“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!

The hospital wing is a haven of coziness, even though winter chills have begun to fill the snug beds with sniffling students. Fortunately, there seem to be few serious injuries or magically-induced ailments right now. The sharp, bracing scent of Pepper-Up wafts throughout the warm room – not content with simply brewing individual mugs for her coughing young patients, Sibyl Wexler has an entire cauldron of it bubbling over the fireplace. “There you go, dear,” the nurse murmurs to a glum-looking little boy, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder as she hands him his mug. “You’ll be feeling better in no time at all.”

It isn’t long before the Christmas break begins, and Olivia seems almost skittish as she enters the quiet Hospital wing. “Mrs Wexler?” she calls quietly, her hands folded together, almost in an attempt to keep them warm, as the castle is prone to draughts. “Am I early?” she asks, readjusting her scarf carefully and glancing around at all of her schoolmates occupying the beds with various types of colds.

“Hmm?” Sibyl turns to look over her shoulder at the sound of a new voice, and breaks into a warm smile as she catches sight of Olivia. “Oh, Olivia, dear, no, you’re just on time. I’ll be with you in a moment – I’ve just got one more of these Pepper-Ups to do.” Sibyl gives the little boy one last comforting pat on the shoulder, then straightens up, starting to bustle back across the room towards the cauldron. “How are you feeling, dear?” she asks, as she bends over the bubbling pot, the slightest bit of awkwardness in her motion as she leans over her still-small but growing stomach. “You haven’t got this chill that’s going around, have you?”

“I feel fine, it’s just a little chilly today, that’s all,” Olivia answers, a small smile gracing her closed lips. “I hope we’ll have snow soon,” the girl expresses, glancing out the window at the quiet cold. The school has been buzzing about Christmas, as it usually does, with people preparing their things to take them home, and talking about what they were hoping to get for the holiday. She walks over to a nearby empty area, near the doorway to the private ward and leans against a post of an empty bed, waiting her turn to be helped by the nurse.

“Oh, so do I!” Sibyl agrees, with a fervency that surprises even herself, and sends her warm smile bubbling over into a laugh. “Well, winter is more fun when it’s snowing! And a white Christmas would be nice.” She fills the last of the mugs with steaming Pepper-Up and crosses back to the row of beds to hand the mug to a tiny coughing first-year girl. The nurse smoothes the girl’s hair back, tucks her covers in a little more snugly, and straightens up again to turn back towards Olivia. “There – now, let’s go into my office and we can get you taken care of!” Sibyl declares with a satisfied nod, and starts to lead the way down the short corridor towards her office.

Olivia Baxtor follows the nurse into her office, walking as quietly as she can, though her shoes still ‘click clack’ a bit. “I’m rather excited for Christmas this year,” she admits, her eyes shining. “Evan’s told me that they have a tree and everything.” The girl giggles a bit and covers her mouth as she does so, taking a seat one she is in the office. “Will this hurt terribly much, do you think?” she asks, almost blurting the question, which has apparently been weighing on the fourth-year’s mind for a good bit.

Sibyl‘s warm smile twists with regret. “It probably will a bit, dear. I’m sorry,” she says, gently and apologetically. “But not for long, and I can give you some potions to help in the meantime.” She reaches out to place her hand on the girl’s shoulder as she passes, giving a kind touch along with her reassuring words. “And then you’ll feel fine, and you’ll have an absolutely lovely Christmas.” Sibyl is smiling again by the time she finishes, leaning against her desk facing Olivia. She pauses to fish her wand out of the voluminous folds of her robes, and holds it poised in her hand as she asks, “Are you ready, dear?”

However much hesitance for pain is in Olivia‘s eyes, this is masked by the fervor with which she nods affirmative. “What should I do? Do I just sit here and hold my mouth open, or…?” Obviously the girl had not had much occasion to do appropriate research on the subject of teeth straightening, and is perhaps a bit more clueless than the average student might be about the change she’s about to have.

“That’s all, dear,” Sibyl agrees. She reaches out to take Olivia’s chin gently between the fingers of her free hand, and tilts the girl’s face up towards her. “I’m the one doing all the work,” she adds, with a slightly impish gleam in her eyes. “So you don’t have to worry at all.” Sibyl lifts her wand, and declares, “Dentario!” A small white spark zips out of the end of the wand, and circles into Olivia’s opened mouth, wrapping the girl’s teeth in gentle white light.

“Alright,” Olivia answers and nods, then her chin is tilted and she opens her mouth dutifully, letting the nurse be the only one to see the crooked teeth, ever again. The girl’s eyes widen as the white spark zips out, but she does not flinch, she merely leans back and watches as the nurse deftly begins to rearrange her teeth. The pain that quickly begins to surge through her gums is not one which she has been prepared for, but rather than flinch, she simply closes her eyes again, just waiting for it all to be over.

The girl may try to hide her pain, but Sibyl is attuned enough to reading children’s expressions and moods that her own face crinkles in gentle sympathy, and she murmurs, “It’s all right, dear. It won’t be that much longer. . .” A little more force comes back into Sibyl‘s voice as she continues, “Dentario regularus!” Little by little, the bright sparks of magic do their work, tugging Olivia’s crooked teeth into position. The nurse’s voice softens again as she moves out of the words of the spell and into the words of consolation. “Don’t worry – this is going to hurt a little more, but it won’t be for long.”

Breathing very carfully as Sibyl finishes the spell, Olivia relaxes, as the ‘assault’ on her gums has ended, and now the pain of the rearrangement is beginning to settle. The girl wipes at her eyes, hiding away the remnants of tears that came too easily with the pain, and sits up a little. “Iss vat aww? Iss done?” Olivia asks, speaking with as little movement as possible. “Cood I geh aaht pohion soon?” She lets her mouth hang a bit, hoping that the throbbing in her teeth would very soon go down and that she could enjoy the feeling of the now-straight teeth.

“Of course, dear,” Sibyl replies at once. She quickly releases Olivia’s chin, moving her hand carefully away from the girl’s sore mouth, and instead smoothes back Olivia’s hair with a gentle touch before she stands up straight to bustle swiftly over to the small potions cabinet in the corner. “Now, take one of these vials now, and another in five hours,” Sibyl instructs, authority ringing in her voice despite her gentle tone. “And if it’s still hurting after that, or if the potion doesn’t make it stop, come back to me.” She returns to Olivia, holding out the two vials towards the girl, and pauses for a moment, regarding her with warm, maternal eyes. “You look lovely, dear. And you’ll feel better very soon.”

Nodding, Olivia takes the vials from Sibyl, and does as she’s told, downing one quickly and closing her eyes for a moment. No, it didn’t taste all that nice, but if Sibyl said it would make her feel better, Olivia was certain that it would do so. “Phank you,” Olivia says as best she can, and her lips turn up a bit, though not much. The fourth year stands carefully, steadying herself and clutching the extra vial carefully. “Soood I come back thoon?” she asks, though she means to ask ‘Should I come back before Christmas Holiday?’

“Yes,” Sibyl decides, and her own smile warms with proud satisfaction as she surveys the work that her potions and spells have done. “If the potions work and everything feels all right, come back in three days so that I can check up on you before you leave. Or, if there’s anything you’d like to talk about,” she adds. The nurse gives Olivia one more pat on the shoulder, and finishes, “You should be feeling fine in no time, though. And you’ll have a lovely holiday!”

“Phank you,” the girl reiterates again, the sides of her mouth curling up a bit. She looks to already be in a bit less pain as she turns and walks carefully out of the office, clutching the vial in one hand, and running her fingers over the bottom of her sweater carefully. Yes, Olivia would have a lovely holiday, and she would rest easier, perhaps, with the straightened teeth. Soon the girl is gone again, on her way up to her dormitory, perhaps to sleep.

Sometime in the grace period between classes and dinner, where the students aren’t expected to be anywhere in particular, Kelly Pantall makes her way out of the castle, no concession given to the weather except for her usual school robes and a pair of blue woolen gloves. As might be expected, there are goosebumps on all her visible flesh and her arms are wrapped tightly around herself to stave off the cold – exactly how well this actually works is questionable, but her expression is set with determination and she bites down on her lower lip. Oh, no, while there’s any chance of anyone seeing her, she’s not intending to shiver from the cold, even if it is snowing and she’s scarcely protected against a stiff wind.

Crashing out the grand front doors of Hogwarts, Kalynn shrieks as Briony gains on her. “Told you I can run down stairs faster,” giggles Kalynn, shooting a glance over her shoulder at the trailing Gryffindor. Nevermind that Kalynn had a good half-minute head start. “Brionyyy,” Kalynn cries, slowing down and bringing her hands up to her head. “I think my braids are getting loose. The ribbons don’t help to hold them in!” the little girl looks a bit panicked as she turns backwards to look at Briony. “How are yours holding up?” she asks, stepping slowly into the snow.

Truth be told, Briony‘s look like they’ve not fared any better. One side seems to be losing its ribbon entirely while the other braid slowly is becoming unraveled. “I think we need more practice is all, Kalynn,” Briony answers, trying to resist the urge to pull on her braids as she tugs on her scarf to warm her better. “Ah, it’s snowing again,” she comments and sighs a bit throwing the unravelling braid over her shoulder. “We should redo them again, Kalynn.”

Standing about three feet away from the school building, Aisling has her head thrown back, with her tongue poking out, trying to eat some snowflakes. As she listens to the Gryffindors coming outside, she pulls her tongue in and stands up straightly, taking in the scene properly. Seeing Kelly, the young girl’s eyes narrow, and she glances between Kelly and the snow several times, before scooping up some frustratingly cold snow and trying to make a proper snowball.

Well Kelly, Kalynn and Briony aren’t the only Gryffindor girls who have come out to enjoy the snow. Rawnie is running outside the front doors just after Briony with a scarf wrapped tightly over her small face and a hat down around her ears. The affect is a bit comical to look at but at least its warm. Her cloak is on backwards and her socks seem to be tripple layered today with mismatching mittens on her hands and a feirce michevious glint in her little green eyes as if searching out a target. Yes Rawnie is going to take no prisoners today.

Narrowing her eyes at the ground in front of her, as if the patch of snow has committed some heinous crime against her, Kelly bites down all the harder on her lip and draws herself a little bit away from her raucous housemates. Whatever the others happen to be doing, she’s certainly not enjoying the snow. Exactly why she continues to stand there, looking grumpy and glaring at the snow, is uncertain. There are certainly other, quieter places to go and think – but she’s here now, and no raucous students are going to stop her.

“You mean right now?” Kalynn replies to Briony, biting her lip and surely not resisting her urge to tug on the end of a sad-looking braid. “It’s to hard standing up, plus we need a comb,” Kalynn points out, sighing and glancing around. Upon spotting Kelly, Kalynn‘s eyebrows raise up as she asks, “What’s Kelly doing? It’s cold out here,” the little girl notes as she flings a dragging end of her scarf around her neck. Giggling at the passing Rawnie, Kalynn says in a cheerful tone, “But not that cold, Rawnie!”

“Well, not right now, of course!” Briony replies with a giggle to her friend. “I think I’m going to take mine out, though, because it’s going to fall out and I don’t want to lose these pretty ribbons so close to Christmas. Mum and dad might not get me more otherwise!” Briony looks truly concerned at the prospect of this, and therefore gingerly unties the ribbons and unravels the braids, putting the ribbons into her sweater pocket and then readjusting her scarf around her neck, pulling the remainder of her now-kinky hair to hang free and loose. “I like it, don’t you?” Briony comments, rubbing her arms, then falling to the ground with a giggle. “Snow angel!” She starts to slide her arms and legs back and forth, making exactly what she has just shouted about.

Clavicle Gravely sends the owl off to the owlery and scoops to make a snowball. “Oy! Kelly!”

When greet Rawnie smiles and waves a bright red mitten to Kalynn but with the green Mitten she is busy scooping up some snow. After rolling it into a tight ball Rawnie flings the snowball at the poor unsuspecting Kelly. What are friends for right?

Clavicle Gravely gins hugely as he tosses the snowball up and catches it. “Want to have a snowball fight then?” he grins hugely at the girl. “Or are you chicken.”

Seeing Rawnie’s snowball hit Kelly, Aisling chuckles and tugs on one of her two long plaits with one hand, the other still holding her malformed snowball. Letting go of her plait, she tries again to form her snowball properly. Having gotten as far along in making her snowball as she feels she’s going to get, she throws it in the direction of Clavicle, before looking around for a tree to hide behind.

Alerted back to the goings-on around her at the sound of Clavicle’s voice, Kelly barely has time to even think about formulating a response before Rawnie begins throwing snowballs at her nonetheless. As much as she tries to dive out of the way, she moves too late and the snowball hits her square in the chest. “Nice one, idiot!” She snaps in response, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at the girl. “And – what? No, I do not want to have a snowball fight with anyone, especially not you or the stupid little kid!” Because, obviously, Rawnie is such a little kid compared to the big ol’ third year. Nonetheless, she bends over and begins forming a snowball. Just in the name of revenge, of course.

“Look, Kalynn! They’re throwing Snowballs!” Briony squeals a bit more loudly than her stealthy crawling up from her snowangel would have her appear. Soon she is gathering her own snowball from the snow that she has displaced with her angel and ducking down low, as if being huddled will keep her hidden until the most opportune moment. Without a moment’s thought, she chucks her snowball at Rawnie, giggling fiercely. “Take that, firstie!” she calls and looks to Kalynn with a grin on her face.

Clavicle Gravely grins and wings the snowball at Kelly’s back neck while she’s bending over. to get it all down her robe, Because he is an evil second year of course. “Well then, seeing as you aren’t in a snowball fight. I suppose I shouldn’t have done that then! HAH!”

“Hey I ain’t stupid!” Rawnie stomps her foot in the snow but it just dosn’t have the effect that it would had it been in doors on the hard stone floors. “You just wait Kelly! Im gunner make you soaking wet!” Rawnie kneels down getting another large hand full of snow. Just as the little girl has her snowball nice and packed she gets clobered down the front with snow. “Ah! Hey! Yer gonna pay!” Rawnie instead tosses her snowball at Briony!

Kalynn DeNatale can hardly contain her laugher and excitement. “Nice angel, Bri,” the girl comments with a giggle as she bends down to pack a snowball of her very own. Glancing up in time to see Rawnie send a projectile at her friend, Kalynn sets hers loose on Rawnie with quite a hard throw for the size of the girl. “Hah!” Kalynn shouts before kneeling again, trying to look out for snow coming in her direction.

“You are SO going to pay, Icky!” Kelly snaps in response – her snowball formulated, she apparently forgets about her intent to attack Rawnie and instead flings it at Clavicle. Her aim is so poor that Clavicle is probably the least likely person to actually be hit by it, but it’s easy enough to tell that she’s aiming it particularly at him. As for the nickname – as always, her tone wavers between insult and endearment, never entirely sure whether she considers her nickname for him a good thing or not. “I didn’t want to fight with anyone, but – oh, oh, you FAIL, Icky!” And, again, she forms another snowball, eyes darting around for the most appropriate target. She hasn’t totally given up on the firstie, yet.

Briony is beaned directly in the top of the head and gasps. “Oh no, you did not!” she calls to Rawnie. “Hey, let’s create a fort here. I bet we could use this snow here and push it all together for a wall!” The girl giggles and starts pushing together a manmade snowdrift of sorts while glancing every few moments at the action out yonder. She soon seems to lose interest in her half-made fort and starts packing up another snowball, sending it flying in Kelly’s direction this time, with a grin now spread wide across her face.

Rawnie Weller is again pelted with a snowball and now she is quick to dive behind one of the shrubs. “Hey! No fair gangin up!” He voice is full of laughter however and she makes herself busy scooping up a bit of snow to make another deadly snowball of Gryffindor…. revenge. She pops up from behind her shrub for only a second flinging her snowball at Kalynn!

Clavicle Gravely LAUGHS as he runs to the side. He tries to grab a set of more snow to pack it as he dodges. “Come on then…you weren’t even trying!” He gets another one ready “Are we doin’ teams here or is this a free for all?”

From behind her tree, Aisling constructs another snowball, packing it together as tightly as she can. Stepping out in front of the tree, forgetting again about protection from thrown objects – after all, no one’s thrown anything at her yet! – she throws her snowball towards Kelly with relatively good aim – as in, it didn’t go backwads – and giggling like, well, like an eleven year old schoolgirl. Why not? She is. Glancing at Clavicle, she yells, “Free for all!”

“Aaah!” shrieks Kalynn, turning her back on an incoming snowball which hits her left shoulder. “Okay, Rawnie,” Kalynn admits as she is rolling her next ball of frozen ammunition. “Huuuuh!” Kalynn discharges with the effort of her present chucking of her snowball at Clavicle. “Ruuun!” Kalynn yells, grinning as she looks to Rawnie and Briony in turn. The little girl nods to Briony’s suggestion of a fort as she scurries behind her friend.

As she is hit again by two snowballs, first Briony’s, then Aisling’s, Kelly yelps out in response and drops her snowball, throwing herself down into the snow, army-crawling along the ground (and getting her robes thoroughly soaked in the meantime) until she reaches the relative safety of the trees, waiting in hiding until someone comes near. Who throws snowballs at an enemy when you can crash-tackle them and sit on them until they apologise?

Rawnie Weller spies Aisling who seems to be the only one who is dry so far. Very quietly she stoops down behind her shrub and makes another snowball before popping up and flinging it at her! “Take that girl I never met!”

Clavicle Gravely is laughing hugely as Kalynn’s snowball pelts the side of his head. “Hey!” He turns and wings the snowball at her. Quidditch chasing practice is paying off. He laughs as he sees Kelly army crawling, so hard in fact he falls over into the snow.

Aisling O‘Cormac gets hit in the shoulder by a snowball, splashing wetness all over the girl’s left side. Bending down, she quickly makes some snowballs, aiming for quantity rather than quality. Throwing one at both Clavicle and Kelly while they’re down, she also throws another one towards Rawnie. “AND YOU HAVE SO MET ME!” she yells at the girl as well.

Though she does, in fact, get hit by Aisling’s next snowball, Kelly pays little mind to the goings-on until she is in a safe place to hide until she can find someone to tackle. Anyone? Aaaaanyone? And yes, now she’s resting against a tree breathlessly, soaked to her skin and not wearing very useful clothing for this activity – but, but, is that a smile peeking through her grim expression? Could she actually be having fun?

Rawnie Weller manages to duck down behind her shrub before Aisling’s snowball hits her. She giggles maddly and waits for what seems like forever to an eleven year old. She is quietly rolling many snowballs and begins pileing them up behind her shrub for rapid fire action later.

Clavicle Gravely scrabbles up and goes a Kelly hunting. He grins as he makes a particularly BIG snowball as he follows the Kelly tracks. He hand motions to Kalynn to go around the other side of the tree!

Briony is soon getting another group of snowballs together before here. “Here, Kalynn, we can share,” she offers quite generously and giggles rather loudly, ducking behind the fort as a stray snowball comes her way. It skims her hair, which is actually already quite damp from her snowangel and the one snowball she’s already been hit with. Quickly, she begins to fire out snowballs, at whomever they might fly, one after another, until she has managed to throw at least ten out into the area on the lawn.

Nodding to Clavicle, Kalynn leaves the protective safety of the ‘behind Briony’ with a laugh and an “Okay!” and stoops down to scoop up two of the snowballs and walks in a manner that could not possibly be considered stealthy by anyone. Going around the other side of the tree, Kalynn grins as she sees Kelly. “Kellllyyyyy,” Kalynn sings, grinning.

Having made a bunch of snowballs, Aisling excitedly throws them in every direction she can see people, leaving one left. Stalking towards Rawnie, hides behind several bushes and shrubs, trying to remain surreptious, and unseen. This may or may not work, seeing as the scarf around her neck is bright orange.

Being a bit preocupied by her own snowball store Rawnie finally completes her ammo pile. Rawnie peeks over her shrub and begins lobbing snowballs at Briony’s fort! “Im gunner bombard yer fort and take over!” She giggles and does her best imitation of a pirate laugh.

At the sound of Kalynn’s voice behind her, Kelly turns – not only turns, in fact, but dives forward, planting her shoulder in the poor girl’s stomach and possibly pushing her over onto the ground. “Aha! Gotcha!” At a bit of a loss as to what to do next, she merely offers a second, “Aha!” and tries to incapacitate the other Gryffindor as much as possible, pinning her arms down and so forth. “Now, apologise!”

Still lobbing snowballs as fast as she can and hoping that they’re hitting someone, Briony just narrows her eyes and throws the orbs harder as Rawnie approaches, hardly waiting a moment to aim before they are out of her hands and headed toward the younger girl. “You will never get my fort!” Neverminding that the fort is really more of Briony hiding behind a pile of poorly packed snow, Briony is protective of it! After all, once hers, always hers.

Coughing and sputtering with far more drama than is warranted for her present situation (though there is surprise in Kalynn‘s eyes as she goes down and is pinned), Kalynn whines and cries with false passion as she wails, “I am sorrrrrry, Kelly! Queen Kelly!” she tacks on with a happy laugh. “Let me goooo!” Kalynn says as her hands writhe in resistance.

Apparently concluding that this just isn’t fun enough, Kelly sits herself on Kalynn, still pinning her arms down. “You’re not really sorry! You’re just saying that!” As much as the older girl tries to sound serious and annoyed, she can’t help but giggle – yes, giggle – a little bit. “But I’ll accept your apology, if you attack Icky for me.”

Stalking ever closer to Rawnie, Aisling grins happily with enjoyment as she prepares to tackles the other firstie and smother her last snowball into her hair. Creeping ever closer, she lets out a yell of enjoyment as she leaps for Rawnie.

“Ooooffh”, is Kalynn‘s release as she is sat on, though not for the first time in her life. It was one of her brothers’ favourite pastimes before she came to Hogwarts to pin her down, and she was always (and continues to be) to little and weak to resist such attacks. But Kalynn nods as well as she can. “Okay, Kelly,” she agrees, still writhing. “Who’s Icky?”

“Ack!” Yells Rawnie as she is tackled into the snow just in time to miss being hit by Briony’s snowball. Shaking her head Rawnie rolls around with Aisling trying to smoosh a snowball into her hair as well but mostly shes just getting the two of them soaked.

“ClavICle.” Kelly explains pompously, as if it was obviously to anyone who gave it any thought, though she does get distracted rather quickly and looks around. “Well. Or Rawnie. Yeah, get Rawnie for me.” She doesn’t move from her seat on the poor girl, however, waiting for a response to her next instruction. “Is that an acceptable – stop WIGGLING! – agreement?” Because, obviously, the younger girl has no right to wiggle when Kelly wants to sit on her.

Giggling yet more, Kalynn nods before wondering if that counted as wiggling and switches to saying, “Yes, very acceptable,” and squinting her eyes shut. “Now get off me, Kelly! I’ll get Rawnie!” Warm memories of scrapping on the floor of her house in Coventry flood back to her as she shouts “Hurrrr!” and tries to no avail to heave Kelly off of her.

Giggling rather loudly as she watches Rawnie get tackled by the other firstie, Briony pauses in her snowball throwing temporarily, if only to gear herself back up to lob snowballs toward Aisling. It is only a moment before she recognizes that there is some action going on behind her. “Hey, get off of Kalynn!” she calls to Kelly. “She’s on my team!” There are teams?” Soon Briony‘s snowballs are redirected towards Kelly in attempts to knock her off. How well this might work, well, only fate can tell.

Aisling O‘Cormac giggles as she wrestles in the snow with her fellow first year, getting everyone involved wet in the process. Trying to get Rawnie wetter than her, however, doesn’t appear to be working, although the young girl seems quite happy anyway. “Hey, look at that!” she yells to Rawnie, trying to get some snow into the other girl’s mouth.

Clavicle Gravely grins and Hurls the Huge snowball at the pair of girls, hoping to hit the victorious sitter! “HAH!” two for the price of one. It seems a good enough idea! “Look out below!” but it would have to be a lucky throw to actually hit the two girls.

Yes, Kelly does get hit with these snowballs, and yes, she does roll off Kalynn and scampers off behind a tree again, though whether the two events are actually linked in any way is entirely in the eye of the beholder. After a moment, the third year seems to conclude that only sissies hide behind trees, so she hoists herself up into the branches, scooping a handful of snow from where it rests on the bough, and flings it at Clavicle. “TAKE THAT, ICKY!”

Having so much fun and being in such a good mood Rawnie is quite gullible and opens her mouth to say “What?” Only to have it stuffed full of snow. “Ptew! Hey yer can’t do that!” Rawnie rolls around some more quite feisty with the other little girl picking up clumps of snow and squishing them into Aisling’s face. She seems to have lost her hat and scarf in the tussle.

Clavicle Gravely is thwumped and he dramatically hops backwards like a bad western silent film and flops back first in the snow. “Argh!” He lays, splayed out byt the massive force of the…err…snow.

Set to her mission, Kalynn‘s eyebrows furrow as she concentrates on making an extra big snowball. “Okay Kelly, watch this!” she shouts as she hurls her new charge in Rawnie’s direction. “Consider the deal re-payed!” yells Kalynn with a laugh, watching to see if her snowball hits. If it doesn’t, Kalynn plans on running, lest Kelly tackles her again in exchange for missing her target.

Seeing as Kelly is rather literally up a tree, flinging handfuls of snow (not even properly formed snowballs, just handfuls of snow) at those on the ground – mostly Clavicle, all told, though with the occasional handful flung towards Briony or Rawnie, it is unlikely that she will care terribly much about whether Kalynn comes through. Of course, playing sniper up in the tree only lasts so long, especially for a cold, wet, uncoordinated Pantall… who falls out of the tree with a yelp.

Squealing with the surprise of the impact, Aisling rolls over, at looks at Rawnie, having stopped wrestling with her. “Do you think we should get Kalynn for that?” she asks the other first year, already starting on a stockpile of snowballs.

Rawnie Weller giggles and rolls onto her back and sits up. “Yeah! Lets geter!” Rawnie dives behind the shrub and quickly begins lobbing snowballs at Kalynn!

Aisling O‘Cormac happily joins Rawnie, throwing masses of snowballs at Kalynn. “AHA!” she yells, “Got you!”

“Aah! Ahhhh ahhh!!” yells Kalynn between laughing fits and getting pelted continuously by wet snowballs. “Help meee!” Kalynn pleas as she heads in the direction of the castle. “I’m soaked!” she informs Briony as she passes by her. Kalynn‘s hair is, indeed, soaked and matted, showing no signs of having been nicely braided just hours before. “I’m going to go dry off! Get Rawnie for me!” is Kalynn‘s last request as she flees towards the warmth of her house’s common room.

Clavicle Gravely ‘s head pops up and he laughs. he hops up and tries to return the dive tackle Kelly pulled on Kalynn! Except. He flies right over her and faceplants into the snow. Ooooof… He actually leaves an impact trench in the snow. “Ow.”

Running away towards the castle, Aisling laughs uproariously, happy with the outcome of her time spent outside today. Throwing a last snowball in the vague direction of Kelly, she runs inside the big castle doors, to sanctuary.

“Oy, wait for me, Kalynn!” Briony calls, getting hit with a few of the last snowballs as she attempts to escape. “We can try our braids again now that our hair is all wet,” the girl suggest with a boisterous laugh. The two of them soon are on their way inside, towards warmth and security away from the cold, cold snow. “That was fun!” echoes through the halls as Briony clomps through them rather loudly.

Rawnie Weller hurrys to pick up her hat and scarf before she can get pelted anymore. She is positivley soaked to the bone as she runs inside giggleing happily.

Even though she just fell out of a tree, even though people are throwing balls of wet, cold stuff at her, even though she’s inappropriately dressed for the weather and second years are trying to tackle her, Kelly can’t seem to do anything except lie in the snow laughing, flat on her back, waiting for her breath to come back – not likely to happen while she’s laughing so much – before she stands and gives Clavicle what for. Or perhaps goes inside. Or whatever she was planning to do. Instead, she just laughs hysterically, if breathlessly, and waits for something else to happen.

Clavicle Gravely is laying there laughing as well. He finally sits up. “Well then, I don’t think that was wholly called for.”

“What?” Kelly asks when she can finally stop herself from giggling insanely, though she remains lying on the ground with the snow soaking through her robes. One day, she will get the energy to move, but that day is not today. Or, at least, not this minute. “YOU tried to tackle ME, right after I fell out of a TREE.” Try as she might, she can’t sound too pompous while she’s lying breathlessly in the snow trying not to giggle, even when she is talking to a second year student she deems herself automatically better than.

Although snow falls outdoors, the greenhouses and part of the surrounding gardens are kept warm, largely by magic. In any case, though winter is swiftly arriving at Hogwarts and the holidays are merely a few weeks away, the greenhouses are still full of life and warmth, the air near the ceiling condensing. As students filter to their after-lunch classes, second years head toward the greenhouses. Today, the desks are clear, even Keelan‘s, and the diagram on the board labeled ‘Tubey Sponge’ looks nothing like the toothy or tentacle-bearing plants the students have been studying. There is, however, an aquariam full of them set up in the front of the class.

Walking into class with his usual cadre of snickering Slytherin second years (My word that is a lot of S’s) Marcus Winsley seems to be his usual self today as he takes his seat. Unlike the other boy’s in his group though Marcus seems rather pleased with himself and the thick roll of parchment he is carrying as if it were a brick of pure gold. Some of his friends can be heard whispering “Who did you get to do the work for you?” To which Marcus scoffs and plays dumb. It’s a little known fact that Marcus indeed does his own schoolwork…. just when no one else is awake.

Keelan Walsh reclines at her desk languidly, everything prepared for today’s lesson. The woman is, instead of last minute preperations, involved in writing something on a very lengthy roll of parchment (the top end of which is already somewhat rolled, referencing what looks like an ancient book as she does so. As students come in from the cold, Keelan looks up and pushes her glasses up her nose. Now what’s the use of spare moments if students are just going to be on time to class? With a sigh she sets her reference book down, waits a moment for the ink to dry, and taps the scroll with her wand (it rolls completely up). “Good afternoon. Please place your essays on my desk as you go to your seats. I trust you’ve all completed them to satisfacation.”

Shivering under her heavy winter robes, the tiny Saphia looks like winter has hit her hard early. She rubs her nose and has somewhat red, tired eyes, and sniffles, looking like she’s managed to hit an early cold just before the winter holidays. Despite this, she continues to carry in her three standard textbooks, two extra books she felt might be helpful, and a final book that she wasn’t sure might be helpful but that she brought on a hunch. She also clutches her herbology knife kit, her dragon-skin gloves (made of very pretty purple hide) and most importantly, a four foot long scroll on carnivorous plants. Once she made the mistake of doing a too-long essay for Professor Walsh. Now she just writes in tiny script. (Other professors, however, still get her regularly massive essays.) She wanders over to her seat, easing herself into it and blowing her nose once on a small blue handkerchief.

“And then he fell off,” Briony finishes a story to a chum as she comes in from the snowy exterior into the warmth of the greenhouses. Keelan’s announcement has Briony pausing just soon after she is in the door to fish out a rather crumpled, though quite complete essay before she strides over and bounces into a seat. “He wasn’t happy about it, let me tell you,” she confides with a bit of a giggle to the person who she walked in with, glancing around rather absently as their giggles die down.

Saphia Bona hearing the Professor’s announcement, Saphia eases herself off her chair, places her essay on the professor’s desk and does her best to marshal a happy smile for her, failing as she coughs quietly in the middle of it, her clenched fist rushing to cover her mouth as she walks back to her chair.

Actually lowering herself to such levels as walking with her housemates, though she does keep a certain distance, Morgana glances over at Marcus and raises an eyebrow at his communications with the others. Whether she chooses to admit it or not, she is among few that does know all about Marcus’ early morning study sessions, and a certain calculating expression that darts fleetingly across her features suggests that perhaps she is just waiting for a chance to put this knowledge to some kind of beneficial use. In the meantime, however, she dumps her essay on the pile, and makes her way over to a desk, quite alone except for her bookbag and heavy winter gear. After a moment, though, she waves a hand at Marcus waving him over to her. “You can sit with me, today, Winsley.” It is not an invitation, but a statement of fact.

Quickly stepping up to Professor Walsh’s desck Marcus depposits his essay neatly with the rest before reaturning to his seat. He chances a look over at Morgana as she enters only to look down his overlarge nose at his books when she does. Though …. he does go over to sit with her much to the amusement of his friends.

Keelan Walsh smiles a grim sort of smile at Saphia, somewhat softer on the girl than most of the rest of the Ravenclaws, and thanks everyone in turn as they set their essays on her desk. “Mr. Riventree, if you could please get the essay to me by tomorrow-” she notes as a student who perpetually fails to turn in his work heads straight for his desk, shoulders hunched, “I will still consider grading it.” So and and so forth–eyeing a few students who plop down essays that couldn’t possibly even measure two feet–”I hope you have written in very small print.” A soft sigh and she stands once everyone seems to have arrived and gotten settled. “As I’m sure you’re all very aware, this is the last practical lesson of the term. Next week you shall have your unit exam, and then I won’t see any of you until after Christmas, as I will be returning to my family for the break.” She pauses, and then moves toward the aquarium. “Today’s lesson is on an underwater carnivorous plant–yes, those spongy looking bits of stuff in there are in fact plants and rather dangerous ones at that, at least to fish and small underwater creatures. The Tubey Sponge, named by Sir Heffensty in 1304, who I’m afraid is responsible for a lot of similarly uninspired plant names–ah, anyway,” she smirks, “may look like an eggplant shaped sponge with a mop of fringe on the top in rest and like, well… a blob when seeking food, but it can deliver quite a jolt to it’s prey, shocking them and… here, I’ll demonstrate.” She doesn’t, however, drop anything into the tank. Instead, she taps the board. The image seems to melt, petals actually spreading out of the tube-shape until it is nearly flat. A chalk-fish swims across the board, takes a nibble at one of the bits of fringe, and then falls prone. Immediately, the plant wraps up around it– “Thus the prey is trapped. It was actually assumed that this creature was a sort of animal until 1687, when Gwendolyn Gerbantish cultivated some and discovered they required soil in which to plant roots, and reproduced via spores.”

Though he joins her at her instruction, Morgana inches away from Marcus as he seats himself at her table, though does not move her bookbag from where she has plunked it in the centre of the table, nor does she offer him even a token greeting now that he is there. As far as she is concerned, he’s sitting there now and everyone is aware of this, so there is no point offering any sort of verbal acknowledgement. She does, however, pluck her quill and parchment from her bag – which she then shoves closer to Marcus, presumably because it is taking up her desk space – and begins to take a few notes on what Professor Walsh is saying. ’1304′. ‘Stupid name’. ‘Spores’. Such good notes.

Saphia Bona looks at the board, diligently taking notes, and then raises her hand to ask the professor, “If dhere relusing electruc shocks in the water, why urn’t the udder ones affected?” She blows her nose again and picks up her quill once more to note down the answer.

Marcus Winsley arches an eyebrow as he spies Morgana’s notes. He leans in to whisper to her. “And you had the nerve to call _me_ dumb…. honestly.” Marcus shakes his head and dips his quill in it’s inkwell with his stubby fat fingers and begins taking down his own notes…. pretty much word for word as the Professor says them though he’s careful to keep his notes on his side of the desk. Oddly enough now that he isn’t sitting with his “friends” or anyone he even likes very well in particular…. he seems to be very quiet.

Briony has gotten out some parchment, quill and ink, and is feverishly writing, trying to keep up with all the information that Keelan is stating aloud. Sure, Briony could’ve learned about this if she had read ahead in the book, but alas, Briony is not that academically ambitious. Well, not in Herbology, anyway. The speed at which she is writing slows as she starts to catch up, and she glances at Saphia absently as she asks a question.

Shoving the bag across the table again, this time with a little bit more force, Morgana offers in a low hiss, “Winsley, I didn’t tell you to sit here because I like you. I take notes like this because I can actually keep track of things in my head.” A pause, and she narrows her eyes at him. “Stay on your side of the desk.” And yes, her things are taking up much more of the desk than his things are. On the other hand, she probably also believes that utilizing any more than about two inches on the far side of the desk, Marcus is infringing on her table territory.

Keelan Walsh calls on Saphia, naturally, and then listens to the question with her lips slightly pursed. “Well Miss Bona–and you might want to see the nurse, I’m sure she has a potion that will help with your cold–the shocks are very small and localized–Mr. Winsley, Miss DeWitt I can see you talking, catch you again and you’ll lose points.” This is par for the course, and she leans back, “Now, I know this plant is a bit different from what we’ve been studying–rather than prattle on about it, I’d like us all to discuss the benefits of it’s method of prey capture versus others we’ve studied–or that you’ve read about on your own. Feel free to talk without raising your hand, but let’s be civilized and give everyone who wants it a say.” In other words: Today is a lazier day for Keelan.

Saphia Bona nods at the answer, noting that down, and waits for the class to start. As nobody seems willing to begin a conversation, Saphia finally raises her hand… immediately drops it, silently biting her tongue for being silly… and suggests, “It certunly poses luss of a threat to utself this way than the tentahulp plant. Sunce its not thrashing around so much, it doesn’t attract attenshun.” She sniffles and wipes her nose.

Hearing the Professor warn them Marcus slouches down in his seat attempting to make himself small. Being quite small already the effect is quite comical… especially to his so called group of friends who seem to be having quite a good time laughing at his exspense. Instead of speaking up Marcus burries his nose in his book … not really reading but sort of stareing at the page avoiding eye contact.

Nodding slightly in response to the reprimand, Morgana returns to diligently taking notes – perhaps making note of what her classmates are saying? Just as long as no one except Marcus can see that what she actually wrote was ‘Way to go, Winsley. Anyway, why do I need to take notes when I could just copy yours later, which I know you’ll let me do.’ She makes no effort to actually draw his attention to it, except to draw a box around it so next time he looks over at her notes he is far more likely to actually notice it in particular. Nothing is contributed to the discussion at hand, however.

“Well…” Briony starts, and seeing several sets of eyes on her, she realizes that she must actually go through with this beginning. “Er, well, at least it’s unlikely to attack things out… out of its environs? That is to say, only smaller things?” She pauses. “Though I wonder what would happen if someone were to put his finger on it.” Yes, Briony should have read ahead. Her face colors red and she looks down at her notes, scribbling out something that ends up becoming quite illegible with her haste to look busy doing something else.

Thinking a bit more, Saphia ventures another point, blowing her nose first so her voice is a little better. “It’s ulso likely to work well in pods,” she observes. “If a school of fish nibble on one, it could feed the whole pud. POD.” She forces herself to ennunciate.

Marcus Winsley glances up at Morgana’s notes mostly because his eyes just happend to atch the movement of her hands. He glares as he reads it and gives her the strangest look before he quickly scribbles down on the side of his own notes. “What makes you think I’ll let you use my notes DeWitt?” Under which he draws a picture of a choking hag.

‘If you’re going to be up all night studying, you might as well put it to good use.’ Morgana pauses in her writing, then adds, in very careful handwriting, ‘And since you’re so careful not to let anyone else know…’ She then draws a little stick figure boy with his head on fire. How sweet. Then, oh, right, class discussion. “You’re all missing a key point. How would it get food if the fish wised up? No, really, if the fish began to realise that fish that nibbled on it quickly became dead, there’s no alternative food source – or if another predator moved in. It’s very limited, really.”

Keelan Walsh nods as some students talk, and raises an eyebrow at others (Particularly a boy who says, “Obviously looking like an eggplant makes it seem docile–who ever heard of an eggplant eating things?”), but lets them discuss before chiming in. “Three points to Ravenclaw for Miss Bona’s brave start of the discussion, even though she’s quite obviously ill.” What’s this? Nice to a Ravenclaw? “And two to Slytherin because Miss DeWitt has a valid point there. Fortunatly the vast majority of fish aren’t quite intelligent enough to decide that since other fish disappear in the vicinity of the Tubey Sponges. Still, it’s obvious in some areas that the food supply has either been exterminated or wised up–certain regions which used to be noted for their colonies of the plant now have none.” She pauses for long enough that it becomes obvious she’s waiting for more talking.

Saphia Bona blinks at that, as well. She’s earned points from Professor Walsh before, but they’ve always seemed grudging. Is she actually… actually being approved of? By Professor Walsh, no less? She notes down Morgana’s point, and then suggests again, “Are there uther plants that look like a Tubey Sponge? And do they shock on every bite? Either strategy might help it survive more rudily.” As she blows her nose one more time, she looks to Professor Walsh and asks, “Professor? Cun I have permission to scourgify my handkerchief?”

Reading again of Morgana’s notes Marcus turns a bit red. She was blackmailing him! In the middle of a class! Turns to look down in his book and begins taking real notes again though his hand is shakeing so bad that his usually neat scrawl is coming out very untidy and un-readable.

Ah, no points for Briony. Well, the girl appears to be a bit out of her league today in Herbology anyway, so the mere assertion is quite enough for her. She busily scribbles things out onto her paper and trying to make sense of the plant in the tank. “If it kills off all its food source, or dies out, how has so much of it survived? Is there any way for it to survive without killing things like that?” The girl asks, her voice perhaps a bit quiet for it being a group discussion.

“Ew.” Morgana observes of Saphia’s request, though she does sit back in her chair, smiling in a self-satisfied sort of way as she gets granted house points. Tapping her fingers on the desk, she stares off into space a little bit – blackmail, done. Token helpful comment in class, done. Notes, done. Now there’s nothing for her to do except stare off vaguely.

Keelan Walsh wrinkles her nose, “No, Miss Bona, you may not.” She stoops, though, and scoops up a trash bin, walking it toward the girl. “Throw it out, please. Or if you’re very attached, I’ll… send it to be cleaned.” With her other hand (it’s a small bin), she wrestles a very clean kerchief from her pocket, and dangles it toward the Ravenclaw, “This one should ah… elminate the need, it’s self-cleaning.” A cringe, and she continues, either hovering near Saphia with the bin and the kerchief, or returning if the girl does as advised. Or told, whichever. “Well, Miss Wexler, not all do so–it’s just like the population of rabbits in some areas with fewer natural predators–they tend to overeat and then consequently there are less rabbits.” An over generalization, to be sure. “As for surviving without killing things–not any more than you or I. We kill plants, at the very least, to feed ourselves, and many of us kill animals. Not personally, but the fact of the matter is that to survive, we need to eat. Carnivorous plants do not use photosynthesis well, or in some cases at all.” She pauses, now back in the front of the class. “As for Miss Bona’s previous question, some types of sea anemone look very much like the Tubey Sponge, and actually function similarily, and, well, as many Herbologists who care for the Tubey Sponge can attest, it does in fact sting every time it is in the ‘feeding’ position. The fringe is harmless when up in the ‘tube’ position, however, and as they do not require much food, they can be mistaken for shelter until feeding time.”

Saphia Bona snuffles, but places the handkerchief in the receptacle mentioned and asks, “Please have it cleaned. I quite like it.” She does offer, however, a thankful smile for the self-cleaning handkerchief, simply noting down the lesson diligently.

“Why does it matter if they kill things, anyway?” Morgana asks after a moment, though it seems largely because staring off into space is very dull rather than out of any urge to actually contribute. “I mean, killing’s just a part of nature. You eat fish, too, right?” The girl turns to look at Briony with a raised eyebrow, though she soon turns back to her desk, rearranging her things and shoving her bookbag into Marcus again.

Saphia Bona nods to Morgana and chips in, “I eat fish at least once a week.” She looks a little surprised at her own voice, and isn’t convinced the self-cleaning hanky doesn’t have a little curative charms woven into it as well.

Glancing to Morgana with a bit of a harsh look, Briony frowns. “I just wanted to know whether they could learn to survive without killing things if they had to.” Briony doesn’t say anything else to the girl and instead finishes writing out what Professor Walsh has answered in return to her query.

Keeping very quiet until Morgana speaks up again then Marcus clears his throat a little and begins speaking softly. “Well the Tubey Sponge isn’t exactly as intelligent as the things it’s eating is it? It works on reflexes…. and..” Marcus looks up and stops talking as his friends are just stareing at him a bit shocked.

Keelan Walsh shakes her head, “Miss Wexler, these are plants. If you care to continue in the study of Herbology, my NEWT seventh years do learn experimental Herbology-they may be able to be altered, but that doesn’t change the current plants, it would just make a new plant. In this case, a primarily useless one.” She rolls her shoulders back and peers momentarily into the tank of plants, “Since, unlike many plants, the only use outside of being carnivorous that has been discovered of the Tubey Sponge is, when dried and ground, a thickening agent–and there are so many easier to harvest ones, well, they’re not useful for Potions or in dinners–taste something like the sole of a particular old shoe, I think someone once described it to me as.” She raises her eyebrows, and addresses Marcus’s statement-”Quite right, Mr. Winsley. There is no trace of intelligence in the Tubey Sponge.” A lengthy pause, then: “However, they are useful for something as a species. Would anyone care to guess what?”

“Attracting fish?” Morgana suggests, though once again, it seems largely because she can’t think of anything better to do apart from contribute to the discussion. After a moment, though, she glances at Marcus again and offers an addendum in written form, ‘Well done, Winsley. For that, you can do my homework for next time as well.’

Saphia Bona ponders the question, and blows her nose again before answering, “What about as a way of generating power, since they can put out electric shocks?” She ventures her guess.

Marcus Winsley begins again scribbling in his notes as the questions go on. He is still quite pink in the face and he dosn’t dare look over at his friends. Instead he glances again at Morgana’s notes and while distracted he accidently knocks his ink well over onto her parchments. Miraculously (or unsurprising depending on your point of veiw) none of his notes get inked in his blunder. “Oops! Sorry Morgana!”

Keelan Walsh sort of half shakes half nods her head as if to say ‘Well, at least you’re thinking’ at Morgana and Saphia. “Well, no, they don’t particularly attract fish and the electricity, besides being largely useless to magical folk and unaccessable to Muggles, is not strong enough to actually be of use. However, some people put them in to protect underwater gardens from fish who may come in and nibble holes in all their plants. Sort of the way the Five-Toothed Shrub we studied a few weeks back was useful for keeping out moles and gnomes?” She smiles, grimly. “In any case, the Tubey Sponge is not a threat to humans–at most fingers will get mildly stung, not even as badly as a bee-sting and much less than a jellyfish or a backfire from some spells or Muggle electricity. The fish they eat are truly the small ones.”

“Ah – ah – WINSLEY!” Morgana shoves her chair away from the table, jumping to her feet and trying to avoid getting any of the spattered ink on herself. “Ugh – all over my notes and everything. And my bag. Y-you –” She sputters a bit more, before finally just stopping, taking a deep breath, and sitting back down, still at the same desk, but pulling her chair further away from Marcus.

Marcus Winsley is quick to mop up what he can of the ink and turns to Morgana putting on his best act. “Oh! Im so sorry Morgana! I didn’t mean to spill my ink all over your notes. I know how hard you worked on them!” Marcus stuffs his own notes and inkwell back into his bag. “Im sure the stains will come right off though.”

Keelan Walsh is forced, or rather compelled, to help deal with the burgeoning problem over with Morgana and Marcus. “Come now, you don’t know how to clean spilled ink yet?” Her wand is pulled out as she strides toward them, and one cleaning spell later the excess, at least, is taken care of. “Of course your notes are ruined at this point, I’ve yet to find a spell that will clean a spill and leave the words that were there before. At least your things aren’t forever doomed to be stained. Magic is lovely that way, I’m not sure laundry soap gets all that off.” Well, it is magic, why shouldn’t it clean up ink? A look around as she seems to have abandoned the class. “Right! So, no essay or reading left, but study for your exams. That’s the end of class.”

Saphia Bona nods, and begins packing up her things, but is still looking to professor Walsh as she does so, as if still wanting a last word with her.

Pointedly ignoring Marcus, whether his fawning apologies are genuine or an act, Morgana pays little attention to anyone except Professor Walsh – and even that is only a silent nod as the excess ink is cleaned up before she shoves her things back into her bag with unnecessary venom and fierceness in her actions. Then, she storms out of the Greenhouse, without so much as a look to anyone else. Poor sulky, angry Morgana.

Having been abandoned already by his group of usual cronies Marcus walks out of the greenhouse looking almost downtrodden… that is till he sees Morgana storm out angrily. Surprising what whonders a little revenge can work!

Olivia Baxtor, in the library for the fourth time this week already, is standing at the librarian’s desk. “No, I understand, but you did say you’d look. Yes, I know. I was just… no, I turned that in last week. Yes, you’ve already reshelved it, I just saw it yesterday.” Pausing, Olivia listens as the librarian speaks sternly to her then nods. “Thank you anyway,” she whispers and turns away, her one book in hand as she walks over to a nearby table and takes a seat, slowly getting situated so that narry a wrinkle or crease will show up in her skirt.

Entering the library at particularly ferocious speeds, Kelly Pantall wastes no time seeking out a particular shelf, biting down hard on her lower lip, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet as she inspects the books, giving each one a once-over before she moves onto the next one. What kind of book could make her this excited? Then, apparently not finding what she was looking for, she frowns and trudges, arms now hanging by her sides in a pitiful effort to appear tragically despondent, over towards the librarian. “I left a book in here the other day,” she explains quietly, her words tinged with annoyance. “And now I can’t find it anywhere. Have you seen it…?”

Looking up as Kelly speeds by her, Olivia glances only momentarily at the girl who seems to be trying to make the floor shake by looking up at all the high shelves, presumably for a book. The girl says nothing, though, as she sits watching the girl interact with the librarian, who she has just got done dealing with. Olivia‘s book is open before her, but she doesn’t appear to be reading at all, instead discreetly watching to see the interaction that Kelly and the librarian seem to be having.

“Miss Pantall, I assure you, I haven’t found any books that do not belong here.” Biting down on her lower lip, Kelly bounces on the spot some more, looking increasingly anxious. “Are you sure? There’s so many library books… could you have missed one? … That’s not helpful! It has sentimental value… alright, I’ll keep looking, though…” She trudges away from the librarian, frowning to herself, murmuring about her book. “I was reading it here, at this table,” she hesitates in front of Olivia, gesturing to the table, “but then I.. oh, I can’t remember.” Fret, fret, fret.

Yes, the library was about as helpful to the other girl as she had been to Olivia. No, Olivia wasn’t going worry about it for now. Sometime she would manage to find more books like this one. She momentarily forgets about Kelly, but then her eyes slowly raise to fall upon the redhead before her, staring rather blankly for a moment as the girl chatters to herself. Or is she talking to Olivia? The hufflepuff can’t tell, so she throws chance to the wind and asks, “What book is it you’re looking for?”

Frantic, though not to the point of tears, Kelly turns to Olivia with wide eyes and a thoroughly chewed lower lip. Ah, what a foolish habit. “Torturous – sorry,” she takes a deep breath to calm herself down so she can better focus, before trying to explain again. “Torturous Wizarding Murder. I can’t.. I can’t even remember the full title. But it contains – it contains those words.” She looks down at the ground under the table, then around the shelves as if speaking it aloud will make it come to her. “It – it was a gift. From someone. But… I can’t believe I lost it.”

“It isn’t mixed in with your school things by mistake is it?” Olivia asks, raising her knees a bit and tucking her legs under her seat as Kelly goes underneath the table. Torturous Wizarding Murder? No, Olivia had certainly never even heard of a book like that. “And did you check all the shelves that it could be on?” Olivia definitely doesn’t know where one would even begin to look for something like that. “I don’t think I’ve seen it here since I came in.” Alright, so it isn’t the reassuring that the girl seems to need, but at least Olivia is trying to help, right?

Still peering around the shelves frantically, it seems to take Kelly a moment to realise that she’s being addressed. “…Oh.” A pause, and she looks over at Olivia again, shrugging her shoulders defeatistly. “It usually is with my school things,” she confesses, looking around as if expecting someone to take offense to her statement. “I mean, I know I’m not supposed to read books about murder anymore… but this is an exception, right? It’s all… sentimental and all.” And her attention span having frittered away into nothingness again, she goes to inspect a nearby shelf, offering to the Hufflepuff, “Can you give me a yell if you see it?”

“Oh, well, we’re not supposed to yell in the library, but I could let you know if I spot it, I’m sure,” Olivia answers, looking down at her own book, which contains neither torture or murder. Nor wizards, for that matter. “Er, why are you reading books about murder, anyway? Isn’t it rather… gruesome? I should think it would be more pleasant to read about happier things.” Olivia closes her own book, with the marker carefully in place, and hugs the thing to her chest, having the odd moment where curiosity overcomes her shyness, and stands, coming to stand in the same aisle where Kelly’s desperately searching for the book.

Glaring at Olivia as if she is asking this question to be deliberately thick, Kelly takes a long moment to answer. Finally, she tosses her hair and frowns at the bookshelf. “I already told you. I’m not supposed to read about it anymore, because apparently it’s bad for you. But.. this book is just different, okay? I told you, it has sentimental value. It was a gift from someone special.” And though her cheeks flush pink, she glares at the Hufflepuff defiantly, daring her to ask who.

Olivia frowns at this, as she is glared at, and especially as her question isn’t even answered. “Well, why do you want to read them in the first place?” Olivia asks, a bit more bite in her voice than was there before. The girl just leans against the bookshelf behind her gently, glancing around as others mill in and out of the library. No, Olivia has not heard Kelly’s reputation, specifically, though the more she stays near the redhead, she seems to find her odd and unpleasant.

Kelly Pantall shrugs her shoulders vaguely, rifling through the books, not paying terribly much attention to Olivia. “Well, I don’t know. I’ve just been interested in it for years. Since before I started at Hogwarts, really. At first it was just Jack the Ripper, then… oh, what does it matter? It doesn’t matter why I read about murder, because it’s not books about murder in general that I need, it’s just this one book. Are you helping or not?” For all that she is rather bizarre and unpleasant, this does apparently mean a lot to her.

“Er, what?” Olivia asks, startled, edging just slightly away from her. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know where to start,” she admits, glancing over the shelves that Kelly seems to be running over rather quickly. “I’ve never heard of a book called Torturous Wizarding Murder.” She shrugs and shakes her head, seeming to clutch the copy of Little Women a bit tighter and moving just centimeters at a time away from Kelly. At this rate, Olivia will be out of the library by next summer.

“I told you it wasn’t the exact title!” Kelly snaps in response, turning to face Olivia with her hands on her hips. “Well, look, I don’t suppose it really matters, but I think you should know that this is important to me – and probably to one of your housemates, too. Hufflepuffs are supposed to be all into house loyalty, aren’t they? Are you tryi – no, never mind.” Fuming a little bit, she turns back to the shelf and begins looking with extra ferocity.

“Well, hey, what’d I ever do to you? I don’t even know you!” Olivia protests, her arms dropping to her side. She stomps her foot as she says this, then covers her mouth as she hears herself escalating. “I don’t even know you, and I’ve never read any books like that, so you needn’t snap at me. I just said I wouldn’t know how to help you.” Olivia looks sullen and slightly hurt as she watches Kelly move through the books faster. “After all, for all it’s important to you, you don’t even know the rightful title to it. That’s weird.” Olivia shakes her head, but she seems to have stopped moving towards the table.

Breathing a little heavier, folding her arms across her chest, it takes Kelly a moment to formulate an appropriate response to this. For a moment it looks like she’s tempted to apologise, but then she turns back to the bookshelf with a particularly venomous glare. “Well, good on you. Pick on the one flaw in my plan. I’d know the book if I saw it, okay? It’s very distinctive, and I dare say it was my most treasured possession, until I lost it.” Because, you know, people often lose their treasured possessions. “You don’t need to take your silly anger out on me. Have you lost an important item lately?”

“Well, er, no, I haven’t,” Olivia tells the girl, quite honestly. “I keep close track of all of my things. The only time they go missing is when Gertrude or Helen takes them.” The girl shrugs, frowing rather hard at Kelly. Indeed, it’s the same frown which hasn’t had quite as much an appearance of late as usual. “Anyway, if it’s so distinctive, how did you lose it?” Innocent questions really, but Olivia knows not what she does.

“I – I – you STUPID GIRL!” Kelly explodes, hands on her hips, glaring at Olivia like she is some dirt someone tracked into the carpet. “Just because you’re so prissy and perfect, you assume everyone’s like you! Well, here’s a piece of reality for you, wimp, sometimes people lose things and it’s not because they’re stupid, it’s just an accident! And I accidentally left it somewhere or someone took it and the last place I saw it was here in the library. Going to jump down my throat for being daft enough to misplace it again, are you? Grow up.” Mister kettle, I’m terribly sorry but there has been something unsettling about your hue of late…

Olivia‘s eyes begin to tear up, despite herself. “You’re a mean girl, and you’re not supposed to yell in the Library,” is all she can manage while she stands and looks at Kelly for a moment. It isn’t long before the girl turns and starts almost running out of the library, her book in hand, and blonde hair streaming behind her. Oh, dear. Well, so much for this leisurely day of reading. It isn’t long before the clacks of Olivia‘s shoes are heard on the stairs, fading as she moves farther away.

Silver lettering on invitations throughout the castle fades, to be replaced by the tell-tale seven-pointed star. Beneath it, ‘Come, masked adventurers, to the gardens where the tall oak grows, for soon tolls the hour of a feast.’

Bengale Tiger stands just inside the gate, her open-mouthed tiger mask protruding from underneath her tightly wrapped hooded cloak. As people arrive, the mask itself forms a sort of grotesque smile, and the tall woman bows. “Welcome, welcome.” Some of the fairies in their rose bushes giggle and flutter their wings, but otherwise the rose gardens on this winter evening are currently quite silent. Once it appears everyone has assembled, she beckons to the long table, “I do hope a feast will make up for my long silence in matters of the S.E.A.”

Stalking Lioness comes through the southern gate from the School and gives a smile and nod to Bengale as she arrives. “This is absolutely beautiful,” she looks around, her blue eyes darting around to take in everything, though keeps her big heavy cloak kept tightly around her, and her hood over her head, which will help keep the heat in.

Fitzcordia comes quickly towards the Rose Gardens, almost dancing as she makes her way inward. “Hullo, Bengale,” the girl giggles and pauses just inside the entrance, waiting for Gabriel — or, well, Flicker — to catch up with her. Her mask has been remade since the first meeting, and now appears more as a kitten than a mask made of whiskers as it was before. Even still, the mask is heavy on whiskers, with a bright, smiling mouth below its pink nose. “Not many people here yet,” she comments, looking about. “Oh, look at the table Ga–Flicker!”

Nodding to ‘Fitzcordia’ in his dog-like mask, Flicker himself looks to the table with a grin. It was fantastic! Flicker couldn’t wait to find out what this meeting would entail, as he’d been excited for it ever since the last one, so long ago. “I wonder what we’re doing,” muses Gabe as he places a finger to his chin.

Juggle sneaks towards the gate of the garden, of course wearing his hooded black winter cloak and his bizarre monkey’s mask. He is one of the first to arrive, carefully looks for the setting of the feast and gives a faint nod to Bengale and the others. With his hands in his pockets, he keeps quiet and stands still next to his comrades.

Sophocles shyly follows a couple of other masked students, seemingly hesitating a bit before actually passing through the gate. What does he fear? The boy takes a big breath, and with both his hands, readjusts his mask on his face. Sophocles wasn’t there for the first S.E.A. meeting, though he had received the invitation parchment as well. He wasn’t keen on participating in anything suspicious after his adventures in the Library last year, but after he heard the rumours, he decided that it was just a game, and that he would give it a try. Following the instructions, he made a mask out of cardboard –a particularly impressive mask of tragedy, with a face expressing a mix of weeping and anger, something he saw in one of his father’s encyclopedias. And now, here he is. Sophocles walks forward, and nods to the other people already here, without saying a word, and waiting for someone to talk to him first.

The mask Turquoise wears has been altered since the previous meeting, such that he may not even be recognized unless the full name is remembered. For it now looks much, much more like a Sphinx, and a turqoise one at that, different shades of color forming the details around eyes and face. Along with this change, it has also been altered to leave his mouth free, covering his face from nose and up and curving down lower at the sides. From under this face Turqoise looks around the garden in surprise, turning to the masked face next to him to comment, “They’ve done a lot with this!”

Stalking Lioness finds a place to sit down at the table, but doesn’t touch anything yet. She reaches up and readjusts her mask, which covers her her forehead, eyes, most of her nose and comes down to either side of her mouth, leaving her mouth and chin open to eat. Out of the sides come whispers that belong to a lioness. She smiles at everyone who arrives and just takes in the beauty of the gardens, even at this evening hour and the cold of the winter.

Jack Harlequin stands off to the side, his mask still covering his face completely. Although the food looks delicious, he dares not show even an inch of skin, for fear of giving away his identity. This fear isn’t entirely unfounded, because he hasn’t met anyone in the school that fits his description. Besides, having a decent disguise is part of the experience.

“It’s a lot different than when we had tea here,” the girl admits, smiling from behind her yellow feathered mask. Persephone‘s mask has been improved as well, with perhaps a bit of help, and now looks very much like a canary’s mask. The top comes up over her forehead, and the feathers plume up above the hood of her cloak. An orange beak covers her nose, and the feathers fan out over her cheeks. This time, her mask even has room for eyes, though it doesn’t need a mouth hole, given that it stops at her nose, save for the feathers covering her cheeks. “I wonder what we’ll be doing tonight,” she asks, her voice even sounding excited as she makes her way towards the set table, taking a seat across from Stalking Lioness.

“Please, do take a seat, so that we may begin.” Again, the mask itself smiles, although her own lips are visible within that wooden expression. Bengale herself takes a seat not at the end but rather near the middle (but not precisely), and begins to look over the food. “They’ve really outdone themselves, I fear. Poor things, I wonder what they’ve got to eat up at the castle tonight.” A soft chuckle escapes. It isn’t a Feast night, of course, and it’s likely what they have here is a merely a precursor to what those who stay over the holidays will be dining upon. “I believe if you just tell your goblet what you’d like to drink it should fill, but of course the selection isn’t endless. Nothing we wouldn’t normally have, though perhaps–” she lifts hers and speaks to it–and it does, in fact, fill. “Ah, yes. Butterbeer is available.” What, letting children have mildly alcoholic drinks? Her? Possibly. “Well, my follow members of S.E.A, shall we dine?”

Stifling a yawn behind her generic white mask – which is, admittedly, a little less generic than last meeting, now possessed of a few sketches across the cheeks and hand-drawn decorations of that sort, a woman holding a knife featuring prominently across the cheeks and nose – Marie Jeanette makes her way into the garden. She looks about, hands on her hips – not defiantly, merely in apparent confusion – and offers to no one in particular, “Uh, someone changed it since last time I was here. That’s weird. Why would you put a feast in a rose garden?” Of course, she seems to forget about this point entirely as she approaches the table, standing awkwardly alongside it and waiting for someone to direct conversation to her.

As the others are beginning to take place at the table, which has been set up under the oak’s branches, Juggle also steps towards it and sits down. There is a good amount of distance between him and Stalking Lioness, which is sitting on the same side. Juggle looks over the bowls and plates and finally gets stuck at what seems to be a tiny corner of parchment under his plate. But he does not dare to examine it any longer as Bengale starts to speak. As he realises that he should also try to fill his goblet, lifts it and requests under his breath. “Uhm…water?”

“Eating of course!” Fitzcordia responds to Flicker’s comment with a bit of a giggle, bounding over to the table and taking a seat near the top end of it, near to where Bengale has taken her seat. No, Fitzcordia isn’t a suck-up, not at all. “Oh, what should I drink?” Fitzcordia asks her friend, and almost as if she had commanded it, her goblet fills with pumpkin juice. “Pumpkin juice it is,” she agrees happily, sipping from it, looking quite cheerful. “I do hope it’s something exciting. I’m in the mood for an adventure.”

“Yes!” Flicker replies cheerfully to Bengale as he sits down beside Briony and grabs his fork and knife, only to set them down again. He grabs his goblet, tipping it towards him and checking inside. Grinning, he sets the thing right again, instructing, “butterbeer!” to the cup. As it fills up, Gabe looks to Bri– to Fitzcordia and points to the goblet. “She wasn’t lying,” he points out with a laugh.

Turquoise slips into a seat beside Persephone, taking a moment to look not at the decorations but at some of the other objects added to the garden. “There’re games set up, look.” He waves his hand toward an archway, then the brooms, completely ignoring the ladder and tree. “But it looks like dinner first..” Hearing Bengale, he smiles, quickly directing his own glass to fill with butterbeer. Shouldn’t ever pass up a good oportunity after all.

Stalking Lioness takes the goblet at the seat she is at and has it fill with butterbeer as she loves the drink actually. When Bengale allows them all to eat, she does indeed, enjoying the meal that is provided for them by the house elves of the castle. Hearing about games, she smiles as she looks at the table. “Ooo, some of them look like fun. But alas, food!” she begins to eat, basicaly ham with mashed potatoes, rolls and some of the fresh vegetables that is provided.

Persephone does this, too, for, really, who would pass up the opportunity for Butterbeer, especially on a non-Hogsmeade weekend. “I wonder what kinds of games they’ll be,” she muses, taking a slow sip of her butterbeer while glancing around at the filling table. The spread was really lovely, and Persephone was thoroughly enjoying the enchantment that the Rose Gardens now held for her. “I’m so glad I remade my mask,” she comments quietly. “It would have been very out of place now, with all these wonderful new masks. It looks like a lot of people worked hard on them.” She giggles a bit, as she spots Marie Jeannette’s.

Sophocles takes a seat at the table, near another student wearing a monkey mask. He takes some time looking at the people surrounding him, trying to guess who is hiding behind the masks. His attention shifts towards Bengale, who seems to be the person in charge tonight. When she mentions Butterbeer, he lets out a small laugh. “Butterbeer, uh? I must have that.” he says, not wanting to miss that occasion. He laughs quietly at the boy with the monkey mask who ordered “water”, before muttering the name of the drink –and instantly, the glass starts filling itself. “A dinner… it’s better than a tea, isn’t it?” he says to the people surrounding him, before looking at the games pointed out by Stalking Lioness. “Impressive…”

No one’s talking to Marie Jeanette. Is that possible? Well, she can’t have that, now can she? Folding her arms across her chest – and here her defiance comes in, a little – she sits herself down next to someone, anyone. And for the record, it is a very nicely drawn girl with a big knife on her mask, amidst other sketches. At least, in her mind. Sighing a little, she turns to whoever she happens to now be sitting with, offering, “It’s lovely in here, isn’t it? Do you think it’s true that usually people only come to the rose garden to do sweetheartly things? I mean, everyone talks about it, but I know I don’t do things like that.” Of course, last time she was here, she was kicking the tree.

Bengale Tiger takes for herself one of the pot-pies with a little pastry turkey atop it, and then calls down the line, “Juggle, could you pass that squash in front of you, please? I’d love to try some of it.” While she waits, she takes a good swig–yes, a swig– of her drink, careful not to get any of it on her mask. It might start to smell. Bengale seems relatively at ease eating a feast amongst a bunch of, well, children, for all that she’s not the most social of professors. “After dinner there will be games, of course, although I may need to sneak you one by one back into the castle if we’re out here late enough.” She says this casually, looking up and down the table.

Juggle begins to load carrots, potatoes and cabbage onto his plate and takes a sip of water before starting his meal. “Mhm.” is the only comment he would give about the mentioned games with a mouthful of vegetables. Turning his head further than normally to be able to see properly through the eyeholes he faces Sophocles and greets him with a short wave. Having cleared his mouth again, he turns to Marie Jeanette and answers. “Yes, you just have to look at the tree. The brutes have carved their initials into it.” As Bengale asks for the squash in front of him, Juggle instantly grabs it and hands it over. “Sure.” he adds with a smile, feeling a bit more comfortable right now.

Giggling as Bengale says this, Fitzcordia can’t help but choke a bit on her pumpkin juice. “Imagine, being snuck into school so we won’t get into trouble!” The excitement in her voice is ill hidden and she starts piling food onto her plate. Always glad for suppertime, this one. “Look at that, oooh, that looks good,” she comments as the squash is passed past her. She reaches out and takes two croissants, as well as some of the various meats that are on the table. Soon Fitzcordia‘s plate is piled high, and she is starting to eat through it happily. “S’good, innit, Ga– er, Flicker.”

Gaping a little at Bengale, Flicker raises an eyebrow (even if it’s not visible behind his mask) and looks away quickly, unsure as to whether or not she’s kidding. Peering around the table, Gabe wonders who, exactly, else is here. Likely Rafe was behind one of those masks. Were his sisters here? The anonymity was rather fun, but a bit unsettling, too. Well, at least he had Briony. “So good,” Flicker agrees. “Will the games be played in teams?” Flicker asks no one in particular, though he is looking in Bengale’s direction.

Riamh wears a mask that is vageuly human shaped, but also rather covered in clocks. All of them tell something, but time is not it. On her left cheek, there is a clock with a hand pointing to ‘dinner time’, and on her right, one that points to ‘possibility of trouble’. A miniature cuckoo bird hands from somewhere under her hood, and what is visible of the forehead is a rotating image of the sky–including the phase of the moon. The mask parts are a polished maghoney in color, and the bottom (with a border of roman numerals and clock hands) opens up to reveal her mouth. Despite the black cape, much of Riamh‘s hair is visible.

Stalking Lioness smiles at Marie Jeanette at her speaking. “Yes, it is very lovely. I don’t know, I’ve been too busy to contemplate sweetheartly things.” Okay, actually she does, but her love is also busy as much as her, and isn’t here, so it isn’t fair to speak of him there. “But when everything is bloom I would probably come here just to sit and think, and study. It’s beautiful here when everything is in bloom.”

Reaching first for some ham, then scalloped potatoes, and so on through the different types of dishes, Turquoise offers each to Persephone and after that, to the others around him, answering as he does so, “I don’t know.. I’m sure it will be a lot of fun, though.” Pausing as he reaches the vegetables, he leans over to address Marie Jeanette, “I don’t know, miss.. I only come here to teach my owl tricks.” Of course, he glances at Persephone after saying this, though his expression is lost behind the mask except for the less-than-serious smile.

“I kicked that tree once,” Marie Jeanette observes, piling her own plate high with foodstuffs of various sorts, apparently not paying much attention to precisely what she is putting on her plate. “Not because of the initials on it,” she clarifies after a moment. “Just because I was in a bad mood and thought the universe needed a good kicking.” Precisely why that tree in particular needed kicking remains unknown as she concludes that the food on her plate is sufficient and begins to eat – well, sort of begins to eat, apparently only now taking note that the mouth of her mask is too small for any but the tiniest bites, so she is reduced to eating like a bird. What a dilemma. A pause, and she turns to Stalking Lioness. “Really? I have a sweetheart too. I never even thought of that. Not that I’m going to start now!” The last sentence is added at a rush, like almost an afterthought, and then she devotes her attention back to cutting up her food into really small bites.

“Owl tricks, yes, of course,” Persephone echoes, stifling a bit of a giggle, as she gives a toothy smile, despite her crooked teeth. These are rare, and it’s very possible that the mood of the evening has just set her into a very pleasant mood, ignoring her usual hesitations. She takes bits of this, some of that, a role here, a croissant as well, nodding as Stalking Lioness comments about it being in bloom. “There’s this yellow and white one just over the way that I really like, and it’s even more in bloom now than when I was here the other da–” Persephone stops herself short. “Well, it’s more in bloom than it was before, which is unusual. It’s all very lovely.” The blush is hidden by the yellow feathers on her cheeks, but Persephone looks down at her plate taking a bite of food, shaking her head at her own chattery mouth.

Bengale Tiger takes the squash and piles some of it on her plate before passing it along. “Well, I’m sure,” as she ought to know, “that a lot of care is taken to make sure there’s something in bloom year round. Except of course for the roses, which always are. Special variety.” Oh dear. Lucky for the students, Bengale is hungrier than she is eager to divuldge information about the various plants, and begins cutting into her pot pie. “Most of the games are at least for teams, yes.” She’s so chatty, it must be weird for the students to think of her as the same person she is in class… and the halls… and if they accidentally run into her at the Leaky Cauldron over the summer.

Of course, Fitzcordia doesn’t recognize who Bengale is, though she ought to have by now. “Oh, team games. You’ll have to be on my team, Flicker,” Fitzcordia demands. No, she doesn’t ask, but when has she ever actually asked if he wanted to do something? “I’m sure we’ll win,” she comments, before starting to eat her second croissant, still looking very cheerful. The whiskers on her mask seem to twitch constantly as she eats and giggles.

Turning to Persephone with what could be a skeptical expression if her mask wasn’t concealing it so, Marie Jeanette looks her over and then turns back to her plate. “Don’t sound so suspicious,” she instructs the other girl pompously. “You should either say something or say nothing.” And she’s not a hypocrite for her part, either, is she? She takes another few tiny bites of her dinner, spearing potato on the end of her fork and nibbling at it awkwardly. Stupid masks and mouths.

Riamh has taken an awful lot of vegetables, but also several thick slices of what appears to be duck, and is busy munching along on it. She looks down the line at Jack and raises, invisibly, one of her eyebrows, as a clock hand moves from ‘dinner time’ to ‘butting in on other people’s business’ (in very tiny script). “Why didn’t you make a mouth-hole in your mask, Harlequin?” Nosy nosy.

Stalking Lioness nods to Marie. “Yes, well my sweetheart isn’t here, so I won’t really be talking much about it. It isn’t fair really… Why did you kick the tree? that wasn’t very nice to the tree.” She continues to eat a few more bites. “This is all really wonderful. So what are you going to do for the holidays? Going home to see your parents?”

“We’ll win if it involves running,” Flicker notes. “You think I’m fast on my broom, I’m an even faster runner. Like remember when I told you I ended up in Ireland once?” he inquires, tilting his head, “Well one time I ran to Africa and back in order to pick a violet for my mum,” he says with a boyish laugh. “Anyways, yes, we’ll be on the same team,” he agrees, taking another drink of Butterbeer. If only his mother knew!

Grinding her teeth together, Marie Jeanette does not look up at Stalking Lioness for a long moment, distracting herself by cutting her dinner up until really tiny pieces. “I’m trying to avoid it.” She eventually replies. “I was angry because my mother wants me to come home for Winter Break, and I don’t want to go so I need a really good reason not to. I don’t like spending time with her anymore, not since my father left.” And she looks up again, glaring at Stalking Lioness as if daring her to continue the line of questioning. “I’m not hungry anymore, never mind.”

“Hmph,” is all Persephone says in response to Marie Jeanette, taking a bite of potatoes. “Oh, I’m going to visit — er, well — someone very important.” It appears to be more difficult than she had originally thought for Persephone to keep her identity a secret. “It’s going to be a very good holiday for me, I think.” The girl chats to her companion, in his Sphinx-esque mask as she finishes up her supper, looking rather cheerful, despite Marie Jeanette’s comments to her.

Juggle leans back, after he has finished his meal with one of the delicious pies offered for dessert. As he bends forward again, he nudges his plate accidentally and a small piece of parchment pops up. His eyes shoot towards Bengale, not knowing what to do. “Ahm…sorry.” is the only thing he could think of. He remains pondering if he should hide it under the plate again or hold it up and decides to leave it as it is, eyeing the others.

Stalking Lioness is now silent. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to open old wounds.” She turns her attention to finishing her meal, not wanting to ask Marie Jeanette any other questions in order to make her more upset. She now her food is the most interesting thing that she can pay attention to, but soon her plate is empty and she doesn’t want to have anything else, minus desert, if there is any.

All lonely and unloved-like, – or, y’know, not – there’s another hooded figure edging towards the food table. Her mask? A disgustingly feminine butterfly-based creation. That’ll trick them all, definitely. “Do rose bushes have feelings?” Psyche pipes up after a moment, catching Lioness’ comment. Her brows furrow behind her mask, thoughtfully, but otherwise just picks at the plate she’s gathered food on. “Holidays are coming, aren’t they? This term has gone on forever.”

“Sure you did, Flicker,” Fitzcordia responds almost absent-mindedly to his claims and finishes off her supper. Ah, time for dessert! Fantastic! “I can run faster than you, and you know it,” the girl retorts to her friend, pushing her plate away from her a bit, as if to say ‘I’m finished here’. She grins at Flicker and glances around at the others at the table, many of whom seem to be finishing up. “Feelings? I never… er, I never thought they would.” Fitzcordia actually looks perplexed at the idea of this.

For once in his life, Flicker doesn’t really even want dessert. He just wants to start the games! “You can’t run faster, B-augh! These names are too hard! Fitz,” he catches himself, with a laugh. “We’ll race one day, I’ll show you,” he continues, grabbing a clean fork and awaiting the final course, planning to bolt it down when it comes.

As the group finishes the main course, the remaining food (what little there is) disappears with a quiet ‘pop’! in much the fashion in tends to in the Great Hall. Then appears the varitey of deserts, as well as the bags, one for each place setting. Bengale smiles down the table at Juggle while selecting a particularly tall slice of really, really chocolate cake. “Don’t mind that, it’s for after the feast.” She doesn’t seem to mind, continuing on-”Some rose bushes do have feelings, but they’re all alive and should be treated as such.” Ahem.

“I’m frankly glad,” Marie Jeanette informs Psyche, pushing her chair back from the table and folding her arms. “I don’t want to go home for Winter Break – or Easter Break – and I intend to find somewhere else to be over the summer, too, if possible. I don’t know what I’m going to do for Break, though. I was going to stay here at Hogwarts, but I’m going to be all alone.” Sulky, grumpy Marie Jeanette.

Stalking Lioness smiles as she sees all the deserts show up. It takes her a moment for her to decide what to take, and so she first decides to take the chocolate mousse wit the strawberries, eyeing the chocolate cake if she still wants it after the mousse. Taking the first bite, she closes her eyes and gives a soft, content sigh at the taste and begins to eat the rest, and the strawberries as well.

“You’re on,” Fitzcordia agrees, looking with bright eyes down at the desserts that adorn the table now. “Ooooh, look at that,” she comments, unsure of where to start. Finally, she decides on the ice cream, piling on almost more toppings than she has gotten ice cream, and begins eating it, quite cheerfully. Indeed, the whiskers seem to twitch even harder as she eats this than they have already, though it could just be from the cold. “Oh, this is so good,” she comments aloud as she finishes her ice cream, rather quickly, and leans back in her seat, looking quite comfortably full, though she eyes the chocolate cake very carefully.

Psyche plucks a piece of fruit from a dish with a contented little smile, at least until Marie mentions going home. “Would your mother really let you do that?” she asks, head tilted to one side, “I’d think mine would go ballistic. Well, gently ballistic, anyway.” The irony is unbearable. As for rose bushes, the girl nodnods in Bengale’s direction. “I think out loud sometimes,” she comments, nibbling at her fruit. “But most of the plants around here are more or less normal, right? No biting or sentient-ish stuff?”

Marie Jeanette offers a small, humourless laugh in response to Psyche, glancing at the younger girl (and apparently entirely not realising that they are talking about the same woman). She doesn’t make any move to eat dessert, her appetite apparently entirely gone. “Of course my mother wouldn’t let me. That’s why I have to make up some good reason. I’ll tell her that, that, that someone invited me to spend Christmas with them ’cause they like me so much. Or that a prefect asked me to stay at Hogwarts over Break so we could have a special party. Or something. I’ll work it out.”

Flicker has already finished his chocolate cake, despite its having been in front of him only one or two minutes. “Yeah, good,” he says, wanting to stand up and get things started. “But we can’t race now, because I’m too full,” he warns. Such a race would need to capture him at his peak, obviously. “When are the games starting?” he asks Bengale. Boy, one-track mind or what?

“I should hope none of the plants around here bite!” Persephone comments, putting her hand over her mouth in a bit of shock at the thought. No, it had not before occurred to her that some of the plants in the rose garden could be dangerous. For her own, Persephone has taken a bit of spice cake, as well as a baked apple and a bit of candy, and is slowly working her way through the cake as she listens to the conversation going on around her. For her part, she had never expected that when she was invited to join the S.E.A that she’d be treated to a feast and some games, rather she assumed that more adventures would be had, dangerous things that she wouldn’t actually want to do.

Bengale Tiger chuckles, and it comes out sort of low and rumbly, which is odd. “No, in these gardens the plants just sit around and grow. With a bit of magical help, of course, or I imagine they would all be dead by now.” She finishes up her cake and her butterbeer, and then leans back. “I imagine that once everyone has had their fill, we can begin the games, Flicker.” Hah. If you had told Bengale when she was a first year dreaming of becoming a teacher that she would address anyone by the name of Flicker, she would have called you a loony. To the general populace, “Those bags are so that you can take some of these treats back with you. After all, there’s a bit much to eat at this moment.”

Stalking Lioness looks over at Bengale when she speaks, having had her mousse and enjoyed greatly. Hearing the bags were to be used to take what she wants away from the feast, she smiles and opens it to take a few items that she will want later on up at her dorms. There are several items she takes, but then closes the bag so she can take it later, hoping she’ll remember.

“Best idea ever,” Psyche informs Bengale, happily beaming behind her mask. “I suppose the Hogwarts staffpeople would all get in trouble if some of the plants out here were dangerous and someone got hurt.” Still, Marie’s words catch her attention again, and she claps softly. “Good for you, as long as it works. I hope it does? Oooh, games.” Attention span… where?

Although apparently in a rather bad mood, Marie Jeanette has enough sense to fill a bag for herself with considerable amounts of transportable desserts, on the assumption that she would rather regret it if she let her annoyance get in the way of eating her fill of lovely sweet things that most people are not permitted. When full, she twists the top of the bag closed and slips it into her robes. Then, she turns her attention back to Psyche, shrugging her shoulders lightly. “I don’t see why it shouldn’t work – I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? I’m not there when she picks up Cass and Lenore from the station, and I get a Howler in the morning?” Oh, good one, kid. Nice anonymity there.

While not particularly looking forward to the games for her part, Persephone knows Evan likes games, and she does start to eat a bit more quickly, tucking the baked apple discreetly into the bag for nibbling on later. She chuckles a bit as she hears the boy nearby wax poetic about how excited he is about the games. The girl says little, though she has finished her bit of spice cake now, and sits back neatly in her chair, not really caring that the hood of her sweater has fallen off and her blonde hair is now visible behind the fanned feathers.

Oh wow the shock! Cas– Psyche‘s eyes widen significantly, and her mouth is open to announce this revelation when something absolutely brilliant occurs to her instead. “You should bribe your sisters into helping you,” she suggests sagely, “get them to cover for you and lend credibility to your story. Well, maybe not Lenore – I’ve met her, I think. The other one, though.” She considers her words for effect and then nods thoughtfully. “You should give them candy, or something. Kids love that.” Evidence to this statement? The way she’s carefully arranging stuff in her bag so as to fit the maximum possible food in.

“I wonder what the games are going to be,” Fitzcordia asks Flicker, chewing quite contentedly on a bit of caramel she has left from her ice cream, and finally finishing her dish of dessert. Hearing Marie Jeanette speak, however, Fitzcordia‘s attention is brought to the person sharply. No, it couldn’t be. But it had to be. Yes, Fitzcordia has a very strong idea who that person must be. The girl, spotting that others are now stuffing their little bags full of goodies, follows in suit and begins to fill the bag with as much sweets as will fit inside it. After all, she’s a growing girl, and she does like her sweets.

Bengale Tiger just lets the students talk for awhile while she mumurs a few preservative spells over some of the deserts to place in her own bag. It’s a bit disturbing how many domestic spells the woman knows. This done, however, she announces, “Alright, as Juggle discovered, there is a bit of parchement underneath your plates. On it are instructions for a scanvenger hunt. You should work in groups.” The mask has a bit of a sinister look, although it still smiles, and Bengale‘s own lips form a mild smirk. “If you don’t wish to participate, there are a few other games to play, although I’m quite willing to stay up until an incredibly improper hour while you all enjoy yourselves. It is, after all, very nearly Christmas.”

“I dunno. Cass’s a bit… eh, I dunno if any amount of bribery would actually make her lie to our mother.” Well, for all that Marie Jeanette has a practically encyclopedic knowledge of things that she wants to know about, she is painfully thick about certain things, up to and including recognising her own sister. Of course, she isn’t actually paying very much attention, her attention flickering back to Bengale’s words, shoving her plate aside and locating the indicated parchment. “Ooh…. who wants to be with me? Huh?!”

Stalking Lioness listens to Bengale when she speaks, and so lifts up her plate in order to see what the parchment said. “Groups?” she looks around to see who might want to be in her group to go find things. Some of them she already has ideas for what these riddles might be talking about.

“Oh, you can be with me and Flicker, if you want,” Fitzcordia volunteers, hearing Marie’s exclaimation. the girl stands and yanks at Flicker to stand with her, giggling a bit. Yes, Fitzcordia appears to be very excited as she picks up her parchment from under the plate and looks it over. “Oh, a scavenger hunt. We’ll win this one!” She holds her copy of it up, standing near to Flicker as she looks around to see if anyone is joining her group.

About to protest Marie’s dismissal of her sister’s ability to lie for fun and candy, Psyche is momentarily distracted by Bengale’s announcement. “I need a team, too,” she offers, then perks up. Must convince Marie. “I’ll go with you?” she offers. “Anyway, I think you should give it a try. If you don’t, and it turns out she would have helped, you could regret it if things fall through somehow.” But looklookparchment! “I’ll go with anyone who wants me tagging along, really.”

“But, look, it says ‘pairs or trios’…” Marie Jeanette points out, gesturing to the piece of parchment. “So if I go with Flicker and Fitzcordia, I can’t go with you as well, kid..” Evidently, her inability to recognise her own sister spreads as far as her own housemates, too, apparently entirely unable to recognise the nice couple that offered to let her in on their group – and perhaps, if she did recognise them, she’d be all the more eager to join Psyche instead. “Um. Um, um, um. Are you any good at riddles? I’m not.”

Riamh‘s bag is somewhat riduclously bulgy, although as she collected the girl murmured things about “Da’ll love that, hope it doesn’t go bad fast.” and such. She pulls the parchement from under the plate and unfolds it carefully, as one of the hands on her mask points toward ‘Insatiably curious’ (which, for this girl, is often the case). Surveying the group, she spies out Psyche, “Hmm, she seems to have a group, how about me?” Since the person with the mouthless mask hadn’t ever replied. “I’m D– I’m Riamh. Means something about time, I think, which I thought was good because I’ve all the clocks. My grandfather, who is a muggle, makes them.” Which, as she sleeps in the same dorms as Psyche and likely has a lot of clock things, sort of gives her a bit away.

At this announcement, Persephone stands, taking her parcment with her and looking it over. Oh, riddles. Persephone isn’t all that good at them. However, she is in exceptionally good spirits, so she seems to set off straight away, poking around at some of the flowers as if trying to find things without even discussing things with her teammate, who, presumably is Evan, though he hasn’t exactly caught up with her yet.

Psyche examines the parchment for a moment, then wrinkles her nose. “Well, I’m going to give it a good try. Just going to have to hope that’s enough.” she replies to Kelly, although perhaps just from sheer lack of familiarity she’s a little lost for most of the answers. Recognising Riamh, though, she flashes the girl a smile. “It’s a pretty name, too. I’m Psyche.” Well, she is for the moment. “It’s a reference to a Muggle goddess, I think. I just chose it because it matched the mask.” She beams, though. “I’ll go with you, though, as long as you don’t mind or anything?”

Riamh smiles, mouth completely visible (smudge round her lips from some mousse and all). “Well I asked you, so of course I don’t mind–how about the first one — ‘all in gold?’ She looks about, “I’d say our plates but they don’t seem very flighty. Do you think we could throw one on the air or use a hovering charm on it?”

“I’m alright at them. I do love them. Let’s see… Flighty item, all in gold.” Fitzcordia puts her hand to her chin in thought. Indeed, this is the same pose which she would often strike while they were on hunts to solve mysteries. “What do you think it is, Marie Jeanette?” Fitzcordia asks, looking down the list. “Silvery circle, scarlet plume, hmmm. This is hard!” The girl looks about. “Maybe the plume is one of the flowers? Do you think it might be its name?”

“Well, a plume is a feather, o’course.” Marie Jeanette replies knowingly, planting her hands on her hips, apparently content to believe that she can lead the adventuring. “Well, uuuusually. Usually, I think it refers to a feather sticking out of someone’s hat. Does anyone we know wear a stupid hat? Maybe they took the stupid feathered hat and put it somewhere to find. Or, I don’t know, maybe not.” A pause, and she looks around. “Well, a circle for telling time has to be like, a silver pocketwatch or something. The problem’ll be finding it – it has to be outside somewhere, right, so it has to be a little pocket watch, not something big…” She kicks at the ground idly, unsure of where to start looking.

Stalking Lioness finds herself a partner and they head off to go find the items that are on the parchment. “Bengale, are all the items here in the garden?” she pauses before the tiger to see if they have to leave the area just to find the items.

Bengale Tiger has taken position on the swing to watch and answer questions. “Well, they should be.” Another rumbly chuckle. “I don’t think they’re liable to have taken off.” Hint, hint. She kicks off a bit, actually making use of the swing. “For some items, you might look around at what we’ve got in order for an idea of how to find them.” Yes, her mask seems frozen in a mischevious, tigery grin.

Psyche beams at Riamh, and apparently just figures that the other girl has x-ray vision and can see the expression. “I dunno. If it’s in the air and it’s gold, even if it’s not the right object it fits the description, right?” She pauses a long moment, then, eying her piece of parchment some more. “So are you Muggleborn, or is it just your grandfather? Only, only, do you have a pence?” Yes, she’s clueless.

Riamh wrinkles her nose, “Oh, no, my parents were both magic, but my mother’s parents… and my Aunt, at that, are Muggles. Didn’t have to explain to them about Hogwarts though, since my mother went. My other grandparents are magical but I think I have some great grandparents or great great ones that were muggles or muggle born… or half bloods… or maybe it was pure.” She frowns a bit. Actually it’s a combination of them all, “Anyway, I’ve known about magic my whole life and I haven’t got a pence, though I know they’re sort of small round coins–different colors and sizes depending on how many pence the piece is worth-fifty or ten or somesuch.” She kneels, rooting about. “Seems a shame to throw it on the ground, though.”

At this announcement, Persephone stands, taking her parcment with her and looking it over. Oh, riddles. Persephone isn’t all that good at them. However, she is in exceptionally good spirits, so starts nosing around, peeking under tablecloth and chair, in hopes of stumbling across something that fits the clues. “Have you found anything?” she asks a person nearby while looking down into a daisy curiously.

“Oh, a feather, that makes sense,” Fitzcordia admits, nodding and glancing around through the garden, where many people are already starting to look for the things listed in the riddles. “Flighty item, all in gold…” Fitzcordia comes back to, resting her hand on the back of her hood, on top of her head. “Could that be — oh, I’m sure I know — that has to be a snitch!” she decides with sudden inspiration. “Help me look for it! Flicker, you go that way! And I’ll go this way, and you, Marie Jeanette, you can go that way.” Fitzcordia sprints off, skirting around a duo to rustle about near the flowers.

For her part, Marie Jeanette dives straight into a rosebush, peering about for something sparkly. What happens, of course, is that her robes get caught on thorns and her skin gets a bit scratched up, and her hood eventually just falls off her head – <3 KP & RD <3, indeed, the things people write on their masks – so her copper hair gets tangled as well, but she’s quite certain that there’s something to find in here, somewhere. Somewhere. Come on, sparkly things…

Psyche nods thoughtfully, then also goes to ground to search for one of these coins. “So we’re looking for money, then. Hmm. Do you think we get to keep them if we find them?” She considers this a moment, then industriously turns to her search. So much for prissy and feminine, which was the impression she was trying to go for with that mask. “In the meantime, I’m not sure about the pearl part but the thorn-kepy beauty absolutely has to be a rose. A white one, maybe? Are Muggle relatives fun to have?” She’s just curious.

Not noticing Marie Jeanette’s adornment on her forehead, Fitzcordia crawls about, looking for a snitch. Where-oh-where could it be hiding? Then — she sees it! Up in the air, hovering just above a plant nearby, she reaches out to grab it, but it is too quick for her. Picking up her hand, she is amused to find a pence on it. “Hey, Marie Jeanette, is this one of the things on the list?” She asks, running back to her groupmate and holding the pense in her extended hand. “Do you think that’s the muggle pence?”

Marie Jeanette extracts herself from the shrubbery, peering at the extended coin. “It’s called a penny, stupid. Two of them bought you an interlude with a prostitute in Whitechapel. Well, not you personally.” Without offering any further explanation, she shrugs her shoulders lightly and gets lost in the greenery again. “Ow! Stupid plant things! It’s eating my hair, I swear.”

Riamh picks up — “…Has someone lost a marble?” She pockets that, on second thought, and crawls underneath one of the chairs set up by a chess table, hopefully with nobody on it, and then back out again. Pulling herself up, she seeks out Psyche, “I didn’t find anything but a marble, and I’m pretty sure that’s not anything.” She wanders a bit, “It’s regular, I guess. I do love to watch my grandfather tinker with clocks, but sometimes my other grandfather comes back with stories about his job where he’s had to undo really amazing spells that went bad, and that’s good too–say, isn’t one of the clues to climb? There’s a ladder against the tree.”

Psyche tilts her head thoughtfully, looking up from her search. “A marble? What colour is it? Is it white? Tell me it’s white. That’d make it pearl-like, and it’s in the rose garden, which has thorns!” It’s worth a try, anyway. “So you get the best of both worlds, right? I dunno – your clocks are nice.” Ooh, and she’s full of ideas right now. “Are any of them silver–ladder? Where? Ooooh. You want to climb and search, or should I?”

Yes, there is no doubting with whom Fitzcordia is trying to work. Fitzcordia doesn’t deign to respond to the comments about hookers or calling her stupid. No, instead, Fitzcordia slips the pence into her pocket and stands up straight. Now, for the snitch! She glances up at the sky, not seeing it to start, but she does recall the brooms. Yes, Flicker had pointed them out in the start! She glances around. No, nobody else at the brooms just now. She quickly runs over to the line of brooms and demands that one of them come UP! Her voice is so forceful that more than one rises, and she gets onto it, bucking a little uncertainly as she flies on an unfamiliar broom.

Stalking Lioness tries searching for a bit, but sighs as she enjoys watching the others hunt through the gardens. She just doesn’t feel like hunting for everything right now. She finds her seat back at the table and watches everyone participate. At one point she gets up to check out the other games set out, but then returns to her seat to continue watching and see who wins.

Bengale Tiger swings so slightly it’s more like rocking back and forth, waiting for people to come forth with their finds. A genuine smile surfaces as Fitzcordia takes to the skies and the partnership of Psyche/Riamh explores the possiblity of climbing. That was more like it, doing things in a trickier way. “Poor Marie, I hope she finds it for her trouble,” murmurs the woman aloud, which like as not sets several more people digging through the thorn-laden busehs. The fairies within them squeal in their high pitched voices, and some seek shelter in the branches of the oak or atop arches.

“AHA!” Marie Jeanette‘s voice can be heard from amidst the shrubbery, and she eventually removes herself from the bushes, a pearl held between her fingers. Admittedly, her hands are all scratched up and her hair looks like a bird’s next, but she has the pearl. “I found it, Fitz!” She cries out, seeking the girl with wide eyes. “Oh, right. Oh, well, what else can I find?” She relocates her parchment, peering at each item in turn. “A silver circle… who would be stupid enough to leave one of those in the garden?” She offers out loud, almost in horror. “What happens if no one finds it? It’d get ruined?! I better find it quick.”

Riamh is halfway up the ladder before Psyche has the full question out, and calls, “I think I will! I’ve practice.” This is said in a very self-assured voice as she clambers out onto the branch. “None of my clocks are silver, no!” she shouts back down, carefully pulling herself up to height–”What does the parchment say is up here? It’s really dark, there’s no lamps or anything.”

Psyche unrolls her sheet, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. “Dark? Hm. It’s ‘one missing Queen’ you’re looking for. Which makes absolutely no sense to me, I’m afraid. Umm… maybe just feel around and see what you touch?” This is called loudly enough, but having caught one of the other people getting on a broom, her sister in some bushes, and such she figures secrecy isn’t worth it. Instead, then, she returns to searching for a penny, though now around the base of the tree. And, eventually… “I found a coin, Riamh! When you get down you’ve gotta tell me if it’s right?”

Fitzcordia is not a seeker, and she isn’t used to being in the air trying to spot the little golden thing, especially on a broom that she isn’t used to flying. The flight is a bit rough and she bucks around a bit, having apparently gotten an ornery broom. “That’s goooood, Marie!” she calls, and holds onto the broom tightly, crossing her ankles, in hopes that it will better keep her on the broom. “C’mon, broom, c’mon,” she says to the bucking broom, trying to steady herself so that she can spot the flying golden orb, which she has only spotted once, and not yet since.

Eyes downturned, Marie Jeanette inspects the ground for some hint of a pocketwatch on the ground, any kind of hint of where it could be, and as a result she doesn’t notice where she’s going and actually walks right into the gate. Oh. Handy. This is the first time she looks up, and she seems entirely surprised for a moment – then, victorious, she grabs at the feather and jumps up eagerly, clapping her hands together joyfully. “I found another one! Aren’t I excellent!”

Riamh fishes about, sticking her hand in a spider web, which she shakes off nonchalantly, a squirrel hole (there’s a bit of angry chittering and shouting as Riamh pulls herself to a different branch), and finally a bird’s nest. It being December, however, the nest is empty–except for a few shells and a white marble queen, who says, “Oh, good show my dear, but shouldn’t you have gotten a Knight to climb this tree for you?” Silly chess pieces and their one-track minds. Knowing better, Riamh still responds, “I’m Knight enough, thank you.” which gets no return response. Down she clambers, holding the little Queen aloft. “Look, Psyche!–oh, that is one. I think it’s a 10.”

“Good show!” Fitzcordia calls, spotting the snitch again as it hovers near an outer branch. She flies gently towards it, coaxing the broom slowly, slowly, until she’s within arm’s reach, and she snatches at it, missing the first time, but throwing her other hand out and grabbing it, closing her fist around it while throwing her chest at the front of her broom, which bucks a little more and flies down to the ground. She jumps off of it, unsteadily landing and sumbling a bit, but managing to stay on her feet. The stubborn broom flies over to where the other brooms are lined up, and Fitzcordia doesn’t let go of her grip on the snitch. “Look, I got it!” she calls to Marie, beaming.

Psyche whoops loudly, applauding Riamh. “That’s two! Three if we can make the plate fly and convince Bengale that it counts.” She bounces a little on the balls of her feet, and in her enthusiasm her hood falls back most of the way. Oh, well. As long as her sister remains oblivious, she doesn’t mind. “We’re a pretty good team, aren’t we?” And then she spots Fitzcordia, and pouts a little. “A snitch – of course. Ahh, well. A plate it is, for us. Unless you’re good at flying and there’s another one somewhere?” It’s worth a try; somehow she doubts it, though.

“Only two more things left to find, I think!” Marie Jeanette calls out in response, peering down at the ground again and inspecting it for any sign of a pocketwatch. Here, watchy watchy watchy… here, watchy watchy watchy… “Hey,” she calls out after a while, peering about. “How come I have to find everything?” Because two items on the list is now ‘everything’, of course. “Can’t Flicker find something, huh?”

Bengale Tiger bites her lip, holding in a laugh as the searches continue, even as snow begins to fall. It isn’t too late as of yet, though dinner time in the castle is surely long since past.

Riamh hops a bit, “Oh, well, we’ll just have to get a plate to fly, I don’t think there would be more than one of those.” One of her clocks now points to ‘Barely Escaped Mortal Danger’ and the other to ‘Nearing Curfew’. The cuckoo bird hangs a bit forlorn. “We got two, though, and maybe there’s another… is that a feather? Somewhere.”

“I’m looking, too, Marie!” Fitzcordia calls, looking around, still gripping the snitch in her hand. She puts her hand to her nose to scratch it, and is reminded very suddenly of the mask as the whiskers start twitching again. “Oops,” she mutters and smoothes them out, glancing around some more. Silver circle, and missing queen. Hmmm. Just as she stoops to look for something shimmery nearby, which turns out to just be another muggle coin, Flicker begins to shout that he’s found it. “Found what? Oh, look, Marie! Flicker’s found the pocketwatch! What do we need? The missing queen?” Fitzcordia pulls out the parchment and looks over it to see all the riddles.

Still beaming at Riamh, Psyche nodnods. “Got to be worth a try. Umm. Getting the plate to just hover for judging might be good enough? What do you think?” Meanwhile, brushing her dirty hands happily on her robe, she returns to the table to steal a plate, placing the penny on top of it and holding it out to her teammate. “I think the others have more than us…ahh, well. Maybe offer that marble you found, too? Just in case we can get points for effort?”

Bengale Tiger is paying remarkably good attention, and stands up as Flicker finds the pocketwatch. “Okay, everyone, that’s every item that there was only one of accounted for–bring your items to me then, and we’ll announce the winner.” This is largely a formality; she’s been paying enough attention that she knows who has won without checking.

Looking up at the sound of Fitzcordia’s words, Marie Jeanette claps her hands and grins widely – not that it can be seen behind her mask, but she is virtually overflowing with glee. “Oh, oh, Flicker, I could kiss you!” Exactly why such exhuberance is being attached to the finding of a pocket watch is uncertain, but can you name any time this girl has been logical? Glancing over at Bengale, she nods, rifling through her pockets for the items she found. “This is the pearl in the thorns or whatever the clue was, and this is the plume…”

Kiss him? Oh no, that doesn’t make Fitzcordia happy. However, she says nothing, and just makes her way over to Bengale. “Here, I’ve got a snitch and a muggle coin right here.” She pauses a moment, digging deep into her pocket before she locates the object, presenting it for observation as Flicker makes his way back over. “And he’s got a pocket watch.” Fitzcordia looks quite pleased that the five of them had managed to find so many of the needed objects for the scavenger hunt. And imagine, five galleons to split between them! What fun.

Psyche, meanwhile, fairly bounds over to Bengale, proffering coin and…plate. “It flies if you throw it. Not quite as good as their snitch,” she admits, but oh look she’s so hopeful, “but it’s gold. And Riamh has the Queen chess piece. So that’s..two, really. Maybe three.” Or four. Maybe she should put a rose or some dirt on the plate, too, just in case it matches a clue somehow?

Riamh frowns now, but pulls the marble out of her pocket (it’s blue) and presents it with the queen. “Well, here’s the missing queen and a marble is sort of like a pearl.” So is a really round rock. She doesn’t look very hopeful at being a winner, though, what with the others having found five of the six items.

There are a lot of people that would not be happy about Marie Jeanette kissing Flicker, and as such she seems to realise this and does not in fact make any attempt to do it, tempted as she may be. “So, do we win? Huh? How are we going to divide up five galleons? Is it two to me an’ Fitzcordia and one to Flicker, ’cause he only found one and we found too? Or…?”

Bengale Tiger nods, “Well done everyone–although I’m afraid that plate and the marble don’t count. So it’s Fitzcordia, Flicker, and Marie who have earned the prize. Given it’s dividing between three, I’ll thrown in an extra knut, and that 1 Galleon, 11 Sickles, and 10 Knuts a pieces.” This amount is fished out of her robes and held out. “Mind you, I can’t do that in my head, so I’d figured what it was for a duo and for a trio earlier.” What? She’s equal here. Or mostly equal, really. “Now, if Riamh and Psyche would return the missing Queen to her chess set–it’s that one,” Bengale indicates, “You may either play or we can return to the safety of the indoors.”

Making her way into the Rose Garden, Olivia looks around with a bit of a smile. She’s got her new umbrella with her and has it opened over her head. The girl is in a white dress, looking rather lovely with her hair curled a bit more than it does naturally. It appears as if someone in Hufflepuff has dolled her up, for Olivia would not usually be found with a dress of white, knowing how dirty it could become. The girl’s dress is waisted with a royal blue sash, and lined at the bottom with ribbons of a matching shade, which have also been affixed to the end of her white umbrella. Yes, it appears that she’s had some help. In the center of the rose garden has been set a table, where there is clearly tea and some treats set up, though Olivia does not see Evan in direct view. She strolls slowly into the garden, taking in the fragrance of so many flowers.

Though not as well decked out as Olivia (hey, it’s harder for a guy), Evan has taken the time to wash up from his earlier quidditch playing, and now sports robes of black with touches of green and silver, and a touch of pure white sticking out of a pocket. He has wandered out of sight further down one of the paths, and is bent over one of the more fully-grown rose bushes, poking among the branches, taking his time so as to keep the thorns from tearing cloth or flesh.

“Evan, are you here already?” Olivia calls out, glancing around, though not straying far from the small round table. It’s almost like a fairty tale for the girl, who really doesn’t feel quite normal the way her housemates have decked her out. It did give her a reason to use the umbrella, however, though she’s holding it up over her head rather like rain umbrellas are done rather than leaning it on her shoulder as she was coached to do.

Hearing Olivia’s voice the Slytherin straightens and turns, wand in one hand before it is quickly slipped back into his pocket, a single rose in the other. “Just here, Olivia!” Evan calls, hurrying back toward the table with a smile. As he nears he extends the flower toward her, the rest of him bowing. “You look lovely.” If he notices that she isn’t holding the umbrella completely correct, he makes no comment on that aspect of her outfit, though as he rises from the bow he does smile, not only at her, but at the umbrella.

The butterflies in Olivia‘s stomach seem to begin working overtime as Evan bows to her, then smiles. Why was she blushing from this action? The girl could not quite place a finger on it, but curtseys a little and takes the flower. “Thank you, Evan,” she says quietly and pulls the umbrella down to slip the flower through one of the loops on her treasure. “The table looks beautiful,” she comments and looks over it, though it really does seem a meager setting, anything in the rose garden would look just a bit lovelier. “How did you get all this set up?”

Glancing at the table, then back at Olivia, Evan smiles again. And even laughs a little. “Magic, Miss Baxtor. Will you take a seat?” Ever the gentleman, he moves to stand behind one of the chairs, pulling it out for her, though he somehow comes close to tripping himself with the action. Of course he laughs it off, shrugging at Olivia without removing his hands from the seat. “I do hope I’ve found foods that are to your taste.. I have it on good authority that this is the best type of tea around.” Well, certainly the more experienced house elves know what teas and treats are most popular..

Olivia sits down as gracefully as she can manage — she’s still a bit akward and growing even yet — and chuckles as he mentions magic. “Magic, yes, of course. How silly of me.” She grins a bit at him, feeling quite pretty for once despite her teeth, then pauses. Oh, the umbrella. It is a moment while she remembers how to close it, but she does it without marring the thing at all, then leans it gingerly against the side of her chair so that it won’t fall down. “It all looks wonderful,” she tells him, every stitch of honesty apparent in her voice. “So, I believe you have something that belongs to me,” she says with a teasing demeanor as she pulls a single white glove out of her pocket, fingering the yellow embroidery gently.

Evan Geroff pushes Olivia’s seat in for her before moving around the table to claim the other for himself. Only when he is seated does he respond to her query, by procuring a matching white glove from one of his own pockets. True to his word, it has been carefully cleaned and pressed, leaving it as close to perfect condition as is likely possible. “I do, and have brought it,” he answers, though doesn’t stretch out his arm to hand it back just yet as he adds, “and I believe you had claimed someone of mine as well.”

Olivia reaches out for the glove before he says this last, then pauses. Oh, right. She reaches into her lap and picks up the little plush which she had won at the Social. “Mister F Clancy, in perfect form,” she announces and holds him out to Evan. Indeed, the little doll doesn’t look as if it has been marred in any way.

As the plush toy comes into sight, Evan moves the glove-holding hand forward, even as he exclaims, “Mister F! He looks as though you have taken excellent care of him.. not underfed at all. And here is your glove, to once more rejoin its partner.” That said (and assuming she takes it) Evan reaches for the tea pot. “May I pour for you?”

“Thank you,” she whispers and folds the gloves gingerly together, putting them into her pocket. After all, yellow embroidery and royal blue ribbons don’t exactly fit together well. “Yes, please,” she answers, and picks up her teacup and saucer, holding it out to him. While she waits for her tea, she glances over the table at the array of sweets, and unable to deny herself always, picks out a berry tart and some little round cookies which she decided looked remarkably like shortbread. “He behaved very well, too. Everyone in my dorm thought he was adorable.” Truth be told, they all thought the scenario was more adorable than the toy, as many of them had toys of various colors to match, but nobody dared to tell Olivia this. “Oh! Mum and dad wrote that I might spend Christmas holiday with you if your mum and dad say it’s alright.” Olivia smiles rather excitedly at this.

“Did they? I’ll have to see what my dorm-mates think.” Indeed, it will be interesting to see how a bunch of fourteen and fifteen year old guys react to Evan‘s carrying around the toy. They tend to see it differently than girls do at any rate. As he speaks, Evan carefully pours tea into Olivia’s cup and then into his own before setting the pot back on the table. “That’s wonderful!” he responds to her next news. “My parents’ are both willing, I owled home with the suggestion.. that’s going to be so much fun.”

“Oh, I can’t wait already,” the girl admits, smiling up at the sun, however grateful that it’s still warm enough for her to be out without a cloak or sweater. “Do you put up a tree? I’ve heard some of my friends talk of decorating their trees. Mum would never have that; it would mess the house up with its needles and such.” Olivia shrugs at this, obviously not overly concerned at the moment about her mother’s oddities. “What’s your favorite holiday?”

“We put do put one up, and decorate it – you’ll be able to help if you like, since I’ve been at school my parents always wait for the holidays to start. And the house, too.” Choosing a selection of cookies and treats, Evan nibbles on one between sentences. “I think Christmas is my favorite holiday. It’s the one we celebrate the most, though Halloween is fun. And you, what is your favorite?”

“Oh, I haven’t really got one, though since I’ve come to Hogwarts, I’ve always enjoyed my birthday.” The girl pauses. “It’s the one day at school that people in the house don’t seem to look at me as if I’m funny in the head.” The girl laughs a bit, but this almost seems forced as she shakes her head. “But other than that, I quite enjoy Christmas here, even if we don’t do it grandly at home.” She smiles to her friend. “It’s odd to think of life so separated like that, I suppose, but life at Hogwarts is so different for me than at home.” Olivia shrugs her shoulders a bit and takes a bite out of the tart she has chosen. Mmm, raspberry!

Evan Geroff nods thoughtfully, pausing for another bite of a cookie. Well, they’re good! “I didn’t even think about birthdays,” he admits. “I suppose that does count as a holiday. They do things quite grandly here though, don’t they? Though,” another pause, for thought, “I’ve never celebrated my birthday here.. or Christmas. But they make every feast so grand.”

“I’ve never spent Christmas here either,” Olivia admits, pausing after to take a sip of her tea rather daintily. Or as daintily as she can manage. “But I’ve seen all the decorations, and it looks so lovely.” A small sigh escapes her lips and she takes another nibble of the tart. “I’m looking forward to Christmas at your home already,” the girl tells her friend, a hint of a blush crossing her cheeks and a bit of a giggle following. She pauses. “So, what did you decide about my sisters?”

Evan Geroff finishes off the cookie, pausing with his hand on the tea cup to grin at Olivia. “It will be fun. I only hope we live up to your expectations.” He pauses then for a sip of the tea. “Ah.. I have been remiss in writing up my opinion. It’s already past the date I promised to have them by.” This is cause for a glance down at the tabletop, the briefest of frowns – thoughtful, not upset – brushing onto and off his face. “I shall simply have to tell you that I.. find neither so lovely as yourself. Also, that Helen should go into working with animals and sell them as victims for Hogwarts Transfiguration classes.” Hopefully a safe answer, though perhaps not entirely clear what all of it is based on, though as if entirely confident he raises the cup to his lips again while watching his companion for a reaction.

“You’re just being nice,” Olivia answers, her mind waving off his first comment rather quickly. “I’m sure Helen would love to hear that.” Olivia pauses a moment. “Though I could see her coordinating something like that.” A snicker is heard and Olivia covers her mouth, concealing a grin. “It’s alright if you don’t like them.” A pause. “I really don’t like them that much myself. They’re… mean.” This is the best adjective that the girl can come up with, though she does look away with noticable annoyance.

Evan Geroff laughs lightly. “You’re so quick to dismiss it!” Her later comments sober him a bit, however. “I admit I don’t run into them as much as I might – not in classes obviously. Of course I see Gertrude more, being in the same house.” And they tend to turn up in the halls sometimes. “I can’t say either has been terribly mean to me,” he pauses, speaking softly, “but I can’t be satisfied with their treating you badly.”

“I can’t help it. They’re just like my mum,” Olivia shrugs at this. She’s clearly used to it, being the odd one out in her family. However, she can’t help but puff a little bit at Evan’s obvious concern. “It’s alright, really. It’s nothing,” the girl reassures her friend. With this she looks him back in the eyes, sipping her tea. Whether the conviction in her voice actually transfers to her eyes is questionable.

Evan Geroff looks back at Olivia, watching her eyes, perhaps trying to discern something. Whatever he sees, though, he doesn’t press the topic, except for adding one last remark. The words “All right,” are murmured, with a slight incline of his head. “As long as you realize they’re not right.” There, done. Though where to go from here.. reaching for the tea pot, he raises it slightly, motioning forward. “Can I offer you some more?”

“If you say so,” Olivia deferrs and smiles just a bit into her tea. “Thank you,” she says quietly holding out the cup to him to refill. “I did like your siblings very much. They were all so nice, and well-behaved. Even the littlest.” Olivia giggles a bit. “Is Rosemarie upset that I won’t be seeing her until Christmas?” The girl takes her teacup back when it is filled and sips it again, taking the final nibble of the tart, and looking at the array of cookies thoughtfully. What to have, what to have.

Evan Geroff shakes his head, the beginnings of a laugh evident once more. “They are indeed sweet, but they’re not always so well-behaved. They certainly had special reasons – a day out, friends around, and candy to look forward.. not many children would chance losing that, would they?” .. “Rosemarie will be glad to see you, I’m sure of it, but I don’t know how much she’s said. Aunt Julie isn’t so comunicative about things.”

“No, I imagine not. I’ve not been around too many small children, but if that’s how they are, well, I think I’d like to be around them more often.” Olivia smiles a bit, and sips her tea again. “Will I meet your Aunt Julie at christmas?” the girl asks rubbing her arm gently as the breeze picks up a touch, reminding her that she was, in fact, a bit foolish to dress in the summer dress after all.

Sipping his own tea, Evan nods before actually speaking. “We should have positioned behind a wall to block that wind..” he murmurs, before addressing Olivia’s question. “Aunt Julie will be around quite a bit, she always is. She’s the only one of Mother’s siblings who live nearby.”

Nodding Olivia sips at her cooling tea. “I just should have brought a sweater is all,” the girl asserts with a bit of a smile. “I know better, that’s all.” She pauses. “I like the winter, when I’m dressed for it.” She giggles and finishes her second cup of tea quickly, setting the cup into the saucer on the table neatly. “I know, I’ll wear my gloves,” Olivia pipes, after a moment, slipping the garments on. Well, they don’t match, but they help. She smiles to Evan. “I’m very excited already to meet the rest of your family. I’m not even nervous anymore!” The excitement is apparent in her voice as she says this. “I’ve hardly even been able to read the history book that I checked out, I’ve been anticipating it so hard.”

“And what will everyone say if I keep you from passing our next test?” Evan queries in an amused tone. “I’m glad you’re not nervous, though. I just know they’ll love having you around.” He pauses, running a finger around the outside of the cup, then pulling his robes closer though he doesn’t so much mind the cold. “Do you have anything you’re particularly wishing for this year?”

“Oh, no, it was just a text that I got for fun.” Olivia pauses after she says this, then blushes hard, as if there were something to be embarrassed about by reading history books for pleasure. “Er–” she stutters after saying this, then pauses, shaking her head, she tends to his other question. “Oh, for Christmas? Hmm…” The girl seems to labor over this thought for a long time. “I think I might like… maybe a new book or two. Something interesting to read. I’ve read some of those muggle books recently, and they were actually rather good. No magic in them, but they were still very interesting.” The girl can’t conceal an open smile, as she talks about possibly the one passion that she has. “Mum and dad never get me any of those kinds of books.”

“Then I won’t worry so much. What aspects of history do you enjoy most?” Evan, for one, will likely not understand reading much history for pleasure, but that doesn’t mean he has to throw the notion out the window. “And what sort of muggle books? Muggle text books you mean, or fiction?” His look is somewhat curious – she’s found an area he doesn’t know much about.

“Well, I really like all of it. I want to read as much as I can. When we were learning about Merlin and camelot, and reading all the stories from that, it was the best, though, because the stories were so interesting, and then the story of Grenevere and Arthur was so interesting and tragic.” Olivia puts her chin on her hand as she think about this for a moment, then goes on. “But I really like the muggle storybooks. I found one in the library, something called Little Girls or something, which was about four sisters, and everything. I hear there’s a sequel to it, but there isn’t one in the library.” What Olivia doesn’t know, of course, is that she’s got the title wrong and that it has two sequels, but this is neither here nor there for her. “The storybooks are my favorite, though. Especially when they try to talk about history and magic and things, and they get it all wrong.” This ramble is punctuated with a bit of a giggle, and a blush as Olivia absentmindedly rubs her arm, glancing up at Evan. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble like that.”

Listening quietly, and nodding in the appropriate places, Evan chuckles as well as Olivia mentions the muggle errors, then quickly shakes his head. “No, no.. I don’t mind. I’ve never looked for those. Do we really carry many in our library?” His surprise comes out somewhat in words and expression – he hadn’t expected it at Hogwarts. With all the muggle objects he does somewhat understand, he’s never been exposed to their books.

“Well, no, just two or three, really,” Olivia admits. “I’ve asked the librarian a few times if she can’t find some more for me, but she never gives me a straight answer.” The girl sighs a bit, just shrugging ever so slightly. “They’re really amusing, though, the way they do things and everything.” She smiles at this and laughs. “I suppose it must be weird, liking muggle books so well. I think the librarian thinks so. I don’t think she’ll ever actually get any of them. Perhaps I’ll see if there are any at the shops in Diagon Alley next summer.” Olivia pauses, looking down at her now gloved hands. “What do you want for Christmas, Evan?” she asks, turning his question in kind.

“You may find some there,” Evan admits, shrugging off the idea of being ‘weird’ to like them. “I’m sure you’re not the only person who reads them; I know I simply never started reading many novels of any sort.” He pauses then, to look at the table in consideration of her question, one hand moving off his tea cup to play with the stuffed toy on his lap in the meantime. “Me? I enjoy figures.. I wouldn’t mind having a set of dragons, or other beasts, or any of the Old Heros set. I haven’t managed to collect all of them yet.”

While the girl’s face almost lights up as he mentions this wish, she says nothing in response, except, “Alright.” At this moment, a rather large gust of wind blows through, and though it isn’t terribly powerful, it manages to knock over Olivia‘s umbrella with a loud clunking sound, startling her sharply. “Oh,” she gasps, and stands to pick up the white treasure, looking it over carefully to make sure it hasn’t gotten dirty at all. “I think it’s alright,” she announces to, well, nobody in particular, but she still seems to be searching it for rips, tears, cracks, stains, or anything that could possibly go wrong with a white umbrella.

Evan Geroff might not be so worried – but Olivia is, and so he also rises, moving to stand by her and give the umberella a quick lookover. “It doesn’t look like there’s anything wrong..” he tries to reassure her, though he wouldn’t be looking quite as carefully for any bit of dirt. Raising his eyes, he surveys the table they both stood up from before looking back. “Would you like to walk around some, perhaps..?” .. “It isn’t damaged, is it?”

“Maybe a walk would warm us up,” the girl affirms with a nod. “No, I don’t think it’s damaged, I just wanted to make sure.” Quite carefully she opens up the umbrella again, holding it above her head. The gust of wind seemed to be all on its own, and now only a slight breeze flows through, ruffling the bottom of her dress subtly. “I haven’t been in here much, so perhaps we could look at some of the flowers first,” Olivia suggests, straightening the rose in the ribbon on her umbrella so that it doesn’t look so precariously ready to fall to the ground. “What’s that one there called? The speckled one, I mean.”

Evan Geroff scoops Mr. F Clancy off the table, tucking the toy carefully under one arm, as they walk past. “I haven’t either,” he answers Olivia, “and I’m not sure how many plants I can name beside.. well, roses.” “For instance, I have no clue what the speckled flower might be called..” well, he never claimed anything to do with plants as a best subject. “Perhaps it’s a Yellow Dotted Stalk Flower.” Because, really, that’s likely. And of course there’s something really named that.

“That could be,” Olivia admits, looking at the speckled plant, then shrugging. “It’s pretty, at least.” She strolls along, looking with wonder at some of the wilder colorings of the plants. “That yellow one there, with the white tips, that one is very pretty,” she decides, kneeling to look at it a little closer. “This little tag here says it’s a Sundrop. I’ve never heard of it before.” She pauses, running her finger gently along one of the pettles. “I wish I were any good at caring for plants. Maybe I’d ask Professor Walsh where I could get one of these, if I were.” She sighs. “I doubt she’d let me now, though, since I’m so bad in her class.”

Evan Geroff examines the Sundrop briefly, eyes then running over to some of the other flowers behind it. For the most part, he took his turn examining the plants before Olivia showed up, as evidenced by the blossom in her umbrella. “Perhaps she’d teach you how to care for it as well,” he suggests. “It can’t take much more than some occasional water.. at least, it doesn’t look like one you’d have to feed.”

“I’ll ask her if I remember next class, then. Just to see what she says, perhaps.” Olivia doesn’t look confident about what the answer will be, though she does stoop a bit longer, admiring the plant. She stands again after a moment, looking around at all the flowers. “I wonder who planted all of these. Of course, I’m sure Professor Walsh cares for them, but I do wonder who planted all of these to begin with. Do you know, Evan?”

“I’m sure Professor Walsh has planted some of them,” Evan ventures, “replacements at the least when those are needed. I’m not sure who originally did all of this.” Moving on a bit farther, he motions to a different flower, bright orange, that caught his eye before. “What do you think of that one?”

Olivia turns her head to look at the flower which Evan has mentioned. “Oh, that’s lovely, too,” She stands and walks over to where Evan has motioned and looks down at it, holding her umbrella casually in one hand, she stands straight again and crosses her arms over one another, presumably to help keep the cold out. “I’ll have to ask Professor Walsh soon about getting some seeds to grow some of these. I wonder if mum’d let me have a little place to grow them at home.” The girl pauses. “Then again, being at school so much, who would care for them while I’m gone?” She sighs and shrugs. “Maybe not, then.”

Evan Geroff turns away from the flower, taking another couple of slow steps onward – not enough to take him far away from Olivia, even if she stands still. “What about a pot to keep them in? It would be a very lucky flower – it would get to travel all the time!” Yes, flowers want that, really. “You could always put it back in the ground while you were at home.”

“Isn’t that bad for flowers? I … well, I think I remember Professor Walsh saying something like that.” She pauses. “Then again, Herbology isn’t my best class, so perhaps I best not. I’ll ask her, though.” The girl smiles and walks to catch up with Evan. So many flowers, so little time. She says nothing for several moments, just enjoying the moment, the flowers, the afternoon. “It’s getting chillier out, days,” Olivia comments, rather quietly as she looks around at things, stopping as she comes to the oak tree, and examining the letters on it quietly.

Evan Geroff takes a second to look over the garden, then joins Olivia at the tree. “Are you cold?” he asks, in concern, at her comment. He, also, looks over the various carvings in the tree, before glancing again at Olivia, perhaps simply to see her reaction to them.

“Only a little bit,” Olivia answers with a smile, turning her eyes back to the tree. She pulls one of her gloves off and reaches out to touch the letters. “Look how many there are,” she comments with a bit of a smile. “My mum and dad’s aren’t, because they didn’t fall in love until after school. But there are so many.” Her fingers trail from one set to another, and is that a glint of… perhaps hope in her eyes?

“I wonder whether my parents’ are on here..” He looks back to the tree, varying between watching her hand and scanning some of the higher-up names. Even if they weren’t, they probably knew a number of these people. Probably Evan knows some of the now-adults, too. Taking a step to the side, he moves a little farther around the tree. “Oh..” he begins a murmur, glancing back around to Olivia. “Look here, there’s still some empty space..”

“Probably that’s a good thing, so people now can put their initials up there,” Olivia responds, unable to help the little flush of pink that comes over her cheek as she says this. Yes, there’s a bit of hopeless romantic in the Hufflepuff girl and she can’t help but think, but hope. Her eyes cast downward, the pink on her cheek deepens and she bites her bottom lip ever so gently before looking back up at Evan, a smile playing on the pink lips.

Evan Geroff runs his hand quickly over the bark, then looks at Olivia, offering her what could, for the boy, be a shy grin. “Wait here,” he murmurs, setting off at a run back toward the table. He soon returns with, well, something, apparently transfigured into a different something that is stiff and pointy. “Well, we’re people,” he offers by way of explanation.

Olivia watches as Evan disappears, then returns almost as quickly. “Oh, you’re — really?” She seems to beam at him, putting her hand over her mouth as if to conceal the smile which is already so apparent in her eyes. “Imagine, being nearly immortal like that.” She giggles a rare giggle. “So, you’re going to put it in that little bare spot over there?” She steps closer to him to see the blank area a little better, and also to see what he’s doing as he does what she’s so certain he means.

Evan Geroff gives a quick nod to Olivia, echoing her smile. “Do you like it here? We might be able to find a better spot.” His hand is posed with the pointy-stick-thing, ready to write.

“It’s a fine spot,” she agrees. “The other spots are all crowded now.” She giggles again and crosses her arms over her stomach as she slips in even closer. “No, that looks like the best spot to be had.” Olivia gives him the rare, wide, toothy smile and leans gently against the tree near the spot so that she can see everything.

Moving close to the tree, Evan raises the pointy thing, measuring once before carefully beginning to carve an ‘E’ and then a ‘G’. He takes enough time with it to make sure the letters are deep enough not to quickly fade – these are going to be here forever. Stepping back once to survey the work, he nods, then turns to offer the tool to Olivia. “Do you want to..?” In case, you know, both of their work should go into this.

“Alright,” she agrees in a bit of a whisper. Setting down her umbrella carefully and taking the tool from his hand. Arranging it gingerly in her left hand, Olivia begins to work at an ‘O’ to sit below the ‘E’ that Evan has already carved. Her strokes are slow and even, though not nearly as deep as his own. She moves on to the ‘B’, and soon has completed the letters of her name, looking back to Evan witha smile. “Perhaps you’d better make them as solid as yours. That was harder than I thought.” Her voice is quiet, almost reverent as she suggests this, as if speaking loudly would spoil the magic of the moment.

Evan Geroff silently takes the pointy tool back from Olivia, tracing over her letters until they, too, are unlikely to disappear for quite a long time. “That’s good,” he finally murmers, either at the letters or her statement of how hard it was. “It’s a tough tree.. it’ll be standing for more years than I can count still.”

Olivia stoops to pick up her umbrella and smiles at Evan. “I hope so,” she admits, her cheeks turning pink again. It was perhaps an omen for good things to come, or perhaps she just liked the sentimental idea of something being around for so long. One way or another, the girl just smiles at Evan. A million things run through her head as she feels almost giddy. “I’ve had a wonderful time,” she tells him, and pauses a moment, reaching up on tiptoe to daringly give him a peck on the cheek. What has come over the girl?

Completely unexpected, Olivia’s action brings across an unusual change in the Slytherin boy. Heart racing, the rest of Evan seems to have momentarily frozen for just a moment, a light pinkness touching his cheeks – yet he’s smiling, as he looks at Olivia, so it must be okay. The amount of time that passes before he carefully slips the tool he’s been holding into a pocket can’t possibly be, in reality, as long as it seems to him. That done though, he reaches out for her hand, with the intent – if she should allow him – to raise it and very gently kiss the back.

“I’ve had a wonderful time today, Evan,” Olivia tells him, smiling a toothy smile towards him after her hand is kissed. She doesn’t say anything else, instead just looking at him for several moments. What could this feeling inside be? Something is different now, and Olivia‘s heart races as she notices it. Her cheeks twinge pink and she finally looks away after what seems like an eternity of just looking. The smile on her face, however, doesn’t lessen, though the pink seems to increase by the second.

“Me, too.” No long speechs from Evan at the moment, just that simple agreement that he also has enjoyed this time. When it becomes to awkward to just keep looking at her, though he, too, won’t stop smiling, he turns his gaze over toward the gates into the school, a set of rose bushes, whatever else happens to have grown or been build in the direction his eyes wander too. When is becomes awkward to stand around and say nothing, as well, he turns back with a shy grin and offers Olivia an arm. His voice is quiet, almost afraid to disturb this moment. “Shall we walk some more?”

“Alright,” She agress, her arm linking through his as she starts striding on with him, standing perhaps a bit closer to him than she had previously dared as they walked together. Flowers all seem to be even more brilliant than previously, even in the dimming light as the sun slowly is setting towards the west. Olivia has left her umbrella leaning against the tree, and has tucked her gloves into the ribbon that acts as a sash around her waist, while she lets her arms hang beside her, running her fingers over some stray flowers here and there. “The garden is almost picture perfect,” she comments quietly. “Makes me wish I could paint it or draw it.”

Evan Geroff is for now content to just walk, more interested in just being with Olivia than in the flowers they pass – of course, this held true for earlier as well, but not as much so. “The colors of the sunset over the flowers..” he is, however, paying enough attention to the surroundings to say. “Do you? I mean, do artwork at all?”

“I’ve never learned how, really. Well, once or twice, but my hand gets so messy just trying to write out my notes that I never tried much.” As she says this she gestures to her left hand, which still has a bit of blue on it, signifying that she was obviously working on something earlier in the day, prior to their meeting. “It’s so lovely, though, that I’d like to see if I could have someone teach me. Do you do anything like that?” Olivia looks up at him curiously, her lips still curved into a happy smile.

“No, I don’t,” Evan answers, something from his thoughts bringing an amused chuckle to his lips. “I’m sure I’m the subject of many, though.” He shakes his head quickly as they walk on, and pauses before speaking again. “Have you considered taking the class?” The answer to everything, obviously, if you want to learn it.

“Oh, I’d feel odd starting in the class now,” Olivia answers, shaking her head. “It just would be so abnormal.” She chews her bottom lip a bit thoughtfully. “But I wonder if maybe the teacher would tutor me a bit. I could learn to draw a little, and then I could draw the rose garden, just like it is right now.” She looks up at Evan and smiles, pausing as they seem to approach the table again. Ah, yes, they’ve come full circle now, though Olivia doesn’t seem to even notice, really.

“If you do, I’d like to see the picture.” As the tables looms up, Evan takes enough notice of it to fish the tool out of his pocket and drop it back onto the surface. Perhaps at some point he’ll even transfigure it back, as it looks to have been his teacup. That is, if anyone’s looking – he seems more intent on smiling back at Olivia.

“Of course,” Olivia answers, seeming to beam up at him as she turns towards him, her arm still linked in his. Next time, she would remember a sweater, that was for certain. “Perhaps we ought to get inside, before it gets too much chillier,” she suggests quietly, looking up at him expectantly. Part of her wonders how they’ll clean up the table, but then, part of her doesn’t even want to think of it. After all, cleaning would spoil the moment, the magic.

Evan Geroff doesn’t mention the table – however he got it out here, presumably it gets back the same way. He does, however, glance over toward the tree one more time. “You’re right, I think. It is getting late. Shall we go collect the umbrella, and then I’ll walk you in?”

“Thank you, that would be lovely,” the girl answers, stifling a bit of a giggle at her own phrasing. Olivia walks rather slowly towards the tree, where the umbrella is still peacefully laying, and picks it up, taking a moment to admire their handywork on the tree, before turning and making her way, in a leisurely pace, towards the exit of the rose gardens. “Thank you for inviting me today, Evan. This is quite the nicest tea time I’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Evan answers, sorry to see the entrance gate approach and pass, slow though they might be moving. As they walk he once more looks at her, and though he can’t possibly say all he’s feeling, a bit of emotion comes out in his quiet low tone. “Thank you, Olivia, for accepting my invitation.”

Olivia‘s arm is still in his as she looks up at him, coming to a stop just inside the entrance of the castle. Her cheeks seem to flush an even deeper pink and she smiles up at him again. “So… I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” the girl asks, not moving to leave, though she knows that the idea was to come in and go to the warmth of their commonrooms.

Evan Geroff nods, once, quickly. “I’ll be counting on it.” Before beginning to walk off to his own commons, or perhaps to get that table taken care of first, he gives her a bow. “Have a beautiful night, Miss Olivia Baxtor.” An appropriate wish, perhaps, to follow such an afternoon as theirs.

“You, too,” Olivia whispers, withdrawing her arm, and making her way towards her commonrooms backwards for several steps, before turning and walking quickly towards her commonroom. Yes, it has been quite the afternoon for the Hufflepuff, and yes, she definitely wants to get herself out of the garb that she’s currently in, and into some warmer things. One last look is gifted over her shoulder just before she disappears around the corner, and then she’s gone to her commons.

Pushed against the wall, the tables are out of the way and the benches stacked neatly upon them. This semester has been much the same for the fifth year class, with little to no personal space outside of where people decide to set their bookbags. Seated upon her desk, Astra waits for her students to arrive for class. As she does so often, she shifts through a pile of papers and then sets them back down.

Perched on another one of the tables, long legs swinging as they dangle from the edge, is Eliza Marlowe. The Head Girl is still serving as Professor Rathe’s teaching assistant, and still looks like she is enjoying every minute of it – the resting expression on her face is an easy grin, which widens in greeting as the class begins to enter.

Noémie Ribouet strides into the classroom, looking at nothing in particular. The prefect seems almost distracted as she sets her bag down near the doorway, keeping only her wand on her person. Perhaps today she would manage an actual Patronus, rather than wisps of white smoke.

Ivy Thornweld almost stalks after Noémie, boring holes into the back of the girl’s head with her eyes. Well, not literally. As soon as there are other people, especially given that one of them is Professor Rathe, Ivy straightens, averts her glance elsewhere, and moves as far away from Noémie as she can to set down her books with a soft huff.

Once all the students have arrived, Astra hops off her desk. Spreading her arms out in a wide gesture once she smiles, “Glad to see you’re all here today. Now I think we know the routine by now. Everyone up against the right hand wall and take out your wands. I want to see if some of you can actually produce your Patronus today.” Nodding to Eliza, she continues, “Miss Marlowe and I will be on hand to assist those of you who may need a little extra help.” “Miss Marlowe, if you’d make sure everyone is situated properly so no one gets hurt?” Grabbing the stack of papers, Astra then walks toward the entrance and sets them on the edge of one table while everyone settles in for the day’s lesson.

“Right.” Launching herself off her own desk in a wider arc than the professor, Eliza lands lightly on her feet and takes off around the room. “Good – no, move a little to your left, Tremont – perfect, perfect – ” She keeps up a steady commentary as she circulates between the rows of students, all shuffling to get themselves in order. As Eliza passes behind Ivy, she pauses, giving the Slytherin girl a slightly longer look than she gives the student next to her. “You all right, Thornweld?” she murmurs, leaning in to speak softly enough so that nobody else can hear. “Won’t help if you go into the lesson angry.”

As irony would have it, Noémie has situated herself right next to Ivy, and while this was not an intentional action, the Ravenclaw does not appear to be bothered by it. She puts her wand at the ready and takes a deep breath. Patronus, happy thoughts. “How are things, Ivy?” Noémie comments rather quietly, not hearing Eliza’s comments to said person, and really not listening all that well for a response as she mentally prepares herself to make a patronus.

Ivy Thornweld blinks at Eliza. “Yes, thank you, Miss, I’m fine.” She flashes a bright smile just to prove the point. Of course, something in her eyes says ‘Shoo, I don’t need to share with you’. The smile fades entirely when she turns and sees that it is, of all people, Noémie standing next to her and chatting. “Miss Ribouet,” she is much much too bright when she says, “I’m just fine, how are you? You know I just got a letter from my Mr. Fleuve, did I ever show you the bracelet he gave me for Christmas?” Her voice carries, hopefully, to a certain Hufflepuff boy as well. Now she turns and pulls out her wand, hoping there will be a lot of ignoring of each other going on now.

“These,” pointing at the stack of papers the professor then explains, “are your essay questions for next week. I expect you to choose two of the three and answer them with references.” Astra walks in front of the assembled fifth years checking their position and their stance. “You all look good to me. Miss Marlowe you may wish to step aside.” “Very well, now then, everyone together ‘Expecto Patronum!’”

With a single long nimble stride, Eliza steps out of the way of the rest of the class. Her hand swoops down to pull her wand from her belt, and in a smooth, continuous motion, she raises it into casting position. “Expecto Patronum!” she declares, along with the rest of the class. A white plume shoots out of the end of her wand, resolving swiftly into the form of an eagle, which spreads its wings and soars up in a silent arc.

“No, I don’t believe you did, Miss Thornweld,” Noémie responds, chuckling a bit at Ivy’s comments. “Perhaps you could show me after class.” With this, Noémie‘s voice hushes and she looks to Astra for instructions. Alright, ballet recital, Quidditch game, her last birthday… “Expecto Patronum!” A cloud of silvery smoke swirls out into the air in front of her, and there is just the slightest shape of an animal there, though it appears to be more of a blob with a tail.

Suki hangs tightly onto her wand as she announces, “Expecto Patronum!” The girl glances somewhat nervously at the Head Girl as she does so, hoping the spell will work well for once. Wand-work was never Suki‘s strength, but that hardly mattered. Suki would never need to know complicated spells once she graduated. Eyeing the end of her wand after the incantation, Suki huffs as the bright, silvery mammal erupts, rather hunched and not very intimidating, in Suki‘s mind. Why was hers a hyena?

Ivy Thornweld occasionally dreams of putting all her professors in a room and chaining them to desks while handing out essay after essay and tearing them up without grading them. Ivy occasionally wakes up in the middle of the night very bored. Other comes her wand, up scrunches her nose, and “Expecto Patronum!” produces a puff of silvery smoke and mnothing else. Okay, Ivy, think Happy Thoughts. Isn’t there a muggle play like that? Ivy! Focus. Summertime… “Expecto Patronum!” There’s no change. Her cheeks flush as she recalls something else, but this time her Patronus comes out fully formed, a ram with huge, curling horns and pointy little hooves. Horrifed, she stares and murmurs something about ‘Stupid sheep herder.’

Cracking a smile at the attempts made by her students Astra notes the various forms. “Excellent try, now then.” Pulling out her own wand, she doesn’t normally bother with this except to demonstrate the proper way to cast a certain curse or hex. Picking out one student, she sidles in next to Noémie and gives the girl a grin. “Try it again, and remember to put conviction into your casting as well as your thoughts.” Demonstrating the motions, she does not speak the words. “Use force too, this is not one of those spells that rely on subtlety.”

“Conviction,” Noémie repeats after Astra says this, gripping her wand a bit tighter and resituating herself. The fifth year looks down at the teacher once, then down at the ground for several moments, trying to come up with happier memories. She finds that she has already thought of the things that make her happiest, so instead she focuses on them harder. “Conviction,” the girl mumurs once more, closing her eyes then pointing her wand energetically out and nearly shouting, “Expecto Patronum!” This time, a more formed patronus appears, looking to be some sort of creature on four legs with a long tail. Noémie lets out a resounding laugh joyfully as she sees this. “Nearly!”

“Go away now,” Suki Korosu-Dawson says pointedly to her skulking patronus. “You’re ugly,” she notes, crossing her arms and turning on her heel towards the professor. Sticking up her hand but speaking straight after, Suki inquires in something of a whiny tone, “Patronus animals can change, can’t they Professor Rathe?” The last thing Suki needed was a grinning hyena saving her from mortal peril.

“Good show, Thornweld,” Eliza murmurs, as she slips between the rows. Then, breaking free of the crowd, she strides around the edge of the room, on her way to the other side to deal with another group of students. “Rodgers – I thought you had it last week?” the Head Girl says, coming to rest beside an anxious-looking Ravenclaw girl. “Everything all right?” Eliza gives the younger girl a friendly thump on the shoulder, and says with a grin, “You heard the professor – conviction! Here, let’s try it again.” Side by side with the Ravenclaw girl. Eliza moves her wand in the spell’s pattern, walking her through it. And it pays off – as the two girls declare “Expecto Patronum!” together, the younger one produces a puff of silvery smoke that turns into a monkey, scampering away below Eliza‘s eagle.”

Ivy Thornweld actually looks proud of herself, for all that her Patronus is of the boy-sheep variety. It charges, head down, in a circle for a minute and then dissolves. Noticing that the others are trying again to make them more solid (Ivy‘s ram had had a kind of wispy rear end), she thinks again of her happy thoughts–her face goes dark a minute and she shakes her head. That would never do. Happy thoughts! Mustering up something really good, she says without about as much convinction as she’s ever said anything, “Expecto Patronum!” Out comes a ram with very ridgey horns and shiny silver eyes… and yet his back end is kind of whispy. “Professor Rathe, is it supposed to be perfectly formed to be right?”

“Well done!” Astra crows happily after the next attempts. As always, whines grate on her nerves and she breaks rank, making eye contact with Suki, before addressing Ivy’s question. “The clearer definition that a Patronus has the more good it will do you. You’re doing quite well and you still have the rest of the semester to perfect it. Don’t worry so much.” Turning then, she looks back to Suki “Yes Miss Korosu-Dawson, a person’s Patronus may indeed change. That’s a very good point, but whining about it isn’t going to change what comes out of that wand. Now riddle me this. Why would a person’s Patronus change? What circumstances or changes would a person have to experience in order to see their Patronus change?” Striding down the row of students, she comes to stop in front of Eliza, “Is anyone able to answer this question?”

Noémie‘s hand shoots up into the air as she forgets all about her mostly-formed patronus, anxious to be the one to answer the question. She remembered this from her reading! At least, she thought she did; only Professor Rathe would be able to tell if she was correct.

The Head Girl tilts her head in a half-nod, half-shrug, as she looks down to meet the professor’s eyes – she has gone through this class before, after all. But Eliza looks over at the Ravenclaw girl next to her, and from there, her hazel eyes skim over the rest of the class, scanning for raised hands, or the anxious motions that might signify knowledge of the answer without raising a hand.

Suki Korosu-Dawson doesn’t read. From textbooks, anways. Or, more accurately, she doesn’t retain the information she reads from dull tomes. Still, it never hurt to hazard a guess, and she sighs as she raises her hand, too. Sure she’s answering, in effect, her own question.

“Very well, it seems we have two volunteers to answer this question.” Astra rounds back to where Noémie stands but points to Suki, “Miss Korosu-Dawson you may answer first. Miss Ribouet, please feel free to answer after Miss Korosu-Dawson has answered to the fullest of her abilities.”

Suki Korosu-Dawson was not suppsed to be chosen first! Lowering her hand with one eyebrow raised, Suki utters a low “Uhh,” before catching herself, sniffing and flipping her hair over her shoulder as she replies smartly, “Your patronus’ shape depends on which memory you focus on. Mine’s a hyena because I always think of the time Tallis likened one of our friends to an overweight poodle,” Suki says, crossing her arms once more.

Looking at Suki as if she’d lost her mind, Noémie shakes her head a bit, and then smiles. Ah, it’s her turn. “Major life events that somehow alter oneself can cause a patronus to change. It isn’t a definitive thing, something that can be measured, but it happens after one has gone through trials or something very changing and had their ‘self’ changed for going through it.” The Ravenclaw nods curtly afterward, ignoring the fact that she sounds just like a textbook as she gives her answer.

“Unfortunately for the Slytherin, it would seem that Miss Ribouet’s answer is correct. Three points to Ravenclaw for having the answer to the question, rather than avoiding the question entirely.” Giving Noémie the smallest of smiles Astra then rounds on Suki, “Miss Korosu-Dawson your memories feed the Patronus but do not guide it. You cannot demand what shape it takes anymore than a baby can decide what color hair it is to have.” “Furthermore, your answer avoided my question entirely. Next time you raise your hand to volunteer at least make an attempt.”

“Fine, whatever,” Suki replies under her breath, turning her back on the professor to see that her patronus has, likely, long faded. So, Suki would have to go on a life-altering inner journey to change her patronus? Truthfully, she’d been only half listening to Noémie. Suki was very distracted by a crease in the Ravenclaw’s robe… or maybe it was the light? No matter. Life-altering anything was too much work. “Looks like I’m stuck with an ugly hyena,” she comments, inspecting her finger nails.

Ivy Thornweld listens to Noémie’s answer with a slight frown, and then her cheeks color. She looks, attempting to discretion, over at The Hufflepuff Boy very, very briefly, and shifts. Her ram again does a circle, this time chasing after a Gryffindor girl’s bouncing silvery hare before dissolving. Ivy does something she almost never does: She raises her hand.

“Ah,” Noémie responds happily, for earning points for Ravenclaw is always a good thing in her eyes. “Should we give the patronuses — patronusi? — another go, then, Professor?” the girl asks, putting her wand more or less at the ready while she looks around. She does not look in Suki’s direction again, for though she did not hear what Suki said, she did hear the girl mutter, and that could not turn out well.

It takes a great deal of effort for Eliza not to respond to Suki’s first suggestion of what could change a Patronus, and even more for her not to respond to what Suki’s happy memory was. Eliza‘s mouth remains tightly shut, and she remains silent, maintaining all the dignity of her position. – but her eyes narrow, and her cheeks start to flush an angry red, and she scans the room swiftly, on guard to see if there are any students who look particularly upset at the memory. Knowing Suki, she might just say something like that in front of the person she’d originally been taunting. The Head Girl relaxes a bit when the other students jump in, and even flashes Noémie a grin after she gives the correct answer. But at Suki’s disrespectful response to the professor, though, Eliza‘s face reddens even more, and she actually takes a step forward, her head lifting in shocked, defensive anger.

“I’ve had it with your attitude Miss Korosu-Dawson.” There’s a distinct warning in Astra‘s frigid tones as she speaks to the Slytherin. “Do not turn your back on me when you are in my presence and then continue with such impudence. It is impertinent and disrespectful. That’s five points for pure cheek and as you’re Slytherin you can count on a detention.” Coming down hard and swift on the girl, what little color the professor had in her cheeks has drained. “In fact since you don’t seem to appreciate what I’m trying to teach you, you can have mandatory study sessions with me every week for the rest of the semester.” Having brought a swift and merciless sentence upon the Slytherin girl, she shakes her head to Noémie. “The class is dismissed; remember to take your essay questions on the way out.”

Ivy Thornweld lowers her hand and glares a little bit at the back of Suki’s head (it will turn into a sympathetic smile should the girl look Ivy‘s way). Putting away her wand, the Thornweld girl grabs her bag and a paper with the essay questions on it. For all that she’s not particularly tall, she moves swiftly, and it’s almost as if she was barely in the class at all.

Noémie can’t help but gawk a bit as Suki is given mandatory study with her own House Head, from whom she has even lost points, but quickly gathers up her things, resolving that she would definitely practice on her patronus more, and soon. She is soon over by her bag, studiously ignoring glances from a group of Slytherins who seem to be wispering about some ‘goodie-two-shoes’ in the class. Soon the girl has procured her questions and then slips out of the room as discreetly as she can manage.

Knowing full well (from experience) that additional sass will only make things worse, Suki only tears her attention away from her nails long enough to grimace falsely at Astra, answering, “Yes, professor,” in what she hopes is interpreted as a humble tone. She flashes her best ‘hurt’ expression in Eliza’s direction, furrowing her eyebrows and putting her hands behind her back. Her eyes are narrowed, however, at the know-it-all textbook Noémie. Suki would remember this.

Eliza meets Suki’s pout with a hard, steady look. Slowly, her long arms cross; slowly, she leans back against the wall and crosses one foot over the other; and she keeps watching Suki long after the younger girl has turned away. Only after Suki has left does Eliza break her gaze, and toss off a few friendly goodbyes to the other students.

Claire Redding climbs up into the classroom, her short dark-blonde hair pulled away from her face with small clips and her robes immaculate, as usual. Taking a seat at a desk in the center of the horseshoe, she pulls a parchment from the small bag on her lap, reviewing her notes with gusto in preparation for the class.

Skittish, quiet, and scared of her own shadow as always – Aileen Walter enters the Divination room with downcast eyes, her book bag hugged close to her chest like a big, heavy security blanket, and takes a seat as far away from other people as she can manage. As long as she’s sitting away from everyone else, they’re not going to pay her any mind, are they? Periodically, her eyes do flicker up, peering about the room to make sure no one is paying her inordinate attention, then looks back down at her desk, shying away from the other students.

Jason Hart was already waiting in the classroom- he’d had a spare period beforehand, and got in early to claim his usual seat down in a back corner. He’s settled back nonchalantly, hands upon his desk, thumbs twiddling idly, and a bit of a slapstick grin spread along his freckled face.

“Alright, nice to see you all,” Bonnie answers with her usual demeanor as she whips her wand out, commanding the chalk onto the board as she says this. “Why must you always all sit in the back?” She asks, a hand on her hip with a headshake. Nothing else is said about this arrangement, however, as she opens her large volume to the appropriate chapter. “Alright, since you’ve all read the chapters I assigned for homework, let’s dive right in. Can anyone tell me what the Guide said specifically about precautions to take while reading palms?”

Though Aileen ‘s hand flutters briefly above the desk, her other hand holds it down as she slinks further into her little shadowy corner, not daring to speak in case she draws inordinate attention to herself. Her eyes scope the room in the meantime, seeming almost unnaturally – certainly, most unusually – wide, looking for someone else who happens to know the answer to the question.

Homework? For Divination? Puh-lease! Jason Hart ‘s wide eyed gaze is echoed by his companion and fellow Slytherin seated beside him, one Irving Reed- the pair had naturally found far better things to do with their time than keep up with reading. Utterly no suggestion is given that either of them know the answer, faux innocence settled upon their features.

Claire Redding raises her hand confidently in the air, refusing to be just another student sitting in the background hoping not to be called on. She may or may not know the answer, but if she doesn’t find it in her notes (her eyes are still scanning them, even with her hand in the air), well, that’s what imagination is for.

“Hmmm,” Bonnie states, glancing around the classroom, crossing her arms. “Mister Hart, let’s hear from you first,” she decides, looking at the small crowd of Slytherins without much expression at all. “Then Aileen can give it a go, then Claire.” The Divination teacher smiles at this, leaning on her desk as she picks up her book, absentmindedly flipping through the pages while she awaits the answer.

Jason Hart blinks, several times, the look on his face suggesting that he’s shocked the question has been put his way. “But, Miss-” he begins to speak, though a nudge from Irving beside him suggests that now’s not the time to protest. Biting his lip, he darts his gaze about the classroom, trying to find an inkling of the answer. “You. You…” stalling, stalling. “Have to make sure…” his roving gaze reveals nothing, and he certainly refuses to meet Ms Kensington’s eyes. “…that, well, you’ve got to be certain..”

Aileen Walter seems suddenly flustered, looking around the classroom for someone who must have silently put her up to it. Even as Jason gives his answer, it takes her a long moment to formulate any sort of response, stammering over her desk, eyes once again fixed firmly on the tabletop, cheeks flushing scarlet. “Uh – um – uh – um…” Hands shaking violently, she sifts through her paperwork, then offers the quiet answer, “Um… is it related to, um, I, uh, um, something about, um, poison?” Then, mortified at her own answer, realising that it is entirely unrelated to the question asked, she slips underneath her desk to hide.

Claire Redding takes another moment before deciding that she’s not going to find the answer in her notes and putting the paper on the desk. Raising her eyes to the teacher, she steels her nerves and pulls what is, to her, a perfectly logical-seeming answer out of thin air. “Well, you see, the biggest danger is misinterpretation, just like with most forms of divination. The most important aspects aren’t always right out there to be seen by just anyone, so it can be easy to see something like… like a short lifeline and assume that that means that the subject is going to die early, when actually it could mean that they’re going to live quietly towards the end of their life. Something like that.” She smiles brightly, her too-many teeth gleaming. Ah, well, it was worth a try. May even be true.

“Good, Claire, thank you for enlightening us.” A steely glance is given to Jason and Aileen as she glances slowly around the room. “Hmm. Two points from Slytherin and Gryffindor for lack of preparation, and two to Hufflepuff for giving a thorough answer.” At this, Bonnie nods and stands. “The biggest precaution to take, especially, is to take your time. If you rush through it, as Claire pointed out for us, you risk misinterpreting, and mistaking one line for another. Now, as we’re going through this today, I want you to partner up, because we’re going to start practicing reading palms over the next few weeks, and I do want you to be quite prepared for your exams. There will, as mentioned, be a practical exam as well as a written exam.” She pauses, as if waiting for something. “Well, partner up. What are you waiting for?”

There’s hardly any question about who Jason is partnered up with- but just to make it certain, he and Irving shuffle just an eensy bit closer together, their seats scuffing the classroom floor as they shuffle them along. “Nice going there,” come’s Irving’s snide whisper, as their heads duck down lowly together. The sharp kick he receives in return is delivered beneath the desk, and Jason ‘s gaze briefly becomes narrow and harsh as he adopts a defensive tone- “Didn’t see -you- trying to help…” before his head swivels back to the front, all wide-eyed innocents once more.

Hiding under her table, it takes Aileen a moment to register that a) she just lost house points and b) she needs to find a partner. Crawling out, she peers about the room, does not appear to spy anyone who is partnerless, and crawls back under. Perhaps if she remains in hiding, they will forget about her, or mistake her for part of the decor.

Claire Redding ‘s smile gets a trifle smug as she absolutely nails the answer. Asked to partner up, she glances around the room, searching for a likely partner, and spots a shy-looking Gryffindor. That one seems likely to be a total pushover, so Claire rises from her seat and all but struts over to the girl. “Would you like to be my partner?” she asks, her voice carrying a condescending undertone as though she feels she’s doing Aileen a huge favor.

“Alright, everyone has partners? Good.” She doesn’t even wait for a response before quickly moving on and with just a small glance at the chalk, which has only written vague points relating to precautions. “Let’s begin by holding out our palms. Right then, I want you to see if you can’t estimate a reading of your own hand. Don’t be afraid to consult the guides for help discerning this. When you’ve done that, I want you to read the palm of your partner. After you’ve finished, raise your hands. I want you to present your findings once you’ve finished.” Bonnie nods curtly and starts walking ’round the room slowly, surveying the groups.

Aileen Walter peeks out from under the table again as she hears a voice, her face flushing pink again. Then, she slips out from under the table and back into her seat, not looking at her partner for more than fleetingly, inspecting the palm of her own hand. Wow. Fascinating.

Both of the Slytherin boys meet gazes with brows lifted, smirks already halfway spread along their faces. As they lift up their hands to peer at their palms in unison, Jason gives a small snort of amusement. “Wonder what it means when you’ve got hair on your palms…?” he says, raising his voice just a touch so that a couple of the students seated nearest to them might be able to eavesdrop. Irving sniggers beside him, though he’s at least gotten his textbook out and is flicking through the pages regarding the Heart Line.

Claire Redding grins at Aileen. “Great!” she says, and plops into the seat next to her, opening her textbook and putting her notes next to it, taking up more space than she really ought to. She holds her right hand up in front of her, tilting her head to the side as she ponders it. Poking near the base of her index finger, she leans forward a bit to read her notes, going back and forth between her hand and the material in front of her.

“Don’t forget to consider all the lines,” Bonnie states to a couple of Ravenclaw girls who already have their hands up. At her comment, their hands snap down again and they start leafing through their books, trying to figure out just what she means. “You would do well to consider the lines rather than hairy palms, Mister Hart,” Bonnie comments as she strides by, ready to answer any questions that might pop up. “Miss Walter, Miss Redding, everything going alright?” she asks, pausing just before the group nearby to turn the book away from a chapter on Fire Omens and into a more appropriate section.

Though carefully trying to avoid being offensive, Aileen slips away from Claire and further into the depths of her corner, trying not to let the Hufflepuff girl get too close to her. She might get other-people germs, and then where would she be? She squints at her own palm, inspecting it carefully and comparing it to what the book says, taking a few notes on the matter. For all that she is hiding from the rest of the room, they are pretty accurate notes. Now, if only she could stand communicating with another human for long enough to show that she knows what she’s doing.

Claire Redding nods at the professor, then goes back to examining her hand. Her face is ever animated, frowning a bit as she examines her health line, sliding back into a smile when she slides her left index finger over her marriage lines, and for a second, becoming slightly perplexed as she peers at… “Professor? I’ve got this funny H-looking thing where part of my line of fate ought to be,” she says.

Jason Hart juts his lower jaw to one side in a pout, and Irving starts soundlessly imitating Ms Kensington’s reprimand the moment her back is turn. As Jason looks over the page to which his friend is currently flipped, however, he resigns himself to the task at hand and starts skimming through the scentences until he finds something that he finds appropriate. “Fortune…” he mumbles… “…and sudden change. Irving!” he nudges his classmate. “Does this line look broken to you?” “No.” “No, look at it properly! That little bit there, it’s not properly connected…”

“What do those little dimples mean?” is heard from across the classroom as Bonnie leans down a bit to peer at Claire’s hand. “It means your hand is fat,” is the response from another student which seems to cause a bit of an outburst, something which Bonnie chooses to ignore. “Ah, that’s in the next chapter, Claire. However, what it means, is that you’ll have a decision to make, which will alter your fate one way or another. That’s what the connective line does; it’s your choice.” Bonnie smiles down at the girl. “Excellent observation, though.” She straightens and glances around the room to see that several groups have their hands up, ready for presentation. “Sit tight, while we wait for the rest of the class to finish up,” she instructs.

Although hardly ready for presentation – is she ever? – Aileen eventually seems to realise that she should probably be doing something other than inspecting her hand and inches back closer to the desk, though still actively avoiding any contact with other humans, especially Hufflepuff ones. See, now she’s paying attention again. Maybe she can sort of make up for her point loss.

Despite disagreements about nearly every aspect of each other’s hands, Jason and Irving eventually both lift their eyes from the book and slowly raise their hands, indicating that they think they’re ready… to an extent.

“Oh,” Claire says in response to the teacher’s clarification. And after a beat, “Hey! I’ve got a dimple, too!” she calls across the room, and, looking down at her hand, “Actually… looks more like two.” Glancing around, she decides that she doesn’t want to be the last group ready, and turns to Aileen. “Ready to present?” she asks, already thrusting her hand into the air.

“Alright, we’ll see you two first,” Bonnie states, signalling to the two Ravenclaw girls who had been ready far too soon in the first place, “Then you slytherins, then Aileen and Claire, then you two, and we’ll finish with you two,” she states, taking her seat instead of at her desk, at a table near to the front. “Accio quill,” is heard as she settles into the seat, watching as the Ravenclaws take their time explaining every bit of minutia about one another’s palms, explaining what each bit does rather than providing much interpretation. As they take their seats, Bonnie looks to the slytherin crowd, waiting for the first pair of them to take their spot at the front.

After a bit of jostling between them, eventually Jason Hart stands up first and makes his way to the front, but not without sticking his tongue out at Irving first. What are they, third-years? But speaking in front of groups has never exactly been one of Jason ‘s strong points, and thus, with much scuffing of his shoe and staring at the ground, he fumbles through his explanation. “‘ve got a middle sized sort of life line, ‘n it’s -broken- in this spot here…” he holds up his right hand, but doesn’t really point out what spot he meas. “‘m gonna have a big change in my life at some point. And, um, I think that’ll be money, because… well, this other line joins up here…” this time he at least attempts to point out what he means with his other hand. “‘n it doesn’t go anywhere near my heart line. I’m not gonna have any kids!”

Jason Hart shuffles his way back down to his seat, but not without delivering a sharp kick to Irving as he gets up and passes him on his own way over to the front. The dark haired Slytherin is a little bolder, and he faces the class with a broad grin as he holds up his own hand. “I’m going to fall in love seven times,” he starts, using his left hand to point out seven spots on his hand. “And die next year,” this comment is given with a bit of a flourish. An obvious wink is delivered about the room. “So you girls better watch out!” He looks about to step down, when he pauses and throws up his hand again. “Oh, and this line means Jason is a git!”

Bonnie can be seen scribbling rather ferociously on her paper, though not a glance is gifted to the two slytherins after they have each stepped down. The parchment she is writing on, however, appears to be quite full, and knowing Bonnie , that couldn’t mean good things for the boys. She keeps her expression blank, however, as she waits for Aileen and Claire to take their turns giving presentations.

Claire Redding rolls her eyes dramatically as Irving talks, sighing. But once he’s done, she stands up immediately, walking swiftly to the front of the room. As usual, she starts off with a beaming smile before beginning to do what she loves best- talking about herself. “Alright. Well, my head line is thin but unbroken which means that I am of average intelligence but will persevere anyways. My heart line fans off in a lot of different places-” she shoots a sour look at a smirking Housemate, “which means that I will attract many lovers. I’ve got this H thing in my fate line, which Professor Kensington says means I’ll have a big decision to make, and my life line splits into two at the end, which probably has to do with that.” Actually, it’s her life line that has tendrils and her heart line that forks off. Nevertheless, she presses on. “I’ve got two marriage lines, and VERY deep intuition lines, which explains why I’m so talented in divination.” She grins, and struts back to her seat.

“W-w-well,” Aileen begins, shakily rising to her feet as Claire returns, holding up her right hand for personal inspection, not showing the rest of the class. “M-my heart line ends r-right under my middle finger, meaning I’m supposed to be d-d-dominated by a need for love. It’s also k-kind of straighter than usual, meaning I’m p-passive about romantic issues.” She pokes at her heart line as she describes this, before moving onto her next point. “M-my head line is slopey and, and, um, kind of forks off th-there, meaning I can s-see two points of view. And, uh, m-my lifelone,” here she falters, unsure of what to say next, her voice tapering off into near-silence, “is r-really short and c-curves… umm…” Unsure of what else to add, she sits down. The end.

“Very good everyone,” Bonnie says, standing, “Read the next three chapters for next class, and write an essay, two feet, about your interpretations, and further attempt to interpret your own palms. I’ll go around next class and ascertain how correct you’ve been interpreting, so make sure you’re actually paying attention to what you do,” A pointed look goes to the slytherin crowd and then Bonnie slaps her book shut, setting it on her desk. “Class dismissed,” she states, swishing her wand, then slipping it into her pocket while the chalk falls into the catch at the bottom of the board. She doesn’t spend much time in the classroom, only takes up her stack of papers — which she is never seen without — and strides into her office.