Nothing to See Here, Move Along

"The sun is too bright," the blonde fell into a chair, "People are loud." The whining continued, "François found my special brand, again." Clove brushed his hair back: "How does he without fail finish it, Valentino? His faithful companion barked, unable to speak. "I miss your baritone voice, my dear -dear- friend." The wolfhound came at his beck. Much love administered with nuzzles and caresses, Clove giggled: "These lips aren't for you!" Valentino ran his coarse tongue on the cheek.

Leaning back, he happily sighed. The dim room did wonders for his head. Until Valentino started barking incessantly. The shock to his ears brought him to his feet. Fast enough for Clove to groan and cradle his head, the whining began: "Oh, why?" The blonde took a broom for support, "Vaalentiiiino Delgado."

The wolfhound's howls ended, but not without tossing a look of resentment at his owner's way. I was only trying to warn you about the boy coming, but fine! Be my guest. -Valentino raised his head and trotted off to an opposing corner. "Don't be that way," the blonde shook his head, using the broom for its original purpose.

Thomas had known he needed to find the older boy before too long. As far as he knew, the truth of the situation resided in three people at the school. He'd already seen two of them, so it was merely the man who had helped him make such bad decisions to face.

He'd made his way down to the Herbolody Class after his lessons had finished. He opened the door to see Clove with a broom in hand and a dog in the corner.

"Monsieur Engel." Thomas acknowledged the man with a small bow from the door, unsure whether to enter fully or not.

"It means thin in Spanish," the man clarified, "It's really a compliment, Valentino." The wolfhound refused to acknowledge him. Clove stuck out his tongue at the obstinate beast. Reason argued the animal didn't understand a thing: however, the German argued otherwise. Someone intruded on the moment.

"Monsieur Engel." No one called him that, who in the-

"Monsieur Le-Clement," the blonde recovered smoothly. Abstaining from calling the boy Lemon, he bowed with a flourish -feeling pretty proud he remembered: "What can I do for you?" Clover returned to cleaning the room, taking his sweet time. He noted this was the ideal time to act as though he was not under the influence of some very special herbs. "What time is it again?" Clove paused.

"It's just Clement, monsieur. No need for the pre-noun for my name. It is English after all!" Thomas corrected, not realising it wasn't a mistake. He looked from the man to the dog, it seemed like they had been having a conversation when he walked in, but he thought better than to ask about it.

"The time is just after six, I believe." Thomas replied to his second question, venturing in from the door towards the potting areas. He leans against one of the tables, analysing whether the room is just the two of them. Once he was happy that there was only the two of them, he continued.

"I wanted to apologise, Clove..." The boy started nervously. "I don't think we got off on the right foot, which never helps things."

The harshness wounded his soul. Clove, luckily, had his back to the boy -wincing at the words. He continued sweeping. Freezing at the time, the apprentice quickly went to the adjacent room to retrieve his bag. The poison coursed through his veins for longer than he cared it to -where was it again? He appeared moments later with his medical supplies. "Don't mind me," vials clinked together in the search.

"I wanted to apologise, Clove..." The boy started nervously.

Distracted, the blonde grunted: "What for?" He decided to avoid poisons from now on. Clove chugged the antidote. That was a close call, the thought sent shivers down his spine.

The blonde took a seat on the ground, calling for the canine. Looking at Thomas, he shook his head: "He likes it when I beg." Valentino relented, but only out of pity for his master. Clove embraced the beast. "Who's a good boy?" The man buried his face in Val's pelt, running his fingers with vigor -nearly forgetting the boy: "Oh yeeah." He cooed, "You are!" His grin grew. The dog panted.

Viridian eyes rose to appraise Lemon. His countenance dimmed: "You were saying?"

The goat seemed more interested in the dog and his potions, but Thomas pushed on nonetheless.

"I also wanted to apologise for the situation I put you in. It was rather silly, wasn't it monsieur? But you gave me an escape and for that I thank you. But I must ask you not to tell a soul what happened that night. Lissette covered up the most of it and I would hate it to go to waste." He paused, deciding what else needed saying. "My father doesn't know that I spent the majority of the night in bed, and if the truth of why I spent the next day in bed came out..."

It sounded like a threat he realised and sighed. "I only mean to say that your silence keeps yourself and a handful of others safe, monsieur."

He watched the man play with the dog some more, noting he didn't seem to be sober.

"Do you... have any more? Not for now. I'll pay you for them, and promise not to take it by water." He asked nervously, it couldn't hurt, right?

The man hooted with laughter, "That's rich." Clove nudge his companion, "Don't you think, Val?" The wolfhound became oblivious to the question. "I appreciate it," the lame apology you offered, "But I'm a doctor, first and foremost." It needn't to be said that, but just in case: "And you aren't sick."

"As the saying goes," Clove asked the dog how it went again. The wolfhound kept mum. "Yes, if it ain't broke -don't fix it." Valentino made better company when he could speak. That deep baritone voice brought out good feels. The good doctor whispered to his pet.

First François, now this Lemon wanted his beautiful, beautiful plants for recreation.

Valentino wasn't one to linger in the presence of strangers. Now, bereft of his dear pet -Clove sighed, looking at Lemon. He dusted himself off, once on his feet. "Sorry, I couldn't be of much help." The apprentice began the routine: watering the plants, tending to them in general, and all that.

"I think you misunderstand, monsieur." Thomas continued. "I don't plan to use it recreationally. I just wish to have a leaf, just in case. I do not plan to use it."

It was true, he merely wanted a safety net. Or a release from tensions he couldn't cope with. He hoped it wouldn't come to it again, but it helped him.

"But I understand you decision."

"Just in case of what?" He paused from his duties. A dark eyebrow arched. "What pain are you anticipating in the near future?" His gray eyes examined the boy from toe to the tip of head: "You look perfectly healthy." The plants needed more care -a loving hand.

Clove sighed, this wasn't something you could teach: respect. He tended to the plants' needs: "You'll be just fine." If they didn't take his word for it, the blonde reassured them, "Don't you know I have a magical touch?" They responded to the light dialogue. Even the professor scoffed, calling him a loony, but the French man could not deny the apprentice's results.

"People don't believe me," his jade eyes went to the boy for a moment, "But words have embedded in them, power." He went about the garden, caring for his charges: "It's why the fool talks while a wise man would listen."

"I don't anticipate any pain, monsieur." Thomas replied, watching him talk to the plants. "Though just because one doesn't anticipate pain, does not mean one won't endure it. But as I said, I will not ask of you what you are not willing to give."

"It's why the fool talks while a wise man would listen."

Thomas frowned at the words, was he calling him a fool? He wasn't sure. Nor did he care. If a man wished to confuse a child into insecurity, the game was really on him.

"And you really believe the plants respond to your words, monsieur? Even boys who do not pay careful attention to the subject know that sunlight, water, and fertiliser are what makes plants grow. Well, unless you have some kind of magic to enhance it."

Amused by the ever serious Lemon, Clove paused, leaning forward on a table. His elbows rested on the surface. Fists supporting his chin, he feigned thoughtfulness for a moment. The blonde broke out a smile, "Why, yes." Green eyes watched the boy, wondering: "Why do you humor me?"

Play placed aside. This very serious boy had a reason to be here. The eldest assumed it to be something mighty important. Lemon was fond of the goat and not of him. Why that was would forever escape the German.

"Humour you, monsieur?" The boy asked, fiddling with one of the plants left out on the table. "I don't know what you mean. I merely came to see if you were anything like the goat you were on the night of the ball. Or whether you were the same as you were out by the river."

He looked down at the table thoughtfully. He remembered there was a goat, but he didn't remember much of the conversation. He didn't really remember anything in truth. But the goat was vivid in the memories he could muster.

"But I can leave if I am disturbing you. I can see you have work a plenty to do without interference."

Clove stifled his laughter -was that it? He turned away, doubling over. "Ahhh," the apprentice snickered. Honestly, memory of the day -nearly a year ago- had long been forgotten. Nonetheless, Clove had a good enough grasp on his general behavior to know: "You don't talk to me when I'm out by the river." It implied one of possibly three things: a hungry blonde, a grumpy blonde, and a sulking blonde. None of those moods wanted to deal with anything breathing. Unless said intruder knew to scratch his back.

He doubted the boy knew to or would scratch his back.

"Don't worry about it," Clove recovered waving it off. "Valentino makes for terrible company."

The boy frowned as the grown man laughed at him. It had been a bad idea, he conceeded. The man didn't take him seriously, and merely wished to laugh at him. He pushed himself up onto the table, taking the weight off his feet after a hard first day of lessons. The combat lessons were in no way getting easier on the body, but Thomas was quicker than most of the boys and less blows were hitting him and more hit the shield, the same with his wand duelling.

"Am I to your amusement, Clove? I really hoped you'd be more intelligent than that. The Noirs and Malfoys laugh, but a wise man knows only to strike when the time is right. A man who already knows many powerful sayings should surely know that." Thomas paused, looking at the man without faultering. "Ride bene chi ride l'ultimo."

He'd been taught a few languages, as was expected of a son of a powerful Lord. And the Italian proverb seemed to be beneficial in this situation.

The blonde blinked. Intelligence correlated with being serious? Then Clove gladly would become the fool. The corrosive undertones were harsh on his sensitive ears. Luckily, he knew better than to take such words to heart. Thomas was still a boy and as such, he wanted to do his very best to look and act like a man.

He noted he didn't have to be such a -a deep breath was taken: positive thoughts, positive thoughts.

Clover felt grateful for his role model. A soldier, no more of a boy himself, led their motley unit. There were two sayings that stood out to him: we laugh as to not cry and maturity isn't about having a rod stuck up our ---, but knowing when to goof off. A real inspiration for the young boy who couldn't stop crying and reminded everyone -I didn't sign up for this! Ah, yes -the man recalled the boy was still talking. "Ride bene chi ride l'ultimo."

The weary traveler caught laughter and last. He knew Spanish would come in handy one day! "Who wants to be the last one laughing?" He shrugged, "Sounds lonely to me." Clove added with a grin, "But what do I know?" He admired the plants, "I talk to plants and animals, after all."

Thomas sighed, wiping his face with his hands. The man was intolerable, yet something compelled him to stay.

"Perhaps one would see it as lonliness, but I would say that talking to inanimate objects or beasts that cannot speak would be the true sign of such a feeling." Thomas shrugged back at the man. "But then I'd call creating enemies for the sake of doing so equally as mad."

He stood back up from the table, dusting the dirt off his trousers. "I think it best I leave, monsieur. I came to say thank you, but it seems my thanks are not welcome." He turns to head out the door.

"Have a great day, my serious friend." The blonde sighed, not quite understanding why everything had to be black and white. Friend or foe, compliment and insult -were there no gray areas left? "Valentino, am I saying something wrong here?" The wolfhound had no response for him, "Not you too!" Clove tended to his plants, "You won't believe me, but I gave it away."

That got the canine's attention. "And people say you don't understand," he slyly smiled: "Sometimes, I believe you're under a curse." Valentino jumped, licking the master. "I know, I must be mad." The doctor exclaimed, "As I was saying, do you remember that girl?"

No one gave the Irish wolfhound enough credit.

Thomas shook his head at the man's words amd raised a hand to acknowledge the good bye. How they could be friends when everything was so forced he would nwver know. But his patience wore thin incredibly fast, and he didn't need to play such mind games.

The heat of the night made him feel dizzy when he stepped back outside. The castle only boasted the power it held and the reason for its standing rang clear. His father had set work already, on top of the daya work. Thomas made his way further away from the castle. His hope of finding someone to be his outlet had gone out like a dampened candle wick.