Ursula Flint will just read a book instead. (uninterested) wrote in caged, @ 2013-08-19 01:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 97-08, [ backstory ], [ log ], tracey davis, ursula flint |
WHO: Ursula Flint, Tracey Davis, and a special awkward cameo from one Marcus Flint!
WHEN: BACKDATED; Saturday afternoon. August 10, 1997.
WHERE: Ursula’s house - bedroom, to be exact.
SUMMARY: Ursula and Tracey have a chat about Umbridge, the Ministry and their own lives before the trollish older brother interrupts.
RATING: PG?
STATUS: Completed Log
“She still sounds like she needs a throat lozenge.” Tracey rolled her eyes, restraining the urge to reach over and turned off the wireless. It was Ursula’s radio, however, and even though they were friends, that would be presumptuous. She crossed her legs beneath her, making herself more comfortable on Ursula’s bed. Factoring in Marcus, she had worn trousers, not a skirt, today. “Her taste in clothes likely hasn’t improved any either. I mean, I do like pink. But not quite that much of it.” Next to Umbridge’s usual attire, Pansy’s Yule Ball dress would had been subtle. For her part, Tracey had arrived on Ernie Macmillan’s arm in tasteful ivory. Having snorted in disbelief at the conclusion of the radio presentation, Ursula, who had previously been sprawled comfortably across the bed just a foot away from Tracey, was shaking her head even before mention of lozenges and fashion sense. Muggles stealing magic? “I’ve got bigger problems with her than that,” came the disbelieving statement, brown eyes focused on the now-squawking radio introducing the announcer for the regular show The Witching Hour, a wizard with an exceptionally deep voice. “Stealing magic? Are we meant to believe that without any proof?” Her indignation, to be fair, was more about the fact that the Ministry was still so unorganized as to throw out wild accusations like this to the public without definitive evidence: without any real explanation, all Umbridge’s announcement would do is cause panic among the Muggleborns. She had sat up abruptly halfway through the radio’s proclamation, not able to believe what was being broadcast and well aware that she was the targeted audience. Pure, uncertain, devoted to the Ministry. Firmly, she went on, “It’s sheer propaganda.” She looked to Tracey as if for support that she wasn’t bloody mad, that the Ministry really had just practically declared war on all Muggleborn wizards in such a casual way. “Now, now. She’s apparently releasing a pamphlet.” Tracey’s eyes rolled heavenward. “I’m sure that it will have proper annotations and formatted references and all that stuff. And many, many photographs of her cats.” In spite of her flippant tone, the subject at hand did make her feel a sliver of discomfort. Muggleborns to Tracey were the proverbial white elephant in the room - they were something that she never discussed. And she had more reason to keep quiet than most. “I don’t think cross-referencing and fact-checking really is a forte of the Ministry’s,” she added. “I mean, one year Potter’s telling lies; the next he’s the Chosen One, now he’s Unspeakable Number One. At least Umbridge likely won’t be hem-hemming in print form?” “I suspect it’ll be about the horrors of being different from one another, frankly,” came her dry response, void of anything but bitterness and uncertainty. “Next thing you know, they’ll be wanting to clone us Pures so that everyone looks precisely like me and walks precisely like me and talks precisely like me.” An immediate scoff showed what she thought of that. “It’s just Umbridge,” came the waspish retort. “We know quite well what she’s about, the toadish woman. The Ministry’s just having trouble figuring action from inaction.” Tossing her head as if to clear the intrusive thoughts, she went on as dismissively as she could manage despite being the vaguest bit uncertain, “I imagine once the new Minister settles in, he’ll sort it.” “An army of you?” Tracey shuddered theatrically, shooting the younger girl a grin to show that she was in jest. “That means they’ll be wanting to clone Marcus too. How do you feel about that?” “Yes, it was a shame that Scrimgeour couldn’t hack it,” she concluded with Ursula’s last comment. “I did expect him to be... tougher, I suppose. I mean, a former Auror and everything, it seems like he was picked as a direct response to You-Know-Who returning. Although who thought that Fudge would end up being as bad as he was? The Ministry needs to get itself sorted,” she added, more firmly than she had anticipated. “Come off it,” was her breezy response as she nudged the Slytherin nonchalantly, “If the world was full of an army of me, it’d be a better place. And the question is, how would you feel about an army of Marcus Flints, leering grins and all?” Her own grin in return had more of a mischievous feel to it, like she was in on a joke known only to the pair of them. “I expect they will, this year,” she said, corners of her mouth uncertainly grim as if her words didn’t quite match her opinion as of this precise moment: she had expected things to improve over the summer, as the Ministry got a chance to put their affairs in order, but if this was some kind of indication of the future.. She shook her head, clearing the thoughts, firmly reminding herself that Umbridge hadn’t exactly been the best the Ministry had to offer: Hogwarts had seen that firsthand. “How can I respond to that?” Tracey rejoined, laughing. “If I’m too positive, you’ll think that I like him. But I can’t be too critical as he is still your brother. Stuck between a rock, and a hard place.” “I expect they will too,” she echoed, readjusting her position on the bed so that she was now sitting cross-legged, then turned the topic back to Ursula and Marcus. “Merlin, I’m never sure whether to regret being an only child or be thankful for it.” She outright snorted, covering her mouth immediately afterward with both hands as if shocked at her own enthusiasm, then uncovered it to say coyly, “Are you sure you don’t? You’d make perfect lovely babies, and then we’d be sisters.” At the last word, she reached for Tracey’s hand melodramatically, as if that were the best part of the potential arrangement - which, given Marcus, maybe it was. Giving a moment of thought at the only child statement, though, she pondered aloud, almost reluctantly, “I wouldn’t get rid of him if I had the choice. But..” And here she wrinkled up her nose, half teasing and half serious. “Count your blessings.” “He might mature with age,” reflected Tracey fairly. “I highly doubt that I’m his type, however.” Even though Marcus presently seemed to have other ideas. “It must be nice in some ways to have an older brother or sister. With one like Marcus, I bet you never got bullied once at Hogwarts. When I was in first year, a third year in my house tried to make me do his History of Magic homework for him. I hexed his mouth shut. Which I was happy to, and no one ever bothered me again, but...” It must be nice to have family. Someone who has your back, no matter what. “If age is what he needs, I’m not sure more of it will help. He hasn’t exactly been using the last twenty-odd years wisely,” came her smart remark, the type that only a younger sibling could make without consequence; she raised her eyebrows once again at Tracey’s assertion that she wasn’t Marcus’ type. So far as his younger sister could see, the only type Marcus had comprised of two things: pretty, and out of his league. Not to say he hadn’t gotten the odd date now and again, and she’d wondered once or twice if he might have swaggered in Millicent Bulstrode’s direction despite her being-- well, Millicent Bulstrode, but she was quite sure that if Tracey had been amenable, Marcus would snatch her up in a heartbeat. Rather than saying that, however, she went on with furrowed brows, “Not bullied, no. But there’s a certain charm to being shrewdly watched by half the professors who knew Marcus as that outright bully. I know McGonagall wasn’t sure what to expect from me, at least.” Then, with a casual shrug, “But no, I never had to worry about anybody trying to force me into anything. Marcus never expressed a lot of affection toward me, but to beat up on me was to beat up on him, and that was a risk not many would be willing to take.” “We were all a little stunned when you landed in Ravenclaw,” Tracey agreed with a laugh. Not that she had ever thought that Marcus was stupid; simply that he was not naturally academic and even less inclined to try. “Bole had been saying that if you’d ended up in Gryffindor, he’d have hexed you no matter who your older brother was. Funny though, Marcus was never in the vicinity whenever he said this.” “You would have been fine in Slytherin,” she continued, more seriously. “It’s a funny house. Not as bad as what it seems from the outside, and it isn’t that we’re not close, but it’s a different sense of closeness to what you’d get in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, I imagine. There’s camaraderie, but you sort of have to, I don’t know, prove yourself in the beginning? I’m not sure how to explain it.” “You wouldn’t have been if you’d known me, though,” retorted Ursula, sounding much more offended than she actually was - even Marcus had told her he fully expected her to end up in Slytherin, though his was more a bragging right about how fantastic Slytherin was and how Ursula couldn’t possibly have wanted to wear any colours but silver and green, like him. It had been years later (full of more scorn and snickers at her blue and bronze and the readiness with which she adapted to being a Ravenclaw) before she realized there might have been an affectionate reason for his insistence on her Sorting. Not that they’d ever discuss it. “Thankfully, we’re all pretty accepting of our lot from the start in Ravenclaw,” she said, smiling charmingly at her Slytherin friend. “We have those of us like Oswald who already know everything and those of us like Luna who think we know everything - but at the very least, we’re all generally pretty rational, and that makes for a calm Common Room.” Then, with a small shrug, “Opal and Marcus and all you lot have told me I’d make a brilliant Slytherin, if it weren’t for that ‘constantly reading thing I keep doing’.” She pulled a face and let her voice go nasal for the last six words, clearly imitating her older brother’s disgust for her habit of carrying a paperback everywhere she went. “Oh, I agree that you’re where you should be,” Tracey said. “Although it’s not as if Slytherin doesn’t have its share of bookworms. There’s Theodore, Daphne, Lance, and me, of course. Opal, Lilith and I have ‘our’ table in one of the quieter corners; Blaise joins us sometimes, and Daphne too when the weather is bad. Theodore too. Draco usually studies by the fire. Dylan manages to do well too, around his prefect schedule. If you took Vincent and Gregory out of the equation-” although she did have a slight fondness for the latter “-we would probably be the highest academic achievers, after yourselves. Marcus mustn’t have looked too closely in our direction.” She shoot Ursula a grin. How things had changed... “I must not have looked too closely where now?” The drawl started from outside her doorway - a sign that Marcus had been told who was upstairs, as his room was halfway across the house and he had little reason to come up to Ursula’s room in the first place except to bother her about something or another; generally, it was the house elves who delivered any sort of pertinent message to her. But the door creaked open and her brother, massive muscular troll that he was, took up nearly the entire doorway as he smiled (lips closed, thankfully) at the pair of girls reclined on Ursula’s bed, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway as though it somehow made it seem more casual that he’d come up to say hello or whatnot. Ursula exchanged a momentary look with Tracey, stifled giggles her only gift to the friend who was so obviously cornered, before she replied dryly to her brother, “At the house, for one thing. Don’t you sleep on the eastern side?” “Shut it,” came Marcus’ casual, almost automatic dismissal of his younger sister, though his gaze was focused on Tracey, in that way adolescent boys have when they’re trying most fervently to earn the attention of a particular girl: the more attention focused on them, the more attention they might be willing to give back. “Mum’s looking for you downstairs, go see what she wants.” With a look that very much questioned the reliability of that statement, Ursula shook her head but began to climb off the bed to head downstairs, shooting Tracey a look once she was past the hulking form of her brother, who was obviously there for his own personal brand of flirting (which mostly consisted of the same three smalltalk questions over and over, and a retelling of his latest adventure, nearly always something to do with alcohol or Quidditch), that clearly communicated the message, ‘good luck.’ Speak of the, well... “I hope that she doesn’t keep you too long,” said Tracey to Ursula. It sounded like a typical throwaway comment that one friend may make to another in the wake of unwanted parental attention; except in this case, it had the coded message of please, please don’t be away for too long. “Perhaps Mrs. Flint wants my help as well?” she suggested hopefully to Marcus, eyeing Ursula’s departing back with a discreet look of longing. Fortunately the relative lack of contrast in her skin colour meant that blushing didn’t readily show up on her face, but she could feel her cheeks reddening beneath the steadiness of Marcus’ attention. Tracey Davis was feeling distinctly awkward. |