#hoaxplot

there was a wary air still hanging over hogsmeade —

it was only september, but fog was thick in the mornings;  even thicker was the sense that everyone bustling around the village was on guard.   the memorial for professor william cornfoot at the start of the month had been   …   unauthorized.   organized by the muggle tolerant community,  former students,  anyone who mourned the death of the young muggle literature professor.   the owners & workers of the three broomsticks hadn’t warned others living and working in hogsmeade village that there would be a large gathering.   

everyone was shocked by the way that large gathering ended. 

the annual hogsmeade harvest festival,  which began every year on the night of the autumnal equinox and lasted through the last night of september,  was the sort of thing everyone looked forward to all year.   no one wanted to cancel   …   but there was no denying that people were beginning to wonder of the festivities were worth the threat of more trouble. 

there still was no suspect for the sinister purple flames that had spelled a warning in the air.   the ministry assured its citizens that there was no need to worry;   that the night of august 31st had been a harmless prank,  on the eve of the university term beginning.   minister travers reminded the wixen community that he took their safety as his duty.   he promised that if there were a reason to be fearful,  he’d tell them.   he encouraged life to go on as normal   —   starting with the harvest festival.   

so the festival set up as it always did,   in its usual spot outside of the bustle of high street,  before the neat lines of cottages began.   booths and tents went up,   ribbons of fairy-lights and cheery orange garland strung between them.   a pumpkin patch was arranged,  piles of hay for people to sit on and walk past placed with careless precision.   there was promise of a petting zoo,  a harvest market,  games for children,  seasonal food & treats,   and a special fireworks display on september 24th to celebrate the full moon.  

the wariness persisted.   but the people of hogsmeade were determined to carry on.   after all,  the minister would say if the shouldn’t.   right? 

it's almost the start of term — 

september 1st   —   the same day the students of hogwarts college have started the new school year since their very first year at hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.   sunday,  august 31st is the last day to arrive on campus before the start of classes on the first.   it seems the more things change in the wizarding world,  the more stay the same. 

there is no special train for students of hogwarts college;  which means there is no need for them to wait on platform 9 ¾.   there are no horseless drawn carriages,  and no boat rides for those embarking on their first or final years.   instead,  there’s over-packed approved floo locations and crowded apparition check points for all the students who weren’t smart enough to get the fireplace in their dorms set up to the floo before the start of term.   rumor has it the floo network authority takes weeks to get those set up once term starts and they’re flooded with student requests,  so tough shit for those unlucky enough to have to wait. 

the hustle & bustle of the campus on the day before classes return is routine,  now   —   only two years since its creation.   this year is no exception.   dean pyrites' office is a ways away from the quad,  the lush space at the center of the school’s four dorm buildings,  but he has enough faculty keeping tabs there to have his suspicions confirmed:   all any of the students can talk about is the recent,  mysterious death of professor william cornfoot.

of course,  he expected this.  waiting for each student in their dorms is a glittering missive inviting them to the start of term mixer.  the event is to be held in travers hall,  the largest and most grand of the campus’ dining halls,  filled with tasteful music and dancing,  fine food and drink,  and even finer conversation;   after all,  the guest list extends beyond hogwarts college's regulars.   dean pyrites considered holding it in the ballroom,  then thought such an ostentatious distraction was not yet called for.     

perhaps he’s right,  but perhaps not.   at the same time as arriving students open the dean’s neat invitations,  whispers spread through the student body like wildfire   —   since it seems the school isn’t going to do anything for him,  one of professor cornfoot’s teaching assistants is holding an unofficial memorial for him.   they pulled some strings and got the three broomsticks to agree to hold the event,  open to anyone who knew william and wants to honor his memory.   the whole of the muggle-tolerant community seems primed to attend. 

the two events may not be happening quite concurrently   —   though the memorial starts at seven pm,  it is promised to last all night.   but there is an undercurrent of high tension running through the campus,  and before classes even start.   lines are surely to be drawn in the sand after the evening,  so think wisely before deciding which event to attend,  or in which order to attend them.   and of course,  students,  do try to moderate your drinking and get some rest tonight.   tomorrow is the first day of classes, after all. 

bang! crack! a series of pops and crashes sound from outside —

the dean’s party was in high swing   —   well,  high swing by the university’s standards,  which just meant the faculty and assorted non-student guests were just starting to get drunk enough not to notice a student bribing the goblin string quartet to play something a little groovier.   the mixer had started a little stiff & stuffy,  but it actually got almost fun as the night went on.   not too bad,  dean pyrites thought,  for something thrown together at the last minute.   but before he got too smug,  a sound like muggle gunfire rang right outside the stately wooden doors of travers hall as soon as the clock struck midnight.  

conversely,  it was hard to pin down what the vibe of the memorial was;  for every student gazing morosely into their firewhisky,  there was another group laughing uproariously at some memory of the late professor cornfoot,  next to a cluster of people who seemed to simply be nursing a pint.   the staff at the three broomsticks had propped open one of the side doors to keep air flowing through the crowded party;  this memorial was a celebration of the beloved professor of muggle lit.   still.   at the same time as havoc sounded outside the doors of the dean’s back to school mixer,   an ominous string of sounds came from out the pub’s front doors. 

guests of both events rushed outside,  wands at the ready,  self preservation instincts having left the building   —   to find something eerie in the air.   not a dark mark,  though it reminded nearly everyone of the skull and snake.   what they found instead was this:   ribbons of vibrant violent twisting in the air,  taking on the shape of professor william cornfoot’s body like a corrupt aurora borealis.  there was smoke in the air,  lazy glitter still raining down as the last remnant of the fireworks that had alerted everyone to the aurora’s presence.   and as crowds gathered underneath that wicked purple cloud,  even more fireworks went off and formed words in midair. 

they read:   william cornfoot was only the beginning.