Flashes of Brotherhood pv

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

English | French

How time flies! was such a cliché, yet Maxi couldn't help but mumbling it to himself when he stepped on the campus, still slightly dizzy due to the prior portkey travel. His first visit to other schools had somehow become a blur. Most of the details had just faded, but what he could recollect was the restless anticipation from the night before and the continuous chatting and giggling during the Abraxan trip to Hogwarts. From when did the childish yearnings disappear? He couldn't tell.

17-soon-to-be-18-year-olds didn't overexcite themselves.

Despite this, he still experienced the thrill when he observed the exotic surroundings, his bare nose reddening in the cold air. While the destinations had almost always been Hogwarts, he was glad to know that they were setting out for Koldovstoretz. He had missed the Tenūsa event, but thankfully, he was in time for Koldovstoretz. Most likely a final trip, he thought, and oh, how time flies!

Lake Bear was a name that Maxi appreciated. Ice-covered, mysterious, powerful, and wild, it seemed ideal for hosting winter sports games. Doubting his ability to glide on the ice, he trekked down the snowy field along the bank, idly rubbing his frost-bound hands. Maxi tiptoed when he strolled past the permanent shops--maybe he'd pay them another visit sometime; he was indeed interested in authentic Russian specialities.

And finally, yurts were in sight. The walk across the campus had already worn him out, and Maxi was grateful for the snug-looking yurts. He checked them in turn, searching for his own name among the ocean of magical students. And there it was, together, with another name embroidered nearby.

He studied the name tags quietly for a moment. He would have exclaimed and rushed inside if he had been thirteen. Or he would have pulled a small prank and found a way to unexpectedly turn up in the interior, if he had been fifteen. Unfortunately, he was seventeen. A dull grownup, even though with an accelerated heartbeat and heated veins. The reckless passion had turned into restrained longing. The gale bit on his cheeks. He swallowed.

17-soon-to-be-18-year-olds shouldn't overexcite themselves.

And yet the bumping in his chest and the climbing smile on his lips weren't lies. He was a bit overexcited, maybe, in a seventeen-year-old's way. He was missing those hazel eyes, the flecks of gold glistening like ripples caught in sunlight. He longed for the smile, the talk, and the kindred, mutual understanding. Maxi gazed at the glow seeping out of the yurt. A step inside, and then he would be wholly sheltered in this freezing Arctic land. And so he waited no longer.

"Arch..." He called softly, announcing his arrival. Maxi dragged his luggage inside and dropped them aside, flopping down onto the bed next to Archer's. Seemed like they were having the whole lodge to themselves. Lavish, truly.

He drew in the soft warmth of the fluffy pillow and silky sheets before turning and smiling at his brother-like friend, dark grey eyes sparkling with joy. "Long day?" He asked, feeling the stiffness in his legs. Archer seemed exhausted as well. The typical toll of travels, he thought, even though they were already magical enough.

The glinting soft metallic hues and the crackling sound of fire soothed his frayed nerves, and a familiar feeling was aroused. And it suddenly occurred to him. Exactly. Home. As if they were not in the Arctic lands of Russia, and their reunion was just a simple homecoming. He exhaled softly, and the thought slipped out before he even knew.

"Bienvenue chez toi." Welcome home.

“Arch…”

Was it such a crime to have imagined their reunion? Ran it through his mind time and time over with a million different possibilities of how it could have played out? Was it a crime to allow himself this ounce of a bright dream, after all the nightmares that had plagued his mind? And yet, there was a tenderness in his voice he did not quite expect, a gentleness that rushed in his veins as warmth, solidifying in his blood as this boy — who now bordered on manhood — he would call a brother. So Archer did not receive an exclamation, but times have changed, and they were both older. How times flies. It may have been cliche, but it was the truth.

Yet Archer was never too old. Teetering on the childhood that had been robbed from him, he carried himself with the determination to reclaim it, and his eyes did light up in a manner only a child would see. He sat up from his place among his blankets, and bracing the wintry wind that slithered down his back as the tent flap opened, was undeterred by the wisp of glacial air he had let into the room. This presence who had deluded with him of wizards and adventures, who had opened his arms when he sought for a solace from his grief, who had been a brother more than lineage could ever be… warmed the room without the necessity of any heating spells. A grin crossed over Archer’s face, and suddenly, as if the world had spun on its axis twice and left him upside down, joy coursed through him, accumulated into the one word of his name. “Maxi!”

He laughed out loud, and perhaps somewhere in that crisp sound, Maxi’s would echo his own.

He watched as Maxi set down his own luggage and lowered himself onto the bed next to his own. Archer’s eyes glimmered, and in that flash of Maxi’s smile as he rested into the sheets, he almost returned to the moment when Maximilien ostentatious array of middle names de Fostoncy told him to simply address him as Maxi. Barely three years ago, Maxi had became a mentor on a monomyth Archer had never thought he would set on. He blinked up at the yurt, its beams all pointing towards the centre structure, supporting their entire lodgings — just as all his experiences pointed towards the person who he was now, supporting the life he led. And somehow, just as the tent was his consolation in the unforgiving Russian winters, he had created his own solace for himself in the gales that battered his days.

When asked of his travels, his answer was distant, yet he urged himself not to be dismissive. “Yes,” he muttered, then louder, “The travelling is really getting to me.”

Hazel eyes fell on grey, its intensity carrying endless universes yet so much benevolence simultaneously. Before he could quite catch himself, the words slipped out between his lips, “You look… different.” Archer referred to the refined lines of angular features, yet he also referred to the stride that carried him. The assuredness. The decisiveness. The way he moved as if he was no longer part of Archer’s world of teenagers. Archer raised a brow, then insisted, “In a good way, I assure!”

In a way that meant he was slowly losing him, but if it meant growth, he was ready to let go. But the reassurance of his voice was familiar as he spoke, unfettered by the change of times: “Bienvenue chez toi.”

Instantly, whatever tension had seized his muscles relaxed, and he returned into the safety of the brother who had embraced him as he fell into shambles, all that time away. Now he too was stronger, more assured, more decisive. And just as Maximilien had pieced together a future out of what he had been granted, Archer had gathered together a life out of what had been broken. He returned the words, settling into the moment with determination to never let it fade, “This is a nice place to call home.”

In some way, he realised, the battle he was fighting had now become one against the gradual loss of his own self.

@Maximilien de Fostoncy | banner by Adeline Spinks

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

English | French

He followed Archer's example, silent grin turning into a delighted laugh. Maxi loved the cheerfulness in Archer's voice as he exclaimed his name, those simple two syllables joyously ringing in his ears, and he felt as if his prior fatigue had been eliminated. Mentally, of course, his calves were still aching to the point he could not ignore. He nodded empathetically. "Mhm." Maxi agreed as he stretched himself out on the mattress. "Me also. Better rest well tonight. And a hot shower."

His left hand touched his chin almost instinctively when Archer observed his alter in appearance. Maxi's palms had always been on the warmer side, fingers thoughtfully scratching the slightly coldish jaw. "Really?" He tilted his head rather thoughtfully. Generally speaking, it was hard to recognise one's own daily growth, but many a little could make a mickle. There were times when the person in the mirror staring back at him, those familiar steel eyes suspiciously shiny on a stranger's face, a striking difference from what he remembered in family albums. From when did he grow into someone like that? Maximilien de Fostoncy was no longer that young daydreamer fascinated over Hogwarts staff's tales and rumours, idly wandering in the woods and reciting eclogues. Granted, he still wrote passionately from time to time, but it was not the same anymore. Having already made up his mind to gradually take over the family business, there would never be a certain poet or writer named de Fostoncy debuting in Paris next summer. "I guess I'm old." A chuckle. "But, yeah. Coming of age, perhaps?" Maxi had a vague memory of Archer being equally supportive of and excited about him inheriting the vineyard, but he wondered what his friend would observe. Maxi had always thought that his friend, despite being junior, knew best. He smiled at Archer's reassurance. "It's so good to know that."

Maxi yawned, flopping down into the bed. The yurts were decidedly cozy, and it felt almost unrealistic to have a small shelter entirely to themselves on such a vast, frozen land. His mind had been on wine so much lately, but the softness of the duvet somehow had the romanticism in his heart awaken, and the chandelier's dim light jogged his memory back to the streets of Lyon, to the first time they ever met. That was two years ago, if he remembered it correctly, and while he regarded their kindred spirits as never altering, so much had happened to both of them and between them.

Pressing his eyelids together, those moments were alive right in front of his eyes. Reopening them, he looked over to his dear brother. "It's been a while." He said, his tone almost sighing. If only they could be in the same school, Maxi thought, and they could have so much fun together being able to meet each other daily, either in the antique corridors of Hogwarts or the lavish gardens of Beauxbatons. They said absence made the heart grow fonder; somehow, Maxi disagreed. There were so many moments he wished he were by his loved ones' side, witnessing the snippets of their lives, trivial or meaningful. Thankfully, they had a chance to catch up with each other. "How's third year? I think that's the year for, er," Maxi sought in his memory for a while before finally coming up with the right word. "electives? What have you picked?" He sat up from the bed, leaning back to the headboard and crossing his legs. Boys' talk.

Passage à l'âge adulte.

Coming of age.

That was the word Maxi used. The Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Goldfinch. The titles, the authors, drew on infinitely in this genre. Engless tales written just about how young boys like Archer Duncan grew up. And, in many ways, his own tale.

Archer, as contained in the other side of the fourth wall as he was, would make no attempt to break through the barrier between him and this alter reality, yet in many ways, as the last of the sun spilt over the yurt where they laid in rest, he saw the events of his own life, from the shaken turbulence to the ephemeral moments of bliss as a coming of age story in the making, its heroic protagonist, flawed and human yet shining, traversing through a land that offered no forgiveness or respite. This dramatisation of his pain, this understanding of his rage, this glorification of his emotions — it almost made life seem more worth living. The belief that life is art would finally grant him meaning.

He sat up accordingly as Maxi crossed his legs. Right. Boys’ talk.

“Electives?” Archer repeats the word, before latching onto Maxi’s meaning. The drone of classes had grown so tedious and his opinion towards them so careless that the word did not strike him as anything vaguely relevant to his life at first. Having been offered choices of Study of Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, and Muggle Studies, his choice was extraordinarily in-contemplative. He had filled in the forms with a classic scrawl that pointed towards the former two with utmost certainty. When questioned what he would like as back-ups, he provided none. The other two subjects were frivolous endeavours, whereas his current choices aligned with his actual desires for what life would provide.

Yet life had always had a funny way to go about things. It never quite unfolded in the direction planned, yet in hindsight, it does not seem like it should have surprised anyone. Still in the depths of his third year, removed form the fuss of choosing a career and the terrible truth of adulting, Archer carried some respite in his carelessness for his choices. He still imagined himself a noble cartographer or curse breaker — he would not have thought, in that moment, blankets laid over his legs, that one day he would be perched on the bar where Maxi tended, listening to his stories with the occasional punctuation.

What would come? Grievance or freedom?

Long-waited, well-deserved freedom. A freedom he would promised himself he would no longer carry guilt into.

His eyes drifted to Maxi, and for a moment, they lingered on the undeniable changes in his stature before they met his eyes. He held himself like an adult now; he was an adult now. He occupied a different world, but within that different world, Archer understood that he was still Maxi.

But decisions laid on the line, demanding to be made. “What about you? Graduation is soon for you. The vineyard, as you said?”

@Maximilien de Fostoncy | banner by Adeline Spinks

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

English | French

"Hmm." He let out a hum, allowing his limbs to slacken on the mattress. They were fine choices, Archer's, and Maxi trusted that his friend had his own reasons for picking them. It had always been intriguing to him how each school organised its own curriculum, how they differed from each other but all aimed to arm students with enough knowledge nevertheless. Beauxbatons organised their schedule differently, for example, and the cutoff point was when students turned fifteen. The memories of his own Rite of Prospect were now a blur to him, and honestly, he had no idea how it would contribute to his future career. He started his first year wide-eyed, went through the first four collège years pretty much dreamily, and now he was at the end of his lycée days. What did he learn? How was he prepared? People started to chant on graduation the very day he became a seventh year, and apparently they were going to remind him that time was running short until the very day he received his diploma. The initial thrill of coming of age was replaced by bewilderment. Indeed, he had his mind settled on his future, but the details remained shrouded in mist. He was - maybe everybody was - just swept forward by the tides of time.

Maxi nodded, ruffling the hair on top of his head idly. "Yeah. The vineyard." Maybe he was so lost in his own thoughts that he repeated Archer's words distractedly, before slowly snapping out of his daze, the faraway expression replaced by a tender smile. "Honestly, I still couldn't believe that I've actually made up my mind." He hadn't revealed this to others, not even to Gellert. Considering how he loathed the thought of inheriting the family business when he was younger. How he dreamed of fleeing the estate after graduation, and debuting under a made-up pen name in Paris. Maxi could not pinpoint exactly when his thoughts turned different - maybe he had always been such a walking contradiction, desiring to let go of his current life yet desperately clinging to it. Blood was thicker than water, they said, and maybe they were right for once. But still - he had always had that rebelliousness underneath his perfect mask, and Maxi was pretty sure that others could not make him into anything. He chose this path himself. And he couldn't deny to himself that he was actually looking forward to it, bartending and everything. So perhaps, perhaps it was like a slow-burning love, that he took seventeen years to realise that he could not live without the fragrance of ripe grapes and the aroma of sunlight seeping into the barrels. Maxi chuckled a little. "Never mind. I feel quite excited - I have talked with my father during Christmas, and we've decided that starting from bartending would probably be the best option." He explained, slowly. "Like, I can get to know different kinds of beverages before I focus on wines. And the customers, of course. Rather eager to interact with them."

He softly inhaled, lowering his eyes. "And while I would love to venture into the wine business, maybe, maybe I would pursue full-time writing someday in the future..." Maxi craned his neck, gazing out into the unreachable far distance. All he could see was the interior walls of the yurt, but for a moment he was really the renowned author spinning an elegant quill between his fingers and showing up in the childish dreams he had five years ago.