fresh || hadley&august
“Not in these shoes,” Hadley muttered dryly, staring down at where the cobblestone pathway turned into grass. She’d been standing there for two minutes easy, just eyeing the line of green that began the Quidditch Pitch. Why she’d even ended up there was besides her, but she felt it had something to do with a conversation she’d accidentally eavesdropped on between two fourth year students at the dinner table. They cut the grass on the Pitch this ‘morn. Smells nice out there. So she’d ditched Hopper during their rounds, the click of her heels echoing though the corridors and then on the stony path to the Pitch after she’d stolen out of the castle, the dimly lit tip of her wand guiding her to the field.
Under the light of the moon, she crouched down, unfastening the clasp on each shoe before she slipped out of them, holding them by the strappy backs as she stepped onto the soft grass. She crossed the Pitch slowly, heading to the left set of bleachers, the terrain squishing under her bare feet and smell of fresh grass and...cigarette smoke...tickling her nostrils. When she reached the bleachers, she lifted the end of her wand towards a silhouette in the dark, her brows furrowing.
“What are you doing out here?”
@augusterichson