bad news travels fast, but apparently not fast enough, as it was in the middle of the bonfire (when she had already consumed copious amounts of booze) that she decided to turn around and carelessly ask a random stranger what the hell they were celebrating. she had heard from a friend that heard from a friend (that probably heard from another friend) that the bonfire was the place to be at tonight, and never missing a party, gabrielle headed there swiftly, not really bothering to figure out there was a purpose behind it. and quite a heavy one, she guessed, taking in account the cutting glare she received from the stranger who didn’t even bother to reply. rude.
gabrielle kept walking, glass in hand, feeling out of place with her light pink dress in the sea of people wearing black, sporting matching gloomy drunk faces. even though she had moved two years ago already, she couldn’t even begin to understand their customs or attitudes or general lack of joie de vivre and - wait. why was everyone wearing black?
and suddenly realization dawned on her and gabrielle felt terribly sorry. she had to sit down to process the fact that she had just fucking walked into a funeral. and then she remembered the terrible news she had heard from fleur a few breakfasts ago, how a hogwarts teacher had died, as if that place needed more death and destruction tied to it’s name.
“i am a fucking idiot, right?” gabrielle said to the person that sat next to her, pushing her head into her hands. her head was starting to spin a little, both from the emotional whiplash and the booze she had generously thrown back. “i never know where the fuck i’m standing.”
perhaps it was CALLOUS for alicia to not go to the main event – to not attend the service or the official wake – but the truth was simple and downright boring ( though not UNcallous in nature ) : she hadn’t known trelawney that well. she’d gone to more than enough funerals six years ago. she couldn’t stand them anymore. there was SOMETHING, of course, about the compulsion she had to reel this off to anyone who asked about the service : something about being seen to be somewhat more morally upright than she was / could hope to be.
she had been there barely been any time, really, and the appeal of it had worn off quite quickly. it’d been easy to sling back a couple of drinks in the giddy atmosphere of the never have i ever game, but wandering the hillside on her own was considerably more sedate. AND her ankle was liable to break again – even though the mediwitch had insisted the muggle idea of ‘broken once, easy to break again’ didn’t apply to magically healed bones – she was only lucky that she’d chosen chunky heels ( you could be as agile as a bird , alicia reasoned , and thin heels would fuck you over at least TEN TIMES in your lifespan ) that didn’t sink into the grass.
it had been far too easy to just sit, legs asunder, empty bottle in one hand and eyes closed. she wasn’t THINKING, just feeling the distant warmth on her face and hoping it did the same thing to burn the edges off the wary feeling that had made a home in her chest. gabrielle broke that silence, and there was never gonna be a chance that alicia could just ignore impending conversation : her heart leapt without her even noticing. so, there was a moment of appraisal from alicia, just a quick once-over of gabrielle ( merely a cataloging of her outfit, because what else could this despair be about ? ), before she shrugs. “you’re ALRIGHT. i’m the idiot who wore heels to a fuckin’ bonfire.”
