What Burns Beneath
Saturday, 8 November 2025
Around 8:30 am
To say that casting spells had always come easily to Dee would be misleading, if not an outright lie. Potions had been her métier, what had felt natural, the instinct to add another pinch of chamomile or to give another half-stir. Spellcasting, less so. She'd always been confident, that much was true, and in the way of children that had translated into successful spells - triumphing simply because she didn't have the awareness to be afraid of failure. Leaping chasms because falling was something inconceivable. Yet there had been failures, near-disastrous ones, time and time again, sending her crashing backwards, knocking the air from her lungs, magic turned against her, uncontrollable.
That was where Dee's stubbornness had kicked in. Her spellwork, her casting - consistent and reliable and a force to be reckoned with - that was the first thing she'd ever had to work for. Hours, days and nights, spells practised over and over and over again, blinking through exhaustion and falling asleep with her wand clutched in her hand. She'd made it hers, until it had become natural, until casting became instinct, and those backfired spells became distant memory. Something far in the past, a trinket to dig up from a half-forgotten box in the attic, to smile at and show the younger students, to tell them 'don't give up - I've been where you are, and look at me now'. (Look at her now.) These days, Dealla barely ever failed a spell after she'd mastered it, and it had been years since one of her incantations had gone badly wrong. She always remained in control enough to direct the magic outwards harmlessly when she felt that a cast was not right.
Still, it felt prudent to practise this particular spell near sufficient volumes of water - which meant, in this case, the lake. Little to set on fire, out here, especially in November, when the trees had lost most of their leaves, and the grass turned white with frost overnight. Which was just perfect for someone attempting to summon a firestorm in the early hours of the morning. (Not that early, really.)
Taking a deep breath, Dee flexed her fingers, then slipped her wand from her pocket, the wood almost warm against her cool skin. She fell into a loose duelling stance - feet apart, angled slightly sideways, spine straight, the wand held almost delicately between her fingers. She closed her eyes for a second, visualising. Fire spells weren't her favourites; she'd seen people burnt a few times too often during her time at this school. (Maybe that was what went wrong.) Her eyes snapped open, and she began the slow, spiralling overhead motion with her wand to summon the firestorm. "Saevi Igninum." It was barely more than a hiss, drowned out by the increasing roar of the fire around her. (Or maybe that was what went wrong.) Flames appeared, drawn by her spell, swirling above and ahead and all around, forming a spiralling ring of fire around her that increased in size with every circle her arm completed. Within seconds, they were a roaring inferno, and she allowed herself a small smile, sweat forming at her temples. Another few moments, and her smile vanished. The fire around her grew hotter, grew larger, started to spread outwards. Spread out of control. And for once, she couldn't rein it back in.
Fear gathered in her throat, icy and viscous and hard to swallow around. There wasn't much she could do but let the spell go, but there was no telling what would happen when she did. She just hoped there was no one else close by. Steadying her breathing, she counted - one, two, three - before she stopped pouring magic and focus into the spell, all at once. Maybe, hopefully, it would just collapse - burn itself out to nothing, or leave behind flames that could easily be extinguished. (But that would be too easy.)
Instead, in horror, Dee watched as her spell started collapsing inwards - closing in towards her at a rapid pace, the air turning from uncomfortably warm to scorching hot in the space of two breaths. Her duelling instincts saved her, sent her diving away from the wall of flame and into the freezing water of the lake, closing over her head, just as the fire rushed above it into a final blaze, making the water hiss and steam.
She stayed down longer than necessary, warmth leaching from her body and lungs protesting, before she came up for air, coughing, robes streaming water and hair plastered to her face. A few deep breaths to realise she was alive, mostly unharmed, then a few more while she took in the scorched earth that spread out across the shore from where she'd stood. What ... had just happened? She hadn't lost control of a spell like that since ... since when? Her second year, knocking herself out on the duelling stage? Four years, five?
Her teeth started chattering from the cold, or from belated adrenaline. She made herself move, step out onto dry, burnt ground, thoughts racing. What had gone wrong? Her focus, her incantation? The movement had been right, she knew it. Then how?
Until she spotted the person watching, wand raised as if they'd been casting, and anger boiled up inside her almost as quickly as the flames had, hot and righteous. They were hard to make out over the mix of steam and smoke still rising around her, but what did it matter? Dee didn't care who it was. "What," she hissed, "did you do?"
@Althea Valeden
Last edited by Dealla Prince on 20 Nov 2025, 23:34, edited 1 time in total.
"One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar."
What Burns Beneath
(Click for better resolution photo!)
Note: There's quite a bit of self-deprecation.
Date: Saturday, 8 November 2025
Failure has been a constant part of Althea's life. Even as a child, she had come to learn the true extent of the age-old saying of how “Nothing comes from nothing.” There was nothing that ever came easily to her. More often than not, no matter how hard she fights for them, her passions and dreams are left to cool in the chilling dawn of her misplaced optimism.
At first, it began small — It was painstaking nights spent with her father trying to finish books that others finished in a hour for her Muggle elementary school assignments. Then, it was her early years at Hogwarts spent drowning in her piles of notes and textbooks to master magic as swiftly as her peers did. She was a half-blood with parents who grew up in the world of wizardry, after all. There was simply no excuse to be less competent in what is essentially the heart and crux of a world she had been surrounded in since her infancy. Yet, she was just that — incompetent.
If failure had trailed her in Muggle life, it clung and coiled around her throat in her magic. It started from the Secret Blossom Ball in her first year where she failed at casting the most standard and fundamental charms, Lumos. From then on, Misfired spells and disastrous potion attempts were so commonplace that she eventually made a name for herself: “Wannabe Ravenclaw squib.” That nickname stuck, and it hurt... Until it didn't.
Althea couldn't recall when she just… stopped trying. Perhaps in third year when her grades stagnated in the pitiful half-way mark between an E and O despite spending almost every day after-school in the Hogwarts library. Or after she started losing her wits after her godfather and father’s fire outbreak accident. Abruptly, everything just… stopped, and for once, failure stopped hurting.
That is, until Althea returned to Hogwarts and was confronted by it again at the ripe age of seventeen. The Autumn Ball’s escape room and her gaggle of endearing first-year teammates must have done something to mess with her head, because here she was, sitting by the Great Lake in the November cold with her wand and old textbooks out.
Her eyes glared at the rock that she had just failed again to cast Avifors on for the third time. What year did she learn this? Second? Althea buried her face in her palm, mentally prepared to pack it up and try again in her dorm instead of the open grounds.
Suddenly, a forceful rush of warm air swept in from her slide. Althea jumped to her feet. She swivelled around. Her breath caught. A roaring wall of fire raged and crackled just a couple of metres away. In the centre of that blazing curtain stood a girl in uniform robes, her wand raised.
For a second, Althea was convinced by the seemingly confident expression of the girl. She seemed close to her age, more magically proficient and precise than she was, for sure. She was about to sit back down and look away from the brilliant display — Until the fire caved inwards.
Althea had never been the first to act. She always claimed it was to think, to better rationalise and concoct a plan. In truth, it was never that. It was fear — of failure, of hurt, of being blamed.
The other girl’s expression warped from shock to alarm. Something's gone wrong. A flash of the memory of finding out about that fire outbreak through the Daily Prophet sliced through the fog in her head.
Althea grabbed her wand from the ground, and took off. Consequences be damned.
The curtain of flame grew as she sprinted closer. She steeled herself at the growing warmth permeating the air. The heat was intimidating, more so than the sight of the roaring flames.
Water surely won't work. What's the standard spell for extinguishing fires? Extinguishing…
“Extinguo!” Althea’s hand flicked the wand in a motion drawn from pure muscle memory, the incantation leaving her lips before her brain could fully finish that line of thought.
She watched with a flicker of hope when the wall of fire thinned itself and shrunk in size. However, her pounding heartbeat and the heat rushing to her head must have hindered something in the spell casting. The remaining flames continued closing in. Althea instinctively raised her wand again, but the girl acted faster.
The girl dived for the Great Lake, barely avoiding the searing fire that sizzled and sent a huge cloud of steam billowing in her direction.
Althea closed her eyes and covered her face with her sleeves, feeling the lick of heat on the back of her exposed hands before the chill began seeping into the atmosphere again.
She shivered at the sudden cold, flapping her hands slightly to rid herself of the tremor shaking her body. This is not how a Saturday by the lake was supposed to be. She should leave before it's too late—
“What did you do?” A voice hissed. Althea flinched at the accusatory tone, immediately tucking her wand out of sight. That surely helped. She warily glanced up. The girl from earlier had stumbled back onto the shore, soaked and shivering from the freezing water.
Her blue eyes pierced through the warm adrenaline and sent an arrow of mortification into Althea. She jolted when she remembered that she should probably defend herself.
“Trying not to end my Saturday as a witness to a fire accident,” The words tumbled out in her silent panic. Her expression remained stiff, probably worsening her defense. Althea had thought that time had finally done her a favour and dulled that jittery anxiety that used to coil around her lungs like thorn-littered vines. She clearly thought wrong, because it returned with a vengeance here.
A nervous laugh escaped a tightened airway as she tucked away her wand entirely, as if that would absolve her and prove her innocent. Against Althea's will, words kept spilling out under the other girl's scrutiny.
“The last fire spell I learnt was Incendio anyway, and I never lit anything more than 2 candles.” Althea physically bit down on the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from saying another word to the girl. She tensed when she realised it would've been polite to offer a hand to help the other brunette to get up. Hesitantly, she did.
@Dealla Prince
Lost time is never found again, but in its shadows lies my path to freedom. (2020-2026)
What Burns Beneath
The air still shimmered with leftover heat, but the wind coming off the lake bit straight through Dee's soaked clothes. When the veil of steam finally faded, almost reluctantly, she found herself facing her attacker. A girl - brunette with light-green eyes; pretty, and unfamiliar. Hufflepuff, from the scarf she wore. So much for the House of the kind.
Upon being confronted, the other student tried to hide her wand - as if Dee hadn't already seen it, as if she hadn't been caught red-handed. Dealla snorted through her nose and took a menacing step closer, although her chattering teeth probably ruined the effect. Her soaked boots gave a wet squelch as they met the ground. Overall, she likely made for a pitiful sight. Her wand was still out, however, held securely, confidently, and ready to cast. That alone should have made anyone tread carefully.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" she demanded, forcing the words out between shivers. The anger felt good; heat forcing back the chill, or at least letting her forget about the cold for a moment. "My spell just happens to spiral out of control, you stand here with your wand in hand, and now you're what - trying to tell me that you were helping?" In a more rational state, Dee would have recognised that this logic had its holes; massive, gaping ones. That perhaps, the girl's presence was coincidental. But admitting that would mean admitting that there had been no sabotage, that blaming it on the Hufflepuff in front of her was seeking a convenient scapegoat. It would rattle her confidence to the core. So instead, she let her temper reign, her fury rise with every word: The least the girl could do was be honest about what she'd done. A fine Hufflepuff she made.
Instead, the claims grew more absurd. Knocking aside the offered hand, Dee closed the distance until her wand-tip hovered against the girl's chest - assuming she hadn't been wise enough to back away at this point. "Oh, please." The words were cold, clipped. "I know six different spells to create fire, one of which can summon a firestorm, and you don't look that much younger than me." Which was true, she didn't. If she hadn't been moderately confident that she knew all the Hufflepuffs in her year, Dee would have hazarded they were the same age. Even for a sixth-year, it was surprising that she was entirely unfamiliar.
The water dripping from her nose was both annoying and distracting, so Dee raised a soaked sleeve to wipe her face; a pointless attempt. Somehow, she still managed to look down her nose at the Hufflepuff. "If you're going to keep lying to me, at least put some effort in."
@Althea Valeden
"One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar."
What Burns Beneath
(Click for better resolution photo!)
The remnant heat from the steam had long dissipated and cooled in the November air. Yet, the burn of indignation and growing fear of the consequences that she had cast aside just minutes earlier. Althea could only stand still in her barely contained tremors trying not to fold under the accusations thrown at her from the visibly irritated girl in front of her.
Despite the frightening glare keeping her firmly rooted where she stood, Althea winced at the sight of soaked shoes and robes that made the girl's frame shudder from the cold. That cannot be good for her health. Though, what small wave of sympathy that rose up was immediately squashed by the girl's furious confrontation, replaced by a bewildered indignation.
Althea could not hold back the small scoff at the other brunette's insinuation that her raised wand instantly condemned her to a case of sabotage. “A misfire is not the rising of the next Dark Lord, you know? Besides, what good would it do for me to curse you from this close? If I really wanted to spend my Saturday ruining yours, I would've sabotaged you yards away and not risk having second-degree burns from your misfire.” The injustice of it staved off the worst of the anxiety snaking up her spine, but not enough that the wand still gripped in the other's seemingly well-trained hand didn't cause Althea’s mind to blank and keep spouting instinctive retorts towards the other girl that surely only added fuel to the fire.
Althea snatched back her hand that was knocked away, the brush of chilled damp skin a needle into her flesh. Her breath grew shallow when the brunette approached with a rising temper — too fast, because she could barely reach for her own wand before another wand wielded with confident precision was suddenly pointed at the centre of her own chest.
Each word was curt and chilled with doubt drenched in a bitterness that Althea has not been the target of in ages. It would almost be refreshing, if her heart's pounding didn't threaten to splinter her head from the blood rush.
The comment about her age made Althea stiffen where she stood. She took a brief glance at the girl. The other was right — The two of them could not be more than a year apart from her appearance. If she had the time to dig deeper into her memories, perhaps she could fish out a memory of passing the girl during lessons in her early years, or hear about her from one of her friends. If she tried, she was sure she wouldn't miss her out in her memory — Someone her age, casting something as brilliant as that while Althea failed at Avifors just metres away. Her expression morphing into a tightly-contained scowl at the thought of that, and that hurt only struck deeper when the girl questioned her magical knowledge.
A hollow laugh slipped out at the mocking prompt to try harder at lying. There it was again. “Trying”, “try harder”, “put in more effort” — When has she not? At this point, she might as well stay a maiden and marry the concept of hard work instead.
“I’m sure you and I both wish I was lying about being utterly incompetent, but life doesn't always give us what we want, does it?” Althea batted the wand directed at her away, slinking into a safer distance. Bitterness sunk deep into her blood and swallowed whatever was left of her resolve to hold any form of frustration. Against her better judgement, she felt her tongue continue to form words before she could think them through.
“You probably aren't wrong that we're around the same age. I was pulled out of school in fourth year,” Althea tried to brush it off with a shrug, but the fidgeting hand meant to straighten her sleeves just served to further crumple it.
“Incendio’s the last fire spell I learnt and remember. I haven't used magic in three years. That spell you saw me cast? That was Extinguo, taught with Incendio in the first year, and you know how that turned out.” Althea half-heartedly gestured at the other girl's soaked and dripping frame, feeling the shadow of guilt creeping back in and planting its roots back into her neck. She almost made the attempt to fish out her wand to cast a hot-air charm for the brunette, but almost instantly slipped it back into her robes. It was her failed Extinguo that landed her in this situation in the first place. That wand should stay down.
Althea brushed her fringe aside and sighed, “You're drenched in the middle of November, getting a nasty chill is more threatening than me or a misfire. Do you want me to get someone?”
@Dealla Prince
Last edited by Althea Valeden on 7 Nov 2025, 01:54, edited 1 time in total.
Lost time is never found again, but in its shadows lies my path to freedom. (2020-2026)
What Burns Beneath
"I don't misfire." The words were decisive, her voice flat, but the statement lacked the bite of her earlier remarks. It was one of the ground truths Dee's confidence was built upon. She wasn't sure why this girl questioning that truth bothered her so much, but Dee's standard mode of defence had always been attack - unaware of how close to home those words might strike. (She would have said them, anyway.) "And frankly, you haven't exactlyy impressed with your competence so far, so who can tell?"
There was a certain base satisfaction in watching the Hufflepuff flinch back. Words had always been Dee's sharpest weapons, the ones she fell back on to get her way; in good ways and bad. Friendly and extroverted to a fault, Dee was a social butterfly most of the time, able to charm almost anyone when she set her mind on it. This girl, though, was getting the other extreme of the spectrum. These words were designed to cut, to dig into soft spots, into weaknesses and insecurities, simply for being in the right place at the wrong time. Dee had always had a keen instinct for how to make her words hurt.
And she hit her target once again - a target she hadn't even known existed, an off-hand comment that struck with a sharpshooter's precision. Dee blinked, thrown off balance by the dry laugh. A hopeless sound, it was not by any means what she had expected, not after this girl had finally started to show some spine. It was for that reason that she didn't follow when her wand was knocked away with a careless hand. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to track the turn this conversation was taking. How had they gone from Dee's sharp-tongued mockery to this girl insulting herself instead?
She didn't have to keep wondering, however. Incomprehensibly, the Hufflepuff seemed almost eager to share her story with a stranger, one moments away from assaulting her, even though saying it out loud had to hurt. Yet, she likely had to face that same pain every day, just by attending class, and owning it was the only defence at her disposal. I was pulled out of school; I haven't used magic in three years.
"You were trying to Extinguo my firestorm?" What a ridiculous concept. Yet this tidbit, of all, finally got through to Dee. She lowered her wand, hesitant, her anger fizzling. "You really were trying to help me, weren't you?" Even if it had been idiotic, doomed to fail from the start. A third year's skill against Dee's spell - worse if she was three years out of practice. "There's no way that would have worked." Clipped though the words were, they carried no sting. That wasn't your failure, was the implication. Dee couldn't have put out that fire with a simple extinguishing spell, either.
Do you want me to get someone was a suggestion almost as ridiculous, earning only a disgusted sniff in response before Dee aimed her wand at herself. "Aer Calidus," was a staple spell in winter, one she could cast with half a thought. Her wand hummed faintly with the spell. It was bliss to feel her clothes and dripping hair dry, warm air blasting across her skin, and she couldn't help the pleased sigh. She'd almost forgotten how cold she'd been until that moment, when she was warm and dry again. Once done, she slipped her wand back into her robes; a truce.
@Althea Valeden
"One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar."
What Burns Beneath
(Click for better resolution photo!)
Althea could not fathom the firm confidence in which the Ravenclaw girl asserted that misfires were not possible for her. That puzzled bewilderment almost shielded her from the jab to her own insecurity about her incompetence. Although she was not baffled that any wizard or witch who trained consistently in magic for 6 or 7 years would have little chance for failure for most spells — especially a witch whose magic could light and burn a fire so bright and formidable — for the sake of her pride, Althea could not and would not believe that anyone was a hundred percent unable to fail. Hell, the other girl didn’t even fail. Within the right context, that spell would’ve been at least a partial success. “My failures don't prove your perfection, I’m afraid.” Though, she muttered this under her breath in the name of self-preservation.
Althea felt her face heat up at the brunette’s incredulous tone and expression at the notion that she cast an Extinguo against the firestorm, even more so at the narrowed gaze directed at her as she rambled about her inadequacies. How embarrassing, spilling all of that to someone who was a second away from jinxing her. Even more so, when it is that exact rambling speech that pushed the Ravenclaw girl to finally believe that Althea was not sabotaging her. She had kept these circumstances private and under tight wraps within her new cohort-mates in Fourth Year, eager to throw her attention and wounded pride elsewhere. She supposed her mind healer was right that bottling was unwise, but to prove that point here…
Althea shook her head as the other girl’s wand was lowered, “Yeah, I figured I had no shot considering I didn’t even know the spell you cast… Firestorm, you said? I don't think I've even read up on it.” Briefly, her mind tried to drag her down the memories she had purposefully concealed of the year where she avoided fire or fire magic like the plague. Firmly shoving that away, she glanced at the Ravenclaw once she was no longer held at wand-point, mildly surprised at the lack of the previous snapping bite that her words held as something akin to reassurance was directed her way. Despite the curtness, those words subconsciously unravelled that tightly-coiled mess of guilt that buried itself within her nerves. How strange, that all of her recent confrontations with failure have ended in significantly less hurt than normal.
The disgusted disgruntlement that the brunette showed her when Althea tried to offer to call someone for her was almost humorous enough to make her chuckle. She stared as the girl before her swiftly casted a hot-air charm with the ease of breathing, instantly melting away the sharp cold and biting dampness. Now that Althea’s mind was no longer in a panic or hurry to prove her innocence, she pondered the slight but persistent sense of familiarity with the other girl. The scarf wrapped around her neck showed her as a Ravenclaw, and as the brunette had mentioned earlier, they were likely the same age. Someone who became versed in spell-casting as they grew up, notable for their magical prowess. There were quite a few brunettes in her old cohort, but none with those piercing aquamarine eyes.
Ah. She must’ve been that prefect. Whenever Althea had been buried in her textbooks and notes in every corner of Hogwarts as a child, she recalled that chances were, she would almost always have spotted a certain Ravenclaw prefect who would be just around the corner, practicing spells over and over until Althea herself felt frightened. Yet, she never truly recalled those eyes losing their fire, that drive. Then, before she left, she recalled that girl going on to lead the Ravenclaw duelling team and shuffling around the corridors for the Hogwarts Headliner. So, they were the same age. That’s embarrassing.
Watching as the other girl’s wand is finally tucked away in a delicate sign of peace, Althea thought that it would no longer hurt to finally acquaint herself with the girl who she had seen and respected, but never known for so long. “Now that you aren’t at risk of hypothermia… Memory tells me you were a prefect, amongst other things. We used to be in the same year, I think. I’m Althea Valeden.” She offered out a hand again, albeit a little hesitantly.
@Dealla Prince
Lost time is never found again, but in its shadows lies my path to freedom. (2020-2026)
What Burns Beneath
Of course, once Dee's words were no longer designed to sting, they completely missed their intended effect. She hadn't meant to judge the girl for trying Extinguo on a spell several leagues out of her depth; sometimes you just had to work with the tools you had. (Of course, there could have been smarter ways to approach this, but trying to help at all was admirable.) But that message didn't seem to quite reach the Hufflepuff, who flushed a bright red and looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Dee sighed and pushed her newly dry - and hopelessly tangled - hair back from her face, her gaze drifting over to the lake and back. It looked peaceful now, no firestorm in sight, and apart from the few scorch marks on the shore that would be swept away by the next rain, there was no sign that anything had happened at all.
"Listen," she said, reluctance drawing the word out like chewing gum. "I didn't mean to..." She trailed off, because that wasn't really true. She had meant to. She'd meant every word she'd said and then some, stinging and cutting and digging deep beneath the skin. Her temper had just simmered down enough now to see that she might have been a little out of line. "That wasn't fair of me," she corrected. A pause followed, with Dee pressing her lips together for a second. She wasn't very good at apologies. (Lack of practice would do that.) The next words came out even lower. "Thank you for trying to help. You couldn't have done much else."
Despite years spent coaching other students, however, gentle encouragement was clearly not Dealla's forte. Her usual style of teaching might be described as something closer to ... a drill sergeant. She shook her head at the admission that the firestorm spell was not familiar. "Neither had I before this year. It's a seventh year spell, and we haven't even learned it in class yet. I was reading ahead..." Considering the results, maybe she should have waited for Professor Fresnel's instructions instead. She shrugged. "It's N.E.W.T. level - not even everyone in my year will learn it. I'd say it's pretty niche knowledge, overall."
Yet despite the, if not apology, then at least acknowledgment of her incorrect assumption, one thing remained conspicuously unaddressed: If there had been no sabotage, then Dealla's flatly stated I don't misfire was no absolute truth. Close to it, perhaps, but not without caveats. It was all too easy to gloss over inconvenient realisations, discard what happened for what will happen next, and respond to the recognition in the Hufflepuff's words with an easy, surprised smile. "I was, although it's been a few years." It wasn't usually what she was recognised for anymore, with no one but the oldest students still remembering Dee's time as a prefect. Even most of the professors had changed in the years since. Racing, duelling, and potions - that seemed her more permanent mark on the school's collective memory.
Dee wasn't sure she would have possessed the grace to extend her hand a second time after having it slapped away before, but when Althea reached out again, Dee took it. "Dee Prince," she replied with the flash of a smile. "Same year, eh? You've been gone for a while, then." She didn't recall an Althea from her earlier years at Hogwarts, but with a rare trace of tact, chose not to mention it. She cocked her head, curious. "Why were you gone for so long? Is it hard, coming back?"
@Althea Valeden
"One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar."
What Burns Beneath
(Click for better resolution photo!)
Althea followed the Ravenclaw’s gaze outwards towards the Great Lake, her eyes tracing the unmarred waters with only the faintest of scorch marks on the blades of grass nearest to the shoreline. It was almost unsettling how the adrenaline that had set in so rapidly began to fizzle out at whiplash speed like an open can of soda pop beverage. She felt the pleasant coolness of the atmosphere settle back into her robes, calming her nerves further.
She had to resist the urge to jump when the brunette addressed her again, having accepted their interaction to be mostly over now that the other girl was safely dried and not freezing in the lake. She resisted the following urge for her mouth to drop slightly in surprise when words akin to an apology left the Ravenclaw girl, albeit with much hesitation. “Oh,” Althea felt a bit too dumbfounded to say much else. Not many had reason or incentive to apologise to her in the past. She felt… rather flattered that such an achieved and obviously incredible witch would even spare an apology for something that, frankly, was partially her fault in her mind. “It’s okay, thanks.” This time, when a mention of her helplessness was briefly mentioned again, there was no sting or embarrassment that struck her like before. The sincerity, despite the underlying hesitance, was a balm of reassurance to the remaining guilt in her gut.
Althea felt herself perk up ever so slightly at the mention of NEWT charms and how the firestorm spell originated from a later part of that syllabus. After all, it had always been a lesson that had an equal balance of application and theory — a subject that offered some degree of reprise from constant magical failures and setbacks. She had aspired to take NEWTs in subjects such as charms, and hearing about it sparked that flame of excitement that never truly extinguished itself. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, when you practice again… in class.” That last part was tagged on with the intention of being humorous. It sounded better in her head.
The ease with which the Ravenclaw brunette offered her a smile as she affirmed Althea’s memory about once being a prefect surprised Althea. She found her lips quickly mirroring that, “You probably did a lot more after that, then. I remember you were always practicing, reaching higher…” She trailed off, pondering about the likely intensive resume of her same-aged peer — the probably impressive resumes of most of the current seventh year. Three years is a lot.
Althea was pleasantly startled back to the present when a warm hand clasped her own in a friendly shake. She let her hand be grasped in the first handshake she had had with a peer in ages, feeling a smile subconsciously forming at hearing the Ravenclaw’s name. Dee — Dealla Prince, her mind eventually supplied with the full name. She would have never succeeded in completely forgetting the other girl. After all, she was almost famous even when Althea had been in her cohort. Underneath the layer of admiration, she thought it would’ve been lovely if she could’ve called the brunette a friend.
“Yes, long hiatus.” Althea settled for a light laugh at that, though it faded when Dealla asked her the following question. It was quite the loaded question, and she wondered how she could answer without sounding pathetic.
“Fire was not kind to my father and godfather, so I had to take revenge.” The joke fell quite flat, feeling as funny and logical as a soggy cloth that had splattered on the floor. Despite the embarrassment, she braved on.
Althea attempted to shrug off the awkwardness, “Coming back… Well, better now than never? Academic sharpness of an eraser aside, most of my friends are graduating with you next year, and I’m a bit too old to get along with the fourth-years. It’ll pass.” The hems of her sleeves were twisted into her palms, trying to disperse the anxiety generated from her uncertainty and her own conflicted emotions about the topic.
@Dealla Prince
Lost time is never found again, but in its shadows lies my path to freedom. (2020-2026)
What Burns Beneath
More and more, it crystallised that Althea was, in fact, far more gracious than Dee could ever hope to be - not that she did much hoping in that direction, as she was usually too busy gloating about being right. Althea did no such thing. Instead, she simply accepted the words - the half-baked gratitude, the non-apology - where Dee would likely have insisted, pressed until she received a real apology, with teasing comments and a smug smile. So apparently Althea was a model Hufflepuff, after all. Dee usually stayed away from those. People that kind made her feel guilty about teasing them too much; it felt like kicking puppies and lacked challenge.
She was happy enough to accept Althea's absolution, however, and would probably waste no further thought on how rash, unfair, and borderline cruel her reaction had been. Absent-minded, she started untangling the front strands of her hair with her fingers. She'd have to properly detangle her hair later - Aly had thoroughly impressed upon her the importance of good hair care, and Dee dared not disappoint her best mate's discerning eyes - but for now she'd settle for not looking like a bird's nest had exploded on her head.
The comment about confining her future firestorm summoning adventures to class was met with a flat stare - but one that concealed a mess of contradictory emotions. Truthfully, she wasn't too eager to try the spell again. The earlier attempt had been a brutal reminder of how dangerous Dee's magic could be when not properly kept in check. Not just a danger to what or whoever she aimed it at, but a danger to herself if she lost focus. It was an unpleasant feeling, being dragged back to the girl she'd once been, the one who'd had to worry about her magic blowing up in her face; a fear she'd thought conquered years ago, and that she wasn't quite ready to face again, not now, not looking at this girl who seemed so well acquainted with failure but managed to stand tall anyway. It was a different sort of strength than Dee possessed. But then, Dealla hadn't changed that much, not at her core. Her stubbornness was still there, her tenacity, her determination to win, to conquer even her own weaknesses. She'd likely be back on that same lakeshore sooner rather than later - but early enough to not have witnesses. (To not endanger anyone but herself.)
At least, the comment also showed a tiny slice of humour, and Dee chose to focus on that instead of her own messy, ugly emotions, an amused glint shining from her eyes when she responded. "Sure... fun," she said Admittedly, Professor Fresnel usually did manage to package her lessons into games that were, debatably, fun. (And a little insane, but that suited Dee just fine.)
It was a bit startling to realise just how much Althea had apparently noticed her, however. Dee's eyes narrowed, just a little - searching rather than suspicious. She supposed she had done more during her time at this school, but to be remembered for the time she'd spent practising was not just unexpected, but almost unwelcome. There was some distance to it now, some realisations she'd had a year or two ago about the expectations she'd placed on herself, but back then, she had tried very hard to not look like she was trying at all. Had gone out of her way to do so, to make her successes look effortless. It took a special kind of person to notice, and more so to remember after this much time, when they had never spoken before. Such casual perceptiveness had Dee once again re-evaluating her assessment of the Hufflepuff. The surprises didn't cease.
With a little huff, she gave up on her hair; she'd just ask for Aly's help later to fix the mess. Her eyebrows rose at the joke, confusing more than funny, about Althea's family, and then rose further at the self-deprecation that followed. Whether true self-doubt or false humility, Dee had little patience for that sort of talk. "You seem sharp enough to me," Dee replied bluntly and cocked her head. More observant than most people, honestly. Far more observant than Dee herself. "Although I guess it's not fun to share classes with children three years younger than we are. Have you considered the advancement programme? I helped my... another boy our age with that last spring after he missed a year of school. It won't bring you back to our year, but it might be a step towards feeling less out of place." Maybe.
@Althea Valeden
"One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar."
What Burns Beneath
(Click for better resolution photo!)
Althea was surprised by her own state of ease in the presence of Dealla despite their earlier scuffle and heated exchange. Now that most of the animosity had been cast aside and left to dissipate in the late autumn air, the suffocating atmosphere has lightened and cooled. In relative peace, she was left to watch as the Ravenclaw girl tried to brush through her unruly brown locks that had been left tangled by the earlier incident, wincing at particularly stubborn knots. The air almost felt… friendly. Althea felt an itch to offer to help, and was even about to offer to summon a hairbrush or another tool, but she had a gut feeling that it might be too intimate for strangers like them — better suited to be done between best friends and family.
Dealla's unimpressed stare and response to Althea's joke about keeping the firestorm within the charms classroom made her almost smile from the joking atmosphere. It's been quite a while since she has joked and spoken in this manner to a girl her age. She has always wanted that closeness that many girls had, even from her earlier years in Hogwarts. She supposed time was truly the best strengthener of bonds.
Althea felt the need to defend herself when the brunette narrowed her eyes at her observations. She raised both hands half-heartedly, “I swear I didn't stalk you. Hogwarts just doesn't have that many places to study.” To be truthful, Althea herself almost wished that she hadn't seen Dealla’s admirable efforts back then. It felt as if she had formed an aversion to people who succeeded, even those she had witnessed first-hand work to earn their success. If she had known Dealla, or any one of their other talented peers, without that instant tendency to shy away from them because of her shame… perhaps she would've fought harder to remain in Hogwarts that year instead of running away.
Althea hummed at the mention of the advancement programme. The toe of her shoe kicked lightly at the pebble near it. She had been informed of the advancement programme. It was the first thing she was told by her godfather, after he finally persuaded her into returning to school. After all, in the final year of her hiatus, she had begun reading her old textbooks and requesting new study materials under her mind healer’s gentle push of her back into magical studies. Althea could've signed up for it this year, she knew.
“I know, but I haven't… I haven't lived with magic for ages. I ignored it. I don’t even recognise my own wand and magic anymore, so I think it's best if I stay put.” Althea’s hand reached up to fiddle with a section of her fringe framing her face, giving a short laugh. It was not desperate or hopeless as her previous laugh, now airy and at peace with the decision. “I don’t like it, but I’ll have to do it the hard way, because it’s the… right way. That’s what I hope, anyway.” She dropped her hand, instead pivoting her attention to Dealla’s hesitance on her sharing of her experience with another boy their age. Feeling daring, she joked, “So, you helped 'your…'?” Althea wasn’t sure what she was doing; she never did these days, but she hoped this was a careful enough extension of an olive branch to keep this conversation as friendly as it had been. Dealla had willingly extended their chat, attempting to offer a solution to alleviate her struggle despite having just been in such a frightening and emotionally high-strung incident. Beneath the mild buzz of anxiety, Althea startled to find herself quite excited to do the same, to continue this delicate peace and bridge they’ve established. She only hoped that she had the chance to do it right.
@Dealla Prince
Lost time is never found again, but in its shadows lies my path to freedom. (2020-2026)