Lunchtime, continued
The crackle in the air wasn't just end-of-year nerves, and it had to happen.
"Declinatio." The spell deflects general attention away from the two Slytherin witches. As he strides the bench length to where Misses Bulstrode and Parkinson are, not to put to fine a point on it, behaving like six-year-olds, the atmosphere of the Hall changes from excited shock to puzzlement, as the students try to figure out what they were so enthused about.
"Up. Now." Albus thumps a palm on the table by the girls' heads, and they startle apart, one red with frustration, the other pale with anger.
"Miss Bulstrode, you are to be at my office in thirty minutes time, without gravy covering your person." There's a small, satisfied noise from his other side. "Quiet. You, Miss Parkinson, are to come with me immediately."
This sort of thing would be terribly disappointing if it weren't so predictable. Albus leaves for his office, expecting Miss Parkinson to follow.
"Declinatio." The spell deflects general attention away from the two Slytherin witches. As he strides the bench length to where Misses Bulstrode and Parkinson are, not to put to fine a point on it, behaving like six-year-olds, the atmosphere of the Hall changes from excited shock to puzzlement, as the students try to figure out what they were so enthused about.
"Up. Now." Albus thumps a palm on the table by the girls' heads, and they startle apart, one red with frustration, the other pale with anger.
"Miss Bulstrode, you are to be at my office in thirty minutes time, without gravy covering your person." There's a small, satisfied noise from his other side. "Quiet. You, Miss Parkinson, are to come with me immediately."
This sort of thing would be terribly disappointing if it weren't so predictable. Albus leaves for his office, expecting Miss Parkinson to follow.