Plagued Logs

Who: Professor Slughorn and Michael Corner
What: Can we cure this?
Where: The Potions Classroom
When: 28th December

( Take this and call me in the morning )

[OOC: Advent is over, the magic is cured, keep your thoughts to yourself! Everything is back to normal except... Well, looks like Dean Thomas might still be suffering something or another. Probably best to just leave him.]

[[Merry Christmas, you filthy Muggles. All of the spells have broken today! Go back to your own bodies! Touch everything you want! Except for Dean. You really- just don't.

Oh, and one more advent thing... everyone now has no control over their verbal filters. You're going to say everything you're thinking. This includes whatever you write. You just won't be able to stop. No control!

God bless us, every one.]]

[[For tonight nothing seems to have changed. Everyone is still as they were before. Has the magic stopped happening? Is everyone stuck the way they are forever? Will it be solved by the cure, perhaps? This is a terrible Christmas.

A word of warning, though. I wouldn't do anything malicious to Dean Thomas, if I were you-]]

Michael did have to wonder how long this was going to go on for. As much as he'd grown used to it, he was getting annoyed. And he knew everyone else was, too. And now all of the residents of Hogwarts knew it was him that was causing them all of this boy changing trauma every other week they weren't exactly pleased to see him when they passed in the hallways-

"Well shit," he sighed as he felt the odd tingle begin again somewhere inside him. He stretched and lay back on his bed, waiting for it to be over and worrying about who he was going to ruin this time.

[[Our incorporeal friends are still incorporeal and, of course, you're all still in your new bodies! Isn't it exciting! I hope you're all paying attention so that you can all work out the cure from the hints we've been dropping through this advent period!

TODAY! Oh, Today. If it's not bad enough that you're all living in school still, as of RIGHT NOW

Benjy McEwan, Cyril Peakes, Oliver Wood, Angelina Johnson and Verity Jones, you're sixteen again! You'll look sixteen, and you'll only remember what you knew up to the 20th December of your 16th year. Anything else is gone. Whatever magic you knew, whatever relationship you had. Rawr. Oh and it comes with all the other teenage shit, too, so you'll have spots and angst and you'll be horny a lot.

ENJOY!]]

Well, by now it had become obvious to Michael that his little magical problem was happening every other day, though there was no definite set time for which part of the day it would occur. However, on the second day after his last offence, Michael was prepared.

"Stephen?" he murmured to his... friend, who was sat beside him in their dorm. "The thing, Stephen. I'm going to do the thing."

Michael knew that his new feminine body wasn't going to last forever, but once his clouded vision had faded back to where they actually where, once he was in control of himself again, he was disappointed, disappointed in his flat chest and, he was sure, the return of his cock.

He looked across at Stephen, wondering what was going to happen now, wondering if they were still going to carry on, wondering-

"What happened?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

[[Oh no! Well, ten of you are in for an interesting few days. All of you are returned to your original genders, well done. If you are incorporeal at the moment, you'll remain so. No touchy for you. However, the following few people have swapped bodies. Bodies. You have your brains still, your memories, your everything, just not your bodies.

Anthony and Sally have swapped. Luna and Poppy. Lavender and Blaise. Percy and Draco. Lucius and Seamus.

Good luck with that, kids!]]

Michael was not yet bored of his new body. It was, he thought, surely an impossibility. He had boobs with him all the time, and that was just for starters! Okay, so the others were a bit less happy, and other people weren't all that pleased with their luck or lack of, but so far neither Pomfrey or Slughorn had been able to come up with an antidote. Slughorn was trying to form the antidote the usual way, but so far he hadn't found the catalyst which would be the thing to make it work. Until then, Michael lived in expectation of the next surge of magic and what it might bring.

[[Ho ho ho. Bad luck is still running, I'm afraid. But today a new and awful thing is befalling our heroes at Hogwarts!

Harold Dingle, George Weasley, Roth Mulciber, Narcissa Malfoy, Melinda Bobbin

You guys are now incorporeal! Awesome, right? You can walk through walls and people! But uh, you also can't touch anything else. Lolz. Seriously. You can't touch anything. Spells will still work on you and, because your wands are magical extensions of you, you can still perform magic, but that's it. For the sake of me not having to think too hard, you won't need to sleep or eat until it wears off. You're basically ghosts, without having died, and without the sexy whiteness. Let's hope you don't need to do anything too important...]]

"This is getting old now," Michael said to no one in particular as he closed his eyes and waited for the new wave of magic to roll through him, to burst forth and do whatever it wanted to do with everyone in the school-

His only concern, really, was whether or not he'd still have boobs-

[[You know what, guys, I've been at work all day, my amount of fucks for this is limited. Alas, gender swap is still in, but you can now start lying your arses off! Horrah! Also, if you were basking in your good luck it's over today. This is being applied retroactively through any threads dated over the last few days, so you can still start a few and have your way! But today, today brings bad luck!

Parvati Patil, Charlie Weasley, Aster Cauldwell, Terence Higgs, Ronnie Montgomery, and Poppy Caxton, sucks to be you!

They are all open for your abuse and whatever else you want to inflict on them! The players of the above will have to go along with any terrible scenario they're put in.

Good luck!]]

Michael was used to it now, the sudden warm, gross sensation in his stomach that signalled that he'd be causing some kind of something to happen. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but it wasn't as bad as it had been when it started. Hiding didn't help, but as it was a Saturday, Michael at least had the courtesy to run up to his dorm and hide in his bed in the feeble attempt to quell the force of the power. At least he might turn back into a boy- though he seemed to get on a lot better with Stephen since his unfortunate change of gender.

The sensation was akin to what Michael suspected exploding felt like. Very unpleasant. He was surprised every time that he didn't vomit as the magic built up inside him and then, in a rush, burst out. He groaned, pressing his face into the pillows, gripping the sheets.

It was over. It was done. Hesitantly, Michael pressed his hand to his chest, and was more than shocked at his relief that nothing had changed. He was still a girl. So what had happened?


[[Gender swap and the truth spell are still in place, but now Michael has bless several people with very good luck!

Kevin Entwistle, Tracey Davis, Lavender Brown, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Millicent Bulstrode, and Daphne Cornfoot are now the luckiest people in school! his does give them almost unlimited power to do anything they want to any other characters, aside from maiming or killing without consent. You will have to go along with any of their whims, even if your characters normally wouldn't. However, you should use your powers for good! Once the spell wears off, everyone will still remember what happened to them, or what you made them do...]

Michael had sat up in the hospital wing since he'd been escorted there by Benjy the day before. Madam Pomfrey had been annoyed with him, Slughorn had been up to visit as well to scold him, and then the two of them had gone to put their heads together to try and come up with a solution to the issue.

He'd taken several different potions since he'd arrived, and so far nothing had happened. Which was a good thing. Michael was getting bored of sitting helplessly in a bed when he wasn't actually ill. But maybe their concoctions had worked?

Madam Pomfrey had agreed that he could leave the hospital wing before curfew that night, which was good. She seemed almost satisfied that they'd worked out the solution, and Michael was ready to leave.

At least he'd thought he was. No sooner had he climbed out of the bed than he felt the same swooping sensation in his stomach that told him something terrible was going to happen.

"M-Madam Pomfrey?" he started, his voice strained in case he was about to vomit.

"What is it dear?" the matron said, tottering into the hospital wing.

"It's- it's happ-" Michael tried, but was cut off as the magic washed through him again. It felt strange, he didn't like it. He felt it spiral out of him, almost draining him of his energy, his vision clouding for a moment.

"Oh- oh my," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed softly. Michael glanced up at her, seeing her expression.

"What? What?" he asked, fear in his voice.

"We'd- we should find you a mirror."


[[Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire? You're all still only able to tell the truth, or be suspiciously evasive, whichever you prefer. Now, though, you might find a few newish faces amongst your school friends. Although there's something oddly familiar... If you didn't get the email, don't worry, just keep your eyes peeled. ]]

"I really need to do something about this," Michael said to himself as nausea once again stole over him. It was beginning to cause a lot of problems. No, really, a lot of problems. Slughorn had been looking at them all with growing suspicion and he knew someone was going to twig eventually. Then he'd probably be frowned upon for not coming forward sooner. Frowned upon.

By now he was familiar with the feeling of the magic building up inside him, and he excused himself from no one in particular to run to the boys toilets.

Since there was no need for him to do anything (his wild new magic always found a way) Michael simply locked himself in a cubicle and hoped for the best. The sensation wasn't as nauseating as it used to be, though it was still rather unnerving.

"Bloody hell," he whimpered, feeling the rush of power through him before it gushed out like a magical tidal wave...

[[Great news! All of the previous enchantments have been lifted. No one is crazy in love anymore, aside from Beyonce, and no one needs to react badly to anyone, unless they're being enormous dicks. The feelings and subsequent consequences are still applicable, so if you're a decent person, you'll feel awful for how you treated those poor, undeserving Puffs. And Harry Potter. Also, enjoy those awkward memories of lust you once harboured.

EVEN BETTER NEWS! This spell is school wide, so everyone is affected. From today, none of you will be able to tell a lie. This is only applicable to direct questions, obviously. You aren't yet being compelled to just tell everyone your secrets, but whatever you're asked - do my boobs look awesome in this? Have you ever had a fantasy about McGonagall? etc - you will answer truthfully. You can obviously say 'I don't want to answer', that's acceptable, but that will give it away anyway.

You must not tell lies!]]

Michael really thought the time was coming when he should start to tell people that something terrible was going on. That he was, perhaps, doing things he shouldn't be doing. Not intentionally, but you know-

Now that Slughorn had mentioned it, it really did seem like the prime time. And someone was bound to notice soon. Maybe if he told Stephen? Or Anthony? Both of them? Would they know what to do or would he just have to own up? Maybe there'd be a cure for this. An antidote. Nothing could be worse than...

"Oh, shit," Michael cursed quietly, throwing himself onto a seat in the common room, nausea running through him again and making him break out in a sweat. "No, no, please no. Please-" he muttered into his hands. Not reaching for his wand changed nothing. Michael trembled, the power building up inside him in a most unpleasant way until, once more, it rushed out of him like a wave.

[[The love spells are still in full swing, don't worry! But from today until you're given notice, four characters will be afflicted with what we're calling the Cassandra Curse. Anything they say your character can react to with violent disgust, as though it's the most bullshit thing they've ever heard in your life, or it deeply offends you. Whatever it is, you don't believe it. Not a word, even if you knew it to be true beforehand. Right now, everything they say is a dirty lie. This includes both threads and journals, though it is not being retrospectively applied.

Harry Potter, Ernie MacMillan, Genevieve Ramsey, Eleanor Branstone. Sorry guys, hope you don't have any emergencies!]]

Michael hadn't said anything to anyone about what he'd done. He hadn't taken responsibility for his actions which... well, it wasn't as though it were unlike him. Neither Pomfrey or Slughorn had spoken of the missing potion yet. And really, it was hardly the worst thing that could happen. Everyone talking in verse was nice, he felt sophisticated, and people were learning new words. The Ravenclaw in him approved very much.

He'd begun to relax in a way. It was fine. It was going to be fine. It would wear off or someone would come up with a way to stop it or- or something.

Thursday morning dawned cloudy and poetic, and Michael headed down to breakfast alone. He was almost to the top of the big marble staircase when the nausea crept over him again. His hand slammed against the bannister to steady himself, his eyes watering as the tingling rushed through him again. But this time, Michael thought, he wouldn't reach for his wand. He wouldn't be that much of an idiot!

To his alarm, his fingertips began to tingle painfully, glowing with the power that was building up inside him. It wasn't going to be stopped, it had things it needed to do.

Michael's knees buckled as, once more, the energy rushed from his body in a powerful wave across the school.


[[Rhyming time is over! Today Michael has set off a spell of unrequited lust! Augusta Longbottom, Gregory Goyle, Angelina Johnson, and Theodore Nott have all taken the brunt of it. Over the course of today, they will be posting open threads. The first person to reply to them will fall wildly in love with them. If any of the four characters don't get a reply by 0800 GMT on the 4th, they can invade any thread of their choosing, and you won't have a choice but to give in to your lust!

Have fun!]]

[[ETA. any threads or journals with rhyming in them will continue to have rhyming in them. Even if you reply to journals today, you better get your rhyming on! (mostly, selfishly, because i haven't had time to bust out any rhymes yet. fuck you all, that's why! )]]

It was for the greater good, Michael thought, pushing open the door of the now abandoned classroom. He was the first person to get it. He'd brought it to the school. Pomfrey worried far too much all of the time, and Slughorn-

Well, Michael just didn't think he had anything to lose.

Should he drink it all? Probably? They must have written down the ingredients and the method. It had an odd quality to it. Like a molten metal but of no certain colour.

He uncorked it and sniffed. There was no determinable smell nor, as he held it to his lips and knocked it back, any taste to speak of. It was too late to regret anything now.

There had been some hope in him that this would be the cure, but he felt nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe he needed his wand? He still kept it with him out of habit, stowed in his pocket...

No sooner had his fingers made contact then a rush of something like nausea rolled through him. Michael braced himself against the desk, eyes watering, gripping his wand tightly. The sensation built up like a surge, something uncontrollable-

His vision faded to a bright haze, blinded by the sudden rush of energy, the burst of magic, that something uncontrollable...


[[the whole school is now effected by Michael's new super powers! For the next two days you can only speak and write in rhyme. Any posts made prior to this post are exempt, unless comments are set on today's date. you will all be informed when the spell wears off]]

“Absolutely not!” Came the irritated voice of Madam Pomfrey, echoing through the potions corridor, “I will not permit them to experiment wildly on our students!” “Poppy, you must understand - this could be the cure!” Horace Slughorn insisted, though anyone listening could already tell he was fighting a losing battle. “It could be poison!” “It’s hardly poison.” “Do you know what the ingredients are?” “Well..no.. but I imagine they want to stop people trying to brew it on their own until they prove it works. It’s nothing sinister we just need one infected student to-“ “I will not allow the Ministry to test potions on my patients and that is the end of it!” Pomfrey decreed, in a tone that was very much a warning that the conversation would not be continuing. She stormed out of the potions class, followed by Slughorn who apparently had not gotten the message that she would not be persuaded. “Madam please!” He called as he rushed down the corridor after her. The door was still ajar, and resting on the table in the centre of the room was the potion – the possible cure – in question. It glowed softly, and looked relatively harmless. The Ministry wouldn’t send something they weren’t confident wouldn’t work, would they? No one would blame him for taking it. No one would blame him for drinking it. And no one could’ve predicted the results…