|we are royal.||Help Search Members Calendar Shop Tag Box|
|Welcome Guest ( Log In | Register )||Resend Validation Email|
Posted: Oct 7 2016, 11:09 PM
Choi Ha-Neul slytherin sixth year
England, non-descript location. birthplace
32 posts post count
Moony (Literally whatever.) author
Ha-Neul tapped his fingers lightly on his thigh in frustration- it hardly seemed like it should be a challenging request to find a book about anti-fire enchantments. At this point he was almost tempted to just go to a muggle bookstore because he felt like they might have more useful information for him. Maybe he ought to just try to make his own spells. Ha-Neul groaned as he continued looking for a different set of books. His feet itched with desperation to just wander off and go look at a nice broom maintenance kit or something.
The whole thing was incredibly annoying to him. He had spent years practicing Quidditch- and realistically he should be spending his back to school shopping practically flying with glee to buy new robes to match his shiny captain's badge, and yet here he was looking for fire prevention spells instead because the librarian kept threatening to keep him and the rest of his fellow dragonkin out of the library for fear of the sparks they let out and the heat they raised. (Which was fair- the shop assistant was looking at the smoke bellowing off his skin with notable concern- concern which was not unfounded.)
Ha-Neul felt like he ought to stomp out of the store but he couldn't come up with anywhere except for the middle of the street where he was less likely to set things on fire- and there he was more likely to set people on fire. "AUgh- Can someone lease tell me where to find a book on fire prevention or how to deal with it- THAT DOESN'T USE WATER." He said with smoke starting to fall from his open mouth.
Posted: Oct 8 2016, 06:41 PM
Moirin Doherty Fifth Year Slytherin
Dublin, Ireland birthplace
2 posts post count
Lief (He/she/it) author
Mr. Doherty accompanied his daughter Moirin school shopping so that she couldn’t miss-spend the money he had allotted for her educational equipment, and Moirin couldn’t help but think he was treating her a hair too much like a baby. This was her fifth year at Hogwarts, and she made it a goal to be more mature, and yet here she was walking at the hip of her father from store to store, trying to catch a glimpse of his shopping list as it bobbed up and down in his hand.
The money wasn’t a problem. It never was. Moirin’s father threw money at some of the most ridiculous crap as though he wanted to show people that he had the ability to part with a few hundred of whatever currency he was dealing with. As a man who was well traveled, he was never short on cash from any country—wizard or muggle—and he never hesitated to hand over his card, either. But after last year, when he had allowed Moirin to buy her own supplies, he had vowed that as long as the money was coming from his wallet, she wasn’t allowed to do her own school shopping ever again.
But the moment that they entered the bookstore, Moirin disappeared from her father’s side and immersed herself in the rows of book. She knew which books she needed, even if her father didn’t want her to see her book list—a little research on her upcoming school subjects had paid off. Moirin inhaled deeply, the smell of ancient volumes of long-forgotten magic mixing with the new pages of freshly-printed texts, and—and . . . smoke?
Moirin hesitated and took another deep breath through her nostrils to confirm what she smelled. Yes, that was smoke. She crept to the end of the bookshelves and peered around the corner. There was a boy with smoke twirling away from his lips, as though he had just inhaled a flame, like those people at the circus who swallow burning swords. Moirin realized then that she knew him. He was in her house and was a year older than her. In fact, she was pretty certain that he was on the quidditch team for Slytherin.
At first, she wanted to slip back between the rows of books and forget that she had seen him, but she remembered the promise she had made to herself for the beginning of the school year: She would try, to the best of her ability, to be more social. So with a deep breath, she took a step around the corner and away from the shelves towards the older student.
“What are you . . . trying to not light on fire?” she asked.