Festive Baking PV Rion

Venturing through the castle could get old rather quickly when one used it as a method to lull one's self to sleep. Orion had endured many sleepless nights at the hands of his insomnia, the cold grasp the formless monster held over him had been one he had experienced for several years, ever since he had witnessed his partner's gruesome death at the hands of a dark wizard. It had been years, but Orion could still hear the ringing in his ears as he screeched while under the influence of the cruelest curse known to wizard kind, crucio.

He was not back there in that dark cave, he often found himself mumbling to himself. He was safe in Hogwarts, and it was just a dream, remnants of his past life that continued to haunt him. The terror had not ended there, however, as fate had never been so kind. The experience seemed to be a favourite of his subconscious, despite having an array to pick from. Sometimes the nightmares were not memories, but situations his brain would force him into. Doors with no real purpose, mazes that had no entrance, staircases that appeared out of thin air and descended into the heavens themselves.

They would often end the same way; in his demise. It was as if a spiritual being was telling him that death was inevitable, that he would ultimately succumb to it. He would fight back, however, drown his sorrows with a diet heavy in the pure liquid gold known as coffee, and an abundance of sweets. Any kind, really, Rion was not picky. He often would search his friend Mardi's pockets and bags to see if he had hidden some sort of sweet for him. The American knew about his addiction, and despite his lectures the French man would never stop. He needed the energy, needed a distraction.

That was where baking came in. There was nothing quite like feeling the powdery goodness of flour beneath one's fingertips. The relaxation motion of rolling the dough or placing the perfect finishing touches upon a pastry that you had poured your heart into crafting. Indeed, Orion kept the Slytherin common area well stocked with sweets and bread, although it likely did not help that Ms. Jenson herself was quite the chef. It was a wonder the students didn't suffer from more cavities, although they could be magically fixed.

As equally as thrilling as baking, was the fact that he got to clean everything up afterwards. Despite his usual carelessness for his own health, Orion was a very tidy man and one could bounce a sickle off of his bed once he was done making it. It was for this reason that he halted in place when he stepped into the kitchen area, his usual private retreat, and discovered a student was already present. It almost looked like a flour bomb had exploded in his face. He recognized the student from his classes, of course, but they had never spoken one-on-one before.

The French man could not help but raise a brow at the boy, an amused smile playing on his features. "Monsieur* Vanes, I am unaware if you know this, but the flour belongs inside the bowl." He chuckled, taking a step forward to survey the mess. "What exactly happened?"

Translation:
*Mister

The fifth year probably should have scolded the feline more for ruining his work in progress with the dough, but there really was not a single reason to properly scold the feline. There was reason why he couldn't however, simply because he couldn't get mad at Tiger, he was simply too cute. The Gryffindor would not notice the approaching steps until he heard the familiar voice of one of his professors, the one that had replaced his head of house in teaching defense against the dark arts. He had never seen the man outside of the classroom, except for when the school had celebrated their arrival. They had offered a lot of delicious treats that day, which was enough reason to see the man in front of him in a positive light.

He was a bit taken aback by the comment made about the flour, giving a sheepish smile in response. "It was Tiger's fault truly, he got curious and tipped it over as I was trying to mix the flour into the batter," he defended himself as he pointed at the feline who was now sitting at the counter, cleaning his fur innocently as if he hadn't just destroyed all of the prefect's efforts within seconds. "I will clean it up don't worry! I was holding him while making the batter and he probably did not do it on purpose, though he is very mischievous so he might as well have done this so that he can clean up the mess to taste the batter," he explained, the latter seemed to be a rather far fetched explanation but considering that Tiger was sitting on the counter, licking at the batter, before deciding it wasn't a taste he liked, it might as well have been true, who could tell?

"Mister Lécuyer, do you require the kitchen for something?" Alan would ask curiously, after all the professor had come all the way into the dungeons to go to the kitchen, which made the boy wonder whether it was bad timing that he was attempting to bake this very moment. Alan was not actually aware that the man was part of the house Slytherin staff and would therefore not have as much of a way to the kitchen than the Gryffindor had, which house was located at the fifth floor in the castle. He hoped he had pronounced the professor's name correctly, he had never practiced french nor had he reason to learn or speak it beyond the understanding of a few phrases he had caught from Santario, who had french roots and a pretty accent. The way the professor spoke would sort of remind him of her voice, the way he pronounced things at least. The tone of their voices was obviously very different, but it did have a sense of familiarity when he spoke to him.