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Go Back > Forums > Floo Network (Extra Fun) > Honeydukes (FanFiction) > Honeydukes Register (Finished FanFiction) > The Copyright Office

The Copyright Office Finished IC Books

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Old 01-01-2017, 03:04 AM
Cassirin Cassirin is offline
Default IC BOOK: Share your own Unsolved Mystery

Write about your own Unsolved Mystery.

From time to time, we will expand our monthly theme to an 'in character' prompt, which should be written from the perspective of any character you play, whether on SS or elsewhere (HP world specific). If enough responses are received, these prompts will be gathered into an IC book that is considered published and canon in our SSRPG - which could make your character a published author in their own right!

This month's prompt is to write about and explore an unsolved mystery in the life of your character. What is something that has haunted them since the moment it happened? What strange occurrence won't leave them alone, no matter how much they try to rationalize it? What have they done to resolve it, or are they able to resolve it? How have they found any peace with this mystery?

A few reminders:
  • This short story/ficlet should be written in FIRST PERSON, which means you should use I/we from the viewpoint of your character. Example: "I never knew what really happened that night", rather than "Susie never knew..."
  • Please limit yourself to more than 100 words and less than 2500 words.
  • Your character does not have to be actively played in the school or the Ministry, although that always helps.
  • SS rules always apply!
Old 01-04-2017, 03:51 AM   #2 (permalink)

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by Marcus Orion Branxton

Trekking in Nepal is never ‘safe’. It takes careful planning and even more careful selection of an appropriate guide to get you up into the Himalayas and safely from camp to camp. Perhaps more importantly, you need a guide who knows how to find the yeti dens, should you be one of those foolhardy enough to go in search of them.

Foolhardy was the perfect word to describe our party in the winter of 2086. We were a ragged group of recent Hogwarts graduates, a bunch of kids who liked adventure and travel a bit too much to stop us from thinking about whether an idea was good or not.

At the end of our first week, we’d moved above the ridgeline of the Annapurnas and the weather was taking a turn for the worse. Our Sherpa guide Tashi made the informed and intelligent decision that we should stay in base camp while the weather passed. If you’ve never been trekking in Nepal, and I assume most of you are smart enough to stay where it’s warm and there’s no danger of avalanches or yeti stomping, you may not realize that even base camp can be bitterly cold, and the air is terribly thin. Most of our group was glad to stop for hot food and some time with a bubblehead charm.

I say most, because I was eager to press on. We were paying Tashi well for his wisdom, but because our time in Nepal was so limited, I didn’t want to waste any time regrouping in base camp. We had warming charms and magicked sleeping bags and a bubblehead charm was as good in a blizzard as it was at the bottom of the mountain.

Against better judgement, Tashi and I headed further up Annapurna South. We hadn’t climbed for more than a few hours before all hell broke loose. The falling snow thickened until I couldn’t see Tashi climbing just ahead of me, and the wind whipped up a wicked froth of flakes until I couldn’t even see my own gloved hands. In spite of my warming charms, the cold was leaching into my clothing, and it occurred to me for the first time that this was dangerous. I’m not sure why that was the moment, when we’d been struggling over snow drifts for days, never really warming up completely. A near miss over the side of a glacier a few days before had left us all patting each other on the back cheerfully, but this, this was different. This was me, alone, in the snow, with only my own stupidity to keep me warm.

And then I fell. It was only a stumble, but I slid backwards down the mountain, loose snow and gravel creating a miniature avalanche under my feet, and then under my hands and knees. When I finally came to a stop, the snow spun a cocoon around me and I was alone. No Tashi, and my wand was lost in the scree.

I cannot put into words how it feels to be alone in a blizzard, to shout yourself hoarse into a roaring wind, to know that whether you continue up the mountain or head back down, your death is nearly certain. I’m not a quitter, but hopelessness was a weight on my chest, pressing me deeper into the snow. I was cold and getting colder, I was lost with no sense of direction towards base camp, and I was alone. The loneliness was the worst part, since I’d left good friends and a new fiancée down the mountain in base camp. They’d never know how much I regretted leaving them behind. No yeti was worth this, worth my life, worth their grief. No adventure was worth the loss of the future I’d been dreaming up with my future wife.

This is the crazy part. The part I’ve never been able to explain to myself or to anyone else. Just when I was thinking about Cat, about the girl I’d left down the mountain, just in that moment, I heard her. There’s this song she’s always singing, half a tune under her breath as she creates something magnificent in the kitchen, and somehow, under the howl of the wind that had stolen my shouts, I heard that song. Just a few notes, then the wind rushed back in, but it was enough to direct my feet the first few steps.

I stumbled several feet, then stumbled a few more, throwing my arms around trees as they appeared suddenly within the eddies of snow. Each time I stopped, I could just hear Cat humming again, this time off to my left, then a little ahead and to the right, and I corrected my course to follow her. I’d been following this woman for years, and I wasn’t going to stop now.

So this is my mystery, or maybe more accurately, this is my miracle. She led me down the mountain. She led me back to base camp and safety and a sleeping bag with a heating charm. She led me back to her.
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Old 01-05-2017, 04:29 AM   #3 (permalink)
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A New Sibling
By Leon Steven Kennedy

I stared unbelieving at the letter in my hand, the paper crinkling in my fist as my vision blurred and the words on the parchment took on a reddish tinge. How dare he? I thought angrily. How dare he? Not a word from this man for over ten years and then.


It wasn't enough to abandon me? But to abandon someone else? How could he? My jaw clenched angrily as the words cleared and then shifted out of focus again. Part of me wanted to crumple up the note and throw it into the fire to watch it burn. The other part of me wanted to find and protect this person.. to let her know that I was there for her and I wasn't going to leave her.

But who was this girl that supposedly shared my blood? And how was I going to find her? 'She's at Hogwarts.' Did not a good clue make. There were so many kids at the school. So many girls, so many faces and names to sort through. How was I supposed to find the one who was the same as me? The one with abandonment issues, who was resolved never to leave anyone ever.

The news brought a wave of pain over me, something I thought I had gotten over so long ago. My Father was an enigma that I would never be able to figure out. Why had he left us? Was I not good enough for him? Did I cry to much when I was little? The questions kept running through my head until they were forming in my eyes and running down my face. Splashing on the parchment and leaving smudges of anger and pain in their wake.

'She's going to need you.'

How in the hell would he know that she needed me and why would be care? He abandoned us, he lost the right to care when he walked out the door and never looked back.

The anger churning inside of me took sometime to ebb. My tears had smudged the parchment in places, but I was able to make out a birthdate. December 22nd, 2076. My brain began to work quickly, easily figuring the girl would be 14, therefore a 4th year. The task was getting easier and I turned my mind away from the roiling anger that was the thoughts of my father, and instead turned it towards this girl. I would find her, and I would protect her and I wouldn't leave her.

"Don't worry." I whispered into the still air. "I'm going to find you." Even if I had to ask every single fourth year who their Father was. And when I did I was going to be there for her. Perhaps together we could figure out why our Father wanted us to know each other. Or perhaps we could just go on with our lives together and spare our life giver one grateful thought. Just one.

Grateful that we weren't alone in this world.
For my whole life, we never crossed that line, only friends in my mind.

But now I realize, it was always you. Can’t believe I could not see it all this time.
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Old 01-05-2017, 09:09 PM   #4 (permalink)

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by Simon Holden

There are times when neither science nor magic can provide an answer when we need it most. Sometimes there isn't a solution to the greatest challenge you face. It's absolutely infuriating at first. With time, you come to accept that there are events and phenomena that you just cannot explain. I have somewhat come to peace with this. There are still days I wonder what if I had been able to save her but I've learned that it's best not to live in the past. When I write this, I think of my mother and that terrible day.

A car accident can be just as effective as someone pointing a wand at you and uttering the word ‘Obliviate’.

I don’t remember much of the accident only pieces here and there. I do remember the date. It was February 24th and it was about 11 in the morning. We had just gotten out of the car park from visiting the Queen Victoria Market in Melbourne. It was my favourite place to go on an early Saturday morning. My brother and I were always promised delicious treats, such as their heavenly homemade doughnuts. These doughnuts were the best. They would always come out hot with the raspberry jelly piping hot. The sugar rolled on the outside would melt instantly once it touched your tongue. This morning, Dad and baby Olivia stayed at home whilst Mum took us boys and our Aunt out to the market. I don’t remember why our Aunt was staying with us. Mum had mentioned something about a bad boyfriend or something like that. She doesn’t even remember know it was a long time ago.

I was seven years old. Sitting in the back of a light blue Subaru, my family and I were waiting for the light to turn green. Marcus, my brother, and I were happily munching away on some delicious doughnuts that we had picked up at the market. In the front, Mum discussed matters with your aunt in complicated terms and jargon that you’d have to be an adult to understand. Trust me. I was a smart and nosy little seven year old whose favourite app was the dictionary on Dad’s smartphone.

I remembered the rain. It started out gently and then slowly increased until the water poured from the clouds. The light turned green. Mum took a moment to pause. The wheels of the car started to rotate and we began to move. Bump. The car and the whole world seemed to spin silently. Everything turned to black.

I don’t remember much of what happened during the accident. Perhaps it was shock that blinded me or perhaps I lost some of my memory of that day. I remember opening my eyes. I blinked them several times, trying to understand what had happened. It’s always hard to understand what happened when you can’t remember. I remember feeling a huge burning pain in the middle of my forehead. My entire body ached. My arms were sore as if I had played a long game of cricket with my brother in the yard. I could barely move a muscle- there was so much pain. I was lost. I wasn’t in the car anymore; I was on the road. Where was Marcus? Where was Auntie Jill? Where was Mum? I glanced over my shoulder gingerly as not to overstretch it and find her. She was on the ground. She was barely moving. My whole world stood still. I ran. Is she alive? Is she dead? I panicked. “Mum?”

I don’t remember what happened within the next hours. She survived but at a cost. She doesn’t remember much of what happened after the car accident. She doesn’t even remember my birthday or my youngest sister. This propelled me into finding a cure for her damaged memories.

First, I looked to science as it always held answers for my father. He had always trusted it. However, science was complicated and used terms that were difficult to understand. I devoted several years to this endeavor. Before I knew it, I was thirteen and headed to England for school. My secret mission to find a cure was tucked closest to my heart. I would find something. I would have too. I even tried to ask my older brother, Marcus, to assist me with my endeavor. He looked at me as if I was an idiot. Marcus and I had grown apart over the years. I still really don’t know the reason why to that. One day, he stopped playing with me. “Nothing you do will ever bring her back. Not even your silly little card tricks, you weirdo.”

Marcus had given me another avenue to explore. Magic.

Within my first few days at Hogwarts, I spoke to the Charms Professor about my mother’s condition and asked him if it was even possible for a charm to help her remember. He didn’t know especially since the injury was a physical one and not a magical one. I left that conversation with a heavy heart yet I was still determined to figure out something.

Several years later, her condition got worse. I still hadn’t found a cure or something to help her. I remember speaking to her on the last day of her life. “You’ve always been such a nice, young man. I wonder who raised you so well.”

“You did,” I had said.

She stared back at me like she didn’t believe me at all. Tears were in her eyes as she reached out and grabbed my hand to hold onto. “You look like my son, Simon, but he’s only seven.” She paused. Silence. "I hope my boy grows up to be just like you."

To her, I’ll always be seven.
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Old 01-12-2017, 03:22 AM   #5 (permalink)
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By: Alana Potter

It is a strange word with an even stranger power. To normal witches and wizards it isn't that weird or mysterious, but to someone like me, it is the strangest word around. That one little word holds everything in its letters and in its meaning. See I'm nine years old and my twin sister has been showing signs of magic since we were six. For two years now she has sent dolls flying across a room or got mad at someone and had the silverware zoom off the table. Every day I ask my mother, father, stepmother, and papa Cossy where my magic is. It has been missing for two years now. I try to find it daily. I focus and close my eyes, I concentrate on an object and what I want it to do, and I have even searched around the house for it like it is just a toy missing. It is still missing though and I am stuck watching my friends and my sister find theirs. They are all excited about finding theirs. They even show off on the playground at school.

The worst part of the entire thing is I'm a pureblood. My mother was one of the top witches in her class and my father is the head of the primary school I go to. My brothers are both professional quidditch players, my stepfather is one of the best potion masters and even ran for the minister of magic. There is no way I couldn't get my magic. I'm positive it has just gotten lost somehow or was stolen. Maybe someone was trying to sabotage my step father's campaign so they stole my magic. Now that the campaign is over and he still lost you would think this person would bring it back. I feel like I have looked everywhere.

If I was magic where would I hide? This is a question I ask all the time. The longer I go without my magic the more I worry that it will be lost forever. My mom tells me that sometimes it just never comes, that it is lost forever. I don't believe that, not for me at least. Every single person in my family has magic and good with it. Every single person has a wand and Elisa and I will be getting wands soon. I have to find my magic before it is time for Hogwarts. I wrote a letter to the minister the other day;

Dear Minister of Magic,

I think there was a mess up with magic. See my twin sister Elisa got hers when we were six and has been able to use it since. Mine for some reason has been lost or stolen. If you could please send Aurors to my house to help me find it I would greatly appreciate it. I think I found a possible suspect the other day, though. Helena, my youngest sister was mad at me the other day and sent a toy truck at my head. I'm thinking she'd be a good first person to look at for stealing magic.

Alana Potter

"Alana you can't bother the minister with this letter. Sweetheart your magic will come if it is supposed to. Your sister did not steal it." my mother said to me when I tried to owl the letter. "We have been through this honey, sometimes people for some reason just don't get their magic, but that doesn't make them any less special." I hate to tell her, but it does. I'm different from them if I can't find my magic. So I am going to keep looking for it. It will be found and when I find the person that stole it from me I will be putting them in timeout for three million years.
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Old 01-15-2017, 09:51 PM   #6 (permalink)
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The Stolen Sock
By Paul Myers

Who had taken the sock?

My favorite pair, sky blue with white, fluffy clouds. They were even the fuzzy kind, the kind that hug your toes in the blistering cold of winter. I missed my sock. But WHO had taken it?

All five of them. I lined up all five of them.

First, there was Sir Fluffington. The Lagotto Romagnolo looks like a teddy bear, but don’t let him fool you! He is a sock stealer if I ever saw one! He stole my socks all the time, so what could keep me from thinking this was any different?! Second, there was Bugsy. The goldendoodle sat on its bum, her tongue hanging out of her mouth in a lopsided and cavalier way. Also a teddy bear in looks, but her eyes...they sparkled in guilt. She was another sock stealer--but most of the time, she tore them to pieces before she could actually DO any stealing. Zelda, my collie and my favorite dog, I won’t lie, stood beside Bugsy. Her tail wagged to and fro in an excited fashion, and she was the type of dog that when her tail wagged, her whole little puppy booty moved. Endearing, to say the least….BUT WAS SHE MY THIEF? Shirley, our oldest dog, a beagle, lay in a pudgy pile last in the line. She looked at me with uncaring eyes.

“Now. Which one of you--” I paced in front of them. “DID IT? MY FAVORITE SOCK.” I held up the other one, the UNSTOLEN ONE. “WHO?” I brandished it in Sir Fluffington’s face. “YOU?” and I threw it on Bugsy’s back. Zelda nudged it with her nose, and it slid off the fat dog’s back.

The tin of treats made the most delightful of noises, at least to my dogs. Had all ‘em on their feet (their hind two!) begging and howling, but of course I didn’t relent! “SIR FLUFFINGTON!” I called out, and the other dogs knew to sit still as the only male dog timidly stepped forward.

“Where were you on the night of last night? HMMM?”

All of the dogs stared at me as if I spoke a different a language--which, I did, in their defense, so I called on my old pal, Mark Sparks. He was a dog whisperer, or so he claimed. He wasn’t an animagus or anything, but he always said he was “one with the dog.” So, Mark Sparks headed over.

Once Mark Sparks was DONE heading over and had arrived, in typical flamboyant Mark Sparks fashion (glitter was involved whenever the man apparated ANYWHERE), I showed him the dogs, who were all waiting in a line as I had left them.

“Mark, do your thing,” I whispered.

Mark Sparks began to dance. Tap dancing, to be exact. He had brought tap shoes, and the tapping created a lovely echo in my dining room. It almost made me want to break out my banjo and create some music, but now was not the time. I needed to learn my poor sock’s fate!

The tap dancing had lulled the dogs into a false sense of security, I think, for all four of them were were laying down with their little heads on the ground in between their precious little GUILTY paws.

“Now that I have lulled you all into COMPLETE FOCUS…” Mark Sparks began, “I will interview each of you INDIVIDUALLY,” he said.

“Who first, then, Mark?” I asked.

“Let’s begin with…..ZELDA!” The collie lifted her head curiously at her name. “Paul, before we begin, I need her favorite toy. We’ll be waiting in the kitchen,” and Mark snapped at Zelda to follow him.

Zelda’s favorite toy was a bone given to her by James Draper’s dog, Merlin. Her one true love...she snuggles the bone to sleep sometimes. I set it down in front of her, but Mark quickly snatched it up and promptly placed it in his own teeth.

“...What are you doing, old friend?”

“I fide dat id i’ eazier to ged dog to calk wheb I gob hid TOY!” Mark said with the bone in his mouth.

Interesting, indeed.

“ your thing, Mark,” I sighed and had a seat at the table.

Mark got on all fours and pranced in a circle around Zelda, who looked confused, but her tail began to wag. Mark dropped the bone from his mouth, and it tumbled onto the ground. He then sat in front of the dog, put his hands on her ears, and leaned in towards her face with his ear pressed against her nose. Zelda began to lick his ears. It seemed Mark never needed another cotton bud again!

“Zelda. ZELDA, my lady….did you steal Paul’s sock? Did you steal your father’s sock? The fluffy blue ones? With the clouds?”

Zelda licked his ear twice.

“AH! I see, I see. You don’t know who took them, either?”

Zelda’s tongue accidentally moved forward on Mark’s face, and his mouth got a good licking too.

“AHHHHHH you don’t--well--I guess we move on, then, shall we?” And he stood up.

My facial expression resembled one of someone who had just witnessed an elderly aunt giving her round of Christmas kisses to the younger family members. And trust me, I know, because I have an Aunt Crisenda who wears the deepest shade of red lip stain you could POSSIBLY imagine, and when she gets going--


We have a mystery to solve, I do apologize.

Mark’s next interrogation was with Bugsy. The goldendoodle didn’t want to sit for him, not even for her favorite toy (which was a stuffed tiger with its ears and one eye missing). Mark had put that in his mouth, too, and I wondered I’d be liable for any diseases my friend might catch. I didn’t think my dog insurance would cover that.

“Ah, she isn’t cooperating! We need another method...perhaps…” And Mark Sparks collapsed onto the floor, sprawling out like a starfish.

Bugsy bounced forward, her tail wagging back and forth like a ping-pong ball as she approached the strange man on the floor. She had never been a licker, so she merely nudged her nose against his cheek.

“Bugsy…” Mark said in a croaky voice. “I need to know...did you...did you steal Paul’s fluffy blue cloud socks?”

Bugsy whined and lay down next to Mark.

“Oh?” Mark suddenly sat up. “ don’t know who DID it but you SAW IT? WHERE?” Mark asked, bouncing to his feet. Bugsy leapt up, too, and ran for the stairs. Mark hurried after her, and I tried my best to follow but the three (well, two, because Shirley hadn’t move from her spot on the floor) dogs pummeled forward when they saw the action, knocking me on my behind ONTO THE HARDWOOD FLOOR.
After many not needed details about my sore tailbone, and skipping some boring rising action in the plot of this case, we ended up in the dogs’ favorite hangout in our home, the hangout room. Full of plush bean bags and couches and a water couch (anyone who ever wants to stop by to visit is MORE than welcome, unless you are a current student of mine. Sorry, kiddos, you can come by when you’ve graduated!) donned the room as well as a very large TV, a muggle pool table, and a bar with uh, orange juice only, I assure you.

Bugsy had shoved herself under the water couch and was wiggling her behind.

“The sock! It was here at some point!” Mark exclaimed.

I, however, was less impressed. “The dogs like this room, Mark, of course they want to come--”

“No! It was RIGHT HERE-----” And Mark held up a wad of light blue fuzz. “SEE?”

I gasped.

Bugsy barked.

Zelda began to chew on the edge of the rug.

Sir Fluffington tried to sniff Mark’s butt.

It was a tense moment. It was our first clue!

“We must keep going! BUGSY, good girl!” Mark was all smiles. “Now...we’ll let them sniff it…” And while it was a sole piece of fuzz, and I very highly doubted the dogs would get any scent off the fuzz, I thought I might as well let Mark give it a shot! “Come here, Fluffington!” Mark held the fuzz aloft.

“No, Mark, Sir Fluff--” I tried to warn him! Sir Fluffington, I had feared, would EAT THE FUZZ. AND THAT IS WHAT HE DID.

Our only clue was gone.

We had no hope left.
Mark sighed as we all headed back downstairs. “I’m sorry, Paul. None of the others will talk to me...and Sir Fluffington feels very guilty for swallowing our only clue.”

“I’ll have to find another pair at some point.”

It was, truly, a sad day.

And once we got back downstairs where Shirley lay, I was surprised to see the three other dogs zoom off in the direction of the living room. Mark and I sat at the table for tea, and MIton joined us. We spoke of all the good times we could recall while I had been wearing those socks.

It was then that the three younger dogs suddenly approached my side, and Sir Fluffington dropped something on my lap.

“’s my slipper!” I exclaimed. “The one I lost about three years ago now? Remember, Milly?” I held up the puffy black slipper.

Milton burst into laughter. “Yeah, I remember those,” he smirked. “Looks like they feel bad about your sock, Paul. I bet it was ole’ Shirley who took it.”

I pat the slipper in my lap and smiled gently as I gave each of my little furballs a scratch behind the ears. “Well, I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

“You will. Three years from now, maybe,” Milton.

“Pretty sure Bugsy has to poop--” Mark said, and sure enough the goldendoodle ran to the door.

“Well, all in a dog-daddy day’s work, eh?” Milton said as he opened the door to let her out.

And to this day, we still haven’t a clue who took my sock, or where it could be.

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