Twinsensibility Part Twenty

[dysonrules]

I'm losing track...

Maribeth Coventry wanted Lorcan Scamander. She wanted him very badly. Most people gravitated toward the other twin—Lysander. It was true, Lysander was outwardly the friendly one. He was always ready with a laugh or a quick rejoinder, and he played Quidditch and seemed to be far more social than his brother.

But Lorcan… he was special. He was quiet, for one thing. Lysander’s antics annoyed Maribeth. She often wished someone would tie him up and drain some of his energy. Even when he sat still, Lysander still moved. He would bounce his knee, or fiddle with objects on the table, or twirl his wand in and out of his fingers like a bloody baton-twirler in the Muggle parades Maribeth had watched as a child.

Lorcan was more serene. He would sit placidly and read a book, or scratch studiously at a parchment, or simply sit back beneath a tree and watch Lysander’s antics through the Muggle shades he seldom removed.

Maribeth loved the sunglasses. She thought they made Lorcan look even more mysterious and sexy. His hair was always combed to perfection—except when that annoying Lysander mussed it up. His appearance was always neat and borderline pristine. He dressed conservatively, usually preferring his Hogwarts school uniform without silly adornment, such as his brother’s outrageous hats and brightly-coloured bangles.

Maribeth had tried everything to get Lorcan to notice her. It didn’t help that she was a Slytherin and he a Ravenclaw. She only had two classes with him, Charms and Transfigurations. In both, he sat next to his brother and seemed to notice no one else. In fact, he seldom paid attention to anyone but Lysander. He certainly was protective of his brother; the way his eyes followed Lysander was almost eerily possessive. It had gotten even worse since Lysander’s last injury. Lorcan hovered by him at all times, apparently ready to hex anything that might harm Lysander.

Maribeth was sick of waiting. She needed to find a way to get Lorcan to notice her, and the best way to do that was through the careful and cautious gathering of information. Unfortunately, Ravenclaws were notoriously close-mouthed. When they did speak, it was such convoluted nonsense that it needed a Translation Spell to convert it to plain English. Maribeth did not have time for that. She wanted Lorcan now.

To that end, she made her way up the ladder that led to the Divination Tower. Something rested inside that Maribeth needed. She cast a few spells that made quick work of the Locking Charms. To her way of thinking, Locking Spells were only in place to keep out the younger students. They certainly were not a deterrent for the older ones.

She pushed back the trapdoor and climbed into Trelawney’s room, panting slightly and pushing her honey-coloured hair out of her eyes. She surveyed the room with disdain. In her opinion, Trelawney was a joke. The woman could not divine her way out of a bottle of sherry these days. Classes were an exercise in who could make up the most outrageous lies. Lorcan refused to attend, which Maribeth thought was a terrible shame, because then she might not be here, sneaking around in the middle of the night looking for… that.

Trelawney’s rickety desk sat against one wall and atop it rested an enormous green crystal ball. Maribeth walked forward almost reverently and gazed at it. Unlike Trelawney, Maribeth had above average abilities. She had seen the future on a number of occasions, slipping into a trancelike state while images swirled through her mind like Pensieve mist. She had read everything she could about her gift, only to find that few people knew anything about true Seeing.

The future seldom interested her, however. She preferred to concentrate on the present. Crystals had served her well, allowing her glimpses into the lives of people she wanted information about, whether for good or ill. Small crystals allowed her limited knowledge, but this…

Maribeth reached out and placed a hand on the cool crystal. She concentrated and mist swirled in its depths, sluggish and thick at first, but quickly thinning, as if eager to do her bidding.

“Show me Lorcan Scamander,” she whispered.