[The Greengrass Legacy] D.M

[One]

[ GOBLET OF FIRE ]
England/Scotland Hogwarts
•|—|•

Incessant and continual.

Clinking and footsteps, was a sound ever so intimate and familiar to the ear. 

Compared to the satisfaction of the tranquility felt when listening deliberately to the reassurance of the rain, or vague, faint melodies played repeatedly from her mothers proficient, poised fingers; this collection of notes had to be her most dreaded one.

Growing up, always followed and taunted by the persistent clicking, you would think you would eventually grow used to it. Like a mothers first intentional dread of leaving their child in the hands of someone other then themselves, you grow to accept these things.

As William Congreve once said, Hell has no fury like a woman scorned.

Nothing in the world, or beyond it, to even the gaping depths of hell, is as incandescent and capable of great irritability as a women who has been scorned, or more commonly known as, embarrassed.

Embarrassment was and had always been the first consequential layer of establishing any women's profound insecurities: to the first thing someone called you out of spite, or the utmost comment hollered at you regarding your appearance, body image, way you speak, childhood, upbringing, the list is enteral.

If only people hustled as much as they hate.

"Astoria! Please just a moment of your time. What's your opinions on your sisters arrangement with Theodore Nott at such a young age?"

Just a moment of her time she would rather not waste talking to ravening reporters and scheming photographers, waiting diligently for her to slip up with her words, or display the next desired front page shot.

"Rumour has it you have been dating the ministers son? Vincent Fudge? What do you have to say on that one, Astoria!"

Rumour has it a lot of things.

Her firm and secure grip on the leather umbrella strap strengthened, her delicate knuckles progressively turning a ghostly white from the force of it. It predominantly shielded her face from the assault of intense flashing lights, but more significantly from the rain hammering itself into the cobbled streets. If the cameras were any closer in distance, they would be able to distinctly notice her degenerated smile forming wickedly onto her glossy plumped lips, from the coherent view of observing the flocks of edacious reporters, soak themselves fabric to skin.