A Quiet Library, I Think Not

[Kvistur Harris]

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<FONT font="georgia">The library was a trek away from the dorm room, the young slytherin thought. By the time he had managed to reach the library the boy had lost interest in whatever he had previously planned to do. Probably some dull homework that was pointless and given way too early at the start of term. He had thought that school would be the sort of welcome break and change from homeschooling, where his mother would breath over his shoulder as he did the work. Hoping that she would feel the need to yell at him over a small mistake. Which was why Kvistur was always incredibly careful with his work. Spent a large amount of time on it. He was the youngest of his clan, six elder brothers and him. All sort of competing with one another over whatever they could grapple at. The Slytherin had considered trying out for the team, but had quickly dismissed the idea. He could do that next year. While his family was magical, and Kvistur had a thrill for all things dangerous, he didn't know much about magical sports. Which he blamed everyone but himself for. Maybe that was what he could look up while in the library. Instead of whatever he had previously planned to. Yeah, now he was interested. He made his way into the library glancing briefly at the librarian who sat near the door. Giving a small smirk as he headed further in.

Having always learned things at home, under the guidance of his mother the boy hadn't exactly ever really been into libraries. He knew their function of course, but finding things in it was a different task, but Kvistur wasn't the type to really ask for help. He was much more of struggle until you get it sort of person. He wondered around. Glancing at the students sitting in the library as he went through bookcase after bookcase looking for sports, and there hopefully he would find Quidditch. He smiled to himself as he finally found the sports section. he looked a little harder and then pulled the first book on quidditch he could see and opened it greedily. Ready to read all about Quidditch. He turned, leaning his back against the bookcase, skimming the first pages. He didn't want to be in the library too long. He had no interest in that. As he was reading, he noticed some other person, probably a first year, unsuccessfully get a book down from a high shelf. A total of four books came crashing to the floor with a resounding smack. The person looked panicked, whereas Kvistur found himself smiling. Looking at his book to stop from laughing. "Pathetic" He said, pretending to be quiet, but intending for the person and anyone round him to hear him. He didn't care if the person heard him. He thought they were pathetic, and he wanted them to know it.
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[Moirah Kvalheim]

Technically Moirah was studying in the library; never mind that she was studying her nails. Her Transfiguration essay was so mind-numbingly boring that she was half tempted to test out her Charms and set the classroom on fire. She'd created a nice little alcove of books around her which was pleasant enough, but simply being in the presence of tomes did not an essay make. Everything was irritating her today. Her quill had a split in the feather. She'd splashed ink on an old scroll and accrued a seven knut fine from the school's librarian. Her writing was steadily heading at a right angle to her parchment, and the book she'd just opened fountained dust like a personal vendetta. Moirah shut it with a slap and sunk back into the upholstered leather chair, resigned to people-watching instead. That, at least, was always an amusing pastime.
Students filtered in and out of the library quite slowly since it was a lazy Sunday. Moirah rested her cheek on her hand and followed them with her eyes as they wound their way in and out between shelves. Only the top of her pristinely curled bun could be seen above the pile of books as she stared lazily through the gaps between. After some minutes, the third year was ready to fall asleep when a localised crash jolted her into awareness. Her doze interrupted, Moirah became very cross with the hapless oaf who'd spilled their books, but no one irritated her more than the first year Slytherin who began to mock them. She knew the younger boy's face from the Sorting Ceremony earlier that year, but he may as well have been a Professor for all Moirah cared.
She sat up carefully, took a hold of the wand in her robe pocket and, without regard to any watching students, Leviosa'd one of the smaller tomes on her pile, sending it quietly into the back of the taunting boy's head. Whether or not it hit mattered little to her, so long as the message was received.
"Cretin," said Moirah contemptuously in Danish, then switched to English. "I hope you do not ever find yourself spilling books; I will make sure that more than one person laughs at your misfortune."​

 

[Kvistur Harris]

There was never anything funnier than another persons misfortune, even if it was a little mean. But, Kvistur had six older brothers. The things he was able to suffer through was pretty major. He just could. He thought it was funny because it had happened enough times to him. He liked laughing at others misfortune. It was good for the soul. Now, that the spectical was over, the boy opened the book he had taken from the shelf and then began reading once more. He would've continued quite nicely until something smacked him in the back of the head. He closed the book and looked around him, rubbing the back of his head. He saw a girl, a little older than him, looking straight at him. Well, at least it hadn't taken him long to find the person who had done it. That had been pretty simple. It hadn't hurt too much, but as the girl got to talking he was pretty sure that this just wasn't going to stand. He rubbed the back of his head again, pretending to be unable to focus on her. As if the book had hit him incredibly hard. He took a few steps forward towards where this girl was. Kvistur could take as well as he could give. He wondered if the same could be said about this girl. She looked pretty, but that was at the very back of his young mind now. He wasn't interested in being a friend at all.

"I would never be in a situation like that, because I would never be so" He threw a last glance back to the person who Kvistur had been laughing at. "Pathetic" He really forced this word, almost as if it pained him to say such a thing. Even referencing to the person now. Kvistur met her gaze and gave a small smirk, "Now, what's it worth to you? Getting involved where it's really unnecessary for you to be" Kvistur put a really purposeful pause. Putting the book down on the nearby table, without taking his eyes off the girl. He didn't care if he was being weird, "I mean, all I did was laugh and call him pathetic, didn't know that meant you could have grounds for assault" He smirked at her again. He looked around him. He had the upper hand in this situation, while Kvistur had laughed and called someone a name, this girl had hit him with a book. A poor defenseless first year who was just trying to enjoy the school. This girl, whom he gathered was no first year, would be in a hell of a lot more trouble than him. If he was to pretend it was so much worse than it was.
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[Moirah Kvalheim]

Moirah, on the other hand, clearly didn't give a toss about the consequences of her actions as far as this boy was concerned. She'd accepted a few detentions in her time, usually for tricks and pranks determined to punish those whom she considered 'ill-mannered' and cruel, and seeing as there wasn't a professor in sight, all she did was return his smirk.
"It is worth very much to me, actually." said Moirah, levitating her abused book back into her hands and placing it carefully onto the pile. "It is very unbecoming for a Slytherin to be so ... obvious in their disdain. That is what's pathetic ... and you thought you would never be so." There the truth of it was; Moirah understood that this boy was the same as her, only on opposite sides of the coin. She would taunt someone who taunted others and he would laugh at the weakest among them. They felt the same emotion, only for different people. Therefore she could not condemn him for having ill-feelings towards another student, only for making a spectacle of himself.
She honestly had to try not to roll her eyes at his 'assault' remark. Clearly, he did not understand that she had essentially demonstrated the same behaviour to him that he had displayed towards the other student; 'an eye for an eye', if you will. Moirah's smile fell off of her face and she looked carefully at him now, calculatingly.
"You may be a brute, but you're not dull, I think." she said, her face flat. "Very few who'd seen what just occurred would think me unjustified. Are you looking for sympathy? I, on the one hand, don't care if I get a slap on the wrist for this, but you ..." Moirah sniffed at him. "You look like you care very much about what people think."
This conversation was over, as far as the third year was concerned. She had no interest in butting heads longer than necessary with someone like him. She'd read long ago not to argue with stupid (or in this case, unkind) people; they would drag you down to their level and beat you with experience. Moirah dismissed him with her eyes then returned to her parchment, thinking that, for now at least, she could read in peace now that the monotony had broken.​

 

[Kvistur Harris]

The girl seemed unphased by him. This was almost becoming quite fun for him. He wasn't sure what it would entail for him this meeting. But she nor he seemed like the kind to back down. Kvistur had no romantic interests in girls. He was 11 and would much rather have fun than have to be serious. Relationship were for grown-ups and he was no grown-up. That and those pesky brothers of his would find it endlessly funny if he got a girlfriend. The girl got back her book, and spoke again to him. He thought it was funny that she thought it unbecoming, where as he thought it something more like natural selection. The strongest made it through, the weakest would fail. "Unbecoming?" He replied, elongating the word. As if pretending that he had no idea what it meant, what this person was saying. Nothing. He of course knew what she meant. That to be so obviously mean to someone was not good form. But, he didn't care. Back home, he could've said that, laughed, and his brothers would either laugh with him, or fight him about it. Kvistur was a pretty good fighter as long as it wasn't the eldest brother he was fighting.

She in part gave him a compliment, saying he was a brute, but at least not dull. "A brute? Wow, thanks." He said with a small smile at her. While she was enjoying getting a rise out of him, he enjoyed rising. There was a hidden fun in it. There really was to him. He was surprised however when she said he was looking for sympathy, he was looking for fun. For attention, good or bad he didn't honestly care. If people disliked him, fine. If people liked him, even better. It meant they were a little like him. Which would be nice. It appeared however that she had decided she had had the final say. And was going back to her work. "How rude." He said, looking around them quickly, before pulling up a chair and sitting down next to her. He picked up the book that she had thrown at him. "I think you do care. You care so much you wanted to be the hero of this little story." He flicked through the pages of the book. Every so often scrunching up a page. He kept his eyes on the book before looking up at her. "Why else would you jump in? Make a fool of the mean slytherin kid. But by all means call me the pathetic one." He stopped closing over the book and throwing it back on to the table.
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[Moirah Kvalheim]

Moirah was beginning to get impatient as the younger Slytherin didn't take the hint and leave.
"I already told you I cared; were you not listening?" Her chocolate eyes grew angrier as he began to spoil the thrown library book at random. The frustration of not being able to communicate at an intellectual level with her 'peer' was becoming infuriating. Most students backed down when faced with the truth of their own failures, but this one was different. Their conversation went in circles when she accused him of wrong-doing, with him denying it from his own lips then proving it with his actions. Surely he must have known exactly what game he was playing, although it was a petty one to serve only at his vicious little pleasure.
The book he threw back onto the table was presently swept into her hands with a venomous look. Ought she tell the librarian or a nearby Professor? No, they weren't arguing anymore, they were squabbling. 'He's defaced this book.' she'd say, and he would say 'She threw it at my head.' 'I did so because he was taunting another student.' ... 'But did you hit him with the book first?' the Professor would ask. Yes, it was always better to keep disagreements in house before both of them got detention.
Moirah removed her wand from her robe again, but this time it was merely to Reparo the crumpled pages of the book. The old tome rustled and creaked its agitation, clearly very fed up with having the same spell repeated on it for most likely hundreds of years. Her wand went back into her robe and her arms crossed themselves over her chest.
"Well? Haven't you got somewhere else to be?" she said finally. The silence of their stares was most unpleasant. "A krup to kick, perhaps? A barn to steal candy from?"​