Victorious

Throw the bait, catch the shark, bleed the water red
Fifty words for murder and I’m every one of them

The Prefect's Bathroom had the rather lovely function of being able to lock from others when occupied. Not from Professors, and Amelia knew a few handful of ways to get inside, should there be an emergency, but it would serve well enough for tonight. She'd waited the two nights on purpose, and had filled the great pool to what she knew was a type of style Remy liked. This was far enough from her friend's first time in here, after all-- why should it have been? 

In her bag was one of her father's finer bottles of elf-made wines, now partially empty. Amelia would readily admit to not being the same type of connoisseur that her lord father and lady jidda were, but Amelia knew enough to know where her father kept his more quality bottles. An elf would likely take the blame for her, and truthfully, Amelia didn't fully care. After all, she was fairly certain her jidda cared more about them than her. If she'd had a sister, the elfs would have been favored. As it stood, she had none, and so she was substantially more important, especially with an engagement to a Travers, and the second after Anne Travers' little brother. Not that she'd ever be the Lady, as something would be arranged so that that wouldn't happen, but it was still something.

"To your first two and a half days, Remy." She took the filled glasses (cut crystal, of course, as this was an important occasion), handing one to her friend with a wry grin. "Two hundred fifty-seven left, and I know you'll be enjoying every minute. Especially as you're woken by some First year badger who somehow got lost going to the bathroom in their common room."

☆SEPTEMBER THIRD, ROUGHLY MIDNIGHT, PREFECT'S BATHROOM, @remington

❤fai

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victorious

[attr="class","reasonsmallremy"]My touch is black and poisonous And nothing like my punch-drunk kiss I know you need it, do you feel it?

[attr="class","reasonbodremy"]A new year. It was hard to believe that Remington had actually made it to the next year. It had seemed like her sixth was going to last forever. But now this…this final year was upon her. It was upon them all, really.

She had dreamed about what it would feel like to be at the top of the food chain, but in every dream, she’d simply imagined herself a seventh year with a particular fondness for picking on the younger students. She’d imagined herself Editor of The Advocate. She’d imagined herself with a boyfriend that was the star of the Slytherin Quidditch Team. She was none of those things. Her life had turned out seemingly unpredictable, as it were. Remington was Head Girl and while this put her on the tip-top of the food chain, it meant that she had to at least be cordial to everyone (or so she tried). She was a writer for The Advocate but instead had chosen to pursue an internship with HOME instead of editor-dom. And her boyfriend? Well, he was non-existent. But if the general population of Hogwarts had any rumors to spread about it, it was that she was “dating Caerus Nott” (which, was of course, ridiculous).

“Well, where’d you get this?” Remy asked, holding up the wine glass to her nose and giving a small sniff. She was by no means a connoisseur and knew very little about wines, but Remy could bullshit her way through just about anything. “Smells expensive, Amelia, darling.”

She was thankful for her best friend. Amelia had been with her through thick and thin – pulling her around into the Pureblood circles, as any best friend would do. It was, after all, Amelia’s brother Athazaz that had gotten her into so many Pureblood parties.

“Two-hundred and fifty-seven until we’re tossed into the world like birds with our wings clipped,” though, they were perhaps much more prepared than their counterparts. Both Amelia and Remy had secured internships in fields of their choosing, which would presumably give them a leg up when the time came to determine what path they would follow.

Her smiled faltered, but only for a moment. She hadn’t thought about what would befall her now that she was Head Girl. In truth, she was a little drunk with power about the whole thing. “Annoyances, one and all. Too bad I can’t just pass those off to the next in the chain of command. Wouldn’t that be…you?” Remy winked as she took a sip of her wine. She was lucky to have such a wonderful friend – my, how she had missed her over the summer months.

[attr="class","reasontagremy"]@ amelia | 441 | OUTFIT

[attr="class","credremy"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + ADOX 2.0

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[attr="class","title-amelia"]Victorious

[attr="class","subtitle-amelia"]THROW THE BAIT, CATCH THE SHARK, BLEED THE WATER RED
FIFTY WORDS FOR MURDER AND I’M EVERY ONE OF THEM

[attr="class","wordz-amelia"]
"From my father's collection; I'd hoped you would like it." Admittedly, Amelia had never precisely tasted this wine, so it was very much possible that the expense of the bottle meant that people were often polite about it and everyone pretended to like it. She'd had more than her fair share of experience at praising what seemed like a truly rancid drink for what she'd known was spoiled wine, and more high-priced bottles that burned her throat rather unpleasantly but was able to glean from her knowledge that the reaction was normal for that type.

If that was the case. . . well, the knowledge would certainly be handy at dinner parties, and it was why she'd also prepared by bring a bottle of butterbeer. Never be too prepared, after all, and if it truly did taste horrid, they've have a good drink after giggling over the failure of the first. A smile bloomed. "It is of course, possible that this is amore acquired taste than either of us have."

She'd been disappointed to find that she hadn't gotten Head Girl, though once she'd calmed down, she'd realized it had gone to Remy, which had very much eased her mind. Remy would be a lovely Head Girl, she knew, and her best friend's power at the school only increased by the badge. Remy deserved this, after all, and it was good that Graves and Flint had seen that in her. After all, wasn't Remy the Rumor Queen of the school? If anything wanted to be spread, it had to pass through her, and her chain of informants was truly a thing to admire. Besides, it would only grow now, and that something Remy and she would take pleasure in. It would make a lovely picture, the two of them working together, as obviously Young would take it far too seriously.

No, it would be Remy in charge of the school, easily able to twist Nick in circles. With Amelia staying Prefect, she'd be thought to be a lower position by the younger students, and she'd be able to twist them to joining Remy's chain-- especially as the younger Slytherins likely wouldn't expect that. Their ideas of loyalty and ambition were so blank and white, after all. Few of the First years could yet understand the pleasure of delaying gratification, that if a friend had gotten something you'd wanted, you could be proud of them. "Clipped? Oh no, we'll be soaring."

And extremely proud Amelia was. She'd seen Remy from their first days on the train grow into the woman she was today. She was going to go far, Amelia knew. Remy would conquer the world with quill and ink, rumors and words. She'd be running a publishing company-- HOME, the Prophet, Realm-- or make her own wildly successful one. When Amelia was on the International Mage's Council, when she was Supreme Mugwump (or Deputy, at least), she'd spend her first hour reading Remy's multibillion galleon paper. Slytherins always had the best friendships, after all.

She let out a light laugh at Remy's question. "Oh, you could, very well. If you can wake me up, and dearly hope I'm wearing enough to not surprise them." Then again, she could be as imposing in a sheet held against her chest as she could in usual sleepwear, as the bonnets and scarves she slept in might seem to take away from the effect no matter what she wore. She had little doubt she could still terrify them into obedience, though it really would be. . . "On your more difficult nights, I'll of course do so. You'll need the laugh," she decided. Particularly if said somehow lost child was near her height. "I'll count on you to take pictures, won't I?"

Gods, being away from Remy-- not that she'd forgotten near-birthday sister, but there was always the sweetness in reunion that made all the weeks away seem worth it. They usually did meet up over the summer, but they'd been unlucky in organizing meet-ups that worked with schedules all too well. This was a delayed gratification that could be savored, just as this wine hopefully would be. Amelia took a careful sip after the usual smell, preparing herself for the possible expensive taste.

[attr="class","tags-amelia"]☆ @ remy, 710 words☆

[attr="class","credz"]❤fai

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