Detention Detail [PV][Beyond the Treeline] - page 7 - Grounds

Fourth year, Duellist, Writer, Slytherin

23 May 2026, 11:55

One would be underestimating Archer Duncan to say he had no survival instincts. No, this boy raised with mountain air in his lungs and cliff-strewn ground beneath his feet, who ate camping trips for breakfast and shot wild fowl for dinner knew a thing or two about survival. Yet this boy also rock climbed without harnesses, relying only on the callouses on his hands to keep him steady, this boy also swept through the sky on a rickety school broom, putting too much faith in fate and the world’s will to keep him alive as a plaything. He wandered off into forbidden forests and swam in lakes that inhabited by great monsters. He was not a boy that used his head before he acted, only when trouble truly struck. What Archer lacked, however, was sense.

This habit, in all its glory, was depicted when he had decided to traverse the terrains of the woods surrounding Hogwarts. No different from the other handfuls of teenage rebels of this school — apparent in abundance as he arrived at detention, any area he was disallowed to enter struck his interest all the more. Soon his boots were carrying himself more than his mind as he crossed the boundaries into the world of treachery. The sunlight dimmed instantly, and despite the cover of darkness, Archer swept his invisibility cloak over his back nevertheless, retreating into the shadows. Still, whether it was the footsteps that gave him away or the crack of branches under his pacing, he was discovered. Hard labour was issued.

It was not a concept Archer was entirely unfamiliar with. Living deep in the Scottish Highlands meant work often ensued after heavy rain or unrelenting hales, and there was something almost nostalgic in the methodical work, removing the debris and clearing off the branches. There was something he missed about being so atoned with nature, working both with and against nature. Intent hazel eyes scanned over taller grass and unnaturally dense trees, the rocks almost connected with each other in patches of moss and ivy. There was something tranquil in the humming of their hushed conversations. And there was something comforting in the unnaturally cool breeze, heavy with rain, that rippled through the treeline, as if winter snuck back just to offer him some good natured spite.

He had never been unaware of danger. Simply, Archer Duncan was more drawn to it than other people.

In some twisted way, Archer did not mind ten hours of detention — he was not yet even wondering what he would have for dinner. This would be a memorable first detention.

Something about pairs was stated. Shouted, more accurately. Yet as Archer scanned the wardline, he could not find anyone he would deign to work together with, even in a task as tedious. Disappointment slipped into his posture as his shoulders slumped. Yet, recluse and misanthrope as he was, he could only have expected to see no hope of a partnership. He started working his way along the woods, alone, and without any anticipation for company. Begrudgingly, he trudged down the treeline, further from the eyes of Lear and deeper into the darkness….

With his steady steps deeper into his unknown, so followed his heart.

banner by Adeline Spinks

I am not even singed. My wings are untouched. You use them for everything, except flight.
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht

Rosalyn Willows

Second year, Slytherin

3 826 120

23 May 2026, 15:10

@Lauren Vanes

Banner by Madeline Tomlinson

Sneaking, as Rosalyn was well aware, was not tolerated at Hogwarts. But, she hadn't even done it! Well, at least, not on purpose. See, she'd been lost again, wandering around. She somehow managed to find her way towards a place that everyone had called 'Hogsmeade' or something of the sort. She hadn't meant to go there, apparently breaking the rules because first and second years aren't allowed. She had just gotten lost, and earned a detention, issued by the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself, Solomon Lear.

She'd been to detention once before, again for getting lost, and had zero fun with it. Well, except for the fact that she got to make a new friend(that she hadn't seen in a while), but the detention itself was not fun. This one, however, seemed as if it would be torture. Working until sunset, clearing branches and things of the sort? Not only boring, but backbreaking.

Well, the one way to be able to speed it up was to get started, so she steeled herself for the task, hoping that she would at least find some people that she knew to do it with. When she arrived at the area where the detention would be taking place, she looked around to see if there were any familiar faces that she could spot. She walked around, finally spotting someone that she recognized. Lauren Vanes. They were in the same, house, and had met quite a while before when Lauren had been going through some upsetting things about her family and her house placement. She'd seen her many times since, in classes and the Common Room, but had never been quite as happy to see her as she was now.

"Lauren! It's so good to see you, I'm glad I'm not alone in this!" she said, walking up to her friend and giving her a hug.

"Of course, I'd love to pair up. And I'm pretty sure that we need to clear away some stuff near the old wardline, like branches and things of the sort." she said, glad that she had managed to hear the speech given by the Headmaster, who was now sitting and sipping on a pineapple drink. The bag that he had pulled everything from reminded her a lot of a movie that she'd watched quite a bit at home, called Mary Poppins.

"What did you get detention for? I got it because I accidentally tried to sneak into Hogsmeade, apparently." she said, curious as to what her friend could have possibly done to deserve this horrible of a tasking alongside her.

~Rosalyn Willows, Second Year Slytherin~
~Ency~Garden~Profile~
|Sta~6|Eva~4|Str~7|Wis~7|Arc~6|Acc~5|

Lyanna Oak

Third year, Duelling Captain, Quidditch player, Hufflepuff

2 625 802

23 May 2026, 15:18

Apollo's name is cognate with the Greek verb apollesthai. By crying out "Apollon emos", Cassandra can designate the god as "my Apollo" and "my destroyer" at the same time in the same words. (your throat is raw from screaming to a god who isn't listening)

I call myself a monster. They say I’m no monster. That I have not sinned. I’ve proven myself right. Shall I prove them wrong?

Blinded. A sliver of light reflecting from a polished silver tip, the bullet waiting impatiently for the trigger to be pulled. A quill scratching on paper, a list of names in black ink. Coffee brewed over candlelight, for sleeping means pain. A theft in the dungeons of the fortress, pale fingers reaching for the final component, the vials in question for an operation with no end in sight.

What have I done to myself? What happened to me?

A layer of white accumulating slowly on the cracked earth, frigid air seeping into one's bones, creatures retreated safely in their lairs. Two creatures did not, however. Pure of heart but infinitely tormented, the fates seemed to have chosen a winding road for the two mortals. On a certain night before the snow had begun to melt, four eyes met each other in the darkness, the two souls crossing paths. And no matter what one might speculate, their destiny would be intertwined until the moon stopped its cycle around the earth’s protective atmosphere.

Regent and Icarus.

Two fallen angels, wings frayed and torn. Scented candles diffusing the odor of iron, sin and innocence. Eyes never closing, insomnia never ending; their tale only just commencing. Two silhouettes, masks never shed from their visage, the crystalline pearls slowly descending from the trail of their cheekbones unseen by all but each other.

Loyalty, unspoken but unwavering.
Trust, lies for one another laced with silver lining.
Two children buried in darkness, seeking the light.

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June 2026.
Hogsmeade with Regent. Selling knowledge for profit, illegal but necessary. Butterbeer. I returned from my bathroom stall; she was gone, Taken. Fear enveloped me, my breathing becoming both rapid and shallow. Is there a cross between the two? I then noticed something. The napkin folded differently than before; a small detail she knew I would spot. Unfolding the piece of fabric, I read one word. Caught.
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It hadn’t been long before the sunchild had received her fair share of punishment as well. Although her return to the safety of the castle grounds had gone unnoticed – swift and without attracting the attention of prefects and staff – a letter was delivered to her that evening.

You have been found as the culprit of selling exam answers illegally. You will serve detention at 5:45 AM in the grounds on Saturday.

The sunchild’s heart sank, her eyes resting aimlessly a little too long on the pristine slip of parchment in front of her. When a sword finds its mark, the blade is not left unstained. The sleekness of the letter felt wrong, as if it should’ve been stained by her scarred soul. It had seemed like a mere necessity then, nothing more than a deed marked as finished, a past life for which she would not serve consequences. Oh, how wrong she had been, it seemed. However, one might say that the sunchild was disappointed, irate, resentful. She was not. At that particular moment, only one emotion swept over her once more, a particular state that had enveloped her since the insomnia had struck ever so long ago.

Fatigue.

The condition seemed everlasting, sparing her of any relief a break could give her, being ever so persistent and intent on tormenting her day and night. It had started on a mundane December day, a letter delivered to an oddly specific compartment in a scarlet steam engine. The compartment was that of a certain member of the Oak family, now fractured and torn, a member of the household missing.

Jade Oak was gone, and the sunchild’s sleep schedule was paying the price immeasurably.

It was that difficult truth that had caused the young teenager to sin, according to the academy’s ruling– or rather that of the person behind the owl that had been sent, a prefect who seemingly did not value her pain-derived motives.

The idea had initially been that of Valour Argentum, known to Lyanna as Regent during the operation– easily articulated, anonymous for those unaware of her alias and giving a sense of purpose; two young girls roped into much more than simplistic teenage life.

Lyanna – or Icarus – had not objected, seeing as many more would appreciate answers for the upcoming exams than knitted scarves in mid-June. After all, who would tell superiors of her deeds? But someone had. The information on the transaction had been disclosed, unmasked to those with the power to deal out a consequence such as hers.

A leak.

It hurt to think trust was so easily discarded, seen as a mere convenience rather than a bond crafted and upheld between two souls. A sting, salt on a wound.

What now?
(A question asked daily while looking at her tear-stained visage– what was her destiny? Did she have a purpose other than falling deeper and deeper into the abyss? Would she ever achieve her life’s goal, or would her string of fate be knotted and frayed by the time the answer finally seemed clear?)

The only way left was onward, the only road man is ever permitted to take. After all, what would the world be if re-dos were possible, and no action was definitive? And on that string of thought, it seemed that detention at quarter to six was the next step for her to take.

From a certain perspective, such an early timing would mean less room for nightmares during the night before. With a measured dose of dreamless sleep, the sunchild would make it through the night with enough sleep to kill a thousand sheep and think they were her enemies, as Ajax had once done in a tale centuries old. Her mind having so much to process – Why had she been snitched on? Some questions do not need an answer. Was this the end? Some answers are in plain sight. Your story is far from finished. – Icarus retreated to her honey-colored dormitory, hardly anticipating the events that the following day would lead to.

–––☼–––

Up!, Lyanna told herself, like the command she would utter to her trusty Moontrimmer before taking to the skies, as she crawled out of her warm bed so early in the day. There was no point in stalling the deed at that point, else she might’ve landed herself in even more detention than she was already in (as difficult as that may have been to believe).The sun had already risen more than an hour prior, the massive orb of light seen from planet Earth embodying the connection to her soul.
Breakfast had not been served yet, thus the sunchild ate a stray protein bar after quickly donning herself with an outfit (hopefully) fit for the occasion. A black choker with a sun to guide her in the darkness; Sneakers for protection while performing the task at hand; Shorts and a top to not overheat and move freely; One last garment to top it off, a long-sleeved button-up for the early morning chill. It may not have been ideal, or pretty at that, but functional was all she needed. Anyone who only judged her by her attire was not worth impressing.

With the meager breakfast in her stomach and having finished preparing herself – both mentally and physically – for her unpleasant step onward, the sunchild made her way to the grounds.

Something was off, however.

How was it possible that so many people had been scheduled for this particular detention? How had a mere prefect found so many rule-breakers that week? The sunchild began to furrow her eyebrows in confusion before her eyes suddenly widened.

Headmaster Solomon Lear.

Just as the final people arrived, the man began to speak. Their detention would last until sundown, it seemed, which wasn’t exactly an inviting thought– unless you thought of it as less time to think, more time to simply 'do', which was Lyanna’s set mindset at this point.

The ministry had "searched","investigated". They had found nothing. And still, the sunchild had had hope– and while that hope may have proved to be somewhat true, every second was a clock. A moment in which the scales could tilt irreconcilably. Her mother was strong, but how long could that keep her breathing?

The previous winter break had been an experience as well. Relatives met, culprits possibly found– but both proof and a plan were lacking. Connections scarce. To save the person she held most dear, Lyanna needed to keep her head. Nightmares and insomnia did not help, and so the sunchild had turned to the one thing she thought might keep her sane. In reality, the girl was simply feeling so much that it had broken her. After ever so long, a temporary solution had come to mind: the potion of Dreamless Sleep. It was not meant to be long term, but one day became two, two became a week, and a week became months, and the routine initiated earlier that year still hadn’t been broken.

Pairs, the headmaster had said.

As Lyanna scanned the crowd, faces stood out, some good friends, others acquaintances. None attracted her attention long enough to fully consider them as possible detention-mates, as one could call it.

There was only person Lyanna would truly feel compelled to work alongside on this particular occasion.

Her name, as written on her passport, was Valour Inoka Argentum.

They were Regent and Icarus, their fates intertwined in a way neither could fully consciously understand.

She was the person it had all begun with.

If Regent was here, Icarus would find her.

@VALOUR ARGENTUM ☼──────────────────────
Image posted by the member

────────────────────────☼ WORDCOUNT 1609

☼

date ; June?, 2026
actions ; finding regent
outfit ; sunchild
the grounds ; location
trunk here ; ooc
thoughts ; speech

abilities ; calming presence on valour ; savior
stats ; sta 6 ; eva 10 ; str 7 ; wis 4 ; arc 4 ; acc 10
notes ; [d20 : 18] selling exam answers

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Last edited by Lyanna Oak on 24 May 2026, 00:50, edited 1 time in total.

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⊹✧𝖫𝖸𝖠𝖭𝖭𝖠 ~ ency
☼ 𝖺 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 ☼

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⋮

⊹ Sta 6 | Eva 10 | Str 7 | Wis 4 | Arc 4 | Acc 10 ⊹
─── ‿︵˓ ʚ♡ɞ ˓ ︵ ‿ ───

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⋮

xxxxx

Dido Bleaklane

Second year, Quidditch player, Slytherin

470 110

23 May 2026, 15:38

WC
Reducio
489
Stats
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Stamina: 4
Evasion: 6
Strength: 5
Wisdom: 8
Arcane Power: 5
Accuracy: 7
Action
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Casting Reparo on the undamaged dragonhide gloves.
Outfit
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Hogwarts robes with Ravenclaw badge poorly sewn over Slytherin one. Coat on top preventing the badge being seen.
Interacting:
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@Tina Carille
@Angel Dayes (mentioned)
@Cecilia Merrick (mentioned)

OOC note:
Reducio
1) While everything written is true for Dido, much is intentionally incorrect (eg: Dido is, in fact, not in Ravenclaw!)

Dido’s face lit up as Tina joyfully accepted her suggestion, filling her with such happiness as to make up for any residual anger towards the detention, the headmaster or even Tina herself. Tina was such a fantastic friend, Dido decided blissfully, not even noticing the girl’s tearstained face and puffy eyes. She grinned as Tina asked, “How did you end up here?”, rolling her eyes dramatically and tilting her head in the general direction of the headmaster, whom seemed to have taken on the generalised role of “professor” in Dido’s story. Her eyes widened as she prepared the tale, pre-emptively filling it with drama and excitement but, finally noticing the Ravenclaw’s distress, she paused and held back her ridiculous tale of woe.

“Oh, you know. Apparently the professors aren’t huge fans of little jokes,” she lied. In the moment, she had decided not to tell Tina the truth about the game that had sent her to detention. Odd.

Anyway, she was about to ask Tina where they ought to work first, the corners of her eyes wrinkling in light-hearted amusement at the entire situation, but, to Dido’s surprise, the girl who had seemed so eager to see her had started to walk away. Tina called back to Dido, explaining that she would be back, but the Slytherin stood still, in shock. Was that normal? Just to walk away? Her eyes prickled with heat as she imagined what she could have done to deserve the abandonment. In truth, Dido was, as usual, over-reacting. Unfortunately, she did not have that retrospective knowledge at the time.

She glared at Tina’s back as the girl made her way over to a small collection of students, namely including Angel, Dido’s room-mate. As she watched Tina approach the girl, Dido stiffened as yet another Slytherin caught her attention: the Quidditch Captain.

Dido felt her jaw tighten, the ice cold tendrils of fury dripping down her throat once again. What was Tina doing with her room-mate? With her Quidditch captain. With her life?

As the blisteringly hot beads of liquid gathered in her eyes, Dido looked down, away from the girls, shaking her head and chastising herself. After all, she was friends with Tina, not the other girls. Why would she care about two random Slytherins who were likely as cruel as the rest of their house? Dido somehow managed to ignore the obvious truth that Angel, whom she had shared a room with for several months, had never been anything but polite. That fact didn’t fit her narrative.

So, looking down at her old raggedy dragonhide gloves, she feigned uninterest and theatrically inspected the material in her hand. Though they were only dirty, Dido acted as if she had seen a tear or two in them and pulled out her wand, trying her very hardest not to glance over at Tina. She muttered “Reparo” and continued to fiddle with the gloves. She was okay. Absolutely.

Last edited by Dido Bleaklane on 23 May 2026, 23:05, edited 2 times in total.

The Aviary

ency

-Dido Bleaklane

Lauren Vanes

Second year, Slytherin

3 284 78

23 May 2026, 15:39

AMAZING BANNER BY MADELINE TOMLINSON

_____________❖_____________

Word Count: 371/200

Interacting with:
@Rosalyn Willows

Lauren: #2e5a25
Others: #84774d
Thoughts: italics

Date:
XXth June 2026

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Lauren heaved a sigh of relief as Rosie told her what exactly she had to do. But as she continued to listen, she managed an inward groan. SHe had to clear up branches. Seemingly in the muggle way, which was something Lauren was not a fan of. She would much prefer to cast 'Reparo' to all the scattered stuff and turn them into branches.

This was torture. This was abuse. Similar to that when her family physically abused her.

But she wouldn't expect this from Professor Solomon Lear. As she Headmaster, he should be the most reasonable with his detentions! Like write an essay about why vandalising the paintings were wrong. She knew how to make stuff and charm her writing so that it seemed like she actually wanted to change and that vandalising was a one-time mistake, instead of something she had done in anger and fury.

Lauren guessed that she was lucky that no one found out that true extent of what she did. In fact, she had scratched her ink on a painting so hard that it looked like blood, and actually harmed the people in the painting. If Headmaster Solomon Lear saw it, Lauren would be dead. And she would have no future, just as her family had predicted and... she shuddered.

For the exact same reason they had thought.

No! You can't let them be right! She screamed at herself internally. Never! You need revenge, remember? And this detention should not hold you back from that!

Pushing the thought away, Lauren replied to Rosie with a heavy sigh. "Well, I guess I'm actually guilty and deserve this detention -- and possibly expulsion, unlike you. I vandalised moving portraits that featured historical figures. History of Magic was not Lauren's favourite class.

Well, I was just too angry at my siblings, you know who they are -- Arianna and Felix. Brats. They snitched to Headmaster Lear, of course. Overcome by rage, I simply scratched my quill on a moving portrait." There was no need to delve into the details -- what she thought, what she felt, her sign of dark magic -- right now.

Right now, they needed to focus on their upcoming task. Detention. Cleaning up branches, and other dirty things.

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Last edited by Lauren Vanes on 24 May 2026, 04:31, edited 1 time in total.

𝓼𝓽𝓪 2 \| 𝓮𝓿𝓪 3 \| 𝓼𝓽𝓻 1 \| 𝔀𝓲𝓼 8 \| 𝓪𝓻𝓬 8 \| 𝓪𝓬𝓬 8	XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX	lauren vanes \| parselmouth
	❝kill them with success and bury them with a smile.❞

Ava Lynn

Second year, Ravenclaw

127 28

23 May 2026, 15:43

action ;
starting post +
open for interaction

outfit

date ;
XX / XX / 2026

Ava wasn't one to get detention, not because she stays away from trouble, but because she is too cautious and paranoid of getting caught. But when she did, it was for reasons she would have never expected herself to get in trouble for. For a few students who actually know her, it could be because either she was found roaming the hallways after curfew or for repeatedly being late for class. But the actual reason was none. The reason she wouldn't even think was not allowed.

Ava had been reading a lot about the creatures underneath the Black Lake, and a rumour she came across about the mermaids that she just couldn't stop herself from sharing. Informing a bunch of fellow first years about the hierarchy and monarchy that goes on underneath the Great Lake. Was I not supposed to tell them? Ava was confused when an authority figure stopped her for questioning. Was it not true? Or they just don't want us students to know? But rather than getting answers, she was now on her way to detention.

Making her way to the designated place, all she could think was, how unfair it is. Almost a rebel was going to be born, but then she realised, the girl did not have the guts to go against the so-called "system," so here she is, at the edge of the ground, ready to do whatever she was told, sulkily. Looking around, she was glad to see a few familiar faces, some she had interacted with and some she was too shy to approach. This was also her first moment to come face to face with the headmaster, whom she already had opinions about. Since her first day in Hogwarts, Ava has had an unreasonable fear of their Headmaster.

ᨐᵉᵒʷ

stats & ability
Stamina: [5] ⋆ Evasion: [7] ⋆ Strength: [4]
Wisdom: [6] ⋆ Arcane Power: [5] ⋆ Accuracy: [3]
Seer

//////////

roll for detention
6 ┊Convinced younger students the Black Lake had a mermaid monarchy

_{sta ⋆ 5 | eva ⋆ 7 | str ⋆ 4}
STATS I GOT
^{wis ⋆ 6 | arc ⋆ 5 | acc ⋆ 3}

_{⠀⠀⠀main ency}
⠀⠀⠀E N C Y C L O P E D I A

_{seer | ability | ability}
THROUGH⠀THE⠀YEARS
^{ability | ability | ability}

[/quote]

Skylar Astor

Second year, Slytherin

494 181

23 May 2026, 16:40

xxx

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🅂kylar was halfway through attacking a patch of overgrown weeds when she suddenly heard a loud sigh. Her head popped up from the tall grass like a startled rabbit as she was searching for the source. Her eyes shifted toward a boy she vaguely recognized from Slytherin. He was the closet nearby, who was the only possible source of the sound she could think of.

Right, she should find someone to pair up with before the eerie atmosphere near the wardline fed her paranoia even more. Skylar tried to move her duty zone near him, but her foot almost tripped over a filthy, damp branch. “Shoot!” She caught herself from stepping any further. No way, she would allow another Slytherin to see her absolute awkwardness, yet it seemed like he never bothered anyway. She glanced at him and continued to pretend to cut the grass. Noticing from the corner of the eye, he was the kind who always looked like someone solving ancient runes in their head. Ah… He must be one of those quiet types. I see.

She swore she had seen him somewhere in the common room, but could not remember when. Whatever. “Hogsmeade?” she guessed suddenly. Her eyes were as if trying to solve a puzzle. “No wait! Either that, or the Library Restricted Section.” She paused. “…Actually, you do look like the illegal library type.” Wait. That didn’t come out right.

Her eyes widened almost instantly afterward, regretting her choice of words. Brilliant, Skylar. You let curiosity take over your manner again. She lowered her eyes. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude. I’m Skylar… Skylar Astor.” She genuinely smiled. If her hand had not been full of mud and dirt, she would have been willing to offer a handshake too.

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Action:
Interacting with Richard de Montmorency
Signature:
Skylar Astor

Stat:
Sta: 5|Eva: 5|Str: 4|Wis: 7|Arc: 8|Acc: 6
Ability:
Poison Resistance

xxx

Outfit:

Reducio

Word Count:

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295

Mention:

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Paring up with:@Richard de Montmorency

OOC Note:

Reducio

Detention= roll 14. Caught entering the Forbidden Forest

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Last edited by Skylar Astor on 24 May 2026, 07:35, edited 1 time in total.

“To be misunderstood is not to be broken. It is to be rare.”	Poison Resistance / Statistically Relevant (wisdom)
Ⓢⓚⓨⓛⓐⓡ Ⓐⓢⓣⓞⓡ	┊ Sta: 6┊Eva: 6┊Str: 4┊Wis: 10┊Arc: 8┊Acc: 6┊

Erast Yan

Second year, Writer, Prefect of Hufflepuff

313 367

23 May 2026, 17:42

Banner by Leo Noxley

^{✥─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────✥}

“Have you heard, have you heard?”

“What?”

“A Hufflepuff prefect got detention!”

“No way, who?”

“Erast Yan!”

^{────────────────────────────────}

Erast Yan was livid. It had been bad enough that his prefect status earned him the scrutiny and resentment of others, who deemed him undeserving. He had taken painstaking care to exercise caution in everything he did before untrusted company. No loose ends, no silly slips on the tongue. He had thought himself to be safe from trouble. Then came the confrontation after his lessons, a brutal swing from the executor's axe: Detention. It was embarrassing; it was social murder. Worst of all, it was for the crime of forgery. Practically nobody knew he could do that. After all, only 1 person had a piece of his work. Cecilia Merrick; Under their unspoken pact and shared crimes, betrayal was unlikely. That left one explanation– Sabotage.

Gratified snickers and scandalised whispers had stalked Erast for the past few days since his punishment had been decided. Maltose candy snapped under the clench of his jaw. Someone must have let it slip to the school faculty. Had Cecilia been caught as well?

Tension bled into his head and tightened around it like a constricting band. Setting detention before 10 am on a Saturday was absolutely diabolical. He had almost thrown his stale bun at a wall from the misery of waking up early on a weekend. The fact that it was a mass detention punishment made it so sad; it was almost funny. Which prefect or faculty member was so free that they found issues with so many rule-breakers? Erast was going to return the favour to their darling snitch.

As soon as he approached the Grounds, an awful stench wafted towards him that made him gag. He lifted a sleeve over his face. Goodness, was something decomposing in there? Erast had to put in extra effort to school his expression into passivity as the fellow damned souls gathered before a forested area in front of Headmaster Lear. To think he would encounter the headmaster here under such circumstances... His father could never hear about this.

Erast’s eyes strayed away during the headmaster’s droning on about the instructions on their punishment manual labour. Sparing a sullen glance at the peeling dragonhide gloves and rust-coated gardening shears going around, he had only hoped that the smile of thanks he gave as he accepted them did not reveal the prickling annoyance sizzling within. Ugh… His sulking gaze dragged across the crowd as instructions to form pairs went out. Just then, a flash of auburn in the distance caught his eye. The brunet swivelled. Gunmetal blue connected with seafoam from a distance, with wild flailing of arms that screamed for help. His under eyelid twitched. “You–” With a cautious glance at their supervisor, Erast discreetly slipped close to her. Then, he sent an elbow into the girl’s side– with care, of course. “I’m never letting you use my stuff without me again. What did you even get caught doing?” He muttered, exasperation overflowing as he reluctantly shoved his hands into the gloves. “Some average, sad sod must’ve snitched. On both of us too...” He looked up to flick his fringe away from his eyes. Only then did he notice Cecilia’s chosen partner. It was the strange girl scurrying around during the fire at the Waltz. Well, that was kind of embarrassing. “Hello. Let’s do a good job,” His tone slipped back into its usual lightness, his expression warming into its default smile. However, standing next to the girls, his lack of a work partner became glaring. Fearing a scolding, he turned around to scan the surroundings for an acceptable face. A familiar brunette in the distance made his eyes widen. Rosaline Everhart, in detention? Which miserable soul went to get her into trouble? “Rosaline! Why are you here?” Erast frowned a little in worry. Had someone framed her? Snitches, now liars... He tried to joke, “6 am detention… I think they want to kill us.” The syrupy lethargy seemed to have loosened his tongue, because his tone almost fell into a whiny tone. Out of the corner of his eye, misfortune in human form stood. He turned to look and wished he hadn’t.

“Noxley, who would have thought?” His polite greeting came out airy, his smile thin as paper. Out of all the people to get caught this week, it had to be this one? His blood pressure might skyrocket seeing Rosaline and Noxley paired for 10 hours straight. Just then, a pair of discarded dragonhide gloves on the grass caught his eye. He bent down and picked it up. “Noxley,” Erast walked up and pressed them to the other boy’s chest with a sunny smile. “No slacking~ Let’s work hard together.” Without waiting for Leo’s response, the brunet spun around and went to an empty corner to begin his work.

Digging through the debris and snapping the winding, tough roots intertwined between, Erast grimaced at what seemed to be a gruelling job ahead. Huffing, he glanced up at the concentration of gnarled trees and aged stones jagged with thick mossy overgrowth. A chill went down his spine. Thunder rumbled in the distance in the darkened skies, clouds blocking out most of the coming morning lights. The 10 hours ahead had never felt more dreadful.

Crime: [d20:16] = Forging permission slips

Stats: Stamina – 4 | Evasion – 6 | Strength – 3 | Wisdom – 7 | Arcane – 3 | Accuracy – 7
Abilities: Metamorphmagus (Y1)

Mentions: @Cecilia Merrick, @Leo Noxley, @Rosaline Everhart, and (briefly) @Angel Dayes
Action: Being pouty with friends.

To live is to be loved ♡

Come visit The Fox Den.

Ebony Vetra

Sixth year, Quidditch Captain, Ravenclaw

3 341 2 068

23 May 2026, 18:27

banner by Andrea Woodsburn

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Magic, though fantastical, was heavily rooted in realism and practicality. Whether it be daily-use charms that provided convenience or defensive spells, there was some degree of rationalisation behind it. The occult, however, leaned towards the dark and satanic; far-fetched esotericism drifted from conventional orthodoxy. Some might even argue that occult practices drifted towards that of dark magic. She believed, however, that the occult was not so much related to the unforgivable curses, but rather an attempt to connect with the divinity, to retrieve hidden, theological knowledge. Did that not ring a bell? Connection with the divinity? To her, the occult was more so resonant with Seers — those false divinators, self-proclaimed arbiters who claimed to be born with the gift to see into the celestial and transcendent but lay closer on the horseshoe to fraudulent swindlers. Hidden knowledge? Fate and prophecies and destiny? That sure sounded occult. Satanic, almost.

And ironically, as an avid critic of the overly abstract and the scam-adjacent Seers and augurs, Ebony Vetra had hosted an occult ritual. Yes, a ritual, complete with candles and "sacred" spaces left for estranged spirits to manifest. Had she genuinely expected a spiritual entity to materialise before her within the crudely drawn ritual circle? No, of course not. It was ironic. Wasn't it? The artist — who enjoyed engaging in ironically unorthodox activities — had decided that the optimal way of criticising the absurdity of occultism and esotericism was to engage in it. She had publicised it, in fact; the ritual was far from clandestine. It served as a statement — perhaps an artistic one — that such rituals were preposterous, farcical, even in the Wizarding World.

She had publicised it — fully unaware of the consequences.

Detention?

What, did occult rituals classify as heresy? It wasn't as though she had been engaging in any seditious or revolutionary activities. She would argue that her actions were far less damaging than, say, unauthorised duelling, or starting fist-fights. But no, a harmless ritual, for the purpose of making a statement and critique, was on the same level of illegal. What was this censorship? Where was the freedom of expression? So what if her little transcendentalist arrangement had seemed slightly cult-like? The word "cult" now harboured so many negative insinuations of indoctrination and dark magic, when she was engaging in nothing of the sort; it was simply non-conformist, was all. Any departure from traditionalist views resulted in detention, apparently.

How ironic it was that she now stood on the fringes of the Forbidden Forest, in tandem with nature. Maybe she could connect with it, the trees and the leaves and the storm clouds, and then the squalls of wind. That was, after all, what believers in the occult ironically strived to do: to connect with nature and discern the covert knowledge hidden within.

The amount of detentionees gathered was rather absurd. Suspicious, even, for what prefect or faculty member had sussed out so many troublemakers so conveniently in such a short span of time? Countless bodies surrounded her — it was almost claustrophobic, the wave of chaos crowding from either side. Was this what detention was normally like? A sad excuse for gathering children for free labour? It was strange, really, for Ebony had yet to experience detention in her five years at Hogwarts; she wasn’t particularly rebellious, unlike her other more raucous colleagues. No, this was her very first time, and so far, it certainly was far from making a good impression.

Clearing debris until sunset was akin to torture. Was this some sort of occult ritual in itself? Eyeing the peeling, antiquated dragonhide gloves tossed in her vicinity, she was beginning to question whether hosting that ritual was really worth it. Perhaps that statement could have made itself without the esotericism. Ebony usually would not be opposed to physical activity, but the sheer volume of labour to be carried out and the dirt and the grime that came with it certainly turned her against it.

And of course they were requested by that archaically rare sight of a headmaster to work in pairs. Just the most irritable cherry on top. Tedious physical work in addition to social interaction made for real crucification. The brunette scanned the crowd in search for familiar faces and spotted one — a fellow fifth-year, she believed. No name came to match the visage, though perhaps they would be willing to suffer through these tribulations together.

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wc: 731
interacting/pairing: @Colin McCoire
notes: d20:20 - hosting occult rituals "ironically"

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June 2026 | Grounds

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❝ Art is the only way to run
away without leaving home.
#7d7c78

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

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Last edited by Ebony Vetra on 24 May 2026, 03:06, edited 1 time in total.

iNPC: Luuk Tjin-A-Wing

sta 7 | eva 12 | str 15 | wis 9 | arc 8 | acc 15
𝐓𝐏 • 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 • 𝐨𝐛𝐧𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 • 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 • 𝐄𝐌

Elisa Shakestra

Fourth year, Duelling Captain, Slytherin

1 233 205

23 May 2026, 18:35

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Image posted by the member

this time i ════════════════════════════════════════════ choose myself

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The rustle of leaves under the feet produced an almost piercing sound, snipping through the blanket of silence that had managed to spread across the grounds, a rather vulnerable moment in Hogwarts where the buzzing never stopped, but then again, this day was specially handpicked by the Headmaster for every troublemaker in school, those who conducted with intent and those who didn't, a sign that they were all going to meet the same fate, a mass detention, better known as an indirect way to say 'You all are screwed'.

Elisa strode to the area where all the unfortunate victims of the punishment had gathered, her posture perfect as she made her way, her confidence screaming as if the ritual was nothing more than a rather normal action that was taken too seriously by the poor prefect who had stumbled upon her in between her masterpiece, some floor pattern drawn by chalk, which, according to the stupid book which plastered it with the ostentatious title of 'The pattern of the dead'.

Did she believe it'd help her communicate with her dead father? No.

Did she proceed to do it? Yes.

It wasn't the wisest of her decisions, but neither did she have any energy in her body left to distinguish between smart and pure foolish ideas; all her soul craved at the moment was one last moment with her father, with whom she'd spent her last moments, arguing before the moment came when his existence in her life became a thing of the soul, him, a ghost of her past who when mentioned continued to trigger her jaw to clench in an attempt to control herself from breaking down.

She leaned against a tree as she listened to the rules being told by the headmaster, along with a slight threat of cleaning the owlery, which was a rather hopeless place to clean, a place that got dirtied within minutes, to the fact that she wondered if even the house elves, who were usually keen to work, even looked forward to cleaning that forsaken place.

As the group was dismissed to begin the task, she walked towards a rather less crowded spot, away from any kind of social interactions with people, to work and get this so-called punishment done, she neither had a pair, and nor was she in the mood to bear one unless it was someone whom she knew which was very unlikely.

date: June 2026	location: Grounds
action: Proceeding to work away from crowded areas.	note: Elisa shall pair up with @Amethyst Castillo when she arrives.

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Muah, The one and only Vasilius Nighthawk!

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Detention Detail PV Beyond the Treeline