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"Fine! Damn the Timeline and dangers! I'm going to spill the beans-"
"Spill the Dirigible Plums," interjected Luna.
"-spill the Dirigible Plums about Voldemort!" Rhea finished.
***
Rhea Arquette and Luna Lovegood- the Golden Trio's...
DISCLAIMER- JK ROWLING OWNS EVERYTHING, AND I OWN THE CLUMSY PLOT ALONG WITH THE CHARACTERS I DECIDED TO INVENT.
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A five year old boy watched in awe as a little girl levitated the vase, her eyes scrunched up in concentration and her hand stretched out in front of her. She moved her hand slowly towards the table in the room, her tongue sticking out a bit as she watched the vase hover in the air shakily, seemingly looking like she was controlling it with invisible strings. Much as she'd done this several times prior to this occasion, a part of her always liked to make an extravagant show of her magic, if only to bask under his awe and admiration.
She lowered her hand slowly, her head tilting as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. A toothy smile graced her features when he clapped enthusiastically as the vase was set down on the table.
Giggling quietly, she pushed a finger to her lips in a hushing manner, hoping it would quell his applause. She walked towards him, her feet leaving a soft pitter patter in their wake as her short, wavy black hair, which was tied into pigtails, rocked back and forth alarmingly. Her face was littered with dry specks of scattered chocolate she had eaten with the grace of a five year old, and her tiny palms were home to splattered paint.
She was Rhea Arquette, the only child of Abrielle and Audric Arquette, who were the residents of Little Whinging, Surrey.
Next to her sat a scrawny, black-haired, bespectacled boy around whom an air of starvation loomed. His clothes were several sizes too big for him and they practically hung off his narrow frame. His shabby, jet black hair fell to his brilliant emerald eyes, which were focused on his best friend.
And he was Harry Potter, Rhea's best friend in the whole wide world.
"Rhea?" a voice called out from downstairs, jerking the two friends from their thoughtful silence. "Are the two of you hungry?"
"Is you hungry?" Rhea asked, turning to Harry with the hope that he was famished too so that she could have a bite of the apple pie her mother had forbidden her to eat.
"Are you hungry," Harry corrected her.
Harry was uncharacteristically fluent in English for his age. He would often correct Rhea whenever she made a grammatical error, something that irked her. Maybe it was to do with the fact that the Dursleys never bothered to teach Harry, but whatever the case was, Harry made it his own personal mission to learn things by himself, not out of curiosity or eagerness to learn, but out of sheer rebelling.
