Funkefae School of Monsterology and the Mythical Arts

Chapter One: The Letters

Markus Hughgan's long black shoes clapped heavily through the school to the Headmistress' office, a bundle of letters clutched in one hand as the other dragged through his straggly ginger hair. He grunted as he rushed up the curving staircase two steps at a time, muttering darkly to himself as he went.

Headmistress Rolking sighed gently as she raised the delicate China teacup to her lips to take a sip. The steam from the milky brew fogged up her thin rimmed glasses, the half moons of glass becoming coated with condensation. Settling back in her plush chair, she smiled at the warmth of the tea, the smell of books and the constant hustle and bustle of the book imps that held residence in the shelves hurrying back and forth, carting with them several letters at a time, bringing them to the correct trays for collection by the letter owls to be delivered to the recipient. It was moments like these that the Headmistress adored. And because of this, she set down her warm cup in preparation of the destruction of this moment.

No sooner had she set down the teacup on its saucer then the door to her office was flung open, showing an extremely disheveled Master of Student Activities and Magical  Fine Arts and Head of Spharcan House. Rolking smiled at him as he stomped across her lovely enchanted carpet, which depicted several different dragons flitting across a sky. The time and weather even changed. It was a charming carpet.

            "Markus, how are you?" She asked gently as he collapsed into the chair opposite her. He messily threw the clump of letters, five in total, across her desk, groaning as he sank further into the chair.

            "Told you he'd miss some, didn't I? I did. You can't trust that idiot Wilkson with anything. He'd sooner get up at half five every morning to worship Ra than get anything else done on time. Dear Merlin." Rolking chuckled lightly at his expense as she picked up the five letters and sifted through them. Yes, they were all there, she smiled at him as she checked their names off of a very long list. Corner, Mallaghan, Mathews, McParland, Walsh. She paused, her pen hovering over the final name. Markus glanced across the table at her, then awkwardly peered at the name at which she was staring. "Ah, yes, Walsh. Heard what happened to her father only recently. Died whilst transporting that German Zippleback we have now across the Irish Sea from England, didn't he? Poor chap, his daughter has only turned eleven recently, hasn't she?" Rolking nodded absently, still looking at the name. Markus leaned forward across her desk. "Now, it was the dragon that killed him, we're sure? It wasn't who some people say it was?"

Rolking slapped her pen down on the table suddenly, causing Markus to suddenly sit to attention. Her voice contradicted her actions though, as she spoke softly.

            "We have reason to believe that it was the dragon, but do not let your guard down. You yourself saw the wounds on Andrew's Rainwing, and on the Zippleback, but those wounds could just have easily been from a skilled witch or wizard."

Markus nodded his head slowly. He had indeed seen Andrew Walsh's Amazonian Rainwing, wings tattered and cuts being treated by the Ministry's Dragonology section. The dragon's normally radiant, multicoloured scales were dull and dreary, both from exhaustion and from mourning. When her wounds had been properly looked at and treated, she was quickly shipped off back to her rider's home. The German Zippleback hadn't been in much better condition, except that he was sent to the care of the schools own Dragonology Master, Mauri Roca, rather than a loving and welcoming family.

Markus sighed and nodded properly, pinching the bridge if his nose. Rolking stood from her seat and placed all five letters in one of the trays, sending book imps scurrying away from her hand.

            "Charming creatures, book imps. Dim, but very charming. They don't like loud noises, or oranges." Markus glanced sidelong at the bowl of oranges perched on her desk. Rolking smiled. "It keeps them off the desk. I can't have them messing around with my things, no matter how sweet they are." She plucked an orange from the bowl and began peeling it. "I'm also quite fond of oranges as a treat, myself."

            "Guinevere." The headmistress paused in her peeling and looked at him over the rim of her glasses. "Is it a serious possibility? Should we contact the Ministry?" Rolking lowered herself into the chair.

            "It was mentioned in the report of Andrew's incident, so if they wish to pursue the idea, they may. It is out of our hands now, and we have the new school year beginning in six weeks. That is what we shall be focusing on." Her gaze focused on the tray she had just placed the letters in. "Ah, I see Aluco has arrived, finally."

A tawny owl sat, perched on the stand above the letter tray. The book imps scurried and tittered nervously at the owl's appearance and lack of movement.

Markus stood and made his way over to the owl, just as it moved and swooped down on to Rolkings desk. She chuckled as Markus rolled his eyes and dropped the bunch of letters on his desk again.

            "The imps normally do this." She spoke as she tied the letters to Aluco's leg. "But with him, they always panic. Ridiculous creatures, they have no faith in themselves."

Lifting the tawny easily on her arm, she moved to the window and opened it, giving him room to take off. She smiled at her friend as she sat back down.

            "Markus, I do believe we both have better things to be doing than sitting here chatting. I shall see you at dinner." He nodded and stood, making his way to the door. "And Markus?"

He turned, just in time to notice and catch the orange heading for his face.

            "Pop that on one of your radiators. It will make your room smell delectable, and it will stop the book imps from 'messing with your things,' as you say. Maybe then you'll have less to gripe about next time we talk, eh?" Her eyes twinkled with more mirth than the small smile on her lips portrayed. Markus' face didn't shift from it's deadpan expression.

            "Good afternoon, Headmistress."

            "Good afternoon, Markus."

A sigh escaped her as she sat back down in her chair and lifted her cup of tea once again. The drink was now lukewarm, but it was better than freezing cold as she raised the cup to her lips.

A burst if fire flew past the window and yells filled the courtyard below. A deafening roar bellowed back at them.

She took another sip.