Her head was pounding. Or was that just the sounds of the printing shop echoing in the distance? Or maybe it was the sound of her shoes scuffing the pavement as she made her way up High Street. Shops had already closed, and lights were slowly fading as people turned in for the night. Saffy had started to count the number of steps it took to make it to the print shop but for some reason she always only got to 7 before she started over again.
On four her shoe hit the welcome mat. Her hand went to the door and she pushed it open, shuffling in. Predictably, the shop had also closed. And predictably one of her favorite people was still working, for whom she managed to crack a smile. The world seemed like it was about to throw itself into chaos - or perhaps it was her ears still ringing from the match. She let her bag hit the floor and collapsed into one of the chairs, leaning forward to put her head in her hands (she’d put her head on the table, but refrained for fear of getting the word ‘the’ stamped across her forehead again).
“Yes,” She mumbled. It felt as if her mind was both melted and like every part of it was revved up to 100. “Why are men stupid.” It was most certainly a statement and not a question. “Stupid Quidditch moves that don’t make sense.” She was even fried enough to let out a small but distinctive whine.
On four her shoe hit the welcome mat. Her hand went to the door and she pushed it open, shuffling in. Predictably, the shop had also closed. And predictably one of her favorite people was still working, for whom she managed to crack a smile. The world seemed like it was about to throw itself into chaos - or perhaps it was her ears still ringing from the match. She let her bag hit the floor and collapsed into one of the chairs, leaning forward to put her head in her hands (she’d put her head on the table, but refrained for fear of getting the word ‘the’ stamped across her forehead again).
“Yes,” She mumbled. It felt as if her mind was both melted and like every part of it was revved up to 100. “Why are men stupid.” It was most certainly a statement and not a question. “Stupid Quidditch moves that don’t make sense.” She was even fried enough to let out a small but distinctive whine.