Her eyes met with James’s for just a moment and she glared at him, a little satisfied that he looked half as miserable as she felt, mouth pulled taught, obviously ignoring the smiling mates he had about him. Served him right, turning her in to Pimbly. With a slight shake of her head she turned back around and headed out the doors, one crutch and foot after the other. 

 

Title from the song "I'm not That Girl" from the musical Wicked by Stephen Schwartz.

 
“They’re here!” A little girl shrieked as she ran past Alba, her dark black braid bouncing behind her. 

 Alba turned and looked at James, a grin spread across his face.

“Save me a spot?” she asked, glancing back to where her crutches were leaned against the Ravenclaw table. Couldn’t just leave them there.

“Sure thing!” James exclaimed.




Chapter title from the musical Wicked by Stephen Schwartz

“She’s expecting you,” a gargoyle said innocently enough from before her. Alba shook herself back to the present and waited for the staircase to raise upwards, creating a path to the office above.

He was tall, at least six feet, and athletic, though thinner than the Roux boy from Beauxbatons. His hari was a dirty blonde, straight, and cut in a fashionable, uneven way that made it look much more disheveled than it actually was. Being friends with James, she knew what actual messiness looked, and what he had was certainly manufactured.

“On the count of three-”

Sabotage.

“One,”

Distraction.

“Two,”

Completion.

“Three!”

One two three, one two three… Alba intoned, trying to keep time with the music while balancing on her borrowed shoes. “It’s the hair isn’t it?” She asked him, confident there were now enough couples twirling around in colorful dress robes to not notice if they were out of time a little bit.