The day before the Slytherin/Hufflepuff game was completely and utterly annoying. People were much too excited for a bloody game. Then again, Murphy planned on going in case someone started bleeding or if she could possibly get a bloody chunk of hair or a finger to take home as a souvenir. Murphy was too afraid to play Quidditch, but she secretly enjoyed watching it. She wouldn't cheer for any teams, but she liked to watch. She generally watch from afar, however, with a lunch and a camera and a pair of binoculars. She knew she couldn't get a sample from so far away, but she could hope. One never knew with those games.
It was Slytherin and Hufflepuff, anyway. If Slytherin didn't beat the crap out of Hufflepuff during the game, they would afterward. No matter what. Even the bigger blokes like Dion Fayette and Razzy Chancelier stood no match to the hyped up, steroid-filled Slytherins and their rather sturdy looking brooms. Murphy knew. She once watched a few Slytherins beat up a Gryffindor after one game. She took pictures, of course.
But other than that. Murphy was getting sick of people talking about it. She didn't care who was going to win. She didn't care if Hufflepuff was short a player. She wanted to see someone's guts sprawled out. Was that so much to ask? Well, yes... It was... But Murphy still didn't care about the game.
And much like the violence she was surely to see during and after the game, Slytherins were already roughing up innocent Hufflepuffs in the hallways. Murphy helped out a few of them, but mostly walked right past, as she had no business with them. She felt a bit bad for leaving the innocent victims, but she usually had places to go. Such as class. Lord knew what Storm did to late comers. Murphy usually didn't mind it when people fought. But there was a difference between fighting and bullying. And Murphy knew what it felt like to be bullied... Boy, did she know...
Not much to her surprise, she stumbled across a victim as she strolled along to the library. It was too late to defend them, but they had thick bruises lining their cheekbones. Murphy frowned and stopped herself. It was a Slytherin, which was actually a bit surprising. But Murphy simply saw them as another victim. "You alright?" She asked, helping them up to their feet. They simply stared at her, shorter than her and much more pudgy than her. "
You're a girl?" they responded.
Because of that, Murphy quickly snapped a picture of their beaten face. They complained loudly and asked her to get rid of it. But she simply shrugged and said, "I'll think about it." They continued to whine at her, but Murphy was more concentrated on the ugly witch statue that stood behind them. Murphy liked that statue. And she was lucky enough to have its hump in the shot she had just took. Now that was art.
"Sorry, yeah? But I'm keeping it," she responded finally, "Your face looks horrendously gorgeous. You should be lucky to have that beauty."
"But I'm a guy,""Yeah, I know," Murphy shifted uneasily. Men were lucky. They were never called "gorgeous." She wanted that freedom. She lifted her camera, threatening to take another picture. They got the message and ran off. She stood, alone, staring up at the statue. She wondered how well she could sculpt...