Fandom the empty halls echo with grand self-mythology

[thinking]

Pigeon. and thinking
"But a woman is a changeling, always shifting shape
Just when you think you have it figured out,
Something new begins to take
What strangе claws are these? Scratching at my skin
I nеver knew my killer would be coming from within. "
-- Florence + the Machine, King.​

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a Golden Trio era role-play focusing on two newly appointed Professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry which currently is under Umbridge's reign of terror, prosecution and discrimination.
wip intro page.

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[Pigeon.]

mood

❝ nervous ❞

location

hogwarts

outfit

new, velvety black robes - yellow blouse and slim-fit black trousers underneath, black ankle boots

tags

thinking

RHIANNON JONES

The four long House tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky that could be glimpsed through the high windows. Candles floated in mid-air, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly to one another, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other Houses, eyeing one another’s new haircuts and robes. However, there was a palpable sense of uneasiness in the air. A sense of uneasiness that had emerged on the 24th of June of that year.

When Cederic Diggory had turned up lifeless during the final Triwizard tournament task, the comfortable bubble that Hogwarts had been experiencing since 1981 burst. He was a charming, hard-working boy, whose death was nothing short of a tragedy. The vapid excuse for news and government in the wizarding world over the summer had left some witches and wizards with no doubt that the account of events pushed by Dumbledore was true. Still, there was a large majority proclaiming that Dumbledore and the Potter boy were liars. But who could blame them – coming to terms with the full scope of what it meant that He Who Must Not Be Named was back was immeasurably hard. Ignorance, in this case, was bliss. However, for the believers, they knew no one was safe now. The professors of Hogwarts felt a renewed responsibility to their students, for their safety was paramount.

There was someone new emerging through the arched wooden staff door who was feeling that immense responsibility for the first time. Dressed in new, velvet-black robes, with a Hufflepuff-yellow blouse just visible underneath, was Rhiannon Jones. She had tamed her curled hair into a high bun, trying to look somewhat professional. She was trailing behind Professor Sprout, who had been her beloved Head of House. Now – she was a colleague, insisting on being called Pomona. Calling any of her old teachers by their first names seemed ridiculous this early on. That summer she had been stunned to see an advertisement for a new member of staff at Hogwarts, after Professor Binns had ‘suddenly realised he was dead and subsequently wanted to retire immediately’. She had been pushed to apply by her friends and family and was almost appalled that she was offered the job.

She really did question Dumbledore’s sanity, allowing a twenty-something to teach the next generation of magic-users about their world’s long and complicated history. They met in the Three Broomsticks in August, shared a bar of Honeydukes Best Chocolate, and Rhian listened a fifteen-minute spiel about how Hogwarts needed to move away from deep-seated tradition, that she was more than qualified, and her knowledge of both muggle and magical history was an integral reason why she was being employed. As he had clearly been thinking this over for some time, Rhian felt she couldn’t argue back, and accepted the offer.

It was strange to be back in the castle. Rhian scanned the bustling crowd as she was ushered towards the staff table. She spotted her youngest brother Iwan without too much trouble. He was a tall seventh year, blonde curls bouncing atop his head as he kept turning between two friends, deep in conversation - far too engrossed to look up at his sister. She was glad he wasn’t paying too much attention; he would be able to tell she was nervous. Rhian had travelled up on the Hogwarts Express with him and was surprised that he hadn’t been that embarrassed to share a compartment with her. She supposed it was a mark of his maturity. She peered back at the staff table, watching as people took their place. Her stomach twisted into a knot.

“Does everyone sit in the same seat every year, Professor?” she asked the short, plump witch beside her, thick Welsh accent at a contrast to the others around her. Pomona peered up at the younger witch with a flickering look of concern that melted into a warm expression.

“Depends on whether or not Minerva and Severus have had a falling out over who they’ve chosen for Prefects this year,” she replied with a mischievous smile. Rhian couldn’t help but smile back, amused at the thought of the two stoic professors bickering. “I’ll get you sat down - and I’ve told you, my lovely, it’s only Professor in front of the students.” Almost all the staff had taken a seat, and Rhian noticed two people that had not been there when she was a student. Strangely, she vaguely recognised them both.

The woman, with a toad-like expression, worked in the Ministry – she had seen her pottering about the Atrium before with a haughty air about her. Rhian wasn’t keen on sitting beside her. The man, whose hair was strikingly ginger (more so than any of the Weasleys), was familiar too. Perhaps he had been a student while she was studying at Hogwarts. Though, he looked quite a bit older than she did. He was sat at the far end of the table, spaces either side of him. Pomona realised that Rhian was looking in his direction and clapped her hands together. “Well, that solves it – you can sit next to Professor Hexavia. He started last year; I imagine he’ll have some sound advice.” With that, Rhian was ushered to that end of the table. She fleetingly made eye contact with Dumbledore, who offered her a warm smile. It did not do much to ease her nerves.

“Sen,” Pomona started as she reached the man, pulling out the chair beside him for Rhian. “This is our new Professor for History of Magic, Rhiannon Jones. Be a dear and keep her company, I need to catch up with Hagrid about the grounds during the feast,” she explained, giving Rhian’s arm a reassuring pat before bumbling away. Without too much hesitation, she sunk into the chosen seat, pulling her robes clumsily from underneath her but ultimately glad she was no longer stood before the crowd. She let out a single, shaky breath before turning to the man, summoning a warm smile for the familiar stranger while she wrung her hands together in her lap.

“Please tell me that you were nervous when you first started,” Rhian lilted. “Because I feel a bit like a melon sat up here.” So much for first impressions, she thought, he might continue to think you’re a melon.

coded by reveriee.

 

[thinking]

mood

❝forlorn yet excitable. relaxed when he has seen a new face ❞

location

Hogwarts' Great Hall.

outfit

these robes

tags

Pigeon.

Prof. Sen Hexavia

There was a perturbing aura that hung around Sen, who sat solitary and partnerless on either side. The staff table was ornately decorated, matching the celebratory theme of the Great Hall on this new term day. He lent on his elbows, with his hands clasped together, balancing his head on the table. His face was lined with unease, gentle creases folded his forehead, and his eyebrows narrowed, hesitant unease. Breathing steadily was a challenge when he saw a literal human toad, comically dressed in magenta attire, walk into her seat. The witch was almost definitely who he thought it was, the new Ministry informant who has somehow infiltrated into Hogwarts’ ranks. He had read a lot about Dolores Umbridge in the Daily Prophet… With her proclamations of an anti-werewolf legislation and other serious cases that she has written about. It terrified him that Dumbledore himself had appointed her into the school, leading to Sen’s own internal suspicions. This was a pinnacle of his career, surviving into year two as a professor at Hogwarts, especially with his own sister as a student it was a difficult journey. Dumbledore had declared that F e Hexavia (Sen’s sister who was perversely infected with lycanthropy at the age of four) will be safe as a student here although with this new appointment then it was impossible to be certain. The girl was in her fifth year, one of the most turbulent years due to Harry Potter’s existence…

Sen had little time to think too much about it, though as he had noticed Professor Pomona Sprout had made her way toward the lone wizard accompanied by a very young looking witch. Immediately with politeness in hand, Sen pulled his chair back to stand up and showed his teeth when he smiled in greeting. The lines in his face were rather relaxed, however still visible. Sen honestly believed that Rhiannon was an older student, before introduced as the new Professor teacher. He sat back down as soon as the nervous and newly appointed professor did and continued to keep the smile on his face. He actually did recognise the name from somewhere…
“Hello,” Sen was actually very cheerful in his tone, perhaps he was only plastering his nerves with intangible bandages, “bless you darlin’...” Sen paused, winking with his left eye and lowering his voice so just Rhiannon could hear, “I cannot believe you would think that, the only melon here is that woman with that ungodly fashion sense… Come on… Pink is a terrible choice if you are wanting to be taken seriously.” Sen chuckled lowly, talking in his refined southern English accent sort of conflicted with Rhiannon’s heavy Welsh. He sat back up, his leather robes tightening on his back and stretched. He was far from relaxed, but seeing a new face was somewhat calming, despite the tense atmosphere around the staff table. “In all seriousness, though, yes… I did feel like a melon. Like Sprout said, I have only been here a year and what a terrible year that was, the Triwizard Tournament was tragic plus there was an imposter at our school!” It was often Sen would delve into finer and inappropriate details when stressed however he quickly switched the subject and smiled once again. “May I ask, how old are you, Rhiannon? I know that is rude, but your youth is unmatched with mine…” She didn’t have time to respond, however, as Dumbledore had already begun the welcoming speech.

The hall was muting into almost silence, as Dumbledore opened his arms to praise and welcome new students and this term’s new members of staff. First, he introduced Rhiannon Jones, who earned a round of applause and magnificent cheers following with Umbridge’s introduction after. His grand ceremony was halted, interrupted by Umbridge herself! Sen was hungry, and just wanted the Sorting Ceremony (his least favourite part of the term) to commence, not wait Sen leaned back into his chair, folding his arms across his chest, murmuring, “what does she want?” under his breath and chewed his thumb with, the sombre mood growing quite irritating.

It took quite a few minutes for it to finish, afterward Sen was completely gobsmacked as Dumbledore bowed and shook her hand. “His politeness fooled me…” Sen whispered once again to Rhiannon, rolling his eyes. There was no sense of pretence with Dumbledore's submission, though… It did make him extremely fearful… “We got to watch out, Dorlores Umbridge does not sit right with me. Have you read anything of hers recently? Because I certainly have, she is rather prejudiced toward some unspeakable things…” Sen felt somewhat relaxed talking to Rhiannon as she was quite obviously nervous too.

The feast commenced as per usual after the Sorting Hat Ceremony and a quick little interval in between. Once again, Sen was marvelled at the delectable and inviting food that lay out before them, reminding him of his early school days… However, Sen was not excited nor had much of an appetite, his already pale skin grey a pasty pallor. All he could think of was the woman in pink and how suspiciously disconcerting she was as she nonchalantly disrupted the opening speech and took it upon herself to announce everything. Dumbledore did not even offer Rhiannon a chance to speak as time grew too late after the unwelcome guest appearance…

coded by reveriee.