Ginny Weasley (defiantlioness) wrote in ageofdarkness, @ 2010-04-18 03:22:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ginny weasley, nearly headless nick |
WHO: Ginny Weasley and OPEN
WHAT: Laundry Day
WHERE: Corridor
WHEN: Afternoonish
WHY: Because someone has to do the laundry. It doesn't do itself, you know.
RATING: IDK, probably low
STATUS: Incomplete
The worry about Neville had only increased over the last few days. The new librarian asking questions had done little to ease Ginny's nerves about her friend and she spent whatever free moment she had staring at the spot on the map that held his name. It hadn't moved, but it hadn't gone away. She didn't know what it meant. She feared the worst. There had to be some way of getting to him, but with Rosier she knew the risk of getting caught attempting to break into his room was too high. She'd be signing her death wish as well as Neville's and it wouldn't be quick and painless.
On top of that, the kicked-puppy act she'd been having to put on while not in Pansy's room was proving to be a little bit more exhausting than she'd first anticipated. She felt a little guilty acting as though her life had become loads more difficult since the return of her assigned student, though just the opposite was the case. She still had her duties to perform, of course, but now it was mostly for show. So no one would become suspicious of either of them. Ginny understood completely the need for it. The consequences for anyone finding out what was actually happening were too grim to think about. Better to act as though Pansy was as horrible a wench as Greengrass-the-older than to let on that the two had formed some odd sort of friendship.
And so it was laundry day. A day that the redhead never really minded. Laundry was therapeutic for her. Reminded her of her Mum in all the most pleasant ways. The smell of the soap, the feel of the soft fabrics, the calming brought on as the dirt was scrubbed away. It was relaxing. Still, her necessary show of being burdened as she clumsily made her way through the corridor with the oversized laundry basket filled with clothes. Her arms didn't quite fit around and it was just too heavy for her to be able to manage easily. She could barely see overtop of the pile and though she'd rather move quickly through the corridor to ease herself of the load, she was more afraid of bumping into someone and having the clothes explode every which direction. She looked vaguely ridiculous as she half-waddled down the hall, trying not to drop or trip.