Requiem Open

Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

He did not know what hour it was. Had stopped counting probably. In the Scandinavian winter dusk fell early and dawn came late, but really his felt as if it would never come at all. Some point into the unforgiving night he had drawn across his curtains and forced himself onto his bed. There he directed his eyes anywhere but onto the bed opposite of his and the form of a body it lacked. The borrowed ‘White Nights’ still sat on his desk, but since his return he couldn’t bring himself to open the book. It would be ironic, how his brother had told him, some day a world away, it had accompanied him through lonely nights back in Petersburg. Now Nastenka too was his only company, except how could he read the memoir of a dreamer when every time he closed his eyes awaited him a horrendous nightmare?

These terrors were not comprised of the Lovecraftian monsters one would expect from magic, but his own crooked imagination. When the echoing screams for help of the Pyre - the press always have the most hauntingly fitting names, it seemed - had finally ceased replaying in his head came his anxieties. What-if scenarios cycled through his mind, each more unbearable than the one before: that his brother had ran off and was lost in the Scottish highlands, that he had become prey to a monster of the Forbidden Forest, that he had returned to the Volkovs, that he had ended his own life. They almost always came in brief, unclear flashes behind closed eyelids, but plagued his thoughts for hours after come the next day.

He had eventually read, if only to bargain for time away from his dreams, but did not manage to finish even the First Night as his body succumbed to exhaustion.


Hans did not know when he had begun running. At first he did not even know why or who he was running towards. His feet had taken off before his mind could process anything. If then he claimed he had sensed Nikolai rather than seen him he would have believed himself. He would have believed any lie he told to cement that the distant smudge of flaxen hair was his brother. Passing the rows of beds with the pungent smell of disinfectant choking him, there was renewed vigour coursing through his veins as everyone else faded away into the background.

As Hans reached the blond his run halted at Nikolai’s release of fury. The broken form of his brother was one he fought to recognise as the lump in his throat grew. That boy, broken and battered as he was, was still the one he knew as his heart's other half. He knew, his eyes wouldn’t lie to him with illusion, he had to be. That was the Nikolai he loved. Stood there in stunned silence he did not know if the other had noticed his arrival, but gave his brother the space he surely needed despite the ache in his bones to rush up to him and hug him and feel every part of him. Even when he let himself, he could not pretend he knew how to comfort anymore. He would hold Nikolai’s hand and redraw the constellations, if only his promises and declarations were more than mere words. He would take all Nikolai’s agony for himself, if only he could. Rage, hatred, grief, in the end they all melted into each other to create pain, the kind that, even after the lacerations closed and scabbed, there still remained a dull, ever-reminding and ever-relentless throbbing.

Finally his self-control yielded to emotion. Shaky hands frantically searched for his brother’s and held their enraged thrashing, not so much as an attempt to contain his torrent of emotion but to rejoice at the very touch of his flesh. The very fact that Nikolai still laid breathing in front of him was enough for him to let loose the breath he had been holding for three long days. Despite the layers of blankets he rested under, his skin was so heart-wrenchingly cold to the touch, but to Hans they could have been icicles and that would not have stopped him from clasping them even tighter. Then relief washed over him in mere seconds he could not stop to care for the blood and bruises tainting his body, for the hands Hans held onto were still Nikolai’s. He swore he knew him even by touch, for as much as a mere look threatened to bring unstaunchable tears to his eyes.

Nikolai was alive. Hans could not have asked for a more merciful miracle. For what seemed for much more than three days he had been bracing himself for the worst news, chastising himself for his futile prayers when he had known it would have been easier to let go of hope altogether. Sleep had been scarce and restless with only an empty shadow as his dorm mate. His appetite had refused food until his stomach ached for he knew nothing could ever fill the gaping hole in his heart. Lessons were much more of a forlorn endeavour when he questioned what good would a test score ever do him. Too consumed with bitterness after their argument to realise the much more urgent matter of his brother’s disappearance, his ride back to Durmstrang had been a journey rife with guilt. How could he walk freely when he had only brought his brother more suffering? How could he bear to return home into its warmth when Nikolai was left behind, if he was anywhere at all? How could he even call the forbidding institute “home” when there was no family in it? How does one live when the definition of life had been crudely stripped away from them?

But Nikolai was alive. For that one fact he forced away every other thought. It was as if he had seen the dead rise. What he had deemed impossible was safe in front of him. What he had first dismissed as a grief-induced hallucination was reality. Hans could feel the pulse in his wrists, slowed but steady. For that rhythm he could forget all his anger. He had thought he would come with his love riled up and scream it into him until he knew to at least give a notice before drifting off with the wind, but even the boiling concern that Nikolai had foolishly endangered himself once again where he was out of reach of any help, much less his own, was washed out of him. Nikolai was alive and safe and everything would be fine. He would be fine.

Lowered eyes finally flicked upwards, painfully locking themselves with Nikolai's. Those eyes looking back at him were ones he still struggled to recognise. Bloodshot around the edges with irises that had lost their shine and pupils their light, suddenly the last statement took a lot more convincing to believe even himself. His were the ones of wild animal, streaking tears down his cheek and suddenly the world seemed an incredibly lachrymose existence. While he had originally hoped the tears would be out of joy at their reunion, he was overwhelmed with too many emotions for him to even pick out which one was prevalent.

Newfound relief quickly made way for horror: that one emotion seemed to be as poignant as ever. Supposed alleviation from his concern had been a long enough distraction, but the new wounds now demanded Hans' attention. He knew little of healing, but it would not have taken a medical genius to figure out Nikolai was a wreck. He would have been cleaned, but that had only washed away the shallowest of blood, and even then, what of his heart? Doubtlessly the scars etched into it would not heal so swiftly if at all, and no anaesthesia would grant him a painless recovery from the plaguing terror of memory. The recuperations of their young, teenage ideals refused to come as anything other than tedious journeys that began even before the one prior had ended, and every time come a fall, they would be introduced to an even newer low. Surely Hans should have spared himself from keeping his gaze on the mutilated condition of his brother, but his vision was stubbornly steady, not out of some morbid fascination but an unrelenting cherishing that refused to let him out of his sight anymore. No, fate had to wait for another day to fuck them up.

Hans’ breaths came heavy. Laboured. He was no longer fatigued, nor in pain, but he was afraid. Nikolai seemed to be a shell of himself. He looked so broken, and Hans feared it might be irreversible. Fear: Hans could not claim it was foreign to him anymore, nor could he deny it didn’t gnaw at him for every waking second. He had feared for his life, feared for his brother’s life, feared for the world. He knew he should have faith, that if anything would carry them through it would be hope, but hope was difficult. Every coping mechanism was difficult. Denial was difficult. Distraction was difficult. Saccharinity was difficult. No matter what, the fear still prevailed triumphant with that smugly obnoxious smirk. Nikolai had clawed his way up to where he was now, the tapestry of his life composed of uncountable stitches, made with pouring love and care. Yet a tapestry also yielded easily to a pair of unassuming crafting scissors. What if just one cut was enough to take everything away? And what if the spark of the catastrophic forest fire was that one argument he had replayed to himself far too many times already?

He knew that familiar fire threatening to tear apart his chest and despite its many invitations he had always denied partnership with it. It was the anger which he never seemed able to shake off; it always came after fear, for when he felt so small all he could do was lash out, but today it was more than a defence mechanism. He saw red, the flashing, urgent, aching red that was thirsty for vengeance. Ever since the dragon was reborn Hans bore a hatred for the family who sent curses rather than love his way. It would be no exaggeration to say he had barely been thirteen for a month and in all those years never wronged a soul. Yet it would be no exaggeration to say he looked practically dead. It would also be no exaggeration to say Hans was itching to carry out vengeance for his brother. Whoever had sent Nikolai to death’s door and just bid him a swift merciless adieu was the devil himself. Whoever inflicted all that suffering upon a soul that had never done a thing was most fit to burn in Hell. Whoever had dared to leave him so maimed to the point of unrecognisability deserved to die lonely and in pain. But what Hans had learnt was keeping his rationality even when the world seemed to have lost its, so like every time, it was that anger he had to keep on a tight leash. The past weeks had been stained in hatred, in bloodshed, in violence, and it refused to be washed out of their memory. More of it done was the least of what Nikolai needed today.

For some time he did not speak. How could he, when he didn’t even know what to say or how to say it?

"Nikolai," he tried, voice breaking. Just the name of his brother sent tears to his eyes. There was bliss in calling out to him not in mourning but greeting, but unbearability in seeing him injured so deeply. No. Nikolai was alive, and that was Hans' only thought. Then he cried, mirroring Nikolai with his own tears streaming down his face. He could only remember the weeping, not for what reason, but knew even if he was aware so much sentiment came so quickly he would not have known. There was so much emotion he could never express with words that fell with his teardrops and no matter how the lionhearted boy reacted he could not help but draw himself closer to his frail brother. They were tears silenced by the burden of guilt he had carried for the past days, but he still cried until he felt his ducts could dry and bleed, cried until there was nothing else left in him. They were tears that washed away everything else, then nothing more mattered to him. Not his sorrow. Not his rage. Not his vindictiveness. Even his relentless pain. Whatever urged at him to draw that despicable blood would stop and wait, for now only relief lined his face. Nikolai was bloodied and hurt but he was alive. He was brave, and resilient, and wonderful, and he was alive.

When more than a mere word could come out, Hans said softly, sitting down to look him eye-level, “I won't blame you for running off, I won't press you for where you've been, I don't have to know anything unless you want to tell me. I'm just very, very glad you're safe, Nikolai.

“Do you need medical attention right now? Or do you want me to get anything for you?”

@Matthew Campbell as Nikolai Vol'ka, just to put this somewhere, feel free to godmod Hans as you deem fit, within and beyond this thread

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The pain began the morning Val awoke at the Hogwarts cabin encampment to find that Nikolai wasn’t there. The captain was already stressed from exposing his team to the physical and psychological risks of returning to the blast site just the day before. Soon an emptiness filled his chest, already sensing that something was wrong even though he couldn’t allow himself to accept it. He knew he’d been paranoid, on edge, ever since the bombing. It just wasn’t acceptable to let irrationality take over when he had to maintain a clear head for everyone’s sake.

Already it was hard enough getting to sleep each night, and having Nikolai nearby was the main reason Val had been able to lay down before exhaustion could knock him unconscious with a more brutal hand. As Valentin began to systematically search place after place across the campus, both on foot and by air, the reality of the other’s disappearance became more and more undeniable. The seeker knew his keen eye would have found the boy by now if he were above ground. He’d even searched the dungeons, hoping that the other had tried to find consolation there. Damning himself for ever letting himself succumb to slumber, Val came to the last place he ever wanted to see again: the rim of the Great Lake. The place seemed cursed, almost taking Mikael’s life earlier and being the source of great personal anguish. If the damned lake had managed to claim Nikolai, he swore to blot the giant thing out of existence so that no one would ever find the cruelty of its depths again. Staring at the sole glint of sun peeking out from an otherwise overcast sky, and then looking down onto its reflection on the water’s surface, Valentin reminisced about those good times when he’d stood with Nikolai at their spot at the edge of Durmstrang’s greatest lake.

Shedding the warmth of his precious institute uniform, Valentin dove back into that frigid dark that spilled over Hogwarts’s landscape like a puddle of spilled ink. Despite the seeker searching with his wand lighting the way across its whole damn length from top to bottom, however, Nikolai was not to be found there – living or dead. Freezing from the exposure, Valentin dried himself before wrapping himself back up. The silvery-white fur lining of Val’s red cloak was warm and should have been comforting after they’d been through so much together. Yet, through all the dread that was creeping in, Val couldn’t gain much pleasure from it anymore. In reality he had been lucky that grindylows, the giant squid, and all manner of other deadly creatures had not tried to keep him underwater permanently. Yet, Val had no patience for prudence now, and so he eyed the Forbidden Forest in the distance. Nikolai had been wanting to find where the collapsed passage was leading, ending somewhere in that nightmarish knot of vegetation. Maybe he’d continued on his own in there. For the next several hours, Valentin waded through the notoriously deadly woods in search of his Kol’enka, but even there he found no trace of the Russian boy who’d changed his life forever.

Finally the seeker returned to their cabin to confirm that Nikolai hadn’t come back while he was away looking for him. Sitting down on the other’s cot, Valentin began to rifle through the boy’s things, yearning for any sort of clue about what happened. Going through each of Kol’ka’s personal effects, however, only served to make him more sentimental. The ceremonial dagger was gone, meaning the other was surely in need of it wherever he went. Eventually Val had to give up and he emitted a despairing groan. Digging his fingers into the sheets as he tried to reconstruct the proceedings of their previous days, and then each of the days preceding the bombing, Val tried to reason it out. He bit his lip, churning even the grimmest parts of his memories over and over again.

Had this been his fault for bringing Nikolai back to the scene for investigation? Was this someone’s personal vendetta against either of them? Did the facestealer that had tried to kill Val in Germany now hold his dearest blood brother hostage? It would make sense, since it was still an unsolved mystery of who had infiltrated the estate well enough to make arson of Hugo’s tower. Yet, no ransom note ever arrived. Nikolai was a deeply embedded part of the Schnell household now – definitely an ideal target. Yet, it could have been any number of antagonists, even the boy’s own hellish family. Maybe Nikolai had left of his own will, getting tired of Val and all the other shit he had to endure after the Hogsmeade attack. Still, maybe he just needed space and would come back, chimed the kernel of hope in Val’s heart. Surely he hadn’t mistreated him to the extent that Nikolai would return to his original family and forsake the home he’d made for him. Still… maybe that was it. Despite their blood ritual, Val would never be Nikolai’s genetic relative. Maybe the seeker’s stupid heartfelt vows could never compare to being the literal flesh and blood of Nikolai’s real family.

With a deep sigh, Valentin buried his head in his hands as he sank his weight into his sharp elbows, allowing them to dig into his knees like a form of punishment. From this unusual angle, Val’s amethyst eyes stared on and on until a light speck on the floor beneath his bed drew attention back to reality. The room was utterly torn up by now from his desperate searching, but there shouldn’t have been anything there. Getting up and then pushing a fallen pillow out of the way, Val spotted a humble slip of paper hiding in the bed’s shadow. It must have blown under there somehow in the chaos of taking the room apart.

I'm sorry, I would never leave you if it wasn't necessary. As much as you want to, don't come looking for me. If I don't come home I'll see you at the start of term and explain everything. Remember together we are eternal no matter the distance.

“Fucking hell.”

Valentin knew Nikolai. He knew they were fundamentally the same in the ways that mattered, and this was no exception. Just like Val had run off to Germany to confront what was sure to be a trap, Nikolai would not have gone alone by surprise if it was actually safe. He was trying to be a bloody hero, not endangering others with what was surely a crazy plan. Val knew it because he would have done the same… in the past. After nearly losing it all at Königssee, however, he’d learned his lesson. If Romeo and Ginyami hadn’t disregarded his insistence of going alone, Val would be dead now. He had gotten lucky that his friends were not only reasonable but also brave enough to come after him anyway.

“Don’t come looking for you?” Val said back to the paper with both affection and disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding. Stribog has spared me enough times that I’ve had a shred of sense beaten into me. You were foolish enough to win my undying love, and now I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

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Despite days of obsessive strategizing and hiring multiple top investigators at considerable cost, Valentin’s best efforts failed to turn up any further shred of evidence. It felt like death to board the ship back to Durmstrang without his soul-brother, and as the vessel submerged into the Great Lake, Valentin felt his hope sinking with it. He’s waiting for me back home. He’s got to be, squirmed desperate dying justifications. He’s strong. Durmstrang made him stronger. He will come back. He hasn’t abandoned his new home for the old. Blood isn’t thicker than our love. I believe in you, Nikolai. I believe in you. I believe in you. So was born the mantra that Val would repeat to himself in order to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Paralysis was useless here. Nikolai deserved his devotion to continuing the search, no matter how long it would take, even if he would only find a skeleton in the end.

The new school term began, and as Nikolai’s overdue promised date of return spiralled deeper and deeper into a balled-up pit of despair, Valentin’s daily existence ground into a singular sharp point. He could no longer spare a thought to his greater missions at Durmstrang, and although he knew he was forsaking the needs of countless who continued to struggle under post-Hogsmeade trauma, only one person mattered to him anymore. For all his perfect grades and reliable performance as quidditch captain, not a damn could be spared.

When nothing could be done for the search except wonder what he was doing wrong, Valentin retreated to Durmstrang’s dungeon where the late headmistress’s forge could still be found. With his self-hatred and rage and confusion he would then pound into long metal bladework until it was as thin and light as mithril, as if the holy act of creation would magically bring the revelation he needed. He knew that if he stared at the problem too directly that creative solutions would evade him, and besides, he needed to put his wrath somewhere other than those around him as they expressed concern while trying to ensure his basic survival needs were met. Surely by honing these edges to molecularly fine extremes, his mind would also brighten and sharpen despite its endless fog. There was still no known target for such blades, and yet this was no less than instinct manifesting beyond the turning in his gut. One after the other, Valentin made more, hammering each one into bolder and more savage shapes while demanding excruciating perfection. Weapon after weapon began to litter the floor, sword and dagger and halberd alike, and still he would demand more metal ingots, more fuel for the fire. The flames were never hot enough, he growled. Bring me more, better kindling, he demanded to anyone who approached. Pump the bellows until these put the fires of hell to shame.

The clamor of it all could be heard from as high as the second floor, especially when the clang of singing steel fused with broken veela screaming. Weeping into these silver shards became the only way to satiate the demons crawling inside him, if temporarily. Only after hours at the forge would Valentin’s inner monologue fall silent enough that he could look another in the eye. Already he had compelled some of the younger students to run away after seeing him in the hall, terrified by his gaze’s violet gleam of madness.

Whatever sleep took Val over by force was mostly a waking nightmare continuing where his daytime imaginings left off. He knew it was bad, whatever became of Nikolai. He knew it more with every day as he came to accept that the recurring phantasms he’d begun experiencing were some manner of truth.

It was a magical world, Val decided. There were things out there beyond his understanding. He was no seer, but he could feel it… the pain. An unrelenting thorn in his mind spun beyond his control – a knowing. Perhaps it was their blood ritual, or perhaps the awakening of a long-dormant power. Either way, Valentin felt it in his bones – he needed to become something more than what he was in order to bring Nikolai back from darkness itself. The latent inheritance of his ancestors had to be in him somewhere, for they needed this more than ever before.

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Previously, when he’d opened his eyes onto the morning of the 24th of October, Val only stared. He spent the entire day perfectly motionless, with both amethyst irises fixed on a point high above the ceiling. No amount of interaction could get him to even blink his precious seeker eyes, as if their pin-prick pupils were tidally locked with some star beyond the great dome of the sky. This was the day of his worst phantasmagorical anguish. Strange sensations prickled his skin as if he was being lacerated by a million spectral teeth. His lungs felt such deep suffocation that it was as if their walls were lined with the sucking of viscous leeches. A terrible ache through his bones and a burning in his muscles made every cell quiver in lamenting strains of agony. Yet, there was nothing physically wrong with the young champion. Such a psychosomatic condition had no discernible cause. At one point someone even transported him to the hospital wing, and still he remained frozen in place with a severe look of concentration straining the dark rings around his eyes. When he was finally able to move again the next day, no one would be able to pry from him what he had experienced within his inner sanctum. It was already a miracle that he took the time to pluck a loaf of bread from the satchel Aida had placed beside him in the ward before he returned to confining himself to the top of the west tower. Owl after owl came and went, and come nightfall he no longer returned to his bed. The light cast by his candles never went out until the day he left Hogwarts.

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It was early morning on the 31st of October, the day after Valentin had forged his final blade and laid it in Nikolai’s empty bed across from Hans’s. His soul-brother would simply have to come back to claim it. He had to because it was perfect. Made specifically according to Nikolai's physiology and martial predispositions, no one else knew so precisely how Vol'ka moved as did the ever observant captain. Besides, Valentin had literally poured his blood, sweat, and tears into its molten form.

Now, like some gargoyle that came to inhabit the arch atop Durmstrang Institute’s main entrance, Valentin perched there, hunched over as he watched the wind throwing frost across the hard surface of a distant lake. From exactly this spot he could see where he’d first met Nikolai, although it was now barren under the weight of snowdrift. If only it were lined with spring flowers, he mused. If only the soldanellas would raise their dainty heads from beneath the ice once more, together with the explosion of variegated petals and greenery Val once dreamed of surrounding Nikolai. Maybe then he could weep into them, as he’d wept into the flowers the boy had once brought him. The lake there had refrozen, caring not a bit for the time he’d once thawed it for the other boy. So too had Valentin’s ability to feel hardened like a glacier. The forces of nature raged on around him as he sat as frozen as pure white marble draped in a cloak of blood red, staring into the distance. He had no words anymore. He’d sent his last ones away through his wishing, hoping against hope that they would somehow reach the spirit of whatever remained of his Kol’enka.

Perhaps it was silly to think they could somehow be linked across the distance separating them. There was no rational basis to believe that Nikolai would be able to hear the voice of Val’s heart calling out – come home to me, Kol’enka. Come home. Yet, for every moment of every day, Valentin had come to feel like he was no longer inhabiting his own body. Rather, it was as if his soul had left to wander the expanses of the world in search of its missing half. His skeletal form was but a machine within this greater domain. It was nothing more than a minaret from which Valya sang out, willing his consciousness to cross the in-between. It was all probably ludicrous, but this was the only thing the seeker believed in anymore. The mantra he’d been repeating had since blasted into nonsensical dust. All Valentin had left was wishing, deeper than any wish he’d felt before. As each sandgrain of time slipped away, he willed himself to connect, to mentally fuse, with the other through any obscure plane of existence necessary. While it might have appeared that Valentin had given up his search, from his roost on the roof of the institute, nothing could be farther from the truth.

Staring, staring, staring just as he had done on the darkest of days, Valentin called out with his heart. No less than a monk who could only intone sacred words on repeat, Valentin wished for Nikolai to the point that thought became void of meaning.

Time went on, and the drake’s intense purple eyes would not be the first to notice a change, nor any of his other bodily senses. No, he felt the cry before he heard it. It was a scream from beyond. It was Nikolai’s music, like the cry of the damned. Ethereal, inhuman, agonizing. Haunting, magnificent, and pure. The tone resonated through Valentin as every hair stood on end. This was his Nikolai. This was his Nikolai now.

In a single fluid motion, the broom flowed from Valya’s back as he laid down upon it to shoot forward at maximum speed in the direction of the howl. Bitter winds streaked across the seeker’s bloodshot eyes but this was what they were made for. The most important mission they could be asked to accomplish was to take him to Nikolai now.

No one could have flown faster to the boy’s side than his seeker. It felt as if Schnell’s entire quidditch career led up to this moment specifically so that he could bridge the last of the physical distance between them. Picking out the dark outline of what could have been a skin-and-bones wraith, Valentin descended and plunged into the snow with an explosive landing. In two long steps, Val finally made it, but it became obvious that it was really Nikolai who had fought his way through Hades to be here. At once, Valentin fell to his knees, humbled. This was how much Nikolai wanted his home back. This was how much he wanted this life.

Extending his long arms as he delicately laid each scarred palm along the boy’s damaged cheeks, Valentin felt as if he was holding a skull. Pressing his lips into the space between Nikolai’s eyes, the seeker told him that he was here.

“Welcome home.” These were the first actual words Val uttered after prolonged incoherence, so his voice cracked from the strain of wailing that had yet to fully heal. Because Schnell’s screams had not yet turned to keening, he still had a voice left to summon, albeit broken. “I’m here with you now. You did well.”

Not wasting another moment to chance Nikolai breathing his last breath, Valentin drew his wand to cast a stabilizing episkey at maximum strength. Even at its most powerful, such a spell was usually trifling to Valentin. What he hadn’t noticed, however, was that a crack had blistered through the interior of his wand. Even a journeyman wandmaker would have immediately seen this as a sign that the inner core had combusted, leaving the wood fractured out as force exited through its weakest points. Through the delirium of the preceding days, Valentin had failed to notice that the wand had already given him its everything, even the last of its power, when it perished on October the 24th.

Trying to summon so much energy through a broken wand, of course, led to an immediate explosion. While it was Valentin, holding the implement, that suffered the worst of the damage to his hands, chest, and face, the already near-death Nikolai would not be spared entirely. Val would have to pat out a small flame that spread onto what remained of the boy’s sleeve. The wand’s shards scattered in every direction as if to mark this location as a spot of death, but Schnell would not give it any further thought today. Picking a splinter of charred wand out of Nikolai’s flesh was as much of a farewell as it received. Nikolai was everything, and Val needed to hurry.

Checking to ensure he would not damage his spine by doing so, Valentin carefully bundled Nikolai up in his cloak. Warm white wolf fur surrounded him on every side and began to staunch Vol’ka’s exposed open wounds. Then, straddling his broom as he gathered the shell of a boy into his arms, Valentin took off.

The captain wouldn’t remember their flight back to the infirmary. It was as if there was a time skip in Val’s experience and he’d returned them both on auto-pilot. What he remembered was the sensation of Nikolai’s broken body inside his embrace. Somehow the entire architecture of what Nikolai had been reduced to was being systematically mapped by Val’s subconscious, to the exclusion of cognizant thought. This was still all Val was aware of when he opened his eyes again in a hospital bed next to Nikolai’s. In fact, this was the moment that Valentin internalized that he’d fundamentally changed in how he experienced and interacted with the world. His mind no longer felt attached to his body. Part of him was indescribably somewhere else even as events revolved around them. Nurses were moving. Sounds were clattering. There were trees all around.

Turning his head, Valentin began to take in the sight of Nikolai’s physical form as it roused from its mind’s denial of reality. He knew the boy had been lost in a forest, but now they were coming back. He had been there with him, and there was great pain inside again. Suddenly, a light came out from inside. It felt like the first time in his life that he’d smiled. In a way, it was, for even he had been reborn today. Valya chuckled despite the abject torment, aglow like springtime’s first dawn because he knew that his greatest wish had been fulfilled.

Nikolai’s body rose, as from the dead, an apparition of his former self. The boy was nothing less than a revenant at this moment, and as he saw his own broken wand atop the table beside him, Nikolai exploded into a fury. Lashing out with long-suppressed rage, the boy’s void-like eyes seared all whom it touched, blazing with the violent will to survive. The undead spectre of a young Russian became a whirlwind, and in the blindness of a cyclone there was no mercy.

Hans was there. There were other bodies too. People, in fact. Yes, Hans was weeping. Valentin could feel the great maelström of emotion swirling around the focal point of Nikolai, too: relief, rage, guilt, grief, joy. Love. Hans truly loved him. Nikolai’s mutilated figure had become nearly unrecognizable, but Hans knew him when he saw him, too. The brown-haired boy halted in the face of Nikolai’s outburst, and yet he pushed through, searching for the other’s hands across all the thrashing. His brown eyes locked painfully onto shattered grey.

While nowhere near as ravaged as Nikolai’s, Valentin’s body had not only grown thin, but shallow wounds covered its surface… apparently left festering for days. Only the most clever would notice that some of them inexplicably mirrored the other’s and looked as if they’d opened from within. Yet, there could have been no reason for such a similarity, and it was Nikolai’s condition that was grave. Nothing mattered compared to Vol’ka’s recovery. The realm of the physical was now in the hands of those healers who dedicated their lives to such a pursuit. Hans was here, a bastion of reality ensuring that outstretched arms awaited him. Valentin, however, had changed. He had to, in order to go the distance to meet Nikolai, just as Nikolai went through hell to return.

Val’s mind was no longer his own. Rather, like a bird using its nest as a base of operations, the champion’s body had become a mere station that his mind could choose to leave. A profound alienation would be his to attend in times to come, but these were the wages of such an ambitious wish as his. When Val was done, Nikolai would never again have to be lost alone in the darkest tanglewood within, if he so chose… if they could both but survive that long.

Recent events were links in a longer chain that led up to this moment of culmination. After the lightning bolt struck him all those years ago, rewiring his brain, the seeker’s grip on verbal, linear thinking had already loosened. Now, summoning a bare-bone lullaby within, Val’s mind conjured the essence of a balmy flower field bathed in the amber glow of dawn. To all onlookers, Valentin appeared to be laying utterly comatose, staring vacantly in Nikolai's direction as Hans engaged the situation. Yet, without a word, Valya’s spirit continued welcoming the other home.

Basic Stats:
STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 20 [24] - ARC 1 - ACC 18
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue & Veela

This post is laying the background for Val’s next official ability, which is currently useless from a gameplay point of view and is to be considered incipient "flavor," but this is importantly serving the thematic development of what will be implemented formally in the summer.

Out in the wilderness any and all touch meant pain was sure to follow. Never again had the young Russian believed such a feeling could mean warmth. His memory was fragmented at best and bordered broken at worse and yet when warm strong fingers wrapped around his own and held him, steadying the fitful rage that broke violently from him he didn't retract instantly. For one singular moment a wave of relief came over him, another emotion he never thought he could experience again. The boy had made it to Durmstrang but he was certain it was his final motif yet here he lay busted eyes adjusting to the artificial light searing his retina's.

Flashes of white, blots of colours with unfocussed shapes, the scraping of metal wheels on harsh stone floors creating a screeching that rang through his ears and yet such simple delivered peace from a friend's touch. A friend whomst despite his sightless present he knew with the very yearning of his soul by name. You see when Hans Jenssen was around the world felt a little lighter by proxy, everything came a little easier to Nikolai and his heart often skipped a beat. That lightness steadied his breath just for a moment allowing the screaming to stop but with it bringing forth the harsh torn pain of his ravagaed throat.

Yet inevitability was a cruel master and what at first felt like soothing garve twisted itself under the force of a gnarled mind. The boy who's fingers sought to comfort and hold him were of the very same he had betrayed, those he had sacrificed and for what. Most of which he couldn't even remember but blotched spots began to form stabalising as imagery flashed in his head once more. An image of four faces bearing down on him with unphased emotion, the devastating slice of betrayal left unspoken between each of their eyes. Slamming his own shut he begged for it to stop, "Please, please." More of a warbled muffle than any real words released but it was more of declaration to himself. He wouldn't relive such memories, he couldn't.

All that followed was silence pure silence as he walled up his emotions behind walls as solid as possible. Ringing silence had always been an oxymoron he never truly understood but in that unempathetic conjuration he heard just that. That was until the presence returned with words he couldn't possibly deserve. Accompanied by the slight dipping of the matress as Hans sat next to him unrelenting in his soothing his soft words might have fallen on deaf ears only it had been those soft tones that had broken Nik free and realigned him with the world. The room began to come into focus once more as flooded years washed away the blinding light and anchored him to the present.

Had the light been the very one described by those passing on, a tunnel to the next world he couldn't be sure. If he had any control of his broken form would he have accepted it's lure? Nothing was certain but all that was known is that patches of colours were now forming life, the hallowed halls of Durmstrang began to paint themselves around him once more as they had before he saw his wand. Only this time the light lingered over an individual marking him in colour last. Hans was illuminated in radiance like his very own angel and as the portrait reformed features no anger lined his slick handsome face. Worry etched into his skin and desperation lingered in the dark shadows beneath his eyes but there wasn't hatred. If anything his love was more defiantly poignant than ever.

Nikolai was sure beyond a shadow of doubt he didn't deserve such loyalty yet there it was before him clutching at him and defying all his brains scenarios of their reunion. Maybe it should have been obvious his brother would simply want him safe but that reality had been broken once already this week and often hope was too difficult a manifestation to summon. It was easier to see himself as alone as he felt once more than dare to dream for more. With every repetition the truth of their betrayal solidified itself in his heart and calcified it's core, emotional scars rampent within to march those externally litering himself.

With the words hanging between them Nikolai found himself frazzled trying to make his heart speak any kind of sound. To break down the hardened layers and reach for the boy who managed to see through the wounded creature before him to the brother he once was. The concern in his voice led the tears to fall so tremendously and despite the agony that wretched from his throat from the movement he found himself pulling the boy down towards him crying into his shoulder as he let the weeks lost between them linger in his gripping hold.

"Do I look as bad as I feel?" The slight joke wheezing out of his strained throat barely making it past his cracked lips and yet ever so slightly his mouth curled in what might have once resembled his charming smirk but now barely flickered a candle to its flame. Everything about him echoed pain, despite the healing he had so clearly recieved he was nothing more than a husk or shell of the boy that once bought bright light to these halls. Yet in the embrace of his friend he found the strength of a bravery he thought was dead. "I don't know what I need, I don't know what the nurses gave me? I think I had calming draught or something stronger but its worn off and in any case I can't feel like that. The numbness hurts just as bad."

Spasming calloused hands shifted from his back, to the collar of his top until they settled on his face pulling each other apart with such wildness in his eyes untamed raw emotion pouring through. Categorising each fibre of him to be sure it was all true he found himself unable to speak but a few words though he was certain he would never grow tired of saying them. "I'm sorry, I love you, I'm so sorry, please don't hate me, I can't bare for you to hate me, anything but that. Not like we used to, I can't Hans, please I can't." When his tirade was over he drew him back in desperately unable to look into his eyes and witness even a glint of anger or hatred or any other sickening emotion that would prove he ruined everything.

Then flinging his head to the side his eyes caught another.

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Taken back to his moments of unconsciousness he recalled a dreamlike sequence of himself high above the world like he and Val had been some many months before. Yet unlike their typical flights it was as if lightning had carved over his entire body debilitating and negatively constraining him. He couldn't move, couldn't help and below him he found the mesmerising form of a white draconic beast slicing through the skies a single goal in mind. His survival? It made no sense and yet the drake was so intentional everything seemed clear.

Had it been Valentin had he brought him here and in the process what had he done to himself. Or more to the point what had Nikolai done to him. So much pain caused by a single action. One choice that had so clearly devastated both of his brothers.

Leaning forward towards the catatonic form of his brother he felt the strain of a barely sealed wound, that seemed to be far more recent than the rest. Some kind of puncture wound that he couldn't seem to place though many had escaped his understanding with such mental fragmentation. As he instinctively shot a hand towards it a strange sensation began to run through him like potent magic residue and a chilled vibration thumped through his arm until it reached his ears. Ringing rebegan as if an explosion had just gone off disorientating the boy who had to cling to Hans shoulder to steady himself seemingly ready to throw up.

Perhaps it would do him some good to expel the past few weeks in a physical form. The darkness had built within him like a oozing bile infecting him, poisoning him and warping his very sense of self. Yet he himself had let it, he had been tricked by his compassion to seek light and in turn had lost once more to its evils. To his evils. The face of Mikael filled his mind, dark eyes condemning him with sneer and vile ferocity, Nikolai was the prey and Mikael the predator. A tale as old as his childhood but one that was never meant to repeat. He should never have been there, Nikolai willed every god to change the past, that he may have gotten a chance to save them. In reality he had been a fool, a pawn in the greater game, he himself had been the one that needed saving.

"Bucket, Hans." The words barely managed to escape before he was slamming hands over his mouth to hold back the torrent of sick that was ready to release. A literal flood of disease leaving him. Keeled over his eyes merely sought the similarly lifeless form of his blood brother to move or say anything. Yet as much as he begged and pleaded to reach him his body collapsed under the weight of its injuries until he found himself bound again to the linens below. Groaning with innumerable pain he reached a hand towards each brother agonisingly before his eyes rolled back and he found himself fading into the darkness once more losing sight of his brothers to it once more.

Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

If there had ever been a thread of doubt in Hans’ mind that beneath his injuries he was still the same wonderful Nikolai it was immediately evaporated. Yet burdening him was the same familiar pain that made shadows particularly poignant, forever trailing him like a haunting ghost even in the blazing sun. In fact somehow shadows only darkened as the sky brightened. That hurt in such young, pure eyes made Hans’ heart twist and the inability for him to help only left it crooked and bleeding out. Hearing his muffled pleas he couldn’t possibly understand the boy’s pain but all he wished for was for it to stop. Did his brother not deserve peace even after all this?

Rejoicing with the renewed hope he thought he had long lost under Nikolai’s touch in spite of the tears that came with it, Hans found his body being pulled down and pressed against the shuddering figure of the boy. He welcomed the embrace; despite how obviously wrong his ailing body fit with his it was the bridge that drew them together once more after weeks of uneasy separation. He could just stay there and hug him until the world would end, just like how they had hugged before. Again, Hans was one with Nikolai. There were many things he could stay, but at that moment little thoughts ran through his mind. Oh sweet, beautiful reunion was one of them. And sweet, beautiful, brother of his demanded all the attention he could offer.

Despite feeling unable to take his eyes of him he flinched at the mutilated flesh on his brother’s face as his tears cleared and vision unblurred. Doubtlessly Nikolai returned different, and that went deeper than skin, but perhaps if he squinted hard enough Hans could almost imagine him the same. He wanted to. Biting back a painfully blunt answer, Hans reassured in jest instead, managing to mirror his brother’s smirk through the tears still stubbornly clinging to his cheeks, “No no, don’t you worry, you look handsome as ever, my eisprinz,” Neither of their smiles felt whole, only mere shadows of once would have been, but it was a valiant effort in of itself that humour was not yet a stranger to Nikolai. Fighting down concern, he allowed himself to indulge in their familiar bantering nature, and while there was no laughter in the room so unsettlingly bright and with such a miasma of hospital disinfectant, he could almost convince himself nothing had changed. That soon, they could return to their dormitory and be cracking up at the most trivial of things instead of worrying his heart out over the potential lethalness of even moving one muscle wrong. The familiar worry danced in Hans’ eyes as his brother spoke, but willing comfort into his voice he said with much more certainty than he felt, “That’s fine then. You’re home Nikolai. Rest, you’ll get better in no time, I promise.”

Regardless of the seeming strength he upheld it was difficult for Hans’ heart not to break as his brother continued, raspy voice the broken reflection of his wounds. With hands convulsing across his face Hans almost refused to believe how wild his brother looked, as if he himself became part of the wilderness as price for his survival. His words only brought forth once more the sourness at the back of his throat and the stinging behind his eyes, but his face was already so numb to the tears he was unable to feel if they had fallen or not. He could not care as those brown eyes followed Nikolai’s lowered head, a sickly ghost of himself cast in shadow on the infirmary. But before him he only saw a boy valiant and wonderful and why, why would he ever hate him. Between that and the pain-stricken face of Nikolai’s there was no doubt in his voice as he spoke, only pure, unwavering conviction. “No, of course not. I don’t hate you. How could I ever hate you Nikolai? There’s nothing you could ever do that’s so horrible for me to hate you. I swear, nothing will ever change how much I love you.”

Allowing Nikolai’s hands to clasp his shoulder in evident feebleness, both their gazes were in distress as Hans held him steady, trying for a supportive guise to wash away his own apprehension. Smiles, whether genuinely wide or merely poor imitations of them, were wiped from their faces as the sheer fear conquering the Russian’s eyes spread to his counterpart. He’d like to believe that all of his brother’s suffering was coming to an end after this final ordeal, but of course fate was never so kind - no, it was always the best people who never received karma. “Bucket, Hans,” the words, sharply edged, tore them apart in Hans’ urgency. Barely given time to react, the boy jumped up and pulled it over only to find his brother’s eyes rolled up unconscious in a matter of seconds. Grabbing his hand still defiantly outstretched, he pushed back the hospital sleeve, hanging far too loosely on his frail frame, fighting to search for a pulse. Feeling a thump he forced back any relief felt too soon, for he had absolutely no idea if it was steady or too fast or slow and that only added to his alarm. Clenching Nikolai’s wrist tightly as if it might vanish into dust any second, he turned to shout in a desperate cry for help, “Doctor! Adult! I need someone here right now!” Come on, someone.

God, Hans, breathe. A sleeve dragged over his eyes when his damned sentiment blocked his thoughts. Okay… calming himself with the steady ins and outs he dug deep into his mind for the basic first aid he had been taught. What did Father say? His words had long been muddied in the background of Hans’ memory and while they refused to make way for remembering incantations the spiteful little things didn’t come to mind when he needed them most. Right, put the patient in recovery position? Good. Not good. Shit, what the fuck was the recovery position? Eyes narrowing in futile thought with fingers fumbling in panic- oh good lord, don’t panic! Gripping Nikolai’s shoulder while trying to evade the minefield of wounds dotting it, he flipped the boy over onto his side. Hands having almost retracted at how alarmingly cold his skin still was, Hans instinctively checked for breath despite trying to convince himself not to consider the worst. Slightly relieved when he felt the delicate respiration he tucked the emaciated hand of Nikolai’s under his cheek, hoping that would at least buy him time. Whatever else he needed to have done he had forgotten but God Hans had better be doing this right.

Suppressing the tremors down his body, the young Durmstrangnian forced concerned eyes off his brother as he turned to the white angel, the supposed worker of miracles who had always refused to leave Nikolai’s side, with words hastily prepared only to find him too unresponsive. With a mind still too unfocused on the world around him he would say to whomever had arrived in a reinforcement of his urgency, ratting off quickly as he banished his hesitancy, “Nikolai Vol’ka, unconscious, vomiting, I think I put him in the recovery position but I don’t know what to do now.”

Hans’ fingers moved to brush away the cold sweat lining Nikolai’s forehead but in the face of his half-healed wounds hesitated in fear of hurting him further. Much too unfamiliar with his father’s craft, what more could he do then but keep an eye on him while the adults take over? Suddenly he felt very helpless, like a little boy running around pretending he knew what he was doing only to inevitably found out his attempts were not only in vain but adverse. It had been naïve of him to have celebrated his return so quickly and in his haste he had been too blinded by pointless joy. Exhaustion threatened to overpower him but even daring to blink seemed to be out of the question, that would mean something could go wrong and he would be powerless to fix it or at least stay by his sight through it. With a million what ifs clouding his mind what he knew for certain was that he couldn’t allow for his brother to go through more suffering. Having been so strong and survived so much Hans could only reinforce in his mind that something as stupid as choking would not be the end of him. Have faith, was all he could tell himself, if not in God or Stribog or any other careless deity above then in the sheer resilience of his brother.

Hang in there, Vol’ka. I can’t let you drown when you’ve already reached the coast. Hang in there.

@Matthew Campbell as Nikolai Vol'ka, @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood as Valentin Schnell, @Emery Albrecht, change in post order was agreed upon with Emery

Note: I assumed Val still being unconscious from the last post, if this has turned to be incorrect lmk and I will edit that part.

Sometimes when it seemed that Valentin Schnell was doing nothing at all, it was because he was trying the hardest.

Laying motionless in his coma, Valentin was not holding Nikolai in his embrace. Neither was he taking his hand nor grabbing the brutalized boy a bucket. For such a physical creature as Val, none of the most intuitive demonstrations of love were available. Still, though his body lay nearly vacant, Valentin had never left Nikolai for a second – no, Val believed he had to leave himself in order to go where his corporeal form could not.

Durmstrang’s first-string seeker was a regular of the hospital wing and perhaps the medics there knew his body better than anybody. They’d all seen the boy take a beating much worse than the state he was in now, so for the most part the medical staff left him unattended in order to care for obviously near-death Nikolai. For this reason it would be simple to disregard Val’s strangely familiar inflamed lacerations, scabbed-over punctures, and embedded wandwood shrapnel. One wound was fresher than the others, but even though it didn’t seem quite normal, it too was beginning to seal. Assuming the tough ol’ captain was simply concussed once more, no one would notice that Valya’s incapacitation was abnormal until long after the pair’s arrival. Once Nikolai was stabilized and left to recover at his body’s own pace, however, the staff would begin to notice that Valentin did not stir when he usually would. In fact, no amount of poking, prodding, potions, or prestidigitation could get the damned albino to wake up. Whispers began to spread across the ward, but none here was a specialist in comatose states.

Eventually the nurses were able to clean the seeker’s wounds and reduce his inflammation, but between remarks about how he smelled like a blast furnace and conjectures about what hurt him, no one knew what to make of him. Certainly the removal of wand fragments told the story of an exploded wand, but that alone could not explain what happened to him nor how to get him to wake up again. With time the staff’s efforts reached a dead end and they returned to caring for the more routine operations of the facility. What could anyone do for the boy now other than send some words into the winds asking Stribog to bring him out of his coma? The champion’s eyes stayed rolled into the back of his head as he stared in Nikolai’s direction with blank white orbs like a thestral’s.

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When Nikolai came to, he came out swinging. Yet, Hans was a Durmstrangian through and through. Not backing down, he was there for Nikolai on the physical and emotional plane despite the beastly fury that greeted him at first. He knew the other for whom he was and soon Nikolai let down his guard again to find relief in the other’s tender loving care. After begging his forgiveness, Vol’ka found himself experiencing an otherwordly sensation that shot out from his freshest puncture up into his arm and ricocheted backwards into his ears, causing them to ring and throw off his balance. Feeling the urge to heave as much of the poison from inside as he could purge, Nikolai soon collapsed into bed from exertion. Though keeled over, his eyes sought the outline of his blood brother who lay less than a meter away, lifeless. The struggle proved too much for holding onto consciousness, however, and so Nikolai slipped into darkness.

The next thing he knew, Vol’ka found himself laying in a sea of flowers that stretched across the low hills of a mountain glade. Of course it was all but a dream, but his experience felt truly, utterly real. Out of the dark realm between states of consciousness, a pull eased him into warmth from the sun and the fragrance of fresh air in spring. Permeating him from every sense, serenity came. The soft rumble of distant waterfalls and the cries of birds welcomed his awareness to this moment. Beneath him bent green grass and petals in countless hues as the softness of rich soil received his weight with grace. Sitting up, Nikolai noticed the strain from his most recent puncture, but it felt hot. Looking down, he would find the wound glowing with white shimmering light. His other cuts also had a peculiar glimmer to them as if annointed with opalescent salve. With the feeling that gravity was lighter here, rising to his feet was as simple as willing it so.

Before Nikolai stood the familiar outline of his blood-brother, Valentin, who turned to face him. In his flowing white robes and with pure love radiating from every feature, Valya smiled with deep satisfaction. There was no anger, although familiar injuries painted the almost glowing boy’s pale features.

“You did it, dearest Kol’enka. You made it home.”

A predominantly white bouquet in Valentin’s hands held snowdrops, arborvitae, heliotrope, milk-colored poppies and heather, and sweet lily-of-the-valley. As the tall boy approached, his long strides brought him almost instantly before Nikolai, but as he pressed the intensely aromatic bundle into the other’s hands the flowers began to resonate and hum like struck wind chimes. In a flash of light the bouquet was gone, but with it disappeared the worst of his pains. This was no numbing illusion, but simple cessation, as if matter and anti-matter had collided.

“I love you, Nikolai.” Long arms spread open with their wing-like sleeves, offering him the embrace Valentin was not capable of giving in person. If Nik stepped forward Val would then hold him close and tight, laying his lips to the crown of his head. The seeker would continue for as long as the other wanted, and indeed, in this place it seemed he had an immediate sense of what Nikolai wanted. Valentin didn’t need to bring up issues like forgiveness or making amends. In a place like this, it would have all seemed terribly petty.

When Vol’ka was ready, Valentin would put his arm around his shoulders and walk him towards the waterfalls in the distance. At their base pooled pleasantly cool basins with crystal clarity – perfect for washing one’s hands and face, which Valentin did and invited Nikolai to do as well. It was refreshing. The roar of the twin falls in front of them soothed with unending white noise, and a little fresh spring ran from the rocks indented at the base of a moss-shrouded cliff. Valentin drew some of it into his hand to slake his thirst, but this was more than pure water. In drinking it, Nikolai too felt a sense of purification spreading with its coldness down his throat and into his belly, stripping away toxic tar from inside him. As Valentin watched, his calm amethyst eyes regarded him with an expression of unconditional acceptance. Perhaps the champion looked a bit tired, but for as much light as he was reflecting, just as much seemed to illuminate from within.

“See, how the water starts the same at the top, splits in two, and then comes back together as one at the bottom?” Valentin chuckled and it was like the twinkling of bells. “Even if we’re apart for a little while, it doesn’t have to stay that way.” Valentin pushed some long forelocks back behind his ear and gave a shy smile.

“I made this place just for you. Whenever you wish to visit, all you need do is travel here in your mind. You can always ask me to meet you here, too.” Valentin’s voice seemed more melodic than normal. It was almost as if a soothing veela accent was able to better express itself here, reverberating off surfaces of the rocky cove that fed the meadows with water from the mountains.

“Our hour of separation taught me a greater love than I ever knew before, and I am grateful. I’ve made some changes to myself, so it will be easier to be there for you when you need me. When I’m done with this transformation, all I’ll need to know is that you want to meet me, and after that nothing can keep us apart. I missed you so much, Kol’enka. You made me so happy by coming back. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Valya rose from the bank of the little spring and turned to face Nikolai where he stood. Extending his long pearly fingers, the seeker took Nikolai’s right hand into his left. With a soft and lingering squeeze into the other’s crescent-scarred palm, amethyst jewels stared into the littler drake’s lightning-streaked blue eyes.

“Blood of my blood,” whispered Valya as he took a knee and brought Nikolai’s knuckles to his lips and then to his forehead. With his intentional movements so fluid and elegant, Valentin could have been a knight swearing a gallant oath as he raised his empyreal eyes. Yet, he bore neither sword nor armor. There was no need to weigh oneself down here. In this realm, if nowhere else, peace reigned supreme.

“Call for me when you harbor a wish. Please. I need you to succeed. When you go into harm’s way, use my power. Take me with you. Our battles are the same – this is our vow. Dearest, you are my everything, and you will only be alone if you make it so.” Valya stood up but the pull of his unbroken gaze only grew stronger. “Nikolai Vol’ka, I need you to rise again. I call upon you with my heart’s desire, asking that you become the person you want to be. Do this for me, even if you never do anything more. Free yourself from those who deny what you long to be. Leave the chains behind and come fly with me. Let’s fly away.”

Releasing Nikolai’s hand, Valentin stepped backwards, but as he moved he drew something out of the boy’s scar, anchored into his own – a crackling bolt of pale blue lightning. Still facing forward as he paced back once, twice, three times, Valentin’s smile shimmered as currents of air rippled over him like a mirage. The electricity kicked and jerked inside the pair’s bodies as it grew more powerful, brighter, more difficult to control. An elated peal of laughter fused with the loud electric buzz as Valentin became indistinguishable from the wild energy, and with a rapid cycling flash of white-black-white he was gone. Then, as a curtain of smoke fell into a passing breeze, the outline of something massive began to glint like stars across the haze.

The texture of scales with the lustre of mithril came into focus, revealing a massive draconic beast with intense amethyst eyes, wicked claws, and a central luminous heart-scale. Its long body was so fluid and hypnotic with mercurial sheen that the being moved like liquid light. This was none other than the colddrake from Nikolai’s visions during his flight back to Durmstrang. The Russian knew it well, too, just like the tales Valentin read to him on those perfect cloudless nights when they stargazed. One day we’ll soar like a two-tailed comet, he would say before shelving his favorite book in its new home within the amber tower and kissing Nik's forehead good night.

The colddrake closed its eyes as he tipped his head down in a small bow. What happened next was up to Nikolai himself, as in a lucid dream.

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Time passed, but Valentin did not awaken from his coma. With all that he strove to give in order to bring Nikolai back home, some sacrifices were in order. The seeker had always been a very physical creature, but now such blessings were beyond his reach.

Nikolai has free reign to godmod Val without limitations. Hans can do whatever he wants with him, too! Val’s in no position to resist.

You can find a flower dictionary here.

The thing about dying is that there's no one around to tell you how it feels. Death is meant to be permanent, it can be slow and painful, quick and easy and often completely spontaneous. One thing about death is known though, it's undeniably inevitable.

Once upon a time there was a prince, Eisprinz, he was known to few but those that mattered said he shone with such radiant light no darkness could ever overcome him. Born from darkness he harboured a fire within him a spark of something his kind were never meant to own. Lost in the endless dark he thought he would never escape until one day the Eisprinz found a white star shining in the distance so powerful and strong it drew him to it like moth to a flame. Lit alight by the stars inferno the young prince found his fire began to grow nurtured by love and free in the light. He saw a world in which his tiny flame could become a wildfire unstoppable amplification. In the gentle sweet glow of the star he met another, a kindred flame who had always been with him just never seen in the void of darkened sight. Together they enhanced his flame, bellowing winds blowing from the star let it grow while the hidden one fed kindling to the root. Eventually such devotion engulfed the prince til he was nothing more than fire himself, combusting from light until he shone so radiantly they claimed the sun a mere flame in comparison. And for a while, they were happy. Basking in the joyous light of each others glows they found unity. Yet the Eisprinz grew weary, burdened by the guilt of his happiness while his kind suffered coldly in the dark. Dimming his own radiance would be his choice but his friends did not deserve the same, for while he was born a shadow they had always shone. Leaving them he returned to his home desperate to share his fire to show the others a new way but the truth revealed the dark ones had no interest in his flame. They wanted him returned, reshaped and having not been born himself a flame the young prince didn't know how easily it was to burn out. In the darkness once more Eisprinz found himself surrounded by the dark, unable once more to shine until he was snuffed out entirely.
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The subtle crisp softness of light grass weaved themselves between the young Russian's fingers tickling gently at his unbroken skin. His neck cooled by the mild dew from droplets that graced each blade soothing him as if awakening from a bad dream, some kind of nightmare he may have once ran to a brother to for comfort. Brothers, he had them he was sure yet in the serenity of the space's calmness he found himself unable to complete such a thought. Graceful eyelids slowly fluttering open, blue piercing eyes found themself mirrored in a vast expanse of deep cerulean sky dotted only with the tender puffs of fluffy clouds. Surrounded by flowers and mountain expanse he was in a world of peace, a place in which no fear lurked in the shadows, no nastiness could fester and no injury remained.

Stretching was as if every limb had suddenly found renewed capability to move. As if his body had once been broken and only now was healed and yet just as before he felt the dreamlike quality of wilful composure fix itself in his mind fading any feelings of harm. Here he was simply to be free, to be happy, for here nothing existed but the borders of each mountain peak. Still worming restlessly in the vibrant spectrum of colours the surrounding flower bed wrapped him in he heard a lullaby of falling water from a nearby waterfall urging him to remain restful to remain safe. The very aroma of the air spoke more of recovery than of reality shaping every second here with the tender light of care. It made little sense but it needn't it simply was.

Finally abandoning his slumber hot stinging seared his body yet never touched his mind and upon observation he found his form a litter of opalescent lines. Like some kind of celestial Frankenstein's monster his body sutured with glowing strains holding him together. His body was a museum of wounds and despite efforts his mind found no comprehension for their reasoning. Movement was as simple as wishing, like freefalling forward he enacted in the dance of this place and like levitation maneuverer him floated skyward. There he met the familiar form of his protector, his home, his brother. Love was so distinctly outlined in each of his features and although similarly scarred he bore no semblance of pain as he strode towards him. Words here felt jumbled as if reading a story where every second word was missing, that same confusion rising as quick as its fleeting. "I'm always home with you Val, you know that."

As the bouquet took to the wind petals danced across his skin blinding him in their ever delicate softness like silk draping across his skin, revelling in the process he found his eyes closed. Renewed by their comfort his body no longer found tears but a new whole form was born and dazzled in surreal sunlight. A form that once existed, yet seemingly felt off to the boy despite Valentine's own wonderous stare and emanating positivity. When his mind found purchase on the wrongness it somehow all felt misconstrued, a falsehood to it, yet with the white knights words he couldn't help but relish in the joy. "I love you too Val, you know this." Slight confusing dashing his lips as those empyreal eyes he had bore into so many times spoke of something beyond the usual pleasure of seeing him, spoke of something beyond his own reach. The repetition looming like Nikolai was a mere puppet in this show his words a mimicry of truth rather than actual honesty.

Still meanings filtered gaps in memory comforting them to alleviate pain, to patch something broken. Snowdrops for them, for hope, for their story. Arborvitae for immortality, eternity and heliotrope, for healing and forgiveness. Milk-colored poppies and heather signifying everything from rest to peace to wishes a concoction of Val's favourite virtues. Lastly sweet lily-of-the-valley meaning the return to happiness and the purity of heart. Yet still the question remained as the pain bled away replaced with the bouquets wishes, what was such a gift for? What did any of this mean?

Accepting the embrace despite his lack of clarity he felt found in the embrace of his blood brother. His own body almost shuddered instinctively at the feeling as if long since lost to himself and yet he was almost certain the opposite to be true, certain that mere moment ago he had been in the embrace of another yet no one was around. The feeling of something missing leapt from him, causing his heart to race and panic to drown his throat a feeling so similar. Staring down at his hand from withing the grasp of his seeker he found a cut re-emerged only unlike before his weaving now laced with black bile wrathfully seeping dark smoke from it into the bounty of such glorious undisturbed nature. Clasping it shut he found his mind seal the notion away yet the burden upon him refused to leave his hollow bones lining them with dark ichor. The subtle worries of guilt, or the necessity for forgiveness rotting within and still his mind revoked any understanding.

Held together for what felt like eternity yet even that couldn't compare. Tucked under those long slender arms the world knew deeper peace than just the sensory dream of their surroundings it felt like longing finally achieved. Valentine's hands begged his body to remain physical to not falter under the influence of obscurity and fade away. It bound him here yet he did not feel shackled. When they finally pulled away Nik stole his best performance to line his own features with similar warmth and smiles yet for what felt like the second time his smile never quite managed the effect. Allowing Valentin to lead him towards the water he listened dutifully searching every word for some kind of advanced meaning yet still remaining oblivious to whatever presence his mind so desperately cordoned off. A mind fragmented.

Bending down after the boy he stared into the clarity of the pool wishing to see what it was he could not in his reflection. Yet all he saw was the visage created for him. Following lead he drew his hands into the crystal perfection of the small pool allowing the cold sensation to refresh his mind along with his perplexingly fast beating heart. Closing his eyes desperate to relieve his mind of these contradictions he pulled the water over his face yet as it encrusted over his skin he felt no relief, no silky cooling drops but the gravelled grit of earth. Eyes frantically opening he found what was once transparent water now a corrupted blood red. The vast expanse of open air now darkened forestry. Until drops ran into his mouth and the world reaffirmed itself now ears filled with the rushing crash of waterfalls and gentle breath from his brother at his side.

There was a tiredness to his brother that seemed off but drinking from the spring he seemed illuminated while his gaze remained alleviated with every glance of Nikolai. A breath held now released. However, lightness never ceased to prevail he though waveringly. Unwaveringly Valentine's laugh twinkled with that light and in his description he foretold their union and reunion though from what was unclear. A poetic soul Val possessed so his words although beautiful often guised multiple faces and Nik was rather sure this was such a moment. Then melodic than he had ever experienced the cold drake almost sung of things Nik could not understand. A place within his mind, a seperation, Nikolai coming back. Turning to face the waterfall in confusion death danced between the streams. Ghastly imagery faced him in the reflection, imagery of himself but beaten, dirtied, a mere fade of himself.

"Wait Val what do you mean travel here? Where are we? If this is all in my mind then where are we really? What happened to me?" Yet no matter how much he begged and pleaded it was in an instant desparingly obvious. Valentine could no longer hear him. As if a pressed hand has suppressed his ability to speak or his throat was clasped shut in the grasp of another. Petrifying terror began to linger in every one of his nerves heightening them to extremes as he attempted to no avail to grab ahold of his brother. Returning to the waterfall he let the crashing rhythmic pattern fill his eardrums and upon reinspection his reflection bore no evil only the healed individual. A living nightmare, now a silly young boys imaginative mind. Scooped up in Valentine's hand they ended up in a position of a vow. A vow he still failed to comprehend.

Yet from where Valentine knelt Nikolai's brain returned to a frosted scene in front of a lake, a day he had been born anew. A day in which a boy much like the one before him only perhaps seemingly happier now had asked him for his wishes and greatest beliefs. Moments in time that now felt like a lifetime ago, for it was the day he was set free. Wings had sprouted that day that carried him to new heights and Val had been their inspiration. With every word Nikolai felt himself swallowing some unknown bile, felt himself drowning in each syllable unable to speak but screaming for him to stop. Words that weren't even his own but the pounding determination of his concious to block the reality of what he was saying. Of what had happened.

"Rise again", "Free yourself from those that deny you", "Leave the chains behind". The words spiked at his brain like fine needles puncturing his defences and reminding him of a truth he couldn't bare to face. A reality his mind begged to forget. Once again he stood paralysed as Valentin pulled back and drew between them a crackling storm of lightning, energy that often filled the young Russians eyes now lay between them uncontrollably sparking, rushing every fibre of Valentine's body with its pulsating. Blue arcs, flashing streaks overtook him and for a second Nikolai saw the truth below, the fried burnt corpse of a boy stripped bare from their energy. This was what he had been afraid of, that Nikolai was both his biggest strength and the death of him.

Just as Nikolai was sure there wasn't a chance of survival the energy ruptured through the air leaving behind nothing but smoke and faded energy that lingered electrifyingly through the air. It was less of a sight than a feeling what came next, the mithrial drake was upon him in seconds but he felt it's presence far longer. Like a beast he knew in his dreams long before its physical manifestation. A dream that he had conjured only recently. Riding broken in its embrace to safety. A safety he no longer could reject as the crashing walls fell and began to trample over his carefully created walls. Defences ripped bare as he remembered the truth. Reaching out his hand he yearned for support, for anything tangible at all.
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Hans found no resistance as he moved the now unconscious body of the former Volkov into what he godforsakenly hoped was the recovery position. Voice torn with devastated emotion wishing that someone anyone would come and provide real assistance feeling utterly powerless to help. Even with all the magic in the world sometimes things felt completely impossible. Yet Hans was not the type to take no for an answer, and certainly wasn't willing to part with Nikolai so soon as he had returned. No the boy had suffered enough this was not to be his future. Doing everything he possibly could the game was now in others hands. The slipping sands of time meant every grain could be his last but the German was resolute in his defiance of death and would fight for his brother to the end.

Hans had lost the battle once before, weeks back when Nikolai left, but he would be damned sure to win the war. No matter the odds he would beat, no matter the mountain he would scale it, no matter the cost he would pay it. Unsure of how to proceed without assistance or aid he could do nothing but sit there waiting and willing every positive demand from the world to give Nikolai back to him, to spare him any further pain. Damning the very god's themselves in the process he cared little for anything but the safety of his family. A family forged not born.

Despite it being mere moments every thunderous tick of the clock was a rapture towards his beating heart and worry churned into despair as Nikolai's eyes remained rolled back. In medicine there were certain cases doctors had to tell a patient the odds no matter the hopelessness it spurred and in the young Germans heart he wondered what his father would provide under these circumstances. Was there even a chance or was he already a lost cause. Yet lying there in the recovery position he could almost delude himself into believing the Russian was just asleep a sight he had seen so many times in their shared room.

In barely a flicker everything changed as Nikolai's hand unnaturally shot forward gripping around the other boys wrist out of nowhere still unconscious but desperately seeking the other. Whatever was happening his body sought the comfort of his brother and held on tight as if clutching him was clutching the very fabric of life itself. To let go would be to freefall into infinite nothing. Whatever Hans chose to do he could sense the desperation, the frantic flush of fear as each finger dug bruises into the others skin. It was feral, primal, wild, perfectly matching the state of his being.

Despite all attempts the boy moved no further, showed no rise, nor fall just held pleadingly. Until the tremor began and where once lay a solid marbalised boy with skin deathly pale now began to crumble shaking, no the description felt too kind he was ceizing under some unimaginable force.
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As the draconic beast watched him patiently his world was darkening, light blue pleasant skies now dregged with stormy black clouds reigning darkness over head. Mountains once floral and protective seemed overbearing and jagged. The water blood red as he witnessed the dragons form covulse with pained wounds that he felt littered over his own body. Billowing clouds of dread started taking form behind the creature shaping a humanoid figure one long since known to plague the boy. Soot suffocated it's breath and dirt broke around its feet unbalancing the creature. Nikolai begged it to fly, to leave him and run but there it stood defiant.

All defiance has a limit, wether in giving up or in finality of refusal it would end. Valentine would end and the shadow would win. He would win as he always had and always would. Screaming endlessly a cacophony of cries both of his current self and younger pleads he begged for it to end for another way. As he did, no words seemed to even conjure, just the piercing echo of sound. Ravaged with tears and covered in scars he screamed eyes locking with the amethyst of his brothers begging him to save himself. No answer came, the drake stayed motionless allowing itself to consume the darkness for him, his eternal champion.

Running forward he flung malformed arms towards the beings mouth forcefully attempting to open under what little adrenaline fueled might remained. "Please Val, my wish is for us to be a proper family, away from him forever. Don't let him take you like he took me." Please cried out finally from burst lips and arms found themselves no longer strained as the creature opened its mouth revealing a majestic white light so blindingly vivid it drove all darkness away consuming it like a birthright. Wrapping entirely around him until nothing more remained, until all was light eternal and everything truly felt calm.
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Nikolai's condition was an unpredictable nature, where elements of science and reason were left meaningless. Were it simply physical or mental perhaps there would have been a clear solution but in affecting them both one couldn't be sure how to proceed. All Hans knew was that the ceizing had stopped and the restless body beneath him was once again still. Stable would be too cruel a wording but nonetheless it fit for now. Still urgently he would seek the help of another.

Another would come but not the intended of his desires. With so much silence trailing the air the flutter of wings cut through like a warm knife to butter. The German boy was used to being airborne and hearing the fine cut of a body moving through it, becoming one with it, how the very wind bent around the body and howled from it's presence was a sense he knew all too well. Then came the screech. A piercing call that rang through the hospital room like the echoing toll of death bells. Beady eyes and haunting a black banded owl swooped through the hall searching until it's gaze harked upon its target.

There was no mistaking it, Hans had seen the creature only a handful of times during their time together at Durmstrang but it only ever came with negativity. Like the very aura of the room dropped as it flew. Any appearance of the bird meant Nikolai was sure to be in a worse mood than usual. Back before they knew each other Hand may have assumed the creature simply was the product of disapproving parents to his social ineptitude but now with the broken form between him that birds truth lay bare. Perched in its claws were a long fine box, dark wood and long enough to house a wand perhaps though too wide in girth. Soaring by it dropped the parcel upon Nikolai's bed daring the German to touch it, to face his reckoning.

It needn't have been said who it was from but still the insignia would be burned into the Germans mind through fury or simple hurt. Five wolves surrounding a larger beast with a raven above, and a signature V. The crest of the Volkov family. Who it was from might have not been a question but what it was, made whispered secrets glide across every surface seeking release.

Motif The disapproval of cowards is praise to the brave.	Languages German English Russian French Spanish Japanese Swahili Samoan	Age 44
Mentioning/Interacting @Piérre Marchonné as Romeo Marchonné @Matthew Campbell as Nikola @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood as Valentin Schnell @Archer Duncan as Hans Jenssen	Location Durmstrang	IC Date As stated

Requiem

xxxxx Emery was shockingly the headmaster of Durmstrang, having returned from Hogwarts only but three days prior. There was no rest mentally or physically at the moment. However, the moment they returned, Emery was plagued by another aching worry, a boy’s face who was supposed to be here had been missing. From the names and faces he remembered, it was Nikolai, the young boy’s voice had rung through the explosions and Emery had shouted back in the main square of Hogsmeade, but now his voice was no longer here in the halls of Durmstrang, and Emery was certain it was far more than just a young boy staying in his sleeping quarters. He searched the castle for any news, but nothing of violent nature could be found. Indeed, it was as if Nikolai had left of his own volition, perhaps burdened by the traumatic events of Pyre. Emery was tearing himself apart to try to find the young boy and he could not. There were no traces of why or how the young boy disappeared and there was nothing he could do until a clue appeared.Three days passed and Emery was wrought with guilt, his memory aching towards the death of his daughter. He had constantly been wrecked with the memory of his daughter’s final moments. He had not been there for his child, would he also be plagued with not being there with Nikola? Would he also have to face another cold and lonely body of a young child gone too early, another child hurt by the evils of the world that they should never have to face. Would another death plague Emery so for the rest of the days of his life. It was winter and his insides felt like the cold of the icy lake submerging him from head to toe, chilling his bones with the possibility of death of more than just the twelve that already had been lost in the explosions of the carriages. Too many he had witnessed die, too many people had he seen take their last breath in his arms. His life had always been moments and moments of someone lost to fate, someone who he had seen so bright with light lose consciousness. However, while he began to lose hope, the boy was found and taken to the infirmary of Durmstrang. In the dying moments of night, Emery grasped his chest in pain as the aching of losing hope released and he lost strength in his legs. He fell to the ground with a sigh of relief. The boy was alive, not dead, and he would not have another death in his conscience. He expected that the close companions of the young boy would be with him in the infirmary and so Emery determined that he would not interrupt the interactions that the young boys may have with one another and just stay and protect the group of friends outside the door of the infirmary and only enter if there was anything needed. Of course he heard the conversation occurring as he paid attention, but other than that, he was determined for the friends to have their opportunity to speak with their dear Nikolai without the feeling of authority above them. That was when he heard the shrill shout of Hans ringing through the hallway, ringing through the air like alarm bells, causing Emery to rush into action, a flashback of his very own daughter’s face laying limp in a mortuary haunting him forever. He ran in, ascertaining if Nikolai had suddenly had his heart stop or perhaps lost consciousness, but it did not seem so. Emery could observe that Nikolai had sadly been in and out of it and that it was not a sudden development. He also noticed Valentin, an older student in unconsciousness as well. Emery would need to ascertain the damages that the two boys had attained. He would then have to ask if there was any physical connection between the two students, if the older student had disappeared as well. Emery felt the aching within his heart, a sinking of his soul, as if everything was lost. He could not bear to lose another child, although this child was not his, he could not bear it. He had come to view his students as his children, someone to protect, someone he held responsibility for. As their professor, Emery had come to know them very well, and although he had been an authority figure, he had hoped that they also had been appreciative of the emotional bond that might have been found between them The moment he went into the room and saw the situation, Emery went into crisis mod, “Do you know if Nikola had any injuries when he came here? How about Valentin? They were not unconscious beforehand, how did it happen?” He began to examine both Nikola and Valentin with an intense focus. However, in order to confirm the safety of Nikolai, Albrecht cast “Anapneo”, hoping to address the possibility of lack of oxygen. He had to also examine what was wrong with Valentin as well, as no physical signs appeared to suggest a reason for the second young man’s coma.

Action: Casting Anapneo on Nikolai

Abilities: Charmer, Lovely Creature, Perfectionist, Impartial, Wandless Magic, Occlumency, Legilimancy, Imperio

Stats: sta 10 ◦ eva 8 ◦ str 8 ◦ wis 20 ◦ arc 10 ◦ acc 9

Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

The belief that magic could be the answer to every problem was a naïve one, but for all its faults miracles were still worked under the hands of Durmstrang’s expertise. At the arrival of Albrecht relief made a valiant attempt to battle down the trepidation dictating Hans’ heart, but frantic eyes still darted to him for solutions. After all who else could he have turned to - the unresponsive Valentin or the obsessive Romeo, who he himself might have lost his sanity amongst the cultish chants, or himself, with the over-confident exterior that proved completely futile when needed actual self-assurance most. Hans knew he too would have been long ungrounded if it was not for the barest strings of faith. Still overwrought he managed to admit, voice hasty with panic, “I don’t know the specifics… but I think you can see for yourself. Val had been unconscious since I came here but Nikolai just passed out, I don’t know what happened.”

Moving aside as intense eyes fell over the comatose bodies, hope begun to fill into the void eaten by apprehension. Despite Hans’ wariness of authority it was reassuring to have a reliable figure as it as a flashlight in the depths of night, and hearing Albrecht’s determined “anapneo” fought to soothe a heart plagued with concern. Hovering over him as Nikolai's eyes fluttered open, a sight meant to be reassuring did nothing of the type as they revealed whites unnaturally grey in colour. There was no familiar electric blue looking back at him, not even any iris, just a pair of scleras and veins that stood out too much, the lightning shrouded by storm clouds. There was only further proof that the spell was not enough as he started when coughs left stains of blood starkly contrasting the pristinely white sheets. Wasn't that a symptom of fatal diseases?? By now the first aid classes would have just told to call 122 and wait for professionals to take over the situation, but the sick realisation settled upon him that they had already arrived. He had never been accustomed with emergency services in the Wizarding World and even if there were any Durmstrang's was a desolate and ever-changing locale. This was all the help they were going to get.

Gone in its entirety were his usual decorum and charm as Hans demanded sharply at the sight of Nikolai's blood, “Do something!”, uncaring if the man was as fear clutched at his heart. The empty cold creeping up on him was sickening, fear that he would lose Nikolai forever and fear that it would be his fault. When has had declared to Nikolai his love so boldly that Autumn night he had saved none of that pluck for being in the face of loosing him. Fraughtly he seemed to have succumbed to his alarm that while he should have been doing a million things, even something he had deemed as futile as rearranging his headspace if it would be a grain of sand in an hourglass, he did none, so seized by weariness and dread that he dared not to prod the glass figure in front of him. In that terrible moment he felt frozen, an agitated hare trapped in a huntsman’s snare. Voice trembling, he said in a much lower tone, “Help him. Please.” That's what you're supposed to do.

Hans was about to stand trying to figure out why he still laid unconscious or the cause of his haemoptysis yet as Nikolai’s hand suddenly shot out to clasp onto his wrist he could not have beared to struggle against it. Hans had no idea of the horrors in his brother’s nightmares, and once more hit with the all too familiar plague of sheer helplessness, there was nothing more he could do but allow him to hold on, the crumbling rock pretending to be strong enough to anchor a climber’s rope. As fingers dug into his skin he refused to experience pain despite nerves urging him to let go. His heart chastised him for even considering it; after having been left paralysed both physically and mentally numb that fateful night how could he allow himself not to be by Nikolai’s side as he suffered one more time? The very thought threatened to send bile to his throat, because Hans was certain, he would be by his side, through the pain and through the recovery.

He breathed and felt his eyes flutter shut, though from exhaustion or fear he did not know - both had been so unsettlingly prevalent the past weeks - but as sudden convulsion coursed through his brother’s once stone still body Hans was jolted as if electricity had just taken both of them out. When the hand that held him like there was nothing else in the world unexpectedly begun to shake as if it was soon to crumble away freshly hot tears pricked at his eyes. “Wa- What’s happening?”Since he had been evacuated all those weeks ago Hans had felt like everything was his fault. He had watched as lives succumbed to flames, had fled as his brother had dived back into the fires, had let Nikolai when he should have tried harder to stop him. Now still he did not only felt it was his fault but knew with full certainty. Every flash of fear reminded him of it, if only he hadn’t allowed this to happen…. And just like the frightful truth he had murmured to his best friend that night, he was scared. Then almost accusatorially he turned to Albrecht with a shout as desperate as Nikolai’s condition, “What’s wrong with him?” You’re supposed to know.

Reminiscence was intent on hitting the German in the most inconvenient of circumstances, for even though right now he should have been focusing elsewhere he was still struck with an obnoxiously irrelevant thought. Hans and Nikolai would have often went over spells together in their dormitory. The latter's affinity towards spellwork was undeniable despite how grudgingly the former might have said it. Uncannily skilled in enchantments that should have been beyond his year and ability of course Hans had quickly taken advantage of this and demanded he apply himself and help him with his homework. Suddenly a particular memory featuring this situation came to mind. It must not have been more than a month ago, just before the terrible incident at Hogsmeade. They had joked about their upcoming exertion, and how, considering Hogwarts' nature, the spell would prove itself to be useful. It never had-

Oh shit. Hans had no one else but himself to blame for forgetting even the most recent of spells he had learnt. Perhaps the panic of the moment had truly seized him, too frenzied into believing himself too helpless to focus. The sudden realisation gave him a hard slap on the wrist as an order out of his previous incoherentness. Rennervarte, the only healing spell he was ever taught but one any second year would know how to wield, was created specifically to bring the unconscious back to wakefulness. How the fuck had been so stupid as to have glazed over it? Despite being right next to his brother he would push past whatever invisible obstacle that seemed to stand in his way. Frantic to cast Hans pulled his wand from his pocket, and uncaring for whatever his charms professor had rambled on about his headspace, ranted out impatiently the incantation.

Nothing happened. His wand had flashed uselessly with a feeble flicker of red but beyond that, Nikolai offered no response. In fact as his body became still relief quickly dispelled for terror until he saw the rise and fall of his chest under the covers. Yet even then he refused himself any reassurance, for despite the seizing having stopped Nikolai was in no shape or form safe from further danger. What had went wrong? Had he been too rash to cast? Too uncertain? This time Hans’ faults during duelling practice became not an easy weak spot for his brother to target but one barring him from his safety. So trying again this time Hans did not ask for the spell to succeed anymore, no, he absolutely demanded it to, and if it was refusing it can be damned because no matter how far he needed to go he would see his brother again, “Rennervar-”

But fate would be too spiteful to allow him to finish so soon. Following Romeo and Albrecht’s appearance Hans was not expecting one more visitor. At first he did not hear the owl’s approach, had not cared for it even if he did, but when its screech cut his incantation off he was forced to acknowledge its unpleasant existence. The parcel in its claws would have been dropped directly on the boy’s hand if he had not been dexterous enough to retract it, and as pain-stricken eyes met its beady glower he could have sworn the malicious curtness of its delivery was on purpose. The temperature of the room seemed to have dropped with its entrance, and Hans needn’t have seen the insignia to know who it was from. Intimidation was not usually a feature of his, but he damn well could exhibit it when his loved ones were threatened. The usually warm gaze hardened into an unwavering stare, and as his head tipped to the exit, Hans wordlessly ordered the bird to fuck off and never return again, though he hardly doubted the pest was unaware its presence was unwelcome.

Despite the blessing of having never made their acquaintance Hans knew the Volkovs to possess petty audacity as a form of their terribleness. Nikolai had made an effort to hide his emotions but before they had made friends it had been obvious that the youngest son’s face fell whenever correspondence came from his parents, yet even after having disowned Nikolai they were still bitter at his freedom. Resounding back to Hans was the ecstatic giggling of a boy finally released from a family that only chained him, months ago when everything they had touched with poisonous hands went up in a glorious inferno. Knuckles whitened as they clenched onto cold bedsheets, teeth grit hard as the same, unrelenting stare bore holes through the box. Years of maltreatment had not been enough of a plague, no, the wolves were too spiteful to allow Nikolai to leave without a final gift, but if they wanted to befoul him with their venom they needed to get through Hans first. If it was a letter he would burn it, if it was an object he would smash it, even if there was an explosive inside he would be diving over it. He won’t be allowing them to lay even lay a fucking finger on him. Never again.

There would be no counter-spell cast, no delicate fingers picking apart strings - Hans did not have the time nor patience for it. Caution quickly gave way to anger as the box was ripped open without regard for whatever curse accompanied it. He couldn’t care to stop for his surprise when the sides of the package fell open harmlessly, nor for his intrigue at the sight inside. It seemed as if in a bout of graciousness the Volkov parents had bestowed upon him both a letter - or a perfunctory excuse of it - and an object disturbingly familiar. First gripping onto the note so tight the edges threatened to rip, Hans’ gaze followed over it with furrowed brows. In calligraphy finer than their care for Nikolai ever was were five curt words:

постарайся в следующий раз больше

Try harder next time. For something so small the piece of parchment felt inexplicably heavy in Hans' hands. Fists clenching he left scars on the paper as his hand refused to loosen. After all those years of being pathetic excuses of parents that was all they had to say - truthfully he should have expected nothing more. To think that they even deserved Nikolai as a son, much less the way that they had treated him was despicable. That boy who was all sunshine, all smiles and laughter and warmth… Hans could not bear to let him see the note. What if it would leave him devastated, or place those loathsome thoughts in his head again; the predator had become experienced after having cornered the same prey for twelve years - he knew the armourless points to strike, but all the same Hans had learnt where he must protect. Ignoring the temptation to send back petty profanity he dripped water from the cup on Nikolai’s bedside onto the parchment and watched with intent eyes as the text smudged, then deciding that still was far from enough, threw it onto the ground and crumpled it with his heel. However they felt was irrelevant, because it was clear Hans was proud to say Nikolai was his best friend, and that love won’t waver no matter what. Here Hans had already made the final verdict: there will be no next time.

Under the note had been a dagger, intricately carved though it was not the decorations that caught the boy’s attention but the dried patches of blood as a more macabre adornment. Dispelling thoughts wondering whose it was as a particularly disturbing theory came to mind he reached for a towel. The stains remained stubborn but as rust red gave way to the knife’s original ivory a semblance of comfort was recovered in a heart already fractured. The ceremonial weapon had been tainted just like any other, for he knew the nature of the Volkovs was to seek power even if they had to claw their way to it and leave their mark upon any surface they touched. Feeling the dagger tremble between his fingers Hans couldn’t fathom how much raw anger and hatred those hands contained. They deserved no other fate but to die and burn in hell forever. Hans couldn’t let them bother Nikolai anymore.

Suddenly the dagger no longer looked as if it was meant purely for ritual, suddenly it looked so sickeningly inviting, suddenly it almost gleamed angelically under the sunlight. It was taunting him to grab it by the hilt, to feel its solemn weight in a tight fist, to tighten his muscles until all the anger concentrated into one blow, and to thrust it, the whole of the damn blade, deep into the back of that terrible, unrelenting shadow. Crumpled bodies strewn with crimson, even when they split their blood would not be warm. His hands clutched tighter until the uncertainty faded away, until the image formed in his mind without a shred of hesitancy, until he could almost swing it right then and there. He would bring it down with all the resoluteness in him. After all despite how rarely he felt it he knew that burning rage well when he did, could control it like a fire dancer with his flame. That blaze was strong, if only he could apply it, vengeance was the least of what he could do. He was willing to die for his brother, why wouldn’t he be willing to kill?

I haven't done the right thing for a long time, I sat by and let people suffer for years, but not that day. That day I stopped watching, I made a difference and I can't stop there. I have to do the right thing for those that need it. That need me.

Those words. After all the hurt he had been put through there was nothing Hans’ prince deserved more than justice. Nikolai had said it himself, but his had been directed at the wrong person. Hans hadn’t been doing the right thing for a long time; he had let fear overwhelm him, shielding him from recognising what now seemed a deed so obvious. He had sat by knowing his brother’s life was not yet entirely safe from threats, and despite painting himself as a protector he had never done anything of the sort. While he had not acted then today he too would stop watching, he had helped Nikolai burn down the remnants of his old life but he could not stop there. He had to do the right thing for those that need it. And he knew, if anyone needed him it was his foolishly courageous best friend. So why did he still feel the hideous chains holding him back? He had the love; what was he lacking?

Take it. You’re not scared, are you? I thought you were supposed to be fearless.

Why wouldn’t he? Slicing through his thoughts was the voice a boy far too young and far too naïve but all the same far too familiar. There was no more than cold judgment in his voice, and that obnoxious casualness as if this was all just another game. But perhaps somewhere that child knew that he could have, he would have, then he even thought he should have. There would be nothing sweet about it, but he would not be a murderer taking the life of an innocent. He would be facing a beast, and after all all the heroes are praised for taking their heads. There would be blood on his hands, dark, treacherous, inhuman blood and perhaps just like the blood on the dagger he would never be able to truly scrub it off, even if he washed his skin pink and raw. But it was duty, and if this was what he must do than he would do it, just like that, he would do it in a heartbeat if it meant his brother’s peace. He would do anything in a fucking heartbeat.

Nikolai, I’m scared.

What was that? How disgusting of an emotion fear was, yet how familiar it had become. Following him was the cries of a adolescent not much older though forced to age by the tyrannical fist of real life. He wanted to slap that ignorant child and tell him he was scared, still was, had always been, and that was the cold, hard truth so he had better accept it. That voice had always been at the back of his head ever since Nikolai left. But Hans was not afraid to bring down the blade and draw blood, he was not afraid to watch as the corpse cooled, he was afraid his heart would cool with it. He abhorred those monsters for their cruelness, yet if he was to be the one to end their lives he would only see another ghastly reflection in the mirror. Hans could have almost convinced himself every thought came from a place of love only, but how could he ever ask Nikolai to love him again if he became the one thing he hated the most?

Never. That thought shall not cross his mind again.

Please, this isn’t you. Delusion… Hans should dismiss it as merely the simple delusion of a child. Looking at the unconscious figure of he boy whom he treasured most, how could he? How could he have allowed more bloodshed, much less through his own hands? How could he have allowed more bloodshed, much less in the name of a boy who had already seen so much violence? Losing himself to it would be as treacherous as any other crime his brother had seen. Forget, forget you even thought about it.

Snap out of it.

That was no plea nor teary-eyed imploration. With all the conviction he could have mustered it was an damn order. There were far more important matters at hand for him to waste time engaging in debates of morality. Suddenly disoriented Hans would have stumbled if he had not been sat, yet still in a state far too panicked the boy grabbed to steady himself as the dagger fell to the floor with a clang that might as well have been thunder to his ears. "Professor!" he called, hands stretching for a hold as fingers finally clamped onto the man's arm. Releasing it sheepishly when he felt his own fingernails dig into flesh he let go a breath held too long. Unsteadily he attempted to reassure, "Sorry, I'm fine," while blindly searching for the cup of water too afraid to take his eyes off his brother anymore. After taking a large gulp Hans shook his head; the least they needed right now was for the focus to be on him when the toll was merely in his head.

Between the Volkovs and himself it was unclear who Hans was applying this to when he thought enough time had been wasted on those who were more wretch than person. While he could not doubt professor Albrecht’s skill it would have been cruel to have left Nikolai unattended to. After the two unsuccessfully attempts Hans couldn’t have the spell fail again, that was out of the question. There wasn’t even a stupid owl to deflect the blame onto this time. Pointing the tip of the wand at Nikolai’s chest, his left hand clamped down on the right when its trembling became an obnoxious obstacle, yet the tremor in a voice normally carrying such grand composure was not so easily suppressed. The only reason determination shone through apprehension was when Hans reminded himself time and time again that he could never live with himself if he fucked up something so simple yet so crucial. Followed by a beam of red light would come one clear incantation when his voice finally steadied, “Rennervate.”

It is often claimed that one’s life flashes before one’s own eyes as they are on the brink of death. Hans had never had one such experience, but it was the one of a loved one that flashed before his. When he had first met Vol’ka it was spring of this year and it was as if his dorm mate had been exchanged for a completely different person. Hans had rolled his eyes when he called his break time transformative. When he had first made conversation with him it was just after they burnt down his processions in a pyromaniac glee. Hans had introduced the bewildered pure-blood to science fiction. When he had first danced with him it was on the enchanted floors in London under mistletoe. Hans had asked him to pretend he was in a ballgown and twirl like a princess. When he had first cried to him it was only mere moments after, and they had no care for the rainfall above. Hans had delivered a long rant frenzied with pure happiness. And every memory told him how much Nikolai was not allowed to go. Not again. Not this time.

Perhaps harbouring the belief that sheer willpower was enough would make him naïve and as idealistic as the White Seeker, but young and inexperienced as he was Hans didn’t know any other healing charm, for unlike Albrecht and Romeo he could not cast Anapneo at his throat or rub dittany into his wounds. If sheer willpower was all he could do then he would do it without question, so feeling the desperate grasp still on him he knew that his brother was still there, and if Nikolai was still fighting, he couldn’t give up either.

Gently easing his arm out of Nikolai’s grasp Hans laced his fingers into his brothers, holding on as if there was nothing else in the world. Allowing his wand to slide out of his clasp, his free hand gingerly cupped one bruised cheek. Now as he closed his eyes tethering him to the world was nothing more than the hands he had locked himself onto, reality fading away once more just as it had in the dewy Autumn grass or under the pouring summer rain. There existed no other but him and Nikolai, and despite the dire situation Hans could almost lull himself into believing that there was peace when he saw the familiar scene behind shut eyelids. No one else was there but the early morning sun, sending sparkles across their dormitory as birds chirped keenly among the evergreens. He was not sat on the cold, hospital sheets tainted with the scent of disinfectant but the colourful duvet on a bed he knew well. Before him was not the comatose figure of his brother but one peacefully sleeping, fair face adorned with dancing shadows as his chest rose and fell steadily with the hint of a smile on his face, as if he was eating the most delightful ice cream sundae in his dreams. Their only company being the orchestra of fowl outside, there was no more of the medical wing’s clattering wheels or hurried footsteps, only quietude, and breaking that, a childlike impenitence of the resting boy’s best friend.

If his slothful prince will only open his eyes, he would see the shadow of a grin on a face that used to radiate with joy. Even in his slumber he would have heard wisps of Hans’ words, and the healthy, wonderful figure would press pillows over his ears and pretend to not have. Hans could delude himself into believing that today was a mere game just like any other as tender words slipped out off his tongue. The general of his prince’s conquests tried for the usual cocky over-confidence, but as his voice came off so shaky there was more pleading than annoyance, “Look, all the enemies are gone. They’ll never come back again. Because you saved the day, my Eisprinz, you always do, in fact you’re so fucking good at it it’s infuriating. But now I need you to wake up, okay? Or you won't have time to eat breakfast before class. Wake up, Nikolai, I can't survive history of magic without your jokes. I'm sure you don't need me to hex you, right?” Choking back tears he recalled how he had said the exact same words but in such a jubilantly lighter tone. Only weeks before everything had seemed to be so pristinely perfect, but even marble sculptures formed cracks. Yet in the warped version of his beckoning he still knew something for certain. Who was he kidding, he couldn’t survive anything without Nikolai.

Tilting his head upwards as Hans blinked tears out of raw eyes the illusion suddenly dissipated. He knew he shouldn’t have dwelled on what was merely wishful thinking and the fruit of imagination, but all the same he couldn’t bear look. The night when Nikolai had left he had said words the young boy refused to believe as truth, but if his brother truly thought he didn’t deserve Hans he could be damned, because Hans was certain there will be no more of sitting and waiting - he would cross even the most treacherous of rapids to bring him back to his side. Even in his insensate state Nikolai must have known himself, whatever Hans needed to do he would do it, so he had better wake up.

“…Come back to me, Nikolai. I love you. You know how much I love you.”

@Matthew Campbell as Nikolai Vol'ka, @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood as Valentin Schnell, @Emery Albrecht, @ Piérre Marchonné as Romeo Marchonné