A young woman sits in a crowded, lavish museum. Her dull silvery grey eyes, which are wide open, giving her a permanent look of astonishment, and her long, wavy light blonde hair, create a paradox as she both stands out and blends in with her surroundings. She blends in as one of the paintings on the high, elegant wall.
But she is not on the partition; she is sitting on an elongated, red velvet couch. She is not the only one sitting however; there are people, both great and small devoured in the paintings. She is staring at the paintings, but not in awe. She is wondering, speculating why the figures do not move, why they do not talk, why they do not react to their surroundings.
'Perhaps,' she considers to herself, 'it is the nargarls.' She gazes down at the luxurious red lounge, rushing her fingers of the funny feeling material. She does not appreciate the feel of the velvet. It sends shivers through her fingers, making her clench her small fists tightly. She guides her hands up to her neck as slowly squeezes the butter beer cork necklace she made for herself to ward them off.
She unlocks her ears and slowly the sound rushes into her mind. The people around her a nattering deafeningly. She doesn't like to eavesdrop, but the words of the muggles around her are so similar to the sounds of the mandrakes.
She pulls herself out of a trance. The paintings that do not move on the walls do not interest her any more. She is wondering more about the muggles. They seem so interesting, so oblivious to the world around them. How do they get around without floo powder, or broomsticks? 'Maybe, I should have taken Muggle Studies at Hogwarts.'
She watches them intently, as individuals stroll around the room, some with hopeful looks in their eyes, other almost in a daydream. But none of them take any notice of her; they do not give her a second glance. They probably think she is with the local institute.
Some of them have odd white coloured strings falling out of their ears. Other individuals have black, and some of them have large ones that seem to cover their whole ears.
She laughs quietly to herself. But then she notices one individual who stands out from the rest. He has a worried, pained look on his face, just as usual. He stumbles slowly from one leg to the other. People past him in a flash with a dirty look.
Their eyes meet. He slowly walks over to where she is placed on the bench and sits down.
They do not look at each other after the initial contact.
They do not even talk.
They sit in silence for hours, watching the muggle world and watching the paintings.
Slowly the crowd decreases, it is coming time for the museum to close its doors. The young man looks down at her finger nails. They create a nice warm, blue contrast to the otherwise red couch, and he slowly takes her hand is his. She looks at him, and gazes slowly into his eyes.
They stand up in unison, slowly walking towards the exit that seems so close now that they are looking for it.
They do not want to leave. But if they must, they will leave together.