Closed The Huntsman

Aamon toppled all too easily, the sharp thunk of the boy’s head against stone was not the only sound that reverberated in the cold, empty courtyard. No sooner than his spell had landed, Avis launched herself at him, and it was only thanks to his bludged-dodging reflexes that he managed to sidestep her in time. Avis hit the ground, and so did Aamon.For a moment, just a moment, Finnegan stood frozen, his wand still outstretched, his breath coming fast and uneven. A sharp thrill ran through him, a satisfied buzzing feeling that extended all the way into his fingertips. The spell had worked. He’d cast it, and it had worked perfectly. It seemed his wand shared his blood-lust for knocking Slytherins off their pedestals or taking down uncooperative boys for that matter.

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips, fleeting but undeniable, before Avis’s voice cut through the air.

"Finn!"

She stormed towards him, her small frame bristling with fury, her words spilling out, tumbling over each other. He couldn't remember the last time someone had gotten this angry with him and though her intensity shocked him for a second, the effect did not last. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on Aamon and smirked. The boy lay stiff as a board, his eyes wide and full of panic. Served him right, Finnegan had just had about enough of his snivelling and whinging.

"What. Is. Wrong. With. You?"

"What’s wrong with me?" he shot back, the edge of her accusation cutting too close for comfort. His voice cracked. "What’s wrong with him? He’s the one running around with cursed dolls ripping his arm off, throwing people down stairs and—and refusing to get help! Arrogant little shit."

She jabbed a finger at him, and for a second he thought she might actually try to hex him herself. He tightened his grip on his wand, ready to use it at a moment's notice.

"Paralyzing your problems is not the answer! Ever! Give me your wand. I do not trust you next to him with that."

Finn clenched his jaw. Being lectured by a tiny, know-it-all Ravenclaw was not how he had imagined this Sunday to go. I could just get rid of her, he thought. Why wouldn't he? She was stubborn and unhelpful and getting in his way. All it would take was a swish and flick and she'd be sent flying halfway across the courtyard. His heart thudded against his ribs as he glanced at Aamon, then back at Avis. She seriously thought he was going to give her his wand still?

He was the one in charge here. He was the one who’d taken action when no one else would. She was just a pesky little first-year in way over her head. Giving up his wand would be like admitting he’d made a mistake, but he had made no mistake, he saw Aamon's problem for what it was: an immediate threat not just to the boy, but to everyone in the castle. Just because they were both too cowardly to deal with it head-on didn't mean they could ignore the problem and wish it would go away. "Step aside," he grumbled, aiming his wand at her. "Now."

"Now what? His brother will be looking for him. You want to what, drag him through the castle like a package?" Avis’s voice was quieter now, but no less cutting.

Finn exhaled sharply, his breath misting in the cold air. He knew she had a point, but he was never going to admit it. "Will you shut up?" He bit back. "Get a Professor, get the bloody headmaster himself if you want, cry wolf, I don't give a shit. Aamon here is going to Professor Lécuyer. I am going to get him there. Now you can either stand around and gawk or you can actually do something useful for once."

So long as he wasn't sure Avis would run off, he would keep his wand out, ready to knock her out too if she would dare to get up in his face again. He stood over Aamon and shook his head at the downed boy. "You should have listened... You're endangering everyone in this school, this is all your fault. Why didn't you come forward before? What is it about your fucking family anyway, huh?"

Unless stopped he would try to kneel next to Aamon and search the boy's robes for his wand.

@Aamon Athanatos @Orion Lécuyer @Avis Marlong

Finn was an utter imbecile, Avis had decided. Maybe that was why he had believed her in the first place, he was too idiotic to think it was false, and Avis had been too gullible to realize his bias towards the family. "You think he chooses to have cursed dolls ripping off his arm? Are you really that dull?" She already knew the answer to that one. Finn was smirking, clearly ignorant of what he had done.

Unfortunately, Finn also seemed to realize that Avis was practically powerless, and rather than handing over his wand, pointed it at her. She didn't move. Moving was the furthest thought from her mind. The most important thing right now was keeping Aamon safe from this problem she had basically brought to him. She stood between him and Aamon, but didn't move when Finn moved around her to Aamon, only turning her glare towards him.

She would have done something and tried to take his wand, except she didn't actually know what he had done to Aamon, or how to fix it, and she wasn't about to risk something else happening. Clearly Avis' attempts at "helping" had gone south pretty quickly. She really understood Aamon's difficulties. Her eyes broke from Finn to Aamon, begging him to forgive her.

"Get a Professor, get the bloody headmaster himself if you want, cry wolf," Avis snarled a quiet. "Wolf." Finn was, after all, a wolf in sheep's clothing. And a cry of wolf wasn't a false alarm when there actually was a wolf around. It was a small word, but a clear implication. Avis wasn't going to do anything, but she wasn't going to make this easy for Finn either. She stepped behind Finn, in order to keep an eye on what he was doing--searching through the kid's robes--. She couldn't exactly stop him, but she stopped just far enough back that Finn wouldn't be able to both keep an eye on her and focus Aamon unless he was secretly an owl.

After all, Aamon wasn't going to get help from anyone else. Besides the dolls. Where were the dolls? They couldn't handle Avis asking questions but they were perfectly fine with someone paralyzing Aamon. The dolls had some very questionable priorities. Now would be a wonderful time for them to show up and send Finn halfway across the grounds. As long as he wasn't hurt. No matter how angry Avis got, she couldn't wish harm on anyone. But it would be convenient if they could just scare off Finn. Of course now would be the one time they went on vacation or something.

"Why didn't you come forward before?" Aamon didn't answer, being frozen and all. Avis took it upon herself to be his proxy. "I don't think he is up for talking right now. Someone decided to turn him into a board." Avis retorted, channeling her inner Alaina, with her crazy way of being the most annoying captain obvious in the world. If Finn was irritated with her, maybe he would turn on her rather than Aamon. She deserved it, really. This was all her fault. Avis bit her lip, staring over Finn's shoulder at the stiff Aamon, before casting her eyes towards the ground, regret coursing through her.

Irritate Finn enough, and he might forget about Aamon. "I don't know, maybe because if he were to come forward people might, you know, paralyze him." Her usually confident tone was shattered, riddled with uncertainty and desperation. Finn had played her in the library, and he had full power now. Avis felt like a gnat, out of control. Aamon was basically a hostage now, and anything Finn told her to do she was bound through her guilt to comply. Anything to get Aamon through this.

Again with the family. Why couldn't he just shut up about the family? Avis knelt on her knees next to Finn, trying to make him understand. She softened her trembling voice. "Whatever Vladimir's a part of, whatever his family has done, they're not him.. He can't tell anyone, look what happened when he did. Look at him, Finn. He's 11. He's just a victim in this." She shook her head, drained. "Just...I don't know. Take him to Lear, to another professor, but not Lécuyer. Clearly, he knows something we don't"

@Aamon Athanatos, @Finnegan Connor

Aamon’s world was a blur of fear and disorientation. His body remained paralyzed, every muscle locked in place, but his mind screamed in panic, each rapid thought crashing into the next. He had felt helpless before—but this? This was worse. His terror deepened as he watched Finn’s smirk, the expression of someone far too pleased with their power over another.

His breath quickened, shallow and useless in his petrified state, as Finn loomed closer. The older boy’s words cut deep, each accusation like a lash against Aamon’s already raw nerves. Cursed dolls ripping his arm off, throwing people down stairs. Finn didn’t understand. He didn’t care to. To him, Aamon wasn’t a person—just a problem to be dealt with, another mark on a list of things to fix by force.

This is a setup, Aamon thought bitterly, his wide eyes locked on Finn. You never cared about helping me. You only wanted to prove you’re stronger than me. Smarter. Better.

Avis’s protests barely registered at first, but her fiery tone eventually cut through the haze of Aamon’s fear. She was defending him, standing between him and Finn, her small frame practically vibrating with anger. For a moment, Aamon felt a flicker of hope.

But Finn didn’t back down.

The sharp edge in Finn’s voice, the way he casually dismissed Avis, sent a chill through Aamon. The older boy wasn’t just trying to help—he was obsessed. That realization hit Aamon like a hammer. Finn’s fixation on his family, his anger at their reputation, his harsh, unrelenting words… This wasn’t about safety or justice. This was personal. What had he done? No, what did his family do or represent? His mind whirred through the possibilities, there were sadly far too many.

Aamon’s pulse pounded in his ears as Finn stepped closer, his wand still drawn. When Finn aimed his accusations directly at him—"Why didn’t you come forward? What is it about your fucking family?"—a cold anger began to stir beneath Aamon’s fear, but in his helpless state his vision became a blur. His eyes welled up, in part from the throbbing, sharp pain on the back of his head. He was bleeding something fierce, not that he was aware or even able to react. He was too focused on the here and the now to even consider the implications later.

You don’t know anything about my family, he thought furiously, his wide eyes betraying both his terror and his growing frustration. You think you understand, but you have no idea what it’s like to live in their shadow. To live in their wake. He wondered, looking bleary-eyed at the sky above and the shadow cast by Finn and Avis if this is what his next seven years would look like. In his back, vulnerable, bound, helpless. He hated this feeling. He hated himself.

As Finn knelt down to search him, Aamon’s panic reached a breaking point. His family had enemies everywhere—students, professors, strangers who hated the Athanatos name. He’d always known that. But Finn? Finn was supposed to be different. He said he wanted to help. But now, Finn’s obsession with the Athanatos family was as clear as day, and Aamon could see exactly where it led: betrayal, humiliation, and being paraded like a trophy before a professor who would see him as nothing more than a liability.

Aamon’s eyes darted toward Avis, pleading silently. Stop him. Please. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, but if she didn’t do something—if no one stopped Finn—then Aamon knew exactly where this would end.

Avis was right and that was the problem. She knew more about the history of the dolls than the others. Words that seemed mad, but when looked at in the right light they made sense. So when she wondered why they reacted to Avis asking questions but not to someone paralyzing Aamon she would need to consider two very important factors that were missing. The first being time, the spell had only hit seconds earlier. The second being opportunity, Avis was standing on the edge of the stair. It was so convenient, an opportunity to end a risk, a problem and continue with the status quo. The dolls afterall did not want Aamon dead, no. She heard the stories, perversions likely of the truth but most stories had some level of inspiration. They needed him, alive. For how long? What would his fate be when they took what they wanted from him? Could they share? Those were all questions that would be left to linger for the time being, but she would learn the answer to those in the near future because she had made a singular mistake involving herself as she had.

However, here in the open, not particularly perilous courtyard that lacked for cliff edges, deep wells, sharp objects or heavy objects that might haphazardly fall on an unsuspecting victim. Nothing would happen. As for the corridors lit by candlelight. The blind corners, the crevices and the multitude of shifting stairs, decorative armaments, and a stone building that has stood for hundreds of years. It is truly amazing that the mortar has held so strong.

Finn would find several things in Aamon's pocket. Several galleons, a hefty sum for an eleven year old but he was not just any first year. A wand, aspen wood and kelpie hair. Strange how a wand made with what many would regard as a substandard core would choose a wizard such as Aamon, but perhaps it was a cruel parallel to the actual wielder. The wand itself, aspen wood was white and fine-grained. such a wand wood is often highly prized by wand-makers for its stylish resemblance to ivory and its usually outstanding charmwork. First impressions are often good, perhaps even powerful, but deep down there was no true power or substance at the core. A twinge of shame would roll over him with that revelation as his wand was withdrawn.

Finn clutched his wand tightly and glared at Avis. Did the girl never shut up? She seemed to insist on verbally slapping him across the face even though they were, ostensibly, working toward the same goal: to rid Aamon of the freaky dolls that haunted him.

"You think he chooses to have cursed dolls ripping off his arm? Are you really that dull?"

His jaw tightened and a vein pulsed near his temple. "No, I don’t think he chooses it," he shot back, his voice clipped. "But he chooses to let it carry on, doesn’t he? He knows what’s going on, and he’s not doing anything about it. That’s the problem, Avis. He’s scared. Scared doesn’t fix anything. Scared gets you here," he motioned his chin toward Aamon on the ground.

"I don't think he is up for talking right now. Someone decided to turn him into a board."

He barked a humorless laugh. "That was his choice. He could have cooperated, could have accepted the help being handed to him on a silver platter, but I guess he's above all that, isn't he?"

Still, Avis did not relent. "I don't know, maybe because if he were to come forward people might, you know, paralyze him."

Finnegan turned his gaze sharply toward Avis. "Are you daft? The entire reason he's laying on the ground, the entire reason he will be explaining himself to Professor Lecuyer soon, is because he did not come forward. Even though he's had every opportunity to do so." His next words were directed at Aamon also. "Just because you think no one will believe you doesn't mean you shouldn't try, not when the alternative is getting killed, maybe getting others killed too. Do either of you have have any idea how wildly irresponsible you've been? I'm saving both of your lives you ungrateful-"

He stopped there, took a deep breath and tried to think about how to proceed. Leaving Aamon with Avis to get a Professor was not an option. Taking Avis along and leaving Aamon wasn't either, some other student could come across him in the meantime and unfreeze him. So what to do? What to do...

He knelt down besides Aamon, stepped over him and eventually settled on top of him, rifling through Aamon's robes with his free had. He fished out some weighty, clinking coins and set them aside on the cobblestone. Next came Aamon's wand, sleek and pale like bone. Aspen? The flashiness of such a prized wood didn't seem to suit the boy and it felt strange to the touch as Finn set it aside.

The silver flask and box were far more intriguing. Medicine? Though he was curious to see what was in the box, he decided against opening it for now. That honor would fall to Professor Lecuyer who would be able to asses if the artificats were safe or dangerous.

"Whatever Vladimir’s a part of, whatever his family has done, they’re not him. Look at him, Finn. He’s eleven. He’s just a victim in this. Just... I don’t know. Take him to Lear, to another professor, but not Lécuyer. Clearly, he knows something we don’t."

"You can't be sure of any of that." Not even that he is eleven, the boy was very tall for his age after all. "The only thing I'm sure of is that he's bleeding and that I don't know any healing spell so you can either finally shut up and fetch a Professor or you can continue yapping while he bleeds out and pray to God that someone sees these."

"Periculum!"

He turned back to Avis. "We're going to need something to stem that bleeding." It was clear that he wasn't about to move anywhere, but he would let Avis make some attempt to fix Aamon's head, if indeed she would try to do something.

Periculum WDC (6):

[d20 : 9] + 4
In the end, the result was: 13

https://discord.com/channels/4105394207 ... 0290535434

@Aamon Athanatos Unless you feel inclined to maintain post order, I humbly suggest that maybe Orion can come after Avis and then you can come after Orion, but that's your call. There does not seem to be much to do for Aamon at the moment. Finn would have released him but I did not think it would be kosher to cast two spells in one round, so unfreezing him is planned for next round, but by that time Orion may already have done that. We'll see...
@Orion Lécuyer THIS IS YOUR BAT SIGNAL. Red sparks are in the air!
@Avis Marlong Finn will not get in the way of any attempt Avis will make to help address Aamon's head wound. However if she tries to get Aamon's belongings (which are on the ground next to Aamon atm), Finn would try to stop her, so in that case we'll likely have to do rolls again.

"Just because you think no one will believe you doesn't mean you shouldn't try, not when the alternative is getting killed, maybe getting others killed too." Avis sucked in a resigned breath and spoke, dropping her stubbornness for a moment. "I know. That's why I told you. That's why we're here. But it didn't work out too well for him or me, did it?" The problem here was Finn's lack of pity for the kid. A lack of pity could be considered a source of pity, generally, but that was exempted when the person sent a kid to the ground.

"He could have cooperated, could have accepted the help being handed to him on a silver platter, but I guess he's above all that, isn't he?" Avis was tired of the arguing. Clearly she wasn't going to change Finn's mind. But like any stubborn child, she needed to get the last word, so she muttered under her breath. "He was about to, right until you sent him to the ground."

Another problem was the blood now pooling beneath Aamon's head. A fact in which Finn seemed to note but not care enough to do anything about, save for launching red sparks in the air. He was a really bad role model. Avis hoped for the sake of everyone that he would never become a prefect. Sure. Let the 11-year-old try to solve the head trauma. Nice going, Finn. Scowling at him, she moved around Aamon. Muttering a quiet apology, she knelt next to him and gently rolled him over a bit, in order to try to find and assess the injury.

She purposely pushed him towards Finn, presuming that he would probably want to watch him. She cast a quick glance towards the contents of his pockets but ignored them. There was nothing that obviously necessitated hiding from Finn, and by the way Finn was looking at them, it didn't seem like a great idea. Besides, the bleeding child was slightly more important. She frowned. Pressure. She searched for a quick piece of cloth, realizing with a shiver that it was December, and she didn't have a winter cloak. Or any extra cloth really.

"The only thing I'm sure of is that he's bleeding and that I don't know any healing spell so you can either finally shut up and fetch a Professor or you can continue yapping while he bleeds out and pray to God that someone sees these."

How did Finn not know any healing spells? Or maybe he did, and just didn't want to cast them. But Avis was not leaving him alone with Aamon to go fetch a professor. Who knew what he would do? She needed something else she could wrap around Aamon's injury--like a blindfold. Oh. That was actually possible. Avis had seen people doing that while watching duels.

Not that she knew the spell. The only person who might be able to would be the third year. Great. The last thing Avis wanted to do was ask Finn anything, being the person who had caused the injury. And yet she did. Keeping her focus on Aamon, she directed her voice towards Finn. "Do you know the blindfold spell? I could use a blindfold to bind his head." She really didn't want him casting another spell, but she really needed to get pressure on this thing.

@Aamon Athanatos, @Finnegan Connor, @Orion Lécuyer

@Avis Marlong | @Finnegan Connor | @Orion Lécuyer

Aamon’s world was agony and chaos. The sharp crack of his head against the stone still rang in his ears, dull and unrelenting. Pain radiated from the back of his skull, a searing, throbbing reminder of the blood he could feel pooling beneath him, sticky and cold. His body could not shudder to combat the cold, that necessary involuntarily trembling in the icy December air as his body grew colder.

I still can’t move.

When Avis rolled him over, the motion sent a wave of nausea surging through him. His head pounded, as if she had bashed him in the back of his head and the fresh air made his wound sting. He tried to resist, but his body betrayed him. Vomit spilled from his mouth. His lack of a gag reflex being paralyzed caused the hot bile to simply pour out like an overturned cup. The humiliation burned almost as much as the pain, and tears blurred his vision.

He heard their voices, distant and muffled like echoes in a nightmare. Finn’s clipped, self-righteous tones grated against him, each word a sharp knife prodding at his terror and anger. "Scared doesn’t fix anything," Finn had said.

Scared? Scared doesn’t leave you lying in your own vomit and blood while someone rifles through your robes like a grave robber.

Aamon’s fury ignited, but his body was too weak, too broken to act on it. His breaths grew shallower, his body colder. His unblinking eyes had some sort of spark to them, the only sign of life he could muster in this pitiful state. He wanted to scream, to shout, to tell them both to leave him alone, but his voice refused to obey.

He caught glimpses of Avis’s face—furrowed with worry, frustration etched into every line. Her hands were gentle as she pressed against his head, trying to stop the bleeding. He wanted to hate her, to blame her for bringing Finn into this. But he couldn’t. She wasn’t the one who had paralyzed him, who had thrown him down like a broken toy.

She would see a laceration to the back of his head, on his scalp. It was bleeding heavily, as would most head wounds, not that the eleven year old would be casually aware of that. The injury was not deep because there was not much meat between his hair and his skull, but the laceration was open and just under three inches in length. It would require stiches. It was more the concussion he suffered that would prove most concerning, but beyond the emesis pooling in front of him and the risk to his airway, there was little evidence that could be offered that his problem went any deeper than a bit of blood.

Finn’s words snapped through the haze, and Aamon’s blood boiled. "What is it about your fucking family?"

What was it about his family? What wasn’t it? He wanted to shout, to let Finn know exactly what it was like to grow up as an Athanatos. To live with the weight of their name, to endure the whispers, the scrutiny, the endless line of people looking to tear them down. He wanted to scream that he didn’t choose this, that he didn’t want this.

But he could not say anything.

Dizziness overtook him, his head unmoving in this strange doll-like posture that was as stiff as a board. He felt her trying to apply pressure, her voice sharp and urgent as she argued with Finn.

The blood loss would be enough to sap his strength, but not enough to leave his life in peril. The cold, the limitations on his airway and any internal swelling were his actual worries, not that Aamon had the presence of mind or the knowledge to be concerned about any of this. But his fury burned on. He tried to lock his blurry gaze on Finn, but he could not move his eyes. They stared forward, likely at some stones, some frost-covered grass. Oh yeah, it is December he thought. That is why I am so cold.

The world swayed. His body felt impossibly heavy despite that someone was holding him onto his side, his limbs numb. He hated Finn. He hated him for turning this nightmare into something worse, for using his family as an excuse for his violence, for leaving him helpless and humiliated.

But what Aamon hated most was himself. For being weak. For not running sooner. For ever thinking anyone would help without a price.

The cold seeped deeper into his bones, and his thoughts held one last desperate plea. “Avis… don’t let him… take me…”

The tip Bijou’s black tail twitched in annoyance as she strolled ahead of the French man, head held high. Orion followed a few paces behind, clad in a dark blue overcoat, a large cashmere scarf, and shiny black leather boots, followed behind the feline.

This was their usual routine—a daily stroll to escape the castle. He could only stay in dim dark places for so long. Bijou had been sour towards him as of late. He knew why. She resented the intruder, Catrion, his fiancé Galahad's pet. It seemed Bijou had a jealous streak and did not like sharing her ‘dad’.

When a flash of red pierced the gray skies, Orion stopped in his tracks. His eyes narrowed, his feet instinctively carrying him towards the emergency signal. He didn't bother reaching for his wand; he didn't need to. He waved his wand during classes to help the children feel at ease and teach them wand movements, but he had far outgrown the need for his elder wood wand.

The frost-frozen grass crunched beneath his steps as he hurried towards the scene, Bijou hissing in displeasure at his sudden diversion, scurrying in an attempt to keep up with him. The Frenchman did not stop until he arrived at the scene of the crime. Connor, third year Gryffindor prodigy, Marlong, first year Ravenclaw, and... Athanatos, first year Slytherin. He really couldn't escape from their family, it seemed, one would graduate and the next would roll on in. Hadn't Thaddeus ever heard of contraceptives?

Aamon was in the recovery position, his body stiff, face pale and smeared with what Orion could only assume was vomit. As his blue eyes scanned over his form, he noted the smear of blood staining his light brown hair and (likely) Avis' hands.

His jaw tightened as memories surfaced. A body lay on the ground, blood seeping into the cracks of the wooden floor, the walls painted with gore. The smell of it. The echoes of their pleas for their life still hummed through the air. The acrid scent of smoke as fire devoured everything, evidence included, the craving for more as the heavy silence followed—His hand flexed involuntarily towards his pocket, where he kept a stash of chocolate. This was not then. He popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth to mask the scent of blood.

It was the only thing that ever did.

“Explain.” He commanded the two, his voice low as he crouched down to examine the petrified first year. A spell came to mind, a wave of his hand. He only needed to think of the incantation. Episkey.

EPISKEY
Wisdom DC: 12 (+10 for wandless and nonverbal)
[d20 : 14] + 20
In the end, the result was: 34

Assuming I do not need to roll accuracy since Aamon is unable to move.

The boy's skin would start to knit itself together until the gash had all but disappeared. "Which one of you petrified him?" He was prepared to cast a counterspell, but wanted to hear an explanation before he did, lest he discover Aamon had tried to hex one of them.

Avis was showing signs of improvement, talking less and less even though she was wrong and annoying he let her comments slide. The last thing he wanted right about now was another big argument, which he was certain she would utterly refuse to back down from. The tenacity which he'd rather liked in her just a short while ago, when they'd come running to the courtyard, was starting to show its downsides. She was like a very stubborn bulldog with blunt teeth. The bite didn't hurt, but she just wouldn't let go of your bloody leg.

When Avis rolled Aamon over, two things became apparent. First, he was bleeding quite a bit more than Finnegan had previously suspected. Second, he was throwing up and it absolutely reeked.

"Ewwww god!" Finnegan jumped up in disgust, only narrowly dodging the sickly, acidic stew of half-digested food, the sound wet and guttural as it sploshed and sloshed and splashed all over the cobblestones. The smell was so pungent that he very nearly gagged himself.

Pinching his nose with one hand, Finnegan aimed his wand at Aamon to release him from his frozen position. He didn't need any medical expertise to know that Aamon could very well choke on his own gastric fluids if he remained frozen. "F-finite incantatem..."

Like that time with Avery Leveret in the hallway, his hand wand had no trouble petrifying people but seemed to intensely dislike unfreezing them. Charms, even simple counter-charms, never had come easy to him whereas he had usually been ahead of class in Defense Against the Dark Arts. That was yet another reason he had wanted to get Orion Lecuyer involved, though he was not as close to Professor Lecuyer as he was to Fresnel, he did like to believe he was in good standing with the Professor, due to his rapid progress for one.

"Do you know the blindfold spell? I could use a blindfold to bind his head."

"Aye." He was not feeling quite so confident in his spellcasting anymore and frankly, there was plenty Avis could use to stop the bleeding. She could use her tie, hell she could use Aamon's, or Aamon's robes, really anything that wasn't glued to the Athanatos's body. Hell, if it came down to the wire, she could just use her hands. Typical Ravenclaw, he sneered inwardly. Huge brains, not a clue what to do with them. They were all theoretical, see. They could think up solutions, know what needed to be done, but when it came down to brass tacks, when actually action needed to be taken, they were worse than useless. "Look, I can give it a shot but it mig-"

"Explain."

Finnegan spun around so fast that his head nearly came flying off. Thank god it's him. Was it luck or divine providence? Whatever God had caused Orion Lecuyer to be first to the scene, Finnegan was deeply grateful to them. Aside from the Headmaster or perhaps Professor Fresnel, he couldn't have hoped for a better outcome. Just when he opened his mouth to speak, Finnegan heard a faint sound. The wound on the back of Aamon's head looked to be closing off it's own accord.

Finnegan shot an astounded look between Aamon's head and his DADA Professor. "Sir, did you..." Had he just witnessed wandless magic? He knew it was possible, but he'd also learned that it was insanely difficult to pull off. Yet here they were, and Orion didn't show the faintest sign of exertion or effort. "Which one of you petrified him?"

"I did, Professor," he answered curtly. "This is Ms. Marlong and Mr, Athanatos, Sir. Ms. Marlong told me about a curse on Aamon. Dolls. Impersonators. It's probably best if she tells you herself. I... apprehended Mr. Athanatos, intending to take him to you. He's dangerous Professor, well, not him personally but the curs— would you mind unfreezing him Sir? I tried but-" A gentle heat rushed to his cheeks. It was quite evident that his effort had failed. "I think he's choking."

Avis was suddenly very happy she had rolled Aamon onto his side. Not including the chance there was that she had caused the vomiting, which didn't seem likely, it was definetly better for him to be on his side. That was what they always said, for seizures and stuff, turn them on their side so they wouldn't choke in their own vomit. She recoiled at the smell but only allowed herself a moment of gagging before forcing her attention back to Aamon, very thankful that she was on the other side of Aamon, away from the ugly puddle. She could handle blood on her hands but vomit was a no. In a way, she was punishing herself, as this was really her fault. If she had caused this for Aamon, she could deal with it as well.

Finn seemed to hold no such guilt or reservation, although it could be argued that he had more to do with the kid on the ground than she did. Arguably. Avis kept a hand on the cleanest part of Aamon's stiff form as she could find, gently keeping him up on his side, in case of further vomiting, as well as to remind him that she was still behind him. She hoped that was a comforting thought, but with Aamon, you never could know. Finn then, thankfully, decided to try and release Aamon, but failed. Avis raised an annoyed eyebrow at him but held her tongue. How did he justify casting a spell if he didn't even know how to fix it?

Finn was right. Avis could have used a tie, or really anything else, but Finn was also right in other regards. She was a Ravenclaw. And an 11 year old at that. Avis was just doing what she was best at: Pretending she knew the solutions to problems in which she most assuredly didn't, a trait that seems to be common among Ravenclaws. Maybe she did fit well in her house.

Avis watched the professor walk up behind Finn, choosing not to point him out to the third year. Watching people be surprised was always fun, especially when they deserved it. Finn did not disappoint, though Avis wished he would have dropped his wand in surprise as well. After a moment, her eyes were drawn to Aamon, as he seemed to be healing herself. She gaped at the professor. Illowy had used magic without her wand, but Professor Lécuyer hadn't even spoken.

What were the chances? Out of all the professors in the school, it just happened to be Professor Lécuyer who happened to see the red sparks. For a moment, Avis wondered if Finn had done something to the sparks, to make them only visible to the person he was looking for, but quickly cast that aside. After all, she could see them.

"Which one of you petrified him?" It was like a switch was flipped in Finn. Gone was his stubbornness, arrogance, and impulsiveness, and in its place were Sirs and Messrs and Mses. It was revolting to Avis, to be such a different person to students and teachers, but she held a begrudging sort of respect for it as well. It took thought as well as talent to pull off a two-face. It was a dangerous ability to have, especially for Finn. She took a moment to sort out her response before looking up at Professor Lécuyer and Finn, keeping her hand on Aamon.

"Finn-" She shot a look at Finn, she was not calling him Mr. Whateverhislastnamewas.-"Petrified him." As she told the story, her words tumbled out, starting slowly but tumbling into a barely understandable blob as it unfolded. The faster she could get through this, the faster someone would release Aamon. "Aamon's got doll replica things that are getting really possessive. They cut off his hand. I asked him about it and the dolls pushed me down the stairs." Avis didn't mention how Finn had also been there. That would mean explaining Pride and she did not have time for that. "Then another girl and I found Aamon near the forest and the dolls were basically dragging him in and then I lit Lumos and then we saw them they were like little Aamons except all wrong. Aamon didn't trust anyone--especially you, by the way, cause...-- Avis paused. It was probably not the best to tell a hit wizard that he was a hit wizard, so she moved past it. and he thinks he'll be sent to St. Mungos. Finn asked me and I told him and he and I tried to convince Aamon to come to see you and Finn did not "apprehend" him because Aamon didn't do anything and then Finn petrified him for no reason. Avis paused to catch her breath. "Please unfreeze him."

@Finnegan Connor, @Aamon Athanatos, @Orion Lécuyer

Aamon’s terror swelled as Professor Lécuyer’s voice cut through the cold later morning air. Even unable to move, his body trembled in his mind's eye, the sound of the professor’s measured, steady tone chilling him more than the frigid ground beneath him that sapped his own heat. The Defense Against Dark Arts professor’s reputation hardly preceded him—he was seen by the children through a vantage of innocence. It is amazing how easy it is for a man to become someone different by ensuring that their past remains obfuscated. A silly, perhaps even kindly man could be seen where those, like him, who knew what he was saw a figure of precise, unrelenting efficiency, a hunter who never missed his mark. And now, that hunter was here.

He knows.

The gash the Slytherin had gotten on the back of his head from the fall throbbed with every syllable spoken, the slow knitting of his flesh a strange, unwelcome sensation that didn’t alleviate the searing pain inside his skull. Aamon's stomach churned violently, and though he was already on his side, another wave of nausea overtook him, his body powerless to resist. Vomit burned his throat, hot against the biting cold of the courtyard air. He couldn’t even wipe his mouth, couldn’t turn away from the shame of it. It simply poured out, spilling onto the ground in front of him, mingling with his own blood.

They’ve brought me to him.

Aamon’s thoughts spiraled. His eyes fixed but searching from their still vantage point attempted to desperately track movement but he found no means of escape. Avis’s hand was his only tether to reality, a small, steady reminder that he wasn’t entirely alone. Yet even her touch couldn’t outweigh the fear consuming him.

He felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been even in the worst moments with the cursed dolls. At least then, his body had been his own. He could run. Her could scream. He had a choice, a chance to fight or to stand in their way. Now, he was a stiff, silent observer to his own humiliation, his mind screaming while his lips remained locked.

The professor’s magic worked swiftly, far too efficiently, knitting the wound on his head with clinical precision. But the concussion lingered, sending waves of dizziness and disorientation crashing over him. The world spun erratically, and every flicker of movement seemed to stretch unnaturally, like a distorted nightmare. The throbbing had hastened to a gallop as his panic found and maintained its apex.

He heard Finnegan address more his interest in the Professor than what was happening in front of him. The politeness in his words, a contrast to the person that asked him about his fucking family moments earlier. He head Avis explain from her perspective what had happened, her voice tumbling over itself in frantic bursts. He couldn’t decide if her honesty was a comfort or a death knell. Her description of the dolls, the Lumos spell, the encounter in the forest—it was all there, honest, but laid bare before the professor.

But when she hesitated, glossing over why he feared the professor so deeply, Aamon’s mind screamed with unspoken words. You think he doesn’t know? He knows everything. He’ll use it against me. That’s what they do.

Avis’s final plea broke through the haze, her voice urgent: "Please unfreeze him."

Aamon’s gaze flickered toward the professor, his wide, terrified eyes begging for something even he didn’t fully understand. Release? Mercy? Punishment? He wasn’t sure. His internally trembled faintly as his mind wrestled with the overwhelming surge of fear, anger, and pain.

You brought me to him, he thought, his silent accusation directed at both Finn and Avis. I told you not to. I told you.

If only he could move, he would run, stumble, crawl—anything to get away from the man standing over him, the man whose very presence seemed to siphon the last vestiges of hope from his battered body.

And yet, as the professor’s shadow stretched over him, Aamon’s thoughts slowed, his panic giving way to something colder. Resignation.

It’s over now, he thought bitterly. Whatever happens next, it’s out of my hands.