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Nox // Lumos

Wizarding World

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a part of Nox // Lumos, by Tumbleweed.

None

Tumbleweed holds sovereignty over Wizarding World, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

653 readers have been here.

Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/wizarding_world

Setting

Default Location for Nox // Lumos
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Minimap

Wizarding World is a part of Nox // Lumos.

33 Characters Here

Augustus Bane [3] "Kill the roses in your memories and bury your heart in the dirt."
Clementine "Lily Potter" Le Roux [3] "On a scale of saner than soya, to nuts, I'd say I'm peanut butter."
Seth "Seulki" Song [2] " the inner eye does not see upon command. "
Donovan "The Ripper" Grimm [2] "Mercy?? Now why in the world would I give you that luxury?"
Deimos Laurente [1] "Freak? Who, me? .... Yeah. Probably."
Artemius Bane [1] WIP WIP WIP
Sebastian Amersis [1] "First sign of madness, talking to your own head."
Eleanor Saint-Yues [1] W.I.P
James Potter II [1] WIP WIP WIP
Cordelia Lee [1] "Just your everyday, shape-shifting Resistance fighter with anger management issues."

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#, as written by Layla
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Setting

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Character Portrait: Artemius Bane
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──────────────────────────────────────(- TWO WEEKS PRIOR -)──────────────────────────────────────

Dawn strains as it shudders through the gaps between the curtains; creeping slowly amid spiderwebbed walls; catching on cracks and too-large spaces stained with the memory of absent portraits and the things they used to hold.

Its feeble light casts the chamber aglow; illuminating the particles of dust that settles in the air between the two men.

Stale, strained, silent.

Neither of them speaks: he of the clenched jaw and the stiff upper lip, standing straight and tall and catatonic, with sweat dripping into quivering lids; pupils blown wide and dark; focused only on silver-streaked blue. Glacial and resolute. Its owner shrouded in the only place the sunlight never quite manages to reach.

Silence prevails, but only just.


β€’
β€’

[--No one can hear you screaming when you’re trapped inside your mind.--]

β€’
β€’

There is a flash of crystal and the slight sloshing of liquids as the edge of a rosΓ©-filled coupe is pressed unto waiting lips.

Artemius has seen all that needs to be seen; has dug his fingers into every notch, every crevice etched into the manβ€”Selwyn’sβ€”brain; spooling and unspooling, opening and closing, revealing and thrusting further and further towards the light the reasonβ€”the sole explanationβ€”why several months of careful, scrupulous planning could ever achieve terminus in five of their numberβ€”dead.

Five attacks for five Heads of five different Departments in the Ministryβ€”all simultaneous, all supposedly seamless in their orchestration. Yet the Resistance stood waiting when the Unmentionables came, successfully overwhelming their number despite their significant lack of skill, and sending five of their youngest to their graves with none but two enemy casualties to atone for it.

And this manβ€”this single, insignificant worm who dared reveal their schemesβ€”is accountable.

The hand curled around his psyche tightens, but only Artemius can revel at the sound of his agony. And by the time he is finished, the sun already sits high and proud above the cloudsβ€”catching the red pooling in the corners of his eyes, the sweat gathering on the surface of his skin.

Selwyn is still, but inside, he is in pieces.


β€’β€’β—‡β€’β€’

Artemius takes a generous sip of champagne, and blinks.

Instantly, the illusion shatters. Stillness gives way to action as Selwyn staggers back, colour flooding his eyes into its usual burnished hue as Artemius withdraws his grip on his mind.

There is terror clear in the wretched man's gaze, but there is not a hint of remorse. Not even the slightest bit of regret.

Artemius draws his arm back, and sees only black.

β€’
β€’
β€’

There is a momentβ€”as the champagne glass bullets past his headβ€”where Selwyn’s mouth drops open in precedence to a scream.

β€’
β€’
β€’

It peters out to die in the back of his throat, managing only the slightest hint of a sob before itβ€”and the crash of fine crystal shattering against stoneβ€”is drowned out by the sickening blast of bones splintering outwards through fleshβ€”the mentally-cast expulso bathing the chamber’s cold and weathered grey a vibrant shade of red.


β€’β€’β—‡β€’β€’

Artemius doesn’t quite realise what he’s done until he feels the warmth of blood and guts spattering against his skin, nor does he realise he is standing until his legs give way from beneath him and his wearied frame meets the high-backed armchair in a muted thump.

His eyes drag towards the mess of glass and mangled flesh decorating a spot by the wall, and all at once the crystalline shards come slithering out of every corner, coming together to reform upon his waiting hand.

Champagne pools bottom of the glass, his favoured rosΓ© mixing with the scarlet streaking the sides until it’s filled to the brim. He takes a long, indulgent drink, and breathes.

Disappointment tastes bitter on his tongue; metallic.

But the sweetness of the promise of retribution is stronger.


──────────────────────────────────────────(- PRESENT -)──────────────────────────────────────────

The cogs have been set into motion.

Thick, black smoke pervades the atmosphere as all around him, Unmentionables shoot towards the clouds, followed by an ear-splitting crack as each of them disapparates one after the other like a string of firecrackers lighting up the empty November sky.

Far below them, Artemius watches, and after all of them have gone, so too will he.

For tonight, Diagon Alley will burn.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Eleanor Saint-Yues Character Portrait: Augustus Bane
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LOCATION :: Diagon Alley
STATUS :: Armed & Dangerous // Covered in Feathers
[ Knights of Cydonia || Muse ]
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----A gust of wind and the rustling of branches marks its arrival, and with it comes the tell-tale flashcrackbang of multiple apparations going on at once.

----The bird half-hidden by browning leaves cocks its head, its unusually vibrant silver-blue eyes coming to rest on the snow-smattered street below. The atmosphere surrounding Diagon Alley is filled with indistinct chatter as shoppers flit about, their footsteps dotting the ground as they walk past, some toting their purchases, others not.

----They all seem pleased; content.

----Almost as if there wasn’t a war raging within their borders.

----Almost as if they weren’t about to be slaughtered in the coming minutes by a faceless plague festering in the shadows.

----Almost as if they knew.

----The bird ruffles its feathers, and one of the shoppers look up.

----"That you, Gust?"

----A squawk.

----"Keepin’ watch, eh? Aurors're here, I s'pose?"

----A nod, and a pointed look towards a lamplight, where a woman with hair of spun gold and a distinctly authoritative air stands in wait.

----"All righty. Give us a caw when those bastards get here, yeah? Fuckers won’t know what hit β€˜em, they won’t."

----The manβ€”who he belatedly identifies as a metal-charmer called Whitakerβ€”walks off with a light-hearted chuckle, a half-eaten pasty in hand and package labelled 'Potage's Cauldron Shop' slung over one shoulder.

----If birds could huff, Augustus would’ve done so with great fervour. 'Give us a caw'. The fuck was he, then? A bloody siren? And so he settles for a nice little eye-roll and pours as much passive-aggressiveness into it as he can.

----Below him are shoppersβ€”but a closer look at some of these so-called shoppers would reveal them not to be shoppers at all, but a fine mixture of Resistance members, Supporters, and Aurors intermingled with those looking for a bit of late-night shopping.

----The reason for this, is this: four days ago a little birdy (though she wasn’t really much of a birdyβ€”more like a fox, to be honest) came a-calling, and let slip a very, shall we say, significant bit of informationβ€”that the Unmentionables were on the move once more, and that their target would be Diagon Alley.

----So now here they were, the Resistance in all their strength, come to greet their faceless friends with their heads high and their wands held aloft.

----Whitaker was right, the fuckers definitely wouldn’t know what hit them.

----Augustus let out a short squawk as the thought crossed his mind, pausing to shake his head at the involuntary action, before resuming his sweep of the streets. Everything seemed normal, and nothing was amiss save for the large number of people with their wands sticking out of their pockets. He thought idly if Eleanor would mind if he abandoned his post for a bit to grab a pastyβ€”but then there came a crack, and another and another, and soon fat tendrils of black smoke began clouding the air around him, and there were people screaming and bright flashes of spells being cast and blocked and repelled, and before he knew it he was airborne.

----A blur of grey-speckled white comes swooping behind a neighbouring tree trunk, and on the other side appears a man: blond and stocky, clad in jeans and black leather with a wand clutched tight between his fingers and a spell burning at the tip of his tongue, ready to be fired. Around him are Unmentionables glamoured to look like Dementors; faceless, unknown, yet all the easier to fight against knowing that he wouldn’t have to see their faces when he delivers the killing blow.

----Two of the previous fortnight’s five kills were his own, and he isn’t about to let that streak end.

----He runs headfirst into the fray, and yells 'avis metalli!'. At once, birds of metal come flying in blue-tinged bursts out of the tip of his wand, soaring skywards at lightning speeds. They hang suspended in the air, their noses pointed downwards at the growing skirmish below. A growl of 'oppugno', sends them swooping down, their sharp beaks charmed to aim squarely for the enemy.

----The birds provide enough of a distraction for him to weave seamlessly into the fight, easily intercepting a hex aimed for a lady in blue and hurling it back towards its caster with zeal.

----And just like that, Diagon Alley becomes a warzone.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Clementine "Lily Potter" Le Roux Character Portrait: Seth "Seulki" Song
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#, 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: Donovan "The Ripper" Grimm Character Portrait: Augustus Bane Character Portrait: Bernadette Weasley
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#, as written by mjolnir
00000Image


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Hexcode: #99999900000 Song: Empire of Our Own - RAIGN00000 Outfit: Suit


Donovan stood idly adjusting the cufflinks on his suit jacket before raising his hands to slick back his hair. He didn't agree with this decision at all. Only Artemius would find sending me in to lead this battle as a smart idea... He rolled his eyes at the thought before jerking his head to the side causing a loud procession of cracks and pops emit from his neck. While straightening his suit collar, he spun around, pivoting on his right heel to face the masses. He wasn't one for pre-battle speeches of words of encouragement. That wasn't his style. Artemius said to lead them into battle... Not lead. Technicalities.

A growl rumbled from the depths of his throat while his right hand white knuckled the silver sphere that topped his cane. Raising his left hand in the air, Donovan twirled his index finger in gesture upwards. A simple direction before his body condensed and shot upward in a trail of black smoke as he apparated.

The black column of smoke shot through the sky, darting and writhing it's way above the world. It dove towards the heart of Diagon Alley, slamming into the concrete at the heart. The swirling mass of smoke and cloud dissipate, slowly revealing Donovan standing there, wand at the read in his left palm. His gaze was set upon his feet. He didn't need to look up to know that there was a wizard standing 10 or so feet before him. He sighed out of pure frustration. In a quick fluid movement, Donovan flicked his wand at the Resistance member while simultaneously cocking his head up to look at the wizard daft enough to engage him at his arrival.

The opposing wizard flew backwards from Donovan's silent spell, crashing threw a window of a near by shop before tumbling to a halt in the center of the store. He smirked while giving himself a nod of approval. "Not bad Donovan... Not bad."

Making his way over towards the crash landing, he tucked his wand into the right breast pocket of his suit jacket. As he neared the shop, his left had grasped at the blazer's button, undoing it so his jacket could move about more freely. Upon reaching the shattered window, Donovan hopped up onto the window sill with ease before elegantly stepping down into the store. The sound of glasses crunching and cracking under his Oxfords as he circled the groaning wizard. "Is nothing a surprise to you self righteous bastards?" Donovan leaned over, holding his jacket against his chest with his left hand while cocking his head to the side like a curious mutt. "Hmm?"

Donovan threw back either side of his jacket, before hiking the legs of his slacks as he crouched before the wizard. He set his cane down on the ground beside him, then rested his elbows on his knees and entangled his fingers. "If you cooperate I won't torture you..." He then inhaled sharply while making a regretful face, "Ok well... I am going to torture you... But!" He raised his index finger in a matter-of-fact manner. "I may consider, possibly... Not likely, letting you live. So that's a bonus right?" He smiled optimistically while bumping the wizards shoulder like he was some long lost friend.

Obviously the wizard wasn't having it. And while he tried to say something as the blood gurgled its way up his throat, the man grabbed the cane that rested on the floor. The diversion didn't work, and while he weakly attempted to swing it at Donovan, he easily caught it in his right hand. "Now that was rude... I was trying to make peace." He yanked the cane from the man and stood up. Then without a second thought he brought back his right foot before throwing it forward, kicking the wizard so hard in the head that his neck snapped.

Donovan stepped over the dead body as he made his way back out into the chaos that was Diagon Alley. Just as he exited the store some Resistance member came flying at him on a broom. Rolling his eyes, he tossed his cane upwards, grasping it midair at the bottom like a baseball bat. Then just like Babe Ruth he swung it at the wizard, knocking him clean off his broom. "Lead the battle they said..." He took out his wand and went over to the unhorsed wizard, "It'll be fun they said..." Donovan aimed his wand at the man as crucio slithered from his lips like a snake.

He grinned deviously as the wizard screamed out in pain, but the spell didn't last long as his attention was diverted by a redhead on a broom. "...Weasley..." Donovan tucked his bottom lip under his upper teeth, whistling loudly, "Shadow!" Not a moment later a Dementor flew up beside him, waiting for further command. He slowly looked over towards the cloaked beast, "Fetch!"



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Hexcode: #239E9300000 Song: Still Here - Digital Daggers00000 Outfit: Casual


"Very good! And how does one win a duel without killing their opponent?" A few hands shot up quickly around the classroom, followed by some other hesitant hands. Bern smiled at her students, moving around to the front of her desk, leaning back against it while crossing her arms over her chest. "Francis." She nodded her head towards him to answer the question.

Her gaze then fell towards her watch as he began to speak, "Well there are numerous spells to-"

Bern quickly pushed off her desk, raising her hand up before interjecting, "My deepest apologies Francis... But we continue this conversation tomorrow. For next class I want 500 words on a way to win a duel without the use of an unforgivable curse." The students groaned and rolled their eyes as they packed their things. "I know, I know... I'm horrible." She laughed and said her good byes to the students until they were all gone.

Once her classroom was empty, she closed the door and shot a quick glance down at her watch. Late! As always. She hurried over to her desk, getting her wand and stuffing into her boot before grabbing her broom. She made her way to the window, throwing open the shutters and stepping up onto the sill. "Drago is going to kill me..." Bern then jumped out the window, moving to straddle her broom just before her body shot up in a white cloud of smoke that darted towards Diagon Alley.

Within a matter of seconds, the apparation dropped her in the skies above the battle. When the cloud of white cleared Bern leaned forward causing her broom to dart forward. She was only in the skies a matter of seconds before spells shot past her, trying to knock her from her broom. She weaved between the beams of spells, but continued to race forward. Just as she nearly reached one Unmentionable, a black column of smoke flew in front of her causing her broom to spin over, her legs crossed hooked over the broom were the only things keeping her from falling to the Alley below.

With no time to spare, her left hand reached up to grasp the broom, while her left stretched to grasp her wand that was tucked in her boot. But in that moment the Unmentionable she originally was gunning for shot another spell at her. She didn't have time to remount and fly away. So clenching the broom tight in her left hand, at the last moment before the spell hit she unhooked her legs, allowing her body to dangle by her single hand. As she hung there, she waved her wand at the Unmentionable, "Bombarda!" The spell flew through the air and upon reaching the wizard sent him and his broom up in an explosion.

As Bern began to pull herself back up onto her broom, a shadow figure came at her. Before she could turn to defend herself, the cloaked monster was upon her and started to suck the life from her. The kiss suspended her in the air, her broom slipping from her grasp, falling down to the alley below. Before the Dementor had a chance to perform another kiss, she raised her wand, "Expecto Patronum..." Thankfully for Bern, spells aren't measured by the volume they are spoken. For if they were she wouldn't have gotten free. The charm stunned the dark being, pushing it backwards.

But what she didn't think about was the fact that she didn't have a broom. So the moment she was free she began to fall through the air towards Diagon Alley. Fall wasn't a good enough word to describe it, tumbling was more like it with Bern's grace. Unfortunately this wasn't her first time being knocked from her broom, so as she neared the ground she waved her wand in a silent Arresto Momentum. That stopped her 3 feet above the ground, before promptly letting her then fall the rest of the way, landing with a thud.

Bern stood up dusting off her pants. As she did so, she glanced over her shoulder to see Augustus fighting Unmentionables behind her. Although her attention was elsewhere she felt a chill that slowly crept up on her. Her gaze moving in the direction of the cold, she saw the Dementor flying back towards her. It wasn't until then that she realized her landing caused her to drop her wand a few feet away. The Dementor must have sensed she was now unarmed, because it slowly down and almost seemed to be taunting her. How is that possible? She knew that if she tried to get her wand it'd be upon her before she could get it. So with every movement towards her, she took a slow step backwards until she bumped into Augustus.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Clementine "Lily Potter" Le Roux Character Portrait: Seth "Seulki" Song
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#, 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.

      ・ β€’ ● β€’ ・


      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: Sunmi Ahn
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#, as written by Cloud

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díαgσn αllєч
hex: #bdb3c3

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SUNMI AHN
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Owls are a common sight in the wizarding world. The silent flap of wings, the quiet rustle of feathers, or the soft hoot of a winged messenger are rarely given a second thought by magical folk, so used to the birds passing in and out of their homes with letters and parcels. Diagon Alley is no exception. Here, in the heart of London’s busy wizarding district, owls are a daily occurrence. Long-distnace business is conducted with the creatures, birthday presents sent in their claws, and private mail wrapped around their legs without a second thought. It is one reason why no one has batted an eye at the snowy owl perched atop the intricately detailed sign for Flourish and Blotts.

To most there would seem nothing out of the ordinary about this owl; pure white feathers mark the majority of the owl’s body, while her back and the span of her wings are decorated with light grey plumage. She’s of moderate size for an owl of her species, not too large, nor too small. But, the intelligent gleam in her eyes and the way her head cocks to the side, as if inspecting the street, are all clues that this owl is not your ordinary family pet. She sits too still, as if waiting for the event that has drawn her and so many of her peers to the alley.

The fact that the majority – if not all – of the alley’s customers are resistance members might be another reason none give her a second glance. Most within the resistance know of Sunmi Ahn’s animgi form, used more often than not to glide within the borders of some reported unmentionable’s abode to seek information for her cause.

A glance at the grey feathers on her back might hint at the truth, for the grey features are gathered in the shape of a larger feather. Or, if that is not enough, the mark on the owl’s claw matches exactly with the ring always worn by the witch. Though, even if the resistance members notice the silent owl perched up high, Sun doubts that few will give her more than a cursory glance. Most are waiting for the battle to commence, it can only be seconds or minutes away. The tension in the alley is palpable, wands within easy grasp, and eyes constantly moving.

Sun’s own sight, enhanced by her owl’s eyes, catches the subtle movement of a gyrfalcon, Gusty. He’s doing a remarkable job of being discrete, considering the majority of the time that they’re flying together Sun is snapping her beak in irritation as Gusty dives after a rabbit or rat. She’s more than a little surprised to find Augustus remaining still and not chasing after a particular vermin, though perhaps that has something to do with Diagon Alley being largely devoid of any delectable mice, lemmings, or rabbits.

The owl’s gaze shifts from her winged friend in favour of once again scouring the cobbled streets. She’s searching for other familiar faces when the first crack rips through the air. It’s followed by a cacophony of more sharp sounds, dark, menacing figures appearing throughout the alley with each one. Above, brooms shoot out of the sky, raining bright spells on their targets. Many wear masks, or have spelled themselves with the appearance of dementors. All make a terrifying sight, yet it is this terror that Sun has dedicated herself to fighting. Rather than jump into the air and flee, the owl glides to the pathway beneath, transforming from animal to human in seconds. Small feet land with barely a thud, Sun’s wand already gracing her hand as she turns the weapon on the closest masked attacker.

A non-verbal spell sends a flash of violet light from the tip of her wooden companion, hitting the unmentionable in the chest and sending him flying backwards. Sun can already see the wizard twisting in the air, attempting to right themselves and counter-attack. She doesn’t give him a chance, fire explodes from her wand, engulfing the wizard in a whirlwind of flame. The wizard screams, water spouting from his wand in an erratic and desperate attempt to put out the fire. He stumbles back down the street, leaving a trail of soot and water in his wake, however Sun’s attention has already turned to the next unmentionable.

This unmentionable screams, high and shrill, her eyes snapping onto Sun like a predator marking her prey. The dark witch raises her wand and a shrieked spell sees lethal serpents thrown from the tip. They hiss as they fly through the air, venom dripping from sharp, protruding fangs. Even as Sun takes a step back in retreat she pulls her wand up, muttering her own counter-spell and sending beams of magical light towards the attacking serpents. She’s almost too slow, the snakes are so close that she can see every individual, glistening scale, feel the heat of their feral gaze, and then her enchantment finds its mark. Before her eyes the snakes transform into twisted twigs, their once fatal fangs becoming harmless wood. The snake-branches fall to the ground and the unmentionable cries in outrage, her eyes beneath the mask popping in fury at her foiled spell.

The other witch’s wand raises again, pointing directly at Sun’s heart. A cold green light begins to appear at the tip, and Sun can almost hear the death spell being recited from the unmentionable’s lips. Sun’s own wand was never lowered, and now she projects her next enchantment out, a shield that she hopes is strong enough against whatever the witch facing her has coming. Yet, Sun never has a chance to find out if her shield can weather a harsh attack, for an unexpected ally swoops down from the sky and carries her rival away. A flash of polished marble, the grating of stone on stone, and all at once Sun’s foe is stolen from the street. Sun blinks in surprise, watching as what appears to be a marble gargoyle carries the screaming unmentionable away in its sharpened talons. If Sun is surprised it’s nothing on the witch she was battling, whose screams of protest and fright can be heard over the loud din of battle.

Finding a moment of relief in battle, Sun’s sharp eyes glide across the alley and she finds what she is searching for within seconds. Atop one of the alley’s shops stands the empty perch that once was home to a carved marble gargoyle, the very same which can now be seen swooping back into the fray to grab another victim. What it did with the witch Sun does not know, nor is she interested in finding out. Instead her attention is pulled once more to the battle of life and death occurring around her. Without a word she leaps back into the fight, her wand flashing as she fires spell after spell at the army of unmentionables. Enchantments rush over her head, one comes dangerously close to slicing through her shoulder, while another knocks her off her feet. Yet, Sun never fails from rising again, determination in the set of her jaw and the flick of her wand. She’ll be damned if the unmentionables win this fight.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cordelia Lee
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C O R D E L I A . L E E
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location|diagon alley

attire|x

song|kiss with a fist


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Gerainte Ollivander, son of Gavrick, 'Jerry' to his friends, leaned on the front desk of Ollivander's Wand Shop with his chin in one hand. Behind him, row upon row of boxed wands, awaiting new owners. On most days, the silence would be broken now and then by one of the magical utensils shuddering in its sealed container, or sending sparks from its tip. But not today. Today, everything was still. Stagnant.

It was suffocating.

Raising a hand, the wandmaker drew his fingers through the wiry thicket of bronze that stood staunch atop his scalp. His eyes - piercingly silver, like his father's before him- surveyed the alley in silent scrutiny, and their crows' feet corners creased further as they narrowed.

"Business a bit slow, Gerainte?"

The 'customer' donned a robe of dark violet, his sandy complexion traced by a thick layer of mahogany hair that curled into a pointed goatee at his chin. His expression was impish, lips curled at one corner in a teasing smile as he looked around the empty shop in faux curiosity. Gerainte's face contorted into a moue, his lack of amusement clear. However, as his mouth parted, the voice that passed them was not the wandmaker's dusty gravel, but a notably female voice.

"Piss off, Aldrich."

Aldrich's eyebrows rose in bemusement. "Touchy, aren't we?"

"We are about to engage in a battle that could very well turn the tide on the war. 'Touchy' is an understatement." The wandmaker's irises rippled as he spoke, and like ink in water, a sorrel tone pooled from their pupils, turning the silver to brown.

"And unless you want the first wizard I hex to be you, you'll get out of my shop."

Aldrich's regaled expression faltered, and he swatted the air between them dismissively as he turned on his heel and sauntered out of the store. 'Gerainte' scowled at his retreating back, before looking up at the sky.

Any second now, it would be on fire.

Where are they? The tension in the air turned the supposed Ollivander's bones brittle and his cheeks pale. In his chest, his heart was a fluttering rhythm, beating in time with every second of tranquility.

Then the first crack sounded, and the tranquility shattered.

In the second following, Gerainte's skin glided from his bones, and his copper-wire locks gushed from his skull, softening as though caught in flame. As the tresses stretched to reach his chin, each strand's hue darkened to a chocolate brown. His frame thinned, each rib creasing to suit the skinnier frame, and his flesh smoothed and paled. His previously crooked nose seemed to melt against his new face, shrinking down and straightening, and enamel emerged from his rosy gums, layering over his formerly chipped front tooth.

Gerainte Ollivander was gone, and in his place, a fiery-eyed witch of short stature and even shorter patience. Cordelia Lee's eyebrows furrowed, and her hand seized her wand.

"Incarcerous!"

Thick ropes grew from her wand, striking two clouds of black midair. Thick ropes knotted them together as they tumbled from the sky, falling with a weighty thud. As Cordelia passed them, she lowered her booted foot harshly, and smirked at the satisfying pair of snaps that the pairs' wands made as they cracked in two under her hard heel. "Do yourselves a favor," She glanced down at the unconscious couple with a stony glare, "Stay unconscious."

Once more, she looked to the sky. Darkly dressed figures fell from the heavens like ebony rain, and around her, spells were being named, incantations cried, and hexes hurled. The sky was on fire, alright.

She only hoped that she'd be around to clean up the ashes.

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?!"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Donovan "The Ripper" Grimm Character Portrait: James Potter II Character Portrait: Augustus Bane Character Portrait: Bernadette Weasley
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LOCATION :: Diagon Alley
STATUS :: Down & Out // [- 'Forgive me my weakness.' -]
[ How To Disappear Completely || Radiohead ]
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    -----------------------------------------"Diffindo!"

    "Immobulus!"


    "Petrificus Totalus!"-----------------------------------------

    ----Child's play.

    ----Spells tumble easily from his lips. They emerge in technicolour bursts from the tip of his wandβ€”illuminating the stubborn jut of a jaw set and teeth clenched, and the vitreous sheen of sweat beading between brows creased in salient agitation. Nothing else is spokenβ€”no half-formed jests, no savvy one-liners, not even a sliver of banterβ€”only spells; and they are relentless in their formation.

    ----He is a fighter first: he duels like a kickboxer and each spell hits like a sucker punch to the gut.

    --------"Everte Statum!"

    ----There is a flash of orange and a crack that resonates; drowning out the sharp cry of the body thrown back, muffling the crash of glass storefront shattering beneath black-robed flesh. The spell hits hard, and Augustus braces himself for the recoil that inevitably follows.

    ----He anticipates the force that thrusts him back a step, but he does not foresee the muted thump of his back colliding with that of another. He turns, fully expecting to be faced with dead eyes and iron masks. Instead, he's greeted by a head of burnished copper, and automatically thinks: Weasley. Further recognition of said Weasley comes immediately afterwards, and he feels the grim set of his mouth twist into a roguish grin.

    ----Victoire Weasleyβ€”also known as Bernadette; also known as Bernyβ€”but to Gusty:

    --------"Oi Vick-toy-ree, watch where you're going, yeah?"

    ----But there's no reply; no clever retort; and his laughter dies at the back of his throat.

    ----He feels it before he sees itβ€”the chill, settling in the hollows of his bones; the whisper of despair pooling in the recesses of his mind. Skeletal digits clutching at his destitute heart.

    ----He doesn't thinkβ€”there's no room for rationality in the face of a Dementorβ€”and only acts: yanking her, almost bodily, behind him; wand hand outstretched; the incantation already forming at the tip of his tongue.

    All he needs now, is a memory.

    --------"Expectoβ€”"

    ------------------------A boy.

    ------------------------No older than six.

    ------------------------A crown of spun gold and eyes like a placid sea.

    ------------------------Hovering barely an inch off the ground, sweat beading between a prematurely creased forehead.

    ------------------------Another boy swims into focus beside the first.

    ------------------------Barely a teenager, yet dignified in the set of his shoulders, the stiffness of his back.

    ------------------------He speaks in measured tones as the younger nods, eyes trained towards the skies, fingers clutched tight around the broom handle.

    ------------------------At his brother's signal, Augustus tilts the broom upwards and kicks hard.

    ------------------------He's airborne. Six years old and already zipping past the treetops on a miniature broom.

    ------------------------He hears Artie clapping below him, the joy in his brother's voice carrying clear past the wind rushing through his ears.

    ------------------------He looks down, wanting to glimpse the pride shining in the silver-blue they both share.


    --------"E-expectoβ€”"

    ------------------------There is no pride.

    ------------------------He is seventeen and he's no longer flying.

    ------------------------The ground is solid beneath his feet, but it's slicked red and what remains of his parents is scattered around him.

    ------------------------On him.

    ------------------------Flesh and blood sliding down the sides of his face; red marring the gold of his hair.

    ------------------------His eyes focus on the silver-blue of the man before him.

    ------------------------He who wears his brother's face, speaks with his brother's voice...

    ------------------------His eyes bear the same colour, the same hueβ€”but they are dead, and dull, and
    cold.

    ------------------------Impossibly glacial.

    ------------------------The eyes of a murderer.


    --------"β€”Patronum."

    ----There is a brief flicker of light, but it dies in the span of a breathβ€”

    ----β€”because after all, a Patronus can't be cast when all one's happiest memories culminate in blood.

    ----The grip on the wand slackens, and his arm falls limply by his side. He doesn't trust himself to speak, and only stares; unable to do anything as the Dementor draws every nearerβ€”turning the blood rushing hot in his veins to cold, hard ice.

    --------Surely this must be the end?

    ----But then, something comes barreling pastβ€”nearly knocking him over, blinding him with it's light. He barely registers the voice screaming 'Expecto Patronum' behind him, too transfixed by the stagβ€”bright and radiantβ€”a being fashioned from the sun.

    ----The Dementor never stood a chance.

    ----Augustus staggers backwards, the chill dissipating from his limbs as his mouth falls open, willing the oxygen back into his bereft lungs in deep, staccato heaves.

    ----He realises, only belatedly, that he still has a hand circled around Bernadette's wrist, and he immediately drops it as though burnt. He doesn't spare her a glanceβ€”even as he accio's her fallen wand towards him and presses it into her palmsβ€”nor does he spare any for their unlikely saviour, one James Sirius Potter, who comes barreling towards them with panicked eyes and a mouth full of questions.

    ----His failure carves gouges into his skin and shame pours out like blood.

    ----A flutter of wingbeats, and he's goneβ€”a blur of white and gray bulleting towards the skyβ€”leaving with naught but a grunt of thanks, and doing what he does best:

    ----Running away.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sebastian Amersis
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  1. Bye bye Ram

    by Cloud

0.00 INK

#, as written by Cloud

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díαgσn αllєч
hex: #a57d7d

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SEBASTIAN AMERSIS
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Sebastian Amersis, better known as Ram to all, can barely contain his glee; a wide smile is stretched across his masked face, his eyes glint with anticipation, and excitement seers through his veins. He's restless, fidgeting, his feet shuffling in place while his hand twirls his wand in endless circles. Battle, that's what he was waiting for. The heat of the battle, the trading of fatal spells, the boom of destruction, and the giddy feeling of knowing he's won. He craves it, and the last few minutes before he and his fellow unmentionables are called to fight are almost unbearable.

Any close to the Egyptian might be able to catch muttered phrases; whispered words that half resemble spells they might already know. Ram is reciting is new creations, sorting through them aloud to determine which home-made spell he wants to test out first and what proven enchantments he'll use again. His wand sparks anxiously in his hand, knowing it isn't being called upon to cast magic, yet just as eager as its owner to begin expelling a hail of harmful enchantments.

"Inflamus-millius" Ram mutters, before shaking his head and mentally striking the spell from his list. The last time he'd used that incantation Ram had ended up with his arm inflated and floating helplessly above his head. The only thing that had stopped it disappearing into the sky like a child's lost balloon had been the bones and muscle keeping it connected to his shoulder. Though perhaps if he were to tweak the angle of his wand when the spell was spoken, twist it left instead of right or...

Ram's thoughts are pulled from his spell by the signal he's been waiting for all day. A giggle bubbles from his lips, earning the wizard a glare from the intimidating figures beside him. Ram pays them no mind, his fever for battle growing to all new heights as those around him begin to apparate or kick off the ground on brooms. With a last exuberant cackle, Ram follows suit, twisting on the spot and propelling himself into that space in-between where his body is crushed and pulled, before a loud 'pop' heralds his arrival in Diagon Alley.

The resistance are already there, waiting with wands raised and lethal spells falling from their lips. Ram has only just found his feet when a spell of purple and gold hits him square in the chest. He's sent flying, the air knocked out of his lungs leaves him speechless, and when he falls through a shop window and into a display of copper cauldrons all he can do is cough and gasp in a hasty breath. His opponent pursues him, her robes a hurricane of movement as she swings her wand around and points it at his chest. Ram is faster. Even lying prone amid broken cauldrons with his lungs struggling to breath and bruises developing all across his body, he still manages to raise his wand and croak out the first spell that comes to mind,

"Inflamus-millius."

He's only half sure that it will work, yet when it is his rival's arm that begins to swell to extraordinary sizes and not his own, Ram lets out a whooping cheer. The resistance witch attempts to recover, but her fingers are now to fat to grasp her wand and it falls to the ground with a clatter. Ram pushes himself up to his feet, eyes wide and eager as he watches her arm beginning to lift as if filled with the muggles' helium. He doesn't hesitate to raise his wand again and repeat the spell, being careful to flick his weapon precisely as he had done before. The spell hits her chest, the third incantation her legs, and with an exultant giggle Ram watches with glee as the witch becomes a human balloon. Disappointingly she's too heavy to do much more than raise a few inches off the pavement, but that's still enough for Ram. With a clap of his hands he gives her a shove and watches as she floats down the street.

The Egyptian wizard watches for a moment, clapping his hands happily and letting forth another bubbling laugh. His gleeful chuckle is, sadly, cut short. With a flash of red another spell flies towards Ram, looking deadly in its intent. Ram ducks, at the same time rising and twitching his wand to send his retaliation back at the hulking resistance member. His counter-spell sends a stream of multi-coloured bubbles at his opponent, innocent and harmless until they come into contact with anything solid, which is when...

xxxxx Boom!

The grenade bubbles, as Ram enjoys calling them, go off much like their mortal namesake. Pieces of dirt and stone fly up into the air as one flying sphere makes contact with the ground, while another almost lands on a nearby lamp post and sees glass and wire thrown into the mess. This is another spell of Ram's invention, and he's eagerly awaiting the results of a collision with a person when a stray breeze blows towards him. The bubbles turn at the whim of the wind, and before Ram has time to react several land at his feet. The explosion is almost deafening given Ram's proximity, and for the second time that day he's sent flying.

The copper cauldrons cushion his fall again, though 'cushioning' is perhaps an exaggeration as he's left in more pain due to the awkward landing. A grunt escapes his lips as his body protests, pain shooting up his arm and more bruises quickly developing across hi body. Despite the pain however, the unmentionable doesn't hesitate to push himself back to his feet, laughing with a mad glint in his eye as he once again face his opponent. At least now he knows first hand what happens when the grenade bubbles explode.