplation of curling up there before the crackling, flickering fire too much yet not enough to make him do it. Instead he trudged across the room, his blind hands gradually found the brass doorknob that fronted the barrier between the bathroom and the bedroom; and, once said barrier was crossed, Daedalus began his morning ministrations in a somewhat fruitless effort to rouse himself from the bleariness of fatigue.

The bang and slap of cutlery and plates set ripples of distaste rumbling up Daedalus’ spine. He paused in the doorway of the Great Hall, taking a moment to observe what his mother would have referred to as animals at the watering hole. Truly, it was distasteful and Daedalus was in no mood to forgive any of them for it. The young man drifted instead towards the Slytherin table, taking a seat in the less populated area, finding that the fruit bowls had been left untouched and the bowls of muesli mostly abandoned in favour of the fried food found further up the table. Daedalus was certainly far more content with this but did rise once more for the syrup, but after, settled comfortably with the Daily Prophet spread out beside his morning meal.

Sundays never provided much in the way of news. The Lord’s Day required it to be somewhat positive though Daedalus did notice that a handful of Muggles had been murdered in what was suspected to be work of a Greyback; they could never leave that out. Now, while Daedalus was not religious per se, he did like the idea of faith but that did not make him any more willing to subscribe to it. Death had a handy way of expelling that from him but he could not help but notice a handful of Hufflepuffs were speaking quietly about mass, their colouring rather Mediterranean. Daedalus ignored them. Their friends were far more rowdy, talking loudly about love potion that had been released into Hogwarts somewhere.

Daedalus sniffed disdainfully at the notion and reached for a slice of toast, languishing his attention upon the newspaper instead of deigning to listen into the nonsense upon which Hufflepuffs thrived.

Fools, all of them.

Audra was up unusually early. It had become some sort of strange habit. She'd be awake around seven in the morning. Already or still, was a good question, but she was awake.
For some reason, this was one of the already mornings. She had gone to bed late, but somehow, she was up. Audra suspected it was the rain, or maybe, the headache, but it didn't matter anymore. She was wide awake and not able to sleep anymore. So was siting there, slowly munching bananas or whatever munchable that happened to be in reach of her hand. She was re-reading American Gods and laughing inwardly, not paying any attention to anything that happened around her. She was in her little, carousel and mythology driven world, never rising her eyes, never really looking around. Word after word the book was coming to it's end and Audra felt that twinge of saddens that comes upon a person when an interesting story ends.

She grabbed one last cookie (they had been exceptionally tasty and she had eaten most of them alone), read the last chapter and set the book down with a sigh of satisfaction. She raised her eyes, only to realize that it was much lighter outside now, than when she had started. And, there was the most beautiful man in the world, sitting across from her. He was the perfect mixture of beautiful, sad, imperfect and distanced. He wasn't one of the flock. He was a poet, he was a dreamer. He'd open the doors for her and they'd swoon over the ballroom, charming everyone, with his beauty and his brain and the way she'd be the perfect match for him. He was perfect. He wasn't Prince Charming, or even a Prince, while we're at that, but Audra didn't like princes anyway. His red hair would look beautiful in sunny Saturday mornings, his freckles would be maps of beautiful stories.
How come she had never noticed him before? He was made for her. Maybe he was just visiting and will be gone tomorrow? And her chance for a perfect life, filled with happiness would be ruined?

Audra had gotten it. The love potion. And her mind turned in to a silly, poetic jumble of "ohmygodhe'ssosprettyandperfectandwitty". To be fair, she had gotten quite a lot of the potion. The really tasty cookies that Audra had been happy munching away? Do you remember them? They had been poisoned. And she had eaten the whole bowl. But, hey, let's not ruin the surprise for her. Because, obviously, she didn't know yet.

At the thought of him being just a visitor, she jumped to her feet, finding her way around the crowd, so gray and boring in comparison to him. Audra walked around the table she had been sitting at and sat herself at the next one, right in front of him. How come I have never seen you? You seem to be the only sane person around here. Audra said nonchalantly, weaving her hand around. She still had enough sense not to start off with a cheesy pickup line. Still. Not for long.
I mean, all the useless chatter about grades and parties, and fashion. And then there is you. Who are you? She asked, leaning in to him, her elbows on the table, eyes wide and unblinking, her best "flirtatious" smile and a shugarsweet voice. Up close he was even more intoxicating. He was beyond perfect. He was worthy of gods.

p.s. I figured that the potion shouldn't be that strong, but I want this to be bad. I want this to be as bad as it gets. ^_^

Letters arrived the usual way, in a hail of parcels and envelopes which depended solely on the aim of the mostly dopey owls that were only interested in the treats that they procured at the table with their masters. Oriana, Daedalus’ owl, was in no such mood for familiarity and landed next to him, instructing him wordlessly to remove the letter from her leg before nipping him on the finger for taking so long and setting away again, heading for one of the open windows which would allow her the freedom of the outside world. Daedalus openly watched her go, his fingers absent-mindedly twisting around the letter, feeling for its contents. Sometimes, he wished he could fly. Not with a broom though: with wings, great, feathery wings. But it was not to be, clearly.

Once the owl had disappeared, Daedalus took a moment to look at the front of the envelope. Immediately, his heart dropped into his stomach and his lip curled involuntarily at the realisation that it was a letter from his father. Daedalus eyed the candles flickering in the air, providing unnecessary light that was dwarfed by the natural light peeling through the windows. Should he burn it, he wondered. Perhaps later, when the damage is done and a great perverse joy could be attained from the ignition of parchment and ink. He tucked it into the pocket of the blazer he wore, determined for now to forget about it, and returned to his meal and the article about riots in Spain.

The peace that Daedalus had attained would not linger for, soon enough, he was joined by a blonde, a Hufflepuff he was guessing, who was ... staring.

Daedalus did not raise his eyes to meet her somewhat wild gaze. He shuffled a little in his seat, put off by the girl who he neither knew nor understood, and tried to concentrate on the article. It was only when she spoke that Daedalus had to admit defeat and look up, finding before him a blonde of questionable attractiveness that was quite sweet in her own right but had the wild eyes that he suspected her of. Daedalus’ own eyes narrowed at the girl, his eyebrows furrowing down over them. What on earth, he thought, would she want to do with him? Nothing, he supposed. The Hufflepuffs had probably just grown something in Herbology that they were trying out on this unfortunate soul.

Recoiling somewhat from her rabid deliverance of speech, Daedalus did not move to close his newspaper. He instead lowered his gaze back to it, displaying openly his desire for her to leave and leave him in peace. Yet, that did not stop him from replying.

“I should think so,” he murmured dryly. “I pride myself on my sanity. You should work on yours.”

Silence reigned, blessedly, for a moment but again, Daedalus was interrupted and he found he had been reading one line over and over, never making it quite to the next.

Sitting up, Daedalus turned now and looked at the girl, his jaw set and his irritation flaring within him somewhat unnecessarily. She was only talking to him, after all. But no one really talked to him and he them so he was breaking one rule, and she another. How terribly rude. Yet, Daedalus did like the sound of his own voice and he did like to make others feel foolish so to continue on with a charade that her friends could well overhear, no doubt, would amuse him for hours to come.

Daedalus looked around, searching for inspiration for a name. “Candlbar...” he said quickly, finding the candles, taking a bite of his toast as he did so. Swallowing, he exclaimed: “Crunch! Yes, Candlebar Crunch. And you are?”

Audras eyes widened. His voice was lovely. She was absolutely positive, that this one would have been her prince Charming, the mr. Right, if she had ever looked. TO be fair, Audra hadn't. And if she ever did start looking for the guy, Slytherin table wouldn't be the first place for her to look. And it's a pity. There was a chance she would miss him.
She blinked her eyes rapidly. "You should work on yours". He seemed to distaste her. I mean, there she was - in front of the perfect man, and he distastes her. Was it her hair? Maybe he preferred girls with black hair? Or maybe her Lithuanian accent was too tick? Or maybe he actually knew her and the fact that she was a failure at magic? Oh, why, oh, why was she so lame? For a moment Audra wanted to cover her eyes and run away, slamming all the doors in the way and trowing herself in the comfort of her own bed.
But then again. She was charming. She was beautiful. And he... He was made for her. They had just started off on the wrong foot. I'm working on it. Believe me, it's hard to stay sane while mingling with those people. So, I decided to change the people I share my breakfast with.

Candlebar? Audra asked, adjusting her hair, to cover her surprise. What a lovely and unusual name. She flashed a white teethed smile and extended her hand over the table. My name is Audra Ugne Imbert. She considered stating her house and year too, but then again, she was at the Slytherin table and if you didn't know that - newsflash - Slytherin and Hufflepuff doesn't get along. Candlebar wouldn't mind, surely, but the people around could. And that would cause a scene. And other girls would have reasons to notice this lovely and Audra wanted him all to herself. Is there something new going on in the world? the girl asked, reaching for a croissant.

She should start wondering what was it that she was doing and why, right about now, but she wont. She was too preoccupied with the foolish feeling of being in love, imagining how his lips felt, imagining what he would say if she did this or that. Audra wasn't used to being in love, even less so - being in overdosed potion induced love. So she didn't have many reasons to be actually thinking about this. It all felt so natural for her. His face was nagging her a bit, tough. The more she looked at him, the more she got the feeling, that she had seen him, in fact. And many times, just that she hadn't paid any attention to him. Why? Where had she seen him? Maybe he was a famous wizard, maybe even an actor or a model? Audra never paid much attention to people of that sort. That must be it. She had seen him in the magazines. She wasn't sure which ones and why, but, surely she hadn't been the only one to notice how perfect he is. Thinking of that, Audra tried to occupy more space, so less people would see him. She even let out her hair, so she would cover more of him. Mine. Only mine. My precious.

I'm having so much fun with this

It wasn’t often that Daedalus attracted the attention of females. Usually, he found he attracted the strange ones and he had this uncanny feeling that he’d managed to do the same here. Now, while he did not find this character particularly attractive, he did have to admit that the blonde hair and small features were quite endearing. Not that you’d find him admitting it aloud of course; more to himself as he bit through the toast in his hand. If he was to be honest, he didn’t actually mind the girl tittering beside him but the fact that she did so was slightly unsettling to the self-imposed loner.

Peering over at her, Daedalus was amused to find that she did not take his comment as he had thought. He shook his head and put his toast down on the plate before him. Bringing himself round a bit, Daedalus looked at the girl more steadily, wondering again why on earth she would bother with him – and he her, for a matter of fact.

“Person,” he corrected dryly. “As it is, I was nearly finished with my breakfast so I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else.”

Daedalus’ eyebrows rose. She believed him. A slow smirk fell across his mouth and he moved a little bit closer to her, grasping her hand with his and shaking it firmly, lingering for a few moments before dropping back.

“What a beautiful name,” He complimented smoothly. “I don’t know,” he replied in response to her last question. “Is there?”

Henri had a bad tendency to hop from table to table in the Great Hall. Though she had found her lackeys, as she had hoped to on her arrival, she had not found the core group she had wished for. This stirred her restlessness and kept her from being able to commit to any of the simpletons who had pledged themselves for her. Though they typically waved her over any time she entered the hall, she always chose a spot among a new group, regardless of House or age, to try and find what she was really looking for.

The Ravenclaw had found a spot at the Slytherin table, near a boy who seemed to prefer his own company. On any other day, Henri might have found reason to pester him. But he looked like one of those who chose solitude based on a true desire, rather than the ironic sadism that spurred those who wished for company and attention to damn themselves to solitude. And, more importantly, she had barely taken her seat when post was delivered, and she found herself fortunate to have a letter from both her brother, his girlfriend, as well as what looked like a very generous care package of what she assumed was her cigarettes and candy.

A bright beam of sunshine approached and Henri vaguely noted that she approached the sullen hermit next to her. The little bird tittered jovially to the hermit crab, who procured his claws and grumbled back. Henri listened to the conversation with the idle attention of someone forced into eavesdropping, as she opened her package, revealing the cigarettes, a small bottle of medicinal alcohol, some new earrings, a flask of Firewhiskey, and tons of chocolate. She loved Benny and Zanna.

She began to unroll the letters when the boy suddenly supplied his name. Henri's head jerked up as she looked at him, a shrewd, knowing look on her face. The obvious lie seemed lost on the little bird however, who continued to moon her praises on him. Henri smirked to herself and turned her attention back to the letters, pleased now with her choice of spot.

Hogwarts had no television, but who needed sitcoms when you could witness an odd couple such as the one she had seated herself next to.

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