Post by damien on May 11, 2010 14:24:50 GMT 1
Damien sat at he bar, staring at the bartender. She would have been very attractive if her eyes weren't so sunken and dark, and if she bothered doing anything with her bushy black hair. She looked as if one point she had been a good person, but she eventually succumbed to her work environment. Regardless, Damien didn't believe in 'good people.' He believed that everyone was dark deep down, but they wore masks, masks in order to be seen as acceptable by society. Damien knew all about masks for he wore one every day. He was a pathological liar, and he was able to come off as charming to get what he wanted. Damien was not a charmer, nor did he really wish to be liked by anyone, but he discovered sometimes that it helped him. He thought back to the summer previous. He had learned a lot then. He had gained that girl's trust in order to be allowed into the tree fort that would eventually lead to her demise. Never before had he done that before, and it worked to his advantage.
Damien stared at his dirty mug. The bartender had exactly five rags hanging off of her belt, and the sink was filled with soapy water, but yet his mug was still filty. Damn Mudblood, he thought to himself bitterly. His hazel eyes narrowed on her, watching her. He had been watching her for a couple weeks now, and she didn't even know. He was clever about it. It was probably the reason why he had been sorted into Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin. He was highly intelligent, more so than any Slytherin. More so than anyone in his House, in his opinion. He was surprised Dumbledore even let him attend.
The bartender was just a bartender, but with Muggle parents. She had been adopted into a magical family, he knew. It didn't take a lot to find out a lot about someone, just by asking other people casually. She was originally born in Ireland, and moved to England for a reason that Damien had yet to discover.
He was going to speak, but suddenly, someone sat next to him.
Word count: 370
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