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Did you know?

The Language of the Flowers was a popular method to express feelings where words might be improper, but did you know other means of doing so? Some ladies used their parasols, as well as their fans, gloves, and hankies to flirt with a gentleman (or alternatively, tell them to shove it!). — Bree


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This boy, then. He wasn't new. Wasn't one of the worst people in the common room, those rotten rich boys - like Mr. Jailkeeper - who could not fathom a world beyond their own farts. Was a good working class lad, so he'd heard. Had a bit of a weird looking face, and a bit of a weird thing for preaching. Still.

Aubrey Davis in The Under-Sofa


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A Berry Good Day
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13th September, 1888 — The Fruitbowl, Gryffindor Table, The Great Hall
His hedgehog digestion did not always like human food, and Aubrey had not yet gained a true appreciation for The Worm Diet, but berries were fine in both worlds. Berries were good. Berries were great.

Aubrey had smelled them, and done the necessary parkour to find himself now bathing in a bowl of them at breakfast, hidden under the heap as he noisily scarfed his way through the raspberries at the bottom. That was... until the berry heavens opened above him! Shit, exposed!

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   Aldous Crouch
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The nearly two weeks that had passed since arriving at Hogwarts had given Carius the appropriate time to settle into his new house, and making the Gryffindor quidditch team - and as a beater, too! - had given him affirmation that if he couldn't blend in well with his house-mates, he might as well lead them in a few years.

One of his dorm-mates had convinced him to come down to breakfast that morning despite his insistence that he had to finish his Potions homework. He'd avoided anything especially heavy, not wanting to further upset his stomach that had already been aching from anxiety. His dorm-mate had directed him to a bowl of berries, but upon opening it, he found himself face-to-face with something distinctly inedible: a.... hedgehog!?

Carius' brows shot up in surprise. "What the -" he said, mouth gaping at the revelation. Hedgehogs had not been on the list of acceptable Hogwarts pets, but neither were they as common as the rats he imagined roamed the kitchens. "Uhhh, you're not supposed to be here," he said, his unease evident as he spoke to the creature rather than the students around him. What was he supposed to do with a hedgehog?

(And more importantly, were they truly as spiky as they looked? He was tempted to touch it.)



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What are you looking at?! Aubrey yelled, embarrassed to have been caught, the words coming out as a quiet hedgehog snuffle as usual. He shook a few berries off his back - he could feel them getting wedged in amongst his spines, which was less ideal than getting to wedge them all in his mouth, but - and shrank warily from the unfamiliar boy now looming over him.  

You're damn right I'm not supposed to be here, Aubrey snuffled next, supposing that if he stared upwards with beady eyes particularly intently he might get the message across. (It was something he always tried with new people. Never worked, funnily enough.) Maybe the boy would just back away and let Aubrey manoeuvre himself back out of the berry bowl with some dignity. You never knew.
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He touched it. He did it, and then immediately flinched back, expecting some pain but finding a moment later that his finger had not been pricked like he'd expected. It was a silly thought, he realized in hindsight; no student would keep a hedgehog as a pet if their back felt like a hundred spinning wheel needles. (Though it would be an impressive scare tactic if a student was particularly prone to picking on others...)

"Wait," he said quietly, as if there was someone capable of conscious thought to hear her, "I don't even think hedgehogs are on the list of acceptable pets. How did you get in here?"

He reached out a hand, finger pointing towards the creature as if he was about to poke it again.



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What kind of nincompoop saw a back full of spines and thought oh yes, I must touch that? An oddball, that was who, Aubrey bristled; after ten years of this any adventurous curiosity he might have had as a boy himself had congealed quite well into bitterness. Mr. Prick Myself here had gone and done it anyway, and though Aubrey wasn't sure he was looking at him just this moment, he did his best to shake his head from side to side in exasperated disapproval.

And then he made a remark that was... true. If only such statements as that ever led people to the whole truth, the truth that Davis had once been more than a hedgehog, more than a Rich Boy's pet. Of course, it was not a truth with dots too easy to connect, and Aubrey, currently with a stomach stuffed full of berries, didn't have enough energy to spare to try and demonstrate it.

All he could manage, indeed, with the boy's looming finger again (and if it came any closer Aubrey would show him what was what, or he'd be damned!!!!) was sidestepping the finger in as defiant and rational a movement as he could muster, and then rocking forwards in a dignified attempt to clamber back out of the berry-bowl to say to the boy, I go where I want, you SEE?

Only he was very full, and the bowl looked bigger from the inside now that it was half-empty. Oops.


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