𝐵𝐿𝐴𝐶𝐾 𝑊𝐼𝐷𝑂𝑊

𝐴 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝑂𝑅𝑌 𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑀 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑃𝐴𝑆𝑇

STIRRING HER POTION, SHE LOOKED UP AS SHE HEARD THE DOOR OPEN. Flipping a piece of her red hair out of her eyes, she raised her eyebrow at the young boy who stood in the doorway. Snape sneered, looking at the tiny boy in distaste. "Yes, Mr. Creevy?" He drawled out, the boy cowering back from the intimidating man. The blonde-haired boy glanced at Natasha, who waved her fingers at him. Blood flowed to his cheeks and ears, looking quite flustered by the girl.

"Um, Professor Dumbledore sent me to get N-Natasha. The D-Daliy Prophet is here, along with Mr. Olivander." He stuttered out, holding his camera tightly. Snape rolled his eyes, barking out Natasha's last name, and for her to get her things.

Turning off her fire, she quickly packed up her books and swung her bag over her shoulder. Walking over to Snape's desk, she whispered softly, "I'll finish the potion if you want later." Getting a sneer in return, she took that as a yes and walked out the room with Creevy.

His fingers seemed to twitch around the camera that was hung around his neck, glancing at her every few seconds. Raising an eyebrow, she gave the younger boy a look. "So," She started, startling Creevy, "Are you taking pictures for them?"

He nodded quickly, a look of excitement in his eyes, "Oh, yeah!" He exclaimed, a smile on his face, "Dumbledore wanted to know if I wanted to take the pictures, and I immediately agreed! I mean, I love taking pictures, and-- Hey, do you mind if I get a picture of you for my dad? I think it would be really cool if I sent him a picture of a famous person. He's a milkman, so--"

Zoning out the boy, she just let him run his mouth. He'd probably run out of energy with how fast he was talking. Tom appeared next to her, an annoyed look on his usually neutral (or sneering) face. "He doesn't shut up, does he?" He asked, narrowing his grey eyes at the chattering boy.

Rolling her eyes mentally, she chuckled quietly, Please, Tom. You literally never shut up, either. He's just excited by his hobby, and the chance he gets. All you talk about is... whatever your emo mind goes on about. She retorted, smirking slightly at his offended face.

"I am not emo!" He exploded, crossing his arms over his chest grumpily. "I am just emotionally mature, and don't dress in hideous colors," he smirked, looking down at her. Pursing her lips, trying to hold in the laugh that wanted to make its way out of her mouth. Emotionally mature? Was he serious? Did he really think that? He literally throws a hissy fit every time she turns down an idea of his. While yes, she may be an assassin and spy, she does have some morals. She's not about to carve about some man's heart because he has upset Tom. God, he really needed to get into therapy. 

Walking into the room, she glanced at everyone in the room. There was a blonde woman in an outrageous green dress and a manipulative gleam in her eyes. Next were the other champions. A young, blonde french woman and her headmistress. Next was a Bulgarian boy, who had a shaved head, and his headmaster, who looked like he smelled like cow shit and looked like he hadn't brushed his teeth in days. Next was the other Hogwarts Champion, Cedric Diggory, who gave her a kind smile and went back to what he was doing. Dumbledore was also there, but he honestly looked like he was in his own world.