(November, 1991, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland)

Artemis Atterberry was the blood of many things; dragons, wyrms, thunderbirds, dryads, nymphs, and witches all. So much magic was stored in that blood that even at the age of six— as she was now, having been born in ’85— she easily had as much raw power as any other great force of living nature. But unlike the slumbering beasts and jejune queens of yore that were her honest peers, she was a lady of action.

Action such as covering a school with flowering vines that would release pollen that may or may not have been mildly intoxicating. Not enough to do any harm, but just a bit would ease the worry of those in the castle about how such a prank could be pulled.

It was late at night when the little veela started her scheme. Bed covers were silently slipped off as she snuck out of the dorm, and many long steps were ascended before Artemis exited the Hufflepuff common room. The halls were darkened with the dead. No great light so much as silhouetted the corridors of the castle by glimmering through the windows, but such did not trouble the little Atterberry t̴͒h̵̙̔i̶̍n̴͍̕g̸.

She slinked through towards the dungeons, her first of several stops that night. All around the castle she grew pots filled with good dirt and placed inside seeds of her own design. They would grow with great fever in the coming hours, but never strongly. The stonework wouldn't be damaged and the vines’ strength was so weak, even a child could pull them apart with effort enough.

An hour after she had started, Artemis returned to her bed, and none were the wiser. As she ‘slept’, that which she sowed festered itself down the many halls and stairs in the night. And come the morrow most of they’m had bloomed in their sweet way.

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The school awoke slowly at first. Then the first sight of the green and the flowers was seen, and from there the awakening of Hogwarts sped up more and more until all were stirred from any slumber.

Some were exuberant at the sight of the blossom fill corridors and others quite fearful. The prefects of house Hufflepuff decided that it would be best to cut their way through to the Great Hall and get further instruction there. Thus a great host of near a hundred and fifty Hufflepuff students made their way through the jungle that had become of the castle.

Many stopped to play along the way— including the favoured lass and her lassies— and while under more normal circumstances they may have been told off, the scents in the air made the begrudged persons more tolerant than otherwise.

The Great Hall was strangely lacking in vines on its floor and tables, but a lesser quantity still slithered along the walls. Apparently so too were the kitchens, as by 7:30 the tables were filled with food as much as they always were. Houses Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw flowed in not soon after.

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All ate their fill, and by the end of the breakfast an announcement was made.

Dumbledore spoke to the students. “Greetings everyone, as I'm sure you have all noticed, Hogwarts Castle has suffered a most peculiar infestation of flowering vines. Professors Sprout and Snape have both investigated the plants and determined that they're as harmless as could be, but do take care not to sprain an ankle or three. I wish you all the best in your frolicking, happy Saturday.” the Headmaster explained.

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Most of the professors were gathered together by a batch of the plant, specifically a thick covering that hid an orange clay pot.

Flitwick spoke his thoughts. “It's not fireproof, but somehow it's magic resistant so we couldn't automate a fire to consume it. We'd have to do so manually.”

“Perhaps we could poison it in some way?” asked Snape.

“That'd take days to propagate through the whole body of the plant,” answered Sprout.

“Hmm,” hummed McGonagall. She pointed her wand at the plant, and incanted “Sukivon,” which caused the vines near where she pointed to wither and cremate. With a swipe of her wand the disintegration spread, but she could feel how hard she needed to grip her magic to pull the burning along, and ultimately relinquished the idea. “Burning it manually is too inefficient.” she complained curtly.

“I would offer Fawkes’ assistance on the matter, but he's been displaying great reluctance in regards to how the situation in some way relates to ‘pretty lady’.” Dumbledore said in regards to burning.

From beyond the humans’ view, Olea scoffed at the older bird’s lack of tack. Fawkes may have been smart for a phoenix, but he was clearly lacking compared to herself. Her mother had made her extraordinary in ways that made significant interactions with other phoenixes distasteful, but Fawkes couldn't understand such things, and likely wouldn't for some time.

Olea clearly had much spying due today. That was fine. This was what she was made for, she enjoyed it. Even if she would prefer games with her mom, she understood why that wasn't constantly possible.

“We could likely clear it within the day, if we enlisted the senior students alongside the house elves. Hundreds of hands would work faster than our dozens.” said Septima Vector, the Arithmancy professor.

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The call for action was made at lunch, and from there it was a long day for many. In honesty the cleaning was some of the first real exercise that any of the students had ever done on their magical muscles, which became the woe of the whole school as the seemingly endless waterfall of complaints agitated the whole of the student body that was not involved. Artemis received many sympathies from those who knew her, for those complaining were said by the teachers to only be experiencing the mild beginning ls of magic exhaustion. A far cry from the hospitalising ailment she had appeared to endure.

But by the roll of eve tomorrow, the plants and their sweet flowers were gone. Those not summoned to help were sad to see them go, but more so happy to have enjoyed the blessing whilst it lasted.

The professors of the academy first thought it an attack, similar in turn to the troll that had played as distraction not weeks prior, but we're confused by the lack of perceived action. The school was covered in flowering vines and… and… that was it. Nothing else happened. Hence after a few days of perplexity, they agreed with the students. A prank of great scale had been pulled, and none were the wiser.

All were contented by that answer, all but three that is. Gred and Forge were most displeased by the clear superiority of the prankster as they vowed revenge. And one little first-year Puff with wavy black hair that reached her shoulders, and eyes neither purple nor blue which burned with friendly suspicion. She was no narc, and, of course, would never wish discovery upon her great friend.

She just had a burning need to know how. How was it even hypothetically possible, yet alone real? How, how howhowhow‽ How did? How?

She did her best to not tear her hair out.