It so happened that one Daxton Prince could be found in a series of random locations dotted around Hogwarts, at various times of the day. These times were not pre-established, meaning that there was no definite place, at any definite time, that one might be sure to find him, but there were options.

One of these options was the Humpbacked Witch Statue, the stone replication of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. Daxton had shown up at this very 'point of interest' at the start of the lunch period, clambered onto the be-statued old crone, and perched on top of its humpback with one foot propped onto its outstretched arm and one long leg dangling below him. By the end of the lunch period, he was still there, still quiet, and still alert to his surroundings in the practically empty corridor.

His next class would be starting soon, but this seemed to mean nothing at all to Daxton, as he remained silently perched atop the tall, ugly statue.

Despite being in Hogwarts for two months now, the corridors within the old castle were still a mystery to him. Tak liked to consider himself observant. But what use was that to you when a staircase could change directions any time that it wanted to, leading you into a completely different place? He had been trying to go to the first floor to get to his Muggle Studies class, but when the grand staircase changed he suddenly found himself on the third, even though he had been on the second one before.

It was without a doubt confusing. Fumbling a little with the books in his arms Tak turned, determined to find a different way to class.

That was when he saw him.

Daxton Prince.

Perched on top of a statue, as if it were a normal thing to do. Daxton Prince, punk extraordinaire, specialty: being a complete and total jerk. Oh, and being a bird apparently.

Hazel eyes glanced up at him, the thought of going to class vanishing from his mind.
Tak allowed the name roll around his mouth just like he did when he first learnt his name. Daxton Prince.

His throat felt dry. He wanted to call out, yell, do something. But all he could do was stare.

After over three years living in this castle, Daxton was easily able to pick up on the many subtle signs of his surroundings: he could tell which portrait subjects were most likely to flock to nearby paintings when they witnessed anything out of the ordinary, and exactly where they were most likely show up; before this year had started, he had developed a particular knack for identifying each staff member and a large selection of students by the sound of their footsteps (everyone was different); and he was able, by the subtlest of vibrations in the walls and, in the more immediate vicinity, the telltale sound of stone shifting against stone, to identify the exact moment that the moving staircases were about to deliver a student to the corridor he was in.

Not exactly mind-blowing talents - indeed, anyone could learn to pick up on any of those things - but they were useful nevertheless, particularly to a boy who did not tend to let his guard down. Not at any point, not as long as he could help it. And he usually could.

As such, he was aware that another student would be appearing in the corridor, though not who it might be. He stayed put, keeping his eyes trained on the source of the noise, until, who should arrive... but the Asakura kid.

They had not properly interacted since their encounter in Diagon Alley, but Daxton knew that the boy - Takeru Asakura - had noted his presence in the school. Just as he noted his presence in this corridor, right now.

Daxton considered jumping down from the statue, but instead decided to hold off a little longer. It struck him that Asakura would almost certainly want a fight, and most likely a physical one at that; retribution for their last meeting. What better way to irk the boy, than to stay out of his reach? As long as Daxton had his wand at the ready, just in case, then silently taunting him from up high seemed the most entertaining course of action.

Well, there was one other thing.

Keeping his expression impassive, and his body language unaffected, Daxton held up one hand, and gave a little wave, waggling his fingers at Asakura in a mocking manner. He was sure to stay alert, in case the boy threw a spell this way; no need to let anyone get the better of him today, not as long as he could help it.

And he usually could.

He was angry but calm, util the other boy raised his hand and wiggled his fingers right at him. Clenching his jaw, Tak could feel as his hatred for Daxton Prince began to bubble up in his stomach. He could have pulled out his wand and attacked him right there and then, if not for common sense and basic street smarts.

Common sense told him that Prince was doing this on purpose.

Street starts told him that all the odds were stacked against him, if he really wanted to win a fight. Why was that? Simple, Tak's best strength was his speed. He was fast. But he wasn't that powerful, and Daxton Prince, well, he fought dirty. This was a fact. So if they came together once against fist against fist he'd have to face off against the taller boy in a dirty fight. That seemed hard enough, because speed could only get him so far. But there was another factor. It wouldn't just be fist against fist this time. They were at school, magic was allowed. And he had no idea how strong the smug boy was in magic, but a voice in the back of Tak's mind told him that Daxton probably knew his stuff.

Taking a deep breath the Slytherin forced his anger down as he gazed up. Opening his mouth, he let a single word ring out loudly. "Why?"

Straightening her form, Aslan clumsily clambered out of the passageway the Humpbacked-witch afforded and back into the castle, the only evidence she hadn been here throughout the day was the fresh gravel and mud on her well-worn navy galoshes. It had rained as she'd snuck out, you see, and as Aslan wasn't able to do magic outside of school she hadn't been able to rid herself of the mess-making-muck. Glancing furtively down the corridor, Aslan smiled with some satisfaction as the coast seemed as clear as a summer's day (thankfully, because she had no patience for lying to staff).

Shaking out her messy curls, Aslan untucked her wand from behind her ears and turned her dark eyes to the mud she had tracked in with her. A Scourgify should be simple, right? Aslan hadn't used the spell much or ever, but then it had hardly seemed necessary until now. She cleared her throat softly and pointed her cypress wand to the nearest mudcaked stone. "Scourgify." She said, as clearly, but as softly as she could. A second later and the stone was clear. There. Aslan took a step back to look for others, unaware as she did that she was creating even more dirt.

Tucked away in a shadowy corner as she was, Nicky Iver would have gone unnoticed by the Gryffindor for a good long while. The lanky blonde folded her arms across her chest - she'd ducked into the corner when she'd heard a sound, also out past curfew and on her way back from the dungeons as it was- and observed. There were options here.

Cause a ruckus to draw attention to the younger delinquent, affording Nicky a clear path back to her own bed. Announce her presence before the girl got them both caught. Have some fun at the kid's expense. So many options. Twirling her wand between her fingers, she leaned against the cold stone, the fainted light reflecting in her green eyes.

After watching the unfortunate creature create more mess as she tried to clean, Nicky stepped out from her spot. "You're going to get us both caught out. Stand still."

And with that, the older girl flourished her wand and cleaned the floor and the girl's shoes.

Aslan was not known for being very alert or aware of her surroundings, she was possibly the easiest person to sneak up on in the whole castle now that Airey Flamsteed had gone (he'd been quite notorious for being easily shaken). She had believed that she was getting better, but as Nicky Iver suddenly came into her peripheral vision Aslan realized she was quite wrong. The blonde was not unknown to her, but they were anything but friendly thanks to a moment of honesty which had gained the Gryffindor Nicky's ire.

It was a problem, her honesty and something she was also trying to improve on.

"Stand still?" Aslan calmly repeated, her dark eyes hard as she watched the other girl wave her wand. She was slow, too slow to have even tried to block her, but her frustration only skyrocketed as the cleaning spell took root. Aslan glared, dark eyes burning with dislike. "I didn't need your help." She answered simply, still gripping her cypress wand.

She fwlt belittled and didn't like it one bit.

Nicky could not quite remember what the girl had done to inspire ire in the previous year. Truthfully, Nicky didn't pay her much mind at all , but she knew there was something that had irked her. No matter. It was the creature's attitude that had her going this time.

"Didn't you?" she replied, voice just above a whisper. "Tracking mud everywhere." The blonde shook her head. "You should be thanking me. I could have turned those unfortunate boots of yours into tap shoes. Or woken up the paintings. Or do anything number of things to you. But I cleaned up after you."

She twirled her wand in her hand, waiting to see how the girl responded. She could be grateful... or she could be sorry.

She was seething. Furious. Red. Red. Red. It was all Aslan felt as Nicky continued on, her whispered words were lighting a fire and it was taking a fair bit of Aslan's resolve and logic not to do something to shut the older witch up.

Confrontational? Yes. Stupid? Sometimes, but Aslan knew where she stood. "dont be stupid, if I get caught so do you." It didn't take much insight to realize the Ravenclaw had only cleaned up after Aslan to hide herself away, after all, it was clear Nicky didn't care a drop. She was cool, not in Daxton's way. Daxton was ice blue and full of a shimmering hate. Nicky wasn't blue, she was white hot, ready to explode at the drop of a hat if only given the right reason.

And Aslan suddenly had decided that she wanted very much to be that reason. She stared down the older girl, eyes glinting with resolve and her mouth pressed into a tight line. "It's not like you can apparate away from this spot or disillusion yourself quickly enough to avoid the Professors or prefects." she whispered, crossing her arms under her chest. She took a step forward, wand still in hand. Wordlessly, Aslan egged the girl on.

Daxton lowered his hand again, looking down at the Slytherin boy with his calculating gaze; he was playing a dangerous game here, and he knew it. He was, essentially, relying on this boy believing he, as a fourth year, was particularly adept at magic, and using that fact to inform his decision on whether or not to cast an offensive spell. As it happened, Daxton did know his stuff. He knew more theory about magic than most his age, specialising in a certain few subject areas. But knowing his stuff, and being able to cast it... those were two very different things.

Non-verbal as he was, Daxton had been attempting for his first three years at Hogwarts to cast spells non-verbally too, and had ignored all instructions to make an attempt at speaking the incantations. Up until the end of his third year, he had had limited, though not entirely absent, success. But now, in his fourth year, there had been some sudden and extensive developments. His non-verbal magic had suddenly started improving at a remarkable rate, but when it came to combative magic, there was only one spell Daxton had managed to fully master, due in part to the fact that most of his practicing duelling spells was done while hiding in corridors, casting at unsuspecting passers-by. Even then, he did not consider that to be a true practice; not enough that he would be certain to use those spells to overpower someone in a duel.

So he was, essentially, falling back on nothing more than a bluff with Asakura, at least until he could be certain he would win in a duel. Until then, Daxton was at least not afraid to fight, and fight dirty, in a good, old-fashioned fist fight. Those always got his blood pumping faster anyway.

Still, he watched Asakura closely, paying particularly close attention to his hands, ready for any sudden movement. None came.

What did come, was a simple, one-word question. A question Daxton had no hope of answering.

Why? Why what? There were a great many things that that question could be addressing: Why was Daxton on the statue? Why was he waving? Why had he beaten the snot out of Asakura the first time they had met? Why did anyone think that this statue was a good hiding place for a 'secret' passageway?

Plenty of potential questions, none of which Daxton could really answer, even if he had known exactly what kind of question Asakura was asking. So he made a choice between his only two options, and simply shrugged. A vague answer to a vague question.

Daxton Prince's whole demeanour bothered him.

It reminded Tak too much like some of the boys he had grown up around. The ones who quickly took to calling him names and squashing his thoughts about his mum coming for him at a young age. The ones who walked with their heads held high and their backs up straight for the sheer purpose of intimidating you.

And the thirteen year old hated it.

Especially considering what Daxton had done to him. And what he had made him do. Starting a fight, that was not something he would normally do at all. His blood had been boiling though, just as it was now. The look Daxton gave him.....

"Why did you attack me in Diagon Alley?" That was what he wanted to know. Really and truly. He had to know, before he casted his finally opinion on the boy that he already disliked, so very much.

An interesting question from the Slytherin. From his perch on the statue, Daxton regarded Tak Asakura with his cold and calculating gaze, thinking back to the day in Diagon Alley that he remembered so clearly.

Asakura, it seemed, did not.

Because Daxton had not been the first to lash out that day; in fact, he generally made a habit of actively provoking others so that they would be the one to strike first. Daxton had wordlessly provoked the other boy, who had then shoved him back, and then the fight had begun. Technically speaking, Daxton had not attacked anyone. Technically speaking, Asakura had done the attacking. Though it struck Daxton, just for a moment, that perhaps Tak Asakura realised this. He did not seem like a complete idiot.

Still fixing Asakura with that steely blue knowing gaze of his, Daxton waited a long moment, and then shrugged again. Even if the wording were different, he had no answer for Tak. Daxton fought. It was what he did, it was what he wanted to do, it was what he did at every opportunity. And he did not know why.

More accurately, he did not know why everyone else did not feel the same way.

After a brief pause, Daxton slid down off the statue, landing cat-like on the stone floor whilst minor shockwaves went through his feet; a pain he welcomed. He straightened, and continued to stare directly at the other boy.