Look What I Found
Date
November 15, 2025
The year’s latter end was upon the populace of Hogwarts’ halls, its approach marked in typical fashion. Clouds of pristine white, burdened by time, slowly darkened to gray, content to cast the world in their gloom. Days rose late from slumber and grew tired early, while lengthened nights picked up the slack. The wind grew teeth, forcing students and faculty alike to don protective clothing such as jackets, gloves or scarves that softened its bite.
Not to be outdone by figments of fabric, the wafting scent of hot drinks occupied the castle corridors, hints of peppermint or caramel playing on the noses of those who would warm their insides with the contents of a mug, and their peers who shared those spaces. Fires performed dance numbers for crowds gathered at their hearth, excited voices melding with the crack of burning logs while the show carried on.
No mistletoe dangled from any doorway, no douglas fir towered in the Great Hall, and no boughs of holly yet decked the halls, though Marshal did catch the occasional carol ringing through the air like a bell. A jingle bell even.
It was odd, the contrast of these final months; in the way the coldest of days somehow knitted cheer into the warmest of blankets, wrapping tightly about those who lent to its conception, and in the way it left those on the outside looking in more frigid than ever.
Marshal preferred to leave the carols for December, and he preferred hazelnut in his cocoa.
Bearing a mug in one hand, the sixth year slunk into the library, head sheathed in a loose hood that failed to envelop the top, a tuft of brown hair escaping out the front. Free hand resting lazily in the pouch of his sweatshirt, Marshal shouldered a backpack laden with tools of study.
He’d come from the Great Hall, from which the mug and its contents had originated. Knowing the room was often stocked with dispensers of scalding hot cocoa and various means of flavoring, the Gryffindor had made a pitstop there en route to his destination, that being the domain of books and learning he’d just invaded.
Throwing a glance around the space, he moved deeper inside, noting several students who had beaten him there. Some glanced his way before returning to their chosen material, while others may have been asleep for all the attention they paid. He acknowledged none, his focus prioritizing an unoccupied corner of the room, toward which he now moved.
In that corner sat an armchair of padded nature, kept company by a small coffee table at its fore, and a smaller table still to its side. As he approached, he found proof of a recent occupant indented in the chair’s cushion. Of course, the indent might have been permanent wear from an unending number of hindquarters resting there but for the way it slowly raised, reforming the cushion’s original shape before his eyes. Someone had vacated the spot mere minutes prior, and just as well; the chair may yet retain some of their warmth.
Sliding his pack straps from his shoulders, the Gryffindor discarded the bag to the coffee table before turning to the smaller side table. Intending to place his mug there, he instead hesitated, given pause by what already occupied the surface. The candlestick which provided light to the nook was not unexpected, though the ring also resting there was a curiosity.
Setting the mug down, Marshal gently retrieved the piece of jewelry, body rotating to fall into the previously warmed chair.
Lifting the ring for inpection, he found it to be an attractive piece composed of gold, blooming at its apex like a flower with a sapphire bud. Four diamonds were inlaid about the sapphire’s edges, snow-touched petals of white that diverged from the vibrant gem at their center. Two more diamonds lined either shoulder of the ring, totaling in a number that made Marshal wonder if the stones could be real. Surely not was his initial assumption, but then again, there was no shortage of snobbish brats with wealthy upbringings at this school, pure bloods most of them. Yet even still, who in their right mind would wear such a piece to the library, and discard it on any random tabletop?
Glancing toward the door, he wondered if he ought to go in search of the ring’s owner. Judging by the state of the chair he’d claimed, they hadn’t been gone for long — perhaps he could catch them? Such a quest would be a welcome distraction from the studies he’d planned to conduct.
But no; he frowned. Even the passing of mere minutes would have seen them out of range, and he had no way of knowing which direction they’d taken.
It was best, he decided, to leave the ring where he’d found it in case they came back, or to leave it with the librarian as a lost item.
However, there was one order of business to conduct first. When holding a ring, it was only natural to test how it fit upon one’s fingers; in fact, it was practically an unwritten rule to do so.
Sparing no thought in the action, the sixth year boy placed the ring over the finger so named for that purpose. Finding the fit particularly tight over the knuckle, he was left with no choice but to force it downward with increased strength, finally rewarded as it slid — somewhat painfully — into place.
Temporarily oblivious to the idea of how difficult the ring might be to remove, he extended his arm forward, where he would admire the piece on his hand from a distance. And it was there that someone searching for the ring might find him…
@Violence Bloodthorn
~Sometimes you have to laugh at yourself. It helps if you give yourself plenty of reasons~
STA ✩ 10 | EVA ✩ 10 | STR ✩ 14 | WIS ✩ 7 | ARC ✩ 6 | ACC ✩ 15
STA ✩ 10 | EVA ✩ 10 | STR ✩ 14 | WIS ✩ 7 | ARC ✩ 6 | ACC ✩ 15
Look What I Found
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| x | date and time: 15th of November, 2025 location: Library mentions: @Marshal Mozor speech 𓍼 thoughts |
𓍼
XX𝕿hree hours. That was how long she had been sitting in the Library, buried beneath a small sea of parchment and pages. She had claimed an entire table for herself without meaning to, the chair beside her taken by her bag and a teetering stack of three books. Five more lay sprawled across the table, cracked open like tired mouths. Her eyes flicked from one to the next, then to the parchment resting before her. Every so often, she dipped her quill into the inkpot and scribbled something, splattering flecks of ink over her fingers and the already abused margins. Violence did not bother wiping any of it away.
"Bluebell flames were bright blue in appearance..." Well, no shit. And waterproof, apparently, though not quite as hazardous as real fire. Riveting. She kept reading, kept writing, letting the scratch of her quill fill the long silences between breathing students. They came and went in neat, purposeful rhythms, while she sat as if time itself had thickened around her chair and refused to let her go. She pulled her neck back at last, feeling the stiffness spread down her spine. Two assignments done. Four still staring at her like unfed pets. She let her head fall back with a quiet groan. What she needed was a break. A hot cocoa with marshmallows sounded like salvation. Macaroons too, if she was allowed to dream a little.
She pushed herself out of the chair, leaving her things where they were. No point dragging her life around with her for what would barely be fifteen minutes. She wandered up to the front of the library to let the librarian know she was stepping away, only to find the desk empty. Brilliant. With a resigned mutter, she trudged back to her seat, tidied the books she had borrowed, grabbed her bag and headed out. The Great Hall was her best shot at finding something warm and vaguely comforting. If not, she would have to trek to the kitchens, which felt like a punishment given the state of her brain. It had been marinating in too much information since morning. She did not have the bandwidth for physical effort on top of it.
Luckily, she spotted a set of drink dispensers left out for stragglers. She dropped into the nearest seat, shoulders sagging with relief, and filled a cup with cocoa. While she stirred it, she mentally ticked off the assignments she had finished. The long essays were done, thank God. Defence Against the Dark Arts was unusually short this week. She would knock it out the moment she returned to the Library. She sipped her cocoa and let her gaze wander. Soon the Hall would be smothered in Christmas trees, wreaths hanging off every doorway, garlands creeping across the walls. Carols drifting down the corridors, pastries appearing on platters as if the air itself were feeling generous. She had not yet decided whether she should go home for the holidays or stay here. If Avina and Damon stayed, she might as well remain too.
But the thought tugged something old and delicate inside her. Last year’s holidays sat like a shadowed memory she tried not to disturb. And Azzure, somehow, always found a way into her mind the moment she stopped moving. Her thumb drifted, almost on instinct, to her middle finger. She toyed with the ring so often it had become second nature. Only today, when she reached for it, her fingers met bare skin. Her stomach dropped. She jerked her hand up, staring at the faint line where the ring should have been. There was a moment when the entire Hall felt too sharp, like the air had grown teeth. Panic surged hot and fast. When had she taken it off? Why would she? That ring was Sébastien’s gift, and precious in a way she could not explain aloud, not without revealing too much.
She tried to think. She never removed it unless absolutely necessary. The last time had been the Fall Ball. She had definitely worn it two days ago. She was sure of it. She always felt the tiny looseness of it, even on her middle finger, the one with the most skin. It needed resizing, but that would have to wait until she visited Paris. She had kept it safe all this time. How the hell had she managed to lose it now? Retracing her steps was the only thing to do. She grabbed her cocoa, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked out in a rush, her eyes glued to the ground as if the stones might glow blue just for her.
She prayed the staircases had not shifted in fifteen minutes. She moved quickly, scanning every corner, every step, every shadow. Her heart thumped harder with each passing second. By the time she reached the Library again, her breath felt tight in her chest. She went straight to her table. Someone else was sitting there. A student she did not recognise. She scanned the floor, the chairs, the space under the table. Nothing. She turned to leave, the beginnings of despair creeping in, when a glint of blue caught her attention. A shimmer of sapphire in the stranger’s hand. Her ring.
The student was trying to get it to fit in their finger, examining it with mild interest as if it were some random trinket. Something inside her snapped like a wire pulled too tight. She marched to the table and snatched the ring out of the stranger's finger , as her voice came out cold and sharp. "What are you doing with that? Planning to pocket it? It looks expensive enough, doesn’t it?" It was rude, and she knew it, but she was in no mood to care. Panic and fury had fused in her bloodstream. This was Sébastien’s ring. Hers. She was possessive as hell about it, and the fact she had managed to lose it in the first place only made everything worse.
Violence huffed. She glared at the stranger like they had personally wronged her, like they had kicked her favourite kitten straight into the snow. And for a long moment, she simply stood there, breathing hard, fear still clawing at her ribs.
𓍼
| XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX | wc: 1,030 notes: n/a outfit: 𓍼 | x |
Last edited by Violence Bloodthorn on 4 Dec 2025, 11:10, edited 2 times in total.
Look What I Found
The ring hugged his finger like a living creature with abandonment issues, applying more pressure than could be considered comfortable. He admired it, the way it shone with a mimicry of soul, as any fair work of art should. For all its absurdity, he could not shake the notion that these stones contained more than mere mineral. They seemed to shift in the way candlelight glanced across their face, and perhaps even breathe — though the rise and fall may have been the rhythm of his own lungs. It was difficult to perceive, yet he knew such thoughts were of fanciful birth.
Even still, the impression remained that something more than stone lived inside the ring. Whether that be a life its own, or the lasting touch of sentiment, he was unsure. One thing was clear, however, that being the item’s worth, and it was all the more reason to turn it in.
His curiosity sated on how the jewelry might fit him, the sixth year made to remove it, an effort first undertaken by his pointer finger and thumb, who were promptly joined by a third digit, then replaced by the entire hand, engulfing the ring. All failed in succession, as no amount of leverage proved sufficient to yank the hoop from its seat beneath his knuckle. A measure of pain told him it was time to abandon the latest pull, while a grunt of exertion escaped his nostrils.
Prompted to reconsider his approach, Marshal paused a moment to examine the situation, and to reflect on the folly which had led him there.
The mistake had been made, of course, when he’d noticed the rather tight fit, but proceeded to shove the ring over his knuckle regardless. Easily noted and avoidable, but foresight rarely accounted for hubris.
Now, as he eyed the object with dubious intent, he failed to note the approaching girl, and therefore avoid her own plan to remove the ring. Said plan simply involved pulling harder, with no thought to spare his finger from the pain that might cause.
A cry leapt from the Gryffindor’s lips, of shock just the same as agony, when a merciless grip took the ring and yanked with all the might of an ox. The action forced his arm away from his body, though the pull was short lived as the ring slipped over his knuckle and clear of his finger entirely.
The brief pain subsided, as did his sudden shout. A moment passed wherein he studied the space once occupied by the ring, attempting to process what had just taken place.
A voice cut through that moment like the edge of a blade, drawing his gaze to a dark-haired girl who bristled like a cornered beast. Venomous accusation dripped from her tongue, yet it was fear that trembled within blue eyes.
Recovering somewhat from his initial stupor, Marshal threw both hands up defensively.
”Woah there,” he said quickly. ”I just found it sitting here unattended. Is it a crime to try on an abandoned ring? I was planning to turn it in to the librarian.” Given more time to consider the stranger’s brashness, a touch of resentment crept into his breast, subsequently leaking through his tone. ”Next time try using your words before you decide to yank someone’s finger off.” Rubbing absently at the offended digit, he regarded the girl indignantly.
She was a few years his junior, yet exuded enough paranoia to pass as a seasoned Hogwarts student. That in itself was tragic, an indication that she had experienced enough prior trauma to place her in such a category. No mentally stable person could fit in at this place, and it seemed she’d gotten a head start on meeting that criteria.
But he failed to pity her. Perhaps he hadn’t any pity left to spare. He’d spent so much on himself, it seemed his reserve had run dry. Such a shame that the only thing left between him and indifference was bitterness.
Oh well.
”How much is it worth, anyway?” he wondered aloud, ignoring his own lack of manners. If she hadn’t put forth any such effort, then there was no sense in him feigning social grace either. ”It better be a lot considering the way you’re acting about it.”
She still clung to the item like a lifeline, the lingering fear in her gaze reminiscent of something primal, as if in the aftermath of a near death experience.
The sixth year leaned back in his chair, one ankle crossing over the opposite knee as he relaxed. Fingers twined across his stomach, he awaited the girl’s response, willing to hold a conversation for the distraction it would offer from unwanted homework.
@Violence Bloodthorn
~Sometimes you have to laugh at yourself. It helps if you give yourself plenty of reasons~
STA ✩ 10 | EVA ✩ 10 | STR ✩ 14 | WIS ✩ 7 | ARC ✩ 6 | ACC ✩ 15
STA ✩ 10 | EVA ✩ 10 | STR ✩ 14 | WIS ✩ 7 | ARC ✩ 6 | ACC ✩ 15
Look What I Found
| 002. | LOOK WHAT I FOUND. |
| xxxxxxx | xxxxxxxxx𝕿he way the stranger responded made Violence realise how she had acted. Completely out of character, without any poise or grace. Her chin wasn’t held high, her shoulders drooped and her fingers trembled. The young witch straightened herself, clearing her throat. Her gaze was still wary, as if she didn’t completely believe the man that stood in front of her. The ring was expensive after all. But as she stared into his eyes, she realised that he was as taken aback by her outburst as she herself was. She raised her eyebrow at the boy’s answer, “The librarian isn’t here. Surely, you must have noticed that when you came in through the library?” There was no way anybody could miss the desk where the librarian was, usually. “Well, next time try not to wear stuff that doesn’t belong to you. Especially when it’s jewellery.” Her tone was composed now, a bit of indignance apparent, but not without reason. She looked at the ring she had been clutching, before quickly putting it on. She looked at the back of her palm, a sense of relief washing over her, as she felt her face muscles loosen. Her creased brows settled back into their original place and her nose wasn’t scrunched anymore. The boy sat down and Violence decided she would sit down as well. The chances of the boy asking Violence to take a seat were slim after the way she had practically pulled out his arm. Her relief was short-lived when the boy spoke again, this time asking about how much the ring cost, maybe he should just keep his mouth shut. “You realise this is not helping your case, right? I can very easily report you to any faculty available and you’d be in for a punishment?” Violence sighed, this was not what she had imagined her Saturday evening to go like. She would have loved to spend time, alone, in her dorm and complete her homework, or study for the upcoming classes. Losing her ring and then finding it on another man’s finger was not on her to-do list for the day. She still remembered the day Sébastien had gifted it to her. It was her 9th birthday, and Séb had apparently gifted it to her as a keepsake of the days her age was still in single digits. It sounded weird to Violence, nobody gifted you a ring just because you’d be 10 next year. Vi wanted to laugh, but this was just like him, always trying to make everything about Vi special somehow. Violence didn’t know how she had gotten the most perfect cousin brother, how the Universe had blessed her, but she was grateful for it. The young witch had jumped around the mansion for a solid five minutes before finally tackling Séb to the ground for a bear hug. The memory made a small smile crawl up her face as she whispered, “It’s invaluable. Worth more than anything anybody could offer.” She snapped back to reality suddenly, “Uh, I mean, what’s it got to do with you?” She set down her bag on the table, “I had gone for a hot cocoa break, I have been sitting here since the morning. So I would appreciate it if you found another table in the Library. There are countless, not many people spend their Saturdays in the Library doing homework anyway.” She glared at the stranger, it was the least he could do after wearing a ring that didn’t belong to him, and then proceeding to ask about how much it was worth. As she waited for him to reply, she looked at the guy, really looked at him. He was wearing a sweatshirt with the hood on, some hair escaping from the front. Violence would have judged the brunette, as it appeared, as someone who wanted to look cool with sweatshirts and sweatpants if not for the chill air that found its way across the halls of Hogwarts. The one thing Violence had noticed, when they were both standing, had been that the boy was easily 7-8 inches taller than her. Currently, the afternoon sun had directed its rays towards their table and a beam caught his eyes, the light hazel glinting. Her eyes squinted for a split second before she cleared her throat and decided to take her books out of her bag. The homework wasn’t going to finish itself and if the guy was not going to evacuate the table, which is what it seemed like from his behaviour, she could at least use his help. She opened her Charms textbook, sighing. When would the day get over? | xxxxxxx |
| x | x |
xx | ─── STA ◦ 6 | EVA ◦ 9 | STR ◦ 2 | WIS ◦ 7 | ARC ◦ 2 | ACC◦ 9
☽ code and graphic made by elena clark ☾  PRODIGAL POTION LEANER ◦ CHARMER ◦ ABILITY ───
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