WHO: Hippocrates Smethwyck & Ophelia Llewellyn
WHAT: They need to talk
WHEN: Late
WHERE: Common Room

Smeth barely managed to suppress a yawn as he reread his Charms essay. It was a very familiar scene, a scene that was familiar to most conscientious students, but becoming frequently friendly with the seventh year Prefect. With so much schoolwork, studying, in addition to Prefect duties and directing his first production, as well as keeping track of the Comic Book Club and the Muggle Film Preservation Society? Sleep was a fleeting dream these days. It was well after midnight, and many students had closed shop for the night, leaving Smeth alone, save for about one or two other students, who were already closing their books and packing their bags.

He blinked and ran a hand through his messy dark hair, green eyes hazy. All right. So perhaps a small nap wouldn't kill him, right? After all, he did have script revisions to go over, his Potions homework to finish, as well as... He closed his eyes and stretched out on the nearest couch, and was out like a light.

The sleep he was enjoying seemed to be over in mere seconds, as he was awakened by what seemed to be a thunderous crash. He slowly rose, rubbing his eyes and blinking to adjust his eyes to the now-dark room. God, what time was it? It had to be late, because -

However, all thought processes went temporarily blank as his eyes focused on a unmistakably familiar figure. A person that he had tried his best to avoid for these past weeks, a person that he had alternately felt anger, confusion, and sorrow toward. He swallowed hard. Perhaps if he stood still, really still, he might be able to slip up to his dorms unnoticed.

Ophelia had been waiting down there all this time for Smeth to get up and go upstairs. Nestled into a corner on the floor behind one of the tables, doing her homework where he couldn't see her, she was hoping to sneak up quietly after he had left for the evening--but she had waited and waited and waited and there still had been Smeth. Sitting there, finishing his homework, and leaving her in a very uncomfortable position. Because if she got up, it would be evident she was there and that would invite talking and she had been doing so well at avoiding talking with him lately.

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief as she watched him settle down on the couch. Just to be safe, Lia waited a few moments before gathering up her things quickly and quietly, and she rose to leave--

--only to crash into a chair mere moments on her way out of her space, causing all her books and supplies to spill. "Fuck," she muttered, bending over to pick everything up. And sure as anything, when she finally turned around to see if Smeth had noticed... he had. And he was up and he was looking straight at her and... "Fuc--hi... sorry, I was just leaving, I'll--I spilled my stuff, I'll just--sorry, I didn't know you were sleeping over there."

"I - no, ah..." Fuck, why was it so damn hard just to form simple words? Smeth cleared his throat. "Don't leave on my account. I just... fell asleep and I'll be heading up in a second." Was it really his voice, with the cool, detached tone?

He hastily gathered his books, parchment, and straightened his glasses and started for the stairs. He took no more than two steps before he stopped and spun around. A good part of him wanted to keep on pretending like she didn't existed, but a small part of him refused. Inexplictably, that small part won.

"Ophelia," he said tiredly, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "we really, really need to talk."

It was a familiar road, one that he had taken before with her and lead to... an unexpected destination, but he had to do this. For his own sanity.

Yeah, she knew they had to. Oh, how she knew.

"Right. Right." Ophelia said with a sigh. "We really need to talk." They stood there in silence for a few short, but awkward moments before she began to slowly set down her things on the table next to her. She made her way over to the couch he had just vacated and sat down, and looked over the back at him. "So let's talk."

It would, after all, be better to sort all this mess out before it got any further or they decided to ignore each other for the rest of time. Right? Yeah... right.

Guh, this is not going to be easy.

To avoid looking at her directly (or simply because he needed something to do), Smeth began to pace lightly. "All right," he began, trying to keep his voice level, logical, and calm as he possibly could. "We obviously can't avoid each other for the rest of our lives," As much as I want to. "and I feel that we should..."

We should... what? What? C'mon, Smethwyck. He took a deep breath and exhaled, stopping short and running his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes. "I just think we should resolve this."

Lia arched her brow at him skeptically, turning around fully to watch him as he paced. "Resolve what, exactly? The part about my having a fiancée? Because that's kind of set in stone at the moment... Or the part about us snogging while I have a fiancée? Because that, I'll agree with you on. There needs to be something done about that."

Specifically, doing more of it, she thought, but quickly caught herself. She did, after all, understand that that suggestion was far from the right course of action... as well as being something completely taboo.

Smeth, who had given countless speeches and delivered Quidditch commentary, and was now the director of his first play, who normally never had trouble speaking, was now having trouble finding the right words in the English language to properly express himself.

He crossed his arms in front of him and walked closer to her, trying in vain not to notice how pretty Lia looked, how striking her brandy brown eyes, or the curve of her neck. "I think we should put this behind us," he said, with an unintentional sigh. "I mean, you're getting married, and I'm..." What? "I'm just busy with a ton of things to do, and..."

God, this wasn't working, it wasn't working at all. He walked closer to Ophelia, and without realising it, his mouth opened again. "Tell me, did you honestly feel anything when we kissed? Anything at all?" Smeth's words tumbled over each other, coming out fast and tinged with undeniable sadness.

If Ophelia had ever wanted anything in her life, she wanted most now to be able to tell him 'no.' One single, simple syllable, two little letters, that was all she wanted. But as she opened her mouth to say it, no sound came out, as if her voice had completely frozen up.

She couldn't say it, she couldn't tell him no because that was not the answer, no matter how much she wished it was. Her heart wrenched at hearing the sadness in his voice, and she closed her mouth quickly. She couldn't lie to him, not when he was right there... not when he sounded like that, and definitely not when he was looking at her with those eyes. It wasn't out pity for him, either; it was a complete and utter lack of being able to lie when he was putting himself out there in front of her.

"I--we only broke up a month ago, do you really think it's possible for me to stand here and say that I didn't?" Lia asked quietly, her voice just a little ashamed maybe, because she knew this was the last thing she was supposed to be doing.

Well, Smeth did make her do a lot of things she wasn't supposed to.

"As quickly as I've accepted this marriage, I'm not fickle. I never just stopped liking you and I don't--I honestly don't know if I can."

Smeth involuntarily took a step closer to Ophelia after she spoke, his eyes never leaving her face. He felt a multitude of emotions - anger, sadness, pain, and regret, but mostly he felt defeated, and he despised feeling like that. If only Smeth could be some sort of romantic hero where he could whisk away the tragically beautiful heroine to live some place happily ever after. Unfortunately, life never worked like that; reality was harsh and cold.

Though the Smethwyck name did hold some significance in the wizarding world, how could he, a seventeen year old with no real titles or inheritance to his name, possibly hope to compete with an older, mature pureblooded wizard who was no doubt extremely wealthy and well-connected?

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "So you still... like me, but you're still going to go through with the wedding?" Though it was evident that he tried to keep his voice neutral and level, one could not miss the undeniable amount of pain in the words.

"The way you say it makes it sound like I have a choice," Lia said, giving off a humorless laugh. It wasn't as if she disliked Grayson--she was actually rather growing to like him more and more, which she hoped one day would turn to an actual love--but she did still despise the idea of being forced into anything. It didn't feel right to be committing herself for the rest of her life to a twenty-year-old man she'd known for two months in a matter of weeks, although she didn't like to admit it. It didn't feel right at all, no matter how much she liked Grayson, no matter how much she wanted it to work out. She shouldn't be told who to marry, who to love and--

--and these were naught but the fantasies of an immature child. What was she thinking, having thoughts like that? She thought she had gotten rid of her anger over the arrangement over a month ago; why was the injustice back, burning her full-force now?

"Smeth, I... it's do or die," she said quietly. "You've got a pureblooded side to your family, you have to understand this. If I don't marry Grayson, my family disowns me for bringing shame upon them, plain and simple. If I'm disowned, I'm nothing, I have nothing. As much as I disagree with it, I just can't walk away; I'm not strong enough to deal with something like that."

Ophelia ran a hand through her hair and looked away from him, finding the carpet's design very interesting. "I'm sorry, I can't, I can't."

Smeth stood there, unable to disguise the pain in his heart. As he listened to Ophelia, he leaned against the couch, and when she was finished... Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the general stress he felt his always-busy schedule. Maybe he was just insane. Whatever it was, it felt as if his body was on auto-pilot, as he moved quickly and quietly to close the gap between them. Before she could move, he lifted her chin with a hand and planted a small, slow kiss on her lips, and pulled away before he could possibly give into more ardent urges.

"I can't ask you to leave your family," he said quietly, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. "I can't ask you to do anything that you don't want to do. But obviously I can't deny how I feel for you."

With nothing more to say, he caught her eye again as he turned to ascent the staircase to the boys' dorm, but as he took the first step, he turned to look at her again. "And Lia?" He gave her a tiny half-smile. "You're not nothing. You're so much more."

If one were to ask his sisters, Phoebe or Tabitha what they thought was their brother's worst day ever, they would instantly launch into a story where their mother had accidentally thrown out nearly all of 1973's Spider-Man series. Now? The term 'worst day ever' took a whole never precedent.