Whichever way you fall, Closed - Charlie, Everett, Reid

[Charlotte Brocklehurst]

Eternity. A rather elaborate word. Especially when applied to a single twelve hour period. But for Charlotte Brocklehurst? It sounded just about right when describing today's events. She'd been up since six that morning, first awakened by her bumbling Kitten Caruso...that crazy bengal cat. He'd taken to scampering about her head while she was trying to sleep.

Caruso refusing to stop his prancing and preening, Charlotte had gotten up to work on some homework that was already being loaded on the fourth year. Nicholas would have been proud of her, in all of her anti-procrastinating glory. After half-heartedly starting her Transfiguration essay from the DEVIL HIMSELF, Everett Malfoy, Charlie decided that curling up with her HoM textbook in her bed was a much better decision. Retreating to her bed, she wrapped the blankets about her feet and shoulders, and quickly fell into a doze. A doze that didn't wake until fifteen minutes before class. Blast!

In a hurry, Charlotte had dressed and rushed to the Great Hall only to miss breakfast. Grumbling under her breath, her day had continued to get only worse, being late to Care of Magical Creatures, and then being bitten in that class by a niffler that was alltogether way too interested in the shiny ring on Charlotte's hand than was healthy. For Charlotte, that was.

After being quickly patched up in the Hospital Wing, she headed down to her lunch. Afternoon classes progressed as dully as ever, and Charlotte found a new target for her loathing: the goblin Ulrich the Smelly. Dinner had come and gone, and the time was nearing seven o'clock in the evening. Really, time to be heading back to the common room to finish homework up for the next day. But Charlotte was ever the overachiever. She'd left her Potions textbook on a bench outside the classroom earlier that day, and she'd need it at some point in the future. Who knew if she'd remember tomorrow where she had left it?

In the dungeons, she found two older Slytherin girls bullying a homely little Hufflepuff firstie. Charlotte quickly intervened for the ickle girl, and the Slytherins backed up, rolling their eyes, simply looking for diversion, and not a fight. Charlie patted the girl on her head, offered a couple encouraging words, and ushered her off to her common room.

The Gryffindor retrieved her book, and headed back up the stairs, arms full of textbooks, folders full of class notes and parchment essay bits, and such. Her mind was as full as her arms were with the various events of the day, especially the most recent. It would never cease to horribly anger her when little muggleborn students were treated so terribly.

Fuming only slightly, and more exhausted to the bone than anything, Charlotte wasn't quite aware of the stairs that were placed at more frequent intervals than she thought they were. Tripping, all the contents of her arms spilled over the entire staircase. "Bollocks!" she exclaimed unhappily, stooping down to start to clean up all her things.

Today just wasn't cut out to be a happy day for Miss Charlotte.

[Everett Malfoy]

The first week of classes were proving to be just a little tough on Everett. Not that he didn't just adore all of the children, but it was just a teensy bit too stressful for him to enjoy. No one expected him to drool over the mudbloods, but some of the first-years were beyond help. Little brats were still wide-eyed and staring at him like some retarded muggle dog or something. He'd already made three kids cry--two girls and one boy who certainly needed to get the hell out of the magical world--and had been warned by the Headmaster that such things weren't exactly flattering.

Who cared, really? No one was going to fire him. The Headmaster least of all, as he was far from being an anti-blood man. He wasn't here to teach a bunch of sniveling first-years how to turn matchsticks into needles (not that some of them would ever be able to do so). He wasn't there to put up with Reid Finch-Fletchey's smug smiles when he accomplished pretty much everything on the first try. The boy was a Transfiguration whiz, which Everett had discovered when he tried to bar him from entry in his NEWT-level class. Reid was just too good to keep out of there, and it was sickening to watch.

The Brocklehurst kids weren't much better, but at least the boy was quiet and did what he was told. The girl was aggrivating to teach, especially if he'd just put up with Reid that morning. All that Everett could reall do was thank Merlin that he didn't have the two of them in the same year. It would have been two Reids, performing each transformation perfectly and just daring him to say anything about it.

Speak of the devil's sister, the professor mused, his hand hesitating on the stair railing. Charlotte Brocklehurst. Just when he'd been thinking about how aggrivating she was, someone had seen fit to bless him with the sight of her scrambling about for books and papers that she'd dropped on the stairs, effectively blocking his path.

Everett cleared his throat loudly, raising an eyebrow in lazy disgust. "Miss Brocklehurst, I assume that you are going to get this picked up today?" he asked with a melodramatic sigh of disgust. "I honestly don't see why you believe that you can get away with blocking the hallways." A lazy smile on his face, Everett stepped directly onto a piece of parchment that was just beyond her reach, grinding one heel into it. It gave him momentary gratification to hear a soft rip, for even if it had just been a blank piece of parchment, he knew that it would cause the Gryffindor girl to heckle. She was just too proud.

[Charlotte Brocklehurst]

As Charlotte was picking up all the pages, she was just inwardly groaning about how much extra work this was going to be for her tonight. They were all out of order, that'd need to get fixed. And she'd promised a second year to help them with their Levitating Charm tonight, too. Merlin, she'd have no time for herself...not if she wanted to sleep tonight, too.

Shuffling things into a rough and ugly pile on the edge of the steps, her nimble fingers picked more and more pages as she went down and up stairs to retrieve all of the errant pages. It wasn't until there was the sound of a throat clearing that she raised her eyes slightly to see two feet (that was a good sign already, right?) shod in expensive Italian shoes, and two legs clothed in dark trousers. Nothing out of the ordinary at Hogwarts. Practically every pureblood had their own personal tailor hired to make perfectly fitting slacks that complied with the dress code.

It wasn't until an unpleasant drawl sounded did Charlotte slowly straighten her back to a standing position. "Miss Brocklehurst, I assume that you are going to get this picked up today?"

Professor Malfoy...the Devil himself. Like she'd just said. Charlotte's eyes flicked over his figure quickly, her brow furrowing just slightly. "Yes, sir," she murmured, bending over again to keep on cleaning up. Not because she was deferring to him...oh no. Only to get her mess cleaned up so she wouldn't have to be around him anymore than she had already. "I honestly don't see why you believe that you can get away with blocking the hallways."

Charlotte's body still at a right angle, she allowed herself to roll her eyes at the teacher. She could do it, he couldn't see through her head. And right now, she'd just put up with his gitness. He was a professor first, no matter how wretched of a human being Charlie thought him to be.

Charlotte was about to reach for one of the last pages that had spilled when she saw a heel grind into it, and the sickening rip as it developed a nice gaping rent in the parchment. Gasping, Charlotte's jaw dropped open, and she righted herself to a straight position immediately. "That was intentional," she accused him, eyes blazing. "Was that really necessary," she chided him, just like a mother might chide a child spilling juice all over the family couch.

And the instant that left her mouth, she felt a sickening dread fall over her. 'I shouldn't have said that,' she thought. Oh Bloody Hell. She was going to get it now.

[Everett Malfoy]

Oh, the day was shaping up to be so much more entertaining than Everett could have predicted. He had the chance to give Charlotte a hard time, and therefore, piss off Reid to no end. It really was a win-win situation. Life just drops lovely little things into my lap sometimes, the professor realized. The Transfiguration job opening up at Hogwarts, and now this... Life was getting better all the time.

"That was intentional. Was that really necessary."

He had been debating what to do with the girl when that came out. "I'm sure that I don't know what you're talking about, Miss Brocklehurst. I was merely navigating my way through the mess of papers that you made on the floor, and was not able to do so."

Even better. He had been planning on just throwing the girl in detention, but that only meant that her classmates would turn her into a martyr. Edward the Martyr hadn't done anything to deserve the title, really, in English history, and neither would Charlotte Brocklehurst. But that didn't keep from making Edward's younger brother's reign unpopular, and it certainly wouldn't keep Charlotte from getting the respect of some of her lower-blood classmates. Humiliation was so much more effective. And fun.

"You know, it's a good thing that I'm not one of the professors who would be apt to judge you based on your blood status, Miss Brocklehurst," Everett continued lazily, still not lifting his foot off the parchment. Let her sit there, on the ground, for a few more minutes. "If I was, you might be in detention. But I suppose I won't do that, as I hate to put students there when we're barely into my first year of teaching."

[Charlotte Brocklehurst]

After Charlotte had let those less than polite remarks slip by, she prepared herself for an oncoming barrage of snideness, detention, points off from Gryffindor, the works. It's not like she deserved it... Malfoy was a twit, and he had done that to antagonize her, she knew. And she knew that he knew. But if he acknowledged to her that he was acting like an insufferable four year old used to getting his way, well...he just wouldn't be acting professorly. And ultimately, Charlotte expected that he would.

Pansy Malfoy let out his lame excuse, and Charlotte remained knealt, gathering other papers that were still on the floor slowly and quietly. Soon all that was left was that paper still under his shoe heel. With all her luck, it would be that Transfiguration essay that she had started in class. He had assigned it, she had been tired of listening to him talk about himself, so she had begun the dreaded homework. But wouldn't it be ironic if it was her essay?

Indeed. It would. Charlotte was still knealing down on the stairs as best and comfortably as she could, straightening up the pile, matching edges and corners. It seemed like she'd be here for a long time, forced to listen to his horrid diatribe. And she'd take it, for fear he'd land her in more punishment. He, after all, hadn't informed her what that would be for her sass.

"You know, it's a good thing that I'm not one of the professors who would be apt to judge you based on your blood status, Miss Brocklehurst," Malfoy said slowly. Well that simply wasn't true! Everett Malfoy seemed like the person who would do exactly that...Someone apt to judge based on blood status.

So taking whatever the Professor dished out? What she had thought until he began to bring her blood-status into the picture. And that was one thing that the Gryffindor simply could not take sitting down. Or quietly, for that matter. "If I was, you might be in detention. "I appreciate that, sir," she said, not too appreciatively at all. She stood and leaving her things at her feet. "But if it's all the same to you, it does seem like you are bringing my blood status into this. I would appreciate it if you left my heritage out. I'm easily just as competent, if not moreso, at magic as you purebloods," she said haughtily, letting her hands fall to her hips, giving her a rather impetuous stance.

[Everett Malfoy]

"I appreciate that, sir. But if it's all the same to you, it does seem like you are bringing my blood status into this. I would appreciate it if you left my heritage out. I'm easily just as competent, if not moreso, at magic as you purebloods."

He had expected that. It was so easy to get all of the students with less-than-pure blood to heckle up at just the smallest insult. The tiniest implied insult was enough to do it, really. Finding the right buttons to push was so little of a challenge that, without the rise it produced, wouldn't have been any fun.

"I'm sure that you said that in haste, Miss Brocklehurst," Everett replied with a patient smile on his face. "Talking back to teachers is what gets potential heros--and heroines, of course--into trouble." Oh, there were times when he loved the obscure bits of history that he fished up on his own or heard from the ever-loving grandparents that had raised him.

After having said that, the professor lifted his foot off the paper that Charlotte was still waiting to pick up. Leaving her down there for too long would only strengthen her resolve, make her feel like it was the only way he had to intimidate her. And that was most certainly not true.

Smirking, he awaited her response as he leaned against the stair railing. He had been trying to make the girl miserable to piss off Reid, but with that last comment... It was delightful to know that he'd be able to injure her in some way, as well. She was the worst kind of part-blood. The kind that had been gifted with magical ability for some reason or another, and thought it made them just as good as the purebloods. To her, that meant that she had a right to stay in the wizarding world.

[Charlotte Brocklehurst]

Remain strong, Charlotte. Remain strong. There Charlotte stood, hands on her hips, as if she was telling off her twin brother instead of a scary new professor. A Malfoy Professor. A Pro-Blooded Malfoy Professor. One with power, influnence, fortune, and a naughty sense of morals due to his lineage. She knew what she was doing was questionable. Surely standing up to a professor like this wasn't the smartest idea she'd ever had.

But damn it all, it was that Gryffindor bravery. It still prevailed through this girl's veins, pumping at all the injustices at the world that she wished to set right. And apparently this injustice was going to be righted, starting with Charlotte Brocklehurst. Tonight.

So there she stood, hands on her hips, glaring at her Transfiguration professor. And as she stood, fighting the urge to fidget and look down at her shoes, the man dared to let out a small little smile. Oooh, Charlotte didn't like that at all. And it was so clear that he knew that. He could figure everything out about her. He began to tell her that she was making a mistake by saying what she had, and she merely squinted her eyes slightly, starting to glare.

Remain strong, remember, Charlotte? Remain strong.

"Talking back to teachers is what gets potential heros--and heroines, of course--into trouble." He said with that wretched little smile of his. He lifted his foot off the page of whatever it was that had spilled, and Charlotte suddenly lost it. She was tired of the horridness of the pro-bloods. And she was tired of the injustice, the lack of regard for other people who were humans too, and the constant threats. Most of all the threats. They were empty, but oh so malevolently cast.

Sweeping down to pick up the page, she added it to the top of her stack. Taking a look at the title, she saw the name of her elder half brother. Reid. They were his notes from his fourth year of Transfiguration. She was borrowing them from him for her essay. The pencilled name gave her strength. Scooping all the things into her arms, she straightened herself up. "Professor Malfoy," she started out evenly. "I'd so much rather be in trouble than be trod upon." And with that, she fled.

It didn't take long for her dam to break, and the Gryffindor began to cry only a stair landing above where her professor remained. There was no doubt that he'd be able to hear her cry, but right now, Charlotte, she didn't care. She just continued running, all the way up to the Gryffindor Tower.

Reid. Where was he? She needed to see her brother. Gasping the password to the tower, she entered the common room, and quickly yelled out her brother's name. Charlotte cast her eyes about the room wildly, looking for her Reid, hair and face a mess, a wild, desperate look to her that was so unlike the normally strong Gryffindor. "Reeeeeid," she moaned quietly, still frozen in the entrance to the common room.

[Everett Malfoy]

Everett's lazy grin didn't alter one whit as he watched Charlotte summon up her courage and blurt out what was apparently the best retort that the part-blood could make on such short notice. It was a shame, really, because he'd rather been hoping that she would make a contest out of it. Reid would have drawn it out for five more full minutes--that was, if the professor's patience hadn't worn to the point that he just knocked fifty points off the boy's house and thrown him in detention for good measure.

He listened to her footsteps recede, then smiled when he realized that she was crying on the landing above. That had gone brilliantly, smoothly, perfectly--better than he could have ever imagined. Sure, Everett had been pleased enough to have her run off. Crying was worth at least twice the self-congulatory liquor he was going to snag in his apartment later that night.

Reid was going to be furious, he knew. And yet there wasn't going to be a thing for the Gryffindor boy to do about it. He couldn't very well say anything without getting into huge trouble, because no one would believe Charlotte Brocklehurst, part-blood troublemaker, over Everett Malfoy, slightly deranged wizard from a more-than-slightly destroyed past who could nevertheless wheedle his way out of anything.

He listened for a few more moments before turning and striding down the hallway. Everett's favorite target in class had fallen into his lap in a stroke of fate. Life was grand.