By the time Fenrir Greyback stumbled into the common room, there was no one there. It was about 11:30am on a glorious day that Fenrir couldn't see because he was in the dungeons. He looked over at the empty common room. It was almost eerie to see no one there. It was a lot better. No one got in his way, sniggered brazenly as he passed, or commented on the fact that it was almost the middle of the day and he was still in his disgusting dressing gown. No, there was no one here to do any of that. It was just peace and quiet.

Not that it was a very sweet peace. Fenrir would have been happier in class if he could have gone. No, today he was feeling especially ill, so it was his day off. He always got the worst days to be hanging around. He didn't want to wander around, terrorize the wildlife - well, he didn't want to do anything. There was a horrible ache all over his body and he would have liked it to go away. He had a bit more facial hair than usual, and his eyes were getting into that yellow tone they always did at about this time. It would all pass with the moon, but for now it was hell.

So what? This was how he wanted it to be. It was good to be how he was. He was stronger than anyone because of it. He knew more than they'd ever know, and he was happier for it. So what if there was a little pain. No pain, no gain, like they always said, eh? A part of him wanted to stay indoors, but he knew that indoors just meant that he was locked in, under the control of people weaker than him. It was better to be in the cage than out, wasn't it? It was. Better to be free and causing mayhem than in here and being tormented by their niggling little voices and their petty expectations.

The rail creaked under his weight, perhaps because he was propping his entire body up with it. He lurched down the stairs and onto the couch. There were no disgusting couples or shrieking girls on it at this hour. It would be likely that there'd be none there when he got back, either. Good. Better alone than with them. He put his head back and stared up at the ceiling. He was right under the lake, he knew that much. You could never hear anything going on up there, though. What a pity. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The lads back home had gotten him into them, and though he'd found out that he couldn't light them within the school grounds, he could still carry them around to no ill effect. He put one in his mouth. The fire was too bright to look at, it gave him a headache.

The trap door opened up with a creak, and Fenrir heard footsteps start, then stop. He turned his head lazily in that direction, trying to make sure the cigarette didn't fall out of his mouth. He didn't quite register who it was at first, but quirked an eyebrow up anyway and give the person a hard look that had been known to scare off several of the younger students off at one time. Who the hell would it be at this hour?

Wilkes. Calli Wilkes? Really, now? Calli Wilkes in her floaty black robe coming down at eleven-thirty in the morning? Calli Wilkes not hanging around with Druella Rosier? Fenrir wasn't entirely sure he'd seen her alone, and knew about as much about her personality as anyone on the outskirts of Slytherin gossip did. She always seemed vaguely nice, but anyone would seem nice when standing next to Druella Rosier. She went out drinking and almost never got pulled for it, which was maddening enough, but it would explain why she was coming down this late.

Half-expecting her to pass him by, Fenrir went back to looking at the fire. If she reported him, so what? This was one of the few instances when he liked having Professor Dumbledore on his side, as the man was always quick to defend Fenrir for the sole reason that he was a werewolf. It was always embarrassing, but useful when push came to shove. Or at least it would have been if Fenrir actually wanted to stay at Hogwarts. Because he was a little over a year from coming of age, his parents and Dumbledore still held enough control over him to keep him in school whether he liked it or not. He half wanted Calli to report him, just to see if this would be the straw to break the camel's back, or in this case, the straw to get Slughorn into arguing for Fenrir's expulsion.

That wouldn't happen, of course. And Calli, no matter how vaguely they knew each other, would come over and sit near him. He gave her a weird look, and raised his eyebows a little when he saw the strategic amount of leg exposed by her position on the chair. He looked up, breathed out a cloud of smoke, and crushed out his cigarette on the coffee table, which was thankfully made out of some variety of stone. He didn't look at Calli. She was definitely pretty, but this was balanced out by everything else about her being ugly. Not that he wouldn't take her of given the chance. Not at all.

Actually, Fenrir hadn't heard that cigarettes were anything other than kind of neutral. Ms. Olivera downstairs smoked for her nerves (she didn't trust potions so easily, especially after that one time...) and it seemed to help, considering his mother hadn't been stuck babysitting a few of her kids in a while. Her flat always smelled rancid, but there were so many different smells that tobacco could have only helped. Compared to the Slytherin Common Room on an especially bad Saturday, though, she still came out on top. There were only so many sick/injured eleven-year-olds that she could have.

"Concerned, eh?" he started, but then paused. He was quite sure that, despite her tone, the comment was supposed to be condescending (it always was). He was going to pull out another, but it wasn't often that he actually did smoke, and besides, prices had gone up with the Muggle war and all. Finally, he settled on, "Wot are you goin' to do, tell Sluggy? Think you can make it with that 'angover of yours?" He snorted, even if it was the most obvious joke he could have made.