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An Act of Terror - Platform 9 3/4
Author: Peregrinus Hartcrofte
Date: 12-27-12 01:30
The two men swept through the station as surreptitiously as they could. Among a Muggle crowd, their idea of "stealth" would have doubtlessly made them stand out as if they had clad themselves in flashing neon lights. In the crowd they currently moved through, not a soul found them to be out of place. The taller of the two wore a trench-length white overcoat, under which mulberry-wine bell-bottoms and a pair of white trainers could be seen. His shirt collar was hidden from view by a mulberry-wine scarf, and a white Trilby was perched atop his shoulder-length jet-black locks. His companion wore a Muggle business suit that appeared to be (because it was) cobbled together from pieces of different suits, and was therefore a horrible mismatch of colors and patterns.
After a brief exchange to decide who would search where, the two split up and combed Platform 9¾ in search of the bomb, per the clue left by "The Jabberwocky". Their intent was to create the smallest disturbance possible, though they could not in good conscience let anyone board a potentially booby-trapped train, so a cover story had been employed that the train had a nasty infestation of gremlins1, and that it would not be safe to board until they had been properly dealt with2. A thorough search of the train and its track had not yielded any results, which had in turn yielded mixed reactions from Messrs. Hartcrofte and Mawrth.
"I've not a clue in my head, Pip. The train is fine; you even checked for any device that may have been rendered invisible. The track is clear. We've looked in every nook, and scanned very cranny. You don't suppose this was all a wild duck chase?"
The taller man put a reassuring hand on the shorter man's shoulder. "It's 'wild goose chase', Rhys, and we must be prepared for that possibility. I don't know why 'The Jabberwocky' would murder a girl to send us a bogus clue, but it's possible. It's also possible, and I think more likely, that we have yet to discover the true location of the explosive. We may have taken the clue too literally, in assuming that they were detonating the train itself. How much time do we have until noon?"
Rhys Mawrth pulled a pocket watch large enough to have been made for a half-giant from his pocket. "That's odd … my great-aunt placed a Winding Charm on this so I'd never need to wind it, but it seems to have stopped …"
As Rhys tapped his comically-oversized pocket watch, all hell broke loose. A thunderous explosion rang out, as debris fell from the ceiling – one place neither Pip nor Rhys had thought to check – to crush the train below. Great billowing clouds of green smoke descended like an indoor fog. Thinking quickly, Pip cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself, but when he tried to cast it on Rhys, he missed and accidentally put the protective bubble around the Welshman's pocket watch instead.
As bystanders came into contact with the mist, it was clear from their reaction that they had been dosed with some form of atomised potion. Most sank to the ground; many giggled as if amused by some private joke. Amid this pandemonium, a skeletal face resolved in the emerald fog, and spoke a single word which chilled Pip to the very core of his being.
"IMPERIO!"
1 While most people on hand accepted the story that the train had been overrun by gremlins, a single resident expert (self-professed) proclaimed the very notion of gremlins infesting the train to be "frabjous poppycock!" and stormed off to file a complaint with the Ministry of Magic.
2 The self-professed expert on gremlins briefly paused his egress to comment on the "impractical load of malarkey" involved in the concept of "dealing with" gremlins even if they were in residence, which, as he repeatedly pointed out, "was about as likely as a werewolf birthing a kitten."
Enjoying Some Time Off (Orion's Flat, London)
Author: Orion Howell
Date: 12-27-12 14:02
Orion balled up the parchment and tossed it in the general direction of the trash before incinerating it with a flick of his wand. He had already explained to his bosses that he wasn't going back out into the field until Desi was cleared to be there too, and given that they were the ones who had insisted he have a partner, he rather thought they should deal with it.
And they would, but that didn't mean they'd do it without trying to push. He just couldn't let them. And after witnessing Desi having one of her visions, and not being able to catch her, he wasn't about to be pushing them to clear her for field duty.
It was bad enough that she'd insisted on going to Azkaban with Bronwyn, he hadn't liked that at all, but he'd not known with enough time to stop her from doing it. Or even to go himself, though he'd thought about it. But it wouldn't do for Nott to see him as a Ministry employee. He didn't advertise it among those he'd grown up with, it was better that way. Too many of them had questionable allegiances, and he understood them quite well, but it wasn't his choice of path either.
With the rising tensions, between Adriana Fairchild's murder of Dumbledore and the whispered rumors of that body that had been found at the Ministry, the muted mumblings of increasing activity among the families who had followed the dark, he didn't want to risk drawing more attention to himself or to Desi and her friends.
Her vision worried him. It had been on his mind since he got her to tell him about it, after he'd finally vanished the candle that wouldn't blow out, to Desi's somewhat subdued giggles. Over cake and tea, they'd talked about it, though it was all so vague that they didn't have any conclusions. For the rest of the weekend, it had been something that rested on both their minds but nothing that could really be done came to mind, so Orion had let it go.
But now, he had something he needed to do. Desi would need some dinner when she got off work and while he might not be any good at cooking, he did know how to order and have it delivered.
Depressed
Author: Coco Nutt
Date: 12-27-12 17:34
Coco's sitting alone in the kitchen when Mitzi Bolt enters. The older woman stops, hand hovering near the light switch. "Coco, you gave me a start. Why are you sitting here in the dark."
"There's enough light through the window so I just didn't bother."
Mitzi flips on the light. "I thought I'd make a cuppa. Would you like one?"
"No, but thanks. I need to leave for work in a few."
Kettle in hand Mitzi turns to look at Coco. "You all right, dear? You don't seem yourself."
"I dunno if I am or not."
"Definitely not yourself. You've never been the sort to be depressed for very long."
"I love Cash and I am so happy Papa Wal has bonded so well with him but I miss Pea so much. As if grieving for him weren't enough I think I'm grieving about Chad."
Kettle on for tea Mitzi joins Coco at the table, reaching to clasp Coco's hand. "We were all disappointed with the DNA results."
"Growing up I never thought much about not having a father or even knowing who he was. I wished I had known Mum. I had such a sense of who she was through Grams and Papa Wal. But, I didn't feel like I was missing out on anything because I had them and Abe, and you. A father was always sort of a non-issue but then, entirely by chance, I found who I thought was my father and Chad was so sure as well. Now that we know he's not, it's almost as if someone's died."
"You should take comfort that Chad still wants you in his life. He loved Bryony short a time as he knew her and as her daughter, he feels a connection to her through you."
"I know; but, it's different being a friend versus family."
Mitzi smiles. "I am a friend."
"No, you are family and always have been."
"And Chad can be family too if you both want, which you do."
"You're right, Mitzi." Coco gives the other woman's hand a squeeze before disentangling her hand. "I need to get to Hogsmeade. I'll be home in a few hours. Fritz is coming over. We were thinking of ordering in and watching some movies if you want to join us."
"Sounds lovely, thank you."
Coco gets up, gives Mitzi a peck on the cheek then leaves through the kitchen door for the perfect place in the backyard for apparating.
In Memoriam
Author: Minerva McGonagall
Date: 12-27-12 18:34
Professor McGonagall stepped down from the podium erected in front of the staff table and went to take her seat between Professor Flitwick and Hagrid, who mopped his face with a patchwork handkerchief. The student memorial for Professor Dumbledore had begun, and Professor McGonagall had just said a few words in honor of her friend and colleague.
Instead of the four house tables, rows and rows of chairs filled the Great Hall. Not a single one lacked an occupant. Even the first years, most of whom had never met Dumbledore, had come to pay their respects to the wizard who had been a legend. A few students held Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog card in their hands.
The floor was now open for students or other staff who wished to speak in honor of the fallen Headmaster. To everyone's surprise, the first student to come forward was Mickey Moon, a happy-go-lucky first year student who had never had the privilege of meeting Dumbledore.
He was too short to be seen when standing behind the podium, which created a light-hearted moment in an otherwise solemn event. A stepstool for Professor Flitwick's use came sailing over, thanks to the tiny professor himself. Mickey climbed up and beamed out at the many faces staring back at him. Perhaps there was a reason he had been sorted into Gryffindor. The boy appeared to have no fear.
"I didn't know Professor Dumbledore," Mickey began in a clear, unwavering voice, "but I knew of him. He was the leader of this school for a really long time. Everybody loved him, or almost everybody. I think it's a shame what happened to him, and I'm sorry I couldn't meet him. I bet I could have learned a lot from him."
He talked for a whole five minutes before finally yielding the podium to someone else.
Hagrid's shoulders heaved. "Tha' was beau'iful," he murmured, failing to dry his tears because his handkerchief was already too wet.
Professor McGonagall patted his arm. She gazed out at the faces in the rows of chairs and felt relief at knowing that this memorial wasn't open to the public. She couldn't bear to see the likes of Rita Skeeter in the Great Hall, taking exaggerated notes with her Quick Quotes Quill.
She cast her eyes in Ethan Somerset's direction. His story had already been publicized, though it had been years ago, and he had made a great deal of effort in moving forward with his life. Introducing his past troubles to a new generation certainly seemed to have shaken him up, though as of yet, Professor McGonagall had not received any letters of complaint regarding the fact that an ex-murderer had a place at Hogwarts. And he wasn't the only one.
Another student stepped forward. Professor McGonagall banished thoughts of Rita Skeeter from her mind and listened to what the student had to say.
At The Memorial (Devon)
Author: Christopher Chant
Date: 12-27-12 19:21
Just after eating lunch, Devon Abbott approached her cousin Christopher and his girlfriend Catriona. "I nearly forgot, Mum sent some of her shortbreads for you."
Christopher had grinned at Devon. "Sure you forgot. More like you wanted them all for yourself."
"It crossed my mind but I'd be found out," she'd laughed.
"Thanks. I'll write Aunt Loriane and thank her as well. Okay, I am off to shower before the memorial."
Cat crinkled her nose. "Good. I wasn't looking forward to sitting next to you if you still reeked of Quidditch and whatever else did this morning. Of course, come to think of it, I should go freshen up as well."
Christopher had made a face at Cat before asking Devon, "You're coming to the memorial service?"
"I wasn't sure I should. I didn't know Professor Dumbledore. I only ever saw him from a distance once or twice."
"You didn't have to know him to come. You can come just to pay respects to the man who made Hogwarts what it is and who stood against people like the ones who sent you to Camp Lollipop."
"I hadn't thought of it like that. I suppose I will come then and," she'd looked down at her faded t-shirt and blue jeans with a hole in the knee, "I should go change."
Now, sitting with some of her friends, Devon is glad she came, especially after hearing Gryffindor classmate Mickey Moon speak. The time at Camp Lollipop was just horrible. She remembers quite a few of the students here as prisoners there. All that came about only because someone had been able to make Albus Dumbledore vanish. Devon isn't exactly clear on how that happened but resolves to look it up in the library or ask one of the professors.
All that might have come to an end even without Dumbledore being found again, afterall some of the camps had been found and the people there freed before Dumbledore was discovered and able to join the efforts, Camp Lollipop included. Of course, that may have only been because of those twins, Jade and Hunter Green who escaped and were able to help others get to the camp. The time between them breaking free and those people coming to the rescue at Camp Lollipop was especially unpleasant but at least it wasn't very long.
Still, with everything that happened then her, and Christopher's, cousins Nathan and Sally Stewart aren't here at Hogwarts. Aunt Ruby and Uncle Franklin had talked about sending them here but then Dumbledore died. They decided it best to wait to see if anything bad happens again. So far things seem all right but that doesn't mean it will stay that way.
Not wanting to dwell on thoughts of Camp Lollipop, Devon shoves such thoughts from her mind, concentrating on the current speaker's words.
Indulging in Truths - Zabini Estate
Author: Blaise Zabini
Date: 12-28-12 09:35
Phyllida hesitated outside the door to Blaise's office, her throat tightening. She had put off this conversation for long enough, she reflected, trying to instil the necessary courage in herself.
Things had been increasingly awkward since they had returned to Blaise's house. She had been unable to tell her companions what she had found, and Blaise had not pressed her. Pansy had departed for Parkinson Court shortly after they had departed the islands; Phyllida had noticed a curious tensity in the usually easy relationship between the two of them.
Carefully, she knocked on the door, waiting for an answer.
"Come in," Blaise called, flicking his wand at the door to open it. "Ahh, Phyllida. Are you ready to talk about what you found on the island?" His normally carefully disheveled appearance looked less intentional than normal, his hair the product of frequent raking from his fingers. A half-full tumbler of amber firewhiskey sat on his desk, the bottle open beside it, making it clear this wasn't his first glass of Ogden's for the day.
"You sound impatient," she replied with an ironic smile, eyeing the remnants of firewhiskey in the bottle. She sat down, barely containing a sigh. "But yes, I've come to tell you what I found. But I might need a little of what you're having, first."
"Patience takes energy. I'm a bit short on that at the moment." Blaise poured a generous amount into a second tumbler. "There you go, whenever you're ready. And it's likely to burn, so go slow."
She took the glass, swirling the amber liquid around hesitantly, trying to bolster her courage. The firewhiskey seared a path down her throat, but she resisted the urge to wince or choke. After a few moments, the burning subsided, and she was left with an almost pleasant, tingling warmth in the pit of her belly. "Tell me, Blaise, have you ever defended somebody you knew to be guilty?"
"Yes. My decision is rarely based on guilt or innocence, it's based on if I think I can spin the evidence enough to win. I mean, Crabbe and Goyle are prime examples. If they weren't marked, I might actually try to get them out of Azkaban, simply because muscle can be handy at times. But they got themselves marked and the evidence is overwhelming," he said, his voice thoughtful and quiet. He swirled the tumbler, watching the light play through the amber liquid before he tossed it back with a practiced hand and refilled the tumbler.
She stared at the liquid pouring out of the bottle. "I found a witness," she said, feeling light-headed. "The ghost of a child. She knew everything." Her voice crackled. "She knows my father is guilty. If they find her, then we've lost."
"But can they find her?" Blaise asked. "You were the only one who could get through the mists. Unless your mother or cousin decide to help them, or your father himself admits to anything, they can't find the witness. None of them could get through the mists." That was assuming, naturally, that the ghost was tied to the island, but he could see no reason why she wouldn't be. "Even if you could get others through, there is no guarantee that anyone else could do so, and they would still need to cooperation of a Grimshaw, from what I understand."
"She showed me the way through. I don't know if it was because I am a Grimshaw." Phyllida sighed. "The ghost would have taken me further, but I couldn't go into the building and face what was in there. I didn't want to know the truth, but I know for certain that my father was responsible for that girl's death." She drained her tumbler, thinking of a way to change the subject. "What happened while I was gone? I came back and things seemed...different between you and Pansy."
Blaise was quiet for a long moment, tossing back the glass of firewhiskey before refilling it. "She pushed me into giving her truth and then chose not to believe it," he said with a slight shrug.
Phyllida's lips pursed into a smile. The situation was far more revealing of Blaise and Pansy than either of them realised. "Have you an awkward history together?"
"Not really. We've been friends for a long time, and we understood each other better than most. This is the first we've been awkward like this in a long time," he said, eying the nearly empty bottle on his desk and debating if he wanted another one.
"Sometimes it's better to stay friends," she said, reflecting on her own past. Her grey-green eyes grew heavy. "I've made that mistake once."
Blaise shrugged and flicked his wand at the liquor cabinet, summoning another bottle. "Sometimes. But sometimes, that person is the only one who really matters," he said, more quiet and serious than most would think him capable of. He poured another generous measure of the firewhiskey into his tumbler before topping hers off as well.
"Sounds like you might need this as much as I do."
She nodded, unsmiling. "What will you do?"
"Same as I have done, just keep going and try to forget about these feelings. After all, if she felt the same, she should believe me," Blaise said, taking a long drink. "What do you think you'll do, about your friend?"
"I don't know. I might never speak to him again," she said. "At any rate, I don't think he'd ever want me back. My father is a murderer."
"There's one thing that you need to learn. And it's something that seems to be needed more amongst current and former Slytherins than anywhere else. We aren't our parents. We shouldn't be judged on their merits or for their sins. Now, I will admit that a number of others have a bad habit of judging us for their sins, but that doesn't mean we deserve it. And if he really cares about you, he'll understand that you aren't responsible for his choices." Blaise looked at the bottle then up at the redhead sitting across from him.
"And I may have actually had enough, I'm going to wax maudlin if I'm not careful."
Phyllida attempted a smile. "You do seem perilously close. But thanks for the drink. I appreciated the opportunity to unburden.."
"Anytime. Just don't underestimate your friend. Of course, if he proves so fickle, say the word, and I'll happily kick his arse for you. Or maybe I'll decide he's worth the effort to get Crabbe and Goyle out to do it," Blaise said, attempting a half-smile.
An Invitation
Author: Nathaniel Ross
Date: 12-29-12 04:34
"Nathaniel! Timothy is here!"
"I'm coming, Mother!"
Nate left his bedroom and went downstairs to the sitting room where Tim was waiting. His canary yellow robes were all wrinkled, and his face was unshaven, giving Timothy Gabble a sloppy look. But the previous Head Boy from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy had plans to make his beard grow long. He had written to Nate saying it was time to change his looks and make a good impression at his workplace. But Nate knew his friend too well: Timothy Gabble would never change his looks to impress a chief. He would let his intelligence and effort to stand. No. A witch was the reason for Tim's new appearance and eventually Nate would want to know more about her.
But at the moment his friend's attention was on a photograph by the fireplace. It has been taken some years ago during Christmas and it showed the three Rosses looking at the camera. Archibald Ross presented a very serious pose which was odd because he tended to be a friendly man, always offering smiles to everyone. Nate looked incredulous at the camera, and then he would hide his face. There was something about the photos he took that he would always hide from the observer.
Perhaps he was ashamed or embarrassed, and with a good reason, Nate thought. The day that picture was taken would be always remembered in the Ross family for the next centuries. It would be a story Nate would tell his children and grandchildren.
Only Rosie was smiling, her perfect curls bouncing as she embraced a fluffy white llama. The llama would not stand still for long and he would spit into the rich carpet of the floor. It was the very same carpet of the sitting room but Rosie Ross had placed a little table above the stain that no matter what as decided not to abandon the carpet.
"I still can't believe your mother turned your grandmother into a llama…" Timothy said, picking up the frame and laughing.
"She was being impossible that day. It was getting hard to have our picture taken, because she was never pleased. My father had to change his shirt twice and she would implicate with my mother. She also wanted me to attach a fake prefect badge into my robes because she had written to all her friends I had been chosen to be a prefect. My mother was furious and she lost her patient. That was the result…" he said pointing to the spitting llama.
"I shall never infuriate your mother," Tim declared, putting the frame into its place, next to one of Nate when he was around eight, wearing a scouts' uniform.
The two friends sat on the old couch and they chat about random subjects such as Nate's work, Quidditch, the weather and even Muggle economics. Then the subject changed to Tim's family. His older sister was expecting her third child and he said his mother kept telling him to follow his sister's example and give her some grandchildren too.
"I told her I wanted to focus on my career first. I don't want to fall in love and then have my heartbroken. I even used you as an example…"
There was a heavy silence that only lasted a few seconds. Nate's mind traveled to Phyllida but soon he composed himself and said:
"Thank you very much for using me as a reference…"
"Well, you know how my mother is very fond of you. She felt sorry for you and so she sent you these…" and from his pocket Tim took a large box of cinnamon biscuits. "She baked them especially for you."
Nate looked at the large box of biscuits. There were enough biscuits to feed an entire company of dwarves.
"What exactly did you tell her? That I was dying?"
"No," he laughed "But you know my mother…Oh which reminds me you can thank her for the biscuits next weekend. It's the Hogsmead weekend at Hogwarts and we will all be there to check on Jenny. You could come as well. Lunch at the Imperial Crown and Cauldron, some shopping…it will be fun! I know you don't leave the house unless to go to the ministry. You need to get out. What do you say Nathaniel?"
He picked up one of Mrs. Gabble's famous cinnamon biscuits and as he ate it, Nate considered Tim's invitation. It was a good idea to leave the house but he was afraid the memories of the times he spent with Phyllida at the small busy village would spoil the whole thing. But he could count with the Gabbles and their good disposition to distract him.
And maybe he could pay a visit to Honeydukes. At work he was forbidden to eat wizarding sweets and as much as he liked Twix, Maltersers and the occasional Skittles that always made Mr. Higgins say 'Taste the rainbow! Oh these Muggles are so fascinating...The rainbow Mr. Ross!' and go on and on about the magnificent varieties and flavours of the little sweets inside the package. Nate even considered changing to the plain white Tic Tacs, because whenever Mr. Higgins found him with a package of Skittles in his pocket, he would always claim them for himself.
"All right. I'll go to Hogsmeade next week," he ended up to agree.
Learning about Dumbledore
Author: Wendy Mills
Date: 12-29-12 06:01
Being a Muggle-born, Wendy did not know who Albus Dumbledore was. Of course her colleagues had mentioned him here and there, their voices filled with respect and admiration for this old wizard. But the funny thing was neither of them had actually met him. Wendy learned that they had been raised hearing about this man with his long white beard and half-moon glasses who was one of the most important figures of the chocolate frog card collection.
Since almost everyone was attending the memorial, Wendy decided to do so herself, out of respect for this man she never knew, but who was clearly loved by everyone in the school. She noticed, as a girl with long hair spoke about Dumbledore's fondness for sherbet lemons and how he had offered her one when she was summoned to his office for some reason Wendy wasn't able to hear, that even the school ghosts were present.
Wendy played with the tip of her tie, her mind a bit absent from the memorial. For the past days she had been feeling homesick and a feeling of defeat was starting to take over her. It seemed like she hadn't find her place yet at the school, especially among her other Ravenclaw girls from her year.
First there was her now best friend Andrina Fricks. Andrina was gifted with a beautiful voice and she was one of the jewels of Hogwarts Harmonies, according to Professor Flitwick. Wendy did not feel jealous of her friend's talent but she wished she had Andrina's confidence. Even when she didn't know what she was doing, which happened particularly during the Transfiguration classes, her posture did not denounce her embarrassment.
Then there was Araxie Loren. She always had a sketch book in her hand and her drawings were very good. In the dormitory, around her bed, there were a large number of her drawings, pinned on the wall. Some of them were unfinished, but in others the detail was remarkable. Wendy's favorite was one of a cat, where Araxie managed to capture the feline's sleeping posture perfectly.
Aderyn Carter was the sporty one. Only on her first year and already a Quidditch player. Andrina had explained to Wendy that it was rare for the younger students to make the team and she said Aderyn must be really talented. She would come back to the Ravenclaw common room after the team's practice, still carrying her beater bat and wearing her Quidditch robes. Her cheeks were red with the effort but she carried a smile of satisfaction in her face. It was clear she enjoyed the practices.
In front of this group of astonishing girls Wendy did not know where to put herself. She was not the one with the amazing voice, the artistic one or the sporty one. They all came from a family of witches and wizards and knew pretty much anything about the magic world. Things were different for her.
Wendy looked up and contemplated the enchanting ceiling and then she turned her attention back to the memorial service. Now it was an older boy who spoke. He seemed on the verge of tears and he would pause between words to compose himself. Wendy felt sorry for the boy and she decided to start paying attention to what was being said.
For the duration of the memorial she forgot about being homesick or her place at the school and she was able to learn many things about Albus Dumbledore. Wendy ended up regretting not having the chance to meet him.
Sad
Author: Illyria
Date: 12-29-12 07:42
Illyria wiped a tear from her cheek and reached into the pocket of her robes for a tissue. She had made certain to come prepared to the memorial for Albus Dumbledore and had brought with her an entire package, knowing that she probably couldn't get through the event without shedding a few tears. She herself had gotten used to Dumbledore's death some time ago, but she was the type to grow misty-eyed whenever someone else cried. The kind words and anecdotes shared by students and staff also pulled at her heartstrings.
The boy speaking at the podium was emotional, though he made a great effort at staying calm. His voice occasionally betrayed him, quavering or turning shrill as the threat of a sob drew near. When he finished his piece, he stepped down and quickly returned to his seat, where he covered his face with his hands.
Illyria felt tears sting her eyes all over again and quickly used the tissue to dry those that escaped and rolled down her cheeks.
She thought about her own memories of Dumbledore. She had first met him when a student at Hogwarts herself. During that time she had never been called to his office for any reason, good or bad. Her contact with him had been minimal, but he had visited her once in the Hospital Wing when she had contracted a bad case of the flu and been bedridden for an entire week. He had truly cared for his students, from the ones who had always had reason to meet with him, to those like Illyria who had gone through her years at Hogwarts mostly under the radar.
It had been Professor McGonagall who had interviewed her for the Astronomy position, which at the time had still involved teaching all seven years. Illyria had no doubt that Dumbledore had had a hand in deciding which candidate he wanted on staff. But then Dumbledore had gone missing and Professor Snider had taken over Hogwarts. Things had rapidly gone from bad to worse.
But eventually, Dumbledore came back and things got better.
Illyria sighed quietly to herself and wondered what the future would bring. Nothing ever seemed certain when Dumbledore wasn't at Hogwarts.
Marion Says A Few Words
Author: Saffron
Date: 12-29-12 13:46
Despite being headachy and slightly queasy Saffron has no regrets with deciding to attend the memorial for Professor Dumbledore. She'd rather be sitting here, feeling a little miserable, listening to the tributes by students for the late Hogwarts Headmaster than she would curled up in bed or on the sofa while wishing she were here. That Deak and Sage took Nic and Brandon for the day also means more freedom to sit here, halfway leaning against Aaron, somewhat glad that the way she's feeling means she has an easy out on the dinner party at Da's tonight. Most of those Da and Birdie have invited are not people Saffron generally cares to be stuck with for hours at a dinner party.
As one student wraps a touching speech about how Dumbledore was one of her heroes and unlike some heroes, he never failed in her eyes or disappointed in any way. There's a slight lull as she steps down and heads swivel to see who might be next or if she is going to be the last to speak. To Saffron's surprise, Marion DeMarco suddenly pops up from where she's sitting with Katheryn and Callie in the row with her and Lilith, Hope, and Savannah in the row right behind.
Like a few others Marion must make use of the step stool Professor Flitwick has provided. Once she's visible, she offers a somewhat shy smile as if only just realizing that by getting up to say something almost every eye would be on her. After a pause of two or three seconds, which seemed horribly longer to Marion, she finds her voice.
"I knew Professor Dumbledore better than most other second years, maybe better than even you ahead of me. My parents' jobs took them far away, and it was a mainly Muggle company so they couldn't Floo or portkey home every night so I came to live with my godmother, Saffron, here at Hogwarts.
What I remember most about Professor Dumbledore is how kind he always was to me. He always had a smile for me and a twinkle in his eye. He made me feel special. Whenever around me he seemed rather jolly, often with a merry little joke to tell. He even gave me socks at Christmas, saying that socks were one of his favorite gifts to receive.
I came to look on him as something of a grandfather figure and shall very much miss the grandfatherly comfort I felt whenever he was around.
That's all I wanted to say really. Thank you."
Her shyness at speaking before such a large assembly has Marion feeling a little embarrassed now. Ducking her head, she steps from the stool and hurries from the podium back to her chair. As another student decides to brave public speaking Saffron makes a mental note to locate Marion when the memorial ends to tell her how proud she is for getting up to talk.
In Memoriam
Author: Charisma Stone
Date: 12-29-12 17:27
This morning had started out like any other, though was tinge with sadness. She thought about the past weeks as she'd gotten ready to come downstairs for the memorial. Many students in her house and the others had in the past weeks asked her why she'd not tried out for Quidditch and she'd told them she'd opted to take a year off as had Blake. They were allowed to do something different with their time and ultimately Blake had joined the Debate Club and Herbology Club while she'd joined the Book Club and the Language Club.
Dressed in her school robes, she'd headed downstairs with Blake and they'd found seats amongst the multitude of chairs that had been placed throughout the Great Hall. Currently she sat next to him, her hand laced through his as she listened to others getting up and speaking their memories of him, some requiring the footstool used by Professor Flitwick and others not needing the added height.
She debated pushing herself upwards and moving toward the expanse of the front of the room to speak, to offer her memories of Professor Dumbledore, but she was not sure she would be able to manage without breaking down upon the podium or sharing those that she wished to keep for herself.
"Are you going up?" Blake asked her and she pondered a moment before finally nodding.
"Yes. I think I am."
Pushing up from the chair, she moved to the podium and stood behind it, several moments taken to compose herself and began speaking.
"My memories of Professor Dumbledore are important to me. I was one of those who had their life ripped apart by former Minister Smythe-Jones, and life in Happy Haven was not something I would wish upon my worst enemy. But, when I returned to Hogwarts it was with a touch of survivor's guilt, because I'd lost a very good friend while there. It was through conversations with Professor Dumbledore and a few others that I'd managed to come to terms with what had happened. That it was not my fault."
A shaky breath taken as she clung to the podium for a few moments, composing herself even as a few stray tears worked their way down her cheeks.
"Without the guidance and encouragement from Professor Dumbledore I would not have found a way to blossom and become the survivor that I am. To him, I owe that and will always cherish the time I got to spend with him."
She slipped down from the podium and made her way back to her seat next to Blake, squeezing his hand tightly as they listened to the next person who came up to say something.