❝ 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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. . . . . .
━ CASPER ROMERO ━ september 1993
MORGAN WAS LOSING SLEEP OVER HER BRING HERBERT FLEET DOWN PLAN. Her friends would call it idiocy but she prefers inventive. At first, she had been excited. This seemed like a genuine way to cause Herbert pain ─ and she would be at the hand of it, she would contribute to his suffering in the same way that he did to her. Then she became worried it wouldn't work out and she'd just embarrass herself. But this was still very much in the delusional phase ─ she was worried Gryffindor wouldn't win the cup, but Hufflepuff would instead. And Herbert would have beaten her. Again.
Then came the doubt. What if the plan barely even took off?
It was the night before her and Jason's first scheduled practice session. No one had booked the practice pitch so Jason reckoned that a few individual players would be training by themselves to better their own skills, rather than their team's.
Morgan found herself staring at the ceiling of her four-poster bed a lot longer than she had wanted to. And she was almost certain it wasn't Kamilah's snoring that was robbing her of her sleep. She had spent many years with the Jenkins girl's troll-like sleep sounds and had got so used to it, it was like hearing crickets peacefully chirp at this point. No, Morgan was almost certain it was her looming Quidditch practice with her brother that meant her eyes were far from fluttering closed.
What if she was as terrible as everyone seemed to be sure she was? What if her brother is a dreadful coach? What if she has started too late and won't have enough time to train before tryouts? What if she falls from a great height and plummets to a painful dea─
She practically launched her covers to the side and jumped out of bed. Morgan was no longer willing to lie awake, torturing herself with the numerous possible disastrous outcomes of this plan she has fixated on. Morgan knew some kind of snack was needed.
Meticulously tiptoeing around the creakiest of all the floorboards, it was like muscle memory navigating her way through the dark and out down the spiral stairs, the Kitchens being her final destination. Some kind of cheesecake would definitely put her mind at ease enough for her to drift off.
But as she rounded the corner of the stairwell ─ at what she remembered, by briefly glancing at her clock, was around three o'clock in the morning ─ and into the Gryffindor common room, the fire was still blazing and a figure was perched in the armchair closest to the flames. A brown head of hair peeked out from the top of the plush cushion and as Morgan got a little closer, she could hear the ruffling of paper and the aggressive scratching of quills.
