[Shrieking Shack] Shrieking Chill

[Yorick Gatsby]

Yorick slapped the side of his neck fiercely, grimacing as he felt the gummy residue of a mosquito slide against his skin. Wiping it away irritably he continued his ascent up the thick, grassy hill, watching insects glow in the late evening sun like little specs of light, swallows sailing on the still air and gobbling them up. They circled Yorick serenely, grateful to the sweaty human disturbing the flies for them, and so as Yorick approached the rotten ruin where their mud nests clung to the rafters, they simply carried on, deciding he was no threat to them.

The Shrieking Shack never aged, but it had never been young either. Yorick didn’t know anyone old enough to remember it in better days, at least. Wild flowers grew at the foot of the crumbling walls, moss and bright yellow and orange ice plants oozing from the broken slates in the roof. The diamond windows reflected the sunset as Yorick passed through the front gate, stubby thistles and tall nettles brushing his calves as he waded through them, arms raised so as not to be stung. Broken stalks lay across the overgrown path leading to the front door, indicating that someone had no long ago been this way too, and Yorick suspected who, smiling expectantly as he approach the short, narrow front door.

The nostalgic scent of mould and dust filled Yorick’s nostrils as he peered through the letter box, pulling away a thick overhanging of ivy that had nearly completely smothered the threshold. Cold air filtered out from the inside, the famous Shrieking Chill, Yorick scanned the hallway, searching for signs of movement among the odd shadows. “Brooke...?”

[Brooke Kennedy]

As the blinding rays of the solar sun shone, Brooke narrowed her eyes in attempt to be able to see in front of her before raising a hand to her brow in a way that looked like she was saluting the dominant rays blaring down at her. Wading through the overgrown grass and weeds leading to the shrieking shack in the heat was tiring her out, and for once she was glad that she would be in the shade within the old house in a few moments.

As the insects buzzed around her, some even attempting to land on her, she flapped them off and fussed over herself to keep them away. The buzzing they were making was beginning to irritate her, and giving a rather large fly a big whack, she proceeded to the front door, only to walk into a small plot of nettles. Wincing at the sting they brought, she jumped back and began to scratch her lower leg furiously in discomfort. As she muttered under her breath she swore at the plants and stomped on the culprit of her now red and lumpy leg where it has caught her unaware.

In a rather bad mood with the nettles, she turned the rustic handle of the front door, both door and handle seeming like they were about to fall off without a moment’s notice, she pushed the door open and stepped carefully inside, being careful in case she trod on anything and it sent her crashing to the floor. Peering around, the door creaked loudly, she let her grasp loose of the handle and it sprung backwards and slammed shut back into its original position, making Brooke jump slightly. She wasn’t scared as such, but the shack was a rather odd place, and it never did feel quite right inside its four walls. She always got the feeling some bad things happened within it, and they more than likely did.

As she began to explore the living room, she noticed something poking out from under the sofa. Tilting her head slightly, she frowned as she bent down to observe closer, when she heard a rustling outside. Looking up, she heard her name and grinned. Keeping crouched behind the sofa, she awaited the voice to come into the living room.

[Yorick Gatsby]

Yorick stepped away from the door and straightened up, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck. Brooke, as usual, was completely unreliable. Although most of the shops in Hogsmede had shut hours ago, Yorick envisioned her sitting under an umbrella in the beer garden of The Three Broomsticks, listening to idle conversation and sipping on a cool bottle of strawberry cider. He could almost sense her smirk, no intention of meeting Yorick for another half hour. She knew he would wait for ages, regardless of the likelihood of her showing up, and he screwed up his face petulantly, too hot to decide whether to stay at the shack or make the half mile trek back into Hogsmede. The insects buzzed loudly and Yorick kicked the gate, swearing as one hinge broke free and bashed him in the shin. He suspected it had done it on purpose.

“Brooke?” He tried again, only louder, and after a moment moved back to the front door, pushing against the rain-bloated wood. It popped inwards stiffly, the hinges complaining as Yorick forced his way in.

A quiet veil of dust rippled up from the floorboards as he walked into the narrow hallway, the crooked stairway rising into darkness on his left. Although the boards nailed over the upstairs windows had fallen away over the years, little light still penetrated the old house. As benevolent as it seemed on the outside there was something considerably more sinister looking out, the broken windows like blind eyes. At night villagers claimed to see eerie luminations glide past the few uncovered windows, stopping occasionally to stare back at anyone observing. Person nor ghost, it was a mystery most weren’t prepared to investigate. Until now.

The evening light stretching across the floor thinned and extinguished as the front door slammed abruptly behind Yorick, making him jolt. The air was thick with magic, and he wondered how the house knew he was here. “Anybody home?” He sang bravely, smiling wryly at the nothingness. He would wait for Brooke upstairs and watch her coming from a distance. See how she liked being kept waiting.

Ignoring the agonisingly groans of the stairs as he mounted them two at a time, Yorick raced up stairs to the first floor, stopping dead as he listened for any ghouls. Down the landing a door stood ajar, emitting faint sunlight from a broken window. Knowing it would look out in the direction of Hogsmede, Yorick made his way along, careful not to look at the open trap door above his head...

[Brooke Kennedy]

As she was crouched awaiting the arrival of Yorick with baited breath, she controlled it with some skill, restricting the noise of her breathing with accuracy. However, her balance was beginning to waver, and she knew soon enough it would let her down. Moving into a different stance now would cause a scuffle along the dusty floorboards and most importantly it would give her game away. Brooke had no idea what time it was now, and looking out the window behind her, it was concealing the light making it virtually impossible to see anything through the thick layers of dust that had settled there year after year. She was beginning to regret being huddled up behind the couch and wish she’d chosen to actually lie on it instead.

Cursing herself for being too darn stubborn for her own good, she heard the creak of the front door being followed by the familiar bang of his shutting itself which she had also caused just moments before. Blinking furiously as dust and small pieces of plaster descended from the ceiling, she looked down at the remnants of it before looking up. It was as if somebody had had been walking about up there and caused it. Frowning, she was about to stand up to investigate when she saw the shadow of Yorick appearing from the hall. Bending down back into a crouch, she pressed her hands hard into the couch and grasped onto its sponge to keep her balance. Trying hard to conceal her giggles, she lifted her hand and pressed it hard against her mouth, stifling her laughter as Yorick began talking and making an adventure all for himself. As she turned away for a moment as just looking at him made her laugh, she heard loud creaking, and swiftly turned her head back to him. As he galloped up the stairs, she was about to shout out to him to stop, her hand outstretched in advance, but her voice was lost on her. The falling debris of the ceiling has worried her, and she didn’t want him to go up alone.

Looking back down at the item she was going to investigate, she slid it out from its place, leaving a clear trail of where it had been and where it had been pulled out. Picking it up, it was an old slightly burnt photograph of a man, a woman and a baby. Brooke was slightly confused as to why it was here, and who it belonged to. She was sure someone would have come across it by now if it had been here for years, so why was it here now? The thought puzzled Brooke, as she lifted herself up, taking the photograph with her. As she walked across to the stairs silently, she began to ascend them swiftly yet in a graceful manner after Yorick and soon she had reached the top causing only minimal sound. She thought her game was up, but he seemed to be unaware of her presence still. Creeping slightly, she took one big step and as her foot fell to the floor, she grabbed Yorick’s waist from behind and ‘booed’ in his ear.
“Merlin’s beard Yorick, anyone would think you were deaf!”

[Yorick Gatsby]

The floorboards creaked ominously as Yorick put his face to the gap in the door, spying. There had been a soft scrape from within, like something being dragged across the floor. It had been brief admittedly, but very real nevertheless, and it had been much too heavy to be the house’s natural movements. The shack grew and rocked constantly with its obscene age and neglect, the walls shifting at their own will so that something was bound to be different the next time someone returned. Yorick was reminded reluctantly of one of his first trips to the shack, Edward Weatherby and Ivenda Brackard, two much older Ravenclaws, bullying him into going down into the cellar alone. Even now, he recalled with vivid unease the overpowering smell of water and earth, and the strange cold draft that had pressed against his skin like damp cobwebs. He had attempted to turn back up the stairs before his eyes had had a chance to adjust, but with a malicious cackle Ivenda had locked the door behind him, her laughter drifting away as she and Edward ran. Yorick had screamed as he had tried to kick and punch his way out, but as he had beat the house with all his might he had felt it breathe, the wood and brick stretching its muscles against him, the door melting away, entombing him. It had enjoyed keeping him there even more than Edward and Ivenda.

And so was that pair of empty grey eyes, watching him unblinkingly from the ceiling, the house playing tricks again, or something else...?

“BOO!”

Yorick shouted in fright as Brooke materialised in his ear, digging her fingernails into his stomach like claws. He grabbed her wrists and tore them away, swinging her round to face him. “Don’t do that!” He yelled, shaking her elbows as he broke into an involuntary grin, humility dilating his anger as she giggled in his face, thoroughly pleased with herself. “One day I’ll have actually paid attention in Dark Arts and you won’t be standing here anymore, you’ll be an oozing pile of stuff on the floor.” He threatened mockingly, making a silly face at her and baring his teeth.

But as suddenly as Brooke had startled him, Yorick remembered. “Hey, come here...” He muttered, guiding her away from the door. Quickly he slipped his wand out. “Lumos.” Pearly bright light throbbed into the room, the shadows leaking away. Yorick’s eyes slowly travelled up to the ceiling where he had been looking a moment ago... but nothing was there. The room stood empty and dead, nothing having ever been there.

Sensing Brooke looking from him to the ceiling, Yorick turned and smiled at her innocently, removing his hand from her arm so as not to feel him shaking.”You were in the way and I wanted to see.” He explained. Reaching out he closed the door firmly, casting his wand light down the length of the landing. The thin slithers of sunset that had squeezed through the boarded up windows were now gone, evening replaced by twilight. “Where were you hiding exactly?” He asked as he finally looked at her properly, holding his wand in her face.

[Brooke Kennedy]

Brooke was surprised at how ninja like she was when climbing up the rickety old staircase. She wasn’t trying to be quiet, but once she stood triumphantly at the top, she realised Yorick had dismissed her steps as typical old house moans and groans, much to the delight of Brooke. As he yanked her around to face him, un-amused at her little game, Brooke couldn’t help but laugh in his face. The reaction she got was even better than she’d hoped, and his face was certainly a picture. She just wished she could have seen it when she actually scared him. It took her a moment to calm down, her palms now rested on her bent knees as she chuckled away, gasping slightly for air, in which she wasn’t getting due to most of it being dust. Coughing a little, she stood upright once more before slapping Yorick’s arm gently at the side.

“Oh come on, you know it was funny. In fact, it was hilarious!” she said, beginning to laugh again, and even having to wipe a tear that had formed in her eye. At the thought of herself being an oozing pile of stuff on the floor, Brooke chuckled more so, almost challenging the spook factor of the shack or totally disregarding it. Perhaps it was abnormal to be laughing quite so much in an obviously delicate at memorable place to be.
“Just ooze? You could at least turn me to ashes Yorick” she jabbed playfully. Before she knew it, he was leading her away to show her something that had obviously startled him enough to make Brooke’s prank so delightfully successful. Watching as his lit wand guided up to the ceiling and back down again, Brooke stared at him for a moment before blinking.

“What did you expect me to see, ceiling?” she said with raised eyebrows. As he let her go she placed her hands on her hips and shifted her weight onto one foot. There was no light shining through any crack or crevice in the windows or wood now, and pulling out her wand from her back pocket, she too muttered “Lumos” to match him. Holding it lower, she looked down at the floor to see what the condition of it was, and more importantly, if she was going to fall through it. As he spoke again, she looked up and was greeted with a bright light in her eyes. Narrowing them quickly, she lowered his wand slightly with hers before answering.

“Behind the sofa. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me, It was hard for me to keep qui... shh” she stopped mid sentence, lowering her wand to her side and turning her back on Yorick as she grabbed his arm. A bang was heard from somewhere in the shack, but neither of the pair had moved.
“What was that?” she whispered as she turned back to him.

[Yorick Gatsby]

Yorick smiled and rolled his eyes as Brooke babbled on, revelling in her minor success. “Yes, alright, you’ve made your point – you can actually be quiet when you want to be.” He said with a false, vexing sigh, swiftly dodging her playful swipe. Brooke’s vivacious laughter was soothing in any case, the house’s chilling atmospherics kept at bay by her casual fearlessness, though Yorick suspected the high of stalking him would soon wear off. Bad sensations often crept up on him when he was alone in a place such as this, and he covered his palm over his eyes, dragging away the last remnants of ill feeling. He was just being stupid.

Dismissing his strange behaviour toward the ceiling, Brooke proceeded to inspect the floors and reveal in detail the genius of hiding behind the settee. Yorick knew she was deliberately milking it to prove he wasn’t as sharp witted as he liked the boast, and he smiled at her thoughtfully, enjoying the banter.

BANG.

The two of them fell silent, their wands panning to illuminate the other end of the corridor. Brooke looked at Yorick abruptly and whispered her surprise, but he simply stared fixatedly into the gloom, paranoia slowly churning in his stomach once more. “It’s on the move.” He breathed softly, slipping his hand into Brooke’s and moving forward soundlessly. It wasn’t uncommon for students to run into each other at the Shrieking Shack, but not at this time of night. Perhaps the villagers weren’t telling fibs after all...

The noise had happened too quickly for Yorick or Brooke to sense its location, but it had definitely been on the other side of the house, perhaps even downstairs. As they approached the staircase, the two of them jabbed their wands around the corner before peering down, the empty hallway heavy and deserted. The living room and dining room doorways stood opposite each other, pitch black and foreboding. Yorick let out a low breathe, releasing little of the tension that had built up in his chest. “We should split up,” he whispered in her ear as he glanced vigilantly over their shoulders, suddenly extinguishing his wand. “Whoever’s here is messing with our heads, and I’m not having it.” Yorick made sure to say ‘who’ isn’t of ‘what.’

Raising a finger to his lips warningly, Yorick slowly descended the stairs, signalling for Brooke to investigate the rooms at the other end of the upstairs corridor. He could see bad news written all over her face, and he understood why. What good had ever come of splitting up?

[Brooke Kennedy]

Brooke flashed Yorick a brazen smirk as she turned around and began to walk off. It would be funny to hear his shouts of protest as she walked down the stairs and left him all alone in the shrieking shack. As she took a couple of steps, she turned around and shook her head.
“I couldn’t leave you Yorick, you’re too much of a wimp without me by your side” she coaxed him before sticking her tongue out at him with a scrunched up face. The atmosphere within the house was heavy, and the dust swirled upwards whenever you moved, causing small clouds of besprinkled dust to part ways in mid air. There was a certain pungent smell engulfing the room that could only be described as a musty smell similar to mould. There were probably all sorts of defects causing the smell, but to separate them would be near impossible.

“You know me, I never shut up” she proclaimed arrogantly, unsure as to whether she was proud or ashamed of the fact. Many people thought of Brooke as too boisterous and mouthy for their liking, but Brooke simply liked to be heard along with her opinion, and she considered herself a socialite, except for with slytherin’s who she despised as much as they did her. She enjoyed the challenge of a mutual hatred between them, and would always play them just as well at their own game. She could have a nasty streak, but it only ever showed when a slytherin was nearby.

As Brooke jumped slightly at the noise, her hand frantically searched for Yorick’s arm, but he had beat her to it and his hand slipped into hers with ease. Whispering “Nox” in panic, her wand dimmed into nothing and the only light now was emitting from the other Gryffindor’s wand. As Yorick uttered something about being on the move, Brooke frowned and turned her head to look back at him.
“What’s on the move? Yorick, what the hell is that?” she murmured, totally mystified at what his words meant. Suddenly it clicked, and she thought he was trying to prank her back.
“Oh very funny, you know...you’ll have to try a little harder than that” she blabbed, stopping still for a moment before being dragged forward again by him. Casting “Lumos” once more, her wand luminated with an intense pure ivory glow as she moved it about the room, scanning every corner as they proceeded.
Turning back to face Yorick, he whispered in her ear, causing a slight breeze in her hair. As a smile threatened to appear on her lips, she nodded in agreement to splitting up. Hell, they weren’t in Gryffindor for nothing, but also they needed to think with clarity, something Gryffindors weren’t really known for.

Letting his hand slip from hers, she watched him walk down a few steps before continuing to search the upstairs level. With her wand arm outstretched before her every so often moving it horizontally and vertically to see her surroundings. A door lay abandoned yet slightly open just a few inches, causing Brooke’s senses to start tingling and growing haywire. As she neared it, taking each step slower until she was a mere few feet away, there was an almighty creek and the door slammed shut with so much power that it shook the walls, the noise causing Brooke to yelp a powerful scream before holding her breath.

[Yorick Gatsby]

Yorick’s foot had just touched down on the bottom step when a terrifying crash resounded from upstairs, Brooke emitting a raw scream before being abruptly silenced. “Brooke?!” Yorick shouted back up the stairs, aiming his wand upwards and growling “Lumos!” Brooke had vanished along the corridor to where Yorick had pointed her, and turning swiftly on his heel Yorick made to bound back up the crooked staircase, several curses and spells already forming on the tip of his tongue. But no sooner than he had made two strides did the support beneath his feet suddenly detonate in a horrendous boom, shards of wood exploding upwards as the steps blew up like land mines, hurtling Yorick backwards. The back of his head and shoulders smashed onto the hallway floor in an explosion of pain, hot sickness rising in Yorick’s throat as white dots appeared in his vision.

For a long while he lay there, his spine numb with pain, fighting to keep his eyes open from the concussion. He let out a gasp of air as he finally dared move, deeply relieved to find his arms and legs were as normal.

Brooke had made no other sound for a long time, despite the commotion of the stairs deliberately shattering in an attempt to stop him from going after her, and his throbbing head threatened to send him unconscious with the shock that something might have happened to her. Without thinking about it too heavily, Yorick made a giant effort to roll himself onto his side, grunting in agony as his back and neck ceased with horrific pain. Tenderly he reached round the back of his head, wincing as he pressed the sore lump growing there. No blood came away on his fingers and he realised his shoulders must have taken most of the impact. “Brooke, are you still up there?” He called with much less bravado, clenching his teeth as he got to his knees and stood up. Everything tipped from side to side in his dizziness, and clumsily Yorick stumbled through the dining room and into the kitchen, pointing his wand unsteadily at the back door.

With poor accuracy it crunched, groaning as it felt from its hinges and slammed to the floor. Yorick rushed out over the threshold, twisting his ankle as he slipped down the back step, and quickly ran around the side of the house to where he should have been able to see Brooke on the upstairs landing...

[Brooke Kennedy]

Her scream had passed as soon as it had arrived, and as Brooke clutched at her heart willing it to beat once again, it soon returned back to normality and Brooke could finally steal a breath once again. Reaching for the door handle, she took in a deep breath preparing her for whatever or however the door had slammed all by itself. Twisting it, the door creaked in anticipation as she inched it away slowly from the frame. Poking her wand into the small gap, she continued to sluggishly reveal the room, filling it with the glow of her wand.

As the door was now open fully, Brooke peered inside, letting her wand guide her to each corner of the room. All this fretting and it was for nothing, no signs of monsters, no people, and no ghosts. Not one little thing that would explain the door apparently shutting itself. Breathing out her held breath with relief, her shoulders shrugged and she began to relax.
An almighty crash and sound of breaking wood startled Brooke back into her former state. Jumping so much, she had moved at least an inch unintentionally; she walked back to the door. Hearing nothing else, she was unsure whether her mind was playing tricks on her.

“Yorick” she shouted, her voice wavering slightly. She waited silently a moment before receiving no answer. She figured he probably was in another room and couldn’t hear her. Walking back into the room, she walked to the window and took in the view. It had become so dark so quickly that Brooke thought it abnormal, and she was convincing herself that there was some sort of mystical spell around the shack that kept it dark all the time. There were so many stories about the shrieking shack, many from the point of view of students, and many from the people of Hogsmeade, but all Brooke could think was the rumours must of started from some sort of truth.

Hearing the slightest of scratches, Brooke turned quickly to face the direction where it had come. Gulping back a dry lump that had formed in her throat, she came face to face with herself in a mirror. It was an old vanity mirror, cracked and so dusty that it made her look distorted. Looking back out to the window, she caught sight of Yorick.
Giving a small smile at the sight of him, she gripped her wand in between her teeth and tried to force one of the windows open. Biting down as she tensed up in attempt to open the window, the stiffness finally softened and caused Brooke to almost fall out of the window. Sticking her head out, she leant on the window sill and pointed her wand downwards to see him more clearly.
“Well well, Romeo has found his Juliet” she mocked.

[Yorick Gatsby]

Yorick raised his wand skyward as the upstairs window inched its way open, Brooke draping out rather awkwardly as it finally gave way. One of the little diamond panes shattered against the stone path beneath the window, and Yorick stepped forward with a cautious smile, swallowing back the vice-like pain gripping his skull. Their wand lights met and illuminated the overgrown garden, honeysuckle netted over the dying apple trees like cancer. Brooke looked like a pale star twinkling down at him from her sill, and he rolled his head to once side, admiring her. “Well I wouldn’t say that,” He said teasingly, remembering the end of the tale. “You’d be dead otherwise.”

Tucking his lit wand into his belt, Yorick fought his way through the grass to the apple tree closest to the house, pulling himself up into the low hanging branches. Normally he would have been able to swing himself to the top in seconds, years of nothing else to do on summer afternoons having made him an excellent tree climber. But with his shoulder blades feeling as though they were in tatters, Yorick dragged himself up with a much more difficulty, sending Brooke a threatening glare as she smirked at his graceless ascent. “I’m fine, by the way. Because I knew you were about to ask, being the caring friend that you are.” He remarked sarcastically as he finally reached her window, resting his elbows on the sill. “Exploding staircases are my speciality. Did you find our friend by the way?” He added, peering past her elbow into the empty room.

He regarded it suspiciously for a moment before tearing his eyes away, sensing Brooke was no longer interested in the house. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, sighing. “So are you coming quietly or do I have to take you by force?” His head throbbed in protest. Give it a rest, he thought achingly.

[Brooke Kennedy]

[[OOC: Amy, I'm sorry it's bad haha, I've knackered myself out by working out today, so my brain is mush xD]]

Brooke began to lean out the window, inching her wand nearer to Yorick as he looking up at her. For a split second, she was sure a little glimmer was seen in his eyes, but it had faded as quickly as it has shown. Brooke narrowed her eyes the slightest bit before giving a cool smile to him. Seeing Yorick in a clearer light, she saw the look on his face, a look of pain and discomfort.
“Well you’d be dead too” she replied, as he made his way up like a monkey to the window sill to meet her. Leaning over, she dangled her wand between them. The cool breeze blew into the room swiftly and silently, gently moving Brooke’s blonde locks in rhythm with the small blasts of air that was now pumping into the asphyxiating room.

“So that was you then that was making that racket? You’ll be lucky you won’t get sent to Azkaban for criminal damage” she smirked, extending her hand and gently rubbing his shoulders. The poor lad did look in pain, but Brooke was no mediwizard or healer, so she didn’t know what she could do to make him feel one hundred percent.
“No sign of anything at all. The door shut itself though which scared the hell out of me, if you didn’t notice” she retorted with a rather derisive look on her face.

“Aww, does Yorick want a kiss better?” she asked sarcastically as she pouted. Brooke couldn’t help but grin wildly as he asked if she was going to come quietly or be taken by force. Ducking her head back behind the glass panel, she folded her arms over her chest and drummed her fingers on her arms before licking her lips.
“You know me Yorick, I never come quietly” she smirked cheekily.

[Yorick Gatsby]

Yorick breathed in sharply as Brooke squeezed his tender shoulder. “Not there...” He whispered apologetically, squirming from under her touch like a protesting child. Brooke withdrew her hand with a poorly hidden embarrassment, but quickly smoothed it over with a tough smirk that Yorick recognised. He had taken it on face value as natural, until now. “I’m a wimp, sorry.” He explained downheartedly, giving her wrist as warm squeeze.

The grass whispered and Brooke swayed from side to side on her elbows, subconsciously listening to a dreamy tune on the wind. Yorick knew she was thinking about many things at once, but he didn’t wonder what they could be.

He grinned broadly, entertained by Brooke’s lewd little innuendo, but her tone now echoed around them in the heavy, humid twilight, her voice husky and spiked with a spontaneous idea. Through the rippled, grubby glass he watched her lick her lips in steady anticipation, inviting him in the way that girls did, and he hesitated, a familiar feeling taking over. Yorick focused his eyes to replace her pale, heart shaped face with his own reflection, and he stared at the short brown curls and impish eyes sternly, forgetting for just a moment that Brooke was still watching him. Don’t take advantage, he warned himself soberly, expression full disappointment in himself, as if he’d already been a fool. Bryn will never forgive you. Bryn, who wasn’t really his friend. He was reminded, with a strange mixture of feelings, that Brooke was.

Taking hold of the latch Yorick swung the window open. From the sad tilt of Brooke’s mouth, she had seen his contemplation. He wouldn’t allow her to talk about it. “Let’s go. I’m in so much pain and that things probably not gone.” He said now, his face tired and serious. Had he really just rejected her?

[Brooke Kennedy]

Brooke flinched as she realised she had aimed at the exact spot in where Yorick must have hurt himself. Pulling her hand back as if it were hovering above a bear trap, she nuzzled her hand with her other one before biting her lip slightly, a little disappointed that he didn’t want her touching him. Realising what she was feeling, she turned away and looked up to the ceiling taking a step further into the room to recollect her thoughts before turning on her heel and standing at the window once again.

Studying his face for a moment, making it seem paler than usual due to the moonlight and her eyes focusing on the different shades surrounding them, her eyebrows narrowed as she saw the look on his face, a look of discontent but somehow lost in thought. Leaning back on the ledge, she stuck her head out once more; subconsciously thinking that the barrier of the glass between them was obstructive and unfriendly, some characteristics Brooke really didn’t think were like hers and were avoided at all costs, unless Slytherins were involved.

Brooke loved innuendo’s, especially if they were rude, they were always funny and it just showed she always had playfulness on the brain. Grinning back dominantly at Yorick, she sat gently on the edge of the sill before propping her leg up on it so she was half hanging on limply.

Hearing the words pour from Yorick’s perfect mouth, Brooke watched as they moved in a motion that was not good news. He wanted to leave, and there was nothing much more Brooke could do to hold him there, although why she wanted to keep him talking she didn’t quite know herself. Looking up his features to his eyes that were glinting slightly from the twilight, the eyes that looked like they were an entire world of their own, a small tug began at her lips, lifting the corner up into a gentle smile before she sighed in disappointment.

“Alright, I guess we need to get you to the hospital wing anyway clumsy” she said, trying again to make light of the situation. Dragging her propped leg over the ledge, she dangled it out of the window before following through with her other leg and turning on her bum, her legs suddenly felt heavy dangling over the edge of the window and looking down, she raised her eyebrows in shock at how high they actually were. Looking back at Yorick, she shuffled over nearer the tree to get a better grip on it.
“Move over then, big butt coming through!”

[Yorick Gatsby]

“I’ve seen bigger,” He commented absent mindedly, rolling his eyes a moment later. Clever, he thought sardonically.

Securing his feet in the crook of two thick branches – wincing unappreciatively at the reminder of his twisted ankle – Yorick shimmied over to make room for Brooke. He raised his arms around her cautiously in case the windowsill decided to crumble beneath her, and with a worrying snap! the other Gryffindor tumbled down into the crooked branches, several hard, half-grown apples shaking loose and thudding against the soft grass. The two of them exchanged concerned expressions before examining where Brooke had landed in the tree, the wood beneath her left foot slightly splintered, the branch waning slightly.

“Come over here before it goes...” He warned, gritting his teeth as he swung down to the layer below, his feet missing several larger branches. His shoulder cried in heated protest and forced him to let go, sending him down hard on his feet. He balanced on one foot and bit his lip, deciding he had complained enough for one night. Brooke was climbing down slowly, although Yorick could tell it was not in the interest of being careful – she was disappointed, the evening having promised the two of them much more.

Yorick knew Brooke was a big girl who didn’t let herself be deflated by anything so small as a badly gone flirt, but they both knew Yorick had been egging her on, equally thrilled by the other’s playfulness. She landed next to him, her eyes reflecting the moonlight, and with a happy sigh Yorick slipped his arms around her waist and back, pulling her into a tight, heartfelt hug. She relaxed instantly in their embrace, but he could almost hear her imagination working overtime. “Thanks for hanging out with me like this. I know how much your brother distrusts me.” Brooke tensed, ready to contradict him, but with one stern glance she buttoned up, knowing she couldn’t make him think differently.

The wind blew and they held hands, walking back to the school in a new kind of silence.