𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. fred weasley

𝚟𝚒𝚒𝚒. 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚎

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     Detention is the worst. Cress is going to stand by that statement for the rest of her life. She is dirty and exhausted, her robes browned from the mulch and her face stained. Cress thinks that Sprout wants her dead, really, if that grueling session of detention was anything to go by. Even though it's only the second day — maybe third, Cress isn't too sure because the days have blended together, honestly — and she has lost at least thirty years off her life. This is why she loathes Herbology. Plants and her just don't get along. At all.

     As she snakes her way through the empty castle, save for some prefects on duty (Merlin help her if she gets caught), she thinks of ways that she could maybe get out of the next detention. She supposes faking her death won't work, so that's out of the question, but perhaps should could throw herself down the stairs and break a limb or something. That's, like, a day in the Hospital Wing which means one less day of detention.

     She asks Axel which choice is better when she gets back to the common room. He looks at her, shakes his head, and says, "Why are you the way that you are?"

     Cress if offended because hello, she is amazing and her plans for getting out of detention are amazing and Axel can choke if he thinks otherwise. "It's a serious question, Ax! Like, should I throw myself off the Astronomy tower and break a leg? Or just fake my death?"

     "You realize that if you throw yourself off the Astronomy Tower, you're going to die, right?" he asks. Cress shrugs. Axel sighs. "Fake your death," he decides.

     "Is that really going to work?"

     "Dunno." He throws his feet up onto the couch when Cress comes over to sit down. She narrows her eyes and throws herself into the chair by the fireplace. Her eyes flutter shut as she gets comfortable. She hears the scratch of Axel's quill on parchment and when she wakes up it's to the sun peaking through the window.

     She thinks, What the hell? and looks around. Axel is gone, all his supplies cleaned up from the night before and there's a weight on her lap. It's Elvis. He's sleeping soundly, curled up and Cress pets him contently as she wonders when she fell asleep. As she is pondering over it, Imogene Norwood, one of her roommates, comes striding down the stairs, ginger hair almost like fire in the light of the day. She gives Cress a crooked toothed smile and says, "Morning, Cress. How'd you sleep?"

     "Okay, I suppose," says Cress, but there's a kink in her neck and she needs a bath so that might be a lie. "How are you this morning?" She pushes Elvis gently off her lap and he jumps off willingly, sauntering over to the couch and hopping on it.

     "Never better!" Imogene is a bright, cheery girl who is optimistic about anything and everything and Cress likes her and all, but seriously? It's morning and way too early to be anything but grumpy. She smiles at her anyway.