Marishka Chechekevitch wasn't one for conventional learning.
Not that she wasn't smart or anything, but she disliked being tested on things that she already knew.
And, class really cut into her beauty sleep.
Which was why she was late.
And which was why she had no time to put on her usual facade of makeup, kindly sent by her mother.
And which was why she was visibly upset.
The young Slytherin pout her lower lip, confused. Why were no other students milling in the halls, gossiping to their friends, and laughing at the stupid “Celebrity Witches of the Week” in Witch Weekly?
She shoulders her tote bag, and flutters her lashes. “...Hogwarts frowns upon tardiness, I presume.”
“Hello?” She calls. The youngest Chechekevitch sister didn't really have any intent on attending class, as first year charms was, as her eldest sister, Ilka put it “totally lame”.
But from what else she had heard, Prefects (“people who spoiled other people's fun”, as Hajna so delightfully put it), trolled the halls, just waiting for an innocent little girl such as Marishka to waltz through the halls, late to class. It wasn't as if she honestly cared if she got caught, since her father would bribe the headmaster (or mistress, if something were to happen) with countless riches to put his youngest daughter through school.
Marishka shrugs her small shoulders, and swings her tote behind her, clicking heels carrying her down the hallway.