Sweet, pure and completely un-slutty. Perhaps it was just that Dorrie had no concept of labels. Blame it on the small, tight-knit family she grew up in. Or the fact that her holidays weren't wasted with friends, but with Nana. Cloak draped over her shoulders just barely, with the hood the only thing connected to her. The black fabric blotted with water, as though she had just come in from the rain. Two books clung tightly to her chest, once protected by pulling the clock tightly around her frame. Once past the Fat Lady, she pushed the thing away and gave it a good shake. Water flew off in random directions, probably even splattering the oddly approaching James Potter. James Potter?
Snapping her attention up at the boy, her eyes immediately widened. Silent, for a moment, she had nothing to say. Why on Earth was he speaking to her? Never once had they even addressed one another. Love? Did he just call her love? As quickly as confusion knotted its way in her brow, it just as soon passed, smoothing out the expressions as though a new thought had just arrived. "You're going to die," she muttered lowly.
Dorcas hadn't even realised what she said until it was spoken. Startled, she shook the thought from her and shifted back into the more reserved posture. Cloak now draped over one arm. "Pleasant enough, Potter, ta."