Infuriating Glory, tag: Tristan

[Andromeda Black]

There were so many things in this world that were dual-faced. In fact, most of them were gorgeous and infuriating all at once. At the moment, she was concentrating on four things that fit that description perfectly – one more so than the others at this particular moment. The four hourglasses rose above Andy, glittering at her, mocking her. Emerald glistened very high, higher than even the ruby. The golden stones were of no consequence, but there were the sapphires, riding low just behind the bright scarlet stones. Slytherin was winning. Of course they were. Why shouldn't they, she thought bitterly. They certainly played fair. They were kind and generous, and they would never, ever cause another harm. Why, take her older sister for instance. She and her boyfriend wouldn't hurt a fly buzzing in their ears! Oh, yeah, the Slytherins were fucking sweethearts. They deserved to be at least a good fifty points ahead of the rest of the school.

Andromeda fully realized she was taking out all her anger at her family in general by glaring at a single inanimate object. No, no – it wasn't just her family, either. It was all Slytherins that were, had been, or would be. Her sisters, her mother and father, grandparents, especially future nieces and nephews, and gods! All those people who were right now residing in that fucking house. Lucius Malfoy, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Alecto Carrow, Avienra Yaxley, Severus Snape, Vivian Tanner.... All those that her sisters hung out with. And then, of course, there was the guy who decided to fuck around with every being he could get his nasty, snaky hands on. The bastard. Who? That Reinleigh fucking Tristan Avery. Merlin, she hated him more than any of the rest of them. They, at least, had principles, and ones she knew inside and out, having grown up hearing each one like a mantra. Andy knew exactly where they could shove their principles, but at least they had them. Avery was infuriating like no other. He managed to get away with not obeying the rules. He got away with everything, and screwed with every single person he could manage – and Andy knew, unfortunately, that that included a sickening proportion of her own friends. That pissed her off, actually. She knew they had dignity. She knew they had brains. What about this guy made them turn into mindless whores? No one's that good. No one.

Why was she even letting the bastard worm his way into her mind? That was almost like letting him win. She glared harder at the emerald stones, thinking of family, before realizing she was standing there, hating with all her might. Instead, she look to the sapphire stones, thinking warmly of her close friends with whom she had shared the common room for over five years now, who had always been there for her. Her gaze drifted to the left, back toward the rubies, and she smiled, thinking of her Gryffindor friends who were there just as often. Who needed to dwell on thoughts of Slytherins when she could remember Em, Amelia, Sirius, James, and Cerri? They were her closest circle, screw the inner circle that her sisters had.

Who was she kidding?! The mere vague thought of that circle pissed her off. She really need to work on not getting so angry at her own thoughts. Between her sisters and their friends and a few other bastards, she would end up cynical and bitchy and snappish and pissed off constantly. She didn't want that for herself. She'd end up crazy as a loon, and she just wanted to be Andy, not some fucked up cuckoo with nothing but hatred for the world. Despite the fact that she hated so many people... she loved more. And she loved to love those people, she much preferred being bright and happy and light. Unfortunately, some people just wouldn't let that happen. And she was standing there, fists clenched and staring at the pillar that represented every single one of those people.

[Tristan Avery]

There were certain little pleasures in life that a man like Tristan Avery simply couldn’t do without. Skirt-chasing was his primary hobby, even though the people he chased didn’t necessarily always wear skirts. It tended to take up a large portion of his time, in one way or another, but that was acceptable to him. The only other things on the agenda involved torture and pain (not that those didn’t come up during his lusty exploits as well) and anything else that could drive him deeper into his already viciously evil circle of friends. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to be there, on the contrary – he often preached to his saner and less mean companions how much he disliked his house-mates, but he did want the protection that came with being one of them, or as close to as anyone could get.

After all, what was a little mental scarring to the people who could handle it? It was unlikely that the girls he toyed around with really thought about him for a long time after he was gone. He never gave any notion that he was willing to commit to anything, so they should have understood that it was just a fling, a one or two time thing that meant absolutely nothing. It was a moment of passion, and that would be it. If they decided to take their attraction a step further, well that was their problem. He couldn’t be bothered with the hormonal rampages of silly, teenage girls.

Still, he couldn’t deny – not that he was at all inclined to try – that there was a certain satisfaction in the tears caused by his presence. Of course, he enjoyed the friendship his charisma brought him, especially amongst the other houses, but there was always something appetizing in the way people broke down after he was done with them. It meant he would have no second chances, but that was alright considering the opportunities that literally threw themselves at him on a daily basis. The tears made him feel important, like he was capable of achieving something. And in a house where he was constantly surrounded by obviously more talented, equally attractive and far superior people, having that slightest touch of glory was something of a special moment for him. It proved that, even though he may not have has quite the same bad-ass attitude that Bellatrix or Rodolphus or Lucius had, he could still hold his own against the tide of reputation.

It was strange – in some ways, he was happy knowing that there were people who hated him. Not only that, but those people hated him because of what he did to them. It was almost as though that fury gave him some sort of control over their minds, other than what he already possessed through his distractingly charismatic nature and dizzying good looks. It meant that somewhere, at least someone at some point in time was somewhat submissive to him – and he loved it.

Bounding into the open entrance hall, he couldn’t close the doors fast enough. It had been a reasonably cool, autumn day when he had originally gone to practice at the pitch with some of his team mates, but fifty feet in the air the wind was absolutely frigid. And unlike Lucius and Bella, who were constantly moving on their brooms and keeping warm, he could only sit there, until such time as they saw fit to engage him, and put his skills to use. He wasn’t a terribly good keeper to begin with, but he was better than some, and could hold his own to a reasonable degree. Still, by the time practice was over he was certain he had lost several toes to the icy blasts that surrounded him. He would have sworn that his robes were made of ice if his skin hadn’t already been too numb to feel them. The warmth of a castle felt like a flame against his cold face. If only he could find someone else’s body heat to partake of, that would have been perfect.

Traipsing across the large hall, he was headed for the Slytherin common room, intent on depositing his things before he made his way to dinner. As he passed by, he glanced at the huge hour glasses, checking to see if his house was still as far in the lead as they had been earlier in the week. Unsurprisingly, they were even farther along, which only turned his faintly-blue lips into a smile. Sometimes it was nice to be in the best house in the school. Unfortunately for the Ravenclaw girl nearby, he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing – and couldn’t really feel his limbs anyway. He had his broomstick over his shoulder in a characteristically jock way, and didn’t quite realize just how far they manicured twigs stuck out over his shoulder. If he had he may have given her a wider berth as he abruptly turned and strutted towards his common room.

Then again, if he had known who it was, he may have tried to hit her harder.

[Andromeda Black]

You know, she'd heard the sound. Someone bursting through the doors and bringing that light chill of dusk in autumn to the entrance hall. The sound of it had seeped through the cracks in her mind and poked at her thoughts for a moment or two. The realization that she wasn't alone registered for a second or so. And then she pushed it all away. Andy here was in a bit of a “fuck the world” mood at the moment and she didn't care if someone intruded on her as long as they left quickly. That little tiny part of her mind that kept hearing and thinking of these things told her that this intruder, whoever they were, was already on their way out of here, and she paid no more mind to that and kept thinking. She supposed she might have been so inclined to be so pissed off if she hadn't seen her sister today. Of course it couldn't have been Narcissa-- when she ran into her younger sibling, it tended to be cold, but decidedly pleasant in comparison. No, instead it was Bella. Cold didn't begin to describe the sisterly hatred. Narcissa's hatred was cool, detached, a nothingness. Bellatrix burned. And Bella did love to make sure Andy burned too, in some way.

It was inconvenient, at the least, to be going to the hospital wing before dinner on a darkening Saturday evening. And, of course, the questioning. Obviously she'd been in a fight with someone, and there were answers to be had, punishments to be sought. Now, Andy wasn't stupid. She'd simply said “some Slytherin girl” when asked the question. She hadn't done anything to provoke her (that's what they all say, but in this case, somewhat true) and she had disarmed her opponent and gotten away as quickly as possible, knowing what those girls were capable of doing. Again, Andy wasn't stupid. First off, you did not name Bella's name in the hospital wing unless absolutely necessary. That would just strengthen her ire. Then there was the fact that no matter what she did to you, the quickest escape plan – and, logically, the least damaging – was to disarm and slip away as fast as possible. Some would view this as a cowardly way out. Andy regarded it as smart, considering. Bella was ruthless and wasn't just going to play around. Pain was her play, and Andy knew that and did not exactly want to spend the entire night in the hospital wing, as opposed to the time it took Madam Pomfrey to heal up a hex or two. Andy knew her way around a wand just as well, but Bella had a few things on her. A year of experience, the fact that she was immersed in the dark arts, and the pure hating rage that her sister had for her. Andy hated Bella. But Andy's hatred paled next to Bellatrix's.

Maybe if she hadn't been so engrossed in her own thoughts, going over the evening's events and all the anger and hatred she held and Bella held and oh, so much more-- she might have seen it coming. She might have heard, just maybe, and there would have been a slim possibility she could have averted it. Of course, she hadn't, and the vague part of her mind that had been listening to the footsteps of the person who had burst through the door wasn't paying attention any more. Maybe it was just unavoidable, karma for her mean thoughts. Or maybe she just needed smacked in the head. Either way, that's exactly what she got. The scratchy twigs of its tail hit her face abruptly, when a very unpleasant sensation exploded across her skull. This was definitely not a good way to come out of your own thoughts. The blow – which she guessed was accidental – had caught her off guard. One moment, she was mentally reliving the short scuffle she'd had with her sister, and the next... she was knocked to the floor, trying to figure out what had hit her.

She was not pleased at all when she looked up and figured it all out. Her thoughts were short and progressive. Tristan Avery. Broomstick. Bastard. The only thing she couldn't figure was if it were truly an accident, two people not paying attention, or if he had done it on purpose. Either were very probable. He could have just been walking past and not seen her, and the way his broom was slung over his shoulder, it would have been fairly easy to hit someone if you weren't paying attention. Of course, though, you had to factor in the hate. Sure, they had numerous mutual friends, a sickening amount to Andy's mind, but Andy distinctly disliked him. It was pretty obvious the hatred was mutual. With that in mind, he could have positioned the broom just so, making it appear to be an accident, while he had targeted Andy and when he'd seen her lost in thought, oblivious to the world in general, he had decided to whack her with his broomstick. The truth was, though, that it didn't matter why or how. It hurt like hell, having a solid wood stick cracked across your head, and the scritchy little twigs hadn't exactly felt like silk on her cheek, either.

She glared at him from her awkward position on the floor, legs sprawled out, and quickly pushed herself back up. “Bastard,” she muttered as she began to dust herself off, straightening her skirt, picking a stray broken twig from her hair. Rubbing the tender area that had been assaulted by Tristan's broomstick gingerly, she closed her eyes, counting to three. It was silly, it was childlike, it was even stupid. She knew, deep down, it wasn't going to work. Still, she had to try, because she wanted more than anything to open her eyes in three seconds and Tristan would be suddenly gone, the ache in her skull would have never happened, and she'd just had a anger-induced vision. Maybe a precognitive one, maybe a nightmare of a daydream, maybe something, anything but reality. But no. Of course not. She opened her eyes, and there he was, as annoying as the ache he had given her. She could almost hear her mind sighing in dismay. The spark of anger returned to her eyes, and her lips were set angrily. Andy had been a bit pissed before. Maybe a little angry. A lot hateful. Now, though, she was sick of being the day's Slytherin punching bag. Who knew, maybe on her way back to the common room, she'd end up running into Lucius and he'd pummel her with some dark arts spells, she thought sarcastically. Tristan Avery's broom had hit the wrong girl in the wrong mood at the wrong time, no matter what its owner's intentions were.

“Do you make a habit of going around and smacking girls with that thing, or do I just get special treatment?”

[Tristan Avery]

It’s easy to miss things, or even ignore them when you’re in a hurry – but hurrying was not something Tristan Avery did. He was a very relaxed person who, unless given a very good reason to do so, preferred the scenic route and a lazy saunter. That being said – the sudden collision of the broomstick on his shoulder with something solid behind him didn’t pass by unnoticed. He had felt the sharp jarring sensation, and would have immediately turned around if it weren’t for the mischievous nagging in the back of his head. A small part of him was tempted to keep walking, hiding the smirk that lined his face and pretending nothing had happened, but curiosity – as always – got the best of him. He couldn’t resist knowing exactly who he’d hit, and how.

Still, in that brief moment that his conscience – or lack there of – had put up a struggle, it had been enough time for his victim to hit the floor, force herself back to her feet and brace against the impending tide of disgust and degradation that was sure to follow. Her voice lit up behind him just as he was turning around, making his attention almost premeditative. It hadn’t been, of course, but that no longer mattered when he realised whose head he had nearly taken off. Let her think it wasn’t an accident. If he had known she was there, it wouldn’t have been anyway.

He stopped, half-turned to the side to glare at her from a distance, emerald eyes smouldering with an obvious dislike. He wasn’t going to credit her enough to turn completely – that would signify some measure of equality, say that he had the slightest respect for her humanity. He didn’t however, and so no reason to pretend that he did. Andromeda Black had been something of a bane to his existence for several years now, though it was reasonably well reciprocated on his behalf. She hated him and he hated her, and they made a point when they saw each other to properly inform everyone around them just how deeply that disgust ran, regardless of the pettiness with which they threw insults at one another. Some may have called them immature, he would have preferred opinionated. Merlin knows Andromeda was easily classed as nothing less. Either way, they had built up something of a personal vendetta against one another, and incidents like these only added to the continuously compounding flavour of their feud.

“Special treatment of course,” he answered without hesitation, though a series of verbal responses had jumped into his head. He wasn’t usually this vindictive, but something about Andromeda never ceased to put him over the edge. His mind generally only supplied him with witticisms when he attempting to charm a lovely lady (or man), but since this was obviously not the case it always surprised him when such bitter insults jumped to his tongue. It was a nice change, despite the vengeful nature of it all. “It would be mean of me to smack anyone else in the face.” Naturally, there was no forthcoming apology, despite the vacant pause following his words. The tension itself only added to the insult.

“Don’t forget,” he added with a bitter smirk, “everything’s all about you – so I couldn’t rightfully pass up the opportunity.” He should have turned and kept walking, ignoring her and leaving her to nurse a sore head by her lonesome little self, but the thought of being civil and doing the right thing just didn’t settle with him. Why walk away when there was so much damage left to be done? Instead he opted for a familiar barb, something he had baited her with on previous occasions and one of his many professed excuses for disliking her, though in truth he didn’t really need them. They needed no reason for their war – it was just a small bonus in the heavily laden minefield between them. He was happy to take her weaknesses as he saw them and point a missile-launcher in their general direction. Hit or miss, the damage would still be there.

[Andromeda Black]

Fuck Tristan Avery! Oh, and wouldn't he just love her to vocalize that angered thought, so that smug little smirk on his face could only grow to epic proportions, the words sparking his mind in such an easy way that she already knew what he would return with. Yes, he'd love the chance to go along the lines that she were offering – and her mind gagged violently at the mere thought. Actually, the asshole would probably take those two wonderful words, meant in the worst possible way, as not only a compliment but an invitation of some sick, twisted sort. That was why, though her tongue and lips ached to form the words to spit at her enemy, she held back and settled for a glare.

That man had a million different ways to piss her off, and it was almost as if he was trying to find new ways each time their paths crossed. Like now. Fucking HELL, he had smacked her down the the ground – she was certain it was purposeful by this point, convinced by the look in his eyes and that smug smirk that needed erasing – and now he wouldn't even look at her? Not only was it disrespectful, she knew that if it had been any other girl – especially her own best friend – he'd be stumbling all over himself to make amends. And that was just another way he managed to piss her off, really.

She'd seen how the fucker operated. He preyed on girls, all of them. He charmed in several ways, but oddly enough, not uniquely to the girls. Sure, he changed tactics if they were of a certain set – obviously the different personalities would react better to certain ways of going about than others, but for the most part... he stuck to a pattern. The most common she'd seen was the act of innocence. And not just simple innocence, no. That would be too easy to see through and slip away from. He pretended to bumble and stumble and get embarrassed over himself, or sometimes just that shy hint of something vulnerable. The scariest thing was how easily he got it to work. His charm, so enthralling to the girls he laid it on for, was just so superficial from her point of view. He was on smooth operator, certainly, but how? What was the secret to it? Any moron should – really, honestly, truly should – be able to see through the facade as easily as one peered through a glass wall. Yet even some of the most intelligent girls she had fallen under his spell. Hrm. Maybe some odd lust potion or attraction spell...

Though even that didn't make sense, because apparently some were immune to whatever it was – such as herself. There had been one brief moment. Once. When she had seen him and idly the thought had passed her mind that he was incredible to look at. That impression had lasted until she heard him speak. What had, for her, began as a vague annoyance at an attitude, had grown and blossomed into this. This was that instant switch that took place in her mind when she saw him. It was almost, well, feral. Something about Tristan got her back up – something more than just his attitude. In one moment, she would go from cheerful, loud, and chatting with friends, or simply in a good mood, silently laughing at a private joke or memory, and there he was. Her body went rigid with a sort of apprehension, geared for the nasty onslaught he always brought with him. She could swear she heard the crackle of tension in the air, that something about it shimmered.

She loved it and hated it. It was invigorating in a way, an opening of some different senses. The tension burned easily, rolling off of her in waves. She loved it. It got rid of any stress she was feeling, it worked off worries and the small things. It felt good. On the other hand, though, she didn't understand it. She wanted to know why she reacted this way when obviously no other girl did. Now, she wasn't complaining about being immune to his charms, but why was she? Her mind yearned to know, struggled with just letting it go to feel the senseless anger at him. And there it was again – the voice that had started all of this.

“I'm truly honored for your gracious treatment of me,” she bit out. Her voice always sounded so harsh when she spoke to him. “Naturally.” Of course it was mean for anyone else. As she'd thought before, if it were anyone else, he'd be tripping over his own feet to make it all better. Instead he was throwing barbs and digging at her while she was down. God, she hated him! She was sick of—of-- she wasn't sure what she was sick of, and that made her sick of the lack of knowledge! She absolutely hated that sense of not knowing what was truly at the root of all of this. It didn't diminish the feelings; instead, the edge added to it, and she even felt like he was to blame for the confusion.

Her teeth snapped together in an instant. That again. Her mind exploded with expletives, screaming to be said. Instead, she silently sucked in a steadying breath before she spoke. “Tristan, Tristan, Tristan,” she said in a saccharine-coated tone. Good. That was what the breath was for, sweetness instead of something pissed off. “I can't help your unhealthy obsession with me. You really should get some help for it.” Her mouth twisted easily into her own smirk. “How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not interested? Maybe it would be better for the both of us if you...” She shrugged before continuing, “Oh, I don't know, get the hell away from me?” Her voice hissed at him. He was always in her face, always pissing her off. Why? She wanted him gone. She didn't want this today. This again. She hated this. She wanted him here, to continue the hot, fast anger, but she wanted him gone so she wasn't so irritated with herself and all of her immediate surroundings. She rubbed unhappily at the side of her cheek with the heel of her palm, wiping at the vague burn left over from where the stupid broom had scratched her face. Wasn't it enough he'd done all this to her? Couldn't he just take her injury and run with it? She had a bad fucking day, and he was making it just this much worse.

[Tristan Avery]

“Oh really?” he retorted, a twisted smirk easily working its way across his mouth as he spun around, all previous thoughts of just walking away fleeing from his mind. “I was unaware there was anything unhealthy about hating you. A large dose of disgust and revulsion is good for a man every now and then.” His vibrant eyes narrowed, glittering with a mischievous sort of malediction. Seeing the pathetic way she rubbed the side of her face only broadened his grin. “It’s a pity I couldn’t offer you some humility to go with the knot on your head.” The generosity of his offer wasn’t mirrored in his tone. When it came to dealings with Andromeda Black, he elected for open, unbridled war rather than any sort of decency. As far as he was concerned, she had done nothing in the dismal expanse of her life to deserve it.

He was of course infuriated with her – as much as he found it within himself to be so. Just being near her put him on edge, and that was a feeling he had never acquiesced to lightly. Maybe it was the way she took his tricks and turned them over without thinking? She could see through his charades as though they were translucent walls, just waiting to be ripped down – which she was more than happy to do on a regular basis. He existed through such con-artist talent, and the fact that it didn’t seem to have any hold on her riled him. Granted, he hadn’t given her the time to test some of his more note-worthy skills, and he doubted he would – but the thought still toyed around in his head.

For him, their relationship was a source of aggravation, yes – but also of amusement. He had never been one for maintaining long streaks of one particular emotion, instead drifting from face to face as the need demanded. It just so happened that, when Andy was around, the necessary face was one of anger – irate disinterest and vicious actions. His previous thoughts jumped to the forefront of his head again.

Vaguely, he wondered what it would take to get her to give-in, to collapse those carefully structured walls that separated her will from his own. If he could seduce her, bring her to rely on his handsome face rather than the distorted reputation that had built up around his name, then perhaps this could serve as a secondary source of pleasure. Chaos was as equally appetising as his premiere exploits, and almost easier to attain. But would it be worth it?

As he watched her, his eyes glittered unexpectedly. No harm in trying, right? Besides – he enjoyed being deliberately contradictory to everything she said. Given her demand to get away, his only choice was to take one antagonistic step closer. “Actually… I suppose it’s more pitiable that we’ll both be spending eternity in hell together,” he added, head tilting to the side as he taunted her. They may have hated each other. She may have wanted to see him dead. His presence may have infuriated her beyond reckoning – but he wouldn’t be really satisfied until he had made her day thoroughly miserable, and what a way to start.

[Andromeda Black]

Good. It had worked. He was not going to ignore Andromeda Black, she thought as she saw him whirl about to face her head-on. She found it impossible that he would have done that halfway thing in the first place. It was absolutely infuriating, that's what it was. She knew he had to be the same as her – thriving. He thrived in passion – and this burning hatred, it was a passion of sorts, even if it were not the kind he was so obviously used to experiencing. She thrived in... something. She wasn't sure what it was, but this was part of it. It was a rare occurrence that even her family would set off like this – and certainly never to this degree, either – but it seemed that Tristan's mere presence flicked a switch in her. “Yes, really,” she said, mocking him with a nasty tone and moving her head with the words. “Oh, you don't say? It's a good thing, then, maybe all this revulsion and disgust you feel about me will actually fill that hollow shadow you hide behind and make you a real man!”

She immediately drew her hands down at his comment. He had hurt her, yes; but that did not mean she had to be a baby about it. And after those words? Oh, they would have been fine were they true-- and humility! Her! What of his blatant lack of any sort of it? He was the most prideful, egotistical son of a bitch she had yet to meet! He tramped around the castle like a demi-god, flaunting sexual appeal and using every little miserable tool in his arsenal. She had seen it. He used looks and attitudes, chiseling away at any defensive walls the poor, naïve girls had left in place after being attacked by his stunningly tall, dark, and handsome good looks. She'd heard tales, of course. One was hard-pressed to spend a night in more than likely any of the dormitories without hearing girls gushing about that beautiful snake. Even Emmeline had! Oh, she told of his magical green eyes, that voice that fell on your ears like silk. Emme, well, she'd always been a bit boy-crazy, anyway. In Andy's opinion, a snake was still a snake – no matter how prettily it were trussed up.

She wasn't sure what it was that kept her from falling the same way so many others had. One could argue it was the anger – but that anger was a passion, and passion easily fell to a different sort of passion, and that certainly wasn't happening. Another would say it was the way she had betrayed her family. She saw snakes and was instantly turned cold from past experiences; she saw Tristan as just another one of those. And yet that argument could also be tossed aside, for the overwhelming amount of Gryffindors. How many of those Lions had hated Slytherins with a blazing passion (just as she now did) and yet had somehow fallen under his spell? Still-- It didn't matter. Andromeda Black wasn't going to fall to Tristan Avery's will. She had never backed down from a fight with him, and she certainly wasn't going to suddenly develop a burning desire for him. The mere thought would have made her laugh at herself – if she weren't already pissed off.

Andy's eyes narrowed. She saw something in his gaze that she did not like. She was not entirely familiar with it-- but she could tell, she could just see that it would not end well. Mischievous and malevolent. She didn't exactly trust him normally, being as he was Tristan Avery, but she trusted predictable Avery far more than she did this one. “You're right – spending an eternity with you would truly be hell.” She considered this a moment. “It's too bad that you won't get the torture you deserve, as I won't be joining you there.” What was he doing, coming towards her? Shouldn't she die before being brought to the depths of hell? She had said to get away. She had thought her words had been quite clear. If it were anyone but him, she would have left already. But with him? Oh, no. She couldn't leave, it was impossible to go back to the dormitory to relax with her friends. That would be surrender. And she would never surrender to him. She scowled, watching him carefully. She didn't want him trying anything – but if the bastard dared, she would not be caught off-guard.

[Tristan Avery]

His eyes narrowed sharply, the generally warm emerald depths freezing and growing dark, as bottomless and unemotional as a cold, deep well. As if it were possible for the vicious intent on his face to increase, it doubled, his fury at being attacked – even verbally – by this ungrateful bitch roused itself into an angry mob of insults and possible actions.

Regardless of what a large percentage of Hogwarts students thought of him, of his good looks and delightful visage, of his honey-sweet tones and dulcet expressions – he was not the person to irk, or throw off for even a moment. Tristan did not take rejection of any sort well, and Andromeda Black had managed to deny him on all counts – not only one.

His frown twisted into a deranged sneer. Damn them being in a public place, if only they had been somewhere quiet – like the dungeons. Not that Andromeda would ever wander anywhere near that hell on earth, she was cleverer than that, for all he hated to admit it. For the way she reacted to her birthright, she had forsaken any alliance she might have had with her own kind. Expulsion from the world she knew was her only option now, and anyone who forgot that would very quickly and painfully be reminded by her older sister: Bellatrix.

His tone shifted, as everything about him did when he was outside the range of his comfort. Like and element of the chaos he created, he was never fully aware of which emotions an ideals would be accepted most readily by the people he was around, except in certain less clandestine situations. This being one of those in which he had little to no experience, he was playing off of what contrivances he knew to be offensive and upsetting to her – and hoped that memory served in selecting them.

Smirking darkly at her, the dislike still well position on his face, he retorted in an equally disdainful, but more commanding taunt. “A real man, eh?” he asked. “I don’t suppose you’d have any notion of what a real man is, having never been privy to anything more than your own misguided fantasies.” It was a cheap shot, aiming at her virgin status – but from his own frame of reference, it was a remark he, at least, considered mildly offensive. “But if you think that’s going to save you from the noose, then I’m not quite so sorry to disappoint you. Remember, darling,” he paused briefly, lips curling upwards at the corners.

“The deepest circle of hell is reserved for traitors.”