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The State Archives, Venice, Italy
Author: Cassandra Catesby
Date: 12-21-12 01:48
Cassandra worked her way through the crowds of Muggles. At this time of year, most were Venetians heading to work rather than tourists. In the black trouser suit and, given the damp weather, smart black woollen coat, she blended in perfectly. She'd noticed that Muggles tended to wear black as if it were a uniform and that suited her purposes well.
Her destination was the Campo dei Frari at the heart of the San Polo district of Venice. Ignoring the imposing Italian Gothic edifice of the Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, she headed instead towards the Cloister of the Holy Trinity, one of the two monumental cloisters around which the vast architectural complex of the formal Franciscan convent of Santa Maria dei Frari was arrayed. Nowadays it was where the State Archives of Venice were held.
"Buongiorno," she said in crisp Italian. The years studying old books of all kinds had helped her natural facility for languages; modern Italian was not so far removed from the Latin many of the older texts were written in.
"Buongiorno," the woman at the reception desk replied.
"I wonder if you might be able to help me..." Cassandra continued in the same language, explaining that she was conducting a genealogical project on the Alberti family and that she believed a family member she was particularly interested in tracing may have lived in Venice during the Renaissance period. It was not entirely a lie; she was interested in tracing them.
The receptionist smiled and directed her towards the correct room. A few further explanations to the man on duty there, a quick demonstration, and she found herself seated in front of what he had called a 'microfiche reader' with a number of rolls of film with old documents on. She scrolled through carefully.
Her theory was that, as a wealthy family, the Alberti she was looking for might well have tried to parlay that wealth into social standing in the Muggle World as well as the Wizarding World. It would not have been entirely uncommon before the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was signed in 1692.
She found what she was looking for on the third roll of film. A small smile of triumph curved her lips. She made a quick note on a scrap of paper and tucked it into her coat pocket.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" the man asked her in Italian as she handed the rolls back.
"Yes, thank you," she replied.
Stepping back out into the Campo dei Frari, she headed towards one of the quieter side streets in the hope of finding somewhere she could disapparate. She needed to get back to the bookshop; she had a customer due shortly who was interested in a first edition copy of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes. But she was one step closer to finding the Book of the Dark Mirror. She could feel it.
Grim's Island
Author: Phyllida
Date: 12-21-12 02:39
A dense mist slept over the grey sea, pierced only by the gleam of a solitary, distant light. Phyllida stood at the shore, staring out at the featureless grey blanket. A low, silty bank separated them from the encroaching tide, covered in mats of purplish grass and littered with rusty crab-cages. They had traced for a few days around the Isle of Grimsay, encountering only an old Muggle in a yellow raincoat picking whelks out of a fishing net. He had not looked up as they had walked past, their disillusionment charms in place.
Their search had culminated here, at a ruined, stone jetty. An abandoned slate building, its roof reduced to bare rafters, stood a little way off; they had searched that for clues, too, but the shack had yielded none of its secrets.
"So, nothing has worked," she said grimly, her gaze fixed on the opaque horizon. Blaise pulled the shallow rowboat up the shore by its frayed tether; flaking Muggle paint coated the side. She watched him, her heart sinking. "We'd expected the Anti-Disapparition jinxes, but not an impervious tide."
The dinghy tethered to the crumbling jetty had seemed a likely start. But once she and Blaise and climbed in, with Pansy restraining a reluctant Ptolemy at the jetty, they had barely lost sight of land in the thick fog before the tide had turned them back to the shore. It didn't seem to matter how fast or hard Blaise rowed; the boat could only row towards its starting place.
Pansy had conjured a striped beach-towel, and lay on the silty bank, shading her eyes from the cloudy glare. "Reminds you of that Fountain story in Beedle the Bard, doesn't it? I expect we're supposed to cry or sweat on the bleeding boat." She brushed the dark fringe from her face, annoyance crossing her pampered features.
"It's the mist," Phyllida said. "The Irish wizard, Manannán, could conjure a magical mist that led travellers astray and lured a Muggle king to his den."
Ptolemy turned his yellow gaze towards her; the displeasure on his rotund face conveyed the fact that he was dealing with a complete imbecile.
"We've deduced that your father came here for a reason." Blaise stepped away from the dinghy. "Can you think of any significance it might have had for him?"
She shook her head. There was nothing here that her father could have been connected with; it was a world away from the closeted comfort of Black Friar's. She turned her back on her companions, walking along the tide-threatened bank.
"Be careful," Blaise called out after her. "That light in the distance? It could be a will-o'-the-wisp, or something worse."
***
Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…
A chilled shudder pricked her skin; she was quite alone. Warily, she looked around her – she'd heard the Muggle nursery rhyme before, somewhere. Why was it in her mind now? It came to her in a child's voice, measured and lamenting. In trepidation, she drew her wand and conjured her patronus. The wispy heron flapped its wings overhead, melting into the mist, but its incorporeal presence reassured her.
The air had grown thicker with the wet mist, and chill. She wasn't sure how far she had come. The mist had swallowed up the jetty and the ruined shack – she could neither hear nor see her companions. She'd walked along the shore, towards the light, which seemed to get no closer. But she had stopped measuring her direction by the position of the light – it seemed, now, that she was following the voice…
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily…
She glanced behind her, certain that the voice was coming from a different direction. When she turned around, she saw that, in the mist, she had nearly walked into a faded Muggle sign:
WELCOME TO GRIMSAY
Griomasaigh
'Grim's Island'
Population: 19
Life is but a dream.
Dazed, she blinked at the sign, comprehending at last. "Grim's Island."
"Actually, his name is Aethelfred the Grim," spoke the young voice of the nursery rhyme. She turned around, white-faced; the ghost of a girl looked up at her through a pair of milky, translucent eyes. She clutched an old and ragged lop-eared rabbit toy, which was as ghostly as her. "This island was his, once. Then he…had an accident. He told me about it, but it's a very long story."
Shaken, Phyllida reached a hand towards the sign to steady herself – but her hand passed through the ethereal timber, and the sign – chipped paint, weathered timber, and lettering all – vanished like a puff of smoke.
"He did lay the mist, though. This part of the island is always foggy, though it doesn't stop the Muggles these days. They come here to catch fish. People aren't afraid of ghosts like they used to be."
"Who are you?" Phyllida asked.
"Rosie. Like Ring-a-ring o' Rosie, a pocket full of posy…"
She could barely bring herself to ask the question. "Did you live in the camp?"
"The camp? Oh, you mean the House. Yes. I'm an orphan. My mum was a witch, but she died. My dad…" she shrugged, unknowingly. "A nice lady from the Ministry brought me here."
Phyllida's heart sank. "How did you die?"
The little ghostly nose twitched. "It was an accident. I don't really want to talk about it. Can we talk about something else?" A spark of cheer returned to her silvery eyes. "This place is really very strange. They only let us play in the inner courtyard most of the time, because outside…well, you can see how easy it is to get lost. Do you want to see the House?"
Stricken, she nodded.
The ghost beckoned her to follow; they clambered across the rocky slope a few paces, side-by-side. She turned her face up at the living girl. "This is fun," she said. "I haven't had a friend since they closed this place down. I've tried to be friendly with the fisherman, but they can't see me, and I just frighten them. Once, I made an old man drop a pail full of cockles; he cursed himself and had to pick them all up again." She made a face. "Do you know any nursery rhymes? I know all the Muggle ones…"
"Well," Phyllida began, "there's One, two, stir my brew…"
"Oh, I know that one. It's not very fun though, unless you feel like skipping along to it. Look! There it is!"
The mist had dropped sharply, and Phyllida could see that they had arrived on a granite cliff; above them rose an old lighthouse, formed by the same, jagged rocks that littered this sharp outcrop of the island. Its grey sides were cylindrical, and a number of ruined outhouses were scattered at its base. A mirror-light glinted at its apex; her patronus flapped overhead and made its perch upon it.
"That's the glamour, anyway. It looks completely different inside."
"Is this where you died?" Phyllida asked.
The ghost nodded sagely. "You can't go in. Aethelfred only let the wizard with the red hair in. Trespassers make him angry."
Phyllida turned her head towards the sea – a bracing wind was blowing the mist away. Her mind felt inescapably lucid; there was nothing more for her, or her father, here. Despair twisted her innards. "Since we're friends now, Rosie, will you help me find the lighthouse again if I come back another time?"
"You're going already?" The little ghost knitted her pale eyebrows together. "Oh, I thought we would play together a bit more."
"I promise I'll come back to play," Phyllida said. She felt cold, salty tears frozen in her eyes. "I have to go back to my other friends now."
Rosie's petulant moue was replaced with an enthusiastic beam. "Can I meet them, too, next time?"
The Dress
Author: Carys
Date: 12-21-12 17:29
"Well, what do you think?"
Carys held up the set of robes she had decided to wear to her wedding to Griffin. A layer of ivory chiffon covered the empire-style, charmeuse robes and split at the front, revealing a sweetheart neckline. Beaded crystals and pearls adorned the high waist and sparkled in the sunlight streaming in from the window.
Elizabeth's eyes widened. "It's beautiful, Carys! Wherever did you find it?"
"Your cousin made it for me," Carys replied with a smile.
"I didn't know you were still working together to find the perfect dress," Elizabeth admitted. "I thought you had given up after the first time I took you there."
Carys carefully stowed her bridal robes into the back of her grandfather's closet. It was the safest place she thought she could keep them, without Griff seeing them before the big day. Alun had a number of old robes and coats he never wore. They served as a good barrier between the apparel that did get regular use and the dress Carys wished to keep hidden until her wedding day.
She turned back to her friend and said, "I did go to a few other places, with you, and with Juliet and Mindy. But then I decided to try your cousin's boutique again. She said she could work with me if I had an idea. I didn't, not at first anyway, but we put our heads together and eventually came up with something."
"Have you shown the others yet?" Elizabeth asked, meaning Juliet and Mindy, the two missing from their group of friends. Juliet still worked at Amber's in Diagon Alley and was charged with helping Carys find jewelry to wear to her wedding. Mindy had to work the lunch shift at Demeter's Diner today and therefore also couldn't join Carys and Elizabeth at the house in Newcastle-under-Lyme.
Carys shook her head. "Not yet. You're the first."
Elizabeth clapped her hands together in excitement. "Oh, goodie!"
Carys laughed. "I'm glad the fact makes you feel special. Come on, let's see what there is to eat around here."
The house was quiet. Alun had gone out to lunch with an old friend of his. Griff was at work. Tristan was enrolled in the new primary school in Hogsmeade. The only company the girls had besides each other were the two cats, but both of them were napping at the moment.
"Aren't you afraid about going back to St. Emrys?" Elizabeth asked, after they had fixed themselves sandwiches.
"No," Carys said, "I'm not. Everybody is out looking for the attacker/murderer. I know that hasn't stopped him from turning up, but I think St. Emrys is safe, all things considered."
Elizabeth shuddered. "I hope he gets caught soon. He's been on the run for far too long. There's no telling what all he's done."
"I know," Carys replied. "Maybe his luck will run out soon."
The girls fell silent for a little while and ate their sandwiches, mulling on what would motivate a person to attack and kill innocent victims and wondering if the culprit would ever get caught.
Arielle - Problem in Potions
Author: Jolyon
Date: 12-21-12 20:31
Arielle Kent carefully leaned over her simmering cauldron and studied the steaming blue liquid with interest. She thought she had followed Professor Weasley's instructions to the letter, though perhaps she had prepared one or more of the ingredients slightly wrong. The one thing she had learned about Potions in the month she had been at Hogwarts was that it was a very precise science.
She turned to the empty flask on the table she shared with Lauren MacDougal and carefully scooped up some of the simple cure for boils, hoping she didn't somehow contaminate the potion in the process. Arielle stoppered the flask and carefully wrote her name on the label adhered to the smooth glass.
Other students had reached the same stage and carried their potion samples to the front of the dungeon classroom. Among them was Arielle's brother Asher.
The twins looked very much like siblings. Both had dark hair and eyes and were roughly the same size and shape. The latter attributes would no doubt change in the coming years, but for now nobody could mistake the Kent children for anything but blood relations, and twins at that.
Asher and Arielle were like typical siblings. Sometime they got on very well. Others times, they acted like sworn enemies.
Ever since coming to Hogwarts and settling into different houses, the two did not appear to be on good terms. It wasn't for lack of trying on Arielle's part. She had always had the better temperament, though she could be feisty if she wished. Asher, on the other hand, more often than not held the superior attitude commonly affiliated with Slytherin students. Only a select few met his approval.
The twins met in the center aisle when Arielle went to leave her sample on Professor Weasley's desk. Asher had just come from the front of the classroom. Their eyes met, and Arielle felt a brief premonition that something unwanted and very much unwarranted would soon happen. The sneer on Asher's face and mischievous glint in his eyes were clear indicators that she would face some sort of trouble in the coming moments.
It happened when they passed each other. Entirely unseen, thanks to the other students trotting to and fro in the same aisle, Asher tripped up Arielle. Anticipating the trouble, though not entirely able to avoid it, Arielle corrected herself enough to stay on her feet. Unfortunately, the hand holding the flask came down onto the corner of a neighboring table and cracked, sending rivulets of blue liquid onto the stone floor.
Professor Weasley looked up at the commotion and asked Arielle, "What happened?"
In the fleeting seconds that followed, Arielle decided not to rat out her brother. "I tripped," she said, kneeling to clean up the mess she had made. Luckily, she hadn't cleaned out her cauldron yet and could make another sample.
A short while later, Arielle left the Potions classroom with Lauren and Leo Marchbanks. Out of all her fellow first year Gryffindors, Arielle spent the most time with them and considered them friends. The three entered the Great Hall and went straight to the middle of the Gryffindor table, where they usually congregated for their meals.
"You didn't hurt yourself with the glass, did you?" Lauren asked, quite a bit after the fact. "It just occurred to me that you could have cut your hand pretty badly."
Arielle held up her hand, as proof that she had done herself no harm. "I guess I was lucky," she said.
"Yes, you were," Leo agreed. "You could have gotten a Troll on the assignment if you'd cleaned out your cauldron first."
"Is Troll a real mark? I don't think it is," Arielle replied, reaching for a steaming plate of battered fish.
"I think Dreadful is the lowest mark," Lauren said, wrinkling her brow as she thought the matter over. "Have you heard of anybody getting a Troll on any of the assignments we've had so far?"
"No," Arielle said.
"No," Leo admitted, "but I'm telling you, it's real. Just wait and see."
"What do you mean? I'm not ever going to get a Troll on anything," Lauren protested.
"Me neither!" Arielle concurred.
She soon forgot about Asher's trick during Potions class and found herself laughing with her friends over lunch.
Chickweed
Author: Marzipan
Date: 12-22-12 10:11
The first year Ravenclaw and Slytherin students put their quills down at Professor Ravenscroft's command. They had just taken their first quiz in Herbology, which covered everything the students had learned since the start of term. Topics included general questions about herbology, to more specific ones about certain plants, like aconite, belladonna and dill.
After Aderyn Carter gathered up all the quizzes and handed them to Professor Ravenscroft, the class began its lesson on chickweed. Chickweed was the common name for several types of plants, but the one Professor Ravenscroft lectured on was of the genus Stellaria.
She presented the students each with a medium-sized pot, in which one of two types of Stellaria grew. Approximately half the students had the "greater" variety, while the other half had the "lesser" variety. The difference was the size of star-shaped, white blossoms, but otherwise the plants looked exactly the same.
"This type of chickweed," Professor Ravenscroft began, "is also known as starweed or star chickweed. It grows in all parts of the world, even as far north as the arctic, and is one of the most common of weeds."
She went on to point out the plant's physical characteristics, from the hairy stems to the egg-shaped leaves that folded inwards at night to protect new shoots. The flowers opened every morning and stayed open for around twelve hours in bright weather. Capsules released the plant's seeds in the wind.
After the lecture portion of the lesson, Professor Ravenscroft had the students harvest the leaves from their plant. The leaves were used medicinally as a poultice for inflammation and would go to the Hospital Wing for Madam Pomfrey to use.
The rest of the class passed quickly. One by one, the students carried their cloth bundles of chickweed leaves to the side table their professor used as a desk. The assignment wasn't a particularly difficult one, but it was important the students not bruise the leaves during the removal process. Since they were not very tender, this was usually not an issue.
Class ended promptly at 2:45 PM. The first years fled the greenhouse, some choosing the Herbology corridor as their path to whatever destination they had next, others preferring the open outdoors. It was a little sunny, though the threat of grey skies loomed in the near distance.
Marzi took a 15 minute tea break, and then spent her office hours tending to plants in the greenhouse and preparing for tomorrow's lessons.
Wednesday Ancient Runes (AJ)
Author: Furnella Hodfuffer
Date: 12-22-12 14:33
Wednesdays this term mean fifth years and 7th years, both in the afternoon for AJ. Eyes going to the hour glass shaped timer he'd set when the fifth years arrived for Ancient Runes, AJ calls, "Time. Make sure your names are on your scrolls. Two of you forgot one day last week and marks were lower as a result."
As he's speaking some of the students are continuing to hastily scribble, trying to finish up the runic translation he'd given them as a quiz. He has no doubt a few will take it to the very last possible second.
"Don't forget you've got translations for homework due on Tuesday. Quizzes in now, please, then you may go."
One student stands and starts walking towards AJ, still writing. Parchment handed over, the student returns to collect his things before exiting the classroom. AJ glances at the work. The last bit is something of a scribble but it is legible. The room quickly clears except for one Hufflepuff.
"Hugo, you have to turn your work in now. I don't what to be forced to dock points."
"Yes, sir, sorry." Hugo doesn't ask if AJ means points from the paper or house points. It doesn't matter as either would be unacceptable. He hands over his quiz then hurries out, though AJ doesn't know if the quickness of pace is because Hugo has another class or because he's just eager to go somewhere and relax.
In the less than fifteen minutes before time to begin his NEWT level class of 7th years, AJ gets everything ready for a review of runic spells, the topic covered since the term began. On Friday when the 7th years next meet, there is an exam then on Monday the topic will shift to the Marcomannic runes, the Medieval runes, and the Dalecarlian runes, which all developed from the Younger Futhark.
Students begin trickling in and soon Etta Wynbourne is passing out study guides while Christopher Chant helps out by collecting a short essay that was homework.
Conversation With Prunella
Author: Furnella Hodfuffer
Date: 12-22-12 15:00
Sitting where I can keep an eye on the restaurant, Prunella Cromwell is filling me in on a visit she recently had with Aspen Woods Bloodstone.
"Aspen's expecting again. Christopher and she are so excited. She looks wonderful, with that glow pregnant women get."
"That's wonderful. I'll have to send her a congratulations."
"Have you exchanged letters recently?"
"Not for several weeks. She must not have known yet because she didn't mention the baby. Mainly, she gave me a progress report on Forest."
"Aspen told me he remembers certain things, mostly from growing up, but still nothing from adulthood."
"He's been frustrated apparently, but who can blame him."
Prunella takes a sip of tea before venturing to ask, "Have you considering going to see him?"
"Practically every day but then I wonder what would be the point beyond adding to that frustration."
"What if he's to a point that seeing someone from his time with the British Ministry would help bring forth some of those memories?"
"Did you see him when you were with Aspen?"
"I thought about it but then didn't."
"Forest knew you far longer than he knew me. You worked closely together for a long time."
"Perhaps we should go together."
"Might that be overwhelming?"
"If it is, he can ask us to leave or simply tell us no, he doesn't want to see us."
"When would you want to go?"
"When do you have your next full day off?"
"Ummmm."
Prunella gives me her exasperated to the point of being daunting look. "You can't keep working constantly. I thought Lars and Phlagmelina were good about making you take time off."
"They are but I come anyway and get paperwork done, inventory, that sort of thing."
"What about dating? Aren't you seeing Max Black?"
"We see each other on occasion but I wouldn't call it dating. He's out of the country more than he's in."
"Good."
I give a little laugh. "Pardon?"
"I don't much care for him. I get a strange vibe whenever I've been around him."
"You've never mentioned it before."
"I didn't think it was my place."
"What changed your mind?"
"I'm not sure exactly. I suddenly felt the need to finally say something."
"I'm having dinner with Max tonight."
Prunella frowns at this news. "I wish you wouldn't but if you must, be careful around him. You two haven't, you know?"
"No, or at least not yet."
"I'd keep it that way if I were you, at least until he were more forthcoming about his background and that import-export business of his."
I would normally tell someone being a nosy busybody to keep such advice to themselves but Prunella's always had good instincts. When she leaves a short time later, I'm still thinking about what she said and wondering now dinner tonight with Max should be the last.