#niopen

Fabian hadn’t eaten a single bite of his breakfast before leaving the Great Hall. Now his stomach was growling, which felt stupid given the circumstances, and he was almost as annoyed with the noise as he was with the nurse who wouldn’t let him in to see Mary. She needed to “rest,” they had said, and he got that, obviously, but she was his best friend and now she had been attacked and he hadn’t been there for her and he just wanted to make sure she was okay. 

James looked great, and he knew it. He wore his favorite jeans and a white t-shirt underneath a black dress jacket, and he felt like a million bucks. The only thing slightly off was the fluffy frog head hat on his head, keeping most of his hair hidden. He had had one shot of firewhiskey, since it was a party, but he decided he wouldn’t be getting any more tipsy; he was one of the hosts after all. He was heading towards the sweets table before he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Before you ask, no, you cannot wear my adorable hat,” he smirked, fixing it before turning around.

Sturgis was never one to miss a party, especially one that was being thrown right at the beginning of the year. It was be a good chance to catch up with everyone that he had missed over the summer holiday. The boys had certainly outdone themselves this year though. He decided that getting a drink first would probably be his best course of action. Hearing someone approach behind him as he poured the firewhiskey into a shot cup, he turned around with a smile, “Wanna do a shot with me? We can toast to the beginning of a new year!”

molly’s cookies were not the best- sometimes she’d spend hours trying to make them and they would turn out horrible; but, after a few tries that day she thought these ones were honestly the best she had done in a while- only she didn’t realise she had mixed them with a salty batch- so the bag was half good and half extra salty cookies. a tragedy, really.

        marlene huffed as words echoed in her mind. a mess. 

TIlden realized he probably looked ridiculous—arms stained with the manure he had just been potting with—but he was starving and dinner was just about to start, and he couldn’t miss it again because he knew even the House Elves had limits to the amount of times they wanted to see his face after missing a meal—which is how he found himself running too fast through the Entrance Hall and ran straight into someone, splattering them with mud. “Oh no,” he gasped, “oh fuck I’m so sorry—let me help—” 

         It was Edgars sixth year of people the Hufflepuff Keeper, his fourth of being the captain and the final of being the team at all. He was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that it was his last year at Hogwarts when so much of his very being was wrapped up in the school, and what his classmates thought of him. He didn’t know what he was outside of the hallowed walls of Hogwarts, and he wasn’t completely sure that he wanted to find out. He had been distracting himself by completely devoted all his times his classwork and extracurriculars, especially Quidditch. If this was his last year he was going to make it count. 

Typically, Anaïs’s downtime consisted of writing or painting, but today she had found herself wandering along the lake, robes billowing behind her in the breeze. The recent attack in Hogsmeade felt far too close for comfort. What was she to do, as a Muggle-born Muggle Studies professor? When Voldemort had died, she had felt safe. Now, however, she felt desperately anxious.