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FIFTEEN | EVERYTHING BUT A REAL DATE
IT WASN'T LONG UNTIL THE NEXT HOGSMEADE TRIP GRACED THE STUDENTS WITH ITS PRESENCE ONCE AGAIN.And while Seline stood by the fact she thought they should be able to go every single weekend as they pleased, she was grateful nonetheless for an escape from the overcrowded castle. With all the guests from the other schools, Hogwarts had never felt as small as it had this year; the hallways were a constant stream of congestion. It seemed there was nowhere she could go to get a break from all the noise of the Triwizard Tournament (it should be quartizard tournament now but whatever, Dumbledore didn't take kindly to her suggestion). She couldn't wait for Cedric to just win it and this all be over with. Send all the visitors home already. She even missed cheering along Quidditch matches, as crazy of her to say.
While late January was still technically ice cold, it didn't warrant the need for a scarf which was a nice change—at least, in her opinion. Seline could travel around the village without feeling like she was being choked by the hand knitted atrocity her mother made her pack year after year. Gone was the rash it caused after long stretches of wearing it, causing a red line around her neck that someone who didn't know her might take out of context.
The brunette travelled from the castle hand in hand with her boyfriend, Wayne Hopkins, who had opted to still wear his own scarf. His cheeks were pink from the biting wind and his cropped hair stuck up in funny directions from the force at which said wind was blowing at them with. "Is your scarf not itchy?" She'd asked him, perfectly sculpted eyebrows raised to the top of her forehead as she pointedly eyed his neck.
"Cashmere doesn't get itchy," he'd replied, bringing her hand up to feel the texture of the material. Her eyes widened at how smooth and soft it felt—did god himself knit this? Why had her mother cheaped out and used wool she found in the clearance bins at Tesco?
She yearned to come from the sort of wealth Wayne had been raised in; with servants and five course dinners every night. She'd been lucky if her mother bothered to make a Sunday roast. While the Winchester's were far from poor, the marriage of Cordelia and Robert had been in tatters for years—in fact she couldn't quite remember a time when it wasn't, if she was being frank—which had put cracks in the perfect family unit they tried to portray to those who cared. It took one look through their windows to see the gaping holes. Like the way they'd scream and shout whenever Robert returned from long work trips, smelling like a perfume Cordelia didn't own. And then how she'd lock herself away in the master bedroom for days, leaving her daughters to fend for themselves. Seline shook her head, her parents failing marriage the last thing she wanted to be thinking about on her date—that was bad juju.
