Don’t Sit Down ‘Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair Open to Current Headliner Members

Banner credit to: Victoria Blythe

September 8th, 2025	Headliner Office
“English”	“Gaelic”

September 8th was a day that Alyss had no bad feelings about. The eighth day of the eighth ninth month, it felt calm, not like a catastrophe waiting to happen. She obviously had quite a bit to focus on, given that classes had only begun a week or so prior, but that didn’t mean she could ever let off the gas. In between racing, patrolling, and classes, she was worried about how her article was coming along. Although it was completely normal for it to be an imperfect piece of writing as she handed it over to the editors, it still bothered her not to see it to the fullest of it’s potential whilst within her care. So, Alyss had made the decision, at 5:00 pm on a Monday (ew) to actually fully dedicate herself to her work.

Once she’d convinced herself of this necessity, it was not going to leave her mind easily. So, she headed to the Headliner Office with a bounce in her step, running the lines over in her head while she went. Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest choice, but Alyss had never prided herself on being a straight O student. She tried her hardest, and sometimes was caught daydreaming— this wasn’t a testament against her ability, just her attention span. The door in sight, Alyss strode over and flung it open, enough to shove it close to slamming against the wall, but thankfully not hard enough to actually hit it. She managed to hold the door ajar for a moment in case anyone in the halls was also looking to get some writing done, before striding over to her desk. Alyss wasn’t focused on any other person within the room, not bothering with much of a greeting minus a head nod at the faces that she recognized.

As she let her weight sink into the cushion of the chair, Alyss let out a shallow breath. Writing would help her battle the slight stress she felt, recognizing the pile of responsibilities that seemed to keep growing the longer she existed within Hogwarts. Writing. That was what she was here for. Shifting a few supplies over so that they appeared organized at a glance (they didn’t), Alyss stared at the nearly finished article at her desk, having not bothered to put it away after her last session. “Alrighty…” She muttered, eyes narrowing as she read line by line, before pausing. The wording just… didn’t sound right. What was wrong with this sentence? Picking up her quill, Alyss snagged a sticky note from the stack on the edge of her desk, placing it beside the article.

Putting quill to paper, Alyss glanced at the original wording of the article as she began writing an alternative phrasing, happily going until something sounded right, before scratching out the original wording and replacing it, moving onto the next line. Satisfied, Alyss moved the sticky note out of the way, and continued. This cycle continued for a few minutes longer, before she looked back up at the top of the page, cracking her neck. Although it hadn’t been incredible long, it had been productive. Only… wait. Hadn’t Alyss just scratched out that phrase? Where was the blot of ink, that looked uncomfortably ugly that it was difficult to skim over? Had she forgotten to copy it to the paper, and only written it on the note? Alyss flipped through her sticky notes, horrified to find most of them, minus the top ones… blank. As if she had been sitting there, doing nothing, for half of her writing time. Confused, Alyss scribbled on a separate note, only for the ink to work fine. Clearly, that wasn’t the issue. She stared at the ink for a solid minute, before turning to scratch out the original mistake and replacing it with her chosen correction. It worked fine. Cautiously, the girl continued, glancing at her blot of ink from seconds earlier, as she continued down the page, finding some of her other corrections missing as well. Alyss fixed them, taking several minutes to recall what she had ended up replacing them with. Her eyes flicked over to the scribble of ink from earlier, and it had disappeared as well. As had her first revision that she had just written, merely 10 or so minutes prior, gone. Was she going crazy?

What on earth was going on?? She looked around wildly, gazing at the other people in the office. Surely she wasn’t the only one with this astonishing issue, right? Perhaps it was the quill. The ink worked fine, it just disappeared after a while. The paper…? No, the paper had to be normal. The quill was the easiest thing to be tampered with, perhaps someone had replaced it with something that would only write in some kind of invisible ink. Perhaps someone had bewitched it, or cursed it somehow. That had to be it. But it wasn’t as if Alyss had just… brought a second quill with her, in case her first stopped writing properly. Sighing, the girl stood from her desk and turned, searching for an empty table with a free quill. Simply borrowing one from a fellow writer wouldn’t be that big of a deal, right?

Then it dawned on her. This was the Headliner Office. There was no way they didn’t have any extra quills. Although Alyss didn’t know what was wrong with hers, she did know that it definitely needed replacing, no doubt within her mind. Not wanting to speak too loudly out of fear of interrupting an office of working writers, Alyss turned to the only one that seemed to be simply sitting there bored, no work in sight: the new Editor in Chief. Why he’d gotten it? It was a mystery. But surely if he was the supervisor of them all, he would know where extra writing utensils were. “Hey. Silas, right? Do you know where any extra quills might be located? Mine seems to be broken? Or something? Not actually sure.” Alyss twisted her face in annoyance, eyes glancing back and forth to see if she could find the extra quills herself. Alas, she didn’t, and so returned to looking at the younger boy, her expression a mix of politeness and impatience. The writing spark would only last so long, and a messed up quill was helping no one.

Being one of few seventh-years on the Hogwarts Headliner's ever-growing team of youths was not for the faint of heart. It seemed that every year the average age of the school paper's staff lowered even further, with such a thing being vastly aided with this year's hiring of two first-year students as the new Editor-in-Chief and Secretary. Upon the graduations of @Ruby Cazares and @Koko Riddle, the former of whom was a dear mentor to Aly and the latter of whom was an even dearer friend, the newly-minted seventh-year Ravenclaw had considered going up for one of the postings before deciding, in the end, that she quite liked her spot as a writer - and as the journalists' team lead, no less. Plus, with her Quidditch captaincy and upcoming N.E.W.T.s already putting more pressure on her than an Erumpent's morning migraine, it was probably best to let someone less busy than she take the job, even if it meant having someone with less tenure.

She had actually, at first, been decently excited for Silas Norwood and Livia Machiarahoweveryouspellit. They seemed like bright young kids, if a bit sardonic (Silas) and solemn (Livia). With only a week into school having passed, however, Aly was already beginning to regret not having attempted a move into at least one of the positions of power, because the Headliner offices were beginning to feel less like the peaceful place of refuge from the outside world she'd come to expect here and more like a warzone.

It was simple to put: the new EiC and Sec did not get along. Their bickering filled every corner of the Headliner offices like a choranaptyxic Occamy, reaching even into the bottom drawer of Aly's desk where her fat silver cat Dauncey usually slept whilst she worked (and she knew this because it meant he slept better at bedtime, rather than having gotten his rest in during the day and therefore waking her up several times for treats with his fluffy tail across her face at two or three a.m. each night). The arguments had made the whole place feel strange, as if things had moved - and maybe they had, for Aly's desk felt just a little bit off nowadays, and she wasn't quite sure why. Sure, the kids were probably fine job-wise, but Aly was beginning to remember why elder folks usually got hired for the higher-up jobs: children were to be children, and having two eleven-year-olds in charge of so many moving bits and cogs and pieces and parts meant the whole thing was bound to fall apart at some point.

She just hadn't expected that some point to be so soon.

Typing up her latest Magical & Muggle Meals article, the recipe for which she'd just perfected down in the kitchens, was her goal for after classes on Monday. She had gotten plenty of snacking in whilst cooking, so she was prepared to skip dinner if need be to bang out this article on time. There were already several of the younger folk in the office by the time Aly arrived, enchanted satchel slung over one shoulder and unbuttoning the top few buttons of her white uniform shirt so that her collarbones could breathe; the Ravenclaw tie she'd worn to classes that day was shoved haphazardly into the satchel as she plopped into her chair. Atop the desk was her newest possession, an antique enchanted typewriter that the seventh-year had purchased specially for this year's Headliner articles. Yanking her notes from her bag - some of the ink had smeared, since she'd thrown them in there before it had fully dried just minutes ago in the kitchens, but it was still legible enough - Aly smoothed them out on the desk beside her and reached for a quill. Though she would type the article, the seventh-year still found it easier to visually sketch out her plan before starting to write, lest she make mistakes that the editors would need to catch whilst typing. Uncorking the very normal and absolutely not switched-out at all (at least to her knowledge) pot of ink atop her desk, Aly dipped in the nib of the quill and drew a large circle in the centre of a piece of scrap parchment, humming to herself as she sketched. History... transition... time... ingredients... directions. Oh, where had she put that old Prophet article about the history of the dish in question?

Aly dove back into the bag to retrieve it, and by the time she came up for air with the requisite old newspaper edition clutched in one hand, the ink on her scrap parchment had dried - and thusly disappeared, for it had in fact been replaced after all. Aly did a double take at the blank parchment, sure she'd written on a piece just moments before; she made a big show of looking under her desk, standing and peeking over it, etc., to see if the paper she'd used to sketch out her article had grown legs and walked away (or perhaps been summoned by someone else). Upon failing to find the sketch, Aly glanced up to the other people in the room - one of whom was none other than Silas himself, the new EiC (that is, Exasperation-in-Charge). "Hey, Norwood," she called out across the office just moments after the blonde Alyss (or Tiny Aly, as Aly mentally called her) asked for a new quill. "While you're at it, did you see where my article sketch went? I swear it was right here." And judging by the lack of paper shreds in the drawer where Dauncey was curled up sleeping peacefully, the culprit was most likely a human rather than a cat.

@Silas Norwood @Livia Machavariani @Alyss Gilmour | September 8^th, 2025 | hair, fit, shoes, jewelry | #C47DDB
lovely creature & charmer affect everyone | sta 10, eva 14, str 5, wis 19, arc 7, acc 16

Date: 8th September, 2025

It wasn't necessarily avoidance, more like carefully executed evasion that he had somehow managed to avoid the headliner office the entire first week of school. What it certainly had nothing to do with was running into a certain Mr Archer Duncan. It had been months since their silence treaty but still the very thought of them sharing space gave him not only pause but great trepidation. Being away all summer had certainly helped but now he was back to the same problems he had escaped; just one of the many "outstanding" bullshits qualities of attending a magical boarding school.

A school where creatures threaten your lives or students, and by students I mean children and hormonal teens, carry around weapons capable of mass destruction. If ever there was a greater recipe for disaster he had surely yet to see it. So instead of the relative quiet of the headliner office, where the peaceful bliss of editing scribbles and hushed gasps of new ideas crafted the ambiance, Matthew had sought refuge in the hidden alcoves of the library. A self inflicted solitary confinement. Inevitably, however, the time would come where te article he had beautifully written up in pen - like a normal person - would have to be transcribed with quill and ink. One of the many wonders he found puzzling about a society so capable, yet so besotted with remaining locked in the medieval period.

Still given that it was a random Monday evening and days off of the deadline, Matthew deluded himself into believing that the hustle and bustle would be out and about therefore ensuring he could protect his peace. Such was, of course, not the case. Entering the doorway Matthew paused mid-air demanding his foot not to land on the creaky floorboards alerting everyone to his presence but gravity had other ideas. Straining his eyes and biting the inside of his gum he soldiered on deciding the embarrassment of walking out would far outweigh the discomfort of staying.

Settled too comfortably in the desk of their well missed graduate the young, firstie EIC sat smirking like he was in a Cheshire cat lookalike competition. It wasn't exactly clear how a pair so young had been tasked with filling the boots of Ruby and Koko but apparently, like all things Hogwarts, logic ceased to apply. Shuffling as silently as possible towards his desk in the most hidden little corner at the back of the room Matt cleared his throat and squeaked out, "Hey guys. Hey Cyrus." Remembering the name of the EIC had not particularly been a priority at their start of year meeting, not when Archer was somewhere in the crowd of staff. Plus Matthew was still recovering from a healthy dose of jet lag. Still he was pretty sure Cyrus was right, and anyways the voice came out so anxious he garnered no one even paid him any mind.

Determined to get this over with as soon as possible before the risks grew any greater, Matthew sat down at his chair and pulling out a quill began dashing out his article with cryptic annotations, illegible enough to convince even the most god-fearing muggle that aliens really existed. But no sooner had he started scribing, did the words begin to fade into nothingness. Clearly he had missed more in the meeting than he thought, since when did we start using invisible ink? Confused he went to open his mouth and ask Aly, the only sense among the crowd, but before he could seemingly the others were experiencing similar phenomena and all eyes seemed to point to Cyrus.

Interacting with @Silas Norwood, @Alyss Gilmour, and @Aly Salinger
Mentioning @Archer Duncan

♕- 17:00 of Sept. 8th, 2025 | Headliner Office, Corridors -♕

A newfangled hesitation made residence where the newly-dubbed Gryffindor's confidence once occupied; it was only the beginning of his second week at Hogwarts, but the Toussaint boy couldn't help but dread Headliner with each passing day. Would Alphonse have to strongarm someone to work on his behalf every edition, or would the team become privy of the boy’s actual lack of contribution first?

It was only three years into Alphonse's academic career, and his path had been disgruntled and gnarled with nothing but uncertainty and torment—albeit mostly self-conceived and some instances potentially deserved—but uncertainty and torment no less. His position(s) on the Headliner team only convienently added to the lion-boy's growing apprehension of adjusting to the pompous culture, supercilious student body, and grating class schedules that was Hogwarts. One would assume Alphonse could assimilate in peace seeing as though this was his third school, but his meddling Herbology Professor mother had other plans for her eldest boy.

Her placing Alphonse on the newspaper team had been a heartfelt chessmove, but to him it felt as another annoying obstacle. Another problem to solve due to the boy's lack of understanding of written British-English rules and overall lack of interest. The Toussaint boy's solution? Turn it into someone else's problem: 1st year Maisie, to be exact. Until the Hufflepuff had produced and delivered the Gryffindor with two articles about the gods knew what, the boy evaded all the Headliner like the plague—whatever it took to avoid arousing suspicion for his deeds.

Like one of the gods answering a long-awaited prophecy, Maisie delivered well on her promise a few days later—not that Alphonse truly had given her the option to fail, but her work was solid nonetheless.

Two articles had been retrieved; one centered on Professors and the other on Prefects. A classic move and written piece for someone simply trying to navigate her way around Hogwarts just as Alphonse was. With that burden lifted from his shoulders, the Toussaint was beginning to feel more attuned to his natural self-assuredness. Fellow students who would lay eyes upon the Caribbean-bred international transfer student would only see the smug, sharp, and deliberate lion boy who feared nothing and cared even less. And they would be right.

As Alphonse's long legs swaggered about the castle's corridors, his backpack jostled against his spine where class assignments, articles, and other items remained. Papers and various items that the boy figured would be better left at a Headliner workstation, should he be so lucky to occupy an empty one.

Entering the doorway that served as a headquarters for Headliner, he continued to bounce a small rubber ball to maintain his Quidditch-reflexes upon the rebound, but also announce his presence among his peers. With the exception of Matthew, the rest of them were all strangers. It was good to see Campbell again, thankfully less charred this go around, but the boy seemed nice enough following their interview last April and their unfortunate run-in at Spring ball.

As his oak-brown gaze searched for an empty station, a subtle upwards nod would be bestowed to the group, but only Matthew and the supposed EiC would recieve actual greeting. "Que lo que, mano," the Gryffindor spoke to the firstie with a confident smirk pressed against his lips before glancing into Matthew's direction, "Campbell, good to see you again." What's up, bro?

Sliding into one station that looked somewhat abandoned aside from a dusty nameplate reading 'Remedy Norden,' Alphonse chucked it over his shoulder without second thought and began unpacking items from his backpack. Out of the loose papers, inkwell, quill, a football, and other various keepsakes, only a sleek pair of designer glasses and fancy, gold foil-adorned Russian tarot cards from his uncle Aulya would be treated with care.

A sigh escaped from Alphonse's lips in boredom and loathing of the quietness of the room, and began to fold one of the loose papers—potentially someone's article to be edited—into an airplane and tossed it lazily across the room.

——interactions. @Silas Norwood, @ Aly Salinger, @Alyss Gilmour, @Matthew Campbell
——notes. Mentioning mine & @Maisie Fenwick Rose Williams' thread

More and more people seemed to trickle into the cramped offices of the Headliner, muting the golden lantern-lit and candlelight glow further and further as more of the light sources were blocked from Aly's view by various bodies. She continued to search, mostly annoyed but also vaguely frantic, for her article sketch. Her notes were fine - untouched, still sitting pretty (if slightly smudged) atop her desk - and Dauncey, upon even further inspection, really didn't seem to have any paper bits hidden in his whiskers or under the thick, soft fur of his silver belly, so it wasn't that he had eaten it whilst Aly's back was turned and had just gotten better at hiding his savagery. But then, the others began to speak up, one by one.

@Matthew Campbell, a third-year in Slytherin, didn't have anything to say other than calling Silas by an incorrect name - something at which Aly vaguely snickered, but did try to keep inside - nor did the new exchange student, @Alphonse Toussaint, who instead seemed to be in the process of annoying Aly even further by throwing a piece of parchment folded into some sort of flying shape. It didn't seem to be quite as aerodynamic as a broomstick, and Aly hunted after it with all the vigor Dauncey never had when trying to chase down rats in Ravenclaw Tower, unfolding the unknown origami only to find that it was not her article sketch after all. It was someone's article, but not Aly's, by the looks of it. Still, she traipsed back to her desk and tried her best to smooth the crinkled parchment against the sharp edge of the wooden table, shooting Alphonse a frustrated look. "You know, you should treat these with more respect," she murmured under her breath. "Folks have worked hard on them." Whether he heard her or not was none of Aly's business. Not her circus. Not her monkeys.

It was @Archer Duncan, though, who pointed out the very obvious issue that neither of the Alys had seemed to notice. Not only did he, in quite a plain and blasé manner, offer up that they were all well and truly screwed (in... less kind words) with Silas as their Editor-in-Chief for the year, but Archer also - additionally not in the kindest words he could have chosen - suggested that it might be the girls' faults for not having kept a closer eye on their writing utensils. Aly bolted up straight in her chair, eyes widening, and grabbed for the pot of ink that had been sitting here on her desk. You know, now that she thought of it, the inkwell had been close to empty last week - a punishment, no doubt, for forgetting to purchase more at Diagon Alley before the beginning of the school year - and now, here it was, glimmering bright and nearly full. "Oh, Lear's gnarliest nose hairs," she muttered angrily, uncorking it and tilting the pot to its side so that a few droplets spilled out onto a nearby sheet of (what she hoped was blank) parchment. "You lot had best not have done what I think you've done..." But they had, in fact, carried out exactly such a heinous act. And Aly was none too happy about it.

The more the disappearing ink faded before her very eyes, the redder her freckled face became, until it might have been that she had eaten too many Pepper Imps, for smoke was all but spurting out of her ears.

The seventh-year whirled upon her Editor-in-Crime, practically purple with rage. "You - you - you absolute imp! Where exactly do you get off, messing with our stations like that?" Her angry fingers fumbled for her wand in the pocket of her trousers, losing coordination the angrier she became. "I'll have you know that I have N.E.W.T.s to study for, and that's why I'm not in your position. But look who's talking! It's not like you're doing very much of running the paper, either - looks to me more like you prefer to run your fat mouth!"

Her fingers seized her wand, and Aly whipped it out with a flourish that seemed more hurried than dramatic. Although she highly doubted this little maggot of a first-year could hold a wand, much less cast defensive spells with one, she still didn't want anyone to doubt her unofficial authority or move to stop her before she could do what she had sort of been dreaming of doing since @Silas Norwood had taken up the mantle of Idjit-in-Chief. Drawing her wand in a large circle over her head, as if to draw up all the pent-up energy and frustration they'd been having with this absolute bum for the past week from the surrounding room and into her curse, she flashed her wandtip in the shape of a key quicker than he could react. "Petrificus Totalus!"

The spell ripped from her with force and fury, crackling in the coloured light all the way across the room until it smacked with equal power into its desired target. Knowing this since her third year had made Aly quite skilled with such a charm - thank you, Professor Lécuyer - and suddenly, the room wouldn't have to worry about Norwood's obnoxious commentary quite so much anymore.

She stood from her chair, the anger still emanating from her as if in soft waves, and sent what she hoped was a somewhat intimidating glare around to the students who were in attendance, as if to say, Don't try to defend him, or I will make sure you're next. Despite certain happenings from over the summer involving house-elves and particularly strong kicks and never-ending chasms, Aly Salinger was not a violent person by nature. But she did value her work time and her carefully purchased belongings, and she would let no idiot firstie come in the way of that. Marching over to the petrified Silas, Aly tried her best to prop him up against a chair and roll (or perhaps closer to push) him into the closet that was, mercifully, just behind his desk. Often stocked with extra school supplies and parchment and cameras for interviewing, it would add one more item to its stock: a particularly useless Editor-in-Collapse.

"Well? Come on, now," she said to no one in particular with a hefty grunt, shoving the rigid board that was Silas into the chair. "Let's get him in this closet so we can all go about getting on with our work days, now, shan't we?" Whether the other students helped or not, Aly was shutting this numpty in the closet, come hippogriffs or high water.

also mentions @Alyss Gilmour | September 8^th, 2025 | hair, fit, shoes, jewelry | #C47DDB
lovely creature & charmer affect everyone | sta 10, eva 14, str 5, wis 19, arc 7, acc 16

Reducio

Silas gave permission for an auto-hit.
Rolls for the WIS anyway:

Date: 8th September, 2025

As it turned out Cyrus was in fact called Silas which on any ordinary day would've sent Matthew into a spiral of self harassment. Fortunately he had other more pressing matters on his mind, and once the timely reveal that Silas had been the prankster, Matthew would no longer give a rat's arse what his name was, as prick suited him just fine. Still in truth the young snakes eyes would not be drawn to the mischief of the head editor, at least not for the moment, for their were much bigger problems in his vicinity.

To say that Alphonse's presence was like a breath of fresh air was an understatement, it was more than that, it was a genuine comfort. Matthew could relax in his presence knowing that he was supported in an otherwise hostile environment. The headliner office wasn't a war zone, well not yet, but it certainly wasn't a place that brought him much peace. There was the strung up workaholics like Salanger, the blasé new firsties who had somehow assumed creative control, and then the devil incarnate, otherwise known as Archer Duncan. Alyss seemed nice enough, her bright wardrobe and aesthetic always lit up the room but he couldn't say they had interacted much. With her being a Slytherin his guard was instinctively up and given their closeness in age it was likely she had heard of his poisoned reputation.

So perhaps hostile wasn't the right word, but without Alphonse he without a doubt would have felt out of place. Forever the outcast in his own story. Still that charming, almost glowing smirk on the Toussaint was enough to quell even the harshest thoughts and he gladly welcomed the presence sliding up to what was once Remedy's station. "Alphonse, I didn't realise you were transferring too, you Toussaint's can't get enough of this place! It's great, and rare," - he jested, "to see a friendly face." The Haitian boy didn't only bring comfort however, as the painful memory of smoke and ash settled in his lungs, nagging against his collar where the subtle burn marks still remained.

Maybe it was an omen, maybe the fates were having their foreshadowed fun of torment. Either way the resulting effect was as unwelcome as the person who had brought it. Archer Theodore Duncan. Eyes met but no reaction would betray the strain of their relationship, before they could even settle a purposeful cough was made and the palpable tension between them was broken, disguised behind pleasantries. Still Archer seemed different, he wasn't as much the broken soul last year had forged him into, he seemed lighter. Whether it was an act or not, Matthew couldn't help but feel happy for him. Their past was messy, their present non existent and their future uncertain but Matthew no longer held any anger towards him.

It wasn't hatred he stared at him with, but disappointment. The disappointment of knowing how incredible the what if could have been. The disappointment of failing to help someone whose suffering was engrained within your very DNA.

So when Matthew described him as the devil incarnate, he didn't mean Archer was the embodiment of evil. No he preferred to think of the devil from his origin, light-bringer. Someone who had so much potential but in their darkest hour was turned away and cast aside, by those they had entrusted with their truths. There was no doubt that the story was far more complicated than that, but Matthew never really liked the thought that the victors always wrote the history books. It was too black and white in a world so bursting with vibrancy and colour. Thus Archer was his devil incarnate, but not a fiend, a morning star too far away to reach, but ever present.

The emotions caught in his throat for a moment while Archer chatted with the other headliner members. Matthew's own mind was adrift taking his hearing with him so the words spoken went unnoticed. A soft hum played in his ears like being underwater as he pondered over the many mistakes they had both made, rendering him completely vacant until a crash broke him from his trance. Head snapping rapidly to the floor behind him his eyes flashed, bewildered to see the child petrified on the floor. Searching the room for the source he watched as the seventh year had the audacity to act casual about her actions.

"What in the ever loving fuck Aly!" Yet it certainly wasn't a question. "He's like 10 years old you melt." Drawing his own wand he flicked it rapidly towards the frozen firstie behind him and cast, "finite incantatem" with all the practiced finesse of a seasoned duellist. Clearly he wasn't the only one to have lost his head today.

Interacting with @Silas Norwood, @Alyss Gilmour, @Aly Salinger,
@Archer Duncan, and @Alphonse Toussaint

“Petrificus Totalus!”

With a strong flourish and a flick, the spell cut through the air before Archer could react. With a duellist’s instinct he should have jumped into a defensive spell or a counter-charm, but instead he remained stationary, still sat at his desk with the utmost carelessness. Despite Aly Salinger’s reputation as a competent spellswoman, Archer was far from frozen in fear. Instead, he crossed his legs, and pen scrawling lazily across a stray piece of parchment with a smudge of blue, watched as the Headliner office became the piste with the additional weapon of emotion.

If one were to think Archer Duncan valued justice, they would be sorely mistaken. No, caught in a swirl of sudden, inexplicable joy he simply valued entertainment. From the moment he had met him, throwing a ball around the common room while complaining at its decrepit nature, engaging in arguments with his fellow housemates, Archer had found him a source of bemusement. And right now, it was certainly true that Archer was graciously entertained.

He leaned over in mild curiosity, one hand gripping his pen as the other was set casually on his armrest, rolling his chair over just slightly to look Silas in his dark eyes. He studied his petrified body, as if he were a particularly interesting specimen in his collection. Then he paused, and offered him a playful wink, as if this was all a joke.

“Let's get him in this closet so we can all go about getting on with our work days, now, shan't we?”

To be a spectator was always of the highest finesse; Archer would not lower himself to join into their war. Only the noblest stay in the stands as they watched, only the poorest stooped themselves to the point of fighting. Any intervention meant being pulled in by the foot and trapped inside the cyclone of chaos. The choice was an evident, either the two remaining members join into Archer’s new source of amusement, or they smirk at the petty mess before them with him. The boy had chosen the more logical option, but if anyone else decided to thrown themselves in as sacrifice for his comedy show, he couldn’t stop him. They would inevitably divide into two sides: one without rationality, and one with.

With all due respect, Aly looked phenomenally mad as she waved her wand about at an eleven year old like a crazed woman. It was one thing to be disappointed in whoever appointed this new, incompetent batch of leadership, it was another completely to lash out as she had. Even Archer, with a muddled definition of justice as his own, had to wonder if the girl, now almost an adult, was behaving in her right mind. Despite his more reasonable thoughts, Archer might have considered joining her, if only for the fun of it.

On the opposing side was none other than Matthew Campbell, ever believing himself to be the knight on shining armour as he attempted to rescue Silas from his predicament. With the most refined language Matthew drew his wand at the boy frozen in Aly’s grip. Whether he would succeed or not Archer supposed he owed him some credit for being the only sane person in the room to act first. It was still ingrained into his memory of when the boy had blamed Archer for being a bystander. At least he was no hypocrite, but that did not mean Archer was going to act today.

He had his lines in the sand; he just did not draw them at a little bondage and suffocation.

@Silas Norwood, @Matthew Campbell, @Aly Salinger

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