Lunch
Padma pauses at the entrance to the Great Hall. She's not at all sure that Ron had caught her point - he'd looked even more flustered than usual. Oh well, she can always have a quiet word to Harry later, he owes her from this morning after all. And it's not like she hasn't noticed the influence Harry has over Ron. She might keep to herself but she isn't blind.
And the keeping to herself part isn’t going to last much longer either, if all goes to plan.
There's a rustle of parchment from her satchel and she pulls it free, tucking the others back into the folds of her notebook. Another message from Justin: she shoves it back into her bag unanswered. He's so... zealous yet earnest; honestly, she feels tired just thinking about him. But she's agreed to meet him later, on any other day Padma wouldn't leave one of her precious books in someone else's possession, and it won't do to arouse suspicion at this point. Maybe she could drag someone else along as cannon-fodder, there's only so much heartfelt Hufflepuffery one can take. And Justin is the worst of the bunch, she doesn't know what Parvati sees in him.
The Hall is pretty empty, it's still early, but that's all to the good. She'd seen Parkinson and Malfoy out on one of the benches in the courtyard from her window, and that gave her a chance to scope the jam situation. Malfoy had managed to appropriate all the marmalade at breakfast, and even now she can see half a dozen pots of jam lined up by his normal seat. Padma wonders what kind of deal he's done with the house-elves for that kind of service - normally they're pretty impartial.
It doesn't matter anyway, he's not here yet, so she slides alongside the Slytherin table and appropriates a pot of the Frank Cooper's before the lone Slytherin first year - he reminds her vaguely of Roger Davies from a couple of years back, bloody inbreeding - can do more than yelp. And if a quick nudge to his elbow causes him to knock the nearest jug of pumpkin juice off the edge of the table, well, it isn't her fault he hasn't learned about wandless magic yet.
She shoots a guilty glance at the head table, but luckily there are no teachers in evidence, or at least only Flitwick, and the kid (a Davies cousin, perhaps?) is too busy mopping ineffectively at his stained robes to pay her any more mind.
Padma slips into one of the empty seats next to Luna (happily engrossed in buttering a slice of roast beef) and proceeds to apply her own butter and jam to one of the rolls piled in the basket in front of her.
And the keeping to herself part isn’t going to last much longer either, if all goes to plan.
There's a rustle of parchment from her satchel and she pulls it free, tucking the others back into the folds of her notebook. Another message from Justin: she shoves it back into her bag unanswered. He's so... zealous yet earnest; honestly, she feels tired just thinking about him. But she's agreed to meet him later, on any other day Padma wouldn't leave one of her precious books in someone else's possession, and it won't do to arouse suspicion at this point. Maybe she could drag someone else along as cannon-fodder, there's only so much heartfelt Hufflepuffery one can take. And Justin is the worst of the bunch, she doesn't know what Parvati sees in him.
The Hall is pretty empty, it's still early, but that's all to the good. She'd seen Parkinson and Malfoy out on one of the benches in the courtyard from her window, and that gave her a chance to scope the jam situation. Malfoy had managed to appropriate all the marmalade at breakfast, and even now she can see half a dozen pots of jam lined up by his normal seat. Padma wonders what kind of deal he's done with the house-elves for that kind of service - normally they're pretty impartial.
It doesn't matter anyway, he's not here yet, so she slides alongside the Slytherin table and appropriates a pot of the Frank Cooper's before the lone Slytherin first year - he reminds her vaguely of Roger Davies from a couple of years back, bloody inbreeding - can do more than yelp. And if a quick nudge to his elbow causes him to knock the nearest jug of pumpkin juice off the edge of the table, well, it isn't her fault he hasn't learned about wandless magic yet.
She shoots a guilty glance at the head table, but luckily there are no teachers in evidence, or at least only Flitwick, and the kid (a Davies cousin, perhaps?) is too busy mopping ineffectively at his stained robes to pay her any more mind.
Padma slips into one of the empty seats next to Luna (happily engrossed in buttering a slice of roast beef) and proceeds to apply her own butter and jam to one of the rolls piled in the basket in front of her.