[Being in Slytherin has always been a mixed bag for Clarke. It's not that she doesn't think she fits: anyone who crosses her knows how determined she can get, and how her brand of determination comes with a brand of wits and cunning that few others can match. They know that she's ambitious, with dreams of being a healer that have already granted her skills to help out in Hogwart's medical wing, but she just doesn't give too many damns about interhouse rivalries or any of these whispers about a rising figure by the name of Voldemort. It's not like she's some odd ball Slytherin: Clarke's a daughter of Purebloods, and the Griffin name has been around for a while.
(Of course, while Abby had been a Ravenclaw, Jake had been a Hufflepuff. Still, neither cared where their daughter had landed. She showed due diligence in handling herself well enough.)
She'll cheer for Slytherins during quidditch matches, and as a Prefect, she believes that it's her duty to look out for the Slytherins. Just as their reputation sometimes makes them cruel to others, some of the meeker children struggle in their early years. She's there for them, and she tries to keep them from getting mixed up with the older kids who draw back their sleeves and whisper in hushed voices. No one wants to get caught up in that, especially before they've even taken their OWLs.
It's being a Prefect that first makes her aware of Remus, but it's her new gig in the hospital wing that makes her aware of another side of him. She picks up on the pattern quickly. Truthfully, she thinks most people who cared enough would, but Remus had been lucky enough to end up with friends like Sirius Black and James Potter. They take the attention off of him, and he hopes that he can heal up quickly enough before someone becomes suspicious.
Despite her privileged upbringing, Clarke hasn't exactly been raised with a great deal of prejudices. She's not foolish enough to think werewolves are completely safe, but she knows that a boy like Remus probably didn't ask for this. At all. He's young. He's kind. He has a delicate way of speaking that shows that he's mastered the ability to both ask for something he needs while offending the least amount of people as possible. What it all says is simple: he wants to be invisible, and he knows his condition is one that needs to be invisible.
When she comes into the infirmary this November morning, she's not surprised to see him there. In fact, she had been hoping for him. She drags out her potions notes, and she carries them over, setting them down beside him.]
You seemed tired yesterday in class. I thought these might help. [Clarke knows that on top of his fatigue, Remus isn't the best at potions. But he trudges on because it's necessary. And she imagines that he wants to learn all the skills he can before he has to brave the big wide world outside of Hogwarts.]
[ he thinks that the dissonance between the houses, the discord between gryffindors and slytherins is foolish— after all a house, a castle divided is one that falls. and that should be a concern, for all of them, given the whisperings of voldemort, the word mudblood being thrown around more callously. though, never towards him. doing so would incite the wrath of the marauders, more typically known as his friends.
sometimes he looks at the younger slytherins, the one’s just sorted, with eyes like dinner plates as they take in the castle and finds himself sympathizing with them, wonders how they will take the suspicion cast their way from the other houses, and how eyes will drift to their sleeves. their covered forearms. he thinks that if anyone knew, if anyone caught on to what he was, he would be looked at with more than suspicion— the ensuing reaction would tred into animosity, and maybe that would bring the students to a common goal. band them together long enough to rid the halls of the resident werewolf.
it’s not a nice thought, but it’s one that reoccurs more often as of late, one that it’s hard not to return to without distraction. comes to him now in the infirmary, propped up on one of the beds with a pillow fluffed by madam pomfrey herself. there’s a wash of sunlight coming from the window beside him, crisp like the month itself, the edges of the glass lined with a creeping frost.
there is an increasing amount of activity in the hospital wing, as the days get colder, as rounds of sickness make their ways through the student body, leaving more than several of the unfortunate stricken laying in sickbeds moaning about a persistent nausea. an ache settled into their bones.
if anyone were to ask, he’d claim the same. say it was a fever that knocked him down, and fatigue that kept him here. the thing is no one does ask, he’s generally bustled around as students move to keep their respective friends company. play games of wizarding chess on medical trays. he’s staring at a group of them, first years he would guess, huddled around a girl with a bright red nose and a mountain of tissues at her side content to let his thoughts drift until clarke approaches. he shifts his gaze to her, the notes she sets down, and the smile he gives her is small but earnest. thankful for the consideration, but.
wary. always wary of someone who may notice the particular dates of when he falls ill, the reoccurrence of them. ]
Thank you, Clarke. You’ve saved me from having to ask Sirius for help. I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it, if I did.
[ a moment, a beat of hesitance, before the smile becomes something strained. ] I think I’ve caught the same as the rest of them. Don’t worry, you’ll have this bed back in a couple of hours.
[ and ready for the next, probably flu-afflicted individual. ]
[It occurs to her to let him know that she knows. It's not just that he has a poor immune system that even magic can't help. His monthly illnesses are normal, and there are times when she wonders if and when someone else will catch on and ruin his life. But at the same time, she doesn't want him to think that she might find herself capable of such a thing. Remus' kindness is well known by all. Though he can be just as sharp-tongued as the rest of his band of friends, he's different when he's away from them.
Still, she imagines that he wouldn't mind knowing that he has some support in the world aside from his chosen group of friends.
Maybe one day, when they're out of here, she'll let him know.]
Does he even take notes? [she asks, considering Sirius Black. She's not very fond of him. His raucous nature is agitating, and even if she doesn't join in with the Slytherin behavior, he still is just as abrasive with her as if she does. She's been sharp with him a number of times.
Oh, and there was the time that he asked out Lexa, declaring that "even if she was a Slytherin," he'd give her a chance. Like she was a charity project. Clarke recalls her rebuttal—and Lexa's display of affection weeks later when they knew only Sirius had his eyes on them, as their fingers twined and Lexa's lips touched the corner of her mouth.
These sorts of displays were normal for Sirius, who she's not even certain wanted to date Lexa so much as be a git about it. Had she accepted (she wouldn't have), there's a good chance that he would have shot her down in order to humiliate her.
(Idly, she and Lexa have wondered if Sirius is a bit more like them than he'd care to admit. The way he looks at both James and Remus seems to indicate as much.)]
Slughorn fawns over him enough that I was under the impression that he doesn't have to. [She barely veils the contempt in her voice. She was once one of Slughorn's favorites, but her lack of clear ambition had her ousted from the club. But even if Sirius has no desire to be there, that's ... almost the point of Slughorn's fawning. Like he'll be able to change his mind.]
Though I suppose he's brilliant enough to make up for it. Still, you never need to worry about asking me. I like to think mine are tidy enough to duplicate whenever you aren't feeling well. [Which is a hint that she knows. A hint. But nothing more.]
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(Of course, while Abby had been a Ravenclaw, Jake had been a Hufflepuff. Still, neither cared where their daughter had landed. She showed due diligence in handling herself well enough.)
She'll cheer for Slytherins during quidditch matches, and as a Prefect, she believes that it's her duty to look out for the Slytherins. Just as their reputation sometimes makes them cruel to others, some of the meeker children struggle in their early years. She's there for them, and she tries to keep them from getting mixed up with the older kids who draw back their sleeves and whisper in hushed voices. No one wants to get caught up in that, especially before they've even taken their OWLs.
It's being a Prefect that first makes her aware of Remus, but it's her new gig in the hospital wing that makes her aware of another side of him. She picks up on the pattern quickly. Truthfully, she thinks most people who cared enough would, but Remus had been lucky enough to end up with friends like Sirius Black and James Potter. They take the attention off of him, and he hopes that he can heal up quickly enough before someone becomes suspicious.
Despite her privileged upbringing, Clarke hasn't exactly been raised with a great deal of prejudices. She's not foolish enough to think werewolves are completely safe, but she knows that a boy like Remus probably didn't ask for this. At all. He's young. He's kind. He has a delicate way of speaking that shows that he's mastered the ability to both ask for something he needs while offending the least amount of people as possible. What it all says is simple: he wants to be invisible, and he knows his condition is one that needs to be invisible.
When she comes into the infirmary this November morning, she's not surprised to see him there. In fact, she had been hoping for him. She drags out her potions notes, and she carries them over, setting them down beside him.]
You seemed tired yesterday in class. I thought these might help. [Clarke knows that on top of his fatigue, Remus isn't the best at potions. But he trudges on because it's necessary. And she imagines that he wants to learn all the skills he can before he has to brave the big wide world outside of Hogwarts.]
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sometimes he looks at the younger slytherins, the one’s just sorted, with eyes like dinner plates as they take in the castle and finds himself sympathizing with them, wonders how they will take the suspicion cast their way from the other houses, and how eyes will drift to their sleeves. their covered forearms. he thinks that if anyone knew, if anyone caught on to what he was, he would be looked at with more than suspicion— the ensuing reaction would tred into animosity, and maybe that would bring the students to a common goal. band them together long enough to rid the halls of the resident werewolf.
it’s not a nice thought, but it’s one that reoccurs more often as of late, one that it’s hard not to return to without distraction. comes to him now in the infirmary, propped up on one of the beds with a pillow fluffed by madam pomfrey herself. there’s a wash of sunlight coming from the window beside him, crisp like the month itself, the edges of the glass lined with a creeping frost.
there is an increasing amount of activity in the hospital wing, as the days get colder, as rounds of sickness make their ways through the student body, leaving more than several of the unfortunate stricken laying in sickbeds moaning about a persistent nausea. an ache settled into their bones.
if anyone were to ask, he’d claim the same. say it was a fever that knocked him down, and fatigue that kept him here. the thing is no one does ask, he’s generally bustled around as students move to keep their respective friends company. play games of wizarding chess on medical trays. he’s staring at a group of them, first years he would guess, huddled around a girl with a bright red nose and a mountain of tissues at her side content to let his thoughts drift until clarke approaches. he shifts his gaze to her, the notes she sets down, and the smile he gives her is small but earnest. thankful for the consideration, but.
wary. always wary of someone who may notice the particular dates of when he falls ill, the reoccurrence of them. ]
Thank you, Clarke. You’ve saved me from having to ask Sirius for help. I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it, if I did.
[ a moment, a beat of hesitance, before the smile becomes something strained. ] I think I’ve caught the same as the rest of them. Don’t worry, you’ll have this bed back in a couple of hours.
[ and ready for the next, probably flu-afflicted individual. ]
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Still, she imagines that he wouldn't mind knowing that he has some support in the world aside from his chosen group of friends.
Maybe one day, when they're out of here, she'll let him know.]
Does he even take notes? [she asks, considering Sirius Black. She's not very fond of him. His raucous nature is agitating, and even if she doesn't join in with the Slytherin behavior, he still is just as abrasive with her as if she does. She's been sharp with him a number of times.
Oh, and there was the time that he asked out Lexa, declaring that "even if she was a Slytherin," he'd give her a chance. Like she was a charity project. Clarke recalls her rebuttal—and Lexa's display of affection weeks later when they knew only Sirius had his eyes on them, as their fingers twined and Lexa's lips touched the corner of her mouth.
These sorts of displays were normal for Sirius, who she's not even certain wanted to date Lexa so much as be a git about it. Had she accepted (she wouldn't have), there's a good chance that he would have shot her down in order to humiliate her.
(Idly, she and Lexa have wondered if Sirius is a bit more like them than he'd care to admit. The way he looks at both James and Remus seems to indicate as much.)]
Slughorn fawns over him enough that I was under the impression that he doesn't have to. [She barely veils the contempt in her voice. She was once one of Slughorn's favorites, but her lack of clear ambition had her ousted from the club. But even if Sirius has no desire to be there, that's ... almost the point of Slughorn's fawning. Like he'll be able to change his mind.]
Though I suppose he's brilliant enough to make up for it. Still, you never need to worry about asking me. I like to think mine are tidy enough to duplicate whenever you aren't feeling well. [Which is a hint that she knows. A hint. But nothing more.]