Fandom The Next Generation of Wizards (OPEN)

[indiedarling]

As James watched the sorting, scoping out which of the new first years would become victims to his pranking genius, he was suddenly startled by a red head who actually wasn't related to him for once. Turning in his seat to face her, rather than the sorting which he'd seen for the seventh time now, he gave Evelyn a warm, friendly smile and shook his head, giving a little scoff at her question. "Oh, that little confrontation? It was nothing, really. Rose accidentally bumped into the Malfoys. Y'know how clumsy she can be at times... Well, then the Malfoys being themselves wanted to be cruel and punish her for, I don't know, scuffing their new shoes or something. But, Harmony and I took care of it. Right, Harms?" He explained the events vaguely and then glanced passed Evelyn to his lovely, fire-headed cousin who had spoken harshly sarcastic words to his friend when she had arrived. With a pointed stare and cold seriousness in his voice James aimed his next comment at Harmony, "We'll all be in debt to Evelyn and Rose by the end of the year when we win the House Cup because they kept our arses out of trouble."

 

[Ticci Toby Rogers]

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-Musketeers

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Gilbert had never been one to be too easily distracted by architecture, but this castle was different. He could feel the magic in the walls. Every nook and cranny of this place sent off waves of it, and only further added to it’s aesthetic beauty. Gilbert was a sucker for beauty, as were his friends. So it wasn’t too hard to convince them to join him on a little, pre-dinner exploration. His method of calling Antonio ‘Dora’ was not well received, as it was apparently both annoying, and racist on a number of levels. Gilbert could still feel the burn of pain in the spots where Francis and Antonio had stomped on his feet.

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The trek through the long halls of which Hogwarts seemed to consist solely of was silent for Francis; or would've been had it not been for the thoughts that filled his brain to the max, as well as the distraction of guilt for perhaps being late for the feast. A portrait of a decidedly feminine figure occupied his vision and the French boy practically drooled as he stopped in his tracks to examine it. The portrait winked at him flirtatiously and Francis would've winked back had it not been for the added distraction of his two best friends constant yapping. Gilbert’s calling Antonio the rather amusing (although he would never tell the Spaniard that) title of “Dora” called for retaliation on the others part. By the time the two were finished stomping on Gilbert's feet the lady in the portrait had exited. Slumping with obvious distress for the loss of the prettier women's short lived company, Francis sped up slightly to keep up with his friends pace.

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Antonio was near skipping through the ancient, haunted halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; they were just so entertaining. Traveling through the catacombs and passages of the aged academy had him feeling like he was returning to Oz. And, despite his earlier irritation, the cause of which was Gilbert’s ‘brilliant’ sense of humor, his mood was almost entirely that of playful jubilance, for the moment. Occasionally as the trio navigated the castle’s winding walkways, he would spin on his feet, supinating his arm as if he were holding a weapon, and shout, “Musketeers!”, jabbing merrily at the duo as if in a bout.

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Gilbert's annoying, but signature, ‘kesesese’ laugh rang through the corridors, as he began to ‘fight’ his favorite Spaniard, invisible swords clashing in the hallways. The three always had a part to play when together: Antonio, a pirate; Francis, a crusader; and Gilbert, a knight. Gilbert called out to their crusader, “Come join us Francis!” He continued to clash invisible swords with Antonio, while waiting for Francis’ response.

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Toni grinned wildly, parrying every invisible swipe, and matching each of them with one of his own. Lunging forward and making an unruly swing with his invisi-blade, he cried, “For Spain!” Before attempting to impale his companion. Failing this venture, he retreated with a quick jump backward. Then, moving with short bursts of speed, he advanced once again and drew back his blade for a bold stab. As his arm shot outward, he felt, that in this castle, with his friends, playing a truly fantastic game of pretend, he was finally flying.

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The two were sparring, the very nature of the activity bringing a worried expression to Francis’ lips. In any other circumstance or setting he would've joined in, but the castle of Hogwarts just seemed an extremely inappropriate place to engage in such pursuits. Did the two not feel even a scrap of concern for the portraits and countless pieces of artwork that littered the walls about them? Disapproval for his friends curved the French boys lips downwards, as he made to intervene - or would've had another portrait caught his eye, effectively distracting the French man. This one appeared to be of a meadow of green and pink.

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Gilbert continued his ‘fight,’ being mindful of the portrait’s that were… watching them? Yes they were watching, and even cheering them on! In Gilbert's experience with animated portraits, they were prudes who didn't approve of anything fun or creative, only the ancient traditions. To say Gilbert was shocked was an understatement. In fact he was so shocked, that he didn't notice his Spanish comrade jab his pretend sword towards his chest until it was too late to stop it. Gilbert gasped for air, as one would if stabbed in the chest, and fell to his knees, seemingly breathless. Gilbert did not linger there long though as he quickly fell forward, on his face, with a loud thud. Gilbert lay motionless on the castle floor, not even visibly breathing. After all, being dead was one of the things Gilbert did best.

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Arms raised high above his head in an exuberant gesture of victory, Toni cheered, “The Pirates have won!” He hopped about, still miming the fierce battle. Then, his voice taking on the thick accent of a plundering seafarer, he joked, “Now, gimme all yer gold!”. He waited a few moments, for a chuckle or a retort. When this jibe elicited a response from neither of his companions, he spun around on his heel, still expecting to face Francis’ deadpan or Gilly’s smirk. Instead, upon turning, he was met with a sickening thud and one of his best friends coming crashing cacophonously to the ground. For a few fleeting seconds, he simply stared blankly at the scene, his mind not registering what new information it had been given by his eyes and ears. Then in a rapid, racing, rush he found himself at the Prussian’s side, at a loss as to what to do. Panic was permeating his thoughts, painting them a hysterical hue.

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Allowing his gaze to drift from the scene depicted on the portrait before him to his friends, Francis was at a loss for words for a brief minute as the Prussian Pureblood crashed to the ground. He was still, concern briefly occupying the Frenchman's gaze as he peered at his friend. He was faking, right? But by the way his Spanish comrade was reacting, it almost seemed as if the Prussian was dead. But he couldn't be, not from a pretend sword of all things. But the Spanish boys reaction, once again, seemed a little bit too tense for that to be true. Stepping closer, Francis bent at the waist to check Gilbert's pulse, nervous energy flickering in his blue gaze. He's okay. He's okay.

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Gilbert knew he was good at faking death, but sometimes he tended to underestimate his own skill at being ‘dead.’ Gilbert had a hard time learning where to draw the line. He struggled to find out where the line between pretend, and reality was. When was he taking it too far? He had gotten into so much trouble over the years for playing this part of death too well. It was the only thing his sister had ever punished him for, and she didn't really care what Gilbert did. Gilbert decided that he was crossing the line between fun, and fear, when he felt Francis’ fingers on his neck. He realized he took it too far again. The albino took a deep breath, and sat up, saying, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I-I went too far! I'm sorry!” Gilbert was trying to hold back a guilty tear in his eye, trying to stay strong, but the trembling in his voice gave away his remorse, and his own fear of his friends reactions.

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And suddenly all was in balance in the world once again. A rush of blood and heat flushed Toni’s cheeks. Blinking away brightness, he smiled bashfully and added, “I may have also have overreacted, my friend.” Following this remark, the Spaniard rose from his carefully crouched position, returning his weight upward. After regaining his balance, the Hufflepuff stuck out a hand to the Albino sprawled on the ground, his expression steadily settling back into it’s typical cheerful countenance.

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Gilbert smiled at his friend, and let the Spaniard hoist him up. The albino put an arm around both of his best friends, holding them close to him, before stopping, and timidly asking, “h-hey Toni… What time does that dinner thing start?” Usually Gilbert wouldn't care, but this was the last school he could go to. If he managed to get himself kicked out of Hogwarts, he’d have a muggle military school waiting for him, and almost no chance at a magical career. He didn't want to miss something that could mean the difference between staying at school, and being expelled.

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He'd just been about to assure Toni that Gilbert was, indeed, alright when the Prussian popped up, guilt leaking from his words as he apologized again and again for his actions. Francis’ lips knit themselves together into a severe frown as he peered at Gilbert. He honestly should have known this to be another product of the Prussian’s “acting”, after all the guy did have a track record of such acts of mischief. Toni didn’t seem to mind incredibly, the Spanish boy had returned to his usual cheerful assuage. But his reaction, or overreaction of sorts in the French mans opinion still deserves some deliberation. That is until the fest was mentioned by Gilbert. Francis tensed at those words, anxious energy beginning to spark in his eyes. “Oh no,” he breathed, stress audible in each syllable. “oh no, oh no, oh no.” Grasping his hands between his own as if trying to steady himself, Francis sunk to his knees in a burst of uncharacteristic over-dramaticness. “We're going to be late!” Releasing his own hands to clasp onto each of his friends respective hands, Francis tried unsuccessfully to calm himself down. But to be late to the feast of all things was a stress that grasped at the French mans emotions.

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Hearing Francis’ wail of melancholy, Toni shifted his gaze to his second friend who clasped his and Gilly’s hands tightly in his fit of melodrama, mourning their lack of timeliness in shrill, screeching tones. Extracting his own digits carefully from his companion’s grasp, Toni gave the French boy’s curled fingers an irresolute tap, before blithely bellowing, “I’m sure it’ll be alright! We’ll just need run.” And pulling Francis upward as well.

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“You're sure?” Francis verified Toni’s words, forcing whatever calm he had left to push his lips back into a stoic line of what he hoped passed for impassivity. Said friend pulled him up by his proffered palm and they group begin to almost immediately break into a sprint. It wasn't that he was unused to the exercise, it was more like he was used to the servants doing all the running while he lurked impatiently in the background. Taking in a harsh breath, Francis pushed his stress into the running.

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Gilbert nodded and forced his own hand from Francis’ grasp, putting his arm around his blond friend, as he began to run with them through the halls. Gilbert was, due to a lifetime of living the lifestyle of a small soldier, much more physically fit then his two friends. This led to the complication of Gilbert taking point, despite not knowing where he was going. It didn't take long before they were lost, and Gilbert was being steered around by Antonio. They did eventually find the great hall, only to discover the doors shut.

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Antonio screwed his eyes shut, wishing to see nearly anything other than the pair of oaken doors, stubbornly sealing away the Great Hall. Ghostly, flickering lights danced across his vision, brilliantly bright against the inky blackness of his closed lids. Upon opening them again, his vision was once again filled by the conspicuous lack of an entrance. With a gloomy groan, he fastened his verdant gaze on the ground, watching a spider stride sluggishly across the marble surface. His stare, settling back on his friends he inquired, “So, I guess we will have to go back to our dorms.”

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Gilbert shook his head, and said, “Nein! W-we’ll… Just… Crack the door open! Ja! Crack the door open, slip inside, and no one will even notice!” Gilbert was very proud of his idea, and moved to the door. He barely cracked the door open, before losing his grip on the door. The twin doors were caught by the magic of the school, and threw themselves open. The doors slammed open with a loud BANG in the dead silent hall. Gilbert visibly flinched as he heard the sickening bang, and saw the glares of the numerous teachers and students. He didn't even need to look at his friends to know the look they were, no doubt, giving him. Every now and then, even Gilbert wanted to shrink to the size of his pet, Gilbird, and fly away, unnoticed.

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With a short, searing glare in his peculiar, Prussian companion’s direction and a mumbled, “No one will even notice, mi amigo?” The boy entered, suffusing his stride with a spritely skip and injecting enthusiasm into his exasperated expression. His footsteps echoed like some sickeningly ear-piercing pulse that enveloped his senses and stabbed savagely at his jocular facade. He grinned merrily at his fellow housemates and waved at anyone who happened to cast a glance in his direction, still making his way to seat at the long, wooden table which had nearly disappeared under a swarm of yellow and black cloaks and bobbing heads. It was a few minutes before he finally arrived at his seat, still high fiving friends and shouting “Hello”s across the hall. Upon finding that only one space remained, Antonio dropped into a seat beside a housemate with vibrantly blue hair, and called over the cacophony created by surrounding throngs,

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“HI! I’M TONY!”

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Mortification crept over the blonde’s features, his cheeks going a cherry red as he froze in his tracks. “Gilbert..” The French man growled, anger evident in his tone. He usually wasn't a violent person, given his pure blood ranking and his kind-temperate, but he'd make an exception for this clumsiness. He would've shrunken back from the staree had it not been for his friends staring forward and his not wanting to be left behind. He followed Tonis lead, forcing a cheerful smile to his lips as he slid into his seat with enough merriment to suffice (he hoped) his being so ridiculously late. Shooting a smile in the direction of the dead-panning headmistress, he hoped to God that this would not be reported to his father.

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Gilbert fought off a wave of pure nausea at the extreme disapproval of his two friends, but managed to walk to his table and sit down. He was never the best at first impressions. At Dermstrang, he had been mistaken for a demon on the first day, due to his red eyes, and his obvious relation to his Natzi brother, Roderik. Still better than the French school he’d just got kicked out of, where they all thought he was a pedophile, for hitting on a first year, and smacking her ass. Well, at least Hogwarts knew what they were getting into.

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Collaboration with @KeyKitten13 and @JustJazzy

 

[SynKast]

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Sitting at the Ravenclaw table, Samuel silently pulled his wand from his cloak and without speaking any incantation the water in a fellow members goblet would turn to mud just as he was taking a drink. Even as he spit it out he'd begin laughing along with the rest of the table.


(Sorry, I currently have nothing to go off of.)