A Very Kolbeck Christmas
@Vladimir Athanatos
Note- Opeila's hair is mostly white at this point.
"Thank you."
Although the words were defiant, Opeila's tone was not. The two of them had never spoken too much, their rare encounters had been unpleasant but the Slytherin was not blind. Her gratitude extended way past what had happened last year. Yes, he had put her in danger, had used her for his schemes back when she was a first year, but maybe... maybe it was time to stop dwelling on that. His actions since had spoken a different language, it seemed- yes, it seemed like he was intending to keep her alive.
Her brows furrowed a little when Vladimir stepped closer and revealed that he chose not to respond to her owl. "... Why?" Her own voice had lowered to a whisper as well and she kept her face in check to not attract unwanted attention. "... You know what this is about." It was more a statement than a question. Of course. She could not imagine that Vladimir cared so little about his younger brother. He either had a different source to keep him updated... or he was not surprised.
“You shouldn’t have reached out to me, Opeila. You should have left me buried. You don’t belong tangled in this darkness, and I— I don’t belong in yours.””
Her lips parted in surprise at the change of tone. His words hung in the air for a few moments, while she chose her response carefully. "I know that. Although, to be honest, I think that your and my darkness have become the same in some parts. I am surrounded by it, every time I step foot into Hogwarts, and I can't ignore it."
Opeila matched his tone now. "I got letters in the last years. Anonymous hints at things that were happening. For the longest time I believed they were from you- but they aren't, are they."
She searched his face once more. "I don't want to be tangled in this darkness. I don't want anyone to be. Including Aamon." She couldn't leave anyone to some gruesome fate.
"Who is he with when he is at Hogwarts?" What Opeila thought about Erin was a different topic that certainly had no room here, but Erin graduated the year prior. Maybe she was protecting him now, but Aamon was alone at school.
She remembered her own horrific first year vividly and Aamon's seemed on the best way to be even more so.
“It’s fine.”
"I want to believe you."
She left the "but I can't" part unsaid. He knew. And if he did not want to tell her anything, pressing was no use. The offer was made. Several times over at this point.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Only if you stop. The words would never leave her mouth.
"Like what?" Her expression had become neutral now- mostly. The previous times she had spoken with Vladimir, he had been cold. Gave her only short answers, left as soon as possible. It had been a long time since she had last properly spoken with him and the intensity left her somewhat shaken.
“You wanted answers, Winters, and now you have them. He’s safe—for now. That’s all you need to know.”
Opeila would not break eye contact as she slowly nodded. "Okay." What happened to you...
It was her turn to take a step towards him and extend her hand. A light smile had appeared on her face again. "Dance with me?"
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
The words hung between them like smoke, too thick to see through but impossible to ignore. Vladimir did not move at first, his expression carved from the same cold marble as the statues of gods and women, tricksters and lovers. His crystal eyes lingered on her outstretched hand—delicate, unguarded—before flicking up to meet hers.
A thousand refusals bloomed on his tongue, bitter and sharp, each one a reason why he should turn away, leave her standing alone beneath the weight of art and crystal. But he didn’t.
Instead, his hand—cool as dusk—slipped into hers, fingers curling around her palm with a gentleness that belied the terrible storm thrumming beneath his skin.
It was a mistake. He knew it the moment their hands touched.
“Winters,” he murmured, her name drawn out like an invocation or a warning. Perhaps a bit of both if he was a bit honest. People like her were mistakes, their presence warning of shallow waters. He hesitated, his thumb brushing absently against her knuckles—a fleeting gesture that betrayed far too much.
Amanon’s face flashed in his mind—wide-eyed, terrified—and the memory twisted like a knife. The chains, the secrets, the things he couldn’t say. He should have let her go. He should have let them all go.
But here he was.
He led her onto the dance floor without a word, the polished marble reflecting their shadows as they moved. Vladimir’s grip was steady, his posture perfect, but his shoulders bore the weight of something heavy and unspoken. The music swelled around them, drowning out the whispers and glances that trailed in their wake.
He knew how to dance. He knew the song even. The gentle thrill of each note that seemed to simmer to the point of evaporation before the melody would carry on.
Opeila concerned him. For more than headstrong nature. She had always been perceptive—too perceptive. Her questions lingered in the air like ghosts, and he could feel her gaze searching him, peeling back the layers he had spent years reconstructing.
"You shouldn’t trust me." The words came low, barely above the hum of the violins. His eyes flicked to hers, sharp and almost pleading. "You shouldn’t want to." And she could not. He did not even trust himself. He knew what he was and how dangerous that truly was. The cost of life was the weight of his soul.
Yet he kept her close, as though the space between them was a tether neither could sever.
"You think I’m protecting him," he continued, his voice rougher now, tinged with something darker—resentment, perhaps, or regret. "But there are things in this world that can’t be protected, Winters. Things that can’t be saved."
A spin—smooth, precise. She came back to him, but his grip tightened ever so slightly, anchoring her as if she might slip through his fingers.
“Do you know what I see when I look at him?” he asked, voice raw. "I see what I used to be. Before all of this. Before I learned the truth about what our family really is. About what it costs to survive." Aamon was aware of facets, he was not entirely stupid, but he was not truly equipped for the world around him. Privileged and protected, like he was. He has found himself now in a world that is alien to him. With people of varied intentions, perspectives and goals. he still thought strangers could be friends. That people were inherently good, worthy of love in trust. He feared those that were cruel and he did not know how to fight back. He was soft and vulnerable.
His jaw tensed. "And I hate it." it was like reading a story he had already consumed, just the names and faces differed ever so slightly. A different bully, maybe a different reason. Enamored by random pretty girls as if he had never seen one before.
For a moment, the mask cracked, and something raw and broken gleamed behind his eyes—anger, self-loathing, fear. But only for a moment.
Then the mask slid back into place, and his voice hardened. "But it doesn’t matter what I see."
He paused as the music shifted, slower now, softer. "And as for your letters..." A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. "Perhaps they were a lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness and an unwillingness to let go. The monsters in our closet and under our bed are all dead."
Their steps slowed, and his grip eased, though he didn’t let go. "I don’t have answers for you, Winters." He said it like an apology. Like a lie. "Only more shadows."
The final notes of the song lingered in the air, and for the first time, Vladimir looked away—not at the crowd, but at the windows, at the dark world pressing in from the outside.
"Be careful where you tread," he murmured. "Not every dance ends when the music stops."
A thousand refusals bloomed on his tongue, bitter and sharp, each one a reason why he should turn away, leave her standing alone beneath the weight of art and crystal. But he didn’t.
Instead, his hand—cool as dusk—slipped into hers, fingers curling around her palm with a gentleness that belied the terrible storm thrumming beneath his skin.
It was a mistake. He knew it the moment their hands touched.
“Winters,” he murmured, her name drawn out like an invocation or a warning. Perhaps a bit of both if he was a bit honest. People like her were mistakes, their presence warning of shallow waters. He hesitated, his thumb brushing absently against her knuckles—a fleeting gesture that betrayed far too much.
Amanon’s face flashed in his mind—wide-eyed, terrified—and the memory twisted like a knife. The chains, the secrets, the things he couldn’t say. He should have let her go. He should have let them all go.
But here he was.
He led her onto the dance floor without a word, the polished marble reflecting their shadows as they moved. Vladimir’s grip was steady, his posture perfect, but his shoulders bore the weight of something heavy and unspoken. The music swelled around them, drowning out the whispers and glances that trailed in their wake.
He knew how to dance. He knew the song even. The gentle thrill of each note that seemed to simmer to the point of evaporation before the melody would carry on.
Opeila concerned him. For more than headstrong nature. She had always been perceptive—too perceptive. Her questions lingered in the air like ghosts, and he could feel her gaze searching him, peeling back the layers he had spent years reconstructing.
"You shouldn’t trust me." The words came low, barely above the hum of the violins. His eyes flicked to hers, sharp and almost pleading. "You shouldn’t want to." And she could not. He did not even trust himself. He knew what he was and how dangerous that truly was. The cost of life was the weight of his soul.
Yet he kept her close, as though the space between them was a tether neither could sever.
"You think I’m protecting him," he continued, his voice rougher now, tinged with something darker—resentment, perhaps, or regret. "But there are things in this world that can’t be protected, Winters. Things that can’t be saved."
A spin—smooth, precise. She came back to him, but his grip tightened ever so slightly, anchoring her as if she might slip through his fingers.
“Do you know what I see when I look at him?” he asked, voice raw. "I see what I used to be. Before all of this. Before I learned the truth about what our family really is. About what it costs to survive." Aamon was aware of facets, he was not entirely stupid, but he was not truly equipped for the world around him. Privileged and protected, like he was. He has found himself now in a world that is alien to him. With people of varied intentions, perspectives and goals. he still thought strangers could be friends. That people were inherently good, worthy of love in trust. He feared those that were cruel and he did not know how to fight back. He was soft and vulnerable.
His jaw tensed. "And I hate it." it was like reading a story he had already consumed, just the names and faces differed ever so slightly. A different bully, maybe a different reason. Enamored by random pretty girls as if he had never seen one before.
For a moment, the mask cracked, and something raw and broken gleamed behind his eyes—anger, self-loathing, fear. But only for a moment.
Then the mask slid back into place, and his voice hardened. "But it doesn’t matter what I see."
He paused as the music shifted, slower now, softer. "And as for your letters..." A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. "Perhaps they were a lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness and an unwillingness to let go. The monsters in our closet and under our bed are all dead."
Their steps slowed, and his grip eased, though he didn’t let go. "I don’t have answers for you, Winters." He said it like an apology. Like a lie. "Only more shadows."
The final notes of the song lingered in the air, and for the first time, Vladimir looked away—not at the crowd, but at the windows, at the dark world pressing in from the outside.
"Be careful where you tread," he murmured. "Not every dance ends when the music stops."
Aamon
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
@Vladimir Athanatos
Note- Opeila's hair is mostly white at this point.
The silence after Opeila's question seemed to stretch endlessly. Despite the chatter and music around them, the sixth year felt like she could hear her own heartbeat.
Finally, Vladimir took her hand murmuring her name in a tone she could not quite place. As easy as he was to read in moments, as difficult it was just seconds later.
Almost automatically she squeezed his hand for just a split second when she felt his thumb brush against her knuckles- so quick she wasn't certain herself if her hand didn't just twitch.
Opeila followed him onto the dancefloor, matching his steps with ease. She had always been a good dancer. When she was small, her grandmother made sure she learned it, and the Virtanens too didn't allow her to forget it.
Which allowed her to pay attention to him, her feet moving automatically. "I don't trust you.", she answered him, meeting his gaze. "I do the things I do not because I trust you. But I refuse to believe that you have bad intentions. You care about your brother. I don't need to trust you to tell you what I know and ask you to help me try to help him."
"You shouldn’t want to."
Finally, Opeila diverted her eyes. "Well. I'm bad at doing what I should, you know that."
"You think I’m protecting him. But there are things in this world that can’t be protected, Winters. Things that can’t be saved."
Opeila looked up again. "A few years ago, I knew a boy who got almost beaten to death when I was taken hostage by some men who broke into the train to Hogwarts. When the train was on fire, I dragged the unconscious boy outside into the snow, despite my own concussion. I tore up my sweater to bandage his wounds and put my coat on him to keep him warm. I would have surely frozen to death."
Opeila paused, letting the words sink in. She actually didn't know if Vlad ever heard about her part after the event. "That same boy came to my help last year, when my classmates were dying around me." At first she had been mad. She had been unable to properly use her binding mark for months, an echo of the pain in her head returning after only a few moments of someone else's voice in her head. But he likely had saved her.
"My point is- It might sound silly, but I believe in trying. You and I both tried even if it meant putting ourselves at risk. I don't know what you went through. I don't know what is threatening Aamon and I don't know why. But I have also seen and gone through things at Hogwarts. I know that people won't be able to protect me always, but it means so much that they are trying.
Besides, I don't believe for a second you won't try to protect Aamon. And I don't intend to stop trying either."
An inaudible gasp escaped her when his grip tightened after he spun her.
“Do you know what I see when I look at him?”
"Who do you think I see?", she returned. Perhaps Aamon's path could be different. "Why do you think I owled you?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly at his explanations of the letters. No. No, she did not believe it. Even less when he claimed the monsters to be all dead. "I see. That is good to know. The note from a few weeks ago had me worried with the warning about a student venturing into the forest, making offers in return for favors." If he couldn't give her clear answers, she could give him information.
The song ended, but as Vladimir didn't let go neither did Opeila.
... It was silly really, more than silly, but somehow she was scared that he'd slip back into the hostile mask he had worn during their last encounters when she stepped away.
"Be careful where you tread. Not every dance ends when the music stops."
"I don't tread anymore." She followed his gaze. "I stumble or try to catch those who stumble."
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
And then, despite every warning, every unspoken plea to let him go, she never released his hand. He looked down, he did not say anything. He let her pull him into another dance as the next song began.
Vladimir’s gaze was dark, nearly unreadable, but the faintest flicker of something—regret, longing, fear—flickered behind the veil of his carefully constructed mask. The pressure of Opeila’s hand in his stirred something hollow and aching within him, but he buried it beneath the cold weight of his purpose. He had to.
They moved across the floor yet again like shadows, fluid, precise, yet tethered by something heavier than mere steps. Her words lingered, sharp as a blade grazing skin, and for a moment, Vladimir faltered—not in his movements but in his resolve.
"I am hoping to end it. The cycles of misery. The ambitions of calculating monsters." Things so far beyond himself. His voice was low, reverberating like distant thunder. "You need to stop reaching into the dark, testing the edges of something you should have run from years ago."
He drew her closer, as if daring her to flinch. "I know that it makes you brave. But it makes you foolish." Her friends would abandon her in the end. She would be forgotten. They forgot him, not that they were ever friends he supposed.
He could not think like that. He did not want to dig up old skeletons.
And he didn’t want push her away.
Instead, his grip loosened just enough for her to breathe, though his expression hardened.
"There are forces at work here," he said, the words like stones dropping into the silence between them. "Forces older than us. Older than even my family. Forces that twist paths and pull strings so fine you don’t see them until the snare is already set. Do you understand what I’m saying, Opeila?"
He said her name but she didn't understand did she?
Always stubborn.
Always so damned brave.
He spun her, a bit hard this time, the motion sharp, before steadying her again with a hand that lingered too long. "It’s not a person. It’s not a single monster in the dark you can fight and defeat. It’s a labyrinth without an exit."
And yet his voice betrayed him. There was a bitterness there. A despair that hinted at the truth—he had tried. He had searched for the exit and failed.
"You think I haven’t fought it? That I didn’t try to sever the strings? Look at me." His blue eyes were made of lies and yet they burned through their false veil as he held her gaze. "Look at what it turned me into." He seemed similar, but he was wrong. There was something off about his handsome features. His ashen complexion. His eyes had a glint that was a bit too dull.
The music faded, but he didn’t release her hand. Not yet. He wasn’t finished.
"You want the truth? Fine. The truth is that Aamon’s path was never his own. None of ours are." He exhaled sharply, bitterness bleeding through his tone. "We’ve all been played. Used. Manipulated. You, me, Aamon... even my brothers. Even my father. And the worst part?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that only she could hear.
"I don’t know how far it reaches. I don’t know who—or what—is pulling the strings. But I know it’s not over. Not even close."
And there it was. The truth laid bare between them.
Vladimir Athanatos—heir, shadow, monster—did not have the answers.
He was not the architect of this chaos. He was not the savior she might have hoped for. He was just as lost as they were, and the admission tasted like ash on his tongue.
"You want to save Aamon?" His voice steadied, though it lacked its earlier fire. "Then don’t follow me into this darkness. Don’t let it touch you. You can’t see it yet, but it’s already wrapped itself around me, and it’s never letting go."
Finally, he let her go, his fingers brushing against hers as if reluctant to break the connection entirely.
"But you won’t listen, will you?" The faintest trace of a smile—broken, bitter—played at his lips. "You never do."
He stepped back, leaving her standing there as the next song began to play. But his gaze lingered, heavy and weighted with everything he couldn’t say. Everything he had left unsaid.
And then, like a shadow dissolving into the night, Vladimir Athanatos turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Vladimir’s gaze was dark, nearly unreadable, but the faintest flicker of something—regret, longing, fear—flickered behind the veil of his carefully constructed mask. The pressure of Opeila’s hand in his stirred something hollow and aching within him, but he buried it beneath the cold weight of his purpose. He had to.
They moved across the floor yet again like shadows, fluid, precise, yet tethered by something heavier than mere steps. Her words lingered, sharp as a blade grazing skin, and for a moment, Vladimir faltered—not in his movements but in his resolve.
"I am hoping to end it. The cycles of misery. The ambitions of calculating monsters." Things so far beyond himself. His voice was low, reverberating like distant thunder. "You need to stop reaching into the dark, testing the edges of something you should have run from years ago."
He drew her closer, as if daring her to flinch. "I know that it makes you brave. But it makes you foolish." Her friends would abandon her in the end. She would be forgotten. They forgot him, not that they were ever friends he supposed.
He could not think like that. He did not want to dig up old skeletons.
And he didn’t want push her away.
Instead, his grip loosened just enough for her to breathe, though his expression hardened.
"There are forces at work here," he said, the words like stones dropping into the silence between them. "Forces older than us. Older than even my family. Forces that twist paths and pull strings so fine you don’t see them until the snare is already set. Do you understand what I’m saying, Opeila?"
He said her name but she didn't understand did she?
Always stubborn.
Always so damned brave.
He spun her, a bit hard this time, the motion sharp, before steadying her again with a hand that lingered too long. "It’s not a person. It’s not a single monster in the dark you can fight and defeat. It’s a labyrinth without an exit."
And yet his voice betrayed him. There was a bitterness there. A despair that hinted at the truth—he had tried. He had searched for the exit and failed.
"You think I haven’t fought it? That I didn’t try to sever the strings? Look at me." His blue eyes were made of lies and yet they burned through their false veil as he held her gaze. "Look at what it turned me into." He seemed similar, but he was wrong. There was something off about his handsome features. His ashen complexion. His eyes had a glint that was a bit too dull.
The music faded, but he didn’t release her hand. Not yet. He wasn’t finished.
"You want the truth? Fine. The truth is that Aamon’s path was never his own. None of ours are." He exhaled sharply, bitterness bleeding through his tone. "We’ve all been played. Used. Manipulated. You, me, Aamon... even my brothers. Even my father. And the worst part?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that only she could hear.
"I don’t know how far it reaches. I don’t know who—or what—is pulling the strings. But I know it’s not over. Not even close."
And there it was. The truth laid bare between them.
Vladimir Athanatos—heir, shadow, monster—did not have the answers.
He was not the architect of this chaos. He was not the savior she might have hoped for. He was just as lost as they were, and the admission tasted like ash on his tongue.
"You want to save Aamon?" His voice steadied, though it lacked its earlier fire. "Then don’t follow me into this darkness. Don’t let it touch you. You can’t see it yet, but it’s already wrapped itself around me, and it’s never letting go."
Finally, he let her go, his fingers brushing against hers as if reluctant to break the connection entirely.
"But you won’t listen, will you?" The faintest trace of a smile—broken, bitter—played at his lips. "You never do."
He stepped back, leaving her standing there as the next song began to play. But his gaze lingered, heavy and weighted with everything he couldn’t say. Everything he had left unsaid.
And then, like a shadow dissolving into the night, Vladimir Athanatos turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Aamon
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
Valentin craned his neck up from his collapsed puddle on the windowside table. The Kolbeck ball was well-attended and he should probably do something, thought Val. Yet, after all the recent stress it was hard to keep burying his panic. If he was in public then he would have to behave and couldn’t do anything too crazy. If he was in public he would have to sit down and be okay with Nikolai being out of his sights when surely something terrible was about to happen to him. If he was in public… no, just let me put my head down and finally get some sleep. Of course, when he tried this, memories from October began to play themselves across the backs of his eyelids. Raising his head back up, Val looked to the far side of the room where Johannes was delivering flowers. Amaryllis, pink carnation, poinsetta, and fragrant boughs. Valentin was no herbalist, but one of his many tongues was the language of flowers. Mm, bombastic, sweet, wholesome. A good fit for the season. Well done, Hanya. Sinking his head back down onto his forearms atop the table, Valentin melted under the insistence of gravity for another few minutes. Then, the clink of a water glass nearby roused the seeker from semi-consciousness. It was Johannes, leaning against a plush chair with a flute of champagne.
“Rough week, Kapitän?”
Sitting up straight again, Valentin gratefully accepted the glass of water and began to drink. Before he knew it, he’d drained the entire glass. Apparently he’d been terribly thirsty but had been ignoring it.
“Hanya. Thank you,” replied Val with a thick Bavarian accent. He loved that name - Kapitän. He missed that name. What had ever happened to Charles, who also liked to use it? German was nice. Maybe he should go back to Germany and do something with the ruined manor. Yeah, that was surely a great way to give Nikolai some space. Like a plant that was beginning to perk up, life began returning to Val’s eyes.
“This is really not my best time of year. Something terrible happens to me every Christmas, ever since 2020. Last time it was the slugs making me lose my mind, and before that was the arson at my estate and the attempt on my life, and before that… well, you see, I think I got cursed after I lost my parents during Christmas. I just know that something terrible is going to happen any time now. Yet, I can see that I’m driving Nikolai crazy. I’m afraid he’ll be next. It’s like I’m not allowed to have family since my hopes are dashed every time I think I can have one again. Because I’ve taken him in as my own now, I’ve made him a major target. The easiest way to get to me is through him; it could give anyone incredible leverage over me, my wealth, my influence. My mother’s murderer was never even apprehended, let alone whoever tried to kill me… See, look at how I’m failing to bring the holiday cheer. All I can do is worry, especially after October.” With a long sigh, Valentin sat back against the windowsill. “But what can I do? It’s little more than paranoia at this point. Tell me how you are. That was a marvelous bouquet. Are you actually getting any sleep? What’s new with the Hellhounds?” The captain stretched his legs and arms, slowly expanding like a morning glory in the light of dawn.
Valentin’s eyes went back to their normal routine of taking in everything around him. He examined Johannes first and smirked with approval at his outfit. But damn he had been looking fine all year, and today was no exception. Flicking his eyes around the rest of the room, Valentin began accounting for who else was in attendance. Immediately a golden mask caught the niffler’s attention. Of course it did. Shiny metal, especially gold, could even prove distracting to the hardcore quidditch seeker. Who was that? What a glittery outfit. Black though, which was nice. Watching the person move, the familiar physique and mannerisms of one Gellert Schroeder jogged Val’s memory despite the disguise. It was the captain’s job to know how people moved, and for the eagle-eyed albino it was child’s play to discern the man’s true identity.
Secretive Gellert approached, but Val wouldn’t stare. There seemed to be something bothering Schroeder, although it was anyone’s guess as to what. Flicking his eyes in the other’s direction as Gellert took in the splendor of the Christmas tree, Valentin wondered what had been going on with him ever since the Pyre of Hogsmeade. Had it been a good thing to invite him to the investigation, or had that only set back Gellert’s recovery from trauma?
Basic Stats:
STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 20 [24] - ARC 1 - ACC 18
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless
/ Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue & Veela
Interacting: @Tristan Theramin, @Astrea Soleil Neptune, Mentioning: @Matthew Campbell
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
Russian [#c83737] ⁎ German [#bb9825] ⁎ Norwegian / Swedish [#6293A7] ⁎ English [bold]
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𝔄n appreciative smile had been cast Felix's way after he completed the interpretation of what the handsome Athanatos had said, but Greta didn't pretend to understand it any better once it had been translated. She wasn't sure how Devotion could cut at all, really. The word only summoned warm thoughts of her, like that of a knight on his knee declaring to keep his princess safe from harm. So perhaps the cut was to be against her adversaries to keep them at bay. But it almost seemed like the man was trying to imply that she would be hurt as well. That said, she could sort of understand the idea of feeling caught by one's protectors. The Horde was like that at times, erecting a strong front on her behalf to keep her pure and safe, and thereby trapping her in the process. Not that that was bound to change any time soon. "I know enough to see through whatever act he's putting on. It doesn't matter because this guy knows nothing about you and is trying to comment on your life. Doesn't that piss you off, Greta? You should be pissed right now. He has no idea what our relationship is like." "What act?" Clearly Greta was clueless when it came to men, though. Again, her gaze veered towards the tall stranger, eyes squinting as though that would somehow allow her to see something that Felix could and she couldn't. He hadn't seemed to be acting to her. "Unless you meant acting polite and gentlemanly?" But some people were just like that, weren't they? Another suspicious glance Felix's way compared the two. "Of course you would think it's an act.." she blurted. "You're used to just being... you." She hadn't meant it as a negative thing. The Horntails were known to be a rowdy lot. Even the most haughty purebloods amidst their ranks were more likely to revolt against their calling than ascribe to the societal expectations. The bit about how the Athanatos had been talking about her situation without knowing anything about her, though, did draw a sheepish look. She deflated a bit, fingers fidgeting with the surface of the table, shoulders giving a small shrug. A blush crept across her cheeks as he swore, uncomfortable uncertainty scratching at her chest. Should she be upset like he said? "You seem upset enough for both of us..." she murmured quietly, somewhat ashamed that she wasn't as offended as he seemed to think she should be. It just made her feel like she was missing something glaring. She hadn't taken the young man's words to mean all that much. The way he had said her name had held more impact than everything else combined. He hadn't been rude or anything. Just observant. But maybe she really was clueless. Which was exactly why the Horde found themselves to be so protective in the first place. She chewed her lip, acknowledging not for the first time that she really had to rely on them to keep her out of trouble. Clearly she couldn't even count on herself to recognize when she should feel offense. "Is that what you think this is? Some sort of market to pair everyone up?" Again, she shrugged, this time with even less conviction. "Not when you say it like that..." Gosh, was she really that dense? Maybe it was only her mother that treated it like a sort of open market to find her a match when everyone else was there for reasons other than social climbing. Now that she'd said it out loud, she wished she could take it back. It did sound stupid. "Of course she wants me to find a wife, Greta." "She does?" The reply had come just a bit too quick, and with just a bit too much interest, and the second it had cleared her lips, Greta wished the ground would swallow her whole. Her head turned back to the table, suddenly finding the way that the texture swirled in the patch immediately in front of her to be really really interesting. "She told me so at the luncheon." She bit her lip to stop herself from saying anything. It was at the luncheon that her own mother had reasserted the intent to find her a match as well. Obviously summer had blossomed the desire for growing families in more than just her own. "Think about it for a moment. Why else would my mother hand design you a room to stay in at our family home? Why did she hand select several ball gowns and jewels to parade you around in?" Okay, that just wasn't fair. Her face flushed pink, exasperation clear on her features when she abandoned her furniture studying to turn to Felix with fresh embarrassment and maybe a touch of betrayal. He was supposed to have confirmed doubt about the use of the castle not just being at the behest of a generous donor rather than his actual familiar estate, and here he was saying exactly the opposite. "I didn't know this was your family home!" Her head rocked back in disbelief and she almost wished it would just continue to roll back, detach itself from her neck and spare her the continued emotional assault. Instead, it remained resolutely in place and she was forced to tuck her chin, back to murmuring as she continued, "I just thought she was being nice..." Her fingertip was back to tracing invisible designs on the table when the actual implication of his words settled into place. "Wait..." She blinked, neck cricking painfully as it suddenly whirled around to him. "What do you mean 'Think about it for a moment'. Y-- you d-don't..." Her throat was suddenly quite dry, words struggling to find purchase. "What are you even talking about? I asked you to attend the Gala with me, or was it that forgettable?" "No, that's not..." Her heart sank, brows curving with shame. Seafoam green eyes clanged between each of his, finding it difficult to face the pain and frustration her own words had evidently caused, yet unable to look away now that wheels had started turning. "That's not what I meant.." Hands slipped from the table to fall into her lap, lips pouting slightly. "It wasn't forgettable.." This wasn't fair. He was twisting her words. "It's just...We went as friends, didn't we?" The edge in his tone had cut, leaving hers hurting. "You told Aaron I was your friend. Your female friend. I thought..." Well. It didn't matter what she thought, did it. All of the Horntail were so generous and outgoing. It was foolish of her to have thought the gifts accompanying the invitation were anything other than an act of thoughtfulness. "You don't even see it, do you? How much of a problem you are for me daily." "I'm sorry..." Her mouth quivered, eyes falling to her hands. "I try not to be..." "You walk this impossibly thin line—between friendship and making me come undone." She didn't know what he meant by that, so she said nothing, instead trying to stop her chest from hurting, and swallow down the lump that had formed in her throat. This was not the night she thought she was going to have tonight. A dark thought wished that she'd never come out in the first place. Maybe her father was right after all. Her mother was always the one pushing for her to find a match. He, on the other hand, often spoke against it, suggesting she should just stay home, provide for them as they aged. The scraping of a chair pulled her from thoughts of regret, her eyes glancing to Felix as he neared. "What are—" Her words cut off as he lowered himself next to her, confusion and the general intoxicating heat of him being so near rendering her momentarily mute. "The problem is that I don't think of you like a little sister, Greta." In her chest, her heart had taken it upon itself to drum out an excitatory solo, intermittent palpitations leaving her with a general feeling of lightheadedness and like she could never quite catch a full breath. All the more so as fingers that were not her own found purchase on her chin. A shiver ran down the length of her spine and through her limbs as he tilted her head, the warmth of his breath on her skin conjuring the only other memories she had of anything remotely similar. Fingers curled into her skirts, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. "The problem is that if I didn't have the power to control myself, I would end up devouring you." Whatever thoughts she might have had came out as nothing more than a sort of jumbled mewling that reverberated in her throat. Heat rose to her face, though not out of embarrassment. Her mind simply didn't have the bandwidth to remember that they were still in the middle of a well-attended quite early-in-the-evening Christmas Party where eyes of new arrivals would be scanning the room and that they were presently painting a picture that was probably best suited to a secret stairwell. No, her thoughts in that moment were entirely fixated on the touch of his lips to her ears, the way his very aura seemed to emanate a warm that enveloped her, how his voice commandeered every space in her active thoughts. "The worst part is that once I start, I wouldn’t stop, not until there was nothing left of you that didn’t belong. to. me." When he pulled back to meet her gaze, she didn't flinch away. Her eyes held his, pupils dilated and drawn in wholly by his admission, and made all the brighter by the contrasting flush of her cheeks. She wouldn't have been able to look away even if she tried. Perhaps that was why she didn't even notice when @Finnegan Connor tried to sling a hex in their direction. In that moment, the rest of the room had faded into insignificance. It was like a dream. One that she didn't want to wake up from. "You're driving me crazy, and my mother sees it. If I get too close to you, she'll figure out a way to damn you. Force you into spending the rest of your life with me." "Would that really be so bad?" she whispered, finally finding her voice. Hands twitched with the memory that they, too, actually served a purpose, and gradually rose until her palms cupped either of his cheeks, the touch so tentative and soft as though even the smallest amount of pressure could shatter him. "Any girl would be lucky to spend the rest of their life with you.." Her eyes dipped briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes. A battle played out within her mind, hesitation sparring with desire. In the end, the Horntail fearlessness won out. Unable to contain the giddiness that he actually did have feelings for her after all, lips pulled into an reassuring smile right before eyelashes fluttered closed. Then she leaned forward, rising slightly from her seat in order to press her lips to his. |
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| xxxxxx | @Winnie Harper as Felix | @Finnegan Connor |
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STA 5 ⁎ EVA 20 ⁎ STR 1 ⁎ WIS 12 ⁎ ARC 12 ⁎ ACC 20
CALMING PRESENCE, SPELL SPREAD, PERFECTIONIST, WANDMAKER, FEARLESS, LOVELY CREATURE
STA 5 ⁎ EVA 20 ⁎ STR 1 ⁎ WIS 12 ⁎ ARC 12 ⁎ ACC 20
CALMING PRESENCE, SPELL SPREAD, PERFECTIONIST, WANDMAKER, FEARLESS, LOVELY CREATURE
Last edited by Evelynn Decipio on 16 Jan 2025, 15:52, edited 1 time in total.
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
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▪ FELIX ▪ KOLBECK ▪
▪ DURMSTRANG iNPC ▪ SIXTH YEAR ▪│
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Reducio@Evelynn Decipio as Greta
The Swede clenched his jaw as Greta tried to argue the stranger did not have ill intentions. "What act?" He echoed, his voice laced with exasperation as he drew in a breath. He could only wonder why she did not see past Vladmir's facade, and did not consider his 'act' might have been sincere. "The one where he plays the gallant white knight, pretending to care about your problems, until the game of cat and mouse ends and he closes in on you."
He flinched when the Norwegian swung the accusation at him. Her words were not cruel, not laced with malice, but somehow they stung more than he was willing to admit. "At least I'm honest about who I am. There’s no hidden agenda here." The Swede half-grumbled in response, his eyes shifting across the room to watch as Count Vladcula ping ponged between two girls. One he recognized from the many events his mother forced him to attend.
By the time his attention returned to Greta, he found himself hyper-focused on the dusting of red across her cheeks. He felt his heart clench. She was blushing because of that tall wight. "Greta..." He started, his tone softer than it had been before, "You always want to believe the best in everyone and it blinds you. You have no idea how... Beautiful you are. How you affect the men around you. You don't see it, but I..." He paused to gesture towards Val and Hanya—wait when had he arrived? "We see it. We have your back, keep the creeps away, and make sure you don't end up heartbroken. If keeping you safe means I have to be the bad guy... I'll be the bad guy."
"... You didn't know? Did you just think we were... Renting this place?" Merlin, she was far too cute for her own good. His family crest was plastered over a third of the castle, but he supposed he couldn't blame her for not knowing what it looked like.
His lips twitched into a faint smirk at the blonde's reaction. He was really starting to realize he had to lay it all down in layman's terms for the Norwegian. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much, but her ignorance did make him start to question if her own mother hadn't been pushing the two of them together. "My mother is kind, but she's also not subtle. This is not generosity, this is strategy, one that she has cornered you into the center of."
He drew in another slow breath, sliding a hand up to swipe through his hair, "She didn't pick out those gowns because they bring out your eyes, she didn't remodel an entire room in our family home because you are a one time guest. She thinks she's preparing for the future, Greta. She's planning on... Trapping you. Offering your parents a damn deal like you're an object and not a human with free will, complex feelings, wants, desires..."
"I sent you flowers, a gift, and a letter asking you out." Though he had done so because his mother had practically forced him, but it didn't matter, it was her reluctance to see it as a date that was killing him inside. This must have been the friendzone incels too often complained about, "Aaron? That beefed up pervert? ... I did not call you my 'kvinnlig vän' (female friend), Greta... I called you my 'flickvän' (girlfriend) because he couldn't keep his hands to himself. I was standing next to you, Greta."
Felix would have punched himself if he made Greta cry. His hand cupped her face, a thumb swiping her trembling lip. He hadn't meant to be cruel, it was just her uncertainty, her naivety, her obliviousness—it was all so maddening.
His hand swept a stray strand of her hair away from her face, her widened eyes softening his stormy gaze a fraction. "That's the issue, Greta... You don't even know what you do to me." His thumb brushed back over her cheek. He was taken by the moment, and while he somehow managed to dodge the spell flung his way, he did not notice it. The world around them could have been burning, and he still wouldn't have found the strength to pull himself away from her.
"I..." Felix's breath hitched as her hands slid up to his cheeks, thankfully hiding the soft blush rising in them, "You're saying this now, but what happens when you realize you deserve better? This isn't a fairytale... You've seen what I'm like, how broken—"
He froze midsentence, blue eyes widening as her lips were suddenly on his. Felix was utterly unprepared for her boldness. This was not how things were meant to go; he was the one who took charge, he was the one who asked her out on dates and pulled her into kisses during moments of weakness. It was a blessing that Greta closed her eyes, lest she see just how red his face burned.
He melted into her touch, not realizing how tense his body had been until she had anchored him with her touch. He was unraveling beneath her, her kiss a quiet reassurance that it was okay to let go. He had spent so long convincing himself that he didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her, that he hadn't considered that maybe, just maybe, Greta wanted him.
But then reality clawed its way back in, and he pulled back, his lips still brushing against hers as his breath came in short gasps. His eyes flickered up to scan the room, to check if anyone had seen the two kissing. His Durmstrang friends would tease him, but that was innocent enough. It was his mother he was worried about, or one of the shrews she called friends.
"Come with me," he said, his voice low as he pushed up from the chair. He took her hand within his own, and tugged her towards the exit of the ballroom. He was gentle, but there was an urgency as he weaved through the guests.
They slipped into the dimly lit hallway, causing a few house elves to scatter back to the kitchen. The sound of the party muffled, he didn't stop until they were away from prying eyes. In one fluid motion he turned towards Greta, guiding her shoulders up against the stone wall. His free hand shot out, pressing firmly against wall beside her as he leaned in to close the distance between them.
"Do you... Have any idea what you just did?" He whispered, his lips brushing against her own. His voice was laced with frustration and a tinge of something else, something darker. His eyes flickered down to lock onto her own sea green ones. Then lower, her freckled skin, her adorable nose, her lips, her lipstick still smudged from their earlier kiss.
And his resolve cracked.
His lips met hers with more urgency than before, moving against hers with the same fervor he had used the first time they kissed. He dropped her hand, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her flush against his body, eliminating every inch of space between them. His hand slid up the small of her back, his fingers tracing each curve. It was dangerous, given how easily his mother could have found the two, but fucking hell, Greta had started it and this kiss was a surrender, a silent promise to her that he would stop fighting, at least for now.
In truth, he had no idea what would happen to them. He hadn't imagined a future beyond the walls he'd built around him, but right now, every inch of him screamed her name, and for a moment, he allowed himself to believe in fairytales.
FELIX: English ▪ Swedish ▪ Russian | LINNÉA: English ▪ Swedish
│ │ | │ │ | STA: 10 • EVA: 18 • STR: 8 WIS: 10 • ARC: 8 • ACC: 14 | │ │ | • Perfectionist • Impartial • Fearless • • Evasive Maneuvers • Evasive Maneuvers II • | │ │ | │ │ |
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
@Vladimir Athanatos
Note- Opeila's hair is mostly white at this point.
Opeila didn't let go, neither did Vladimir- and suddenly they were dancing a second dance. The Slytherin didn't mind. She wouldn't assume that she knew what exactly went on inside the man in front of her, but she could have sworn that her words hit him.
A few years ago she would have called him out on it. Pressed more. But not now. She didn't have to know everything, be included in everything. Vladimir knew more than her for sure and if he wasn't willing to share any missing pieces with her... maybe she could contribute some for him.
"You need to stop reaching into the dark, testing the edges of something you should have run from years ago."
Opeila looked at him again, then inclined her head a little. "Did I reach or was I guided?" She didn't need an answer, the nudge at his part in her first year was clear. Opeila always had her own demons, today just like in her first year, but the demons Vladimir talked about... It was him who had pulled her out of the blissful unawareness. And if one could believe his words, he had continued to do so, sending her anonymous letters.
... Which Opeila still didn't believe.
Once again he pulled her closer, tightened his grip almost painfully- was he trying to scare her? She tensed a little, but forced herself to stay calm. Brave. Foolish. "Maybe. But not doing anything would make me complicit in whatever damage is caused. I refuse to be a knowing bystander." She held his gaze until he loosened his grip again.
There. There was one piece. Not a very helpful one, but where he dropped one, maybe he would drop more. Forces older than...
Again he said her name and suddenly Opeila felt a lump in her throat. Vladimir saying her name stirred something in her, the tone reminded her of the way she used to switch to Jack Burnett's first name when she hoped to get the weight of whatever she told him across.
"Dammit, Vladimir, I want to stay out of this. Either I get called back into the thick of things by some anonymous letters, or by... the things I see happening to others. I- I can't leave others behind in that snare.", she carried on his symbolism. A shudder ran through her at the memory of the monsters in the forest last year, the pain, the loss of control. She shook off the memory to avoid unwanted attention, banished the ghost of the horrors from her face.
The next spin nearly made her lose her balance, his hand steadied her again. For a second she had to concentrate on her feet, before she watched him again. This was a conversation between the lines if she ever had one. Vladimir finally said some things, but his tone carried almost more than his words did. The... was it frustration?... with which he mentioned the labyrinth without exit.
Had he given up?
"You think I haven’t fought it? That I didn’t try to sever the strings? Look at me. Look at what it turned me into."
"I'm looking." She wasn't even blinking.
"I won't pretend that I know you well, not now and not then." The grip of her warm hand tightened on his, more deliberate this time. "But I can still see him." The faintest shadow of the young boy. "We've all changed. You more than most of us. And I know that you are trying to protect me right now. But there's a little boy at Hogwarts who is involved with the same shadows you dealt with and just like you, he can't hold a front by himself."
Suddenly it felt like a dam broke. The truth flooded out of Vladimir, plain and simple: He didn't have the answers. He was as lost as he sounded. And while Opeila never expected that Vladimir had all the answers- surely he would have been able to deal with the issues if he did- but she did think that there was... more.
And there was more. There was something she could tell that scared him. Scared him so much that he wouldn't even name it. Was he being threatened? His family?
Forces older than my family that twist paths and pull strings.
A labyrinth with no exit.
We’ve all been played. Used. Manipulated. You, me, Aamon... even my brothers. Even my father.
... Maybe it was time to dig up her collection of daily prophets again. With no word did he say what this threat was.
"I don’t know how far it reaches. I don’t know who—or what—is pulling the strings. But I know it’s not over. Not even close."
"I see. Thank you for your honesty."
"You want to save Aamon? Then don’t follow me into this darkness. Don’t let it touch you. You can’t see it yet, but it’s already wrapped itself around me, and it’s never letting go."
I want to save you.
She never said the words she felt sounded childish. Naive. Yes, maybe little Aamon could still be saved, but what about his older brother, who sounded so resigned? As if he had accepted that he could not be saved?
"But you won’t listen, will you? You never do."
... She never did.
Finally Vladimir stepped back, leaving her on the dance floor. For a few more moments, Opeila stayed where she was, until the first dancing person bumped into her. Muttering a quick apology, she walked off the dance floor, suddenly scared that she would start to cry. She went on, past other guests, over to a table with beverages and grabbed a glass of something. She didn't even pay attention to the taste of it, as she emptied her glass and tried to regain her composure.
Opeila had thought of Vladimir often and she regretted often how things happened between them. But not once had she mourned what could have been as much as she did in this moment.
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
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code by Tracey Bailey
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
threading as Johannes Sauer
speaking in russian german unless specified
It was an understatement to say that Valentin's frankness took Johannes off-guard. The other had downed their glass of water like a fucking shot, as secretly and desperately dehydrated as a marathon runner going continually uphill. To explain his Kapitän was to stare directly at an eclipsing sun— blinding even during the darkest times. Johannes, once idly swirling his unsipped drink, remained silent and stunned as the albino confessed his concerns. “I… I think you need this drink more than I do, Valik.” How was one supposed to react to the declaration of such consistent tragedy? Joining Cupid's empty glass on the table, the Hellhound again passed his flute of champagne to his melting snowman of a friend. With little else to offer except for a listening ear, he did not feel nearly qualified enough to give anything but sympathies and subpar advice.
Arson, attempted murder… Successfully murdered parents?! Shit, this was less family drama and more police negligence. “Hey, don’t say it's just paranoia. Your worries sound pretty justified to me.” Brushing the entire experience under the rug of irrationality felt dishonest, not only to the serious matter at hand but also to the turbulent distress no doubt experienced due to it. Johannes' eyes narrowed, looking down at his silver-spun friend with unbridled concern. “...Maybe you shouldn’t be alone, Kapitän, if your life’s at risk. Self-sacrifice tends to worry everyone involved, regardless of your intentions.” He leant further onto the chair, practically draped over its back to meet Valentin’s eyes in an even stare-down. If Cupid thought that he could get away from a serious moment with the excuse of preserving holiday cheer, he'd be sorely disappointed. There was no PTO to being a good friend. “We’re here for you, you know. If anyone could lock down a place like it's Ragnarok, it’s Durmstrang. Seriously. If things get dangerous every Christmas, it'd be safer for both you and Nikolai to have people watching your backs. More than just you and that butler, I mean, no matter how vigilant both of you might be. Just say the word and it'll be a manhunt.”
Despite his insistence on sharing the burden, swinging the concern Johannes' way only caused him to close off. How hypocritical... Schooling his expression towards neutral nonchalance, he hummed noncommittally at Valentin's polite curiosity. Compared to the other's issues, his life sounded much less complicated. “Nothing new enough to be interesting. I’ve been really busy recently, you know how it is. Lots of orders, not much sleep. Less extreme now that we’re on break, but no rest for the wicked, right?” His attention slid away towards the greater crowd, standing up from his complete slide to fiddle with the pull tabs of his jacket sleeves.
The flood of new arrivals had since stopped since Johannes had entered. Instead, it seemed that everyone had taken to mingling, engaged in far too many serious conversations for the Christmas spirit. The orange glow of candlelight enhanced every fine shift of dark blue fabric and embroidery, throwing everything into soft, blurry contrast. In the corner, Greta's flash of brilliant silver and sapphire jewellery caught the light as she and Felix snuck out of the main ballroom through a side door— Durmstrang's very own Romeo and Juliet, hopefully without all the death and complications. Colour him impressed... That was a romance trope in waiting, he was sure of it.
With most of Durmstrang's attendees accounted for (not much else had changed for his cursory sweep of the room), he glanced back at Valentin. Between the water and conversation, the albino had certainly perked up. “In more ways than one, I’m afraid.” Johannes forced a grin, aiming for his typical wry charm despite the self-deprecating irony.
Since repledging his allegiances, he'd honestly never felt more stalked in his life. Everywhere he went, whether he liked it or not, he was never without a Hound in the crowd. He could scarcely speak without risking later interrogation— not with his handler loyally following him from a distance anytime he strayed from the Pack's normal hunting grounds. Johannes had gotten used to anonymous flowers and secret admirers over the years, yet he'd never been so constrained to them. It was only with the international team that he found some semblance of peace, where the threat of revealing too much of the Pack's secrets stretched his shortened leash long enough to prevent complete cabin fever. His new leader still did not trust him (the feeling was mutual), but at least his position had not outwardly shifted. Lately, Johannes' definition of ‘late nights’ had slowly but surely shifted from a respectable 2 AM to well after 5 AM— yet admitting even that would surely give his early-bird Quidditch Kapitän a migraine, if the other didn’t already have one by now. Worsening his unenviable insomnia during curfew was a small price to pay to ensure the survival of his dying freedom. It was easier to spread the truth thin, shaking off his troubles with a simple pat on Valentin's shoulder. “Nothing too unusual for me, though, so don’t worry about me. You’ve got enough on your plate.”
Aiming to move on to the next (less miserable) topic, Johannes fell back on lighter conversation. “It’s so nice of Mrs Kolbeck to organise this whole thing. But I can't take any credit for the bouquet, honestly. It was my grandfather's idea— Hopefully, I didn't offend her too much...” He avoided direct eye contact with the front of the ballroom, already cringing at the splash of pale pink against Lin's coordinated blue outfit. Even the chairs were darkly upholstered. Maybe he should have just come empty-handed like his original plan. “You're right, though. It is quite pretty, isn't it?”
He fell silent for a few moments, debating the merit of mischief so soon after a serious conversation. Just saying... The couple of the day had fallen hook, line and sinker for Mrs Kolbeck's big Christmas miracle— who's to say they couldn't make their own game out of it? Ah, fuck it. Oblivious to Valentin's lingering conversation-partners-in-waiting (yeah, I see you /lh), Johannes bent down close to gossip in the other's ear. “I bet you another glass of champagne that Felix and Greta will come out as a couple. You saw them, didn’t you?” Considering their star-seeker's all-encompassing attentiveness, there was no way Cupid hadn't.
Outfit Reference
Reducio
(featuring LC + Charmer)
(@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood, @Winnie Harper, @Evelynn Decipio)
| astrea neptune . . . hogwarts wizardry. duellist | . . . johannes sauer durmstrang institute. horntail horde. |