| House Points | |||
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Gryffindor: 170 |
Slytherin: 48 |
Ravenclaw: 880 |
Hufflepuff: 1022 |
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Date: January 16th, 2013
Today's Forecast: The air is reminiscent of spring. The snow, turning slowly into a fine carpet of slush, is slowly disappearing after a decidedly warm spell. |
HIRP: Reborn is located here. |
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It is now: Year 7 - Day 4 - Supper/Quidditch Practice
Happening now: Supper Azkaban Trip is now out of time. Feel free to continue all plots as planned. Feel free to finish all plots out of time. |
| Next: Day 5: Valentine's Day |
| Read Today's Daily Prophet: Knights of Walpurgis attack Hogwarts; Belleford steps down as Hogwarts closes until further notice |
| Welcome to Hogwarts Interactive Role Play, one of the net's best in Harry Potter and Hogwarts role plays. We hope you enjoy your visit. Here at Hogwarts our students are currently in their Seventh Year. Last year, the war against the Knights crescendoed into a direct attack against the school. Disappearances are still reported (or not) daily, and the Dark Lord and his Knights of Walpurgis have succeeded in spreading their message of "do as thou will" far and wide across the globe. Magical Law Enforcement, which is now the only authority in the wizarding world under Martial Law, has responded by tightening security, controlling the media, and strictly enforcing curfews and other laws. Their control is damaging to the people's freedom, and their hierarchy is a suspicious lot. It is clear that some members of the MLE like their new found power a bit too much, others see it necessary, but all are in serious danger of being consumed by it. But with the picture of just what Azariah Amaranth is after becoming ever clearer, and a third player in the form of a group called SAVIOR entering the scene, what will the MLE do next to ensure that they've got the situation under control? The Elementium, the Higher Plane that had once been hidden just beyond the veil in the Department of Mysteries, and the Deathly Hallows. The pieces of the puzzle have been identified, but what picture do they make? Today is Day 1 of Year Seven. Students have had time to recover from the Knight's attack, and are beginning to reluctantly return to the walls of Hogwarts. The safety of the school has been diminished, bringing up the question everyone must ask. Are you safe anywhere these days? It's up to each individual to decide their fate, where will you decide to go? You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. If you are interested in joining our forum as a role player, please take a look at the Joining HIRP Checklist (click me!) for an easy-to-follow guide on how to join! Click here to register! Await your email confirmation before you can post. If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| A letter that you never read, from three summers back | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 26 2010, 09:35:29 PM (216 Views) | |
| Kiran Chevalier | Aug 26 2010, 09:35:29 PM Post #1 |
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Seventh Year
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Kiran pushed open the door to the library. It hadn't been opened in a while, so it creaked a bit. The room looked a bit spooky. No one ever came in here... at least not since her dad... She glanced back to make sure no one was looking, then used her wand to light the lamps. The blurry sunlight coming through the dust-covered windows was freaking her out a bit. Kiran closed the door and crept through the cluttered room. This was the last place her dad had been before he'd been taken away three years ago. It felt spooky, like her father's ghost was lingering there. Kiran could almost smell the coffee and sharp cologne. She could see him adjusting his glasses and turning the pages of a book. She could hear slow, relaxing jazz music coming from the old-fashioned record player in the corner. Kiran closed her eyes and looked back on the scene. The room before her had transformed into a completely different place... It was early evening. She threw the library door open, and her dad looked up. He took off his reading glasses, and his face stretched into the widest smile as he spread his arms. Kiran ran to hug her dad. She was still wearing little white gloves, pointed shoes, and a fancy skirt and blouse. It was the uniform from finishing school, which she attended on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1pm to 5pm. He pulled the clip out of Kiran's hair, so that the elegant twist fell apart into messy curls. Joseph Chevalier, unlike his wife, didn't approve of sending a seven-year-old girl to a place that taught her ballroom dancing, proper table manners, and eloquent speech--in French and Italian as well as English. He wanted his daughter to enjoy her childhood years, he said, and not spend them in a well-mannered torture chamber. Kiran's dad would ask how her day had been, and she'd launch into senseless prattle. He'd always listen and pretend he had the faintest clue what she was talking about. He never told her about how he was stressed or hurt or anything. He just listened to her and talked with her and he always knew what to say. For years, he taught her how to do everything. He cooked dinner with her and laughed with her, and they had all their little inside jokes. He'd helped her through every problem imaginable. He'd taught her how to stand up for what she believes in, and to never let anyone tell her what to do. "Unless that person's me," he'd teased. But he never forced her to do anything. He was her best friend. She shook her head as her eyes popped open. Things hadn't been like that for quite a while. Down on the floor, over by her grandmother's old sofa, there was a large red quill and an empty bottle of ink. Four ink stains surrounded the bottle, and there was a rolled-up strip of parchment behind one of the legs of the couch. Kiran picked her way over stacks of books and paper, over to the fireplace. It hadn't been used in three years. She dropped to her knees and moved a few logs aside. At the very bottom, she found some torn-up bits of parchment... almost like a letter that had been ripped to pieces. It was that one day in August, when she was thirteen. The day she knew so well. She'd just gotten back from Leighton's house, where she'd been with Leigh, Joel, Sierra, and Archie all day long. She ran up the stairs to go say hi to her dad, as per normal. He was in the library, and he hugged her. Yes, at thirteen years old, Kiran still hugged her daddy. Then Ariane called for him. "JOSEPH!" Her voice was loud and screechy, and Kiran would never forget the way it sent chills down her spine. "I'll be right back, Kirrie." But he wouldn't be back. Ever. Kiran sighed and followed him downstairs, but at a distance. She watched him go into the bedroom, and it happened then. The screaming. The crashing. The glass breaking. The loud slam of the door bursting open. Joseph ran out of the room, and Kiran turned around and darted back up to the library, so it would seem like she had never left. She sat down, breathing heavily. She was nervous. Anxiety was filling her up, and she was scared it was going to spill over. What had she just seen? What had happened down there? She wouldn't find out until later... but she still knew it wasn't right. How long had she been waiting there? She glanced at the clock overhead. Ten minutes. Twenty. Half an hour. Forty-five. An hour and a half. Three hours. She sat there on that dusty old antique sofa for three hours and forty-eight minutes, waiting for her father to be "right back" like he'd said. It took three hours and forty-eight minutes for her to decide that he wasn't coming back. Three hours and forty-eight minutes of wondering where he'd gone, of nervous waiting, of glancing out the window at the setting sun and blinking back tears. He was gone. Kiran reached to the nearest table, where a bright red phoenix feather quill sat on top of a scroll of parchment and a bottle of ink. There were a few random letters and numbers on the top, probably just notes written by her dad. She tore if off and threw it under the sofa. Then she slid to the floor and lied down on her stomach. She had to write to someone to tell them about this. But she didn't know who. Dear... I don't know what just happened. I'm worried and scared out of my mind. My dad is gone. He's just disappeared. I don't know what happened to him. He told me he'd be right back, but he went downstairs. He got into a fight with my mom, or something.There was yelling and screaming and then he just ran away. Please help me. I don't know what to think or what to do. I'm terrified. I was the last one to talk to him before this happened. Was it my fault? I don't think so... I mean, I just have no idea. All I know is that he's gone. And my mom, I don't know what happened to my mom. She was screaming. I think he was hurting her, though I don't know why he'd do that. He's gone, and I don't think he's coming back. I'm so confused. What do I do? Love, Kiran Her hands were trembling as she wrote. She knocked the ink bottle over four times. Her letter sounded desperate and disconnected and confused. She'd probably said the same thing over and over again. Who could she send this to that would look past all that stuff? There was still a blank space where she would put the name. She couldn't send this to Leighton or Sierra. She just couldn't. They wouldn't get it. In her desperation, she wrote the only words she could think of. Dear Archie. She was about to send it. She was ready to call for Aphrodite and tell her where to take it... but no. She couldn't let him see this. Why she'd thought about him... no. She didn't know. Since when did she talk to him about this kind of thing? He teased her. They teased each other. He laughed at her when she cried. She was being ridiculous. It was stupid. No one would get it. Her letter didn't even make sense. She was rambling about nothing. Kiran took the letter and tore it up. She crawled over to the fireplace and threw it in. There was no fire in the grate, but it didn't matter. She'd come back and burn it later. She didn't have the energy to start a fire right then. Three years later, she sat in the same spot, her hands trembling like they did that night. A tear dripped off her cheek. She was holding a small piece of the letter that she'd torn apart. The part that said... Dear Archie. |
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2:38 PM Jul 11
