Delilah tossed her bag into an armchair in the Ravenclaw dormitory, rubbing her eyes and temples, tired, her head buzzing. She fumbled about in her leather satchel, pulling out a small tin disk about the size of her palm, set with twelve small circular indentations in a ring, and one in the center. Following this she pulled out a suede bag of marbles, all different colors and swirling faintly inside of the glass. Carefully choosing thirteen, she set them in the disk, which held them, surprisingly. She settled the necklace over her head, music playing inside of her mind from the song spheres as she had heard Muggle CD players did. Her grandmother's melodious voice soothed through her worry to the gentle arias from the old woman's triumphant days as the lead roll in the wizarding opéra, "Sorcières de la Mer."
She pulled out a narrow raven feather quill and opened a roll of parchment on her Potions homework, aiming to relax a little by doing what she had loved best.
What had Sundari said that she'd seen in the Great Hall? Richard, horrendously distraught, near tears, leaving a crying Tanzy in the middle of the Gryffindor table. She smoothed her brows with her cool fingers, trying to concentrate on the herbs in front of her, seeing everything with perfect clairt and knowing the answer, but unable to remain focused on putting it on paper.
Fretting, dreading, she'd tried to find Richard--no luck. Now, in the evening, with no success, and she'd retired, sighing.
"Merde," she muttered. She needed to talk to someone, anyone, about anything at all--no, she corrected, scowling, she needed to talk to a female, about males. Not a gossipmonger and their curiosity over the ordeal that morning, but simple discussion. She glowered into her textbook, banging her head into the crease with an air of sighing punishment. "Saloperie," she grumbled to no-one.