Experience is a dear teacher, but fools will learn at no other. ~ Benjamin Franklin Tuesday, August 29th ~ Evening
The Great Hall has once again been temporarily revamped. The long student tables have been removed and round ones accompanied by comfortable dining chairs have taken their place. They dot the floor under the enchanted ceiling, the soft ivory tone of the linen covering the table tops invite you to sit and enjoy yourself.
Beauty is all very well at first sight; but who ever looks at it when it has been in the house three days? ~ George Bernard Shaw Monday, June 26th ~ Afternoon
Unsettled and very unhappy with the visitors who had decided to camp out on Hogwarts grounds without so much as a by-your-leave, Minerva had returned to the castle after receiving Filch's owl about the 'infiltrators'. She hadn't actually met any of the Fae yet, but had received reports of what had occurred during the festival.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold. — George Gordon Byron Saturday, June 24 .::. Just before sunrise
Stealth, secrecy: these were the necessary tools for entering a new world — or one which had last been walked so long ago that nothing they had known of it could be trusted.
Vasily in his heart preferred outright conquest, the thunder of the hooves of the warband as the Slaugh descended upon their enemies. The thrill of the Great Hunt: flashing claws and blades, booming horns, streaming blood.
He was just as skilled in the other, however, and so no one in the village noticed when a shadowy form slipped from a well in a park.
Where secrets lie in the border fires, in the humming wires Hey man, you know you're never coming back Friday, May 12th/Saturday, May 13th * The Witching Hour
The corridors of Hogwarts were still, except for the occasional ghost or House Elf, and in their dormitories the students safely slumbered.
But in the staff meeting room, chaos reigned.
Professors in various states of alertness — some groggy and in nightdress, others prepared and eager to go out and face the night and whatever might be in it — had answered their Headmistress' summons.
Hermione hadn't slept well. She was a bundle of nerves, and on top of that, everytime she tried to close her eyes the previous night's events ran through her head making her ill. Those eyes-- she could maybe, someday, forget the fangs, but something about those eyes. What bothered her most, though, was the possibility. The possibility of what it could mean if it had been real and not imagined; if it was a true symbol of what was to come. She needed an expert.
With some reluctance, she knocked on Firenze's door.
To the Winner Goes the Spoils Saturday, January 21st ~ Evening
"Good evening, wonderful match wasn't it? Very close, very close." If you could call his Slytherin's losing by over 250 points close, but Horace Slughorn wasn't going to let a loss ruin his spirits. At least not where there were witnesses.
Having Izabel serve as his personal waitstaff at the staff meetings would have been the sweetest of victories. He could almost hear her distinctive voice asking if he wanted sugar with his cuppa and - A biscuit would be lovely, thank you, my dear.
Instead his own personal stock of fine liqueurs was about to be ravished by these... people.
"Izabel, my dear, when we discussed using my fine wines and spirits as after-party refreshments by way of my forfeit - surely you didn't mean all of them, did you?"