Panic drowns the senses pv Mika H.

mentions; @Eugenia Smyrdini date; 01/09/26 location; Abandoned Toilets, second floor.
wc; 629/200 speech; Mikaela, Eugenia. outfit; Click me
ooc notes; XXXX

Memory is a curious thing. A valid point, that usually circled around the back of the Greek’s head. But not today.

Eugenia remained quiet, and slightly leaned on the wall while waiting for the girl to answer. Subconsciously, her eyes searched the girl’s body for blood or anything, because it was dark around and the whose setup felt like a tunnel and she had this overwhelming urge to run. Her breath hitched for a second as she remembered where she was. An abandoned lavatory of Hogwarts. Hogwarts. She wasn’t running in the secret passages of the Karageorgiadi manor. She wasn’t being followed. She was okay. Okay.

She almost missed what the girl opposite her said, her voice strained, barely above a whisper. "... yeah, I'm fine. All the students are down there. You should be there, too." She slightly looked up when talking.

And the likeness was overwhelming. It was like staring into a familiar face, but she couldn’t pinpoint whom. The eyes weren’t shaped like anyone else’s in the family, but their colour was. The hair though… Not it’s shape but it’s colour and the familiar, frightened expression on the girl’s face felt akin to something she had seen before. In her sister, the golden socialite, who, after receiving news that she would have to run, that she would have to get separated from her sister for the entirety of her schooling, remained reasonably composed when talking to her parents. And then, when the sisters went to their room, broke down in panic, sometimes shouting at her sister for agreeing with their parents and acknowledging danger. (Deep down, both had known it was very dangerous. But the youngest just didn’t want to admit it. She wanted to stay with her sister, the only one who kept her afloat. Her protector, her darling sister who sometimes needed her help.)

That’s why it took her a little longer to reply, so focused in the memory it was overwhelming. To the other girl, it would have seemed like a careful consideration of words. “Ναι καλά…”¹ It didn’t take long for thought to form in English and the memory-induced, impulsive need to react in Greek faded. “There is no specific place I need to be right now. If there was really a need, there would have been a spell blocking us. And besides, I know the castle well by now.” The sunken eyes of the girl made her want to reach out and tap her shoulder and maybe help her calm down. Her senses weren’t enhanced in the dark, especially her eyesight, already poor from the myopia. But through the folds of the girl’s uniform, Eugenia saw the Ravenclaw emblem.

“Are you fine? You for sure don’t look like you are. You look ready to flee.” Her tone was kinder this time, and the slight edge to her voice responding to the eagle’s earlier jab was gone. It wasn’t sympathy, nor pity. It was an understanding at what the girl seemed to feel, a panic attack hitting her at full force. But why? There were many reasons Eugenia could think of, but not necessarily a definite one.

Her mind, a never ending maze, threw with the force of a freight train, another memory. But this time, the heiress couldn’t distinguish if it were from the hyperthymnesia plaguing her or the mnemonic techniques she was taught and used all her life. Maybe it was a strange combination of both; her parents had made her into a mnemonic academic weapon with all the stuff they had taught her, fearing that her memory, all the things she chose and wanted to remember would be affected by the constant biographical memories she stored. But all the experience didn’t mean she was equipped for what she remembered.

Hushed conversations about a half blood prodigy in those last days of May and early June, when she chose to pay attention to all the gossip, even if it were from first years. Rumours of one quiet and elusive Ravenclaw firstie that scored top in all grades and was an all around genius child. She remembered seeing a boy point to her in a lonely corridor, the only time she had put a face to the name. And that familiar sense of knowing without knowing had struck her. And the prodigy was standing right before her.

It seemed this connection made her unable to forget the girl’s name now. Now that she had recalled. “Mikaela Hendricks.” It wasn’t loud, but no whisper either. Her eyes would perk slightly at the Ravenclaw’s response, more observant. “I am Eugenia Smyrnidi. Fourth year Hufflepuff.” The urge to say her past surname was burning, but easily suppressed. When saying the girl’s name, a Greek accent was noticeable, but the pronunciation was right. She spoke lightly, carefully. “Mikaela, it seemed we are birds of the same feather, you know.”

¹: translation: Yeah right…

english - #194935 russian -#9F263E greek - #3E4FA5 french - #B25F5C

@mikaela hendricks date: 01/09/2026 place: ab. toilets phantom returned

mentions; @Eugenia Smyrdini date; 01/09/26 location; Abandoned Toilets, second floor.
wc; 594/200 speech; Mikaela, Eugenia. outfit; Click me
ooc notes; XXXX

Trained since birth to always stay righteous, Eugenia’s gaze did not falter looking at the Ravenclaw. When asking if she was fine, the expression the girl’s face contorted in, as if she was scrutinising her current state, was a desperate, silent, plea for help. The heiress did not answer or speak again as she scrutinised the younger girl back. She almost seemed disgusted and off put in that moment, but it seemed really superficial. Eugenia knew very well that panic drowns the senses.

But not only the senses we use to perceive the world around us. Our memory too. Our sense of self and knowledge of how we work. Or, in Eugenia’s case, not drown them. Panic sharpened them to an uncomfortable degree. Especially that innate sense known to her as memory; in panic, she was sure her mind would catalogue it all down and then replay it for her in the middle of the night, when she was fighting for a decent sleep schedule.

It seemed the girl experienced no such thing, or her eyes would have burned with recognition. Maybe. For Eugenia ultimately couldn’t know how it looked like when a memory passed vividly before your eyes. How it looked to the outsider.

The moment the girl’s name slipped off her mouth, the memory still burning behind her eyelids, Mikaela’s face changed once more. The paleness of her face was now much, much more prominent and she looked around almost as if she wished to flee. Wild eyes were searching the dark and Eugenia didn’t know if she was searching for unforeseen aid or ridicule. Then, paleness turned into confusion and a weird mix of emotions that she couldn’t interpret, but could definitely feel striking into her.

She had seen in again. In her sister, no less. And in another girl. No, no. Not that thought again, God. Because in her second year, Eugenia had befriended her after she could draw her portrait (a silly little drawing) and then because she was so like her sister. God, she was much more outgoing back then, having only known the good side of the world. She screamed in fury now, that she didn’t know anything but running anymore. Running and hiding and fighting to stay alive. Literally, yet metaphorically as well. It was a sharp reminder she was not who she was, or who she thought she was. She was a filthy wizardborn liar. She at least knew that no one else could know. No one had been told and no one could know. Not even the gossip queens. No one knew. The secret she would take to the grave.

Oh, Κρινιώ. Lily. That was the nickname Eugenia used for Abbey. They had been close, even sister like at some point, but they drifted away. It felt like a wrong, like a warning not to do it again. But she felt like she was more alike with this girl that she needed help. And definitely, this won’t end up like the previous time. Maybe they could help each other. Maybe she could forget and connect with another and-

A bitter whisper cut her train of thought. "You know my name, I know yours. And, considering the fact that I know what comes tied to your name, I assume you know what comes tied to mine." She couldn’t find her urge to rebut this time, it was too difficult to do so. The panic consumed her for a second, and then she remembered that there was absolutely no way she knew. “I know what’s tied to your name. But I don’t know the full picture of it. Just like you don’t know the big picture about me. Your title is longer than what I know, and mine is too. But neither of us are something that should bring shame. You’re not some human experiment for me to play with Mikaela. You’re another person.”

She meant what she said. Because in the pure blood world, being prodigal at something was almost expected. And if there, they never stopped looking at you as if you were a beast behind a glass pane. Something to be studied and extracted. "... So, with that in mind... You really shouldn't be here. Not with me, specially." As if Eugenia was meant to stay away. As if she was a criminal running. (But you are running, from the fear in your own head.) She had come to splash some water on her face, and this was what occurred. Hogwarts. Her luck.

“As if I came here to stalk you. Besides, students are allowed to come and go as they please from the Great Hall. And we are in a lavatory.” She internally sighed and looked around, making sure there was no one else coming. Eugenia spoke in a quieter voice this time, with a slight smile. “We are more alike than you think, Mikaela.”

¹: translation:

english - #194935 russian -#9F263E greek - #3E4FA5 french - #B25F5C

@mikaela hendricks date: 01/09/2026 place: ab. toilets phantom returned

mentions; @Eugenia Smyrdini date; 01/09/26 location; Abandoned Toilets, second floor.
wc; 615/200 speech; Mikaela, Eugenia. outfit; Click me
ooc notes; XXXX

Eugenia hadn’t expected for Mikaela to stay quiet through it all. But her reactions were easy to spot to eyes that had seen it again. The slight change in posture and the slouch of slight comfort ensued and the Greek observed, as she usually did. At some point, the girl seemed to feel, welcomed. Maybe less than a panicked entity and more like a person. Unlike most, who might have been concerned to realised they are sitting on the floor of an abandoned lavatory, she seemed to be giving no mind to the place she was in. Breaths came easier for them both, as in the quiet, Eugenia tried to control her breathing. Every five minutes, she was gripped again with the familiar terror of being discovered.

“…I know what comes tied to your name…” She didn’t know it all, she didn’t. Yet the simple statement still haunted her. But in reality, Eugenia could never escape the fear. What if she rationalised it in between the pauses. The quiet was a comfortable space, for she wasn’t one of many words. At least now. Once, she had been so talkative, giving her name to anyone. Now she was selective, cautious and in some cases, manipulative of the narrative. She had been so pure.

But really, if Mikaela knew what had happened, she would have been enraged. She wasn’t pure herself, and it would have seemed as if Eugenia acted like she was ashamed of her muggle heritage. And she was not. Because it reminded her she was no product of incest like other pure blooded families, which always kept to themselves. And really, where did magic in man come from? There would either be random muggleborns in which mother magic shoes to deposit her gift or there were creatures that bred with man. So we are either a batch of muggleborn descendants or we come from half breeds. The prejudice was idiotic. But Eugenia had to support it to survive. Irony in every statement…

Mikaela couldn’t have known. And Eugenia slightly loosened too. Her posture still remained impeccable, but she wasn’t as tense as before. She could speak with a little more ease.

"This is... Quite humiliating. I shouldn't be scared of crowds, right? At least this time I'm not crying like a baby." Oh. So that was the reason she came. Looking back, she might have been one of the kids running panicked from the tables. Crowds were a huge issue for some people. And it was understandable. If you are an introvert, maybe with hypersensitivity or the sound just bothered you, you were bound to run. So many kids felt like it was suffering, standing alone in a crowd without a familiar face to anchor them.

“If I’m being honest, I understand your reaction. But I never had the luxury of such a fear, or I’d be reprimanded slightly. If you’re made an heir, they’d mold you to be social. I am not the most social person, yet well, after all the years of being forced to socialise with unwanted people, I guess I can live with it, you know?” It was a small, shameless confession. She shuddered and looked at her hands, twirling with the star adorned ring her sister had given her before they had run for the first time. Back in good old 2024, the final day before both sisters learnt what it meant to barely survive death. She felt a small urge to touch the scars on her right leg and arm. The cuts had been bigger and deeper than she had thought and she had let no one help her, at the Schnell house. But they were covered by her robes. It would look weird, so she didn’t.

She was stuck oddly, but unreasonably oddly by the Ravenclaw’s question as to why she had left. Eugenia chuckled at the irony of the question, but she still answered. You’re right, I guess. I came here to splash water on my face, I wasn’t feeling that well. My head was feeling heavy. She looked at the girl’s eyes once more, and then she made the bold decision to move.

Mikaela didn’t take up a lot of space, and there was plenty of empty floor. So, Eugenia smoothed our her robes and sat next to her, bringing her knees up to her chest too. She noticed she was quite taller than the second year, and that was expected. Just as Mikaela chose to share a piece of herself, she would too.

Sometimes, my mind is too loud. It feels as if I can’t stop remembering things, memories just fly in front of my face. I had enhanced biographical memories as long as I remember, and I’ve been taught how to remember things too. It makes my head hurt sometimes. It never really stops. Eugenia made a small pause. Sorry for this. Do you want me to call you anything besides Mikaela?

¹: translation:

english - #194935 russian -#9F263E greek - #3E4FA5 french - #B25F5C

@mikaela hendricks date: 01/09/2026 place: ab. toilets phantom returned

mentions; @Eugenia Smyrdini date; 01/09/26 location; Abandoned Toilets, second floor.
wc; 570/200 speech; Mikaela, Eugenia. outfit; Click me
ooc notes; XXXX

It is often said that those who have found solace in each other have encountered similar circumstances. Similar pains, similar things that drove them off course, similar events that have marked the passage of their lives with white, pure ink or black, bloody ink. Neither Eugenia nor Mikaela felt such a thing; for the latter, at least, seemingly from her reactions, whether worded or not. There was a strange understanding, a bridge where intellect and turmoil became ground for being able to finally speak and express yourself freely.

Until then, the Greek hasn’t found another person in this school she could show this side of her. Not the emotional, tired and melancholic part of her that shone through all her breakdowns, ranging from slight ones of crying in public to closing her own mouth and stifling the sobs that wracked her body after seeing another nightmare of losing her sister. The one where brilliance and memory was both gift, and pain as well.

Unlike Mikaela, she was no prodigy. Just because she was smart, mature and understood things quickly didn’t make her the top of her generation. It made her no genius child, even though it was something she had heard directed to her in passing. No. She was no “smartest witch of her age”, either proven with creativity or tests of all kinds she was not aware of. She was a hyperthymnesiac, who not only remembered biographical moments, but anything she wanted and tried to memorise with quite less effort than your average kid. A parents’ fear had turned her in to a memory weapon, but the parents never thought of the consequences it would have on her life.

Images constantly floating in your mind were not only annoying, but impractical and very difficult to learn to live with. Especially after trauma, when the things you see can very easily be what you least want to. (They called you golden child without knowing the weight of it. But is it allowed to tell them?)

There was a slight, comforting silence between them and Eugenia exhaled quietly, fingers itching to touch the familiar scars down her right leg, those created when she ran from her home on New Year’s Eve. She wondered if she was being bombarded with adrenaline right now at all, because her heart was racing at the thought, the possibility of the other girl knowing. But even the genius couldn’t know, right? She had lived a pure blooded life up until now. She knew how to do it.

It was Mikaela who broke the quiet in the end. "Isn't it overwhelming? The whole... You know, legacy thing. I mean, having to be social sucks, but having to do it your whole life? I'd rather die." Eugenia sure wanted to tell her more. Much more than she intended. Because it was overwhelming for all the wrong reasons. Because she was lying to survive, because she was bigoted. She was wrong and a liar. Liar.

Still she answered, because deep inside, she knew there was no other option. Surviving was the only possible outcome. “Socialisation and everything is not exactly overwhelming once you’re used to it, because it has strict rules. You can put it in boxes and organise it in your head and rationalise it. But the legacy and all the talk and expectation that comes with it is awful. Because you naturally need to excel and most don’t. So money becomes a big name, and politics and so on. And you need to remember everything, because if you forget, it’s wrong. You mustn’t because they’ll turn against you any moment. And expectations are higher for me almost always.”

It seemed that with the passing of time, Mikaela was getting better, relaxing ever so slightly, just as Eugenia had done earlier. The confession the other girl then made was something from the heart, a pain Eugenia thought she would have carried at some degree. But not to that one.

“I wasn’t programmed to make friends either. I was programmed to form alliances and connections with the important. Only experience told me how to make friends and I’m making so many mistakes. I’ll observe quietly, maybe make acquaintances, but not friends. I don’t really have genuine friends. It might be in our systems and it’s locked. And maybe intellect makes us selective, because we want someone who sees us. Not a machine or a personal aide. And that’s often the issue they don’t see. I’m like you, you know. Kinda social, out of necessity, but without making friends.”

Eugenia was well aware she had spoken long. Maybe some would say too long. But those were words that one expresses to those who understand and don’t say. She finally felt like she could. Because Mikaela understood.

“Have you ever felt like between you and others there is a barrier. And when you are here, or not with one or two specific people you trust, it feels like they see a distorted image beyond and talk to it. And because you foolishly want to meet their expectations, not because you seek love as you have it, but because it feels like you should, or they make it seem so, you keep up the illusion. You respond distortedly. And this eats you up, and the only thing you feel is misunderstood and useless. Like you’re copper but they see gold. Or they see you, and want you to be gold. And you fight and reach the expectations, they’re happy, and you fear there’s more. And then what you built follows you wherever you go, all your life..? Your head hurts, it’s non stop. But they see a distorted image looking fine and not you weeping, drowning, inside..?”

¹: translation:

english - #194935 russian -#9F263E greek - #3E4FA5 french - #B25F5C

@mikaela hendricks date: 01/09/2026 place: ab. toilets phantom returned

mentions; @Eugenia Smyrdini date; 01/09/26 location; Abandoned Toilets, second floor.
wc; 766/200 speech; Mikaela, Eugenia. outfit; Click me
ooc notes; XXXX