GREY HAD VERY little interest in being present at the more spirited feast of the evening that was the holiday dinner. He had never been one to show much attention to holidays, even in his own school days. Part of Grey had felt the holiday was just a frivolous waste of money. So many children these days seemed to take such advantage of their parents over the holiday seasons demanding the nice, shiny, and expensive and throwing a fit when the demand has not been met. Granted, Grey was reasonable enough to note that not all fit into this characterization, but it was still his own view of the holiday. Yet, perhaps it came more from the fact that growing up Grey had very little himself and had not wanted his mother to waste her money over pointless things for him—yet, she would do so regardless, but had just been more subtle and sneaky in her gifts to her son in his teen years.

Yet, holding an administrative position inside the school Grey was practically obligated to attend, especially when he was one of the few staff members still remaining inside the school, as so many had returned home to spend such sacred time with their families. However, remaining present for the entire affair was not something required of the Potions Master, and even if it had been an excuse to leave manifested itself in the form of an owl flying solo through the great hall to land a missive in front of the Deputy Headmaster. It was perhaps not a missive that Grey needed to respond promptly too, but it was certainly an excuse to leave the festivities for the more subdue atmosphere of the deserted corridors.

The man was dressed simply, as his black robes swished behind him as he walked, warding off the winter chill clinging to the stone walls. He was dressed simply beneath the outer robes with black slacks, a dark blue button-shirt and dark grey pinstriped vest. While he did not care for the holiday season, he would not play the complete Scrooge to those around him, no matter how he would rather Bah-humbug the entire thing and spend the evening with a book on his couch. Yet, his feet did not lead him down to his dungeon quarters but rather up to the feather littered owlry, a response to his missive already formed and ready to be carried out by one of the owls housed therein.

Yet, the man stopped short of approaching one of the nocturnal birds when he noticed that the birds were not his soul company that even. “I beg your pardon, Catherine,” he spoke with a mild inclination of his head for his intrusion into her previous solitude. However, not one much acquainted to conversation, Grey merely raised his letter as excuse for his presence before summoning his own owl for the letter’s delivery.

AFTER THE MOTIONING of this task, Grey did not linger to watch Catherine’s reaction. As such, the man did not notice her nervous tick with straightening her hair or the determination to bring her hands back down. Granted, Grey probably would have paid these ticks very little notice if he had been watching. The man was growing a bit familiar with Catherine’s peculiarities—whether they were actual quirks or merely how she acted around him was undetermined. The man was not often one led to the judging others—often doing so was not very productive when such skill was no possessed by the observer. Yet, Grey could not help how others perceived him or other’s insecurities. He could only inform Catherine so many times that he held no scruples with her—he could not make her believe the fact.

So recently, Grey had frankly just given up trying to read Catherine in any form. He took their interactions as they came and just allowed them to play out. “No,” he stated briefly as he stroked the feathers of his owl’s back, “I believe it’s still well going on; I just made my exit.” After speaking, Grey spoke to his owl, giving it instructions on where to deliver its bundle. Grey watched briefly as the owl sprung from its perch taking to the air and out one of the large windows.

His attention returned back to the Herbology Professor now that his chosen task had been completed. “Prepping puffer-fish into ingredients for upcoming lessons,” he retorted dryly but seriously. Grey had no family alive that he wished to have any contact with, so he saw no reason why to treat the holiday much different than a regular day. After all, he had no cause to make any special plans and most often very little could be accomplished due to the holiday and others having families to spend it with. “Why? Are you looking to help?” he then added with a hint of a smirk and a tease to his tone. He did not expect the Herbology Professor to agree, not for a dislike of dismembering fish but rather he was certain she had family to spend her holiday with.

THE MAN SHIFTED his stance with little regard to the animal clutter around them, the man caring little if his attire or person received a little of the filth in their surroundings. The man, while not working out in the dirt per some, still worked in an area that could be quite messy. He was not bothered by a little grime clinging to his form. After all, there were some days when he left the classroom and lab smelling far from pleasant, especially after a lesson with certain inept students. It was to be expected. So Grey did not pay much attention as he shifted to lean against a perch, his arms crossing loosely as he shifted comfortably.

A brow arched briefly when the woman declined his statement to help in the lab. He wasn’t surprised per say—although the reason for the lack of surprise he was not certain on. However, Grey figured that was an end to that train of thought. He did, after all, assumed the woman had better things to do with her holiday than hole herself up in the dungeons with him. So, her next utterance surprised the Potions Master, and the surprise did register over his features for a brief moment.

“My door is always open,” he stated, preferring a more open ended response to the woman, as he was still unsure what to make of the situation.