Never worry about theory as long as the machinery does what it's supposed to do. ~ Robert Heinlein Sunday, September 24th ~ Afternoon
Harry and Daphne hadn't talked about what they were going to do on this particular Sunday, but since she'd been such a good sport about the 'getting ready for winter' weekend that had sort of taken over their last Sunday, he thought dinner out and a movie or even just a spin on the bike would be nice. The day had been decent enough and there might not be that many left before the nasty bite of winter moved in.
Parking the bike outside her building, Harry moved quickly up the stairs and knocked. He had a key, but didn't feel like abusing the privilege.
Someone's Been Sneaking Into the Cookie Jar Sunday, September 24, Afternoon
It was quiet, almost too quiet, and Lucius found himself starting at shadows as he walked through the long hall toward his office. Sneering at his reaction, he shook off the lingering memories; hours, nights, of silence, the sound of his own breathing the only noise in that dismal dark cell the first years in Azkaban.
Death is way more fun with bubbles, that's what I say. Death is way more fun with bubbles, mostly every day. Death is way more fun with bubbles, Myrtle likes to play. Death is way more fun with bubbles, when they melt away. Prefects are freakin hot in any season, You know they call me Moaning Myrtle for a reason.
Who would have thought children could be so... unmanageable. Colin had been aware that certain students had been out after curfew and all that during his school years, he'd done his share of DA things, too. But he'd never stopped to consider how much of a pain in the arse that might have caused for the staff. With Vector and Davies gone, Colin had stupidly volunteered to take an extra few rounds making sure the kiddies were all tucked into bed and the halls were quiet.
The Curse of Being a Weasley (How many of us are there again?) Sunday, September 24, Afternoon
All right, so it was cliched, but women liked flowers. It was a tried and true practice, you gave a woman flowers to show you liked her, to apologize, for a gift. Charlie figured he'd go with it and made his way to Anne's house, a small bouquet of fall flowers tied with a bow in his hand.
He'd been thinking of her since that day at the market and trying not to think about the afternoon spent with her and Bill eating the melon. Bill had been subtle, for him, but still he'd told Anne enough embarrassing things about Charlie that he wondered if she would look at him again without laughing. There was one way to find out. Running a hand through his hair, he took a breath and knocked on the door.