Who: Gabe and Brendon When: Friday evening Where: Hufflepuff house and environs What: Little puffs, little puffs, let me in? (It's cold, and there are midget zombies after me)
When he'd turned a corner and unexpectedly run into a half-dozen knee-high threats, the Lash (well, that's what the crazy Russian who'd taught it to Gabe had called it, and it'd do) was the first thing that sprang to mind, an easy flick of his wrist and an ozone-blue spark. There were a couple of things he hadn't fully appreciated, though. One, just how much damage a house-elf could take without appearing to notice it; all of them went tumbling end over end down the corridor, thudding into the far wall at varying heights, but they all got up again. And two, just how much noice the Lash made; the crack of it seemed to ricochet off the stone walls and even set a nearby suit of armour to ringing faintly. As it faded away, something snarled down a side corridor. A few somethings.
Well. Shit. Gabe had been taking the long way about the long way 'round to Hufflepuff, but fuck that for a lark. He jumped over the lashed elf-zombies, paused to kick one off the ankle of his pants, and legged it. Took two corners at a dead sprint, jumped down the last half of the flight of stairs, and almost overshot the entrance to Hufflepuff. He snagged a hand against the frame, brought the other one back to thump on it and gasped, "Professor Saporta, let me in!" As he dragged himself back to upright and steady, he added, "Please!"