The dungeon room is as inky black, cold and unpleasantly damp as always, with the exception of a large whiteboard in the middle of the room. There are no doors and no windows, and nothing to offer the inhabitant any distraction or escape methods. It goes without saying that nothing pleasant awaits those who stay too long in this chamber.



On closer inspection the whiteboard bears a notice.

Quote:

Originally Posted by whiteboard

Try as you might you will not pass through this room by any physical means. This maze is constructed to test you, best you and arrest you. Should you try any foolishness the room will punish you as it sees fit.

Here is your first riddle:

A young man named Aberforth was failing in his Muggle studies course. His parents, unamused by the boy’s laziness threatened to take his broom from him if his marks continued on in this way.

Aberforth was dismayed, but rather than study decided to cheat by writing the answers in his sleeve for the exam. The professor caught the young man in the act, and after some denying, Aberforth admitted his transgression.

His parents were naturally upset and took the young man’s broom from him after expressing their deep disappointment and how they expected more of him in the future.

Explain what the young man did wrong.

There is a lone black marker on the table. Isn't it obvious? Write it out, Mister Prince.

Still keeping the door very much within his line of sight, Daxton stepped further into the room and had a quick but thorough look around, mentally taking stock of the place. It struck him, once again, how suspicious it was that detentions were held in the dungeons, of all places. It seemed more to him like a prison cell, and a sudden, unwelcome spike of anxiety told him that the door to the room was sure to slam closed behind him, locking itself tight and keeping him prisoner, possibly forever.

But it did not - at least, not right away - and so Daxton forced his attention onto the most significant point of interest in the room: the whiteboard. He made short work of reading the riddle, though the answer was not immediately obvious to him. Daxton was used to riddles, enjoyed them, heard one every time he entered the common room. He enjoyed logic and strategy, so this should have been easy for him, but he was also always on guard, suspicious, and ready to be tricked at any possible moment. He had little doubts that this situation was any exception.

Despite the presence of the marker and the written instruction, Daxton did not act straight away. He looked uncertainly at the board, cast his eyes around for the professors - perhaps they might instruct him what to do, so that he could do it and be on his way as soon as he could - one hand automatically going for the notebook he kept in his pocket.

Nana followed in after, her heels clicking subtly against the stone. She shivered in the chill as she glanced towards Mister Prince to see how he was enjoying the accommodations, she might have been hoping for a reaction and yet none came. Pursing her rosy lips, Nana stepped further into the room and instructed for Flamsteed to close the door behind him. There would be no escape... No sneaking around... Only the riddle and the consequences.

"Mister Prince, as you are such a fan of marker I thought this particular activity would be to your liking." She said, a hint of sarcasm in her smooth voice. "You will not be allowed out of this room until you have solved each riddle as the board throws it at you. Should you quit you will be punished, should you answer incorrectly you will be punished, is that quite clear?"

"There will be four riddles in total, I suggest you take your time and offer each it's due consideration." No mucking about, no rushing through it. She wanted this lesson to sink in. "Professor Flamsteed and I will stand by to oversee your detention but you will have to accomplish everything on your own." Nana paused. Once again she found herself watching the young boy almost curiously.

"You will begin now."

She stepped back, away and onto a raised dias that she had set up for herself and Flamsteed, Nana had no desire to be in the way of what was to come.

If Ichihara had been hoping that Daxton would react to the chill in the room, she had always been destined to be disappointed. Daxton welcomed the cold, was massively oversensitive to even slightly-too-warm temperatures, and preferred his surroundings to be as icy as his general demeanour.

Sarcasm was lost on him too, and Daxton only reflected on how that was a strange conclusion for Ichihara to come to as he went ahead and picked the marker up, eyeing the riddle written on the board again. It was also curious that she was threatening punishment should he fail the task, despite the fact that the detention itself was supposedly already a punishment. Come to think of it, simply answering riddles did not exactly feel like much of a punishment in and of itself, which was... suspicious.

No. There was something else going on here, almost certainly. Daxton looked back again, watching the professors retreat up onto a dais. There was a chance that that was only there to give them both an inflated sense of their own authority, with the added height (especially Ichihara, whom Daxton was already taller than), but he thought it more likely that that was not all there was to it. They were tricking him, and something was going to happen. The punishment of the detention did not lie in answering the riddles, but in the consequences of getting them wrong. It was incredibly bizarre, and Daxton suspected at once that no matter what answer he gave - right or wrong - something would be rigged to get him.

He had been staring at the professors for a few long moments, all but lost in thought, considering the infinite outcomes of this situation with all its unknown variables, feeling more suspicion and distrust than his usually impassive expression was able to convey. Then at last, he turned back to the whiteboard, though still kept them both within his range of vision.

Having already come to the conclusion that the answer he gave to the riddle did not actually matter in terms of the consequences, Daxton was not terribly concerned with finding the correct response. However, he liked working out riddles, and he liked being right, and found himself unable to resist the temptation to try. To work out the trick, and see through the matter with powers of logic. He needed to look through the many obvious things that the boy in the riddle had done wrong, but this was difficult, because sometimes the obvious answer was the right one, and he did not want to accidentally discount anything.

The minutes ticked by, and Daxton continued to stare at the whiteboard, running through the many potential answers. His most obvious answer was unlikely to be what Ichihara was looking for; Daxton was fully aware that his own moral code differed from the norm, but he had seldom put any real effort into understanding what normal people thought of as right and wrong.

And suddenly, there was his answer, there was the moment of realisation. Daxton thought it over, and decided it was the best possible answer he could give in terms of riddles, logics, and tricks. He uncapped the marker and wrote his answer on the board, all the while bracing for the inevitable yet unknown consequence that was likely to occur no matter how good his answer was.

'What is 'wrong' is subjective.'

The air in the dungeon seem to swell, becoming thicker and humid as the seconds, and minutes ticked on. An uncomfortable, dull heat that stuck to the skin and brought a light sheen of condensation to the stone walls.

Nana Offered Airey a small Japanese fan.

The chalkboard shivered and shook as if disagreeing as the boy finished his writing. The words were wiped clean and in their place another message.

Quote:

Originally Posted by The Whiteboard

Wrong, Mister Prince.

Clouds, almost inky black in color began to form above Mister Prince's head. Clouds that rumbled and roared with thunder. Lightning flashed from the clouds, and rain began to fall heavy and loud and bitterly cold.

Quote:

Originally Posted by The Whiteboard

Strike one.

A young man named Aberforth was failing in his Muggle studies course. His parents, unamused by the boy’s laziness threatened to take his broom from him if his marks continued on in this way.

Aberforth was dismayed, but rather than study decided to cheat by writing the answers in his sleeve for the exam. The professor caught the young man in the act, and after some denying, Aberforth admitted his transgression.

His parents were naturally upset and took the young man’s broom from him after expressing their deep disappointment and how they expected more of him in the future.

--------------------

That weekend, Aberforth and his family went to a Quidditch game.When they got to the stadium, Aberforth's father asked for two children's tickets for Aberforth and his 17 year old brother Atticus -who hunched his shoulders in an attempt to seem small and young enough for the ticket- though the seller was suspicious, she handed over their tickets and the family wen on with their business.

Aberforth asked his father on the way home why it was okay to sked his father why it was okay to lie and cheat the stadium out of money but not to cheat on his exam. His dad responded that sometimes 'it's okay to lie as long as nobody gets hurt.'

Aberforth only got more and more confused as they walked on. Cheating on his test hurt nobody. He didn’t steal the answers from any of the other students. If he hadn’t gotten caught, he would have been praised. How was what he did different from what his dad did over and over again? And should he continue to stay silent the next time his dad lied?

Explain why what Aberforth's father did and what Aberforth did was different, and who was actually hurt by Aberforth's cheating.

As the atmosphere in the dungeon room started to turn almost oppressive in its humidity, Daxton tugged at his shirt collar and loosened his tie in an attempt to get a little more air. However, he did not complain, generally not being the sort to do so and knowing it would be futile, and kept his thoughts very much to himself.

The rain seemed to be little more than an inconvenience to Daxton, and he glanced impatiently up at the clouds, inspecting them for a moment by squinting through the failing rain, then looked back at the board. He frowned. His answer to the riddle had not been wrong, but of course Daxton had known it would say he was incorrect no matter what. Still, that did not mean he would be so accepting of the fact.

As the rain - cold and appealing, freeing him from the heat somewhat and making it easier to breathe - got louder, Daxton at last reached up for the earmuffs he had hanging around his neck, and clamped them over his ears to block out the noise. The clamour of the rain was insidious, about as grating as a thousand Gryffindors, and there would be no chance of concentrating with that pounding in his ears. Giving no other reaction to the change - or rather, the appearance - of the weather conditions, Daxton focused on the board for the next part of the riddle.

If the last one had been difficult, it was nothing compared to this. Over and over Daxton read it, but with each read through he seemed to be losing comprehension. It did not make much sense, and he found it near impossible to find the obvious answer, let alone the inevitable trick within the question. Screwing up his face, partly in thought and partly to see through the heavily falling rain, Daxton considered the riddle carefully.

Like last time, he was sure to be told he was wrong no matter the answer he gave, and so Daxton decided to simply give any answer he could think of, in an attempt to get through the riddles as quickly as possible. In true Daxton fashion, he ultimately answered the riddle in the most literal way possible, writing it out in his neat handwriting on the whiteboard, pausing occasionally to push the wet hair back off his face. Once he was done, he took a half step back from the door, and glanced up at the cloud above him, fully expecting the weather conditions to worsen with what would inevitably be considered an incorrect answer.

'What Aberforth did and what his father did were different because Aberforth cheated on a test because he was too stupid to pass it himself and his father lied because he was too cheap to pay for a full price ticket. Those are literally not the same thing, therefore they are different.

Nobody was hurt by Aberforth's cheating.'

The task he had been well aware of, even offered a suggestion or two and encouraged certain thought processes Nana had had, but he had not been made aware of the...environmental conditions that would be in place. And he certainly had not taken this into consideration when donning his suit for the occasion. Which is why he had been right in the middle of loosening his tie when the fan had been offered to him. "Oh...uh...thank you?" he mumbled as he accepted it. Just...going to fan himself subtly then while he observed.

He was actually quite curious to see how many tries it would take for Mr. Prince to figure out that his usual tricks and means of avoidance would not be tolerated. Because, thus far, it seemed like another game of chess had begun and, perhaps unfortunately for the Ravenclaw, his colleague was more patient than himself and that was saying something.

Brow furrowed and hand covering his mouth to hide his expression, Airey observed the cloud and waited to see what would fall next upon the boy's head.

He should have brought popcorn for this.

Fingers steepled together, Nana's features were inscrutable as the detention went on. She was surprised, she was very surprised. She had believed that even with the young man's clear distaste for authority and structure that he would seek out the logical conclusion to the problem as quickly as he could to get out of this.

But so far he seemed to be answering flippantly... Callously even. Was it a ploy? A mockery? Nana couldn't yet tell. Regardless, the detention would wear on until the young man gave up or got himself together.

Or Hell froze over.

Once again, the whiteboard shook and shivered. The words Daxton had so carefully written were unceremoniously rubbed out and in their stead were large, looping letters.

Quote:

Originally Posted by The Whiteboard

Wrong, Wrong, Wrong. Mister Prince.
The correct answer is that Aberforth was harming himself and his own potential. 'Cheating himself' out of a learning experience, whereas his father hurt no one through his 'cheapskate' efforts.

Prepare yourself, Mister Prince.

The clouds darkened, lightning flashed and the room shook as the thunder rolled. The rain turned torrential, washing over stone and Ravenclaw with unprejudiced wrath. Nana wrapped her light sweater tighter around her.

Quote:

Originally Posted by The Whiteboard

Take another stab at it?

The combination of the heavy rain and the overly stylised penmanship of the writing that appeared on the board meant that it took Daxton slightly longer than usual to read through it. This time, at least, it provided him with the correct answer. Not that that was any help whatsoever. As he read, he frowned, the logic of the situation completely and utterly lost on him. These were not regular riddles, based in cold, hard fact. This was beyond Daxton's capabilities, and he was self-aware enough to realise that.

But he did not raise that point to Ichihara and Airey Flamsteed. His thought process was simple, and nothing to do with pride or not wanting to admit he could not do something. If Daxton revealed that he did not have the skills to answer these questions, clearly based on what was what was right and wrong, he would be calling attention to an issue that he had no doubts would raise far too many concerns. There were certain aspects to Daxton's personality that he knew it would be wisest not to flaunt, and as he could not hope to bluff his way through a situation like this, his best bet was to instead act as though his answers were a display of belligerence, of outright antagonism. If his shortcomings were deduced in other ways, however... well, that was a different matter. It would be interesting to see if Ichihara could manage it. Another game to play in a world that was otherwise just so incredibly boring.

The crack of thunder was jarring, and Daxton, though prepared, felt his head spin as the sound seemed to go right through him. The fact that his ears were covered meant nothing; the reverberations of the thunder was enough to shake the very stone he stood upon, and he did not so much hear it as feel it. Nevertheless, he clamped his hands down over the earmuffs, squeezed his eyes shut to defend their sensitivity from the possibility of more lightening, and waited for a moment or two. The rain got worse, beating down on him with such a force that it took some effort to keep his head up. With a stab of annoyance, he remembered the notebook in his pocket, now probably soaked through and useless - a total waste, considering he did not have the magical ability to dry the stupid thing out.

Opening his eyes slightly, Daxton squinted through the pouring rain and looked to the board once more. Take another stab at it?

Another stab at what? Was this another riddle? It was about as nonsensical as the others had been, in terms of trying to deduce an answer, so it seemed quite possible. Daxton did not react, did not write anything down or respond otherwise. He stood where he was, in the pouring rain, staring at the whiteboard and not at the professors, hands still pressed firmly over the sodden earmuffs covering his ears.

This was getting out of hand.

Nana was in control, she absolutely was, it would only take a flourish of her acacia wand and the booming thunder and vicious lightning would end, but doing so would mean giving in. There was a power struggle here, Nana was not arrogant or foolish enough not to see it. The young boy believed himself above the authority in this castle and any who abided by it. No, she had to stand her ground, be as unmoving as a mountain, as unyielding as a hundred year old tree. This was not the time for her empathy to shine through, even if the young boy looked soaked and miserable in his earmuffs.

If he didn't progress, if he didn't ask for help, there would be a problem, but for now she would stand by and watch. Time ticked on, minutes flew by, the heavy rain grew colder still, and yet the boy hadn't even questioned the blackboard, but only stood motionless and as impassive as ever. Nana was not frustrated, she was not angry, she was... Sad, Sad that it was coming to this. Mister Prince clearly did not care, not about anything it seemed. How did a child so young become so cold?

Turning her eyes from Mister Prince's form, she instead directed her attention to the still immaculately dry and clean whiteboard. She flicked her wand and once more the words rushed across surface.

Quote:

Originally Posted by The Whiteboard

Failure to answer will yield you no results, Mister Prince.

If you want to get out of this you Must. Try. Again.

Once again, the words were erased by an invisible hand before a new riddle was settled into it's place.

Quote:

Originally Posted by The Whiteboard

You pass someone in the street who is in severe need and you are able to help them at little cost to yourself. Are you morally obliged to do so?

Answer the above. Then explain your reasoning and logic behind your answer.

That Daxton preferred the cold was by now completely irrelevant. It did not mean he was immune to it, that it did not affect him. His shivering in response was automatic, no matter how much he hated it - hated it like it was a display of weakness that anyone could take advantage of. But there was nothing that could be done about it that did not involve the cessation of the cold, pouring rain.

Still Daxton stood, eyeing the board, waiting, thinking. He was not sure what he was waiting for, or if he was supposed to be doing something, but eventually standing by paid off just fine. More words appeared, and, once again, Daxton read them.

The first message he disregarded, giving an intent shrug of dismissal; it was the riddles he was interested in, after all. And then, finally, there was one. There was still the very significant issue, however, of keeping certain things held back, and so he took a moment to consider his answer. Then, finally, Daxton took a step closer to the board again, and raised the pen to write, all the while extremely aware of the discomfort that came with his now soaking wet and freezing cold clothes.

'No.

Moral obligations are arbitrary. I am never morally obliged to do anything.'

That, he thought, had just about the right amount of carefully weighted belligerence, while not deviating from the essence of the much more long-winded answer he might have launched into were this not a case of thinking up a carefully calculated game plan. Nor did he had to go through the trouble of deducing what might be considered a more socially acceptable answer, having to spend even more time thinking up the logic to back it up, something that may take him hours... days of research. No; this way, it might not be obvious that he really did believe his answer. This way, it could look like defiance, pure and simple.

Though he had spent most of the detention looking pointedly away from the professors, Daxton took this opportunity to glance at them now. He considered them both for a moment, brow furrowed ever so slightly, then looked away again. It occurred to him, once more, that he really was likely to be trapped here if the nature of these questions continued, but he was nowhere near inclined to ask for any sort of assistance. That, like certain other expectations of him today, was simply not in his nature. Daxton lowered his head slightly, eyes squeezed tightly shut, pressed his hands back over the sodden earmuffs, and braced himself for the next clap of thunder that was sure to come.

This was going nowhere. The young man was as obstinate as stone, Nana could see that in each and every reply he made across the whiteboard. She had never dealt with a child so eager to put himself in the wrong, so remorseless in their transgressions and it chilled her to the bone.

This was a child that was in need of help, and understanding. This detention was rapidly turning into a revolving door of punishment and denial without any real lesson being learned. Nana ran a hand through her short hair, fingers lingering on the slightly damp edges. The humidity was high despite the cold from the rain, a trick to keep the young boy as uncomfortable as was possible during his mental exercise. Which, despite his attempts to hide it was becoming more and more apparent to the Professor as time wore on.

There were options. She could have the storms swirl and swell into a typhoon that would bring the boy to his knees... She could turn the water to snow with a flick of her wrist and bury him in it until he yielded and asked for help.

Nana once again took up her wand with a wordless flourish. The rain ceased, the clouds lightened and once more the room was quiet. "Mister Prince, you have not learned your lesson, you have not taken this seriously. You hide yourself." She spoke calmly, keeping the frustration from her voice. "We are done here, but I expect more from you in the future. I will not be lenient," She said, making it plain and clear that this was not a favor to him, nor was it a declaration of giving in. This was a stalemate, plain and simple and Nana was not foolhardy enough to think that this was getting anywhere. She was certain she had come at this problem incorrectly. This young boy needed time. "Until the end of term you will report to my office once a week for 'quiet study time and reflection', until then.. " Nana flicked her wand again, wordlessly unlocking the magically sealed doors and opening them up. "You are dismissed."