Baxter had spoken briefly with Professor Vaillancourt about whether or not she would have time to offer he and Percy some advice- and set up a time to meet with her. What the third year had not clued her in on, however, was the nature of the advice that they were seeking. The Ravenclaw wasn't sure what Professor Vaillancourt was going to think, and did not want to spring it on her, but really- telling her the reason for the meeting would be just as bad as sitting through it.

They were meeting in the potions dungeon after the dinner feast on May 6th. It had been a long past few days, waiting on it to be time. Baxter had even go so far as to prepare a list of questions he wanted to ask Professor Vaillancourt- just to ensure that he did not waste their time and to be positive that he did not forget anything that he thought might be important information.

He also hoped that Percy had used discretion and not told a lot of people about their plan to seek advice from the pretty teacher. Baxter didn't want people gossiping or talking about him behind his back, or picking on him for needing to ask about girls. It seemed that a lot of the guys he went to school with were just naturally skilled with the ladies- and he wondered if it meant something was wrong with him because he wasn't.

The third year cautiously poked his head into the potions dungeon. "Professor Vaillancourt? Percy?" he called out. He was a bit early- so they might not be there yet, but really- Baxter wanted to get the awkward over and done with as soon as he could.

Percy Dervish normally WOULD have already been in the potions dungeon...waiting...and waiting.  He had always been quite prompt from his youth.  That was simply the way he was raised.  But above and beyond that...it was simply the studious thing to do...showing respect for professors was essential to one who yearned to learn from their pools of knowledge.  However...the bookish Ravenclaw had to learn how to be more relaxed and that meant even being slightly less...punctual.  Percy still felt it rude not to be on time, at the very least...and so he arrived a couple of minutes early. 

Percy was dressed in a typically smart fashion, with a baby blue dress shirt underneath a Ravenclaw sweater vest.  His khaki colored trousers were pressed neatly and there was not a wrinkle to be found on his clothing.  His black dress shoes were scuff free and polished to a brilliant shine.  It was difficult to Percy not to glue his hair down with gel, but he was getting more accustomed to the relaxed, tousled look that was far more in style now.

Dervish would not dare to have breathed a word of this meeting to anyone.  His primary weakness was embarrassing enough without drawing attention to it.  Percy wound up following just behind Baxter.

"Right behind you, Baxter.  How are you?"

Percy continued forward and patted Baxter's shoulder somewhat, before peering into the potions dungeon himself. 

It was not unheard of for a student to seek counsel outside of class. That was, of course, part of Juliette’s job description. And unlike certain other matters if discipline, this fell under her jurisdiction. (Or so Juliette believed as she drifted out of the store cupboard, extinguishing the lamp as she emerged into the main room of the laboratory.)

What was strange about this meeting was the unlikely pair: a third year and a fifth year. Both of the studious brood of Ravenclaw, to be sure, and both inoffensive young men. But where one was counting down the days to his O.W.L.s, the other had yet to mark a year’s worth of extra classes. Juliette had not assigned any peer-guidance projects. Outside of Fauna Blake, whose circumstances were not traditional, she could only assume they were here about a tutoring arrangement.

But advice. They’d wanted advice. Baxter was a precocious, hyper-organized youth. Perhaps he wanted in on the career counseling the professors had been offering older students of late. Perhaps Percy was there for moral support. Percy Dervish was hardly the most confident of boys, but he was polite and responsible as far as Juliette knew. If we were dressed even more professionally than usual, she paid no mind. Juliette had an appreciation for neatness in male dress, teenage pupil, adult colleague, or otherwise.

“Boys,” she greeted. “How can I help you?” She leaned into the top of a desk, staring at each in turn. Eye contact was easy, second nature for Juliette, who highly valued basic human intuition when it came to reading people. It was remarkable how many people raged against their own innate senses.