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The Language of the Flowers was a popular method to express feelings where words might be improper, but did you know other means of doing so? Some ladies used their parasols, as well as their fans, gloves, and hankies to flirt with a gentleman (or alternatively, tell them to shove it!). — Bree


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Ester Montgomery for Thomas Montgomery. The one that got away (with the pornographer...)
This boy, then. He wasn't new. Wasn't one of the worst people in the common room, those rotten rich boys - like Mr. Jailkeeper - who could not fathom a world beyond their own farts. Was a good working class lad, so he'd heard. Had a bit of a weird looking face, and a bit of a weird thing for preaching. Still.

Aubrey Davis in The Under-Sofa


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Post at least once with the same character every day for a month.

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Don't Be Riddikulus {OWL DADA}
#1
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December 3rd, 1888 — DADA Classroom, Hogwarts

“One by one—you’ll each have an opportunity,” the professor directed, gesturing to the chalked X on the floor as he waited for the first to step forward.

The class had spent the latter half of the week prior discussing the theory of boggarts and how to dispatch them, but theory was of little use if not put into practice. Generally, Nikolai was able to procure one of the creatures from the castle itself, but Hogwarts seemed to have been—mercifully—devoid of them that term, requiring the defence instructor to ‘order in’, as it were. Now, the boggart lay in wait in a locked trunk which rattled slightly as it moved inside.

“Wand out, then,” he directed the first victim student before opening the trunk and letting the boggart out.


Open to OWL-level (years 3-5) DADA students. First to post comes up to the mark. Please ensure your post includes the form the boggart takes, your character’s goal form, and them casting the spell—if they manage to get that far before cowering in fear!

Please also let me know in a postscript your student’s general spell level (abysmal, below level, at level, above level) so we can see how they do ;)
[-] The following 1 user Likes Nikolai Sleptov's post:
   Pablo Medina



set by soph!
#2
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Wondering what form the boggart would take—agonizing over it, really—was, Minerva hoped, worse than seeing it actually come to fruition. The redhead supposed there were many people to whom facing one’s fears came naturally, but she had certainly never been one, her status as a Gryffindor long something she had considered to be laughable.

Would it be Aunt Lydia that came to face her, or her mother expressing disappointment in the woman Minerva had endeavored to become? Even worse—what if it took the form of one of the yearmates that teased her, or a giant spider? The fifth year did her best to resist the tide that seemed intent on pushing her to the daunting white X on the floor in front of Professor Sleptov but, mercifully, someone else—someone more eager, clearly—had beaten her too it.

“Thank the Lord,” the witch murmured to herself, relief washing over her ever so briefly before Minerva realized she would still, eventually, have to take a turn.


Meet Minerva, who is decidedly not at the mark. xD
#3
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Condemned as a coward by her elder brother and underestimated by every other family member, Frida appreciated that every other student—be it the know-it-alls, the full-of-themselves, and the bullies—would be no better off than her during this classroom activity. Not that she was particularly excited about it either; Frida had fears of her own, and many that she would rather her classmates not be aware of.

She also had the misfortune to be near the front of the line when her classmates pushed and shoved each other into places. Arms wrapped protectively around her body, it was only Professor Sleptov's insistence that saw her wand extracted from her robe pocket. She held it up, her wrist shaking with anticipation—or fear, but she wasn't sure which—for what was to come.

And then—there it was. The familiar figure Aunt Nephele stood there, her backside facing Frida, her mother's pearl necklace dangling from her hand. They were the pearls that were left in Frida following her passing; she never wore them out of fear of breaking them, instead leaving them in her jewelry box back at home. It was not a frightening sight, at least not at first.

Frida watched with knitted brows as the figure of her aunt turned around, revealing instead a pale, sickly-looking version of her mother. The most frightening sight awaited her as Frida's eyes scanned upwards: in place of her mother eyes were two black holes that seemed to stare directly at her despite not visible focus. The boggart's frail hands—(she tried to remind herself it was a boggart, but it made not difference as her own hands began to shake)—rose, grasping the pearl beads within the long, bony fingers, when suddenly—snap.

The pearl beads clattered to the ground, leaving Frida with a disturbed expression on her face. She struggled to raise her wand, her eyes flickering between the professor and boggart in search of confirmation. She could not possibly think of something that would make this form any less horrifying, but did—perhaps by memory, or perhaps by adrenaline—manage to cast her spell. "R-R-Riddikulus," she stuttered.


Frida is at level, but "brave" is not a word I'd use to describe her :P




Have you heard about our goddess and savior, MJ?
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#4
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Freed from its captivity, the boggart leapt from the chest and took the form of a sickly woman. For a brief instant, Nikolai thought he recognized his late wife in the form, but that was foolish for he had diligently stepped back before the boggart could get a read on him. Whatever the figure’s connection to Miss Lestrange, though, it was not going away—the Hufflepuff clearly lacked the willpower to vanquish it.

“Try again, Miss Lestrange—more forceful!” the professor directed encouragingly.


Point of clarity: though only one person can face the boggart at a time, I do encourage commentary and welcome interim posts!



set by soph!
#5
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"Forceful, forceful..." Frida muttered, echoing her professor's words in hopes that it would eventually click. She gripped the larch wand tight in her hand, but her gaze—and focus—was trapped on her deceased mother's figure, which seemed to take a step towards her every time Frida began to worry about its proximity to her.

"R-Riddikulus," she tried again. Nothing. She took a deep, shaky breath before letting her attention fall to her wand rather than the boggart. "Riddikulus."



Have you heard about our goddess and savior, MJ?
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#6
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“Once more, Miss Lestrange!” he urged the young prefect, his own wand having found its way to his hand in case he should need to step in.


Need an intended form to roll ;)



set by soph!
#7
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Anxious but encouraged by the professor's confidence in her, Frida tried to imagine her mother slipping on the scattered pearls while wearing a colorful dress and one of those bright, silly masks that adults wore to masquerade balls. She had no memories of her mother ever wearing one, and the sight would distract her from the more terrifying aspects of the boggart.

"Riddikulus!" she tried, this time with more spirit.



Have you heard about our goddess and savior, MJ?
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#8
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Was that really the greatest horror the other girl had ever faced? Trixie had to fight valiantly not to roll her eyes - and probably would have lost the battle but for the fact she didn't want to miss a single moment of watching Frida utterly fail to cast a patronus against a frankly pathetic figure. The pearls looked expensive, and really her father would likely be furious if she broke something of that value and what happened next would not be especially pretty, but surely the Lestranges had enough money that one bloody set of pearls didn't matter?


[Image: peVXwN.png]
fabulously moody set by Bee <3
#9
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Whilst James had no inclination one way or another toward Defence Against the Dark Arts, he did find the subject fascinating in its own little way. He didn’t think he’d end up using most of what he was learning in his everyday life but he enjoyed learning about the theories behind the dark arts and their practicalities. It was also a good insight into the way people thought.

When Professor Sleptov had announced that they’d be meeting a boggart and casting Ridikkulus, it interested James to no end. He’d read up on how the spell worked and he was confident he could get it to work.

That was, at least, until he saw the way Miss Lestrange had frozen stiff and quivered when the boggart turned into a sickly lady clutching some pearls. Suddenly, James went stiff himself at the thought of what the boggart would turn into for him. He thought it would be something to do with his mother but then dismissed it for what she was – what she’d hid from him (of which, he was still unsure) – wasn’t scary. Just… he didn’t understand.

But he couldn’t ponder on it. He didn’t want to. Whatever the boggart would turn into, when it was his turn, he’d combat. James thought himself very brave – what did he fear the most? Surely it was nothing too bad.

So for now he simply stood silently behind Miss Borgin with his wand held nervously in his hands; twisting it against his palms.

#10
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"That's the ticket," he offered encouragingly, suppressing a chuckle of his own as the woman's dress turned into something altogether ridiculous. "Take a step back now, Miss Lestrange. Next?"



set by soph!
#11
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Boggarts, just what this class needed. Edgar understood why they had to do this. That didn't mean he had to like it. Deciding to get it over with, the Gryffindor let himself be shoved more to the front as others shuffled out of the way. By the end of all of the shuffling, he had ended up behind Miss Lestrange.

Though the image was rather disturbing, it was also slightly confusing. Which made sense in a way. Edgar didn't even know Miss Lestrange that well. How could he understand her fears? Still, he tried to not focus to much on her in case she accidently made a fool of herself. He surely didn't want to make her feel embarrassed. Hopefully he wouldn't end up being too.

He had remembered last year when he and two other students had been ambushed by a boggart. The form it was beginning to change into when it targeted him. The form of his grandfather had started to take shape the last time. But was it going to be similar to Miss Lestrange's boggart? Strange eyes, or symbolism that only he and those closest to him could understand?

Stepping up next, he watched the boggart begin to change. As it took form, Edgar started imagining funny things that could become of the man. Then the image formed into his mind. His grandfather's form was finished, a wand raised at Edgar as hatred shined in the old man's eyes.

It was as if Edgar's heart had skipped a beat. This wouldn't really happen, he told himself. Even if the old man did really hate him that much, his grandfather was not stupid enough to hurt a child. That was enough for Edgar to focus on his idea. Imagining his grandfather's body turning into a duck, but still quaking angrily. "Riddikulus."
Edgar is at level.





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