Maeve wasn't keen on the idea of being in the Slytherin Common room the day following her encounter with Grace Eddy, sans makeup, but she had spent enough time hiding away in her dorm room where she could feel the onset of cabin fever.

Grabbing up the latest edition of Witch Weekly, she headed to the common room and made herself comfortable on one of the couches. She managed to make it through the magazine's article on the latest styles and was moving onto it's gossip section, on the look out for mentions of some of her family members, when she looked up to see some younger students enter the room. She cursed under her breath and hoped that she would be able to tune them out and continue reading

Maeve pulled her legs up close to her and drew the magazine up to hide her face, thinking that it might help in keeping her hidden. Maybe they would get the hint that she did not wish to engage any of them in conversation.

But her curiosity got the better of her and the queen bee peeked around the pages to see a few third years standing together. Most were forgettable but there was one that stood out amongst her peers. Imogen Marsh had a beautiful head of flame red hair and even Maeve had to admit that the young girl was destined to turn out to be a heartbreaker when she grew up. With the right guidance, she could certainly be the queen bee of her year.

Prior to learning of the girl's alleged betrothal to Callum, Maeve probably would have happily volunteered for the job of her mentor. But now Maeve didn't know how to regard the young girl. She thought it was best to simply ignore her.

With a disgruntled sigh, she turned the page of the magazine and returned to her reading, muttering under her breath, "Bratty youngsters...."

Imogen was still feeling giddy from the dance the night before. She'd had a simply wonderful evening! Duchess and Lord Fluffybutt had had a super romantic kitty date, she'd been able to hang out with her very best friends, and Maeve Whitman had met some horribly tragic face-melting fate at Grace Eddy's wand. Which meant that, for a large portion of the evening, Imogen had had her betrothed all to herself. Hah!

And now she was in the common room, chatting with a few of her girl friends about the evening prior, trading gossip and trying to one up each other on the amount of dances and glances and valentines they'd received. A lot of exaggeration was involved, but that was at least half of what made it fun. They were in the midst of of giggling over a particularly juicy bit of gossip about who had been caught snogging who when Imogen heard a peevish sigh from across the room.

Glancing in that direction, she spotted her new arch nemesis. It wasn't that she hated Maeve, exactly. Before this whole Callum thing, actually, she'd very much aspired to be Maeve Whitman someday. But now things had changed, and it was pretty much Imogen's duty to dislike the girl, at least a little. Excusing herself from her friends, Imogen made her way over to where Maeve was sitting and stood, hands on her hips. "Is there a problem, Whitman?" She demanded, in what she hoped was an imperious manner. It was difficult to pull off imperious when you were only fourteen, though. So, just in case, she decided to add spite for good measure. "Or were you just reliving last night's humiliation?"

To be honest, even Imogen felt a little bad about bringing that up. And she was a little bit afraid that Maeve might claw her face off for mentioning it. But a mean girl had to do what a mean girl had to do, in order to be top kitty. Right?

Oh, the droll excitement of being a simple-minded third year, Maeve thought as she watched the young redheaded Imogen. Maeve hadn't heard the full breadth of her conversation with her little friends, but it didn't sound at all important. Because what of importance could they possibly have to talk about?

When the third year finally extracted herself from the others and made her way over to where Maeve sat, the older girl pretended as if Imogen didn't exist. With a haughty air, she continued to flip the pages of her magazine and tried her best not to smirk at the girl's indignant demand to know if there was a problem.

The fact that the girl dared to be insolent with Maeve was laughable. But as soon as the fourteen year old brought up the previous night's activities, Maeve Whitman's eyes narrowed and they immediately filled with disdain. If little Imogen wanted to play with the big girls, Maeve decided it was her duty to properly educate her on how it was done.

"Ah...yes, last night," the blonde responded casually, even if she felt the urge to clench her teeth at the thought of what Grace Eddy had done. She still could not apply makeup to her porcelain skin without it sliding right off, as if it were made of oil. Maeve sat up a little straighter and coolly told the other girl, "Callum was kind enough to come and console me for the rest of the evening. He's so sweet like that, really. I know many don't get to see that side of him, but I see it all the time and I love it."