If Porphyria had learnt that anyone thought her liable to paint watercolours in her spare time, she would never have been so offended in her life.
As it was, Mr. Rosier’s words were a little harder to argue with. She had a lot of - loose matter in her bag to sift through, true. The mushrooms might even be poisonous, she didn’t know. Maybe the thief would find out, and pay his penance for taking her poetry notebook. The loss of it was profoundly plaguing her. It felt as though she’d lost her right hand. And possibly her head.
“Save your pity for when I find him, why don’t you,” she said darkly, the words accompanied by clenched fists which were, in truth, brought on just as much by upset as by the attempt to be threatening.
Mr. Rosier, she thought - if only to make herself feel better - ought to recall well enough that she was not just all talk.
In this vein, she supposed she might warn him that there was a knife in her bag that the thief might find of value in one way or another, but Porphyria was at this point distracted by his pointing out the footprints. Clearly it had never been in any question to her that she was coming along on this pursuit, so she propelled herself into motion as quickly as she could walk, not in the least inclined to be left behind.
“I hope they teach you more than that at the Ministry,” she muttered with a scowl, scanning the rest of the park as they went but not entirely sure whether she should be relying on his ‘talents’ to rescue a year’s worth of poetry from the hands of some footpad. Not that she wanted to count on him, either, but if he could catch dark wizards he must be able to return a runaway bag.
As it was, Mr. Rosier’s words were a little harder to argue with. She had a lot of - loose matter in her bag to sift through, true. The mushrooms might even be poisonous, she didn’t know. Maybe the thief would find out, and pay his penance for taking her poetry notebook. The loss of it was profoundly plaguing her. It felt as though she’d lost her right hand. And possibly her head.
“Save your pity for when I find him, why don’t you,” she said darkly, the words accompanied by clenched fists which were, in truth, brought on just as much by upset as by the attempt to be threatening.
Mr. Rosier, she thought - if only to make herself feel better - ought to recall well enough that she was not just all talk.
In this vein, she supposed she might warn him that there was a knife in her bag that the thief might find of value in one way or another, but Porphyria was at this point distracted by his pointing out the footprints. Clearly it had never been in any question to her that she was coming along on this pursuit, so she propelled herself into motion as quickly as she could walk, not in the least inclined to be left behind.
“I hope they teach you more than that at the Ministry,” she muttered with a scowl, scanning the rest of the park as they went but not entirely sure whether she should be relying on his ‘talents’ to rescue a year’s worth of poetry from the hands of some footpad. Not that she wanted to count on him, either, but if he could catch dark wizards he must be able to return a runaway bag.
a sublime set by Lady! <3