It was Halloween night, and the Great Hall was barely recognizable. In fact, she squinted up at the starry ceiling to be sure she was chaperoning in the right place. The tables along the sides of the wall were loaded with food, and the center of the room was illuminated with lighting in red and orange. All of the decoration around the place was supposed to be festive, make it seem more like Halloween for all of the kids. Or so she'd heard. Personally, she couldn't abide by all of this tacky nonsense. It was nowhere near as bad as the one muggle Halloween party she'd seen, with witches represented as wart-covered hags feeding apples to innocent young maidens. (What a terrible movie that had been – why poison someone with a mere sleep aid that could be undone by some idiot willing to mack on the girl? Just do the job properly, if you were going to kill someone.) But at least she hadn't been asked to show up in a costume to chaperone.

She wasn't sure why she had expected the clouds to suddenly part when the new ministry had been brought in, or the halls to suddenly glow a different color when the sun hit them. In fact, she hadn't realized she had expected that until the disappointment hit her like a load of bricks during her first lesson of the new school year. Pandora had been going through the motions of conducting lessons for the halfwits and kissups that remained at Hogwarts, but the new regime didn't change the fact that she hated teaching because she hated children.

The filth had been sent packing, at least. No more nonsense about separate lessons to allow them to roam the halls of Hogwarts with impunity, no more wishy-washy “the kids have feelings too, let's try to understand them.” That doddering old fool Flitwick was on his way out, everyone knew it. He had been brought in during the interim when leadership had been thin in the air at the governmental level, and the school hadn't been closely monitored. She'd never even liked his class when she attended it years ago. How many years had it been, nine? God, she was getting old in front of her eyes, and here she was wasting her life teaching idiot children how to hold a wand the right way around. This wasn't how she had imagined spending the prime years of her life when she'd first graduated. A young seventeen year old, ready to take on the world, only to find herself tied down to a teaching position she hadn't been able to escape for various reasons. When Tepes had been around, she was acting as a lieutenant at the school. Afterwards, she couldn't risk being chucked into prison by appearing too extreme, and keeping her job at the school created a proper illusion. Then she became the Death Eater spy as the group spent years and years (not that she was bitter) trying to take over again.

Now they were in charge, the ones in government making the policies, and she was still stuck standing in the great hall wearing a skin-tight black tank top, with its stretchy material dusted with glitter, and a pair of dark jeans under her black knee-high boots. She never looked much like a professor even when she was teaching, so she sure as hell wasn't going to break that tradition at a party. Pandora glowered at nothing in particular, patting her bright teal bun down on her head. The students were starting to arrive for the evening. No doubt they would fall on the buffet table and walk around with food, but cleaning wasn't her problem, and she'd rather have them all eating than dancing. As long as none of the other professors bothered her, she was almost in the clear.

It took a rather hefty amount of willpower not to stammer into this occasion, though it wasn't as though others would catch on. While friendly in nature, she decided of herself, Anastasia Bellemort rarely made public appearances at these things. Yes, she was the caretaker of Hogwarts, and it was her duty to take care of the school -- it was in the name, was it not? But there were usually other professors here, and if they couldn't keep an eye on the students, then why was she expected to? The woman didn't avoid social events because she was shy, though; on the contrary, she craved to mingle with others and to actually enjoy life instead of hiding behind a veil of lies. This was her life. This was the sad, disgusting truth behind it.

Anastasia came to this event, though. Why? Well, for one, the current Head of Hogwarts wasn't going to realize she was a Death Eater just out of the blue -- no, he should know that by now. Being only twenty-seven and certainly not as adjusted as others "like herself," she was still quite awkward to the idea of even being a Death Eater. Conformity; that was the only acceptable idea she could muster. Her grandfather and father were Death Eaters, and they would disown her if she refused to follow in those footsteps.

Her long, wavy blonde hair was done into a double French braid for this occasion, and she wore a black tee-shirt with "Smasher Pumpkins" across the chest (right above a large pumpkin with a knife stabbed into its side) and a pair of blue jeans. Cloths were wrapped around her forearms; this was the only way she could really consider covering her arm (if you covered one, it was wise to cover the other). It was totally natural to not want to stand out from the crowd.

It was a shame there was no alcohol here. Anastasia wasn't an alcoholic, no, but a nice glass of wine or - heck - even a bottle of firewhiskey would have been so lovely. She crossed her arms over her chest, her blue-green eyes dancing across the other figures occupying the room. It was a shame she didn't know half these people -- oh, but there was a familiar face! They weren't friends - or acquaintances, for that matter - but she knew of the woman (and dreaded her, she might add). It was better to mingle with someone rather than stand alone and look desperate. Maybe she was desperate. That didn't mean she had to look it. And on that happy note, she walked elegantly, carefully toward the other woman, grabbing a cauldron cake on the way and pretending to just want to occupy the wall.

"Bother," she said softly, though she tried to say it loudly enough. Sure, this woman - oh, her name escaped Anastasia! - didn't seem like the type to want to strike a conversation that didn't involve burning kittens alive or devouring children for a midnight snack, but that didn't stop her from trying. "Is there nothing for the staff to do but watch the children be spoiled?" She half-expected the woman to reply with something like, "You could blow them up," though she half-expected there to be no answer at all.

[center]LIKE I CAN CONTROL IT.

Wendy wondered if she was dressed all right. She was only a little insecure about herself and that was only sometimes. For the most part she was pretty confident - a little troubled in some categories, yes, but she was confident. It seemed as though nobody knew how to dress for this event. Here she was in a casual outfit, but there were people in gowns, people in sundresses, people in sweats. It seemed as though the concept as a whole must've been a little confusing. She wished they had given people more guidlines as to what to wear. She wished she had worn a simple dress. Oh well. She was comfortable and ya can't argue with that, now can ya? Nope.

For a while Wendy wondered what to do. She was there. Alone. Ya can't just show up at a party alone, it just doesn't work like that. Ya got to get some friends or something because if you didn't, you'd feel like Wendy did: alone and a little awkward. To entertain herself she got herself a bit of punch and sipped it while she played with the zipper on her sweatshirt. It was a bit of a habbit. She did it sometimes when she was nervous, or bored, or uncomfortable, or thinking. Usually when she was bored or thinking. In general she fiddled with things so it was sometimes difficult to find a reason for it.

Hearing a voice that seemed to be directed towards her, she snapped out of her 'watching-the-punch-swish-around-the-cup-slash-staring-at-the-floor-phase,' and smiled at the girl. "Hi," she responded with a nod. "Yeah, I am in Gryffindor. I'm Wendy." Delilah. The name sounded familiar... Maybe they ran into eahother in a class or in the common room or something. Delilah must've been a Gryffindor. "I love your dress," she complimented with a smile. It was a very nice dress. It was simple, and Wendy liked the simple things in like.

Wendy wasn't too great at conversation half of the time, and this was one of those times. She took a sip of her punch, and as she swallowed, she took in her surroundings before returning her attention to Delilah. In this process however, she spotted a... she didn't really know whether or not to call him a friend. For her lack of friends purposes, she'd call him that just to make herself feel a little better about the current lack of friends situation. She caught his smile and once she lowered her cup returned one, and motioned that he should join them - if he wanted to.]/center]

status: complete.
music: we the dreamers, kate voegele.
notes: -insert non existant notes here-