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The Dirty Part of Physics [ClockworkCadence ║ Ryees]

A couple seconds passed. A few more. Silence upon silence stacked upon each other, each adding weight, each choking the air with a bit more pressure. Neither person within this secret bubble of solitude seemed to be willing to be the first to move, emotions masked behind a thick shield, any indication of their status as a living human downplayed and subtle. He stared at her, but she returned the gaze plainly, deep and rather intense despite it lacking the ferocity she'd displayed prior. It was the focus of curiosity, the trained look of an explorer trying to map out new terrain. Those steely eyes contained a whole universe unknown to her, and maybe if she looked into their depths long enough, she might find answers to all the mysteries within the man.

Or maybe not. The moment was cut short as her attention fell upon the strangely warm smile, striking if only due to its rarity. His hand registered in her peripheral vision, getting oddly close to her face until—

...Wait.

What?

Did he just... boop her nose? Truly, legitimately, boop?

She was unsure if she was going to erupt in anger or get up and walk out Theodoor without a single glance back, but instead she unfortunately settled on staring at him with the oddest look in the world, some sort of mix between an angry pout, a confused stare, and an amused yet disbelieving smirk. She didn't know what was more embarrassing—the fact that he booped her, or the fact that he decided to boop in the first place. Words tried to well up in her throat as he casually told her to settle, but they died out before they could fully form, her cheeks flushing a frustrated red. His words vaguely registered in her mind, deciding first to take his advice to settle down with a curt sigh as her face returned to a neutral look, arms crossing as she considered the rest of his sentences.

"Why am I worth the effort to senselessly dig about with, then?" She wondered aloud, puzzled by his interest and caught up in her own curiosity about how his mind operated. She may be bright and resourceful, but she was by no means the most talented with her spells, nor the most outspoken and headstrong, unless she was backed into a corner. She could understand if he was trying to assess her strengths and weakness, but this sort of information just seemed too personal for their professional relationship—not that she could change anything now, as she'd already willingly opened up to him about such matters. Still, the fact that he somehow considered her divulging of her background worth it in some way intrigued her—just how would he use that information? Considering his unorthodox methods, she should have been terrified at the idea of him knowing more than just surface details about her, but somehow, she just felt interested in finding out how his unique mind decided to utilize it.

She still sat pondering the root of his intentions as she patiently watched him search for something that would undoubtedly surprise her like most of his erratic behavior had so far, the fact that he was still searching a couple minutes later catching her attention. Wait, just how many drawers did he have? Was there always that many? Something told her that was probably the case, as he reached much further than the shallow drawer could ever hope to contain, pulling out something that indeed surprised her.

"Okay...?" She blinked at the random choice of object, seemingly much more important than what met the eye as her fingers clasped around the offered utensil. The hairbrush was turned over once, twice in her hand, admiring the polished wooden handle yet searching curiously for the true purpose undoubtedly hidden within. Nothing readily apparent caught her eye, gaze shifting to his as she considered the possibilities. Could it have as simple an answer as it seemed? Curiously, her hand slowly lifted the object towards her head, trying to read his expression in case it would curse her or something—not that she had any hope that his face would betray anything anyway. The soft bristles touched against her scalp, slowly trailing down the length of her dark, wavy hair as she cautiously waited for a sign that something might happen.

Sherlin's hands went back to his mouth, chin perched on his thumbs, smiling between his fingers. As the brush touched her head, the normal swooshing sound of the brush through her hair was strangely absent. It was silent through her hair, except for the faintest of humming. The faintest of humming, and the following, "Hello, Ms. Hudson," in an amused-sounding voice of professor Sherlin.

"Wha—" Her bright blue eyes lit up, burning holes into his lips, partially hidden by his hands, but it didn't hide the fact that they hadn't moved with his words. Not even the slightest chin motion—he just hadn't spoken. At least, not out loud—the brush was held out in front of her, glancing towards it with realization before she looked back to him in disbelief. He'd enchanted it for telepathic communication? "Why..." She started slowly, many questions wanting to sprout from that stem, but knowing she should only settle on one. "...would this be useful to me?"

His voice began to say something into her mind—"Well, natura...y ...t ...ld...."—but it fizzled out as if the signal had gone weak. Sherlin waved a finger at the brush. "Oh, do keep doing that if you want to keep hearing me." He put his hands down and leaned to his desk. "This classroom has its tools. It has the armadillo, it has that brush. It has others, which will be unveiled over time. You will find a use for them. Or, you won't, and you will have missed something."

Of course things weren't ever going to be directly spelled out—yet somehow, she preferred it that way. She liked the mystery and the challenge—and Sherlin was definitely never lacking in either. Seemingly satisfied with that answer, her head nodded, a short little motion of understanding as she let the brush come to rest calmly in her lap.

The plainness in his voice as he spoke about his reasons for being here surprised her, having expected he wouldn't answer, but taking this opportunity to understand him a bit better while he was willing to give her straightforward answers. "Very work-oriented, quite detached from any internal or personal reasons." The hairbrush was left atop her thighs as she crossed her arms, face analytical as she scrutinized his expression. "You told me why they put you here, not why you did. You could go anywhere for a paycheck. You haven't given me a reason why you feel like you can teach better than anyone else. So, can't I ask the same question again about this?" Her lips settled into a gently teasing smirk, an eyebrow quirked as she leaned back in her chair and mimicked the stoic yet casual posture he had taken earlier. "Why are you here?" She paused for a moment, wondering whether she should dig any further, but the words were already leaving her mouth before she realized it. "And what happened during your last assignment that could cause so much death and destruction?"
 
It almost seemed as if her question did not register for a moment as Sherlin took his time to let his eyes follow the hairbrush down to where it rested on her thighs. His eyes floated across the other students behind her, scrutinizing them one by one in a moment each and eventually coming back to Olivia. "I am here because I have seen what happens when inadequate teaching methods are accepted as standard fare." The abrupt shift in his voice landed on the desk like a pile of textbooks, dark and grin and sepulchral and altogether incongruous to the pensive, thoughtful purse of his lips, as if he had been speaking offhandedly. And indeed, he shook his head as he came out of his thoughts, a cheery grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I teach because on in ten people are interesting enough to send off to better things, and because the standards at most major academies are dreadfully low."

He gestured to the brush, then to the Armadillo of Honor, which had curled up on one of Helen's shoulders and fallen asleep; the look on the girl's face as she leaned to let it balance said she had tried to shoo it off once already, to some unpleasant outcome, and was now simply going to accept that it was not to be trifled with. "Not one of these tools was a commission or a request. These are items I have found in my work. I was not kidding when I said that the Armadillo of Honor is a horcrux, nor was I when I said I have no idea whose soul it contains." The professor leaned back in his chair, pulling his wand out and setting it on the desk in front of him. A moment later, he produced the handgun, setting it next to the wand. When two worlds were presented on the same desk, right next to each other, each looked more odd than the other the next moment you looked at them. "The tools I use are not the same as the conventional wizard. I believe that gives me an edge over the competition in and of itself, that willingness to break convention.

"I regret, though," he continued, crossing his arms, "that the details of that assignment are now labeled as strictly confidential. Not that I would not disclose them anyway, were that the only issue, but I think it perhaps wise to save some of the details for a more appropriate time." He shot her a conspiratorial grin, then leaned forward. "And besides that, the Ministry pays very well. The magical community is not immune to American labor laws."

His hand strayed to his wand, lifting it and spinning it between his fingers in intricate patterns. "I do not believe I have anymore questions for you, at this time, Miss Hudson. You are clearly meant to be here, and that clarity does not only come from the mark scribbled on your hand."

He pointed his wand upwards, but hesitated. Sherlin realized he was keen on keeping her here, having spent entirely more time with her in this bubble than he had with any of the other students. Pushing that thought out of his mind, he added, "Any last remarks or questions?"
 
Those curious ocean eyes remained fixated on the man in front of her, watching the gears turn in his mind and his gaze drift low on her sitting posture and settle on the polished hairbrush resting on the dark fabric of her skirt. It was with an unconscious motion that her thighs pressed a bit closer together, her ankles crossing casually as she waited for him to decide on his words, noticing his focus was now shifting about the room behind her. That gray-green gaze held a depth and intensity that seemed to be inherently natural, as if a single glance at anyone or anything could reveal everything he ever needed to know about them. It was that gaze that fell upon her again as he spoke, the dark and heavy tone of his voice not entirely matching the expression occupying his face until he corrected it with a small shake, a new grin dawning on his face as lighter words fell from his lips.

A gentle yet slightly bitter smile bloomed across her own mouth, nodding in understanding as she considered his reasoning. He definitely had a point—educational standards have been suffering for quite a while now, each year seemingly worse than the next as the importance of education slowly faded into a shadow of what it once was, pushed to the backburner to make room for greed, apathy, and blind obedience. She'd seen it eat away the Muggle educational system that her sister was enrolled in, and she'd even seen it sink its teeth into magical education—the fact that a part of her job was to help create educational programs utilizing the best aspects from a variety of international classrooms meant she had a front row seat to watching factors such as these become a detriment to true efficiency and success. It was a familiar topic, despite how much she wished it wasn't.

Her attention followed his gestures, a true smile poking at the corners of her lips at the sight of Helen apathetically resigning herself to the steely will of a bronze armadillo. While she accepted Sherlin's very reasonable and plausible answer, some part of her still liked to believe it wasn't outside the realm of possibility for him to wander into a store of magical artifacts, walk up to the clerk, and with a deadpan face, say "I'm looking for a metallic statue of an animal with the ability to absorb objects, charmed into animation and life by the will of a fragment of a human soul trapped inside it by forbidden dark magic, you wouldn't happen to have something like that, would you?" Honestly, the more she thought about this and the fact that it hadn't happened for any of these objects, the more she came to the conclusion that she had more to learn about Professor Sherlin than she had originally thought.

The wand made a soft sound as it was laid on the wooden desk, the clank of the handgun much more harsher and colder in comparison as it came to rest next to the wand. Wood and metal. Magic and technology. Wizard and Muggle. The juxtaposition grew deeper the more she looked, two things that had never really existed together in the same space before, yet here they were. The only thing that seemed to bond these two things together were their control over life and death. In some way, he was right—breaking convention certainly wasn't expected, and it could definitely give him an edge, or at the very least, the element of surprise. The question of just what made him consider stepping out of the usual boundaries in the first place began to bubble to the surface, though it fell short of making itself heard, knowing that such an answer might just be a bit too complex to put into words, as time and the experience of knowing him might allow her to come to a much deeper understanding.

Though something told her it would take quite a long while to puzzle together the enigma that was Sherlin, as his sneaky grin and subtle promise of discussing the details another time betrayed the refusal of disclosure and the cross of his arms keeping his secrets within himself. He didn't seem like a man that would be swayed by monetary gains, but he seemed rather contented with whatever his salary was. Just how much does the British administration pay an Auror and Professor, anyway?

Her mind drifted a bit, curiosity spawning questions that weren't quite pertinent or even useful for her to know, but they were quickly stamped out as he reached for his wand, the conversation winding down after what felt like hours. She'd nearly forgotten what had brought her here within his bubble of privacy in the first place, but now her gaze fell back upon her hand, her handwriting not as red and harsh as before against the gentle tan of her skin. She was under his tutelage for the forseeable future, and that future was bound to be filled with challenges and surprises. She was always excited about new tasks and new opportunities to learn, but something about this particular class—this particular man—made her feel like something great was on the horizon.

His hand paused in the air, the silence between the two of them still remaining protected by the murmur of the class just behind her. To be honest, she had countless questions, but none seemed quite worth voicing just yet—everything always came in due time, and answers should be no different. Olivia rose, one hand clutching the hairbrush and the other extending towards Sherlin with a bright smile. "I'm just looking forward to my time here, Professor. Thank you." And with a gentle bow, she turned, dark brown hair bouncing as she retreated out into the classroom, the sounds of people shuffling and conversing softly to each other returning to her senses as she took her seat amongst them for what felt like the first time in a lifetime.
 
A silence settled for a handful of moments, Sherlin's eyes probing her face for any lingering hints of questions unasked. Seemingly satisfied, he gave a flick of his wand, and the dome around them dissolved at its apex, particles of magic burning away and flaking off as the bubble returned. As it did, he quickly tucked away the handgun back in his chest holster, taking his wand and flicking his wrist to send it somewhere, though it was mildly unclear just where the wand had disappeared off to. He leaned back in his chair and let Olivia return to her seat. The name he called next was hollow in his own ears, the next student stepping down the aisle almost faceless behind Sherlin's rampant musings. Helen had taken the Armadillo of Honor for the first day, but it was becoming very clear to him who his real star student would be.

He waved his wand, summoning the orb of privacy, shaking his head out and clearing his mind.

* * *​

Marina Wutherford gave Sherlin a dubious glance as she stood up from the desk, a snow globe held cautiously in her two hands. The scene inside depicted a quartet of men in barbershop clothes, armed with military grade firearms, fighting a never-ending onslaught of Zerglings while silently singing among themselves. Shaking the globe did not seem to have any effect, and upon further examination, the "snow" inside the globe was actually the spent bullet casings from the quartet's weapons. Sherlin had handed it to her with great significance, but she was obviously stumped by it as she returned to her seat. She sat down and put the globe on the corner of her desk, warily glancing at it and trying not to flinch every time one of the weapons inside was pointed at her. Her eyes seemed to float back and forth between it and the reddened "Yes" penned on her hand in flowery, feminine handwriting.

Sherlin rose, and the room went silent. He rolled his eyes and tossed his head with an exasperated chuckle. "It's a bit eerie when you do that, you know. I'm not a judge, or a tax collector, no need to be afraid of me." With a wave of his wand, a drawer on his desk opened, and from within it, ten floated out and began lazily orbiting his head. A circular base of half-dollar-sized black glass, it bore a silver wand whose tip poked off the top end. The pommel of that wand extended to the bottom quarter of the badge where the pommel fused into the handle of a magnifying glass, the oculus of which poked off the bottom end. "In a touch of fortune, ten of you have decided to stay and continue learning together." The badges floated to his front, lining up before him. "To those of you, I say, well met," he called to them, with an acknowledging nod of his head, "for you have made a difficult decision that will reshape your lives and your magical knowledge."

His eyes scanned the room, drifting across the majority who were mixed between meeting his eye with irritated defiance, avoiding his eyes entirely, or appearing some version of hurt, offended, or frightened. "To those who will be leaving us, I say, good choice." His voice held no sign of either malice or humor. "Whether you are not fit for such an intensive course, not ready, willing, or wanting to upend your lifestyle, or whether you have another reason to depart, I can't say I blame you for it. The coming months will be trying, and you have chosen to continue your lives. I only urge you to take what you have learned and seen so far and not forget it." Another wave of his wand and a drawer opened, from which he pulled a stack of envelopes. "Each of these are letters of recommendation from me. Simply sign your names at the bottom and the blanks will fill themselves in accordingly. It should get you into any aurory school or program you so desire, provided the proctors are not milk-stained morons." He set the letters on the corner of his desk and stepped back. "This is where we part ways. Come take your letter, and you are free to go."

One by one, the letters left the stack, twenty-six letters taken by twenty-six would-be students. Some of them shook his hand, offered him a kind word, or gave him an awkward smile; some glared, some ignored him, and one young girl with shock-of-blonde hair even stuck her tongue out at him. After a few minutes, they had gone, Theodoor closing behind them and taking up his ever-present sentinel position as Guardian of All Things Frightening.

Sherlin, seated in the leather-backed chair, rolled up to his desk, bracing his elbows and propping his chin on his thumb. And in a deadpan, dead-serious, no-nonsense voice, he asked them a question; it seemed class was in session.

"Who here can tell me what a Turing Test is?"
 
A few more people filtered in and out of the secrecy of Sherlin's desk, Olivia's mind vaguely registering their departures and returns as she stared down at her notebook, contemplating. How many people were going to stay here? Surely she wouldn't be the only one? Her eyes glanced up in time to see a girl returning with an odd-looking snowglobe, an eyebrow raising curiously—well, at least she wasn't the only one to get a random object. Though this likely meant the woman was going to stay, Olivia couldn't stop a momentary nightmare from floating into her mind as she imagined a class where she was the only student—nothing but Sherlin and whatever unexpected challenges he could throw at her. There was no time to think, no time to process what was happening, and perhaps the most terrifying of all, no witnesses to save her. Perhaps it wouldn't end up quite that bad, but she still would prefer the company of at least one other person, at least so they could support each other when things got too rough to deal with on their own. As much as she hated to admit it, she wasn't sure of how strong she could be if she had to go through it all alone.

Her mind snapped back into reality as the background static of people chatting suddenly cut out, her body relaxing at his casual comment—he was right. Though he naturally seemed to inspire tension and his previous unpredictableness had set everyone on edge, he really wasn't all that terrifying. Yet she supposed not many people could see his good qualities—only ten would remain, less than a third of the people currently present. Such an attrition rate was rather startling, though as she thought about it more, she supposed it wasn't, given the context of the previous day. He had high expectations and would challenge them in ways they couldn't even imagine—she could understand why some people would shy away from this. Yet he bore them no ill-will—he remained relatively neutral even as the last letter was taken and the last body scuttled out the door. There was a stoic maturity in this inaction, whether he intended it to be that way or not, but before she could consider this further, he continued on with class as if nothing had changed.

A silence stretched after Professor Sherlin's question, those with more muggle-like upbringings pondering the answer while the more pureblooded of the group just stared blankly ahead, waiting for someone to reply. Olivia was a part of the former, casting her mind back into the deep recesses of random information she'd stored about the muggle world—even though her upbringing had its advantages at times, she couldn't say it helped her in this instance. An exploration into the files of her mind turned up empty. She wasn't quite sure she'd ever heard of it.

"It's test of a machine's capability to demonstrate human-like intelligence and thought processes." Her focus fell upon a redheaded man with broad shoulders—from this angle, she could see the faint glow of his phone hidden behind a casually crossed leg. Was it coincidental, or did he search for the answer?

But her focus had already shifted into considering his words, a slightly puzzled expression crackling onto her features. This wasn't quite a building of vast machinery and technology, nor was this class. It was practical defense tactics, sure, but how many times would they encounter killer robots? Surely their first lesson would involve defense against someone more common, like a neighbor or a backstabbing friend, or even the pizza delivery boy. Though her hand remained still, the pen in her hand tapping black ink dots onto the corner of her page, her words were written instead across the surface of her mind.

Defense against the rogue AIs?

Though she crossed it out, she wasn't quite sure she could put it past Professor Sherlin to not be a conspiracy theorist. She guessed it was the intense eyes that gave her that impression.

: . : . : . : .
. : . : . : . :

The ink that stippled her paper began doing the same to her mind's parchment, an odd little visual as words tried to form from the little circles like trying to connect stars in a constellation to create a meaningful picture. Just what could this apply to in the magical world? Maybe just magic in general? Was that a thing?

Sentient magic?

Seemed like a stretch, but perhaps not quite as far as the crazy machine idea. What could that even mean? Magic that could think for itself, do as it pleased even if it was created for a specific purpose? Maybe it was referring to the innate magic within witches and wizards, not magic that has been cast? Perhaps it related to accidental magic, like when a child creates strange occurrences as a result of their emotions. Regardless, it seemed rather dangerous, unpredictable. But perhaps...

Programming sentient magic?

If magic could be programmed to act as it saw fit, a simple cast could create lingering magic that stayed present until its duties were fulfilled. Instead of casting multiple spells for a direct purpose, maybe this would end up as a single spell that served multiple purposes and adapted to situations and contexts as events unfolded. Like summoning a small little helper, it would be capable of doing as it wanted, yet have a natural inclination to help its caster unless given a reason otherwise. Could be useful, though the stakes were high.

Olivia leaned forward, interest sparking in her gaze as she stared down at her Professor, giving up on her jumbled thoughts as she awaited further information. No matter what she thought of, none of these ponderings answered her one true question—how would any of this be possible?
 
Sherlin's eyes flickered across the classroom to the voice, a spark of approval lighting in his eyes. "Correct. A man by the name of Alan Turing came up with a test to determine whether or not a computer could both imitate a human, or trick a human interrogator into believing it was human, through blind tests. It was believed that if a computer could successfully perform the former of these, it would be—depending on your philosophy and outlook, and whether or not you are a moron—a great leap for computing science or a great risk to mankind's safety.

"For us, this has different applications." The professor's wand was produced, and he pushed the tip of it against his opposite palm, bridging it there as he continued. "Sentient magic. Sentient spells. The question here is not whether or not they are possible; we know the answer to that." He pulled the tip of his wand from his palm, a viscous white mist following in its path. That mist took form as it trailed from the tip of his wand as he arced it high over his head, the narrow stream forming a sleek snout that blossomed into a wily head. The billowed tails of the mist became an actual tail—and then another, and another, then five in all. The mist bounded to the ground to Sherlin's side and turned to regard the class. The fox's tails curled around its body and it nuzzled its head to fluff them before prancing over to Sherlin and plopping contentedly to his left. Its head came just above his knees, and he bent to one side to scratch behind its ears. The eerie purring that came as it nuzzled into his hand seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once, a trill of eerie spiritual satisfaction.

"Clearly, Patronus charms can act on their own. But is this an extension of the will of the user, or an effect of magic as an entity? If I cast a Patronus while in total sensory deprivation and there was a Dementor nearby, would it still protect me? If I cast it and then died, would it still fight?" He gave the fox a pat on the head and it slunk over to his desk, curling up in the immense ball of misty fluff sprouting from its rear and settling into a ball. It closed its eyes, then began to dissipate until a thin fog drifting over the floor was all that remained. "This question and more, answered after this commercial break."

As if on cue, an electronic bell toned twice in the classroom. "Morning break. You've fifteen minutes to do whatever your hearts desire. I'm not particularly sticky on it, but Theodoor does not tolerate tardiness, and I've no authority over him so I take no responsibility if you are late returning."

The grin he shot them was an odd mixture of cheeky, sardonic, and vicious, such that there was no proper indication whether he was joking or not. The deep, rumbling, ominous laughter that groaned out from the doorway as it swung open of its own accord, though, told a much clearer story. Sherlin trotted back to his desk, taking a seat in the padded chair and swinging his feet up onto the corner of the desk.
 
The idea of sentience in machines seemed like a vast technological marvel. But for the same to apply to magic? The advances that could be made were impressive to consider, at the very least. Technology was held back by physics and the gold chains of reality, but magic—magic was really only limited by the imagination, and for most typical witches and wizards, it was limited to the will of its user. The Patronus, though very convincing, wasn't entirely sentient—created with a specific purpose, yes. Allowed to act in whatever way it was meant to in order to achieve that purpose, yes. But to make decisions on its own? It was merely an extension of the will of the user, meant to be a part of the caster made specifically to perform a certain purpose. The Patronus might still protect its caster despite the human being cloaked in the miasma of sensory deprivation because it was created with the will to dispose of Dementors, but certainly it wouldn't continue to exist and fight past its caster's life span. Yet somehow, Professor Sherlin claimed this was possible.

Olivia's eyes had been fixated on the fluffy creature of light all the way up to the point when it blurred into nonexistence, curiosity and worry welling up inside her stomach like the soft boiling of a kettle. She'd seen some interesting creatures in the form of a Patronus before, but an actual multi-tailed kitsune? Just how had that become his Patronus? More importantly, since he was talking about sentient magic, was the animal that he'd just conjured up and willed away just an average Patronus, or did she really just witness a sentient being get willed into nonexistence?

Defense Against Moral Ambiguity and Existential Crises. Now that was a class she really needed right now.

The sharp, metallic sound of automated ringing echoed twice within the expansive hard walls and floors of the classroom, causing her to come back to her senses and sprout an interested expression as his words registered late in her head. Huh. He had an amazing sense of time for a man without clocks in his classroom. Was it another magic trick, or was that just another odd quirk of his?

Students began shuffling towards the exit, several giving a sidelong nervous glance at Theodoor as they passed through his open maw. If the cheeky door had a face, he'd be grinning ear to ear as he creaked back and forth at a pace that mimicked the ticking of a clock, the sound unnerving a couple students enough to where they casually swerved away from their beeline towards their freedom, soft footsteps beginning to wander aimlessly as if they'd intended to just walk around the room all along. One smoothly pulled out their phone to hide their fear, their face downcast as they turned away from the taunting door. Theodoor was certainly a cruel jailer.

For a moment, she had the impulse to walk up to Professor Sherlin, just to say something, anything, really—she wasn't quite sure what sort of conversation would come out of doing so, but whatever resulted would have surely been just as intriguing and confusing as all the rest. There was an entire ocean of untapped knowledge just under his tousled dark hair and his pale forehead, smooth except for the slightest hint of divets and lines forming from what she guessed was countless moments of deep thought—she was ready to dive right in and understand everything he knew, but of course, such lessons took time.

So she contented herself with standing, arms extending up towards the dark ceiling in a much-needed stretch before she wandered over to the side of the room, bright eyes following the trails of raindrops gently rolling down the large glass windows before shifting her attention to the bleak, gray sky. It was one of those things that she couldn't tell if she liked it or not—it rained so often here, and as calming as it was, it made her miss the vibrance that daytime held when the sun illuminated every inch of busy streets and green fields.

A quick vibration in her black jacket's pocket drew her eyes down to her phone that her hand now held, the screen lit up with a familiar name: Kaira.

>how's it been going over there? Miss you!!!

The words hit with an odd mix of warmth and heartache, a smile blooming like the first flower of spring. Her sister always brightened up her day, even when they were miles apart like now. It would be a while before Olivia could go back to see her again, but at least they had moments like this.

<Interesting... I'm not quite sure how to describe it. Beautiful city, bad food, and the strangest professor I've ever met. I'll definitely have to tell you all about it later! Miss you too! <3

For a moment, she glanced at the time on her phone, wondering how long it had been already. At least she wasn't chancing being late by exiting through Theodoor, who had been swinging out with gradually more distance and force in his clock-like creaking—students trying to re-enter had to slide into the room close to the wall to avoid getting bashed in the head.

>wait, YOU'RE calling someone STRANGE??? now this I've gotta see!!!

<Think Mrs. Lastaire, subtract the dementia and conspiracy theories, substitute the canary for a bronze armadillo, add crazy magic and effective but unorthodox teaching techniques, and multiply by at least 50.

She never thought that she could ever compare her and Kaira's elderly neighbor to anyone. Brilliant, wild, entertaining, confusing, sweet, unpredictable, terribly unaware of others, and living life without a care in the world what anyone else said or did. Olivia wasn't quite sure if it was a good thing or not that this comparison was something that could actually be made.

>WHAT
>you're kidding
>she's THAT bad???

<He, actually.
<And no, not bad, just... different. Interesting. Like I said, I don't know how to describe it. Much too early to really understand him. I have a good feeling, though.

Theodoor was now swinging as far open and closed as his hinges would allow, still at the fast pace of once per second, with terrified students having to take a running start to dive into the room. The black-haired man that had shot a spell at her the other day wasn't among the lucky ones to survive the dungeon trap—he dove in just a moment too late and ended up getting a face full of wrathful door, catapulting him back into the hallway.

>he???
>is he cute
>well, if you have a good feeling, then I guess it has to be a good sort of strange
>not sure if you want to give him a handshake or a punch to the face yet???
<Pretty much.

A loud BANG signalled the end of Theodoor's crazed swinging, and presumably the end of the break—a frazzled Ryan Mathers lay splayed out on the floor of the class just beyond the door's reach, exhausted but triumphant, even though a large, red welt is already beginning to form on his forehead. The room grew quiet, and once again they all became tense with the apprehension of awaiting Professor Sherlin's next words.
 
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As the students funneled towards the door, Sherlin took the moment to assess. Some gave his desk a wide berth, some merely moved towards the door shaking their heads. Others stayed in their seats and produced phones or tablets, while still others fiddled with their wands. Marina leaned on one hand propped on its elbow and tapped the snow globe with her wand; it was unclear if she was trying to charm it, search for some hidden secret contained in its clearly magical properties, or if she was simply frustrated with the thing and hoping something happened. The only thing that came of it was the occasional frustrated glance upwards from one of the men inside. Eventually, she side and tabled her wand, pulling out a tablet with a pen and setting to note-taking. Sherlin watched the tapping of her wand out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see if she would catch on so early; she was among the most promising students in the classroom, but her exasperation took hold of her before her intellect did and as she gave up, Sherlin stopped paying attention.

He waved a hand and the bottom drawer of the desk opened, a mug and tea and a loose bag swirling up onto the desk. Producing his wand filled the cup with water and a tap on the mug's rim heated it until steam rose. In the meantime, loose tea leaves flitted their way into the bag and it tied itself off, descending into the cup and somehow seeming to sigh contentedly as it nestled into its heated bath. The tea tin drifted back to the drawer, which closed, and a swirl of Sherlin's wand saw a shallow whirlpool appear in the cup as it stirred itself.

Then, he pondered. The Wutherford girl has the potential to be at the top of her class if she would ever actually flex her magic. Something of a pansy. I should yell at her parents. He sipped at the tea, too lost in his thoughts to notice the gentle burning sensation in his mouth and throat. It's about to become a bloody Disney channel special in here, with these boys. Outside of second lieutenant—maybe first lieutenant?—Carmine, the boys are all jackasses or fools. The Hitchens boy will go home with one bad grade and get himself slapped around enough to probably get his act together and pass, but Mathers is barely a human being. His tongue clicked in frustration and he winced, involuntarily realizing the annoying pain in his mouth. It was enough to pull him from his thoughts for a moment, and his eyes scanned the room.

Only a small number of students had stayed for their breaks, the need for caffeine, fresh air, or sanity pulling them from their desks. Marina toyed with her snow globe, Olivia and Marcus both tapping away on their phones. Olivia was messaging someone, by the cadence of her typing, while Marcus seemed to be browsing a forum, swiping, pausing, and swiping again. Sherlin paused a moment, watching more closely. Left to right swiping? Odd layout. Only a moment of consideration later, he dismissed it, interest faded. His eyes settled on Miss Hudson and he took another sip of tea, too annoyed and lost in his thoughts again. Strong defensive skills. Quick thinking. Absolutely no use on the battlefield as she is now. Why an Auror? Why not a teacher? Because that's boring. But then why not a combat instructor? Let her teach these classes. Better her in here and me out there than me in here and her out there. The cucks at the Ministry need neural surgery.

The majority of the class was back with minutes to spare, the idea of being late somehow seeming more threatening than the firearm stowed under their professor's jacked. It seemed Theodoor's incentive to be on time seemed inadequate for some, though, as Ry Kappa Idiot met the unfortunate sense of rhythm saw him careening onto his rear into the hallway. As the seconds ticked down, he barely managed to slide into home before the classroom was finally sealed. The look of accomplishment on his face elicited a wry grin at the very corner of Sherlin's lips, and he silently jerked his head back towards the desks.

As they returned to their desks, many of the students glanced upwards. "Our seating is assigned?" Helen asked slowly. Their desks were in the standard lecture hall style, a seat with an L-shaped, oblong top that curved around to the right elbow. The upper edge of the writing surface bore an elliptical divot to hold modern writing utensils as well as a round slot for an ink well in the upper rightmost corner. That divot, which had previously been mere smooth, polished wood, now had Helen Bailey engraved in her own handwriting, smooth as if laser-etched upon its creation. Aligned to the right side of that divot was the word "Yes," also in her handwriting, but more crudely carved, as if a troubled student had dug into the wood with a pocket knife. Each desk bore the same arrangement: The student's name, neatly etched, and a mirrored reminder of the "yes" they had drawn with their Black Quill, venomously chiseled. Her mix of confusion and mild indignation at being treated like a grade-schooler faded into disquiet curiosity quickly enough to not annoy Sherlin, who swung his legs off his desk as she spoke.

"Not assigned. Chosen." He strode around his desk with his hands folded behind his back. "The first lesson you were taught upon entering this room is that your choices have consequences. What you choose in any given moment will impact your entire life, no matter its significance. That is an important frame for the rest of your time with this class." Helen was already in her seat before he finished speaking, her curiosity thankfully not turning into anything more troublesome.
 
Another vibration in her hand signaled a response from Kaira, but the phone was quickly deposited back into her pocket, her focus shifting back to the room as her classmates shuffled towards their seats. Their expressions were carefully neutral, if not a bit tense—for a moment, she wondered if a sense of camaraderie and cooperation would ever be fostered within this group if they were all too afraid or unsure of this class to speak. At the very least, maybe they found some unspoken sense of support in knowing that they weren't the only ones experiencing this uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty.

Her pathway back to her seat brought her close to Professor Sherlin's desk, the gentle breeze her passing caused wafting the scent of his tea in her direction. It was a black, earthy sort of tea, pretty much the only type she had encountered in her short time in this city. Not necessarily a bad thing, but her tea preference leaned more towards the herbal side, typically. Still, she couldn't complain—the stuff she could get here was quality, whether it fell within her preference or not. Much better than other places she'd been assigned to, anyway.

The shine of a bullet casing inside Marina's snow globe caught Olivia's eye as she walked past the puzzled girl's desk, one of the men glaring defiantly up at her as her shadow passed over their land. If the glass were cracked open and freedom from their stasis prison achievable, would the miniature men go on a rampage terrorizing the class's toes with their baby weapons, or would they thank their liberator and spend the next week taking their tiny steps towards Theodoor? On a related topic, would Theodoor let them pass, as he was already openly hostile towards people that were supposed to be in this room? Perhaps it would be best to create a little stage for them on Professor Sherlin's desk so they could keep performing their barbershop concert with a proper audience. The poor guys were performing a dying art that should be supported and encouraged, after all.

Her progress back to her seat also allowed her to spy the new additions to their desks—names and haunting affirmations scrawled in varying handwriting styles. Each seat was now marked by the name of the person that had chosen to sit there, but why? Organization, a need for consistency, like that sort of thing where teachers remembered your name easier when they could use the environmental and relational contexts in their favor? An aid for students to recognize and meet each other? No, that sort of thing would be like a name card, something propped up and easily visible. This sort of message was only clearly visible to the person sitting there.

None of this mattered much, though—it was the crude "yes" scrawled along with their names that demanded the most attention. Unlike the unique handwriting of each name, as if it were simply written on parchment, these words were carved with a foreign hand, a laborious-looking effort with an ill-fitted tool. It foreshadowed the challenges that would test their willingness to be there, the trials that would probably make them wish they could scratch out that "yes" and forget they ever agreed to this. The path to success was harsh and unforgiving, and perhaps the word paralleled this. Perhaps she was just thinking far too much into this.

Or perhaps not. Professor Sherlin's idea of every choice impacting their entire life hung heavy in the classroom, each mind either processing this information or avoiding the opportunity for introspection because they were comfortable in the ignorance of their own self. It was very unclear just how important of a decision their seating arrangement was at the moment, but many eyes were downcast at their labelled seat, shifting uncomfortably. Even Olivia's eyes traced the small, flowy script of her name in the dark wood of her desk, endless possibilities crashing in waves inside her mind before she resurfaced out of the waters, glancing back up at Professor Sherlin's unreadable expression.

She chose to be here. She chose all of the paths in her life that led her here. She knew those things. But what had Professor Sherlin chosen to bring him here? What had he chosen that made him the puzzle he is today?

"So... about the sentient thing?" Ryan Mathers piped up, a block of ice hovering against the welt on his forehead that he'd conjured up a few moments ago. He was clearly either uncomfortable or uninterested in the idea of consequence, or perhaps self-examination and deep thinking in general.
 
Sherlin nodded, happy to get back on track. "Fair point. Back to class." Sherlin's wand came out again, pointed at the ground next to him. "Expecto Patronum." The fox appeared again, its tails drifting about as though underwater as they formed, then flicking curiously as it looked up at Sherln. "Clearly able to interact." He tapped his shoulder and the fox bent and bounced, lighting on his shoulders. Its tails made a fluffy white mantle that draped over his chest, and it nuzzled into the hollow of his next as he pat its head. "Clearly able to follow orders. Seemingly able to think."

His eyes moved up, addressing them. "The Patronus is a charm of what school?"

"Conjuration," Marina answered on beat, adding, "advanced conjuration of a facet of the self, more specifically."

Sherlin nodded. "Correct. Unlike House points, Sherlin points are not so easy to obtain, but do not let that stop you from continuing to compete for attention." Marina turned redder than the stripes in her quartet's shirts, lowering her head in an attempt to hide. Sherlin continued as if he did not notice. "Conjuration differs from summoning in one key way: Summoning requires a subject that currently exists, in some plane or another. It must either be alive as a soul, or actually exist somewhere. There is a reason the incantation is not 'accio patronum' or something like that. Conjuration creates something from scratch, using a catalyst or an energy source or some sort of object. Magical energy can be a simple enough source for spells like Avis, but the Patrous charm requires that all-important happy memory to properly summon, and that is where so many run into trouble. Hard to remain positive when a Dementor is going for second base."

The Auror evidently found himself very amusing, for his lips curled and he visibly stifled a bout of laughter. A few nervous chuckles waved through the room, but not many proper smiles cropped up. "Find those memories now, because you will be casting your own today. I trust you all know the charm?" The chorus of nods and quiet affirmations was not broken up by any dissenting voices, prompting a satisfied nod from Sherlin. "The Ministry will not provide me with a proper Dementor for practice, so we will be improvising. Any questions before we begin?"

As he presented the question, he moved to his desk, bracing himself against the side closest the door and giving it a push. The wheels creaked, then inertia took over, slowly rolling the heavy wood desk aside. Under it was an obvious ring in the floor set into a cut-out square in the carpet where a door lay, just over seven feet in length and three feet wide. Largely obscured by the desk, it would only have been visible if one had noticed the ring from behind his desk.
 
As the translucent animal misted into existence again, like a dense fog lit up by the headlights of a car, it became clear that the class had resumed despite the dense atmosphere of Professor Sherlin's earlier prompt about choices still hanging in the air like a corpse from a tree. Uncertainty and pressure ran its fingers down the backs of every student, but it seemed he was none the wiser. Either that, or perhaps this was his way of distracting them from that feeling. Olivia's mind flickered back to her previous musings, unanswered questions never gaining a voice as she listened, small bits of information noted quickly on the surface of her notebook until Marina spoke, her eyes lifting from her paper to glance at the timid girl.

There was a confidence in her eyes that Olivia wasn't expecting, a far cry from the downcast and defeated look she'd had when she stopped toying with the snow globe. She'd expected such a girl to be coerced into silence by the miasma of the atmosphere poisoning her lungs as it had been doing to everyone else, but she'd spoken with a clarity and strength that rivaled Professor Sherlin's voice, in all of his glorious obliviousness to the tense air he'd created.

Yet all of that was extinguished as quickly as a bucket of water dumped on a candle's flame as Professor Sherlin responded to her, the beauty and intelligence and spirit of the girl withdrawing back into herself, a blooming flower reverting back into a closed bud. The sight of the death of the only bit of self-assurance the girl had managed to display so far pulled at Olivia's sympathy, her brows pressing a bit closer and her lips settling into a fine line. Compete for attention? The poor girl had only spoken once!

~ Marina—Support

The note was scribbled onto the side of her page, a visual reminder of her resolve to attempt to befriend the shy woman a couple seats away. Though Olivia had managed to become somewhat of a pariah within the first day of being here, she hoped she could somehow help lift the curtain of black hair covering the embarrassed girl's face to let her light shine out—that is, as long as Marina didn't shut her out like the rest of the students did.

Still, it was an objective for another time—the lesson continued on as if nothing had happened, and Olivia begrudgingly went along with it, her handwriting trailing across the page as she noted important aspects of Professor Sherlin's lecture.

That is, until he mentioned Dementors.

Wait, what? Was that... a joke?

A look at the man in the front of the classroom confirmed that yes, indeed, he had tried to make a joke. Honestly, his reaction was more amusing than his words at first—he seemed ready to burst out laughing, which was pretty entertaining considering the fact that he really wasn't all that funny—but then she really analyzed what he'd actually said.

Second base? Wouldn't a Dementor's kiss only be considered first base? Of course, that sort of thing was hard to apply to this specific situation—there was no context in the original baseball metaphor that mentions situations where your partner takes your soul. She felt like that'd be a sort of home-run, but a kiss is only a kiss, regardless of how soul-sucking it is. With an amused smirk, her pen trailed over to the margin of her notebook, short lines sketching out a rather cute-looking Dementor and a woman, the frightened woman leaning away from the Dementor's hands reaching towards her chest, unclear whether it was ready to rip out her soul with its bare hands or cop a feel. It took more willpower than she cared to admit to keep a neutral expression.

Though her attention had been focused on drawing for a few moments, she hadn't stopped listening—her eyebrow had quirked upwards a bit at the idea of Professor Sherlin actually going to the Ministry to ask for a real live Dementor to sic on his students like a dog. How he wasn't taken out of his position to get assessed immediately after was a mystery to her. Still, how well that discussion played out could very well become the subject of her next doodle.

Yet the time for senseless pictures was over, as the room gathered an electricity it hadn't held before. Feeling the shift, her face tilted up towards the front of the room, watching as the desk was pushed aside to reveal an odd circular latch that could only invariably spell trouble. Some sort of magical wonder of some sort laid beyond the door, no doubt connected to the fact that they were most likely about to conjure a Patronus, but like she was quickly beginning to learn, it was probably going to be a lesson with a ridiculously unexpected twist or some challenge she'd get uncomfortably thrust into, like the dueling circles. Why was it always the circles that brought the most doom in this room?

"Just one question, sir. What is that?" A curious young man—Olivia believed she remembered his name as Marcus Henley—piped up from a desk close to the wall, his interest piqued by the reveal of something intriguing that he hadn't noticed before.
 
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"That," chimed Sherlin proudly as the desk touched the wall, "is your next class assignment." He trotted back to the door and bent to the ring, lifting the handle. The section of the floor came with it, metal scraping on concrete as the huge door opened. It opened up and towards the classroom, such that the contents were hidden behind the door. "Come 'round, gather up," he shot at them, waving the class over with his free hand.

More than one glance with more than one emotion was shot amongst the students, but there was barely a beat before they started moving. Coming around the hatch, the hole was revealed to only be a few feet deep. There was no gateway to Hell, no staircase into the dungeon, no portal into the past. Laid down on its back, doors facing up, was an armoire, bright maple once polished to a pristine shine now dulled by possible centuries of aging. The foot drawer at the bottom had been removed entirely, and now contained a wicker laundry basket full of various clothing, clearly modern and harshly juxtaposed to the olden carving of the wood. The doors were sealed shut with a heavy chain and six locks, some with combinations on their front, others with key holes, one with a fingerprint scanner, and one with a camera lens mounted on the front presumably for retinal scanning.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he preened, crossing his arms triumphantly. "I'm going to make another assumption and assume you all know what a Boggart is." He turned his head side to side as the students gathered about and eyed the wardrobe. "This has similar properties, but no actual danger. You will enter it and experience things, but you cannot come to harm. Things you take in with you can, however"—he gestured to the basket—"so you'll have the opportunity to change out of your personal clothing before you enter."
 
Vague and full of mystery was the professor's answer, as she suspected—it was a bit suspenseful waiting as he moved towards the door and began to open it, the sound of grating metal assaulting the room and bouncing off the walls, an eerie sound that sent chills and electricity rippling down spines and tightening jawlines. The metal hatch lifted, its hinges creaking as it protested the movement, having remained still and unused for who knows how long. The door was open, but its contents were still shrouded in mystery, obscured by the dull metal.

Professor Sherlin called for them to come forward, and a ripple of unspoken discussion passed through the group, eyes meeting eyes as they conveyed similar emotions, sharing their opinions, trying to determine what to do. Yet the moment didn't last long—they all seemed to be on the same page. They wanted to go, as long as they weren't the only one. They were curious, yet a bit scared. It was with this energy that they all began shuffling their way forward, curiously peeking into the hole in the floor as soon as they came close enough, some taking a step or two back in case something particularly awful was hidden within the depths of the unknown. Olivia had half expected there to be a staircase, some abyss that would carry them far enough away to where the Ministry couldn't hear their screams. Yet there was only an armoire, once beautiful, but the tides of time have scrubbed and chewed at its once-gleaming surface. A heavily-protected piece of furniture, with a myriad of chains and locks and security features that was either designed to keep prying eyes out, or to protect those outside from something truly sinister within.

Boggart. A scary sort of foe, but nothing they couldn't handle already. Nothing that required this much safety if it was truly that similar to a Boggart, anyway. No—in what she was guessing was the usual Sherlin fashion, this thing had to be much, much worse.

No actual danger. Somehow Olivia doubted that. Maybe not physical danger, but it seemed like this treasure trove of horrors held the potential to inflict the worst sort of psychological damage. Besides, what sort of thing could only harm clothing, but not the person wearing them? It was becoming more and more of a wonder how the Ministry seemed to be oblivious of all of Professor Sherlin's more questionable activities and possessions. Or, perhaps they were aware, and their safety laws were alarmingly nonexistent—it suddenly seemed very important to peruse the details of magical case law before the next class.

"I'll go first." A confident voice piped up, drawing Olivia out of her thoughts. Lost in the depths of her mind, she hadn't realized most the class had been standing silent, some visibly afraid, some feigning disinterest to cover up the unnerved feeling that manifested as cold bumps crawling across their skin. Most of the class except one, that is—Helen stepped forward, bright eyes brimming with a need to prove herself and a hardworking spirit that would push her through some of the harder adversities she might face. The brown-eyed beauty reached into the basket of clothing, taking her time to peruse her options and find something that was at least mildly stylish and form-fitting. She'd lift up a plain shirt or some basketball shorts, flip it around a couple times, hold it up to her body, and reach for her next option. The process repeated a few times until she'd finally settled on a solid-colored blue blouse that seemed a bit too big on her and a flowing black skirt, taking her prizes and walking towards a corner of the room.

"Lumos maxima." The room became blindingly bright, Olivia turning away and shutting her eyes against the light until the color behind her eyelids faded back into a familiar black, her eyes opening again to a newly-changed Helen, re-approaching the group with bravery and confidence brimming in her grin.

"Ready."
 
As Helen walked towards the opposite corner, a few things happened very quickly. The boys with a tactful bone in their body turned to face the blackboard, Marcus' face in particular flushing cherry as he suddenly decided it was an excellent time to perform a deep analysis of his shoes. The frat boy and the lord shot their eyes up and began to turn towards her, but they barely flexed a degree before Sherlin let out a very distinct cough. Instead of turning towards her, they turned towards him, their faces saying they expected to see a wand pointed at them. Their surprise more than doubled when they found they were looking down the barrel of a gun. Angier had his back turned away from them, but the gentle shaking of his shoulders did not well mask his silent laughter. When Sherlin flexed the barrel downwards, the locker room gang let their eyes fall to the floor, just as the world brightness was set to 100.

Sherlin grimaced and turned away a moment too late, squeezing his eyes together as he fumbled the pistol away under his jacket. Stars danced behind his eyelids. He waited until he felt the movement around him that signified the light was gone, then peeled his eyes open. Turning back to her with one eye still shut and his face all twisted, he offered something between an acquiescent nod and a scowl. "Righto, good to see you can handle yourself."

Angier let out an audible chuckle at that, and Sherlin's accusatory frown pulled out a proper laugh. "Hope you got a chance to see the looks on their faces before yours got zapped," he snickered in between chuckles.

A handful of the students visibly bristled, unsure what was about to happen as they watched someone poke the bear; Sherlin's eye stayed shut and his only open one was blinking away stars, but he huffed out a dry laugh and waved a hand at the old man with a brisk, "Bugger off or you get to go in naked," as he brought his hands up to scrub at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Helen moved again, trying to cover up the fact that she had frozen as if time had stopped by trotting her way more quickly down towards the cabinet. She dubiously queried, "So how's this work?" while giving the thing a glance that seemed more like she was looking at a coffin with her name engraved on it.

"Very simple," Sherlin said tightly, blinking as he moved towards the open side of the hole. "You get in, I close the door and turn it on."" As he spoke, he bent, producing a key ring from his pocket and going about the three key locks. It was an awkward bend to get his eye in line with the last one, but he seemed no less capable of continuing his explanation as he worked. "You will experience things in there at a somewhat accelerated rate as we feel, so a few minutes in there could be close to fifteen for us. Fifteen minutes is your goal, by the way. You have fifteen minutes to enter the wardrobe, find your way through the maze, and come out."

"Maze? What—"

"Now now, in you go!" Sherlin had stood and taken her by the shoulders as she tried to get in a word, but her protests were not heard as her instructor pulled the door up and plopped her down into the cabinet. For a thin-looking man, he was able to lift the small girl under the arms with surprising ease, and she spun to face him as soon as her feet touched wood, cheeks red.

"What does this have to do with sentient spells!?" Out of his reach in the hole, her outrage mixed with fear and manifested in her white-knuckle grip on her wand. She nearly shouted the question, each word softer than the last as she forced herself to rein in.

"This will show you that," Sherlin explained, tapping the cabinet with his foot. "And whatever the gaps in your learning after you exit, I will fill in once everyone has had their turn." He stepped back, a wave of his wand closing one door and leaving Helen standing through the half-opening. "When you are ready, lie down, and pull the door down over you. I will count to ten, and you will begin."

Helen stood for a few more moments, seemingly deciding between lying down and making a break for it. She nodded to herself after an intense mental war, and bent at the knees, slipping back into the darkness of the armoire and pulling the door down on top of her with a satisfying, wooden clack.

"Ten. Nine." The countdown was loud and would easily be heard through the doors. He counted as he stepped towards the legs and bent to one knee, reaching underneath its floor. "Two. One." A hard click! issued from the hole where some mechanism was pulled. The cabinet hummed, the chasing of the wood rising away from its backing. The swirled patterns up the edges of the door intertwined like a zipper, folding over the seam of the door and cinching down tight over it to form a tight seal.

Sherlin immediately lifted an arm, shuffling his sleeve down to look at his watch. He memorized the time, and stood, moving back towards his desk. "And for us, now, we wait. You may discuss what you wish in the meantime."
 
An entertained smile spread across rose-dusted lips at the good-natured banter, relieved at the fact that Professor Sherlin was actually capable of handling a bit of humor at his own expense. Definitely not something that anyone else dared to try, but good to know, nonetheless. While Olivia's focus was on the implications of this spectacle, however, other students were focused on the content of the conversation itself—some visibly cringed at the idea of the old man standing there in his birthday suit in all his wrinkled glory, while a few stared in concern at the toothy grin the military man gave as his posture widened in pride, a visible indication that he would almost prefer to not be clothed, if only to spite the Professor.

Yet the light mood fell prey to the hungry maw of the darker unknown that Helen was about to dive into blind, the only information being that somehow fifteen minutes should be enough, at least by Sherlin Standards™, to find her way through a maze while also learning something important in the process. What would happen if she didn't make it through in time? Let her continue, yank her out of there, throw her out of Theodoor, never to return? Yet all the class could do was just sit and wait to find out, as it seemed there would be no more information—the professor had already picked the poor girl up and dropped her down into the gaping emptiness within, a surprising amount of muscle hidden beneath his clothing, considering how effortless he made the move seem. She had her instructions, and it was up to Helen to comply and begin this trial.

And comply she did, laying down in this terrible portal to some nightmare Narnia—the witch and the wardrobe parts were obvious, but the lion was none other than Professor Sherlin, waiting for his prey to become ensnared in his trap. The doors closed. It was a bit too late to wonder if she'd have enough oxygen in there after fifteen minutes. The countdown began, and it ended. Some sort of amalgamation of technology and magic activated, the door sealing shut. Now she'd definitely not have enough oxygen.

Then, everything was still. There were no sounds coming from inside or outside until Professor Sherlin casually broke the tension as if nothing had happened. Wait. Discuss. So carefree. As if they could really start shooting the breeze and gossiping about celebrities at a time like this.

The room was silent for a few moments, the suspense of wondering if Helen would ever come back out of the eerily quiet contraption sprouting an unsettling seed within the minds of every student. If she actually did die in there, what would they all do? Try to take on a man with dual casting abilities and a gun? Risk challenging Theodoor by trying to leave before he decided it was time to open? Break open a window and hope at least a few people could escape unharmed?

There was no use starting to form a mutiny when nothing had even happened yet, though—as terrifying as things may seem, nobody had actually come to harm in this class yet. One by one, people started to realize this fact, their shoulders relaxing and their faces erasing at least a part of their worry as quiet murmurs marked the start of conversations, an attempt to pass the time and distract themselves from their worries. Olivia opted instead to step towards the armoire, cautious to not get too close in case she somehow might trigger something awful. Ocean-blue eyes scanned the surface, marveling at the construction and trying to understand its deeper mechanisms from afar. It was an impressive sort of artifact that she'd never really seen before—was this something the professor had created, or were there more of these out there? What purpose did it serve, just as a training simulation? Why the secrecy of hiding it under his desk, the locks, the cameras, the scanners? What other things were hidden in this room, if only she looked hard enough for them?

Curiosity got the better of her as she glanced up at the professor, her love for all things unusual glittering in her gaze. "So, where did you get this?"
 
Sherlin flicked his eyes over to Olivia, glancing down at his watch again and nodding before he met her eyes. "It was a purchase, at first, then I did some custom work on it," he explained. "Originally, it was a vanishing cabinet, but its sister was destroyed so the link was broken. I'm not much of an artificer, but I've a friend who's quite good at the tinkering. He and I worked on it together for a handful of years without making much progress until what we first thought was an accident accomplished it for us." His explanation was somewhat clipped, and perforated by a glance down at his watch every thirty or so seconds. "We accidentally blew out the back of it, at the same time as an activation attempt, and it just sort of... opened."

He glanced over at the cabinet, amusement and a bit of intrigue glittering silvery in his eyes. "It was like your normal extension charm, but because it was meant to be linked to another location, it was extraordinarily malleable. It took my colleague only a few days after that to find the formula for programming it, and only a few weeks to perfect what we wanted it to do."

"Amazing." The thoughtful girl remarked, attempting to peek underneath to piece together more of the mystery. It wasn't often that anyone could repurpose a magical artifact—usually any tampering resulted in an unstable product. Her face drew close to inspect the small mechanisms and chips in the wood she found before retreating warily away, head turning to glance back at Sherlin. "So what exactly did you want it to do?"

"Exactly what it does," he shot back simply with another wrist glance. "It evokes a mental landscape similar to that of a Boggart, where it plays on different strengths and weakness of the Self in order to draw out some conclusion. In particular, it seeks knowledge, and in its seeking, manifests things inside that want to feed on that knowledge. By experiencing the mirror, you can often understand the original."
 
"Box of horrors for the sake of self-advancement." She commented casually, unsure if it was brilliant or just a terrible idea. Good to push your boundaries, bad to lock yourself in a piece of furniture and potentially experience more than one could handle. Still, it was a bit comforting knowing they couldn't be physically harmed. Speaking of... "How do you go about programming all of the smaller complexities? You mentioned things you take inside can be harmed, but you can't. How does that work?"

"It's a matter of pressure." He nodded his head to the cabinet, pointing at the sides. "There are physical mechanisms inside it, more than just the magical ones. The magic does the mind parts, those do the body parts. Everything you feel inside can be amplified or nullified by the magic bits: You could punch someone in the stomach and have them barely feel it, or you could poke them with a pin and they would feel like they had been shot." He shrugged. "All a matter of what any given part of the sequence wants you to feel."

Her mind cast back to her mental imagery of when the contraption was open, trying to recall if she had noticed any small cracks or secret compartments that held the physical aspects of this wonder but turning up empty. She stood now, wandering away from the edge of the hole in the floor to stand within a careful proximity to her professor. "Where did you get the idea for this?"

Another glance down at his watch and an affirmative nod later, Sherlin turned towards his student. "The labyrinth event of the Tri-Wizard tournament. The architecture inside is a bit different, but the principle is the same: Navigate a maze full of traps and puzzles and learn something along the way."

“In only fifteen minutes?” She pondered, eyebrows raising a bit in surprise. The Tri-Wizard tournament was more of a test of skill than a teaching moment at best, and very dangerous at worst. She’d gotten the opportunity to watch several, but had never gone through the ordeal herself—was this cabinet really just as challenging?

"Scaled down, of course," he said with an acquiescent nod. "And remember that the time flows differently within. Fifteen minutes out here can be anywhere from thirty to sixty inside. The challenge level is roughly similar, but the Tri-Wizard labyrinth is much more vast and infallible than the simple maze you'll encounter in here. This one is very specifically designed not to kill you."

“That’s comforting.” She smirked, eyes trailing back over to Helen’s not-coffin. Simple maze. No death or potential for it. Still terrifyingly unknown, but hopefully manageable. Her shoulders relaxed a bit, worry dissipating from her mind. She could do this. “Have you ever gone through the tournament, Professor?”

Sherlin's head shook. "No. Never was one for grand displays, and I am happy to not be well-known. I've some colleagues who participated, but none who made it very far, and even they have more renown than I would care for."

“I understand that. Fame seems to be a fickle sort of thing. Not really worth it. Besides, I don’t think they’d let guns into the tournament.” She fixed him with a sidelong smirk, a daring, good-natured jab that danced in her eyes before they found their way back to the armoire. “But I’m guessing this isn’t the only thing you’ve come up with.” A hand reached up to casually gesture towards the hole in the floor, curious eyes flickering over to his face. “What’s your favorite creation?”
 
"'Favorite' is a bit of an odd—" His sentence was cut short as the doors to the cabinet burst upwards, Helen tumbling upwards out of it with significant enough velocity to pop her up out of the recess in the floor and deposit her on the tile. She was panting, and there were tears in her blouse along the cuffs and the skirt, once whole, now appeared as if it was split the way horse-riding skirts were, but he otherwise appeared unharmed.

"Welcome back," Sherlin called over to her, standing up and trotting to the cabinet, his conversation with Olivia seemingly forgotten. "Before you say anything, don't," he instructed, bending one knee and bringing his wand to touch his forehead. "For now, you get a chance to relax." With a gentle tug, his wand slowly came away from her head trailing a wispy silver thread. Her breathing started to slow and her eyes, previously somewhat wide and panicked, flickered shut as she took a centering, calming breath. Sherlin's free hand pointed to the desks and he offered a quiet, "Take a seat and decompress while your classmates enter," as carefully manipulated the thread with the other hand. A few quick, careful steps took him back behind his desk and when he rapped his palm on the center of its surface, a silver bowl tumbled out from underneath, trundling into place and tinkling as it filled itself with a misty water. Sherlin lowered the redwood carrier to the pool and let the wisp sink into its surface, nodding in satisfaction and stowing his wand—an action that was still somewhat of a mystery, for he simply jerks his arm and it disappeared off to somewhere on his person.

He nodded at the bowl, then leaned forward onto the desk with his hands, eyes now back on his clas. "Helen has managed to pass the trials within the cabinet, and with good marks it seems by her lack of missing cartilage or chipped organs. Taking on volunteers, next, else I'm going to pick someone."

For a moment, the room remained silent, eyes flickering to eyes as everyone waited for a brave soul to step forward. However, that soul seemed to be selected by the crowd as most gazes fell upon Olivia, the weight of the responsibility placed on her shoulders pushing her forward. "I'll do it."

With a clap of his hands, Sherling nodded, turning on a heel and bringing his thumb tips to his chin in his particular way of smiling around his fingers."Lovely. Now tha that's settled..." He unfolded one hand and gestured to the trunk of loaner clothes. "On your mark."

There was only a flash of hesitation before Olivia nodded, moving to the trunk with what appeared to be cautious enthusiasm; whether or not it was a veil that obscured dread and fear was successfully made not apparent. A wine-colored button-up shirt, a black tank top, and a pair of half-a-size-too-small leggings came back up with her and she disappeared off to the corner of the room. This time, all eyes did a proper about face, a certain party even going so far as to squish their eyes shut to avoid another run-in with a very angry handgun.

Olivia returned a minute later, clothes neatly folded and sitting atop her desk, moving to stand at the side of the wardrobe. Sherlin walked up next to her and offered a hand, helping her to step down into the awkward footing. "Fifteen minutes. Not that you will have any concept of real time in there, but know that you will only be inside for that long." He instructed Olivia to lay down, and closed the door over her with a last, cheerful, "Best of luck," to follow her into the darkness.

The moment the door closed, Olivia was met with a falling sensation, as if the back of the armoire had dropped out from under her. Her mind tumbled for a handful of seconds before her perception righted itself.

The witch found herself in a circular room fifty feet in diameter and seemingly boundless vertically. Its edges were distinct, but seemed abrupt, as if she was standing on a large disc floating in a void. The floor was made of stained glass and depicting a five-headed phoenix with its heads curling down around its body, fire jutting from its mouth and tails to curl around its body. To her direct front, left, and right were knee-high pedestals with a haze of white energy holding up an object. To her front, a trombone, its arm pulsing in and out to a phantom hand. To her left, a television remote control from the 80s, oddly squared and looking colored by secondhand smoke. And to her right, a cookie, oatmeal by the look of it and still warm.
 
It took a moment for her mind to take in the situation, head spinning from the perceptual shift from the spacious classroom, to the claustrophobic nightmare of the armoire, and finally to the odd void she was in now. She hadn’t known what to expect, but the horrors that lie in wait for her were limitless unknowns. Olivia had volunteered, but her confidence diminished a bit as she was ushered into the armoire and promptly sent careening down into this strange room, and especially now as she stared ahead, unsure of what was dangerous and what she had to figure out. Would the phoenix come to life? Was the cookie poisoned? Would the remote explode?

As her eyes flitted across the scene before her, a word came back into her mind—labyrinth. This was a puzzle, a challenge. Observation was critical. This was no time for worry. It was time to learn.

Fifteen minutes. She could handle that, right?

She took a few tentative steps towards the middle of the room. There seemed to be nothing beyond the boundaries of this area, at least not visible to her yet—there surely had to be more to this place. It’d likely be revealed to her after she performed some sort of action here, she figured. The floor was a beautiful crystalline burst of flame and fantasy, a phoenix of five heads withdrawn inwards towards itself in an oddly timid looking position given the splendor and brilliance of the creature that demanded it be shown off. Three pedestals stood before her, presumably as a choice, as there was no indication any of these objects could actually do anything or advance the puzzle in any manner. At least, that's what she hoped—surely the puzzle wouldn't be this terribly vague.

Footsteps dully echoed as she approached the cookie, entranced by the scent as she took a closer look. It seemed to be just a normal cookie, but the worry of poison drew her focus away and towards the remote instead. She leaned closer to it, the old technology very out of place in a magical realm, though she supposed not too odd considering the type of man that put it there. It had a strange aura about it that unsettled her. It was almost intriguing enough to choose as the object she would inspect. Still, her eyes were drawn past this and towards the trombone, its slide moving in a silent melody, undoubtedly enchanted.

Her eyes traced along the smooth, brass tubes, traveling closer to hear the movement of air or the gentle slide of its motion, but it stayed eerily quiet. Just what sort of magic was this? How did it work? With her choice made, a hand slowly reached out to grab the instrument, wrapping fingers around the cold metal as she tentatively picked it up. Curiously, she tilted it to further assess the magic behind it, but her focus ultimately fell into keeping an eye on her environment for any changes.
 
The seconds after Olivia’s hands picked up the brass instrument were full of motion. The other two objects disappeared, along with their pedestals. After they did, the glass of the floor shattered beneath them, as if the stained glass floor was divided into thirds by an unseen line. The shards fell down and, just a few feet below the platform, slowed, and glided forward, piecing together to form a path that wound forwards into the darkness. Gently meandering, that path was far longer than the constituent parts should have been able to properly make, giving it the feel of telescoping. It was barely three feet wide and had no sort of railing, giving it an overall precarious, hazardous feel.

Outside, Sherlin had taken a step back from the armoire; with Olivia’s absence, none of the remaining students had quite worked their way up to conversational levels of confidence, so he resumed his seat with a careful eye on his watch.

Inside, the scene only continued to get more and more bizarre. The black void began to spawn from its veil small, four-winged creatures, looking for all the world like origami cranes made of the same stained glass as the floors. It was not until a voice from behind Olivia muttered, “Oppugno,” in a raspy voice that it became clear that the fledgling was not alone in the void. It was not a proper set of human lips that uttered the spell—indeed, it was not terribly clear if the creature that sat on the south end of the circle Olivia had come in on had been there the whole time or whether it had manifested as the trombone was touched. It did not much matter to its half-dozen hands, though, which immediately started assisting it to move forward, four arms supporting its upper body while its legs pushed off to carry it forward towards Olivia with surprising and alarming speed. A half beat later, and one of its right side arms was reaching out, snatching at the witch who had invaded its territory.
 
Time seemed to rush by as her environment promptly disintegrated all around her, the objects she’d abandoned cast into the void, the brilliant phoenix dying in a shattered blaze of glory. Only, the creature would never be reborn from its crystalline fragments as it would have if ashes were left behind, the pieces growing dull as they fell through darkness and reformed into a lone pathway. The witch descended as the floor gave way underneath her, a steady drop, albeit one that seemed to occur much slower than a normal fall, as if she were plunging through a vat of molasses. Finally, her feet found the new, thin way forwards, a soft clack of her shoes connecting with the reformed glass echoing into the chasm. It was an unsettling sound that held all the weight and tension of the next few moments within its dull percussion.

Small creatures sprang to life, a cascade of miniature phoenix-colored glass wings flitting about—a beautiful sight, were it not so disquieting. Olivia couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong about this new puzzle before her. There was only one way forward, away from where all of the avian creations were materializing, which seemed to suggest—

A dark voice froze the blood in her adrenaline-spiked veins. An inhuman tone pierced the silence with a commanding and deadly energy. Something shifted in her vision—something large, menacing, and certainly not friendly. Cranes began racing towards her, crystal missiles darting towards her flesh and leaving light, clean gashes in their wake. Giant hands moved, swifter than a horror of that size should be able to move, closing the distance almost instantly as an eldritch arm reached for her.

The agile woman threw her body forwards, racing down the path as an unspoken confringo spell was left behind in her wake, a momentary barrier of flame between her and the grasping fingers. The glass birds burst into a dazzling firework display of dancing flame and shining shards as they attempted to fly through the chaos, turning into true phoenixes before their existence was promptly erased. Blue eyes chanced a glance back at her pursuers, wrist twisting her wand in the air as she forced out a quick “Impedimenta!” before whipping back around to sprint down the only route she could take. A silent protego charm encased her in a shield as her feet pounded forwards, though safety felt like nothing more than a pipe dream.
 
As the blasting flames pelted the creature's hand, it flinched back, a raspy hiss rending out from somewhere near the mass that seemed most like a head. The shards of its colorful summoned familiars burst to pieces in the blast. Parts of them turned to molten dust that scattered to the void; the parts that were blown away by the concussion, rather than the flame, stuttered jerkily in the air before reforming into what they once were, but missing pieces that were burned away. Three wings, missing beaks, they continued to fly towards Olivia, fluttering dumbly as they tried to fly sans important flight-enabling limbs but still managing to retardedly lumber through the air with surprising quickness.

The summoner, meanwhile, swept a great limb through the heat of the blast fire, scattering the spell into the darkness. Its movements were not lumbering or clumsy, rather smooth and precise, and as its arms grabbed the edge of the narrow path to help it lunge forward, they were also fast—much faster than a human's legs would carry them. Its four sets of arms rotated forward and back in circles like a bizarre set of wheels while its legs pushed off, carrying it forward in bursts of powerful movements smoothed out by its arms.

The pathway began to dip, the narrow glass becoming increasingly less friendly to footing as its angle increased. Behind, more glass cranes sprung from the pathway behind the creature, which seemed to be dissolving as it passed by, fueling its summoning. In the space between its lumbering strides, one of its arms raised high over its head, a gnarled finger extending forward towards the running witch. "Petrificus totalus," slowly rumbled out in its dark voice, each syllable seemingly formed from within its bulbous, veiny head, rather than any proper jaw or mouth.
 
Olivia dared a glance back at the advancing beast, trying to judge its speed from a half-second of watching its rolling sets of arms, throat tightening as she quickly came to the realization that this thing was faster than her. It'd catch her, and soon. She had to do something. With her mind whirring and her feet pounding against the glass, she almost absentmindedly cast another wall of fire between her and her pursuer, having noticed that the tiny broken cranes had been affected by the flames. It might prevent more of her skin being gashed by the flying amalgamation of glass parts, but it certainly wouldn't stop whatever this unholy beast was capable of.

Despite the very real feeling of danger that spiked her blood with adrenaline, a calming breath rushed past her lips, interrupting the huff and puff of her fast running and faster heart. This couldn’t kill her. She could feel the worst pain imaginable thanks to this torture chamber of a cabinet, but she would be out of it soon. It was only fifteen minutes. With this thought, she drew herself out of her very pressing predicament to the waiting people just beyond this world, beginning to feel oddly detached from the survival instinct screaming inside. “Professor, what in the world is this…” Her exasperated words flowed under her breath, speaking directly to him as if the man in question was just sitting and spectating with a cup of tea. The fact that this thing was somehow fabricated from the deeply disturbing machinations within his mind made her shudder—what other things does he think about that this machine couldn’t replicate?

The creature began to speak, tearing her thoughts back into alarming reality, her breath hitching in her throat. The voice smothered her in the essence of terrifying darkness, eyes widening as the first syllable of its spell spurred her into action.

"Finite Incantatem!" She spoke breathlessly, wand swirling the air hurriedly but gracefully before it resumed the unsteady forward-backward jolts as Olivia's arms pumped by her sides, willing her legs to move faster. The burst of light swung into the black air, arching upwards and falling like a shooting star towards the shimmering glass path yards ahead. The sudden shock of immobility slammed into her body, cement filling her veins and encasing her muscles. With an unspoken Locomotor spell, her inanimate body rocketed through the air, the pathway's vibrant colors a blur as she sped forward. The Olivia statue shot through the burst of magic she'd flung into the distance, a warm glow spreading across her form as the steel under her flesh melted into butter. Freed limbs flailed momentarily, but she became still with arms outstretched as she flew onward, inertia still carrying her across the darkness as the pathway dipped downwards, continuing to plummet down into the unknown.
 
Olivia's figure tumbled against the now sloped ramp, bouncing once before skidding downwards for another fifty yards. The speed separated her from the entity, which was descending the angled glass hands over hands like it was a ladder.

As the path suddenly leveled out its slope and widened, Olivia skidded into another open circular expanse of stained glass. Fifty yards across, the pattern depicted the infamous figure of a dementor, with the horn of a trombone extruding from its cowl. In a circle around it, the words Expecto Trombonum were set into the glass as a reminder of the exercise.

The entity crashed in on Olivia's heels, leaning forward on four of its arms and lowering its bulbous head to hers. And despite the shape, that head carried with it a familiar presence: Any auror worth their salt would recognize a dementor when they were face to face with one, and it was that same sense of dread and hopelessness that emanated from the creature's misshapen, featureless face. It did not have a mouth to speak of, which suggested there would be no kiss to worry about, and that was the only comfort this monster carried. Its head shook and it rasped what felt like a growl, the veins and flesh of its face jostling eerily out of sync with its movements.

Hunkering down on all its limbs for a moment, it pushed off and launched in an arc up and over Olivia's head to land at the far side of the platform. It's weight cracked the floor and sent up splintered shards of glass in a shockwave. With a wave of its upper-limb hand and a pointed, bony finger, it rumbled, "Oppugno," once again, and those splintered shards began to float. But only for a moment before they ripped off towards Olivia once more.

From everywhere and nowhere, a voice murmured out of the blackness. With proper application and form, any spell can be Expected. Give it direction within your mind, and give it purpose with your cast, and to will see it bear fruit. Only then will you be free to fight back against this foe. The darkness to her right twinkled, then, stars appearing distant in the darkness like the night's sky had lit up at her feet. And spelled out in those stars were a combination of words that only felt sensible for the absolute chaos within which the room was presented:

Expecto Protego

From his chair, Sherlin leaned forward. Barely two minutes had passed, in the classroom, the other students still largely focused on their own conversations and tasks. To his eyes, though, a crescendo loomed.
 
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Cold air streamed through Olivia's hair, stinging her eyes as she rocketed forward, casting nervous glances back as the figure shrunk, just a bit. Fast. Not fast enough. Yet maybe too fast as the slope finally leveled, sending her tumbling across faintly illuminated glass. The world flashed light, dark, light, dark—a dizzying blur until her breathless coin flip landed on dark, blinking up into the expanse of nothingness. For a moment she laid there, sprawled with an uncomfortable numbness in her shoulder and a wild amount of adrenaline fluttering in her chest. Her body locked, muscles trembling, lungs squeezed in a vice grip as if the creature already grasped her. But it hadn't.

Up. Get up.

She scrambled to her feet, unsteady as her gaze flickered quickly to the surface she stood on, the sight of the dementor chilling if not for the ridiculous trombone bell wreathing it like a divine halo of light in a Renaissance painting. Expecto Trombonum. If she died horrifically and her grave site became this giant relief of a terrible pun that she'd probably find in a shitty Sunday newspaper's comic section, she vowed to haunt the Professor for the rest of his days. Surely either of the other options wouldn't have led to something so demeaning. Maybe her blood would have been baked into the cookie offered to the next contestant of this nightmare gameshow. Maybe the tv remote would have just replayed her final moments over and over. Thinking about it, however, maybe the tv remote would have been worse, her last moments punctuated by the booming sound of a sitcom laugh track. The trombone was actually likely the middle ground. The realization did nothing to comfort her.

Yet somehow, the sight of it calmed her, just a bit, just enough to remind her again of one very important thing—she wouldn't die. Out of spite she wouldn't die, yes, but she couldn't die here. This was still a test. This was still a puzzle to be solved, a challenge to be overcome, a solution to be found if she would stop letting fear drive her into a corner and just think.

Only then did the feeling of cold metal in her hand register, the long object she held against her chest as if it could do anything to shield her. The trombone had stayed in a pincer grasp that bled all the color out of her knuckles. The poor thing was dented and deformed all to hell from tumbling with her, but it was in one piece. She brandished the sad hunk of metal in front of her as the glass vibrated with the ever-approaching steps of the beast. Despite its hostile chase, it paused its charge towards her, only leaning forward as if observing a particularly interesting worm frying on a summer sidewalk. No teeth. Not even a mouth to swallow her or her soul up. The hands stayed still.

You won't die here.

A dementor. A terrifically huge and mutated amalgamation of one mixed with some other things she'd never want to encounter in a dark room, but a dementor nonetheless. In the face of unfamiliarity, she'd panicked, but confronted with something familiar?

You won't die here.

The sentiment dissolved as the monster crouched and leapt, but returned like a magic trick when it landed not on top of her, but in front of her. Her confidence was as unsteady as the ground beneath her, the vibrations underfoot forcing her to widen her stance. Glass shattered underneath the creature's limbs, chunks of the trombone cowl falling away, making it look almost worse than the instrument in her hands. Large fractals of cracks splintered the dementor's visage, trails running underfoot as Olivia stood staring down the not-maw of the beast. Hairs rose on her arms as the voice once again ran its nails down her back, the shards glinting in the glow from the floor. Instinctively, she threw up another shield, mouth set in a grim but determined line until a voice startled her nearly out of her concentration.

Great. She must be doing horribly if she was getting video game hints. Big blinking "this is what to do" written in the sky and everything. But if it got her out of this mess…

As soon as there was a lull in the glass tearing at her shield, she planted her feet wide, chin tilting high with her mayfly confidence. She'd never heard of such a thing as other Expected spells. She had no idea what it would really do or how it would really function. She didn't even know the best wand motion for summoning something like this. All she knew was that if the Professor thought it was possible, she'd rise to the challenge.

Her wand slipped into the band of her leggings. Shaking hands grasped the trombone, the slide. The mouthpiece raised to her lips.

"Expecto… Protego." She pronounced firmly, and in the same breath blew into the trombone.

Olivia was many things, but not a fighter. Not a musician, either, as her lips clumsily buzzed and probably accomplished more spit than air—not even a crackling note came out. The only sound was a wisp of moist air leaking out of some valve, likely broken from all the abuse it had endured in the past couple minutes. It would have been tremendously embarrassing had nothing happened. For a few terrifying moments, nothing did. She was nearly out of air by the time she noticed it—a wisp of glowing white mist trailing up from the bell. It spread out in front of her, thin enough to almost dissipate entirely before it suddenly contracted, coalescing into an orb of milky light.

The dumbfounded stare she found herself entranced in should have earned her a nick or two from the newest onslaught of glass hurtling her direction, but the orb blinked in and out of sight faster than she could register, each reappearance scattering glittering dust in its wake. The powder settled onto her tattered clothes as she reached for her wand again, the orb leaving spots in her vision as she focused forward.

Another pause in the onslaught, one she wouldn't waste. Memories of a winter night buried her mind's eye under a foot of snow, under fuzzy blankets and warm string lights and a thin bedsheet that formed a tent in the living room. Paper littered the floor, each one holding ridiculous drawings that made their creators' sides hurt with laughter. A mug of hot chocolate stayed warm under a mushroom-top lid. Hard candies and gummy worms were stashed secretively under pillows, in case their parents walked in. A face similar to hers looked at her with a smile that glowed even in the dim light.

"Expecto patronum."

A steady stream of magic swirled in the air, gathering and condensing into a formless mass that grew larger and impossibly larger. Stumpy legs formed. The massive body came into focus. Billowing ears drifted out. A trail of fog branched off from the rest, settling into the image of a long trunk. An elephant stood weightlessly on the fractured floor, radiating pulse after pulse of light as it plodded forward defensively.
 
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