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Post by MARLENE LESLIE MCKINNON on Jan 22, 2012 3:54:03 GMT -5
 The grounds. Marlene was first to admit they weren’t exactly conducive for study. Especially when that study was geared towards potions. She hated potions. Potions hated her. And Slughorn? Well, Slughorn ducked and avoided Marls like she’d contracted a bad case of Dragon Pox. But anyways, put simply, the grounds were rife with distractions; the Great Lake and its tentacled tenant. The quidditch pitch she could glimpse just beyond the way, tiny specks of robed figures flying high. And finally, other students. Students who were chatting and laughing and most decidedly not stuck writing bloody potions essays. So many distractions indeed. And maybe, kind of, if Marls was being completely honest, that was the basis of its appeal. If there were a thousand and one distractions to compete with, giving into one over the dull potions essay she couldn’t be arsed to write anyway was hardly her fault. Right? It was sort of expected. Why enter the cage that was the library pretending to work when the grounds made it impossible to work? Flawless logic, that. You’re welcome.
But the part of Marlene that despised homework and study and above all else, potions, had been firmly beat down. For the time being anyway. Mostly. Marls was a seventh year now. Lined up for the arbitrary punishment that was NEWTs and everything. She needed to work hard if she didn’t want to ruin all chances of a future outside of marriage. Or so she’d been led to believe from heavily implicated conversations with her mother. So Marls sat beside the shore of the Great Lake, fresh parchment resting against her knees and quill in hand. Attempting to actually work. Trying to ignore all aforementioned distractions when all she really wanted to do was create one herself. Yeah, she didn’t quite get it either. Marls was sure she had a thing for being contrary.
She sighed, tugging on her quill feathers. Twenty minutes ago it had been brand new. Now it looked like it’d had a couple of rounds with some Cornish pixies. But, then again, twenty minutes ago Marls hadn’t been bored out of her mind. Peals of laughter erupted for the sixth time behind her and Marlene stubbornly did not turn to look. Her eyes remained zeroed in on her parchment in a steely glare. It was a wonder it hadn’t caught fire with the intensity she was staring at it. Maybe if it did... Marlene frowned, tucking some hair behind her ear. Merlin, why was she doing this to herself? Perhaps she was developing mild masochistic tendencies to go with the stubbornness? Because this was bloody torturous and she had no one to blame but herself.
Tipping her head back, Marls closed her eyes briefly. She could feel the parchment trying valiantly for an escape down her legs and the corners of her mouth lifted upwards. Seemed it had the right idea; it didn’t want boring words on it any more than she wanted to write them. Which would have been disconcerting – a piece of damn parchment could get it’s crap together better than Marlene – if she didn’t find it so amusing.
A shout snapped Marls out of her thoughts. She turned instantly, eyes whipping towards the source. She’d barely registered the vague impression of someone careening towards her when suddenly - -
Cold!
It was sodding freezing! And wet. And, Merlin, she was in the Lake, wasn’t she? Marlene kicked, breaking the surface in a rain of tiny water droplets, blinking away water and gasping in a deep breath. Someone had actually pushed her, Marlene, into the Lake. She scowled, throwing drenched strands of hair out of her face. It must’ve been those pesky Slytherins. Slimy gits.
Only it wasn’t the Slytherins.
As she waded out under the weight of her wet clothes (lacking completely in finesse. What? It was hard!), Marls noticed a collection of first years by the shore. Each had the same expression of alarm, eyes wide and all at once her ears were assaulted with various apologies. She rolled her eyes, hiding a smile. Marlene couldn’t be mad at them when they looked like that. It reminded her too much of Audrey, ten years old and afraid Marlene would hate her forever over something ridiculously stupid. Besides, wasn’t she complaining about homework only a few minutes ago? If anything, they’d done her a favour.
Waving a hand, she offered a reassuring smile. “Don’t fret, kids. It’s hardly the first time someone’s thought I’d look better with a little water.”
Five or so pairs of eyes looked sceptical. Marlene shrugged and bent down to search for her wand. She was bloody freezing her arse off here, covered in goose bumps and heavy fabric. A nice warming spell would be fantastic. Marls bit her lower lip in an attempt to stop the shivering. ‘Course it would be her luck to lose the damn thing to the grass the moment she needed it.
words; lots
tag; daniel
lyrics; strawberry swing/coldplay
notes; this took way longer than i meant it to. sorry nike.
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