The courtyard was a hidden alcove behind a vine-covered archway in the western wing, where few students wandered unless they got truly lost—or were in the know. It was quiet, except for the gentle hum of spring, the whisper of the breeze, and the rhythmic turning of pages.
Dora lounged on a mossy stone bench, her boots propped on a balled-up cloak, flipping idly through one of the small Marauder notebooks they'd found in the enchanted trunk. Hadrian and Iris were pacing the gravel path, still chewing over their recent brush with discovery.
"We thought we were being careful," Iris said, arms folded.
"We were careful," Hadrian replied, hands in his pockets. "But maybe that's the problem. People who are too careful look suspicious too."
"Right," Dora said, still reading. "And acting innocent doesn't mean you're convincing. Because you know you're guilty. Even if you don't show it in words, it seeps out."
Iris blinked. "What are you reading, exactly?"
Dora sat up straighter and tapped the page with her wand. "One of the old Marauder notes. It's just a log of minor prank tactics, mostly harmless stuff—but look at this."
She turned the book around for them to see. Scrawled in loopy handwriting were the words:
"Mnemomorphia – temporary memory block. Effects: 3 hours to 3 days. Of little use. Best prank: Padfoot made Goyle forget how shoelaces work. Chaos."
Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Memory blocking? Not erasing?"
"Exactly," Dora said, excitement sparkling in her eyes. "The spell doesn't destroy memories—it just… tucks them away. Temporarily. They come back naturally after a while, or with a counter-spell."
Iris's mind was racing. "If we used this on ourselves right after pulling off a prank…"
"We'd act naturally," Hadrian finished. "Genuinely confused. No faking. Because we wouldn't know it was us."
Dora leaned back, satisfied. "Even a skilled Legilimens couldn't find what isn't there. At least, not until it returns."
They all went quiet, letting the implications sink in. The last prank had nearly cost them their momentum, and they were still leading in the house points—but by a hair's breadth. This spell could be the shield they needed.
"But we'd need to test it carefully," Hadrian said at last. "It could backfire if we don't set timers or counters. What if we forget the counter-spell?"
"I can enchant a watch to remind us," Dora said at once. "Or create a magical note that reveals itself after a set time."
"And we'd better try it on something harmless first," Iris added, ever the cautious one.
The plan began to form in their minds like an intricate constellation. Their pranks could become even more elusive. More refined. Even… undetectable.
It was no longer just about cleverness or execution. It was about misdirection on a deeper level—playing not just with magic, but memory itself.
"I think," Dora said, closing the notebook with a wicked grin, "the Marauders would be very proud of us."
Hadrian smirked. "Let's make sure the professors are very confused."
They rose together and left the courtyard, the creeping vines rustling faintly behind them like curtains closing on one act—and rising on another far more cunning.