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Angie · 05-24-2017, 10:10 PM

In a manner of speaking, he supposed his plan had worked.

The cheering charm had revitalized him enough for his spells to be successful. Maybe not on the dementor itself, but the cage was there in a way that he hoped made Professor Stewart proud. It had glided past the demon, sure, but it was a solid thing on the ground, a proof that in the face of trouble, he was not useless. He could, as it turned, function well under extremely dire circumstances. And, to be clear, these were extremely dire circumstances. The proof of his capabilities continued when his second spell caused what was doubtlessly a minor earthquake, leaving a hole on its wake. It didn't matter that the dementor didn't seem to have noticed it. It didn't matter that it'd been a waste of his time. What mattered just then--what he was fully focusing on to keep his wits and energy--was that he possessed the sort of strength to mirror a natural disaster.

Levi Kenning: Breaker of Worlds.

Coming to a bookstore near you.

He started laughing, just then. The effects of the cheering charm plus a dash of hysteria filtering in. The dementor was approaching and he was rooted on the spot yet all Levi focused on was how he'd not fallen apart. How despite having a rotting hand around his throat, how despite having despair itself do its best to eat his soul, Levi chose to concentrate on the fact that he'd managed to get the dementor away from its previous victim.

So, it had worked. His plan. It was a shame he'd hadn't caged it, and it was true that being the demon's new target was not ideal, but his plan had worked, nevertheless, at least halfway; and focusing on the positives had never been as vital as it was now. If he was in the business of being honest, and he often was, Levi had never really pondered on the importance of his soul. He'd taken it for granted; how precious it was, how just like his neurons and cells and skin and bone, his soul made him. This was important to remember, too. Although, surely, there was honor to be found in this sort of death; his soul over a stranger's, an exchange Levi hadn't known he'd ever be able to do and yet.

But--no. He had no time for the death of his soul yet. Surviving. Surviving. Between the smell of rot and the possibility of oblivion, surviving was the most important thing. The survival of his soul. It clawed to the surface, forcefully, either the remnants of the artificial effects of the cheering charm or his very own will to live. Because Merlin forbid anyone ever said Gryffindors were not the very definition of Stubborn. Levi concentrated, purely, on the way pressure had not made him choke, the way his parents would welcome him when he got out of this hellhole. He concentrated on the screaming the other guy was doing, and he concentrated on the way his heart was beating--loud, wild and clear. It didn't want to survive so much as it wanted to live. And so did he.

This would be an honorable kind of death, one any Gryffindor would be lucky to have. But he refused. He did not want to die and the feeling pushing through was acute enough to make the whimpers he hadn't known he'd been doing to turn into a growl. Levi was dizzy from the smell and the effort, but he began shaking and fear and rage coiled together in his stomach.

For one wild moment, he thought his rage would set him on fire. For one wild moment, he thought it wouldn't be so bad if it happened because surely, something as cold as a dementor would burn, too. And the trees would catch on as well, flammable as they were, and the whole forest would be, in the end, a big Scottish bonfire that no one had expected, but wouldn't it be grand, really? The big finale to the first challenge of a competition in which the goal was, probably, keeping their souls. And then, just then, would Hogwarts and Ilvermorny learn the consequences of backing a Gryffindor into a corner so much that the Gryffindor in question would have no reason but to push back by reducing everything to ashes.

But. There were people in the forest. Presumably innocent people. And he, after all, was not a human matchstick. He was a boy with a wand and he was perfectly willing to show the Dementor where exactly it could be shoved into. The void the dementor's horrendous mouth was begged to be looked at, but the sixth year tore his eyes from it and looked at the empty eye-sockets.

Levi's knowledge of Defense Against the Dark Arts was not lacking, but he preferred the theory. He could hold his ground well enough thanks to Charlotte Kettleburn, but he was not Charlotte Kettleburn. The possibilities of a corporeal patronus, at this point, were slim to practically impossible. But because he knew the theory and because direct contact was important and beneficial in most if not at all cases, and because the dementor was intent on getting a taste, Levi was going to comply. They were, after all, close enough to be sharing breaths. How could he refuse? People Pleaser Levi was going to turn into Dementor Pleaser Levi by giving it a direct, no stops, intravenous taste of what made Levi Kenning tick.

He reached up and stabbed the tip of his wand right into its putrid, scabby left cheek.

The sixth year tasted vile in the back of his throat and his stomach rolled, either from fear or rage or the sickening smell, he could not tell. But it didn't matter. He looked into the dementor's empty eyes and thought of his mother sneaking into his room late at night and brushing back his curls as she whispered good night and kissed his forehead. She thought he'd been sleeping. He thought of his father, taking him and his siblings out to the country and teaching them how to drive. He'd cursed so many times Levi had laughed for hours and wondered if his dreams that night would be full of bad words. They had and he'd woken up laughing. He thought of Takeru and how he'd found him once sitting on the floor outside his bedroom, waiting for him to emerge; later, he had learned, that this was his new brother's way of reaching out. He thought of Althea and Declan and himself, putting all their differences on hold; the three of them, together like old times, dark heads bent down in some corner of the library, researching runes and spells and reading into ancient magic the days after he'd been chosen. He thought of them helping him carve runes all over his ebony wand; Algiz for protection, Tiwaz because that's what warriors would carve on the hilt of their swords, Sowilo for success and health, Uruz for strength and wisdom and Kenaz for creativity, light and life itself.

And he thought of his friends and best friend, and he remembered of kisses and how he'd a lot of them yet nowhere near enough. And all the thoughts and all the memories molded into one, and Levi could see all of them, together, and it felt like a ball of light was cutting through the darkness.

His soul would not be leaving his body anytime soon.

"Suck this, you dunghead." He drove the wand further into the creature's cheek. "Expecto. Patronum," and Levi felt, rather than saw, silver and energy and light sprout from his wand.

05-24-2017, 10:10 PM	#8 (permalink)
Angie DoM Veela Join Date: Sep 2007 Location: Themyscira Posts: 37,610 Hogwarts RPG Name: Nerissa M. Tate Sixth Year x8	Wowza! In a manner of speaking, he supposed his plan had worked. The cheering charm had revitalized him enough for his spells to be successful. Maybe not on the dementor itself, but the cage was there in a way that he hoped made Professor Stewart proud. It had glided past the demon, sure, but it was a solid thing on the ground, a proof that in the face of trouble, he was not useless. He could, as it turned, function well under extremely dire circumstances. And, to be clear, these were extremely dire circumstances. The proof of his capabilities continued when his second spell caused what was doubtlessly a minor earthquake, leaving a hole on its wake. It didn't matter that the dementor didn't seem to have noticed it. It didn't matter that it'd been a waste of his time. What mattered just then--what he was fully focusing on to keep his wits and energy--was that he possessed the sort of strength to mirror a natural disaster. Levi Kenning: Breaker of Worlds. Coming to a bookstore near you. He started laughing, just then. The effects of the cheering charm plus a dash of hysteria filtering in. The dementor was approaching and he was rooted on the spot yet all Levi focused on was how he'd not fallen apart. How despite having a rotting hand around his throat, how despite having despair itself do its best to eat his soul, Levi chose to concentrate on the fact that he'd managed to get the dementor away from its previous victim. So, it had worked. His plan. It was a shame he'd hadn't caged it, and it was true that being the demon's new target was not ideal, but his plan had worked, nevertheless, at least halfway; and focusing on the positives had never been as vital as it was now. If he was in the business of being honest, and he often was, Levi had never really pondered on the importance of his soul. He'd taken it for granted; how precious it was, how just like his neurons and cells and skin and bone, his soul made him. This was important to remember, too. Although, surely, there was honor to be found in this sort of death; his soul over a stranger's, an exchange Levi hadn't known he'd ever be able to do and yet. But--no. He had no time for the death of his soul yet. Surviving. Surviving. Between the smell of rot and the possibility of oblivion, surviving was the most important thing. The survival of his soul. It clawed to the surface, forcefully, either the remnants of the artificial effects of the cheering charm or his very own will to live. Because Merlin forbid anyone ever said Gryffindors were not the very definition of Stubborn. Levi concentrated, purely, on the way pressure had not made him choke, the way his parents would welcome him when he got out of this hellhole. He concentrated on the screaming the other guy was doing, and he concentrated on the way his heart was beating--loud, wild and clear. It didn't want to survive so much as it wanted to live. And so did he. This would be an honorable kind of death, one any Gryffindor would be lucky to have. But he refused. He did not want to die and the feeling pushing through was acute enough to make the whimpers he hadn't known he'd been doing to turn into a growl. Levi was dizzy from the smell and the effort, but he began shaking and fear and rage coiled together in his stomach. For one wild moment, he thought his rage would set him on fire. For one wild moment, he thought it wouldn't be so bad if it happened because surely, something as cold as a dementor would burn, too. And the trees would catch on as well, flammable as they were, and the whole forest would be, in the end, a big Scottish bonfire that no one had expected, but wouldn't it be grand, really? The big finale to the first challenge of a competition in which the goal was, probably, keeping their souls. And then, just then, would Hogwarts and Ilvermorny learn the consequences of backing a Gryffindor into a corner so much that the Gryffindor in question would have no reason but to push back by reducing everything to ashes. But. There were people in the forest. Presumably innocent people. And he, after all, was not a human matchstick. He was a boy with a wand and he was perfectly willing to show the Dementor where exactly it could be shoved into. The void the dementor's horrendous mouth was begged to be looked at, but the sixth year tore his eyes from it and looked at the empty eye-sockets. Levi's knowledge of Defense Against the Dark Arts was not lacking, but he preferred the theory. He could hold his ground well enough thanks to Charlotte Kettleburn, but he was not Charlotte Kettleburn. The possibilities of a corporeal patronus, at this point, were slim to practically impossible. But because he knew the theory and because direct contact was important and beneficial in most if not at all cases, and because the dementor was intent on getting a taste, Levi was going to comply. They were, after all, close enough to be sharing breaths. How could he refuse? People Pleaser Levi was going to turn into Dementor Pleaser Levi by giving it a direct, no stops, intravenous taste of what made Levi Kenning tick. He reached up and stabbed the tip of his wand right into its putrid, scabby left cheek. The sixth year tasted vile in the back of his throat and his stomach rolled, either from fear or rage or the sickening smell, he could not tell. But it didn't matter. He looked into the dementor's empty eyes and thought of his mother sneaking into his room late at night and brushing back his curls as she whispered good night and kissed his forehead. She thought he'd been sleeping. He thought of his father, taking him and his siblings out to the country and teaching them how to drive. He'd cursed so many times Levi had laughed for hours and wondered if his dreams that night would be full of bad words. They had and he'd woken up laughing. He thought of Takeru and how he'd found him once sitting on the floor outside his bedroom, waiting for him to emerge; later, he had learned, that this was his new brother's way of reaching out. He thought of Althea and Declan and himself, putting all their differences on hold; the three of them, together like old times, dark heads bent down in some corner of the library, researching runes and spells and reading into ancient magic the days after he'd been chosen. He thought of them helping him carve runes all over his ebony wand; Algiz for protection, Tiwaz because that's what warriors would carve on the hilt of their swords, Sowilo for success and health, Uruz for strength and wisdom and Kenaz for creativity, light and life itself. And he thought of his friends and best friend, and he remembered of kisses and how he'd a lot of them yet nowhere near enough. And all the thoughts and all the memories molded into one, and Levi could see all of them, together, and it felt like a ball of light was cutting through the darkness. His soul would not be leaving his body anytime soon. *"Suck this, you dunghead."* He drove the wand further into the creature's cheek. "Expecto. Patronum," and Levi felt, rather than saw, silver and energy and light sprout from his wand. __________________