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Sun, Jul. 25th, 2004, 12:19 am

Never until this very day have so many wails heroically fought their way through the clenched lips of one who survived the Dementor Wars.

The witches are coming. This should, admittedly, and most understandably, be kept in high regard as one of the most blissfully flamboyant historical moment of the decade. Century, perhaps.

Livia is laughing, and dancing in her new gown, wide and white and fair. I should have thought this would somehow appease that untamed streak of ambition that I had once so cherished in her mother before her, and found so lovely in her elder spawn - but it doesn't. For some reason rather beyiond my comprehension, she's left me to my own thoughts the entire day.

Ovid is...Ovid. His owl from Yorkshire rang bitterly complacent. As if adressed to an elderly relative that's really just such a burden and requires a bit of gratuitious attention.

Sir,
All is well, and my arrival has been greeted timely. The Alchemists are playing at their part superbly, so you need not concern yourself with anything.
I trust all is well with you, and should hope you have been given no reason for sorrow. May Merlin's Light be upon you, and those dear to you, and may we all know better times.
Yours, ever devotedly,
Ovid Avery


Better times? What and why better times? Why should these be malign times for me? Naught of any substance has yet to occur, it's only witches that have returned, naught has occu-
Egads, I...this is all just...

And why in the place of fury, have I only the grief?

Fri, Jul. 9th, 2004, 01:50 pm
Rowan Avery speaketh!

And have I ever mentioned how ghastly it is to be named Headmaster?
There is nothing at all to do with one’s time, in particular during the summers. Now, I could further on study those lovely Full Moon wagers (last full moon of the season, always a good sport for the Order of the Diviners!) but I’ve already been informed by one of the former students of Hogwarts, and one of the best in the line, that it’s to be a Bloody Moon. Bloody Moon – bloodsucker’s moon. We’ve thankfully –or maybe not? I could hunt them…- no more bloodsuckers about.

Hogwart’s administrative details are a trifle, really. Toyed with them a bit, somehow saved money from our budget for our newest absolute necessity (and no, not something for the blasted witches. Almost had to give this up for the witches, but no!): an army of house elves! Well, we won the war, didn’t we? No point in not lavishing in the advantages! I mean, the ten in the kitchens were nil in comparison to Hogwarts’ demands! I want a house elf to rub my feet, damn it! Merlin forbid I should ever develop crevices!
Was very pleased to see them squirm as I ever so accidentally zapped their boats into inexistence and they fell in the lake. My, did they squeeeeeeeeeal! The squid had a laugh too, even played with some. We never did see that half blind one.

Now, of course, I could focus on my problematic private life. But, really, the only crisis I can recall is the one to have taken place this very morning…

“Oh, Hades! “said Livia “Darling Papa, how in the world am I to cope?” “This is disastrous, it simply shan’t do! How am I to show my face from now on? Oh, the shame of it! Papa, do something about it –please- I urge you! This is horrible, atrocious, preposterous-“
And on and on she went in an uncharacteristic fit of melodrama. Livia is quite a sensible girl, really. The perfect stepdaughter –or daughter, by that matter. She has a good head, and an even better aspect – if one cares for steamy brunettes- , as well as a fine, Slytherin nature. I have always been of opinion that there is no better combination than a Slytherin that also manages to be aesthetically pleasant.
The trouble this time was with the fashions: the horrible crime was the fact that curls were currently the trend, making flat hair such a passé ordeal. This sat low with Livia, who’s always had this long and rich and incredibly dark hair – and that she can’t imagine using the iron on. Don’t know whether she shall ever survive the trauma.

Nothing new on a professional scale.
Well, aside for the entire “first witches in centuries” deal. Because we can all quite see through the Ministry’s intentions, so, yes, aren’t we thrilled? I made the public announcement to an otherwise suspiciously oblivious staff. (Hullo, mates? How in the world can you not take notice of the fact that there’s an entire wing dressed in PINK?)

The reactions were various, yet nonetheless unsettling: Julius is bottling it up, naturally, and he shall keep to his habit until he can finally take no more. He’ll probably throw me a gigantic fit – Alas, gone be the tedium!- when he does, and I’m really rather prone to incur it myself if he doesn’t jolly well burst soon enough. I do need something to amuse me, these days, and Julius and his tantrums are so fascinating!

Seen some of Deveraux, as well, though his disposition was, as always, undecipherable: the man kept muttering something about tests, tests, testes… sempre fideles to my original assessment of his character: the world could shake and break and a huge wand may pop out of the skies and pull the Cruciatus on all of us – and the man wouldn’t blink, just mumble a “My bad” and enjoy his tea. Which is excellent, because then there’d be two of us, and as I’m horrid with Cooking Charms, he shall have to be the one to humor.

Well. If it is within his abilities. Perhaps he does not prepare his own tea?

Note to self: must inquire on whether Deveraux knows how to make a good cuppa’. If answer is disappointing, must force Cooking Lessons on the entire Faculty. Alternative method might be handing the man a “how to please one’s superior” manual, encircling the “Make his tea” option.

Well, Grazzia’s returned. I can’t imagine why it is this revolting bird has taken to deliver my messages – it has come to my attention that this is only its formal occupation, whereas the dueling affairs are more to its taste. Oh, well. Reckon summer bores her into a sense of profession.

Mail is by no means pleasing. There are all these notes from students – “Oh, headmaster, I’m a new witch, and I’m so afraid!” – “Oh, headmaster, I’m a parent, and I’m simply appalled by the idea of witches” – “Oh, headmaster, I’m a Muggle and I don’t know what to do-“ – “Oh, headmaster” – “Headmaster”-


Mates, I probably must have a very common figure – because you’re obviously all mistaking me for SOMEONE. WHO. CARES.


(OOC: right, well, you're not going to see posts from your headmaster all too often, really. He tends to be rather talkative. *grin*

This was more a post to serve as model/answer all the questions on how personal LJs may be used)

Sat, Jul. 3rd, 2004, 08:12 pm

Merely a testing post. Don't mind us - we most certainly don't mind you.

Rowan Avery