LOCATION | Grounds, Beauxbatons DATE | Afternoon on 13th February 2025 INTERACTING | @Archer Duncan as Hans Jessen

957 | WORD COUNT x | OUTFIT heartbreaker | SONG

Attempting to fixate her gaze on the latter to no avail, Meiyu immediately brought her palms up to wipe away the tears that fell freely; escaping the pent up anger, exhaustion and refusal to acknowledge what truly occurred during that fateful night. She rarely cried. Her lack of ability to truly portray human emotion left her puzzled as to why she was crying pathetically in front of a friend she met for the first time, though, perhaps it was akin to the belief she had quickly developed that her revelation would be enough to warrant Hans having a sudden distaste for her — wishing nothing less than to even be in any vicinity of her. Given her struggle the entire year to make genuine connections with others, often abusing those around her, in her eyes, Hans was all she had, even if he wasn't in the same predicament she was in, particularly in reference to actually having friends.

With a significantly clearer vision, her eyes narrowed as he began to bite back, outlining his own plague and Hyde he had once hidden so well. If anything, Hans was worse, desiring nothing more than to do what she had in self-defence, yet, her heart churned at the revelation. Deeply rooted within her, she found solace in the shared similarities, even if it was in a sick and twisted way, he understood her, even if he wasn't aware of it. Maintaining a stoic expression as she listened to such profound words, one's Meiyu never envisioned to stem from the boy, her eyes blinked as silence fell between them. Unable to formulate any words of condolence, merely out of her own lack of ability to truly communicate her own emotions adequately without the need of an outburst, she opted to move a little closer, attempting to offer some condolence with her presence — even if it was off-putting at times.

"Hans," she began with a pause, her vocal tone dipping into almost whisper-like as she momentarily appeared congelated. Meiyu was never the one to offer words of advice, often leaving those around her to fight their own battles for the sake of mental ease, though, with Hans it was different. She wanted to aid him in any way possible, just as he desired to do so for her, the mere analogy finally making sense in her mind why the latter was so adamant to help her, despite his own troubles. Perhaps it was what friends did for one another, a concept which was rather foreign to the young girl; yet, now, she understood. "I'm sorry for lashing out, I didn't know that you were plagued with these thoughts too." She resumed, attempting to convey sincerity in her words but to no avail with her monotone voice which had now risen compared to the previous whisper made.

Yet, the shift in demeanour displayed by Hans only riled up her anger once more — the latter seemingly dismissing his entire monologue which disguised itself as sickness. "Why do you assume I'd be the one to judge you?" She questioned with a scoff, maintaining eye contact much to her avail with rage brewing deeply yet again. "Do you think little of me? After I confined in you, after I cried in front of you?" Meiyu continued, pausing once she had concluded to regain composure with a sigh, her eyes instinctively fluttering shut for a moment and upon reopening, she glared at the boy who stood before her with a different approach.

In essence, he was all she had. To Meiyu, it didn't matter that he had other friends whom he could confide in and share his worries with, even if it were those in his proximity during his time at Durmstrang. She, on the other hand, could never confide her concerns with anyone, failing to make genuine friendships since September, though, she desired nothing more than to turn this into a game of the oppression olympics — battling it out for who had it worse. Regardless if she desired to admit it or not, she cared for Hans, even if she had odd ways of showing it, belittling him to her frequent mood changes. It was a predicament she had never found herself in, therefore, she was unsure how to calculate an approach on the matter. Attempting to remind herself that not everything should be in her control, instead she took a new, odd approach; moving cautiously closer to Hans and gently placing her hand on his shoulder, a fable attempt at appreciation, condolence and understanding.

"As you once said, we're friends, Hans. We're in this together. I, for one, don't judge you for what you see during your states of slumber, as I too have been plagued with horrendous dreams which take me back to that night." She spoke softly, sighing at the conclusion of her sentence and momentarily pausing once more as she theorised how to resume without causing a drift between their friendship. "It's our first meeting, I wouldn't want it leaving us both sour as it is a joyous occasion after all. I have looked forward to this day, your past does not define you Hans, don't let it define your future." Meiyu affirmed, nodding slowly despite her own ambiguity in her statement.

"I for one," she paused, her lips curving into the smallest smile in attempts to shift from her usual stoic expression, "think we should enjoy our time here in France, what did you have planned with that girl you told me about? After all, it is a Valentine's trip." She cautiously asked with curiosity, hoping the shift in topic would not only ease Hans, but provide him with the reassurance on their friendship that they both sought only moments ago.

NOTE so sorry it took me forever >.<

banner by Elena Clark || interacting as Hans Jenssen

“Hans.”

He could not help but lean in as Meiyu said his name almost like an enchantment, whispering it under a lowered tone.

“I'm sorry for lashing out, I didn't know that you were plagued with these thoughts too.”

The apology struck a guilty cord in his heart, despite the monotone her voice was kept at, and soon Hans felt compelled to return the words. Just as he was about to speak, whether to apologise himself or change the topic entirely, he was cut off as Meiyu began once more.

After the peace offering from Meiyu, Hans was surprised to see her sudden scoff, the rage edging at her voice, though he would remain indifferent to it. He did not think out of everything he had said that would be the words to irk Meiyu, but he had nothing to say for himself either as he watched her ramble on wordlessly. As he gave her the space to regain her composure he only shook his head lightly, once more wondering what kind of person he had gotten himself caught up with, especially on this day meant for romance, a special occasion he had planned out for a tranquil afternoon with Astrid. Meiyu was special for she had shared experience, not because she was closer to his heart than anyone else.

Hans would never be one to understand Meiyu’s state of friendlessness, for wherever he went he seemed to be surrounded by them, if not those close to his heart then still ones who could always make him crack a laugh. Most of them blended into one singular face, a mere stock character in his story yet one he enjoyed writing. There were rarely people he found he could truly confide in yet that only made it all the more thrilling when in relished in doing so, to Nikolai, Astrid, his grandfather, even his parents from time to time. In his early years he had wished for people like them, those he trusted enough to be vulnerable towards. Then he didn’t realise they were all just waiting under his eyes.

Shoulders relaxing as a gentle hand was placed onto it, he reiterated, “As I once said, we’re friends, and I still stand by that.” He smiled softly at Meiyu, and it was a truth he knew. If Hans did not regard the girl as a friend he would never have shared have the things he did, far easier on paper and much less in person. The statement, however, did not entirely stem from the innocent, all-embracing gregariousness he was known for, but for a deep-rooted fear he had expressed time and time again. Constantly in question of himself, doubting that every secret he slipped to Meiyu had been a mistake, certain to be used against him and his evidently lacking morality, whispered behind closed doors until the entirety of Europe knew they were acquainting with a psychopath. With such thick thin Hans cared for the opinion of no one, but he could never delude himself into believing there was not four stark exceptions: his family.

“And let’s stay friends,” he said still chose to trust, so he asked jokingly, “Do you believe in pinky swears?”

“Your past does not define you Hans, don't let it define your future.”

Definitions. To define. Defined by. Was it a noun used on his in the passive or active voice? As if the past few months had not been taxing enough physically they had thrown him into quite the existential crisis, even if his thoughts were readily dismissed as soon as they surfaced, all too unprepared to face the truths he well knew he understood. Hans was always meant to be something glorious, shining, golden, the sun itself. He was meant to be righteous, virtuous, moral, never straying from the path that was correct as raised by parents forever basked in angelic light. He was meant to be carefree, relaxed and casual, the perfect warm contrast to Durmstrang’s cold lands.

Yet how could he claim to be even vaguely good, let alone hoard every positive adjective, when he was not plagued by nightmares unlike Meiyu but initiated them? He knew, that deep somewhere in that crooked, vindictive heart he hid he wanted vengeance, had not made peace with any decree the law would give. Somedays he could not identify which part of him was true and which a mere faux mask, so perhaps all of the light he projected were a mere reflection, summoned from the true sources of energy he was draining out. Hans knew it would render him despicable.

He was not one to run, yet all the same he could still keep his troubles down a little longer. He would face the painful truths later, and perhaps, after both taking time off for themselves, Hans could finally tell Nikolai of the demons in his dreams.

So grinning back as both of their expressions uplifted, Hans nodded in encouragement at the smile spreading on Meiyu’s lips, a welcome contrast from her usual expressionless visage, “And I agree.” Despite the hesitation to bring up his friend and the girl of his infatuations he reasoned that life was not so unlike the pieces of parchment he found solace in. All the same he could have left her on read, yet it was a choice not to, with the same logic applying vice versa. Taking a breath he enjoyed the change of subject completely, “Well, we went to the arrival tea party, kind of sat away from the crowds so we had a nice time chatting. I’m hoping to enjoy a picnic with her later today too— and,” his face reddened, “I’m hoping to tell her.”

Extending a hand in inquisition, he said, “Which brings me to my point — advice?”

LOCATION | Grounds, Beauxbatons DATE | Afternoon on 13th February 2025 INTERACTING | @Archer Duncan as Hans Jessen

889 | WORD COUNT x | OUTFIT heartbreaker | SONG

Despite often being hyperaware of others, cautiously monitoring their facial expressions which often betrayed their inner feelings, at times, Meiyu, in essence, could be pretty dense. She had failed to notice the tense shoulders under her palms until they relaxed with her touch, her eyes darting to Han's shoulder for a moment, as though she could see the muscle tension unwind. Unfortunately for her, she had not been blessed with x-ray vision; much to her younger brother Bomi's demise, given his current infatuation with playing make-believe. As Hans spoke once more, her gaze diverted back to him, half-heartedly smiling at the confirmation of their friendship, which meant she now had two friends.

Though, would she class her dear Evpraksiya as a friend? Their union dated back to the treacherous incident, the latter proving herself as a trustworthy pillar Meiyu may not have outwardly sought, but needed, during her time at the wretched institute. Still, she was grateful for the beautiful porcelain doll, perhaps, partially grateful of her uncle Alaric's unionship with Evpraksiya's aunt, which would later tie their families together — though, she'd never give Alaric the satisfaction of her approval, despite the oxymoronic comparison in their personalities. Irregardless, she valued those whom she found companionship with, Hans being no exemption. Truly, their bond, albeit odd, was something she had grown to cherish. Previously spending time researching all that could be found in Durmstrang, dietary requirements fit for a solider, even peeking into a few books about dragons despite almost falling asleep from boredom and the inability to succumb to slumber in days leading up to the trip. Though, fortunately, the barbaric voice which plagued her mind and terrorised her with demands, oddly only reigned its terror upon her whilst in the United Kingdom, sparing her from it's shackles upon departure to France.

“Do you believe in pinky swears?”

Meiyu chimed, diverting her attention fully back to Hans, half-minded and engrossed in an array of thoughts which had become rather typical for her these days, much to her demise given it was extremely proactive. "Pinky swears?" She piqued, her eyes narrowing in the slightest in a vain attempt to comprehend what he meant, it didn't take long for her to congelate the connection, lightly shaking her head as though to free her prior trail of thought. "Oh, the thing people do to promise." Meiyu paused, swiftly moving to grab his hand and connect their pinky fingers, her gaze fixated on the joints intertwining together. "Like this, right? Well, entrust that we will remain friends now we've done this."

Though a funny concept, she soon released their fingers, a question of doubt soon would arise in her mind regarding Hans' sanity, besides, she thought she was the odd one between the pair. Much to her surprise, upon learning that her beloved had also been plagued, similar to she had been, the perception she once had of the latter whom she had only exchanged pleasantries with — prior the atrocities from Christmas, instead, he morphed into something different; a person of value. He was not a troll, nor was he infuriating to be around, likely accredited to what Meiyu presumed to be a mutual understanding of each other and similarities in domesticated issues; where in which the burden of maintaining a successful lineage, proved fruitless and quickly became a constraint to their happiness. Despite that, she could be wrong, but those were thoughts for another day.

With the shift in topic moving to the Hans' infatuation, Meiyu instinctively furrowed her brows in disapproval to the plans he had in motion — a picnic, sweet but not really the best way to force a confession out, though, Meiyu wasn't exactly the face of romance or a good moral compass, given her own plans. "I wouldn't suggest a picnic, it feels like you're cornering her. Besides, are you certain she feels the same way? You might set yourself up for failure, I wouldn't like to see that." Meiyu commented bluntly, sighing at the conclusion of her sentence, pausing for a few seconds to formulate and alternative plan that would guarantee success on his behalf. To his misfortune, the array of ideas which quickly present itself to her, would be shut down in an instant. Besides, they had only just bounced back from the intense emotions exhibited by the pair moments ago, naturally, it wouldn't be in her best interest to suggest ideas that exceed the ideas of a normal confession, particularly during a day that celebrates love; but, Meiyu's perception around the matter had always been rather odd to begin with.

Soon, a favourable idea formulated in her mind, an idea she was rather accustomed to merely out of etiquette, curtsey of the classes she took during earlier stages of her life under her grandmother's request to mould Meiyu into the perfect young lady. "What about taking a gift? I brought you one, but it's long gone now." She wryly remarked, pointing in the direction of the disregarded dragon treasure box tossed to the ground, the stale macarons scattered nearby, a truly sentimental gift that she had gone into immense difficulty to prepare for Hans. "Just don't steal pastries that have been laying around dormant for too long, otherwise they will end up looking rather similar to soil fertiliser, just like mine do."

banner by Elena Clark || interacting as Hans Jenssen

“Entrust that we will remain friends now we've done this.”

With a smile as Meiyu got the hang of what they were doing he wagged their joined fingers together in promise. Nodding his head as the vow was made between the two of them, he unentangled his finger from the gripping joint of Meiyu’s.

Friend was such a loose term for Hans, one he would throw around as carelessly as one may confetti at a party. A gregarious nature combined with a wild extraversion meant he was always meeting someone new, and fresh acquaintances would always be treated as friends until proven otherwise he did not mind being so amiable as to pull mostly everyone into the category by his heart’s fluttering whims. His standards were low, yet there was no doubt the retributions were as well, no first or best friend as Meiyu would deem but simply someone to shout a hello to in passing or offer a few words of support before a match or test. He ought to remind himself the wisdom passed down through ages: a friend to everybody is a friend to nobody. Were all these bold declarations and strong word choices meaningless bar a close few he actually held close to himself? And if this line in the sand marked his unfortunate reality, which side ought he choose when placing Meiyu, the girl he was hesitant to trust yet had still told so much of his darkest sides to? Friend? Or just a temporary confidante?

Soon however, the pair continued once more to matters of the young teenage heart. “I wouldn't suggest a picnic, it feels like you're cornering her. Besides, are you certain she feels the same way? You might set yourself up for failure, I wouldn't like to see that.”

“Well, no,” Hans admitted almost bashfully as he glanced down, “It’s not supposed to be a date or anything like that anyways, it’s supposed to be friendly. So little of Durmstrang is here anyway — after all we present ourselves as more military than romantic — so it would be good bonding.” That was more half-truth than a full one. He did intend it to be nothing more than platonic, especially if the girl of his affections did not want to take anything further than their current position. It should merely be a confirmation of requitation, and although all the signs were pointing at the negative, he decided some optimism meant it was at least worth the attempt. As long as he was not thrusting his friendship into jeopardy, the worst he could get was a no. After all, he had invited her out with him all this way to the faraway France just to seize the opportunity of a convenient Valentine’s for a confession. But… everyone would have known he would have much rather it been a date. “Plus,” he added, “She agreed to come with me and to the picnic — that must at least mean something.

“I just think she deserves to enjoy her time off from school without, you know, being killed.” Although he said the words with a careless laugh that signalled it as merely playful hyperbole, when his infatuations had began towards the summer time he had not been expecting to be thrown into a fight with giant hag slugs that were as deadly as they were absurd, now in hindsight. Their first time at Hogwarts last year did not particularly reinforce the dangers of the British school either. It seemed, therefore, that whenever Hans and Astrid took a break from their studies they were placed in danger, a predicament he found the least bit enjoyable. Romantic or not, he hoped Beauxbaton to be the retreat it promised, a shelter with pastel and flowers that provided them solace with the constant mayhem following their other excursions. However this may go, fantasies of love could wait.

Tilting his head in thought at Meiyu’s new suggestion Hans rolled the thought around in his mind. What should he gift? Another set of overpriced macarons was fairly unnecessary, to begin with, considering the large abundance of “gustative heaven” found at the French school. Flowers and chocolate seemed far too trite, even if they were hosting this on Valentine’s day itself. He blatantly ignored Meiyu’s wry remark and instead returned with one of his own, eyebrows raised sarcastically yet a tug of war of his tips showing that it was in good nature, “Something tells me you may not be the best person to take such advice from.” As Meiyu continued at her dry humour, however, he paused, to gesture at the mess on the ground, “I’m afraid the macarons can’t be saved, but the box you should at least keep. It looks like an heirloom.” Placing his hands on his hips he asked, “So, what do you think I should get?”

LOCATION | Grounds, Beauxbatons DATE | Afternoon on 13th February 2025 INTERACTING | @Archer Duncan as Hans Jessen

934 | WORD COUNT x | OUTFIT heartbreaker | SONG

"A picnic is not friendly, especially not around this time of year." Meiyu bluntly interjected, convinced that Hans was more deluded than she was. Though, through her own perception of herself, the fate she had succumb to would only serve as a trial and testament of her internal strength, given how her own arrival at the school in France, was merely an escapade from the horrid voice in her mind, urging her to attack. Where else to surround yourself in such occasions, other than a place riddled with people, all but the vermin she had found herself infatuated with. In essence, Meiyu was not one for love, barely grasping the true concept behind the ordeal and typically finding it rather odd. Yet, her own internal conflict regarding the matter was one she refused to admit, only seeking confidence with Hans in their previous exchanges, urging her to once rationalise the active plan she would set in motion upon her return to the castle, eager to terrorise.

"Wouldn't slaying dragons together be more romantic?" She chimed once more, dreading the day she gets asked to a picnic for Valentines day, which had a very slim chance of even happening. Still, she could, at the very least, applaud Hans for his genuinely and attempt to pursue whom his infatuations laid with. Her own approach would only serve as fruitless given the requirement of a potion she had briefly heard of.

As Hans continued his romantic monologue, the mention of killing momentarily soured her mood, recalling the events Hans had shared upon his last visit to the castle. Had the circumstances been different and they had come into acquaintance prior, she was certain her presence alone would spare him from misery. To her demise and contrary to her peculiar trail of thought, fate was twisted and history could not be rewritten. It had been ingrained in her, by her maternal grandfather, that each soul was destined a path, whether it were sick and twisted, as her time had been since Christmas, and in their case, their paths twisted horridly until it conjoined upon their meeting, uniting them. Irregardless to what occurred in his past, and what were to occur in his future, she desired nothing less than his happiness, given living under a shroud of sadness or madness would only pain her. Once more, her laissez-faire attitude urged her to not interject, yet, it would only be inevitable when it came to her beloved Hans, for whom she'd slay dragons for.

Irregardless to her own convictions revolving the ordeal, one thing she could applaud him for was truly his bravery — despite residing in the house of the brave, more often than not, Meiyu would refuse to convey herself as brave, often being the latter. Her sharp tongue, accredited to the boost in confidence the newfound freedom Hogwarts provided her, was not something she'd deem as adequate to bravery, rather a poor attempt at constraining herself. It became clear to the young girl, notably through Hans' motion, that the idea of a gift had not even entered his mind, her face immediately scowling at the remark made towards her, though, not feeling belittled nor upset by it. "I guess you've never taken etiquette classes, hosted by my vile grandmother." She commented with a grit at the mere mention of the Knight matriarch. "Do they not teach you that in Germany? Perhaps it's an unspoken rule of thumb, or, family custom." Meiyu moved slowly on her feet, growing a little tired with the persistent standing, though, quickly moving to pick up the once discarded dragon engraved box, pulling it close to her and momentarily inspecting the engraving.

"No, my grandfather gave it me when we were still in South Korea, it's one of many but, I thought I would be a nice gift for you. Even if it goes against the morals of regifting items, it wasn't sentimental." Once she concluded, the final word she spoke prompted a light-bulb like spark, her gaze moving from the box back onto Hans, eyes glimmering as she resumed her role of cupid. "You need something sentimental that would move her to tears, something that would signify both your friendship together, but the path you desire to go to in the new stage of your relationship. If you ask me, I think a dagger would be perfect, I told you I have one, it's so beautiful, enchanting even." By now, her words slipped past her lips in such a hurry, the reminder of the dagger she had been gifted, although a horrid reminder of what she had done, brought her into a trance, fascinated with the intricate details on the silver. Akin to her twisted adoration with the dagger, the sentiment it brought her would only serve fruitful in Hans' pursuit to a romantic evening, yet, given their current location, it would highly be unlikely he'd be able to attain such a wonderful gift, one that would protect her, just as it had once protected Meiyu. Yet, their circumstances were different, if they were back in England, Meiyu would have sent an owl back home immediately, apologising profusely for the infrequent letters she had sent and demanding a dagger to be sent.

To her dismay, the elaborate idea would only provide room of doubt to enter her mind and the voice she had grown accustomed to over the last few months, once more, it began, eerie and horrific, mumbling to her a simple question, Meiyu's face morphing back to its usual stoic expression.

Why would you wish others to suffer the same fate?

banner by Elena Clark || interacting as Hans Jenssen

“Wouldn't slaying dragons together be more romantic?”

Hans furrowed his brows at the sudden return to her previous delusion yet commented nothing, wishing not to again destroy what they had managed to built off a shaky first meeting in person.

To Meiyu’s next question, however Hans saw two ways of answering.

Long explanation: From what little Hans was taught of the little remnants of his ménage’s history, he knew enough to say that the Schafer family had not seen stable days for the last decade. With two lost wars and one divided country they stood on shaky ground in the first place. Beginning with his long estranged and now deceased great-grandmother’s call for divorce and the curse suffered by Otto’s wife, which led to a far premature death and ending in his mother’s sudden withdrawment from the Wizarding World, all pressures of a crumbling household were now placed on the shoulders of one sole person: himself. And through those tribulations they had developed a mindset more survivalist than troubled by the prim and proper expectations of pureblood culture. They harboured little care for shaking hands or biting back dirty words, finding it far too insignificant even if they acted out on the many fêtes attended in an attempt to reclaim their name. No, all they could give heart for was brute power, a sheer force unable to be described by any other word. They sought to produce powerful duellists, swift broomsmen, and heirs who could not only think for themselves but stand up for themselves. They knew charm was a thing that could not be forced, but power was; power could be made, shaped, and honed. And that, fairly enough, was all they could care about.

Sure enough, Otto had never placed any genuine heart into the little etiquette lessons he managed, for he knew Hans would never sit down and listen to a lengthy, meandering explanation on the different types of forks and their placements. To him, etiquette was no end on its own but a mere tool, and in line with the crumbling family philosophy, a tool to power, yet just like any other tool, it had to fit the wielder and the target. So he shifted Hans onto a different path, gave him all the support and doting he could ask for — and more importantly his parents never supplemented — until he built a boy with that cocksure attitude running through his every golden veins, stripped of fear or even its bare resemblances, who would dazzle like the very sun above rather be the controlled light in a chandelier that glittered brighter than the light itself. Etiquette, as long as respect formed a basis of deserved politeness, was an unnecessary hassle to him.

Short explanation: “No, in fact I never had the displeasure of learning.”

Watching as Meiyu moved the pick up the ornamental box with the dragon engraving he listened, more half-hearted than he could compel as she briefed him on the origins. By all means it was nice gift packaging, and if not for the rotting contents it contained or the deluded words that accompanied it he would have accepted the gesture, and, though with no idea what to put in it, grateful. As for the regifting, perhaps it would elicit a raised brow from him but he had already been judging far deeper things than that sole aspect.

“If you ask me, I think a dagger would be perfect, I told you I have one, it's so beautiful, enchanting even.”

The comment about killing dragons he already graciously ignored, yet as Meiyu decided to rub the second deluded hysteria in he was beginning to harbour second thoughts. In some twisted, macabre sense Meiyu was correct: a dagger would be a deeply sentimental gift, just as the one that he had lost as soon as it came into his possession was. That ceremonial knife of Nikolai’s carried more meaning than he knew or cared to dig into, but past the blood pact he had made with Valentin in the hands of a boy running on pure survivalism and his brother ready to avenge him the weapon meant something entirely different and something far more lethal. Both thrusted towards the same target, one in noble self defence with merely a violent side effect yet one with nothing but thirst of blood in mind, ready to paint the walls red as he stormed, be it heroically or horrifyingly, into the foreign fortress. If once he had found himself out of control with the knife in his hand, fingers trembling with an amalgamation of rage, unrecognisation, and a beastly fear tremouring through pulsing veins, there as nothing to say his mind would not inevitably wonder to such dark trenches again. These thoughts, he knew, were unacceptable. So simply put, such emotional taxations on himself seemed as inappropriate as gifting Astrid a crocheted slug.

Why Meiyu could not bring it up simply in passing or even as a joke (for that at least Hans could understand) was beyond the boy. He was bewildered at how she managed to form an unrelenting fixation. Hans himself had done all he could to forget, and after all that was the primary reason he would never even think of giving such a gift, much less going through the hassle and pain of retrieving it. Of course the constant reminders serving as memory was no choice. If he could not be plagued by nightmares envisioning him bringing down the knife’s blade into a deserving backs then he would jump at the opportunity as easily as those hands made for healing had been summoned to kill. Unlike Meiyu he was not fascinated by it — no, and quite frankly all that would radiate off him at the thought of the act would be disgust, not for the blade, carved as intricately as Meiyu’s must have been and innocently inanimate, having simply landed in the hands of the wrong people. All there was, he knew, was disgust at himself, for ever even daring to consider in the direction. He had vowed never to become the wolf, yet he feared upon hearing its howl no Wolfsbane potion would be holding him back.

“Unfortunately,” he said slowly, “I do not find a dagger beautiful or enchanting, nor do I think Astrid will.” Hans placed every word cautiously, careful not to incite a response as he had before, which had clearly struck a nerve he never even knew existed in her sensitive body. Despite being in full denial Hans chose to be considerate and veered far from wearing his doubts on his sleeve (or perhaps that was generous, for he harboured far worse than just thoughts.) The farther they moved away from such unsettling topics the better, and if he could get Valentine's advice through the reconciliation of two pen pals, well, he would not say no to killing two birds with one stone.

Hans’ eyes followed Meiyu’s expression with curiosity. Suddenly, despite the previous interest she showed in gifting a dagger her face treutnred to their usual, emotionlessness, simply features set on a visage rather than a human behind the facade. He worked to edge the conversation away from an experience that now proved for the both of them uncomfortable. “Do you have something that's perhaps, more conventional?” He inquired instead. “Or even an experience like a pair of tickets if material things are difficult to choose from.”

LOCATION | Grounds, Beauxbatons DATE | Afternoon on 13th February 2025 INTERACTING | @Hans Jessen

1,087 | WORD COUNT x | OUTFIT heartbreaker | SONG

Enticed by the lulling harmony of the demonic voice which slowly regained its reign of terror over Meiyu, her cat like eyes which had a tendency to glare and notice even minor movements, gawked at Hans and the brows which furrowed over her comment about dragons. His sudden reclusiveness to engage in conversation with the young girl had only sparked thoughts which took her back in the playground, standing amongst children her age when she was back in Seoul, when she was "normal."

The squeals of children which once surrounded her, turned into pointing fingers, their eyes shifting from to an eerie black, glaring at her as she stood center amongst the children. Often spending playtime engrossed in fantasy, kicking pebbles and silently observing those around her; making judgements towards the other children who excluded her — this was different. That particular day had served as the first catalyst for Elizabeth to finally stage an intervention, hearing from her sister-in-law, that her niece had attacked a child in fury, clawing at an innocent face who stared at Meiyu a second longer than she could even tolerate. A simple disapproving eyebrow raise, even at a young age, had been enough to warrant such an attack from the young witch. It was sheer horror, the young girl being escorted from the playground in tears, whilst Meiyu stood stoic amongst the growing crowd who engaged in useless whispers on how nasty the youngest Xiang had been.

If it wasn't her odd behaviour that had deemed her an outcast amongst the children of Seoul, it was the blatant difference between her introverted personality amongst a sea of extroverts, then, it was her name. Despite her mixed heritage, her name in itself, was outwardly very Chinese, being the new point of humour, oddly. Naturally, it was nothing she could handle, muttering namely to herself about how dull the other children's names were, earning a few more glares and snarky comments from ruthless children; who in Meiyu's own mind, would soon reap her wrath. That's when the second incident occurred. She had stumbled upon a child with a blood nose, consequent to child-like antics revolving cartwheeling around the playground, not paying much mind to apparatus outdoors whilst the eldest Xiang child stood nearby silently watching. Stood there as though under a haze, Meiyu ignored the cries for help from her peer, blankly inspecting the blood pouring from the young girl's nose, slowly inching closer. Evidently fearing the Xiang child, the latter took a few steps back until she had fallen, just as a teacher made way to see what the commotion was, the raised brow Meiyu was met with upon the craning of her neck quickly morphed into one of horror at the false correlation made, assuming Meiyu had injured the girl, resulting in the bloody nose. The fabricated tale soon spread like wildfire, triggering a light-bulb switch in Meiyu's developing mind to closely monitor facial expressions, given the inability to typically control such muscles.

Thus she found herself once more, back in Seoul, despite standing at Beauxbatons, cautiously monitoring the expressions of the boy whom she held dearest adorations to, her sole friend, Hans.

His behaviour and odd expressions at her wholehearted suggestions had stung, as though, he was cautious around her, similar to the children back in Seoul, then the children in Oxfordshire. And, as the conversation resumed, his odd demeanour continued once more. The horrid flashback to her youth and painful reminder that she'd truly never find acceptance or seek genuine friendships, began to dawn on her, despite her expression unfaltering. Instead, she stood, her gaze narrowing as she fixated on every movement on his, the voice quietly urging her to lash out, attack, cause any type of harm to the boy who had once more, betrayed her. She had exposed too much, shared parts of her that nobody else had the pleasure if witnessing, and in return? He mocked her, moving warily as though walking on shards. It was such behaviour that would subsequently present new ideas to Meiyu — methods of disposing of the boy, leaving him down the mountains and if such warranted it too, he could rot with whoever that Astrid girl was.

With her grip tightening on the heirloom box, her breath slowly increasing the longer he resumed his awful facade of friendship under the guise of information and fearing for his own safety, Meiyu tried to constrain herself. In truth, part of her adorned her friendship with Hans, though the latter, which took it's reigns at this moment in time, desired nothing less from the boy.

“I do not find a dagger beautiful or enchanting, nor do I think Astrid will.”

Maintaining a stoic expression despite the urge to throw the box painfully at his skull, her grip only tightened, if even possible, at the box she held, growing agitated with the boy who was careless and selfish, desiring nothing more than the approval of someone who did not want him back. Rather oxymoronic, given her own predicament she was in with the snake whom she held unrequited infatuations towards, though, she would not dare detail such endeavours with the likes of a people pleaser, such as Hans, who's notions made it obvious he feared the young girl who stood before him.

"I'm not sure what you mean by... conventional?" She piqued with a head tilt, exhaling to free her mind from the desire to bash his head in with the box in her hands. "In truth, part of me feels as though this relationship you are seeking will not work out. How can you seek love when it is very clear you do not love yourself?" She hummed half-heartedly, glancing down at the box and it's engravings before harshly throwing it in the direction of his feet, fortunately sparing him from a visit to Beauxbaton's horrible medical facility.

"Hans, you walk on eggshells around me, it's obvious by your movements and choice in words. Are you honest with Astrid? Or is everything I know about you a facade and in reality, you're nothing more than a people pleaser with trauma?" She swiftly added, her mood souring with each second that passed. By now, it was up to Hans, once more. His sheer adoration for the girl whom held his heart, was not sufficient enough to hide behind the inner turmoil he tried to disguise.

He was a mess, they both were.

Yet, she tried while he hid under the guise of seeking friendship.

banner by Elena Clark || interacting as Hans Jenssen

Either Meiyu wanted their budding relationship to go downhill before it even took off or she was simply a very, very emotionally unintelligent girl. Based on his observations, Hans was willing to bet the latter. It wasn’t as if Hans had not seen his fair share of inconsiderate people — the events at Hogwarts last year had in fact only proven their abundance, and therefore, he had no qualms with stabilising the many fluctuations of human emotions. Anger he could deal with. Sadness he could deal with. Betrayal he could deal with. And what did he receive in return for all that? Just Meiyu’s derision. Well if she ever wanted to do something in his favour, she could go fuck herself. And, when she still wouldn’t shut that no good mouth of hers, just stop talking for once.

“Are you honest with Astrid? Or is everything I know about you a facade and in reality, you're nothing more than a people pleaser with trauma?”

He scoffed at her question. A people pleaser with trauma. Really. That was the best she could have come up with? Trauma — she used the word so lightly, flinging it about in random insults as if it meant nothing to her. He didn’t care who she had murdered, he didn’t care in cold blood or desperation, she had seen nothing, and compared to his brother he had seen nothing, and it was neither of their rights to treat the heavy subject matter as if it was simply a jibe. How dare she use such matters against him? She thought she knew the world about him, she thought she had the right to advise him on his relationships, on his life; as if. Honestly, with all the fucked up things she had said, Hans didn’t even know why he still bothered to try with Meiyu, not when their relationship was so evidently now nothing different from the scattered macarons in the dirt: disgusting, ruined, and unsalvageable.

Was he honest with Astrid? Of course, because Astrid allowed him to be honest with her. Astrid listened, never judged, offered reasonable advice where asked, and didn’t make presumptions based on half-baked impressions. If Meiyu were Astrid, she wouldn’t have been getting the same responses Hans offered, and then again, if Meiyu were Astrid, she wouldn’t have been asking the same questions. In fact, Meiyu had some audacity even daring to bring Astrid into the conversation at this point, as if she even had the right to mention any of his friends whom he had trusted her with. How could she use anyone he loved against him? It was ridiculous, almost laughable, how she compared Hans’ treatment of her to his treatment of Astrid that she had presumed. Being the person she was, how had she even thought Hans would be comfortable to be honest with her?

Gritting his teeth, Hans said nothing, lips tight against each other and face frozen in the same stoicism Meiyu seemed to be an expert in. Boring his eyes into Meiyu’s, the solid pools of black that stared back at his, no longer a soft melted chocolate but earth that had hardened as if in the summertime sun, he scrutinised her, as if trying to find any redeeming feature on her that would make her worthy of making the assumptions she did, of judging him the way she did. Unsurprisingly, as hatred took over his heart and tainted it black, he found none and was able to report back on none. Sometimes, he reasoned, silence spoke louder than words, and certainly so for a boy so often of so many words.

Perhaps she was right, perhaps everything Meiyu knew about Hans had been a facade, but as today had proven it, it was a facade he had put on for good reason. And if there was one thing he knew, it was he bore no shame when he agreed with his words. Fun or not life had always been a masquerade party for Hans — in fact, like most parties, it could often be either dull or cutthroat with no in between. And of course, as such parties called for, it was only customary to attend wearing a mask. No matter whichever form it took, and no matter how he code-switched, between languages, between behaviours, between audiences, is was always glorious, a bright red with shining gold laced onto the edges. Whether heir or leader, athlete or artist, that mask had portrayed him like he had it all, and what more reason was needed for him to wear it?

But you can’t wear a mask for life, and as reluctantly as he would admit it, he knew that. Even in parties, no one stayed on the dance floor forever. Once in a while, everyone retired to the sidelines with a friend’s hand in theirs, and suggested they go to a bedroom or a drawing room, where they could enjoy a break from tasteless music and finally be able to hear each other. And then, having found solace in each other's comfort from the dress code of said masquerade parties, masks would be taken off and they could be genuine with each other. It was inane to assume Hans different from anyone else by having layers, and it was ridiculous to think he never revealed his true form, even more that he would do it with her present. Meiyu, and especially after today’s first meeting, was certainly someone he would not have considered taking to a drawing room. In fact, he wished Meiyu wasn’t even on the guest list.

“You’re calling me a people pleaser?” Hans asked finally, drawing the question out with intentional gradualness. There seemed to be no hint of challenge in his way despite the rhetorical manner of speech, just a monotone repetition as if he had not heard her properly. He didn’t even allow himself the bitter laugh he felt like letting out. He did, however; in fact he had heard her with immaculate clarity, and the words had clung onto him for much longer than he had allowed. People pleaser, as if he thought his own worth dependant solely on what others thought of him. People pleaser, as if he was just about to swallow back the poison-laced words brimming up his throat. People pleaser, as if he was going to be lenient on Meiyu’s judgement. Lines in the sand existed for a good reason. Yet still he nodded, slowly, as if in acceptance.

Acceptance his ass; the only thing he was accepting was his disappointment of their crumbling potential. She wanted brutal honesty? Well, she would have it.

“I doubt you’ll be pleased by this, Meiyu— who the fuck asked you to make assumptions about me?” The order of happening was difficult to keep track. Hans didn’t know if he had thrown the punch first, or spoke first, or both, nor did it matter. All that mattered was that somewhere along the line he had said those words, so fast and thoughts so messy that he didn’t sound like that silver-tongued boy who knew how keep the crowd’s whims on his pinky finger anymore. He had barely finished the first taunt, a growl rising in his voice yet still carrying some semblance of composure as his volume rose to the next demand. It cut straight through before the end of his voice had dropped, and the entire sentence was shouted loud enough for their entire vicinity to hear — not that he cared particularly. There was not a shred of forgiveness to his words, not anything to grasp onto if she still, blindly, searched for a way to salvage a friendship that perhaps was never formed. If rage had a form, if the blood-red walls of his dream were brought into reality, it was this.

All that mattered was that his right hand had balled up into a fist, and soon that fist was heading towards Meiyu. Soon that fist was landing on her, connecting, and this was no play fight. Despite his advantages in height and strength Nikolai still bested him in duelling, not because he didn’t know how to handle a wand but because he ran too much on emotion to bring himself to cause damage without a reason carved out from his heart. This time though? This time it wasn’t a challenge set by Oonagh, and this time he didn’t need to worry about what he was doing, didn’t need to worry about the consequences. He had rarely fought for real, hardly ever thrown a punch without laughter to follow, not some sadistic streak but a mutual recognition that there was no malice intended. This wasn’t much of a fight either — he just needed the hatred out of him and needed to get her out of his way. Delivered with the entirety of his body strength in a haze of anger, he didn’t hold back. He hoped it hurt. It’d better hurt — that was the whole fucking point.

“You don’t know shit about me, okay?” He spat. “And you’re not about to start pretending you do, you understand?” No longer a shout out of such pure fury his volume was lowered but still far from what was deemed acceptable in conversation. Every syllable of his speech carried disgust, and he shook his head in contempt. She barely knew him, and that was the objective truth. The most acquainting they had ever done was over letters Hans had written out of pure boredom and need for escapism. Instead of a carefree return of letters however, he received a girl who lured him with a guise of normalcy, trauma dumped on him, and then decided to push him away. And in a fair return, Hans barely knew Meiyu either. What, other than trivia, could he recall? Oh, she was Asian and she liked spice in her food. And Hans, for one had nothing against that. It was the exact reason why he could bring himself to hit her for saying what could have, just maybe, been the truth.

He raised his fist again, then stopped himself. For a few seconds, he didn’t offer anything but heavy breathing.

Then, never bringing eye contact off of her, Hans slung his pack to his chest and rummaged around for the small vials of potions he carried on him. Most of them he never used, but today they seemed to have drained all the luck from him and into themselves. Gripping around a small, unassuming dose of the blue potion he retrieved it wordlessly. Violently and strong enough to leaves marks on her wrist, without care for the comfort she did not deserve, he grabbed Meiyu’s hand and shoved Murtlap Essence into her palm with nothing but disgust. He was more careful than to hit her without giving her a way to fix herself up. And if Meiyu was too prideful for his pity? Well that was her choice; it wasn’t as if he was the one hurting anyway.

“Go to hell.” The ending remark was not something mumbled or spoken under his breath, but clear, though without raised volume or tone, as flat and simple as an instruction on how to get to the store. There was no anger left in his voice, just defeat and acceptance that all the hope he had going forward to meeting Meiyu at Valentine’s Day would bear no fruit. Meiyu was broken in a way he could not fix, and he would have accepted that if not for how she chose to lash it out against him. He tried, he failed, and he had learnt that not everything, and certainly not everyone, deserved his resilience and perseverance, Meiyu the least of them. His opinion? She needed a psychiatrist, and while he was willing to stay by her side through that, if she wasn’t going to allow him or at least show human consideration, he wasn’t going to bother. Hans was more disappointed in her than anything, except for maybe himself for believing in the power of friendship. So that was final sour instruction was probably the last thing he would say to her for a while, but at least that was the only place she would be welcomed at.

Hans walked away. He barely knew himself angry, but he guessed that was half the point.

LOCATION | Grounds, Beauxbatons DATE | Afternoon on 13th February 2025 INTERACTING | @Hans Jessen

1,737 | WORD COUNT x | OUTFIT heartbreaker | SONG

Emotional regulation was somewhat of a flaw of Meiyu's, though, oddly enough, she had a keen eye for observing the emotional regulation of others. Highly accredited to the wrath of her mother, who's temperament was almost as unpredictable as her own. It came to no surprise that she would be quick to analyse Hans' own behaviour, deeming him as somebody hiding behind a facade, similarly as she had done, during the erratic bursts of their correspondence. Though, in her case, she never lied — to her knowledge at the very least.

Their entire dynamic had shifted over the course of a few months, Meiyu primarily anticipating their meeting, even it included erratic plans and the involvement of dragons amidst the misty Atlantic air, perfectly secluded in the mountainous atmosphere under the guise of a romantic getaway with the wretched school. Despite it all, Hans had chosen to play coy, evidently lacking shared excitement over their initial meeting, later evidenced by his own demeanour and response to her act of gratuity; even if it included stale and stolen macaroons. She had seen similar behavioural patterns prior to her admission to Hogwarts, notably, during her fruitless attempts at making friends both in Seoul and Oxford. For some odd reason, Meiyu had convinced herself Hans was different.

He was not.

The boy was evidently as fucked up as she was. The only difference, Meiyu had the balls to both admit and acknowledge her flaws, choosing to bask in them, rather than opt to hide behind a veil of lies and facade.

Sure, she was wrong to involve Astrid in the entire ordeal, yet, her deflection and choice in venom was evidently immature and bait the latter had taken. Did he really expect their first meeting to have another girl as the focal point of conversations? Irregardless to the lack of friends Meiyu had, surely this was an endeavour any normal person with closer friends, notably those one would reside in dormitories with — which was what the girls in her dormitory did, hence unwillingly becoming her reference point for the definition of friendship whilst at such a vile institution like Hogwarts. Though, it took no decoding the dissatisfaction prevalent with Hans, given he'd scoffed at her harsh remark, soon beginning to spew whatever he could coagulate, clearly in hopes of saying something that would sting.

“Who the fuck asked you to make assumptions about me?”

As her lips parted, aimed to throw a string of insults his way, Han's movements moved too fast for Meiyu to comprehend what was going on. She had failed to notice how his fist curled up, the pitch of his voice forced her to wince and a chain reaction would of ensured as a natural trauma response at that, yet, as the fist connected with her face, her nose felt the brute force of Hans' punch. Once his fist retracted away, Meiyu immediately brought a palm to her nose, both clutching and shielding the area as blood began to seep through. Her gaze momentarily moved to her hand, pulling it away and glaring at the blood which had transferred, all too akin to that horrid evening on a cold winters day. Soon enough, her breath hitched, her eyes watering once more as she instinctively inched away from the boy who had now attacked her. Once she had trailed her gaze back to him, his silhouette morphed into that very man from the manor, the one who had trailed upstairs behind her and her dearest Evrapskiya, cornering them — only this time, she was without her dagger.

With Hans resuming his vengeful comments, her ears rang, her mind refusing to acknowledge anything he said, instead, she stood looking at him, attempting to maintain the distance as blood continued to pour from her nose and a singular tear falling against her delicate bloody face. Had it been anyone else, she would have lunged at them, inflicting any and every type of wounding she could do, mauling the latter in retaliation — yet, she could never bring herself to do that to Hans. He was different. Meiyu had grown to idolise him, adoring the boy and truly excited to meet him for the first time and grow their friendship into fruition; after all, he was her first friend. For once, she had strove to do better, yet, he refused to acknowledge her efforts. Meiyu was never one to communicate with others, for him, she tried, seeking any common ground between them, growing to enjoy their correspondence. It was not as though she had purposely shattered any hopes of a normal friendship between the two, fate had done that, binding together the mind of a killer and the mind that longed to kill.

Unable to move or speak in mere shock at what had transpired, Meiyu inched back once more as Hans moved closer, refusing to break the streak of intense eye contact whilst rummaging into his bag. When he gripped her wrist, she tried to pull back, to no avail, placing a blue vial into her palm. Was this his idea of a sick joke? Bewildered by the gesture, she immediately threw the vial to the ground, ignoring the wince that followed at the sound of the glass shattering. She was not a toy to play with, break, then attempt to fix. Despite her harsh words, she had apologised to him and she would once more — Hans would never fathom the adoration she had for the boy, going against her own usual behaviour and apologising, doing anything she could to mend the friendship, which was more than he ever did and would ever do. Besides, the lack of excitement he had initially shown should have been a tell-tale sign, once she graciously ignored for the sake of him.

Tears continued to fall as she watched him walk away, her heart growing with aches as the sorrow quickly consumed her in entirety. Refusing to let the boy slip through her fingers, her feet began to move, pacing after him until the distance between them had become minimal. Meiyu threw her arms around Hans, pulling him to a halt in her best attempt, though, should he wish to walk off, he could given the lack of strength she had to keep him there. Burying her head into his back, her tears only grew stronger — she had never been the type of person to long for physical affection, nor did she care for it, but Hans was equivalent to her dearest Evpraksiya, internally vowing to protect the two at any cost. For them, she would stake her life if it came down to it.

"Hans, I'm sorry." Meiyu mumbled between the gasps of short breath and the hiccups in between the stream of tears which refused to halter. Withdrawing her grasp on the boy, she brought her arms back to her side and taking a step back to glance at the body of the boy who refused to face her, quite literally talking to a wall. "I'm not like your other friends, perhaps at this point, I'm barely your friend, but you do not realise how much you mean to me. I apologise for my harsh words and I hope one day we can both heal." She added, her tone dipping lower and almost whispering the final sentence, finally acknowledging the metaphorical elephant in the room.

For him, she would strive to become better, irregardless to how many times he would push her away. His happiness was all Meiyu desired, yet, present Meiyu could not give him that, instead, she stood amongst the French Atlantic breeze with a bloody nose and red eyes. Perhaps for the first time in her entire life, she aimed to maintain the connection, even if he continued to push her away, just as she had pushed him away from prying matters, Meiyu would still strive for Hans. Despite punching her, he aimed to remedy her, perhaps akin to the natural healer within him, though, Meiyu cared little to be healed and if she truly sought revenge, the boy would already be pleading for his life. To her, he was different, unlike the mongrel trolls free-roaming at Hogwarts, Hans in essence, cared about her; even if it was a very slim percentage. She could never hate him.

"This summer, would you honour me with a visit to Oxfordshire? Even for a weekend, maybe just before school starts again?" She proposed amidst the chaos. Though he was likely to decline, her offer stood, unable to truly express the sentiment nor reasoning behind such a bizarre invitation. "I do not typically invite people, but, I am asking as a form of gratuity to you, but also, proposing that when we meet again, we will be better and mentally stronger. No dragons, no daggers. Then, you can tell me about how everything went with Astrid, should you no longer wish to keep correspondence with me, it would be clear with the lack of letters sent until then. I'll wait for both your grandfathers owl and the weird ones from your school with a handful of pellets should you change your mind."

Turning on her heel, Meiyu walked away, no-longer caring for whether or not Hans would spew venom or attack her once more. For now, she had done all she could to mend their relationship, extending it to an invitation to her home over the summer. Until then, she'd visit the owlery frequently, awaiting with pellets should he accept the invitation. The grandiose gesture of good will was more than Meiyu would offer to anyone, the time in Oxfordshire would ensure they both would mend their wounds and give them the opportunity to rekindle all that occurred this year. Her mother would be thrilled with the idea of meeting Meiyu's first true friend, though at this moment in time, Meiyu was unsure where she stood with Hans. All she knew was that she was beyond adamant to not let him slip through her fingers.

In the meantime, she inched closer to the tents scattered on Beauxbaton's grounds in search for a staff member who could ensure her nose is not broken, wiping the tears which had fallen with her blood-less hands, ignoring the sheer looks of horror as she passed by students with blood across her face and palm. What a wonderful way to start a winter's day.

NOTE: Meiyu leaves the thread.