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Dove Lightwood

An Unpredictable Situation

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Dove Lightwood

The trophy room was full of what Dove adored most in the world - shiny objects. Although she enjoyed the comfort of the unused classroom, she also found herself drawn to the trophy room, in which she usually found quite and pristine. It wasn't the meaning of the trophies which caused her to spend time within there. She could care less about whether some old student won an award for service to the school, or had broken some idiotic quidditch record. The light inside of the room was perfect for those drawings which truly needed a better eye and a tad of patience. 

 

Sitting in the corner of the room, Dove was embracing the fact she had skipped out on her latest potion lesson. She didn't need to learn about the practice of brewing if she wasn't going to use it after hogwarts ended. Besides, the professor was strange, and it caused her a nerves to rise when she spent time with the rest of her year. Dove let out a small sigh as the door was opened. Without looking up she opened her mouth to speak. 

 

"Occupied."

 

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Cordelia Waldegrave

Today was one of those days Cordelia desperately wished she could relive, and it was only about to get worse. Sadly, Cordelia didn't exactly know that yet, although she would probably get a small inkling when she saw Dove in her happy place in three, two, one. "Ugh. What are you doing here?"

 

All Cordelia was trying to do was her daily rounds of the trophy room in hope that a case had accidentally been left unsecure. Was this a wise idea to go on this little excursion after some mystery pustule in Herbology exploded on her without washing her hands? No, but that wasn't the point. The point was Dove Lightwood was in her happy place and Cordelia was not okay with it.

 

"Don't you have like butterflies to murder?" she asked pacing the room looking for any signs one of the cabinets had been left unlocked. Having located one lock that looked particularly rusty, Cordelia needed to act and fast. "Come on," she grabbed Dove's arm in an attempt to yank her off the floor, "Upsy-daisy!"

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Dove Lightwood

It was a free country. Which loosely translated (in Dove’s mind) to – Dove was there first so everyone else should just leave her alone. Cordelia was an oxymoron. Well, she was just a moron. She knew that no matter how much she glared or scowled the girl would just not leave her alone. She needed to find a way in order to get Cordelia away from her. Hell, she would settle for getting the weak-minded girl expelled.

 

“Singing.” Dove replied sarcastically, attempting to ignore her existence. Then the girl upset her (for a brief moment) as she insulted the wonderful creatures which were butterflies. “I would much rather murder slugs.” She paused and looked up. “Oh, you have some, right? Mind if I borrow them… I promise I won’t hurt them…”

 

Much.

 

“Get of me you peasant!” Dove shouted, as she tried to get out of the girls grip, pushing her towards the cabinet.

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Cordelia Waldegrave

*rolls back in three months later* ilu :wub:

 

Why wasn’t Dove getting a move on? Weren’t Slytherin’s like not allowed to go back the third floor or something? “More moving less talking,” she hummed off of key, which hopefully made Dove’s eardrums hurt.

 

Looking down at her hands Cordelia couldn’t stop blinking at them. Why weren’t the moving?

 

Had Cordelia currently not been able to unstick herself from Dove’s forearms, she would have said something along the lines of Dishonor! Dishonor on your family! Dishonor on you! Dishonor on your cow!, but sadly her pea brain was unable to speak while simultaneously processing why her hands wouldn’t let go of Dove.

 

“You get off of me!” she retaliated finally remembering how to form words. “I’m gonna tell on you and you’re gonna lose like a million house points for hurting Headmaster Gawkrodger’s favorite student.” Favorite might have been a stretch, but he hadn’t said she wasn’t, so it wasn’t not true. “Stop touching me Lightwood! You’re sucking the joy out of me.”

 

Wasn’t there a word for that? “You’re such a double-ended newt.” Wait, that wasn’t right. If only she had spent more time paying attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts and less time training her slug circus. “A demiguise!” Closer, but still a no. Fluster, she spat out, “You know what you are!”

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