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Bad Temper   PV Phedra Stavrou    Closed 

Errol prided herself on being level-headed; it took a lot to make her raise her voice into an angry roar, at least a lot more in comparison to her hot-blooded family who never backed down from a fight because of their pride. Her father had loved that trait of hers, often complimenting it whenever they had the chance to sit down and talk, which was rare due to his travels. While the family crashed heads over different beliefs, Errol sat to the side, minding her own business- everyone had their own opinions and she had learned to respect them at a young age.

Tragically, there was one thing that not even Errol could stomach; the belief that Pure-bloods were the superior Wizards and Witches. The logic part of her understood that this way of thinking came from a long history of being taught this, some Pure-bloods, like a handful of those in her family, were raised on this idea since their childhood and were never allowed to think otherwise. It seemed like everytime this subject came up though, her logical self-was tossed to the side and her more passionate one came to the surface in the form of red flushed cheeks and sharp comments. This uglier side, to Errol's dismay, roared it's head when the Wizarding Wars were brought up in class, quickly the teacher had shut the topic down but not before a few students had publically taken sides.

Not even towards Noland, her best friend while growing up and also one of her relatives, did she show mercy to when it came to this controversial argument that seemed like it would never end. As the class came to an end, Errol sat brooding in the back of the room, her head angled away from her classmates and her nose flaring as she shamefully attempted to grab ahold of her temper. Luckily her wild curls hid her blooming red face behind a thick curtain, but the quick rising and falling of her shoulders showed that she was still bothered by what had been said. 

Bad Temper   PV Phedra Stavrou    Closed 

Phaedra always sat towards the front of her classes, usually in the very first row if she could claim a seat there. She preferred it to sitting in the middle or back where students often distracted her or turned to stare after a Professor called on someone. She was early to History of Magic today, and went to her claimed seat, unbuttoning her bag to reach in for her supplies. As she was digging, she glanced up to the chalkboard, where the professor had the lesson plans.

The subject for class that day was gargoyle history. At the ringing of the bell, class began and the professor wasted no time jumping right into the lesson, some students still making their way to their seats and getting comfortable. Gargoyles function like this, and gargoyles look like that - of all the things around school to teach first years!? She made a mental groan, finished reaching into her bag and pulled out a scroll, quill, and an inkwell, unrolling the parchment afterwards to lay flat on her desk. No matter how boring she found the subject matter, she was a hard-working student and always took her notes.

Halfway through the lecture, the functionality and aesthetics of gargoyles turned into gargoyle rebellions - some clever wizard or witch decided to give the stone creatures sentience so they could defend the school from intruders. What a brilliant plan that was, because the gargoyles turned on them and an entire battle ensued, killing many in the process. Phaedra sat inexpressive, scribbling down every word from the professor she could manage to catch, until some boy in the back of the classroom interrupted the lecture with a snarky comment. "Professor," the boy started, snickering along with his little cronies besides him, "You mean to tell us that the gargoyles threw a fit and rebelled 'cause us wizards were bein' a little mean to 'em, and then we destroyed 'em after? That reminds me of the two wizarding wars - maybe we should have a third go and finish off these mudbloods stinkin' up the place for good."

There were a few audible gasps and even some laughter, the once quiet atmosphere of the class now filling up with loud cries and shrieking from multiple students. Phaedra was positive she had even seen a few balled up pieces of parchment and even a textbook being tossed in the corner of her eye. It boggled Phaedra's mind how one could go from talking about gargoyles to bringing up Voldemort and his failed regime - leave it up to a couple of first years to completely hijack a conversation in a way that didn't make sense. She didn't necessarily disagree with what had been said, but she never spoke a word in defense of the boy, too busy turned around in her seat watching the conflict at hand with an amused expression. This was much more interesting to her than gargoyles.

It was no secret that the Stavrou family composed of dark magic practitioners and ex-convicts; she was raised to even be proud of the fact. She remembered nights where her mother tucked her into bed, whispering to her promises of her uncle and grandfather being freed from their prison, the very prison they were "wrongfully thrown into", and reassurances that her family would be together again. Older now, Phaedra knew it wouldn't actually happen. Her relatives were both put on life sentences in Azkaban - she found the newspapers stashed away in her parent's library, years ago. It was a shame really, but her family was big and there were more than enough boys to carry on the legacy. The Ministry couldn't imprison them all.

Coming yet again from the back of the room, was the fiesty voice of a Hufflepuff girl, and everyone turned to her. She had very red, wild ringlets of hair, and her face was just as red to boot. She spoke passionately in defense of muggles and muggle-born, on how horrible it was to say such things, that blood status made no difference in magical capability, yadda yadda. Of course it would be a Hufflepuff, Phaedra thought, rolling her eyes a bit. That House always had the most disgustingly good, naive people imaginable. Phaedra wasn't too certain of the girl's name, but somewhere out in the crowd of bewildered students she heard the name Morgan shouted out, most likely trying to calm the girl down as she ranted on. Yes, it made sense now. Irish accent, a family with red, wild, curly hair - there were many of those in Ireland, but most of them were not pure-blood like this girl's. Why is she taking their side?

Errol was one of the last students to shout out, and Phaedra was quite surprised at her bravery, even though she found everything she said to be wrong. She watched the girl put even the most outspoken blood-supremacists in class back into their place, and afterwards lean back into her chair and cross her arms, shoulders quickly rising and falling. That marked the end of the debate, the professor finally gaining back control of his classroom and shouting out at the students he wanted to speak to after class. Phaedra was glad she had refrained from speaking; she knew a detention would be in store for those boys. The professor turned back to his board and continued, but the tense air remained for the remainder of the period.

As class came to an end and students began to either awkwardly file out the door or stay behind for the professor, Phaedra stood from her chair and stomped her way towards the back of the room to where the fellow pure-blood sat. The Ravenclaw slammed her books onto the other girl's desk, and placed one hand on the top for balance and the other on her hip. She couldn't see much of the girl's face - her thick curtain of red hair blocking most of it - so she had no choice but to stand over the girl and talk at her.

"You - " Phaedra sassed, "You really should get a clue, you know. I heard everything you said, well everyone did, and although your courage is impressive, you're still wrong. There's no place in this cruel world for goody-two shoes such as yourself. You won't make it," she emphasized to the Hufflepuff. As far as she was concerned, she was helping this poor girl out. Clearly, Errol must be misguided due to being around muggle and half-breeds for so long in this god forsaken school. You almost couldn't go anywhere around the place without someone trying to be nice and wholesome. It was irritating to her.

"You're a Morgan, correct? Pure-blood, Irish?" Phaedra placed both hands on the desk and leaned closer to Errol. "Why do you so vehemently defend people who would kill our kind at the first opportunity?" There was nothing more of a disgrace to Phaedra than pureblood traitors.

Wooooow. Sorry this is so long! You most certainly don't have to match the length, I just wanted to set up the setting and background a bit. The rest of my replies definitely won't be this long. And let's just say its HoM class. :) Hope it's okay, owl me if you want me to change anything.

Phaedra Stavrou
STA: 6, EVA: 8, STR: 1, WIS: 10, ARC: 10, ACC: 10