9:58 AM

Two hours after breakfast, Rick stood in the center of the room, surveying his handiwork with something close to satisfaction.

Desks and chairs shunted off to the side, they left ample space for activity, minimizing the risk for damage as well as leaving plenty of room for movement. Which was just what he wanted; in front of his desk – facing the students – was a row of black, wedge-shaped appliances made of metal, a no-nonsense spout jutting from their hulls. A glass sphere rested on their backs, nearly three feet in diameter.

And at their cores was a single, fuzzy yellow ball, hanging in perfect suspension. Strands of light slithered across their surfaces like a loosely woven shell—connecting them to the innermost frame, flickering and golden. Under the rays of sunlight filtering in through the windows, they practically glowed. Just looking at it– at them all –made Rick’s face do a rare, terrible thing:

It smiled. And it stayed that way even as the door opened and students idly trickled in, bringing with them their conversations from breakfast. Hell, if anything, it only grew.

“Whoa,” murmured a student, eyes wide. “What is that?”

The smile dropped like a fly; Rick scowled. “Sit down, all of you,” he snapped, shooting the girl a withering look. And then pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. Deeply.

They did what they were told, though, which mollified him somewhat, so when a few of them began to take out their things he looked to them with a faint grin. “Put those away,” he told them, and the grin broadened into a smirk. “You won’t be needing them.”

From Alex’s side, Whitman blinked—polite, of course, as ever. “Sir?”

Still grinning – smirking – Rick folded his arms. “For the next couple of weeks we’re practicing nonverbal magic,” he said cheerfully. “Today it’s Arresto Momentum. And to do that–”

He strode over to one of the mechanisms and, resting an elbow on its sphere, leaned against it. “These are self-sustaining lobster ball machines,” he said, giving it a friendly pat. “So-called for their only purpose, which is to provide a steady supply of something to hit.

“But for today’s lesson, your job isn’t to hit them, but to stop at least three out of five before they hit you. No shields, transfiguration, or hexing. Hex them, and you fail for the day.” Rick’s grin broadened like a rising sun—lazy, warm and brilliant. “Now. I need volunteers.” Without waiting for an answer he pointed out the lucky three, “you, you, and you. Up.”

He stared, implacable, until they did, facing their cannons at various distances with varying degrees of confidence. The smile returned, wholly, sinfully satisfied. “On the count of three. One... two...


“Bombarda,” he purred, and they fired, pelting the students with yellow blurs faster than they could blink.

Zia was just getting back into the swing of things. She’d come back two days ago, after a five-day contest of who could mourn the most. Zia did compete against the others, occasionally falling into crying jags and cuddling herself up in mama’s arms. Her mama was devastated by the news of Ronaldo’s death, and found that holding her littlest baby close in her arms was like a comfort blanket. Luckily Zia didn’t mind the affection, she and her mother had cried in their own little basket of arms and legs and faces.

Today marked the first day of her return to classes. Most of the professors had been fair and understanding. Zia ignored the concerned look in their eyes just as she ignored everyone else’s. She tried looking down but that didn’t hide the fact that she had bags beneath her eyes, she looked so tired - they were puffy, from the occasional crying, and they were unspeakably sad. Her hair wasn’t its notorious bright pink anymore, but was mostly brown.

Charms was her favorite class and she knew she was good at it, hence the choice to make this class her return to school. She was most interest in it and could focus on that, instead of anything else. She had even worn her uniform, or most of it anyway. She’d been rebelling against it for so long now that she forgot what clothes were part of it. One thing she was sure would make it to her ensemble was her 13 ring.

She was surprised when Professor Donovan instructed them to put away their books. Sometimes professors went a little ‘crazy’ and had more hands-on activities, instead of lecturing on details from ancient old books. Zia had to admit that she was a fan of this new philosophy.

These are self-sustaining lobster ball machines,” he said, giving it a friendly pat. “So-called for their only purpose, which is to provide a steady supply of something to hit.

Lobster ball machines. Growing up on the coast of Italy provided Zia with a full education of the many different types of seafood. She was alarmed when the professor said that they’d be tossing them at each other. More incentive to hit it, she supposed. Especially if they were pissed off, being stuck in those strangely-shaped boxes. Zia had not ever seen anything like it.



[I know what lobster ball machines are... Zia doesn't =P]

Jordyn had been prepared with the requisite reading and had anticipated discussing it during class today.  She had all of the most relevant passages marked and she’d done her fair share of practicing while on patrol.  The tip of her wand had flickered with wordless ‘lumos’ and ‘nox.’  Sure, it wasn’t a bright light – but it happened.  Jordyn had been quite proud of herself for managing. 

So, she’d be happy to bring her little practical application into the discussion… that they didn’t seem to be having.  They were instructed to put their books away (oh no!) and the professor announced they’d be practicing their wordless magic with a spell they’d learned in their second year.  Jordyn recognized it immediately, it was always in review materials for the big exams.  It’d been on their OWL exam.  And then brought out the strangest thing she’d ever seen. 

It was like a box… But it had a giant tunnel sticking off of it.  She didn’t really understand how it did it, a charm she supposed – given the class, and when he said something to hit…

The puzzle pieces nestled together fairly quickly after that and Jordyn’s face fell.  That thing was going to throw things at them.  And the requirements for the day?  Jordyn felt her heart drop.  She didn’t want to fail!  But only five chances?  It was like she could feel her knees shaking and she anxiously thumbed at the tip of her wand, praying she would not be seen.

And cursed her ever present desire to be in the front and able to see everything.  Ducking her chin, she fastidiously avoided eye contact with anyone – perusing the scuffed tips of her boots.  Her intense staring didn’t seem to help her.  When she heard a “you” someone in back pushed her forward and Jordyn looked up, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. 

She was pitched forward, wand out and her throat was suddenly dry.  It was almost lucky she didn’t have a voice.  Almost.  The ringing in her ears and spiraling thoughts shielded her from the sound of her professor’s voice and the rushing of blood and adrenaline, she stabbed her wand forward and thought of the spell.  Apparently, however, the misuse of a wand motion combined with the wrong spell and panic…

The ball certainly didn’t hit her.  But it’s combustion in midair was probably not what Professor Donovan wanted.  She nervously glanced sideward, hoping to gauge his expression and wait for the next ball. 

Nicholas didn't exactly have  many classes anymore, and for the most part he enjoyed them all given that he'd chosen them cause he did.  Of course, Charms was one of his favorites.  Especially with the current professor, who while cranky made up for it in sheer sexiness. He also wasn't nearly as distracted by the man's looks like he had been in the beginning of the term, but that didn't mean he didn't notice.

Then he'd heard the magic words, the real magic words, "Put those away, you won't be needing them", and he wasn't talking about wands.  And apparently it was hopefully going to be that way for a few weeks. There were few things he liked to hear more than they'd actually be doing magic.

His attention turned to the creations in the room, he'd been puzzling over what they could be since he'd entered the room (early of course, to have a reason to look for a while), though he knew enough of the professor to keep his thoughts mostly to himself and avoid irritating Donovan.  And he had no idea what a lobster machine was, though quickly got the picture once the point of the lesson was described.

He was happy that the Professor pointed at him—okay Donovan might have been pointing at Alison but he would have volunteered if the man had actually asked.  He stepped forward before Alison could and took a position in front of the middle enchanted lobster thrower.  Where he got too good a view of Jordyn's ball exploding, barely leaving him time to focus on his own ball.  The waved his wand, and said the spell silently.  The ball visibly slowed, but not enough to keep him from getting hit in the chest.  Though it had slowed enough that it barely stung.

He smiled as he readied himself for the next one.  This was going to be fun.  He knew Arresto Momentum.  It was a fun spell, and they'd learned it a long time ago.  He'd been practicing non-verbal spells for a while and while transfigurations were still harder than'd he prefer to admit, charms were getting easier.  Especially the ones from the first handful of years at Hogwarts.

The next ball shot out at him.  He waved his wand and thought the spell in his hand.  The ball streaked to a stop.  Not an immediate stop like the spell usually did but he'd take it. He dropped his wand arm and the ball dropped to the floor with it.  He was going to get this right.  He readied himself for the next one.  He risked a glance at the professor to judge his reaction, before looking back in the direction of the ball speeding toward him.

Nicholas waved his wand and the ball stopped, it still hadn't stopped dead but it had stopped quicker this time.  He let the ball drop and the next one followed as soon as the previous one hit the floor.  With another wave of his arm the ball stopped, dead.  No slow down.  He had a grin on his face, that one had been perfect as far as he was concerned.  And he'd passed the lesson on his first time up.  Assuming they even got more than one go at it.  He let the fourth ball drop, shifted his stance and readied his wand.  His last ball in the set of five shot toward him...he was pretty sure it was faster this time.

With one last wave of his arm, Nicholas let the spell fill his mind, and he watched as the projectile stilled in midair.  "Professor,"  He said, "Any chance of getting some of these installed in an empty classroom.  It'd be much better than sacrificing the common room pillows,"  he finished glancing at the charred remains of Jordyn's first ball.

Lessons were becoming increasingly challenging in her last year at Hogwarts, Ligeia noted, as many of the insctructors were stressing the use of non-verbal magic. In Defense the other month there has been shield practice with silent casting as the focus. Ligeia's first thought when Professor Donovon unveiled the classroom arrangement was that he had crafted the orb chucking spheres for the Defense class.

She was seated off to the side doing her best observations of the current vounteers. She could imagine why the professor might want a client class after she had overheard about the antics of a troop of jarveys when the fifth years had a Silencing Charm lesson!

Unlike his classmates, Micah wasn’t nearly so lucky.

He stepped into the center of the room, ears already burning a preemptive red. It was old news that he wasn’t the most... comfortable with attention, or pressure, especially when the likelihood of failure was so high—but he never felt the knowledge more keenly than he did now, in moments like this. He wasn’t as confident as Jordyn or as athletic as Nicholas, and from the looks of things today’s lesson demanded both. Or at least, decent reflexes—which Micah didn’t have much of, either.

That it was so soon after breakfast... The meal sat uncomfortably in his stomach.

But Rick stared them down, expression immovable despite the relaxed set of his shoulders, and so Micah joined his peers, trudging past looks of pity and sympathy until he, too, faced his cannon, eyeing it with apprehension. As the professor counted down, the Hufflepuff shot his friends a panicked look; there was no way this would end any way other than badly–

And he was right. The first one hurtled towards him with terrifying speed, and after Jordyn’s explosion it was all he could do to throw up his hands.

“Ow!” Pain blossomed where it had hit. Micah covered it with his other hand, clutching it as he backed away. But there was little time to much else other than to glance at it before it the machine spat again, pelting him with another, and then another, too fast for him to even think the words, much less cast them.

Dread and panic piled on him, threatening to freeze. He was going to fail at this rate, completely, utterly humiliate himself in front of everyone—his worst fear come true. He had to do something–!

Desperately he flung out his arm, pointing. Arresto Momentum! he thought wildly, and stared in shock when it worked.

It worked. It actually worked.

Ecstatic, Micah turned around to look at his friends—and completely missed the last ball speeding towards him as the fourth one dropped harmlessly to the ground.

Thud.

As the tennis balls surged ahead like fuzzy little comets, Rick observed their progress with a peaceful air so palpable, it bordered on obscene.

Bevans did well—which was disappointing, but hardly surprising; the kid was a part of the school’s dueling club, apparently, and got four out of five. Not bad. Luckily there was still Dimbleby and Gallagher, and to Rick’s delight neither student disappointed.

The Slytherin’s first attempt literally went up in flames. Burning scraps of felt and rubber scattered across the room, filling it with an unpleasant, acrid smell. A few students even cried out in dismay, hastily brushing debris off their laps or arms. With a smirk Rick pushed off from the machine he’d been leaning on, idly stepping back until he bumped against the edge. It broadened into a full grin when he caught Jordyn’s gaze, sharp and wicked—the only warning any of them would get before he set off the second round.

She got the next two, successfully stalling them before they reached her, but the rest proved too quick, hitting her mercilessly in swift succession.[1] Beside her Gallagher fared even worse; after a string of failures he finally succeeded on the fourth try, but his distraction cost him: the last one knocked the kid flat on his ass.

Another Hufflepuff – June, or something – rushed towards him, dropping to her knees to kneel beside him. With a sigh, Rick made his way towards them. Gingerly he eased into a crouch. “Let me see,” he said, distantly aware that the Gryffindor was speaking to him. Though his tone lacked its usual bite, it was still authoritative, and took on an impatient edge when the seventh year was too slow–

A black eye. Rick drew his wand. Episkey, he thought, and as the swelling went away, looked at Ji-Hyun. “Take him outside,” he added, because he wasn’t completely heartless.

Rising to his feet, he glanced at Nicholas and Jordyn then. “Ten points to Gryffindor and Slytherin,” he said, affording both students a nod. He paused. “And five to Hufflepuff.” The kid had failed, but with the machines speeding up with every round, just getting one of the last two was a feat in and of itself.

“Get into groups,” he told the pair, jerking his head towards the rest of class before settling his gaze on them. “One per cannon. I’ll leave it to you guys to figure out who’s going first, but if there’s too many in a group you’ll go wherever I tell you to.” He walked back to his desk, resuming his perch. “And for the love of God, pay attention. If you get a concussion, I’m taking points off. We clear? Good.”

Rick waited just long enough for them to sort themselves out. Once they had, he raised his hand like a threat... and dropped it like a flag.

The cannons fired, faster than before. At the first yelp of pain he picked up his mug and folded his arms, taking a sip and smiling faintly in contentment.

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TLDR: There are (5) machines total. Students form groups for each one, decide who goes first/after/last among themselves, and proceed to take turns until class is over. Like Quidditch, please indicate which cannon your student has chosen (#1, #2, etc.) at the top of your post and how their entire turn went in some way. Every cannon will wait until the student is ready to begin. Once everyone has had their first turn, the machines speed up considerably more than they already have. Tampering with a cannon will result in heavy point deduction and detention. Thanks!

(+10 for Slytherin, +10 for Gryffindor, +5 for Hufflepuff)

1.	Discussed with Jess!

#4

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Indi, as a rule, was not enthusiastic about charms.  She liked divination, she liked herbology – charms was just something to take.  Interesting enough, of course, and useful, but she wasn’t going to be standing near the front or like… doing things unless it was really time to do it. 

She was glad too, because she could stand behind Zia and yawn a little – breakfast seemed to creep earlier and earlier as the year wore on.  And that meant the lackadaisical Gryffindor felt much the same about classes.  She wasn’t so much a fan of this class because it seemed like everything was so… competitive.  Couldn’t they just learn together and be okay with that?  Did they have to put themselves at risk of welts and bruises to learn non-verbals? 

Indi wasn’t going to ask that question of Professor Donovan, she was sure it wouldn’t go over well, and while she was all for the detention thing… it seemed stupid to get it for something she knew wasn’t going to do anything.  So, rather than indulging in the competitive, meanness of the whole thing, Indi decided to cheer classmates on. 

Others might have been too afraid or whatever, but Indi was going to let everyone know she supported her classmates and she whistled quite loudly for all three of the students at the front: even the Slytherin Head Girl who could really use some gillyweed.  Seriously.  Too bad she’d probably write up everyone in the building if she was offered a joint. 

But her cheers were sincere and upon finishing, Indica immediately circled up with some of the people she was near to do this.  “We got it,” she said breezily – mostly because she didn’t care, and being near the fourth of the machines responsible for the projectiles, Indi knew that no matter what happened she’d be able to find some gilly after and make her day better. 

She went first of her group, stepping in front of the machine and stared it down - as though that would help it be easier.  Fun fact: it didn't.  It was brutal.  The first hit actually stung!  Indi frowned, her mind immediately went to a salve she could use to make it better, but that didn't help either since the next ball hurtled at her.  The way it hit her stomach she actually grunted.  Indi put her wand out and tried to direct the spell at the following projectiles.  She finally resorted to jumping out of the way because she wasn't making any headway. 

Indi hated charms.  She hated those demonic yellow balls even more.  It couldn't be over fast enough. 

At least she'd be able to cheer for the next person, she thought and lowered her wand after she missed all five.  "Don't let it get you in the stomach," she offered to the next person, clapping them on the shoulder, "You can do it, I'm sure!"

#2

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What was it about projectiles and seventh year? They seemed to have been featured in both DADA and Charms, this year. Perhaps it was simply a sign that their professors had had seven years too many with them and were exacting their revenge or, perhaps, it was indicative of what was going to be on their NEWTS. Either way, Professor Donovan had set a respectable task with fairly narrow expectations: use only one charm and don't mess up.

At least, for the time being, it was a fairly straight forward exercise and a familiar charm. Thanks to quidditch and polo, he had fairly decent reflexes and eye-hand-stick coordination. As long as there were no extraneous distractions, it should be a fairly uneventful demonstration.

The Ravenclaw stepped up to their group's canon and held his wand at the ready. At Professor Donovan's directive, the canons started lobbing their tennis balls.

Five pummeled at him in quick succession. He focused his attention on the first flying tennis ball.  It quickly became clear why nonverbal casting was advantageous in this scenario.  Arresto momentum was a long incantation and the balls seemed to be coming at him faster than he could have spoken! 

At this speed, the task was tough, but doable.  One of the last casts hit the ball off side and forced it into a spin rather than stopping it.  But, at least, the spin was enough to change the ball’s path and it sailed by his shoulder to bounce off the back wall. 

Too bad dogs couldn't come to class; Baldur would have had a blast rounding up all the balls that went astray.

#3

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Virgil liked Professor Donovan. Not precisely for the same reasons most of his similarly hormone-riddled peers did. He liked Professors who made it their business that you did not forget what they sought to teach. But this... this was going to be a lasting lesson in more ways than one.

As he stepped forward and held his wand, shoulders slumped indolently and eyes glaring in suspicion at the cannon, he knew it was not going to end well. He bruised easily. Carter used to call him Golden Apple but she might have been more accurate if she'd called him a peach instead. The Slytherin didn't see the first three tennis balls coming, two that impossible to avoid.

Smack-smack!!

Right into his ribs! Virgil cried out in surprised, stepping back and somehow tripping over his feet. He threw out a single arresto momentum, which caught one ball in mid-air but did nothing to stop the fifth from catching him on the temple as he fell backwards on to his arse. He didn't even try to get up right away and remained on his back for a moment, groaning softly. Students who actually took Defences had a definite upper-hand.

And possibly a higher pain threshold.

Virgil forced himself to sit up, timidly reaching under his robes to rub the sore spots that would no doubt be in Ravenclaw shades by the end of the class. "Not a concussion," he muttered for good measure and stood up with all the lethargic grace of a disgruntled cat. His head was throbbing but the ball hadn't quite managed a straight hit, only enough to bruise the corner of his forehead. He shuffled back to give the next person their turn, grabbing at the next-closest classmate's sleeve and tiredly leaning against them until it was his go to be pummelled once more.

#3

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When the first tennis ball for the lesson hit its mark, Gracie cringed in sympathy. An explosion wasn’t much better — Merlin the smell of burning rubber never improved – but it was definitely a step up from getting hit. She knew tennis, even if it was only a passing acquaintance; those things hurt.

As Virgil hobbled past, she gave his arm a comforting squeeze.

Others stepped forward to take their places. Gracie spared another moment to brace herself – to eye her cannon warily, to bite her lip and roll her neck – before stepping forward as well, stopping almost level with the others and adjust her stance, just as she would for a duel.


Then,


pooh


Balls hurtled towards them, swift and brutal. But Gracie sprung into action, not to be caught off-guard. Arresto momentum!

The first jerked to an immediate stop. Triumphant, she grinned.

But there was no time to rest on her laurels; hardly a second passed before the second one was shot, then the third. She dodged number four just to have a shot at number five, twisting abruptly, and felt her side cramp in retaliation.

Almost wildly Gracie flung out her wand. Arresto momentum! she thought, hard as she could.

It stopped. She let out the rest of her breath. And gulped in another one, larger than before, when her lungs protested—only to cringe. Ow.

By the time the last of the students had taken their final turn, Rick had achieved inner peace. Contentment. One might even say happiness, because the smile on his face could only be described as ‘blissful’. Satisfaction came off of him in waves.

True to form, Whitman – the creepy one – aced all five, stopping them all with an ease that made Rick’s brows drop into a frown. But he was the exception, an anomaly, and so he was awarded ten points, if begrudgingly.

As for the others…

“Three points for Gryffindor, five for Ravenclaw, and eighteen for Slytherin,” he drawled, as he marked off the last of them, and when he looked up, gave them and their bruises a truly dazzling smile, dimples and all. “Good class, everyone.”

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(+3 for Indi, +5 for Sasha, +3 for Virgil, +5 for Gracie, +10 for Theo)