#hphohpara

Studying was one of the only pastimes that Elijah let himself become absorbed in. He wasn't one for sitting by the lake watching the clouds, and he definitely wasn't one for mindless chatter in the common room. He preferred his time to be spent productively. As obsessive and crazy as it made him seem to some people. It wasn't like he didn't know that other people were off-put by his unnatural work ethic. But it also worried him, that this sometimes seemed to set him away from his peers. He would never admit it, but occasionally it almost made him feel lonely. That was all a part of it though, he supposed, if he wanted to succeed he would have to put up with it. Besides, it wasn't as if loneliness were the worst thing in the world.

Elijah was presently sitting in his usual spot in the Ravenclaw common room. There were other students in the room, most of them reading, a few of them chatting in whispers as to not disturb those who were doing work on their studies. That was what Elijah liked most about being a Ravenclaw, he thought, it came with the privilege of peace and quiet. He could only imagine how loud the Gryffindor common room must be. The thought almost made him shudder. He wondered if anyone in that house ever got any studying done at all. He knew that there were some mildly clever members of the other house, but he wasn't really sure what it was they did that involved schoolwork. Observing them throughout the rest of the school Elijah could only come to the conclusion that it wasn't really much at all. 

Snapping his textbook shut, Elijah decided suddenly that he was hungry. In fact, he realized, he was quite hungry and remembered that he hadn't eaten all day. He could tell by looking out the window that it must be about supper time, and his suspicion was confirmed when he looked around and spotted the clock. He rubbed at his neck, slightly annoyed at this development, but decided that he had better eat something rather than starve himself to the point of aggravation. Then he would only make himself even worse and he would get no work done, which would be pointless. Besides, he thought, he could always just study while he was eating. Multitasking was something Elijah had become pretty accustomed to--although he hadn't managed to come up with a way to study whilst practicing quidditch-- as he hated nothing more than conversations about the weather and twiddling his thumbs.

  Sasha lay, miraculously still, inside a circle of dirt that was equally miraculous considering his surroundings. The earth was cold, rocky, and still dusted with grungy snow, but here the icy wetness lingered on his skin, not permeating deeper. The spot was ideal for watching the sunrise, and the athlete felt his eyelids grow heavy, overcome with a sudden exhaustion. The Slytherin rummaged through his bag for an energy potion, not nearly quick enough. 

  A sea of trouser legs, a sea of white skin and white snow and white noise, a sea of indifference - these are familiar streets, these are home. You can’t see the colors because your view is the same as a dog’s. 

Your legs ache from the distance you have travelled. You can’t move anything else, only your legs, and you know instinctively that it isn’t really you who’s moving them. You are following a predetermined route for optimized efficiency. You close your eyes, trusting this as truth.

 The hand imprisoning yours is callused and tired as it pulls you along.

 Every sound soon dissipates, leaving behind a ringing that starts in your head and soon fills the air around you. The volume is muted and the scene locked on fast-forward. This is how you’ve been bred to cope. 

 Blue eyes snap open.

 Positioned flat on his back, with long, skinny limbs that are awkward-looking in the way they’re positioned, his vision upon first awakening is obscured. A fog of his own breath and a fine layer of snow powdering his exposed skin are the primary culprits. The dream has shaken his entire being and he hates it; he hates feeling childish, and unsettled, hates the irrationality of it all. Sasha hauls himself off the ground, skin and bones feeling heavier than normal. 

 “Tempus,” his teeth chatter out the words. Cyan numbers are weak and faded in the air because of this, but he manages to read 8:19 before they disappear.

Charms aren't enough to get rid of the chill he's currently feeling, so he makes himself start moving onward. His feet ache all the way to the dorms and his hood remains up to hide the unhealthy tint to his skin. Sasha notices someone when he enters. The boy’s mind registers that they belong and so his near-robotic movements do not come to a halt. A shower would be ideal, he knows, but Sasha gets light-headed in the winter when they’re hot, so he settles for replacing his workout clothes with several layers of cleaner, warmer fabric. 

A hop in her step and a goal in mind, Lane left the building full of it's dull students and wonky professors behind her. There were too many places to go and so much to see, as no matter how deep she ventured into the forest, she always found herself finding new spots to explore.

And the goal was exactly that- to explore. She had no other interest in the day and she only wanted to please herself, so what better was there to do? Usually she tried to grab a fellow student, such as Astrid, but today was different. If she was to bump into someone on her journey, she would ask them to join her- on the other hand, if they were to interfere once she found something to study, her actions wouldn't be so kind.

Pictures. Drawings. Sketches. Some were comprised of raw emotion, like putting one's heart on a canvas. Others were moments in time, metaphorical or otherwise. Paola sighed, sifting through her old pieces. A basket of fruit from her first year, a dragon from her second. Abstract concepts from her 6th. The redhead smiled, nostalgia filling her every pore. "I've changed a lot since then." Her fingers grazed the 7th year section, freezing for a second. She turned the page. Paola wasn't proud of her recent work; it all seemed dead to her. There was no light to it, no hope. Just… anger, pain, sorrow. The Gryffindor cringed. She couldn't seem to find inspiration in anything, no matter how hard she tried. 

Paola flipped to a random page, laying the portfolio flat on the floor. A pang of hurt shot through her chest. Two happy faces, in front of a lake. Zara. They'd been friends for ages, until it happened. The big, crazy, friendship blowout. The two hadn't spoken in months. Paola eyed the picture, shaking a regretful head. It had all happened so quickly; one moment they were fine and the next… Well, she wasn't sure where they stood now. 

Paola squinted, her jaw tight with concentration. Portraits were never her strong suit, but this one'd been surprisingly successful. The Gryffindor looked back at her subject, trying to add the final details to her piece. They kept moving, however, and it was pretty hard to get a good look at them. "Sit still, babe," she coaxed. "I'm almost done. There, that's beautiful." The redhead smiled, going back to her drawing. Paulie knew how uncomfortable portrait posing could be; and she sympathized with her model. It was pretty boring too, just sitting around there. She always got lost in her own thoughts when posing. Paola tilted her head to the side, wondering what her model was thinking.

A tickling sensation built up in Paola's nose, and she felt a sudden urge to sneeze. "Not now," she thought, fighting it back. If she sneezed, her subject would probably jump out of their seat and everything would be ruined. The urge subsided, thankfully, and the redhead let out a sigh of relief. She'd been drawing all day, trying to get one perfect portrait. They'd all been okay, but 'okay' wasn't what she was shooting for. Still, she thought this one held promise. "This could be the one," she thought. Paulie smiled, adding the final touches to her portrait. Finally, finally, her masterpiece was complete.

There was the problem. Or, the thing with John was that he had many problems, many, many problems that made him unfit for society and socially unmanageable at best. There were problems about him that hurt both his environment and himself, none of which he would ever outright see as being problems, or even issues of any kind. There was the problem, though, that left him so very disconnected from the world, he might as well not belong to it for as long as the problem took precedent. The problem being his obsessive nature.

The way his obsessive nature manifested wasn't in any manic way. It was quiet, private, reserved, the type that wasn't noticed by an outsider until that outsider found out he hadn't slept in three days already because it was always just finishing this, which ultimately lead to different tangents and more of the type of finishing which was, essentially, never finished. The type of obsession that got you stuck in your mind, in your information, in your books and in your work. Without his family, his brother to jerk him back into reality, John would have a habit of working himself into the hospital wing due to dehydration, malnourishment or plain old exhaustion.

In December, the beginning stages of hypothermia could also be the cause. He enjoyed the crisp smell of the pre-winter air, though, the way the cold cut a near tangible course through his airways into his lungs, and every breath taken was like it was especially oxygen-rich, though he knew oxygen-levels inside and outside were exactly the same. The common room was as busy as the library during these cold days, everyone loathe to be caught in the chill of high Scotland's frigidity, huddling around fireplaces and lining their warmest clothes with heating charms.

John barely felt the cold. Granted, his clothes, too, enjoyed heating charms, but with wearing nigh anything but his uniform, the vicious winds that the British Isles knew very well cut through even that security James had provided all his little brother's clothes with; John himself wouldn't even think of it, could barely pull himself away from his mind into reality to function in it. Which made it such a surprise to him that, when he looked up, the ground sported a decent few inches of snow that he hadn't been aware of falling, his hands were a vicious blue-purplish in colour and proved essentially useless in the further recording of his thoughts.

He'd been seated on the steps of the castle's entrance hall, surrounded and coated in the frozen produce of the sky, noticing only now how uncomfortably clenched all his muscles were; his jaw hurt from how his teeth had been gritted together, his back tense and his hands and feet numb. As he stood up, his entire body started trembling and it was as though the cold had now even frozen his previously over-productive mind to a screeching halt. And the only thing he could muster about it all was confusion.

The reintegration with reality always left John disorientated and confused, and this time was no different. He sniffed his nose and would wipe it on his sleeve if he had the capability of using his extremities. Turning around, John pulled on the large doors of the entrance hall to the castle which promised warmth and a regenerative ability to his body, but the doors wouldn't budge. A frown slid onto his face as he looked up at the doors, pulling yet again, harder this time, but with the cold and the tensing of his muscles, he could only open it far enough to put his foot in between the door.

The heavy door hurt, but while the pain was real and felt, John didn't flinch or even so much as react to the stimulus. Instead, he wedged his arm between the door and used it to push the door open from the inside, enough to let him in. Once inside, the practically blue boy leaned against the door, not even moving when another student stopped before him, with the obvious intention of going outside.

Astounding.

It was her favorite word from the beginning, a word often used to describe her skill in Transfiguration. Many claimed that she was only so praised because of her natural born transfiguration abilities, and others, because Professor Doriah was the Ravenclaw Head- Lane on her own took pride based simply in her skill. There was no doubt in the world that she excelled at the class over the rest, shown clear through the practice. 

So, while the rest of her peers struggled, she sat in the classroom with her hands folded in her lap. She was left only to observe as they tried to turn a pot into a cat, shame sinking into the pit of her stomach. It was a practically elementary task, after all. 

Her attention quickly turned to Kahlan, watching with a bored look but a strong focus. No matter how easy or difficult the task, she was always met head to head with the girl- rare, for her grade, considering the low skill level. With a swift move, she was settling in the empty seat beside the transfer. 

It was about half past eleven at night and Carrie was on a mission. The young Gryffindor was always looking for ways to get the edge in her Herbology lessons even if it meant using a few... unconventional methods. Which is why that night Carrie had decided that the best way to get ahead in the game was to read up on a very famous Herbology book: Dangerous Plants and How to Control Them. However, just as the title may suggest, it wasn't exactly the most readily available book to read. In fact, it wasn't available for students to read at all. And yes, maybe if she asked her Professor very nicely for permission to go into the restricted area of the library he'd let her, but sneaking out was so much more fun.

At the bottom of the girls' stairs, Carrie poked her head around the wall and scanned the common room for any other students. Coast clear, she stepped into the room and tiptoed as lightly across as possible. The room was faintly illuminated by the moonlight filtering in from the windows, but it wasn't enough to see by so Carrie pulled out her wand from up her sleeve.

"Lumos," she whispered, but just as the shimmery white light escaped from the tip of her wand, she tripped over the corner of one of the sofas and very ungracefully fell in a heap on the floor, managing to pull one of the lamps down with her with a loud thud.