#sassyandginger

     “What’re you doing here?”

     The child gasped at the sight of her upperclassman. A silence gave her the chance to wipe away some tears and attempt to put on a brave air. “--E-examinin’ th-the weavin’ pattern. What d’you think, dumbo?”

     “Oi.” John began sternly, “I’m no--!” But, of course, remembering that the child had been sobbing moments before, he decided a lecture on respecting one’s elders wasn’t warranted at that moment. A sigh followed.

    Scooting closer to her, John took a seat, inquiring, “So, what d’you think of the weavin’ pattern, then? I think it’s lovely artistry. From the Heimhelms. An old wizarding family, from long ago.” While that last part was utter and total faking, he figured that if he sounded official enough, she’d believe him.

     “I think it’s sad.” Donna insisted after a moment of thought. “Sad, and lonely, and no good.”

     “Why’d you think that? I think it’s a perfectly fine tapestry. You probably can’t see it as well through your tears.”

    Whoops.

    Realizing that what he’d said might have been out of line, he opened his mouth to apologize, only for the girl to sniffle and cut him off. “--You--you don’t understand.”

     “Well, t’ be fair, I did just meet you a moment ago. I couldn’t possibly understand. But, we can fix that, at least, right now.” He offered a hand. “John Smith. Ravenclaw Prefect. Sixth year. You?”

     “Donna Noble. G-Gryffindor. First year. Not that I should be in Gryffindor, or even be here.” Another sniffle. “M-muggleborn.”

     “Muggleborn?” John asked, genuinely shocked. “Blimey. I had no idea. Do they--your family--do they know...?”

     “My mum, dad, and gramps do.” Some more tears had formed. Wiping them from her cheek as if she were throwing a punch at herself, she went on. “Gramps, he loves it. Dad, he loves it. My mum...” Silence.

     Gently, John placed a hand upon her shoulder. “Does she not want you to come here?”

     “--’You’ll never get a job with a magic wand! You’ll never amount to anything with your witch hat!” Donna imitated, her voice escalating in pitch and volume to a grating shrillness. “Magic is fake, you’re right mad, an’--an’ you’ll never be a p-part of this family again if you go--!’”

     With that, the poor child broke into sobs. John, feeling a hint brotherly, moved her close, halfway hugging her in the process. He began to pat the child gently before insisting, “There, there, sweetheart. You know that that isn’t true.”

     “I don’t even belong in my own family, I don’t belong here, and I just--”

     “Shhhh.” Another pat followed a sob. “Shh. It’s all right. That isn’t true, either. Can I tell you something?”

      A nod felt against his shoulder was John’s cue to continue. “There are loads of Muggleborns here. My family’s a wizardin’ family, but even then, I don’t belong, either. My parents--they want me to go into politics. Join the Ministry. Uphold the Lungbarrow-Smith name.”

     “I thought your name was S-Smith,” Donna noted, stopping her sobs for a moment to ask.

     “Oh, it is. It’s just--” Sigh. “It’s a long story, but the abridged version is, ‘my family’s got two names because we’re purebloods and oh-so-pretentious.’” A hint of bitterness crept up in his voice.

     “I dropped the fancy name. Didn’t wanna be a part ‘a it. My brother, Irving, he kept the name. Oh-so-pretentious. Irving was a prefect. Slytherin. I was the only Ravenclaw for the first time in a while. I only became a Prefect ‘cause it’s easier t’ break the rules if you know them. Well, Irving isn’t thrilled by that logic, an’ neither is my family. They said the same thing to me that your mum said t’ you, once or twice. But hey, they can sod off, an’ so can your mum, if she’ll be so cross.”

      She chuckled at that. John said, “Oh! Would you look’t that! The elusive Donna Noble smile. My friend Martha always mentions it, but my other friends think it’s a myth!” After another chuckle, followed by a pause, he proposed an idea: 

     “Look, Donna. I feel alone in my family, you feel alone in yours, and for all extensive purposes, we need some family here. So, how ‘bout this: I’ll adopt you.”

     “Adopt?”

     “Yeah. Adopt.”

     “You’re not joshin’ me, are you?”

     “No, I’m not! C’mon, Donna. If anythin’, at least we tried.”

     “Fine.” She pouted, insisting, “I can’t believe I got adopted by the brainy twig...”

      “Brainy twig?! Why I--”

      She nudged him with her arm. “Just joshin’, twigboy.”

      “Donna, I am five years older than you. I am no mere boy.”

      “Yeah. Twigboy.”

      He then accepted his fate. “Fine--Lil’ Miss Ginger.”

      With a nod, she laughed, jokingly poking him and scolding him. “That’s The Ginger Queen t’ you, Twigboy!”