First Class

Michael had not liked the classroom he had been given. It was archaic. Old, musty, full of old relics that looked like they had been there since the founding fathers. He had spent a long time cleaning the old stale room, opening the windows and letting in light and fresh air. He shoved all the furniture into an out of the way corner.

Then he conjured bright, colorful, contemporary furniture to make the students feel more at home. For himself, he had conjured a brown leather contemporary styled arm chair. He had made a mere side table instead of a desk. He abhored formality. He had actually painted moustaches on the wizarding portraits of any witch or wizard who had been mouthy with him--and then had locked them all away in a closet.

He replaced the stale old paintings with reproductions of the wizarding world's finest art, with a few hanging plants, and some contemporary rugs on the floor. The room clearly looked more like a place to hang out than for serious study. There were smallcontemporary tables--each of which had a bright colored unbreakable glass surface that matched a chair in the room--available for those students who were better learners by writing and later re-reading their notes. He wanted everyone to feel at home.

For himself, today, he chose a pair of jeans, sneakers, a forest green v neck cashmere sweater with sleeves pushed up to three quarter, a tan sportscoat. He refused to wear a uniform unless someone gave him a lifethreatening reason. Beside him on the floor was an olive green canvas backpack. His wand laid beside him on the side table. Beside the wand was a brightly colored pottery mug, painted with abstract swirls of a wide variety of bright compatible colors. The mug was something he loved, and today the mug was full of piping hot Earl Grey tea.

The only thing he had written on the blackboard was:
Practical Magic Workshop--Welcome!
Professor Michael Tremaine
Lesson One

After writing the greeting on the blackboard, he sat and waited. He really did want the class to go well. He presumed that at some point, someone from Grindlewald's powerhungry lackey bunch would come and disapparate his contemporary designs and relegate them all back to the antiques, but at least perhaps he would try to make them comfortable while it lasted. This was not going to be their parents' classroom experience--not by a long shot.

Damien had sneered when he received the owl from the Professor for the Practical Magic Workshop. Just as he was enjoying the fact that many people from the other houses had their muggle clothing missing, as promised by Grindelwald, this Professor had requested for students to go to class in street clothing. It was, if taken in more amusing terms to the boy, almost as if a mocking jab was sent to those students. If not, Damien wondered why wizard robes were not advised. After all, they were the best kind of clothing article, and he could wear them all the time if they were allowed at all on the streets of London.

Not appreciating the fact that street clothing was advised, Damien merely ditched the robes. He still had on the simply white dress shirt, with the Slytherin tie sitting neatly against it, if only to set himself apart from students of the other houses. The other part of the owl, he could certainly obey. He was not just prompt. Damien was early, as always, ready to judge people who came after.

As soon as Damien entered the classroom, he halted. He eyed the furniture that was definitely the work of the Professor. The boy did not know what to make of what he saw. The old and archaic classroom that he was used to, had become something that looked like a showroom from one of the shops off the streets of London. An eyebrow was cocked up in reaction and reconciliation of that thought. Damien observed almost every artefact of furniture in the classroom, before he landed his eyes on the Professor.

He kept quiet. The look at the Professor was prolonged. Damien was trying to guess at the character of the Professor, not that he would have much luck - no one was psychic, not even that fraud of a Divination Professor. For the first time, Damien felt awkward being early in class. He did not know where to put himself, especially against this new ... decoration of the class. He merely stood where he was and looked at the other man.

Ambrosa smiled as she got the letter from the Professor for the Practical Magic Workshop. First, she thought that it was going to be so freaking cool, the things that were going to happen in this lesson, second - probably the whole school was going to be there so - that was going to be another way to get to know more and more people. And third - Ambrosa was a sucker for street clothing. She loved muggle fashion and honestly - she would pick muggle clothing over robes every day... So half an hour before the lesson was supposed to begin, Ambrosa slipped in a pair of skinny jeans, a white top and a blue knitted jacket. She applied some light make up, pulled her hair into a messy bun, threw on lots of silver bracelets and a pair of feather earrings. Ambrosa slipped into a pair of black boots, put her prefect badge and made her way down the stairs.

The classroom for the Magic Workshop was going to be on the first floor and the professor teaching it was going to be Michael Tremaine. Ambrosa never really had anything to do with him, but from what she had heard he was a very nice person and a great teacher.... As Ambrosa walked down the stairs and opened the door to the classroom, she thought that she was at the wrong place. The room looked more like a comfortable coffee shop then a classroom. Everything in Italy looked the style that the room was decorated in. It was quite pretty. Ambrosa walked in and smiled. She was the second student. The first, Ambrosa knew to be a fifth year slytherin.... Somewho D'Eath. She gave him a friendly wave and then walked up to one of the many free colorful chairs. She took her wand out of her back pocket so that she could sit down without breaking it.Hello, Professor. she greeted as she awaited for the lesson to start.

outfit

Practical Magic Workshop..

What a strange name to a class in the school environment of today. She was dressed in her normal uniform, a yellow Hufflepuff scarf wrapped around her neck, even though she was sweating, and looked kinda uncomfortable in it, she kept it on. Striding into the room she was shocked at the decorations. THIS was her classroom? She turned around and glanced out into the hall, checking the room number before coming back in and staring around the room. Reading the door, she realized it was the right room, but it looked more like a study lounge then a real classroom.

Frowning, Rise stepped into the classroom and sat down, dropping her bag by her chair and running her fingers over the glass table, before pulling out some parchment, her quill, and ink, and her textbook. She had no idea what to expect of this class, and by the looks of the room, it appeared that it may be pretty easy going. Hopefully that meant it was open minded as well, because she would rather not wear her scarf EVERYWHERE, but if she had to she would, during the winter it wouldn't be to bad, but right now it was causing her neck to get really itchy and sweaty, and sweat beaded on her forehead, but she wasn't about to let the room see under it. It wasn't like she had gotten a hickey or something.. nothing like that, it was more the fact that a scar that fell between her breasts was easily visible in her uniform, and she liked to keep it covered up, something other people like her had no trouble doing.

Michael saw some of the students arriving. When the young woman arrived in her uniform, he knew exactly what had happened. The Gestapo had taken her street clothing. Her uniform was all she had left. That would not do. One of Michael's necessities in life had been knowing how to blend in. So he had always had to read an abundance of muggle magazines. Including reading up on muggle fashions.

"My apologies, young woman," he said, genuinely sorry that they had taken even her clothes. "But for this class it is critical that we blend in, in where we are going." He flicked his wand. "Accio!" From his quarters that we attached to his classroom came a simple canvas backpack. He floated it over to her. "Check and see if those are your clothes inside. If so, please be so good as to pop down the hallway to the restroom and change and tuck your uniform in the bag. I believe you should find all the clothing in the bag that was taken from you. Hurry up, though. Our class time is not endless today, I"m afraid." He picked up his tea mug and took a sip from it, merely observing her and the others.

How drab...

That was Ryo's first thought when he recieved the owl from the Professor of the Practical Magic Workshop. Ryo thought it was just more work, but he didn't mind the fact that they were required to wear street clothing. He liked wearing normal clothes much better than his uniform. But still he wanted to show he was a proud Hufflepuff, so he wore a pin with the Hufflepuff banner on it. He had placed it carefully on his shirt, and he wore pants that had pocket so if he was to take it off, he could still have it with him. He walked down to the classroom with basically no expression on his face, like he usually did.

But when he entered the classroom, his expressionless face changed completely. He was so shocked by the decorations in the classroom, that for a moment he thought he was in the wrong room. But then he looked at and read what was on the blackboard, he was definately in the right classroom. He looked around the classroom and almost burst out laughing at how it looked. It looked nothing like the classrooms he's usually in and that alone almost made him laugh. He smirked and put his hand on his forehead to hide most of his face, and walked further into the classroom. He saw three other students there, two from different houses, and one from his own house. He knew her to be in the same year as he was and that her name was Rise, but nothing else. He had never really interacted with her. But to him it was better to be with his housemates instead of students from other houses, so he decided to sit with the girl.

He walked over to the table she was at and without a word he just slipped into an emtpy seat at the table, not really bothering to take anything out of the bag that he dropped on the floor next to him.

Rise looked up at the Professor as he pointed out her inability to blend in in her uniform. Her face went red when he said something about her clothes, and suddenly a bag floated in. Her face was bright red, but when she opened her bag, she gasped. "My clothes!" She looked around the room and blushed harder, nodding to the professor. "I'll be right back." She said softly, standing up and tugging on her scarf, making sure it was hiding her chest properly, and no one got a view of the scar under it. She hugged the bag to her chest and scurried out of the room.

Changing into a a new outfit and hurried back to the classroom. She had stuffed her uniform into the bag, and she looked around the classroom again, before going back up to the teacher. "Do.. do you need this back?" She asked softly, her face red again as she tugged slightly on the front of her shirt, holding out the bag to him. "Thank you.." She said her blush growing. "They took it away on the train, and I knew it would be a problem.. but I couldn't do anything about it." She said softly, looking up at him and tucking her hair behind her ear.

"You're welcome," he smiled. "Keep them. They aren't going to remember who they ransacked and who they didn't. And if they take them again, I'll just get them back again for you. Not a problem. If it happens again, I want to know about it straight away. Deal? Now--that ought to make it a bit easier for you to make yourself comfortable here. And, personally, I always learned better when I felt at ease, rather than when I felt pressured. We'll wait a few more moments for some of our other classmates and if they don't show up, we will proceed without them as a small group. Oh, for those of you that would like some, you'll notice there is a very large teapot over to your left on the table. It is just Earl Grey, but its very good. There are mugs there, and sugar and creamer for those of you that would like some. I beliee in treating people with respect. If you're adult enough to be learning these skills, you're grown up enough to be treated as I would any other adult. If you'd like a bit of tea while we wait and while we get to know each other, help yourselves."

He checked his watch. Students that did not come in the next two minutes were going to be considered tardy. That was the downside of being treated like an adult. They were now old enough for adult consequences for a lack of adult behavior as well. And some of them, it looked like, were about to learn it perhaps the hard way.

That morning had been vaguely entertaining. Another round of letters had come through from home and this time they’d gone directly to Brother-Bot who seemed less than pleased to have received them. Millie got a Howler - as always - accompanied by an only marginally softer letter from her father who had elected to send her some Quidditch gear with a note at the end telling her to get back on her broom. It was in her trunk as a ‘just in case’ precaution but she hadn’t actually thought about using it. It was the only time she actually felt like adhering to one of her mother’s demands. The ribs were still dodgy and though the arm had healed it was still a little stiff at times. She also hadn’t been up in the air since she was thrown so spectacularly off of her trusty Nimbus. The broom had been prepared and she’d left a definite dent in the Bludger but she’d avoided getting up in the air. She wasn’t afraid; not really. She just hadn’t built up the courage to get back up there yet. The fall had shaken her, though she’d never admit it.

After the update from their parents about how spectacularly rubbish it was to be with one another’s company, Millie set about finding something to wear to her Practical Magic class. She’d been left only with the clothes that would have looked better on a stripper than a tall, slight fifteen year old girl. Lavender would never learn. The guards must have thought it funny. The tell-tale signs of what kind of girl Millie was covered her trunk and upon finding that there was a mixture of half decent and barely-there clothes they must have laughed. They’d left her with the latter and now she was feeling a little bit more exposed than usual. She loved her shorts and her shirts but she didn’t do well with dresses or skirts and that was essentially what she’d been left with along with some low cut shirts that really weren’t her style at all. She’d been lucky to find what she had - not that Elliot had been best pleased when she’d wandered back down into the common room.

His first words were exactly what she expected - the order to go back up and change. She’d argued her case almost immediately but Elliot was still sceptical. Millie had chosen a shirt, essentially. It was too big for her slight frame and ended mid-thigh. She’d taken it in at the sides upon slipping it over her head but what had made Elliot blanch was the fact that the dress was backless and though Millie had taken that up a bit as well, it did nothing to obscure the wings that were emblazoned on her back in midnight ink. It was beautiful, sure, but Elliot didn’t think it needed to be on show. But then again, such art needed to be seen to be appreciated. It was for that reason that Elliot begrudgingly let her go. He was weary and bored of fighting with her. They needed to stick together now. It was becoming increasingly apparent that when they went home for Christmas nothing about that visit would be pleasant.

Millie took her leave before he had any more chances to protest and she hurried down the flights of staircase towards the floor where the Practical Magic classroom was situated. Millie didn’t miss the stares from the students that passed, either. Firstly because she wasn’t wearing uniform and secondly because of the ink on her back. Millie smiled to herself and even laughed at a group of flabbergasted first years as she made her way down.

It didn’t take long to get to the classroom and when she arrived a handful of people were already there. Millie ran her hand through her hair ad drummed her fingers against her bag as she looked for Michael. Sure enough she found him and her smile widened. “Hello everyone!” She exclaimed brightly.

*

Julien was rushing, running, faster than even his usual brisk-walking could take him. He was lazing in the common room, a book in hand, as if classes were done for the day. That was, until someone rushed past him, uttering about Practical Magic. Immediately, he sat up, remembering that he was up for an additional class this new school term. For one who was almost always on time for class, he had thrown on a shirt over the thin white t-shirt that he was lazing in, and rushed out of the common room.

It felt like a long journey to be made, from the Ravenclaw tower to the first floor of the Castle. Well, at least despite his unusual slip of memory, he was about to make it just on time again, and had remembered the letter that was sent, telling students to come in more comfortable clothes. Julien was glad. He had received a package from his grandmother, containing what had been taken away from him. More clothes, and hair products. Of course, it cheered him up a lot.

Julien ran into the class and halted suddenly after a few steps in. The decor of the class had caused that. He eyed the classroom and turned to the Professor. For an old man like him, he sure looked like he had reasonable taste. Julien grinned at the Professor, in time to catch the offer of tea. He liked him already. "Bonjour," he greeted, his eyes twinkling with cheeriness. And then he saw what was written on the board, and continued. "Professor Tremaine!" Almost as if he sang the name out, although of course he was unaware that he was tone-deaf, and so it came out flat. No one really dared to tell that to him, though, and so they merely tolerated his singing, when he does.

As soon as that was done, Julien turned to the other students in the class, offered a big grin since he was so chirpy, and scooted to Ambrosa. After all, he knew her better than the others just because they were from the same House. "Rosa!" He exclaimed in greeting.