From Russia with Love PV | Lads

date ; forward dated to feb mentions ; @Alphonse Toussaint @Odilon Wilde languages ; english | thoughts

Viaduct and more ; location 1600+ ; wordcount F it we ball ; ooc notes

The viaduct had quickly grown to be their place of choice.

Wind-scoured stone, phantom echo of footsteps and height that made everything seemed distant. Prat leaned against the cold with a routine ease, gloved fingers that kept drumming idly against stone as the passing sun washed the bridge in bright yellows. The lads were late, unsurprising, but he didn't mind. Waiting had long ago became a skill Prat had acquired and not deem an inconvenience. The wait allowed him time to introspect, patch the holes and continue growing the plan.

This time, however, the reason was neither to loiter with drinks in hand or argue over nonsense.

They had a plan, a map and three sets of brains, well....there was Alphonse too so maybe not, maybe just two and a half perhaps.

Earlier that week still lingered fresh in the slytherin heir's mind: the library, of all places was where it all began. Alphonse, in a library was a sight worthy of documentation on its own. Prat had nearly laughed aloud when he'd seen him sprawled across a table, flipping pages with exaggerated seriousness, pretending to not be bored out of his skull as the two looked for hilarious images in those books.

It had been a book on molding charms or rather a book that was molding by design, ancient and half-forgotten in a corner, brittle enough that prat had been surprised Ms. Nancy hadn't gotten rid of it already. He'd been leafing through the illustrations within it when something slipped free, fluttering to the floor beneath them..

Not parchment, not quite paper either.

The three crouched, Prat's fingertips brushing a torn map etched with runes so faded they were barely legible. Snowdrifts, patterns, jagged lines and a mountain range drawn with obsessive details.

"Well," he'd said then, voice low and amused, the gear turning "this seems incredibly interesting."

Standing on the viaduct now, with the wind tugging at his coat, Prat straightened as familiar footsteps approached him. He didn't turn immediately, he didn't need to.

"You're late, again." he said calm and unbothered. "I was beginning to think you both chickened out."

He pushed off the parapet and unrolled the map again, letting the setting sun skim across the ink. "Alright, let's go over it one more time. That ridge there" he tapped the jagged line with his gloved fingers, "matches the northern mountains, which means, this" another tap, more deliberate and circling "-has to be Durmstrang and it's surrounding territory."

A pause. Then, smug certainty. "Obviously"

He flicked a glance upward, "Durmstrang is hard to reach, precisely why it's there." He gestured vaguely towards north. "Remote, miserable and freezing. A school built for those with an instilled hatred for comfort."

Prat folded the map carefully and slid it back into his coat. "I asked around," he continued. "Quietly. Portraits, old notes, I even found a very talkative ghost who wouldn't shut up once I told him some relationship tea." His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "He told me the map belonged to an old old professor or something. Gone decades ago. Rumoured obsession and a mental streak that'd send most to Azkaban."

He let the words settle before adding more, "And the treasure."

That was when the tone shifted entirely.

Treasure in this instance wasn't metaphorical at all. Not research notes or artefacts meant for archives. No, this was something buried, lost. Frozen beneath layers of snow and time, surviving generations without human touch, and the intrigue around it now was enough to hook Prat into beginning a search for it.

"The plan is simple," Prat said, already halfway through it in his head. "We go, we find it, we come back before anyone realises we're gone."

A beat.

"Alright, before too many people realise we're gone."

The escape was the problem, the hardest part in Prat's plan and the ones with the most holes.

Alphonse's mother being a professor brought increasing complications to their plans, immense ones. Prat had considered that fact for all of three seconds before dismissing it as manageable. Difficult didn't have to mean impossible, it simply meant they'd have to put in more effort to fool the Haitian witch.

"We won't all vanish at once," he said, precise words carrying his plan. "Stagger it. Each of us already prepared an alibi. Someone who'll swear they saw us. Late-night study, detention, tower hangout. Whatever works for you guys."

His gaze sharpened. "We just need two days without scrutiny. Two Days. No more, any longer and our absence attracts too much attention."

Packing had been done quickly, efficiently even.

Prat laid everything out on his bed with military neatness. Wand, Dagger–polished, balanced and sheathed easily. Warm layers charmed against moisture. Food Compressed and rationed. A flask of alcohol, not for indulgence but warmth. The map, sealed and protected.

And a few other items he'd rather not comment on as they vanished into hidden pockets of his bag.

When the night finally fell, Hogwarts felt different.

The castle loomed behind him, lit windows like watchful eyes, suspended between towers and the darkness night promised. Hogwarts seemed distant, optional even. Prat leaned back against the parapet, posture relaxed with his hands tucked into the coat as if this were just another idle meeting and not mere prelude to something that would very well land him in weeks of detention or worse.

He watched the path rather than the sky this time. They were due any second now.

Footsteps announced them before voices could. Familiar rhythms. Familiar presences. Prat straightened, the faintest curve of anticipation pulling at the corner of his mouth as the trio reassembled under the open night.

"Alright," he said once they were all gathered and ready, with a tone that was measured but unmistakably pumped and alive. "One last time. Let's go over it, we're not improvising this part."

He drew the map out again, careful even in the low light. The parchment was brittle, edges torn as though ripped from the book in haste and secrecy. Flattening it against the stone, Prat weighted it with his palm.

"We fly straight," Prat continued, taping the line that cut northward across the page. "No detours, no sightseeing. We don't slow down or drop to the ground until we see these." His fingers traced the jagged silhouette of the mountains etched into the map. "That's when we know we're close."

A pause, then glancing back up at those two. "However, if we do need buffer zones to rest, we stop in between these parts. Not here–" a slight tilt of his head back towards the castle, "–but at stretches that won't attract attention to us. We'll refill supplies in the villages and towns, rest up, warm up our bodies and then take off again. Simple."

He folded the map and slid it away.

Prat exhaled through his nose, amused. "Detention's never looked easier to stomach when the alternative is an otherworldly treasure no one's bothered to dig through in decades."

The wind gusted harder, as if in agreement.

The brooms lay ready nearby as Prat stepped towards his without much ceremony, running a gloved hand along the polished handle of his silver arrow. Familiar weight and familiar promise to it. He swung a leg over smoothly, settling as if he'd been born in the air rather than on the ground.

"Once we're up in the air," he added, voice lower now, more intent behind it, "we stick together and if someone drops pace, match them, no heroics, lets make it there alive. All of us."

Moonlight caught in his eyes and he glanced between them, radiating off his eyes. "And if anyone would like to back out, now's the time."

He didn't exactly wait for an answer.

The dark of the night accepted them readily as one by one the brooms lifted off, viaduct falling away beneath them as Hogwarts shrank into a constellation of lights. Cold air tore at his face, sharp and invigorating as he laughed under the exhilarating feeling of speed building beneath him.

They flew fast, the castle disappearing behind clouds as they cut a straight, unwavering line towards what they believed to be Durmstrang. The world below blurred into dark shapes; forests, rivers and faint glow of light from distant settlements.

Hours passed in the strange, timeless way only flight could've allowed.

And then, boredom crept in.

Prat drifted closer to Odilon, matching the pace with deceptive calm, waiting until they were high enough that the ground was nothing more than an abstract suggestion before he reached out suddenly, gripping the tail of Odilon's broom.

With a sharp twist of his wrist, he tilted the entire broom sideways.

The effect was immediate.

Prat barked a laugh as the broom wobbled violently, the sudden imbalance sending Odilon teetering precariously before he corrected.

"Careful," Prat called over the rush of air, grin audible in his voice. "You almost dropped yourself."

He released the broom and shot forward a little, exhilaration buzzing under his skin as the cold bit deeper into his bones. For a moment, it felt like nothing count touch them, not the pesky rules or consequences of Hogwarts and certainly not the weight of their actions, at least not yet.

Eventually, the laughter faded into focused silence.

As they flew, another thought threaded itself into Prat's focus, unrelated to treasure, yet no less insistent and important.

Remedy

His memory of her, lingered in mind with surprising clarity. The sharpness in her gaze and the ways she'd carried herself. He hadn't planned this journey for her but the places coinciding was hardly an inconvenience.

If Paths crossed, they crossed. If not, the night held enough promise otherwise.

xx

𝐒𝐓𝐀 𝟔 | 𝐄𝐕𝐀 𝟗 | 𝐒𝐓𝐑 𝟔 | 𝐖𝐈𝐒 𝟕 | 𝐀𝐑𝐂 𝟕 | 𝐀𝐂𝐂 𝟏𝟎 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 | 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 | 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 coded by elena clarkxx

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