Astrological paraphernelia seems to have wallpapered the Divination classroom, as it has done for several weeks now, perhaps reminding the fifth years of what they should be working on, or else providing a bit of a cheat-sheet for those who have already forgotten their book readings. Bonnie stands at the blackboard, wiping it down from the notes, apparently about palmistry, given the drawings of hands that are quickly disappearing from it, that the previous class had studied.

Ivy Thornweld loves Divination the way that people love having toast for breakfast every day: Most of them don’t, it’s just what they do. In any event, at least her essays have been improving, even if she still just doesn’t have the natural inclination toward true seeing. Really, Ivy‘s inner eye needs glasses. The fifth year climgs into the room, and then seems to slink, trying out some rediciulous way of walking that quickly resolves back to her natural movement. She sets her bag without, for once, giving much of a look around or even to whomever she’s sitting near. Professor Kensington is given a polite smile, but Ivy quickly lapses into the look of someone who is mentally elsewhere.

“…moon, and brought back some moon frogs to prove it.” The serious, completely deadpan sound of Joseph Wexler‘s voice can be heard well before he climbs into the room, proving his expression to completely match his tone, almost comically lacking any sort of emotion. His companion, whoever he happens to be – some other fifth year Divination student, apparently, looks almost ready to believe him, until he catches a glimpse of the too-serious expression, at which point he just shakes his head and thumps Joseph‘s arm. “Hey, now!” He protests, though it is half-hearted at best, and he pulls the important items out of his bookbag, leaving it hanging on the hook. In his mind, the important items are a blank sheet of parchment, his quill and two books: the set textbook, and a novel of some sort, the name obscured.

“Take your seats, everyone,” Bonnie calls loudly, interrupting a rather giggly conversation between two Gryffindor girls nearby. She turns, the board now cleaned, save for “MONTHLY HOROSCOPES” emblazoned across in large ornate letters. The detail of the letters might lead one to wonder how she managed to clean the board so quickly and replace the previous notes with such ornate lettering, but there it is. Bonnie moves off to the side, glancing around the room as several of the students continue their conversations. “Alright, look to who you’re sitting next to, because that person is now your partner for this project. Your task is to complete a horoscope for the month for that person, due next week. No switching around, Miss Harlowe, I saw you sitting next to Mister Genora. You will present this next week as we begin work on the yearly horoscopes.” Bonnie pauses. “Any questions before you begin?”

Ivy Thornweld blinks out of her daze as Bonnie begins to speak and then looks at the person who has sat down next to her, and very minutely frowns. In fact, it’s almost hard to tell her face has moved at all, but the difference is there–not distracted but disappointed. Well, she’s not going to ask the Professor a question, so instead of doing so or beginning to socialize, Ivy digs about in her bag for parchment, quill, ink, and book. A soft sigh escapes, but in general she’s taking the pairing better than she might usually.

Looking up, slightly alarmed, at Bonnie as she brings the class to order, Joseph slips into the first available seat he spies – next to Ivy. “Looks like we’re partners.” He informs her, without any consideration for how she may feel about it, distracting himself fairly immediately by waving his friend over to a seat at a nearby table. “Of course I wasn’t being serious,” he confides to his friend as he nears. “It was your fault, you shouldn’t have asked me such a silly question.”

“Alright, great,” Bonnie responds, waving off the same Gryffindor who had previously tried to switch seats with someone to get a new partner. “No, you’re still stuck with him,” she answers, shaking her head, then claps her hands together. “Alright, get started on your horoscopes. I’ll be walking around and monitoring your progress, so if you have any questions at that time, you may ask me.” The woman nods curtly and starts rummaging through her desk, presumably for the correct text to reference as she walks about the room.

Ivy Thornweld looks somewhat sulky but, with a sigh, puts on her best ‘company we don’t particular like about the manor’ smile and asks in a very polite tone, “Mr… um, Wesner?” She has such trouble with last names, though she ought to remember Wexler and just use it whenever she can’t remember a person’s name: It’s bound to be right a lot of time. “What, ah… what’s your birthday? Mine is August 14th and it was about two in the afternoon I think so that should help with looking up plantary positions.” Ivy goes silent, waiting for his response with that same almost genuine but not quite expression of interest.

Beaming at Ivy, leaning back in his seat casually, Joseph opens his textbook and begins flipping through it for some hint of where to start. “So, I suppose… hmm.” He flips a few pages thoughtfully, apparently quite unable to find what he’s meant to be doing. Then, apparently realising for the first time that he is being spoken to, he looks up in surprise. “Oh. Wexler. As in half the students in the school Wexler.” A pause, and he considers thoughtfully before answering her question. “I was born on April 12. I don’t know what time of day it was, but I’ll pretend it was 4:23 and 18 seconds.”

Ivy Thornweld straightens and says as if missing people’s names routinely is not rude, “Well I was almost close. I suppose you are a Wexler, though.” She writes down the date and time, and then pauses, hand still hovering over the parchment. For a second, it looks like she might ask him anyother question, but then she scribbles ‘in the morning’ after that. “So that’s Aries but almost Taurus just for starters….” Ivy lapses into silence, referencing her book and quietly jotting down a lot of computations. A bit of a cluck, “Oh, Pluto wasn’t very good at four twenty-three, I hope you’ve guessed incorrectly, it moved into a better position by noon.” Lies! Well, she’s trying.

“Just choose a time that looks positive,” Joseph offers, peering at his own book. “How about 2:13pm? Still eighteen seconds, though, I’d like to think of myself as the sort of person who was born at a distinguished time as 18 seconds past a minute.” Pausing, studying the book and pursing his lips thoughtfully, he seems almost about to say something else – then, he pushes aside his text and picks up the novel. “Let me know if you need me to do something. I’m up to the last chapter.” And so, he opens the book to a page near the emd.

Ivy Thornweld hisses, “Nobody bothers with seconds during labor,” and then, having said so, blushes. Her gaze averts to the parchment again as she looks in her book and then inks in ‘fifteenth of the month: In large danger of boils, spend some time researching counter-charms and restoritive potions. Beware expired ingredients, you’re bound to scar.’ She looks up again, briefly, and shakes her head before going back to work, her hair falling quite intentionally down over her shoulder as she shifts positions to expose a bit of neck. Subtly, just to see the effect, if any. ‘Twenty-third of the month: You may come into gold today, but only if you avoid eating anything that has been pickled unless under a full moon’. Etc. She’s never that creative out loud. Not that she’s technically supposed to be being creative now, but bits of the horoscope are being pulled from the text and she is sort of noting the alignment of planets (For April 13th, though).

“Don’t see why not,” Joseph counters, though it is a half-hearted comeback, turning the page in his book and inching it below the table so that, if possible, it is out of the professor’s line of sight. He is quite lost in the story, whatever it happens to be about, and doesn’t offer Ivy so much as another glance, whether she happens to be doing. He’s unlikely to start paying attention again until someone yells at him or, just possibly, if someone started doing a naked dance around the room. And that second one is a bit iffy.

“Don’t forget to include the stars in your interpretations, Miss Jantzen, and I dare say, if I find you copying blatantly from the book like that, I will be forced to take points from Ravenclaw for it. Remember, it is a tool, not an answer.” Bonnie strides along, chuckling as Ivy and Joseph seem to squabble, then suspiciously, the conversation ceases. Hmm. Upon closer inspection, Bonnie finds that Joseph’s quill does not, in fact, seem to be moving, nor does he seem to be accomplishing much of anything. “Mister Wexler? May I see that text that you seem so engrossed in?” Bonnie puts one hand on her hip and holds out the other hand to receive the book from him.

Apparently realising, slightly guiltily, that he has been caught out, Joseph withdraws the book from under the table and hands it over. It is, in fact, a copy of ‘Oliver Twist’ by Charles Dickens. Not remotely related to Divination – or magic at all, for that matter. Still, he offers the quiet, possibly helpful – though likely not – explanation of, “Just the last chapter, Professor… or, rather, instalment.” Even when possibly getting into trouble, he can’t resist the urge to be absolutely correct, pedantically so.

Ivy Thornweld makes a soft ‘ugh’ noise as Joseph is caught, but she’s not exactly the scolding of near strangers type. She hunches further over her ‘computation’ page and begins to scribble something about the juxaposition of the moons of Mars and Saturn and adding the time of birth to the yearly chart–she’ll get lost halfway through but no need to look like she’s not working with Bonnie right there.

“Ah, well, this is going to stay in my desk until you finish your presentation of this month-long horoscope, and you may ask to retrieve it at that time. I will not hesitate to say, also, that this sort of behavoir is not what I expect from a Ravenclaw. Being a Ravenclaw alum myself, I expect you to do the house justice and have some pride in what you represent, in my class if in no other.” Bonnie looks down at him over her nose, glancing at what Ivy appears to be doing, then smiles a bit. “You’ve got the wrong chart, Miss Thornweld. You’ll want the month-long one, rather than the yearly one.”

Flushing a little bit in embarassment, though he does cast a longing look after his confiscated novel, Joseph returns his attention to the textbook. “Sorry, Professor,” he offers quietly, flipping a few pages and jotting down a few notes. “August fourteenth, did you say? Around two?” He pauses, thinking. “What kind of time for a birth is ‘about two’? That’s even worse than saying that you don’t keep track of seconds when you’re in labour. If I were in labour, I would want to know the exact time. To the second.” His tone is completely deadpan, without any trace of humour – of course, no one could possibly look that deadpan unless they were joking, right?

Ivy Thornweld‘s ears go red and she crumples up the bit of parchment with the notes, starting over, book open to the proper chart. “Thank you, Professor, sorry.” is all she offers, but then to Joseph-”Ugh. Please do not talk to me about that. It’s… improper to discuss I apologize for bringing it up and I’m sorry my parents were busy being happy about my birth and not checking a clock.” Nevermind that he made his time of birth up. She hisses all this in an undertone, “It was around two. At least I knew it.” The Slytherin returns to her chart-making, rather sourly writing in ‘The second of the month will reveal two secrets about your personality you’d rather keep under wraps. Check with that Hufflepuff boy.’ and then scratching it out lest someone read it.

Noting that, perhaps, his humour goes unappreciated by the Slytherin girl, Joseph shrugs his shoulders and makes a few notes on his piece of parchment. “Well, I imagine if I asked my parents they’d be able to tell me what time I was born. But I’ve never really taken an interest.” The quill taps thoughtfully against his lips, and he seems to be deep in thought. “Being born at ‘around two’ is silly. I don’t like that time. Can you be born at 7:29pm instead? I promise, you may have your proper birth time back later.” His tone has returned to being deadpan, almost bordering on grave.

Ivy Thornweld huffs, loudly, “No, I expect you’ll make my proper horoscope and not what suits you at the moment, Mr. Wexler.” She goes back, a bit lamely, to her work. Which she’s not quite doing properly, given she’s using the wrong day and likely the wrong time of birth and has inverted the positions of Mercury and Venus on a few days.

Having finished one full round of the classroom, Bonnie‘s eyes fall on the rather hefty stack of essays that are on her desk, and she surveys the room. “Alright, well, you may all go do independent study now. If you have any questions, you may approach me and ask. Go to the library if you like, or to your commonrooms, but for goodness sake, I’m not extending the deadline this time and giving extra time, even if it is a month’s worth to do.” The woman seems to peer at a few specific offenders and then turns her attention to her desk, waving her hand dismissively at the class while she begins to set up for some high-powered essay marking.

Blushing again, perhaps feeling rather targetted by this comment about extending deadlines – could he have gone to her in the past to beg a deadline because Dark Wizards had killed his dog? – Joseph nods, gathering his things together and dumping them in his bag and making his silent exit, his expression turned dark and moody. Even as his friend joins him, he only offers a vague shrug. Now he will never find out what happened in that last chapter. Alas.

As is fairly usual, Professor Quintus Helit is at the Clearing before any of the students, though the precise amount of attention he pays to anyone who approaches – approximately none – is perhaps indicative of his having forgotten that he has a class on at all. On one side of the clearing is an aviary containing four greenish-black birds, rather akin to an underfed vulture in appearance, each of which is silent. The other side is home to a portable fence, enclosing four small dogs. Each of the dogs bears a rather close resemblance to a jack russell terrier – however, one of them is eating with every sign of enjoyment what appears to be part of a metal contraption, so perhaps it is not such a mundane creature. A small bench is set up in the centre, containing a few small bottles of some sort of patented magical potion and a handful of combs, as well as a jar containing a few tiny insect-like creatures. For his part, the Professor himself is rather distracted by watching the dog-like creatures – perhaps trying to decide if he should stop them from trying to eat metal.

Stepping into the clearing Louis gets a bit of a surprised look as he spots the dog eating… metal. “Err thats new…” He mutters as he takes a step back not knowing wether the animal can eat the fence that is holding it or not. “Right then… I’ll just stand here.”

Charlie Linwood comes up behind the Professor and looks over the fence at the doggish animals. Looking, for all the world, delighted, the boy kneels down to get a more level glance at them. “Professor Helit, do you suppose consuming metal is any good for them?” It would be a somewhat helpful statement were it not delivered in a very wry ‘and aren’t you the expert here?’ tone. Louis, for what it’s worth, is completely ignored.

Staring with a rather bored expression on her face, Nadia makes her way out to the clearing with a couple of other Slytherin girls at her sides. She doesn’t look hateful, or smug, or even haughty, just simply bored as she comes to a stop near Louis — he is her housemate, after all — but she doesn’t speak to him, instead turning to one of the girls at her side and whispering what looks to be rather rude statements to her friend.

“They eat just about everything they can get their teeth on,” Quintus replies, his tone monotonous and bored, “so unless you know a lot more about caring for magical creatures than your classwork lets on, I wouldn’t venture any opinions if I were you.” This is fairly rich coming from the Professor who was, in fact, just wondering if he should get them to stop it. In any case, he turns to the class as a few more students file in, and he taps a sheaf of papers in his arms. “As a whole, your homework has improved, but not up to the standard that I would usually expect from students your age. Please come and collect your papers as I call out your names.” And yes, he has taught them for a few months now, and still cannot determine who is who. As he offers the papers back, he provides encouraging pieces of advice. “Good work. It almost seems like you understand.” “Did you write this, or did your owl land in your ink and walk across the paper?” “Ah, someone with no sense of identity. How depressing. Please see the Nurse if you forget your name again.”

Taking his paper and looking it over Louis doesn’t seem very dissapointed so his grade probably isn’t awfull. Looking over now at the birds as if he is only just noticing them now. They probably don’t stand out as much when they aren’t eating mettal thats all.

Charlie Linwood opens his mouth to protest–some mixture of ‘I’ve been doing grand on my classwork’ and ‘Not up to the standards of students in their first year of the class who have only been taught by you?’ but shuts it before something potentiall stupid (see above) comes out. He takes his paper as his name is called and sulks off to stand by someone who isn’t Louis or Professor Helit, crossing his arms and looking for all intents and purposes like a really tall ten year old girl who isn’t getting her way.

Standing and striding up to the professor as her name is called, Nadia‘s face becomes more sullen and she turns on heel almost as soon as she has her paper in hand, not even bothering to look at the grade, let alone listen to the comments that the professor has gifted to her. Though, given the poor score on her essay, gifted would perhaps not be the right way to put it. She glances over at Louis, then at Charlie, almost as if trying to see their scores in comparison to her own. Surely the professor was being unfair to her.

Whether Quintus was actually being unfair to her – not entirely impossible – is uncertain, though it is definite that sexism plays a part in his teaching, particularly as he looks over at his class and eyes Charlie for a moment. “Mister Knowy, it pains me to see you acting like such a girl. Please.” As quickly as this remark is made, however, he is distracted by the actual class content, marching over to the aviary and gesturing to the birds within. “I suppose one of you can tell me what these birds are?” Grudgingly, he adds, “I’ll give you a hint. Their cries are considered unlucky, so I’ve put a silencing charm on them just in case any girls are superstitious.”

A chuckle comes from Louis as the Professor pretty well calls Charlie a girl. It takes him a momment to stop laughing and realise that class has started. Louis stares at the strange bird trying to place it but he apparently comes up blank as he says nothing and instead mutters to Nadia “Just looks like a skinny ruddy old owl to me.”

Charlie Linwood turns rather red, uncrosses his arms, and… straightens his shoulders, firmly plants his feet, and juts out his chin to look more ‘manly’. Right, well, perhaps the Professor had something of a point. Still, Louis gets a Grade A glare, “Don’t be stupid, Harper, they’re not skinny owls, they’re Augreys.” A roll of his eyes; at least Charlie has done some reading. A bit under his breath, “Though if the Professor was worried about girls and not himself he wouldn’t have said anything.” Someone’s in a sour mood. And a stupid mood, at that.

Nadia stifles a snicker as Louis says this, and she smirks ever so slightly at him, shooting an equal glare to Quintus at his comment about girls. “Who cares what it is, anyway,” she comments slyly to those around her. “It’s not like I should care anyway, being a girl and all. I would much rather be off tending to my hair.” The mussed state of her hair only adds to the comment as she crosses her arms, just looking sullenly at Quintus, expecting him to just give her the answer in this case. No, she can’t actually be bothered to read the book for this class.

Merely shrugging and nodding to Nadia, as if to say that he understands completely her lack of interest in his course due to the unfortunate matter of her gender, Quintus‘ mood seems to have improved by the fact that someone in the class knows what they’re talking about. “Precisely, Mister, uh, Knowy.” Just be thankful he’s redubbed Charlie ‘Mister Knowy’, not ‘Mister Girly’. “They’re Auguries. For a long time, their cries were thought to foretell the death of whoever heard it. However, in 1824, Gulliver Pokeby’s text ‘Why I Didn’t Die When The Augurey Cried’ proved this to be incorrect, ascertaining that the Augerey merely cries shortly before it rains. However, I do not wish to promote superstition in my course. And these other creatures,” he strides back towards them, gesturing to the metal-eating dogs, “Does anyone know what these are?”

Biting his lip Louis speaks up as they come to the dogs. “Are they Crups Professor?” He doesn’t want to really get much closer. “And what keeps them from eating the fence anyway?” Stupid question maybe but he really was whondering.

Charlie Linwood snorts and goes back to sulking, despite getting something right and no further insults. Cracking his back, he slips into listening as Louis answers the question, and sort of fades into the crowd of third years as class continues.

With a rather dramatic yawn, Nadia flips her hair over her shoulder. “Like I would know. Being a lowly girl and all.” What Nadia likely doesn’t realize is that being as she is, she plays into his sexism. But, ah, at thirteen, she doesn’t realize this, and really thinks herself terribly cleverfor being a bit of a snot, though by all rights, Nadia should know better than to talk back to an elder. This doesn’t stop her from examining her fingernails with interest, however, clearly ignoring the courswork.

“Correct,” Quintus replies, tapping at the fence with one hand. “They are, as.. this boy so rightly tells us, crups. And the fence is magically reinforced so they can’t eat it. They do, however, Miss Priss, you will soon get detention lowly girl or not if you don’t shut up, eat just about everything that is put in front of them.” He barely breaks in his sentence to reprimand the girl, and in fact delivers all of this in much the same tone. “Now, on this table we have your actual work for the day. In small groups, you will be given an Augurey or a Crup and you will need to, in the case of crups, comb this potion through their fur to kill the chizpurfles. In the case of the augureys, just making sure their feathers are thoroughly treated will be sufficient. Does everyone know what a chizpurfle is?”

Glanceing at Nadia and then again at the Professor Louis takes a step away as if lightning were about to strike the very spot he had been standing. When the Chizpurfles are mentioned Louis makes a bit of a face. Wether or not he knows what they are isn’t clear but the at least sound nasty.

“A magical creature,” Nadia Marshall-Wexler responds, but she does so more quietly. She doesn’t want a detention, after all, so she does stifle herself from further commenting. Slytherin Plan and all, she certainly doesn’t want detention with Professor Rathe. Instead of commenting further, she looks over to the table where their supplies are gathered, cringing a bit at having to comb the everything-eating creatures. The girl finds herself wondering, exactly, why she decided to take this course to begin with.

Sighing heavily as if the students are being ignorant on purpose, Quintus plucks the small jar containing the small insect-like creatures from the table and hands it to Nadia with the vague instruction to ‘pass it around’. It contains small parasites, about 1/20th of an inch in height, that look rather like tiny crabs with fangs. “These are chizpurfles. They infest the fur and feathers of magical creatures. Sometimes, they also gorge themselves on the magical remnants of a dirty cauldron or on a wand carelessly left where they might come across it. Usually, however, they stick to creatures. So, it is our job today to get rid of them. If it’s reassuring at all, auguries won’t hurt you, though they might beat their wings at you if you aren’t gentle, which can take some people by surprise. Crups are fiercely loyal to wizards, so it would take an awful lot of effort to get them riled, but PLEASE, no one try it.”

Louis Harper seems to relax a bit when the Prfofessor informs them that the Crups will not hurt them. “Should we wear our dragonhide gloves for this Professor? Is the potion harmfull?” Always one to make sure where potions are involved knowing his bad luck. Louis looks at the jar and shivers again. “I hate chizpurfles.”

“EW,” Nadia Marshall-Wexler responds rather loudly, quickly turning to hand the jar to her comrade next to her immediately, who hands it over to Louis in her own time. The girl stifles another yawn as Louis asks his question, almost acting as if she would much rather be sleeping than be in this class — which is probably true — or that she might not have been getting enough sleep otherwise, which also could be true.

“If your hands are that sissy,” Quintus intones, raising an eyebrow at Louis, “then you may wear gloves. But would I allow you to pour a potion onto a defenceless magical creature if it was harmful?” After a moment, he waves a hand vaguely and concedes, “Some wizards do have an allergic reaction to it, and their hands get covered in boils. If you would rather not take the risk, you may wear gloves. It is by no means a necessity, however. Usually, it only hurts chizpurfles and other parasites.” His glare turns to Nadia as she exclaims her disgust. “If you would rather not soil your nails, feel free to sit over there. However, you will have to spend a detention learning about crups in much more depth. With a very small spade.”

Content as ever in Care of Magical Creatures, and cheerful as ever in general, Katherine Nichols‘s good humor is nevertheless dimmed a little as she reaches out to take the jar of Chizpurfles – she wrinkles her nose at the tiny parasites, and quickly passes the jar on to her neighbor. Her smile returns, though, as she turns back to the pen of Crups, and her eyes light eagerly as she watches the little creatures climbing over each other, wagging their double tails.

Furrowing his brow at being called a sissy Louis dosn’t put on his gloves instead he is determined to show Professor Helit that he is a ‘real man’. Louis passes on the jar to the next student almost as soon as it is handed to him. “Disgusting things.”

“Excellent.” Quintus concludes, having officially decided that all his students must be ready for lack of a loud complaint. “Alright. You, can have a crup. You, can have an augurey. You, crup. You, augurey.” He splits the class up, waving those with crups towards the crup enclosure, and those with auguries over towards the aviary. “Alright, now, I’m going to let you into the aviary, one by one. Move slowly, so as not to frighten them, and seize them firmly but gently, so you don’t scare them. As I said, they won’t bite you, but I’ve seen people get a nasty scare as one of them tried to take flight while they were holding them.” He opens the cage door, allowing the students to step in one by one. “And the same goes for the crups, more or less. Go in and take one firmly, but don’t hurt it. They might try to run away, so just pet them until they calm down if they do.”

Stepping into the fenced area Louis is nearly tackled by an excited crup who begins licking his face. “Heh there friendly enough I guess.” Remarks Louis with a small laugh as he scratches the magical canine behind it’s ears. “Good boy” Louis praises as the crup finally sits.

Katherine‘s grin widens even more as she is sorted into the Crup group, and she bounces up from her seat to head over towards the fenced-in enclosure. While a few of her fellow students shrink back from the rambunctious, puppy-like creatures, Katherine eagerly reaches out to grab one. “Oh, Louis, you’re in this group too!” she says, giving her friend a grin as she scoops her squirming Crup into her chubby hands. “There you are!” she croons. “Good…er, girl,” Katherine decides, after a quick glance. The Hufflepuff girl’s smile bubbles over into a giggle as the Crup wriggles up to lick her face, and she tightens her arms around it, holding it firmly on her way back to her seat.

Standing and pretty much wading through a pack of exicited crups Louis takes a bit of the potion from the table and with a bit of hesitation puts some onto his hands before kneeling down and working the stuff into the fur of his new friend…. a large crup. “Well he seems to appriciate it. There really friendly huh Kitty?”

Struggling to keep a one-handed grasp on the Crup while reaching down with her other hand to scoop up a bottle of potion, Katherine still manages an enthusiastic nod to Louis that sends a few curls bouncing free of her braids. “Oh, yes! My Aunt Penelope has Crups – I wanted one of the puppies, but Mum wouldn’t let me since I’d be away at school.” The potion bottle clinks down onto the ground as Katherine kneels down, keeping the squirming Crup tightly clutched under one arm while she uncorks the bottle. “But I still play with them every time I go up to visit. They’re ever so friendly. Watch out for the tails, though – oh!” She cuts off mid-sentence as the Crup lurches forward to lick her face again, and breaks off into a giggle. “You stay put!” she admonishes the little creature, still laughing, as she starts to rub the potion into its fur.

Louis Harper chuckles softly as he continues rubbing the potion into the fur of the dog-like creature. “I’ve only ever seen crups once or twice really…..” Louis smiles and carefully works a bit more of the potion over the crup’s fur. “At least there not as big as horses. My father is a real horse nut.”

“There are combs on the table to fish the chizpurfles out after you’ve rubbed the potion through the fur,” Quintus notes, striding around and inspecting the crup group before wandering over to the augurey group, where one poor boy has just received the shock of his life as the augurey tried to flap him away. “What did I tell you? Grab them firmly but gently. For goodness sakes, don’t pull any of his feathers out! Serves you right if he flaps at you!” Then, he pauses, inspecting a small scratch on someone’s arm. “Oh, dear, his talons dug into you? It’s just a little scratch, it didn’t even draw blood.”

“Oh, horses are all right, I suppose,” Katherine replies with a friendly shrug. “I like Crups better, though.” She scratches her own Crup behind the ears, and it wags its tails enthusiastically in response, then wriggles over onto its back to present its belly to be scratched. Katherine obliges, but also takes advantage of this new position to get a little more potion into the Crup’s fur. “Too bad we can’t have them as pets here. Your dad must have lots of room, to have horses,” she comments, skipping back and forth between subjects as easily as she flips the Crup over to start combing through its fur.

“Oh sure.” Louis replies as he stands to get a comb from the table and kneeling again. “My father is strange though. He has an owl and his horses…. and he keeps garden gnomes in our flower bed.” Louis shrugs and carefully begins running the comb thorugh his crups fur who seems to have diceded now is the perfect time to take a bit of a nap.

“He keeps them?” Katherine repeats, her voice rising in astonishment. “On purpose, you mean? How can he ever get anything to grow?” Her Crup is anything but sleepy – once it has tired of having its belly scratched, it resumes squirming, doing its best to wriggle out of Katherine‘s grasp. Her chubby hands maintain their hold on both comb and creature, though, and she continues sifting the Chizpurfles out of its fur. “Ugh,” she mutters under her breath, watching the tiny parasites sprinkle onto the ground.

Whirling around as he hears a yelp, Quintus sighs and rolls his eyes. “It’s not trying to eat you. It just wants to play.” He informs a girl as a crup nips gently at her arm. “Just tell it no. Firmly.” He wanders around the groups again, inspecting everyone’s progress. “Well done, boy.” He informs Louis. “See, here, this one’s got the crup to go to sleep.” This being about as close to a proper compliment he would ever offer to a student, he nods to each of them in turn and even affects a more cheerful expression – or, at least, glares less. “Whenever you think you’ve managed to completely de-chizpurfle your creature, call me over and let me check. If you’ve done a good enough job, you may go.”

A shrug from Louis louis indicates that Katherine’s guess is as good as his. “I havn’t any idea why he keeps them. But he even has a house built for them out there and everything. Been that way as far back as I can remember.” Louis grimaces a bit too as he shakes dieing chizpurfles from the comb. Despite being called a sissy earlyer Louis smiles at the near compliment and begins running the combe again through his sleeping crup’s fur.

Judging by the pile of inert Chizpurfles on the ground and the increased happiness of the Crup, Katherine seems to have done a fairly good job of ridding her animal of its parasites. But she still searches diligently through its fur for any stragglers – and, not coincidentally, enables herself to play with the Crup for a few more minutes while she’s doing so. To Louis, Katherine gives one last look of surprise, and then just shrugs – the eternal strangeness of grownups is beyond her. Then she raises a chubby hand in the air, continuing to hold her Crup firmly with her other hand. “Professor? I think I’m done.”

Though rather distracted at first with another student, who seems to be insisting that his chizpurfles are immune, Quintus eventually walks off on this poor lad mid-sentence, and nods to Katherine, inspecting her crup carefully. “Passable.” He finally declares – yes, her crup is completely free of any parasites and is looking well-brushed and happy to boot. “For a girl.” He offers as an addendum after a moment, before nodding to her and walking off to deal with some other student, without waiting for any sort of response.

An indignant squeak is Katherine‘s only response, and she sits for a moment with her mouth open, staring at Quintus’s back as he walks away. “For a girl!” she repeats. She tosses her head with a sniff, and lifts the Crup to cuddle it up to her chin, as if it were the one who needed comforting, as her plump face settles into an unhappy frown.

Louis Harper bites his lower lip checking carefully all over the sleeping crup and no long seeing any more chizprufles he raises his hand as well. “Professor I think I got them all.” Louis smiles a little giving the sleeping crup an affectionate scratch. Louis sighs a little heairng the ‘For a girl’ comment and shrugs to Katherine.

Turning on his heel and approaching Louis and Kitty again, Quintus raises an eyebrow at the girl without a word to Louis. “Feel free to leave, Miss. Any time.” He then turns his attentions to study Louis’ crup, declaring it to be, “Satisfactory. You too may leave.” Another sweeping glance over the rest of his students, and he offers, “Alright. Please return your creatures to wherever they belong, either the aviary or the enclosure. No homework this time. Class dismissed.”

Louis Harper gives his crup one final scratch and puts the potion and comb back where they belong. “Well I guess that’s it…. not so hard actually. Louis shrugs and heads out of the fenced in area. “Cmon Kitty, I think Professor Helit will notice if any crups come up missing.” Louis gives the girl a bit of a grin and turns to head to his next class smelling an awfull lot like a kennel.

Still hugging her Crup to her with protective tightness and a deep frown, Katherine brings the little animal reluctantly back to its enclosure. Gently, she sets it down, brightening a little in response to the enthusiastic lick that it gives her, and scratching it one last time behind the ears in return. Then, slowly, she lets it go. The Crup scampers cheerfully off to rejoin its friends, and Katherine rises to join Louis on the way back to the castle.

“So, we gave up on the ribbons for now, because as soon as my hair gets wet or anything, the ribbon falls out anyway,” Briony blathers to Gabriel as she leans against a statue, fiddling with the sleeve of her robe, for really no reason. The girl is decked out in Gryffindor colors today, hat, scarf and mittens, as well as wearing her school robes, and she looks to be quite ignorant of the fact that some snowflakes are floating down from the sky and getting stuck in her rather messy hair.

Things have seemed slow-going to Gabriel these days, which is what he is thinking about as he sticks his hands in his pockets and sighs, only half-listening to Briony’s chatter about ribbons. “Oh, yeah,” he comments indifferently as he looks around for something to change the topic to. No luck. “Well, maybe you’ll just get better at it,” he says, despite Briony’s admitting of their having given up.

Orion Kari sits rackishly near the fountain, back propped against a stone pillar. Uncaring for the state of his crisp robes on the cold, somewhat damp ground, the olive-skinned Hufflepuff gaze flickers between the picturesque statue of the wing-spread phoenix and the sketch pad propped against his one bent knee. A point of sharpened charcoal scritching furiously at the page. His hair is somewhat damp, and clings to his overly-handsome features, hinting that he had been outside for quite a while.

“But we like it,” Briony admits with a sigh, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Gabriel probably doesn’t care what their hair things look like. “Have you asked anyone to the ball yet, Gabe?” she asks her friend, standing up and walking around the statue she’s been propped against. On her round, however, she spies Orion, and as if some sort of charm has been cast on her, she stops and watches him for a moment, wide-eyed, then makes herself tear her eyes away. After all, one can’t be caught staring! The damage is done, though, as her face is now quite red.

Gabriel Goden truly doesn’t care about ribbons, but good friends always tried to be supportive, didn’t they? He nods, raising an eyebrow at her as she stops to gaze at something. Briony had no attention span, did she? At her question, though, Gabriel shrugs and stretches his arms. “Well, no. I wasn’t on that planning committee so I can only go if I ask someone who was on it. I don’t know, balls aren’t really my thing. Are you going?” he asks casually, though he assumes she probably will find a way of getting there.

Bundled up in about sixteen layers of cold weather gear – after that snowball fight, she’s not going to get caught unprepared for the cold again – Kelly Pantall makes her exit from the castle and meanders through the courtyard, her gait one indicating her distraction and, likely, her lack of any actual purpose in her wandering. When, finally, she does seem to notice the small handful of people in the courtyard, she blinks a few times and offers Gabriel and Briony each a small smile, a sort of ‘I’m not specifically angry with either of you’ expression more than anything else. “‘Allo, Briony.” Gabe doesn’t get a greeting. Nor does Orion get so much as a look. Then, the question on everyone’s lips. “Going to the ball?”

A happy Alexandra nearly bounces across the courtyard, bookbag stuffed full of supplies on one shoulder. She’s here to participate in one of her favorite pastimes – drawing – and her favorite subject is the phoenix statue. She’s done many drawings before, of course, but now, armed with new knowledge from her Wizard Art classes, she had started a new drawing, one she intends to make full colour and animate. She’s not the only one interested in the phoenix today, however. A bit awed, she looks at Orion and his drawing, not quite approaching him, but edging closer shyly. Shy is something that Alexandra usually is not, but Orion’s good looks and talent seemed to have an effect on the small Hufflepuff. “That’s really good…” she says finally, blurting out the compliment.

Wrapped up in his thick cloak and a woolly Gryffindor scarf, Andy Carver shuffles out to the courtyard. Passing Briony and Gabriel, he greets them with a muffled “Ullo!” and raises the gloved hand. He just went outside to take a few minutes of fresh air and heads for the fountain to finally sit down at its edge, opposing and ignoring Orion. Andy rubs his hand and watches his foggy breath vanish in the air.

Orion Kari lifts a hand slowly, raking some sodden, obsidion locks from his chisled feature. It takes him a moment to feel the eyes on him, and another after it before he feels confident enough with his last stroke of graphite against the parchment that he turns his gaze. It could be a moment painted in time, chisled against the snow. Handsome, dark features, blending in to grey tone of the late winter world. Yet his hair, and his eyes, start out vivid and vibrant brown. A rich color, surprisingly full of life against the cold tone of slush and stone around him. And for a moment, he catches Briony’s gaze, before she tears it away. And the faintest hint of a smile touches his lips, a sunrise that adds color to the world. The page of the parchment is turned, and his charcoal flickers across it once more in dazzlingly quick motions. But otherwise, he remains motionless.

“Hi,” Briony greets the newcomers, trying not to look as distracted as she feels with Orion in the vicinity, and glances to Kelly as she makes her way in. “I dunno, if someone asks me. I didn’t go to the events planning thingy. Felicity was there, after all.” Briony says this as if Felicity’s being there is possibly the worst thing that could have happened to the committee. “Are you going with your — er — well, Rafe?”

Waving nonchalantly to the others, too, Gabriel looks to Briony as she talks to Kelly. “Felicity!” Gabriel snaps his fingers at the revelation. He could ask Felicity if he ever decided he wanted to go to the ball. As it stands, Gabriel is rather impartial to the event. After all, the Barefoot social was rather fun, but no more fun than any other weekend, really. The boy tenses a little at the mention of Rafe, but says nothing.

Biting down on her lower lip and most pointedly not looking directly at either Briony or Gabriel as she formulates her answer, it takes Kelly a long moment to actually say anything particularly relevant or coherent. “I don’t think so.” She finally offers, clearing her throat ostentatiously, and trying to draw attention away from the fact that her cheeks are flushed pink. “I mean, you know, he’s a fourth year, and my sweetheart and all, but I’m on the Events Committee, so I’d hate to let my… I mean, I’m allowed to take any lower year student with me if I want, I might do that and, you know, meet up with him there…” She probably thinks it’s a good cover. It probably wouldn’t be, if her words weren’t tinged with doubt and she wasn’t such a bad liar.

Alexandra Leong flushes red for a moment, and quickly hurries away to a spot a few feet from the older Hufflepuff boy. She pulls out her own sketchbook, but instead of taking out pencils and charcoal, she pulls out her wand. Turning to her drawing, she steals a few quick glances at Orion, then at the statue. She gives her wand an experimental wave in the air. Satisfied that it is behaving properly, she focusses her attention back to her drawing, waving her wand over it, adding to the shadows and lines already there. If anything, she’s hasn’t really noticed the Gryffindors, and she’s certainly not listening to their conversation. Not that the ball isn’t on her mind, of course.

Orion Kari seemingly pays no attention to the talk of courtships and socials, instead branding his charcoal across the resiliantly, ever-dry parchment with a speed and skill that almost defies logic. There is practiced confidence in his movements, as his gaze flickers from Briony, to the parchment, to Alex, and the parchment, Briony, then the parchment, and then the rest sort of in one glance. A process that repeats several, several times. Finally, he pulls back the charcoal and carefully brushes off the parchment (smudging only what he wishes smudged). “Breaktaking,” he muurmurs under his breath. A quiet sound, almost unwitting to the fact that there are others around.

“Well, that’s nice of you, Kelly, inviting a younger person like that. Rafe doesn’t mind?” Briony is apparently clueless about the subtleties of Kelly’s statements. The girl begins to play with the fringe on her scarf and glances around. That Hufflepuff girl is sitting near Orion. Her Orion. Briony‘s eyes fall on them for a moment or two longer than they ought, and she returns her gaze to her housemates. “I might go if someone asks me, or maybe my mum and dad will have me go somehow.” She shrugs. “We won’t get to be barefoot, so I don’t think it’ll be as much fun.” She can’t help but giggle at this, though. After all, Briony does enjoy being barefoot.

For a moment, Kelly fixes an expression of utter confusion on Briony, just staring at her unflatteringly for a moment. The question, etched into every inch of her face, is so very clearly ‘You’re not really that stupid, are you?’. After a moment, she shakes her head firmly and looks down at the ground a few feet away, scuffing at the ground with her boots. “No, Rafe doesn’t mind.” She concludes decisively. “Because I haven’t told him.”

Andy looks around. The courtyard seems to be quite lively for such a cold afternoon. Without intention he picks up shreds of conversation. Felicity? Would she be asking Gabriel again? Then he would be the fool again. He imagines himself sitting lonely in his dorm, while everybody is having fun at the Ball. Maybe some annoying girl would ask him, though, but that really wasn’t the time to think about this. Andy closes his eyes and enjoys the sunrays, wondering why he saw red when he shut his eyes and the sun was shining onto them.

Orion Kari considers the picture he had drawn for several moments, studying with a somewhat critical eye, despite his previous compliment to his own work. Perhaps the word was directed elsewise? A few corrections are made, a few shifts of line here, a little smudge of shading there. Finally, without word, he pushes himself up. His hair damp from melted snow and his robes sodden with slush from the ground against which he had just sat, he pauses briefly folds the corner of the parchment he’d been working on and closes the pad solidly. Turning n his heel, he doesn’t bother to magick himself dry, though he does glance toward his younger housemate and offers a mysterious smiles for which he is known. It’s with a smooth, confident stride with which he moves past her, however. His gaze forward, focused on no one in particular, he moves toward the pack of younger students — but as he crosses Briony, he presses the sketch pad on to her, so that she takes it, and whispers quietly in his thick, richly accented voice.. “Go, with me,” before continuing on his stride toward the castle proper. He lets go of the pad simply, leaving on Briony’s good grace to keep hold of it, and he never looks back. His hands finding his pockets, his olive skin glistening with trickling water. The marked page of the notebook is a scene of the courtyard, with the fountain in the background, and Briony in forefront in a ballroom gown, dancing with he in dress robes. Everyone else, with the exception of Alex who is paid some detail, is cast in sketch figures and half-flushed poses. It’s a quick rendering, and sketchy, but the amount of life and skill is almost masterful, as if he had been born with a peice of charcoal in his hand.

“Well, don’t you think you should ask him? I mean, he is your sweetheart, after all.” A pause. “Wait, is he, still?” As Orion approaches, thought, Briony seems to forget all that Kelly has been talking about, and she pauses, looking up at him with wide eyes. Her hands grasp the sketchpad as he hands it to her, and she looks down at it, her jaw dropping at the detail shown. She had never managed anything quite so elaborate as this, and she is rendered speechless as she looks at it, even if her mind is yelling ‘Answer him!’ as he asks her, so casually, to go with him to the ball. “Alright!” she finally says, many moments later, her voice sounding strained and unusual as she looks up at him, her eyes still wide and her mouth still agape.

“I’m not asking Rafe anything.” Kelly responds flatly, her tone edged with a slightly dangerous note – quite a turnaround from that a few days before, or even a few moments before. Then, in response to the next question, she hesitates a moment, apparently not taking note of Briony’s distraction, too deep in her thoughts. These thoughts must be intriguing ones, for it takes her a long moment to answer a question that one would think she knows the answer to offhand, and her cheeks flush scarlet. Finally, she says, flatly, “Yes.” And this is all, before she too gets distracted. “Oooh…”

Orion Kari does turn back, nor give any other sign that he had heard Briony, beyond withdrawing a hand from his pocket offer a small wave behind him. His strong footfalls, muffled only by the soft slush through which he walks, echo through courtyard. The sound reverbating against the stone, mingling with the last embers of her called answer, leaving silence but for the babbling water of the fountain and Kelly noise of surprise. With a flourish of his cloak, he turns a corner and vanished in to the castle.

Briony turns to Kelly in utter surprise and grins a bit lopsided. “Lookit what he just gave to me, Kelly!” The girl tells her housemate with a bit of a high-pitched giggle. “I guess I am going to the ball after all. I’ve got to go tell mum, I’ll need new dressrobes for it!” Suddenly, Briony seems more interested in the ball than she had moments ago, and she grips the pad of paper rather strongly, looking over the drawing in awe.

While Kelly certainly did notice what just happened, and did see what happened, she doesn’t seem anywhere near as excited as Briony does – in fact, she seems entirely put out that now Briony isn’t paying as much attention to her drama. “Yes. New dress robes. I have some of those. Whoever I end up taking will just love them.” There is a certain arrogance to her tone, though it is one that she affects quite frequently, and she frowns at Briony a little bit. “Isn’t he… rather old for you?”

“Too old? What are you talking about? Rafe is older than you, after all,” Briony points out, frowning a bit. “You’re just sour grapes is all.” Well, she tried, but the comment seems to lose some meaning being butchered the way it was. “I’m going to go put this in my room.” Briony‘s tone is a bit cold as she says this, frowning again at Kelly and turning to run back into the school, out of the cold.

The lakeshore has been transformed from that of early fall to a more white world, the afternoon sun filtering in through a scattering of snowflakes in the air and causing the fallen snow to glitter, creating shadows in the sets of footprints around, and playing games with the ice at the edge of the lake. Through this, bundled up in thick robes and cloak yet with a pleased grin on his face, Evan walks beside Olivia along the shore. “Look at that,” he points, his gaze out over the edge of the water, “it froze the waves.”

A hat pulled over her ears and her matching green and yellow scarf wound tight around her neck, with matching mittens, Olivia looks as if she doesn’t, for once, mind the many snowdrifts around her, though her nose and cheeks are quite pink. “It did seem to get cold again very quickly last night. It looks lovely. Perhaps I’ll bring out that paint set your mum gave me and try to paint it. Do you think?” She smiles up at Evan and pushes at him a little bit playfully, for, really, no reason at all.

Evan Geroff grabs at Olivia’s hands as she pushes, laughing. “I think it would make a lovely picture. But do you have this many shades of whites, or do you paint the snow green?” That can’t possibly be a serious question. He smiles again at Olivia, then tilts his head up, watching the flakes coming down.

Giggling as her hand is grabbed, Olivia looks out over the scene with mock-thoughtfulness. “I thought maybe purple would be better,” she responds with a laugh. “Well, I could use blue. See, out there?” she uses her free mittened hand to direct over some of the colors in the ice, leaning close to Evan as she does so. “I need practice mixing colors anyway.” She giggles again — apparently this is a good day for the girl — and looks up at Evan, then the sky, also watching the snowflakes come down.

Looking at the hand he has captured, Evan isn’t immediately sure what he had intended to do with it – so he grins at Olivia and just holds onto it. Can’t push him that way! He turns a more serious look toward where she points, though, critically looking the the colors. “That,” he notes, “is why you are learning to paint, and I am not. I suppose I do see a bit of blue out there.”

“I guess so,” she answers, chuckling. “Constance is better than me already, though. She showed me how to do all of this over Christmas. I’m trying to get it, but it’s hard.” She grins and leans against a tree nearby, smoothing her long skirt down so that it won’t wrinkle. “The sunset that I wanted to paint during our tea, when we were in the rose gardens, that would’ve been easier to paint for all the colors, but I don’t want to start with it. I want that one to be the best.” Olivia smiles to Evan, looking out over the wintery playground that lies out around them, and ignoring a group of loud first years who seem to be having a rather raucous snowball fight in the distance.

“She’s been working at it for a long time.” Evan chuckles quietly. “I should know.” He moves to stand nearer the tree on which Olivia leans, not touching it himself, just standing close. “Keep practicing, you’ll get it. And you’ll be painting that sunset soon, surely. No hurry.”

“I know,” Olivia nods and smiles a bit as she thinks of it. “She’s just so good at it. Maybe I can ask for lessons over the summer holiday. Then I’ll get better at it, and it won’t look like giant blobs on parchment.” Olivia stifles a bit of an exploding giggle at it. “I’m not showing you that one still, so don’t ask.” A sly look goes to Evan, though she largely keeps her gaze outward to the scene in front of her.

“But Olivia,” Evan protests, “How can I continue to live without seeing the blobs you painted? There can’t be better in all of Europe.” Finally moving around the tree just for enough so he can also lean on it, he twists to look at her, then back out over the lake yet again, his teasing laugh fading to a more thoughtful look.

“You’ve lived so far,” Olivia chides back with a laugh, sticking her elbow out at his side and leaning on the tree with only her shoulder as she turns to look at him. “Really, now, why would you want to see that? I was trying to paint for the first time, and I’m not showing anybody that painting. Not even my mum.” She pauses, then adds in a quiet voice, “Especially my mum.” She shakes her head and then seems to forget about all thoughts of her mother. “Why don’t you paint something and then we can trade?”

Evan Geroff rests his head back against the tree, looking up, and seems to gain inspiration though it is still daylight. “I will paint a cloudy night sky,” he pronounces, “and trade it for your blobs. It shall feature all thirty-two shades of black, and one white dot for a star that escaped.”

“But that’s cheating!” Olivia protests, standing up from the tree and putting her hands on her hips. It’s rather difficult to look even slightly menacing when one is wound up in green and yellow mittens and scarf and hat, and looks rather pink all around the face, but Olivia does try. Of course, this doesn’t last long and it breaks into a smile again as she shrugs. “Only if you’ll trade with me will I let you see my blobs. And you can’t try to compare them to what I was trying to paint, either, because that’s not fair.”

“You haven’t told me what you were trying to paint,” Evan points out, rather unintimiated as he continues to lean back against the tree trunk. “And I don’t see how painting the sky is cheating. If I were any good I’d paint you standing under it in a pretty dress, but I could never hope to do you justice.”

Olivia can’t help but blush at this, though her cheeks and nose already being pink, it doesn’t seem to show up too obviously on the girl’s face as she turns her gaze almost sheepishly to her friend — or more than friend? “Well, well… that’s just completely beside the point, isn’t it?” she counters, not very cleverly as she momentarily ignores the first question. “Oh, and I’m not going to tell you what I painted, for that very reason.” Of course, whether she remembers that she hadn’t told him in the first place is irrelevant as she just giggles again and looking out over the lake again, as if she might have questions brewing about painting to be asked to someone, if not Evan.

Evan Geroff grins at Olivia still again, shaking his head – leaning forward from the tree just enough to do so. “Because I asked? If I demand not to see, will you show me?” He pauses after this sentance, but then his face lights up, as though hit by a brilliant thought. Lowering his voice, he whispers, “I’ll tell you a secret if you’ll show me your painting.”

“Oh?” Olivia responds, raising her eyebrows and looking away, almost seeming as if she’s checking to make sure nobody else is around listening in. “Well, tell me your secret first and I’ll decide if it’s worthy,” she tells him crossing her arms over her chest, a conspiratal look on her face. The girl steps closer to him. ‘All the better to hear you with, my dear,’ of course, being the motivation.

“My secret,” Evan begins, voice still low, and for this first time – this conversation, at least – blushes a bit. “My secret, Miss Olivia Baxtor..” He does manage to stop leaning on the tree, which means he also moves forward in doing so, if they weren’t close enough already, “is a very worthy one. I wish,” voice drops to an actual whisper, as if it actually was a secret, “to take you to the Govenor’s Ball.”

“Oh — oh, really?” Olivia whispers back, smiles a bit and puts her mittened hand to her cheek. “Well, I think I’d like to go with you,” she tells him. “Though that’s not much for a secret, I have to say,” she adds in a bit louder voice with a giggle. “But, alright. I’ll get the painting and show it to you after dinner,” she agrees, almost as if she had been planning to do that all along. “I promise I’ll remember.” She pauses. “You really do want to go to the ball with me?”

“Miss Baxtor, it would be my honor to escort you,” Evan answers with a smile, no longer whispering – the secret’s out after all. “It should be even nicer than the social last fall; after all, the age limit, and they’re inviting so many important adults.”

“And we get to wear shoes to this one!” Olivia states, sounding quite relieved as she does so. “I wonder if my mum and dad will go. Is it only important adults?” She pauses for a moment in thought. “Well, I’m sure mum will find a way to be there, but she’ll likely leave me be.” Olivia seems to shrug off any worries about this and returns Evan’s smile heartily. “I wonder what the theme will be. I’m sure it will be beautiful, since there won’t be many younger years to muss up the decorations.”

Evan Geroff shakes his head, taking a moment as he does so to lean back against the tree again. “I don’t know which adults have been invited; some Ministry members, probably other successful alumni. And they did mention those who have supported the school..” “If you want to..” he says, conspires really, “I’m sure we can lose ourselves in the crowds.” “Can you imagine what the Great Hall will look like, with so many people and decorations?”

“I imagine it’ll have to be enchanted to hold so many people. After all, if all the influential people will be there, we’ll be a bit crowded as it stands now.” She chuckles a bit and smiles. “I don’t think it’ll be hard to avoid my mum there. She’ll be more concerned making sure that Helen and Gertrude are making a good show of themselves. She’s never worried whether Christian and me ever would.” Olivia shrugs nonchalantly at this. “I hope they have flowers on display. It won’t feel as festive if there aren’t flowers and things.”

“They’ll find a way to get in, then?” “They can’t decorate for a ball without flowers,” Evan agrees. “And lights – probably extra floating lights, or else decorated or fancier than usual. Perhaps fairies, like they used at,” he pauses to glance around, and make sure noone else is in hearing distance, “that dinner in the garden. And there’s to be a meal beforehand.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Olivia replies with a rather excited nod. She seems to be getting more excited by the moment. “I think I remember Professor Prichard mentioning that a good lot of it would be catered. Or perhaps someone else mentioned that. I’ll bet there are sweets, too.” She smiles wide at Evan, her previous shyness with smiling apparently gone with her now straightened teeth. “Will you have new dressrobes for it, or will you wear the same as you wore for the Social?”

Evan Geroff nods, grinning at Olivia’s excitement. A bit excited himself, for that matter. “I’m sure there will be. And some sort of drinks.. I wonder whether they’ll allow more in that area, with all the adults and no younger years.” It doesn’t seem to concern him particularly, he’s simply used to certain things at fancy parties. “I’ll have the same – they’re mine until I grow out of them – but Mother is going to get them modified for me. What color will you be wearing?”

“Oh, er,” Olivia seems genuinely surprised by this. “Well, I was wearing yellow at the Social,” she starts, rather thinking out loud, and stating this as if Evan hadn’t been the one there with her. “Well, I suppose mum will do over the blue one, since I’ve only been able to wear it once.” She pauses, leaning against the tree again, her face pensive. “Yes, I think it will be the navy blue one. I’ll have to tell you if mum changes her mind.” Olivia giggles a bit. “So will your robes be blue, then, to match my dress?” she asks, obviously a bit amused at the thought.

“I don’t think she’s having them changed that much,” Evan laughs, though he isn’t entirely sure what will be done. “I’ll look at ideas with Mother, and then she’ll send them to me when it’s done. Perhaps I’ll change my hair blue to match instead, or my eyes. Shall I come with navy blue eyes?”

“You…” Olivia says, her cheeks pinkening for no very apparent reason as she looks away and scoffs a bit. “I think your eyes being green is just fine. Besides, if you and I both have blue eyes, that wouldn’t be very interesting, now would it?” She stiffles a giggle as she says this. “Perhaps you should turn your skin navy blue instead. That would be fitting, don’t you agree?”

Evan Geroff offers a rather thoughtful nod to this suggestion. “It might. Do you think Professor Harrison would assist me?” He’s not entirely practiced at pretending to be serious, however, and follows the statement with an amused smile. “People might state at us a bit, though, and I’m not sure how well it would help me make the connections we’re supposed to, mingling with the adults.”

Stifling her own giggles, Olivia just shakes her head. “Can you imagine someone actually doing something like that? How ridiculous! Perhaps a firstie might, if they knew how, but not a fourth year.” With all her maturity, she was the one who brought it up to begin with. “Is your mum coming to this ball?” The girl asks, seeming almost cautious. “I mean, I’m sure people would understand if she stayed home, what with… well, with the baby, and all.”

This statement does make Evan pause – ridiculous for a ball, of course, but it sounded like an interesting ‘wonder what the professors would say when I showed up to class’ idea. “I don’t think they’d even let someone in to a ball this nice, that way. Certainly even a first year would know enough not to try that.” Enough said on that topic, he switches gears to answer Olivia’s question. “Father and Mother’ll be there; they almost have to, of course, with Mother being Minister, and she’ll still be working with the baby coming. She’ll probably be fairly busy all night, though..” he trails off, curious, perhaps picking up on a bit of her concern yet not understanding the cause.

“Well, that’s good,” Olivia responds, her tone brightening a bit. “After all, she’ll know better than me whether it’s good to be out when you’re going to have a baby.” The girl shrugs a bit, and why she’s so worried about whether Sylvie’s going to be ‘safe’ with the baby, one might never know. The girl appears to have entirely her own motives in her concerns. “Do you want a baby brother or a baby sister?” The grin on Olivia‘s face cannot be concealed however, and it is almost clear that she’s thinking of this new baby almost as her own brother or sister already

“If I have to choose, I suppose I’d hope for another sister,” Evan comments, after thinking about it for a moment. “If nothing else, it’d make the girls happy, what with three boys in a row now. Might be fun to have a baby girl around to show off.” Not that he can’t just as easily claim Rosemarie, and, of course, be subjected to more dolls and frills than any boy should have to endure. He tilts his head at Olivia, grinning back. “And you seem to have such a way with the girls in my family; a couple more, and you’ll never be able to escape.”

Laughing a bit, Olivia shrugs. “They’re more fun than my sisters, and they seem to like me well enough. I cam

Laughing a bit, Olivia shrugs. “They’re more fun than my sisters, and they seem to like me well enough. I guess it’s better than having four brothers. I can’t imagine.” A pause. “Your poor sisters, having to put up with your brothers all the time, and especially you!” The slyness with which Olivia says this is almost comical and she seems to slink ever so slightly away from Evan, the snow crunching under her feet giving her movements away ever so slightly.

“Me?” Evan queries indignantly, a hand rising to his chest as he speaks and mouth gaping, both pointedly exagerated. Pushing himself once more off the tree, just barely concealing a laugh though his mask of seriousness is rather hopeless, Evan traces through the snow with his foot, considering it. “I haven’t done anything to be ‘put up with’…” “Yet.”

“Sure you haven’t,” Olivia adds with a cheerful sounding scoff. “And didn’t I spend a lot of time with Constance for two whole weeks?” Her face is the slightest bit smug as she says this, though she is slowly backing up, her shoes continuing to crunch through the snow. “We’re good friends now, you know.” A pause. “We’re like this,” she demonstrates by crossing two of her fingers, one over the other with her free hand. “So, do you want to revise that statement?” The girl seems to be nearing a snow-covered wall, about a foot in height, though she, of course, doesn’t notice it, being as she’s walking backwards.

“You’d use my own sister against me.” Still, Evan does take a moment to consider the question. “Nope, I have no wish to revise it. If my sister would so easily give me away, then she clearly deserves whatever horrible brotherly-like things…” Trailing off, he can see the wall she is approaching, as he stands and watches her back away. “You might want to look behind you, though,” he suggests, rather mildly after the previous comments. He wouldn’t be bending down just slightly to do anything more than smooth out that wrinkle in his cloak, now, would he? Never consider taking advantage of such a situation as her suddenly not looking.

By the time Evan mentions this, it’s already too late, and Olivia turns just in time to trip over said short wall, falling right into a drift of snow. “Ugh,” she yells rather loudly and sits up a bit, glancing around. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you, grew a wall right up behind me.” Olivia, in her distraction, has not noticed what Evan might be doing, as she is rather busy working on wiping the snow off of her winter gear so that it doesn’t wrinkle and so that she doesn’t have to stand outside in soggy gear.

Evan Geroff hadn’t expected Olivia to get so far as actually falling, and stands up hurriedly, hands filled with snow which he carefully presses together even while taking a step forward. “Actually, I planted it there last year, didn’t think it would grown so tall yet.” He hesitates, watching still, but eventually, one can assume, decides that she seems okay and that his plan ought to be okay, because after a moment he finally throws the white ball he has created.

The girl has already begun standing up and looks to Evan with a bit of a laugh. “Oh, I’m sure, growing walls are your spec–” Splat! The snow lands right on top of her head. “You’ll pay for that!” she calls, shaking her head quickly to remove the snow from atop her head. Olivia crosses her arms, looking steadily at Evan for a moment, then begins to run rather haphazardly towards him, hurling hanfulls of snow and laughing rather loudly. Well, it’s cold and it’s wet, but it doesn’t mean she can’t have fun. She soon veers her path and kneels a short distance away to gather her own respectable snowball.

A laugh is Evan‘s only answer to Olivia’s threat, as he retreats back behind the tree trunk for all the protection it offers. Which isn’t really a lot. Ducking down as the flurries pause for a moment, he employs himself in quickly creating another snowball – a couple, if he has time to mold them that quickly – sticking his head back around once he’s got one finished to throw again.

Seizing the moment that he has bestowed on her by poking his head around, Olivia throws the snowball hard at him, ducking down to gather up another one quickly. Why the girl had not herself thought of using the tree as defense, she herself will never know, but now that she’s out in the open and he’s hiding quite well behind the tree, she starts to run, snowball in mittened hands, as if attempting to catch him off-guard by appearing suddenly.

Evan Geroff ducks quickly, but is too busy throwing his own snowball to realy avoid Olivia’s, and winds up pulled back behind the tree wiping wet out of his eyes. Only for a minute, though; and he waits another minute to take the time to collect three snowballs, two in one arm and one in the other hand, before looking up to see just where Olivia has run to.

Laughing loudly, Olivia oofs as she is clobbered again by Evan’s shot, this time in the stomach. “I’ll get you!” She tells him, hurling the two snowballs in her hands at him with another laugh. Her throws are poor at best, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she stoops to gather more snowballs together, then begins to try and sneak towards him silently, though the crunching of the snow is not very condusive to this.

One, at least, hits Evan in the back as he turns, and he spins further around the tree with a protective arm raised. “Not a fair shot!” he proclaims, though he certainly sounds cheerful while saying it. Once his snowballs are gathered turns his head, then stands as he spots Olivia – quiet or not, he’s ready to look for her. This time, instead of hiding, he takes a couple steps forward, hurling one and then grabbing a second, leaving only the third held in his hand as a defense.

“Ack!” Olivia yells, her laugh poorly concealed as she covers her face, dropping both of the snowballs she had gathered in the meantime. “Everything’s fair in a snowball fight!” she retorts and kneels down again, gathering both of her dropped snowballs together and hurling the much-larger orb at Evan before grabbing more snow and running towards him with something like a cackling battle cry.

Evan Geroff attempts to dodge the attack, not entirely successfully which leaves him laughing as he prepares for Olivia’s charge. If, by preparing, one means raises his final snowball and rushes forward to meet her in battle.

Olivia doesn’t stop running as Evan begins to approach her, and in fact seems to take almost a flying leap, her inhibitions gone for the moment, arms out as she attempts to knock her friend over. As the two of them fall to the ground, she laughs and drops her snowball direct to his face, grinning widely at him. Perhaps it is merely his company which coaxes her out of her shell this way, but Olivia appears to be quite content, laughing and keeping Evan “pinned” in the snow for the moment being.

Evan Geroff looses his own snowball somewhere along the way, whether it falls in the attempt to raise his hands and fend Olivia off or actually, somewhere in there, manages to hit her before he himself looses control and falls. “‘eeey!” His shout is muffled for a moment, shaking his head to remove the snow from face and eyes. His initial struggles are half-hearted, if only because in his surprise he’s laughing too hard to make much of an effort. “Lemme up!” His other attempt, to scoop snow in one hand to toss at her, might be more successful depending on how close track she’s keeping of that sort of thing.

“Ack,” Olivia responds, her own laughter keeping her from being very successful at fending his own attempts at covering her in snow and removing her from him. She sits down on the snow, brushing the snow off of her shoulders and shaking her head a bit as she turns to him with another boisterous laugh. “I got you pretty good, wouldn’t you say?” she asks before standing up and putting her hands out to help him up. “I’m sopping wet now, though, and I should change. Don’t want to get sick before the ball or anything.” Her face is bright with still unsubsided laughter.

Evan Geroff sits up, brushing the remaining snow from his head before working on the cloak he wears. As she stands, he grins and takes her hands, likewise rising to his feet. “You just don’t want to give me a chance to retaliate,” he acuses.

“Don’t you think you’ve gotten me enough?” Olivia protests, perhaps holding the hands she has grabbed a bit longer than is absolutely necessary. She blushes ever so slightly despite herself, and smiles up at him. “Besides, doesn’t some hot pumpkin juice sound nice about now? I know I could go for some.” She laughs a bit and finally releases his hands, almost as if she has only just remembered to do so, and instead adjusts her now quite damp hat to cover her ears, for all the good it will do.

“No,” is all required in Evan‘s cheerful reply. “But I suppose it can wait until the rest of my walls grow, in favor of pumpkin juice and melting the snow out of my ears.” He doesn’t seem to have been in a hurry to let go either, though as she does, he turns toward the castle while answering.

Pausing for a moment to shake her robes off of snow, Olivia turns towards where Evan has begun walking and discreetly slips her wet-mittened hand into his rather discreetly as they walk in towards the castle. “I’ll just slip up to my commonroom,” she tells him as they approach the entrance to the castle. “And get dry clothes on, and then I’ll be back at the Great Hall in no time for that pumpkin juice.” She smiles and pauses a moment just inside the doorway before easing her hand back out of his and rather tiptoeing her way to the shifting stairs on her way to her commonroom. Mustn’t leave a trail, after all!

“I’ll meet you in a few minutes, then. After I dry off as well.” He squeezes her hand gently before she slips it away, then stands a moment longer than necessary, watching her leave before he too turns toward his common room with a quick stride. The sooner there, the sooner back – and he, after all, isn’t so worried about the footprints left behind. Let the whole world know that Evan had a snowball fight and came back – in an aspect not apparent in his sopping clothes – victorious!

are here.

Standing in the center of the pitch, stretching, Noémie appears to be quite pleased with the clear weather for once. The sky is clear and bright, and the sun is shining down on the drifts of snow that cover the pitch and the tops of the hoops. “Just start stretching. It’s cold enough, without people getting injured from it,” she calls to her teammates who seem to be straggling onto the pitch. Her broom lays over the top of a box of Quidditch balls and she breathes in deeply as she begins some other stretching exercises.

Striding onto the pitch a bit behind, Van sets his broom against the same box as Noémi’s and begins his stretching. “Well it’s been colder than this… and at least it stopped snowing… and the wind isn’t as bad as it’s been.” Calls Van out to the captain. He stretches down to touch each foot and holds in place for a few moments before standing upright and tucking his arms behind his back. He’s pretty used to the whole stretching routine by now. “So what’s on the slate for today?”

Despite the clear sky, the wind is cold and stings David‘s face as he joins his other teammates on the pitch. He holds his broom over his left shoulder, as usual, privately wondering about the drills that he’ll have to perform today. He nods to the other players, without a word, as a greeting, and does just as he has been told. A few stretchings, he can do that.

Striding onto the pitch a bit behind, Van sets her broom against the same box as Noémi’s and begins her stretching. “Well it’s been colder than this… and at least it stopped snowing… and the wind isn’t as bad as it’s been.” Calls Van out to the captain. She stretches down to touch each foot and holds in place for a few moments before standing upright and tucking her arms behind her back. She’s pretty used to the whole stretching routine by now. “So what’s on the slate for today?”

“Yes, we’ve seen worse before, haven’t we? We’re in Scotland, after all.” Tegan Madison chimes in, as she joins the group. “Hello everybody, by the way.” she adds, as an afterthought, and she waves to her teammates. Then, she puts her own broom on the ground, and starts the stretching routine herself, bending forward, then to the left and the right. “So yes… what do you have in store for us?” she asks to the team captain.

Coming to the pitch at a jog, Bailey grins at the lot of them. “Afternoon, everyone,” he calls, half-heartedly beginning to stretch as he sees his teammates doing. “Have a good holiday everyone?” he asks, holding his broom out, ready to hop onto it. “Ah, I can’t wait to fly again. Sick of not being able to fly! My parents are just too weird about it.” He chuckles and switches arms, watching out the corner of his eye for when the captain finishes her stretches.

“I thought we’d fly some laps around the pitch for starters, get the holiday laziness out of us, and then do some passing exercises with the quaffle while the beaters work with a bludger. How’s that sound?” Noémie says this in a tone that makes it clear that they haven’t really much room to disagree with her. Then again, after the practice in the pouring rain during the fall, some of them seem relieved that they’ll at least be on brooms. “Alright, everyone up. Let’s do five laps.” She gets onto her broom and begins her own without another word to her team.

Cracking her back with an audible pop Van takes her broom in hand and smiles. “Hullo Teagan! Bailey! I hope you both had lovely holidays! Well laps aren’t so bad…. at least it’s not raining….” A small laugh rises out of her as she mounts her broom and begins flying a bit behind Noémie trying to get her broom back into the groove of things. As Van swings by the bleachers she waves a bit carelessly to a boy sitting pretty well alone and one might guess that it was her sweetheart from the way she blows him a kiss. Of course waving one hand in the air like a ninny throws her a little off balance but she’s kick to get herself back under control.

“Okay… it’s going to be good to fly again…” says David, as he takes his broom and mounts it. “Five laps, huh?” he asks again, to make sure he heard it right, and obviously afraid of making a fool of himself by not following the right instructions. He concentrates on his takeoff, checking his surroundings to see if nobody is in his path, and he notices Van blowing her kiss to her sweetheart, to which he rolls his eyes, before kicking off the ground.

Bailey takes to his broom and begins to zoom around the pitch. He’s a good bit behind Noémie and Van, who both got a head start on him, and since he’s not interested in wearing himself out first thing into practice. Soon, his five laps are finished, and he comes to hover in the center of the pitch, near where the box of Quidditch balls are. “So, which exercise are we doing, then?” he asks, his voice perhaps a bit deeper than it had been a month ago.

“Okay… let’s warm up a bit and fly for real!” says Tegan, enjoying the opportunity for a good training, and she takes off after the others, dutifully performing her five laps. She notices with satisfaction that the holidays didn’t make her too rusty, and smiles as she feels the wind blowing against her face with the speed.

“Alright, Tegan, you get the bludger, and your bat, and head on up with Riley, and I’ll practice with the chasers. We’ll do throwing exercises.” The prefect flies low and opens the box, pulling out the quaffle and tossing it up towards the chasers. “Van, you go by the hoops, and practice your diving until we work our way towards you,” Noémie orders, taking to her broom again and flying up high over the pitch. “What we’ll do is toss the quaffle over the two in the center, and if one of them catches it, then we’ve got to switch. We’ll fly towards the hoops as we do it. This should hopefully improve our coordination.” She smiles at the others and situates herself on the outside.

As soon as Van finishes her laps she flies over to the goal hoops as instructed by Noémie. “Alright, dives…. good…” Van takes a deep breath and waves to the person in the bleachers who is always making her late. “Watch carefully!” She flies away from the center hoop to the far right and charges back to the center as if diving for an imaginary Quaffle while grasping tight to her broom with both legs and extending both hands to clasp an imaginary ball.

Tegan Madison nods as she hears the instructions, and lands to look for her bat. The bat was useless for the warming up, hence she left it near the box containing the balls. As soon as she has gotten hold of it, she heads towards the box and releases the bludger. As the ball shoots up in the air, she walks away and gets back on her broom, kicks off from the ground, and motions for Riley to follow her.

Bailey‘s up in the air as soon as Noémie gives the order of events, positioning himself in the middle near the other Chaser. He grins to his partner and gives a sly look to David and Noémie. “Alright, we’ll be back on the outside before you know it!” He chuckles and reaches out to grab the quaffle as it comes flying upward. “Alright, which one of you wants it to start?” he asks, looking from David to Noémie and back again.

David Mildred nods as he hears the instructions, and follows the team captain from afar, hovering in the air near her as he watches her getting the Quaffle. As she takes off, he turns his head to follow her with his eyes. It is only a few seconds after that, that Tegan releases the bludger from the same box. Hearing the characteristic buzz of the metal ball flying towards him, David instinctively ducks on his broom, barely avoiding the Bludger as it flies past him. A near miss. David struggles a bit to put himself into position again. “Be careful with those, Tegan!” he yells angrily towards the Beater, before flying over to where the other Chasers are gathering. “Okay… what are we going to do?” he asks.

“David, you take the quaffle first. I fear for my own ability in this. After all, the snitch is a bit smaller.” The girl winks and chuckles as she says this She watches as Bailey tosses the quaffle towards her teammate and then begins flying at a good rate forward. “Throw it fast now. And don’t be afraid to fake them.” She grins widely and gets herself situated comfortably on her broom while watching for David’s throw. Yes, Noémie will have to do her seeker practice later.

“All right, I’ll do my best.” says David, catching the Quaffle from Noémie’s hands. He steers his broom so as to fly away from the other Chasers, giving himself some room for the throw. When he estimates the distance to be decent and still within his skills, he throws the red ball, trying to put some force in it, but missing his aim a bit as he does so. David frowns as he sees his ball flying over to Van. This is not going to be an easy throw for her, and David wouldn’t like to catch one of those.

Pulling herself up right after her dive Van gets repositioned to try another dive. This time she hovers a few feet in front of the left goal and flies all the way to the far right again trying to catch David’s errant Quaffle doing a bit of a strange sideways turn on her broom with an arm outstretched to catch the Quaffle. Catching it she gets set back up she looks a little dizzy. “Oie I hope I don’t have to do that one too often….” she shakes her head and mutters. “Just glad I didn’t have breakfast yet…” Van tosses the Quaffle back toward the group of Chasers.

“Perhaps we should start back a bit farther,” Bailey suggests. “Doesn’t do us much good to start right off trying to make goals, hmm?” He chuckles and turns, flying backwards a ways, then stopping. “Alright, now try to get it past us, David! I’m sure you’ll be in the middle in no time!” He grins at the other chaser as the others fly to where he has stopped and align themselves appropriately.

“Here, David!” Noémie calls, clapping her hands and putting them up in the air, mostly hoping that she won’t make a fool of herself by dropping the quaffle when it’s thrown to her. “Nice and high so they can’t get it,” she calls, laughing a bit as she sees Bailey rise on his broom, clearly ready to intercept a high toss, should the ball come that high. The captain watches carefully, ducking as the bludger comes flying rather close to her.

“Okay, Riley, let’s send the Bludger around the Chasers!” says Tegan, flying after the metal ball and throwing it back in the general direction of the Chasers, not targeting anybody in particular –this is still practice, after all.

David groans and nods, catching the Quaffle once again, this time getting a bit nearer from Noémie and trying to avoid Bailey. When he is close enough, he sends the ball in a parabolic trajectory, as instructed, sending it directly towards Noémie. This time it is an easy one, and Noémie will have no trouble catching it, even if she is used to smaller balls, as she has put it earlier.

Slowly stalking back and forth in front of the center goal Van watches the chaser’s carefully ready to block an attempt to score again. She takes another moment to watch the beaters as you never know when a stray bludger might end up lodged in your skull. “Good one David! Way to go!” She calls out trying to encourage the younger team mate.

Flying up as David tosses the ball, Bailey misses being able to catch it, though his fingers do brush it slightly, causing its trajectory to be much higher than it would have been, were it unbothered. He turns quickly, keeping up with the group of them as they fly slowly towards the goals, and watches to see if Noémie manages to catch the red orb.

Noémie manages to grab the ball, though she looks as if she’s ready to fall off her broom as she does so. She soon lobs it back towards David, managing to keep the thing high enough to miss Bailey’s hands once again. “See, if we can pass like that during the game, we’ll have no trouble dominating the quaffle long enough for me to find that snitch.” The girl grins and winks as she watches to see if David gets his hands onto the Quaffle.

Smiling as he manages to catch the Quaffle without too much difficulties, David nods to Noémie and agrees. “Yes, we should play like that, but for the moment, it’s not that hard, since we aren’t really moving either.” he says, throwing the Quaffle to Bailey. “Perhaps we should fly around a bit to make it harder” he suggests.

Hearing a voice calling to her, Noémie looks sharply. “Oh, what? Oh… alright,” She answers to the person, turning to look at everyone else. “Bring it all in,” she calls to those present. “I’ve got to go do studies for OWLs, and the headmistress wants to see me as well. Give the quaffle here,” she calls, holding her hands out as Bailey tosses it to her. Soon she is on the ground, packing it away. “Tegan, can you put the bludger and the box away? I’d better go quickly so I don’t keep her waiting.” With that, Noémie is gone, broom in hand still as she trots into the school.

“Alright, see you all later!” Bailey calls, making his way to the ground. He runs over to the broomshed, storing his broom inside and then he, too, runs off of the pitch and back into the warmth of the school. Ah, practice was fun, flying was better, but nothing beat the warmth of the castle in the middle of winter.

Hearing the captain call the practice to a close Van comes in for a landing. Not long after the boy who was sitting in the bleachers comes down to meet her and she wraps an arm around him. “That was a really great practice even if it was a little short. See you later everyone!” Van walks with the boy back to the castle all lovey-dovey.

“Well, since the other are leaving, let’s go as well” says Tegan. She and Riley, followed by David, land on the ground and walk away towards the locker rooms.

The classroom looks unusually untidy today, and Bonnie a bit harried as she sits at her desk. The tables all seem to have been moved about, as if something group-oriented had been going on in the class prior. A high stack of parchment sits on her desk, and the board is hastily wiped clean, and “Please find your graded finals in the pile and take your seat” is scribbled upon it in chancy legibility.

Up through the entrance to Divination class the voice of India White can be heard complaining about the girl ahead of her being so slow. Finally once the slow girl has gotten inside India heself pops up and takes a seat glowering at the other girl. She is quick to get her notes and everything she needs ready while snatching up her final. India rads over her grade and grins happily to herself apparently pleased with the results.

Oscar Brooks is wide about the shoulders and well-muscled, but not what one would call thick. No, he’s just overly fit, though he walks with a sort of nervous feel that belies that. Not too handsome, the black-haired boy could use a shave, and besides which his nose is rather large and while not pimply, persay, he definitely bears the scars of a pockmarked entry to teenagerhood. Besides all that, he has strangely long lashes, flushed cheeks, and a distinctly delicate look to his expression. With long, careful fingers, the eighteen year old finds his final and walks to his seat, looking it over. Not bad, about what you’d expect from a NEWT student who fully intended on becoming a Seer if he could at all help it. Still, he did manage not to get it 100% right, and the boy purses his thin, pink lips and furrows his rather too thick eyebrows while pondering the actual answer.

Daniel Whitfield rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, a small frown fixed upon his face as he waits for his turn to shuffle forwards and leaf through the papers. On doing so, a quick flip through the assorted names leads soon to his own handwriting, and he swiftly skims over his marks while ambling over to take a seat. He passed- wonderful! Not especially well, but he never really expected to. Passing’s enough!

“Hello, everyone,” Bonnie greets them, standing and clearing her throat as a few stragglers wander in and snatch at finals which may or may not be theirs. “I hope you’ve all had a good holiday, and more than that, have been productive.” She smiles a bit at the group of seventh years before her, coming to lean on the front of her desk as she gives them just a moment to look over the papers that they have retrieved. “Alright, who has got ideas for what their second project will be?” she begins, interrupting a couple of Gryffindor girls who appear to have started grousing about unfairness.

Looking up from her paper as the Professor speaks India listens with rapt attention. Adoration plays on the young girl’s face along with her smile. She doesn’t raise her hand though because she honestly hasn’t a clue what the next project will be.

Hastily getting out his textbook and a couple of sheets of parchment, and stuffing his paper away into his bag, Daniel makes a point of looking attentive, sweeping his shaggy, loosely curled hair away from his eyes and attempting to pull himself out of his usual slouch. Second project? He hasn’t really thought much about it yet- far too caught up in his herbology work, lately! – and a few sidewards glances at classmates offer nothing but shrugs. To his credit, though, Daniel Whitfield decides to play it honest and simply looks up to Ms Kensington with a small shake of his head.

Oscar Brooks runs his tongue along his teeth and shifts in his chair. First semester he’d done a paper on specific dream symbols, and recorded the dreams of his peers for two weeks to try and help divine them. Scratching at the back of his head absent mindedly, the young man flips to the section of his notes where he had thought of other projects, and reads quietly to refersh the ideas in his mind. Oscar finally raises his hand hesitantly, looking sidelong to see if anyone else was volunteering to share ideas.

“Anyone? Come now, you’ve had weeks to think of a new project.” Bonnie shakes her head and crosses her arms. “You’re not in NEWT Divination for no reason.” The teacher stands and wipes down the board again, leaving quite a bit of residue on it from her hasty note and the previous class’s notes. “Now, you could choose to do something with Cartomancy, since we studied it in depth last term, or you could go back to third year studies and choose tea leaves. Perhaps reading tea leaves for your friends and tracking your interpretations for those friends over the course of the term.” As she says this, she scribbles several other ideas onto the board, by hand for once, rather than enchanting the chalk to write for her, and then turns to look at the class. “Not one of you has a project picked out, or even any ideas?”

Oscar Brooks really does only have his hand sort of half-raised, but lowers it as Professor Kensington seems to get a bit exasperated at the class. He clears his throat a few times and then, quietly at first in case anyone else has also begun to talk, answers, “I had thought of perhaps interviewing some wizards who work with Divination professionally, or a paper focusing on the use of the Major and Minor Arcana and when it might be more appropriate to use one or the other… um..” he looks down at his paper, and continues to read off his ideas, “Or on those lines, throughally researching the Tarot in order to create my own deck with personal meanings and connotations, then doing readings with my self-made deck and my um… my deck from Madam Savens down in Hogsmeade… and comparing the ease of interpreting the readings, then checking in on those I did readings for to see which deck was more accurate?” He falters momentarily, “Or I might uhm… address the issue of self-fulfilling prophecies by doing private chart readings for several of my classmates and only telling a select group the outcome of the reading, then following up on events in their lives–comparing, uh… the two groups…” his throat goes suddenly dry and he seems to realize, mid-sentence, that he’s been doing an awful lot of talking.

India White chews thoughtfully on the end of her quill stareing down at her parchment to whitch she has written “Ideas for divination project.” and underlined twice. Under that she begins scribbling “Forcasting the weather for the next seven weeks via scrying.” before bringing her quill to her mouth to chew again. India tilts he head to listen to her housemate.

Daniel Whitfield ‘s mind whirs, and anyone who knows him well would be able to recognise his busy thought process by the slightly glazed over look that enters his soft hazel eyes. Tea leaves… tea leaves… the suggestion has set a little spark aglow in his mind. After all, he’s been experiment with different plantins according to the phases of the moon in Herbology. Perhaps he could tie this in some way to the accuracy of tea tree generations? Almost of its own accord, his hand reaches over to his quill and begins to jot down a small series of dot points as he mulls the idea over. As Oscar begins his tirade, though, Daniel is forced to pause his thoughts, lifting his (now very serious looking) face to quietly observe, and wait patiently until the Slytherin is done. At least now, if Bonnie turns her attention his way, he’s got a little something to say for himself!

“Very good, Oscar. Innovative and creative. Five points to Slytherin for that. Have you come close to deciding which you’re going to employ, Mister Books?” Bonnie glances around at the other students, some of whom even seem to be getting ideas from what the Slytherin has just spouted. “I’m open to hearing input from others. Just pipe in when you’ve got something to contribute.” She glances at a the griping Gryffindor girls and narrows her eyes. “Keep that up, Miss Castles and Miss Farlowe, and you’ll find yourself in detention with me.” Her attention snaps away from them and back to the more attentive students before her.

Oscar Brooks straightens a bit at the award of points–”Thank you, Professor Kensington.” and then grows ponderous again as she wishes to know ‘which’. Again, his tongue runs over his teeth, “Ah, well, probably the project involving my own desk, Professor. I am in Magical Art, as well, so I was hoping to… experiment with embellished cards, as my current deck, well, you could sell it to a Muggle.” A Ravenclaw girl not too far away supresses a groan, but just barely. It’s unlikely that anyone in the school doesn’t know about his art, as he tends to go on about it. The Slytherin slouches a bit as he goes quiet, listening for everyone else’s ideas–though likely just to compare them a bit competitively.

“Well…” Daniel Whitfield‘s soft, thoughtful voice pipes up to offer his own thoughts, but he holds back as Oscar speaks. A wry sort of grin (about as close as the Hufflepuff has ever come to a smirk) crosses his features as the boy sneaks his art into his project. Then again, Daniel muses to himself, he’s doing virtually the same thing with his herbology obssession. “I.. I’m thinking I could tie the project in with the moon phase work I’m doing with Herbology, Miss. See, we’ve been doing a whole lot of plantings with phases of the moon, and I could include a series of tea trees with it. Of course, I’d only have young leaves to work with, since there’s hardly time to get as far as adult trees, but there should be enough in them to be able to get a correllation with their planting time…” he pauses, frowns a little to himself, and then tries to work out whether he’s even gotten to his point yet. “See if the phase in which their planting has any implications on their accuracy or patterns in their meanings, that sort of thing,” Daniel finally concludes, finishing with a look of relieved satisfaction.

India White clears her throat and speaks up finally as she seems to have decided. “I will be useing several techniques to try and forcast the weather over the next six weeks including scrying, tea leaves, entrails, and a bit of tarot. Each method will be compaired against the other to see which is more acurate to predict the weather.” India smiles as she finishes speaking and retakes her seat to update her notes accordingly.

“Very good, very intuitive,” Bonnie tells Daniel with a nod. “Five points to Hufflepuff for that, as well.” She uncrosses her arms and looks to the students who have piped up with their project ideas. “Now, will any of you be working in teams for this one? I do hope I won’t have any surprises of that sort this time around.” A wry smile crosses Bonnie‘s face as she still seems to be considering India’s idea. “I do think you ought to bring the idea in a bit, Miss White. Otherwise, you’ll have a lot of results, and either I’ll get a very long paper, which, of course, I wouldn’t mind, or you’ll not be able to cover all of the aspects sufficiently. Perhaps just cover two of them, and then compare and contrast the results?” Bonnie winks a bit at the girl while smiling a bit wider. “These are all good ideas. I want two feet from everyone about your intent with your projects, which will be due next class. Any questions about this project, anything that wasn’t clear last time?” She pauses. “And feel free to keep supplying ideas, if you’ve still got them. See me after class if you’re unsure about your project still.”

Oscar Brooks makes a soft, “ugh” sort of noise when India proposes using entrails, followed by a very quiet whisper over once Bonnie’s attention is diverted, “Not the commons this time, eh?” Actually, it’s a bit cheeky, as if he’s either being quite rude or referring to an in-joke the two have. Settling back into his seat, he rubs at his chin, frowns at the bristles, and ponders a bit more just in case a question comes to him.

Crossing entrails off of her list India smiles greatfully that she won’t have to dig around in those disgusting things. She scribbles down he asignment and continues thinking about her own project.

Daniel Whitfield finds himself grinning at the teacher’s praise, and then stops himself, forcing it back to a simple genial smile (what is he, a third year collecting brownie points?!) as he adds another line or two to his current notes, largely to remind himself of the homework now due. Lifting his quill to tap at the side of his face as he thinks a moment more, the Hufflepuff then slowly lifts his hand to attract Ms Kensington’s attention once more. “Uhh, Miss! Just… checking. We’ve got all term for this, right?” It pays to be certain, after all.

“Nearly, yes,” Bonnie answers, nodding to Daniel as she does so. “It’ll be the next to last week of term when you have to present, followed directly after by your NEWT exams and your final exam. I’m expecting you all to use your time wisely this term. I won’t have as much time at the end of this term to answer your endless questions, as I’ll have a gaggle of fifth years in here, I’m sure, pestering me about the OWLs. So, any other questions?” Bonnie asks, standing and crossing her arms across her chest again as she glances around the now rather antsy-looking classroom. Honestly, a group of seventh years! She shakes her head a bit, but waits, nevertheless, to ensure whether there are any other questions.

Oscar Brooks can’t think of a thing and so shakes his head, almost without meaning to, at Professor Kensington. He does, however, smile a bit wryly at mention of the fifth years, amused. This class had been, by and large, in a distinct panic their fifth year.

India White giggles a little at Oscar’s previous comment. “Oh I just wont do entrails if I can help it.” Putting her hands in bloody bird bits isn’t India‘s favoright past time.

Daniel Whitfield finds himself giving a light shrug as he absently neatens his rolls of parchment, then bites his lip as he smiles upward to the Professor. “Not really, Miss… though ‘m sure the questions will all start finding ‘mselves as soon as I actually get -started- on the project.”

“Alright then, remember those project intent essays, on my desk at the start of next class. I shall see you all then.” With a curt nod, Bonnie turns and begins to gather the things on her desk, cleaning it up and setting it to rights while she allows the students to exit. What her own plans are after this class seem to be clear — to tidy up her classroom again after a particularly difficult class of fourth years wreaked havoc in it, though she does turn and face her student as she begins to tidy, clearly willing to answer the odd question that may come her way while the students leave.

A flurry of paper and arms sees India scrambling to get her things put away so that she can beging her assignment as soon as possible. With a no to Professor Kensington she is on her way down before she fcan get trapped behind the particularly slow Hufflepuff girl.

As he said, Daniel has no further questions, and makes quite quick work of bundling up his belongings and heading out of the classroom- after all, he’s got a spare period now, and it just-so-happens that so does fellow seventh year Huffle Miss Ilexia Geoffreys. With a light toss of his head and a definite spring to his step, Daniel Whitfield trots off with scarcely a word to any of his classmates. If he hurries, he can catch her on her way out from arithmancy!

It is a dark, snowy winter day, and a gaggle of Fifth Years are soon to be stuck in another grueling session of Fifth Year Potions. With ongoing OWL preparations in all classes, the students are looking a bit careworn already, only weeks past Christmas. Karina Sedgewick, looking almost like her cheerful self again, stands near the front of the classroom, reading. The usual potions equipment is missing from the front table, and the blackboard is conspicously clear of writing and moving diagrams. The Potions teacher chuckles at something she read, and scribbles down something on a spare piece of parchment. Potions, how can it NOT be fun?

Charlotte Doran is one of the first into the room, as usual. Her uniform is perfectly pressed, and every strand of her long blonde hair is pulled tightly back and held severely in place. She takes her customary seat in the front of the room, her narrow, angled face already set into an expression of deep concentration, and begins to pile her books neatly on the desk in front of her. Only when she opens her notebook to begin taking down the day’s diagrams does Charlotte realize that there are no diagrams. Her gray eyes blink open in surprise, making a dent in the Hufflepuff girl’s stolid composure.

Quietly shuffling into the Potions’ classroom, Martin Foster places his satchel on the ground. “Professor Sedgewick,” Martin greets with his lips curled slightly up. His eyes glance about the class before he chooses a desk at the front of the classroom beside Charlotte. “Hello,” he greets the Hufflepuff girl to his right.

Stifling a bit of a yawn, Noémie makes her way into the dungeon classroom. As is her norm, she begins to set up ‘shop’, so to speak, pulling out parchment, ink, a quill, an extra quill, and arranging it all optimally on the table in front of her. Reaching up to move the equipment around a bit, as if it is a habit, Noémie realizes that it is absent! Oh, dear, what did Professor Sedgewick have in store for them now? Keeping mum for the moment, the girl leans back in her seat and glances around, wondering if others are perhaps reacting with the same morbid curiosity as she.

Shuffling, disheartened, into her one most loathed class (second only to DADA with that insipid Professor Rathe), Suki sighs sadly as she takes a seat, taking careful care to glare nastily at Noémie as she passes by her. Why did poor Suki Korosu-Dawson have to be in the same year as that know-it-all? Things were so hard. After sitting down and flipping her hair back, Suki looks up in Martin’s direction, narrowing her eyes but smirking a little. No attention is paid to Karina… yet.

“Mr. Foster!” Karina greets her assistant cheerfully. The Potions teacher waits for a few more minutes, greeting students as they enter. She doesn’t seem to be preparing anything for the class, except being amused. “There will be no need to take out our equipment and ingredients today, class,” she says to a few more enthusiastic students, already preparing for the class. “I have something else planned.”

Charlotte‘s surprise is only increased when the Head Boy sits down next to her – his presence as the teacher’s assistant is nothing remarkable after all this time but Charlotte is still a little startled to have Martin sitting among the class right next to her. She gives him a slightly weak smile, and a quick, polite nod. Anxiously, she shuffles her books, looking down at them with a conscientiously studious expression. Then, when the teacher starts to speak, Charlotte‘s head pops up again, instantly attentive – and instantly more confused at Karina’s instructions.

Ivy Thornweld has pointedly sat herself next to one of the many fifth year boys she can commandeer the entire attentions of, though she sits carefully as far from him as she can without looking as if she might not like the boy. Luckily, he’s thick as a swollen tongue (and in fact is the same boy she ignored throughout the entire Barefoot Social some months back). Still, a few pointed looks go the way of two certain Prefects. In any event, Ivy‘s always been the sort to wait until things have begun to get ready, and looks rather pleased with herself for not having done so. See, something else to–something else to do?!? Ivy‘s eyebrows raise in alarm, knowing full well that something else could be far worse than mixing a Shrinking Solution.

Well, Noémie‘s assumptions have been assured, though her curiosity not eased as the professor announces this and as all the students finish settling in. The girl glances around at her peers, all of whom seem to look as exhausted as she feels. OWL preparation is certainly a wearing task, and Noémie has quidditch to boot. She says nothing, but leans her hand in her palm as she rests her elbow on the table in front of her, looking forward again rather absently.

A smile spreads over Martin‘s lips as Suki looks at him. “Suki,” he mutters in greeting before mouthing the words, “pay attention.” Turning to look back at Karina, Martin drums his fingers on the table and crosses his arms over his chest quietly.

Crossing her arms, too, as she leans back a little, Suki scoffs at Martin’s words as she rolls her eyes. Pay attention. Who did he think he was? Suki bites her lip as she looks up to Karina with a blank expression. Surely whatever the professor had planned for today couldn’t be worse than the usual drudgery of potions, could it?

Karina Sedgewick claps her hand together a few times to catch the classes attention, then soldiers on. “Good afternoon,” she greets her class. “Today, I thought we would try another way for us to prepare for our OWLs. Today, we will be forming quizzing each other on OWL Potions topics.” A vast groan erupts in the class. Karina chuckles, and continues. “It will be more fun than it sounds, I promise. We will be forming two teams, and each team will collectively make up questions they think might show up on our OWLs. We will be chanllenging each other with these questions, and the winning team will win butterbeers. I will supervise one team, and Mr. Foster will supervise the other. We will each be noting down who is participating, and those that choose not to will be responsible for making a mock questions for everyone’s use, to be handed in next week. Questions?”

Wide-eyed, Charlotte shakes her head vigorously, nearly dislodging a few strands of smoothed-back blonde hair. Once her groan has faded away, along with those of the rest of the class, the Hufflepuff girl’s thoughtful expression returns, drawing her eyebrows together towards the bridge of her thin nose in a pensive frown. The wheels are already starting to turn, however slowly, in her mind.

Noémie‘s hand shoots into the air as she thinks of a question. Though she isn’t any more pleased about the assignment than the rest of the class seems to be, she’s at least going to try to get it right. Butterbeer, after all! The girl does her best to keep her head forward, rather than look around at who she might end up with on her team.

A smile is shot at the professor. Facilitating this discussion would be an excellent experience for Martin Foster. Pressing his lips together he drums his fingers on the table and ponders who will end up on his team (and how he could motivate them).

“Yes Miss Ribouet?” Karina nods to the girl. “A questions?”

Oh, Suki has a question, but doesn’t raise her hand. She doubts if asking professor Sedgewick if she could promptly leave the room and never come back would go over very well. Blinking several times, Suki shakes her head at her first attempt at mulling over this new classroom concept. No. Suki has no idea what kinds of questions would be asked on that stupid OWL. Glancing up at Martin, hoping she’ll be put in his half of the class, Suki blows her bangs up in boredom. Eyes are narrowed at stupid Noémie as she raises her hand. Intolerable! “Augh,” is Suki‘s near-silent response.

Ivy Thornweld barely manages not to join the groans of her classmates, clenching her teeth and look quite sour. Not only is this impossibly harder than actual potions, the reward is, what, a chintzy, cheap drink that any middle class wizard can buy at the Three Broomsticks? Disgust is quite visably struggled into submission, and the result a sickly sort of smile.

“Will we be allowed to use our books for aids in this? You know, to come up with questions and such?” She asks as she is directed. Noémie‘s hand drops back into her lap and she leans her head again on her other palm while she gazes towards Karina for the answer.

“An excellent question. You will be allowed to use your books to make up questions, but not to answer them. Each team will be given ten minutes to come up with a questions. Then, the teams will present their questions to the other team, which will have ten minutes to come up with an answer together.” Karina smiles at the class, with their mixed reactions. “We will split into teams, yes?” She takes out her wand, and gives it a quick flick. Instantly, silver and gold halos appear above each student’s head. A gold halo appears above Martin, and a silver one appears above her own head. “Gold and Silver teams! Let’s get ourselves sorted!”

Martin Foster stands to his feet and walks towards the back of the classroom. “Gold team, follow me! We’ll assemble at the back of the room.” Martin continues on his path to the back of the room until he’s at the last row of desks. He sits down in one of the desks at the back of the room.

Upon seeing haloes above the heads of all her classmates, Suki slowly looks up to assess the colour of hers. Bugger! Suki‘s halo was silver. Dragging herself from her seat, Suki crosses the classroom to sit at least vaguely nearby to Karina. Trying to maintain good posture, Suki rests her chin in her hands, her sharp elbows feeling as though they digging into the table. Until she is called on to participate in this ‘process’, Suki has no intention of saying anything. Slipping her nail file out from the sleeve pocket, Suki begins furtively filing, looking up from time to time so as not to be caught totally off-guard.

Charlotte tilts her head, delicately at first, and then with increasing vigor and awkwardness as she struggles to determine the color of her halo. She is neither happy nor sad to discover that it is gold; she merely makes a note of it – literally, writing it down in her notebook among her other meticulous records of past classes – and gathers up her books to head towards the side of the room where her fellow gold-haloed students are gathering near the Head Boy.

Noémie looks up to see that she has a silver halo above her head and stifles another yawn as she stands and strides to the front of the class where Karina, Suki and the others with silver are standing around. “Go silver?” She comments with a bit of a chuckle, then crosses her arms across her middle and looks at her teammates. Ah, Suki. This was going to be a fun event.

Ivy Thornweld cranes about to look at her own halo before giving up and asking the boy beside her. “What color is mine?” From his color (silver) and the slow pout, she doesn’t even need the grunted answer of gold. Since she got nothing out, she has to collect nothing besides her bag to move, although there is a faux-disappointed, “So sorry, I suppose we’ll just have to partner next time?” Seems Ivy has learned something of keeping (really dull) boys pleased. Off she goes to sit near the Head Boy, giving him a polite nod and soft smile. He’s well… likely above her particular level of charm. Still, “Hello, Mr. Foster.” pause, “Miss… Doorem?” Well, it’s sort of almost close. The other who gather get a soft smile, though it broadens when she is found to be silver. (and where is he?)

A sly grin is cast towards Suki as she walks towards Karina. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with her in this class. “Welcome Miss Dagon! Always a pleasure to have intelligent people on our side of the room.” Martin is in an uncommonly good mood, isn’t he? “Do you have your text with you? It should be helpful. . .” He turns to look at Ivy. “Welcome Miss Thornweld. I see you brought your books with you. Excellent.”

“Excellent… let’s get started. Each team will have ten minutes to come up with a question… starting… now.” Karina Sedgewick flicks her wand one more time, this time causing a giant hour glass to appear. Time is ticking… or, flowing, in this case. “Team,” she says to her group of students. “Let’s get started? And I think it would be a good idea for you to put away your nail file, Miss Korosu-Dawson.”

Suki doesn’t agree about this being a good idea, but she complies for now. Stowing the file away in her robes, she glances around as if she’s been stripped of something important. What now? What was there to do now? Picking up her textbook, Suki swivels around and opens the thing onto her lap, to a random page, and starts pretending to look for pertinent questions.

“It’s…er…Doran,” Charlotte corrects, with an uncomfortable little smile as she sets her books down on the desk next to Ivy’s. “Yes, Mr. Foster – I have several,” she continues in response to Martin’s question, hope returning. “I wonder if we should look in the ‘OWL Student’s Guide’ first? Or ‘Introduction to Ingredients Analysis?’” Charlotte reaches up to smooth back her already-immaculate hair, and flips her notebook open to a clean page.

Ivy Thornweld smiles again, with a bit of pink about the cheeks and pulls her potions text from her bag. “Sorry.” is offered rather unapologetically to Charlotte. After placing the book on her desk as well, Ivy bites her lip. Not usually one to volunteer anything, it’s at least fifteen precious seconds before Ivy ponders, “Now, so you suppose it would be a better strategy to read more and find what are likely to be the answers and devise a question a bit… on the spot? I mean… better than simply devising a question?” She speaks in a low, rather uncertain voice. “How… Are you allowed to help us in the right direction, Mr. Foster?”

Noémie strides back to her bag and fishes her own text out, leaning against a table as she flips through the book. “Well, oughtn’t we ask about some of the difficult potions we did at the end of last year, perhaps?” Noémie suggests. “Perhaps one of their important ingredients or steps. That could be a question on the OWLs.” She glances down at her book, turning the pages slowly, waiting to hear what others suggest.

“Good idea, Miss Doran.” Martin grins at the younger student. “The ‘OWL Student’s Guide’ is an excellent place to begin, good idea, Miss Doran.” He smoothes his robes and tilts his head at Ivy. “I think. . . that helping you answer the questions is a little out of the question Miss Thornweld. . . otherwise Professor Sedgewick’s team would win by default. I am quite certain there is no question that we could give that the Professor can’t answer.” He pauses, strokes his chin and then continues, “I think I’m more of a facilitator in this setting. You can talk and interact with questions.”

“Yes, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” snaps Suki in response to Noémie, glaring at the girl first and then looking to Karina, awaiting her, no doubt, imminent Noémie-praise. Well, Suki supposes that it’s the mark of insecurity to always have to be showing off, and shrugs, looking down at her book once more, never mind that she is in the completely wrong chapter.

“A good suggestion, Miss Ribouet,” Karina does offer Noémie praise, but shortly after she gives Suki a bit of a warning look, although she does not say anything.

A set of raised eyebrows and a curious glance is all that Noémie gifts to Suki from this comment. Oh, yes, this will be a very interesting class. She begins to flip through her book some more, nodding as other students make suggestions of what exactly they’d ask, also leafing through the pages of their potions books. “Try chapter nine, Suki,” Noémie mentions quietly, not looking up again from her book.

Straightening up with a pleased but controlled smile, Charlotte dutifully switches around the order of her books, placing ‘The OWL Student’s Guide’ on top. She glances sideways at Ivy a little uncertainly, in response to the other girl’s suggestion, and shifts in her seat as she says, “Well…I don’t know. She did say that we were supposed to work for ten minutes to prepare the questions.” Charlotte nods down at her notebook, where she’s recorded that. “So…we probably should…” She trails off, looking down at the book. “Should we ask about ingredients? Or techniques?”

Ivy Thornweld shakes her head, hurriedly, “That isn’t what I meant, Mr. Foster.” She straightens her posture, sets her shoulders, “I meant that can you help us with finding the right material for asking or in planning a strategy? Or,” she pauses again with a weak smile, “are you just to make sure we play fairly?” She looks at Charlotte, head tilting vaguely sideways, giving Ivy a rather strange look, “The OWL Student’s Guide would… what does it say about, oh, um… well, how about something from second or third year that nobody would ever remember?” She seems to be awfully participaty for, well, herself. A glance toward the other team incites a frown, but Ivy looks back, finally. This is probably the most she’s said to Charlotte in all five years here. “Well, I don’t know, ingredients… do any of them look like they listen when Professor Walsh rattles off uses for anything or reads about the specific way a rock smoothed in a river bed affects a vanishing potion?” (Not that it probably does) Ivy is obviously taking this the wrong way.

“They’ll be expecting us to ask them things from chapter nine,” Suki replies sharply without pausing. “You do want to win, don’t you, Noémie? Honestly…” the girl trails off as she flips quickly past chapters six and seven, pausing meaningfully in eight for a while before emerging into chapter nine. Sighing, Suki still hasn’t got a clue. Even if she failed this OWL, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t taking this class ever again after this year.

“The more detailed the question, the better. The OWLs is a difficult test, and I think you should be trying to trip up the other team. . .” Biting his bottom lip, Martin considers Ivy’s question for a moment. “I suppose I could help you come up with a strategy. Like I said, it’s probably best to look for a detailed question. I wouldn’t spend time reviewing now, but you should probably think of something very obscure for the question. Second or third year questions might be good. . .I would look for an uncommon ingredient or technique.”

“A few more minutes, Mr. Foster?” Karina calls out to her assistant. “I suggest you come up with a question, team. And I think we should all make an attempt to be civil?” Strike two. Suki is awfully close to receiving a detention.

“It doesn’t do you much good to be looking over ingredient storing techniques, though,” Noémie retorts, rolling her eyes as she turns to chapter ten, perusing the pages for more possible questions. “What about something to do with fluxweed?” Noémie suggests. “Or perhaps something to do with the befuddlement draught?” Noémie shrugs, ignoring Suki’s comments rather blatantly as she attempts to come up with a viable question.

Flipping through the book with sudden agitated vigor after the professor’s warning, Charlotte Doran starts to mutter to herself, reading off the ingredients on each page. “Ginger…no, too common – hellebore? no, we did that just last week…Oh! Jobberknolls! We haven’t done those in ages. What if we ask about the uses of Jobberknoll feathers?”

Suki is so done. Snapping her book shut, she doesn’t say anything to the professor, or look at her for any longer than a ‘quick glance of recognition’ would warrant. Crossing her arms, Suki turns back around in her seat. This class has, once again, succeeded in putting her in a very bad mood.

Ivy Thornweld projects her voice in a theatrical whisper, “Of course we should ask about the effect of table sugar in medicinal potions.” Her voice drops to affirm Charlotte’s idea. “Not that I think that will do the trick but it might distract a few. Any rate, Miss Doran,” oh, she got it right! “I quite agree. I personally have no idea what they do without checking the book. How to phrase it, though? Do you think we’ll get in trouble,” a glance to Martin, with a syrupy smile, “if we make it sound more confusing than it is?”

Another eyeroll is gifted to Suki as Noémie looks at Karina and then to the rest of her team. “How about, ‘When must fluxweed be picked in order to be useful for most potions, and in what circumstances does this rule of thumb not apply?’” Noémie looks around at her teammates with a shrug. “That ought to make them think a good bit.” She smiles a bit to a housemate who stands very near to her.

“Jobberknoll feathers. Good question, Miss Doran. Do you concur, Miss Thornweld?” Martin asks as he redirects his attention to the professor. “I think we have almost decided on one! Just one more minute, Professor!” He nods at Ivy, “Excellent it’s decided then? Other than the phrasing. . . and no I think it’s fine to ask a question in a confusing way to make it sound more confusing than it is.”

“We better decide on a question,” Karina says to the Silver team, which is falling apart a bit. Other than Suki, there seem to be a few other, disinterested parties. “We can’t let the other team win now, can we?”

“The phrasing?” Charlotte blinks at the two Slytherins, her quill poised over her notebook as she adds a flourish to the end of question she has written down: ‘What are the uses of Jobberknoll feathers?’ Charlotte shakes her head, eyes wide. “How else could we ask it?”

“Just say what she said,” Suki says, looking up and pointing to Noémie, though it kills her to do it. Team silver surely had nothing better so far, and they were running out of time. Not that Suki cares if they won or not. After all, she could have her mother send her some butterbeer if she ever wanted it, which she certainly didn’t! Turning around once more, Suki sneaks the file out of her robes and returns to her in-class manicure with silent precision, careful to keep the thing from Karina’s sight.

Ivy Thornweld wrinkles her nose, asking very quietly, “How about ‘In what ways may Jobberknoll feathers be used in a potion in order to achieve the desired effect?’” For someone who gets abysmal essay grades and is passing by being passable at the following of instructions, she seems to stink a bit less than expected. “Or ‘What effect do Jobberknoll feathers have on a basic potion and under what circumstances do the effects change, if any, and what do the effects, if they do change, change to?’” She straightens again, “The more words you use the less likely it is your mother will find out that you have been using her perfume and sneaking out past bed time to wander around in Paris.” She blinks, after this, and asks quietly, “What?”

“Fine by me,” Noémie notes, which is really an unnecessary thing to admit, since she is the one who came up with the question. “I can’t wait to hear that their question will be,” she admits, looking to the Ravenclaw chum who once again nods. Noémie is rather persistently ignoring Suki right now, and rather puzzled at what she’s done to irk the Slytherin girl so much.

“I like the second one,” Martin states matter-of-factly. “Yes. The second one is good. It’s confusing and good. Plus it makes it more complex.” He nods. “Miss Doran, the students need to be able to discern the question on their own. The OWLs is complicated.” Well, probably not as complicated as the phrasing of Ivy’s question. “I think we’re ready to ask our question then?”

“Your team ready, Mr. Foster?” Karina asks, peering at the other group of students, a faintly resigned look on her pale face. “If you, I think we will let your team begin?”

“Er. Yes.” Charlotte still looks a little lost, and glances uncertainly from Ivy to Martin and back again before she nods. “I think you’d better do the asking, then,” she murmurs to Ivy under her breath. “If you want to…er, I’m not sure where Paris comes into it, but you seem to have an idea of what you want to say.”

“Yes, we’re ready, Professor. Miss Thornweld, please ask the question the team has put together.” Martin Foster glances back at Ivy and nods. “Go ahead, Miss Thornweld, ask the question.” Martin sits back in the desk and closes his eyes.

Ivy Thornweld looks over Katherine and then nods her head with her eyebrows lightly arched. She slips, with the concious grace of someone who has been taught at length how to move, off of her stool, and turns to the others. Surprisingly, perhaps, she seems able to project quite well, “What effect fo Joberknoll feathers have on the a basic potion and,” the emphasis seems purposefully wrong, “under what circumstances do the effects change, if any, and what do the effects, if they do change, change to?” She clasps her hands behind her back like a very young child recition, not quite making eye contact with Karina. If she’s looking at anyone, it’s Noémie, with a bit of ice in her expression. This done, she takes a seat.

For all Suki knows the answer to the Gold team’s question, Ivy may as well have been speaking a foreign language. What effect did anything have on a potion? Well, it made the water level in the cauldron rise slightly when added is all Suki would be able to answer.

Staring for a moment at the the girl who has posed the question, Noémie seems puzzled for a moment before turning to her group to confer. After several moments of quiet conversation, the girl is beckoned to turn around and give the answer. “We, er, well, we think given the phrasing of the question, that you mean the… well, the Jobberknoll feather enhances memory in the memory potions and Vertiaserum.” A pause for a moment while she is prodded once again. “Oh, right, our question. It’s phrased in English, I might add…” She glances with a bit of a grin to another of her teammates. “Our question is this: When must fluxweed be picked in order to be useful for most potions, and in what circumstances does this rule of thumb not apply?” With that finished, Noémie leans against the table again and turns to watch the other group curiously.

The Gold team bends in to confer, whispering furiously amongst themselves for a moment. Charlotte‘s quill flies over her notebook as she keeps meticulous track of every word spoken in the debate, until finally the Hufflepuff girl’s writing comes to a halt, as does the conversation. Smoothing back her hair one more time as she rises, Charlotte glances down to consult her notes before she speaks. “Fluxweed is ordinarily best picked during the day, the closer to noon the better. But when it is picked under the full moon – ” Charlotte shoots a pointed look at a Ravenclaw boy who had evidently taken the opposite viewpoint, and who sinks back in his seat under the similar glares of his teammates – “then it is best for use in Polyjuice Potions.”

“Excellent questions, and excellent answers. Good work to everyone. I think it is fair to award a point to each team in our little contest?” Karina looks over to Martin. “And then, onward to our next question? I think we might want to try for more challenging questions.”

Ivy Thornweld mutters something rather unkind about not being able to help if certain Prefects can’t interpret a difficultly-worded question, and her nostrils flare as the team confers. “What, even I know that.” She doesn’t offer much help, and as things continue, well… she seems to get more and more irritated as answers to some truly ridiculously phrased questions come in. As it is, at the end of class she scoops her books into her bag with a deepening scowl, shoots a truly poisionous look at Noémie, and stalks off, feet making very pronouncedly angry ‘clacks’ against the floor.

Noémie says nothing in response to Ivy or to Suki, just flashing a smile at Karina as she walks around to gather her things together. Soon Noémie has made her way out of the classroom and the click-clack of her shoes as she makes her way up the stairs to her next class is the last audible proof that Noémie was even there.

Keelan Walsh is enjoying her NEWT-free afternoon, as it’s really the only one she gets, what with seeing the sixths and sevenths twice a week each and making them stay for long and complicated hours. Reclining at her desk, Keelan is most certainly not doing anything productive, but reading a novel with a very silly cover labeled ‘The Sheik’. Not overly used to interuptions, Keelan actually giggles a little bit as she turns a page. That’s right, she giggles. And blushes. Take that, dignity!

“Professor Walsh?” Olivia‘s voice comes quietly as she opens the door to the greenhouse and steps in from the cold. The girl seems to be bundled up, with only a bit of blonde hair and a very red nose visible underneath her hat, scarf, and other assorted warming clothing. “Oh — are you busy? I can come back later…” The girl suggests as she unwinds her scarf so that her voice is no longer muffled.

Keelan Walsh goes quite rosy in the cheeks and shuts her book with a little bit more force than necessary. Rather than speak in an embarassingly awkward voice (goodness, Keelan, you are 26), the Professor rises, shaking her head. With a bit of a cough, she finally spaks, “No, do come in, Miss Baxtor. I’m happy to see students outside of class.” Her eyebrows are just naturally even, really. Raising them and putting on a pleasant voice, “Can I help you with something?”

“Er, well, I– I wanted to see if, maybe I could — if it isn’t too much trouble,” Olivia seems to go on like this for several moments, skirting around her actual question as she finishes unwinding her scarf and folds it up neatly, then tops it with her hat on a nearby table. She smooths her hair and clears her throat quietly before shaking her head and taking a deep breath. “Well, Evan and I were in the Rose Gardens having tea a couple of months ago, and I saw some really pretty flowers, and I wanted to see if maybe, well, could you maybe… show me how to grow some of them?” Olivia‘s face is very red by the time she finally gets this statement out, and she tries to keep her eyes on the teacher, rather than the closed book.

Keelan Walsh waits very (im)patiently, folding and then unfolding her hands and brushing away invisible dust specks from her robes all the while resisting the urge to hurry the Hufflepuff girl along. One eyebrow arches delicately as Keelan, fresh out of a romance novel, sort of smirks at the mention of tea. She had, after all, tended to the tree at the appearance of new initials. Now she knows who they belong to. Still, she does genuinely smile once the question is out, “Well certainly, Miss Baxtor. That’s a prefectly reasonable request, I’d be happy to show you.” She moves toward one of the side cabinets, talking over her shoulder, “You’ll need to tell me which they were, of course. We do grow quite the variety. In fact I need to get some New Moon bulbs planted soon, as they do best when planted in colder months–anyway, here’s a pot , you’ll need to fill it with soil, some from the ‘Standard’ bags will do–or did you just want me to show you how?” Happy as a bee, with interest in any knd of growing.

Olivia seems almost stunned as she starts to do as she’s told. “Well, I’m — er — I’ve never been much good at the plants we’ve done in class,” she admits as she starts to fill the pot she’s given with soil. “Are these harder to care for?” She looks into her now very full pot and sets it down, looking up to Keelan. “Do they grow alright in the pots, or am I supposed to find a place to plant them?” Has Olivia been paying attention at all these past years of Herbology? It’s difficult to tell. Her brows knit together as she looks down, feeling perhaps a bit self-conscious at not already knowing all of this.

“Well, perhaps you just haven’t found your particular talent, or it may not be in Herbology after all. Everyone has their strong subjects, and whether I like it or not, some people… well, you haven’t done terribly.” A frown, “Didn’t Professor Alexandrei teach you about basic growing procedures in first year?” Finally, Keelan pauses in her busying about, “Miss Baxtor, I can’t say as to the difficulty or how well it will take to potting,” she says in what is a soft-ish, if not actually soft voice. “If I don’t know which variety of flower it is you wanted.” Kinder, “Did you know the name or just a description?”

“It was a white flower with yellow tips, and it kind of looked like the roses only it… er, well, it fanned out a bit more.” Olivia contorts her hands to show Keelan what she means as she makes this description aloud. “And then there was an orangey-red one that Evan pointed out, which was pretty, too.” She pauses. “Or maybe the dark blue one would be nice.” Now quite indecisive, she chews on her lip for a moment before shaking herself out of her thoughtful reverie. “Well, he did, but … I didn’t know if these were special and needed extra care other than the particular varieties he told about.”

Keelan Walsh ponders this turns back to her supply cabinet, rustling through a few paper packets of seeds, “Let’s see… you’re probably talking about the Sundrops, I think they’re the only yellow and white ones in the gardens… then organey red ones–those could be marigolds or a kind of lily–did the petals look more lumped together or like a…” she picks up a few more packets, sort of musing to herself, and finally shows them to Olivia. Each has a color drawing on the packet, “Are these right?”

“Sundrops,” Olivia repeats, looking at the packet and reaching out to take it, should Keelan choose to relinquish it. “I think it was that one,” she decides, noting to the more sprawled petals of the orange flower. “The… Tangerine Explosion.” Who named these, anyway? She reaches for that packet as well before looking to the blue ones, “Oh, the Blue Moon Lily, that’s the one!” Olivia‘s smile widens as she looks at the pictures of them all, perhaps reminded of the now-more-distant time that she had spent in the rose garden admiring these very flowers. “Are they difficult to grow, these ones?”

Keelan Walsh semi-snorts, an amused expulsion of air, “Lovely names, don’t you think?” Sarcasm fairly drips in her tone, as the professor replaces the packets that weren’t chosen, and comments, “Some of them have very dull names in the Muggle world, so I’m sure whichever witch or wizard packaged the seeds decided they need more… pizzaz.” Olivia can now tell everyone that she not only caught the Herbology professor giggling, but she’s used the word ‘pizzaz’. “Something like the silly names for the candies they sell at Honeydukes, when in reality a Sensational Sundae Surprise is a chocolate with a bit of caramel and vanilla flavoring inside. ‘Chocolate-covered caramel with vanilla’ just doesn’t sound interesting enough.” She’s chatty today, isn’t she? “Ah, well.. all it should take is some sun, the soil… watering. There’s no magic to do or mouths to feed on these flowers, after all.” She sounds somewhat disappointed. “Now, I’ve never been in the Hufflepuff commons-is it sunny, or do you think they’d do better on a shelf near a window in here? I know I couldn’t get much to grow in my dorms as a student.” Babbling, even.

“That’s true,” Olivia agrees, looking through the various packets slowly and running her fingers over the pictures. “No, we haven’t any windows. You wouldn’t mind them being in here, would you?” the girl asks, looking up at Keelan hopefully. She pauses as she looks from the pot to the packets, and then back at Keelan. “Should I, er, plant them all in different pots, do you think, or would they be alright in this one?” Full of questions, this one is. “And how often do they need water? Is it several times a day, or maybe just once a day, or once a week — Professor Alexandrei did say that some needed water less often, I remember — or…?” Olivia trails off as she looks to Keelan for the answers.

Keelan Walsh shakes her head but smiles, “I don’t mind at all, Miss Baxtor, or I wouldn’t have mentioned it. I’d rather your plants live here than die from lack of light in the Hufflepuff commons.” She pulls out two more pots, stacked together, and then sort of moves toward an empty desk. “Do you mind getting a spade-or two if you want my help. I think we ought to plant them each in their own pot, the root systems don’t have as much room as they would in the ground.” Her eyebrows raise, “Really, Professor Alexandrei mentioned that? I can’t say… I was altogether pleased with her text selection, at least.” A derisive snort, now. “Not to speak ill of a former professor, of course.” Just that Keelan coveted her job with the might of a very mighty thing. “Every other day ought to do it for starters, and we’ll adjust from there. To be honest, I don’t often grow potted flowers, so this will be something of an experiment for me.” A sly, teachery expression creeps across her face, “And perhaps it will help reinforce some basic skills for you, growing something you care for?”

Blushing the shade of a very ripe apple, Olivia‘s eyes go a bit wide as she looks down at the table. Her hand finds its way to her cheek as she tries to act nonchalant, and fails miserably. “Yes, of course,” she manages, and turns to get a spade and two more pots for her flowers. Soon she returns and sets them out, filling them all as evenly as possible with soil. The girl picks up one of the packets and looks it over. “Do they all have to be close to the surface, or should they be planted normally?”

Keelan Walsh smiles softly, not wanting to embarass the girl furthur, “Oh, I think those varieties should all be planted at the usual depth, but check the back of the packet–” she smiles a bit broader as Olivia is, “sometimes there are special indications–ignore growing seasons, I’m pretty sure the greenhouses could grow anything in the very dead of winter, much less a few months out of season or so, but they of course expect these to be planted in home gardens.” A pause, and then, slowly, as if testing out a concept, “Perhaps, if your flowers grow well, it will be reflected in your grades.” Not really a question or an offer, that.

“I don’t know where I’d plant them at home,” Olivia comments blandly, rather missing the point of the statement, though she does begin to examine the backs of the packets closely, reading rather slowly, considering how little there is actually written there. Without much of another word, she carefully opens the pack to the Sundrop seeds, and taps a few seeds into the palm of her hand. It seems like every moment is carefully orchestrated as the girl takes the spade and makes a bit of a hole for them, puts each in, one by one, and then covers the hole with the soil that she had just before unearthed in the pot. “How’s that?” she asks, closing up the Sundrops packet and setting it aside.

Keelan Walsh watches patiently, occasionally nodding her head but offering no vocal comment until prompted. “That’s very good, Miss Baxtor. You should probably water them and then… every other day or so, and we’ll see how they grow.” She pauses, and then seems to wait for Olivia to plant the other seeds. Well, except she keeps going now, “Of course this step is very much the same for almost any plant, so if you can accomplish it with flowers, you should be able to with, say, Snap-Snapdragons and Wiggling Willow-shrubs.” Purposefully casual, is her tone.

All of this is very well and good for simple flowers, but as Olivia thinks of the Snap-Snapdragons, she looks up at Keelan with a bit of a leery expression. “Are those the ones that bite?” she asks quietly before repeating her actions with the Blue Moon Lily seeds, her actions slow and calculated and perhaps a bit more restrained than they need to be. Soon, both the Tangerine Explosion and Blue Moon Lily seeds are nestled snugly in the pots, and Olivia is looking around for a watering can as she still listens for Keelan’s answer.

“Only, Miss Baxtor, if you don’t know how to subdue them. Almost every plant of that level has a safeguard. For that matter, so do many of the advanced plants.” Keelan offers an encouraging smile as she walks to the back, stoops and pulls out a watering can (perpetually kept filled, though not magically–Keelan is just diligent that way) from a group of them below the counters. Bringing it back, she continues, “At any rate, don’t worry about having to grow magical plants outside of class, it was just an, um… observation.” Another smile, which has to be somewhat creepy.

Olivia Baxtor takes the can from the professor and slowly but steadily begins to pour some water into each of the pots, setting the can down gingerly and wiping at some drops of water she’s spilled as she does so. “Where can I keep them?” Olivia asks, turning to look around the greenhouse for an unobtrusive place to store her three ‘experiments’. For that’s what they are to Olivia — experiments. The girl is attempting something previously unavailable to her, something related to a subject that she is historically bad at.

Keelan Walsh surveys the room for a spot and nods. “Ah, alright, over in the back left corner, I’ve just had to take out an entire set of Laughing Lillies as they set my first years,” yes, they do belong to Keelan, “off rather badly and I don’t want todish out that much Glumbumble treacle for a non-alihosty lesson again any time soon. Perhaps my group next year will know better than to poke about unknown plants.” She shakes her head, “Besides for being open and away from any of the biters, that corner gets a good amount of sun.” She begins to walk that way, just to show. “I’ll be sure to mark them ‘Property of Olivia Baxtor, do not touch on pain of being given seventeen weeks of detention involving collecting caterpillers off of the teething Deadly Daisies.’”

Stifling a bit of a giggle, Olivia covers her mouth, more out of habit than anything else, for her reason for doing so no longer exists in the rearrangement of her teeth. “That would be great,” Olivia agrees and takes up one pot, walking towards said corner. Only one at a time, though, lest she lose her balance. Must be careful with things, of course. Setting the pot where she has been directed, Olivia turns on her heel and repeats the exercise with both other pots and arranges them neatly to be able to receive sunlight well. Pausing as she makes her way back to the front, Olivia spots a novel that looks suspiciously like one of the others she had recently read. “Oh, er — Professor, could I ask another question, perhaps?”

Keelan Walsh is almost unconciously picking away dead leaves from a nearby plant as Olivia moves up and down the aisles with her burdens, and looks up with a start, “Oh?” Pause, “Yes, of course, that is what I’m here for.” She doesn’t add, though somehow her tone suggests ‘So long as it isn’t advice about boys or Potions or what color dress is the prettiest or other such nonsense’.

“Is this book here… is it a muggle book? It looks very much like a book I recently borrowed from the librarian,” Olivia comments, her cheeks turning pink again as she asks this, almost as if doing so were an invasion of privacy. “I’m just terribly interested in muggle books, is all. Their fiction novels are so interesting and entertaining, and, well… I just like them a lot.” Olivia seems to ramble on, and as if she isn’t sure what to do with herself, she moves away from the desk and clasps her hands behind her back, changing quickly from composed and amused to nervous and excited.

Keelan Walsh raises both of her eyebrows in surprise, “You got a muggle book from the librarian? Well! I see I’ve another avenue to find reading material.” A true grin spreads on her face, “Muggle books are interesting and entertaining, even the ones that are not in particular well written.” She moves toward her desk, but just seems to hover near it, still toward Olivia, “It was…oh, probably in my third year that I started to read them, and… well I’m just really relieved to know that there is at least one young witch who doesn’t reject muggle fiction for being, well, fictional. I think you’ll be surprised how often their lore and fiction coincides with our reality–oh, I’m rambling.” She pauses, cheeks flushed. “Miss Baxtor, if you would like I could loan you books. Now, granted, some of mine are ah… for more mature readers.” Nevermind she read them at Olivia’s age. “But I have access to some that–I mean, well, what kind do you like? Personally my husband has always liked the adventerous and mysterious and I… well, I’ll admit it to you, Miss Baxtor, if you don’t tell.” She actually stops here, grinning, as if expecting a promise.

Olivia shakes her head. “Of course I won’t tell,” she almost breathes as she hears Keelan speaking. Ah, yes, the girl is excited almost to distraction at the prospect of having books coming more frequently her way. “I would just, oh, gosh, would you really lend me books?” Olivia‘s face is now formed into a full wide smile, displaying her now-straightened teeth to marvellous effect as she is talking about one of her passions, which she didn’t expect.

“I prefer romance novels,” Keelan finishes, then, with a hint of a blush, “You must understand, of course, that the majority of my reading is related to my job.” Is she really explaining herself to a fourteen year old girl? Still, she moves right along, “Of course you can borrow some. I may have to owl home for some that are… a bit more geared toward you, but I can also–have you got permission to go to Hogsmeade?” Seems Olivia has found something besides Herbology(and adventure but that’s a secret, honest!) that makes Keelan spout far too many words in a row.

“Yes, I can go into Hogsmeade. I got an umbrella there once. It’s really lovely,” Olivia chimes with a nod, still grinning rather widely, something which is uncharacteristic of the girl for so long. “I like the romances, too. The adventures are alright, but I don’t like them as well. Too much gore.” She shakes her head for a moment, then continues. “I liked this one, it was called, er…” She has to pause a moment while she tries to recall. “I think it was called Little Girls,” she finally says, though her tone is not confident. “But I definitely like the love stories.” Her grin returns as she says this.

Keelan Walsh has never heard of Little Women, for shame, but smiles at Olivia, “Well, perhaps on the next weekend, if you remind me to write down the directions–there’s this wonderful little bookshop that sells muggle books–all sorts, actually. The best part, well at least in my opinion, is that sometimes they get in a muggle book that has been illustrated by wizards.” Meaning of course that the illustrations are animated. “For starters, though, after you next class-should be Friday morning, isn’t it?” Not that she’s actually asking, “I’ll bring you a few of my favorites from when I was a student.” She smiles really quite warmly.

“Alright!” Olivia agrees, looking still rather excited at the mere prospect of getting a regular assortment of the books which she loves so dearly. Looking at Keelan for a moment, Olivia then looks away and then back to Keelan. “Do I, er, need to give anything in return? Because that’s really generous of you, to let me borrow the books.” Olivia seems to be trembling with excitement at the prospect, feeding her obsession. She does turn and pick up her scarf, hat and mittens, holding them for the moment, as if she isn’t ready quite yet to take her leave.

Keelan Walsh actually seems to consider this, although from her tone when she finally replies it isn’t with any seriousness, “No, Miss Baxtor. I’m quite happy to share my interests.” Keelan smooths the skirt of her robes reflexively and adds with a bit more solemnity, “However, if I think of anything in the future.” Pause, “Don’t worry, you won’t be weeding the gardens to earn the priviledge.” Although it is left unspoken, Keelan is just relieved a student is interested in something creative.

Nodding, Olivia begins to reassemble her winter gear, putting the hat on, and draping the scarf, while she puts the mittens on. She seems to raise her eyebrows as Keelan begins her comments, but does seem visibly relieved when Keelan admits that she won’t have to be weeding in return. After all, it isn’t exactly one of Olivia‘s favorite things to do. She gives Keelan a rather brilliant smile, then almost skips to the door of the greenhouse, turning as she reaches it. “Thank you,” she tells Keelan, her voice clear and sincere, before she turns and wraps the scarf around her head, exiting quickly into the snowy wonderland beyond the warmth of the greenhouses.

“Ahem!” Melvina chirps hoarsly, clearing her throat after covering her lips with a hastily risen fist. Her nose seems a bit shiney and red, and dark-colored eyes are ever so faintly puffy. “Oh, oh dear.” A late winter cold, to match the terrible that blankets world outside the cozy walls of the castle this mid-January evening. The famed library of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been done up much as it was for the last assembly of the Student Events Committee, with four of the long, plank tables edged up in to a large box shape with chairs scattered about the sides. Off to the side sits another table, laden down with the sorts of treats on might expect to encounter in mid-winter. Steaming hit cauldron cakes, gooey, melty chocolate biscuits, hissing kettles of hot chocolate and spiced tea, and curiously enough, a log of fruit cake so impressively large that if it were real wood it might fuel a common room hearth for several weeks. Sitting at the large, square table in the middle of one length opposite the door, the Headmistress shuffles a handful of parchments in front of her for a few moments, before giving a sneeze so great that she actually knocks the wide-brimmed, tall pointed hat she forever wears off her head.

Saphia Bona comes in quickly, with about fifteen different books with her, flopping down onto a desk and raising her hand immediately upon sitting down. “Headmistress Pritchard? I really really can’t stay very long with all the mid-year assignments we have, because I still have twenty books to read between Charms, Transfiguration and Potions, but I earnestly wish to help out with the ball.” She spreads the books out and looks over them in a tiny panic. “I promise I’ll offer any suggestions I can here!”

Riley Markham strolls in a few steps behind Saphia, conversely to her, completely unladen with any sort of reading material. Or anything at all, for that matter. His pack is missing, his robes are open, revealing his untucked button up and wrinkled slacks, and the leather thong that usually holds back his hair is completely missing. His wild, wine-colored locks tossed this way and that as if he had only just woken up. He passes Saphia a slightly crooked glance, as if to awe at her briefly, but without a word he flops down in to a nearest chair to him and shoves his hands in to his pockets. Already looking bored.

“…Already has an escort, and honestly, she wouldn’t tell me who it is, but it’s just appalling! A second year!” Gertrude strides in, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder and looking around haughtily. Nevermind that she’s only a third year herself — second years are so childish. The Baxtor girl scoffs a bit as she continues. “She must have used a Love potion on the poor sap who asked her, because I can’t think of any other reason he would ask her, and this soon! There are plenty of better options. Don’t you agree? Helen?” Gertrude looks to her sister, who is far from identical, for a response as she takes a seat perhaps a bit farther from Melvina than is really necessary.

“Hello, Professor Prichard,” Noémie greets the woman as she comes in and sits very close to the front, only glancing at the refreshments. No, none for her. After all, she’s far to excited about the event to even think of having sweets and things. Must maintain her figure, of course! Then again, it looks as if Noémie needs very little in the way of help with her figure. “Helen, Saphia, Riley,” she greets her housemates with a jubilant smile as she gets comfortable, crossing her ankles underneath her seat and watching as several others make their way in.

Hesitating in the doorway for a moment before entering, Kelly Pantall is decked out in as much winter gear as it would be possible to imagine on one person – earmuffs, beanie, gloves, mittens, cloaks, the works. Her approach to the table is a slow one, and not solely because of her obscene amount of winter clothing. It seems partially, at least, due to her terrible mood, for her eyes are downcast and her feet drag as she walks. “Hallo, Professor Prichard,” she offers in a low, sullen tone, taking a seat on the far side of the table, conveniently rather close to a pot of hot chocolate.

A scroll of parchment, a long quill, and a decanter of ink cradled to her chest by crossed arms, Felicity Wexler makes her way quietly in to the Library. Her cheeks already a bit rose-tinted, still having not forgotten her very first encounter with the Headmistress that had lost her house so many points at the beginning of the year. She picks out a chair, a respectable distance from the headmistress, but not so far as to seem room, then sets down her things and moves to check out the refreshments.

“Oh, I know,” Helen Baxtor opines in response, folding her arms across her chest and sniffing arrogantly. “That really is appalling. She ought to be ashamed of herself. Especially if she used a love potion. And you’re right – what alternative could there have been? No one would have asked her otherwise.” Hesitating a moment as she reaches the table, she eventually sits herself alongside her sister, combing her red hair through her fingers with a vague, disinterested expression. Then, looking up at Noémie, slightly startled, she offers a distracted, “Oh.. hello.” Another pause, and she turns back to her sister with small smirk. “How many of them do you think are just here so they can guarantee an invitation?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Melvina says, after reaching down to collect her hat, brushing it off, and settling it back on to her silvered crown with a slightly disgruntled expression. She does find it in herself to smile past the cold, however, as she lifts a hand to wave Saphia off. A gesture that is both dismissive and friendly. “Go on, go on. I’m sure you’ll be able to help and attend the ball, and if nothing else, I’ve not doubts Mister Markham will invite you, if only so that you don’t miss out. Now off with you. Academics is more important.” And that said, she shifts her attention elsewhere. Not watching Saphia leave, nor her grandson’s reaction to her pairing him off for the ball. Instead, looking toward whom just greeted her. “Ah, Noémie, dear. Glad to see you here, dear. Glad indeed.” She gives the Ravenclaw quidditch captain a warm smile, before looking toward the room curiously. “And Miss Pantall, how are you dear?” She greets in return, dabbing at her nose with an emerald hankerchief. Lenore and Helen are given polite nods, as is Felicity. Riley, despite having been mentioned before, is curiously ignored. “So, I suppose we should be getting to this. Those of you who were here last, I assume you remember the procedure. Sit where you like, as it seems you have, and help yourself to refreshments. The policy of this committee is, quite simply, if you have an idea, offer it. If it’s seconded and thirded, we vote as a whole and if it passes, we use that idea. As you all know, the topic of coversation this day is to be the upcoming Governor’s Ball. Any questions before we begin?” A faintly amused grin touches the corners of her lips, quite despite her cold. She was already looking forward to this.

Seeming a little perplexed by the Headmistress’ greeting, Kelly looks up, shrugging her shoulders lightly, then busying herself with the hot chocolate. “Oh.. I’m alright. Thank you?” This last is offered as a question, as if she’s not quite sure that she should, in fact, be thanking Melvina for the query. But, oh look, biscuits. And hot chocolate.

Riley Markham had just started leaning back in his chair, propping it up on the two hind legs, when Melvina arbitrarily declares Saphia as his assumed date. A statement which causes him to jump so profoundly in his seat that only the fact that his foot got caught between two legs of the arranged tables keeps him from toppling backward completely. For a moment, after he has regained his balance and thrust his himself forward so that the front two chair legs collide with the floor in a resound thunk, Riley looks quite like he might scream something obscene at the Headmistress. But whatever better judgement he holds obviously grabs hold of him, as he folds his arms across his chest and sinks so low in to the chair that he might as well be laying down. His eyes narrowed in slits, that were the Unforgivable Curses, would have killed Melvina there on the spot.

Felicity Wexler pours herself some hot cocoa and cuts off a small piece of fruit log and returns to the table as soon as she hears Melvina start to speak, settling in to her chair and unstoppering her ink. She looks toward the Headmistress briefly, then around the room briefly. She had no questions, herself, but she was here last time.

“Most of them, I bet,” Gertrude whispers to her sister in a conspiratory fashion before turning her attention to Melvina. For her part, she, too, was only here to ensure an invitation, though she would never admit it, in all her life. “Well, perhaps not that prefect over there, nor that one there. She looks to be at least a fourth year, I think.” No, even the headmistress speaking cannot halt Gertrude‘s speeches to her sister.

For Noémie‘s part, she just leans back comfortably and looks at the headmistress expectantly. She ignores the whispering nearby of the Baxtor twins, as well as the giggling of some second year girls behind her. After all, she isn’t here to police library etiquete, instead to help plan for the ball coming up. A question does occur to her, however, and as is her habit, Noémie raises her hand into the air.

Peering over at the indicated girl, Helen waves her hand in the universal gesture of ‘so-so’, not committing to an opinion about the girl’s year either way. For her part, she is indeed here to secure an invitation, but is she going to admit it? Never. “Pft, of course. Children.” And, indeed, in this count she is including both those in younger years and those in the same year group as herself. Obviously, anyone other than the Baxtor twins who is not evidently older than the girls by a considerable amount is more childish, until further notice. Relaxing back in her chair, Helen seems to be paying little attention to anything other than the gossip, still combing out her hair with her fingers idly as her eyes scope the library for something else to comment on.

Setting down her green-dyed hankerchief near her empty scone plate, Melvina pushes herself up from the table with a faint nod. Preening briefly, vaguely smoothing and adjusting her robes as an old woman is want to do, she folds her hands behind her back and slowly begins to make her way about the table. “Fair, then, no questions. Good. Let us begin. When last we met, we discussed and planned the Barefoot Social. Those of you that were here, you did an excellent job. Brilliant, even. It was a smashing success, even beyond my own wildest expectations. And if I do say so, my expectations are quite, quite high.” She grins, giving a faint wink. An expression that looks decidely clownish, with her bright red nose. “Well done, pat on the back to all of you. …Oh, Noémie, dear, sorry, I missed you there,” Melvina says, appologetically, as she turns and sees Noémie’s hand in the air. “How about this? Let’s not stand on tradition of handraising, shall we? Assure equally that we’re all heard. Go ahead, Miss Ribouet. What’s your question.” She as well seems to ignore the whispering of the Baxter twins, though she does pause directly behind their chairs to look toward Noémie.

“It’s an old habit, I’m afraid,” Noémie admits with a chuckle. “Are students allowed to invite adults as their guests to the Ball?” she queries, a small grin playing on her lips as she asks this, as if she knows something the others don’t know. Her hand is now in her lap, fiddling with a ruffle on her long skirt while she still leans comfortably back in her seat.

Slipping back a little further into her seat at the mention of the Barefoot Social being a smashing success – after all, as far as she recalls, the most successful part was the fact that the boy she publically humiliated at the Social is still willing to speak to her – Kelly remains entirely silent, sipping her hot chocolate and nibbling on a biscuit quietly. After a moment, though, she tentatively begins to raise her hand – then, noting Melvina’s discouragement of this activity, adds her own question after Noémie’s, not waiting for Melvina to answer the first query put forward. “And, and, since students on the Events Committee are allowed to attend, even if they’re not fourth year or up, are we allowed to invite other younger year students as dates?” As her cheeks flush pink, she offers a quick addendum of, “I mean, not for me. Just for – you know, future reference.” Her words come a bit too quick, a bit too hurried, and eventually she just fills her mouth with biscuit to avoid the matter entirely, slipping a little further below the table. Nice one.

Riley Markham sits quietly, his gaze shifting toward Noémie with her question. A brow quirking slightly. His annoyance with his grandmother vaporating slightly as a somewhat new conundrum has manuvered in to the picture. He sits up a little, but his expression remains dark and his arms remain folded staunchly over his chest.

“Imagine, asking an adult to the ball!” Gertrude scoffs, looking slightly shocked in Noémie’s direction. “Did you ever?” Ah, a phrase so often used by her mother, for which the girl may or may not even know the correct use. “It must be her father, or perhaps a brother,” the third year slytherin decides, a snide look on her face. “I’m sure nobody else would have her with hair like that. Hmph.” Snotty, much, Gertrude? It’s an apple and tree scenario in Gertrude‘s own case, though she doesn’t realize and would never acknowledge it.

Felicity Wexler blinks, slightly, as she turns her gaze toward Noémie — that question certainly not what she had expected to hear. Though she couldn’t help but think it made sense. After all, an older student so perfect must be in to older men. It only stood to reason. School boys would be too immature for someone on Noémie’s level. A slightly frown touches her lips, and she glances briefly to notebook, then to Noémie, then to her notebook, before lifting her gaze sharply to Gertrude. Her own wild and wavy hair, bright blonde and tangly to Noémie’s brown and somewhat more controlled, falling about her face in a small bounce. “Imagine anyone asking you. Coming here is the only way you’re going to get to go, huh? Guess that’s why your only now on the club, then, is it?” A flare of fire suddenly in her voice. The hair comment having stuck a bit close to home, perhaps.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder as she hears these two questions, Helen sniffs arrogantly and shrugs her shoulders vaguely. “Imagine asking an adult.” She scoffs, raising an eyebrow at Noémie – but then, her gaze sweeps back to Kelly, and she shakes her head at the other girl. “You’re always talking about your fourth year. Wouldn’t you go with him?” Her tone is scathing, if nothing else, and without even waiting for an answer, she rolls her eyes and leans back again, turning her eyes towards the ceiling with a disapproving ‘tuh!’ sound.

“Who asked you?” Gertrude snaps at the third year Gryffindor nearby, rolling her eyes. “We’re here because we want to contribute. For your information, though I don’t know why I’m telling you, we’ve as good as got escorts.” She smirks to Helen before giving another glaring glance back Felicity’s direction and turning her eyes forward. “Honestly, some people,” Gertrude sighs to her sister, shaking her brown ringlets with a dramatic look on her face.

Melvina Prichard lofts a brow, more or less at the room on whole. Tensions seemed to be rather high today, what with her Riley’s glaring, Gertrude Baxter’s tongue, and Miss Wexler’s readiness to spar. Yes, best to head this off quickly. Placing on hand on the back of each Helen and Gertrude’s chair, as if to remind them each that the Headmistress of the school were standing directly behind them, before looking afixing Felicity with a look that quite clearly says she’d best not stoke the fire anymore. “Thank you, Miss Baxter, Miss Wexler. I think that will do. Noémie,” she says, finally looking to the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain. “Yes, dear, you may. Miss Pantall,” she shifts her gaze toward Kelly then, in turn, and gives her a simple nod. “Yes, you may as well. Anyone on the events committee will be issued an invitation to the Governor’s Ball for themselves and a guest as special guests of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School. That guest is entirel y up to the choosing of the individual with the invitation, naturally. Adult or student. Now,” obviously deciding it better to move on rather than allowing the fighting to continue, she plows on through any further questions. “Planning. As I was saying, the Barefoot Social was a ravishing success, largely due to your efforts. The Governor’s Ball is going to be a lot more complicated. We’ll have not only the Hogwarts population, but adult wizards of every creed and stripe paying visit to our magical home. Indeed, it could very simply decend in to chaos without a fair bit of prior planning. And for that, I’m counting on all of you to help me.” She pauses, then pats the Baxter chairs, and begins to move around the table again. “Food will be provided by catereers, from various wizarding eateries scattered about the English Isle. But we still have the choice of items to request. We still have to pick the colors and decorations with which to shroud the hall, we still have a great many choices. And since they all blend together, I though, perhaps, we should start by looking at themes. This will be our first big milestone planning this part. We must decide on a theme.”

Felicity Wexler actually had begun to rise from her chair, and had been about to slap her palms down on to table in reaction to Gertrude’s response — She and Briony had been on relatively good behavior for a while, and the itch to fight and been spurred in her. A word starts to escape her, one that might have gotter her in to trouble all on it’s own, but Professor Prichard’s look quells her almost instantly. She dares not lose another twenty five points. A flush of crimson sweeps up on to her cheeks so quickly that one might expect steam to wistle from her ears, and she firmly ahears her gaze to her notebook to try and hide her face between the walls of her bushy mane that fall about her. “…think it’s a fine idea… asking an adult… shows maturity…” She mumbles, but says nothing more on the subject, concentrating on writing down everything Melvina says.

“Of course I’ll go with ‘my fourth year’.” Kelly snipes in response, glaring at the Baxtor twins across the table. Whatever her feelings happen to be on the issue, she does seem somewhat annoyed about the reference to Rafe – assuming it is Rafe to which the other girl refers – as ‘her fourth year’. “I was just asking for future reference.” Because that is the kind of thing you need to know for future reference, of course. Taking another biscuit and stuffing it into her mouth with unnecessary viciousness, she lowers her gaze to the table and falls into silence, only offering a small nod to Melvina in response.

“Perhaps there ought to be someone to canvas for people to cater, unless they have already been arranged,” Noémie suggests, tucking one leg under neath her before pulling the other up next to her on the seat. “Or maybe a committee. That way we’re sure to have enough food and things.” Noémie smiles, ignoring very blatantly the conversation of the twins nearby, especially as the Headmistress seems to have the situation under control.

Riley Markham had demonstrated a modicum of interest when the quasi-fight had begun, enough so that his gaze after moved away briefly from Noémie to Felicity and Gertrude with a slightly arched brow. Any attention to the others is short-lived as Melvina’s answer not only allows Noémie the approval to invite an adult, but full carblanche to invite whoever she darn well pleases. A funny, contorted expression dances over his face, not unlike he were constipated, and he finally turns his gaze ceilingward with a dull expression. “What sort of themes?” He says, in a bored tone. Melvina’s ignoring him obviously was being paid in return. “Like, “Enchantment Under The Sea” or a masquerade or somethinge cheesy like that?”

“Very sage, Miss Ribouet,” Melvina nods, approvingly. “I already have taken care of a large amount of securing the foodstuffs for the evening. I have over seventeen differant Wizarding eateries and groceries pulled on board already. I’m only missing deserts and refreshments this far, though I had considered simply contacting Honeydukes down in Hogsmeade. It seems the logical choice, though I had hoped to offer the students and vistors something a bit more exotic. Students are able to visit Honeydukes every Hogsmeade weekend, after all, and while I love them — especially their double-layer sparkling truffles–” said with no small amount of hinting “–it would be good for a taste of variety. And yes, Mister Markham, exactly that. A theme will help shape everything together, and allow us to set the finer details as we go.” Kelly’s barb is ignored for the moment, but her nod is offered a faint smile. Push on and leave no time for arguements. “Now, ideas for themes, anyone?”

A thoughtful moment seems to pass through Kelly‘s venomous annoyance as she thinks over different ideas for themes before she finally offers one forth, though her tone is uncertain and tentative at best. “Er… maybe, ‘All That Glitters’? Or, or, ‘Classics’?” These ideas seem to be offered merely for the sake of offering ideas, for she seems not at all attached to either of them, and she shrugs her shoulders vaguely and reaches for another biscuit. She’s not just here for the food, of course not.

“My aunt could do it,” Felicity says, quietly, to her parchment. It taking almost a full moment for her to realize that the slightly squeaky, embaressed voice that just floated out in to the air was her own. Blinking, twice, she looks up slowly and swallows a breath. Why did things always fall apart for her like this. “Cousin, actually. Not my aunt. But I call her aunt, because everyone else my age does, but–” With a small wince and a shake of her head, as if to clear the cobwebs of embaressment and the lingering anger from before, Felicity presses on. “My aunt could do it. Not the theme, I mean, but the deserts and refreshments. She owns a sweets shop in Diagon Alley, and specializes in exotic sweets foreign and domestic. I’m sure you could ask Aunt Sibyl–Madam Wexler to talk her in to it. She’s really quite good. I think I still have some of the chocolates she sent me for Yule, you could try them.” Confidence sweeps in to her again by the end of the her spiral of words, and by the time she’s finished, her cheeks are only slightly rosy.

“Certainly,” Helen replies, her voice dripping with quiet sarcasm, arching her eyebrows curiously at Kelly before she finally shakes her head and distracts herself with something else – in this case, the state of her nails, which largely occupies her mind for a long moment before she leans towards her sister and offers the quiet remark, “Some of the students here need a serious lesson in taste, don’t you think? They’re so… so…” She waves a hand, unable to find an appropriate word, trailing off into a somewhat disgusted silence.

“Oh, I’ve been in there, her sweets are brilliant,” Noémie comments slapping her hands together in a bit of an excited clap. “Perhaps we could have something enchanting. Maybe snowy, icy, with faeries. A bit of a wintertime … hmmm… Wintertime Wonderland?” The prefect suggests, draping her arms around the one leg that has been brought up to her chest. “With everything white and blue, and looking snowy. I imagine we could manage some ice sculptures, and perhaps Professor Helit could bring in some fairies to create a bit of shimmer to the decor?” The artist in Noémie seems to be coming out in this idea as she spouts her idea for the theme.

“So,” Melvina says, sharply, turning on her heel and moving to sit herself on the edge of the table next to Helen’s free side. Her arms folded across her chest and a brow lofted. Her smile is both amused, but somewhat serious. Obviously, she’d cleared the wake of the table already while going on earlier. “You seem to be a young lady of impeciable taste,” the words laced with emphisis. Old as she may be, obviously her hearing is still keen. “A theme, dear. What say you for a theme?” She does, however, allow Helen the reprieve of time, as she shifts her gaze to Felicity, then to Noémie, nodding sagely. “Very good, then. I’ll talk to Madam Wexler and see if she can’t put me in touch with you–relative, dear. Very good, indeed.” She nods, thoughtfully, to Noémie’s theme idea, considering it briefly. The memory that she had only just meant to put Helen on the spot having faded briefly. “Not bad.”

“You said it,” Gertrude whispers to her sister, before the headmistress comes to sit next to her sister. The girl’s eyes widen ever so slightly as she looks up at the professor. “Er–” is all she can manage, before she realizes that it isn’t her who’s being addressed, and Gertrude is grateful for this. Instead of attempting to bail her sister out, she merely sits mutely and looks at her fingernails as if she has suddenly grown new fingers.

Briefly, Helen seems stunned to be put on the spot and entirely perplexed, sitting up a little straighter, uncertain about what to suggest. After a moment of hesitation, though, she offers the smooth suggestion, “Something tasteful, but not limiting. How about just an unthemed Masquerade Ball?” Her tone calm and collected, if a bit uncertain, as if she is – and, indeed, this is probably the case – just making it up as she goes along. To offset this, she smiles as innocently as she can muster, though this does not last long before the urge to roll her eyes at her fellow students overcomes her and she flops back into her lazy position, staring back up at the thoroughly unexciting ceiling.

Riley Markham gazes off in to space for several moments, thoughtlessly, before lifting his head slowly and shifting his attention toward Noémie. “Wintertime Wonderland, or a masque. If we’re supposed to be socializing and building ties with the adult world, wouldn’t a masque be a little counterproductive? You’re not supposed to let anyone know who you are at a masque, right? Doesn’t make sense. The winter things sound a bit of a lark, though. On season, at any rate.”

Felicity Wexler nods, as well, slowly. “I don’t know that a masque makes sense, either. Wintertime Wonderland sounds simple enough, especially right after Yule. We could get discounted decorations, I’ll bet..” She muses, thoughtly, lifting her quill to her lips and nibbling on it. “All That Glitters wasn’t bad, either.”

“Maybe it could be done up like a garden. Professor Walsh would love it, I’d wager,” Gertrude contributes, not really looking at anyone else particularly. “Do up everything in green and flowers, get ready for spring and all that?” Gertrude‘s response is nearly the opposite of Noémie’s, though it is in the same sort of theme, and yet the girl seems rather proud that she’s thought of it. “Everyone could wear flowers to it.”

Riley Markham nods, thoughtfully, after a moment, shifting his gaze toward Gertrude almost as if impressed. “Not bad. We could do it up in one of the greenhouses, maybe? enchant it like that tend, so it’s bigger inside, to fit all the people? Or even still in the great hall, just have Walsh do up everything in there, so it’s still warm?” He shrugs, slightly. Almost in spite of himself, his curiousity and the willingness to create was pulling him in.

“Four seasons!” Noémie chimes cheerfully, sitting up straighter and putting her feet back onto the floor. “We could have all four seasons represented over the course of the night. At first, it could be spring, and then it could blossom into summer, and then to fall, then to winter, to top off the night. Of course, it would take a lot of charm-work to get it to work right, but imagine the spectacle! ‘The Four Seasons Ball’ or something, don’t you think?” Noémie waves her hands about, showing with her hands what she describes with her voice as she stands and nearly jumps with excitement.

Melvina Prichard nods, thoughtly, having been fairly partial to the notion of “All That Glitters”. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that Noémie’s last idea seemed bright enough. A wonderful comprimise. “Nice idea, my dear, nice indeed. A fair comprimise, nearly all around. Seconded. Thirded, anyone?”

Waving a hand vaguely above her head, having tuned out most of the conversation in favour of various snack foods which she has been steadily plowing through, with the help of plenty of hot chocolate, Kelly nods her agreeance. “Thirded, I suppose,” she volunteers, though her voice is low and sullen yet again.

Melvina Prichard nods, noting that both Riley and Felicity had lifted their hands to indicated thirding as well. That seemed to put the majority in lead. “Vote, then. In favor.” And she lifts her own hand, Riley and Felicity both follow likewise.

Well, at least her idea was sort of included. And at least it meant that she didn’t have to go digging in any yucky dirt to create the decorations. Gertrude apathetically puts her hand up and leans back against the table, stifling a bit of a mock-yawn as she looks to Helen. The slytherin is clearly unimpressed with the idea outwardly, though it was better than her own.

Shrugging her shoulders vaguely, Helen raises her hand idly, still inspecting the nails of her other hand. Why not vote, after all? She does, however, lean across to Gertrude, gesturing vaguely to another female student, and whispers, “Oh, goodness. Do you think that girl has ever heard of a comb? Can we say ‘ew’?”

“Well, that does seem to be the majority then, doesn’t it?” Melvina chirps, happily, after counting hands. “Very good, Miss Ribouet. The theme of the Governor’s Ball will be ‘Four Seasons’. Take ten points, dear.” A deep breath fills Melvina, which ends in a tremendous sneeze that she only barely contain with her hands. Her hat tumbles off once more, this time in front of Helen. “Okay, that’s enough for today, I think. We can meet again after a time, finish up the details. Good work, all. Five points all around.”

“Brilliant,” Noémie smiles happily and claps her hands a bit. “Can’t wait until we get together again,” she tells Melvina and stands up, looking around at everyone with a happy smile, then strides off slowly, making her way out of the library. Where she’s going is anyone’s guess, but she’s whistling happily as she goes, her hands tucked neatly into the pockets of her skirt.

Nodding to the Headmistress, Kelly picks herself up from the table and shuffles out of the library, though admittedly she does slip several chocolate biscuits into her pockets. Waste not, want not, eh? Her uncharacteristic quietness – probably related, in some way, to the seasonal chill to the air and her embarassed question during the meeting – continues, remaining entirely unexplained, though she does mumble to herself on her way out the door, perhaps just loudly enough to be overheard by the others. “‘My fourth year’ – tuh!”

Melvina Prichard waits for everyone to leave, before vanishing the food she’d had made for the meeting and collecting her parchments to leave as well. Only after taking up her hankerchief and wiping off her hands.

“Honestly,” Gertrude scoffs, standing as Melvina bids them to go. The girl turns. “Anyway, we’ve got to get together with Suki and Nellie soon to get to work on that paper some more. After all, we’ll need our first issue out before the ball comes, so we can start a Ball Edition.” The girl strides out of the library, chatting about various things, more gossipy than not.

Christmas morning, that time of year that so many children look forward to. The children in this particular house would have woken up to presents piled around the living room and a large breakfast set out, Sylvie and Ulaen Geroff both already up and about to get things ready. Since then, the food has been taken care of, and the others have arrived – beside the eight and guest in this house, Julie and Douglas and their two children, and Paul and Eleyn. With a few exceptions the children have moved to a well-decorated livingroom, where the tree sits and presents await, and the adults are just beginning to move out of the dining room while Sylvie cleans spare food off of two-year-old Brandon. “Noone touches a thing until everyone is in the room,” she calls, without looking, into the ajoining portion of the house.

“Yes, mum,” Constance answers dutifully, though she eyes the pile rather closely, as all the children appear to be doing. “You heard what she said, Matthew,” the girl says to her younger brother, though he does not appear to be doing anything other than what his mother has told him to do. “Where’s Olivia going to sit?” she voices rather loudly as people seem to be getting settled into the house. The mountains of gifts, though they are to be spread out among many, many people, seem to make the ten-year-old’s eyes wide as plates with anticipation.

“Next to me,” Rosemarie answers her cousin, having clearly already reclaimed Olivia. She’s not too worried about it though – she saw the stack that was brought over from her house, and is anxious to see if any contain new doll clothes or dresses or toys for her. Evan just laughs, and from the smile on his face, is happy to be home again. “If you like, Olivia, there’s a chair over here.. was,” he corrects himself, “but I can move James. Just a matter of picking him up.”

Olivia, looking more comfortable and at ease than she has in, well, days, seems used to the number of people around now, and looks around. Well, there are a good many people, and she’ll have to take seats whereever she can. “I can sit over here near…” Which one was that, again? “Him,” she finishes, stepping over to take a seat on a long couch where there’s a bit of room. “Looks like there’s room for another,” she suggests, neither specifically to Evan or to Rosemarie, mostly to see who wins this time around. Rosemarie is a determined little girl when she wants to be, after all.

It is around this moment that Sylvie walks back in, carrying Brandon in her arms. Ulaen has come before her and managed to get one of the boys to free up a chair through a tickling match, Julie and Douglas have each found seats more at the edge of the group, and Paul and Eleyn have managed to claim an area neither far outside everyone else nor in the middle of the activity, still sitting close enough to hold hands or lean on shoulders, just like the not-yet-year-long married couple they are. “Whenever everyone’s settled..” Sylvie begins, though not all of the children wait even that long to begin reaching for things, and she falls back on simply warning, “Rush this much, and you’ll be out sooner.”

Excitedly, Constance reaches forward and starts looking at tags and resisting the urge to shake the boxes as she starts helping the younger children sort and distribute the gifts. “Here’s one for Evan!” she hollers, perhaps a bit more exhuberantly than is absolutely necessary. Well, it is Christmas, after all! She hands out gifts to some of the younger ones who seem more anxious to tear into them than to even see who the gift is from. Soon, Constance is ripping one of her own open, forgetting to be the director of the action.

Evan Geroff wins the particular race to sit beside Olivia by scooping Rosemarie up before she manages to climb into the chair, and taking it himself while placing Rosemarie on his lap. “See, you’re still next to her,” he tries, though the little girl doesn’t seem so sure of the arrangement. Her attention is taken over as Constance begins to pass out presents though, and while Evan calmly takes his, she soon after receives one of her own, and has it open before Evan gets the wrapping off his. “See, look!” she exclaims cheerfully, shoving something that is made of a light yellow cloth as close to Olivia’s face as she can get it.

Olivia chuckles as Rosemarie is usurped and leans against the arm of the couch a bit, watching as the children seem to literally dive into the pile. Christmas never having been such an exciting event at her house, the girl can’t help but have to resist the urge to do the same, if only to enjoy the shiny paper and ribbons and bows that are soon becoming strewn everywhere. As the yellow garment is pushed into her face, Olivia giggles a bit, her mouth opening into a wide, toothy smile. “That’s a lovely shade of yellow, Rosemarie,” she tells the child and smiles indulgently. “Oh, is that for me?” Olivia asks, shock crossing her face as her now-straight teeth are once again hidden by her lips forming into an ‘O’ shape. “Really?” She looks around with raised eyebrows as she slowly pulls at the bow on the top to undo it.

Sylvie Winters-Geroff directs her attention for the first couple minutes to surveying the chaos immediately created by the children, gaze drifting over them one by one, directing a faint smile at Olivia as the guest finds one of her gifts. As things seem to be going more or less smoothly, however, and ignoring the flying paper and ribbons, she sits back in her seat and offers her husband a tiny smile. Ulaen has in the meantime procured one of the baby’s gifts, and she looks on while he opens it, something Brandom himself only partially does though he is fastenated by the bow. The other adults have also, to greater or lesser extend, begun to open gifts, though with much more patient than the younger generation.

“Lookit, mum!” Constance calls to her mother as she holds up new robes in a deep purple shade. “Isn’t it pretty?” Of course, likely Sylvie already knew what was in the package, but this doesn’t stop the girl’s exclaimations as she starts rifling through the stray paper shreddings and ribbon to look for some more gifts, handing them out carefully as she hands another to Olivia, one to her brother, one to Rosemarie, and so on. The pile is nearly endless, it seems, to the girl as she digs through the shells of already opened gifts.

Evan Geroff also smiles at Olivia, or at her surprise, pleased with the hope that she’ll enjoy this day. He does at some point get around to opening his own gift, however, even before another is given to him. It doesn’t help things so much to have an excited four-year-old squirming around on your lap. “Thank you, Mother..” he calls across the room, reaching to set a dress shirt and tie out of the way of Rosemarie’s elbows as she is already tearing into another package. Reaching around her to accept a second gift, he pauses to glance at Olivia, and see how she’s making out.

“Oh, wow…” Olivia breathes, finally getting the ribbon and paper off — they were tied down well — to reveal The Goblin Revolution: A Mostly Complete History. “Thank you,” she calls, then looks around in the paper for the tag, though with Rosemarie poking another doll outfit under her nose, it takes her several moments before she manages to find the thing. “Thank you, Mrs — I mean — Sylvie,” she calls with a bit of a blush. The chaos in the room is constant now as the children are in the thick of playing with new things and still opening gifts. Almost before she is finished enjoying the idea of the gift she has just gotten, another is thrust to her and she takes it somewhat akwardly, setting the book down near her feet to leave more room.

The child on Sylvie‘s lap is now alternately turning around and giggling at one of a set of thick blocks, completely amused by the figures that roam across the surface above the background design. Over him, Sylvie gives nods and small smiles to the different calls of thanks, adding a “you’re welcome,” here and there, as she does when Olivia addresses her before going on to ask, “You don’t already have that one, do you?”

Constance laughs aloud as she opens up another gift, a peculiar looking toy, which she immediately begins to fiddle with, trying to get it to do what it is intended to do. “You sneak, you did tell!” She comments to her brother, though she doesn’t seem annoyed by this. Instead, she once again forgets her ‘duties’ and starts playing with her latest gift, ignoring, however temporarily, the gifts that are already opened and surrounding her. She sits down on the floor and laughs aloud as the toy emits brightly colored sparks.

Evan Geroff carefully pulls the wrapping off his newest package, but manages to get it only half off before his attention is demanded by Matthew to help open and assemble something – and, at the same time, by the child on his lap turning to have him force a dolls’ arms through a certain new outfit. “Are you sure she needs to wear this dress now?” Evan demands to know, taking a moment to eye her oddly-dressed doll while pulling at different parts of Matthew’s toy. One of his aunts and uncles moves from the grouping of older children to help, before being accosted by a different one of the boys demanding a race across the floor.

Olivia shakes her head furiously, though the look on her face as she looks over the novel probably gives away that she is more than thrilled at having it. Looking over to see Evan struggling with both Rosemarie’s and Matthew’s demands at the same time she holds her hand out. “I can help you with that, Evan,” she tells him, referring to the doll as another gift is thrust into her lap. Her mouth drops open again, in shock that she’s gotten not one, but two gifts from his family. “Th-thank you,” she calls again, even before she’s begun to open it. After all, she does need to help dress one of Rosemarie’s dolls so that Evan can open his own gifts.

Sylvie Winters-Geroff leans around Brandon, who has by now dropped one of the blocks and picked up another bit of ribbon to wrap, only half managing to wrap the strand around the other object, to reach for one of the nearer packages herself. Might as well give Constance a chance to play, and so she hands one off to James, and then picks something up that’s remained near her to hand to Ulaen, sharing a smile with her husband before turning to watch Olivia at her surprised second thanks. Sylvie doesn’t say anything to her, now, only gives a small smile as she watches her guest seem to fit into the family.

Constance Geroff has moved on to the gifts again and has tentatively set aside her new toy, the one which she had accused her younger brother of snitching about. “Here’s one for Aunt Julie,” the girl announces, thrusting the gift in her direction. “For Daddy — I wrapped this one up, isn’t it pretty?” She smiles wide at him, giving him the gift, which looks like it was rather hastily wrapped and thrust under the tree. She giggles a bit and then turns back to her task, doling out more gifts until she is given one for herself by one of the younger children and ceases again, tending to her newest gift.

After cheerfully relinquishing the doll and dress to Olivia, and helping Rosemarie turn around, Evan spends a couple minutes setting up and then playing with what Matthew has handed him. Only then does he tear the rest of the wrapping off his next gift, revealing a small book with quidditch players flying across the inside pages when it’s opened. His murmur of thanks to the other older children across the room is almost buried beneath the other voices in the room, particularly Ulaen’s agreement to Constance that, “Yes, so pretty maybe I just shouldn’t unwrap it, or I couldn’t keep looking at it!”

“Here you go, Rosemarie,” Olivia tells the little girl, handing the now re-clothed doll to her. She laughs a bit and begins to finally open the gift that she’s had sitting neatly on her lap. She begins to tear the paper off, and quickly it is discarded into the large pile of paper where the rest has all gone, much of it from the younger children. She reveals a set of paints and can’t help but giggle a bit. “You put them up to this, didn’t you, Evan?” she asks with a laugh, and her face seems to shine as she runs her fingers over the top of the box, peeking in it only a little bit before setting it aside to work on another gift that she has been given. “What about that plain brown one, Evan?” the girl suggests slyly, not looking at him while she starts to tear the paper off another beribboned package.

“Maybe you can save the wrapping and reshape it afterward,” Sylvie tells her husband. “But I’m not putting it on the bedroom wall.” As she speaks, she leans down to set Brandon on the floor, where the two year old immediately makes his way off into the crowd of kids to probably get into whatever he can find. “Constance, I’m sure there’s something else over there for Brandon..” she points to one, “toward the back there.. pull it out for him before he picks his own?”

“Yeah, just keep the paper, Daddy,” Constance tells him with a rather wide grin, which fades to a regular smile as she goes looking for the gift for Brandon amidst all the paper. The amount of presents are starting to dwindle, and many of the children have already begun playing with their own gifts. Constance, herself, will be on her way to playing soon enough with her own gifts. She hands the gift over to her mother and start on her own last couple of gifts, both of which are new clothes and robes. Ah, yes, the joys of a ten-year-old’s life!

Evan Geroff looks around for a moment, then reaches for the brown package Olivia mentioned, turning it once to look for a tag – though, of course, he’s got a clue as Olivia did point it out. It takes him a moment to tear off the paper, and another to examine the insides – just like the younger children, he gets these out and sets them up on a nearby end-table, smiling as they spring into action in various ways across the tabletop. “Thank you, Olivia! I’ve been wanting these..” but she knew that, didn’t she, he mentioned it. He turns to grin at her, to make sure he’s got her attention, before adding again, “Thank you.” “You know, I could show you the rest of my collection sometime..” Luckily, perhaps, the activities around him cause him to trail off of that dangerous and time-consuming topic. Somewhere on the other side of the chaos, Ulaen makes a point of folding and saving the paper from Constance’s gift, adding his thanks to his daughter into the fray of noise.

Smiling pleasantly as Evan opens his gift from her, Olivia looks pleased at his reaction. “You’re welcome,” she chimes back to him, just as her final gift is thrust into her lap, a rather hefty and heavy gift. “Oh, my,” she gasps, tugging gently at the paper, until she finally reveals that it is three books. One, Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen, another, a volume of Shakespeare, and a third, a collection of short stories by various Muggle authors. Olivia‘s mouth hangs agape as she looks through the volumes. “Did you really get me all these?” she asks, her voice showing the awe and shock in her voice. “They’re wonderful! I can’t wait to read them, already.” She runs her fingers along the spine of the books and looks to Evan jubilantly.

Sylvie Winters-Geroff calls Brandon back to her, handing over the boy’s gift to let him go at the paper himself. He cheerfully does so, not noticing that the other children are settling down to play, nor many of the teenage and older aunts and uncles forming more quiet groups among themselves to chat. Sylvie keeps half an eye on all of this, though more of her attention is focused on giving Ulaen a quick kiss in thanks for her final present and then talking for a moment with Julie, only for one quick moment turning her attention to call, “Not in the house, James,” for some action or other, and for a different moment to glance at Olivia again to see that the guest seems pleased.

“Matthew, James, if you come with me, I’ll show you the toy I got! Yes, the one that shoots sparklers!” Constance giggles a bit and soon the lot of them are standing up, with Rosemarie trailing behind, all of them scrambling to put on scarves, hats and mittens, all of the essentials for going out on a winter day such as Christmas to play with newfound goodies. “Last one to the tree is a lawn gnome!” the girl calls loudly before darting out the door with her toy in hand, her brothers and some of her cousins following her out into the snow-filled yard.

Evan Geroff is likewise quite pleased with Olivia’s reaction to his gift for her, reaching over to brush his own hands against two of the books, Pride and Prejudice and the Shakespeare volume. “This, I was told many young ladies enjoy, after I told them you liked..” oh, now, what did the person at the shop finally call it? It wasn’t girls, really.. “Little Women. And this, I did glance through it some I admit, I thought it looked interesting..” “You will tell me how you like them, when you finish?” As he speaks, the majority of the children have cleared out, and Brandon attempts to follow in their wake, drawing Stacy out as she carries the two-year-old outside and Melinda with her. Gary has found himself interested in something or other that he got, and the couples in the room have more or less taken to quiet conversations among themselves as well, leaving a surprising quietness after the noise of Christmas morning.

“Oh, wow!” Olivia says in response, just looking through them all. “You can read them when I’m done, if you want,” Olivia tells him with a smile. “But of course, I’ll tell you about them.” She giggles a bit, opening the front cover of the topmost one, which happens to be Pride and Prejudice. She soon shuts it again and sets the set of them gingerly atop the History text, which Olivia could swear she heard a groan emit from. This gets no reaction, however, as she turns to Evan. “So you really like the set, then? I wasn’t sure which to get you.”

As the kids disperse, Sylvie begins to pick up the bits of paper around her, and she and Ulaen take a moment to put away their own gifts for the moment. That done, the two retreat to a corner to talk with her married brothers and sisters, sparing here and there a quick look out the window to check on the kids outside. Most of the cleaning can wait for later, with the kids back in and calmed down, to help, though soon she’ll be up again with some of the others to see about getting dinner together, whatever needs extra preparation before this many people sit down to eat.

Evan Geroff shakes his head a bit, eyeing the volumes which, though he hoped Olivia would like, he wasn’t so sure of himself. “I’m not certain that one is much my style.. perhaps, if you enjoy Shakespear’s work, I would be convinced to read some of that volume, though.” As topics chance to what he received, he smiles at her, and reaches for the table upon which he had set them up. “I do, it was an excellent choice..” he scoops one off the table into his hand, and winged, it hovers an inch or two off his hand as brings it over for Olivia to see. “They all act like what or who they were modeled – less violent, of course, none have ever hurt me, so these won’t bite or anything like that. I enjoy getting select creates and people out, creating scenes.. battles, really.. with them, I can’t wait to mix these animals in.”

Giggling a bit, Olivia seems to understand a bit. “My brother used to have sets like this. He liked to do that, too. Sometimes his whole room would be set up as an elaborate battle.” She pauses. “I suppose it helped that he has his own room.” Olivia shrugs as she says this and looks about the room. “Oh, should we perhaps help clean everything up?” the girl asks, before she sees Sylvie retreat out of the room. The once full and boisterous room is now quiet and quite empty, and Olivia smiles at Evan. “I think this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had already.” Another pause, and she looks to the figures. “I should try to paint some of those with my new set.” She seems to look closer at it. “Well, perhaps after a bit of practice, maybe.”

Evan Geroff scoops up another, placing it in his other hand, and leans back to watch as, when he brings his hands together, the two circle each other. “We’ll all clean up before dinner – doesn’t take long, that way,” he comments to her initial question, clearly not worried about the matter himself. Her next statement surprises him though, and he takes his eyes away from the figures to turn and look at her. “Is it really?” “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Olivia, truly I am. You do seem to fit in very well.” Another, longer pause, before adding, “You have to start with something you know. What are you going to paint for practice if you want to wait to do everything well?”

“Well, it’ll have to be something simple to start. I’m sure Constance didn’t start with elaborate things like those figures. They’ve got a lot of details to them, and I imagine I’d not do them any justice. Maybe something with regular angles, or something simple to start.” Olivia nods with this, leaning back on the couch, too, and bringing her legs up to her chest, looping her arms around them. “I really like your family. They’re all so nice, and comfortable. Even when you’re all arguing,” which of course must happen on occasion, “It’s so different from my family.” She pauses. “But I love my family, too, of course,” she adds, almost a bit hastily. Glancing over her shoulder out a window, she laughs a bit. “Your cousins and your brothers and sister all seem to be having fun. They’re having a snowball fight.”

Evan Geroff chuckles, gaze rising from the figures to the same window. “I don’t see any fortresses, though. Sooner or later they’ll all come in sopping wet for cocoa and a fire.” “What about paining that? The window, and the snow outside. There wouldn’t have to be as much detail – and it’s a nice scene.” Hesitant, perhaps even taking a moment to think, he leans forward long enough to place the figures next to each other on the table again, their antics once there not gaining as much of his attention when he leans back again. “Every family is different,” he finally states. “I’ve been very lucky – partially, I think, because Mother works so hard to give us everything. And she and Father really love each other and all of us.” “It doesn’t mean that other ways of doing things are bad, or that the same situation is best for everyone.”

“I could try,” Olivia comments, looking out at the view out the window. “I’m not certain I could do much justice to it, but at least I wouldn’t have to draw your cousins in it as well.” She giggles a little bit and watches as Constance tackles one of her brothers. “I hope the paint kit comes with white, or else it will be hard to make the field.” The girl shrugs as she states this, glancing down to her own moderately-sized pile of gifts, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “I wonder if we shouldn’t get some cocoa ready for their imminent return.” She untangles her arms and legs from their place on the couch and puts her feet back on the ground with a smile to Evan. “It would be the least we could do, right?”

“Nothing you do is going to be perfect the first time, no matter how simple the scene,” Evan answers, followed by a teasing grin. “Sorry to disappoint you, Olivia. No one is perfect in every way.” His answer to her cocoa query is to stand, stretching before turning to face Olivia and hold one arm out in entreaty. “Come, let us proceed to the glorious realm of Kitchen.”

“Well, why not?” the girl replies cheerfully, in a tone which signifies that even she does not take herself entirely seriously. She stands just as Evan beckons her with his arm and entwines it with his. “To the kitchen!” Olivia‘s boisterous voice and demeanor seem night and day with how she usually behaves at school, and she starts onward toward the kitchen. “Maybe we should see about some cookies, or maybe some biscuits to go with the cocoa, do you think?” she comments, and then the two are disappeared into the kitchen for an entirely new type of adventure: a culinary one!