Harry and Ron walked into the Common Room, laughing and jostling and calling each other 'mate' and 'bloke' a lot. A lot. The author feels it necessary at this point to explain that the aforementioned are British, and therefore speak British.
"Bloody Hell, blokey – mate man!" Ron laughed.
"And I said to the old bird that I had to nip up the apples and pears cos' it was parky and I forgot me weasel!"
They laughed loudly again, but stopped. A melodious noise, not unlike the sound of a cat being trodden on by an elephant in stilettos, graced their ears. They looked over to see Tia sitting on the Common Room floor before the, wailing, moaning and banging her head against the wall.
Immediately their Harry and Ron's respectively green and blue eyes turned into sea-pools of sympathy (which, the author bossily points out, makes perfect sense given the aforementioned colours). But they weren't just pools of sympathy, oh no. Sympathy shone through every cell, every milligram of eyeball tissue, compassion flooded through every pore, understanding and tenderness sumo wrestled for space in their eyeballs.
"Tia?"
Their voices were soft, they were sympathetic, they were gentle. They were unobstrusive, caring, tender, understanding, compassionate and in perfect unison. Tia's tears stopped spilling, but she occasionally snuffled for effect.
"Sorry. I was just suffering in silence, but I must maintain a mask to hide behind while inside my heart ails, deceases, crumples into dust, is eaten by worms, poked by squirrels, bitten by mosquitoes, stung by jellyfish and blistered by uncomfortable new shoes."
Harry keeps up his phenomenally sympathetic exterior, but Ron was confused by some of the longer words in Tia's sentence.
"Tell me about your angst," Harry said softly, "For I can relate to it considering my traumatizing upbringing and all. Although my angst is probably nothing to yours."
Tia raised her deep green eyes to meet Harry's and…
HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!
Tia's eyes were GREEN. GREEN as in GREEN! Green as in grass, as in jade, as in mucous, as in seasickness, as in grapes, as in crème de menthe, and in the forth colour as in the rainbow, as in the secondary colour comprised of blue and yellow.
That could mean only one thing.
Tia was Harry's sister! She must be! It was utterly impossible for it to be otherwise, or why the hell would the author introduce her in the first place?
"BLOODY HELL! YOU MUST BE MY SISTER!" Harry yelled.
The author believes it is acceptable to replace any attempt at portraying surprise with copious amounts of capitals and punctuation.
Harry then realized how illogical it was for Tia to be his sister, considering the fact that if he had a sister it was fairly likely that someone might have mentioned it to him before. Anyway, she was at least a year and a half younger than him, and considering the fact that he'd been aged exactly one year and three months when his parents by a Very Nasty and Unpleasantly Odoured Chap, meaning that it was biologically impossible for the two of them to be related.
So we'll turn back time, shall we?
Tia raised her eyes to meet Harry's. He nearly fainted…
Yes, children, it is me. I have returned, a little rusty and very apologetic, but back nonetheless. Starting that new fic is most definitely on my to do list, in between finish (or start, for that matter) my whopping French project, cleaning out the bottom of my wardrobe and learning how to apply my new liquid eyeliner. So hopefully this should tide you over until my next venture, although for the last few months I've started on an Actual Novel, which is my priority of course. But if you ask very nicely….
Missy Meee
Xxxx to everyone who has waited so patiently