 Wowza!
Anticipation worked in mysterious ways. It had carried him for an entire month of studying, training and studying and training, leaving room for every little else outside of lessons and other unavoidable tasks (like sleeping and eating.) But there was something to be said about gearing yourself up for so long that by the time The Moment arrived, the feeling you were left with was... certainly not disappointment, but, well, Levi had to admit he was feeling a little deflated.
Levi stood at the edge of the dark forest, expectant, waiting for the other shoe to drop. A thought that reminded him of Aslan Evans falling into the pool at the Gryffindor party Marchand had thrown after the beginning of the term feast, and the sixth year had to resist the urge to laugh. Though he'd been expecting something far worse than threading into the Dark Forest, laughter was an inappropriate reaction to what was, indisputably, a very serious situation. Regardless of its outcome, it would have repercussions on his future.
He bit his lower lip, focused on his breathing, willed the laughter bubbling in his throat to cease. It struck him then that perhaps he wasn't deflated at all; that, perhaps, anticipation had most unfortunately, given way to nerves. It was a sobering thought. Enough for the boy to swallow back his amusement. Face impassive now, the Gryffindor frowned as he flicked out his wand and cast feather-light on himself.
Just because this was not the pack of dragons he'd been expecting, or ravenous sphinxes ready to feast on him for supper should he fail to accurately answer their riddle, did not mean that the Dark Forest was any less dangerous. Though it was also true that they'd sort of been there before for a Herbology lesson. And it was also true that if both schools were willing to allow students--and most were minors, Levi was sure--to go into it over the Restricted Section of the library then, surely, the possibilities of dying in there were exponentially lower than the school staff would want any of the students to believe.
I bleed red and gold, he'd told people more than once whenever they questioned his sorting. So, there was a chance that this was just the Gryffindor in him flourishing out over the current wave of nerves prickling the back of his neck. But he was a Gryffindor, so he ventured in, casting bluebell flames to light the way and holding them with his free hand, chest level, to help himself keep some warmth as the temperature continued to drop. And he trudged on, the sound of his breathing and the beat of his heart the only thing he was able to hear.
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