<![CDATA[Knockturn Bound - The Great Hall]]>

<![CDATA[Knockturn Bound - The Great Hall]]> https://staging.knockturnbound.net/ Sat, 01 Aug 2026 19:43:02 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[The Great Divide || OPEN]]> https://staging.knockturnbound.net/showthread.php?tid=1117 Fri, 19 Jun 2026 15:37:25 +0000 Kathryn Barlowe]]> https://staging.knockturnbound.net/showthread.php?tid=1117 Friday, January 26, 1923
5:10 PM, Near the start of dinner
SPLAT!

For a moment, no one seemed to know what to say. There were many who didn't know the offence had even taken place. The hum of the great hall prevailed over the soft, squelching sound of mashed potatoes splattering onto the side of the second-year Slytherin's face. There was a breath, imperceptible against the noise as another typical day at Hogwarts sought to conclude itself.

Then came the scream.

Laura's voice cut through the evening's rhythm, forcing herself to the fore of everyone's mind as many turned to seek out the cause of the shrill scream that made utensils still and mouths close.

Kathryn didn't turn, not even when those sitting on either side of her began twisting in their seats. She knew the voice to whom the voice belonged and was not particularly invested in the distress it announced. Many would have been eager to find out what could have stirred the typically composed little girl. There may have been concern or a desire to revel in the screeching misery. Not her. The first year continued placing things on her plate.

"THAT'S FOR BEING A SODDING PIECE OF SHITE!" One Gryffindor boy loudly proclaimed as he jumped to his feet. A boy rose next to him, cackling as he offered him his hand for a high five. Many first years at the Gryffindor table burst into raucous laughter; a second hand of mashed potatoes sent soaring in the sudden uproar.

"YOU BRUTISH PIG!" Dorothy answered, rising indignantly to the rescue of her friend.

The girl reached for a chicken thigh that had been resting in Marjorie's plate, hurling it at the boy who dared assault their little clique. He ducked.

"OI! WATCH IT!" Someone shot, having evidently been the recipient of the cooked piece of poultry.

Still, Kathryn didn't look.

Posture straight, shoulders square, and blue eyes settled on the bowl of corn, the little girl gave no acknowledgement to the rising tide of chaos that swept its way through the great hall without warning. The factions that had lain hidden for most of the school's year seemed to crop up out of nowhere. The other Gryffindors needed no further invitation. The food the house elves had worked so painstakingly to prepare had indeed found its way off the many plates, but not for their intended purpose. They pelted the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables without prejudice, smacking any who hadn't managed to get out of the way in time.

Retaliatory fire was only natural. The tables answered with equal fire, nearly all students now out of their seats, whether they understood the cause or not. To an outsider, it would appear that the first and second years had suddenly and collectively lost their minds.

For some, it was nothing more than an unexpected injection of a bit of fun to end the week, but there were others who understood the lines that had been drawn beneath the noses of the professors. They understood that when little Harry Anderson rose and shot that mashed potato at Laura Cavendish, it wasn't a moment of spontaneous humour and trouble-making.

Many of them, on both sides, remembered the way Kathryn shook when her gloves had been yanked off her hands and dangled out the window in the corridor that led to the music room earlier that afternoon.

The memory brought the war.

OOC: It's a food fight, everyone! You don't have to know why the first and second years are beefing, you can just have your character caught in the chaos. If you'd like, though, you can absolutely have them know why and declare for a side. Everyone is welcome, no personal connections required. Honestly, it's a free-for-all, and anyone can hit or be hit.]]> Friday, January 26, 1923
5:10 PM, Near the start of dinner
SPLAT!

For a moment, no one seemed to know what to say. There were many who didn't know the offence had even taken place. The hum of the great hall prevailed over the soft, squelching sound of mashed potatoes splattering onto the side of the second-year Slytherin's face. There was a breath, imperceptible against the noise as another typical day at Hogwarts sought to conclude itself.

Then came the scream.

Laura's voice cut through the evening's rhythm, forcing herself to the fore of everyone's mind as many turned to seek out the cause of the shrill scream that made utensils still and mouths close.

Kathryn didn't turn, not even when those sitting on either side of her began twisting in their seats. She knew the voice to whom the voice belonged and was not particularly invested in the distress it announced. Many would have been eager to find out what could have stirred the typically composed little girl. There may have been concern or a desire to revel in the screeching misery. Not her. The first year continued placing things on her plate.

"THAT'S FOR BEING A SODDING PIECE OF SHITE!" One Gryffindor boy loudly proclaimed as he jumped to his feet. A boy rose next to him, cackling as he offered him his hand for a high five. Many first years at the Gryffindor table burst into raucous laughter; a second hand of mashed potatoes sent soaring in the sudden uproar.

"YOU BRUTISH PIG!" Dorothy answered, rising indignantly to the rescue of her friend.

The girl reached for a chicken thigh that had been resting in Marjorie's plate, hurling it at the boy who dared assault their little clique. He ducked.

"OI! WATCH IT!" Someone shot, having evidently been the recipient of the cooked piece of poultry.

Still, Kathryn didn't look.

Posture straight, shoulders square, and blue eyes settled on the bowl of corn, the little girl gave no acknowledgement to the rising tide of chaos that swept its way through the great hall without warning. The factions that had lain hidden for most of the school's year seemed to crop up out of nowhere. The other Gryffindors needed no further invitation. The food the house elves had worked so painstakingly to prepare had indeed found its way off the many plates, but not for their intended purpose. They pelted the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables without prejudice, smacking any who hadn't managed to get out of the way in time.

Retaliatory fire was only natural. The tables answered with equal fire, nearly all students now out of their seats, whether they understood the cause or not. To an outsider, it would appear that the first and second years had suddenly and collectively lost their minds.

For some, it was nothing more than an unexpected injection of a bit of fun to end the week, but there were others who understood the lines that had been drawn beneath the noses of the professors. They understood that when little Harry Anderson rose and shot that mashed potato at Laura Cavendish, it wasn't a moment of spontaneous humour and trouble-making.

Many of them, on both sides, remembered the way Kathryn shook when her gloves had been yanked off her hands and dangled out the window in the corridor that led to the music room earlier that afternoon.

The memory brought the war.