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Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858

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It's a bird! It's a plane! No...it's a...fire thingie! [Aug. 27th, 2004|10:45 pm]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858

[mood |amusedamused]

((OOC: the following article will supposedly be included in the day's edition of the Daily Prophet. Your characters are sure to be acquainted to it if they read it, so do RP away the reactions? *congenial smile*))

faint flutter of feathers died out almost as violently as it had come to be. A lively flame of silver, a subtle hoot -- and then Grazzia, the dueling owl made its dutiful appearance, floating delicately (and so fitting to her name) rather than flying altogether.
course, any man worth his keep would have recognized the bird's beauty, seen to it with care, assured it would be treated with dignity. That is to say, any man but its officially Merlin-forsaken protector. Rowan Avery had an entirely and far more crucial task for it...

finest bird in known existence was delivering the headmaster paper. To those close enough to see it, the main article would have offered quite a sight...

"Ministry officials crawling out of the Chamber of Balance!

Spare a sickle to buy dear Cato a hankie!

keeping to their word, the Council of Twelve reunited today in an official assembly meant to discuss the Grindelwald crisis. The Lord Minister Cato Blackthorne as well as a select company of three Polish representatives took part at the debates.
Blackthorne had already announced that the session would have to be brief in order to accomodate his Lordship's schedule -- and, oh, was dear Cato robbed his shot at a dramatic exit!

A private squadron, with members later identified as partaining to nobles houses (here unnamed out of courtesy to the imaginably startled families) took the entire quarter by siege and demanded that Ulrich Grindelwald be declared Dictator.

"They had a Muggle wand of sorts with them," says one of our sources, who prefers his nameless sanctuary, "and it worked on sparkles. I think they call it a fire-hand. Or fire-wrist. Well, fire-piece of body. It caused a lot of damage, though, and it took quite a few Aurors to immobilize them - but then the entire room went dark, and the damned fire thing was so incredibly hot..."
this point, our source could barely breathe and had to be delivered to comfort and receive some form of rest. He managed a few words after the Healers had seen to him. "That thing blew up. Someone claimed it was the overheating to blame, though I can't say how or why. It was horrible, the chairs all went splinters! They started gnashing at us with their teeth - the squibs, not the chairs- and tried to bite us, and we had to take cover beneath the table before the Aurors could come and secure the way. The Lord Minister had to crawl out and he took the Polishmen with him. They truly were in ever the hurry."

last part was later confirmed by an outsider, a Mrs Agnes Tootingham, 54 of age and in service of one of the (again, unnamed) greater pureblood houses. "I couldn't believe me eyes, I couldn't! The very Minister! And I hadn't a hankie with me, oh poor soul, and neither did he, and he was such a mess, and he had to get clean to go do his job - always loved him, such a hardworking man!- and so I had to raise money from some of my friends in order to get him a hankie, but it doesn't matter, such a good man..."

"This isn't the first of Grindelwald's organized and abusive declarations," reports the same Ministry agent. "As of late, we've had plenty of such assaults, more or less as timely. He's getting anxious, and so he's sending his minions out, but don't worry, all shall be well. Ulrich Grindelwald may do as he pleases. The Lord Minister may have bent the knee physically -- but we're keeping our strength, we are, just- just- just keep the fire-thingie away!"
...and then the same Ministry man passed out.

Gallateus Albridge, Daily Prophet Reporter and Chief Editor"
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"I do hate this accursed place." [Aug. 25th, 2004|11:55 pm]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858

[mood |unconscious]

The day was just beginning, but Carmina had barely mustered the strength to lift herself out of bed when she realized that her forehead was feverish, and the ground beneath her feet was not quite steady. Had she been raised in a more unsavory part of England with the right (or rather, wrong) sort of folks, she would have found the proper words to express her emotions. But being the youngest daughter of a somewhat respectable witch and wizard, Carmina had only one thought on her mind as she quickly grabbed her robes and ignored the pile of books on the floor beside her bed: get to the hospital wing.

Her breathing was laboured, she almost tripped heading down the stairs, and steadied herself with a sickening lurch at the exit of the common room. There was no one about. Late morning sunshine indicated that indeed, she had probably slept through a class already, but a murmur and bustle began in various parts of the castle as she made her way down a stone hallway. It was almost time for lunch, and wooden doors all over the castle opened to give way to a flood of students. As they filled the hallways, Carmina stumbled in the masses, trying to find her bearings with little luck. What had she eaten yesterday? Did she stay out in the rain last night too long? Everything was swimming in front of her eyes.

Everything was so disorienting, she didn't know where she was going. Her pale face caused a few curious glances from several directions, but she did not see them. Was it in that direction, up the stairs where that knot of boys had stared at her unsteady small figure wobbling her way past a classroom? Or was it down by the main stairwell where everyone seemed to be gathering? She didn't seem to know, but the crowd of chattering students swept her along into the stairwell, and a foot that came out of nowhere, that she never saw, tripped her.

Immediately, she fell headlong into the crowd and a scream went up from the surrounding girls and yells from the boys around them. Carmina did not hear any of it, for the moment she had fallen on the ground, she had fainted, and effectively stunned the crowd around her.
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Care of Magical Creatures- (all years from III-VI, all houses who elected this class) [Aug. 18th, 2004|02:06 pm]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858
[mood |anxiousanxious]

Professor Winchester was going to be late to his first class, ‘Thank god Avery has his own class to attend to’, he kept saying to himself on the way to the main entrance. He hadn’t bothered to check out which year he would be teaching that morning so he wasn’t fully sure if his first lesson was appropriate. ‘Oh bother, oh bother,’ was the other thing he kept saying to himself on the way out the door and down the stone steps. Winchester knew his class wasn’t one of the more popular ones and he was always self conscious about what he taught. The students had signed up for this class which meant they had some faith in him to show him some unique and worthy creatures, he always managed to do that (so he thought and was told) but nothing could help it, he was always anxious during his first few days back.

Today was going to be worse for him, he could tell. He saw his students gathered near his classroom, just a small quarry and shed where he was able to set up his class since he spent the majority them outside. He couldn’t tell what year they were since his eyes were terrible at distances but he could pick out a few of the females, unless the men were letting their hair grow.

‘Damn,’ he mumbled. Perhaps he should have changed his first class. Girls wouldn’t like it. No, he wasn’t going to change it for the girls! How could he even think of it, besides Avery wouldn’t allow it anyway. No special accommodations for the ladies.

He slowed his pace down to a swift walk, allowing his robes to calm down and cease the flapping noises they had taken up during his jogging and let the contents of the wooden box settle as well. He tried hard not to jostle the box around but had managed to get in a few harsh shocks along the way. He was thinking about maybe just taking the first class… how boring. He sighed as he grew closer to the class waiting for him.

And when he was within reach of them, he greeted them. “Good morning class, I apologize for being tardy,” He placed the box on a stone table he had set up the night before and clasped his hands together. “Glad to see so many of you back,” he nodded towards the few he recognized in his class, “And I’m especially glad to see the new comers,” he smiled broadly at them all.

He plucked from one pocket a small metal box and from the other a small gathering of leaves that looks freshly picked and placed them on the table. “Alright, I’m going to need a volunteer for today’s lesson.” At least he was good at hiding his first class jitters.

OOC: I figured since there might not be too many student who choose this class as an elective, I would just combine all houses and years that qualify. If this is gonna be a problem, just let me know. Thanks! :)
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Uch...do excuse me, was that your head? (anyone) [Aug. 18th, 2004|09:32 am]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858
[mood |soresore]

...so that you might far more earnestly acquit yourself of your duties without fear of anything here going amiss.

Your ever devoted Father,
Hadrianus d'Ange

pocketed the letter ever so earnestly, and with overall dissatisfaction. He hated little more than being dismissed as if a precocious child trying to meddle in affairs obviously beyond him and unwilling to give up. He was sixteen, already, a perfectly mature gentleman, and heir to whatever bloody fortune and position would come out of their forsaken name - he was entitled to the news concerning both Grindelwald and his home that he had petitioned during his last exchange with his Father.
, however, his opinion had yet to be established as noteworthy. He mumbled something beneath his breath, haunting down the great corridors as he was, between the furies of first years who couldn't part with their maps - of all Salazar conjured things!- and, oh Dementors have them all, he was weary of it!
The fumbling figure
came to the stairs easily enough, walking up, up, always up. He was willing to wager, lovely little Urien would have received his wanting immediately. After all, Urien was a Hufflepuff and had therefore ascended to physical perfection, now hadn't he? His brother always served to root a profound disinclination towards Hufflepuffs.
made a note to hex one as soon as the opportunity would present itself and even as much as flicked his wand a few times in negligent waves, almost muttering curses in practice, tossing the now bundled letter up and down. Oh no, he knew just what to do with it. With quite a bit of force, he launched it down-

-and then froze in his place at hearing a small gasp of surprise. He looked down from his shiny little place on the staircase to find he had somehow managed to target a helpless little victim. Sea-green eyes rolled beautifully. Oh, how ruddy fantastic. He couldn't see all that much, poorly lit placed that it was, and so the identity momentarily escaped him.

pardon," he murmured apologetically. Though perhaps he shouldn't have troubled with excusing himself - it might well only have been a witch.
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Flying lessons ((first years of all houses)) [Aug. 16th, 2004|06:20 pm]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858
[mood |late]

Artair Higgler clamped his cap on his head as he galloped down the hall to the greens where his flying class was to be held. Not that the little buggers would mind if he was late but he had to make some attempt at showing up to class, especially on the first day. First years tended to freak out if there was no teacher to babysit them and he didn't want to deal with tears and snot.

His trick knee gave out as he reached the entrance and he hit the doors in a sort of controlled tumble, sprawling spectacularly on the ground and then bouncing back up to his feet with his wand out and pointed at the cluster of horrified first years. "Last one in the air get the Killing Curse!" he bellowed at the bunch with a vicious jab of his wand, and then burst out laughing as they scrambled to their brooms. "Just kidding! Just kidding! Get back here." He waved back the kids that had made it to the air. Now they looked promising. He was going to have to ask them if they had an interest in Quidditch.
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Oh look. Alchemy : Year I&II [Aug. 15th, 2004|05:32 pm]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858

[mood |amusedamused]

Ye Gods!
Hades and Kali and Sheeva, egads!
Rowan Avery was sulking.

Now, admittedly, this was hardly the most predictable pursuit for Hogwarts' acknowledged headmaster. This position normally implied a great deal of liaising with various spicy groups, good administrative skills, an infalible temper as well as a bit of paperwork. None of these tasks openly hinted to any personal displeasure.
But Rowan Avery knew better.
And so Rowan Avery sulked.

Everything had gone horribly, horribly wrong. First, Deveraux had had the audacity to make arrangements that he be woken up at an hour that allowed him all the time in the world to prepare for class. Which, of course, meant he would be traumatised for the rest of the day, as he had missed on his ten hours of daily sleep.

Secondly, in spite of actually crawling to class , he had been deprived even the small satisfaction of being first in class and smile ominuously to the incoming students. Oh no. Instead, he'd been greeted by the sweet and merry giggles of bloody witches, of all things, who'd already occupied the first rows.

And, to add insult to injury, the class'd reached its number of students before the rightful time, and he had not even been offered the chance to think up detention for any who delayed.
Everything was horrid. And the class carried fault.
He gave them a long, measuring look, taking his time as always. The same half-sardonic smile danced on his lips, as he nodded to some, looked over others. They were by no means an aesthetically displeasing bunch, these ones. Not even the witches. In truth, some of them were of distinct, almost salvageable possibilities.
But then he recalled that they were witches and perverted adolescents with naught but copulation in mind (in spite of those seemingly shy smiles and frail courtsies) and so he dismissed all mental praises.

He spent the better part of five minutes in such a way, as if blissfully unaware of the way most students in the classroom were fidgeting in their seats, or giving him frightful looks, or some daring as much (he'd have to see to having said "heroic gesture" repayed with a few well-aimed hexes) as to whisper among themselves.

Well, he was in no haste. After all, what was he supposed to do with them? Teach them Alchemy? Hah. A soft laugh. Never that. They lacked the finesse, the appreciation for this craft. They couldn't handle it.
But finally, he could no longer delay and, with an audible sigh, came to his feet.
"Salvete, pueri," he said with the required ceremony. He wondered briefly whether the irony of it all reached him, how this salute had been ever so en vogue last Hogwarts had seen any of witches.
"I don't suppose any of you are acquainted with either myself, your peers, or the present object of your study. It therefore occured to me that you may have a chance to introduce yourselves." His wand snapped up, delicate rowan wood - oh, indeed, how surprising- glinting its magic. He used it to point towards a tray on the desk, containing small cups with four assorted contents. The colors were not excesively bright, not unappealling: scarlet, jade, blue, silver.
"Over tea," he finished. "Here. Slide forward, have a cup, say something about yourself, drink, soldier on."

He gave another soft laugh, and then retook his seat, the amused little sparkle never dying from his eyes.
Oh dear. He was getting quite old - his memory was surely failing him. After all, he hadn't mentioned the poisons, now had he?
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Charms Class [Aug. 12th, 2004|06:37 pm]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858

[mood |amusedamused]

The summer had been delightful in all its magnitude, of course, but Galen Ambrose couldn’t wait to be in his classroom. He had woken up with the sun, dressed in his freshly pressed robes and grabbed what books he thought he needed to wake the class up that morning. The sun warmed his face as he packed up his faded leather satchel in front of the window, studying the outdoors. He had some lessons planned for the great outdoors but not until later in the year and only for the upper classes; the ones he thought could handle the tasks.

Professor Ambrose tidied his chambers before strolling to his classroom. He had wandered the halls a number of times but there was nothing like the first roaming on the first day of school, even though they were empty, they wouldn’t be for long. First years would struggle to find their classrooms, going awry when the older students would give them the wrong directions, which he had done himself as a Gryffindor, and he expected to see more young girls this time, wandering helplessly and receiving no real help from anyone.

He hadn’t been in his classroom since the last day of classes the previous year and he hesitated before turning the brass knob. He lingered in the fresh smells of dust and mold. Closing the door behind him, he hoped to get some privacy before class. Professor Ambrose deposited his satchel on his large desk before heading to the windows directly behind his desk and opening them allowing the rays to penetrate the floor and the back of his chair. From there he opened both sides of the classroom, letting in the fall breeze while it was still tolerable. He removed the layer of dust that had collected on the top of his desk with the flick of his wand and sat in his chair, unloading his satchel.

He spent a good part of the morning reading over materials he was going to use that morning and making a few last minute notes in his mind. He glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed that students would be arriving in a short moment. He stood, pushed in his chair, closed the book, but marking the page he would start at, and paced down the isle of desks. He cleaned up a bit more of the dust, straitened copies of books on shelves he kept in the classroom, mostly doubles, and then opened the classroom door. No noise in the halls just yet but he hoped for the bustling sounds like those in Diagon Alley.

Professor Ambrose crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against his desk and crossed his legs, leisurely waiting for the students to come in. He put on his stern face, kept his eye on the clock, licked the inside of his teeth, a nasty habit he could never quite get rid of, and waited.
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Arithmancy- Take one... laudanum that is. [Aug. 7th, 2004|07:25 pm]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858
[mood |thoughtfulthoughtful]

With the gaieties of the Opening Feast and the longest Sorting in Hogwarts history behind him, Tiberius Deveraux made his way to his classroom, both dreading and anticipating his first class. He never found the summer holiday good for anything save more time to commit to one's personal studies, and though he had grown accustomed to the usual lose of knowledge two months of absence caused in his pupils, he still awaited getting lessons underway so he could quickly repair the damage of their wasted minds and go on from there.

This term, however, would prove quite different, he was sure, considering the fact that his new female students would be more than behind in simple regards to his material, but absolutely clueless for the most part. The odds of any of them having been tutored or even encouraged for that matter, in pursuing the field of mathematical prediction was abysmal at best. The third year girls would be as fresh a slate as his boys, but the upper level girls, they'll be in a tight spot.

Still, this mattered little to him, outside of the impact it would most likely have on his teaching, even however tiny that would actually be. Tiberius wasn't about to spoon feed these witches, he wouldn't spoon feed his own child, had he had one. No, he'd perhaps review a tad more than normal, and give them a little longer on their first assignment, but other than that, he was willing to make no accommodations.

Entering the large, ancient room which smelt of dust and pipe smoke from its previous instructor, though he had been gone some years now, Tiberius grinned slightly, pleased with the dull silence of the room. Even during class, the sound wasn't much better. Be it his voice, or his presence, his pupils were never much for using their voices in the class, and he rather preferred it that way. The fewer interruptions, the more one could accomplish in the time alloted.

Crossing the room he reached his podium and set his texts on its surface and surveyed the clock hanging above the door through which he had entered. It was still broken. Wonderful. His veteran students were use to it and had all but given up on trying to figure the time, and since pulling one's pocket watch out in public without request was socially unacceptable, he had little to worry about losing their attention to a piece of clockwork. But then many girls often wore those damned watch pins. Course, that might prove interesting, them peering at their own chests to see the time and with the boys near by...

Figuring he had done enough pondering on the subject, Tiberius flipped his text to the page he needed, made sure the chalk for the board behind him was properly enchanted and then stood, arms crossed and back straight as a rail as he watched the students filing in. Some greeted, others scurried past him, but either way he did nothing more in response than a formal nod here and there. He was too busy measuring the lot, by the way they carried themselves, took their seats, and ultimately by how they handled direct eye contact.

What an interesting term this would be indeed...
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To the Owlery! ((4th year Ravenclaws, anyone)) [Aug. 6th, 2004|02:39 pm]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858
[mood |curiouscurious]

The sun was sinking out of sight behind the mountains and the Ravenclaw Fourth Year Girl's Dormitory was bustling with activity. Alzbeta finished her letter to her mother and put down her quill, re-reading the letter with a frown.

Elspeth took a deep breath and stepped across the room to where Alzbeta was sitting. "Excuse me, Alzbeta? I'm sorry to interrupt you. I saw you were writing a letter -- I was writing my family, and I was wondering --doyouknowhowtosendletters?"

Alzbeta glanced up, looking slightly bemused.

"Well, I suppose I assumed that there was an owlery somewhere. How could there not be? Not everyone has owls of their own. I'm finished writing--do you want to go look for the owlery?"

"Could we? I don't have an owl -- I'm not even sure if it would know how to find my family, and I do so want them to get this letter tonight, they were so worried about me when I left and they'll want to hear where I'm Sorted and how I'm getting on, and I need to reassure my brother about his cat --" She blushed. "I'm sorry. I must be boring you. Do you know how to find the owlry? I wouldn't want to get lost and miss curfew. I imagine they'll be quite strict on that.

"Oh, you're not boring me! I'm glad you're here because otherwise I would have had to find the owlery by myself. And we've got an hour before curfew, I think we'll be fine. Let's go."

"Oh, thank you so much!" Elspeth clutched her letter. "I've never used Owl Post, and I honestly don't have the slightest idea how to go about it."
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OOC: Plotlines [Jul. 29th, 2004|04:46 pm]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858
I'd post this in cm_ooc but I'm not a member, so here it goes...

Anyone interested in a subplot with Candace(candace_acacia) or Peyton(peyton_james) Roderick? Candace is a first year Slytherin and Peyton is a second year Slytherin. They're from a wealthy family that tends to be Slytherin. Can you tell I'm a fan of that house? ;)

Are there any first or second year Slytherins in the game at all?

Hopefully, something can be worked out because it's kind of boring having two characters, each with absolutely no friends.
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