- Isn't it strange how the tangible pleasures of summers lessen considerably once one got to a certain age? Rather, that brilliant quest for summer fun dimmed once one actually attained it; it was the pursuit and chase for it that made summer sit on such a high pedestal. Delana Dobbs sighed as she lolled on an armchair in the parlour, Isaac Asimov's The End of Eternity in one hand, the beloved old copy dogeared and worn. Hmm? Did you think that Delana Dobbs, the queen bee of Ravenclaw, Miss Too-Good-For-You-And-That's-A-Fact never read for pleasure, only for class? Well, we certainly thought so too. She closed her eyes dramatically and as if making a sudden decision, suddenly stood up. She was getting cabin fever, she decided. Her parents were out, per usual, leaving the teenage girl all by herself. Her loyal
She rushed up stairs to snatch her bag and left the house. Naturally, she had passed her Apparation test with flying colors, and crack! She was in a discreet corner in downtown London on Charing Cross Road. Tossing her long blonde curls over a shoulder, head held high like the princess that she was, she strode regally through the Leaky Cauldron into the magical shopping center known as Diagon Alley. Was it her imagination, or did things seem a bit... unusual? Large hazel eyes left nothing unexamined as she walked further. Of course, she was no fool, she regularly kept up with the news of her adopted Wizarding world; she knew nasty things were going down, but for heaven's sake, it was two in the afternoon! And it was Diagon Alley! Nothing horrible was going to happen to her here, yes? No spooky You-Know-Who nor his cloaked followers, right?
Well then. Despite the amount of boarded up windows she had passed, at least Twilfitt and Tatting's would be open, one of her favourite shops! She turned to head purposefully in the other direction, however, she never anticipated the sharp elbow that would so rudely shove into her stomach. Winded for a moment, Delana gasped, and glanced up; the hurt! It took less than a second to realize that it was on purpose, as an old witch glared hatefully at her. "Mudblood," the witch snarled, spitting at her feet, and turned away. Astonishment and surprise were replaced with red hot sun of rage, and the pain in her stomach forgotten, she narrowed her eyes and straightened to her full height. She would take that old cow, shake her by the shoulders hard, and tell her exactly what she could do with herself in that wonderfully, passive-aggresive bitchy way of her's (only this time, she would lay off the passive and up the aggressive), because how dare she insult Delana Dobbs.
Only, her swift battle plan that had been formulated in approxmiately two seconds out of anger would never happen, as someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she whirled around, curls flying. "Yes?" she demanded, her tone terse, her face rigid in irritation.
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