06 September 2010
09.00-10.00

__________
{+7} Ambrose Pepper
Gloria Gibbon
Lua Taylor
__________
{+2} Ayla Collins
{+2} Isadora Elphick
Moira McBoid
{+2} Winifred Oliver
__________
Nell Augustine
{+2} Alvis Norling
Connor Todd
{+2} Kelvin Watkins
Nicolai Zacharias
Juni Zamperia
__________
Erin Dark
Bastian Desrosiers
Leopold Eldridge
{+7}Esther Morrell
{+2} Casey O’Doherty

A cool morning breeze blew softly through an open window, bringing with it the warm rays of the sun. Along with the natural lighting, flickering candles chased the last of the darkness from the classroom. The air smelled of old parchment, and books of every shape and size covered shelves all along the walls. The chalkboard had been freshly cleaned and atop all the desks sat an unopened bottle of ink.

Professor William Smythe, newly hired History of Magic instructor, could be found sat behind his own desk, peering through his spectacles at a terribly large tome – with miniscule script and a sloppy hand besides. Breakfast had finished, and though nervous, Professor Smythe was genuinely excited about this particular class: Fifth years. The year of the OWL’s, the year of huge decisions regarding every young witch and wizard’s futures – and Willie intended to instill a passion for history in all his students. After all, to have a successful future, one needs to learn from the past.

Hogwarts was certainly different than when Professor Smythe had entered its doors last – surely there were less stairs and corridors in his youth! Thankfully, the History of Magic classroom was only a single story above the Great Hall, where William planned on spending most of his free time (those house elves were fantastic cooks!). Finally closing the book, the professor removed his glasses and allowed them to dangle from the rope holding them around his neck.

A loud sigh later and Willie was ready. Professor Smythe planned on pushing the fifth years, pushing them to learn – not only history, but about themselves… as long as he could keep them awake.

---

Welcome! Jump in, get settled and we’ll get this class on the road! Everyone that posts gets +2 points for their house and there will be plenty of other opportunities to earn points as the class progresses!

Ambrose Pepper wasn't sure which witch or wizard put together the timetable for this year, but they had picked a weird and wonderful Monday for the fifth years. It began with history at nine, electives for the rest of the day (just double creatures for Ambrose after lunch, he was meant to be using the free time to practice his wandwork) and then Defence at four before dinner.

Professor Jowd had moved on, presumably back to the Ministry with his studies of time travel. Ambrose had found him incredibly enthusiastic about his subject, which was a terrific feat in the Gryffindor's view. At the time he hadn't appreciated it as much as he felt it retrospectively.

Despite Jowd's efforts, numbers, dates, events didn't capture Ambrose's attention as much as other subjects, and he had finished the year with a Dreadful grade, which meant he had to really work hard to get up to Acceptable for his OWL at the end of the year. It wasn't that he didn't find the odd story captivating, he was just not one for remembering the vital detail, or for cobbling together a useful analysis or comparison. He'd got Dreadful for Defence too, and Troll for Potions, but at least he could blame Professor Storm and Professor Di Luca for marking like Voldemort.

"Morning Professor." Ambrose greeted politely, as much as to gauge the professor's reaction as to actually greet the wizard. He surveyed the lay of the land, and took a seat off to one side, hoping that the brainy Ravenclaws who liked the subject would take seats in front of him, like Kelvin and Alvis.

History of Magic could either be boring or interesting- it seemed to have no in-between. Yet somehow, when Jowd had been there last year, it had been boring about 90% of the time. But, Winifred saw as she entered the classroom, they had another new professor this year. He looked friendly enough- and also old enough to have experienced the vast majority of wizarding history in person.

Winnie saw Ambrose and dropped into a seat next to him, flashing him a friendly grin as she pulled out her parchment and text. Note taking was not one of her skills, but she was determined to work extra hard this year to do well enough on her OWLs to stay at Hogwarts for her NEWT years.

"Looks like Santa Clause, doesn't he?" Winnie asked Ambrose quietly, casting a glance at their professor. "Reckon he'll be any better than Jowd was? Hope so. Can't spent the entire year drifting off. Not with OWLs coming up."

Alvis, upon entering, hovered near the front of the room for a moment before he could settle down. His attention had been caught by Professor Smythe's book. Alvis had a deep affection for such things, perhaps even more-so than most Ravenclaws as they reminded him of his home in a small-town bookshop. He hovered near the teacher's desk to admire the book's unique binding and thought of how much his father would like to study it for his own projects building spellbooks in the basement.

He caught the tail end of Oliver's words and barely resisted the urge to send her a Look. Jowd's classes had been fun -- not just interesting, the way lectures should be, but outright fun, full of interesting discussion, demonstrations, and raw enthusiasm. If that wasn't enough to hold Oliver's interest, Alvis didn't think anything would do it.

Oh well. Whatever Professor Smythe's teaching style, at least he seemed to have good taste in literature.

Alvis suddenly  realized that hovering over the teacher while he read might not be the best first impression. He caught the Professor's eye, blush, and muttered a quick, "Ah, sorry sir..." before scurrying off to the second row of desks.

Well, picking a seat close to the 'dreadfuls' of the class had proved to already be entertaining, as Casey could eavesdrop a snippet of Oliver's whispers on the changing professorship. Really, he was surprised she didn't sleep through all her classes, given her friendship with Pepper. Catching their attention was like catching that of a plimplie's.

Winifred Oliver the fish with legs. That had the beginnings of a good insult, it would have to be crafted into something better.

"Looks a bit like ol' Sandusky, doesn't he," Casey said as he leaned back in his seat towards their desks. "Maybe he has a pet monkey." Rating professors by how much they looked like father christmas left you with a stout, old and snowy bearded professor. Casey had yet to see one indiscriminately give out presents at Christmas.

Isadora breezed in with a flourish and smile that seemed almost unseemly for the time of morning and subject at hand. How could she be anything but a bundle of joy and energy though? Being back at Hogwarts was doubly lovely when she'd gotten a proper hug for her mother just before breakfast - obviously out of sight because honestly, what would people think otherwise? Dizzy didn't want to know. And! History was, surprisingly, one of her best subjects, for all the tedium of learning dates and heavy reading Isa liked to think of the subject as a living breathing thing, something that changed depending on which side you asked and when.

Spotting Winnie and Ambrose she slid into the seat just in front of the redhead and whirled around with an impish grin, "We'll have to resist the urge to sit in his lap and ask for a pony," pursing her lips to the side she continued in an even lower voice, "at least the first few weeks. Maybe he'll hand out peppermint sweets closer to the Hols". She didn't add it'd probably be more fun to try and sit on the new Charm's professor's lap, but a certain glint of mischief twinkled in her brown eyes, long fingers curled around the desk back as she tried to mentally will Winnie into thinking the exact same thing. Isa might not have had the Sight but some things were so obvious they didn't require such abilities.

Ambrose returned the grin to Winnie as she landed in the seat beside him. Every lesson was better if Winnie was close by.
"Looks like Santa Claus, doesn't he?" She asked quietly, and they both glanced at Professor Smythe.
"Mm, yeah." He agreed.
"Reckon he'll be any better than Jowd was? Hope so. Can't spend the entire year drifting off. not with OWLs coming up."

"Tell me about it." Ambrose grumbled, "Every Professor's been banging on about it." It was Pepper family tradition, what with the whole timeturner business, to study history until NEWT, but Ambrose felt he was going to buck the trend with an awful OWL the way things were going.

Norling appeared in the classroom, and grawped at the new professor. Despite their additional time together over summer, Ambrose and Alvis still did not see entirely eye to eye, and Ambrose couldn't help but laugh at the way Norling was dumbstruck.
"Think he fancies Santa now?" Ambrose asked, leaning over to speak in Winnie's ear so they couldn't be easily overheard.

Casey had settled in the row in front, excellent coverage, since he was a bit of a brainbox, Ambrose considered, even if he hated him.
"Looks a bit like ol' Sandusky, doesn't he? Maybe he has a pet monkey."
"On this rare occasion Casey," Ambrose replied, sitting back in his seat properly, "I agree with you."

Ambrose pulled at his tie and loosened the top button of his shirt, nodding to Dizzy as she took a seat in the same row as Casey.
"We'll have to resist the urge to sit in his lap and ask for a pony," Dizzy gushed to Winnie, and Ambrose raised one eyebrow in horror at the thought, "at least in the first few weeks. Maybe he'll hand out peppermint sweets closer to the hols."

"Okaaaay then." Ambrose replied, and gave a rare glance to Casey in camaraderie, as if to say 'what on earth is with these girls?'
"What'll it be, Professor Santa, Sandusky the Second?" Ambrose pondered aloud, "Ten hours of goblin rebellions until we want to take our eyes out with the end of our quills…?"

Without meaning to, Ambrose's eventual statement carried further than to Winnie, Isadora and Casey, in the direction of the front of the room.

Ambrose was not the only one to overhear. Very carefully, and very studiously, Esther stared down at a blank page in her notebook—a sharp streak of ink dashed across it the only outward sign that she reacted at all.

Izzy was nice, she reminded herself, turning to a new, clean page. She and Izzy weren’t close, given the other girl’s friendship with Winnie and Esther’s own, thinly veiled disdain for what she saw as mindless prejudice, but for Izzy the Slytherin prefect lacked any real, personal dislike. And after the internship at Runwitch, she was turning a new leaf. She was mature. She was above such things.

Connor, though, wasn’t, and in true Connor-ly fashion the boy snorted loudly, sputtering with laughter. From the corner of Esther’s eye she could see him pull himself up, sprawling over his desk to bring himself closer to the Hufflepuff’s ear.

Esther sighed.

“Maybe he’ll offer sleigh rides, too,” Connor suggested innocently. “Maybe he’s already got a stocking stuffed, jus’ fer–”

Without looking, Esther drew her wand, hiding the movement beneath her desk and aimed. Extorqueo, she thought, and a second later the Ravenclaw yelped, banging his knee against the desk and almost tumbling onto the floor in pain.

Serenely slipping the wand back up her sleeve, Esther smiled.

Isa had been about to make another joke, in the hopes of it sinking through Ambrose' thick skull she was, in fact, joking. Sometimes she wondered why the devil she bothered. Of course that was when she felt the familiar sticky hot breath near her ear. She knew without looking, before he ever even opened his mouth it was Connor. Of course it was Connor. It was always Connor.

She turned, all set to tell him that whatever Santa had in a stocking for her would be more interesting than anything he could think of offering. She was going to put him in his place, but apparently this was one time she wasn't going to have to as the boy yelped and moved back. Dizzy wasn't totally sure what had happened, there was a part of her that hoped he'd been attacked by a mythical fang'd Puffskein (because that could totally be a thing and she hadn't just made it up in a horror story over the summer).

Peering over at him, brown eyes narrowed a bit she gave a small sigh, "Well, he's not bleeding," she sounded disappointed. It'd serve the little blighter right. He could be so dreadful, she couldn't believe she'd ever remotely found him the tiniest bit attractive the previous year. Clearly her mind had been clouded by hormones or her addiction to her mobile had scrambled a few brain circuits.

It never even occurred to her that Esther had done her a solid and hex the current bane of her existence. She was, of course, interested to catch up with the girl after hearing from basically everyone the Slytherin had interned at Runwitch. It was far edgier than Witch Weekly (if equally as full of pale skinned tautly toned models). Dizzy devoured it religiously (a fact she hid from everyone for fear of seeming more frivolous). She'd have to pick Morrell's brain later, if she could find an excuse.

A twinkle filled the elderly professor’s eye as he watched the room fill steadily with students. He smiled serenely as one small Ravenclaw studied his tome with a fervor before trailing away with an embarrassed look. After almost eight decades on this wonderful planet, William’s hearing wasn’t what it once was (heck, neither was his eyesight) – so while young Pepper’s statement was quite a bit louder than anticipated, the meaning didn’t come across so plainly.

Professor Smythe rose from his seat, and walked his way toward the young Gryffindor’s seat. His face started to turn an ugly shade of puce, his lips pressed in a tight line, hands clasped tightly together. He stopped moving right in front of Ambrose’s desk… and opened his mouth to release a deep-chested laugh. His deep, melodic chuckle filled the room, and tears streamed down the elderly man’s cheeks.

“What’ll it be, Professor Santa, dusty or pleasant?”

“Young sir, could I not be both dusty and pleasant?” He asked, laugh finally puttering out, “Have five points for Gryffindor. You’re an opinionated lad, and that’s exactly what I want out of all of you this term. While I do appreciate the comparison to Father Christmas, I’m afraid the only gifts I have for you sit atop your desks. I always find I’m forgetting my inkpots – so I’ve brought one for each of you. And from this point forward you may refer to me as Professor Smythe, and I will make a valiant effort to learn each of your names in turn,”

“Now, this is an extremely important year in your educations, you’ll be sitting your Ordinary Wizarding Level’s at the end of this year, and while your education has been superb – diverse and deep – it’s also been sporadic, and so this year I’d like to develop your own personal beliefs – why you believe the way you do about those topics we like to skate over as a population: our dealings with our fellow magical brethren. Who can tell me what I’m talking about?”

---

+5 to Gryffindor

As Connor quietly groaned, slumped over his desk as he clutched his knee, Esther raised her hand—dropping it once chosen. “Do you mean the Goblin Rebellions, professor?” she asked. Relations with goblins were always strained, and there seemed to be a new issue cropping up every year, reopening old wounds as tensions flared. As such, they were the first to come to mind.

They, of course, weren’t the only ones who might bear a grudge wizardkind. The past year or so had been all about werewolves and whether or not they were still entitled to the rights they’d had prior to their turning. Some thought they simply lost all humanity; others regarded them as ill, and were to be treated as such—with both the pity and gravity one might afford the highly contagious when they had to think For the Good of Everyone.

Personally, Esther wasn’t sure where she stood on the matter. On one hand, she was certain she did not want to be a werewolf; sprouting fur and fangs sounded exactly as appealing as one thought it would be, which was not at all. Plus, one killed Juni’s mother—others, no doubt, having killed countless more. Just the very thought of devolving into a slavering, murderous beast–

But that was only if she disregarded the wolfsbane potion, and those who tried to live as best and lawfully as they could—which, more often than not, were almost never the same thing…

"Maybe he'll offer sleigh rides too," Connor chipped in, the conversation circle widening, which was always a risk in lessons, "Maybe he's already got a stocking stuffed, jus' fer-." Connor didn't manage to get his next words out but seemed to jolt - someone had hexed him.

Dizzy looked round, deciding it was nothing to worry about and assuring the others
"Well, he's not bleeding." with an air of disappointment. Ambrose pressed the palm of his hand to his face and shook his head slowly.

"Young sir, could I not be both dusty and pleasant?" The Professor suddenly interrupted. Ambrose was wondering where he'd heard dusty and pleasant, but he was clearly talking to him, he seemed to be looking right at him. Ambrose suddenly sat upright.

"Have five points for Gryffindor. You're an opinionated lad, and that's exactly what I want out of all of you this term." Ambrose was looking most perplexed - an expression he frequently wore in the likes of Transfiguration and other subjects that required lateral thinking and problem solving.

Professor Smythe went up in his estimation, especially as he had bought them all ink, and also didn't mind the comparison to Father Christmas. Perhaps he wouldn't be too boring, they would see.

The lesson began with an open question, and Ambrose tried not to think too much of the reminder that OWLs were at the end of the year.
"… why you believe the way you do about those topics we like to skate over as a population: our dealings with our fellow magical brethren. Who can tell me what I'm talking about?"

"Do you mean the Goblin Rebellions, professor?" Morrell offered and Ambrose slumped back in his seats.
"What did I say?" He offered very quietly to his classmates sat nearby. "It was bound to turn up any second."

The professor smiled kindly around the room as he waited for one of the little munchkins to speak up – and they didn’t disappoint… Well, someone answered anyway – the voice wasn’t quite loud enough for the magical historian to make out. “No, young serpent, sadly we won’t be covering the great works of Gregory Rubella this term. Though a wonderful philanthropist, he was fully human. Have five points for Slytherin anyway – for your obvious fascination with historical figureheads,”

“Speak louder next time, would you?” He asked, shaking his head kindly at the young lass. The old man walked back to the front of the room, smile still fixed firmly on his face. 

“We’ll start this year with our long and ancient dealings with the Goblins, including rebellions, treaties, important notable people, the history of Gringotts, and so forth. We’ll move from there onto the infamous Giant Wars. Then, in less detail, our awe-inspiring and often gory relations with centaurs, mermaids, and house-elves. And finally, before your OWL examinations, we’ll cover werewolf and vampire history. Any questions?” As he spoke, Professor Smythe pulled from the sleeve of his robes a wand and pointed it lazily toward the chalkboard, where a bulleted list appeared in sloppy cursive.

---

+5 points to Slytherin

Peering at the cheerful old man, her head tilted to one side, it suddenly dawned on her exactly what was happening. It was the same problem Papa Elphick had, hard of hearing and too prideful (or just too stubborn) to do a single thing about it. Of course she supposed he could be unaware, but the way he positively butchered Esther's suggestion meant he was either messing with them or this was going to be a long term full of shouting.

What did I say, Ambrose looked so delightfully confused she considered letting him squirm for a bit but changed her mind, speaking lowly from the corner of her mouth, "You didn't, he's just half deaf".

Raising her hand, the long line of her neck seemed strained as she tried to stay seated but already wanted to bolt out of the room at the mention of more goblin war lessons. She'd never survive, "Professor, with Minister Zephyr attending club day, could we possibly cover more recent history sooner? I, personally, think it would be a good chance to find what her actual stance on  the inhumane treatment of Werewolves and other beings actually is, since she seems to have no public standing. It seems important, given the fact we have not only a Professor who is impacted by long held and seemingly publicly accepted prejudices but classmates as well," she didn't add that she was positively sick to death of talking about Goblins.

Ayla stifle a groan from her place at Dizzy's side. She was sitting straight up with her Prefect badge gleaming on her chest. She was making an effort to be much more engaged in her classes than she had the year before, especially given her extra responsibilities this year. She still had no idea why anyone would make her a Prefect but she was going to own it. She was also sort of happy to see that Esther had been made one as well. She was an obvious choice but she didn't think she'd like Morrell being one when she wasn't or if she was one and Morrell wasn't (she had no doubt the Slytherin would have something to say about that)

On one hand she was happy that the new History Professor was no where near as Handsome as the new Charms Professor or the Quidditch Coach (honestly where did they finds these men?!) on the other hand he clearly couldn't hear what they were saying. This was going to make this class even harder to do good in than it usually was. Then again he seemed to be happy enough to have the students talk in class and was willing to hand out points to anyone that talked to him.

She looked to Dizzy when she asked about current affairs. She had a feeling her friend wasn't too happy to be talking about Goblins again but she did bring up good points, even if Ayla felt that History wasn't exactly the topic to be talking about the present. She wondered if she could maybe springboard off of Dizzy's subject while appealing to the older man as well, "Has there been anything like the werewolf fights in the past?" She wasn't sure how much of the information had been given to the public but with Lexus being a werewolf that worked alongside the Aurors Ayla had a fair amount of information on the subject.