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[attr="class","title1"]I Want You To Be Happier

[attr="class","subtitle1"]'Cause this just don't feel right to me
I wanna raise your spirits
I want to see you smile

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Helenus had been planning to go to the pumpkin patch after their Herbology class instead of escaping to the Owlry like he usually did. 

There was no real particular reason, he told himself, but he knew there was a pretty large one. With everyone sick in his family but his grandmother and her father (to his knowledge at least, she might still have gotten ill since they last wrote. And he didn't have an internship and neither did his sister because she was only a Fourth year and letters just-- they weren't the same as seeing your family. And being with the owls, some of which were bred by his family, only made things somewhat more painful. Because it wasn't mocking, not really, it was just a reminder that they could leave and he couldn't.

It was his last class of the day, thankfully. Tuesdays were not particularly difficult. Divination with the new professor with seemed to be perpetually high and got along great with Clio, Charms, lunch, then Herbology. A lot of empty spaces that were supposed to be filled with study, but of late had been filled with precisely the opposite, in whatever form it happened to take. A lot of pacing for him, truthfully. Or trying to be with the Sixth Year Party Crew that he was technically in because his friends that adopted him were some of the founding members. There was also the Greek crew, and lately. . . 

It wasn't that he was isolating, more like he just. . .there was a lot of worry, and he felt helpless. He couldn't do anything to help, and that itself was painful. Standing by and watching, offering a few words-- it felt like nothing. Useless, and he hated feeling useless. If he couldn't help, what good was he, was there any use for him, why was it him who had lived without real injuries, and all the thoughts that came to him that he tried not to think about.

So he was trying to be of. . . something, even just some. . . talk or something. So he could. . . not do anything, because he couldn't, but it sometimes helped to know that people sympathized, didn't it? Or was that emphasized, he couldn't remember. 

"Miss Oralie?" he hoped that was the proper way to do it, they were technically-- not overly familiar, not enough so that he could comfortably call her Oralie, but they had still been in the same school for five years, and were of somewhat similar families. Technically. They were both neutral pureblood families that had happened to get written down as better than others. Except the Slughorn neutrality was famed, and the Fawley neutrality extended mostly far enough to have clients. They both sold things, and trained their children, that was another. But still, he didn't want to startle her. Hels hadn't really learned formality like she would, still stumbled some over forms of address. 

"I'm sorry if I'm an intrusion, you're probably leaving to see your family or something similar-- are you doing okay?" He was surely he was suddenly being overly friendly, weird, and-- "I'm sorry, it just occurred to ask, I'm sorry if I'm being invasive." 

[attr="class","tags1"]☆ Oralie Slughorn , 4 _PM 500? WORDS ☆

[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai

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happier
_{we pretended we're okay}

Oralie was not pleased to still be at Hogwarts. The witch found ways to occupy her time--to distract her from thoughts of her brother and his hag of a fiancee. But it was not easily done. From her broom to the mock Wizengamot court room thoughts of the pair found their way into her mind. She just did not understand how Alaric could ever think of marrying someone so ill-equipped to be The Lady Slughorn?! Cora was so uncouth she was practically an American. It was depressing. 

The witch had revision to do, but had no mind for it this afternoon. Potions was incredibly easy for her; she could whip out the fifteen inches due tomorrow in a matter of minutes later on. So, she had no worries about it. Finding no peace or respite in the dungeons--and having no obligations at Panacea for the day--Oralie had escaped the castle and all pretenses that she was required to hold there. In the gardens, she found peace and quiet and no reason to force polite smiles. 

Staring down at the dirt, the Slughorn stood silent and frowning. Her mind carried her far away, musing over thoughts of this epidemic and what might happen if she were to contract it. She saw no future outside a career at Panacea--as a potioneer and researcher. Magic was required for such work. No progress seemed to be being made by her father's current staff or those who worked for St. Mungo's. It had been six weeks now--and still there was nothing. She wished to be doing more. There was worthwhile work she could have been contributing to at Panacea--brewing under the guidance of the Potion Masters who had lost their magic. She could have been doing something instead of being here playing Quidditch and attending classes she had advanced beyond in her private studies. 

Oralie heard her name and glanced upwards. The frown on her features was forced away by a plastic, practiced smile. There was no sincerity in the expression, but the indoctrination her mother had instilled in her since birth of ladylike behaviors and politeness made the mask convincing, if still somewhat cold. It was a rare thing to see a smile that reached Oralie's eyes; so, this one would not stand out among the other practiced expressions she often wore. 

"Good day," the Slughorn greeted. As Helenus began to speak again, the witch's brow inclined upwards. The boy asked after her--but rather than it seeming to be only polite small talk, it seemed as if he was genuinely curious. Clearly, he had some investment in the question to have engaged her in conversation. Gears spun in her mind as she wondered why he had and what it was the boy wanted. She was suspicious of most people--and wary, too, even of those who had neutral or light-leaning families. One could never be too sure who could be trusted. It was best to only trust your own--and she was the sole Slughorn in this place, leaving her only herself to trust in. 

Still, trusting or not, Oralie would not be rude to the wizard. She smoothed her Slytherin robes and laced manicured fingers together in front of her. "There is no need to offer apologies." She might have no intention to share the depth or breadth of her thoughts with Helenus, but that did not mean she could not provide him an answer. "I am well; though the unfortunate sickness has touched many of my kin, it seems age is protecting the lot of us here." It was not as if the epidemic had not reached within the walls of Hogwarts. A number of their teachers were without their magic now. If the sickness was spread by air, touch or any other predicable ways--as it surely was--the professors would have disseminated it amongst the students if there was not something more protecting them. Some of the oldest students--those of age eighteen--had suffered the sickness, as well. Something more was keeping the younger wixen population safe, Oralie just did not know what it was. But she was going to figure it out. 

Helenus Caolán Fawley | Uniform | 700