Some changes are afoot at Hogwarts with Karina Ivansko at the helm!

Author Topic: fever in a shock wave | santalie  (Read 29 times)

* Santiago de la Cruz

    (02/02/2025 at 19:43)
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back of the kitchens
saturday 12 january 1974
9:44 a.m.


Santiago hated Hogwarts, and now that winter had come, he hated it even more.

Everything was cold, all the time—his hands, his face, the damn stone floors. The air bit at his skin the second he stepped outside, so he’d chosen to set up in the kitchens. Not because he liked them, but because it was warm.

The heat was constant, thick with the smells of butter, roasted meats, cinnamon, and sage. It was the closest he ever got to smells of home in this miserable, frozen castle. He liked the way he could always smell a hint of wood smoke too, and how it curled into the cool, earthy scent of old stone.

That morning he’d set up in what was becoming his spot—right by the fire, but still close enough to the tall windows where streaks of pale January light filtered through the fogged up glass. He’d angled his easel to catch the widest of the sunbeams, not just for lighting, but for warmth, so his fingers would not stiffen up.

The wooden palette resting on his left hand held muted grays, raw umber, titanium white, aged gold, ivory black. There was bustling going on behind him, house elves scurrying around, clattering of copper pots, the smell of roasted chestnuts, and something sweet drifted through the air.

He ignored it.

Santiago focused only on dragging his brush in broad strokes, carving out a fog; a dense, swirling void on the canvas, the place the hands would emerge from. Some hands were already there, outlined faintly in charcoal. Some hands dissolved at the edges, frayed and smudged, while others were painstakingly lifelike in their detail. Almost too solid, too real—too familiar. Santiago had painted the knuckles, the veins, the soft half moons of fingernails all in sharp contrast.

All the hands were reaching out.

Vaguely, he registered a house elf shuffling over to him, a mumble of hot chocolate, and the elf was away again. He didn’t look up. But maybe he’d thank them later.

His focus stayed on the canvas, on the hands stretching out from nothing, reaching for something that wasn’t there—or someone—that wouldn’t come back.

(Except she had.)

* Rosalie Laurence

    (06/02/2025 at 21:27)
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Rosalie loved Hogwarts. Even on the hardest days, when she felt completely lost in her own thoughts.

She had found a place where she belonged, a group of people who felt like hers. Among them, she understood her role, where she fit—a well-behaved, gentle little dove nestled in a viper’s nest. In the eyes of others, she was fragile, soft-spoken, and delicate. But beneath the downy white feathers, something else lay hidden. Sleek and black, a serpent coiled within her, stirring only when necessary. Those she surrounded herself with had kept it lulled, giving her no reason to bare her fangs.

But this morning, the weight in her chest was suffocating, thick and unwelcome, pressing against her ribs like a secret she didn’t want to name. She just needed space, away from the Slytherins — away from all the fourth years, really. So much had unraveled in the past few weeks, both within her family and among her friends, leaving her desperate for a moment to breathe.

She didn't want to put on a sweet face today.

She stepped into the kitchens, pulling her long blonde hair up into a tight bun. She wore her typical ripped jeans and Converse, but today an oversized gray sweatshirt took place of her normal band tees. The castle was always bloody cold, no matter how many warming charms were cast.

The scent of fresh bread, cinnamon, and coffee met her senses immediately as the house elves scurried around her, and she took in the layout of the large room, wondering how many students throughout the decades had found their passion for cooking or baking here. She set out one of the spare mixing bowls and headed toward the pantry for the ingredients she needed.

Instead, her eyes fell on him.

His back to her, an easel in front of him, propped up by the warm hearth, quiet, as his hand swept across white canvas in broad strokes. She slowed her steps and tilted her head just slightly, watching the shades of grays, whites and gold blend into one another effortlessly at his command. Hands, reaching towards him, taking their shape under gentle bristles.

She dropped her gaze and moved into the pantry, tucking a carton of eggs and a small canister of brown sugar in the crook of her arm.

She peeked back around the doorframe to watch over Santiago's shoulder, the smell of paint and parchment intermingling in the air. She was curious about the boy she'd seen around several times now but had never uttered a word in her direction. Their brief eye contact in Divination once had never led to further interaction, and she wondered if he was just shy, like she was, or more aloof and broody?

"Do you always paint in the kitchens?" her soft voice broke the usual sounds of clattering dishes and bubbling pots as ocean blue orbs remained trained on him from her place in the doorway, and she leaned on it slightly, a shy smile gracing her lips.

"If this is where you've been hiding all this time, it's no wonder I haven't seen you. It's a good place. I won't tell anyone about it." She dropped her gaze and moved from the pantry back to the counter, laying the eggs and sugar out and reaching behind her for a wooden spoon.
love in her eyes
flowers in her hair

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