WE CALL IT A SHAM OPEN

Made by the amazing Matthew Campbell

She smiled lightly as Robin agreed not only to some additional handmade pins—and even to learn crochet! "Oh, yes, of course. I'd be glad to. We can crochet some in the common room one evening—like a little crafting party," she said excitedly. How many times had she tried to teach Avis some simple garter stitch and it had all gone to naught? Having a friend who was genuinely interested was a boon.

And Robin's friendship was exactly why she stood by her as not one but students seemed to pressure her into quieting down. Maisie's foot slipped back just ever so slightly as she saw the boy from the summer, Camille, come into view. He seemed decent enough, albeit a bit persnickety then. Now, he just seemed stupid. Obviously, you didn't call attention to something by being quiet. Her eyes narrowed.

"Handmade. Charming," he'd said, but his tone was clear and Maisie did not appreciate it. How many hours had she and her mum spent designing and sewing his grand ballet costume? "You wouldn't know quality if it bonked you over all-too-coiffed hair," she said, crossing her arms. And for a moment, she knew she shouldn't have said that to a client. But she also couldn't not stand up for her friend—and herself. Her grip tightened slightly on Robin's shoulder as a way of steadying herself.

At least meeting Robin's glance, she could see her friend seemed unfazed. And hopefully, Camille would simply go away—and the girl too. Robin had called her 'Libby' which didn't seem quite right. From the match she'd played in, she thought it had been something more like 'Livvy' maybe short for 'Olivia,' but she wasn't completely certain. She thought about asking to be sure, but everything was happening so fast, and Libby or Livvy wasn't helping.

And, strangely, she was talking to her. Maisie blinked, surprised her gesture had done the exact opposite of what she'd wanted. She took a moment to respond and in that moment, a bright star appeared in the form of their friend Addie, who rightly put both Camille and Libby/Livvy into place. "No worries. Here you go," she said as she passed her one of the buttons Robin had procured. Addie's courage had bought her time and resolve.

"I think," she started facing Libby/Livvy now, "No one can tell the future. But it won't change if we don't try." She paused for a moment, thinking that was a satisfactory response. But if the past few seconds had proved anything, it was that this first year wouldn't budge. So, she added shoving a flyer in her direction, "So, either try or leave."

But a boy nearby—she recognized him as a housemate but couldn't quite recall exactly his name either (Damien)—was taking a different approach: the diplomatic way. He seemed to be trying to bring everyone under one roof and keep the peace. A good idea in theory, but it seemed to be faltering a bit in practice. Still, she gave him a polite nod and smile because, unlike some other people, he at least seemed to have good intentions.

And he wasn't the only one with good intentions. "Elena, hi!" she waved at the Prefect, who'd always seemed so graceful and elegant. But perhaps more importantly, the moonchild was kind. And she seemed to have some connection with Camille. So, Maisie would let her try to coax him on side for the moment.

In truth, Maisie hadn't expected this kind of response at an event like this. She'd come as a journalist-in-training. But perhaps now, with her friends beside her, she was learning to be something different.

@Adeline Sprinks, @Elena Clark, @Damien Dragonclaw, @Camille De Varenne, @Robin Marie & @Livia Machavarini

As Crystal Thedora she walked into the room, Thedora slowed. Flyers were all over the place. on dishes, chairs, and tables. The posters seemed to be intended to be impossible to overlook. One poster was taken by her. Once, she read it. But then again.

Her chest became constricted. Not a surprise. She had moved past that. But an uneasy knowledge came on suddenly. A trial was hurried. A hasty decision. Order masquerading as fear. It brought back memories of the period when educators cautioned against poor reasoning and careless conclusions. However, this was not a lesson. This was real.

Watching the commotion around her, Crystal leaned against the wall. A few students shrugged as they glanced at the flyers. Others quickly tucked them aside as if they didn't want to appear concerned. A few paused to read, their expressions shifting as the meaning became clear. That was important. Small reactions were important. She held the flier in her hands after folding it carefully. She remembered the words. a fair trial. Fairness. bias. They weren't grand, dramatic concepts. They were simple. Things that were meant to be typical.

Crystal considered how simple it would be to turn away. To claim that it was not her issue. to concentrate on holidays, tests, and anything else. That option was there, appealing and accessible. She rejected it. Rather, she grabbed another flier at the closest table. Then another. She started putting them back where they had slipped, making sure they were visible and smoothing the edges.

As she went, her thoughts were unclouded. Peace was not the same as silence. Calm was not implied by passive. Standing up wasn't always loud or brave. It seems to be just showing up and staying at times. As a reminder rather than a memento, Crystal tucked one flyer inside her luggage. Later, she intended to read it again. To reflect. To get ready.

She wasn't relieved when she eventually moved on. It was intentional. The kind that took time to fade. Nothing ended with this. It was just the start. She also planned to participate in the protest. Because she will use her voice to speak for the professor who can't.

Roland's first months at Hogwarts were less glamorous than he expected. More often than not, either because of those -bloody!- shifting staircases or his totally crippled sense of direction, he ended up in irrelevant corridors. Besides, as the one and only child of an artistic couple, he had to face the wearisome task of adapting to a life in which he had to wear that uniform every single weekday and attend the lessons without a minute of delay. 'Is this a magical school or a military barracks?', he spent his first weeks protesting like that, 'Gosh, just let me wear a pair of jeans!'

Still, this disappointing air of mundaneness began to shift with the arrival of the last month of the year, the glorious December. Shift drastically. The Head of Ravenclaw, Professor Iwasaki, was arrested by the legal authorities. This was truly an unexpected turn of events. And, mind you, not for pilfering some galleons from the school vaults or some suitably disgraceful petty crime. Nay. According to the official story, the Professor was a werewolf, and apparently, a dangerous one, too, causing several people to fight for their lives now down at St Mungo's. Roland recalled his blood turning ice upon hearing the utterly shocking news. 'What on earth,' he thought, considerably bewildered, 'they entrusted children -us!- to such a man? Thank heavens I wasn't sorted into his house!'

He soon realised, however, that the matter was much more complex than his initial impression, shaped solely by his utter ignorance. Instead, it appeared this exceptionally fast conviction was steeped in a fair bit of politics. It turned out, however, Professor Iwasaki had a considerable number of sympathisers and supporters within the school, too many to be ignored, predominantly, yet not solely, Ravenclaws. The eleven-year-old quickly found himself drawn into their magnetic orbit.

Truth be told, Roland Domagoj's interest in the Iwasaki affair was not a perfectly mindful one. Did he actually know Professor Iwasaki? No. Was he well-educated regarding the nuances of the traditional discrimination against the werewolves? Hardly. He was a Muggle-born. He hadn't had enough time to dive into the sociopolitical jungles of the Wizarding World. Then why was he almost drawn into this particular cause?

Well, because he could not stand idly by. Firstly, for familial reasons. His father would sometimes attend protests against the demolition of Dover's cultural monuments, often ending up manhandled into police custody. And he was not even a native of the town! Roland, at eleven, felt that deeply internalised yearning to imitate him and thus, gain his approval. Secondly, because he derived a theatrical excitement from self-acquiring the role of the defender of the oppressed. 'Better ten guilty men go free,' His father's co-star in Hamlet, Ian, once claimed, 'than one innocent man imprisoned.' And finally, the copycat part of his childish soul, too, contributed its fair share to Roland's decision to engage in this cause. As far as he could observe, a certain Pericles Dralt was spearheading this crusade, and, boy, Roland practically idolised this senior eagle from afar. A broom racer, a writer, effortlessly cool, and almost an adult! If Roland had the means and skills to brew a Polyjuice Potion, he'd use it to experience what it felt like to be Pericles, but just for some hours. He was not that dissatisfied with himself, finding his life something to be missed.

With these thoughts in his mind, Roland encountered a cluster of flyers being distributed by a girl. The Marin boy approached her with purposeful steps, his almost-frail stature hopelessly trying to display some bravado. He hadn't met the girl before, and given the stark (and for Roland, saddening) contrast between his disappointing and her imposing heights, likely never would've approached otherwise. He observed the flyer carefully. As the Christmas holidays approached, Roland felt the excited throbs of his heart as he was about to be a part, for the very first time, of a meaningful cause. But... a fear, albeit momentarily, slipped through his mind - what if this gets him into trouble? But then again, he remembered his dad who, as a young artist, abandoned the world-renowned Conservatoire in Paris. 'When I return home,' he therefore concluded, 'I'll enter his study and let him know that I fought for an innocent man.'

Tilting his golden head upwards -by sheer necessity to meet the eyes of the tall girl distributing the flyers-, he offered a determined, if slightly dramatic, smile. "Well, I am just a first-year," he said, "but I shall do everything to be there in Diagon Alley. Until we get Professor Iwasaki back!"

And that was that. It was now his cause, too.

Interacting with @Dealla Prince, mentioning @Pericles Dralt

Just because Aly was a little late to the party didn't mean that she wasn't coming. The seventh-year Ravenclaw had been embroiled in this eagle-led plot to free their former Head of House, @Marcus Iwasaki, essentially from the start earlier in the week - having torn down flyers announcing his arrest in the common room and written to the Ministry in Professor Iwasaki's defence. Though Aly knew politics took time, she was disgusted by the lack of quick response on their government's part, especially due to how fast they seemed to be putting people into jail - couldn't they get them out with equal speed? Her fear and anger and frustration was bubbling up stronger with every day that went by, and along with her best mates Dee and Peri, Aly was determined to do something about it.

It had been her friends, really, who had suggested the protest; Aly was simply along for their ride, their beautiful minds spitting out more ideas than she could have hardly imagined. Rebelling against a controlling mother was one thing; protesting in Diagon Alley was another entirely, and this seventh-year's mind was still whirling with potential ideas on how she'd even convince her family to go to the alley on the day of the protest, let alone how she would slip away to join. But those plans could come at a later time. For now, Aly made it to the Great Hall slightly out of breath and with a few stray curls falling from her carefully pinned-up bun, the extra flyers Dee had left on her bed in their shared dormitory clutched safely in her hands. She spotted her best mate immediately, handing out the flyers by the double doors, though she appeared to be running low; Aly swooped in to her side with a flourish and a grin, replenishing some of the small stack in Dee's hands with a fair few from her own. "Having a lovely day as the Wizarding World's newest defender of justice?" she half-joked, half-panted, shoving a flyer towards a (nameless, faceless) younger student as they walked by. Her own catchphrase while handing it off was much less eloquent: "Hey, read this!"

It seemed that Dee had been more than successful so far in getting the word out; several students nearby were talking, and even more were yelling about unfairness and werewolf rights, which brought a true smile to Aly's face. Ah, perhaps the youth of tomorrow weren't so ruined after all. Peri had probably already been there, though Aly couldn't see his tell-tale shock of white hair anywhere - he had always been more timely than she. Still, the curly-haired Ravenclaw girl adopted her brightest, most winningest smile, then began to pass out flyers with more of a vengeance until the words coming out of her mouth didn't quite feel like words anymore: "Here, read this! Hey, read this! Hey you! Read this! Read this! Read this!"

Dec. 19, 2025 | outfit (in banner too), boots, red lip | #C47DDB | @Dealla Prince, @Pericles Dralt
lovely & charmer affect everyone | sta 10, eva 14, str 5, wis 19, arc 7, acc 17