Learning how to feel (LeStrangexLongbottom)

[Purple]

Darcy LeStrange

They were going to be practicing the Cruciatus Curse once again for today's Dark Arts lesson, a favorite of her mother's. If that combined with the fact that she already had enough practice with the curse wasn't enough to make her skip class, the fact that their targets were first years definitely was. Not that she particularly liked first years. They were annoying little prats most of the time. But still, what had they ever done to her exactly? They certainly didn't deserve to be tortured, at least not just for the sake of learning. It wasn't that important.

Darcy's excuse if anyone asked why she skipped out on such an interesting lesson was simple. Why would she need to practice such an elementary curse? Not that anyone would ask. With the Death Eaters in charge of Hogwarts, what the mark on her left arm wouldn't get her, the name LeStrange would. Those who didn't know Darcy LeStrange at least knew Bellatrix and knew what would happen if her daughter was treated badly. There was a sort of bitter sweetness to that. The power was wonderful. The expectations were horrid. It was obvious from her quiet nature that she wasn't exactly like her mother, but most assumed that she was silently plotting the demise of everyone around her, which was only true on occasion.

Most students had settled into their classrooms about ten minutes ago, making it obvious that anyone out and about now was either handing out punishments or asking for one. Darcy didn't like to link herself to either group, and this, plus a general desire to avoid human interaction, was what had her heading for the Room of Requirement. She clutched two books to her chest, a third open and in front of her face as she walked, moving with absolute sureness, as if it were impossible for her to run into anything. Sometimes, just sometimes, the impossible is possible for a moment, though, because Darcy did run into something, or rather, someone. Were she narrating she would have said that he ran into her, but at any rate, girl and books wound up on the floor, and she abandoned her usual snarky response in favor of picking them up.

[lari]

Neville Longbottom

Neville had walked into the Dark Arts classroom only to promptly walk back out. If the nervous first-years all standing in a line at the front of the classroom wasn't enough for him to guess what they were about to do, the words "Cruciatus Curse" written on the chalk board told him the lesson. But before he could make it all the way out of the room, Carrow walked in. Amycus Carrow was the Dark Arts teacher of Hogwarts, and his sister Alecto was the Muggle Studies teacher. They only person he hated more than them was Bellatrix LeStrange.

Ever since day one, Neville has been challenging their authority. It was rare for him to have such courage, but someone has to stand up to them. And since Harry's off defeating evil, Neville stepped up. Amycus gave Neville a toothy smirk that made Neville want to punch him, muggle style. When Carrow wasn't looking, Neville pulled a shrunken hat out of his pocket. After muttering the enlarging spell, the hat covered in pink feathers could be seen by anyone who was looking at Neville. Luckly, Carrow wasn't looking at him. Neville quickly put the hat on, successfully making him invisible, and walked toward the door. He was half way down the hall when he heard, "Bloody hell, where'd he go?"

Neville turned around and saw Carrow, standing by the door with a look of anger. After scanning the hallway four times, as if maybe he missed Neville the first time, he started to run in the direction of Neville. Even though he was unseen, the boy wasn't going to let Carrow just run around searching for him. He pointed his wand at the furious death eater, casting a nonverbal Jelly Legs Jinx at Amycus.

Neville strutted down the hall with the sounds of Amycus' curses of frustration in the background. It would have been dramatic if Neville was in fact visible. He immediately made his way to the direction of the Room of Requirement. Even when the DA wasn't meeting, he found that most of his free time was spent practicing Defensive spells in that room. When he was approaching the room, he thought he heard footsteps, and turned around to see if anyone was following him. He didn't figure out that it was actually someone coming from the opposite direction until he ran into a person. He stumbled but managed to stay on his feet; the hat, however, fell off his head and slid to the side of the hall.

"I'm sorry," Neville automatically apologized. Gran had always taught him to have good, gentlemanly manners. He bent down to help her pick up her books. Ravenclaws, he thought in his head, the books making him think of Luna. And, well, Hermione, but she doesn't fit his stereotyping. He looked up at her face, noticing how pretty she was. How has he never seen her before? In his distracted state, he ended up reaching for the same book as her, adventitiously touching her hand. He let go at once, letting her get her own book, and handed her another of the books discarded of the floor. "I'm Neville Longbottom," he said to her, his cheeks slighting red. At least I don't have a Weasley blush, he assured himself.

[Purple]

Darcy looked at the boy curiously, wondering at the sincerity of his apology. Nice boys were becoming an endangered species around here, it seemed. Her eyes only stayed at his face, not particularly handsome, for a moment, though, before dropping to the books on the floor. She froze when their hands accidentally touched but quickly recovered and took the book he handed her.

"I'm Darcy, Darcy LeStrange," she said when he introduced himself, wondering as she stood up what his reaction would be. Some immediately stepped back, as if she was going to hex them just for existing. Some couldn't believe that there was actually a LeStrange at Hogwarts, and knowing her mother, this was easy to understand. Still others acted slightly intimidated, but only enough to be respectful, which was the reaction she preferred. Everyone was different it seemed. The name Longbottom sounded familiar to her, but only vaguely. She had a feeling it was someone Bellatrix had tortured when she was little, but then, her mother tortured lots of people. It was hard to remember individual names.

[lari]

Neville froze at the girl's name. He wasn't sure if it was out of immediate fear or immediate hatred towards this girl. Normally he tried to be accepting to all, but apparently he wasn't as accepting as he thought. There was a reason he wasn't in Hufflepuff after all. He had the urge to avenge his parents right now--if he couldn't have his parents, LeStrange couldn't have her daughter. He wasn't brave enough for that, yet; he was still getting used to following Harry's role as courageous, rebellious Gryffindor. And maybe there was other LeStranges' out there. Bellatrix's husband had a brother; she could be his daughter, not Bellatrix's. He shouldn't assume things. "LeStrange? As in Bellatrix LeStrange?" he asked.

Maybe that was too insensitive, though. "I'm sorry, you probably get that a lot." Neville had always been afraid of hurting feeling of others, unless that other was a Death Eater. Was she a Death Eater? If she was the daughter of Bellatrix, then she would probably be one also. But he couldn't picture a girl that looked so sweet and a bit fragile to be so evil. But now when he looked at her, she didn't look as pretty as she did on his first impression of her. Now when he saw her curly hair, he was reminded of walking disaster of Bellatrix LeStrange. And just the way she carried herself told him that she was a superior pureblood, brainwashed as such since birth. She probably didn't even know that she did it. He wouldn't have even noticed if he wasn't looking for it. Her stance, her hair, her face--it all screamed Bellatrix. Neville had seen plenty of the horrid women--either in the paper or in real life. In his fifth year, after the mass Azkaban break out, he would just glare at the Death Eater's picture in the Prophet. What threw him off was her eyes. They weren't the muddy brown of Bellatrix. Maybe she got them from Rodolphus, as Neville's only encounter with the man was in the dark halls of the Department of Mysteries.

Neville glanced at the wall, where a door would eventually appear. He needed to get in there before Carrow would come after him. He glanced back at the girl, who looked more like her mother every time he saw her. "Sorry I ran into you," he repeated, but it wasn't as sincere as the first. Apologizing or doing anything positive for a LeStrange isn't something Neville would willingly do. But words like "I'm sorry" can't help but come out of his mouth. Some purebloods were raised to think they were better than everyone else; Neville was raised to be kind no matter what. Even when he didn't mean it. He turned away and started to walk away slowing. He was hoping she would do the same thing, but at a faster pace, so that when she was finally gone, he could enter the Room. He looked back at the wall, then scanned the hall to see if he could still see Darcy. Which, unfortunately, he could.

[lari]

Darcy watched him closely, noticing the initial freeze followed by instant wariness. Her family was infamous where others were famous, and she could tell that he was trying to decide what to make of that. She nodded when he mentioned her mother, though she didn't like claiming the woman as such. Most people tried to convince themselves that she was some other LeStrange, unable to believe Bellatrix had actually had a daughter, but those who knew her family knew that the only other LeStrange out there was her uncle Rabastan, who had never married, so that was impossible.

"Yes, Bellatrix. Dear old Mummy," she said sarcastically, pushing her dark locks out of her face. She stood there for another moment, watching him looking at her. She knew he was trying to see how much she looked like the Death Eater, which, unfortunately, was a lot. She had the woman's dark curly hair and pale skin, as well as her slender figure and serious look, though with the benefit of youth and not having spent the last fourteen years in a cell in Azkaban. She shrugged off his apologies and started walking the way she'd been going before the little collision, moving slowly in the hopes that he would go and leave her to the Room of Requirement. A moment later she glanced over her shoulder, only to find him still there. She started walking again, checking another moment later, only to find him still there. Another of these moves and she had had enough. She stopped and turned to face him with an annoyed sigh.

"Are you trying to go there too?" she asked, pointing at the blank wall where the door would appear, "Or are you just stupid?"

[lari]

"No, I'm trying to get into there," Neville confirmed, also pointing at the Room. Well, he couldn't just give it up for her. He was currently wanted by the Carrows. He's done this before. All he needs to do is wait out the night in the Room. By the morning of the next day, the Carrows would be searching and beating their next victim. Neville would keep quiet for a week before he gained up more courage to strike again. Standing up gave everyone hope. He could afford a few beatings if it meant the others felt like they had a chance. It's not like he had anything to loose. Not family except for Gran, who was in hiding. His friends were either keeping it quiet at school or off doing some special mission that Neville wasn't important enough to know about.

"Then I guess we're going to have to share. Think 'I want a place the Carrows can't enter.' Hope it doesn't offend you," Neville sneered. He didn't feel guilty. It was like glaring at Malfoy or any other Slytherin. They were enemies. Especially those who call Bellatrix 'mom.' Not that Darcy seemed too happy when Bellatrix was mentioned. I want a place the Carrows can't enter. I want a place the Carrows can't enter. I want a place the Carrows can't enter, Neville canted in his mind. A door slowly popped out of the wall, and he quickly opened it, holding it open for the lady to go first.

The room looked like it was cut in half. One side was green, the other red. The red side, which Neville presumed was his, looked like a miniature DA. Hard wood floors with a Dummy to aim at so he could practice. The green side looked a bit like an indoor quidditch pitch. It was only one half of the field, with a bludger and three hoops situated on that half. Without speaking, Neville went over to his side. The Dummy started shooting nonverbal curses at Neville once he had his wand out of his pocket. Neville started to block them one at a time, trying out different protection or blocking spells he knew. He ran out fast and kept repeating the same ones. He didn't mess up that often, but deep down, he knew that the protection spells he knew were elementary and wouldn't block the darker, more deadly of the curses. A book appeared on the floor of Neville's side of the room, labeled Advanced Protective Spells. The frustrated boy sat down on the floor and started flipping through.

[lari]

Darcy shrugged. Her purpose wasn't to escape the Carrows specifically, and as a general rule she didn't share, but still, half of the Room of Requirement was better than none. The Carrows were obnoxious rather than useful most of the time, so it did not in fact offend her, but she couldn't help but grin at what he said. He was neither intimidated nor afraid, and she had to admit the flippancy was a little refreshing. She repeated the words in her head three times, watching the door appear. She gave him a slight nod as he held the door, liking the little act of chivalry in spite of herself.

She smirked as he surveyed the dual-purpose room. The room had known that while she brought books, her real desire was to be on the quidditch field, or rather, on a broom. Darcy retrieved the old broom from where it was leaned against the wall and immediately kicked off of the ground, forgetting the Gryffindor and her books. She flew around the miniature quidditch pitch a few times, practicing tossing the quaffle in the hoops. Even with the Accio charm helping her to retrieve it, playing against herself was only so entertaining. Eventually she drifted lower and lower, watching Neville practice blocking the spells the dummy threw at him. It seemed he soon ran out of different spells and sat down with a book to find more.

"If you need someone to throw curses at you, let me know," she called, "Good against dummies is one thing, but good against the living, that's something different."

[lari]

Neville looked at the girl blankly. "I don't trust you," he said bluntly. She was smart enough to know this already, but he decided to say it anyway. "I prefer avoiding being cursed by Death Eaters as much as I can." But then Neville started to think about it. Sure, she could do something really bad to him, but he needed the experience. If she was Bellatrix's daughter, she would probably have a similar fighting style to LeStrange. So he could practice dueling against Bellatrix, who he will eventually kill, without actually encountering Bellatrix. She could kill him, but there was a higher chance that if he's going to die anytime soon, it was going to be at the wand of Bellatrix.

"But I'm going to have to take you up on that offer anyway," he finally finished, standing up. He used his foot to kick the book toward the wall and out of the way. He had had enough time to scan and find one or two spells he had used before, but just forgot. "And maybe after this I could help you with Quidditch. Playing without a Keeper looked pretty boring." Neville liked Quidditch, but not enough to actually be on the team. He could play it every now and then, but if he played it too many times a week, the sport got old fast. He hadn't played in a long while. Since before school of last year ended, and the Griffindors had a fun game of civil war. He wouldn't mind playing with her, but he probably wouldn't be much of a challenge to her. If he lived through dueling practice, that is. He didn't trust her enough to know if she had the intent to kill. And even if she didn't, she was related to Bellatrix. Blood lust and insanity was in her blood.

[Purple]

((all previous posts in Darcy's POV were by purple, for the record))

Darcy hopped off her broom and sent it back to its place against the wall with a lazy flick of her wand, ignoring his comment about Death Eaters. She wouldn't admit she was one of them, but the mark on her left arm wouldn't let her deny it. She hadn't chosen to be a Death Eater, hadn't asked for it, but everyone assumed that she would. Bellatrix had signed the girl up before she could talk. Nevertheless, she would not turn down a chance to duel. This would be interesting if nothing else. She had gotten her aptitude for nonverbal spells from her father, among other useful skills, but her tendency to be unpredictable in battle came solely from her mother. The Slytherin stayed on her side of the room, facing the boy with a smug look on her face. The offer to play Quidditch with her was nice, something she truly wanted to accept, but this had to be done first.

"Hope you studied well, Longbottom," she said, not quite a sneer, but still plenty condescending. Darcy took a moment to think of her first spell before raising her wand. She decided to start with a less serious spell but never even considered speaking the incantation aloud. That sort of dueling would do him no good against Death Eaters or the Dark Lord, who generally couldn't be bothered to waste the breath. Of course, her mother always spoke when using Crucio, but Darcy thought that was more because she liked hearing herself say it than because she had to. Reducto she thought, flicking the spell in Neville's direction.

[lari]

Once he saw Darcy take action, Neville automatically thought Protego. It was one of the easiest and not the strongest, but he assumed she wouldn't go with anything too life threatening on her first try. He didn't like speaking spells anymore. It took awhile to get nonverbals in sixth year, but everyone was right about them. Once you learned how to do it, it became easy. Sure, it took more concentration, but that had never been a problem for Neville. Unlike most of the other boys in his grade, he actually had the power to focus.

For a split second, he was confused at what to do. Was he only learning how to protect himself, like he originally had planned to do, or was this a duel where he fought back. Well, it's not like it mattered. If she wasn't expecting him to throw some spells back, then he would enjoy the surprise she would receive. Not that she would ever be so stupid to let her guard down, especially during a duel of sorts. After thinking the spell, two waves of fire, one a couple seconds later than the other, burst out of his wand. The spell actually worked the way Neville was hoping, much to his happiness. Hopefully if the she blocked the first wave of fire, she would miss the second. But he wasn't going to doubt her skills, and kept his wand ready and his mind alert for her retaliation.

[Purple]

Darcy deflected the first wave of fire with a flick of her wand, acting quickly to catch the second one as well. Were he a Death Eater she would have expected the double play, but this being a little mock-duel, she had not. It seemed he was better than she thought. No matter. She could play this game too. She threw a stupefy at him, following it closely by his own spell, the fire chasing the curse in a way that would certainly hurt if he didn't catch both. She waited for him to either do just that or fall down in pain, contemplating what other spells she could use. Darcy was good with spells, such was in her blood, but she generally didn't think like other Death Eaters when casting them. they chose spells intended to cause the most pain. She chose spells intended to debilitate, though her mother had made sure she learned plenty of the first type. She always told Bellatrix that when she wanted to hurt someone, then she would hurt them and hurt them bad. When she didn't have to or want to, she wouldn't.

[lari]

Neville was able to block the first spell and the first wave of fire. Knowing his protection shield wouldn't recover in time to block the second wave, Neville dropped to the ground on his belly, as if it were a military or football drill, and avoided the fire the muggle way. When he was little, Gran made him go to public school with muggles, and his only year of Junior High gave him the worse experience with muggle gym teachers. But he knew how to drop to the ground in under a second. Once the fire was past him, Neville popped back up. He was quick at these kinds of things. But not when it came to thinking of spells. He dimly noticed that the wall behind him was on fire. He cast an Aguimenti behind him, but then turned spell around at her. It wasn't very harmful, sure, but most girls he knew, especially bratty Slytherin girls, would probably complain that their clothes were all wet and their hair was ruined. Besides, the spell cast a stream of water for as long as he wanted it to, not like the fast jet of light other spells would do. He could sit there and blast water at her until the room flooded.

At the thought of flood, Neville stopped the spell. He didn't want to be standing to his knees in water. The Room, catching his thoughts, had drains appear, and the water drained out in seconds almost. Neville had ended up wet during the spell, as water went everywhere, but he enjoyed it. Water was better than fire any day, everyday. He had always been a bit afraid of fire. It could have something to do with his house burning down the night his parents lost their minds. He couldn't remember it happening, but that doesn't mean that fear couldn't be installed into his brain. Neville wiped the water off his forehead, as it was dripping into his eyes, but kept his wand and attention toward the witch.

[Purple]

Darcy laughed at the water spell, looking down at her soaked clothes. He probably expected that to upset her. Unlike most Slytherin girls, however, she was not such a priss that she couldn't stand getting wet. She actually liked it most of the time, though usually when it was rain, not just a spell. Nonetheless, she didn't need to stand around in wet clothes and shoes when there was a simple remedy. Darcy cast a hot-air spell towards herself, blowing herself dry in just a few seconds. Her hair was now even curlier than usual, if that was even possible, but she hardly cared. Anyone who saw her would say it looked perfect no matter what, afraid of what would happen if they didn't. Granted, nothing actually would, but she didn't bother telling them that.

Serpensortia, she thought, pointing her wand at the ground rather than at the boy. He was too far away for the snake to hit him even if she did launch it, but it could still cause trouble on the ground. It slithered forward a few feet towards the boy, then paused and looked back at Darcy.

"Go on," she said in parceltongue, "Attack." The creature gave a soft hiss in reply and continued forward as the girl watched, almost bored. Most people were surprised to learn that she was a parselmouth, especially since it was well-known that Harry Potter was also. It was rare to have two parselmouths around the same age, but considering that she came from a long line of purebloods, it wasn't too strange. Those select few Slytherins whose parents were important enough among the Death Eaters to know who her father was--really was--weren't surprised at all. It would have been surprising actually if she hadn't been able to talk to snakes.

[lari]

Neville gave her time to dry off, not attacking while she was distracted. He was no Slytherin; he didn't do dirty tricks. There was plenty of Slytherins or death eaters currently inhabiting the school to make up for his lack of unfair tricks. Neville could have used the time to dry off also, but he rather liked being wet. Something about water calmed him and made him focus of the task at hand. When he was a kid, he and Gran lived in an apartment with a community pool, and Neville used to swim all the time, the closest thing to a sport he ever got to. And sure, after awhile he'd get damp and the room would start to smell musky, but he'd solve that problem went he got there. He was a Gryffindor, after all.

Drying herself made her hair curlier and frizzy, kind of like Hermione's on a good day. It made her look even more so like Bellatrix, which frightened Neville a tad. Bellatrix's hair had suffered through a bit of graying and was frayed from many years of ill treatment while in Askaban, so of course it was crazier than Darcy's, but the resemblance was still blatantly there. The thought of her looking cute with her hair like this crossed his mind, but then promptly made him feel sick. It made him think of Bellatrix as cute. Which was a hurl-worthy thought right there.

Snakes bothered Neville greatly. When he was young, he almost got bit by one in the back yard, but Gran was able to kill it before it hurt baby Neville. And then the boy underwent many years of torture and bullying from Slytherins, or snakes, giving the animal a bad reputation. And the way it slithered toward him after Darcy whispered parceltongue, almost elegantly, scared Neville. He wasn't surprised she knew the snake-language, and the hissing of words didn't bother him anymore, after hearing Harry do so many times. The snake's hissing as it menacingly moved toward Neville, ready to attack, did bother him greatly, however.

"Ssahy ssheth (open)," Neville tried, using his minimal knowledge of parceltongue in attempt to help himself. He had no idea what he was saying, just that Harry had once said it. The snake, a bit confused, kept coming toward Neville. "Ssigh ahss ssee eth," he tried another phrase. The still confused snake came to a halt, looking between Neville and Darcy, unsure what to do. Neville smiled triumphantly at winning the small battle. But he still had the war to win. "Harry talks in his sleep," Neville quickly explained. He missed Harry. It wasn't Hogwarts without Harry and his trio walking around the common room, plotting something suspicious, or going to classes with Neville. Then again, nothing this year was Hogwarts. Without their hero, Gryffindor was lost at what to do; Neville had somehow found himself playing leader temporarily. He stood up to the Carrows the most and gave the rest of the DA hope, so why not? Neville, however, was just as lost as everyone else.

Now what to do with the snake? Neville didn't know enough to attempt to get the creature to turn on it's master and attack Darcy. But how would he kill it? Fire was too expected; Darcy would block it before he could cast it. "Ssigh ahss ssee eth," he retold the snake, stalling. He could remember a spell that Hermione had taught him once last year, when she was tutoring him in more advanced spells, helping prepare him for the war. "Ssigh ahss ssee eth," he said once more, picturing the book with the spell. It was on advanced Transfiguration and he remembered even thinking 'when the heck will this be useful in life?' Apparently when fighting a snake it was useful. "Rursus Gladium!" Neville finally said, a grin flickering across his face. His wand started to get longer, growing a blade and turning to metal. In a couple of seconds, he wasn't holding a wand but a sword. The snake attacked, but in once swift motion, Neville took off it's head.

His pocket started to heat up, giving off three consecutive heat waves. That was his galleon, his communication form with the DA. The three times signal meant emergency, be in the Room in 10 minutes (or whenever the current class ends). He had to get Darcy out. Looked down at the dead snake body as his wand slowly turned back into a wand, Neville said, "I call a pause. How 'bout we continue this battle another day; I'm tired?" At his wish, Neville's side of the room went from practice room to a comfy arrange of couches. It looked like the Gryffindor common room. He laid across a couch, but kept his eyes on Darcy and his wand out. He didn't trust her, of course. She could pull a dirty Slytherin trick on him when his back was turned. "Class should be about over right now," Neville pointed out, nodding to the clock now on the wall. "But I need to hide out here for a bit longer. So..." He left that to hang, hoping she would catch the hint. Neville didn't want to be rude to anyone, Slytherins included.

[lari]

"Evanesco," the girl muttered, aiming her wand towards the slain snake. The creature slowly vanished from sight. Where it went she never knew and never really bothered to find out.

"Worn out so easily, Longbottom? I guess I can't expect much of a Gryffindor," she asked with a smirk, but it wasn't mean-spirited. Darcy was sarcastic and rude, but she was kidding at least forty percent of the time. Maybe more like thirty. She was a little disappointed in him, though. Somehow she suspected a member of the so-called "Dumbledore's Army" to be better prepared than this. Fighting a real Death Eater, in a real battle, he was likely to be dead or seriously injured within a few minutes. His spells were solid enough, but his reaction time was downright pathetic. She'd seen her mother trade spells with a member of the Order of the Phoenix quick as lightning, and even then the other fell behind. Of course, her mother undoubtedly had much more practice. No. Bellatrix had more experience. Practice was safe, controlled, useless. Experience was real. Experience was priceless.

She didn't say anything more, didn't see a need to. She could tell he wanted it to himself for whatever reason, and she had no strong desire to stay there and ruin that for him. The Slytherin girl gathered her bag from where it lay along the wall and headed for the door, the quidditch pitch disappearing behind her. She gave a half-hearted flick of the hand over her shoulder that was supposed to serve as a wave and then was gone, leaving the boy to his own business, his own life.

~Timeskip~

Strangely enough, Death Eater control of Hogwarts only made the after-hours rules more stringent than ever. Not strangely at all, these rules hardly applied to Darcy and other children of Death Eaters. Equally unstrange was the fact that certain Gryffindors saw fit to ignore any rules, applicable or not. Neville was there, accompanied by Ginny Weasley and a boy she didn't know, but guessed was a seventh year like Longbottom. The LeStrange watched as the words "Dumbledore's Army: Still Recruiting" formed slowly on the bricks of a corridor wall with the use of the ramus pigmentum spell (literally, spray paint). She stood in a small niche, hidden by shadows but staying out of curiosity rather than fear of being seen.

"A permanent sticking charm should keep that in place nicely," she said finally, stepping forward to lean against the opposite wall. "Plus it'll annoy the Carrows to no end that they can't get it off."