Ondine's wand was passed down to her in the summer of 2025 after her grandfather, Berenger, passed on. The wand has belonged to many of her families Seers before the girl. Ondine's wand is an extension of the great witches and wizards before her, linking her to her ancestors in ways nothing else can.
Willow
Willow is tied to Ondine firstly through her swamp heritage. Willow trees are a common site in the Leroux family cemetery, often proving to be wonderful for sitting and reflecting. Willow is a wood that is drawn to witches and wizards that are insecure, and Ondine definitely fits that description. Her anxiety, paired with her budding intuitive abilities, cause her to live life on shaky footing. She is often unsure of situations, and people. Usually, when a new seer emerges in the family, insecurity is the first and primary emotion felt. Will I be enough? Is it really up to me? What if my visions are ... wrong? all questions each child must answer for themselves before growing to their full potential, including Ondine.
It is ironic that the Leroux Family wand is predisposed to healing, considering their profession. Being so close to death and mourning will plant a seed of empathy, if not apathy in a person. Helping, serving, and healing are second nature to the family, even if they come off as cold, and a bit unfeeling.
Ondine, under her rough, thorny exterior, just wants everyone she loves to be okay, and free of suffering. She will do whatever is in her abilities to aid those in true need, making this wand a wonderful asset.
White River Monster Spine
Once again tied to Ondine through her American Southern heritage, and her roots in the swamp. This wand core is attracted to wealthy, pureblood, prestigious families just like Ondines. Ondine is very passionate in her casting, only amplified by the forceful nature of white river monster spine. Ondine is unusual to say the least, reflecting the visual abnormalities caused by this wand core.
Length
28.39 cm. Not too terribly short or long. Ondine is the kind of person to fly under the radar, and is often underestimated, especially by herself. While she sees herself as an outcast, she also suffers from feeling average, reflected in her wand length. The girl is neutral tempered, generally presenting a refined, presentable persona. This doesn't exclude her from moments of intensity, however. Overall Ondines temperament and personality are fairly balanced, leaning slightly more towards rigidity and refinement than extravagance and dramatics.
Flexibility
Unbending. Regardless of insecurities, expectations, and doubts, Ondine tends to be pretty set in her ways. When it comes to the things that truly matter, she knows what she wants, and what is important to her. Stubborn and sometimes downright defiant, when the girl has made up her mind, it is not likely to change. The girl is hard to persuade or manipulate- despite her seemingly feeble or passive persona. When it comes right down to it, it is hard to dissuade the girl once her mind has truly been made up. Daily insecurities and self doubts most definitely weigh on her, but at her core Ondine knows when to trust herself before all else, and does not let the opinions or beliefs of others change that.

As academics in a university in Edinburgh, Scotland, Dennis’ parents instilled in him a love of learning. Throughout his first and second years, though a magnet of hi jinx, he consistently found himself studying in the library as with any good Ravenclaw worth the bird on their crest. Languages, though, not initially something he was interested in, he proved that he was more than up to the task when it came to the ancient sort. There were no small amount of old books he found in the course of his studies at Hogwarts that contained either histories of spells, or cryptic clues hidden in runic languages. If there was one thing that Dennis excelled at, it was code-breaking and clue finding.

Two recent examples helped Dennis to unlock this potential. The first was several fated meetings in France - his very first time leaving the UK. His persistence and willingness to try anything helped him to realize that he didn’t have the same sense of shame when it came to failure with languages. Dennis took on an unconventional role at a tea party table as well as delightfully ate some food offered from a foreign student while it intimidated someone else.

The next instance that helped solidify Dennis’ approach to learning ancient runes was his ability to quickly decode the clues in the Twisted Tavern, even without the use of a quill and parchment. The simple cypher proved to be an easy solve for the Ravenclaw and his team successfully and quickly solved the riddles. From there, Dennis spent much of his free time, despite not having the class yet, trying his hand at deciphering the language, having developed an early knack for finding out what is being said or what the purposes behind the symbols were.

Now, as a third year, Dennis rocks Ancient Runes. It is little more than understanding the connection the symbols have to reality and how they interact with magic for him. It’s like a code that unlocks a hidden bit of wisdom that he feels is just for him and there is nothing more important to a Ravenclaw than having that little bit extra knowledge to prove they know more than their classmates. While others might not feel it is the most applicable of studies to be particularly gifted in, he looks forward to unlocking various secrets hidden from those who do not see as much of the potential for runes as he does.

Observant is what some may say, though Eric was maybe a bit too in tune with what was going on around him. Maybe because of his general temperament of being aware of his surroundings, or maybe because throughout the first year at Hogwarts he had to be the more careful one among his friends.
Point being, at some point throughout the first year, he noticed he was slowly but surely starting to notice the smaller things.

Books moving slightly, or subtly flying around, times when he felt like he was being watched, though it was mostly like a sense rather than managing to pinpoint exactly what was going on. Take, for example, the moment he felt observed by a spider of all things, well to be fair said spider was belonging to one of his friends. Regardless, when Eric entered the room, he felt almost like a tingling sensation. It was hard to pin point exactly what it was. It felt like he was being watched by something or someone (well technically it was one animal with multiple eyes but yeah...regardless).

At first, he blamed the whole thing on the fact that he was overthinking things, while also being a bit tired. But it soon became something he couldn't brush off, even as he started to get distracted by other tasks, such as doing homework or studying. No, that feeling lingered and lingered until eventually, he started searching around.

That was the "problem" with this gut feeling of his that was almost telling him whenever something was amiss, it was "telling" him that, but not really where exactly that unusual thing was. So for the next few minutes, he spent searching anyplace where he thought something would be hidden, eventually, after a while, finding the culprit. Not exactly what his mind made it out to be...harmless Caviar, the ravenclaw's spider was hiding in between some books, having a direct view of Eric all this time (that if spiders even have a good sight, which in all reality, ironically most don't).

After picking the suspect up and putting him in his pocket to return the eight-legged pet to its owner, Eric returned to the room, the feeling of being watched or observed dimming down to a calmer, peaceful atmosphere. Well, guess this can prove useful with time, once one goes past the fact that this is going to be an everlasting feeling whenever things felt "off".

Her name was Celine, and she was the most exotic thing Andrew had ever seen, as far as his expectations of part-Veelas were. Pale brown skin as if washed in moonlight, electric storm gray eyes, and a thick head of silver-gold waterfall curls. Her father was black, her mother full Veela. A Ravenclaw, both beauty and brains. One school year above Andrew, biologically a year below. She was part of the same study club Andrew had joined early on in his Fifth Year, which was how they met, at the Library, bonding as study partners. He impressed her with his knowledge of non-Humans and their languages, his aspiration to become a master linguist and to use such power for good, to help others. In turn, Celine revealed to him her heritage, offering to share with Andrew everything she knew about her mother’s race.

Andrew, of course, leapt at the opportunity. Plenty a part-Veela student here and there at Hogwarts whose only connection to their Veela relative was their looks. Veela were rather fickle beings, after all. The fact that Celine’s mother had actually settled to live with her husband whose relationship secrets could be owed to his profession as a magizoologist, had given Celine a rather extraordinary upbringing from her mother who had passed along Veela lore and language to her daughter, of which Andrew was all too eager to possess for himself.

Having an attractive study partner didn’t hurt to encourage him, striving to perfect the Veela language to impress Celine in his own way. Music was his best aid in getting to know a new language. Celine began teaching Andrew songs and ballads in Veela – rather electrifying moments whenever her whispery, ethereal voice joined harmonies with him – deconstructing each word and its meaning before applying them to regular conversation. The Veela language was as mesmerizing to him as their beauty. Andrew was an exceptionally quick learner, and after a few months could hold basic conversations with Celine in Veela, which became their “secret” language between the two. By the end of the school year, they had become such good friends, Celine even invited Andrew to visit her over the summer, at her home in Scotland, near a secluded lake resembling her mother’s native land. He got to meet Celine’s parents, and conversing in Veela did fetch some brownie points in getting on her mother’s good side, the closest Andrew reckoned he might ever get to interacting with a pure Veela, learning straight from the source about Veela language and culture.

Little did he realize he was playing with fire. At the start of his Seventh Year, having passed his Advancement exam over the summer, he and Celine were in the same year together, when she finally came forward, admitting her feelings for him. In private, they had a serious talk. Andrew hadn’t realized that his friendship with Celine meant something more to her all along, but out of respect and even shyness around him, she had patiently waited for him to confess until in desperation, she could bear it no longer. Something unshakeable about Andrew had made her crazy about him, pining for what she couldn’t have when he refused to fall in line before her many admirers. While Andrew wasn’t entirely immune to her charms, he knew better than to mix business with pleasure. Because that’s all what Celine meant to him, an object of study. Rejecting her advances, Andrew drew a hard line in the sand, that they could never be more than friends, bound only by the knowledge she could offer him about the Veela.

It sounded a whole lot better in his head. He didn’t mean to break her heart. And that’s when Celine flipped. The hot-tempered Veela in her came out, accusing Andrew of betraying her and leading her on. To that, Andrew knew deep down, he wasn’t entirely guiltless, those little times he had fanned Celine with flattery flirtation to give him what he wanted. To use her own language against her as they argued in Veela, left Celine fleeing from him in tears, never to speak to him again.

From the moment he could walk, Frederick Buckley had a knack for not being where danger landed. Whether it was dodging an overenthusiastic garden gnome or narrowly avoiding a flying cauldron lid in the kitchen, Freddy always seemed to move just a second faster than he should have. His parents used to joke that he had “a Seeker’s reflexes,” though at the time he wasn’t sure what that really meant.

The first time he truly noticed the odd gift was at age nine. He had been playing in the overgrown back garden, his imagination turning weeds into Whomping Willows and rocks into trolls. It was all fun until Buttons, the family cat, bolted past him chased by an angry dog that had somehow wandered past the protective charms. The creature lunged at Freddy with a shriek, all teeth and fur, and something sparked inside him.

He didn’t think: he moved. It was like his body acted on its own. He twisted sideways, ducked low, and rolled behind the old apple barrel, heart pounding in his ears. The dog slammed into a stack of flower pots instead. His mother found him moments later, wide-eyed but unharmed. At the time, they all chalked it up to instinct and adrenaline. But the feeling lingered, that strange moment of stillness before he moved, like a subtle pulse in the air telling him what was about to happen.

A year later, it happened again, this time during one of the weekend obstacle courses he and his father used to build together. These “training sessions,” as Gareth Buckley called them, were part fun, part exercise. They’d set up broomsticks balanced on buckets, laundry lines to crawl under, and levitating cushions to dodge mid-run. Gareth saw them as a way to build agility, maybe plant a seed for future Quidditch greatness.

During one of those sessions, Gareth released an enchanted ball, a sort of charmed bludger replica, designed to slowly chase Freddy through the course. But as it lost control and zipped faster than intended, Gareth shouted a warning. Freddy, without turning his head, suddenly dropped into a roll, the ball soaring just inches over his back before thudding harmlessly into a tree.

Gareth blinked. “You felt that coming, didn’t you?”. Freddy stood up, a little breathless. “Sort of… it’s like I knew it was going to hit me. Just for a second.” From that moment, Gareth took their games more seriously. He began adjusting the difficulty, adding turns, unpredictability, and encouraging Freddy to listen to his body and surroundings. “This is more than quick feet,” he said one day. “There’s something in you that tells you when to move. You’ve got to trust it.”

And Freddy did. Each weekend, he improved, not just in speed, but in precision. The more he leaned into that instinctive awareness, the more it responded. He wasn’t invincible, but he was rarely caught off guard. Whatever that tingling sense was, it had grown stronger, not from luck, but from practice, encouragement, and a growing understanding of his own magical intuition.

Nova was smart enough to know that words would get her way farther than her hands ever could. Whether it was the smallest tilt of her head when someone else was talking or a smile at the correct time, she was usually the centre of attention. She didn’t demand it. It was more like she would walk in and people would gravitate towards her, even if she wasn’t saying much. She enjoyed how people would slowly open up to her. It made her feel like she was opening hidden chapters in a book, slowly unravelling it bit by bit.

She wasn’t trying to manipulate them; it was as natural to her as breathing. She spent years perfecting it, the timed off-hand comments she would make to lighten someone’s heavy mood, the compliments she’d slip into conversations to catch them off-guard. Her mother would call it buttering up, but it was always with a smile she thought Nova wouldn’t catch.

She enjoyed studying people—it made her realize more than what was actually being said. A brief pause in between sentences, the smallest crack in their voice or even a tilted eyebrow gave her leverage or insight of what they really felt. One time she had noticed this was an afternoon when she was ten.

It was a sunny afternoon, bright and perfect to play outside. Nova stood off to the side on the playground she had gone to alone. Most of the children there were running and racing with each other, yelling the occasional playful insult. They were all older and bigger than her, playing a game she didn’t even know. The biggest one, a boy who she assumed was leading them noticed her. She stood there, giving the occasional smile to whoever glanced at her.

When they had all paused to rest for a moment, the boy wandered over, squinting in the sun’s rays. “Are you lost?” She shook her head in response, fiddling with her hair. Her response seemed to amuse the boy, because he let out a short laugh and stood a little taller. “You’ve been standing there for almost twenty minutes now.” She smiled at his comment, shrugging. “Just watching, it looks complicated. But you’re good at it.” The boy was caught off-guard at her compliment but grinned proudly at her like he’d been waiting for someone to say something like that out loud.

“Well, I’m the one who made it,” he said, brushing his hair back. She nodded, eyes wide like she was impressed despite having already figured that out. “You’ve been watching for a while,” he said, glancing around at the others. “You wanna join in?” Nova hesitated for a moment, then smiled up at him. “I think so.” He grinned again and turned around to announce their next player. Nobody protested.

As the game went on, Nova hadn’t gotten her a single point. But her enthusiasm was enough to keep the others watching and including her in their play. It was one of the moments her little power had quietly gotten her what she wanted—without her having to say much.

516 words

The common room had been set on fire over winter break, and she had participated. It was not intentional. She’d been trying to fix this whole mess after another student had set the original fire, but one misfired spell had made it worse—doubly so—by setting a second armchair on fire. Perhaps she had been nervous, misaimed, or missed her pronunciation, but it was in that moment that Maisie realized her spell casting required the same detail that was demanded in her sewing.

A dressmaker’s daughter, Maisie learned from a young age the detail and attention required to make a garment, and a beautiful one at that. With every stitch, you have to pay attention to the way in which you thread the needle, especially in more complex patterns and cross-stitch. And it was stitch by stitch that you made a dress or other garment—every seam counted.

This attention to detail—stitches, colors, movements—she strove to adapt into her spell casting. After all, after her first year at Hogwarts and several failed duels, Maisie had learned that casting was largely a mental process. You had to pay attention to wand movements, pronunciation and even intent. That was the only way to get the exact result you wanted out of your wand: step by step.

After the incident in the common room over winter break and her admission to the dueling team, Maisie knew what she had to do: focus. She’d spend her time studying not just spell theory and textbook, but in the practical applications including wand movements and correct annunciation. There was no part of the casting process (like any sewing project) she could not hone. Or at least, that was her intention: to get things as close to right as possible.

It would be hours of extra time to try and accomplish this. And while she knew it would affect her time on the dueling stage, it wasn’t just for that reason that she pursued this so carefully. It would help, too, in academics and exams. But perhaps most significantly, Maisie just wanted to be a better person.

Never again did she ever want to make a problem worse, especially one—like fire—that could put others in danger. As someone with penchant for adventure but also someone with a strong moral compass, Maisie knew the world was not without danger and not without mistakes. But she was determined not to let her mistakes create more problems. Magic, she knew, could not solve every obstacle, but she was determined not to let it foster greater challenges for her, her peers or those she cared about.

WC: 433

I've written this application from the point of view of an anonymous person writing in their diary who encountered Finnegan. Despite the ability being Lovely Creature, I've purposefully focused less on appearance and more on (charming) personality and how that distracted and stayed with this anonymous observer.

I went to the shop today, not for anything special, just tea, coffee, milk, eggs and those tinned peaches I'm addicted to. Sometimes those are my dinner, I'm afraid. I used to cook and take better care of myself when it was the two of us.

It was raining today. Raining in that low, sulking way which makes everything wet but doesn't alleviate the summer heat. I had to drag myself to the shop today, but I'm glad I did. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary at first, it was mostly empty, just some of the weary types you see on weekday afternoons, people with nothing much to do.

And then I saw him. The boy. I didn't see him enter. He was just there, twelve or thirteen I'd wager, maybe younger. Lean as can be, more drowning in his clothes than wearing them. His jumper was crumpled and crooked, the sleeves bunched at the elbows and he was kneeling in the candy and sweets aisle, which seemed to me a rather sensible place for him to have materialized in. I think he was trying to decide between maltesers and fruit pastilles, which reminded me how much I love being able to just buy both if and when I feel like it. Not him though, probably just had enough pocket money for one of the two.

What I hadn't counted on was that he'd look up and smirk at me. He had dark hair, brown playing at black, too long in the fringe and stuck up in places. But what struck me was that he wasn't posturing. Boys that age get weird about the strangest things, but not him. He just smiled a crooked smile and said "afternoon", then got up then and asked "is that yours?" I hadn't noticed, but I'd dropped my tin of peaches.

He bent, picked it up and handed it to me. It seems so ordinary and silly when I put it like that, but it was anything but ordinary. I must be getting old because it moved me more than it should. He was just a boy with flat ears and pale skin and matchsticks for limbs, but something about his rain-damp hair and easy smile caught me off guard. How often do you see someone who acts exactly the way they look and look exactly the way they act? It almost makes me envious if I'm being honest, he was so carefree, so purely himself that here I am, half an hour later, penning it all down.

He said something funny then, something about Jaffa Cakes which I don't remember. But we laughed and then he left.

Well, I suppose he didn't really leave, he lodged himself in my thoughts all the way back home. I still can't quite put my finger on it. I don't know why he struck me so deeply. Maybe it was the way his voice cracked slightly when he said "you're welcome", maybe it was the way he laughed without restraint, maybe it was just all of him.

There are boys who grow up brittle and the world forces them to become hard and closed in. I hope the world doesn't roughen him too much, I hope he stays exactly like this, a little messy, a little bit crumpled, but right there when you need him.

One of the forbidden spells which most wouldn’t dream of having, or using in that matter. But Falentra wasn’t like most people. She wasn’t evil by a long shot, but she was neither good. Falentra cared very little for people’s feelings if she had no connection to them, and held no remorse on her actions and the consequences they may cause. It was probably one of the main reasons she felt little unease when acquiring the imperio spell and rather a rush of power and adrenaline.

Since graduating from Hogwarts, Falentra had officially been classed as an adult. It felt weird, to think it out loud, but in many ways Falentra had always been a bit of an old soul so didn’t feel so different after all.

She had moved back home full-time now, to live with her father. A man she did not like, not in the slightest. He was selfish, stubborn beyond belief and even for her standards, someone who was evil. Pure evil. They never spent their free time together, like your average father and daughter. Arlo was almost always in his shop, or study 90% of the time, and if Falentra wasn’t working alongside him, she would be out on her own little adventures, or huddled up at home reading.

Much like today. The house was eerily silent. Only the sounds of Falentra’s shoes clicking against the stone ground was heard as she wandered the halls aimlessly. She hummed softly to herself whilst lost in her thoughts, pondering on what possibly mischief she could get herself into today. It had been awhile since she had dared to venture into her fathers office, or up in the attic where he thought he hidden away some books and journals that he presumed she would never find. But she was his daughter and despite their differences, she was in ways much like him— even if neither knew— so finding his secrets was far from hard.

Magdalena came to the newly graduates mind now. At the time, she had been the professor of potions when she happened to find one of Falentra’s fathers journals. It contained details of death, rebirth.. and the sorts. Nothing good. Nothing any witch or wizard should be messing with, yet naturally, Falentra was drawn to it. The unknown, what could possibly be or at least explored and experimented with. Unfortunately for her, she never understood where to start, or understand her fathers notes and sketches. It didn’t help that Magdalena had kept a hold of that book either. It did however, push her curiosity into wanting to have a look and see if she could find any more of his personal secrets.

She was to start in the office while he was out.

There was a few ‘Alohomora’ charms spoken as she explored his study. Was there really any need for so many locks? It did make her wonder as to why there were. Was he hiding something within one of them?

Falentra scrunched up her nose in annoyance as she sat at his large oak desk. She had looked through a few books already and nothing out of the ordinary was in them. Mainly ideas for his shop that was slowly expanding. A few drawings of ingredients.

“Christ.. come onnn.” She mumbled to herself in frustration. She knew she only had so much time before he was to return.

It was when she slammed down the book in defeat against his desk that she heard a hollow thump. That’s.. odd, she thought to herself.

Her hands pushed the book aside and she knocked against the wood. Again, it sounded hollow. For a moment, she sat there with a raised brow before her fingers began to brush along the smooth wood. They pushed down, as if wanting to find a secret hatch, but again, nothing. After a few minutes of rummaging over the top of the desk, she decided to look under.

To her surprise, there was a small latch. She opened it, and a pulled out a small black book. It’s cover was a smooth leather that’s corners were worn. Falentra didn’t admire it, instead she instantly began to look through its papers. Her eyes skim-read each page till they stopped.

“Forbidden..” She paused and brought the book closer to her face. She sat upright in his chair and a smile grew on her face and her heartbeat increased. "Forbidden Spells? Cruc-.." Her brows furrowed. "Jesus dad. What are you doing with these?" She whispered to herself as she continued to read through.
There were spells there that she was skeptical about, Crucio being one. It had everything to do with it. The explanation, the consequences and wand movements. There were few notes on past experiences with wizards from years ago who used such spells. She too wondered if her father had ever used such a spell.

It wasn’t something she wanted to think too deeply about right now, so she continued to read through until a particular forbidden spell did catch her attention.

"Imperius Curse? " She spoke it out with a hint of curiosity and excitement after reading over the brief details. "Now that’s a bit of me." A small laugh escaped her lips as she looked further into its lore and history.

It was a spell that if cast successfully would allow the caster to gain control over the intended target. To control. That screamed power. A curiosity that had now become a form of determination for her to learn. She read over the page a few times, a part of her thinking it was too good to be true. And it was. Oh, how she wanted to learn a spell like no other before. So much so, that her hand had already found it's way down to her wand, pulling it out from her pocket and up to the table. ''Imperio. Im..peer..ee..oh..'' She practiced, almost having it glide off the tip of the tongue like silk, it was made for her.

After a few more practiced attempts, she took herself off out of her fathers study, with his book, and to her room. Inside, she would head over to her bed which to the left stood a bedside table that held Reggie's cage atop of. ''Hey Reg.'' There was nerves within her tone when greeting him, and he seemed to notice with the raise of his two front legs. She sat on the edge of it and took him out his cage. She stroked the roughened bristles on his back and smiled down at him. ''You don't mind.. getting into a bit of trouble with me do you old boy? Like old times?'' She spoke to him as if he was human. ''Got this spell 'ere that dad kept hidden. And.. And I think I need to practice it on someone, or something...'' She paused, her eyes lowering to Reggie once more. Of course, he had no idea what she was saying, but her tone of voice and change in movements likely was something he did understand, after all the years he spent with her. ''It's not meant to hurt- else I wouldn't. It's to make you feel calm.. or somethin', alright? You won't even feel it.''

She reassured him with a gentle tone and another stroke to which Reggie responded to with moving closer to her, his two front legs tapping against her thigh slowly. ''Right Reg, you ready?'' She asked him, but deep down it was aimed more towards herself.

Falentra placed the open book beside her. Hands were slightly sweaty, but nonetheless holding the wand firmly in hand. Her eyes hovered over the wand movement provided a few more times, and her wand followed with practice. ''Imperio..'' She spoke clear, but with a hint of doubt in her tone. Her wand pointed down at Reggie. But nothing happened. She checked over Reggie quickly, to which he seemed fine also.

She placed him on her bed now and aimed the tip of her wand down at him again. Her eyes focused and wand at the ready. ''Imperio!'' She shouted more firmly this time. No light, no effect yet-... Reggie stood still. His front legs no longer moving. ''Reg? Reggie?? Are you alright?'' Falentra whispered out to him. He stood still. ''R-Reggie. Move will ya...'' She panicked, but now, Reggie moved. Almost instantly Falentra clicked on. She... did it? Already? Sure, she studied it a thousand times over in the space of an hour, but after one failed attempt, she actually did it.

''Holy shi-.. Reggie.'' She was proud of herself, all whilst Reggie continued to move further down her bed. ''Stop Reggie... Come back to me.'' Now, normally he would raise his two front legs at her when being told what to do, a little tantrum of his, yet now he followed with no issue. This really was something. She felt powerful. The stuff she could do with such a spell now. No wonder her father had kept it hidden.

After what seemed like forever, Reggie's body and legs did a little shake in her lap, which she now had him in, comforting him rather than having him be a little performance monkey on. She loved Reg too much to feel the need to continue, preferring to just wait it out until it wore off. She would much rather practice on someone she hated next time. And to wonder who might that have been?