honeysuckle. (cedric diggory.)

eight. ( a lover's spat! )

ELAINE GALLAGHER, with the tenderness of a butterfly and a heart softer than satin flower petals, was very slow to anger. Annoyance, frustration, fury — these were words merely used to describe feelings others felt; any negative feeling of her own was so fleeting Elaine barely assigned labels to them. She merely thought of them as a slip of cloud that had momentarily passed over her sun, but the wind would be quick to blow that shade away. She always hesitated to refer to herself as angry, even on her stormiest days ( which were few and far between ), because there usually was, in her opinion, a much more constructive way to frame such negative feelings without succumbing to the darkness they defined.

But there was no better way to frame it then, she had decided, and Elaine was really quite angry at Cedric Diggory.

So angry, in fact, that she had done the one thing she had sworn to never do, and they had engaged in the one dreadful act she had never thought they would. She had raised her voice. They had argued. And she had then stormed off. ( She really was not one to storm off; truth be told, she thought she had looked a little silly. But she needed a dramatic exit. )

She was also very angry at Blake Barrett, which truly wasn't something she was all that shocked about, as his behavior didn't particularly surprise her. But Cedric —

Fuming, she blindly hurried through the lengthy corridors, the tap-tap-taps of her soles echoing on the stone. She hardly knew where she was going, only that she got as far away from the courtyard as she possibly could. She wanted to find Milo. She also wanted to be alone — to stew for a few more moments, because she really didn't want to let go of the anger yet.

"Elaine!" a voice cried, but she kept her head down and tried to tune the voice out, because she really did not want to speak to him at present! "Elaine!"

There was the sound of someone running, of two people running, and then a soft hand was on her shoulder ( which she promptly tore away ) and hot, angry tears were spilling down her cheeks like a wildfire. Which was another thing she hated. She was angry, for Merlin's sake! She didn't want to cry! And, of course, crying made her even more angry, because then she was upset with herself— it was just a nasty cycle, really. Emotions. Her body went rigid as she hastily scrubbed at her damp cheeks.