budapest gambit.
| E | ✧  ✧location. hogwarts courtyard. date. 10th of october, afternoon. mentions. @Percival Rocier.  Today was going to be a good day. Esme was sure. Her classes had been pleasant; potions always was, despite professor Sauber’s rather… well, let’s call it distant demeanour, perfectly pleasant. There was something almost meditative about the subject. Devoting at least an hour to one controlled activity, something that required precision and thought: that was something Esme enjoyed. Potions required care and concentration — whatever idle chatter there was either quickly died down, even the most annoying of students realising it would not benefit them, or Esme was able to tune out easily. It was a good class to end the day with, especially considering the rest of her plans for the day. Her free time that day has been allotted to another favorite activity of hers: chess. A most noble pursuit; Esme had played all the time back home, in between or after classes. Her grandmother, Victoria, was a lover of the game. She had dedicated plenty of her own time to learning about it, and taught Esme as much as she could — she was who introduced Esme to the game, who helped her through puzzles, bought her books, and played with her at least twice a week, without fail. Esme absolutely loved the game thanks to Victoria’s influence: there was no activity she preferred to relax with. She loved reading and music, too, of course, but it was chess that held a special spot in Esme’s heart, carved out of the marble by fond memories of games with her grandma and her cousins. Esme had kept playing in Hogwarts, of course. There were plenty of people to verse — Rafal and Livia, most commonly, both Slytherins and both people Esme appreciated as worthy opponents. Still, the days she managed to meet up with her cousin to play were perhaps her favorite. Stella, being a Gryffindor in her second year, was a bit harder to hunt down for their games, but had the unique insight of knowing everything there was to know about Esme and her playstyle. To win against Stella, Esme had to focus — to let everything but the game fall away, to let herself enter that calm, meditative state she so liked potions for. And so, on a pleasant, October afternoon, Esme found herself crossing the courtyard to meet with Stella by the lake. She had managed to schedule a longer catch up with Stella, a picnic of sorts, and was excited to see how the day's games would go. Opting to leave her bag behind for the time being, Esme only had with her two things: her wand in her pocket and an ornate case in her hands, clutched carefully. Every defeat, every draw, every win, each and every single one, was suffered with the same army that Esme commanded. A wizarding chess set gifted to her by, of course, her grandmother — a gorgeous wooden board and case with velvet lining inside. The star of the show, however, were the chess pieces themselves, of course — crystal glass, shining under any light. One army clear, the other tinted black, yet still entirely translucent, like the most pristine onyx. Each figure always casting pretty reflections as they lifted themselves to Esme's command, ready to fight the opponent's troops. Stella would have her own army ready, of course, and Esme couldn't wait to see how everything would play out. She had been preparing for it the past few days, if she were to be honest — she had recently been reading on the Budapest Gambit, and was curious to see if Stella— Esme was broken out of her thoughts by a sudden collision. “Ough—” she fell to the side with a dull thud, feeling rather graceless all of a sudden. An ache radiated from the side of her hip and the heel of her palm where she now supported herself. Her elbow almost buckled, but she was able to get enough of a hold of herself to not have her head hit the cold stone of the castle walls. More pressingly, her hands were on the ground, busy keeping herself up. No longer were they holding the ornate wooden box, and it was with that cold realisation that Esme felt a chill go down her spine. In front of her, in pieces of shiny crystal glass, lay her chess set. A few of the figures were still recognisable — the black queen was split in half, but otherwise kept most of her features the same, the throne still standing statuesque, crystalline gown draped over it. Others were not so lucky — a mix of black and white crystal glittered under the last of the October sun, virtually indistinguishable from each other. If the sight was of quite literally anything else, Esme would have considered it beautiful. The rays hit them so perfectly, so prettily — it was like looking at the little shards of ice sprinkled between freshly fallen snow. If it was a winter’s morning out in the courtyard, it would have been enchanting. Unfortunately, it was an autumn afternoon, and the sight before Esme only brought nausea to the deepest pit of her stomach. Her chess set — the set she had spent so many hours with, leading either of the white or black armies into battle, pondering moves and pouring over books of theory — in pieces, on the cold stone of the courtyard ground. As if they were never anything but tiny shards of ice. She looked up at the person in front of her, and her face contorted in a mix of anger and distaste, her expectations of a good day shattered just as the glass on the cold stone floor. Esme could feel herself shaking slightly, fingers almost scraping against the stone as she clenched her fists. She recognised the boy in front of her — how could she not? Just a few days ago, he had spent an inordinate amount of time staring her down in that dreaded escape room with Cecilia, Maisie, Violence, and M-what’s-her-face. “For Merlin’s sake, Percival, she is part-veela, not a bloody basilisk – Snap out of it!” Esme still recalled Cecilia’s tone (grating as always) perfectly; otherwise, she would not have cared enough to remember the boy's name, really. She made a habit of not learning the names of Merrick's dogs, no matter how well-trained. Perhaps some staring would have done Percival well now, Esme thought. At least he would have seen where he was walking. Esme stood quickly, grabbing the wooden case — finding that one of the hinges had snapped. That fact did not help Percival’s case. She held it in her hand, almost on display, letting Percy see the damage done to it — the way the top of the box now hung limply, barely sticking to the other part of it. “You know,” she said, her tone measured still, but unmistakably venomous, “I wouldn't have expected you, out of all people, to have trouble watching for what's in front of you.”  wc. 1173 notes. mentions of stella approved by her writer. ✧✦✧ |
H |
thales amaro. second year castelobruxo quidditch. |
katherine townsend. professor of charms, former thunderbird. |