( She put off this visit for as long as her conscience would allow her... )

~Gil resists the urge to admire his reflection in the armor again - what if Glenda should walk out right when he was bent over?  He feels awkward enough, a golden Hufflepuff in the dank and damp dungeons.  Whistling a familiar Muggle tune, he leans against the cool wall and waits for her.~

[ooc: Tag Glenda!]

*Sam knows that she should be studying for her classes. She also knows that she shouldn't miss one of her classes later that afternoon. However, she continues past some of first years, dressed in muggle clothing ( Read more... )

~It is a fine day for a Quidditch match - bright but just a bit overcast, and unseasonably warm.  Spectators walk about with their cloaks over their arms while the teams huddle together in their locker rooms, preparing for the match.  Whoever wins goes on to compete with Hufflepuff for the House Cup!~

[ooc: Tag Davy, Dirk, Sam, Glenda, Regulus, and ( Read more... )

~Putting Dora to bed has never been a problem ( Read more... )

~Today is a marvelously humid day. As such, Gil's hair is at its prime, smooth and clean and yet ever-so-roguishly curly - he has already strategically positioned himself near the girls' loo several times today, basking in the glow of his female schoolmates' sudden blushes and batting eyelashes ( Read more... )

~Rita sits at her desk and writes an owl to a Mr. Barty Crouch, Sr. She isn't terribly excited about interviewing him, but she does need it for a piece. Her handwriting curls across the parchment as Rita admires her own perfect grammar...~

Dear Sir,

My name is RIta Skeeter; I am a junior reporter for the Daily Prophet. I am doing a piece that would ( Read more... )

Dora.

Dora, there you are, my lovely girl.

You're all packed, then?

~ The lift descends through the Ministry with the subtle creaks of metal creating more of a conversation than either of it's occupants. Two Crouches watch the doors as the numbers blink lower and lower. As they pass the floors bustling with life the sounds of so many witches and wizards working make their way tinnily into the lift, but the longer ( Read more... )

( ~ Regulus was not raised to speak ill of adults, but the intensity of Barty's father and the lengths he has gone to in the past fan the flames of worry. The letter arrives at Barty's bedroom window in Brighton just before ten that night, written in the small cramped script of a particularly flustered Regulus. The poor owl presses itself against the glass to cling to the ledge, staring into the room with large yellow eyes waiting for someone to come in and relieve it's burden.~ )