First Incantation: un: fox🦊 - text

[foxable]

wanted:

magic users who require chroma to gain access to their magic and need moonlacing partners of a similar persuasion

whatever level of moonlacing is fine, happy to discuss magic methodology and practice before, after or during

magic users not interested in moonlacing but willing to discuss magic with me can be recompensed in other ways just let me know what you need

for sale:

minor enchantments of any variety, on objects of your choice

price determined by chroma usage required

moonlacing suitable payment

seriously i can enchant just about anything, test me

Comments

[imperio]

( he comes halfway out of his pocket with his wand in hand, nervous at the approach but unconcerned, mainly in response to being untrained in his particular magic. moving tattoos? so what?

touched. he gasps, a shrill of harry! ringing out in their ears, unaccompanied by visual aid. his first memory, his mother dying — the boy who lived, or simply the boy who couldn't die, no matter how badly he wanted to.

there are floating images, like a scrapbook of awful memories that play out one right after the other — a knife in doby's chest, harry's failure to save him, the pale colored image of a grave in the sand, here lies dobby a free elf etched on the front. sirius black's soul fading from his body, harry's failure to die for him, his own scream echoing in the dark halls of the ministry of magic, the cruciatus curse spilling from his lips before he could contain himself, pure rage in his veins. bellatrix lestrange looks so pitiful beneath the point of his wand. he could kill her. do it, harry, say the words. she deserves it. she killed him. do it, harry, do it. it's a viper's voice in his ear, prodding, demanding.

and then, cedric diggory. avada kedavra. a body has never looked so lifeless as when the spew of vile green crawls out of peter fucking pettigrew's wand, and the golden boy lays dead on the ground. harry's failure, once again. it's the rat man who ties harry up, the rat man who cuts his arm clean down, vertically. he feels that wound open once more like a book's pages unfurling to a scene of deliberate gore and malice — that pain is enough to break him out of the spell, green eyes flashing somehow more electric in anger. )

Get — off me! ( he yanks out of mingyu's grip, shoving him back with a blood-soaked palm. he has his wand out now, and instinctively — ) Incarcerous!

( a thick rope directs itself to mingyu's wrists, sinking to bind him, to cover up that — fucking tattoo. )

[descendency]

[ the pain is immediate, lancing through him sharp and familiar and clean, like standing out in a winter's rain. mingyu expected suffering, tastes it every time he uses this power for this purpose, but not even his deep skepticism of harry's answer for the amount of trauma he's experienced prepared him for the scope.

his grip on harry goes white-knuckled as failure, failure, failure pounds staccato through his brain, each memory its own blade. harry is an open wound, is bleeding out into his own chest with every breath, and in this moment mingyu bleeds with him. he smells blood, he can almost taste it, feels blood dripping through his fingers and he jerks a little, magic flickering, the eye's gaze tracking him instead.

someone's screaming in the dark, wailing, howling like a beast. there's a severed arm, ashen gray beneath lines of familiar ink, cold to the touch. it's cold, cold, cold, and mingyu does taste blood now, knows his throat is raw, screamed bloody, remembers not being able to speak for days.

there's no resistance as he's shoved back, the color coming back abruptly to his eyes as harry's spell cuts off his tattoo's line of sight.

taking a single, shaky breath, he focuses on his wrist, wills the tattoo to go dormant again. ]

...neat trick. [ he murmurs this, voice hoarse. he starts to reach inside his shirt but does it slow, palms held out to harry in a staying gesture. ]

Let me fix the cut. I didn't figure you were telling the truth before, but⁠—

You ever consider not meeting up with shady men just because they ask?

⁠[ pulling out a paper talisman, he starts to draw on it in his own blood. ]

[imperio]

( the visual startles him, something mutually shared — the image of a severed limb enough to put a shake into his hands, blood dripping down from an opened wound over his eye. it's equally as shocking to see it so clearly etched on mingyu's skin — what has always defined him, a lightning bolt cut over the corner of his eye.

he shakes and takes a step back. it doesn't seem like he's going to attack any further, but harry has no reason to believe that. the look in his eyes is wild and feral, a hand gripped on his cut arm that still clutches his wand, ever at the ready. )

Stay away from me!

( he's panting, one eye glued shut with blood. his brows knit together, like even a small movement from mingyu would rip a snarl from him. he doesn't cry, though, or otherwise show pain. it's greeted like an old friend — sometimes harry is more comfortable covered in bruises and blood, than he is cozily nested up somewhere. pain is more familiar than safety. )

Learn your magic before you experiment on me, amateur.

( and then he'll walk away. )