[daylen mariya krum]

Daylen Krum was well known for being an extremely calm girl. She hardly blew up at anything, in fact, the last time that she had truly gotten angry and yelled at someone (excluding Quidditch, because Quidditch can never be included in such things) was when she was twelve and yelled at her father. Of course, most people found her lack of vocals odd, but Day was just never the type to see the point in such things. She liked the register that she normally spoke in, thank you very much. Of course, being a Hufflepuff, who were often known for their dreamy outlooks, it was less of an oddity and more of a ‘oh dear, she’s a Hufflepuff.’

Still, Daylen was getting to the point where she was annoyed. She had been receiving anonymous notes for awhile now, and her friends seemed to find the secret admirer that Daylen had acquired absolutely hilarious. The contents of the notes were always quite simple, but of course, Daylen never paid much attention. She was always much more troubled with other things, and something to insubstantial was not worth paying attention to as far as she was concerned. Until this person or joke, or whatever it was gave her something solid to work with, Daylen was quite content to get rid of the notes as soon as she read them, or to write notes and to do lists on the backs of them. It worked quite well really.

And then, after Daylen was quite sure that this annoyance was just going to continue on until she graduated, there was something more solid that came. A time and a place to meet. For days, Daylen conferred with herself as to whether or not she should attend; whether or not it was a joke. Of course, she could have discussed all these things with her friends, and after about ten minutes of nonstop laughing, any one of them would have stopped, gotten serious and done their best to provide her with solid advice. Of course, that wasn’t the way that Daylen worked. Her mother had commented on more than one occasion that even if a boss told her it was their way or the highway, Daylen would choose the highway in all situations. Of course, the stubbornness runs in the family; her mother just never wanted to admit that fact.

Daylen had finally, about fifteen minutes before the meeting time decided to go down and see what it was all about, even if all she was going to be able to acquire out of it was figuring out who the person was. Of course, getting them to stop would have been ideal, but in situations like these Daylen had more often than not known that the idealist was not likely the best thing to be. With a final turn of the corner, Daylen couldn’t help but wonder what on earth this person wanted, but more so, why in the name of Merlin’s pants they would have wanted to meet in front of the infamous Weasley twin’s roped off swamp. Although Daylen loved to look at it and think of the great symbolism it represented, she still couldn’t quite understand why.

With a small sigh, Daylen stood there, arms crossed. It wasn’t that late at night, and she wasn’t out past curfew, but still, the corridor seemed to be deserted. She looked down at her watch; she was only one minute early. Silently she gave herself fifteen minutes past the meeting time before she was going to leave. Daylen turned to look at the plaque in the center of the rope in front of the swamp. It’s script was simple and short, with a small missive at the end; ‘In loving memory of Fred Weasley, one of the greatest to walk these Halls.’. Daylen smiled and remembered the Freddie Weasley of their current time, and if stories were something to tell, the namesake had kept itself well.

Lost in her thoughts, Daylen almost missed the person who cleared their throat to her rear. She turned around, and the shock on her face was fairly evident. “Drayden…?”

[drayden paul peterson]

The little sticky note in the corner of his dorm mirror was a constant reminder of the day's event. It loomed down at Drayden from the moment he combed down his bed-head hair that morning to the the point of his return after afternoon classes for a quick touch up. Today at four o'clock, he mused, today at four o'clock... Bah. Would she even bother to show up or what? That particular thought echoed repeatedly in his mind just as much as the content of the note. He wasn't nervous by any means... Well, perhaps just the slightest bit anxious to know if he was putting his efforts of tidying himself up to no use.

The pale blue comb never left his hand; he held it even while poking and proding at the stupid pimple that had come up unexpectedly by his left ear. He was constantly adjusting and readjusting his bangs before and after having closely examined the oh-so obivous mole on his cheek. At least he didn't have any ungodly dark circles under his eyes. That stupid history assignment had kept him up the night before only on account of the fact that he hadn't been able to bribe or bully anyone into doing it for him a week earlier. He'd saved it for the last minute and had had to do it himself... His hand still hurt from scribling so quickly.

One of the other boys in the dorm gave a sharp little laugh at Drayden. "Something funny?" he asked quickly, but the guy just shook his head and went back to searching for the promiscuous collection of magazines at the bottom of his trunk. Blood neanderthal, Drayden thought to himself. The finishing touch was the tie about his collar, which sat slightly askew before he fixed its position and tightened the knot up around the lump in his throat. One last comb and he turned without another look at the mirror. Were he to stand in front of his reflection any longer he would surely find everything wrong with himself and nothing right. It was best just to leave. Besides, the time was ticking nearer.

Climbing the dungeon steps and the countless stairs up to the third landing seemed to take forever at one point. His shoes scuffed against the floor briefly as he turned one corner after the next and travelled down the final stretch of corridor. Was he going to be the only one there? How many rendevous notes had he sent before that had left him standing alone at various points around the castle feeling like an idiot? Ah, his heart really wasn't in it that much... He just really hated being left hanging. If she wasn't here it wasn't a big deal. He'd send her another note, another little box of Chocolate Frogs, yada yada yada. Same old routine, same old results - so maybe that was the problem. Maybe it was time for him to do something to really get Miss Krum's attention, or the attention of a few other girls while he was at it.

His shoes scuffed again when he went around the corner. He kept himself at a steady, slow pace while wandering up behind the figure belonging to - he was certain - what was considered to be his current fascination. He cleared his throat, slipped his hands suavely into his pockets [a tip he'd picked up in a magazine] and stood with a casual stance and vague smile [yet another tip he'd picked up]. He watched her spin around, her look of surprise, and heard his name. "That would be me," he replied smoothly. "Who were you expecting, the fourth year Gryffindor midget? Not that I'm comparing but I think I'm of a higher stature." Real funny, boy, real funny.