With the capture of Verandi Farley and several high-ranking Trossach members, the British wizarding world has finally caught a break. The rate of rogue werewolf attacks have started dropping at a steady rate and, hopefully, things will stay that way. The Ministry is starting to loosen some restrictions, like not arresting werewolves standing on the street for loitering, however there’s still an obvious power imbalance between wizardfolk and werewolves.
The Cotswolds pack are continuing to advocate for the rights of werewolves and petitioning to change the legislation that has been set in motion by the current Minister for Magic, whilst the remaining Trossachs members are trying to stay out of the spotlight and keep a low profile… for now.
Whilst the British wizarding world seems to have calmed down, the same cannot be said for over in Northern Europe where a rebellion of magical creatures has risen. The state of things has gotten so bad that the European Ministry has enacted protocols to protect those under eighteen whilst their adult witches and wizards fight to keep control of their countries.
Students from Durmstrang have been sent to Hogwarts to keep them safe and those not old enough to attend school have been sent to live with relatives or designated British Ministry officials outside of Europe for the time being.
Will the low rates of werewolf attacks in Britain continue? How long will Durmstrang students stay at Hogwarts? Will the creatures usurp the wizardfolk in Northern Europe? Only time will tell.
SEPTEMBER 2019 It's been a very long, eventful summer in the wizarding world. A baby was stolen, several high ranking Trossach members were imprisoned, and werewolf attacks have drastically dropped as a result. What will happen now school has returned?
MAY 2019 An attempt to capture the beta of the Trossachs has been launched. Were the Aurors successful in their mission? Go read more here!
Yet another gray day, just as drab as the last. Yet another late sunrise and an early sunset. Yet another 12 hours spent laying in bed, getting up only to use the restroom. Yet another day without making eye contact with any living being or speaking a single word. Time was a concept that escaped Wolfgang's grasp.
It had been a few days since the Quidditch game, and while everyone else seemed positively energetic and inspired afterwards, Wolfgang felt utterly exhausted. The castle was far more empty now that most students had left for home, and he used this chance to sulk in silence, spending countless hours staring out the window of his dorm room or sitting in the house bath until the water went cold. The rare times he went to eat, he picked the most empty table he could find.
Why?
He had gotten permision to take off his bandages. What he saw underneath killed him. Four stripes on his cheek, going downwards to his jaw and a laceration on the bottom of his chin. It was all raw and red, scabbed over and ugly. Someone once told him that heroes boast with scars, while cowards -- with boils. He didn't think there was anything worth boasting about here. It was plain and simple, they made him ugly.
Isobel had claws fit for a beast. Sometimes he got angry at her, but he knew it wasn't her fault. He had grabbed her in the pitch dark when they both were expecting a werewolf attack, and if he didn't have his wand, he'd probably have done the same thing. It wasn't her fault.
And yet... He didn't have the strength to see her. Hell, he'd been avoiding her. But the Slytherin had turned out to be more stubborn and persistent than he had thought. She had roped a housemate of his to drag Wolfgang out the common room. Isobel had asked him to join her so he could help out with some homework and, to his own surprise, he had agreed.
Now he was in the large east wing hall on the sixth floor, sunken into a reclining chair in front of the large fireplace, his eyes fixated on one of the helmets. The charmed suit of armor seemed to look back at him, having a silent and endless staring contest. On one side -- a heap of metal, animated by magic. On the other -- a young adult with sunken-in eyes and a tattered face.
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on Aug 9, 2019 7:18:15 GMT
Isobel had cut her nails. It had been a struggle, considering that the polish she used was meant to make them hard to break, but she had gotten them to at least look less like claws--less like anything that reminded her of what she had done. And her thoughts had been right--it was easier to use her fingertips to blend her drawings when they were not covered by quite so much nail.
But that had been only for her own peace of mind. It hadn't been for Wolfgang, who had continued to look miserable even after he'd told her that he didn't blame her. Isobel had never had any ambitions to be a healer, but she had been wishing she was one, if only for however long it would take to smooth over the wounds. Every time she saw him, he seemed withdrawn and sad. She couldn't tell if he was still upset over the attack itself or over her accidental attack on him, but she couldn't seem to catch him for long enough to ask. If she had not grown so attached to the boy over the last couple months, she would have left him alone, written him off as not actually forgiving her for the accident, but she didn't want to do that. After he had admitted his feelings, she knew she couldn't just end things. The truth was that she cared.
Getting him to talk to her, though, was proving a challenge. Even though they were both staying at the castle over break, which should have meant it was easy to find each other among the much smaller group of students who were there, she didn't even see him at meals most of the time. He seemed to be hanging out in Ravenclaw Tower most of the time, which meant that she couldn't get to him. She'd had to ask one of her Ravenclaw friends to get him out of his dormitory, to at least send him to her so she could try to cheer him up.
But she felt her presence wasn't helping, as even when they met up, the boy was sitting in silence, staring at a suit of armor rather than at Isobel. She hadn't been this tense around him since she had been worried about messing up dance steps with him around. If only she had thought to bring tea or snacks, something that might prove to her that he was even willing to move. It didn't seem right to start out telling him that she was so worried, not when she'd just asked him here for company. Sure, she had said homework, but of course she did not want to do that while they were still out of classes.
"Have you been holding up alright?" she asked instead, hoping he might help her guide the conversation. "I hope you've been resting over the break."
They sat there, separated by a mere few meters, yet it felt like the two young people had a ravine between them. And all the guilt, anxiety and anger they felt -- that was the river at the bottom of it, swirling and frothing in silent confusion and rage. Wolfgang felt the echoes of it in the sound of blood rushing through his ears.
'Have you been holding up alright?' Does someone, who's alright, stay in bed for 12 hours and eat once a day? Doubtful.
He tore his eyes away from the suit of armor and looked at Isobel. She was impeccably dressed, as always, red hair framing the pale face. Gorgeous, as always. Yet her eyes were uncertain. Worried? Tired? Gorgeous, still. And there were no scrolls of homework or textbooks to be seen. Unsurprising.
"I guess you can call it resting. I'm certain I've lost a few kilos over the past few days. Rigorous resting." He said with a sigh. He tugged at the black cotton turtleneck he was wearing, pulling at the sleeves and trying to straighten them out.
"And you? I'm surprised you didn't go home after..." his voice trailed off. Perhaps it was he who should have gone home, away from magic for a few weeks. Perhaps he could have forgotten about it all...
But the wound was there. His whiny squib brother. A depressed mother. No, he had nothing to do back home. He'd only feel miserable, even if he'd get to binge another muggle crime show.
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on Aug 20, 2019 17:13:58 GMT
Wolfgang's eyes looked at Isobel with such dullness, none of the mischievous sparkle that she had become so accustomed to seeing over the past couple months. She had thought it was bad enough when he was hiding from her, and she didn't see the sparkle that way, but it seemed even worse to actually know what he looked like when he was miserable. She was not, by nature, a comforting person, and couldn't remember ever having to soothe anyone besides Eveline, but when she saw Wolfgang like this, she wanted to reach out and hold him close until a bit of the shine was back.
But she couldn't do that. Not when she was half the reason for it. She could blame the attacking students for some of his injuries, but only herself for the one that was still visible outside of the boy's turtleneck sweater. Pulling her knees up to her chest, socked feet resting on the edge of the chair, she laid her head sideways on her knees, looking at Wolfgang with concerned eyes. "It doesn't sound much like resting, if you're losing weight. Shouldn't that happen when you're up, running around?" Her hands linked together in front of her legs, their much shorter nails painted a deep purple. "I should've brought some food for you. I'm not much of a cook, but that's what the kitchens are for, isn't it?"
And then she blinked at her own words. Cooking was not one of the things that she usually pretended about, but she couldn't remember the last time she had mentioned to anyone outside her family that she had never paid attention to her parents' lessons about the kitchen. That was--new. It was very silly to only be able to cook the most basic things, she knew, but as a kid, she'd never wanted to do it.
Plus, it made her wonder whether she should tell him the real reason why she wasn't going home. It was true that anyone with a familiarity with the name Linwood in the wizarding world would know that she lived on a farm, but it remained awkward for Isobel to talk about. She wished that she didn't have the reputation of it all following her around, always hating the thought that people might assume she smelled like sheep and mud. Instead, she settled on glossing over the details. "My family--they always have a million chores for me to do. I decided not to go home long before the ball," she said, shrugging. "I do it most years, so it's not so bad for me."
There was genuine worry and care both in Isobel's expression and voice, something Wolfgang hadn't experienced for several years. He'd forgotten how it was when he was a kid running to his mother for comfort, but now those memories were floating to the surface, bringing a warm, fuzzy feeling to his chest. It was strange.
This whole, for a lack of a better word, thing they had going on was strange. Never mind that he had been 16 for barely half a year, he'd already decided for himself that nobody could tie down Wolfgang Kallenbach, and yet here he was, with a girl he'd asked out in a bout of infatuation. And he couldn't locate even one fiber of his body that would regret it. At this moment he was glad there was nobody to laugh and point 'Ha, told you so!'.
He listened to her words and his eyebrows twitched upwards for just a moment when Isobel admitted that she wasn't a great cook. Not upholding the image of a perfect human being? He hadn't expected that, especially after she had blatantly lied about being able to dance.
And when his eyebrows went back down he realized he didn't care. Not because he was depressed and didn't care for anything, no. He didn't care if she didn't know how to dance, or how to cook. It felt like a switch had been flipped in his brain.
He made an offhanded comment on how he'd already had dinner in the Great Hall and how he wasn't all that hungry, and then his stomach betrayed him with a loud sequence of rumbles.
"Alright, I wouldn't say no to a plate of canapes." Or a beef sandwich with mayonnaise. "Do you know how to summon an elf from the kitchen? I don't fancy treading all the way downstairs."
From what Wolfgang had found out, the Linwood's owned a farm and had made a fortune on sheep wool. At first he was surprised and even slightly amused, considering that Isobel looked like he'd lived in a mansion somewhere in the older parts of London all her life. Then again, he himself was a half-blood nobody who tried his hardest to be a somebody. Either she didn't know that, or she simply didn't care. Wolfgang hoped for the latter.
"That sounds exhausting." he remarked, sitting up a bit straighter. For some reason he was growing ever so slightly restless and laying motionlessly in the recliner wasn't cutting it anymore. "I've got nothing but a depressed mother and a whiny squib brother at home, so I'd still consider being here better, even if--"
He'd said too much. He cut off his sentence with a fake cough, and looked straight at her while trying to figure out a way to cover up his mistake.
"So, where is that homework that I am supposed to be helping with?" words spilled out of his mouth like peas, trying to turn the tides away from the skeletons in his closet. "I'm not seeing any scrolls, books, or the like. Why am I here?"
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on Sept 1, 2019 14:35:04 GMT
Biting her lip, Isobel waited for an answer, closely watching the way Wolfgang's eyebrows raised and then lowered. She was used to observing things closely, to draw them, but also used to observing people closely, to guess their intentions. He still seemed sad, but she was glad to finally see him open his mouth again.
"I didn't bring any food; I really should've thought of that--I'd Accio an elf if I could, but you know as well as I do that you can't summon living beings. How about I summon the nearest sandwich?" She gave him a smile, hoping he'd get a little enjoyment out of the bit of humor. "I can bring you something later, if you want? But then you have to promise to leave your dorm again." She slid her feet off the edge of the chair, bringing herself back to a more normal sitting position. Pulling her red curls around to the front of her shoulder, she gave a small sigh as she thought about home. "It is exhausting," she said, her mouth twisting into a slight frown. "Sometimes I wish I could just--escape it all, you know?"
She still avoided any mention of the farm, but that was a little closer to her true feelings. Sometimes it felt like she was so envious of everyone she could hardly stand it--of their lives with people all around, with beauty, with excitement, with things going on, not isolated with only four other people on an island forever. Even though she knew she would probably inherit the farm, she didn't think she ever wanted it. It would be better if she could leave it behind.
But Wolfgang had been one of those people who looked like his life was perfect, was everything Isobel wished she had. And yet, when she heard him continue on, she had to ask herself why had she thought that. She had no reason to, besides his clothes and the way he talked. That still seemed like a good marker to her. A refined appearance could do much to get one ahead in life, and who was ahead in life if not the elite of the cities?
"I suppose we all have our problems," she said. "At least they let us stay. And give us a break from class."
A break from class--and no immediate homework. Isobel had a few things to do before they returned to class, but she hadn't brought them with her. Only her sketchbook, which she usually brought everywhere. She picked it up from where it was resting next to her chair, setting it on her lap. "I had to get you out of your room somehow, didn't I? I think I'm allowed to worry." Flipping open the sketchbook to the next blank page, she placed it on the arm of the chair. "And besides, I do have paper. Drawing paper."
He imagined a half bitten sandwich flying through the air, and this mental image both amused and grossed him out. He laughed - a short, clear sound - and looked at Isobel. "That is simply..." he paused, taking a deep breath, "The most ridiculous idea I've ever heard. I would prefer a sandwich that hasn't been half chewed by some snotty first-year, thank you very much."
Then she mentioned his habit of hiding in his dorm, and Wolfgang's face fell. He couldn't make any promises, he knew he, most likely, wouldn't keep them. Instead, he just nodded.
After his blunder of revealing too much about himself, he braced for impact, to be ridiculed or shamed for his roots, yet Isobel didn't even comment on it. This was a level playing field, then. Their usual frills were torn away -- this was a heart to heart.
"I never took you for someone who did farm work," he said, leaning back in his chair, "You're so much more urban. Speaking of that, I'm growing tired of this castle. With the..." he slid a hand over his scars, "Werewolves, they keep us in here, like we are the ones who need to be caged."
But at least there is no homework.
"You sly fox," he remarked, his mouth filling with a bitter taste. "I hope you don't intend to draw me. I don't think I'll ever be a good subject, not after those dog loving..." Wolfgang sighed -- cursing wasn't helping. "You know who I mean."
"May I see your sketches?" he asked, moving to the couch.
MADE BY VEL OF GS, WW + ADOX 2.0
1.75m (5'9")| Open relationship with ISOBEL LINWOOD | Bisexual | English
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on Sept 16, 2019 2:39:48 GMT
Isobel's nose wrinkled. "Ugh. Don't make me think about kid spit. You'll ruin my appetite, too." The first-years probably carried a million germs everywhere they went. But the small smile on her face showed how relieved she was to hear Wolfgang laugh and joke back. Maybe it wasn't as hopeless as she had thought. She certainly had her own moments of drama sometimes. How angry had she always been as a child every time Mia-Rose messed up something about her appearance? It was normal to be upset. As long as she didn't let him wallow, it would be alright.
It made her smile even wider when he mentioned that she didn't look like a farmer. "That's because I only do farm work when they send us home for the summer," she said. "It's not really for me. I don't really--fit in with them, I guess." She pointedly avoided the phrase black sheep. That sort of pun didn't cheer her up about it--besides, it was Uncle Richard who was really the black sheep, if the stories were to be believed. "I'd rather be around people like you. Even if it means we have to be stuck in here. It's not quite so bad to be out in the countryside if you've got plenty of people around." Isobel liked the protection of Hogwarts; being attacked at the ball had made her realize her own weaknesses, and she liked the thought of safety in numbers.
Her smile faded when Wolfgang said he wouldn't be a good subject. But just a few weeks ago you'd asked me to paint you... She couldn't force him to pose for her if he didn't want to, but it wasn't like his face was destroyed. It would continue to heal up; there certainly must be potions to help that sort of thing, and even if that didn't work, she thought he might look dashing with a beard.
"Of course you can come look," she said, hoping there was nothing embarrassing in this particular sketchbook. She wouldn't have chosen one that did, would she? She opened it on her lap. The first page had some sketches of her Winter Ball dress, the second some ideas for a jacket, the third a portrait of her youngest sister. Nothing concerning. "I could draw you from the side view," she said quietly, almost as if it was a comment to herself instead of a question to Wolfgang.
He nodded silently in agreement to Isobel's statements about farm life. "I prefer you here, too." He said, his voice quiet.
Once he sat on the couch, he didn't waste any time -- he snuggled up right next to her, wrapping one arm around her back and leaning against her shoulder, looking down at the sketchbook pages. On the first page was the same dress she wore at the Winter Ball. For a second Wolfgang closed his eyes and smiled, remembering how it had looked. Absolutely gorgeous.
"The dress is lovely," he said, looking at the drawings, "I hope I didn't get too much blood on it." He did feel a tad guilty. He hadn't seen the aftermath, or if he had, he simply didn't remember, but there was no way they made out of that chaos without a few torn pieces of clothing.
On the next page was a sketch of a jacket. Wolfgang allowed himself to slide his fingertips over the drawing. He blocked Isobel's hand from flipping a page by gently placing his own on top of it.
"You know, I think that this would look better, if you added something on the shoulders." he muttered, pointing at one of the drawings. "Of course, I'm not a designer."
On the third page was a portrait of a young girl who looked eerily similar to Isobel. He knew she had a younger sister in Slytherin, but this one looked even younger. "There is three of you?" he asked. Wolfgang really didn't pay attention to the younger years, so he was allowed to not know. Why would he care for snotty first years, anyhow?
The comment about drawing him from the side made Wolfgang sigh. The side of his face that wasn't scarred wasn't even his good side! Yet, the thought of his portrait being drawn had always allured him -- portraits were a sign of wealth, and he'd love to own a oil portrait of himself, dressed in his best suit, dazzling everyone with his smile...
"Alright. You can draw from the side."
MADE BY VEL OF GS, WW + ADOX 2.0
1.75m (5'9")| Open relationship with ISOBEL LINWOOD | Bisexual | English
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on Sept 18, 2019 17:17:52 GMT
The mention of the dress made Isobel's mouth twist into a frown. "It's pretty much ruined," she said miserably. "It's not your fault. I fell down a lot and well--it was a pretty delicate fabric." She sighed. "I really liked it, though. I wish I could've had just one more chance to wear it." She hadn't drawn any new designs since the ball, her thoughts always seeming to return to the dress she'd spent so much of her time on over the last weeks. Repairing it was impossible without taking it completely apart--there were too many rips and stains; the skirt barely existed anymore. And would she ever find fabric with the exact same color?
Perhaps the ball had affected her mood too.
She kept flipping, only to have Wolfgang stop her hand on the next page. His head was warm on her shoulder, his arm warm against hers, and even though looking at these old sketches was bringing her down, it was comforting to have him by her side again. "Thanks for coming," she murmured while he studied her jacket design. "I feel a lot better with you around." Softly, she kissed him on the side of the head.
"That would be my littlest sister," she noted when he came to the drawing of Eveline. "Three of us. She's in Gryffindor, though. Like my parents were." Isobel was happy to be in Slytherin, somewhere she could escape the family stereotypes, even if it meant Mia-Rose had to be in the dormitory next to hers. "I had to do it from a picture, so it could be a surprise for her, but I think it turned out alright." She always noticed the few spots that were a little wrong, but she hoped Evie wouldn't when she gave her the drawing.
A warm feeling spread in her heart when Wolfgang finally agreed to let her draw him, and she almost jumped up. "Yes! If you just sit on the side of the couch there--" she gestured "--and look at the fireplace, and then I'll turn toward you, then it'll work." She gave him a squeeze before extracting her arm and flipping her sketchbook to an empty page. "I only brought pencils, but you don't mind, right?"
"I'm sure you'll make a dress that's even better, Isobel." Wolfgang muttered, using the arm he'd wrapped around her to give her an encouraging squeeze. The sadness in her voice made him feel gutted, and he began to consider if there was anything he could do to improve the situation. Perhaps I can write to some clothing shops, provide them with a fabric sample... I'll have to ask her for one at a more opportune time.
With his game plan settled, Wolfgang resumed his inspection of the drawings. The words Isobel said while he was busy studying the sketches -- they made him melt. The fire in his heart, the urgency and anxiety he'd felt all those previous weeks, which peaked at the Winter Ball, it had gone out with the attack, leaving him feeling like a burnt out bonfire. But now, her words, the warmth of her body and those lips, those soft lips, they were a hot ember thrown into the bonfire. This bonfire though, it wasn't meant to flare up right to the stars. It provided warmth and comfort.
And yet, it was intense, so much so that Wolfgang had to swallow a gasp. Feelings were something he'd rejected, and now they were coming back in full strength. All he wanted to do at the moment was hold her. Hold her and not let go, not until the common room fire went out and the sun came up.
Alas, he did have to get up. The pure joy in Isobel's voice and movements when he'd agreed to be sketched -- how could you say no to that? With a smile on his face he moved to the desired spot, put his elbow on his knee and rested his chin in his hand.
"It's no problem," he said, "This will be a study? I don't exactly know how you artists call these. The only thing I mind right now is that I can't look at you when I'm like this." A dramatic, yet soft sigh was added to emphasize just how large of a tragedy it was.
Now all he could do was watch the flames until he was allowed to move. Soon enough he was lost in thoughts, trying to sort out the turmoil in his head, and his gaze became vacant, fire flickering in the reflection of his eyes.
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on Sept 19, 2019 16:56:03 GMT
Sitting criss-cross on her side of the couch, Isobel set her sketchbook on her lap and took out a pencil. "I suppose it would be like a study, yes," she said, excited to finally talk about art and get to draw. "Figuring out how to draw you properly." While she'd tried to sketch Wolfgang from memory a couple times, she had quickly realized it was impossible to do that without having done a proper study of him first--she needed to look at him to get all the details into her mind.
Across from her, Wolfgang had put his chin on his hand, looking rather pensive in the dim light of the fire, and she had to smile at how much he resembled The Thinker, one of those familiar famous statues that even she, as a witch, knew. "You look like you're... philosophizing or something," she said, amused. Squinting at the shape of his head, she began putting pencil to paper, outlining the basics of his features. Maybe it was a good thing he only wanted to show one side--she had always thought drawing in profile was easier than straight on.
She absorbed herself easily into filling in her outlines, carefully scanning her eyes over every bit of Wolfgang's face. His nose was more curved at the top than she had ever known before, and his chin was rather square in the place where it met his neck, a detail she only noticed this time, since so often she was looking at him from the front--or kissing that neck instead of studying it. Those were good memories, and while she wouldn't push him into doing anything while he was still all melancholy, she couldn't wait to kiss him like that yet again. All hot and sweet at the same time...
"You can speak, you know," she said when she noted that he'd fallen completely silent yet again. She had come here to help him, not let him ruminate even more, and she wanted to get him talking again. "I'll tell you when I'm working on your lips so you can be quiet then." The pencil scratched across the page, filling in the shadow the firelight made under his cheekbone. "Tell me something. Anything you want. Thoughts about life?"
In midst of the crackling of the fire, pencil strokes on paper and his own breathing, the world faded into the background. By the time Isobel prompted him to talk, Wolfgang's eyes already felt blinded by the flame he'd been staring at.
"Thoughts on life?" he repeated, drawing out the words. "It is... a lot." Very eloquent, Wolfgang. She clawed your jaw open, not your brains out. The boy closed his eyes, trying to gather his wits, to say something charming, but it was as if some foreign force had taken hold of his tongue, and all he could say was the unpleasant truth.
"Where do I start?" he adjusted his position, straightening out his back. "I've been sulking in my bed for several days, wallowing in self pity, acting like I'm the only one who got hurt. Like I'm the only one who lost a part of their dignity that night." He'd never been to church even once, he didn't know how it worked, but he knew that right now he was the penitent man kneeling in front of his priest.
His voice was quiet, yet clear, as the words kept pouring out. Wolfgang felt like there was a cold hand wrapped around his throat, making him confess all his sins.
"I... Forgot? To take you into consideration until you reminded me of your existence. I am aware this makes me sound like an utter twat, and I apologize. " He shifted around once more, rubbing the front of his neck a few times. The feeling had retreated, but only a little bit.
"Pardon the lack of articulation in my speech," he added, closing his eyes. "Moving on... You were right just a few moments ago, I was philosophizing. I was thinking how," he mulled the next word over for a moment, "ironic it is that I had decided that I'll never get attached, that I won't develop or at least won't succumb to romantic feelings. And yet, half a year has barely passed and I'm in a state that I can only describe as being 'head over heels' into you. "
He was never this candid. Not even with himself. And yet the words rolled out of his mouth with such ease that now he just wanted to keep on talking, keep on pouring his heart out.
"Perhaps you wonder why I decided to do away with relationships? The truth..." he sighed and briefly covered his face with both of his hands before putting them back in their previous position. "I never had a good example. My father turned out to be a promiscuous, lying bastard. And the worst part of it is that sometimes I feel like I take after him."
He became silent as his brain caught up with what he'd just revealed. His anxiety was rearing its ugly head and moving closer and closer with every second, making him shift around in discomfort.
"And yet..." he sighed, his voice trembling slightly, "When I was holding you right there, when you kissed my head... It felt right. It felt like I belong next to you. Now, I know these are loud words considering that, in truth, we barely know each other, but if I'm putting my heart out on my sleeve for the first time in my life, I'd rather do it proper."
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on Sept 20, 2019 17:16:37 GMT
Somehow, Isobel hadn't expected Wolfgang to get so deep so quickly, but on second thought--of course he'd been thinking about lots of things, if he hadn't been talking to people for days. It was like what she did every summer at home--or winter, as the season there actually was. Having to clear out dirty straw from the barn without magic, since she hadn't been seventeen before this term, there was plenty of time for her to think about her opinions on life.
But, as Wolfgang had reminded her, things had changed even since then. In what, the four months they'd been at school this year? The ball had changed things, both for everyone and between them. It had made Isobel remember that, even though Hogwarts had always been said to be the safest place in Britain, it wasn't able to prepare for every issue. The last time she'd ever felt afraid at the school had been the werewolf attack, which was nearly three years ago, and she hated the feeling.
And with Wolfgang--well, there she'd done something unexpected too. "I used to think that, too," she said quietly. "That I would never want to--" was she going to say the words? "--fall in love at this age. My parents were school sweethearts, and well--they're happy as they are, but I'm nothing like them. I don't want to get married right away and go back to the farm and have children just to make them do the chores. I'm afraid of that happening, really. That the pressure would be too much." Her parents were never cruel, but she knew they expected her to grow out of the art thing, as if she hadn't had the same dream her whole life.
Setting aside her sketchbook, balancing it carefully on the arm of the couch, she scooted over to place a hand on Wolfgang's shoulder. "It's strange, isn't it? How we have totally different families, and yet we're still so alike. I think it means something. I think it means we make our own personalities, our own destinies. Not our parents. Not society. Only us." Her hand trailed down his arm to squeeze his hand.
"So get to know me even better. Let's do it. Ask me anything you want." Isobel was hesitant to say it, and she worried the words came out all shaky, but she knew, somehow, that she needed someone to be honest with. Wolfgang was the one who hadn't cared that she couldn't dance. Even though he was well-spoken and smartly dressed and clearly from a more polished background--he hadn't cared.
The seconds ticked by in silence. Wolfgang forgot how to breathe, and his heart was steadily climbing up, towards his throat. Say something! I shouldn't have said that, I shouldn't have-
Thankfully, Isobel didn't leave him hanging for an answer for too long. Her voice was quiet, and yet utterly deafening. Nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to hear. At first, it was just an agreement with his philosophy about love, but then a single phrase, just three words, which seemed to come out after a moment of deliberation, they made his eyes go wide.
Fall in love? She must have meant as a generalization, not anything specific? Or... He could feel waves of cold and hot washing over him. In love. In love. "In love." He whispered, turning his head towards the girl who had left her end of the couch to sit next to him.
The weight of her hand was oddly comforting, and Wolfgang's lips twitched towards a frown when she moved it from his shoulder. There was nothing to fear though -- her hand was firmly in his, and he put his free palm over it, gently squeezing back.
Looking at her, or, by now her silhouette, as the lights in the room had dimmed, he considered her words. We carve our own paths.
Her eagerness was endearing, causing him to smile. "Now that you've prompted me like this, I.." Feel like a deer in the headlights of love. "I don't know what to say, so I'll just ask... Who is Isobel Linwood?"
