School Year: Adult
Link to your encyclopedia thread: RAWR
Patronus you are applying for: Wolverine (gulo gulo)
Describe why this fits your character:

Reducio

Galahad sat in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on what was already a dark and dreary day around Hogwarts. There was a fine dew covering the grass as it ran down to the Great Lake and a soupy mist had descended on the Hogwarts Grounds. It was all rather fitting in Galahad's opinion: he was trying to learn the Patronus charm and the conditions were exactly what it seemed like a swarm of dementors would conjure.

He'd been fascinated by the idea of a Patronus ever since he'd first heard about the charm and had long wondered what form his Patronus would take when he produced (to him it had to be a matter of when because what kind of Auror couldn't produce a corporeal Patronus?) one. He'd long held a fascinated by birds remembered watching the ospreys fly around looking for fish when his family would visit the beach. Would it be that? The predatory bird surveying from afar before moving in to strike. Perhaps it would be a wolf. Everyone knew about the "lone wolf", moving through like with no companionship, reliant on only themselves for survival. Galahad thought this might be a natural fit given how he'd already started isolating himself, cutting himself off from connections, so as to not be vulernable once he'd become an Auror.

Still, Galahad realized it was time to stop fantasizing and actually see what he got. He looked down at the parchment in front of him and concentrated on his notes one more time. He wanted to make sure he had everything exactly right when he tried to cast the spell. He took a deep breath and started to focus his mind carefully. He had been debating which memory he should try to use to conjure his Patronus for a few days. He decided to start with one of his most vivid memories: the day he was told he was a wizard and would be going to Hogwarts. Even then, Galahad knew about Arthurian legend because he'd looked up his namesake, so he had looked up King Arthur and his court, and had always been fascinated by Merlin, and now he had the opportunity to learn all about it. He remembered that feeling of floating on air when he'd found out he'd be going. He focused on this memory and on that feeling and started to draw circles with his wand. He did this for a few seconds before he clearly and loudly spoke the incantation, Expecto Patronum!... and nothing happened. There was nothing... not even an incorporeal whisp issued from the end of his wand. He refocused and tried a couple more times before disappointingly concluding that the memory was not happy enough.

Galahad was undeterred by this initial failure and started searching his memory for another, happier one. He searched back through his childhood and tried to find something that was suitably happy. It wasn't necessarily a struggle as his childhood had been happy but he needed to find something really happy. Finally, he thought he'd found one, the spring before he'd come to Hogwarts his dad had let him join in with his folk band on the piano and play a few songs. He remembered, especially when they were playing Waltzing Matilda feeling the energy just flowing through everyone in the room. He could feel his heart dancing inside him to the tune of the music and it was the first time he realized just how magical music could be. There hadn't been many people there watching because they were just messing around at a neighborhood get together, but he could clearly hear in his mind everyone boisterously singing along to the chorus and how he felt that, in that moment, he could accomplish absolutely anything. He focused on the memory and started making circles with his wand again and said the incantation. This time, it wasn't corporeal but it was there, incorporeal but still more than a small whisp. For the first time he thought he was really on the right track.

Over the next week he would practice whenever he had a free period or a few moments. Finally, back in Defense Against the Dark Arts class the next week they were practicing again. He focused in on the memory again and could feel the music flowing through him as it had on that day, the waltz his own heart was performing in time with the music, and as he focused he could hear the boistrous singing in his head, "... and the baaaaaand played Waltzing Matilda!". He started to make the motion with his wand again and this time he was so into it he shouted the incantation. And it happened: a blinding light exploded from the end of his wand and he caught a glimpse of something silvery running around the room on four legs as he tried to see what it was. After running around for a few seconds it settled itself in front of him, as if it were looking at him.

It took him a few seconds to place which it was but he did know the creature: it was a wolverine. And he thought about it and it made sense to him. He'd never seen one in person because in Europe they lived mostly in the Nordic countries but he knew of its fearsome reputation. It was known as a solitary animal that, despite its site, could take down enemies that were bigger than more powerful than it. Besides the relationship he had with his dueling partner, Galahad kept to himself and led as solitary of an existence as you could in this castle. And he'd shown in dueling that he could defy the odds and win fights he shouldn't win as he recalled a where his partner was knocked out but he'd still been able to win the fight two-on-one through his refusal to back down and his determination. Yes... in his opinion a wolverine was a fine Patronus for an Auror.

STATUS: Pending, Opeila 21/07
The memory you chose seems rather random, it has no connection to your story. Why is this memory of all the happiest, strongest that he has? What makes it so special? Approved, Opeila 22/07

School Year: Durmstrang Graduate
Link to your encyclopedia thread: Here
Patronus you are applying for: Eurasian Magpie (Pica pica)
Describe why this fits your character:

Reducio

WC: 976/500

The light from the hearth served to cast a warm glow across the room, the warmth providing a welcome buffer against the frigid air outside. The only other source of light came from the flickering flame of a small candle carefully situated atop a weathered desk. A leatherbound book was the only other occupant of the desk, the worn tome opened towards the middle to display the knowledge held within. Amalia scanned the content of her current page once more, the fingers of one hand idly fiddling with the edge of the paper. The other hand served to prop her head up, cheek smashed against her palm and no doubt leaving an imprint. She’d been here for hours already, reviewing every last bit of information she could find on relatively short notice.

A corporeal patronus was not an unfamiliar concept in the least. It just hadn’t been something on her immediate radar of current interests until just shy of a week ago. One of her schoolmates had been rather gleefully showing off the admittedly impressive form of a newly discovered swan patronus. The girl had bragged about how easy she’d managed the feat. Whether the boast was actually true or not mattered little. It was the principle of it.

If there was one thing Amalia was not, it was easily discouraged. She knew the ability to form a patronus into a corporeal form was not an easy task by any means. It’d taken some time for her to even be able to get the non-corporeal version of the spell down. But she relished in the prospect of a potential challenge. Which is precisely what the last week of attempts had proven to be. And how she found herself sat before a book on the subject well into the long hours of the night. Part of her wanted to blame her struggles on the environment. Durmstrang was not exactly known for making it easy to draw happy memories to the forefront.

As satisfied as she figured she could be from scouring the pages, Amalia finally flips the book closed with a dull thud. Time to try and put those comprehension skills into action once more. While there were likely better pursuits to put her efforts into now that she was nearing the end of her schooling, the Swedish student wasn't ready to admit defeat just yet. She also wasn’t above the occasional indulgence in the name of knowledge.

The teen stands from her seat with a quiet groan and dutifully moves into the center of the room to take advantage of a more open space just as she had the previous nights. Her last attempts had only yielded the typical shapeless mist reminiscent of the non-corporeal variety. Disappointing, but it served to at least keep her motivation up. She’d figure the spell out one way or another, she had to.

As with the previous nights, Amalia lifts her wand before her and focuses in on the tip of it. She'd been cycling through some of the various memories she would consider 'happy' but had yet to find success. So the list would continue. There’s a pause as she tries to conjure a different memory, brow wrinkling slightly in concentration. Her success at school, acknowledgement of a job well done by her parents, even the tutoring lessons with Ville had proved lacking when it came to forming the patronus into anything beyond a mist. She already knew they wouldn't be strong enough.

A moment passes before another faint memory seeps into the forefront of her thoughts. Amalia blinks and straightens her posture slightly in vague surprise. She'd...forgotten about that. Shifting in place and focusing in on the memory, she closes her eyes as she works on recalling the details. It was a day that she'd come down sick, somewhere around the age of 7 or 8. A potion had been administered fairly quickly, but she remained slightly under the weather for the remainder of the day. It was also one of the rare occasions that she could remember her father not maintaining his typical aloofness. He'd sat with her, curled up in the middle of her sprawling bed, for hours as he read to her and recited stories she had no context of. It hadn't mattered at the time. She'd just tried to soak up as much of the attention as she could.

With a deep breath, Amalia allowed the warmth of the memory to settle over her and begins the slow movement of her wand. "Expecto Patronum." A white light fills the room, overshadowing the firelight even with her eyes still closed. The teen blinks her eyes open a moment later and finds her jaw dropping in surprise. Shock that it actually worked.

A thin stream of light emerged from the end of her wand, ending in the rather unmistakable shape of a bird hopping idly across the stone floor. A slightly closer examination indicates that it must be a magpie, and the realization brings out a snort of amused laughter. While she didn't have much practical experience when it came to muggles, she'd read plenty of books over the years. She knew of the various superstitions associated with the birds, particularly when it came to witchcraft. The reputation as 'collectors' preceded them, and while she didn't care much for physical possessions, knowledge could be argued as a treasure of its own. The myths surrounding the birds were plenty.

Staring at the corporeal form with no small sense of wonder, Amalia twitches her wand slightly. The almost ghostly looking bird spreads its wings and takes to the air. It follows the path of her wand as she pivots and directs the spell in a quick arc around the room. A pleased grin settles into place before she dismisses the spell. Good things do occasional come from perseverance.

STATUS: Approved, Opeila 21/07

School Year: Adult
Link to your encyclopedia thread: Here
Patronus you are applying for: Siberian Husky
Describe why this fits your character:

Reducio

(Note: I have been given permission by Tuesday's and Galahad's RPers to use them in said memories.)

The Patronus charm; a charm that could protect its caster against the likes of dementors. They had not been creatures that Rion encountered daily during his stint as a Hit-Wizard. No, usually his job entailed tracking down dangerous magical criminals. He had been able to cast a incorporeal Patronus during his youth, but he had never managed to cast a corporeal Patronus. As the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, expectations were a bit different. How was he going to teach his sixth-year class about the importance of the charm if he could not produce a proper corporeal patronus? He refused to place anything but full effort into his class. So, it was with great determination that he stood within his classroom. It was at the cusp of the evening as to ensure none of his students would interrupt him.

A happy memory. He had many of them, most deriving from the carefree days of his childhood. It should be easy, right? At first, his mind traveled to the time that he and his grandmother had taught him how to bake eclairs, and how he had made a mess of her kitchen. He had expected her to scold him, but she told him that sometimes life had to get a bit messy in order for something good to come along. With a fond chuckle, Rion would straighten his back and twirl his elder wood wand, “Expecto Patronum!” He called out, watching as a thin wispy blue line shot out from the tip of his wand before fading.

The smile decorating his face slowly fell. He supposed a patronus charm was not a typical defensive spell. This had to do with how powerful a caster was. There were rumours that only the innocent could produce the corporeal form of the spell, but that was hogwash. Perhaps one whose mind was innocent could more easily disconnect from the world around them and find a connection to a truly happy memory without the bitter reminder of the sorrows life brought. The memory he had selected was happy, but there was the nagging reminder that his grandmother had left this world.

He would try again. This time, his mind would not reach as far back. A recent memory, the summer prior. He had traveled to New York City for a vacation and met up with a dear old friend, Tuesday, for a cup of coffee. With an affectionate arm wrapped around his shoulder as he showed him around the large city, mostly filled with Muggles. Regardless, it was his jokes that made Rion laugh, as they always had. His carefree demeanour had never failed to make him smile. As they were talking, a dog had rushed towards the two and had jumped on Mardi, causing him to dump his coffee all over his rather atrocious attire. The owner of the dog had been terribly embarrassed but ultimately thankful when he caught up to the canine, but Rion could not remember the last time he had laughed so hard. The dog had reminded him of a beloved pet he had owned during his young adulthood, a friendly Husky named Astin.

“Expecto Patronum!” Something began to form, the shape of something, canine in nature. The features were not quite there.

He was getting closer. Another memory, this time one of his first love, Galahad. He was in early 20s. He was sitting in his old shitty apartment, the only kind he could afford at the time. His hand had slid up to cup his date's cheek, this thumb affectionately stroking over the stubble of his beard. The distance between the two closed, though the awkward knocking of their noses hindered their kiss, it was quickly followed by amused chuckles. Their gaze locked, and Orion felt his heart hammering against his chest.

"I wish we could freeze this moment." Galahad had said.

"Me too, mon cher amour (my dear love), but every moment with you feels this perfect."

They grew closer once more, their lips brushing together before the force of something jumping on top of them drew them apart. Astin had decided his owner was not giving him enough attention and was now edging his way between the two of them.

The two glanced over at each other, before the two of them burst into laughter.

"No need to be jealous, Astin. You're perfect too." Orion cooed, scratching the dog on the top of his head.

“Expecto Patronum!” Another attempt, but this time, things were noticeably different. A shining wispy light burst forward, shimmering and swirling until it took the form of a large dog; a Siberian Husky. Just like the one that had knocked Mardi's coffee out of his hands, like Astin. The animal would run around the room, circling the French man before finally coming to a halt in front of him and curiously tilting its head. Orion was left chuckling in amazement and disbelief; he had done it.

Word Count: 824

STATUS: Approved, Opeila 21/07

STATUS: Pending, Opeila 13/08
Why a stork? Why does this animal fit your character?

STATUS: Approved, Opeila 20/08

Year: 7th
Encyclopedia: Click me!
Patronus: Death's-head Hawkmoth (Acherontia atropos)
Roleplay: Word Count- 1,925.

Reducio

Backdated to 6th Year, during one of the breaks.

"What is your happiest memory?"

The question hung in the room, weighing the air. It had been an unexpected inquiry, and a completely unrelated one in reference to the conversations had only moments prior. It distinctly threw off the bored milieu, lethargy invoked.

Xailah and Meadow Alptraum, the sole heiress's to their bloodline, laid sprawled on the floor of their ancestral home, watching the animated stars on the ceiling of the estate observatory stuck in their perpetual waltz. Such sad things they were- the stars- always suspended, always dancing, but never making it anywhere beyond the edges of the ceiling. A depressing thought, really; if not for the fact that they provided meager entertainment to their idle observers.

The question went unanswered for a beat, a minute, maybe five, before a sly attempt at changing the subject was made. It was mostly subconscious, but there was undoubtedly some resistance to answer. "You have been reading on patronuses, haven't you?" Xailah tried to pry, redirecting her own question onto Meadow in search for what could have possibly provoked the girl's initial question. Meadow was what? A third year now at Beauxbatons? Yes, that sounds about right. They'd be looking into the charm as they drew closer to sixth year- or whenever the French students learned it officially. Her sister's brows shot up, a giveaway signaling that Xailah was correct in her guess.

Without much of a thought to follow, Meadow fed easily into the sudden shift in topic, the spotlight now on her. "Uh huh. How did you know?" The younger girl cocked her head doggishly, questioning. "We haven't been looking at them long, but the lesson had me wondering what mine would be." She admitted.

Xailah nodded along. "I just have a way of knowing things." she waved a hand vaguely. In truth, Meadow's question had been one that stuck with her, after her own review of the spell in class some months ago. She hadn't been able to answer it then, and even now, she found trouble in finding the words to share it.

Or maybe, she just didn't know what that happiest moment was.

Xailah did not experience happiness in the same way most others did. She swaddled herself in contentedness, but true happiness was a rarity. She rarely found happiness in the people she surrounded herself with, or the experiences that occupied them. She often found that she was happiest when she was remembering little details from encounters- how the wind felt on that day, the feelings it invoked, the sights, smells, and sounds that could be found. She liked the things that reminded her that she was just as alive as the rest of the world was.

"So? What is it then...?" Meadow would worm her way back around to her initial question; which was expected, but not hoped for. Her sister gave an exasperated sigh. "Hmmm. This moment. Right now." Xailah chortled, joking with the intent to brush off her sibling's prying. "No, I'm being serious! Tell meeee!" The younger girl begged, in a whiny tone, immediately making her sister recoil in annoyance.

Xailah would ease into contemplation once again. She was quiet for a very long time; so long, one would have thought she forgot the question entirely. But, miraculously, she would provide an eventual answer. "Okay it is a bit silly but..." A small smile broke across her fair features, as she selected a very dear memory from the recesses of her mind. "Do you remember when we first brought Scrödinger home?"

"Yeah." Meadow nodded.

"And when he got out into the back garden that same night, and found his way up into the willow?" Xailah's smile widened into a grin as she recalled the moment fondly.

"Yes! And then you tried to get me to go up into the tree and get him! And you said he would be stuck up there forever if I didn't!" The younger girl shot up from the floor with an accusatory point of her finger, before easing back down to resume her observation of the the overhead stars.

"I did not tell you that!" The eldest fired back. Meadow ribbed her, sending both girls into a brief battle of playful (and possibly passive aggressive) elbowing. "You did too! I remember beca-"

"-Anyway," Xailah dismissed the accusation (whether or not it was truth, was not something she would admit here) with a lazy wave; promptly putting an end to their light jabbing. "And I had to go up the tree and get him myself-" She trailed off.

"-And then the branch he was on broke because he's so fa-" Meadow interrupted yet again, earning herself a sharp look. "-Impressively round." She fumbled for a save.

"Yes, but he was alright in the end." Xailah admitted.

"More scared than hurt. I would be too if I saw you scaling a tree to come get me." That received another sharp look, that warmed as it turned into laughter. The girls giggled, recalling the night; their panic, hasty planning, and the unexpected turn that ended with a broken tree limb. It was one of the few memories they possessed, were they had the opportunity to be children together.

They would settle eventually, their joy simmering down to quiet bubbles of laughter. Meadow wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, sighing. "So that is your happiest memory?" She asked in disbelief. "One of them." Xailah nodded. "I have many more just like it." She explained.

"Why?"

The eldest would find the answer quicker than she could have anticipated. Her joyful expression would sober into something undeniably soft. "Because that was the day we brought my best friend home, and that night I understood I would do anything for him."

This answer would bring an unanticipated pout to Meadow's face. "Oh, and here I thought I was your best friend. I see how it is." Xailah rolled her eyes. "You are, when he is not around."

Her sibling crossed her arms in faux protest. "I see how it is. It's fine I don't even really like you anyway!" She replied snottily before slipping back into her typical airy demeanor. "Sooooo... what's yours then? Your patronus, I mean."

There it was. The one question Xailah had hoped would be lost to nonsensical chatter. Her heart sank, her aura melting into something mellow and strange. "I do not know." A whisper, reluctant and hushed. "What do you mean you 'don't know'? Haven't you already studied the spell?" Meadow shot a puzzled look to her sister.

"I have..." Xailah muttered, reluctant to meet her sibling's gaze.

"And?"

"I was unable to summon one. When I tried to cast mine in class nothing came out. Not even a light or a wisp of magic." She recalled the moment bitterly, with a loose, dismissive shrug. It had been awful, embarrassing even; seeing everyone with their patronuses, and yet she couldn't even summon a light from her wand. As someone who took the world in her fist, molded and shaped it; hopelessness was something she rarely felt, but in that exact moment, it had driven it's stake deep into her chest. The wound it left, stung incredibly. Maybe she was to never meet her patronus.

The silence that followed the admittance was the longest one of them all. Meadow sent her gaze to a loose string on her clothing. "Oh." She picked at the strand with her nails, pulling and twisting it around her index finger. "I'm sorry." She mumbled.

"Do not be. You had no way of knowing." Xailahs gaze remained fixated on the ceiling, honed in on a singular star that desperately tried to dance off the edges of the shape it was confined to. Meadow's sincere apology could be felt without even looking at the girl. It unsettled both daughters to a degree. Eventually, the youngest would rise to her feet and awkwardly shuffle to the door. "I um, I think I'm going to go now. I'm really tired." She feigned a yawn. The eldest would only acknowledge her with a silent nod; knowing that it was only an excuse to leave. With that, Meadow quietly slipped away.

Xailah didn't budge. She just continued to stare on, her gaze on the stars unwavering. Fragments of happy memories floated aimlessly throughout her mind, almost stifled by her own repressed frustration. Can't even create a patronus. And you pride yourself a good spellcaster. The thought pushed a flat laugh from her chest. A hand would reach for her wand, slipping the slender wood from where it slept in a concealed pocket. She balanced the dark splinter between her index fingers: her left supporting the point while the right suspended it's base. She fiddled at it mindlessly, before allowing it to relax in a palm. With a flick of her wrist, she swished the ornate wood in a lazy motion. "Expecto Patronum." She mocked dryly.

Then, something miraculous happened: from the tip of her wand came a faint, fleeting glow. A response.

Her brows crimped at the flutter of light, her eyes dilating at the unanticipated sign. She was still for awhile, processing what it meant. The weight in the air was palpable. There was a chance. Tightening her fingers around the length of dark chestnut, she'd try again; "Expecto Patronum." Another glow, this one stronger than the last. It hummed with energy, pulsating in her gloved hand until it too eventually extinguished.

It was the farthest she had ever gotten with the spell. Her breathing slowed. She'd try again, this time focusing; this time, she was serious.

Her golden hues fell shut, her lashes fluttering. She'd search in that dark space, plucking memories from the crevices of her cortex. She'd gather a few before going deeper, picking them apart for more specific things: she'd recall the smell of peppery wood, the feel of smooth bark under her palm; the night's breeze on her skin, and the sound of Meadow's bubbly laughter entwining with Schrödinger's pitiful mewls. She held fast onto this memory, sinking her talons into it. Inhale. Exhale.

"Expecto Patronum!" She could see the presence of light behind her eyelids, and when she opened them she was met with a blinding, blue-white glow. From the ray fluttered a creature she was more than familiar with; it was a guardian of hers in a sense: a Death's-head Hawkmoth floated lofty through the air. Xailah lowered her wand, and put out her free hand, her fingers outstretched. The moth- slightly larger than it's brethren, but unmistakably belonging to the same breed- gravitated to her beckoning touch, perching lightly on her fingertips.

"Oh," the heiress breathed, warmth rising to her eyes in the midst of the creature's beautiful snowy glow, "Look at you. I am so happy to finally meet you." The insect hummed, as if trying to mimic the pattern of her voice. "I can decide on a name for you later. Pride and peace stirred within the young metamorph. "Come, we must inform Meadow!"

In an instant she was on her feet, rushing down the many halls in a whirlwind with her patronus fluttering after her, her heart pounding in her ears. "Meadow!" She practically slid into her sisters room in a moment of uncharacteristic gracelessness; the soles of her boots just barely screeching to a halt on the hardwood floor. "I know what it is-" She bent with one hand placed on her knee to stabilize herself, trying to catch her breath. "-It is a moth. One of ours."

Reducio

Clarifications for the sake of clarifying:
-This is backdated to Xail's 6th year, during an unspecified break. She couldn't produce a patronus at school. She produces one at home.
-Xailah's happiness stems from a conglomeration of feelings and sensations rather than a single memory itself. I.E, reminders of what made a memory a fond one. This is simply how she processes happiness due to her drifting and detached nature.
-Why a death's-head hawkmoth? Xailah is written as the epitome of change and cycles, and the moth has been a metaphor for her journey through life: one of metamorphosis, gaining one's wings, and growth in a literal and spiritual sense. To stay consistent with the theme of change, the insects are considered an omen of death; which is what Xailah is figuratively. She is change. She is transformation. The start and end of cycles. More so, she has been nurturing and raising these creatures for years, watching their cycles and how they adapt. They are also considered spiritual guardians to the family (in her original setting, they were gifts from the eldritch god they serve, which is unrelated for this AU, but I like drawing connections where I can). It is highly likely this patronus will be going through it's own metamorphosis later in the future, and may not keep this form (this is mentioned mostly for flavor, since I'm unsure if patronuses can actually be reapplied for).

Approved, Octavius Baird [11/8/2023]

School Year: Hogwarts Professor
Encyclopedia: Accio
Patronus: Thompson's gazelle (Eudorcas thomsonii)

Roleplay: Word Count - 1154

Reducio

Backdate to March, 2014. The Appalachian Mountains.

Unconditional support. It had been a constant in Sabine's life from the beginning. Perhaps, looking back on it, the way that Efua and Rami had encouraged every behavior and indulged in every desire she'd ever had was less than satisfactory, but what else could you do with child who had hardly known it in her early years? That unconditional support manifested in most things she did. The confidence exuding from Sabine Blumenthal was nothing short of unbelievable.

Most of the time.

The sun in the mountains had begun to set, sinking below the tree line and painting the sky with bright hues of purple and red that bled into one another in a snapshot of the Appalachian evening. At Sabine's side sat Emmett, his arm resting on his knee, a cigarette hung from his pointer and middle finger. They'd been together since her seventh year. Eight years, now. "I can hear you thinkin', Bee," Emmett commented, piercing blue eyes scanning the skyline before coming to rest on Sabine to his right. "What's it about?"

Sabine's hair, braided in a deep burgundy that caught the waning sunlight, fell from her shoulder to swing against Emmett's arm. "We've been here four weeks. Haven't seen a single Wampus cat," she tilted her head sideways, twisting the silver band of metal that wrapped around her ring finger with the opposite hand. A few times, she'd been convinced, but a Wampus cat (to the untrained eye, at least) looks the same as a mountain lion. The time spent in the mountains, while beautiful, had been wholly unproductive.

"Awww, Bee, you're saying you didn't come out here to spend time with lil' old me?" Emmett's agreement to go with Sabine to the mountains in the first place had hinged on the expectation that they'd be spending nearly ninety percent of their time together. After all, their engagement and the impending wedding were high on his priority list. Perhaps they should've been higher on Sabine's. "You know you're not gonna find one of them cats."

It had been a staple of their time together. Emmett would mention how Sabine didn't have the ability to find the creatures she was after, Sabine would fight him about it, they'd disappear into their misery for a few days, and they'd reconcile. "I'm not going to do this with you, Em. Not again."

Emmett snuffed out his cigarette beneath the heel of his boot, hands dangling against his knees. "'m not trying to be mean, Sabine. You take things too hard."

Sabine didn't take things too hard, she thought, Emmett just messed with her head. Perhaps the unconditional support she'd always received had made her soft, had coddled her. Or maybe Emmett was just being an ass. Again. "Go take a walk, Emmett."

...........................................................

It had been two weeks since Emmett's departure from the mountains. Two weeks of loneliness, but loneliness that Sabine thought was useful. Her ring finger felt empty, missing the ring that had become so comfortable against her skin. If he didn't want to believe that Sabine could be a successful magizoologist, he didn't want a wife, obviously. Even so, Sabine couldn't fight the feeling that she could've at least asked him if he could give her a lift down to town for some company. Stubbornness prevented her from leaving the cabin for more than she needed, and, in the darkness of the garden that sat outside the building, Sabine was longing for company more than ever.

"You don't need it."

Except she did. She longed for someone at her side, keeping her from going insane. Not even a person, just someone or something sitting nearby to keep her sane. And thus was borne the idea of a lifetime: magical means. Sabine's only idea had been a patronus. Entirely possible was the fact that Sabine, in her sleep-addled musings, had remembered her own inability to cast the charm in school (a spell that Emmett had always reminded her he learned to cast in mere hours) and, in an attempt to sate the feelings of failure, she decided her best bet was to cast a wisp of light with no sentience.

Loneliness drove people to insane things, after all.

The emphasis on happy memories had forever been one that Sabine never understood, though. Not that her life hadn't been happy, because it had. How, though, could one conjure up a singular memory and mark it as the happiest? Perhaps that had always been the source of her inability to cast a corporeal patronus, and the reason that her successes even with non-corporeal attempts were few and far between. "Expecto patronum," she whispered, flicking her wand. Her heart wasn't in it, not really. "Expecto patronum."

How could you remember one thing, one thing with such success and significance that you could remember it with hardly any fogginess, and call it the happiest memory of your life? Sabine had lived for twenty-five years. Twenty-five years of memory to sift through.

A flash of light at the corner of her eye caught Sabine's attention. Her head turned to the source. A shooting star, streaking across the sky with all the grace and elegance of a leaping gazelle.

The star sunk into the horizon with a twinkle. Twinly, something sunk into Sabine's mind from the deep recesses of time.

Sabine, aged fifteen, sat upon the beautifully sandy beach, overlooking the waves as they crashed into the shore. So violent, and yet so gorgeous in their disposition and the way the sea foam lapped at her feet. Alongside her, Efua and Rami. The trip was carefully planned by her parents, and Sabine remembered her reservation: how could you return to your home after so long away, knowing that your biological mother had given you up? The memories seeped through the sand and into Sabine, and she hadn't thought she could handle it. Before the trip, Rami had asked a simple question--are you ready? Sabine, sand between her toes and clinging to her arms in the wake of the setting sun, smiled. "It's beautiful." The sandy shores of Ghana, Africa. Home.

Tears pricked at the corners of her vision as Sabine was pulled from her reverie. The happiest memory. She'd found it, somehow, and she hadn't even been searching.

"Expecto patronum."

From the tip of her wand, a startling silvery-blue creature sprung. Leaping through the air, bounding around Sabine's head in all its slender, lithe glory. A gazelle, its horns twisted and its eyes wide with the wonder that Sabine felt. "Hello, beautiful," Sabine whispered as the spectral figure approached, dipping its head. It looked realer than anything she'd ever seen, even as nothing more than a manifestation. "You're just like me."

So far from home, where it was meant to be, the gazelle turned its head over its shoulder. As it disappeared in a gentle twist of silvery light, Sabine rightened herself. It was time to go Wampus hunting.

So why Thompson's gazelle?

Sabine has been written to represent resilience and an inner strength connected to her concept of home within herself. Even though she was raised in New York (which she loves), she's always felt uncomfortable with her lack of connection with the place she was born, Ghana. While the Thompson's gazelle is not native to Ghana, it is native to Africa as a whole. Gazelles are quick and often associated with the flight portion of the fight or flight reflex, but what is often not considered about gazelles is that they have the potential for incredible strength. Gazelles, specifically Thompson's gazelles, are known to intimidate predators in lieu of running. They utilize the bounding leap, where they jump at predators to startle them. These gazelles have been known to defend dead fawns of their species from predators to prevent their bodies from being eaten. In this vein, Sabine represents inner strength and an ability to connect with herself and her own perceived value to ward off those who doubt her (for instance Emmett, her ex fiance).

Approved, 19th of November, 2023 - Lamb

Reducio

Octavius as a teenager was perhaps a memory no one wanted compared to when he was a sweet and kind child. Octavius focused on the darker side of his life, or at least how he perceived life at that time. Every night he would write in his journal about how mad he was at his father for telling him he couldn't go see his friends for the day, but he would never put emphasis on the reasoning behind it. He prowled the neighborhood at night and would throw rocks throw windows. When he got caught, his father found out and had to punish him. Octavius didn't agree, so he tried to block out the reasoning behind it from his mind.

Every night, he wrote about the same thing, but the story changed every time. He, at that moment, didn't understand how hard it was to be a parent, to have to provide the consequences for bad actions. By the time he turned 18, he moved out of the house, trying to avoid contact with his father despite knowing they're bound to come across each other one way or another. But when he met Joseph Carter and adopted Clark, he felt a sense of pride and joy in him. He felt like it was probably the happiest moment of his life. Granted, adopting his son in 2017 when he was 6 years old was avoiding the process of having to change diapers and all, but it meant Octavius could do more with his son, with Joseph. With Simon and Ben, his other two kids.

But he couldn't forget the day he adopted Clark. The moment the part goblin ran into his arms and hugged him. Tears streaming down his face. He could love the kid, provide compassion and care. He could buy him all the toys he wanted, books if he liked to read and learn, clothes-- whatever would make Clark happy. That's all Octavius dreamed about in that moment. His happiest moment was when he discovered the joy of being a father.

Every night after that day, when he needed a pick-me-up, he would think about that moment. The moment he adopted Clark and when Clark showed love the moment he came in and saw Octavius.

But now that Clark is older and more destructive, he understands what his father did and why. He understands the difficulty of parenting such a hellish spawn. Despite Clark being the way he is, Octavius continued to think about his happiest moment, Clark's adoption.

Six years- nearly seven years- on January 29th, 2023, after Clark's adoption (in 2017), Octavius stood outside, determined to ensure that he'd touch up on his effort towards casting the Patronus charm. It had been years since he last cast it so a brief review would've been great to ensure whether he needed to put more effort into restudying the patronus charm or if he knew what he was doing.

Octavius held out his ebony wand, imagining the exact occurrence of Clark running into his arms to hug him at the age of six, this exact day six years prior. "Expecto Patronum." (Putting emphasis on the pec as PEK and tro as TRO-- ex-PEK-toh pa-TRO-num) He said, feeling the joy resurface throughout his body as he both made the spiral wand movement and thought of the kind, innocent, and heartwarming Clark he adopted.

A blue radiating light spawned from his wand, and a creature- inside the blue light- galloped as it ran. The creature was, in fact a red deer stag. The Red Deer stag was a major staple of his own childhood and journey he took with his father. They would tour the vast- and open- lands and have a miniature stakeout where they would sit near a tree and spend the day watching the land for any Red Deers.

The Red Deer Stag was literally a stag as it implied, and had personal meaning to Octavius, that every time he would clash heads with someone, even if he lost, his metaphorical antler would regrow. He was still a person; he would make mistakes. He just needed to learn from his mistakes, like he needed to learn that his father did what was best for him. That Octavius did what was best for Clark and took him in as if Clark was his own biological child. If his father had never punished Octavius, there was no telling what could have happened. He would've never got his happiest memory. Clark would've likely been up for adoption forever.

So, the stag was a representation, a metaphor for him to learn from his mistakes and to grow from it. Every time he gets shut down, corrected for his mistake, or get trapped in a heated encounter, the stag was the emblem.

STATUS: Approved, Opeila 20/11

Year: Adult I
Encyclopedia: Chiarezza, Eredità, Sublime
Patronus: [Black] Granian Winged Horse [Stallion]
Roleplay: 2,321 words

Reducio

October 31st, 2023
Inverness, Scotland

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Leonardo Ricardo Chiadovini had lost the ability to conjure a corporeal patronus. Worse still, he had lost the ability to so much as muster the pathetic wisp of silvery smoke that indicated a successful casting of the spell. His former patronus--a beautiful and glossy (if gaunt) black stallion--was reduced to ether once more, his scattered and inebriated mind unable to stitch together joys and fond memories that had once lingered like ghosts in the darkened corridors of his empty inner world.

For all the fondness and the joy that his once beloved memories had once carried--beautiful fictional fantasies found within the pages of the romantic authors and their proses concerning mortality, death, and the mysteries of the life beyond--those fragments of thought were no longer able to be conjured correctly, to be sewn back together into a coherent tapestry. They no longer could be used as the limitless pool of mirth and hope and human emotion that the guardian patroni were supposed to embody. They were stale, cold. Useless.

What had he left to find joy in, besides? Was not his life simply that of a pawn serving the purpose of the hand that controlled it? Did not his family legacy command him to act in their interests as opposed to his own, and had he not--with every attempt he had made to throw off the collar of these oppressive expectations--simply ended up more snarled up in wire and lacy ribbon? A beautiful captivity that most would refuse to exeunt on their own, and yet he was unable to so much as move in a way that those above him did not approve of because of those restraining binds, let alone escape them entirely.

And yet for all his errors, for all his mistakes that had culminated into his Sisyphean crash and the birth of his son, he was trying to make all of this work. He was trying to make this ramshackle and confusing relationship between himself and the mother of his child somewhat coherent and as polite as possible for the sake (most primarily) of the child himself. Regardless of the sins of the parents, the child had no hand in any of the situation he found himself in; the harsh reality of the splintering household that he in no way could understand due to the blissful innocence yet untainted by the rending fangs of the world outside.

After a heated disagreement between himself and Eviana that night, Leonardo was left alone with a now newly wailing Dante who had been awoken by the raised voices and harsh tones shared between his parental figures.

It was beginning to give Leonardo a headache, an unbearable and splitting one at that. One half of him wanted to simply ignore the circumstance and to drown himself with a strong one accompanied by letting his attentions wander into the false realms of a particularly pleasant book, the other half informed him that he had a job to do and that neglect of his job would ultimately result in proving Eviana's claims and insults towards him correct. Perhaps more out of spitefulness, then, did he attempt to cater to his one year old son and attempt to sate the child's cries instead of retreating into himself and the inner world as he normally would.

Draping his relatively lanky form over the side of the cradle by sinking to his knees, the seer captured the attention of the hiccuping child with a twist of his wrist and caused the glowing white light of a Lumos charm to leave a faintly phosphorescent tail wherever it lingered for too long. Dante's eyes were drawn first to the eyes of his father, and then to the light that had been magically procured; it was far more interesting than the mobile that had hung upon it several imitations of the celestial bodies and numerous stars.

"You like this strange magic, do you?" Came the soft query from the remotely intrigued Chiadovini as he tipped his head ever so slightly at the way that Dante's gaze followed the wizard's faintly glowing chestnut wand tracing idly in the air. "Perhaps you will be able to perform it for yourself someday. You may even go to a school to learn more about such things, learn about things beyond simple magic; like I did." He raised his brow, considering such a possibility. "This world is much larger than you can comprehend right now, even should you be told by others that it is small and insignificant."

Hard grey eyes softened. "They will try to tell you a lot of things, Dante." The tip of the chestnut wand trailed in and out of the reach of the baby, never close enough to be snatched away. "Some may be true, others may be complete fabrications. Not even I may be able to tell you the full truth in some matters." It was, naturally, the sad reality of the world as mortal eyes could pierce it. "Though, I can at least promise that I will try." He hesitated. "The most I can do, the best only for you, is to try."

Dante giggled with shining eyes and kicked his feet in delight at the curious lights. Leonardo only looked down with a grim expression and sleeplessly dark eyes. With the wavering of intention, the lumos charm flickered once and began to fade from his control, and the chestnut grain went dark once more after a resolute incantation of "Nox."

Dante yawned and started to nod off.

Blinking slowly as he rose up and away from the cradle, the Seer thoughtfully turned the chestnut implement in both hands, considering the possibility of doing something very foolish indeed.

He would attempt to cast the patronus charm one last time. For his own curiosity, and to put the notion and the internal debate that he tussled with himself over into the grave once and for all.

With a dry 'hmph' and a turn, the man breezed outside. A few dark birds startled themselves upon the Seer's arrival, cawing and croaking their pleasure with fluttering wings as they recognized the owner of the house that had a propensity for feeding them whenever he had the food to spare. Waving off the birds with a few impatient noises, the man pulled his warm black velvet cloak tighter around himself as his breath misted before him ever so slightly in the post-sunset chill of newborn night. The darkness of the small woods surrounding him on this part of the highlands lay before him, the dark birds that had once perched on the roof of the cottage now cozied themselves with puffed up feathers in the boughs of trees, prepared to watch whatever spectacle followed.

Leonardo attempted to call on something slightly different than a 'happy memory' as he tried for the first time in months to try this accursed patronus charm again. It was of an elusive yet present turning over of a sensation that he hadn't truly allowed himself to indulge in in the way that one healthily should. Something inherent to mankind, even though he himself had never felt that it was something that was inherent to him.

A small and curious creature that had bequeathed to it the name of 'Hope'.

The day that he had found the curious stash of muggle books as a young child, hidden away in one of the many mysterious corners of the demesne's library; continuing to read them even after learning of their non-wizard nature and despite the chances that his father would find and punish him harshly for it.

The day that he had stepped foot into the Great Hall without the pressure of those same foreboding eyes upon his back, when he had been sorted into the house of resourcefulness and cunning; of ambition unslakable and demanding of more and more from oneself and of the world about him.

The day in which he finally moved out of the demesne, the day that he settled here in Scotland; far away from all that he had formerly known and had instead embraced the remote freedoms that came with a notable distance from the place of his birth and breeding.

The briefest of returns to the school of his education, from which he had been torn suddenly and without warning for a reason that would become the cause of these spirals and interminable depths of insecurity and uncertainty...

Grey eyes flashed open with a disgusted curl lifting his lips. This wasn't working. There wasn't anything there in his memories that he could use that had not turned sour eventually. Nothing he had once prized had lasted forever; not his freedoms, not his brief spans of daring to hope. Everything that had once been a font of what one could consider his joy was now dry and corrupted, nothing was as if had once been. All that was old was tarnished brass, and all that was new...

All that was newborn...

The Seer set his jaw slightly as his dark brow creased once more. Perhaps there was a single thread left for him to grasp onto and hold tight to his breast yet. If there was no hope left for him, then perhaps he could still hold onto hope for another; for another chance bestowed by him that would lead to a freedom for another that he himself had been unable to obtain.

"Your path will never be mine." He murmured, looking up through the creeping branches of the silhouetted trees overhead. The ravens looked back down upon him, and he returned once more to the action of the casting, the memories yet to be made that he yet could still see in his mind's eye: a foggy future yet to unfold that his fingers could slip through or indeed make tangible. Silvery, shimmering, wavering between the realms of possibility and impossibility waiting for their time to come to fruition. There were so many memories... a disjointed feeling of having experienced all and yet none of them niggling ever so slightly at the edges of the Seer's mind. "Where I fell, you shall fly; where I am caged you shall come and go with ease." There came a familiar wan smile that was the Seer's signature, with only a slight flash of teeth to it. "May the sins of the father never taint the legacy of the son, what was no longer is for you. I will not make the same mistakes again, and you shall never share of the chalice I took when I thought there to be no other."

A promise, a promise. Nay, beyond a mere whispering of words that were hollow and dead on their own. An oath to the child with sooty black hair, with pale and colorless eyes, who had a smile that was still his own and not that of the world's, who had an innocence that still lived, and who had a father.

There was hope. If there was nothing else, there had to be hope.

"Expecto... Patronum."

What was once the dead darkness of night now exploded bright with pure white light, a powerful spell made only more powerful by these newfound memories made and yet to be made in full just as much as the nature of the Seer's natural potent spellcasting. The man had to squint his eyes and shade his face as a shape coalesced out of the straggling mists of silver and joined together into a form that was familiar to the Seer. A darkly glowing stallion with a wild mane and tail that swirled in the breeze of its own making. His patronus...

But something was different, as the Seer tentatively extended a hand to stroke the tangles of the great steed's mane. With a shake of its great head the stallion snorted a mist of silver from flared nostrils and pawed the ground; large feathered wings long and sleek, black as night like those of ravens extended from its back and broadened to embrace the skies. The Seer's eyes finally gleamed with the unconstrained awe of witnessing this new and redeemed iteration of his former guardian before softening, as his hand pressed lightly to the semi-corporeal creature's forehead. Silvery breath surrounded them both, like a mist of the woods that the Seer found so beautiful in the early dawn. "My guardian... you have returned..." The stallion pressed its head into his chest as he whispered to it. "I have missed you..."

A moment of silence. "Go." He released the patronus from his breast, running a hand down its taut neck and brushing aside the wild mane from the eyes of void. He nodded towards the darkness of the forest. "My old friend now new. Go then, and be free. Come back to me only when I need call you, for do you not deserve the same freedoms as I covet and request from you?"

With a twist of the chestnut wand and a small sweep of his leg behind him, the Seer bowed and scraped to the creature deeply with his right fist pressed to his heart. As the light began to fade, he righted himself just in time to observe the brilliant steed take to its heels and then to the skies by use of its majestic wings, its brilliant light flickering through the dark trees in snatches of pure white ever so slightly dulled by nature of its coat of midnight. Leonardo's face was illuminated in a mask of shadow and light for moments longer before the creature vanished with a finality and he was left once more in darkness.

The mobile spun with stars above Dante's crib as Leonardo set up a chair beside it so that he could read a book, a replication of those stars winking overhead as the last gleaming strains of the corporeal Granian winged horse patronus finally faded into the night.

Reducio

Why a [Black] Granian Winged Horse [Stallion]?
Patroni have been known to shift and evolve over time because their appearance is highly dependent on their summoners' experiences and changing outlooks on not only their life but on what they deem to be their happiest and most joyful memory. While Leonardo's old called-upon memories indeed befitted that of the black stallion in the past–a patronus whose connotations were affiliated with mystery, assertiveness, a hunger for power, acknowledgement of mortality and of one's own eventual death, and solidarity with self similar to that of the Thestral itself–those memories did become faded and no longer as powerful as they once were as he now entered into a tumultuous and shattering part of his life that forced him to reconsider who he was and where he was going in the grand scheme of things.

Instead of considering the raw implications of the Granian Winged Horse as an athletic and bold character thrilled by the prospects of movement and vivacity, it is instead a better idea to observe and annotate the characteristic traits of such a creature to indicate the characteristics of Leonardo capable of conjuring such a bold creature that (decidedly) has dissonance with the classical character traits of such a majestic and athletic horse.

Firstly, the body of a black stallion; this is a revival of Leonardo’s former patronus, and it carries with the new form the same connotations. Stallions tend to symbolize masculine energy, particularly in the form of authority or dominance, leading them to possess a more powerful and assertive nature than their mare counterpart. Black stallion patroni are known to be self-assured, confident in themselves, place an emphasis on freedom, and have deep passions. They know who they are, need no further guidance to find further self, and firmly stand for the values that they believe in. Strangely faithful to their family, black stallions are also known to represent mystery, adventure, and are often compared to Death’s pale horse and Famine’s ebony steed in the biblical Revelation. Leonardo’s iteration of the black stallion is more gaunt than a horse should be and is a parallel with the mounts of both Death and Famine, starving for more and in need of consuming those ambitions which are just out of reach.

Secondly, the wings of the creature; notably this iteration of a Granian winged horse is in possession of broad black wings that appear to take the sleek and angled shape of the wings of corvines as opposed to those of that of the powerful eagle’s. Ravens are enigmatic and mysterious creatures in both mythology and in folktale, representing wisdom, insight, intelligence, death, rebirth, and comfort in both mysticism and knowledge. Ravens are not always isolated creatures, and indeed in their unkindnesses they are social and communal creatures, but in isolation one reflects upon their inner self and may come to terms with their own nature. Also affiliated with prophecy and divination, ravens are particular harbingers of death and the mysteries of the grave that lay beyond the living veil; in death there is hope for rebirth. As a teller of many misfortunes and a survivor of the same, Leonardo well-knows the trials and tribulations of life and seeks the mysteries of the life that may come after death. Soft and yet sharp in the same turn just as like a raven’s feather, Leonardo also finds comfort in the security of these musings and philosophical curiosities of his. Additionally, ravens have long been the Seer’s favored creatures; they never forget a face or their kindnesses [or unkindnesses].

Granian winged horses are the swiftest of the winged horses, they are said to ride upon the winds themselves and are most commonly conjured by those who cannot stay in one place for long. Those capable of summoning the creature are athletic or adventurous in nature, and always find their feet carrying them on a path they have never travelled. While more pleased to be a homebody rather than an active adventurer, it is fair to say that while Leonardo’s flesh is not one for adventure his mind most certainly can never be bound in a single place forever. His feet have indeed travelled on paths that his lineage has never considered nor have considered to be ‘proper’ before, and his ambition and drive to diverge from the well-trodden path before him has always been a need of his from the very beginning.

For Clarification Purposes: Leonardo’s patronus is most easily recognized by the common eye as a Granian Winged Horse, even if its traits are somewhat unusual for its shape and hearken more towards those of Pegasi. These mild differences between a common Granian and this form reflect only in flavor and in the personal meaning/definition of the shape it takes, not its function or speciation.

Pending - Hi Leonardo - Im so sorry how long it took your app to be reviewed. Just one note. A couple of times you refer to the patronus as if it was black in color, but all patronus, even corporeal patronus, are silver and translucent, and would not be able to be black, even if the animal would normally be black. I'm unsure if the black color was meant to be taken as fully black even in patronus form. Could you clarify?

-Jake

STATUS: Approved, Jake - Jan. 18(It was confirmed to me that he did not mean it was literally black, but that is basically the species, it is still a shade of silver)