"I'm keeping an eye on you!" Professor McGonagall shouted at a group of mischievious looking Gryffindors. Always her Gryffindors. What the woman would do for one group of well-behaved young men. Was that so hard to ask for?

Minerva really hated Hogsmeade weekend. Instead of being excited for their studies, getting an education and becoming proper young wizards and witches, all these students wanted to do was snog at Madam Puddifoot's or buy some tricks at Zonko's. And she, just like every year, had to play chaperon. With a great big sigh, Minerva dropped down into a sit beside Filius, and across from Pomona. Those two always managed to have a splendid time on the weekends, and eying the poorly conceived bottle of firewhisky under Filius' cloak, Minerva now understood why.

"I do hope you intend on sharing some of that with your Gryffindor counterpart, Filius," she said snootily, waving her glass toward the Charms professor.


OOC: OKAY, this is meant to just be a general post---any time/year could take place in the comments, the common theme is just HOGSMEADE WEEKEND. So...the person who starts the thread would put MONTH, YEAR. Weekends are like...third weekend of each month? So have fun :)

Entertaining came naturally to Rachel Englewood. If you knew her, in fact, she'd sultrily tell you that many things came naturally to Rachel Englewood, including being the center of attention, being able to produce a good time for anyone out of any circumstances, and throwing the best, most elegant parties. Perhaps it was the French flair inherited from her mother, or her simple determination to be the best, brightest, and most affluent, but parties were her forte, and that needed no explanation. The seventeen-year-old balked at the prospect of her last year in school passing by without so much as hosting a lavish high tea! Successful events were not borne out of nothing, however, and the sly brunette mulled over the various occasions which might warrant celebrating. Debutante balls had come and gone early in the summer, and regardless of how successful hers was, it was a new season, and therefore a blank slate. Winter proper was fast approaching and with it, the perfect holiday; after all, what better occasion to go all out for, than Christmas? Thus, their graduating year was, fortunately, not void of any contributions to the social calendar by Miss Englewood, who was fully confident that the Christmas of 1976 would be remembered by all.

Having gone through great lengths to ensure her parents would be unreachable for the duration of the party, such as packing them off to Canada in the form of an early Christmas present they had to take advantage of before her father's work detained him (naturally, she had taken special care to double-check dates with his secretary, to avoid potential conflict), the lack of supervision allowed the girl to plan what she wanted in peace. She need only have contended with the House-Elf, whom she had sworn to secrecy, and the other help, which had been given paid leave for the duration.

By five-thirty in the evening, everything had been set. Food aplenty was scattered amongst elegantly draped tables, and though the girl looked down on alcohol as a harbinger of bad attitude, it was found amongst the drinks. The drawing room was dimly lit by the roaring fire, which cast its orange glow against all the walls. A large, decorated tree towered near to the high ceiling in one corner, the fire glinting off the glass trinkets hanging from the limbs. Classic Christmas cheer was rampant in every corner, and there was little Rachel found disagreeable as the soft strains of the WWN's holiday program lilted across the expansive room. The hostess herself was decked in elegant black dress robes, the short length of which was a pervasive style that she could not come to an opinion on, but tried, nevertheless. As was written clearly on the invitations, formal dress was the only acceptable attire and it was for the benefit of everyone that they heed the warning. By six-thirty, guests began arriving, and the soirée crept towards its crescendo.

Wrapping a curl around her finger, the one physical vice her mother had never quite beaten out of her, she took a moment to stand back and survey the goings-on of the class of 1977, goblet of pumpkin juice in her unoccupied hand. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

( OOC )

Who: John Mulciber and Matilda Rowle
What: Mental breakdowns and first kisses!
Where: Aland Avery's Halloween party

( It's a fucking mental breakdown, it's it is NOT a FUCKING TANTRUM! )

Who: Matilda Rowle and John Mulciber
What: Fighting. What's new?
Where: Mulciber mansion thing XD

( Don't make apologies for what you could never change )