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Continued from here | @convivxncia

Lobco glances over to her witch, a touch surprised by the serious tone that she had taken. She knew good and well that Chlomaki was capable of it, despite her usual carefree air, but it still took her off guard the times she was privy to it.

Lobco always listens to her master but in moments like these she is especially attentive and what sticks out to her is the phrase the cat begins with: ‘I’m not unused to people like that’.

Needless to say it sends off several red flags in Lobco’s mind. Perhaps she is reading too much into it--after all they both reside in Pitch World currently and it is a place rife with such people...yet. She can’t shake off the feeling that it’s more than that.

“Yes that...” The shrimp wholeheartedly agrees. How could she not? She has someone very much like that in her life right now and perhaps that’s why she’s now worried; because she can sense empathy in Chlomaki’s tone.

“Have you had to deal with people like...that...bothering you, Lady Chlomaki?”

#t: 009 #convivxncia #c: chlomaki #in shells

24th December, 1981 Great Hall, Hogwarts 9.17pm @thesunlightinherskin

Gideon had left the warmth of the Gryffindor common room behind him almost half an hour ago, the buzz of laughter and conversation fading into silence as he let his feet carry him where they’d wished. Hogwarts was different, like this — desolate and sad, lonely in the way abandoned places only ever could be. Away from the sounds of Christmas cheer it seemed less like the place inhabiting his memories and more like a tomb, brimming with echoes of the past. There was a certain amount of inevitability to his feet leading him back, but it wasn’t until his eyes were fixed on the pearly grey ceiling of the Great Hall, watching the snow fall in silence, that it occurred to him how closely the quiet resembled a graveyard. It seemed like everywhere Gideon went was crowded with ghosts.

His breath caught sharp in his throat, eyes fixed steadily on the swirling patterns of the snow until his vision began to blur, his fingers rolling into fists at his sides. His memories of the day of the funeral are pieced together with tape, scraps of memories that he wishes would fit together, would form a complete picture. He should remember his own twin’s funeral.

An afternoon spent in the snow seemed a lifetime ago, the bone-numbing cold that had thawed away had left something agonising in it’s wake. Reality. He’d spent so long eluding it that the collision stole his breath and rang in his ears, obscuring the echo of soft footfalls from behind him until it was too late to hide the stricken expression on his face from it’s source.

“Emmeli—”

He hadn’t expected anyone to follow. Gideon cleared his throat, turning his face upwards towards the snow like it might allow him some time to regather himself and tried again. Deflecting. “What are you doing down here?”