[X] [CLASSICAL] Simon – The ghostly priest uses the language often in his worship, though has not taught it to anyone from scratch.
[X] [SOCIAL] The Grey Lady
[X] [SOCIAL] Sally-Anne Perks
[X] [SOCIAL] Hagrid
[X] [CLASSICAL] Portrait – While you are wary of intelligent magical artefacts, portraits outnumber the living and the dead of Hogwarts. Surely one of them will be a decent teacher.
[X] [SOCIAL] Sally-Anne Perks
[X] [SOCIAL] Tabletop Club
[X] [CLASSICAL] Portrait – While you are wary of intelligent magical artefacts, portraits outnumber the living and the dead of Hogwarts. Surely one of them will be a decent teacher.
[X] [SOCIAL] The Grey Lady
[X] [SOCIAL] Patil Twins
[X] [SOCIAL] Moaning Myrtle
[X] [SOCIAL] The Fat Friar
[x] [CLASSICAL] Simon – The ghostly priest uses the language often in his worship, though has not taught it to anyone from scratch.
[x] [SOCIAL] Hermione Granger
[x] [SOCIAL] Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Dean Thomas
[x] [SOCIAL] Tabletop Club
[x] [SOCIAL] Wireless Club
[x] [CLASSICAL] Simon – The ghostly priest uses the language often in his worship, though has not taught it to anyone from scratch.
[x] [SOCIAL] Hagrid
[x] [SOCIAL] Sally-Anne Perks
[x] [SOCIAL] Tabletop Club
[x] [SOCIAL] Wireless Club
[X] [SOCIAL] Professor Snape
I sorta want to see this now. I imagine Zagreus reading ahead and asking how best to be prepared and why the potion uses such-and-such ingredient instead of that one, Snape's annoyance held back by the opportunity to insult everyone except Zagreus for lack of foresight, Snape grudgingly giving advice that Zagreus passes on to everyone else in Ravenclaw, next Potions class being unusually good (Snape is only making cutting remarks instead of taking points).
[X] [SOCIAL] Hagrid
[X] [SOCIAL] Patil Twins
[X] [SOCIAL] Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot
[X] [SOCIAL] Pansy Parkinson
[X] [SOCIAL] Wireless Club
[X] [SOCIAL] Nearly Headless Nick
[X] [SOCIAL] The Bloody Baron
[X] [SOCIAL] Hagrid
[X] [CLASSICAL] Simon – The ghostly priest uses the language often in his worship, though has not taught it to anyone from scratch.
[X] [SOCIAL] Nearly Headless Nick
[X] [SOCIAL] Hagrid
[X] [CLASSICAL] Simon – The ghostly priest uses the language often in his worship, though has not taught it to anyone from scratch.
[X] [SOCIAL] Hermione Granger
[X] [SOCIAL] Susan Bones
[X] [SOCIAL] Neville Longbottom
[X] [SOCIAL] Sally-Anne Perks
And cho Chang will get to become replacement seeker. Which, admittedly, doesn't sound particularly great, but Ravenclaw hasn't taken into account the frequency with which harry gets involved in life threatening situations that put him on the hospital bed for a week or so. So having Chang for contingency is pretty insightful, all things considered.
Professor Sprout praises you for a well written essay on Devil's Snare, a dangerous plant at home in the damp and the dark with an ability to crush its victims – you are particularly proud of a section on its use as a 'guard plant.'
In Transfiguration, you stumble at turning a block of soap into a sponge at first, until you do some reading in the library. You learn that sponges are essentially the skeletal remains of sea creatures. After examining the diagrams in books and samples from potion ingredients, you weave thin filaments of ersatz bone into fist-sized masses. In some ways the structure is simpler than traditional bone, but in other ways it is rather delicate, requiring attention so it does not immediately collapse.
As Professor McGonagall examines your sponges, you look at Hermione's efforts. While she has clearly succeeded, her sponges look far different. Where yours are bulbous, lopsided, and fuzzy, hers are neat, angular blocks. Where yours are soft and yielding, hers are firmer to the touch. Where yours are pale, hers are brightly coloured. And where the pores in your sponges are irregular, in hers they are uniform.
Despite the differences, both are satisfactory to Professor McGonagall, who awards each of you five points. She then shows the class your sponges, explaining how you ended up with different results because you visualised them differently – you as the remains of a creature, Hermione as a product of muggle engineering.
I just can't help but love the mental gymnastics Zagreus has to pull out just to keep up with his fellow classmates to compensate for the gaps that the ultra especialization that his magic suffers from make him lacking on certain areas.
Seriously, if he was as flexible physically as he is in his imagination and improvisation skills, he would be able to join the Cirque du Soleil as a contortionist.
Also, it would be neat if, after first year, Zagreus did something normal for a kid of his age, just for once, and visited the aquarium in London. Maybe accompanied by the grey wizard as his legal guardian, or maybe along with Hermione, who, being muggleborn, will have certainly been there at least once, just like harry went to the zoo during Dudley's birthday. Hell, harry can com too if he wants, why not? Thus, he would be able to see firsthand what living sponges look like, as well as other forms of sea life that he didn't even know they existed, which, at least in warhammer fantasy, may as well be true, considering how dangerous the seas of that world are, which would make the existence of the more delicate fauna that needs very specific environments to thrive, impossible
Student groups are perhaps your safest bet. They are not restricted to the formal curriculum, as your efforts in the Wireless Club can attest. You find a notice for one studying "ancient languages," and decide to drop in.
"Thank you for your interest, but we don't think you'd be a good fit," says the sixth year Slytherin girl with feigned politeness. As you notice the group behind her, mostly fellow Slytherins, you get the impression she is not talking about your age or skill. You leave disappointed, but with the sense you dodged a bolt of Dhar.
One day, when Zagreus has grown out of his ugly duckling phase, with his powers fully developed, once he has become a fully fledged magister in his own right, and with the full force of both cult of mort and the colleges of magic backing him up, you will come to regret your decision.
Also, it wouldn't do any harm to add a couple of half naked Slytherin girls chained at Zagreus' feet while he rests on his throne made of bones.
Tabletop because I just really enjoy the interactions of muggleborn, wizard and WIZARD in a space oddessy and I feel sorry for Pansy and hope reaching out will have some positive effect.
I would also like to interact more with at least one of the Slytherins that were unfairly sorted into the wrong house, but I can't see Zagreus wanting to even speak to someone who tried to attack him with Dhar. Not to mention that inviting her to a tabletop game session is almost certainly going to be rejected, since those are muggle entertainment, and Parkinson and her family are pureblood supremacists.
To make a possible conversation between them plausible, first it would be necessary to find some common ground between them that justify any social interaction. Something that both have interest in. Unfortunately, Rowling didn't give us much to work with regarding the development of secondary characters. And in case of Zabini, is even worse.
Harry glanced around at their fellow guests. He recognized a Slytherin from their year, a tall black boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes; there were also two seventh-year boys Harry did not know and, squashed in the corner beside Slughorn and looking as though she was not entirely sure how she had got there, Ginny.
"Now, do you know everyone?" Slughorn asked Harry and Neville. "Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course--"
Zabini did not make any sign of recognition or greeting, nor did Harry or Neville: Gryffindor and Slytherin students loathed each other on principle.
It was as Harry had suspected. Everyone here seemed to have been invited because they were connected to somebody well-known or influential. . . everyone except Ginny. Zabini, who was interrogated after McLaggen, turned out to have a famously beautiful witch for a mother (from what Harry could make out, she had been married seven times, each of her husbands dying mysteriously and leaving her mounds of gold).
I mean, what would possibly Zagreus want to talk about with someone who is at best, an opportunistic pureblood supremacist whose mother has made a living out of marrying rich and powerful men, only to getting rid of them once they have fulfilled their purpose, and a straight out Voldemort sympathizer at worst , that was pretty nonchalant about the possible involvement of draco, one of his friends, in Voldemort's inner circle?
"So, Zabini," said Malfoy, "what did Slughorn want?"
"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," said Zabini, who was still glowering at Goyle. "Not that he managed to find many. "
This information did not seem to please Malfoy.
"Who else had he invited?" he demanded.
"McLaggen from Gryffindor," said Zabini.
"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry," said Malfoy.
"--someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw--"
"Not him, he's a prat!" said Pansy.
"--and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl," finished Zabini.
Malfoy sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy's hand aside.
"He invited Longbottom?"
"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," said Zabini indifferently.
"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?"
Zabini shrugged.
"Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at the Chosen One," sneered Malfoy, "but that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"
"A lot of boys like her," said Pansy, watching Malfoy out of the corner of her eyes for his reaction. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"
"I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like," said Zabini coldly, and Pansy looked pleased. Malfoy sank back across her lap and allowed her to resume the stroking of his hair.
"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or--"
"I wouldn't bank on an invitation," said Zabini. "He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters. "
Malfoy looked angry, but forced out a singularly humorless laugh.
"Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher. " Malfoy yawned ostentatiously. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"
"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" said Pansy indignantly, ceasing grooming Malfoy at once.
"Well, you never know," said Malfoy with the ghost of a smirk. "I might have--er--moved on to bigger and better things. "
Crouched in the luggage rack under his cloak, Harry's heart began to race. What would Ron and Hermione say about this? Crabbe and Goyle were gawping at Malfoy; apparently they had had no inkling of any plans to move on to bigger and better things. Even Zabini had allowed a look of curiosity to mar his haughty features. Pansy resumed the slow stroking of Malfoy s hair, looking dumbfounded.
"Do you mean--Him"
Malfoy shrugged.
"Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it. . . When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O. W. L. s or N. E. W. T. s anyone's got? Of course he isn't. . . it'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown. "
"And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" asked Zabini scathingly. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"
"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for," said Malfoy quietly.
Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with their mouths open like gargoyles. Pansy was gazing down at Malfoy as though she had never seen anything so awe-inspiring.
Also, because this way, we would be adding socializing with one of the ghosts, as well as the other socializing choices, even if we don't choose a ghost to begin with.
[X] [SOCIAL] Sally-Anne Perks
[X] [SOCIAL] Seamus Finnigan
[X] [SOCIAL] Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot
[X] [SOCIAL] Blaise Zabini
[X] [SOCIAL] Wireless Club
[X] [CLASSICAL] Portrait – While you are wary of intelligent magical artefacts, portraits outnumber the living and the dead of Hogwarts. Surely one of them will be a decent teacher.
[X] [CLASSICAL] Simon – The ghostly priest uses the language often in his worship, though has not taught it to anyone from scratch.
[X] [SOCIAL] Pansy Parkinson
[X] [SOCIAL] Tabletop Club
[X] [SOCIAL] Susan Bones
[X] [SOCIAL] The Grey Lady
[X] [SOCIAL] Blaise Zabini
[X] [SOCIAL] The Bloody Baron
[X] [SOCIAL] Sally-Anne Perks
[X] [SOCIAL] Professor Snape
I'm picking Simon here to basically hope to pick up a more clerical speech or charisma to our preaching. It would probably help us when we inevitably do more sermons to the (un)willing wizarding masses. Also, I think it would be funny if we convert a population of the secular Wizarding World to Morr lmao.
Also Pansy friendship so we can help her through these hard times, it feels like she has basically no friends amongst the Ravenclaws, and that wouldn't do. Feelz bad for her.
Gotta talk with the Bloody Baron, help him through friendship and then maybe peacefully going beyond while we research how to.
I sorta want to see this now. I imagine Zagreus reading ahead and asking how best to be prepared and why the potion uses such-and-such ingredient instead of that one, Snape's annoyance held back by the opportunity to insult everyone except Zagreus for lack of foresight, Snape grudgingly giving advice that Zagreus passes on to everyone else in Ravenclaw, next Potions class being unusually good (Snape is only making cutting remarks instead of taking points).
Speaking of potions teachers, I'm curious of how a conversation between Slughorn, the former potions teacher, as well as head of Slytherin back when Voldemort was a student at Hogwarts, and Zagreus, would go, as well as what would they make of each other respectively.
I mean, Harry 's conversation with Slughorn didn't go precisely smoothly, to say the least.
"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you," he said abruptly.
Harry merely looked at Slughorn. Slughorn's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar, this time taking in the rest of his face.
"You look very like your father. "
"Yeah, I've been told," said Harry.
"Except for your eyes. You've got--"
"My mother's eyes, yeah. " Harry had heard it so often he found it a bit wearing.
"Hmpf. Yes, well. You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother," Slughorn added, in answer to Harry's questioning look. "Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too. "
"Which was your House?"
"I was Head of Slytherin," said Slughorn. "Oh, now," he went on quickly, seeing the expression on Harry's face and wagging a stubby ringer at him, "don't go holding that against me! You'll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Sirius Black? You must have done--been in the papers for the last couple of years--died a few weeks ago --"
It was as though an invisible hand had twisted Harry's intestines and held them tight.
"Well, anyway, he was a big pal of your father's at school. The whole Black family had been in my House, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame--he was a talented boy. I got his brother, Regulus, when he came along, but I'd have liked the set. "
He sounded like an enthusiastic collector who had been outbid at auction. Apparently lost in memories, he gazed at the opposite wall, turning idly on the spot to ensure an even heat on his backside.
"Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good. "
"One of my best friends is Muggle-born," said Harry, "and she's the best in our year. "
"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" said Slughorn.
"Not really," said Harry coldly.
Slughorn looked down at him in surprise.
"You mustn't think I'm prejudiced!" he said. "No, no, no! Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too--now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course--another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!"
He bounced up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and pointed at the many glittering photograph frames on the dresser, each peopled with tiny moving occupants.
"All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes--a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkisss who gave him his first job! And at the back-- you'll see her if you just crane your neck--that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies. . . People are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"
This thought seemed to cheer him up enormously.
"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" asked Harry, who could not help wondering why the Death Eaters had not yet tracked down Slughorn if hampers of sweets, Quidditch tickets, and visitors craving his advice and opinions could find him.
The smile slid from Slughorn's face as quickly as the blood from his walls.
"Of course not," he said, looking down at Harry. "I have been out of touch with everybody for a year. "
Harry had the impression that the words shocked Slughorn himself; he looked quite unsettled for a moment. Then he shrugged.
"Still. . . the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate --"
"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," said Harry, who could not quite keep a note of derision out of his voice: it was hard to sympathize with Slughorn's cosseted existence when he remembered Sirius, crouching in a cave and living on rats. "Most of the teachers aren't in it, and none of them has ever been killed--well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort. "
And Slughorn didn't leave a particularly positive impression in harry.
Harry had a sudden and vivid mental image of a great swollen spider, spinning a web around it, twitching a thread here and there to bring its large and juicy flies a little closer.
Probably because of his (admittedly benevolent and rather tame compared to the death eaters' xenophobia) pureblood prejudices.
As they set off down the garden path, Slughorn's voice floated after them, "I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind them, and they set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.
"Well done, Harry," said Dumbledore.
"I didn't do anything," said Harry in surprise.
"Oh yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"
"Er. . . "
Harry wasn't sure whether he liked Slughorn or not. He supposed he had been pleasant in his way, but he had also seemed vain and, whatever he said to the contrary, much too surprised that a Muggle-born should make a good witch.
In my opinion, I think Harry was exaggerating a bit. Yes, Slughorn thinks a pureblood should be more naturally inclined to magic and innately talented than a muggleborn, but the way I see it, it was more like a belief similar to the fact that a person descended from a long line of musicians will have a greater advantage and inherited skill than a person that came from a random family not particularly gifted, thanks to the accumulated knowledge and experience passed through generations. After all, upbringing leaves a mark upon you, wether you acknowledge it or not.
Besides , it's not like Slughorn didn't recognize talent when he saw it, and didn't nurture it regardless of its source, so I think that, apart from his utilitarianism, he is amicable enough.
As for Zagreus, I don't think he would care too much about Slughorn's preconceived notions, considering Zagreus must be used to it by now, you know, because of his origin as a poor peasant Ina backwards village found in the extremely rural Stirland. I'm sure that the moment he entered the colleges, he had to deal with taunts and snide comments from many fellow classmates from other provinces that had a poor opinion of Stirland.
Not to mention, Zagreus hardly knew how to read back then, only having received the bare minimum of basic education, thanks to the benevolence of a priest of Morr who knew his letters (priest that later advocated for Zagreus'burning after he was accused of witchcraft, by the way), so, in general terms, I think Zagreus, must to harry's dismay, would agree with Slughorn that it's funny that people like him sometimes turn out to be unexpected geniuses. Because, you know, nobody inside nor outside their social circle expected it.
I mean, I sincerely doubt that Hermione's parents had any idea what their daughter was going to become the brightest witch of her age (quoting professor lupin, quote, which, by the way, has been subjected to gross misinterpretation throughout the years).
By the way, speaking of Slughorn, there's something that he and Snape have in common.
"Hector Dagworth-Granger's Compendium of Contraindications may prove enlightening. Do not bother me again until you have understood the knowledge within. I have other matters to attend to," he says, dismissing you with a wave of his hand.
It turns out, this name already came up in Slughorn's first class.
"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment.
"Hermione Granger, sir. "
"Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"
"No. I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see. "
Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.
"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"
"Yes, sir," said Harry.
"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," said Slughorn genially.
No, it seems that, at first glance, Hermione granger doesn't have anything to do with Hector Dagworth-Granger. No blood ties or anything of the sort.
Unless, of course, Hermione granger is descended from him by a squib child of his or maybe of one of his closest relatives.
Didn't j k Rowling say in one of her posts that muggleborns inherited magic from a distant ancestor; being descended from squibs who have married muggles and whose families had lost the knowledge of their wizarding legacy, with the magic resurfacing unexpectedly many generations later ? Or is that only fanon? At this point, I'm a bit afraid to ask, since the line between canon and fanon seems to become blurrier.
Anyway, I wonder what would be Slughorn's opinion of Zagreus, being muggleborn are poor, but skilled and driven, and by sixth year, probably with a long track record, along with Harry, of defying Voldemort's schemes.
As for Zagreus, I think that, although he would have respected Slughorn as an educator, I think he wouldn't have felt comfortable with Slughorn's obsequiousness, which often conceal hidden intentions, reminding him of those burgomeisters back in Altdorf, who are very doublecrossing as long as they reap some benefit, in contrast with Snape's harsh, but more genuine, personality.
In my opinion, I think Harry was exaggerating a bit. Yes, Slughorn thinks a pureblood should be more naturally inclined to magic and innately talented than a muggleborn, but the way I see it, it was more like a belief similar to the fact that a person descended from a long line of musicians will have a greater advantage and inherited skill than a person that came from a random family not particularly gifted, thanks to the accumulated knowledge and experience passed through generations. After all, upbringing leaves a mark upon you, wether you acknowledge it or not.
I think it's more that a Pureblood can practice magic outside of school, get tutors and study materials a lot easier, as well as being introduced to magic and teaching in it earlier.
Scheduled vote count started by Oksbad on Nov 7, 2023 at 10:20 PM, finished with 68 posts and 59 votes.
[X] [CLASSICAL] Portrait – While you are wary of intelligent magical artefacts, portraits outnumber the living and the dead of Hogwarts. Surely one of them will be a decent teacher.
[X] [CLASSICAL] Portrait – While you are wary of intelligent magical artefacts, portraits outnumber the living and the dead of Hogwarts. Surely one of them will be a decent teacher.
[X] [SOCIAL] Tabletop Club
[X] [SOCIAL] Sally-Anne Perks
[X] [SOCIAL] Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Dean Thomas
[X] [SOCIAL] The Grey Lady
One day after your classes, you wait patiently in a classroom smelling of candle wax and parchment. Once you told Simon you were willing to try learning from a portrait, he had given you a time and location and you'd shown up early.
Behind the teacher's lectern hangs a portrait of a classroom with its own blackboard that wouldn't be too out of place at Hogwarts. There are no people in it, until a figure steps into the frame – a brown-haired bearded man with Tilean features wearing an intricate, polished breastplate, and a red cloak with an eagle clasp.
It is clear this is not his own portrait frame. Not only is he dressed for a battlefield rather than a classroom, but he is painted differently – resembling part of a faded mural on a wall, rather than an oil painting on canvas.
"Ave, discipule!" booms the figure's voice, "Ego sum Aulus Plautius, Britanniae victor, et Legatus Augusti pro praetore."
You rise to your feet, parsing his words. He greeted you as his student and told you his name and title – you think.
At least the Classical word for teacher is easy to remember.
"Ave, magister," you rasp, reaching the end of your Classical knowledge, "I am Zagreus Nyx. Simon told…"
"Tace, barbarus!" barks the figure, he raises his hand and snaps it shut, imitating a closed mouth.
"Bar bar bar bar bar," he says mockingly, opening and closing his hand like a speaking mouth before making a slashing motion for emphasis, "Latina aut nihil. Comprehendisne?"
Latin or nothing.
You exhale in frustration. You're no stranger to harsh teachers, but you're frustrated at being insulted and bossed around by a magical artefact.
Person or no, being insolent won't make you a better student.
You don't remember the Classical words for yes or no, or even if they exist, so you nod your head. Thankfully, this is satisfactory for the portrait.
"Ego sum Aulus Plautius," he says, gesturing to himself, before pointing to you expectantly.
"Ego sum Zagreus Nyx," you respond, after you realise what he's getting at.
"Bene. Tu es Zagreus Nyx," he says, seemingly satisfied, gesturing to himself.
"Tu es…" you say, hesitating a moment, "Magister Aulus Plautius."
For the first time, the portrait smiles.
"Bene, bene…" he says, beckoning you to come closer, In the frame he hangs up a map of the Mediterranean Sea. The portrait then unsheathes a sword and points the tip toward the centre.
"Haec est Roma. Roma in Italia est. Roma in Graecia non est…" he says, gesturing to parts of the map as he continues.
It's clear this isn't a geography lesson, but a way to teach you how the language works without using another one. It's odd, and proves frustrating at points, but you do learn both how to form some simple sentences, and the words for things like "city", "river", and "island."
Time will tell how well it'll work.
================================
You have a good time at the year's first tabletop meeting as you and your party liberate the Imperial prison alongside the inmates. Nikhil Singh's character dies heroically, and he starts playing as one of the inmates instead – a Rodian clone suspiciously similar to his old character.
The trouble comes when you are walking back with Justin Finch-Fletchley and Sue Li, discussing a specific character in your campaign, when you make a pointed comment about doctors.
"Do you have something against doctors, Zagreus?" asks Justin.
"Yes," you say, "They defile corpses in search of knowledge."
"That's not true," says Sue Li, in disgust.
"They do. They have to watch graveyards so the medical schools don't steal the corpses," you say. That was equally true here on Earth – you'd read about it.
"They don't do that anymore," says Justin, "My father says… you know my father is a doctor, right?"
You didn't. Oh dear.
"I don't hold your father's profession against you," you say, remembering your fight with Ron about his eldest brother.
Justin scoffs.
"Well how bloody magnanimous of you!" he says in disbelief, "For your information, they don't steal cadavers from graveyards anymore. People donate their bodies to science."
"Even if that's true," you say, sceptically, "That doesn't make it fine. If a man showed up to your estate wanting to sell himself into slavery, would your family say yes?"
"You're barking mad," says Justin before splitting off to return to his own common room.
You walk back to Ravenclaw Tower with Sue.
"My mum's a doctor too, you know," she says, coldly.
You sigh in frustration as you spend the rest of your walk in awkward silence. How many bloody doctors were there in Britain? Were all of your classmates' families involved in disreputable professions? Between Ron's brother, Justin's father, and Sue's mother, you half expect Sally-Anne's parents to be resurrection men.
================================
"Sally-Anne, what do your parents do for a living?" you ask, as you spot her coming down from her dormitory.
She blinks, "Well, dad's a maths teacher, and mum works for an apothecary. Why?"
You let out your breath in relief.
"Just curious," you say, noticing that she's carrying a pair of black boots, both with a single gleaming blade beneath, "Is that some kind of weapon?"
Sally-Anne laughs.
"No, silly. They're my ice skates."
You frown. You're aware of spiked boots, used for walking and climbing on ice, and Magister Orpheum had a pair of hobnail boots, but these look quite different.
"I'm going skating on the frozen lake," she says, "Want to come with me?"
You're curious what that involves, but hesitate as you remember the Grindylows. Somebody should probably keep an eye on her…
"Alright," you say, "but I'm staying on land."
Sally-Anne and you trudge down to the Black Lake. She leads you to a small, shallow inlet, which has frozen solid into a slab of pale blue ice.
"Grindylows can't get us here, see," says Sally-Anne.
"Unless they can tunnel through the ice," you say, fingers wrapped around your wand.
Sally-Anne rolls her eyes.
"Ever the optimist… Well, keep an eye out if you want. I'm going on it."
Only at the ice's edge does Sally-Anne put on her "skates," as well as a round black helmet. You watch as she climbs to her feet and steps onto the ice, wobbling slightly at first. Stretching out her arms for balance, she glides forwards. Then she starts to move. At first, she pushes off the ice cautiously, her strides short and measured. Seemingly satisfied, she picks up the pace, her body swaying with the gentle push and pull of her legs. As she skates around in increasingly quick circles, the blades she glides on leave grooves in the ice. Soon she is skating faster than she can run.
As you observe this, Sally-Anne gives you a mischievous look, suddenly speeding towards you.
"What are you…" you start to rasp, taking a few steps back. At the last minute, Sally-Anne turns and leans sideways, scraping her skates' blades across the surface of the lake and spraying a jet of fine ice all over you.
Sally-Anne snickers. You mumble, throwing a snowball at her, but she skates away and dodges it gracefully.
"Impressive," you say with sincerity as you dust the ice off your cloak and hat, "how long have you been doing this?"
"Most of my life," says Sally-Anne, "dad first took me skating when I was five."
"And this is how you play hockey?" you ask.
Sally-Anne stops next to you, excited.
"It's part of it," she says, "hand me that branch."
You hand her a curved piece of wood coming up to her shoulders. She knocks a flat rock into the ice, before she resumes skating, moving the rock ahead of her with the stick.
"In hockey you skate on the ice with your team. You try to get the puck in the opponent's goal," she says.
She smacks the rock with her stick, burying it into an imaginary goal – a nearby snowbank. She skates back next to you, her expression more glum.
"I miss it," she says.
"You don't play anymore?" you ask and Sally-Anne shakes her head, "Why not?"
"Magic," she says simply, "accidental magic, that is. I was playing a match with some muggle kids when I checked a girl eight feet over the barrier."
Your eyes widen.
"It wasn't on purpose!" says Sally-Anne, defensively, "Well, I hit her on purpose, but I didn't intend to do that. Her parents were furious, and the Obliviators had to come in. After that, no more hockey… Too risky, with the Statute of Secrecy."
The two of you remain silent for a few moments.
"Wizards don't play it?" you ask.
"No, they don't," says Sally-Anne, "and it's not like football when you can just drop a ball and have a few people kick it around. Can't really play it alone either."
"I'm sorry," you say.
Sally-Anne sighs.
"Dad still takes me to skate, but it's not the same," she explains, "Do you want to give it a try?"
"What, hockey?"
"No, skating," she says, gesturing to her feet.
You'd be lying if you said it didn't look tempting, in the same way that riding on a galloping horse is. You also know that if you try it you'll likely hurt yourself.
"No," you say after a few moments' thought, "I'll fall."
"Oh come on, don't be a chicken," says Sally-Anne, folding her arms in an imitation of wings, "bwuk, bwuk, bwuk."
You refuse, but Sally-Anne latches on to your hesitation and wears you down.
"Come on, I'll owe you one," says Sally-Anne.
"What do you get out of this?" you ask, suspiciously.
"It'll be fun to watch," says Sally-Anne, mischievously.
"Fine!" you say. Sally-Anne steps back onto the lakeshore, uncharacteristically giddy with excitement. You sit down on a nearby log and the cold bites into your feet as you remove them from your boots and put them into her skates. They're a bit large, but fit well enough. At Sally-Anne's urging you replace your hat with her helmet – it's thick but lighter than you expect.
"If I die doing this, you're responsible for my funerary rites. You can find them in Libro Dei Morti…" you say, hobbling towards the edge of the ice.
Sally-Anne rolls her eyes.
"Don't be a baby!" she says, "now step on the ice."
You do, and with all the grace of a newborn lamb, quickly lose your footing and fall on your face.
"Right, I guess I should have told you first…" says Sally-Anne, after making sure you are mostly uninjured, "If you can, try to fall on your side."
"Thank you for your timely advice," you say, deadpan.
Sally-Anne helps you back on your feet, holding your hand and pulling you forward from the lake shore so you can focus on your balance. At first you're as stiff as a corpse, but Sally-Anne instructs you how to fix your posture.
"Keep your feet aligned with your hips, no wider," she says, repeating instructions drilled into her since childhood, "and keep your hands below your belly."
She then pushes you from behind across the ice, telling you to keep the skates parallel. You mutter prayers as you glide across, managing to keep your balance, but your momentum does not carry you to the opposing shore.
"What now?" you rasp, wobbling as you crane your neck backwards.
"Try to walk forward like a penguin," she shouts.
"What's a penguin?!" you try to shout, not quite keeping the annoyance out of your voice.
Your attempt to duplicate the steps Sally-Anne shows you proves fruitless, and you fall a few times and end up crawling back to land. Sally-Anne takes back the skates to demonstrate the motion, with far slower and shorter "steps" then she is capable of, before returning them to you.
After many falls you reach the point where you can match the pace of a particularly clumsy toddler. Sally-Anne is caught between excitement at your improvement, and amusement at your failures.
If nothing else this is good practice for casting Shield of Souls reflexively.
By the time dusk comes, you manage to cross the inlet alone without falling, as Sally-Anne beams with pride. The two of you call it a day, and head back to the castle.
You are winded, battered, sore, and covered in scrapes and bruises – but you find you don't regret being talked into this.
Raw DCs: 30/60/90/120 Bonuses: 20 (Good student) + 20 (Priority - Independent study) + 5 (Minor existing knowledge) + 10 (Knowledgeable teacher) - 10 (Mistrust of magical artefacts) = 45 (-36 to DC, +9 to roll) True DCs: -6/24/54/84 Roll: 1d100 + 9 Result: 51 + 9 = 60. Great Success. The road to learning a new language is long, but you have made an excellent start.
Tabletop Club Socialisation:
Raw DCs: 30/60/90 Bonuses: -10 (Socially Awkward) - 5 (Voice) + 10 (Tabletop club) + 5 (Yearning to fit in) + 5 (Previous interactions) = 5 (-4 to DC, +1 to Roll) True DCs: 26/56/86 Roll: 1d100 + 4 Result: 17 + 4 = 21. Failure. An awkward conversation with Justin and Sue.
Sally-Anne Perks Socialisation:
Raw DCs: 30/60/90 Bonuses: -10 (Socially Awkward) - 5 (Voice) + 10 (Same house) + 25 (Close friend) = 20 (-16 to DC, +4 to roll) True DCs: 14/44/74 Roll: 1d100 + 4 Result: 84 + 4 = 88. Great Success. Closer to Sally-Anne, earned a favour, picked up a new skill, practiced Shield of Souls
AN: As always, anyone knowledgeable please let me know if I butchered the Latin.
At least Sally-Anne and Latin/Classical are going well. Deep immersion in a language really is the best way to learn it, there's something about the human brain that works well with that.
Man, what the heck Simon, you hooked us up with a racist millennia old latin teacher? I thought we were friends, bro.
Still a better teacher than Snape .
A return to form (of foot-eating) with the TTgang action.
I liked the ice skating scene. I also learned how to as a kid. Quite fun, but the skates hurt a fair bit. Zag did well to learn the basics in an afternoon with no sidewall to hold on to.
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