From the Ashes

Who: Joe and anyone who wants to join
Where: The grounds
When: Wednesday
What: Fun with patronii (which sounded better in my head)

As soon as Joe dismissed his last class, which included a memorable instance of a pair of former best friends' ostrich and hamster chasing each other around the room for ten chaotic minutes, Joe decided to fuck off being responsible and spend the rest of the daylight hours outside with his gorilla. He didn't know if it was normal to give the tangible manifestation of your soul's representation a name; it was weird calling the gorilla gorilla and weird calling him patronus, so Joe went with Gori.

He found a spot by the lake underneath a couple trees and plopped down. The lake was pretty in the afternoon sunlight and every now and then a long tentacle broke the surface of the water and startled his gorilla into running back to Joe, jumping into his lap and pressing his face into Joe's chest.

"It's okay, little dude," Joe said, ruffling it's hair.

Who: All, sundry and their furry soulmates
When: Dinner on Wednesday
Where: Great Hall, whether the teachers' high table or elsewhere as needed
What: Soul manifestation mayhem, duh

The Great Hall was barely half-full for dinner when Gabe stalked in, his feline companion almost matching his gait half a step behind him. And she was gorgeous, ok? She was the most beautiful Iberian Lynx he'd ever seen, possibly because she was the first one who'd ever been inclined to sit still to be admired.

So hanging out with her all day had not precisely been hard. Sure, classes had been a little more full of distraction than usual, and his lynx seemed to spent half of every class padding quietly between the benches and cuffing other tumbling animals, but whatever, it wasn't like a little light relief wasn't totally welcome this week.

Threading his way up to the end of the hall, Gabe climbed up to the high table - from where the Hall really did look like a menagerie gone beserk. He paused for a moment just to admire it before his lynx butted at his thigh and he moved on to find his seat.

Who: Joe and Patrick
Where: Patrick's quarters
When: Wednesday evening
What: a very manly tea party


In an effort to "catch up on old times," Patrick and Joe were chilling out in Patrick's quarters, sitting cross-legged across from each other on Patrick's bed. It was almost like they were both fourteen and none this was awkward. You know, sort of.

"Oh, haha. Okay, so do you remember Ms. McClean? With the." Patrick rubbed just under his nose with his index finger and started to laugh harder. "The very distinguished facial hair? And like, the red lipstick! Always with the red lipstick."

He picked up his cup of hot chocolate from the tray of drinks and cakes levitating between them.

"It was like some kind of sick challenge. And it didn't help that she kept transfiguring herself into a vulture."

Who: Joe and William
Where: Joe's rooms
When: Slightly after eleven p.m. on Tuesday
What: Further lessons in Dreamwalking

At the end of his third day awake, which was mostly spent poring over medical texts and herbal encyclopædias, William nearly canceled on his nightly meeting with the Divination professor. He'd missed yesterday, though, without warning or excuse, so he could at least do Joe the courtesy of showing up to apologise. And with as desperate as the situation was becoming, he didn't really have the time to slack off. It was possible his energy might be better diverted elsewhere, but words had begun to swim on the page when he tried to read and a few minutes ago he'd copied the same sentence four times over before noticing, so he doubted he could be useful until he'd at least slept for a few hours.

Staying awake during tonight's lesson - which usually involved meditating, relaxing his mind, and letting go of conscious thought - would be the real challenge.

He knocked on Joe's door softly, not wanting to attract undue attention, and looked up when the door opened. "Good evening," he said, drawing himself up to look attentive and alert. "I'm sorry for missing yesterday. I should have sent an owl, but something came up and I forgot completely. I do beg your pardon."

Who: Spencer & anyone
Where: Staff lounge
When: Monday afternoon
What: Free day, free day.

The key to not sleeping, Spencer had discovered, was to stay in motion as much as possible. This was a little difficult when you were so tired you couldn't move very well without tripping over things, so Spencer had developed a foolproof method of moving from place to place, and then lying somewhere quiet for a while, until sleep threatened again and he had to get up and move around once more.

The cancellation of classes on Monday came as a gift, as Spencer was getting a little desperate when it got to classes. He felt especially guilty with the NEWT students -- they had their final exams coming up this year, they needed him to be able to teach them, but he was having trouble linking things together in his head, let alone out loud. Questions were too often met with tired stares, and he was using a couple of battered textbooks William had unearthed for him at the beginning of the year shared between the students as a means of teaching. They were hopelessly outdated, but they were still better than incoherent mumbling, which Spencer had an awful feeling was the best he could manage these days.

A couple of hours after lunch, Spencer almost nodded off sprawled under a tree by the lake, even with roots digging into his back, so he picked himself up off the ground, brushed off excess grass, and headed for the castle. The corridors were mostly empty, which was a little frightening. Study day or not, Spencer would have expected kids to be racing around and making the most of a day without classes. Instead, the castle felt too silent. Most of the paintings acted as though it was the middle of the night, drowsing contentedly in their frames. Spencer tried not to hate them.

The staffroom was empty when he got there, and he made a beeline for the couch, sprawling out on it. It was just a little too small to fit his legs, which was good, and he propped his neck up in a way sure to give himself a crick. Then he closed his eyes, and started reciting Latin names for plants in his head. No sleep, he thought, firmly, and then, small even in his own mind, I wish my mum was here.

Who: Joe and William
Where: The Library
When: Tuesday, just after lunch
What: An unfortunate event which we shall not speak of again. Also book talk.

William was fine. He was fine at lunch, with Spencer looking as if he’d gone from bad to worse and nearly falling asleep in his soup from exhaustion. He was fine when he spoke with Gerard about the thirty-five additional children who’d reported magic fatigue over the weekend, and calculated, as he was sure Gerard had, the potential danger of a magical communicable disease if it continued growing exponentially at the same rate.

He was fine when little Elsie Featherwayt, who seemed to have adopted him as some sort of role model authority figure in lieu of a more appropriate choice, broke down in tears and flung her arms around his neck because she could no longer manage spells in any of her classes. He was even fine after the nasty shock of opening the wrong door on his way back to the library and discovering someone he’d never expected to see again, and definitely not like that.

He was completely fine, up until the point that he heard Ophelia Cowell and Amenophis Mubarak giggling over their homework as usual, apparently unaware that the library served any purpose besides being a convenient place for flirtation, and saw Ophelia lean over to write a note to Amenophis in the margins of a book, at which point he completely and utterly lost his shit.

“Out!” he ordered, standing up and pointing at the slack-jawed pair of idiots frozen over their crime-in-progress. “Out of the library, until you learn to respect published volumes. That goes for everyone else behaving in unacceptable ways, too, you can all clear out and think about your actions.” His voice had risen steadily in volume, far above what he would usually consider appropriate, and suddenly everyone clearing out seemed like a marvelous idea. “Everyone out!” he insisted, marching to the door and whisking it open. “Take your noise-making devices and your sticky smuggled snacks and your pocketed familiars and your exploding inkwells and get out!”

Who: Joe and anyone who wants to play.
What: Morning of first day jitters.
Where: The staff room.
When: Monday morning before classes.

Joe gets lost no less than four times between his rooms and the staff room, leaving him thankful that he accidentally woke up a full hour before he had to and couldn't get back to sleep. After twenty minutes wandering in a hall composed of doors that lead to no less than a dozen different bathrooms, from a stone hole in the floor to a luxurious suite decked in gold, he manages to stumble into the cozy room Patrick pointed out on their quick march through the castle.

Woofing out a relieved sigh, Joe flops down in one of the deep armchairs. The thought of having to leave the room and find his classroom is too much, so he settles for rifling through the pile of papers sent (rosters of students, maps, curriculum of professors past) and wondering what on earth he's going to teach the kids when they show up.

Who: Joe and Patrick
What: Joe arriving at Hogwarts
When: Sunday morning
Where: Outside the main entrance


Excited as Joe was to finally have gotten the position, after nearly a month worth of twice daily owls, the closer he got to the castle, the more nervous he became. Helpful as his dreams are, they don't tend to really deal in specifics and there's always the chance that he's interpreting classroom/England/castle in a way that it isn't meant to be.

He's excited, too, though, as he lands his broom and steps off, starting off across the grounds toward the meandering, imposing castle. As a student, he always liked tutoring his fellow students who needed the help, so the idea of actually being paid to talk to kids about his dreams and teach them how to do what he loves is kind of a trip.

Standing in front of the imposing doors, Joe sweeps a hand across his robes and looks around for anyone, hopefully, send to meet him.