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Durmstrang Institute Course Catalog |Â Memory Faculty
The Memory Faculty at Durmstrang attracts students who have a strong curiosity for history, time, and memory. Having excellent senses of both time and space, these students study both how to manipulate them and humansâ place in the grand fabric of time. The Faculty offers a variety of both theoretical and practical courses, from international law and histories to traditional / arcane forms of magic, to experimental studies in time machines and memory carriers. As time encompasses all things and can be approached from many angles, the Memory Faculty is the most interdisciplinary and flexible faculty at Durmstrang,and it attracts students with all kinds of interests, some wishing to study the preservation of ancient scripts while others are fascinated by current events and the political climate. Those who enter the Memory Faculty often find that other branches of magic come easier to them later on, as they have, quite literally, mastered the texture of time that permeates every kind of magic.Â
Want to be a part of this faculty? Durmstrang is accepting students now! Apply here
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summary: oliver wood is definitely a drunk oversharer.Â
a/n: so this is my first time publishing work and i donât even know what this is or where it came from but here it is!Â
oliver wood is definitely a drunk oversharer.Â
everyone knows it, and the team canât stand it. after every single win, he calls the team into a huddle and starts recapping their match and drunkenly mapping out their plays for the next one, and at least one member exclaims, âmate! weâve just won, could you let us enjoy it?â but he never does and they love him just enough to let him have his moments, but damn, oliverâs the most annoying drunk theyâve ever met. on more than one occasion the twins threaten to stop sneaking fire whiskey into the castle if he doesnât get it together. nobodyâs fooled by these empty warnings, and so wood continues to ramble on and on to anyone who listens, and even those who donât. and now, after all this time, woodâs won his final match and, still, nobody knows how to shut him up.
so, when he stumbles over to george and leans onto his shoulder in the midst of gryffindorâs celebration of winning the house cup, george braces himself out of habit, and yells âoli! what do you want now? weâve already won.â and the very last thing he expects to hear is a slurred, âd'ya think iâve a shot with flint? been thinkinâ bout him all season. i- i mean every season. yâknow. since we started.â george chokes on his drink while oliver continues, going on and on about marcusâs hands and, âi mean, george, do you see the way he holds the broom?â and george is plugging his ears and singing as loudly as he can before he can hear oliver elaborate anymore on marcusâs grip, because hearing his captain describe in extreme detail exactly how oliver imagines flintâs hands would feel on him is probably georgeâs worst nightmare. really, itâs a miracle that the common roomâs celebrations are loud enough to mask the sound of oliver, who has now begun to yell about the curve of flintâs biceps to a traumatized george.Â
after his first win with puddlemere, the team celebrates in a pub. a pretty girl with bright eyes hits on him and oliver just exclaims, âahhh! youâre lovely, youâre beautiful.. but i think i like boys. maybe just one boy actually. it started in second year..â and he spends the next hour telling this poor girl about the first time he and marcus played against each other in second year when they had just made the team and the wave he felt crash through him when they first made eye contact. how he heard the sound of the ocean meeting the shore when he caught the quaffle that marcus attempted to make into the middle goalpost. how every time they shook hands as team captains this season, he felt the current drag him in further. how the waves get stronger every time they look at each other and itâs a tsunami now and how do you survive a tsunami? oliver is screaming and pounding the table, glasses shaking and drinks spilling before his teammates finally take him home, apologizing profusely to the girl. not that it makes a difference because the whole way home oliver explains that heâs drowning in a boy who wonât look at him off the pitch, and he canât breathe, and he loves it.Â
heâs catching up with the hogwarts gang one night at the three broomsticks and marcus flint walks in, flanked by higgs and pucey. itâs only a couple shots later that oliver and marcus are alone in a booth far away from every else, theyâd volunteered to get the next round and got side-tracked arguing about their rivalry, even though itâs years old. and oliver just canât stop talking. it starts with a side-by-side comparison of every one of marcusâs players with his own. but heâs spiraling and he can feel it. somehow talking about flintâs flying technique has led to wood dragging on about how heâs got rolls of parchment full of notes on the way that flint flies and how good he looks doing it. about the way he doesnât look like heâs flying at all, like being on a broom is his natural state. about all the nights heâs spent trying to figure out how marcus manages it, looking so intense, but so at peace at the same time. about how he always had those early morning practices because he couldnât fucking sleep, always up all night thinking of him, flying was the only way to make it stop. unless they were flying together and every time marcus tried to score oliverâs heart was in his throat because, wow. on and on about the fact that he doesnât even know how he managed to catch anything during those games because he couldnât watch anyone, but marcus. and how whenever they touched in the slightest, shaking hands or bumping into each other in the air, oliver was buzzing for days. and oliver canât stop talking, his mouth just keeps running and running, until marcus catches it with his own. oliver is stuck because heâs thought about this for so long that he has no thoughts left, but to grab the back of flintâs neck and pull him closer and taste the whiskey on his tongue. when they break away, woodâs panting and looking for the right phrase to say, but for the first time, he has no words.
