Out of Ink [Solo] - Corridors

3 Mar 2026, 21:31

| Dec. 15^st, 2025|
| The Headliner Office |
| Approximately 7AM |
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The Headliner hosted a number of responsible early risers, and although @Silas Norwood was not counted among them, he would be roused by a student who- passing by en route to breakfast- heard commotion beyond the door. When he attempted to investigate, the paper's Editor in Chief discovered his own office locked, and his key refused to function. No amount of banging his fist would open it, though those thunderous knocks at least earned an answer: "Stand by, Silas. You can come in once I've finished." The voice belonged to upperclassman Pericles Dralt, sounding over the mad clack of printing presses, and it rang with a warning.

When @Dealla Prince had presented a concept for protest posters, Pear had looked it over with care and introspection. He didn't mention how much ink nor paper the design would burn through. He wasn't worried about how many copies she wanted, nor whether or not the EiC would allow them to be made. He merely admired the design, nodded his approval, and announced "I'll see it done." When most students would be headed to breakfast, Pericles detoured to the Headliner office. He was a seventh-year now. He had always erred on offering a positive example, and for the bulk of his Hogwarts stay, he liked to believe he'd succeeded. The mage had never been sent to detention, partly because his misdeeds went uncaught, but also because they were so infrequent that no one seemed to notice. Maybe it was the impending graduation that drove him to act recklessly, go out with a "bang". Perhaps he'd become embittered by the EiC's laissez-faire method of "leading". He practiced his heist in secrecy, so when the time came to cast, he did so with deft confidence. Anyone could Alohamora the door open. He was going to need a proper guardian to secure it, and he could think of no better protector than a dragon. One Inanimatus Conjurus later, Pericles conjured a marble statue of a drake. Its stout figure sat on its haunches, baring its fangs like a proper guard dog. It came to life with Piertotum Locomotor and a stony chomp. Its body moved with jerky motions, reminiscent of a stop-motion monster, as it craned its head towards the summoner. Pericles commanded it with a point towards the door and a simple directive to "Guard." Obediently, the statue prowled towards its station. Soon the sound of printing presses churned from the locked office, and when Silas ignored the warning to unlock the door, he would come face-to-face with a snarling monstrosity.

Pericles, hastening to stow his ill-gotten posters, had cast Pack on the pile. He stood silhouetted in a torrent of papers that flowed from the printing pass into a neat stack inside an open trunk. The warlock turned in the eye of the storm that was organized chaos- flying parchment, a bellowing drake, and seemingly possessed printing presses- with an obstinate sneer. Unmoved by threats of being thrown from the team, he clapped back from the depths of his diaphragm, declaring over the din: "You can't 'toss me out', Norwood. I quit!" The trunk slammed shut. Pear flung a "Reducio" at it, took the form of a bird, and fluttered from the office with its tiny handle hooked on a talon. The only thing left of Pericles in the Headliner would be an inanimate statue and a letter left on his (now former) desk.

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To the many members of The Headliner:
The invention of the printing press changed the world at large. Where before only "elites" had access to academia, knowledge became easier to disseminate across all classes, races, and beings. Information became democratized. The Renaissance was born, a scientific revolution began, and literacy changed not only how neighbors saw the world, but also one-another. You all embody this legacy in modern Hogwarts. Every recipe shared, astrology read, and niche holiday celebrated provide pieces of context and culture to our readers. Your interviews give voice to the voiceless, and your surveys shed light on shared beliefs between students. You enlighten Hogwarts. Being a Headliner member enriched my tenure in ways I couldn't have expected, and with it coming to an end, the team will be sorely missed. Keep writing, editing, and printing. Never lose sight of the vision.
With gratitude and adoration, Pericles
PS: Sorry for the mess.

{ 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔟𝔬𝔶: 𝔞 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢, 𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔬𝔶. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔰𝔞𝔶 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔯 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔢𝔞. }

(iNPC: Madhup Hexum)

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	The Headliner hosted a number of responsible early risers, and although @Silas Norwood was not counted among them, he would be roused by a student who- passing by en route to breakfast- heard commotion beyond the door. When he attempted to investigate, the paper's Editor in Chief discovered his own office locked, and his key refused to function. No amount of banging his fist would open it, though those thunderous knocks at least earned an answer: "Stand by, Silas. You can come in once I've finished." The voice belonged to upperclassman Pericles Dralt, sounding over the mad clack of printing presses, and it rang with a warning. When @Dealla Prince had presented a concept for protest posters, Pear had looked it over with care and introspection. He didn't mention how much ink nor paper the design would burn through. He wasn't worried about how many copies she wanted, nor whether or not the EiC would allow them to be made. He merely admired the design, nodded his approval, and announced "I'll see it done." When most students would be headed to breakfast, Pericles detoured to the Headliner office. He was a seventh-year now. He had always erred on offering a positive example, and for the bulk of his Hogwarts stay, he liked to believe he'd succeeded. The mage had never been sent to detention, partly because his misdeeds went uncaught, but also because they were so infrequent that no one seemed to notice. Maybe it was the impending graduation that drove him to act recklessly, go out with a "bang". Perhaps he'd become embittered by the EiC's laissez-faire method of "leading". He practiced his heist in secrecy, so when the time came to cast, he did so with deft confidence. Anyone could Alohamora the door open. He was going to need a proper guardian to secure it, and he could think of no better protector than a dragon. One Inanimatus Conjurus later, Pericles conjured a marble statue of a drake. Its stout figure sat on its haunches, baring its fangs like a proper guard dog. It came to life with Piertotum Locomotor and a stony chomp. Its body moved with jerky motions, reminiscent of a stop-motion monster, as it craned its head towards the summoner. Pericles commanded it with a point towards the door and a simple directive to "Guard." Obediently, the statue prowled towards its station. Soon the sound of printing presses churned from the locked office, and when Silas ignored the warning to unlock the door, he would come face-to-face with a snarling monstrosity. Pericles, hastening to stow his ill-gotten posters, had cast Pack on the pile. He stood silhouetted in a torrent of papers that flowed from the printing pass into a neat stack inside an open trunk. The warlock turned in the eye of the storm that was organized chaos- flying parchment, a bellowing drake, and seemingly possessed printing presses- with an obstinate sneer. Unmoved by threats of being thrown from the team, he clapped back from the depths of his diaphragm, declaring over the din: "You can't 'toss me out', Norwood. I quit!" The trunk slammed shut. Pear flung a "Reducio" at it, took the form of a bird, and fluttered from the office with its tiny handle hooked on a talon. The only thing left of Pericles in the Headliner would be an inanimate statue and a letter left on his (now former) desk.
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Out of Ink Solo