Crack in the Ice PV Remy Alto Closed

He was lacing up his skates, singing jovially under his breath once again. He was specifically wearing the kind of skates specialized for figure skating, not hockey. His body temperature was so low usually, that he couldn't feel any difference between being outside or inside. His usually pale cheeks were pink from the crisp, cold air. Remy would give anything to feel the heat kissing his face once again, fluttering his eyes open to the Brazilian sun waking him up. However, this alternative was just fine too. The Scottish winter and the heaps of snow and ice it brought was just alright. Usually, he'd hate winter, but you could do so many things that you couldn't do in the summer, like skating and building snowmen.

"I'm gonna lay down my sword and shield, down by the riverside" he sang barely audibly, too focused on getting these skates on. He was trying to chew gum simultaneously with singing. A bad idea, really. His mother liked to sing muggle songs she used to listen to. Remy quickly picked up the melodies and lyrics, sometimes catching himself singing them too. He missed his mom. A lot. Dad too. Siblings? Maybe even include them. Thankfully, Christmas break was near and he'd get to spend it with his large but fun family.


He was a bit slow when it came to things like this. Remy was still a bit clumsy when it came to fine motor skills, such as lacing his Dr. Martens, Chuck Taylors, and these skates. Did it stop him? No. He was determined. Making that pretty bow like he was taught, he stood up. Awkwardly walking towards the ice, he took his first step. He had not stepped on any ice for approximately a year now and expected himself to fly on his backside. But no, it felt rather natural. Of course, an old skill that just needed a bit of revival, right?

He pushed himself forward with ease. The ice seemed thick enough to support Remy. He wasn't that heavy, was he? The boy was wearing black jeans, a bit too big blue sweater over a white button-up shirt, mittens and a scarf covering his lower face. One thing that he regretted wearing was his round, thin-rimmed glasses. They got all fogged up when he breathed. Honestly, Remy didn't even need a coat at least that was what he thought, for he didn't feel the cold due to his always low body temperature. He was one with the winter!

Just as he was about to skate further away, he heard a small voice come from quite far. Someone had joined his adventure on the ice. He couldn't see anyone at first, turning 360 degrees in his place. After some closer scanning of his surroundings and narrowing his eyes, he could see a figure on their fours on the ice. His flat expression turned into a small sneer before going back to neutral again. He put his hands behind his back playfully as he started skating closer to this person. Once he was at a talking distance, he stopped.

"Hey doll, you need any help?" he raised one of his brows slowly. Everyone who knew Remy Alto knew that he never meant any nicknames as a compliment. They were lousy, minor insults. Princess, sunshine, doll, missy, loser, nerd, dim-wit, genius... The list was neverending. He noted her hands and started taking his own mittens off. He threw them in front of her.

"If you're going to fall, at least get yourself something on your hands," he said as he started turning away.

When Finley hit the ground, she felt her ankles start to quiver. Apparently old skates wouldn't do the trick on young ankles. However, she was determined to teach an old dog new tricks.

In response to the conditions, Finley had a strange idea. Maybe the skates were sharp enough to cut a little thumb hole in the sleeves of her coat! Then, she could keep the mittens in her skates for balance but also not worry about cold palms if she fell! Finley decided this was a brilliant idea, and so she began to scoot faster toward the edge of the Great Lake. This time, she was comforted with the knowledge that no one had seen her fall.

That was the point in time where her ears tuned in to the scraping behind her. Another pair of skates glided across the ice, and by the sound of it, they were headed right for her. She shut her eyes and muttered a quick anxious word, hoping it wasn't a teacher. "Hey doll, do you need any help?"

Finley heard the foreign voice and turned around, still on her buttocks from the fall. Doll? Who called someone doll nowadays? It sounded like something her dad would say, or even an uncultured grandpa. With the amount of sarcasm this newfound boy said the words, Finley was aware that this wasn't a good scenario to be in.

The circular-spectacled boy forcefully threw his mittens on the ground in front of her as he turned away, remarking with more snide words. This boy clearly wasn't a nice one. Finley looked down at his sticky, hand-knit emerald mittens. What mean boy gave a girl mittens? That seemed rather stupid if you were trying to make a girl feel bad! She reached out and pulled the gross mittens, fragrant of puberty and testosterone, toward her with a grimace. "I...I believe I'm fine, Sir," Finley mentioned, pulling on the mittens. "Thank you for your...uh...mittens, though. They're very comfy," she remarked, attempting some sort of snide in her comment. Finley wasn't used to being picked on.

His rather old-fashioned creepy way of talking was probably caused by one thing. The one person that taught him English was an old, angry Irish man that lived as their sole neighbor. Many things stuck from that person. Different kinds of mannerisms, ways of speech and idioms that Remy would still use. There was still something in the way he spoke that gave off that the boy was not from around here. Maybe it was the way he rolled his r's and used a playful intonation. He was also unusually loud, rowdy and passionate in a sense. Who knows, there were many things that he still carried all the way from Brazil to the UK. As she started speaking, he turned slowly to face her.


He watched her pull on the mittens, clearly hesitant. He cocked his head playfully to the side as she told him that she was doing just fine. Sure didn't look like it! She looked ridiculous. She made the mistake to address him with an honorific and being nice. Remy would pick on any person who would let him do it. If you would stomp your feet and cross your arms, he'd still do it. Until you didn't thoroughly convince him or prove yourself to be similar to him, he would continue. He had quite the reputation for being not too nice, especially with Hufflepuffs. Something in them just ticked them off. He perceived them as weak and naive and would exploit those traits. He wouldn't admit it, ever, but sometimes he was jealous of them and their strong bonds with others and large circles of friends. Everybody loved a Hufflepuff, but a Slytherin? Not necessarily!


His face turned neutral again, lacking any mocking grin or sneer. He looked at her with cautiousness. "I'd be careful if I were you. Those mittens come from the deepest levels of Tartarus. They're my brother's, he's a teenager," he whispered the latter part as if it was a cursed word. Remy was still eleven, that same smell was waiting just around the corner for him. But for now? He was clear from any awkward phase, thankfully. "You plan on sitting there for long?" he asked, scratching his temple with curiosity. Who was this girl and why was she here?

eighteenth december 2018
midday, great lake

The frost on the ice quickly clutched the mittens and once the wonderfully knitted things slipped onto her hands, tucking tightly around her wrists, Finley felt a shiver of relief. The comfortable mittens warmed her hands slowly, moving at a snail’s pace because of the frost stuck to the yarn. It made wearing them sticky and wet, but he still offered them, and that was what made the difference. Wizard school kids must have been always this nice!

She peered back up at the strange yet generous boy giving her an odd eye. Finley brushed the mittens off on her fur coat, trying to ignore the smell but tolerate the comfort. As she rubbed them onto her coat, the odor rubbed onto the coat too, and suddenly part of her coat smelled as if she had been diving in a prepubescent boy’s hamper. Disgust fell over her expression and she shook her head after taking a swift whiff of the poisoned air. What was with it with boys? The only thing she could merely attempt to compare it to was her little brother, Sanders. He was the second grossest human being the girl could think of, and whoever wiped these mittens in their sweaty armpits and then between their buttocks apparently took first!

The seated girl patiently watched the observant boy eye her carefully. With a blank expression, he commented that the mittens were from the depths of hell: teenage years! Finley gasped, immediately tossing the mittens off and then her coat, which was also fragrant of puberty. Now, she was left in a short white turtleneck, a handwoven purple hat and a pair of sopping jeans. Finley shook her head, refusing to give up. Turning towards the edge of the rink, she attempted to push herself up to her feet, but quickly failed and collapsed onto her stomach. ”Of course I’m not!” Growing paranoid, she rolled over and pushed herself up to the edge, so now she was quietly sitting there, wet and stinky, with her legs crossed like a little lady.

At this, she doubted herself. Never mind about that nice thing, some people were truly jerks to make a young woman endure such humiliation!