[PLOT] Insidious :: OPEN

4 February 1924
7:00 am Monday

The Great Hall looked the same.

Almost.

The four long House tables still sat beneath the enchanted ceiling, candles floating overhead while winter clouds drifted across the Great Hall. Small snow flakes promising a cold day in the castle. It was an impressive illusion.

Students arrived in sleepy groups, rubbing eyes, mouths yawning wide, expecting another ordinary breakfast before lessons began.

As their eyes adjusted, they stopped. For a long moment, they were unable to make sense of what they were seeing.

Between the staff dais and the familiar four house tables sat a fifth.

It was shorter than the others. Newer. Polished oak without the age or worn edges of the four House tables surrounding it. The place settings were neatly arranged, untouched and ready for a very specific group of students.

A small brass plaque sat at the center: Muggleborn Students

There had been no speech, no official announcement, just a bulletin posted in every house when they woke this morning.

By order of the Ministry of Magic, and effective immediately, all students recognized as Muggleborn will take their meals at the designated table provided.

This measure has been introduced as part of the Ministry's Wizarding Civics Initiative, ensuring appropriate guidance, structured magical integration, and closer educational oversight during the continued adjustment to wizarding society.

Most read it twice. Questioning if their brains were awake enough to believe what they were reading. Some thought it was a prank and laughed it off.

The eyes of many students went to the staff table, waiting for someone to remove the sign, but no one did. The professors sat in their normal spots, House heads talked amongst themselves, it seemed the castle was carrying on as if nothing had changed.

Another new addition, the Head of Magical Education, Vera Penrose, stood on the dais watching over the students as they took in the changes. With her, four others from the Magical Education department walked the aisles, clipboard in hand, to make sure the implementation went smoothly.

They were polite, almost painfully so.

“Miss Carter,” the ministry worker motioned towards the fifth student table. “Your seat is just there my dear.”

The second year Gryffindor student looked at her with blank blinking eyes. "Don't worry," the woman assured her with a saccharine smile. "You'll still see your friends in lessons. Now then, off you go."

They were never harsh. Their words meant to soothe, not enrage.

Purebloods and halfbloods continued to sit where they wanted. House rivalries remained. Friends shuffled from one bench to another. Older students claimed their usual corners. Nothing had changed for them.

For the Muggleborns, their choice had vanished.

One by one the muggleborn students took their seats. Some embarrassed, others furious, a few pretending not to notice all the eyes following them to the new table.

The usual chatter eventually returned to the Great Hall.

Softer than normal. More cautious.

Breakfast went on. Lessons would begin shortly. The castle essentially remained unchanged, but it became difficult to ignore what had started as a single mandatory class.

First it had been a lesson. Now it was their meals. Tomorrow was anyone's guess.

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OOC: Welcome to the new Great Hall! Come in, take a seat… make sure you’re in the RIGHT spot. Feel free to talk with your friends quietly, or make your feelings known loudly.

Maevie stopped short as a woman stepped into her path toward the Hufflepuff table, drawing her gaze from her friend to a brightly smiling, eerily sunny face. Maevie’s smile faltered, confusion flickering in her eyes as her brows knitted.

“Miss Golding. This way, please.”

Her eyes followed the woman’s hand, gesturing towards a table she hadn’t even noticed on her way into the Hall, as engrossed in her conversation as she had been. But now she was staring at it with a blank expression, trying hard to keep up with what was happening.

“What? Why?”

The smiling woman smiled impossibly wider.

“Have you not seen the notice in your house’s common room?” Well, no, she hadn’t. She rarely paid attention to the bulletin board, and never in the morning. “Muggleborns will be seated at a separate table during meals from now on.”

Maevie’s gaze flicked to the smaller, fifth table again, and back to the woman in front of her. A low ringing began to sound in her ears.

A separate table for Muggleborns? An extra class for Muggleborns. What was going on? What was happening?

Maevie looked at her friend, confused, lost, hoping for an explanation of some sort, a sign that this was probably a joke, or for help, perhaps; she wasn’t sure. Mouth parted, heartbeat quickening, hands growing damp. But her friend merely stared back, equally caught off guard and lost for words, a hint of concern written between her brows.

“Please?”

The woman gestured again, patiently waiting for Maevie to oblige. And at last, she did. Too bewildered, she didn't even say a word to her friend, but fell into step behind this strange woman, almost automatically, though reluctantly. Her feet suddenly felt heavy, as though her entire body was moving through air that had grown denser somehow, her throat too dry. She was acutely aware of every eye turned her way as she was led past other students.

Swallowing hard, she took a seat, feeling mercilessly exposed.

“I don’t like this,” she said absentmindedly, tearing her eyes from the four house tables and glancing down hers instead. At her fellow Muggleborns, apparently. Forced to eat away from their peers for reasons she couldn’t grasp. Would asking these creepy ladies help? Would they provide an actual answer? Oddly enough, Maevie doubted it.

Her expression settled into something hovering between concern, embarrassment, and contempt, her gaze casting out over the Hall again.

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powerplay of npc approved by admin <3

Fiona had seen the notice on the Hufflepuff’s bulletin board. She read it multiple times, and didn’t fully understand it. She knew there were different blood types, that her father was Pureblood and her mother was Halfblood, and so was she. But she had never thought any of that mattered much. Her cousins who were Pureblood never treated her any different than they treated each other.

So when she entered the Great Hall, trailing a bit behind Maevie, she came to a stop at the woman who had approached her Prefect. She stood, the others moving around her as she listened to the exchange.

“Muggleborns will be seated at a separate table during meals from now on.”

That’s what the notice had said. But to Fiona’s mind, that hadn’t meant much. She had never paid attention to what anyone she knew was in that regard. Hogwarts had all sorts of people attending, from all over. There was even one from America.

Fiona moved towards the Hufflepuff table, but kept her eyes on Maevie as the girl who had always been so nice to her was urged to take a seat at the strange fifth table that had seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Before sitting though, Fiona hesitated. She didn’t want Maevie to have to sit away from the table. She was a Prefect, for Merlin’s sake!

“Maevie –” Fiona said softly, but was cut off.

The woman who had been speaking to her friend stepped between them.

“Miss Blackwood, you will sit at your House’s table. You do not sit with them.”

Blue eyes looked at the dais, spotting the woman with the strange smile on her face, and not seeing her mum and dad yet. She frowned and sat down, her eyes falling on Maevie.

Avery had been guided to the fifth, separate table upon his entering the Great Hall, by a woman who looked strangely gleeful and not at all perturbed by the segregation she was obviously inflicting upon breakfast. Avery wasn't quite sure what made muggleborns so different that now they were required to sit apart from everyone else for their meals, but he assumed it probably had something to do with infectious disease that rooted within their DNA and then spread outward to everyone else.

He wasn't angry or even a bit put-out. Avery understood the importance of quarantine, though he would make the argument to the ladies that if they were truly worried about the spread of something viral, relegating all the muggleborns to their own dorm would be much more effective.

Still, the hostility hadn't gone unnoticed. Avery was no stranger to being called a 'mudblood' and that slur had increased in its usage ten-fold this term. The first few times he'd been called it, it had stung, building a fury within the small boy that he didn't know how to reconcile.

Now, after so many months of hearing it, it almost became a badge of honor for the boy. Yeah. He was a mudblood. Born of muggle stock. Hardworking stock that contributed a great deal to their community. There was nothing wrong with his family, or his name. While blood purity certainly had its merits, he mused, in the wizarding world at least, when he went home, it meant absolutely nothing.

At the core of who he was, Avery was a Hale. And proud to be one.

So, unbothered, the boy tucked into his meal as Maevie joined the table, looking far more shell-shocked than he believed she should have. Had she not seen this coming? Hufflepuffs weren't the most astute or observant. It probably wasn't her fault.

“I don’t like this."

"Why?" Avery asked as he took a long swig of his pumpkin juice, side-eyeing the Gryffindor table that were all staring at him. "Wouldn't you rather not have to sit with all the braindead inbreds who call us mudbloods?" He made a face at one boy who was snickering in their direction. Collin.

Avery would poison him before the day was over.

For Matilda, it was like any other morning.

Waking up early, she watered the ridiculous number of plants around her dorm and common room. She could use magic, or an elf, but she found that it calmed her in the morning.

Getting ready for the day was non-eventful. She had no one to impress at the castle, so the bare minimum was fine by her. Hair in a braid, clean and wrinkle free uniform, face moisturized with a touch of mascara and lip gloss. Simple. Easy.

When she walked into the Great Hall, the air felt different. Charged. Tense. A quick look around told her everything she needed to know. Another table. Eyes darting around to see who might speak up. A brass plaque with words that both shocked her and didn’t.

Matilda walked deeper into the room, hearing the murmurs and whispers. The look on Maevie’s face made her stomach twist.

This wasn’t right.

Her grandfather had sung the praises of the new Minister. His ideas, policies. When he explained it all sounded grand, but watching it in action was anything but good. Segregation? But why?

The civics class was one thing. Explaining the magical world to those who knew nothing was a great idea. Smart even, but separating the muggleborns from everyone else? Nothing seemed right about that.

Matilda looked over the Gryffindor table, nodding to Serik as she took her seat. ”Good morning.” Was all she said to those around her. Her eyes didn’t stop moving, taking in the scene.

Unfortunately, her appetite was completely gone.

Kathryn was nearing the end of her patience with her uncle's policies.

Avery was taking classes she was told 'weren't for her' – as if she were meant to reroute her entire day and find new things to do in periods previously preserved for mutual interaction. The little girl had never liked change, and having her entire school year reconfigured seemingly week after week was only beginning to grate on her. It had started small. Promises of changes – something she'd immediately taken displeasure with – then new classes, then new books. Most inconveniently were the new interactions. Laura and her crew had grown bolder. They no longer whispered 'mudblood' beneath their breath whenever they walked by. Now, they acted as if it were some sacred duty to remind her friend that he was muggleborn.

It had all grown tedious – well and truly tedious.

The latest affront came that morning at breakfast. Coming from a separate direction, Kathryn had arrived at the Great Hall minutes after others had. Like the others, she'd been stopped in her tracks by yet another change.

Her jaw clenched, icy blue eyes surveying the monstrosity that had thrown off the symmetry of the Great Hall in more ways than one. There didn't need to be five tables, but if there were going to be, why wasn't it the same length and of equal distance?

Her gaze swept crisply to the woman at the dais, the one trying to tell only some of them where to sit. while professors uselessly sat to enjoy their own meals. Bright. Encouraging. Offensive. Her breakfasts were always with Avery. Her lunches and dinners were, too, unless the boy chose to go against her carefully curated plans. He rambled more than everyone else combined, but his rambles were familiar. There was a comfort to be taken in that familiarity, one she wasn't willing to relinquish because someone else thought they had a say in her socialisation.

Spine straight, gloved hands clenched at her sides, Kathryn moved toward the fifth table.

No, no, Miss Barlowe, your seat is at your table."

One might have thought the girl deaf as well as mute. She neither looked at the woman, nor did her body react in any manner that might have made it clear she'd heard her. The ability to tune out undesirable communication had become innate. Eleanor Longe had had no shortage of such stubborn displays. Even her mother now sometimes found her unmoving.

Miss Barlowe." Too sweet. Too sanitised. Kathryn recognised its nature well.

The Ravenclaw sank down on the other side of Avery, silent as ever, while he challenged Maevie's surprise. He had the right of it; she would rather avoid the braindead, no matter where they happened to sit.

Her mother had tried to impress upon her the need to conform to the regulations where needed. This didn't feel needed. It felt excessive and unfamiliar and read more like a threat to the environment in which she'd allowed herself to acclimatise. Whatever blood Avery had flowing through his veins had nothing to do with her. What they required of her did more to interfere with her inner equilibrium.

Kathryn reached for a poached egg. Only one. She avoided the grease-laden sausages and their equally problematic cousin, bacon. Toast, one slice. Fresh fruit. The occasional admonishment. They all filtered into the morning that had been soured.

Uuuugghhhh.

What fresh hell was this, this time?

Rae, barely awake as she already was, dragged herself into the Great Hall. It was an unusual hour for the girl who'd only fallen asleep maybe 3 or 4 hours ago. Of late, it seemed like there was always something happening, always something that had to be done to remind Muggleborns of who they were. The Slytherin was among the ranks of those who'd taken the matter personally, despite her own status leaving her immune. It struck deeper than a few of her friends having an uncomfortable experience – mild as the description happened to be, in contrast to what was really going on.

Her grandmother had been muggleborn. It wasn't something that had ever mattered, not something she'd ever needed to consider. Andrea Elliot had loved and cared for her with her whole soul, shunned by the very muggles that had brought her into the world and those she'd considered family. To think that, had her nan lived, she'd have been subjected to any sort of discrimination from this end, too...would've made her blood boil.

It would've made her actively disrespectful to the regime.

It would've threatened whatever 'alliances' were forged in the union they'd cemented back in January.

It would've taken only one slight for the budding young woman to go entirely nuclear, and she wouldn't have wasted a moment thinking about it. Not even a fleeting thought. No breath would've been wasted on remorse. The situation, while not favourable, had taken mostly a backseat for her, being as unaffected as she currently happened to be, but it didn't mean she couldn't see it for the disgusting propaganda that it was, and it didn't mean she was about to start amending the way she saw the world.

James was off his rocker if he thought this would go over well with any but the most inbred purebloods. How quickly the mighty forgot how outnumbered they were. It only took one uprising, and an entire empire could topple. Surely he didn't think that disgruntled citizens would stop at the man himself. He'd painted a target on each of their backs while living above the repercussions.

The muggleborn weren't the only ones receiving slurs. There were a few of the very same and their sympathisers who had in turn grown hostile toward purebloods, lumping them in as a part of the problem. Frankly, Ruth Anaya was tired of hearing what she thought and how she viewed people from those who didn't even know her nickname was an amalgamation of all three names she possessed...used to possess.

The opinions of others had rarely been enough to stir her, and most knew well enough to leave it as snide comments if they knew what was good for them.

The rest was bothersome politics that a future healer such as herself didn't feel the need to trouble herself with. James would amend his ways, or the wizarding society would eventually collapse. Either way, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries would remain to aid the injured and care for the sick.

"Mm-mm," she grumbled, tugging at Benji's sleeve when he attempted to lead them to the Hufflepuff table. It was too early to listen to the moaning and groaning or the sobs over the latest affront to their cohesive school environment.

She tugged him to the Gryffindor table and their friend instead, giving both the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables a wide berth. Rae sank down next to Matilda, pulling her husband with her.

Her head sank, her forehead pressed against the table.

"If they're gonna stir the masses, the least they could do is wait until lunch. Some of us aren't awake yet." She yawned beneath the table, her eyes already threatening to close. She felt around the table for her plate, sliding it over to Benji for him to fill. It might have been the fatigue, but the sight of nearly half of it and the smells accompanying it still made her stomach do little flips. It was getting better, and her palette was slowly reopening, but that did little for the girl whose body had a more desperate cry for sleep.

"D'you reckon we'll have public hangings next? No better way to make them stop 'breeding'." She scoffed at her own words, confused at how no one in charge could hear the ridiculousness of the entire rhetoric. Slowly, she lifted her head, her messy curls falling all around her to obscure some of her vision. "They'd better not be trying this shit out in the real world. I haven't got the patience to graduate into this nonsense."