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Author Topic: Venadikt Borovksy - Hogwarts Student Application  (Read 382 times)

* Venadikt Borovsky

    (30/04/2014 at 11:39)
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Application for Hogwarts School

Name: Venadikt Vadislav Borovksy
Венедикт Владислав Боровский

December 23rd

Family Estate in Wales.


Magical Strength (pick one):
Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):

Year (pick two):
Sixth or Fifth

Once put in his little tweed suit, Venadikt did not fuss. He didn't want to receive one of Father's looks-- the one that was not quite a frown, but something in the eyes and the simple line of his mouth. Venadikt knew he didn't like it when Father didn't approve. And in any case, Mother never chose wrong when it came to dressing her children. It was a matter of course that her only son looked very smart for church.

In addition to the suit, the look the little boy wore was appropriately serious to match. Beneath his combed, curled locks, he mimicked the lines of Father's face as best he could with his softened features not yet etched with all the Things That Father Knew. But Venadikt always did try his best.

Stepping out of the high morning Russian light into the shaded, incense fumed church, he squinted from under his thick lashes to regain his bearings. Bejeweled hues slipped reverently into the open nave, catching the floating mites of dust as they rose like so many whispered prayers. His eyes followed them toward the arching ceiling, meeting eyes with the golden tiled vaults and their benevolent guardians perched above; ever watching, ever judging. His mouth would have gaped, but that was bad behavior. And Borovskys didn't behave badly in church.

Instead his small fingers clinged just a little tighter to Mother's hand, tethering. He wasn't going to care if Klavdiya made fun of him. Mother had offered. And he wasn't about to pout, either. He'd been allowed to come because he could behave himself, and behave himself he would. Intimidatingly high ceilings or no. He dared another look around, eyes adjusting to the dimmer, venerated light. His high buttoned collar resisted his curiosity, though his unconsiously wide eyes took in each painted pillar, meeting eyes with all the figures surrounding them. By chance, another sweep around the room nearer to the altar and he found his gaze caught. Peering back unwaveringly, the dark circles of her irises drew him in, the cross she held across her chest nearing her lip. Venadikt's mouth did drop a little at that.

The name of Saint Kinga from then on was a dear and precious thing.


He looked distracted from one of the narrow windows of the ramparts over the grounds. It was a rare moment of calm at odds with the tension that buzzed heavily in the air. The whole school could tell things were getting dangerous not only outside their walls, but within. Arguments and terse looks were being exchanged all around the Durmstrang halls. It was all accusations against family and status; twists on the same themes from different perspectives. Who had the right to supremacy. Power and blood purity had always been a matter of course in the Borovsky home. They were a cut above. Devout and practically nearing the divine, depending on who you asked. Anything else was not a thing to be questioned.

Those less fortunate to be born of better status, he felt for-- prayed for. Blood was blood, and family meant something. From resources to strictures and permissions, family shaped who you were, and some families simply knew better. And his had always taught him to behave civilly to those less fortunate. It was a lesson of all the saints they venerated-- charity for the impoverished and lesser of status.

He idly leafed through another page of the text in front of him. His other lessons seemed to matter less now, focus hard to maintain. He would be leaving Durmstrang in less than a month. Tutors at home had already been engaged. There would no longer be professors to impress-- only Father. And that was a higher standard, the family price that forged the iron division. Borovskys were meant to be better.

His head snapped up at the sound of his name in Mother's voice as if he had been caught, though there was no one else in the room besides himself. After a cursory look to confirm, Venadikt quickly snapped shut the locket at the end of the string of blood-red beads that made up his rosary chain. Another acknowledging look at the door, and the boy pushed himself up from the plush covers of his bed. The house elves had already apparated down with all his trunks, is belongings triple and quadruple checked that they were not only accounted for but neatly packed and placed. All that was left was to join them.

Venadikt had thought he would have enjoyed the comforts of home and the attention of tutors more than he had. But even the company of Marya had lost its appeal, particularly when his large furred companion chose to dominate a disproportionate section of his bed and stubbornly refuse to budge. But then there were not many in the house who tolerated her. Venadikt was beginning to see why. Just as he was beginning to see the benefit of having more than simply one's siblings around and the visits of cousins, not that it was anything he would ever admit to Mother. Thankfully, Father seemed to have arrived at a similar decision and enrollment requests had been filed with the British Ministry. His letter of acceptance had fluttered in with the post over breakfast a few months prior.

He slipped a thumb over a smooth red bead once and spared a look into his dressing mirror on his way out of the room, managing a neutral look that reflected none of the trepidation that nagged within. He had to remind himself that it was not likely to be all that strange. Several of his cousins would be in attendance. Even if that included Sev. Aleksa at least, would not be as embarrassing and Anastasia... perhaps she would benefit from example. Sevastian would be a harder case, if only because of the thickness of his skull. He pressed another bead into his palm. He ought to be looking at this as an opportunity-- a whole new body of students. He wondered how many of them for whom he would end up having to pray.

As he made his way down the long upper hallway, Marya came padding up beside him, leaning her large body up against his leg as they walked in greeting. Or perhaps subterfuge. Venadikt gave her a gruff scratch on the head in attempt to push her head away to very little avail. It felt a little too much like a nudge out the door.


House Request:

It was an hour after he was meant to be in bed. He ought to have allowed himself more time. But company had been over, family at that, and obligation had kept him present in the drawing room even though he could scarcely count any more additional offenses he felt he could witness his cousins commit. Stassy was particularly bad. It had been hard to keep the concern from creeping over his face, but he wasn't about to repeat that morning's sermon at them. He wondered if Mother had noticed. Either way, Venadikt was going to make sure God knew so that someone would be able to forgive his more irreverent cousins. They were family after all and everyone deserved to be forgiven. Even Sev. And so he had found himself on his knees on the floor at his bedside rather than under the covers and inside a deep sleep.


His head was bent weightily as he tightened his grip on his quill. Always his professors were harping on the importance of legible writing, and for once he agreed with their dictation. The scribes who had done all the important manuscripts and liturgy and literature had understood that fact. He'd seen the manuscripts, felt their light dawn on him. And they had all been in neat handwriting. The hard look of concentration pressed firm fingers onto the smooth stem of his quill, attempting to keep its nib only the lightest, most accurate touch to the parchment. He was going to make sure his writing matched art so that it would not be mistaken for mere scribbling. And so he dragged sharp tip through smooth pool of ink, Some day he too would write important things. And he wanted them to impress. More than that, he wanted them to inspire. He knew the power of words, of ideas. It was an illumination everyone ought to receive and if good handwriting would help the cause, Venadikt was going to perfect the most immaculate lettering.


The look he gave her was not particularly welcoming. He knew however that it was unlikely to deter the girl. But there was at least a little of what he had inherited from Father in hard angle of his brow.

It seemed Hogwarts had an open policy for impertinent and ridiculous questions. He hoped it was only a part of the earlier curriculum. What difference did it make what was on the menu? One either ate what was provided or not. It was not as if any of the House Elves were going to be particularly demanding on what the students actually ate. They were House Elves.

He humored her, seeing no other easy way to escape the situation. “There’s no need to be so closed-minded, Bixby,” his slavic accent clipped a few of his syllables, but he tried to keep his words small and easier for the poor girl to understand. He was not interested in explaining himself any more than he had to. “All cultures have their own food and it is no different than any of the ingredients you may have put together in Potions. Or do you simply forget about the rat tails and leech juices?”

Honestly, what sort of education was he in store for?


Previous Characters (if applicable):
I believe I have some distantly related Greek connections or other... Lapskis or something. Irrelevant.

How did you find us?:
Did you not see what my magical strength is? Did you even read this application at all?

* Collin OReilly

    (30/04/2014 at 13:29)
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Mr Borovsky,

Congratulations, your application to Hogwarts School has been accepted. Term begins 01 May 2014. Currently, students have gathered at Camp Loki. Your admission is joint for both the school and Camp Loki, and we encourage you to spend your summer there. Should you choose, you may also visit our Elsewhere board via the Floo Network to visit or purchase school supplies. We look forward to seeing you at the School.

Collin O'Reilly

The Wizard's Alliance