we are all together , atlas

[colette]

[atrb=border,0,true] [atrb=style, width: 200px;background-image: url(http://www.dreamstime.com/vintage-background-with-lace--thumb17248799.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35 ][style=-moz-border-radius: 15px; border-radius: 15px; background-image: url(http://i1088.photobucket.com/albums/i337/lacieejaneexx/tumblr_lujhfqDMPj1qi34yao1_500.jpg); height: 250px; width: 400px; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 0 0; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 0 0;] here as you are here , She wasn’t seen without Perrin frequently. They were inseparable, ever since Colette had transferred back to Hogwarts, trying to make up for lost time. And she ached without the slightly taller girl by her side, arms wrapped around waists, legs intertwined. They had been lovers that one weird time in the Room of Requirement, but more importantly they were friends. Neither of them were very friendly people, and while Colette liked to think that she was admired and feared and lusted after in equal parts, she was probably more resented than anything. Not really because they were jealous, but because she was a bitch and only cared about her little brother, and Perrin. And Perrin only cared about her and Eyes. It was a kneazle-eat-kneazle world, and Colette knew it. Perr was the only one who wouldn’t sabotage her, and she wouldn’t admit it, but being pretty had made her paranoid more than anything. Which is what made her rare absence all the more painful, and Colette ached to touch warm skin that was so available when around her best friend. Who needed anything else but sex and Quidditch? Fuck good grades, Colette was fine with failing her NEWTs and just finding an older, richer man that would marry her and support her, get her on from professional team for a few years until she was knocked up. And then she would have beautiful babies, preferably twins, and nothing would hurt. Finding herself wandering the lower floors, places she would haunt with Perrin, she knew that she had to get a grip on herself and do something productive. It was four in the afternoon, and most of the lowerclassman were in class, so the halls were nice and quiet and empty. And even if she did happen to bump into someone, they probably wouldn’t be too bad to engage in small conversation. Colette was born with a considerable amount of charm and flair, after all. It wasn’t such of a blessing these days, with the Ministry trying to control the supernatural creatures. Colette wasn’t very well informed as usual, but she knew that her cousin Victoire was freaking out, and planning to flee to France at the drop of a hat. Victoire was not even the type to fret and worry, so that made Colette oddly thankful of the safety Hogwarts brought. Slouching back onto the wall, she knew she just had to wait until Perrin’s astronomy class was over and then the two of them could traipse through the castle discussing their various sexcapes. Sighing heavily, she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold, hard floor, knees in front of her, playing with her yellow and black striped skirt. [/style]

[dana3]

It seemed Atlas was beginning to venture more and more outside the confines of his house’s common room. It was a startling change, perhaps brought on by the Delacroix Decree; Atlas didn’t think he could bear it if any of his fellow Slytherins discovered his nasty little secret. The farther away he was from them, the better. Still, it was a rather lonely experience; after hiding away for so long, tucked in his single dormitory and afraid to be around other Slytherins, Atlas found he didn’t quite have the social network that he might have boasted when he was still as pure as the Slytherin house wanted. He fished around his robe pockets for a cigarette; his mother might’ve called smoking a bad habit, but lately, Atlas hadn’t seen much of his mother, and besides, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

With a cigarette balanced precariously in his mouth, Atlas strode around the dungeons, clad in simple, light-weight robes. It probably wasn’t a smart move, considering the dungeons were rather chilly, but after being changed, it seemed Atlas was slower to chill than he had normally been. His temperature hadn’t changed all that much – Atlas found his temper ran a little hotter though – but instead, it seemed as though he held onto that heat for longer. Perhaps it was better that he was a Slytherin then; there didn’t seem to be an absence of chill.

Atlas roamed around the dungeons aimlessly, letting his instinct take him wherever it pleased. As he walked, he pointed his wand at his cigarette and lit it ungracefully, just missing his head and leaving a rather nasty scorch mark on the wall behind him. As disgusting at the thought might be, Atlas rather liked muggle lighters better: less of a possibility of permanent burns. He stowed away his wand rather nastily, shoving it into his robes with more strength than he’d intended. That was the way it was with Atlas now; he forgot himself and would exercise a bit more of that famed werewolf strength than was safe. Frowning, he took the stick between his fingers and lifted it from his lips, puffing out smoke as if to mark his path before walking through it. Perhaps he ought to keep more check over himself; Atlas had never been one for self-control, however; he indulged himself in whatever he fancied, whether it was cigarettes, brooms, or women.

He turned another corner and instead of uninterrupted stone corridor, he saw another person. His arm with the cigarette dropped slightly in his shock, and Atlas arched a brow questioningly. Colette Creevey. Somehow, she had both a muggle name and veela blood within her, which both intrigued and repulsed Atlas. It had been too long since they’d last spoken, however, and Atlas craved human company more than he cared to admit. Atlas loped over, his strides long and fluid, cigarette dangling from his mouth, and stopped before her. “Lost, badger?” he asked flippantly, looking down imperiously at her.

[colette]

[atrb=border,0,true] [atrb=style, width: 200px;background-image: url(http://www.dreamstime.com/vintage-background-with-lace--thumb17248799.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35 ][style=-moz-border-radius: 15px; border-radius: 15px; background-image: url(http://i1088.photobucket.com/albums/i337/lacieejaneexx/tumblr_lujhfqDMPj1qi34yao1_500.jpg); height: 250px; width: 400px; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 0 0; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 0 0;] here as you are here , Seeing the Slytherin, she had to quell the overwhelming urge to slink away, back into her warm, incensed common room and hide. It wasn’t just her own personal sentiment, either. General Hufflepuff consensus dictated that most Slytherins were scary, and Atlas Lestrange topped the list of students to be feared. Colette wasn’t hundred percent certain she bought into that, but coming face to face with him now was enough to send adrenaline pumping through her veins. In the very beginning of the year, before she had made her mark on most of the sixth and seventh year boys, they had bumped into each other not to far from this place. Atlas was extremely good-looking, and something about his attitude made Colette’s knees more wobbly than she would admit. She’d much rather be the one with the control in the situation, as she usually was. Teenage boys were rather excited to be on the receiving end of what she would give, and that gave her a certain amount of power she couldn’t command anyway else. She huddled her knees closer to herself, on the off chance that he would not see her and she could fade into the cold stone wall. He was smoking, and she meant that literally, like, with a cigarette, and she smelled the pungent fumes wafting off of the muggle object. She had tried it once, not finding it to her tastes, or more probably because she fancied herself a full wizard girl, and she didn’t want to shove money into the palms of capitalism. The last time she saw him, she had as well as fallen to his feet, and that was a bad position to be in. So she rolled her head back, resting her elbows on her knees, fixing him with the steadiest gaze she could muster. Hufflepuff and Slytherin relations were tense, to say the least. Antagonism and fear without the sexual tension that Gryffindor and Slytherin had. Perrin was the only Slytherin that Colette liked, and Colette was the only Hufflepuff that Perrin liked. They only liked each other, anyway, because Gryffindors were silly and Ravenclaws were too. She brushed some blonde hair out of her face, not wanting to seem as though she was hiding, although she definitely was trying her best. “I live down here too,” she said, pointedly, even as she sat significantly closer to the Slytherin dungeons than the Hufflepuff basement. She wasn’t going to be thrown out of the lower levels, no matter how imperiously he smoked that cigarette, no matter how condescending the tone he used with her. She would stand her ground, she thought as she stretched her legs out in front of her, trying to reach the opposite wall. Looking down at her lap, she added, with as much force as possible, “And even if I didn’t, I don’t believe a dog like you could stop me from invading your kingdom.” She smirked, hoping it was convincing, and looked at him defiantly, butt as stuck as ever to the cold floor. [/style]

[dana3]

The smoke drifted in a lazy trail before Atlas’s gaze, and he reached up to pluck the cigarette out of his mouth, letting it dangle from in between his fingers. It wasn’t a very practical or subtle muggle invention; the stink would remain on his person, in his breath, for hours, and for Atlas’s werewolf senses, it would linger even longer. But the seventh year needed the dull high it gave him, the temporary numb, because as much as he liked to wallow in his own self-pity, sometimes, he needed an escape out of it. For that, he would stoop to the lowest dredges of wizarding society.

Colette Creevy. He recalled the name with unfortunate clarity, as well as their first encounter. He’d heard gossip about her previous entanglement at Beauxbaton’s (for such a large school, Hogwarts had the fastest rumor mill Atlas had witnessed, Daily Prophet included), and he assumed that, with her last comment, her little Slytherin friend (girlfriend? Lover? Any of those were possible from what Atlas saw) had spilled his secret. He scowled, brows knitting above blue eyes that took on a dangerous gleam. Damn the supernatural in being able to recognize others for what they truly were. It really did take one to know one.

The dark-haired Slytherin made a show of looking around, glancing exaggeratedly from side to side. “Really? You live right here on this corner? My, my, how Hufflepuffs have fallen,” he remarked drolly, intentionally misinterpreting her words. This was his dominion, and he had every right to be as sarcastic, as unfair, as.. snake-like as he wanted. “Not that it should surprise me,” he continued offhandedly. “You always were the weak house.”

Still, as Atlas looked down at her, he couldn’t help but remember the first thing that had flashed through his mind when he spoke to her. How she could have ended up with Hufflepuff was a mystery; she filled neither the goofy and kind-hearted nor the shy and obsolete stereotype that Atlas had come to expect through stories and experience. (Then again, neither did Madge, but that girl was batshit crazy; Atlas knew to avoid her at all costs.) That, and her friendship within his house, was enough to make Atlas rethink his predisposed disgust for her and instead, wonder about her. Perhaps there was more than just a name to meet his eye.

“You don’t believe I could?” Atlas repeated, scoffing lightly. “You are beneath me, in status and in worth.” He looked haughtily down at her as she stretched out her legs, trying to ignore the enticing paleness that stretched beyond her skirt; after all, that had also been a rather fond memory of their first meeting (did he really just use the word ‘fond’ when describing a Hufflepuff?), and Atlas remembered a little too much for his liking. His gaze focused in on her eyes and a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “And in bed.”

[colette]

[atrb=border,0,true] [atrb=style, width: 200px;background-image: url(http://www.dreamstime.com/vintage-background-with-lace--thumb17248799.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35 ][style=-moz-border-radius: 15px; border-radius: 15px; background-image: url(http://i1088.photobucket.com/albums/i337/lacieejaneexx/tumblr_lujhfqDMPj1qi34yao1_500.jpg); height: 250px; width: 400px; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 0 0; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 0 0;] here as you are here , She knew he was a werewolf, and she wished it was because she was part-veela and she was able to feel him out in some way. In reality, that would be impossible. She was a “supernatural creature” as the ministry was labelling them, but she didn’t quite feel it, being only one-eighth veela. Her great-grandmother could throw fire and turn into a scary scary bird, and Colette was pretty and had an easier time luring hesitant virgins (eg. Mica Dubois) into the Room of Requirement. It was almost too easy now, and that’s why she was doing this competition with Perrin. Because making it a game, something that she could win, gave her that Quidditch-like thrill. And there were points! And she could score! And perhaps she and Perrin would have sex again! It had been, quite literally, animal sex, and Colette had guessed correctly when she assumed that Perrin would be pleasantly rough. Surprisingly, their relationship hadn’t soured, and they carried on as before, with kisses on the cheek before class. It was Perrin who had told Colette that Atlas Lestrange was a werewolf in one of her owls, when they had been cruelly separated for six years. Obviously, Colette wasn’t prejudiced towards wizards that weren’t fully human, but apparently Atlas himself didn’t share that belief. Which explained the rather brooding look on his face and his sullen smoking of the cigarette. Self-hatred was rather hot, she decided, eying him in his Slytherin robes, but more interested in what he looked like without them. Frowning delicately at him, she adjusted her skirt. It was, after all, a dead give-away that she was of the “weak house” as he called it. A source of shame more than anything. “Rather far, you think?” she replied, twisting her neck up to look at him squarely. “We’ll always be better than your pompous lot.” Colette was not much into house pride. In fact, she had rejected the possibility of ever being in Hufflepuff before she was sorted. Any other house would have been ten times better to her, really. Her mother Gabrielle told her she was like a snowflake, and the other houses would have been confining. Which, of course, was the normal bullshit she spewed in her French accent. Especially as Hufflepuffs were supposed to be cuddly and subservient, and Colette would never let anyone walk all over her. She certainly usually saw the worst in people. She folded her pale legs underneath her, giving herself a bit more height, although she was not yet motivated enough to stand. Besides, this position gave the conversation a certain dynamic she wanted to explore. “Below you literally, yes,” she agreed with a nod of her head, letting her hair bounce onto her shoulders. “In status, well, we’re both under the care of the headmaster, correct?” She smirked. Pureblood status was nothing if you were as terribly tainted as he was. His arrogance, while expected, sent the blood rushing to her head, triggering that adrenaline response. “You’ll have to seduce me, you know, if that’s what you want.” [/style]

[dana3]

Atlas despised Hufflepuffs with a passion; they were always the ones that squeaked at him as he passed by, like annoying little mice. Gryffindors, at least, made for an interesting chase, but badgers always seemed to crumple like a house of cards if he prodded at them. If he was going to terrorize someone, the least his victims could do was put up a good fight. His precious house had plenty of that spirit in them, but Atlas would sooner cut off his arm than hurt them (except for that half-wolf girl; he saw her tainted blood as clearly as he saw his own, and he hated her for it). There were a rare few people who fell into the category that Atlas considered positive: mostly, they were people who were a) Slytherin, b) Ravenclaw, or c) interesting.

Colette fell quite distinctly into the third category; her reputation as a harlot had drifted across borders from France to England, and it mystified Atlas that she’d been placed in what he considered to be the worst of all Hogwarts’ houses. It helped that she was better looking than most of the girls at the school – Atlas thought that the veela blood should count for something – and it was just… easier to get along (or not, considering Atlas was currently sneering rather pretentiously down at her) with her. She knew about him and his blood, which was more than he could say for some in his house, and he knew about her own taint. Birds of a feather flock together, he mused, staring at her down the length of his nose (which was difficult for sure; Atlas often had to stop and let his eyes rest from being in such an awkward position). Under any normal circumstance, Atlas would have considered themselves different – perhaps not polar opposites, but definitely different – but with the Ministry closing in on them, the warrants out for their species bound him closer to those who fell under the same dangers.

“How sweet, standing up for your house,” he drawled. “Though I hardly consider the truth to be pompous. Hufflepuffs may be unaware of their hidden gems – and by hidden, I mean nonexistent – but Slytherin displays them proudly.” Atlas’s gaze went to follow her as she folded her knees underneath herself; it was a surprisingly graceful move, and that put her at a rather compromising height. “The care of the headmaster.” Atlas gave an unbecoming snort. “Not for long.” Atlas’s blue eyes took on a rather dangerous glint as he edged closer to her. “I don’t think seduction is my forte; perhaps I’d learn better from a teacher.” His words may have implied it was a suggestion, but Atlas’s tone was completely and utterly a demand; he was used to getting what he wanted, and now, after his deal with the devil Ministry, he was finally on the right path again. With that realization, the Atlas of the old had started to emerge again; his pedestal at the top of society had been deserted for far too long, and with the new focus of snatching other wolves, Atlas was eager to return to his throne.

[colette]

[atrb=border,0,true] [atrb=style, width: 200px;background-image: url(http://www.dreamstime.com/vintage-background-with-lace--thumb17248799.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35 ][style=-moz-border-radius: 15px; border-radius: 15px; background-image: url(http://i1088.photobucket.com/albums/i337/lacieejaneexx/tumblr_lujhfqDMPj1qi34yao1_500.jpg); height: 250px; width: 400px; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 0 0; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 0 0;] here as you are here , She wished she was feared the way that Atlas was feared: people melting into walls when he strode down the corridors, and even the most insolent of fourth years would not try to barrel ahead of him. It wasn’t just because of his werewolf nature, she decided, because she had heard student and teachers both trembled before him previous to this summer. It was the Lestrange name, a connection to the murders and Dark Arts of the Second Wizarding War. Colette was no historian, she’d willingly admit that, but she knew that family wise, they were on opposing sides. She wished that she had known Atlas when he was eleven, when they were both at the school, because then she might have had an easier time knowing him. Everyone is more impressionable in youth - surely Atlas was no exception? She wasn’t sure why she was so eager to have an in, perhaps it was because she was so used to being the one excluding, that she could not stand being pushed out by anyone else, especially if they were attractive and enigmatic. Colette wasn’t much for friends, besides Perrin, but she wouldn’t mind adding Atlas to her small collection of pristine and beautiful characters. Continuing to run her fingers over her skirt, she adjusted it almost compulsively, trying to toe the line between revealing too much and too little. She knew that Atlas was not a virgin, there was too much evidence on the contrary to suggest that, but it was difficult to determine the extent of his sexual experience, as the girls who bragged could not be relied upon as accurate sources and Colette had never heard him advertise his conquests. And honestly she didn’t really care if he had had two lovers or twenty, she wasn’t discriminant either. The more she looked up into his regal face, the more she wanted to do naughty things with him, here, now, and preferably forever. “I don’t have much house pride, actually, I just don’t want you to think that I will bow down and take your every opinion to heart.” She smiled serenely, letting her voice float aimlessly around, not wanting to actually pick a fight. She knew she would lose, anyway, she didn’t have enough will to think of witty lines and he was definitely in better physical shape, regardless of how much Quidditch she played. Murmuring demure assent to her boastful words, she twirled some blond hair around her finger, lowering her eyes. If he wanted submissive, she would give it to him. Shivering at his dismissive snort, she pushed all thoughts of snatchers and the Ministry out of her mind. She didn’t want to be taken, and she didn’t want Perrin to be taken, and she was become more and more adverse to anyone being taken, even if it was this dickface that was more and more attractive the more he paid attention to her. She lifted herself up onto her knees, toes curled under her, and she scooted closer over to him, unwilling to rise to her feet yet. “I’m not sure you can be trusted with my secrets, Mr. Lestrange,” she said, biting her lip in mock-consideration and tilting her head to the side. “There are certain powers that should only be used for good, and I don’t have very much faith in you.” She reached out, hand brushing against his hip under the guise of steadying herself, but really wanting to feel the skin underneath his clothing. [/style]

[dana3]

Atlas’s eyes roamed lazily over Colette’s figure, his head tilted down to look at her, perched on her knees. The odd position piqued his interest, and he raised one of his brows just slightly, amused, with a hint of a smirk peeking at the corner of his lip. Whereas he’d known others in the school for as long as he could remember—most of them he’d, unfortunately, seen around Hogwarts since coming to the castle to begin his magical education—Colette’s was a face he’d only seen recently. The wolf, though not privy to gossip, had heard through the student grapevine that the pretty French girl in front of him had been kicked out of Beauxbaton’s. Scandalous. Atlas resisted the urge to reach out and tilt her chin up with his hand and examine her, as he would a horse. The seventh year Slytherin settled for the unsatisfactory view he got from staring down at her face.

“No, I didn’t think you would,” Atlas agreed pleasantly, shifting the weight from one foot to the other. “That’s not to say that you shouldn’t, though.” There was a thin note of threat in his voice, curdling the pleasantness of the words. Atlas’s face remained, however, carefully amused and as smooth as it had been before he spoke. The only hint of the danger was in his voice and the dangerous gleam that flashed through his blue eyes once before dissipating into something akin to friendliness. Although Atlas had nothing personal against veela—he rather thought they were pretty to look at, in a delicate, painting sort of way—he knew that the ministry wanted them snatched, and that was enough for Atlas to refuse anything more than the desires of his body.

His smirk, which had been hiding behind Atlas’s nonchalant expression, suddenly grew to a rather wolfish grin, one that crinkled his eyes in a surprisingly innocent way. It was the sort of look you might find an old grandfather, and in sixth year, Atlas whined that he’d have permanent lines there by the time he hit twenty. If there was one thing that Atlas enjoyed about the sullen, bitterness that welled up inside of him after that night—for a moment, Atlas imagined the man’s hot breath in his ear, the feeling of blood drying on his skin, the coppery smell pervading his nose and mouth before he shuddered, flicking off the memory like a mosquito—it was that he hadn’t felt the need to grin in quite a while. Now, however, the smirk was back in full force, half due to the sudden weight off his shoulders at the admittance of who he was and his purpose to the Ministry, and half due to Colette’s demure glance downward. Her lashes were long and fluttered at the top of her cheekbones, and Atlas was oddly intrigued by them, as he was with her in general.

“For good?” Atlas snorted disbelievingly, crossing his arms loosely over his broad chest. She was anything but, and that was just how he liked it. “I don’t think there’s anything good about you, especially not”—Atlas felt the soft pressure at his hip and there was a pleasant twinge in his stomach—“your perception of good and bad.” He let his hands fall and reached out his hand to capture her wrist, impatient at the touch. Perhaps it was the veela charm, perhaps it was just the fact that Atlas needed more than just frilly words and harmless flirting, but he was impatient to get into the real meat of things.