Night One PV

Matthew was never the best of sleepers but recently he had gone from bad to worse, anxieties wracking at his brain keeping him stagnated in a barrage of crappy thoughts never quieting no matter what he tried. Still he found himself gently sitting up against his pillow soundless as to not wake his roommate and procured two journals from his backpack both worn but one teetered on the edge of being literal trash. Writing was an act of sensibility for the boy, when nothing around him made sense it helped to use the written word to find awareness and respond to his emotional complexities.

Yet when he opened the diary for recent sprawling's his words brought a chilling fear to him. So much resentment and anger had flooded from him in recent days he hardly recognised as his own, there was a darkness to the passages that felt unfamiliar but it was there clear as day in his neat handwriting. Twisted words in elegant penmanship. The words stuck to him in his throat and on his skin burrowing in snuffing out the light with their pain, a pain he had wrote and wished to inflict.

It made him feel ill and all the same he wasn't sure he didn't believe it all deep down, after all something had summoned these words to his hand, demons he didn't see himself capable of possessing made permanent in ink. Suddenly the world felt very small and walls closed in with alarm, the boy couldn't breath, he needed air, he needed anything but to be here. With strangled breath he managed to incant "Wingardium Leviosa" for what felt like the hundredth time this day and floated the chest as delicately as possible away from the door just enough to squeeze through. "Scourgify" was next, barely a whisper of voice, banishing whatever powder Gideon had laid on their floor, but only where he needed to step. Clearly he expected retaliation for their act and it would hardly be surprising when it came.

Finally unlocking the door with a near silent "Alohomora" he slipped his slim frame through the crack and locked the door behind him with a practiced "Colloportus" hoping he wouldn't wake Giddy with his melodrama. It was the last thing anyone needed at the minute. As soon as he was out in the corridor he would make a beeline for the outer cabin grasping at the very air itself to fill his lungs and offer him reprieve but truly he needed something else more. Matthew needed the stars.

When the cabin doors fell open and the starry expanse filled the French sky with Pyrenees shadows as a backdrop and a stunning full moon his lungs finally obeyed his wishes once more. Slouching down against a side wall he positioned himself to watch the endless swirling cosmic ocean above him. "No matter where you are, and where I am we're always under the same stars. Always under her watch and protection." His father's voice was soothing making him feel five years old again under it's feathery quality, light and weightless and floating high above. Even miles away he would always be his guiding star, for the truth didn't really lie in those pages, it lay in the supporting embrace of his father.

For a while he would sit there watching as the world went by and the constellations took form until someone appeared or drowsiness sought him out. Returning the same way he came with the same silent grace if left undisturbed.

@Winnie Harper | @Mathias Pride | @Bubba McGarry | @Aamon Athanatos
@Nabi Park | @Avis Marlong | @Gideon Athanatos

Avis would probably have been the first to retire for the night. The long journey plus her chaotic cabin plus the need for socialization had left her wiped out. So she had retired early, slipping into a cool bed, oblivious to the danger involved in sleeping in it.

It had always been easy for Avis to fall asleep. Easy for her to drift off, and shut down her mind. But not in a new place. It always took a couple of nights for her to get used to a new bed, a new room, and new sounds. And this place wasn't helping. It was too light. It was pretty, the walls, the light. But it was light nonetheless. And light was for the day. During the night, it ought to be pitch black. And so that was why she couldn't sleep. That was what she told herself.

In reality, it wasn't the light, it was a mixture of the new place and her thoughts. Even as the rest of the cabin fell silent as the night wore on, Avis' mind whirled, reimagining and reliving the day over and over again, trying to connect the dots that she knew connected somehow, but just didn't know why.

If you close your eyes long enough, if you force them out of focus beneath your eyelids in the hope it’ll make you sleep, the slivers of light begin to swirl. A slow, kaleidoscope galaxy of smudges. Avis lay flat, stacking her feet on top of each other and then around and on top again, watching as the smudges took shape in her mind.

There was nothing inherently bad about the smudges. Unlike probably Aamon, they weren't minutes away from killing her. They weren't hallucinations (probably), just a result of tired eyes and a wide-awake mind. And a reminder that sleep was not coming, no matter how much Avis wished it to be so.

She tried breathing. She tried relaxing her muscles, "sinking into the bed," closing her eyes and listening. Which did nothing except make her more paranoid. Of the little sounds of the night. The spaces between them. The possibility of something breaking through. Matthew was fine, she had seen him at the tea party with Nabi, but his screams. His screams from earlier that day.

Her listening didn't exactly help her sleep, but it did help with one thing.

Hearing the footsteps in the hall.

Great. Just what they needed. A midnight wanderer.

She slipped out of her bed and stole out her bedroom door. Slipping down the corridor after the figure she barely made out to be Matthew, she followed him to the cabin door, hovering just inside it.

She stood there, silently breathing, for a moment, before making her way across the front to him, her bare feet tickling against the soft ground and she let her steps be just loud enough to be noticed, just quiet enough to feel like a ghost moving through the night. She shrank down the wall next to him, absentmindedly scratching harshly at her arms. Matthew was muggleborn, she thought she knew that much, at least. And Avis hadn't interacted much with other muggleborns. Or at least ones she knew about. "Do you ever feel like this is all a dream?" she muttered, voice soft, "A whole world that most people have no idea exists."

A pause. Then, quieter,

"So why do I get to be a part of it?"

@Matthew Cambell

Soft feet drifted along the grass bending around them with the softest of noises as Avis made her way towards him and slunk down the wall side by side. He didn't look at her directly not at first mind too adrift in the constellations above him. How the stars swirled and wove between the purple and black threads of the galaxy accenting then with freckles of dazzling light. A view he could never grow old of in a millennia.

Voice as soft as the grass underfoot Avis spoke with a whistful kind of questioning meant for the ears of someone who might understand her unique experience. Matthew wasn't sure how many muggleborns there were in Hogwarts but they always seemed a rarity for the most part. Too infrequent to congregate any kind of substantial allegiance against the pureblood brood that caused him so much grievance.

Quieter words then whispered a final question. A kind of self doubting he was all too used to, a question surely all muggleborns inevitably ask themselves. Before he spoke he would offer her a kind sorrowful smile, telling of his understanding but measuring that his response would not fully answer her question. Then with a small sigh into the fresh open air he said, "I felt that way my entire first year, and I suppose I'm sorry to say I still do."

Bringing his knees to his chest he hugged them right resting his chin upon them angled slightly so he could take in the view if the blue streaked girl before him. His voice attempted reassurance but still remained slightly sad as he continued, "Sometimes I think they're right, that this isn't meant for us. Not because of blood purity or any of that daft crap but because of how it isolates us. I go home and it's like a massive part of my life has to remain completely hidden, like I've discovered exactly who I was always meant to be but I can't reveal it. It's difficult."

With a slight pause he lifted his finger mapping the constellations with it, "Gideon asked me about fate earlier and I told him that I believed in it, and I do. But I guess I wonder if fate is a gift or a curse. Do you ever wonder if you'd have been better off not knowing? There are so many things that magic can help with and I go back to our world and I can't use it to. Sometimes I think it would've been easier not knowing." With that his entire face weighed with a dense burden that stole the gold flecks from his eyes and turned them dark.

Matthew had experienced this conversation in his mind hundreds if not thousands of times but somehow vocalising it felt differently. With all the drama and worries of the day he found himself nervous about being judged by the younger girl, but if anyone was likely to understand it would be her. If she didn't, at the very least he'd still have the stars.

Interacting with @Avis Marlong

Avis traced a path in the grass around her foot, pulling it around and back, around and back. There was something about the repetition, the cool grass sweeping across her hot fingers, that calmed her, kept her grounded. And so she traced. Matthew smiled at her, help in his expression but sorrow in his eyes. Which was not necessarily helpful.

Avis appreciated the honesty, even though she had been hoping for an "it gets better," or a "you'll get over it soon." Now she just had an long stretch of uncertainty. "Sometimes I think they're right, that this isn't meant for us. Not because of blood purity or any of that daft crap but because of how it isolates us. I go home and it's like a massive part of my life has to remain completely hidden, like I've discovered exactly who I was always meant to be but I can't reveal it. It's difficult."

Avis allowed the silence to stretch, to fill the distance between her and Matthew, flicking her eyes up to meet his before averting them, focusing yet again on her hands, for a moment hesitantly wondering if they were redder than usual. "My friend's mum died of cancer." The words came quietly, barely a whisper in the night. Avis harshly slammed her palm down flat against the grass, letting the moonlit blades scrape against her skin. It had been...impossible for Maria, in the months that followed, impossible for Daniel. And yet with a wave of a wand a wizard could have fixed it all.

After a deep breath, her demeanor changed, and she straightened, lips twisted into a humorless smile. "What I would give for some electricity, some email." Then she quickly sobering, eyes falling. "What I would give to have known about magic, to have been able to save her. It's like I’m a bridge between two worlds that either need to be connected or severed entirely. Like everything could work—except for the in-between."

Pushing against the grass, she spun herself on the wall, until she was sideways and could tilt her head against the wall and close her eyes a moment."I don't believe in fate. I think that even though God knows what we will do - even if the Seers know exactly what path we are going to take, we still have the choice in the matter. But I don't think it's by chance, either. There is a reason for every choice we have to make.

Her fingers resumed their slow tracing. Around and back. Around and back.

“And yeah, sometimes I wish I could go back to my old world. Escape the problems. Aamon’s problems. Gideon’s. The purebloods who hate me just for existing.”

Her tracing slowed, the motion faltering. Then, steadied.

"But if I left... I wouldn’t have even had the chance to help Aamon. Or to try, at least. Everything I’ve done here—everything I’ve been—I’d have never had that."

Around and back. Around and back.

@Matthew Campbell

Aamon had the bedroom to himself. Bubba McGarry had decided for whatever reason to sleep out in the common area. A rather exaggerated reaction to seeing a strange boy fart in his roomates bed. He wondered if that was a common decision among muggle born wizards.

Perhaps it was luck. Perhaps it was some sort of powerful foresight that told the Ravenclaw that something was off. Bubba would avoid contact with the caustic dried leaves that were scattered over his bed. As for Aamon, he made an effort to protect himself from Matthew's gaseous mayhem, unaware of the seeds of disaster spread throughout his room.

He did change his sheets and his comforter, but that was not enough. The flakes of poison ivy were like organic glitter. It got everywhere. His hands were exposed the most, his bare fingers pulling at the sheets., crumpling them into a large ball. His forearms did not fare much better, exposed when he embraced the pile of bedlinens and carried them off to the hamper. He should have carried the linens in outstretched arms, but rather he clumsily carried the linens, held tightly to his body. He was not shirtless, but his neck and side of face were mildly exposed.

It would be hours before the symptoms emerged. The tea party was unaffected by Matthew's villainous efforts. He would be oblivious to the betrayal until well into the night. Alone in his warm bed in a cool, quiet room, Aamon would fade off into a wonderous sleep. He would dream he was one of the fish in the tanks, exploring his french aquatic kingdom. That is until he felt restless.

His arm itched.

The back of his hand itched.

His neck itched.

Aamon would flip restlessly in bed. Slipping out of his button gown sleep shirt, the house elves obviously did not use enough softener. Tiny particles of stubborn ivy remained, now entrenched in the fresh linens.

It would be well into the night before Aamon would finally slip from his bed. With a great, itchy yawn and meander into the common area. He needed to find something to soothe his skin, something was wrong, he just could not determine what in his half sleeping state. Bubba possibly awakened by Aamon's passage, the snake made no attempt to rouse him as he padded towards the ice box and started to rummage for something.

In Aamon's half dream-like state, he did not put great thought into his actions as he impulsively grabbed a large jar of mayonnaise and unscrewed the lid. His hand dipped into the jar and he extracted a generous sum of mayo and started to slather his upper torso.

Stilling as the silence was broken air heavy and constricting with her words he couldn't help but draw a deep inhale of breath and look over to her with deeply sorrowful eyes. In an instant his hand was on her shoulder completely unintentionally but understandably important as soon as it settled. Removing it almost as quickly when she switched subjects under a humourless smile his mind warred on what to do, but as she continued he found it returning a comforting squeeze as she shared with him a part of herself.

Matthew wouldn't interject at all during her revelations and thoughts unwilling to break the stream of consciousness. The young snake hadn't had such a frank conversation with someone who so fully understood in a long time and it highlighted the importance of each sentence. The isolation of it all eased ever so slightly under their shared suffering, not that it brought him any real comfort but at least he was not so alone. Avis was experiencing the same troubles he had last year and as unfortunate as it was systematic hate was a disease that unless fully cured would devastatingly reinfect. Even when cured it had the power to resurface. The battle was bigger than both of them.

As she begun to speak of Aamon Matthew couldn't help but wonder over their history. They had been sat together earlier when everyone arrived but he thought that simply a matter of them being the same year, perhaps sharing a class together but no, they seemed to know each other more. Hopefully at the very least Aamon hadn't subjected her to his wild beliefs about he and Nabi, that would be mortifying.

When he finally spoke Matthew nudged the girls shoulder getting her to look at him as he removed the ring from his finger and taking her hand in his own placed it within her grasp. Watching as the twinkling starlight illuminated the amber sparkling it under moonlight's soft touch his voice took on some of that etherealness, "I can't tell you how sorry I am Avis. This ring was my mother's she died too so I know your pain all too well. I was born with it-" Hesitating for a second before shaking his head lightly and deciding on a new course.

Attempting to pull her into a small side embrace if she would allow he continued, "As someone who's been through everything you're feeling I want to tell you that the anger is natural, but it isn't healthy. I can't tell you the amount of times I've been consumed by it-" Like this very morning, "-But it turns us into people we don't want to be. Sometimes you can't help it, knowing we could do more now is so painful and it's easy to blame the wizarding world for not helping people but sometimes death just happens. No matter what we do." However the girl would react he would let a beat rest between them. A moment for the air to fill his lungs again, then taking the ring back and placing it upon his finger once more, he continued his voice timid not wanting to offend her beliefs, "I never believed in God, nor magic really I guess because for a long time the world seemed so imperfect it hurt to believe there were forces that could help but didn't and now that I know magic's real I don't know how to reason with the fact there are but they don't. It's a burden we carry every day and it separates us from them, but you're right about one thing. The one thing we can do is choose how we react, and what we do and personally this year I've been trying to live that way in remembrance of my mum, of all those that can't."

The entire conversation was daunting and his eyes welled slightly under the pressure of tears but he did his best to not cry. Not for the perceived lack of masculinity it was deemed or in some kind of performance to the girl that he wasn't upset, but because Holly wouldn't want him to and he knew that deep down. It was the anchor that kept him steady when all the world was a storm. Bringing a soft smile to his face despite the hurt. Then leaning back and letting his legs fall once more to the ground he said, "So tell me how you and Aamon met, a muggleborn coming to his rescue is most definitely a story I need to hear." Attempting to be lighter despite the heaviness of their grief.

Interacting with @Avis Marlong

Interacting: @Mathias Pride

Outfit: ✿

Mentioning: @

English | Irish | Internal thoughts

The wind roared against Winnie's ears as her stiff body dangled at the top of the owlery. Hair whipped around her face like tiny razer blades cutting into her skin. She did not move, she could not move, her entire body was paralyzed.

It always was during her dreams.

At least she was herself this time, sometimes she remembered seeing paws but that didn't seem quite right... She was a person, not a dog.

'You should’ve been grateful,' the voice was distorted, almost distant, as if spoken under water, 'I gave you a chance. A way out. And you spat on it.'

The monster's shape was a shadow against the twinkling light of the night sky. His form was twisted; his bones protruding at odd angles, his thin body stretched out, the skin of his face cracked and chipping away, like broken porcelain.

Then, her stomach dropped. The wind in her ears begin to scream.

Wake up.

As her body sliced through the air it felt like it was on fire, as if tiny parasites were burrowing beneath her skin.

Wake up.

She wanted to rip herself open but she still couldn't move.

Wake up.

The world around her was spinning—

WAKE UP.

The redhead jolted awake, copper hair sticking to her sweat-slick face as she gasped for air.

Calm down, she told herself, but her breath came too quickly, her breathing too shallow, it was just a dream.

There was warmth next to her and she blinked the sleep out of her eyes rapidly so she could see the source. Her shoulders relaxed. Mathias. She was next to him, in France, not laying broken at the base of the Owlery.

She swallowed hard, closing her eyes as she tried to soothe herself. It wasn't real, you're not feeling, there's nothing wrong with your skin. Wait, her skin. Why did it still feel like it was on fire? No, not on fire...

Itchy. It seemed localized to her arms and legs, which were notably not covered by her pink pajamas; a tank top and shorts set with a cute heart design. Upon closer inspection it looked like she had a rash, red and raised. It was familiar after a childhood spent roaming the fields and surrounding areas of her family's farm; poison ivy.

She groaned and slid out of her bed, now fully decked out in pink sheets, fluffy pillows, and soft comforters. She walked towards her trunk and flipping it open. She had a muggle first aid kit somewhere in there and she intended to find the calamine lotion before she scratched herself raw.

_{Banner by Miss Haven Bohannon}

| Note: Thoughts, Speech |

Nabi read a small book— filled with poems. Having had a rather eventful afternoon, the silence in the room was welcomed. She hoped to avoid Aamon who seemed to have plagued her thoughts lately.

The cabin grew silent as everyone retired for their beds— oblivious to what was to come. Her eyes grew heavy with sleep as she placed her book to the side and turned off the candle on her bedside.

________________

It is said that ghouls roam during the witching hour— whispering to those willing to listen.

Hm.

Nabi's eyes fluttered open. It was late. The wooden ceiling was visible in the soft greenish glow emitted by the coral reef windows, and the shadows from the fish danced. The room was almost dreamlike. There was a faint tune somewhere in the cabin, and it appeared as though the shadows moved to the melody. A small smile appeared as she watched the shadows move before quietly sitting up in bed and gently rubbing her eyes, What time is it... She yawned softly and squinted her eyes, Avis' bed was empty.

She must be restless...

Nabi hummed softly, scratching her right wrist calmly; oblivious to the mild reaction to some poison ivy left on her bed. There was a soft sound of footsteps and someone rummaging for something, causing her to crawl out of bed. Her nightgown was long, making her appear like a ghoul from a horror film. Who could it be at this hour?

Careful not to make noise, she stepped out into the hallway. The itch on her hand began to burn slightly, and she finally looked down, confused. Her hand, once devoid of color, had a hue of pink. There was no visible cut to suggest she had accidentally injured herself in her sleep. Tilting her head, she scratched the itch again. Could it have been a new soap? Perhaps the house elves in this school cleaned the bedding with a weird soap...

Curse her sensitive skin.

Nabi began to walk down the hallway, unsure of where the room of the adult in charge was. She stopped at one of the doors and knocked softly, whispering to avoid raising anyone else from their slumber.

"Excuse me... Professor?...my hand is itchy..."

As Matthew placed his hand on her shoulder, Avis originally tensed at the touch, her shoulder pulling in defensively, but she closed her eyes, and eventually trust flooded through her and she relaxed under his touch. She probably shouldn't have trusted him, as evidenced by the unconscious scratching of her ankle she was doing. But it was really itchy. Why on earth was it itchy? So was her arm. And her other arm. She switched to scratching at both of her arms, whilst glaring at her ankle as if the heat of her glare would scratch it. Unfortunately, no matter how intense her stare, it did not have fingers.

She didn't look at him as he spoke. She couldn't. She couldn't give him that power. But she allowed him to pull her into a small embrace, a choice probably not in his best interest considering there was still ivy powder on her clothes, but that was to be dealt with another time. Potentially by burning.

She leaned into him as if to comfort him, but selfishly to comfort herself. His grief weighed heavier than hers, stronger. As if they were both drowning over this but she was in a river of guilt and he was in the middle of the ocean of anger. That was what it was - guilt. Guilt knowing that Avis could have saved Maria's mum, if only she were just a few years older.
Guilt that she got to come live in this world while Alaina and Maria were still stuck in Boringsville, England.

"As someone who's been through everything you're feeling I want to tell you that the anger is natural, but it isn't healthy. I can't tell you the amount of times I've been consumed by it...But it turns us into people we don't want to be. Sometimes you can't help it, knowing we could do more now is so painful and it's easy to blame the wizarding world for not helping people but sometimes death just happens. No matter what we do."

"But there's a difference," Avis whispered, her words like dandelion seeds, blowing away in the wind. "A difference between no matter what we do, and doing nothing." But she still took a deep shuddering breath, trying to exhale the bitterness, the anger he was talking about. And switching her scratching, her ankle was now on fire and screaming at her more than her arms. She tried to be subtle, tried to slide her hand down, barely noticeable in the dark night, scratching with small, circular movements.

"I never believed in God, nor magic really I guess because for a long time the world seemed so imperfect it hurt to believe there were forces that could help but didn't and now that I know magic's real I don't know how to reason with the fact there are but they don't. It's a burden we carry every day and it separates us from them, but you're right about one thing. The one thing we can do is choose how we react, and what we do and personally this year I've been trying to live that way in remembrance of my mum, of all those that can't."

He didn’t believe in God? Huh.

No matter how hard life had been, Avis had always had faith—an anchor in the storm, a boat that pulled her through the worst of it. And he never had that. He never had that. Her empathy for him swelled tenfold.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

If he would let her, she would slip in front of him, offering a true, steady embrace—one that said, You’re not alone. Sabrina would be jealous.

"I get it," she said softly. "The world is broken. But there can’t be both perfection and a choice. If God forced goodness, forced people to care, to act, to do what’s right—then it wouldn’t be love at all. Love has to be a choice. I guess it's the same with magic. The wizards can't fully help muggles without controlling them. But at least they could do something."

She hesitated, searching his face. "I think your mum would be proud of you."

She (potentially) pulled out of her hug, as the itching had reached a new level. What was wrong with her? Her legs burned, her arms were on fire, and she really needed to get back to itching. And glaring. What in holden's name was wrong with her right now. Her legs were on fire. Her arms were on fire, and she didn't have enough hands to scratch them all.

"So tell me how you and Aamon met, a muggleborn coming to his rescue is most definitely a story I need to hear." Avis heard the desperation, the need to get out of this dark conversation, and she gladly accepted the offer. "Aamon managed to sever his hand...and I found him near the hospital wing. Then, obviously, I had to go ask him what happened, and I was pushed down the stairs. He took me to Winnie, she healed me - Mathias was there too.- Then I found him again." She hesitated. She wasn't about to tell him what had happened that time. She had learned her lesson last time she tried that. "His life is hard, and his brothers don't help." She tried to focus, as the itching persisted like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

@Matthew Campbell