Entschuldigung
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 seine angst ist meine engst, seine wut ist meine wut seine liebe ist meine liebe, summary, this thread is happening on SEPTEMBER 15TH, 2025, in the EVENING with @CAMILLE DE VARENNE / wc: 795. After such a horrible train ride back to school dealing with children and an irritating Gryffindor heiress, Harlan hadn't the capacity to be fully present during the sorting hat despite this being the very first one he attended purely as an observer. It was fascinating to see how excited some of the others caught in welcoming the first years into the house, specifically the other lions who sometimes let out a roar in retort to a Gryffindor placement.
It had taken the entire Summer for Harlan's family to convince him to take the advancement exam and return to Hogwarts after the incident at the Athanatos wedding. It was his sister's reminder that the only way to truly conquer something was to understand it and Hogwarts would be the best place to learn more. There were others who had attended the wedding there, including professors, and a restricted section to explore on ancient runes and other magicks involving possession. Through that logic, Harlan had decided to return back to school carrying the specter of trauma and a re-fractured mind to heal. How much more cursed could Harlan be? What fucking else would life have in store for him? At least he was now a fourth year and he was ready to fill his arsenal full of spells to protect himself and others if he ever found himself in another circumstance that called for it. " DE VARENNE, CAMILLE. " The Sorting Hat called out loudly cutting through the chatter of the Gryffindor's mind as he directed his gaze towards the front of the Great Hall. Camille was at Hogwarts now? He always expected the other to go to Beaubaxtons' because he was French but there were always exceptions. It'd been years since he saw the kid, raven hair and slim frame looked like the boy he knew and spent many weddings and family parties hanging out with. He was always quite domineering for someone four years younger than him, but Harlan was always taught to be pleasant and polite, especially to the De Varenne's who were much higher in prestige and status than his own family. " RAVENCLAW! " Not nearly a surprise but Harlan did wonder if the hat might've also considered Slytherin. He'd have to go tell him hello when there was a moment to, they'd spent a lot of time in their childhood together since their siblings were so much older than the both of them. A slight smile cracked onto Harlan's fractured exterior at the thought of Camille's sister, she must've been a full adult these days. He remembered telling Harlow he was going to marry her one day before she gave him a proper slap right to the back of his head, no nine year old should be staying things like that. While drowning in his stream of consciousness, the fourth year heard the headmaster allowing the dinner to begin now that the procession of sorting had concluded. Picking at some of the food in the table, Harlan engaged in some surface level conversation until they were properly dismissed and he tried to catch the newly minted Ravenclaw before he left for their tower but the prefects kept them on a swift time table in the first escort. It wasn't a high priority the next week to find Camille but as he came and went to eat, he'd simply scan the nest for the Frenchmen with no luck until dinnertime weeks later where Harlan caught a glimpse of the kid walking in to the table. Did he just tap the boy on the shoulder? Was that weird? Harlan decided it wasn't worth putting too much thought into it and finished his food slowly before decidingly to look for some of his favorite seventh year Ravenclaws on the table while checking if Camille was still having dinner. There was no luck on catching Dealla, one of the terrors of the broom racing tracks but there sat Camille talking to a couple of his housemates looking like a proper first year student. It was so strange to see him here now, older, as though Harlan hadn't shot up a foot since the last time they had seen each other. " Camille De Varenne, you better stand up and give an old friend a hug before I just lift you up off the table myself. " Pleasantries be damned and despite being almost certain that Camille might hate that type of greeting, that felt like the proper thing after years of not seeing each other. " It's Harlan, Montgomery? We used to be wrangled together for all kinds of wedding and parties with our families. " He'd offer the introduction too, in case the other forgot or couldn't see the little kid he was friends within his face after all these years. |
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Last edited by Harlan Montgomery on 4 Nov 2025, 18:34, edited 2 times in total.
Entschuldigung
| C | date: 15th September, 2025 location: Great Hall |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Harlan Montgomery |
C |
| CV | Listening idly, albeit looking perfectly attuned to the conversation about Muggle technology, Camille sat by the Ravenclaw table, entertaining a few girls of his house. Most of the information said between them passed him by completely. Once in a while, between well-timed inquiries, his gaze wandered to the Slytherin table, hoping to spot Esme among the first years. Ever since their last encounter, Camille had begun to doubt the Sorting Hat’s judgment—Ravenclaw’s cleverness and curiosity were all well and good, he supposed, but where, he wondered, was the refinement, the elegance, the company worth engaging with? He had little patience for the drivel of Slytherins either; he’d been cornered and threatened by that foolish dimwit in broad daylight. It was insane to him, how they’d put a wand in the hands of the most unhinged scum of the earth these days. A light scowl grazed his lips as he wondered how he'd survive the rest of term. Dinner in the Great Hall was never the highlight of his day. The English cuisine was a far cry from the French food he was used to, and he did not want to lower his standards just for the sake of convenience. The scent of roast beef mixed with treacle tart did little to whet his appetite, and he poked at the barely-touched food on his plate, not noticing that someone had snuck up on him before it was too late. “Camille De Varenne, you better stand up and give an old friend a hug before I just lift you up off the table myself. “ The clearly familiar— only older and more mature— voice pierced the air between him and whatever lackluster conversation he’d been dragged into. Perhaps a blessing in disguise, if the prospect of being publicly hoisted in front of the majority of the student body weren’t too mortifying to even consider. Posture so stiff he could have balanced a knife on his head, Camille snapped around to stare at the upperclassman like deer caught in headlights, hazel eyes boring into the face of an old family friend. Harlan Montgomery. Camille wondered why he was here at Hogwarts, and not Durmstrang. Wasn’t he German? His gaze dropped pointedly down to his red robes, a discovery that made more sense than his participation. Nothing else than the house of Gryffindor would have suited the jungle man, a creative nickname Camille had invented for the adventurous (read: foolish) boy who had had a knack for getting himself into trouble. At least he remembered him getting into fights back then. Harlan was, of course, far more refined than someone swinging from lianas in a loincloth, yet the image was far too accurate to his imaginative child brain. Despite himself and the years passed, it was still hilarious. He reminded him of who he was, if he had managed to forget. Camille remembered him without the reminder, albeit vaguely. The memory of those weddings and birthday parties of mutual family friends was distant fog, having been no older than eight or seven at the latest—yet close enough for him to recall plenty of embarrassing facts about the older boy, mementos preserved in the hopes that one day, he might get to tease him about them. At least one of them, the most important, for potential blackmail purposes. Granted, everyone and their mother knew at the time that Harlan had been hopelessly infatuated with his sister, Beatrice. That had been a courting doomed to fail from the start; his sister was far too old to take any romantic interest in him. Even now, when he’d grown a foot in height, and added some width to his overall frame, he was still way too young to be considered eligible. He looked athletic for his age, probably had turned out to be one of those quidditch jocks that took an unreasonable amount of pride in being able to ride a piece of wood. Harlan would have made a decent Tarzan now, he couldn’t help but muse to himself. The years passed had worked in his favor, as much as Camille would have hated to admit it aloud. Hence, he didn’t. He had more burning matters to address, namely the looming threat to be thrown like a rag over someone’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t dare,” he warned dangerously, narrowing his eyes at him. That, if anything, must have spoken of recognition. A stupid dare to present a Gryffindor. He didn’t have time to disarm the threat—or even offer a normal hug (which would have been far less humiliating)—before Harlan grabbed him by the waist and lifted him clean off his seat. All of his composure drained of his expression in an instant. Rendered utterly useless, Camille clutched at the Gryffindor’s robes in case he suddenly decided to drop him, darting panicked glances around the room. Everywhere he looked, eyes were on him—some giggling, some whispering, no doubt making fun of him. Even the girls he’d been discussing muggle phones with looked up at him, their once-admiring expression had turned into amusement, stifling laughter behind the palms of their hands. Camille could only pray that Esme, Rosaline or even Maisie— though the crazy Hufflepuff might have found it entertaining— weren’t paying enough attention. His face burned hotter than dragonfire. Desperately, he resisted the urge to bury his face in Harlan’s shoulder— humiliation enough without that— or start flailing his fists in every direction, which would have been even less dignified. “Fine!” He hissed in his ear, still bewildered to have found himself in this kind of position. “Obviously I remember who you are. You can yearn for my company and still not make a fool of me in the process. Can you let me down and greet me like a normal person? I’ll even hug you properly,” he offered generously, given the circumstances. The harm had already been done. Camille couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged anyone that wasn’t his mother or sister. note: got perms by Harlan |
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Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
Entschuldigung
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seine angst ist meine engst, seine wut ist meine wut seine liebe ist meine liebe, summary, this thread is happening on SEPTEMBER 15TH, 2025, in the EVENING with @CAMILLE DE VARENNE / wc: 794. The apparent shift in the air had the Gryffindor with a devilish smile, it wasn’t hard to embarrass the french boy, but Harlan wasn’t naive to the fact that Camille was as vindictive as he was astute. But some things were simply worth the risk and Harlan had considered the consequences that would return ten fold with a vengeance that would be served icy and cold. As the Ravenclaw turned to face the teenager, Harlan offered the raven a grin that was as wide and deceiving as he could muster up. The Ravenclaw girls also looked over to the scene that was forming beside the table with the ball in Camille’s court to decide what exactly were the course of actions that was about to take place.
To watch the cogs of Camille’s mind work in real time was quite a treat as he was far more intuitive for an eleven year old than Harlan had ever met. He was also the bossiest kid he’d ever befriended, could never take no for an answer, and was incessant on what he wanted done, which is what made this little reversal in roles so far for Harlan. There wasn’t any bad blood, the Gryffindor enjoyed the moments that their families would interact and observe as his father would bend over backwards for the De Varenne’s. He didn’t quite understand the fanfare back then, but it made much more sense as the curtain was pulled back and Harlan could see the truth for what it was – the Montgomery’s were eager social climbers looking for a break into proper Pureblood society. Their closest opportunity they had for ascension were the handful of families that were friendly with Portia from either work, school, or society. It would not come from Arnold, a paper pusher for the ministry who offered very little other than his conditional love, soft guidance, and strong demand for more of his children. “ You sure? ” The taunt came from the warning from Camille’s as a glint flashed in Harlan’s eyes, obviously enjoying the idea of tormenting an old friend as a way to haze him properly into the Hogwarts hall and that’s when Harlan decided that enough time had passed. Fingertips tight onto the boy’s waist as he pulled him from where he was and could feel his body tense up in his grip. It was the quick outburst of the admittance of remembrance that had Harlan place him back onto solid ground standing about a foot shorter than he was when they were both standing at full attention. “ Don’t let him scare you all too much, he’s actually pretty cool. ” Harlan lightly punched at Camille’s arm in jest while leaning in to give him a hug with both hands, squeezing slightly before patting him on the back. “ It’s nice to see you, Camille. Really. ” Letting him go before shifting his weight onto his back leg and placing his hands on his hips, taking a good look at the kid before nodding. “ You’ve gotten so big now, I remember when you were this small. ” Gesturing to his own waist line, perhaps that was the last time they’d actually seen each other – the timing wasn’t something that Harlan could remember. " Sorry, not to take you away from your little friends. Are you finished with dinner? I'd love to catch up, see how your family's been doing. See how you ended up at Hogwarts. " This was truly his golden goose egg of an opportunity and he hadn't wanted to squander it. It would take a specific push and pull to maneuver a rekindling with Camille, letting his wise cracks and ego busting insults roll off his back, but it would probably be worth it. With a glance to his friends before returning back to the Ravenclaw he came all this way to pester, Harlan curiously waited to see if Camille would allow for them to catch up or if his ego would get in the way. It'd probably be worth to give Camille some social currency back with his friends, even if the other didn't realize what exactly Harlan was doing for his own gain. " Are you still dancing? I won't spill all his secrets but he's pretty talented. I'm sure even more incredible now. " Hopefully, that little bit of uplifting would help Harlan gain a couple of brownie points with the kid. How couldn't someone like a compliment from an upper year? But life could be fickle and if it was one thing he knew for sure, it was that Camille yearned for little and could be incredibly hard to read. Now, he just waited to see if the gamble would pay off. |
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Last edited by Harlan Montgomery on 9 Dec 2025, 22:24, edited 1 time in total.
Entschuldigung
| C | date: 15th September, 2025 location: Great Hall |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Harlan Montgomery |
C |
| CV | It couldn’t have lasted more than a second, yet it felt like an eternity of embarrassment before Harlan let him down onto solid stone floor. That was enough time for Camille to be permanently scarred, at least for a few months to come. Still reeling from what the hell had just happened, mentally cataloguing who might have seen it happen, and the consequences it would bring, he barely registered the older Gryffindor reassuring the girls at the table that he wasn’t as scary as he looked—even calling him cool, though Camille was fairly sure he hadn’t earned either title by just sitting there. It had been years since they last saw each other at one of those events, doubtful he could even be considered the same person he knew back then. A fist punched his arm in a playful gesture. Glancing from his arm back to his old friend, Camille blinked, staring at Harlan like everything coming out of his mouth was something alien. Why on earth would they be scared of him, he couldn’t fathom. Harlan didn’t let his flaming cheeks or stiff posture deter him, doubtful if he even noticed, when he embraced him in a bear-hug. Still shaken, he did return the hug properly in lack of better responses, wrapping his arms around the considerably taller boy's middle. Camille couldn’t remember how short he’d been at eight years old, but Harlan seemingly did, enjoying pointing out how big he’d gotten since he last saw him. The same could, of course, be said for Harlan, whose growth curve was more dramatic than his own as he soon was about to reach his mid-teens. “Yes… how nice.” Camille might have had nicer things to say about their reunion, if he hadn’t been infantilized in public. Like a gift that wouldn’t stop giving, Harlan leaned fully into the role of an embarrassing older sibling that loved to remind everyone of how young and immature Camille still was. Despite being only eleven years of age, the young Ravenclaw felt anything but. "Sorry, not to take you away from your little friends. Are you finished with dinner? I'd love to catch up, see how your family's been doing. See how you ended up at Hogwarts." Little friends? Camille opened his mouth to correct his wildly wrong assumption— these were definitely not his friends— though he quickly shut his mouth again. That would have been one fire-sure way to ensure he was no longer welcome to sit with them in the future, at least not without being the topic of conversation as soon as he’d turned his back, and no pleasant words would be exchanged, that was for certain. Chuckling awkwardly, trying to keep up his crumbling image when his— admittedly incredible— dancing was dropped into the monologue. Usually proud when speaking about his passions, this time, no one had inquired, and he was not feeling particularly keen on dragging out the boring conversation. Camille laid a hand on Harlan’s arm to guide him away from the Ravenclaw table, to redirect them to a more secluded area. “No mind at all. Yes, I’m still dancing, I’ll tell you all about it— let’s sit and catch up somewhere more private, shall we.” Pretending he wasn’t relieved to be given an escape route, he gave the girls a feigned polite nod, his smile still strained on his face, not waiting for an answer before he hurriedly dragged Harlan along. “Read the room, next time, will you? Those were not my friends,” he mumbled once they were out of earshot. Reaching an empty location in the back of the Great hall, partially concealed from his peers by the Ravenclaw table, Camille came to a halt. The Frenchman turned to Harlan, angling his head up to look him in the eyes. The height difference was stark, though he supposed he was used to looking up at Harlan, while simultaneously bossing him around like he was above him. Quite like now. Some things would never change. “That was one memorable introduction, I’ll give you that.” He hadn’t quite forgiven it yet, but he could rest assured that there would be no lasting hard feelings. He knew the older boy well enough, at least in the past, to know there had been no sinister intentions behind it. “I didn’t expect to meet you here. I thought you would attend Durmstrang. Well, I guess the same could be said for me. We moved to Windsor for business a few years ago, so that’s why I am here.” Sensing the question was coming, Camille explained to save the other the trouble. A slight scowl appeared on his full lips. “I can’t say I’m impressed so far…" |
CV |
Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
Entschuldigung
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seine angst ist meine engst, seine wut ist meine wut seine liebe ist meine liebe, summary, this thread is happening on SEPTEMBER 15TH, 2025, in the EVENING with @CAMILLE DE VARENNE / wc: 610. There was a second of a hitched breath, a moment settling, a dice rolled where the silence lingered between the audible noise around all the other tables of the Great Hall. And then Camille punched Harlan’s arm and the Gryffindor peered down at the boy who had both been stewing from the humiliation and slightly flushed by the attention being offered. It was a peculiar thing at how Harlan knew the buttons to press to toe the line of pissing off the French Boy while still remaining in his good graces. At least, that was a talent of his from his adolescence and perhaps something he retained after all of these years.
Before Harlan was given the chance to continue his escapades, Camille was quick to scoop the other’s arm up and guide him intently away from the flock of crows. “ It was nice meeting ya! ” With a deliberate look behind his shoulder and a hand raised, Harlan was being corralled to what seemed to be anywhere but where they were. As they passed the Gryffindor Table, the two Montgomery siblings looked at one another as Harlow offered a look of concern at the scene that was in front of her — there was absolutely no reason a pipsqueak Ravenclaw should be pulling Harlan through the Great Hall. With a casual wave and a look of ease, Harlan de-escalated the moment from his sister’s interjection while Camille’s quick steps against the cobblestone floors seemed to quicken as they were just about to turn the corner into an alcove empty at the back end of the Great Hall. “ I’m not an idiot, Camille. They didn’t seem nearly as refined to be your friends, but you’re a new student at Hogwarts and still finding your place. ” Despite the slight drop in levity, Harlan’s words still fluttered as he spoke candidly to a family friend who he wanted to see make it through his first year at Hogwarts unscathed. “ I meant what I said, it’s genuinely nice to see you. I didn’t think you were old enough for Wizarding School already, but I guess we’ve all been busy with life, huh. ” Offering a wide grinned smile as the Gryffindor found himself a seat on the lip of the wall so that the two of them were much closer in looking eye to eye at one another. “ My family’s in Essex, but I still spend a lot of time in Germany. I’ve been in and out, kinda. Long story that I won’t bore you with now, but i’m back now for fourth year. ” It was as close to the truth that Harlan wanted to offer in this moment, perhaps with a butter beer or firewhiskey he’d be willing to share the trauma he’s faced so far during his time at Hogwarts. “ At what? The school or the people. ” A stifled chuckle and a shake of the head at how nothing was ever good enough for the youngest De Verrene’s sibling. " I'm sure you'll find it fine here after a week, you elitist snob. Just give it a chance, it might surprise you. " Leaning forward, the fourth year tugged slightly at the boy's navy robes and shook his head. " Didn't take you for a nerd, Camille. I always thought you would've been a snake if you were at Hogwarts. Were you the hat stall this year? Would make sense, you know, considering. " Now what was that consideration exactly? Harlan was making it all up but he'd allow Camille to color in the lines if he was interested in taking the bait. |
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Entschuldigung
| C | date: 15th September, 2025 location: Great Hall |
abilities: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 mentioned: @Harlan Montgomery |
C |
| CV | Hearing “I’m not an idiot, Camille,” from Harlan made the younger Ravenclaw’s eyebrows and corners of his mouth lift. Never had Camille called Harlan an idiot for lack of intelligence — he’d probably never used the word at all, at least not in conversation. Harlan had questionable humor and priorities, that’s all. Compared to popular belief, Camille was not screaming insults at people at seven years old, unless you count his Tarzan invention. He had been a pleasant child, bossy at times, albeit admired wherever he went. Even now, his streak of school mishaps was merely a fluke, not an accurate representation of his influence. Did he frequently cry and have emotional fits at the hands of Harlan’s relentless teasing? Yes. But he had never called Harlan an idiot—that was entirely his own choice of words, though it was more likely now, after Harlan had embarrassed him in front of the Ravenclaw table. When Harlan told Camille that he knew they were not his friends, deeming the girls not refined enough to earn a spot in his company—a statement Camille could not argue with—it confirmed Harlan’s malice rather than mere cluelessness. Some things would never change, Camille thought begrudgingly, namely Harlan’s endless delight in making his life more complicated than it needed to be. “Bravo,” Camille drawled, unimpressed. “Your words, not mine,” he chipped in before Harlan could tell him that he was happy to see him, despite his actions suggesting otherwise. Camille grimaced at yet another reminder of the subtle imbalance in their relationship: he was older than Harlan might have assumed, already a first year, but still not old enough to command the respect he felt he deserved. Harlan sank down into a sitting position against the wall, meeting Camille’s gaze with that self-satisfied, infuriatingly smug grin. They held eye contact for a second, before Camille’s gaze flickered down at his polished shoes, noticing a stray piece of dust ruining the otherwise impeccable image. In front of him, Harlan’s significantly larger shoes—less polished, more worn, splayed out with a languid carelessness—contrasted sharply with his own meticulousness. It was also a physical reminder of how much younger he was in comparison. Collecting himself, he inhaled lightly, straightened, and allowed his expression to soften, though his hazel eyes remained wary as he lifted his gaze back to Harlan. The conversation moved on with his old friend informing him casually about being “in and out” and having returned for his fourth year. Camille furrowed his brow at his choice of wording, assuming he must have been homeschooled, or perhaps transferred from Durmstrang. Regardless, it was not a story Harlan intended to elaborate on at this time. Camille wouldn't pry into the topic regardless. Harlan’s family lived in Essex—perhaps unsurprising, but news to Camille. While living in England, his family was still spending a significant amount of time in Germany, explaining why he’d instinctively assumed he’d be attending a different school entirely. Mentioning his own unimpressed experience with Hogwarts this far, Harlan wondered if he meant the school or the people. “Both,” Camille responded smoothly, without missing a beat. Amused by something unsaid, most likely Camille himself, Harlan stifled a chuckle and shook his head. "I'm sure you'll find it fine here after a week, you elitist snob. Just give it a chance, it might surprise you." In an unexpected motion, the older boy leaned forward and tugged at the front of Camille’s robes. They were far past respecting personal space and boundaries, yet he was still slightly caught off guard, glancing down at where his fingers brushed the dark fabric. "Didn't take you for a nerd, Camille.” Sharply, he glanced back up at the mention of his name, feeling the heat creep up his neck. “I always thought you would've been a snake if you were at Hogwarts. Were you the hat stall this year? Would make sense, you know, considering.“ Perhaps purposefully, he didn’t finish the statement. “Considering what?” The younger boy sneered, tearing himself out of Harlan’s grip, smoothing out his robes where he’d creased the fabric, hoping to quell the sudden flush on his neck down with it. “I’m not a nerd. I guess the hat just knew better than to put me in the moldy dungeons with the lunatics. The smell is insufferable, not to mention the people.” He scowled dramatically, remembering his experience with a peculiar few. Esme was the only exception as the pearl among pebbles overgrown with slimy algae, a comparison fitting to the under-water theme. “The company in Ravenclaw isn’t much better, but at least they are not unhinged. I might not have minded Gryffindor,” Camille reflected on Harlan’s house and the few he knew. Rosaline was the obvious example that immediately came to mind. He then looked teasingly smug as he added: “Well, maybe not now, when you’re there,” all said with a glint in his eyes. While he wouldn’t say it out loud, the older boy was far from the worst association, even if he was annoying. “Besides, it’s been more than a week,” he corrected Harlan’s optimistic forecast of his emotional wellbeing. Two to be exact. To make his point clear, Camille added, crossing his arms: “Let's just say it has left a lot to be desired.” There was no reason for him to deny the allegations of being an elitist snob, because it was accurate; besides, he didn’t think there was anything wrong with knowing what he wanted and deserved. Undoubtedly, his childhood friend would find the news of his horrible first meetings hilarious, except, perhaps, for the disappointment of not having been there personally to witness it. Camille was prepared for another round of prying questions to come, but he would not offer the answers willingly, unless he asked. |
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Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny