Professor Fawcett
February 04, 2011 9:11 PM
Lesson One for Beginners (1st and 2nd Years) by Professor Fawcett
Perhaps it was vanity, or perhaps, as he preferred to think, an attempt to impress upon them the seriousness of the endeavor they were undertaking, and at least part of it was an awareness of the increased fire hazard new students brought with them, but John made some small efforts to make his desk and the surrounding area less of a jumble of books and papers which only made sense to him for the first few weeks of school mostly for the benefit of the first years. There were still probably a few novels mixed in with the potions texts and periodicals in the bookshelves placed at strategic, front-of-the-room locations to either side of his desk, by the door, and directly across the room from the first, and a doodled-on copy of the faculty handbook lay open among the class rosters and lesson plans, but the mass of articles and magazines and random notes to himself and class assignments that the second through sixth years would be familiar with was missing, and he’d freshened the color on the dark posters, placed at perfectly even intervals around the walls, of famous potioneers, making the environment look slightly more respectable. There were still a large number of books stacked on a new table off to one side of the desk, but those were part of the lesson, and so didn’t count against the respectability score for the day.By the third week of term, he expected it all to be in vain. He would have begun to accumulate paper as he always did, most of his collection of dark blue and dark green robes would be ink-stained again without Allison constantly present to notice and remove the marks, and someone would have done something just wrong enough for one of the ladies and gentlemen on the wall to be an odd color, but as long as the supply cabinet remained fully stocked and he could hold out long enough to win their respect, and possibly the new boss’ as well, then he would be content.
Once the bell rang, a little muffled by their distance from the tower but definitely loud enough to be heard, John pointed his wand at the classroom door to close it and stood up. “Good afternoon, everyone,” he said, raising his voice very slightly. He disliked having to do so, but they had yet to learn how his classroom was run, so it was possibly necessary to get their attention. “And welcome to another exciting year of Beginner’s Potions. I’m sure those of you returning to us for a second year have already informed your new classmates of the joys to come.” John had never, actually, been entirely sure what the students thought of him. Some seemed to occasionally appreciate his attempts at humor and style of running class, but he imagined the vast majority disliked the essays. “To our new students, welcome. I am Professor John Fawcett. Please answer when I call your name off the roll. Melody Abramson….”
He flicked his wand at a particularly neat stack of printed papers, which separated, one landing on each occupied desk. “This is your course syllabus. While I, as your professor, reserve the right to change it when and as I see fit, I will inform you if I do, and unless I do, you may assume the activity listed for each day is the one we will engage in. While you may have some low-stakes or extra credit assignments offered that are not listed here, most of your classwork is also described on your syllabus, including exam study guides and major papers.”
Here was the part many students were not going to like. “The ability to think creatively about issues, research thoroughly and properly, and express your findings articulately both aloud and on parchment are as essential to many parts of the Potions world – not to mention the world at large – as the ability to prepare the concoctions in your textbooks well. You will, therefore, complete papers, conduct research, and make presentations, both individually and in groups. There will also be one class period given over to discussion groups in every two weeks. I expect you to take these parts of the course as seriously as you do anything we do with our cauldrons, and I expect you to take the work we do with our cauldrons very seriously. This is a dangerous subject, and those who act without due caution in my classroom may find themselves removed from it.”
He relaxed the sternness of his manner slightly. “So long as due caution is taken, however, and all of your classmates are treated with the same level of respect as you would like to be treated, there is no reason why you should not all do well in this course. I am willing to work with those who are willing to work, and my office is open to those who feel the need for assistance, or another way of looking at material. I consider the success of every person in here a priority.” If a partial solution for Jose Hernandez could be found, then John had very little sympathy for anyone who did not at least pass his class. “If you have any questions pertaining to this class or the syllabus, you may ask them now or at a later time.”
Once any queries had been handled, he smiled slightly. “In our next class, you will be quizzed over the Potions safety guidelines in the first chapter of The Beginning Potioneer as a prerequisite for beginning lab work. For now, please take out your copies of An Introduction to the Conceptual History of Potion-Making.”
A second flick of his wand sent another paper to each occupied seat, these a single sheet and less substantial than the syllabi. At the top were the words MAJOR POTIONEERS, PAST AND PRESENT, and beneath it was a list of thirty names, ranging from Circe to one fellow, Henry Morrow, who’d made major advances in the field in the past twenty years.
“You will divide yourselves into groups of two to four, as you prefer, and decide which of these major potioneers you would like to spend class today researching. Once you have decided, send a representative to the blackboard to claim him or her.” His third use of magic in the class put the names on the board as well, or rather, removed the charm he’d used to conceal them up to this point. His handwriting was terrible, but he had taken enough time on it that he thought everything should be legible. “You’ll present your findings about this individual’s importance to the field of Potions to the class after the quiz next time. You may, of course, meet outside of class to do further work before then, and consult the books I have here – “ he indicated the new table to his right – “and on my shelves as well as your texts. I will be moving around the classroom while you work, so you may ask me questions related to this matter if there is any confusion. You may begin.”
OOC: The assignment here’s pretty open-ended, so be creative, and remember the posting rules – 200 words minimum, good spelling and grammar. Have fun!
Subthreads: It's like neverending torture. by Alice Adair, Crotalus with Madeline Parry, Teppenpaw, Josephine Owen, Pecari
My classroom debut by Arnold Carey, Aladren with Derwent Pierce IV, Teppenpaw
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go by Eliza Bennett, Crotalus with Jessica Applerose, Eliza, Jess [Teppenpaw]
In my element by Arthur Carey, Aladren with Preston Stratford [Aladren], Arthur
Potioneer in the making. by Sophie Jamison [Pecari] with Luka Anastanov [Pecari, 1st year]
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Professor Fawcett
Lesson One for Beginners (1st and 2nd Years)
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Professor Fawcett
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Arthur Carey, Aladren
February 05, 2011 11:53 PM
In my element by Arthur Carey, Aladren
Potions would, of course, be easy. Arthur had looked through the textbooks thoroughly and concluded that none of the mathematics went beyond his level of algebra and that most of the procedures were almost too simple – so much that he was tempted to believe there was a catch, really, but he had noticed, in the past year, that he had a tendency to overthink things and assume there was a catch when there really was none, because adults didn’t think he was as smart as he really was. That was unfortunate, and he hated to think of all the things he hadn’t learned because adult tutors had underestimated him, but there was nothing to be done about it.He did not deny, however, that Potions might be a little strange, even if it was easy. Arthur had, though startled by him seeing a need to actually tell them not to damage the library, decided he thought he could get along with Professor Fawcett on the first night, but he had never foreseen the professor being so very Aladren as to keep so many books in his classroom. Though his schoolbooks, supplemented by the things he had checked out of the library already, were heavy, he couldn’t help but pause by the bookshelf beside the door and examine the titles, wondering what level the majority of them were on and if he was allowed to read them.
Then someone said something behind him, and he noticed that he was blocking the door. Flushing slightly, he went to find a seat. Though tempted, he avoided the front row, instead seeking out a place in the middle. He needed to meet everyone, and the middle was the area that would have the most people in it.
He responded when his name was called, wondering for a moment if his parents had gone so far as to name him ‘Arthur’ not only because it just sounded as if it should come after ‘Arnold’ but because it was actually further down the alphabet than his brother’s name, and couldn’t quite resist the temptation to flip through the syllabus when he got it. To have the entire course at his fingertips was more of a gift than he imagined the professor knew; if he was conscientious, and did not let himself get distracted, then he could consistently work ahead and so stay at the very top of the class while having time to conduct his own studies beyond what Professor Fawcett and the others gave them. His and Arnold’s plan, continued.
Unless, of course, Alice was as gifted here as she was in Transfiguration. Then he would still have a challenge, and have to focus on what they did for class. Arthur realized it was most likely not normal that he was smiling slightly at the thought.
He also realized it was not normal that he continued to smile because of the professor, but he couldn’t help it. He still found the professor’s concern that someone might be deliberately stupid alarming, for what it implied about the kind of students they were used to having around here, but still – this class was going to be wonderful if he was half of what he was picturing. If it turned out to be so, he might have to see if Father could do anything about commending the professor to the school board and the education department.
He did wish there had been a little more detail about the assignment, how far in depth they were supposed to go and that sort of thing, but supposed there was no such thing as too much when making a first impression. He recognized a few names on the list, too, which would make it easier going if he could persuade whomever he worked with to go with one of those options. “Hello,” he said cordially to the first neighbor who caught his eye. “Would you mind terribly if I were to join your group?”
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Arthur Carey, Aladren
In my element
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Arthur Carey, Aladren
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Preston Stratford [Aladren]
February 13, 2011 2:06 AM
We seem to share said element. by Preston Stratford [Aladren]
Preston was finding Sonora to be different from what he had expected. At home, he had been taught by private tutors, and he had no competition whatsoever. Here, he had to compete for everything if he wanted to excel, and be noticeable for future spots of student power. These kinds of challenges were new to the redhead, and he was loving it. It gave him more space to prove his worth, and Merlin was he doing it! His father was not happy with his Quidditch decision, but he had sent everything he needed, reluctantly but he had, and that was what counted. In addition to his equipment, he was practicing super hard to gain strength and accuracy in his beatings. In his opinion, he was doing a pretty good job at it. The pain in his arms was sign of it, he was sure. He was prepared to help his team win this thing.The best thing was that he was in the intelligent house, and it was more likely he would find some healthy competition in it, since he saw the other houses as inferior to Aladren, because he wasn’t in them. Preston was well aware of his arrogance, his brother and cousin always told him that, but he really didn’t care. He had been raised as an adult, a normal childhood was unknown to the redhead, and he didn’t think he missed out on anything. To be honest, he did not know what being a child meant, and he did not think he wanted to know. He was fine with the way he was.
To Preston, potions was a very challenging class, because it was an art. Measuring stuff relaxed him and for a few minutes he entered another world. A world where all that was alive was him and whatever he was brewing, he loved the subject, and he was sure he would excel at it. So far, he loved all of his classes with the exception of CoMC, but he planned on dropping it when he could. Animals and he did not have a very good relationship, in fact they were in the middle of a nasty divorce, and he was winning!
Anyways, the Aladren entered the Potions classroom and sat down. He was happy to be here, he really was. Preston liked doing things he was good at, and potions was one of those things. While he waited for the class to begin, his green-eyes scanned the room to find it full of interesting things. He decided he liked Professor Fawcett. He answered when his name was called and waited for the actual class to begin. The Syllabus to the class gracefully landed on his desk, and he perused through it. The class was going to be awesome! Yes, Professor Fawcett was the best professor ever. The Aladren took notes of the assignment for next class, once he finished he took out the copy of his book and smiled at the assignment for today. He loved history.
Deciding that classical history would suit his needs and wants, he made up his mind in working with Circe. Now, he had the slight problem of making his partner work with that. More importantly, he needed to find someone to work with. The boy next to him addressed him, and it happened to be Arthur Carey. Preston raised an inquisitive eyebrow and nodded in response to his question. “Sure I don’t mind, I am not working with anyone. Do you want to work with a particular Potioneer? Because I was thinking about Circe, she is super interesting and helped form modern potion-making.” Prof. Fawcett hadn’t specified anything else on the assignment, so it was assumed that they had free-reign on it. Awesome.
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Preston Stratford [Aladren]
We seem to share said element.
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Preston Stratford [Aladren]
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Arthur
February 17, 2011 8:40 PM
Very good, then by Arthur
Arthur considered Preston’s proposition. Circe would be a challenge to find truly accurate biographical details for – he remembered reading a throwaway line in one of his history books that mentioned some debate over which century she belonged to, though that had seemed to Arthur like someone trying to establish a name by causing a controversy – but she was on the list, had made significant contributions most likely even beyond the veil of myth, and was from Ancient Greece. He’d told his parents it was because he’d read that learning it first would make it easier to achieve fluency in the modern languages, which was true, but the real reason Arthur had asked for a Latin tutor when he was seven was because he’d realized people who studied the Classics had an air of intellectual superiority.This wasn’t quite that, but it was close enough, even if he did have to share the glow with his roommate. Arthur was secure enough in his academic skills and certain enough of his future reputation (an unexpected benefit of being a twin; with his brother sharing every lesson, every little thing, all their lives, Arthur was used to a level of competition and measuring himself against someone else) to handle that. So Circe would do nicely, if Preston was really a proper Aladren and didn’t get under his feet.
Arthur was used to competition. He was not really used to people outside his family who were not tutors, much less ones his own age, and he wasn’t yet sure he trusted any of them.
“That will be fine,” he said pleasantly. “I’ll go make the claim, and get more books. Why don’t you begin making basic notes?” He supposed they might well have more time than any other pair he saw, since they were dorm mates, but there was no point in wasting any of it.
As he wrote, in careful letters, the required information on the board and began to sort through the supplementary material they had in the classroom for things that looked useful, he glanced at the front row and found his brother talking to Derwent Pierce. Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he decided to file it away as something to think about later. Father had mentioned that Derwent might be a useful person to know if he could avoid being too much like his same-named older brother and great-grandfather, so that was a good thing, but on the other, he was getting his impression of the Careys from Arnold, who liked to be overtly in charge and…wasn’t always diplomatic about it. Intervening, though, would make it worse, since for one thing he wasn’t his brother’s keeper and for another Arnold resented any implication that he was, so that was why he was considering it something to think about later. There was nothing he could do about it just now.
He did wonder, though, if there was any way for anyone in his family, other than himself and his great-great-grandparents and maybe his aunts, to die of old age. Grandfather had gotten Arnold to fancying himself the firstborn despite their twin status putting them on perfectly equal and low standing in the family, and he occasionally tried to assert what he seemed to think were his rights; it was why Father was terrified Anthony IV would live long enough to decide Arnold was a threat to Anthony and…do something about that. Mother, on the other hand, was more worried about what Grandfather would do to her, Father, and Anthony after Anthony IV died, since he openly preferred Arnold to his other grandchildren and had never forgiven his son for either the one moment of independence that led to Arthur’s mother being part of the family or for not being very independent.
Arthur had heard his parents talking about it one night, and it had been like seeing different people, who were not his parents at all; they had even looked different as they paced around the drawing room, discussing, in a very detached way, which of the elder Anthonies might be a threat to which of their sons. His perception of time had always been off, he couldn’t reliably tell how many years passed between events in his life, but he thought his little brother had been very little then, and Great-Grandfather not long dead; sometimes, Arthur thought that if Great-Grandfather had lived, things might have been all right, but he hadn’t, and now there was this thing.
It did not help Arthur’s opinion of this thing, either, that it was the reason Father knew he was smart. Anthony VII heard something outside the door, and Arthur had told Mother why he’d come downstairs in the first place and acted as though he’d only just done that and had heard nothing, but the next day, Father had taken him aside and kept asking him questions until he figured out exactly how much of it Arthur had understood, then told him, very seriously, that he must never tell anyone, or something very bad would happen.
Any other Anthony would have just wiped his memory and been done with it. This was why Arthur was fairly certain that, if this thing ever did emerge into view, that his father was going to lose the game.
He went back to where he had begun, with Preston, and put down the books. “You know,” he said, “I’ve read that some people believed Circe was a goddess. What do you think of that sort of thing?"
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Arthur
Very good, then
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Arthur
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Preston
February 23, 2011 5:35 PM
Good, indeed by Preston
His tutors had always told him how very intelligent he was, and Preston had no doubt about it. More so, if you compared him to his little brother and cousin, since they were only above average. Maybe the only one that could match him was Bianca, but she was a girl, and she did not need to be intelligent. She was being groomed to be the perfect society wife, there was no need for a girl to be smart, there really wasn’t. Not that Preston competed against his sister; they had different subjects and whatnot. Now, that was why the redhead was excited about rooming with Arthur Carey, from the little he knew about him, he was certain he would be an splendid and worthy adversary in the academic field. The Vermont native was going to make a name for himself and his family even if that meant engaging in a deathly academic battle with Arthur or his twin, Arnold. His mission was to remind people that the Stratford line was still alive and kicking, and would make a comeback into Pureblood society. Whatever it took.When Arthur said yes to his suggestion, Preston couldn’t suppress the smug look that crept on his face, he liked when people did what he wanted. He nodded to Arthur´s suggestion and began perusing his book for some useful information on Circe. It was a good thing to have someone challenging as Arthur, he decided. It would be good for him and keep him on his toes, but in the end he would win. He was sure of it. While his partner went to retrieve more books, he began writing on a piece of parchment, with his neat handwriting, every fact he had on the potioneer in a bullet-point format. It would make writing the essay easier.
*Circe had been born in Ancient Greece
*She used potions to turn her enemies into animals and then trap them
*She discovered the use of Belladonna as a poison and began using it in numerous potions.
*She created the first human-animal changing potion (a cousin to the Polyjuice Potion)
*Circe also created the Confusing Concoction, which was later perfected by Wallace Nair.
Those were the only real facts he could come up with for the time being, he would need to wait for Arthur and the new books.
Preston was confident that this assignment was going to be fun and interesting. He waited for a few minutes for his partner to come back, he was tapping his fingers on the desk, when he did. The redhead looked up when Arthur asked him a question, a very good question. He stayed silent for a few seconds, pondering his answer, he couldn’t answer with whatever happened to pop up in his mind, it had to be a good solid one.
“I think people look for a higher being to be reassured, or blame things on it. Yes, there are superior people in this world, but they get their ranking by giving humanity something important, like Circe did, or Merlin. But no, they are not mystical or anything like that.” That was his opinion on things, Preston was of the idea that the world was ruled by intelligent, important people, not by beings that did not exist. “What do you think about that?”
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Preston
Good, indeed
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Preston
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Arthur
February 26, 2011 10:32 PM
Or so we hope by Arthur
Arthur listened to Preston’s thoughts with his head tilted slightly to the right, trying to remember if the word he was looking for was hamartia or hubris. Or if either of them was the word he was looking for at all. Preston wasn’t, after all, declaring himself one of those superior people in so many words, but he was suggesting a universe in which nothing above humans existed.On some level, he thought everyone must believe that, deep down, except maybe a few very religious people. They were taught not to lie, but when it was in their own best interests, or that of their family, almost everyone would. Historically, the ties of family came before all else; many religions he’d read about even institutionalized it, which was why Arthur found the Christian tradition confusing. He supposed it might be one thing for Muggles, but he could, at least on some level, continue to exist here after he died if he wanted, which made the chances that he would ever put an abstract cause above his twin brother in the hopes of some kind of eternal reward extremely low. Not least because he couldn’t even wrap his mind around it. Arnold was often irritating, caused him half the problems he’d ever had in life, but Arthur considered him something like his left hand: he might survive the loss, but he’d never be quite right again, or able to get by as well as he had before.
Hubris, he thought, drifting back into his original line of thought. Excessive pride. Hamartia, in every use he could remember except one, designated fatal flaws in general. So hubris was a sub-set, and he could come up with no better descriptor with which to replace it.
“I don’t know,” Arthur said honestly when asked his own opinion, then slipped back into a persona based on his Latin tutor without any difficultly, even starting to raise his hand to adjust glasses he wasn’t wearing. “I can’t say I know a great deal about it, but I’ve read about prophecies and time manipulations, and it – “ he gestured futilely – “reads as if we don’t have control over some things, which makes me wonder what does. And there’s ritual magic.” Something which he’d only caught passing mentions of in his reading, so he hoped it wasn’t asked about too much; he could bluff, but he didn’t like to.
He leaned forward, propping himself up on his elbow without noticing. His chin settled against the heel of his hand, fingers curled almost all the way in. “It’s funny,” he said dreamily, his voice a little muffled by his hand. “We invoke Merlin, but no one ever tries to claim Athena was just a witch. As far as I know, anyway.”
So many books. So much knowledge. He sometimes grew impatient with having to always receive knowledge instead of finding new, but then he was confronted with the vast, indifferent body of all that had been found before his great-great-grandfather’s great-great-great-grandfathers ever lived. Going to his common room was always a humbling experience, since it involved walking through the library and realizing that, even if he started at once and spent every moment of the next seven years at it, without breaks for class or sleep or food or anything, he couldn’t finish every book in there. He believed there were still discoveries to be made, things to find out that no one had found before because they just didn’t think to look there, but sometimes, it was harder to keep his faith in that than it was at others.
He noticed how he was sitting, and that he was biting his lip the way he did when he was thinking, and corrected both problems. “But how do you decide what’s valuable? A – contribution? I always wonder. Arnold and I are twins, and we don’t care for all of the same things. Who’s right?”
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Arthur
Or so we hope
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Arthur
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Preston
February 27, 2011 7:00 PM
I just know it by Preston
Preston avidly listened to Arthur answer his question. There was something about initiating a debate that excited the redhead. It was always nice to exchange opinions with people that actually had a clue about what he was talking about, in his case it had always been his tutor, since his father rarely talked with him. Reese Stratford was always very busy handling their chain of Apothecaries in Vermont, but when they did talk it was a rather awesome. His father knew a lot about things. In some level, Preston was happy he wasn’t the next in line because that meant that he would be able to actually pursue his preferred career path, and it did not have to do with running a business. That small piece of knowledge gave him a big satisfaction. Though, that did not meant he actually had an idea of what he wanted to do once he grew-up and became an adult. The redhead saw school as a way of discovering just that, time to store all kinds of knowledge for future use.In Arthur, he saw a worthy adversary; their relationship had the potential to grow into something interesting and fulfilling. Arthur’s statement on his knowledge of the subject amused him, it was a way of stating that he was proficient in it, but with a touch of humility.
“Well, from what I have read, research by international renown Healers say that Seers walk among us due to the fact that they have use of a part of their brain that most magical people don’t. As for time manipulation, time-turners were invented during the 18th century by a wizard, time was there waiting to be harnessed by someone,” Preston scratched his nose before continuing. “Now, I don’t have enough information to discuss ritual magic, but its magic, it is part of us. Magical people use it and mold it to their will.” It was his opinion based on what he knew, from everything he had read during study hours while being home-schooled. When kids were out playing Quidditch or Magical Quest or Aurors and dark wizards, he had been reading on his topics of interest. “The world evolved, it was the natural way of things, not the whim of a higher being. Besides, magic and power are tangible in some way, a higher being is not. How can you look up to something that you can’t even experience?”
Preston closed the book he had used to make the notes, and looked at Arthur once again, his green-eyes taking in his partner´s slouched sitting position. He decided to not comment on it, and just keep replying to what have been asked. “That is because ´Thank Merlin´ has a better ring to ´Thank Athena´,” he said as an attempt of a joke. Preston did not have that much experience with jokes. People tended to find his sense of humor not funny. “But yes, I concur, Athena should be given more credit on her accomplishments.” That particular witch had been one of the first magical folk to successfully use Arithmacy as a complement of magic. There were a lot of branches of magic that had a lot to offer, and he wanted to do a big discovery that would place him among those superior wizards. That was why it was important to study and research and gain power.
“I think that every experience is valuable in some way. For example, you may be interested in Potions, but your brother in Care of Magical Creatures. Each experience can help complete another one. Say that you are making a potion that will successfully cure lycanthropy and you just need one more ingredient, but you can’t find it, and then Arnold discovers a new magical species and something extracted from it is your key ingredient,” he took a breath and continued. “You see everything is valuable to some point, what seems useless can become something very important.” The redhead brushed his spotless robes, just for something to do. He had talked a lot, something that tended to happen when he was debating in some way.
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Preston
I just know it
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Preston
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Arthur
March 04, 2011 11:50 PM
Then here's to Good by Arthur
To his mild dismay, Arthur realized he had been pulled into a debate, and was taking a position. He didn’t like taking positions. That meant excluding every other position, and when he was not sure what the real truth was, sure in his bones, then that was a very bad thing.He had started it, though, and he was closer to believing his position than he was to believing in Preston’s, so he could only continue now. “I’ve read about some people who believe they have seen and experienced their deity,” he said. “There’s other explanations for how they might have done that, but there’s also theirs.” He bit his lower lip, trying to find exactly how to express the disconnect he could feel between their arguments. “But I think we’re looking at two different things. Of course time was there, and there’s something unique about Seers – I think the two must be related – but we don’t have perfect control. Half the time – forgive me the, ah, repetitiveness – it’s trying to defy prophecies that makes them come true. So how do we have the power?”
He laughed, startled, by the quip about the standard mild oath of choice among wizards. “I don’t know,” he said. “If I were going to pray to something, I could do far worse than strategy and wisdom. Better than a mere politician, anyway.” Arthur had always loved that section of history, though he couldn’t help but feel a certain irritation that the Muggle at the center of Merlin, Morgan, Viviane, and Nimue’s struggle for power had been called….Arthur, at least in transliteration. He almost felt as though he needed to redeem his name, especially now that one of the family leaders was called Morgaine.
Fighting over control of an individual Muggle would be considered in bad taste now, but still, Merlin was worth some recognition. There were worse things to do than gain control of a country, though few as bad as losing it because you were stupid about women. Still, Arthur didn’t think that was going to be the way he went. He’d leave that kind of thing, for the most part, to Anthony. He’d need something to do while he waited the better part of two centuries for all the other Anthonies to die, especially if the Anthonies that came after him were boring. That wasn’t very likely, but it was always possible.
“Hm,” he said to Preston’s argument on subjects, not touching the idea of Arnold doing research for now. “I agree with you that all the, the fields of study have value. I was talking more about ideas – like whether or not you believe in witches working, or reading some books, is the family more important than the state, or – “ he grinned, the expression making it to his eyes for a second – “a higher power. Those things.”
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Arthur
Then here's to Good
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Arthur
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Preston
March 09, 2011 5:46 PM
Cheers by Preston
Preston liked debates, it was a way of making sure people heard his opinions, but what he didn’t like was a debate where he was not fully prepared. Like this one. He had his opinions, strong opinions at that, but well-rounded, well-based opinions were stronger than just simple opinions made out of the little knowledge he possessed about the subject. Right now, he couldn’t do anything about it, they had engaged in one, and it would be rude to end it just like that. For better or worse, he would stick to what he believed in until it ended. He didn’t want to come across as a quitter, not in front of Arthur Carey. Preston still thought that they could be something awesome in the future, since Arthur had the potential to challenge him in every aspect of Sonora life. The redhead loved challenges.“People will believe in anything as long as they have the need to believe in it,” he responded, his finger scratching his chin. “I read somewhere that Muggle believe the Loch Ness Monster inhabits a lake in Scotland, they have little to no evidence that it actually exists. In reality it has been established by Magizoologists that it is a Kelpie, but Muggles see it as something extraordinary.” The redhead took a deep breath, “Their evidence is some sketchy pictures.”
The redhead rested his chin on the palm of his hand, “I think people believe what gives them some sort of comfort, even when they aren’t certain it does exist.” He tapped his fingers on the desk and listened to Arthur talk, he grinned when he found a comment rather amusing, “Yes, better something else than a politician.” As a rule, his family stayed away from politics, they preferred to dwell on the economic side of life. His father thought that politics was full with wizards and witches with very dark ulterior motives, so he stayed away from it. Preston couldn’t even remember if he ever voted, he was going with no. His father had little to no faith in politicians.
At Arthur’s last comment, Preston stayed silent for a few minutes coming up with a suitable answer. For one, his family didn’t believe in witches working, they were supposed to be good and nice so they could marry into a good family and do their duty by expanding the family’s power. But he knew that some Pureblood families were not against it, so it was hard to answer the comment. “It depends on the importance one gives to that idea, I don’t think one is more than important than the other,” he tapped his chin, “it depends on how the person in question acts on it.”
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Preston
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Arthur
March 10, 2011 1:24 AM
Cheers by Arthur
Arthur was not entirely sure how the Loch Ness kelpie had come into it, but he countered the point because it was there to be countered. “To them, I imagine it is something extraordinary,” he said. “But that’s not the point – those who took the photos know it’s real. I don’t see how your argument negates mine, the one I made.”It was all clear in his head – about how individual experience could be doubted by those on the outside, but how could they prove that another’s experience was not real, be the topic whether a Muggle had seen a publicity-hungry kelpie or a wizard a vision of Dionysus? – but he couldn’t quite articulate it. Arthur found that immensely frustrating, and it didn’t get less frustrating no matter how often it happened. He supposed that was good, since if he accepted it he would have no hope of working past it, and his tutors assured him that expressing himself would get easier with practice and accomplishments that expanded his vocabulary and reasoning skills, but still, how long was it going to take?
Adults usually assumed Arthur was the patient twin, the calm counterbalance to Arnold, but he honestly thought he might be more impatient than his brother in the ways that mattered. Arnold didn’t seem really concerned about growing up. He knew they were expected to marry well , and was very aware that he was going to be short changed in terms of inheritances and that sort of thing, but unless he was fighting with Anthony or maybe-but-please-Merlin-let-him-not-be getting annoyed that Derwent Pierce IV had a numeral and he didn’t, these things were not matters Arnold considered particularly relevant to his everyday life, and he was usually happy with his place in the world right now. Arthur, on the other hand, just saw all the things he couldn’t do, either because he really couldn’t or because he was blocked from them, just because he was eleven, and it annoyed him. He was just smart enough not to tell people about it.
Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes he told Arnold more than, when he thought about it later, he wished he had. He didn’t think Arnold would ever try to hurt him, but Arthur was, at least a little, secretive by nature. He didn’t like for anyone to know too much.
There was a bit of a delay before Preston responded to his point on ideas, during which Arthur made some notes. He tilted his head sideways as he considered it. “My grandparents always say there are right ideas and wrong ideas, and we should at least not pay attention to the wrong ones if we can’t get rid of them,” he said. “But sometimes I think that if that were true, my family wouldn’t have five branches.”
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Arthur
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Preston
March 11, 2011 7:55 PM
Triple Cheers by Preston
There was one thing Preston believed in and that was everything that could be based on facts. He would believe in a deity when he saw solid facts of its existence. As it was, he just believed in knowledge, because it was plastered on books and it could be seen throughout the world. It wasn’t fiction, it was real and he could even touch it. The knowledge he had acquired through his studies was easily seen in everyday things, like gravity and how magic worked. What he still yet to see was a deity floating about and using their powers for controlling humanity. Every little thing that happened in the world could be traced back to solid facts, not something ethereal. Yet, he understood and respected other people’s opinions. Differences was something necessary in life, otherwise things would get boring.Completely dismissing the Loch Ness Kelpie subject, since he saw that the topic had already ended, the redhead first-year Aladren opened a book to continue with the assignment on Circe. He enjoyed these kinds of conversations, but he couldn’t procrastinate on classes. Plus, he saw Arthur taking notes and he could not be left behind by his roommate.
In terms of family, Preston had a lot of that. His great-great-great grandparents were still alive, and they were as conservative as they came. Bianca and Ignatious Randolph, had great expectations for their family members, and they did everything in their power to help them achieve those goals. Even when his father didn’t like them that much, they did spend some weeks out of the year with them in Vermont. Grammy Bianca and Granppy Ignatious, along with Great Grandmother Marie and Great Grandfather Aaron, and Grandmother Arabella with Grandfather Roman, stayed with the Stratfords for at least two weeks. Preston was sure the big family reunion was meant to see how the family was doing in financial and social terms, especially since they were connected with the Randolph’s. In comparison to them, the Stratfords were a small Pureblood family with wealth but moderate power. He even wondered why her Grandmother Arabella had married his Grandfather Roman.
Anyways, he began taking more notes while Arhur was talking. Preston was very good at multi-tasking, and when he finished talking, he addressed the comment. “Ideas are ideas, whether they are right or wrong. There is always a ying to a yang.” He stopped writing and looked up at his partner, “Like I said, it depends on how people act on the idea. Also, perceptions are very important, because what I see as right you may see as wrong.” Preston scratched his head, not sure if he was making any sense at all. In his mind it made perfect sense, but maybe he wasn’t articulating his idea in a way that Arthur would find them particularly understandable.
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Triple Cheers
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