Bullies and Teenage Girls
Florence hears Bertha's complaining, the incessant nattering about one topic or the other. She has tuned out long ago; she can't stand the meaningless chatter, words and sentences that mean absolutely nothing to her, clashing harmonies unable to find rhythm.
She thinks it's a little bit ironic, really; her cousin, born to the same good, noble, and intelligent family as her own, unable to tell the difference between an owl and a bird. (That may have been an exaggeration, but Florence had gotten her point across, right?)
She had been reading a book on etymology one night – the Ravenclaw common room has a brilliant selection of books – and stumbled upon the name Bertha, with the definition in scrawled handwriting next to it. Old High German, derived from Berchta, meaning "sparkling or intelligent one." She had a good laugh over it.
The drone of McGonagall is loud and clear over Bertha, who's currently complaining over her brother's manners. "And what a pig he is," she insists, shaking her head. A Hufflepuff boy in front of them turns around, grins, and laughs, causing a blotchy red to appear on her cheeks.
Florence purses her lips – Bertha's said that it makes her look like an old woman, you're only sixteen, Flo, but she doesn't care.
She wonders if it gets better outside of Hogwarts, if the boys stop caring about girls like Bertha, who can curl their hair with their fingers and bat their eyelashes like she reads books. If there's anyone outside who knows how to have actual intelligent conversation, not simpering about someone's hair or someone's boyfriend or don't those Quidditch robes hug him perfectly, Flo? Don't they?
She has only kissed a boy once – her cousin's boyfriend, actually – and it was wet and sloppy and positively disgusting, an experience she wishes to never repeat. Bertha had turned the corner, and there Florence was, entangled with him. She doesn't know why she did it, actually – maybe it was to get a reaction out of Bertha, maybe to show her that you can't trust other people, they're unreliable and uncertain.
Bertha had turned red, and a week later, she'd teased him so badly other students were jeering and laughing, and he'd hexed her all the way to Sunday.
Sometimes she still hears the story of how I caught my cousin snogging my boyfriend. Yes, I said that right. I mean, I was so shocked, how utterly classless...
In barely a second, McGonagall turns and catches Bertha in a piecing glare.
"Miss Jorkins?"
No response – Bertha's twisted at an odd angle, talking to a girl diagonal to her.
"Miss Jorkins?"
Bertha's eyes widen, and she nods. "Can you repeat the question, Professor?"
McGonagall clucks her tongue. "Ten points from Hufflepuff, Miss Jorkins."
Florence almost laughs.
a/n - Really, we only got a name for Florence, and she was only mentioned once in the books. I had to look her up on the Harry Potter wikia. I thought it would be interesting to get into the mind of a character who isn't the protagonist in a story, but the antagonist instead - I kind of imagined her as a bit of a narcissist. I'd love to hear thoughts on this! Word count: 483