♦ too loud for words, too shy for the world ♦

He decided to ignore her attempts at filling in his missing speech, choosing instead to blush profusely into the surface of his potion. “It... it sounds like you’re talking from experience,” he said, softly. A dark fog had settled around the girl’s shoulders, and he felt a wave of concern. But just as soon as the fog had gathered, it had gone once again, and his worry was forgotten.

“Li-Liquid luck? You’re giving me this?” He touched his hair self-consciously, and his surprise gave way to suspicion. No one ever gave him anything without wanting something vaguely humiliating in return. “Wait... what’s your ‘proposition?” His anxiety felt misplaced as soon as he had said it. Slytherin or not, she didn’t seem the sort to try and short-change him. Playful insults aside, of course.

No way in hell would his father ever surrender, least of all to the son he despised so deeply, therefore it was safe to conclude that tired eyes and an inebriated mind had indeed played a cruel prank which almost ended tragically. At least for whoever had been stupid enough to decide it would be a marvelous idea to disturb the Durmstrang boy’s peace. Cassius clutched the wand tighter in his hand yet he did not point its tip upwards, preferring to leave it facing the cold soil. Maybe he’d have use of it later.

Hurt him? Like there was anything in the world which could hurt him more in that moment than the bitter reality of absolute failure. A short burst of laughter escaped from between the Captain’s lips, both mocking and sad at the same time. He was no stranger to pain, especially the physical kind, and he had the scars to prove it. Yet he’d never truly learned how to deal with the emotional kind. Instead he kept his feelings bottled up inside until eventually—like in moments such as this—they exploded in his face.

“Well obviously. Otherwise you’d have used your wand by now.”  

When he spoke he sounded weaker than he’d intended, his voice hoarse from having howled at the wind, but just as sharp as always. Eyes narrowing he scanned the figure top to bottom with curiosity. It still refused to come forward and that annoyed the soul out of the Durmstrang boy. He did not appreciate being left to speak to a shadow—even though he’d done that to others himself. But in that moment he’d had more than enough problems with ghostly figures to not be affected. Plus, if he was forced to move he’d most likely crack.

“Oh... my w-wand. Right,” he agreed, not daring to admit that it still lay, forgotten, in the bottom of his pocket. Any other wizard with a modicum of concern for their own self-preservation would have drawn their wand immediately. Apparently he was not one of those wizards.

The stranger invited him to come forwards, and Isaac did so reluctantly, his hands still raised. His every step felt achingly heavy over the leaf-strewn floor. He couldn’t decide if it was down to his sheer exhaustion or just his nerves. As he walked slowly into the dim light, the stranger came into focus as well. Isaac swallowed hard when he saw the wand gripped tightly as his side. Whoever this boy was, he, at least, had been prepared.

She turned her attention back to the newcomer. Its ears looked much bigger up close, and she wondered just how incredible this species was at hearing. The eyes of a hawk, nose of a bear, ears of a fox, Laurinka thought to herself, it’s like nature’s magic. 

There was something strange, however. The fox nearly seemed to be staring back at her. Watching her eyes with its own. 

“Only dogs make eye contact like that,” Laurinka said softly to herself, titling her head in perplexity. Surely, no fox she had ever met acquired such a rare set of social skills. “This forest really is something special, huh?” Laurinka broke into a smile and popped another berry into her mouth. 

She took the small bag of picked berries, meaning to give the rest to the newcomer. She opened the bag wide and placed it beside her on the log. “I’m real shit at this type of magic, but, we’ll see…” Laurinka took out her wand from inside her sleeve and held it near the bag of berries. While whispering an incantation, the witch tapped the bag with her wand and closed her eyes. Part of the reason Laurinka was so poor at transfiguration was the fact she usually had to close her eyes in order to be successful. It helped her visualize the object as something else, but instructors urge harshly against the habit. Going at something blind was never a good thing if you could avoid it. 

She opened her eyes again, to see the bag of berries transform into a glass bowl of berries. “Good thing,” Laurinka said with a slight laugh, “that’s like first year stuff.” She truly loved being able to talk freely out in the privacy of the forest. Lately, its been difficult to say much of anything without another’s opinion being shoved into the conversation. 

“If anyone knew how bad I was at this stuff, I wouldn’t hear the end of it,” Laurinka spoke to the air again. “Some champion she is…can’t even transform a teapot into a tortoise on the first try…What kind of daughter can’t transform a teapot into a tortoise?” Her voice had become louder without her discretion, and Laurinka quickly shook her head and closed her mouth. She came here to feel better, not worse yet it seemed memories of her father came and went from her mind these days like a breeze in the air. On the bad days, it clung to her brain like clouds around a mountain. 

Laurinka let out a heavy sigh and stood up. She smoothed her uniform and walked over to the smallest of the thestrals. Slowly putting her hand to rest on its hollow cheek she spoke again.

“At least none of you care about teapots and spells. It doesn’t matter who I was, or who I am when I leave the forest. All you see is what I am right now. Why care about the details, right?” she asked, unaware the fox just beside her did care. Truly. 

Some more berries surfaced from the girl’s bag, and his eagerness tugged at his ears. He hadn’t expected the spell, but once he saw it, he immediately wished he had a voice. It was an easy incantation, taught fairly early on in the first year curriculum. All in all, she had done performed it fantastically, but she had closed her eyes. He’d seen that tic before, on himself no less, when he first began his studies. He knew just the way to cure it, and maybe, just maybe, if he could show her the way, he could really help her. Or perhaps she would just see him as insufferable know-it-all. It was hardly as though he would ever find out.  He let out a soft, unintentional growl in place of what he wanted to say.

She seemed suddenly sad, and he watched the ghost of a feeling travel through her eyes. He slunk closer, pretending to be more interested in the newly produced berries than in her. A teapot into a tortoise... he had mastered that spell after only an hour of trying. He had been so pleased when he, little muggleborn Isaac, had succeeded where some of the prodigal purebloods had failed. They hadn’t liked it, of course, and he had paid for it later in the form of a particularly unpleasant Pepper Breath hex thrown in his direction. But still... he knew how to do that spell, and if it would make her smile, he would gladly teach her. But she was Durmstrang Champion. She had no need of help from someone like him.

Before he could reach either her or the berries, the girl stood and wandered over to the thestrals, who were otherwise paying them no mind. The little one received her warmly enough, and he suddenly found himself being jealous of the creature as she rested a hand upon its cheek. Don’t be ridiculous, he scolded himself. 

And that was when she said it. She might not know how to cast those spells, but what did he care? For a moment he realised he was seeing a secret side of this girl, a side she wouldn’t be willing to show to anyone other than the animals that resided here. And he, right now, was one of them. He saw her in the here, and the now, and he realised that was all he needed of her. If whatever face she wore outside of this forest was nothing but a façade, what did it matter if they had barely exchanged two words to each other? He probably knew her better than any witch or wizard inside the castle.

He trod softly in the dents her footprints had left behind, and followed her right into the herd of thestrals. With a gentle wave of his tail, he drew up against her leg. It took him a moment to get the courage, but it came. Lifting his nose, he nuzzled it softly against her ankle, trying to portray in a gesture what he could never say in real, actual words. I’m here for you.

 “I know what dating is like– I’ve dated. All it does is leave you upset and frustrated and sad. I have a bad boy problem you see– trust me when I say for me a coat is safer. I’d have to be desperately into someone for me to want to ditch my coat for a human warming solution to the nippy winter nights. “

“At least I’m keeping someone happy,” he smiled to her, shyly. “If only stimulating conversation was enough though. I’ve never... well, I’ve never had a... you know.” He stirred his potion absent-mindedly. He had never minded his own company, in fact, he relished it. But lately there was an absence in him, one that left him staring after the school’s new couples like someone starving. “I’d say being lonely is just as upsetting and frustrating and sad as any other state of being. At least if you have someone you can share those feelings with them.”

To her amazement, the hedgehog slowly lost its spines and the snuffling ceased, and soon the pair was left with a small, grey pincushion in place of an animal. Aurélie could hardly contain her elation as she twirled her wand and transfigured the inanimate cushion back to her small, cuddly friend. “Oh, Isaac! You’re a genius! You’re absolutely amazing,” she cried delightedly, scooping up the hedgehog with one hand and throwing her free arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him in tight despite that he was probably a whole head taller. “I can’t believe I’ve done it! You’re brilliant.”

Suddenly the girl was flying at him with an arm outstretched. He didn’t have time to panic - he was too concerned about the hedgehog being squashed between them in the height of Aurelie’s enthusiasm. “I-I didn’t do anything,” he stammered to the top of her head. Her dark hair tickled at his nose, and he pulled slightly away, trying to locate the animal she was hopefully still holding in one hand. “That was all down to you. Oh... and some choice wisdom from good old Emeric Switch. But, um, I’m glad I could help. If you need anything else while you’re here, then you can... well, I’m not that good at many things, but I... you can always... you know. You can find me around.”

Tipping back her drink as she listened to him speak, she shook her head. “Yeah, there would. I mean, I can’t back out even if I wanted to—which I don’t. I think there’s, like, a contract that keeps you from backing out?” She raised her eyebrows as he suddenly cut himself off, the grim reality of what could happen washing over her. Death seemed so far away to her, something close to a game, yet it might be snapping at her heels once the tasks got started. “Getting hurt is always a possibility with anything I do. Even Quidditch. It’s happened, actually. Multiple times,” she pointed out. Isaac’s worry was touching, but it was almost suffocating, as if she didn’t quite know what to do with it. She couldn’t placate him, considering she was about to go into the Tournament with her all. Fuck the risks. “I appreciate your concern, really, but you do know you’re not going to stop me. At all. And I’ve got James as my partner, so.”

"Right, the contract," he groaned, circling the stone in his hand. With a sudden jerk of his arm, he sent it spinning across the surface of the lake. It travelled further than he had anticipated, powered by the frustration he felt at the entire situation. "Getting hurt in Quidditch is not the same as being eaten by a dragon, or drowning at the bottom of the lake. The stakes are a lot higher than some simple numbers on a scoreboard. And I know you thrive off all that, but I just wanted to make sure you knew... knew what you were getting yourself into. But apparently you do." He shrugged. It was true that James Potter was as worthy as a partner could be, and he would almost certainly make sure that Evie was safe throughout their trials. But for the first time since those names had been spat from that goblet, he wished his had been one of them.

"If you're adamant about doing this, I hope you know that you're not doing it alone. I might not be a champion, but if I can help you, in any way at all... You've got to swear you'll come to me, Eves. I mean it. I couldn't bear the thought of you struggling with it alone." He fell quiet, the weight of his offer lying thick all about him, but he would never dream of taking it back. On the wisp of a sudden sharp breeze, he could smell the alcohol in the bottle Evie was sipping at. "Got any liquid courage to spare for an anxious friend?" he asked with a small smile.

"I don't know, maybe they're really in love," he shrugged, frowning into the surface of his potion. "You're right though - you'd never get a coat to treat you to dinner, or write you a poem. I can't imagine the conversation is particularly stimulating either. Maybe you should branch out from garment-related company for a change and see what it's like?"