<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/Noz6AY7.png)</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>     </td><td>Mathilda Wolff (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=299655.msg14655387#msg14655387)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>OCCUPATION:</strong>    </td><td>Deputy Headmistress of Durmstrang | Dark Arts Instructor</td></tr><tr><td><strong>BLOOD STATUS:</strong>    </td><td>No-Maj Born (specifically stateside)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>WAND:</strong>    </td><td>11 ¾" | Acacia | Dragon Heartstring | Unyielding (https://i.imgur.com/6U00Zja.jpg)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>WEARING:</strong>    </td><td>Summer Uniform (https://i.imgur.com/bDzECgX.png) | Gold Aiguillettes (https://i.imgur.com/uZvRGkC.png) | Glowing Nails (https://imgur.com/DyyUT0k) | Edelweiss Ring (https://i.imgur.com/Z6RufO6.png)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>DATE | TIME:</strong>    </td><td>Tuesday, September 3rd 2019 | 0500</td></tr><tr><td><strong>LOCATION:</strong>    </td><td>Deputy Headmistress Office (https://i.imgur.com/InUOg8Z.png)</td></tr><tr><td><strong>CONTENT:</strong>    </td><td>Awaiting a Report from ‘der Polarersoldat’</td></tr><tr><td><strong>MOOD MUSIC:</strong>    </td><td>‘The Old Castle’ (https://youtu.be/EUEvLWHWr-I) from Pictures at an Exhibition by Modest Mussorgsky</td></tr><tr><td><strong>TAGGING:</strong>    </td><td><strong>Raynor Nordskov</strong> | Closed</td></tr></tbody></table><br/><hr/><br/><div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/InUOg8Z.png)</div><br/>Mathilda was busily typing when the door to her office opened and Mr. Nordskov ducked inside. Though her office was finely decorated, it was not large since it did not need to be large. There was a grate, a desk, three chairs, and a large window overlooking the frozen mountaintops that surrounded the castle. Thus, der Polarersoldat’s hulking form took up more space than the room had to offer; the proverbial bull in the china shop.<br/><br/><em>“Sorry for being late, Deputy Headmistress.”</em><br/><br/>Mathilda’s focus did not budge from the computer screen and her glowing nails continued to click against the keys in rapid-fire succession.<br/><br/><strong>“So long as you are not late to your classes, I will be lenient in these first months while your body adjusts.”</strong><br/><br/>It was a statement of fact, spoken in a manner that did not request an excuse. Raynor was a dedicated student, the perfect clay to mold, but Mathilda knew better than to give him any indication that his treatment might be special or personal. The less he spoke, the better. It gave him less opportunity to earn extra punishments for his overly flirtatious tongue, which he dared to wield in her direction when he was feeling puckish. The retaliations were always swift and severe, meant to make an example of him, but at times, Mathilda wondered if Mr. Nordskov secretly desired and<em>enjoyed</em>the punishments.<br/><br/>Still, he was her only volunteer for her Polarsoldat-Projekt, and she wasn’t about to jeopardize the future of the institution over a few clumsy words spoked by an overzealous Viking.<br/><br/>After another moment of furious typing that sounded like a Gatling gun, the illumination on her face darkened as she closed the screen  and turned to face him. The red notebook with the corresponding transcription of his vitals lay still-open on her desk and her eyes flickered to his neck, where the transmission necklace was under his uniform collar.<br/><br/><strong>“How is the new schedule coming?”</strong>she inquired.<br/><br/>The small wooden chair opposite Mathilda’s desk groaned in protest under Nordskov’s weight, but held. Strong though it was, it was not a chair designed for comfort and had no back to recline against, only two arm rests that were too small for him to use.<br/><br/>With a wave of her hand, Mathilda non-verbally and wandlessly caused a fire to spark in the grate, roaring upwards suddenly in a gust until settling into a comfortable crackle. Instantly, her pupils dilated at the introduction of light, and she scanned his physique like a scientist for signs of change. He looked tired but certainly not exhausted, which meant he’d taken her program seriously over the summer break. When he placed two journals on her desk, Mathilda reached for them, thumbing through to see what data he remembered to journal. She didn’t expect perfection and yet, everything was in order. The journals were filled with documentation of her regimented routines, times, bathing and eating schedules, results of drills, physical side effects – she was pleased. He’d done exactly as instructed.<br/><br/>She placed the journals back on her desk but saw that he was still holding one in his hand, one he seemed less inclined to hand over.<br/><br/><em>“Deputy Headmistress, is it really necessary to write down every dream that I have? I guess I’m not exactly sure what my dreams would help you with.”</em><br/><br/>He didn’t need to say anything more for Mathilda to understand his hesitation. Apparently, he didn’t mind the other invasions of privacy but felt vulnerable about the content of his dreams. He had always been a bullheaded student, one seemingly obsessed with his machismo, so to share the innerworkings of his unconscious mind would be to let someone into a place where no amount of muscle or training could save you.<br/><br/>Mathilda crossed her ankles under her chair, her face unsmiling and upturned towards him, even though he was sitting.<br/><br/><strong>“Mr. Nordskov, the Dark Arts do not care when you are sleeping. Even something as simple as a boggart will prey on your deepest, darkest nightmare and cast it in your face without mercy. Our dreams are the simplest way to examine our weaknesses so that we may confront them, either for personal growth, or to be prepared if and when they are used against us.”</strong><br/><br/>She took a bite of salmon and egg, chewing thoughtfully. When she was finished, she touched a black linen napkin to her lips and then lay it in her lap.<br/><br/><strong>“However, as much as this documentation is in the name of research, you are entitled to your privacy. I need the subject, cast, location, goal, theme, and emotion of your dreams but I do not need it written in lurid detail. If you need a day to transcribe them into more succinct and less <em>personal</em> accounts, you may do so.” </strong><br/>