Clover is hunched over her grandmother's spell book when she finally realizes it is eight in the morning. She pushes unkempt ginger hair out of her face and rubs furiously at her eyes, as if to force the exhaustion from them. "Shit," the young witch curses softly, glancing again at the alarm clock. The time remains unchanged, glaring back at her in unsympathetic red numbers.

The young woman turns her gaze back to the bed, where quarter-sized wooden disks litter the small single mattress, the product of her all-nighter. Each disk is made of Rowan wood and has a different Icelandic rune burned into it, held together by a long string of twine. Clover worries at her bottom lip and shoots another glance at the clock. Her first class of the day, Herbology 101, starts at nine thirty. Could she finish this and still get a shower in before class?

Clover decides to give it a shot, mostly because she doesn’t think she can spend another night in this dorm without a protective charm on it.  Gran’s house had so many enchantments reverberating within its walls that the grey eyed girl had become accustomed to the ever present buzz of her kin’s magic. This acclimation towards her family’s spells made it almost impossible to sleep in this place, surrounded by a plethora of unfamiliar spells. 

The red head fishes around under her pillow until she finds her pocket knife. Flipping the blade out, she pricks her index finger, unflinching as the blade pierces the skin. Clover proceeds to press the wound to the back of the disks, smearing a small amount of blood over each one. Once this task is finished, the girl cradles the pendants in her hands, leaning over them and whispering, [i]"Send back the harm that is put upon me. I do not harm others, so others cannot harm me. As I speak it, so shall it be."[/i]

As soon as the last word leaves her lips, Clover feels the energy surge out of her and the runes flash a vibrant green. The magic recoil is so strong and unexpected that it sends the witch tumbling off the bed with a pained, "Oof!" The willowy youth lays sprawled out on the floor, momentarily immobilized by her newly acquired headache and fatigue. She gently brings a shaking hand up to her nose, only to pull back and discover fresh blood. "Overdid it," she grumbles, closing her eyes and focusing on catching her breath.

But after a moment she feels it, the thrum of familiar magic coursing through the floorboards. Clover nearly sobs in relief, rolling over and pressing her lips to the ground. "Hello, darling," she breathes reverently, smoothing the pads of her fingers over the ancient wood. The magic hums back. Clover squeezes her eyes shut and laughs.

After she basks in the afterglow of a successful incantation, the freckled witch pulls herself up off of the floor and returns to the bed. She picks up the string of sigils and takes them to the door, where she hangs it over the top of the entryway. She admires her handy work, giving an appreciative nod. It was a good job for now, but she would have to go back and add her dorm-mate later, once she had been assigned one.

“Shower,” she tells herself, turning toward the bathroom to make herself presentable. If she hurried, she might have time to grab a redbull before class started.

---

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[hider=Protective rune chain]
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