Did you know?
The Language of the Flowers was a popular method to express feelings where words might be improper, but did you know other means of doing so? Some ladies used their parasols, as well as their fans, gloves, and hankies to flirt with a gentleman (or alternatively, tell them to shove it!). — Bree ( Submit your own)
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Questionable Friend/Crush for Philip Aymslowe.
When your mum thinks you're gay for your best friend (but you probably are)
This boy, then. He wasn't new. Wasn't one of the worst people in the common room, those rotten rich boys - like Mr. Jailkeeper - who could not fathom a world beyond their own farts. Was a good working class lad, so he'd heard. Had a bit of a weird looking face, and a bit of a weird thing for preaching. Still.Aubrey Davis in The Under-Sofa
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Post 3+ times in three or more class threads during the course of a school year. Must all be done with the same character, be they a professor, student, or school portrait or ghost!

From the Journal of Ellie Rigby nee Bogart
[Image: Screen+Shot+2017-05-01+at+3.30.13+PM.png]
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September 15th, 1888

Dearest Mama,
I know it has been a while since I last wrote you, but school started back and I had to get things in order before I was able to put quill to paper to chronicle my thoughts and adventures. Now that the children are in bed, I have time to reminisce and remember everything that happened today. I decided to decorate my classroom since I only had two classes today-- my OWL level courses and my NEWT level with just the one student, he is getting quite the education-- so I went in search of the groundskeeper. It was rather foul weather today so he invited me in for some tea while we avoided the rain that was imminent.

Rather than being proper and sitting across the table from me while we drank tea and looked at maps, Mama, he sat beside me. It was delightfully crass. I don't think he remembered his place that he is a working class wizard while I am a firmly middle class witch. Most men are so caught up with propriety, especially in London, that it was a breath of fresh air to meet someone like Xander, who once he'd gotten to know me, eschewed propriety and treated me like an equal instead of chattel to be placed wherever and whenever he needed me.

Ilooked at maps of the Hogwarts campus, oh I wish I could show you how delightful they were. So detailed and enchanting-- while not being enchanted themselves, they were still quite accurate. I suppose when the school is as old as it is, it does not change much. He briefly showed me maps of where crystals could be found and where groves of trees were located. I really want to decorate my classroom well, if it is a nice homey classroom maybe next year I will have more students who join me in learning about earth magic. It is such a nice blend of introductions to alchemy and herbology mixed with a little bit of charms that everyone should want to take it. It's quite a delightful class.

Anyways, back to the events of today. Everything was going rather nicely, we had just sat down to tea when the weather took a nasty turn. One second Mr. Wild was being chivalrous and making us tea, talking about maps, and then he was shuffling me out the door. He seemed rather like his surname, wild. I can't even imagine what was going through his mind. I left, rather wistfully wishing I could take the maps with me, but the weather was not to be trusted with them. And now, here I am at home with the children safely sleeping in their beds.

I wish I could talk to you in person, Mama. Maybe over the summer the children and I can come visit you with their nanny. Give Papa my love.

Ever yours,
September 27th, 1888

Dearest Mama,
Another long break in between writing you, and I apologize. Raising two children and traveling between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts can be exhausting at times. But I'm not complaining, I love my life now, as best I can, since Xander died. But today was worth writing my thoughts down as soon as possible.


Something strange has happened at Hogwarts. I was teaching class and then a house elf-- you know, the creatures that we don't have but appear to be prolific in London? Well, a house elf came and professed his love for me. Repeatedly. And I do mean repeatedly. He tried to burn my shoes up because he thought my feet were too cold. Do you know how quickly leather gets hot enough to burn your feet? Very quickly, Mama, very quickly. I was finally able to escape his literal clutches when I explained that my children would be too scared of him to have come home so soon. I'm afraid of tomorrow, what will it bring?

I know it will be hard to sleep tonight, I have already been up well past when I need to be asleep because I was reassuring myself that the ridiculous elf will not show up in my bedroom since he doesn't know where I live. But it was hard. I suppose I should go to sleep anyways, for the morning will be here anyways, well before I want it to be.

Have a good night, Mama.
I love you.
28 September 1888

Dearest Mama,
I encountered the most marvelous man today. His name is Jasper Collins and he is the most handsome man I've ever seen. I cannot believe we hadn't really seen each other before now. We met once at the faculty meeting when the semester started, but it wasn't like we actually met each other.

But today, he sent me the most amazing letter. I have enclosed it here for safe keeping, lest someone find it and know of our love before we're ready to show the world.

27 September, 1888
Dearest Eleanor,
I fell in love
With the sound of you.
The very thought
That you could be
Into simple syllables
And, yet, mean
More than the complexities
Of feeling you -
Made the air
Burst forth into my lungs
And breathe hope.

You could give life
And color
But now you lay there,
While Shakespeare himself
Shakes his head.

You could have meant more than ever imagined,
If only you had been written in French.

With love,
Jasper Collins

Isn't it lovely, Mama? I saw it and I was just overwhelmed with this feeling of love I haven't felt since Xander. And to be fair, it is even stronger than what I ever felt for Xander. I cannot wait to see him again. He fills my soul with laughter.

Truly yours,
11 October, 1888

There's pictures of you and I on the walls around me
The way that it was and could have been surrounds me
I've never been the kind to ever let my feelings show
And I thought that being strong meant never losing your self-control
But I'm just drunk enough to let go of my pain
To hell with my pride, let it fall like rain
From my eyes
Tonight I want to cry

My dearest Xander,
I miss you so. I cannot think of anyone else tonight, only the memories of you and me. It's been over a year since you died and nothing is the same without you. I went to Podmore just because I wanted to feel close to you, but it just made the loneliness worse. Beth asks for you still, and I cannot figure out what to tell her. I'm torn up inside because you're not here and our children miss you. I still get mail from your parents, with drawings of you as a child in them. They've commissioned an artist to copy the old ones they've had done and with each one that comes by owl it reminds me that you're not here.

I have to confess, there were a few days where I was dosed with amortentia that a man whose name shall not be written down ever again took over your place in my thoughts. I hate it now, the feelings I can remember from those few days. He is not you, no one will ever be you. I know society expects me, a young woman still in her prime to get married again and have more children, preferably more boys, but I cannot think past tonight when the wine bottle is empty and I cry in the corner once more.

I miss you so.
I love you.
Yours forever,

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