7th January, 1889 — The Great Hall and Beyond
And early on the seventh day (of January), Kristoffer Lestrange surveyed his creation and was pleased.
He had been hard at work since confiscating the diary from Frida on Saturday and spending most of the next day reading it. It was too much a gift to have been dropped into his lap for him to do nothing with, and he didn't like the way seventh year was slipping so fast out of his grasp. He could feel the school's respect for him waning; had endured the snub of Head Boy, for starters; and no one who had disdained and disrespected him had suffered the punishment they deserved. Jemima Farley had never been at the top of his list, perhaps, but what did he care about that when he thought of the chaos? This was just the beginning.
He expected the professors would try to clear up the mess and confiscate the offending literature as quickly as possible, but he had prepared for that, and extended his reach as far as possible. He still had the original in his possession. But he had become an expert in geminio overnight - the sheer amount of practice he had had! - and left pages of it plastered to toilet cubicles, some tucked into desks in classrooms and stuffed in the nooks and crannies of the corridors. Whole duplicates of the diary were sitting, innocuously, between textbooks amongst the library stacks. And in just a moment or two, the school's whole flock of owls from the owlery would descend across the Great Hall, dropping gifts of Jemima Farley's diary galore.
Time, he thought, to eat some toast and watch the world burn.
He had been hard at work since confiscating the diary from Frida on Saturday and spending most of the next day reading it. It was too much a gift to have been dropped into his lap for him to do nothing with, and he didn't like the way seventh year was slipping so fast out of his grasp. He could feel the school's respect for him waning; had endured the snub of Head Boy, for starters; and no one who had disdained and disrespected him had suffered the punishment they deserved. Jemima Farley had never been at the top of his list, perhaps, but what did he care about that when he thought of the chaos? This was just the beginning.
He expected the professors would try to clear up the mess and confiscate the offending literature as quickly as possible, but he had prepared for that, and extended his reach as far as possible. He still had the original in his possession. But he had become an expert in geminio overnight - the sheer amount of practice he had had! - and left pages of it plastered to toilet cubicles, some tucked into desks in classrooms and stuffed in the nooks and crannies of the corridors. Whole duplicates of the diary were sitting, innocuously, between textbooks amongst the library stacks. And in just a moment or two, the school's whole flock of owls from the owlery would descend across the Great Hall, dropping gifts of Jemima Farley's diary galore.
Time, he thought, to eat some toast and watch the world burn.
