Post by corova on Jul 27, 2011 18:54:03 GMT -8
September 10th, 10:23 am
Oh Hogwarts....How I've missed you since we've parted ways. You've not aged a bit, and yet here I am, recording your age like numbers really matter to you...
A small smile, sad in substance and slight in seeming sat on Corova's face. The portraits waved at her, or ignored her, whichever was their mood. Today's research was on the armor suits ranging the second floor. Nigel rattled a squawking caw out as they neared the first suit of armor. Corova agreed. Students were horrid to history.
The poor suit of armor had been 'decorated' with graffiti, had trash thrown into it, and someone had added a mustache to the otherwise French medieval piece. The sad lack of love showed the historian just how little the students cared anymore. It was the burden of a teacher (even a former one) to take personal offense at disrespect towards their chosen specialty. This was just sad.
A cacophany of explosions erupted from a classroom down the hall behind Corova, and she yelped in surprise. Nigel took flight, calling an alarm out to anyone who'd hear. Wide eyed, Corova approached the smoking classroom slowly. Her pace changed to a run when she heard a person coughing and groaning.
From the look of the room, several fireworks had been released into the confined space. The youth inside was hardly recognizable; burns and blisters obscured his face and he seemed to be too shocked to do anything more than get out into the hallway. Wandless, Corova didn't know what she could do for him but send Nigel for help.
"Sweetheart, please go get the school nurse...quickly please!" She knelt by the student and noticed his Head Boy badge. What was he doing in on a Saturday? She managed to drag him out of the smoke, but had little clue as to what to do next. She was an historian, not a healer!
She tried comforting him. "Hold on, you...help is coming."
Oh Hogwarts....How I've missed you since we've parted ways. You've not aged a bit, and yet here I am, recording your age like numbers really matter to you...
A small smile, sad in substance and slight in seeming sat on Corova's face. The portraits waved at her, or ignored her, whichever was their mood. Today's research was on the armor suits ranging the second floor. Nigel rattled a squawking caw out as they neared the first suit of armor. Corova agreed. Students were horrid to history.
The poor suit of armor had been 'decorated' with graffiti, had trash thrown into it, and someone had added a mustache to the otherwise French medieval piece. The sad lack of love showed the historian just how little the students cared anymore. It was the burden of a teacher (even a former one) to take personal offense at disrespect towards their chosen specialty. This was just sad.
A cacophany of explosions erupted from a classroom down the hall behind Corova, and she yelped in surprise. Nigel took flight, calling an alarm out to anyone who'd hear. Wide eyed, Corova approached the smoking classroom slowly. Her pace changed to a run when she heard a person coughing and groaning.
From the look of the room, several fireworks had been released into the confined space. The youth inside was hardly recognizable; burns and blisters obscured his face and he seemed to be too shocked to do anything more than get out into the hallway. Wandless, Corova didn't know what she could do for him but send Nigel for help.
"Sweetheart, please go get the school nurse...quickly please!" She knelt by the student and noticed his Head Boy badge. What was he doing in on a Saturday? She managed to drag him out of the smoke, but had little clue as to what to do next. She was an historian, not a healer!
She tried comforting him. "Hold on, you...help is coming."