It is a mystery to many why Valentine Selkirk enrolled in this class. Certainly, he’s never displayed any liking for muggles previously. He hasn’t even seemed particularly interested in them. But, here he is, on this first day of class, that crop of gaudily brilliant curls sailing through the classroom and into a seat along the edge of the second row, just as the bell sounds. Late? Never. But, judging by his breathing rate and the faint flush to his otherwise pallid features, he was barely able to make it.

Georgette Marshall-Wexler wanders into the Muggle Studies classroom, glancing around it in a bit of shock. How… appropriately muggle. Of course, Georgette really hasn’t the slightest idea of how something can be ‘appropriately muggle’, but she thinks this nevertheless. Pausing just inside the doorway, she pauses long enough to wait for another Slytherin girl in her year, glomming onto the girl and chattering quietly as the two take a seat near the center of the desks.

As students make their way into the muggle studies classroom and takes their seats, Phoebe Helit is busy writing up on the blackboard at the front of the class in loud deliberate strokes of the chalk “Introduction to Muggle Studies.” On her desk in front of her are several ordinary objects such as a bucket, a scrubbing brush, a bag of moth balls, a small radio, a tall electric lamp and a can of yams along with a can opener. Phoebe finishes writing on the board and turns to face her students with a bright smile. “Hello my dear little students! Welcome to third year Muggle Studies!” The professor walks to the front of her desk and looks over the rows of seats “If everyone will please remain silent…” Phoebe flashes a look at a couple of very chatty Hufflepuff girls. “My name is Professor Helit and no, before any of you ask I am not that other Professor’s wife.” Without further explanation of her relation to Quintus Phoebe continues on “Firstly, as you are all third years an this would be your first time in my class… assuming none of you had to repeat third year…” “I would like to introduce you all to the subject in a relaxed fashion.” Standing Phoebe moves to the side of her desk. “Hands raised… how many of these objects on my desk do any of you recognize?”

Valentine Selkirk‘s eyebrows rise a fraction of an inch. Perhaps, despite being a Gryffindor, he’s unused to this level of…brightness…but then it doesn’t seem to bother him much either. As bidden, he turns his gaze towards the professor’s desk. And his eyebrows rise even further. Don’t know the bag full of balls…maybe a weapon of some sort. The radio looks menacing, the electric lamp positively like a torture device. And then…a tub. And a brush. Somehow he refrains from looking too skeptical. His hand does not go up.

Oh, Georgette knows this! Or, wait, does she? Nevertheless, she pops her hand up into the air. She could use something to help her get in better with Professor Rathe, after all, so it doesn’t hurt to try. Shrugging at the girl next to her, even as she is given an odd look. Georgette‘s hand does go down ever so slightly, making her look quite a bit less enthusiastic. She does, however, manage to remain silent, rather than automatically volunteering her answer as is her usual habit.

Looking around for raised hands Phoebe‘s eyes travel over a few and when she notices Georgette’s hand lower a little she calls out “You there, Miss brown eyes!” Phoebe says in lew of not knowing the girl’s name. “Don’t be shy, if you think you know please share with the class dear.” Phoebe smiles looking at the young Slytherin girl waiting for her answer.

Valentine Selkirk giggles upon the utterance of Georgette’s new…err…title, then abruptly claps his hands down over his mouth to kill the sound. Wide-eyed and contrite, he is, even if there is just about as much laughter in those blue eyes of his as there is apology. Bad Val. Very bad Val.

Rolling her eyes at Valentine, Georgette doesn’t look particularly annoyed by his quiet giggle, though being known as ‘Miss Brown Eyes’ would not necessarily be her first choice. It beats George, right? Bringing her hand down to her lap, she clears her throat carefully, trying not to giggle as her friend stifles her own giggle. “Well, that one in the middle there, the kind of wonky-shaped one? Isn’t that a… a… ‘lectric light? Or was it a ‘lectric candle? Something like that,” she comments and shakes her head, blushing slightly at not having had the exact answer when picked.

“Why yes! Yes it is!” Phoebe says enthusiastically walking over to the lamp. “The proper pronunciation is “Electric Lamp” however.” “Good job Miss Brown Eyes, a point to… whatever house it is that you belong to.” The statement gets a bit of a giggle from some of the other students which Phoebe completely ignores. She picks up the lamp and holds it up for her students to see. “The electric lamp is used by muggles in much the same way wizarding kind uses candles or that… that charm that makes your little wands glow.” Another round of giggling to which Phoebe gives a bit of a sharp look. “It’s powered by electricity which is something we will get into later in the year.” “Some of you may well know that electric devices do not work properly here at Hogwarts so I had the charms professor enchant these for us so that you may all see how they work.” Phoebe pulls the little string dangling from the lamp causing the bulb to light itself as it normally would. “However normal lamps need to be plugged into an outlet to work…” Setting the lamp down Phoebe smiles once more leaning against her desk. “Would anyone else like to guess what another object on my desk is? Don’t be shy.”

Valentine Selkirk‘s gaze goes mistily absent, his lips moving silently, caressing the words ‘Electric Lamp’ as though intent on sucking all flavor and meaning from them before spitting the tasteless husks into a nearby waste-bin. His gaze goes even more absent, one hand reaching for his quill. In the margins of his paper, he scrawls the words ‘Why electricity not work Hogwarts?’. He then doodles a sick, deflated-looking lamp right next to it.

“Georgette Marshall-Wexler, Slytherin,” Georgette volunteers quickly, then claps a hand over her mouth, pausing and listening as the teacher begins to talk before she reaches down and pulls out some parchment, quill and ink and hastily gets set up in some semblance of order and begins scribbling onto her parchment, though the girl needn’t worry about hurrying quite so much, as nothing too much has been said. After all, she isn’t about to fail in the first five minutes of the class.

A few students raise their hands and Phoebe calls on a small blonde Hufflepuff boy. “Oh, no I am afraid that those are not candy Mister Toe-head.” Says Phoebe picking up the bag of moth balls. “These are actually called moth balls and muggles use them when storing their clothes, they are placed in the pockets of a garment and as they are poisonous they will kill any unwelcome and hungry moths that might try to take a nibble of your favorite dress.” Phoebe puts the bag down and gives the class another look over. “No one else?” “Quite alright! Let us move on.” Phoebe begins pacing in front of her desk with quiet and careful footfall, her hands behind her back. “Now I am sure you all have many questions about what we will be learning this year, and about Muggles themselves.” “So I would like you to feel free to ask anything you might be wondering, and remember the only stupid questions are the ones you don’t ask.”

Valentine Selkirk looks cautiously to his left, and then to his right. Huh. He’ll allow the silence to become distinctly awkward before…assuming it does become awkward…flicking his quill upwards to attract the professor’s attention. The feather even twirls a little in his fingers, absently.

Pausing as she looks to her friend, Georgette almost feels obligated to ask another question. Then again, she doesn’t really have anything to ask, so the girl pauses as she sees the nearby Gryffindor boy shaking his quill. Is that supposed to be a way of getting the teacher’s attention? The girl does think of something, however, and though the girl would very much like to ask it, it seems someone else beats her to it, as “Is it true that you’re a squib?” resounds abruptly from several seats behind her.

A nod is given in Valentine’s direction only for Phoebe to quickly jerk her head to look at Georgette taken a bit by surprise by the question. Only a moment passes though before Phoebe smiles again. “Yes it’s true Miss Spectacles that I am indeed a Squib, I do not mind questions at all but please do remember to raise your hand in the future dear.” Phoebe again nod’s her head to Valentine “Mister… Pale Face, did you have a question?” Yes pale face was the best name that the Helit could come up with.

Valentine Selkirk chuckles, even if his smile is a little brittle by this point. “Selkirk if you please, Professor.” he observes, blandly. “It’s shorter. I was wondering how much of a muggle education we’re to receive in this class, since I assume it will be rather difficult to understand muggle technology without having their maths and their science. Or will we not be digging that deeply?”

Georgette blushing as the person behind her gets a reprimand, the girl is clearly rather glad that she was beat to the question herself. Looking as another question is asked, Georgette starts scribbling the question down onto her parchment as she waits for the answer.

“Excellent question Mister Selkirk! A point to your house as well!” Phoebe beams at the Gryffindor and continues. “As third years it is important that you have a basic understanding of Muggle maths and Sciences. We will touch on those subjects briefly this year along with Transportation and Electricity and History.” Phoebe looks over the class hoping to see it full of excited faces before adding the kicker. “Next year you will learn about Muggle Science more in-depth. And for those of you who decide to take my NEWT level classes, you will be learning to drive an automobile.” This last part gets the reaction that Phoebe was looking for, after all what child isn’t interested in driving? “Okay, settle down now. Has anyone else got a question?”

Valentine Selkirk does not look pleased at the point addition, for some reason. But his displeasure if, indeed, it exists, is neatly swept under some rug, deep in the cobwebby corners of his personality. Down goes the quill, and his fingers interlace almost primly.

Driving an autocar? Georgette Marshall-Wexler isn’t entirely sure she likes the idea of that. It isn’t natural. After all, people were meant to ride on brooms, not on… driving things. The girl shakes her head at her friend and scribbles this information down rather slopily onto her notes, glancing around to see if anyone else is volunteering,.

“No more questions then?” Phoebe looks around for any hands once more to make absolutely sure. “Right then, Im proud of you all for participating in the discussion today.” “For homework tonight I want each of your to hand in at least a two page…. oh wait.” She stops and looks to the class “I mean two feet of parchment on a famous muggle of your choosing. You should be able to find a subject in your assigned text book “Fantastic Muggles” but don’t feel limited to just them.” Phoebe takes an eraser and begins rubbing out the chalk on the blackboard for the next class. “Class dismissed, have a nice day.”

Valentine Selkirk is up on his feet within the space of a breath, his notes and quill finding themselves slipped into his bag with a single, fluid motion. And then he is off, neatly breezing through the doorway on his way to his next class. He does not linger.

Quickly capping up things and slipping everything back into her bag, Georgette doesn’t wait but a moment to start jabbering to her friend as she stands up and soon the two Slytherin girls are on their way out of the class, giggling and talking about things that sound suspiciously not like Muggle Studies.

As is fairly usual, Professor Quintus Helit is at the Clearing before any of the students, though the precise amount of attention he pays to anyone who approaches – approximately none – is perhaps indicative of his having forgotten that he has a class on at all. On one side of the clearing is an aviary containing four greenish-black birds, rather akin to an underfed vulture in appearance, each of which is silent. The other side is home to a portable fence, enclosing four small dogs. Each of the dogs bears a rather close resemblance to a jack russell terrier – however, one of them is eating with every sign of enjoyment what appears to be part of a metal contraption, so perhaps it is not such a mundane creature. A small bench is set up in the centre, containing a few small bottles of some sort of patented magical potion and a handful of combs, as well as a jar containing a few tiny insect-like creatures. For his part, the Professor himself is rather distracted by watching the dog-like creatures – perhaps trying to decide if he should stop them from trying to eat metal.

Stepping into the clearing Louis gets a bit of a surprised look as he spots the dog eating… metal. “Err thats new…” He mutters as he takes a step back not knowing wether the animal can eat the fence that is holding it or not. “Right then… I’ll just stand here.”

Charlie Linwood comes up behind the Professor and looks over the fence at the doggish animals. Looking, for all the world, delighted, the boy kneels down to get a more level glance at them. “Professor Helit, do you suppose consuming metal is any good for them?” It would be a somewhat helpful statement were it not delivered in a very wry ‘and aren’t you the expert here?’ tone. Louis, for what it’s worth, is completely ignored.

Staring with a rather bored expression on her face, Nadia makes her way out to the clearing with a couple of other Slytherin girls at her sides. She doesn’t look hateful, or smug, or even haughty, just simply bored as she comes to a stop near Louis — he is her housemate, after all — but she doesn’t speak to him, instead turning to one of the girls at her side and whispering what looks to be rather rude statements to her friend.

“They eat just about everything they can get their teeth on,” Quintus replies, his tone monotonous and bored, “so unless you know a lot more about caring for magical creatures than your classwork lets on, I wouldn’t venture any opinions if I were you.” This is fairly rich coming from the Professor who was, in fact, just wondering if he should get them to stop it. In any case, he turns to the class as a few more students file in, and he taps a sheaf of papers in his arms. “As a whole, your homework has improved, but not up to the standard that I would usually expect from students your age. Please come and collect your papers as I call out your names.” And yes, he has taught them for a few months now, and still cannot determine who is who. As he offers the papers back, he provides encouraging pieces of advice. “Good work. It almost seems like you understand.” “Did you write this, or did your owl land in your ink and walk across the paper?” “Ah, someone with no sense of identity. How depressing. Please see the Nurse if you forget your name again.”

Taking his paper and looking it over Louis doesn’t seem very dissapointed so his grade probably isn’t awfull. Looking over now at the birds as if he is only just noticing them now. They probably don’t stand out as much when they aren’t eating mettal thats all.

Charlie Linwood opens his mouth to protest–some mixture of ‘I’ve been doing grand on my classwork’ and ‘Not up to the standards of students in their first year of the class who have only been taught by you?’ but shuts it before something potentiall stupid (see above) comes out. He takes his paper as his name is called and sulks off to stand by someone who isn’t Louis or Professor Helit, crossing his arms and looking for all intents and purposes like a really tall ten year old girl who isn’t getting her way.

Standing and striding up to the professor as her name is called, Nadia‘s face becomes more sullen and she turns on heel almost as soon as she has her paper in hand, not even bothering to look at the grade, let alone listen to the comments that the professor has gifted to her. Though, given the poor score on her essay, gifted would perhaps not be the right way to put it. She glances over at Louis, then at Charlie, almost as if trying to see their scores in comparison to her own. Surely the professor was being unfair to her.

Whether Quintus was actually being unfair to her – not entirely impossible – is uncertain, though it is definite that sexism plays a part in his teaching, particularly as he looks over at his class and eyes Charlie for a moment. “Mister Knowy, it pains me to see you acting like such a girl. Please.” As quickly as this remark is made, however, he is distracted by the actual class content, marching over to the aviary and gesturing to the birds within. “I suppose one of you can tell me what these birds are?” Grudgingly, he adds, “I’ll give you a hint. Their cries are considered unlucky, so I’ve put a silencing charm on them just in case any girls are superstitious.”

A chuckle comes from Louis as the Professor pretty well calls Charlie a girl. It takes him a momment to stop laughing and realise that class has started. Louis stares at the strange bird trying to place it but he apparently comes up blank as he says nothing and instead mutters to Nadia “Just looks like a skinny ruddy old owl to me.”

Charlie Linwood turns rather red, uncrosses his arms, and… straightens his shoulders, firmly plants his feet, and juts out his chin to look more ‘manly’. Right, well, perhaps the Professor had something of a point. Still, Louis gets a Grade A glare, “Don’t be stupid, Harper, they’re not skinny owls, they’re Augreys.” A roll of his eyes; at least Charlie has done some reading. A bit under his breath, “Though if the Professor was worried about girls and not himself he wouldn’t have said anything.” Someone’s in a sour mood. And a stupid mood, at that.

Nadia stifles a snicker as Louis says this, and she smirks ever so slightly at him, shooting an equal glare to Quintus at his comment about girls. “Who cares what it is, anyway,” she comments slyly to those around her. “It’s not like I should care anyway, being a girl and all. I would much rather be off tending to my hair.” The mussed state of her hair only adds to the comment as she crosses her arms, just looking sullenly at Quintus, expecting him to just give her the answer in this case. No, she can’t actually be bothered to read the book for this class.

Merely shrugging and nodding to Nadia, as if to say that he understands completely her lack of interest in his course due to the unfortunate matter of her gender, Quintus‘ mood seems to have improved by the fact that someone in the class knows what they’re talking about. “Precisely, Mister, uh, Knowy.” Just be thankful he’s redubbed Charlie ‘Mister Knowy’, not ‘Mister Girly’. “They’re Auguries. For a long time, their cries were thought to foretell the death of whoever heard it. However, in 1824, Gulliver Pokeby’s text ‘Why I Didn’t Die When The Augurey Cried’ proved this to be incorrect, ascertaining that the Augerey merely cries shortly before it rains. However, I do not wish to promote superstition in my course. And these other creatures,” he strides back towards them, gesturing to the metal-eating dogs, “Does anyone know what these are?”

Biting his lip Louis speaks up as they come to the dogs. “Are they Crups Professor?” He doesn’t want to really get much closer. “And what keeps them from eating the fence anyway?” Stupid question maybe but he really was whondering.

Charlie Linwood snorts and goes back to sulking, despite getting something right and no further insults. Cracking his back, he slips into listening as Louis answers the question, and sort of fades into the crowd of third years as class continues.

With a rather dramatic yawn, Nadia flips her hair over her shoulder. “Like I would know. Being a lowly girl and all.” What Nadia likely doesn’t realize is that being as she is, she plays into his sexism. But, ah, at thirteen, she doesn’t realize this, and really thinks herself terribly cleverfor being a bit of a snot, though by all rights, Nadia should know better than to talk back to an elder. This doesn’t stop her from examining her fingernails with interest, however, clearly ignoring the courswork.

“Correct,” Quintus replies, tapping at the fence with one hand. “They are, as.. this boy so rightly tells us, crups. And the fence is magically reinforced so they can’t eat it. They do, however, Miss Priss, you will soon get detention lowly girl or not if you don’t shut up, eat just about everything that is put in front of them.” He barely breaks in his sentence to reprimand the girl, and in fact delivers all of this in much the same tone. “Now, on this table we have your actual work for the day. In small groups, you will be given an Augurey or a Crup and you will need to, in the case of crups, comb this potion through their fur to kill the chizpurfles. In the case of the augureys, just making sure their feathers are thoroughly treated will be sufficient. Does everyone know what a chizpurfle is?”

Glanceing at Nadia and then again at the Professor Louis takes a step away as if lightning were about to strike the very spot he had been standing. When the Chizpurfles are mentioned Louis makes a bit of a face. Wether or not he knows what they are isn’t clear but the at least sound nasty.

“A magical creature,” Nadia Marshall-Wexler responds, but she does so more quietly. She doesn’t want a detention, after all, so she does stifle herself from further commenting. Slytherin Plan and all, she certainly doesn’t want detention with Professor Rathe. Instead of commenting further, she looks over to the table where their supplies are gathered, cringing a bit at having to comb the everything-eating creatures. The girl finds herself wondering, exactly, why she decided to take this course to begin with.

Sighing heavily as if the students are being ignorant on purpose, Quintus plucks the small jar containing the small insect-like creatures from the table and hands it to Nadia with the vague instruction to ‘pass it around’. It contains small parasites, about 1/20th of an inch in height, that look rather like tiny crabs with fangs. “These are chizpurfles. They infest the fur and feathers of magical creatures. Sometimes, they also gorge themselves on the magical remnants of a dirty cauldron or on a wand carelessly left where they might come across it. Usually, however, they stick to creatures. So, it is our job today to get rid of them. If it’s reassuring at all, auguries won’t hurt you, though they might beat their wings at you if you aren’t gentle, which can take some people by surprise. Crups are fiercely loyal to wizards, so it would take an awful lot of effort to get them riled, but PLEASE, no one try it.”

Louis Harper seems to relax a bit when the Prfofessor informs them that the Crups will not hurt them. “Should we wear our dragonhide gloves for this Professor? Is the potion harmfull?” Always one to make sure where potions are involved knowing his bad luck. Louis looks at the jar and shivers again. “I hate chizpurfles.”

“EW,” Nadia Marshall-Wexler responds rather loudly, quickly turning to hand the jar to her comrade next to her immediately, who hands it over to Louis in her own time. The girl stifles another yawn as Louis asks his question, almost acting as if she would much rather be sleeping than be in this class — which is probably true — or that she might not have been getting enough sleep otherwise, which also could be true.

“If your hands are that sissy,” Quintus intones, raising an eyebrow at Louis, “then you may wear gloves. But would I allow you to pour a potion onto a defenceless magical creature if it was harmful?” After a moment, he waves a hand vaguely and concedes, “Some wizards do have an allergic reaction to it, and their hands get covered in boils. If you would rather not take the risk, you may wear gloves. It is by no means a necessity, however. Usually, it only hurts chizpurfles and other parasites.” His glare turns to Nadia as she exclaims her disgust. “If you would rather not soil your nails, feel free to sit over there. However, you will have to spend a detention learning about crups in much more depth. With a very small spade.”

Content as ever in Care of Magical Creatures, and cheerful as ever in general, Katherine Nichols‘s good humor is nevertheless dimmed a little as she reaches out to take the jar of Chizpurfles – she wrinkles her nose at the tiny parasites, and quickly passes the jar on to her neighbor. Her smile returns, though, as she turns back to the pen of Crups, and her eyes light eagerly as she watches the little creatures climbing over each other, wagging their double tails.

Furrowing his brow at being called a sissy Louis dosn’t put on his gloves instead he is determined to show Professor Helit that he is a ‘real man’. Louis passes on the jar to the next student almost as soon as it is handed to him. “Disgusting things.”

“Excellent.” Quintus concludes, having officially decided that all his students must be ready for lack of a loud complaint. “Alright. You, can have a crup. You, can have an augurey. You, crup. You, augurey.” He splits the class up, waving those with crups towards the crup enclosure, and those with auguries over towards the aviary. “Alright, now, I’m going to let you into the aviary, one by one. Move slowly, so as not to frighten them, and seize them firmly but gently, so you don’t scare them. As I said, they won’t bite you, but I’ve seen people get a nasty scare as one of them tried to take flight while they were holding them.” He opens the cage door, allowing the students to step in one by one. “And the same goes for the crups, more or less. Go in and take one firmly, but don’t hurt it. They might try to run away, so just pet them until they calm down if they do.”

Stepping into the fenced area Louis is nearly tackled by an excited crup who begins licking his face. “Heh there friendly enough I guess.” Remarks Louis with a small laugh as he scratches the magical canine behind it’s ears. “Good boy” Louis praises as the crup finally sits.

Katherine‘s grin widens even more as she is sorted into the Crup group, and she bounces up from her seat to head over towards the fenced-in enclosure. While a few of her fellow students shrink back from the rambunctious, puppy-like creatures, Katherine eagerly reaches out to grab one. “Oh, Louis, you’re in this group too!” she says, giving her friend a grin as she scoops her squirming Crup into her chubby hands. “There you are!” she croons. “Good…er, girl,” Katherine decides, after a quick glance. The Hufflepuff girl’s smile bubbles over into a giggle as the Crup wriggles up to lick her face, and she tightens her arms around it, holding it firmly on her way back to her seat.

Standing and pretty much wading through a pack of exicited crups Louis takes a bit of the potion from the table and with a bit of hesitation puts some onto his hands before kneeling down and working the stuff into the fur of his new friend…. a large crup. “Well he seems to appriciate it. There really friendly huh Kitty?”

Struggling to keep a one-handed grasp on the Crup while reaching down with her other hand to scoop up a bottle of potion, Katherine still manages an enthusiastic nod to Louis that sends a few curls bouncing free of her braids. “Oh, yes! My Aunt Penelope has Crups – I wanted one of the puppies, but Mum wouldn’t let me since I’d be away at school.” The potion bottle clinks down onto the ground as Katherine kneels down, keeping the squirming Crup tightly clutched under one arm while she uncorks the bottle. “But I still play with them every time I go up to visit. They’re ever so friendly. Watch out for the tails, though – oh!” She cuts off mid-sentence as the Crup lurches forward to lick her face again, and breaks off into a giggle. “You stay put!” she admonishes the little creature, still laughing, as she starts to rub the potion into its fur.

Louis Harper chuckles softly as he continues rubbing the potion into the fur of the dog-like creature. “I’ve only ever seen crups once or twice really…..” Louis smiles and carefully works a bit more of the potion over the crup’s fur. “At least there not as big as horses. My father is a real horse nut.”

“There are combs on the table to fish the chizpurfles out after you’ve rubbed the potion through the fur,” Quintus notes, striding around and inspecting the crup group before wandering over to the augurey group, where one poor boy has just received the shock of his life as the augurey tried to flap him away. “What did I tell you? Grab them firmly but gently. For goodness sakes, don’t pull any of his feathers out! Serves you right if he flaps at you!” Then, he pauses, inspecting a small scratch on someone’s arm. “Oh, dear, his talons dug into you? It’s just a little scratch, it didn’t even draw blood.”

“Oh, horses are all right, I suppose,” Katherine replies with a friendly shrug. “I like Crups better, though.” She scratches her own Crup behind the ears, and it wags its tails enthusiastically in response, then wriggles over onto its back to present its belly to be scratched. Katherine obliges, but also takes advantage of this new position to get a little more potion into the Crup’s fur. “Too bad we can’t have them as pets here. Your dad must have lots of room, to have horses,” she comments, skipping back and forth between subjects as easily as she flips the Crup over to start combing through its fur.

“Oh sure.” Louis replies as he stands to get a comb from the table and kneeling again. “My father is strange though. He has an owl and his horses…. and he keeps garden gnomes in our flower bed.” Louis shrugs and carefully begins running the comb thorugh his crups fur who seems to have diceded now is the perfect time to take a bit of a nap.

“He keeps them?” Katherine repeats, her voice rising in astonishment. “On purpose, you mean? How can he ever get anything to grow?” Her Crup is anything but sleepy – once it has tired of having its belly scratched, it resumes squirming, doing its best to wriggle out of Katherine‘s grasp. Her chubby hands maintain their hold on both comb and creature, though, and she continues sifting the Chizpurfles out of its fur. “Ugh,” she mutters under her breath, watching the tiny parasites sprinkle onto the ground.

Whirling around as he hears a yelp, Quintus sighs and rolls his eyes. “It’s not trying to eat you. It just wants to play.” He informs a girl as a crup nips gently at her arm. “Just tell it no. Firmly.” He wanders around the groups again, inspecting everyone’s progress. “Well done, boy.” He informs Louis. “See, here, this one’s got the crup to go to sleep.” This being about as close to a proper compliment he would ever offer to a student, he nods to each of them in turn and even affects a more cheerful expression – or, at least, glares less. “Whenever you think you’ve managed to completely de-chizpurfle your creature, call me over and let me check. If you’ve done a good enough job, you may go.”

A shrug from Louis louis indicates that Katherine’s guess is as good as his. “I havn’t any idea why he keeps them. But he even has a house built for them out there and everything. Been that way as far back as I can remember.” Louis grimaces a bit too as he shakes dieing chizpurfles from the comb. Despite being called a sissy earlyer Louis smiles at the near compliment and begins running the combe again through his sleeping crup’s fur.

Judging by the pile of inert Chizpurfles on the ground and the increased happiness of the Crup, Katherine seems to have done a fairly good job of ridding her animal of its parasites. But she still searches diligently through its fur for any stragglers – and, not coincidentally, enables herself to play with the Crup for a few more minutes while she’s doing so. To Louis, Katherine gives one last look of surprise, and then just shrugs – the eternal strangeness of grownups is beyond her. Then she raises a chubby hand in the air, continuing to hold her Crup firmly with her other hand. “Professor? I think I’m done.”

Though rather distracted at first with another student, who seems to be insisting that his chizpurfles are immune, Quintus eventually walks off on this poor lad mid-sentence, and nods to Katherine, inspecting her crup carefully. “Passable.” He finally declares – yes, her crup is completely free of any parasites and is looking well-brushed and happy to boot. “For a girl.” He offers as an addendum after a moment, before nodding to her and walking off to deal with some other student, without waiting for any sort of response.

An indignant squeak is Katherine‘s only response, and she sits for a moment with her mouth open, staring at Quintus’s back as he walks away. “For a girl!” she repeats. She tosses her head with a sniff, and lifts the Crup to cuddle it up to her chin, as if it were the one who needed comforting, as her plump face settles into an unhappy frown.

Louis Harper bites his lower lip checking carefully all over the sleeping crup and no long seeing any more chizprufles he raises his hand as well. “Professor I think I got them all.” Louis smiles a little giving the sleeping crup an affectionate scratch. Louis sighs a little heairng the ‘For a girl’ comment and shrugs to Katherine.

Turning on his heel and approaching Louis and Kitty again, Quintus raises an eyebrow at the girl without a word to Louis. “Feel free to leave, Miss. Any time.” He then turns his attentions to study Louis’ crup, declaring it to be, “Satisfactory. You too may leave.” Another sweeping glance over the rest of his students, and he offers, “Alright. Please return your creatures to wherever they belong, either the aviary or the enclosure. No homework this time. Class dismissed.”

Louis Harper gives his crup one final scratch and puts the potion and comb back where they belong. “Well I guess that’s it…. not so hard actually. Louis shrugs and heads out of the fenced in area. “Cmon Kitty, I think Professor Helit will notice if any crups come up missing.” Louis gives the girl a bit of a grin and turns to head to his next class smelling an awfull lot like a kennel.

Still hugging her Crup to her with protective tightness and a deep frown, Katherine brings the little animal reluctantly back to its enclosure. Gently, she sets it down, brightening a little in response to the enthusiastic lick that it gives her, and scratching it one last time behind the ears in return. Then, slowly, she lets it go. The Crup scampers cheerfully off to rejoin its friends, and Katherine rises to join Louis on the way back to the castle.

Sliding into the classroom with an attempt at an aloof carriage, Aileen Walter is unfortunately not the type that suits this sort of manner and may never develop into such; her frizzy brown hair sticks out from her head as though begged by some particularly extreme static electricity, her skin is spotted with teenage acne that still persists in not being cleared up, her teeth are slightly crooked, and she has a swollen red lump partially obscuring her right eye – any attempt to be aloof or arrogant is rather spoilt by her cheeks flushing pink when she feels any eyes upon her, and an inability to move more than a few steps at a time without looking around to make sure no one unnoticed is looking at her.

George Robinson is a short, shy, nervous little Hufflepuff boy with a mop of blonde hair and pale, freckled skin. He walks with his shoulders hunched over and with quick, flitting little steps. It’s a minor miracle that the boy survived five previous years of Hogwarts, though he does get rather good grades. “H..hello Miss Walter,” he says softly, and largely to his toes, and takes his seat, likely a few tables away from where she choses to sit.

Isolde Morgan breezes in, rushing right past the sliding Aileen. “Good afternoon, class!” she calls out merrily as she removes a thick black cloak on her way to her desk. She drapes it across the back of her chair, removes her wand from her robe and taps the chalkboard once to erase it. “Oh, that wind is dreadful today,” she continues with a quick shiver. She then sits, and waits for the students to situate themselves for the beginning of class.

Christian has taken a seat near the back of the room, as he usually does, for though he got good enough marks to manage the class, the boy does not appear particularly fond of it. No amount of arguing with his parents would keep them from making him take the class, though, so here his is, in Arithmancy, looking particularly bored and even stifling a yawn as he pulls out some of his supplies.

Aileen Walter clears her throat quietly, looking up and nodding to the Professor as she enters, though her eyes quickly dart to the Hufflepuff boy a few rows down, a slightly suspicious expression as if she is quite incapable of determining why he would say hello to her. “Hello, Mister Robinson,” she whispers her response, though probably not in a loud enough voice to carry even across those few desks. Then, she slumps down in her seat and slouches, half concealed between her chair and the table, waiting for something else to happen.

Isolde Morgan brushes her bushy black hair back over her shoulders and brushes her hands together quickly to warm them up before she stands once more, apparently satisfied that everyone is more or less ready. “Excellent. Mister Curry,” she says to a thin Slytherin student sitting in the front row, “here are last week’s papers. Please hand them back for me.” Which he does so, smirking now and then at a visible comment on a student’s top page, though the actual grades are left to the end. “Now. We’ve been heading along at a fast clip, so I wanted to see if anyone had any questions before we begin class today. While some of your papers were simply superb, others missed the point of Master Numbers completely…”

George Robinson visibly relaxes when the Professor enters, and he looks up at her with unblinking eyes and soft, expectant smile. Almost out of habit, he responds, “Good afternoon, Professor Morgan,” in his even, almost gentle voice. His smile disappears when Curry hands back the paper, though a quick glimpse to the end reveals his hard earned grade. It’s just that he doesn’t like the Slytherin boy. Sticking his paper in with his other things, the just-turned-seventeen year old sits up a little straighter, glancing sideways to see if anyone has raised their hand.

Christian Baxtor is very likely one of those who missed the point completely, but he doesn’t look too terribly worried. After all, he didn’t want to do anything dumb like his dad and get all mixed up in the Ministry and never be around for his wife. That was assuming, of course, that Christian would ever get a wife. This doesn’t occur to him, however and he ponders the chance to ask questions. Nah, he’ll refer to his book if he ever actually wants to understand this.

Aileen Walter slips even further under her desk, apparently quite sure that she missed the point completely, whether there is any evidence to suggest this or not. For someone who bears the crest of Gryffindor on their breast, she seems to be the epitome of low self-esteem and shyness. She doesn’t even look at her paper, apparently not game to do so, instead very carefully studying the movements of the Professor with flushed red cheeks.

Isolde Morgan waits… and waits a little more. “No?” she asks, mildly surprised. “Hmm. Well, perhaps the papers will be explanation enough. Now, then. We may as well move on to today’s lesson, but students, if next this week’s paper bares a similar result to last week’s, I might need to schedule a meeting with you. So.” So… yeah. It’s about as strict as she ever gets, really. In normal circumstances. “I’m sure you’ve all read today’s chapter on Personal Years. Did anyone have questions on the ready?” she asks, voice rather hopeful as she taps a finger quietly on the desk top.

Though Aileen‘s fingers flutter briefly above the desk as if she wants to raise her hand and ask a question, she seems so intent on not drawing attention to herself than her other hand actually holds it down, lest it raise itself of its own accord. She peers about furtively, trying to determine if anyone else is likely to ask the question on her mind, or perhaps silently willing them to do so. Tell me, does that crest say ‘Gryffindor’, or ‘Wimpanddork’?

George Robinson raises his hand slowly, eyebrows knitting together. As his hand goes up, however, the boys shoulders hunch again, especially as few of those near him raise their hands.

Christian seems to sink even lower in his seat at the mention of questions. He had tried to read the chapter, really he had, but that text on cooking was so much more interesting. No, really. Of course, he’d die if anyone ever found out that he read cooking texts. It seems that many of the other students have their hands up or at least look as if they’d like to ask a question. Christian hates it when that happens.

Isolde Morgan practically beams at George and quickly gestures to the Hufflepuff. “Yes, Mister Robinson?” she asks, all but bouncing on her toes. She loves this class way too much. Luckily, this means she tends to overlook the… less than enthusiastic.

George Robinson starts his sentence and clears his throat no less than four times before finally proceeding, “I um.. I think I did it right and I figured… er.. I’m in year two, and that was, um..” he falters momentarily and goes through the throat clearing again, “something about continuing projects and the future, but uh… what if..” his voice gets even smaller and he averts his eyes from Isolde, “I… a person can’t tell what they’re supposed to be working on?” His face falls. It’s such a bad question.

It is far better than what Aileen‘s question was going to be, which was probably something along the lines of ‘um, uh, um, er, uh, may I use the lavatory, please?’ She watches George with particular interest, though, eyes wide, even if her vision is partially obscured by her blemish. Her eyes do not focus on him for long, periodically darting about to make sure no one is paying her inordinate attention, though when she does look at him, her eyes are unflattering and even rudely wide.

Isolde Morgan smiles quickly (but kindly). “Never forget, Mister Robinson, these meanings are loose at best, just for starters. For instance, Year 2 can also mean a focus on bettering what you already have, especially in the area of relationships. This year also deals with emotional health and maintaining balance in your life, which I think would be a little more important than stressing out about a project or two.” She smiles at the boy, nods once, confident that helped… though whether it did is certainly up to her. “We could look at Year 6, seeing as you’re all sixth year students. Another big year for relationships, which I think might be rather appropriate, really.”

Aileen Walter blushes almost as red as a ripe tomato, slinking down even further behind her desk. If she slips down much further, she’ll be sitting underneath her desk – not that it would be the first time she’d ever done that. Her mouth drops open slightly, eyes particularly wide in what can only be referred to as horror. What is the Professor implying? Is the Professor implying something? Well, she has to be! Why else would relationships be ‘rather appropriate’? Who is she implying that about? Aileen? Of course not!

Relationships, what now? Christian looks quite puzzled, as he hasn’t really had a relationship yet, despite his being sixteen. (Another thing he’d never admit to his chums, though many of them had the same plight.) He hadn’t even been asked to the Social, something which he was still sore about. After all, it wasn’t as if twitcy Aileen was going to ask him, and the rest of them seemed far more interested in Martin, that stuffy Slytherin Head Boy. Is there perhaps a bit of jealousy here? “What now?” he asks, perhaps a bit more loudly than he intended, unsure what exactly they’re supposed to do with their ‘year six’.

George Robinson nods shyly and looks for about half of a second at Aileen, unfortunately just as she is looking at him wide-eyed. He looks back at Isolde and nods, “Thank you, Professor Morgan. That uhm… helps very much.” It’s a long, stupid minute before he pulls out his note. Stupid, he scrawls and then strikes out. Real note takin begins, a quick glance first Christian’s way and then in the Slytherin boy’s. Another boy he doesn’t quite like, and he’d made himself look stupid.

Isolde Morgan looks… highly amused. There’s really no other word for it. “Dear, dear,” she mutters to herself before waving quickly with both hands. A brief bout of aggravation (however amused) causes a shower of rainbow colored sparkles to emit from the end of her wand. “The term ‘relationship’ does not refer singularly to that between a boy and a girl.” She does glance at George and Aileen respectively here. Either she notices more than she lets on, or it’s mere coincidence. Most would probably bet on the latter. “Of course… Personal Year Six does lean primarily more in that direction,” Isolde muses after a moment, looking off to the side with a pondering look on her face. She suddenly opens a notebook and a pen and begins to scribble something down. The class seems completely forgotten at that very moment.

Aileen Walter is a particularly suspicious and paranoid person, so slips even further under her desk and yes, sits under the table, groping above her desk for her writing materials. If she was red before, there is no word to describe her skin tone now, even if she does still peer out from under the table at George, eyes no less wide than before. Maybe she just likes staring at people. Maybe she likes Hufflepuff wimps better than either Christian or Martin. How shocking!

Isolde Morgan is completely wrapped up in whatever it is she’s working on for a few long minutes that just stretch on into more minutes. She slowly becomes aware of the silence, however, and looks up. “Oh… oh dear,” she says in a fluster. “That’s, well… I should… you have your reading assignments for next class, yes?” she asks. “In your syllabus? I will spare you from an assignment. I must…” Her gaze falls to the piece of paper in front of her. Whatever it is, it has an exceedingly good grasp on her attention right now.

Christian is partially relieved as Isolde makes this distinction about relationships, but then again, he knows that the other type is still included. This is not a relief, and Christian resolves that he really needs to actually read his text so that he knows what on earth she’s talking about. AS she mentions the next assignments, and goes back to her work, Christian takes this rather as a hint and quickly shoves the poor essay and the rest of his things into his bag, pleased to be out with so much time to spare! The Gryffindor makes his exodus almost too fast for anyone to protest that it wasn’t her meaning and he’s gone down the hall, presumably to work on his homework, though anyone who knows him knows this resolution will not last long. And he’s gone.

Aileen Walter crawls out from under the table – why was she under the table again? – gathers her things together, and follows Christian’s speedy departure, though with a little bit more grace and dignity than his rushed exit. Not very much more, but a little bit. Probably.

The setup of the area is the same as always, the muted silver chairs in a semi-circle around the clearing, in the middle of which stands a rather bored-looking Quintus Helit – though today, for a change, there are no creatures in the vicinity, merely the Professor, the chairs and a stack of paperwork and other assorted materials. Past homework tasks, what appear to be flashcards, and (perhaps of most interest to his class) about six or seven medium-sized blocks of chocolate. Though it is still a few minutes before class actually starts, he peers around the area with a degree of annoyance, as though the fact that he is ready nice and early for their class means his students should be more considerate in turning up nice and early, even if they have other classes just prior.

Hannah Harding walks in, a little clumsily, wearing her long blonde hair in a single ponytail and her blue eyes flitting left and right, looking for tormentors. Easily the largest girl in fourth year, Hannah is taller and wider than most of the boys, and very self-conscious about it. On the other hand, she’s a terrific Care of Magical Creatures student, with the strength to handle the larger creatures and the tenderness to deal with the smallest. While never happy when out among the other students (the current whisper has her as half-giant, a flat out falsehood) she is happiest, at least, in this class.

Lilac Spinebrush is a brunette, and pigtailed, but is not physically remarkable in any way. One might get the feeling she is rather often merely part of a crowd. In fact, she arrives in a small gaggle of mixed House students who are chatting and laughing. When they arrive, however, the group falls silent, “Wot, no animals, Profess?” asks one of the boys, a portly redhead. Lilac finds a chair to sit in, settling easily but administering a “Hush up, Prest, you can be such a nuisance. ” She does, however, smile prettily at him, and he blushes and sits nearby, silent.

Cailey Hamilton walks dreamily to the clearing, staying a bit behind the pack of Ravenclaws who walked about twenty steps in front of her. The girl, who is relatively petite for her age and has long, mousy brown hair comes to a halt near one of the chairs. She stares at a tall oak tree, still lost in her thoughts, and oblivious to the voices of the other students around her. From her expression, it is hard to tell if she is half-asleep after having taken a dose of Sleeping Potion, if she is really seeing something unusual in one of the branches, or if she is merely admiring the ancient tree.

“No, Mister Redhead,” Quintus intones boredly, “There are no animals today. If time permits, we will be visiting with some crups, however, a silly first year girl accidentally released most of them the other day so they are still a bit over-excited from their ordeal.” He squints at the papers in his arms, apparently not having learned any of the student’s names and hence not being able to return the homework to them individually. “When I read out your name, please come and collect your homework.” And he reads out each name, often offering a little piece of advice to each person – “Try not to let spiders fall in your ink and walk across your page.” “Passable, I suppose.” “No worse than I expected.” “Surprisingly good.” “You let yourself down on spelling. There wasn’t any.”

Hannah Harding gets back her homework and winces at the stinging retort of the professor to her work. She wasn’t a stupid person by a long shot, but her spelling did tend to fall by the wayside entirely too often. “Sorry professor.” She mumbles, and goes back to her chair, a little despondent. No animals? Aww.

Almost stomping up to get his essay, Alistair doesn’t look entirely pleased to be right now. “Thanks,” he mutters gruffly, almost as if he is trying to make his voice sound deeper, as the professor comments to him, and it is unclear whether he really means his thanks. The fourth year drops into his chair, not looking particularly interested in the marks on his essay. What bee got in his bonnet?

Lilac Spinebrush collects her paper with a soft smile, but doesn’t make any comment. Prest(on), on the other hand, grumbles a good natured, “Can’t help it if cupboards are full of spiders,” which makes Lilac go rather red in the cheeks and she hisses, “/Prest/!” and drags him back to their seats. One of the Gryffindor girls they came to class with snickers.

Cailey snaps out of her reverie for a couple of seconds, just enough to walk up to the teacher and take back her essay, uttering a nondescript sound as she briefly looks at the mark. That comment regarding the spelling was directed to her, something unusual for Cailey, but she doesn’t seem to be upset or ashamed about it. She goes back to her seat and resumes her stare without a word.

All the homework returned, Quintus nods his head slowly, looking at the class. “By and large, the assignments weren’t done too badly. No one failed miserably but, more to the point, no one excelled either. Even those of you who showed a good grasp of the coursework seemed ignorant to basic sentence structure or spelling. These are, on the whole, harder to teach than the coursework itself, and not my area of expertise.” A pause, and he looks down at the remaining chocolates and cards in his hands. “As I’m sure I told most of you at the beginning of the term, I will be giving random quizzes in class. On the up side, you won’t be graded on them as such, and you will be rewarded if you do well. I assume most of you like chocolate. On the downside, if I judge that you’re doing too poorly, I will assign extra homework, on which you will be graded and you will not be rewarded.”

Hannah Harding groans, but gets out her quill expectantly. It’s alright. It’s alright. As long as it’s on animals they’ve covered so far, she should do fine…

Cailey looks to her left and right, apparently surprised that the other students start to take some parchment and quills out of their bags. “What’s happening?” she asks to no one in particular, or at least, this is what it seems. Did she not hear what the teacher said? “No creatures today?” she asks in a small voice, and blinking her eyes repeatedly.

Lilac Spinebrush wrinkles her nose. Quizzes for chocolate? She looks over at Preston, one eyebrow arched, and crosses her arms in a rather immature pout. Lower lip jutted out and everything, the teenager turns her attention back to the professor. Several people echo Hannah’s groan, and one overachiever blurts out an incredulous, “What? No grade?”

Surprise quizzes? Oh, no, Alistair is awful at those! The boy looks even more sullen as Quintus reminds them of his past comments. Suddenly, the Hufflepuff finds himself wishing that he had spent a little more time reading his text rather than mooning over Quidditch books. Perhaps he lies more in the ‘loyal’ bit of Hufflepuff house than the ‘hard-working’ part. At any rate, the fourth year does not look pleased.

“I already told you that you’d be getting regular quizzes, so there shouldn’t be any surprise aspect,” Quintus reminds the clas as he hears their groans, though he looks rather increasingly annoyed. “Okay, take out parchment and quill and write the numbers one through ten on the side. There will be, if you can’t figure it out, ten questions, on the subject of magical creatures kept as pets. Specifically, what we’ve been studying lately. Those students who do best will get… chocolate.” He trails off a bit here, rather distracted, then seems to find his point again. “Oh, yes, question one. What charm is to be used and regularly reinforced on a Fwooper kept as a pet?”

Hannah Harding smiles with relief. That one’s easy. Scritching her answer down on the paper, she awaits the next question.

Alistair Waldgrave seems to hesitate as Quintus asks the first question, then looks down at his paper. And back to Quintus. He resists the urge to see what other people are doing, for though he wants to do well on this quiz, Alistair doesn’t think it would be worth it to cheat. Hastily scribbling down an answer, the Hufflepuff barely finishes his answer before the next question is asked. Oh, this is not a good day. Not at all.

Lilac Spinebrush gets out the necessary bits for writing and carefully numbers her paper with loopy calligraphics. She’s only on six when Professor Helit begins the questioning, and so the remaining numbers a good deal plainer. As questions are asked, she neatly writes the answers in wide script, eyebrows even in concentration. Preston squirms in his seat, trying to find a comfortable way to write, a bit too large in his seat than the little desks allow for. With a grunt, he ends up half out of it, bent rather curiously over.

Suddenly understanding what happens (“A quiz!”), Cailey rushes to get some parchment as well, and fumbles desperately in her bag to take out her quill and some ink. The bottle is nearly empty, there is fortunately just enough ink for this lesson. She quickly writes down her answer to the question in a not-so-tidy writing which betrays her hurry, and adds her name at the top left corner of the sheet just as the professor begins his second question. Not a good day for her, either…

“…Four, what main safety precaution is required if one wishes to keep a crup in an area muggles may frequent and, five, at what age is this usually done?” … “Six, what is the name of the creature muggles refered to as the ‘dodo’?” … “Seven, what aspect of the creature in question six has kept it safe from prying muggle eyes?” Quintus pauses for long enough to think and write an answer – perhaps just a little bit too quickly, so it would be fair enough to assume that some people are still scrawling the answer to the previous question when the next one is asked.

While one of them manages to stump Hannah, (while she can remember about severing the tail of a Crup, she can’t for the life of her remember when it’s done) she more or less mows through the questions, her smile getting wider and wider. This day just keeps getting better.

Without much time for thought, Alistair scribbles out the first answer he thinks for each one, relatively certain that most of his answers are bound to be false. He certainly won’t be the one getting the chocolates! The Hufflepuff, when all the questions are finally asked, has to go back and complete some of his thoughts, for lack of time to write his answers.

Lilac Spinebrush is likely to get at least eight of the ten right, which is not so bad, all things considered. Her brow furrows, trying to remember what a dodo is, and then the answer comes to her. The Slytherin’s face lights up as she inks in the answer, lips pursed. Later, she will have to tell Preston how useful it was to actually read the text.

Cailey continues to write down her answers, now writing frantically every bit of information she knows and remembers. In the hurry, everything comes out at the same time, resulting sometimes in slightly confused sentences, which is not helped by her poor writing. However, most of the information is there. Cailey finally lets out a deep sigh as she puts down her quill and looks at the teacher expectantly. That was not so bad, finally.

“Swap papers with another student,” Quintus finally declares after reading out all ten questions – though, to his credit, he gives a longer pause at the end for people to fix up errors they know they’ve made or to finish off thoughts. “And they will mark them for you. Then swap back and read out your marks.” Waiting for everyone to do this, a little impatiently (how can they take this long to find a friend to swap with?), he taps his fingers against his side and stares off at the sky.

Hannah Harding looks about. Her list of friends is rather short. In the end, she just looks to Alistair and mumbles, “Mark mine?”

Lilac Spinebrush immediately switches papers with Preston, who shifts his bulk around again and mutters something not unlike “Blasted desks.” With a small smile, Lilac pulls out a jar of red ink, kept for just such occasions at these. Apparently she has a clean quill as well, and she looks up at Quintus, waiting.

Looking to his right, Alistair shoves his paper out in front of him, not really bothering to ask if the person is willing to grade his paper for him. His other hand is extended in expectation of getting a quiz in return for him to grade. The Hufflepuff boy shrugs as the person seems to scoff and possibly be offended at his haste and pushiness, though it clearly doesn’t bother him. In the end, hearing his name, the boy’s attention is turned and he turns and thrusts his quiz towards Hannah. At least he’s doing as he’s told, right?

Cailey toys nervously with her quill, looking for someone to mark her own paper. “We could perhaps trade ours.” she offers in a low voice to Hannah, but apparently, that Hufflepuff boy was faster and bolder than she was. Looking around, she finally hands it to another boy with a shy smile, a Gryffindor who, like her, seemed to be at a total loss.

Once relatively sure that everyone has someone else’s paper, Quintus begins reading out the answers, signficantly faster than he read out the questions. “Question one, silencing charm. Question two, Australia. Question three, levitation. Question four, tail severing. Question five, six weeks. Question six, diricawl. Question seven, the ability to vanish at will. Question eight, ferret. Question nine, Loch Ness Monster. Question ten, horse guardian.”

Correct, correct, correct, correct… what is she, a genius? Alistair Waldgrave‘s face doesn’t appear to be joyous as he notates a +8 at the top of the parchment he has been handed. Of course he’d get a goody-two-shoes quiz. “Here,” he grunts and shoves the paper back towards Hannah, looking rather dejected. Nope, he certainly had not done well on this quiz. He did, however, hope that perhaps his failure might go, for the most part, unnoticed.

Hannah Harding marks busily, crossing out or ticking (as required) the answers, “Stupefy”, “Norway”, “Levitation”, “Stupefy”, “Regularly as possible,” “Diricrawl”, “Ability to Puff Out into Feathers”… eh, close enough… “Goblin”… Goblin? GOBLIN? “Lochie” and “Horse.” She pondered that last one, and eventually decided to mark it right as well. Handing back his, she whispers, “You got half of them right.” Receiving her own, she smiles, but flinches at one of the answers. FERRET. Not Rabbit. Stupid!

Lilac Spinebrush frowns deeply and ends up marking an awful lot of red. “Er, Prest, I think only one of us benefitting from our joint studies.” He grunts in reply and they swap back. A small, unhappy squeal eminates from the fourteen year old, “An eight? Are you sure?” She worries at her thumb nail, looking it over, “Oh, no, I said New Zealand for two and eight weeks for five, didn’t I? We’re going to have study much more.” Lilac’s cheek color pink. Eight isn’t very perfect. In a sort of consolatory tone, Preston points out, “I only got a five. That’s only half. It’s only for chocolate.” A snippy, “Hardly the point, Prest.” is all he gets.

“Okay, now, can each person call out their marks, please?” Quintus asks, indicating with a wave of one hand the approximate order he would like them to call out in. “The highest marks will get chocolate – if anyone gets ten, they can have 5 house points, too.” His tone indicates that anyone getting ten is highly unlikely, though theoretically possible.

“Half? That’s it?” Alistair asks Hannah, though he doesn’t wait for an answer before he drops the quiz parchment dejectedly onto his half desk. Sighing as Quintus directs them to announce their scores, the boy stands and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, “I got a five,” before flopping back into his seat. Drama much?

Hannah Harding waits untl she’s called, and says, “Eight,” quietly, hoping not to draw attention to herself.

Lilac Spinebrush and Preston call out, “Eight” and “Five” respectively, and then give each other a brief glance. Still blushing, Lilac busies herself with putting away her correcting ink and quill. A quick look is shot toward Hannah, mouth tugging a little bit at the corners. “Well, at least ya did as well as Harding,” murmurs Preston.

Quintus Helit narrows his eyes at each student in turn as they call out their answers – various other students add their own to the list at, “Three.” “Six.” “Nine!” “Seven.” “Six.” “Seven and a half…” Though the professor pauses to peer at the student who declares his mark to be a seven and a half, he says nothing, merely shrugging and tossing a chocolate to the Ravenclaw boy with nine, Lilac and Hannah. To be precise, he stands several feet away and throws the chocolate at them – he has a rather good aim, but the chocolate comes rather without warning. “Though I had not exprected anyone to get full marks, I am rather disappointed – you should not be getting threes and fives.”

Hannah Harding tries to react fast, but fails, the chocolate smacking her square on the forehead. “Ow!” She whimpers, and picks the chocolate up off her desk.

Alistair Waldgrave diverts his eyes from the Professor and props his chin in his hand. The boy isn’t really that pleased with his score either, but what can he do? He wasn’t prepared for a pop quiz! The Hufflepuff says nothing in his own defense however, hearing that someone got a near-perfect score. Even he has to wonder about the seven and a half, though. Why hadn’t he gotten a half score?

Lilac Spinebrush catches her chocolate more with her front than her hands, with a bit of a wince and squeaky, “Thank you, Professor.” She produces a handkerchief to wrap it in and pockets the chocolate, not about to go through the mess of eating it in front of everyone. Preston frowns at the Professor and grumbles, “How’d he expect us to remember what a Porlock is?” Lilac sniffs, “You would if–” now she blushes again. “Nevermind.”

“Next time we have a quiz,” Quintus adds after a moment of silence, “I expect more people to be getting six or above. You should be aiming for the level that these students achieved,” indicating Lilac, Hannah and the Ravenclaw boy, “if not higher.” Note that he pays absolutely no attention to the fact that his flying chocolate hit one student in the head, while another student (the Ravenclaw boy) missed completely and had to get another student to pick it up for him. “I understand that not everyone has an aptitude for the subject, especially as some people are just not designed to be good at See-oh-em-see, but I expect better from you all.” Even though he does not say it in so many words, it is very obvious who he means by ‘not designed to be good at CoMC’.

Hannah Harding grumbles. She just got one of the top three marks in the class! How much better does she have to be? Packing up, she gets ready to leave.

The teacher’s comments seem to go right over Alistair‘s head and he shoves his quiz and his essay into his knapsack rather haphazardly. The Hufflepuff looks around as others also begin packing up their things, though he doesn’t get up yet. No, Alistair never likes to be the first to leave, neither does he like being the last. He is still sitting rather low in his seat, as if unable to look anyone in the face for his poor marks, even though they weren’t the worst of the class.

After a moment, Quintus looks around at his class again, brow creased in confusion. “Why are you still here? Oh, yes. Class dismissed. Any further questions, I’ll field before you go.” He doesn’t appear to be paying much attention to his class, though, unwrapping one of the remaining prize chocolates that he didn’t give out, and nibbling at the corner idly, waiting for the students to either direct further questions to him or leave.

Lilac Spinebrush scoops together her things and hangs around as Preston offers, “Hey, Alistair, you didn’t do that bad. Half right means you only have to learn half the material. Some people are going to have to learn seventy-percent,” or just one person, he obviously doesn’t pay that much attention in class. “Anyway, see you around.” They’re both Hufflepuff fourth year boys, so it’s likely. Lilac gives Alistair a strained smile and tugs Preston away, already babbling about how they’ll have to do more actual studying next time they study.

As others begin to exit, Alistair takes his chance and rises from his seat, looking to the people on either side of him, then slipping between a group of people before making his way away from the field. Astronomy next, he laments, and heads up the stairs on his way to perhaps write off his Astronomy essay before the time for class actually gets there. No way is he sleeping in the hours that remain before the class. One wonders what the boy does like, as he dislikes so much.

Clavicle Gravely walks in, he’s carrying a suitcase and bows to the woman with a formal flourish…which looks a little silly, as he is so young. “Good evening madame. My family would like to supply you with a new confectionary treat.” He smiles hopefully.

“Er, well, that’s kind of you, but oughtn’t I be the one supplying you with the sweets, little man?” Maura leans on the counter, clad in her new purple and blue frock — her cousin’s insistence, certainly not hers — and grins at him. “But tell me what it is that you’ve got for me.” She smiles at him sweetly, glancing only momentarily at a group of little girls who seem to have caught the giggles.

Clavicle Gravely grins hugely, “The gravely seasonal confectionary inspired by our cousins in the central Americas, We proudly present…. The confectionary skull.” he opens his suitcase and a dozen skulls highly decorated are there. All made of sugar, One winks. “Hiya toots.”

Clavicle Gravely‘s skulls declare “Undale! Arriba!” “Hey…is this France?”

Maura Wexler appears to be taken aback by such a thing. “Oh, and… you all have charmed them to talk? How… quaint.” Maura can’t seem to get the look of shock off of her face as she stands there, gawking at the case of skulls. “I’m afraid they might be a bit too… frightening for many of the children who frequent here. We do get a lot of young ones, after all.” Maura shrug at him, looking rather leery of his case of skulls. “I would be more than willing to sell you some candy of course,” She suggests, coming back to her original tack. “And perhaps you could check at a shop in Hogsmeade. I hear there’s a knickknacks shop, full of odds and ends and unusual things that might just love something like that.”

Clavicle Gravely hmms. His uncle told him to make the sale. “They can be trained to be more polite…” One tries to get out of the case….by jawing it’s way up. Another waggles icing brows at the woman. “‘ello … Are you hungry? I was made for a pretty girrl like you to eat!” Clavicle smiles hopefully. “I didn’t charm them… my uncle did. We have a shy line as well. for the bashful childe.” He nods to the Hogsmeade advice. “We plan on stopping there as well…before term starts.”

“I hope you’ll have more luck there. I’d consult with my cousin, but I know what her answer would be. Everything in the shop here, we make ourseles. That is, I make it. She blows it up.” Maura chuckles to herself for a moment, before remembering the task at hand. “At any rate, I’m going to have to decline your sweet offer. I’m sorry.” She ponders for a moment. “But perhaps you’d like to try our newest concoction? It’ll turn your mouth many colors.” Maura smiles at the boy, hoping to spare his feelings.

Clavicle Gravely frowns. “Are you sure? we only ask 4 sickles for the lot?” he grins “They are made for Dia del Los Muertos… to celebrate.” he sighs. “Well…maybe you could just try one?” He grins. “We could call it a trade?”

Clavicle Gravely looks at the case where the One skull has escaped and is grinning. “Pick me.. pick me!” the skull has a frosting baseball cap on. “I’m great at running errands! Pick me!”

“I could try one, but I’m sorry, dear. It just isn’t even feasible for me to give you hope, since it would be false. You’re welcome to try our new candy; I won’t even charge for it, but we can’t buy your sweets. Have you tried the Leaky Cauldron?” Maura smiles helpfully, pausing to ring up one of the giggling girls. “I must reiterate that we won’t be able to sell your candy from our shop.”

Clavicle says, “I know. I understand. But Morty there really seems to like you.” he takes the candy she offers and closes the suitcase…and once again…bows with a showman’s flourish.”

“It’s still a no,” Maura tells him again gently, closing the register again after ringing up another girl. “Tell, ah, Morty there, that he’s going to have to find another shopkeep to attatch his little sugar teeth to.” Maura winks at the boy and pulls out a licorice rainbow, holding it out to the boy. “It ought to turn your mouth about six different colors at once, maybe more.” She grins, proud of her new concoction.

Clavicle Gravely‘s suitcase closes amongst cries of “Eat me. Eat me! ” He scoops up Morty and accepts the licorice. He grins as he heads out. “Thanks!”

Maura Wexler waves at the boy as he departs, chuckling to herself. Born salesman, that one. He’ll go far, Maura thinks to herself as she busies herself around the shop again.