<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/LuWH2bq.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/harrypotter/images/f/f3/DurmstrangCrest.png/revision/latest?cb=20160112161151)</div><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><strong>NAME:</strong> Raynor Nordskov (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=299655.msg14677798#msg14677798)<br/><strong>YEAR:</strong> Seventh<br/><strong>BLOOD STATUS:</strong> Half-blood<br/><strong>WAND:</strong> 12 ¼ | Hornbeam | Horned Serpent Horn<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong> Durmstrang Men's Uniform<br/><strong>DATE | TIME:</strong> 3 September, 2019 | Morning – Very Early<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong> Mathilda's Office<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong> Reluctant Journal Delivery<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong> Mathilda</td></tr></tbody></table><br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/>It was always a treat to visit the Deputy Headmistress. Raynor knew well how many of his fellow students, particularly the young ones, were intimidated by the stern, and perhaps dictatorial reputation that followed the woman. She, her dark hair, and her fierce gaze were among the litany of reasons why so many men and women of Durmstrang found it difficult to find their tongues. But, Ray knew different. She was helpful, and a dedicated teacher who pushed him beyond what previous limits he believed. In many ways he considered her a friend, even if he still had to address her in a formal acknowledgement of her rank. She had earned it, after all.<br/><br/>He remained seated in the chair, as comfortably as he could manage despite the vast difference in its size compared to him. One day he swore it was going to break. Perhaps its discomfort was a point Mathilda purposefully pushed forth. That would not surprise Ray, as he often found the Deputy Headmistress to rarely do, or select anything without a specific reason. It was all a part of her charm. The room and its decorations, the crackling fire that sprung up by her magic, and the furiously focused typing clicking away from her nails.<br/><br/>Ray knew by painful experience that it was best not to get in the way of those nails. But, sometimes, pain did not stop him from prodding Mathilda every now and then. He did it for the humor, and the game. It was a silly sentiment, but he liked to treat her like he might treat a friend every now and then. Part of the crew, and in on the jokes. Naturally, Mathilda being Mathilda, it rarely, if ever, ended in Raynor’s favor.<br/><br/>None of that changed his deep admiration and respect for the woman. She helped him, so by honor, and by his own wishes, he helped her out with this project. He prodded the third journal in his hands, tracing his thumb across its binding. The option to keep it, and edit what was written was enticing. But, that also meant time wasted on re-doing what was already done. Raynor did not like lost time.<br/><br/>“That won’t be needed,” he responded, and placed the reluctantly kept journal onto her desk. “I will do that the next round, but with this new schedule I find that all of my time is more precious than usual.”<br/><br/>With that matter settled, he leaned back, more comfortable after letting go of his misgivings about his transcribed dreams. “The schedule is going well. Better than I thought. It’s been hard to change the way I sleep, and at first I felt like I was a walking zombie at times.” He clasped his hands together over his stomach, fingers intertwined. “That’s changed. More gets done, and my improvement quickens. With any luck, it will be my name that sprouts from the goblet. It will be your program that guides me to the cup, and the podium.”<br/><br/>Raynor could dream, anyway.