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CHAPTER SEVEN. flowers and arguments. ( paper crane no. 790. )
GRAVEL CRUNCHED AND CRUMBLED under their feet as the majority of the sixth year students shuffled their way to the castle courtyard. With hands stuffed in their pockets and colourful scarves wrapped around their necks, the late October weather definitely didn't disappoint. The harsh wind of Storm Celia from the south slapped their cheeks and blew their hair into their faces, standing in tight bunches like penguins in order to keep warm until they could set off to the village.
Students had been prewarned about the weather days before, stating that it wouldn't have mercy on them and nor could they do anything about it, but to dress warm and stay warmer. As they say, Scottish weather was unpredictable. Though, despite this, a hint of excitement still oozed from the anticipating - and shivering - students. After all, it was the first Hogsmeade trip of the year.
"I can't feel my balls," Sirius whined as he jumped up and down on the spot in an attempt to warm himself up, "fuck you Mother Nature."
"I think the last thing Mother Nature's concerned about is your balls, Pads."
"Clearly," Sirius said bitterly.
"Why is everyone taking so long?" Peter questioned, glancing around to see if anyone was wondering the same. "Shouldn't we have set off by now?"
Remus checked his watch. "It's barely even ten to."
Throwing his head back, Sirius groaned at the thought of having to wait another ten minutes for people to show up. It was freezing! Usually, they were allowed to leave the castle at eleven o'clock on the dot, but due to the raging cold, they couldn't wait to get moving as soon as possible to restore their loss of body heat or grab a cup of warm Butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks. Anything to not freeze their balls off. (Or Sirius' balls).
"Ughhhhhhh."
"It's so fucking cold!"
"Where the hell is Prongs?"
Further on down, at the entrance of the courtyard, a figure stood behind Professor McGonagall - who'd enchanted a clipboard to tick off names for attendance - searching the courtyard for something. A small item of paper threatened to burn a hole in his pocket as he kept a firm grip on it, but not too much that it would crush in his palm. His eyes cautiously swept the crowd of sixth years for a certain blonde with magic hands, before deeming it impossible. She was five foot three. And half of the year were blonde. He would just have to keep a vigilant eye out for her. Soon spotting his friends in a secluded corner, he finally started to move while pulling the coat hood further down his face.
"Ah, Mr Potter," McGonagall acknowledged as he strolled past. "Not here to cause trouble, I hope?" James twisted his head to give her a cheeky smirk.
