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Thong Song
#1
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April 8th, 1889; breakfast — Ravenclaw Table, Hogwarts Great Hall
As a matter of course, pale skin had a tendency to accompany red hair. With her fiery tresses, Idunn Fraser had never been any exception to this rule. Now, though, as trembling fingers still clutched the twine that had bound the parcel together, any faint hints of colour she might have once possessed drained entirely from her, her grey eyes widening in horror as it felt at once like her heart would stop and yet would burst forth from her chest at any moment.

The Ravenclaw had long since learned to open any parcels from home with a certain degree of trepidation, but in the hubbub of breakfast time in the Great Hall, the letter had slipped from the parcel and to the floor just under her seat, where it remained unopened, her mother's handwriting upon it a neon warning sign that Idunn had missed. Thus, the otherwise unmarked package might have been the potion ingredients she had been expecting from the apothecary, a gift from one of her sisters, literally anything other than the lacy monstrosity that now stared out at her like a demon in woman's undergarments. (Demon as women's undergarments?)

What's that, then? one of her tablemates inquired nosily.

Idunn could only let out a strangled noise, not quite a whimper but certainly not a word, in response as she realized that her table could now view the contents of the package.

Merlin help her. This had come from her mother.  
Open to up to three other Ravenclaws~



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#2
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The number of letters she received at school were fewer than the months she spent there. Letters were sent when news was dire, and packages were sent only on birthdays, and every message lacked any semblance of warmth. For a woman so intent on having a number of children, Mercy Mercier had never been the motherly type—and even less so since her children had been introduced to the magical world. Agnes had resigned to her situation long ago, instead taking an interest in the lives—and packages—of her friends.

She ignored the inquiring comment from a nosy student and placed a comforting hand on Idunn's shoulder, hoping to soothe her before her cheeks became as bright as the Gryffindor banners.

"It's lovely," she said quietly, trying to lift the edge of the package so other prying eyes might not catch a glance. A little louder, and with her eyes on the nosy student, she added, "Though I think something so sentimental isn't meant to be shared." Casting a pointed glance at the flustered Idunn, she further tugged at the wrapping.
#3
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Idunn's parcels were usually interesting, because Idunn was an interesting girl. Nelson had been dividing his attention between his eggs (scrambled) and her unwrapping process, until Idunn made a rather indescribable noise.

She had his undivided attention now, as the parcel turned out to be, a set of - of - of some tremendously girly form of underwear. Even if he had not been unable to speak, he wasn't sure he would have the words. Instead, Nelson's eyes were wide and his jaw falling open even wider, torn between the desire to avert his eyes and horrified transfixion. (Was he more tempted to laugh or scream?)

Nelson might have tried to make Idunn feel better with a commiserating smile, only he was still frozen in place. It seemed to get more horrifying every second he looked at it. And Agnes really wasn't helping! Lovely?! Sentimental?! Since when was girly underwear sentimental???
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#4
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The Ravenclaw table first thing in the morning was, in Trixie's experience, one of the least likely places one could expect a ruckus and thus on the odd occasion that one actually occurred she noticed in seconds and waded her way in with glee. The rest of the time her housemates were, not to put too fine a point on things, a bit dull and Trixie looked over to the Slytherin table with something like longing, though she would never admit to the emotion. It was quite possible that it had been elicited by a certain someone at said Slytherin table but she looked away from him before he could catch her staring only to immediately spot possibly the only other interesting thing in the room.

"Put your knickers away Fraser," she drawled, eyes alight with pleasure and feeling faintly like she might burst with schadenfreude. "Nobody wants to think about those."


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#5
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The colour returned to her face all at once—and with a vengeance. Cheeks flaming red, Idunn hastily shoved the underthings back into their packaging, unable to meet the wide eyes of her friends and, frankly, afraid to meet the scornful gaze of Borgin.

"Nothing 'sentimental' about it," the third year muttered to herself, though certainly audible to those around her. Though Idunn was certain Agnes was trying to be helpful, to be reassuring, her friend had altogether missed the mark on this one. All the young witch wanted from her friends, in this moment of painful embarrassment, was a spell to help her evaporate.  



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#6
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However well Agnes and Idunn had covered the contents of the package back up, the damage had already been done.

Worst of all - worse than the awkwardness now settling between the three of them - Beatrix Borgin had caught wind of the incident, and had clawed her way into the picture with a spiteful gleam of amusement in her eyes.

And however much he might agree with Borgin's statement (he was trying his best not to think too vividly about Idunn's new frilly underclothes on the table), Nelson was not one to stand idly by as people jeered at his friends. Unfortunately, as a scathing comment to get the fifth year to butt out was somewhat beyond him, he settled for flipping her a vulgar hand gesture.


#7
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Agnes shrunk back into her seat, cheeks tinted red, and cast a look of disgust in Borgin's direction. The girl clearly had no grace, no ounce of helpfulessness in her. What had compelled the staff to make her prefect over, say, Miss Fudge or Miss Weasley?

"You're just jealous that you haven't received a new pair of anything in the last two years," she quipped on impulse, averting her eyes from the prefect to poor Idunn once the words had left her mouth.

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#8
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"Shut up Mercier," Trix snapped back lamely, well aware that her response was about as pathetic as it got. But in her defence she was slightly flummoxed by the irritating fact that it was all too true - and by the fact that she wasn't successfully catching the eye of the person across the hall she wanted to. Scowling she turned her attention back to the table, hissing: "And if you do that again Higgs you'll be scrubbing so many cauldrons you won't have the use of your bloody fingers either."


[Image: peVXwN.png]
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