jean genie | lyka

[Richard Myron Woods-Knox]

blowin' in the wind.

THE LIBRARY OF L.I.F.E WAS MUCH SMALLER than the original Hogwarts' library had been. This would normally have irked Richie, but it had a much better selection to chose from. Skirting over the rudimentary lesson texts and favouring the more advanced copies of better quality tomes. This was the single saving grace of the meagre space. He even had his favourite table, tucked away under a lamp near the centre of the stacks. Not too close to the librarian that he would get in trouble for bouncing his leg restlessly. Not too far away that he encountered the aspiring couples looking for a quiet corner to snog themselves silly. It was a happy medium, discovered by careful trial and horrifying error.

However, his table was no present refuge. Richie sat himself down heavily, his tower of books and parchment smacking unhappily on the table upon arrival. He was the first to arrive - typical. As a second year NEWT student, Richie's scores were almost perfect. Apart from poor time-keeping and a habit of losing the odd essay, he succeeded in all of his lessons. Richie was a keen learner. He was also prone to bickering with his fellow students, and even the odd professor. According to his mind-healer he had 'poor social skills' and  'combative tendencies'. He'd argued with her quite thoroughly on both of those topics, proving himself wrong on both accounts by doing so.

Alas, Richie hadn't the foggiest how tutoring failing NEWT students would help him with his current perceived 'difficulties'. Unfortunately, it was negotiated in return for his removal from 'group therapy' once a month. He chose the lesser of the two evils, though he wasn't entirely sure how lesser the evil was. Tapping his fingers against the table, he rearranged his books by subject, cast two Tempus charms and chewed a hole into the flesh of his cheek before a single person arrived at his prized table.

"Late." He gritted out between his teeth as a chair was pulled out. "W-wasting our time won't err-earn you even an Acceptable mark." His words fought free through his mounting frustration, his head barely visible over his tower of textbooks. Hair falling into his averted gaze. He dare not look up, her name was written on his parchment list, along with the time she was supposed to arrive at. He didn't need to look at her face to convey his quiet annoyance. 

lyka cruz malkin

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[lyka cruz malkin]

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This year officially sucked. Sure, she'd made the Quidditch team. But it was as a reserve player. Again. No one seemed to understand how disheartening that was, especially after all of the practice she'd put in over the last year. To make matters worse, her housemates that were in playing positions now had all played Quodpot whilst at Ilvermorny. They were literally traitors being rewarded for their crimes against magical kind. She had refused to stoop that low and sell her soul to the Americans. Their sport was stupid. Quidditch was far superior in every manner, and she refused to budge in that.

Lyka was also still angry that she and her sister had been sent to the American school instead of Beauxbatons, but she understood that the cost of doing so was what made the difference. Though she was pretty sure her grandmother could have made both of the uniforms without any issues if they had been sent to the French school.

With the anger and frustration about Quidditch bubbling at the forefront of her mind since the start of the school year, Lyka had made a series of very bad educational decisions leading into the end of the fall term. Meaning she'd done almost none of her work and was close to failing every subject she was taking. It was bad. Thank Merlin she was home on break when the owl came from the school altering her parents about her little mishap, because that saved her from a howler.

A decision was made then and there (with some guidance from Hogwarts on what she could do to fix her grades) to have her see a tutor in the spring term. Something about how putting in the effort would at least show the professors that she was trying. Lyka interpreted that as her parents admitting she was more stupid than lazy. Maybe they were right. She didn't actually know.

So the day finally came where she had to meet her tutor for the first time. The arrangement had them meeting in the L.I.F.E. library, which she'd only been in once since the start of the school year. When they were all given a tour of the new facilities the first day back. To make matters worse, she was slightly behind schedule, practice running longer than it was supposed to. Or rather, she spent an extra fifteen minutes practicing after the team left, hoping it would amount to something. Once she realized she was running late for her tutoring lesson, she sprinted all the way up to the school building without changing out of her practice gear.

It was sort of easy to find who she was looking for. The most miserable looking boy in the room with the stack of books next to him had to be him. Richard something or other. When she approached his table, she was pretty sure she heard him say something about being late. As if that actually mattered to her. She was only five minutes past the designated time. Quite frankly, that was an impressive feat for her. "Right...sorry. Was stuck at practice. Guess you're Richard then?" Lyka asked, still not taking a seat or unloading her bag.

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[Richard Myron Woods-Knox]

blowin' in the wind.

MALKIN WAS A BALL OF DIRTY GRASS-STAINED Quidditch robes. When Richie looked up from his tactical Tempus charm, he found her reeking up the library as she loomed over his table. She looked just like her sister, except she didn't appear half as irritatingly sincere. In fact, she had an expression of dull distaste, which Richie matched immediately as he looked down his nose at her.

"No." He said succinctly, staring up at her with a grim looking mouth. He hated being called Richard, the name prickling on his skin like a sour insult. "It's Richie." He corrected, daring not to refer to himself as his old ridiculous nickname from Brigh. 'Dicky' didn't sound like a tutors name. He couldn't believe his poor luck. Quidditch players were terrible at learning, he thought derisively. She probably had a head full of bludgers knocking around on the inside of her skull. There definitely wasn't a brain, if she had a brain she'd be able to tell time.

"It's practice..." He muttered, strangely eloquent in his judgement. "H-how can practice run late?" He wondered with a wrinkle of his nose. "You reek." Richie added on the back of that, sitting back in his seat and casting a look over his books. "N-never-nevermind." He sniffed, pulling his parchment of names closer and squinting at it in frustration. "What is it your here for?" He asked, thinking maybe every class in the Institute, if he was going by the look of her. 

lyka cruz malkin

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[lyka cruz malkin]

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No? Lyka was taken aback momentarily, thinking she may have walked up to the wrong person, only to be immediately corrected that he liked going by Richie instead. "Right. Sorry, Richie. The paper just had your full name is all," she apologized. Why in Merlin's name was she doing that? He was sort of rude about that, as if she was supposed to just know he preferred going by the shortened name. Already he was coming across as more of a Dick than a Richie. She prevented herself from rolling her eyes though, knowing that if she didn't get these lessons she was royally screwed.

As she started to drop her things loudly on the ground, she listened to him complain about how practice could run long. Great observation, really. Because she needed it. "It just does. Sometimes we lose track of time. I assume that happens with studying too." Not like she'd ever put much effort into it before. His next comment about her smelling made her furrow her brow at him, before quickly doing a sniff test on her clothes. They smelled perfectly fine, laundered just the night before by the house elves. The only distinct smell came from her gloves, and she knew immediately what the cause was. "Oh, yeah. That's just Santini’s Shellac Sheen," Lyka responded instantly, as if Dick here even knew what that was. If he couldn't tell the difference between polish and body odor, he clearly didn't get out from behind his books much. "You know, broom polish? Named after Vasco Santini, the acclaimed beater for the Spanish National Team?" He probably didn't know.

They were quickly back on topic though, which sucked because it meant she'd have to admit to Dick here that she needed help in everything. He seemed to be staring at a sheet of paper, which she was sure meant that he knew what she needed to work on and was just testing her to see if she knew too. "I mean, sort of everything. My mid-year grades were quite shit, so the school figured I could do with a little extra help." She almost laughed it off. It had not been a laughing matter in the Malkin residence. When her mum broke out in Tagalog, things got serious really fast. At least she understood the message clearly in two different languages. But her Charms and Transfiguration? Nope.

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[Richard Myron Woods-Knox]

blowin' in the wind.

HE REFUSED TO ACKNOWLEDGE HER WEAK apology. Focusing instead on straightening his books and arranging his papers. It wasn't a real sorry, he thought to rationalise his ignorance. She was only saying so because she had felt obligated. Just like she had probably been strong-armed into being tutored. They were both exactly where they didn't want to be. Which only made Richie all the more uncomfortable as he tried to stop his palms from sweating coldly.

Visibly flinching at every hard thunk of Malkin's bags, Richie felt his ire rising. "We're in the library." He huffed under his breath, voice hoarse from the hard grinding of his back molars. "Could you t-try a little... harder to be... quiet." He chastised her, looking up at her as she explained something pointless about her practice. Comparing it, to Richie's complete horror, to studying. "They are- are not r-r-remotely similar." He blinked rapidly, digging a blunt thumb nail into his finger in restless irritation.

The tangy smell remained, even as Lyka seemed to sniff test her clothes. As if he would lie, he thought bitterly. She stopped at her gloves and seemed cheered by her discovery. "I don't care." He told her simply, because he didn't care about what kind of polish it was. Especially who made it. He only cared about the fact that it stank of old metal oil and something dug up straight from the earth. "Take them off then," He suggested coldly. The bitter smell of the polish was stinking up his workspace. He felt the foreshadowing of a headache in his near future.

Richie's scarred left hand shook as he grabbed for his parchment list. Reddening with embarrassment as he immediately slapped his right hand on top to cover it up. The sheepish sound of Malkin's voice drew him away from his hyper awareness and he raised his head slowly. She still hadn't taken a seat and Richie was starting to feel uncomfortable about it. Like she was leering down at him. "You're failing... everything...?" He asked her blankly, as if the information did not compute. He wasn't ridiculing her, he was honestly shocked. 'How on Earth...', his brain thought blindly. As the silence drew onward, Richie sighed and tore his gaze away. "Well, what do you... actually want to pass?" He asked her almost clearly. 

lyka cruz malkin

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[lyka cruz malkin]

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Lyka ignored the instruction to be quieter. Just because they were in the library didn’t mean that she needed to completely alter how she interacted with her environment. And she definitely wasn’t taking orders from this guy. If the librarian took issue with her volume, they could tell her to be quiet down. She also wanted to argue with him on how studying and practicing were exactly the same. Quidditch actually utilized more than just athleticism too. Knowing how to read the pitch, flight formations, weather, basically everything, was all part of the sport. Playing without any of that was basically like flying blind. The same could be said about going into an exam and not studying for it. Which she frequently did. Lyka knew that if she treated her studies with the same enthusiasm that she had for Quidditch she would do fine. Her parents and the school advisors had said as much to her too. Anyways, there was no way she would ever be able to convince Richie of any of this.

He shot down her enthusiasm about broom polish and disregarded her gloves. They didn’t smell that bad. Sure, it could be a little spicy on the nostrils for the uninitiated, but there were far worse smells associated with Quidditch. None of which she currently had attached to her. Even If she was nose-blind to most nowadays, she wasn’t some uncouth Gryffindor. She was in Hufflepuff after all. Cleanliness was still involved to a degree.

Still, she pulled her gloves off, having to give them a slight tug because of how snuggly they fir her hands. Into her equipment bag they went, and she finally turned all of her attention to Richie. He was supposed to help her after all. ”I mean, Charms I’m actually halfway decent at. I just don’t really do the coursework so that’s why I’m not passing.” She would also probably be disowned if she managed to fail it. No child of the Malkin family could be seen in the shop again if they couldn’t do at least that. ”That’s sort of the same for most classes really. Except Potions and Herbology. Not exactly good with the ingredients stuff, you know?”

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[Richard Myron Woods-Knox]

blowin' in the wind.

MUCH TO RICHIE'S RELIEF LYKA GOT RID OF HER grotty gloves. Though she made no effort to keep her voice down and trundled around the table like a great big erumpent. She was oddly heavy footed for a girl so small. He eyed her disdainfully, as if that might change a thing. Seeming to flinch every time she opened her mouth, or knocked her foot against the furniture loudly. Every time she spoke, she said something that took Richie completely off guard. He found himself starring slackly, blinking back his shock with every cringing crash of her presence.

"I can't- how am I supposed to help you... pass?" He spat the words out with great effort. Dipping his chin and wondering why on earth his mind healer thought this would be beneficial. He felt about ready to blow a blood vessel. "How can I help if you won't do c-coursework?" He asked her glumly. Shaking his head, Richie started gathering his books. Closing the open Charms textbook and even rolling up his parchment. He knew what a lost cause looked like.

"I can't somebody that won't do homework." Richie spoke lowly to the whorls in the table in front of him. His mouth downturned and his face flaming. What did she take him for?, he wondered. "I don't do the work for you." He added, in case she had some strange misconception about what exactly a tutor did. He shoved the first two books into his charmed rucksack. Turning slightly, he gained just enough courage to lift his head and give Lyka an almost stern stare. It didn't land quite as he'd have liked, as he couldn't stop fidgeting nervously as he stared. "You're late, you- you don't want to do homework... you're going to fail." Richie shrugged, his voice plainly honest. "I'm not tutoring a failure." And then he went back to shoving his books away, ready to flee as soon as possible. 

lyka cruz malkin

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[lyka cruz malkin]

▲

Admitting her academic faults wasn’t exactly easy for her; Lyka knew she had backed herself into a corner and was theoretically screwed at this point. She also knew that if she put in enough effort and got the work done, then the professors would probably pass her just to avoid having to deal with her again for another year. No one wanted a repeat seventh year, students and school alike. So having Richie here telling her what she already knew didn’t exactly help, except making her feel worse about the entire situation and making him out as more of his other possible nickname than the one he preferred. A Dick.

Hearing him call her a failure really touched a nerve. Even her parents had danced around that, implying but never explicitly saying it. A simultaneous burn of embarrassment and newfound anger had formed in her face as she kept herself from saying anything inflammatory back to him. That wouldn’t help her at all. ”I know that,” Lyka stated quietly, though he was already starting to pack his things back into his bag. What a shit tutor, Richie was. She came here for help, knowing where her faults were, and he attacked her from the get-go. How was that fair?

”You know what, fuck you,” she finally cracked. The curse word felt foreign to her, despite muttering it all the time to herself while in Quidditch practice. She could already feel her pulse starting to race as she held herself down in her chair. The want to jump across the table and smack his books out of his hand was way too tempting. ”I came to get help, explained where I was struggling, and all you’ve done is dismiss me. I never asked you to do my work for me either. All I’m trying to do is pass so that I don’t have to be stuck here for another year and continue to be looked down on by assholes like you.”

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[Richard Myron Woods-Knox]

blowin' in the wind.

RICHIE HAD ALL BUT DECIDED HE WAS DONE with Lyka. Gathering his books meticulously and writing off any attempt made to build the bridge between the two. She was Quid-head, and she didn't want to learn - at least, that was his thought from her initial impression. Richie figured she'd be relieved, they usually were when he gave up on them. He wasn't exactly known for being friendly, and oftentimes students wished they were paired with somebody else. Richie had a traumatic brain injury, but he wasn't deaf. He knew what the other students thought of him. So, when Lyka's expression drooped, Richie was quite surprised.

There was no spark of sympathy at the meek reply she gave him. Richie thought maybe he'd hit a nerve, but so what? He hadn't told any lies, she didn't do homework for Merlin's sake! He couldn't help but look up, though. A brief admittance of weakness that made his nose wrinkle and his hands shake a little bit. However, the sympathy didn't last, nor did Lyka's timidity. He pulled the books to his chest and pushed his chair out to stand when Lyka's voice rose as she hissed at him across the table. The profanity landed true and Richie's head jerked back in surprise, eyes widening. His mouth pinched as she went on her judicious tirade. A beat of silence passed where neither spoke, Richie shifting back on his heels and drawing in a breath as he considered what he could even say in response. It came slowly, but not out of fear, more contemplation.

"I'm n-not l-looking down on you." He stuttered honestly, his chin dipping toward his chest as he tightened his grip on his stack of books. "At least... not... on purpose." It was true, he didn't necessarily think he was a superior person, just more academic. He was stating facts, it was a waste of time to tutor somebody who didn't do the work unless someone was loaming over them, ruler in hand. "You said you don't do coursework." He reminded her plainly. "You said you're failing." Richie shrugged his shoulders loosely. "I just don't see the point in hanging around here every weekday when you don't... care." He spat the word as if that were the true offence. "So... fuck you."

lyka cruz malkin

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[lyka cruz malkin]

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He wasn’t looking down at her on purpose? How did someone do that on accident? It didn’t make any sense. That only frustrated her more, and Lyka could feel her jaw clench as the reminder about how easy it would be to pounce over the table at him popped into her head again. Then not only would she be failing classes, but also copping a semester’s worth of detention, probably have to write a letter of apology, face the wrath of her parents, and maybe cop an assault charge too. Not to mention the court of public opinion. At least the team would see her fierceness as a sign of being aggressive enough to play Quidditch. Channeling that into smacking bludgers at the opposing team or holding her own in a three on one situation holding the quaffle would be mint.

Lyka didn’t need to hear her own faults listed back at her. She knew all of that already, which was why she was here seeking his help. Richard here may have been book smart, but he was rather stupid if he couldn’t figure out a plan to get her back on track. ”You were being an ass from the moment I sat down. Don’t try to tell me none of it was on purpose,” she countered back, deflecting his own ‘fuck you’ as if it was nothing. ”Why waste your time tutoring if you’re going to come in like a condescending dickhead from the start? At least I know what my problems are and am trying to get help to fix them. You’re just sitting here judging people before you even know them.”

Seeing that this wasn’t going to get her anywhere, she got out of her chair as well and started to collect her things. ”I’ll have them give me someone else that understands where I need help. I don’t need you. You’d only make it worse anyways,” she said as she slung her Quidditch bag over one shoulder and her school one over the other. ”Thanks Richard,” she spat at him as she turned and headed towards the exit of the library. He really needed to consider changing his choice of nickname. Because he was definitely more of a Dick than a Richie.

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[Richard Myron Woods-Knox]

blowin' in the wind.

'HE HADN'T LEFT YET, WHY HADN'T HE LEFT YET?', Richie wondered absently. Stuck somewhere between sitting and standing, his seat pushed out and away from the table, books clasped hard against his chest so that it ached a bit. Even when he looked at Lyka's face and saw violence in her clenched jaw, the way she was leaning dangerously forward, as if contemplating a pounce that would certainly land with a fist against his jaw. He still hadn't left yet.

"I was... being... normal." Richie spat out in jerky spouts, his chin dropping against his chest. "I- I can't help it if that's... that's too mean for you." He exclaimed, feeling indignant for the barb against his character. Why did everyone expect friendliness, not everybody was friendly. Dropping the books back on the table, Richie blinked rapidly and felt words form like acid in the back of his mouth as she kept tearing deep into him. "I don't want to be tutor, I have to be a tutor!" Richie hissed, flinching at the unintended honesty. "It's part of my therapy." He shook his head, screwing his face up and digging a fingernail into the leatherbound cover of his textbook.

As Lyka went on, unincumbered by Richie's clenched teeth, Richie watched the cover of his textbooks and tried to control his breathing. All the while, her words pushed deep into his skull and laid little eggs that made him itchy. When she was finished, Richie still hadn't left for some unknown reason. Perhaps it was pride, since she'd taken his character and demolished it against the stacks around them. Whatever it was, it made him sit back down in his chair, though he still hadn't lifted his head.

"I wasn't- I didn't-" Richie swallowed harshly, dashed a hand under his nose like it was itchy and pulled his chair in. "I wasn't judging you on purpose." He muttered under his breath, "I just- I- I don't get it." He admitted, mouth pinched and small as he pulled his stack of books toward him. "How you- you can just not... care." He sighed with a gusty huff. He opened his potions textbook to the index page, thumbing down the text carefully. "Nobody else can help you with that many classes," Richie revealed with a firm lift of his brows. "W-what is it about potions that you find... most difficult?" He asked her carefully, using the book like a shield lest she resort to violence after all. 

lyka cruz malkin

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[lyka cruz malkin]

▲

Therapy? What kind of messed up plan was that? Throwing an obvious asshole like him at unsuspecting students that needed help with classes was maybe one of the worst ideas Lyka had ever heard. Assuming it was all true. She could see that her sudden increase in volume had made him nervous and uncomfortable. Which was good. She meant for it to be that way. There was only so much she could take before feeling the need to defend herself, and that limit had been reached. ”Then your therapy is shit. They should be working on that horrid personality of yours first.” Lyka almost had half the mind to ask him if it was Madam Macmillan that suggested all of this, because if that was the case, she’d walk herself right down to the counselor’s office and tell her off for this charade too. Why did she have to be subjected to this?

”Well, you were doing an awful job at convincing me you weren’t,” she shot back. ”And of course I care. I’m here because I care. Just because I’m trying to make myself better at other things doesn’t mean I’m not aware that I’m screwing up my grades.” Lyka felt like she was repeating herself now. Her chest heaved as she finished talking. Richard, because she refused to call him Richie ever again, had opened his Potions book and was apparently going to read it. And then he asked her what she had difficulty with in the class. Was he for real? Lyka stared at him dumbly. ”No?” she said incredulously. She could feel the strap to her bag bending under her tightened grip on it. ”I’m not working with you. I’d rather do it myself and fail at this point. I’m not that desperate.” Except she was. And the thought of trying to push her way through on her own terrified her. Being a failure in Quidditch and school meant that she had nothing to show for herself. And that scared her more than anything else.

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