Post by Rafael Ochoa on Mar 2, 2011 0:19:04 GMT -6
Rafael Ochoa proceeded throughout Hogwarts castle, English School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, wand in hand, fear in heart.
His fear was not borne of any inherent problem within the school, because after all he felt wholly unperturbed by the presence of ghosts in a school, the Headmistress and Professor Grey were the ones who seemed particularly bothered by more malignant but still non-corporeal ghosts, but Ochoa heartily disliked going on patrols. He had hated it during his tenure at the Auror Office, and he didn’t much care for it while he was inside a boarding school for children who were varying from “of age” to “what’s magic?” in the realm of magical education. Needless to say, Ochoa had a healthy paranoia regarding general patrol due to his experiences under the banner of Auror, and those were, as he had been assured by more than one individual, things that were almost certainly unlikely to occur again. He mostly believed this stories, but the process of removing the primate from one’s back was a troublesome one indeed; Ochoa was someone who had a hard time letting go of the contingencies of a situation, even in this quite obviously safe setting. As far as he had seen, the staff was more than competent, save one or two who Ochoa thought were frankly rather dully witted, but that was no change from his own days as a student here at Hogwarts. Most of the teachers were on their game, but a few didn’t terribly know how to teach, even if they were storied to be professionals of the highest degree.
At the moment, however, he was exiting the dungeon--damnable place, really, good luck to the Slytherins inhabiting it and the Potions Master presiding over them--and proceeded up the stairs, methodically checking hallways he had now recommitted to memory, the long break from education--in excess of two decades--and stopped, remembering something very distinct. His offhand, free of wand, traveled to his right shoulder, muscle memory, and he proceeded down a hallway he had often traveled down as a student, and had just realized he had been nigh ignoring on his patrolling. Perhaps age really did take a toll on the mind, he thought, stopping, looking at an otherwise indistinct section of wall, now in the Northern hallway nearabouts the Gryffindor common room which for some reason had no portraits fixed upon it. With a gentle smile which suggested reminiscence, Ochoa raised his wand hand, waving it in a rather complex looking motion, and a complex emblem appeared, emblazoned upon the wall with a brilliant neon light. He lowered his wand, slowly, thinking to himself.
His fear was not borne of any inherent problem within the school, because after all he felt wholly unperturbed by the presence of ghosts in a school, the Headmistress and Professor Grey were the ones who seemed particularly bothered by more malignant but still non-corporeal ghosts, but Ochoa heartily disliked going on patrols. He had hated it during his tenure at the Auror Office, and he didn’t much care for it while he was inside a boarding school for children who were varying from “of age” to “what’s magic?” in the realm of magical education. Needless to say, Ochoa had a healthy paranoia regarding general patrol due to his experiences under the banner of Auror, and those were, as he had been assured by more than one individual, things that were almost certainly unlikely to occur again. He mostly believed this stories, but the process of removing the primate from one’s back was a troublesome one indeed; Ochoa was someone who had a hard time letting go of the contingencies of a situation, even in this quite obviously safe setting. As far as he had seen, the staff was more than competent, save one or two who Ochoa thought were frankly rather dully witted, but that was no change from his own days as a student here at Hogwarts. Most of the teachers were on their game, but a few didn’t terribly know how to teach, even if they were storied to be professionals of the highest degree.
At the moment, however, he was exiting the dungeon--damnable place, really, good luck to the Slytherins inhabiting it and the Potions Master presiding over them--and proceeded up the stairs, methodically checking hallways he had now recommitted to memory, the long break from education--in excess of two decades--and stopped, remembering something very distinct. His offhand, free of wand, traveled to his right shoulder, muscle memory, and he proceeded down a hallway he had often traveled down as a student, and had just realized he had been nigh ignoring on his patrolling. Perhaps age really did take a toll on the mind, he thought, stopping, looking at an otherwise indistinct section of wall, now in the Northern hallway nearabouts the Gryffindor common room which for some reason had no portraits fixed upon it. With a gentle smile which suggested reminiscence, Ochoa raised his wand hand, waving it in a rather complex looking motion, and a complex emblem appeared, emblazoned upon the wall with a brilliant neon light. He lowered his wand, slowly, thinking to himself.