Page 2 of 16 FirstFirst 123412 ... LastLast
Results 11 to 20 of 152

Thread: The Character Gymnasium

  1. #11


    POV: Peter Pettigrew
    OC: Marcus Malfoy
    House: Hufflepuff
    From: Fools in Love
    Words: 426

    They kicked me. They’d done it before, but now, it was my fault. I wandered down to the dungeons looking for ways into their common room. I wanted to find ways into everything, and that’s when they found me.

    They kicked me again. Why didn’t they use their wands? Maybe they thought I was below magic or duelling.

    “Marcus! Come over and help us finish this runt!”

    I wiped the spit from my lips. Who was this new attacker? I didn’t need another foe. When I saw the boy that came towards me, my stomach flipped. He was one of their beaters, and he was a good head taller than any of the other Slytherins. I remembered this kid was built like a rock.

    But, more importantly, he was a Malfoy.

    The lead boy gestured down to me as I struggled to stand. “We took his wand. Go at him, mate.”

    Malfoy pushed his long, tangled blond hair out of his face. He tilted his head up to look at the other Slytherins before looking back down at me. I squirmed away from his gray eyes at first, but then, I realized he looked at me with indifference. I was nothing to him, but that could be very bad. I realized that might mean he would beat me senseless and think nothing of it.

    Malfoy jerked his leg forward. I covered my head and shut my eyes.

    The blow never came.

    I squinted my eyes to look up at Malfoy. He had turned towards his housemate. “He’s not worth my time.”

    His voice shocked me. It sounded like it belonged to some half his size who was five years younger.

    “Really?” the other boy taunted. “You’re the great Marcus Malfoy! Come on, mate, give him one shot!”

    Malfoy turned away from the crowd and ducked his head again. I wondered why that hulk of a kid didn’t just hit me, already. None of the other Slytherins had a problem with punching me. He was a Malfoy, though. Maybe he really thought I was worthless. Somehow, that thought didn’t comfort me.

    “I guess you can’t take on one little, baby Gryffindor,” the leader jeered.

    Malfoy spun around faster than I thought a guy his size could move. He swung his fist out and slammed the leader in the jaw. Blood spurted from his face, and the shock of the action rippled through the Slytherin crowd.

    “You’re a slimy git, Malfoy,” one of the other kids shouted, and Malfoy shot him a scowl before he turned and lumbered away.

    He didn’t even look at me. I wish he thought I was worth at least even one kick.

  2. #12
    Name: Evester
    House: Hufflepuff
    POV: Cedric Diggory
    OC: Dandin Walcott
    Warnings: None
    Words: 699

    “Bye, Dad,” I whispered, hugging my dad for the last time and trying not to cry. I wouldn’t see him again until Christmas, and before this I had never been away from my parents for more than a night or two.

    “Have fun, Ced, my boy. You’ll do brilliantly, I know you will. Just remember that I am so proud of you, all the time.” My dad gave me a last slap on the back before stepping away to let me shove my trunk onto the train.

    “I can help you if you want.”

    I jumped about a mile as a voice sounded from above me, and I felt the weight of my enormous trunk relieved somewhat as someone grabbed the other end and pulled as I pushed.

    “Thanks, mate,” I called, not able to see my helper from behind my trunk.

    “No problem,” I heard.

    Finally, the trunk was on the train and I climbed up, pulling the door closed and waving once more to my dad before turning to meet the boy waiting behind me.

    He looked my age, but he was skinny and rather ragged-looking. His hair fell into his eyes, and framed his slightly gaunt face – strong jaw and snubby nose. He just looked back at me, still holding one end of my trunk.

    “Thanks, mate,” I repeated, smiling. He just looked away, down the passageway.

    “There’s an empty compartment here, if you want help moving it,” he said quickly, gesturing to the glass door next to him.

    “Where are you sitting? Where’s your trunk?” I asked curiously, watching him studying me out of the corner of his eye.

    “Down the train, at the other end,” he said a little defiantly.


    We looked at each other again, before I stuck out my hand bravely.

    “I’m Cedric, by the way. Cedric Diggory. Thanks for the help, but if you want to go back to your friends, I can manage from here.”

    “I’m Dandin Walcott,” the scrawny boy mumbled, not looking at me. I got the distinct impression that he was slightly intimidated by me, but I had no idea why.

    He turned and walked slowly down the passageway, past groups of older students laughing, past an old lady pushing a trolley and finally turned into a compartment at the other end of the train car.

    Curious, and because I had nothing else to do, I quickly shoved my trunk into the empty compartment Dandin had pointed out and followed him down the train. Maybe his friends were a bit friendlier, and maybe I could find out more about Dandin Walcott. I glanced into his compartment as I passed, pretending to look for the bathroom.

    It was empty, aside from Dandin himself and a beat-up old trunk lying on the floor.

    Abandoning my pretense, I knocked on the compartment door.

    “Hey Dandin,” I said, edging inside. Dandin scowled up at me, and for a moment I considered just going back into my own compartment. “Would you like to come join me in my compartment? I was looking for someone to play Exploding Snap with.”

    “What’s Exploding Snap?” Dandin asked, his face reddening.

    “You know, with cards, but they blow up... it’s really fun,” I started, but Dandin looked away.

    “Well, think about it, and I’ll just be down the hall...” I finished, edging back out into the passageway and turning...

    SMACK. I ran straight into someone passing by. Or two people, as I found out when I looked up to see two boys my age with red hair – who looked exactly alike. They laughed and nudged each other as I rose to my feet.

    “Who are you?” they asked. But before I could answer, Dandin jumped up from his seat and flew to the compartment door, a scowl on his face for the twins.

    “He’s Cedric Diggory, and you knocked him over on purpose, didn’t you? Who are you?”

    As the red-headed twins protested loudly at this accusation, I looked curiously at Dandin. He had barely said hello to me, and had ignored me rather rudely I thought, but here he was defending me. Maybe we’ll end up friends yet, I thought happily, grinning at him.
    This is a version of the scene in which Cedric and Dandin meet for the first time (they become best friends later). However, this scene is not in my WIP The Cedric Diggory Files because that story begins in Cedric's fifth year. At the beginning we have a bit of Amos Diggory, and I'm sure you can figure out that the twins at the very end are Fred and George Weasley.

  3. #13
    Third Year Ravenclaw
    Bumper Cars in Gringotts
    xOxLyDzxOx's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2006
    Name: xOxLyDzxOx
    House: Ravenclaw
    POV: Lily Evans
    OC: Mikhailae Connelly
    From: Crazy, Kooky Confessions of Lily Evans
    Words: 513

    She was so pretty.

    I realise now, that even at eleven, her lovely, child’s features were just a teaser, just a hint of the beauty that was to follow.

    I was fascinated. She stood with a boy of about the same age, who was like a male version of her (obviously they were twins), looking like a princess out of the muggle fairytales I loved. I thought of my own dark red hair as I looked at hers – long, dark brown locks that looked like silk.

    I was enthralled and intrigued. I had a longing I’d never known before – I wanted to know her, I wanted to be her friend. She, like this magical world that I’d only just been introduced to, was an enigma and I found myself inexplicably drawn to both like a moth to a light.

    I lost sight of the pretty girl as the crowd pushed forward to farewell children. Getting on the train, I couldn’t help but feel sort of scared, yet so excited. I was finally going to the place that the kind man with the blue eyes had told me about.

    I made my way down the train, looking for an empty compartment, before finally finding one near the back of the train. I sat, pulling out my book, and began to read.

    After a while I heard the compartment door slide open and I glanced up from my page. Standing in the doorway was the pretty girl from the platform.

    “Do you mind if I sit with you?” she asked, smiling. She had a very noticeable accent, one that I couldn’t quite identify.

    “Sure,” I nodded, indicating that she should sit.

    Up close, she was even prettier. She had wide, midnight blue eyes that were fringed by thick, dark lashes, full lips and high cheekbones.

    “My name is Mikhailae Connelly,” she said. She didn’t seem shy, like I felt. On the contrary she was confident and, for an eleven year old, extremely charismatic. She just seemed to ooze...well, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what made her so interesting, but she was.

    “I’m Lily,” I told her.

    “That’s a pretty name,” she drawled. Her accent only added to her enigma – if only I could figure out what it was!

    As if she had read my mind, Mikhailae added “I’m from Australia, by the way.”

    This created as many questions for me as it answered. “Why don’t you go to school there, then?” I asked.

    She shrugged. “My dad says Hogwarts is a good school, and that me and my brother, Jesse, will like it a lot.”

    There was silence for a while after that. In all honesty I was a little intimidated by her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t nice, because she was, but I was in awe of this girl.

    Plucking up my courage, I eventually said: “You have really pretty hair,”

    “You have pretty eyes,” Mikhailae shot back immediately, smiling at me.

    Somehow, in that moment, I knew. This fascinating girl, Mikhailae Connelly, and I would be best friends until the day we died.

  4. #14
    Name: CakeorDeath
    House: Grythindor
    POV: Harry Potter
    OC: Penny Palmer
    Word count: 470

    Harry was drinking coffee as he saw the sun come up through the fifthly window. He had been awake since nine in the morning and he hadn’t eaten anything apart from a sandwich and some cauldron cakes. He hadn’t been able to get to a shower either. He was a wreck and he really hoped that he could get this over with quickly as possibly.

    There was a knock and the door was flung open by Kritchard, a junior auror; after him came the girl with her hands in cuffs. “Bit unnecessary, don’t you think?” He remarked, annoyed.

    “The suspect did not immediate comply with my orders, I had no-”

    Harry cut off his excuses and told him wearily to sit down and take notes. Harry couldn’t be bothered to deal with Kritchard, he was really tiring and Harry wasn’t in the mood. He turned his attention to the girl.

    She was rather plump and had frizzy, blond hair that had obviously been mussed by the wind and her journey here. She looked absolutely terrified, like a rabbit caught in headlights, and her voice quavered as she spoke, “When can I go home?”

    He smiled tightly at her and asked if she was alright. “Some of our people can be a little rough in their methods; they are more used to dealing with hardened criminals than innocent teenage girls.” He slightly emphasised the ‘innocent’ in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

    “When can I go home?” She asked again, insistent. That was the one thing she wanted, the one thing he couldn’t let her have.

    “You’re at Hogwarts, yes?”

    “What’s that got to do with anything?” she snapped. Then, almost automatically, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to rude, you’re only doing your job. But I honestly don’t see what that has got to do with anything.”

    “You’ll see. What year are you in?”


    “And your fourteen years old?”

    “My fifteenth birthday’s in ten days time.”

    “What do you know about your birth mother, Penny?”

    “Nothing!” suddenly the tears that had been threatening burst their banks and she completely broke down. “I don’t know anything and I don’t know what this is about. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

    Harry stared at her and was forcibly reminded of his eleven-year-old godson’s outbursts. He passed her a box of tissues and patted her awkwardly on the arm. She seemed so … nice. It was the only way of putting it. So ordinary and scared. She wasn’t brave because she’d never had to be. So unlike he had been. So unlike what he had expected.

    This, what he had to tell her, was going to be tough. For both of them.

    “Listen, I know this is hard. I know you want to go home. But … things are complicated now.”

  5. #15
    Name: saizine/Lessie
    House: Slytherin
    POV: Orion Black
    OC: Absinthe Rueben
    Word Count: 699

    Orion Black. He went by many names from the mouths of many people, but he allotted the most amount of temperate affection to his given name. Just as he had entered the small alcove that led to the main doorway, there were three apt raps on the door. The muscles in the man’s forehead creased slightly at this visitor’s impertinence.

    ‘He is at least ten minutes early,’ said the man as he brought his thumb and forefinger together, calling the house-elves and ordering them to set the drawing room for an early tea.

    He opened the ornate door, and his mind was consumed by the image of the three people that stood on his doorstep. He had only spoken to the man before, and speaking was a term he used loosely: more aptly, he had returned a letter of composed script with an affirmative, agreeing to interview the man’s daughter regarding her pending betrothal to Regulus.

    He hadn’t expected this man to match the script on the letter. His face was sculpted in a way that was immensely handsome, but cold and seemed completely unnerved by Orion’s aura of majesty. The robes that he wore were not really any colour at all, but all the colours churned to create a rich and deep brown, a statement that challenged Orion’s rich colouration of his own clothing. ‘Good Afternoon, Mr Black,’ he said suavely. ‘I’m Absinthe Rueben.’

    Orion’s eyebrows rose as the man stepped over the threshold and entered the house, closely followed by his wife and daughter. I didn’t even ask him inside. What impudence. The man held his shoulders straight almost rigidly, and Orion was suspicious of the smooth-talking wizard as he closed the door. ‘Ah, yes, Mr Rueben,’ he said.

    Orion led them to the drawing room, his nostrils flaring as Mr Rueben ran a hand over his antique furniture – Orion Black’s antique furniture! Mr Rueben didn’t command an air of respect, but rather an air of ownership over everything and everyone, rather like alcohol did; Orion once had been a victim of the alcohol that seemed to live on in Absinthe Reuben’s name. He was suspicious of the man as, to Orion’s shock, gestured to his own family like he was in his own home.

    He sat opposite the foreign family, his eyes scrutinising the man’s wife (who, in his eyes, was still very pretty, but she had to be at least five years younger than Mr Rueben), and his daughter, who was strangely pretty, but in a nonchalant way. However, he noticed that the mother had her hands around the daughter in a protective way, as if she didn’t want to let her be bound into an arranged marriage at her age, like she was. Orion suspected that she had been forced to marry against her will – not that it bothered him much.

    What bothered him was this man in his house – he couldn’t decide whether he wanted an ally or an enemy of this man. Neither seemed like a very good option. Mr Rueben smirked as Orion met his eyes and it extended to his eyes: a cruel expression, but one that Orion knew must have made women melt. Did he want to fraternize with a womaniser? Did he want to make a connection with this family? He thought not.

    ‘This is Gemma, my daughter,' said Mr Rueben as he placed a hand on the daughter’s back and pushed her sharply forward, after holding his wife’s right with what seemed to be a comforting grip, but Orion wasn’t stupid. He knew a discontent marriage when he saw one… he was in one.

    The girl stepped forward, and smiled coyly. Orion recognised her father’s smile, but there was something in the girl’s eyes as she pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear- they held a message: I don’t want to go through this anymore. Orion prided himself on a granite heart, but it was less stony than he thought; even he wanted to be rid of this man and his power over the two women as soon as possible.

    Orion saw the girl relax slightly as he summoned the house-elves. ‘Let me call Regulus.’

  6. #16
    Name: GringottsVault711
    House: Slytherin
    POV: Arthur Weasley
    OC: Siobhan Murphy
    Word Count: 665
    Warnings: AU

    The wedding was only just over and guests were pouring into the reception hall, chattering gaily amongst one another. Arthur Weasley peered around at the circular tables — each covered in cloth of a shimmering, pale blue — until he found a setting with a card upon which his name was neatly written.

    He sat down and, feeling somewhat awkward about the state of his robes, hid his feet and frayed hem beneath the table. The truth was that in the last two years, since his wife’s death, his wardrobe had fallen into a state of disrepair, and he hadn’t gotten around to replacing his dress robes before the wedding. He didn’t mind so much, but he couldn’t help being somewhat self-conscious over his appearance.

    He was peering at the entrance, hoping to spot the arrival of the wedding party through milling guests, when a young lady took the seat next to him. She was exquisitely dressed, but rather drawn and tired looking. It was no wonder why – in her arms was an infant, who couldn’t have been older than two months.

    “Looks like you’ve got a handful, there,” Arthur said warmly. The young woman gave him a small smile, and the baby, head topped with strawberry-blonde curls, gazed at him with interest. Arthur instinctively reached out his hand and offered his forefinger for the child to grasp, which she did.

    “And what’s your name?” he said to her.

    “This,” the mother said, looking affectionately at her daughter, “is Lucille.”

    “Hello Lucille,” he said, and Lucille gurgled in response, amusing him. He looked back to her mother, who was casting him an appraising eye, her gaze lingering for a moment on a loose thread on his shoulder. The girl was clearly wealthy, judging from the clothing of both her and the child; he blushed at how he must look next to them. She did not sneer at him, though. “You’re Arthur Weasley?” she asked.

    “Yes,” he said, shaking her hand. “And you are?”

    “My name’s Siobhan,” she said simply, withholding her last name. He was sure he knew it, though; after all, the wizarding community was not a large one.

    “You’re married to—”

    “Yes,” she said before he could fill in a name. “Unfortunately.”

    “Ah.” There was a small awkward silence.

    “Is he here?” Arthur asked tentatively. “Your husband?”

    Siobhan scoffed. “No, he’s not. He wasn’t invited and he likely wouldn’t have come if he had been. Thank goodness.”

    Arthur wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this. He felt rather sorry for the girl. She was not exuberantly friendly, but she seemed pleasant. And it was a rare thing to find a member of her society who didn’t loathe Weasleys purely on principle. They fell quiet again, and Arthur watched as Siobhan doted upon her daughter. It was beautiful to behold the bond between them, and he was glad that, if perhaps the girl had an unhappy marriage, she at least had the blessing of her daughter.

    Siobhan looked up at him again, a solemn expression on her face. “I knew your son,” she said quietly. The remark caught him off guard, as did the deep respect within her voice, and he felt his chest constrict for with sudden emotion.

    “Yes, I know,” he said, his voice catching. “You were with him, and Hermione, when it happened.”

    Siobhan nodded. Arthur gave her a sincere smile. “It’s good to have met you. I admit, from what I’ve heard, I had doubts—”

    “That a pureblood Slytherin could be any sort of decent?” she smirked.

    “Shame on me,” he said meekly, though he knew from the impish glint in her eye that he was in no trouble. There was a short squeal then, the sound of Lucille showing her displeasure at the lack of attention she was receiving. Arthur chuckled and watched as Siobhan placed a loving kiss on her daughter's cheek, and felt not only sure, but very pleased, that his doubts had been in error.

  7. #17
    Hufflepuff at Heart
    Name: Hufflepuff at heart
    House: Gryffindor
    POV: Lily Evans
    OC: Beth Williams
    Word Count: 673

    Lily saw her for the first time on the Hogwarts express. It was hard to miss her, truth be told. If Lily had been from a Wizarding family she would have heard of the Williams' expansive mansion, the Quidditch Supplies empire that her father was in charge of, the lavish parties they threw whenever the spralling six floors of William Manor became too stifling for stiff and haughty Mrs. Williams.

    What Lily saw was a spoilt eleven-year-old, with the latest designer luggage and freshly manicured nails. The heritage behind her carefully lipsticked lips and her sleek siamese cat, which she carried protectively under her arm, wasn't hard to imagine.

    Beth Williams sighed as she climbed aboard the train, rolling her eyes wearily at the dingy compartments occupied by her even dingier schoolmates-to-be. Hugging her pink travelling cloak closer to herself as if to keep out the cold of the commoners surrounding her, she gave a curt nod to the only person to have accompanied her; the young man who had carried her luggage to the train. Lily wondered who he was; a concierge, some kind of butler? He appeared far too young to be her father, and she paid him so little attention that he could hardly be her brother.

    The girl ahem'd several times; Lily wondered how she could do it through her tightly pursed lips, until she realised her trunk was apparently in the girl's way. With an embarrassedly muttered "sorry", Lily hauled it out of the way, and the girl sailed past sighing heavily, with an airy, "quite all right." Lily suspiciously eyed the deserted corridor that surrounded her luggage, and wondered why she had had to move.

    There were nudges and murmers from the compartments as the mini, black-haired, Marilyn Monroe look-alike stalked down the train; Lily felt as if she was being left out of some sort of train-wide joke as she struggled with her own half-ton dirty brown trunk, trudging down the train in the girl's wake.

    Lily heard a haughty sigh from the corridor as she herself waved furiously from her compartment, wiping away the tears which threatened to obstruct her final view of her parents until Christmas. The pink girl had chosen the compartment across the way from Lily, and through the window, Lily could see she had resolutely crossed her arms and legs, clearly sickened by the painful shows of emotion which were flooding the train. She heard a loud scoff from the same compartment as Lily called out a wobbily final goodbye to her mother, which simply spurred Lily to wave even harder in defiance. She wondered vaguely where the girl's concierge had gone.

    It seemed the girl had finally found friends; the next time Lily looked in her direction she was chatting animatedly with some similarly clad, manicured girls. Calling them friends was a stretch, though. The look on the girl's face wasn't quite one of happiness, thought Lily. It looked more like a mask of her true feelings, whatever they were. Her eyes were always a little too round and the smile never quite reached her eyes. Each time it was her turn to talk, her movements and speech became more elaborate and excited, as though she was trying to best whatever it was the last girl had said. The word "clones" drifted fleetingly through Lily's head, but she dismissed the thought. Perhaps they would all prove to be interesting people with unique personalities and valuable skills. Well, maybe.

    She looked down at her favourite faded denim jacket, the cascade of red hair which ran freely down her shoulders, at her unpolished, bitten nails, and wondered at the likelihood of herself and this little princess becoming firm friends. Maybe she would turn out to love mountain hikes and snowball fights, but somehow she doubted it.

  8. #18
    Name: ArcherCheer14
    House: Hufflepuff
    POV: Xenophilius Lovegood
    OC: Asta Harrison-Lovegood
    Word Count: 625

    I blew my light hair out of my eyes, not bearing to taking my eyes and hands from the book. My latest assignment for Care of Magical Creatures: eighteen inches on the nundu, an African creature. I was almost done. Two more inches and I could get outside and relax, gaze into the distance, watch the first-years timidly dip their feet in the lake to see if the Giant Squid would nip their toes. It was time to get away from the books. To unwind in peace.

    Yes. Done. I scrolled up the parchment, stuffed it in my bag, and reached for all my books. There were six of them; I briefly contemplated making two trips, but I really needed to get outside. I couldn’t see before me, but it would only take me a second to get a few back onto the shelf and have efficient vision again.

    But before I could put even one back, I found myself flat on my back, a beautiful brunette on top of me. Normally, I wouldn’t mind this, but I recognized this petite fifth-year from the rumors and speculations around the school.

    Asta Harrison.

    She was a little spoiled brat, or so I heard, one of those girls who thought that she was superior to us lowly mortals. She was supposed to be one of those girls who thought that being purely blooded, being purely magical, meant being purely elite. She grew up surrounded by money, everyone knew. Apparently, she popped out with a silver spoon in her mouth. From the womb to the mink coat. From her mother to her mother’s pearls.

    I had heard all this from stories that spread like wildfire, and I automatically believed them. But of course, I had never met her before then. My perceptions about her changed the moment after we collided, when a curse fell out of her perfectly rounded mouth.

    She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, looked down at me with her clear gray eyes, and I felt like I was being slowly suffocated by smoke, but then I realized it was because her left arm was on my windpipe, not her gorgeous eyes.

    But she was probably inbred to look that pretty anyway, I thought. Out loud: “Are you okay?”

    “I’m fine,” she said in her clipped accent, sounding vaguely like London, brushing off my concern. “Are you?”

    “I’d be better if you weren’t cutting off my air supply.”

    Immediately, she sat up, and realized, blushing slightly, that she was astride me. She stood up quickly and brushed off her skirt. “Here,” she said, still blushing, “let me help you up.”

    I grasped her extended hand and pulled myself up, nearly pulling her down again in the process. She bent down to retrieve my books, scattered in the collision, as I looked down at her chestnut hair, curling around her shoulders.

    “Here,” she said briskly, handing me the pile of books. I reached for them, and our hands met.

    Her touch was electric. Our eyes met: her gray and my green, and I couldn’t pull my gaze away. It was as if her eyes were magnetic. My whole body was numb. I could barely breathe, but this time it wasn’t because she was crushing my windpipe. I smiled down at her and lifted her up.

    But suddenly another rumor flashed in my mind. It wasn’t so much a rumor as a fact; I had seen it myself: little Asta Harrison went through boyfriends like candies, leaving a trail of broken hearts wherever she went in her expensive jewels.

    But at that moment, I didn’t care that she might break my heart. I wanted Asta Harrison to be mine, and at that moment, the chase began.

  9. #19
    Savannah Hen Slytherin
    Sirius Black Entered Gryffindor Tower
    coolh5000's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2007
    Wonderful England!
    I hope this is not too late but it is still the 4th in my timezone.

    Name: Coolh5000
    House: Slytherin
    POV: Minerva McGonagall
    OC:Charlotte Pearson
    Word Count: 695

    As usual, Minerva McGonagall used her first lesson with the new first-years to absorb as much as she could about them. Of course, this year there were fewer new students, due to the lack of Muggle-borns.

    As the first-years trooped into the room, she cast an appraising eye over them. She felt a twinge of sadness knowing that they were entering the school at such a turbulent time and would no doubt suffer during their first year at the school but she was determined that their lessons with her would, at least, be no different to usual.

    There was one student in particular that she paid special attention to: Charlotte Pearson was a Half-blood but her mother had left the Wizarding world many years ago to please her Muggle husband and therefore Charlotte entered the school almost as ignorant as a Muggle-born. This worried Minerva greatly. Currently, the people in charge of the school were not aware of the girl’s situation. She had been on the list and consequently been sent a letter. When she was then asked to provide proof of her blood status she was able to show her mother’s family tree. However if she were to give away anything of her upbringing she would be subjected to terrible punishments. McGonagall shuddered as she thought of some of the things she had already witnessed in the two days since term began. It would have been easier all round if Charlotte had simply stayed away but the new laws on compulsory education made it impossible for her to hide.

    Minerva watched the girl closely throughout the lesson. She clearly had as much ability as any of her classmates but occasionally lacked confidence or struggled to master the wand strokes which were so new and so strange to her.

    As the first-years were leaving for lunch, Minerva called Charlotte over to her.

    “Miss Pearson, could I have a word?”

    The first-year looked at her, her nerves showing clearly in her eyes.

    “Yes, Professor?”

    “Why don’t you sit down,” Minerva said trying to sound as gentle as possible.

    Charlotte sat at the seat opposite the desk and Minerva saw her eyes drop to the table. She cleared her throat and began talking.

    “Miss Pearson, I wanted to talk to you because things at Hogwarts are a little different to how they have been in previous years and as your Head of House, I feel it is my duty to protect you.”

    The girl looked up. “Are you sending me home?”

    “No, of course not! Why ever would think that?”

    “At the feast on the first night, the man was saying that people from non-magical families don’t deserve a magical education. Well, I’m not from a magical family. I thought that would mean I’d be sent away.”

    Minerva sighed. She had no idea how she could explain this in a way that an eleven-year-old would understand. At last she decided the best way would be to tell as much of the truth as possible but simplified.

    “You’re mother is a Witch, even if she doesn’t use magic anymore and that means that you’re considered to be from a magical family. You must understand, however, that the opinions you may have heard about people from different magical backgrounds are only held by a very few people, and you shouldn’t believe everything they say. Unfortunately though, it is those people who are currently in charge of Hogwarts and therefore it is important that you don’t talk about the fact that your mother no longer uses magic or else you may find yourself in trouble.”

    The girl looked positively terrified at this point and Minerva found herself wishing once again that Dumbledore had not died and left them in this mess – not that he could help being murdered.

    After dismissing the girl, Minerva sat, thinking about the conversation they had just shared. The girl was clearly very nervous to be here, though she had tried incredibly hard in the day’s lesson and seemed determined to do well. She would just have to hope that she was able to avoid the scrutiny of the Death Eaters until the war was over.

    Adrian won a QSQ! Thanks to Minnabird for the beautiful banner. Click on it to read Stolen Magic - the story of the second wizarding war through a very different character's eyes.

  10. #20
    Still the 4th, right?

    Name: Lily Luna Potter
    House: Hufflepuff
    PoV: Lily Evans
    OC: Mimi Stewart
    Words: 675

    “Hey, mind if I sit here?”

    “Huh?” I looked up from the book I was reading to see a blue-eyed brunette about my age standing in the doorway of the compartment where I sat alone.

    “Mind if I sit here?” she repeated.

    “Sure,” I said quietly.

    “Thanks,” said the girl. She dragged her trunk into the compartment and gave the luggage rack an appraising look. “How did you get your trunk up there?” She reached toward the rack and barely touched it. “You can’t be much taller than I am.”

    “One of the Prefects helped me,” I said.

    “Huh.” Without further ado, the girl clambered onto the bench across from me, hoisted her trunk above her with effort, and almost dropped it. I jumped up quickly and caught the other end. Between us we managed to maneuver the trunk into the luggage rack.

    “Whew. Now that that’s taken care of, hi! I’m Mimi Stewart.” Mimi grinned at me confidently.

    “Hi.” I smiled shyly. “I’m Lily Evans.”

    Mimi sat down across from me and said, “So, what’re you reading?”

    “Um, it’s ‘Hogwarts, A History,’” I said, not really wanting to talk, but glad that we were at least saved from the awkward silence that comes of two shy strangers on a long train ride. No, shy this girl was not. I tried to find my spot again.

    “Uh-oh, we weren’t supposed to read that, were we?” Mimi asked, suddenly anxious. “I didn’t see a reading list…or I don’t remember seeing one…”

    “No, I just…decided to read it,” I answered reluctantly. Here it came. Day one of my Hogwarts career, and I was already labeling myself as a hopeless bookworm.

    “Oh, phew,” said Mimi, relieved. “I thought I’d forgotten something.” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “Here I am, day one of my Hogwarts career, already labeling myself as a hopeless protagonater.” She sighed dramatically.

    Wait, what? “Don’t you mean procrastinator?” I asked.

    “Yeah, that’s the one.” I jumped as a loud yowling sound issued from a wicker basked left unnoticed on the floor. “Case in point,” said Mimi, jumping up. “Sorry, James! I’ll let you out.”

    I got up and quickly shut the compartment door. A small black-and-white cat shot out of the basket and, finding no escape route, settled primly into a corner, licking his paws.

    “Oh, he’s so cute!” I squealed. Mimi grinned at me approvingly.

    “That’s the most volume I’ve heard from you this whole trip. You can pet him if you want.”

    I extended my hand cautiously towards James. He sniffed it curiously and allowed me to stroke his head. “He likes you,” said Mimi as a matter of fact. “So, what’s this ‘History of Hogwarts’ about?”

    “’Hogwarts, A History,’” I corrected her. “It’s basically just that, a history of Hogwarts. It’s full of interesting facts and things about the school.”

    “Okay, so what’s the latest interesting fact?” asked Mimi, sitting down next to me and peeking at the book.

    “Um, well…” I searched the page and found one I guessed would interest her. “’In 1880 Hogwarts appointed the youngest player ever to play on a House Quidditch team. Abram Bashar played Seeker for Hufflepuff in his first year.’”

    “What’s Quidditch?” asked Mimi blankly.

    “Uh…it’s a Wizarding sport played on broomsticks. I think the Seeker has to catch the golden Snitch. Seekers have to be small and fast.”

    “Broomsticks? Wicked! I’ve got to try that. I don’t think Seeker would work too well for me, though.”

    “Why not?” I asked, looking her up and down. She wasn’t too tall, only a little taller than me. She wasn’t slender, I supposed, but she wasn’t fat either. “You might do okay.”

    “Nah, I’m too slow,” she said. “Look at you, though. You’re small enough—no offense.”

    “None taken,” I said, shaking my head. “But I’d never be any good at Quidditch, or flying, period. I hate heights,” I explained.

    Mimi shrugged and started another topic of conversation. We continued in this matter for the rest of the train ride.

    I never did get back to my book.

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts