The Dressing Room

I thought that door led to Drama Club. I've gone through it so many times. Shouldn't I know?


This place better be exciting.

Heero? Trowa? Quatre? Fei?

Anybody here?

Why the hell do I look like this? And where is 'Scythe!

Bad enough my braid suicided...

Harrison didn't often stray from his room at Cheshire Crossings. He would occasionally delve into the library, searching for people to tell off or, you know, books to read. But mostly, he would sit in his room and cry out to passing interns and doctors, informing them that he was "LATE! For a VERY important date!" Harry always acted like he was busy, as if he were really late for something. No one would ever question him on the validity of it all.

Today, though, instead of sitting in his room or lurking in the library, Harry strayed all the way into the art room. The scent of clay was what lured him there, what made him extremely curious. He wanted to make something out of clay, to create something. But he didn't know how.

When I woke up this morning, I could swear I saw a dinosaur staring straight at me but it turned out to just be Morag Macdougal wearing Luna Lovegood's turnip earrings.

I think I'm going crazy lately.

Nothing happens in this castle anymore. Unless you count drunken escapades on brooms, but I've decided that's not worth counting.

I'm hungry. I'm supposed to be studying, but I'm hungry.
I have no food.
This is an epic conundrum.

It's cold down here. Colder than I thought it would be. Alyssa won't stop crying. She's freezing and hungry and why did I make him leave her with me? They'll be coming soon. The party should be starting any minute. At least it will be warmer when more of us are together. . .

There have to be more books in here somewhere.

DEDA, YOU LEFT YOUR SOCKS ON MY BED.


CAN YOU COME GET THEM?

Okay, so tell me, ladies: Why do you all expect us to pay for you dinner?

You're going down, Julia. Gryffindor's got nothing on us.






BUT YOU STILL HAVE TO HELP ME WITH TRANSFIGURATION.

Don't tell Bellatrix.

But I talk to Sirius.

And I think some Muggleborns are nice.

Daphne stood there, one hand resting on her hip as she gazed at the window across the street. She wanted to go inside. They looked absolutely ridiculous just standing there, staring at this store from across the street. Daphne didn't understand why it was such a big deal, after all.

Nudging Zacharias with her elbow, Daphne gave him a quiet look, suppressing a smile. "You ready now?"

Well, this is new. Was that door there before?

Good God. Look at this place.

I predict a riot. A riot. A riot.

Cissa, darling, don't let me catch you running around with our filth ex-cousin this year, do you understand me?

Bellatrix. Did you take my dungbombs? Seriously? That's just stupid. Give me back my dungbombs or else I'll be forced to give you a wedgie. And maybe a swirly.

I hate wearing dresses. Why is wearing a dress so necessary? And why can't I just go to these official school events with my muggle clothing? There's nothing wrong with the traditional t-shirt and jeans. Where's the freedom, people?

Prongs, Moony, we have definitely got to teach Pettigrew how to use his wand better.

Maybe he'll quit bollixing it up then.