(no subject)
Week Name/Date/Time: Meeting of the Minds / Monday September 26th, 2005 / 7 a.m. - Breakfast
Location: Great Hall, Slytherin Table
Open To: Ophelia, Slytherins
Currently Involving: Preston
Preston sat at his usual spot at the Slytherin table, looking over the food that was displayed before him. Hmm, what to eat? He did so despise the Hogwarts food; so many of the students thought it to be absolutely delicious, but they'd never had the pleasure of eating at any Pureblood gala. The House Elves at some of the more wealthy homes were taught to cook properly; apparently not here. He sighed and picked a small croissant before slicing it.
As the blade slipped through, his wandering eye caught the nearest Daily Prophet. He usually scoffed at the paper, especially since every other article these days seemed to be about Lucius Malfoy and his campaign -- Preston admired the man immensely, but he loathed this disgusting, friendly facade.
Ah -- there was something interesting.
Preston gently placed the knife and croissant onto his plate before reaching for the paper, his eyes darkly intense on the bottom portion that usually reported abductions and deaths. A name, seemingly lost among many others, caught his eye.
Cohen. Cohen, Cohen-- Ahhh. Cohen.
His gaze darted up to the Gryffindor table, gleefully looking for the dirty little brat. It was a long shot that he'd show up, much less not even know yet, but it was a hope that Preston clung so dearly to. He'd like to see the Mudblood's face when he realized Death Eaters killed his brother.
Location: Great Hall, Slytherin Table
Open To: Ophelia, Slytherins
Currently Involving: Preston
Preston sat at his usual spot at the Slytherin table, looking over the food that was displayed before him. Hmm, what to eat? He did so despise the Hogwarts food; so many of the students thought it to be absolutely delicious, but they'd never had the pleasure of eating at any Pureblood gala. The House Elves at some of the more wealthy homes were taught to cook properly; apparently not here. He sighed and picked a small croissant before slicing it.
As the blade slipped through, his wandering eye caught the nearest Daily Prophet. He usually scoffed at the paper, especially since every other article these days seemed to be about Lucius Malfoy and his campaign -- Preston admired the man immensely, but he loathed this disgusting, friendly facade.
Ah -- there was something interesting.
Preston gently placed the knife and croissant onto his plate before reaching for the paper, his eyes darkly intense on the bottom portion that usually reported abductions and deaths. A name, seemingly lost among many others, caught his eye.
Cohen. Cohen, Cohen-- Ahhh. Cohen.
His gaze darted up to the Gryffindor table, gleefully looking for the dirty little brat. It was a long shot that he'd show up, much less not even know yet, but it was a hope that Preston clung so dearly to. He'd like to see the Mudblood's face when he realized Death Eaters killed his brother.