Jory's incredibly sharp attention span was focused on, of all things, Quidditch at the very moment. Because he had, of course, remembered to wait on the sofa like Addy had said, but he had forgot just a little bit that he was waiting for her. It was his birthday! And he had presents! Quidditch-related presents, too. So really, at the very moment, Quidditch: Through an Eagle's Eyes, the brilliant gift he'd gotten from Veronica, was the only thing on his mind.
Until the singing. Of course. One could not ignore such exuberant singing. Especially not if one's name was included in the song. And if one recognized the voice, which he did; he wasn't sure anyone else sang that way. He glanced down at his page number quickly before snapping the book shut, looking up.
He was not sure what he had expected to see, but it probably wasn't Addy attempting a balancing act with a cake full of candles (oi, was he really that old?). Nevertheless, the sight made him smile and he stood, meeting her on the way over
( ... )
[ Ohhhhhhh my gosh. You have no idea how happy a reply from you has just made me. I have had the WORST day. But Jory posts ALWAYS cheer me up, WOW! *Squishessss.* ]
It was really a very well-timed event that he met her half-way and helped her balance that small, slightly uneven but nevertheless precious blue cake, which she had made herself in the Kitchens while the House Elves looked on in distress. ‘If only Miss would let us help,’ they would cheep at her, wringing their wrinkly hands. ‘If only Miss wouldn’t spread the icing in chunks,’ they would also say. But she would accept no assistance, and no use of magic in the baking of this tiny, proud little pastry, and she made the icing herself as well. Adelaide had tasted the batter, and the icing, making sure to test it all before subjecting Jory to what could be disastrous yeast poisoning or something equally horrid, and it was all as it should be. Quite yummy, even! It just… well, it wasn’t the prettiest cake in Christendom, if you understand our meaning
( ... )
Jory had to agree with that; there really ought to always be cake on birthdays. That didn't mean there always was, but there was now. He grinned. Brilliant, actually.
"Ah," he said. "Thank you." He ought to turn seventeen everyday. Cake and singing and presents earlier! Well, perhaps not everyday, since turning seventeen was also proving to be a little exhausting. Which was why cake was so bloody appreciated. As she handed the cake off, he looked down at it. "Looks good," he commented as he moved carefully to set it down on the table (as the Dreaded Broken Shoelace was still in existence and although he was not nearly as clumsy as Adelaide, walking about with untied laces was just asking for trouble, really).
He was being honest, too; it did look good. In the way that homemade cards looked better than store-bought cards. There was something to that, wasn't it? Something that wasn't horribly sentimental, he hoped? Not that there was anything wrong with sentimentality, of course, he just didn't think he was an exceptionally
( ... )
Ah, sentimentality. A rare thing amongst boys of seventeen and seven, who often find when they express it to be strung up promptly by their (sometimes broken) shoelaces. Perhaps it was a very good thing for Jory and his health that he had not expressed such sentiments aloud to one so physically spontaneous and unpredictable as Adelaide, for if he had been hung upside-down, all the blood in his body would have been allowed to rush to his head in a very quick and uncomfortable fashion, resulting in migraines and possibly even future brain damage. No one would want that
( ... )
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Until the singing. Of course. One could not ignore such exuberant singing. Especially not if one's name was included in the song. And if one recognized the voice, which he did; he wasn't sure anyone else sang that way. He glanced down at his page number quickly before snapping the book shut, looking up.
He was not sure what he had expected to see, but it probably wasn't Addy attempting a balancing act with a cake full of candles (oi, was he really that old?). Nevertheless, the sight made him smile and he stood, meeting her on the way over ( ... )
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It was really a very well-timed event that he met her half-way and helped her balance that small, slightly uneven but nevertheless precious blue cake, which she had made herself in the Kitchens while the House Elves looked on in distress. ‘If only Miss would let us help,’ they would cheep at her, wringing their wrinkly hands. ‘If only Miss wouldn’t spread the icing in chunks,’ they would also say. But she would accept no assistance, and no use of magic in the baking of this tiny, proud little pastry, and she made the icing herself as well. Adelaide had tasted the batter, and the icing, making sure to test it all before subjecting Jory to what could be disastrous yeast poisoning or something equally horrid, and it was all as it should be. Quite yummy, even! It just… well, it wasn’t the prettiest cake in Christendom, if you understand our meaning ( ... )
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"Ah," he said. "Thank you." He ought to turn seventeen everyday. Cake and singing and presents earlier! Well, perhaps not everyday, since turning seventeen was also proving to be a little exhausting. Which was why cake was so bloody appreciated. As she handed the cake off, he looked down at it. "Looks good," he commented as he moved carefully to set it down on the table (as the Dreaded Broken Shoelace was still in existence and although he was not nearly as clumsy as Adelaide, walking about with untied laces was just asking for trouble, really).
He was being honest, too; it did look good. In the way that homemade cards looked better than store-bought cards. There was something to that, wasn't it? Something that wasn't horribly sentimental, he hoped? Not that there was anything wrong with sentimentality, of course, he just didn't think he was an exceptionally ( ... )
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