Harry Potter & the Rebirth of the Dark

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by The Philosoraptor, Aug 4, 2016.

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  1. Arrhenia Fawley - 1 December 2030 IC Picture.png
    Arrhenia leaned against a support pillar, gazing out over the Black Lake. Her view from the bridge connecting Hogwarts to the other side of the loch was unobstructed, and, to the untrained eye, gorgeous. Of course, hers was not quite untrained. To most, the sight of wild birds skirting the surface of the murky water, cast in reds and grays against the rising Sun, were as beautiful as the reflective water itself, a deep, black mirror that gave the loch its name. This time of year, ice had begun to creep around the edges, and cool mists crept our over the heart of the Black Lake. The very earth seemed to sparkle like diamonds as light reflected off the frozen dew on the grassy banks around the loch. To most, a masterpiece of Mother Nature. But to Arrhenia?

    It was a ticking time-bomb. Merfolk had developed a vast underwater cityscape at the deepest levels of the Black Lake, a veritable masterpiece within a masterpiece whose inhabitants would kill or capsize any wannabe divers or sailors on the surface or at the bottom. Along with their larger masters, swarms of Grindylows would kill anything that the Merfolk missed, and were significantly more messy about it. And one should not forget that "domesticated" Giant Squid...

    A stiff breeze swept over her from behind, blowing her chocolate hair into her eyes. Concentration broken, she ceased to stare into the depths of the Black Lake. Arrhenia's eyes sought something else to contemplate, the silence of her mind too uncomfortable for her tastes. In the distance, she saw a speck flash across the great disk of the Sun. At first, she dismissed it as a trick of the eyes (Did she need glasses? God forbid...). But as it grew larger and larger, she began to realize exactly what it was. The compact shadow slowed as it approached the bridge before alighting on Arrhenia's shoulder, one taloned foot held outwards, clutching a thin, white envelope. The bird, a raven, to be specific, gave a loud squawk that made Arrhenia want to clap her hands over her ears. But by now, she was used to his antics. This raven was, by the standards of its breed, rather small, only slightly larger than its lesser cousin, the crow. He frequently took it as a great insult, however, if his size was brought up in conversation, and considered any misrepresentation of his character as being said lesser bird as a direct challenge of his honor. He also felt, as a matter of dignity and courtesy, that all messenger birds should announce their presence upon arrival.
    Honestly, Arrhenia thought to herself. More a Gryffindor than a Ravenclaw, with all his talk of propriety and honor. The raven gave out a second, almost choked, squawk. It sounded half like the bird was clearing its throat. Arrhenia waited a moment, half hoping that he'd just get on with it. But as the silence continued, she grew annoyed. Ultimately, Arrhenia gave in to his goddamned sense of servile propriety.

    "You may speak, Huginn," she practically sighed. Her words, to an eavesdropper, would perhaps sound like a series of clipped squawks and chirps. To Arrhenia and Huginn, however, it sounded just like proper Queen's English. The bird fluttered a bit, internally pleased that his mistress had accomodated him.

    "The Headmaster Poliakoff sends his regards, Ms. Reen." He held out the envelope, sealed with the double-eagle of Durmstrang, not seeming disturbed in the slightest at being balanced on one leg. Arrhenia eagerly grabbed it, barely heeding the delicate position of her messenger. She broke the wax seal with ease, momentarily marveling that such envelopes still existed in the age of the Mollybox*. Unfolding the thick paper within and rolling out the crease on the pillar next to her, Arrhenia began to read.


    ******

    Dear Ms. Fawley,

    Having received your outstanding prior history at Hogwarts, and your exceptional recommendations from a multitude of your teachers there, I am deeply regretful to inform you that your request for transfer to the Durmstrang Institute has been denied.

    While my sympathies go out to you, Ms. Fawley, I'm afraid that your credits earned while attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry do not qualify for placement in the Fifth Year at Durmstrang Institute. Your obvious lack of education in proper spellcraft, an assumption based off of the curriculum of Hogwarts School, leaves you at a serious disadvantage when compared to other students of your level at Durmstrang. Furthermore, you would be, at most, qualified to begin education at Durmstrang Institute as a mere First Year, a situation that I believe would be most undesirable for you.

    Sadly, you cannot be admitted into Durmstrang Institute at this time. If, at the end of your current school year at Hogwarts, you persist in your attempts to gain acceptance, you may be considered to begin at First Year level with tutoring, at best. However, this is all that I and my fellows at Durmstrang can offer a young witch in your position.

    Sincerely,

    Gregor Poliakoff, Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute
    ******
    Arrhenia rested her head against a pillar, gazing out over the Black Lake. Against her better intentions, the supposed beauty of the loch began to sink in. But to her eyes, the birds dancing across the water, the murky depths, the frigid edges, and the cool mists only seemed melancholy, a sad remnant of a wild world.

    "Durmstrang was it, Huginn," she sighed. The bird hopped up and down on the cold wooden handrail to get a better look at her face.

    "Ms. Reen. You are a lovely young witch. Just because life doesn't satisfy you now doesn't mean it won't later on. And, pardon my tongue, to Hell with that rotten old fart at Durmstrang! He doesn't know the half of what he's saying. If my opinion were worth a cent, I'd say you're better off here than in his hands. Ever since they made the fat slob Headmaster, the whole institution's gone downhill..." She waved him off, too deeply immersed in her own self-pity.

    "I learn nothing here. Nothing, Huginn. What is the point of school if nothing is to be learned?" She lost herself in the dark waters again, and started idly tracing her finger across the length of the handrail. "What's the point, Huginn? Of all of it? Without knowledge, without the power it gives people over the world, what are we? Just apes groping for a light in the dark, without knowing that the fire dwells within us."

    Huginn squawked in protest, getting Arrhenia's attention again. "It's not so bad as all that, Mistress, and I suggest you put those thoughts out of your head! I've known you since your First Year at Hogwarts, and I know for a fact that you're the kindest witch in the wor-" The bird's carefully thought out motivational speech was cut off by a grating screech from the other end of the bridge.


    "Reen! What are you doing? We're gonna be late for Herbology!"

    Huginn gave her a sympathetic look. "That awful Hufflepuff again, eh, Ms. Reen?" She cast him a glare of acid before taking a deep breath. As she exhaled, her trademark composure returned to her.

    "Go to the old Owlery, why don't you? I hear the caretaker still keeps it clean, even though the only owls there are just for the students who want their own outside communication." Arrhenia lost herself in contemplation again. "Strange that so many stick to the old ways just because they don't want to wait their turn on the school Mollybox." Turning on her heel, without even waiting for Huginn's response, Arrhenia took the path back to Hogwarts proper, glaring at the girl who was supposedly her best friend as they walked to Professor Longbottom's class. It kind of hurt the poor girl's chances when Reen didn't even know her first name...




    *Mollybox: A magical device, reminiscent of a large, bulky Muggle computer, that allows for nearly instantaneous communication with anyone else who possesses another Mollybox. Named by creator Arthur Weasley after his wife, Molly.
     
    #1 The Philosoraptor, Aug 4, 2016
    Last edited: Aug 7, 2016
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  2. [​IMG]


    || 1 December 2030 | DADA Class | Tagged: None | #138f1d ||
    Addy tapped her pen on the desk, only half her attention on the Professor's lecture. As usual, Defence Against the Dark Arts was utterly useless, and had nothing whatsoever to do with actual defence or (Merlin forbid!) the Dark Arts. Before, she had never been one to zone out during class. During her first year, even into her second, she had insisted on listening to every word, completing every assignment, naively certain that the Professors and the Ministry knew what was best for them. Bah, what a fool she had been. It had slowly dawned on her what everyone else knew all along - at Hogwarts they learned nothing.

    As the Professor droned on about the risks of travel to unknown places--And what did that have to do with the Dark Arts?--Addy let her eyes drift over to the nearby window. The morning was grey and misty, fog swallowing all but the nearest trees of the Forbidden Forest. The air, once a highway of owls flying in and out of the castle, was deserted. The Mollybox was a great invention, to be sure, but Addy still longed for the old ways. There was something special and mystical about an army of owls doing the bidding of witches and wizards. But the Mollybox was much faster, she had to admit. Well, it was faster if one could manage to get a turn on it, amongst all the other students at the school. And anyway, what was there to write to anyone about? Dear Mum, today we learned absolutely nothing. As always. I'm hoping a plague of dragon pox wipes us all out before we die of boredom, glued to our seats. Addy sighed.

    "MISS SLOANE!"

    Addy jumped in her seat, banging her knees on the underside of the desk. "S-sorry, Professor," she mumbled, rubbing her bruised legs. "I didn't hear."

    "I asked you, why is it best to avoid Albania?"

    Addy said the first thing that popped into her head. "Because Voldemort once hid there?" The whole class gasped. Several students dropped their pens, all were staring at her in dismay. Even Addy winced, knowing she should not have said it.

    The Professor looked like he was about to have a stroke. His lips were closed so tightly together that they were rapidly turning purple. "We do not speak of that person or those who followed him. You know the laws, Miss Sloane. Ten points from Slytherin, and an essay by next Monday on the Magical Securities Act and why it is so important in defending against the Dark Arts."

    Addy had to bite her lip to keep from retorting. How are we supposed to defend against the Dark Arts if we don't even know what they are?? Much less a single spell that would be useful in counteracting them. She crossed her arms over her chest and sat fuming behind her desk for the rest of class. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Didn't these grown-ups know anything? Honestly, it was like they were all being deliberately obtuse. Like they secretly wanted someone like Voldemort to come back.

    All Addy wanted to do was learn. Was that so much to ask? Information, knowledge, they were like a mother's milk to her. She simply couldn't survive without them. And this mind-numbing tedium at Hogwarts, day after day of learning nothing at all, it was worse than death. It was worse than anything she could imagine a Dark wizard doing to her. And she had a pretty vibrant imagination. Though imagine was all she could do... she had absolutely no idea what was supposedly so bad about these "Dark Arts" anyway. No idea what they were at all. And that lack of knowledge made her feel the most powerless of all.​
     
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  3. CIRCE FLINT - RAVENCLAW


    ■■■ Date: 1 December 2030
    ■■■ Location: Ravenclaw Tower - Herbology
    ■■■ Interactions: NONE
    ■■■ Mood: Restless
    ■■■ Color: #5982FE



    Exhaustion. That was the best way to describe how her week had been treating her. Since Monday, all she could do was toss and turn in the night, occupying her time by morphing her features into odd combinations and colors. Perhaps if she transformed her face into that of a lamb, Circe could finally catch some sleep. What a ridiculous thought. She scolded herself as she lay in the confines of her four-poster bed, listening to the muffled snores of those sharing the dormitory. What had also been ridiculous were the sudden thoughts of grandeur that had been the cause of her sleeplessness.

    It had been Monday night when she had first dreamed of the man in the hood, his voice low and resembling a dying ember, cracking with soft hisses. In the dream, she could not see his face, but the power that he controlled was worthy of envy - an envy that Circe felt deep within her breasts. The girl was not a Seer by any stretch of the word and yet she felt as though the dream had been more than just unconscious nonsense. In a way it felt... prophetic. Yes, that was a good word for it, and since that night, she could only sleep moments at a time. This night was the same.

    She forced herself from her bed at an early hour, still listening to the snores and soft breathing of her dormitory companions. Circe needed to be alone, taste the fresh chilled air and calm herself in the morning breeze. Soon things will be different for me, she thought as she slipped on her uniform and wrapped herself in a shawl and made her way to the common-room. Maybe today will be the start of that change. It was an optimistic thought to be sure, but it wasn't unusual to wish to break the monotony that had become Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry or the entire magical realm if one could be honest.

    A rush of frost welcomed her as she opened one of the tower windows, chilling her face and biting softly at her cheeks. The girl inhaled deeply, wakening her senses and calming her mind. For a moment, Circe shivered before realizing that a dense fog had crept upon the school grounds, though it was several floors below her. A small smile brushed her lips as she relished in the small, fleeting moment of power that she had felt. She, a fifteen year old Ravenclaw, was raised higher than the clouds.

    "Close that bloody window, will you? You're letting out the heat."

    Snapped out of her brief reality, Circe turned to the disruption to see Elias Hobbit clinging to his bedrobes. He was also in his fifth year, his face devastated by hormonal acne and a resting bitch face. Perhaps if he smiled and washed his hair, she could believe that he might be attractive. She sneered at him and rolled her eyes as she stepped away from the open window. "Maybe you should consider taking care of your own personal hygiene before sticking your greasy nose in someone else's business," she snapped as she walked past him. A small twang of guilt hit her stomach for a brief moment before disappearing without a trace. As Circe exited the common-room for Herbology, she heard Elias shuffle across the room and latch the window closed.





    ANTIOCH FINCH - GRYFFINDOR


    ■■■ Date: 1 December 2030
    ■■■ Location: Great Hall - Charm's Classroom
    ■■■ Interactions: NONE
    ■■■ Mood: Amused
    ■■■ Color: #FF0042


    "Blimey, 'Och. How much do you plan on eatin'?" Weasel inquired as he watched his best mate scarf down yet another loaf of cinnamon raisin bread. "You eat more than Uncle Ron."

    "I'm almost done! Gimme a moment," insisted Antioch as he washed down the bread with a glass of pumpkin tea. "There!" He slammed the cup down on the table with such ferocity that those with the pleasure of sitting near him jumped. One poor girl even let out a squeal as she spilled her own tea down her uniform. When she began to admonish him, the boy winked. "It's alright. I did you a service if you ask me. You'll look much better without the uniform." The girl's mouth opened in shock as her face turned red. It wasn't until the laughing started that she stood and ran out of the Great Hall all together. "Oh, don't be shy! I was only jokin'," Antioch shouted after her as Weasel clapped him on the back.

    "You know, you're liable to lose us points for that if a Professor had heard you, 'Och."

    "Heard what, Mr. Weasley?"

    It was Weasel's turn to blush as the kids around began to snicker. "Well, I... Well, I... I...Well."

    "I was only saying that your hair looks remarkable today, Headmistress," interrupted Antioch. He watched as McGonagall pursed her lips, her right eyebrow raising in skepticism.

    "Oh, I'm sure. 5 points from Gryffindor for being a terrible liar," she said simply, casting her gaze at the group before proceeding to walk from the Hall.

    Antioch watched her go with a faint thought of admiration. To be honest, he quite liked the woman and often enjoyed visiting her office for some conversations about Hogwarts, the wizarding world, and life in general; though, he didn't have to let others know that. He was lost in thought until a pain racked across the back of his head.

    "Her hair?! Is that what you could come up with, Cassanova?" Weasel was holding a textbook in his hands, no doubt the weapon he had used to knock Antioch out of his thoughts.

    He grimaced and snatched the book from his friend's hands, "Well, what... Well, what... Well, what was I supposed to do?" he mocked as he stood. "Come on, we've got to get to Charms. Don't need to be late again."
     
    #3 Cait, Aug 6, 2016
    Last edited: Aug 7, 2016
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  4. [​IMG]
    ♕× E V E L Y N / E V I A N N A / A B B O T /
    LOCATION; STUDY HALL.CHARMS CLASSROOM.⠀⠀⠀ INTERACTION; NOT APPLICABLE.⠀⠀⠀ MENTION; NOT APPLICABLE.
    ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ . ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ . ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ . ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ . ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

    E
    VELYN WAS A TAD
    BIT OF A TROUBLESOME SIBLING TO HAVE.
    Two and a half years older, she could be considered as brilliant – however, as if to compensate, was an overly analytical nuisance. Whoever distributed the pride gene in the birth lottery had seemed to bestow far too much. To avoid any petulant situations she found herself in – and there were a tidy few, let me tell you – she initiated the practice of somewhat respecting her schoolmates, and since then shunned the act of criticising everyone within her peripheral vision. At Hogwarts, where she was Sorted into Gryffindor (where else?), she had found a couple of other youths just as odd as herself, and they had a wonderful time going astray in their own little realm.


    This did not aid with the fact they appeared very similar. Not twin-similar, but you could tell we were sisters. They both had blonde hair, which she kept rather short compared to her sister, perhaps as a way of differentiating herself. Their faces were not all that different except for eye colour (her sister’s a murky brown, hers; a sky blue), and they were both had a large difference in the middling height, though in about the Fourth year, she had a bit of a growth spurt and ended up a couple of inches taller than her sister was was. So, not quite identical, but easily identifiable as related.


    "Aren't you Edwina Abott?"


    Apparently not.


    The other Gryffindor girls in her year that resided near her four-poster were Sylvia Farley, Lillianna Barr, and Araceli Moon. She despised the lot – every single one of them. Sylvia in particular was rather obnoxious than the rest. They were not in the same hemisphere; there was no interaction, only a mere recognition that they were idiosyncratic from Evelyn. However, that did not, if nothing else, mean that it was not compulsory to be at least be aware of her appearance – and her name, and sometimes we got along very well – she had her doubts whether they even acknowledged her existence.


    "No." Evelyn's tone was the embodiment of pique. She snapped at her tongue, vying for control over the fine border of her emotions, and her speech. Many a time has this situation arose; though as much willpower was drained from her body by doing so, Evelyn was normally dissatisfied with her performance. The prospect of being rejected was slightly pressuring, and thankfully, searing this said prospect into her mind was an effective way of keeping her prideful mouth closed. "You must be mistaken, I'm her sister; your longtime roommate ?" Her facial expression, however, did not seal her tone of speech; she appeared lifeless.


    A choir of whispers ensued from the three, eyeing Evelyn quite sceptically. In all frankness, she was livid. Not physically, but mentally. She masked it with the face of a corpse, which admittedly was more intricate work than it seemed; to appear deceased was a task a living individual normally strove to achieve. The whispers seemed to persist for a prolonged period of time; and it was then and there her stoicism ruptured – picture a dam erupting from the excessively large amount of water it was expected to withstand, water gushing from every nook.


    "I would love to stay and chat, but I have Charms in a few and – oh dear ! How immoral of me ! I do apologize for interrupting your discussion revolving around me. Feel free to exaggerate this affair to regardless your hearts desire." Evelyn alternated from tossing her parchment and quills into her bookbag whilst sounding her fury. Once she crossed the threshold that separated the Dorms from the Common Room, she bid a good-natured "Cheerio !", before egressing from the Girl's Dorms, and then, Gryffindor Tower itself.



     
    #4 Petrichor, Aug 7, 2016
    Last edited: Aug 9, 2016
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  5. Goddard Cross | 1 December 2030
    It was too early in the day to be feeling tired, especially after a good night's rest, but Professor Binns had a way of bringing out exhaustion in each and every one of his students. The History of Magic Classroom was full of fifth years from all houses, each varying degrees of slumped over their text books or crouched down in their chairs, with heavy eyelids that threatened to slip closed after each droning word from the old ghost. Goddard Cross was no exception, of course, the Ravenclaw was just as bored as his classmates as he sat in his uncomfortable wooden seat, strong chin propped up on closed fist while a part of him begged for death.

    Sadly, boredom had become the norm for Goddard over the last several years. All of his classes felt stagnant and tiresome, void of any real learning or practical magic for reasons that the Ravenclaw couldn't seem to wrap his brilliant mind around. They were a school of witches and wizards who weren't encouraged to use their wands, magic-users who barely knew how to lift a feather into the air; Hogwarts was a joke and the students were the same by association.

    The Professor's unchanging monotone voice set Goddard on edge, so much so that his apathy for the current lecture began to change to resentment, a certain kind of frustration that only came from wasted time and opportunity. Goddard put his head down on top of his open text book and contemplated making himself sick just to get out of class for the rest of the day, but before any kind of plan could come to fruition, Binns was speaking directly to him.

    “Is Joan of Arc not to your satisfaction, Mister Cross?” the ghost asked, his transparent mouth twisted into a frown.

    The others around him had perked up and their wide but blearily eyes suggested they weren't looking to lose any points from their respective houses. Normally, Goddard wasn't the defiant type, but something was different that day. Picking his head up, the fifth year remained slumped over his text book, “not really.”

    His answer earned a few snickers that the ghost wasn't pleased with. “Well,” Binns said, haughty for the first time in decades, “even if you aren't interested, your classmates are and I believe their notes would go much more smoothly without your snoring.”

    Eyebrows furrowed, Goddard straightened up and chose, at that moment, to take the world's most pointless stand. “I wasn't asleep,” he corrected, “so how could I have been snoring?”

    A flustered noise escaped the ghost, a being who wasn't used to defiance or liveliness in his classroom, but Goddard wasn't about to back off just because Binns wasn't used to being on the spot. “That's ten points from Ravenclaw, Mister Cross,” he replied, cool enough, but obviously bothered by the way his form became more transparent.

    “For what?” Goddard asked, “because I don't care about Joan of Arc? We know about her already, everyone does. This is stuff you teach a class of third years!” They never learned anything, but even if those around him agreed, not even the Gryffindor's were brave enough to come to his defense. Had Binns been alive, Goddard was sure that his cheeks would have been rosy with anger and embarrassment, but instead he just continued to float there for a moment. “Take twenty points!” Goddard went on, digging his own grave, “take thirty!” Which earned a gasp from a housemate somewhere in the back.

    “Out!” the ghost shouted, his voice carrying a surprising amount of command as his otherworldly finger pointed toward the door. “To the Headmistress's office with you, boy!”

    For someone who had never been in serious trouble before, being kicked out of class gave Goddard a moment of clarity. Part of him was ready to apologize, blame his outburst on same bad breakfast sausage, but backing down wasn't something that he had ever done well. Setting his jaw, Goddard grabbed his books and pens, no more quills and ink for Hogwarts students, before getting up and leaving the room with quick, seemingly un-bothered strides. Outside the classroom, the stone hallways were quiet and Goddard finally felt like he could breathe again.

    Location: History of Magic Classroom → Corridor
    Mentions: None
    Interactions: None




    Edwina Thiel | 1 December 2030
    There were many classes that Edwina dragged her feet to get to, but Herbology wasn't one of them. Much like any girl who had grown up playing in her grandmother's garden and marveling over brightly colored flowers and vines with impossible twists and turns, she had gravitated toward the class since first year. Now fifteen and coming into her own, her passion for plants and all sweet-smelling blooms had only intensified—which was why Edwina made sure to get to professor Longbottom's class early. The older man never seemed to mind her presence very much, which was more than the Hufflepuff could say for some of her other teachers.

    With her books slung over her shoulder, Edwina entered the greenhouse and greeted Professor Longbottom with a silent smile. He looked busy, dutifully hovering over a large, black mass of vines that was sure to be their lesson for the day. Edwina was excited, but wanted to be surprised and went to take her usual seat at a table in the middle of the room. Once there, she brushed away residual dirt from the surface, an unavoidable spill from the last class, and set her things down. Being there early was for much more than just stopping to smell the roses, or to water the Chomping Cabbage—Edwina's pride and joy sat in a small pot on the side of the room.

    Green, shiny and barely older than a newborn, a Fanged Geranium waited for attention. “How are you today?” Edwina asked the plant as she slipped on a pair of dragonhide gloves. “Did you miss me?” The plant in the pot swayed slightly, its small mouth parting to reveal the beginnings of sharp teeth. Edwina took it as a smile and gently brought the pot back to her seat after giving the carnivore's soil a healthy drink of water.

    “I brought you a snack,” Edwina told her leafy friend, sure that she would have looked strange to anyone who didn't share a love of Herbology. Turning, the bushy-haired fifth year dug through her leather bag for the raw mince she'd purloined from the kitchen the night before—a perk of the common room being so close to the Great Hall. She unwrapped the paper and offered a small piece to the plant, its mouth opened again, wider and Edwina could only smile with glee over how large its jaws would one day be. “Good, huh?” The Hufflepuff was ready with a second bite, and she was thankful for her gloves as the Geranium's mouth closed over her thumb and index finger, eager for more good.

    Laughing, Edwina reached for her potions book with her free hand, “don't get greedy now.” Although she shared a bond with the plant she had so aptly named Sweetheart, the Fanged Geraniums served a different purpose. For the first time in what felt like ages, the Potions professor was going to let them brew something at the end of term and the teeth from the Herbology class's supply of hungry monsters was a key ingredient. Although her text book didn't mention more than the recipe, there were books from the library that filled in the gaps. Rather thoughtfully, Edwina wasn't sure why Hogwarts had stopped teaching them the important parts of being magical.

    Probably because of that bloody Mollybox, she thought in a rare moment of bitterness that was soon broken by Sweetheart wanting another bite of meat. “What did I just say?” she cooed, though didn't hesitate in giving the plant what it wanted.

    Soon enough, more students began to fill the classroom and Edwina resigned to putting her favorite plant back on the shelf with the others. Its waxy green sheen stood out among the others, some wilted and slumped over, others short and uncared for. That wasn't Sweetheart, Edwina would never allow such a thing. Quietly, the Hufflepuff said goodbye to her friend before stripping off her gloves and returning to her seat. The class was definitely filling up, but two arrivals caught her attention more than anything.

    There was that girl again, her over-eager housemate who felt it necessary to attach herself to that Ravenclaw girl. Edwina wasn't one for gossip, but she thought something was off with the pair, especially Fawley, whom the other Hufflepuff and many others referred to as Reen.

    Location: Herbology Greenhouse
    Mentions: @The Philosoraptor
    Interactions: None
     
    #5 neptune, Aug 7, 2016
    Last edited: Aug 8, 2016
  6. [​IMG]

    Dakota Michael Anderson
    1 December 2030//DADA Class//Tired~Asleep//393b96

    Dakota really shouldn't have stayed up so late last night reading his book on Magic Creatures. But he had and now he was sitting in the back of the class falling asleep. It was great, that he WAS at the back of the class. Normally he didn't get bugged back there. The Professor spent most of their time rambling on and getting after the ones that paid the most attention. Which you would think would be the other way around. But Dakota wasn't one to ever really care for the class. It wasn't like they were actually taught anything. I mean it was mostly just what if, and never again. Nothing that would help them if another war broke out. He didn't even want to take this class. But it was a requirement.


    Dakota was more then certain that his head had jerked a few times as he sat there. But again, it went unnoticed, it wasn't until he heard the professor yell at Addie, that he sat straight him in his seat, only to hit his head on the wall behind him. Grumbling as he rubbed the back of his head. Needless to say there was going to be a goose egg. He would have to explain that one to the nurse. Sighing a bit, as he slouched again in his chair. Did any one here really care about the "art of time travel." No they didn't but then again, what did it matter. Not like they would get to practice it anyways.


     
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