Esoterica PV Closed

The Hogwarts library, complete with its Greco-Roman pillars, seemingly never-ending shelves, and aroma of antique books, had always been a place of solace for Archer Theodore Duncan. Yet as exams, both OWLs and NEWTs for stressed-out fifth and seventh years, and regular finals for the other year groups, crept up on the students, the usual serene hush of whispering voices had turned to something almost akin to a buzzing cacophony, just barely controlled by the librarian. It was troublesome to settle into the tranquil state he found himself at in most visits, and today, with his satchel propped on his lap, his fingers absentmindedly flipping through a copy of the Muggle book Troy Maman had recently sent, his eyes lingering more on the pictures than comprehending the words, and his mind wandering off back to the Isle of Skye, Archer was unable to focus. He was accustomed to the white noise of the isle's rain, snow, birds, wind, and wild animals, but not the chatter of human interaction.

Heaving a sigh, he stood up from the comfortable armchair as his eyes flickered across the space, seeking a spot with less company. Shifting his weight as he looked, Archer snatched up his leather satchel, tossed it over a shoulder without much care, tucked his book under his arm, and ventured off to the back of the library, closer to the Restricted Section than he had ever been. He was cautious to keep his distance, for fear of detention (or simply for fear of what lies within), but eventually found himself meandering through haphazard shelves and collections of odd books, without much purpose anymore. Running his fingers down the spines (and sending up clouds of dust), Archer wondered how many hidden gems and exquisite first editions were contained in the library.

It took him a period, however, to reluctantly admit to himself that he was lost, at least on some degree. Clearly, the navigation skills Maman had taught him did not perform as decently in libraries as they did in the wilderness. Students soon became shadows, shadows soon slipped into nothingness. He was not panicked at first, perhaps from too much awe or curiosity, which had rendered him into some sort of stupor. Some part of him desired to be stranded on this safe-haven of knowledge, while the other part of him commenced imagination on all sorts of horrors that could fall upon him in such a situation, most of them frivolous monsters inspired by an overdose of mythology. Turning in a full circle, Archer tried to locate which direction had murmuring voices, and was just about to head off when something else caught his attention.

There was a delicate and brief scraping of glass on one of the tables in a row ahead of him. With as much stealth as he could muster, as to not to disturb whatever might have been taking place or whoever it might be, Archer stepped to the row where the sound came from, clutching tightly onto his satchel. What - or rather who - that greeted him was a young man, possibly in his fifth or sixth year, sat in front of a semi-circle of books and equipment, with a shock of blonde hair, almost white, wearing a black stripped suit, and without much other remarkable qualities from the back. He was gracefully handling a dainty glass bottle filled with a silvery substance that Archer could not identify, at least from the distance and small dosage. However, it was only when he shifted and revealed the pages of one open book that caused Archer to announce his presence.

*Descriptions of the Rudimentary Body, mild bodily horror*

The illustration was not gruesome, per se, but rather incredibly disturbing, featuring a curled up body akin to that of a child in the fetal position. It was hairless in an almost reptilian way, its body a raw reddish black, as if the top layer of skin had been peeled off. Its limbs seemed to be pieces of skin haphazardly wrapped onto fragile bones.

*Ends*

Averting his eyes, Archer still could not help but say with a soft gasp, 'Merlin.'

@Pericles Dralt

Note: no idea if it is actually realistic to get lost in a library, but whatever.

@Archer Duncan

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	Archer's whisper might have gone unnoticed, buried by ambient noise or mistaken for a shuffle of pages, had they been elsewhere in the library. The two stumbled upon this particular nook while searching for the same thing: solitude. Near the back of the literary maze, the no-man's-land around the Restricted Section provided an oppressive silence. The shelves served to stave off overstimulation and distraction. Any interruption rang out clearly as a twig snap in the forest, and when Archer looked back again, he would find the upperclassman twisted in his seat. Pericles was poised with one arm braced against the back of his chair, the other on the edge of the table. He wore the distinctly unnerved expression of someone "caught in the act"- wide eyes, a furrowed forehead, and a lopsided grimace. His gaze was uncharacteristically flinty, his eloquence slow to start. "Hullo." The greeting fell flat. "What are you doing all the way back here?" His tone teetered strangely between concern and accusation, doing nothing to convey the sudden guilt Pericles felt for exposing another student to something so gruesome. His right arm reached out, beckoning towards the table, while the left extended back. Without breaking eye contact, Pericles gradually lowered his copy of Moste Potente Potions face-down on the table. His scrutinizing stare dropped to the book tucked under the intruder's arm, lost some of their stoniness, and rose again. While he couldn't put a finger on why the boy looked familiar, he was sure he'd seen him before. After mentally crossing off the Common Room, he realized they'd passed in the library more than once. There was a community of students who seemed to half live in the shelves. Pericles tried to self correct, aiming at a more neighborly approach as he asked, "Did you find something interesting to read?"
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Archer took a step back as he found the eyes, an almost otherworldly shade of grey that bordered on silver, shockingly piercing, shockingly dark, though not in relation to tone. They were agape, surprised, though not in a way that aided Archer to make out whether it was positive or not. What was evident was that Archer had caught him in an inconvenienced time, with brows wrinkled and mouth set in a possibly attempted - and horribly failed into a twisted grimace, to clarify - smile. Then again he imagined that if he himself was caught in such a situation (doing God knows what and possibly something inappropriate, he might add), he might react in a similar fashion. 'Hullo,' he greeted, a greeting which Archer returned, his tone warily polite and unrevealing.

'What are you doing all the way back here?' the upperclassmen inquired, his tone blurring the lines between blame and worry, that made Archer feel an uneasy dread creeping up his back, especially taking the material he had been studying, said material which he swiftly flipped on its back after noticing Archer's uncalled for exposure to it. Yet his eyes still tracked the older student's hand, flicking away from the boy he would learn to Pericles' haunting silver eyes, and following the book, eyes sweeping over the title, Moste Potente Potions. Archer blinked and shook his head, turning away from the disturbing book and back to the teenager sat in front of him. 'I thought I might find solace and solitude here,' he replied, in a factual clarity in might use when answering a question in History of Magic or discussing Maman's scientific research papers. It was when he was nervous that emotion left this voice as it did today, often in attempts to keep himself composed when the situation did not seem to be in his favour. Archer could physically feel his skin tingle as Pericles' gaze lingered over him in scrutiny. 'Apologies for' he gestured at the set-up on the table, 'disturbing you.'

'Did you find something interesting to read?' The change of conversation was a breath of fresh air. 'My mother sent this, but yes. It is quite insightful.' Archer could not keep his eyes off the matters of Pericles' study despite himself, and he thought there was no wrong in expressing his interest though fearful, 'And you?'

@Pericles Dralt

@Archer Duncan

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	Peri wasn't at all known to cut an "intimidating" figure. His repute was that of an eclectic, mild-mannered duellist with sleepy eyes and a tired croak lining his mellow voice. The fifth-year hadn't even earned detention throughout the entirety of his enrollment. Archer happened to find him in an unlikely situation, coincidentally catching a glimpse at an unknown side of the Gemini. If he were to recount receiving a cold glare and hard grimace from Pericles Dralt, it would probably be equated to nothing more than a misunderstanding. Yet the teen's typically tranquil, eloquent manner of speech was unmistakably strained, even as he tried to reassure the timid boy. 'I thought I might find solace and solitude here.' The Ravenclaw appraised the Slytherin on the spot. Demure yet articulate, timorous body language doing little to detract from a polished posture, he looked to have been brought up well. Pericles tried to bridge the gap between them with good manners, but likely widened it with how disingenuous his reassurance rang. "Well, you've come to an isolated part of the library for certain." No, wait, that wasn't comforting at all, pointing out that he was all alone with some disturbed upperclassmen. 'Apologies for disturbing you.' If Archer was in a hurry to get out of there, Pericles was just as hasty about doing damage control on the situation. "Not at all. An occasional distraction keeps the mind sharp." Ah, he lamented, just grand. Now I've gone and called him a distraction. In an effort to clumsily redirect the topic, Pericles pointed out the book in Archer's arm. He unsubtly stored the silver potion while nodding along to Archer's answer. With the unicorn's blood hidden away in his satchel, Pericles had reached for the notorious tome, fingers flinching away from its spine just as Archer asked about it. If the Ravenclaw didn't know any better, he might have assumed the question was meant to be cheeky. "Oh, it's only a bit of extracurricular reading. Something I brought from home." Those silvery eyes narrowed in thought as he observed, "I'm certain I've seen you here before, but we haven't been properly introduced. My name is Pericles Dralt, fifth-year, Ravenclaw." A formal greeting for an ungainly introduction. He reached out an arm, incidentally coaxing Archer towards the shadowed nook for a handshake.
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Archer knew that the Ravenclaw upperclassman probably meant well, yet the atmosphere of their conversation almost made it feel like he was soon about to be berated. Perhaps it was the nature of the situation, with one catching the other at an inconvenient time, yet as Pericles attempted to reassure the child, it seemed as if his actions were not living up to whatever intentions he had. In response to Archer’s answer of Pericles’ question was, ‘Well, you've come to an isolated part of the library for certain.’ Having an elder student point this out was not exactly comforting, but Archer gave a bare nod in agreement. And in reply to his apology, the Ravenclaw continued, ‘Not at all. An occasional distraction keeps the mind sharp.’ Even Archer, one of the most casual members of the pureblood network, recognised it as a faux pas, with a statement directly labelling his presence as a distraction for Pericles. And while the Duncan did agree with his statement, being the subject of it was not ideal. ‘Indeed,’ he said, though his voice was tighter than his usual light tone, yet his brushed the misstep away briskly, though his eyes were not swift enough to catch Pericles’ hands as they hid an item of interest, if one would.

‘Oh, it's only a bit of extracurricular reading. Something I brought from home.’ The Scottish wizard nodded along at this, but he could hear that he wanted to keep the matter classified and as all interesting things are, secret. Changing the subject, he continued, ‘I'm certain I've seen you here before, but we haven't been properly introduced. My name is Pericles Dralt, fifth-year, Ravenclaw.’ It was only natural that Pericles had seen him in the library prior to their meeting, considering the considerable time Archer spent in the room daily, to study but mostly to read anything. Yet what caught his attention was not this statement but the one after it, for just as Pericles was certain he had seen Archer before, Archer was certain he knew the Dralt name. ‘Archer Theodore Duncan,’ he said, introducing himself first, then following in the upperclassman’s manner, ‘first year, Slytherin,’ before shaking his outstretched hand. Pausing as he took a lengthier gaze at the silver-haired boy sat in front of him, he voiced his thoughts, ‘Where might I have become acquainted with the Dralt name?’

@Pericles Dralt

@Archer Duncan

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	Pericles had entered that odd in-between age: not quite a child, not yet an adult. He regarded Archer's age is if it was foreign. Even when he had been eleven, he didn't exactly understand how to get on with others. What did first-years like these days? Chocolate frogs? Weeks without near-death experiences? He struggled between wanting to soothe the unease out of Archer's voice, trying to be polite, and wanting to corner him by the bookshelves while demanding to know what he had seen and if he would tell a teacher. It was the introduction that threw him off: Archer Theodore Duncan, first year, Slytherin. Peri's passively ominous staring was broken by a perplexed squint. As they shook hands, he skimmed his features- brown hair, hazel eyes, a face he would carefully commit to memory. The Ravenclaw resumed his seat, nonchalantly gesturing towards an adjacent chair in an optional invite to do the same. ‘Where might I have become acquainted with the Dralt name?’ It was a common question among purebloods, which would undoubtedly explain the young Slytherin's burnished decorum. It earned a response that sounded rehearsed, and considering how likely he must have repeated it, probably was: "My father Isaac is a commodore and cartographer, like his father Albus before him. Our family operates a shipping company that transports magical components." Duncan. Where had he heard it before...? Pericles couldn't recall every author on a dime, but some were more poignant than others. A name clicked and his frown grew pensive. "You wouldn't happen to have any relation to Marguerite Duncan, would you...? Da's shown me her works while we were going over expedition routing." Tireless lectures. Some fascinating, most not, but the more interesting ones he kept close to his heart. Ledgers and recounts of far-off places. Perilous navigations, from treacherous seas to the savage wilds, lessons of experience woven into parchment and ink to teach impending generations. There was value in that, and possibly even common grounds.
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