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 All That You can Give, Puffin/Lilith
Lone Fox · 18 · 7 · · · 5'10
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Apr 30 2018, 02:21 AM   Link Quote
The veins of the vast and thriving culture that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry began in the pulsing corridors that wound into stairways throughout the ancient layout of the castle. These stairways throbbed with the flowing bodies of students moving to and fro, from one class to another with much the same level of organisation as blood through the body. They had places to be, times to be there and a consequence for their lack of attendance. At this particular moment, however, the stairwells were empty - stone steps vacant of life and noise save the gentle white noise of rain against the outer walls of the tower. An everpresent invading army that battered the tower in large sheets, wave after wave of droplets that spattered the crystalline windows in mesmerising eddies and swirls.

To say the stairwells were devoid of human presence had been... a slight lie. One lone person occupied the spiralling staircase that travelled between the fourth and fifth floors, particularly one of the window-seats that overlooked the grounds. The view was spectacular, a sprawling portrait of rolling green fields, the distant Forbidden Forest and the towering architecture... Ironic given the occupant of the window cared nothing for it. Lilith Woodland sat watching the rain, a rare look of complete vulnerability on her face.

Moment to moment, Lilith's sole focus was on maintaining her own wellbeing and academic development. This resulted in a perpetual guarded expression and often the hiding of her heterochromia. Now, however, both eyes were wide open - icey blue and golden hazel reflecting the rain outside. For but a moment in an eternity, Lilith Woodland was... at peace. Mouth slightly ajar, there was unashamed awe and wonder in those eyes. Any spectator might think she'd never seen rain before... something that was far from true.

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Profile drawing credits to the wonderfully talented Mioree. Love your work <3
Sammeh the savior, the protector, THE GUARDIAN OF HOPE · 15 · fifth · Aegis · Pureblood · 5'7
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Apr 30 2018, 04:16 AM   Link Quote
The rain had never stopped him before.

At Hogwarts it smelled differently, no lingering waves of salt to detect upon stepping outside the walls of the castle. If the wind was right, the heavy scent of the lake's algae managed to drift all over the grounds instead. It wasn't the same. Rainy mornings in Trondheim woke him up with the same amount of vigour as a cup of warm black coffee would, its fresh tang opening up his eyes like nothing else could. He would go out on bare feet - despite the house elves protest - until he could feel the slippery cool surface of stone by the shore, and didn't leave until his toes went numb and his hair was stuck to his forehead, dripping wet. Hogwarts wasn't like that, but that hadn't stopped him a single time.

With both hands clutching the advanced herbology book close to his chest, Sigurd trotted through the empty echoing hallways. The lack of classes had left the place devoid of the usual hordes of students clad in black and their respective house colours, a fact the boy was quite satisfied with. For once he could breathe, no emotions seeping through the hollows in between each rib until his chest was overflowing and his head a hazy mess. Avoiding the few stray students enjoying their free time was easy, a wide gap between him and each body of noise. Sigurd swallowed a breath, fingers that were hidden underneath his oversized knitted sweater clutching the leather cover of his book a little tighter. He had waited weeks to get a hold of it, one student or another hogging it day after day. The librarian had memorized the Slytherin's face by now, his lips downturned and head shaking as soon as Sigurd had stepped foot into the library.

It was finally his now.

The rain didn't withhold him from venturing to the greenhouses; he'd waited long enough. His own projects next to Arti's plants had become boring, no longer satisfying enough as Sigurd crammed for one O.W.L. exam after the other. Looking at the variety of pots now, the boy realized how much his empathy had held him back. With a cloudy mind he'd sat in front of his greenery in the past, wondering why the lingering sense of light-headedness and unrequited happiness was around. It made it hard to focus, being overwhelmed by other people's emotions on a daily basis, and he didn't want to think about how exactly he'd survived most classes with passable grades until now.

The castle was pleasantly quiet, save for his own footsteps and the soft pitter patter of rain against each window. Looking up he saw a world of grey through them, but the greenhouses weren't far off. Sigurd liked the damp smell of the greenhouses, how each raindrop sounded like a storm in there. It was how he wanted to be sometimes: loud in the little things, blooming with liveliness from within. Reaching the staircase, he paused for a moment while weighing the consequences of the marble's movement. Despite there being barely any students around, the boy still didn't wish to get stuck on the endlessly moving stairs. No witnesses did not lessen the embarrassment in any shape or form. He prided himself on knowing their routes after five years, while dealing with the sour knowledge of Durmstrang not having dumb stairs like this. Hogwarts had a knack for being unproductive. Sigurd liked to think he was above all that.

The first staircase passed and the boy hopped on, slowly descending while the world around him turned and moved. It locked into place momentarily, enough for him to pass to the next. He kept a steady pace, like a little soldier marching to a yet unknown battle. That was until both feet stopped and the tension of his white knuckles around the book softened. It was an instant, a fluttering breath filling up his lungs with a sense that wasn't quite like longing. Not that Sigurd was a master of naming emotions just yet, they all felt different no matter how much society dared to label them as one specific thing or the other. This one was new, and it didn't take him long to find the source of it.

The greenhouses turned into a hazy afterthought in the back of his mind as his attention settled on the girl. The rain kept on drumming, its sound mesmerizing against the echo of the gigantic hallway of stairs. Sigurd stared at her unabashedly, her feeling luring him in to mimic the scene before him. It took a second, or two, for him to shake his head, long loose bangs on one side of his face swishing around, and snap out of it. Yet her emotion -whatever it was - lingered ever so slightly.

It made him annoyed.

Sigurd wasn't threatening by far. He hadn't inherited a height compared to those of ancient trees like his brothers had. They were mountains of their homeland, Sigurd was as powerful as a slowly ebbing stream in the distant woods. Nevertheless he scratched his throat, annoyance fuelling a voice which often refused to speak in social situations. Maybe it was because the place was devoid of life that he dared to speak up, no sense of dread coiling right behind his spine at the thought of talking in public.

"It's just rain. Get over yourself."

Maybe now the rain had stopped him, after all.

---

@Lilith Woodland

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user posted image
Set made by ChocoLATE. on Shadowplay

staff!edit: Tine says Sammeh is the best Cookie Slytherin around <33
Lone Fox · 18 · 7 · · · 5'10
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Apr 30 2018, 08:11 AM   Link Quote
Rain always drew out a strange reaction from Lilith, notable to anyone around her. Where one moment she might be fanatically focused on her academic endeavours, the next she would be whisked away into her thoughts by the fat droplets falling outside. For her, the reverie was all-encompassing and tended to sap the use of her other senses. It was perhaps a result of this that Lilith did not notice until late that another figure had entered the spiralling staircase of the stairwell, a small figure breaching the small world she had formed for herself in that detached window-seat. Footsteps breaking the uniform clicking and rumbling of the countless moving staircases around her.

"It's just rain, get over yourself."

The voice, dripping with annoyance was like a blade piercing straight through her bubble of self-focus and introverted thinking, drawing forth an expression of surprise. It was this expression of surprise that resulted in her turning to look at Sigurd without her usual defensive hiding of her more unique features. As it was, jade and hazel eyes regarded him with blatant surprise as if she had only just realised that other people existed; crimson hair messily framing her pale, slim features as her lips slightly parted around an exclamation of surprise albeit one not voiced.

Why would I want to get over myself? The ravenclaw thought with blatant confusion, brow furrowing in faint confusion as she rather amusingly glanced above herself, expecting to see some kind of hidden ledge. Ah, but this was Lilith's blatant misunderstanding of social convention and metaphor... Amusing, but also endlessly frustrating. Eventually those eyes found him again, taking in all his features with analytical coldness most would find disconcerting. The tilt of his posture, the entitled and annoyed look on his face... all of it surmised and resulting in an equally annoyed look on Lilith's face. Now remembering her place once more, she ducks her head in a faintly demure fashion, crimson bangs covering her hazel eye to make her seem a little more normal.

"Careful you don't slip. These staircases can be confusing for the younger years." A wry smirk tugging up one corner of her lips. Though the meaning behind her words could be taken as condescending, her expression was one of relaxed indifference, her voice flat. Her voice also, however, lacked genuine the caring tone that would imply her words were sincere... leaving it up the beholder what she had meant. All the while that hazel gaze held him in place, studying him unblinkingly. Head tilting in a birdlike fashion.

@Sigurd Nilsson

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Profile drawing credits to the wonderfully talented Mioree. Love your work <3
Sammeh the savior, the protector, THE GUARDIAN OF HOPE · 15 · fifth · Aegis · Pureblood · 5'7
Slytherin Intermediate
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May 30 2018, 09:46 AM   Link Quote
the rain continued its steady drum against the windows, each little tick the glass made a rhythmic little cadence counting the seconds Sigurd wasted trying to form a reply to the girl's statement. In his mind it edged along mercilessly until the sound of the rain morphed into one of laughter at his incapability of comprehending what had just happened.

His family had rarely considered him to be too young for certain things. Too young was meant for Christmas dinners when the only drink available among the wide array of coloured bottles turned out to be the pumpkin juice, while his grandmother said the alcohol would be his to taste soon. Unknowingly to her, his uncle Terje had slipped him his first shot of Akevitt two years ago, while the taste of Brennivín wasn't unfamiliar either. Sigurd had killed his first veela at the age of six, a simple cutting hex to drag a line horizontally along their hair that he'd mastered a few months before until his fingers were familiar with the movement for his big rite of passage. His father spoke to him about business the way he used to do with Halldór or Preben, unaware of the age gap until his youngest son was actually allowed to work in the Nilsson business. Too young meant missed opportunities, and no Nilsson believed in that combination of words.

Sigurd Nilsson was perhaps too young to visit mature hidden bars, the ones Terje loved to brag about as a gift when Preben had been almost of age. In reality, a room full of dancing women with feathers made Sig as confused as an old wizard. So he'd gladly pass on that opportunity in two years time.

This girl had no right.

She had no clue who she was talking to.

The boy's mouth opened on instinct, the tumble of words ready to be released. Yet nothing happened save for his fingers gripping the leather book cover just a little tighter until his knuckles were a shade of white again. There was no urge to start an argument, at least not on his part. The hollows of his chest lacked a spark, a twitch of emotion to set his whole body ablaze. He reckoned it was because she had no desire to continue on a conversation along the lines of spat comments and dirty remarks, despite her retort.

It was difficult to adjust to a life with empathy. This wasn't just about remembering to drink water and not be a cunt to muggleborns; he was now an indoor plant with more complicated emotions than just that. Closing his eyes for just a moment, a breath in and out, Sigurd focussed on this situation which wasn't supposed to be this difficult. What had happened between his visit to the library and the greenhouses where his potted plants waited for him while they swayed with the rainy wind seeping through the cracks in the glass? He wanted to be there. For just a second the boy wondered what would happen if he just left without saying another word. The smell of damp soil and petrichor waited for him outside of the castle walls, tugging on each string of the insecure and socially awkward harness he had acquired over the years. Yet a sense of pride left both his feet standing on the little space between stairs, as if they were made out of stone too.

"I see you equate age to capability. I'm sure you'll be disappointed by a lot of people here at Hogwarts then."

Perhaps it was an unneeded jab, fuelled by an old ache of not being able to attend durmstrang like his brothers had. Sigurd had been stuck at Hogwarts from the start, people's English accents of every variety confusing his eleven-year-old self, clinging to Preben's robes in the process. By now he'd learned to distinguish one accent for the other, to be independent from his older brother to a point where he tried to act as if they weren't related. Sentences in Norwegian still lay heavy on his tongue, wishing to be uttered in comforting familiarity. The people at Hogwarts weren't those of Durmstrang. His dad more than likely disapproved of him talking to every single one of these students.

Including her.

Yet Sigurd stayed, confidence found in the comforting feeling of a leather book clutched tightly to his chest as he spoke. He was fighting his own battle with insecurity here, not some petty argument over age and stairs.

"Maybe you should watch the stairs."

Too bad words never sounded daunting when they came from a kid looking like a walking sweater.

----

@Lilith Woodland

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user posted image
Set made by ChocoLATE. on Shadowplay

staff!edit: Tine says Sammeh is the best Cookie Slytherin around <33
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