Wax - Chapter 74: Chapter 74
You are reading Wax, Chapter 74: Chapter 74. Read more chapters of Wax.
It was perhaps by will of some twisted, awful higher power, fond of unfortunate narratives, that a curious decision was made by the goblet of fire—to choose, out of the hundred others who'd put their names in the cup, a boring, bookish Ravenclaw without an inch of physicality or aptitude for competitive danger.
Vanilla Julian White did not recall dropping his name into the goblet of fire in the first place; the very notion of it akin to a joke of poor taste. He was the Ravenclaw that raised his hand with a perfect answer for every question posed to the class by professors. The know-it-all who memorized ancient texts weeks before they were taught in class and the one who never seemed to break a single rule.
It was no wonder that much of Hogwarts deemed the cup's decision perfectly unwise.
The student was muggle-born; orphaned at a tender age and raised by his Aunt and Uncle who'd never quite understood the floating books and everlasting candles around the household. Either way, as much of a genius Vanilla appeared to be and as many libraries he'd devoured; cohorts he'd topped; complex phenomena he'd understood and read about, the boy never once thought himself to fit the bill of... 'powerful wizard in the making'.
Even in the muggle world, Vanilla's least favorite subject was Gym or anything that had to do with physical education in general. But wait, was not the strength of wizards equated to their knowledge of spells and enchantments, quick-thinking and reflex? Turning a blind eye to the last of the three, Vanilla wasn't that poor of a Triwizard champion. Sure, 'Defense against the Dark Arts' wasn't necessarily his best subject (it was the only one he did not supposedly score an 'Outstanding' in), nor did he possess the qualities of a fine courageous leader others in the hall had been so eager to welcome and support as the chosen representative, but.
To be received with absolute silence... and suspicion.
As though the shock and disdain weren't already enough, this had all unfolded before the students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, other wizarding schools of the region who'd graced the occasion in support of their own Triwizard champion. His name had been the first of the three.
In the first place, Vanilla hadn't the least intention to watch or even participate in the festivities of the Triwizard Tournament, let alone be the chosen champion of his institution. Frankly, the bespectacled wizard had spent his past five years in Hogwarts quietly and peacefully; buried in books and tending to the Thestrals at the stables near the east gate.
On rare occasions, he'd receive an owl from a fiery Gryffindor by the name of Xu Si Yin to join her and a couple of friends for Butterbeer at Hogsmeade or charm practice at the grounds outside the Quidditch field. Hufflepuffs Chen Le and Layla Tenner were fond of showering the pair with chocolate frogs and exploding bon bons every now and then, especially after completing their daily fly around the castle grounds for broom control practice but that was it.
That was his student life at Hogwarts.
Quiet. Calm. And for all intents and purposes, perfectly boring to the common wizard.
The very night after the Triwizard welcome ceremony, Vanilla had stopped by the stables to fulfil his weekly routine of paying the Thestrals a visit; this time, with nutritional treats he'd made from a recipe he'd pieced together after thorough research in the library. To the wizard, nights like these were a soothing comfort—well worth the risk of getting caught by the school's caretaker. Either way, he'd won Ravenclaw enough points in the past couple of years to break more than just a couple of rules, having been the professor's favorite across multiple subjects for, well, all his wizarding life.
And so perhaps there lived, in Vanilla White, the spirit of a calculated risk-taker. A possible rebel. Potential rule-breaker. Maybe even, a criminal in the making.
Come eight o'clock in the evening, he'd crossed the grounds from the clock tower to the east gate and had the misfortune of running into a greater criminal. Complete rebel; professional idiot, even. All of which the bespectacled bean remained perfectly unaware of.
This figure in the distance zipped past the towers around the east gate, circling in the air on a custom broom gifted to him by his mother who ran a little shop selling Quidditch wares in Diagon Alley... which his father never quite came around to approving. Yes, Quidditch was fun and all, but a pure-blood like Leroy with a penchant for crossing wands in fervent duels was hard to come by. A child like that should not be flying around on broomsticks dreaming of mere snitches and quaffles. Or so his father liked to say.
Vanilla had decided to pay the figure no more attention than necessary despite noting the endless rules about flying within school grounds past stated hours, unwilling to blow his own cover in the night. Strictly speaking, neither of them were partaking in model-student behavior at present. As such, the Ravenclaw saw no benefit in stopping the flying rebel.
After all, this student was no wizard of Hogwarts, judging by the striking red uniform and fur-lined half-cape to match, and so Vanilla arrived at the sensible conclusion of Durmstrang being an institute with lax rules.
Either way, the fifth-year entered the stables in one piece as he did every other week, lighting a personal candle holder only because Thestrals were known to dislike the cold shade of lumos. He presented his little pouch of homemade treats, enchanted to carry a capacity of more than thirty kilograms in a go—feeding the creatures one by one.
Then something startled him. The creak of the door.
He turned abruptly, giving the Thestrals quite a scare, to which he apologized, hushing them and putting out the flame of his candle at once before ducking behind a stack of crates. A beam of moonlight filtered through the gap in the door. Peeking his head slightly above the crates, Vanilla recognized the silhouette at the door.
His fellow rule-breaker.
At a ten-foot distance, the Ravenclaw could observe his features in further detail (not that he fancied those features or anything like that, not really) and it was this very opportunity that had him identifying the wizard as Durmstrang's prized poster boy; a celebrated candidate for the school's Triwizard champion. He'd been the last of the Durmstrangs to enter the Great Hall during the welcome ceremony and also apparently, the first to leave.
Vanilla hadn't the slightest intention of greeting the wizard but to his alarm, the intruder decided against leaving the stables and instead, walked right on in—shutting the door behind him and raising the tip of his wand for some reason Vanilla knew not what. This of course, had the Ravenclaw panicking in a heartbeat.
"W-wait." He stood abruptly, not realizing he wasn't tall enough for more than half his face to show above the stack of crates and so then awkwardly stepping out to reveal more of himself. "Good evening. Please lower your wand."
The circumstance proved itself rather difficult for the boy to process. Half of him was feeling relieved the school caretaker hadn't taken notice of their criminal activity but the other half was full of nerves, unable to simulate potential conversations between him and a wizard of another magical institute, let alone a well-received, conventionally attractive one. Who... might have had thoughts of blowing up the place in case the stables had been invaded by an unwanted guest.
Either way, his visitor paused to stare at the sudden appearance of the snow-like existence, gaze drifting to the extinguished candle and the seemingly empty space filled with hay. He did not indicate any intention to respond to Vanilla's greeting, which led to the latter wondering if English was not among the languages he spoke or understood.
No matter, Vanilla had mastered French and Italian over his years in Hogwarts along with two ancient scriptures and—
"You alone?"
He blinked, confuzzled by the young man. Two words that succeeded in filling his mind with question marks from the many ways they could be interpreted. Yes, he'd come alone to see his magical friends, but no, the room was not empty because—well, the Thestrals... oh.
He could not see them.
Right.
"Yes, and, no. I apologize if the noises disrupted your evening and uh, I'm assuming you stopped by to check on the situation but I'm just... well, here to pay the Thestrals a visit. Like I do every other week," explained Vanilla, clearing his throat and standing to the side idly. Gesturing to the magical creatures that resembled horses.
"Thestrals." The other student repeated.
"Yes."
He turned to face the general direction of Vanilla's gaze. "There's nothing there."
"I suppose one could say that," the fifth-year adjusted the pair of silver frame glasses on his face. "And yet sometimes, seeing would not necessarily mean believing because as hard as it may seem to imagine, not everything is apparent to the human eye. At times, another may see what one may not. In this case, I have seen death. And you have not. Only those who have, do Thestrals appear perfectly visible to the naked eye."
This explanation, though long and filled with layers of abstract concepts, appeared to surprise the wizard from Durmstrang after a moment of deciphering. He found it intriguing; how the Ravenclaw had weaved in an instance of absolute vulnerability underneath layers of ice that were his words.
Again, he directed his attention to the emptiness of the room. "What color?"
"Oh. The Thestrals? They appear brown to myself. A very dark shade. Almost black. Sometimes. Under the cloak of night, especially."
"And they look like horses?"
"U-um," yes, but.
Vanilla turned to the magical creatures munching away at his homemade treats (they float!) as though looking at them would give him some sort of idea how he should be responding to this... this supposed pure-blood who was beginning to sound more and more muggle-like to the muggle-born himself. Nothing came to mind.
"So... technically, they do have a skeletal structure resembling that of horses, discounting the fact that horses cannot fly but Thestrals, with wings, can. They also possess reptilian features. Oh, and their wings look nothing like the Pegasi you've seen Beauxbatons students arrive with. Thestrals have bat-like wings. Wide and leathery." He stopped himself there because he could just hear the excitement in his voice and anything more than this would be awfully difficult to—
"Can I touch one?" The young man with candles for eyes that burned brighter in the dark appeared genuinely curious. This escalation of matters caught Vanilla quite off guard since, well, he'd merely expected the conversation to sizzle away and the Durmstrang wizard to leave him alone.
"I don't know about touching them just yet but, um, you could feed them, if you'd like," Vanilla suggested after some hesitation, holding out the little pouch he had with him for the other to reach inside.
He does, and soon watched in awe as they began to disappear from his hands and the tingling sensation of something illusory brush the surface of his palm.
"Who was it?"
"Sorry?"
"Who died." The Durmstrang student rephrased, turning to his companion after a moment of peace and quiet.
Vanilla stared in return, baffled by the weight of his words. After all, such a matter was incredibly dangerous for small talk. Between strangers. Wizards in the stables under the cover of the night. Such conversational weight and yet, brought up so easily by a companion of roughly the same age. Unafraid of wandering through waters cold and deep.
"I witnessed my mother's death," he said quietly after a moment's pause. "My uncle tells me she died in a fire, protecting me while I was a baby. She's a muggle, so. No magic."
His companion's gaze drifted to the candle that sat by the windowsill of the stables. Extinguished. "Even wizards would've ran."
"I'm sorry?"
"...magic or not, the brave will be brave," the rule-breaking student chanced a glimpse of Vanilla's eyes under the light of the moon and in them, he saw a spell. "...the cowardly... cowards, still."
The odd train of thought had the bespectacled boy bewildered; many a time had he confided in wizardkind about his mother's death in his younger days and many a time had she been mocked for her foolish decision without the aid of magic. Hearing the word 'brave' in response to his story was a first since years of keeping private matters to himself.
"...yes," he managed in a whisper, smiling like a chilled blossom in spring at the caress of heat. "I think so too."
To distract himself from being overcome by the sudden urge to put the bespectacled bean in his pocket, the Durmstrang wizard kept at feeding the Thestrals and furthering conversation.
"You remember anything about her?"
"Not really," the younger student shuffled his feet. "Only that she used to call me Nillie all the time."
"That's your name?"
"N-no..."
"So what is?"
He paused. Gaze stunted. "I, uh. It's not really..."
"Cox." His companion extended a hand, which he proceeded to stare at for a good long moment. "Leroy. Sixth-year."
B-behold, a wild introduction! Vanilla snapped out of his confusion, taking the extended hand and shaking it with two. It was his first time shaking hands. No one really did that sort of thing in his small circle of friends when they first met. Not Layla, not Chen, and certainly not Si Yin.
"Pleasure to meet you, Cox. Of Durmstrang," he bowed his head slightly, gesturing to the crest on his uniform. "I'm White. Of, um, Hogwarts."
This overly-polite, bitter-sweet, naively intelligent Ravenclaw with a tragic backstory had Leroy wrapped around his finger and not a single cell in his body seemed at all aware.
The sixth-year snorted a laugh, pulling the other in and changing the way their hands were locked. It startled Vanilla very much—the movement, the contact, the proximity. All of it. "You guys just love going by last names."
"Oh. Why yes. We do. I mean, it's customary, in a way. I-is that not the case in your institute?" And all of a sudden, he was stuttering! "It seems I may have jumped to conclusions... my apologies. I'm... Vanilla."
___________________
The unspoken rule; the commonsensical requirement; the way of the Triwizard Tournament was that champions, no matter the wizarding school, age, or gender, all possessed unrivaled charisma—worthy of overwhelming support from their peers and respect from the faculty.
And so, no one was at all surprised when Leroy Cox's name echoed in the great hall at the burst of fiery blue from the goblet, rising from their seats in wicked delight and feverish cheers. Where the wizard went, there was sure to be flames and everyone knew, that was where the show was going to be.
This was nothing like the grand reception Vanilla had received prior to the Durmstrang champion's selection. And before he could say a proper word to the former who'd taken his place by the podium, the third and final champion of Beauxbatons was announced: Violet Birchwood.
None of this was to the Ravenclaw's fancy. Despite somehow being the selected champion, Vanilla knew there existed many a candidate who deserved the spot much, much more than he did. People worthy of the praise and revere. His best friend, Si Yin, being one such example.
The young man was not expected to go very far in the whole tournament thing, let alone perform. He made no complaints nevertheless, wanting to get things over and done with so that he could return to a peaceful, quiet life in the library and at the stables with the Thestrals.
He believed—or so he'd somehow convinced himself to do so—that no life-disrupting, harmony-dissolving, rule-breaking event could possibly occur at a harmless interschool event that pretty much resembled 'sports day' at muggle schools. At the very least, some running. At most, swimming.
Three days later: Dragons.
D R A G O N S.
Vanilla sat in the champion's tent, the last of the three to enter the arena with the image of the poor creatures in chains carved into his mind to brood over the past two hours of loneliness.
Leroy had gone first. Even volunteered to do so, just because!
The Durmstrang champion had thrown a disarming smirk over his shoulder at his midnight-at-the-stables-in-secret companion before exiting the tent and greeting his Hungarian Horntail with a blasted Alohomora.
Oh of course he'd release the dragon from its chains the moment he exited the tent. Of course he would. Why not experience danger up close and personal? Why not have that horntail be three inches away from snapping his head off? Why miss the opportunity to teeter on the edge of adrenaline, flying across Hogwarts grounds on his broomstick with sparks and mastered spells ready to go, chased by the most dangerous dragon in the wizarding world?
It was just like him to do so. Seeker of dares; hungry for a challenge.
Still... Alohomora.
A simple enchantment. The picker of locks. Friend of the imprisoned.
Enough for an idea to blossom in the head of a Ravenclaw; sizzling in a mind that housed knowledge of magical beasts and creatures, garnished by a heart that could not help but care.
There was no understanding how the organizers and facilitators of the Triwizard Tournament knew not the proper way of treating dragons; or even bothered hiring an actual expert on the scene. Professor Howin never really did have nice things to say about the tournament in Care of Magical Creatures.
Judging from the spells and enchanted contraptions that weighed down the wings of the dragons and prevented them from flying freely, they'd been captured in the wild for the sole purpose of the tournament. No additional time had been spent around humans, let alone proper communication or respect.
"Two of our champions have faced their dragons and secured their coveted eggs. And now our third and final contestant..."
It was time.
For Leroy Cox and Violet Birchwood: roaring applause, fervent cheers. For Vanilla White, peace and tranquility. Just how he liked it. Oh, and Si Yin shouting from the stands.
Not a moment after exiting the tent, a spotless golden egg greeted the Hogwarts champion in the middle of rocky, mountainous terrain—a perfect recreation of a Norwegian Ridgeback's habitat. He paused, taking a moment to collect his thoughts and run the supposed plan he'd devised through his head once more.
Then he was ready.
As though sensing the signs of an avalanche, the dragon that had cleverly remained out of sight—perched right above the rocks where the champion's tent had been situated—made the first move.
Claws, razor-sharp, went straight for his torso and Vanilla, with the reflexes of a bookworm, side-stepped a second too late—slamming into the side of the rocks on his left and sliding straight into the heart of the arena.
To say he hadn't expected such rough treatment was to be awfully naïve. And yet, it remained wholly apparent to the Ravenclaw how his first encounter with an actual dragon was worlds apart from what he had read about them. According to ancient texts, dragons were once seen as benevolent creatures of intelligence who worked alongside wizards to protect their homeland. Over several decades, the fearful reputation of dragons began to build upon a single incident: a dragon massacre. A Horntail was alleged to have burned down the castle of a duke in the Northwest region of Europe. Back then, irrational aggression among dragonkind, both wild and tamed, was unheard of; and so this had a drastic effect on the treatment of dragons, though little was known about the light of truth.
Years later, it was discovered that the duke was involved in poaching activities and had stolen the dragon's egg and housed it in his castle. Alas, it was too late. The Ministry of Magic had long passed laws on the magical beasts and warned the public of the 'inherent dangers' they posed. And so, dragons soon became symbols of malevolence.
"Goodness," said Vanilla to himself, barely making it to a boulder for cover before feeling the blasting heatwaves of the Ridgeback's flames against the now lava-hot shield. This was no walk in the park; the creature wanted him torched alive! He missed afternoons in the library terribly.
There was no time to waste.
Shaking from the adrenaline that singed the very tips of his fingers, Vanilla produced the only item he'd prepared for his encounter with the dragon beforehand: a music box. Muggle-made.
The crackle of heat against rock was loud and disturbing but fortunately for the Ravenclaw, the lack of cheering and verbal encouragement played in his favor. The flames stopped nearly at once.
It was said to belong to his mother. The music box. Vanilla never knew if he truly believed his uncle's words; after all, they felt, to him, like stories of comfort. Which lies could sometimes be.
Either way, he knew this was the only instrument in the world—both muggle and wizarding—that produced a sound akin to the whisper of lacewing flies. Butterfly friends that he'd read about in an ancient text depicting a mythical friendship between the two species. Dragons and butterflies. The most unlikely companions.
Needless to say, this was a gamble.
Vanilla had every intention not to harm the magical creature and so prior to the challenge, devised some sort of hypnosis-spell-sleep-thing-plan, but to think the dragon was this aggressive from the get-go...
The heatwaves continued to subside until there was none and the champion no longer felt a predatory presence on the other side of the boulder; only then, did he chance a glimpse of the dragon—manually winding the music box as he did.
An absolute beauty.
Black ridges down its back, scales the shade of marshes and highlands combined, and eyes nothing like he'd ever seen. Pitch darkness in one and emeralds in the other. This dragon was old. Much older than those of the other species and though powerful and predatory still, Vanilla could tell it stood no chance against the enchantments on its chains and weights attached to its wings.
He made sure to keep his wand out of sight, stowed away in the pocket of his robes while he approached. The stands watched in grave silence as the Norwegian Ridgeback kept its gaze fixed on the music box. Entranced.
It is said that near the end, dragons could taste the world. The end was a long time for creatures like dragons; near immortal, the one species above it all, the closest to their creators as one might ever be. And so near the end, a sound was a taste.
To the Norwegian Ridgeback hearing the tinkering notes of a muggle-made music box that sounded just like the whisper of an old friend, it tasted of tea.
Teatime.
Thus, with its mind whisked away and nearly forgetting where it was or whatever it was doing, Vanilla found himself less than five feet away from the breathing snout of a live, aged dragon—likely older than civilizations and nations alike.
And then he was touching it. The side of his arm against the scales of its snout.
He stopped the manual winding of the box, testing the waters.
His companion's pupils narrowed, tensing in attention as soon as the whispers vanished but Alohomora under the wizard's breath, and it was free. Lock and chains fell to the ground and the enchantments on its wings dissipated into the air. The dragon raised its head, staring straight into the eyes of the other living creature in the arena and with a single burst of its wings, lifted into the skies.
The most tame, anti-climatic, boring way of getting past a dragon for its makeshift golden egg with just one spell—setting it free and thereby befriending a dragon. Things like that had never crossed the minds of a new-age wizard but alas, Vanilla possessed the soul of an ancient creature; the least-exciting one of all wizardkind without an inch of 'personality.'
Boom.
Leroy Cox was ____ by the gentle genius. Enamored could fill that blank. Wowed might be another option. Smitten. Impressed, even.
In fact, so enamored, wowed, smitten, impressed the Durmstrang champion was that he saw to them hanging out after the first challenge under the excuse of brainstorming about the dragon's egg. Apparently, it's unworldly screech when opened held a clue to the next challenge, and knowing what it was to be would guarantee mental preparation, at the very least.
"I wonder if the forbidden section of the library could have anything to do with this odd contraption."
Professional criminal stared at his partner at the mention of a 'library' before turning back to the pair of golden eggs before them, against the backdrop of the lake at sundown and the Durmstrang ship docked right by the boathouse.
"... Thought we'd head to Hogmeade for our first date but the forbidden section doesn't sound too bad either."
"W—date?" The bespectacled bean scrambled for words, albeit used to the teasing after several days' worth of Leroy Cox at breakfast, lunch and dinner. "I'm afraid there's been a, um, lapse in your judgement of... perhaps you're in need of a pair of glasses like myself. There's a fine selection in the muggle world that would have one looking perfectly fashionable."
"I like how all your date ideas involve some kind of rule-breaking."
"They aren't date ideas, Leroy," he cradled the dragon egg in his arms and felt the cool surface respond to his touch. "A-and well, there's nothing wrong with a little detour to the muggle world every now and then, is there? I lived as a muggle for thirteen years of my life."
"I'll take you up on that," the idiot patted himself on the back for quick thinking, having snagged a brilliant deal (muggle world ticket + cute tour guide) in few words. He held up his dragon's egg in one hand and inspected the inscription on it. "If it's ideas... I got one."
"An idea?" Vanilla's eyes lit up. "Well why didn't you say so earlier? We've got just one week to figure things out with the egg."
"Can't be sure if it'll work." Leroy gave his companion a sideway glance. "Tonight at nine. Prefect's bathroom."
This, naturally, had Vanilla pausing. "We are not prefects."
"Thought you liked breaking the rules," mused the Durmstrang wizard.
"A grave misunderstanding. I don't take any personal enjoyment from breaking the rules, mind you. The forbidden section of the library is off-limits for the purpose of gatekeeping certain pieces of knowledge in the wizarding world that may prove harmful for students like ourselves. At the very least, desperate times call for desperate measures. The library is a fail-proof method of obtaining answers to any question and so if we were to break any rules, we'd have to make it count by going somewhere we know would yield us some proper knowledge! No?"
"Maybe the prefect's bathroom has some of that 'proper knowledge'." Leroy was down for play and his partner, perfectly clueless, insisted upon further proof despite there clearly being none in the first place unless one would consider bathrobes and towels as 'proper knowledge'.
"Wh... well then, state an example of proper knowledge that perhaps may convince me of your stand! Surely you—"
"Bubbles."
__________________
Alas. The power of bubbles.
Convinced, the pair decided to convene at nine in the evening, cloaked by a disillusionment charm to sneak past professors on night patrol and into the prefect's bathroom. This was no easy task for model student, proper Ravenclaw, expert rule-follower Vanilla White. Being out of bed or away from the warm studious comfort of his common room was one thing; flat out breaking the rules and fearing the sudden appearance of Peeves or the school caretaker was a whole other issue.
Leroy on the other hand, had turned up at the arranged location minutes early; lounging in a pool-sized bath full of bubbles and the magical scent of fluxweed—his dragon egg placed right by the ledge, within reach.
At the creak of the door, his gaze followed, gesturing for his guest to join him in the scented water.
Stained glass windows lined the other end of the room; ceilings rising high above the ordinary hallway and the bubbles, colorful and enchanted to drift upward in a trance-like state. At night, the view was breathtaking—lit only by the lanterns along the walls and the light of the moon.
To Vanilla, it was mere common sense to bring along a bathrobe apart from, well, the dragon egg that had been his sole purpose of agreeing to this wild plan (of course, of course). He was going to need one. A bathrobe. How else was he going to get around the bathroom?
Either way, the Hogwarts champion was careful to follow the proper etiquette of bathhouses and made his way into the shower stall for a quick rinse before slipping into his bathrobe—dragon egg in his arms, close to his chest—and heading back to the common bath where his partner was waiting.
Yet another surprise awaited; the room was now completely empty.
"Leroy?"
Not a soul.
Vanilla considered the possibility of more disillusionment charms as part of the evening and wasn't sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him when all of a sudden, a heart-stopping splash sounded from across the room and above the waters, surfaced the Durmstrang wizard waist-up—dripping wet, candle eyes alit.
"Open it," he bid, eyes resting on the dragon egg in Vanilla's arms. "Under water."
As distracted as he was by the cloth-less and wet companion in a bath full of enchanted bubbles and nice-smelling fragrances, the bespectacled bean removed his robes behind a pillar and placed his glasses on the ledge of the bath before slipping into the waters as swiftly as he could.
Submerging his golden egg and turning the clasp at the top, he watched an otherworldly glow blossom underneath the surface.
Then, taking a deep breath, he joined his companion under water and together, they listened to the harmony of choral voices—the song of mermaids in the Black Lake.
Breaking the surface to catch their breaths, the pair turned to each other; eyes locked and hearts beating frantically at the sheer amount of information they've had to process in a go.
"Mermaids," sighed Leroy with his eyes closed, leaning against the ledge with the egg in hand, chest rising and falling at a steady pace. "Fuck."
"You sound anxious. Very much unlike the professional criminal you claim to be," mused his companion, settling into the space beside him. "I've read quite a bit about merfolk. Ancient texts, common interpretations, their language, role in the ecosystem. Fiction. You'd be surprised," he sighed. "And yet... lo and behold, I cannot swim."
He dared a glance at the Durmstrang champion and what a mistake it was.
Vanilla observed the drifting of the other's gaze and instinctively reached for bubbles in embarrassment—scooping them with open arms and bringing them closer to his chest for cover. To his surprise however, all the musing wizard did was reach over to brush off the bubbles that had attached to his pale hair upon rising from the surface.
"There's gotta be something in the forbidden section of yours about learning how to swim, I bet. Next date?"
"More rule-breaking," sighed Vanilla, rolling his eyes and sharing a smile all the same. "How perfectly easy you make it seem. I shall do my due research. And you shall do yours. Good luck, Leroy."
*
So engrossed had the pair embarked on their separate journeys for answers in a bid to outdo the other that neither ended up paying any attention to yet another pressing matter at hand—the Yule Ball.
"As a Triwizard champion, you will be expected to take the lead in the first dance, Mr. White," advised Professor Marseille, tapping his forearm with the tip of her wand to briefly adjust the angle of his hold. "Your chin, young man. Raise it. Once again, from the top."
"... yes professor."
A grand affair, the Yule Ball was as much of an anticipated event as the rest of the challenges were; mostly because ordinary students, fifth-years or not, were allowed a taste of the festivities by, well, being one of the invited parties to the ball. Everyone was welcome.
Yet, Vanilla and Leroy had been so pre-occupied with their research about the mermaids of the Black Lake and getting ahead in the second challenge that neither had made plans for dance partners or an actual partner for the grand evening just three nights away.
While the Ravenclaw's victory with the Norwegian Ridgeback might have in some way or another altered biased impressions of his mundane personality, it certainly wasn't enough to land him a date for the ball.
The first person he'd asked was Si Yin, of course.
Besides being Vanilla's only friend for the past five years and knowing him well enough to understand his predicament, the Hogwarts champion practically had no one else to extend an invitation to. But alas, the Gryffindor had long accepted the invitation of Violet Birchwood—the infamous Beauxbatons champion with a penchant for attitude and attention.
"I'm so so sorry Vanilla! I would've totally gone with you instead I just didn't think you'd ask me of all people I mean I barely know how to dance and yeah, we're friends, duh, but I thought you'd like the uh, the company of, uh, someone like... that guy you met at the stables! Or... the guy you broke the rules with! Or or or the uh, the one you got into the bath together and blew bubbles with? That guy sounded nice. Right? So many options."
"So, well. They..." are all the same person.
"I know I know, sounds nerve-wracking to be asking people out, but look on the bright side! At least you have a ton of options. Classic heart-stealer. How nice to be sought-after," she patted him on the back. "I got lucky with Birchwood, you see. She said I was the first person from Hogwarts to befriend her and uh, something something about uh, not minding if we hung out a little more and showing her around Hogsmeade in exchange for an evening at the Yule Ball after nearly knocking her off her broom. I mean, you know I don't do parties like that, so. Said yes 'cuz I felt bad, y'know? And she also complimented my broomstick. Which says something. Apparently."
Vanilla knew exactly what sort of person Violet Birchwood was after a minute of speaking to her in the champion's tent prior to the first challenge and to put things simply, she would not be going around with spare compliments about someone else's broomstick unless she was head over heels for said person. Quietly happy for Si Yin, he decided to put his worries aside for the time being and spend the rest of the afternoon practicing charms with her by the Quidditch field.
The very next day, the Hogwarts champion endeavored yet another attempt at an invitation—this time, approaching sixth-year Hufflepuff Layla Tenner; their only interaction ever being of Honeydukes treat exchanges and a single instance of aid. She'd spent hours in the library looking for a book on legal customizations for her Quidditch broom that could help with her role as a keeper and upon approaching Vanilla, took only two minutes to find the perfect text.
Alas! He was turned down once more.
Tenner was awfully sweet about it. She'd apologized, explaining that though she hadn't a partner just yet, she intended to extend an invitation to a special someone that very evening.
What admirable courage, or so Vanilla had thought then, quietly rooting for her success and frankly thinking he'd end up attending the ball alone as a Triwizard champion. First of his kind! Here he was, breaking records in every segment of the tournament and living up to his reputation. At least now, he wouldn't have to spend more precious hours in front of a mirror practicing the dance. Quite a relief indeed.
And then for some unworldly reason, the young wizard began to think about a certain partner-in-crime.
A certain professional idiot.
Yet, the mere act of pondering; of just wondering if the Durmstrang champion had a date for the Yule Ball days after its announcement was, in simple terms, sheer blasphemy.
Of course Leroy had a partner.
A dashing, attractive wizard with the looks and the qualifications of a fine champion in the making—no one would be in the right mind to refuse the invitation of Leroy Cox unless, well, he hadn't asked anyone in the first place. But then again, even if he hadn't, there was every possibility that others lying in wait for an opportunity had reached out to him first. After all, there was never any hard and fast rules about the champion being the one to extend the invitation.
Hoot.
Vanilla turned. Behold! An unprecedented development; the thickening of plot.
It was an owl from the devil. Leroy himself. In the most remarkably terrifying penmanship that resembled the scrawl of chicken feet, he asked to meet the Ravenclaw at the owlery after class that very afternoon. Needless to say, this sent the recipient spiraling into a frantic bout of nerves.
Could it be? He was afraid of jumping to conclusions and raising unforeseen expectations that could very well lead to a grand lot of nothing.
Either way, Vanilla was shaking with excitement. He sat through the rest of his classes that day answering every question posed to the class without a care in the world, unafraid of the stares and whispers behind his back. Seconds after the sound of the bell, he was making his way down the Astronomy Tower and out of the building—headed straight for the owlery as arranged.
"Vanilla?"
Another unexpected interaction had the Ravenclaw running into Chen, the charming Hufflepuff senior a year above him who, like Layla, adored showering him and Si Yin with treats and goodies.
"Oh! Hello Chen. Lovely day. I um, haven't seen you around very much these days."
"You're the one in high demand, I daresay," teased the dashing senior, hands in his pockets and slowing to a stop as they crossed paths at the top of the stairs. "I've been looking for you since that thing with the dragon. You knocked it out of the park."
"I... really? Um. You think so? I suppose that's very kind of you."
"The ball's coming up in a couple of days." Chen made quick work of his words, flashing a smile that would've swooned witches and wizards alike. "Who's your date?"
"O-oh. Well. I don't have one," said Vanilla rather simply, not quite thinking very much of his curiosity or the direction in which Chen was steering the conversation toward.
"Come with me then," the Hufflepuff went straight for the kill, surprising the champion with a single step that left mere inches of imagination between them.
Stunned, Vanilla's headspace had long left the confinements of reality and was miles ahead in thought. Should the occasion arise that, having said yes to Chen and afterward meeting a certain other criminal soon after, learning the latter's intention of extending an invitation himself—Vanilla would without a doubt find himself ridden with guilt and regret for undramatically the rest of his life. And so thus, he made the decision.
The idiot; or nothing.
Vanilla would rather he attended the ball alone even as the Hogwarts Triwizard champion than to ever have to refuse Leroy Cox—a hopelessly romantic do or and die and yet, the wizard couldn't see in himself the sheer affection he'd come to nurture in his heart about that silly rival-opponent of his.
And so he turned down the Hufflepuff's invitation, apologizing and explaining that he'd, well, 'already agreed to go with someone else.'
Big mistake.
As it turns out, the writer of this fictional fantasy has a penchant for angst—which the little genius should have long realized and perhaps foreseen—and therefore decided to have Leroy Cox, god forbid, overhear this entire exchange.
The idiot, as expected of an idiot, proceeded to thereby assume, to his dismay, that Vanilla had already asked someone else to be his evening companion for the ball.
T r a g i c.
This precipitated a rather lukewarm exchange of greetings among the three upon the appearance of the Durmstrang champion, and even duller conversations between red and blue after Chen had excused himself.
Leroy had, for the rest of the day, planned an entire afternoon full of date-like, illegal activities like an adventure in the Forbidden Forest to meet the hippogriff he'd made friends with a couple of nights ago; pet wild puffskeins hopping around their dens; feed Jobberknolls and Fwoopers; stop by the tournament's official hideout where the dragons in the first challenge were kept and subdued; maybe even catch a glimpse of unicorns on their flight back. A fun, fascinating, exhilarating day packed with moments of sweet-natured intimacy.
And yet, with all these activities checked off the wizard's list and the evening glow of the moon high in the sky, an air of confusion remained hovering over poor Vanilla White. All this spark a-and joy and chemistry and yet... no sign of the grand invitation. The one question he'd been waiting for all afternoon.
"So." He began quietly as they rode on the back of a hippogriff bound for Hogwarts, under starry skies in the chilly breeze, skimming the surface of the Black Lake. "The Yule Ball seems rather... exciting."
"Hm." Leroy's mood dipped as soon as any mention of the ball was made and unsurprisingly did not go unnoticed by his companion.
"Well um, why the face? Surely you... I mean, surely there's nothing not enjoyable about a festive evening with your chosen companion."
"I don't have one."
The Hogwarts champion perked up at this, but remained fairly puzzled and somewhat upset that the other hadn't asked him despite so, and even continued to pull a long face. Did Leroy perhaps get himself rejected by his partner-of-choice and was now forced into considering his boring self, as a second, or even third option? Was that the whole reason they were only talking about this so late into the week, mere days before the ball?
"I... see," took all the courage Vanilla could muster, and even more to say the next three words. "Neither do I."
All of a sudden, Leroy turned right around to look him straight in the eye with candles that were still, burning bright in the darkness of the night. "You don't?"
"Why... yes," Vanilla blinked in confusion, slightly alarmed by the intensity of his gaze. "You seem rather surprised. I'm not exactly the prime choice of companion on everyone's list of wizards to hang out with, let alone to an event like the ball. In fact, I reckon you are. So... I was certain you'd have students of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons alike extending an invitation by now."
The Durmstrang champion did not deny this. "Rejected them all."
"What! That sounds completely foolish... I suppose you're rather fond of breaking a couple of hearts every now and then."
"Had my eyes on someone." Leroy mused, helping Vanilla down from the hippogriff as they landed on Hogwarts grounds outside the east wing.
The Ravenclaw felt his limbs lock in place the moment his feet touched the ground. At once, he registered a shift in the air between them; Leroy's tone soft and quiet. Almost like the flickering of a candleflame.
Slowly, his gaze broke away from the hippogriff to meet his companion's, only to see that the other was already staring at him.
The air was a spell. It cloaked the night in a hush only the pair could hear and in the distance, the sound of grass swaying in the evening breeze. It all felt much too precious to interrupt, and neither spoke in a moment so fragile and dear.
"You... had your eyes on someone?"
"Yes." said Leroy simply, and because he knew exactly who he was talking to—an absolute genius of a wizard who also happened to be completely oblivious to the raging feelings Leroy harbored toward him, continued: "You."
The expectation was for the Hogwarts champion to jump in surprise and stutter in panic, completely caught off guard but no. Yet again, his companion exceeded his expectations.
In fact, the sweetest blush began to dust his cheeks all the way up to his ears, eyes wide and emotionally disarmed in a moment so delicious, it could be tasted. Vanilla's lips fell open. The owner, upon realizing this, closed them at once; averting his gaze and playing with his fingers behind his back.
"... me too."
"Fuck yeah," the criminal student felt victorious, as though he'd won a hard-earned Quidditch match. He approached Vanilla, hands somewhat burning from the adrenaline. "Why'd you tell Chen otherwise?"
Vanilla started at his touch, heat coursing throughout his face and down to his neck.
"Y—you heard us?" The genius hid his face in his hands; voice now muffled. "Goodness, that must have caused a severe misunderstanding. So that's why you... ugh. I said that because I... so desperately hoped you'd be the one to ask me. A-and so in a way, I'd somewhat considered myself... reserved. That's all."
Vanilla shuffled his feet in the cold wind that blew pale hair into his face, shivering as he did and tucking stray locks behind ears that were red.
ThAt'S iT.
Leroy Cox caved. He'd always known he had a soft spot for the ball of snow that his companion was but by god did this seal his fate. Dude was head over heels for Vanilla White and no magic in the world could explain or change this.
On the grand evening of the Yule Ball, the pair shook history to its core. The entire hall had not expected champions as partners to begin with, let alone the boring, bookish genius to enter the room and head down the aisle with the world's greatest idiot—shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand—the start of a magical romance.
Vanilla Julian White did not recall dropping his name into the goblet of fire in the first place; the very notion of it akin to a joke of poor taste. He was the Ravenclaw that raised his hand with a perfect answer for every question posed to the class by professors. The know-it-all who memorized ancient texts weeks before they were taught in class and the one who never seemed to break a single rule.
It was no wonder that much of Hogwarts deemed the cup's decision perfectly unwise.
The student was muggle-born; orphaned at a tender age and raised by his Aunt and Uncle who'd never quite understood the floating books and everlasting candles around the household. Either way, as much of a genius Vanilla appeared to be and as many libraries he'd devoured; cohorts he'd topped; complex phenomena he'd understood and read about, the boy never once thought himself to fit the bill of... 'powerful wizard in the making'.
Even in the muggle world, Vanilla's least favorite subject was Gym or anything that had to do with physical education in general. But wait, was not the strength of wizards equated to their knowledge of spells and enchantments, quick-thinking and reflex? Turning a blind eye to the last of the three, Vanilla wasn't that poor of a Triwizard champion. Sure, 'Defense against the Dark Arts' wasn't necessarily his best subject (it was the only one he did not supposedly score an 'Outstanding' in), nor did he possess the qualities of a fine courageous leader others in the hall had been so eager to welcome and support as the chosen representative, but.
To be received with absolute silence... and suspicion.
As though the shock and disdain weren't already enough, this had all unfolded before the students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, other wizarding schools of the region who'd graced the occasion in support of their own Triwizard champion. His name had been the first of the three.
In the first place, Vanilla hadn't the least intention to watch or even participate in the festivities of the Triwizard Tournament, let alone be the chosen champion of his institution. Frankly, the bespectacled wizard had spent his past five years in Hogwarts quietly and peacefully; buried in books and tending to the Thestrals at the stables near the east gate.
On rare occasions, he'd receive an owl from a fiery Gryffindor by the name of Xu Si Yin to join her and a couple of friends for Butterbeer at Hogsmeade or charm practice at the grounds outside the Quidditch field. Hufflepuffs Chen Le and Layla Tenner were fond of showering the pair with chocolate frogs and exploding bon bons every now and then, especially after completing their daily fly around the castle grounds for broom control practice but that was it.
That was his student life at Hogwarts.
Quiet. Calm. And for all intents and purposes, perfectly boring to the common wizard.
The very night after the Triwizard welcome ceremony, Vanilla had stopped by the stables to fulfil his weekly routine of paying the Thestrals a visit; this time, with nutritional treats he'd made from a recipe he'd pieced together after thorough research in the library. To the wizard, nights like these were a soothing comfort—well worth the risk of getting caught by the school's caretaker. Either way, he'd won Ravenclaw enough points in the past couple of years to break more than just a couple of rules, having been the professor's favorite across multiple subjects for, well, all his wizarding life.
And so perhaps there lived, in Vanilla White, the spirit of a calculated risk-taker. A possible rebel. Potential rule-breaker. Maybe even, a criminal in the making.
Come eight o'clock in the evening, he'd crossed the grounds from the clock tower to the east gate and had the misfortune of running into a greater criminal. Complete rebel; professional idiot, even. All of which the bespectacled bean remained perfectly unaware of.
This figure in the distance zipped past the towers around the east gate, circling in the air on a custom broom gifted to him by his mother who ran a little shop selling Quidditch wares in Diagon Alley... which his father never quite came around to approving. Yes, Quidditch was fun and all, but a pure-blood like Leroy with a penchant for crossing wands in fervent duels was hard to come by. A child like that should not be flying around on broomsticks dreaming of mere snitches and quaffles. Or so his father liked to say.
Vanilla had decided to pay the figure no more attention than necessary despite noting the endless rules about flying within school grounds past stated hours, unwilling to blow his own cover in the night. Strictly speaking, neither of them were partaking in model-student behavior at present. As such, the Ravenclaw saw no benefit in stopping the flying rebel.
After all, this student was no wizard of Hogwarts, judging by the striking red uniform and fur-lined half-cape to match, and so Vanilla arrived at the sensible conclusion of Durmstrang being an institute with lax rules.
Either way, the fifth-year entered the stables in one piece as he did every other week, lighting a personal candle holder only because Thestrals were known to dislike the cold shade of lumos. He presented his little pouch of homemade treats, enchanted to carry a capacity of more than thirty kilograms in a go—feeding the creatures one by one.
Then something startled him. The creak of the door.
He turned abruptly, giving the Thestrals quite a scare, to which he apologized, hushing them and putting out the flame of his candle at once before ducking behind a stack of crates. A beam of moonlight filtered through the gap in the door. Peeking his head slightly above the crates, Vanilla recognized the silhouette at the door.
His fellow rule-breaker.
At a ten-foot distance, the Ravenclaw could observe his features in further detail (not that he fancied those features or anything like that, not really) and it was this very opportunity that had him identifying the wizard as Durmstrang's prized poster boy; a celebrated candidate for the school's Triwizard champion. He'd been the last of the Durmstrangs to enter the Great Hall during the welcome ceremony and also apparently, the first to leave.
Vanilla hadn't the slightest intention of greeting the wizard but to his alarm, the intruder decided against leaving the stables and instead, walked right on in—shutting the door behind him and raising the tip of his wand for some reason Vanilla knew not what. This of course, had the Ravenclaw panicking in a heartbeat.
"W-wait." He stood abruptly, not realizing he wasn't tall enough for more than half his face to show above the stack of crates and so then awkwardly stepping out to reveal more of himself. "Good evening. Please lower your wand."
The circumstance proved itself rather difficult for the boy to process. Half of him was feeling relieved the school caretaker hadn't taken notice of their criminal activity but the other half was full of nerves, unable to simulate potential conversations between him and a wizard of another magical institute, let alone a well-received, conventionally attractive one. Who... might have had thoughts of blowing up the place in case the stables had been invaded by an unwanted guest.
Either way, his visitor paused to stare at the sudden appearance of the snow-like existence, gaze drifting to the extinguished candle and the seemingly empty space filled with hay. He did not indicate any intention to respond to Vanilla's greeting, which led to the latter wondering if English was not among the languages he spoke or understood.
No matter, Vanilla had mastered French and Italian over his years in Hogwarts along with two ancient scriptures and—
"You alone?"
He blinked, confuzzled by the young man. Two words that succeeded in filling his mind with question marks from the many ways they could be interpreted. Yes, he'd come alone to see his magical friends, but no, the room was not empty because—well, the Thestrals... oh.
He could not see them.
Right.
"Yes, and, no. I apologize if the noises disrupted your evening and uh, I'm assuming you stopped by to check on the situation but I'm just... well, here to pay the Thestrals a visit. Like I do every other week," explained Vanilla, clearing his throat and standing to the side idly. Gesturing to the magical creatures that resembled horses.
"Thestrals." The other student repeated.
"Yes."
He turned to face the general direction of Vanilla's gaze. "There's nothing there."
"I suppose one could say that," the fifth-year adjusted the pair of silver frame glasses on his face. "And yet sometimes, seeing would not necessarily mean believing because as hard as it may seem to imagine, not everything is apparent to the human eye. At times, another may see what one may not. In this case, I have seen death. And you have not. Only those who have, do Thestrals appear perfectly visible to the naked eye."
This explanation, though long and filled with layers of abstract concepts, appeared to surprise the wizard from Durmstrang after a moment of deciphering. He found it intriguing; how the Ravenclaw had weaved in an instance of absolute vulnerability underneath layers of ice that were his words.
Again, he directed his attention to the emptiness of the room. "What color?"
"Oh. The Thestrals? They appear brown to myself. A very dark shade. Almost black. Sometimes. Under the cloak of night, especially."
"And they look like horses?"
"U-um," yes, but.
Vanilla turned to the magical creatures munching away at his homemade treats (they float!) as though looking at them would give him some sort of idea how he should be responding to this... this supposed pure-blood who was beginning to sound more and more muggle-like to the muggle-born himself. Nothing came to mind.
"So... technically, they do have a skeletal structure resembling that of horses, discounting the fact that horses cannot fly but Thestrals, with wings, can. They also possess reptilian features. Oh, and their wings look nothing like the Pegasi you've seen Beauxbatons students arrive with. Thestrals have bat-like wings. Wide and leathery." He stopped himself there because he could just hear the excitement in his voice and anything more than this would be awfully difficult to—
"Can I touch one?" The young man with candles for eyes that burned brighter in the dark appeared genuinely curious. This escalation of matters caught Vanilla quite off guard since, well, he'd merely expected the conversation to sizzle away and the Durmstrang wizard to leave him alone.
"I don't know about touching them just yet but, um, you could feed them, if you'd like," Vanilla suggested after some hesitation, holding out the little pouch he had with him for the other to reach inside.
He does, and soon watched in awe as they began to disappear from his hands and the tingling sensation of something illusory brush the surface of his palm.
"Who was it?"
"Sorry?"
"Who died." The Durmstrang student rephrased, turning to his companion after a moment of peace and quiet.
Vanilla stared in return, baffled by the weight of his words. After all, such a matter was incredibly dangerous for small talk. Between strangers. Wizards in the stables under the cover of the night. Such conversational weight and yet, brought up so easily by a companion of roughly the same age. Unafraid of wandering through waters cold and deep.
"I witnessed my mother's death," he said quietly after a moment's pause. "My uncle tells me she died in a fire, protecting me while I was a baby. She's a muggle, so. No magic."
His companion's gaze drifted to the candle that sat by the windowsill of the stables. Extinguished. "Even wizards would've ran."
"I'm sorry?"
"...magic or not, the brave will be brave," the rule-breaking student chanced a glimpse of Vanilla's eyes under the light of the moon and in them, he saw a spell. "...the cowardly... cowards, still."
The odd train of thought had the bespectacled boy bewildered; many a time had he confided in wizardkind about his mother's death in his younger days and many a time had she been mocked for her foolish decision without the aid of magic. Hearing the word 'brave' in response to his story was a first since years of keeping private matters to himself.
"...yes," he managed in a whisper, smiling like a chilled blossom in spring at the caress of heat. "I think so too."
To distract himself from being overcome by the sudden urge to put the bespectacled bean in his pocket, the Durmstrang wizard kept at feeding the Thestrals and furthering conversation.
"You remember anything about her?"
"Not really," the younger student shuffled his feet. "Only that she used to call me Nillie all the time."
"That's your name?"
"N-no..."
"So what is?"
He paused. Gaze stunted. "I, uh. It's not really..."
"Cox." His companion extended a hand, which he proceeded to stare at for a good long moment. "Leroy. Sixth-year."
B-behold, a wild introduction! Vanilla snapped out of his confusion, taking the extended hand and shaking it with two. It was his first time shaking hands. No one really did that sort of thing in his small circle of friends when they first met. Not Layla, not Chen, and certainly not Si Yin.
"Pleasure to meet you, Cox. Of Durmstrang," he bowed his head slightly, gesturing to the crest on his uniform. "I'm White. Of, um, Hogwarts."
This overly-polite, bitter-sweet, naively intelligent Ravenclaw with a tragic backstory had Leroy wrapped around his finger and not a single cell in his body seemed at all aware.
The sixth-year snorted a laugh, pulling the other in and changing the way their hands were locked. It startled Vanilla very much—the movement, the contact, the proximity. All of it. "You guys just love going by last names."
"Oh. Why yes. We do. I mean, it's customary, in a way. I-is that not the case in your institute?" And all of a sudden, he was stuttering! "It seems I may have jumped to conclusions... my apologies. I'm... Vanilla."
___________________
The unspoken rule; the commonsensical requirement; the way of the Triwizard Tournament was that champions, no matter the wizarding school, age, or gender, all possessed unrivaled charisma—worthy of overwhelming support from their peers and respect from the faculty.
And so, no one was at all surprised when Leroy Cox's name echoed in the great hall at the burst of fiery blue from the goblet, rising from their seats in wicked delight and feverish cheers. Where the wizard went, there was sure to be flames and everyone knew, that was where the show was going to be.
This was nothing like the grand reception Vanilla had received prior to the Durmstrang champion's selection. And before he could say a proper word to the former who'd taken his place by the podium, the third and final champion of Beauxbatons was announced: Violet Birchwood.
None of this was to the Ravenclaw's fancy. Despite somehow being the selected champion, Vanilla knew there existed many a candidate who deserved the spot much, much more than he did. People worthy of the praise and revere. His best friend, Si Yin, being one such example.
The young man was not expected to go very far in the whole tournament thing, let alone perform. He made no complaints nevertheless, wanting to get things over and done with so that he could return to a peaceful, quiet life in the library and at the stables with the Thestrals.
He believed—or so he'd somehow convinced himself to do so—that no life-disrupting, harmony-dissolving, rule-breaking event could possibly occur at a harmless interschool event that pretty much resembled 'sports day' at muggle schools. At the very least, some running. At most, swimming.
Three days later: Dragons.
D R A G O N S.
Vanilla sat in the champion's tent, the last of the three to enter the arena with the image of the poor creatures in chains carved into his mind to brood over the past two hours of loneliness.
Leroy had gone first. Even volunteered to do so, just because!
The Durmstrang champion had thrown a disarming smirk over his shoulder at his midnight-at-the-stables-in-secret companion before exiting the tent and greeting his Hungarian Horntail with a blasted Alohomora.
Oh of course he'd release the dragon from its chains the moment he exited the tent. Of course he would. Why not experience danger up close and personal? Why not have that horntail be three inches away from snapping his head off? Why miss the opportunity to teeter on the edge of adrenaline, flying across Hogwarts grounds on his broomstick with sparks and mastered spells ready to go, chased by the most dangerous dragon in the wizarding world?
It was just like him to do so. Seeker of dares; hungry for a challenge.
Still... Alohomora.
A simple enchantment. The picker of locks. Friend of the imprisoned.
Enough for an idea to blossom in the head of a Ravenclaw; sizzling in a mind that housed knowledge of magical beasts and creatures, garnished by a heart that could not help but care.
There was no understanding how the organizers and facilitators of the Triwizard Tournament knew not the proper way of treating dragons; or even bothered hiring an actual expert on the scene. Professor Howin never really did have nice things to say about the tournament in Care of Magical Creatures.
Judging from the spells and enchanted contraptions that weighed down the wings of the dragons and prevented them from flying freely, they'd been captured in the wild for the sole purpose of the tournament. No additional time had been spent around humans, let alone proper communication or respect.
"Two of our champions have faced their dragons and secured their coveted eggs. And now our third and final contestant..."
It was time.
For Leroy Cox and Violet Birchwood: roaring applause, fervent cheers. For Vanilla White, peace and tranquility. Just how he liked it. Oh, and Si Yin shouting from the stands.
Not a moment after exiting the tent, a spotless golden egg greeted the Hogwarts champion in the middle of rocky, mountainous terrain—a perfect recreation of a Norwegian Ridgeback's habitat. He paused, taking a moment to collect his thoughts and run the supposed plan he'd devised through his head once more.
Then he was ready.
As though sensing the signs of an avalanche, the dragon that had cleverly remained out of sight—perched right above the rocks where the champion's tent had been situated—made the first move.
Claws, razor-sharp, went straight for his torso and Vanilla, with the reflexes of a bookworm, side-stepped a second too late—slamming into the side of the rocks on his left and sliding straight into the heart of the arena.
To say he hadn't expected such rough treatment was to be awfully naïve. And yet, it remained wholly apparent to the Ravenclaw how his first encounter with an actual dragon was worlds apart from what he had read about them. According to ancient texts, dragons were once seen as benevolent creatures of intelligence who worked alongside wizards to protect their homeland. Over several decades, the fearful reputation of dragons began to build upon a single incident: a dragon massacre. A Horntail was alleged to have burned down the castle of a duke in the Northwest region of Europe. Back then, irrational aggression among dragonkind, both wild and tamed, was unheard of; and so this had a drastic effect on the treatment of dragons, though little was known about the light of truth.
Years later, it was discovered that the duke was involved in poaching activities and had stolen the dragon's egg and housed it in his castle. Alas, it was too late. The Ministry of Magic had long passed laws on the magical beasts and warned the public of the 'inherent dangers' they posed. And so, dragons soon became symbols of malevolence.
"Goodness," said Vanilla to himself, barely making it to a boulder for cover before feeling the blasting heatwaves of the Ridgeback's flames against the now lava-hot shield. This was no walk in the park; the creature wanted him torched alive! He missed afternoons in the library terribly.
There was no time to waste.
Shaking from the adrenaline that singed the very tips of his fingers, Vanilla produced the only item he'd prepared for his encounter with the dragon beforehand: a music box. Muggle-made.
The crackle of heat against rock was loud and disturbing but fortunately for the Ravenclaw, the lack of cheering and verbal encouragement played in his favor. The flames stopped nearly at once.
It was said to belong to his mother. The music box. Vanilla never knew if he truly believed his uncle's words; after all, they felt, to him, like stories of comfort. Which lies could sometimes be.
Either way, he knew this was the only instrument in the world—both muggle and wizarding—that produced a sound akin to the whisper of lacewing flies. Butterfly friends that he'd read about in an ancient text depicting a mythical friendship between the two species. Dragons and butterflies. The most unlikely companions.
Needless to say, this was a gamble.
Vanilla had every intention not to harm the magical creature and so prior to the challenge, devised some sort of hypnosis-spell-sleep-thing-plan, but to think the dragon was this aggressive from the get-go...
The heatwaves continued to subside until there was none and the champion no longer felt a predatory presence on the other side of the boulder; only then, did he chance a glimpse of the dragon—manually winding the music box as he did.
An absolute beauty.
Black ridges down its back, scales the shade of marshes and highlands combined, and eyes nothing like he'd ever seen. Pitch darkness in one and emeralds in the other. This dragon was old. Much older than those of the other species and though powerful and predatory still, Vanilla could tell it stood no chance against the enchantments on its chains and weights attached to its wings.
He made sure to keep his wand out of sight, stowed away in the pocket of his robes while he approached. The stands watched in grave silence as the Norwegian Ridgeback kept its gaze fixed on the music box. Entranced.
It is said that near the end, dragons could taste the world. The end was a long time for creatures like dragons; near immortal, the one species above it all, the closest to their creators as one might ever be. And so near the end, a sound was a taste.
To the Norwegian Ridgeback hearing the tinkering notes of a muggle-made music box that sounded just like the whisper of an old friend, it tasted of tea.
Teatime.
Thus, with its mind whisked away and nearly forgetting where it was or whatever it was doing, Vanilla found himself less than five feet away from the breathing snout of a live, aged dragon—likely older than civilizations and nations alike.
And then he was touching it. The side of his arm against the scales of its snout.
He stopped the manual winding of the box, testing the waters.
His companion's pupils narrowed, tensing in attention as soon as the whispers vanished but Alohomora under the wizard's breath, and it was free. Lock and chains fell to the ground and the enchantments on its wings dissipated into the air. The dragon raised its head, staring straight into the eyes of the other living creature in the arena and with a single burst of its wings, lifted into the skies.
The most tame, anti-climatic, boring way of getting past a dragon for its makeshift golden egg with just one spell—setting it free and thereby befriending a dragon. Things like that had never crossed the minds of a new-age wizard but alas, Vanilla possessed the soul of an ancient creature; the least-exciting one of all wizardkind without an inch of 'personality.'
Boom.
Leroy Cox was ____ by the gentle genius. Enamored could fill that blank. Wowed might be another option. Smitten. Impressed, even.
In fact, so enamored, wowed, smitten, impressed the Durmstrang champion was that he saw to them hanging out after the first challenge under the excuse of brainstorming about the dragon's egg. Apparently, it's unworldly screech when opened held a clue to the next challenge, and knowing what it was to be would guarantee mental preparation, at the very least.
"I wonder if the forbidden section of the library could have anything to do with this odd contraption."
Professional criminal stared at his partner at the mention of a 'library' before turning back to the pair of golden eggs before them, against the backdrop of the lake at sundown and the Durmstrang ship docked right by the boathouse.
"... Thought we'd head to Hogmeade for our first date but the forbidden section doesn't sound too bad either."
"W—date?" The bespectacled bean scrambled for words, albeit used to the teasing after several days' worth of Leroy Cox at breakfast, lunch and dinner. "I'm afraid there's been a, um, lapse in your judgement of... perhaps you're in need of a pair of glasses like myself. There's a fine selection in the muggle world that would have one looking perfectly fashionable."
"I like how all your date ideas involve some kind of rule-breaking."
"They aren't date ideas, Leroy," he cradled the dragon egg in his arms and felt the cool surface respond to his touch. "A-and well, there's nothing wrong with a little detour to the muggle world every now and then, is there? I lived as a muggle for thirteen years of my life."
"I'll take you up on that," the idiot patted himself on the back for quick thinking, having snagged a brilliant deal (muggle world ticket + cute tour guide) in few words. He held up his dragon's egg in one hand and inspected the inscription on it. "If it's ideas... I got one."
"An idea?" Vanilla's eyes lit up. "Well why didn't you say so earlier? We've got just one week to figure things out with the egg."
"Can't be sure if it'll work." Leroy gave his companion a sideway glance. "Tonight at nine. Prefect's bathroom."
This, naturally, had Vanilla pausing. "We are not prefects."
"Thought you liked breaking the rules," mused the Durmstrang wizard.
"A grave misunderstanding. I don't take any personal enjoyment from breaking the rules, mind you. The forbidden section of the library is off-limits for the purpose of gatekeeping certain pieces of knowledge in the wizarding world that may prove harmful for students like ourselves. At the very least, desperate times call for desperate measures. The library is a fail-proof method of obtaining answers to any question and so if we were to break any rules, we'd have to make it count by going somewhere we know would yield us some proper knowledge! No?"
"Maybe the prefect's bathroom has some of that 'proper knowledge'." Leroy was down for play and his partner, perfectly clueless, insisted upon further proof despite there clearly being none in the first place unless one would consider bathrobes and towels as 'proper knowledge'.
"Wh... well then, state an example of proper knowledge that perhaps may convince me of your stand! Surely you—"
"Bubbles."
__________________
Alas. The power of bubbles.
Convinced, the pair decided to convene at nine in the evening, cloaked by a disillusionment charm to sneak past professors on night patrol and into the prefect's bathroom. This was no easy task for model student, proper Ravenclaw, expert rule-follower Vanilla White. Being out of bed or away from the warm studious comfort of his common room was one thing; flat out breaking the rules and fearing the sudden appearance of Peeves or the school caretaker was a whole other issue.
Leroy on the other hand, had turned up at the arranged location minutes early; lounging in a pool-sized bath full of bubbles and the magical scent of fluxweed—his dragon egg placed right by the ledge, within reach.
At the creak of the door, his gaze followed, gesturing for his guest to join him in the scented water.
Stained glass windows lined the other end of the room; ceilings rising high above the ordinary hallway and the bubbles, colorful and enchanted to drift upward in a trance-like state. At night, the view was breathtaking—lit only by the lanterns along the walls and the light of the moon.
To Vanilla, it was mere common sense to bring along a bathrobe apart from, well, the dragon egg that had been his sole purpose of agreeing to this wild plan (of course, of course). He was going to need one. A bathrobe. How else was he going to get around the bathroom?
Either way, the Hogwarts champion was careful to follow the proper etiquette of bathhouses and made his way into the shower stall for a quick rinse before slipping into his bathrobe—dragon egg in his arms, close to his chest—and heading back to the common bath where his partner was waiting.
Yet another surprise awaited; the room was now completely empty.
"Leroy?"
Not a soul.
Vanilla considered the possibility of more disillusionment charms as part of the evening and wasn't sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him when all of a sudden, a heart-stopping splash sounded from across the room and above the waters, surfaced the Durmstrang wizard waist-up—dripping wet, candle eyes alit.
"Open it," he bid, eyes resting on the dragon egg in Vanilla's arms. "Under water."
As distracted as he was by the cloth-less and wet companion in a bath full of enchanted bubbles and nice-smelling fragrances, the bespectacled bean removed his robes behind a pillar and placed his glasses on the ledge of the bath before slipping into the waters as swiftly as he could.
Submerging his golden egg and turning the clasp at the top, he watched an otherworldly glow blossom underneath the surface.
Then, taking a deep breath, he joined his companion under water and together, they listened to the harmony of choral voices—the song of mermaids in the Black Lake.
Breaking the surface to catch their breaths, the pair turned to each other; eyes locked and hearts beating frantically at the sheer amount of information they've had to process in a go.
"Mermaids," sighed Leroy with his eyes closed, leaning against the ledge with the egg in hand, chest rising and falling at a steady pace. "Fuck."
"You sound anxious. Very much unlike the professional criminal you claim to be," mused his companion, settling into the space beside him. "I've read quite a bit about merfolk. Ancient texts, common interpretations, their language, role in the ecosystem. Fiction. You'd be surprised," he sighed. "And yet... lo and behold, I cannot swim."
He dared a glance at the Durmstrang champion and what a mistake it was.
Vanilla observed the drifting of the other's gaze and instinctively reached for bubbles in embarrassment—scooping them with open arms and bringing them closer to his chest for cover. To his surprise however, all the musing wizard did was reach over to brush off the bubbles that had attached to his pale hair upon rising from the surface.
"There's gotta be something in the forbidden section of yours about learning how to swim, I bet. Next date?"
"More rule-breaking," sighed Vanilla, rolling his eyes and sharing a smile all the same. "How perfectly easy you make it seem. I shall do my due research. And you shall do yours. Good luck, Leroy."
*
So engrossed had the pair embarked on their separate journeys for answers in a bid to outdo the other that neither ended up paying any attention to yet another pressing matter at hand—the Yule Ball.
"As a Triwizard champion, you will be expected to take the lead in the first dance, Mr. White," advised Professor Marseille, tapping his forearm with the tip of her wand to briefly adjust the angle of his hold. "Your chin, young man. Raise it. Once again, from the top."
"... yes professor."
A grand affair, the Yule Ball was as much of an anticipated event as the rest of the challenges were; mostly because ordinary students, fifth-years or not, were allowed a taste of the festivities by, well, being one of the invited parties to the ball. Everyone was welcome.
Yet, Vanilla and Leroy had been so pre-occupied with their research about the mermaids of the Black Lake and getting ahead in the second challenge that neither had made plans for dance partners or an actual partner for the grand evening just three nights away.
While the Ravenclaw's victory with the Norwegian Ridgeback might have in some way or another altered biased impressions of his mundane personality, it certainly wasn't enough to land him a date for the ball.
The first person he'd asked was Si Yin, of course.
Besides being Vanilla's only friend for the past five years and knowing him well enough to understand his predicament, the Hogwarts champion practically had no one else to extend an invitation to. But alas, the Gryffindor had long accepted the invitation of Violet Birchwood—the infamous Beauxbatons champion with a penchant for attitude and attention.
"I'm so so sorry Vanilla! I would've totally gone with you instead I just didn't think you'd ask me of all people I mean I barely know how to dance and yeah, we're friends, duh, but I thought you'd like the uh, the company of, uh, someone like... that guy you met at the stables! Or... the guy you broke the rules with! Or or or the uh, the one you got into the bath together and blew bubbles with? That guy sounded nice. Right? So many options."
"So, well. They..." are all the same person.
"I know I know, sounds nerve-wracking to be asking people out, but look on the bright side! At least you have a ton of options. Classic heart-stealer. How nice to be sought-after," she patted him on the back. "I got lucky with Birchwood, you see. She said I was the first person from Hogwarts to befriend her and uh, something something about uh, not minding if we hung out a little more and showing her around Hogsmeade in exchange for an evening at the Yule Ball after nearly knocking her off her broom. I mean, you know I don't do parties like that, so. Said yes 'cuz I felt bad, y'know? And she also complimented my broomstick. Which says something. Apparently."
Vanilla knew exactly what sort of person Violet Birchwood was after a minute of speaking to her in the champion's tent prior to the first challenge and to put things simply, she would not be going around with spare compliments about someone else's broomstick unless she was head over heels for said person. Quietly happy for Si Yin, he decided to put his worries aside for the time being and spend the rest of the afternoon practicing charms with her by the Quidditch field.
The very next day, the Hogwarts champion endeavored yet another attempt at an invitation—this time, approaching sixth-year Hufflepuff Layla Tenner; their only interaction ever being of Honeydukes treat exchanges and a single instance of aid. She'd spent hours in the library looking for a book on legal customizations for her Quidditch broom that could help with her role as a keeper and upon approaching Vanilla, took only two minutes to find the perfect text.
Alas! He was turned down once more.
Tenner was awfully sweet about it. She'd apologized, explaining that though she hadn't a partner just yet, she intended to extend an invitation to a special someone that very evening.
What admirable courage, or so Vanilla had thought then, quietly rooting for her success and frankly thinking he'd end up attending the ball alone as a Triwizard champion. First of his kind! Here he was, breaking records in every segment of the tournament and living up to his reputation. At least now, he wouldn't have to spend more precious hours in front of a mirror practicing the dance. Quite a relief indeed.
And then for some unworldly reason, the young wizard began to think about a certain partner-in-crime.
A certain professional idiot.
Yet, the mere act of pondering; of just wondering if the Durmstrang champion had a date for the Yule Ball days after its announcement was, in simple terms, sheer blasphemy.
Of course Leroy had a partner.
A dashing, attractive wizard with the looks and the qualifications of a fine champion in the making—no one would be in the right mind to refuse the invitation of Leroy Cox unless, well, he hadn't asked anyone in the first place. But then again, even if he hadn't, there was every possibility that others lying in wait for an opportunity had reached out to him first. After all, there was never any hard and fast rules about the champion being the one to extend the invitation.
Hoot.
Vanilla turned. Behold! An unprecedented development; the thickening of plot.
It was an owl from the devil. Leroy himself. In the most remarkably terrifying penmanship that resembled the scrawl of chicken feet, he asked to meet the Ravenclaw at the owlery after class that very afternoon. Needless to say, this sent the recipient spiraling into a frantic bout of nerves.
Could it be? He was afraid of jumping to conclusions and raising unforeseen expectations that could very well lead to a grand lot of nothing.
Either way, Vanilla was shaking with excitement. He sat through the rest of his classes that day answering every question posed to the class without a care in the world, unafraid of the stares and whispers behind his back. Seconds after the sound of the bell, he was making his way down the Astronomy Tower and out of the building—headed straight for the owlery as arranged.
"Vanilla?"
Another unexpected interaction had the Ravenclaw running into Chen, the charming Hufflepuff senior a year above him who, like Layla, adored showering him and Si Yin with treats and goodies.
"Oh! Hello Chen. Lovely day. I um, haven't seen you around very much these days."
"You're the one in high demand, I daresay," teased the dashing senior, hands in his pockets and slowing to a stop as they crossed paths at the top of the stairs. "I've been looking for you since that thing with the dragon. You knocked it out of the park."
"I... really? Um. You think so? I suppose that's very kind of you."
"The ball's coming up in a couple of days." Chen made quick work of his words, flashing a smile that would've swooned witches and wizards alike. "Who's your date?"
"O-oh. Well. I don't have one," said Vanilla rather simply, not quite thinking very much of his curiosity or the direction in which Chen was steering the conversation toward.
"Come with me then," the Hufflepuff went straight for the kill, surprising the champion with a single step that left mere inches of imagination between them.
Stunned, Vanilla's headspace had long left the confinements of reality and was miles ahead in thought. Should the occasion arise that, having said yes to Chen and afterward meeting a certain other criminal soon after, learning the latter's intention of extending an invitation himself—Vanilla would without a doubt find himself ridden with guilt and regret for undramatically the rest of his life. And so thus, he made the decision.
The idiot; or nothing.
Vanilla would rather he attended the ball alone even as the Hogwarts Triwizard champion than to ever have to refuse Leroy Cox—a hopelessly romantic do or and die and yet, the wizard couldn't see in himself the sheer affection he'd come to nurture in his heart about that silly rival-opponent of his.
And so he turned down the Hufflepuff's invitation, apologizing and explaining that he'd, well, 'already agreed to go with someone else.'
Big mistake.
As it turns out, the writer of this fictional fantasy has a penchant for angst—which the little genius should have long realized and perhaps foreseen—and therefore decided to have Leroy Cox, god forbid, overhear this entire exchange.
The idiot, as expected of an idiot, proceeded to thereby assume, to his dismay, that Vanilla had already asked someone else to be his evening companion for the ball.
T r a g i c.
This precipitated a rather lukewarm exchange of greetings among the three upon the appearance of the Durmstrang champion, and even duller conversations between red and blue after Chen had excused himself.
Leroy had, for the rest of the day, planned an entire afternoon full of date-like, illegal activities like an adventure in the Forbidden Forest to meet the hippogriff he'd made friends with a couple of nights ago; pet wild puffskeins hopping around their dens; feed Jobberknolls and Fwoopers; stop by the tournament's official hideout where the dragons in the first challenge were kept and subdued; maybe even catch a glimpse of unicorns on their flight back. A fun, fascinating, exhilarating day packed with moments of sweet-natured intimacy.
And yet, with all these activities checked off the wizard's list and the evening glow of the moon high in the sky, an air of confusion remained hovering over poor Vanilla White. All this spark a-and joy and chemistry and yet... no sign of the grand invitation. The one question he'd been waiting for all afternoon.
"So." He began quietly as they rode on the back of a hippogriff bound for Hogwarts, under starry skies in the chilly breeze, skimming the surface of the Black Lake. "The Yule Ball seems rather... exciting."
"Hm." Leroy's mood dipped as soon as any mention of the ball was made and unsurprisingly did not go unnoticed by his companion.
"Well um, why the face? Surely you... I mean, surely there's nothing not enjoyable about a festive evening with your chosen companion."
"I don't have one."
The Hogwarts champion perked up at this, but remained fairly puzzled and somewhat upset that the other hadn't asked him despite so, and even continued to pull a long face. Did Leroy perhaps get himself rejected by his partner-of-choice and was now forced into considering his boring self, as a second, or even third option? Was that the whole reason they were only talking about this so late into the week, mere days before the ball?
"I... see," took all the courage Vanilla could muster, and even more to say the next three words. "Neither do I."
All of a sudden, Leroy turned right around to look him straight in the eye with candles that were still, burning bright in the darkness of the night. "You don't?"
"Why... yes," Vanilla blinked in confusion, slightly alarmed by the intensity of his gaze. "You seem rather surprised. I'm not exactly the prime choice of companion on everyone's list of wizards to hang out with, let alone to an event like the ball. In fact, I reckon you are. So... I was certain you'd have students of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons alike extending an invitation by now."
The Durmstrang champion did not deny this. "Rejected them all."
"What! That sounds completely foolish... I suppose you're rather fond of breaking a couple of hearts every now and then."
"Had my eyes on someone." Leroy mused, helping Vanilla down from the hippogriff as they landed on Hogwarts grounds outside the east wing.
The Ravenclaw felt his limbs lock in place the moment his feet touched the ground. At once, he registered a shift in the air between them; Leroy's tone soft and quiet. Almost like the flickering of a candleflame.
Slowly, his gaze broke away from the hippogriff to meet his companion's, only to see that the other was already staring at him.
The air was a spell. It cloaked the night in a hush only the pair could hear and in the distance, the sound of grass swaying in the evening breeze. It all felt much too precious to interrupt, and neither spoke in a moment so fragile and dear.
"You... had your eyes on someone?"
"Yes." said Leroy simply, and because he knew exactly who he was talking to—an absolute genius of a wizard who also happened to be completely oblivious to the raging feelings Leroy harbored toward him, continued: "You."
The expectation was for the Hogwarts champion to jump in surprise and stutter in panic, completely caught off guard but no. Yet again, his companion exceeded his expectations.
In fact, the sweetest blush began to dust his cheeks all the way up to his ears, eyes wide and emotionally disarmed in a moment so delicious, it could be tasted. Vanilla's lips fell open. The owner, upon realizing this, closed them at once; averting his gaze and playing with his fingers behind his back.
"... me too."
"Fuck yeah," the criminal student felt victorious, as though he'd won a hard-earned Quidditch match. He approached Vanilla, hands somewhat burning from the adrenaline. "Why'd you tell Chen otherwise?"
Vanilla started at his touch, heat coursing throughout his face and down to his neck.
"Y—you heard us?" The genius hid his face in his hands; voice now muffled. "Goodness, that must have caused a severe misunderstanding. So that's why you... ugh. I said that because I... so desperately hoped you'd be the one to ask me. A-and so in a way, I'd somewhat considered myself... reserved. That's all."
Vanilla shuffled his feet in the cold wind that blew pale hair into his face, shivering as he did and tucking stray locks behind ears that were red.
ThAt'S iT.
Leroy Cox caved. He'd always known he had a soft spot for the ball of snow that his companion was but by god did this seal his fate. Dude was head over heels for Vanilla White and no magic in the world could explain or change this.
On the grand evening of the Yule Ball, the pair shook history to its core. The entire hall had not expected champions as partners to begin with, let alone the boring, bookish genius to enter the room and head down the aisle with the world's greatest idiot—shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand—the start of a magical romance.
End of Wax Chapter 74. Continue reading Chapter 75 or return to Wax book page.