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Clementine "Lily Potter" Le Roux

"On a scale of saner than soya, to nuts, I'd say I'm peanut butter."

0 · 955 views · located in Wizarding World

a character in “Nox // Lumos”, as played by Layla

Description

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    Control by Halsey

    "I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head;
    they beg me to write them so I'll never die when I'm dead.

    I'm bigger than my body, I'm colder than this home.
    I'm meaner than my demons, I'm bigger than these bones."
    Promise by Ben Howard

    "Promise me this: you’ll wait for me only
    scared of the lonely arms, surface, far below these words

    and maybe, just maybe I’ll come home
    who am I, darling, to you? who am I?"




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[ Birth Name ]
Lily Luna Potter

[ Present Name ]
Clementine Aurélie Le Roux

[ Nicknames ]
Clem, Minty || Because Clementine is a bit of a mouthful.

Clement || The masculine origin of the French Clementine, spawned of a Mediterranean Citrus and a sweet orange.

Nightwalker || A Witch of the night and coincidentally, the archaic epithet of prostitutes. She minds neither interpretation.

The Aphotic || They had called her mind murky, and she'd asked, like the Aphotic zone? They'd thought her funny. Mad. Yes, she'd meant, like the Aphotic zone, the deepest depths of the sea where no light could penetrate, but from which emerged the miracle of bioluminescence. She did not need light. She was her own.

Lily-Lu || A nickname her father concocted.

The Lost Girl || Lily Luna Potter had never been found, many had presumed her dead. Of all her names, this is the only she hates.

[ Gender ]
Female

[ Age ]
20

[ Sexual Orientation ]
Pansexual

[ Blood Status ]
Half-blood




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[ Occupation ]
Part-time slave and human pincushion, full-time eye candy

[ Classification ]
Glorified Hostage
Unmentionables' Healer

[ Wand ]
11.5" Willow wood, Acromantula web core, Springy || The "tree of enchantment" is a feminine wood that thrives in healing and charm magic. Yet its geniality is antithetical to its wandcore. Acromantula webs have been illegal in Britain since 1782, as its wielders have tended to shown a unique affinity for Dark Magic. This is her second wand.

[ Familiar ]
Chipper || Originally Albus Potter's Familiar, the slight Fox Kestrel loathed Lily when his master was alive, but defended her with a vicious stream of pecking when Albus and Lily's own familiar was killed in the Massacre.

[ Strengths ]
Clementine, or rather, Lily Potter, has shown an affinity for healing magic from a young age, to the extent that she is able to wield it with wandless magic. She has a knack for charms, particularly protective ones. Like most other Unmentionables, she is well-versed in the Dark Arts, and is especially skilled with the Cruciatus or Torture Curse. Clementine has been trained in hand-to-hand combat and has a basic proficiency over most weapons. She's always possessed a gift for art and music.

[ Weaknesses ]
Her capacity for logic-based magic like arithmancy and ancient rune studies is nothing to boast about and her mathematical ability is worse. She is not the most rational or mentally-stable of individuals, and unlike some of the Unmentionables, Clementine has never been very good at Legilimency. Although she once showed promise in DADA and had initially attempted to use it to defend herself from the Unmentionables, it has been years since she last used it.

[ Boggart ]
Harry Potter || Growing up, she'd always been closest to her father, who possessed a protective streak for his only daughter. To become that which Harry Potter dedicated his life to eradicate is a betrayal Clementine has never been able to ignore. The guilt perpetuates a fear of the afterlife, where his ghost might be watching her, hating her. She fears his return almost as much as she wishes for it.




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[ Height ]
5'9" || 175cm

[ Weight ]
121lbs || 55kg

[ Hair Colour ]
Naturally || Strawberry blonde

Coloured || Dark chocolate brown

[ Eye Colour ]
Hazel

[ Distinguishing Features ]
Clementine can be easily recognised by her doll eyes and full lips. She has eight helix piercings along her left ear, a tragus stud in each and a navel piercing.

Although her healing powers prevent her from being scarred easily, she does have a faint array of scars peppered across her body, though not to the extent of many other Unmentionables. Her most distinct scar is etched over the left side of her chest and spells "waste." It had been the Unmentionables' reminder of her family's abandonment, placed over her heart so she would be forced to see it every day. She was waste, discarded, forgotten, a pest. She received it after being interrogated about the whereabouts of the Weasleys, to which she'd offered a creative manner of curses no 15 year old girl should know. The scar is her greatest shame and she hides it with garments and veiling spells.




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[ Personality ]
Fearless || Resilient || Loyal
Jubilant || Quirky || Flirtatious || Outspoken
Manic || Resentful || Intelligent || Deceptive || Cunning


When all your worst fears come true, there is little left to be wary of. Clementine witnessed the deaths of those she cared for before she was torn from the life that she knew and betrayed by the only family she had left. She was imprisoned and tortured, an ordeal that she had protested but which slowly and ultimately, chipped away at her sanity. She suffers from depersonalisation and derealisation which manifests in her somewhat manic personality. She is animated and jubilant despite having rather morbid preoccupations. Although she is not sadistic like some of the Unmentionables, she lacks sympathy for her victims, as she considers their agony a fact of life and one she and all others have and must endure.

On the outset, Clementine seems a charming girl. Sensual and cheerful, she is easy to talk to, if you can follow her somewhat haphazard train of thought. She enjoys the company of others, despite possessing hardly an ounce of trust for anyone. She finds pleasure in bodies, in movement and touch that deviated from the hauntings of the mind. She is as open-minded as she is outspoken, and is not the sort to be critical of others - especially when it comes to their sexual kinks. However, others does not happen to include James Potter II, upon which all of her negativity is rooted.

However, do not succumb to her illusion of harmlessness. For although she seems kind and friendly, even warm, she is nonetheless, an Unmentionable. She is capable of vicious cruelty and is smarter than she seems. She pretends to be crazier than she really is, as most do not bother to question the clinically insane. Her haphazard thoughts protect her somewhat from the will of Legilimens, as her mind is virtually impossible to navigate.

Not all of Lily Luna Potter is lost, and Clementine has kept many of her original qualities, albeit warped versions of them. She continues to be predominantly helpful and agreeable, even to strangers, though not to her victims and enemies. She is fiercely loyal to those who have proved themselves worthy. Considering everything that has transpired, Clementine has an immutable strength and remains remarkably optimistic. he will allow no one to be the master of her and there is no obstacle or fear that she will not overcome and live despite.




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[ Likes ]
Creating Art ✦ Making nicknames ✦ Ram ✦ Artemius ✦ Funny People ✦ Chocolate ✦ Clementines ✦ Bubble Tea ✦ Photographs ✦ Music ✦ Sunrises and Sunsets ✦ Singing ✦ Science fiction and Fantasy Books ✦ Apparition ✦ Quidditch ✦ Flying ✦ Chinese Takeout Containers ✦ Floating lanterns ✦ Cooking ✦ Being Tickled ✦ Sweets ✦ Fruit-picking ✦ Rap Music ✦ Plants and Flowers ✦ Sleeptalking and Sleepwalking ✦ Sex and Kisses ✦ Unwrapping Presents ✦ Letters ✦ The Sea ✦ Holding Her Breath

[ Dislikes ]
Bathing Alone ✖︎ Ghosts ✖︎ Potters and their Associates ✖︎ Dead Animals ✖︎ Morgues ✖︎ Meat ✖︎ Horror Stories ✖︎ Ugly Buildings ✖︎ Winter ✖︎ Long-winded People ✖︎ Cronuts and other Weird Food Hybrids ✖︎ Chewing Noises ✖︎ Lentils ✖︎ Shoes ✖︎ Clothes ✖︎ Feeling Caged ✖︎ Dubstep ✖︎ Smoke ✖︎ History of Magic ✖︎ Geography ✖︎ Monochromatic Colour Schemes ✖︎ Hogsmeade ✖︎ Joke Shops ✖︎ Clowns ✖︎ Toys

[ Quirks ]
Is always covered in what she paints and draws with ❁ Convinced Atlantis exists ❁ Scared of Ghosts ❁ Makes a wish before she breaks her chopsticks ❁ Swears like a sailor, or worse ❁ Can sing the alphabet backwards ❁ Can touch her nose with her tongue ❁ Eats the edges of her food before she reaches the centre ❁ Colour-codes everything ❁ Refuses gifts that aren't wrapped ❁ Wraps her gifts meticulously ❁ Enjoys taking candid shots of others ❁ Sings constantly




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[ Family ]
Harry Potter || Father || 41 || Deceased
Ginevra Weasley || Mother || 40 || Deceased
James Potter || Brother || 22 || Alive
Albus Potter || Brother || 16 || Deceased
Ron Weasley || Uncle || 41 || Deceased
Hermoine Granger || Aunt || 42 || Deceased
Rose Weasley || Cousin || Unknown
Hugo Weasley || Cousin || Unknown

[ History ]
"You're the splitting image of your mother, Lily-Lu."

Always they said this. Exactly like Ginny. She had the same golden red hair, the same feistiness that came from being the only girl in a family of boys, and the littlest at that. Lily was an excitable child, full of words that bubbled and tumbled from her lips, tripping over one another in their haste to escape. She remembers James gripping her waist and hoisting her to the lowest branch of the great oak tree behind their modest house. She remembers holding her brothers' hands wherever she went, but especially as they were crossing streets because Lily Luna had a tendency to look straight ahead, and never left and right. Perhaps that had been her mistake. She had been so mesmerised by her family's perfection, that she did not see the shadows creep in or the fractures that emerged from the edge of the picture frame.

She recalls standing at the edge of Platform 9 and 3/4, clinging to her mum's sleeve as she begged them to please, let her follow Jaimie and Alby. James had teased her, telling her she was too short to climb on the train anyway. She remembers crying as they waved goodbye, and crying still when she could no longer see them or hear the sound of the train. She cried and cried, begging them to come back, until her dad brought her a big bag of Chocolate Frogs and made everything okay. But the last time she said goodbye to her brothers, her father would not be there to comfort her, and no amount of magic would cure what had been done.

It had been on a trip to Hogsmeade that she spoke to Albus for the last time. He hadn't wanted to go. It's boring, he'd said. But she'd begged. Please, Alby! It'll be fun. Hogwarts had been everything Lily dreamed it would be. She'd been Sorted into Gryffindor alongside her brothers, to no one's surprise. Friendly and cheerful, making friends had been easy, and her brothers told her a similar thing to what Uncle Ron and George had told her mum - "too popular for your own good." And perhaps that was why she'd been spared.

She'd been 15, with her brother and a large group of friends in Zonko's Joke Shop, when the Hogsmeade Massacre began. The first scream had elicited teasing laughs. A joke, they'd all thought. A joke. Someone had been surprised, that's all. More screams arose, but it was not until she felt hot liquid splatter across her face and Albus' body as it collapsed against her, that she'd realised with burning clarity, that it was real.

She'd tried to heal him. Poured everything she had into the him, but his eyes remained vacant, dyed red with the blood that had streamed from them. The Dementor rushed towards her and Lily lifted her wand to it. She screamed the incantation, "Expecto Patronum," as if it were a curse instead of a protection spell. But from it sparked a light that grew and roared and pushed it back, but not for long. She'd run, slipping and tripping over things she'd rather not name, with a different name held on her lips. James, James, James.

Lily found him wounded. Run, he'd said. Go. Leave me here. She'd refused, and she'd stayed, concentrating so hard on that stupid healing spell she could not get past her lips. Her hand had been shaking too furiously, her teeth chattering too viciously for her to enunciate the words, and then it was too late. The screams neared, the Dementors screeched. Even now, she wonders what might have been different if she'd been less scared. If she'd said the damn spell. If she hadn't asked Albus to come. Always, it returned to that: if she hadn't asked Albus to come.

"I'll distract them," she'd told James. "Meet me by the big willow. Promise me."

But little girls did not win against Unmentionables, and they'd swallowed her in their midst.

She'd been afraid of the darkness, but she would soon discover that it had been a blessing. She rose to the roar of pain, an agony that blinded her, that made her ears ring and her heart forget to beat. She'd almost wished it would forget entirely, she'd almost wished for death. And they'd told her she'd been abandoned. Everyone had left. They were not coming back. What a waste it would be to kill you, they'd said. A healer with a pretty face. They informed her there would be no escape and they asked her to make a choice. Join us or die. She'd spat at them, and told them that was not a choice at all. "How about I shove that knife in your gut?" she'd said instead. "I choose that."

It had been her first taste of the violence that rested in her and perhaps roiled within them all. Somehow she'd managed to escape, thinking back, she supposes they might have simply let her. To prove a point, or because they enjoyed a chase. She'd run, run, run. Until her lungs threatened to leap from her throat. Until her feet became two stumps of ice that could barely run at all. She'd run and run and run, until she made it to the willow tree.

And then she'd waited.

And waited.

And waited.

They found her half-buried in the dirt. The night had been so cold, she'd dug her own grave, and lowered herself into it. James had not come. She might as well have been dead already, anyway. She'd been certain they would kill her, but they merely brought her to that room. The pain had begun again, and then it had stopped. Her vision returned and through the haze of blood, she saw a clementine. It had seemed so bizarre. So very out of place. That she'd tried to laugh, but all that escaped was a wheeze, a sob, a tear. Several.

Artemius watched her, and then he named her.

"Clementine."



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[ Hex Colour ]
#E55451

[ Timezone ]
AEDT

[ Played By ]
Layla



So begins...

Clementine "Lily Potter" Le Roux's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Clementine "Lily Potter" Le Roux Character Portrait: Seth "Seulki" Song
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by themis
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          xxxxxFIREBREATHER | l a u r e l xxxxx
          xxxxxPREDICAMENT: seemingly dangling in air, unconscious xxxxx
          xxxxxLOCATION: just above diagon alley
          xxxxx

          Beneath a halo of thorns and rotting corpses, the wrath in his mind seems plentiful and ceaseless. He hovers purposefully, above backalleys with a hood drawn against his face- a wry smile lifts to his eyes --magpie beady and glinting with the almost intoxicating sense of opportunity. The chaos about to come would be maddeningly exciting, he could feel it in his mind, the recesses of his heart burning with the calls of a thousand wretched souls, wailing, trapped eternally in the river Styx. Yet, in this single moment, a superficial thought of odd domesticity occupies his mind- had he taped the newest episode of some reality show [he cannot recall he name of]? Panicked, he racks the corners of his mind for some form of a memory; anything would be preferable. Of course, being a seer did not come with an ability to remember the TV shows you may or may not have taped, that is not provided in the list of "perks" that came with the gift of divination. He slumps over his broom, his spine arching and his arms clutching the polished wood of the handle, defeated, a string of curses tenuously uttering from rosebud lips. The world around him is soundless, night engulfing the landscape in dusky silence.

          Almost too quiet.

          Around him, he feels a presence, cold and ephemeral it lurks just above view, yet it is oddly warm, black coffee on a monday morning sort of warm- friendly almost. He is relatively solitary, the nearest Unmentionable being someone unseen, of which he can make out merely the faintest shadow of a human being. But he senses someone; something familiar in his vicinity. Something invisible yet tangible... above him? Below him? He looks around, eyes trained on the slightest movement. He calls out in a lyrical tone, yet almost quiet-

          "Is anybody there?", Most likely not the smartest idea before a battle, yet he is curious and vaguely paranoid. Who would be invisible at this time? It did not occur to him, but a healer would benefit from a disillusionment charm, and there is a certain healer he definitely knows well. Nothing calls back to him, except the whistle of the wind and a slight movement of the clouds. However, he has other problems at hand.

          From a haze of faint grey across his vision comes a familiar scent, alluring like jasmine and dangerous like deepest musk, sweet amber patchouli and dragons blood-- rising in the air, mixing with the iron taste of bloodshed. The contradiction of the haze, the mist and intangible deepness of it, to the solidity and assuredness of impending warfare is almost alerting, yet it is sending him into deepest slumber. Already, the ground below him fills with flashes of light, lightest green and brightest red, curses and hexes, spells of unknown quantity-- they struggle beneath his feet, and from below his gaze he can almost hear them incant spells that have never even happened upon his ears. The wind calls out to him, whispering against his ear in a melancholic ancient song in a tongue that hasn't left any lips since before the first civilization fell, it's lungs and voice-box collapsing with it's emperors and generals. It tells him to close his eyes, to slip into a comatose state of learning, forget these mortal concerns and fly with the creatures that hold the secrets of the universe. Divination, is a gift that comes with a sacrifice. Did you know, you lose your earthly body as soon as the fates speak to your mind? With the grip of his hands loosening from the hilt of his broom & with long tendrils of chimney smoke spiralling down his lungs, he falters, his eyelids hold the weight of a thousand swords. Relax, ease into it. He lets the red string of fate tangle across his body, weaving through every finger, each leg and finally the tendrils of crimson kiss his skull. Breathe.

          Fall from grace.

          He turned. Eyes completely porcelain [ cracked china and hair-thin fractures along it's surface-- almost delicate yet utterly out of place in the midst of blood and fire and dust that settles deep in throats ] , skin bloodless and tinged with an Atlantic sort of hue- he's not entirely human nor entirely non-human, his body rag-doll limp, corpse-like hands dangling, cracking small bones along their surface. His mouth utters words in a language he couldn't even have recognized a single word in his concious state. It sounded almost sharp and Akkadian- it's words filled with knife-edge rhotacisms and nonsensical sentence structures. He fell hard, he fell like Lucifer, with his wings broken and blackened and the scorn of god across his inhuman body.

          Before his body can smash against the concrete, killing him as soon as his fingers scraped the thick coat of dust, an angel appears. This angel takes the form of Clementine Le Roux. Angels don't always possess wings; they are often mortals. We could be angels, we are on occasion. Angels are as real as the man who smiles at you from above a self-help book on the commute to work, just when you were losing hope. Angels are loving mothers and fathers. This angel lifts his limp body on to a broom. They are vulnerable to attack, yet he is alive for the most part-- he still has milk-white eyes, a tongue that's speaking in a primordial way, and his body is hanging, or better described- moving like a marionette held by a sadistic child- from what seems to be thin air (a disillusionment charm, performed correctly, masks the user. Often used by healers on battlefields.)

          Finally, his mind fades to colour;

          "greeted by the fates, he rests in a cradle of wool, intertwining destinies and futures, each different to the last.
          a picture clears in his mind, he can almost make out the details of it; crystal clear yet...
          blood, he sees porcelain teacups smashed along a cottage floor, a hand comes into view--
          the picture has switched abruptly.
          a man, about mid-twenties.
          he's tying up a tie in his bedroom, facing a mirror with a bored glare
          there is something off about him; or rather too familiar.
          an eerily well-known aura...
          there is a couple pictures on a dresser table, generic family pictures
          'focus on the westernmost one, seth.'
          it's a man, sharp features and a thin nose... eyes like pits of tar and a smile than doesn't reach them
          his father.
          his
          father?
          "-- my father, that i
          killed"
          the man stares into the mirror, wearing a black suit, expensive shoes
          his expression resembling the eye of a hurricane.
          it makes sense, this is his replacement.
          his brother.
          "

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Clementine "Lily Potter" Le Roux Character Portrait: Seth "Seulki" Song
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Layla
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      [ song; highway to hell ] [ hex; #E55451 ]




      XXXThe sun collapsed like a spilled yolk, its mustard innards bleeding across the violet tabletop in streaks of molten gold and clementine, hues that once permeated the Witch's hair, before a Colour Caller Potion rendered it a deep chocolate. Darkness slithered between the cracks of its shell to pool at her feet, stretching and climbing the walls of the circular balcony.
      XXXThe girl leaned against the gilded parapet and watched the sky fall as it had everyday for the past three years, like a great meteor descending upon the earth to cleave caverns into its chest. It illuminated the carcasses littered across the landscape beneath her: gnarled trees and thick canopies that obscured the veiled mansion, and the ripple of magic that protected the Unmentionable fortress. It stretched from the four towers poised at each of the cardinal directions, its stone body spiralling into the grey mist.
      XXXShe heard the battle cries, jagged syllables spat from angry throats, angrier still than the rush of wind as Unmentionable agents leapt off of rooftops, windows, floors. Her fingers curled around her own broom, the smooth oak cool against her clammy palms. Her heart paced in her chest, first in excitement, before guilt soured her mirth like fruit she had waited too long to eat.
      XXXIt was fitting, she supposed, that her freedom should come at the price of another's. She felt the chains of the mansion as thoroughly as if they'd been visible, the hex that willed her return gnawing at her to come home, come home, with every thought she had of escape. Was this what House Elves endured? The incessant pull of their Master, a nagging ache so omnipotent, it almost felt to be the will of the self?
      XXXTonight, the ache was tender, like the stretching of sore muscles after vigorous exercise, enough that when she clasped the broomstick between her thighs, she scarcely wavered at all. Tonight, the mansion would let her go, because it knew she would ensure more of its own would return.
      XXXShe pulled the remaining light into her wand, twirling it above her head as she murmured the incantation for the Disillusionment Charm. It felt as if a yolk had been spilled over her head as an alabaster light erased her visibility. She had never been particularly good at Disillusionment. She was too loud, too much, to ever be unseen, but it was good enough.
      XXX"Clementine, come on!" a fellow healer bellowed midair. "What are you waiting for?"
      XXX"A salary," Clementine grumbled. The Wizard laughed in response, nudging her with the end of his conveyance.
      XXX"I'll race you," he challenged.
      XXX"It wouldn't be fair to you."
      XXX"All bark and no bite, Clem."
      XXX"I wasn't aware you liked it rough." She beamed. Before he could respond, she lunged into the clouds.

      ・ • ● • ・


      XXXThe wind felt like iron arms tearing at the bars of her cage, like her mother's hands as they brushed her strawberry strands behind her ear. They whipped her midnight blue hair across her face, caressing a body the colour and texture of the sky beyond her. Clementine's smile widened. Invisible, airborne, alone, she could do whatever she wanted. She was free.
      XXXShe unclasped her fingers from her broom, and opened her arms wide.
      XXXClementine laughed soundlessly, throwing her head back to taste abandon as if it were snow dissolving on her tongue. Her body tipped. Her stomach lurched. She swerved to the right and for an instant, she dangled upside-down. For a little while, she thought she might fall. She thought she might die, and she found she didn't mind. It was liberating.
      XXXBut her hands found the shaft of her broomstick and she righted herself as she had so many times on the Quidditch Pitch, when she became the first Keeper in Hogwarts' history, and her name had been something else. Clementine was out of practice, she was not as fast or as agile as she had been before. Years anchored to the stone mansion had chipped away all those hours, days and nights spent training, and she found that was the saddest thing of all. The only fact she had to mourn.
      XXXFireworks erupted beneath her as if the sky and earth had switched places, spirals of incandescent light tearing through the chaos like a creative installation. Seth flew ahead of her, his dark cloak billowing in the wind as he swerved. Suddenly, his body gave a violent jerk, and he pitched to the side.
      XXXClementine lunged forward and down, the impact as Seth fell against her yanked her broomstick off its course. It knocked the breath from her chest, but she wrapped an arm tight around his waist, and grasped the oak shaft with all her might. Flesh and dark hair rippled from her illusion, as the night sky bled from her arms. She swore as she barely dodged the crackle of scarlet lightning that came their way. The last of the Disillusionment Charm slipped from her body, not that it mattered, because an unconscious Seth hovering midair was conspicuous enough.
      XXX"Dammit, Seth. I'm giving you shit for this when we get back." A bolt of red skimmed her cheekbone as she jerked to the left. "If we get back." The broom bent beneath the weight of two people. "You really need to lay off the croissants."
      XXXThere was no other choice as she eased them to the ground. Immediately, she heard the beginnings of a spell. Clementine shoved Seth's body from the broom and he landed with a loud thump. No doubt it would hurt when he awoke, by whence she would refuse to heal him and instead laugh at his writhing, bitter agony.
      XXX"Expelliarmus!" she cried as she pointed the wand at the blonde Witch. A hiss of magenta light shot from its tip and struck her opponent's hand. Her wand flew from her grip. Clementine spun around and flipped Seth onto his back.
      XXX"Come on, come on," she murmured, but Seth's eyes were white. She recognised the symptoms, and knew his mind was wherever he went when overcome with a vision. No healing would wake him now. She swore, cursing him, his family, and every generation of useless, unconscious Song's that would come after him. He had the worst timing known to Wizarding kind.
      XXXA burst of agony split her side as a tongue of flames sliced into her ribcage and ignited her blouse. She swore, before remembering to speak the Extinguishing Spell. The fire died, but the wound in her side did not. She had no time to heal it as she spun around to face the obnoxious blonde Witch, only to find she had acquired a companion.
      XXX"Oh, come on."
      XXX"Locomotor Mortis!" bellowed the tall Wizard by her side.
      XXX"Confrigo!" cried the fair-haired Witch.
      XXXHer legs gave from under her as the Leg-Locker Curse bound them together. She hit the ground hard just as the boulder above her head shattered. Clementine spun her wand clockwise thrice, and pointed it at her legs. They pulled apart with a violent tug and she leapt into motion, dragging Seth's prone body under her arm and leaping into the nearest alley just as the debris from the explosion collapsed onto where they'd lain moments before.
      XXXThe two Resistance members marched towards, arms raised as they spoke a curse Clementine could not hear over the roar of battle around them. She recognised it for it was when a screeching pain tore through her legs. She heard her knees break from their sockets and twist around. For a moment, darkness devoured her, but years spent with the things of nightmares had taught her to march through Hell and agony and back. Her jaw ached with the strength of her teeth as she clenched them shut. Fire hissed through her legs and stained her vision white, and quickly, her knees returned to their rightful positions.
      XXX"Protego!" she called out as a spell came her way. It struck the invisible shield, exploding in a shower of kaleidoscope hues. The impact pushed her back, her head striking the wall behind her as she fell against it. Her eyes met the scene before her: cloaked Dementors falling to their knees. It was rare that she ever engaged in combat; the others occupied the Resistance well enough on their own. But tonight they crumbled like moths from a flame.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Clementine "Lily Potter" Le Roux Character Portrait: Deimos Laurente
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D E I M O S . L A U R E N T E
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location|diagon alley

attire|x

song|seven nation army


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Slick and blue, stained with topaz and violet. Littered with unpleasant figures and grimed by smoke and flame.

There was no doubt about it, tonight, the Diagon Alley sky was polluted.

Deimos emerged from thin air with a resounding crack, and he felt his apparation spell peel from his body like a second skin as he found himself in the center of a warzone. Deimos' brows, had he had any, would have furrowed in exasperation. How did they know? Why were they always so goddamn punctual?!

Deimos sighed, the exhale clearly tainted by an annoyed huff, and he slid the wand from his pocket before spinning in time to deflect a confundus charm. The witch who had fired it scowled at him, and her words parted to form another spell, the word lost in the deafening cacophany going on around then.

"Deprimo!"

A spherical blast flew from his wand, just as the witch's wand reacted the same. The air seemed to shudder as the two spells met midway, and Deimos found himself thrown backwards, crashing through the window of Eeylops Owl Emporium. Deimos groaned in in pain, rubbing his bruised scalp before inspecting his wounds. The snake tattoo that winded around his waist was hissing indignantly, and with a grimace, Deimos saw why.

A thick shard of glass wedged in his flesh, just above his hip. With a shot of frustration, Deimos gripped the splinter's edge, pulling it from his side with a snickt. Standing up with a slight wince, Deimos approached the door of the shop, only for an angry squawk to stop him in his tracks. The cages were all shaking as their contents fought desperately to escape. The owls talons clawed at the bars, their wings flapping as wildly as possibly in their small confinements. Deimos stared at them a brief moment, before grunting and turning back to the brawl.

He stopped again, and glanced back at the birds.

"Oh, fuck it." Reentering the emporium, he pointed the wands at the cages. "Alohomora." The doors of the cages flew open, and the owls collected into a storm as they escaped their bars and flew out the door, prompting a few shocked swears as they did. Spitting out a feather, Deimos shook his head at his own behaviour, "I'm an angel. I really am."

His moronic thoughts were interrupted as a girl flew back into the wall beside him, and after a brief inspection, recognized her. He looked to her attackers, "Stupefy!"

He turned to Clementine with a smirk, examining his nails in a manner that could not flaunted the falseness of his nonchalant arrogance better. His head turned to her, and he winked. "Did someone ask for a her-"

The charm hit him square in the back, and he too flew into the wall, his skull-marked face making contact with the stone. He fell onto his back, moaning in agony. "Um, ow?!"