my darling heart of stone
threading with @Astrea Soleil Neptune as Johannes Sauer
speaking in russian unless specified
dated October 15, 2022. Dusk.
sing for the damage we’ve done,
Between the packages of supplementary work sent with the international teams and the clockwork group practices, Johannes found himself spending most of his free time directionlessly wandering Hogwarts' expansive campus. Unwilling to insert himself into the subpar, relatively mild social scene as an obvious outsider, he had long shed his heavy red roads in favour of a wardrobe perhaps less fit for Scotland's layer-friendly weather than he'd anticipated while packing. Of course, he’s no doubt stick out no matter how he dressed, but at least he could mitigate the level of judgement. Unbothered by the wintery, unpredictable hellscape of "home" — as if taunting the spirit of Durmstrang itself looming over his shoulder — he soaked up the picturesque greenery for every hint of appreciation while he still could, feeling near traitorous in his exploratory indulgence. Perhaps he was too used to the perpetual hustle of city life and Durmstrang's militaristic structure, for Johannes' low-grade anxiety over the lack of productivity was well at odds with Hogwarts' comparative easy domesticity. If not for the elephant in the room that was the Forbidden Forest (a straightforward name for a straightforwardly run school), the Scottish school seemed almost entirely too peaceful considering its history with practically cursed social events.
A thickening cast of evening fog had descended over the grounds in the time he had spent carelessly circling the Ground on his broom. Fittingly, the well-used mount had been brought back to its roots as he had lounged amongst the branches of an ancient tree — an abandoned creature watching the fading sun slid from its perch in the sky. Though summer had long ago abandoned his surroundings, Scotland's native pines still bowed heavy and rich with such evergreen abundance that Johannes doubted even the quiet chill of mid-autumn could shake its permanency.
He, plagued by the greedy pull of sleep deprivation and unwilling to submit to the looming threat of an encroaching curfew, had taken to skipping stones against the Great Lake's surface. Singularly focused on hunting for only the smoothest victims to be reclaimed by the water to which it shored, his anti-social monopoly of the Lake's shores stretched long into the burgeoning evening. There was something peculiar about being a frequent visitor to a castle that so many of his peers called home. To be a guest to the familiar. As the weeks passed, it seemed increasingly like he was taking upon that cowl with every new group affiliation he was taken into. Once upon a time, Johannes had had no reason to interact or mingle so heavily with another group considering the seriousness of his agendas... but things had changed in the past while.
Poached from his rightful territory and drawn away from the familiar, he had been reduced to an intruding stranger staring into what qualified as a family function forged in past experiences. Past the respected word of their Hexwizard champion, under what grounds could he consider himself part of the group? Stribog had no true claim upon him. For what it was worth, neither did the all-seeing international eye.
Yesterday’s… conversation with Cielle still rang raw, but drafting his reports on both the rift and Hogwarts had left him ever more unwilling to approach her before the sense of betrayal settled. Surely, their relationship couldn't disintegrate over this. They were better than this, closer than this. Changes were in motion within the Pack, and this (though his Cicero had never been officially sworn in) was only going to exacerbate it. In truth, as treacherous as it seemed, he was fortunate for Hexwizard's excuse to distract him from the chaos.
Did that make him less of a Hound? Did it matter?
There were no sentinels in Hogwarts to police him for his momentary lapse in judgment except for himself, who was already acknowledging his own faults. He didn't even want to imagine the terrible experience he would have to undergo to fold back into the thick of things... Johannes, sworn in under his Boss, couldn't find it in himself to trust the new leader — having been rendered temporarily unavailable throughout both the campaign era and the exchange of power — but he was still a Hound to the end for all purposes of the title. Being taken in and finding his place must have been the best damn decision he'd ever made, even besides the arguably more "prestigious" positions amongst the Quidditch and Hexwizard teams. Hell, he had cemented himself so deeply into the pack dynamics — scaling the social ladder and defending his rung with all he had — that imagining his position slipping was unrealistic. (It's not impossible though, is it? This useless self-reasoning will earn you nothing in the end, child.) He'd be twice damned if someone dared to try taking that away from him.
(Unable to act upon the growing resignation, Johannes could do little overseas except prepare for Hexwizard's first task, awaiting the inevitable fallout of his quietly splintering loyalties.)
A flash of silver in the fog caught his peripheral, breaking him from his sullen contemplation. His semi-skipped rock lept once, then twice before losing its little momentum and sinking with a quiet splash beneath the lake's glassy surface. Whatever ripples – whatever signs of life in this mountainous isolation past the rustling trees – were quickly swallowed by the swirling fog and evening din. There was something amiss beyond the suddenly turbulent gloom, a disturbance to the facade of peace he had shielded himself with. A looming sense of disquiet gripped him, gradual and all-encompassing in its reaching introduction.
There it was again — a flash of gooseberry green, eerily bright against the deeply coloured Grounds.
That’s right, curfew was soon. Had the hierarchy conquered even the wandering spirits and creatures within campus…? If not for the presence of something out there, why else did he suddenly feel so inexplicably unsettled? Johannes had never been fearful of the dark (hell, he’s always been a larger night owl than an early bird considering his sleep “schedule”) but even sleep deprivation could not excuse the sheer severity that had sent his magic prickling directionlessly in reflex.
From where Johannes was standing, long crossed onto the gently sloping crook of sand and further against the water’s edge until his shoes shone with lingering wetness, the other seemed as if she had appeared out of thin air. No footsteps, no warnings. Cradled hazily by the swirling fog, she had stepped into visibility without expression nor greeting, her silvered dispassion and flowing white dress at severe odds with the breezy autumnal weather.
Johannes, faced with mortifyingly unprepared acknowledgement, found himself suddenly — near uncharacteristically — cowed by what could only be described as a spectre incarnate.
and the worse things that we’ll do.appearance johannes | astrea (reference)
hours of sleep [t!choose 6 | 8]; [1d6 : 1]
| astrea neptune . . . hogwarts wizardry. duellist | . . . johannes sauer durmstrang institute. horntail horde. |
my darling heart of stone
threading as astrea edith soleil neptune-chou iii
opinion curiously unimpressed
Eloquence—thinking in words—is a byproduct of solitude;
With the misfortune of her fourth year still bitter upon the tongue, Astrea's quiet retreat from greater society came at the heels of greater academic responsibility. Failure— heartbreak, even—, as deeply as it wounded her, could not quantify potential as easily as her O.W.L.s could. Gone were the chaotic evenings of ball prep and prettied letter-writing. Pressed flowers and silk ribbon ties had no place on her table of priorities, not when she sought to outweigh the resultant shame of last year's devastating duel. In this sense, perhaps the simultaneous loss of her once-appreciated friends companions was a good thing. It eased the path to self-improvement. Between classes, duelling practice and copious amounts of studying, it had never been easier to tread water in comfortable, predictable isolation.
What remained of her extracurricular routine lay in tatters, grounded only by her weekly visits to the hospital wing. Dreaded yet merciful nonetheless, they were the only necessary evils preventing complete decay. By now, Astrea and her peers had been administered so many thick, quarantining potions that the mere prospect of a cure seemed both overdue and impossible. Would they ever uncover the origin of such corrupt magic? If not for the obvious black veins still pricking at her psyche, it wouldn't have been impossible to believe that her blood had turned two parts gold from cursed attrition alone. The foul aftereffects of an ambush nearly a year old grated on her still, ever emphasising the possibility of Hogwarts being built on blighted lands.
Still, despite evidence of her empty calling cards, Astrea could not yet claim complete abandonment. Wraith-like in haunting Hogwarts' halls, she at least had her beloved Orpheus to keep the shadows of solitude at bay. Unorthodox perhaps, with dubious legitimacy as true ‘company’, yet nonetheless existent. Lacking other bearers of companionship, desperate measures had to be accepted. Orpheus, tempted by Astrea's abundance of rarely met affection and treats, had taken to shadowing her in the absence of other competition. It was not strange to see the silver cat trailing her in the halls, seemingly content in brushing up against her skirts and plying rewards with quickly accomplished commands. Sweet, subtle and marked with a certain dignity underrepresented by his once low-born origins, the Egyptian Mau had truly blossomed into a cat after her own heart.
Even so, Orpheus was no mere lapcat. Flighty and fond of exploration, Astrea's free-spirited young disciple had evidently become used to the rolling hills and gated grounds of Cedarwood Castle. Hogwarts' comparative hustle meant little when haunting the library, littler still in the face of skittish curiosity. On Astrea's slowest days, it was no wonder that the cat preferred stalking the grounds over accompanying his tireless young mistress. For the most part, she trusted Orpheus enough to wander his way back by curfew. Her schedule was just consistent enough to anticipate and intercept that it made little sense to brook boredom. Irresponsible, perhaps, but reliable enough to keep the peace. Yet the changeability of Scotland's mid-autumn weather complicated such expectations. As adventurous as he was, Orpheus disliked wind and feared the threat of coming rain enough that Astrea found it prudent to collect the noble beast from his usual hunting grounds. Why he’d taken so fiercely to the Great Lake’s shores, she could neither explain nor investigate.
Recently free from her endless studying, Astrea dutifully retraced the familiar path through the abandoned grounds. During her first years at Hogwarts, she had spent much of her free time simply wandering. Volatile curiosity chased at her skirts, as if observing the expansive campus could occupy her attention as easily as it did her more imaginative peers. By now, she’d long given up such childish daydreaming. In another life, had Astrea any greater personality than the one she’d been cursed with, perhaps her time at Hogwarts could have been more fulfilling. Merely a month into her 5th year, it felt as if she’d lived through lifetimes.
Perpetual study and practice were fulfilling, but often tiring. If anything, it was nice to supplement her bland routine with fresh air. So soon after sunset, even the lack of crowds could not silence nature’s ambient noise. Astrea turned her head elsewhere as the distant, hawking cries of far-off birds joined rustling leaves, a cool, sweet breeze sweeping through her hair and obscuring her path with low-hanging fog. If not for a thin, cascading splash near the water’s edge, she could have easily missed the lone figure standing at the shores of the lake. If she had her way, she’d prefer to have done so entirely, if only to return to the dorms without further interaction.
Simply acknowledging this oddly outfitted stranger, dressed entirely in black and checkered white—as if mourners wear—, would likely not delay her overmuch, not when he seemed possessed with the wistful, tired fashion of a boy not yet alerted of greater company. Whether by choice or emotion, he’d wandered out as close as possible to the water’s lapping edge, stood near enough that his thick-soled boots edged towards the lake without fear of the evening gloom. His back was still to her, but the gleam of layered silver about his neck and between his hands caught the waning light as if directly face-to-face. Taller than her, likely, though that feat was not so momentous. Had Astrea not studied at Hogwarts for this many years already, the thickened fog and shade-like countenance of this stranger would have made it easy to believe in yet another ghost on campus grounds. She wandered somewhat closer, drawn by the familiar flash of gooseberry green peering through the fog. Her dear Orpheus, as her only companion save for this stranger on Scotland’s doorstep, remained just as exploratory as ever. She’d need to coax the sweet cat back home before entertaining an escape.
Closer now, the boy’s precarious position was tempered only by their evident peerage. For as few fellow upperclassmen left, one would expect greater recognition, but Astrea’s general disregard for all but her immediate duelling partners left her at a disadvantage. At the very least, this was no child meaning to meet the Lake’s rumoured inhabitants, but a teenager of her relative equal. Hexwizard's publicity put Hogwarts on a greater international stage than usual; If he intended to forsake company while Hogwarts’ halls ran thicker with foreign guests, Astrea was of similar disregard, though in markedly less dangerous waters. For the sake of everyone involved, a moment of patient observation indicated that the other meant not to walk into the Lake completely, as she'd initially feared, but only to skip stones against its surface. He drew back with an Olympic grace, and once more, the black-glass lake rippled and split itself in leaping bursts. Together, unknowingly, they watched as the smooth stone skimmed over the water five, then ten, eleven times before finally losing its way. Impressive. His next attempt was comparatively less thrilling.
Yet, in approaching the Lake’s shores for a better vantage point, so came Astrea's natural aura of unfortunate foreboding. Set off by the air's added chill, the stranger whirled around to greet her with a startled flourish, all splashed water and scattering silver chains. Quite immediately, Astrea wished to have had never announced herself at all, even subtly. Oh, spare her witness to a peer’s foolish dramatics. She’d never been very good at withstanding conversation, let alone introductions. His eyes shaded first with momentary fright—a familiar, near-childish haunt considering Hogwarts’ circumstances and the level of their peers’ desensitisation—before dissolving into an unrepentant defensiveness. The change was full-body, as if a brandished weapon to Astrea’s perpetual stoicism. She knew little and cared less for his identity, but he nonetheless seemed much better suited for such constructed defiance. His artfully smudged eyeliner and sleepless dark circles spoke greatly to the extent of his brooding. Gone was the slump of peaceful isolation, replaced by a cornered sense of striking intensity.
Astrea paused at the Lake’s berm, waiting and watching for further provocation. Stone-faced and quite unimpressed by feigned bravado, she levelled him a brief look of acknowledgement before staring past to focus on her wandering cat. She clicked her tongue twice, hands moving to retrieve a small treat bag she kept handy for training. Tempted by dutiful expectation, the Egyptian Mau began to slink ever-closer through the low shrubbery, yet paused as the stranger’s shared attention followed to meet the cat’s startled stare. Patience. They’d have to navigate this unknown variable carefully, even if Astrea desired nothing more than to retire to her dorms post-haste. She had little interest in explaining themselves to a prefect, especially not with curfew so soon.
| astrea neptune ... | ... johannes sauer |
| hogwarts wizardry. duellist. | durmstrang. horntail horde. |