Bibliophile

Hullo. I'm Leanne Brook, a 7th year Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. If you wish to know more about me, I'm often under the tallest tree out near the Black Lake; aka Treebeard. Come talk to me sometime! “You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.” ― C.S. Lewis HUFFLEPUFF { wear }

[smile-with-me-x-deactivated2012]

[leejordantruthteller]

…from someone besides Cynthia.

[lynxanne-blog]

Me!

[lynxanne-blog]

Socially Awkward Ducklings || Rolf & Leanne

[rolf-salamander-deactivated2012]

Rolf’s eyebrows crinkled at Leanne’s apology. She was strange, very strange indeed for apologizing about changing her mind. Yes, he was slightly irritated but that was only because they had gotten so far outside that they now had to turn around and go back, bracing the weather even more  than he had already planned.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quietly. It was just snow, it wasn’t like it could hurt him. He’d just rather not be out in it at the moment. He was tired of it now. He could feel water squish between his toes. Somehow snow had managed to get into his shoes and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

“If I could…hmmm,” Rolf muttered, thinking about Leanne’s question. It was a good question, he’d never thought about it before. There were many places that he’s visited with his grandfather but no place stuck out to him. “Maybe…the mountains?” His reply came out more as a question than a statement but he couldn’t figure out where he wanted to eventually stay. He hadn’t put that much thought into it. “I like being away from from the city but not too far away. So…yeah, the mountains but close to a city.”

He gave Leanne an odd sort of look and a laugh while pushing his hair out of his face at her stream of questions. Deep inside he felt touched. No one’s asked him such questions. Sure, they were considered meaningless and “fun” but simple questions no one’s bothered to ask him. For example, hardly anyone knew that his favorite color was pastel purple.

Rolf pressed his lips together to keep from laughing at Leanne’s rambling. It was usually him who rambled so hearing someone else doing it was nice for a change, though her topic was a strange one. She jumped from body parts to eyebrows to mustaches. Something Rolf never put much stock into since a lot of males he’s seen had them and it wasn’t anything that one thinks twice about.

“I…like…eyes, I guess,” Rolf said with a shrug. “I like how they’re different shapes and sizes and colors and they fit people differently, I guess. Why do you like hands?”

[lynxanne-blog]

"The mountains?" She questioned, interested in the idea. "I could see you living in the mountains! Mister Rolf, mountain man! Mountain hermit! Mountaineer!" Each phrase rolled right off her tongue in succession. Picturing him in a mountain home was strangely fun. Perhaps because it was another form of daydreaming, only not about herself. "That'd be super neat!"

It was fun, to converse about anything that popped into her mind, even better when the other could contribute. "I myself want to live in a hobbit-hole! It'd be great! I'm short, so it'd be perfect. Of course I'd make it so others who aren't...vertically challenged could be comfortable, but still." It was her dream home, of sorts. To live in a hillside in a near replicate of a hobbit-hole. It was why she adored the Hufflepuff common room, for it was just a one room hobbit-hole. What with it being round, all the plants, low hanging ceiling, circular windows, and general feel. The thought then occurred to her, "Oh! You probably don't know what a hobbit-hole is! Or even a hobbit! Sorry, Mister Rolf!" A small laugh followed the embarrassment. "A hobbit is almost a mini human, though not a dwarf mind you. They typically range from 60 to 120 centimeters tall. They have longer life spans than muggles, about the same as wizards and witches, though. And they have really cool, hairy feet that are leathery at the bottom so they don't need to wear shoes...But! They're fictional. Sadly." Here she frowned, rather unhappy with the fact.

"So yes! Hobbit-hole for me. Basically a larger version of our common room...Eyes?" Eyes being his favourite wasn't a peculiar answer. The phrase 'eyes are the window to one's soul' was a common one. Leanne herself found the saying to be not at all true. Of course when eyes watered, that indicated strong emotion. Otherwise it was the eyebrows and other facial features that led to one being able to read emotion. Though, eyes could be rather pretty and she said so aloud. "Green eyes are the prettiest. I wish they were more common. Brown can be rather nice as well, though you can't really tell unless in good lighting or really close. Light blue ones are lovely, as well..." Remembering his following question she raised her hand in front of her body. "I love long, thin fingers. Mine are alright, though not the best." Letting her arms fall back to her side, she shivered at the cold.

Her ramblings had taken up a good stretch of time, so they were rather close to the castle at that point. Thankfully, Mister Filch was nowhere to be seen so they'd not have to withstand his judging stare once more.

"Large hands with long, graceful fingers. I suppose one could call them piano fingers?" She glanced at him to see if he was following along. "Not sure how else to describe them. Like, your hands are great, too. They're large, and your fingers are long. Not terribly thin, but lovely all the same. Plus they're tan like your skin and weathered from all the work you do with them. So..." She realized perhaps she shouldn't have spoken about Mister Rolf's hands. He'd likely be either embarrassed or unnerved with her observations.

Changing the subject once more, another question launched right out of her mouth. "So what's your favourite creature to work with?"

[lynxanne-blog]

"She’d nearly poisoned him with her death soup and here he was joking around as if they were on a sunny beach somewhere with no care in the world." omg dkjghdkjsgh

It's not funny...

[lynxanne-blog]

Accidents Happen || Leanne & George

[half-a-soul--half-a-man-blog]

The laugh that erupted from the girl was a bit startling, as he didn’t know what was so funny about soup and toast, especially with the way he’d begun eating it so slowly. Maybe it was the lethargy of his actions that was amusing, when one compared him to the past where jumping around wasn’t tiring and energy was never out of stock. It could be funny how drastic the change was, but looking around at the room they were in, in itself made it strange to find that funny. He didn’t think it was very funny.

Instead of asking her why she had laughed, he dipped the toast in the soup and brought it back up to his mouth to tear off a bigger piece, chewing quicker than last time to maybe prove to her he wasn’t so ruined he couldn’t eat. It didn’t seem like she was even thinking about it that way, as her mind and focus always appeared to be somewhere else, somewhere better, and while she mostly stayed in the conversation and even steered it herself, she seemed to be an optimist. Hopeful, quirky in a charming sort of way. Not in a Luna Lovegood sort of way, but there were definitely times when he would catch similarities. 

But, the hopefulness alone had him comparing her to Lee. He glanced over to his left, eyes scanning quickly over his friend’s sleeping form, wondering if he knew Leanne. He probably did. It wasn’t as if they would talk about girls they met, or people in general, or actually— anything at all. Nothing was as lax as it used to be. They didn’t stay up, goofing around in the dorm babbling about who they winked at that day and who gave a well enough reaction for them to think of making it more than just a wink the next time around. They didn’t plot around for ways to disrupt class or ways to make some sort of food dish explode at the Slytherin table. 

Things had changed. Drastically, and though it was expected, he knew it was mostly his fault for letting it continue.

“Well… you went through the trouble, and…” He started quietly, swallowing another small bite of soup-soaked toast. It went down his throat roughly, despite how it should have been smooth, if anything, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to set the bowl somewhere else, as now the fumes of it were making his belly flop uncomfortably, but the obligation to at least try a little harder to make sure her efforts didn’t go completely wasted was telling him to at least try to finish the toast, if anything.

“I just dunno if it’ll stay dow…n…” He had taken another bite of the toast with great mental persuasion, and was now choking on that piece of toast. The question she posed was utterly ridiculous, and so out of the blue and out of the ordinary that it caught him off guard. He’d been asked weirder and he’s asked weirder himself, but to hear it from the tiny girl at his bedside was beyond strange, and he had hiccuped a laugh at the sound of it. 

The laugh brought forth a particularly nasty string of coughs, which dislodged the piece of toast just as he was swallowing it, causing it to teeter over the wall that separated trachea from esophagus for a second. As soon as he felt it might be safe, he choked it down and settled for just hack-mingled chuckling, putting a hand to his chest and the other one over his mouth. Gasping through his fingers, he tried to regain control of himself and settle back into quiet again, so to not wake Lee and to keep his throat from being any further ripped apart. He could picture it now, pulled to shreds, clinging by thin walls of skin and tissue, all due to carelessness and time. 

He wondered if a spoonful of the soup would actually aid in soothing it, but he weighed his options and tried to decide whether it was worth risking. It didn’t seem to be, but he forced himself to take a small scoop of beans and broth, hesitating to put it to his lips but eventually just braving it. It was still warm, though the steam from the whole bowl was long gone, and the taste of it should have been positively heavenly, but it wasn’t. It mingled wrongly with the taste of medicine and other things that came from just waking up, from coughing, from trying to keep his mouth shut in the first place. It wasn’t stale or rancid or unbearable, it just… wasn’t good. 

Wheezing a little, he went to lift the bowl off his lap and set it somewhere, aiming for the side table but finding it hard to twist that way. He didn’t want to drop it, but he didn’t want to set it down by his hurty knee, where even though he wouldn’t move, it would be unstable on the mattress. Hovering a little while half twisted to the side, he winced at the twinge in his midsection and his hands shook a little, the contents of the bowl shuddering. 

Soon, it was out of his hands and rested on the side table, and he turned back with a short sigh of relief to face forward, casting a look at Leanne with a, “Thanks.”

But her question was still floating in the air. What would he do if he was a woman for twenty-four hours… Anything he would have said years ago might potentially scar the poor girl and while she probably expected a vulgar, male answer such as ‘marvel at my newfound curves in the mirror,’ or ‘jump up and down to see if they jiggle,’ he didn’t quite fancy making an arse of himself over something that wasn’t meant to be taken seriously to begin with.

“Probably spend twenty-four hours trying to figure out a way to re-obtain my manly bits.” He snorted, wrinkling his nose. “They’re rather important and I’d just assume keep them, thank you.”

He bit his lip to keep from laughing again, unconsciously moving a hand to rest over his stomach and fiddle with the bandage closest to it, picking at the frays and scratch over the stitches. He sighed, half coming down from the amusement and half simply tired again. Tired of the rumbling in his belly and the sickness that had branched out and grabbed a hold of every bit of him it would reach. Shifting back forward, he held his breath as he re-positioned himself on the mattress, until he was laying back with his shoulders and head on the pillows. He let out the breath he’d been holding in a short hiss, blinking up at her with a strained smile.

“It’s late, you should be following this lump’s example.” He jerked a thumb in Lee’s direction, “Sleeping. Do you often wake up at this hour of the night? R’is it just a one time thing.”

[lynxanne-blog]

Predictably, Mister George made to reassure her of the fact he would eat the soup. Frowning, Leanne shook her head at him. George's sentence stumbled and she froze in her seat before she pushed herself off the chair. Fluttering about nervously, all the procedures going from CPR to the Heimlich rushed through her head.

His next words did little to soothe her nervousness and she had to take several deep breaths as the stubborn ginger took another choke inducing bite.

Her food, the food she'd gotten for him was causing him even more distress.

It appeared her question had partially caused this second bout of food troubles and she hastened to tell him he need not force himself when his arms moved, hands grasping the bowl to place it on the side table. Her eyes watched miserably the entire time, and stayed glued on the unmoving soup as George got his coughing under control.

Food fixed everything.

Bad test grade? Chocolate soufflé. Loneliness? Caramel dipped apples. Cold weather? Warm Treacle fudge dipped in Butterbeer. Cramps? Morrocan roasted potatoes. Everything else? Beans on toast, bean soup, Mississippi red beans, bean salad, blackeyed pea bean gumbo, bean casserole, Cajun beans and rice, dried beans, chilli...

Beans cured things.

Mister George's raspy tones had Leanne's frown deepen as Quince Minced Pie appeared in her mind's eye. If she concentrated any further on the offending bowl of soup, it was possible the contents would explode--a feat quite possible for a witch.

How was her bean soup such a failure?

The answer to her question, the inquiry that had caused the second round of choking had Leanne's eyes fill with tears. Oh, Mister George was being so kind! She'd nearly poisoned him with her death soup and here he was joking around as if they were on a sunny beach somewhere with no care in the world.

The image of a bright sun almost had Leanne covering her eyes and the ghostly sensation of warm sand rested on the soles of her feet, the feelings were gone as Mister George sighed, leaving her in the darkened room once more.

Ah well, she never liked the beach anyhow.

At last, her gaze moved away from the depressing soup of doom to where Mister George's hands lay, observing their position. The various bandages that were visible had Leanne's eyes re-moisten, for her emotional state was sensitive enough at the moment for it to be so. Another sound, a hiss this time, had her eyes jerking up to meet his. The strained smile on his face had her scoot forward without thinking, the chair squeaking as she did so. "Woke up early. Couldn't go back to sleep." It was a struggle to return his smile, but did so in spades once she managed to. The spark of happiness following the movement of her lips served to only brighten its intensity. "I usually am an 'early bird', it can be quite calming."

She wouldn't mention the perpetual nightmares.

Mister George, though deathly a reaction, had seemed to enjoy her first random question, so she followed up with another. "If you could grow a twenty-five yard long patch of hair, where would you grow it? Avoid the normal places such as the face, please!"

[lynxanne-blog]

Building Houses || Verity & Leanne

[verityschmucklepuff-blog]

Never met the man though. Verity gave a slight, polite smile, to show her sympathies though she imagined they weren’t needed towards someone whom Leanne had never met. She shifted on her seat again, taking a sip of her treacle-fleck-free Butterbeer. Her lips thrummed with the flavour and zinged to the wires upon wires of nerves in her head that sent a sense of satisfaction washing over her. She fiddled with the handle, turning the mug ‘round and round by just that. 

She had wanted to help. For reasons like Leanne; for people who continued to smile even though the worst could’ve happened; and to many it had. People who hurt because they lost people and just needed fixing, whether it be by small smile or butterbeer. And Rosmerta had been hurt when her shop took, for lack of a better words, a shit-kicking and someone who had been endlessly kind to her as a student - Verity felt strongly about aiding. 

“‘Course I wanted to help. S’what Hufflepuff’s are known for.” Her lips quirked into a half grin, and a shrug rolled from her. “I just know a lot of people had it harder than me, and I can at least give them a hand if they don’t turn it away.” The butterbeer sat heavy in her belly for a moment, but as quick as the feeling had filtered in - it filtered out and there was once more a calm. “No,” she sighed, inclining her head. She wished there was a back to the stool. “Not long at all. But I think I’ll be here for a long time. There’s no one else really opened up to hiring. I think the main reason Rosmerta agreed was because I promised I’d help her rebuild.” 

And if Verity didn’t work - she’d go stir-crazy. To think of not doing anything bothered her; muffled her mind and made her feel like she had the itches all over. Her gut rolled and she inhaled deeply, feeling the expand of her lungs and how sparse and tight it was. She held it, then let it go from her nostrils. 

Old friends. The thought crossed Verity’s mind. Plenty of times. There’d be a few people she’d been hoping to meet; and even a further few whom she kept expecting to walk in through the door at any moment - but the thought would fall like it had leaped and missed the ledge of the next cliff; because those people were dead. Though Verity had not known them enough to be able to mourn them in such a serious way, she had still known of them and it was a sad thing to know they wouldn’t step in through the broken door way as Leanne had. Her fingers twitched on her mug. And then there was George. George with his goofy smile that had a echo and his mirth-sprinkled eyes. Lee, whom she did not know quite as well, but still had frequented a class with back in the day. Her mind always wanted to reach for another name - Fred - but she always stopped it. Always.

“I’m not sure how many friends of mine have gone back, actually. I mean - I know of a few who’ve owled me and such, but otherwise…” She made a grimace sort of face, as though she were at a loss for words for Leanne. “Did any of your friends re-attend?” Verity turned her self towards Leanne slightly, crossing her legs and leaning onto an elbow, supporting her head in her hand. “Is the castle fixed?”

[lynxanne-blog]

The mention of Hufflepuff as being a supportive reason had Leanne grinning ear to ear, echoing Verity's own expression. "Unafraid of toil!" She chimed in, nodding in agreement. As Verity continued, Leanne listened aptly in admiration. The respect dimmed in intensity and was shoved into a corner of her mind when concern took the spotlight as Miss Jones sighed. The blonde seemed quite troubled and Leanne wished there was something she could do--but their unfamiliarity restricted her severely.

It was always such a bother, the initial process of getting to know someone, to get over the awkwardness. Of course it could be exciting and new as well, but in a time like now when the offer of a shoulder would only be stilted and rejected politely, the sensation of ropes crisscrossing across Leanne's chest would appear.

It seemed her choice of conversations had Miss Jones in a state of deep contemplation as well as possible remembrance? It occurred to her that perhaps a change in pace would do; lighter and more airy conversation would maybe soothe Miss Jones' brow.

The inflection in the elder girl's voice was pure angel food cake. Sponging in the pleasant feeling, Leanne half smiled and ducked her head to stare into the goblet of almost gone Butterbeer. "I could always tell you if they've gone back, Miss Jones...That is, if I know, of course." Voice soft, for the atmosphere now allowed it what with the recent departure of a large group, it was a far more comfortable volume for her throat. "You could tell me the names?" A side glance as she drained the last of the warming drink. Swallowing, she used one of the complimentary napkins from Honeydukes to remove the Butterbeer moustache at last.

There was only a bite or two left of the opened Treacle fudge, so Leanne resolved to save it for something do do whilst thinking later in the conversation. "As for my friends, I don't have many. Miss Katie returned for a little while but she left to go back home...Mister Rolf, though!" A wide stretch of lips belied her happiness at this particular information. "Mister Rolf's returned as Mister Hagrid's teaching assistant! It's so lovely, for he's quite into magical creatures, you see. So it's perfect!" Nodding happily, she turned in her stool to fully face Miss Jones now that there was no food or drink to occupy some of her attention span. "And I've made new friends recently! Mister Jordan, though I haven't seen him since we ran from Mister Peeves a few weeks ago. And I haven't seen Mister George, either. But I'm sure I will soon!" Beaming, Leanne nudged Verity.

"Miss Jones! I insist you tell me your friends' names and I'll either know or find out if they're at Hogwarts!"

[lynxanne-blog]

Dearest Miss Mercer,

Thank you very much for your kind words! I'm sure you're quite the lovely girl yourself, one who gives many others a reason to smile.

Beans on toast is heavenly. If you haven't already, you should try it!

As for last year, yes I did take part. I'm just glad the end result was worth it...

My gratitude,

Leanne Brook

[lynxanne-blog]

Accidents Happen || Leanne & George

[half-a-soul--half-a-man-blog]

“Fellinthushoweh.” 

“…What? Oh, oh, oh. Ow.”

He listened to her rattle off the rest of her story, wincing a little at the thought of a cut as large as she’d gestured with her hands, just imagining the blood that must have come from such a wound. At the mention of Bruise Removal Paste, he was glad for the cover of a poorly lit room because he’d made a face that must have been unpleasant to behold, most likely with whatever blood was left circulating correctly through his system climbing up to color his cheeks. Mostly out of shame, because he had the resources to use that, too. It was, after all, his own creation, made specifically for this purpose, and he’d ignored it like it didn’t exist. 

“You seem to have a lot of my products handy.” He said, clearing his throat. “I take it you like my shop. Thank you.”

He looked back down at the bowl on his lap, watching the toast sink a little in the soup and the steam still wafting up to carry the thick, savory scent of it straight to his nose. The heat of it was a little helpful for his breathing, and part of him contemplated just keeping it there and breathing in the steam as opposed to eating it. 

He leaned back a little, slowly and stiffly, and was jolted back from relaxing at her command to eat the soup. She yipped almost all her more abrupt words, and this particular one seemed more like a bark, and he wondered if maybe she hit her head falling in the shower. Blinking at her, he sat back up and scooted backwards to sit straighter against the wall of pillows behind him, reaching to take the spoon and stir around a little. 

Suddenly, the sight of food seemed overwhelmingly heavy and he didn’t know if he’d be able to stomach it. Humming a sigh, he looked down longingly at the bowl, genuinely wanting to eat but finding that his arm wouldn’t move to lift the spoon to his mouth. Quirking his lips in a squishy sort of frown, he tilted his head and stared at it, not keeping count of how long he stayed silent, thinking.

Going over and trying to pick whether he should at least try, for the sake of the tiny girl who liked his joke products and who went through the trouble of running injured to get him something to eat, or if he should save them all the trouble of having to deal with another way for him to be sick. How much longer he could go with just waiting for the steam to cool off and until he had no more hot air to breathe in, how much longer he could go without food all together. Just for the sake of keeping his stomach settled, and the steam airing out his lungs, he didn’t move or look up from the bowl.

It must have been a fair amount of time, and a noise from his right jolted him a little out of his stupor, and his head snapped around to look at Lee and see if he’d woken up. He’d merely shifted in his chair, smacking his lips in his sleep and leaning heavily to the left over the arm of the chair. He was bound to have sore ribs in the morning and a hell of a crick in his neck, but the noise had to have been a snore because he was out cold. 

“Right. Food.” He said quickly, sniffing and shifting back to look back at the bowl. The steam had lessened and the toast was floating a little, and he sighed while reaching for it, wiping off excess droplets of soup and beans on the edge of the bowl and waiting a second before bringing it up to his mouth to tear a little bit of the corner off with his teeth. Chewing slowly, he set the toast back down on the edge of the bowl and looked at the sheets on his lap, unable to differentiate stitch from stitch in the darkness. 

Looking back up at Leanne, he nodded and smiled a little. “Thanks. For the soup.”

[lynxanne-blog]

His voice, already a pleasantly deep timbre, was now raspy from the coughing. Leanne decided she rather liked the sound, even though it was achieved through means of illness. Deep voices and light, feminine speech were her most adored. When ladies had airy voices she found herself imagining a never ending meadow with lush, harlequin green grass and a soft wind blowing through, making each strand dance. For gentlemen with a lovely bass voice, a cocoon of silk slowly wove itself around her, burying her mind in a deep, comforting warmth that left her eyes tired but her being satisfied.

When Mister George was no longer sick, Leanne resolved to find a topic in which he could speak about at length.

When the throat whose voice she'd been pondering about made a low noise she turned away from the leg she'd poked to look back to his face. At his words the rosiness of her cheeks deepened. It was rather embarrassing, speaking to someone whose mind you admired for the first time. She unthinkingly echoed him by clearing her throat, though there was nothing to remove, and brought a hand to rub the back of her neck. "Erm, well, not really...Just the Patented Daydream Charms I have left from last year, which isn't many, sadly. The Bruise Removal Paste that I thankfully have a lot of, hm..." A mental inventory began stacking up in her head and she almost didn't want to complete it aloud. But the need to be fully honest forced the words out. "As well as a Headless Hat. Mum found that product absolutely delightful when I brought it back over the holidays last year!" The memory of Margarete Brook's shock when her daughter's head disappeared flashed through Leanne's mind and she smiled, a quiet laugh following.

"Though it's long worn off...the hat's still in my room, atop my dresser." It was rather out of place, a pink feathered thing tended to stick out in a room full of neutral colours. "Self Inking and Spell Checking Quills are most useful, I've found. Though my spelling is usually impeccable, there is the occasional word..." Here she realized that her confidence in spelling sounded quite cocky and she hurried to move down the list. "Trick wands are another of my mother's favourites...Um, I did once buy some Canary Creams for this awful boy."

Was she rambling? She was listing out loud, did that count as rambling? Oh, she hoped Mister George wasn't becoming annoyed.

Finding that her eyes shifted a lot when she was trying to recall certain things, she flicked her gaze to stare at George. He seemed to be off in another world and she sunk into her seat, unsure of whether or not to continue.

After a moment, she decided 'why not' and once again filled in the silence. "And I must also admit to being curious enough and trying the different types of Magical Moustache Miracle Stubble Grow." Her hands lifted to touch the smooth jawline that was the typical for women, not a hair in sight. "Fast Stash, Instant Age, Hairy Dame...Frenchman's Moustache is my favourite, though!" A little bounce had the chair squeaking and she hastened to stop in fear of waking Mister George's friend.

"So..." Since he wasn't looking at her, she was allowed to do the same, which was what she gladly did. "Thank you."

And here she was, once again thanking him for being a creator of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Deciding to move on, she opened her mouth when a sound coming from her right had her turning to find it was the sleeping man. Tilting her head she leaned forward, trying to get a closer look. To no avail, however. She'd need to cast a Wand-Lighting Charm to see his face, something she'd not do in fear of waking the poor lad.

"Right. Food."

At his words, she realized Mister George truly hadn't been listening to a word she'd said.

Rather than being offended by it, a giggle escaped her mouth and she had to lean forward with her hands pressed up against her stomach to try and hold it in. Oh, how amusing! She'd always been one to zone in and out of conversations and now it was turned back on her.

Or, so she thought. It was possible he'd caught some of it, but didn't quite grasp it in his mind yet, that happened to her as well. Sometimes she'd not remember a part of conversation until days after.

His eyes swung up to meet hers and she froze, surprised, until his words registered. Relaxing, she nodded. The fact it had taken so long for him to even have a bite, even after her prodding, spoke volumes.

He didn't really want the food.

Going against instinct to talk about it, she resolved to say only a few words on the subject before moving on. "You don't have to eat it, I wasn't really thinking when I brought it."

Licking her lips, she quickly changed the topic so he wouldn't have to feel awkward. "If you were a woman for twenty-four hours, what would you do?"

[half-a-soul--half-a-man-blog]

I'd feed my fingers and hands to vicious flesh eating fish before I let Leanne "groom them."

There will be no ‘clear coat nail polish’ and no ‘moisturizing cream.’ I will have none of it.

I like my hands the way they are. Chemical worn and ‘almost-but-I-let-go-in-time’ firecracker burned and Quidditch calloused and pure of the feminine products that threaten to taint them with their flowery scents and smoothness. Leave me and my hands alone!

[lynxanne-blog]

That's fine~

I bet your hands are like a good book.

Everyone's hands are unique. I mean, not just in their fingerprints but in their lifelines, veins, tendons, scars, everything! One of my favorite things to do is hold someone's hand and ask them each story.

It's one of the best things!

[lynxanne-blog]

Socially Awkward Ducklings || Rolf & Leanne

[rolf-salamander-deactivated2012]

Rolf stopped in his tracks at his suggestion and he let out a sharp sigh. Couldn’t she have suggested that before they had walked out into the cold? He couldn’t stay mad at her though, he was a victim to that very habit—acting before thinking. He actually had to remind himself to think before jumping into something on some occasions before he got himself or those around him in trouble.

“Okay,” he said with a nod. Why hadn’t he thought of that first? It would’ve saved him from numb feet and the little stomach monster that was growling and trying to claw its way out of him. “Okay,” he repeated, turning around and started to walk back in the other direction. He paid careful attention to walk back in the shoe prints that he had just made on the way there.

Now that he thought about it he wasn’t that hungry anymore, more like bored. he just wanted to have someone to talk to about anything and nothing. He just wanted to talk, to fill the silence that constantly surrounded him and made him start to slowly lose his mind, not that it was entirely there in the first place as Simon would say.

[lynxanne-blog]

Mister Rolf seemed to agree to the suggestion, for he'd stopped walking as well instead of just speaking. Ready to turn around she flinched when he let out what sounded like a sigh of irritation. Why else let it out in such a way?

I knew it, she thought sullenly. I offended him.

He'd shared two options back in the library; Hogsmeade or the Great Hall. She'd chosen Hogsmeade based on what he'd informed her--that there were places to eat in the village. But he himself was not hungry. The last part being information she was only just privy to, Leanne had not been able to make an informed decision when choosing Hogsmeade. Rolf then verbally stated his agreement, twice, to her suggestion of the kitchens and walked toward her before finally passing. Standing there, she stared at the snowy white area for several moments, trying not to become too upset. The sounds of Mister Rolf's shoes crunching on the ground began to decrease in volume and she snapped out of her daze to run after him, arms flapping about ungracefully all the while.

Catching up to him, she blew out a puff of air, unused to any exercise. When her breathing returned to almost normal she turned her eyes to stare at the ground, ignoring the part of her mind that always nagged her to look the other in the eye whilst speaking. "Sorry, Mister Rolf..." her already small voice was a mumble now.

A particularly harsh wind chose that moment to bluster through, whipping her hair about in a crazy fashion. It was quite distracting for strands of hair to block one's vision when trying to walk. She lifted her hands to grip the chestnut colored strands in order to keep it out of her eyes. After the loud wind ceased she turned her head up to see the state Mister Rolf's own semi-long hair was in.

The smile from before returned, albeit a calmer version. Now his hair was really shaggy.

"Mister Rolf?" The need for water was increasing, as the cold now had her voice a bit raspy. "If you were to choose any place in the world to live, where would you pick?" Random questions was a favorite conversational strategy of hers. When in doubt, come up with something off topic.

Wishing for him to speak at length, for that was enjoyable ninety-eight percent of the time (the other two percent tended to be a lecture on getting out more or reading less fiction), Leanne bit her lip as a few more topics bounced around in her always swirling thoughts. "Also, what is your favorite body part? On other people, I mean. I rather like hands, myself! It's not a body part but eyebrows are really neat, too. The thick ones are always interesting. Though sometimes they make me want to get one of those small facial hair combs and help them out...Oh! And mustaches. Have you ever seen a mustache comb? They're rather cute, but facial hair kind of creeps me out...What do you think?"

Wide eyed, she gazed up at him.

[lynxanne-blog]

Dearest Mister Rolf,

Seventy-five times? Hardly! Perhaps a dozen or so, maybe. 

After all, there a millions of books. Why waste time reading something already in your mind? That's for when there is no access to new material.

As for getting out of the castle--I do! Nearly every day.

...I go outside, walk to Treebeard's shade, and read.

See? Plenty of outside time.

I think you could spend more time not analyzing facts and creature trivia and more time daydreaming and letting your mind momentarily unravel. Travel places; fictional worlds, different time periods, the solar system. Go anywhere and everywhere! After all, while some of this is easily accomplished with magic, all of it can be done within the recesses of your noggin.

Your favorite student (and more importantly, friend),

Leanne Brook

[lynxanne-blog]

Accidents Happen || Leanne & George

[half-a-soul--half-a-man-blog]

He watched the door of the Infirmary, not quite seeing it fully past the shadows of nighttime that had fallen through the room.

It was dark with the exception of very few candles, and he had dreamt of drowning again, only to realize he wasn’t dreaming; he’d endured the second go at drawing the fluid from his lungs, and awareness took a moment to kick in. Pomfrey hadn’t ambushed him and done it while he was asleep, as that would be unethical, but rather another nurse had woken him around 1:30 in the morning and offered him the concoction that would magically sedate him and keep him under instead of simply relying on the thin cover of natural sleep. 

He’d said no, of course, and ventured to ask for a silencing charm to be put around him; Lee was asleep in the chair to his left, and he had no idea if his coughing and sputtering would wake him. He didn’t want to, mostly because Lee had needed to sleep so badly, he’d been awake and running around and worrying and stressing and while he slept at night, it didn’t seem to be as sound as it should be. He may not have twitched when George slipped out of the room to go to the lake, but he twitched plenty on his own when George managed to stay, awake enough to notice his friend stir uncomfortably as though trapped in a nightmare. It was unsettling, and he didn’t want to take any ounce of sleep away from him that he could get, if he could help it.   

The second go was just as unpleasant as the first, and his eyes were quicker to water from the pain this time. The urge to let loose and fall apart in silence again had struck him, but he waved it away, tying it up and stuffing it in the corner, denying it freedom, food, and water, and ignored it. The nurse lifted the silencing charm when the bulk of his gasps quieted down into throat-clearings and softer wheezes, and she checked his temperature with a wrist to his forehead, just to see if he was terribly burning or not. She made a slight frowning face, and tucked the sheets a little snugger around him as he didn’t seem to be able to do it himself, before walking back to the other side of the Infirmary. 

George looked at Lee again, blinking dazedly and noting that the blobby shadows had all merged together, creating one giant canvas of spilled paint that was mixed by the hands of a child, smeared around and clashing but creating a dark color that he could only associate with night. Sighing heavily, the sound cut off by a strange sort of high noise, he flopped his head to the other side and he blinked at the door.

He wasn’t tired anymore, but rather empty. Empty of care, of effort, the desire to fight for anything. Fight to leave, fight to stay, fight to lift his arm and swipe at his eyes, fight for his own life. If he’d taken the time to realize just how far from the tracks he’d let himself roll, it would simply be a horrific sort of slap to the face and he wasn’t sure he wanted to lump it all together like that. Like some big, disgusting spitball of bad decisions being fired at the back of his head during class, and he was too paralyzed by the thought that someone would ever fire this thing at him that he didn’t even reach up to brush it off.

It was that feeling of overwhelming disgust, shame and self-loathing that all he could do was lie there and think around it, which made him think of it. Of the lengths he’d let himself go, the depth of the hole he’d dug himself into, how easily he could just wait to be buried and forgotten… The problem was that he knew he was wrong, and he knew he was making bad choices and horrible mistakes and he was too overwhelmed by the knowledge of them and the speed at which they came that he didn’t know which to tackle and fix first.

So, he didn’t.

His throat felt tight for not-so-physical reasons, and he stared at the door still, imagining how had this been a few years ago, Fred would burst through the door demanding to know what had happened and why. Actually, scratch that— no he wouldn’t. He’d be where Lee was. And he wouldn’t be asleep, either, he would be watching him, monitoring him, with an expression that typically went unused due to how it contrasted with his laugh lines. An expression George hated more than almost anything to see, but would never dare to argue with because when it was there, it was there for a reason… 

But he wasn’t, so George swallowed past the longing and the rest of the things that were like thick snakes, hissing and lunging and coiling around him, from all directions. Biting with poisonous fangs and blinking their menacing eyes, killing him slowly because their focus wasn’t so much to murder, but to enjoy it and watch, and he would let them.

The emptiness dregged on and he almost didn’t notice one of the doors opening, a small form sneaking through the opening and skittering across the room towards the nurses’ station. He followed it with a shadowed gaze, curious to a menial degree, though he couldn’t quite make out who it was, or why they were here at two in the morning. More candles were lit, the shadowy dimness taking on more of a beige hue in areas, and he heard slight conversation and incantations, thank yous and more scuffling as the person eventually moved back across the room.

He was trying to stay quiet, as he had been hiccuping slightly even as he’d been staring at the door, but he found there was a tickle in his throat that brought forth a rather wet sounding string of coughs. It carried so much force it caused him to lean to the side, propping himself up a bit on his elbow and leaning forward towards the edge of the cot, clutching at the bandages on his chest that limited the expansion of his ribs. When he opened his eyes and tried to regain his breath, he saw the bobbing of a candle much closer to him than he would have liked, and he froze.

“Mister George!”

He knew that voice, the formalities and the tininess of the contrasting shadow behind a flickering flame. Especially the sputtering that followed his next cough, yipping about food and claiming to be running off to get some. 

Patented Daydream Charms.

“No, Leanne, don’t— Oh, bugger…” He’d started to call after her, his eyes wide at how she was serious, though his plight was ineffective; it came out a hoarse whisper she might not have even heard over her own footsteps as she darted away. He stared after her, darkness and blotches separating into more defined shapes for only a moment before he coughed again, and again, and again…

He opened his eyes to see that he’d crumpled on his side, awareness escaping him for a moment. His eyes widened again as the door reopened, and Leanne promptly dragged a chair over to his right side, sitting down and regarding him with a smile and a… house elf? And bean soup…and a glass of…

He shook his head a little, moving to the left and climbing upwards into a sitting position against the pillows, wary of her abruptness and the cracks of Apparation as the house elf appeared and reappeared on command. She held the bowl out to him and he stared, not quite afraid to take it but unwilling enough to simply not move.

To not do anything.

He may not have been as vain as Fred had been, but almost immediately, he wished he’d still had his shirt. His bandages were almost as unsightly in themselves as his bruises had been, and while he was glad she wouldn’t have the chance to see those, she was likely to ask why he was wrapped so tightly in white cotton on almost every visible space on his body. When he’d woken up the first time, he’d noted that his pajama pants were gone, as well, and a pillow had been propped under his knee, which he was told had been chipped at the cap somewhere in the fray with the rolling pin. He thanked God for the cover of sheets, but the waistband of his phlox-purple boxers was visible by how he’d sat up, pulled to the middle line of the bandages around his hip. 

Speechless still, he looked her straight in the face and gaped, stricken enough to just stay frozen. He flickered his gaze to the bowl, the steam rising from its contents visible against the candle light, and the smell of it was pleasant enough to draw him a little closer…

Mostly reluctantly, he scooted back to sit straighter, lifting himself with both hands on the mattress on either side of him. The pang in his shoulder was rather painful, but he bit back a wince and settled comfortably enough to reach over for the bowl, setting it on his lap and staring at the piece of toast that was wedged in it. He didn’t want to deny such a happy face, such clear good intentions and expectations, and to be completely honest, he hadn’t eaten much in maybe two days. Today, he certainly hadn’t, as he was a bit preoccupied, but the day before he just didn’t have the desire to go into the Great Hall again. His threshold for hunger had been fluctuating strangely, as sometimes he would be willing to go days upon days at a time without bringing so much as a glass of water to his lips, but days like today were when the idea of food was actually pleasing. 

“What brings you here so late?” His voice was stertorous as he coughed very slightly one more time, casting a glance at Lee, who he was surprised hadn’t woken up to the sound of his coughing before. He really had needed this sleep.

“You okay?” He asked, trying to mask how flustered he still was. “I heard you over there with the nurse.”

[lynxanne-blog]

The moment George took the bowl from her, it wasn't the candle that made things bright for Leanne. The weight in her chest at seeing him in such a state seemed to lift as he showed he was well enough to eat. Having seen him with no warning in a place such as the hospital wing had panicked her greatly, but now that she felt she was doing something to help him Leanne shifted seamlessly into an animated disposition, and she was content.

At his question she sat up straight, embarrassed with herself. It was one thing to tell the healers who knew her well that she'd fallen in the shower, but informing someone else was another matter entirely. Glad for the dim lighting, for she was sure her cheeks were a warm pink, Leanne cleared her throat and looked away briefly. "Um, well, I. Um." Perhaps just getting it out of the way quickly was the best option. "Fell in the shower." She had spoken so quickly it seemed to have been one phrase rather than four separate words, but the wish of not having to repeat herself was there.

"I woke up early, couldn't go back to sleep. Slipped. In the shower. A long cut," here she motioned with her two pointer fingers the width of the long wound. "Blood everywhere, too large to heal myself. So," she shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal that she'd coated the bathroom floor with gore, reminiscent of a scene in a horror film. Not like Mister George had seen it, though. "I walked," more like limped, "here. I'll still have bruises galore in a few hours, but I can just use Bruise Removal Paste. I've got enough to last me a long time." Coming out of her thoughts, she gave a short laugh when it donned on her it was George Weasley she was speaking to. The beginning of a pattern seemed to be forming, Leanne realized. Their first encounter was initiated over Patented Daydream Charms, and here she was mentioning her supply of Bruise Removal Paste, another Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product.

Not wishing to speak further on her clumsiness that morning, her eyes swept up and down what was visible of his form. Instinct told her that last thing he wanted to speak of was why there were bandages covering much of his skin. Her eyes finally reached the edge of his torso to where the sheet started to cover when her vision caught on--were those purple...?

A small smile alighted on her lips once more, but she chose not to comment. For now.

He coughed once more and she lightly poked his nearest leg under the sheet, hoping she didn't hit a bruise. "Eat!"

Maybe he'd offer up what happened to him without her prodding about it, but she rather doubted it. Oh well, it wasn't her place to inquire.

[lynxanne-blog]

Building Houses || Verity & Leanne

[verityschmucklepuff-blog]

Verity wasn’t very keen on dunking her treacle, and so just smiled at the young lass and gave a polite declination with a shake of her head. She listened to the way the girl dipped hers, taking her time attacking the sweet. For a moment, she craved a bit of the cerise-flavored licorice Fred and George had come up with just before the war, and the way flames would burst from ones’ mouth upon chewing. She didn’t know why the want crossed her mind, but she knew it wouldn’t leave now. 

At Leanne’s question, she frowned.

“London?” Her brow kept its knit, blinking at her. “Did I say London? I meant Cardiff. Sorry - my mind’s all over.” She sighed, and pushed her hair back, giving it a shake and making the strands fall differently. She widened her eyes, gently caressing the side of her finger up the curve of her eyelashes. “I live in Cardiff, because that’s where my parents live and I don’t…” she trailed off, and gave a shook of her head. She wasn’t so keen to tell a stranger of her predicaments, house-mate at one point or not. A stab of guilt flared like pulsing fire through her, and she sighed. “I’m in a bit of a pothole so I’m staying with them for a short time.” With that meek explanation, she smiled. 

Her final question made her look back at her butterbeer, turning it in her hand and watching the way the liquid shifted. She shrugged, making a face that didn’t really explain anything and, on first looked, very confused at herself.

“Hogsmeade because… I know it.” Her gray gaze rounded on Leanne again. “As much as I know Diagon Alley. There’s not many places that are open yet. That want help. And I don’t feel like working somewhere muggle. I knew that Hogsmeade got a little roughed up, so I don’t mind working here, and helping Rosmerta with some of the broken stuff. Like,” She turned, gesturing the hook of her thumb at the door.

[lynxanne-blog]

As Verity corrected her previous mistake, Leanne's eyebrows lifted and recognition of the blonde's accent registered at last. So, she hadn't been from London after all! Grinning inwardly, she felt a bit happy her earlier thoughts had been right, that Miss Jones did not speak with an accent from any part of the capital, nor England for that matter. Having a bit of a hobby for listening to people speak and try to figure out where they're from, her mood only got better with the minor 'victory'. "Wales, then? Mum says my father's father was from Swansea. Never met the man, though..."

Miss Jones seemed to have paused after her words, a contemplative expression sitting on her forehead. A sigh finally escaped the other and she opened her mouth to converse once more. Leanne tilted her head, wondering what the brief moment of silence had been for. She'd only been talking of living with her parents... Had she missed something? The thought of possibly having zonked out for a second horrified her, so she quickly tried to stuff the alarm down in order to pay attention. The circle of panic ceased, but she hoped her rudeness wasn't so obvious. When Verity ended her explanation Leanne's eyes widened in realization. Oh! Money problems, then? Whatever the problem, the younger girl nudged over another piece of fudge, not wishing to cause Miss Jones any further distress on the subject.

The answer to her posed question on choice of location had Leanne smiling. "So you wanted to help!" How kind and selfless! Most avoided the areas damaged by the war, not wishing to have visual reminders.

However, if more people like Miss Jones came around to help, there would be no such visuals around. Air coming out in a rush from her nostrils, she took a sip of the still warm Butterbeer and stewed over the common masses. "So, you've not been working here all that long, then. How're you enjoying it? A job with a lot of interaction is always interesting, or so I think...Hogsmeade is generally a good area for crowds. Plus, it's near Hogwarts so perhaps you'll see old friends!"

Their earlier touched on subject of the eighth year option increased the likelihood Verity would see friends she'd gotten on with during her years at the castle. Though that also meant people she'd perhaps not prefer to see, but hopefully Miss Jones had no such people--she was such a lovely lady, Leanne doubted it.

[lynxanne-blog]

Accidents Happen || Leanne & George

It was terribly dark, but then again it was nighttime. Shifting restlessly, Leanne couldn’t fall back to sleep; and she’d tried her hardest. Daydreaming, counting hippogriffs, deep breathing, everything. After the imaginary hippogriffs had turned on her by charging, she sat up quickly and almost fell out of bed.

Standing on her feet, she glanced around the room at her soundly sleeping roommates and huffed. Itching her ankle with the opposite foot she scratched her head, thinking of what to do. Read perhaps? It wouldn’t be the first time she stayed in the cozy Hufflepuff Common Room reading until the early hours of the morning.

Deciding to read with a shrug, she made her way over to the bathroom so she could shower first, bringing along black sweatpants and a bra to change into. Her pajama top was a T-shirt with the image of a rubber duck on it, so it was wearable in public should anyone see her after she left the common room. It was around two in the morning, but she knew there wasn't going to be anymore sleeping for the night. This way, she wouldn't have to deal with the ruckus of girls getting ready come awakening time.

Lifting her head up to peer hesitantly around the room, she hoped that her footsteps hadn’t awoken anyone, she heaved a sigh of relief when no one stirred. Entering the bathroom, she cast a silencing charm so her moving about wouldn't wake anyone.

The water of the shower was hot immediately when she turned on the faucet, as it always was. It was a stark relief compared to the winter chilled castle, and she did a slow three-sixty turn just to enjoy the temperature. After a content moment, she went to reach over for her washcloth when her foot came down wrong resulting in it slipping on the bottom of the tub. She threw her arms out, grabbing for the curtain, a move ending with it being pulling down with her when she landed on her bum.

Having hit the wall on the way down, as well as her hip catching the side of the tub she blinked, dazed from the shock. The water still cascading over her form she shook her head a bit, and looked down to protect her eyes. Assessing the damage, she rotated her ankles, pleased when only a minor soreness radiated from the area she'd stepped on strangely. Lifting her arms she peered at her body, feeling a keen pain on her bum, sides, and forehead. She must've hit each surface while falling.

Frowning at the thought of huge bruising, as was inevitable, a streak of red caught her eye and she shifted her gaze to stare at her outer thigh where a long, thin cut greeted her. It started from her upper thigh and traveled down to mid calf--far too large to use an everyday healing spell.

Rats.

Taking a deep breath she pushed herself to stand up and turn off the water, wincing when the pain worsened everywhere all at once. Looking around the shower she glared at the fancy caddy holding Justine's soaps. The jagged edges of its design was typically harmless, but she supposed falling at a fast pace and uneven surfaces did not mix.

The various bruises could be treated later, when they started to show up, but for now she'd have to go to the infirmary and have Pomfrey heal it, and perhaps pick up a Sleeping Draught potion. Her stock had finally run out the previous week.

The curtain having been pulled down, she bent over and righted it, making sure its placement along the wall was correct before moving it aside and cautiously stepping out. Her leg was bleeding heavy rivulets now and her mind raced trying to think of a spell to slow down or altogether stop the blood flow. Thankful she always had her wand in the same room, if not on her person, she picked it up and pointed it directly at the wound. "Coagulo!" The maroon stream stopped escaping out of the area, leaving only the remnants of what had already run down her leg.

It made for an ugly site, the clumped up blood all along her pale skinned leg, and the still wet blood that had run from it earlier. Still holding the washcloth in her one hand, she wet it in a sink and ran it all along her leg, careful not to take off the clump covering the long cut, for it was all that was preventing it from bleeding profusely once more.

Grabbing her bra and shirt, she put them on slowly, feeling the soreness only getting worse. Following them with her knickers she carefully pulled them up her legs before grabbing a towel and heading out into the dorm where her blissfully ignorant dorm mates slept on, the silencing spell she'd put up earlier having muffled more than just the water. Pants not currently an option, she went through the drawers to get a skirt and pulled that on quickly before returning to the bathroom.

Blood everywhere, she felt like she was in the muggle novel Carrie by Stephen King. A mumbled scourgify in various areas, putting the washcloth in a pile for the house elves to collect. Placing her wand behind her ear, she grabbed her jumper before leaving the room and pulled it over her head. Coming to the stairs she took in a deep breath, carefully going down each one, wincing all the while.

It took time to leave the common room and go through the tunnel leading out to the corridor. Turning her head right, she blew out hot air, wishing she could just go to the kitchens before walking to the left in the direction of the infirmary.

The school should have some way of instantly getting to the hospital wing, she thought. Since apparition wasn't an option, some sort of passage or floo system should be at various check points in the castle.

But for now, she was stuck limping along the corridors for the next twenty minutes before reaching her destination.

The large doors leading into the hospital wing were a familiar site and she shook her head at herself for being there in the first place. Pushing one open, she looked in and stepped through quietly, not wishing to disturb any possible occupants. Walking in she saw only two people, the darkness not allowing for any discernable features to show.

The one seemed fast asleep in a chair not far from the other, and she guessed Pomfrey had failed to kick them out.

How sweet.

A smile on her face she headed to the back where Madam Pomfrey resided at night, asleep. Hating to wake the woman she was glad when she spotted another nurse still awake. The lady came over and whispered a greeting, easily recognizing Leanne even in the darkness, then inquired about the problem. Pointing to the cut the mediwitch clucked her tongue and had Leanne sit down to get a better look, lighting several candles with a flick of her wand.

It took only a moment for the spell to be spoken and Leanne was up in a moment, with only her bruises left. She could take care of that herself, however.

Waving bye, she stepped out back into the main part of the wing and meandered over to the cupboard with potions, privy to the spell that opened it. She headed straight over to where the Sleeping Draught potions were and was about to snag one when a loud, rattling cough had her do a full body flinch in surprise.

Turning her head, alarmed, she headed out of the cupboard, closing the door behind herself to check the source of the coughing. Picking up an unlit candle, it immediately lighted when touched and she crept closer to the bed containing the still coughing form of...

"Mister George!" The harsh whisper resounded around the room, and she made a small yipping noise at the loudness.

Now she'd done it, not only had the coughing most likely woken him from his slumber, but her idiotic naming of surprise had insured it.

His eyes open and staring at her, he coughed once more and she nearly dropped the candle. Another strange noise escaped her mouth, a sort of 'meep' this time, and she opened her mouth for a flurry of words to escape.

"Y'know - great for coughs? Toast on beans. I, uh, no. Wait - suppose," a deep breath lifted her chest as she tried to calm down. "Bean soup - hot. Temperature. Soothing I assure you! Let me - some for you - be right back!"

She placed the candle on the stand next to the bed and ran out, previous bodily soreness forgotten.

Halfway down a flight of stairs she recalled the ability to just say a house elf's name and they could pop into existence right there. "Booboo!"

A shifting of the area in front of her seemed to bend for a half second before the short form of Booboo the house elf appeared, smiling at up Leanne with her big green eyes.

"What can Booboo do for Miss?" The high pitched voice squeaked, eager to please.

Leanne smiled down, relieved she'd not have to run all the way to the kitchens. Slowly making her way back up the stairs, Booboo followed unquestioningly. "Miss Booboo, would you mind bringing a bowl of bean soup into the infirmary? A slice of toast wedged in it would be lovely as well."

Brightening with the request, Booboo nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, miss! Right away, miss!" Blinking out of existence once more, Leanne headed back into the infirmary and made her way over to George. Picking up a chair along the way, she seated herself on the left side of the bed, opposite to where the sleeping figure of Mister George's friend was. The moment she sat down was when Booboo popped in with the bowl, handing it directly to Leanne. "Booboo brought Leanne soup!"

Taking it, Leanne laughed quietly, not minding Mister George's wide eyed stare. "Thank you very much, Booboo. Perhaps a glass of room temperature water as well?"

"Yes, miss!" This request took only a breath's time before Booboo appeared and gave it to Leanne. "Anything else, miss?"

Shaking her head 'no', Leanne kissed the house elf on the cheek. "Booboo may return to the kitchens now! Thank you!"

Flustered, the house elf left quickly, leaving Leanne to stare at George, significantly calmer now that she had food for him in her hands. She placed the glass of water next to the candle, and held out the pleasantly steaming soup for him to take. She smiled widely, pleased with herself. "Bean soup with a slice of toast! The thickness goes down surprisingly well, and soothes the throat immensely Mister George, sir!" Staring with wide, happy eyes, she waited for him to take the bowl.

[harrypotterconfessions]

[leejordantruthteller]

…what kind of confessions? 

[lynxanne-blog]

Mister Jordan has a nice nose!

[leejordantruthteller]

Er…thank you, Leanne. You…*tries to think* are a great hugger.

[lynxanne-blog]

[lynxanne-blog]

Fancy Meeting You Here || Lee & Leanne

[leejordantruthteller]

“Um…” said Leanne thinking over the options. “We only have one more flight of stairs and another corridor, if he catches up to us before we reach the classroom, then we’ll use your first option. We best start running, Mister Jordan!”

Lee leaned against the wall trying to suck in more oxygen before rushing off again. He could hear the paintings on the walls rattling as Peeves swooped by, upsetting the paintings’ occupants and setting off a series of grumbles and mild cursing. He’d lost Leanne, but he knew where they were headed. He looked ahead. He could see Leanne’s faint outline. She had stopped. The staircase they needed hadn’t moved into the needed position. He heard Leanne impatiently urge the staircase on, “Come on, come on come on…!”

Lee tapped his fingers on the railing of the landing where they stood. They still had a lead, but the sound of louder complaints from paintings and the absence of Peeves’ usual constant teasing tones was not reassuring. The stairs slid into place and they hurtled up them. They were so close. One more hallway. Leanne had surged ahead of him on the second set of stairs. He put on a burst of speed to close the distance. She shot nets down two hallways near the stairs. Lee was grateful most people would be in class or in their respective common rooms.

Home stretch! Leanne arrived at the classroom first and lifted her Disillusionment Charm. He shot towards her. She reached out to him and lifted his Disillusionment Charm. They exchanged grateful smiles before she pushed open the door.

“Professor Flitwick, sir!” The whole class trained their eyes on them. “We need your help!”

Flitwick hopped off his stack of books and hurried to the door. Peeves was zooming straight for the doorway where they stood,“Hufflypuff girl and Gryffyboy! Tsk. Tsk. Don’t you toy…”

Flitwick waved his wand and Peeves became stiff as a board before dropping out the air. “Prof. McGonagall will not be pleased, Peeves.” said Flitwick peering down at the poltergeist.

“Thanks,” said Lee handing Flitwick his note.”Full Body-Bind Curse?”

[lynxanne-blog]

Filius looked up curiously at Lee Jordan and took the proffered parchment from the taller man's fingers. "From Professor McGonagall I presume? I do hope it is about teatime!" He offered a smile to Lee and nodded his thanks. "You weathered great conditions to deliver this!" Here he gave a small chuckle, amused at his own thoughts. "Thank you, Mister Jordan. Miss Brook!" Here Leanne straightened her spine, as if standing at attention, and squeaked, "Yes, sir?"

Professor Flitwick gave her a quick wink and took out his wand, clearing both Leanne and Lee of their paint splotches. "I trust this is why you've missed half of class?"

Leanne nodded vigorously, ashamed with herself regardless of the understandable excuse. "Y-yes Mister Professor, sir. I apologize for my tard--" A shake of the professor's head had her closing her mouth with haste.

"Now now Miss Brook," he flicked a wand around Lee and Leanne and the form of Peeves the poltergeist went zooming off, likely in the direction of Headmistress McGonagall's office. Minerva would need no explanation, just the bound form of Peeves would alert her.

That and judging by his pupils' clothing and their heavy breathing, a large mess was likely to tip her off before his class was over. Filius shifted his attention back to Lee. "Thank you, and may I ask for a small favor Mister Jordan?" He waited for the telltale nod before continuing. "When you get back to Minerva, tell her what happened? She'll be able to deduce it, I'm sure, but I have another forty minutes of teaching time to go and I'm sure she'd like an explanation sooner rather than later." Satisfied, he tried not to imagine the whinging him and all the other professors would be hearing from Argus later on.

"And Miss Brook?"

Leanne bit out a high pitched, "yes, sir?"

He gave her a small grin, amused once more. "You may take a seat, young lady." Without further ado, he turned to once again teach his class.

Leanne's posture relaxed, and she turned to Lee with a sheepish smile. "Well, um, it was a...pleasure..." the corners of her mouth turned down as her smile fought to widen. "Meeting you?" A small laugh followed the sentiment. Not wanting to cause any more disruption to the class, she glanced toward her peers before looking at Lee. "Well, I suppose this is bye, then. I'll see you around?" Giving a small wave, she waited until he returned the goodbyes before turning around and walking a few paces.

Not a handful of steps later she grinned to herself, turned around and ran at him, throwing her arms around his neck in a quick hug. Leaning back down after a few seconds. "Thank you for today, Mister Jordan! I couldn't have gotten away without you!" With a wide smile she gave him a fleeting peck on the cheek, her own flushed in embarrassment, and laughed quietly. She removed her arms from his person and walked away once more, this time actually going to her seat.

Mister Jordan was such a nice man, she thought as she tuned into the Charms lesson for that day. She hoped they'd speak again--hopefully in a more serene atmosphere.

[lynxanne-blog]

Socially Awkward Ducklings || Rolf & Leanne

[rolf-salamander-deactivated2012]

“Might as well transfigure me into one seeing as you love the idea so much,” Rolf said dryly. Him? A shaggy dog? He could hardly see the resemblance but it didn’t surprise him. Leanne always went on and on about things that he couldn’t quite…go along with. This was a small example of it. A mere taste of what it was like to hang out with a girl like her.

“Really, stop smiling like,” he grumbled when she didn’t stop. He reached up and scratched at his forehead, pausing to tug on his bangs—a nervous habit that he’s never been able to shake, no matter how red the back of his head got from his mother smacking it with her wooden spoon to try and dissuade him from doing it. It never worked. It was a sort of…tick now, something that he couldn’t stop himself from doing even if he wanted to. It was as if his body had a mind of its own when it came to messing with his hair. He treated his hair differently with different emotions, kind of like a physical form of a mood ring.

“A butterbeer sounds fine to me. I don’t have anything in particular that I’d like to eat,” Rolf replied, now bringing his hand to his growling stomach. He nodded his head to follow up his words. It wasn’t what he ate, it was whom he ate with that he cared about more. A good conversationalist always left him feeling more full than eating alone.

[lynxanne-blog]

The sky was a lovely sight, a very light powder blue with clouds absolutely everywhere. It hurt Leanne's neck, and only served to irritate her tensed should muscles, but it was worth it. At Rolf's tone she shifted her eyes to him briefly, before sighing and looking up again. He was such a crabby man, with her at least, a fact she never understood. The thought popped into her head that perhaps it was just with her. She grasped the concept that they were opposite in many areas, but he often seemed to make it a point of contention when it was unnecessary. The day he didn't bring up every opposing opinion they shared in a condescending tone to debate, or use such topics to push her buttons was a day to look forward to indeed.

When he agreed to her Butterbeer suggestion she leveled her head and nodded, smiling slightly. "Hm...in that case, perhaps we should turn around now? Before we get too far from the castle that it's a hassle to turn around. The house elves have Butterbeer in stock, and a greater selection of food to choose from." Judging by what he told her, Hogsmeade's food source was limited and not worth a long trek in the cold--and she was hungry. Plus, everything would be free in Hogwarts kitchens.

She stopped walking, waiting for him to decide. They'd agreed to go to Hogsmeade, and it was his idea in the first place, she didn't want to offend him.

Wishing she had a watch, Leanne tried to remember the spell that could be cast to tell the time, but it escaped her mind for the moment. It was either almost the afternoon, or very early in it. A day without classes skewed time perception for her, the lack of schedule and structure being the cause.

[lynxanne-blog]

Building Houses || Verity & Leanne

[verityschmucklepuff-blog]

“No, no,” said Verity, extending a smile. “No. You’re not distracting me. Do you see me getting much work done?” Her smile was playful, and she swooped the room with her eyes to convey that really, there was nothing she had to pay adept attention to. That she was free to listen to her and speak with her. With a deep breath, she put all her weight up against the door, feet sliding as she charged it back until - finally - it clunked into place. She inverted her knees, like one would do when seeing to stop in place, and held steady at an awkward bend. Well, that wasn’t so hard. She pushed away, turning her shoulder to regard the door again. It had to be fixed. Not only was it aggravating when it creaked upon opening, but it was a danger to the business if it didn’t shut properly. 

“A break sounds nice, doesinit?” Murmured she.

Her attention was spent on the door a moment longer before the growl of the back door pulled her gaze. Rosmerta trotted through again, ‘proaching the bar and keeping alert, noticing the brief interaction between Verity and her young friend. 

“A break?” quipped Rosmerta, eyeing her up. Verity shrugged, moving to lean against the bar now and cross her legs at the ankle, posed in a way that her back curved and gave her an elegant sense of balance. A bit too much for this little humble pub - but she executed it where she felt it needed.

“I was considering it.” shrugged Verity, and let her gaze fall on her employer. She could see the older blonde’s eyes saunter about, landing from content customer to content customer, before her head tipped ever slightly and the go-ahead was given. Verity dipped her head in thanks for the consideration and sidled to take off her apron that signaled her work status. For the time being and for a lack of a better place to set it, she draped it over the door that swung between back-bar and the layout of the pub itself. She found herself a cozy seat by Leanne, and for a moment - Rosmerta looked at edge until Verity leaned forward, extended the offer to call her if there were incomers, and the woman left them to their business. 

Coiling a leg around the leg of the stool, she leaned into and elbow and smiled at Leanne, giving a nonchalant shrug as if to say no trouble.

“So - books and eighth years? There’s a good principal behind the thought…” Her fingers crawled curiously towards Leanne’s preferred treacle tart, eyes lifting to Leanne’s in silent request for permission. Once it was given, she nabbed and nibbled. “I didn’t end up hearing, no. I only just recently came back to London.” She felt that could sound confusing, and so elaborated. “Where I live now. I only Apparate here to work. I knew the school was re-opened, but I didn’t realize there was such a thing as an eighth year. It’s a good thing, good thing indeed for people who…. didn’t have such luck to have a fair year,” she inclined her head, using her wand to compile a tankard of Butterbeer for herself.

[lynxanne-blog]

The inquiry regarding a possible break led to rather quick results--a fact which surprised Leanne greatly. She thought it'd be awhile, that the possibility of leaving and coming back later would be on the table, but that option was apparently not needed! When Madam Rosmerta gave the go ahead, Leanne did a little wiggle in her seat, glad for the blonde's company. Though the landlady herself had given Miss Jones permission, Leanne still felt a bit guilty, but she pushed it to the edge of her consciousness when Miss Jones lifted a hand to the Treacle fudge. She shifted her eyes to see Verity looking in askance for a piece and she nodded, pleased.

Food was always far more pleasant when shared, Leanne thought.

Once more dipping her piece into the Butterbeer, she listened curiously as Miss Jones spoke. "London?" A tilt of her head, the explanation continued and she made a small 'ah' sound, understanding. Apparition, of course. Thinking as a muggle often brought slow realizations to occur. When Miss Jones finished talking, she piped up, "Yes, I think so, too." A sip of the Butterbeer was taken to wash down the thickness of the fudge. "Last year the curriculum wasn't quite...standard. So it makes sense for those who 'graduated' to wish to re-take the year." She paused, then decided to continue on with the thought. "It's also good for those who were unable to attend last year." Not thinking she needed to clarify the reasons the aforementioned students didn't go to Hogwarts the previous year, she silently pondered them herself.

People such as Ronald Weasley, having left to look for specific objects, or Dean Thomas who was a suspected muggleborn. Suspected. They didn't need to be definite in their status--even the suspicion of 'tainted' blood had children her age and younger having to run and hide for their lives. What Leanne didn't understand was how half bloods such as herself had managed to scraped by. Her mother being a muggle, Leanne herself technically had tainted blood, so why...?

Well, even though not outright banned from Hogwarts, or branded to be killed, she was still persecuted last year. The Carrows had cruel teaching methods, and even crueler punishments. A shiver went down her spine and she fought to have any specific memory come up and haunt her mind. Turning, instead, her attention to Verity, she peered curiously at the other's tankard of Butterbeer.

"Have you ever tried dipping fudge into Butterbeer, Miss Jones? It's quite delicious!" She smiled a smile that was filled with brown spotted teeth, proof of her enjoyment of the treat.

Finishing off her piece, she hummed happily, content. Leaning over, she grabbed a napkin typically used to go under drinks and cleaned off her fingers. "So are you from London, or do you just live there now?" Leanne made eye contact from her side vision, a habit of always looking someone in the eyes while speaking to them. Judging by certain inflections and enunciation, Miss Jones was no Londoner; but then, London had a multitude of accents from everywhere, so it was a plausible question.

Plus, now that it occurred to her, wouldn't it have been easier to get a job in Diagon Alley, based on her location? "And," she tacked onto her previous question. "What made Hogsmeade a choice?" It was possible that there was a deficit of jobs, but perhaps Miss Jones had other reasons for wanting to work in the quaint village.