night is for sleeping ((open))

[FLINT COTNOIR]

The gentle, almost unhearable thud of the quill onto the pages of the book was like a symphony in Flint's ears, signalling the triumphant close to another session of study. He'd been here for... 3 hours? It felt a little longer but, as he looked down to his watch, he saw that he had indeed been here for only 3. To be honest, he'd gotten a lot done - He now knew how to identify types of dragon by their bite marks, scorch marks, and footprints, as well as all the uses for most types of artemisia. That's a lot in 3 hours, but then he had already had a vague idea of some things. He almost felt he had done too little - But of course, that was bloomin' ridiculous. His tired eyes could attest to that.

He gave a tiny little sigh and ran a hand through his unkempt hair, allowing a smile to form slowly on his lips. He loved the library - So peaceful and quiet that it removed all of the unpleasant aspects of study. Not that there were many, aside from how tiring it was and how it often served to create stress rather than relieve it. But that was just how it was, he supposed. Too much of a good thing and all that.

Flint reclined backwards in his chair and allowed his eyes to flutter shut. His mind began to drain of study, and filled a more natural, relaxed Flint. Fantasies of the life his father had lead, a life of aurorship and Dark Art combating that he would never have, filled his mind, and he smiled gently as he let them. Why not after all, it was only imagining. He was tired though... Well, he though, a few minutes of a nap won't hurt...

*****

The man was still running from Flint. It had been a long chase, or at least that's how he felt. It was all mashing together. But now they leapt across the rooftops of downtown London, with the criminal firing curses back over his shoulder. Most missed by a mile. Those that didn't were promptly blocked by Flint's own wand, sent careering into chimneys and roof slates. It was all very Victorian looking, in truth. Down to the dark fog that circled around them, occasionaly cut by the red of a stunning spell of the green of a killing curse. The man jumped over a short alleyway - Flint was hot on his heels, barely 15 feet between them, rolling as he hit the other, lower roof and rising quickly to resume his previous pace. This was the end of the line - When they reached the end of this row, there was nowhere to go. The man stopped sharply at the edge, looking down at the ground below. Flind stopped maybe 10 feet away, raising his want to point at him. "Give it up, Bonaparte!", he shouted, "It's the end of the line!".

The man turned slowly to face Flint - But he appeared to have no discernable face. Just a void that seemed to suck all of Flint's attention, and all the air around it, in. "Oh, non, Monsieur Cotnoir. Ze only line that weel end here...", Somehow, the featureless face gave a cruel grin, "ees yours.". From behind him then, as if on prompt, rose a dragon, terrifying in it's size. Flint backed off slowly, stunned, as the beast opened it's mouth and let out a mighty plume of flame, accompanied by a chorus of roars as all feelings left Flint, all but fear and a sort of rising... rising...

He jerked up abruptly in his seat, pages and paper flying everywhere, and ink well smashing on the floor. He panted, his heart thumping, struggling to tear himself from the dream for a few moments. When he had calmed, he looked around him. It was far, far darker than it had been when he had closed his eyes – It must have been nearly midnight, if not past it. Muttering darkly, Flint began to gather his items up hastily, waving his wand at the broken shards to glass to gather them into a neat little pile. As he was rolling up a particularly large star chart, he heard it. It wasn't much, just the creak of a floorboard, but immediately Flint was on his feet, want pointing around him, shadows in every direction with bookcases towering overhead.

“H... Hello? Who's there?”. He said, rather meekly. His mine was racing as he feared a teacher, or the librarian, stepping out and finding him here... or worse. His dream still lingered on his groggy mind slightly, and he was only slowly beginning to realise how silly he was being. "C... Come out, now!", he said, trying to sound menacing but instead sounding pathetic as he stood, alone, waiting for someone to emerge from the darkness...

[Deleted]

“Boomslang skin, lacewings, crushed black beetles, holly oak bark…” Amelia muttered each of the ingredients of the complicated potion under her breath. Piles of completed homework littered the desk in front of her. The library provided a silent place in which she could enjoy her work. Well, this potion was more for leisure. She had completed all her homework and had decided to skip ahead to more complicated potions. Amelia hoped to become a healer when she left Hogwarts. It seemed a noble profession which required intensive knowledge of a wide variety of fields of magic. It was that or engaging in research or becoming an auror… well, being an auror did not feature too highly. She did not have the bravado required for that job. She paused her thoughts to scan the page again. “Brew for a fortnight…” she scrunched her eyes as she concentrated on the potion at hand. It was fairly complicated. She smiled to herself, feeling rather exhilarated. Knowledge was certainly exactly what she was good at. She took a deep breath and shut the book, her memory dancing through the steps required to complete this potion. The ingredients popped into her mind easily and the process played out cinematically in her head. Happy with her progress, she shut her copy of Advanced Potion Making, and took a short moment to gaze into open space. N.E.W.T level potions was far more engaging that any of the previous years' potion classes. Amelia had a natural flair for understanding the art of combining different ingredients to produce something new. The understanding came from knowing what each of the individual ingredients' properties were and what would happen when combined with the properties of another. Happy that she had memorised Polyjuice potion, she flipped the page to another potion. Felix Felicis, she muttered to herself. That was certainly a very tricky potion and was not encouraged by professors to be learnt. Overdosing is dangerous, as it is very toxic in large quantity, and over-reliance on it may lead to dangerous overconfidence, giddiness, and recklessness. The potion is very difficult and time consuming to brew, and disastrous if concocted incorrectly. Due to its effects, it is considered a tool of cheating and therefore prohibited in organised events such as Quidditch and examinations. She read through the piece with interest. A sixth year student should hardly be able to brew a potion of this difficulty, but Amelia wanted to for the challenge. Outside the castle, the darkness seemed to deepen. Shortly after, the librarian had extinguished the candles on the wall. Amelia always chose a place well hidden from view. She was not ready to return to the common room.  "Lumos," she muttered under her breath, tapping her wand against the book. Midnight slowly came then went, and Amelia felt her eyes grow heavy. Just before she dozed off, she heard the sound of glass breaking. She looked up, all sleepiness erased from her mind. She shut her book slowly and stowed it in her bag. Still clasping her wand, she lifted her bag onto her back and extinguished the light from her wand. It might be the caretaker or the librarian back. The last thing Amelia wanted was to be caught where she shouldn't be after dark. She took  few steps towards the door, a floorboard creaked beneath her feet. She froze, wincing.  A familiar voice echoed through the empty library, resounding weakly against the darkness. Flint Cotnoir. Amelia breathed a sigh of relief and tucked her wand away in her robes. She took the final few steps out of the darkness towards the boy in her year.  "It's just me, Flint," she said confidently, with a slight hushed voice. She peered at him curiously. He seemed genuinely frightened. Amelia gazed steadily at him, her bright eyes tired and her dark hair falling messily around her face.  There was a dark smear of ink under her eye from rubbing her face with her inked hands. She was no good at staying clean.  "What are you doing here so late?" she chose not to mention the fright in his voice, badly masked by threatening words.

[FLINT COTNOIR]

Flint's wand began to slip slightly in his grip, such was the sweat gathering on his palms. It was more a lingering, irrational fear of his nightmare rather than worry of who was out here. His mind slowly began to awaken, the vision of the dragon and the heat of the flames fast receding to a memory, though not as vague a one as Flint would have liked. Fire was, above all else, his greatest fear. His earliest memory was the sight of a burning house, his father and the criminal that had escaped custody to kill him dying inside the inferno. Combined with that, and his mother's long standing fear from the same incident, Flint had almost been raised in fear of something so simple, something so easily controllable with the flick of a wand... and yet his every nightmare ended the same way. In flame. He refocused his mind, and tightened his grip on his wand. It wouldn't do to be a babbling, fearful mess when whoever it was revealed themselves.

It wasn't until another figure emerged from the darkness that he afforded himself a quiet sigh of relief. Of all the people to come across him so late in the library, another Ravenclaw was of course preferable, and of all the other Ravenclaws, Amelia Rushdie was one of the better options. She was similar to Flint, he had always thought – an intellectual, a booky. Of course, that was just his interpretation from not knowing the girl very well at all. They'd spoken sure, it would have been a near impossibility not to through 5 and a half years in the same year and house, but Flint wasn't much one for friends. It was too distracting, he would tell himself. He had enough distractions already, as his brief nightmare had more than confirmed. He didn't need to worry about trying to make many steadfast chums at this late stage. Or so he would continue to tell himself.

He lowered his wand, and smiled a little. “Ah. Amelia... hullo.”, he said a little meekly, as he lowered himself back into his chair. He wiped a few drops of sweat from his brow, unsure if they were from his fear of Amelia in the darkness or leftover from his nightmare. He laughed a little, and muttered absently, “Crikey, scared me half to death there...”, before looking back up to Amelia. “I, uh... might have fallen asleep... just a little bit of course.”. He shifted in his seat, the embarrassment of the situation beginning to set in, his smile faltering a little. As if to find something to do, he raised his wand once more and wordlessly lifted the glass from the shattered inkwell back onto the desk. Most of the pieces were large, thankfully. He always had trouble with the tiny parts.

A thought occurred to him, and he returned his gaze to Amelia. “What about you?”, he said, his curiosity evident. “If you fell asleep too, we can both agree to never mention this again I'm sure.”.