They're usually pretty and nice and stuff. Perfectly fine girl-shaped things. Most of 'em are totally cool.
But, then, most of them don't come home with him. Not home with him instead of her. Eating Mrs. Potter's food and complimenting Lily's hair and sticking around, being all pretty and nice and stuff while she was stuck writing stupid essays about World War II and glaring holes into her wall.
Which, by the way, totally sucks.
So when she shoves herself through the Boy's Door and slams it shut in his face, abandoning him to talk to somebody (anybody!) else about how pretty and nice Gwen smells, it isn't his room that she tosses herself into.
She kinda isn't that stupid. And James wouldn't just barge into Albus' room. Not like she would, anyway.
Her head tips back at the sound of the door opening, managing to look not even remotely guilty about having stolen one of his pillows for where she's sacked out on his floor, "Hi, Albus. How's it goin'?"
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They're usually pretty and nice and stuff. Perfectly fine girl-shaped things. Most of 'em are totally cool.
But, then, most of them don't come home with him. Not home with him instead of her. Eating Mrs. Potter's food and complimenting Lily's hair and sticking around, being all pretty and nice and stuff while she was stuck writing stupid essays about World War II and glaring holes into her wall.
Which, by the way, totally sucks.
So when she shoves herself through the Boy's Door and slams it shut in his face, abandoning him to talk to somebody (anybody!) else about how pretty and nice Gwen smells, it isn't his room that she tosses herself into.
She kinda isn't that stupid. And James wouldn't just barge into Albus' room. Not like she would, anyway.
Her head tips back at the sound of the door opening, managing to look not even remotely guilty about having stolen one of his pillows for where she's sacked out on his floor, "Hi, Albus. How's it goin'?"
What? Nothing to see here. Nothing at all.