amadán

dermot o'keefe. shamrock clad 'claw. magical theory specialist & practical magic idiot. ballycastle bats supporter [for all class notes enquiries, please see the armchair in front of the fire.]

[honeybadgercooper]

Grace mouths the name Niamh, confused as to what he’s referring to. She assumes it’s probably a cat or an owl. Odd name, though. The Northern Irish always had a way with nomenclature. ❝ Mhmm, ❞ she annunciates, folding her arms under her chest and giving him a look. She had definitely heard him. Dermot’s jab didn’t sting as much as he might have intended to; her exhaustion had exhumed all feeling from her body. ❝ all right-y. ❞ She contemplates docking a point or two off, but sticks to her beginning word. He’s about as tired as she is, not to mention the power trip she’d feel she was on if she docked points for people hurting her feelings.  ❝ Your…best girl, yeah. D’you mind telling me who that is? ❞ she asks, rubbing at one of her eyes tiredly. She’s not mocking him as much as she is asking. 

[riddlemedermot]

Lucky, he thinks as he clears his throat. Looks like he's got away with that one. Briefly, Dermot muses on how far he could go before the blonde Hufflepuff really lost her cool - but it's late, and he's tired, and his bed is probably going to be cold when he finally gets back to the tower, and a mental note to return the books he'd borrowed from the library over the break lest he lose privileges- Focus, Dermot.

❝ I just told you Cooper - honestly, you got candle wax backed up in those ears of yours? Niamh. ❞ Dermot can barely refrain from the audible huff of disdain and simply shakes his head. Pulling his hand from his pocket, Dermot nestles the quiet toad in the cusp of his palm, before showing her to the Head Girl. ❝ Otherwise known as my best girl. ❞ He restates, raising an eyebrow. Don't mess with an Irishman's love for his pet, Cooper, he challenges silently. He's puffed up with pride, lips smugly curled. ❝ She's better then shamrocks for luck, I tell you. ❞

[xitsamensworld]

"The only mistake guys can make is to try too hard with their appearance. There’s something very unmanly about it.." - Jeremy Irvine.

[honeybadgercooper]

❝ Well, for one, Dermot, ❞ Gracie begins calmly, responding to his irritated look with motherly dispassion. ❝ curfew’s at eleven. So there’s a little discrepancy when it comes to thirty minutes. Just tell me what you were doing and I’ll let you get back to your dormitory. …Scout’s honor. ❞ She’s heard her Muggleborn friends say it, and it sounds cool, so she tries it out. 

[riddlemedermot]

❝ Eleven... Ah. ❞ He pauses, brow crinkling at the information. ❝ That would certainly explain the library being closed - feeding Niamh must've taken longer then I thought it did. ❞ Dermot's free hand clasps his chin, his mumbling perhaps a little more audible then he'd expected it to be in the practically silent corridor.  ❝ What was I doing? An excellent question there - and one that I can safely answer with, not you, that's for sure.. ❞ A slight wince at his own distasteful comment (and a silent prayer to Merlin's shit-stained knickers that Cooper hadn't heard him) - despite evidence to the contrary, there was some level of self-awareness (and self-preservation) dwelling in the Irish Ravenclaw's head, coexisting with the gray matter that was supposed to do his thinking. Supposed to. Somehow his brain didn't seem to want to cooperate with him - maybe that was just the start of the term messing with him - but what he could definitely tell was that he was probably going to regret whatever it was he'd just said thoughtlessly. ❝ I was out on a moonlit walk with my best girl, that's what I was doing. ❞ 

[honeybadgercooper]

❝ Okay, so, ❞ Gracie offers, approaching the person in front of her slowly. She’s smiling harmlessly, her hands in the pockets of her uniform trousers. ❝ the clock reads 11:32. Which means everyone’s supposed to be in bed. But — if you can tell me why you’re here, I’ll let you off with a warning. It’s too early in the year for docking points. ❞

[riddlemedermot]

One step back, two. Shoulders slouched, he faces the blonde Hufflepuff with an irritated look.  ❝ Are we getting a tad bit pedantic there, ma'am Head Girl? 11.30, 11.32 — is there really that much of a discrepancy in terms of deviancy 'tween the two? S'not like I was out late doing questionable things, no, not I, never. ❞  He puts a hand into his trousers pocket, Niamh's warty skin cool against his fingertips. 

[scorpiant]