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･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
"YOU KNOW I DON'T MEAN TO PRY, but why on earth were you with Potter earlier?"
Lydia tries to contain a sigh.
Currently sat in the Divination classroom, she's surrounded by nothing but murmuring students and the watchful eye of their wayward and eccentric professor, Penberthy, whose blonde hair has long since turned a porpoise shade of silver. The old lady must be a few hundred years old, give or take, as she's been at Hogwarts for so long that both her brothers who are much older than her, her mother, her father, and her father's father and so on spanning nearly five generations have all had her, though Lydia supposes the woman holds her age well enough. She's dressed in lavish maroon robes, the jingling of her many bracelets stacked on her arms following her as she moves in every which direction.
Seated next to Lydia at one of the dozen round tables draped in an ostentatious cloth that mimics the resonating scarlet of their professor's gown are Bellamy and Phoebe, of whom has just spoken. In the middle of their table, much like the others, is stationed a glittering crystal ball that reflects the soft lighting in the room and refracts it in an array of colours. In front of each student are mismatched porcelain tea cups, an important tool in their Tessomancy lesson of the day. They had been forced to down the bitter tea Penberthy had brewed earlier, then mix around the dregs at the very bottom before shutting their eyes to clear their minds and then switch their cups with their partners in order to properly read their future in the leaves at the very bottom.
It's been several hours since the morning when Lydia had talked to James during her spare. Now, after lunch, it seemed to be all she could think about rather than faulty tea leaves but there wasn't a chance she would tell her friends that.
"Phoebe," Bellamy says, "we all know you mean to pry. It's just who you are."
"I was simply trying to be kind," The girl responds airily. "But you can't tell me you aren't a little bit curious either, Bell."
Lydia rolls her eyes. She grasps the dusty rose coloured cup that had belonged to Phoebe and peers inquisitively at the remnants left behind. "I think I see in your near future a day where you'll eventually stop trying to snoop into my life."
"Is that a threat?" Phoebe chortles delightfully. She reaches out for her cup but Lydia holds it away. "Give that here! We all know you can't properly read the future anyway. Leave that for the professional. And, I'll have you know, as your best friend I am obligated to snoop around in your life. Isn't that right, Bellamy?"
The boy can be seen visibly considering this on his face. At the table next to them, Lily Evans is snickering at a prophecy Alice Lightwood has just attempted to tell her. The Gryffindor girl next to the redhead shakes her head violently, her dark fringe a mess as she gives up after a half an hour of hard concentrating. Mary MacDonald completes the trio, though her attention is elsewhere as she flips leisurely through a glossy magazine hidden behind the opened spine of their Divination textbook on her lap.
