"Отец сказал, что мы должны оставить наши чемоданы здесь... Father said we are to leave our trunks here..."

Boram sighed in contentment as she set her trunk down with a thud before she took in the familiar sight of the forest that hid her home. The day was young, and the sun shone upon them, wrapping itself like a snug blanket. Her hands rested on her hips while she took in a deep breath of the Russian air, a smile plastered across her face.

The breeze whispered its welcome in a gentle woosh.

She was finally home... for now.

Her smile grew as she turned around to look at Arno, who had had the misfortune of hearing her rambling throughout their journey. To say Boram had been excited to share what brought her peace and happiness would have been an understatement. A letter of confirmation from her parents stating that he would be able to join them before they attended summer camp was enough for her to spiral into joy.

Her green eyes would squint as her nose mildly scrunched, recalling what else the letter stated, "Мама сказала, что они пойдут за покупками... Mother said they were going shopping... but I can still show you around." Boram nodded to herself, agreeing with her own statement before giggling, looking around them as a thought crossed her mind.

Without any warning, she would give his forehead a light smack before turning to run into the forest that had been behind her, leaving him by the carriage they had arrived in and their trunks. The wind carried her voice as she called back at him, "Hurry up or you might get lost!" Though she may have cheated a bit, hiding behind trees and shrubs while she watched the young Arno attempt to catch up to her.

Through the forest, past the rustling noise, gray bricks would come into view. The Borisov Manor was located in a secluded area, away from any possible Muggle who might have felt like pretending to be a boy scout. Rays of sunlight would seep through the tall forest that did a magnificent job of hiding the house. The manor's grand entrance faced the forest, immediately greeting any guests who would arrive. Its door of a heavy, dark Oak had engravings. Intricate designs that displayed a story, tales fitting for such an old lineage. The engraving of a small bear was by one of the door's lower corners with what appeared to be a butterfly, though those markings appeared to be more recent and less expertly done. The Volkhov River gently ran beside the house's right wall while the left side was decorated by Chamomile plants.

Birds chirped, and the lake made a small ripple. The rustle of the forest was heard as Boram walked through the forest, mimicking a forest spirit. Her iridescent eyes were focused on an unsuspecting Arno when she suddenly grabbed his arm as she executed her plan to jumpscare him "Boo!"

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BUILD ME A SHRINE

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Arno’s hand lingered on the spot where she had flicked his forehead before darting off into the trees. He blinked as he nursed the place, for some odd reason, the girl was obnoxiously strong.

"Really?" he muttered flatly to himself as he glanced toward their trunks; now abandoned beside the carriage all thanks to his young host. He exhaled through his nose, as he fixed the strap of his satchel across his chest while the cool wind tugged at the hem of his shirt.

The trees ahead beckoned like something out of a fairy tale, tall and dense, whispering in a language he didn’t completely understood. A tour was what he’d expected, a proper one, maybe a garden path or a long-winded family walk with tales of their adventures. Not—this impromptu act of vanishing.

The girl had vanished. Again....

"Don’t run away too far or you’ll get lost and some hagslug is gonna come eat your face off, you'll look ugly with no face" he called out, voice deadpan but loud enough to travel.

No answer travelled back to his ears.

He hesitated, then patted the inside of his coat to check for his wand. It was still tucked safely into the inner lining. He always carried it close, especially when away from home.

His feet crunched softly over twigs and moss as he stepped into the forest after her.

He wasn’t sure what it was, her absence, the barely filtered light, but something about this place felt quieter, eerily haunting a bit to him. Not peaceful. Just quiet. Like it was, something was watching him. He moved carefully, scanning the undergrowth for a flash of the red hair, the glint of mischief in those eye, anything.

The trees were older here on this part of the world, their trunks thick with age, branches weaving shadows that moved when he wasn’t looking. Every few steps he would pause, half-listening, half-hoping. But no footsteps came. No giggles that he was expecting any second now. Not even rustling leaves that would come from someone running around. Just the sound of the river somewhere to his right, and the wind nudging past the canopy above.

He passed a smooth stone carved with unfamiliar symbols near its base; it was old, moss-covered and realized he had no idea how far he’d wandered from the original path. Or he wasn't sure if there had even been a path to begin with.

"Boram?" he called again, louder now. "You know, if something "has" eaten you, I’m just saying, I’m not explaining that to your parents, matter of fact I'll just disappear into this forest too."

Still nothing? That was getting worse by the minute.

A slight pinch of anxiety started to form between his ribs. His steps slowed. His posture grew tighter, cautious. He glanced left, then right, half-expecting something to move, but it was still only trees and birdsong. His hand hovered near his wand now, less from danger and more from what ifs that his mind was conjuring up now.

What if she wasn’t playing?

He rubbed the back of his neck and stopped walking. "Come on… Boram"

Nothing yet again.

A stillness pressed in around him, like it was beginning to cave his chest in, as if the forest had paused just to mock him.

A dozen possibilities ran through his mind, as they always did, most of them irrational. She ran too far and tripped. She was hiding and laughing. She fell in the lake. She did get attacked. She changed her mind about inviting him. Maybe she was just gone, like his father was gone, like people always did when he let himself settle too much.

His shoulders slumped as he stood there by the lake, surrounded by birdsong and a quiet that had become much too loud. He shifted uncomfortably in place, clutching the strap across his chest again. He shouldn’t have come, should’ve just stayed back in Berlin. Being here, surrounded by someone else’s life, someone else’s joy, it felt too delicate, too easy to ruin.

He hadn’t realized how cold the breeze had gotten until it bit at the back of his neck.

He glanced behind him once more.

No Boram.

No sound.

No warmth.

He rubbed his hands together, not because they were cold; but because he needed them to do something, anything. "If I get eaten out here, you better build a shrine for me," he muttered under his breath. "Like, a really big one. With flowers and candles and I don’t know, a big TV."

Still nothing.

The water lapped quietly at the riverbank. The forest offered no comfort. The wind shifted slightly.

Arno stood there, unsure if he should keep walking forward or just sit down and wait for her at the bank.

Somewhere far behind him, he thought he heard a twig snap.

But when he turned, nothing was there.

Not yet anyway.

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WITH BIG TV

Boram hid well, too well for the young Arno.

Knowing the forest like the back of her hand, she weaved through the trees and bushes, making sure her hands covered her mouth to snuffle out her laughs once she found a place to hide. Arno's voice danced with the wind and tempted her to retort back when he told her the hagslugs would eat her face off, Я слишком хорошенькая, чтобы на меня нападали хагслюг... I'm too pretty to be attacked by a hagslug... A small giggle escaped her before she quickly covered her mouth once more and ducked, watching him hesitantly make his way into the forest.

There was something about the forest.

The chirps of the birds that sang, the rustle of a branch as the wind held its leaves for sunlight to seep inside, it all felt like an ancient symphony. Its enchantment curled over every flower and leaf, inviting her to venture deeper into what may be buried deep in the ground beneath her. If she had disappeared... would he have followed? Ты говоришь так, словно боишься моих родителей You sound like you're scared of my parents. Boram was having fun messing with Arno, her dance of hide and seek with him, like a cat and mouse, blissfully unaware of how her silence affected him. The sound of her name as he called for her would soon leave the fraction of a hairline on the otherwise pristine mirror that reflected the forest around her.

Arno's frantic screams when the dungeon's ceiling at Durmstrang caved in.

The once cheerful melody slowed down, fading as she felt a pressure on her chest. Her smile faltered, the corners of her mouth downturned as the mischief left her gaze, replaced by a flicker of sadness. She had played it off before, twice if she counted them, smiling while she deflected the looks he would give her, deflected the idea he kept mentioning. Attempted to reassure and move on from something that she could barely grasp herself, and yet...

Where her words could not explain, all Boram had to offer was a hug.

A silent reminder that she was still there, to pester him.

Boram blinked, wiping away a small tear that had rolled down her cheek as the incident's flashback ended. The tree bark against her back poked her shoulder blade through her dress, reminding her she was no longer amongst the damp stone and screams. Boram would not admit that a part of her was different, but no matter how stubborn she was.

Mirrors were still fragile.

Leaning her head back against the tree, she took a deep breath, attempting to calm her mind. Boram was no longer having fun with her prank; the forest was silent, waiting for her to make her move. Я в порядке, он в порядке... I am alright, he is alright... Mentally repeating a reminder she had subconsciously begun to chant since the incident, Boram took another deep breath before pushing herself off the tree. Quietly looking around, her attention stayed on him when she noticed him standing by the water's edge. His back was to her, his shoulders slumped, devoid of the rebellious fire he carried, as if momentarily extinguished. Her eyes softened, silently approaching.

Perhaps she should have called his name...

A twig snapped beneath her feet, causing her to pause and look down. Oblivious to his glance back, unaware that a bush hid her from his view.

Perhaps their timing had yet to synchronize...

Or better yet, they had to synchronize.

Resuming her silent walk toward him, her eyes glistened with a feeling she would have yet to understand, for some things cannot be described with mere words. Nearing him, Boram's eyes squinted as a small ray of light attacked her eyes. Unsuspecting of the increasingly anxious state Arno was in, she reached out, grabbing his arm as she said "Boo"

Before she could register his reaction, she heard a voice quickly say something, and she felt something push her. It may have been that the intent was to push her away, but she stumbled a bit too much and tripped over a rock.

Splash!

Her senses kicked into overdrive, completely caught off guard by the cold feeling that surrounded her. Her dress grew heavy, gravity reminding her of her place. Boram did not scream, she did not shriek; instead, a low rumbling roar that could have resembled one of a grizzly bear was heard. Arms flaring up as if she were scaring off a smaller creature, Boram stood up, her dress? Completely soaked.

"Arno!" She huffed, wiping her red hair off her face. "I could have drowned, are you insane?!" Her face flushed and her eyebrows furrowed, a water droplet ran down her face as she looked up toward the bank. Clenching her jaw, she held back the shiver that ran through her as the cold air tried to give her some warmth.

Muttering, "Черт, как же холодно... Fuck, it is cold...", Boram grabbed her dress and hiked it up slightly as she stomped around to find a way back up. Shooing away a fish that kept following her, she looked back up at Arno, "Just you wait... when I get back up there..."

That was, if she managed to get up there before she caught herself a cold.

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OH MY GOD SHE'S BALD

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Splash.

That sound ripped Arno cleaned out of whatever narrow and awful trance he had slipped into.

For a split second, everything had become so simple and smooth, all muscle memory and reflexes. A blur of movement, a flick of his wand, subsequently followed by the assumption. No, rather the certainty, that she would dodge it. Boram always dodged. He believed her capable of slipping through things you wouldn't expect her to reach.

He hadn't really accounted for her lack of focus, but neither had he accounted for her skill at hiding; one which led to her spooking him. The sound of water swallowing her replaced every thought in his head.

And then came the drop; not hers—his.

Right in his chest, as if something had been yanked out a little too fast, leaving behind a hollow lung, with no air, filling with dread; cold and sharp dread. Did she just— Arno held a breath recounting,

'Did she know how to swim?'

It was such a stupid question, of course she did. Probably she did. Maybe? Why wouldn't she?

'What if she didn't?'

What if—

His stomach twisted violently at the thought, he was not skilled enough to swim with the weight of two bodies. and he'd just pushed her into a lake, this idiot.

Pushed was putting it lightly, it was more akin to "blasted her." This would be a headline in Durmstrang, "Boram Borisova. The girl who got accidentally murdered by her best friend right beside her own house". That would look fantastic carved into whatever miserable excuse of a grave he'd end up crying beside.

Or hiding from, guilt, after all was a hard feeling to escape.

Would he even hide from it? The thought came uninvited, fast and ugly. Could he?

Would he be able to stand there and pretend it didn't happen? Say she slipped? Blame the forest? The Lake perhaps? Himself?

No, not himself, he wouldn't really get the chance. Her parent would—

Boram.

The lake broke open.


A flash of red cut through the surface, sharp and alive and moving, and his lungs finally remembered how to work. Air rushed back in so fast it almost hurt.

"Oh thank fuck—"

He didn't even realize he said it out loud.

There she was, upright, loud, read and very much not dead.

"Arno!"

Yeah, that sounded about right.

"I could have drowned, are you insane?!"

He let out something between a laugh and a breath he'd been holding for too long, dragging a hand through his hair as tension bled out of his shoulders all at once.

"Gracias a la mierda, estás bien," he exhaled, words slipping out naturally before he even thought to translate his words. Then, louder and steadier, "You wouldn't have drowned, I'd make sure of that naturally."

It came out confident, strangely to confident for him, like words spoken with conviction. Even if two seconds ago, he'd absolutely no idea he would've done that. Below, she shifted as water clung to her with no intention of letting go. Her clothes dragged heavy, with her movements hindered with the weight of the water.

"Just you wait... when I get back up there..."

Ah. There it was. Arno winced slightly. Now that Boram was no longer drowning, a different kind of danger presented itself. One that stood knee-deep in freezing waters and could potentially plan his funeral.

He could run, he absolutely should.

Every instinct he had, told him to turn around and disappear into the trees; like an individual who valued their continued existence. Yet, he didn't move. "Yeah, no, that's fair." he muttered under his breath, already stepping closer to the edge of the bank instead.

Leaving was never an option, not with her like that.

"Hey—wait, here," he called, crouching slightly as he extended his hand down towards her. "Are you okay? I didn't think—" he stopped himself, grimacing faintly, "—I didn't think you'd fall that far back."

Understatement of the century ladies and gentlemen.

His eyes flicked over her quickly—checking, counting, confirming. No blood or obvious injuries. Just a soaked, freezing Boram.

Could've been worse, much worse.

Still not very great tho.

He sparked a small fire a little before dragging her up, not much but it was modest.

Enough to help her condition.

"Water's freezing, isn't it?" he said grinning as he glanced back at her. "You're probably gonna hate me for this one."

Going to?

She probably already did.

"I hope you don't end up catching a cold because of me," he added, quieter now, poorly veiled care pouring through his eyes at the edge.

Without much thoughts, Arno reached for her hands, rubbing them between his own in quick, firm motions. "Here—this helps, right? I think it does." he muttered, more to himself than her, brown knitting in concentration as if those could generate more heat.

His hand were warm, hopefully warm enough. His gaze lifted briefly from her, scanning the tree line without turning away completely. Now that he realized, he had no idea where he was. At least not like she did. Her parents could show up any second. That alone was enough to keep him on his toes.

After a beat, a small crooked grin, aiming to tease her, tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Feeling better?" he asked, tilting his head just slightly. "after all your actions and their very predictable consequences?"

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AND SHE'S SCARING EVERYONE

She had never been all that graceful, like the wind that twirled silk, Boram was the personification of the roaring sea, unforgiving. Yet the raven-haired guest would talk, his tone that of a pirate confident of his knowledge from his years at sea.

Raging harshness.

Would have been her initial reaction had it been any other soul lost at sea, challenging the waves while the sirens sang.

But the sea did love her pirates.

Even if the one extending his hand for her to take had dared blast her into the river mere seconds ago. Quite daring of the young Arno to think she wouldn't pull him into the water with her, the sea always took with conviction.

When the time was right.

Boram walked closer towards him, the water stubborn as it slowed her steps with the weight of her soaked dress. Her hand reached before holding his in turn, looking up at him as she spoke with mild huff, "Ты не думал?! You didn't think?!" before she sighed, letting him help her up when she noticed him look at her, "I am alright... I'm still in one piece."

She would give him a slight smile, trying to ignore the reminder of the panic in his eyes when she was not so sure through the stone. Her gaze would shift down to her dress, muttering, "Another pair of shoes destroyed by water..." Ironically enough, both instances had been caused by Arno.

Did he hate her choice of shoes or what?

Perhaps he wanted to take her shopping, Boram hummed, looking back up at him, "Yes... the water is always cold, but it is nice under the sun on a warm day.." She'd look at the small fire he sparked, her anger subsiding at the sight of it, "or followed by a warm fire..." all that was missing were snacks for the spike in adrenaline to be soothed.

His grin would make her playfully roll her eyes, teasing back, "Oh my, you just made my list of most hated". As if it were unfathomable for such a thing to occur, she'd snort and shake her head, looking back at the flickering flames, "It was an accident... and besides, I can always get my payback another time..." Already plotting away, a grin would spread along her face as she nudged him gently with her elbow, "Sleep with one eye open."

The tip of her nose began to feel cold before she shifted slightly closer to the small fire, her grin softening into a smile as she looked over her shoulder towards him, " I'm as strong as a bear, Arnie... a mere cold won't do me a thing." She would giggle softly before joking, "Unlike someone I know, who would probably look like one of those sickly children in those complicated books you like to read." What was it with ravenhaired children and those complicated books? She never understood the fascination of them growing up, seeing her cousin sit in utter silence as the minutes went by in a deadly bore.

Boram would hum as she looked down, feeling her hands feel warm while her brain registered him rubbing her hands to warm them. The concentration in his furrowed eyebrows as he spoke more to himself than her was enough for her smile to widen with a soft chuckle, "yes... it does help... thank you, Arnie". She would sit in silence, watching him look around as if waiting for her parents to appear out of nowhere and attack him with a million questions of how he finds Durmstrang... or worse.

Why he was holding their daughter's hands.

She'd giggle softly, looking back at him to see him giving her that signature grin of his.

As if he could read her thoughts...

Boram would nod slightly, looking away while she feigned offense with a small gasp, using the most eloquent tone she had learned from her dear cousin, "Predictable? Why I'd never be..." Suppressing a smile, she would look back at him, "Quite a bore to be predictable... perhaps you just know me a little bit..." or like the back of his hand.

She would turn his hand in hers, tracing the lines of his palm as she pretended to know what she was doing, as she purposefully elongated each word to add a dramatic effect "Oh yes... I see a future... one of much chaos..." Boram's index finger would trace with no real sense of palm reading, clearly having been daydreaming during lectures.

"perhaps even..." she would pause and smile, looking back at him, "missing chocolate frogs if I get to the house first!"

She would get up, wobbling slightly on the uneven ground, and with the drag of her dress, before pointing toward the direction of her family's manor, smiling with glee, "Just up ahead, there's no getting lost!"

Boram would wait for him to get up, expecting him to run as she pushed against her heavy dress, ignoring the soil stains forming at the hem.

The ground felt soft under her soles, smiling as she remembered the countless times she spent playing in the forest, the numerous hide-and-seeks she tried to beat Nabi in whenever she visited Mother Russia. The pale stare that contrasted the lively ones she watched from the trees above, oh, how marvelous it was.

She would turn to look back, perhaps the dress was heavier than she thought...

Home was near, appearing tall. The Borisov Manor was tall yet masterfully hidden by the forest around it. Gray stones stood tall, well-made walls no less than expected from such a bloodline of strong souls.

Reducio

(Refer to the bottom of the thread starter)