Marion Burbage had been present at many feasts in her day — as a student, a professor, and now an exceedingly talkative ghost for the umpteenth time. But never had she made a quieter entrance… which was to say, she burst dramatically through the center of the Gryffindor banner near the doorway into the Great Hall with a whoosh of cold air and a flourish of translucent robes that trailed behind her like the tail end of a comet as she floated to the air towards the dais.

"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-lings!" she sung, flapping her arms as though they were the reason keeping her afloat and not her spectral form. "Oh I do appreciate a Gryffindor-themed feast! So red! So gold! So… completely... HMMMMMMM... lacking in restraint!" Though an elegant yellow and black would be her forever preference — not a roar of victory, but the quiet dignity of a well-tended wheat field. She turned her attention to Ean and clutched her heart — or at least where her heart would be were it still beating. "Goodness gracious HEAVENS ABOVE! My lion cub! How proud I am! Gryffindor! The Cup! The streak broken! Well, I simply MUST say that your little cherubs were simply marvelous this term. For once no one tried to play a round of catch in the Tower Patch by throwing a quaffle or whatever THROUGH me!" She blew him a ghostly kiss and playful wink as she turned towards darling little-not-so-little Hady. "I mean no offense to you of coooooooourse DAH-ling. Slytherins put up beyond a splended effort as well to make for QUITE the riveting House Cup race this term, INDEED!"

She no doubt would have done something embarrassing or another to Dhruv and Marcus and ESPECIALLY their squishable headmaster and his invisible companion — who she was moderately convinced was currently occupying her seat due to an odd indentation in the cushion that she CEEEERTAINLY was not making as she hovered above it — when her attention landed on Norman.

The air around Marion stilled and the sensible thing WOULD be to float over towards his end of the table instead of acting like a brass band on a quiet Sunday morning. "NORMAN! OH OH OH my DAH-ling,” she bellowed, yet still managed to maintain a fondness to her voice. "A noble professor, a wise Ravenclaw… and now, a GRANDFATHER SOON ENOUGH! Oh, my darling man. You hold that child. You cuddle that grandbaby. You kiss their little head every chance you get — even when they're sticky and loud and insist on calling you something ridiculous like 'Bampa' or 'Poo Poo'. EEEEEEEEESPECIALLY then!"

She looked as though she might cry, if ghosts could.

And just like that, the mood snapped back like a slingshot.

"ANYWAY!" Marion brightened. "Wilber, dear. I DOOOOOO believe Earl may be occupying my chair. Lucky for him, he won't feel a THIIIIIIING if I sit on him."