[ Children as young as Damian flag fast and easy in the face of a Dementor, quickly succumbing to the ambient chill of despair, but the first-year is holding steady despite it -- both eyes open, and limbs unlocking to jerk himself into motion, scooting inch by inch until he's off the desk, standing on his own two feet to stare at one of the guards of Azkaban, trapped in its circle.
At his robin, the bird doing a quick circle around the boy's head; gifting him with a little more warmth, a little more strength.
At Constantine's rabbit, the creature just as thematically inappropriate -- John chuckles, and Damian's expression scrunches into critical disbelief. And, despite the chatter of his teeth, manages to spit out: ]
No one can know of this. You'll tell my Father it was a hypogriff, and I won't breathe a word of your bunny.
[ He is taking the secret of their adorable, tiny Patronuses to his grave. ]
Now keep holding it still, I want to punch it.
[ He's rolling his sleeve up a skinny arm to the elbow, the little terror. Time to make his mark. ]
no subject
At his robin, the bird doing a quick circle around the boy's head; gifting him with a little more warmth, a little more strength.
At Constantine's rabbit, the creature just as thematically inappropriate -- John chuckles, and Damian's expression scrunches into critical disbelief. And, despite the chatter of his teeth, manages to spit out: ]
No one can know of this. You'll tell my Father it was a hypogriff, and I won't breathe a word of your bunny.
[ He is taking the secret of their adorable, tiny Patronuses to his grave. ]
Now keep holding it still, I want to punch it.
[ He's rolling his sleeve up a skinny arm to the elbow, the little terror. Time to make his mark. ]