“Oh, I see,” Viola said, brows knitted: but she didn’t, not really, for that was not the story she’d been expecting. Coming to Irvingly if one had a wizard in the family made sense enough to her; she did not know a great deal about the founding of this town. She had only been young at the time. And though it was a thrill for her to explore it, she couldn’t imagine that people would have found it that exciting if they could have lived elsewhere.
She wanted to pry a little more, but she was aware enough, when he didn’t offer any more to embellish his story, that she would be prying. And he was still a stranger – half a dance perhaps did not a friendship make. “And do you like it here?” She asked instead, hopefully, letting her eyes trail across the town square again as they turned. “It’s very pretty.” Neater than Hogsmeade, at least; where Hogsmeade was higgledy-piggledy, slightly ramshackle from the outside – maybe from all the obvious magic – Irvingly seemed even-cornered and fresh and quaint.
She wanted to pry a little more, but she was aware enough, when he didn’t offer any more to embellish his story, that she would be prying. And he was still a stranger – half a dance perhaps did not a friendship make. “And do you like it here?” She asked instead, hopefully, letting her eyes trail across the town square again as they turned. “It’s very pretty.” Neater than Hogsmeade, at least; where Hogsmeade was higgledy-piggledy, slightly ramshackle from the outside – maybe from all the obvious magic – Irvingly seemed even-cornered and fresh and quaint.
