Anatomy of a Hocus Pocus PV Evelynn Decipio Closed

It had been a little more than a month since the new school year had started. Already, students of every year were settling into their routines. Professors had wasted no time in jumping right into the new course content and piling on the homework without mercy. Quidditch was well under way as well. Although the season's games wouldn't yet take place for a little over a tenday, try-outs had been held and practices well established. Even the clubs had refreshed their user-bases and had begun to schedule their activities throughout the weeks with earnest.

Needless-to-say, as Evelynn had attempted to maintain her previous year's connections, she was hard-pressed to find a minute of spare time. The one exception, the one hour the young cub was generally able to claim as her own without prejudice or competition, was that of the lunch hour. Now and then, she would actually spend that moment of freedom in the great hall among the Gryffindor Pride, enjoying a meal alongside her friend, Charlie, or her other quidditch mates. More often than not, however, she would make a mad dash down to the hall immediately upon the bell's release, put together a suitable lunch, knot the lot in napkin stowed away into her bag, and hurry out to her little spot below her tree near the far side of the lake.

Such had been the case on this particular day. With less than a fortnight until Gryffindor's debut game, Evelynn needed as much flight time as she could. If not for the extra practice, than simply to work out the anxiety that coiled and writhed in her belly at the thought that she would be the starting Seeker for this season. Pressure to complete looming assignments was the last thing she wished to have clouding her thoughts in the days leading up to the match against Slytherin, so it was best to tackle everything and anything without delay. Plus, the study helped to clear her mind.

She sat in the shade of the tree, reclined against the base of its trunk. The shape of the roots were familiar to her now; the divots in the earth, comfortable. It likely wouldn't be long before the weather proved too chill for her to linger long outdoors in repose. For now, however, this would do. Fingers fished for another grape, slipping it between lips as grey eyes panned over a passage from her Transfiguration text about the implication of certain suffixes as they relate to groups of spells..

The grapes would dwindle along with half of her sandwich by the time her desire to complete her assignment found itself challenged by increasing disinterest with the subject material. Brows pinched together the internal war waged with increasing heat. Time was dwindling, and there would be precious little of it after classes today, what with the HHAWT club meeting and Quidditch practice following. She needed to focus. To just get through these questions and complete the answers before the end of the lunch period. But such is the paradox of clear thinking. The more it is desired, the less obtainable it becomes.

Evelynn was already facing a losing battle when her struggle became all the more punctuated by the regular incanting of spells from someone nearby. She tried to shut it out, and with some success initially. But the longer it continued and the more her own resolve waned, the more her focus shifted from her own study to the evidence charms' practice of another. With a deep breath to serve as a sort of pause, Evelynn allowed her knees—and the book propped against them—to fall flat to the earthy floor and her gaze to wander towards the lake; and then, with piqued curiosity, to a boy standing on the grassy shoreline not so far away.

He didn't look particularly tall or short, nor was his build all that impressive. He had sandy blonde hair, but from here, that was about all the identifying features she could make out; and turned away from her towards the water as he was, she couldn't even tell which house he was from. What she could tell, however, was that he seemed to be struggling mightily with his spell work. Now that she she was paying attention, it was evident that he'd good reason to be practicing. They were the most basic of charms—Periculum and Verdimillious—and yet, more often than not, he could hardly even manage a sputtering spark. Which, really, given how his mounting frustration was likely impeding his ability to keep a clear head or even enunciate correctly, Evelynn was hardly surprised.

Then it took a turn for the worse. Whether the spell had backfired, or if the boy had just somehow managed to have absolutely dreadful aim, Evelynn wasn't certain, but after a blinding flash of green that had the girl shielding her own eyes, it was evident he had inadvertently managed to blind himself. The boy dropped his wand and staggered towards the water, compelling her to rise to her feet. With brows raised and hands shooting to press fingertips to jawline, Evelynn watched in veiled surprise as the boy floundered rather spectacularly. She might even have been a might bit concerned...had it not been in the shallows.

"Are you...Are you quite alright?" Evelynn asked tentatively, eyeing the boy with mixed scepticism and concern.

It wasn't until he had risen to his feet, the water lapping at his ankles, that she had finally been spurred to action. She stood at the shoreline where careful steps had picked their way, an unfamiliar wooden implement carried gingerly within her grasp. It was a bit strange, carrying the wand of another wix. But he'd dropped it, and it was better to retrieve it sooner than later to avoid loss or damages.

"You didn't hit your head when you fell into the water or anything, did you?" she inquired, head tiling slightly as she attempted to spot any sign of blood or injury. A certain crimson crest sporting a lion's head caught her attention. So he was a Gryffindor. With a low sigh, she pursed her lips, now feeling slightly responsible for the boy.

"You really needn't have shouted, you know. It's no surprise that your spell..." One hand pulled away from its purchase on his wand to gesticulate vaguely towards him. "...failed. I can't imagine your mind was all that terribly clear with how frustrated you were sounding." She paused. "And really... you ought to get out of the water. It must be frigid. I have your wand here," she added, holding it out to him to take when he drew near enough.

[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH @Marshal Mozor[/font]

♤♧ Say not that we age, but that our beauty develops with time ♧♤

@Evelynn Decipio

Marshal was rather fond of his sight. He was also fond of the color green, but those two things were not generally intended to coincide quite so drastically.
Throughout the entirety of his young life, he had always enjoyed the grace of perfect eyesight. Doctors had informed him of as much, and never had he struggled to clearly make out a scene before him, even with the added consideration of distance. However, as he splashed about the shallows of the lake, periodically rubbing his eyes, then opening them wide like a small child who had just received their long-coveted pony, he began to question just how important seeing the world was to him. It certainly helped when attempting to watch a tranquil sunrise, or when trying to avoid introducing his face to the ground, which he much preferred stay acquainted only with his feet. In addition, it would be marginally more difficult to realize his dream of becoming a quidditch star if he couldn't see the quaffle, the hoops, or the bludgers with his name written upon them. In fact, he wondered how difficult it might be to locate his broom in the first place... or his bed, for that matter.
In that moment, it seemed entirely likely that he would spend most of the coming nights on a moving staircase, disoriented and lulled to sleep by constant motion.

But that was merely the worst case scenario, was it not? Loss of sight was far from loss of life, or even fun. Sound was good too! With the ability to hear came music, laughter, and the vague whistling of a bloodthirsty ball to warn him before his head was rudely removed from its rightful place.
Dripping wet, a glimmer of hope sparked in his heart. Maybe mom and dad will buy me some sort of seeing-eye animal to keep me from hitting too many walls, he thought with relish.
While his sudden contentment with blindness may have been a slight overreaction to the situation, it calmed him down considerably.

His oddly cheerful thoughts were not to go uninterrupted, however, as a soft voice penetrated without warning, inquiring after his wellbeing.
Droplets of water were sent flying when he whipped his head towards the voice, eyes squinting in a vain attempt to glimpse the newcomer.
"Never been better!" he replied enthusiastically, more likely staring blankly at an empty space than directly at the owner of the unfamiliar voice. "Can't imagine why you would ask such a thing. I just popped into the water to wash off the sweat I had worked up, that's all." Friendly sarcasm coated the boy's words.

The disembodied voice - obviously female, by the sound of it - went on to chasten him for his utter desecration of a perfectly good spell.
One hand reached up to scratch the blond hairs on the back of his head sheepishly, though he was inwardly torn between embarrassment that one of his peers had witnessed the whole charade, and excitement at the prospect of gaining a mentor, of sorts. Heaven knew that he wasn't going to figure it out on his own anytime soon. On that note, perhaps heaven had grown weary of watching him fail at unprecedented levels, and had therefore sent an individual to fix him.
As his celestially appointed mentor spoke, Marshal's vision finally began to clear. Before long, he was able to discern details of the girl before him, though a soft green coloration still accented everything he saw.

Eyes the color of the sea during a hurricane caught his attention first, drawing him in like a whirlpool would a helpless ship, and rendering him unable to tear his own hazel gaze from hers for what felt like a blissful eternity. Long hair the shade of autumn leaves presented a stunning contrast, almost akin to that which you would see when peering at a cloudless sky through the crimson-fletched branches of an oak tree. Delicate features that might have been sculpted by gentle, yet capable hands were scrunched somewhat in concern, making them appear even more flawless to his eyes.
If the heavens had indeed sent this girl to him for any reason, then he had a good amount of gratitude to express.

Not completely convinced that he was seeing things correctly, he rubbed his eyes once more, only to find his surroundings unchanged.
Now that she had drawn his attention to the temperature of the water, he became acutely aware that he was quite cold. While the bright sun beat upon his back, its warmth was at war with the persistent bite of the air, keeping him perfectly uncomfortable.
Splashing onto the shore, he accepted his wand from her extended hand. "You say my spell failed, but the way I see it, it worked exactly like it was supposed to, just..." he gestured vaguely in the direction he had been attempting to cast the charm, "not exactly in the direction I planned it. I call that improvement!"
Optimism had always been a friend to the Gryffindor.

A lopsided grin presented itself upon his face, his gaze lingering on hers as he added with as much charm as he knew how, "Has anyone ever told you that you look amazing in green?"
Marshal wasn't a perfect person. It would be awfully unfair to expect a perfect compliment to leave his mouth. The line left something to be desired, but he liked it, and most importantly, genuinely meant it.

The free hand that Evelynn had raised to ward off the wayward droplets of water sent flying by the boy's shake of his mane lowered to plant itself across her core. Concern had been flecked with cautious scepticism. Only too often did she come across those at the school who seemed to bristle at the faintest notion of receiving assistance, and the sarcastic retort to her query over his wellbeing had resurrected some less than pleasant memories of previous encounters. Of course, in this instance, the boy hadn't been outright rude, nor had he entirely dismissed her approach. This, coupled with the fact that he appeared—at least initially—to be directing his speech to a space near, but not directly at her, gave her pause. There was something not quite right about him.

This notion of questioning the integrity of his mind became all the more cemented when his gaze finally managed to find its way to hers. And stuck there. For how long, she couldn't say. It was as though he had been entranced. No doubt, it was only mere seconds that had ticked by, but lengthened in the pregnant silence of the moment that spanned between them, it could have been minutes. Brow creasing yet again as the awkwardness of the situation settled uncomfortably in her belly, lips parted with the intent to question him further, to ask if he was quite sure that he was alright. As soon as she could bear the impasse no longer, however, he broke it with the movement of hands to rub at his eyes. And as he spurred himself to movement to splash to the shore, all remaining tension released. She lingered at the water's edge just long enough to relinquish to the boy his wand before back-stepping to a safe distance of a pace or two from the frigid element.

"Exactly the way…" Her free hand lowered to fold across her other arm as the almost suspiciously incredulous statement trailed in the wake of her peer's misguided sentiment. She didn't even bother following the direction of his gesture or to conclude her own thought on the matter. The rise of a brow spoke for her as he continued. "Improvement.." she echoed with a subtle shake of her head. "Perhaps you ought—"

What, exactly, he ought to do in her mind would be left to the imagination as his follow-up comment cut through and halted her train of thought right there in its tracks. She blinked, staring back at the hazel eyes that gazed upon her with some sort of aura she dared not attempt to decipher. A flush of rose brought on by something other than the chill of the air coloured her cheeks. It wasn't every day that she received a complement. In fact, in this moment, she couldn't recall receiving one at from anyone other than her mother.

"If that's what you consider to be improvement," she huffed, tension returning in a sudden show of misplaced defensiveness as though his comment had been some sort of assault rather than simply a statement of affection that she didn't know how to take, "then you are in desperate need of some tutelage. No spell at all would be better than one that ends up turning itself upon you or your allies.."

To anyone who had been at Hogwarts for any length of time, that last thought, especially, would go without saying. Perhaps it wasn't something that would be expected—in fact, it was something that certainly shouldn't be expected—but practical applications of spells in the midst of combat was something every student was likely to encounter sooner or later. Evelynn, herself, had been in such situations more than a few times. Admittedly, most were self-imposed, with such events as SWAG games, illicit duelling, and combat chess. But there had also been the balls that had devolved to chaos, and the other attacks upon the school. The importance of not only learning, but also mastering, the spells and magic taught at the school was hardly a simple academic exercise.

"But I suppose I can understand what you mean," she allowed after a moment, shoulders dipping to coincide with the relaxation of her tone. Her response had been a touch harsh, she realized. If an upperclassman, even one only a year her senior, had approached her last year as she had just done this boy, particularly with how difficult a time she'd had eliciting even the smallest of responses from her attempts to conjure magic to her whim, she might have dissolved to tears on the spot. And he was a lion. She ought not break his spirit. "It doesn't come easily for everyone." It certainly hadn't for her. "It can be very frustrating at first."

"I could help you," she offered after a pause. "If you'd like. Or try to, at the very least." Then, prying her hand from her arm to extend it out towards him in an offer to shake, added, "I'm Decipio, by the way. Evelynn Decipio. Gryffindor second year."

[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH @Marshal Mozor[/font]

I am so so so sorry for such a delay in response. Your patience is a god send

Graphic by Leonard Oaksworth

[font=Times New Roman]@Evelynn Decipio

It could hardly be denied that Marshal was a particularly oblivious sort of individual. He was dreadfully inept at the art of 'noticing things.' That is, at least, things that didn't jump out in front of him and wave a hand frantically before his eyes. Anything more subtle than a uniquely raucous train wreck generally whisked straight past his conscious mind, undoubtedly smacking into his subconscious mind, where it would be left to scream hopelessly in a desperate fight for his attention that could never be won.

However, despite this powerful factor of his personality, he did manage to notice how oddly rigid the faintly green girl before him stood as he spoke, especially following his spectacularly placed compliment. It wasn't exactly the kind of response that one hoped for in such a situation, but it would fall far short of deterring him in his romantic efforts. Besides, he could have sworn he saw a tinge of pink color her fair cheeks, though he couldn't be certain his eyes weren't playing tricks on him still.

After a slight pause, she proceeded to scold him about the slight issue with his idea of improvement - namely the fact that he would likely end up blowing off his own head, or the head of one of his friends, were his sad magical attempts not corrected. Much to his dismay, she entirely dismissed his compliment; in fact, she almost seemed more agitated than before. Did she hate the color green that much? Or perhaps he had been so terribly charming that she simply didn't know how to respond? Marshal personally chose to believe in the latter option.

The first year prepared himself for some sort of long lecture about using magic safely and refraining from casting spells upon oneself. He wasn't a fan of academical speeches - hence why school was rather low on his list of beloved activities - but he supposed that if it came from such a beautiful mouth, then he could devote his full attention to such a thing for once.

And yet, the long-winded lecture never came. Instead, the girl appeared to relax slightly, and her next words held more sympathy for his plight, which he appreciated. It almost felt as though she was speaking from experience. Perhaps she had endured similar struggles, or maybe she had encountered other students who were even more hopeless than himself. Whatever the case, it improved his mood, which had admittedly taken a dive for the worst during his practice session.

"Frustrating?" he said, repeating the word she had used. Casually waving a dismissive hand, he continued, "No, I definitely wasn't frustrated." He then scratched his head, his grin turning mischievous. "Angry would be a much better word for it. Enraged, maddened, blind with fury; those would all fit pretty well too! Good thing some jerk flashed a light in my face and threw me in the water before I could really cause any trouble. Tell him thanks for me if you see him, will you? I-" he waved a hand in front of his eyes, indicating that he was still visually challenged, "obviously can't."

Hearing her introduce herself, he repeated the name once in his head, committing it to a special place in his memory, where he would never forget it.

Attempting to hit the same note of irresistible charm that he had mastered with his 'green' comment, he spoke again, "A name almost as striking as your-" a sudden thought flashed across his mind: Don't mention the color green. "Red hair," he finished, somewhat weakly.

After another slightly awkward moment, he cleared his throat and grasped her hand firmly. "Marshal Mozor. I'm a first year, though you probably couldn't tell by seeing how I've mastered magic. If you think you can teach a pro like me a thing or two, go right ahead!" Thick sarcasm coated his voice, though it dropped with the last three sincere words, "I'd love that."

There rarely came a time when Evelynn would find herself utterly perplexed. Generally sharp-witted, her mind would navigate academic spaces and social graces as easily as she commanded her broom. Even in situations where she might find herself ill-equipped or uncertain, there were still usually enough cues to convincingly improvise. This was especially the case at Hogwarts. Most of her peers were relatively simple. Their emotions were carried as blatantly on their sleeves as brand logos had been back home. They had wants and desires that were readily shared. And of those who preferred to remain ambiguous and contradictory, they could be relied upon to at least be consistently so. Very few fluctuated in their affect. Especially not so quickly.

This boy standing before her, however, seemed to break that mould. Serene acceptance. Obtuse denial. Hyperbolic exuberance. Unexpectedly friendly. Dramatically angry—or so he claimed. Haughty in a self-depreciating way. He seemed to dance between them all, shifting tempo at the drop of a hat. And all the while, there remained an undertone of discordance between the words that left his lips and the tone with which they were uttered. Evelynn was tempted to think that perhaps he was simply a walking definition of sarcasm. Even that didn't seem to quite strike true, however.

"Er... right..." Was all that Evelynn had managed to reply when the boy had denounced her understanding of how frustrating it could be when first attempting to grasp the feel for magic. He did realize he was the one who had flashed the light...right? Perhaps it was a good thing that his vision was still hazy. Hopefully he wouldn't see her looking at him like he had been a little bit touched in the head. Perhaps he was trying to be amusing? She did know some who seemed to use humour as a way to ease their tension and divert their embarrassment. An uncertain smile tugged at her lips.

Needless-to-say, her relief was almost—or perhaps actually—palpable when the boy reached forward to grasp her hand. Finally something normal. A handshake. A perfectly reasonable, and rather respectable grasp of hands like normal humans greeting each other for the first time. It was a well needed break from confusion. Shoulders rose and fell with a mindful breath as Evelynn collected herself. She had to commend the boy. For one reason or another, the students at Hogwarts seemed either to abhor basic manners, or to have been raised by troglodytes. Flash had been the only other individual to return a half decent shake.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mozor," Evelynn smiled. Well, it wasn't really a pleasure, was it? She'd found it more bufuddling than pleasant, but a little white lie in the face of pleasantries hardly hurt anybody. "Yes, I did presume as much," came the affirmation regarding his first-year status. She pretended not to hear the sentence that followed. "Well..." She replied, retrieving her hand to rest back overtop of her own. "I can't promise that I'll be able to make a difference," she warned. After all, she hadn't attempted to teach anyone magic before. Moreover, she couldn't be certain that he could be taught. "But I can try."

She had to admit, she was glad for his last sentiments. The drop in his pitch finally seemed to hint at something a little bit more genuine behind his outward bravado. Perhaps that was why she seemed to be struggling so much with getting a grasp on him. He was very forced and acted. "I suppose I would start with the basic principles. Do you remember what they are?" She would allow him to respond, but it a silence spanned to the point where it became obvious that he wouldn't be providing them any time soon, or if he outright admitted to having no idea as to what she was talking about, she would then supply, "Concentration, precision, enunciation."

Whether it was he or she who stated the trio, she would elaborate, "They really are important. I know theory is often discarded or skimmed over in school before coming here, and still in classes like History of Magic or Transfiguration where the concepts are a bit less interesting, but these three things have to be ingrained in you. Each before the other. Think of it like a mantra if you have to. I used to repeat it over and over before casting a spell when I first started. It helped to clear my mind and set me into a calm and determined state. Concentration really is the hardest part of the three, though. I can help pronunciation and enunciation, and correct your wand movements, but you're the only one that can ensure that your mind is clear and your intention focused."

[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH @Marshal Mozor[/font]

Graphic by Leonard Oaksworth

[font=Times New Roman]@Evelynn Decipio

If he were to fail at every other thing he attempted for the rest of his life, there remained one skill, at least, that could never be taken from him; and that was his uncanny ability to leave people utterly speechless. Perhaps most people wouldn't consider mentally crippling a participant in their conversation to be a favorable talent at all, but for one such as himself, who could carry a conversation with a dead tree throughout an entire day, it presented no issue. In fact, he recalled one past summer's day when he had done that very thing. All of his friends had informed him they were busy, leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts and the chopped trunk of a tree his father had grown weary of seeing in his backyard. It had made for quite the interesting conversation.
But this was no remnant of a once mighty tree. This was a beautiful girl who was very much alive, and looked very much uncertain of what she might say next.
He saw the slight curl of her lip as she attempted a smile, naturally assuming that she was too embarrassed by his over-abundance of charm and wit to come up with a worthy reply. In fact, this was generally his assumption when a person was affected by his 'gift'.

She did seem to relax a bit as he took hold of her hand, assuring him that meeting him had been the utmost amount of pleasure she had experienced in her life... or something to that effect, anyhow. Exact details weren't terribly important, as long as he had the blissful gist of the sentence in his mind.
"Believe me, Evelynn, the pleasure is all mine." He enjoyed the soft touch of her skin as their hands remained clasped for a moment, and largely considered planting a romantic kiss upon it. Certainly, such a princely action would sweep her straight off her feet and into his arms.
Fortune would smile upon the both of them, however, as another memory surfaced suddenly within his enthralled mind, this one having something to do with his father telling him a story. The story consisted of his father trying the very same thing on a young woman when he was in school, but it did not end with he and the girl living happily ever after, but rather, his father getting slapped on the mouth, in return for the ill-fated kiss.
Squinting slightly at the thought, Marshal thought better of it, and instead relinquished Evelynn's hand - rather reluctantly.

He listened closely as she humbly informed him that she didn't know everything; a sentiment that he would soon find himself doubting quite profusely.
Evidently, the girl wasn't one to waste time, as she quickly began with a question concerning the three keys to spellcasting.
Marshal's expression immediately drooped, enough that Evelynn would likely notice, but he didn't care. It seemed he would be receiving a lecture outside of class after all. What an unfortunate turn of events.
Despite his poorly hidden displeasure, the young Gryffindor didn't turn away and run, which is exactly what he suddenly felt like doing. After all, he had come here to practice and improve his magical ability, and what better way to do so than with a tutor? A particularly stunning tutor, at that.
"Well..." he mumbled, nose crinkling in a mixture of disgust and concentration. To his credit, he truly did give remembering the three keys his best effort. The concept even seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite...
"Oh!" He snapped his fingers, hazel eyes lighting up. "You have to say the word right. Like, you can't call a dog a cat and expect anyone to know what you're talking about." The example left something to be desired, but he was quite proud of himself for remembering. The remaining two were a different matter, however. Though he willed them to spring to mind, as the first one had, he was left with an empty tongue and a heavy feeling of disappointment.
Releasing a discontented sigh, he spoke again. "I don't remember the other two. But one is better than none, right?"Perhaps not, when actually casting a spell. But the boy was not one to nit-pick.

The following chunk of information came flying at him like a verbal brick, effectively producing a headache in his skull that a brick of physical nature might bring about. Subconsciously, he cocked his head, mirroring the action that often overtook him in the midst of class.
His brain kicked into overdrive, no doubt sending a trail of smoke floating from his ears as he tried desperately to pick out as many useful words as possible.
Important, boring, history, boring, boring like history. Skimming - a favorite studying style of his - right, right.
Miraculously, he did manage to catch the bit about repeating the three key words as a mantra, in order to center focus on those elements. She then went on to state that concentration was the most difficult part.
You're telling me, he thought numbly. It seemed to be a common theme in his life, concentration on anything being a problem, really.
"Right..." he voiced hesitantly, showing his first sign of uncertainty since the interaction had begun.

Growing determined to show his new teacher away from class that he was something other than worthless, he turned away from her and raised his wand, muttering under his
breath, "Concentration, precision, and..." his voice trailed off, his brow scrunching in frustration. His mouth flopped open, then closed, then open again, his newfound appearance akin to a fish pulled mercilessly from the water. And just as fish could not breathe air, Marshals could not process school-related things.
Obviously successful in impressing his mentor, he figured it might be that much more impressive if he remembered the third word.
"How'd you pronounce the word that means you have to pronounce the words right?" He asked with a slightly sheepish grin. It was going to be a long session; that is, if Evelynn chose to humor him any longer.

Upon receiving the desired word, he would repeat the three keys four times, raise his wand once more, and utter the spell, "Periculum!"
A singular spark emerged from the tip of his wand, then promptly proceeded to drift underwhelmingly to the grassy floor below. He followed it with his eyes and simply stared at the spot where it had been snuffed out of its brief, pathetic existence.
"Sometimes, life is sad," he said despondently, equality abounding between his shoulders and the expression on his face, particularly in the downcast nature of each.