❝ 𝘀𝘆𝗹𝘃𝗶𝗮, cedric diggory

⁰² entrances, enigmas

❝ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗼,

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ entrances, enigmas ...

"Remember, girls: only smile when you're greeting the students! The doors will open at the clap of my hands, so – to the ladies in front – don't be taken by surprise! Céline, smooth your skirt! Sylvia, your tights have a roll! Maribelle ... put on your shoes, for Heaven's sake!" Madame Maxime said, overseeing the girls and their anxious primping of one another in the candle-lit halls of Hogwarts. "Remember, my hens. We are here to be great! Keep your heads held high!"

"Why are you so nervous, Via?" Maribelle said, tripping as she slipped her shoe onto her right foot. "We're at the back of the line. No one will be looking at us!"

Sylvia frowned at the Rousseau girl. "That's exactly right, Belle," Sylvia said, fiddling with the brooch perched flimsily on the breast pocket of her jacket. "We're at the back of the line. What a horrible shame!"

Sylvia had never thought much of her looks. She had never felt ugly, nor had she felt attractive, and had long surrendered herself to her unimpressive mediocrity. Even so, Sylvia could not help but feel wildly insecure being placed at the back of the line. It was difficult not to feel ranked amongst the more beautiful girls that she was hidden behind when, if she were to be ranked, she was evidently last.

"Why should we care about our looks, eh?" Maribelle offered. "We're intelligent women! There's a privilege to that. The girls up front must worry about their smiles, and the old maids in the rear can focus on our thoughts," finished the Rousseau girl, smirking as if she'd coughed up a pearl.

"It's hard not to care. I don't know why," Sylvia said, wrapping her arms around herself. "I want to be pretty."

Maribelle grimaced, sighing before placing a hand on Sylvia's shoulder, mostly to balance herself as she slipped into her second shoe.

"Though I think you're stupid to have spent any ounce of your time worrying about your looks," Maribelle said, squeezing Sylvia's shoulder as she shoved her foot into her shoe, "you're even more foolish not noticing how gorgeous you really are. You're beautiful, Sylvia, and too smart to worry about such a thing!"

Sylvia looked up at Maribelle, then smiled. Suddenly, Maribelle nearly capsized, cursing as her heel rolled in her shoe.

"Merde!" Maribelle exclaimed, regaining her balance. "Oh, Sylvia. If I trip over these heels, promise me one thing," Maribelle said, smoothing her skirt with a plastic grin. "Just use the killing curse on me. It's a better fate than living my life in total humiliation."

Like a thunderclap, Madame Maxime clapped her hands before Sylvia could respond to the Rousseau girl. The double doors swung open, spilling warm, radiant light into the desolate hall. It was as if Sylvia's feet were walking on their own. She strode through the hall with wide eyes, gawking at its enormity. She gasped quietly for air, having forgotten to breathe as she investigated the sea of faces.