grimshaw.

Gryffindor. Sixth Year Prefect & Quidditch Captain Beater.

[mrssylargray]

Joel Kinnaman by Daniel Sahlberg

[erik-grimshaw-blog]

GRACE

Erik at least, knew better than to finish the thought, and the corner of her mouth twitched up as she nodded. It seemed to be everyone’s first suggestion, leading her to think she needed to amend ‘and yes, we’ve done a Summoning Charm, that’s why we’re asking people individually instead,’ to her survey of students.

It was kind of him to offer to calm the Hufflepuff down for her—that wasn’t her strong suit, even she knew that. “You can, if you feel like wading through the circle of comfort that the others have made.” Whatever the word was for a group of overprotective badgers, that’s what she’d witnessed. “But I think it’ll be fine. At worst, we’ll just have a temporary replacement badge made.” 

She spared a moment to take a seat near him, and run a hand through her hair, as well as indulge in some private griping. “You would think from looking at their faces that something utterly tragic had happened. I may have let them continue with the hysterics mostly because I think it’s probably motivating the search,” she admitted quietly. “I’m worried that might… make me something of a bitch? What do you think? Am I the meanest prefect in Hogwarts, yet?”

“I will gladly miss out on an emotional badger huddle,” Erik says with a faint trace of humour, a deadpan to match her seriousness. 

Erik smiles when she gives in to sit and complain. It’s a brief thing because he worries Grace may think he’s laughing at her, despite her serious authoritative exterior she was still a person at the end of the day, a young woman with her own shit to deal with. Anytime she decided to cave in a little, complain or even just show a little vulnerability Erik was more than happy to listen, talk things through. Or, in this case, aggressively tell her she’s wrong and she’s not the ‘meanest’ prefect around.

“C’mon Grace,” he rocks to the side, a gentle bump of his shoulder into hers at the quiet admission before he has to answer in his own permanently too-serious tone, “It’s too early in the year to start doubting yourself already. Besides, a ‘bitch’ would’ve left them too sort out their houses own lost badges rather than trailing round the place looking for it.”

[dobrien]

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KIRAN

Kiran looked up confused, one eyebrow shouting out and the other edging lower. Just one sentence, so it wasn’t that hard to understand why this someone had chosen to extend words to him. He nodded slowly, as if to say: sure I will. But technically, he was collecting scraps. Thing about weed was that in a lot of situations, it helped to have liked-minded individuals along. That or not be bothered by other people. Being called out by someone unfamiliar -except that Kiran recognized him as the Captain of the Griffin’s soccer team - wasn’t the best way to keep on the positive side of that high. 

The thing was, when faced with new people and negative situations, a stoned Kiran mostly tired to apologize or set the situation right, because he was happy, he was pretty chill, not-chill people shouldn’t be not-chill. Put him in a room filled with stressed people when he was as high as a mountain summit, and he would end up trying to get everyone to smile or dance. “Nah, I’m only takin’ scraps,” Kiran slurred, smiling lazily, but also extensively. “Can’be wastin’ food.” 

Kiran isn’t his concern. Not technically. Erik has to focus on his own team, the other Gryffindor’s and ultimately himself. He can’t help it, though. Watching this man who’s clearly out of it. He wonders how the hell this guy manages to stay on the Slytherin team. He knows he’d kick someone out of his team if they showed up high too often... Well. Okay. He’d consider kicking them off. 

Erik keeps his expression still, not wanting to show his reaction to his slurred words. “You call that mountain scraps?” he says with forced humour, “I don’t think anything does go t’waste here...” He says idly, not really sure on the specifics but he assumes they use everything. At least the house-elves may eat the leftovers, which would sound cruel if he didn’t see how much food was left on the tables after a meal.

[erik-grimshaw-blog]

Erik had decided to take a page out of Grace’s book and visit the library to get a look at his required reading before the classes began in full earnest. Yeah, he’s becoming a goddamn try-hard that would probably be better suited to Ravenclaw some days but it’s a good thing to be, he thinks. It’s better than his time at secondary, wasting so much time, so many opportunities. 

Besides, he needs the extra time. He’d never really learnt how to study, even in his Sixth Year he’s not sure he’s got it down yet. Definitely hasn’t got it down because he went in search of ‘Magickal Law ( Revised )  Edition MXVI’ and left with a copy of Folio Bruti and flicking through the magical creatures. Muttering aloud, he forgets after so long in the usually empty Magical Law section that he’s not supposed to, y’know, talk at full volume to himself and pace around, let alone do all of this in the library.

The Hinkypunk is a little one-legged creature and ... “ looks as if it is made of smoke. It carries a lantern with which it lures travellers into bogs. Is it fuckin’ born with a lantern? How — why does it need a lantern? Fuckin’ magic...”

[erik-grimshaw-blog]

KIRAN

Kiran was just putting piece of food after piece of food on a large pile of food on a huge plate, collecting some left-overs here and there, especially going for sweet stuff or especially salty stuff. Enough food to feed a small family, or one very hungry - and very stoned - middle-age dude. Last situation in this case. Probably wasn’t going to eat it all, but the smells were great, his stomach was rumbling, and he just thought of everything he wanted to eat and collected anything that was even remotely similar to what he wanted to eat. His eyes were blood-shot and he felt very light on his feet. Also very unaware of anyone watching this hoarding in process. Food so good.

Erik watched Kiran collect his food. Then some more.... and some more. Erik slowly tucked into his usual choice. Just like his breakfast was always the same, his lunch followed a pattern.  Maybe he’s just boring or a creature of habit but it worked for him. No carbs, only meat and veg finished off with a few pickings of fruit. Now he’s picking at a bowl of plump cherries, Erik silently watches the man piling his plate up like a bear’s last meal before hibernation. He ducks his head down a little, trying to get a look at the man’s eyes. 

He recognises the man as another Quidditch player, even the house rivalry didn’t stop Erik’s concern over the man’s often bloodshot eyes and erratic behaviour. “Leave some for the rest of us, mate,” Erik pipes up, resuming to sit normally so Kiran hopefully doesn’t notice his earlier attempt to get a look at the guy’s face, whilst adding another cherry stem to the small pile growing on his plate.

[erik-grimshaw-blog]

FERNLEY

Fernley was seated at one of the tables in the Great Hall for breakfast when she sensed an inquiring eye peering over her shoulder. Abruptly, she whipped her head round to level her gaze at them. “What? You’ve never seen a bacon before?” she said, as she put the bacon deep inside the pockets of her parka. Then, with as much discretion as the smell of her heist on her hands, Fernley began to relocate a blueberry scone into her other pocket. “Move to the left a bit, hey? I think someone saw me.”

Erik had learnt to control himself at meal times with a little difficulty. The first time he saw the elaborate spread of food and watched it magically refill he may have over-indulged and may have spent his first morning here puking his breakfast out. It was also how he discovered the House Elves could pop up out of seemingly nowhere at the smallest bit of a mess. He felt stupid, at first, having eaten too much, but that small house-elf had comforted him with its boney fingers and bulging eyes and odd manner of speaking. Other students had done it too, a lot of first years seemed to eat too much. ( Too much, toooo much, the elf repeated with a furious shake of its head. )

Erik’s meal looks paltry in comparison to others. He went for a simple breakfast, porridge packed with dried fruit and nuts and a swirl of honey.  Enough to fill him, and thankfully he now had the self-control to know his limits. So, when he sees a Hufflepuff with a parka over her robes, stuffing food into her pockets Erik immediately assumes the worst. He knew the anxiety that came with food, how not knowing when or where his next meal would come from made this feast look like a trick.

“You know you don’t have to sneak the food,” he says, even though he does listen to her and shift a bit to his left. Give her some cover whilst he tries to find out if she’s in the same boat as he was. Sat with his back to the table and looking out at the rest of the hall, he tries not to watch the woman too closely or give one of those too-concerned looks that got him into trouble too often, he tries to keep his tone light in attempt to broach what could be an uncomfortable topic,“There’s always food to spare. Plus, you can always ask one of the house-elves they can give you something. Don’t ask too often, though, might get ‘em in trouble.”

[erik-grimshaw-blog]

[erik-grimshaw-blog]

@deacon-rivers

It wasn’t a formal practice. It was too early in the year for that, at least in Erik’s eyes. He liked to start the year off with a friendly, more relaxed atmosphere, get the team back into rhythm with each other before worrying about working on specific skills. Today, it was entirely stupid games that incorporated actual training drills. His favourite was to send the seeker off with a charmed, golden sparkling vest and set the rest of the team on them like they were the golden snitch themselves. It was a magical game of tag that always ended with the team turning on Erik and chasing him. Today they chased him literally into the ground. It was good fun, broke the ice and thankfully no bones or broomsticks. He did get a mouthful of dirt but everyone left in good spirits.

Almost everyone had cleared out the changing rooms, a lot of laughter and back slapping and jokes at Erik’s expense meant he hadn’t even gotten to changing out of his kit. It was a marked shift from the room at the beginning of the day, so it’s a victory no matter how he looks at it. The only downside being he couldn’t get to chat with everyone. He made the extra effort to chat with each teammate before, during or after practice. At least to catch up after the holidays, check in so they felt included. He knew how much a few words and genuine interest could go in keeping someone engaged. Some would say he was trying too hard but it’s the only way he knows how to do things: all or nothing. One teammate he hadn’t managed to catch was a funny one in both the good and bad way. Part of him hopes the summer helped mellow the third year out.

“You’re nearly taking longer than the old guy to get changed, Deacon,” he pipes up from his spot, enough privacy to change but if he pops his head up he can look over at Deacon. It’s a joke said for the sake of getting his attention, something he swiftly moves on from, “How was your summer?”

[erik-grimshaw-blog]

[erik-grimshaw-blog]

GRACE

Barely one day back, and already Grace had an issue to resolve. Her uniform felt strange after spending the whole summer in t-shirts and jeans, but authority was a role she assumed immediately and with ease. “You haven’t seen a Hufflepuff Prefect’s badge anywhere, have you?” she inquired, trying not to sound too accusatory. People often mistook a simple question as aggression when it came from her, for some reason. “We seem to be missing one.” She didn’t know why, or to what end, someone would take something like that — except to confuse some gullible first years, perhaps — but the new fifth-year Prefect it belonged to was distraught, to say the least. 

Grace had a way of sounding angry and authoritative no matter what she was saying. Erik learnt to accept it as simply part of her manner. An endearing part given the fact they’d both started as two confused, easily startled first-years. Even more endearing because he hadn’t seen her since the summer term ended, and their first greeting on their first day is straight to business. 

“Assuming you tried —” Erik frees a hand to wave a finger like a wand but doesn’t bother to finish that sentence lest he gets an eye-roll or worse from her. Most students had always been aware of magic and their first instinct was almost always to use it rather than put in a little leg work, a fact he’d complained about more than once to Grace, “— I’ll keep an eye out.”

Erik likes Grace but she’s a serious thing and that doesn’t always go down well with others. A very serious thing that even when he’s feeling particularly difficult, he looks like a breath of fresh air in comparison, “How’s the badge owner doing? Do you need me to calm a hysterical ‘puff for you?”

[erik-grimshaw-blog]

ALVARO

First day of his first year, and Alvaro already felt like he wasn’t going to fit in with Slytherin. Not because he didn’t think he fit the values of the house, but because he’d already messed up with a 3rd year. Well, it really was only an accident that he spilled some of the chocolate fondue on their pristine white socks, but it happened, and they were not happy. As soon as it happened, seeing as they were not calming down, the boy took a quick leave from the table, and ended up sitting on a bench, outside, with a student he did not know. But it wasn’t long until he spotted the angered third year follow out the door, forcing him to try to cover his face, turning his head to look at the other student on the bench. “Hey, sorry, can you pretend I’ve been here for… say, the past hour? I’ll explain later.”

“No can do, kid,” Erik answers as he leans back on the bench, making himself even more comfortable than before. Erik tucks his pack of smokes into his pocket, looking over and past the first year’s head expecting to see someone with a face of thunder come out of the building. 

Right on cue, someone does come out.

One very angry third year he vaguely recognises, at least in passing. “If you explain now, it might become a yes,” Erik says absently, no matter the Slytherin’s answer, he won’t lie for this guy but he’ll happily defuse any problem that may arise if that furious third year comes on over.

[bianca41083]