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imaginarynumb3rs · 12-30-2010, 08:56 PM

The 16-year-old stared with ineffable awe at the door before her, pitifully quaking in her black, one inch heel, "grown up" shoes.

It wasn't just any door, this towering entrance before her. Merlin knows, oh definitely not. More forbidden and exclusive than the Staff Room, though not nearly as much so as the Headmaster's office, only a few steps from the compartment she had shared with Jack and Reese her first year, this - THIS - was the door to the Prefect's Compartment.

Pale hand appearing to clutch the Hufflepuff crest on her undecorated school robe, she bit her lip, and gulped.

She could do this. She could do this. She could do this.

The Hufflepuff took a wobbling step forward.

She could do this.

She could

not.

She could not. She could not do this. The girl twirled around, ankle almost rolling in the nearly too large shoes.

Though lacking a watch, she knew it wasn't too late. She could jump off the train. Mother and Mr. Lawrence had undoubtedly departed, but surely she could walk home. She could drop out of school. She could - she could work at the corner muggle grocery. And smile at customers and bag and use the CASHREGISTER!

A glimmer of a nose-crinkling grin broke across her face but just as quickly flip-flopped. Letting go of her crest, moving her hands to her face, to her hair, digging her short, freshly painted nails into her skalp, she shook her head, dark, braided hair swinging furiously.

No. No. She had told them she wouldn't. She had said she would be a Prefect. She had promised.

And a promise was a promise.

She let out a gasp. Took a breath. Held it.

There could be no questioning, no fighting, no running away. She had to do this.

Turning back around, teetering over to the door, she took her place behind a petite girl with hair like her mother's dark-stained cherry wood china cabinet (Ivory).

Pained face going slack as she watched, her eyes widened. "Maybe," she commented, flinching as her voice came out in a hoarse squeak, "Maybe you need a secret password?" The letter hadn't mentioned one (and she would know, having memorized it), but still! It was a top-secret compartment. And everyone knows top-secret things have passwords.

Wesley nodded, knowledgeably.

12-30-2010, 08:56 PM	#12 (permalink)
imaginarynumb3rs Puffskein Join Date: Apr 2009 Location: (GMT -5) Posts: 1,007 Hogwarts RPG Name: Fern Quimbley Third Year	The 16-year-old stared with ineffable awe at the door before her, pitifully quaking in her black, one inch heel, "grown up" shoes. It wasn't just any door, this towering entrance before her. Merlin knows, oh definitely not. More forbidden and exclusive than the Staff Room, though not nearly as much so as the Headmaster's office, only a few steps from the compartment she had shared with Jack and Reese her first year, this - THIS - was the door to the Prefect's Compartment. Pale hand appearing to clutch the Hufflepuff crest on her undecorated school robe, she bit her lip, and gulped. She could do this. She could do this. She could do this. The Hufflepuff took a wobbling step forward. She could do this. She could not. She could not. She could not do this. The girl twirled around, ankle almost rolling in the nearly too large shoes. Though lacking a watch, she knew it wasn't too late. She could jump off the train. Mother and Mr. Lawrence had undoubtedly departed, but surely she could walk home. She could drop out of school. She could - she could work at the corner muggle grocery. And smile at customers and bag and use the CASHREGISTER! A glimmer of a nose-crinkling grin broke across her face but just as quickly flip-flopped. Letting go of her crest, moving her hands to her face, to her hair, digging her short, freshly painted nails into her skalp, she shook her head, dark, braided hair swinging furiously. No. No. She had told them she wouldn't. She had said she would be a Prefect. She had promised. And a promise was a promise. She let out a gasp. Took a breath. Held it. There could be no questioning, no fighting, no running away. She had to do this. Turning back around, teetering over to the door, she took her place behind a petite girl with hair like her mother's dark-stained cherry wood china cabinet (Ivory). Pained face going slack as she watched, her eyes widened. "Maybe," she commented, flinching as her voice came out in a hoarse squeak, "Maybe you need a secret password?" The letter hadn't mentioned one (and she would know, having memorized it), but still! It was a top-secret compartment. And everyone knows top-secret things have passwords. Wesley nodded, knowledgeably. __________________