peckenpaugh | HE IS HERE

the vines have run wild

it's over Everything is in shambles. Walls and floors torn and broken from roots and branches sprouting through. They block doors and crowd passages and pulse with sick life. The Thing sits in the center of it all, angry and starving, its trunk both still and moving in ways you catch only when it is in the corner of your vision. Branches that look less like bark and more like skin stretch in every direction, lush with shadowy leaves and dotted with bits of glowing blue. The ruined floor is littered with those little twinkling dots. Seeds. Everywhere, seeds. They hang on boughs, and rest on banisters in the upper levels. The one thing in this nightmare that doesn't radiate that awful, pervasive hunger.

The roof is gone, replaced with a writhing canopy of shadow and muck. Some parts of it are complex spiderwebs of tendrilly shapes, others solid formless movement. The only consistent thing about it is that it is terrible to behold, faintly nauseating to look at for too long. Ash rains down between gaps in its branches, and what glimpses of sky are visible are nothing but swirling gray clouds. What stars still shine are magic, man-made, floated between balconies by prom committee before the dance.

Those remaining begin to stir. Each one of you has heard Pocket's words, "Find the roots." And if you want to save your friends, your family, the holler — hell, maybe even the world — that's exactly what you're going to do.

You climb from protective cocoons of dying moss, push your way past walls of solid ice, emerging into utter destruction. Things move and make noise at the edge of your vision, but for now, at least, all is calm. What to do? Where to start?

it's ruined Among the twinkling maple seeds are the dropped possessions of students and staff, lost when they were pulled away. A compact mirror, a cell phone, a pair of glasses, cups of punch spilling across the floor. A single red heel sits at the edge of the jagged pit that peers down into the Sorting Path. The air here is hot. Too hot. If you jump, you'll surely be boiled alive.

Though locked when everyone tried to flee, vines and roots have torn the doors to the auditorium off their hinges. The splintered remains of heavy oak doors litter the entrance halls and stairwell alcoves, leaving an open path outside. Not that you'd want to flee, by the looks of it.

A cool night breeze is the only relief from the growing heat of the auditorium, yes, but even that is tainted by the heavy scent of flowers. Outside, vines and purple flowers have exploded over every surface. They climb up lamp posts, engulf buildings whole, hang from trees. It would be beautiful if it weren't horrifying. Campus is unrecognizable.

there is no hope Roots and vines clog the way to the Sorting Path, and most stairwells are completely obstructed by the growths of that horrible tree. Up above, something buzzes and wails, a mockery of a cicada's cry, and beyond that the twittering of birds nesting in the tree's highest branches.

Pouch coalesces in the middle of it all, a one-winged magimagicicada, weak and weary but undaunted. Resolute, if not reinvigorated. He bends down to touch a seed, and the moment his obsidian fingers light on it, a blue-white portal to somewhere else rips right through reality. A memory begins to play. Somehow, the bug seems to know what he's seeing.

She gave us what we need, the one who ran says to the gathered students, his voice in their heads as much as the air. Let's all not let her down, huh?

Find your friends. Find my siblings. It's time to fight.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

...Well actually. Seeing all of this coming out of the pockets of their young teacher is downright inspiring. Audrey smiles gently, and then turns to another point of quarry. “....You know. Keep him busy.” She instructs Mary Grace. And then she mouths a quick apology to the boy who lived and dips her hand in Harry Potter’s robe pockets. This may create a baaaad butterfly effect but. This is an emergency.

The pockets of Famous Wizard Cop Harry Potter are a little less bulging. There's some weird blank piece of parchment, a money pouch he probably shouldn't be keeping on him holy shit this kid is loaded, and a lovely wand, 11" long and made of holly.

"What's his face, the old guy," Mary Grace gestures vaguely to the table of staff members at the head of the room as she starts writing something on Harry Potter's forehead. "I think he's got the Elder Wand. We can fuck with hallows 'n' shit." Hey, fuck off, Mary Grace has straight As she can pay attention in history class once in a while.

Trudy sorts through these items methodically, keeping some and tossing others. She throws the knuts over her shoulder, where they clatter against silverware. The newspaper she briefly looks over for anything interesting, but quickly abandons it. She carefully places the pens (and pocket protector), the glasses case, the chocolate frogs, fanged frisbee, the rock, the paperclips, the tape, the umbrella, the headache potion, and the coffee in her bag. They seem potentially useful. With a victorious grin, she puts his wand behind her ear for quick access. The rest she piles up on the table beside a girl with extremely fluffy hair. "No drugs, only candy," she tells Audrey.

Gertrude McGilliguddy is not the type of person who should ever be within miles of, let alone have, the Elder Wand, as evidenced by the way her face lights up as she goes flat out running towards the adults' table.

Audrey has been Trudy’s roommate for four years now and knows for a fact she should not have the elder wand. That’s a bad idea. But Audrey has all of Harry James Potter’s pocket money and enabled face graffiti. So. Fair’s fair. She just smiles at this enthusiasm. “...But after that, we really should get going.” She says, with all the energy of a wine mom only a little bored with talking to her friends at the playground.

Mary Grace finishes the letters she's inking on Harry Potter's forehead, a wobbly attempt at gothic lettering, declaring his belief that All Cats Are Beautiful.

"Okay, I'm bored now, we should," she grabs a handful of beans and slops them into her mouth, "boogie on out."

She heads toward the fireplace. At no point does anyone stop Trudy from grabbing that Elder Wand, just be quick about it.

Trudy follows, though she doesn't offer anyone the spare wand she picked up OR the chocolate frogs.

Even in the carnage, Audrey sets her coffee cup gently down before following the others out. “You look great.” She informs Harry, as she goes.

Trudy, Audrey and Mary Grace have completed the memory "School of Bitchcraft & Wizardry"!

Upon emerging from the memory out into the auditorium, the portal snapped shut behind them.

Elsewhere in the auditorium, Mr. Stirling is freed, and starts patting his pockets. For some reason they feel a little light?

Trudy, Audrey and Mary Grace each earned 5 Tokens for completing the memory!

They earned an additional 1 Token for locating the linchpin after hitting the reply minimum, an additional 2 Tokens for replying beyond the minimum, and another 2 tokens for fucking up Hogwarts! #hogwartsisoverparty #theypickedthewrongboy

You can check your token totals in Pouch's shop here, and maybe see if there's anything worth grabbing while you're there!

HE IS HERE

Re: MEMORY: School of Bitchcraft & Wizardry

MEMORY: School of Bitchcraft & Wizardry

MEMORY: School of Bitchcraft & Wizardry

MEMORY: School of Bitchcraft & Wizardry

MEMORY: School of Bitchcraft & Wizardry

MEMORY: School of Bitchcraft & Wizardry

MEMORY: School of Bitchcraft & Wizardry

MEMORY: School of Bitchcraft & Wizardry

MEMORY: School of Bitchcraft & Wizardry - COMPLETE & TOKENS!