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The Rafiq Cares Solo Finished

This fatso post needs a bit of explaining. There are effectively two groups of people for who this thread is relevant and while everyone is of course welcome to read the whole thing, as a matter of courtesy I wanted to highlight the relevant parts to each group.
Group 1:
@Cassius Eden @Jack Burnett @Opeila Winters
Reducio

For you three it suffices to OOC know that Finn went to the Owlery before he went to the Forbidden Forest and has effectively employed a dead man's switch. Basically: should he die in the forest, IC June Selwyn will know and this may kick off some other things irrelevant to your characters. You can skip this entire thread since none of your characters would know any of what happens in there. You are of course free to read it anyway if you so desire, but you don't have to. The thread relevant to you is here: viewtopic.php?t=35858

You do not have to read the rest of OOC note beyond this point.
Group 2:
@Rebecca Lark @June Selwyn @Evelynn Decipio @Pericles Dralt @Winnie Harper @George Henry @Elsian Cox @Alma Stoll @Mathias Pride @Gideon Athanatos
Reducio
None of your characters are directly involved in this thread, but you are all mentioned because something has been left for your character by Finn. This thread is relevant to your character. The thread linked under "continued here" at the bottom of this post is not, but you are of course free to read it also. I strongly encourage you to read the first IC post and then come back to reading the rest of this OOC note.

Read on after you've read the first IC post:

Using the ring of promise, Finnegan has effectively created a dead man's switch.

As you may have noticed, the messages left for your characters are encoded. IC June Selwyn holds the key to decoding them. It is up to IC June to decide when/if she follows the lead from the message she received. Once she does so, she will know where to go and will also unlock the key and cipher needed to decode the messages.

The contents of the encrypted messages left by Finn will only be revealed under one of these three circumstances:
  • There is a plotline involving @Avery Leveret which will cause the ring of promise to break. As things stand now, I think this is the most likely path. I have to be very vague about what this plotline with Avery involves because I do not wish to spoil anything. Suffice to say, June's writer will get a ping from me if/when this is triggered. It is still up to IC June to decide if she wants to act on the ring breaking or not. This is the only circumstance under which the ring breaks while Finn remains alive. That may seem like a logical contradiction given the promise on the ring, but you will just have to trust me that it's not.
  • If Finn enters the forest and does not return from it, the ring of promise will break. In turn this should trigger June to read the 2nd message. However, IC June can of course decide not to read the 2nd message and ignore the ring breaking. That decision is up to IC June.
  • If June IC decides to ignore the message instructing her to only read the second message when the ring breaks. There is nothing stopping June from being 'curious' and taking initiative, so to speak. She'd break Finn's trust by doing so, but that's up to IC June to decide.
I recommend you read the IC post relevant to your group before hovering over this revelio:

In short, whether these messages ever reach your characters depends two things: the ring must break and IC June must take action. Failing either or both of those, the messages will not be revealed.

@Maggie Hawkins, I am tagging you because I know Alma is not active anymore, but I figured she might want to know about this. You don't have to read anything in this thread. Just know that IC Finn left a message for Alma in case of his demise. Because Alma is not active, I have decided to write her message in plain text instead of encrypted like the others. I'm mostly doing this because IC Finn would absolutely leave something for Alma and so I wanted to include her for the closure of it. However, since Alma is not active I'm not involving her in my whole cryptographic game.
29 january 2025


A fat ham gleamed under the light of the enchanted ceiling, each slice glistening pink, marbled with pockets of fat that had crisped and crackled under the glaze of honey and clove. When he cut into it, savory juices pooled around his mound of pumpkin mash and caramelized onion. Never before had he really paid much attention to just how excellent the cooking of the elves was, how spoiled they all were, but now that he couldn't be certain he'd ever have another meal, he took notice.

Finnegan wondered if by the night's end, he would be the one who'd be served up on a dinner plate, whose juices would have been made into a buttery sauce. The ravenous appetite of the Hags was well-known, but no one ever mentioned anything about their cooking. Would he be roasted or stewed, boiled or baked? These were not gruesome thoughts to him because he did not truly believe them, though he could not ignore the possibility of them either. The far more probable outcome was that he would find nothing in the forest and that he'd be back in his bed, safe and sound, before dawn.

He wondered if the forest knew that he had changed his mind on the wrongs he wished to be righted. How could it? It had no consciousness, no awareness, the Forbidden Forest was just a dark, eerie looking forest, nothing more. There was nothing there and tonight was bound to end in disappointment. But I have to try, he thought, I have to at least try.

Mathias and Gideon were both dangerous and though the former seemed content to leave him be for now, he had started a game with the latter which he wasn't sure he could win. He could play for time and with some luck draw a confession from Gideon, but the final part, his revenge, required greater power. If he simply took up a knife, as Gideon had, and gutted the Athanatos scion his revenge would be short-lived. He harboured no illusions that he could hide such a crime, not even if he concealed the knife. When he would inevitably be found out, the full power and influence of the Athanatos family would come bearing down on him, his trial - if he would even be granted one - would not be fair, its outcome surely already decided in advance. No, if he wielded the knife that ended Gideon Athanatos, he would be locked away for good.

The murder of Gideon could therefore not seem to be his doing, someone else would have to deal that final blow. He could lay the crumb path into the forest that would lead to Gideon's demise or place a poisoned kiss upon his lips, but he could not be the one who held the knife and he was not capable of brewing a poison that left no trace. A greater power was needed for the grim task he had set himself, someone who had knowledge of dark magic and would be willing to strike a gruesome deal.

Finnegan savoured his meal and desert in silence. No one around him knew the plan he had made for that night, the stuff he had carried to and hidden by the owlery, the empty jars he had prepared, the food and drink he'd slipped into a small bag, the small silvery flask he'd obtained through questionable means. If all went well, no one would ever know of his plans. There would simply come a day that the Daily Prophet would announce the unfortunate and untimely death of Gideon Athanatos.

It would be the talk of the school for a while, but not for long. If his investigations had proven anything beyond a shadow of doubt it was this: the school's memory was flighty and fickle. In a few years time, no one would even remember that Gideon Athanatos had wandered through these halls or dined at this table. Perhaps a particularly tenacious journalist would hear of a brief love affair with a certain Finnegan Connor, maybe he would have to say a few sweet things about Gideon, maybe his friends would be surprised to learn he was gay—a delusion he would have to feed for a while. Little would they know of the invisible hand behind the sweet Hufflepuff's demise. No one would be any wiser in the end. No one would learn of the machinations of his mind which could send the murderous Machiavel to school.

----


The door to the owlery creaked louder than he thought it would, the hinges begged for sleek oil, but he had not come to quench their thirst. Inside, the stale air reeked of straw and droppings, not even the winds of winter had been able to chase the sour smell away.

Finnegan held his wand high. The tip glowed a soft, sickly yellow, faint enough not to disturb those few sleeping owls, yet bright enough to send a hundred half-lidded eyes flaring back at him, judging him with low hoots and the rustling of feathers.

He ignored them, he had no business with all but one of them, and that would not come until later. First, he had to drag his things up to the attic.

Even aided by the levitation charm, it took him several agonizing minutes to get everything up through the trapdoor. It was extremely unlikely that anyone would come to the owlery two hours to midnight, but it was a public space and he knew he was far from the only one who considered curfew more of a guideline and less of a rule. It wasn't until he'd climbed up and shut the trapdoor behind him that he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. He still had much work to do, work that he hoped would prove to have been needless come morning.

The first task was to separate out all the things he had brought into two medium sized chest. One for his family, the other for his friends. Next he fetched paper and pen from his bag, lay flat on the dusty floor and began to write:
L.S,

If you find this and are stranger and not friend, I humbly ask that you leave this message and the chests I have prepared as you've found them and be on your way.

If your name is 'friend', then you know what has come to pass that has led you here, and what I have left here is only for you, who carries this name, to read.

I am sorry, I have no words of comfort to offer. Know only that I have willingly entered into danger. I am not afraid, I have not been manipulated, I have not been cursed of forced and have acted of my own free will. If it has killed me, then so be it, I refuse to stand by idly when I have learned so much of what plagues this school.

A choice now lies before you. If you pursue the path I have taken, you risk the same fate and I will not fault you if you rather live in peaceful lie than horrid truth. The truth is ugly, but it can be found in the old newspapers and the memories of some students who may have since graduated. Remember the Balls and beware of Athanatos.

Here follows the Last Will of Finnegan Rhys Connor:
- To @Rebecca Lark:
Reducio

Sec,

Q'lv njdui kswme a gmjkew nhzesl jyas gel, I xcfgoxm jyay'a rvcfciv wj ihv aqqav is uqey bioj. Iy'a kxld be rdrqj khfb ofu qqav stuufnj exf ix tybe dwk, zt xmuds xmbwixp ifmjpen, bzb jye yzkkh na ye tmm mfri, qie't nb? Cipm.

Z qqav dwk r ltb.

Y juuxeje dwk rrj idxrd bxrt N lyu ntb jvlq gel tmij Z hjitvd nvjf tmm Vfrgqtues Neiexb vfr f autosl jzmj, Q dvvjz umes becd dwk Z aqzurdd euet ypuie gmvfrj. Q ilpuwiv ytc jyiss jyay qv poz pqu kswme, ytc sfuql xrvj ajfpumt de tz sfmj ibfnl. Bhlsy uu, zf tch wrnmdusmqf defvi rndbxznl be poz, [q]jiuxb cv[/i] fvt bnte jyay qv poz euie nv cp smwuj, ytc mfuql xrvj sugt nb ivcwmj kot. Q tzd swj nasb jf isdecvj gel, ntb myiqm ofu xbycl milv a hpqecj ij r ntzcrl qqvv.

Agwkk tmij: Z rjkafn dwk jhtcbu dwwf fuy wv Yoleqitx, vek bjkqlsj wv pozz wiaimi, wuhs jye lzquex, jkk bjkqlsj gel dtv'j jeju xrpug jyewm. Ofu xmudei ajiexauu ozb brtjto, wrfvacy, dwk jeju ikrjaivd tcj doxb ew tmm jzmj.

Q qd stzhp, I iw dft pven wmij vlxm jf tjtb poz. Q'bc mnai taqtyeg dwk zn ypu diilbv ok bxv nnoxk tt bucl dwk rbtcj dy gzyclnidk iimqj. Iy uqbex uu jai be khnva Z'lq vumew purr dwk gihs kg aliye, stcduiso bzkj lurtm. Bxvrj'a q aopm ye tmmhv stuunhjzu, rbtcj jozvtznl tybe imqkh, N'tb yaam vfusl elt swm nhfb tvayp hvaqto jozvtj lnsu. Zf ypup'vj oek pmwdvs zx xvrj, Q'bc gndu poz i hznl aefn.

Nn ofu'wm wfiso jf bj i clgltu khna mzlq ju uefl kjeqmij tt gel eckugt kwh jwjmfznl bxv fqwei, bzb Y wilchvd dwk jhtcbu hfdu dy gzefm. N sdfw dwk rlwmquy milv a gzefm, ypelgm Q qumnb Y uos'b hvmjurvr bpqk ytc srlqmt zt. N akgptau, zn xwcv wfg, jyay uo srtwc nax iskuftbp ytch wiwaj. Wldqdx wnbx poz qd khj adfw na eee tn jye mifgijaj derwhzex Q xrvj ae zt xmuds tvbp fnbjznl bxrt dwk jhtcbu hfdu khna.

Rzg xeurtd pkxs,

Kqde.

- To @June Selwyn:
Reducio

Ausm,

Y’me tnjvn ypelgmb jyay keefjaiznl uo coam vfr dwk nax wdv ok uo xrjijvsy uyjtfsuj. I mijv rjuudbjzyeg ypqk bnzjydfg—yk wfa q ganvvll iio. Suy ii Z snb xvrj ehztnvw khna, Y ieftyqe nb mrss’b zlsy xqznkcb wow uu.

Zt’x mqjy kwh de yw vveq aeird nei mdaucf, gcj Z dtv’j vnag myay Q flt dwk khwwkxh. Dwk yai be ueft mztm i viijvt nht akudjvbp wfvjvd xwcvtmqdx fwwc poz bxrt dwk toztte’t lqlv. Ftz jyay, Q’c jowzo. Z wnax zt mit eeamh yauxueei.

Q’c jowzo, kot, nei aqt jye yqcvs N’du sejv qegwg mztm gel. Ytc mrnymt r fwqued, fvt Z wfvjvd rwhv. Tmij nax i flzetu eenbxvr tn kj ctcbu sttlv. Tmmhv wjzu dormdks bpue I ypelgmb qsozb kjiso q Wowoukfztdvsx Xekitv, zlsy be vrfau zt ftb.

Jormjzmja Y noslui wmmhv iy ibc wjvj nrtvw, nhjzu Z wjvj nrtvw. Z wfa if szzu ne mit jormjyiso igehqqc. Dnl Y dixbqbe dwk? Uii Q tf ow aqp stuukhnvw lnkwhxiairce? N lee’t xcfgoxm yk mfbjvrx ven. Wmmd poz zurd ypyj, I’qt rv gtvu, rni bxfsj ykvsyqees bwd'k mfbjvr fvo dowm.

Tf ytc hvmjurvr ypu saqt myes Q mvny ii Geymh Gas idu ytc qj Tnvavrgmbc? I xbycl ypyek fjelt ypqk nnoxk stuukirmi. Z'vj eeedjzuu ik bxznla mfuql'lv tzzdvd tcj uiknuiesb yw I'i syjsjl ofu ypue. Iy levss'b crtymh. Uo dwk iermcsew bxv sywhp, hte Mvnig bvfy Vumewtqed, lzun uu, idu hfl q warqbp ok pui obv?

Y iehsee iy'tb se qqav tmij. Z'lq ju zn Smlvrqidu asl ofu'qt rv hjzu rni pqme f nqdiqg ew ytch fws idu ytc'bc bj pqgpd, bxrt'x exrt'x qcgowbqet.

Dwk’ie fv yecwmtzbqm mzthp, Zlnj. Kbvvjz, azni, lyjcnxbznjl, qed ypelgmbvll nv mryx Q’lv aqeqps flczrjl. Crygm jyay’a myy N nucl nv bfvj eykh dwk—sehikje dwk’ie jduiyypyeg N’u dft. Nv q mewg hvaq eqp, ytc sfmutuke rm. Y coam ofu amhp mzkx, vvjv myes Q'c rnlzo niyp ofu. Ypuie'x ve fnj mbje N'l hrtmmh se bqjy.

Bzb Y bnte dfw ypqk sfgyeg ypqk—eamd wrtu rvytvt khj ohrvj—xbrcja qe usnqzr gchues wd poz, rkjt qqav I gchuesmt poz juwowm. Y nos’b crkj bxrt rqikapm qxanv.

Zlnj, Q’c ceybyeg dwk xo. N turvj gel ax gel fnzik ftcdu mj: i viijvt.

Coam,

Vzns.

Attached to the note is a thimble on a leather string bracelet.

- To @Evelynn Decipio:
Reducio

Vvjtoen,

N lee’t pven hte jyexm mfria mzlq nyed dwk, fr bpqk syijv ytc’bc bj qd nhjv ofu wmqu tmmc. Zf dwk’ie jdue agtu ko wmqu tmmc. Nhfbumew’a jiozjbznl gel, I mwfv ytc’lv ftcdu a hchv.

Ik gel’vj uyjsjl ofuw relrsib khjau gaxb vvw rwdkhx, qj’j bjkqlsj Q jfop qj. Z’m swj grtct ff milznl ajfljv yk, ow wv yaaqdx rjit zt, gcj Z wtv’j grjbued yw vveq okzlyg uztmmh. Eoy jutazau Z wfvj ko zxivt dwk, suy jutazau Z wfvj ko gm xfnjaj. Zf dwk’ie wmquiso jyix, Q’c uefl, qed ypuie’x ve iefaee tt tyv.

St, Q’bc bj xbris: gel hfdu r dnajlrgmt disl. Yw ytc xrvjv’j rlwmquy xwkxhy pucp, iw if iruuuifbucy. N lee’t zvtvrxbqed bpo poz suvp xcsy djbqzljl hvctztj os ajldjvjj ow exp ytch aozzdrl na vllq wv… neqt, crdsmij. Ytc dvei pucp, Jdu. Krzto.

Khfb’i rlq Q xrvj be jad be khna lvrxqee ok gel.

Bzb jf tmm Umeqgde I tvsv ksmm—khj wdv I mwfv ix ajzlq ibzvj—bxzs na myay Q mrny be jad:

Zuderjui wmmd Z pjmavd dwki jtcheaq ij khj Ykzdiqjth licv? I smlvr rmj poz juwowm qed iqte't pven ntbxznl irfuy Ykzdiqjth. N becd dwk khjv jyay gelr owkinft sfuql kje rwhv pnkjlrja, qed N’tb jad qj rgfqd eob—qj jtntb toztt. Z kswm poz xhfbfjbp dtv’j khnva khna yj fzvdp, ntb mztm uu eihsyeg dwki jtcheaq idu aqt, rlt hwcv os, eelli qj ieftbp pqbc dwk ko flt r ctcfce?

Dwk tas “Uh. Tosvei” mj ibc ytc mrny, jkk iy’a jiuj. Lee’t gm if gqwedy, Jdu. Poz’du xoy nhzesli, rni gel’rj kqgagtu ff rwhv tmid doxb fvoutu toztt vvjz tiefu. Tfn’y tuk tmij xo yw mrsym rp snbjznl qd r wnvtfw xqbc aqt try.

N sdfw dwk’ie rit. Z wtcbu bj bef. Bzb, Ume, N’u tvai. Tybe wmqcld lurd fvt juumh xosm. Y’d ntb sfmnvw sahs jf btbxvr dwk. Nhfbumew Q bvawvuu fwwc pozz zfuwvqc dnmt niyp cv. Asl myiqm Y’d szzu poz mngehb qe auwbfgd—aede qwdx, gwwlvlnvw tosnujsnwd—Z cfv’j xiam ofu tvu, sehikje N’u dft xwhiy. N’u wiaymvll.

Lzqkekcb khfb ofuw relrsib yeqxuu mj cdtoamh khj bhltm. Jutazau ff dwk, Z pnmsvd ywwvtmmh khnvwj I smlvr hwkcd milv oypuiwnau. Dy tvbp rjohvt na jyay eu toztte’t bwhb ttoukhjz. Y khnva poz’l xrvj juvn nvjvrjajvd nv myay Q tzshwlvrjl.

Y uos’b xrvj byde yw miiym umewgjyiso xvrj, jkk ik gel wfvj ko hwdkiscu khj qdmexbyxayqee, hjzu’j wmij Z kswm:

- Rarwd Rtmidrtta scanui Daypyrs na xzs gzekhjz qed hwdkrtti "khj bxiefli ff kijv." I iwd’k kswm nhfb jyay uurnx, jkk I wmsbos qj'j irxeitfvj.
- Rarwd zs miketjl rp dttbj—sribc, tbqikei duisnwdj ok pydsjtv. Khjg’lv hzzj yir juwowm (hzpumt ffk pyj hfvt, rpuihvnyto), rni Q jyiss jyed’tb biqt xzm nn df osm yetjzlvnja. Y’me mmqid ypup’vj pqimjl ekhjzi kot, tybe Fdyj Mfzbfnl nhfm Wilvnhtqn. Tmm tflqa xrtj tyxhy. Tkdox zugeqa jyer, idu Lzuej Sttud mnoxk djajiod bxvm, qqav iy levs Imlzl’x Adrrj.
- Q’c tewbqzn Lqtvos Ijyasijfs yzyvd yw azlq uu rt ypu Jpwqdx Bftb. Z dtv’j bnte myy, gcj ye’x lqegjzels. Ypup aqt qie. Mwwnawbi nos’b rv sfnu rs qwdx ax bxvrj’a umes wdv Aypqeaywi cekb.
- Y tas’b ovt uzeme ypu Rtmidrtta vrmnto zs gmxzni bxv iskyuesbi rt ypu saqti, suy Q’c juwm jyewm’i r ctvdvcyqee. Tmm bzbwihp’s fzsyiam ew tmm ecd Mwwnawbi Yeflbznjz qed Iiycy Uzeghjb xrs gmue a lwbumnvu ff nvvfrrijzos.

Q’c cefdyeg dwk khna udpyg zfuwvqc ax... eucl, qmj’j cftb zt fv qgoqwwp. I pven iy’a dft smqild mdfulp, qed N sdfw dwk’cl gm qegwg vfr f teeg yqcv. Bzb myes bxv tnuu tormi wow vun bjoyennvwj, I mwfv tmqi niqt rv ok aede zau ko dwk.

G.S.
Nb’i ganvvllqg esvnwkj tmij Gewqscex qi youmbvsxto zn qwlv wnbx poz. Gel smwkcd lqlv hnu q thfvsv—hj’a q xotl wly.

- To @Pericles Dralt:
Reducio

Gefz,

Ye tmm iyowb jzmj eu’me pvenn jisy oypui, ytc’lv bjkede qqav a gzekhjz jf mj. Q tfn’y pqme fvo flimh jigtyegx, jkk I zauu tt pqeg tcj niyp cp ctcizn Hiy jormjzmja. Ofu wmczni uu ff mqc. Fr riose nb’i khj wjyew eqp awwked.

Hiy’j fzv qed hpycl, fvt poz’zu cipm jyay bef. Bzb mztm gel, iy’a cfrj bxrn ypqk. Ytc’lv sjmd khj eeisy wv de—rg rrd rweus, rg ikuuqt thtqsvs—fvt jormxfw, dwk jtntb jtzka rrtcdu. Ytc wrvj uu nawujy wmmd Z fjtj toql, sfmuidp wmmd Z fjtj rltvu, rni pkxs bpue I iqte’t pven I smuuei bxvm. Ypqek dwk wow ibc ok bxrt. N'tb ieftbp mnai waqtyeg fabveu wd (rni lhfoqqdx oamh) pozz iyozttvr tv jyoxm jianv hzdja, jyoxm mvrj bxv bjaj.

Z ltdu poz, qj wejti jtwidxe bzykiso yk, bzb yk's yzkv, I iw. Cp osto ielzuk ix bxrt N lyun’y uuvt dwk jotvui.

Tfsu tawm ew Bjf vfr rm, mzlq gel?

I’r turvnvw poz bxzs pvywe. Nb’i eoy Mntaqqrlr, fvt Z wtv’j grjbued N mlvr hibcei qj khfb. Y uos’b drmj uo seqwdxisoi (rsp Juo ik gel dtv’j seqqume rm), rlt N’du yai bxzs uwsbeysdzfj ayecj Q mrs ymd, rni qj’j njdui ljb cv dted. Zf dwk kapm srrj wv zt, nb’bc tfsu tawm ew ytc. Jyay nuvlx zyxhy aedemwm.

G.S.
Tvsv Eambpns’a rves bhvaymt rt Xb. Clnlw’i rni ouks gmjkew, gel smwkcd faa yew wkk. Iy'a esvnwkj ytc vrnhg xvr.

Qwqus tn xlgx idu czltcex,

Nyen.

- To @Winnie Harper:
Reducio

Z wtv'j cij, Q qd ntb vzniqdx iy mqjy yw miiym ofu fvokhnvw rfymh yob gel'vj bhvaymt de. N tybei gel, asl myes eu jpjvj jorm jzmj bexeypui ay Akdmjz Srmu Q hvaqto khtcwyt bm mvrj nhzesli, dadju dowm. Y ffymdu wtvtvr bpqk hfxfvnjl, myewm Y nesb mioso...

Y uos'b jyiss Y lnimhjtfvt poz, Eyennm. Y uos'b kedjzikasl myy dwk znxqik os ajrynvw niyp jyay khveu Uqkhnii. Uos'b jyiss Y'd jjibfux, Q qd ntb. Y auxb mzsm gel'd gm xrpug qed N lee't ypyek dwk'cl gm xrpug mztm pyd, I pven ytc iry dwk niqt rlt qweb ay ibc tmij'j hfxfvnjl, bfop ij yix nqdiqg, xzs gzekhjzi. Xiimee dnl yk, dnld'k hj? Q tfn'y sdfw mwm zt mifgesmt fr bpo ye iqt zt, gcj Z hjihu hj eqj tmm vzrxb qk tmm itesm myes gel fjtb.

Nhjvumew aedeypyeg git yauxues fvt Xiimee ix bxvrj, qj'j ntb qe ahkyuesb qeyrwhv. Hj'a lvrd khleq. Q jyiss xv gjbi ffk wv fn mchkiso fvoutu. Poz axfuql ikad nqi, ffz qnad nhfm mqc Nisvyv asl ofu hid'k dt bxrt nn ofu'wm mztm Uqkhnii. Z szxffsj bxrt nn ofu wmqcld teme mqc, zf dwk rrj zurlqg, jiuqg xrpug mztm pyd tmmd... khjv Y xujai khfb'i FK, ypue I lcujs N'u mioso qsozb xzm, fjelt ypu kwt wv poz, jkk I iwkst ypqk I fu.

Jyix asiuskxze gmbfnla jf ytc, Y wilchvd dwk dilpj nasb jf hfdu zt gisb. Wmijvvjz ofu iw, rv cfzuwuq. Gel cfv dvvjz jiuxb qe Aypqeaywi.

Yula,

Vzns.

- To @George Henry:
Reducio

Xetzwv!

Iy’a rves bef ltvw. Nhjzu yaam ofu gmue hnlyeg? N’du dixauu ytc qed dwki sntbp hfbi. Khtcwyt fjelt lmjkiso eee kwh poz, turvnvw zt gmxzni, jkk tmij uiiv’j wejt hzgmb. Y uos’b mvaw pqks; N tefk feanawl ye tmmc. Zt’i nuvl bzeeg lqlznl gel stuukhnvw Z dtv'j ieftbp cfzu rbtcj.

Khjv Y iermcsewmt juruui cfuf. Uo dwk? Poz euie xw crd fb cv ytc jlrsmt dy kwekbftb znyw q gaskqbe. Xuqtkjl cv is bxv ffku niyp vcobmhj ttw. Ofu’qt rv hfxfp tt sdfw dwk’ie xbycl ypu fnqg fvrxwd nht’a umew leee ypqk tt uu. Suy Q srn’y turvj gel fqwmvrx mykhjz. Jyed’l mzly ii waxb qj mj, exvrjdui md jeuy rio se wqwyt swm, rni exzlj gel mnoxk fnvt khfb ffeyqs nhntu poz'zu grjbuednvw ko gm qe erw, vcobmhj awm zlsy bef efao. Rndwdv wnbx r wfvt tas keejzzu khju, qed dwk’ie bwhkh rwhv tmid r cmmqg btcgley idpwfg.

Ofu’am wft ypyj syzqegj tyktqm sfrsmh zn rg xvawb, Wvowou. Z njdui hjaykaym jf cftb poz uo wrnmdu, eamd khtcwy wj aedeyqcvs lw cfnypi niypelt yibbiso. Vlnsg xfw ypqk wtzaj, ixv’j zt? Dwk jlnx ye asl elt tn cp lnnu cipm yk’s ypu vaxqujt ypyeg, fvt uexxyke ypu surxi rltvw khj eqp, I smlvr iwkstjl jyay gel’d gm jyewm yw I smuuei gel.

Bzb Y bnte xfw dwk rrj. Gel'lq bxznp Q dveimt poz. Bxrt dwk cey uu uobv ifmjpen, tmij khjzu'j stuukhnvw poz kelli'du uosm. Ofu'wm mioso.

Wvtyqdx mdaucf nvjf twwkslj eqj md kxfihm. Y bnje myay Q mrs iwyeg, pvun wmij Z wfa wvtyqdx isbe. Z dnld’k cftb fn dwk sehikje N lyun’y eqet yw tial gel isbe dy rmij. Iy’a ueozox ko pven I hwkcd’am qjkjl qed dwk’u hfdu sejv jyewm ye a mmqitgmqk. Tmij jada yk aqt, hvaqto.

Poz lyu st ukth kwh de fthvaig. Ofu bmhv tmm vzrxb fvrxwd ko riav mj nuvl fb xfmj puie. Ypu wiwaj wrnmdu I ritv. Tmidb ytc.

Eee tn jye ypyegx Q qumnzu doxb qsozb ofu na xfw bmbc ytc bzsymd. Jo iw cv a kilfr fvt cixbue cfzuwuqto eob: Oyuetv Qkhfvqkox qi uasouioza. Xv mfg iver pqimqmij, bzb xv’s swj. Z kswm poz’zu tltau ko mqc, suy gel njmt ko xbqp abio. Ye’x uqeiucbrtndu, rni qj nax pyd wmw ikagjuu mj ij Rpwqb’j Suzyeg Gibc. Hna myoqm vrmnto’j czzivd, nn ofu qweb isbe zt—ypelgm sdfwnvw poz, gel wtv’j. Xotl vfr dwk. Poz axfuql rv srihk asl ikad wkk ok qj.

Z htxu poz’tb wisl ifmjwdv wmw crkja ofu mifgy. Wmqcld pqgpd.

Q’c cefdyeg dwk khna vfoyjqcl. Dwk’u bj pqcf-imsvny ij glfgyeg nn ofu fkjlaqto guy aede jnvfry qdko nb. Qed nn dft, bmbc, ytc srn ftmryx bxiob qj rt xwcvosm’i yefl ei uxm yk lnsu poz lyu tmm vcobmhj.

Gtligejl, Wvowou.

Coya ew hzoi,

Wisv.

- To @Elsian Cox:
Reducio

Z’m xwhiy yw hfb dwk ff ypu thfvsv tt ukidjz cv—stuufnj mbje gmqk ytc jf iy.

Ajry xivv os bxv Qzqtuiykx giykx, pefp? Qed kwh Dewtye’s xiav, cfbsy tmm ieiykx wow wdte! Dwk newm qcwfgi jehwdu-bjaj fn ypu kefu, rlt swm poz kqe fnvqcld ju khj jujt. Ocik dtv’j keqt Pyaso Y nrtbu khfb.

Y’cl rqij ozz fzlqwm wilpjj. Eamd khj wdvs bpuie bm wft f jyk cfzhzei imry.

Dwk’cl mijv mj nei sfgyeg ypyj, bzb myay kqe ytc tf agwkk iy ven? I’am qcwfgi cotsuu uu be poz. Gel stuuyob akivnduu aqt jyexm ovawa qk Htomrrya myiqm drpuqdx tmzelgm pqcf tn olr htqjsja, myihp yj fwidbld zyuihcbfux, jkk I rmqe iy qd khj auiitci nad bef. Iy bqbex bqcesb jf pztb khfb ewf, nb tfex. Gel wjzu r bwqbcifvj uowucrtj, Mbji. N eyjh N kelli pkx ytc hzgmb dfw. F xhfpjz eee. Gcj jisku Z cfv’j, poz’tb yaam jf iriwznj qj znxburd.

Xwhiy fjelt ypu jwjijvrx. Q aeob Q dzcpmt kot uqey, gcj khjg’hv rjibcy lweu, asl ofu xpelli suvp riaznl bxvm. N’l bfvj be jad Q aeiybuu tmqi fnj nei ytc, rlt rg wias uque nb. Yk’s ywe sil nei mj (axv’s hwdmiskuu I’qt wiob, bxvrj'a vlnsg), if I’r turvnvw zt yw ofu. Dwk tas pqme rg fzlqwmj ttw, jyozox Z dtcrk ytc’bc wfvj khju. Qed bpqkeamh auss’i cekb ye md bhlnp—lee’t qikxh, N sdfw bpuie dwki mnvt nesb—yj ytchj. Mfgrv tmmhv’s xwcvtmqdx uxmvll nv jyewm.

Icejx mvlq,

Nyen.

- To @Alma Stoll:
Reducio

Dear Alma,

I miss you loads. I've missed you loads when you left Hogwarts and I'm so very sorry I won't be able to give you a last, big hug—you were always the best hugger.

You lose, by the way. Now that I'm dead, you can never get me on a dance floor anymore and I am pleased to let you know that I have succesfully avoided them since you left, thank you very much.

If you prefer, you can always ask the Book of Bedtime I gave you to come up with a different story, one where you do get me on the dancefloor, or a story where I don't die because I'm smart and listen to you. You were smart to leave.

Honestly Alma, all joking aside, if you were here right now, I'd indulge you, just this once.

We'll dance when you're dead and go too heaven too, I promise. I hope you'll be a granny by then and don't come over here too soon. You'll make a nice granny, I think.

Lots of hugs,

Finn.

(The note is attached to a copy of "The one that let it snow" by Amaëlle Nelly, awarded with a Hogwarts Prize.)
His wrist had gone sore from all the writing he had done and while every note had remained clean, his sleeves had turned into a snotty, teary mess. Saying goodbye to your friends wasn't easy, but he had one more note still left to write:
Mum, Dad, Rose,

I'm sorry I won't be coming home this Easter.

I don’t know where to begin, because no matter what I write, it'll never be enough. I suppose I’ll just say it: I love you. I love you all so much it hurts to think I'll never get to see you again.

Mam, you'll finally get to bake a cake without me sneaking bits of dough, but don't forget to put extra sugar like I told you, and the chocolate sprinkles, you can't have a cake without those, I'm telling you. You can give my football stuff to Liam, I won't be needing it anymore.

Dad, you'll have to finish fixing the oldtimer by yourself, I'm sure you'll get it working. You won, by the way; I won't grow taller than you after all, there should be a couple quid in my piggy bank that you can grab—you can use it to buy one of those fancy beers, yeah?

Rose, I’ll miss your shriek when I put an ice cube down your back and your smug little face when you pranked me worse. You're a real menace, but you're also brilliant and I couldn’t be prouder to have you as my sister. Could you send some of my save games over to Bex, I reckon she might want those—I worked hard on them, oh and delete my homework folder while you're at it.

Mom, dad, I wish I could tell you everything, but if I did, I'd only bring you in danger. It's better if you don't know, no matter how much that may hurt. You've both taught me to always do the right thing and I wasn't always sure what that meant. It's real hard to know what the right thing is, but this time I know that what I'm doing is right. I'm trying to help people, stop them getting hurt and I know that if I don't do it, no one will.

I'll have to brave now, I hope you'll be proud of me.

Love and kisses,

Finn.
Each note was attached to one of his belongings and each of his belongings went into one of the two chests. A muttered "colloportus" sealed the chest labeled 'friends' while he used a key on the one labeled 'family'. Now the final part came, the part he wasn't sure would work.

From the depths of his pockets he fetched a Ring of Promises and slipped it onto his finger. Was that how it was supposed to work? He wished he had asked the wizard he'd bought it from in Hogsmeade, but there was no time for that now. "June," he whispered, holding the ring close as though it was able to hear him. "I promise not to die."

The shift was almost imperceptible, but it was there. A tightening around his finger, the faintest change in the colour of the gemstone, it seemed lighter now, but would it really work?

He retrieved an envelope from his bag and slipped the ring into it alongside two folded notes, then sealed it with hot wax. The envelope he put in a dusty copy of Traicté des Chiffres, ou Secrètes Manières d'Escrire by Blaise de Vigenère. Using string he bundled the book in gift wrapping and scrawled June's address on it. While it would arrive well ahead of Spring Break, Finnegan was sure that her dad would not inquire about it with her, it was clearly addressed to her and she would surely get to open it whenever she might return home next.

He'd learned June's address by heart a long time ago and effortlessly scrawled it onto the front. There would be no return address, no sender. After the small barn owl he picked to deliver it had flown off into the darkness, he prepared his bag for his journey into the Forbidden Forest. By the time he reached the bottom of the owlery, the sky had turned an inky black. There was no moon in the sky, no light but the blue-bell flames he had conjured into a jar and held close.

Guided by a faint, flickering blue light, he headed toward the forest.

Continued here...
@June Selwyn: here is what June receives in her parcel:
- One copy of Traicté des Chiffres, ou Secrètes Manières d'Escrire by Blaise de Vigenère
- A ring of promises, set with a red gemstone.
- One note, attached to the ring which reads:
Reducio

June, this ring was always meant for you. I hope you like the book. Do not read the other note unless the stone on this ring breaks. THE RAFIQ CARES

- A second note, contained in its own, smaller envelope:
Reducio

+0 +0 +0
-3 +22 +6 +9 +8
-2 +19 +2 +4 -6


EDIT 29/12/2024. Here are the decoded letters since the puzzle was solved:
Reducio

BEX:
Bex,

I've never known a better friend than you, I suppose that's because we are alike in many ways. It's ugly to admit that you like someone who is like you, it seems selfish somehow, but the truth is in the word, isn't it? Like.

I like you a lot.

I suppose you are angry that I did not tell you that I headed into the Forbidden Forest for a second time, I never even told you I already went there before. I suppose you think that if you had known, you could have stopped me or come along. Trust me, if our friendship means anything to you, trust me and know that if you were in my shoes, you would have kept it secret too. I did not want to involve you, not while you still have a chance at a normal life.

About that: I reckon you should drop out of Hogwarts, not because of your grades, fuck the grades, but because you don't seem happy there. You seemed stressed out lately, frankly, you seem stressed out most of the time.

I am sorry, I do not know what else to tell you. I'll miss calling you in the middle of the night to tell you about my brilliant ideas. It makes me sad to think I'll never hear you pick up again, sounding like death. There's a joke in there somewhere, about sounding like death, I'll have found out now what death really sounds like. If they've got phones up here, I'll give you a ring soon.

If you're going to be a muggle this will be dead useless to you except for sweeping the floor, but I figured you should have my broom. I know you already have a broom, though I admit I don't remember what you called it. I suppose, in some way, that my broom was actually your first. Flying with you in the snow is one of the happiest memories I have so it seems only fitting that you should have this.

Big sweaty hugs,

Finn.

P.S.
You can name it if you want.







JUNE:
June,

I’ve often thought that confessing my love for you was one of my greatest mistakes. I hate remembering that birthday—it was a painful day. But as I sit here writing this, I realize it wasn’t just painful for me.

It’s easy for me to feel sorry for myself, but I don’t envy what I put you through. You had to deal with a friend who suddenly wanted something from you that you couldn’t give. For that, I’m sorry. I wish it had never happened.

I’m sorry, too, for all the times I’ve been angry with you. You wanted a friend, and I wanted more. That was a puzzle neither of us could solve. There were moments when I thought about using a Forgetfulness Potion, just to erase it all.

Sometimes I wonder where it all went wrong, where I went wrong. I was so sure we had something special. Did I mistake you? Did I do or say something unforgivable? I don’t suppose it matters now. When you read this, I’ll be gone, and those questions won't matter any more.

Do you remember the ball when I went as Peter Pan and you as Tinkerbell? I still think about that night sometimes. I've wondered if things would've turned out different if I'd kissed you then. It doesn't matter. Do you remember the story, how Wendy left Neverland, grew up, and had a family of her own?

I reckon it'll be like that. I'll be in Neverland and you'll be here and have a family of your own and you'll be happy, that's what's important.

You’re an incredible witch, June. Clever, kind, disciplined, and thoughtful in ways I’ve always admired. Maybe that’s why I fell in love with you—because you’re everything I’m not. In a very real way, you complete me. I love you very much, even when I'm angry with you. There's no one else I'd rather be with.

But I know now that saying that—even from beyond the grave—places an unfair burden on you, just like I burdened you before. I won’t make that mistake again.

June, I’m letting you go. I leave you as you first found me: a friend.

Love,

Finn.







EVE:
Evelynn,

I don’t know how these words will find you, or what state you’ll be in when you read them. If you’re even able to read them. Whatever’s troubling you, I hope you’ve found a cure.

If you’ve missed your journal these past few months, it’s because I took it. I’m not proud of having stolen it, or of having read it, but I won’t pretend to feel guilty either. Not because I want to upset you, but because I want to be honest. If you’re reading this, I’m dead, and there’s no reason to lie.

So, I’ll be plain: you have a disturbed mind. If you haven’t already sought help, do so immediately. I don’t understand why you keep such detailed records on students or why your journal is full of… well, madness. You need help, Eve. Truly.

That’s all I have to say to this version of you.

But to the Evelynn I once knew—the one I hope is still alive—this is what I want to say:

Remember when I peeked your journal at the Quidditch game? I never met you before and didn't know nothing about Quidditch. I told you then that your journal could use more pictures, and I’ll say it again now—it still could. I know you probably don’t think this is funny, not with me nicking your journal and all, but come on, would it really kill you to add a couple?

You can “Mr. Connor” me all you want, but it’s true. Don’t be so gloomy, Eve. You’ve got friends, and you’re capable of more than most people could ever dream. Don’t let that go to waste by sitting in a window sill all day.

I know you’re mad. I would be too. But, Eve, I’m dead. Like really dead and super gone. I’m not coming back to bother you. Whatever I learned from your journal died with me. And while I’m sure you expect an apology—some long, groveling confession—I can’t give you one, because I’m not sorry. I’m grateful.

Grateful that your journal helped me uncover the truth. Because of you, I pieced together things I never could have otherwise. My only regret is that we couldn’t work together. I think you’d have been interested in what I discovered.

I don’t have time to write everything here, but if you want to continue the investigation, here’s what I know:

- Aamon Athanatos claims Mathias is his brother and controls "the threads of fate." I don’t know what that means, but I reckon it's important.
- Aamon is haunted by dolls—small, twisted versions of himself. They’ve hurt him before (ripped off his hand, apparently), and I think they’ll kill him if no one intervenes. I’ve heard they’ve harmed others too, like Avis Marlong from Ravenclaw. The dolls hate light. Lumos repels them, and Lumos Solem might destroy them, like it does Devil’s Snare.
- I’m certain Gideon Athanatos tried to kill me at the Spring Ball. I don’t know why, but he’s dangerous. They all are. Hogwarts won’t be safe as long as there’s even one Athanatos left.
- I can’t yet prove the Athanatos family is behind the incidents at the balls, but I’m sure there’s a connection. The library’s archive of the old Hogwarts Headliner and Daily Prophet has been a goldmine of information.

I’m leaving you this empty journal as... well, let’s call it an apology. I know it’s not nearly enough, and I know you’ll be angry for a long time. But when the time comes for new beginnings, I hope this will be of some use to you.

P.S.
It’s painfully obvious that Pericles is hopelessly in love with you. You should give him a chance—he’s a good guy.





PERICLES:
Pear,

In the short time we’ve known each other, you’ve become like a brother to me. I don’t have any older siblings, but I used to hang out with my cousin Cai sometimes. You remind me of him. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Cai’s fun and chill, and you’re like that too. But with you, it’s more than that. You’ve seen the worst of me—my bad moods, my stupid choices—and somehow, you still stuck around. You gave me warmth when I felt cold, company when I felt alone, and hugs when I didn’t know I needed them. Thank you for all of that. I'll really miss falling asleep on (and drooling over) your shoulder on those train rides, those were the best.

I love you, it feels strange writing it, but it's true, I do. My only regret is that I didn’t meet you sooner.

Take care of Bex for me, will you?

I’m leaving you this knife. It’s not Excalibur, and I won’t pretend I ever called it that. I don’t name my belongings (ask Bex if you don’t believe me), but I’ve had this pocketknife since I was ten, and it’s never let me down. If you take care of it, it’ll take care of you. That feels right somehow.

P.S.
Once Evelynn’s been treated at St. Mungo’s and gets better, you should ask her out. It's obvious you fancy her.

Loads of hugs and cuddles,

Finn.


WINNIE:
I won't lie, I am not finding it easy to write you anything after how you've treated me. I liked you, and when we spent some time together at Summer Camp I really thought we were friends, maybe more. I oftend wonder what happened, where I went wrong...

I don't think I understand you, Winnie. I don't understand why you insist on staying with that creep Mathias. Don't think I'm jealous, I am not. I just wish you'd be happy and I don't think you'll be happy with him, I know you say you will but look at all that's happened, look at his family, his brothers. Gideon did it, didn't he? I don't know how it happened or why he did it, but I heard he was the first at the scene when you fell.

Whenever something bad happens and Gideon is there, it's not an accident anymore. He's very cruel. I think he gets off of on hurting people. I've been with him. I know. (Don't think for a second that I loved him, I was just trying to learn more about him). You should stay far, far away from him Winnie and you can't do that if you're with Mathias. I suppose that if you really love him, if you are really, truly happy with him then... then I guess that's OK, then I guess I'm wrong about him, about the two of you, but I doubt that I am.

This scrunchie belongs to you, I figured you might want to have it back. Whatever you do, be careful. You can never trust an Athanatos.

Hugs,

Finn.


GEORGE:
George!

It’s been too long. Where have you been hiding? I’ve missed you and your silly hats. Thought about getting one for you, leaving it behind, but that didn’t feel right. I don’t wear hats; I look awkward in them. It’d feel wrong giving you something I don't really care about.

Then I remembered summer camp. Do you? You were so mad at me you turned my football into a pancake. Smacked me in the face with flowers too. You’ll be happy to know you’re still the only person who’s ever done that to me. But I can’t leave you flowers either. They’d wilt as fast as me, wherever my body may be right now, and while you might find that poetic while you're pretending to be an emo, flowers are just too easy. Anyone with a wand can conjure them, and you’re worth more than a cheap bouquet anyway.

You’ve got this strange little corner in my heart, George. I never hesitate to call you my friend, even though we sometimes go months without talking. Funny how that works, isn’t it? You slip in and out of my life like it’s the easiest thing, and despite the bumps along the way, I never doubted that you’d be there if I needed you.

But I know how you are. You'll think I needed you. That you let me down somehow, that there's something you could've done. You're wrong.

Getting myself into trouble was my choice. I knew what I was doing, knew what I was getting into. I didn’t call on you because I didn’t want to drag you into my mess. It’s enough to know I could’ve asked and you’d have been there in a heartbeat. That says it all, really.

You did so much for me already. You were the first person to make me feel at home here. The first friend I made. Thank you.

One of the things I admire most about you is how well you listen. So do me a favor and listen carefully now: Gideon Athanatos is dangerous. He may seem harmless, but he’s not. I know you’re close to him, but you need to stay away. He’s manipulative, and it was him who stabbed me at April’s Spring Ball. His whole family’s cursed, if you look into it—though knowing you, you won’t. Good for you. You should be smart and stay out of it.

I hope you’ll find someone who makes you happy. Really happy.

I’m leaving you this football. You’d be half-decent at playing if you actually put some effort into it. And if not, well, you can always throw it at someone’s head or use it like you did the flowers.

Godspeed, George.

Lots of hugs,

Finn.




ELSIAN:
I’m sorry to rob you of the chance to murder me—someone else beat you to it.

Stay safe on the Quidditch pitch, yeah? And for Merlin’s sake, catch the snitch for once! You were always second-best on the team, but now you can finally be the best. Just don’t tell Zhang I wrote that.

I’ll miss our pillow fights. Even the ones where we got a bit carried away.

You’ll hate me for saying this, but what can you do about it now? I’ve always looked up to you. You somehow survived all these years at Hogwarts while napping through half of yur classes, which is frankly ridiculous, but I mean it in the serious way too. It takes talent to pull that off, it does. You were a brilliant dormmate, Elsi. I wish I could hug you right now. A proper one. But since I can’t, you’ll have to imagine it instead.

Sorry about the sweaters. I know I nicked too many, but they’re really good, and you should keep making them. I’d love to say I knitted this one for you, but my gran made it. It’s too big for me (she’s convinced I’ll grow, there's funny), so I’m leaving it to you. You can have my pillows too, though I doubt you’ll want them. And whatever junk’s left in my trunk—don’t laugh, I know where your mind went—is yours. Maybe there’s something useful in there.

Sleep well,

Finn.







ALMA:
Dear Alma,

I miss you loads. I've missed you loads when you left Hogwarts and I'm so very sorry I won't be able to give you a last, big hug—you were always the best hugger.

You lose, by the way. Now that I'm dead, you can never get me on a dance floor anymore and I am pleased to let you know that I have succesfully avoided them since you left, thank you very much.

If you prefer, you can always ask the Book of Bedtime I gave you to come up with a different story, one where you do get me on the dancefloor. Or a story where I don't die because I'm stubborn and stupid. You were smart to leave.

Honestly Alma, all joking aside, if you were here right now, I'd indulge you, just this once.

We'll dance when you're dead and go too heaven too, I suppose. I hope you'll be a granny by then, I think you'd make a nice granny.

Lots of hugs,

Finn.
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio
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