king of hearts and queen of spades ;; pansy

[Carter Lange Lestat]

The air was cooled and crisp, bringing about the turn of the season. Carter was not particularly fond of winter but the season had done no wrong to him except threaten with frostbite. As it was, the change of season was subtle, leaving only a soft hint of winter tears scattered over the grounds. The common room, despite its warm comforts, became immediately suffocated with all those snakes too reluctant to venture elsewhere. Carter observed that whenever snow began to drift, the Slytherins seemed to become under the impression that the entirety of the school would be bitterly freezing once one stepped outside the comforts of the dormitories. While Carter was not the type to free himself from social hours, it was not entirely his cup of tea to linger. Gathering up his winter cloak crested with its Slytherin badge on its breast, he donned more Slytherin pride through his neatly woven scarf. Mittens properly lacing each slender finger, he ignored those who inquired after his departure and released himself from the discomfort of a stuffy atmosphere. There was no inclination of a dour mood, but fresh air was never really anything that would be hazardous. As it were, the air was more bittersweet than anything, chilly but not cold enough to prevent ventures. It seemed almost too warm for winter to allow the snow to stay sprawled on the grounds. It was a light feathered sort of drift that crunched underfoot, but for some reason it was comforting.

A light breeze ruffled his chestnut hair but did not keep it unkempt. For some reason, he found his hair rather manageable. The girls of the school often fawned over this particular physical attribute that he found no use for. They would run their fingers gently through his hair, cooing over its natural softness and demanding to know just how he managed it. The thought made him grin to himself, but no more thoughts on the matter concerned him as he took a turn around the corner of the castle and into the courtyard. It was truly a beautiful scene which anybody could deeply admire- if they had any sense at all. He was well aware that nobody could truly appreciate such artistic value without seeming like a weak fool. The best thing about Carter was that he was generally mysterious enough to keep away from those labels. Some people wanted to be his friend while others stayed away, but there were always the girls who never wavered in their affections. One of those girls included the recent Pansy Parkinson, whose abrupt invitation into the world of upper class authority was unprecedented. Thinking back on it, he stroked the shiny P badge next to his Slytherin badge. It was newly acquired and bestowed upon him by none other than Pansy Parkinson- why was it that her name continued to pop up in his mind?

She was certainly a character, this particular Slytherin. Destined to be forever in the arms of the infamous Draco Malfoy, Carter Lestat was uncertain about his position with her. Did she desire friendship or more? Upon their first meeting together, after six years of ignorance against each other, he knew that he fascinated her and it was an effect that he greatly anticipated. It was the best way to keep in touch with someone of interest, for their interest in him would soon fondle another meeting. She secured him the position of Prefect without knowing much about him after her own boyfriend deserted the pin. Rumor had it that the famous relationship between the two most popular Slytherins was diminishing as Draco’s personality and time seemed to slip away from him as well. Pondering this was not unusual for Carter and he skirted around crusted leaves. Towards the Whomping Willow he wandered, watching the branches twitch in the cold and exposed naked against winter’s oncoming bite. It truly was rather a site to see, but the mystery behind the plant remained as foggy as Carter allowed his own history to be. Suddenly, however, he stopped dead in his tracks, observing something out-of-place about the scenery.

A figure stood silhouetted dangerously close to the irritated branches as they swayed. Upon closer observance, Carter immediately identified the figure as Pansy Parkinson. He found this extremely ironic but said nothing as he made certain that this identity remained valid. Hiding a smirk, he took a few closer steps towards her but remained at a safe distance, not wanting to frighten her seeing as she was only exposing the back of her head to him. “How is it that we continually meet by chance?” he questioned, raising his voice slightly so that it covered the distance between them. He shoved his gloved hands into his pockets, allowing the hint of humor to glaze his eyes and present a pleasant expression about his face. To be frank, he was being playfully polite but did not want to stretch over the boundaries too much. He was not foolish enough not to recognize the current mood: there was something off. It was peculiar and he did not quite understand it, but it was certainly there. Perhaps he was misjudging everything, but she was awfully close to the swinging branches and he was not sure if she was aware. The chances of the Whomping Willow being violent did not seem altogether insensible, but she should know when she is too close, right?

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