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The Language of the Flowers was a popular method to express feelings where words might be improper, but did you know other means of doing so? Some ladies used their parasols, as well as their fans, gloves, and hankies to flirt with a gentleman (or alternatively, tell them to shove it!). — Bree ( Submit your own)
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Brigit Langley for Fletcher Langley.
The Matchmaking Menace
This boy, then. He wasn't new. Wasn't one of the worst people in the common room, those rotten rich boys - like Mr. Jailkeeper - who could not fathom a world beyond their own farts. Was a good working class lad, so he'd heard. Had a bit of a weird looking face, and a bit of a weird thing for preaching. Still.Aubrey Davis in The Under-Sofa
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Post 3+ times in three or more class threads during the course of a school year. Must all be done with the same character, be they a professor, student, or school portrait or ghost!
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14th April, 1889 — Quidditch Changing Room
@Kristoffer Lestrange
The match had been boring. Pretty-Boy Bones had excelled at his only talent in Trixie’s estimation - though he was far from the best-looking on the pitch - and she had nearly jumped out of her seat with excitement when a bludger had nearly smacked straight into the Hufflepuff seekers face, but alas he swerved. No blood had been spilled, no fights had broken out. Frankly she felt rather vindicated for not bothering with matches for the last five years.

The worst of it was that in a tussle between green and yellow it was the badgers that had triumphed and...well, it wasn’t exactly a small margin. Even Trixie knew that they had been soundly trounced and such a loss during his last match was not likely to have put the Slytherin captain in a particularly good mood. Every ounce of sense she possessed told her this was not the time to sneak into the changing rooms, having waited till his despondent teammates slumped off, but the thought of him sullen and angry stirred something inside her she couldn’t ignore.

She didn't knock. He was still wearing his uniform and Trixie wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that.

"Bad luck," she said drily, wrinkling her nose as it was assaulted by the combined scent of despair and boy.
[-] The following 1 user Likes Beatrix Borgin's post:
   Elias Grimstone


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fabulously moody set by Bee <3
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He may as well never leave these changing rooms again, and just hang himself here already.

Of course, if he did that, his teammates would walk free and he'd be damned if he didn't get to string up Abney and all three of his chasers for this disgrace. And after that he was going to have to find the Hufflepuff captain and forcibly pop his eyes out of his sockets, and say something clever and calm about it like, good luck catching the snitch next time, motherfucker. And then probably slit his throat for good measure.

All too preoccupied with visions of beating the next person he saw to death with his beater's bat (still tight in his grip, emotional crutch that it was), Kristoffer didn't notice that anyone else had come in until someone spoke.

"What do you want?" Kris snarled, starting to round on her almost before he realised who it was - because although it was not someone who was at fault for the match, it was not just anyone, either. That said, better to sound angry than taken aback: the last thing he needed was Beatrix Borgin to bear witness to yet another ritual humiliation. Losing out on Head Boy had been bad enough, and now this? If she had come to gloat and be all clever with him - well, that'd be it for her, wouldn't it? He'd have to pay her back in kind.

And he actually liked her, damn it.




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