To Fly Without a Broom PV Archer Duncan

Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

When not so hellbent on killing everyone, Hogwarts had its own charm.

It was a pity he could never see the school and the surrounding towns the same way again after the incident at Hogsmeade, after the painful silence in the cabins, after the campgrounds where Nikolai had left, but to heal, after all, was to accept and embrace. The architecture was reminiscent of the many castles dotting Germany, the woods not all too different from the ones of the institute, the people nicer than the trolls Meiyu deemed when you get to know them.

As positive as Hans was, he had one gripe: the weather, typically British, which translated to unpleasant, irksome, and utterly miserable. One would think the long and dreary winter nights of Durmstrang would train love for sunshine out of a person but it had only made the boy love it more on its rare appearances. Even in mid-January, as but a speck of light in the grey skies, Hans was blissfully thankful of his curtain-less dorm room as he basked in its rays. Summer was another matter entirely — summer, when their northern latitude meant even in June and September the days were still long and welcoming, and even in the early mornings, sunlight would seep through the leaves in the forests, leaving pools of golden on the ground. Here, however, Hans doubted these Scots would ever see sun; no wonder they were all so pale.

One of the locales on the school grounds he could reluctantly say he liked were the Viaduct, a path he had walked across before but only recently paid much attention to following the announcements of a race, which, being his speciality, he had readily signed up for. Ever with zealous extraversion, one sight Hans first sought out were people, the sweeping of robes, the whispers of conversation, the crinkle of laughter, all brought life to a place once only stones and ruins. A lone girl with streaks of blue highlights that caught his attention stood overlooking the waters below and of course, it was always Hans Jenssen’s business to be in someone else’s business, so crossing his arms over the railing as he followed her gaze Hans joined Avis.

“I hope you’re not thinking about jumping,” Hans said, tone smooth and comment offhand, indicating it was a mere jest. Of course it was, what stranger approaches another and announces suicidal intentions? Although most people would never know any better, the thoughts more than intrusive often graced further than just some arbitrary l’appel du vide. After all, in the world of a boy whose safety nets were built on control, there was no such thing as anything arbitrary. It was exactly the sort of thing one would dismiss as “just a joke” and dismissed it was he moved on with pleasantries, which the gathering clouds above seemed to have other opinions on.

“I’m Hans, how are you doing on this—” he looked up to the sky and half-grimaced, half-laughed, “On this absolutely wonderful day?”

banner by Matthew Campbell || interacting as Hans Jenssen

“It was like walking through cotton candy, except with sleet slipping through the cracks.”

Hans smiled at the simile, returning with his own wry grin.

Even though the events of last year were proof enough that life was not as dismissible as game, life was easier faced when it was one. Then all the blunders would have been forgotten at the end of the day, just a chess piece moved wrong or a card that should have been kept. After one match there would always be another, as long as you were tenacious enough to keep playing. Of course, even in a game, opponents can still flip the board over even after victory.

Yet what would victory have meant either, if it was all just a game?

“A game,” he said, following Avis as she hopped, “That’s fun.”

Glancing downwards Hans had never minded height. In fact he relished in being up with the clouds, feeling nothing but the wind in his hair and stinging at his eyes, and most of all he loved being on top of the whole world, feeling invincible to its earthly troubles. Stretching out into a vast Scottish expanse beneath him and the endless grey skies above, the viaduct seemed not the bridge between Hogwarts and its outside world but heaven and earth, offering him the view of flight yet still tethering his feet to the ground.

“So you come out here often?”

banner by Oonagh Brown || interacting as Hans Jenssen

The circle left in the wake of Avis’ skipping steps reminded him of games he used to play when he was a mere toddler in kindergarten. Not to take it as an offensive simile for its childish nature, Hans found the reminisces of sweet pure innocence a pleasures.

“Sarcasm,” Hans nudged gently when the blue-streaked girl did not seem to catch on as he raised his bro in return, waggishly showing off his ability to control a single one, an odd field that seemed to be far from Avis’ forte. “But rugby’s cool,” he agreed, lurching his back and leaning his head over the ledge as he tasted a morsel the landscape from upside-down, unperturbed by the perilous position for the scenery it offered. There Hans could no longer see any other students, not even the brightly Avis, his stimulation from her merely auditory, yet for once he did not feel the necessity to indulge himself in people.

Half present and half not as his new friend griped about Hogwarts’ lack of protection from the winter elements Hans decided he quite enjoyed the stark winter months at Durmstrang, where no matter how far he stretched his eyes into the distance, all that was returned were only miles of pristine, uncontaminated snow. Though living towards the north of Germany the Laplands proved a large leap from his temperate home, his thoughts prior of never adjusting to the temperature, the sun-kissed Hans himself found a cool solace in the bitter frigidity of Durmstrang.

Following the Institute’s stereotype of reckless daredevils Hans grinned devilishly at the mention of the dare, a swim in the depths of winter. Not to be taken for an absentminded gesture of indifferent acknowledgement, he waved his hand, encouraging Avis to elaborate on the story as he observed the setting where it took place from above, comfortably nestled between nooks in the railing.

Soon though they would not be alone, and Hans figured a girl so attuned to the heights would have found interest in the upcoming event. “Do you fly, by any chance? Word of mouth tells me there might be a race held here soon.”

banner by Oonagh Brown || interacting as Hans Jenssen

Hans felt the distance close between them as Avis seemed to have grown concerned at his reckless pose. He did not much believe she would have enough strength to do so, nor did the stones between him and that eternity long drop seem much more reassuring, but even if she did not Hans had enough trust in himself to keep his own body safe. Somedays, he wondered if this trust was misplaced, even more stressed by his attendance at yet another Hogwarts event. Though he knew he ought not linger on such dark topics once more a flash of the “Pyre”’s fires flashed into his mind. Screams. Chaos. Nik.

Grin and move the conversation on; his mind could have used it.

As he saw Avis biting back a smirk at the moment of hesitation, he knew it was going to be something good, yet her explanation seemed to have fallen flat. “The lake is off limits?” Hans repeated in surprise. That would have been absolute heresy at Durmstrang, not only going against its traditions but probably the seed for sparking a student revolution. “God, Hogwarts must be the school equivalent of having helicopter parents.” It would not be quite accurate to say that he did, often they were more of a paradoxical rollercoaster between such and allowing him a more or less latchkey childhood from their busy careers. Having experienced both sides of the coin, however, Hans could say he much preferred the latter. Once more, thank Stribog he did not attend this school.

Hans shrugged disappointedly when Avis adamantly refused the thought of flying, moving away from him as if he may swoop her off on his broom any second and send her spiralling into the unknown below. He chuckled at the meagre argument she provided and the hand movements along with it, as if he was a child not even in kindergarten, then slowly with large gesticulations feigning a mixture of shock and confusion, he exaggerated, “Oh my God! I have never thought about it like that before. It’s a stick! What’s a stick?” Laughing slightly he shook his head, “No, Avis, I do realise it’s a stick —” poofing his hands before him in some faux enchanted gestures he continued with no serious at all, “But it’s a magical stick, and that makes all the difference.”

“I'm just not very good at flying.”

Now that was no attitude she ought to have, was it now? Hearing her story about her sister’s imaginary aviator endeavours Hans asked casually, “You’re muggle-born, I assume?” Quickly folding back he found it unfortunate that he had to add such a disclaimer, “Not that it matters. I was raised pretty much without magic myself, but you’ll get used to it.” Pausing in thought he placed one hand on Avis’ shoulder before turning towards the entrance to Hogwarts’ grounds, where the school brooms were stored. “You wait here, I’ll go get two brooms for us — at least try?”

Soon, he would return with two very magical sticks in each hand, and outstretch his hands, hoping Avis would take one and join him in what he was now taking to be his pre-race warm up.

banner by Oonagh Brown || interacting as Hans Jenssen

Since yonder in humanity, what had been more coveted than flight?

From the dreams of Icarus to the sketches of Da Vinci; from the Wright brother’s first flight to the abundance and normalcy of aeroplanes today — he had not always been well versed in history but he didn’t need the facts to know how much he relished in the strong, swinging arms of his dad, pretending he could fly. After all those years, after all those millennia of dreaming for flight everyone deserved to feel the real thing.

Ever since his opa had first told him of brooms actually being able to fly it was love at first sight at the notion, To feel the wind tousling his hair, stinging his face, for the horizon line to seem so close and tangible, dreaming of flying into the distant woods and never returning to civilisation — it was by far the most magical thing he had ever expereicned in this world fuelled by wizardry. He still remembered the all-consuming excitement that had grabbed him by the neck at his first broom, only a Nimbus 1700 but one that had served him well in his racing. Of course, his Silver Arrow need not be described by words.

Hans wondered if Avis would truly wait for his return. If not, well, that proved her as someone he would not befriend in the frist place. He was pragmatic enough to understand his efforts as a failed interaction, but also indifferent enough to move on without a further thought and seek for more in this sea with endless fish. He grinned, however, when he saw a flash of highlight blue amongst the dull greys and browns of Hogwarts, everyone dreadfully blending into each other under the storm cloud ridden sky. She was already far less of a chicken (and of a fox) than certain other students here; the next step was only to show her the fun.

“Avis!” Hans shouted as he waved dual brooms in the air, the quality of Hogwarts' school issued equipment feeling flimsy in his hand compared to Durmstrang's supply but he was fairly confident the stick would hold, for today at least. He weighed the two in his hands, chose the one that seemed sturdier for his heavier body weight, and extended the other out in one hand towards Avis. “Here you go,” he offered, hoping that the girl would take it and join him. After all, she had to make the wait worth something, and they had come far already. She didn't particularly seem like the kind of person to back down, either.

“So,” Hans began, clearing his throat, “I assume Hogwarts would have taught you how to mount and all that, right?” He called for his broom to go up and secured it floating in the air. Giving it a test as he eased himself onto the handle he swung over the other leg into position. If Avis was ready enough, he would encourage her to follow and if not, well he supposed a demonstration was enough. Either way, he would ask, “Ready?”