She stood in the foyer, waiting for her carriage to arrive. She wished for
an early departure, for the party, in her opinion, was a bore. She wished
to return to her home earlier, to scour her well read books for any
information on this mysterious stranger. Something about him was familiar,
but she couldn't place it. She wondered if she had met him before. She
shrugged it off as an improbability, eyes like those weren't easy to
forget. But the thought kept nagging in the back of her mind that perhaps
she knew him from somewhere. 'Well. First things first.' She thought, as
she got into her carriage. 'I must decide where to look for him.' A thought
instantly crept into her mind. 'People with such an aura surrounding them
are usually hiding something. Who do we know hide things?' She smiled to
herself. Death Eaters.
It was late August, and the summer breeze was infiltrating every part of the castle. Even, though much to Snape's detriment, the dungeons. He had just returned from the party being held at Abbot House, which Dumbledore had insisted he attend. 'Damn you, Miss Granger.' He said to himself, thinking back upon the events of the evening. 'You tormented me for years with your know-all attitude, and now you continue to torture me with you appearance.' He cursed the day she was sorted at Hogwarts, although secretly was pleased. Pleased that at least one of the students he had had to teach actually knew something about his chosen field. He thought of her as insufferable only for the fact that she was a Gryffindor, and her knowledge was gaining points for a rival house. Had she been sorted into Slytherin, she would have been his prize pupil. He sighed. 'I have got to stop thinking about her.' He sat down by the fireplace, and opened a bottle of Scotch. He laughed to himself. 'This Scotch will rival any mind-altering spells or potions.'
It was late August, and the summer breeze was infiltrating every part of the castle. Even, though much to Snape's detriment, the dungeons. He had just returned from the party being held at Abbot House, which Dumbledore had insisted he attend. 'Damn you, Miss Granger.' He said to himself, thinking back upon the events of the evening. 'You tormented me for years with your know-all attitude, and now you continue to torture me with you appearance.' He cursed the day she was sorted at Hogwarts, although secretly was pleased. Pleased that at least one of the students he had had to teach actually knew something about his chosen field. He thought of her as insufferable only for the fact that she was a Gryffindor, and her knowledge was gaining points for a rival house. Had she been sorted into Slytherin, she would have been his prize pupil. He sighed. 'I have got to stop thinking about her.' He sat down by the fireplace, and opened a bottle of Scotch. He laughed to himself. 'This Scotch will rival any mind-altering spells or potions.'