Closed Rooted Beliefs PV A. Leveret

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• ROOTED BELIEFS •

“If our demons cannot dance, then neither can we.”

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	Nov 14th | Hogwarts, Courtyard Avery's Hex #136b5c ─▪──────────────▪─ ----- 𝕯erivative, is what it was. The very same talking points that Openbloods freely parroted, and often. Previously, Avery Leveret kept to himself when he traversed the castle, but this break had not been something he wanted disturbed by such flawed thinking. There was never any peace in the open spaces of the castle, why? Well the answer to that was obvious, because the open spaces of this castle invited people to congregate and share their views. Which was okay, when they were views that he held. Such was the way, this break time, when he heard several students talking about the purity of blood and its connections to magic; a rare and encouraging sight to see some of the younger years taking to such theory and promoting it amongst the latest generation. Perhaps the wizarding world wasn't doomed after all- that was until the girl spoke up; she who happened to make the standard uniform somewhat stylish. She was a younger year, for he hadn't seen her face before; and based on her argument and his lack of seeing her at any of the necessary social events of the season that he had attended this term (since the death of his father), she was not likely to be a pureblood. Avery had taken clear steps this year in determining the truth in the rumours; in curating a coterie of like-minded individuals. There was a benefit in having allies; there was a benefit in having a reputation too; last year he and Nicholas had the very same fiery debate. He had no interest in how that turned out, but he did have an interest in the optics of encouraging this discourse amongst the younger years; perhaps that was where he would find other useful souls. In the year prior, he learned the lesson of being a shark or being a spider; now he would adapt and simultaneously, be both. One could be direct and forceful in their dealings, in pursuit of the next satiating meal; whilst also weaving a web with other ulterior motives. In a simple but energy efficient movement, he pulled his thumb from the page of his small leather journal of notes and closed it; deciding that he would indeed bite. He, like her, did not wear the drab curtain-robe. Avery instead wore a black sweater with the sleeves rolled up, his white shirt cuffs up his forearms and his collar undone. His pale complexion meant that his dark eyes were all the more striking as they watched her on his approach. Blood in the water. In the few steps it took to get to her, he had sized her up; adopting a smug smirk. That was sure to push the buttons of most who took to this moral-grandstanding argument; those who did not in fact understand the facts of the matter as he did; those who were wrong. "You call it a flowchart as though it’s a joke. It’s a tapestry. Every thread, every connection, carefully maintained to ensure magic stays strong. Your disdain only highlights how little you understand the responsibilities tied to heritage. Our ‘tree,’ as you so crudely put it, is proof of commitment, not chaos." He entered the fray with, his tone eering on the side of haughty as though intended to rile feathers. "And let's face it, that's what being thin-blooded means. Your lineage has forsaken tradition, order- for chaos. The chaos that is muggleborn; the luck of the draw, as it were. Those who happen upon magic. Not those whose birthright it is. Avery continued, casting a look to the other students who were backing away intentionally, to grab their attention. This was, perhaps, targetted more at them then at her. He didn't care for her, he didn't need to win her heart or mind. "A sprawling tree might look impressive, but its fruit is thin and weak. A well-tended one; compact, refined, bears strength. If our traditions create circles, it’s because circles are unbroken. Unlike the diluted chaos of Muggle genealogies, which resemble weeds more than trees. - You mock genealogy as though it were trivial, but magic is in the blood, not merely the wand. It’s no coincidence that the most advanced spellwork and inventions in wizarding history trace back to pureblood lines. The great enchantments of our age didn’t spring from nowhere- they’re legacies, perfected over generations. That’s not prejudice; it’s just fact." wc: 734
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Interacting with: @Ula Takahashi

TIME | 10:22 DATE | November 14th, 2024 INTERACTING |@Avery Leveret

“ I'm gonna pop your bubblegum heart ” 00:35⠀─── ◉ ───────⠀02:34

Gryffindor school uniform| OUTFIT #B68EA7 | DIALOGUE xxx| MENTIONING

The young Takahashi didn't so much as flinch when the boy approached, dripping smug superiority like a leaky faucet. She tilted her head slightly, catching a strand of her hair between her fingers and twirling it lazily. His voice became little more than background noise to her the more he rambled, like the droning hum of bees in a far-off meadow.

Her dark eyes never wavered from his face, though, unblinking and steady, as if she were silently daring him to say something worth her attention. By the time he finished, the strand of hair slipped from her fingers, and she leaned back against the tree with the casual air of someone thoroughly unimpressed.

"Wow," she said, tone light but sharp enough to cut."Practiced that in the mirror, did you? What is it, a family mantra? 'Magic is in the blood'—very Game of Thrones. Do you lot have banners too? Maybe a family crest with, I don't know...a wand stabbing a mudblood?"

Someone let out a scandalized yelp at the last word, and one of the first-years actually stumbled back a step, clutching their chest as though she'd just hexed them. Even those who had been inching away moments ago froze, their faces pale and wide-eyed.

Her dark eyes glinted with mischief as she leaned forward slightly, her tone shifting to something almost conspiratorial."Here's a thought: if you're so special, why are you so busy trying to convince everyone? Real power doesn't need a PR campaign."

She straightened up and dusted an imaginary speck off her sleeve, the casual movement as deliberate as it was dismissive. "But hey," she added, her voice lilting with mock sweetness, "I'm sure your great-great-granduncle or whatever would be very proud of your ability to monologue. You've really done him justice."

Behind her, the tree rustled as a breeze swept through the courtyard, carrying with it the sound of whispered disbelief. Ula's gaze flicked briefly to the first-years, her lip curling slightly as she caught one of them gawking. She raised an eyebrow, and they promptly averted their eyes, scurrying off as though they'd just been caught eavesdropping on a duel.

Her attention returned to the boy before her, and she tilted her head again, a single dark brow arched as if to say, Well? Your move.