April 13th, 1889; midnight — Ravenclaw Common Room

The dim lighting of the common room was provided by the fireplace, the lit torches on either side of the entryway, scattered candles, and the near-full moon streaming through the tower window. All of these touches were lost upon Holliday Fudge as she glared at the prefect with murder in her eyes, her wand in hand but kept decidedly at her side—it was all the fifth year could do not to draw it properly against Beatrix Borgin.

"Take it back," she instructed sharply, as if in warning, never once thinking the other witch actually would. This was certainly not the first time that the pair had come to blows, and—if neither of them got expelled tonight—would not be the last. "You take it back now."

To anyone else, Borgin's comment would have come across as off-handed, indelicate but nothing particularly dire. To Holliday, though, anything that left the fifth year's lips was cause for speculation—and probably for ire—particularly at this time of the month—both for Holliday personally and for the natural world outside the Ravenclaw tower. It simply could not be borne.

@"Beatrix Borgin"/Elladora Black first, then open to up to three more Ravenclaws who might be up at this hour!

  

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Laughing openly Trixie ran a blunt fingernail over the covers of her hard-won armchair. Since she had taken possession of the dormitory’s best bed she made made a show of instructing the house elves to thoroughly clean each and every sheet that might have so much as touched the former occupant, had strung up dried wolfsbane stolen from her mother’s potions ingredients at home, and had taken every opportunity to threaten anyone who dared stand up her with detention. Suffice to say no one had argued when she demanded the best seat in the common room too.

In fact no one had been stupid enough to argue with her about much at all but that record of common sense amongst her dormmates was rapidly coming to an end and she was rather glad of that fact. It was really quite especially satisfying to think of Holliday Fudge’s hand seizing up with cramp as she wrote line after line of “I must not be such a smug bitch.” Or something along those lines. She might have to change it before she told the matron.

“It’s true though, isn’t it?” Trix snarled back, voice full of vicious mirth, fully aware that what she was saying would hit just the right spot. “Being dead is much better than being a freak of nature.”

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   Holliday Fudge

Holliday had often wondered at some of the more peculiar common turns of phrases, but no longer doubted the validity of “blood boil”. The Ravenclaw felt as though hers was doing just that, the heat of her rage lighting a fire under her—one that threatened to combust.

“Only if it’s you!” Holliday snarled in response, knuckles whitening as her grip on her wand—still undrawn—tightened.

@"Beatrix Borgin"/Elladora Black

  

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Trixie’s expression flickered quickly from anger to amusement. The other girl was infuriatingly perfect and it would have been the easiest thing in the world to launch herself off her chair and tackle her to the ground. Holliday Fudge was shorter and softer than she was so Trixie rated her chances even in one of her stupid friends tried to intervene.

But it would be so much more satisfying to make the girl come at her. Then there would be real trouble…

“Now, now Fudge that's very close to being rude to a prefect, I could have you in detention for that," she replied with a saccharine smile that barely touched her lips, let alone her eyes.

  

With some effort, Holliday bit back her retort. It would not be the first time that Borgin sent her to detention on a whim, but at the same time, she did not relish the prospect. Where was Turner when she needed him, or Macnair? Other prefects seemed to have a gift for keeping her dormmate in line.

"There will come a day when you no longer wear your badge, Miss Borgin," she returned loftily. Though no one could miss the malice in her tone, the words themselves were not at all damning, but instead a statement of fact. "It would be unwise to rely overmuch upon its authority."

  

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If Holliday Fudge had cherry-picked her words with the intention of turning Trixie’s mood from her usual brand of unpleasantness to sheer malice than she could not have chosen better. Being reminded that soon, painfully, infuriatingly soon she would be gone from Hogwarts and wed to Burke like a broodmare was like a red flag to a bull and Trixie was out of her armchair in seconds, eyes flashing as she shoved the other girl hard against the nearest wall.

“Maybe it’d be unwise of you to be such a little shit,” Trixie spat.

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   Cordelia Fawley

To say that MacNair was pleased to have been woken in the middle of the night by one of his dormmates about two girls fighting in the common room would be a massive, massive over exaggeration. If anything he was tempted to simply wave the other boy off and return to sleep. It wasn't like he could hear the two from his bed. However, buried somewhere deep was a moral obligation to actually do his job, and with a huff, he pulled his slippers and dressing robe on and made his way down the stairs.

He froze at the bottom of the stairs, hands clenched into fists and he took a deep breath or two. He hadn't known what exactly to expect - his dormmate had been scare on the detail front - but Miss Fudge and a prefect fighting hadn't been in. Err... he at least hadn't expected Miss Fudge to get into a fight at midnight. He couldn't say he was particularly surprised about the Miss Borgin. Despite her family's status as pureblood, he simply couldn't understand the decision to make Borgin a prefect. She was both brash and crude.

"Miss Borgin. Miss Fudge. That will be enough," the sixth year snapped, still annoyed at being woken up. "For starters, if you are not aware, it is, in fact, the middle of the night. When you both should be asleep. And not making enough of a racket to wake everyone else."

"Secondly, I do not know what this fight is about - and before you do, I do not care to know - but I would think that you'd both have been raised in a way that would have taught you that this is not acceptable behavior. If this is to continue, I do not mind docking points from my own house - and I might see about speaking to the Etiquette Instructor about you both receiving extra lessons. Now, is further discussion needed or may I go back to my bed - where I was before I was awoken to deal with this?"

  

Holliday's eyes widened and mouth opened into a small O in spite of her anger with the other girl. While she was used to Beatrix Borgin being simply vile, the language to drop from the prefect's lips was course enough that, for a moment, the fifth year forgot herself. Before she could respond—or react in a less genteel manner—however, another prefect descended from the dormitories to intercede.

Holliday considered pointing out that it was Borgin who was grievously in the wrong, but looking from one prefect to the other, thought better of it.

"Sorry," was all the young witch uttered instead, having the decency to at least look cowed.

  

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Fists clenched at her sides Trixie was moments away from throwing a punch at the interloped before she realised who it was. Her mood soured immediately. The anger she had been enjoying feeling coursing through her body was rapidly replaced with deflated irritation and she unfurled her fingers just in case instinct took over.

“It won’t happen again Macnair,” she replied in clipped tones, not troubling herself to meet his gaze. If he brought up etiquette lessons again she was sure she could convince their head of house that it was a matter between young ladies that had been misunderstood by a young man who was sadly ignorant of their ways. Men were usually stupid enough to believe her.

“I’ll be off to bed then,” she said, turning her back on the pair of them to head for the staircase, mumbling under her breath. “To think about what I’ve done.”

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