The words hit harder than she'd expected, but she'd expected them anyway. She'd been ready for them for a long time, really. Nobody wanted an urchin stalking the halls of their pristine castle, getting her fingers into tight spaces, asking too many prickly questions. Her jaw tightened, with her teeth clenching all tight and hooked together, leaving no space for anything to leak through.
Charley wasn't the leaky sort, anyway, not like the other girls.
"Nah, en't found a spell yet that'll give a cove some new mind 'bouta thing," she said, almost spitting the words. Charley swallowed, feeling only a little lump sitting inside her throat. Her arms folded across her chest, and she put her chin up by another notch. "Nobody's changin' for women or poor folk, an' leastwise not for anyone who's both."
That was just the way things were. It wasn't up to anyone like her or Professor Lyra to change it, and plenty got in trouble for trying anyway. She saw that enough just from the counter of a flower shop. Flowers always wound up in the arms of ladies sobbing about their life gone awry or sitting on tables in a house where somebody died. They weren't the sort of thing that could do a lick about the problems, either, just look pretty while everything else wilted.
Charley wasn't the prettiest sort for looking, but she knew enough not to wilt around bad news.
She almost did when the woman changed her tone. Charley could hear that before anything else, before the words drifted across from somewhere in the dark. Had they come like that otherwise, in the dark with no one around, she would have waved them away. Those were pieces of dreams from long ago, little hopes that wiggled into her head when she wasn't looking. Nothing serious, nothing really real.
"Yer home?" The urchin couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the thought, just for the briefest of moments. Trying to think about herself around the finer things someone like the professor owned was an odd thought. Even the times she'd been at some snooty rich bloke's house, it was only ever as a visitor. Not even a guest, really, and not, absolutely not, as somebody with a room. "Why wouldja ever want me there? En't like I'm gonna steal yer things or nothing, I'd promise that, but yer sort don't really take to mine. Not like yer sayin', 'cept if yer sayin' it that way. Don't want nobody touchin' me."
A Hogwarts professor didn't seem the sort, really, but Hogwarts professors came in all shapes. She'd seen scarred faces and one she swore was part Goblin, all wandering about Hogsmeade before they sauntered back up to the castle. For what little she knew about what went on up there, Charley was pretty happy not knowing much more. Until now, anyway, and she stared right into at Professor Lyra's eyes with a final, burning, question. "Don't got a house elf, do ya?"
Charley wasn't the leaky sort, anyway, not like the other girls.
"Nah, en't found a spell yet that'll give a cove some new mind 'bouta thing," she said, almost spitting the words. Charley swallowed, feeling only a little lump sitting inside her throat. Her arms folded across her chest, and she put her chin up by another notch. "Nobody's changin' for women or poor folk, an' leastwise not for anyone who's both."
That was just the way things were. It wasn't up to anyone like her or Professor Lyra to change it, and plenty got in trouble for trying anyway. She saw that enough just from the counter of a flower shop. Flowers always wound up in the arms of ladies sobbing about their life gone awry or sitting on tables in a house where somebody died. They weren't the sort of thing that could do a lick about the problems, either, just look pretty while everything else wilted.
Charley wasn't the prettiest sort for looking, but she knew enough not to wilt around bad news.
She almost did when the woman changed her tone. Charley could hear that before anything else, before the words drifted across from somewhere in the dark. Had they come like that otherwise, in the dark with no one around, she would have waved them away. Those were pieces of dreams from long ago, little hopes that wiggled into her head when she wasn't looking. Nothing serious, nothing really real.
"Yer home?" The urchin couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the thought, just for the briefest of moments. Trying to think about herself around the finer things someone like the professor owned was an odd thought. Even the times she'd been at some snooty rich bloke's house, it was only ever as a visitor. Not even a guest, really, and not, absolutely not, as somebody with a room. "Why wouldja ever want me there? En't like I'm gonna steal yer things or nothing, I'd promise that, but yer sort don't really take to mine. Not like yer sayin', 'cept if yer sayin' it that way. Don't want nobody touchin' me."
A Hogwarts professor didn't seem the sort, really, but Hogwarts professors came in all shapes. She'd seen scarred faces and one she swore was part Goblin, all wandering about Hogsmeade before they sauntered back up to the castle. For what little she knew about what went on up there, Charley was pretty happy not knowing much more. Until now, anyway, and she stared right into at Professor Lyra's eyes with a final, burning, question. "Don't got a house elf, do ya?"
![[Image: UNpj1yr.png]](https://i.imgur.com/UNpj1yr.png)
Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.