The common room was still in the aftermath of the Quidditch game that day. The excitement that had buzzed through the common room last night was nowhere to be seen. Only the silent loathing of the problem no-one could mention lingered in the common room, and by now, most of the other students had drifted off up to their dorms for a little privacy from the rest of the world.
Nikolai Kessler, however, was laid out across one of the sofas by the fire. The book his mum had gotten him for his birthday was held up in front of his eyes, the blood draining out of his fingers and making them tingle lightly where he'd been in the same position for too long, but the boy's mind was half a world away in that moment.
Why did anyone think it was acceptable to allow someone who was clearly not capable of playing Quidditch on a team? The boy had often wondered this, and each time he had to admit to himself the corruption of the school his dad was working so hard to manage. Money. That was what it was. Jacques Clement paid for their Quidditch gear, so Mimosa Harrington-Clement was on the team sheet every game without failure, because who could risk the ire of the Clements here at the school? Money opened too many doors for those that were inept, and it wasn't... Nikolai didn't like the underwhelming word that finished the sentence, but there was no other was of explaining it.
It wasn't fair.
Especially when the ineptitude of one individual was costing the whole team in ways that no one else seemed to see! If you weren't going to avidly try to knock the opponents off of their broomsticks, even if you liked them off of the pitch, then what use were you to the Slytherin team? Nikolai could not understand it in the slightest, and with a less that soft 'hmmph' leaving his lips as he allowed the book he'd been trying to read for hours settle on his chest, the fourteen year old resigned himself to the fact he was simply going to have to play better for the both of them.
It was difficult, though, when even the professors at the school weren't trying to discourage the favouritism. In fact, they were aiding in it! Take Professor Newbury -- 'Jake' because he was trying to be cool -- for example, the moment the Quidditch match had finished, and Mimosa had landed on the pitch, the professor had been right down by her side, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around her small shoulders. Even from his landing point away from the two, Nikolai could hear the professor checking that the witch hadn't hurt herself, checking she didn't feel like she'd bruised herself anywhere whilst she'd played before he'd given her an unnecessary -- and unwarranted -- amount of praise for how she'd played.
Who did that?
Nikolai had been exasperated as he thundered off the pitch and in to the Quidditch changing rooms, the bat -- probably worth more than most of his possessions because it had come from the Clements -- in his hand had flown across the changing room in frustration, leaving a chunk of the wall behind his own seat somewhat indented in his spurt of anger.
"Nikolai, are you alright?" Maria asked, the rest of the team coming in behind them in various states of displeasure but not reacting with quite the same venom as the fourteen year old.
"Fine." Nikolai replied, stuffing his clothes in to his sports bag and heading out without another word to the rest of the team. Yes, he would miss the debrief, but there was nothing to listen to, because the problem would not be resolved, and they all knew it.
That much, though, had been a mistake on Nikolai's part, because as he vacated the changing rooms, he was privy to the small moment between Mimosa and her Jacques.
"You did amazingly, mon chouchou," Jacques was praising the witch with much too much of a genuine tone to his voice. "You really showed your friend how to beat those Bludgers."
Turning away from the scene, Nikolai had hurried up towards the castle without another word, seeking refuge in the bathroom in his dormitory for the rest of the afternoon whilst he lingered much too long in a bath that was of no more than a moderate temperature. Not that he'd needed to hole himself up there, everyone knew that after every match Mimosa Harrington-Clement and her Jacques would head off somewhere swanky for dinner, and they would all have to suffer the stories until something else happened in the younger witch's life that made her think the world needed to know.
Thank Merlin for the fact he'd managed to learn to block her incessant talking out, because otherwise Nikolai would have been driven mad by the American witch by now. And, for the first time in a very long time, Nikolai could manage to head down to the common room, and just relax, without having to wait to be disturbed by the annoyingly chirpy sound of Mimosa Harrington-Clement's voice.
That had been how Nikolai had been spending his afternoon since the end of the game, with his Quidditch book that had barely turned three pages in just as many hours, because his mind was half a world away. The common room had gone all but silent except for the crackle of the fireplace, and for once, there was an enjoyable peace about the world, even if the world could not be explained.
As one of the early 2000's music artists had asked, though, why do all good things come to an end?
It didn't come with a sound, not immediately, but the moment came to an end as the room was filled once more. Not with many people, no, only two people entered the common room, but the ego, and the underlying presence of the duo filled the room to the point of suffocation upon their arrival back from the overly expensive restaurant they'd probably dined at that evening.
Nikolai had done his best not to be noticed, to keep himself tucked up on the sofa, but he did not go unnoticed.
As Jacques Clement laid the sleeping form of Mimosa upon the other sofa, both of them knew that Nikolai's presence had been noted. But Jacques Clement had not acknowledged him straight away, instead ensuring Mimosa's head was suitably propped on one of the cushions from the sofa, and then removing his jacket to drape over the small frame of the young witch in lieu of a blanket. The older male had even leaned over to place a kiss on Mimosa's temple as she slept, whispering something in French that Nikolai couldn't make out even if he'd wanted to.
"Hey," her Jacques greeted him once he'd moved away from Mimosa, though his eyes flitted back to the witch with a look of quiet devotion, but Nikolai didn't reply, merely watching the man. "Nik, right?"
The fourteen year old still didn't speak because the Frenchman had just used his nickname that only his family used with him. Not people here.
"Would you wait with Mimosa until she rouses? I would take her up to her room myself, but you know..." Jacques Clement let the sentence go unfinished, and Nikolai knew what the other man meant, even if he didn't want to agree to the terms. "I'll make sure to send you something in Mimosa's next gift, how's that? Agreed? Good man."
Not a word had been spoken by Nikolai in that moment as Jacques Clement bumped his shoulder lightly with what was supposed to be appreciation. A few moments later, and the common room held only two people, and Nikolai's features remained in the frown that had been gifted to him by Jacques Clement.
Why did rich people always think they could lord themselves over others like that?
And how in Merlin's name did someone as stupid as Mimosa Harrington-Clement get to have the gift of... everything she wanted?
It just wasn't fair.
And, he hated her for it.
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