#eighthyearstart

[thelcvegoodgirl]

Even from here, Luna could hear the pounding rain and the effect of the wind against the castle. An early summer storm, something that she once would have enjoyed watching from a window. These days though, it just made her feel antsy and trapped. Truthfully, besides Madam Pomfrey’s wrath, there was no reason she couldn’t go outside during a storm. It helped, reminding herself of that. Usually. She really could have used the comforting familiarity of her common room right now.

Luna knocked heavily on the portrait door, just hoping someone would answer. If no one did, she might try the kitchens instead though the house elves fussed over her a little more than she preferred sometimes. A sincere smile flooded her face when a moment or two later someone opened the door.

“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed brightly. “Can I spend some time in your common room? The Ravenclaw Eagle and I are in a bit of tiff over my answer to today’s riddle and he’s not letting me in. He’ll come to see my side shortly, I’m sure. But, for now, the library’s quite crowded and a little scary, what with the NEWTs and OWL students.”

[traceydavisss-blog]

Tracey Davis failed at Flying her first-year. It was the most embarrassing experience of her life. Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration. While everyone else was watching Neville Longbottom break his wrist, Draco Malfoy showing off, and the heavenly glory of Harry Potter, Tracey was standing off to the side furiously whispering, “Up!” She left the class in tears. Eventually, she learned how to fly, but never at the level of people who had their whole life, not like the rest of them. Not like her friends. Now, she can apparate, but Tracey still feels like she failed. Hell, the brooms probably sensed that she was afraid of heights.

The bleachers, however, were always a quiet place to study and were on solid ground. Usually. The sunshine was a nice change from the dreary Scottish winters, but even the sunlight didn’t make Tracey’s Arithmancy tables look any easier. The one good thing about the subject is that there was always a right answer, but just as she was about to understand the solution, a crunch on the gravel shattered her concentration. Irritated, she looked to see who had just walked in. Tracey grinned snarkily, “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match was last week.” She turned back to her Arithmancy tables scribbling where she left off and closing her quill in her book. “Are you this late to everything you do?”

[lvcmalfoy-blog]

He was not a tactless person - unsympathetic, perhaps, but tact was bred into him with sharp discipline. That was the only thing keeping him in the Great Hall rather than wandering around the castle during the memorial. The memorial of a war he never fought in, but will; he felt out of place, distrusted for crimes he hadn’t yet committed, for ones that nobody would even speak to him about. From what he knew, or from what he could gather purely from the request of his attendance at the memorial, he had defected from the losing side before the war came to a close. That suited him fine - he was never fond of losing. It was unnerving, though, wasn’t it? To know so readily that he was willing to forego his beliefs for the chance of survival? He did his best to strangle the anxiety crawling up his spine at the thought; better to let anxiety lie with those who had something to lose.

Lucius had carved out a little spot for himself at one of the many tables scattering the hall; he’d been nursing a cup of tea for the better part of an hour, elbow perched on the table, knuckles digging into the side of his mouth. He had already spent more than enough time hearing people whisper behind their hands as they walked past him - some of whom, he realized with a smirk, were old, irrelevant Ministry members that he had rubbed elbows with in the first few years of his employment. How strange it must be to see him there, young and ambitious, when they were aged, so inconsequential they didn’t even dare confront a boy about his misdeeds.

His fingers tapped against the table, irritation spidering over the back of his neck. “This is so ludicrous,” he muttered under his breath, though he had no real intention on keeping quiet about it. “Absolute waste of fucking time.”