Gerard looked up from grumpily examining his coffee for traces of potato and boggled at the familiar face in front of him.
"Nate?" he said disbelivingly. "Nate Novarro! Holy fuck, dude, I thought you were still in the field!"
Then he had to block an incoming pitcher of pumpkin juice with a quick Protego and thought better of having this conversation within striking range. Plus, he was about out of coffee and the Ravenclaw table always had the best blend brewing, even during lunch -- apparently the other houses considered coffee a 'breakfast beverage.' Fucking bizarre.
"I propose we retreat towards the Ravenclaw table," Gerard said to Nate out of the corner of his mouth, keeping a wary eye on the bickering couple. "You down?"