Post by Bridget O'Neill on Aug 3, 2008 12:47:35 GMT -5
Once the appointment as Head of Ravenclaw House had come through, Bridget had wasted no time in moving into the quarters connected to the Ravenclaw Common Room. She wanted to be close at hand if any of her new charges needed an adult to talk to. Although some of my charges are rather adult themselves! D’rorah and Dylan were an inseparable pair, and the leaders of the studious pack. It was no surprise that they had been chosen as the Prefects of the House. Most of her charges were in the upper years, there being an apparent dearth of younger Ravenclaws at the school right now. There was one first year, all alone at the bottom, Katherine Marie Knightswood. It was about evenly matched between the ladies and the gents.
A nice group of youngsters. And a smart group too. The Common Room’s tables were usually piled with books, stray parchments and quills. It was one of the better lit rooms in the Castle, and Bridget had come to enjoy an evening by the fire, assisting as she could with homework and other tasks. Some of the students had hobbies, one was even a knitter, but most of them at least followed if not played Quidditch. Bridget was combing through books on the subject in a desperate attempt to expand her knowledge of the sport. She’d only seen one Holyhead Harpies game on a family visit to Ireland with Sean, about five years before he was murdered.
Bridget had been mulling over a problem all day in the back of her mind. Her first Divinations class of the term had left her feeling out of sorts and unsettled. Her Guardian’s instincts were screaming bloody murder at her, and she knew they wouldn’t leave her alone until she did something about it. So, she’d cleaned her suite until it positively glowed, and then cleaned her Scrying Room with the same care. You could have eaten off the floor when she was finished.
Cleaning done, she’d gotten a light supper in the Great Hall, and then gone back to her rooms to lay out the tools for a ritual Seeing. She was going to try to deliberately invoke her Seer ability, rather than wait for the information to come. She’d pay for it with one hell of a headache, but she had asked her assigned house elf, Noddy to make sure she had the appropriate potions on hand to deal with it. She brushed off the stone bench, long enough for her to lay down on, and placed the long cushion, Charmed to fit her, which would protect her from the stone. She set out eight large rough crystals on the points of the compass rose inlaid in the floor.
Finally, everything in place, she sat on the cushion and picked up the cup full of her special tea, composed of many plants that were purported to help activate the Seer’s gift. The bitter tea slid down her throat, cold, oily and dark. Bridget quickly composed herself, lying back on the cushioned bench. She let her mind range inward, seeking that calm, cool part where her Sight worked best, and when she found that place, she gave it free rein. Images and impressions flowed through her mind, too quickly for her to capture consciously. But that problem had also been accounted for . . .
Bridget got up from the bench, went into her private study, and walked to her desk. Parchment and quills and ink were there already, and without even blinking, Bridget sat and began to write. She let the images from the visions flow out of her mind and onto the parchment, her quill moving with precision. The young witch didn’t look at the timepiece on her mantel, but if she had, she would have been unsurprised to see that it was only a few hours until dawn. She’d spent half a dozen hours in a Seer’s trance, not unusual for someone trying to force the Sight. Bridget only came out of her writing when the blinding headache hit her, agony taking over her body. With a grimace of effort, she unstopped one of her potion vials and gulped the bitter contents. She sighed in relief, brushing her sweaty hair out of her face, and sat back limply as the potion started to work. Then she started to read over what she’d written, her eyes widening at the words.
Bridget stared at her writing, suddenly cold from head to foot. “What the hell?!” she whispered. This was far beyond just her and her need to be here now, starting a new life for herself. Something horrible was playing out at the school, something she needed to find out more about. Bridget had to get more information, because she was too new to know who was trustworthy, and who wasn’t. Tread carefully, old girl, she thought to herself as she locked her writings into her desk.
Bridget cleaned her hair with a Charm, changed her clothes for a warm robe and shearling slippers, and went out to sit in the Common Room, staring into the fire. Well, this certainly changes things! Bridget had considered just staying for a year or so to teach and then returning to the States. But it was obvious to her now that someone or something had brought her here. And it might explain those mysterious and threatening notes Sean and I used to get. She lost herself in thought, waiting by the Common Room fireplace, and staring into the flames.
A nice group of youngsters. And a smart group too. The Common Room’s tables were usually piled with books, stray parchments and quills. It was one of the better lit rooms in the Castle, and Bridget had come to enjoy an evening by the fire, assisting as she could with homework and other tasks. Some of the students had hobbies, one was even a knitter, but most of them at least followed if not played Quidditch. Bridget was combing through books on the subject in a desperate attempt to expand her knowledge of the sport. She’d only seen one Holyhead Harpies game on a family visit to Ireland with Sean, about five years before he was murdered.
Bridget had been mulling over a problem all day in the back of her mind. Her first Divinations class of the term had left her feeling out of sorts and unsettled. Her Guardian’s instincts were screaming bloody murder at her, and she knew they wouldn’t leave her alone until she did something about it. So, she’d cleaned her suite until it positively glowed, and then cleaned her Scrying Room with the same care. You could have eaten off the floor when she was finished.
Cleaning done, she’d gotten a light supper in the Great Hall, and then gone back to her rooms to lay out the tools for a ritual Seeing. She was going to try to deliberately invoke her Seer ability, rather than wait for the information to come. She’d pay for it with one hell of a headache, but she had asked her assigned house elf, Noddy to make sure she had the appropriate potions on hand to deal with it. She brushed off the stone bench, long enough for her to lay down on, and placed the long cushion, Charmed to fit her, which would protect her from the stone. She set out eight large rough crystals on the points of the compass rose inlaid in the floor.
Finally, everything in place, she sat on the cushion and picked up the cup full of her special tea, composed of many plants that were purported to help activate the Seer’s gift. The bitter tea slid down her throat, cold, oily and dark. Bridget quickly composed herself, lying back on the cushioned bench. She let her mind range inward, seeking that calm, cool part where her Sight worked best, and when she found that place, she gave it free rein. Images and impressions flowed through her mind, too quickly for her to capture consciously. But that problem had also been accounted for . . .
Bridget got up from the bench, went into her private study, and walked to her desk. Parchment and quills and ink were there already, and without even blinking, Bridget sat and began to write. She let the images from the visions flow out of her mind and onto the parchment, her quill moving with precision. The young witch didn’t look at the timepiece on her mantel, but if she had, she would have been unsurprised to see that it was only a few hours until dawn. She’d spent half a dozen hours in a Seer’s trance, not unusual for someone trying to force the Sight. Bridget only came out of her writing when the blinding headache hit her, agony taking over her body. With a grimace of effort, she unstopped one of her potion vials and gulped the bitter contents. She sighed in relief, brushing her sweaty hair out of her face, and sat back limply as the potion started to work. Then she started to read over what she’d written, her eyes widening at the words.
The new dawn comes
where Light and Dark
balance on the sword’s blade -
dance of bright and shade.
In the new dawn
come the five and the five
Elements to command
Shadows to withstand.
In the new dawn
Come the dancers
On the edge of knife
On the edge of night
In the new dawn
A phoenix rises
dark fire burns the day
chases the light away
The new dawn comes
and Light and Dark
balance in children’s hands-
Their fate the land’s.
[/i][/center]where Light and Dark
balance on the sword’s blade -
dance of bright and shade.
In the new dawn
come the five and the five
Elements to command
Shadows to withstand.
In the new dawn
Come the dancers
On the edge of knife
On the edge of night
In the new dawn
A phoenix rises
dark fire burns the day
chases the light away
The new dawn comes
and Light and Dark
balance in children’s hands-
Their fate the land’s.
Bridget stared at her writing, suddenly cold from head to foot. “What the hell?!” she whispered. This was far beyond just her and her need to be here now, starting a new life for herself. Something horrible was playing out at the school, something she needed to find out more about. Bridget had to get more information, because she was too new to know who was trustworthy, and who wasn’t. Tread carefully, old girl, she thought to herself as she locked her writings into her desk.
Bridget cleaned her hair with a Charm, changed her clothes for a warm robe and shearling slippers, and went out to sit in the Common Room, staring into the fire. Well, this certainly changes things! Bridget had considered just staying for a year or so to teach and then returning to the States. But it was obvious to her now that someone or something had brought her here. And it might explain those mysterious and threatening notes Sean and I used to get. She lost herself in thought, waiting by the Common Room fireplace, and staring into the flames.
