The majority of the time, Andromeda loved being a parent. Had loved the feeling of Nymphadora moving under her skin, of her daughter clutching her finger, watching this little human that she had made grow up. And she cherished the thought that she would get to do it all over again with the new baby.

And yet, she thinks, looking up from where she helps a frantic looking first-year navigate the appointment booking system, there were times like this. Watching her five-year-old shower passers-by with condoms as if they were confetti.

Clearing her throat firmly enough to grab Dora’s attention, Andi raises an eyebrow at her guilty expression and the slow movement of Dora’s hand from the bowl. The little girl slowly moves back to the picnic rug on the ground, and her collection of farm animal figurines as Andi shoots the most recent victim an apologetic smile.

“I am so sorry.” 

If there was one thing going for the Activity Fair, James thinks, it was that they remembered to put up tents this year. Sure, only select groups had managed to procure the best tables directly underneath them, but it had only taken a quick introduction as the soccer team captain, plus a tiny glimpse at Harry’s head, and James was golden. One hand spreads out the sign-up sheets and pamphlets out atop the table, along with an assortment of pens, while the other rests firmly on the outside of the baby-sling wrapped around his chest.

His thumb absentmindedly strokes against Harry’s back, and a quick glance down tells James that his son - his precious, almost a month old, brand-new son - was still fast asleep, having dropped off halfway through their walk there. All he can see is the shock of dark hair atop the baby’s head and his tiny scrunched-up nose, and he can’t help but be impressed that the little sprog had managed to stay asleep, even with the swirl of voices and thumping of music that echoed around them. So caught up in gazing down at Harry, James barely notices the sound of someone approaching.

“Wha?”

dorcas: DID YOU KNOW THAT FIREFLY IS THE OPPOSITE OF WATERFALL

dorcas: LIKE WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT

dorcas: AND ALSO BARCODES SCAN THE WHITE PART?!?! NOT THE BLACK?????

dorcas: like lol ????

dorcas: AND THEN I WAS DOING PANCAKES EARLIER AND REALISED

Caradoc wasn’t sure why he was the one to be manning the Fight Club booth at the activities fair. He was a grad student, he literally had to spend extra money to keep himself in the club (thank you, financial aid) and yet none of their undergrad students could stand at a booth for a few hours to advertise their club to the incoming freshmen. Doc sighed and leaned back his chair onto its back two legs, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He’d have to find Tilden later and bug him for more weed, but for now a cigarette would suffice. He took a long drag and tilted his head back, exhaling and watching the smoke float away into the sky. After a moment of watching the sky he heard someone clear their throat, and Doc tilted his head back down to look at them, chair still tilted back. “Wanna know about Fight Club, or nah?”

It was one day until classes began again. That meant Alice was in full on preparation mode, whilst also doing her utmost to keep her son alive and ensure her husband got out of bed in the mornings. There was a pile of paperwork on her desk already that needed desperate attention, never mind the fact she was mandated to be present in case any students wanted to meet her early. It was almost 9am and she was heading to their shared office, now overwhelmingly full of Neville’s things (as if their home wasn’t also full to bursting), as Neville toddled along behind her ever so slowly, his grubby little fingers running along the walls that had been freshly painted over summer. Oops. There was someone stood outside the door to the Longbottom office, and she glanced down at her watch - she wasn’t too late, was she? - when she realised that she had made a huge mistake. In her hurry to get here this morning after wrestling Neville into his clothes, she hadn’t even changed out of her pyjama top...meaning she also didn’t have a bra on underneath.

Shit.

Making a note to call Frank and see if he’d left home yet as soon as she dealt with the person waiting, Alice painted her best ‘everything is fine’ smile on her lips as she scooped her son up into her arms. “Hello...please ignore my appearance this morning, I haven’t had nearly enough caffeine. What can I help you with?”

Athena had settled in for the afternoon on the Animal Rights club, armed with vegetarian treats to hang out to passers by along with some flyers. Welcome week was one of her favourite weeks of the year, and if she could get a few more recruits for her society then that was all the better. The stall was adorned with photos of adorable animals including some of her own. Raven’s sweet face was staring up at her, and she was sure there was a photo of Toffee her rabbit somewhere. Munching on her falafel sandwich in the sun, her eyes darted up as someone stood before her and blocked out the sun. “Oh hey! Can I interest you in joining the Animal Rights club? Look at their sweet faces....and mine, surely you can’t say no to all of them. We have free cake if you sign up.”

Frank had always been a cheap date. 

He considered it an upside of his personality that he was only ever two beers away from being up for almost anything, and if that anything usually constituted Karaoke Frank coming out to play then at the very least he was ensuring that any given gathering was a party. The problem was that Karaoke Frank really didn’t have any concept of personal safety when it came to giving his all to the music and while he hadn’t stopped believing, and he’d definitely held onto that feeling and had even stuck the landing on that impressive swandive off the bar, the linedancing had done him in. Thankfully, the current throbbing of his ankle where he’d hooked it across the opposite thigh perched securely atop the bar to inspect the damage, seemed to indicate it was a sprain rather than a break. 

All in all, it was a more successful karaoke outing than last years end of term disaster. 

“I think,” he offered aloud upon squinting down at the joint that was just beginning to swell, “I should have some of the punch.”