Gryffindor Prefect Hours (open for Gryffindors or anyone who happens to stop by)
Oblivious to the madness that surrounded him, Oz was opening his doors for the long overdue Prefect hours he was expected to hold. If he knew, he'd be almost disappointed not to be affected by the spell. Last time he was in the body of an eight year old girl, and he got to ride on swings and the Doctor and then take a nap.
He could really only do one of those, now.
He had been too busy valiantly attempting to remain unbusy to post his third session before (he had been even quieter than usual, lately), but it was a losing battle. So the time was made to spend granting requests, helping organize events, settling in newbies, and spend istening to complaints. But the sign that was haphazardly taped to his room's door didn't list the specifics; it just stated, "Open". The werewolf wasn't one for grand gestures. Unless bongos were somehow involved.
Oz meanwhile hanged out on his bed, tuning a guitar.
He could really only do one of those, now.
He had been too busy valiantly attempting to remain unbusy to post his third session before (he had been even quieter than usual, lately), but it was a losing battle. So the time was made to spend granting requests, helping organize events, settling in newbies, and spend istening to complaints. But the sign that was haphazardly taped to his room's door didn't list the specifics; it just stated, "Open". The werewolf wasn't one for grand gestures. Unless bongos were somehow involved.
Oz meanwhile hanged out on his bed, tuning a guitar.