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QUEENIE DOESN'T READ HER MIND ANYMORE. Its strange, the feeling of not having someone constantly poking through her very thoughts; those little voices that plagued her before she slept, and the same ones that would always be there to remind her that she is, in fact, human. Elonita doesn't know if Queenie chooses not to, or if she's unintentionally learned Occlumency.
Even so, Queenie is always the one to be there for her when the memories of her Father's fragmented voice aren't enough, or when she refuses to eat somedays because the more she eats, the more she feels tied down and unable to think anymore.
(Queenie knows better.)
And its not like its just the two of them alone; there was always Walter, whose wit could rival that of the very best, or Geneva, who served as a permanent pick-me-up for when the nightmares got too much, or even Dena and Dichali, who were never short of quality entertainment for everyone.
But sometimes, Elonita was tired of their plastic voices and the static conversations that her friends sometimes offered. She was tired of Tina's constant talk of MACUSA and how wonderful it would be to become an Auror. But she was always tired now, anyways.
(Queenie made it better.)
Through all of this, there were always the late-night visits to the kitchens, where Queenie would bake some delicacy, or Herbology lessons, when Queenie would show her all the uses for this plant, and all the healing properties of that fungi. She never ceased to amaze Elonita. Queenie was the only person who truly made her feel like the sliver of sunshine was still shining down upon her face, the rays brushing against her eyelashes and tinting her cheeks the softest of pinks. It was incredible.
And she went through the routine of wondering whether or not she was supposed to be here, whether or not she belonged in her house, because lately she doesn't feel she could do much of anything at all. Not even to mention the whole warrior trope. That much was long discarded.
Until, of course, Queenie plops herself down in a seat next to the tanned girl, her pale fingers resting on the nape of her neck. Physicality was very much Queenie's thing, and in most situations it didn't matter who saw or knew or cared. Because as Elonita looked up from her very drab looking over-easy egg and sausage links, she felt the pricking at her eyes and the corners of her lips tug upwards without so much as a hesitation of thought. The cranberry-navy robes began to lose their appeal after some time, but with the Headmistress' permission to be able to accessorize any way they wanted, the students jumped on the idea faster than you could say hippogriff. Most of the girls took it upon themselves (Elonita and Queenie included) to wear the token green purple and white badge. In Queenie's words, "I don't care if you're a pureblooded vampire; every girl, woman and child should don one of these. They're pretty too."
