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─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The fifth year Hufflepuff girls dormitory was shared between four girls including Eleanor, each occupant as equally diverse as the other.
Monica Selwyn was perhaps Eleanor's most favourite roommate and closest girl friend. She was the meanest person Eleanor had ever met, with her dry responses and an always-bored look upon her face. But she was also one of the realist, and perhaps that's what Eleanor loved about her so much. When outside of class, it was almost impossible to ever see Monica without a cigarette in her hands. Eleanor felt bad for her blackening lungs. She supposed they must be as black as the smudged eyeliner Monica wore around her eyes.
Someone who always complained about Monica's chain smoking was Kathleen (Kathy) Pickworth, Eleanors other roommate. Being a goody-two-shoes made her difficult to be around, but she had good intentions, and on good days she was somewhat pleasant to be around. Her shrill voice and need to be perfect made her insufferable to Monica, and for that they both fought with each other near every single night.
If it wasn't Eleanor breaking up these fights, it was Sierra Ennison, the last roommate. If you was to describe the sun as a person, Sierra would be the perfect definition. You would think she was part-Veela with the amount of people that had been left captivated by just a singular smile and her strawberry-blonde hair, but she didn't have a drop of it in her bloodline. Actually, she was the first witch to ever be born into her family. She wasn't promiscuous, despite the effect that she had on people. In fact, she had never even had a boyfriend. Sierra was as pure as they come.
Sat on the ledge of the open dormitory window, Monica took in a long drag of her glowing-red cigarette, savouring the feeling, before puffing out a cloud of smoke.
Losing concentration from her knitting, Kathy glimpsed at Monica, then at the cigarette, and then narrowed her eyes. "Those things kill you, you know," she stated in her shrill, all-knowing voice. It wasn't the first time she had said something along those lines to Monica. She had, after all, been lecturing her about the effects of smoking ever since she had picked up the addiction in her third year.
"I know," Monica said, her voice holding every ounce of boredom it possibly could. "You've told me this every time I've ever had one."
"That's because it's true," Kathy nagged. "You carry on like this and you'll be six feet under by time you're 40."
Monica let her gaze drift slowly to Sierra, who was laid on her bed drawing doodles on the parchment that she was supposed to be writing an essay on. Upon seeing that Sierra was already watching them intently, just waiting to break up one of their arguments, Monica rolled her eyes in exaggeration. Sierra's lips curved into a smile as she tried to fight back a giggle.
