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Fern-hunting parties became popular, allowing young women to get outside in a seemingly innocuous pursuit with less rigid oversight and chaperoning than they saw in parlors and drawing rooms. They may have even had the occasional romantic meetup with a similarly fern-impassioned beau. — Bree

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Bunny Devon for Anne Devon. My fair lady of the night
Separating was also not a great idea, though they weren't doing great at staying together anyway. If she were to volunteer to be the human sacrifice.. well... Hogsmeade had plenty of debutantes anyway...

Barnabas Skeeter in CYOA: Group D

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Complete threads set in ten different forum locations. Threads must have at least ten posts, and three must be your own. Character accounts cannot be combined.


CYOA: Group C
The decision was made before Ben could even get his bearings enough to protest. He could only hope—even pray—that Somersby was kept safe by the auror, though any man that suggested splitting up in a situation such as this, the Ravenclaw thought, was at best illogical and at worst had a death wish.

(This whole misadventure, Ben thought, was bringing out his inner cynic.)

Matters went from bad to worse when his companion, hindered by the darkness, evidently broke his ankle.

“Is anyone there?” Ben called out, loud as he could. “Fudge? Mr. Umbridge? Mr. Jameshill?”

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While everyone else continued their yammering, Timothy worked on a makeshift torch. He used the lighter that he had to light it and he was glad now that one of his many experiments had been tinkering with the muggle invention that had come about in 1823. His own additions to it soon found him and MacKay walking with light as the sky darkened.

"Salem," Timothy read out as each of the letters were made out by him. There was more to it but he couldn't quite make out those letters yet.

Wandering around in the woods without any semblance of lighting was perhaps not the brightest idea he'd ever had, but it was far better than getting murdered by a curse because they'd refused to follow the message. At least that's what he thought until he ran into a fucking tree. The hiss that left his mouth was sharp enough to send him into a momentary coughing fit, and it was only when he stopped that his hand flew to his brow to gauge the damage.

There was blood. Hanging skin. Stinging flesh. The pain trio. He let out an aggravated huff and hastily wiped the blood onto his robes, unsure of what his options were at the moment.

"Fudge, we need to find the others. I've got - you know what, it doesn't matter," he grumbled.

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It was dark as they wandered in a way that almost felt aimlessly. Somersby walked awkwardly with his hands out trying to feel for any obstacles in his way.

Beside him there was a thunk and a noise of pain. "Are you alright sir?"

A moment later he suggested finding the others. Somersby nodded before he remembered Umbridge couldn't see him. "We came from this direction." Somersby turned around fairly confident of it. Did he hear Ben's voice in the distance or was he dreaming things up now too? After the day they'd had he couldn't be sure.

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