Hot and Cold - Theodore

Seeing her flinch like that didn't amuse him. It would have if she were a Gryffindor, part of the riff-raff he'd spoken of previously; but her flinching only gave him reason to believe that she was lacking in vigilance. His cold, stoney stare penetrated her from where she stood, cradling at her hands and eyeing up to him sheepishly, only to turn the slightest shade of pink. She edged away out of sight and was obscured by a particularly large pot plant, and that's when he realised the reason for her strange behaviour.

A few nights ago, they had left one another after a fairly heated dispute. He remembered, of course, but he was willing to let the bygones be bygones. Perhaps she wasn't wanting to bring it up either. After spending more time with her in classrooms and growing accustomed to her underlying veela charm, it no longer affected him in the way that it had done on first meeting. Others boys had had similar reactions: if not worse. He was quite certain that he'd seen sixth-year Gryffindor, Cormac McLaggen, oogle across at her from the Great Hall until porridge dribbled out from his mouth and he came to. Not that Theodore would expect a whole lot more from that gorilla-armed dunce.

She was busying herself with planting. Theodore hadn't moved much. He was scouring the place boredly.

"I was looking for the Professor," He answered shortly, ignoring her comment about what she'd thought he'd be doing, "I'm assuming he's not here."

But it didn't seem as though Theodore was going to leave any time soon. He turned lazily to a flowering plant, cupped the dusky-pink flower and sniffed it curiously.

"How are you finding things so far?" He forced himself to ask, wanting the tone to continue being conversational. He didn't have a whole lot against her. She may have been a half-blood (meaning the Veela gene came from either her Mother or Father - he didn't know the entire extent of her family blood line) but at least she was an intelligent girl. A proper lady. Perhaps a little too fiesty, but pleasant nonetheless. He didn't have time for stupid girls, after all.

Whenever she smiled at him, he had the sudden urge to return the gesture. But Theodore rarely smiled. Like his Father before him, or the cantankerous old tutor he had whose face was weathered and flaked and resembled crumpled parchment; although he cannot remember whether his Mother was a smiler. In all the moving photographs he had of her she wasn't: she always relaxed her face and brows, as though constantly in mourning. There must have been the muscles within his face to do it, but they were so out of use that he'd probably strain them. So, instead of a smile, he managed the slightest of nods.

Honestly, he was glad that he didn't receive any more details than that. He'd already (involuntarily) listened to reports from his female friends, who were either infatuated with her or as sceptical as he had been. As predicted, she had been an ardent fascination amongst peers.

She stepped away from the plants and placed the watering can onto the floor. Then she turned to him and made her next movements seem so casual, he was certain that she wasn't intending the result of what he felt from it. A simple movement of passing her hair over her shoulder and thumbing through the strands had his expression soften to one that was not quite as sullen. He felt something curl up and settle within his chest, like an extra heart beat, and it was making him feel rather giddy.

He was sure that her aura had nothing to do with it.

"I'll... catch up with you," He managed to say, pulling his gaze away and furrowing his brow at the flowering plant. "I'm going to see if there's something I need in here, then go to the Professor about it."

It was... true. He did want to check whether the wormwood was here, but he also felt as though he needed a few moment's composure. When she exited the greenhouse, instead of searching at once for the stem in question; he immediately raised his head to where her blurred figure sauntered back down the path where he'd come from. For a moment his eyes went back down to the plants, but they bolted right back up again. The beat in his chest hadn't settled: it was only increasing.

But then his eyes squared suspiciously. Another blurred figure of a person approached Ember from the other side. Silencing completely and not moving an inch, he was able to distinguish the voice that followed belonged to a boy. Likely a male student. As he homed in on the muffled words, he realised that he recognised this voice. It belonged to Cormac McLaggen; that scruffy blond oaf who'd been ogling at Ember during dinner. Without warning, he made way to the entrance of the Greenhouse with malevolent intent.