[Thought I'd join in here... ]

Rose - in animagus form - was minding her own business, snuffling about in the undergrowth as she tracked a vole. She was losing the scent - but it didn't really matter; it was all for fun - and about to give up when suddenly a wild mass of blackish brown fur came hurtling at her through the trees. Immediately she leapt away, darting out of the bushes and into the open grounds like a fiery orange bullet, baring her tiny pointed teeth out of pure instinct. She growled quietly in the back of her throat and looked up, stunned to see a man standing there. Staring in horror, she froze, unable to back away or run. If he found out she was an animagus... Surely she'd be in trouble. He was the new professor, and Rose couldn't yet judge how harsh he would be on illegal animagi. In a year or so, it would be fine for her to have this power, but now... Now she wasn't allowed, strictly speaking, to turn into the brightly coloured vixen she found herself as. She barked without realising, her own 'voice' sounding high pitched and yappy compared to the professor's labrador.

Rose growled softly - it almost sounded like a purr - and rubbed her head against the man's hand. He seemed very nice; perhaps he wouldn't punish her. Professor Flitwick had found out once, and he'd told her he had also learnt to be an animagus at around her age, and he laughed and let her off. Still, however nice this man was, he still might turn her in when he found out. Then again, what would happen? She'd have her wand broken. Sure, she liked using magic, but it wasn't essential. She could just go home and live with her father properly, and get a muggle job and live a muggle life. It'd be fine. The fox scrambled out of the man's arms, landing neatly on the ground in front of him and staring up with cocked head as if waiting for him to pay attention. Then she closed her eyes, and in a whirl of orange and black a small, pale girl suddenly appeared in her school uniform, neatening her red lips with the tip of one of her delicate fingers. She raised her wide, dark eyes to the professor again and stood, exposed, waiting for his judgment.

Rose blushed lightly as the professor stared, and at his indication smiled a little and brushed away the speck of dirt on her cheek which had been bothering him. The wind was playing tricks with her hair too; pulling the long strands with it as it blew past them, and catching some in her face until she became irritated and had to push it back behind her ears. She glanced down at the dog, then back up at the professor. "No, she didn't hurt me," Rose said, strangely dreamily. "I'm Rose, Rose Quattromini, very pleased to meet you, professor..." She seemed too sweet to be quite real as she stood there, blushing, with the wind messing with her hair and her skirt which was far too short for regulations, but no one had ever complained about it. Though she was more than half a muggle, she had been mistaken a few times for being part veela, which she herself couldn't quite believe. It was probably nothing, but there was something in the way he had said, 'My, my,' which made her want to impress this man further. Impress - was that the correct word? Probably not. She just remained, her eyes trained to the floor and only flicking upwards to check the professor's face timidly every few seconds.

"Thank you, but...I doubt very much I'll catch anything. I'm out here all the time, whether the sun is shining or snow is falling." She accepted the cloak in any case; the smell of books and parchment was very comforting to Rose, who liked to spend her whole life surrounded by old papers and leatherbound first editions, when she could get them. Her father had promised her a first edition of her choice if she got good NEWT results, and it was the one thing spurring her on, save for simply her desire to overachieve. "I've even swam in the lake while there was still ice on the surface," she added, smiling, as the dog bounded ahead of them on their way back to the castle. "What do you teach, Professor Daàs? And your name...where are you from, originally?" she asked happily, always well aware that, while curiousity did indeed kill the cat, it still had eight lives left afterwards.

She smiled excitedly when he referred to her as 'Miss Rose' - it reminded her of how Professor Flitwick always used surnames until he was very close to a person. And Professor Daàs' enthusiasm made her very happy indeed; like Hunter - Professor Niall - he clearly had a great interest and passion for his subject. Arithmancy was one of her own favourites too. People had said she was mad to take it as a NEWT, but they'd said that about Ancient Runes too, and she was thriving in both classes. With new, young professor it would be excellent. "A cultured young lady such as myself," she began to reply, teasing him slghtly for using those words. Yes, she was quite cultured, but people rarely said it to her. "Is a Welsh girl, but my father's family were from Italy way back, and I believe there was French blood mixed with the Cockney on my mother's side." She bit her lip and waited for the response; usually when she told people she was Welsh they raised their eyebrows at her impeccable English accent. She only really spoke with a Valleys lilt in her voice when she was at home, with her father, who did the same. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her roots - far from it - it was simply habit that had made her speak with an accent more appropriate to London or Kent than Cardiff or Aberystwyth.

Rose sighed and stopped walking, an expression like a stubborn child coming across her face. "Do we have to go in? It's boring inside - it's much nicer out here, even if it is going to rain," she said, ignoring the slights on her homeland. It didn't actually rain that much in South Wales; it just depended what side of the mountains you were on and what way the wind was blowing. It always seemed to rain when foreigners were visiting, but really the climate was just the same as anywhere else in Britain. She loved her country a lot; there was nothing nicer than listening to a decent Valleys accent, or taking a walk in Brecon, or reading all the folk tales. She did like folk tales. "Please, Professor..." she begged, pouting a little and batting her eyelashes without even realising she was doing it.

(can I join?)

[That was pretty smooth...]

"You mustn't worry about me, I've done all sorts of things," she began happily. Sometimes, when she was in this slightly childish mood, it was odd to think she was actually seventeen, eighteen in the summer. It seemed to have taken her so long to get to that age, with countless wishes to grow older rapidly, but now that she was at an age to be taken seriously, she was beginning to regress, going back to how she ought to have acted a few years ago. She'd been foolish in her early teens, and not just for medical reasons, though she'd often blamed it on that. She slipped the cape off her shoulders and knelt down on the floor, clicking her fingers to call the dog to her. It licked her hand and she began to stroke it; much as she enjoyed the company of animals, she preferred dogs to cats, and her chubby grey cat above all, as well as her dad's black cat at home. She sighed, thinking of her Morrissey - he was probably chasing someone's rat around the common room upstairs - and continued to stroke the friendly dog, waiting to see if her new acquaintance would sit down or remain standing. From here he looked like a watchtower, keeping an eye on the whole grounds. It wouldn't surprise her if something unexpected happened, though. That was just the way Hogwarts worked...

Jim watched on a tree. The sence was rather nice and pleaasent. He changed into a nineteen year old and walked in. "'Ello, everyone!" he said pleasently.

'Who to kill first,' he wondered.

"Oh, very well," he said causally. "I was simply taking a walk, you know."