Approved, Elmo Break (10/3/2025)

School Year: Adult, but this is her 7th year ability.
Encyclopedia: here!
Patronus: dragonfly — wandering glider
Describe Why this Fits your Character:

Reducio

The sun was blinding, its heat drumming down the fields — summer was in the air. Crickets and other insects buzzed loudly in the surrounding trees, ripe fruits ready to crumble down the branches. A light humidity lingered on the skin, beads of water pearling down the temples as they ran. Neera was in front of her, laughing so hard her breath caught in her throat, and they both had to stop until she regained control of her lungs. Grass curled gently around her limbs, hand digging into the soil as her sister was laying on her back, arms raised in the air, drawing strange patterns in the skies.

“What are you seeing?” she yawned, leaving the trunk of the tree she had been leaning against to drop on her sister with her full weight. Neera yelped, struggling like a tiny slug to get out of her embrace, and soon giggled filled the air as she pushed her twin sister away. Malaika capitulated, instead falling on the grass, laying opposed to her, with their head touching.

Neera raised a hand once again pointing at swirly clouds in the clouds. “It's us, see?” The tip of her index aimed at two clouds disposed in such a way they appeared to mirror their position. If one were to use a large dose of imagination, and narrow their eyes until shapes gain to blur, one could indeed discern the shapes of a firefly and a dragonfly, interlinked. A weight sat on Malaika's chest, heart constricting under the weight of the love she carried for her twin sister.

“I see a deformed bunny, that must be yours,” she teased, laughing when she felt her sister sit back up, glaring at her. “Oh yeah?” Neera retorted, mischief glimmering in her onyx eyes. “Well the first one to reach the front door gets to eat the last piece of cake.” Malaika felt her heart drop. Their mother only baked this cake approximately once a year, and every bite was sacred. “You can't do that, it's my sli- HEY!”

Her sister was already running. Jumping to her feet, Malaika followed suit, trailing as fast as she could. Luckily she had somehow inherited the tall gene of the family, and her long strides soon caught up with her sister's disloyal start. Reaching her level, a few meters away from the house, Malaika jumped on her once more, sending the two girls toggle down the scream in a concert of yelps and giggles. They halted at the foot of the hill, breathless, laying on their back once more. Their two clouds appeared to have found them again.

“GIRLS!”

Their mother's voice echoed throughout their garden, promising new delicious snacks freshly out of the oven, perhaps even another cake, if she had felt nostalgic of the eaten-in-three-seconds previous one. Back on her feet, Malaika helped her sister up, and hand in hand they ran towards the front door, laughing.

A tear rolled down her cheek, as she gripped her wand so tight her fingers might be forever imprinted with its shape. Her happiest memory. The remnants of that day still lingered in her heart, the sheer joy, love and happiness she had felt overwhelming. Her firefly. There was not a day that went without her dearly missing her. Chasing away the pain, Malaika took a deep breath, focusing on the positive emotions this day, this moment had brought her. She let them invade her body, inch by inch, until all that was left was happiness.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Light surged from her wand, coursing around her, solidifying until a form was discernable. A- was that-? Malaika chuckled, a tiny sob in her throat, as a beautiful dragonfly flew around her, determined to shield her from the despair and sadness of this world. ”

STATUS: Approved, Kasem, 5 June

School Year: Adult
Link to your encyclopedia thread:x
Patronus you are applying for: Jaguar (Panthera onca)
Describe why this fits your character: 1278/500

Reducio

“Have you ever heard of Dementors back in Brazil?” Rodger wondered, suddenly, as they reached another black, silver-gilded door in the long hallway of the English Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was an arranged private tour that would hopefully aid Santiago in his future career pursuit by offering a network and further clarity on what the role entailed. Santiago’s mother had pulled some strings with a few connections overseas, and the trip had been a last minute arrangement during the December break, after his sixteenth birthday.

“No, sir.”

“Then I think you’ll find this fascinating," the man nodded knowingly. Leading him into a room with historical records, where the main centerpiece was a basin located in its center, he was given more information about these Dementors, beasts that were stationed at the infamous prison Azkaban. Creatures that did not kill in any ordinary sense. They fed on a person’s happiness and memories. Those exposed too long were left hollow, and those subjected to the so-called kiss did not recover from it. It was all very abstract.

He was led to stand in front of it, looking down with mild confusion at the swirling water. A Pensieve, the man informed him: a rare magical object that was used for rewatching memories, mainly used in evidence gathering and interrogations. “Very useful, if one needs to be there.”

“Inside?” Santi repeated carefully.

“Yes,” Rodger confirmed and then waved his wand in front of his temple, grabbing onto a string of memory that glided through the air, into the water. An image began to take shape in the ripples. Watching the man nod, before diving his face into the surface, Santiago followed his lead, instinctively holding his breath though it didn’t require it.

Reality morphed in front of his eyes, and suddenly he was existing in a place he’d never physically travelled to. It was some sort of auditorium, rows of ministers in suits frowning and muttering among themselves, with a crowd of spectators. On the floor among them, a man in tattered robes was fighting against restraints, tears streaking down his face as he screamed for mercy. Without Rodger spelling it out, Santiago knew what was supposed to happen. They were about to watch an execution.

The temperature dropped before the whole room silenced. A door opened, and Santi drew a ragged breath at the… thing that entered: a floating cloaked figure engulfed the space, as if its mere presence sucked the energy out of everyone in attendance. The man's sobs grew louder, up until the point where the figure moved toward him. Something in his stomach twisted when he watched a disturbing sequence of the monster, or whatever it was, advance on the helpless man, seemingly sucking the little fighting instinct that was left in him. After a few minutes, the body slumped, chest still heaving but a vacant, empty expression on the man's face said everything. Whatever the Dementor had done, the man would never be the same.

Regarding the shell of a man, stripped bare of his soul, Santiago asked, clinically: “Did he deserve it?” refusing to acknowledge the cold shrill that had tremored through his body.

Surprised by the question, as if it was the first time anyone had questioned the morality behind the kiss of death, the man glanced at him with furrowed brows. “He’s a criminal, my boy,” the Englishman said in wry amusement.

“They all deserve it.”

Instantly, the room evaporated into smoke, and in the blink of an eye, he emerged from the water.

Stunned by the absolute punishment being treated as something completely normalized, the tour continued as if nothing had happened. While Santiago was physically present, his mind refused to abandon the footage he’d just witnessed. Where was that man now? Was he still alive, rotting away in a cell like something dead but still breathing? Not quite gone, but reduced to a body of what he had once been, criminal or not.

The trip all in all had been enlightening, so to speak. His goals had not shifted. If anything, the path he was heading down had become more clear, though he was left pondering—imagining what other horrors he’d be forced to face in a future ministry position. What he’d witnessed and learned followed him for the next months to come, becoming almost an obsession. When he wasn’t in class or participating in his extracurricular activities and obligations, Santi was researching this phenomenon he’d encountered in England, inside the cold walls of the Ministry of Magic, hidden from view but treated as a merciless truth.

Dementors.

The grotesque, demon-like appearance wasn't what kept him up at night, practising his spell-casting for the one day he might encounter one in the flesh. It was something more terrifying: being helpless at the hands of a monster whose only goal in its existence was to leave you hollow and lifeless. Santiago had never felt fear in the way he did, as he imagined his life-force being drained out of his body. Not even the thought of leaving his family behind through death itself was as cruel as still existing, but no longer as the person they once knew. The only known defence against them, to at least ward them off long enough to make a clean exit— alive— was a corporeal patronus, only conjured by a particularly strong and happy memory. According to sources, it was a notoriously difficult spell to master. Most would never succeed. In his mind, failure was never an option. Not if he wanted to make it out with his sanity and life-force intact.

Finding a memory that was strong enough would prove to be the difficult part. The Peruvian boy had plenty of good memories. His life was good, and as a consequence few of the memories stood out as the clear happiest memory, since none of the ones he’d used so far—top grades, autonomy and being trusted— had conjured more than a mist of smoke. All of those things were important to him, yet it seemed like he would have to search deeper.

Raising his wand once more, taking a deep breath, he focused hard on another memory. A wild guess at this point. Santiago thought about his first time. Nothing dramatic, of course. They hadn’t even been in love, in hindsight, at least not on his end, but the rush of dopamine that had filled his body when she’d been wrapped in his arm, lips against his, heatedly, lingered in his memory long after it was over. Even now, a year later, the memory made him bite back a smile, heat flushing his cheeks in an uncharacteristically vulnerable expression few would recognize. It hadn’t been about her or what they were doing, but the fact that it had been the first time when he could just stop over-analysing everything by stripping everything and everyone down to the bone, examining motives, meaning and consequences, including himself. It was a moment of wild, emotional freedom where nothing else seemed to matter.

Barely containing a chuckle, Santiago repeated, confidently: “Expecto Patronum.”

This time, it felt complete, and when the large spotted jaguar pounced from the tip of his wand, everything made sense. It was not the jaguar's strength that resembled him the most, but the fact that it thrived in places others feared: dense jungle, dark water, unseen depths. It crossed boundaries that many creatures avoided altogether. Perhaps that was why the Patronus had taken the form of a Jaguar. Not because Santiago was fearless, but because he had always possessed a need to understand what lurked beneath the surface, regardless of whether he liked what he found.

STATUS: Approved, Malaika, June 9th