HH_mirror

((Or: I torture a criminally underplayed pup because it amuses me.))

It had all been going so well.

Meg had, earlier, paid a visit to Professor Granger, looking for recommendations to further her independent study interests. The professor had been willing to help, but after seeing that some of Meg's wandwork could use improvement, she'd sent her to look for a few Charms texts in the library.

Meg had been practicing her wand technique for quite some time when she noticed a charm written in the margin of the library book she'd been using. She'd at first been disgusted by such outright vandalism of school property, but then her curiosity got the better of her, and she cast the spell on herself, thus proving the old addage that book smart people don't always think practically.

Immediately, her head felt light, and her mind felt as if it were miles away from her body. Her stomach roiled, and she felt dizzy. She cursed herself for being all kinds of foolish, and stumbled to her feet. Immediately, the room began to spin and she had to brace herself against a bookshelf to keep on her feet.

She didn't trust herself to figure out how to reverse the spell on her own, and so she decided she'd better find someone grown-up and capable of doing magical things to fix it for her.

More than a little frightened, she made her way out of the library and down the hall, still hoping to encounter a kind soul who wouldn't laugh too much at her predicament. Her gait was lurching and stumbling, and occasionally she ran into walls and doors. This made her either want to giggle or cry, she couldn't seem to decide which. She probably would not be capable of walking a straight line or reciting the alphabet backwards.

Poor Meg had hit herself with an intoxication spell. If this didn't cure her of the desire to drink illicit beverages before her 21st birthday, probably nothing would.

After much deliberation, an owl eventually winged its way to Hufflepuff and to Wolfram. It was a persistent sort of owl, which expected that it would be carrying a return missive.

( Owl to Wolfram, warded )

The owl was also carrying a small package containing a fresh cucumber and some more facial moisturizer.

Meg sat in the Great Hall, having consumed a large bowl of stew and some ice cream. She was scowling, which was hardly a foreign expression on her face, as she attempted to compose an owl.

There were several problems with this plan. The first was that Meg's handwriting was well nigh illegible on the best of days. And also, she was owling Wolfram in an attempt to get back into his good graces. Unfortunately, diplomacy was not her strong suit. She was nearly tempted to scrap this whole idea and consult the experts, like, she wasn't sure, maybe Professor Kusuriyuri, who seemed to have exquisite politeness down to an art form, or maybe that Yukimura man, the one who'd said she reminded him of a friend of his. However, she was pretty sure Yukimura's friend didn't have difficulty writing a simple letter.

Her attempts at correspondence were wadded up around her, and her current effort read something like:

Dear Wolfram:

I don't know if they have Christmas in Shin Makoku, but it's a tradition here where people give gifts to each other. I have a few people I want to shop for, and I wanted to actually see London. But I didn't want to go by myself. Would you like to come with me?

The rest was an even worse mess of cross-outs and illegible scrawls, but the gist of it seemed to be:

I'm sorry about those horrible things I said.. And I'm sorry I embarrassed you in front of your uncle..

That actually sounded OK, and she had just composed all of that onto a fresh sheet of parchment when the end of her quill accidentally snapped off and she further bumped the inkwell with her elbow, spilling ink all over the parchment.

She made an unladylike growl of frustration and did her best to clean up the mess, though the result was far from perfect and still less than legible.

With a heavy sigh, she folded the latest disastrous attempt at a note into a paper airplane and cocked her arm to throw it. "This is stupid," she muttered, rather louder than she meant to. "Why am I bothering?"



It should be noted, in case anyone was paying attention, that there were people between Meg and the nearest wastebasket. And that Meg's aim was pretty disastrous so far, as evidenced by the fact that some of her earlier attempts of correspondence had obviously met a similar fate.

((As always, feel free to interrupt and/or offer advice, sympathy, or tough love.))