On a 10+, the Warden is ready, willing and able to help

⚃⚅ + 2 = 12.

You follow the glowing red thread at a full run across the graveled courtyard, pebbles between your naked toes. It leads you to House Leontes. A sleepy Prefect Ish acting as doorkeeper blinks awake as you pass. "Your robes?" she asks. "Emergency, to the warden!" you tell her.

The thread from your wand leads you down to the conjuration practice chambers. The door is closed and warded with a mild "don't disturb" spell. A wave of your wand and a push of your will open the door, and you scamper down the hallway and halt naked and breathless at the open doorway at the end. You blink in surprise at the scene.

The room has the quiet and clear feeling of a recent full banishing, and to one side there are the ritual tools of magic, put in order and ready to be packed away. But over the working table in the center - the magical altar - Barbara Torch, the Warden of Leontes, is bent over facing away from you. Tall, broad-shouldered, broad-hipped and dark-skinned, Barbara is celebrating a different rite tonight. Standing behind her is a pale-skinned young man with long brown hair, holding tightly to her buttocks as he thrusts his member into her.

"You've served me well, Andrew," the Warden says. "Your turn. Let it go. Let it go now."

Your first-year suitemate, Andrew Saltire, the persistent wanker?

"Ah, Warden!" he says, giving a flurry of final thrusts. "Ah, ah, ah!"

His voice. It is Andrew.

"Unnnnnnnh!" Andrew groans. His balls twitch, his root pulses, and he spurts inside her. You feel a flicker of magic. Andrew's climax just triggered some sort of spell. He shivers and staggers back, unsteady on his feet, revealing a thick lace of white seed drooling from the round brown ring of the Warden's bumhole.

Sodomy between a first-year student and senior staff, with sex magic. Improper, you're sure, but this isn't the time. And probably not much more improper than your carryings-on with Dorothy.

You clear your throat. "Warden, there is danger," you say. "In the Fifth House."

The Warden straightens and turns, wand in hand. She's nearly as tall as you, with a much bigger frame filled out with full hips, breasts, and belly. "Show me in your mind," she says. She puts a hand to your forehead and holds the wand to your temple.

The image of the crumbled wall, the questing tentacles, the huge flowers, and Dorothy wrestling the vines flash through your mind's eye. "Dorothy," you say.

The Warden steps back and makes a pass with her wand. "Asteria," she says. "Danger in the Fifth House. Tell the Head Warden." Her eyes focus on you. "Redmoor, take my hand."

Her grip is warm and firm.

With a flourish of her wand and a few words, the Warden propels you through an abrupt, dizzying teleportation that lands you in the graveled courtyard outside the Fifth House. There you are, two tall, broad-shouldered women, side by side, hands clasped, your hurried arrival leaving you nude but for the wands you're holding.

"Down there," you say, pointing. "Dorothy lifted me out that window."

Your magical light persists inside. Faint noises emerge from the ground-level window.

"The sap has some sort of smell, it was making me dizzy," you warn.

The Warden raises her wand and casts a spell. Your hair tugs at your head, pulled by a little whirlwind. She casts another on herself. Her hair dances in the swirling wind.

"Let's go," the Warden says. "This way." She leads you around a corner, opening a door with a touch and a word, and walks down a flight of stairs into the sunken hall.

"Take THAT," Dorothy calls out. She swings a broken stone block, cutting a twining vine clutching her arm. It spurts sap and whips back. There's a trail of cut vines, wet smears, and chipped floor from the basket, blanket, and little candle lantern to where Dorothy struggles, close to the trunk and the flowers, their petals rippling in waves. She cuts one vine after another, but in the time you've been gone, she's been dragged all the way across the room.

A vine whips round her ankle. She stumbles and the plant yanks her forward, planting her face in the midst of one of the great white flowers.

Dorothy lets out a deep groan, half-stifled by the flower, and drops the piece of broken stone. Her hands ball into fists, her bare toes curl, scrabbling on the floor, and her hips rock back and forward. A pink flush spreads across her shoulders. More vines wrap around her, parting her legs, holding her face to the flower as Dorothy rocks in the throes of botanically induced climax. Runnels of Dorothy's juices drip down her legs as her hips keep pumping in the plant's tight embrace.

The Warden grunts and raises her wand. "Stay back, Redmoor, unless I call," she says. "IGNEM GLADIO," she incants. A shining blade forms from the tip of her wand, edged with brightly flickering flames. She advances, cutting any vines that show signs of life, until she reaches Dorothy. A two-minute bout of careful slashing releases Dorothy from the plant's clutches. The Portress collapses down and backward, bumping her head, but her face is still covered by the huge white flower, and her orgasmic spasms continue, fists balled tight, toes curling and uncurling, an occasional squirt of clear juice jetting from between her legs.

Another few minutes of the Warden's hacking and slashing reduce the trunk to smoking ruins. The Warden dodges a chunk of wall that falls as the plant goes limp.

Dorothy lies on her back, veiled by the flower, moving only feebly now.

Hurried footsteps behind you mark the arrival of a small party of Wardens, Assistant Wardens, and instructors, wands out and ready. Unlike yourself, Dorothy, and Barbara Torch, they're all wearing robes, excepting a couple in nightshirts.

There are sighs of relief from the group, and muttered observations. "I thought the wards would stop this." "Why didn't we know?" "Didn't we clean up the Fifth House?" "Redmoor, why are you naked?"

You reflexively cross your hands over your chest, which does nothing for your southern exposure.

"All right!" Barbara Torch calls, taking charge. "Help for Dorothy here, then the Infirmary for Miss Redmoor. Beware the walls, the creature weakened the structure. Sharper, Hornbeam, clear the air here, then go set a circle, we don't need any curious students wandering in, but be ready to cut a door. Master Ffoulkes, you're with them. Outside the circle. Mistress Hemstitch, would you see to Dorothy? Mistress Euryale, would you assist me in sweeping the Fifth House?"

Barbara Torch goes with Euryale, the hooded, veiled Wardress of Minerval, to ensure that the Fifth House is secure from further intrusion.

You kneel beside Dorothy, holding her hand as Mistress Hemstitch, House Beavertail's Tutor, lifts the wilting flower from off Dorothy's face and breathes life back into her. In short order, Dorothy's lungs fill, her eyelids flutter, and she coughs.

"Where am I?" Dorothy rumbles. "Such joy, ah, but now my head aches fierce. Oh, Golondrina, dear, what?" Dorothy squeezes your hand gently. Hemstitch clears her throat. "Ah, Mistress Hemstitch, madam, I'm sorry, I ache and I'm so tired. I can't move anything for you tonight."

"Settle, Dorothy," Mistress Hemstitch says. "We'll be seeing to your comfort and healing."

"Thank ye, madam," Dorothy says. "Ah, my head swims."

You could collapse any moment, yourself, but you stay until you're sure that Dorothy is being well taken care of. Far too big for any bed in the Infirmary, a delegation of magically assisted porters floats Dorothy off the floor and back toward her own bed.

"That's her bedcover, there," you point out, then wonder if you've further incriminated yourself. Well, with so many senior witches and wizards involved, either the truth will out, or they'll spin up a suitable story, so it's not as if you could hide anything to help yourself.

And so Dorothy and her bedcover float off to her cottage, and you're led by the hand back to the Infirmary, half-covered by a borrowed cloak.

But you fear you're in deep trouble. Sapphic fornication with a member of Staff, in a chamber of the off-limits Fifth House, with property damage, injury, and call-up of a good part of the senior staff of Boarbristle.

For all you've witnessed the Warden's own misconduct, Andrew Saltire spunking up the Warden's arse in the practice chambers, probably sealing some magic spell, you're sure it will do you no good. Unless your sponsor, Leontes' Housemaster Firetail, makes something of it.

But the next morning, you wake in the Infirmary, under Miss Wormwood's care. No one questions you. Miss Wormwood bathes and feeds you and sits you upon the pot, her head of green snakes flickering their tongues at you all along.

"Back to bed with you, Redmoor," Miss Wormwood says. "You really must take better care of yourself. I expect much of you." Her tongue circles her thin, pale lips.

"Oh," you say, raising your eyebrows.

"In all ways," Miss Wormwood says. "In all ways. Sometimes it feels like a competition." Her eyes flick to the side, perhaps thinking of Dorothy, or Fergus Firetail. Probably not Rebecca Honeybee. "But now, sleep." She bends to kiss you. You feel a stinging bite on your neck. Your limbs melt and your awareness floats away.

Dorothy the Porter, Marina Madeline, Housemaster Fergus Firetail, and Miss Wormwood are your FRIENDS and each will freely grant one FAVOR. Your familiar Sapienta also counts as a FRIEND with a FAVOR.

Rebecca Honeybee is your HANGER-ON (-1 to rolls against her) and owes you a FAVOR.

You have 5 XP, -1 AMBITION, +3 BRAVERY, +1 CUNNING, and +0 DILIGENCE.

You have a CONSEQUENCE (Exhausted), -1 to all MOVE rolls.

You have a GOAL from Mrs. Travers for your Conjurations class: Perform the Conjuration of the Binding Vines on Rebecca Honeybee. This is a +CUNNING(-2) task to perform.

For now: Roll +BRAVERY(+2)(+3 Bravery, -1 CONSEQUENCE) to GET OUT OF THE INFIRMARY. Your HANGER-ON Rebecca Honeybee is a likely visitor in case of a 7-9.

At some point, you may apply Advancement to spend 5 XP for a character advance, including an advancement in Golondrina's story - a deeper plot thread, a hard choice, a demanding friendship, a difficult GOAL? Perhaps something about the history of Boarbristle's Fifth House?