Chapter 2 : Day 2
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 16|
Background: Font color:
Beautiful chapter image by Cosmic Muffin @tda :D
Saturday, 2 October 2021: Day 2
I am wearing Aubrey Valence’s shoes.
Berkley likes to call it my “Little Sticky-Fingers Problem” but what he fails to recognize is that I am merely borrowing without permission, not stealing. Aubrey’s Oxfords will be returned to the shoe domain underneath her bed before sundown. Now, her hairspray and nail varnish remover are another matter entirely – she isn’t getting those back.
My only regret is that Aubrey and I aren’t exactly the same shoe size.
I trek to the Great Hall alone at around nine o’clock, a slight throb coursing through my feet due to the pinch in the area around my toes. It makes walking a task fit for the Triwizard Tournament; each step is like taking on a fucking dragon so I end up walking as if I am treading on a bunch of eggshells. This doesn’t look very hipster so a bit of improvising is due in course: swag, I try to pass the waddle off for swag.
But of course I can’t fool Berkley.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite Kleptomaniac,” he says through a mouthful of sausage as I take a seat across from him. I eye him with disgust after getting a full view of the contents in his mouth – not exactly the way I want to start my day off with, thanks.
Such a typical bloke, he is – a prime example as to why men add nothing of substantial value to society.
“With table manners like that, I’m sure you’re Rowena’s favorite Ravenclaw,” I say, paying no mind to his previous comment.
I am not a Kleptomaniac.
He merely shrugs. “Better a slob than a thief.”
I roll my eyes, flipping him off, but it’s ignored as usual. Berkley winks at me and lowers his voice, leaning in conspiringly. “So, who are you wearing this time, Mills? Fan Clark? Aubrey Valence? Sherri Thomas?”
“Shove it,” I snap once he’s finished rattling off the names of my dorm mates. “And I didn’t steal them. Just think of it as a temporary donation…that Aubrey didn’t intentionally provide.”
“Ah, so Valence is the lucky benefactor.”
“Of course, who else would it be?” the voice of Sherri Thomas adds as she slides into the seat to my right. “Millie doesn’t take any of my shit.”
Sherri Thomas is that friend you have that isn’t really your friend outside of meals and your dorm. Not that we’re enemies or anything while in class or the halls, we just don’t talk unless pushed together – it’s some odd, unspoken agreement we have. It kind of came about halfway through first year because her best mate resides in Hufflepuff and mine is of the manly essence and therefore is in the boy dormitories. So, naturally, we looked to each other for company when our other half wasn’t around. Berkley doesn’t think much of her but I think she’s nice enough. But then again, Berkley doesn’t think much of any of my other friends.
Sherri sends me a wink as if what she has said has helped my case. I give her a kick underneath the table that ends up being much more forceful than I had intended.
“Oi!” Sherri cries out upon impact. “No kicking the Founder of your Hipster Feast!”
“Founder of my Hipster Feast?” I splutter mid-sip, nearly choking on my drink. Pumpkin juice projects across the table and hits Berkley square in the face. He swears loudly and I pay no mind to the violent – but no doubt empty – threats directed at me but rather keep my attention on the raven haired girl. “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”
There’s a ghost of a smirk on her face and I notice her eyes darting between me and Berkley, clearly enjoying the breakfast-drink shower he has just received. “Well, I did charm Florence Hen’s glasses’ lenses into plastic, now didn’t I?”
I stare at her blankly. “Yes, but I was the once who took them from her bag.”
“You stole something, Millie?” Berkley gasps with mock surprise, wiping the remaining drips of juice off his face with a napkin. “Someone’s prized, personal belonging? How seemingly out of character.”
I turn my head to glare at him. “Fuck you.”
Berkley raises his index finger as if I’ve just reminded him of something. “Ah, speaking of ‘fuck yous’, may I once again take the time to express how utterly stupid I think this whole hipster act is?”
I set my jaw. “No you may not, and for the last time, it is not an act –”
“As much as I enjoyed that glorious show you put on in Charms class yesterday morn,” he continues enthusiastically. The fluidity and formality of his words tells me that this speech has been previously prepared…How Berkley. “It’s time to cut the crap, Millie. You have detention every Saturday this month. How the fuck am I supposed to spend my Saturdays?”
“Well, there’s always your hand to keep you company,” Sherri cuts in just as I’m about to open my mouth to respond. I slightly resent the fact that her answer has much more character than the one I was going to use.
The next few seconds are suffocating – as in I can’t breathe through the thick, air tight film of non-sexual tension radiating off these two – and Berkley eyes Sherri critically, his stare met with equal distaste. “You know, I think the Hufflepuff table requires your presence, Thomas. You might want to run along.”
“I’m good where I am, thanks.” Sherri’s response is sharp, tight. Just when I think I have to step in as damage control, the moment has passed and Sherri is turning to me and flashing me a sweet smile. “I think what you’re doing is empowering, Millie. Fuck authority, fuck the institution.”
I beam at Sherri, suddenly very appreciative of her. As sad as it is, she’s the only person so far who has supported me on this. “You know, Thomas, there’s a lot more to you than Quidditch and shiny hair. If it weren’t for your mission to seduce Hunter Boot, I’d make you first lieutenant of my movement.”
Sherri starts to smile but then pauses and furrows her eyebrows. “Was that a compliment?”
I shrug. “Of sorts.”
“Cheers, Walker. You’re a riot,” she says flatly.
“Naturally,” I reply easily, not bothering to hide my smirk. Sherri gives a little huff.
“You know, you can’t blame me for fancying him, Millie. I mean, have you seen Hunter Boot?”
The three of us turn to face the Slytherin table simultaneously, just in time to see Hunter Boot lean his head back and attempt to balance a spoon vertically on the bridge of his nose – only for it to fall and poke him in the eye.
“Oh yeah, he’s great,” I drawl.
“A real catch,” Berkley agrees dryly.
“Fuck off,” Sherri interrupts loudly before we can say anything else. I can’t help but let out a giggle. “Yeah, well, he may not have much in the brains department,” she calls over my laughter. “But he’s fit to boot.”
“Wasn’t funny the first seven times you said that, Thomas,” Berkley scoffs. “And you might wanna join up with Walker, here, after all. Maybe the break from blokes will give you better taste.”
“Oh hush up, nobody asked you Berkley. But excuse me for not participating in a silly little Boy Fast,” she snaps, folding her arms across her chest. “I wasn’t the one scorned by Nott.”
I don’t think she’s realized what she’s said. If Berkley has, he doesn’t mention it.
But I have – and I’m not laughing anymore.
My light mood is lost; I feel tense, straggled – as if all of the breath within me has vanished completely. It’s almost funny how I forgot. It’s like that saying: Out of sight, out of mind. And I almost can’t believe it. I’ve been thinking about the bloke non-stop for how bloody long and one day I have my back turned to the Gryffindor table, and suddenly it’s as if he’s fallen off the face of the earth.
The fact that he no longer sits with the Ravenclaws proves how much I really lost him.
We had been the talk of the school for the past week and only now things have begun to simmer down. But just because you aren’t as blatantly talked about, doesn’t mean that you aren’t at all. It still amazes people now as much as it did before. People still remember the tale of how Millie Walker and Ferris Nott broke up on Sunday and how he had a new bird by Tuesday.
And it still hurts.
But I’m not going to be remembered as the little girl who got her heart broken – I’m not. I refuse. So I guess that’s where this hipster thing came about.
But it’s going to work and I’m going to be happy.
With a shake of my head, I break from my thoughts and return to reality, left with a distinct feeling of nausea. Sherri and Berkley are arguing, which doesn’t at all surprise me. They’ve been going at it like this for years and I think I’d be more alarmed if they stopped. Ironically enough, they’re discussing me but are paying me no mind. I gather from half-listening that Sherri thinks that I should start a trend in order to enforce and embrace my newfound, inner hipster while Berkley doesn’t want her to ‘encourage me’.
Normally this is a discussion that’d I’d very much like to be a part of, seeing as I am in dire need of brainstorming for possible trends, but right now I need to find a lone bathroom when I can vomit in peace.
When I excuse myself, I’m not even sure if they register it.
I leave the Great Hall, concentrating extra hard to not let my eyes stray over to the lion’s den and keep my attention forward. The Entrance Hall is noisy and packed with people, much to my surprise; they are encircled around something – almost like a duel or a sideshow. I make my way over to get a better look and surely enough, Sebastian Turk is standing in the middle of it all, rapping to the beat of Rory Chang’s hiccups. James Potter and Alaric Wood are predictably making rounds, collecting spare knuts and sickles from various bystanders.
I watch the absurdity of the scene with wide eyes, a bit unsure whether or not to laugh. The little third year, Rory, has had the hiccups for the past three weeks now and the kid refuses to see Madam Pomfrey about it because he’s become so popular with the older students.
And why not when you get attention like this? That little boy will go down in Hogwarts History as a human metronome, no doubt.
A scarlet and gold, woolen hat is suddenly shoved under my nose by Potter. “How ‘bout it, Walker,” he grins cheekily. “We accept knuts, sickles, love letters, Muggle checks, and galleons.”
I automatically want to scowl at him, but I hold back. Is it silly of me to hold onto a little grudge for something that happened last year? Especially since he doesn’t even know that I had overheard him saying to his mates that I was ‘too skinny to fuck’. So I figure that I should let bygones be bygones and I smile instead, stuffing a hand into my pocket even though I’m pretty sure I have no money on me. I find a brass button instead and place it into the hat. “Remember me,” I say, airily – almost dreamlike. I don’t know why I’m flirting with him; fancying James Potter is utterly cliché and way too mainstream. And against the Boy Fast but I figure why the hell not?
He lets a hearty laugh, as I knew he would; James Potter is known for having a good sense of humor. “Always and forever,” he jokes before turning to the next person.
I leave the crowd feeling a bit better than I did before I joined it.
It’s six forty: Berkley came back from Quidditch practice a few hours ago and it’s twenty minutes before the start of my first detention with Clearwater. I know the rumors about McLaggen aren’t true but I can’t help but feel a bit nervous. I mean, what does Professor Clearwater make you do during detention? Can I not think of a single example other than the mythical Death Heels because nothing of interest has ever happened or because students have been traumatized into silence?
As I’m finishing up my game of Wizard’s Chess with Berkley, I know that I’m about to find out.
I sit not exactly patiently as Berkley examines the board with much intent. I suddenly wonder what it must be like to play chess with a Gryffindor. Their games must be quick, exciting, reckless, wrapped up in about twenty minutes. There is no room for risk in a Ravenclaw’s game; each move must be measured and thought out.
And they can go on for hours.
I glance down at my watch. Six forty-five. “Speed it up, will you, Berk? You’ve been staring at your blasted knight for the past five minutes and I’ve got to see the Devil’s Mistress in a bit.”
He doesn’t look up at me, keeping his eyes trained on his pieces. “Is your summoning really that soon?” he murmurs easily. Then he abruptly sits up and stares at me haughtily as he always does when he’s about to take out one of my players. “Knight, G5.” I gaze down at the board just in time to see my queen get pulverized by Berkley’s white stallion.
Desperately wanting to speed this game up, I move my bishop without really inspecting the board and in less than two rounds, I’ve once again been checked mate.
I sigh; I hadn’t really tried to win but it’s always a let down to lose.
But I swear it’s reached a point where I think Berkley only plays against me because I’m almost a guarantee win for him.
“Good game, huh?” I look up. Berkley is cleaning up and I know I should be helping, but my mind is elsewhere.
“Isn’t Honoria an ugly name?” I blurt out. He looks up, raising an eyebrow and my cheeks flare up.
“Honoria Smith’s atrocious name is a bit of an easy target, don’t you think?” Berkley asks, grinning wickedly. “I trust you have more creativity than that.”
“It rhymes with gonorrhea,” I say quietly, a smile playing on my lips. Berkley snorts.
“I think you better head down, or else you’ll be late.”
I sigh, standing up. “I suppose you’re right. Don’t have too much fun without me.”
“With this lot?” Berkley jerks his thumb to the group of fifths years studying madly on the couches – for O.W.L.s no doubt. I can’t say I’ll ever forget how much fear the faculty had successfully instilled in me last year over end of the year exams during the first month of school. “Somehow I can’t see that happening.”
I laugh and give him a little wave as I make my way over to the portrait hole. Once in the corridor, I increase my pace, sincerely not wanting to be late or have a run-in with Peeves. My feet are screaming at me with each step that I take and I can’t help but regret the decision of borrowing Aubrey’s shoes – no matter how much better they look on me.
I finally make it to the Charms corridor on the third floor – practically running – and I’m just about kicking myself for cutting it so short. I’m not sure how long it took me to get here but I have a bad feeling that it’s a few minutes after seven.
Aubrey’s shoes don’t have much traction and I’m slipping and sliding across the floor as I’m running towards Clearwater’s classroom. I’m just about to scurry in when crash! I run into something.
Not something. Someone.
Professor Clearwater is standing in the doorway of her room, no doubt waiting there so she could bark at me for being a quarter of a minute late the moment I arrived. I fall to the floor upon impact, landing on my arse, but Clearwater remains standing, solid as always. She’s looking down on me with revultion and I am suddenly overwhelmed by pain concentrated in the area around my nose. For a brief moment I am wildly thinking that she’s silently cast Crucio on me but then my more rational side reminds me that I’d feel pain over my entire person if she did that.
I reach up to gingerly touch my nose and there’s blood and more pain and all that good stuff. Professor Clearwater points her wand in my face and I stare at it with wide eyes, stupidly wondering what she’s going to do. She’s muttering all kinds of charms and spells and before you know it, my nose is no longer broken and after giving it a quick check, I find that the blood is gone.
I stand up slowly, reveling in the fact that this is so unbelievably awkward. We are now face-to-face and neither of us is moving, just staring.
I clear my throat. “Er…thanks.”
“Five points for being late, ten for running in the corridors. I think you should take a seat, Miss Walker.” She steps aside and I scurry into the room and take a seat at a table in the front where she’s prepared parchment and a quill and ink for me.
Lines? It couldn’t only be lines. Out of all the things she could have made me do, I never expected that she’d just give me lines. It just doesn’t suit her. But maybe I’m not analyzing it correctly. Right now I have been given the illusion that I am merely doing lines, but maybe she’ll force me to stab myself in the eye after each completed sentence. Or make me ingest the ink along with the quill and parchment.
All of which would get her sacked and me killed or seriously injured but I don’t mind being the martyr, I really don’t. Anything to take her down would be ace.
I sit in my seat waiting patiently to be given instruction. Soon enough Professor Clearwater is making her way down the aisle and doesn’t look at me until she’s seated at her desk.
“I want you to write ‘I will learn to keep my thoughts to myself’.” I suppress the urge to roll my eyes because I figure that wouldn’t be considered ‘keeping my thoughts to myself’. I wait for her to tell me how many times she wants me to write it, but she doesn’t continue and instead begins to correct papers, or sign students’ souls to the devil, or whatever the hell she’s doing.
I clear my throat. “How many times?”
Her head snaps up to glare at me. “Excuse me?” She says this venomously as if I’d just told her to fuck off or something.
“How many times do you want me to write it?” I ask slowly, so as to make sure that my intentions are known and not misinterpreted.
She waves me off. “Just fill up the parchment front and back.”
I nod my head and get to work.
Twenty-five minutes later and my assignment is complete. I’m pretty stoked that I finished so soon and that the detention – aside from the broken nose – was essentially quick and painless. When I inform Professor Clearwater that I’ve finished, she surprises me by reaching into her desk; seeing that it isn’t past curfew yet, she shouldn’t need to give me a pass to my common room.
That’s when she gives me a new, clean piece of parchment.
“Same rules apply,” she says in a clipped tone.
She doesn’t let me leave until it’s nine o’clock and I’ve completed five rolls of parchment. My hand hurts and I hate her.
Pass in hand, I leave the Charms corridor and head to Ravenclaw Tower; I am soon forced to take the long way when I spot Peeves roaming the halls and harassing some portraits.
It’s pretty dark so I take out my wand and whisper a quick Lumos, the light filling up a small portion of the corridor. To my left is a large window that gives a good view of the grounds and I spare it a glance, but I don’t pay much attention because I have a load on my mind. I am thinking about how much writing is going to hurt come Monday lessons, how glad I am that I completed my homework last night, and wondering what the hell I am going to do for the hipster trend Sherri was talking about at breakfast.
But then I see it. Over by the pumpkin patch near the little hut that used to be Hagrid’s. And I know exactly what my trend is going to be.
A/N: Hello everyone! Chatper 2 is finally here! Sorry for the long wait; I'm unfortunately not a very quick updater as it is and I'm still trying to balance this and my other story. But I hope the wait was worth it! This chapter we got to find out more information about Millie's break up; I know a lot of you thought her ex was James, but what do you think now that you know it isn't? What do you think of Ferris? His new girlfriend? Of James (I know we only saw him briefly but still)? Oh, and what do you think of Sherri? What do you think the trend is going to be? Let me know in a review! I was really surpised and happy to see the response I got from the last chapter so thank you! I hope you're still liking it :D
PS: Please remember to keep the language in the reviews clean; I lost some reviews in my other story because people were quoting the chapter and weren't taking out my bad language. Thanks! :D
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Other Similar Stories
Just Fly Wit...
Over My Head