𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐒 ━ OLIVER WOOD.

27. Falling To Pieces

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booksmarts and broomsticks
act ii , take a breath
chapter twenty-seven , falling to pieces

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➖DRIA LOCKABY➖
may 1993

        UPON RETURNING TO the Common Room that night, Dria thought it suitable to witness and fully appreciate Tess' excessive apologies before revealing — after a good ten minutes — that Figaro had been found un-petrified and well. The dark haired girl was more than thrilled that the cat had been found and declared she was ever indebted to him. According to Tess, if he hadn't gone missing she would never have spent the evening with Una — an occasion that the Robbins girl was labelling the 'greatest night of her life'. So, while Figaro was happily curled in place next to Dria pillow, the Robbins girl launched into a — far too — in depth retelling of her evening with the Head Girl.

        Dria's fellow Gryffindor was just thrilled that, as a follow up from the Figaro's reappearance, she would be able to inform Una; giving her another chance to get lost in those 'green eyes that shine like emeralds—'. In all honesty, the blonde was far too wiped out from her study/therapy session with Wood — and still relishing how his hand had felt upon hers — to fully soak in every detail of Tess' two and a half hour debrief. Nonetheless, she would nod and smile, trying desperately to resist the clutches of sleep that were becoming more and more tempting each time Tess launched into another description of another of Una's features; Dria managed to settle the Robbins girl before she could start describing the red-head's lips and eventually convinced her to sleep.

         And with the closing of her eyes, Dria let that eventful Valentine's Day come to an end, her view of the occasion having undergone the slightest of shifts as a result of the events of said day.

         The incidents of that Valentine's Day quickly faded into memories — albeit very fond ones — as the next few months blurred in the run up to the end of year exams. Dria watched the winter slowly melt into spring, from every flowering blossom to every fresh drop of dew upon the morning grass. She was happy upon the reflecting that those months had been nothing more than simply mundane — it appeared that the Heir of Slytherin, whomever he ('or she!' as Tess had once corrected her) may have been, had some respect for the end of year exams, as there had yet to be anymore attacks on Muggleborn students.