7pm
Weds, April 30
Outdoor courtyard terrace at Hogwarts

"Where is Voldemort?"  Knox shouted over the rabble.  "Someone find her and get her on stage.  We need to run the Avada Kedavra scene again.   In the meantime, I need Death Eaters and anyone else with a duel to check in with Professor Mainwaring - we will do running through all combat tonight!"

"Finite Incantatum." Knox ended the spell that had amplified his voice over the 50 or so students and staff who were gathered in the large courtyard, making ready for their last rehearsal before the performance on Friday.  There simply wouldn't be time or space to do so again before then.  The Hogwarts lawns were already filling with campers, and the attention of all the denizens of Hogwarts had turned away from classes and decorum long before this evening.  Knox's included!  There were so many other things to see to.

That said, he was taking great respite in his own role as Antonin Dolohov.  He thought himself a decent actor.  He'd spent a good deal of time with a portrait of Ivan the Inflammable on the sixth floor working on a good accent for the murderous Death Eater.  He had a brief dueling scene with Kyle Gibson who'd been cast as Remus Lupin - it was more than ironic. It was positively symbolic of their relationship over the past seven years.  It would be a suitable end to a dismal relationship.  But strangely enough, their rehearsals had almost endeared one to the other, for once working together.  Kyle could do a mean action roll.   Knox was less agile, but his voice could boom in an incredibily intimidating manner.

Which he found use again almost immediately:

"Devlin! Leave her be! Fenrir Greyback was not that sort of wizard!

When Neely had discovered that the lovely aristocrat Narcissa Malfoy, whom she would be embodying in the school play, had actually been quite a useless thing who had more or less sold out her sister to help Scar Head, she had decided her role was in need of a personality makeover. Not that Neely regretted Potter's victory, or anything, because, you know, she didn't fancy being stuck in a drawn-out war during the 'best years of her life'... but if one of her besties was playing Bellatrix Lestrange, and the other a devoted Death Eater, Neely was inclined to side with Voldemort, his racist followers, and (most importantly) her own friends-- not those lamewads who had signed up to play heroes because they would never be them in real life.

Heroes were always so boring in plays. Unless they were really, really good-looking Quidditch players, but even then, the villains were usually more attractive. It was just a fact of theatre, thank you very much. Neely wasn't going to yawn through someone's pansy-ish victory dance when she could be cackling with the baddies. (And at home, in the privacy of her own bedroom, Neely could recite all the words to the antagonists' roles in the showtunes that played on the Wireless, although she would never share this eternally dorky fact.)

Practically tripping over the as-of-yet-not-hemmed and completely unnecessary emerald silk robes she'd chosen for her artistic debut, the Slytherin managed to straighten up with a jolt of practiced grace at the last minute. It had probably not been the wisest idea to pair her costume with huge reflective aviators and a sunhat, but the heat was a real killer this time of year, and neither Cornelia Heloise Woolfolk nor Narcissa Malfoy née Black were splotchy commoners! And what sort of proper actress didn't come prepared, and looking utterly pampered?

Speaking of pampered... "Sir!" Neely waved her arms over head, attempting to capture the attention of the Headmaster. Grabbing the shoulder of the nearest student (someone dressed in a tea towel with plastic elf ears), Neely pushed herself up onto a wooden crate seemingly filled with props. "Sir, where are the chairs? You know, the sort with the stars and names sewn into them? I think we need chairs when we're not on stage. For organization. I get heat stroke if I overexert myself. I've brought a letter from my family healer." Merlin, it was so hard being an actress. She patted her sides, and then gasped, well aware she hadn't brought a letter. Her robes didn't even have pockets. "Or I can have one owled to you."

Rehearsing for this role was fairly exciting for Kyle, which was a big thing as not many activities he did excited him. Of course it was destiny that set him across a duel with the Headmaster himself -- only the two were portraying Antonin Dolohov and Remus Lupin.

Kyle wasn't really sure why he volunteered to act in the reenactment. He wasn't much into school activities, but this seemed important. The Battle of Hogwarts was always an interesting subject in his history classes, one he paid extra attention too. In addition to doing some extra reading, Kyle had found a respect for Remus Lupin even if he had never met him, what he had done and overcome in his life was extraordinary.

Kyle rolled his eyes, brushing the bit of hair that just reached his eyes away as Knox shouted orders. It was a weird feeling having transfigured his hair length and color to better fit the part of Remus Lupin. A small mustache had been added too. Kyle found it amusing that so many Slytherin had taken up the roles of death eaters, and Voldemort himself. Maybe some of the more dark, and sadistic  ones were proud? Kyle hoped not.

Approaching Knox, as he had been doing much more often than usual trying to perfect their duel, Kyle inquired about the the reenactment once again. He did this ignoring the obnoxious fourth year rambling about some sort of chairs. A fourteen year old shouldn't have that sort of ego. The reenactment was to respect the fallen, not to flaunt one's superiority over others in acting, dueling, or any other form to compete in. "Headmaster, uh," He started, pushing the hair out of his eyes again. "What're the exact specifics on how you kill me again?" He asked, a little embarrassed. They had gone over it several times, Kyle was just a little nervous about everything. He wasn't an overly charismatic person, but he wanted to do the role right. It also wasn't very easy for him to lose a duel, even if he was just pretending.

If Brodie was going to be forced to play Rodolfus LeStrange, she was going to be the most fabulous Rodolfus there ever was. For rehearsal tonight, she had decked herself out in boots with spiked heels and a long, flowing cloak with silk lining. It was one of her more expensive cloaks – all of her cloaks had cost top dollar, of course, but this one was meant for special occasions. If anybody challenged her wardrobe choice, she would throw a very diva-like fit and demand that she wore it, for if she were forbidden to do so, she would quit her role as Rodolfus and they would simply have to find a replacement. An impossible task with such a short time before the performance.

Of course, Brodie hadn't ever taken acting lessons but knew that she would make a superb actress. She had tried out hoping to get a lead role, or a female role at least – but was stuck with the male role of Rodolfus. A supporting role, a small part. The expression “there are no small parts, only small actors” had been expressed to her upon her complaints about the casting, but Brodie refuted that statement, choosing to believe that the casting director picked favorites and that she had been dealt a bad hand.

Brodie had spent an extra amount of time on her hair this evening, making it as curly and voluptuous as she could and still look stunning. There wasn't a flaw in her makeup, not a lipstick smear and no smudged eyeliner. While Headmaster Greyfriar spoke, Brodie buffed her nails on her cloak, then examined them for any scratches or blemishes. Not an imperfection, as was expected. Whoever dared say Brodie wasn't a well-groomed individual was sadly mistaken.

She couldn't find Jordyn yet, but Brodie did spot a flash of dark blonde hair in the distance. The redhead immediately recognized that whisp of hair as one of her best friends, Neely Woolfolk. In stepping closer, just a few feet behind Neely, Brodie realized what her bestie was asking for – and she had to laugh. This was so expected of Neely. A chair embroidered with her name? Concerns about overexerting herself during a play? A note from the family healer? Why, that was so logical. Why Brodie hadn't thought of such a thing was incomprehensible to her. Now Brodie wanted a chair and to be excused due to the possibility of passing out due to too much “strenuous” activity.

“Hey Neels,” Brodie greeted. She flicked some red hair out of her eyes. She looked around at the other frantic players, laughing at them inwardly. According to Greyfriar's announcement, she was supposed to check in with Professor Mainwaring, but Brodie decided that she'd wait for more of her friends to do that so that they could go up together – which would probably overwhelm the professor, but it would be more socially acceptable than awkwardly waddling up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and grumbling her name and role.

The single syllable Neels had a nifty ring to it, and Neely knew before she whipped around (causing the poor elf-impersonating soul beside her to be  lashed with hair and excess cloth) that it was her Ravenclaw Sister-From-Another-Mister, Miss Brodie Skeffington, who had so lovingly addressed her. Brodie was one of only two people who could call her anything she pleased. The Slytherin threw up her arms dramatically at Rodolphus In Curls-- new, improved, and expensively shampooed. "Oh my golly Godric, Brodie, you're the definition of lush. No wonder Jordy-Trix is married to you!"

Lifting the brim of her hat and lowering her sunglasses so that they sat dangerously close to where her nose ended, Neely examined her friend's efforts more carefully. She couldn't remember whether she'd seen a proper photo of the real Rodolphus Lestrange, but she was sure that Brodie's femme fatale version was like twelve times cooler. At least.

"I swear on Salazar, some of these people know nothing about theatre." She gestured to the elf twerp who was now shuffling his feet beside them, looking less than pleased to have been used first as a handrail, and then as an example. Grabbing hold of one of the flimsy, fake ears, Neely stretched it backward, revealing its elastic hold, and then let it pop against the boy's head. "String? Really?" How muggle. Devastating. Neely sighed huffily and didn't look twice as the student weaseled away.

"This no-chairs thing bites," she groaned. "I should have paid a tailor to fix this before rehearsals." Because clearly the costume department was a big fat joke. She looked down at her own draped robe, lifting it a little above its sash so that it mightn't hang quite as long. Although it was kind of chic in a messy starlet paparazzi'd in Diagon Alley sort of way. "Like you. That cloak fits like a glove." Neely wiggled her fingers to indicate such handwear. "Er... are we supposed to be doing something?" Her eyes darted from her friend, to the Headmaster, and finally to Mainwaring-- whom Neely had been artfully dodging since the last Defense lesson. She could really use an iced cocoa right about now, and she was sure Brodie wouldn't say no to lemonade. But it seemed even a catering service was out of the question.

Another fourth year showed up, who was apparently friends with the first whiny fourth year. They didn't seem to understand the entire situation that this reenactment was. It was bordering insulting how they were taking it. It wasn't a damned theatrical performance in the way they saw it, it was an honorable re-telling of possibly the most important battle in wizarding history!

"Infinitesimally brained fourth year teenage brats..." Kyle muttered, now having been put in a bad mood. But that's wasn't the issue here. "Stop bickering about chairs and costumes and such." He said sternly, "You need to understand what this is about. It's bigger than you." He added, looking down at the girls. Having heard a little about them, he'd expect the popular prats to lash back out at him, perhaps call some of their cohorts and insult his outfit. It didn't matter that his "character" didn't dress as lavishly as the two in front of him, because he knew that Lupin was an honest, good man who died for what he believed in. LeStrange and Malfoy were laughable cowards.

"But you wouldn't understand that, would you?" He said, his anger subsiding as he realized that the two were clearly too immature to understand what he meant. He began twirling his wand in his hand. "But if it helps, you two look fabulously like the monstrous killers, and scum you're aiming to be."

It was a mad house there, Arielle looked at the sea of faces and grinned ear to ear with all the actors sporting bits and pieces of their character. Her research on the legendary Ginny Weasley had lead her to grab one of her shabbier robes and she had magicked her hair into a fierce red for the practice. That had taken several practice runs before it looked like the pictures from her Quidditch magazines.

Partly she had picked Ginny due to her involvement with reorganizing Dumbledore's Army but also because Ginny was a famous Quidditch player. Well she was until she retired and now she writes about Quidditch for the paper. It was like looking at her future when she was reading the paper, though she knew her Aunt would rather her have a more secure position in the ministry or something less sport related. That however didn't matter to her since she was the daughter of her famous Quidditch playing father, a big influence on who she was becoming as a young lady on the verge.

When Professor Knox called for them to sign in if they had a duel she looked a little perplexed. Ginny had been in the battle, in fact she had snuck out against all reason and was attacked by Bellatrix Lestrange in the process. Her 'Mother' was supposed to swoop in and kill off Bellatrix so she wondered over to Professor Mainwaring just for good measure. All she knew was that Ginny was thrown into the fray and was fighting in much of the end.

With the talk of the one girl wanting a chair with her name on it, the fourth year rolled her eyes, "Oh for the love of Merlin's tie-dyed socks you must be joking," she muttered under her breath. Some folks always seemed to think they deserved to be pampered and primped. Chuckling she looked all about for her friends, where the heck were George, Gabby, and Josh. She knew George was Hagrid of all people that was going to be the most outlandish. Josh was chosen to be her brother, which would be funny to see the two with flaming red hair and tattered clothing. Humming to herself she pushed back through some of the crowd still keen to make her way towards the other professor.

Jordyn had not intended to run late, but her alarm had not gone off at the proper time and she had been so tired from staying up so late the previous evening doing one of her parchments, she had to scramble out of her bed at 6:15 to try and get ready in twenty minutes to make it to the rehearsal in time.  Jordyn had a little trouble with this, considering she didn’t even know where to begin, but thankfully, the pictures of Bellatrix Lestrange that she had found were certainly within her means to replicate. 

For some reason, she found more joy in trying to look a little crazy than spending five hours trying to get ready to perfection in the morning (though she would never say so), and throwing her hair up, she teased the ends a little bit – just for the effect – as it would be MUCH better on the day of the performance.  After putting her snake hair band on (just in case someone didn’t understand she was a death eater), she started on her rudimentary makeup – just a black eyeliner, some dark red lipstick and a little bit of super white powder to make her look like she had spent some time going crazy.  Lastly, she needed to throw on her black, ruffle tier skirt – as it was the closest to looking tattered that she had and her black corset – she thought someone like Bellatrix would definitely have a wicked corset. 

Thinking she was almost ready, Jordyn looked down in horror to realize she had forgotten her tights and long black gloves – and shoes!  Cursing to herself, she glanced at the clock and cursed again, grabbing the tights off her trunk and tried to pull them on as quickly as possible.  Unfortunately, she tore them a little – but Bellatrix would have that, and she resigned herself to it since she really had to be going.  She could throw on her gloves as she walked, her wand would have to be tucked somewhere, she thought, and slipped on the black shoes she had found that matched the whole ensemble.  She felt rather silly in all black, but it was a Death Eater thing, so she had to deal with it.  If she had more time she would have accessorized better, but she had to run.

Throwing open the dormitory door, she ran out and upward, trying to make it to the practice within the next few minutes.  In a very anti-Jordyn fashion, she showed up a few minutes late to hear grumblings of what was going on and she looked for her two friends who seemed to be together already.  Adjusting her shirt, the brunette smiled as she walked up.  “Fabulous, ladies,” she announced with a feral smile, enveloping each in a small hug with the appropriate cheek kiss. “My, I have a sexy husband and a drop dead gorgeous sister,” She laughed, appreciating both of their takes on the roles. 

It appeared that things were already going a little haywire and she chuckled to herself, looking at the other people to see what was going on.  It appeared that other Death Eaters were headed toward Professor Mainwaring.   She would prefer to be around him, she thought, than Kyle Gibson who appeared to be harping about something or other.  She didn’t know why he was lecturing or what he thought he was accomplishing, but Jordyn didn’t care much about him or what he was preaching, it was probably some sort of melodramatic rant on something that was quite obvious to everyone else, but felt the need to spew it so he looked like a regular genius.  Whatever, she thought and without even knowing if it was the right direction, she did a little whistle, “Come on,” she insisted, “We have work to do.” 

She glanced around to see who else was here, not that she cared that much, but it was appropriate that she just cared about herself - she always thought Bellatrix was probably quite selfish.  “And we’re not going to learn this by just standing around spouting off,” her eyes flashed to Kyle with a sort of apparent challenge inherent in the gaze before taking the lead in front of her friends and striding toward the other ‘death eaters.’

"Oh my golly Godric, Brodie, you're the definition of lush. No wonder Jordy-Trix is married to you!"

Brodie spun with a flourish so that Neely could experience the full effect of her costume. The bottom whooshed out, showing off the silky and lacy fabrics. “And I expect that my dahling wife will be wearing something just as exquisite,” Brodie predicted. She gave Neely the once-over. “I don't know if Narcissa wore sunglasses during the Battle of Whatever, but if she wasn't, she certainly should have been. Though... the dress is a bit long. Kind of shabby chic though.” She winked at her blue-eyed companion, then flipped her hair over her shoulder dramatically, playing with her curls a bit before leaving it alone.

It was easy to see that Brodie and Neely were the best-dressed so far. Neely had just grabbed at a kid who had stuck plastic ears on himself with string, of all things. He couldn't have used magic to stick his ears on? Or at least something significantly less cheap? Honestly, these people. How Brodie had gotten herself involved with this was beyond her. She had a feeling that this show was just going to be a complete mess.

"This no-chairs thing bites," she groaned.

“I know – it's like slave labor. I'm going to report them to the authorities. Do they expect us to sit on the ground if we get tired?” Brodie asked, her face twisting into something that clearly resembled disgust. “How simply dreadful.” Brodie glanced around for a table that would supply her with drinks, preferably something of the citrus persuasion, but nothing showed. She was going to lose her voice before the performance, and she just knew it. If they just had a few drinks available, they could avoid that disaster.

"I should have paid a tailor to fix this before rehearsals."

The redhead looked down at her friend's costume. Neely was right – it could use quite a lot of catering, and possibly a bit more cleavage, but there was no use in thinking about it now. What was done was done. “Like I said – shabby chic, dahling. Though, the costumes department should have known that Narcissa was a bit more of a classy woman,” Brodie said, lowering her voice so the second bit wouldn't be overheard by those dumpy costumes girls. Brodie had asked to be on Costumes, believing that she had fashion wisdom beyond her years for the other girls – but as soon as she had suggested a bit more pizazz for Voldemort (in the form of a slightly more sequined cloak than they had originally had in his non-sequined cloak), she had gotten the boot.

Brodie was just about to bring up the fact that old Jordy-trix was running late when Neely and herself were suddenly accosted by an older student, calling them brats and raving on about this being 'bigger than them.' Brodie raised an eyebrow, staring him down and wondering what in the name of Merlin had possessed him to annoy her and Neely about something so insignificant. “Well, if you're quite finished-”

"But you wouldn't understand that, would you?" He said, his anger subsiding as he realized that the two were clearly too immature to understand what he meant. He began twirling his wand in his hand. "But if it helps, you two look fabulously like the monstrous killers, and scum you're aiming to be."

Was he threatening them, twirling that wand about? The nerve of some people. “Well thanks, we do try,” Brodie said sarcastically, smiling at him in a very demeaning way. She could feel her blood beginning to boil, but she wasn't about to prove that she was immature by starting a fight. She'd be the bigger person. “You're really doing an excellent job in embodying your character, by the way – really, you're just so heroic, standing up to us mean bullies whose conversation you were so clearly involved in.” Brodie rolled her eyes. “Come on, Neels. I think I see Jordy.”

Jordyn was heading off to where the other Death Eaters were gathering, so Brodie gave Neely's arm a little pull and followed her there. “Hey, dahling. You look just smashing this evening,” Brodie commented, blowing her faux-wife a kiss.

“And I expect that my dahling wife will be wearing something just as exquisite.”

Eyes still devouring Brodie's costume with admirable jealousy, Neely knew it was decided: she would have to ship her own costume out for ultra-quick tailoring. How else was she to show off the shoes? "Of course she will! You know, it's a shame those Lestranges had to go out when they did. I bet their closets were to die for." Realizing that she had just addressed death twice in the same point, she giggled and touched the frame of her sunglasses. "You like them? I think I might trade the hat for a headband during the real thing. And I'm not sure if I'll keep the sunglasses, but... ugh this heat." Neely flapped a hand at her own face. It was evening, and the sun was well on its way to setting. By the time she actually got to her part (checking to see whether Potter had kicked the bucket), there would probably be no need for shades.

“I know – it's like slave labor. I'm going to report them to the authorities. Do they expect us to sit on the ground if we get tired?”

Neely nodded in agreement, knitting her brows and puffing her cheeks up a bit while her lips pursed like a fussy child's. "I'm all for method acting, but since we're not getting paid--" Not that either girl needed the cash-- "An embroidered chair to remember this... fond occasion by would be like the least they could do."

Shabby chic. Neely repeated it over and over in her head. Brodie was right, and one day everyone would be stampeding through the streets of London to get a look at her shabby chic robes, not to mention her friends' own fabulous wardrobes, when they were good and famous. Not that people didn't already attempt to rip them off on a daily basis for being so exemplary. Plagiary was more common than procrastination in the halls of Hogwarts.

"Though, the costumes department should have known that Narcissa was a bit more of a classy woman."

"Right?! Next year things will be different." Neely was certain. People didn't play around with fifth years. Brodie would probably end up in charge of the costumes, which is how it should have been, and their budget would be nothing to frown at. Whose father didn't love forking over a generous tax-exempt donation to help needy Neely children further their artistic causes?

Finally tearing off her sunglasses, Neely placed her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes to the heavens. That Gryffindor really needed to get over himself. She mentally applauded Brodie's classy remark before giving her own two sickles' worth. "Hello there. Death Eaters were rich." And rich people were stylish. The end. Of course, money didn't always by class. Neely had had many a conversation with her girlfriends about the dirty, tacky Quidditch WAG and their fake-and-bake tans, penciled eyebrows, and ugly bags. She could spot a fake breed of aristocrat a million kilometers away.

Following Brodie a few steps away from the Gryffindors, not unlike a lavishly dressed puppy, Neely quickly traded her huffy expression for another beaming smile. Their social circle was complete. The blonde Slytherin let out an excited squeal at the sight of a crazied-up Jordyn, and returned the kiss. It was only a moment later when they managed escaped Gibson entirely (at last), and with an insult to boot, that Neely realized they were queuing up with the other the Death Eaters. Narcissa Malfoy had possibly not been a Death Eater herself, but everyone she knew had been one, including her husband, son, sister, and in-laws. And Voldemort had certainly required a lot of her. This made Neely invisibly swell with pride that neither she nor the real Narcissa deserved. Adding it to her already massive ego, it was bound to be a dangerous thing somewhere down the line.

"This is too amazing. You know, I think we have the best roles. Potter, who? The only spell he knows is Expelliarmus." She rolled her eyes, despite the fact that it was one of Neey's own favorite spells. "And I am totally not making Narcissa some lame zombie. Harry is going to get it." She scrunched her nose, smiling wickedly. "I wonder who's playing Draco..." She looked around for signs of white-blonde hair.

It fit perfectly. That was, on his new female frame. Brennan had been studying the magical pictures of Hermione Granger from all the books on the Second War. She was beautiful, at least he thought so. Long, curly brown hair and hazel eyes. Her teeth, he'd heard, used to be beaver-ish, but she had since had them fixed.

He'd borrowed clothes from one of the females in his house who was similar to Hermione in build. As he'd metamorphed his body to match Ms. Granger's, he slipped the clothes on his new body. He'd grown his hair out to about halfway down his back and curled it with his wand. Looking in the mirror, he smiled, recognizing a new set of teeth. "Wow."

Slowly, he made his way from the Gryffindor commons to the courtyard. Spotting Kyle, he walked over to him, giving him a slap on the behind. "Oy! Lupin, I never knew you to look so young!"

If one would pause just then and put a hand to their ear, they would hear a sound rising over the show.  It started out low.  Then it started to grow.  Unlike the others, this sound wasn’t sad.  Why, this sounded quite merry!  It couldn’t be so, but it was merry!  Very!

Well… if you called the high-pitched squealing of a full-grown man merry.  Goodness knows a few students would.

And in came Professor Gunnar, screaming to the high heavens, dressed in all black with a horrendous straight-haired black wig that smelt of bacon grease and pomade.  One small corn snake was curled up sedately on top of his head, nearly sleeping actually.  Another garter snake with a paper mache dragon’s head formed around its own small noggin had his small skinny belly wrapped around Nicodemus’ eyes, his tiny tail slightly flicking.

“OMIGAWDITSGONNAEATMEITSGONNAEATMEITSGONNAEATMEITSGONNAEATMEEEEAAATTTMEEEE!!!” he shrieked, running across the stage set on the terrace, mowing over house-elves, Death Eaters, and members from the Order of the Phoenix. 

The serpents seem to look down and wince at every new collision, but both could only look at each other and sigh as the corn snake helped the garter snake’s headdress rest more on the scalp of the Snape wig instead of having the poor creature hold up the whole thing himself.

Feeling a hard jab to the shin from a large spear being held by one of the “magical suits of armor” props backstage he careened off course, unknowingly right in the direction of three rather marvelous looking DE’s… smashing right into all of them, of course.


{First paragraph lovingly stolen from How the Grinch Stole Christmas}

Miles blinked at the trio of Slytherins making their way through the crowd, even taking a step back to allow them through. It was both amusing and slightly disturbing that they would take their roles so seriously as to insult others seemingly in character... but then maybe that's just how they talked on a day-to-day basis, and Miles had to admire their devotion. If he admitted it to himself, he was excited to be part of this play. It was important for people to realize how hard the victorious side fought for wizarding freedom, and a visual aid always seemed to do the trick.

Thus, Miles shrugged and carried on through the crowd, looking for familiar (and slightly more inviting) faces. He wondered where Lola was, and felt guilty for not having been able to catch up with her before leaving the commons for the rehearsal. And he figured that Addie, who was playing the one and only Potter, would be quite busy at the moment, but perhaps they would have a chance to chat a some point before the Sword of Gryffindor scene.

The Hufflepuff's eyes fell fleetingly on a vaguely familiar face. He double-taked and realized it was Kyle, with longer hair and a mustache to make him look older and more wolfish. Miles felt the Gryffindor would do great justice to the role of Remus Lupin, Kyle's fellow lion who had died fighting. The Faraday boy had read quite a bit about Lupin, as the struggle of werewolves during the past century in particular had been of great interest to him.

"Nice stache, there, mate," he said easily, approaching with pockets in hand and slightly lazy posture, just in time to see an entirely unrecognizable girl slap Kyle on the back. The Faraday boy's smile morphed into a curious expression for a few seconds while he pondered the mystery. Perhaps unrecognizable was not the word. It was a face Miles had definitely seen in history books on many occasions. Hermione Granger. Who was played by... "Brennan?" He laughed, putting two and two together. "You'd better run for it. When those Slytherin girls find out you out-costumed them..." He shook his head lethargically, mouth forming a straight line that was nevertheless friendly.

Miles' own costume consisted of a torn and dirtied white t-shirt, which Lola had helped him perfect. He'd gotten the idea to add tomato sauce and ketchup from a muggle horror film he'd seen over the last holiday. There was also plenty of cheap stage makeup to create the illusion of open cuts and purple-ish bruises. His hair was disheveled, and a bit wet.

Rubeus Hagrid, the half-giant, was an odd and challenging choice of character for George to play. He found it ironic and funny that he, a rather short male, was going to play a very tall character. He was always looking for ways to have fun, however, and didn’t mind going for the casting of a ‘small part character.’ Especially when he was allowed to wear stilts without breaking school rules! His face was estatic the first day he got to put them on, and hadn’t lost much of the glow when he showed up for rehearsal since.

That being said... it was a totally different thing when he was on them and attempting to walk. That had been his task for the first couple of days. It was the weirdest feeling, to have these sticks under your legs; you not only had to keep yourself balanced on them, but you had to counteract any movement you made against the sticks. Merlin forbid if you sneezed or tripped over a rock... George had had a couple of rough falls, and it took a couple helping hands to get him back up.

The upside to it, besides the incredibly fun factor, was the magical quality of the stilts. He was able to start off with them on with just a small step, and then he could adjust them as need be to obtain his desired height. He had only been sad that he couldn’t wear them to classes–he thought he should be able to, to make sure he had the walking bit down.

So how excited was George that they were having the last big rehearsal? Pretty darn! The wig he had on was attached to his own hair and head with use of a spell, and the thick, scratchy beard was much the same. The most annoying part of the outfit, in his opinion, was the constant tickling of his nose from the few wisps of hair from the mustache. He found his hand moving up, often times subconsciously, to smooth down the mustache in a rather normal and natural way.

To get used to the beard, he’d been wearing it around the common room more. Just when he was busy with course work, or bugging someone from doing theirs. From then, he had to wear a couple of makeshift hands to portray how big Hagrid’s had been. The rest of him (for it might take one or two more of himself to actually show how large the half-giant had been) was padded with lightweight pillows that helped in the few times he had fallen.

The last part of his outfit were the actual clothes. Browns and tans were the colors Hagrid seemed to wear in pictures George could find. Very earthy tones, which made sense to the young man. The tan, large wool shirt fit snuggly over all the pillows he had wrapped against him, and the thick black belt around his waist made it a little difficult to breathe–in order for it to not slip and fall to his ankles, which would force him to fall over, he had to pull it fairly tight. The darker brown trousers weren’t that big of a deal; they just needed to be hemmed to fit down the entire length of the stilts.

The boots were attached to the bottom of the stilts, and though it made his task a little harder, as far as walking went, it made him look more real, having foot like extensions as opposed to just a plank of wood. Someone helped him into the large moleskin overcoat, and a couple pockets were bulging as George had taken upon himself to fill them with all sorts of fun objects that he could pull out at random to either amaze or disgust his audience.

He waited for his turn at the stage. He had had some practice with ‘Potter,’ and had made quite a bit of progress with walking and holding a body. He was doing so well on his own that he was attempting silly stunts in the stilts, though he was careful while holding Adelia. Entertaining a couple of first years, George balanced on one stilt before attempting to spin in a circle while keeping the other in the air. He was doing well too, until he heard an awfully loud pitched noise. It caused him to falter in his balance, and the next thing he knew, George was down on the ground, the breath knocked out of him. First fall for the day...

Glancing up to see what was going on, he saw the Professor. Frowning slightly, thinking he saw something move on the man's head, George glanced to the students around him and raised an eyebrow in question. He grimaced slightly as he was helped back up, after the stilts went back down to a normal height once again. "What in Merlin's name?" The gruff accent he'd been working on for Hagrid cut through.

((Er... I honestly don't know what Devlin was supposedly doing... but uh... here ya go))

"Devlin! Leave her be! Fenrir Greyback was not that sort of wizard!"

Devlin stopped mid lick, the tip of his tongue resting against the girls cheek, as he eyed the headmaster innocently. Retracting it, he turned his head towards her and raised his brows "I dunno what he is talking about... I am sure Greyback liked to taste his dinner first..." He said with a playful wink, causing the girl to giggle. He did, however, let her go at this point. Not because Greyfriar had said anything, but because Neely had appeared in her Malfoy glory. Even though he and Jordyn were dating only in theory, he didn't need her wrath brought upon him.

Patting the displeased girl on the head, Devlin watched as the players slowly made their appearance, focusing mainly on one in particular. Gibson. Even with the stupid mustache and longer hair, one could pick the git out easily. Devlin smirked, it must be hard for Gibson to play a character like Lupin... someone who was humble and likable, and someone who lost his life in a duel. He was sure that the latter was the hardest for the 'top dueler' in the school to swallow. He almost wished he wasn't in the play, just so he could enjoy watching Kyle get 'killed'.

With this thought in mind, Devlin was reminded of a particular mission he had on his mind lately. It had been nearly a week since he spoke to Kingstreet in the fireplace and her orders were still unfinished. It was a simple enough task, but until today, Devlin had not found a chance to fufil them. However, with the chaos of the play and the battles within, Dev knew he could easily yank a few strands of Kyles hair out in the process. The fact that Gibson had grown it out for the role just made things all the easier.

While Devlin was plotting, the girl at his side had grown listless and disappeared, and Jordyn had finally made her appearance. Realizing that, in order to maintain the ruse of their relationship, he needed to greet her, Devlin started over to where she and her two 'besties' were chatting. On the way, however, he was distracted by the trio that was Gibson, a Hermoine clone that could only be Girard and some hufflepuff he knew by face alone. Unable to just walk by without saying something, Devlin detoured towards the trio with a smirk on his stubbly face.

"Nice job on the costume Brennan... Though wouldn't Tonks have been a better choice for a metamorph?" His voice was laced with fake sincerity. Grinning, he shoved his hands in his pockets and eyed Gibson and Brennan before chuckling and adding "... You two would have made such a cute couple..."