swing on sight | drago

sometime in the middle of term
wherever it fits chronologically

"Right," he started, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression as dour as it has ever been.

"Since you've probably never properly divined a thing in your life," Evan started, his eyes fixed on every detail of the room except the giant bloke he'd been forced to partner with. Training his gaze to skip past the imposing figure that was both magnetic because of his hatred and, well, large, was as difficult as it was necessary. He had to overtly express how much he did not want to be stuck in this situation, something he couldn't have fathomed at how much it annoyed him.

Their Divination professor must have a quirky sense of humor. The task they were given was to find the key that got them out of this room. And, surely, it wouldn't be as easy as casting a charm any second-year could muster. They needed to sense out the thing, using clues within the room that might lead them to it.

"–why don't you take a seat, little lamb, and let me get us out of here."

There was only one seat, a small rocking chair fit for a child and not the lumbering Russian dog who happened to be betrothed of one of his closest (though recently estranged) friends. The room itself looked like it belonged to someone's grandma. It was small, with pale, yellow lighting coming from the ceiling fan's lamp. There was a small bed in the corner, the spread being rather ghastly with stains of yellow ovals scattered across what must have one been white but now looked grey. There was a long, body-length mirror on one side of the wall, a wide bookcase on the other, and odd paintings and black and white photographs across the room in ornamental frames.

"Shouldn't take me long as long as you can keep your mouth shut. I have to concentrate," Evan warned as he took out his wand.

He knew what he was doing. The Slytherin boy was seeing just how far he could take his instigating before the situation combusted. He did so love towing that line.

Drago crossed his arms, regarding the other with an indifferent expression. Whistler, the guy who had tried to provoke him since that first encounter at the Greymere ball, still didn’t let up. He didn’t know where the aversion stemmed from but he also didn’t care. Whistler had drawn the line that day in August and that was where they stood.

“I think you confuse who of us is the little lamb,” Drago returned in an even tone but not without looking the Slytherin up and down first, taking in his lanky build. He could probably knock that little shit out with one swing if it came to it. Not that he wanted to; it took a lot to stir his calm.

Being stuck in here with this wannabe leader was an annoyance nonetheless. Not only because he had his doubts about Whistler’s claim to be the one to get them out of here, but because sitting back while others did the work wasn’t for him. His ego didn’t allow it.

“If you cannot concentrate when someone else is speaking, you will never get anything done,” Drago commented, dry and point-blank. Turning to inspect the bookshelf, he slid his wand from his pocket. “You should work on that.”

Drago let his eyes travel along the shelves, slowly but never lingering on any one thing longer than the last. They weren’t supposed to rummage through the contents of this room, but feel the presence of the key they’d need. He intended to do just that, no matter the amount of nonsense Whistler threw his way.

“Are you concentrated yet?”, he asked after a moment, glancing over his shoulder and keeping the amusement off his face. “Or do I need to be silent longer?”