LOGAN, Alice Mairwen.

[alicelogan]

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About You - -

Name: Fief.
Gender: Female.
Age: Sixteen.
Years of RPG Experience: Four.
Other: [Removed By Staff]

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Quick Quiz - -

How did you find us? A webring. [:
What about ISS inspired you to join? Everything! It’s just such a wonderful environment.
Do you have any suggestions for us? None at all.

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About the Character- -

Name: Alice Mairwen Logan.
Age: Sixteen.
Gender: Female.
Year: Sixth.
Face Claim: Astrid Berges-Frisbey.

Canon or Original? Canon.

Facial Properties:

e y e s

Bright, cerulean-blue orbs glimmer in even the faintest light and catch your attention. The first thing you notice is their unnaturally luminous shade of blue. The second thing is their openness, their kindness and largesse. They seem to be brimming with excitement, with nervous anticipation, and, yet, also with love and acceptance. After your first glance of them, you crave another look, wanting to feel the warmness rise from the pit of your belly to the tips of your ears once again, as it did upon the first sight. This is often how people describe their experience regarding hazarding a look at Alice’s beautiful, shimmery pools of blue; as intense, as bubbly, as... overwhelmingly joyous. Just one glance at her eyes, and they forget their hardships of the day, their encumbering personal lives fraught with mystery, deluge, and pain, and just... sink into the comfort of her steady, confident gaze, wading deeply into the oceans of her soul. For, that’s what happens when you look at her eyes. You see into her soul. Right down to the core of it, nowhere less. She’s just one of those people who can capture attention with a stare, however short-lived the said stare may be, and suddenly feel like you’ve known her your whole life. Like you can trust her with anything, and, even if you didn’t, she’d still be able to tell what you were keeping from her just by looking at you. It’s a powerful, humbling experience, one of which Alice herself is unaware, and seems to captivate all those she encounters. All those, of course, save the closed-off Slytherins. Honestly, who can get through to them? They’re all lost causes.

m o u t h

Small, plump, and often referred to as resembling a cherry, Alice’s mouth is rather idealistic. Being a bit of a history buff, Alice thinks of her mouth as an archetype for perfect mouths across the centuries -- the “cupid’s bow” as it’s called by some, making appearances through Shakespeare, Dickens, Bronte, Austen, and many, many more left unnamed. It is soft and kissable, with gentle swells in the right places and colored with a bright, pinkish-red hue. What lingers beyond is even more pristine -- her straight, rounded pearls of teeth flash brilliantly at everyone -- including Slytherins -- who pass by her in the hall. Her smile is consummate, and she adores having it so, reveling in her timeless beauty, and wanting to share its warming effects with everyone she meets. Alice loves to share her smile with all those who she encounters, lest they be worthy of a frown, and delights in their complacent smiles back at her. The girl’s primary joy is spreading happiness and comfort, and, through her smiles, she strives to achieve this.

s k i n & h a i r

Set against lightly pale skin, Alice’s long, glossy, dark brown hair cascades down to her mid-back, ending in gentle waves. You can always tell what mood she’s in by her hair -- often, when she’s feeling stressed, she’ll wear it pulled into dual braids. When she’s carefree or excited about something, she’ll leave it down, often with a blue (to compliment her Ravenclaw colors) hair band to pull back her eyebrow-length bangs. When she feels lackadaisical, she’ll pull her locks into a loose bun in the middle of her head, leaving a few wisps to curve around her oval jaw. For formal occasions, Alice will either curl her hair or pin it up in various fashions in order to draw attention to her jewelry or robes. She really enjoys working with her glossy chocolate waves, and can get a bit carried away in the morning when it comes time to decide what to do with it. Most times she wears it down, sporting the “pale-skin-against-dark-hair” look. When Alice returns home for vacation, her neighbor’s six daughters all crowd around her, vying for her attention, each one of them believing she’s actually Snow White and goes to live with her prince during the school year. Alice entertains their belief, playing dress-up with them and teaching them proper “princess manners.” The little girls really can’t get enough of it, and are always sorry to see her return “to her prince,” presumably. Alice hardly ever wears make-up, either, and teaches her little fan club that natural beauty is what will capture a prince’s heart.

Physique:

Ever since her youth, Alice has been a stick. A skinny, short, little twig. Having endured the hardships of the quest for pants in her size, constant jealously and ridicule from girls in her class, and an unending feeling of shapelessness, Alice was very embittered toward her shape. The only thing she could really wear comfortably were dresses, and most had to be taken in to fit around her tiny waist. She went through this torment for several years, until, one day, she entered the teeming ranks of impending adulthood as a pubescent young lady. As soon as this began, she began to fill out a little more attractively; her hips widened and sloped gently down to her firm thighs, her stomach remained flat but did not fold in as it once did, and her chest plumper and much more feminine than once it was. Now, truly, Alice was the envy of many, many girls. She was slender, lithe, curvy, buxom, and, generally, had pretty features as well. She’d always been remotely popular with the boys (though merely from a friendly standpoint), but, after puberty, she finally began to enter long-term commitments with them. Her first boyfriend, a sweet-tempered Hufflepuff fifth year, was in her fourth year. They lasted for three or four months, but eventually parted ways. Alice didn’t really feel as much for him as he did for her, and, though she dated a few more times, she knew her heart was resting elsewhere, with a certain Longbottom fellow she’d met the year before...

Personality: {Reading the History section first might be wise before continuing to her personality}

c o n f i d e n t

Having been raised in a healthy, loving, and supportive environment, Alice never had any self-esteem issues. She was raised by her grandparents, James and Alice, her parents having perished early on in her infancy (refer to the History section for more on this). Allie, as her grandmother went, and James treated Alice as if she were their own daughter, instructing her on the principles of confidence and self-love, and that they, alone, mattered above all else. Thus, Alice learned to treat herself with respect and reverence; she never once even thought about a tattoo, about alcohol, or about any of the other temptations that inevitably lead to physical disrespect of the body. She never called herself too fat, or too thin, or too short, or too tall -- no, in her mind, she was just right for herself. She generally harbored no envy toward other girls, learning early on that such an emotion never really benefitted her in any way. Occasionally, she’ll slip and feel a little jealous of other girls, but whenever she catches herself feeling this way, she redirects the emotion as respect for that girl’s pretty hair, or clear skin, or what have you. Through this healthy redirection method, Alice has learned to love herself and others, and to be confident and brave in all that she does. She can walk into a room with her head held high, not caring whatever any of its inhabitants think or say of her. She is strong enough in herself to know she doesn’t need to feed off other people’s attention to love herself.

m a t e r n a l

It seems strange, considering that for most of her life she lacked an actual mother in the strict definition of the word, that Alice would feel so filled with maternal feelings for everyone around her. Her grandmother has theorized that perhaps she tries to overcompensate for her situation by being overly protective and motherly toward her friends and family, and James seems to agree with this theory. Alice, however, is blissfully unaware of the fact that her motherly side has anything to do with her past, and continues to be a sort of second mother to all those she truly cares about. She is the kind of friend who always suggests bringing sun-block to a beach party, band aids to a Quidditch match, hand sanitizer to meals... many of her friends have admitted to being annoyed by her antics, but, truthfully, she’s done a lot of good by them. Recently, she has found herself feeling particularly maternal toward Andromeda Black, who has lately been going through a lot of emotional trauma with her family. Alice has always gotten along fairly well with Andromeda, but, this year, has found herself drawn to her more especially with the disgusting, slanderous subject matter of Rita’s and Danni’s tabloid. The lies those two girls cook up are just awful and horrid, and damage so many innocent and spotless reputations of many students. Alice refuses to even look at the tabloid, taking nothing anyone else says about it literally. She remains fiercely loyal to her friends, never believing anything said about them until they themselves confirm it. She supports her friends in whatever they choose to do, never expecting more than she should of them, and never lessening her love for them because of mistakes they’ve made or decisions she doesn’t agree with. If they do disagree, however, she is honest and true to her beliefs, even if it hurts them, and never budges from them. However, she accepts and loves her friends for who they are, and, even if they are involved in a fight, she’s usually the first to try and make amends.

i n t e l l i g e n t

Ever since she was little, Alice has had an uncanny ability to read books slightly above her reading level. When she’d reached the age of ten, she’d already completed the Complete Works of Shakespeare and of the Bronte sisters. When she began Hogwarts, she’d started Sense and Sensibility, and when she’d left the train, she’d finished it and had moved on to Emma. She reads exceptionally fast, exceptionally well, and understands every single word. Literature was like Merlin’s gift to her -- she’s always loved it, and can hardly ever be seen without a book in hand. From literature stems her inherent ability for acceptance and love, especially of Muggles. They had some of the greatest authors, in her opinion. Sure, witches and wizards had plenty of good books as well, but all their subject matter was devoted to exploring magic and such, while Muggle books explored emotion and the human existence, which, to Alice, was for more fascinating. Exploring the human soul, passions, antics, brain, and actions, is such a deep and boundless subject, one which never ceases to amaze Alice. She especially enjoys learning about the depths of the ability and limits of human love for one another. Her favorite authors, Shakespeare and Austen, seem to capture her idea of love better than any other author she’s read. Of course, Pride and Prejudice is one of her favorite anthologies on love, and Shakespeare’s Richard III, Troilus and Cressida, Julius Caesar, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream are among her other favorites. However, Alice’s knowledge is not limited just to the fields of literature -- no, Alice is quite skilled at Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and many other things involving mathematical and scientific skill. Her forte is history; though, she admits, her weakness is potions. She’s just not very good at them. Nor is she very skilled at flying. She loves watching Quidditch, but playing it is something she’ll never do. She simply can’t stay on the broom.

w a l l f l o w e r

At parties, Alice usually sticks to the wall. It’s not that she’s nervous, or scared, or anything, really. It’s just that she’s not a very good dancer. And this goes for class, too. Unlike some of her fellow Ravenclaws, Alice does not jump at impressing the Professor with her knowledge or wit or the like by raising her hand and participating in class. Usually, Alice keeps to herself and takes copious notes in her many notebooks, her quill never ceasing to move. She’s hardly ever distracted, save by the occasional note from a friend, and, even then, usually views the note as secondary to the lesson. When lengthy scrolls are due, Alice will actually get excited, for she loves to research in the school library for hours on end, even skipping dinner on occasion. She gets very dedicated to her schoolwork and assignments, and can hardly imagine not going over the limit of scrolls. She just has so much to say on certain subjects that her teachers get angry with her for writing so much, however, some encourage her skill and enjoy reading all her words with care and precision. They often wonder why she doesn’t participate in class more, or even raise her hand more than once a month. Often, her teachers will speak to her, asking her if perhaps she’s been intimidated by another student in the class. Embarrassedly, Alice has always replied to such inquiries that she has not been intimidated, but, rather, prefers not to speak in class, for she is too busy taking notes. Which is partially true. What Alice leaves out is that in class she gets so very excited that her tongue ties in knots and her brain works too fast for her mouth.


Likes:
+ History of Magic. “I’m a history buff... can’t help but adore this class.”
+ Herbology. “I adore flowers and nature. The study of them, thus, is absolutely fascinating to me.”
+ World cultures. “Being as obsessed with learning history as I am, a knowledge of international culture is a good thing.”
+ Fruit. “Sometimes it’s all I’ll eat. My favorite is kiwi.”
+ Animals, chiefly owls and cats. “They certainly are amazing little creatures. My pygmy owl, Seren, means very much to me. Sometimes I think she can understand what I’m thinking.”
+ Baking, though she’s terrible at it. “I love to experiment, though grandmother discourages me from doing so.”
+ Shakespeare. “He’s the genius of English literature. What’s not to love? My favorite play is Richard III.”
+ Singing. “I’m a coloratura soprano.”
+ Fire. “It’s so... hypnotizing. I find myself viewing it as a symbol of love and passion... and I’m drawn to that.”
+ Romance novels. “Hopeless romantic. Guilty as charged.”
+ Genealogy. “This dovetails with my passion for history. I love learning about family genes!”
+ Sweets. “My major weakness: hard candies.”
+ Poetry. “It’s so lilting and beautiful and passionate.”
+ French language and culture. “Even though I’m Welsh, my favorite field of study culturally and historically is French.”
+ Holistic methods of cleansing and healing. “Natural is the best way to go.”
+ Children. “I love them. They love me. I want to have a huge family someday. Ten children. Maybe more. I’ll never be lonely.”
Dislikes:
– Intolerance of any kind, chiefly on blood purity. “It’s arrogant and absolutely unfounded.”
– Haughty people. “They’re immensely bothersome, always sticking their noses in the air and whatnot.”
– Pride. “It certainly gets in the way of a functioning relationship, doesn’t it?”
– Arrogance. “It gets us nowhere in life, except downwards.”
– Bugs. “They eat plants. They eat dung. They eat dead animals. Some drink my blood. Why would I harbor an affinity for such creatures?”
– Inorganic techniques of plant cultivation. “Magic is one thing. Fertilizer and the like is a completely different ball game. Don’t screw with mother nature. You’re likely to get burned.”
– Vampires. “They remind me of leeches, which remind me of bugs, which I hate.”
– Cosmetics. “I prefer to go natural. I’ll wear make-up for special occasions, though.”
– Fear. “It holds us back from so many wonderful things in life, doesn’t it?”
– Hesitation. “If you’re even thinking about doing something good, just do it. Don’t hesitate. It literally gets you nowhere.”
– Abuse, both emotional and physical. “It’s a terrible thing to experience and to watch.”
– Wasting time. “Life is short. So you’ve got to make the best of it while it lasts.”
– Affluence. “What it does to people is simply remarkable.”
– Busyness and noise. “Having grown up in suburban England, I prefer calm and quiet.”
– City life. “Too messy for a country girl like me.”
– Constricting environments. “I can’t breathe in an environment in which I am not comfortable, let alone get any work done if need be.”
– Dishonesty. “The chief vice of mankind.”

History:

Grandfather (paternal): James Winthrop Logan. Pureblood. {English}
Grandmother (paternal): Alice Marie Logan (nee Brown). Pureblood. {English}
Grandfather (maternal): Finnegan Cael McClannaugh. Pureblood. {Welsh}
Grandmother (maternal): Mairwen Nia McClannaugh (nee McCleathy). Pureblood. {Welsh}
Father: Lionel Arthur Logan. Pureblood. {English}
Mother: Rhiannon Eira Logan (nee McClannaugh). Pureblood. {Welsh}

t h e G I R L

m e e t t h e p a r e n t s

Rhiannon McClannaugh was a talented witch, having descended from a long line of powerful magic tracing its beginnings to the times of Merlin himself. Rhiannon, or, Nonny, as she went by more commonly, attended a private wizarding academy in her native Wales and excelled wonderfully at all her studies, graduating at the top of her class. Having exited her school career, Nonny applied for a simple secretarial position at the Welsh Board of Magic, and was shortly accepted, her educational marks making the Board jump at the opportunity to employ such an intelligent young woman. Her parents, Mairwen and Finnegan, were exceptionally proud of their only daughter, and often bragged to the residents of their small farming village about her accomplishments. Nonny soon proved to be worth much more than her clerical position offered, and was given the choice of promotion, but, for unknown reasons, politely refused. She admitted she enjoyed having her evenings and weekends free, and, to be promoted meant longer hours, but beyond that given explanation, her coworkers could only imagine why she’d turned down the new position.

Lionel Logan, a handsome wizard of thirty-five, was suffering. Having just exited a painful, drawn-out divorce with his childhood sweetheart, Lucy, he had secluded himself in the study of his small London flat and attempted to express his emotions through journaling. He was employed at The Daily Prophet as an editorial writer and found it a comfort to know his job, at least, was still there. He needed something to distract himself from the pain of knowing Lucy had found another man more worth her while. True, they’d only been married for two years and, thank Merlin, had not had a chance to have children yet, but it felt as though they’d been married for years more. He’d grown up with Lucy, had risked everything for her when he married her, because she was a Muggle with no magic ability whatsoever, and his family temporarily treated him with indifference for a few weeks before they got used to the idea. At least, they’d thought, he was finally getting married. Lionel had waited till he was thirty-two to wed, hoping that he’d meet the girl of his dreams, and, when it seemed as though he would never even have another girlfriend other than Lucy, decided it was best to settle down with her. He loved her, truly, he did, but he was getting anxious to marry, for he wanted children, and he wasn’t getting any younger.

f i r s t c o m e s s e x l o v e

“Lionel, we’ve got an assignment for you in Wales.” With those words, two lives were changed forever. Lionel’s manager set him on a mission to write an article comparing the English Ministry of Magic to the Welsh Board of Magic -- not in a cruel way, but in an informational way, comparing procedures and ways of dealing with criminals or even heroes. Lionel thought this would be a particularly loathsome, boring job, but it turned out that, upon arriving in Wales and meeting the charming secretary, Nonny, he knew it would be the most fascinating thing he’d done in a while. Nonny was a beautiful girl; with dark, glimmering ringlets that flowed gently to her mid-back, her pale skin, and luminous green eyes, she’d been the subject of many unwanted affections, including Lionel’s. But, in truth, she wanted his affections. He was handsome, with a strongly chiseled face, bright blue eyes, and boyishly unkempt mousey brown hair. And, more importantly, he was learned and articulate. Lionel and Nonny got on quite well with one another, despite their considerable difference in years (he was thirty-five and she was nineteen), and spent many evenings and weekends together. Her coworkers soon discovered her reasoning behind keeping them free. Nonny showed him around town, took him to her favorite restaurants and gardens and parks, and, after a while, the two began spending more nights together than daytimes. The two were more in lust with one another than in love, but it didn’t seem to matter -- the heady flush of excitement and passion got the better of them, and, before they knew it, Nonny was expecting. Lionel didn’t really know how to react, but he knew he couldn’t leave her there. He quit his job at The Prophet and joined the literary team in Wales, hoping to support his wife (they’d been married shortly after she’d discovered she was pregnant).

t h e n c o m e s m a r r i a g e

The wedding was a simple one. The Logans attended, dismayed at the tender age of their relative’s bride but glad that she was at least of good wizarding stock. Nonny’s village also was present, including her mother and father, who were boisterous and jovial through the entire ceremony. Nonny and Lionel were indeed happy enough, and Nonny finally accepted the promotion from the Welsh Board. Lionel sold his flat in London and moved in with Nonny in her small ranch in rural Wales. With time and maturity, the newlyweds eventually began to fall in love. It was slow, and certainly not without wild, passionate fights that sometimes lasted for days, but they came to accept their fate and even enjoy each other’s company. After three months of marriage, Lionel had decided Nonny was the girl of his dreams he’d been searching for while married to Lucy. Nonny, too, believed Lionel was the one for her, and, gradually, what started out as an unhappy marriage of responsibility turned to a joyful union between two people hopelessly in love. Though both were terrified, they decided to really throw themselves into the preparation for the baby and began amassing toys and clothing for it, painting its room in yellows and golds and other gender-neutral hues. They also began selecting names, deciding to combine both their parents’ names for their son or daughter. For their son, they had selected the name Finnegan James, and for their daughter, Alice Mairwen. They planned to have more than just one child, if they could afford it in the future, and were discussing even more potential names. The entire village remarked their surprise at how the marriage between Lionel and Nonny had ended up becoming so pleasant, for they had all predicted it to fall apart within weeks of their child’s birth. However, they were all happily mistaken, and welcomed the couple with open arms into their community. Then, when Nonny went into labor, they welcomed another addition, Alice Mairwen.

t h e n c o m e s Alice i n a b a b y c a r r i a g e

Alice Mairwen Logan was born in the tumultuous Welsh winter of 1961, the exact date being February third. This was considerable, for Nonny and Lionel both agreed their favorite season was winter, and to have their child born during such a beautiful season never ceased to please them. It was a particularly rough birth for Nonny, and she had to stay in the hospital for a few days, waiting for a blood transfusion. Lionel took little Alice home and Mairwen and Finnegan stayed with him until Nonny could return. Her doctor advised the new mother to remain in bed for the next few days to allow her body to recuperate, and suggested Lionel stay home with her until she felt better. He readily agreed, waiting on her hand and foot, lavishing gifts and attention on her and on Alice. However, he knew something was wrong. Nonny was very pale, feverish, and had difficulty breathing. Mairwen had particular misgivings about her condition and contacted Nonny’s doctor. He returned swiftly, and, upon seeing her ashen face and stertorous breathing patterns, called Lionel out of the room along with his in-laws and explained she was suffering from TRALI, or, Transfusion-associated acute lung injury. He assured them it was not fatal, yet that he was worried about her because he’d treated her for it the day following the transfusion and the small dosage of medicine he’d given her apparently had taken no effect. He explained it was normal for TRALI to subside within 96 hours of of the initial transfusion, and it had only been two days since the patient had left the hospital. Therefore, he expected her to fully recover within a few days. Still, he gave her another dose of medicine. When he took his leave, Lionel, Finn, and Mairwen all shared a strange, sinking feeling in their stomachs that the doctor wasn’t telling them something. And, sure enough, when Nonny died three days later, the doctor admitted to not having told them it was the most advanced case of TRALI he’d ever seen. He attributed it to her young age. Finnegan and Lionel were intent to take the doctor to court, but Mairwen pacified them, explaining that Nonny would have wanted them to focus more on raising her child than avenging her death.

Lionel did not outlive her for very long. One day, he went out on a hike, right into the eye of a particularly harsh blizzard, and was found three days later, having died of hypothermia. Mairwen and Finnegan began raising little Alice in their own dwelling, having sold Lionel and Nonny’s house. They were glad to have another child to raise, but it was acutely painful to be reminded of the anxiety and turmoil after her birth. Alice lived with her Welsh grandparents for five years, and was preparing to enter her local kindergarden when Mairwen and Finnegan passed peacefully in their sleep. It was the talk of the entire village, how Alice seemed to be cursed, having “killed” every single one of her caretakers. She became ostracized, a social pariah in her village. Thankfully, her English grandparents, Alice and James, took her with them to their home in southern England and raised her as their own, determined to raise her in honor of their dear, departed son and daughter-in-law (the elder Alice went by Allie so as not to confuse the younger Alice, or, for that matter, her grandfather). Allie and James ran a small foster shelter for stray animals, having retired from their work as Aurors for the Ministry and desperately longing for some peace and quiet. Alice was very happy growing up, much to the surprise of her grandparents, who were sure she would turn out a darkened, brooding young woman filled with fear and longing for a normal life with her parents. But Alice had surprised them all. She’d explained that her parents were still with her in spirit, and that she felt them all the time, especially in her dreams. She was never lonely, and learned to accept their death as, simply, her cross to bear.

Alice grew up to look like the image of her mother, with her dark hair and small, curvy build, only with her father’s bright blue eyes and strong features. She’d inherited her father’s passion for writing, and has kept detailed journals ever since she learned to write. She’d also inherited her mother’s brains, and had devoted much of her time to reading and, of course, schoolwork. When she was nine, she’d discovered her ability to perform magic when she’d caused her tiny flower garden to bloom well before its projected time. Allie and James, of course, were thrilled, and happily awaited her invitation to the most prestigious magic academy on the isles -- Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Allie and James had attended it in their youth (and were sorted into Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, respectively), and had filled Alice with stories about its magnificence. She knew she wanted nothing more for her eleventh birthday than to be invited to attend classes there. And, sure enough, on the eve of her eleventh birthday, Alice received her embossed invitation. She’d been so happy she’d grown tearful, and became so excited about her first year there that she could hardly sleep for a week afterward. She and Allie went shopping for her robes, broom, cauldron, books, and, of course, her wand, a week before her departure. Alice had selected a lovely, ivory-colored birch wood wand with a dragon heartstring core. After they departed the wand shop, Allie began to cry, for Lionel’s wand had also had a core of dragon heartstring. Alice’s heart swelled with pride, for she had picked the same wand as her father; yet, she still cried along with Allie, more tears of pride than of sadness. When the two had collected themselves, they made off toward the owlery, and Alice selected a pretty little pygmy owl which she promptly named Seren, a name meaning “star” in Welsh.

A week later, Allie and James made their farewells to their granddaughter, who was waving animatedly at them from the window in her compartment. Once she’d arrived at the magnificent school, she was sorted into Ravenclaw, which was fitting, considering her passion for knowledge, reading, and education, and fit in very well. She excelled at her studies, made many friends, and felt like she was pleasing her parents and grandparents, wherever they all were.

Sample Post:

It hadn’t taken long, after she’d slipped under the soft, plush covers of her bed in the Girl’s Dormitories, for Priscilla to realize she was absolutely famished. In a desperate attempt to stave off the hunger gnawing at her shriveled stomach – it felt like a raisin it was so dry and empty! – she’d dismissed her friends earlier and had decided to retire sooner to the tantalizing dreamscape that awaited her, far away from her socially awkward hunger pangs. Sighing, the Slytherin fifth year tossed in her bed, and, jostling the sheets and comforter around, nestled into a position at her side, facing the stony wall. Not that she could really see it, though, as anything but a dim, gray blur. Priscilla was utterly blind without her glasses. And she was rendered utterly restless with her annoyingly empty stomach. Those two facts coupled with the fact that she’d received an owl from her father today explaining that her younger sister, Penelope, still had yet to display any signs of magical ability, contributed to her uncomfortably sleepless night. And, also, was part of the reason she’d crept off to bed earlier than usual, and without studying to boot. Priscilla just couldn’t face her friends, particularly Narcissa – oh, Merlin, she’d forgotten about her – after receiving this news, and embarrassedly, had scuttled off to bed before the pervasive questions of the Slytherin girls could hit home with why she was suddenly so clammy and perturbed after reading the letter. Penelope was four years old, and it was high time she start showing signs of magic. Everyone else had been early bloomers; heck, even the twins, Phoebe and Peter, at age one, no less, had already displayed bits of it here and there. But Penny had not, and it had the entire family worried. Especially Priscilla, who had had a hard enough time convincing her Slytherin girlfriends that while she was a mere half-blood her lineage beyond the taint of her mother’s Mugglehood was quite impressive. The Pryces went back to the eleventh century.

“Ugh,” she groaned, twisting around to her other side. All this thinking was keeping her eyes peeled and her mind alert. It really was too early to be in bed. And she had a potions test tomorrow that she really should be studying for. But Prissy really wasn’t in the mood for going back to the common room. Not now, anyway. Perhaps after it had cleared and most of the Slytherins had gone to bed already. She’d always preferred quiet study anyway. Just as she decided this, her stomach let out a peal of roars in a quick succession, reminding her of her other problem, and she winced. She was so hungry. She’d skipped dinner in the Great Hall in order to attend to her studies, thinking she’d have time to steal down to the kitchens later and grab a quick bite from the house elves. She wasn’t expecting to get an owl and be further reminded of the bleak outlook for Penelope’s future. That’s just what she needed. Drama. She despised drama. Her stomach growled again, this time with heightened ferocity. And she despised being hungry. Nearly exploding with frustration, she groaned and propelled herself forward to a sitting position. Unsurprisingly, dizziness ensued, and it took a few moments for Priscilla to collect her wits and balance. Upon doing so, she pulled back the covers rather roughly and placed her feet on the cold, stone floor beneath her. Under her bed she placed her slippers… somewhere, and she fished for them with her freshly lacquered toes. Even in the dim, greenish light illuminating the room, her clear, shiny toenails glimmered prettily. Suffering them a quick smile, Priscilla continued to search for her slippers, and, with every second that passed without her finding them, the more her frustration built, until, finally, it peaked, and she yelped angrily, pounding her fists onto the bed.

Hoisting herself off the said piece of furniture, Priscilla grabbed her glasses from the nightstand, slipped them on brusquely, agitating the bump on her nose with the force with which she did so, and got down on her hands on knees, searching for the blasted slippers. The cold of the floor crept into her marrow and she shivered, muttering a curse under her breath for the bloody cold floors and for her missing slippers. “Aha!” she suddenly cried out in triumph, grabbing onto what felt like her plush slippers. She pulled it out and was faced with a sheepish grin from her Kneazle, Ballard. “Oh, it’s you,” she dismissed him with that and let go of his bushy tail. He responded with a frank “mrow” and hopped onto her vacant bed, burrowing into the warm spot she’d left behind. Prissy ignored him and reprised her quest for her slippers. Within moments, she discovered the reason behind Ballard’s sheepish grin. She’d finally located her slippers – or, rather, what was left of them – in a tangled heap toward the far corner of her bed, teeth marks at the edges of the myriad tatters. “Ballard, not again!” she admonished, tossing the slippers in her trunk at the foot of her bed. The Kneazle in question glanced at her sluggishly with his large brown eyes and, with them, seemed to say “I couldn’t help myself.” Priscilla knew better than to keep her slippers under her bed. Ballard was simply fascinated by the things, and she’d lost dozens upon dozens of pairs to his curiosity countless times. Now she would be slipper-less until summer. Sighing, the Slytherin girl pushed her glossy chocolate locks from her face and sat on the edge of her bed, playing with a few ideas of what to do to quell her hunger. Ideally, she would go down to the kitchen. But was it too late for that? Chuckling a bit to herself, Priscilla joked mentally that it was never too late for those house elves. If she went down there right now, even, they’d probably be there. Her stomach growled again. Deciding she could wait no longer, Priscilla doffed her ankle-length cotton nightgown and donned her Hogwarts robes, colored green in parts to denote her status as a member of the Slytherin house.

She pulled out her gray stockings from the hefty black trunk at the foot of her bed and slipped her feet into them, relishing their softness and flexibility (and the fact that Ballard hadn’t gotten to them yet). Within moments she was putting on her black, lace-up boots and gathering her hair into a tight ponytail at the nape of her neck and was ready to walk out the door. However, before doing so, she casually stroked Ballard and reminded him gently to leave her clothing alone. He mewed tiredly in response, then curled up into a ball and drifted off to sleep. Priscilla smiled at him and then proceeded to exit the girl’s dormitories. When she entered the common room, her friends were nowhere to be seen, thank Merlin, and only a few straggling first and second years remained, their books and scrolls strewn haphazardly across the floor. She gave those who eyed her a condescending look with her nose in the air and flounced out of the room, creating a breeze in her wake, so fast did she exit. She was terribly lucky none of her comrades were there, for, if they were, she would have never been able to escape unnoticed. Sighing in genuine relief, the girl wended her way through the Hogwarts staircases until she made it to the kitchen’s not-so-secret entryway. With her pointed index finger, she touched the green pear nonchalantly and wagged her nail from side to side, almost in a tickling motion. The pear giggled and squirmed and the painting promptly made way for her presence. She stepped into the small hallway and emerged on the other side in the bustling kitchen. Prissy smirked. Good. The house elves should be kept busy. It’s what they liked, anyway, right? “Oh, Miss Priscilla, how may we help you tonight?” one of the younger ones queried, approaching her as she balanced two trays filled with fruit on her outstretched arm. Blushing a little when she called her by her name – she was a regular down here and thus the elves knew her taste quite well, though she was by no means proud of this – Priscilla put in her order. “Some bread pudding and fruit should be sufficient,” she stated, without bothering to be polite. The house elf looked like she was a kid at Christmas and smiled widely at Priscilla, bounding off to the bowels of the kitchen with a swinging gait.

There was a small chair positioned on the end of a stretch of countertop that was currently vacant, and Priscilla made her way toward it. It was after she’d seated herself that she was made aware of another presence in the room. Craning her neck to see who this mystery person was, Prissy’s ponytail swished to the side and positioned itself complacently on her shoulder. She heard voices, and then a flash of a white dress came barely into view. When the girl’s face was made visible, Priscilla was astounded to realize she wasn’t exactly sure who she was. She’d seen her around before – she was a Ravenclaw, most likely – yet had never actually spoken with her. Yet there was something familiar about her… something Prissy couldn’t quite put her finger on… oh! The epiphany took hold of Priscilla instantly: she was a Ravenclaw, and she contributed to the tabloid every now and then. In fact, she’d just unearthed that scandalous photograph of a nearly neud Lily Evans. Priscilla smirked. That was something. In spite of herself, the Slytherin giggled rather girlishly. This Ravenclaw girl… what was her name? She deserved a trophy for that photograph. It was high time for Lily to get off her high horse anyway. Perhaps Professor Slughorn would finally begin to notice his other students now. Namely her. Priscilla let the ghost of a smile grace her lips at the notion. She desperately wanted Slughorn’s praise. She was just so terribly good at potions, and nobody ever complimented her. She frowned in recollection, yet was soon distracted by the swift arrival of her food. The house elf didn’t stay long enough to be thanked – not that Prissy would’ve done so anyway – and scuttled off again just as quickly as she’d arrived. Priscilla nudged some of the pudding on to her spoon and lifted it to her mouth just as she caught a fuller view of what the Ravenclaw was wearing and suddenly lost her appetite. That dress was so… so… inappropriate for school! How dare she wear something so revealing? Why, one could see her knees! Priscilla paled and pushed the plate of food away from her, dropping the spoon back into the pudding with a loud clatter. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head as she regarded this girl. What was she thinking, gallivanting around the school in what could pass for a bath towel in length and color and impropriety!? “Take away the trophy! It doesn’t belong to her anymore!” Priscilla shouted in her head, her jaw dropping so low it almost rested on her clavicle.

Who did she think she was, Marilyn Monroe?! In that skanky little dress. It reminded her of something Kitty would wear. Was there a plague of skankiness going around, or was it just her? And what was next? Hogwarts’ very own gentleman’s club!? She could imagine Dumbledore now… “Okay, boys, but only if you’ve got good marks!” The old goon would probably go in there himself, considering his current level of senility. First, the three deaths, and now these lax rules on dress? Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. She bit into her strawberry with an anguished look on her face and turned away from the girl, unable to stomach her attire any longer.

^{__________________________________________________________}

And Finally - -

I, Lilly, have read the rules, understand clearly what my responsibilities are now that I am joining ISS, and will abide by these standards set by the staff.

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[Narcissa Black]

Accepted.