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DADA Practical
Author: Rowan Westwick
Date: 07-20-16 19:13
Rowan stood in front of Professor Stow with her wand raised. The Ministry of Magic appointed examiner had just told Rowan to demonstrate the Impediment Jinx against a ball about to be thrown in her direction. Rather than physically throw the big, red ball, Professor Stow flicked her wand at it. The ball flew at Rowan much faster than expected, but she quickly recovered from the surprise she felt and shouted, "Impedimenta!"
The spell hit the red ball and caused it to instantaneously slow down.
"Wonderful!" Professor Stow exclaimed. She flicked her wand back at the slow-moving ball, causing it to rebel back towards her. She stopped it with another flick of her wand and lowered it to the table, where it remained still.
"Now what spell would you use to explode this ball?" Professor Stow asked.
"The Blasting Curse," Rowan stated, after a brief moment of thought.
"And the incantation?"
"Confringo."
Professor Stow nodded. "Please demonstrate."
Here Rowan hesitated. She imagined the ball exploding dangerously, but she realized that Professor Stow had probably taken all the proper precautions. Rowan waved her wand at the ball and shouted, "Confringo!. The ball exploded, but the explosion appeared to be contained in an invisible barrier. It also sounded muffled.
"Well done!" Professor Stow exclaimed. "Now," she said, waving her wand of the ball's debris. "I'm going to jinx you, unless you can demonstrate the proper way to cast the shield charm?"
Before Rowan could answer the almost rhetorical question, Professor Stow shouted, "Stupefy!" Rowan quickly countered with "Protego!"
Her heart was absolutely pounding. Wouldn't it be something to literally get knocked out cold in the middle of an exam! But, she'd cast the spell correctly and avoided losing consciousness.
"Nicely done," Professor Stow stated. "Thank you, Miss Westwick, you may go."
Rowan made her way out of the side door exit and headed for the Ravenclaw common room. She had seen Beatrix leave the Great Hall earlier and knew to expect her in the common room.
Beatrix had not given up the names of her Smart Crystal partners, which meant that Rowan, Lon and Pablo were still off the hook. Rowan figured Professor McGonagall knew they were all involved, because the four were always hanging out together. She wondered why they hadn't been interrogated. She also wondered if Professor McGonagall was saving their punishment for the very end of term. What if they got expelled after exams and right before graduation?
According to Beatrix, there'd never been any talk about expulsion. Beatrix had simply had all her extracurriculars revoked and had to go to detention every Saturday. Her punishment most certainly could have been worse.
When Rowan finally go to Ravenclaw Tower, she was worn out. She found Beatrix stretched across the sofa with a book open over her torso. Beatrix was snoring softly. Rowan collapsed into a neighboring armchair and decided a power nap sounded good to her too.
Writing, Writing, Writing
Author: Jet
Date: 07-20-16 20:53
Though working full time again at the Ministry of Magic Jet has continued taking courses at St. Emrys. Final examinations have been going on as Trinity Term draws to an end. Jet has one exam left to write but rather than making one last go through (or fifty) of his notes, the text, and handout material he's busy scribbling away on another project.
By serendipitous accident he stumbled across a journal that had been misidentified, which led to it being wrongly classified, which in turn meant it was incorrectly shelved. The journal was written by an early Cymdeithas y Sarff. Interestingly, according to the writer, the organization's original purpose was beneficent, meant for charitable pursuits in the name and memory of Salazar Slytherin. It also was not a secret organization only for the most loyal and devoted as Emerson had once told him. Towards the end of the journal writer's life, or at least according to the later entries, the purpose and intent of the group began to change thanks to some overly zealous members who became the heads of the organization.
The most important part of the journal concerns the box, thought by some to be a Salazar Slytherin horcrux, that caused information along with what seemed like an inner voice that Jet thought of as being Sal, short for Salazar, to be placed in his brain. The voice or whatever it is caused a personality change in Jet. Though the voice is greatly muted now he still struggles against letting it take him over again, The journal writer seems to have known the danger of the box though the author doesn't expand on how he knew. The journal keeper recorded the instructions to a spell for easily removing the information, and the voice.
Jet has been able to recall some of the information but not all of it and even the information he has been able to write down often seems like key words or phrases are missing. What he has remember he's given to the Ministry but Jet wants it out of his mind. Remembering and writing it down or dictating it to someone else hasn't gotten it out of his head. The voice is also still there though much quieter thanks to the aid of others over the past few years. Having both entirely removed would be freeing in ways Jet cannot even begin to verbalize and it would mean the current Cymdeithas y Sarff would no longer have a reason to pursue him.
So instead of preparing for tomorrow's exam Jet is sitting in the St. Emrys library writing out all that information that's been stuck in his head since finding that box in a cave on the Hogwarts grounds when he was a student there. He'd been going to wait and do this at home or at the Ministry but since reading over the spell Jet has been able to think of little else.
A young woman stops near the table where he's working. Jet has the sense that she's trying to make out what he's writing but he doesn't look up to see. For all he knows it's Emerson again, either in disguise again or one of the moments these last months that she's shown her own face on campus. Jet's tempted to glance up but if it is her he doesn't want her to know he's noticed. Besides that, if she is trying to see what he's writing, all she'll see is gibberish. In addition to the spell to get the voice and the information out of his brain Jet cast a spell so that while what he's writing makes sense to him, anyone looking on will not be able to make heads or tails of it. Until he's finished and is handing the pages of parchment over to someone at the Ministry, that particular spell will remain in place.
Losing all track of time, Jet works well past when he would usually have grabbed some dinner. When he puts a period at the end of the last sentence, he finally does look up, surprised at how many hours of passed and wondering why his stomach never complained at being hungry. Packing up his things, he goes through a mental list of what food is at home, deciding to get something at one of the food establishments with late hours before going home to sleep, only then remembering he needs to set some time aside before the exam tomorrow to do a quick review.
Theory of Ancient Runes
Author: Jolyon
Date: 07-21-16 19:37
Jolyon stood up when the last bit of sand dropped to the bottom of the hourglass and announced, "Quills down!" He had just spent the past three hours proctoring the Ancient Runes OWL and NEWT exams. Because the exam was only administered in written form, Jolyon's didn't have to devote his afternoon to monitoring the queue outside the Great Hall. It also meant that he wouldn't have to find a substitute for his two afternoon classes, though he wouldn't have any trouble getting someone to fill in. Hagrid was always willing, after all.
Jolyon collected the exam booklets and anti-cheating quills. After the students left, the Great Hall was converted back into the dining chamber for lunch. Jolyon had other lunch plans, though, and left for Hogsmeade after dropping the exams off in Professor McGonagall's office.
He found Merrie already at the bar and gave her a peck on the cheek before climbing onto the barstool beside her.
"So, I was thinking," she slowly began. "What if I sold the house and we all moved into Hogwarts?"
Jolyon smiled and said, "I thought we were deciding on the music for the wedding."
"We are," Merrie said, and she put her hands on the notebook resting on the bar next to her butterbeer mug. "But what do you think about us all living together at Hogwarts?"
"Asher will hate that," Jolyon pointed out, "and what if I lose my job and we have to find a place to live?"
"Are you at risk of losing your job?" Merrie asked.
"No, but you never know what could happen."
"Well, do others have backup residences?"
"Some do," Jolyon replied, "but many don't."
"So, what does it matter if I sell and we all live at Hogwarts together?"
"It doesn't. I'd be happy to have us all there, though we'd need a larger living space." Jolyon stopped to order a butterbeer and then said, "Professor McGonagall would find a place for us if that's what you want."
Merrie nodded and said, "It's what I want. I know Asher won't approve, but he's not the adult here. He'll just have to grin and bear it."
"So sell the house and move in with me. I'll tell Professor McGonagall today about your plans so that we can get the right accommodations when the time comes."
Merrie beamed. "Great. Now about the music…"
They spent the rest of Jolyon's lunch hour talking about whether they wanted a string quartet or a pair of folk guitarists playing at their wedding, or if perhaps a DJ was a better bet.
(Adriana) One Step at a Time
Author: Bill Weasley
Date: 07-22-16 16:25
As third assistant to the Prime Minister, "Jessica" was pretty low on the food chain and rarely found opportunity for a private moment with him. She was used to biding her time, though, and spent her idle moments listening, watching and plotting. Much of what she observed in people and conversations was of little interest, but her ears always perked when she heard mention of Kingsley Shacklebolt, who continued to elude Interpol. Although Adriana didn't know for absolute certain, she suspected that the Prime Minister hadn't told anyone in his inner circle about the existence of magic.
For the most part, the other assistants were unassuming and rather worthless––at least in Adriana's opinion. Old Bagshawe, though, who was actually middle-aged and a sharp dresser, was a micromanager with a stick up her bum. She tended to get on Adriana's nerves, but Adriana was ever the actress and played the dutiful subordinate. Then there was the fourth assistant, Nellie.
Nellie appeared quite shrewd and like Adriana, she always seemed to pay attention to her surroundings. There were times when Adriana wondered if Nellie could see right through her, but the improbability of it all outweighed the feeling in her gut. Maybe Nellie was the quiet sort who took everything in and used the knowledge she collected to work herself to the very top, probably by stepping on the backs of her colleagues while feigning her innocence. Either way, Adriana didn't much care for Nellie. Just for kicks, maybe Adriana could get her fired.
"Mrs. Bagshawe!"
Adriana, who had been holding on the phone with a caterer, turned her head to see first assistant Anna emerge from the bathroom looking a bit green in the face and clutching her stomach, which was covered by a pretty chiffon top.
"What's the matter?" Mary asked, looking unimpressed by Anna's sorry state.
"I wretched in the toilet. I think I need to go home."
There was a moment when Adriana thought Mary would flat out tell Anna to man up and return to her desk post haste, but then the older woman said, "Very well. Ring tomorrow if you won't be in, and do it promptly."
"Thank you, Mrs. Bagshawe." Anna looked ready to puke again, but instead she grabbed her purse and quickly walked out to security.
Adriana, meanwhile, finally got somebody on the line and took down prices for a luncheon to be held with educators towards the end of summer. When she hung up the phone, she found Mary standing over her desk.
"With Anna gone home, and Bess on holiday, I'll need you to see the Prime Minister and take his dictation."
"Jessica" exuded professionalism when she stated, "Yes ma'am." She grabbed a handheld recorder, a pen and notebook and waited for Mrs. Bagshawe to escort her into the office. She could feel eyes on her when she moved towards the door and knew that Nellie was watching her.
"Ms. Dark will take down your notes," Mrs. Bagshawe announced, once they were within the Prime Minister's office.
"Thank you, Mary." She left them alone and closed the door.
The Prime Minister beckoned to a seat and said, "Thanks, Jessica. Can I get you anything? Tea? Biscuits?"
"No, thanks," Adriana replied. She swept her eyes around the room, where they settled on the painting covered up with boards.
The Prime Minister noticed, but before he could speak, Adriana quietly asked. "Are we alone, Sir?"
For a moment, the Prime Minister remained perfectly still. When Adriana tipped her head in the direction of the covered painting, his expression went from blank to startled.
She lowered her voice to a whisper and asked, "Can they still hear us? The Ministry of Magic?"
At that, he jumped to his feet and got ready to call security, but Adriana clamored to her feet also and urged, "Wait, wait, wait! I'm not one of them, and I don't trust them either."
The Prime Minister's call for help died on his lips. He studied "Jessica" and decided she didn't look like one of them. "How do you know?" he whispered.
Adriana debated how to spin her story and decided on a variation of the truth. "My parents were both wizards."
"Were? And you're not?"
"They're dead," she quietly said, "and I grew up in New York City. I didn't remember about magic because they erased my memories. I only remembered later because somebody reversed the spell."
"They can do that? Make you forget things?"
"Jessica" nodded sagely. "That's why they're dangerous and need to be stopped. The guy who bombed your doorstep. I know he's their leader."
The Prime Minister looked as if he had a weight removed from his shoulders, but at the same time he was leery of this new revelation. He decided he would keep "Jessica" close but not too close, because he wanted someone to talk to about the wizarding world, but he still wasn't sure he could trust her entirely. He barely knew her, after all, and despite her sharing a secret part of herself with him just now, he felt as if he knew her even less now than before.
Adriana looked over at the hidden painting again and whispered, "Do you trust me?"
The answer was obviously no, but the Prime Minister wondered what she had in mind and against his better judgment gave a curt nod of his head.
Adriana leaned down and hiked up her skirt, revealing her wand strapped to her thigh. It was the sort of weapon metal detectors would never find. The Prime Minister realized in that moment that he had a major security problem, but how to fix it without making himself look stark raving mad?
Adriana, meanwhile, crossed over to the boarded up portrait, flicked her wand at it and incanted, "Muffliato!" The smoke detector overheard let out a shrill peep when the magic interfered with the electrical wiring, and someone's radio in the outer office emitted static for a moment. The Prime Minister didn't understand a thing and wondered why the portrait was still there. He thought she would magically get rid of it for him.
"Jessica" turned back to him, stowed her wand and pulled down her skirt. "There. Now they really can't hear anything."
"Could they before? Do you know?"
"I think I would have heard something if they had," Adriana said before she could catch herself, thinking of the moles she had planted at the Ministry of Magic. The Prime Minister didn't seem to question the statement, though.
Adriana crossed back over to the sofa and said, "We better get your dictation done, or Mrs. Bagshawe will have my head." She sat down, straightened the hemline of her skirt, and picked up her pen and notepad.
The Prime Minister sat down and appeared to be at a total loss for words.
Adriana picked up the handheld recorder, but before she hit record, she said, "We can talk more about magic later, if you want."
At that, he nodded dumbly and then cleared his throat. "Right. The dictation." He was flustered, but somehow he got all the words out and business proceeded almost normally from that point onwards.
Alcove
Author: Finley
Date: 07-22-16 19:24
Finley and Phoebus sat together in an alcove and watched the rain splatter against the windowpane. Arithmancy & Divination had just let out, and now they were killing time until supper. Only one week of classes remained. Finals would follow, and then it would be summertime.
Finley, of course, had plans to return to the orphanage. Phoebus wanted her to stay with him, at least for a week or two. If not for Leroy, then Finley would love that very much. She had never been in a wizarding home before and longed to see how Phoebus lived. Instead, Finley hoped that Phoebus would take her and Leroy out for ice cream like his family had done in the past.
At least Finley didn't have to worry about hiding her broomstick from everyone at the orphanage. The expensive broom given to her by an anonymous donor at the start of the school year had gotten severely damaged in her last match. Finley had thought that magic could fix everything, but that had been a false assumption on her part. Now she was without a broomstick again.
She bemoaned the fact aloud again.
Phoebus, whose head was leaning up against the cool windowpane, shrugged his shoulders and said, "At least there's no Quidditch next year."
Finley replied, "That doesn't exactly make me feel better. What if I want to play in a pick-up game with what's left of the Gryffindor team? Or what if I want to enter the Broom Racing event next year?"
"What do you think about that SAT thing anyway?" Phoebus asked. "It sounds like extra work."
"Yes, but I think it's meant to be fun, and we'll get to travel to other schools and meet other students if we're picked. I've never been anywhere, so I definitely plan to participate."
"What events, do you think?"
"I dunno right now," Finley admitted. "I'd do the racing one if I had a broom, but I don't think I'll get a third one handed to me."
"The Hogwarts school brooms aren't ancient," Phoebus said, "though maybe the ones at whatever school is hosting the broom racing event are."
"What events sound good to you?" Finley asked.
Phoebus shrugged. "Racing too, I suppose. And maybe Dueling."
"I guess we have all summer to think about it," Finley said.
Phoebus got a dreamy look on his face. "Just two more weeks and then we're free!"
Finley smiled. "Yeah." She was looking forward to going "home" and seeing Leroy again.
History of Magic OWL and NEWT
Author: Dante Knight
Date: 07-22-16 20:10
Dante exchanges broken nibbed quills for fresh ones with three students. They, and the others present for the Theory of History of Magic OWL and NEWT, are showing the signs of wear from a week of testing. The only ones not present now are those seventh years who'd opted not to take History as one of their seventh year courses. Some of the fifth years not taking Ancient Runes had a break this morning from writing an exam.
When not walking the room, exchanging quills, calling out time remaining, and checking on students who seem to be in distress Dante has a spot towards the front where he's got a copy of each of the History of Magic exams. He's read through them to see what he recalls, or thinks he does, and what he would have to go look up to refresh his memory.
Dante also thinks about tomorrow. His brother, sister, and he had struggled to find a mortuary that would take their mother. After finally locating one that would work with them, albeit at a higher than usual price, they'd ended up having Lorraine Vickers cremated. Then there had been the equally difficult task of trying to find a cemetery that would allow such an infamous villainess to be buried there. They'd been on the verge of looking in Muggle cemeteries when they decided the simplest, and probably best, route would be to scatter her ashes.
That led to the debate of where exactly to do it. Dante and his siblings settled on the valley where Lorraine had been brought up in what had been, by her own account, a happy childhood. They, with Rocky's wife and son, will gather tomorrow to do that. Absent from the little ceremony will be their father. Bruno Vickers pled guilty to all charges against him. He's in Azkaban and will be for the rest of whatever remains of his life, which is not looking to be all that long. As with their mother, Bruno's health has declined over the years, mostly due to all the dark magic experiments he and his wife had conducted. Since his wife's death, Bruno has declined to the point he's practically bedridden.
Dante calls, "Thirty minutes remain! Thirty minutes!" then goes to check on a fifth year who has suddenly begun breathing rapidly and turning red in the face. He uses a technique that has worked for Muggle and Wizarding folk alike for years. He gives her a paper bag to breath into. After she's calmer Dante has her take a few sips of water. He returns to the front of the room where he picks up the NEWT copy of the exam to look over more while also keeping close watch on the fifth year.
Busy Monday
Author: Hermione Granger
Date: 07-23-16 14:29
St. Mungo's seemed especially busy. Since starting her shift earlier in the morning, Hermione had treated a boy who'd gotten hold of his much older brother's Whack Trance Whammy Rocket, which said older brother had been saving for a fireworks display following the Quidditch World Cup final results; a man who'd enchanted his silverware to prevent greedy relatives from stealing it, only to get badly burned when his spell didn't recognize him as the silverware's owner; and a hysterical woman whose attempt at magically dyeing her hair shocking pink had instead caused all her hair to fall out.
It was barely mid morning and Hermione was already worn out. It certainly didn't help that she was about two months shy of giving birth to her second child.
Rose was greatly excited at the prospect of being an older sister. She was even more enthralled because she'd been moved into a big girl room in the house. The room had previously been a modest guest bedroom.
Hermione, of course, was also looking forward to meeting the new baby. Would it look like her or Ron or have physical characteristics from both? Would it be Rose in miniature?
The only thing Hermione wasn't looking forward to, besides the actualities of giving birth, was being off from work for an extended period of time and potentially missing out on Order meetings. Hermione was a work horse, and she wanted to help the cause anyway she could. She sort of envied Fleur and Elphias, who were both collecting intelligence from out in the trenches.
The latest from Fleur wasn't much. So far, the Prime Minister had given no indication that anybody besides himself knew about the wizarding world, but then Fleur didn't belong to his inner circle and perhaps had no means of getting to the truth. The little snippets she caught regarding the investigation into Kingsley Shacklebolt's whereabouts were promising, at least for the Order and the MInistry of Magic. Interpol had no idea who he was beyond his name and had no idea where to find him.
Elphias, meanwhile, had expressed having far less frequent contact with Fairchild as of late. He suspected she was busy hatching some sort of plan, but he hadn't found out what. In the meantime, he was busy trying to sketch a floor plan of Fairchild's hideout. The problem was, his memories seemed muddled, probably because of some spell preventing him from remembering things too clearly lest he give Fairchild and the other Death Eaters away.
"Weasley, we've got a live one here," called out a nurse from a nearby lift.
Twitching on a fast approaching gurney was a twenty-something wizard. Steam came out of his ears and soot smeared his nose and cheeks.
"Any idea what happened?" Hermione asked, as she attempted to fall into quick step with the gurney, which was being pushed by two male mediwizards.
The one with shaggy dark hair and a full beard explained, "A witness said he was cooking and something went wrong."
"What spell was he using? What was he making?" Hermione asked. She had her wand out and was trying to perform a scan of the patient, but it was tough because of how quick they were going. She was also having a little trouble keeping up and felt out of breath from the extra weight she carried.
"Don't know exactly. You'll probably need to ask the hit wizard who responded to the scene."
"Hit wizard?"
The same mediwizard nodded and said, as he was steering the gurney into an exam room, "He wasn't cooking dinner, if you know what I mean."
"Huh?" Hermione started shaking her head no, and it was not even lunchtime yet, but then she said, "Oh."
"Like I said, the hit wizard can give you more information." The two mediwizards transferred the patient to a bed and then wheeled the gurney out.
Hermione did her best to diagnose the patient, guessing whatever drug he'd been making was wizarding since he'd used magic. She knew the hit wizard would no doubt be up shortly, since the patient would probably get released into Ministry custody once he recovered enough. She didn't have long to wait. The hit wizard filled her in on what happened and remained just outside the exam room in case the patient regained consciousness and caused Hermione any trouble. Fortunately for Hermione, the patient was in bad enough shape and unlikely to wake any time soon.
Theory of Potions
Author: Griet
Date: 07-23-16 18:16
Franciscus scribbled furiously in his test booklet. It was the first day of the second week of O.W.L.s, and he was tired. He'd spent the past week outside of the actual exams reading until his eyeballs couldn't focus anymore or he fell asleep, whichever came first. The written portions of the exams required some reading too, but mostly they involved writing, writing and even more writing. Franciscus was fairly certain his hand was now stuck in a curled position from holding a quill for hours on end every single day.
He was currently in the middle of his Theory of Potions exam. Professor Black was at the front of the room as exam proctor and occasionally called out the time remaining. Sometimes Franciscus was so engrossed in his exam that he didn't even hear what Professor Black said.
Franciscus was stuck on the twelve uses for dragon blood. He could remember eight, but the last four were eluding him. After a few minutes of struggling to remember, Franciscus finally decided to move on to the next question. Maybe he could come back to it when he finished the exam, if there was still time at the end.
The next question asked him to write out the process for creating a swelling solution. Once Franciscus finished writing out all the steps, which were eleven in all, he turned to the next question on the exam.
Name a potion that uses a dragonfly thorax for an ingredient.
Franciscus wrote down Girding potion.
Name the potioneer responsible for discovering the pimple-curing properties of Bubotuber pus.
Franciscus felt stumped again. He could think of how to harvest the pus from Herbology class and he did remember that it was used for treating acne, but he couldn't for the life of him remember who made the discovery. In fact, he wasn't sure he ever knew.
He spent a few minutes agonizing over the question some more and then moved on to the next one. He knew that a few wrong or unanswered questions wouldn't hurt him in the long run, but he wasn't feeling very good about his work so far that morning. To make himself feel better, though, he reminded himself that he was on the home stretch. Just a few days more and he'd be done with exams.