Tap, tap, tap.
Evan's index finger gently rapped a beat on his “World's Best Teacher” mug, to the main theme from some muggle film a friend had taken him to see, in years past. 2009, was it? He couldn't remember the exact dates. Funny how he could barely remember the plot line, however every second down to the faintest of beats of the main theme could remain in his head after two or three years. It'd been stuck in his head, and he'd even learnt to play it on the piano, and now it just wouldn't leave.
Tap, tap, tap.
The sun was covered by clouds today, and wind blew evermore past the large window that took up half a wall of the Teacher's Lounge, providing a breathtaking view of the blizzard that now blanketed Hogwart's grounds. Evan smiled. He remembered in his school years, when a great blizzard had struck the school and nobody could get home. That was his second year, and he'd thought he were going to be stuck there forever, live his life there, grow up there and die there too. But alas, spring came and the snow melted, and he went home just as usual.
Tap, tap, tap.
This time the tapping was not from Evan's fingers. He heard footsteps outside, looked up briefly before deciding it must've been some other teacher about to enter and looked down again. On his desk in front of him was the schools newspaper, the “Hogwarts Express” they had so named it. It had made Evan chuckle upon first hearing the name, though he wasn't quite sure why. Reading some boys letter into the advice column about his best friend who he had a crush on, or some such thing, the door opened and in walked a figure. Evan didn't pay much attention. It was probably Elsie, or Abel. Or any of the other teachers, for that matter. He sipped some watered-down Firewhiskey from his mug, and tapped his fingers across it once more. “You want some Firewhiskey? Butterbeer?” He offered, kindly, without even looking up form what he was reading whilst he waited for a reply.
Tap, tap, tap.
James had a confession: if there was one thing that made him want to do something more than anything else, it was being told he couldn't do it. That wasn't always a bad thing, he supposed. Sometimes it meant he tried things he wouldn't have otherwise tried. But most of the time it just ended in some sort of rule breaking. Still, despite the itch the Gryffindor felt to go out into the blizzard despite being told not to, even he wasn't stupid enough to try it. Not yet, at any rate. He hadn't ruled out the possibility that eventually he'd give in. It was its own sort of game, seeing how long he could hold out. The lion leaned against the freezing window in his dormitory, staring down at the lawns below. James squinted to try and see past the blowing snow, but it was little use. He was too far up to see more than a flurry of snowflakes. He couldn't even tell the ground from the air at this point. Perhaps if he went a few floors down...
James straightened, moving away from the window. He swore he could feel his body temperature rising just by standing a little farther way. Merlin, but it was freezing. Turning on his heel, the lion exited his dorm, making his way through the common room and out of the portrait hole. He wouldn't go outside, he decided resolutely, marching down the corridor like he had some sort of purpose. He wouldn't even make it to the ground floor. He just wanted to get a little closer to the ground. As the seventh year descended the staircase, he considered his options. The teacher's lounge had a nice big window, and some of the teachers had gone home before the blizzard hit, so it might be empty. Nodding resolutely to himself, James headed for the third floor.
As he went, the Gryffindor mused about how nice it was to be at Hogwarts for the holidays. He'd always gone home for Christmas, since his mother was usually ill, or at least insistent on his presence. Although he missed his mother desperately--or at least, he did when he allowed himself to think about it--James was glad at least that he didn't have to go home for once. No having to endure Horatio or Arthur--it'd be the best Christmas ever. The only family he ever liked to see were here at Hogwarts, anyway.
Speaking of whom, as James opened the door to the teacher's lounge, he was pleased to see that its only occupant was the charms teacher, none other than his own Uncle Evan--or "Professor Urquart" in public, he supposed, though that still sounded so strange to the lion's ears. His mother's younger brother was probably the only relative, aside from his sister, who James could stand, even liked. Everyone seemed to, though, so it was hardly surprising.
James leaned against the door frame, grinning to himself as his uncle spoke without looking up from his paper. "Sure, I'd love a firewhiskey. But should you be offering students alcohol?"