❝Give 'em hell kids❞
In which Harry Potter decides he needs the help of a certain troublemaker to make it through his Third Year at Hogwarts.
[The Prisoner of Azkaban - The Deathly Hallows]
Deze afbeelding leeft onze inhoudsrichtlijnen niet na. Verwijder de afbeelding of upload een andere om verder te gaan met publiceren.
[Frankie]
𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐭!
Frankie knew she was destined for hell as soon as she erupted into laughter at the sight of a hysterical Pansy Parkinson. With everything going on in Pansy's life, from her developing crush on a particularly headstrong redhead in the year below them to her suicidal fish, Frankie knew she was supposed to be providing Pansy with sound advice. Or, at the very least, a way to take her mind off what Pansy described as 'the most important thing that was happening in either of their lives.
Frankie couldn't do that, though.
Especially when Pansy tended to be a little overdramatic. She had come hurtling into the library, screaming hysterically, with scissors in one hand and another over her bangs. Frankie had already dealt with this problem twice over the three years of their friendship, it was a terrible habit Pansy had started when kids in their year were being petrified, and Pansy was scared Frankie could be next. For Pansy, it was a way of keeping control in uncontrollable situations, and Frankie was certain it would only worsen if she didn't at least try and stop it. Although Frankie did have to say, the hilarity of the situation still hadn't toned down since the last time Pansy had done it, and there wasn't much else at Hogwarts that made Frankie laugh.
Frankie let out a small smile, taking the scissors from Pansy's hand and dangling them on her pinkie, "I don't think Madame Pince would appreciate me opening a hair salon in her library,"
Pansy sat up, swinging her leg around to face Frankie, "Francesca, this is serious. Look at my hair,"
Frankie broke their staring competition, moving her eyes to Pansy's wonky bangs. Frankie had to admit that her hairstyle skills were improving each time she pulled the stunt. Perhaps by their seventh year, Pansy wouldn't need Frankie as her hairstylist.
"Alright, don't move," Frankie warned, letting Pansy get into a comfortable position.
There wasn't much for Frankie to fix up this time, cutting into the bangs to get rid of the heaviness. If she didn't know any better, she would have assumed Pansy hadn't gotten her hair cut through the holidays in preparation for her bang breakdown. Frankie pulled out bits of the hair tucked behind Pansy's ears to frame her face, evening the bangs. Setting down the scissors, Frankie cupped Pansy's face, "Done, now stop being an idiot,"
