[b][centre]Clíodhna Burns [/centre][/b]

"The summer went too quickly, it wasn't long at all," Clíodhna Burns said to herself after the headmaster made his departure from the hall. She rose from her seat and stepped over her bench to leave the hall. She waved her wand and muttered an incantation. Her large bag which was almost bursting with clothes lifted itself off the ground and trailed her every movement. Socks and underwear hung from the edges of the zipper, threatening to bring the entire case open. 

It was quite the hassle to lug it around all day, but Clíodhna had a new roommate and room this year. Morrigan Cassandra Brighthill, the one with the famous mother. Many other students male and female would kill to have a room with the [i]'Deathwish Queen'[/i]. She was certainly attractive, Clíodhna could care less and her only hope that the Deathwish Queen didn't really have a deathwish by being the most annoying roommate possible. Clíodhna's last partner snored very loudly, causing great trouble for the teenager when trying to sleep. Sleeping wasn't even the biggest concern, she was so messy and more often than not Clíodhna would find her raven staring at her as she got dressed. It would mutter words like [i]"You're developing well,"[/i] and [i]"The carpets match the drapes! Alert the paper!"[/i], so at the end of the last school year Clíodhna had enough and requested a transfer.

It made her feel equally troubled as it did relief, the reason being was because said roommate happened to be her closest friend. A terrible roommate, but a loyal friend that Clíodhna valued greatly. She hoped Charlotte would never find out that she requested a transfer and if she asked her Clíodhna would lie and say it must have been a mistake the administration made or "They must have thought you were a bad influence on me," and laugh it off. It would hurt Charlotte's pride if Clíodhna was honest, and the girl could hold a grudge. 

She slowly turned the key to her new room which was much cleaner than her residence last year. Clíodhna dumped her suitcase onto her bed, the impact caused the suit case to snap open with a bang and spit clothes all over the room. "FUCK!" she exclaimed, hurrying to clean her neighbours side and stuff her unmentionables away. She stored her books in a small chest at the end of the bed, and kept her clothes in her wardrobe. The last thing she took out of her suitcase was wrapped in a dark sheet of cloth. Clíodhna was sure that no one was in the room to see her stuff it under her bed. If anyone found that it would be the end of her. Charlotte would have kept quiet if she had found it out of loyalty, but she could not say the same about Morrigan. 

One good thing about the transfer (besides the cleanliness) was that she wasn't stuck with a muggleborn. Clíodhna had no dislike for anybody who possessed the gift of magic, but muggles confused her and their technology annoyed her. Why would any witch or wizard flip a switch when they could wave a wand? Muggleborns also had the habit of being noisier than purebloods in Clíodhna's opinion. Radios, 'eye-phones', the 'winter net' and hand-holding consoles were all terms that confused her. They sounded obvious, [i]sure[/i], but Clíodhna was always let down by the lack of eyes on the eye-phones and that their hand-holding consoles never actually held your hand to console you. It was deceptive. 

Clíodhna was raised in seclusion from the muggle world. Her parents had set up barriers around their estate and everything they bought was bought from wizarding communities; which meant they rarely meddled into the lives of muggles outside of work. Clíodhna was raised to fear muggles, not that wizards were powerless to overcome them if provoked; but because as a group humans were very conservative and susceptible to mob-mentality. Her parents believed that muggles simply would never accept the wizarding world and that the simplest of troubles in the muggle world could be blamed by the magic world. It had happened a lot if the wizarding papers were to be believed. Some wizards were tortured, and some poor muggleborns were raised to believe that the gift they had was the work of evil. Some were purged of their corruption, never to expand the power they possessed and others were drowned at birth never to learn what they were. It was madness.

Clíodhna shook her head from such dark thoughts. She grabbed a brush and stroked it through her red hair delicately. If the day ever came where a muggle cornered her, she'd be ready. 

[centre]-----[/centre]

[centre][b] Professor Jaylen Beckley[/b][/centre]

Professor Jaylen Beckley had arrived to Kingsridge in style and was a sight to see. The nimbus company was in the midst of designing a new broomstick, Beckley had enough contacts in the wizarding community to call in a few favours, and he was always investing parts of his small fortune into companies. So when he blew his horn and and swooped in the skies he had expected gasps and sudden surprise.

Unfortunately that was yesterday, and he had been mistaken when term had exactly started and mixed his days, so instead of rapturous applause at the sight of him he was greeted by empty air and silence. Beckley didn't mind though, it gave him more time to prepare his classes. He had planned them for the last two weeks, deciding how to enter classrooms (while keeping his students enthralled in transfiguration) and what to reward those few who had tried their hardest. All with a mid-term exam at the end of October. 

He was present for when Headmaster Grayson made his announcement, it was the same speech as he often gave but it was just as inspiring as the first time he heard it. He had the voice of a leader, and one that kept many peoples ears glued to him. When the headmaster descended from the stage it was Beckley who started the applause and Beckley who was the last to stop. 

After breakfast Professor Beckley went to read his mail, someone like him with a lot of contacts got mail often. He emptied a small tray of packages and letters, opening one with familiar hand-writing. His stomach curled at the sight of it. "What does she want?"

[centre][i]Dear Jaylen,
I hope you are well. I know you are probably busy with lessons and the like but I'm writing to express concern at your recent article in the After Moon about muggles. Our family has faced many hardships and we've only escaped a bad reputation brought onto by our elders hatred of muggles in recent years.

Such blatant discrimination in your article can only be seen as a reminder of past times when muggles were the victims of magic. When I inherit the estate from our parents (In many long years, I hope) I must warn you that I cannot condone such blatant hatred and I will not be associated with a bigot. They are your beliefs to have, and I would not ask you to educate yourself or change for me, but if you do not submit a retraction and an apology I will have no choice but to become estranged with you out of the respect of the circles I'm connected with.

I hope you consider this instead of ripping it up, and I sincerely hope you have a good year. Be safe, brother.

Love,
Patrice.[/i] [/centre]

His face went red. It was just like her to push her fat pig nose into places where it didn't belong. She was superior to everyone and had very little respect for her heritage. The letter was well crafted to give the impression that she was being polite, but Jaylen knew better and he knew how to read between the lines of politics and true affection. He hated how stuck up his older sister could be. He was tempted to rip the letter up and forget about it, but he took a deep breath and began to write hastily.

[centre][i]Dear Sister,

You can't wait for mother and father to pass. When you inherit the estate you won't have to worry about cutting me out of your life; I have tried to forget you were ever my sister since I was eight. Keep your fat nose out of my business or I'll make your private story involving Aella Brighthill public knowledge to all.
I hope you get everything you deserve.
Sincerely,
Jaylen[/i] [/centre]

A simple 'fuck you' probably would have sufficed but it was too early to get worked up about it and he was ashamed he even bothered to reply. He sent the message immediately, and then proceeded to open the rest of his mail.