Post by Kallisto Ophelia Parkinson on Sept 16, 2018 22:55:03 GMT -5
Hogwarts Castle
April 2016
April 2016
Kallisto had done it! She had made it the full month--and with only one leaf, too! The sticking charm had been the key to keeping the leaf both in place and intact. After a full month of the distinctly unpleasant taste in her mouth, some might have expected that it would fade or loose some its intensity. It didn't and it hadn't. If anything, the taste had gotten worse the longer that time passed. It was foul and she was delighted to be done with it.
All smiles the Slytherin bounced towards the Transfiguration room. Her previous visits she had been prim and wholly ladylike, but today, some of her excitement and pride were seeping through the demure mask her grandmother had taught her to always maintain. The Parkinson had not removed the leaf, not yet. She wanted her professor's approval before doing so.
"Professor," she called as she stepped into the empty classroom. "It's been a month." Kallisto declared to Professor Kvothe. Though the taste had grown stronger, the lisp she had been plagued with early in the time period had been conquered nearly completely--so her speech was clear and easy to understand as her soprano projected over the open space
The professor gave her his attention as she approached his desk. The witch carried herself as a true lady--with the grace and lithe body of a ballerina, Kallisto exhibited all the traits Tara had groomed her to display. The indoctrination of etiquette and propriety dictated the way the pureblood interacted with society and the public. So, despite Damion Kvothe being only a handful of years older than her, she treated the man with great respect--not out of inherent respect for him, (as truly she was in no position to determine if the man was worthy of her respect,) but out of respect for his position. To be a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a great honor.
At his joshing, Kallisto let out a ring of musical laughter. The sound was lovely, but the most observant of listeners could pick up on the shadow of sadness and anger than lingered at the edges of audible representation of amusement. "I doubt any have enjoyed the mandrake, sir," she answered, a slight bow of deference came with words. While her tone was leaning towards formal, the twinkle in the Slytherin's azure eyes matched the playfulness of Kvothe's cheeky comment.
When the Transfiguration Master gestured to a seat, a single nod accepted the offer. Kallisto's motions had a way of catching the eye--all were mimicking the woman who had raised her. Somehow her body seemed to be both stiff and fluid. There was a effortless refinement to each step and even how she lowered herself into the seat, but her back was always straight--her shoulders back--her head held high--eyes forward--smile never faltering. She was both the marble statue and a living being.
A slight widening of her smile and another nod of her head were the Parkinson's silent response to Kvothe's offer of congratulations. Kali was proud of enduring the first trial, but had no misconceptions about how far she still had to go in pursuit of her animagus form. The journey would be long and fraught with challenges to tax and try both her skill and resolve. Talk turned to the last text she had received from the man as she smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her skirt. Though every article of clothing on her body conformed to the uniform requirements of the school, her ensemble was proof that not even standardized uniforms could truly set all students to equal. As materialistic as the Parkinson women before her--and with her interest in fashion and position at Witch Weekly--even her uniforms were bespoke, perfectly tailored for her and made of only the finest cloth. Only the best for Perseus's princess of the apocalypse.
"I am," Kallisto promised in response to the man's inquiry. "The wandless exercises have been fascinating and most challenging. The water conjuration and phase shift has been my focus." She found the example to be a most brilliant way to exhibit controlled change and by being able maintain multiple spells at once, she was growing her overall magical capacity as was required to perform wandless, nonverbal full transformation of her person. "I would be happy to demonstrate my current progress." The witch cupped her hands together in front of her and for the first time since entering the room, her attention left the professor and focused in the void of space above her palms. "Aguamenti," Kali whispered. Slowly a sphere of water grew into being floating a few inches above her hands. The next spell the witch cast, she achieved non-verbally. Phase shifting had always come easier to her than conjuration, though due to Perseus's commitment to her mastery of the latter in pursuit of fiendfyre, she had grown adept at both. The ice froze and rose slightly higher from her hands. This was where things got extra complicated. The goal was to conjure fire beneath the ice, while maintaining the spherical shape by maintaining control over the positions of the water molecules. The exercise in the week she had been practicing it had expanded her ability to focus considerably.
A long preparatory breath was drawn in through her nose. Her eyes were fixated in front of her. She had not even glanced the professor's way since beginning her demonstration. "Incendio Tria," was the husky incantation commanded from her tongue. Blue flames burst into being beneath the frozen sphere, tips as vibrant as her eyes licked around the icy surface, rising up to engulf the ball. Kallisto felt the first drops of water hit her palms and frowned, but she did not let the imperfection of her attempt to cause her to abandon the effort. She ignored the few dozen splatters that came against her skin over the ten or so seconds that the fire engulfed her conjured water. Barely visible curls of steam rose up, escaping her magic, enough time had passed-- "Evanesco," she thought in her mind, commanding the fire into a state of non-being. When the flames died out, floating before her was a ball of liquid water. Her execution still was not perfect, but she had come quite a long way in the six hours she had spent practicing outside on the balcony last night after her rounds.. The double conjuration had not been a problem for her, but keeping full control of the fire and the water had provided to be extremely difficult. It wasn't just her conjuration or phase shifting transfiguration skills that were being tested and strengthened by this activity. Vanishment was required to get rid of the flames before the water evaporated away. Even transformative transfiguration had a place in this series of spells, as she used transformative magic to force the liquid water to shape itself into a ball.
Another nonverbal casting of the vanishing spell and the water disappeared from view. The twenty or so droplets that had found their way onto her palms earned a distinct frown from the witch as she brushed her hands together a few times until the water was gone.
She had wanted so desperately to master the exercise before her visit to Kvothe today. When she had began the night before, she had not been able to keep the water from melting into a puddle once she conjured the fire. It had been hours of practice until she had managed to keep the majority of the liquid contained. But hopefully, Kvothe would not be disappointed with her progress. When he had provided her the first text for her study, the witch had hoped to manage two or three volumes per week. However, with her enormous course load (everything offered in the castle save Muggle Studies), extracurricular obligations, prefect duties, Witch Weekly internship, and overwhelming desire to shag Finn, even being an insomniac who slept a handful of hours per week did not give her enough time for that rate of progress. She had settled into a solid rate though; always managing, thus far, to exhaust the contents of whatever the professor provided her within a week. This book had been far more interesting than the ones before it, in her opinion. But, perhaps, she felt this way because the progress it brought her was just more easy to observe...
If there was a commonality between herself and the young professor, beyond some inherent proclivities for Transfiguration, the witch was not aware of them. His last name was not particularly familiar to her. She knew not of his father despite whatever business he and Perseus had in the past--or any similarities their upbringings might have shared. Kallisto had allowed--and even embraced--the lessons the Parkinsons had instilled in her shaping who she appeared to the world. Unlike some pureblood rebels, she saw the value in the genteel, decorous behavior befitting a witch of her blood and social status.
Pride and arrogance would never serve her well. But could blind her and build false hope. It was better to reject them completely... or as best she was able with the foundation of superiority that her entire persona was built upon.
The Parkinson completed her demonstration--smiling at Damion's reaction. His grin was contagious--particularly so as her instructor began to praise her. A flaw of the Slytherin was her need for such praise. She did not doubt herself, but her narcisstic pyschological flaw materialized itself in her seeking of external validation. Her damaged sense of identity and dysfunctional self-focus led to Kallisto constantly seeking praise and approval from others. So, odd how a narcissist could both believe in their inherent superiority and excellence and still yet see themself as a waste of space--existing in the perpetual cycle of self-hate and self-love.
"Thank you," was the simple, but blatantly sincere response that fell from the Slytherin's tongue at Damion's congratulations of her progress. Kallisto nodded as the Kvothe expounded upon the purpose of the task she had demonstrated. The Transfiguration Master went on to exhibit the same exercise--his execution was flawless, of course. A twinge of envy constricted her heart, but she would not allow herself to be distracted by it. Of course, Damion would be able to perfect the complex task--his skills were far beyond hers as they should be. If that wasn't the case, then she would have no business seeking guidance from him.
The wizard spoke again--and this time his words focused on her. Were her posture not already perfect, the girl would have sat up a bit taller at the comments. Even still, a hint of pink crept onto her porcelain skin. This was not the first time she had been called a prodigy. Perseus had used the term many times when he was leading her down the path of the Dark Arts. "It is an honor," the witch said warmly as she accepted one of the shortbread biscuits he offered.
Kali had a bit of a weakness for shortbread. Her preference for baked sweets was a touch peculiar--though she loved chocolate, the witch could not abide it in her biscuits. Same with nuts and fruit, Kallisto did not want them in cookies. Biscuits were best plain with a nice crunch---sugar, shortbread, or gingerbread were her favorites. It all came down to texture. Gooey and squishy things did not fit---at least in her opinion.
The girl was taking a thoughtful nibble as Damion produced another book. Her eyes widened and brightened as he began to expound on what was to come next in her little training regimen. Popping the rest of her treat into her mouth, Kali accepted the book from her professor. The text seemed fascinating. Kali noted the way the text shifted and a gentle turning of the pages revealed bits of the contents to be out of order. This task seemed like great fun for the girl! She fought the compulsion to throw herself into devouring the tome immediately. It would not due to show Kvothe her impulsiveness. Such behaviors did not keep in line with the demure persona she put forth to the world. Her gaze moved from the book in her hands to Damion. There was a fire in her eyes now--fierce and determined. A bit of that Slytherin cockiness had come to the surface as the other half of her personality--the portion she attributed to her 'brother' surged to take control of the girl's action. "Willpower will not be an issue," Kallisto said firmly. There was no lack of confidence now---because if there was anything she knew, it was that her resolve was strong.
"I don't want to impose on any more of your time, sir." Kallisto said, rising from her seat. She might be able to play the part of the patient lady on her exterior. But she did not want to dally around when she had a new text to read. So, giving a slight bow of her head to the Transfiguration master, she continued: "Thank you for this-- I'll seek you out again when I have completed the reading."
All smiles the Slytherin bounced towards the Transfiguration room. Her previous visits she had been prim and wholly ladylike, but today, some of her excitement and pride were seeping through the demure mask her grandmother had taught her to always maintain. The Parkinson had not removed the leaf, not yet. She wanted her professor's approval before doing so.
"Professor," she called as she stepped into the empty classroom. "It's been a month." Kallisto declared to Professor Kvothe. Though the taste had grown stronger, the lisp she had been plagued with early in the time period had been conquered nearly completely--so her speech was clear and easy to understand as her soprano projected over the open space
The professor gave her his attention as she approached his desk. The witch carried herself as a true lady--with the grace and lithe body of a ballerina, Kallisto exhibited all the traits Tara had groomed her to display. The indoctrination of etiquette and propriety dictated the way the pureblood interacted with society and the public. So, despite Damion Kvothe being only a handful of years older than her, she treated the man with great respect--not out of inherent respect for him, (as truly she was in no position to determine if the man was worthy of her respect,) but out of respect for his position. To be a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a great honor.
At his joshing, Kallisto let out a ring of musical laughter. The sound was lovely, but the most observant of listeners could pick up on the shadow of sadness and anger than lingered at the edges of audible representation of amusement. "I doubt any have enjoyed the mandrake, sir," she answered, a slight bow of deference came with words. While her tone was leaning towards formal, the twinkle in the Slytherin's azure eyes matched the playfulness of Kvothe's cheeky comment.
When the Transfiguration Master gestured to a seat, a single nod accepted the offer. Kallisto's motions had a way of catching the eye--all were mimicking the woman who had raised her. Somehow her body seemed to be both stiff and fluid. There was a effortless refinement to each step and even how she lowered herself into the seat, but her back was always straight--her shoulders back--her head held high--eyes forward--smile never faltering. She was both the marble statue and a living being.
A slight widening of her smile and another nod of her head were the Parkinson's silent response to Kvothe's offer of congratulations. Kali was proud of enduring the first trial, but had no misconceptions about how far she still had to go in pursuit of her animagus form. The journey would be long and fraught with challenges to tax and try both her skill and resolve. Talk turned to the last text she had received from the man as she smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her skirt. Though every article of clothing on her body conformed to the uniform requirements of the school, her ensemble was proof that not even standardized uniforms could truly set all students to equal. As materialistic as the Parkinson women before her--and with her interest in fashion and position at Witch Weekly--even her uniforms were bespoke, perfectly tailored for her and made of only the finest cloth. Only the best for Perseus's princess of the apocalypse.
"I am," Kallisto promised in response to the man's inquiry. "The wandless exercises have been fascinating and most challenging. The water conjuration and phase shift has been my focus." She found the example to be a most brilliant way to exhibit controlled change and by being able maintain multiple spells at once, she was growing her overall magical capacity as was required to perform wandless, nonverbal full transformation of her person. "I would be happy to demonstrate my current progress." The witch cupped her hands together in front of her and for the first time since entering the room, her attention left the professor and focused in the void of space above her palms. "Aguamenti," Kali whispered. Slowly a sphere of water grew into being floating a few inches above her hands. The next spell the witch cast, she achieved non-verbally. Phase shifting had always come easier to her than conjuration, though due to Perseus's commitment to her mastery of the latter in pursuit of fiendfyre, she had grown adept at both. The ice froze and rose slightly higher from her hands. This was where things got extra complicated. The goal was to conjure fire beneath the ice, while maintaining the spherical shape by maintaining control over the positions of the water molecules. The exercise in the week she had been practicing it had expanded her ability to focus considerably.
A long preparatory breath was drawn in through her nose. Her eyes were fixated in front of her. She had not even glanced the professor's way since beginning her demonstration. "Incendio Tria," was the husky incantation commanded from her tongue. Blue flames burst into being beneath the frozen sphere, tips as vibrant as her eyes licked around the icy surface, rising up to engulf the ball. Kallisto felt the first drops of water hit her palms and frowned, but she did not let the imperfection of her attempt to cause her to abandon the effort. She ignored the few dozen splatters that came against her skin over the ten or so seconds that the fire engulfed her conjured water. Barely visible curls of steam rose up, escaping her magic, enough time had passed-- "Evanesco," she thought in her mind, commanding the fire into a state of non-being. When the flames died out, floating before her was a ball of liquid water. Her execution still was not perfect, but she had come quite a long way in the six hours she had spent practicing outside on the balcony last night after her rounds.. The double conjuration had not been a problem for her, but keeping full control of the fire and the water had provided to be extremely difficult. It wasn't just her conjuration or phase shifting transfiguration skills that were being tested and strengthened by this activity. Vanishment was required to get rid of the flames before the water evaporated away. Even transformative transfiguration had a place in this series of spells, as she used transformative magic to force the liquid water to shape itself into a ball.
Another nonverbal casting of the vanishing spell and the water disappeared from view. The twenty or so droplets that had found their way onto her palms earned a distinct frown from the witch as she brushed her hands together a few times until the water was gone.
She had wanted so desperately to master the exercise before her visit to Kvothe today. When she had began the night before, she had not been able to keep the water from melting into a puddle once she conjured the fire. It had been hours of practice until she had managed to keep the majority of the liquid contained. But hopefully, Kvothe would not be disappointed with her progress. When he had provided her the first text for her study, the witch had hoped to manage two or three volumes per week. However, with her enormous course load (everything offered in the castle save Muggle Studies), extracurricular obligations, prefect duties, Witch Weekly internship, and overwhelming desire to shag Finn, even being an insomniac who slept a handful of hours per week did not give her enough time for that rate of progress. She had settled into a solid rate though; always managing, thus far, to exhaust the contents of whatever the professor provided her within a week. This book had been far more interesting than the ones before it, in her opinion. But, perhaps, she felt this way because the progress it brought her was just more easy to observe...
If there was a commonality between herself and the young professor, beyond some inherent proclivities for Transfiguration, the witch was not aware of them. His last name was not particularly familiar to her. She knew not of his father despite whatever business he and Perseus had in the past--or any similarities their upbringings might have shared. Kallisto had allowed--and even embraced--the lessons the Parkinsons had instilled in her shaping who she appeared to the world. Unlike some pureblood rebels, she saw the value in the genteel, decorous behavior befitting a witch of her blood and social status.
Pride and arrogance would never serve her well. But could blind her and build false hope. It was better to reject them completely... or as best she was able with the foundation of superiority that her entire persona was built upon.
The Parkinson completed her demonstration--smiling at Damion's reaction. His grin was contagious--particularly so as her instructor began to praise her. A flaw of the Slytherin was her need for such praise. She did not doubt herself, but her narcisstic pyschological flaw materialized itself in her seeking of external validation. Her damaged sense of identity and dysfunctional self-focus led to Kallisto constantly seeking praise and approval from others. So, odd how a narcissist could both believe in their inherent superiority and excellence and still yet see themself as a waste of space--existing in the perpetual cycle of self-hate and self-love.
"Thank you," was the simple, but blatantly sincere response that fell from the Slytherin's tongue at Damion's congratulations of her progress. Kallisto nodded as the Kvothe expounded upon the purpose of the task she had demonstrated. The Transfiguration Master went on to exhibit the same exercise--his execution was flawless, of course. A twinge of envy constricted her heart, but she would not allow herself to be distracted by it. Of course, Damion would be able to perfect the complex task--his skills were far beyond hers as they should be. If that wasn't the case, then she would have no business seeking guidance from him.
The wizard spoke again--and this time his words focused on her. Were her posture not already perfect, the girl would have sat up a bit taller at the comments. Even still, a hint of pink crept onto her porcelain skin. This was not the first time she had been called a prodigy. Perseus had used the term many times when he was leading her down the path of the Dark Arts. "It is an honor," the witch said warmly as she accepted one of the shortbread biscuits he offered.
Kali had a bit of a weakness for shortbread. Her preference for baked sweets was a touch peculiar--though she loved chocolate, the witch could not abide it in her biscuits. Same with nuts and fruit, Kallisto did not want them in cookies. Biscuits were best plain with a nice crunch---sugar, shortbread, or gingerbread were her favorites. It all came down to texture. Gooey and squishy things did not fit---at least in her opinion.
The girl was taking a thoughtful nibble as Damion produced another book. Her eyes widened and brightened as he began to expound on what was to come next in her little training regimen. Popping the rest of her treat into her mouth, Kali accepted the book from her professor. The text seemed fascinating. Kali noted the way the text shifted and a gentle turning of the pages revealed bits of the contents to be out of order. This task seemed like great fun for the girl! She fought the compulsion to throw herself into devouring the tome immediately. It would not due to show Kvothe her impulsiveness. Such behaviors did not keep in line with the demure persona she put forth to the world. Her gaze moved from the book in her hands to Damion. There was a fire in her eyes now--fierce and determined. A bit of that Slytherin cockiness had come to the surface as the other half of her personality--the portion she attributed to her 'brother' surged to take control of the girl's action. "Willpower will not be an issue," Kallisto said firmly. There was no lack of confidence now---because if there was anything she knew, it was that her resolve was strong.
"I don't want to impose on any more of your time, sir." Kallisto said, rising from her seat. She might be able to play the part of the patient lady on her exterior. But she did not want to dally around when she had a new text to read. So, giving a slight bow of her head to the Transfiguration master, she continued: "Thank you for this-- I'll seek you out again when I have completed the reading."
