Violet had commandeered the corner next to where Williamson collapsed when he was first thrown in the room from the beginning, and when her trunk arrived, she set it up to one side so that between the wall and her trunk, she had something of a sheltered nook. She sat there now with her back against the wall, staring moodily at one of her textbooks, angry that she could barely read in the dim light. No wands to practice with outside class and no light to read by. How were they supposed to keep up with their assignments, anyway? Not that she cared much at this point--most of the assignments were verging on propaganda this year and Violet was not sure much of it would be very useful to her in the long run.

She missed her journal desparately and found it hard to think now that she could not write her impressions and feelings down. She pondered over what to do about it, and then suddenly got the idea that maybe she could tell her stories out loud. Though the idea of sharing her ideas in front of others kind of terrified her.