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| Angela had been listening to the goings-on of the lesson, naturally. It just wasn't possible to slack off in transfiguration because Professor Darling had the horrible habit of mentioning something wickedly important in passing, and if you hadn't paid attention during the lesson you might fail a test or be given some sort of really bad grade. She didn't mind, particularly. It kept her on her toes, and thinking of toes, the Headmistress's boots were fabulous, really. They smacked of authority and power, and the sound they made when they hit the floor was just delicious, and Angela definitely wanted them. She couldn't, however, see a chance to ask about them, because to stick her hand up and ask would probably get her a detention. No, this would have to be done correctly and with flair, or otherwise she would find herself in trouble. And if there was one thing that Angela Gladstone did not like, that one thing was trouble. It was a mess, really, and no good ever came from it. Angela liked things to be practical and orderly, and drama? Drama and mess had no place in her world. She had known the answer to both of the previous questions (because it was simple, gosh, if anyone couldn't answer them what were they even doing at Stonewall?) but she hadn't wanted to stand out so soon in a lesson. There was a time and a place for it, and it was just her luck that that time had come now. A question had been asked and whoever answered it correctly would demonstrate advanced knowledge and endear themselves to the headmistress; Angela was ready. "Food is one of the Five Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, Professor Darling," said Angela primly, her Brighton accent coming across strongly. "It cannot be conjured or transfigured, and if it isn't too much to ask, where did you get those boots? They're stunning," she said. She had a generally good relationship with the headmistress and she felt the question wouldn't go over too badly, since she was in a good mood and Angela had, after all, complimented her boots. |
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| Elizabeth had been teaching Angela Gladstone since the girl's third year so she was by that time incredibly used to the girl. She appeared vacuous and self-obsessed, but there was actually a keen intellectual mind hidden beneath the surface. She reminded Liz of herself, actually, which was probably the only reason she tolerated the girl's impertinent deviations from the lesson. And, really, her boots were ridiculously attractive, so she could hardly blame the girl for asking about them. They were a testament to Muggle fashion and were expertly crafted, and had cost a pretty penny, too. Angela had been correct, too; but then, Liz thought wryly, she wouldn't have dared ask the question in the first place had she been unsure of how correct she was. Manipulative little b****, Angela Gladstone, but a manipulative little b**** after Liz's own heart. Liz was also very glad she had been given an opportunity to talk about Gamp's Law, too, so she was in a very good mood after hearing Angela's answer. She briefly checked behind her to see that the snake was still being obedient, and of course it was. It was currently hissing at one of the girls, so Liz decided to leave the darling creature to its work. It's what she had created it for, after all. "Ten point to Wentworth House," said Liz, "for a correct answer and truly impeccable taste. Gladstone is quite right: food is one of the Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. It is in fact the First of the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, which states that 'Via the direction of magic, any conceivable item can be created, save the Five Principal Exceptions'. Another of these Exceptions is love; love cannot be created or destroyed, not through transfiguration or conjuration or potions or even the Imperius Curse." Liz decided that she had by that point lectured her students enough, and so she set them some questions to do. "Turn to page 183 of your textbooks and look at the equations there. Use the equation for calculating the rate of decay of a conjured object given certain assumptions to complete these ten problems." She turned and waved her wand at the board, which revealed ten painfully complicated questions all designed to use the equation: d = (pf)/time, where d was the rate of decay and pf was magical power multiplied by focus, divided by the time it took for the decay to occur. The answer to that would give the rate of decay measured in Higginbooms. "And by the way, Gladstone -- the boots are from a Muggle boutiue in Toronto", said Liz in passing as she strode back to her desk. Like a puppy, the snake followed her back, and she spent some time coaxing it into her lap. |
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| Sometimes -- and only sometimes, mind -- Angela Gladstone felt an intense, often overwhelming desire to be alone. It wasn't as if she didn't absolutely love the life of a budding politician because she did. The drama, the intrigue and the constant politicking were like heroin to her, and she didn't know if she could ever be one of the unknowns, and she knew that she would never settle for being a part of the unwashed masses. But sometimes she wanted to get away from her friends, her allies and her enemies. So that was why she was in an empty classroom on the first floor. It was a Saturday so there was hardly anyone about, and this classroom was unused anyway. From the faded posters on the walls, and the dusty bookscases at the back of the class, she thought it was the old literature classroom. It probably wasn't going to move anywhere, either, but even if it did, it didn't matter because she just wanted to be alone with her mind. And a good book, but she still couldn't escape the feeling that an ipod would be marvellous. A witch though she was (and a good one!), she enjoyed all the Muggle things that made being a Muggle fun. Computers, the Internet, music... all were things that Muggles had and were better at than wizards, whose culture had stagnated for hundreds of years. Quills and parchment, honestly? Hand-written newspapers (admittedly replicated magically)? Stuck in the past unnecessarily, because many Muggle inventions would work in highly magical settings. She had a vague idea of running on some kind of 'stop cultural stagnation!' platform one day. She had no doubt, of course, that she was going to be Minister one day, either of Canada or Britain. It didn't matter to her, really. She sat herself down against the wall, having first spread a blanket across the floor, and opened up her book. It was a critical analysis of the Canadian Ministry and its policies, and was written by a very intelligent and thought-provoking Muggleborn. Naturally -- the Muggleborns were the driving force behind most contemporary progress in the magical world, and Angela was determined to be counted among the elite. |
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| Dionysus found himself smiling at her suggestion that he was a Greek tourist. He supposed that he was one of those, in a way; were the Olympians even Greeks, anyway? Probably not, they were Olympians. Some of them. ... maybe he was Greek. He decided he would ask Hades about it later, because Hades would probably know. "I suppose I am, in a way!" he said, not really thinking about the consequences of doing so; ever capricious, Dionysus jumped into things head-first and whole-heartedly without really thinking them through. Hades would probably shout at him later, if he even found out about it at all. Of course, Adelina could have taken that particular statement to mean anything, and to be in response to anything she had said. Dionysus didn't really care, at that point, because he was growing bored with all the pretending. He wasn't Michael Sullivan! The man already intruded in his head, and Dionysus was of the firm belief that dead mortals should remain dead, and not take up residence in someone else's head. ...even if that head used to be theirs. There was no excuse. He tried to look Adelina in the eyes again, then, since he could see she was going through a whole spectrum of emotions and he didn't really want her to be feeling anything other than an overwhelming, all-consuming desire to know him in, ah, what was the term? The Biblical sense, that was it. Although something she said triggered a response in his head. Contrary to popular belief, he was not stupid. He was impulsive, rash, often love-sick and an absolute riot at a party, but he wasn't stupid. She might have thought him a what? A god? Well, this certainly made the game more interesting. Perhaps infinitely so, although maybe not because infinity was a rather big thing and Dionysus honestly didn't think anyone could comprehend it fully without being infinite himself, and nobody was infinite. Except maybe the personification of the universe, but he didn't think there was one of those anyway, and how could something infinite fit inside something else that was infinite? Was the universe even infinite? ... Hades might know. Dionysus smiled warmly at Adelina, in that kind of silly, cheery way that was friendly but not too forward. Hopefully he hadn't scared her off, and if she was something divine... well, godsex was better than sex with mortals. "Is it nothing?" he said, his head tilted slightly to the left. |
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| Sunflower Makepeace had been dancing – slowly – in the hot, humid confines of Greenhouse 3 for some time, and was completely oblivious to the students filtering in around her, lost as she was in the Music of Life. It happened, sometimes, and she was unable to control it: she heard the Song and just had to dance to it. She had learnt to open her ears to the song that flowed and coursed through everything a long time ago at her first song-circle in Slovenia, and she had never shut herself off since. It was important to be connected to the living, singing magic that made the world special. Those who were closed off left themselves in danger, and ended up like Isidora and Elizabeth: one was too bitter and paranoid to enjoy anything, and the other was too materialistic and driven to appreciate what she had. It was, on the whole, sad that people didn't see and feel and enjoy the music she could always feel. She was never alone, never frightened, because she had the constant reassurance of the primordial song at her side. Always. Although—although sometimes it was a shade inconvenient, hearing the song constantly, because she suddenly became aware that she had a class to teach, and that her students had already arrived. Which was silly, because they were all early...! Except, as a quick tempus informted her, they were all on time. Probably, anyway, but it wouldn't matter if anyone was late because sometimes, sometimes things like that happened, and who really minded? Rarely was it crucial to be at a particular place at a particular time, and the ability to be fluid and flexible and understanding with your time was undervalued. But not by Sunny, because Sunny was a firm believer that things did not have to be rigid. It took her a few more moments to realise that she was still dancing, but she didn't allow it to concern her in the least. Instead, she danced her way to a position in front of all the students and conjured a chair for herself. It would, of course, disappear after the lesson (and conjured objects were wont to do so, for reasons Elizabeth had told her once but she had forgotten), but for now it suited her purposes. “Hello, students!” she said, sitting down elegantly on the chair, her skirts arranged nearly around her. “Today we are studying herbology, but it is silly to limit oneself to one thing, isn't it? So, instead, I propose that we study the world! Yes, that seems better to me...” she said, trailing off slightly, distracted by a change in the rhythm of the music. “Tomorrow, of course, we might be studying something else – one never knows – but for today, we shall study the world. The world is very important, of course... But, for now, what is of the most importance to you, you young, beautiful souls, are your OWLs. I shall not spend too long talking about the OWLs because it upsets me to see knowledge used in such a manner, but it is too important to ignore. Your OWLs are very important, although I will be proud of each and every one of you no matter your 'grade' – because what is a grade, other than an arbitrary letter which does not tell us much of anything? I am afraid I shall have to set you some very vigorous tasks this year, and there shall be essays.” She paused again. ”And I am very sorry for the heat in here; it is simply unavoidable. But such is life! Does anyone have a question?” She sat back serenely, all placid smiles and joy. |