Nine Hours Later
September 1st, 2025
Draven had practically sprinted to the Merlin Dorms. The train ride, although comfortable and relatively pain-free, had left him stiff and exhausted. He was looking forward to some quiet, a chance to shoot the sh*t with Kith, and perhaps finishing his book.
But first- food.
Climbing up the stairs two at a time, handrail gripped cautiously, Draven made his way toward the Great Hall. He hadn't eaten since the night before, whatever mulberries and crab apples he'd managed to gather, having made a hasty exit out of his system that morning. Nerves before the train ride. Well-... the train ride itself was fine. Nerves before returning to a crowded public space, after spending the summer camped out in a forest.
The clamour of the Great Hall left him stunned for a couple seconds. Thankfully, the Hogwarts 416 staff had the good sense to leave the room dimly lit. Candles floated around the grand space, illuminating without blinding.
Ducking his way inside, Draven kept close to the walls. He made a beeline for the Slytherin table, dodging the little first years gathering up in an anxious-looking line. A snicker left him as he spotted Cori smushed between two other girls.
She was an odd kid.
The table was relatively empty. Many of the Slytherins were still crowded in the showers or unpacking. Some skipped the ceremony altogether, while others came purely to heckle the other houses. As odd an assortment of people as they were, Draven couldn't help but relax. The anxious breath he'd been holding on to since that morning finally left his chest.
Sliding into his usual spot, near the door and on the very corner of the table, Draven scanned the room, looking for the regulars. He couldn't say he'd spent much time in the Great Hall the previous years, but that didn't mean he couldn't recognize students from other houses.
Last edited by Draven Mirador on 2 Oct 2025, 19:53, edited 2 times in total.
ITS STILL RAINING. WHY IS IT STILL RAINING? sta • 13 | eva • 8 | str • 1 | wis • 15 |arc • 7 | acc • 9 |
Nine Hours Later
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@Draven MiradorGreat Hall; First Day
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────Prat's summer had ended on a high note for the viper captain, though he'd never put it in such sentimental terms out loud. Fireworks with Siobhan, the bear he'd bought her, the one she clutched to her chest like it mattered a lot; was one of those small, quiet cherished moments in life he'd keep locked away.
These moments weren't necessarily something to flaunt or a piece of information anyone needed to know. Returning to Hogwarts, he carried himself as always; measured, sharp, deliberate. The golden boy of Slytherin didn't break stride even when others did.
Back in the dorms he shared with Colin, Prat unpacked with silence, before exchanging a few remarks about schedules, holidays and camp before dressing down for dinner. Shirt tucked, trousers neat, but no robe. If a prefect had a problem, they could take it up with themselves. Prat wasn't about to wear unnecessary fabric for the sake of rules he didn't agree with.
Walking into the Great Hall, his eyes caught the line of first years waiting to be sorted to their houses. The anxiety on their face was palpable, clumsy hands tugging at their sleeves, whispers just above a tremble. He remembered his own first day; nor anxious, neither bewildered. He'd known he'd end up in Slytherin, but if not? he'd have worn another color without hesitation. He never understood the identity crises most seem to manufacture for themselves.
Scanning the room, he ignored the chit chatter of Gryffindors and the mess of Hufflepuffs or Ravenclows, instead looking for the more familiar shade. he found it near one end of the table: Draven Mirador, older student, and a duelist for the Viridian Vipers. Someone Prat respected, not least because of the role he held, but for his contribution.
Sliding into the seat beside him, Prat leaned back in his usual composed manner, plate already filing with food as though it had been waiting for him. He tore into a piece of chicken without ceremony, following it with a sandwich he gulped down on.
"Hello Draven!," he said, calm and precise with a smile on his face. "How's it going? I hope the holidays have treated you well?"
His tone carried the usual cadence, confidence and the casual nonchalance it usually held. The kind that made those unfamiliar with him seem like a test, even if he didn't necessarily mean it. Prat ate as he spoke, unconcerned about appearances, Hogwarts feasts had yet to disappoint him, and he wasn't one to pretend restraint when food worthwhile was on the table.
He paused long enough to sip his drink, eyes flickering across the hall again before resting back on Draven.─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX445
| Prat Pass - Slytherin | |
Sta: 7 | Eva: 10 | Str: 6 | Wis: 7 | Arc: 7 | Acc: 13 |
Sta: 9 | Eva: 15 | Str: 0 | Wis: 7 | Arc: 5 | Acc: 15 |
Nine Hours Later
Draven surveyed the table with a knot in his stomach. His aversion to cooked food had steadily diminished over time, but being faced with platters overflowing with it was daunting to say the least. There weren't very many safe options. Opaque soups and sauces were an instant no-go. The jugs of pumpkin and orange juice were making him a little nauseous as well. Perhaps the chicken-? But he could see the grease dripping off of it, the meat practically slathered in oil.
Bile rose in his throat.
Nope.
He swallowed back the acid, setting his sights on a bowl full of chopped tomatoes. A simple Greek-style salad with feta and cucumbers. The house elves had gone easy on the condiments, thinking, perhaps, of those with food sensitivities.
Draven breathed a sigh of relief, scooping some on his plate. A piece of sourdough followed. The salmon, too, looked like it had been steamed rather than fried. It was a bit like a treasure hunt, he reasoned to himself, picking up some of the fish. And the treasure did happen to be delicious. Say what you will about the ethics of keeping house elves, but no human cook could hold a candle to the-
Prat's voice broke him out of the contemplative silence. Draven blinked, looking up. He hadn't noticed the boy slide into the seat beside him.
The duelling captain was neat as always, sat straight-backed and wolfing down his food between words. His clothes were so clean you could eat your dinner off them, and his hair was combed back carefully into a coiffed middle part, curly whisps falling playfully across his forehead. Prat had an effortless charm about him. Confident and self-contained, the boy walked like he owned the school. His parents- Draven frowned, digging through the back of his skull, looking for information.
Details of Prat's past were foggy. He knew his parents worked in the ministry, but not much more after that. The tenacity with which he'd memorized his classmate's lineage during his first year hadn't carried over. All he truly had on Prat was his reputation. A pureblood with something to prove in duelling, eerily good-looking, and known for regularly breaking curfew. They'd spoken a number of times throughout the years - not enough to traverse from the realm of 'acquaintances' to 'friends'. Though aside from Kith, Draven wasn't sure he'd call anyone at school a friend.
"Pass-" Draven said, straightening up. He hadn't realized how atrocious his posture was- curled onto himself like a shrimp- until the duelling captain had sat beside him. The juxtaposition was as funny as it was blinding. Prat, all elegant and confident, and Draven, with acid stains on his jeans and a faded navy crewneck. "Good to see you, man."
He took a bite of his tomato, chewing it carefully before answering. "Yeah- I was out all summer. Hiking. Scotland is beautiful. You won't believe the things that live out in the woods."
He barely had.
"How're you holding up?"
ITS STILL RAINING. WHY IS IT STILL RAINING? sta • 13 | eva • 8 | str • 1 | wis • 15 |arc • 7 | acc • 9 |