#poor leander

The owl’s journey has been long and arduous, so you must forgive it for mistaking Leander’s head for a suitable perch. It is fortuitous you've chosen to eat breakfast together. 

The owl releases its grip, and the letter falls directly into your bowl of porridge. It bears the official insignia of the Investigation Department of the British Ministry of Magic. 

The owl flaps its great wings and takes flight once more, unleashing a shrill cry to rival Leander’s, for in its talons are two thick tufts of ginger hair. 

…

To Mr. Asher Bloomingdale of Gryffindor House,

I hope Mrs. Bubo Tuber has not caused you any distress; her eye sight leaves much to be desired. 

I am the CHRISTMAS BEAN, the head of a specialized unit of detectives for the British Ministry of Magic. 

With Christmas and the new year upon us, we’ve managed to unravel all of the world's greatest mysteries. 

All except for one…

Exactly, who is Asher Bloomingdale? 

The first course of action of any gifted detective (as I am) is to get into the person of interest's mind. I do hope you’ll allow me to conduct this investigation in a festive manner. ✨

“'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds;

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.”

Answer me this: When nestled and snug in his bed, does Asher dream of sugar plums pirouetting in his head? If not, then what does he dream of? 

Sincerely, 

🎄🫘The Christmas Bean 🫘🎄

Attached to the back of this letter are the ingredients for a flawless Manegro potion, should you find yourself in need of it. Though I sincerely hope you don't...

Oooo a Christmas bean! Well if this is the Ministry of Magic contacting our boy directly, it simply must get a resposne!

"I suppose I should write back then..."

The boy sat down and stole a piece of parchment from a classmate, writing his answer down on the paper.

Dear Mr/Ms. Bean,

I first would like to thank you for contacting me with such an interesting question. To provide an answer, I mostly dream of my parents. More often my dad and I having an early nap when I was a bit younger. Of course my dreams go beyond that, but those are a bit more personal than what I'd like to include. Though I do dream of tests and homework when I have a lot to do. Let's just say they aren't fun to experience.

Sincerely,

Asher Bloomingdale

Asher was ready to head back to his dorm to seal the letter, when he spotted a bit at the top. "I hope Mrs.Bobo Tuber has not caused you any distress; her eyesight leaves much to be desired."

What could she possibly cause other than mistaking Leanders head as a perch?

it was then that Asher heard Leanders shrieking and Garreths howling laughter that he realized it wasn't himself that was distressed.

(Bonus picture of Asher and his dad!)

He had gone through so many humiliations and insults all throughout his life. Viktor had learned to ignore them, not take them seriously. People saw an easy victim when they saw him. Too thin, crippled. But he had always had his mind and known it could get him out of so much.

But today none of that had been enough. He had tried to reach for too much. And Piltover had made it clear that he wasn’t enough and never would be.

Just because he was born in Zaun. To poor parents, who had always worked hard.

Who could never afford to make his dreams come true.

And he himself couldn’t either.

Limping to the trial had already been horrible. With all those eyes on him, he could have heard their whispers, but not their exact words. But getting back… after the council had felled their judgement, that walk towards the doors had almost felt like it was longer than the stretched bridges over the river.

Viktor was impressed by himself, that he could keep it all in until now. The ringing in his ears had made everything numb. And only now. Hours later, where he hid in a bathroom stall of some shady bar deep in Zaun, too scared to go back home or to his friend and admit that he had been wrong with everything… only now could he not stop the tears from spilling over his face and strangled sobs escaping his throat as he tried to silence himself.

Add insult to injury.

And then the salt came over all those wounds when suddenly he heard another enter the bathroom. Viktor screwed his eyes shut and clasped his hands over his mouth. But his body still shook from the crying.

And the other heard. And he didn’t have the grace to just ignore it. No. Instead Viktor heard steps coming closer – a knock on the stall’s door and soft voice asking whether he was okay. Viktor glared at the door as if his look could go through the old wood and kill the other straight away. He didn’t answer. Of course not. Who answered some psychopath, who just talked to someone in a bar’s bathroom?!

But there were more questions. A chuckle. Something about ‘he’s not worth crying over’.

And somehow that was enough to tip Viktor over. To make his utter sadness and disappointment at the injustice of this world flop over into unbridled anger. And Viktor unlocked the stall and kicked the door open quite harshly.

“What the fuck do you think I’m crying over?! Some guy?! Who cries over a guy?! Why would I ever cry over some other man?! Or woman! Or anyone!”