who the fuck drops out of school barely even two months into their sixth year? well you are staring at the individual right now. there's no other reason than the fact that this is place is simply not for me. never has been. only came here because it was appropriate to embrace both sides of my heritage. you see, this was never where i saw myself. it was the fields and the music with the guitar strapped on my back - us against the world. well maybe just me but you get the point right?
pity, because i really liked it here. got to meet a few interesting individuals. there's forever nana noona (i will follow you to the ends of the earth and serenade you) and jongsuk. but there's also nam taehyun who i have yet to persuade to write for me. it will happen! without a doubt.
and of course there's my love (in the most heterosexual way!) please don't miss me too much! i'll be sure to keep in touch. the owl is still around it's not like i'm suddenly going to become muggle and drop off the face of the earth because emails are the only form of communication. although i'll pray for your soul because jinyoung is a nag and we both know it. despite what he believes, we both know who the true best friend of yours is.
so that's that. thank you to people who have made it worthy and a great experience with things to take away from. probably won't ever regret spending five years here. hey! the greatest accomplishment is passing my o.w.l.s (how did that even happen right?). so this is goodbye and this is me wishing all of you well. hopefully one day (when the wizarding world finally notices the beauty of muggle technology) you'll see me on television singing my heart out.
his emotions refused to remain in check - between homework he’s just been assigned and the lovely ravenclaw who just mercilessly shut him down, he couldn’t handle it, no, not today. a yawn manages to sneak away, sleep still heavy upon his eyelids - the day wasn’t over yet either. he rubs an eye, roars another yawn, scratches his cheek, and immediately finds himself greeted with a warm arm coiled gently around his neck - not to mention the sweet, chaste kiss lightly pressed to his cheek. to lean against and sigh is his reaction, skinship welcomed and reciprocated; it was the norm. “my body isn’t ready for my next class man, I didn’t study.” pouts childishly, arm reaching to sling and reside atop the younger’s shoulders. “you gotta pull me through the rest of the day, I don’t think I can make it.”
days were long and hard and he could see the toll on his friend. mind trying to come up with various ways he could cheer him up. a song offered at this hour only seemed to be a waste of time, impractical cure for mark's needs. lips slightly pull into the formation of a pout as he allows his head to rest on his friend's shoulders, listening to his complaints. seventh years must have it hard, thinks to himself as the weight of an arm falls across his shoulders. straightens himself at the last sentence with a smile dancing on his lips. "well," he begins, "you ought to cram but—" slipping out of mark's grasp. he allows himself to trail behind the other before allowing fingers to dance upon shoulders, teasingly at first before beginning to massage the stress out of them. gentle yet firm enough. hopes it doesn't bring pain instead.
Away from the lake’s shore he retreats, tracing a different path than the one he took to the edge of the water. People wander in the opposite direction, seeking the warmth of afternoon settling in, but Taehyun is secretly glad to be back within the stillness of the castle walls. Grounding. It’s what he needs as his thoughts stray back and forth across the forefront of his mind, none that he focuses on specifically, preferring to let them drift as he travels a straight line through the Great Hall and slides into a seat closest to his preferred morning treats.
The plates are not yet empty, the opposite rather, piled high with sponge soft cakes dotted with the occasional blueberries. There’s an all-too familiar scent of coffee luring him and the combination of both brings a smile to otherwise unmoving lips. A heated mug in hand and a bite of the sweet treat dissolving on his tongue, Taehyun leans forward onto the table, indulges himself in sensory perceptions. No thoughts for now. Not a stray wisp of rhymes or measures or letters linked into words into ideas.
And then suddenly Seungyoon is seated in front of him. Taehyun raises a brow at him, thinking him persistence at its finest. Until he opens his mouth and asks of something else. Is he really interested in asking about Taehyun, or is it just a way to win him over - and why is he giving this so much thought? Something about the Hufflepuff boy is beginning to get to him, in what ways he will have to ponder over later, for now he is in the present with curious eyes trying to find his own.
"Both," he answers, reaching for another blueberry muffin only to find the other is doing the same. Thankfully the basket is piled high; though it may not remain so much longer if another soul appreciates his favorite edible. A chuckle resounds the space between them and it siphons some of his tension away, allows him to take a sip of bitter coffee and rest his head in hand, comfortably close to the surface of the table. "Wasn’t a hobby before I took the class, but it becomes an infection of sorts. Now whenever I see certain people, objects, or even the refraction of light on certain surfaces, I’m tempted to take a photograph. But documenting everything is such a hassle and insults the memory… not that it’s even reliable. Either way, it’s too much clutter."
Then his eyes are drawn to the guitar placed on the bench next to the boy, and the flow of topic seems inevitable. “What about you? Assignment, or hobby? Though I might haphazard a guess and say… passion?”
He has a mouthful of warmth and spongey pastry when the other begins to answer and the only thing he can do is mumble — doesn’t because it would disturb whatever flow of information was bound to continue. So he finishes it as he listens to the words instead, relishing in the texture and flavor despite the parched throat afterwards. It is the chuckle that distracts him from the task at hand, drawing his attention away from food (ah, food). Perhaps because he’s so poorly acquainted with this classmate that it comes as a surprise. Of course the other is entitled to laughter yet somehow this has his lips curling into a smile that he disguises as his love for the muffins. Somehow he can’t focus.
His throat is dry. It doesn’t help that the other is taking a sip of his own drink. Tempted is he to steal from fingertips and take a sip himself. But this relationship has yet reached that point, hinging upon a delicacy and the need for balance. Feign familiarity can sour things rapidly. So Seungyoon focuses on the cup and it’s content. Give me some water.
So easily distracted, like a gold fish himself, he focuses upon the words, providing insight to a brain he wishes he would one day get to know. “Courses aren’t selected so arbitrarily,” he can’t help but comment, curious as to the reasons behind the selection of this particular course. “You’ve must had your reasons.” An underlying one at least. Or is he assuming too much?And then becomes mesmerized with the way the other describes photography, the poetic side of himself permeating all aspects of his life. Can’t help but wonder, after the short discussion of memory and it’s margin for error what the other’s primary form of documentation was.
"So how do you keep your memories alive?" Understanding that the questions have piled but could not resist the temptation to ask. And is delighted when he too, in return, is questioned. Turns towards the instrument flanking his side before he gives an answer. Even though the guess was spot on… But it was more than that. "It’s my life," giving it a gentle pat. "My childhood, my best friend, my aspirations for the future." It’s a bit naive but it’s alright. "This and the notebook you glimpsed at is what I want my life to be composed of." Avarice isn’t quite a word in his dictionary as of yet, perhaps the best indicator as to why the sorting hat was never convinced he was a Slytherin. Simple in all forms.
a small hum escapes her cherry pink lips, gentle fingers playing with her tied up hair. she didnt exactly know what to do with her hair when she got out of the shower, a little but messy and peculiar when it dried up, with its curls being too bouncy. a good charm would have been handy, though she didn’t mind it being in a ponytail either. instead, she opted with a simple red tie, a ribbon not too small to miss, not too big to gawk at. she isn’t going to be honest if she says she isnt looking forward to today because she is, not because she’s with seungyoon but because its actually the first time she’s hanging out with him today. they’ll probably just end up sitting somewhere by the black lake for all she knows, though she doesnt mind that at all.
folding a slender leg over the other as she patiently waited for seungyoon just outside the school corridor, she began to fumble with her hair’s ribbon, holding her long tresses in between the palms of her hand. brown hues blink as she searches the corridors for the familiar hufflepuff, small yet engaged noises echoing throughout the hall. it doesnt take long for her to spot seungyoon and she instantly makes a discontented face at the boy, a playful pout pulling the corners of her mouth. “what took you so long?” the sulk in her voice is evident, but he knows fairly well this is just her being an impatient grump. “i waited for like— 30 minutes!” no, not really, more like 5.
tucked away in a corner of his mind and labelled with bold red flashing lights is 9am and black lake. it’s hard to forget. after all, it’s one of the first victories he’s managed and the first favor extracted from his noona. either way it puts him in high spirits as he lays out the outfit for the next day — a habit despite the uniforms assigned. makes sure that it’s pleated and presentable before heading to bed.
wakes up at seven to the warmth of the sun seeping through his window, curtains forgotten in the excitement of today’s engagement. doesn’t matter anyways as he proceeds with the days activities. hygienic rituals and then breakfast. he’s making progress, confident that he’ll be on time but one always has to stop along the way to appreciate the flowers. momentary beauty destined to fade, fall, wither. what is a better time to appreciate than in the moment?
perhaps that’s how he lost track of time and arrived after the other, despite fully intending to surprise and demonstrate his qualities by arriving early. “i’m sorry,” he attempts with a sheepish smile, one hand rubbing his back in shame before glancing at his noona. there’s something different and it’s sure as hell not the clothes. doesn’t take long before he realizes that hair is swept up into a pony tail, suspended by a cleverly crafted bow. it reminds him of christmas and of birthdays. presents in pretty wrapping, especially the ones that seem metallic. fingers itch but he attempts resistance. tone turns into something more playful as he inquires, “am i allowed to sit down, princess?” not sure as to whether or not they were going to inch closer towards the black lake or not.
There’s a slight expectation that the other would follow suit with his action, and a faint sense of disappointment when he doesn’t. Taehyun closes his eyes, lets the red canopy replace the blue, cuts down his senses to four. Inhales, exhales, allows the heavy air around the lake settle in his lungs for a temporary refuge before being expelled out. Meanwhile he listens and tries to guess Seungyoon’s words from just his tone alone.
A lack of bitterness eases the question he hears and Taehyun thinks, drawing his knees closer to himself, the soles of his sneakers now gripping the edge of the rock. “Poetry enhances music. Music detracts from poetry,” is all he says. No explanations. Something in him doesn’t want to give direct answers for now. And if the other is clever enough, he’ll grasp onto tendrils of hastily-formed riddles and twist them into the lyrics he so desires for his work. In his mind, both fields are neutral. Songs are nothing but poetry with background music, rhythmically timed, though most seem to think otherwise and place importance upon instruments. It wasn’t his place to be concerned over it.
And then the wind carries it over; that lingering curiosity, tinged as it is with persistence. A soft sigh is drawn from chapped lips, which he dabs at with the tip of his tongue until it’s moist again. Quietly he wonders how the other had stumbled across a question he’d rather not answer, and understands he’s not obliged to reply. He’s slow to sit up, muscles groaning in protest as he balances himself with hands behind him, digging into the ground. Legs crossed, his knee bumps against Seungyoon’s thigh, but he doesn’t apologize or draw away.
Guilt whispers in his ear and reminds him that he’s being difficult to a person who’s only been nice to him. He could’ve kept the notebook. He could’ve demanded you to hand them over, could’ve used them against you, he didn’t have to go out of his way to serenade you on a Sunday morning, he doesn’t have to sit around waiting for your answers. The words are clear and concise. His eardrums hurt.
Eventually he lifts his gaze, fixes unblinking eyes on the boy. “My writing is mine. A line divulged here and there is fine, but the rest belongs only to my knowledge.” He moves to get up and slides the strap of the camera around his neck, decides he’ll search for fluidity elsewhere. How burdensome to ask for a favor from the same boy trying to coax him into divulging his thoughts with the world. “I’m heading back to the castle.”
This isn’t running away. This is just him, diverting from an unexpected figure in his meandering path.
Riddles and rhymes, elusive and for the idle mind. He wonders if this is a challenge for him to decipher and whether or not he should play the game. Perhaps it is true that music takes away from poetry but the melody and the lyrics are of equal importance in his mind. The extent to which the two forms resemble each other, he wouldn’t be able to tell.
Slow is the process in which answers are formulated. He takes his time, preferring to enjoy the breeze than come to hasty conclusions. Notes the pace in which the other rose from his resting spot (as brief as it were) as if reacting to the question he had uttered. Perchance, but he knows not what to think when it comes to the other individual and chooses not to. His gaze flickers down to the tangential contact between the other’s knee and his thigh. Doesn’t do anything, not when his proposal is in which a precarious position.
Somehow he knows, before he hears, when gazes align that this is a lost cause. Objectives were different. Seungyoon had projected his hopes upon the other. Smiles, wistfully because he’s not one to sigh repeatedly. It’s a beautiful Sunday morning and he’s lost his best bet at a lyricist.
As the other gathers his things, he wonders what’s next? Only to be interrupted by a statement. He nods upon processing the words and returns to the waters before him, thumb once again tracing the contours of the pebble he had found. There’s a sense of disappointment — he won’t deny, high hopes brought down so quickly but he can’t do anything about it if the other intends to keep it to himself.
One strong toss; it doesn’t skip. Merely sinks to the bottom, creating ripples along the way. That’s it, he supposes, that’s the extent. Paths diverge, they always do, some just sooner than later. Short intersection, brief as it were, not overlapping circles as he once imagined. Or perhaps parallel lines to begin with; would chuckle at the thought if not for the sinking spirit. Confidence left somewhere between the thoughts of partnership and words of rejection.
No, that’s not quite fair. Disappointed in his lack of persuasive abilities. Nah, it was more than that. He realizes how faulty this entire exchange has been (his part entirely). If someone had come up to him and asked him to compose a song for them, Seungyoon would have said Sure! No problem! and then proceeded to hide in avoidance once he realized the other was no source of inspiration. What he should have done first was to get to know the boy behind the words left in the notebook’s margins.
He reflects back on his classmate’s last words. A statement: neither an invitation nor an outright stay away from me. Neutral. He takes his chances. Gathers up his belongings and follows the path back to the castle, mind made up. Decides to begin with the dining hall first, brunch being served and his stomach was in the right mood.
He’s breaking all sorts of protocol and at risk for housepoint deductions when he slides in, across from the poet. It’s relatively empty, vacant of lazy students (and otherwise) yet he still chooses to disturb the other yet again. Bides his time by digging into the warmth of a blueberry muffin and merely waits until his stomach is comfortable enough to begin speaking once more. It’s sweet but not sickly. A hybrid between a desert and a breakfast food as if it still can’t make up it’s mind.
He spies the camera and decided to start from there — anywhere but poetry. “Is it an assignment,” head tipping in the direction of the large lens, “or do you have a hobby in capturing images?” Curious is all. Seungyoon doesn’t unless it’s absolutely necessary, finds the lens not quite capturing what he wants. Would rather have his faulty memory document an event and then reconstruct it into something lovelier than the actual event. Then nearly grimaces at the words he has spoken, knowing he could have done better than this lame small talk starter.
(noun) An individual who professes to be a lover of all things beautiful in life. An aesthete has a great eye and a developed sensitivity for the finer things in the world. They wildly appreciate art, and are connoisseurs of refinement, style and delicacy: all things lovely in life. They are visual creatures with an ardent desire to make their world beautiful. They love to explore all fields of aesthetics, such as blogging, interior design, art, fashion, painting and many more. (via wordsnquotes)
The correct incantation for the banishing charm is Depulso (de-PUHL-so).
The counter charm is the summoning charm: Accio (AK-eee-oh).
This charm, the banishing charm, is best defined as the displacement of an object depending on what the wand it aimed at. Or in other words, sends the object away (banishes it).
The proper execution of the charm involved aiming your wand at the object you wish to remove and it is a simple sweeping motion.
As for what purpose this charm was originally created… although the origins aren’t clear, it probably arises from the need to return things to where they were summoned from. The earliest documentation is from the childhood tale of The Wizard and the Hopping Pot in which one can assume it was formulated before that.
The incantation comes from Latin (which makes you wonder if people in Rome caused disasters wherever they went because most of these were daily usage) depulsio which basically means “driving/pushing away.” Usually done by force as repulsion. At the same time it could be from the English pulse aspect of the word in which the prefix de represents negativity. Hence: “a negative pulse of energy.”
The scenario in which I am most likely to use the banishing charm is when I’m returning objects to their original place but too lazy to actually do it with my hand. Usually with the remote control for the television. My parents do it a lot too so I’m not the only one.
a.) Stance on pureblood supremacism along a justification as to why you think that way
To put it bluntly: it is stupid. And perhaps this might just be resentment and bitterness stemming from the last conversation I had with a Slytherin boy (if it even counts as a conversation). Why is there such a system to begin with? Supremacy in order to govern others and to feel good about themselves but there is no justification as to why this should be the definitive way for class systems. Perhaps it is because other than evidence by birth, these people have nothing else to boast of hence cling to the idea of bloodline and nobility like some sacred text.
I’ll cease these insults before they become to personal. Its a psychological aspect more than anything else: the desire to be better in which I would love to point out the Law of Jante. It simply means that no one is better than anyone else. We are all human. Some gifted with abilities and others not. Rather than using it as leverage for power or whatever else, it should be used for the good of mankind. I understand that there may be some difficulties in reestablishing that connection. But has no one found it ridiculous how much muggles have been put down despite their lack of magical capabilities and increasing technological innovations? They create magic without being given any.
Evidence should not be derived from personal experience but that is what I will draw from. Originating from a muggleborn and pureblood parent, there has always been a debate on what to address myself as. (The true question should be why does it matter? but this is besides the point.) If this system is indeed placed upon the prestige of a long lasting household then I would happily point out that most muggleborns can be traced back to such households who have sired squibs. Premature is this theory but perhaps this inbreeding, like the Ancient Egyptians, have caused such a phenomenon in such prestigious households. The lineage, in itself, is the same.
Pureblood, should, by definition be considered as one who derives from magical heritage. If that is the case then I should be considered pureblood (to a certain extent). The muggleborn creates it’s own magical lineage, the head of his line. The union of two magic folk should be enough to declare the purity of the quality of offspring produced.
In conclusion, before incoherency sets in again, this system of blood based supremacy is illogical and has given rise to an intolerable population. In order to change this condition, the mindset must be tackled first.
b.) You are casting the Patronus charm. What is your happy memory? Elaborate
There’s one memory, distinct from the blur of yellows and greens of pasture and the pastel of flowers. He’s six and there’s a white birthday cake in front of him, his name and Happy Birthday in icing framed by six candles. He’s giddy with joy, fingers itching as one oddly shaped present in plopped into his lap. His parents exchange secretive smiles. He tugs at the ribbon, watching it loosen by his grip (something he’ll experience countless of times afterwards twined with hair). Fingers then tear at the wrapper because he can’t find where it begins and where it ends. Greedy are the fingers that break through decorated paper and he finds it: a wooden instrument. Six strings, long bridge, and a body tinier than he had seen on the streets. It is the color of wood and he looks up in confusion and also in joy.
They sense it and explain it’s what he needs to begin with, accompanying his height as he grows. It’s the happiest day of his life and perhaps always will be. His first love and his last — in his arms and still in his room back home.
c.) Discuss the Dementor’s Kiss and provide a hypothetical presentation of someone kissed by a Dementor
The dementor, or perhaps more colloquially referred to as a wraith, is a dark sentient being that feeds upon one’s soul. Although origins aren’t quite known, I like to imagine that it rises from a man (or some sort of being) devastated by love. Hell bent on the idea of destroying something beautiful — what is more beautiful than a living and breathing beauty? To deprive it of life, to deplete it of a soul and hence it’s conscious and other abilities, renders it nothing more. Where the soul goes who knows? But the act of killing someone with a kiss… If not highly romantic than what is? Do lovers not dream of dying in such a way? A bittersweet end turned cruel in the hands of monsters. Creatures of the night that search for what they can not have; jealous, twisted, pitiful.
What remains is nothing more than a corpse, a human stuck in limbo for an eternity. Does afterlife happen for such an individual, I do wonder why philosophers have yet to discuss it in depth.
Now, hypothetically speaking, perhaps an individual was to be so unfortunate as to wander at night when such a creature just happened to be about (whether or not they have cognitive abilities is still debatable). A chance meeting in which it is irresistible. This hankering over what will never be theirs, to drain one of happiness and all things that make them good, the corruption of purity. You die. Become part of this swirling mess that consumes you whole until what is left is that greed to feel again and you welcome a pure comrade into your arms.
It's almost like yesterday when he could wander through this particular wing and pick up the sounds of someone creating melody on ivory keys. Perhaps if he listens close enough (on one of the good days where clarity comes in the form of sounds) he'll pick up the traces once more.
The music wing remains silent, void of other individuals practicing. He knows it is not his ailment of his ears because he can still detect traces of fellow students beyond the windows enjoying their second home. Mesmerized was he: twelve years old and stumbling across a younger student yet the maturity of his skills clearly present. Lingers for the sake of Euterpe embracing his soul and the clean and simple notes eluded from the instrument. Forgets to breathe until the song is over and claps for the other to understand his appreciation.
Yet since the trip before school started, to an island meant to set hearts at ease, he's seen how the younger one had changed, heard of the rumors of a drastic fight. He can't believe it. Can't wrap his head around how this sweet natured boy had gotten himself into trouble despite his appearance finally complying with such actions.
Irregardless of how appearances can change over time, Seungyoon held onto the belief that the insides haven't diverged so drastically yet. There's disappointment and perhaps a bit of rage when he realizes he has been proven wrong. He's not quite sure if he knows the other boy anymore, thought that both shared a burning passion for music. Seungyoon's life to his guitar and Minho's dedication to the piano.
Irritated and at a lost he hunts the other down, recalling places frequented when not around the practice rooms. Finds him and drags him away by grasping the other's elbow, muttering as he searches for a place suitable for a lecture, "what has gotten into you lately?" Other than his growth spurt of course.
If seen from a far, Diagon Alley looks like a movie set to Luhan. He brushes his hands against cobblestone walls and the worn wooden signs dangling above his head, just to make sure the stone isn’t painted hard plastic, the wood not bendable. He passes by a candy shop he doesn’t recognize, and the bells chime for every customer who enters or exists. There are flowers, pink roses and yellow tulips ornamenting the entrance. Luhan stays between the crush of people surging from the orifices of the congested stores, and stares at the shop window, at the gateaus draped in white and yellow chocolate and iridescent pastries covered with icing sugar and cotton candy sculptured into rotating ballerinas.
Luhan feels beatific.
He moves after a while, feeling oddly lightheaded. For a moment, he isn’t sure why he is here, stood in large cotton pants and an even larger jersey, somewhere he doesn’t have to be. It isn’t until he, by mistake or by coincidence, spots Seungyoon’s face dressed a grin, hand waving, in between blurred faces (because extras don’t matter in a movie scene, always blurred for the viewer at home, as if too stupid to differentiate, to concentrate on the right faces). Luhan smiles, bares teeth, and knows he must look odd, unattractive. But happiness isn’t supposed to look good; happiness is supposed to feel good. Something lurches in his stomach, and he almost allows his smile to slip, drop on the ground, drip between the paving stones—because if happiness is gaseous, sadness must be liquid.
Luhan pushes through the crowd, pushes through his guilt (but is it really guilt(?), he can’t say), and a greeting won’t leave his lips. Maybe he is frightened. Maybe it was never guilt.
Luhan has always been bad at dealing with his whimsical notions, fleeting moods, so he presses against Seungyoon, wraps his arms around his middle, murmurs a “I remember, school supplies” and “you look good”.
The sun hangs over the pedestrian precinct and the shadows grow teeth.
Sees the glimpse of teeth and lips pulled into a curve and he recalls crystal chandeliers and the faint clinking of classes filled with champagne. Seungyoon is still in awe at the arrangement of his face, in which some angels must have had a hand in it's making. Still remembers the first time he ever attended one of those long and boring social affairs — on the verge of slipping out into the gardens when his eyes find the features of a fairy. Or at least what he thought one would look like. The thoughts of boredom vanish soon after as he finds himself mesmerized.
Still is, perhaps, thinking it is beauty he sees despite the unnatural quality in that certain smile. Can't banish this sudden influx of glee when his torso is warmed by an arm. There's an urge to return the gesture and he does but not in his usual form where he throws his entire body into the embrace as if trying to suffocate the other individual. It's a light squeeze, one that says welcome back. pleased to see you again. Arms drop to the sides soon after as he smiles at the compliment, slightly embarrassed by it.
"I never doubted," and those words may be slight exaggeration but his hopes were higher than his doubts. The constant cycle of being let down having no effect on this boy (or so it seemed). "Glad you made it," he adds as his hand reaches to the back of his neck. A slight rub whenever he's nervous or slightly bashful. "Thank you," are the only words he can supply at the compliment to his ordinary wardrobe. Forever clad in the simplicity of black and white until there is a change of heart and mood. These jeans are battered and work by age, shirt white as it hangs past his waist, single earring in his right earlobe and fingers showcasing a few bands of their own. One day he'll outgrow this phase but he's still young and if he doesn't care than who can get to him?
"You don't look half bad yourself," grins as he winces internally at how it had sounded. Wishing he was more straightforward with it. Offers a hand for the taking as he checks off his mental shopping list, "Flourish and Blotts first? Unless you're hungry." Forever caters to the needs of others despite being in desperate need of some substance in his stomach himself.
