Hope in a Bow
Banner by Leo Noxley
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Location: Ostrovsky Mansion (Petrozavodsk, Russian Federation)
Date: Mid-August 2026
NOTE: All dialogue here is spoken in Russian.
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“Is there anything you'd like, Erastka?” Erast blinked. Before him, his Dedushka1 Vyacheslav sat in the chair at his bedside with his usual signature air of refinement, face void of humour or mockery to suggest that he was joking. Were auditory hallucinations a side effect of fever? He licked his chapped lips nervously.
“No.”
His voice was quiet, but resolute. It was the truth, after all. Since he arrived, there was no need that the Ostrovskys did not provide for.
Summer had been a whirlwind. The catastrophic Noxley Gala had only been the start of it. When the verdict of temporary exile from the Yan Estate came, he thought that that was the end. Then, at the height of his anxiety, his mother slipped into his annex with a letter; a letter bearing the crest of the Ostrovskys.
At 8-years-old, the mere idea of being sent to Russia to live with his maternal family had sounded worse than death. It used to mean abandonment, a direct ticket to becoming nothing but a trivial inked record on paper to his family. At 12-years-old, Russia became a sanctuary.
In the weathered, historic mansion of the Ostrovsky family, Erast spent no day deprived or wanting for anything. Even as each day saw his hands busy with mundane chores, no dread plagued him. For the first time in years, he faced and remembered each day, hour, and minute with unyielding clarity. There was no blur, for every moment was worth keeping. The Ostrovskys were his sanctuary. Even now, afflicted with a sudden fever, the boy could rest easy knowing that a homemade pepper-up potion was being brewed as they spoke.
Erast smiled in spite of the dizziness. “Everyone has given me everything I need. I'm grateful,” He murmured, resting his throbbing head against the cool, wooden bed frame.
Vyacheslav huffed fondly, returning his grandson’s smile. “You misunderstand. I mean what you'd like as a gift.”
A lost, questioning hum escaped him. The simmering heat of fever served only to muddle his mind. His confusion must have shown in his expression because his grandfather paused to explain.
“Lyudmila got to choose a present to celebrate her return to school, so it is fair that you would get to choose one as well. Of course, that energetic girl chose new Quidditch gear.”
The words were spoken so casually, as if it were a natural flow of logic. Pain tightened around his head. He frowned, looking down at his hands.
“But I'm…” His voice trailed off, but the words left unsaid were deafening.
‘I’m not her.’
‘I'm not here to stay anyway.’
His eyelids slipped close, the weight of his internalised reality heavy. Behind closed eyes, the boy missed the pinched expression of his grandfather at his words.
“Nonsense.”
A cool, wrinkled hand on his forehead made him jolt. The hand dabbed a wrung, wet towel along his burning skin.
“The Yans have kept you from us long enough. It is time they learnt we Ostrovskys have enough of a spine to care for our own.”
The old man's voice was firm, leaving not an inch of space for protest. Needles prickled the boy’s eyes. When Erast opened them next, the world was in a blur, but one thing remained clear: he was not alone here.
“Recover first, vnuchok2. There is plenty of time.”
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| Context: In the summer of 2026, Erast temporarily stayed in Russia with his maternal family. Near the end of his stay, he contracted a fever. To cheer him up, his grandparents try to gift him a piece of their love to take back to school with him. | Translations:
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Hope in a Bow
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Location: Ostrovsky Mansion --> Gorod Mrakov
Date: 5 days after this
Featuring: @Lyudmila Ostrovskaya
NOTE: All dialogue here is spoken in Russian.
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Gifts could be a variety of things. Pretty accessories, expensive clothes, priceless jewellery; All of these could make the perfect gift. Novels often featured and described them in great length and detail, waxing poetry about the joy of the recipient.
Erast needed none of those things. Gifts meant for the stars and hearts of society were wasted on a walking scandal. He had no special hobbies and interests in need of funding. His mother’s own collection of equipment and Hogwarts’ library resources adequately indulged his study of astronomy, and his love for novels was fulfilled by the walls of classical and contemporary literature that lined the Yan Manor’s library.
His grandfather’s offer to buy him a gift of his choice had been on his mind since he recovered. He spent nearly a week staring intently at the pouch of pocket money that his grandfather had left him after their conversation, as if it would reveal to him his deepest desires. It perplexed him, to be held to the same standard as his cousin. Lyudmila was resolved and headstrong, confident and in full understanding of her wants. Weeks of dinners by her side had acquainted him with her passions for sports, so it was no surprise that she had chosen a new broom after a year with a borrowed broom. What did he even like?
“Ugh, stop it!” Lyudmila smacked the back of his head, “If getting a gift makes you sulk, just don’t get it. That saves money anyway.” He shielded his head with a hand, glaring at her. “So it's fine if you get what you want, but when it's my turn, I need to save money?”
“Hey–!”
“That’s enough!” His Zia* Serafina’s stern voice reluctantly made them break their shared glare. “Mila, your cousin can think over his gift however long he wants. Now, no more of this money talk, especially when we head into town, you hear?” Lyudmila grumbled under her breath, throwing him a petulant side-eye as she trailed behind her mother.
There was only a week left in the summer break before Erast had to return to Hogwarts, and in a bid to help him decide his gift, his grandparents coaxed him into following his aunt to Gorod Mrakov and tour the shops there.
One hectic attempt at optimising a depleted supply of floo powder later, Erast was left standing at the door of a potions store downtown with Lyudmila chattering his ear off. He pinched his nose bridge with a silent sigh after his cousin's third topic switch of the hour. Goodness, someone save him.
“HEY, HEADS UP!”
Erast froze, swivelling around– just in time to see a furry blur leaping from a signboard above them. For a second, it flew, before falling like a rock. He pushed Lyudmila out of the way, sticking out his arms. PLONK. He spun and bent with the momentum. He looked down. Resting in his arms was the fuzziest, thick, sentient noodle he had ever seen.
Stopping in front of them, an exhausted man hunched over, panting from what was clearly a mad sprint. “Sorry, kids. That ferret has been a darn menace ever since the new intern came around to my shelter, I swear she's feeding it sugar or some sh–”
The boy looked down at the thing– animal, he corrected himself – in his arms. Energetic chittering filled the air as it squirmed around in his arms, clearly enamoured with his golden bracelet. Its fur, a beautiful champagne beige with brown patterns, was soft against his skin. In the confusing, shiny face of his bracelet, the creature stuck out its tongue and flicked its hind legs at it. Erast’s lips twitched. What an endearing thing. He lifted a finger to gently brush between the ferret's ears. Instantly, a playful nip was given for his trouble, and Erast knew that he was attached.
Beside him, Lyudmila took a single glance at her cousin's face, and the shelter owner's hopeful expression, and she knew what was going to happen. She rolled her eyes, turning to enter the potions shop. “I'll tell mom about we're headed to the shelter. Unbelievable–”
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| Summary: On a day-trip to one of Russia's wizarding villages, Erast rescues an energetic, young ferret from a local shelter from falling. He decides that he is attached, and goes on to adopt it. | Word count: 691 words Translation: Zia* --> Aunt (Italian) |