❝ MAYBE IF WE AGREE TO BE SAD
LOSERS TOGETHER, THE PATHETIC
ASPECT DISAPPEARS? ❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
༊*·˚ ❤️🩹 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲
in which two hogwarts students are
dumped unexpectedly and find
comfort in wallowing away i...
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. . . . . .
━ HALLOWEEN CELEBRATIONS ━ october 1993
"I'M SORRY BUT I JUST REALLY DON'T GET IT."
"What don't you get?"
"Your whole costume?"
Morgan took another look in the mirror. She thought it was obvious, at least amongst their year group and especially in their house. Bea, who stood behind her now, glanced over Morgan's shoulder to inspect the latter's costume for another opportunity to try and deduce who Morgan was trying to be.
She had her newly-acquired Gryffindor Quidditch robes on ─ the ones she could hardly part with, not even for a minute, which made her costume even more perfect ─ and her hair was in pins and hidden under a scruffy brown wig. She held a prop witch's broom from the joke shop in one hand and a packet of shortbread in the other. A hand-made paper badge reading Captain in a gold font, against a red background, was haphazardly pinned on her left.
She couldn't make it any more obvious if she tried.
"Are you me?"
"No, Beatrice," Morgan groaned, turning away from the mirror to face the girl again, "I'm not you."
Bea's face soured (whether at the costume or at the fact that Morgan wasn't trying to impersonate her, Morgan wasn't sure). "Why have you put on a weird accent?"
Morgan's arms flew up at her sides. "I'm supposed to be Scottish!"
"Did William Wallace go to Hogwarts?"
Morgan pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. If it was going to be this hard to identify her costume with her best friend guessing, she was already dreading the rest of the Halloween festivities.
"I'm Oliver," Morgan said, now rather disinterested about the holiday all together. She had also returned to her normal, English-speaking voice since the Scottish attempt was completely lost on Bea, who still looked confused. Morgan frantically pulled at the fabric where her makeshift badge was stuck. "Oliver Wood? The Gryffindor Quidditch Captain?"
After another short moment of thought, Bea finally came to, and realisation dawned on her face. "Oh," she drawled, "him. Yeah, makes sense now."
Another moan from Morgan. "It only makes sense now? What stopped you before?"
"I dunno," Bea shrugged, cocking her head to the side to look at Morgan's get-up from a different angle. "The wig's a bit off in colour, I guess."
