If I Had A Heart | Dark Arts Lesson 2

Friday, February 11, 1921
8:00 AM
♫

"You are not blank pages."

Julia snapped her finger as Dubthach awoke, eyes misty red, bones clattering softly as his skull turned slightly to take in the students that had gathered. A familiar fixture in the classroom now, always offering his opinions - asked for or not - Dubthach had come to know each of the students as intimately as he could from his spot in the corner. With time, he was now able to anticipate which student would do what, who would ask what, and respond accordingly.

Julia still hadn't expanded on what - or who - he was, instead deferring to him to answer the softer questions as appropriate. "Your veins are halls of record. Your cells, tomes and scrolls of every curse, oath and triumph your ancestors ever carved."

On her desk sat a large obsidian bowl of enchanted 'blood', black silken thread and parchment adorned with various runes. "This morning we'll not be discussing 'theory', but law. Written in the very blood that pumps through you. Carved into the skeletons that reside within you." She nodded at them to open their grimoires, now filled with notes and incantations from their various lectures and practicals.

"Ancestral resonance is why some families breed duelists who never miss, or why a line of curse-makers can twist a hex with more venom than a basilisk. It is repetition, carved so deep into the blood that it answers almost before it can be cast." She paused for a moment, her fingers trailing the rim of the bowl on her desk, its red contents nearly quivering at the touch.

"Not all inheritances are gifts, of course. Some bloodlines carry debts. Blood promised centuries ago to spirits that still hunger. Some bleed madness because a great-grandmother thought cruelty clever. Some of you," she tilted her head slightly, studying each of them for a moment, "are already rotting from bargains you never made."

She moved from her desk, indicating to the blackboard where she'd made a few notes. "This doesn't mean you are shackled to your blood, or that it's destiny for you to suffer your ancestors' decisions. But it is inheritance, and you have the choice to wield it as power or poison."

Julia flicked her wand, conjuring the image of faint red threads above the bowl. They weaved and knotted in the air, pulsing with the same rhythm of a heartbeat. "I want you to think on this for a moment, and really consider: where does your magical strength lie? Your weakness? When you cast, whether successful or a failure, does it feel like yours, or does it feel like it comes from somewhere else?"

The threads writhed in the air, twitching slightly as the sound of scratching quills filled the room.

---

*OOC: Welcome to Dark Arts Lesson 2! For now, come on in, get settled and have your kiddo really ponder the idea of ancestral and blood magic. Take into account if your character is pureblood/half/muggleborn. How does this affect the way they approach this lesson? Go ahead and have them think on the questions Julia posed, and we'll go over oaths and Unbreakables in the next update on 10/7. ;)

Ruth Anaya Elliot had never cared about blood. It was never something she'd given thought to because, for the longest while, it had never mattered. Half blood, pureblood, who your mother was, who happened to be your father, they were nothing more than petty trifles when you hadn't eaten in days. When you were huddled together on a hard and lumpy mattress with the bitter cold seeping in through poorly insulated windows, no one ever stopped to make sure your blood was 'clean enough.' No one cared about your eyes, your teeth...your skin...your hair.

Now, it felt like everyone cared.

Rae sat in subdued silence as Julia began the lesson, pulling further and further into herself with every sentence the woman spoke. There were no quips about the hour of the lesson, no yawns or dramatic declarations of impending death, just a girl lost in her thoughts.

Rae had been relieved when the winter break had ended and she'd been brought back to England. There, no one spoke to her about lineages, bloodlines, or inheritances. Back at home, she had her bedroom cluttered with all the things she cared about, and a woman who'd never looked at her like an object of scorn.

It made it easier to forget. Most days, her mind never drifted to the name 'Burke' or what it was meant to represent for her. Surrounded by her friends and a boyfriend who still looked at her the same, New York and the woes it imposed upon her were easily dismissed as dreams borne from an overactive imagination and poor sleep.

Then a class like this came along and yanked her back to what she was discovering was her new normal.

"Some of you are already rotting from bargains you never made."

She thought so. It must have been a curse. A debt to be collected for crimes she'd never been able to enjoy committing. Her grimoire remained beside her, unopened and untouched. She could see the notes the professor laid out for them and knew they were meant to be taken down, but all she could do was stare at them, hoping they might contain answers that no one else had been able to give.

"This doesn't mean you are shackled to your blood, or that it's destiny for you to suffer your ancestors' decisions. But it is inheritance, and you have the choice to wield it as power or poison."

Then...why didn't it feel like it could be power? Why did it feel like shackles or an anchor pulling her beneath the waves?

"I want you to think on this for a moment, and really consider: where does your magical strength lie? Your weakness? When you cast, whether successful or a failure, does it feel like yours, or does it feel like it comes from somewhere else?"

Whose was it? Where did it come from?

Herself...wasn't it? From her own strength, from her own endurance. That was the answer she wanted to believe, the only one she thought acceptable, and yet, there were whispers of doubt that tickled her ears uncomfortably. Had it all been predetermined? Was any of it ever in her control?

"It's mine," she heard herself say, a fierce stubbornness sharpening her answer beyond what was required for a classroom discussion. Her work, her scars, her victories, they were hers and only hers. He wouldn't get to claim those, too.

Green eyes were glued to the Dark Arts professor, listening to every single word that came out of her mouth. Benji’s mum was a strange one, one that intrigued the little Lion, especially since she was teaching such a dark subject. Morgan was quite light, often leaning away from the dark like this. But as most things, with puberty, she had changed. Less insane was she, a smidge more serious, and also more curious in a different way that couldn’t be called childlike at all.

"Ancestral resonance is why some families breed duelists who never miss, or why a line of curse-makers can twist a hex with more venom than a basilisk. It is repetition, carved so deep into the blood that it answers almost before it can be cast."

Morgan scowled. My lameness comes from my mum, she thought bitterly, though a twinge of pain wrapped around her heart momentarily. Despite how much she blamed her mum for, Morgan found herself missing the woman who had all but neglected her when she was younger.

She was better off with her situation now, though she wished she could go back to before the Blob was even a thing and she could have her new-found father to herself.

Had anyone in her family made blood pacts? Morgan didn’t think so. Her mum’s side of the family was lame and her dad’s side was too not-lame. But they weren’t evil. Or dark. Or whatever else would cause someone to make a pact with the damn devil.

"I want you to think on this for a moment, and really consider: where does your magical strength lie? Your weakness? When you cast, whether successful or a failure, does it feel like yours, or does it feel like it comes from somewhere else?"

Morgan watched the red threads, her brow furrowing as she considered the question. If it wasn’t hers – if the magic was not hers – then who the hell else could it belong to? Was this a trick question? She thought back to the earlier mention of blood pacts. Surely no one in her family had made a pact that would curse her.

“It’s mine.”

The girl glanced at Rae and then nodded before turning back to Benji’s mum. “It’s mine too. No one in my family would have ever done anything evil like that,” she explained, looking around the room.

It was too early for this, Tulip though as she rested her head on the desk.

You are not blank pages."

Tulip looked up at the woman who flounced around the DADA classroom, "Huzzah, I am truely forfilled" Tulup muttered under her breath. She wished professors make would make up their minds half the time they were blank pages to be filled with knowledge but now they were apprantly not blank pages at all. And all before nine in the morning. Defence Dabbling against about (with) the Dark Arts was always a tough lesson to drag herself through on a friday morning. Today it looked like it was going to be one of those days.

Although it sounded like it wasn't going to be another theory lesson which meant she had to at least prentend to stay awake, not that the stupid skeleton ever let anyone sleep. It was an anooying set of second eyes that prevent anyone having any fun.

Ancestral resonance is why some families breed duelists who never miss, or why a line of curse-makers can twist a hex with more venom than a basilisk. It is repetition, carved so deep into the blood that it answers almost before it can be cast."

Tulip groaned inwardly everything sooner or later came down to blood, it was what had caused all the insanity with the old Headmaster, trying to get rid of the blood purity now they were all back on about it. It sounded like being at home with Mater going ballistic about Clover who'd 'gone all muggle'.

She sat up and looked over at her sister Rose who sat closer to the front with her little group of sixth years, "Oi! Rose, it's not our fault we're a family of delinquents, it's in our blood." she called down to her older sister who didn't look impressed and she watched Rose mouth "Speak for yourself and then flip her a very unlady like hand gesture. Tulip laughed she loved messing with her older sister especially in classes where Rose was trying to impress the Professor and she knew that Rose thought highly of the DADA lessons. Several arguments had broken out over the winter between all four girls regarding this class.

"I want you to think on this for a moment, and really consider: where does your magical strength lie? Your weakness? When you cast, whether successful or a failure, does it feel like yours, or does it feel like it comes from somewhere else?"

Tulip leaned back in her chair, "Of course it's bloody mine, I've got six sisters, they steal enough of my stuff, that's one things that's definitly mine." she said speaking out. She saw Rose roll her eyes at her comment. She was pretty sure her older sister would simply agree with whatever Proff Laurence said on the matter but in Tulip's mind her power was her own.

Running to class, Tilly really didn’t want to be late. It was hard enough in other classes, but when the Professor was your best friend's mom, she always gave THAT look. The one that says, ‘I know you can get here on time. Don’t make me talk to you later.’

Thankfully she squeaked into her seat before the instruction started. Sitting next to Ren, smiling at her boyfriend while she retrieved all her supplies and set them up in front of her. “Sorry I’m late. Got stopped by the Herbology Professor.” She whispered as Julia started the lesson.

Opening her grimoire, Tilly sat and listened to the instructions. Blood magic. Maybe she should have skipped this lesson after all.

"Not all inheritances are gifts, of course. Some bloodlines carry debts. Blood promised centuries ago to spirits that still hunger. Some bleed madness because a great-grandmother thought cruelty clever. Some of you," Julia said, looking over the class. "Are already rotting from bargains you never made."

Tilly didn’t like thinking of where her blood came from. Sure, she loved Bram. He was the one shining star in the Nordstrom family tree. Her squib father and abusive grandmother were the thorny branches she didn’t like thinking about.

"This doesn't mean you are shackled to your blood, or that it's destiny for you to suffer your ancestors' decisions. But it is inheritance, and you have the choice to wield it as power or poison."

Sighing, she truly hoped she wasn’t in for the same fate. Hopefully her mother’s bloodline brought something more redeeming to the table. Granted, her mother was a pushover, meek. Two words never used to describe the spicy Gryffindor.

"I want you to think on this for a moment, and really consider: where does your magical strength lie? Your weakness? When you cast, whether successful or a failure, does it feel like yours, or does it feel like it comes from somewhere else?" Tilly listened and watched as a bowl with red string was now the star of the show.

Where was her magic from? What did she feel when she cast? Her spells didn’t always work, but now that he was getting older, things seemed to come more easily. She definitely wouldn’t say her magic was meek. There was nothing calm or soft about her or her magic. It felt… electric, powerful, positive. There were times while casting that she felt negativity. Hate even. Was that from her mental state at the time? Or the blood running through her veins?

Thinking about her father, mother, Granny and Grandpa, Tilly tried to think about their core being. Not just their personality, but who they truly were. Not knowing her mother’s parents meant there was an unknown variable. Using what she knew made her zero in on her paternal grandparents. While she would love to say that she took after Bram, she knew it wasn’t true. No, she wasn’t evil like her Granny, but she was impulsive, extroverted, fiery and determined. Hating that her grandmother's blood ran through her veins, maybe Julia would help her figure out what that really meant.

"You are not blank pages."

If there was one class that was entirely useful, but set her teeth on absolute edge, it was Julia's. Rosalie had never been against the Dark Arts, having been raised her entire life watching Julia and Edith perform rituals, utilize hexes and curses and read openly from texts that would send a shiver down most wizards' backs. She had seen the practices time and time again. Bearing witness sometimes to things she wished she hadn't, whether seeing it or usually hearing it, it had desensitized her to the practice.

It was the lecturing that she couldn't stand.

Rosalie despised being reminded of who she was. Where she came from. Her blood, her lineage, the people that had carved out her life for her before she'd ever had any sort of choice. The very DNA that would bind her to duty and obligation, with vows and oaths she had never made but held fast to her all the same. Her classmates could tout all day that their magic was theirs.

Rosalie knew better. Had experienced otherwise. The evidence was in the portraits that whispered to her in her family's corridors. It was in the bloodstains that lay hidden beneath lush carpets. It was behind doors that remained firmly shut and barred, and it was in the venom that laced the tongues of her father and mother with every disobey.

She offered no answer.

Instead she stared blankly at Julia, before dropping her gaze back down to her grimoire, her hand lightly sketching out the lettering she'd refer to later.

A choice. To wield her blood as power or poison. It was neither, as far as Rosalie was concerned. Her blood gave her no power. There was no benefit to her in a single drop of it. It was the prison that held her, the warden that stared back through steel bars and taunted her with every light tap of its baton on them. Likewise it wasn't a poison, seeping into her muscles and stealing her lifeforce. It would never be so kind. Rosalie was meant to endure what was set forth for her. With a smile on her face and grace in her mannerisms.

Her eyes glanced sideways to Rae and Matilda. One had been defiant, the other silent. Which, she wondered, was more telling to Julia? She dropped her gaze again. It was an idea, she supposed, that every high-status pureblood girl had to grapple with at some point. Eventually, Rosalie knew, they'd come to accept what was inevitable.

That nothing had ever truly been theirs.

It was interesting how sure some of them sounded. Their magic was theirs, adamant in their refusal to see any other possibility. Was it stubbornness, conceit, that drove their answers, unwilling to consider that perhaps much of what lie innate to them was gifted and not self-created? Or was it fear? Of the unknown? Of what could actually lurk within their veins? Of what stories were ingrained into their DNA without their knowledge? Of what their ancestors had done to ensure survival in uncertain times?

Her eyes fell on Ruth first. She knew well the changes that had come about for the girl in the past several months, so her sharp and firm denial that her magic could be the result of anything but her own power was unsurprising. It was difficult, to yield yourself and something that defined you to a larger picture. To sacrifice self, even ego, to the idea of belonging to a lineage. To admit that the energy inside your wand arm might not begin with you, but with hands long-gone cold. Pride was armor, especially for a girl who'd just had her world turned upside down.

But it did make Julia wonder, what Ruth would see when she finally looked backward. If she ever traced her own power to its origin and found not brilliance, but devastation. Would she still claim it then? Call it hers, even knowing what her ancestors might have done to preserve its power?

Most of these students weren't ready to ask themselves those questions yet. Few wizards ever were. It was easier to believe that power was born in the palm, rather than inherited from the grave.

“It’s mine too. No one in my family would have ever done anything evil like that,”

"Evil is subjective," Julia said easily, with a little flourish of her hand as the threads continued to knot upon themselves. "What one might see as evil, another might see as necessary for survival. Tell me, Morgan, do you know all your ancestors well?" Julia smiled lightly at the little Barlowe girl, before turning her eyes to Tulip. Ever the contrarian. An arguer to argue. Julia wondered, if someday soon the little girl would wear her own self out and take a long deserved nap. Wake up refreshed with a new attitude maybe. Unlikely.

"Of course it's bloody mine, I've got six sisters, they steal enough of my stuff, that's one things that's definitely mine."

"Perhaps," the answer came lightly even as Dubthach trembled to speak his mind. He always seemed to become the most impassioned when an Asquith decided to vocalize an opinion. Julia raised a finger to his teeth, tapping and shushing him momentarily. "Although, you bring up an interesting point of nature versus nurture. A bad attitude is certainly nurtured. Magic is nature. It's important to know the difference for self-correction."

Her eyes caught Rosalie's who only stared blankly at her before dropping back to her grimoire. Seemed her little cousin was in no mood to offer up any thoughts on their own blood. Probably for the best, all things considered. Matilda was the same, a quiet considerer, and Julia was happy to let her do so. It meant the wheels were turning and that other perspectives were being considered.

Always a good thing.

---

"In Dark magic, oaths are written in life force, not ink. You might call them a blood pact, the formal troth made between two parties who mingle their blood. The mechanics are identical. You are taking your life’s archive - your lineage and your essence - and giving it permission to police itself.”

She raised her wand, summoning a ripple of golden shimmery light into the air, merging in the image of two hands, palms cut and clasping. From their joined skin rose twin drops of blood that merged into one glowing sphere, sealed inside a floating glass phial.

“This,” Julia said, “is the structure of a blood oath. The mingled drop is the contract itself. The phial forms because the magic requires a witness, something to remember the bond. As long as that vessel remains intact, the oath lives. Break it, or even think of breaking it, and the pact will turn inward. Your own blood becomes the enforcer.”

“Delicious, isn’t it? The elegance of it all. A spell that punishes treachery before it even happens.” Dubthach cackled to himself as Julia lowered her wand, the hands dissipating into the obsidian bowl below, leaving only the phial floating. "To violate the terms of a blood oath, is to punish yourself. Some pacts draw more blood, others conjure pain or shallow breaths. The rarest compel obedience by thought - an involuntary paralysis of sorts until the oath is kept. Not dissimilar to the Imperius Curse in a way." The professor flicked her wand again, as the students' desks filled with the same she held on her own table. Short black threads, vials of dark ink, and slips of parchment marked with nearly invisible runes.

On the board, she wrote:

1. Intention - The promise itself
2. Seal - The mingling cut that marks the exchange
3. Vessel - the container, physical or magical that bears the memory

"These three components make an oath. Without intent, it's meaningless. Without the seal, it has no weight. Without witness, it has no permanence or enforcement." Her wand grazed over the words lightly, illuminating them just enough to cast a bit of light into the otherwise dim classroom. "In practice, these elements correspond to will, sacrifice, and memory. Together, they make law."

She turned back to the class. "Write a simple oath on your parchment. It can be something as easy as 'I wont speak for an entire minute'. Or 'I'll smile for the next five'. Something light and easy to keep or break." She waited for each of them to do as they were told. "Next, take your thread and dip it into the simulated blood. This is only ink, but it will work for demonstration purposes. Once it's dipped, place your parchment on your wrist and quickly tie it to yourself with the dipped thread. While not the same process, this will help you understand what an oath might feel like."

She waited for a moment as they all followed instructions, before nodding. "What did you feel as you tied the oath to your wrist? A tug perhaps? A jolt? Maybe a bit of warmth or even a chill?" It would truly be unique to each of them, depending on how their magic reacted to such things. "Now," she said, snapping her fingers as the illusionary phial she had conjured shattered with a loud snap of glass, it's golden glow extinguished immediately. "Break your vows. Allow the terms to collapse and the watch the law devour itself."

She watched as a few of them flinched.

"A blood oath doesn't end when you die. It endures until the contract itself is satisfied, whether with fulfillment - or until your lineage runs dry. The Dark Arts call that mercy." Dubthach's bones rattled as he added:

"Or the natural order of things."

---

*OOC: Hi! Thanks for sticking with me friends!

Easy peasy update! Have your student write an oath on the parchment - should be very simple and something that doesn't require much thought. Can be as easy as 'I won't blink' or something similar. When they break the oath, they should feel something akin to pain. I'll let you decide what sort of pain they feel, but it should be very noticeable. Also, keep in mind that your student can not remove the thread from their wrist. Julia will remove this in the next update. So the pain continues. :D

As always, thoughts, opinions, questions, feelings, all the good things are encouraged! Class will update on 10/13.

Sienna moved a little in her seat and with her opened but untouched notebook, stared at the twisting threads over the black bowl. She recognized the feeling like the threads’ pulsing was somehow connecting to her own heartbeat, but not quite. It was as if a part of her stepped back, knowing the feeling was not completely hers.

Eventually, she lifted her hand and, although her voice was tentative, she still spoke in a clear tone. "Professor," she said, "if some of this… inheritance can feel like someone else’s power… can it also feel like someone else’s pain? Like their failures, or their regrets?"

Julia looked at her without moving an eyelid and with her gaze, she seemed to be assessing the very nature of her soul. Then a slow smile lit up her face. "Exactly," she said. "The blood does not forget. It keeps every victory, yes-but every mistake, every terror, every promise left hanging."

Sienna felt like her throat was closing up, the warmth from the inside of her chest making its way up to her neck. The thought that the mistakes of the ancestors could somehow be alive in her blood, talking to her bones was terrifying. And yet, there was also something quite fascinating about it—a challenge, a mystery, one that she perhaps would enjoy unraveling.

She slightly leaned forward and her fingers touched the edge of the table. “And what if we actually… recognize it? Face it? Is it possible that we can… own it? Transform it into something different?”

Julia’s smile became wider, almost as if she was agreeing with her. “Yes, the real point of this lesson. The first step is awareness. Recognition. The rest is your work. You will not be a prisoner, not if you decide to take the path of controlling what is yours. You may be given, yes-but a gift is a means, not a sentence.”

The red threads untwined once again and were interlacing with one another. For a moment that was so brief, Sienna could almost hear their low, soft humming—like a heartbeat that was not hers, yet somehow that made her feel like she could take it.

She picked up her quill with more control of her hands and instead of copying the lecture, she wrote. Writing her future, power and debts, bloodlines and bargains, she was drawing the lines she wanted to redraw. The lines that she wanted to dismantle.

The threads and her heartbeat were in harmony, and for the first time, she did not feel entirely scared.

She wasn't paying attention, not at first. The girl's thoughts lingered in the grey area, no longer flickering in stark shades of black and white. Her power? Hers to claim, hers to hone, hers to do with as she pleased. Rae told herself that over and over, but there was a small voice, still and haunting, that began to question how much she actually believed her own words.

Since volunteering in the hospital wing, Rae had developed an interest in human anatomy. The girl who loathed reading could sometimes be found with a medical book in hand. There was still a lot that went over her head, but she was learning. One of the things she'd learned, coincidentally, was about DNA and genetic makeup. Her defiance could flare all it wanted, but there would always be that still voice that reminded her that she hadn't made herself. She was the culmination of two souls that had joined together, however briefly; a mixture of skills, desires, habits, and traits.

Did that make her magic mixed? Did she really own any of it for herself when it had been others who poured it into her?

She sat with those thoughts, marginally distracted by Morgan's declaration that her family was not evil. It was followed up by Tulip's own defiance. The girl had shared enough in her life and wouldn't share her magic, too. Rae couldn't say she blamed her. While the Slytherin had grown without siblings, she'd never truly been alone. For the longest while, nothing was exclusively hers, nothing was sacred.

If Rae thought the talk of blood debt had made her uncomfortable, it only got worse with the talk of blood oaths.

Her mind flashed back to the 'covenant chamber' back at the estate and what she'd been made to do. There had been blood then, a ritual she didn't understand. Even after it was complete, Rae still didn't know what any of it had been for. Listening as Julia explained now, Rae's brows furrowed inward in confusion. The way the woman described it, it was all beginning to feel a whole lot heavier and more sinister than she'd ever given thought to it being.

By the time it was time to dip her thread, she felt almost ill.

She couldn't ask. Even if she sent an owl, Rae doubted he'd take the time to respond. He didn't think he owed her explanations and had made it clear he didn't intend to be questioned by her, no matter the subject. She shook the thought from her head, not willing to dwell on the futility of her speculations. There was every chance she might never know what the flashing lights and that suffocating magic were all about.

Pulling her parchment closer, Rae chose to focus on the task at hand instead.

I will hold my breath for 2 minutes.

There, that was simple enough, wasn't it?

She wrapped her arm and proceeded to complete the oath she'd loosely made when Professor Laurence told them to break it. Hm? But she'd just said...

It wasn't like she had a choice anyway. Rae wasn't the type to be able to hold her breath that long. The first soft breath was followed by a sharp jolt of pain shooting up her hand that had been wrapped. It caused the girl to jump, startled by the sudden and deeply unpleasant sensation that only seemed to be worsening with each radiating pulse that spread from...the thread, maybe? It continued outward, causing her entire arm to shake from the way it hurt. Rae clenched her fist, trying to ease the edge in whatever way she could. It was obviously part of the demonstration and not worth losing herself over.

Her posture straightened as the pain intensified. The muscles in her jaw set. It wasn't the worst pain she'd ever felt, but it was far from enjoyable.

The talk of blood, magic, oaths and dark magic made a chill run down Tilly’s spine. It was one thing to talk about magic, but adding the blood running through her veins, tainted and dirty as it was, made her shiver. Most thought of purebloods as pure, better, elite. In Tilly’s family, her thoughts were less idealistic. Mean, evil, abusive, horrible. These were the words she said in her mind when thinking about her family. Bram and her extended family being the exceptions to that rule.

Writing notes and listening intently to Julia as she went on with the lesson, she tried to take her family out of the equation. Removing them, just thinking in terms of oaths and binding contracts made it a lot easier to think. Taking out the personal.

When it was time to write out an oath, Tilly went simply as instructed. Quill in hand, she quickly wrote out ‘I will not snap my fingers for one minute.’

It was an easy one. Something that she wouldn’t accidentally do until it was time. Blinking or breathing, even talking, she could forget and break the oath too early. Snapping was much easier.

Following instructions, dipping the string and wrapping it around her wrist, Tilly felt a warm sensation run up her arm. Not hot, or burning, just warm. Soothing almost. Pleasant. When instructed, Tilly snapped and an immediate cold, stinging sensation replaced the warmth. Like thrusting your hand in a bucket of ice water. It was unpleasant and unwanted. Not especially painful, but unwelcome.

Tilly wrote out some notes on what she experienced, the feelings, the sensations. Trying to remember all the little details and adding in tidbits of what Julia had shared. Hopefully, this would be the uncomfortable part of the lesson, but more than likely, there was more to come.

“Tell me, Morgan, do you know all your ancestors well?”

Well - no, she didn’t. She glued her mouth shut, thinking about her mum’s side of the family. She knew them extremely well considering they were the only family she had known as she grew up. Her dad’s side… was more familiar now, however there was still a lot she didn’t know about them. She furrowed her brow after a moment and shrugged to herself. She had a lot to learn.

Morgan listened as her friend’s mum continued speaking, about blood oaths. The thought gave her the heebie-jeebies if she were honest, a deep unsettling feeling in her stomach. She frowned, wondering if her dad knew what his best friend was teaching them.

She watched the structure of a blood oath before them, biting her lip slightly. Nope. She didn’t like it one bit.

“Delicious, isn’t it? The elegance of it all. A spell that punishes treachery before it even happens.”

The Lion furrowed her brow, glaring at the thing in the corner of the room. Delicious, it was not. Cake, it was not (because cake was the most delicious thing Morgan could think of). Nothing delicious about a blood oath. Just pure evil. Was there even such a thing as a good one?

Morgan looked down at the table before her, and the items that appeared. She felt nervous, and cast a glance at Ruth, wondering if the girl had any idea that her boyfriend’s mom was as insane as this before today.

Looking down at her parchment, Morgan sighed and glanced over at someone else’s paper. What should she write? She really didn’t know. What would be something easy and yet also challenging to not do?

Then something that Professor Laurence had suggested struck her as something she would find easy and yet also complicated to do. In messy handwriting, Morgan wrote on her parchment: I won’t speak for 1 minute.

She dipped the thread into the fake blood and made a face as she considered it being real blood. Gross…

She then tied the parchment to her wrist and looked at it, while keeping her tongue firmly in a still position inside her mouth. She couldn’t speak if no one made her.

“Now, break your vows. Allow the terms to collapse and then watch the law devour itself."

Raising her brow at the woman who Morgan swore had lost her damn mind, she shook her head. “I don’t under–OW!” she yelled, glaring down at her wrist and then looked back at the Professor. She’d lost her damn mind.

"What one might see as evil, another might see as necessary for survival. Tell me, Morgan, do you know all your ancestors well?"

Rosalie felt a surge of anger flush through her chest at Julia's words. Evil wasn't subjective, it just was, no matter how one tried to spin it. Having a 'good reason' for committing atrocities or instilling terror against others didn't negate the cruelty and evilness of the acts. She wondered, did Julia find what had happened to Ezra 'not evil' because Uncle William had thought it necessary for their 'survival'? Maybe she did think it was evil. Maybe she truly did feel things were subjective.

Rosalie couldn't. Maybe she didn't have the ability to live in the gray when it came to things like this. Maybe she really was black and white in this aspect and...maybe that wasn't a bad thing.

She listened quietly, watching the demonstration that floated in the air above them. The slicing of palms, the intermingling of blood. For a moment, the girl wondered what it would take for her to make such an oath, to bind herself to something that could affect her children and grandchildren in a negative way if not fulfilled. Would she do it to protect someone she loved? To ensure that the family she made lived in safety and good health?

Or would she leave everything to fate, preferring not to dabble in such things? She didn't know, and didn't think she'd know until she was faced with such a decision.

She picked up the piece of parchment, pondering something easy she could break.

I will not tap my quill for one minute

Dipping the string in the 'blood' Rosie positioned the parchment on her wrist and quickly wrapped it twice before giving it a little knot. The girl had experienced pain before - the worst when she had sliced her palm open, lesser when she'd taken a bludger to various parts of her body, so she wasn't unfamiliar with it. She was adverse to it, but could manage of course.

"Break your vows. Allow the terms to collapse and the watch the law devour itself."

Rosie hesitated for only a moment, before she tapped her quill lightly on her desk. Immediately, the string around her wrist felt uncomfortably tight, compressing with each second that passed and cutting into her skin with a burn that spread into her fingers. She winced, her nose wrinkling as she set her jaw. She raised her unaffected hand quickly.

"So once it's broken, does it just continue to hurt forever, or only until you make it right and fulfill the oath?"

It was enough, and had gotten the point across well-enough. With a flick of her wand, all the threads vanished from their wrists, along with the parchment, relieving them of the pain their broken oaths had cost them. "And there you have it. The slightest glimpse of what breaking a blood oath could feel like. Of course in the case of a true oath, you and your partner would decide what the consequence would be. What it would feel like, how it would affect the both of you. And typically those consequences are made much more grave than a simple pain in the wrist." Her eyebrow flicked upwards for emphasis, "Blood oaths are meant to be kept, after all.

"So once it's broken, does it just continue to hurt forever, or only until you make it right and fulfill the oath?"

"A good question," Julia nodded towards Rosalie, "The terms are set by those who make the oath, but generally the consequence will only subside once the oath is fulfilled." She paused a moment, "Now, if the oath is never broken, but time is naturally required to fulfill it, then it's a different matter. Intent is key. If there is no intent to break the oath, and it happens by accident, your blood takes that into consideration." Confusing, she knew, but with time and studies, they'd all come to understand how these sorts of things worse. Magic, like people, was nuanced and fickle and had desires and requirements of its own.

The room was relatively quiet, likely from the surprise of what had just taken place, so she quickly moved on. "Consider then," Julia said, her soft voice carrying through the silence, "what happens when the consequence is not merely pain, but death." She allowed her words to settle upon the class as she raised her wand, the air above the obsidian bowl vibrated, before the gold imagery returned, this time with three figures hovering in the air.

"An Unbreakable Vow is stronger than any blood oath. It is the purest form of magical commitment. It doesn't offer forgiveness, it doesn't offer a second chance to make things right. It is a contract that once broken results in the immediate death of the betrayer." The three figures stepped together, two of them clasping hands, the third, acting as a bonder. "When two people decide to make an Unbreakable Vow, they hold hands as the bonder acts as a witness. One person requests the vow, the second accepts. At the point of acceptance, the bonder casts a sphere of flames around their hands and the vow is made." The image glowed brightly as the flames erupted, casting a bright orange light throughout the room.

“If one party fails to uphold the terms, the bond collapses, and so does the heart that forged it. The magic kills not out of cruelty, but equilibrium. It does not permit imbalance.” Another flick of her wand and the glowing image split apart, one of the figures falling into nothingness, its light snuffed out instantly.

On their desks, new materials appeared; a length of silver filament, thinner than a strand of hair a luminescent, two slips of parchment and a small crystal sphere that pulsed like a slow heartbeat. "Again, this is just a demonstration, so there's no danger in what we're about to do. But it will show you how an Unbreakable Vow feels - and how it waits and watches."

Dubthach's skull turned towards the class, voice dry and monotone, "So do smile. Nothing pleases dark magic more than a scared wizard."

"Pair up! One of you will act as the vower, the one making the promise, and the other will act as the receiver, to whom the promise is made." She indicated to the crystal sphere. "The sphere will act as the bonder. It will channel the binding force that in a true ritual would require a third wizard."

She wandered up the center of the aisle, "Write one condition on the parchment. In this case, it should again be very simple. Then together, place your hands over the crystal. The vower will then say the vow out loud."

She stepped back to allow them to begin. "And then, as with the blood oath, break it."

---

*OOC: Final Update! Yay, we made it! In this update, pretty straight-forward. Grab a partner (with OOC permission of course), decide on a vow together - again something simple and frivolous and easily broken. The vower makes the promise, the receiver asks of it. Hands on the crystal when the vower says it out loud.

FROM HERE: The crystal will pulse. It will feel like a heartbeat beneath your palms. Small thin strands of silver light will form around both partners wrists, and you'll feel the threads tighten - not painfully, just firmly.

When you go to break the vow, you'll feel the threads constrict and dig into the skin of the vower, worse than the blood oath. Sorry. Love you. It is Dark Arts after all. ;)

Class will close 10/19

For the majority of the lesson, Evan had sat to himself in silence and failed to mask just how cutting the professors initial lecture had been.

The idea of bloodlines was not lost to him. It was the biggest joke that whatever created magic was could make in putting any believe on him, a boy who self-professed to being selfish, wanton, arrogant in the delivery of cutting barbs and little else. Well, he was rather good at making a small fire into a big fire, if he was trying to list himself with any superlatives. Most Likely To Ruin Everything was a title onto himself, and while his friends might wave their prefect badges and smile at how they gleamed, Evan would hold onto his title and groan.

He wasn't so bad at school. He would even admit, through such associations and friends, he was actually doing better than he had in those first three terms. Still, he would never do enough to earn the respect of his own family. And since he was rotting from a bargain he'd never made, as his professor had expressed, then why bother?

Evan had muttered and faked his way through the blood ritual vow. He pretended like it had hurt, sucking in his teeth but having to do very little to express his general irritation. He was hoping he'd make it through the entire lesson by faking it until the professor told them to work in pairs. Before he could even manage to give everyone the 'Go Fuck Yourself' face, Rae was already settling into the seat beside him. She wasn't someone he could tell off so easily.

"Really trying to fail this assignment, Curls?" He laughed, the only bit of confidence he could exude when his mind was spiraling. Of course, as she started sorting out the whole ritual, grabbing his hand over the ritual and placing it where it was supposed to be, a test-run before the real then. Then, she insisted he be the one to make the vow.

"Are you serious? Fine, but you owe me the next weeks class notes so I don't have to bother showing up." He huffed and exhaled sharply, but it was all performative. He had never found the strength to fight off Ruth Elliot and doubted he ever would.

Now forced to actually use his brain, Evan felt dumbfounded on what to actually vow. It would have to be something between them, something he could easily keep himself from doing. But what? He knew he was dumb enough to just write down he wouldn't speak to her and then find some way to contradict it. The vow had to be a clear action, something he wouldn't dream of–

As his hands held onto his portion of the crystal, and he took a cheeky inhale before locking eyes with Rae.

"I swear I'll kiss Ruth Elliot."

His attention focused on the light breaking off from the glowing crystal. They looked like rings surrounding a planet until they started to flutter and then weave around both of their hands, binding them to the crystal. Evan didn't even have time to watch Rae question why he'd decide to go with that before the bindings began to dig into his skin like piano string.

"What the fuhh--AAAHHH!" It was cutting right through his skin. Was this supposed to hurt this badly. His pained expression twisted in front of her, trying for a second to stay composed before another deepening constriction of the magical, silver chords had him groaning painfully.

"This is bullshit. Ahhh!" Evan might have been called dramatic, but he didn't fully care as he fell out of his seat, his other arm clutching at the silver threads as he wondered why the hell this was hurting him a whole lot more than it was hurting anyone else.

---

permission to powerplay ruth elliot accepted

It was over.

Huh.

Rae flexed her hand a few times, working through the residual pangs that still lingered in the aftermath of the thread's wrath. Before she could fully process the experience, they were being asked to make pairs. Partners? She already knew who she'd grab.

"Really trying to fail this assignment, Curls?"

She nearly smiled. It was nice to know that even in the absence of her curls, Evan hadn't stopped calling her that. With how many things had changed since her return to school a month ago, all she could do was take solace in the little things that remained the same. Her friend hadn't changed. His self-deprecation persisted in good humour, and it was the small picker-upper that added a pinch of colour to all the grey.

"What can I say?" she asked, a mild shrug rolling off her left shoulder. Rae got comfortable in the seat of the person who'd just gotten up to find their own partner. "It's good to keep things interesting." She didn't care if the boy managed to botch this somehow or whether they managed to pull this off at all. It was an activity that needed to be done, and some good company wouldn't hurt.

"Anyway, you're making the vow--don't gimme that look. Get to writing." While she wasn't one to shy away from pain, Rae wasn't in the mood to go thinking up vows and ways she might break them. Professor Laurence had said they could be simple--things that wouldn't cost them much to break, but her heart wasn't in it.

The vow she'd made earlier on her own was so exceedingly plain and unoriginal. Might as well see what he could come up with.

"Are you serious? Fine, but you owe me the next weeks class notes so I don't have to bother showing up."

She laughed.

"You're getting braver. At this rate, that ruddy hat really will have to make you into a Gryffindor. Don't go abandoning us just yet." To want her notes for nearly any class was to prepare oneself for failure. Usually, so long as she shared classes with a certain, lanky Ravenclaw prefect, Rae never took notes. Cassian was a beast at note-taking, even if he sometimes took too many or made a bunch of annotations that she didn't always care for. On her own, there was little chance she would have anything at all to review. "I can hook you up, though. I know a guy." Who probably didn't want to be pimped out for his note-taking skills, but that was life someti--

"I swear I'll kiss Ruth Elliot."

"What?" She laughed harder, mirth shimmering in her eyes even as they widened at the absolute ridiculousness that was Evander Whistler. If there was ever a need for further proof that he was a silly boy, it had come in the form of his vow. She did lift her hand toward the crystal when he did, questions pooling in her eyes over whether he'd really been willing to make such a vow. "Are you sure ab--"

Before she could finish her question, the boy was already screaming. Rae leaned forward when he fell off his chair, all her earlier amusement vanishing at the sight of his pain. In its place came concern. "....shit." What...she didn't...was there even an answer? She knew the ill-advised vow her friend had made and that the only way to end his suffering was to kiss him but ...fuck.

She couldn't think of many things she wanted to do less.

Evan was a cool friend, she liked him more than a good portion of the students in the castle but...she wasn't trying to kiss anyone. "Uh...um...hang on," she tried. "Professor Laurence will end it soon, I'm sure!" He just...um...would have to lie there writhing in agony for a while longer.

Eek.

If a certain McCormick hadn't skipped this ruddy class, she'd have a partner. One that she actually wanted to work with. Instead, she had Kaitlyn Dwyer eyeballing her, likely wanting to work together because she knew Rosalie wouldn't botch things. She didn't like the girl in the least, finding her annoying and rude and quite presumptuous, unable to take 'no' for an answer. Even as Rosalie began to shake her head, the girl moved quickly to join the empty seat beside her.

The Gryffindor groaned inwardly, but catching Julia's eye, decided to maintain her politeness. It was one activity, and surely Rae would know she wasn't pairing up because she liked the girl. "Hello Kaitlyn," she said softly, pushing the parchment towards the younger girl. "You request something and I'll vow." As long as it was something easily broken within the next few seconds, there wouldn't be a problem, and they could get it over with before class was dismissed.

"Something simple right?"

Rosie nodded, watching the girl scribble down her request before sliding the parchment over to her. Blue eyes glanced down and shrugged with a slight nod. Fine, easy enough. The two girls placed their hands over the orb. “I vow to speak the truth.” Harmless, wasn't it? Rosie wasn't a liar, but all Kaitlyn had to do was ask a small simple question and the girl would just answer dishonestly.

“Do you trust him?”

The smile that curled over Kaitlyn's lips was unsettling. Rosie's eyebrows furrowed, her own lips unmoving as she tried to understand who Kaitlyn was talking about. Him? Him who? What kind of question was that? Trust him? Why would Kaitlyn care about who she trusted?

"McCormick of course. He was gone for two weeks."

Rosalie felt her body go rigid, her jaw tensed and her eyes narrowed at the girl. Why would she bring up Cassian? As far as she knew, Cass and Kaitlyn weren't friends. They shared prefect duties and a common room, and that was it. What did she gain either way from knowing anything about them?

"So, do you trust him?"

She was meant to lie. Either way, whether she said the truth or not, Kaitlyn would know the answer. Did she trust Cassian? It depended on the context. In many ways she did, in some ways...she was struggling. Rosie didn't move her gaze from Kaitlyn's before she straightened and tilted her head slightly. She could feel the orb pulsing beneath her palms, eager for her answer. The silver strand wrapped snugly around her wrist, and it suddenly felt like the entire world was listening in.

"Yes."

Instantly, the cord around her wrist seared into her skin, burning and cutting so profusely that Rosalie almost cried out with the pain. Instead, as her features twisted with the pain, she kept her mouth tightly shut, refusing to give in to the grin that had widened across Kaitlyn's face. Her breathing shallowed as she glanced down at the tiny thin string, wondering how something so small could hurt so much.

Across the room, Evan was groaning and on the ground. Others throughout the room were crying out in pain. Kaitlyn leaned closer to her.

"Does it hurt?"

The girl was insane. Something was wrong with her. Rosie gathered herself, pushing past the pain in her wrist, refusing to let the girl have any extra ounce of satisfaction she could derive from this.

"No."

The cord tightened further.

It wasn't supposed to feel good.

An Unbreakable Vow was arguably the darkest of all magic, and had this been the real thing, half the students in her class would be dead on the floor. A little ache in the wrist, a little reminder of how important it was to keep promises that one made, and consider the gravity of them before they were made was an important lesson for anyone to learn.

It would behoove them all to understand that their words held power, and wielded incorrectly, they could be used against them. With a fast wave of her wand, the cords vanished again from their wrists, ending the 'vows'. Some would have only a bruise, others would have cuts that would need to be bandaged. "Off the floor, Evander," Julia said easily, motioning him with her hand. "I'll have Miss Elliot walk you to the hospital wing after this." Ruth was a good little nurse and could fix him right up if needed.

"Consider this lesson a pre-courser for what will be on your examinations at the end of term," she said, summoning all the supplies back to her own desk.

"And I want you all to really give some serious thought to this lesson, and the easy promises you often make to others. There is a saying that says 'don't make a promise you can't keep'. In the cases of blood oaths and vows, you should never make one, without considering the very real affects they can have. Not just on you, but on those who will come after you. Your descendants, your lineage. Whether you subscribe to blood ideals or not, understand that your magic has been inherited. And all you pass down will be inherited."

She gave a soft smile, nodding them all to the door.

"An essay. Four paragraphs, plus an intro and conclusion, on this subject. Your thoughts, your opinions. Next Friday, on my desk."

Class was dismissed.

---

*OOC - wasn't this fun? :D

The vows are broken, and were only effective for this class, so aside from the pain/slight injuries on your wrists, there will be no further effects.

Thank you all for your participation! I'll leave this open until the end of the day today 10/19 at 10:00PM EST for anyone that would like to get a last post in.

Final lesson will go up first week of November.

Matilda liked Julia, but was really rethinking her decisions on taking this class. The Dark Arts were interesting, possibly more interesting than most of her classes for the pure fact that no teacher had ever delved into it. It was new, untouched, mysterious, shrouded in darkness. Maybe that mystery should STAY a mystery.

Working with Everleigh was at least pleasant. Her younger cousin, the quieter and more stoic of the Nordstrom line, was at least nice to be around. Not as boisterous and silly as Matilda, but they got along fabulously.

“Ok, a vow. What should we do?” Matilda and Ever went through a few ideas, needing it to be simple and easy to do and break in the classroom. “What if you vow never to touch my hair?” She said with a raised eyebrow.

Tilly snickered, there was a story there. She LOVED to play with Ever’s hair. Braids, crowns, pigtails, buns. All the fun styles. Everleigh straight up loathed it, but was a good sport when they had sleepovers at Nordstrom Manor in Sweden. “You’d love that wouldn’t you?” Tilly said with amusement in her voice.

The smile on Ever’s face was one of mutually understood family dynamics and an inside joke that only they were privy too. “Yes, I would, you and your stupid braids.” She laughed under her breath.

Tilly, the Vower, wrote on the parchment their agreed upon vow, with a smile on her face. Now that they were both at Hogwarts, they spent so much more time together. She honestly loved it.

I vow to never touch Everleigh’s hair

“Ok, so now we place our hands over the crystal.” Both girls placed their hands, one on top of the other, over the crystal while Tilly said her vow, in a very serious voice. “I vow to never touch Everleigh’s hair.” The change was immediate, the crystal pulsing beneath their hands. The silver light, surrounding their hands and wrists was mesmerizing. It tightened a smidge, not in a painful way, but like her gloves were too tight for her hands.

“Wow, ok. Now I’m not sure I want to touch your hair,” she said with a worried giggle. Ever’s face fell. “Shoot, I didn’t think this through, you actually have to touch my hair don’t you. UGH”

The sinister smile that came over Tilly’s told her cousin just how much she was loving this. Reaching out her hands, Tilly was planning a simple braid, but her hands never got that far. At the first touch of her hand to Ever’s hair, the silver light that once covered her hand tightened to the point of immense pain.

Ever’s eyes got wide at the look on Tilly’s face. Pain, panic and a memory of the summer that went very very wrong. Tilly cradled her hand, eyes pinched shut while both her wrist and leg throbbed. Was her leg really in pain? Probably not, but the ghost of a memory was a powerful thing. Flashes of a jungle, screaming, the looks of panic on Benji and Bram’s face. The tight, suffocating pain bringing on a panic attack. Tilly sat, with her breaths coming out in pants, body shaking, sweat breaking out like a bad fever. The class wasn’t there anymore, just the jungle and her fear.

Ever, raises her hand, calling for the professor, hoping that she could help in some way. “Professor! She just started shaking. She was mumbling, mentioned her leg and dying.” The concern and worry could be heard in her cousin's voice. Yeah, maybe taking The Dark Arts wasn’t the best idea.