❝I WOULD TRAVEL TO
ANOTHER TIMELINE
JUST TO SEE YOU SMILE. ❞
between stolen glances with a
certain redhead, detentions,
snarky slytherins, and strange
occurrences, priscilla roberts
is in for a crazy first year at Hogwarts.
[fred weasley x fem...
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STRONG born October 6th, 2020
♫ these boots are made for walkin'
- nancy sinatra
"these boots are made for walkin'
and that's just what they'll do
one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you..."
✧
"INCOMING!"
Priscilla and Nitara darted through the hallway laughing as coloured smoke bombs went off all around them. Their black mary janes clicked against the cobblestone as they ducked and pivoted around sitting students and fluffy cats. Nitara kept tossing half-hearted apologies and "look out!"-s behind her as she ran.
A pop of pink here, a dash of blue there, an explosion of red over a group of snobby Slytherins. Shrieks could be heard left and right as the two girls hopped over dormant bombs and lighting them up with a flick of their wands over their shoulders as they ran. Priscilla looked behind her to see an eruption of rainbow smoke in the Hogwarts corridor, unable to contain her laughter.
It felt amazing to finally let go, to finally feel truly alive and not just skating along.
"We really did it this time, Cilla!" Nitara called, beginning to panic as she always did.
"You worry too much, Nini," Priscilla laughed until she bumped into someone in front of her, hard. Nitara almost tripped over herself trying to stop behind her.
Looking down at the two girls with a subtle smirk was none other than Professor Snape, the last person Priscilla wanted to see right now. "Going somewhere?" he asked in his signature monotonous, judgey tone. His brow was quirked with amusement like a predator catching prey.
"Okay, worry a little," she muttered to her friend under her breath. She closed her eyes and sighed in anticipation for the disaster to come."Fuck."
✧
Priscilla Roberts was sixteen when we first stepped foot onto platform 9 3/4. She tried her best to keep a brave face, but she knew she stuck out like a sore thumb. There was no doubt she was the oldest unsorted student on the platform, and everybody other than the nervous first years was reuniting with friends and already filing into compartments on the train. So many students were colour-coded in their house colours, red, yellow, blue, and green. Her father explained what they meant on the way to the train station, but she had already forgotten. As if she paid attention in the first place.
