z

Young Writers Society


Wynbald, School of Magic



User avatar
396 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 27
Reviews: 396
Tue Dec 22, 2015 3:34 pm
Pompadour says...





*set in the Harry Potter world*

It is a cold night, at the turn of the year. You are anywhere and everywhere spanning from an all-wizard club in London, surrounded by raucous laughter and dance music, to sitting by the fire and watching the clock tick its way to midnight.

At midnight, an owl swoops through the window, the tips of its wings touching the rafters as it flies towards you. A heavy envelope falls on your head: it is royal green and the seal is shaped like a swan.

Tentatively, you open it. The envelope consists of several thin sheets of parchment, a green card, and a tiny silver key.

The card reads:

Image

If you are surrounded by people, you notice an audible hush in the room, as folks peer over your shoulder and gape at each others' faces. If you are alone, you notice the light in the room become dimmer, the feel of your own breath when it stills against your lips.

'It's back.'



Dear X,

You have been selected for our first trial period at Wynbald, along with five other witches/wizards. This selection has been made regardless of age or education of the persons involved. The school year is to begin on the second of January; a member of our highly efficient teaching staff is to arrive on your doorstep at midnight tomorrow, to accompany you on the journey. You will be flying there. There is no choice involved.

You are to send this owl back with this letter; please sign your real name on any part of the parchment. If you do not, you will find that your mind will change quite shortly, and it is with much regret that we inform you that you have no choice in this matter either.

We hope to see you at Wynbald shortly.

Sincerely,

Jemima Gollonk,
Headmistress and Wynbald Educational Counsellor.


Pack your bags. Say your goodbyes.

It looks like you're going to Wynbald.

⌛⌛


Wynbald: A History



Eighteen years ago, Hogwarts closed down. No one knew the real reason why, but it was reported in the Daily Prophet that it was for renovation purposes. Rumours spread that there was still dark magic lingering within the walls, that the administration wished to remove all traces of it before opening it once more. Some were even inclined to think that the closure was permanent.

When owls were sent out, making the news official, people panicked. Parents arranged for home-tutors, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang saw an influx of frazzled foreigners, and some children were even sent as far as Japan for education. What would Britain do without Hogwarts?

In January of that year, another letter arrived. Perhaps your parents remember this, if you are not muggle-born, or perhaps you have heard already, from your peers, of Wynbald.

Wynbald was a school for magic, opened in Scotland--somewhere not far from Hadrian's Wall, it was rumoured—and it would facilitate all magical children until Hogwarts reopened. It ran for scarcely a year, under the administration of one Jemima Gollonk, a talented witch who had previously, and very publicly, left her post of Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic.

In April of 1999, Jemima Gollonk disappeared.

In June, when the children returned, it was reported that all of them were visibly shaken. Something about them had changed. But nothing out of the ordinary was reported, except that the school was said to have 'a disconcerting air about it'. The teaching staff, all of whom had been obliviated, were found sitting on a stile somewhere in Northumberland. Ministry Officials visited the school, but they learned nothing.

Because the school, too, had disappeared. Without a trace. No one understood what had happened, and when Hogwarts reopened in September 1999 and Gollonk remained missing, the case was closed and labelled as 'confunded'.

--


Now, sixteen years later, each of those children have died. All at the same time, all at the exact same moment in April when Jemima Gollonk herself was noted to have disappeared. It created quite the kerfuffle, because this was the first mass killing since Lord Voldemort was defeated; it is also baffling, because no single person could have pulled such a stunt off on their own. But there were no signs, no disturbances, nothing odd that the relatives of the deceased noticed.

Besides a small 'x' carved on the corpses' faces.

A warning: You might be swamped with journalists for a time. You might receive several letters from people treating you as if you were already dead. There is only one rule, where Wynbald is concerned:

Trust no-one.

There is something more to the castle than one can tell, something dark that moves through the halls....

⌛⌛



Roles:

1. (Student 1) - @Jhinx
2. Malcolm Winters-Beckly (Student) - @AdrianMoon
3. Barnaby Bennet (Student) - @hermione315
4. (Student 4) -
5. (Student 5) -
6. Nicholas Holmes (Student) - @Lareine
7. Professor Jemima Gollonk (Headmistress) - @Pompadour
8. Professor Knoll (Spell Structure and Transfiguration) - @artsy
9. Professor Friedrich (Alchemy and Charms) - @Lareine
10. Professor Turnbull (Potions) - @Meandbooks
11. Mystery Narrator (???) - @Pompadour

Template:

Spoiler! :
Code: Select all
[b]Name:[/b] (Please include in brackets whether said character is a teacher/student.)
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Blood-status:[/b]
[b]Wand:[/b]
[b]Appearance:[/b]
[b]History:[/b]
[b]Personality:[/b]
[b]Possessions:[/b]
Last edited by Pompadour on Sun Mar 06, 2016 7:14 am, edited 7 times in total.
How to format poetry on YWS

this sky where we live is no place to lose your wings





User avatar
396 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 27
Reviews: 396
Fri Jan 01, 2016 9:13 pm
View Likes
Pompadour says...





Mystery Narrator (???) – Arrival



11:59 a.m.

The sun is high in the sky when the man arrives at the castle gates. The lower half of his face is obscured by a balaclava; a spotless, white cloak is wrapped around his shoulders despite it being an oddly warm January morning. He nods at the gatekeepers once, his dark eyes remaining fixated on the castle. Paul nods back, while Ned stares at him with a strange sort of intensity, as if he is trying to peer through the balaclava and unveil the man’s identity.

The gatekeepers cannot see it, but the man smirks at their antics. They have gotten used to him coming to the castle, at precisely this time, every week—yet they cannot do more than stare.

The wrought-iron lock on the gates melt as he steps past them, and into the grounds; a wave of his hand ensures that it is locked firmly behind him as he continues walking up the sloped pathway. The castle seems to heave from a distance; the odd inlay of black and white bricks look like they are moving to form a new pattern every time the sun shifts its position above the building. The cloaked man knows that this is an illusion, just another part of the Wynbald that he helped build, another of his tricks that never cease to fascinate and intrigue.

When he reaches the castle, he sweeps past the double doors, wending through the corridors with the easy familiarity of a person who has been here several times. Indeed—he considers it somewhat shameful that he has made it a habit to check on Wynbald for the past ten years or so, a habit that has only become more recurrent ever since Professor Gollonk’s return. The walls are mostly bare, devoid of any portraits—all except the large painting of a barren landscape outside the Dining Hall, which houses a frail, wispy-looking maiden—but as the man takes a sharp turn into the east corridor, he swears he can hear even the occasional tapestry when it whispers. The embroidered people scurry across the cloth; the black silk—a traditional Wynbald signature—appears to ripple as Bladwick the Wanton makes wild gestures in his excitement. The man allows himself to smile as he passes by. He knows very well the subject of their interest. It is the reason he is here himself.

For today, the students are to arrive.

He halts where the corridor ends—a window, looking out onto the grounds in all their new-yearly, snow-speckled glory. A patchwork of frost, mud, and sleet.

‘Jemima,’ he says clearly, rapping his knuckles against the windowpane. When nothing happens, he repeats the name. Then again—and again.

It is when a light breeze patters around his ankles that he turns around quickly, staring at the stretch of blank wall beside the window with great concentration. A door appears, replacing the dull-grey brickwork, and the man has scarcely reached out to grab the handle that the lock clicks. The door snaps open to reveal a tall, thin woman with dark hair. She stares at him, eyes filled with the most intense form of apathy he has ever seen on anyone, but as the silence grows thick between them, she allows herself to give him the barest flicker of a smile.

‘Punctual as always,’ Jemima Gollonk says by way of greeting.

The man gives her a perfunctory nod before allowing himself to be escorted into her office.

‘Seven children,’ she says, sitting down into one of those high-backed Muggle chairs that swivel once you are seated. ‘Sit down, (???).’ She flicks her wand and a teapot, along with a dainty china teacup, floats onto her desk. ‘Seven children, not counting the caretaker’s ragamuffin son, and six teachers. It sounds like an appropriate number, doesn’t it?’

‘Appropriate?’ He leans against a nearby bookcase, pointedly ignoring the chair that sits in front of Jemima’s desk. ‘I told you specifically that there would be no need for an “appropriate” if you’d simply agreed on choosing a simpler way of handling the situation. A trial period—mysterious owls … goodness, Gollonk, we’re really not playing any games.’

‘Fifteen years ago, you liked games.’ She levitates a now-filled teacup in his direction. He catches it before it smacks into his face. He still does not pull down the balaclava, but his eyebrows furrow as he regards Jemima with something akin to consternation.

‘It’s not a game, (???),’ she continues seriously. ‘You know why. I left this school fifteen years ago, and now I owe it a reopening. How much could have changed in that span? Magic—magic doesn’t change. It lingers, it grows quietly. You know it. I know it. And you know this trial period will help me.’

‘The only reason the trial period exists is because you couldn’t find any students.’

There is silence. Jemima pushes her short, greying hair away from her face and straightens her cuffs. (???) places his teacup in front of her. It is still full.

‘They’ll start arriving by one o’clock,’ he says. It is not a question. ‘Don’t mess this up. Don’t hurt anyone. That’s the worst thing you could do at this point.’ He moves towards the door, but stops when Jemima clears her throat. He turns to see her eyes—grey, piercing—focussed on him.

‘I have never hurt anyone,’ she says forcefully.

He laughs bitterly. ‘Try convincing yourself of that,’ he says. Then he is gone, with a swish of his cloak, the heels of his boots clacking against the flagstone floor.

-

12:15 p.m.

Jemima waits until she is certain he has left the grounds. Ned, the balding blighter of a gatekeeper with watery, grey eyes that are on the verge of falling out with how curiously he stares at everything Wynbald, opens the gate. She watches (???)’s back until he is swallowed by the snow.

Casting a quick but effective Muffliato in her office—just in case any curious house-elves might be in the vicinity—Jemima unlocks a drawer in her desk and takes out a set of what appear to be children’s dice. They are tiny, both small enough for her to balance on her forefinger, and a series of changing glyphs are imprinted on their sides. Jemima tosses the dice on her desk, and as she does, a strong wind blows through the east corridor and sweeps through the rest of the castle. The pattern on the outer walls of the castle is rearranged. A distinctive kind of magic breathes in the castle, seeping into every crevice, underneath every loose floorboard in the dormitories.

Jemima smiles. The clock now reads 13:00.

The game has begun.
Last edited by Pompadour on Thu Feb 25, 2016 3:43 pm, edited 2 times in total.
How to format poetry on YWS

this sky where we live is no place to lose your wings





User avatar
45 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 529
Reviews: 45
Sun Jan 03, 2016 1:52 am
View Likes
Europa says...



Lyra Heatherstong

The stars whipped by as I flew over the rural country. The man in front of me, in an etrocious pinstriped dresscoat and pink flannel t-shirt, informed me that we'd be arriving at Wynblad shortly.
All he recived in return was an apathetic
"Sure."

I scowled down at my wand, twisting it between my fingers. I'd stumbled upon an old wand seller only a few years before, and had been teaching myself magic since.

Inside my satchel, I felt my cat stir. A muffled and indignified meow escaped the bag.

"Shhhhh,Wraith. I'll take you out soon, I promise."

The only reply I got was a disgruntled growl.

We began decending in front of an iron gate flanked by two old men.

the wizard escorting me tried to put a hand on my shoulder but withdrew when I shot him a venomus look.

"This is Lyra Heatherstrong, one of the students. Quite a...err...charming girl." He introduced me. I glowered at the gatekeepers, winding an index finger around the heavy silver chains of one of the many pendants dangling around my neck.

The gate swung open of its own accord, and me and the badly dressed wizard entered. I kept my eyes fastened to the gravel walkway below my feet, not bothering to take in the scenery. I gripped the handel of my trunk tighter as we neared the castle. only two lights were on. one in a window in the first story of the castle, and another up at the top. In that window, I could see a shadow outlined, looking out at the courtyard. I lifted my eyes and stared defiently at the shadow until it turned away. My escort waved his wand, and the enormous double doors of the castle swung open. The wizard led me through the hallways, which were all almost too dark for me to see.

I looked down at my wand, and took a deep breath.

"Alohamora." I whispered, praying silently that I'd pronounced it right.

The tip of my wand lit up. My wizard looked back at me in surprise and I shot him another look.
"What, surprised I actually know magic? I've lived with wizarding familes before!"

Some of the foster homes I'd been landed in were home to either a family of wizards or a muggle-born wizard like me. I'd learned most of my magic from them.

My wizard didn't look back at me again until we came to a brightly lit common room.

"Well, ah...here we are, miss Heatherstrong. Good luck."

"Whatever."

The wizard quickly left and I flopped down on one of the sofas. It was surprisingly soft and comfortable and a smiled a little. I pulled my bag onto my lap and quickly unzipped it. The little cat inside looked up at me balefully. He was black, like just about every other thing I owned, with a small wisp of white fur streaking the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, you." I grumped, drawing the feline out of the bag.

Wraith shook out his ruffled pelt and meowed scornfully at me. He turned haughtily, whipping my face with his tail, and retreated to the farthest cushion of the couch.
"Baby." I muttered.

A voice from beside the fireplace startled me.

"You know, they allow pets here. You din't need to sneak your cat into school."

I looked over at the fireplace. A blonde girl in very fine looking rode was sitting in an armchair, staring at me with large, sweet eyes. At her feet a beautiful, well grommed cat was rubbing against her ankles.

Rich brat. Fantastic.

Wriath looked up from his cushion and hissed at the girl. I scoffed.
"Truer words were never spoken." I said to the cat.

"What do you mean?" The other girl demanded.

I rolled my eyes Wraith rose and stalked stiff-leggedly onto my lap, lying down and allowing my to tickle him behind the ears.

"I mean, exactly what I said. Wraith hissed, and I agree with him. You're one of those girls, aren't you?"

I felt my lip twitch as I suppressed a sneer. "The sheltered little rich girl with the perfect, cookie cutter family. Even the vibe coming off you is enough to make me want to gag."

The girl looked shocked, staring at me with furious eyes.

There's one friend I won't be making.

I scowled back at her for a moment before reclining on the couch, propping my feet up on the arm of the seat, and falling asleep.





User avatar
425 Reviews



Gender: Gendervague he/she/they
Points: 50
Reviews: 425
Sun Jan 03, 2016 3:04 am
View Likes
Vervain says...



Image

Theobald Friedrich had dedicated most of his life to learning. It was the only endeavor he was never truly done with—there was always, he found, something else he didn't yet know. He had never been taught in a traditional school environment, which he might have blamed for his insatiable curiosity, and he had no desire to ever set foot in one if he had the choice.

During his first stay in Bolivia, he had been brought to see the wizarding school in Brazil, but even Don Raúl had understood him being less than impressed by the environment. He was far more interested in learning the local cultural magic, that which had been brought over from Spain and Portugal and melded with what already existed in the Americas.

Schools, put simply, didn't interest him in the slightest.

Looking up at Wynbald did nothing to change that. More than a tiny bit disgruntled—he could have been in New Zealand a week ago—he pulled his suitably-dramatic wizarding robes tighter around himself to guard against the chill and ducked his head as he strode into the main hall.

Perhaps his opinion might have been better if he wasn't arriving alongside the students. It felt like they were all scarcely a decade younger than he was, and he had his doubts if they would offer any kind of respect to him at all. They were, after all, English.

He would have to try to impress them first. With a hint of nervousness, he tapped the dirt off his shoes at the threshold of the castle and strode in, trying to look even taller than he usually did.

The castle itself, he thought, wasn't very impressive to start with. Small and uninspired, couched in surrounding hills—he would have much rather spent his time at Thyne, where at least he could have some sort of conversation. Here, no doubt, they would all be too worried about what could possibly be happening to them.

Theobald—Professor Friedrich—pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes and glanced behind his shoulder to see his trunk following him on its rickety wheels. It was a good five feet behind him; he would have to renew the charm on it soon. He turned back in front of him, a question on his lips for the quiet man who had shown them in, now that the students were ahead: "And for the teachers...?"

There was a quick nod, and hardly a few minutes later he was left standing in his very own chambers. He dispelled the charm on his trunk and let it fall to the floor with the usual clatter, Kavi hooting at him indignantly when he had to move.

He shook his head at the tawny owl and practiced his teaching voice with a stern, "You'll have to deal with it."

Theobald wasn't sure who he was trying to lecture with that. He hadn't been looking forward to teaching at Wynbald—and he still wasn't, not when he could be in New Zealand, and especially not when he could be looking... He sighed and popped the clasps on his trunk, opening it so he could dig through all his books to get to one reinforced, cloth-wrapped mirror. He couldn't see it well, but his fingers brushed the edge of the soft, slinky material as he pushed aside his collective works of Paracelsus.

Whenever he went anywhere, the mirror was the first thing that came out of his trunk. It seemed only right. He pulled it out of the trunk and deftly removed the aged, greying invisibility cloak from around it, his fingers tracing the soft filigree on the metal frame. How difficult it had been to find someone who could enchant it for him—and how difficult it was to carry it around wherever he went—but he wouldn't have given it up for the world.

With one hand, he held the mirror up against the wall, while the other drew his wand and he wordlessly affixed it. If anyone dared say that Sticking Charms weren't useful in everyday life, he could write them a seventy-page rebuttal.

Theobald cleared the fog on the mirror and smiled, if ever faintly. "Hello, Isabel."

The only response he got was another hoot from Kavi. A reminder that there were other things in the world, even if those other things were nothing but setting his books up and poring over them yet again for some information he may have missed—and finding that folder he had started to throw together with basic lesson plans.

Yes, there were much more important things to do than stare at a magic mirror. He covered the glass again with the old invisibility cloak, leaving only a sliver of an edge completely visible.

And soon, before he was ready, he would have to deal with the students.





User avatar
45 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 4140
Reviews: 45
Sun Jan 03, 2016 4:08 am
View Likes
artsy says...



Professor Knoll

Avery felt a gust of wind glide through her quarters up in the East Tower. Shivering, she put on her deep blue tunic over her professional robes and walked toward the only window in her room.

"Hmm..." She inquired as she latched it shut. "I don't remember leaving it open. Now all my candles are out - of course." She sighed and let her magic compression sleeve push out her wand. She closed her hand around the familiar feel of birch, a tingling sensation rising up her arm.

Knoll flick her wand in a backwards "J" motion, and then pointed at the candles individual while performing the incantation, "Lumen, pratidadati!
Spoiler! :
lumen - Latin. bring light. pratidadati - return

Just like that, the flames seemed to be moving in a reversed time state. Thin lines of the yellow-orange glow shot back to the candles and quickly grew to their original size. A small smile flicked across Knoll's face. "Still got it." She jested to herself, now pointing her nimble piece of birch at the window that the wind must have blown open.

"Muniendum.
Spoiler! :
fortify

The window should have stayed shut, but instead burst open again. For the first time in years, Professor Avery Knoll was stunned that her own spell hadn't worked. She had impeccable pronunciation and clear intentions for every spell. Why hadn't a simple Latin fortify spell worked?

There was no strong gust of wind this time, but Knoll crossed the room and shut the window manually. She brought her hand back abrubtly, her fingertips tingling this time. Had the window shocked her? Knoll knitted her eyebrows.

"I must have used the wrong syntax..." Even though she knew that wasn't possible - she indeed used the right syntax. The window might have absorbed the magic and repelled it. The castle was full of ancient history and magic, no doubt there would be some residual energy left everywhere. Knoll determined that the occurrence was due to residual magic and left it at that. Healing her fingers, she straightened up her desk before departing towards the main common room.
"You have brains in your head and feet in your shoes - you can steer yourself in any direction you choose!" - Dr. Seuss
~
Will Review For Food





User avatar
425 Reviews



Gender: Gendervague he/she/they
Points: 50
Reviews: 425
Sun Jan 03, 2016 9:42 am
View Likes
Vervain says...



Image

The castle didn't look like anything much, especially compared to Hogwarts. From the outside, it mostly looked like someone had set a rock down in the countryside and expected it to blend in, like some four-year-old playing knights and dragons and that was what they designated as the princess's castle. Nick kind of wished he was going back to Hogwarts instead—but he knew if his parents ever caught sight of Wynbald, they'd be beyond apopleptic.

He was grinning at the very thought.

He rolled his eyes at some of the other pushy kids as they were led into the castle; they could be all excited and eager to settle down into their roles as bait for whatever monster lurked here, but he'd rather take his time and look around as he walked in.

It didn't look half as decorated as Hogwarts had been that half-year he went, instead all cold stone inside compact walls. Eva would've curled her lip in disgust, he was sure, considering she was used to the cushy warmth and comfort of her stupid common room in her stupid tower. Nick rolled his eyes at that, too—he didn't need a tower. Maybe.

He ended up being the last to waltz into the dining hall and sign the registration scroll, his signature a scrawl across the bottom that took up most of the remaining space. Thankfully, it looked like that was all they were waiting for before they led the kids to the dorms—Nick hoped that none of the other guys would insist on sharing a room in the dorms or anything. He needed space to stretch, and besides, there were only about four of them. They didn't need to share.

With a yawn, he set his things down and sprawled across a couch in the boys' common room, looking around at the other guys as if daring them to speak to him. It wasn't that he thought of them as threats—mostly—but he didn't want to deal with any of them if they were just going to parrot his parents' rants about purity of knowledge and all that. He could only handle so much of their snide judgement, and he was all out of patience for the day.

It was a pity there weren't that many kids in this trial period. If there were even five more, he might have been able to excuse himself down to that town once a week or so, just to get out of class and away from all this trouble.

Nick turned on his side on the couch. It wasn't that bad, probably better than the beds—like hell it was, he was just saying that because he didn't want to stand up—so he tucked a cushion behind his head and waved a vaguely threatening hand at one of the other boys. "You don't leave me a room, you're dead, got it?"

He'd just be speeding up the process, after all.

He yawned again and dozed off. He'd have to write Desmond in the morning. Start the letter... Well, I'm not dead yet.
Last edited by Vervain on Sun Feb 07, 2016 3:47 am, edited 1 time in total.





User avatar
15 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 525
Reviews: 15
Sun Jan 03, 2016 6:11 pm
View Likes
HazelGrace16 says...



Annabelle Ellis


It took me two days to pack. Not because I had that much stuff, but it was actually because I didn’t know what to make of this. I had gotten the letter a few days ago, and all I can say is I was shocked. I thought I would have been the last candidate to ever be considered for an opportunity like this. I understand my friend Marcus’ acceptance, because he’s one of the most skilled young wizards I’ve ever met. But me? I have only been aware of the Wizarding World's existence for 3 years. I’ve always felt like an outcast in my life, but when Marcus showed up it all finally made sense. All of a sudden I didn’t feel like an outcast. I wasn’t alone. For the past three years I’ve been doing my best to prepare myself for a life in the Wizarding world. I’m not that good, but I’ll never stop trying. It’s not every lifetime that someone figures out who they are before 18 years old. I’ve still got a long way to go, but I know this for sure. I am a witch, and I’m going to Wynbald.

I lug my suitcase down the stairs, and I place it by the door. Marcus should be picking me up soon, so I need to say my goodbyes. I walk into the kitchen, where my mother and father stand by the counter. A banner hangs over the sink that says “Bon Voyage” My father has a small box, and my mother has a tiny cake. Both of them are smiling, and I can hint the start of tears in my mothers eyes.

“Mom? Dad? What’s-”

“We wanted to see you off in style” My father said. I stared at the banner. “I know you aren’t going on a boat, but I thought it would be appropriate.” We both laugh, and he hands me the small silver box. Inside is a leather bracelet with a small silver pendant in the center.

“Jack’s bracelet?” I ask looking at them shocked.

“For courage.” My mother's face lit up as she said this, and a single tear fell from her eye.

“Thank...Thank you so much.” I rush towards them and embrace them with all my might. I’m crying now. You see, my brother died when I was 10. Car accident. He was 17 years old, and he always wore this bracelet as a reminder of courage. This is the first time I have seen it since the day he walked out the door. A knock at the door breaks us from our tight embrace. “That must be Marcus.” I walk towards the door, and open it. Marcus was beaming. This was all he could talk about the past few days.

“Are you ready to go?” He asks.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” My parents walk up behind me in the doorway.

“Good to see you Mister and Misses Ellis. Splendid day isn’t it?” My mother laughs.

“Take good care of our girl Marcus.” She says. He nods quickly and grabs my suitcase.

“Always do Mrs.Ellis. Now, we have a train to catch.” He walks off, and I hug my parents one last time.

“I love you both.” I say.

“Have a good time. And make us proud.” My father kissed the top of my head, and sent us on our way.

The trip wasn’t as stressful as I thought it would be. The train ride was pleasant, and the walk was not as trying as I thought it would seem with suitcases. Overall we made decent time, and we arrived a few minutes after schedule. My walking stops at the foot of the gate.

“What is it?” Marcus asks concerned.

“What if I screw up? What if the all hate me? It’s not like a school of 8 students is easy to be invisible. Oh god what if I get expelled? What if-” Marcus quickly grabs my shoulders interrupting me, and shakes me.

“Stop rambling, and we will not have thoughts like that Belle.” He turns towards the gate. “You’re my best friend, and we will get through this together. I promise. I mean if anyone can do this it’s us.”
“You mean you.” I say.

“I mean us.” He grabs my hand, and together we walk towards our future.

After we finish the process of signing in, we enter a small living type room. Other students lounge around avoiding each others eye contact. Everyone is wary, and it’s extremely obvious. Marcus being the social butterfly he is walks right up the first person he sees. Unfortunately the kid flat out ignores him.

This is going to be a long first day.

And we’ve got a long way to go.
"Sometimes it is the people who no one imagines anything of who do the things that no one can imagine" - The Imitation Game





User avatar
1085 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 90000
Reviews: 1085
Mon Jan 04, 2016 2:50 am
View Likes
Mea says...



Professor Simon Turnbull


Simon Turnbull - Professor Simon Turnbull - stood just outside entrance to Wynbald, the other students and teachers gathered around him. After a long train ride and an even longer walk, they had finally arrived.

He looked up at the stone keep and couldn't help but think how much more impressive Hogwarts had been back in the day. Hmph, didn't I say, even before all the shady stuff happened here the first time round - we lost something when Hogwarts closed. Blasted "rennovations."

He realized he was fingering his broken pocket watch, a nervous habit that had developed ever since he had recieved that letter. He shoved it back inside his robes. I'll have to stop doing that.

The students had streamed in ahead of Simon, leaving the other professors at the back of the group with him. Simon appraised them with a critical eye. Both a good two decades younger than him, in the prime of their life, they seemed rather young to be "experts" in their field. Neither of them looked particularly threatening, but Simon didn't trust them all the same.

He was quickly shown to his quarters - a small suite of rooms with a bedroom, bathroom, and office. Not bad, as far as accommodations went. Waving in his trunks, which had been following behind him, he magicked them to the desk and closed the door.

Unpacking didn't take long, despite the sizable number of books he had brought. The study was lined with nearly empty bookshelves, and with a flick of his wand books began streaming out of his trunk and organizing themselves alphabetically on the shelf.

His cauldrons he unpacked by hand - a standard set of all the useful sizes. They had been expensive when they were new, and even though that had been some ten years ago, they were still in good condition. The last cauldron was different. An ancient, battered pewter one, he placed it directly on his desk.

He had brought a standard kit of Potions ingredients - hopefully enough to last him most of the year, though he supposed he could always order more. Those he stored in the cupboards behind his desk. His special kit - filled with most rare and powerful ingredients - he left in his trunk. It would resist intruders better than the cabinet.

The busywork was nice - it kept his hands occupied, kept him from thinking too much about why he was here.

But that was the question - why was he here? What did Jemima want from him? He had nearly forgotten about her until the scandel surrounding Wynbald and her disappearance, but she had been a few years above him in Hogwarts. He seemed to remember that she did well in Potions, but they had rarely, if ever, spoken. Also what about the other teachers? He wouldn't be suprised if they were in on whatever Jemima was planning. And they had to be planning something. Innocent intentions were never accompanied by threats.

Still, he considered, perhaps he should befriend the other teachers. It would be good to have some allies. And if they were in Jemima's pocket, well, no harm done. It wasn't like he was expecting to leave Wynbald alive. Dinner seems like a good place to start; I wonder when they're serving it.
We're all stories in the end.

I think of you as a fairy with a green dress and a flower crown and stuff.
-EternalRain

I think you, @Deanie and I are like the Three Book Nerd Musketeers of YWS.
-bluewaterlily





User avatar
324 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 0
Reviews: 324
Wed Jan 06, 2016 12:47 am
View Likes
Evander says...



Malcolm Winters-Beckly


If anything, Malcolm hadn't planned going to Wynbald in his notebook. Become the Minister of Magic? Sure. Uniting the two worlds? Most definitely. Be forced to come to a magical school? Not really. When he had gotten the letter, he had half the mind to write back saying that he didn't want to go and that Hogwarts was his home for once. But then, he found himself writing that he would very much like to go and signing his name on the parchment.

So there he was, unpacking all of his things in his dorm. There really wasn't all that much to unpack, if he really thought about it. He hoped that he could send an owl back to his mom asking for an extra pair of boots or one of his purple cloaks, or maybe asking his dad to send one of his Rubik's cubes in order to focus. At his first year of Hogwarts, he had gotten multiple owls with packages of things that he had forgotten.

Malcolm picked up one of his books from his first year at Hogwarts, but then he set it back down on the bedspread. His mind wandered for just a second, something about contacting the outside world. He needed to send his ideas off to someone. If he just wrote down in his never ending notebook, he'd eventually give up. But then his mind snapped back to the task at hand.

What task?

He tried to remember what he was thinking about beforehand, but it just seemed so far out of reach. Malcolm's fingers clenched around the spine of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, picking it up again to see if he could remember exactly what he wanted to think about.

Nah, forget about it. Things like that happened all the time.

I wonder if they teach Dark Arts here and not just defense, he mused while standing on his tip-toes to reach the top of the shelf. His fingertips, and the books by extension, were met by cobwebs. A shiver went down Malcolm's spine at the thought of more spiders.

Tugging his hand away, he quickly scurried back to his trunk to instead put away the rest of his clothes in the dresser. Books, while incredibly useful, could be put away at a later time after he could pull out his notebook to find just what spell could be used to get rid of those pesky spiders. At his dad's house, on the computer, Malcolm could just use his wand and cast them away with the click of a button. But he was in the real world, he had to remember the specific incantations and use the proper wrist movements --

When was dinner going to start?

Malcolm looked down at his digital watch and stared at the stagnant characters on the unblinking screen. 9:00A. That time didn't make any blooming sense whatsoever -- wait a moment. His watch had broken at Hogwarts. Sure, his mother could protect it against magic, but water was too much for it. He had taken it into the lake one time and then it just stopped working.

"This is why the two worlds should combine. Somebody has to create a waterproof, magicproof watch." He waited, for a few moments, to hear the chorus of agreement from the rest of the Ravenclaw dorm. Martin Bloomsberg had always agreed with him. Malcolm folded up the rest of his polka dot underwear and put it away, remembering grimly that he was snatched anyway to Wynbald before he had the chances to even say goodbye to Martin. Christmas break was a blessing and a curse, sometimes.

Would the rest of the boys put up with his random comments?

"Sure, they would." He caught himself before continuing the thought aloud.

They probably wouldn't.

He glanced back up at the cobwebs and forgotten red copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and then at all of his stuff, sprawled out on the black and white covers of his bed. The room was so similar to his dorm at Hogwarts, but not. It unnerved him, but he couldn't quite place why.

Malcolm flung himself onto the sheets and hit his head on his box of 5-Hour Energy. Some people were talking down in the common room, but he didn't want to go down and face them. If anything, he just wanted to finish packing so he'd be able to find the notebook.

Where did he place it anyway?
Want to talk about your project? Head on over to the Writers Corner! If you have a question about writing, then head on over to Research! Is your question not big enough to warrant its own thread? Ask away in Little Details!

German rat enthusiast.





User avatar
396 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 27
Reviews: 396
Sat Feb 06, 2016 6:59 am
View Likes
Pompadour says...





Image


Jemima's nerves were ablaze with excitement. She had seen the children being led up the drive through her window, the view of which she could change to whatever she wanted. All of them were there, she had noticed, satisfied, not one missing—along with the newly-hired professors. Her eyes had lingered on the younger children, and she smiled widely as she exited her office. She had so many plans; there was so much she had to do if she was going to be sure this would work.... ???'s departing words echoed in her mind, but Jemima was determined not to let any amount of uneasiness swamp her ambitions.

Nothing will go wrong this time, she thought. Tapping her wand against her thigh, she cast another safeguard over the castle. I'm absolutely certain—I'll make sure of it.

She walked briskly down the corridor that led away from her office. With a flick of her hand, she rearranged the dull-grey bricks on the walls to change colour and form an image—that of a white dragon, its tail curled tightly around a bright purple conch shell. The dragon stretched and snorted, jets of fire escaping from its nostrils. The flames cantered around the conch, which let out a low, mournful howl. Jemima laughed.

Slowly, the image stilled: the dragon stopped in mid-motion, its jaw slightly open, its eyes blank and unstaring. Another flick of her wand, and Jemima knew that the same image had been duplicated onto every wall in the castle. She reached out and stroked the dragon’s tail.

‘Keep watch,’ she said to it quietly. ‘??? isn’t the only one the walls listen to.’

She allowed herself a moment to appreciate her handiwork before she turned away, black heels clicking and clacking against the flagstone floor.



She stopped when she reached the Dining Hall, which was completely empty aside from a small desk in the middle of the room. A card was propped against it; it read ‘Registrations’ in snaking, silver cursive. Piles of paper were neatly arranged on the dark, oak desktop. A lone figure stood by the wooden platform farthest from the door, orchestrating a series of mops and brooms along the wall. His hair stood out, stark white against the black, swan-shaped school emblem which covered the entirety of the wall.

Calling to the man (‘Rochester!’), Jemima marched to the middle of the room. Rochester nearly dropped his wand as he peered over his shoulder at her. Nodding, he magicked the brooms and mops into a neat pile and scooped them up into his arms.

‘Yes, Professor?’ he asked, in his usual, calm monotone. ‘I sent the children—and the professors—to their respective dormitories. Just as you asked,’ he added, staring at the ground.

‘Well, I want you to—Rochester, that stain won’t disintegrate the longer you stare at it.’ Rochester’s gaze snapped up and Jemima glared at him, arms crossed over her chest. ‘I want you to call Professor Higgins, the Defence professor…’ Rochester nodded to show he was listening. ‘I wish to have a chat with her. Inform the other teachers that I’ll be seeing them later this evening, after dinner. Then I want you to go down to the kitchens, shake the House Elves awake a little … you know, we have guests—and make an organised list for the aptitude tests tomorrow. Youngest to oldest, in that order. Ah, and Rochester,’ she called, as he nodded fervently once more and made to scurry away. ‘If you wouldn’t mind—perhaps your son could join us for tomorrow’s testing.’

‘Lad’s a squib, ma’am,’ Rochester said quietly. He fidgeted slightly, and looked guilty, as if his son being a squib was all his fault.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jemima said airily. ‘Josef and I have had some very … interesting conversations. He’s a bright child. I’d like for him to get an education in magical and muggle theory.’

Rochester grunted. Whether it was with assent, or dissent, Jemima could not be sure. She brushed some lint off the sleeve of her black blazer and straightened her collar. With a perfunctory nod at Rochester—to account for the countless times he had nodded at her—she turned and walked away. Her sari swished around her ankles, and she held it up as she turned into a corridor and found herself facing the large staircase that led to the second floor.

‘Sonorus,’ she whispered, holding her wandtip to her throat. She coughed slightly, pretentiously, and said, ‘Welcome, students and teachers, to Wynbald, School of Magic.’ Her voice boomed, ricocheting off the walls and echoing clearly, she knew, in the entire castle. The dragon on the nearest wall blinked at her. She continued, ‘I am Headmistress Gollonk, and it is with immense pleasure that I welcome you to my school. It has taken long in its reconstruction, and I sincerely hope that you will find this trial period fruitful, not just with regard to your current education, but also for later on in life.’ There was a pause, during which Jemima waited for the echoes to die out. ‘Pleasantries aside, I am sure you are keen in understanding how your classes will be conducted, and in what grade level you will be placed in.

‘Tomorrow, after breakfast, we will be conducting aptitude tests, starting at nine thirty. I ask you to brush up on whatever magical theory you have brought with you, but do not fret’—here, Jemima’s voice took on a cheerful tone—‘the tests will not be difficult! I hope your journey was not unpleasant, and I will be asking you to join us tonight in the Dining Hall for a feast. Again…’ Jemima played with her sleeves and bit down on her lower lip nervously. ‘I … hope this term will be an experience for us all.’
How to format poetry on YWS

this sky where we live is no place to lose your wings





User avatar
45 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 4140
Reviews: 45
Thu Feb 11, 2016 3:41 pm
View Likes
artsy says...



Professor Avery Knoll

I stood outside the doors of the dining room. Some time had passed since the Headmistress' voice boomed through the castle with the Sonorus spell. As soon as her voice boomed, I could think of a few spells she could've used to take the edge out of her voice.

Whether the edge in her voice is real, or I'm leaning towards being frightful of her, I'm unsure.

However, Avery knew it was the latter. Was Gollonk the type of person to kidnap someone's future husband and claim to know the wherabouts about their long lost parents, or was the writer of the blackmail a different person? Avery tried to shake the thoughts out of her head, even though she knew it was futile. She could have used a simple meditative charm to still her thoughts and prevent them from having a go at one another, but she felt like charming herself was pointless this time.

For the first time in years, she began to feel loneliness sweep over her. The same loneliness she cultivated a barrier around her self to keep out, yet this time, she didn't have the energy or motivation to charm herself.

Professor Knoll straightened herself up as she heard a noise around the corner. When no footsteps followed, she turned and walked towards it. All she found was a still painting - or a picture? - of a lifelike dragon on the wall, curled around a detailed conch shell.

"Beautiful." Avery breathed, astonished that she hadn't noticed the dragon on her way in.

As she turned around, she heard the same sound again.

Unless I'm already mentally unstable, this castle will turn me that way.

However, when she saw a few students going into the dining hall, she brightened up. The loneliness washed away and she remembered the other one-third of her reasons as to why she took this position. Spell-Structure and Transfiguration. While Transfiguration was newer to her than Charms and Spell-Structure, she was determined to make the year brighter, for her students and other faculty.

She hoped she could make it brighter for herself too.
"You have brains in your head and feet in your shoes - you can steer yourself in any direction you choose!" - Dr. Seuss
~
Will Review For Food





User avatar
1085 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 90000
Reviews: 1085
Sat Feb 13, 2016 2:47 am
View Likes
Mea says...



Professor Simon Turnbull


After unpacking, Simon decided to familiarize himself with the school. When he had arrived, he had found on his desk a map of the school and a key to the library, so he had a general idea of where everything was, but there was nothing like the boots-on-the-ground experience.

He needed a good walk, anyway. Jemima's announcement had made him antsy. What was the woman playing at, acting like any of them were here by choice?

He wasn't sure he trusted the map, either. For one thing, it only showed three floors, but the building itself was much taller. There had to be at least another couple of hidden floors, and who knew what other secret nooks or crannies were hidden away?

He rolled up the map and put it and the key it in his robes, wishing they had magically enlarged pockets. He had some robes that did, but they were for potion brewing and had other modifications that made them inconvenient for everyday use. Quietly, he slipped out the door of his office and closed it behind him. The corridor around him was clear.

The castle itself, with its arching stone corridors reminded him forcefully of Hogwarts as he stepped outside his office. Sure, the corridors were smaller, there were no trick staircases, and few paintings on the walls, but the style of architecture was the same, and it sparked a wave of nostalgia.

Simon shook it off - there was no time for sentimentality. The first thing he looked for was a flight of stairs. He only wanted to see what was up there, he told himself, and quickly before his absence was noticed, or before he he ran into someone he didn't want to talk to.

But after a few rounds of the second and third floor, Simon was near to giving up. Everything that was on the map was where it was supposed to be, but he couldn't find anything else either. As he prodded another tapestry with his wand, a voice in the back of his head said What are you doing? Prowling around will only cause problems. You're supposed to be keeping your head down!

The voice had a point. A large part of Simon chafed against the idea of acting like he was treading on dragons' eggs, but Jemima was too much of a wildcard to risk anything else. He had no idea what could set her off.

A call of "Hello" shattered Simon's reverie, and he backed away rather hurriedly from the tapestry. The source of the noise turned out to be one of those upstart young professors from earlier, who was heading down the hallway towards him. This one was a young man, who Simon supposed was handsome, in an absent-minded sort of way. It was like he had dressed rather too quickly, so his robes appeared ill-fitting.

"Hello," Simon said cautiously.

When the young man reached Simon, he held out his hand confidently and said "I'm not sure we've been introduced. I'm Theobald Friedrich. I'll be teaching Alchemy and Charms. You're the Potions professor, correct?"

Simon frowned slightly, but took his hand and shook it. No reason to not be polite. "Yes. Simon Turnbull. Nice to meet you."

"Oh, and you! You know, I've always thought of Potions as the sister subject to Alchemy. Do you know much of Alchemy? I'm afraid I've only a passing knowledge of Potions." He spoke a little too quickly, fiddling awkwardly with his hair, which hung down to his shoulders in a tangle of wavy curls.

Simon smiled inwardly. Unless this was an act, he doubted Theobald was a threat. In fact, the man's eagerness reminded Simon of his days as a youth, though Alchemy was a much less useful passion in Britain than Potions. "I'm afraid not," he said. "It's not really a subject taught at Hogwarts."

"Yes, I know," said Theobald. "It's such a shame - think of the possibilities! Why, Argentina in particular has some very interesting techniques that I think if combined with some of Britain's latest research in Transfiguration..."

And he was off. Simon had no idea what the young man was talking about, but he shrugged it off as an area well outside his expertise. You'd think the man would at least try simplifying it for the laymen.

"...if you know what I mean."

Simon realized Theobald was looking at him expectantly. "Yes, quite." He seized the opportunity to end the conversation. "The topic is truly stimulating, but if you don't mind, I'd like to freshen up before dinner."

"Oh, yes, of course. I'll see you at the feast then."

Simon watched him retreat down the hallway. Theobald seemed like a nice enough lad, even if he did have a tendency to ramble. He didn't seem the teaching type, though. One had to wonder what hold Jemima had over him. With a sigh, Simon slipped back into his office. It was probably time to start thinking about lesson plans.
We're all stories in the end.

I think of you as a fairy with a green dress and a flower crown and stuff.
-EternalRain

I think you, @Deanie and I are like the Three Book Nerd Musketeers of YWS.
-bluewaterlily





User avatar
425 Reviews



Gender: Gendervague he/she/they
Points: 50
Reviews: 425
Sat Feb 13, 2016 3:15 am
View Likes
Vervain says...



Image

Theobald, for one, was feeling rather good about being at Wynbald now that he had settled in. No one had tried to kill him in the last few minutes, and with everything in place after Jemima's announcement, he had decided to take a walk.

That, of course, was when he ran into that Potions professor—Turnbull, was it?—and had gone off on something about Geberian alchemy. He was hoping that at least some of the students would be of a high enough level that he could get a chance to teach that. It was fascinating to him, the creation of life...

Theobald paused at the end of the hallway and glanced over his shoulder, but the Potions professor wasn't there. He didn't quite trust the man, for all he didn't seem too bad, and he was tempted to try to pick up a few tidbits about Potions if he found the time between teaching his own classes. Still, something about that Turnbull man had felt far too observant for his own tastes.

He decided that it had to be how very British he was.

You'll have to get used to that, he told himself strictly as he traipsed around another corner—how many corners were in this place?—and down a flight of stairs to find himself on the ground floor yet again. It seemed like all roads in the castle led down, but then, the British were always a dreary people.

Dreary and manipulative, at the very least.

He fell in behind a few students who were headed into the dining hall, only to be greeted by a sight that told him he was decidedly one of the earlier ones: a handful of children, a couple of professors, and a very empty-looking hall.

Then again, only a handful had been invited to begin with, if he remembered correctly.

Then again, if he remembered correctly, that Gollonk woman...

Theobald drew a deep breath and cast away his anger. Anger would not solve his problems, especially not here of all places; he couldn't afford a blackout in a hall of children and innocents. Though he was convinced that the Gollonk woman meant anything but well, he had to keep calm and stay in control of himself.

Control. That was the most important thing. And his wand, he supposed, drawing the slim twig of cherry wood out of his pocket to be at the ready. It was doubtful that anyone would attack them on the first evening, but better prepared than dead.

"Hello," he said absent-mindedly to a woman about his age, who must have been one of the other professors; suddenly, he was struck by the thought of that very threatening letter, and wondered what had been held against this woman—or that Turnbull man—if indeed neither of them were here of their own free will.

Part of him almost wished one of his sisters was there to tease him, to call him by that stupid pet name of theirs that had stuck with Isabel, to warm him up in this drafty hole of a castle. He coughed and took a seat in the dining hall, looking out at the students that had already gathered.

What a ragtag team of misfits they were. Here and now, Theobald decided, none of them would fall victim to whatever curse roiled in the guts of this castle.

If that didn't backfire on him, he would be in New Zealand by summer.





User avatar
45 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 4140
Reviews: 45
Tue Feb 16, 2016 5:00 pm
View Likes
artsy says...



Professor Avery Knoll

Someone, perhaps another teacher, had greeted her as she focused back into the waking world. Noticing that she was the only one remaining in the corridor outside of the banquet hall, she followed the man's path and sat down at what she presumed to be the teacher's table.

Not like there are enough students to tell either way. She solemnly noted to herself.

"Hi there." Avery politely noted to the man seated diagonally from her.

Human contact. It was so strange to have human contact now, after what seemed like close to 24 hours of confusion and fear. Avery knew none of these kids or teachers, much less the headmistress. It seemed that after her charm backfiring, her mind was in a constant flux of hyper-awareness and oblivion. One minute she's admiring the life-like painting of a dragon on a nearby wall, the next she's mentally pulling herself together after thinking about her long-lost family.

Professor Knoll, realizing that she got caught up in thoughts again, tuned back into the world. The man had his hair slightly combed onto his face, but it wasn't entirely covered. He looked as if his clothes hadn't seen a fitting charm in a few weeks, and he portrayed a mysterious yet rugged exterior. Avery automatically assumed he was another professor, but looking at him from across the table, she wasn't quite as sure anymore.

The man raised an eyebrow, and only then had Avery realized she had drifted off into her mind again while looking at him. If not for her dark skin, her cheeks would have shined with a bright red hue.

"Sorry, been a rough day. Presumably for everyone here as well." Professor Knoll noted, "I'm Avery Knoll - Spell Structure and Transfiguration professor."
"You have brains in your head and feet in your shoes - you can steer yourself in any direction you choose!" - Dr. Seuss
~
Will Review For Food





User avatar
1085 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 90000
Reviews: 1085
Sat Mar 12, 2016 9:24 am
View Likes
Mea says...



Simon had deliberately chosen a seat as close to Jemima as he could be without sitting directly next to her. He planned to watch her closely this evening, but for now she was simply sitting with her arms folded in her lap, watching the handful of children below settle in. There was a surprising amount of noise; Simon had forgotten how loud a small group of teenagers could be.

Jemima surveyed them with an odd expression on her face that Simon couldn’t quite place. A moment later, she tapped her goblet lightly with her spoon. Silence fell in the time it took for everyone to see who had made the sound. Yes, Simon thought, They’re definitely scared of her. Merlin’s beard, did she threaten them as well?

Jemima rose. “Welcome, students. This banquet marks the beginning of the term, a time which I hope will be enlightening and fruitful for you all. I’m sure you’re all tired and hungry, but before we eat there are just a few short notices.

“Firstly, no one is allowed out on the grounds before dawn or after sunset. Floors three through six are still being renovated, and I advise you not to try going up there. If you would like to use the library, ask any of the teachers - they all have keys. And finally, there will be scheduled outings to Thyne, under supervision, of course. Times and dates will be announced later.

“As for your classes, you will receive your schedule after the aptitude tests. Classes will begin in full the next day. If you have any questions or concerns about your schedule, please feel free to see me or the relevant teachers. Now please - eat!”

Food appeared on the tables on cue, the delicious smell of shepard’s pie and several assorted soups wafting through the hall. Baskets of bread sat next to plates laden with apples, strawberries, and melon slices, and bowls of freshly steamed vegetables. All in all, an excellent feast.

Simon watched as Jemima sat down, still smiling broadly, and began to eat. She soon struck up a conversation with the professor sitting next to her, a young, stern-looking woman whom Simon hadn’t spoken to.

He dished himself and began to eat, trying to look busy so no one would initiate a conversation. He was straining to hear what Jemima was saying, but he could only catch a few scattered words. Simon was about to slip out his wand and whisper a quick spell to amplify his hearing when Jemima unexpectedly looked up and down the staff table and addressed them.

“Rochester should have told you that I wanted to see each of you after dinner?”

Everyone nodded. Simon had been told soon after he got back from his little tour of the castle.

“Good…” She proceeded to outline who she would be meeting when - each block of time was only fifteen minutes long. ”...It’s nothing too formal,” she concluded. “I just want to talk to you about the curriculum and your teaching plans.”

I wonder what she’ll be wanting us to teach them, he thought. This job’s already difficult enough without her hovering over my lessons.
We're all stories in the end.

I think of you as a fairy with a green dress and a flower crown and stuff.
-EternalRain

I think you, @Deanie and I are like the Three Book Nerd Musketeers of YWS.
-bluewaterlily








Work expands to fill the time available for its completion.
— C. Northcote Parkinson