February 3rd, 2008


Special Delivery

Who: Ernie and Open to Hufflepuffs and other interested persons
What: A dinnertime brings in some lovely packages
Where: The Great Hall
When: Sunday, 16 November - dinnertime
Status: Incomplete

Ernie had been in the middle of a delicious helping of bangers and mash when he was interrupted by the clearing of a throat behind him.

"Pardon me, Master Macmillan, but these packages were delivered for you this afternoon."

Ernie turned to see a house elf behind him carrying two boxes. He smiled at the creature and accepted them, placing them on the table beside him. "Thank you," he said, and watched as the elf scurried off.

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Tottenham v. Chelsea

Who: Nymphadora Tonks and Charlie Weasley
What: Drinks and a football match
When: 16 November, early afternoon
Where: The Dirty Glass Pub, a few blocks away from Tonks' Chelsea flat
Status: Ongoing

Tonks had always been more of a fan of Muggle pubs, especially when it came to match day. And today happened to be a pretty big match, so there was really only one place 'Dora would want to be. Well, that was a lie, she wouldn't mind being with Remus at the moment either, but he had insisted on buying propped food to stock up the cabinets in the kitchen, so that's where he was. The witch was seated at her usual table in the small pub, in the chair facing the television that was mounted above the bar. It was tuned in to what was - to Tonks, anyway - the most important match of the day, quite possibly even the week: Tottenham Hotspur versus Chelsea F.C.

The match had barely begun and Tonks was just settling in to watch. Sure, she could watch at home, but she had more fun watching it at the pub; matches were more interesting and entertaining to watch with a group. The sleeves of her Tottenham track jacket were pulled down over her hands with just her fingers sticking out. One hand was on the table, fingers tapping out a sporatic pattern on the wood. The other hand was supporting her chin, elbow resting on the table. Her hazel eyes were focused on the screen of the television, following the white and yellow-clad players. The white ones belonged to her team, of course. She noticed, for what was probably the millionth time, exactly how obnoxious Chelsea's yellow away jerseys were.

The witch's hair was it's usual bubblegum pink today, it being the easiest colour for the owner of the pub to recognize. She had left a note on the door of her flat for anyone who might come calling informing them that she was at the pub, though anyone who knew her well enough to come calling on a Sunday should know that she would be at The Dirty Glass on a Tottenham match day, so there really wasn't a point. But she did it anyway, out of habbit. The toes of her combat boots tapped rather excitedly on the floor as she waited for the first attempt at a goal. There was a small bowl of peanuts sitting on the table in front of her, but she hadn't touched any of them yet. Nor had she even bothered to order a drink. She'd wait a few more minutes...