Holliday Fudge was not clumsy by nature, not accustomed to having her limbs act on their own accord. Yet, somehow, the girl found herself flat on her back, her legs having been pulled out from under her, the letter she had clutched moments before now a yard away. It took no time at all before the reason for all of this became clear—or rather, reasons: Beatrix Borgin and Cordelia Fawley.
Holliday had never liked either girl overmuch, but had never disliked them until this year, when Borgin had made a power play (accompanied by hurtful comments) in Topaz's absence, the Gryffindor ever Borgin's shadow. Now, Holliday's feelings towards her yearmates edged closer to hate, and it was only that the wind had been entirely knocked from her lungs that stopped her from striking back swiftly.
The Ravenclaw had no time to gather her bearings, never mind her letter, before it was in Fawley's hand.
"Give it back," Holliday insisted with cool defiance as she sat up, never once expecting her directions would be followed. "We aren't all cruel turncoats."
Holliday had never liked either girl overmuch, but had never disliked them until this year, when Borgin had made a power play (accompanied by hurtful comments) in Topaz's absence, the Gryffindor ever Borgin's shadow. Now, Holliday's feelings towards her yearmates edged closer to hate, and it was only that the wind had been entirely knocked from her lungs that stopped her from striking back swiftly.
The Ravenclaw had no time to gather her bearings, never mind her letter, before it was in Fawley's hand.
"Give it back," Holliday insisted with cool defiance as she sat up, never once expecting her directions would be followed. "We aren't all cruel turncoats."
— graphics by mj ❤ —