(Untitled)

[gil_weston]

Week Name/Date/Time: 'Familiar Faces'; Friday, 16th September 2005 / After Dinner
Location: Corridors
Open To: Anyone!
Currently Involving: Gil

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[opheliaballard]

Ophelia was practically floating on air as she flounced along the corridors. She held a scruffy looking parcel in her hands, which she took far too much delight in waving about. Peeerrfect really, she'd been waiting for it for days. And now it was here, and all was lovely, no one in the halls, she had new shoes, there'd been sherry trifle for dinner, she'd get back at-

Oh, a professor, Ophelia deigned to think, right before sliding past him. She quickly stuffed the dirty parcel into her robes and grinned cheekily. Looking at a letter too, how droll. Might as well make conversation...

"Lovely night for a spot of reading!"

[gil_weston]

Gil had contented himself with ignoring the flouncing figure of a girl, taking his time in reading the letter and praying she would simply keep going and leave him the bloody well hell alone.

Ah, to be so fortunate.

He dropped the parchment and folded it sharply, his glare firm on the Slytherin. "Spot of reading, yes I believe it is, Miss Ballard. And just what is it a lovely night for in your case, hm?"

She looked sneaky, that much was sure.

[prof_dalina]

Once again, Larae was alone on a Friday night. Joy. After leaving the great hall, she decided that she would just walk around, and think about things. She wondered why no man, besides the occiasional scum bag, took an interest in her. She was pretty, kind, intellegent, and caring. What more could they want? Her mind often slipped and she would ask herself if she was normal. Of course, immediantly afterwards she would laugh. Of course she was normal....but still.

She turned the corner just in time to hear Ophelia's comment about reading.

"It tis, isn't it?" She smiled at the girl, glad to have the distraction.

"My, my, my, Gil Weston, how are you?"

[opheliaballard]

Oh my. Two professors.

"Why wouldn't it be lovely?" Ophelia asked, eyes growing wide in mock disbelief. "What with the whole largly open weekend with which to... read." She grinned at Prof. Dalina and turned back to Prof. Weston. Wrinkling her nose, she peered at his folded letter.

"Why! Who's been writing you professor? Your dear old mother, I am sure." Ophelia clasped her hands together and straightened her back, the very image of a pureblood elite.