Hey, fellow freaks of nature!
I hoped you liked the last chapter, though I can't be too sure because you guys hadn't reviewed. Anyways, here's your next chapter!
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The next time I woke up, it was late afternoon and I was freaking dying out dehydration. Madame Pomfrey looked worried when I told her this, and she gave me a large glass of water.
Water is so mainstream.
But, since it was the only drinkable liquid I had, I drank it all in one large gulp, let out a soft "Ahhhh", and put it on the end table next to me. Then I turned back to Pomfrey.
"Are there any Starbucks around here? I mean, not here-here, but in Scotland? Or is that too American for them? See, this is why I joined the social justice club at school- everyone is freaking racist, or they're anti-semitic, or they're just being raped (being raped is also social justice too). Actually, rape culture is often found in Africa. Many girls are dying everyday there, or they're being married at age 12. And feminists. Yup, I'm a proud feminist and I hate how sexist everyone is. I mean, dude, we're not living in the '60s!"
She stared at me oddly. Only I don't know why. This is my usual way of speaking. Speed-wise, I meant. God, I felt like I was hyped up in sugar. And caffeine. And more sugar. And much more caffeine.
"Can I, um, get out of this bed now? It's freaking uncomfortable. And I need my coffee. Or, better yet, Butterbeer. Is there any Butterbeer around here? Huh, I don't really get how people came up with a drink that included 'butter', and 'beer', but, you know, whatever, I guess…"
Only did I realize I was speaking to the air, and Madame Pomfrey was gone. I suck at people skills. I guess I'm just too obscure for them. Or possibly they view me as a mental asylum patient. And I'm just wondering why people are so judgmental towards indies and hipsters such as myself, and if that could possibly viewed as a social justice, when our favorite gay Headmaster (That's also a social justice topic at school that I could bring up!), Albus-FUDGING-Dumbledore, shows up. His eyes are sparkly blue and his long white beard is so silky and smooth I just want to touch it all day long. But something seems unfamiliar about him. Maybe because his beard is only up to his ankles, but I'm sure something's off.
"Hello, miss…?"
"Nyx Blaine. At your service, Dumbledore!" I grinned probably the goofiest grin ever, and bowed down my head, letting a waterfall of auburn cut my view off. Brushing the red out of my face, I stare at Dumbledore like he's the king of the galaxies. In my mind he is, anyways.
Dumbledore gives me a brilliant smile back.
"Hello, Miss Blaine. It's very nice to meet such a well-informed Muggle such as yourself…?"
"Au contraire, Dumbledore, au contraire! I am actually a Muggle-born witch living in California, only my owl hasn't come. For, like, 4 years. FOUR FREAKING YEARS. Either it's never coming, or my owl's just lost somewhere in Bulgaria."
He actually laughs at that. Technically, it's a chuckle, but I'll take what I can get.
"You remind me of myself when I was your age, Miss Blaine. A rapid, quick-witted speaker such as yourself-"
"Don't forget that I'm also a hipster!" I chimed in. He smiled.
"I do not know the term of the word, Miss Blaine. Care to ex-"
"A hipster is men and woman who value independent thinking, counter-culture, and have a huge appreciation for indie pop-rock, creativity, wit, and clever speeches. They are individuals who shop at obscure places- such as thrift shops-; listen to obscure music/bands- such as Two Door Cinema Club- and bring up obscure topics that no-one has cared about until now, per say anime references. In general, hipsters don't follow mainstream topics or clothing- such as dresses or shoes from popular malls- and dislike, in general, the idea of mainstream music, such as One Direction or Christina Aguilera. Both hipster men and women wear similar androgynous hair styles that include combinations of messy shag cuts and asymmetric side-swept bangs. It is too edgy for a mainstream, insignificant consumer such as the average female or male who shops at Macy's. Hipster clothing included: faded jeans that are significantly older then the wearer, old-timey Converses that had faded over the years, tight-fitting jeans, and dark jackets sporting buttons for bands nobody has ever known about. They are usually very skinny, seeing as they are constantly refusing to eat or consume anything except for Starbucks coffee."
(A/N: Fucking bollocks, that was hard! I mostly got my definition from the Urban Dictionary, but I also referred to what my idea of a hipster is. I'm a hipster, um, in case you haven't noticed…)
I'd never thought I'd live the day to explain the idea of hipster-ism to Albus Dumbledore. He stared at me with his wide blue eyes, and I bit back a fan-girl squeal coming up from under my throat.
"Well… that clears things up. Thank you," He finally managed. I grinned.
"No problem, Dumbledore. Should I now launch into comparing/contrasting of indies and hipster? Well, indies are-"
"That won't be a problem, Miss Blaine," He cut me off, and I sighed and leaned back into my pillows. Then my old question suddenly came back to me.
"Oh- hey! Can I meet Harry soon? I cannot wait until-"
"Harry? Harry who?" Dumbledore asked, furrowing his eyebrows. I stared at him. This had to be some kind of joke.
"Harry Freakin' Potter? Ring a bell?" Dumbledore looked genuinely confused.
"Do you mean James Potter?" He asked slowly. "There is no Harry Potter at this school. My dear, are you feeling alright?"
GAAAHHH! God, what's happening to Nyx? What's happening to our young, hipster hero? We'll just have to find out in the next chapter, won't we (CUE EVIL LAUGH!)?
Okay, guys, but seriously, PLEASE review! I'm frankly dying to hear what you think. Well, actually, no, I'm not, but that doesn't matter, now does it?
-Sarcastic Clapping, A.K.A. Queen Awesome of Epic Proportions, A.K.A. Lyricalyrics A.K.A. Potterhead Enthusiast, A.K.A. Proud RavenPuff, A.K.A. Mayor of Wackspurts and Head Chief of S.P.E.W., A.K.A. pure brilliance reincarnated into one divine form, A.K.A. President of the Sirius Black Fan Club, A.K.A. The girl with a thousand names but usually known as the way someone puts their hands together repeatedly in a snarky way