Young Writers Society

Tibby sighed "hey Ashton" he said.

''I'm listening.'' he responded, forcing himself to smile. Internally though, he was keeping sharp track of every movement Tibby made.

Tibby sighed "I'm sorry about that, I've just had a tough few weeks and I...I guess the anger just built up, I'm really sorry if I came off as rude or emotional. I promise I didn't mean to be rude." He offered a slight smile "I'm not asking for forgiviness, I just wanted to get that off my chest."

''That's uhhh... cool yeah. Cool'' He murmured quietly.

Jasmine: I can't keep doing this

Mr.Hopkins(foster dad): Jasmine what are you talking about?

Jasmine: I can't say here anymore, I'm too scared I might hurt someone

Mr. Hopkins: Dear, you are only 15 you can't leave

Mrs.Hopkins(foster mom): Let her leave she's no good anyway

Jasmine: See what I'm talking about!

Mr.Hopkins: Honey!

*jasmine walks outside*


*It's dark outside and really windy, and jasmine is walking towards a building*

Ugh, they are so annoying.
*piece of paper appears in her pocket* wait I don't recall having anything in my pocket
As I reach for my back pocket all of sudden the wind stops blowing. It has my name on it
Jasime Nicole Willams
Dear Sir or Madam:
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at The Royal Academy of the Magical Arts, English Division, under the guidance of Headmaster Apollo Cartington. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on request. We await your reply by no later than Saturday next nightfall. To reply, snap your fingers and say "Ego vadam ad Academy, magi ad me fiet."
Yours most sincerely,
Malcolm Moriarty
Deputy Headmaster

I don't know what to say but oh. I don't think they are going to want a half-demon that can't control her powers. They don't need someone like me, I don't even know my parents. But it would be amazing to get away from that foster family.

I guess I'm going


*When jasmine gets home all her stuff is at the door*

Jasmine: What's going on?

Mrs.Hopkins: I granted your wish

Jasmine: And that is?

Mrs. Hopkins: You are moving out

Mr. Hopkins: Don't worry dear we have reserved you a nice little apartment in London

Mrs.Hopkins: She is ungrateful she shouldn't even get that

Mr. Hopkins: Honey we talked about this

Jasmine: I don't need your money or anything

Mrs.Hopkins: Unless you are going to be living on New York streets I suggest you accept this

*Jasmine head*
I can't stand that woman. UGH

As jasmine takes her stuff to the car she hoping this school can keep her away from them for a while.


Mr.Hopkins: come on jasmine hurry up you have a flight to catch
Mrs.Hopkins: Yep! Flight time from New York to London is 6 hours 50 minutes.

Jasmine: And how would you know this*jasmine says in frustration*

Mrs.Hopkins: I do my research plus the farther you are the better


*Jasmine thoughts
I really can't wait to get to this school. I just hope they will accept the fact I'm half-demon. I hope I'm able to make new friends. And maybey a best friend.
I even might be to find out who my real parents are and what they did.


6 hours 50 minutes.later



So the appt looks nice too bad I'm not going to be staying here.

Moriarty patiently awaited the first student. He glanced at his list and impatiently straightened his horn-rimmed glasses. Aamokan. That's who he was waiting on. The deputy headmaster glanced at Alexia. "Well?"



Amoku looked at the human in front of him, "What's this for?"

If Amoku was going to have his time wasted before getting to yell at anyone, he would be better off leaving already.



Moriarty looked the new student over. "My name is Malcolm Moriarty," he said firmly. "It will be my job this morning to determine whether or not you have the ability and skill to attend this academy and be instructed by it's teachers and staff." The older man tugged at his mustache before continuing. "What is your race, young man?"



"Dragon," sneered Amoku, "And don't laugh because I am."



"...dragon," Moriarty said. He snapped his fingers and a quill on his desk sprang to life and started scribbling down notes. "Tell me, then... What skills do you have that could be of use to the academy? Could you demonstrate one?"



"If I was my old self, I could have burned down this entire building," growled Amoku, "But I still have minimal control over fire."

Amoku swished his right hand through the air, and could feel the anger within the entrapped flame on a wall. A candle. That's what humans call this cruelty. Amoku flicked his wrist and the candle burned a little brighter. With another flick of his wrist, the candle was completely snuffed out.



"Pyromancy is a strange and powerful gift that must be used wisely," Moriarty said. He made a mental note to keep an eye on this one-- what was it he had said? My old self. Could prove interesting... "Down the hall--" he motioned to a second door-- "and through the last door on the left, you will find the Mindreading and Protection classroom. The course is taught by Headmaster Cartington." Moriarty swished his hand through the air and a stack of papers appeared; he handed one of them to the student. "This will be your schedule"



"I hope you didn't think I was finished," Amoku grinned. He opened his mouth and a small tongue of fire appeared on his actual tongue. Then, he grabbed the papers (with the fire still in his mouth) and smiled, "See you, Mr. Malcoriarty or whatever your name was."

Amoku exited the room.

Alexia stuck her head back outside. "Alice West, please!" she called, looking at the line. "Er-- you may disassemble. Professor Moriarty will be doing things a bit differently today, it seems."


Alice took a deep breath.

She didn't know what to expect when she stepped into the room, but she had to hope that she would be able to handle what had to be some kind of interview. She couldn't see why else the headmaster would want to see each student one-on-one.

She entered the room.


The door quietly shut behind her as the old man flicked his wrist. "Good afternoon," he said. "I am Malcolm Moriarty, the Deputy Headmaster. So long as you are not as arrogant, fiery, and smart alack-y as the last one." His quill sprang to life once more. "Race?"


Alice gave a tiny smile.

Of course the person before her had annoyed the headmaster. She had no idea what the headmaster was like, but she knew it was bad to do an interview when the interviewer was in a sour mood.

"Human," she replied. She wasn't entirely sure that was what he was asking about, but it seemed like the kind of question a magical school would give to its applicants.


"Ah-- thank you." The quill scribbled down her response, and Moriarty paused. Please, God, if you exist in any way, shape, or form, don't let her do something insane. "Could you demonstrate one of your magical skills, please?"


Alice took a deep breath.

"I can," she confirmed.

Her knowledge of magic wasn't the kind that had much of a practical application. She could list what she had learned from her books, but she knew that wouldn't cut it. She was sure something too simple wouldn't help, either. She bit her lip and mulled over her options.

The man crossed his arms.

"If you really want to do this properly," he said, "you need to know how to heal things yourself, Miss Alice. You can't keep your head in your notebook all day."

She mirrored his posture. "What are you suggesting I heal?"

The words didn't leave her lips, but she was sure that he understood the hidden question. What was she supposed to hurt and then heal? There was a knife glinting on the table in front of them. He had to be planning on using it on someone or something.

"There's me," the man offered. He reached a hand out to grab onto the knife, but Alice found herself grabbing it before he could for reasons she couldn't quite explain. She nicked her arm - barely noticing the horrified, worried look that flickered across the man's face - and let the blood well up to the surface of her skin before she cast the spell.

A moment later, her wound was healed.

"You didn't have to cut yourself," the man said. When she looked up, he seemed notably distressed. Which was strange - he wasn't usually like that. He only assumed his usual cold look when she stared at him for another minute.

"You're half demon, Edward," she said, putting the stained knife back down on the table. Why did it feel like she was lying? "Your biology is different. I needed to learn how to heal humans first."

The memory slipped away.

Alice blinked and hoped that too much time hadn't passed. The memory had felt longer than a minute, but she knew it really hadn't been that long. She had timed the returning memories back when she first started getting them.

"I know this is a strange question," she started, "but do you have something I can make a small cut in my arm with? I want to show a healing spell, but I don't have an injury to heal."


Moriarty took a deep breath and sighed. If she was going to die at the Academy for any reason, it might as well be because she was too stupid to heal herself. Reluctantly, he summoned a long silver dagger. He held it in his hand for a moment before setting it down on his desk.


"Thank you," she softly said.

She picked up the knife from the desk.

Her mind didn't fully remember doing things like this, but her body did. She pressed the tip of the knife against her skin in just the right spot. A little blood appeared, but it was clear that she had avoided cutting into a vein.

When the cut was finally made, she pulled the knife away.

And then she followed the direction of the memory, healing the wound. For good measure, she cleaned the knife's blade with some magic - that was something she was a little more familiar with.

She put the knife back down on the desk.


"Hmm." It wasn't a thoughtful, considerate Hmm, nor a particularly impressed Hmm. Rather, it was a mere afterthought, as if he was half-remembering something or making a mental footnote of some kind.

Again, the Deputy Headmaster motioned to the door. "Down the hall, through the last door on the left, you will find Headmaster Cartington's class." He handed one of the papers he had summoned earlier to Alice. "This will be your schedule. Please try not to dawdle."


She carefully took the paper from him, holding it stiffly enough that it barely crinkled in her hands.

"Thank you," she said. She gave him a polite, awkward smile and internally thanked that memory for returning at a good time. Without it, the interview would have been very different.

It wasn't until she was out of the room that she finally looked at her schedule - and finally let herself believe that this was really happening. Her previously forced smile became genuine; she was going to formally learn more about magic! And, more importantly, she was going to learn just what had happened in the year she could barely remember.

She could feel it.

Alexia stuck her head back outside once more. "Jenevieve Limone," she called. "If you will please come inside!"



Jen looked up. "Of course!" Grinning (slightly nervously), she headed over to the office. So... I guess it's time to show off what I've got? Bouncing on her toes, she entered through the dark wood door.



Moriarty watched the girl silently for a moment or two before his quill sprang to life again. "I am Malcolm Moriarty, the Deputy Headmaster. What race are you?"



"Human!" Jen glanced at the Deputy Headmaster's desk. "Ooh and that's a super neat quill you've got there! Does it just write, or can it like burst into flames, or... uh... maybe I should stop talking now, huh? You don't look to be in a particularly good mood..."



God save us all... Deserae Wintermere is energetic enough as it is. "Well, the quill will do precisely as I want it to do, given that I am its enchanter. As for my mood... that seems to be a rather personal question, does it not? It would not do well for me to speak ill of your fellow students or professors in front of you, now would it?" Moriarty raised an eyebrow, expecting nothing more than a curt nod-- but that alone seemed all too hopeful.



"A--ah yes, sorry Deputy Headmaster!" Oh dear, am I making a bad impression on him already? Jen looked down for a moment, then perked up again. "But just one more question! Will we get to enchant our own quills? That'd be super cool!"



Moriarty sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. This was going to be a long school semester, wasn't it? "I'm sure that at some point or another, a professor will instruct you in such magic. I, however, will be your potionsmaster." Before she could question him further, he added, "Would you mind performing a feat of magic for me? It is essential that we check and make sure that only magical pupils are admitted here."



"Oh sure!" Jen concentrated for a moment, then reached into thin air and pulled out a few pieces of candy. "These are from my pocket dimension! Would you like one? Oh, and I can conjure up more things too-- whatever I store there!" She smiled brightly at the Deputy Headmaster.



Internally, Moriarty felt his eye twitch though externally he didn't even flinch. If only there was a way to take the energy out of people like this student and Deserae Wintermere and package it in a bottle-- whoever did that would be richer than God. "That will be all, I think." He reached for one of the schedules on his desk and handed it to her. "Your first class will with Headmaster Cartington; turn down the hall, and it will be the last door on your left."



"Awesome!" Jen took the schedule and turned to leave, then stopped abruptly. Turning back to the Deputy Headmaster, she added, "Um, and thanks for interviewing me! I hope you feel better soon, and uh sorry if that's a personal statement, but you sort of look like you could use a nap or something, so... okay... I'll just leave now." Blushing, Jen rushed out of the office and took a deep breath. Phew! Well, I'm glad that's over. Ooh and now it's time for the fun part: magic!! With a skip in her step, Jen headed over to her first class.

"Hazal Bulut, if you will join us, please?" Alexia said as she stuck her head back outside.



Hazal turned her gaze slowly to the woman who had spoken her name. With a slight incline of her head, Hazal acknowledged her, getting up slowly. She hadn't spoken a work since she'd arrived; the room had been far too noisy without her adding to it. She nearly glided towards the door, trying to deny the steadily increasing thumping of her heart. Her wings twitched as she pushed open the door.



"Good morning," Moriarty said wearily as he wiped sweat from his brow. Rather than let his quill do the writing for him this time, he took it in hand. "I have a few questions for you."



Hazal gazed at the man in front of her. He looked tired. And also a little damp. "Good morning," she said carefully, tossing a slight lilt into her voice. "What might your questions be?"



"Well," Moriarty began, "first and foremost, I need you to verify what race you are."



"Fae," Hazal replied. She looked back to check if her wings were still under glamour. They weren't. "If that wasn't obvious."



"Better safe than sorry, Ms. Bulut," Moriarty replied. "Would you mind performing a feat of magic for me?"



"Magic?" Hazal echoed. Her hands fidgeted. Magic had always come as second nature to her, but now, as she was asked to do something, she was at a loss. Magic. Magic. Come on, think. She supposed she could show him the memory she had stolen earlier today, the smallpox one, as it was still shoved in her pocket. But that was just a token of what she could do. Moriarty most likely wanted to see her in action. What to do, what to do... Then it came to her.

"Have you ever had a wife, sir?"



Moriarty shook his head. "I have devoted my life to education. My marriage is to my work."



"Oh. Naturally." Hazal said. She took a small breath, telling herself to stay calm. Her mouth parted slightly. "A family, then? Anyone at all you have cared about?"



"My mother's a Sicilian."



"Oh. How lovely." Hazal gulped. She could work with that. At least, she hoped. This would either go very well or very badly. For her sake, she hoped it would be more of the former.

"Could I have your hand?"



Moriarty put his quill down and reached out a hand towards the student. This is a bit peculiar.



Hazal took his hand in her own. Taking a deep breath, she traveled into his mind. Judging by the slightly startled noise he made, her nerves had tripped her up a bit. Usually she could enter with virtually no detection, though, she acknowledged, the minds she entered were rarely as complex and acclimated to magic as Moriarty's.

"Now think of your mother," Hazal instructed. Even if he hadn't wanted to comply, there was nothing he could have done. At the mere mention of his mother it conjured up the figure in his brain. Hazal began quickly but carefully shifting through the memories. This was something she had done a thousand times. The only difference was that this time, rather than taking a memory, she would be trying to reanimate it.

The memories she had come across were mostly neutral, none strong enough to accomplish what she hoped she could accomplish. The way she moved through them was something between shuffling pages and sifting through sand, all the action happening within her mind's eye.

She was in there for what seemed like ages but was probably the blink of an eye when she felt a tugging in her subconscious that flooded her with a light feeling. It was the combination of the carefreeness of childhood and the satisfaction of love, the markings of a positive memory.

Reaching out, she took it, pushing it with magic, letting the energy escape. It was the mind equivalent of blowing dust off of an old book. She caught only glimpses of the memory before she retracted herself back into her own mind and consciousness, back into the room with Moriarty. He was sitting, an unreadable expression on his face.

Hopefully, if she had done it right, he would be remembering and nearly living the memory like it was yesterday. Hopefully, if she had done it right, she would be on his good side. Hopefully, this was the right move to make, and she'd chosen the right memory. He'd be impressed, and his mind would be intact, the memory fading to where it used to be, albeit a little more prominent.

It was a whole lot of hope to be riding on. Hazal hated it.



Moriarty closed his eyes. "That was..." The old man bit down upon his lip to stop his lip from quivering. "That woman has been dead for nearly forty years. Thank you."



Hazal tried to steady her breath. Reanimation was never her strong suit, and it took more out of her than she'd realized. It seemed to be worth it, though. She could recognize suppressed emotions all too well being a practiced participant herself, and though he tried to hide it, subtle tells of emotion came across Moriarty's face.

Trying to ignore how winded she was, she replied. "Of course. You are welcome."



Moriarty reached over to the other side of his desk and picked up yet another schedule. "Down the hall, last door on the left. The Headmaster shall be your first teacher this morning."



Hazal accepted the schedule. She gave it a quick once-over before inclining her head slightly at Moriarty as a farewell and left the room. Though Hazal was still tired and would much rather take a nap than attend class, she started to make her way to the classroom. Besides, the Headmaster seemed an interesting man, and she expected the class to live up to the character.

As her footsteps echoed in the halls, Hazal felt more and more glad of the fact that she had decided to come.