Light streamed through the crack of the red curtains. It was just the pale, early morning glow but it was enough to rouse her from her light sleep. Ollivander had always been more of a morning person; she thought it best to get an early start. However, she wasn't much of a sleeper and would stay awake into the late hours of the night, hence the exhaustion that pulled at her eyes. Opening her puffy eyes, she peered around the room. Most of the others were still asleep, caught up in dreams of what she could only imagine as courageous adventures, treacherous dueling, and exhilarating Quidditch matches. Of course she did not dream of those things! She just liked to assume that the other girl's dreams were dull. What she really wondered is if they dreamed of the sea's breath pushing back their hair, the cold sand squishing beneath their feet. Or perhaps they dreamed of fields of wildflowers, their pungent fragrance clinging to their cloths and lingering just a few moments longer as they woke and rubbed the sleep from their eyes. Or maybe, just maybe, they curled in on themselves and dreamed of a warm touch, a simple embrace really, a held hand...which is absolutely all rubbish anyway, right? She could only sit there and ponder what sweetly fabricated fantasies filled their heads. Ollie knew well enough that there would be fewer sweeter times with the coming cold winds, the epidemic among other things. Ollie was not one to be hopeful, but she did hope they were at peace, everyone at least deserved that much.

Sighing to herself she tossed the covers from her body. Since coming back to Hogwarts, Ollie had been having somewhat of a difficult time getting reacquainted with the way things worked around the castle. Not too much had changed, but still. Mostly she was in the process of relearning how to engage with people. It seemed she had loss her ability to, or at the very least her desire to, create any form of connection with her fellow classmates. Sliding her legs off the bed she slowly stood before making her way to her chest that contained her belongings. It wasn't that concerning to her, she filled all of her time with her studies. Opening the chest another sigh emitted past her slightly bowed lips.

Ten minutes later Ollie was up, dressed and out (all done as quietly as possible). Breakfast was something she always tried to aim for but somehow was often skipped, like today. It wasn't so much that she wanted to, there just wasn't enough time in the day to go all the way to the Great Hall, it was too much time to be wasted. Besides, she had another destination in mind that she had been frequenting since her arrival at Hogwarts, the Owlery. 

She scaled down the stairs to the Fourth Floor with an easy grace, something that was earned by most students at Hogwarts from the frequent climbing and descending of the staircases. Surely she did not poses this skill when she had first arrived and she was a bit out of breath when she returned to Hogwarts. There were always complaints lingering in the air the first day back but the were quickly silenced once classes started.

-

Sometimes, Ollie would forget. She would stand near one of the openings and look out and watch the pattern of the falling snow on the black coats and gray sweaters and forget that she was gone. It wasn't so much that she would forget, she would just... imagine a different life. Lena would be warm in their home with Papa cooking when the letters arrived. But whenever Ollie reached the thought of Lena opening the letters and reading it, she knew instinctively that she would have to reply and the reality came drifting back, slow and cold. There would be no opening nor a reply and the letter addressed to her sister that currently laid in her hands was making that all the more difficult to grasp on to.

Ollie pulled at her coat as a gust of wind blew through the Owlery, a chorus of whistles and clicks erupting from the surrounding owls in either glee or protest, she couldn't tell. The cold nipped at her fingers as she held onto the slightly worn letter. It was addressed to her sister, Lena. She had found it among her things when she returned to Hogwarts. She presumed it had gotten shuffled and lost among her books and scrolls when she had hurriedly left a year ago when the news of Lena's declining health reached her. Guilt gnawed at her, she didn't even remember the context of the letter! How horrid was that. Ollie slid against the wall and sat as what if's circled her head. What if it had been something of great importance? Like a secret? What if Lena was waiting for it? Even worse, what if she had been disappointed? The very thought, with addition to the cold,  caused an icy sting to pluck at her bones.

Despite the topic of thought, she presumed that anyone would be glad to hear that she was thinking about something other than her studies, though she really should be reading up on transfiguration. She wanted to be ahead of her class, not that she would share that with anyone. Oh no. Besides her current predicament as to what she wanted to do with the letter, she frequented the Owlery because of the temporary solitude it offered her. It was relieving, despite the cold. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she turned to watch the tiny figures below come and go, oblivious to the soft sound of footsteps.



outfit | words: 961

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[attr="class","title-hels"]So Long, Lonesome

[attr="class","subtitle-hels"]Maybe this time tomorrow

[attr="class","wordz-hels"]

It was Dara's birthday.

Dara, who never turned twelve, or thirteen. Dara, stuck forever at eleven, in the months before Hogwarts. If they hadn't gone to Diagon Alley that day, if they hadn't wanted to go early, if Helenus hadn't been bored and decided to leave the shop, putting Sadie in charge. . .

It wasn't Sadie's fault, and he knew that. She knew that. But they were older, they'd had wands. Dara and Alisdair didn't yet, not really. Dara had just brought his wand, after all. He didn't really know how to use it. Helenus had enough time to make a Shield Charm, because he hadn't thought quick enough, hadn't moved in, had only reacted on instinct. His instinct had been for himself, not to fling himself deeper, running. Not that it had even worked, so he really could have flung himself somehow across his sister, brother, and cousin, right? Shouldn't he have?

He still remembered bits and pieces. Not much, and he really should remember more. The light, the fire, the all-too-late Protego as he threw himself forward, the pressure pushing him back, his sister's scream, his brother's cry. Truthfully, he knew he almost couldn't have heard those sounds, just like he couldn't have heard what collapsed on Dara, or his scream as he--

No. He couldn't.

Enough.

Dara went quickly, that's what everyone said. His parents didn't blame him, Mel and Mor didn't say it was his fault, Sadie and Ali didn't either. Sullivan and Bridget didn't but he knew they were thinking it. He was the oldest cousin, he was the one responsible. Just like his imprisoned aunt, who'd killed his grandparents, it was his fault Dara was dead. He didn't react quickly enough, he took them there, he didn't protect them enough, and that's what he was supposed to do.

The stairs to the Owlery were memorized, easily done. He'd left with a whisper and a half-grin to Dima and Oliver, who knew his habits. Nys wouldn't mind, neither would Ares. He had a dorm of friends, mostly, but they knew sometimes it was best for him to be alone, to go. He half-wondered if Sadie would also be there. He'd have to shove down his feelings to help her, of course. She was his sister, and she also felt responsible for all that she'd only been twelve.

But she had more to deal with. She'd needed Mungo's for two weeks, and she'd needed to be stabilized. She'd scarred, she'd been burnt, and he knew it impacted her in ways she didn't like to talk about. She just liked to sit there, sometimes, just liked the comfort, the knowledge they weren't being overheard, that they were alone. He'd check the paddock if she wasn't in the Owlrey, maybe. Or maybe she wouldn't want him, wouldn't want to speak with him. After all, Dara had been her best friend, not his. So if she wasn't there, he'd give her space. Sit with her at dinner, maybe.

The patterned walking was soothing. Helenus took a breath, matched his inhalations and exhalations to the steps and turns. He'd compose himself better with the soft hoots and coos, of course, but it was best to be calm. Not to let his energy disrupt anything, everything. Be calm, be soft, malleable. He wasn't fighting for control, he was a river. A lake, a pond. Calm and still.

The door was open, and Hels blinked, trying to make sure he didn't look all too panicked, all too frightened. If it was a younger kid, it would be bad to come in like a storm, after all, and he was sure Young would disapprove of that. Even after their platonic date, the Head Boy still intimidated him-- strange, considering his boyfriend was one of the softer people in the school. He also hoped it wasn't the younger Young, because truthfully, she somewhat intimidated him too. It was sort of embracing, but there it was.

A familiar figure sat, framed by dusty light. "Ollie, hey," he tried with a half-grin. "Everything all right? It's me, I hope I didn't startle you. . ." He held up his hands, the usual I'm harmless. "Can I sit with you?"

He took in a breath, tried to take in her body language. "Or. . .would you rather be alone, because I can completely understand that. . . "

[attr="class","tags-hels"]☆ Ollivander Galinski ☆

[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai

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[attr="class","title-hels"]So Long, Lonesome

[attr="class","subtitle-hels"]Maybe this time tomorrow

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Helenus never quite liked thinking of people as fragile.

He knew well enough that people were not as delicate as an egg, though it often felt that way. He remembered when Ali was born, when Morrígan and Melkorka were born, how soft they'd seemed, how he'd watched them breathing, the simple miracle of life that he'd always been surrounded by. A newborn colt standing on unsteady legs, a fledging testing the thermals. But half-formed and unsteady they were, and since that day, he'd often felt like he was an egg and something was rattling around inside him, tapping with an egg tooth and fighting to break through. He covered it or attempted to, when he could, because he knew well how to put on his Customer Voice, and his parents had taught him about breathing before he could truly remember anything else. It was an easy enough cover that he'd had on since he was a child, a veneer of competence when he felt about to rattle apart.

It wasn't perfect, and often it felt like the egg was about to crack when certain days came, when he was uncertain. Maggie was good for that, and she often knew how to calm him down. Her sweetness, her calmness were a balm, and she was just bright enough that just. . .being with her might be helpful. Some people were like that, little sources of light and warmth, calming the frantic chick within. Admittedly, if they hadn't been friends since First year, he wasn't sure that it would have have the same impact, not being in the company of someone who knew him.

But Ollie was there, looking like some inside part of her was as fragile as Hels felt. He thought that was one reason why got along so well-- they could both be brittle things, no matter how much more stubborn Ollie was. He was porcelain, she was something like . . .bismuth. No, less bright, less loud. Beryllium or manganese, maybe. Something that certainly looked tough in the right lights, looked strong and Clio-like. Change the lighting, adjust the shadows, and the light fell differently, leaving her edged, bold, and brittle.

Ollie looked as pulled tight as he felt, guilt and sorrow and grief tap-tap-tapping against the egg in his chest until he felt like his sternum would splay open and an eagle might burst out, talons and pinfeathers red, beak twisted unnaturally. Hels didn't, Hels couldn't find the ability to be anything but stay as his words hung in the air, an invitation for Ollie to share how she felt by accepting his invitation to come over or to turn it down. He would understand either way, really. Sometimes it was better to be alone, and sometimes you felt like you were drowning so much that to talk, to allow others in was simply too much effort.

And that was if they were healthy, if they weren't damaged and fragile like Helenus was. He really would understand if she didn't want someone whose pain could act like a hole, drawing her in as her own magnified. No one would like that, no one had to put up with that. Perhaps he ought to leave, come back once he wasn't as desperate-drowning, see what he could so so that he might try to be helpful, and fully there for her.

He knew it was another escape from his own emotions, that's what his mother had always said, and who was he to question a romance writer? Everyone said her characters leapt off the page, praised the reactions, so really she ought to know best how to handle emotions, and she liked to say he buried his by trying to focus on others. There was nothing wrong with that, yes? It felt natural, felt normal, and he knew that it did help, so there was really no harm in that, was there?

Ollie answered him at least, and her eyes shifted around. That was progress, that was something. The steps over were still careful, quiet to cause no flinches. No sudden movements, simply fluidity. The wall was cool against his palms, and he slid down it to sit a cubit or so away, respectful of personal space. Don't crowd, never crowd. He was fairly decent at that, at guessing how much space people wanted, though he did tend to err on the side of caution.

His eyes slid along the back of the parchment in Ollie's hand, and he tried for a smile. "Hard letter there? Do you want to. . talk about it? Or about anything else, we can talk about the owls if you'd like, or our class schedules. . ."

[attr="class","tags-hels"]☆ Ollivander Galinski , 780 words ☆

[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai

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