The room was quiet and dark, the candles burned one by one giving the space a much calmer more collected feel. Each desk was lined out in the rows in perfect lines like any other class room, but this time there was a blank parchment with a new quill simply waiting for the students. The quills were gifts, and said so with a little tag on each one. For all your hard work. The essence of the Charms Professor was everywhere in the room, from the perfectly placed pages, to the floating candles, but the little spirited man was no where to be found. Instead, a note was left in illuminated letters that drifted over his desk like a map in the stars.

Angie had her game face on, her blond hair pulled back in a french braid. She was going to go into this exam ready, studied up and revved up for whatever the professor could throw at them. She walked into the classroom, slightly confused at the fact that there was no professor, just an illuminated note above his desk. Angie chose a seat in the front row, reading the small tag on the quill and smiling at the little gift. She pulled the spotted quill out of its yellow ink well, admiring it before putting it back.

Now she just had to create a list of negative issues that she had for herself. If only they had this exam last year when Angie had her low self-esteem phase. She could have written pages and pages of things that she didn't like about herself. Well, with the article about her uncle being crazy, she did feel a little off, but that didn't really contribute anything to things that she didn't like about herself.

Angie Lemon
December 15^th, 2009

1. My size - The fact that I just got to be five feet tall a few days ago really bugs me. I'm so much shorter than everyone else, even if I'm one of the oldest in our class.

2. Blushing - I don't think I've ever done this in class before, but when I'm embarrassed I turn bright red. My cheeks, my ears, my neck; it's like I've been bathed in red dye.

3. Overprotective - Ask anyone. I get really protective over the younger years, and my friends sometimes as well. People call me a Momma bear protecting her cubs, and sometimes that's all too true.

4. My name - Who names their child Agatha! Honestly, who in their right mind would choose such an awful name for their little girl? That's why people call me Angie, because I don't want anyone to know my real name.

She put the quill down and read over her answers, doing a quick check before leaning back in her seat and waiting patiently, either for more directions or for something else that she didn't like about herself.

Professor Kesali was an odd fellow. Nice. But odd.

Alvis rolled the pheasant-feather quill in his fingers, looking between it and the instructions. Yesterday's Transfiguration exam had been a bit odd as well, but he'd at least been able to see where it tied into their lessons. This was like some strange missing step in the detention he'd gotten at the start of the month. But why make the entire class do something like that?

Alvis chewed his bottom lip and turned his attention to the parchment. This was going to be difficult. Despite what Zoe some people seemed to think, his self esteem was actually fairly healthy. Disliking himself never made any sense -- it wasn't like he could change things, so why make himself miserable over it? He just didn't like to bother people.

He considered for a long while, then wrote a short line near the top of the page.

I dislike my middle name.

...Well. It would do for a start.

Now what else? He might be a bit of coward. He could put that he wanted bravery. Except that he didn't want bravery. Bravery led to recklessness, which led to getting one's self in trouble, and if Pepper was any indication it also lead to cruelty, maybe because you weren't afraid to hurt other peoples' feelings.

What did he want, then? From other people, from himself?

I wish I could be more useful.
I wish I wouldn't get tongue-tied when I try to talk. I wish I was more comfortable talking with friends. I wish I had more friends.
I wish that I was someone more people wanted to talk to, someone they wanted to be friends with, someone they wouldn't ignore.
I wish I didn't get so many headaches.

Headaches....yes, that was the right track. His headaches, his cracked-up mind, his hidden memories, his...Legilimency-thing. That was something he disliked, one big web of problems and mysteries that just made his life that much more complicated.

I dislike how little control I have. I wish I was better. I wish I liked being alone more, so I wouldn't be so scared.
I dislike that I don't know how to relate to people without invading their privacy.
I dislike that I can't remember the bird right. I wish I knew what it meant, why it was so important to me, the man who owned it. I hate that I can't remember. I hate my stupid broken brain.

That seemed like enough. He replaced the quill in the ink bottle and looked towards the instructions again, expecting them to change with the next step of their exam one enough people had completed the first.

Zoe had been looking forward to her Charms exam for a while, it was her favorite subject. Most of her wandwork practice had been with Charms, because they were quick, easy to do, and usually didn't require a subject to cast them on. However, as she walked in she noticed the man was not there, replaced by a piece of paper.

Writing things that you didn't like about yourself?? What sort of exam was this?! The Ravenclaw couldn't help but think they'd all be given therapists over the holiday, or be publicly embarrassed once it ended. Not to mention the fact that he'd be reading it.

Sighing from disappointment, Zoe got out her Color-Changing Quill, unwilling to use the peacock feather quill that rested on her desk. She'd pocket that one for later. The quill held a bright red ink in it, still red from the last use.

Zoe Torret
Charms Midterm
December 15

To change the ink below to a more readable color, pass it over with a wand using a Color-Changing Charm.

The young witch drew her wand and changed the ink of the quill to a light yellow, barely visible against the tan parchment. Zoe sighed again and thought, before beginning to write.

I dislike the fact that I can't shake grudges.
I wish I could be more like my mum, who lives without harboring hate or anger.
Or I wish that I could dislike someone without feeling sympathy for them, feeling both is too conflicting.

Those three sentences came easy to her, and after that everything began come more easily.

Though I love Lily to death, I wish I didn't always have to feel inclined to protect her when I'm in public with her.
I don't really like my first name, I wish it was a little longer.
I wish I fit in a little bit more among the more 'girly girls' of the school. Other than basic boy talk and maybe some knowledge of what robes look nice, I really have no idea what they talk about!
Sometimes I wish I could tell what people were thinking, so I don't have to guess.
I wish I could find one true passion that I have, one thing I'm really good at, to pursue. I don't really know what I want to do with my life yet. The O.W.L.s are coming up soon enough.

Zoe didn't know if there was much of anything else to write. She wasn't insecure about her body or appearance. She didn't have low self-esteem in general. It seemed fine, so the Ravenclaw put her quill down, waiting for the paper to change messages or for Professor Kesali to walk in.

Winifred would normally be excited to see the brightly colored peacock quill sitting upon her desk. Had she not recently decided to hate Professor Kesali with every fiber of her being, Winnie would have treasured the gift and adored it. As it was, she intended to leave the quill laying on the desk after the assignment. She wouldn't be bought with pretty things. She had seen the true nature of the Charms professor. And that true nature was nasty and ugly and she would never, ever like him again. Ever.

She wasn't sure how she felt about the assignment. Because Winifred didn't like the idea of writing down all the things that she thought were wrong about herself. Depressing. But she had been working hard to get good grades, so she might as well do it anyway- right?

1. I wish I was good with my wand. I can't even do first year defensive spells.
2. I wish my dad didn't blame himself for me being magically stupid. He's a squib. So he thinks that because I'm bad at magic it's all his fault. I just want to make him proud of me.
3. I'm stupid in a lot of stuff other than wands, too.  I'm pretty much bad at everything except for Muggle Studies and Divination. I wish I could just be average.
4. I'm not pretty enough. Like- Cy and Ayla have these HUGE BOOBS a womanly shape and I'm just pudgy and shapeless and I just really want to BEAUTIFUL. And I'm so bad at magic, I can't even charm myself pretty!
5. Boys don't like me.
6. I cry a lot.
7. I can't keep screts.
8. People tell me I am over dramatic.
9. I wish I had a real future- but since I'm bad at everything, I don't think I'll ever have a real place in the world when I leave Hogwarts.
10. I fight with my friends too much.
11. I have a temper, and I don't know how to not get mad at people.
12. My feelings get hurt really easy.
13. I'm afraid of a lot of stuff.
14. I feel like I give Hufflepuffs a bad name.
......

Winifred's quill scratched furiously across the page. She had no problem writing down negative things about herself. The Hufflepuff girl had a terrible sense of self-worth and self-esteem... And if Professor Kesali was going to be reading these lists, he was about to find out. Within a few minutes Winnie's parchment had gone from blank to having ten things on the list, then fifteen... The front of her parchment filled up quickly, and as she flipped it over to continue her list, Winifred as on personal flaw number twenty-seven.

While currently in the midterm exam timeframe, Addison had been studying for all of her classes. She hated the thought of potentially doing bad in her classes. Considering the fact that she wouldn't know what was to be expected out of her, until right when she was supposed to sit for the exam, it was always hard to correctly identify what was going to be on the exam. Especially in charms. They always learned a lot of spells, and they always seemed to have practical exams. Never theoretical. Nope. It always had to be challenging, which appeared to be the case all the time.

Walking into the classroom, Addison was surprised to see no Kesali sitting at his desk. Instead, there was a a set of illuminated letters with directions on them. Quickly reading them, she let out a sigh. Negative issues? At the very least, it wasn't all issues. For sure, she would write up a storm. She knew that she would have to try to contain herself on this assignment so far. Sitting down at a desk, she noticed the quill already prepared for them as a gift. 'How nice,' she thought, as she settled into her seat.

Now, onto the bigger question. What was she going to write.

Taking a few moments to think, the words just starting flowing out of Addison's mind and onto the parchment in front of her:

Addison Rockwell
December 15

1. I think I talk too much sometimes.
2. I think that I am too awkward around boys.
3. The truth is, boys don't like me due to my nerdy ways.
4. I think that I have trouble concentrating when casting a spell.
5. I think my lack of concentration causes my memory to lapse.
6. My desire for perfection causes me to overwork myself.
7. My self-esteem with my artwork is lacking.
8. I work harder to make up for my lack of self-esteem.
9. I hate to hand in work that isn't up to my perfect standards.
10. I like to appear confident, even though I am not.
11. I hate to admit it when I do not know something, or when I cannot remember something.
12. I am self-conscious on how I appear to others: both physically and mentally.
13. I can't make my mind up about what I want to do after Hogwarts, that I sometimes question if life would be different had I been born into a magical family.
14. I think I stress myself out over my work too much.
15. I become stressed with things that I cannot control.

With a sigh, Addison placed the quill neatly down on the desk as she followed the last set of directions that Kesali left. She really had to contain herself, before she had gone off on wild rants about herself. Reading over her work, she thought that at least most of what she read wouldn't be too embarrassing if Kesali read it. She let out another sigh, as she began to twiddle her thumbs nervously at her desk. It was hard work, for her to not start doodling on the parchment. Since this was her midterm, she didn't want to start doodling and risk a bad grade. Pushing a piece of her dark blond hair out of her eyes, she waited for the next set of directions.

Naomi read, skimmed, and reread the instructions floating over Kesali's desk. Her head was tilted to the side with an eyebrow arching high on her forehead as the harsh purse of her lips only confirmed the absolute confusion resting in her features.

She couldn't think of why she would have "negative" issues with herself; nothing seemed healthy about that train of thought--in fact it seemed downright detrimental to one's mental health. She had always been raised to be proud of herself and to take responsibility for her own mistakes. She wasn't one to let "issues" really linger, and if they did, they were years in the making and too private to write down on a piece of parchment.

Despite the professor asking otherwise, this definitely seemed embarrassing and awkward, and the gift of a jet black feathered quill did nothing to ease Naomi's confusion or concerns for the first part of an exam.

So, Naomi looked down at the piece of paper, shrugged, sighed, and began writing.

• I have problems with turtles with snappy comebacks.
• I dislike it when Ravenclaws can hit a bludger harder than I can.
• I always make hazardous friends.

Naomi then stopped writing and donned a lazy and bored expression, choosing not to actually finish the list (since they weren't explicitly instructed to do so.) So the witch sat and waited for other instructions as she gently rolled the quill between her fingers.

Well, bloody hell. Nick had always done well at charms; given that he put in the least effort of anyone he knew, and got better marks than most of the Ravenclaw house, he could see the argument being put forward that he was a natural. After all, the essence of charms was artifice, wasn't it? If transfiguration was about being something you weren't, or making something into something it was not, charms was the study of pretending to be something you weren't. All the magic in the world couldn't make transfiguration do what it needed to do, in Nick's mind; he could be an animagus, he could conjure himself into a being of pure energy and, deep down, he'd be the same. He'd still be the little boy who waited in the school yard for everyone else to go home so he could tell his classmates his mother picked him up late, after her important job. He'd still be the little boy who cried every time she didn't show up to an event, even though he knew she wouldn't come. He'd still be the young man who learned that the only thing one can count on is disappointment, the one who'd learned that everything decent was, at a fundamental level, doomed to be buried under the heavy and weary weight of this unintelligible world. So maybe it was a shame that Kesali wasn't there, the man had been good to him, after all, but he could write his "negative issues" well enough on his own. Nick wasn't much for Hemingway, but if he had one thing right, it was that writing was easy, you just sit at a typewriter and bleed. A hangdog grin, a smile much too old and sad for his years, crept along Nick's face as he dipped his new quill, narrow and black, in violet-red ink; just sit at a paper and bleed, right?

Nicholas Charles Mensforth
December 15th

There's a phrase from the muggle world, I imagine it has its equivalent in the Wizarding world, the idea that someone ugly, truly hideous, has "a face only a mother could love." The feature in question can, of course, be changed to suit the matter at hand; the significance of the statement is not the face itself, but the fact that the quality -- whatever it may be -- is so horrific that no-one not bound by the determinism of genetics or parental love, however you choose to see it, could love something so blatantly, irrevocably horrible. Consider, in this light, that the parents of the most heinous criminals, serial murders and worse will state openly that, despite everything, they still love their child. Then, of course, there is our modern myth, the legend of Harry Potter, the boy saved from inevitable destruction by his mother's love.

What, then, of a face a mother doesn't love?

As stated, the face is not the question, not really. Love is the question, for a face or for anything else. Me? I don't know if it was my face or something else about me, but my mother left when I was an infant. I have something even a mother couldn't love. When it comes to my faults, I could name one or none or a thousand and, really, it wouldn't mean a thing. I could say I'm not so refined and eloquent as many are, the sons and daughters of privilege, brought up for society. I could say that I have no respect for authority, even when that respect is earned. I could say I'm  self-defeating, that I never really try so that I can never really fail and, as a result, never really succeed, either. I could say that I use fists when words are due; I could say that I use fists when words aren't even due. I could say that I sold out who I am and spat on what I stand for by coming to a posh school like this while the only people I really know and care about struggle amidst the squalor of their lives just to keep their heads above water. I could say I'm a hopeless romantic without the first clue what romance should be. I could say I'm a wideboy who says he's a hopeless romantic to get a quick kiss, but never calls back. I could say my only way of feeling all right with who I am is to diminish those around me, cruelly and publicly.

Or, I could tell the truth. I could say that when I watched cartoons as a kid, I liked the "bad guys" because I knew how horrible it was not to be loved. I could say that that the only wizard I've ever really admired is Severus Snape, because he's the one who didn't have everything I don't have and who stumbled like everyone seems to know -- not think, but know -- I will stumble, but never fell. Or, if he did, he got up, not the way you get up when you break your knee, but the way you get up when you break your rose-coloured glasses and see, suddenly, how broken everything is. I could say that I'm not him, and even a glimpse of the horror of it all, muggle or wizard or whatever, and I don't get up, not right away, and part of me knows that every time, I get a little bit further from ever getting up again.

I could be as arrogant as people say I am. I could talk about being clever, maybe being handsome. Good in school without much effort. The man you want at your side in a fight. Those aren't negatives, not the way most see them, but the truth is, they are. I could line up every good thing about myself, real or the product of hubristic delusion, and it wouldn't matter. Because, at the end of the day, when the bell tolls and you go home or go on to the next job to wait for the next bell to toll before you can go home and sleep, there's no such thing as a list of negatives and there's no such thing as positives. It's not arithmetic, it's ontology; "All outward motion connects to nothing." You're good enough, or you're not good enough.

Nick put down his quill for just a moment, before grasping it again to smooth down the feathers, which suddenly reminded him of the irreverent clumps of his hair. Realizing that he was supposed to make a list, rather than write an essay, just yet. Looking at his response, Nick added  the only list that made sense, the only list that he believed.

1. I am not good enough.

What the bloody of all blazing hells was up with Professor Kesali? What did their instructions have to do with Charms? Casey, primed and ready to properly ace this exam as he actually had time to adapt to a new wand, unlike last year's final, regarded their written 'exam' with contempt, the features disgusted on his face. This was too much like the most unusual detention he had over a month ago[1] only instead of critiquing others they had to do it to themselves.

No doubts Norling or Mensforth would turn this into an essay. Did the charms instructor fancy himself the counselor? Even with the assumed security, if you told Casey that no one could read his responses without having their eyes bleed, that the ink vanished the moment he wrote and everyone would face a memory charm afterwards, Casey was not going to write his life's biggest negatives. He wasn't going to write the Professor the sob story Kesali must be expecting.

- I hate my allergies to everything.
- I hate how that means I can't grow stronger.

Because there were a lot of things Casey wasn't writing.

I hate not being typical. I hate the efforts I have to take to appear normal. I hate looking like a cross between a boy and a girl. I hate losing my compsure when I realize things I am and am not. I hate the waste of time in the efforts I need to make to fit in, by proxy of meeting everyone's unsaid expectations. I hate the ambiguity.

And I don't know who to be.

This was one of those rare instances where Casey would like to be better skilled with Legilimency so he could place the demand of knowing why they were having to do this directly into Kesali's head. But instead Casey glared at the two lines he had written with such intensity it was as if he was wandlessly trying to cast Incendio.

1.	Cry Me a River - Nov 5

'This', Cyhirae thought, 'was a weird midterm.' She couldn't see how it had anything to do with magic at all, let alone charms. Still it was a midterm and she wsn't going to fail because she thought something didn't make sense.  Taking out her quill she quickly scribbled down:

I have a trigger temper.

That one was easy, her temper had gotten her in trouble many times and had caused her to hurt those she cared about. Despite her consciously ring to control it she wasn't doing so well. Heck, only a few days ago she had snapped at Winnie of all people.

I can be a snob, especially towards those that aren't book smart or dismissive of muggle stuff and achievements.

Though she was getting better at that. After all if she was still snobby about smart people she wouldn't be friends with Winnie, right?

I sometimes rebel against Daddy for the sake of rebelling.

She wasn't certain that the last one was actually a negative thing but she left it anyway. An adult would think that was a negative thing right? Cyhirae mentally ticked through the things she was willing to admit about herself trying to find something else that could actually be considered negative rather than fake negative like I'm so beautiful it's a curse stupidity. Frowning slightly she picked up her quill.

I can be bitchy and nasty when angry.

'That's enough,' Cy thought as she put down her quill. Even if it wasn't everything it was the major ones at least.

Walking in and keeping to herself, more than usual, Moira sat down at her desk and considered the words floating above the professor's desk instead of the professor being there himself. For the month of December Moira had nothing to do with anything aside from classes and homework, granted there was a class here and there she hadn't bothered to go to at all. She avoided everyone whenever she could and she didn't talk, not even when a teacher asked a question.

Negative issues with herself? There were a few but at the moment they all tied back to the same thing, and Moira wasn't entirely sure she wanted to write them down, much less risk having anyone else read it. Moving her gaze to the bald eagle feather quill and then the parchment she sat and stared at it. A good ten minutes passed and still she just stared at it. Reaching a decision finally she reached for the quill and wrote down one thing. It didn't give anything away and for her, it tied back to everything.

1. My scar.

Minerva didn’t make a habit of being late. She abhorred tardiness in all forms, but we all, on occasion, become the one thing we hate most. Blame it on the fickle parent, worried about their lack of invitation to the Yule Ball, blame it on the sudden shortage of flour in the kitchens, or simply blame it on Professor Kesali for picking today of all days to come down with some as-of-yet unidentified magical ailment. No matter what (or who) you decide to blame, the fact is, quite simply, that Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was excessively tardy.

She strode quickly into the charms classroom, appreciative of the quiet scratching of quills versus the obnoxious yelling of unruly children, acting out due to a lack of authority in the room. Instead of speaking right away, she took a moment to pull her wand from her sleeve and waved it at the glowing instructions in the air. Then she watched as the words dissipated like the wispy smoke from a match. “If I might have your attention please,” She started, voice carrying easily over the quiet room. She waited through the looks of shock and watched as those that had yet to finish their initial instructions put aside their quills.

“Professor Kesali has fallen ill and is incapable of being here today, but sends his best wishes and luck. I’ll be standing in for him today, and I implore you to do your best. OWL examinations are quickly approaching, and it’s never too early to start getting prepared, even if you’re still a year away.” The headmistress’s face turned up into a smirk at the looks of incredulousness that crossed some of their faces, speaking of OWL’s this early was blasphemy!

“Today, you’ll be performing the banishing charm for me. You’ve written these things about yourself because Professor Kesali wishes for you to banish the negativity you see in your own life.” Minerva, personally, thought quite a bit differently about things, but she was simply filling in, not the permanent teacher and she couldn’t deny that Kesali seemed to do a fantastic job with his students. “Any questions?” She asked, looking around the room for hands.

Juni looked up at the board incredulously. Why in the world would her professor want her to write negative things about herself? Weren’t you supposed to focus on the positive? That’s what her dad always told her whenever she said something self-deprecating. And now, her assignment was to be self deprecating. How dare he? She wondered what her father would say about this—he had always had a passion for charms, and surely he wouldn’t appreciate the midterm being about feelings.

She picked up her quill and quickly wrote down:

I wish I had large breasts, like Cyhirae, Vernonica, and Ayla. Then, Connor will Less freckles would be nice, too.
There is nothing else about myself that I dislike.

Of course, there was plenty more about herself that Juni didn't like, but she didn't feel like sharing all of those with Professor Kesali. He wasn't her parent, he wasn't her friend, and her certainly wasn't her counselor. When the new headmistress entered the room, Juni sat up straight and listened attentively. At least the test was going to be something real, though she did feel a bit like his reasoning for choosing the banishing charm was a bit looney. "I still don't see how writing negative things about myself relates to this class." She said to herself, though loud enough so that others might hear.

Amara approached the charms classroom with caution. She had kept telling herself that her reactions to Professor Kesali were nothing but hormones -because, after much research in the library, apparently that's what they were- and she could control her hormones! Right? And yet, when she found herself face to face with the classroom door she hesitated, and it took her a few minutes, to finally pass through the door.

She exhaled in relief when she scanned the room and realized Prof. Kesali was nowhere to be seen. However, she faced more confusion, upon seeing the requests on the glowing note. Amara sat down and stared blankly at the simple black quill. She had no idea what the professor meant by negative issues. She had been brought up to think proudly about herself and her achievements, and even if there might be something wrong with her she would never admit it to herself, much less write them down on a paper for Merlin knew who might see them. Besides, what could their auto-characterization achieve in Charms? it was rather queer, but she would comply nonetheless.

She stared at the paper until she noticed silence befalling the class. When she raised her head she saw the Headmistress had just entered the classroom. Slightly concerned, she quickly put the quill on parchment, and started writing whatever came first to mind.

I dislike not being in control over my own emotions, body and mental capacities.

There, that was innocuous enough. It was also true. And it also happened to be out of her control. In truth she would've liked to write "I profusely dislike the fact that hormones and neurotransmitters cause me to experience feelings", but Elena had always told her to be careful of what she let escape her mouth, or in this cause what she might write, because her way of thinking and her own reality would not always be understood by the rest of the world.

She felt a slight pang of worry when Headmistress McGonagall said Professor Kesali had fallen ill, but she waved it out of her mind with an exasperated sigh. She mentally agreed with the headmistress, yes indeed the OWLs were really just around the corner, but as usual, she found herself not caring at all. A part of her would've liked to ask the witch about the relation between this assignment and the banishing charm, luckily, however Miss Zamperia had just voiced her own doubts, and she reveled in the thought of not being required to be the center of attention -like she would've been if she had opened her mouth.

The sudden arrival of the Headmistress caused Naomi to swell with curiosity and to sit up straighter. First they get a cryptic writing prompt and then the Headmistress arrives? Then she went and talked about preparing for OWLs. Kesali being sick, and then their exam: "banish negativity" in their lives.

Naomi's sage gaze slowly fell down onto the list she wrote, then to where she stored her wand, and then it rose to look back at the older witch. The corner of her lips pinched at her cheek as she raised her hand, "Headmistress?" she lowered her hand and pointed towards her parchment, "He meant 'di paper," a black brow arched on her head, "right?"

Because, despite how sort-of truthful the things she wrote down were, she didn't actually want to banish any of it; the snapping turtles were actually really funny, she enjoyed all her crazy friends, and she already ignored the Ravenclaw that the second bullet point on her list referred to beater--for a month even--"banishing" clearly didn't work in that case, unless Kesali was talking about something else entirely. Professors could really be confusing.