-Entertainment Section-

This section is a wonderfully entertaining jumble of things put together to hopefully amuse readers, containing Harry Potter jokes, funny columns, memes and more - there are changes made each week so that's why this introduction lacks a list. The writers for this section are:

Dean McCormick

Lilia Le Fay

Tali Mere

Maria Fell

Jamie Pevensie (monthly)

Also credit to Grace Waterson for choosing the meme and scene

Entertainment Column 1: Ah, Sweet Memories!

Written by Dean McCormick

"Before you read this, let’s go over a few things that might make this story a little more relevant. If you haven’t noticed, I have to do this in a lot of my stories, so bear with me. We’ll get to the good stuff soon enough. Well, if you can call it ‘good stuff’...ANYWAY…

First of all, please don’t think I’m at all immature, irresponsible, or clumsy in any way, because I am not (to the people who know me: Shut up). The reason you might get this impression mainly has to do with my infamous bad luck. Things that might not seem likely or savory happen to me on a regular basis because of this. Unfortunately, these occurrences are my source of inspiration, because all o’ ye insensitive rapscallions seem to find find them hilarious (which I don’t mind in the slightest. At least it gives people the tiniest suspicion that I might have a sense of humor).

Anyway, into the story we go.

As you might have already guessed, this particular fiasco took place in the kitchen of my dear friend Ollie, who you’ll have heard of if you’ve read any of my previous work for this magazine. It’s a relatively small kitchen, narrow on one half because of the counters, sink, oven and refrigerator all up against the two walls, the table being on the other half. It creates the effect of an isle, which is useful for meals and such.

I had slept over at his house the night before, so naturally, I was present when they ate oatmeal for lunch. Yes, you just heard ‘oatmeal’ in the same sentence as ‘lunch.’ These people are weird. Get used to it.

So once it was finished, the pot was left on the stove, and several condiments were set casually on the counter. Now, I don’t know how many of you eat milk, heavy whipping cream, and prunes with your oatmeal, but if you do, good for you. It’s supposed to be delicious. Ollie fills his bowl halfway with oatmeal, pours an obscene amount of milk into it so that it looks like oatmeal soup, and then he sprinkles cinnamon and maple syrup in after the prunes to give it ‘’texture.” I’m not sure about texture, but it certainly has a unique smell…

Strangely, we both got to the ‘retrieving oat-y goop from the pot and placing it in our bowls’ phase, and stopped there. I was in front of Ollie, and when I got to where the condiments were all lined up in pretty rows (pssssst. I’ll let you in on a little secret. It wasn’t really that pretty), I was a little bit...well...lost. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to try the bottles upon bottles of white liquid that Ollie seemed so fond of, or just go with the traditional…

My train of thought got that far before what happened next cut it short.

Ollie got a little annoyed, as he wasn’t used to the people in front of him being so bemused at the face of his lunch, so he decided to take action. A.K.A Step forward and give me a shove - or try to, at least. He slipped in a rag, falling on his backside while his legs simultaneously took my feet out from under me. And it just so happened that I had been holding the milk, which went flying above our heads, spraying everything with its content.

In the next few seconds, it was like everything was in slow motion for me. What I did next very well could have saved us both some trouble - but of course it just made it worse. I got to my feet and jumped up in one fluid motion, kicking off the counter and reaching out my arm to the bottle of milk that was spinning in the air above my head. I managed to brush it with my fingers, but that was it. My moment of glory ended before it even came into existence as I plummeted back down, my feet landing on the counter. Unfortunately I lost my balance and pushed the maple syrup precariously close to the edge. I managed to lean back far enough to regain my balance. The maple syrup, however, was not so lucky. It fell on the floor, lid open, the silky brown puddle growing steadily to mix with the milk that was all over the floor.

By that point, Ollie was slowly getting up off of the floor, being extremely careful not to provoke the refrigerator to explode or something, which, as I found out later that day, that had been a genuine concern of his. But lucky him, just as he got up, I accidentally stepped on the cinnamon upon leaning back, crushing it and giving poor Ollie a facefull of airborne cinnamon. He collapsed back onto the floor in a fit of coughing.

What happened next is a little hard to explain. After demolishing the cinnamon with my right foot, I sort of spun around part way so that half of me was completely over the edge of the counter. My only option was to stretch my left leg across the rest of my body in a most unsightly and awkward fashion, stepping on the nearest surface to regain my balance.

This was something of an accomplishment for me, being as flexible as a steel rod, so I felt a little relieved that I hadn’t toppled over onto Ollie. But I also felt completely horrified, because the available surface had been the lidless pot of oatmeal, which I had stepped directly into the center of. Recovering quickly, I yanked my foot out of the sticky oat-y goo. And when I say sticky, I mean really sticky. So much so that it was actually highly difficult for me to extract my limb from its depths. This, of course, resulted in my falling backwards and crushing the cardboard box of prunes, which was right on the edge of the counter.

This resulted me falling off of the counter onto the ground in front of the doorway, sending my bowl of oatmeal that had been sitting, miraculously unharmed, next to the prunes catapulting upward and then rapidly down towards me, landing on my head with a rather loud splat (it was particularly loud for me, seeing as it was located very close to my ears).

Ollie had gotten up again, this time all the way to his feet, still coughing cinnamon. He must've looked at the counter, because he screamed. I guess he was a little shocked not to see me on the counter, or anywhere else. I'm not really sure.

Sighing, I crawled out from behind the counter, not bothering to remove my newly acquired hat. I looked at Ollie, who was already looking at me.

“We need to clean this up."

Meme:

Entertainment Column 2: Muggle Gaming

(written by Tali Mere)

Putting aside my
procrastination, I’m here to tell you all about a great story of Skyrim. This
is definitely my most famous one, as well as my most memorable. Because it was
legen - wait for it - dary! Praises to everyone who got the joke.

My fellow assassins from
the Dark Brotherhood, you will probably laugh at me and my idiocy. At this
point, I had just finished killing the Emperor. However, I decided I needn't
kill all the guards on board. That was a really bad idea. Exiting his
cabin and jumping into the ocean, literally everything in the game started to
attack me.

The guards from the city
and the ship started hunting me down with arrows (which I could easily dodge if
I swam under water and away from Morrowind). A swarm of claw fish decided to
attack me [insert health potion here]. I swam for my life until I reached a
small online, where I could easily fight off the claw fish. But guess what? I
had to fight other creatures as well.

A Horker and two
mudcrabs decided to spawn there and beat the heck out of me (I honestly didn't
have the best armor because I didn't really know what I was doing). Meanwhile,
three dragons (including two blood dragons) flew into Morrowind. I beat the
island creatures and dove back into the ocean continuing my journey to land
where I could fast travel.

Once I got on land,
safely, my unluckiness reappeared when a group of bandits attacked me. I ran,
and ran, and ran until a Giant appeared. So I ran back toward the group of
bandits so the Giant would be distracted. My plan worked out, and while the
Giant focused on slaughtering the bandits and ran (once again) for my dear
life. With my triumphant escape, I ran until I could fast travel back home.

I was welcomed with
another group of bandits at my home, who had decided to kidnap my husband and
ask for money (ransack). Later, I killed all the bandits and my husband
(glitch) and walked away with my murderous hands and my new red-handed
companion.

Guess the Second Generation Character:

Link to form here: LINK

-Lilia Le Fay

Harry Potter Scene: The Tale of the Three Brothers

-FANTASTIC BEAST OF THE
ISSUE - Threstral-

A Thestral is a breed of winged
magical horses with a skeletal body, face with reptilian features, and wide,
leathery wings that resemble a bat's. They are very rare, and are considered
dangerous by the Ministry of Magic are, undeservedly, known as omens of
misfortune and aggression by many wizards because they are visible only to
those who have witnessed death at least once (and fully accepted the concept)
or due to their somewhat grim, gaunt and ghostly appearance.

Due to Thestrals' classification as
XXXX, only experienced wizards/magizoologists (i.e. Rubeus Hagrid) should try
to handle Thestrals. Breeding as well as owning these beasts may be discouraged
or even illegal without Ministry consent; in fact, wizards that live in areas
not protected against Muggles are forced by law to perform Disillusionment
Charms on their Thestrals regularly.

Fancy writing a column for this section of the magazine? Simply owl Lilia Le Fay from her page here http://www.hogwartsishere.com/lilyinthelake12/ and you have a chance!