"If you looked up the definition for lovesick fool, Harry Potter's picture would be right next to it."
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Allegra Del Vecchio is a part of a household name in the Wizarding World. A notoriously wealthy, mysterio...
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"Move aside bitches! Fourth Years coming through!"
"She meant fishes," Allegra hastily told a frightened looking First Year as her and Prue trudged down the crowded aisle on the Hogwarts Express. She was glad to actually be able to go on the train this year. But yet again came that yearly headache from being around so many rambunctious, nervous, excited kids all at once in such a congested space. It would take getting used to again, but nothing she couldn't handle.
"I swear to god, if Marietta Edgecombe and Cho Chang try to sit here again I'm gonna- oh, never mind. All free," smiled Prue, opening the unofficial yet official train compartment they had designated as their own over the years.
"Look at us. Don't even need to ask for help to set our things onto the rack anymore," she declared sliding her trunk over top.
"Thank god. I don't need no man," said Prue. Then she sat down, resting her hands on her jean clad knees and blushed. "Well, maybe one man."
Allegra lifted a brow. "So you and George, still..." she didn't even know what to call it. Friends? They were definitely more than friends.
"About that," giggled Prue. "He snuck out to see me last night."
"Wait, what?!" She screamed in disbelief. "He just got back from Egypt yesterday morning!"
"Exactly," nodded Prue. "He flooed from the Leaky Cauldron to my house."
Prue lived in the heart of London, but lord knows George would get lost trying to navigate around muggle streets by foot.
"Well what happened?" She asked.
A breeze drifted coolly through the night against the heat that engulfed the city as August ended. The whole sky was lit up from the full moon and London's glimmering night life. All that could be heard were the distant sounds of cars driving, murmurs of people and drunken laughter, and muffled music if you listened closely enough.
Prue was seated on the rooftop of her townhouse, flipping through her sketchbook to find the next blank page. George sat down next to her, looking over her shoulder as she set up her things.
"Do you do stuff like this often?" He asked
"Stuff?" She said.
"You know, drawing, and-" George picked a pen and pencil. "Whatever this is."
"It's a muggle invention," she sighed as her hands began working across the page. "It works the same as a quill but you don't have to dip it into an ink pot."
"Then how would it write?"
"The ink is stored inside the pen and comes out when you press down on paper," she explained. "A pencil is similar but it's graphite instead of ink."
