𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲ

Liberating Thoughts - Property of the Nightingale Saturday night, 10th of August 2024

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Ｓomewhere between getting pelted with snowballs before breakfast and wringing out his wet socks after breakfast, he'd lost sight of Evelynn. For the duration of Summer Camp, she had seemed in a much better mood, less prone to gloom and doom and a bit more eager to engage in games and idle banter than he was used to from her. She still watched him like a hawk though, which made it all the more noticeable when she wasn't around all of a sudden. Not only was it dead unfair of her to leave him surrounded by Ravenclaws all day, she'd missed out on scones besides. At noon, there'd been a dumpy witch in lilac robes making the rounds with a platter. "Any scones love?" she'd asked. "A few," he'd said, and then she'd piled heaps in his hands. "I don't need that many," he'd said, and she'd smiled, which she shouldn't have done because she didn't have all her teeth anymore. But she was old, and that made it allowed. Being old seemed pretty grand to him. Imagine just having to microwave your food or sucking up some slurry through a straw. No more cooking, no more veggies, no more chewing; just getting it all over with in a matter of minutes. Leaves more time to watch Netflix and game, he reckoned. Happy days. The only thing that's bad about being old, he thought, is when your sight starts to go. Ever noticed how old people try to read things? They'll hold something they're trying to read out in front of them, then start moving it back and forth. It's their manual focus mode and there's usually a lot of squinting and strange facial expressions involved. It's always the people with glasses on their heads too. They have the glasses, they just refuse to use them. See, he had glasses too, shades that is, and he was always using them. He'd paid ten quid for them by a souvenir shop in Spain, so he wanted to get his money's worth by wearing them all the time. Rebecca cringed whenever he kept them on inside. Said they gave him negative rizz. He told her she was entitled to her opinion and that it was OK to be wrong. After he'd munched down two scones, he asked her, "Have you ever thought about retiring?" She'd looked at him funny. He knew he shouldn't ask Ravenclaws strange questions. It really messes with them and probably counted as animal cruelty. Then she asked if he was serious and he told her "no," then she asked if he was joking and he told her "no" again. Then she left him alone with the scones and his growing tummy ache. He pocketed the remaining scones and forgot about them for the rest of the day. It wasn't until he'd changed into his PJs for the final night of Summer Camp that he remembered about the scones. "Eve?" Dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and checkered pajam pants, he sauntered into the tent, his toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth like a farmer's straw. "Anwywone sween Ewve?" No one had. "I've gwot scwones fwor hwer," he said to no one in particular. He sucked up the foam that had collected on his lips with a soft slurping noise and repeated, "I've got scones for her. They're a bit mushy, but..." he shrugged and took the silent hint that no one seemed particularly thrilled or interested in the food he'd saved up. Had no one else noticed Eve missing? Where had she been all day? Sure, she wasn't that tall, but you could sense her a mile away, she just had that kind of aura about her, like a sweet but stern granny. Maybe she'd left already? He strode over to Eve's empty bed and frowned. Her trunk was still there, so she had to be around. What was keeping her? It was late and they'd all have to be up early to pack.

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Note for mods:Necessary permissions for this solo post were granted by the authors of @Rebecca Lark and @Evelynn Decipio

Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 4 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 17

𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲ

Liberating Thoughts - Property of the Nightingale Saturday night, 10th of August 2024

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Ｏnce he'd finished brushing his teeth, he sauntered over to the other side of the tent, plopped down on his bed and pushed aside a rumpled blanket. Compared to Eve, his spot was a pigsty. At least he wasn't alone in littering the tent with his stuff. Winnie Harper @Winnie Harper was almost as talented at chugging clothes over her shoulder, but hers were easy to spot as most of them were a very bright shade of pink while his tended to be blues and blacks and grays. In all likelihood at least one of Finn's unfortunate tentmates would find some misplaced Adidas or faded Nike near their trunk when they got to packing. Finn flopped onto his stomach and searched around his spot for an empty jar he kept for a special purpose. "Caeruleus inflamarae," he muttered. The bluebell flames came a lot easier to him than Lumos and it was a little less bright too, which mattered when you shared a space with seven others. Rolling over onto his back, he felt around for the nearest magazine and half-heartedly flipped through the pages, his eyes lazily skimming over the the text and images. Every so often, he glanced up at the entrance of the tent, waiting for a telltale rustle of fabric that would signal Eve's return. No such luck. Finn let out a dramatic sigh and craned his neck to look over at Rebecca, who was already bundled up under her blankets, her head barely visible. Already out cold. Maybe she'd wake up from his ultra negative rizz if he wore his shades to bed, but just this once, he let her be. One minute after another dragged by and one by one his tentmates tucked in for the last night of Summer Camp. Still no sign of Eve. The broomstick advert he'd been staring at lost its charm after he'd read it for the third time. He flipped the page, then the next, and then he just closed it with a huff, letting the magazine slump off the edge of his bed with a muted thud. Where is she? Under normal circumstances he could imagine her finding a secluded spot on the stadium stands, striking her signature solemn pose, eyes glazed over and unfocused, like how he'd found her sitting in the window sill of the Nundu Niche dormitory. Except, that was months ago. She'd been better since and nothing about her had suggested she'd have a violent moodswing all of a sudden. Maybe she just wants to be away from me for a bit, he thought. He'd never really thanked her for all she'd done for him since April. Most notably, the steady supply of Dreamless Sleep that she had provided. He didn't particularly like the taste of it and always put off taking it until the last possible moment, but there was no question that the potion helped. Where is she? he wondered again. He stared up at the canvas ceiling of the tent hoping it might offer some sort of entertainment. When that failed, he threw one arm over his face and kicked his feet lazily. A moment later he pulled his arm away to glance towards Eve’s empty bed for what felt like the millionth time. For a while he remained a disgruntled octopus, sprawling this way, then rolling over that way, then puffing his cheeks and looking toward the tent entrance again. There was no chance he'd get any sleep without Eve's brew.

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Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 4 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 17

𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲ

Liberating Thoughts - Property of the Nightingale Saturday night, 10th of August 2024

xx

Ｔhe minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness. Finn’s eyes flitted restlessly from one corner of the tent to the other, tracing the outlines of his slumbering tentmates who all seemed blissfully unaware of his silent struggle. How could they sleep so soundly, anyway? He wished he could do that again, to just close his eyes and speedrun into a coma. He flipped over again, legs tangling in the blanket, and let out another exaggerated groan, muffled by the pillow he’d smooshed against his face. By now, all of the tent had gone dark except for his small jar, containing the gently pulsing blue flames. This is unbearable, he thought to himself. The more he had tried to fall asleep anyway, the further sleep drifted away from him. With a frustrated huff, he sat upright in bed, propping himself on his elbows, and peered over to Eve’s side of the tent. If she wasn’t going to show up, he’d just have to take matters into his own hands. After a furtive glance around, Finn crept from his bed and tiptoed over to Eve’s side. Her trunk was closed but that wasn't where she kept the purple potion anyway. Aided by the faint glow from the bluebell flames, he found her satchel and tried feeling around it from the outside for a something bottle-shaped, but couldn't find it. Once more he checked the tent entrance, then held up the jar to see if anyone else was half-awake or looking his way. After he'd made sure the coast was clear, he pulled at the strings on the satchel and prayed that there wasn't some kind of Caterwauling Charm on the bag. Thankfully, that didn't seem to be the case. No wonder, he thought to himself. There weren't many people brave or stupid enough to rifle through Evelynn's belongings. Not any that live to tell the tale, anyway, the grim thought followed. The moment his fingers dipped into the satchel, he realized it was enchanted, its interior impossibly vast. Yet that wasn't what made him freeze. His fingers brushed against something familiar: the hard, leathery spine of a book, one he'd touched before. He knew he should retreat, tie up the satchel, and forget he'd ever approached her bedside. He'd been bloody lucky he'd gotten away the first time he'd ever laid hands on her journal, it wasn't worth risking it again. Evelynn would be beyond livid, and she'd be right to. Frowning, he felt around a bit more, searching for the cold touch of a glass bottle containing a purple fluid. Instead he found the soft touch of fabric, the cold touch of something metalic, the ticklish touch of something soft and feathery, and then his fingertips were on the cover of her journal again, like they'd been drawn back there by some invisible force.

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Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 4 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 17

𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲ

Liberating Thoughts - Property of the Nightingale Saturday night, 10th of August 2024

xx

Ｔhe last time he'd looked he'd just glanced at some Quidditch notes. It wasn't all that private, and he didn't even have a proper look anyway. Just a peek, he told himself when he gingerly grabbed the journal and pulled it out of the satchel. Maybe this time he'd actually be able to make heads or tails out of her cramped notes. Evelynn had let slip that several accidents had occurred at Hogwarts in the past, that it was connected to the Spring Ball somehow, that the attack he and Pericles @Pericles Dralt had suffered was part of something larger. Yet despite her promise to answer all his questions, the subject had never been broached again since his outburst against her. He'd cried a great deal and ever since, some invisible contract had been signed between them that had prevented them broaching the subject again. Live had gone on, the summer break had arrived and for a few blissful weeks, he'd been to busy in muggle life to spend much time thinking about grand conspiracies. But now the answers were right there, right in front of him, scrawled on those pages. Finn grit his teeth. I have a right to know.

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Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 4 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 17

𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲ

Liberating Thoughts - Property of the Nightingale Saturday night, 10th of August 2024

xx

Ａrmed with the journal, his bluebell jar, and his blanket as a makeshift cloak, he crept out of the tent on slippered feet. The crunching snow seemed far too loud, but anyone awake might assume he was just heading to the lavatory. For a brief while, he considered holing up there, but then thought it wouldn't be nearly secluded enough. No, he needed somewhere where he could be completely alone and wouldn't be disturbed. In the end, he made for the stadium stands. While his breath fogged in the air, he clambered over the low barrier separating the seats from the pitch and went up the aisle. There was an open steel grating stair at the back of the stands, connecting the different levels. He'd raced up those same steps when he'd been kicked out of the tent with Pericles and knew just how much noise they could make, so he went up slowly, keep his blanket and the journal close. Finally, upon reaching the fourth level he turned toward the skybox and cautiously tried the door handle. Locked. But not for long. "Alohomora," he whispered, and the door sprang open with a satisfying click. A wall of stale, muggy air hit him when he stepped inside. Though he was immediately tempted to sit at the bar located within and look around for a fridge and perhaps a bag of crisps, he figured it'd be wiser not to leave any trace. A carefully aimed "Aer Callidus" melted what little snow had stuck to his slippers and been carried inside. Using his heel, he quietly pushed the door back shut behind him, shuffled over toward the far wall, and sat down cross-legged on the creaking sofa. No one looking up from the pitch below would be able to see him, which suited him just fine. With the jar set beside him and his blanket wrapped all around him, he traced a stubby finger across the leather-bound journal. Maybe he should head back, forget he ever took her journal, take the secret with him to the grave... But would she really answer all his questions? Even a week after his accident at the ball had she even bothered to feed him the tiniest of crumbs, and even then her language had been vague. She'd blamed herself for failing to protect him, but hadn't bothered to elaborate what she'd be protecting him from. She'd mentioned swarms of mosps and cursed dolls, but that was all he'd been told about these past accidents. Why did he even need protecting? Why was he involved in this at all? There was no doubt about it, she was keeping things from him, but no more. He hooked a thumb under the journal cover, took a deep breath, and pushed it open. "Sorry Eve, but I have to know..."

xx

Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 4 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 17

𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲ

Liberating Thoughts - Property of the Nightingale Saturday night, 10th of August 2024

xx

Ｈe flipped the page. A horse? He supposed it made sense. Girls liked horses, didn't they? He skim-read the text, none too interested in Cassiopeia, until his eyes landed on something interesting. Boarding school. I'm a little scared that the holidays will end and I'll be going back to boarding school, not Hogwarts. He checked the date on the entry, December 28th, penned just three months into her first year, he reckoned. The notion that Evelynn could be scared of anything, even just a little scared, was entirely foreign to him. He glanced at the second page before turning it. No need to pry there, her adventures with her horse would remain private. The next page was dated December 30th. ...we discovered some strange things in the Gryffindor common room. Any hope of skipping over a young Evelynn's innermost thoughts and feelings went out the window. So soon? He flipped back to the earlier entry, but there was no year listed anywhere. It had to be either in her first year, or early into her second. Did it matter? The fact remained that strange things had been going on at Hogwarts for much longer than he'd previously thought. Potter. The name scratched an itch in the back of his mind. Must've been in History of Magic. A famous wizard fallen from grace, wasn't it? Eve's notes made little sense until he read the paper clipping next to it. ...Potter was accused of murdering Dolors Umbridge on Hogwarts grounds in 2018. He let out a soft breath that he'd been holding. So it had happened. Murder. At Hogwarts. Who was to say it couldn't happen again. Perhaps it already had.

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Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 4 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 17

𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲ

Liberating Thoughts - Property of the Nightingale Saturday night, 10th of August 2024

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Ｙoung Evelynn had helpfully highlighted sections of the clipping and it was one of the last lines in the article that made him frown. ...and Potter was quickly detained. He was found in a visitor's quarter in the Gryffindor Common Area, sleeping when he was apprehended a little after midnight. What kind of killer would take nap so close to the supposed crime scene? It made no bloody sense. So far, Evelynn's journal raised more questions than it answered. The names she had circled — Davenport, Moore, Vladimir — not once had he heard mention them. A few pages further, there was another unfamiliar name, circled several times over. Finnley Vancleaf? Yet another school nurse it seemed. That job was proper cursed, even in just his two years at Hogwarts he'd seen a number of different nurses. They never lasted long. While it was evident Evelynn considered his namesake important, she offered no explanation. Taking a deep breath, he flipped the page and read on. Eve's writing was neat, yet also tight and cramped, like she tried to put every little detail on the page. Some pages were mundane — notes on spells and Quidditch formations — but a few more pages in, the text took a sudden turn. An attack at the 2019 ball by part-giants, then a few pages further: another ball, another 'accident'. This time an attempted kidnapping. And there was that name again, VanCleaf, right next to Potter. But was it the same VanCleaf he had encountered before? There was mention of a third ball and yet another incident involving a Galton VanCleaf. How was anyone supposed to make sense of any of this? He read on, hoping to find some clue, something that neatly tied these events together. Instead he read about hags in the Forbidden Forest, students cursed or missing. The name Athanatos came up again and again, sometimes circled in red, sometimes underlined. He hunched forward, eyes glued to the page. Athanatos, Athanatos, Athanatos. Again and again. He didn't want to believe it, didn't want to consider the possibility that he had guessed wrong about his attacker. The night of the 13th was a blur and he could no longer tell which parts were real and which ones he had imagined. But he had learned the blonde boy's name. Gideon. Gideon Athanatos. Whatever that name meant, it was connected to all the incidents, of that there could be no doubt. But how? Evelynn had drawn him a map, dotted with landmarks, but had neglected to draw a path between them. @Gideon Athanatos

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Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 4 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 17

𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲ

Liberating Thoughts - Property of the Nightingale Saturday night, 10th of August 2024

xx

Ｈow much time had passed? An hour? Maybe more? He'd barely made it halfway through Eve's journal and he was more confused than ever before. Confusion turned to shock when he read on. Gone was the scrawling and circling and underlining. In its place were neat, organized files. Files on people. Students. Name, age, height, habits, quirks, even handedness, all had been jotted down. One page described a boy from Ravenclaw, his exact height, the way he tapped his foot when nervous, his frequent trips to the library late at night. Another was dedicated to a Gryffindor girl, listing her appearance, her favorite snacks, the subjects she favored. Most disturbing of all was the fact that Evelynn had kept track of who had been kissing who. She's mental... she's completely- He flipped the pages faster now, scanning them with mounting dread. Soon enough he found what he feared: his own file. This is mad, completely mad. Since when had Evelynn decided to become a complete and utter creep? His name and birthday had been written down along with his left-handedness and some more details about his role on the Quidditch team as well as his strong and weak subjects. Any flattery he might have felt from reading about himself was utterly drowned out by one overriding thought: I am reading the diary of a serial killer. Was that really so mad to think? Because the next page contained hastily scrawled quotes and disjointed thoughts, seemingly unconnected and haphazardly spread over the pages. "...n't believe this is happening to me, how c..." "This is so boring" "Don't look at me, don't look at me, don't lo-- FUCK" "where did I put that..." And then, spread across two pages in all capitals: NOW YOU'RE GOING TO DIE

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Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 4 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 17

𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲ

Liberating Thoughts - Property of the Nightingale Saturday night, 10th of August 2024

xx

Ｈe leaned back into the sofa, letting the journal rest on his knees, unable to digest anymore of Eve's insane writings. It dawned on him now: the glue holding all of this together. The Nightingale. Evelynn. Ms. Decipio. Eve. I've been taking her potion for weeks, he thought, horrified. What even was in there? What if he was nothing more than some experiment to her? What if the only reason she had warmed up to him was to- He clenched his jaw. The Eve he knew was so different. Stiff and old-fashioned, always insisting on calling him by his surname, but a steadying presence as of late. He'd trusted her, he'd actually believed her when she had said she was sorry. Sorry for what had happened to him. She'd spun some bullshit about how she had been meaning to protect him, but he knew the ugly truth now. In away, she had even confessed. "I should have warned you... I should have told you to stay away... It is my fault that this happened to you.” It is my fault that this happened to you. That was what she had said, wasn't it? A veiled admission or just a slip of the tongue? The difference mattered little. He jumped up. The pristine journal fell to the floor, but no longer cared about it. What to do? What now? This was maddening! He began to pace up and down the empty skybox. Should he tell someone? Who could he even trust to tell anymore? June? Rebecca? Pericles? Maybe George? No. None of them were an option. He would be forced to admit he had taken a private journal and read it, practically cover to cover. What kind of friend would they think him to be if any of them ever found out? If any of them ever learned the extent of his snooping and prying in private matters — and besides, secrets are no longer secrets if more than one person knows them. @June Selwyn, @Rebecca Lark, @Pericles Dralt, @George Henry

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Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 4 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 17