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･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
OCTOBER SWEEPS ACROSS THE GROUNDS of the castle gradually, the world slowly shifting and turning into a breath of decay.
Surprisingly for the Scottish highlands, the weather isn't all that ghastly yet. The early days of the month seem to cling to the last bit of the sun's warmth before it can vanish entirely, though it allows for small chilling drafts to seep past the castle's walls unannounced. The first fall of the withering leaves from the trees is still a wondrous spectacle despite the approaching bitter cold, littering the now sage coloured grass with remnants of waning leaves in arraying hues of bronze and mahogany. They leave a satisfying crunch beneath the shoes of students who journey to and from the greenhouses for class and the Great Lake for weekends. The lone Whomping Willow perched high on the hill on the outskirts of the castle heaves and sighs with each passing day into Autumn, the minutes marked by each leaf it sheds and shake of its branches.
The shockingly warm weather does not go unnoticed by Lydia nor her friends. Then again, Lydia is certain Phoebe had not been expecting that the one nice Wednesday morning in early October when she and Phoebe had a spare would be sat with her friend in the stands of the Quidditch pitch. Yet there they are, and Lydia has still not given Phoebe a proper answer despite probing Phoebe earlier to join her.
Lydia doesn't give her a valid excuse in general, but certainly not then when they stumble upon the Quidditch pitch and just so happen to see the Gryffindor team practicing. In reality, Lydia has obviously had this planned from the beginning, scheming in private with James to figure out when his practices are.
"Potter's staring at you again."
Lydia pokes her head up from the textbook she had been reading and attempting to revise with. Phoebe sits next to her, the pair just two amongst the several other students who are spread out amongst the seats in the separate stands. Like Lydia, she's bundled in their winter robe and Ravenclaw wool-knit scarf though both aren't really needed. For the most part, Phoebe had been reading a book about Divination and tarot cards but, as Lydia's come to realize, has been also scrutinizing James's consistent fleeting looks over at the two girls every chance that she could.
"He is not," Lydia says, but that's a lie that even she knows. She has to at least try to make their fake soon-to-be relationship plausible.
When she looks out at the Quidditch pitch where the Gryffindor team is currently flying about mounted on their brooms and dressed in their usual uniforms for the sport, Lydia catches sight of James hovering nearby. He locks gazes with the girl and then nods, flashing her a knowing smile that could pass as a flirtatious look to someone like Phoebe.
