Second Floor Common Room, Tuesday Morning

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The weekend with the children (or more precisely, the lack thereof) had not been great for Simon. Couple that with some of his classes leaning heavily on death and the future last week, and he'd been training pretty hard for the last few days. This would explain the fresh bandages on his knuckles, and the equally fresh (although light) scrape on one of his pale cheeks. Sometimes you really botched a jump.

And he was getting breakfast now. Milk, a bowlful of cereal, and he was frying two eggs for himself. Of course, his mind was still on a whole variety of other things (what he should have done better with that jump, whether he should go home to England for a visit, whether he should just go home in general) that his concentration on the task at hand was a little wobbly. And so he managed to burn his finger on the edge of the frying pan.

A moment later, holding his poor hand under cold water from the faucet and trying not to get the bandage wet, Simon thought he had seen better days.

[ooc: Open!]