#BIG mood
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@abbbott
#BIG mood
♪
Hannah approached Seamus from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him onto the makeshift dancefloor, laughing loudly. “Show me your moves, Finnigan — I’m sure you’ve got some in that body of yours.”
She herself was jumping up and down, her dancing not as gracious as it would have been if she’d been sober. Not that she cared, much — her insecurities had been stifled by the alcohol and the music was distracting her from the people around her. “You’re brilliant by the way, you know that? I respect you so much, babes, I never expected to do so the way I do now but you know, you’re a … HERO! And you dance well, too!”
☺
Hannah had originally planned on staying delightfully tipsy for the whole party, but somehow she’d gotten to this point. It was the games, and the good company, and the way she kept getting thirsty. She didn’t mind, not right now, that she was absolutely hammered.
She was hardly the only one.
With a bottle of — well, she wasn’t sure what it was, she was making her way through the room, in search for the perfect body. Eyes fell on Stephen, then, and she grinned. “Oi, cap!,” she yelled, moving over and looking him up and down. “Lie down. I wanna do a body shot. You can take one from me once I’m done.”
And soon enough, Stephen Cornfoot lied on his back. Hannah pulled his shirt up, poured some liquor beneath his navel and moved quickly, licking most of it up and whooping. “Heck yeah!” A laugh burst past her lips then and she staggered, falling on a sofa ( half-deliberately ) and pulling up her shirt. “Wanna have a go?”
⚡ + give a lap-dance to the last person you spoke to (mandy)
Hannah tried to remember who she last spoke to, creasing her eyebrows together. There had been Parvati and Noah, she was sure of it — or had it been Padma and Draco? They all looked so similar to her, in this state.
“I’ve spoken to looooaaaads of people, Brock,” she said, giggling a little. She downed her drink, to postpone having to remember who she would have to give a lapdance. And then, something clicked, and Hannah grinned widely. “But … now you’re the last person I spoke to!”
And with that, she got up, stumbled, pushed her arse in Mandy’s face and then, finally, tried to focus on giving a proper lapdance. “You should be in a chair for this,” she said, her hips twisting and turning, back arched. “For the full … experience. And oh, sorry Wayne!” She didn’t see Wayne anywhere, but she still wanted to apologise. “Stealing your girlfriend with my bum!”
Hannah was one of many met with a kiss to the cheek from Sophie. "Hannah, Hannah, Hannah... Merlin, you're so pretty. You're like... You're like one of the prettiest girls I've ever ever seen." Sophie pressed another kiss to her cheek. "Beautiful."
Hannah giggled at Sophie’s words and actions, throwing an arm around the other’s shoulders and pulling her close. “No, you are the prettiest girl, Sophie.” She beamed at the other, giggling once again before looking a lot more serious. “Girls are so beautiful. And you are too. But holy heck, they’re so pretty. How can all girls be so pretty? It’s stressful!”
She thought about that for a moment, struggling to form a proper thought besides girls are so pretty, and soon focused on Sophie again. A kiss was planted on her cheek, too, and she grinned. “We’re beautiful creatures, you and I.”
Below the cut is an ASK MEME for our Hufflepuff party event. This is a bit different than a typical ask meme, so here’s how it will work:
REBLOG THIS POST to participate (you can still send things to other people if you don’t participate yourself).
Send a maximum of one symbol to each person who reblogs, so no one gets flooded with more than they can write (unless you play more than one character, in which case you can send one for each).
Unlike typical ask memes, the content of these replies will be considered just as “real” as a normal thread.
For this reason, event memes DO count towards activity.
We also want to be careful with god-modding here, since anything you send someone is an actual event that will be happening. If you haven’t already discussed it, please shoot a quick message before sending a meme in order to make sure the other player is down with the idea / hasn’t already gotten too many of that same symbol.
These memes can serve as starters for threads if you wish ! Just make sure you copy & paste the first reply into a new post rather than reblogging the original ask.
They can also be short if you’d like — they’re meant to allow for quick, fun interactions like one would have at a party. Although if you’d prefer to go deeper into it, that’s fine too !
Keep reading
susan:
“I know. I know.” If anything, the two were a prime example of that statement. “It’s just harder that way.” That, in all truth, was the core of it. Susan had long resigned herself to the fact that, no matter how resilient and optimistic she could act, there was no hope for her living an easy life, but she wished nothing else for the girl next to her - Hannah still had a shot, she believed.
The wall she was about to paint was a part of her daily life so often it had simply blurred in the background as the setting of many hours throughout the years. It was so damn close to the Hufflepuff table that she was certain at least a few of the photographs filling up scrapbooks under her bed (and in her closet at home, a now empty house) featured it. She’d leaned against it a few times while chatting with people. Certainly felt it cold on her back at least once while kissing some girl while the Great Hall was mostly empty. Hogwarts and all of its walls were a part of her life, so taken for granted that they simply blurred as the background, and now it no longer had that privilege. Susan held back before almost reminding the other girl how the two and Justin had a photograph by that wall, fourth year perhaps, likely near Christmas because she distinctively remembered the shiny decorations on it, but then she was silent. Perhaps she wanted to spare Hannah of the notion that their home was corrupted beyond repair, a true battleground. Perhaps she simply didn’t want to say it out loud and feel those same tears fall down her cheeks. Perhaps she believed Hannah already had recalled that anyway. She’d make sure to write it in her diary later and spare them the words, and the time - after all, they were doing something beyond dangerous and risked being caught at any time.
With that, Susan let go of her friend’s hand and instead grabbed another brush from the paint can and, letter by letter, each bold and large, wrote one name. SOPHIE BONES. By her side was Hannah, with the same intense energy, writing another just as painful name. Not far from them others wrote. AMELIA BONES - another name, and for a moment Susan considered how many others with the same on-the-nose surname could fit in there. OLIVER BONES. The father the same vile creatures took away from her before she could even remember his face. FRANCIS BONES. COLLEEN BONES. The pillars of her once great family, the loving greatparents who never got to meet her. EDGAR BONES. Her uncle, a soldier for the rebellion, a martyr. HELENA BONES. DAHLIA BONES. OSCAR BONES. MARTIN BONES. With him was his wife and their three children. In the end, she decided to keep only the two latest injustices, but in her mind, every wall dripped in paint, with the name of her family in it. “They’d be proud of us, I reckon.” The words came as but a whisper, and her eyes were still stuck on the wall. “She’d be proud of you,” Susan spoke with a sad smile on her lips. “There’ll be a storm in here tomorrow. Kinda makes you miss little Umbridge.”
Hannah shrugged a little. She found comfort in sadness -- a fact that scared her sometimes, that worried her -- and didn’t find it hard to indulge in her misery. ( Maybe that was the issue, that she was so comfortable with being depressed and upset, that she could hardly imagine feeling light ever again. ) “I don’t know. I can’t just be angry.” If she were to get rid of her sadness, and just be angry, she was quite sure that she’d explode.
She watched Susan for a moment, watched how the bristles of her brush pushed against the wall. And then she dipped into her paint herself, and wrote her mother’s name in cursive, her handwriting looped and round and not harsh at all. But her mother hadn’t been either --- she had been both an artist and art, a beauty in not only appearance, but action, too. Drops of red fell on the floor and Hannah looked at them and thought of them as blood for a moment. She didn’t clean it. Her mind flashed back to second year, when words had been painted with blood on the walls, too, with much more threatening messages. Those days, the castle had felt a bit foreign too, with an invisible evil taking Justin and others away from them. It was worse now. Now the walls were covered in the names of dead or missing friends and family, painted by those left behind. The evil at Hogwarts was all too visible and it took the shape of their headmaster and two of their teachers. Justin wasn’t lying in the Hospital Wing, nor was Hermione Granger. Hannah finished painting her mother’s name and looked at it, staring at it before letting her eyes fall on Sophie and Amelia Bones, too.
For a moment, she wondered how she was still standing. It felt like something was crumbling inside of her, even if she felt empowered, too. Susan said that those three women would be proud of them and Hannah didn’t doubt it. She nodded, took her hand again, squeezed it. “I think so, too. And your family ---” She knew that there were more names that Susan could have painted, that the options were endless just like her grief was and she wished she could take some of it and carry it for her. Her heart was large enough, she figured, and if it wasn’t, she’d let it shatter into a million pieces for Susan. For her she would. “I know that they’re proud of you, wherever they are.” Hannah noticed that she’d stopped crying, that her throat felt a little less tight, that she was feeling more anger than she had before. “Let them rage. They won’t be able to get these off,” she said, letting go of Susan’s hand so she could put down her bucket of paint and grab her wand. “If we do our work well.” A dry chuckle left her lips then, and she shook her head. “I can’t believe that Umbridge isn’t the worst teacher we’ve ever had. I --- it’s rather startling, really.”
mandy:
Although no one ever would have called Mandy soft, she wasn’t cruel either. Not normally sensitive to the cues of others, it was fortunate (for her, not Hannah) that the Hufflepuff’s inferences went off like a fog horn or lighthouse shining in the night. It allowed her to trim her tone, cut out any barbed jokes and show a little more kindness. They weren’t really friends, but Mandy had less than nothing against the girl. Instead, she shrugged - treating the whole thing as a casual everyday occurrence. “Doesn’t matter. The teaching isn’t exactly gold standard at the moment.” Pausing for just a moment, she continued. “There are better hiding places than here though.”
Hannah wished she cared more. It was strange, how she could go from caring about everything so very deeply from not caring about anything at all, no matter how hard she tried. All or nothing, that’s how things seemed to be these days. She was either all emotion or complete numbness --- tears or blank eyes, shaking hands or scary stillness. She wanted to find a balance, but never even came near it. And so, sometimes, she just didn’t go to class, even if that stressed her out on days that she did care. “I don’t think I’m graduating with any NEWTs this year and I ... don’t know if I care.” She shrugged a little. “And yeah, yeah. I just like seeing the owls, giving them some treats and all. They’re funny creatures. And you? Owling home, or just visiting too?”
sophie:
School was the only thing that was really keeping Sophie in it all. She could lose herself in the mindless task of homework and classes and keep herself in that headspace without sinking too deep into the reality that she so desperately feared. But Herbology made that more difficult than most classes. Herbology reminded her of the Greenhouse behind her family’s home. It reminded her of the hours she had spent back there with her parents, growing and cultivating different plants to sell to the apothecary. It was too much like home - which is why she rushed from the class as quickly as she damned well could. But, she stopped for Hannah Abbott. Turning towards her curiously at the sound of her name and unsure what to really make of her words at first - but she didn’t have to think. Hannah embraced her tightly and Sophie found herself easily sinking into the warm comfort the Hufflepuff was offering her. She squeezed her close back, closing her eyes tight in an attempt to block what was an inevitable onslaught of tears. “Thanks, Hannah.” She said quietly - which was a start. She deserved to be thanked for reaching out. “M’sorry too… About your mum…” She didn’t know what else she could say. “I… I don’t know if there’s anything that can really be done but… Thank you. And if you need anything too-” She sniffled, and the tears followed.
Hannah ached for Sophie. She ached for everyone who had to go through the loss of a parent like she had, and with the world spinning the way it was these days, there were way too many people who were going through the same thing.
It was tricky. Her mother had died a relatively long time ago, when you compared it to Susan’s or Sophie’s situation, but the wound was still raw and fresh. Some days, Hannah felt guilty for her grief, thinking that she should have moved on, that she had nothing to complain about. She had had a funeral to attend. She had had time to heal and think and be with her family. Another part of her knew that comparing suffering was an easy trap to fall in, and a complete waste of time. Pain was pain, no matter how fresh or old or big or small.
“You’re welcome,” she murmured. She saw Sophie’s tears and felt her own come up, too --- Hannah had always been an easy crier, and seeing others spill tears easily caused her to weep, too. She didn’t mind them slipping down her cheeks. “It’s just --- it’s so effed up, that you’re stuck here. Maybe we could do some kind of ceremony? Something? I don’t know, I’m just ---” She shrugged, feeling absolutely useless. There was not much that could be done. Dead was dead, and that was that --- she could not bring Sophie’s mother back, nor her own, no matter how badly she wanted to. “I’m here, okay?”
WHEN: January 20th, 9:23PM WHERE: Corridors near the Ravenclaw common room WHO: @adgoldstein
She should have known that it would end up like this. Classes at Hogwarts had always been mandatory, but the classes taught by the Carrows were especially mandatory, and still she had skipped. She had just been postponing the inevitable, of course, and her having to attend a sixth year dark arts class today had proved that well enough. She ached. Not only physically ( though the pain was there, of course --- but she didn’t allow herself to focus too much on that, as she was hardly the only one ), but mentally too. She was exhausted. She wasn’t sure how to continue to juggle the longing and grief and pain on her mind. She wasn’t sure how she could keep doing what she expected of herself without collapsing in the end.
But she’d be damned if she didn’t try.
And so she walked towards Anthony, her prefect badge shining and pinned on her robes. It’d once been a badge of pride, but now it was something more --- it was a responsibility, and if anyone understood the weight and importance of that, it was Anthony. With him, it all seemed a little lighter, a little more doable. The mutual understanding between the two meant more than her badge ever did, and she was glad that there were like-minded people in the castle. “Hey, how’re you?” she asked once she approached him. She hoped her exhaustion didn’t show, that the stiffness of her walk and the bags under her eyes were hidden in the shadows. There were other people who deserved Anthony’s worry more. “We got the fifth and sixth floor tonight, yeah? How ‘bout we just hole up near the staircases and catch up.”
WHEN: January 22nd, 10:45PM WHERE: Hufflepuff Common Room WHO: @wcyne-hcpkins
Hannah’s eyes were trained on her sketchbook, a feeling of dissatisfaction deep in her stomach. Inspiration was hard to come by these days, and even now that she had a goal, something she wanted to draw. Painting names of the walls in and around the Great Hall had been powerful, but there were so many more walls to ravage. The Carrows and Snape had ruined the castle --- they could ruin it for them, too. But she couldn’t do it. Her paper was still as white as it had been when she’d sunk down next to Wayne. She had hoped that his creativity would spark her own, but it hadn’t thus far, and so she just looked at her empty sheet and sighed.
“Aren’t you just bloody tired of being stuck in here sometimes?” Hannah was surprised by her own words, and the tone they were spoken in even more. She closed her eyes for a moment, sat up to face Wayne. “I mean --- I just don’t know how we’re supposed to keep doing this for another few months.”
WHEN: January 23rd, 6:21PM WHERE: Room of Requirement WHO: @lcvendcrs
There was always plenty to do for Dumbledore’s Army, and Hannah was thankful for that. If she didn’t do anything that had meaning -- and there wasn’t much that meant anything any more left at Hogwarts -- she started spiraling. And so she came there and helped. She tried to learn defensive spells and handed out salves and spreads for achy limbs and other ailments that she’d made from plants from the greenhouses. She talked to younger students, gave them hot chocolate and words of comfort when she could, and was present. She was there. To soothe her soul and those of others. To feel something close to safety, among all the chaos.
And sometimes she just tried to do whatever she could. Organise the few healing potions and salves that were left, practice the pronunciation of healing charms, and wait, wait for something to do. ( Sad thing was, there was always something to do --- there were always tears to dry or people to talk to or peers to help. ) When Lavender entered the Room of Requirement, Hannah pretty much jumped up, making her way over to the Gryffindor quickly. “Hey. I could really use some practicing with, you know, dueling? Just some sparring. If you’re down.”
daphne:
She had been on her way into the Great Hall when Hannah Abbott had come barreling past her. Before fifth year, she wouldn’t have given a second thought about the girl but given their one-time affair and her own morbid curiosity to see what was going on with the girl, Daphne followed her. Her steps were light and quiet, although perhaps they didn’t need to be given how loudly poor Hannah was crying her eyes out. There was a pity and even empathy stirring inside of Daphne towards her. She wasn’t completely heartless, after all. But Daphne knew mostly everyone thought of her as such, and trying to display such a feeling would surely just lead to suspicion. Or worse than that, Hannah would believe her and Daphne would actually have to comfort her. “I should report you for that.” Daphne referred to the flask. Should being the operative word. Just like she should’ve reported Michael Corner for his connection to Dumbledore’s Army. However, being a Prefect wasn’t something that really interested her - and what use would reporting Hannah Abbott for drinking have to her? “I thought you were better than this, you know. Above running out of the Great Hall in tears. Thought you had a bit more dignity.” Came Daphne’s version of a pep talk.
Hannah looked up when she heard Daphne’s voice, startled and embarrassed. Hands wiped at her eyes as she cleared her throat, her face somewhat flushed. She felt caught, as if Daphne had walked in on something private --- and she had in a way, but she could hardly blame her. It had been her choice to sit on these stairs, rather than get somewhere more secluded.
Her eyes moved from Daphne to her flask and back to Daphne. She screwed it shut, dropped it in her bag, felt her cheeks grow redder. Hannah Abbott wasn’t one to seek refuge, or at least, that’s what she hoped people saw when they looked at her. Someone stable, someone to rely on, someone who could carry your aches and pain when you couldn’t do it any more. Sometimes she was that person, but she was so tired, too. Her limbs and heart and head ached and she was so filled with grief that she wondered if it would swallow her whole one day.
She said none of that, though, sniffled a little as she tried to stop herself from crying. “But you won’t?” It wasn’t a challenge, more a question of Daphne’s motives. Hannah wouldn’t report the other, if the roles were reversed --- but then, she did little reporting as of late. Her official prefect duties were no longer ones she considered worthy of her time. In stead, she used her badge to be someone the younger students could come to. “Yeah, and I thought humanity was better than ... this. Things aren’t as they seem.” She shrugged, closed her eyes for a moment, got up from the stairs. “I don’t care it if people see me cry.”
ernie:
where: Hufflepuff Common Room when: January 17, 1998, 11:56pm who: @abbbott
Before 7th year, Ernie Macmillan had never been given a detention and he was proud to admit it. He took the rules seriously and was the most dedicated prefect Hogwarts had ever seen. His last year taught him that some things were more important. Ernie would step in and take punishment without a second thought if it meant saving someone else from the Carrows. Not everyone found following the rules as easy as he did. Some of the younger Hufflepuffs in particular had problems with it and Ernie felt especially protective over them. No fourteen year old should know the crippling pain of a cruciatus curse. No seventeen year old should either, but Ernie could handle it.
The Carrows didn’t go easy on him; the torture seemed to escalate every time. He walked back to the common room, his legs shaking, a few more steps from giving out. Expecting it to be empty, he collapsed on the couch with a breathy sigh. Of course, he couldn’t be so lucky. “You don’t need to worry about me, Hannah.” He mumbled half-heartedly, face buried in the plush cushions. “I’m fine, really.” It shouldn’t really have surprised him that she waited up. It wasn’t the first time and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last, no matter how many times he told her not to bother.
Lifting his head up ever-so-slightly, Ernie made eye contact with the witch. He tried to be stern, but, as usual, failed when faced with her worried expression. “I can take care of myself.”
She had settled on a couch in the common room with a sketchpad and pencil ( as well as her Astronomy homework, but that was more for show than anything ) in the hopes of drawing. She could not, though, her mind only with Ernie and how long it was taking for him to get back. Worry wasn’t an unfamiliar emotion to Hannah, but sometimes it still overwhelmed her tremendously, as it did now. It was overtaking her, making her stomach hurt and her brain jump from one thing to another. Justin. Her father. Susan. And tonight it was Ernie, Ernie, Ernie. She could imagine what he was going through, horrifically so, but that didn’t do her any good. It just made her more restless.
And so when he entered and collapsed, Hannah was on her feet immediately. Why was he so selfless? She wanted to shake him, grab his arms and shake hard, tell him that she worried about everyone and damn it, she’d not stop looking after him until hell froze over. But she didn’t. She sat down on the coffee table near the couch he’d sunk into, eyebrows creased together. “I know you can, but I’m still here to help you out. If I stop doing that, I think the world will end.” She stuffed her hand in one of the pockets of her robes, taking out a small vial.
“Got you some painkillers. C’mon, Ern.” She was almost stern. “Let me worry about you. After ---” It felt wrong to call it detention, because Ernie MacMillan didn’t usually get detentions and detentions were usually not this. “--- after detention, it’s the least I could do.”
fay:
Processing was one hell of a way to describe everything that Hannah was dealing with at the moment, but Fay wasn’t about to question it. If it kept her from having to really talk about what was going through the girl’s head, she would happily take whatever out was given to her. “Processing, yeah…always thought it was easiest to do with a bit of booze,” Fay shrugged, her head bobbing softly towards the flask in Hannah’s hand. The alcohol was something she was more than a bit familiar with, rarely leaving her dorm without a bottle just in case. Part of the fascination was just the sheer rebellion factor, but the dullness it brought to everything didn’t exactly hurt either. There were too many things to worry about nowadays and Fay had no intention of letting the emotions get to her.
A smile quirked at her lips, a sense of amusement rising in her at Hannah’s comment. The undertone to her voice said it all, Fay knew her advice was generally lacking. There were things she was good at, but being emotional and helpful in the face of real issues weren’t among them. “You must be pretty fucked if you’re calling my advice good, Abbott. Even I don’t take my own advice,” Fay teased, her smile growing just slightly as she tried to lighten the mood. She may not have been the one to help solve other people’s problems, but she at least could serve as a distraction, if nothing else.
“But ah, I was out just…training,” she shrugged, holding her gloves up slightly as she patted at them. The sweat and the gloves more or less told the whole story, she figured. “You should try it sometime. I’d take sweat over tears any damn day, myself.” The feeling of her fists flying into the punching bag, pummeling away at it until her mind lifted clear of any other distractions, was what kept her mind from completely falling into a black hole. “I could like…teach you if you want. It’s just…good for getting out…all that.” She gestured vaguely towards the fallen tears, doing her best to talk around the emotional outpouring she’d stumbled upon.
Hannah nodded, softly and slowly. She didn’t like thinking or talking about her longing for the numbness alcohol brought, ashamed of herself and her weaknesses. She should be able to deal with this all without such assistance --- she was supposed to be a rock, solid and unmoving, something to lean on. In stead she was the water around it, wild and salty like her tears. “It’s a bit much, otherwise.” It was a bit much, always. Even in calmer times, Hannah had been prone to sobbing, though it never made her feel as weak as it did now. She took another sip, before sticking her flask in the air. Sharing was second nature to her, and she barely thought twice when saying, “If you want.”
At Fay’s amusement, Hannah felt a little lighter, a little less ashamed. Maybe she was right --- maybe she was just pretty fucked, but then weren’t they all? Hannah looked at the faces of friends and strangers and saw mostly pain. No one was doing alright. ( And maybe she was doing worse or better than others, but she failed to see how it mattered -- pain was pain, no matter how strong or big or disastrous. ) “Everyone has their moments of rare wisdom,” she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I bet you have plenty, too.”
Hannah glanced at the gloves again, considering punching something with them. She shook her head. “I do better with sadness than anger.” She was scared of the fire inside her, that anger, that pure rage that sometimes twisted around in her stomach. Tears might make her feel weak and ashamed, but at least they wouldn’t devour her. ( She thought they’d drown her someday, though. ) “But maybe it’s worth a try. I could use the exercise, that’s for sure.” A soft chuckle. Hannah didn’t get much exercise done --- she considered the dark arts classes exhausting enough. “But there’s no shame in crying, you know.” She half-believed her own words. “It’s ... natural.”
parvati:
There was instant relief flooding through her at the sight of Hannah — if anyone would be glad to see Parvati doing this, it was her. A certain part of Parvati wanted desperately to impress her, as well. Of course, Parvati had always been the kind of person who wanted to impress everyone, but this seemed to come from someplace else, the same place where she’d felt that warmth and giddiness toward Hannah back in fifth year, when she was fresh off the heels of her breakup with Sue. Parvati had later dismissed it as projecting of romantic feelings when she was feeling lonely ( this was something she was known to do, after all; turning to Michael when Lavender was spending more time with Ron than with her, and then to Fay after Michael shut her down ), and there was still the possibility that she was lonely now, but this felt different. Or perhaps Parvati was just needy, as her mother had always so loved to remind her.
“Thanks,” a flush crept up to Parvati’s cheeks at the validation. “I thought it needed a bit more… color, I guess?” She didn’t know why she was explaining it further even though Hannah had already called it gorgeous, but she was finding herself having a hard time controlling the words that spilled from her mouth. “I’d love to do more mural-type things, in addition to the names,” she continued, slinging her bag full of supplies over her shoulder. “Hey, we should work on something together! Maybe pitch it at the next DA meeting. A huge piece depicting the Carrows as pigs or something like that.”
Parvati Patil was something Hannah didn’t quite understand. Something, not someone --- she was an appearance, a shining star of a girl, bright and real all at ones. She often found herself musing about the way the people around her appeared, how they talked and acted and left their mark on her and the world around her but Parvati --- sometimes she took an extra second for her. Why, Hannah knew all too well. It had been a silly crush once, one she’d had before, one she’d felt for many people. She had dreamed about the two of them walking hand in hand and giggling under the stars for a while before having fantasies about another. But now she was back, so often appearing in her mind. How is Parvati doing?, she’d ask herself in rare quiet moments. And now she was in awe, once again.
( Acting on those feelings, though, was something Hannah hadn’t started thinking about just yet. Maybe later. Maybe soon. )
“Oh, I absolutely agree! The red is powerful, of course, as it stands for so many things, but making it all more colourful, more ... I don’t know, lively? It makes it stronger. Especially when he’s the one that’s in colour.” Her eyes lingered on Harry’s face for a moment, and she stopped herself from wondering where he was. “Murals make a great statement, especially when they’re impossible to get off.” A rare, mischievous grin curled Hannah’s lips. She thought about how she’d painted on the walls at home as a child, messy doodles with dripping paint, and later, after her mother died, with dark black and shining stars. “We absolutely should, yes! There’s so many more empty walls, after all, that deserve a bit of colour and Merlin knows the Carrows deserve something like that. We could add Snape as a bat, or something ... more offensive.”