Turner had always seemed like a sanctimonious little shit to Trixie – she knew him primarily by sight in the common room but was quite prepared to downgrade him in her estimation for the sake of joining Mr Lestrange in outrage. What on earth was their buffoon of a headmaster thinking?

“We’ve plenty of lovely things that bring on paroxysms or we can source a poison of your chose within a fortnight,” she replied with a nasty grimace, making a mental note to wipe down the object he had scuffed. She didn’t mind herself of course but her father would notice and Trixie didn’t at all fancy being in his bad books. Although if she told him it had been from the boot of a Lestrange there was every chance he’d frame it.

“I expect they feel sorry for him. Someone told me his mother was chucked in an asylum then couldn’t even die properly.” Which made sense – Trixie was convinced you’d have to be mad to come back as a ghost, but with the miserable, mawkish Grey Lady as her primary example it was hardly surprising.

---

Gorgeous set by MJ! she gets me so much