Mistakes About to Be Made
November 1
The door to the headmaster's private study closed with a soft thoom, a sound that felt as if the air was sucked out of the space as the door was sealed. There was a sense of finality to that sound. No portraits adorned these walls, bare stone that was older than Britain. There was a space that bore no witness.
For those with Keen Eye or a wisdom of 20 or greater will notice: The stone walls were veined with silvery runes that barely pulsed in the dimness of the candlelit space. This was not the well-lit, ornate office that they saw during their interviews or the one that the students say day-to-day. This was one of those quieter, darker spaces in Hogwarts that had teeth.
Headmaster Lear sat across from the four of them, not behind a desk but rather in a ring of conjured chairs. A low black iron brazier flickered in the heart of the ring. The coals still fresh, as if the headmaster expected a long conversation. The room, nearly bare with the exception of a plain, well-worn desk and leather chair that seemed to lack notable enchantments and a humble bookshelf that held several handwritten journals and yearbooks dating back at least thirty years. The room smelled faintly of parchment, ash and something strange: peat smoke and stormwater. There was no window, or if there was, it was covered over. This was the sort of space that belonged to a man that enjoyed his privacy over his comfort.
He regarded them all quietly with a nod. A simple gesture to take an open chair. He did not offer a beverage and offer a sense of levity as he waited in silence. Then, with a sigh like armor settling, he began: "You are not here by accident," his voice rumbled like thunder over rough waters. "You were not hired for appearances, for bloodlines, for niceties," the pureblood continued, "you are here because the castle needs people who can survive the truth."
The flames in the brazier danced higher for a moment, casting the headmaster's expression into shifting shadows that seemed to deeper the age lines throughout his face. "The four heads of house and our deputy headmaster left because, yes" he admitted with a nod, "they were tired. But they were also being hunted: spiritually, politically, magically..." He let the statement linger in the air that now felt a bit too warm before he continued, "Hogwarts is under siege and not in a way that the Ministry will ever admit."
He would not excuse himself as he stood up and briefly turned his back to the party. On the small, dust-free bookshelf he would remove a wooden box about the size of a thin briefcase. He opened the lid, the humble contents included several hex-marked reports, some with charred corners, others with the Ministry seal badly smudged. He passed a few pages around. They would handle folded maps that felt worn, notices bearing the seal stamps from the Ministry of Magic, a few diagrams, incident reports and dream transcripts.
"A few years ago, a pair of hag covens took root, one in the forest and the other in the foundation of Hogwarts," he explained. Hags, seen as more akin to beasts than men, are often described as beings capable of speech and in some cases magic. The suggestion in their description, that they are threatening to the unwary, but only a threat in the same way as any dangerous magical creature, is a gross underestimation of their dangerous potential. "They are incredibly capable, on par... in fact, I would go as far to say, perhaps a bit beyond, the powerset of many skilled adult wizards," he admitted. "They represent old magic, Have proven themselves to be hungry, their rituals more powerful than many of the protective runes about the castle and grounds. They have stolen our students, corrupted wildlife and poisoned the roots of our very wards." In fact, they had once stolen even him. He has carried with him a haunted expression, an emptiness behind the eyes for years since.
"Meanwhile, a terrorist group known as SCAR," Yes, they knew the one. Anti-establishment. Anti-bloodline. Anti-everything characteristic of the wizarding world. "They struck Hogsmeade the other year, a few social events over the past few months." They had been marked in Solomon's mind Hogwarts as a symbol. They wanted to dismantle the school stone-by-stone, belief-by-belief.
He let out a sigh as he added, "and if that was not enough... the mushrooms are growing." One of the papers shared with the newest crop of academic administrators included a diagram of the school's mycelial overgrowth. It was primarily subterranean now, but it appeared that the diagram was in graphite and it had changed significantly over a span of time. A few years in truth.
"The Ministry knows," Solomon added, "they do not care." His voice was low now, bitter even. "In fact," his eyes darted around the obviously sealed room as if he was making final assurances before he carried on. "I suspect that the Ministry might be enabling it, actively or passively." The accusation hung in the air, the weight of those words so hesitantly spoken. That would mean that the Ministry was complicit in the death of dozens. "None of our requests for help have been answered. Every protective measure we propose is... delayed. Altered. Watered down." There was more to it, going back to Umbridge's murder several years earlier on school grounds. The convenient escape of a thief onto their grounds due to a registered artifact that transported the holder here specifically. Details he was uncertain he could trust even these four with.
"And the former Heads of House?" He was referring to the four who had stepped down weeks earlier: @Caradoc Browne, @Galahad Browne, Professor @Marcus Iwasaki, Professor @Lesmana Asmaralaya and of course the former deputy headmistress whose role remains unfilled, @Hjørdis Jensen. "The Ministry made their lives unlivable. career audits. Threatened family members, or at the very least the revelation of skeletons in their family closets. Unsanctioned inspections. At least two were followed home." It came out in a single long breath without pause at the point where punctuation should have been. He could not blame them for their near simultaneous departure, they still had facets of their life that they valued, things worth fighting for. Solomon Lear no longer had the same burdens.
"You are not here to simply guide students through exams. You are their guardians now. House leads, yes, but also battlefield commanders. Cultural anchors. Shields for every child in your care." He swallowed hard, "the other Professors and the students know bits and pieces, but they cannot know the whole truth. Not yet, I do not know who or what is watching. But, you must know what is really here. This castle breathes different air now. Old magic has been moving about here as well as a terrible darkness, a likely conspiracy. This is not a job. it is a vigil."
There is something about ambition, how it not only propels you but also defines you.
Mistakes About to Be Made
Japanese | English | Date: November 1, 2025 | Word Count 683/200Aiko was as prepared as she could be. The nerves of her first day had slightly wavered but honestly it would take her a bit to settle in. She was used to travel, and change, but that never made it any easier. This had been a hard choice, but one she was determined not to regret. She had needed the space, and step back from as much responsibility. She was confident that this role would be amazing, giving her back that connection with students she had felt was missing while headmistress of Mahoutokoro.
Still dressed in the clothes she had arrived in, Aiko couldn’t help but long to head to bed. It had been a long day, and she anticipated there would be several more in the coming weeks. But a meeting with the headmaster was not one she would miss, no matter how much she wished to have a moment to sit in silence and quiet. Specifically, one that didn’t seem to be charged with things left unsaid. She looked around, noting the bareness and knowing that this would not be what her office would be. Hers would instead invoke a sense of adventure, of wonder and color. But that was not the point today, and it would not be her main focus.
Taking a seat when indicated, Aiko carefully folded her hands on her lap, the usual posture her mother had instilled in her as a child, and one that she wasn’t sure how to not do. She listened with wide eyes as Lear spoke, her eyes widening slightly, her mouth falling slightly open, losing some of the sereneness that she wore naturally. She had felt that all four heads of houses stepping down had been odd, but she had been more focused on her own need to leave, then she had been on the reasoning behind the job openings. And now it seemed like there was more at play than she had thought, and her least favorite game, politics.
Taking the offered reports carefully, she glanced at the first one and then focused more carefully when she has the markings that meant they were likely Ministry documents. It seemed bizarre and almost clandestine to be huddled in this room with these obviously important documents.
Aiko nodded solemnly, recalling the explosions she and her students had experienced, and the days that had followed. It had required much adjustment, and talking, and in the end, she had felt odd taking on the role, but it was one that at the time made sense. And yet she had felt useless in helping those within her school move past the events.
Her nose crinkled at the mushrooms piece. She must admit, it seemed…odd. Fungal growth did not seem out of place, but the location, and the speed at which the situation had changed… well that did not seem normal, even in a magical school. Now Aiko was getting worried about a number of things. Was it paranoia if the clues were pointing in one direction, or was it simple detective work? Was it truly the Ministry at play or was it the terrorist group determined to destroy the world? Or worse were students involved in this somehow?
Honestly, she had very little clue how to respond. She knew that she would be charged with the students health and well-being, but as Lear had mentioned, it seemed like there was more at play than she had expected.
Speaking steadily, though that was the last thing she felt, Aiko spoke up “If they don’t know the whole truth, how can we ensure their protection? I’m sure I’m not alone in knowing that teenagers, especially with the abilities they all have are not the easiest to protect even from themselves, never mind an external threat.” She took a breath, and looked around at the other new heads. “I hope I’m not alone in not expecting this when I took the position. Though I do know I’ll do my best to ensure the students safety. They are certainly the most important thing and need to be guarded carefully.”
Student Account: Emma Wynn | iNPC Account: Louca Dufort
Mistakes About to Be Made
Date: 1 November 2025
Mentions: @Solomon Lear, @Aiko Mori, @Samuel Sauber, @Edith Alarie
Active abilities: Cat's Grace, Calming Presence
Stats:
Mentions: @Solomon Lear, @Aiko Mori, @Samuel Sauber, @Edith Alarie
Active abilities: Cat's Grace, Calming Presence
Stats:
Reducio
Stamina: 7 | Evasion: 11 | Strength: 0 | Wisdom: 20 | Arcane Power: 14 | Accuracy: 13
As much as she should have dedicated her initial attention to her colleagues, Jessamine could not help but glance about the space in intrigue. It was not what she had expected, although perhaps cosiness and teatime and cute, whimsical décor were not to be associated with Headmaster Solomon Lear. No matter how far off her speculations had been, the private space seemed to beckon, to whisper, to promise silence unless otherwise decreed. Jess's gaze caught on the low pulse of the runes on the wall 20 wisdom; her brow furrowed, and she immediately attempted to decode them, but she was stopped by remembering she ought to have a seat.
She kept to herself, only offering small nods of acknowledgement to the other new heads of house – a title that she was still not comfortable with herself, in truth – and focusing on the headmaster. Her eyes narrowed; her arms crossed over her chest. Hogwarts is under siege and not in a way that the Ministry will ever admit – what a warm welcome. The pieces, now coming together, very much seemed to fit, but Jessamine would have been lying if she had said she was glad of any of these developments, no matter how much clarity the presumably-veracious statements brought her. Although she'd certainly assumed something fishy was going on with the four heads of house and deputy headmistress suddenly resigning, she had assumed the cause was slightly more mundane and had certainly not looked forward to dealing with something bigger than whatever was occurring at the school.
Very selfishly, she did not want to be hunted.
Folding her hands in front of her on the table, Jessamine listened to the rest of the Headmaster's words. Had she been the type to always wear her heart on her sleeve, the mention of hags would have made her wrinkle her nose and narrow her eyes; as it was, she only looked on, intrigued. Hags more powerful than ancient magic, than the magical and runic wards protecting the school? Her first question was why nothing had been done sooner – if children were the future of the Ministry, it was, of course, against their best interest to let this continue, no? And poisoned wards spelled trouble. It was at that that Jessamine's eyes finally narrowed, taking in the Headmaster's haunted expression. Trouble, indeed, but what was happening now was certainly just the icing on the cake.
SCAR was more familiar territory. Not a surprise, just a disappointment, something she had vainly hoped would just 'go away' before her children were school-aged. It seemed she would not be getting that wish.
The mushrooms had her raising her eyebrows as she attempted to discern the information available in the diagram. Subterranean mushrooms, presumably with horrible effects, that the more curious and less intelligent of students would be able to find in ample supply... the implications left her scowling. That things would be covered up made sense – it was protection as much as it was an anti-panic measure – but something did not sit right. Jessamine's knuckles whitened as she pressed her fingers closer together. Selfishly, horribly, her thoughts were already beginning to focus on her own family, about what measures, if any, she could take to keep them safe, and she had to force herself to bring her attention back to the important thing today: the students.
Another thing loomed, at least for her – she'd been at the school again for, what, two months, consecutively? And hadn't known. Of course, it was understandable why the deeper, darker truths would be kept from those who did not need to know. But, surely, would they not be stronger together? She nodded slowly – whether she was agreeing or just taking in the information would be left up to interpretation. A vigil.
She did not want to speak, not even after Mori – because that had to be the one she did not know already – spoke. However, it was with Mori's first notion that Jessamine could agree. How were the students meant to protect themselves in the event of danger if they didn't have all of the relevant information? She nodded again, this time less slowly. Her voice was low when she added, 'If we're not to inform the students of the dangers, then it means we must take this... "vigil"... to heart. Observe, and explain how to react at the slightest indication of something wrong. But if the students were more aware, they would probably take matters into their own hands, and as you said, they are dangers unto themselves at times.' She paused, deciding not to comment as to whether or not she had expected such a conundrum. 'The safety of the students is paramount. Always. But if the Ministry itself is working against us, well, my question is if it's even possible to be proactive on our part. Must we simply lie in wait?'
She kept to herself, only offering small nods of acknowledgement to the other new heads of house – a title that she was still not comfortable with herself, in truth – and focusing on the headmaster. Her eyes narrowed; her arms crossed over her chest. Hogwarts is under siege and not in a way that the Ministry will ever admit – what a warm welcome. The pieces, now coming together, very much seemed to fit, but Jessamine would have been lying if she had said she was glad of any of these developments, no matter how much clarity the presumably-veracious statements brought her. Although she'd certainly assumed something fishy was going on with the four heads of house and deputy headmistress suddenly resigning, she had assumed the cause was slightly more mundane and had certainly not looked forward to dealing with something bigger than whatever was occurring at the school.
Very selfishly, she did not want to be hunted.
Folding her hands in front of her on the table, Jessamine listened to the rest of the Headmaster's words. Had she been the type to always wear her heart on her sleeve, the mention of hags would have made her wrinkle her nose and narrow her eyes; as it was, she only looked on, intrigued. Hags more powerful than ancient magic, than the magical and runic wards protecting the school? Her first question was why nothing had been done sooner – if children were the future of the Ministry, it was, of course, against their best interest to let this continue, no? And poisoned wards spelled trouble. It was at that that Jessamine's eyes finally narrowed, taking in the Headmaster's haunted expression. Trouble, indeed, but what was happening now was certainly just the icing on the cake.
SCAR was more familiar territory. Not a surprise, just a disappointment, something she had vainly hoped would just 'go away' before her children were school-aged. It seemed she would not be getting that wish.
The mushrooms had her raising her eyebrows as she attempted to discern the information available in the diagram. Subterranean mushrooms, presumably with horrible effects, that the more curious and less intelligent of students would be able to find in ample supply... the implications left her scowling. That things would be covered up made sense – it was protection as much as it was an anti-panic measure – but something did not sit right. Jessamine's knuckles whitened as she pressed her fingers closer together. Selfishly, horribly, her thoughts were already beginning to focus on her own family, about what measures, if any, she could take to keep them safe, and she had to force herself to bring her attention back to the important thing today: the students.
Another thing loomed, at least for her – she'd been at the school again for, what, two months, consecutively? And hadn't known. Of course, it was understandable why the deeper, darker truths would be kept from those who did not need to know. But, surely, would they not be stronger together? She nodded slowly – whether she was agreeing or just taking in the information would be left up to interpretation. A vigil.
She did not want to speak, not even after Mori – because that had to be the one she did not know already – spoke. However, it was with Mori's first notion that Jessamine could agree. How were the students meant to protect themselves in the event of danger if they didn't have all of the relevant information? She nodded again, this time less slowly. Her voice was low when she added, 'If we're not to inform the students of the dangers, then it means we must take this... "vigil"... to heart. Observe, and explain how to react at the slightest indication of something wrong. But if the students were more aware, they would probably take matters into their own hands, and as you said, they are dangers unto themselves at times.' She paused, deciding not to comment as to whether or not she had expected such a conundrum. 'The safety of the students is paramount. Always. But if the Ministry itself is working against us, well, my question is if it's even possible to be proactive on our part. Must we simply lie in wait?'
Mistakes About to Be Made
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
@Edith Alarie @Solomon Lear @Jessamine Lancaster @Aiko MoriHeadmaster's Office
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────Samuel Reinhard Sauber did not enjoy being summoned. Specially not a formal summon, delivered by owls or a house-elf. Those rarely heralded anything conducive to uninterrupted research, the likes of which he preferred to indulge himself in. Still, he had followed through, in a white cotton button-up and black slacks. He always came through when stakes were positioned beneath a veneer of routine. His instincts, honed long before he stepped back again inside the castle premises, recognized when the air around an invitation was more an ask than a request.
The door closed behind Samuel with a muffled thoom that reverberated through his soles. The sound wasn't loud, but final. The silence was intentional and expectant within the room. His crimson eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness of Solomon's room. No ornate decor, no grand windows in sight and no pretense of hospitality within its confines.
Only bare stone, etched beneath which's surface were silvery runes pulsing like veins as they would under skin. He noted them within seconds, they weren't ornamental, but rather measured, as if watching.
The chair ring that sat around Lear was functional, and appropriately brutalist looking. Solitude and discomfort were familiar allies to Samuel, and this room held both like old flames.
He didn't bother looking at the other tree, Lancaster, Alarie and Mori. Not out of discourtesy but necessity. His attention partitioned itself efficiently, devoting itself fully to the headmaster as he began to speak.
"You are not here by accident..."
Samuel felt his proverbial brow tilt, not in surprise but in recognition of a truth he'd suspected since he was deemed the Head of Slytherin. He hadn't sought one such title actively, he disliked the administrative noise, yet the position granted Samuel reach, influence and control over variables within the school that he could previously not touch.
Lear's words about surviving the truth made Samuel almost begin to contemplate leaving. Dark mysteries, entrenched conspiracies and hidden dangers that demanded emotional investment were things that interfered with his research, his autonomy. The shoulder that carried secrets were always weighed down by said secrets. They were the very reason he had left Ministry and it's endless labyrinth of secrets Samuel had been entrusted with.
But secrets were also the reasons he remained seated. Knowledge withheld was still knowledge, and he had never been able to stop seeking the truth once he sensed its contour, despite his better judgement.
Samuel picked up a page from Lear's burned hex-marked reports on the table, thumb brushing over the signed edge. Ministry ink, their formatting and familiar signatures scrawled at the bottom. He'd read versions of these before, might've contributed to a some, might've been contained in some. You'd never know.
Hags. Old magic. Missing students. Rituals potent enough to splinter fortifications. Samuel's expression did not move, his jaw tensed.
He set the paper down quietly.
The continuation of Lear's speech was neither shocking nor comforting. SCAR. Terrorism, political erosion, Strategic sabotage disguised as bureaucratic inefficiency. The ministry's apathetic response. Samuel was familiar with all those as he remained unchanged.
Lear's bitterness regarding their action was palpable, but for Samuel, it was simply confirmation. He did not believe the ministry to be careless. They were deliberate, even in their negligence. Specially in their negligence.
Then came the mention of the mycelial overgrowth, roots spreading under the school, the scientific curiosity that flickered in his chest was short-lived, overridden by the pragmatic calculation of threat potential. Whatever lived beneath or in the forest had been present with disturbing consistency.
Without interruption, Lear described the harassments, intimidation and the strategic ruin inflicted upon former heads of house. Family threats, skeletons in their closets, surveillance. Samuel removed his shades as the Headmaster spoke of former heads being tailed. The gesture wasn't emotional. The red of his irises caught brazier's light like twin cuts of garnet. Such leverage would not work on him.
No Partner.
No Children.
No Family he acknowledged.
No Skeleton he had not already buried himself.
He could not be pressured the way his predecessors had been.
Lear's speech crescended towards duty, guardianship, battle command and vigilance. Protecting children not only academically but spiritually, politically and Physically. Acting as shields in a war most of school was unaware of.
Samuel disagreed but didn't voice so. Not on the necessity of protection, but on the implication that he would ever lead children into war. These wet behind the ear good for nothings, were not his soldiers. They were not soldiers at all. Whatever battle loomed, belonged to adults.
He would never place a weapon in a child's hand and call it survival.
He adjusted his glasses back onto bridge of his nose. Voice low and measured, with the clinical cadence he usually carried. He began, devoid of ornamentation, "Hogwarts may be under siege, but the students are not combatants. I will not march eleven-year olds towards a threat far beyond their comprehension."
The brazier crackled once, sound swallowed by stone, "That said" he continued, "ignorance is a fragile shield. and panic is far more dangerous than truth. We must determine what they need to know, when and at what cost this disclosure would come."
His crimson eyes flicked towards the runes pulsing along the walls;
"Information control is necessary, strategic, selective transparency is preferable to blindfolds. For now, keeping them unaware is the safer path."
He stood up,
"In the meantime, we gather data. Test validity, and evaluate our challenges. Utilize external channels and we document everything the Ministry might have ignored."
"For whatever skeletons lurk in your closers.." His gaze met the other three without flinching. "Bury them, burn them, cut yourself loose. You cannot protect yourself or this castle while dragging corpses behind you."
He sat back slightly, posture straight.
"I did not volunteer for this vigil. But I accept it, and I do not abandon posts I accept. You will have my cooperation and my competence."
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────Sorry this took a little too long than anticipated.
Seven Minutes is all I can spare to grade your HW.
[ sta ] 10 [ eva ] 15 [ str ] 01 [ wis ] 20 [ arc ] 10 [ acc ] 14
Mistakes About to Be Made
Everyone save the Head of Hufflepuff had arrived. Solomon found Professor Edith Alarie's absence both glaring and instructive, though the Headmaster made no remark on it. Edith was, in Solomon's estimation, both impeccably qualified, competent to the letter of expectation; and yet entirely forgettable. A strange but increasingly common condition he had also observed in some of the other Professors. There was a hollowness to many of his peers of late, a carefully maintained vacancy where conviction and ambition ought to reside. At times, Solomon found himself wondering whether they were truly people at all, or merely roles being performed convincingly enough to escape notice. But perhaps that was the paranoia talking once again.
The former Heads of House, Caradoc and Galahad Browne, Lesmana Asmaralaya, Nora Jensen and Marcus Iwasaki had understood the danger, but he sometimes wondered if they truly grasped the depth of it all. That much Solomon did not fault the former heads of houses for for. They recognized the threat inherent in their positions and chose to forfeit the brittle protection afforded by the castle and the children they taught. Some erroneously believe that they would not be followed, that they would not be seen as they threat they are. What hos former peers failed to grasp was the nature of the peril itself: not merely that students were at risk, nor even that it was the heads of houses' duty to shield them, but that the threat was not something with claws or a name. It was not a beast one could point to, warn against, or prepare for with a lesson plan and a list of counterspells.
The threat they faced was structural, political, deliberate and larger than any one of them. "In brief," Solomon said at last, his voice low and even, "there is a political undertow within Hogwarts. As you are well aware, several of our students come from… darker wizarding families."
The phrase earned a quiet scoff from him, barely concealed. Performative villainy had become fashionable: identity crises dressed in black, rebellion reduced to aesthetic. Children with names like blade and dagger, misery and gloom. An edginess that was almost comical. Those children and by extension their families did not and never truly did concern him.
"I am not worried about the ones who build their entire sense of self around being "evil"," a word that even earned itself air-quotes from the older-seeming man. Children such as them did not understand the concept of dark wizardry and the true costs associated. Dark magic was not evil, it was magic of decay and cost. They would find themselves emptied out and diminished long before they were a threat to anyone besides themselves.
"I am concerned about the ones who advocate for inclusivity when they have the most to lose." The accusation hung in the air, unspoken yet unmistakable. This was not chaos or chance. This was a blood war, one that was cleverly engineered. And the architects of it never dirtied their hands. They relied on old families who wore purity like a standard to play the villains and to fight loudly and visibly. Meanwhile, the true instigators worked quietly, tugging threads from behind the curtain. They drove marginalized half-breeds to desperation, dangled acceptance just beyond reach, granted slivers of progress only to ensure it was stripped away by someone else's hand.
Outrage became plausible deniability. Progress became bait. And the magical world fell for it. As for the professors: they were meant to be malleable, compliant, exhausted into silence. With so many students and not enough hands, this was not a challenge for the powers that be to accomplish. The heads of house, on the other hand, had a different vantage point. A census of it all. A global view of the children: their growing numbers, diversity and rage.
The Heads of House needed to be terrified into compliance. Made aware that there were terrors greater than themselves and if sides needed to be taken that they would pick the 'right' side. That, Solomon believed, was the miscalculation. In their arrogance these puppeteers had left their precious legacy: children, names, and futures, within Solomon's reach. And Solomon Lear did not waste what was placed in his care.
"What you do not know and I have no means of proving what I say to you is true: those terror attacks in Hogsmeade were not the work of SCAR," or Scarab for the modern audience. They perhaps never asked when both incidents happened: why Hogsmeade? Why when there was an international joint effort? What did happen to those two missing headmasters? Answers Solomon did not have, but he recognized the patterns clearly. The point was divisive efforts, seeing half-breeds, cursed children, muggle borns and those from relatively pedestrian families serving as scarifies for a greater cause - the continuation of power for the elite few.
The former Heads of House, Caradoc and Galahad Browne, Lesmana Asmaralaya, Nora Jensen and Marcus Iwasaki had understood the danger, but he sometimes wondered if they truly grasped the depth of it all. That much Solomon did not fault the former heads of houses for for. They recognized the threat inherent in their positions and chose to forfeit the brittle protection afforded by the castle and the children they taught. Some erroneously believe that they would not be followed, that they would not be seen as they threat they are. What hos former peers failed to grasp was the nature of the peril itself: not merely that students were at risk, nor even that it was the heads of houses' duty to shield them, but that the threat was not something with claws or a name. It was not a beast one could point to, warn against, or prepare for with a lesson plan and a list of counterspells.
The threat they faced was structural, political, deliberate and larger than any one of them. "In brief," Solomon said at last, his voice low and even, "there is a political undertow within Hogwarts. As you are well aware, several of our students come from… darker wizarding families."
The phrase earned a quiet scoff from him, barely concealed. Performative villainy had become fashionable: identity crises dressed in black, rebellion reduced to aesthetic. Children with names like blade and dagger, misery and gloom. An edginess that was almost comical. Those children and by extension their families did not and never truly did concern him.
"I am not worried about the ones who build their entire sense of self around being "evil"," a word that even earned itself air-quotes from the older-seeming man. Children such as them did not understand the concept of dark wizardry and the true costs associated. Dark magic was not evil, it was magic of decay and cost. They would find themselves emptied out and diminished long before they were a threat to anyone besides themselves.
"I am concerned about the ones who advocate for inclusivity when they have the most to lose." The accusation hung in the air, unspoken yet unmistakable. This was not chaos or chance. This was a blood war, one that was cleverly engineered. And the architects of it never dirtied their hands. They relied on old families who wore purity like a standard to play the villains and to fight loudly and visibly. Meanwhile, the true instigators worked quietly, tugging threads from behind the curtain. They drove marginalized half-breeds to desperation, dangled acceptance just beyond reach, granted slivers of progress only to ensure it was stripped away by someone else's hand.
Outrage became plausible deniability. Progress became bait. And the magical world fell for it. As for the professors: they were meant to be malleable, compliant, exhausted into silence. With so many students and not enough hands, this was not a challenge for the powers that be to accomplish. The heads of house, on the other hand, had a different vantage point. A census of it all. A global view of the children: their growing numbers, diversity and rage.
The Heads of House needed to be terrified into compliance. Made aware that there were terrors greater than themselves and if sides needed to be taken that they would pick the 'right' side. That, Solomon believed, was the miscalculation. In their arrogance these puppeteers had left their precious legacy: children, names, and futures, within Solomon's reach. And Solomon Lear did not waste what was placed in his care.
"What you do not know and I have no means of proving what I say to you is true: those terror attacks in Hogsmeade were not the work of SCAR," or Scarab for the modern audience. They perhaps never asked when both incidents happened: why Hogsmeade? Why when there was an international joint effort? What did happen to those two missing headmasters? Answers Solomon did not have, but he recognized the patterns clearly. The point was divisive efforts, seeing half-breeds, cursed children, muggle borns and those from relatively pedestrian families serving as scarifies for a greater cause - the continuation of power for the elite few.
There is something about ambition, how it not only propels you but also defines you.
Mistakes About to Be Made
Japanese | English | Date: November 1, 2025 | Word Count 475/200Aiko nodded at Ms. Lancaster’s words. It seemed improbable that they could be proactive, especially against a political body that had such clout. But she agreed, the student’s safety was the most important piece. And while she couldn’t say political maneuvering was her strong suit, she was willing to get involved if needed. Perhaps her mother’s lessons would come in handy even if she hadn’t appreciated them at the time and she actively worked to go against them most times.
Aiko raised her right eyebrow at Sauber’s words. She couldn’t say she fully agreed about controlling information and ignorance but could at least agree that teenagers with this information were more likely to cause panic, and discord in the school. If they could keep the usual shenanigans going, typically the usual house rivalries about things like sports or the House Cup, then perhaps it would be a necessary distraction from the darker side of things. Though keeping information did at times end up blowing up in one’s face. They’d just have to actively work against that, and hope their efforts were not in vain. Something made even harder by the fact that there were four new head of houses at the same time. It seemed like her previous trial by fire of becoming Headmistress after the Hogsmeade incident had been good preparation.
Aiko’s eyes widened at Sauber’s words about skeletons in the closet. She couldn’t say she had any skeletons. And cutting herself loose from her parents was already something she had been actively working on, though admittedly she had held hope that she could maintain a distant relationship with her father. But she had no children, and was an only child so had no siblings. The worst wound that someone could strike would be by striking at Mahoutokoro and its students, but she was sure that they were likely already in the line of fire.
Headmaster Lear’s words about the ….darker families resonated with her. Her family perhaps hadn’t been involved, but she knew what pressure from family members was like, and she held out hope that some of the students wouldn’t be inclined to the darkness just because of their family. Aiko nodded along, not interrupting but to show she agreed with his words.
Gasping, Aiko’s hand went to her mouth. She had been there for the Hogsmeade attack, and her former headmistress was still missing. ”Surely the Ministry wouldn’t go that far. That was awful! And Headmistress Sato is still considered missing. Would they have taken her hostage? That seems a little far in this battle, especially given it may have been their opening move.” Even as she said it, she had the dreadful feeling that it was true. After all, power tended to corrupt and history showed that many would go that far and farther in the name of gaining more.
Student Account: Emma Wynn | iNPC Account: Louca Dufort
Mistakes About to Be Made
1st November 2025
Headmaster's Office
Although new opportunities were surely meant to hold some semblance of a lack of comfort, Jessamine had not expected to so quickly be thrust out of her comfort zone. Sauber's words served as a coldly-served reminder of the gravity of the situation. Children were not soldiers. It wasn't a statement one could argue with. In fact, that some thought that statement untrue was something that had always sat poorly Jessamine, even since she herself was a student. Why had terrorists and warmongering dark wizards always sought to target schools? To hit their opponents where it hurt most?
She didn't reply, instead setting her jaw settle and her teeth grind as she slowly, quietly exhaled.
She would remain quiet, more keen to observe than to provide her thoughts. Her hands rested folded in her lap. Some of the information was nothing new. Politics, dark wizards, all of that was as old as time itself. Edginess, yeah, that was normal. Good could combat evil, it just took conviction, training and timing – and, more importantly, that the evil was not targeting children, and that the 'good' side was not intending to use children as soldiers.
When Sauber's gaze met hers, he would not find indifference. What did Sauber know of skeletons, of bonds? Of course, Jessamine knew little about the man, but, if nothing else, he looked young. All she could think about were her husband and children and how it would surely be worse to strain her family. Being a parent did not mean she could not protect the students here while keeping her own safe and sound. But that did not mean her heart rate did not heighten, that she hadn't put extra willpower into steadying her breathing.
(Maybe this had been a bad idea, after all.)
Worse, Lear's next statement hit like an icicle between the ribs. I am concerned about the ones who advocate for inclusivity when they have the most to lose. Jessamine forced her fingers not to tense, her gaze not to waver. The problem was those who truly meant harm, not those who actively sought to avoid it. But she couldn't help but wonder – how wrong might she have been?
...those terror attacks in Hogsmeade were not the work of SCAR.
Of all the statements, that was the most grounding. The situation was larger than one person. Her ties, her fears, they did not matter. She did not react outwardly, aside from chewing the inside of her cheek and then stopping herself. Although the idea – the admission, the utterance of information – was grounding, it was not a surprise. Anyone worth their salt knew the Ministry was often full of shit. Orchestrating a terrorist attack did not really sound above them. Neither did kidnapping prolific figures. When you have an agenda, you're usually pretty willing to go to excessive means to follow it.
Jessamine glanced at Mori, lifting an eyebrow when the other woman suggested the former headmistress of Mahoutokoro might have been taken hostage. This, Jessamine doubted – not because she thought the Ministry was full of rainbows and butterflies, but rather because she couldn't see the logistic value in such an action. 'Well, I wouldn't put it past them, but it just doesn't make sense.' She paused, unable to utter the rest – that she didn't quite think holding someone hostage would be particularly useful when the smarter thing was to get rid of them or avoid making a bigger scene. Hostages were traceable. 'Maybe she does not want to be found,' Jessamine mused. Slowly, she would look at her colleagues, gauging their reactions to the information at hand.
Headmaster's Office
Although new opportunities were surely meant to hold some semblance of a lack of comfort, Jessamine had not expected to so quickly be thrust out of her comfort zone. Sauber's words served as a coldly-served reminder of the gravity of the situation. Children were not soldiers. It wasn't a statement one could argue with. In fact, that some thought that statement untrue was something that had always sat poorly Jessamine, even since she herself was a student. Why had terrorists and warmongering dark wizards always sought to target schools? To hit their opponents where it hurt most?
She didn't reply, instead setting her jaw settle and her teeth grind as she slowly, quietly exhaled.
She would remain quiet, more keen to observe than to provide her thoughts. Her hands rested folded in her lap. Some of the information was nothing new. Politics, dark wizards, all of that was as old as time itself. Edginess, yeah, that was normal. Good could combat evil, it just took conviction, training and timing – and, more importantly, that the evil was not targeting children, and that the 'good' side was not intending to use children as soldiers.
When Sauber's gaze met hers, he would not find indifference. What did Sauber know of skeletons, of bonds? Of course, Jessamine knew little about the man, but, if nothing else, he looked young. All she could think about were her husband and children and how it would surely be worse to strain her family. Being a parent did not mean she could not protect the students here while keeping her own safe and sound. But that did not mean her heart rate did not heighten, that she hadn't put extra willpower into steadying her breathing.
(Maybe this had been a bad idea, after all.)
Worse, Lear's next statement hit like an icicle between the ribs. I am concerned about the ones who advocate for inclusivity when they have the most to lose. Jessamine forced her fingers not to tense, her gaze not to waver. The problem was those who truly meant harm, not those who actively sought to avoid it. But she couldn't help but wonder – how wrong might she have been?
...those terror attacks in Hogsmeade were not the work of SCAR.
Of all the statements, that was the most grounding. The situation was larger than one person. Her ties, her fears, they did not matter. She did not react outwardly, aside from chewing the inside of her cheek and then stopping herself. Although the idea – the admission, the utterance of information – was grounding, it was not a surprise. Anyone worth their salt knew the Ministry was often full of shit. Orchestrating a terrorist attack did not really sound above them. Neither did kidnapping prolific figures. When you have an agenda, you're usually pretty willing to go to excessive means to follow it.
Jessamine glanced at Mori, lifting an eyebrow when the other woman suggested the former headmistress of Mahoutokoro might have been taken hostage. This, Jessamine doubted – not because she thought the Ministry was full of rainbows and butterflies, but rather because she couldn't see the logistic value in such an action. 'Well, I wouldn't put it past them, but it just doesn't make sense.' She paused, unable to utter the rest – that she didn't quite think holding someone hostage would be particularly useful when the smarter thing was to get rid of them or avoid making a bigger scene. Hostages were traceable. 'Maybe she does not want to be found,' Jessamine mused. Slowly, she would look at her colleagues, gauging their reactions to the information at hand.
@Solomon Lear | @Aiko Mori | @Samuel Sauber
Mistakes About to Be Made
| Note: French, German, English, Thoughts | ━━━━━━━━━━ |
1 Novembre 2025 |
Had it not been for the sight of the young woman rushing into a run, any onlooker could have thought there was a horse running through the castle's corridors and yelled an invasion was occurring at broad daylight.
"Oh goodness... I am so late..." The sound of her heels scraping would cause her to cringe every time she rounded a corner, saying hurried greetings at anyone who greeted her on the way. Way to go, Edith, now you will get fired and have to find another job... She huffed as she tried to keep herself from looking like a mess as she ran, muttering, "I just had to read the book... as if I didn't know the risks." Without thinking, she smacked her forehead with her palm, "Ouh..." Perhaps she deserved it.
Coming to a stop to look up at the awful sight of the torturous stairs she had yet to climb, she rubbed her forehead gently. Perhaps I should ask the fellow who helped me get my new home if he knows of anyone seeking to hire someone... She still had other routes right? It was just incase she got fired for her inability to be punctual... perhaps the headmaster would be understanding, right?!
Edith shook her head before hesitantly beginning to make her way up the stairs, I mean, who wouldn't get sucked into a good book and lose track of time? Continuing her torture, she tried to ignore the thoughts that loomed and the pain in her legs that screamed for her to sit down. "For the love of Merlin... why are there so many stairs?" Of all places to meet. Edith gave a final huff as she reached the final step, her breath halting mid-intake when the sound of muffled voices behind a door reached her ears.
Suddenly coughing as if her body reminded her of the need for air, she tried to be as quiet as possible. Her face flushed as she tried fixing her appearance the best she could, already embarrassed at the thought of not only arriving late, but being loud. I think I placed my resume in one of my stored trunks, it may just be needed.
Standing straight, she would take one final deep breath to collect the little courage she had left before placing a soft knock on the door. This is like my student years all over again... in Beauxbâtons, with the same reason for tardiness, she would be called to the headmaster's office after being late to two classes. Shaking her head, she turned the knob and opened the door just enough to poke her head through, her amber eyes immediately landing on the gruff and stern old man she called her boss.
"I am so sorry I-erm... Sorry for interrupting... I lost track of time, sir..." Feeling her face burn, her voice cracked and grew small when her gaze trailed over to the people in attendance, "Is it alright if I step inside?"
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@Samuel Sauber ‧ @Solomon Lear ‧ @Aiko Mori ‧ @Jessamine Lancaster
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Every soul is an ancient story.