I Spy with my Little Eye Something... Yellow? Gross!

[Dustin Crovin]

This was it. It was in this very moment that Dustin Marcus Crovin was going to shatter the world of Quidditch and make it forevermore an extinct sport like Creaothceann. The boy couldn't be more prepared for the scene about to unveil.

Unlike most students in the school, when the Hufflepuff heard that Quidditch was canceled for an undisclosed amount of time he had to restrain himself from jumping up and down cheering for joy. Instead he merely smirked discretely and sent an owl back home to his brother expressing how glad he was that the dreadful sport was expunged as soon as he could. No longer would he have to hear the ignorant chatter about how fourteen uncivilized students got together to bash it out for an ungodly long amount of time. No longer would students and teachers alike be able to idolize the players of that wretched game. And to top it all off, no longer would Dustin be forced to play for a murderous team in a game that only ended in foul play and cheating.

This was going to be the age of Swivenhodge, Dustin was sure of it. Everything was aligning his way, all Dustin had to do was get a following of Swivenhodge extraordinaires and slowly the most magnificent sport would make its way in popularity throughout the wizarding world. Dustin had heard that some sort of absurd Underground Quidditch League was forming, so the fifth year knew this was the time to act, which was exactly what brought him to this point in his life.

Dustin gazed at the firebolt in front of him feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. He felt bad about what was going to happen, really he did, but for the betterment of society, Dustin knew it had to be done. With fierce determination, he snatched up the firebolt that wasn't his and stormed out of the common room.

He was relatively sure that this belong to the niece of his old school teacher's, but it was a much needed sacrifice for the glory of Swivenhodge. Of course, he knew better than to wait around for the girl to come back and see her broom was missing so he hurried along with his master plan.

"Incendio," he excitedly called out and watched at the tip of the broom caught fire. This was perfect! "Down with Quidditch!" he huskily cried as he took a step forward.

Of course, no one was around, and Dustin realized he need to create a scene for his plan to work. Without a single clue where he was going the boy took off in a sprint through the dark halls of the dungeon ranting about the significance with the flap of his cloak behind him. In a few turns he found some students gathering together and realized this was his chance. "Come play Swivenhodge" he exasperatedly cried as he neared them, the broom in his hand glowing brighter with every step. For a moment he wondered why it wasn't get damaged, but Dustin shrugged it off as he surged even closer to the students.

Dustin couldn't see who made up this group, nor did he care - all he wanted them to do was follow him. He was mildly bewildered when they didn't drop what they were doing and run with him, but of course there were hundreds of other students that needed to hear his message so he bolted past them and onward into the dungeon corridors. Hopefully he would be able to find them later and recruit them to play Swivenhodge at that point, and to ensure they didn't forget him, just before he turned down another corridor the fifth year Hufflepuff thrust the burning Quidditch broom into the air so that he was sure they all saw what was happening.

"HUZZZZAAH!" he cried eagerly as he left their presence.

[Ichabod Kinsley]

Ichabod had long since distracted himself with yet another crack, although this one was in the corridor wall and he was absolutely certain that it hadn’t been there the day before. The castle was obviously cracking under the weight of holding too many students. Someone should really look into the problem and come up with some sort of solution. His solution, of course, would be to get rid of at least half of the students in the castle, if not more.

He barely looked up as Anseltisha began talking about some silly rules and consequences. He wasn’t likely to care about Slytherin losing housepoints. Really, what did it matter to him if Slytherin won the house cup? The cup probably hadn’t been cleaned in ages like the rest of the castle; therefore, he didn’t want it.

And while the threat of detention certainly held more weight than the loss of housepoints did, Ichabod wasn’t particularly bothered by the thought of that either. He’d only been forced to participate in one detention so far after lighting a girl’s hair on fire and that hadn’t been anything more than he could handle. He’d simply been forced to assist the mountainous buffoon groundskeeper with planting pumpkins in his garden, which Ichabod had refused to do, as there was no way he was going to touch the dirt. Instead, he spent the entirety of the detention cleaning the man’s filthy shack that he apparently somehow lived in. The worst part of it, aside from convincing the man to put the foul slobbering dog outside, had been the groundskeeper’s disgusting kindness and his insistence that Ichabod eat some rocks that he said were biscuits, but Ichabod knew better and had declined repeatedly.

”What, exactly, would this particular detention entail?” Ichabod asked as he pulled his wand from his pocket, as he obviously wasn’t particularly concerned with what the answer might be.

Then the Hufflepuff girl pointed down the corridor in an obvious attempt to distract the Slytherins so she could make her getaway. Ichabod, still clutching his wand, crossed his arms back over his chest and refused to look in the direction that the girl was pointing.

”Oh come on, that never works.”

But then something had come from the direction that the girl had been pointing in and it ran past in a blur of flames. It appeared to Ichabod to have been a boy whose head was on fire and his mental yelling was only more evidence to that supposed fact.

”Esma must’ve started setting students on fire without me,” he stated rather matter-of-factly, though the look of disappointment on his face was quite unmistakeable.

[Aimée Vraisang]

((I am SO sorry about the delay on this. It shouldn't happen again! Also, I got Nylevet's permission to move her around a bit ^^ ))

"I must advise the three of you, however, that as a prefect, I can neither condone nor allow dueling or fighting of any kind in the corridors, and that doing so will result in the loss of house points, or detention, or both. I doubt anything will happen though."

Aimée smirked at Analisha's ironic tone. Her darting eyes had already noted that the girl was holding her wand, although keeping it hidden well within the long sleeve of her school robe. The boy, however, made no such attempts at deception. He drew his wand carelessly, without a trace that he had heard what Ana had just said - and Aimée moved quickly to follow. She had never been a fan of verbal confrontation, but this - this she could do. Let other Slytherins throw clever insults and spend hours congratulating themselves on the purity of their blood. Aimée would always feel more comfortable letting her actions speak for her and her house - or, in all honesty, just taking action and not having to think at all.

And yet, it seemed the Hufflepuff was backing down before anything had even started. She was used to dealing with hard-headed Gryffindors, who wouldn't walk away from a fight in even the most dire of situations. Therefore, this change of heart confused Aimée almost as effectively as if the girl had retaliated with a well-placed confundus charm. The girl was literally backing down, her body language changing from bold to nervous and non-confrontational in a matter of seconds. Aimée glanced first at Analisha and then at the younger boy, appraising their reactions. She'd back up Ana any day - but if there wasn't going to be a fight, Aimée didn't see the point in sticking around. If she and Ana didn't get going, they would be late for Transfiguration. A duel might be worth drawing Professor Rennin's ire. But verbal sparring, with only the possibility of reducing a badger to tears? Hardly.

Feigning complete disinterest in the girl, Aimée turned towards her fellow seventh year. "Is this even worth our time, Ana? - "

"Look guys - " the Hufflepuff started, and Aimée turned back towards her, raising a single eyebrow. But, before she was able to even respond to the interruption, the girl's eyes grew round with shock and she repeated what she had just said - but this time, in a very different tone.

Eyeing the girl, Aimée nonetheless followed the line of her outstretched finger to see where she was pointing. If this is an escape attempt, it isn't a very good one, she grumbled to herself as she glanced over her shoulder.

Glanced - and then whirled, her black robe whipping around her legs from the force of the sudden movement. A crazed looking boy was running straight at them, waving something fiery aloft. He was also shouting something unintelligible as he careened towards them, but she was far more concerned by the fire. And the fact that he was brandishing a…

Burning. Broomstick.

Blinking, Aimée jumped backwards and reacted out of instinct. Ana could take care of herself, and she'd gotten the clear sense that the boy would curse anyone before he let them lay a finger on him. And so she found herself pulling the Hufflepuff girl up against the dungeon wall with one outstretched arm, taking them both well out of the path of the deranged boy.

"What was that?" Aimée shot quizzically at Ana, not really expecting any answer. Realizing that she was still holding onto the Hufflepuff girl's shoulder, she quickly dropped her arm and sidled uneasily away, brushing unthinkingly at imaginary dirt and dust motes left on her sleeve from the contact.

[Nylevet du Monte]

Slowing down reality was never mentioned in a class at Hogwarts. There was no wand-waving explaining it in Charms, nor concoction to be brewed in Potions that could slow down time. Yet, it seemed (on an increasing basis here at Hogwarts) as though several of these surreal moments occurred on a weekly basis. Suddenly, in a moment of peril, one’s surroundings moved slower than one’s thoughts. It was almost an out-of-body experience. It was a strange sort of magic indeed. But here it was happening to Nylevet du Monte, Hufflepuff sixth year.

A motley crew of Slytherins- a Prefect, a first-year, and a random, older girl had cornered her. Just as it seemed as though she was doomed spending the rest of the year in the hospital wings with mysterious winged boils all over her body, a near-miracle happened. Dustin Crovin, a fellow Hufflepuff, went rampaging down the dungeon with a burning broom in his hand, just as Nylevet was frantically trying to come up with a diversion. This strange twist of fate perfectly assisted Nylevet. Two out of the three Slytherins had their attention diverted to the loud, fiery distraction.
The third, older Slytherin, had thrown Nylevet to the wall.

Nylevet had never imagined that a Slytherin would touch her, no less save her. Being a Muggle-born, Nylevet was used to discrimination from the traditionally Pure Blood house. It was a bit frustrating, considering she was just as magically adept as the rest of the students her age. However, it bothered her less and less as she grew older.

Nylevet could feel the cold, rough wall of the dungeons through her school robes. Her elbow hit hard against the wall, and thought for sure it was bruised. Nylevet looked at the Slytherin, stunned. The Slytherin still had a hold on her shoulder, and Nylevet thought she was about to turn around and punch her. It was, after all, typical of Slytherins to take advantage of situations. Nylevet shut her eyes tight and waited for the blow.

But it never came. Instead, the Slytherin let go of her shoulder. Nylevet opened her eyes in time to see the girl move away and brush off her sleeve. Nice, Nylevet thought; the Slytherin just had to do something to make up for the random act of kindness. She balanced it out with an obvious display of superiority. Typical.

Nylevet stood awkwardly next to the girl. What should she do now? Thank her? Apologize? Run away as fast as possible? The Slytherin hadn’t left; maybe she was waiting for something?

”So, er, thank you?" Nylevet said as casually as possible. She looked at the Slytherin, who was looking towards the Prefect for further instruction. She was smaller than Nylevet and had darker features. Her dark eyes had reflected the burning broom’s light perfectly. She was well groomed and was probably horrified at Nylevet’s unkempt look. Typical, the Slytherin probably assumed, of any Hufflepuff, or Muggleborn, unconcerned with their status in society. Nylevet looked away.

“So, er, I’ll be going now. Quickly. See you around!”