 connoisseur of comfort ❅ Crayola's Wibby Mrs Alex Turner ❅ Netflix and meow
Any disdain the Papillonlisse Head of House may have been feeling went straight over Mitchell’s head. It wasn’t just yoga that wasn’t his thing, neither were social cues. He took the question very literally and gave the lower half of his robes an experimental swish. “They’re quite airy actually.” The trousers he was wearing underneath however, not so much. He’d owned them since a wedding he attended in 2092 and it was safe to say they fit way more snug than they had that day.
Speaking of trousers, he was about to comment on de Nostredame’s very peculiar pair but quickly grew distracted by the arrival of a pair of headteachers and a tiny Hufflepuff who chose the spot beside him.
As far as he was aware, yoga was simply stretching and breathing. He was always having to stretch and crack his bad back after his daily afternoon power nap and obviously he was always breathing, so to answer her question. “Technically speaking, I suppose we all have.”
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