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First names were most often used by childhood or school friends. If the friendship was made after school age, first names would only really be used by women. Men were far more likely to refer to their friends by their surnames, a mark of familiarity. — Documentation

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Emilia Wright for Jude Wright. Casually alienating offspring since 18882.
Separating was also not a great idea, though they weren't doing great at staying together anyway. If she were to volunteer to be the human sacrifice.. well... Hogsmeade had plenty of debutantes anyway...

Barnabas Skeeter in CYOA: Group D

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Complete threads set in ten different forum locations. Threads must have at least ten posts, and three must be your own. Character accounts cannot be combined.


On the Eve of Disaster
May 20th, 1888 — Ravenclaw Common Room

Perhaps if he willed it hard enough, Benjamin thought, he could place himself in a coma and sleep his way through the week to come.

It was, of course, his own fault. Bolstered by the knowledge that these were neither his OWLs nor his NEWTs, the sixth year had delayed studying for his final examinations until the month of May had begun. A foolish action, to be sure. Now, staring down the barrel of tomorrow's Charms examination, Ben Turner was not altogether certain he would not make a complete buffoon of himself.

"I'm doomed," he said aloud to no one in particular, his charms book propped open in his lap, but the words swimming about on the page.

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Luckily for Justice, fourth year examinations were far less pressing than the exams fifth years and seventh years were taking — not that such a notion stopped him from caring any less! He too was curled up in the corner of the Ravenclaw common room, quickly scribbling down notes he thought Professor Skeeter might ask on their Herbology examination. It was not his strongest subject, but that didn't mean he was necessarily bad at it; it merely took a few hours longer of studying to get the scores he was hoping for!

He didn't really believe most of Ravenclaw house was capable of failing when they put their minds to it, hence the snicker that left his mouth when Benjamin Turner — on of their house prefects — proclaimed he was doomed.

"You don't believe that, do you?" he chided, peeking up from behind the massive armrest that was hiding him from sight. "I mean, you're prefect. Prefects don't fail!"

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Sweet, naive Rookwood. While a less frantic Ben would acknowledge that the possibility of him actually failing all his examinations was very slim, the notion that his prefect’s badge would somehow guarantee him success—either by magic or by the virtues that had earned it for him in the first place—was optimistic at best.

“Sure they do,” he pointed out sensibly. Anyone can fail. You don’t honestly think Kristoffer Lestrange is academically gifted, do you?”

Typically, Ben knew, it was not wholly done to speak ill of other prefects—or anyone, given his own station. Tonight, though, stress could overrule decorum, and after all, they were in the eagle’s nest; all ears present were friendly enough.

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Justice's knew very little about Turner's personal struggles with academics, but he still had a difficulty finding any comparisons the Ravenclaw prefect with Kristoffer Lestrange other than their statuses as sixth year prefects. He climbed onto his knees and leaned over the armrest before cocking a doubtful brow at the sixth year.

"No matter how 'academically gifted' Lestrange is, I doubt he'd want to take a hit to his pride by failing, well, anything," he pointed out. "And besides, I don't imagine any of the professors would make the exams so difficult that you couldn't pass. If that were the case, they'd find themselves with an entire class' worth of failed exams," he complimented in an attempt to raise his house-mate's spirits.

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Benjamin chuckled. A part of him wished he were the professors’ benchmark, but somehow, he doubted that would be the case.

“If only that were true!” he protested good-naturedly, a smile at last on his face. “Professor Darrow, perhaps, would be bereft if he did, but Professor Valenduris I think would find everyone failing rather amusing, don’t you?”

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The thought of Professor Valenduris pacing his office with his fingertips maniacally drumming together as he plotted the downfall of every single student was enough to force an unintentional laugh from Justice's throat.

"I think he'd return back next year and find himself replaced if that were the case," he joked. "I don't think many parents would be pleased to see their children fail due to oddly-worded questions."

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Ben shrugged.

“Money is money, though,” the sixth year pointed out. It was not said in a laudatory way nor a begrudging one, just with the vague acceptance of a lad who had grown up with the concept. “Professor Valenduris certainly has more than my family.”

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Justice had the privilege of growing just slightly wealthier than some of the friends he'd grown up with, but his family's wealth had never been so large as to giving him bragging rights. Thus, the reminder of money and the role it played in everything—including employment—peeved him just a little bit.

"I doubt Headmaster Black would keep an under-performing, yet still wealthy professor around," he pointed out. "It would reflect badly on him, and Headmaster Black has a large pride."

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Ben did not share his housemate's confidence in the distant, surly headmaster, but did not want to cheapen himself by badmouthing the man who was, technically, the leader of the school. Instead, he shifted the conversation slightly to the left.

"D'you ever think it might be enjoyable to be a professor, someday?" the sixth year inquired. It was a career path that he himself had not altogether ruled out, but was likewise not yet sold on.

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Justice pondered the question for a moment before giving his input—"I'm sure being a professor has its perks, but you'd have to do something to get there first." He couldn't even imagine what someone might due outside the Ministry to prepare for the Muggle Studies professor position, nor could he imagine what criteria the headmaster had for some more research-intensive positions.

"I mean, I imagine you'd have to have a collection of accolades—maybe even a collection of textbooks—before being considered for History of Magic professor. That's the one I'd go for."

If Professor Darrow were to ever die, that was. Justice didn't know how old the professor was, but he'd heard he'd been there forever. (He might need to hurry to write books before the old man dropped dead!)

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Benjamin nodded—that was the one he would go for as well, or perhaps potions. Still, he didn’t think you’d need to put in quite so much effort.

“Professor Skeeter doesn’t seem that accomplished though,” the sixth year pointed out, “and he’s quite good at his job.”

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Justice shrugged. "I suppose only those who apply for the position know the requirements. Maybe Herbology requires less—or maybe they just couldn't find someone qualified when the position needed to be filled." Herbology didn't seem that complicated of a class, anyways, bar the memorization involved.

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In truth, Benjamin thought that Rookwood was oversimplifying the matter, but they both had far too much upon their plates to dissect this particular matter any further.

Ben sighed.

“If I don’t get back to my studies, no one will hire me—even as a last resort,” the Ravenclaw bemoaned.

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Justice could tell that this was the prefect's polite way of asking him to leave. A smile crossed his lips for a moment, and then he pushed himself to his feet, making it clear that he intended to leave the older boy alone.

"I'll leave you to study, then. Have a good night - but don't forget to sleep."

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