The library was packed.
With exams looming ever closer, students of all years crowded around tables, heads buried in parchment, scrolls spilling off desks like parchment waterfalls. Madam Pince flitted through the aisles like a protective owl, watching for smudged ink or whispered chatter with a glare sharp enough to pierce steel.
And then... the chaos began.
It started subtly. A lone second-year Ravenclaw hunched over his essay muttered, "Ugh, I hate essays," and instantly, his ink bottle burst into wet sobs.
The boy jumped back, nearly overturning his chair, as the bottle hiccupped and wailed, "Why do you hate me?!"
Books fluttered open on their own, quills levitated and scribbled nonsense in faded Gothic script across blank pages:
"I am the ghost of forgotten footnotes..."
"Return your overdue books or face my inky wrath..."
In the Hufflepuff common room, a study group stared in mounting horror as their notes rearranged themselves into a mock play titled "Ode to Exam Despair", featuring stick figure drawings performing dramatic swoons across the margins.
Over in the Slytherin common room, a skeptical sixth-year muttered "I don't believe in ghosts." His Transfiguration textbook clamped shut on its own and refused to open again, purring ominously.
The Gryffindor study area had its own flair—parchment folded into paper dragons began to narrate other students' essays in overly dramatic tones:
"And thus, one might deduce the Goblin Rebellion of 1612… was in fact, a complete and utter mess."
Some students applauded. Some ran.
Madam Pince's face turned three shades of red as she stormed after floating quills that refused to stop writing "Get some sleep, for the love of Merlin" across multiple scrolls.
And all the while, three Hufflepuffs sat quietly in the back corner of the library, blinking in mild confusion.
Hadrian stared at a page in front of him. "Why is my handwriting on this page saying 'Beware the footnote ghost'?"
"I don't remember writing this charm matrix," Iris whispered, eyes wide.
Dora snorted. "Could it be we used the spell again?"
"If yes, then apparently it worked," Hadrian replied with a grin slowly spreading. "Brilliantly."
The Mnemomorphia spell had wiped clean their awareness of the prank for the twelve-hour period they'd planned. Their memories would return in pieces over the next few hours—and the glee of rediscovery was nearly as fun as pulling off the prank itself.
Outside the trio's awareness, rumors had already begun to spread.
That Hogwarts was haunted by a very studious ghost.
That Peeves had taken up creative writing.
That the spirit of a long-dead Ravenclaw scholar had awoken to help students pass their exams—or doom them forever.
No one suspected the Hufflepuffs.
Not yet.