[OPEN MINGLE] Or perhaps in Slytherin

[fulllifeconsequences]

Who: Slytherin House! (And friends and visitors, of course!)
Where: Slytherin Common Room, Quidditch Pitch, various places around Hogwarts
When: Duration of the event
Rating: G (will edit as necessary)
Summary: Slytherin open log!
The Story:



The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in carved chairs.

The common room has changed, somewhat, from its historical description, thanks to the decorative powers of one Mettaton. Though it still extends beneath the lake and thus retains a greenish, aquatic cast, it's much more brightly lit, its cold, damp atmosphere replaced with dazzling MTT-brand warmth. Even the giant squid, occasionally peering in as it does its rounds of the lake, seems just a shade more glamorous inside such a charming space.

Students - and a ghost or two - can be found nestled within its confines, plotting mischief around the fire, studiously doing their homework (as good students do), or perhaps trading Chocolate Frog trading cards. Though Slytherin is not especially well-known for its wide-open, trusting nature, Slytherins are known for not snitching on each other; if a guest or two were to creep in for a while, then odds are, nobody saw anything.

Comments

[preparenting]

[John doesn't even dignify that with a response. The younger ones are pretty cute- but yeah, they're a rehash of the older two.

He can always count on Adler to be a good customer, rich kid that he is, slumming it with the mudbloods. As the kid of a single muggle mother, John isn't really well off in either world he resides in. So if he can take some money on a relatively benign Slytherin, it's saving for his future.

John takes the sickles and flask from him, pocketing the money before he fills the flask.]

Not really help as much as it is slavery, though. [He stops pouring for a moment, sloshes the flaska around experimentally. No, not enchanted. Just kinda big.] That's the one thing I'll never get used to, the house elves thing. Dunno how you can stand it.

[Aaaaaand, there! All full. =

[chardismastic]

[ He rolls his eyes with an aggrieved sigh. Like he doesn't hear enough on the proper treatment and respect owed to house elves from other parties that shall remain nameless. ]

They get enough out of it, don't start on that nonsense. Not as if they're being kept in cages with mouldy straw. [ Muggleborns, talking out their arse on things they know nothing about. Bet they've never seen an elf break out in tears because you brandished a pair of shorts at them. ] It's not about standing anything, a good elf hardly lets you know he's there. Things are just... Taken care of. One less thing to worry about. How is that not something anybody can appreciate?

[ Taking back his flask, he salutes it off his forehead before offering a few cauldron cakes in return. Free of charge. ]

Unless you enjoy darning your own socks. To each their own.

[preparenting]

[John pockets the cakes gratefully, and gives the Slytherin a little not of appreciation. Score!]

I mean, I just...buy more socks.

[Seven years in the wizarding world and he still forgets that wizards don't usually just run to the store and buy a six pack of cheap socks.]

I grew up doing all my own work, anyway. [He shrugs, tipping his thermos at Adler before taking a sip.] Make my bed every morning, help with the dishes. The little things.

[chardismastic]

[ Rafe simply stares. All right, aside from the relatively privileged position of having house elves to pick up after him (or at least picking up whatever wasn't enchanted on its own — beds making themselves with a glance, hampers summoning dirty clothes into their depths, dishes set to scrub with a wave of the wand), has this guy learned nothing?

Good thing he's studying for N.E.W.T.s up here if this is the state of things. ]

Reparo, Winchester. I know you're Muggleborn but you've been here seven years. You'd think you'd catch up eventually.

[ This is where, if Nate were present, he'd get a pointed look and possibly a smack to the arm because dude. Privilege. ]

[preparenting]

Well, I can't really use magic when I'm at home, can I?

[His mom being a muggle, and all. She's remarkably supportive, but it's not like he can actually help her around the house with the skills he's learned at school. So actual chores it is. He tries not to sound defensive, really, but some days he feels like it's a bit of an uphill battle.

John curls back into his pillows and tries to not be a little offended. It's not Adler's fault, he's just never had the contact with the muggle world that he has. He'd love to see the guy lost in a supermarket, though. He'd pay good money.]

Believe me, I would if I could.

[chardismastic]

[ Rafe is still staring after John's minor rebuke as it clicks and shite, he'd all but forgotten. He's too used to a full-magic household where there was so much spellwork at any given moment that nobody would notice a few minor casts. For a moment he tries to imagine a house where that's simply...not. No beds making themselves, no house elves scurrying behind the scenes, no dishes done with a flick of the wrist.

He knows it can happen, that it does, but... Still. Dang. ]

...Oh. Right. [ He pauses because he knows there's something he's probably forgetting— AHA. ] Sorry.

[ A supermarket would definitely be— Yeah. It'd be an Experience. #checkyourwizardprivilege ]

[preparenting]

It's okay. It's not hard on us, anyway.

[You can't really mis what you didn't grow up with. Sometimes he still feels uncomfortable having things just happen for him, plates cleared and food appearing with no effort on his part. It makes him feel a little spoilt.]

D'you even know how to make your bed? Or clean a shirt?

[chardismastic]

[ Rafe opens his mouth that it could make it easier, then thinks better and shuts it. It's one thing to read about Muggle televisions and electricity and jet planes and the million other things they've come up with to plug along (and admirably so) without magic. Those are impressive and no doubt about it. It's a whole other thing to remember the menial bits you have to sit through as part and parcel.

Still. The accusation stings and Rafe can't help scoffing at John. ]

Please. Making a bed is just folding up the blankets in the morning, and the shirt— All you need is soap. [ Then, proud of himself for remembering the phrase from one of his Muggle readings: ] It's not rocket science.