OOC: For those unfamiliar with my lessons, please post as if you have been present from the beginning, unless you have a valid, and pre-discussed plot reason for announcing a late arrival.

PMing me is encouraged if you'd like me to be aware of something character significant for the lesson, ta. I don't deduct housepoints for non attendance, I do add them for participation, interesting, plot furthering or amusing IC reactions, and especially for balanced character abilities. If you can't join us, may be to your advantage to drop me a quick note.

First lesson after lunch on the Wednesday.

Gryffindor

Raine Almasy 1
Kiba Attwood 1
Nicholas Bevans 1

Hufflepuff

Figaro Sellaphix 5
Zel Trumble 3

Ravenclaw

Ligeia Cantebury 1
Church Comer 3
Absinthe Darby 1
Rohan Graham 1
Elijah Grimlish 1
Chloe Harris 1
Mason Hawkins 2
Sasha Schlagenweit 3

Slytherin

Francesca Carys-Burke 2
Deminitria Strelnikov 2

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The desks were in their usual rows for the NEWT students, and the candles burnt around the edges to illuminate as it was a grey day outside. Cold, damp late autumn air and a thick cloud cover kindly reminding them of impending winter. The prospect of taking notes for a lesson was a distinct possibility, though these students, even the foreigners, now appreciated the fine balance of theory and practical in these lessons through their extensive written homework and regular memory testing.

Professor Storm greeted each of them as they entered with a respectful nod. Although his classes were generally well attended for NEWTs, it did not mean he neglected to pay them a spot more courtesy than their OWL counterparts, which included Hogwart-equivalent dregs.

"Good afternoon." He greeted formally, stepping forward to draw their attention as the class settled. This afternoon, as on Monday, we will focus again on the patronus charm. May of you went away from the lesson frustrated, and I remind you that  many qualified adult witches and wizards struggle to cast this in any form." He raised his wand and sent forth his augury patronus which trailed around the classroom flapping its wings slowly between gliding.
"However, let this not discourage you, for with a little more time and persistence with instruction, you will be able to demonstrate it in a basic form for your exams, some of you even with a corporeal form."

The patronus swooped back past his shoulder and dissipated at the front of the classroom.

"So, the foundation, our positive memory of bliss, happiness and deep joy." His tone conveyed anything less than deep joy, but instead was laced with an edge of sarcasm. The white-haired professor took a slow walk between the desks.
"Concentrate, decide on which memory you will try today. Picture it in your head, and engage your senses. Colour the situation, recall the sounds, smells, and let that emotion resurface without forcing it."
He stopped at a desk and spoke directly to the student at it.
"Describe your memory."

This charm takes time, we shall assume the theory and the understanding of the foundation has taken place over the previous couple of lessons, and last lesson they began to practise though distraction, self consciousness etc would have impacted. Casting without danger is easier than with. As NEWT students are together as two years, we'll have to be a little more flexible on ability, so take this chance to explore your character's happy memory, and any reasoning behind what begins to form from the patronus later. Challenge your writing and 5 senses, and enjoy this. Please assume Ignan moves on to a few more students so we can have more responses.

Ignan Storm’s classes were among those that Zel had always looked forward to, no matter how challenging it could be. When he had first met the professor, he remembered how imposing, intimidating, and powerful he seemed. For about a solid month, Zel had been terrified out of his mind of the German man—that was, until he realized that Professor Storm’s serious demeanor was very much similar to Zel’s own father’s. When Ignan had started working at Hogwarts, that fear started to resurface—but it only took about a week of classes for Zel to become accustomed to such a strong, strict personality again. If it had been any other teacher, Zel wouldn’t have been as completely comfortable as he was now.

After the last class, the prefect had definitely left a little frustrated—finding happy memories was proving to be more difficult that he had anticipated, and the more recent happy memories that he had, were simply not happy enough to produce a patronus. He needed to think of a time where he was in complete bliss. There were a few memories he could think of—exploring the woods with Emeline, the way he felt when Garrett had told him that he and his fiancé were expecting, and the way he felt when his mother had finally, supposedly found happiness again with his stepfather, Rhys.  Swimming with Raine or hugs from Sophie were happy memories, but those too were not strong enough.

He had to think farther back.

”Describe your memory.”

Zel looked at Ignan incredulously, almost amused, though he tried not to let it show. “My memory?” He had trained himself to stop stuttering around Storm, though it didn’t keep him from stuttering around more gentle professors, like Hagrid or Tapendra. He even considered Aileen to be one of the more gentle professors, compared to Ignan.

“I think—“ He blushed slightly and looked down. “My happy memory is when I was little—I was walking with my father and my brother by a lake. Garrett was teasing me, and I got mad.  I pushed him into the lake without touching him. I had never seen my dad so happy in my life, it was the first time I ever used magic.” His father’s happiness had made him happy, and the fact that Garrett had actually laughed about it only made it better. Alrich had never been one to show much emotion, but he had worries that Zel would have been a squib like Garrett was, worries that were alleviated by Zel’s unintended magic use. Alrich had hugged Zel, and he remembered how his father smelled of pine trees and roasted chestnuts. That, he wasn't comfortable sharing with the rest of the class. The happiness he had felt was almost too personal.

Zelig hoped that this memory would have been happy enough to cause a patronus to appear. The last few memories he had used only produced small silver wisps, maybe a hint of an animal—but nothing corporeal.

Mason hated this class, he excelled at it, but that was the mystery. A pacifist who excelled at Defense Against the Dark Arts. His parents had forced him to take the class, no matter how much he begged and pleaded, they wouldn't have it, NEWT DADA, or no Ancient Runes.

Over the years, Mason had grown fond of Professor Storm, he like the stiff, no nonsense aura he projected. When he asked a Hufflepuff prefect to describe his memory, Mason knew that he would have to dig farther and deeper to get to the happiest thought he could possibly muster.

First time he baked cookies with magic, Hogwarts letter, Dancing with Chloe in the Gardens, His 16th birthday and his car, the time his poems were published in the Newspaper, his parents had been so proud of him. That was the one he had to focus on.

He had entered a muggle writing contest, he wrote a poem about a doorknob, and it won. The summer of 3rd year, he was given praise and respect for his work, his parents had stuck the newspaper clipping up on the refrigerator with a Batman magnet.

He could feel something deeper, he closed his eyes and focused on only the good, the magnet sandwiching the poem against the stainless steal door, the pride he had felt, the success...

Ahh, dear old defense! Easily Church's favorite class. Mostly because Professor Storm was such a superb teacher. The hands on approach he took probably added to the effect, Church loved when things were hands on. Theory was all well and good, but practicing and learning from experience was infinitely better. At least to Church. Although, the continuation of the patronus charm was proving... dull. Mostly because it was something he could do near the end of his fifth year. Though it did, admittedly, take him that entire year to perfect. That, actually, was probably why he had the patience with the other NEWT students who struggled with it.

"That's actually pretty cute, Trumble," Church commented, head resting in the palm of his hand. Honestly, who would have figured shy guy over there was the type? But it does sort of figure. First time people used magic was typically something people used if it was tied to a decent memory. Would never work for Church, but still. Maybe Trumble would manage a full form.

But let's see here. Church's happiest memory, once again, was probably the one he mentioned in charms. It used to be that one when he and Jeanette spent the night together, but his dad almost dying was the original memory he used so he knew it would work. "Mine's gotta when I was little and my dad fell down the stairs," Church spoke up. "He was drunk and tripped down a good twenty-five steps, and gave himself compound fractures in both his arms that almost caused him to bleed to death." With a sigh Church leaned back, eyes misting over. "Good times."

Taryn made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. "Comer, anybody ever tell you that yer a sick bastard? 'Cause you are." Seriously. Even if the kid didn't have the best family life -- which was obviously the case -- taking genuine joy out of another person's near-death was disturbing on more levels than Taryn cared to count. Her low opinion of Hogwarts' Head Boy continued to drop with every class they shared. How a demented freak like that got a position of authority, she didn't want to know.

Her out-of-turn commentary drew the Professor's attention, so Taryn had to scramble for a happy memory of her own. So far, all the ones she'd tried -- the day arrived at Salem, her first big basketball win, and getting made Champion -- only produced white smoke and an annoying tingling sensation like her good arm'd gone to sleep. It grated. Self-Defense had always been her best class after Magizoology. She ought to have something.

"...Mine's when they brought my sister home. Mom let me hold her. Looked just like me, she did, only tiny as a baby bird. My little Minnie-Me."

Just digging up the memory made Taryn smile. Minnie'd been the last piece in their new family. It'd been something that Taryn'd never known she was missing. Picturing her baby sister, snug and happy in her too-long arms, sparked a warmth in Taryn's chest like a pilot light. She could almost imagine it bursting through her wand, taking form and chasing away the darkness. Maybe the spell would work today. Now she was itching to give it a try.

"Ah Mr Comer just wishes to distract us from the fact his happiest memory is his time flower arranging, Dickenson, don't be worried." Professor Storm replied dryly, and offered an amused smirk. He had worked with people who could not conjure one at all to those who thought of their first killings, so although alarming for young minds to hear, there were patonuses built on happiness at the misfortune of others, schadenfreude. They were not the strongest.

He had caught himself smiling faintly at Zel's description having known the family for some years. The memories were adjusting to stronger, more vivid descriptions which was encouraging.
"Good, I am confident we will see some progress this lesson, as long as you put aside the frustration. Once you have cast successfully the joy will be emotionally linked and the process will accelerate. Be patient."

Stepping back to the front of the class, he turned to them all,
"Begin, and I will try to address each of you to assist in your efforts."
The desks began to slide to either side and he joined the students on the floor, his wand in hand.

Francesca sat as far away from Professor Storm as possible. She knew it was a small miracle she manged to get into NEWT classes because of her less than stellar marks in Defense, so she decided it's best she keeps a low profile. Not only she was quite rubbish at this subject, but she also found it incredibly dull. She only half-listened to the words of her peers as she scanned the textbook in front of her - not actually reading, just passing the time.

Of course, here were Trumble, Hawkings and Comer - all better students than Francesca and all of them seemed at least a tad more enthusiastic about Patronuses than her. However, when the Head Boy spoke, Francesca let out an unexpected, loud giggle which she tried to conceal with an even louder fake cough. She didn't know why, but she found his 'happy memory' and the way he so causally presented it to the class too hilarious. And even though Francesca somewhat agreed with the grotesque, blonde foreigner (yes, Comer was a sick bastard), she absolutely wouldn't show it.

Professor Storm, as always, had a quick reply in store for the Head Boy and Francesca found it almost as amusing. However, she tried very hard not to laugh or even smile (causing her pale, freckled face to go bright lobster-red), because acknowledging a witty remark from a teacher would be so beneath her.

But what was her happiest memory and why would she have to share it with the class? The young Slytherin sighed in frustration, hoping Storm won't insist on her participation. What made her happy? She was thinking hard, making a slight grimace in the process. 'Money' she thought with a dreamy smile...Gold galleons in my hands.

But then it was time for the practical part of the lesson and Frannie reluctantly got up from her chair and stood, joining her classmates. She took out her wand without too much enthusiasm and waited for further instructions.

It was Figaro's birthday!  And he was finally 17!

The world opened up to a lad of 17 - he could learn to Apparate, he could use magic outside of school, he could fly to the moon on a broom.  He was in high spirits and he should have been in perfect form for Defense now that they were studying the Patronus Charm.  But that was exactly it - he was terrible at the Patronus Charm.  He was one of the students who'd left class Monday stewing.  He felt happy, he had a reputation for being happy, so why couldn't he do it?

He snorted out a laugh when the Professor took the piss out of Church about his wierdo memory.  Sometimes that kid could be so creepy.  He was sitting near Rohan, and not far from Francesca, but not for long.  Professor Storm got things started and the desks moved away leaving enough space for them to stand and cast.

Figaro delayed and instead filled the time with commentary.  He didn't want to try and fail again.  He knew Hufflepuffs were supposed to be hard working, but this was demoralizing.  If even full-grown wizards couldn't do it, what chance did he have? Why would he ever use this spell anyway?  For some reason, Professor Storm's encouragement that it would get better didn't help him.

"What do you reckon yours'd look like? What if its something shite like a worm or a trout or something?" he laughed, "I mean, the corporeal form of our true inner self and it turns out to be a frog.  The manifest bloody culmination of our better selves and it's something incredibly stupid.  I don't know if I even want to know.  You know, I heard Rohan's is a butterfly.  Reckon that's about right.  Hilarious if Storm's was just another Professor Storm.  Out of his wand comes a swirling, silvery -"

He stopped talking immediately when you-know-who's patrol took him close to Figaro.  He coughed and raised his wand, making like he was going to give it another try.

Demitria gave a quick, but sunny smile at Professor Storm as she walked through the door. Yes, most people thought that she was crazy, but she liked the man. Beyond the fact that he was (distant... very very distant) family, she flowered in his  strict teaching style. She took a desk near the windows, as always and was already mentally preparing for the lesson before Storm began speaking. They had been speaking about Patroni for awhile already, so she had been mentally making lists in her head of memories she could use. It had been harder than she was willing to admit, but had finally collected a good selection.

With her Durmstrang family, certain spells had been taught (or attempted to be taught) to her before her Hogwarts counterparts. Her veela grandmother, Nika, had pushed her to learn beyond her ability and was verbally lashed when she could not, and occasionally, would not perform. The patronus spell was one of those spells. She had never been able to maintain the spell with enough force and energy to see a corporeal patronus form, but it was decidedly hard when she was being taught by a woman she hated with a burning passion. What she did know is that the form was lithe and somewhat cat-like.

It wasn't a surprise. She ignored the other students, especially snarky Church, as they told their memories. Unless her memories didn't work, she couldn't be pressed upon to share. Instead she mused on her family history. Most of the women in the Putilov line had Snow Leopards as their patroni and she expected the same from her. She didn't like it, as she wanted nothing to do with her Grandmother's family, but they were all the same. Even Katrin's patronus had morphed into the snow leopard after marrying Jaska.

Finally, they were getting to the practical. She stood up and was close enough to Fig to hear his excited rambling. She smirked slightly and rolled her eyes. She could care less what everyone's patroni were. Unless it was something mortifying. Like a slug. Now that would brighten up her day.   

Church cast a glance over his shoulder, not so much at Dickenson's comment but more at the giggle that seemed to emanate from Carys-Burke. Figures a Slytherin would find his detached gallows humor so amusing. His eyes landed on the Slytherin's face a second longer than they did on the Salemite before he face forwards again with a small shrug. "Doubtless I am," Church commented calmly. "The man reaps what he sows." Not that it really mattered since Church hadn't dealt with him since he was nine or so. But still, that one time of his weakness and suffering was enough to get the blood going. Professor Storm's comment cracked a smile. Flower arranging was probably... third in his book. Maybe fourth. Right after accidentally defenestrating his mother and buying his unicorn pillow pet.

Well, now came the actual practicing of the spell which was probably the most boring part simply because Church couldn't exactly explain why he could do it let along describe how he made a break through. He just... did? Mind over matter and all that. "Mine was kinda like that," Church commented as he took a spot next to Sellaphix. "Figured mine would be a turtle or something. Ended up being a jackal." Church gave a shrug to the boy. "I'm still not sure how I feel about that one."

"But it gets easier the more you do it," Church continued. "Just think Think of a wonderful thought. Any merry little thought. Think of Christmas, think of snow. Think of sleigh bells, off you go, like reindeer in the sky," Church pointed his wand. "Expecto Patronum." And out leapt what Church assumed was a normal sized jackal. It was hard to tell if it was or not considering he had never seen one. With another flick the patronus vanished. "Simplicity at its finest..."

“Uh, thanks?” Cute? His memory was cute? No, the werewolf disagreed. It wasn’t cute, it was personal, happy, and warm. Maybe even a bit humorous,  because Garrett ended up soaking wet by the end of it—but cute? No. Absolutely not.  Any chance he had of verbally disagreeing went away when Church described his memory. Well,  if you were to compare Zel’s and Church’s, Zel’s was cuter and less creepy and disturbing. He gave Comer a wary look and very clearly scooted his desk further away from the Ravenclaw, even though they hadn’t been particularly close to each other in the first place.

It didn’t matter that he shifted the desk, because in no time at all, it was time to practice—and there was absolutely no way that he could practice any spell while sitting down in the desk—he had a hard enough time fitting in the first place, and he knees almost always touched the bottom of the desk, and his legs more often than not, reached far enough so that his feet were under the chair in front of him.  The werewolf stood up and took out his wand—it was a rather long one that suited his height. The handle was a medium, rich, reddish brown while the shaft was a rather creamier, deeper, darker color. He had heard that it was a rather difficult wand to steal and would not choose lazy types or those with an intention to do harm with it.

Zel stood up and watched Storm shift the desks to the side, thankful that he didn’t have to sit in them long enough for his legs to cramp  up. He stretched out his back a little and looked at Storm to see if he had any more direction. None?  Just begin? Well, okay then.

He pointed his wand in front of him, though his hand shook slightly with nervousness. He focused on his happy memory, on the smell of roasted chestnuts and pine. Zel focused on the sound of his father’s voice, remembering the excited, yet gentle and serious tone he had when he stated how proud he was. The relief that shone through on his face. The happiness that Zel had felt when he made his father so happy. As he focused on the memory, the shaking in his hand stopped. His breath became more even. He was engrossed in the memory, his eyes were lost in the past.

“Expecto patronum.” Zelig said quietly, firmly—and a large silver wisp came out- it was giant and smoky. When Zel saw that it wasn’t immediately corporeal, but a puff of silvery smoke twice the size of Hagrid, the prefect forgot the happiness he had been forcusing on and replaced it with disappointment. Almost immediately, the ‘patronus’ (if you could even call it one) disappeared.

At least this lesson, the students wouldn't be attempting to blow each others head off, so it couldn't be as bad as Mason had first hoped when he walked in. As Mason stood from his desk, wand in hand, the table had shifted away, creating a large work space for all the the NEWT kids.

He ignored his classmates banter and played through the multiple happy thoughts in his head, over and over, until he felt serene enough to begin. Ignoring the failures the lesson before, just focusing on the now. Inhaling a few deep breaths, Mason thought of his parents, and new additions of the Avengers and waved his wand. His eyes were completely snapped shut, he didn't want to break his concentration.

Chloe, summers skipping rocks on the lake, summer breezes blowing through hammocks, fresh baked cookies, newsprint ink...

"Expecto patronum!"

An almost clear form jumped from the tip of his wand, padding it's feet on the ground, the coyote trotted around a bit. Mason opened his eyes to see his patronus, himself in a corporeal form. The dog leaned down and jumped, dissipating as it came at him, before Mason could even flinch, the coyote was gone.

Mason held his breath, trying to figure out why his had been the clearest of the groups so far. His thoughts weren't the happiest, or a thought that gave someone a sick pleasure like their father falling down stairs. He exhaled, his eyes large in disbelief of his own doing.

I did it

He was really happy now, he closed his eyes and tried again, clearing his head of the negative, replacing with the positive.

Tyr sat, as was his wont, near enough to Magdalena to be of use but not close enough to be in obvious attendance. He sat further from the professor, as well - which suited him fine. He remembered Storm from the man's years at Durmstrang, though the memories were distant and vague. Hogwarts certainly seemed not to suit the man, but this only made his classes a tenuous home. They were familiar, rather than comforting. The fact the teachers here seemed to treat all students the same was disconcerting.

Had he a memory? Over the past few lessons, Tyr had decided he did not have a memory sufficient to produce a patronus. Oh, he had some happy memories, but none of them had the power to summon up whatever his patronus was. His father's had been a wyvern, and as curious as he was to what his would be, he had concluded he would not find out. The closest memories he had he could not speak of, in any case.

As such, he placed his plain wand on the desk before him, next to his notebooks, and rested quietly with his hands folded in his lap. His bright yellow eyes followed the professor with their usual quickness, darting between the man and his students.

The students here were so...simple. It was bizarre to see how eagerly they revealed their natures, how unsubtle their plots and politics were. It was a system that was - and would be - easy to maneuver in, should he need to. They seemed to foster the quiet, shy types - rather than crush and use them, as Durmstrang did.

Trumble was lucky, he supposed - werewolf or not. Durmstrang would have destroyed such a pathetic boy.

The Russian watched as the others answered and couldn't help but roll his eyes. Were the Hogwarts students honestly just learning this spell? He couldn't help but give a quick glance to his cousin. She did not look perturbed. Unluckily for him, she wished she had looked uncomfortable or at least not prepared. He still needed to get back at her for the Charms lesson about memories a month or so ago. He had been far too busy with the tournament, though. It had been consuming all of his extra time.

That was beside the point. He knew how to cast the spell and knew what the form of his patronus was. The past few weeks had been more jumping though hoops than actual lessons. Still, he had payed enough attention to improve his casting ability. Professor Storm was a good teacher and worth listening to, even in review.

Right after the Ravenclaw, Hawkins, cast his, Fyetka pulled out his wand and thought of his memory. It came easily to him.

The feeling was irreplaceable. The first time he had flown through the air on his own wings, feeling his body bend to the wind. Feeling the wind rustle his feathers. The sheer sense of freedom filled him and nothing mattered. The years of being ruthlessly taught by his tiger-mother had paid off finally. Finally, he had fulfilled his duty and owed his mother nothing more. He was done and the sky was his. 

"Expecto Patronum"

His strong, Russian voice echoed through the room and without hesitation, the Stellar's Sea Eagle launched itself out of his wand. The image of the giant bird was clear and every detail was shown. Having his happiest memory be about the form itself seemed to help. With a flap of it's ten foot wing-span the Eagle dissipated into the air. He loved his animagus/patronus... not that anyone actually knew he was an animagus.

With an easy smirk, he looked at the next person.

This was, excuse her language, shit.

With their tables now lining either side of the classroom, Raine's classmates were moving into the open space to make attempts at a the patronus charm. She uncharacteristically stayed behind to lean against one of the desks- arms folded and lower lip pushed out into a familiar, irritable expression. Unlike some of the others she had not achieved much success in the casting of this particular spell... not in previous lessons nor in the extra sessions she had with Storm, the last being yesterday afternoon.

Memories. If only it hadn't been memories. All of the ones she wished to use were with her sister; they were warm and lovely and uplifting, and the moment she thought it would be enough to help inflame her patronus-- a darkness around the edges. It was too easy to fail with those memories.

The Gryffindor watched with an almost-envious eye as one of the Durmstrang students cast his with unperturbed flourish; an eagle that would no doubt startle away Dementors. Raine cleared her trhoat and stood straight, moving slightly to the center with wand in correct position. One could hardly give up now. She planted a memory in her mind... a simple one, of her team having won the Quidditch match in October.

A pleasant feeling stirred at her center, growing warm and luminous like a small flame lit on the inside.

"Expecto Patronum!" she asserted clearly though she knew, even as the white glow at the tip of her wand spilled forward, that the flame had been too small. Before the patronus could take shape it melted away into nothingness and Raine had to bite down hard on her tongue to keep from swearing. She tasted blood.

Breathing in deeply, the prefect composed herself and resumed casting stance.