Clare

Padma would never have thought, a year or so ago, that wandmaking could be such a dangerous business. Thankfully, Mr. Ollivander had been upfront about everything, so she hadn't been surprised the first time her sleeve got caught in a lathe or she cast the wrong charm on a phoenix feather and it burst into flame. Apparently, though, she hadn't learned her lesson on either one. True, the robe she had been wearing today was already singed and torn in a few places, but today had been the last straw for it. The lathe had torn off most of her right sleeve, and the phoenix feather had scorched off almost half of her left sleeve.

So that was why, on a chilly February evening, she was leaving her tiny apartment, where she'd changed out of the ruined robe, and was walking down Diagon Alley. She'd planned to go to the secondhand robe shop, but Ollivander had told her in no uncertain terms that she was to get herself something nice... something with well-fitting sleeves that wouldn't get caught in the lathe. He'd even given her an extra Galleon--"Consider it a Valentine's Day bonus," he'd said. So she was on her way to Madame Malkin's, thinking about what color robe she should choose, when someone startled her out of her self-absorbed thoughts by calling her name and she turned.

Wow. Whoever nominated me for student council president, I'm flattered. It never occurred to me to try running for student council. I haven't decided whether to accept it yet or not, in fact. I imagine I could get votes, but I don't know how good I would be at government. Which is strange, since that's one of the paths I've considered after graduation--real government, that is. I'm just not the most social of people. But this would be sort of like practice for the real thing, right? I guess I will accept the nomination. It can't hurt, at the very least.

That was easier than I thought. Writing out my thoughts always helps. Again, thank you to whoever nominated me!

Oh yes; today was a good day. Will may have been woken earlier than he liked on a Saturday by the sounds of Cliff getting ready to go off for his beach weekend, but it was so worth it. The room had been empty all day. He'd already finished an essay that was due next week, memorized a chapter's worth of Latin, and even managed to catch up on Magical Biology, a class he always had trouble with due to being distracted by the teacher. Now it was time for some well-earned relaxation and certain extracurricular activities.

Victoria was a very sweet girl. She was also just Will's type: she shared his two favorite activities. Okay, she wasn't Asian, but she was gorgeous nonetheless. Feeling quite cheerful, he grabbed his broom out of his closet and headed outside, arriving quickly at the woods behind Bishop. He hopped onto the broom to wait for Victoria, hovering a few feet off the ground.

Michael had arrived as late as he reasonably could. He'd only given in to his mother's pleas that he attend the party because she seemed so sad lately, and he wanted to do something to cheer her up. At least it was a masque; he enjoyed the anonymity provided by the black, long-nosed mask and dark robes he wore. But somehow people would still notice if he didn't go.

He sighed, sipping at his champagne--it was hard to drink in this mask, but worth the effort--and tapping his foot slightly to the music. Not that it was that kind of music, but it was still music. He wished he was up there with the band. That was his rightful place. Of course, his parents would argue the exact opposite, since he was a proper pureblood young man, but he knew himself better than that. There was a cellist in the band, but he wasn't as good as Michael.

He drained the glass, set it down, and looked around. Might as well see if there were any pretty girls, he decided. He sincerely doubted he'd find one to marry as his mother wished, but he might get a kiss or two. His eye was caught by a girl in a feathered mask; her pale blue eyes provided a lovely contrast to her deep blue dress. He walked over to her, took her hand, and bowed over it politely and properly. "You are such a jewel here on your own," he said with a slight quirk of a smile. "Wouldn't you like to dance?"

Mum insisted I go to the Notts' party tonight, and I didn't want to (do I ever?) but I agreed just to see her smile. At least Dina will be back from Hogwarts for the summer holidays any day now; she'll smile more then. So will I, for that matter. I miss my little sister!

But anyway, the party was more fun than I thought. It was a masque, so I wore this weird old thing we had in the house--it had a long beak. Kind of hard to eat and drink. But I danced with a very lovely girl and saw some funny costumes. And I didn't drink so much that I forgot to feed Snuffles when I got home. That has happened before. So I suppose if there's another one of these I will go. I'd rather be with the band playing my cello, but these are not the kinds of parties that 1792 gets invited to play at! Then again, the parties we are likely to get to play at are bound to be more interesting, so I can't complain.

[Private to self]
I don't even know. I'm sitting at my computer trying to type so the thoughts in my brain will come out as words and therefore organize themselves in some reasonable and understandable fashion, and that's the first thing I manage to type: I don't even know. Because I don't know! About anything, apparently! Except schoolwork, with the exception of astronomy, which hardly even counts. I may also be using this as a way to procrastinate from my astronomy homework.

And astronomy makes me think of Jai, because we're going to get together to study before astronomy tomorrow. I was going to start up a little study group, probably invite Becca and Em, but I'm... not. It freaks me out to be with guys (who aren't my brother or cousin), especially alone with guys, especially alone with Jai. So why am I going out of my way to be alone with him? Okay, we won't be totally alone, there's nowhere on campus we can really go to be totally alone, but why would we want to anyway? Why did I write that? We weren't alone at the picnic either. There were lots of other people there, including girls Jai likes to hang out with. Including Rowan, who is apparently more interesting than me. And Cliff invited Rowan to the beach this weekend--I didn't even know they knew each other--so I invited Jai without really asking, though I sort of asked Alan, but he didn't say anything. Not like I should have to ask anyone, it's not some kind of fancy party, but I feel sort of bad because it is Cliff's house. I don't know what he'll think of Jai. Alan will like Jai, I'm sure, but I don't know anyone as well as I know Alan, let alone Cliff, and I know Cliff is kind of a bigot. I don't know if Jai is pureblood, though I think he is. Will Cliff hate him because he's Indian? I know he hates his roommate but that's probably because he's Muggle-born and they have to live together, not because he's Asian. Oh, and of course Jai's team beat Wardwell in Quodpot. So maybe I'm just setting everyone up for awkwardness. I don't want Jai to come and have a miserable time. Of course he probably won't if Rowan is there.

Wow, so I just wrote this really massive paragraph and totally skirted the issue. What's up with that, subconscious? I guess it's because I don't know what to do if I really do like Jai. There, I wrote it. I don't know if I like him. I don't know if he likes me. I don't understand boys. I can't ask Alan because he's my brother and he'll probably just get upset because asking him about dating will make him think of Maggie. Becca hasn't dated anybody. Maybe I can ask Em. She's dated people. I don't know what kind of advice I can even ask for but she might know better than me.

Oh, and I'm still depressed about Brand. I feel better after talking to Becca and the passage of time, but I just don't understand anything that happened. Maybe I can just put that in the past and keep it there.[/Private]

[Private to Emily]
Hey, um... I think I need your advice.
[/Private]

I need a new bathing suit. My old one doesn't fit and is a little worn anyway. So that means shopping! Who wants to go shopping with me? I warn you, I will probably try on like 50 bathing suits and want your opinion on all of them. This expedition is not for the faint of heart. Only straight girls and gay guys need apply, as I am not eager to be ogled!

It had been a long day. True, Ross had gotten to whip up a very unusual espresso/chocolate/soy milk drink for a regular customer, a girl he was friendly with who would often ask him to make her something different. That had definitely been the highlight of his day. But he'd been working for eight hours, and the last three, it seemed, were full of nothing but picky snots who kept telling him he was doing his job wrong. True, he'd simply nodded and smiled calmly at them, but he was tired now. He dropped the messenger bag he kept his valuables in on the pile of books by the door (his coworkers called it his man-purse, which, if he'd been heterosexual, he might have argued with, but he wasn't, so he didn't) and proceeded directly into the bedroom.

He tossed himself onto the bed and reached for the nearest book--which was, naturally enough, his hardcover edition of The Tempest. It was always the nearest book to his bed. He flipped to a random scene and started reading. Shakespeare's language was so beautiful but calming; it needed concentration, and he could turn all of his mind over to that task. And, of course, he identified more with Prospero than any other character in any book he'd read. He was crazy about his books, too. Ross glanced for a moment over the top of his book at the stacks at the foot of his bed--they were growing higher. He allowed himself a small smirk. Prospero had probably never had this many books.

Feeling better after reading a couple of scenes of Shakespeare, he put the book down and picked his laptop up off the floor. Time to do a little writing. The introduction didn't mention Aleister Crowley enough. He needed to add a few sentences. Pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, he got to work.

Tanya put down the last of the romance novels she'd brought with a sigh. She'd now read everything she'd brought with her; of course, she had read the Canterbury Tales many times, but she felt strangely reluctant to dive into it again. She felt unsettled and frustrated. She would have said this was the strangest resort she'd ever been to, except, of course, she'd never been to a resort before. But past the first day, this wasn't anything like she had been expecting. And today it was so quiet. Sure, she'd gotten pampered at the spa, she'd explored the leisure park, she'd even worked out at the gym. But now she didn't know what to do. She'd checked the dining area twice, but Byron was nowhere to be found and none of the waiters seemed to want to give her any information.

Well, she thought, I may as well try to get rid of some of this restless energy. She stood up from her bed, where she'd been sitting, and picked up her purse, checking to make sure here jewelry and other items were all in it--she'd taken to keeping her valuables with her since her phone and calendar had gone missing. Then she left her room and wandered down the hall, her hand trailing along the wall. One of the guests had gone home, she noticed. As she neared the center of the resort, she remembered one area she hadn't been to yet and smiled. She climbed the stairs and found the library on the second floor. The room, full of books and smelling of them, allowed her to relax, and she started down a random aisle, looking idly for whatever might catch her eye.

Coincidentally enough, Jen had also come to the library to do her astronomy homework. She wouldn't normally bother, but she was taking an exceptionally long time with it, and she was embarrassed. Not that it really mattered, but she thought Ren had started to notice, and she didn't want any awkward questions. So she took her books to the library, where at least it was a different environment, and worked on her essay.

Unlike Jack, however, she wasn't nearly done... maybe halfway. But halfway, she decided, was ample time for a break. And there were other people in the library. Potentially interesting people. She would just take a short walk.

A few tables away, there was someone digging through a bag. "Lose something?" Feeling particularly nosy, Jen looked into the book as well. "Ew... Streelers. Are you writing an essay about them? Not looking for a Streeler egg, right?"

You know, I’ve been living in Aunt Amelia’s old house for years now, and yet I keep finding new things. I guess that wouldn’t happen if I had done a thorough cleaning when I moved in, but I’m just not that domestic.

(There’s still one room I won’t go into. The door’s locked and has been since I moved in. Maybe someday I’ll be able to bear it.)

Last week I was in the attic looking for my old pair of ice skates and I came across a trunk filled with journals. Aunt Amelia’s, of course. They were arranged in order by date, as though they were waiting for me to come find them and read them. She wrote her first entry on her first night at Hogwarts. Apparently the Sorting Hat had a little trouble deciding whether to put her in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, but she ended up in Hufflepuff, of course. Just like me. Most of my family’s been in Hufflepuff—my mum was a Ravenclaw and my uncle Edgar was a Gryffindor, but that’s all, I think.

So I’ve been reading the journals in bits and snatches, just when I get a chance. I’m up to Christmas of her second year now. It’s been really fun learning about what Aunt Amelia was like when she was young. So of course, in my neverending quest to be just like her (not to mention the fact that I think the journals are really neat), I’ve decided to buy my own journal and start writing in it. Hers weren’t linked like these new ones are, but I like these. I can just put a ward on any entry that I want to keep private, anyway.

After finishing her supper Padma gathered up her things and walked from the Great Hall to the library. She had a number of books with her, the main textbooks from all of the classes that she and Parvati both took. Hopefully her twin would bring whatever textbooks she specifically needed--and hopefully she wouldn't want to study Divination. Padma had always given that class a wide berth, so she wouldn't be much help. And how exactly did one study such an inexact, illogical system, anyway? But she was glad to have this time with her sister. Usually her studying was done alone and in silence, but Padma didn't really see this is as "study" time. It was "twin" time, and more importantly, a time when there was something she could help Parvati with.



She sat down at a table near the front of the library so Parvati would see her when she came in. Her sister wasn't there yet, of course; she was probably still at the Gryffindor chatting with Lavender. She couldn't blame her, after all. Well, Padma decided, she might as well do some reading while she waited. She placed her bag on the desk (softly, so as to disturb neither the book nor the weathered surface of the table) and poked listlessly through the books in it. There was nothing she really needed to study right now. Of course, she could probably pass all of her classes without ever opening a book, but right now there was no work due that she hadn't already completed, nor any looming exams. Her hand encountered something unexpected; slender and soft. She picked it up. It was a comic book that Terry Boot had insisted she read. She flipped through the pages briefly, then shrugged and sat down. It was something to pass the time, at least.

This translation that's due tomorrow is very tricky. But I'm not asking for help yet! It's a challenge and I'm really enjoying it. I'm trying not to look anything up. I have to occasionally, but it doesn't always help... compound runes are always a bit confusing. I thought I'd just take a break and write about it. It's nice to look at proper Roman letters for a while. There's this one especially odd one that appears to be a combination of the runes for "wool" and "length." Oh! I knew writing about it would help! I do believe the translation is "yarn." Yes, that fits right in.

[Hexed private]
I still can't concentrate. I feel as though I have to check over my shoulder every five minutes to make sure I'm not being accused of some crime I didn't commit. Or what would be worse--something I really did but that isn't a crime except to the Carrows. And sometimes I almost do wish I would be caught... but what does that mean? I suppose I want the others to know I'm still on their side, though I'm trying to keep my head down and stay out of trouble, for Parvati's sake if not mine.

I hope Harry and Hermione and the others are all right. I know not all of the students who haven't returned can possibly be all right, but I can always hope.
[/private]

Who could have guessed that the world would change so much in 167 years?

Juliet slowly debarked from the plane she'd taken to New York. Airplanes. Crowded, frightening things. She was desperately glad she hadn't chosen a window seat. And if this "first class" was the better way to fly, what must the common way be like? She shuddered to think. This was her first time flying; she'd taken boats, trains, and occasionally cabs around Europe. But airplane seemed to be the way one went from Europe to North America, so an airplane it was. She would never have guessed that a machine that had been nothing more than a dream in her youth would be commonplace while she was still alive. But then, as a child she would never have dreamed she would live for so long.

And I have 833 years left to enjoy it all, and to see more changes.

"Miss Brooks?" A woman was tapping her shoulder. Juliet came out of her reverie with a start, remembering belatedly that she'd taken her passport and tickets under the name of Mackenzie Brooks (she'd grown used to "Elizabeth Archibald" lately), and realizing that the attendant had probably been calling her name for several minutes.

She smiled sweetly, deciding to play the befuddled tourist and ramp up her accent, which by this point identified as generic European. "I am sorry, I have never flown before, I am a little confused by it all. You were saying?"

The attendant smiled kindly at her. "It's no problem, Miss Brooks. You've just forgotten your carry-on bag."

"Oh!" Juliet took the bag that the attendant offered her. How could she have forgotten it? Probably because it had been in that strange compartment above her head. Also, because she'd had several drinks. Not very good drinks, to be sure, but the alcohol had helped her deal with the flight. "Thank you very much." She was quite lucky the attendant was honest. There was quite a bit of money in this bag, as well as several expensive items of jewelry. The attendant could have opened it and stolen some, but she doubted that enough time had passed for that to happen. "Ah, miss, before you go, where do I find my other luggage?"

The attendant pointed her toward the sign that read "Checked Baggage." She thanked her again and moved with the crowd in that direction. She didn't want to risk leaving without all her clothes. After that, she'd have to find a cab to take her to a hotel, and rely on the driver's recommendation for a good one.

Ah well. It will be an adventure. And isn't that all I need in life?

I have never been one to keep a journal. I must admit, however, that this device is curious. I had forgotten I even bought this computer. I recall now that I purchased it for use in business. It must have been packed up with the rest of my things. Well, I know how to type, and this has the advantage of not necessarily being permanent.

What can I write about here? Fashion? I must say it's gone down in the last few decades. Of course I'm partial to the styles of my youth, but I really believe they are much more flattering to the female form than modern belly- and arm-baring tops. I look good in anything, of course, but it's not fair to those who are not naturally beautiful. The flappers of the twenties had a nice style, too. Clean, simple lines with embellishment. That's not something modern young women seem to be able to wrap their heads around.

Of course, modern young women have ten times the opportunity and education that I had access to when I was their age, so I suppose it's a worthy trade-off. Though I can't understand how anyone can take seriously a woman who shows more skin than she hides.

Professor McGonagall finished her explanation and asked one of the other students in the class to try the spell--one to turn inanimate objects invisible. They were practicing on feathers. Jane had followed the demonstration and explanation closely and nodded to herself. It made perfect sense; it should be easy. She waited as the student tried it and ended up achieving nothing more than causing the feather to fly up in the air with the force of his wand-waving. Professor McGonagall shook her head and asked another student to demonstrate. This one managed to blur the edges of the feather, but not turn it invisible.

The professor sighed. "Has anyone followed the demonstration properly and would like to demonstrate?" Jane's hand shot up immediately, and she looked around in mild surprise to see that no one else was volunteering. Professor McGonagall's eyebrows furrowed, then her face lit when she saw Jane. "Yes, Miss Dorny, please do."

Jane took a deep breath. She sometimes stuttered when speaking incantations, meaning she would have to start the spell over, but that was rarely the case with Transfiguration. To her pleasure, the words flowed easily from her lips, and as she waved her wand the feather shimmered slightly and vanished. She looked up, unable to hold back a beaming smile. "Excellent!" said Professor McGonagall. "Five points to Gryffindor. The rest of you, please try to follow her example." Jane knew she would be walking on air the rest of the day.

I woke early this morning, too early to go down to breakfast, and with nothing to do I decided to sit and write in this journal. Everyone else is asleep. It’s very pretty in the common room, with the light just barely slanting down into the window, the birds outside twittering and no other sounds. Even the fire is out. I think this is the first time I’ve seen it so empty. I would have expected it to be lonely, but it’s nice. Still, I’d like to have someone to share it with.

I don't know why I can't sleep. Maybe it's my conscience. Or the fact that if I don't finish this essay for Professor Binns, he might give me a detention, and his detentions are particularly dreadful. I may as well use this time to do that, especially since there's no one to interrupt me at the moment.

Lynn smoothed the ten-year-old boy's hair back affectionately. "You've been very good, Griffin. Now why don't you go and get a lollipop from Miss Lucy while I talk to your mom?"

"Okay! Thank you Doctor Lynn!" said Griffin eagerly, sliding off the examination table. He had shot up since the last time she'd examined him; now he didn't even need a stool to get on and off the table. She watched as he ran out the door to the waiting room, where the secretary kept the stash of lollipops. Once he was safely out of sight, she carefully pushed the door shut until it clicked. Then she turned to his mother.

The woman was typical: straightened, highlighted hair, too much makeup, clothes and purse more expensive than she could probably afford. She looked at Lynn with bored eyes, and the doctor felt her contempt grow; whether or not that boredom was feigned, this woman should have far more interest than this in her son's health.

"Look at you," she snapped, taking a perverse pleasure in the way the woman's eyes widened and her spine straightened at the complete change in Lynn's tone. "No wonder your son's heart is weak. Let me guess, you don't take him outside to play because you're afraid of messing your perfect hair? And you let him eat whatever he wants because it's too much work to discipline him?"

"I--but--" the woman stammered.

That was enough to let Lynn know that she'd gotten everything exactly right. "Griffin doesn't need medicine," she spat, watching the woman's eyes widen further as Lynn anticipated her question. "But he will if he keeps up like this. He could become dependent on pharmaceuticals. You start taking him outside, and don't feed him so much fast food. Give him an apple once in a while." Fully aware of the irony, she scrawled "an apple a day" on her prescription pad, tore off the paper, and slapped it into the mother's hand. "Tell him I said so if he gives you trouble. He's a good kid, despite all your efforts." She sighed and opened the door. "Take the long way to your car. Might as well start now." Her glare prevented the woman from arguing, which was a relief; sometimes they stood there and shouted at her, and that was never good for the kids. Hopefully this one would actually listen. Griffin deserved to be healthy.