Another year begins at Hogwarts. It’s week one and the Wizo-Music students are either returning, or beginning late. As always, Matughi, the massive talking African warshield, is busy intimidating the students, but, since it’s a first class of the day, he seems rather sleepy. “FOOLISH CHIL… *yawn* CHILDREN! YOU WILL ALL BE CONQUERED BY THE …so tired… MIGHT OF THE … *yawn*” Darius Dwight has yet to appear yet, but the class is open and set up in ‘practical’ formation, desks to the side, chairs in the middle with instruments scattered around the classroom. Presumably, the teacher will be along shortly.

Looking quite svelte and tall, it appears that Nellie has grown quite a bit over the summer, and though the usual smirk is absent from her face, her sour expression seems otherwise fitting as she carries her trumpet lazily into the Wizo-music classroom. The red on her cheeks hints at either a bit too much sun, or perhaps a rather recent embarrassment. Between her freckles, it is difficult to tell which it is. The girl plops down into a set and pulls out a quill, twirling it in her fingers while she stifles a yawn and waits for the rest of the class to trickle in.

Afil Landiths walked into the Wizo-music classroom nerviously, as he stared at the Giant double bass he was supposed to be play in the class. He looked around, watching all the people play their instruments and the giant talking African war sheild, and looked slightly worried at the fact a piece of army wear was screaming its head off at the surrounding students. Afil walked up to the bass as confedintley as he could, Straightening up and smiling, whilst walking over quickly and prepareing it in his hands, to be played beautiflly along with Afil choice of music, Blues. Afil was looking forward to the class, or else he sound’t of signed up for it Decideding quickly to pluck the strings, Afil smiled at the surrounds and started to play happily

Yawning and rubbing at her eyes with one hand, Gertrude Baxtor makes another sleepy student to enter the room. Almost as soon as she enters the room, she seems to realise what she’s doing, even in her sleepy state, and quickly lowers her hand from her eye to her mouth as she yawns again, and draws herself up into a more formal, refined carriage than the sleepy drag she had lazily adopted on the way there. At least her robes are straight and her hair is in good condition. She never would have left the common room otherwise. Peering about the room, she seems too dazed to offer much more than a lazy smirk, though perhaps this will have the dual affect of looking like she doesn’t need to expend extra energy on being superior. Perhaps.

Coming behind a long string of students, and walking slowly, as if hesitating, David makes his way into the classroom. He stands there in the way, watching the other students as they take their seat, and finally chooses to take his own, on the second row, as usual. It is a strange feeling for David, and he hasn’t felt so awkward since his first or second year. Why did he decide to join the Wizo-Music class in his fourth year, instead of doing it at the beginning of the third like everybody else? Surely, the older students would look at him curiously, and David dislikes this. The boy puts his bag on the floor, and turns his head around. Should he take out a quill and some parchment? Apparently not. Some students are already playing, apparently, and David doesn’t know if he should begin to do just as them. Deciding against it, he finally waits for Professor Dwight to begin the class formally. Yes. That would probably be the best course to follow. Keep a low profile.

As the last students file into the room, Professor Darius Dwight, billowing red robes blowing out around his feet, enters from the Wizo-Music office and beaming his usual beaming smile. His only concession to the earliness of the class is a white drinking mug, filled with coffee and emblazoned with a Gryffindor shield on it. It’s been well known Professor Dwight was an old Gryffindor, and he hasn’t been shy about volunteering the fact. He nods to the class, and declares, “Good morning, students. Welcome back to Hogwarts,” and then walks over to Matughi, who is still half-heartedly shouting out threats between yawns and mutters. “Poor, poor Matughi. Your heart’s just not in it, is it today?” The shield mutters back, “Traitor to your own blood…” “Yes, yes,” The teacher retorts, and instructs the shield to keep quiet, which astonishingly it does.

“Now, students!” Darius returns his attention to the class, and declares, “Welcome back to Hogwarts! As always, it’s good to see you here. We have a few new students, and a few departed over the summer I see. Their loss. This year, we begin learning about Wizo-Music proper. So, and I know you’ve all waited a long time to hear this…” He grins impishly, “Draw your wands.”

Wand. Right. Pocket. It seems to take Gertrude a moment to fully realise what the Professor has said, though when she does, she pulls the wand from her pocket and twirls it through her fingers like a baton, sitting daintily in her selected seat and tiredly crossing her legs. Wait, wand? She looks up at Darius as she fully comprehends his words, silently questioning this apparent change of heart. She really isn’t with it this morning – as well as it being early, she looks almost as if she simply didn’t get enough sleep the previous night, and she seems to be working hard to resist the urge to rub at her eyes again.

Feeling quite relieved that she won’t be forced to try to make sensible noise out of her trumpet for once, Nellie reaches into her robes and draws her wand carefully, holding it out before her lazily. “Looks like morning still aren’t too kind to you, Trudy,” she whispers quietly to the nearby. Her usually twinkling eyes begin to get their usual sheen as her lips twist into a bit of a smirk. “Is it true that your sister’s put a love potion on the Minister’s son?”

Afil Landiths stopped plucking his Double bass and stopped smiling. Afil pulled his wand out, Left handedly put it in front of him, sighing slightly. Afil had no Idea of what was coming, but decided to smile anyway, he was happy to be here anyway, maybe he’d meet new people, or maybe he’d just enjoy playing the double bass. Whatever the reason he decided to come here for, he was here, and even if he could not remember why he did it in the first place, it didn’t matter. He gripped the wand and watched the other students do so themselfs. Afil eyed the other instruments around him, and decided that his one was the best, and smirked at this, for no apperent reason. Keeping the wand in front of himself, he waited for the next instructions.

Wait, no introductory speech? Oh, wow. Not wanting to disobey the orders of the teacher, David takes his wand out of his pocket and puts it down neatly on the table, before him. He then hesitates some more. The wand is obviously there to charm the instrument, right? Yet David‘s own instrument is still in his bag, and the boy does not know if he should put it out. As he debates the question, he takes the wand in his hands and fidgets with it, looking at the other students nervously and trying to listen to their conversations to get a cue on what to do. The few words he hears coming from the direction of that Gryffindor have nothing to do with music, though, and David quirks his eyes. A love potion? To the Minister’s son? Hmm… girls…

“Now, today we cross the boundary between music, and wizo-music. This is mostly charms work, and indeed, it will be a charm we practice today. Since you’ll be casting it on an instrument, and it’s awfully hard to play an instrument and cast charms at the same time, you’ll be working in pairs.” Darius grabs his chalk and strides to the blackboard to write up the words MOUSIKI ALLASSO on the board, as well as the pronunciation below, “MOO-see-kee al-AH-so”. As he is done, he swings back to the class, planting both hands down on his conductors lecturn and grins, “This is one of the most simple music altering charms, and it performed like this…” Drawing his wand, he points to a saxophone near him and swings his wand in a sharp horizontal motion, right-to-left, with a slight upward loop. “Mousiki allasso!” Once done, he picks up the saxophone, puts it to his lips and plays… a beautiful, heavenly harp solo.

“Ew. It is entirely possible. There is little I would put past her in her puppy-dog pursuit of that boy.” Gertrude replies, raising an eyebrow at Nellie in a lazily superior gesture, reclining in her chair and stretching out a little, though endeavoring to retain a certain polite, almost formal air to her actions. “In any case, I imagine that you would be well-versed in the effects of a love potion – surely, that would be the only way you could locate for yourself an escort to the Social.” It seems that she doesn’t quite care who she is being nasty to at this point, merely being derisive for the sake of doing so. Her attention flickers from the Gryffindor girl to the Professor quickly, though, and her eyes widen considerably as she follows the effects of the charm, offering a slighlty more sincere, even blissful, smile at the sound of the harp solo. Now that is appropriate music.

David Mildred‘s mouth falls open as he hears the result of the charm. Now that is nifty! David begins to relax as he listens to the music, forgetting his previous apprehension about coming to the class. If he could learn how to do that, then it is indeed worth having come here to that class. Waiting for the solo to finish, David prepares himself to rise his hand up in the air, as he already had a few question to ask about the potential use of the charm.

Pairs, is it? Nellie glances sideways as Gertrude makes this comment. “At least I haven’t got poodle hair. My date will be able to see my face just fine. And, I’ll let you know, that I’ve already been promised by none other than your brother that he’d go with me.” The smirk on the girl’s face widens and she turns her face to Darius to see his adeptness with the charm. It can’t be too hard, right? The girl half-heartedly makes her wand in the motion that Darius has done, though it comes across more as a circle than a sharp motion.

Afil had immedit intrest into the charm that had just been used. He heard the beautiful music and wanted to try it right away…But quickly relised he needed a partner, he looked around the room, searching for someone, He didn’t really know who to look at, due to the fact he only just joined the class. He looked around, not really bothered about the fact that no one seemed to want to work with him. Looking around with a smug look on his face, he stared at Darius trying to figure out more from this charm, and tried to do the sharp motion, which he thought he did quite well, and smiled to himself. Afil was happy to be here, just…Who was he going to work with?

The saxophone is taken away from Darius‘s lips, and the harp sound fades away. As he spots David’s hand go up, he asks, “Yes, David? Everyone, please begin pairing up. One of you should play your instrument, and the other practice your charm on the instrument while it’s playing, that way you’ll be able to observe the effects of your charm immediately. I’m not asking you to take notes, but be observant and don’t just mess around — Learn! If you need any help, your book ‘Music by Magic’ has pointers.” Darius then listens for David’s question while the class starts getting ready.

“We all make mistakes,” Gertrude replies, almost venemously, eying Nellie in annoyance. It is evident from her tone that the one making the mistake is most certainly her brother, in sinking so low as to accompany the Gryffindor girl. She hesitates for a moment, uncertain of what to add; oh, gosh, she needs a date, now, doesn’t she? How would it look if she didn’t have a date, but Nellie did? “Of course, I already have an escort,” she lies after a moment, turning to face the Gryffindor fully. It seems that she is taking for granted that they will be paired up, if only so they can finish their argument. “But I do consider it to be uncouth to banter such information around without the consent of the other party.”

Putting his hand down as Professor Dwight acknowledges his question, David begins clears his throat. “I… uh… well, you basically charmed your instrument using the incantation Mousiki Alasso but I wondered if it was possible to choose the sound that the instrument will produce, or if it only comes as a… well, as a complete surprise.” David says, grinning at the end of the question. “And I haven’t anybody to practice with… looks like we are in an odd number.” he adds, sheepishly.

“Ah, yes! Class!” Darius stops the class, “David has a good point here, and one I forgot to mention. Focus on the type of instrument you want to produce — Mousiki allasso can produce almost any instrumental sound, but it’s easiest to choose similar types. Easier to make a guitar sound like a violin than the drums sound like flutes. There’s no major change in the incantation or wand motion, simply in intent!” Turning back to David, he grins, “Indeed, we are. I shall play, and let you practice.” He picks up a guitar and sits down, ready to play. “Ready when you are, David.”

“Oh, right, that’s such a lie, Gertie Baxtor,” the girl scoffs and grins. “The only reason you would want to withhold that information is if you’re ashamed to have asked the person, or else if you don’t have one. It’s alright, I don’t expect everyone will have gotten asked already. I’m sure you can find someone. Perhaps that nice third year, the boy I went with last year! Although, I believe he’s dead gone on Felicity Wexler.” Nellie Caldwell pauses a moment and then turns to Gertrude with the sweetest expression she can manage. “You’ll be my partner, of course.” This is not stated as a question.

Oh, darn it, now Gertrude has to think of someone she could have possibly asked that possibly doesn’t have a date yet. “Oh, hardly.” She scoffs in turn, inspecting her fingernails as she tries to think of someone. Oh, but the only boys who would be without dates so far are so uncouth… “Matthew Cowper, if you simply must know.” She looks as though she regrets having chosen that name already, looking almost ill for a moment. Why did she have to choose his name? He has got to be one of the worst! Still, she forces a smile, almost sickly sweet and entirely insincere, and sighs that little bit too dramatically. “I almost regret having asked him, for he can be terribly, uh, exhuberant at times, but he is very good-looking and he does come from a very good family.” Does he? Well, she wouldn’t know. He’s related to a Professor or something, right? Oh, right, magic. She waves her wand vaguely, though without any obvious intent to do anything.

Nodding slightly, David rummages through his bag and takes out a penny whistle. This is the instrument he plays, perhaps not like a virtuoso, but reasonably well enough so that Professor Dwight didn’t refuse him coming to the class a year later after the other students. Trying to find some comfort in that idea, he walks forward towards the teacher, his whistle and wand in hand. “I suppose I have to warm it up a bit…” before he says, putting the head of the whistle under his armpit for it to come up to a better temperature. “I might as well start with the charm, right? How can I actually choose the sound of the instrument?” he says, as he picks up his wand and prepares himself to say the incantation out loud.

“No, no.” Darius waves his hand. “Keep your whistle in your pocket, David. Focus on your wandwork today. If you want to practice your musicianship, that is good, but come see me privately for that. This year, our focus is wandwork. Now, go on and try to affect my guitar. Surprise me with what I start playing.” He begins playing a somewhat latino style of guitar playing, although it’s really more American jazz with a slight hint of influence than true flamenco guitar.

“Handsome? Well, I suppose we’re all allowed different taste,” the girl tells her comrade. “You go first with the violin. I’m not up to the trumpet just yet.” Holding her wand out, Nellie appears ready — at least in appearance — to perform the charm at any moment. “So, are you really going with him, then? I’m sure even you could have done better.” This is said in the most chirpy voice the girl can manage, though the smirk on her face is perhaps a bit telling of her true meaning.

“Okay…” David says, putting the whistle back in a pocket of his school robe. He then raises his wand, trying to mimic the movement of Professor Dwight’s wand, a few minutes before, and he mutters the incantation. “Mousiki Alasso!” The result of the charm follows immediately, but it is not really what David would have liked to hear. Suddenly, Darius’ guitar makes strange noises, as if it were completely out of tune. “Er…” says David. “Finite Incantatum!” Fortunately, this one works. “Sorry about that…” he says. “Can I try again?”

Why, of all names to have possibly occurred to her, did Gertrude have to say ‘Matthew Cowper’? There are dozens of better boys in the school. Almost every boy in the school, in fact. Cheeks flushed slightly pink, she picks up the violin and positions it under her chin, though she does not begin playing yet. “In any case,” she hastily changes the subject, clearing her throat quietly and politely, “Have you heard anything of who anyone else is going with, on that note?” If nothing else, there is no way that Gertrude is going to allow the subject of the Social to be left at her fictional date with Matthew.

Darius Dwight trips his fingers a little bit as the guitar goes massively out of tune, but grins and continues playing as the charm is negated expertly, “Of course, David. I’m not expecting anyone to get this charm right today. Practice makes perfect.”

“Mousiki Alasso,” Nellie Caldwell states rather apathetically and shrugs. “Well, I assume your sister will monopolize the Minister’s son again, as usual. Poor boy. I do wonder at Nellie Caldwell, though. She asked Albert Bryce, you know, that Hufflepuff boy? She asked him to last year’s social, but she went with some sixth year to the ball. I don’t know who could stand her. I can’t, myself.” As if Nellie has had much interaction with the girl. “Who has your sister asked? I’m sure your brother could fix her up with one of his chums if she asked him nicely. He seems like an amiable fellow.”

“Alright.” says David, nodding at Professor Dwight. He raises his wand once again, and as he is about to cast the charm a second time, he turns his head to observe the other students, hearing some rather obvious chatter coming from that bunch of Gryffindor girls. Shaking his head, he says the incantation a second time, this time a bit louder. He then bends forward to listen to any potential change to the guitar’s sound. At least, this time, it doesn’t seem to be too out of tune, but it does still sound more or less as a guitar. “Hmm… it didn’t have any effect this time, did it? It still sounds like a guitar to me, what do you think?”

Raising his finger to pause David, Darius turns and announces, “Nellie Caldwell, minus one point to Gryffindor for gossiping! Gertrude Baxtor! Minus one point to Slytherin for gossiping! Focus on the lesson, both of you. I expect you to have perfected this charm by next week.” He turns back to David and smiles, “It’s going to take practice, but yes. It’s still sounding like a guitar. What are you trying to change it to?”

“I heard that,” Gertrude agrees quietly, playing a single note on her violin, which still sounds like a violin, if a slightly inexpertly played one, before she lowers the bow again, to turn and gape at Darius in horror. “I was not gossiping!” She protests, though only quietly – she doesn’t really want to make it worse for herself, after all. Then, turning back to Nellie, she lowers her voice still further to whisper, “On the subject of Hufflepuff boys, DeWitt and Pantall broke up, didn’t they?” She plays a few more notes on the violin, correctly played if not very elaborate, and adds, “Still a violin, dear.”

Observing Professor Dwight as he admonishes the two girls, and can’t suppress a little smirk on his lips, for the teensiest moment. He tries to concentrate again on the task at hand as the chatter dies out instantly. “Well… I tried to come up with something guitar-like…” David says to Professor Dwight, “since you mentioned it was easier to start with something not too different than the original instrument. Perhaps… yes, a banjo. I heard it once on the radio, at home… it was fun.” David says, chuckling. “I suppose I need to remember how it sounds for the charm to perform well, right?” He frowns a little. “That was a long time ago, I’m not sure I’ll have the sound right.” he says, as he readies himself to cast the charm a third time. “Could you invent new sounds with this spell?” he asks, with sudden curiosity.

“Yes,” Darius nods, “But there’s a better charm for that, called Mousiki betamorpho. We’ll be studying that in a few weeks, and you’ll be amazed at how versatile it is. But you can use allasso to create sounds that aren’t instruments, for example, you could make a violin sound like a tree creaking. It’s often used in stage shows, and the like, to produce sound effects.” Standing up, Darius asks, “So how are we all doing? Has anyone gotten the charm to work yet?” He looks out over the class.

“It isn’t gossip,” Nellie retorts crossly as she glances up momentarily to Darius and huffs a little bit. “Alright, I’ll go again.” A deep breath, and, “Mousiki Alasso,” She says firmly and points her wand sharply at the violin. “Make different music, you stupid violin.” She sighs. “I think she’s two-timing him. I haven’t heard anything about any breakup anyway.” This, however, is said much more quietly and covertly than her previous statements. “Well, try it out. It better work this time.”

“It would not surprise me at all,” Gertrude replies, a little smugly, playing a few more notes on her violin. Perhaps they sound a little off now, though this might be because of a poorly done spell, or simply because the girl isn’t very good at the violin. “And you are right, knowing her it would have been particularly loud and public, but she’s been clinging awfully close to Linwood ever since the train trip. You know what they say was going on there.” Another few notes, and the girl shakes her head, hair flying about her face. “Still nothing, dear.”

“It’s not working for me. My wand must be acting up today.” She shrugs at this. “It would be so interesting if she is double-timing him,” the girl states with a grin. “Such drama. I hear the older boy has it out for Linwood.” The girl looks slyly up at the front of the room, however, and holds her wand up. “Should we switch and see if her wand is working better, Professor?” Yes, Nellie. Make sure he knows that you’re at least trying to make it look like you’re trying.

“Oh… awesome.” David says, nodding enthusiastically at Darius. “I can’t wait for that. Anyway. I need to have that charm work at least once.” David says. The boy takes a deep breath, tries to imagine the way he would like the guitar to sound like, and casts the spell. “Mousiki Alasso!” he says. This time, it seems to have worked. The guitar was sounding differently this time, not quite banjo-like, but it was not a unpleasant sound either. And not out of tune this time. “Hmm… what do you think of this?” David asks, with a smile and an expectant look in his eyes.

“Excellent!” Darius grins to David, and announces to the class, “Listen, class!” Playing the guitar like a banjo, he plays a merry Dixieland jazz riff on his guitar, the sound similar but definitely not a guitar. “Five points to Ravenclaw for David’s excellent attempt at the charm.” Putting down the guitar, he walks into the class and says, “David, keep practicing the charm, now on your own whistle. Play it after each cast, and see if there’s any difference. I’m going to supervise the class for a while.” Stepping up to Nellie, he nods, and remarks, “Switching would be a good idea. Let’s see how you do as well.”

Shrugging her shoulders vaguely and lowering her violion, Gertrude seems to be thinking about this for a moment. “Well, could you blame him? Even if it is only Pantall, I would very much not appreciate my sweetheart pursuing someone else while we were still together.” A pause, and she appears to all at once grow tired of this conversation, pursing her lips thoughtfully and peering off towards the ceiling. “What about anyone else, do you know? It has only been a few days, but I imagine there are plenty of others who have secured dates already. What about… oh, who else?” She pauses, thoughtfully, pulling her wand and waving it vaguely, with the presumed intention of casting the charm on the other girl’s instrument eventually.

“All right, all right, let’s finish this up, all eyes to the front.” Darius moves back to the front of the class, sitting one of the chairs and mitigating his height different with the class as a result. (Although not entirely, due to his towering height anyway.) “Now, you all played very well in your group performance examination last year. I trust it wasn’t too nerve wracking for any of you?” He gets a couple of chuckles from that, and grins. “This year, your examinations get slightly tougher, in preparation for your OWLs next year. As before, there will be a theory written exam mid-year. This will be on the History of Wizo-Music, and you’ll be wanting to read ‘Swing That Wand!’ to get the answers you’ll need. I don’t want anyone unprepared for it.” Darius casts a meaningful glance around the room to confirm that everyone’s paying attention. “Now, at the end of the year, you’ll be performing, once again, in the Great Hall before the whole student body. If anyone is nervous about this, well, deal with it. This is a performance art, after all. You will this year need to do a group performance, and either a small group or individual performance as well. If you choose an individual performance, though, keep in mind we mean individual. You will need to play all instruments, sing if you choose to sing as well… it’s you alone on stage. But it’s not a bad idea, since this is how the OWLs are marked, so you’ll need to do this sooner or later.” He stresses this, since it’s important. “And we will be discussing how to make self-playing instruments later in the year, so it’s not as daunting as it sounds. Any questions?”

Though apparently intimidated by the suggestion, and perhaps inching a little closer to the Gryffindor girl as if to indicate that she doesn’t intend to perform individually for a substantial period of time, at least, Gertrude remains silent and doesn’t raise her hand to ask any questions. After a moment, she leans across and whispers, “I did hear that Morgana DeWitt is taking Seker Rathe, though. How’s that for interesting?” This is all she offers for the moment, though, sitting up a little bit straighter and turning her eyes to the front of the classroom again, offering the Professor a small smile, cheeks tinged faintly pink.

David gulps nervously as he listens to the speech made by Professor Dwight. The public performance will no doubt be something daunting, but it is still a long time away, isn’t it. “I’ll worry about that later”, David decides privately, and he shakes his head as he has nothing else to ask to the teacher. Once again, his attention switches to the two gossiping girls. That Barefoot Social is sure taking a huge proportion most conversations as of lately, especially with girls. David privately wonders if a girl is going to invite him this year, and sighs…

“I heard his sister won’t even speak to her because of it,” the girl responds and shakes her head a bit. “I think I could do an individual performance,” she pipes up quickly and grins at the professor. “Is it truly going to be all the school, though? At a feast or something?” Nellie almost seems to take back her statement as she says this and leans back in her seat, slouching a bit in her seat. It is clear that the Gryffindor is not entirely comfortable with her newfound height as yet.

“No. As with last year, it will be an open invitation, so any students who don’t wish to come will not have to be there. Any further questions? No? Alright. Class dismissed. Next week I expect you to have at least a decent hold of the allasso charm, and will be able to play a melody on the ‘wrong’ instrument. Homework is a foot-long scroll on the possible uses of the allasso charm. Class dismissed.” Darius puts his wand back into his robes, and opens the door of the class, wishing each student goodbye as they leave.

“Don’t be silly. Everyone knows that’s because of Marcus Winsley.” Gertrude whispers in response, though exactly how it relates to the boy she does not explain, rising from her seat and packing up her things slowly, offering another small smile to the Professor before slinging her bag over her shoulder and slipping out of the room without so much as a farewell to her fellow students or to Darius. Perhaps she has gone to try and locate someone in particular (perhaps the elusive Matthew Cowper), or perhaps she just doesn’t feel that a goodbye is necessary. Who knows?

“Well, that’s it then…” David nods at Professor Dwight with a little smile, happy that his class went so well. It was certainly not as terrible as what he feared. Going back to his seat, the boy takes his bag, says a little “Goodbye!” to the teacher, and walks away, not caring to listen to the girls anymore. After all, the Potions class is beginning soon, and there is no need to lose time on the way, is there?

“Ghastly,” the girl responds and shakes her head, though as the professor dismisses the class, she does not miss a beat. Nellie is close on Gertrude’s heels as she, too, darts quickly out of the classroom, her trumpet case in hand, having only briefly made an appearance outside of the brown casing. The tallish girl is out of the classroom without a single word to the teacher, nor another glance.

“Ahem!” Melvina chirps hoarsly, clearing her throat after covering her lips with a hastily risen fist. Her nose seems a bit shiney and red, and dark-colored eyes are ever so faintly puffy. “Oh, oh dear.” A late winter cold, to match the terrible that blankets world outside the cozy walls of the castle this mid-January evening. The famed library of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been done up much as it was for the last assembly of the Student Events Committee, with four of the long, plank tables edged up in to a large box shape with chairs scattered about the sides. Off to the side sits another table, laden down with the sorts of treats on might expect to encounter in mid-winter. Steaming hit cauldron cakes, gooey, melty chocolate biscuits, hissing kettles of hot chocolate and spiced tea, and curiously enough, a log of fruit cake so impressively large that if it were real wood it might fuel a common room hearth for several weeks. Sitting at the large, square table in the middle of one length opposite the door, the Headmistress shuffles a handful of parchments in front of her for a few moments, before giving a sneeze so great that she actually knocks the wide-brimmed, tall pointed hat she forever wears off her head.

Saphia Bona comes in quickly, with about fifteen different books with her, flopping down onto a desk and raising her hand immediately upon sitting down. “Headmistress Pritchard? I really really can’t stay very long with all the mid-year assignments we have, because I still have twenty books to read between Charms, Transfiguration and Potions, but I earnestly wish to help out with the ball.” She spreads the books out and looks over them in a tiny panic. “I promise I’ll offer any suggestions I can here!”

Riley Markham strolls in a few steps behind Saphia, conversely to her, completely unladen with any sort of reading material. Or anything at all, for that matter. His pack is missing, his robes are open, revealing his untucked button up and wrinkled slacks, and the leather thong that usually holds back his hair is completely missing. His wild, wine-colored locks tossed this way and that as if he had only just woken up. He passes Saphia a slightly crooked glance, as if to awe at her briefly, but without a word he flops down in to a nearest chair to him and shoves his hands in to his pockets. Already looking bored.

“…Already has an escort, and honestly, she wouldn’t tell me who it is, but it’s just appalling! A second year!” Gertrude strides in, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder and looking around haughtily. Nevermind that she’s only a third year herself — second years are so childish. The Baxtor girl scoffs a bit as she continues. “She must have used a Love potion on the poor sap who asked her, because I can’t think of any other reason he would ask her, and this soon! There are plenty of better options. Don’t you agree? Helen?” Gertrude looks to her sister, who is far from identical, for a response as she takes a seat perhaps a bit farther from Melvina than is really necessary.

“Hello, Professor Prichard,” Noémie greets the woman as she comes in and sits very close to the front, only glancing at the refreshments. No, none for her. After all, she’s far to excited about the event to even think of having sweets and things. Must maintain her figure, of course! Then again, it looks as if Noémie needs very little in the way of help with her figure. “Helen, Saphia, Riley,” she greets her housemates with a jubilant smile as she gets comfortable, crossing her ankles underneath her seat and watching as several others make their way in.

Hesitating in the doorway for a moment before entering, Kelly Pantall is decked out in as much winter gear as it would be possible to imagine on one person – earmuffs, beanie, gloves, mittens, cloaks, the works. Her approach to the table is a slow one, and not solely because of her obscene amount of winter clothing. It seems partially, at least, due to her terrible mood, for her eyes are downcast and her feet drag as she walks. “Hallo, Professor Prichard,” she offers in a low, sullen tone, taking a seat on the far side of the table, conveniently rather close to a pot of hot chocolate.

A scroll of parchment, a long quill, and a decanter of ink cradled to her chest by crossed arms, Felicity Wexler makes her way quietly in to the Library. Her cheeks already a bit rose-tinted, still having not forgotten her very first encounter with the Headmistress that had lost her house so many points at the beginning of the year. She picks out a chair, a respectable distance from the headmistress, but not so far as to seem room, then sets down her things and moves to check out the refreshments.

“Oh, I know,” Helen Baxtor opines in response, folding her arms across her chest and sniffing arrogantly. “That really is appalling. She ought to be ashamed of herself. Especially if she used a love potion. And you’re right – what alternative could there have been? No one would have asked her otherwise.” Hesitating a moment as she reaches the table, she eventually sits herself alongside her sister, combing her red hair through her fingers with a vague, disinterested expression. Then, looking up at Noémie, slightly startled, she offers a distracted, “Oh.. hello.” Another pause, and she turns back to her sister with small smirk. “How many of them do you think are just here so they can guarantee an invitation?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Melvina says, after reaching down to collect her hat, brushing it off, and settling it back on to her silvered crown with a slightly disgruntled expression. She does find it in herself to smile past the cold, however, as she lifts a hand to wave Saphia off. A gesture that is both dismissive and friendly. “Go on, go on. I’m sure you’ll be able to help and attend the ball, and if nothing else, I’ve not doubts Mister Markham will invite you, if only so that you don’t miss out. Now off with you. Academics is more important.” And that said, she shifts her attention elsewhere. Not watching Saphia leave, nor her grandson’s reaction to her pairing him off for the ball. Instead, looking toward whom just greeted her. “Ah, Noémie, dear. Glad to see you here, dear. Glad indeed.” She gives the Ravenclaw quidditch captain a warm smile, before looking toward the room curiously. “And Miss Pantall, how are you dear?” She greets in return, dabbing at her nose with an emerald hankerchief. Lenore and Helen are given polite nods, as is Felicity. Riley, despite having been mentioned before, is curiously ignored. “So, I suppose we should be getting to this. Those of you who were here last, I assume you remember the procedure. Sit where you like, as it seems you have, and help yourself to refreshments. The policy of this committee is, quite simply, if you have an idea, offer it. If it’s seconded and thirded, we vote as a whole and if it passes, we use that idea. As you all know, the topic of coversation this day is to be the upcoming Governor’s Ball. Any questions before we begin?” A faintly amused grin touches the corners of her lips, quite despite her cold. She was already looking forward to this.

Seeming a little perplexed by the Headmistress’ greeting, Kelly looks up, shrugging her shoulders lightly, then busying herself with the hot chocolate. “Oh.. I’m alright. Thank you?” This last is offered as a question, as if she’s not quite sure that she should, in fact, be thanking Melvina for the query. But, oh look, biscuits. And hot chocolate.

Riley Markham had just started leaning back in his chair, propping it up on the two hind legs, when Melvina arbitrarily declares Saphia as his assumed date. A statement which causes him to jump so profoundly in his seat that only the fact that his foot got caught between two legs of the arranged tables keeps him from toppling backward completely. For a moment, after he has regained his balance and thrust his himself forward so that the front two chair legs collide with the floor in a resound thunk, Riley looks quite like he might scream something obscene at the Headmistress. But whatever better judgement he holds obviously grabs hold of him, as he folds his arms across his chest and sinks so low in to the chair that he might as well be laying down. His eyes narrowed in slits, that were the Unforgivable Curses, would have killed Melvina there on the spot.

Felicity Wexler pours herself some hot cocoa and cuts off a small piece of fruit log and returns to the table as soon as she hears Melvina start to speak, settling in to her chair and unstoppering her ink. She looks toward the Headmistress briefly, then around the room briefly. She had no questions, herself, but she was here last time.

“Most of them, I bet,” Gertrude whispers to her sister in a conspiratory fashion before turning her attention to Melvina. For her part, she, too, was only here to ensure an invitation, though she would never admit it, in all her life. “Well, perhaps not that prefect over there, nor that one there. She looks to be at least a fourth year, I think.” No, even the headmistress speaking cannot halt Gertrude‘s speeches to her sister.

For Noémie‘s part, she just leans back comfortably and looks at the headmistress expectantly. She ignores the whispering nearby of the Baxtor twins, as well as the giggling of some second year girls behind her. After all, she isn’t here to police library etiquete, instead to help plan for the ball coming up. A question does occur to her, however, and as is her habit, Noémie raises her hand into the air.

Peering over at the indicated girl, Helen waves her hand in the universal gesture of ‘so-so’, not committing to an opinion about the girl’s year either way. For her part, she is indeed here to secure an invitation, but is she going to admit it? Never. “Pft, of course. Children.” And, indeed, in this count she is including both those in younger years and those in the same year group as herself. Obviously, anyone other than the Baxtor twins who is not evidently older than the girls by a considerable amount is more childish, until further notice. Relaxing back in her chair, Helen seems to be paying little attention to anything other than the gossip, still combing out her hair with her fingers idly as her eyes scope the library for something else to comment on.

Setting down her green-dyed hankerchief near her empty scone plate, Melvina pushes herself up from the table with a faint nod. Preening briefly, vaguely smoothing and adjusting her robes as an old woman is want to do, she folds her hands behind her back and slowly begins to make her way about the table. “Fair, then, no questions. Good. Let us begin. When last we met, we discussed and planned the Barefoot Social. Those of you that were here, you did an excellent job. Brilliant, even. It was a smashing success, even beyond my own wildest expectations. And if I do say so, my expectations are quite, quite high.” She grins, giving a faint wink. An expression that looks decidely clownish, with her bright red nose. “Well done, pat on the back to all of you. …Oh, Noémie, dear, sorry, I missed you there,” Melvina says, appologetically, as she turns and sees Noémie’s hand in the air. “How about this? Let’s not stand on tradition of handraising, shall we? Assure equally that we’re all heard. Go ahead, Miss Ribouet. What’s your question.” She as well seems to ignore the whispering of the Baxter twins, though she does pause directly behind their chairs to look toward Noémie.

“It’s an old habit, I’m afraid,” Noémie admits with a chuckle. “Are students allowed to invite adults as their guests to the Ball?” she queries, a small grin playing on her lips as she asks this, as if she knows something the others don’t know. Her hand is now in her lap, fiddling with a ruffle on her long skirt while she still leans comfortably back in her seat.

Slipping back a little further into her seat at the mention of the Barefoot Social being a smashing success – after all, as far as she recalls, the most successful part was the fact that the boy she publically humiliated at the Social is still willing to speak to her – Kelly remains entirely silent, sipping her hot chocolate and nibbling on a biscuit quietly. After a moment, though, she tentatively begins to raise her hand – then, noting Melvina’s discouragement of this activity, adds her own question after Noémie’s, not waiting for Melvina to answer the first query put forward. “And, and, since students on the Events Committee are allowed to attend, even if they’re not fourth year or up, are we allowed to invite other younger year students as dates?” As her cheeks flush pink, she offers a quick addendum of, “I mean, not for me. Just for – you know, future reference.” Her words come a bit too quick, a bit too hurried, and eventually she just fills her mouth with biscuit to avoid the matter entirely, slipping a little further below the table. Nice one.

Riley Markham sits quietly, his gaze shifting toward Noémie with her question. A brow quirking slightly. His annoyance with his grandmother vaporating slightly as a somewhat new conundrum has manuvered in to the picture. He sits up a little, but his expression remains dark and his arms remain folded staunchly over his chest.

“Imagine, asking an adult to the ball!” Gertrude scoffs, looking slightly shocked in Noémie’s direction. “Did you ever?” Ah, a phrase so often used by her mother, for which the girl may or may not even know the correct use. “It must be her father, or perhaps a brother,” the third year slytherin decides, a snide look on her face. “I’m sure nobody else would have her with hair like that. Hmph.” Snotty, much, Gertrude? It’s an apple and tree scenario in Gertrude‘s own case, though she doesn’t realize and would never acknowledge it.

Felicity Wexler blinks, slightly, as she turns her gaze toward Noémie — that question certainly not what she had expected to hear. Though she couldn’t help but think it made sense. After all, an older student so perfect must be in to older men. It only stood to reason. School boys would be too immature for someone on Noémie’s level. A slightly frown touches her lips, and she glances briefly to notebook, then to Noémie, then to her notebook, before lifting her gaze sharply to Gertrude. Her own wild and wavy hair, bright blonde and tangly to Noémie’s brown and somewhat more controlled, falling about her face in a small bounce. “Imagine anyone asking you. Coming here is the only way you’re going to get to go, huh? Guess that’s why your only now on the club, then, is it?” A flare of fire suddenly in her voice. The hair comment having stuck a bit close to home, perhaps.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder as she hears these two questions, Helen sniffs arrogantly and shrugs her shoulders vaguely. “Imagine asking an adult.” She scoffs, raising an eyebrow at Noémie – but then, her gaze sweeps back to Kelly, and she shakes her head at the other girl. “You’re always talking about your fourth year. Wouldn’t you go with him?” Her tone is scathing, if nothing else, and without even waiting for an answer, she rolls her eyes and leans back again, turning her eyes towards the ceiling with a disapproving ‘tuh!’ sound.

“Who asked you?” Gertrude snaps at the third year Gryffindor nearby, rolling her eyes. “We’re here because we want to contribute. For your information, though I don’t know why I’m telling you, we’ve as good as got escorts.” She smirks to Helen before giving another glaring glance back Felicity’s direction and turning her eyes forward. “Honestly, some people,” Gertrude sighs to her sister, shaking her brown ringlets with a dramatic look on her face.

Melvina Prichard lofts a brow, more or less at the room on whole. Tensions seemed to be rather high today, what with her Riley’s glaring, Gertrude Baxter’s tongue, and Miss Wexler’s readiness to spar. Yes, best to head this off quickly. Placing on hand on the back of each Helen and Gertrude’s chair, as if to remind them each that the Headmistress of the school were standing directly behind them, before looking afixing Felicity with a look that quite clearly says she’d best not stoke the fire anymore. “Thank you, Miss Baxter, Miss Wexler. I think that will do. Noémie,” she says, finally looking to the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain. “Yes, dear, you may. Miss Pantall,” she shifts her gaze toward Kelly then, in turn, and gives her a simple nod. “Yes, you may as well. Anyone on the events committee will be issued an invitation to the Governor’s Ball for themselves and a guest as special guests of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School. That guest is entirel y up to the choosing of the individual with the invitation, naturally. Adult or student. Now,” obviously deciding it better to move on rather than allowing the fighting to continue, she plows on through any further questions. “Planning. As I was saying, the Barefoot Social was a ravishing success, largely due to your efforts. The Governor’s Ball is going to be a lot more complicated. We’ll have not only the Hogwarts population, but adult wizards of every creed and stripe paying visit to our magical home. Indeed, it could very simply decend in to chaos without a fair bit of prior planning. And for that, I’m counting on all of you to help me.” She pauses, then pats the Baxter chairs, and begins to move around the table again. “Food will be provided by catereers, from various wizarding eateries scattered about the English Isle. But we still have the choice of items to request. We still have to pick the colors and decorations with which to shroud the hall, we still have a great many choices. And since they all blend together, I though, perhaps, we should start by looking at themes. This will be our first big milestone planning this part. We must decide on a theme.”

Felicity Wexler actually had begun to rise from her chair, and had been about to slap her palms down on to table in reaction to Gertrude’s response — She and Briony had been on relatively good behavior for a while, and the itch to fight and been spurred in her. A word starts to escape her, one that might have gotter her in to trouble all on it’s own, but Professor Prichard’s look quells her almost instantly. She dares not lose another twenty five points. A flush of crimson sweeps up on to her cheeks so quickly that one might expect steam to wistle from her ears, and she firmly ahears her gaze to her notebook to try and hide her face between the walls of her bushy mane that fall about her. “…think it’s a fine idea… asking an adult… shows maturity…” She mumbles, but says nothing more on the subject, concentrating on writing down everything Melvina says.

“Of course I’ll go with ‘my fourth year’.” Kelly snipes in response, glaring at the Baxtor twins across the table. Whatever her feelings happen to be on the issue, she does seem somewhat annoyed about the reference to Rafe – assuming it is Rafe to which the other girl refers – as ‘her fourth year’. “I was just asking for future reference.” Because that is the kind of thing you need to know for future reference, of course. Taking another biscuit and stuffing it into her mouth with unnecessary viciousness, she lowers her gaze to the table and falls into silence, only offering a small nod to Melvina in response.

“Perhaps there ought to be someone to canvas for people to cater, unless they have already been arranged,” Noémie suggests, tucking one leg under neath her before pulling the other up next to her on the seat. “Or maybe a committee. That way we’re sure to have enough food and things.” Noémie smiles, ignoring very blatantly the conversation of the twins nearby, especially as the Headmistress seems to have the situation under control.

Riley Markham had demonstrated a modicum of interest when the quasi-fight had begun, enough so that his gaze after moved away briefly from Noémie to Felicity and Gertrude with a slightly arched brow. Any attention to the others is short-lived as Melvina’s answer not only allows Noémie the approval to invite an adult, but full carblanche to invite whoever she darn well pleases. A funny, contorted expression dances over his face, not unlike he were constipated, and he finally turns his gaze ceilingward with a dull expression. “What sort of themes?” He says, in a bored tone. Melvina’s ignoring him obviously was being paid in return. “Like, “Enchantment Under The Sea” or a masquerade or somethinge cheesy like that?”

“Very sage, Miss Ribouet,” Melvina nods, approvingly. “I already have taken care of a large amount of securing the foodstuffs for the evening. I have over seventeen differant Wizarding eateries and groceries pulled on board already. I’m only missing deserts and refreshments this far, though I had considered simply contacting Honeydukes down in Hogsmeade. It seems the logical choice, though I had hoped to offer the students and vistors something a bit more exotic. Students are able to visit Honeydukes every Hogsmeade weekend, after all, and while I love them — especially their double-layer sparkling truffles–” said with no small amount of hinting “–it would be good for a taste of variety. And yes, Mister Markham, exactly that. A theme will help shape everything together, and allow us to set the finer details as we go.” Kelly’s barb is ignored for the moment, but her nod is offered a faint smile. Push on and leave no time for arguements. “Now, ideas for themes, anyone?”

A thoughtful moment seems to pass through Kelly‘s venomous annoyance as she thinks over different ideas for themes before she finally offers one forth, though her tone is uncertain and tentative at best. “Er… maybe, ‘All That Glitters’? Or, or, ‘Classics’?” These ideas seem to be offered merely for the sake of offering ideas, for she seems not at all attached to either of them, and she shrugs her shoulders vaguely and reaches for another biscuit. She’s not just here for the food, of course not.

“My aunt could do it,” Felicity says, quietly, to her parchment. It taking almost a full moment for her to realize that the slightly squeaky, embaressed voice that just floated out in to the air was her own. Blinking, twice, she looks up slowly and swallows a breath. Why did things always fall apart for her like this. “Cousin, actually. Not my aunt. But I call her aunt, because everyone else my age does, but–” With a small wince and a shake of her head, as if to clear the cobwebs of embaressment and the lingering anger from before, Felicity presses on. “My aunt could do it. Not the theme, I mean, but the deserts and refreshments. She owns a sweets shop in Diagon Alley, and specializes in exotic sweets foreign and domestic. I’m sure you could ask Aunt Sibyl–Madam Wexler to talk her in to it. She’s really quite good. I think I still have some of the chocolates she sent me for Yule, you could try them.” Confidence sweeps in to her again by the end of the her spiral of words, and by the time she’s finished, her cheeks are only slightly rosy.

“Certainly,” Helen replies, her voice dripping with quiet sarcasm, arching her eyebrows curiously at Kelly before she finally shakes her head and distracts herself with something else – in this case, the state of her nails, which largely occupies her mind for a long moment before she leans towards her sister and offers the quiet remark, “Some of the students here need a serious lesson in taste, don’t you think? They’re so… so…” She waves a hand, unable to find an appropriate word, trailing off into a somewhat disgusted silence.

“Oh, I’ve been in there, her sweets are brilliant,” Noémie comments slapping her hands together in a bit of an excited clap. “Perhaps we could have something enchanting. Maybe snowy, icy, with faeries. A bit of a wintertime … hmmm… Wintertime Wonderland?” The prefect suggests, draping her arms around the one leg that has been brought up to her chest. “With everything white and blue, and looking snowy. I imagine we could manage some ice sculptures, and perhaps Professor Helit could bring in some fairies to create a bit of shimmer to the decor?” The artist in Noémie seems to be coming out in this idea as she spouts her idea for the theme.

“So,” Melvina says, sharply, turning on her heel and moving to sit herself on the edge of the table next to Helen’s free side. Her arms folded across her chest and a brow lofted. Her smile is both amused, but somewhat serious. Obviously, she’d cleared the wake of the table already while going on earlier. “You seem to be a young lady of impeciable taste,” the words laced with emphisis. Old as she may be, obviously her hearing is still keen. “A theme, dear. What say you for a theme?” She does, however, allow Helen the reprieve of time, as she shifts her gaze to Felicity, then to Noémie, nodding sagely. “Very good, then. I’ll talk to Madam Wexler and see if she can’t put me in touch with you–relative, dear. Very good, indeed.” She nods, thoughtfully, to Noémie’s theme idea, considering it briefly. The memory that she had only just meant to put Helen on the spot having faded briefly. “Not bad.”

“You said it,” Gertrude whispers to her sister, before the headmistress comes to sit next to her sister. The girl’s eyes widen ever so slightly as she looks up at the professor. “Er–” is all she can manage, before she realizes that it isn’t her who’s being addressed, and Gertrude is grateful for this. Instead of attempting to bail her sister out, she merely sits mutely and looks at her fingernails as if she has suddenly grown new fingers.

Briefly, Helen seems stunned to be put on the spot and entirely perplexed, sitting up a little straighter, uncertain about what to suggest. After a moment of hesitation, though, she offers the smooth suggestion, “Something tasteful, but not limiting. How about just an unthemed Masquerade Ball?” Her tone calm and collected, if a bit uncertain, as if she is – and, indeed, this is probably the case – just making it up as she goes along. To offset this, she smiles as innocently as she can muster, though this does not last long before the urge to roll her eyes at her fellow students overcomes her and she flops back into her lazy position, staring back up at the thoroughly unexciting ceiling.

Riley Markham gazes off in to space for several moments, thoughtlessly, before lifting his head slowly and shifting his attention toward Noémie. “Wintertime Wonderland, or a masque. If we’re supposed to be socializing and building ties with the adult world, wouldn’t a masque be a little counterproductive? You’re not supposed to let anyone know who you are at a masque, right? Doesn’t make sense. The winter things sound a bit of a lark, though. On season, at any rate.”

Felicity Wexler nods, as well, slowly. “I don’t know that a masque makes sense, either. Wintertime Wonderland sounds simple enough, especially right after Yule. We could get discounted decorations, I’ll bet..” She muses, thoughtly, lifting her quill to her lips and nibbling on it. “All That Glitters wasn’t bad, either.”

“Maybe it could be done up like a garden. Professor Walsh would love it, I’d wager,” Gertrude contributes, not really looking at anyone else particularly. “Do up everything in green and flowers, get ready for spring and all that?” Gertrude‘s response is nearly the opposite of Noémie’s, though it is in the same sort of theme, and yet the girl seems rather proud that she’s thought of it. “Everyone could wear flowers to it.”

Riley Markham nods, thoughtfully, after a moment, shifting his gaze toward Gertrude almost as if impressed. “Not bad. We could do it up in one of the greenhouses, maybe? enchant it like that tend, so it’s bigger inside, to fit all the people? Or even still in the great hall, just have Walsh do up everything in there, so it’s still warm?” He shrugs, slightly. Almost in spite of himself, his curiousity and the willingness to create was pulling him in.

“Four seasons!” Noémie chimes cheerfully, sitting up straighter and putting her feet back onto the floor. “We could have all four seasons represented over the course of the night. At first, it could be spring, and then it could blossom into summer, and then to fall, then to winter, to top off the night. Of course, it would take a lot of charm-work to get it to work right, but imagine the spectacle! ‘The Four Seasons Ball’ or something, don’t you think?” Noémie waves her hands about, showing with her hands what she describes with her voice as she stands and nearly jumps with excitement.

Melvina Prichard nods, thoughtly, having been fairly partial to the notion of “All That Glitters”. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that Noémie’s last idea seemed bright enough. A wonderful comprimise. “Nice idea, my dear, nice indeed. A fair comprimise, nearly all around. Seconded. Thirded, anyone?”

Waving a hand vaguely above her head, having tuned out most of the conversation in favour of various snack foods which she has been steadily plowing through, with the help of plenty of hot chocolate, Kelly nods her agreeance. “Thirded, I suppose,” she volunteers, though her voice is low and sullen yet again.

Melvina Prichard nods, noting that both Riley and Felicity had lifted their hands to indicated thirding as well. That seemed to put the majority in lead. “Vote, then. In favor.” And she lifts her own hand, Riley and Felicity both follow likewise.

Well, at least her idea was sort of included. And at least it meant that she didn’t have to go digging in any yucky dirt to create the decorations. Gertrude apathetically puts her hand up and leans back against the table, stifling a bit of a mock-yawn as she looks to Helen. The slytherin is clearly unimpressed with the idea outwardly, though it was better than her own.

Shrugging her shoulders vaguely, Helen raises her hand idly, still inspecting the nails of her other hand. Why not vote, after all? She does, however, lean across to Gertrude, gesturing vaguely to another female student, and whispers, “Oh, goodness. Do you think that girl has ever heard of a comb? Can we say ‘ew’?”

“Well, that does seem to be the majority then, doesn’t it?” Melvina chirps, happily, after counting hands. “Very good, Miss Ribouet. The theme of the Governor’s Ball will be ‘Four Seasons’. Take ten points, dear.” A deep breath fills Melvina, which ends in a tremendous sneeze that she only barely contain with her hands. Her hat tumbles off once more, this time in front of Helen. “Okay, that’s enough for today, I think. We can meet again after a time, finish up the details. Good work, all. Five points all around.”

“Brilliant,” Noémie smiles happily and claps her hands a bit. “Can’t wait until we get together again,” she tells Melvina and stands up, looking around at everyone with a happy smile, then strides off slowly, making her way out of the library. Where she’s going is anyone’s guess, but she’s whistling happily as she goes, her hands tucked neatly into the pockets of her skirt.

Nodding to the Headmistress, Kelly picks herself up from the table and shuffles out of the library, though admittedly she does slip several chocolate biscuits into her pockets. Waste not, want not, eh? Her uncharacteristic quietness – probably related, in some way, to the seasonal chill to the air and her embarassed question during the meeting – continues, remaining entirely unexplained, though she does mumble to herself on her way out the door, perhaps just loudly enough to be overheard by the others. “‘My fourth year’ – tuh!”

Melvina Prichard waits for everyone to leave, before vanishing the food she’d had made for the meeting and collecting her parchments to leave as well. Only after taking up her hankerchief and wiping off her hands.

“Honestly,” Gertrude scoffs, standing as Melvina bids them to go. The girl turns. “Anyway, we’ve got to get together with Suki and Nellie soon to get to work on that paper some more. After all, we’ll need our first issue out before the ball comes, so we can start a Ball Edition.” The girl strides out of the library, chatting about various things, more gossipy than not.

At the end of a long day, the Wizo-Music classroom has already had two classes in it, and is in a bit of a shambles. A few instruments have fallen from their stands, and as the students file in, Darius is busy picking them up and getting the class tidy. The students, and staff, and indeed everyone, is already feeling a little weary. This doesn’t stop Matughi, the massive talking African warshield, from doing his absolute best to terrorise the students, “WORTHLESS SCAVENGERS!” He screams at each third year as they enter. “YOU WILL ALL BE DESTROYED BY MIGHTY WARRIORS FROM THE SOUTHLANDS! FEAR AND TREMBLE!”

With an array of somewhat frizzy silver blonde ringlets (and curiously black eyebrows) framing an oval face that is just a tint too tan to evoke thoughts of porcelin, Evelynn Lawley is slightly off. She moves with practiced grace and presses her thin, rouge’d lips together in a simpering smile as she passes other people, as if thinking ‘This will make me look kind’. Her robes, rather plain, and shoes, somewhat scuffed, are coupled with a ridiculous amount of metal bangles that could be silver, if only they weren’t obviously charmed to have a glittery sheen. She enters the room with small steps, and then balks at the screaming of the warshield. “Oh!” she says in a falsely high voice, as a boy passes, pressing a hand to her right cheek. “How frightful.”

Nellie Caldwell strides into the classroom, pausing as she enters. She’s never been in a place quite like this. The girl drops her bag next to her and looks around, watching as the other students enter. The third year tries to take in the atmosphere of the room, wondering just how much she is to get out of this course. What had inspired her to take a music class, anyway? Her mum was furious when she found out she’d made this choice, and Nellie is determined to stick to it, regardless.

Gliding into the room with her head held high and her shoulders back, Gertrude walks with the prim decorum and graceful movements, trying her best to imitate those ladies of high breeding and polished style. Running a hair through her chestnut curls, she murmurs something behind Evelynn only to soon find out what is her fellow Slytherin’s distress. Meeting the sound of the bellowing warshield with an audible gasp, she raises a hand to lips and takes a step back. It takes a moment for her to realize that the object isn’t rushing to injure anyone and she gathers herself together with a disparaging sniff. “I can’t believe that something so alarming is allowed to hang where it could bother us.”

Rushing into the classroom, Elizabeth Kerr is at first frightened by the large shield screaming at her, but then decides to yell back at it, “I shall not fear and tremble you, you are just a stupid shield!” She scurries to a chair and drops her things. While trying to tie her messy red curls up with a ribbon, Elizabeth practically falls into the chair.

“Matughi!” Darius finally snaps. “Shut it.” “TRAITOR! YOU TOO–” “Shut it or your splinters will shake on the ground,” Darius smiles at it, and it finally falls silently, glaring at him impudently. With that done, Darius turns to the class and smiles. His name, “Professor Dwight” is written on the chalkboard in orange. “Good afternoon, class. I know it’s been a long day for us all, but welcome to your first class of Wizo-Music. Please ignore Matughi,” he points to the shield, “He is… an old present I was given, that would be rude to dispose of. So we shall have to endure his rudeness.” He smiles broadly. “Now, class. My first instruction is this — Put away your wands. Put away any remembralls, and indeed, anything magic. You may keep, if you wish, spellchecking quills on your desks, but as of now, in this class, you are muggles.” His tone is simultaneously stern and amused.

Evelynn Lawley opens her mouth a little and decides to agree, loudly and melodramatically, “I know, Trudy darling, it’s disgraceful!” She’ll find a seat near Gertrude if at all possible, as long as there is a relatively attractive boy nearby as well. Evelynn flashes very eerily white teeth at Darius as she takes her seat, with a ridiculous “How charming!” As she puts away her things (in a rather disgustingly flowery bag), however, the thirteen (‘fourteen in a week, thank you’) year old girl grimaces.

“Hmm, no wands, this should be interesting… and probably pretty good for me since I normally end up casting spells on myself on accident,” Elizabeth Kerr says to no one in particular as she stuff her wand back into her rather plain khaki colored sack. Suddenly thinking of a question, Elizabeth raises her hand and waves it about eagerly.

Finding a seat before the professor speaks, Gertrude sits as close as possible Eveylnn. Listening intently, she tilts her head just a small amount and smiles in what she thinks must be coy and fetching to her thirteen-year-old self. Tittering at the announcement, she too puts her magical belonging away in a bag that is an exact match of Eveylnn’s. Rearranging her things, she makes sure to have a quill, some ink and parchment out and ready to write notes.

Sitting behind Gertrude, Nellie leans forward a bit, not entirely listening to what Darius is saying, though she doesn’t have any of her things out anyway. “Pst, Hey, Gertrude–” the Gryffindor hisses from behind her. “Is that weird Hufflepuff girl actually your sister?” The thirteen-year-old tries to suppress a grin as she thinks of all the rumors that have gone around. “I mean, she’s so weird…” Nell shakes her head and leans back, quickly yanking a quill and inkwell out of her bag, putting them onto the desk in front of her before leaning forward again to see if Gertrude actually answers.

Darius Dwight coughs to Nellie, but smiles as he does so. “Now, some of you are no doubt wondering — Hang on, didn’t I sign up for Wizo-music? Yes, you did. But muggle music is the foundation of Wizo-Music — Most wizo-music makes use of muggle instruments, it nearly all employs the same notes and timing as muggle music, and indeed, many of the styles of music are the same as well. If you cannot play an instrument yet, you will be learning one this year. If you can, then you’ll be learning a second one. Come next year, we will put that knowledge to use and make accomplished wizo-musicians out of all of you. And yes, Elizabeth?”

“Will we be needing additional instruments? Becuase my father has a collection of African piccolos that we could use. Some of them are hundreds of years old,” Elizabeth Kerr says excitedly. Suddenly, she remembers that her hand is still raised, and abruptly brings it back down to her lap, smiling an awkward smile as she does so.

Evelynn Lawley clasps her hands together and smiles at Darius, looking as if she is barely suppressing a giggle. Briefly, her eyes flicker over to Gertrude, a half sneer quickly covered up by a quick look of sympathy. Either at the mention of her sister or the comment, Evelynn does her best to look supportive of Gertrude’s opinion. Turning halfway in her chair, Evelynn frowns at Nellie for existing. “Shhh!” is hissed. Then back to smiling at Darius in a creepy way, eyebrows raised. She sits up very straight and tries hard to look very interested (and more importantly, more interested than Gertrude) in this concept of learning muggle methods of music first. Elizabeth earns herself a harsh glare.

Clicking her tongue against her teeth, Gertrude murmurs over her shoulder “I have the unfortunate displeasure of being related to her, yes.” Catching Evelynn’s glance, her smile is syrupy as she speaks softly. “Lynnie here is more of a sister than Olivia.” Turning back around, she too clasps her hands together and keeps sitting up straight and attentively, fluttering her lashes at the teacher and smiles showing a hint of white teeth.

“Mmmm, I’m sure,” Nellie Caldwell whispers and leans back, scribbling some things down on her paper, though many of them aren’t exactly relevant to Wizo-Music. “I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear that.” Nellie says nothing more, but does make a note to herself to remember to let Olivia know that later. Though that’d mean she’d have to figure out who Olivia exactly was. Ah, well. She does finally turn her attention to Darius, though, and actually almost pays attention to what he’s saying.

“Bring them in!” Darius beams to Elizabeth, “The more instruments you can play, the better. An accomplished Wizo-Music teacher must be able to play as many instruments as possible. Otherwise, they can’t do this…” Darius raises his wand and suddenly the instruments all bound into life, swiftly playing the famous, frantic bars of the William Tell overture. Thirty seconds later, he drops his wand back into his sleeve and all of them retreat back into their stands. “Now, let’s begin!” he declares, and grabs a pouch of sand from his conductors stand. Dramatically, he snatches a handful of the sand and throws it out into the middle of the class in a long, straight line before calling, “Scutus silentum!” The sand suddenly hangs in midair, a glittering transparent shield bisecting the class. Darius stands, directly in the middle, “This wall is soundproofed. Students will note that there are a variety of instruments on either side of it. Those students who can play an instrument should move to the left hand side of the class,” he raises an arm to indicate, “And tune up. I will listen to you play soon. Those who can’t play any instruments yet should proceed to the right, and feel free to experiment until you find an instrument that suits you. Begin!”

Evelynn Lawley flashes her smile at Gertrude and then stands. Watching briefly to see where everyone else is going, she moves with smooth steps toward the right side. “I have had lessons of course,” she lies through her teeth, “however I’m afraid Hogwarts has taken up all my time and I couldn’t possibly remember how to play.” Glaring down a smaller girl who had been approaching a flute, Evelynn picks up the silvery instrument and with a lot of show proceeds to make no noise at all. “Oh my.” Her voice rasies, “Pro/fessor Dwight, I believe this flute is broken.” Her bottom lip juts out, “Could you be ever so kind as to come and fix it?” It is, of course, in perfect condition, but Evelynn will probably have to be relegated to something indelicate and embarassing. If she can produce noise at all.

Rising from her seat and walking with practiced stride to the right hand side of the room, Gertrude raises a hand to her lips as she tries to keep from giggling as she passes by Darius. Once there, she nods with false solemnity to Evelynn and gives a simpering smile. “I only took dance lessons but I’ve always been partial to the violin. It’s so pretty.” A shallow reason and she picks up one, not knowing how to the proper method for holding the instrument at all. Lifting the bow, she runs it over the strings and pulls it over. She does make noise, a great deal of horrible sound and she pulls it away indignantly. “Well I never! It isn’t supposed to sound like that at all!” “Mine must be broken as well.”

Bravely, Nellie stands and strides over, picking up a trumpet, looking it over rather quickly. She gives it a rather haphazard blow, creating, well, an awful noise, not even fitting to be called a dying duck sound. “Hmm. Is it supposed to sound like that, Professor?” the girl asks, holding out the offending instrument and examining it. “Maybe I should try one of those… flute things. I saw one once.” The girl is not ashamed to admit that she’s no training in this whatsoever.

Darius Dwight smiles to the three girls having difficulty, and steps to his left. He speaks a number of words to the students on the left side of the class, but his spell blocks the words from being heard to the right. The students who can play instruments nod and ask a few questions, which Darius answers dutifully, and then steps back across to the right. “Now, Ms. Lawley, the flute is a wonderful instrument, but a difficult one. Still, I’m certain we can start you off right.” He reaches around her and clasps her tiny hands in his massive paces, tenderly placing her fingers in the right spots, and says, “Now, hold your fingers there, and blow across here, not too forcefully.” Moving on, he smiles to Gertrude and declares, “The violin is not a simple instrument, Gertrude. But it can be a marvelous one. Hold it under your chin like so,” he takes another one from behind his conductors stand, a larger one, and demonstrates, “And practice moving the bow across like this.” A simple, pretty note results. “It will take practice, but if you want to play the violin, we will have you playing well before the year is out. Alternatively, try the guitar.” He points to one of the guitars out, “Which is a simpler string instrument in many ways.” Walking over to Nellie, he smiles and shakes his head, “No, it’s not meant to sound like that, but don’t back away from it. Soon you will make it sound like a victory call. You need to purse your lips…” he takes the trumpet from her and demonstrates, letting out a single trumpet blast, before wiping it with a cloth and handing it back to her. “Did you see how I did that?”

Evelynn Lawley waves the flute at Nellie and says in a strained voice, “Of course you can’t play a flute Nellie Caldwell, it’s only for ladies.” Her teeth grit together at the sound Gertrude makes with the violin, but a saccherine, “Oh, Trudy, isn’t it just our luck to get the broken ones?” A glance to the Gryffindor implies that her attrociousness is skill based. It’s just about now that Darius gets to helping her, and she blushes a little as he arranges her hands, forgetting entirely to smile and bat her eyelashes and in general be rather disturbing. Briefly, it seems as though she might learn something, nodding quietly as he explains. Trying again, she produces a low, hollow noise but not at all the proper sound of a flute. And then a soft ‘gack’, but that’s from her mouth. She pouts toward Gertrude, who got a first name, and flourishes the flute again, desperate to make a pretty noise and (from the way she’s got her shoulders pulled back and head a little titled), look pretty doing it. Neither works.

For many of her classes Gertrude can’t be bothered to really pay attention or care, but there are a few things she’ll put her heart into and for the time, when Darius demonstrates, she bothers. Seething eyes glare upon Evelynn when the Professor helps her by actually rearranging her hands. It is only when he turns to help her own self and addresses her by her first name that she’s all smiles and giggles, listening and watching before trying to correct her own method of supporting the instrument. “No thank you Professor, I’d much prefer to stay with the violin.” Lifting the bow, she tries again only to produce another sound, not half so pretty as Darius’ example.

“Ladies, my foot,” Nellie mutters, glancing to Evelyn with a bit of an eyeroll. “That’s… interesting,” the Gryffindor comments, looking at the trumpet rather leerily. “Maybe I could try that flute,” she considers, not looking back to the two snotty girls behind her. She does lean in towards Darius, though, and puts her hand to her face carefully, whispering as if in confidence, “Just, you know, so I can show them how to do it.” She grins and leans back away from him again, looking over all the various instruments that there are to choose from.

Smiling widely to Nellie, Darius confirms happily, “Go ahead. Try as many as you like. I need to go and observe the students who already have some musical knowledge, see where they’re at.” As he almost crosses the corner, he calls, “Five points to Gryffindor for Nellie’s excellent learning attitude, and knowing what a good worksman never does.”

Evelynn Lawley sucks in her breath and tries really hard to look like she’s not contemplating murder. She grips the flute so hard when she finally lets it go there are imprints on her fingers from the holes. Rather than giving it up to Nellie or anyone else who may want to try the flute(as if her’s were the only one), Evelynn practically slams it back down from where she got it and stalks over to a french horn, nostrils flaring. Holding it by sheer accident the right way, Evelynn puts her prim little lips to the mouthpiece and blows. It makes a very rude-sounding noise, and she lets up a desperate little wail, “This is impossible!” Nevermind she’s tried all of two instruments (and probably left lipstick on both, how kind).

Focused now on her own attempts at making music, Gertrude is happily oblivious to most of the other students. Her third attempt at producing something outside of a heart-wrenching scream from the strings is unmet and her frustration is growing by the second. Pulling the violin away from her chin, she takes a deep breath and tries again, biting her bottom lip very hard throughout the whole process.

“She’s probably broken it now,” Nellie scoffs and picks up one that hasn’t been yet used by her classmates. The small instrument doesn’t make much more than a low hiss and a rather ugly one at that. Shrugging, she puts it down, never really moving far away from the trumpet, which she quickly comes back to. Picking it up and getting a feel for it a bit, she gives it another blow. It doesn’t sound any better, but she seems to feel interested in the instrument nevertheless. “I think I like this one,” she comments to nobody in particular.

Darius Dwight spends more time with the other half of the class, taking them through the steps and offering pointers. A few students cross the floor and pick up new instruments, practicing as well. Finally, Darius returns to the experimenters, helping a few out with their final choices, and then waves his wand at the sand which falls to the ground. Sensing a chance, Matughi, bellows, “FOOLISH CH–” before Darius throws sand at him and he suddenly goes silent. “Much better,” Darius smiles, and says to his whole class. “Before we go, let’s talk a bit about this subject. What makes a piece a Wizo-Music piece, as opposed to a normal musical piece? Let’s say I had two groups, one a muggle band, the other a single wizard, playing a song behind a curtain. The band played with their hands, like you have today. The wizard plays all the instruments himself, using his wand. How would you ever tell them apart?”

Taking the trumpet and leaning against a desk, Nellie glances around at her peers. She slowly raises her hand, looking rather perplexed. She glances around, however, rather hoping that someone else looks more sure than her, since she is more unsure than she is sure of the answer she’s thought of. Perhaps one of the Slytherin girls would have a stroke of brilliance, and she wouldn’t have to worry about answering.

Putting her violin back in place, Gertrude looks around the room to see if anyone else is going to volunteer and raise their hand. Waiting a breath, she lifts her hand into the air just a fraction after Nellie does and then lowers it again when she sees that she’s second. Maybe someone else can answer better and she’s done enough of screwing up with the attempts at making music.

Nobody’s hand goes up. The classroom remains silent, and Darius finally asks? “Nobody? That’s a shame. I’d have loved to know what the answer is.” He grins wide, and there’s a ripple of relief as a few students get it, “I don’t either, children. I’ve spent my whole life around musicians, wizards and muggles alike. And one thing that’s always surprised me is that so many of the Wizo-Musicians treat themselves as higher artists than the muggle ones, but never actually seem to know what Wizo-Music is, other than just muggle music produced by magic.” He flips out a golden pocket watch, and declares, “And now it’s time for you lot to go get some dinner. Think about what I’ve said, and go on. See you next time.” He smiles, and waves them off.

Replacing the trumpet to where it belongs, Nellie skips back to where her things are, carefully replacing them into her bag, and slings it over her back. She doesn’t give either of the Slytherins in front of her a second look as she happily makes her way out of the classroom. “I can’t wait until the next class,” Nellie Caldwell comments to whoever happens to be exiting near her and heads to the Great Hall for supper.

Relieved at not being called on, Gertrude returns to her seat to gather her belongings. Picking up her bag and slinging the wide strap over one shoulder, she smiles to Darius “Thank you for a great class Professor Dwight!” Turning away quickly, she blushes and giggles, taking up with a few other girls as she speaks in low and hurried whispers.

Evelynn Lawley has apparently settled upon the French horn, even though it sounds as if a bag of cats is being stepped on no matter what she does. At least that’s a sound. Pouting, she plays with one of her curls while watching Darius, quite out of her fluttering glances and vaguely predatory smiles. Once they’ve been dismissed, she flounces out of her chair, if at all possible, and goes to retrieve her bag. “Thank you, Professor.” She sulks out of the room, trailing after Gertrude and the others.