Ancient Studies (All Years)

Professor Everstone (Cozy Witch)

For your homework, describe the cauldron of your dreams: what it would be made of, how large it would be, what magical properties it might possess, and what purpose you would wish it to serve. Minimum 1 parchment (paragraph)

Astronomy (All Years)

Professor Priaulx (Bay Quartz)

find a piece of poetry about your favourite constellation or asterism

Care of Magical Creatures (All Years)

Professor Bane (JettBane Resident)

Complete quizzes (( https://linktr.ee/bane_comc ))

History of Magic (All Years)

Professor Livingston (Calliope Deezul)

2-3 parchments on the Wixen War you find most interesting and why. (( Please submit via Homework submission form: https://forms.gle/ho4hbWaMJ2wzUMm79 ))

Mythology (All Years)

Professor Hargrave (Calisto Hinterland)

write two feet of parchment on the historical transition from turnip to pumpkin

Potions (All Years)

Professor Rask (Valent1ne Apogee)

Brew a potion. Information on the potion seller simulation is on the syllabus (( https://docs.google.com/document/d/12795GLW8xH4hl5_6KzBCzIKjn7jnAzXJ0Z1nfrI8a6Q/edit?usp=sharing ))

Extra Credit (max twice a week)

Care of Magical Creatures

Professor Bane (JettBane Resident)

Complete Extra Credit (( https://linktr.ee/bane_comc ))

Jack O’Lantern

After a long day of unlucky hunting, I found myself stuck in the middle of the marshlands for the night, without a flashlight or a lantern to guide my stumbling steps. So I settled beside a fallen log to rest until daylight. As I tossed and turned, I recalled the story my great-uncle told me about a ghost that haunted the marshlands.

There was once a man named Jack who was a nasty fellow. He beat his wife and kids and was an all-around bad chap. Jack got worse and worse as the years rolled by. But finally Jack’s body got so wore out that he died. He went up to heaven, but Saint Peter refused to let such a wretched fellow in. Then he went to Hell, but the Devil barred the door as soon as he saw Jack coming and wouldn’t let him in either. “Go away and don’t come back,” the Devil told Jack.

“How am I supposed to get back in the dark?” Jack grumbled. “Give me a lantern.”

So the Devil threw a chunk of molten fire out to Jack, who took it for his lantern and went back to earth, where he wanders forever through the swamps and marshlands of the earth, a bitter spirit whose only delight was in luring the unwary to their doom with his lamp.

At this juncture in my musings, I happened to look out over the marshes and noticed a blinking light in the fog.

“Is that you, Jack O’Lantern?” I called jovially.

“Jack, (jack, jack),” a voice whispered back. I was seriously spooked. I clutched my gun to my chest, the hairs on my arms standing on end. Had that been an echo of my voice, or was someone out here with me?

“Who’s there?” I shouted, trying to sound brave and menacing. I waved my gun around. “Show yourself at once.”

“Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed from a completely different section of the swamp. A light blinked on and then off. On and then off.

Shudders ran up my spine at the sound of that ghastly voice coming from nowhere. I huddled up against the log, wanting something firm at my back. Suddenly, the story of the Jack O’Lantern didn’t seem so funny.

My heart was pounding so hard it made my chest hurt. I strained my ears in the silence that fell over the swamp.

“Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed from somewhere to my left this time. The light blinked on, off, on…I counted ten heartbeats this time before it went off.

The voice sounded closer. I held very still, my instincts screaming at me to hold my breath and not move until the menace had passed. The voice came again, far off to the right. “Jack, (jack, jack)” it hissed. The light came on, off, on…off.

It’s moving away, I thought, relaxing just a bit. Feeling safer. There was a long, long, long silence. Nothing stirred, not the wind in the grass, not the frogs or turtles in the water, not the crickets or night insects.

“Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed softly, right into my ear. And I looked up into the glowing red eyes and twisted face of the Jack O’Lantern.

I screamed, and lashed out at it with my gun. I ran a few steps, tripped and fell over, knocking my head on a sharp stone. For a moment I saw stars, and I felt blood pouring from my scalp. But the Jack O’Lantern was right behind me. I had to get away. I rolled and fell into a deep pool. I plunged underneath the water, flailing desperately against ropelike grasses that tried to keep me down. My head finally burst out of the water, and I gasped desperately for air, treading water as best I could with my trembling limbs and aching head. I heard the creature laugh in the mist.

“Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed delightedly, and the light blinked on, off, on right over my head, blinding my dazed eyes as horror flowed through me and froze my limbs so I could no longer swim. For a long moment, the grotesque face and red eyes of the Jack O’Lantern loomed out of the mist before my petrified gaze.

My head started to swim with pain from my bleeding skull. The evil face above me, lit by its bright light, whirled around and around, growing dimmer as my eyes started to glaze. I was vaguely aware that I should keep swimming, keep trying to make my way to the edge of the pool, but the effort was too much for my suddenly heavy limbs. I barely noticed myself plunging down and down into the watery depths of the pool, too stunned by my injury to fight my way to the surface a second time.

Then there was only darkness, and silence, and a voice hissing in cold triumph:
“Jack, (jack, jack).”

An investigative report on the difference between Hogwarts’ and muggles’ Hallowe’en celebrations.

By Violette Twiggs, Pumpkin Menace, Powered by sweets, and Self-Appointed Inspector of All Things Spooky. 

Hallowe’en is upon us, dear readers! 

The one glorious night of the year when looking half-dead is fashionable, threatening strangers for sweets is considered a charming tradition, and nobody bats an eye when pumpkins are murdered in the name of celebrating [editor’s note: except The Owl Post’s  former editor]. Ah, Hallowe’en… when looking like you crawled out of a grave is socially acceptable, eating your body weight in sweets is practically a civic duty, and nobody questions why you are carrying a severed head under your arm…

Naturally, it is my favourite holiday. 

Christmas has its carols, Easter has its eggs, and Valentine’s Day has its weird romantic  fools spending perfectly good money on heart-shaped nonsense…
On the other hand, Hallowe’en has monsters, mischief, costumes, sweets, and the opportunity to judge people’s life choices based entirely on their pumpkin-carving abilities. What more could a wixen want?

But while preparing for this year’s festivities, I found myself asking questions that have haunted me more persistently than a particularly clingy ghost:   How does Muggles’ Hallowe’en compare to ours? Why do Muggles spend an entire month trying to recreate magic, only to spend the other eleven months insisting it doesn’t exist?

I promised myself an impartial investigation; I would examine the history, explore Muggle traditions, study their decorations, observe their attempts to manufacture a spooky atmosphere and give both sides a fair chance.

I have already failed at the last part. Let’s begin.

A LITTLE HISTORY BEFORE WE START THROWING PUMPKINS

Hallowe’en didn’t simply fall out of a cauldron one morning, despite what certain people might hope. Its roots stretch back to Samhain, an ancient Celtic festival marking the end of the harvest and the beginning of winter. It was associated with seasonal change, communal fires, and beliefs that the boundary between the living world and the Otherworld could grow thinner, allowing spirits and supernatural beings to cross between them. Some traditions involved disguises, fires, and offerings. The idea of dressing as something frightening may have helped people navigate a night associated with otherworldly visitors. Whether the disguise was meant to confuse spirits or simply make the wearer look considerably less appealing to them is a question I shall leave to the historians.

In other words, our ancestors looked at a dark October evening and thought, Lovely. Let’s add ghosts.

Over time, older traditions mingled with Christian observances such as All Saints’ Day, and “All Hallows’ Eve” eventually became “Hallowe’en”. 

Medieval customs such as souling, alongside Scottish and Irish ‘guising’ traditions, helped shape the door-to-door trick-or-treating we know today. People dressed up, performed, and received food or treats. 

Centuries later, Muggles have refined this into sending their children to strangers’ houses to demand sugar boosted sweets while wearing plastic fangs. Human progress is a remarkable thing. Although I do wonder how many Muggle parents have considered that they are effectively training their children to knock on strangers’ doors wearing disguises and request suspicious confectionery. One can only assume the sweets are worth the risk.

Then there are jack-o’-lanterns, associated with Irish folklore about Stingy Jack, who supposedly tricked the Devil and was left wandering with a burning coal inside a carved turnip. The tradition travelled as people did, and pumpkins entered the picture, as they were much easier to carve than sad turnips… and the world discovered that vegetables are considerably more entertaining when given murderous expressions. [editor’s note: though carving neeps does continue North of the English border].

For anyone wishing to read further, I recommend doing your research, or ask Professors Livingstone or Hargrave. It is important to understand the history of a holiday before you start questioning its traditions. 

Which brings us neatly to the first one… decorations.

MUGGLE HALLOWE’EN: A CRY FOR HELP, OR A VERY EXPENSIVE HOBBY?

Let us give credit where it is due. Muggles try. They really do. 

Every October, they emerge from their houses armed with plastic skeletons, artificial cobwebs, DIY cardboard gravestones, papier maché pumpkins in all sizes and shapes, and enough orange lights and candles to make the street resemble a smashed pumpkin having a nervous breakdown. They build haunted houses, spookily leap out of cupboards, and spend perfectly good money on machines that produce artificial fog. Artificial fog! Imagine being so determined to experience the supernatural that you purchase a machine to make your living room look vaguely haunted!

At Hogwarts, we have actual mysterious corridors. Some of them are practically begging to be investigated. We have moving staircases, ancient portraits, and enough unexplained noises to keep the school gossip industry thriving until graduation.

Muggles have to buy their own atmosphere. We merely have to turn a corner.

I read somewhere that one particularly ambitious Muggle family reportedly spent three weeks constructing a twelve-foot cardboard dragon for their front garden. Twelve feet! Three weeks! And then, it rained. The dragon collapsed. Three weeks of work, destroyed by a cloud. I am not saying a simple weather charm would have helped, but I am certainly thinking it rather loudly.

And what about those fake cobwebs? Muggles actually purchase fake cobwebs to decorate their houses. Do they not have spiders? Are the spiders on strike? Has nobody informed them that an ordinary dusty cupboard can look deeply unsettling without spending six Sickles, or the Muggle equivalent, on a bag of ‘synthetic’ strings?

Their pumpkins, however, deserve a mention. Some are beautifully carved. Others look as though the person responsible attempted to perform surgery after consuming three bottles of Firewhisky. I have seen jack-o’-lanterns with more confused expressions than first-years arriving at the wrong classroom. Still, at least pumpkins are honest. They make no grand claims about being magical. They simply sit there, orange and round, waiting to be turned into soup or something that might frighten the postman. 

Unlike Muggles, who will spend the entire evening dressed as witches and wizards, then look you straight in the face and insist magic is nonsense. Make it make sense.

WITCHES GET WARTS, WIZARDS GET WISDOM APPRAISAL

My investigation has uncovered another scandal: Muggle artistic discrimination.

When Muggles draw a wizard, he is a noble, mighty old gentleman with flowing robes, a magnificent beard, and the serene expression of someone who has never once lost an argument.

Now, ask them to draw a witch, and suddenly, she becomes depicted as flying an old twisted and filthy broom, with an equally same old and filthy black cat, she has green skin, a hooked nose, fourteen warts, and the general appearance of a turnip that has been left in a cellar since the Middle Ages.

EXCUSE ME? WHAT? MUGGLES?! I NEED EXPLAINATIONS!

Does the beard grant wisdom? Is there an examination? Does a man wake up with three inches of facial hair and immediately become qualified to advise leaders?

And why does a wizard’s pointy hat make him look distinguished, while a witch wearing the exact same hat looks like she is about to poison a village well?

Muggle illustrators, I have questions, and I am prepared to make them everyone’s problem.

Wizards are allowed to be powerful, elegant, noble, mysterious, and terrifying. Witches are too often condemned to the role of wicked hag, as though magical ability comes with a complimentary curse on one’s skincare routine…

Let the record show that witches can be mighty, wizards can be wicked, both can be elegant, and either can dress like a wardrobe exploded. Magic is not a gendered accessory, and neither is good fashion.

I propose a new Muggle Hallowe’en regulation: for every ten illustrations of a wise old wizard with a beard, one must feature a terrifying witch looking absolutely fabulous, and another must feature a wizard whose hat is doing more work than his brain.

HOGWARTS: WHERE THE SPOOKINESS IS INCLUDED IN THE TUITION

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Surely Hogwarts must do something special for Hallowe’en?

Oh, dear reader. Hogwarts does not simply do Hallowe’en. Hogwarts makes Hallowe’en look as though every other celebration has arrived wearing mismatched socks.

First, there is pumpkin carving. Students gather to transform innocent vegetables [editor’s note: pumpkins are technically a fruit or berry] into works of art, frightening faces, and occasionally something that looks like it has just been told it failed its Charms exam.

I once heard of a student who carved a pumpkin so magnificently terrifying that a passing first-year apologised to it. Another allegedly gave theirs a smile so unsettling that even the carver refused to sit with it at dinner. I cannot verify these reports, but I can verify that some students should never be trusted with sharp objects and artistic freedom at the same time.

Then comes trick-or-treating around the school. Sweets, costumes, and the chance to engage in festive mischief, even with professors! Naturally, it is expected that everyone behaves responsibly. We must preserve the fine distinction between a harmless Hallowe’en prank and becoming the reason a professor invents an entirely new detention category.

And then, the Hallowe’en Bash!

Muggles have costume parties. Hogwarts has a castle full of witches and wizards who can bring an extraordinary amount of creativity, dramatic flair, and questionable judgement to a single room. There are the most outstanding costumes, music, dancing, the most magnificent venue decor that makes our great hall almost unrecognizable and at least one person who claims their outfit is an artistic statement when it is clearly the result of losing a fight with a curtain.

A rumour has reached my ears that a student once spent an entire evening insisting their costume was a fearsome mythical beast, only for someone to ask whether they had simply wrapped themselves in a bedsheet and misplaced the eyeholes. I shall not identify the student. I am a journalist, not a monster.

I am also looking forward to the grand Hallowe’en feast, because I believe all serious investigations should conclude with food. The Great Hall transforms into a spectacular setting, the decorations create the perfect atmosphere, and the tables fill with food worthy of the occasion. Muggles may have themed dinners, but I have yet to see a Muggle dinner party that can compete with an entire magical castle celebrating together.

Pumpkin carving. Trick-or-treating. The Bash. The feast. Four excellent reasons to spend Hallowe’en at Hogwarts, and not one requires a cardboard dragon or an artificial fog machine.

THE FINAL VERDICT: MUGGLES, PLEASE TAKE NOTES

I will concede that Muggles have history, creativity, and some rather impressive pumpkin-carving skills. Their traditions are fascinating, and their enthusiasm is almost touching.

But their relationship with magic remains deeply confusing.

They spend October pretending to be witches, wizards, vampires, ghosts, and monsters, while spending the rest of the year explaining away anything extraordinary as a trick of the light. They buy fake cobwebs, artificial fog, and cardboard castles to recreate the atmosphere we have simply by walking to class.

And apparently, they still think wizards deserve magnificent beards while witches deserve warts. A tragic state of affairs. 

At Hogwarts, Hallowe’en is not a desperate attempt to imitate the extraordinary. It is an opportunity to celebrate the extraordinary we already live with. The castle provides the atmosphere, the students provide the imagination, and the festivities provide every excuse imaginable to eat too much, get full on sugar, dress outrageously, and make memories with friends.

So, Muggles, by all means enjoy your plastic skeletons. Cherish your cardboard dragons. Continue carving pumpkins that look like they have witnessed unspeakable horrors.

But if you want a proper Hallowe’en, nothing beats Hogwarts.

We have the magic, the costumes, the treats, the Bash, and the feast. We have enough mystery to keep the school rumour mill spinning until Christmas. And we have absolutely no need to buy fake cobwebs.

Hogwarts is the place to be for Hallowe’en.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very important investigation to conduct into the contents of the feast menu with Abner. My methods are rigorous. My standards are high. My fork is ready.

Happy Hallowe’en, you all delightful little menaces!

V. Twiggs, Wickedly curious. Frightfully opinionated. Sweet-toothed. Green-skinned? Wart-covered? Absolutely not. Some of us have standards. 

P.S. Stay spooky, eat too much candy, and remember: Hallowe’en only comes once a year, so make the most of it! 

Gonna share a scary story today and tomorrow with you all as well. Muggle stories but still scary!

Titania

After a long day of unlucky hunting, I found myself stuck in the middle of the marshlands for the night, without a flashlight or a lantern to guide my stumbling steps. So I settled beside a fallen log to rest until daylight. As I tossed and turned, I recalled the story my great-uncle told me about a ghost that haunted the marshlands.

There was once a man named Jack who was a nasty fellow. He beat his wife and kids and was an all-around bad chap. Jack got worse and worse as the years rolled by. But finally Jack’s body got so wore out that he died. He went up to heaven, but Saint Peter refused to let such a wretched fellow in. Then he went to Hell, but the Devil barred the door as soon as he saw Jack coming and wouldn’t let him in either. “Go away and don’t come back,” the Devil told Jack.

“How am I supposed to get back in the dark?” Jack grumbled. “Give me a lantern.”

So the Devil threw a chunk of molten fire out to Jack, who took it for his lantern and went back to earth, where he wanders forever through the swamps and marshlands of the earth, a bitter spirit whose only delight was in luring the unwary to their doom with his lamp.

At this juncture in my musings, I happened to look out over the marshes and noticed a blinking light in the fog.

“Is that you, Jack O’Lantern?” I called jovially.

“Jack, (jack, jack),” a voice whispered back. I was seriously spooked. I clutched my gun to my chest, the hairs on my arms standing on end. Had that been an echo of my voice, or was someone out here with me?

“Who’s there?” I shouted, trying to sound brave and menacing. I waved my gun around. “Show yourself at once.”

“Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed from a completely different section of the swamp. A light blinked on and then off. On and then off.

Shudders ran up my spine at the sound of that ghastly voice coming from nowhere. I huddled up against the log, wanting something firm at my back. Suddenly, the story of the Jack O’Lantern didn’t seem so funny.

My heart was pounding so hard it made my chest hurt. I strained my ears in the silence that fell over the swamp.

“Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed from somewhere to my left this time. The light blinked on, off, on…I counted ten heartbeats this time before it went off.

The voice sounded closer. I held very still, my instincts screaming at me to hold my breath and not move until the menace had passed. The voice came again, far off to the right. “Jack, (jack, jack)” it hissed. The light came on, off, on…off.

It’s moving away, I thought, relaxing just a bit. Feeling safer. There was a long, long, long silence. Nothing stirred, not the wind in the grass, not the frogs or turtles in the water, not the crickets or night insects.

“Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed softly, right into my ear. And I looked up into the glowing red eyes and twisted face of the Jack O’Lantern.

I screamed, and lashed out at it with my gun. I ran a few steps, tripped and fell over, knocking my head on a sharp stone. For a moment I saw stars, and I felt blood pouring from my scalp. But the Jack O’Lantern was right behind me. I had to get away. I rolled and fell into a deep pool. I plunged underneath the water, flailing desperately against ropelike grasses that tried to keep me down. My head finally burst out of the water, and I gasped desperately for air, treading water as best I could with my trembling limbs and aching head. I heard the creature laugh in the mist.

“Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed delightedly, and the light blinked on, off, on right over my head, blinding my dazed eyes as horror flowed through me and froze my limbs so I could no longer swim. For a long moment, the grotesque face and red eyes of the Jack O’Lantern loomed out of the mist before my petrified gaze.

My head started to swim with pain from my bleeding skull. The evil face above me, lit by its bright light, whirled around and around, growing dimmer as my eyes started to glaze. I was vaguely aware that I should keep swimming, keep trying to make my way to the edge of the pool, but the effort was too much for my suddenly heavy limbs. I barely noticed myself plunging down and down into the watery depths of the pool, too stunned by my injury to fight my way to the surface a second time.

Then there was only darkness, and silence, and a voice hissing in cold triumph:
“Jack, (jack, jack).”

Feiyan Zhu (Fifth Year)

Feiyan, or “Fei” as she is commonly known, is a charming, soft-spoken young witch with a fascination for all things astrological. She often speaks in mystical phrases that provoke even further curiosity, but she’s also a tough nut to crack! She is a witch of few words, but I did manage to pry a few details from our mysterious prefect.

As expected from her astrological leanings, her favourite class is Divination. The reason she gave for this is, “the winds of fortune listen best in Divinations.” Perhaps someone more skilled in that class than your dear journalist here can understand that better than I! To go along with that, her favourite professor is indeed Professor Galagher!

To make Miss Zhu all the more interesting, the pet she brought with her to Hogwarts is an adorable pygmy puff named Yún, which means ‘cloud.’ How sweet! And, to sum up our stargazing prefect in just one word, Fei describes herself as “reasonable.” Well, I can’t argue with that!

Primrose Fiddlefern (Fifth Year)

Primrose is a cheerful, charming fifth year that was an absolute joy to talk to. She’s very friendly and approachable, which is great for the nervous first years that are a bit shy to ask the older students for help. She sings in the frog choir, though, ironically, she isn’t that fond of frogs or toads, and much prefers the company of horses, particularly the flying horses that Professor Bane lets her ride!

Primrose couldn’t pick a favourite class, but she did offer up Magical Theory, Care of Magical Creatures, and Herbology as her top three. Likewise, she was reluctant to name a favourite professor, but said that the professors are what make her favourite classes so good!

The pet that Primrose chose to bring with her is a darling cat named Pyewacket, a chatty Siamese/Calico mix. Hope he doesn’t meet any pet rats anytime soon! And the word she used to describe herself was ‘committed,’ which is very befitting of a Ravenclaw Prefect!

No-ah Zinsaa Haneul (Fifth Year)

No-ah is funny and friendly, and really likes to chat! He has plenty of interests and hobbies to choose from, like flying, rock collecting, and potion brewing, though he specifically said he does not like hiking, because he finds it boring.

His favourite classes are Ghoul Studies and Herbology, with a special fondness for Potions as well. He didn’t specify a favourite professor, noting that they all have their quirks, but he did mention that he thinks the librarians are rather… interesting.

No-ah decided to bring a light brown owl named QT, because he’s “on the smaller side.” He loves his owl, but he did say he originally wanted to bring a cat instead. The word that No-ah used to describe himself was ‘optimistic,’ and after that interview, I definitely agree.

So, there you have it, Ravenclaws! The prefects are regular students just like you and me, and they’ve got some great stories to tell. Don’t be afraid to seek them out with questions, or to strike up a conversation. They’re all very kind and helpful, and they make excellent company!

Written by Artemis Greenwich

Confessions are something entirely different. Got something you want off your chest? Need to scream it from the Astronomy Tower but can’t? The Owl Post is here to be your metaphorical Astronomy Tower

Confessions, rumours or Questions can be given to our friendly messenger owl that loiters outside The Great Hall, he takes any messages to The Owl Post, just have a few owl nuts handy!

I Dream about hexing people i don’t like

There wasn’t a moment I didn’t enjoy from the bash this year. The decor, the music, the dancing.  And you.

I think certain people like to act like they are smarter than everyone by bringing up random obscure things. Or using very big words. And it’s REALLY annoying.

I don’t like Halloween, it’s scary.

I think wixen shouldn’t celebrate Halloween as it presents bad stereotypes of our world.

I don’t see the point in Pumpkin Spice.

I think we need Halloween ALL year!

I’m Ready For Christmas!

(( Oocly you can use Discord to send  Rumours and Confessions for The Owl Post via Picsy! Just open a DM with her, select “commands” and choose either Rumour or Confession! or hit / then enter and pick which one))

Hello again, Hogwarts!

After introducing everyone to my wee singing frog, Pipes, in my very first article I promised I would hunt down more braw beasties to write about. So tonight, right in the middle of dinner at the Great Hall (between stealing a bite off Ellie’s plate and trying not to spill gravy on my notes!), I sat down with my fellow Hufflepuff classmate Enid DeMille to get the proper scoop on her pet.

His name is Bramble, and he is a fluffy calico half-kneazle.

Now, Bramble does not actually stay in the dormitories with us because he completely despises traveling and fuss. Instead, he lives back at home in London at DeMille Fine Millinery & Cloaks, which is Enid’s family shop that makes lovely hats, cloaks, and wizard clothes. But even if he is not pacing the castle corridors, he is definitely a castle pet in spirit (mostly because he acts like a total king!).

According to Enid, Bramble thinks the whole millinery shop is his personal kingdom, and any customer who walks through the front door is just a lucky guest allowed in his royal presence.

He spends his whole day patrolling the shop to inspect every single hat display. And if anyone leaves a finished hat sitting out on the counter, Bramble immediately hops right onto it and turns it into his throne! But he won’t just sit on any old plain hat, oh no. He only sits on the absolute fanciest, grandest hats in the whole place—especially if they have lovely feathers on them. Feathers are his absolute favourite thing in the world.

If that wasn’t cheeky enough, Enid told me Bramble is also a secret midnight interior decorator. Whenever the family goes to bed and thinks nobody is watching, Bramble sneaks around and secretly rearranges the hats and displays! They always wake up in the morning wondering how the hats managed to walk all across the shop by themselves overnight.

While Enid was telling me all this, I tried to pull out my wand and cast Wingardium Leviosa so my parchment would hover in the air like a proper fancy grown-up reporter. But my paper just gave a sad little flutter and flopped right onto the table! Enid and I had a right good laugh about it, so I just had to hold my quill the old-fashioned way.

I asked Enid if we could get a moving photograph of Bramble for this issue, but she said his majesty was far too busy overseeing a very important, custom-commissioned hat that has to be shipped all the way to France!

So if you are ever in Diagon Alley picking up school cloaks, stop into DeMille Fine Millinery and look for a fluffy calico half-kneazle sitting high up on a pile of fancy feathers. Just be sure to mind your manners and bow, because we are all just living in Bramble’s world!

Aaleia Goldstein
First-year Hufflepuff Correspondent, The Owl Post

Autumn has come. And with that, Hallowe’en is just around the corner! We love the costumes, the parties, the pumpkins and the sweets! Innit one of the best parts about Hallowe’en? The sweets? I know it’s one of my favourite parts, for sure. This year, what we’re going to do is have a proper sweets whizz on the scene to taste test some of my especially divine selections for you.

I present to you Kayli Byrne, sixth year Hufflepuff Prefect. She has literally years of experience with the sweets industry… at least the tasting side of it! And, she is quite sweet herself. In one year, it’s said that she ate her weight in Fainting Fancies. How she managed to stay conscious long enough to accomplish that is anyone’s guess. I’m not sure if that’s just a rumour or if it really happened. But, by now, that’s all urban legend, innit? She’s been known to have a chocolate wand in her pocket for anyone with any sort of little boo boo. (That is, if you’re nice to her!) Don’t forget this, if you are down and out and need someone to talk to, she’ll be right there with some tea and biscuits. Personally, I’m always quite thankful for her kindness! And, right now, so should you be. She’s about to give you the most honest reviews of some of our favourite and not so favourite sweeties of the season!

First on the list, Sugar Mice, the squeaking, sugar confections. I asked for an honest review of the cute little squeakers. And, with Kayli on the scene, she had to try a few! Good thing that I’m made of galleons… not!

After taste testing one, two, three… she exclaimed, “Woah, Squeaking Cutie patootie Mice. Cannot go wrong!” She continued on to let you all know a fact or two about her personal experience. “These Little Squeakers are very sweet, and melt in your mouth almost like a sugar cube! They’re soft and squishy and very very sweet. So if you’re not a total sugar fiend, these might not be for you!”

I provided her with plenty of water to cleanse her palate before offering her a couple of the Fainting Fancies. These are known to cause the eater to faint. But, you already knew that. Right?

After just one, she fainted. Well, that’s one way to get out of answering my questions! 

“Woah.. What happened?” she asked upon coming to. And what a little trooper, she cracked right on with her review, “Fainting Fancies are something you could trick your friends with! But be careful, these things are fast acting, and make sure you Spongify the floor before your friend hits it!”

We had to give Kayli a moment to gather herself back into the now. But, she was willing to move along. I think her words were, “I’ll never say no to free sweets.” So, onward! The next one was a little parky [nippy], so to squeak. I offered her the Ice Mice. This particular fancy is known to make the eater’s teeth chatter and squeak! I watched her very closely as she took the first bite. I’ve never had one. It should be known by now that my favourites are the Roach Crunchers, but we’ve left those for another day!

Kayli’s solid review went something like this. “These are some of the best cold treats around, besides ice cream that is! These little mice make your teeth chatter, your insides cold as ice, and also you might feel a breeze or two inside your mouth! Refreshing on a very hot day!”

I gotta say, I think that I saw her nose do the mousey twitchy twitch and her breath smelled quite refreshing after her snack too! It was like the morning after a light snow has lit upon the ground. However, I did take issue when it started to sound like it was better than ice cream? I mean, really? And, pro tip! If you end up with an ‘ice cream headache’ just touch your tongue to the roof of your mouth to warm it up. Headache all gone with the wind.

Anyway! The next and last are sherbet balls known as the Fizzing Whizzbees! If you haven’t heard of them, they’ve been known to make the eater levitate, slightly. I was fully waiting to see what would happen when Kayli did the taste test. I even offered her my mascot helmet. However, she did decline! Living dangerously. Sort of the Hufflepuff way, innit? Thrill seekers. Absolute menaces, the lot of us.

Another solid review on this one. Soon as she crunched one of the large sherbet treats into her mouth, she started to float! “Oh!” she exclaimed! “These are mighty fun and good. They’re large sherbet sweets with a tangy powder inside. They make you feel oh-so-weightless! Makes you feel extra light and floaty! But, be careful that you don’t hit your head on the ceiling!”

We won’t talk about the dent in the dorm’s ceiling. 

I jest! 

Of course, no one saw that, that didn’t happen! (It really didn’t happen) Yet, a little Reparo goes a long way, doesn’t it?

Don’t forget to visit Honeydukes Sweet Shop next Hogsmeade weekend. Looks like we’re running out of parchment, so that’s a wrap on this week’s article. Until next time!

*Disclaimer: no animals, nor wixen, were harmed in the making of this review [editor’s note: except the billywigs whose stings were removed for the fizzing whizbees]. Kayli’s dignity, however, remains under investigation. 

Way back in the deep woods there lived a scrawny old woman who had a reputation for being the best conjuring woman in the Ozarks. With her bedraggled black-and-gray hair, funny eyes – one yellow and one green – and her crooked nose, Old Betty was not a pretty picture, but she was the best there was at fixing what ailed a man, and that was all that counted.

Old Betty’s house was full of herbs and roots and bottles filled with conjuring medicine. The walls were lined with strange books brimming with magical spells. Old Betty was the only one living in the Hollow who knew how to read; her granny, who was also a conjurer, had taught her the skill as part of her magical training.

Just about the only friend Old Betty had was a tough, mean, ugly old razorback hog that ran wild around her place. It rooted so much in her kitchen garbage that all the leftover spells started affecting it. Some folks swore up and down that the old razorback hog sometimes walked upright like man. One fellow claimed he’d seen the pig sitting in the rocker on Old Betty’s porch, chattering away to her while she stewed up some potions in the kitchen, but everyone discounted that story on account of the fellow who told it was a little too fond of moonshine.

“Raw Head” was the name Old Betty gave the razorback, referring maybe to the way the ugly creature looked a bit like some of the dead pigs come butchering time down in Hog-Scald Hollow. The razorback didn’t mind the funny name. Raw Head kept following Old Betty around her little cabin and rooting up the kitchen leftovers. He’d even walk to town with her when she came to the local mercantile to sell her home remedies.

Well, folks in town got so used to seeing Raw Head and Old Betty around the town that it looked mighty strange one day around hog-driving time when Old Betty came to the mercantile without him.

“Where’s Raw Head?” the owner asked as he accepted her basket full of home-remedy potions. The liquid in the bottles swished in an agitate manner as Old Betty said: “I ain’t seen him around today, and I’m mighty worried. You seen him here in town?”

“Nobody’s seen him around today. They would’ve told me if they did,” the mercantile owner said. “We’ll keep a lookout fer you.”

“That’s mighty kind of you. If you see him, tell him to come home straightaway,” Old Betty said. The mercantile owner nodded agreement as he handed over her weekly pay.

Old Betty fussed to herself all the way home. It wasn’t like Raw Head to disappear, especially not the day they went to town. The man at the mercantile always saved the best scraps for the mean old razorback, and Raw Head never missed a visit. When the old conjuring woman got home, she mixed up a potion and poured it onto a flat plate.

“Where’s that old hog got to?” she asked the liquid. It clouded over and then a series of pictures formed. First, Old Betty saw the good-for-nothing hunter that lived on the next ridge sneaking around the forest, rounding up razorback hogs that didn’t belong to him. One of the hogs was Raw Head. Then she saw him taking the hogs down to Hog-Scald Hollow, where folks from the next town were slaughtering their razorbacks. Then she saw her hog, Raw Head, slaughtered with the rest of the pigs and hung up for gutting. The final picture in the liquid was the pile of bloody bones that had once been her hog, and his scraped-clean head lying with the other hogsheads in a pile.

Old Betty was infuriated by the death of her only friend. It was murder to her, plain and simple. Everyone in three counties knew that Raw Head was her friend, and that lazy, hog-stealing, good-for-nothing hunter on the ridge was going to pay for slaughtering him.

Now Old Betty tried to practice white conjuring most of the time, but she knew the dark secrets too. She pulled out an old, secret book her granny had given her and turned to the very last page. She lit several candles and put them around the plate containing the liquid picture of Raw Head and his bloody bones. Then she began to chant: “Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones.”

The light from the windows disappeared as if the sun had been snuffed out like a candle. Dark clouds billowed into the clearing where Old Betty’s cabin stood, and the howl of dark spirits could be heard in the wind that pummeled the treetops.

“Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones.”

Betty continued the chant until a bolt of silver lightning left the plate and streaked out threw the window, heading in the direction of Hog-Scald Hollow.

When the silver light struck Raw Head’s severed head, which was piled on the hunter’s wagon with the other hog heads, it tumbled to the ground and rolled until it was touching the bloody bones that had once inhabited its body. As the hunter’s wagon rumbled away toward the ridge where he lived, the enchanted Raw Head called out: “Bloody bones, get up and dance!”

Immediately, the bloody bones reassembled themselves into the skeleton of a razorback hog walking upright, as Raw Head had often done when he was alone with Old Betty. The head hopped on top of his skeleton and Raw Head went searching through the woods for weapons to use against the hunter. He borrowed the sharp teeth of a dying panther, the claws of a long-dead bear, and the tail from a rotting raccoon and put them over his skinned head and bloody bones.

Then Raw Head headed up the track toward the ridge, looking for the hunter who had slaughtered him. Raw Head slipped passed the thief on the road and slid into the barn where the hunter kept his horse and wagon. Raw Head climbed up into the loft and waited for the hunter to come home.

It was dusk when the hunter drove into the barn and unhitched his horse. The horse snorted in fear, sensing the presence of Raw Head in the loft. Wondering what was disturbing his usually-calm horse, the hunter looked around and saw a large pair of eyes staring down at him from the darkness in the loft.

The hunter frowned, thinking it was one of the local kids fooling around in his barn.

“Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big eyes fer?” he snapped, thinking the kids were trying to scare him with some crazy mask.

“To see your grave,” Raw Head rumbled very softly. The hunter snorted irritably and put his horse into the stall.

“Very funny. Ha,ha,” The hunter said. When he came out of the stall, he saw Raw Head had crept forward a bit further. Now his luminous yellow eyes and his bears claws could clearly be seen.

“Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big claws fer?” he snapped. “You look ridiculous.”

“To dig your grave…” Raw Head intoned softly, his voice a deep rumble that raised the hairs on the back of the hunter’s neck. He stirred uneasily, not sure how the crazy kid in his loft could have made such a scary sound. If it really was a crazy kid.

Feeling a little spooked, he hurried to the door and let himself out of the barn. Raw Head slipped out of the loft and climbed down the side of the barn behind him. With nary a rustle to reveal his presence, Raw Head raced through the trees and up the path to a large, moonlight rock. He hid in the shadow of the huge stone so that the only things showing were his gleaming yellow eyes, his bear claws, and his raccoon tail.

When the hunter came level with the rock on the side of the path, he gave a startled yelp. Staring at Raw Head, he gasped: “You nearly knocked the heart right out of me, you crazy kid! Land o’ Goshen, what have you got that crazy tail fer?”

“To sweep your grave…” Raw Head boomed, his enchanted voice echoing through the woods, getting louder and louder with each echo. The hunter took to his heels and ran for his cabin. He raced passed the old well-house, passed the wood pile, over the rotting fence and into his yard.
But Raw Head was faster. When the hunter reached his porch, Raw Head leapt from the shadows and loomed above him. The hunter stared in terror up at Raw Head’s gleaming yellow eyes in the ugly razorback hogshead, his bloody bone skeleton with its long bear claws, sweeping raccoon’s tail and his gleaming sharp panther teeth.

“Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big teeth fer?” he gasped desperately, stumbling backwards from the terrible figure before him.

“To eat you up, like you wanted to eat me!” Raw Head roared, descending upon the good-for-nothing hunter. The murdering thief gave one long scream in the moonlight. Then there was silence, and the sound of crunching.

Nothing more was ever seen or heard of the lazy hunter who lived on the ridge. His horse also disappeared that night. But sometimes folks would see Raw Head roaming through the forest in the company of his friend Old Betty. And once a month, on the night of the full moon, Raw Head would ride the hunter’s horse through town, wearing the old man’s blue overalls over his bloody bones with a hole cut-out for his raccoon tail. In his bloody, bear-clawed hands, he carried his raw, razorback hogshead, lifting it high against the full moon for everyone to see.

Confessions, rumours or Questions can be given to our friendly messenger owl that loiters outside The Great Hall, he takes any messages to The Owl Post, just have a few owl nuts handy!

Artemis Greenwich’s rat set her chocolate frogs loose all over the first year dorm Sunday night! But where did all the other rats come from?? 

The Hufflepuff Fashionisto seems to think there’s a glamour don’t in the Hallowe’en Bash’s future… Trouble on the rise, Hallowe’en night.

Pro tip: If you forget to do your Ancient Studies homework, ask Professor Everstone about the importance of artifact repatriation. She will hold such a long passionate speech that she will totally forget about it. You are welcome! 

Did the blond hufflepuff really pull out his tarot cards before gazing into the crystal ball during divs today? 

Did anyone else see a braided huffle hide that sheet the other day? I think i saw her with a pair of scissors and a marker?

The fire was real!

A snake and badger pair were being way too cutesy! Ew!

The fairypuff was being so cute dancing with that one snake boy late into the night was precious. I think love is in the air! 

I heard a lot of couples talking about plans this next break, things might be heating up around the cold castle! 

Professor Priaulx has a collection of kids teeth from yeeting them out of the tower that she’s transfigured into stars for her space classes.

 I swear I saw a throuple! That one badger dating the snake prefect was all up on the princely lion! Only for the prince to seek out the firey witch and she more or less sold him to the badger.  Love! Oh and never tell a welsh person that you’re an english prince, they will sell you.

Anyone catch Harker all over Coletti? What is going on there?!

I over heard a 2nd year talk with two first years about starting a band after hearing Hex Appeal. 

(( Oocly you can use Discord to send  Rumours and Confessions for The Owl Post via Picsy! Just open a DM with her, select “commands” and choose either Rumour or Confession! or hit / then enter and pick which one. ))