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Sylvia Mordue
Making connections (tag any older PB girl)
Sun May 20, 2018 09:23
116.232.88.69

In theory, Sylvia was doing her Potions homework. Except she had only got as far as writing ‘Sylvia Mordue, Crotalus’ in her absolutely excellent penmanship, and the title of the assignment. Potions generally wasn’t her favourite subject, as it lacked elegance. And often, after leaning over a steaming cauldron for an hour or so, so did she. No one wanted to get all sweaty faced or get bits of bug and plant and Merlin knew what else under their fingernails. Charms was far more elegant, and much more use.

Besides occasional yuckiness, she supposed school was going well. She would have liked more friends, of course, but she knew that might take time. She just wished it wouldn’t. Especially as ‘time’ potentially seemed to include waiting until next year. She had Caitlin - she really had done well when it came to roommates - but there weren’t any other suitable girls in their year group at all! She had pictured herself as the brightest and best amongst a big group of girls - she would be the one they looked to for make up advice, she would be the one whose style they all wanted to copy, she would be the one who got first pick of the boys… She supposed less competition on that front was sort of a good thing, but it still would have been nicer if she’d had a whole gang of girlfriends who looked up to her, and who therefore naturally assumed she should get the Quidditch captain or the eligible heir or whoever the most desirable pick was as her date. There were a few such girls in older years, but obviously they weren’t going to feel that way about her. She wasn’t even sure they were interested in her at all, which seemed very unfair. She had expected there to be more of a sense of Society at school, with all the Pureblood girls looking out for each other. If she had to hang out with the older ones rather than have her own clique, there would, of course, be a hierarchy that she was nowhere near the top of, but that was better than nothing. She wanted to get to know the older girls, but felt it was up to them to make the first move. To bring her into whatever circle they had rather than her knocking and asking for admittance.

She was mulling on this when her paper suddenly flew off the table where she was working, and landed in front of an older girl. She followed it.

“Sorry about that. It seems the wind caught my paper,” she apologised. Which would have seemed perfectly logical, except that all the windows were closed.

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