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This Week the Trend; >> Sheldon Wood <<
Topic Started: Sep 12 2006, 01:56 PM (187 Views)
Iain Finnigan
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Gryffindor Student
Cold was settling over Hogwarts. Though, it hadn't snowed yet, the chill in the air was enough to send most of the Hogwarts students scurrying into their respective common rooms after classes. The house elves kept the fires well stocked, and the food in the Great Hall was hot. They said the snow would come soon, that soon the grounds of Hogwarts would be blanketed in at least a foot of soft, white, cold snow, which would then cause mass outbreaks of snowball fights, fort and snowman building, snow angels, and many, many other things. It was a time of celebration, of the washing away of the old, in preparation for the new to come in the spring. Well, the mostly new as some things didn't really die as just go to 'sleep'.

It was funny, because Iain would have never guessed that he and Devon would split. She was avoiding him like the plague, and Iain wondered what was actually behind her telling him that it was over, instead of the reason she gave. "I just need time to myself. I can't do this anymore." she had said. For the longest time, Iain had wanted to blame Noah. He assumed that Noah had something to do with it, somehow. But, it wasn't Noah, and it wasn't anything that could be fixed, and so now Iain was just going to have to move on, without his best friend, his partner in crime. It was heartbreaking for the young Gryffindor, but he would never, ever breath a word of it to anyone, except maybe his older sister, Liona. He needed to talk to her, as it had been a long while since they'd really talked.

This day, he was out in the cold, which made him feel comfort, if he really thought about it. At least it matched his mood. He felt sort of empty, as if nothing would ever be right in the world. It wasn't about the end of his romantic relationship with Devon, it was about the loss of her friendship, at least for the time being. He just wanted some sense of normality, something that was entirely his own. And so, he and his broom were out on the pitch, and he flew, spiralling higher and higher, doing flips and tricks and death-defying dives. After a time, he flew to the middle hoop at one end of the pitch, one of his favorite hangouts, and sat at the top of it, balanced precariously above the ground. Aiming his wand near the ground, he said, "Accio!" and held out his hand as his lunch came flying to him.
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