"𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐧𝐢𝐜? 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞."
"𝐨𝐡 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬, 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫."
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙
or in which a bet between a group of...
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phoenix feather
─── ⋆⋅ 𓆗 ⋅⋆ ──
"I DONT KNOW WHY YOU REFUSE TO EVEN TRY OUT," Alex rolled her eyes as she adjusted the collar of her quidditch robes in the dull beige mirror attached to the wall in Monroes dorm room during lunch the next day, "you brilliant on a broom."
Alex was once again (for the sixth year in a row) begging Monroe to try out for the quidditch team. The curly haired girl of the pair had always had a knack for the sport, she'd made the tea, in second years as the seeker and made captain this year after many years of hard work; but no matter how hard she worked to convince Monroe to join the team, she denied every time.
Monroe had managed to catch a couple of hours sleep the night before after she'd retired from the kitchens no matter how juncture her kid wanted to keep her awake replaying her strange conversation with James in her head till she could decode some reason as to why the Potter had a sudden change in attitude.
"Alex, I'd rather hex myself than try out for quidditch, sorry." Monroe responded with a chuckle.
Alex rolled her eyes, "You're a boring little shit. I've got to go manage try outs," the girl groaned as Monroe lit up a cigarette and puffed the stick, "enjoy catching death."
"Will do." Monroe called out with a smirk as her best friend left the room, perching herself on the windowsill and she enjoyed the silence and the peace it brought to her.
─── ⋆⋅ 𓆗 ⋅⋆ ──
MONROE HATED POTIONS. The art, the taste, the subject; everything to put it simply. She deemed it a stupid subject for want to be healers and future drug addicts. Though, all those issues seemed to be the least of her concerns - her main one being on her partner for the subject.
She made no reaction when James walked back over and played the ingredients for the he's,int potion on their shared desk as he began to follow the recipe floating mid air in front of his face. The pair sitting in a heavy silence that was evidence of their sheer unknowing and annoyance of the other.
"You ever going to get up and help, Taylor. Or are you just going to sit there with a face like thunder and in a shitty for another half an hour?" The boy asked - his concentration not once drifting away from where he was throwing some kind of carefully crushed insect into their bubbling cauldron.
