Thirteen Years Later: Shall We Begin? (1/2)
Title: Thirteen Years Later: Shall We Begin? (1/2)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows & Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language
Characters: Victoire, Teddy, Neville, Tiberius Ogden, Hagrid, Sinestra, numerous OCs
Summary: Victoire gets Sorted
Word count: 4,656 words
Notes: So many new faces, I had a glut of new names to come up with in this chapter. Names may match IRL friends of mine, but their descriptions and personalities are purely fictional. I own these characters. The rest belong to JK Rowling.
Boxing Day / Previous Chapters / Shall We Begin? (2/2)
“GRYFFINDOR!”
The Gryffindor table erupted into applause as a beaming Victoire Weasley pulled the Sorting Hat from her head and ran down the steps to join her new House. She received numerous slaps on the back and handshakes before wrestling her way to an open seat beside the only person in the House that she knew.
“Welcome aboard,” said Teddy Lupin, who had donned a maroon haircut beneath his pointed hat in celebration of the start of the new school year.
“Thanks!” Victoire replied, her bright smile looking like it would be permanently chiseled there. “How are…?”
Before she could get any further, she heard the general ebb of conversation die down. As Victoire was the last first year on the list, she saw that Professor Allentide, a middle-aged witch with a long plait down to nearly her knees, had rolled up the parchment and returned to the High Table. As she placed herself between Neville (Professor Longbottom, Victoire corrected herself) and a witch with golden eyes and short gray hair, the tall wizard seated in a large golden chair in the middle of the table stood and walked to the podium.
“Good evening,” said the wizard, gazing down at the students through his small wire-framed glasses. A warm smile was displayed beneath his long horseshoe mustache. “I would like to welcome our new students, as well as those returning for a new year, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
“Is that Professor Ogden?” Victoire whispered to Teddy, who nodded quickly before returning his attention to the front.
“I believe now would be a good time for introductions,” Professor Tiberius Ogden continued, “as well as to make announcements. But, we don’t have any new teachers this year. And since no one’s leaving the Great Hall any time soon, why make announcements that will be forgotten as soon as we see the food?
“In the meantime, I’ve been looking forward to the roast duck since the end of term feast last year, so…” he clapped his hands, “tuck in!”
“Is that her?”
“Yeah, that’s her,” Teddy said over scrambled eggs the next morning.
“She’s pretty cute,” said a thin boy with straw-colored hair as he watched Victoire Weasley walk into the Great Hall with two of her fellow Gryffindor first-year girls.
“Yeah, well, she’s eleven,” Teddy warned. “And she’s like my cousin, so…”
“Hey, I’m only saying…”
“Good morning!” Victoire said as she sat down beside Teddy.
“Morning, sunshine!” Teddy’s friend replied brightly. “Sleep well, did you?”
“I’m sorry,” Victoire said. “Do I know you?”
“That’s Jack,” said Teddy as he speared a piece of sausage with his fork. “Jack Pearson. He’s a bit of a prick, so don’t let him get to you.”
“And that’s Ted,” said Jack with a smirk. “He’s a bit of a wanker, so don’t let him get to you.”
Teddy gave Jack the fingers before turning to Victoire. “Sleep well, did you?”
“For the most part,” said Victoire, scooping potatoes onto her plate, careful not to drop any on a small pile of papers. “Took a while to actually nod off.”
“Yeah, I know how that can be,” said Teddy. “First day away from home’s tough for most people.”
“Actually,” said one of the two Gryffindor first-year girls, “it’s because Christine snores.”
“I do not!” said the other girl, a slightly pudgy girl with brunette hair put up in pigtails. The hair was extremely curly, and made her look somewhat like a cocker spaniel.
“You do a little bit,” Victoire admitted. “But it’s not that bad, really!”
“Write your Mum and Dad,” said Teddy to Victoire. “I’m sure they could send you some earplugs.”
“My brother’s in the bedroom next to me,” Christine pouted. “And he never complains…”
“How old’s your brother?” asked Jack. “He probably cast an Imperturbable Charm on his door, so he didn’t hear anything.”
“Sixteen,” said Christine, blushing. “That’s him, sitting down at the Ravenclaw table.”
She pointed over the Hufflepuff table to Ravenclaw, where a tall, muscular boy with curly brown hair to match his sister’s was sitting down with a group of other sixth years.
“Holy shite,” Jack gasped. “That’s… you’re Freddy Hogan’s sister?”
“Yeah, I am,” said Christine. “What of it?”
”What of it?” said Jack. “Bloody hell, he’s only the best Keeper to come out of Ravenclaw in decades.”
“Sorry,” Christine shrugged. “I’ve never been much of a sports fan, even with my brother involved. I thought my parents were exaggerating. You know, like parents normally do.”
“Don’t be sorry,” said Jack, tapping the table repeatedly. “Hell, this is bloody brilliant! Ted, imagine what kind of potions we can dump into his porridge now that we have an inside man!”
“No,” said Teddy. “No potions. I want to beat him fair and square on the pitch.”
“Yeah, well, first you have to make the team,” said a voice from behind him. “Then we can start talking about beating Ravenclaw.”
“I like my chances this year,” said Teddy as a boy and two girls sat down. “We’re down two Chasers and a Beater.”
“I thought you were going to go for Seeker?” asked one of the two older girls, a scrawny blonde, as she grabbed a muffin.
“I can’t exactly go for Seeker if Seeker’s not available,” said Teddy. “Marcus has two years left, and he’s the captain. I just figure if I get my foot in the door now, it’ll give Squall enough reason to put me in as captain later, or at least give enough of a head start to convince whoever replaces Marcus to give me a shot.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll have to get through me first,” said the boy, short and chubby with a red ponytail that always reminded Teddy of Victoire’s father’s. “I’m trying out, too.”
“Well, then,” said Teddy. “It’s on like Diddy Kong.”
“What’s that?”
Teddy looked around the table to see that everyone listening to the conversation was giving him a confused look.
“Um…” he said, clearing his throat nervously. “I need Edmund here. He’s a Muggle-born. He’d get it.”
“Rrrright…” said the redheaded boy.
“You said it in front of Aunt Hermione once,” said Victoire, innocently sipping her orange juice. “She didn’t get it, either.”
“Well, that’s because she’s old…”
“So that must make you Weasley,” said the redhead to Victoire. “The Champion’s daughter?”
“Victoire,” she replied. “Victoire Weasley.”
“Sorry,” said Teddy. “Didn’t know I was supposed to be making introductions…”
“No need,” said the blonde girl, extending her hand to Victoire. “Jennifer Devereau.”
“Hi,” said Victoire.
“Carla Meece,” said the other third-year girl, pale and black-haired.
“Gavin,” said the redhead. “Gavin Sorter. Pure-blood. Jenn’s me girlfriend.”
“More than I needed to know,” said Victoire uncomfortably, “but pleasure to meet you.”
“This is Christine Hogan,” said Teddy, pointing to the first-year.
“Bloody hell,” Gavin gasped. “Freddy Hogan’s sister?”
“Yes, yes,” said Christine with a roll of her eyes. “I’m the little sister of the great Freddy Hogan. Blimey, I still have eye bogeys from my first night here and I’ve already been knocked down a peg.”
“Well, I’m just saying…”
“I’m Theresa!” said the other first year girl, who seemed obviously miffed that she was being left out of the conversation. Her hand shot out at Teddy.
“Nice to… Nice to meet you, Theresa,” said Teddy, staring at her stiff arm nervously. “Where are the other two? I counted a full sort for Gryffindor, there should be five and five, right?”
“Yeah, there was,” said Christine. “Chelsea’s at the other end with her brother…”
“Oh, yeah,” said Jack, leaning back to scout the end. “There’s Edmund. Blimey, that’s his sister? We got our share of nice-looking ones this year, I tell ya…”
“…and Sarah’s still sleeping,” Christine continued. “Couldn’t wake her up for the life of us.”
“Huh…” said Teddy. He reached over and dug through the pile of papers before he pulled out one. He took a quick glance, then whistled softly. “Well, she’s fucked.”
“Fucked?” said Theresa. “Fucked how? It’s just sleeping in…”
“It’s fucked when first years start the year with Squall,” said Teddy. “If you want to do her a favor you might want to dump a bucket of water on her before it gets too late.”
“They’re starting with Squall?” Jack asked with wide eyes. “Oh, yeah. She’s fucked.”
“What’s that?” asked Victoire, pointing to the papers. “Are those our class schedules?”
“Oh!” said Teddy. “Yeah. Squall dropped them off before you all showed up.”
“Bloody hell, you could have said it earlier!” said Gavin, digging quickly through the stack before he found his own. “You already looked at yours, right, Lupin?”
“Yeah, I already did,” said Teddy, reaching into the sudden flurry of hands around the stack. “Here, let me…”
“Alright, then, switch,” said Gavin, grabbing Teddy’s schedule from beneath his plate and slapping his own down in its place. Teddy was too busy handing out the schedules to the latecomers to get a look at it.
“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Victoire read. “That’s our first class?”
“Yeah,” said Teddy. “That’s Professor Squall’s class. He’s our Head of House.”
“Which one is he?” asked Christine, looking towards the High Table, where the professors where busy eating their own breakfasts.
“You already missed him,” said Jack. “That’s Squall for you, though. Always likes to prepare for class at least a half hour before the start. He dropped off our schedules and was gone before the cold shiver finished passing through my spine.”
“He doesn’t sound like a very good Head,” said Victoire.
“He’s fine enough,” said Teddy. “Just takes his job really seriously. He’s an old Auror, you know.”
“But still…” Victoire sighed. “Why couldn’t we have gotten Neville for a Head?”
“Professor Longbottom?” said Jack. “He’s not the Head of anyone’s House right now. I heard he was in line to take the Ravenclaw Head after the last Charms professor retired. But there’s some rule that says any professor can’t take the Head of House for any House but the one he was in as a student. Conflict of interest, I guess. And Bosh, the new Charms professor, he was a Ravenclaw, so he got the Head right away.”
“So Neville can’t be a Head of House until the Gryffindor slot opens up,” Teddy continued. “And the Gryffindor slot doesn’t open up until Squall’s retired. Which sucks, cuz, yeah, Nev… Professor Longbottom would make a hell of a Head.”
“What the hell, Lupin?” Gavin said, reading Teddy’s schedule. “Muggle Studies?”
“Oh, God,” said Carla as she and Jennifer leaned in over Gavin’s shoulder. “He’s still taking Muggle Studies? Ted, I thought we talked you out of that!”
“Look, I don’t see what the big deal is!” Teddy said, and Victoire could tell that this wasn’t the first time he had heard this.
“It’s just a waste of time, though,” said Gavin. “I mean, your girlfriend’s a Muggle, you’re all ‘Oooh, Dinky Kong, hur, hur,’ or whatever. Hell, you’re already halfway to being a Muggle!”
“It’s Diddy Kong,” said Teddy, his hair turning bright red to match his face. “And she’s not my girlfriend.”
“Caroline is kind of your girlfriend,” Victoire admitted.
“See?” said Gavin. “Even Hermione’s… umm… niece or… niece-in-law… second… sister’s…”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Teddy repeated slowly. “She’s… she’s just a friend. I can’t… I can’t be anything more than that to her… It wouldn’t be fair to her… Hell, we’ve been through this…”
“Alright, alright, so she’s not your girlfriend,” said Jack. “Your best-female-friend-who-you-send-an-owl-to-once-a-week-and-mumble-happily-about-in-your-sleep is a Muggle. You already know more about Muggles than any Gryffindor in our year besides Edmund. Bateman’s going to bore you to tears.”
“At least we’ll be bored together,” said Carla. “I’m in, too.”
“Hey, it might come in handy down the line,” said Teddy. “I guess it’s part of the requirement for some departments at the Ministry. And Muggle Studies looks a lot better on a resume than Friend of a Muggle. In the meantime, it’s an easy class, a quick grade, and I’ll still be able to carry two more third-year classes without killing myself.”
“You’re taking Ancient Runes,” said Jennifer, “and Care of Magical Creatures. You might want to retract that statement about not killing yourself. If Hagrid’s monsters don’t kill you, then reading old scribbles will.”
“Why don’t I have any of those classes?” asked Theresa, poring over her schedule.
“Because you’re a first year,” said Jack. “You only get the basics: the classes you’re required to take all seven years, plus flying lessons. Stuff like Muggle Studies and Divination don’t show up until your third year, then you get to choose which ones you want to take.”
“This schedule doesn’t look that bad,” said Victoire. “I think I can handle this…”
“Famous last words,” Jack muttered.
The first thing Victoire saw when she walked into class a half hour later was the charts on the wall. Plastering everything besides the windows, they appeared to cover everything from monsters to curses to battle plans.
The second thing she noticed was the professor, a severe looking wizard with an even more severe crew cut. Standing ramrod straight with his arms behind his back, he looked downright bulky beneath his robes, like he was carrying hard muscle beneath the fat of age. His nose looked squished, like it had been punched into his face and never healed straight, and his ears were cauliflowered.
“Take your seats,” he said in a firm, yet surprisingly thin, voice when the last student had entered the room. “There are placards on them with your name, and are in alphabetical order. It will save us the trouble of giving roll call.”
Victoire, who knew that she was the last name in all of the first years, found her name (Weasley, V.) in the middle of the classroom. All of the desks behind her were empty, probably to be filled during doubles, and the desks in front of her were all filled, except for one.
“I see we have someone missing,” the professor said, picking up the paper placard from the empty desk. “S. Harvey. Can anyone tell me of her whereabouts?”
“Sarah overslept, sir,” said Theresa quietly.
“Could you raise your hand, please?” he replied softly.
Theresa did as she was told.
“Miss Daulby?”
“Sarah overslept,” Theresa repeated, lowering her hand. “It’s her first night away from home, she had trouble falling asleep last night. I was able to get her up, she should be here any minute.”
“Very well,” the professor nodded. He placed the placard back onto the desk and returned to the front of the class, pulling his wand from his pocket as he went and pointing it at the blackboard.
“My name,” he said, “Is Professor Calamus Squall.” As he said this, he moved his wand, and his name appeared on the board in the same ruler-straight lines that he himself carried. “To you, my name is Professor Squall or sir. My name is not Squall, my name is not Calamus, my name is not Callie. Anyone referring to me directly by any name other than Professor Squall, sir, or any combination of the two will be docked House points, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the Gryffindor first-years replied. Victoire was afraid that a man like this would make them repeat their answer until they said it like a military regiment, but he spared them that, at least.
“As the Head of Gryffindor House,” he continued, “I wish to impart upon you the need for the utmost respect and obedience, both to myself and to the other professors here at Hogwarts. Gryffindor has won the House Cup four out of the last five years, and I intend to keep it that way. And you should intend to keep it that way. You should be proud of your House, for it has been the home of many, many respected witches and wizards and good morning, Miss Harvey.”
The seven Gryffindor students turned around in their seats as Professor Squall looked sternly into the back of the classroom.
“I’m sorry,” said a bedraggled brunette, walking awkwardly into the room. “I’m sorry I’m late, sir… I… I overslept and…”
“So I heard,” said Squall. “And you caught a passing rain shower on your way?”
Sarah blushed even harder, brushing a lock of her soggy hair from her forehead as some of the Gryffindors giggled. Victoire shot a severe look at Theresa, who shrugged. It worked, she mouthed with a small smirk.
“Please take your seat, Miss Harvey,” Squall said, rapping his knuckles on the empty desk. “Ten points from Gryffindor, which is a very bad start considering our discussion that you interrupted.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Sarah barely said as she ducked down into her desk.
“You will speak to me after class,” Squall continued. “And your peers will catch you up on what you have missed, so as to not allow you to get into any further trouble in the future, am I clear, Gryffindors?”
“Yes, sir,” the students replied, more firmly this time.
“Good,” said Squall, returning to the front as though nothing had happened. “As I was saying, Gryffindor house has been the home of many great witches and wizards throughout the centuries. Professor Minerva McGonagall, our last Headmistress, was a Gryffindor. The late, great Professor Albus Dumbledore was a Gryffindor. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was a Gryffindor. And many, many of those who were involved in the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were Gryffindors, including Harry Potter himself, along with Miss Weasley’s aunt and uncle, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley.”
Once again the class turned, and this time Victoire felt the burning gaze of attention.
“You are that Weasley, am I correct?” Squall asked.
“One of them, yeah,” said Victoire, shrinking in her seat slightly.
“You are the daughter of the Beauxbatons Champion, Fleur Delacour?”
“Yes, sir,” Victoire said, her throat suddenly dry.
“Hm,” said Squall, and then gave a brief nod of his head. “Excellent. It is a privilege to have you in our House, Miss Weasley. If your blood is half as strong as those before you, you have much to look forward to.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Victoire with a weak smile.
“Excellent,” Squall said as the class turned back to the front. Christine gave her a quick fist-pump before she turned around, but she also noticed an extended glare from Theresa.
“Now,” Squall continued, “Who can tell me why we study Defense Against the Dark Arts? Mr. Mills?”
Aaron Mills, a short skinny blonde boy, lowered his hand. “In order to… umm… in order to defend ourselves against the Dark Arts?”
Squall stared at him blankly. “That’s a… creative answer, Mr. Mills,” he said. “Anyone else? Let me clarify,” he said when no one raised their hands, “We are obviously defending ourselves against the Dark Arts. But what are the Dark Arts? Miss Harvey?”
“Well,” Sarah said nervously, “I don’t… I don’t know exactly what they are today. But, like, Death Eaters and stuff?”
“A valiant attempt, Miss Harvey,” said Squall. “Two points for Gryffindor for raising a valid point: why do we study Defense Against the Dark Arts today? We are not currently at war. There is no supreme dark wizard on the verge of overthrowing our world, our government, our way of life. We don’t have to worry about Inferi knocking on our doors, or fear the Dark Mark appearing over our houses. We teach Defense Against the Dark Arts for seven years, although maybe one out of twenty of you will go on to become Aurors.
“So, again, I ask: Why do we study Defense Against the Dark Arts? Mr. Smith?”
“Because Dark Magic isn’t specifically related to Dark Wizards,” said Nathaniel Smith. “There’s, like, werewolves and giants and stuff like that.”
“Five points for Gryffindor,” said Squall. “And you will be learning that through the course of the seven years. We’ll be learning defensive spells, yes. We’ll be learning technique. We’ll be learning proper counter-measures to Dark magic. But we’ll also be learning about dangerous creatures, and how to protect ourselves from them. Any other reasons?”
Victoire felt her hand rise before she even realized she knew that answer.
“Miss Weasley?”
“Because it might not be over,” Victoire said. “Before there was Voldemort, there was Grindelwald. Before Grindelwald there was… well, there was Antioch Peverell, and who knows how many in between.”
Professor Squall nodded. “You are correct,” he said. “If there is one thing I have learned in my decades of service to the Aurors, it is the fact is that evil, that darkness, never really dies. You will learn that in History of Magic. History repeats itself. Whenever one true evil falls, one harbinger of death, one black knight riding a horse called Ragnarok, Typhon, Armageddon, there has always been another to pick up his wand and carry on in his stead.
“Ten points for Gryffindor, Miss Weasley.”
“Oh, dear,” the grandmotherly-looking witch sighed as she pored over her class list. “Once again, we have no Slytherins in this class.”
She looked up at the small group of students, gazing down at them through half-moon spectacles, attached around her neck by a silver chain. “A shame, truly,” she said. “I always hoped that, after the war, more purebloods would come to appreciate these teachings. But I suppose I was wrong.”
She set the class list down and walked up to the blackboard, where her name was already written in a dainty cursive. “My name is Professor Evelyn Bateman,” she said. “And I am a Muggle-born.
“My mother worked in a factory in Barnsley during World War II, building aircraft ammunition for the Royal Air Force to use in their fight against the Nazis. My father worked for a steel mill in Sheffield until he enlisted. He served for two months in France with the British Expeditionary Force in 1940 before returning to the island with a bullet in his hindquarters and missing one leg.
“They met,” she continued, “in a shelter in September of that year, during one of Germany’s many air raids over London. My father was currently recuperating there on a crutch while helping the army sort out their surge of volunteers, and my mother was there to see her younger brother off two days earlier as he was sent to France.
“He would never return.”
Professor Bateman looked around her classroom, where the eyes of a dozen students, including Teddy Lupin, looked back at her in stunned silence.
“I tell you this for a reason,” she said. “I tell you this because one of the first things that you must learn in this classroom is that Muggles are real. They are not beasts, they are not novelties, they are not inferior. They have a rich, amazing history. One that puts our wizarding way of life to shame in its complexities, and one that should make you realize how they can continue to both thrive and to destroy themselves just as easily as we do.
“And it makes you realize just how little you know about the world around you.”
She walked up to the blackboard and scribbled four letters onto the board.
“Now,” she said. “Before I spoke to you about my parents, how many of you had heard of World War II?”
Of the fourteen students in the class, three raised their hands. Teddy was glad to know that he was among them.
“Mm hmm,” Bateman mused. “How many of you knew that there were bombs dropped by Nazis on London in 1940?”
Teddy and one other raised their hands.
“How many of you even heard of Nazis before today?”
Three again.
“Or bombs?”
Six.
“Or steel?”
Ten.
“Hmm,” Evelyn said. “How many of you had heard of such a thing as the Royal Air Force?”
Six raised their hands.
“And how many of you knew that they used something other than broomsticks?”
Just two this time.
“How many of you,” she continued, “were horrified at the thought at the thought that, just seventy years ago, a male could lose their leg, through non-magical means, and not have it regrown again?”
Almost everyone raised their hand.
“And how many of you have heard of the defeat of Gellert Grindelwald in 1945?”
Every hand now.
“And how many knew that there was a Muggle war being waged at the same time, in the same place, as Grindelwald’s War?”
Teddy was the only one who raised his hand.
“Mr. Lupin?” Bateman said. “You seem to be the only one who raised their hand at every question except the leg question.”
“That’s right, ma’am,” said Teddy.
“Did you truly know all of this? Or are you simply trying to get into my good graces?”
“A little bit of both, ma’am,” said Teddy. “My best friend’s grandfather was on the HMS Warspite at Narvik and Cape Matapan.”
“Oh, really?” said Evelyn with some surprise. “’The Old Lady?’ That’s remarkable; my uncle was Leading Regulator on that ship. What was his name?”
“Geoffrey Banks,” said Teddy.
“And he had wizard children?” asked Bateman. "Your friend's a Muggle-born?"
“Well, one granddaughter’s a witch,” Teddy admitted. “But I’m actually friends with her Muggle sister.”
"Oh, how remarkable," said Bateman. "Well, you must sit down with me sometime, and we'll talk about her grandfather. Maybe as extra credit?"
"Ummm, alright," said Teddy, not quite sure that he was ready to be the teacher's pet quite yet.
“Kiss up,” Carla said to him under her breath.
"Lovely," Bateman continued before returning to the class. "All of these events occurred in a world that most witches and wizards believe is not theirs. All of these products were invented in a world that most witches and wizards believe is not theirs. But they are wrong. We are a part of the Muggle world, and they are a part of ours. Latest survey data suggests that for every magical being in the world there are at least ten thousand Muggles. That's ten thousand Muggles that have lived for millenia without magic. That's ten thousand Muggles that have had to compensate for that by being smarter and more industrious than us.
"We have broomsticks, Floo Networks, and Apparation to get us from place to place. They have automobiles, and airplanes, and the Underground. We fight our wars with wands and with magical beasts. They fight theirs with guns and missiles and atomic bombs.
“For this term,” she continued, walking up to the board and picking up a piece of chalk, “we will be discussing the history of Muggle civilization. It will be a woefully vague overview, I’m afraid. Many professional historians in both the Muggle and magical communities devote their entire lives to studying very specific times and places in Muggle history. We will be focusing mostly on the history of Muggles in England and on the Continent, from ancient Greece to the modern European Union. But we will also devote a few weeks to other Muggle cultures in Asia, Africa, and the Americas.
“Future terms will spend considerable time on the Muggles’ systems of government, their forms of communication and transportation, as well as their entertainment and leisure activities. Um, yes, Mr. Scheeman?”
Barry Scheeman, a Hufflepuff boy, lowered his hand. “Are we going to learn about those weird pink birds that they stick in front of their lawns?”
“Plastic flamingoes?”
“Is that what they’re called?” Barry asked in confusion. “Are those, like, something they use to send letters with? Some sort of owl replacement?”
Evelyn Bateman smiled in understanding. “Mr. Scheeman, you ask a wonderful question,” she said. “And, yes, we will also spend some time on some of the more frivolous and trivial aspects of Muggle society. One of the major goals of this course will be to develop an understanding and a recognition of what Muggle technology is important, and what is not.
“Because sometimes a plastic flamingo is simply a plastic flamingo.”
Boxing Day / Previous Chapters / Shall We Begin? (2/2)