February 17th, 1895 — Dueling Club Classroom, Early Evening

"Incendio! No! Incendio, Stupefy! Oh, blessed - grr!" Anne's snarl of frustration was animalistic, her patience non-existent, her temper hot, and her frustration peaking. Sweat soaked her hairline, her sleeves shoved to her elbows; Anne sucked in deep breaths, her hands clasped over her head as she paced the dueling hall. She glared at the test dummy across the way, the damned thing mocking her.

She'd picked one of the NEWT dummies that was charmed to shield when attacked, trying to work on her speed. Anne didn't question the strength of her spells, and, until the dueling final, she hadn't questioned her speed. Anne was one of the fastest in the dueling club, but she lost the title to one of the few people who proved faster. The loss hurt more than any spell could. It also presented a problem: what sort of auror could she be if she wasn't faster than her opponent? It sounded like a quick recipe for death or failure; neither interested Anne.

Her body ached, her muscles reminding her that she had been here every night for the past twelve days. The cramp in her shoulder also reminded her she'd had multiple quidditch practices since then and took a bludger in the last one. The first few nights had been easy and she quickly moved from the OWL dummy to the NEWT dummy, but here she'd ground to a halt. She could beat the dummy and get around its shields, but not consistently or how she wanted. It made her need this more.

When her next spell rebounded off the dummy's shield, Anne punched the air with a snarl. "What am I doing wrong?" She demanded of the lifeless training aid glaring back.

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Gus Lissington

  

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MJ about made me cry with this one!
Thread Log | Help Anne Blame the DJ

Gus had watched every duel, although he hadn’t been front and center in case a spell backfired and hit the crowd. It didn’t matter to him who won or lost—he was proud of all of his students for having the gall to enter the competition in the first place. What did matter was having a starting point for what each of them needed to improve on, or at least those who were a part of the dueling club.

He’d been on his way to set up the dummies for the club to have an impromptu meeting later when he heard the frustrations from the hallway and couldn’t help but peer in to see what the commotion was about. Gus leaned against the door frame of the dueling classroom, his arms loosely crossed his chest as he silently watched Ms. Moony battle against the dummy. Gus could point out a few different things that might help improve her spells, but she seemed far too in the moment to interrupt; he didn’t want her to accidentally fire the spell at him, even if he wasn’t worried about not being able to deflect it.

When there was a pause, Gus cleared his throat to gain her attention. “For starters,” he said, pushing off the frame to enter the room, “You’re getting inside your own head. Nothing kills speed like frustration. Your movements get sloppy when you get frustrated.” He tipped his head at her, one brow arching. While he wasn’t sure she wanted his advice, Gus was going to give it anyway.

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Anne Moony

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Anne whirled at the interruption to her thoughts. Aurors also didn't get ambushed. Bloody good work, Anne. When she slowed her breathing and could see past her own rage, Anne recognized Professor Lissington and quickly chose not to voice the first words that came to her startled brain. This was bloody embarrassing.

Anne might have ground her teeth loud enough to be audible, but she kept her mouth shut all the same. The last thing she needed was someone witnessing her mistakes; she also needed help. Reluctantly, Anne shook out her shoulders, her firm nod the first indication she was listening. Squaring off with the dummy, Anne tried again.

"Stupefy! Stupefy, Incendio!" The first stunning spell went wide, but Anne's rebound was quick enough to beat the second shield, the dummy engulfed in satisfying flames. She watched, feeling almost vindicated, as the dummy smothered itself and stood ready for another onslaught. Turning her attention back to Professor Lissington and forcing herself not to slouch in embarrassment, Anne tried, "I have to be good even when I'm frustrated. I'm supposed to be good. Full stop."

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MJ about made me cry with this one!
Thread Log | Help Anne Blame the DJ

Gus gave her a subtle nod in return before he watched her fire off a couple more spells. He watched in silence as the flames curled against the dummy and then vanished as it put itself out. “Nice adjustments.” Gus said, tipping his head toward the dummy where there were still some scorch marks steaming faintly across its chest. He smiled then, stepping further into the room, his attention turning back toward her.

“If you weren’t frustrated, I’d be worried. It’d mean you didn’t care enough to want to do better.” Gus didn’t mean it as a jab. It was just the truth, plain and simple, and he could only hope that Miss Moony would appreciate the honesty. He’d taught enough students by now to know the difference between the ones who went through the motions and the ones who actually gave a damn. The ones like the young Slytherin, well, those were the ones who cared, and the ones who cared are the ones that grew.

“People say it like it’s simple, don’t they? ‘Be good. Do good.’” Gus shook his head. “But most of the time, what they actually mean is, be what they need you to be at that moment. It’s a moving target.” He glanced toward the dummy again, at the scorch marks fading on its chest. Then Gus looked back at her.. “So here’s the real question, Miss Moony, what does being good mean to you? Because if you’re chasing someone else’s definition of it, you’ll burn out before you ever get there.”

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