𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗧𝗼 𝗦𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘄 𝗔 𝗦𝗹𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻 | 𝗗.𝗠.

24 | ﴾ Identify The Outlier ﴿

Late again.

What a habit to have. 

In all honesty it was quite accidental and innocent, but nonetheless made everybody consistently despise Audette upon arrival as if she were Satan.

Audette's petite slippers pelted against the precast stone slabbing: a stampede of one in the empty, dark hallways at Hogwarts.

Hysteria was the word that Friday morning, the long skirt of her pale lavender dress flowing like a silk river behind the small goddess. She picked up both sides of her lavish gown to increase speed, the bow at the back bouncing menacingly.

Malfoy was going to be furious. The hour had struck ten, and they were all expected to be in the Great Hall by nine-thirty.

Audette was conceivably the type to be uselessly dysfunctional without an unruly amount of nightly sleep, and had been so exhausted from the dazzling sexual run-in the night before that when he'd left in the morning she had sat on her bed after dressing and mistakenly passed back out.

On the first floor she paused to wipe at her nose which had started to run, choking on her winded breaths. Fuck fuck fuck.

She could hear nothing coming from the gathering space but Malchom McDiarmada's heavily accented Irish lilt - the Erenholl Headmaster - giving a proud speech on behalf of his school. 

So it would be the Irish themed trial that day. 

Okay, it will be fine, perfectly jolly, just walk in there as if you are invisible, she thought miserably, frowning at the closed double doors which Argus Filch was waltzing around in front of like a mangy guard dog.

Audette pushed herself off of the wall, adjusting the braided ring of hair encircling her loose wavy strands - dotted of course with delightful navy seashells that popped in contrast to her sunny locks.

Straightening her spine she marched towards the entrance and was abruptly halted by a sharp hiss. At her feet Mrs. Norris - Filch's morbid flee-ridden feline with bloody red orbs - had stopped Audette in her tracks.

The scent of unwashed armpits and rotten teeth gave away that Filch had strode up to her rapidly, "Tad la-Te today, aren't we?"

For what particular reason he felt the need to emphasize T's with a blunt shoo of air through his gnarled teeth had always soared over Audette's head.

She flinched her viridian eyes at him, "How would you know anyways? You're clearly not invited."

As though it were his first time laying eyes upon the feature, Filch's dark gaze scanned theatrically upon the twelve foot high monolithic carved doors, integrated with steel bolts the size of clementines, "Shut innit? Someone's got to guard this 'ere egress, from trespassers such as yourselF." 

Add F to the list.

Somehow, the unambitious role of guarding a doorway had him smiling proudly as though he'd just won a Nobel Prize.

"I'm not a trespasser, I'm a student!" Audette bellowed in fury at the irksome squib barring her passage, "And I'll have you know my father is the Event Beast Master - shall I tell him that there is a wretched cat roaming these halls that would serve as excellent dragon fodder?"

Filch shook on the spot in appall at the empty threat. "Meesis Norris come 'ere," he barked disgustingly, picking up the awful cat as if it were his biological child to cross his arms around her protectively, "Very well. Your funeral." 

He bared his black gums at her, turning to wander a few feet away while whispering strange notions to the crusty feline.

Audette prodded open one ancient door, cringing when it seemed as though the architectural element was working alongside Filch to purposely humiliate her by producing a wooden crack that split the air like a gunshot.