WILD THOUGHTS.

Pansy threw her wet hair from the shower into a pony tail, smirking at the other girl’s reaction. “Sorry, dear,” she said. “Why are you reading that boring paper anyways?” she asked. Pansy sauntered into the room, picking up the paper. “What depressing thing have they said today? Can we finally leave this hell hole?”

Tracey offered a smile when she saw it was her friend who had entered the room. “Because there’s not much else to entertain myself with here.” She answered, looking over towards Pansy. “It doesn’t look like we can leave anytime soon.” Tracey made a face. “They least they could do is provide us with something fun to do once in a while.”

Draco steps closer and grimaces, finally seeing what the other was doing; nearly paling at the sight of the newspaper in her hand. “Good grief,” He grouches easily, ignoring the other all together. Methodically, he then strips the offending article out of the Daily Prophet sitting on the side table and then flicks his wand and mumbles a complicated charm to send it flying, presumably back to rubbish bin where it came from. The action is smooth and suspiciously practiced. “Will she ever desist?” Draco wonders aloud, grey gaze weary as he collapses onto the couch beside the other. “Even if muggle territory she’s insatiable.” Obviously referring to Rita Skeeter, though he supposed Tracey knew that by now. “Surely there must be more important things to report on when theres practically a third war raging just beyond her window. But no — surely the public would be more interested in what Potter had for breakfast. Bloody spies. It’s a wonder anyone manages to sleep at night without someone snapping a picture.” 

“I doubt it. She lives off of her exploits.” Tracey shrugged. She was never really a fan of Rita and her articles. And even all the way out here, away from the wizarding world, it was as though they couldn’t get away from her. She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at Draco’s comment. “What? You mean you’re not dying to know if the Golden Boy is eating a well-balanced breakfast?” She asked, eyebrows raised as she glanced over at the blonde now sitting beside her, her tone conveying some slight distaste at the mention of Potter.

“But that look on your face is worth seeing,” she snickered before letting herself fall onto the sofa beside the girl. With a wave of her wand while mumbling ‘accio Daily Prophet’, the paper flew straight into her hands. “What did that old woman write this time?” Her eyes darted from the girl to the paper, scanning briefly before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it straight into the bin across the room. “Does she have nothing better to write about other than spying on us? I’m sure there are much more interesting topics to write about like when will the damn Ministry sort their shit and give us back our freedom.”

“Well I’m glad you found amusement in it.” Tracey said with playful sarcasm, a bit relieved to see it was Millicent who had come in and not someone she'd rather not be talking to. “You’d think we’re royalty or something. She never shuts up about the lot of us.” She said with another eye roll. It was bad enough to be stuck in this place, but to constantly feel as though they were being watched didn’t sit right with Tracey -- no matter how much she enjoyed attention. “That’s if the Ministry sorts their shit out. I have very little faith in them at this point.”