Anticipation worked in mysterious ways. It had carried him for an entire month of studying, training and studying and training, leaving room for every little else outside of lessons and other unavoidable tasks (like sleeping and eating.) But there was something to be said about gearing yourself up for so long that by the time The Moment arrived, the feeling you were left with was... certainly not disappointment, but, well, Levi had to admit he was feeling a little deflated.

Levi stood at the edge of the dark forest, expectant, waiting for the other shoe to drop. A thought that reminded him of Aslan Evans falling into the pool at the Gryffindor party Marchand had thrown after the beginning of the term feast, and the sixth year had to resist the urge to laugh. Though he'd been expecting something far worse than threading into the Dark Forest, laughter was an inappropriate reaction to what was, indisputably, a very serious situation. Regardless of its outcome, it would have repercussions on his future.

He bit his lower lip, focused on his breathing, willed the laughter bubbling in his throat to cease. It struck him then that perhaps he wasn't deflated at all; that, perhaps, anticipation had most unfortunately, given way to nerves. It was a sobering thought. Enough for the boy to swallow back his amusement. Face impassive now, the Gryffindor frowned as he flicked out his wand and cast feather-light on himself.

Just because this was not the pack of dragons he'd been expecting, or ravenous sphinxes ready to feast on him for supper should he fail to accurately answer their riddle, did not mean that the Dark Forest was any less dangerous. Though it was also true that they'd sort of been there before for a Herbology lesson. And it was also true that if both schools were willing to allow students--and most were minors, Levi was sure--to go into it over the Restricted Section of the library then, surely, the possibilities of dying in there were exponentially lower than the school staff would want any of the students to believe.

I bleed red and gold, he'd told people more than once whenever they questioned his sorting. So, there was a chance that this was just the Gryffindor in him flourishing out over the current wave of nerves prickling the back of his neck. But he was a Gryffindor, so he ventured in, casting bluebell flames to light the way and holding them with his free hand, chest level, to help himself keep some warmth as the temperature continued to drop. And he trudged on, the sound of his breathing and the beat of his heart the only thing he was able to hear.

The bluebell flames cast a blueish hue over the fog that was covering your path ahead. While the flames might have helped keep your body warm, the light emitting from them cast long, menacing shadows over the surrounding area. The shadows held many secrets of this forest but they don't hide the strange feeling that you might be being followed...

Feeling scared? This is just the beginning.

The fog starts to thicken the further you venture into the forest, making it difficult to see very far ahead. If that wasn't bad enough, you start to notice just how quiet it is. Strangely quiet. It's almost as if the silence of the surrounding area is starting to press in on your ears.

Then, it came. A scream.

The scream pierced through the silence of the forest and into your very core. One scream... and then another...

But, if you look around, there's nothing to suggest who the scream belonged to. No sign of a human body anywhere, just dense, blueish fog. But there was no mistaking that terrifying sound. Someone, somewhere, really needs your help.

Surely, a Gryffindor like yourself will want to go and do just that?

Focused as he was on pushing through the thickness of the fog, it took Levi a few minutes to notice that something, outside being technically alone in the dark forest, was amiss. Though nerves were possibly still part of the equation, there was something acute to the way the back of his neck prickled. He stopped on his tracks, the crunching caused by his feet stepping on twigs and branches and fall leaves stopping at once. It gave a sense of finality to what felt only like the beginning of something slightly sinister; it was eerie. And for the first time, at last, he was able to give a name to the realization that brushed the edges of his mind long enough for it to take full shape: He was being followed.

At the very least, someone was watching him, and they were close. They didn't have to be breathing down his neck for the boy to know as much; he knew his body and he knew his senses well enough to know the goosebumps he felt dancing on the lines of his skin were not a lie. Mercifully, self-awareness and acceptance of his current situation remained key.

Levi held himself still, focused on the sound of his own breathing and ignored the way shadows seemed to lurk at every corner. It was an exercise in which he spent almost two potentially precious minutes, one that allowed him to fool his heart into slowing down to a beat that was almost normal. He turned his head to the left, at first a fraction, and then enough for him to be able to look over his shoulder without having to turn around and lose the advantages of his peripheral vision. But there was nothing; only dust and shadows and fog and darkness.

Though the silence that surrounded him hadn't gone unnoticed, the severity of it did not become a factor until it was gone. The scream that broke into the night made him jump and the intensity of his bluebell flames decreased significantly. By the time the second scream slashed the air, Levi dismissed the now tenuous flames and cast lumos instead. Before his mind could fully consider his options, his feet moved, quickly and on their own accord, an automatic response to what was an unquestionable call for help.

But the fog wasn't getting any thinner, and the further he pushed into the forest, the absence of warmth that came with the now defunct fire became more pointed. By step nineteen, the boy slowed down, and when he reached twenty-five, he stopped, completely. Levi could not tell if it was his own breath he was seeing or the fog itself clinging to his very frame. It was irritating and confusing enough to sharpen him back into focus and grant him the clarity that in his haste of finding the source of the screams, he'd lost.

The screams had sounded human--more than that, he'd felt they were human. But feelings could be blinding and there were plenty of ways one could disguise their voice. Deception in a forest like this wouldn't be unheard of; probably, it was more like a prerequisite of sorts, if you will. A new Erkling species? Vampire? Banshee? Though a banshee's shriek was meant to be deadly and he'd yet to drop dead. A comforting thought, no doubt. Perhaps it required closer proximity? Levi craned his head around, assessing his surroundings again, ignoring the way the cold seemed to be slowly, but surely, getting through his layers of clothing.

Subtlety was an option. But what was subtlety in a place like this? If he was being followed and could not spot anyone--or anything--doing so, pretending like he could catch anything unaware was just silly. Besides, the fog wasn't letting up and visibility would be welcome for a change.

He was a Gryffindor. He could make an entrance--or in this case, at the very least, he could make himself known and seen. Not necessarily a punch first and ask questions later situation, here; but close enough that whatever it was that was making the sound or causing it would have to know he was coming. His mother was raised a polite boy, after all; it only made sense that he send them a fair warning of his imminent arrival.

"Ventus!"

If the fog was natural, it would move, at least long enough for him to be able to get a good look at what lay ahead. If it was man made it would not--and if it was man made... well, that was just one clue he didn't have at the moment but would then and would deal with it accordingly.

One incantation later, Levi held the bluebell flames on the palm of his left hand again, shot a quick look over his shoulder and tentatively began pushing forward, again.

Difficult though it might be to see, you're going in the right direction. With every step you take, the fog gets thicker, the air gets chillier and the screams get even louder. Whether this provides a sense of comfort or not doesn't change the fact that you're getting closer to the victim and closer to whatever is making the victim scream...

The Ventus Jinx seemed to have worked in your favour; the jet of wind from your wand is enough to clear away the fog surrounding you. As it thinned, you can make out two figures up ahead: one lying on the floor and the other hovering above it. The scream was coming from the tear-stained face of the young male on the floor. The fog cleared some more and you are able to see... it.

There was no mistaking the strong stench of decay coming from the cloaked figure. Through the sound of the screams, another sound was starting to fill the air. The creature drew in a deep, rattling breath, as if it was trying to breathe in as much of the human as it could. A hand reached out from under the cloak; a scabby, rotten hand was reaching forward, as if it wanted to grab the victim... to feast on it...

If you're observant enough, you might have noticed another feeling settling in from the very presence of this creature. A strange feeling of despair and hopelessness...

It was--freezing. There was no other way to describe it. Fog was dissipating, yet all Levi could think of was that he wished he'd brought a scarf.Though he knew Scottish winters were harsh, it was a little rare for this sort of weather to strike so early on in November. And then there was a part of him that told him there was perhaps a slight touch of abnormality to the way the cold itself was beginning to take residence in his very bones. It was--he wanted to say it was almost exhausting, but his brain supplied a more accurate word for the feeling, and the revelation was a slightly startling one: it was draining.

His nose spotted it first. A smell like no other, almost dizzying in how potent it was; putrid or was it rotten? Rotten. Yes. Not rotten eggs, exactly, but something stronger--sinister and forbidden. Sickening, too. The kind of smell that came with the conclusion of something major and precious, like the very essence of life. Or, at the very least, flesh itself. Rotting flesh. Because life gave way to flesh, did it not? And if life created flesh then rotting flesh was one of the many forms Death could shape itself into. Inevitable as always, Death always did find a way.

It was a strange thought process, this. Levi had not considered the magnitude of death since he'd been chosen by the Book of Merlin. That half an hour in the boys' bathroom talking himself simultaneously in and out of the race. Talking himself out of abandoning it had won in the end, and death had stopped being a real factor right then, the moment he finished comparing it to all he could win if he made it through the competition in one piece. More than that, if he actually won it. But the possibility that had lulled itself to sleep somewhere in the confines of his brain was suddenly wide awake, and it forcefully clawed its way out.

At long last, Levi looked at the enormity the lay ahead, and felt the deep urge to laugh or sob or both. The trembling that started on his left hand extended to a full body one, and by the time his mind finished catching up with the Dementor, his bluebell flames were gone. It was then that he realized sadness wasn't real, because there was something much worse--this. A hole in his chest, a leak in his head. Thought become a puddle of nothing, the way he clearly was nothing, and Levi stumbled forward, something like a gasp leaving his mouth, urging him to meet the unavoidable end.

Strangely enough, it was the screaming that brought him back to the surface, and Levi, halfway down to his knees, wiped away tears he hadn't known he'd been shedding. Bringing himself back up was a struggle, and raising his wand was another one entirely. But his life force hadn't been siphoned out of him yet, and he focused on what mattered the most right now, other than his own fear and acute need to flee; someone was about to lose their soul in front of him, and though the light of the bluebell flames was now gone, there was enough filtering from way above to tell him that the potential victim was young, perhaps a boy.

He was under no delusions that he could cast a corporeal patronus but he knew enough about the monsters to know how to stall them. Just as he knew that for all the severe need he felt to lay down and let things happen, no one was actually going to get their souls sucked out. Right? This wasn't real. Well, maybe the dementor was real--it sure felt like it--but there was feasibly no way that Hawthorne and Moxley and the government would permit innocents to die in the name of this competition.

This wasn't real. Itwasn'trealitwasn'trealitwasn'trealitwasn'trealit wasn'treal. Maybe it wasn't even a dementor.

And his parents were watching, somewhere, probably crying by now or threatening to murder the headmistress if they didn't pull their son of the forest immediately, or quite honestly, both. Maybe, by now, both of them had decided to take matters into his own hands and gone into the forest themselves to get him. Declan probably would have joined, too, and maybe Althea would have tried, as well, but he knew dad would have glued her somewhere to keep her at least from harm's way. And Takeru would have probably held her in place, anyway.

It wasn't a happy thought, exactly, but it did make him smile. And it was enough for him to gather enough strength to cast a cheering charm on himself. The effect was immediate, not as powerful as it could have been, but the ghost of it was there, pulsing and alive, giving him the hope he thought he'd lost. Artificial happiness that would probably draw the maybe fake dementor to him and away from its almost victim, but would also give him enough strength to point his wand at the possible dementor and say, "Incarcolvo!" and then, giving his wand a flick as if to move the creature away from the screaming person, Levi said, "Deprimo!"

And if it was a real dementor, well--he'd have to deal with it. Or it'd deal with him. Whichever came first.

Its hand was reaching forward... slowly... ready to devour the boy...

But then it stopped and, despite its lack of eyes, it looked up. There was a new scent in the air. One of hope and happiness. It could eat up this new source of happiness... it could feast tonight...

It let its sense of smell guide its head towards the source, as if it was looking at the newcomer. It glided swiftly past the cage that had been conjured before it could properly solidify and made his way straight towards the new boy. The Deprimo spell had almost no effect on it either; the ground beneath the figure started to shatter, revealing some thick roots and undergrowth. You might have felt the earth move from the force of the spell but, aside from gliding around the hole in the ground, it was as if the spell had no effect on the figure.

Before you know it, the figure is close to you, its face within inches of yours. It reaches up both of its scabby hands to lower the hood, revealing a greying, decayed-looking skin, like a corpse that is slowly decomposing. The empty eye-sockets contain scabbed skin but your attention is drawn straight towards its large, gaping mouth. It drew in a deep, rattling breath, as if it was trying to suck out as much of the boy's happiness as it could.

A spare hand reached out to the new boy and closed in on his neck...

In a manner of speaking, he supposed his plan had worked.

The cheering charm had revitalized him enough for his spells to be successful. Maybe not on the dementor itself, but the cage was there in a way that he hoped made Professor Stewart proud. It had glided past the demon, sure, but it was a solid thing on the ground, a proof that in the face of trouble, he was not useless. He could, as it turned, function well under extremely dire circumstances. And, to be clear, these were extremely dire circumstances. The proof of his capabilities continued when his second spell caused what was doubtlessly a minor earthquake, leaving a hole on its wake. It didn't matter that the dementor didn't seem to have noticed it. It didn't matter that it'd been a waste of his time. What mattered just then--what he was fully focusing on to keep his wits and energy--was that he possessed the sort of strength to mirror a natural disaster.

Levi Kenning: Breaker of Worlds.

Coming to a bookstore near you.

He started laughing, just then. The effects of the cheering charm plus a dash of hysteria filtering in. The dementor was approaching and he was rooted on the spot yet all Levi focused on was how he'd not fallen apart. How despite having a rotting hand around his throat, how despite having despair itself do its best to eat his soul, Levi chose to concentrate on the fact that he'd managed to get the dementor away from its previous victim.

So, it had worked. His plan. It was a shame he'd hadn't caged it, and it was true that being the demon's new target was not ideal, but his plan had worked, nevertheless, at least halfway; and focusing on the positives had never been as vital as it was now. If he was in the business of being honest, and he often was, Levi had never really pondered on the importance of his soul. He'd taken it for granted; how precious it was, how just like his neurons and cells and skin and bone, his soul made him. This was important to remember, too. Although, surely, there was honor to be found in this sort of death; his soul over a stranger's, an exchange Levi hadn't known he'd ever be able to do and yet.

But--no. He had no time for the death of his soul yet. Surviving. Surviving. Between the smell of rot and the possibility of oblivion, surviving was the most important thing. The survival of his soul. It clawed to the surface, forcefully, either the remnants of the artificial effects of the cheering charm or his very own will to live. Because Merlin forbid anyone ever said Gryffindors were not the very definition of Stubborn. Levi concentrated, purely, on the way pressure had not made him choke, the way his parents would welcome him when he got out of this hellhole. He concentrated on the screaming the other guy was doing, and he concentrated on the way his heart was beating--loud, wild and clear. It didn't want to survive so much as it wanted to live. And so did he.

This would be an honorable kind of death, one any Gryffindor would be lucky to have. But he refused. He did not want to die and the feeling pushing through was acute enough to make the whimpers he hadn't known he'd been doing to turn into a growl. Levi was dizzy from the smell and the effort, but he began shaking and fear and rage coiled together in his stomach.

For one wild moment, he thought his rage would set him on fire. For one wild moment, he thought it wouldn't be so bad if it happened because surely, something as cold as a dementor would burn, too. And the trees would catch on as well, flammable as they were, and the whole forest would be, in the end, a big Scottish bonfire that no one had expected, but wouldn't it be grand, really? The big finale to the first challenge of a competition in which the goal was, probably, keeping their souls. And then, just then, would Hogwarts and Ilvermorny learn the consequences of backing a Gryffindor into a corner so much that the Gryffindor in question would have no reason but to push back by reducing everything to ashes.

But. There were people in the forest. Presumably innocent people. And he, after all, was not a human matchstick. He was a boy with a wand and he was perfectly willing to show the Dementor where exactly it could be shoved into. The void the dementor's horrendous mouth was begged to be looked at, but the sixth year tore his eyes from it and looked at the empty eye-sockets.

Levi's knowledge of Defense Against the Dark Arts was not lacking, but he preferred the theory. He could hold his ground well enough thanks to Charlotte Kettleburn, but he was not Charlotte Kettleburn. The possibilities of a corporeal patronus, at this point, were slim to practically impossible. But because he knew the theory and because direct contact was important and beneficial in most if not at all cases, and because the dementor was intent on getting a taste, Levi was going to comply. They were, after all, close enough to be sharing breaths. How could he refuse? People Pleaser Levi was going to turn into Dementor Pleaser Levi by giving it a direct, no stops, intravenous taste of what made Levi Kenning tick.

He reached up and stabbed the tip of his wand right into its putrid, scabby left cheek.

The sixth year tasted vile in the back of his throat and his stomach rolled, either from fear or rage or the sickening smell, he could not tell. But it didn't matter. He looked into the dementor's empty eyes and thought of his mother sneaking into his room late at night and brushing back his curls as she whispered good night and kissed his forehead. She thought he'd been sleeping. He thought of his father, taking him and his siblings out to the country and teaching them how to drive. He'd cursed so many times Levi had laughed for hours and wondered if his dreams that night would be full of bad words. They had and he'd woken up laughing. He thought of Takeru and how he'd found him once sitting on the floor outside his bedroom, waiting for him to emerge; later, he had learned, that this was his new brother's way of reaching out. He thought of Althea and Declan and himself, putting all their differences on hold; the three of them, together like old times, dark heads bent down in some corner of the library, researching runes and spells and reading into ancient magic the days after he'd been chosen. He thought of them helping him carve runes all over his ebony wand; Algiz for protection, Tiwaz because that's what warriors would carve on the hilt of their swords, Sowilo for success and health, Uruz for strength and wisdom and Kenaz for creativity, light and life itself.

And he thought of his friends and best friend, and he remembered of kisses and how he'd a lot of them yet nowhere near enough. And all the thoughts and all the memories molded into one, and Levi could see all of them, together, and it felt like a ball of light was cutting through the darkness.

His soul would not be leaving his body anytime soon.

"Suck this, you dunghead." He drove the wand further into the creature's cheek. "Expecto. Patronum," and Levi felt, rather than saw, silver and energy and light sprout from his wand.

The deep, rattling breaths continued. It could sense something building up, something was getting stronger. Was that more happiness? Didn't matter, it was going to eat all of it up. The wand didn't deter the figure. It was now so focused on feeding on your happiness that it didn't care for the wand. The breathing got deeper as the figure moved closer. If it could just make some contact... if it could just start feasting on your soul...

And then, before it could move out of the way, there was a burst of energy. Happy energy. A bright white light hit the figure squarely on the cheek with so much force, the figure flew backwards and away from your person. It stopped and made another wild effort to fly towards you, possibly to try again, but the white light wasn't giving up that easily. It burst away from your wand and towards the figure, almost like a wild animal charging down its most vicious rival.

The figure, giving up, flew away from both humans and into the shadows of the trees. Your plan was a success.

But before you could gloat or punch the air in victory, the sound of a terrified young male reaches your ears. "Wh-what's going on? Where did that l-light c-come from?" There was a pause in which the male, whimpering, seemed to be looking you up, both scared and out of curiosity. "What... what are y-you holding?"

Hope made the dementor flee but it was fear and a painful sense of relief what made the boy crumple.

Wand discarded somewhere near his feet, Levi looked up at the canopy of trees and considered his life. Which was an awfully dramatic and unnecessary thing to do in the middle of a challenge, but he was past the point of caring. Despite the cold, sweat spread over his forehead, and his hands shook. An array of thoughts he'd been focused on ignoring came rushing back and the sixth year was left with no choice but to laugh.

He'd been chosen by an ancient book written by an ancient wizard so long ago Levi did not think had anything to do with him at all. He'd been chosen because he'd been considered worthy, though no explanations of what worthy constituted were offered and something told him they would never be given, anyway. Probably, if he went to Hawthorne, she'd say something cryptic like time will tell, Mister Kenning. It was the kind of answer that would give him a deep need to roll his eyes and maybe storm off, because he liked clarity and he liked understanding and his tolerance was low for the opposite.

Then it was the month he'd spent training, extensively, and studying, also extensively. Running low on sleep (lower than usual, anyway) and sacrificing time he could have easily spent--doing other things. But he'd gone along with it because, surely, he'd need it. And he had--but there was something to be said about preparing for the worst and finding out that the worst was really nowhere near close to the reality.

Dementor. An actual dementor.

Idly, he wondered if he was supposed to be angry. Mostly, he was just numb and in need of an extended nap.

Curiously enough, someone was talking. Not just someone, but the guy who'd been screaming moments before, and Levi did not immediately turn to look at him, but did raise his hand in a clear one moment, please hold gesture. Then he stood up and stumbled towards the nearest bush to empty the contents of his stomach.

As it turned out, he'd been nauseous, too. That made sense. It was a day for discoveries, after all.

Retrieving his wand, Levi wiped it against the front of his jacket as best as it could to get the dementor out of it as without using magic. Aguamenti was cast, and a jet of water sprouted from the tip of his wand. He allowed it to flow, for a moment, then drank, slowly, giving his stomach time to settle and come to terms with the fact that this was the best it was going to get at the moment. The boy did not think it was particularly happy about complying, but that was irrelevant. Levi had rolled with the punches until now, and it wasn't like he could stop--even if rolling with the punches meant he'd have to fight his own digestive system.

An interesting concept, to be sure, but one that paled when compared to a dementor.

He headed over to the guy and his questions, fully intending to drag him by the neck of his shirt if necessary. But he remembered his previous questions, and realized that three things stood out:

One: He did not seem to know what a non corporeal patronus was. This would not have been eyebrow raising in itself had it not been for--

Two: --the way the guy was looking at his wand. More than just looking at it, his tone of voice implied that, despite the fear, curiosity and wonder were there, as well. Which brought him to--

Three: Despite the incredibly dire circumstances Levi had found him in, the guy had not, at any point whatsoever, mentioned the dementor.

"I--" think you're a muggle. Or a wizard under the very strong influence of a either a confundus charm or a memory one. Levi could not decide which of these options was worse, so he merely finished with, "--am Levi." Creating rapport was important. "And I'll explain, I promise. But maybe somewhere more comfortable? I'm cold, and hungry and honestly, I think I need a nap." If this was a muggle this was insane and illegal and wrong. But Levi kept his voice friendly and calm, as though defeating dementors in the dark forest and saving muggles was a thing he did every day. Clearly.

Levi pointed his wand at the soil all around him and muttered, "aguamenti," again. He stopped the jet of water, then held his wand just above the puddle, moving it clockwise , stirring the water with the soil until it gave way to mud. Using his wand was an option, certainly a less personal and cleaner one; but if the dementor had taught him anything it was that direct contact was effective. Levi set the wand back down and dipped both his index and middle finger into the mud.

Tentatively, he raised his hand and looked at the guy evenly, using the same tone as before, though a touch of urgency did slip in. "I need you to hold still. I won't take long and you won't feel a thing. It'll help you feel better." A quick cheering charm could have been easier and perhaps more subtle; but they were not out of the forest yet, and he was now responsible for another human being. Maintaining his energy and whatever was left of his wand magic was important. And so he used the mud to draw algiz for protection in one of the guy's cheeks, and sowilo in the other, for vitality and the energy of the sun. "There. I think. Just, please, don't touch your face?"

Levi grabbed his wand, tapping it once against his own thigh and non-verbally casting an insulation charm on himself. Probably not as strong as it could have been had it been verbal, but it'd have to do for now. The guy was alarmed as it was, yes, but Levi had spotted the glint of curiosity before, and this was not the time for questions. The sixth year shrugged off his jacket and walked around to place it around his new companion's shoulders. "Are you okay to walk? We need to move." Pause. "And, sorry, but what's your name?"

The look of curiosity from the young man follows you as you move to regurgitate your food. It's as if he's watching your move... watching and waiting for an answer...

His eyes stay on you while you introduce yourself and explain your plan. While he may not be entirely satisfied with your answer, which showed on his face, he nodded his head to say that he was willing to go with your plans. His eyes, however, still linger on your person and even give you an entirely confused and disgusted look as you start painting his face with mud.

Was this part of the plan? Because it doesn't seem to have worked. His face might have had runes painted on them, but without invoking them properly, carving them or using a galdr, they didn't achieve the desired effect.

Despite the clear disgust at having mud on his face, the man is willing to trust you enough to accept your jacket. The effect of the jacket made the man smile somewhat in your direction. "I-I think so." He tries to grab onto your arm in an attempt to lift himself up to a proper standing position. "Cl-Clark. Just call me Clark." While the rune might not have worked, it's clear that the level of trust between the two of you has grown, even if it's by a bit.

He would take what he could get.

Which, clearly, was not to be the functionality of the runes he'd tried to use to his favour--or the guy's, same difference--, but no plan was foolproof. And, to be fair, Levi had some problems rationalizing this as a plan when he was more or less making it up as he went. His only goal was to make it out of the forest in one piece and as soon as possible, and though throwing a potential muggle into the equation did not make matters any easier, it was just one more obstacle he'd have to pull through.

What was a muggle in less than stellar health condition to do when compared to a dementor?

Levi still couldn't believe he'd faced down--or up, he supposed--a dementor and was still alive to tell the tale.

He could also not believe that the guy tentatively, but clearly very warily, smiling up at him and clearly in need of help was a muggle either.

It was--the possibilities and meanings of this were endless and doubtlessly morally questionable. So ethically dubious, really, that surely there was a catch to this. Surely, there was a perfectly acceptable reason why this muggle had found himself in the dark forest--why he'd nearly lost his soul.

"Clark." With some struggle, Levi helped the guy to his feet and hooked one of the stranger's arms over his shoulders, as if inviting Clark to lean his weight on him. Which was just fine because as he re-adjusted his weight from one foot to another, Levi reached behind Clark's back and as gently as he could, tapped his wand on the boy's back, casting a nonverbal featherlight. It was not as strong as it could have been, but it lessened the burden considerably, and with more ease on his steps, Levi began to lead them both forward and hopefully out of the dark forest.

"I wish it were under different circumstances, Clarke," the sixth year said, momentarily letting for of the young man's side to blindly tap the his wand against his own back for a nonverbal super-sensory charm. A verbal incantation would have most likely made it more effective; but he did not need the possible muggle remembering the magic he'd potentially never witnessed before until Levi's wandwork. Levi did not have sufficient time for that and, in any case, it charm didn't work too badly; his vision sharpened somewhat, the light filtering through the canopy of trees appearing in stark contrast with the darkness that was the forest. His footsteps sounded heavier and louder, as well. "But it's to meet you all the same."

The charm seemed to have worked. While the man may have been leaning against you, it's clear that there's no excessive pressure on you because of the use of the featherlight charm. Your supersensory charm, a clever tactic, don't pick up on anything else in your surrounding area. Whether this means that you're safe is another question entirely.

While the man may not have noticed the use of magic on him or on you, it's important to note that he still hasn't forgotten the questions he had previously. "Y-you still haven't told me what that that light was..." he said, his questioning eyes settling on your face, "What... what are you holding? And wh-what was that light?" Be careful about your answer and how much you give away...

Levi pushed through the trees, largely carrying most of Clark's weight and finding it to be manageable. He'd have liked to chalked it off to his morning runs with Declan and Althea as well the extra training he'd done for the past month; but he possessed enough self-awareness to know that while he'd have probably been able to carry him for an indeterminate period of time, it'd have costed him a great deal of strength as well as valuable time. To say nothing of how exposed he'd have been, using both arms to hold his weight and unable to properly wield his wand.

He counted his blessings, instead, of which there were five obvious ones:

1.) Enough light filtered through the trees, keeping him from having to visibly use magic to create artificial one that'd doubtlessly make Clark even more curious.

2.) Featherlight was doing its intended job and frankly better than he'd expected it to.

3.) The colors of trees were sharper, the sound of their footsteps louder than they ought to have been--clear signs that the supersensory charm had worked fine, as well. Which brought him to--

4.) It didn't seem like there was any danger coming their way. Not that there weren't ways to ways in which one could avoid been seen or heard, but still. Dementor or not, this was still the dark forest; it was important to continue to focus on all the positives.

5.) He was still alive. Clark was still alive. Alive enough to ask questions that Levi knew he could not answer with a drop of honesty, but his new burden was alive that was important, too.

"I thought we were going to wait for later," the boy admitted, smiling wryly and shooting him a sidelong glance. Surreptitiously again, Levi gave one tap to the guy's side with his wand, sending a small cheering charm Clark's way. "Somewhere admittedly less daunting than this, and after we've eaten and all that." Levi looked over his shoulder, stalling, searching through his memory bank for an excuse that could be, at the very least, a little bit believable. Something that could plausibly explain his wand without utilizing the word magic or giving himself away as a wizard.

Not that muggles had any reason to believe magic or wizards were even real outside books and other forms of fiction they dabbled on to pass the time. He supposed that perhaps conspiracy theorists might believe a magical world that lived in unison yet so separately from their very own and often hiding on plain sight, but even then, it was a stretch. Levi was under the impression that those sort of people largely spent their time talking about secret societies controlling world leaders, creating unthinkable weapons to oppress society and not necessarily on what was usually considered mythical.

Wait.

"Well." He alternated between shooting him sidelong glances and looking ahead. "It's--" Levi searched for the right word for a moment, trying to remember words he'd read on muggle health and science magazines, "--I suppose you could call it a prototype, of sorts. A multi-use one." He kicked a rock out of their way, and was sorry for it immediately; it'd been far too heavy for it to be just a regular one, and it stung. Levi grimaced and continued, "It's particular in that it only activates with touch and the sound of its owner's voice." He wiggled the fingers of his empty hand. "The light you saw is supposed to be one of its features, but it's not working very well just yet--it's meant to take the shape of an animal, so yeah." Lying wasn't one of his hobbies, but it was remarkably easy to do so when the lies were technically, very much the truth, as well.

Writers, he supposed, had been right all along; words, when used right, could be weapons, too. "Anyway, my father's been developing it for some time now and I was supposed to be testing out to test it out when I found you." He tried to do a one shoulder shrug with the shoulder not carrying Clark's weight, hoping it'd add a measure of casualness to his words. Then curiosity of his own took over. "How did you get here, by the way? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

Once again, a confused look crosses the man's face but, this time, it's not because of the mud on his face. He just looks at you, trying to take in the answer you've provided. It's almost as if he's considering the answer and debating whether he believes the story or not.

"It's... a prototype? A prototype of what exactly?" It's clear that Clark has a lot of questions and he's not about to let them rest anytime soon. He looks at you with an inquisitive look, as if he's willing to hear you out but is also ready to catch you out, "Why does it produce a light in the shape of an animal? What's the use in that?" There was a slight pause in his question - relieved? - before he started to ask again. "Before... you came, it was cold. Cold everywhere. And I heard... things. But... but the minute you came and produced that... light, it went away. All of it. I... how?!"

Your questions were also going to be answered but the answers might not be as satisfactory as you'd expect. "I... don't remember. I don't remember any of it. I just got here all of a sudden and then it started getting... cold. I don't even want to remember it. Any of it..."

Evidently, his attempt at a cheering charm hadn't worked. This was worrisome because if he could not cast a simple, small cheering charm to try and distract Clark then what was he going to do if something on the same horrible league as a dementor came looking for them? They weren't exactly being conspicuous, and the Dark Forest was supposed to be home to unspeakable horrors. Levi supposed that in the case it happened, he could always just shove Clark behind a bush; he would then charge at whatever it was with his wand and fists and hope for the best. It wasn't a particularly sound plan, and it made him feel like vomiting again, but it was the only plan he had.

He ignored the question on the prototype largely because he had no idea how to elaborate on it. "Why wouldn't it take the form of an animal?" One of his eyebrows quirked up. "Aesthetics are a big deal. Even when all you're trying to do is create some light." He went for a shrug, another casual one, pretending like this was the sort of conversation he had every day. People did love beautiful things, after all; it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to assume that an extra had been added to the prototype just for the sake of making its desired effect pretty.

But the more Clark talked the more evident it became that he wasn't about to let go of what had happened with the dementor. The fact that he couldn't even describe what exactly happened to him only further confirmed that, as insane as it was, he'd been unable to see the dementor and was therefore, as he'd suspected, a muggle. Though this was definitely a test of sorts given the nature the challenge seemed to have taken, the idea that anyone would put a muggle in danger was incredibly baffling. Unless this was a Ministry employee pretending to be a muggle, which--well, that wasn't entirely out of the realm possibility, he supposed. He doubted, severely, that Minister Scabior would accept the usage of muggles for a competition.

Although, if Clark was a Ministry employee, Levi had to admit he was really going for an acting award, here. His previous terror had been nearly palpable, and his curiosity and confusion appeared to be genuine. As a curious person himself, Levi could see it in the way Clark's eyes had brightened up, a little bit, with all his questions.

There was also the possibility that Clark had somehow found his way into the Dark Forest and Levi had just been unlucky enough to find him. That he wasn't even part of the first IMPS Challenge; that, somehow, he'd been unfortunate enough to almost fall to the rotting hands of a dementor.

It was a disturbing thought.

He used his wand once more, trying a small cheering charm on Clark again, hoping it'd work, and hoping, too, that using magic wasn't lowering the effectiveness of the supersensory charm he'd cast on himself earlier. A little suspiciously, Levi eyed Clark for a moment before looking away. The young man's choice of words had been intriguing; Levi wished he could take a few steps away from him to consider the situation, fully, without having to feel the warmth and weight of Clark's body on his own. "You were on the floor when I found you, you know. Whatever was happening to you--it must have been serious." Levi kept his eyes trained ahead as he walked. "Have you ever had a seizure before?"

Unable to help himself, he pursed his lips. "Why wouldn't you want to remember?" Puzzled, he shot Clark a sidelong glance. "Our memories--they shape us. They're part of who we are. Part of our--" and at this, he had to pause, blasts from earlier coming back to him and sending a shiver ran down his spine, "--souls. Proof that we are alive, that we are here and that we were somewhere else before. " He realized, belatedly, that some of his previous kindness had left his tone and bit his lower lip. "Whatever happened to you--I'm sorry it happened. It wasn't your fault. But you'll be fine, Clark. Eventually. I--I'll get you the help you need."

It was starting to become clear that even with your explanations, Clark wasn't about to let go anytime soon. "I understand about the aesthetics but... specifying a prototype with animals can be limiting. Not everyone likes animals, see." He gave a small shrug as best as he could while still leaning on you. "So are you saying that that... thing, that prototype, makes the cold go away? It changes memories?!"

Your second attempt at a cheering charm seemed to be doing its trick. Clark, who once looked confused and curious at the same time, was now donning a more cheerful outlook. His face brightened considerably but you have to wonder: is it wise to do more magic in front of someone like Clark?

At your question and suggestion, Clark frowned in thought, an odd side when coupled with the smile he was struggling to keep on his face. "No, that wasn't a seizure. I mean... I don't... remember what happened before, yeah, but I remember what happened afterwards... and during. I remember the bad thoughts, the memories... I wouldn't remember that much if it was."

"I understand but... there are things I don't want to remember, including any of this." At this, he tilted his head back to gesture at the clearing they had left behind them. The smile on his face still indicated that the charm was working but it acted as a juxtaposition to the words coming out of his mouth. "Sometimes, it's better to just... forget. Forget all of it. Everything in this horrible... horrible place. Pretend it was just... a horrible nightmare and leave."

Was that your sign?

Not everyone liked animals, but a lot of people did. Animals were the sort of thing that were not age exclusive; from kids, to adults to senior citizens--there were plenty of animal lovers to be found all over the place. Levi was ready to explain this and more, mouth opening, eyebrows quirking up. But then Clark did that thing again--the same thing he'd done before, the very specific, peculiar wording. It was puzzling, filling him with suspicion and making him stop in his tracks.

"I don't recall saying," Levi said, shifting his body to be able to look at him directly in the eye as much as he could, and perhaps purposely a little too close for comfort, "that the prototype could change memories."

He did not want to call Clark a liar and he did not want to think that perhaps he'd risked his life for someone who had not needed to be saved. But the fact of the matter was that the thought was there, and it pulsed, loud and alive, in the back of his head. Though he was determined to get them both out of the forest in one piece, the suspicion that Clark was not being truthful was insidious in the way it contaminated Levi's mood. It showed in the way his eyes narrowed, and how despite their closeness, his body tense.

Not that it should have bothered him this much. It wasn't like he was being completely truthful himself. And yet.

The grip he had on his wand tightened.

"Subtle," He murmured, the word before he was able to hold it in. "Fine, so--somehow you think the prototype can change your memories." A fact he'd never said, yet Clark had somehow guessed or known. "And reading between the lines here, Clark, you'd not mind if it if I made an executive decision and took care of it, myself." Levi said the words, slowly, to make sure the absurdity of the message got across. "Your memories, I mean. Me. A perfect stranger. In your head, changing your memories to whatever I see fit. Correct?"

It didn't matter, Levi realized. The insulation charm he'd cast on himself earlier, and it was beginning to wear off; goosebumps were spreading on the back of his neck. He was tired and he was hungry. He wanted his bed, a nap--he wanted his mum and dad, to see them again, and maybe he also wanted a hug from them. A long, admittedly well-deserved hug, and if anyone said a word about a sixteen year old Gryffindor boy being openly affectionate with his parents, well--he'd just stabbed and scared off a dementor. A well aimed levicorpus would not be out of the question.

But that wasn't going to happen as long as Clark continued to reveal himself as a muggle with incredibly sharp observation skills and a knack for making incredibly wild guesses that were somehow correct.

Levi was unclear how much farther he had to go before finding a way out, but surely time without Clark questioning everything would prove to be beneficial. It was either that or knocking him out, either with a rock, a punch or with his wand; but Levi preferred less violent methods so long as other options were within the realm of possibility. Neither of which, to be clear, included a charm that involved in any way altering someone's memories. It was--unspeakable. Foreboding. Made his stomach twist in several ways he hadn't known it could, and despite the cold, sweat pooled in the back of his neck and temples.

To twist someone's memories so much that what was once their reality stopped existing--it was out of the question. It was not his life at stake here, but someone else's. The mind was particular in that it was, perhaps, the strongest, yet most fragile part of what made human beings tick. Capable of overcoming anything but also easily shattered, if the right tools were used. Or the wrong ones, in this case. Vast, empty lagoons where thoughts and personality and words had once been could be left if only the smallest thing was done incorrectly. If they were lucky, anyway; in the wake of a badly cast memory charm, vegetative states of mind could be left behind, too.

Levi knew this to be true like he knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west. He'd read on it and he'd heard about it. He'd also talked about it, at length, in hushed conversations and pointed questions; they'd only made Daphne Hopton frown and shake her head at his inquiries, though no less willing to explain.

A memory charm was not going to happen. He was not going to be responsible for someone else's potential brain damage. And all he needed was momentary peace, anyway--hopefully.

Levi moved close enough to kiss, winding one of his arms around his shoulders, touching his forehead to Clark's own. What he meant to do was not easy; it was complex and perhaps even a little risky. He would not tamper with Clark's memories, but he'd play around in his head, for a little while. For thirty minutes, to be precise. It was not truly the merging of minds, this, but in a way, it was like letting your thoughts momentarily touch and lord over someone else's. Surely physical touch, too, would help as well.

And he'd achieved the patronus charm. Maybe not a corporeal one, but his had been strong enough to force the dementor to bounce back not once, but twice. He'd not imagined that, and it filled him with a renewed sense of confidence.

He touched his wand to Clark's temple and shut his eyes. The incantation for the patented daydream charm slipped out, like a prayer, and Levi thought of--London. Busy streets and busy people. City smell in your nose and the threat of rain. But the sun was stubborn and it was fighting back, rays filtering in between the thickening gray of the clouds. He pictured Clark there, happily out and about, meeting up for coffee with some friends, or walking hand in hand girlfriend or a boyfriend. Or perhaps visiting a bookstore, picking up the latest release by a famous science fiction writer and relishing the thought of quickly getting home to dive into a world of a million constellations and endless galaxies. Or maybe Clark would just go home, shelve it for later, turn on the telly and use it as background noise while he quietly, happily, took a nap.

Levi opened his eyes, and pulled back, waiting.

It was clear that the confused expression on Clark's face wasn't about to go away anytime soon. The confused and yet happy expression. "Well... how else would it make me remember bad thoughts? Thoughts that I... I haven't remembered in a while..." His voice might have trailed off but he looked towards you with a bemused smile on his face. "Correct! And you're not a stranger, you're the guy with the prototype."

If you're observant enough, you might have noticed the man shooting you a slightly weirded out look at the general closeness between the two of you. It's clear that despite all the answers he's received, he was still feeling confused but this time, by your actions rather than your words.

And then all of that changed.

Whereas before, his expressions were fairly clear on his face, the moment the daydream charm was cast, all of that were wiped away in the blink of an eye. A blank, blinking expression filled his face and he looked almost... neutral. As if he was back in his usual environment where everything was, yes, mundane but there was also a level of comfort to be had there. He blinked in your direction before looking about and around him.

"Come on, let's go to the nearest tube station and I'll tell you how to get to Baker Street." Still leaning on you, the man started to walk in a direction that's slightly further left than before.

Relief was sharp but brief. No sooner had it become clear that his charm had worked than Clark had gone on to take him to Baker Street. If Levi hadn't been keen on finding a way out of the forest as soon as possible, he'd have taken the time to laugh. But what would have been cause for amusement in different situation translated as visible frustration now, making him pinch the bridge of nose and glare at the path that lay ahead.

It wasn't the path's fault, really. And it wasn't Clark's either.

Though the guy was trying to steer them elsewhere--a fact that would have been laughable, too, given how Levi was carrying most of his weight--he seemed to be perfectly capable of stringing words together to form a coherent sentence. Obviously.

Honestly, though--Baker Street.

Levi put on his best smile. "Actually, I know a shortcut to get to the nearest station and it's a little further to the right, mate--come on, I'll lead the way." said the boy casually, moving them both back to their previous path and continuing to pull through. The Dark Forest was not infinite, he knew, but right now it felt like there was no end to it.

Thanks to the Patented Daydream Charm, Clark seems more willing to follow you into the edge of the forest, being under the delusion that he is, in fact, taking you to the nearest tube station and Baker Street. Branches swing out and flick in your direction but that doesn't seem to be hurting Clark at all. In fact, he smiles as he wades through it, still holding onto you for some kind of support.

If you're observant enough, you might start to notice a few changes in your surrounding area. Any fog that had been lingering in the air starts to dissipate completely, leaving you in a less creepy environment. The trees start to thin and, as a result, let more light filter between their branches. The air starts to lift and feel less chillier... could you be reaching your destination?

The answer comes within the next few metres. You step out of the forest and into a wide expanse of grassy area, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. It's then that you notice a number of changes happening around you.

The person next to you seems to be changing in appearance and feel. Clark's hair shoots back up into his skull, his height shrinks a few inches until he's the height of an average adult male and the body starts to harden. His features start to become less and less human until, a few seconds later, you're left standing next to a plastic dummy wearing the same clothes that Clark had been wearing.

Before you could process this information properly, someone steps out of the forest and removes the disillusionment charm they had placed on themselves previously. The Ministry official smiles in your direction before handing you a blackened teapot. "Congratulations on finishing your first challenge. That teapot is a portkey and it will transport you straight back to the stands the moment the time comes."

Taking out her wand, she pointed it in the direction of the dummy beside you and gave it a flick. The dummy rose to the air and hovered there, ready to be taken away by the Ministry official. "You can relax now. Be careful not to miss the Portkey." She smiled in your direction before moving away, taking the dummy with her. The blackened kettle starts to glow a bright blue colour, ready to whisk you away...


OOC: You may now look at the viewing area and other competitors' threads.

Not for the first time, relief was sharp but brief. A smile had made it to his mouth by the time they reached the edge of the forest, and when Levi turned to look at Clark, his body reacted reacted before his brain did. He did not jump so much as he stopped walking and dropped the arm he had around him--it, and stared.

Or rather, he would have been had someone not appeared behind him, gave explanations, offered a portkey, and smiled at him like they'd both just finished a particularly good cup of tea.

A dummy.

He'd risked his soul for a dummy.

For a few minutes, he gaped, the grip on his wand tightening until his knuckles were white.

When he grabbed the portkey, the boy did not attempt to hide his distaste and one second later, he was gone.