"NO- we need to drive them off, not run from them. If they get in the castle, the rest of the students are vulnerable." Josh yelled back at the teachers, determined to keep these foul creatures away from Hogwarts. He could see that a dementor was headed for Zel, but there wasn't a whole lot he could do- he was having enough trouble keeping his own Dementor at bay. It was a struggle, but his Patronus was holding.

Theo had tried. For once– like his lesser, mediocre colleagues– he had really tried, in his efforts to behave himself in a civil (if silent) manner without completely sacrificing his personality, as opposed to his usual, rational but scathing manner (which was, he forever maintained, irrefutably and unequivocally appropriate); this was, after all was said and done, a task of particular importance if not questionable efficacy, and Theo was a prefect. Certain conduct was expected of him. He had standards to uphold, as well as rules to enforce, and an image to maintain. He couldn’t not comport himself as expected of one of his stature.

But he was, no one should –could?– ever forget, Theo Whitman, which meant however much tolerance he appeared to have for the foibles of others (for Melin knew he certainly seemed to have fathomless quantities of amusement), in truth he had little appreciation for them beyond the entertainment factor and occasional usefulness they posed; take away their minimal, lackluster virtues and they became hindrances, or worse—superfluous. And in any case being surrounded by absurdity took its toll on anyone, even him. Which he was.

Professor Storm was exempt from such an inclusive blandishment, of course, and indeed of all the prefects present, Ligeia was certainly, genuinely the most liked. But the presence of the others seemed to have a, a dampening effect, if you would, nearly insidious in nature, and the resulting motley constitution of their group– and its apparent inclination towards inanity– was disheartening.

Patroni. Goodness. Unlike the others, Theo’s heart practically leapt at the sight of the dementors– and not for the silly, rebellious reasons a few morons were more culpable of.

Alas, that it was short-lived.

With something akin to alarm creeping along his insides like a black, spidery chill, Theo watched the proceedings unfold into something more sinister and dire. Strangely could produce a fully corporeal patronus – as could Storm with his impressive augurey – but two wasn’t nearly enough to protect a party of eight against a shroud of Dementors that was swiftly growing. And the point was only hammered home by the Defense professor’s sudden isolation– a distance that was, physically, no more than a meter or so, but seemed so much more than that by the gravity of the situation.

Perhaps Harcroft and Trumble could produce patronuses, but only just. And there was no telling how long they’d last.

“You’re both fools,” Theo spat, smooth tones edged with tension and disgust– and not, perhaps, a little fear; as blue eyes darted from creature to creature, knuckles whitened as he clenched his wand. With Dementors and their Reaper-like tatters, it was frighteningly easy to be reminded of one’s own mortality. “Bullheaded, feckless–”

He uttered them like a curse. They could get them all killed, in the most important sense of the word, and while Theo was not afraid of death, he was extremely reluctant to meet it simply because of a few worthless individuals.

A Dementor descended upon Theo’s least favorite Hufflepuff. Unsurprisingly, Theo’s lip curled. But he held out his wand, memories of a light, childlike voice (“What about this, Teddy?”) — tepid sunlight filtering through a sky of leaves (“It’s still alive-”) — the first time he’d sunk his teeth into that fluttering little pulse, and a warm, metallic taste flooded his mouth (“That was clean, I hope-”) rising to the forefront of his mind’s eye.

“Expecto Patronum!” his voice rang out, and a large, sinuous mass of silvery light began to pour out from his wand, twisting as it formed.

And formed. And formed, until it neared twelve feet long, its hefty length tapering to a tip, and twisted into a violent infinity as it intercepted Zelig’s Dementor, fangs bared.


A howl rang throughout the clearing. The snake’s mouth snapped on nothing but air, the Dementor recoiling from its reach.

A wolf’s eyesight was about as good as a human’s. But even from where she was Shona could see those repugnant creatures turn their heads, distracted– and she wasn’t standing still.

Instead, she ran.

Paws pounded against the ground, turning it into a blur of browns and greens—turning her in a sleek, black shape streaking across the turf. She’d been groggy just seconds ago, tired, like a towel that’d been wrung out to dry when she’d begun her morning trot  jog –but now adrenaline coursed through her, burning through the last of it like a forest fire. Red sparks were trouble, emergency, danger, and who was outside at this time of day? Her and Branwen’s expedition, that was who, and she was too—far—away–

Beneath that thick coat her rib cage swelled with every breath, almost laboriously, as though it strained under the weight of dread. Like this– four-legged, fresh from a full moon –she was a hundred-twenty, thirty pounds, smaller than last night by roughly twenty, weaker in terms of both strength and ferocity—and just as magic-less. But she was still as fast, if not faster, and where she lacked savagery…

There was fear. There was so much fear. But rather than cripple her into a helpless mess, it drove her, until the Dementors came into focus and their chill seeped into her fur. With terrible clarity Shona could see their misshapen, desiccated hands, the bleak tatters of their robes. They reeked, the horrid things, of despair and rot.

Ten meters, nine meters, eight meters away, Shona slowed, rearing, and howled again, this time full of challenge and insult. Suddenly shifting, she stood on two legs instead of four, her own wand wielded in her right hand and rich, chestnut hair nearly black against the pale skin of her face. If she could have wielded every bit of her old grief and sorrow then, she would have, like a beckoning hand before a veritable punch to the gut, but she couldn’t, not with the visceral, almost desperate hate keeping her heart pounding loudly in her chest.

She leveled her wand. “Expecto Patronum!” she shouted, and then there was a wolf—a silvery, ghostly replica of the one she’d been just seconds before. With a viciousness wholly familiar to its caster, it lunged for Joshua’s Dementor, mouth falling open into a gleaming snarl. Every strand of fur seemed to stand on edge with intent to rend, rip, and tear.

Shoulders drawn up in tension, the Dementor fell back– farther and farther away from the others, as the wolf snapped at the ragged ends of its cloak. Her wand still held aloft, Shona raced towards them now—Joshua, Zelig, and the others. “We said go,” she snarled at the students. “Right now, before more show up so we can follow, dammit!”

Branwen was not an educator and while she had a care for children such that anyone might, she hadn't yet been through the years of teaching that warmed (or shriveled) one's heart to youth.  Nor had she yet been tempered to their defiance.

When both Joshua and Zelig defied the direct orders of their professors...! She nearly lost it on them! In that snap she very nearly considered dropping her Patronus and casting them both through the gates herself! How could they be so irresponsible! Didn't they understand that this wasn't about winning a fight but about protecting the students?!  But there was no time to speak of it.

Although it was all the better that now Patroni outnumber the Dementors.

"Donovan!"

She'd nearly taken the arrival of the new Professor as an additional threat, but clearly that was not the case.  She was glad for the support.

"Group up!" she shouted, and dared the rebellious students to disobey.  If they could converge together, they could defend their smaller area more easily, and then close the gap to the gates more easily without losing anybody!

"Stay close!"

“You’re both fools,”

Zelig  scowled at the Slytherin prefect, “Shut your face, Whitman! This is not the time.”  He didn’t care what that vermin-ridden egotistical narcissist thought of him.  Zel had no patience for this. He lost his focus, and his patronus faltered—he imagined socking Theo in the face again, and was able to maintain his patronus. Later, Zel would not feel proud of that—but for now, it worked. And they were in a trying situation. He actually had to work together with Theo, even if it made him feel sick to his stomach. Ugh.

He listened to Strangely’s commands—he wasn’t going to just leave,  but he would gladly help her fight off these dementors.

Zel stayed within the group, keeping his focus on the elephant patronus, on positive memories—but it was draining.

"No, actually- we're spread out still. If we leg it to the grounds now, we'll still be leaving people behind. Once we've grouped up? Then we make for the grounds." Josh said, seeing Professor Donovan forcing his Dementor back. That was good. Indeed, Josh called out for his Patronus to attack the other Dementor now. Racing after it, Josh was heading for the others- hoping that more would group up- he did, in fact, want to head in, but was determined not to leave anybody to the mercy of the Dementors.

Spread out they were indeed. As though to remind them of their comrades, a feline roar echoed from around the bend of the wall. Before the shadows arrived, Felinus had carried his extra loads of rowan well ahead of the main group, relying in part on Miss Canterbury's pet bird to bare the bundles aloft. He'd just freed the last cluster when the red sparks went up. The next breeze carried the scent of dementors to his nose.

Naturally, he deferred to protective instinct, ordering the students back as he slunk into a defensive prowl. Disobedience would have earned a snap, if one of the foul creatures hadn't chosen that moment to emerge nearby.

Without a second thought, Felinus had charged. That was his miscalculation.

Despite his confidence at the staff meeting, Felinus had never before faced a dementor in his animal form. Few animagi ever had; even Donovan resumed her human form. So he couldn't guess that offering the animal mind in battle would be so different from running or hiding as a dog in a cell. As he lunged, his humanity recoiled to protect itself. The lion seized control.

The roar sounded carried no human emotion, only an animal's rage. He slammed into the dementor and rolled, tearing at its spectral form with teeth and claws. Foul, it tasted foul! Shredded cloth turned to black smoke, which smelled of death. Shrieking, the dementor clawed at him until it could break free and fled to rejoin its fellows at the front gate. Without thought for the prefects -- or anything, really -- Felinus gave chase.

He appeared to the others right on the dratted creature's tail, four hundred pounds of possessive instinct and aggression. He was king here, and the intruders would be expelled, or they would not survive to regret it.

The sky was as black and threatening as the clouds before a heavy storm above them, dementor swarms causing the weather to quickly spiral into cold and gloomy patterns.

The students were putting up a fight, and the pride he had for their plight swelled the augury patronus just enough to chase off the dementor that had come between them, but two more quickly followed, and he had to take a few more paces back.

An elephant danced about and the students protested more about protecting the grounds. They seemed to have forgotten that the boundary would protect them against more than dementors. Then there was a snake, a wolf, and a great roar from Felinus.

The group began to close in, making it easier to work together to fight off what was amounting to more dementors than Professor Storm had seen in decades - as many as the photographs in the wizarding war and the accounts he taught the students. This could not be natural at all.

For every time the patroni pushed back and chased at dementors, more seemed to swarm in from above, all hungry to feast on the good spirits of the children and staff. Despite being split from the rest of the group, the Professor dropped his patronus, the augurey dissolving amongst the crowd of spectral animals and instead he sought fire - a barrier between them all and the dementors - enough heat and light to repel those that the patroni had not fought.

The flames crept from the end of his wand across the grass in a line, springing up from the dirt into a few feet, trying to keep his concentration as the horrible thoughts of several decades of blood, curses, fights and violence rose into his mind.

"INSIDE!" He insisted again, the flames licking away all that was good in the air in the oppressive atmosphere.

As he looked up the dementors were recoiling, the edges of the swarm were away over the forest, others were turning, the worst was hopefully over, easier prey to be had elsewhere.

"Enough! You have done enough!"

It felt like many hours had passed but it was all over in moments.  But the caretaker...!

"Felinus!" 

The cursed leonine wizard and Branwen had been becoming close and he'd just gone bolting after the fleeing Dementor as it flew to rejoin the dark patrol.  She had no idea if Dementors would want a taste of a wizard so afflicted with a beastly form, but she'd never known a Dementor to behave kindly at all. 

"Felinus!"  she called again, even as she moved with the group back into the safety of the castle walls.

There, breathing heavily, dripping with sweat and tears, the older witch looked around at the others.  The other professors, the students.  Thank Merlin they were all safely stood, and still in possession of their spiritual aspects.

And then came a different feeling.  "What were you thinking! I nearly hexed you myself! Disobeying in a moment like that! I shall never fathom the foolishness of youth.  No! Not a word!"  she raised a warning hand in the air when one of the teenagers attempted to retort.

"No.  So help you if one of you had died.  You'd never hear the end of it from me."

Despite her apparent wrath,  Branwen was relieved and proud.  But the stress of a pack of disobedient teenagers had not helped her heart! 

It seemed like an eternity, but eventually they were inside, and the dementors were retreating like a horrific localised cumulonimbus cloud. The cries of people he'd met and fought in the past, the visions and memories - an overriding bitterness which made him want to berate and physically punish the students for their efforts prevented him from even speaking for the first few moments.

Satisfied the gates were firm, he finally dragged his eyes from them and took a proper look at who had been out there, from his colleagues to the students.

"Any injuries?" He asked in a rough, hollow voice, not like his usual. If anything he looked older, winded as he recovered. "No, then to the kitchens." He instructed, taking another look back at the gates. They would have to notify the Ministry of the incident. He would only hope they wouldn't feel Branwen and the group were ill prepared or foolish for attempting to defend the school with the help of students.



End - as there's been no posts for a while