<div class="floatleft">(https://cdn.pursuitist.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Cara-Delevingne-and-Friends-for-La-Perla-Lingerie.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> Hella Sigrundsdottir (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=299655.msg14696665#msg14696665)<br/><strong>YEAR:</strong> 5th Year<br/><strong>BLOOD STATUS:</strong> PUREBLOOD<br/><strong>WAND:</strong> 9-5/8” Aspen with a Dragon Heartstring Core<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong> Night shirt<br/><strong>DATE | TIME:</strong> September 4th, Very early morning.<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong> Dorm room<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong> Letters to family<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong> CLOSED </td></tr></tbody></table><br/><hr/>Classes were over. Drills were over. Studying and extra practice, too.  It was late at night or more accurately early in the morning.  The only time Hella Sigrundsdottir had that was not filled with improving her mind, body and will.  With but a word the ensorcelled braids of her hair unraveled and spilled over slender shoulders.  Long dexterous fingers curled around the ivory handle of her brush.  An heirloom of her grandmother's.  Carefully she stroked her blond tresses, the magical braids less of a tangle than had she done them herself, but still in need of some work.  No more than a handful of passes was given to save them from tears and split ends.  Candlelight glimmered off of each strand as the soft rasp of bristle swept through the spartan confines of her room.  There was the soft snore of Gerta and the occasional snort from Boris her roommates who were already asleep.  It would be an hour still before Hella slipped into bed.  She had missives to write.  The brush returned to its place on the small desk next to her bed and was replaced by a quill freshly dipped in ink.  Sure handed lettering scrawled its way across the page.  Each letter art, each word thought out and crafted with purpose.  Perfection was the only acceptable form for a Sigrundsdottir.<br/><br/><hr/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Mother,<br/><br/>School is going well.  You will be satisfied to know that I have maintained the excellence expected of a daughter of Sigrund and I have been selected to travel to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  I can hear your ire already mother and I agree.  I am certain the tournament is held in England because the students of Hogwarts and Beauxbaton do not have the constitution to brave the majesty of a Scandinavian winter.  I am certain they believe it would hand Durmstrang an unfair advantage to hold it so close to our home. As if we need it to achieve victory.  I am certain my name will be entered into the tournament and I have no doubt that if I am chosen I will bring glory and victory to the name of Sigrund as you and Grandmother have.  As for marriage prospects, I am saddened to report that I have been unimpressed with any potential suitors.  I am certain that if they do not match up to my standards they will never match up to yours. <br/><br/>Your Daughter,<br/><br/>Hella<br/></span></span><br/><hr/><br/>There was not a stoke out of place.  Hella set the letter aside to let the ink dry and set another piece of parchment on the desk, returning the quill to the well.  She set a glass next to the parchment and retrieved a dark bottle from inside her desk.  She uncorked it with a soft pop and poured out a golden liquid with feet that clung to the width of the glass.  There was a case sitting next to her on the floor filled with similar bottles and packed carefully so they would not rub or break.  She capped the bottle and returned it to her desk before taking in the bouquet with a gentle sniff.  Honey, cinnamon and gloves greeted her and she took a sip of the nectar of the gods.  The mead was sweet, as intended.  She had worked hard on the recipe over the years and through trial and error had achieved perfection.  It was perhaps the achievement she was most proud of.  Hella set aside the glass and picked up the quill.  Her words flowed easily.  Her letters natural and loopy.<br/><br/><hr/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">Dearest Papa,<br/><br/>I have so much to tell you.  We are going to Hogwarts.  I am both excited and nervous.  I know mother wants me to represent Durmstrang and I will do whatever I can to not disappoint her and Grandmother.  It means so much to our family.  The drilling is non-stop but with extra classes and study I have increased my secondary marks like mother asked but I admit I am struggling.  I feel like more of a construct than myself.  Don’t get me wrong.  I am proud of the results, but what good are they if there is nothing of me left?  I am sorry.  I am rambling and tired.  <br/><br/>I cannot wait to see Hogsmeade.  I swear the first moment I can sneak away I am going to have a butterbeer!  I will tell you all about it and see if I can have some sent to you.  Just hide it from mother.  You know how she feels about Hogwarts. <br/><br/>I do hope I will have some time to enjoy the school.  I remember the stories you told me about your visit during the Tri-Wizard when I was a little girl.  How Hogsmeade and The Three Broomsticks were what inspired you to open your very own pub.  I think the best days of my childhood were running around chasing drunk pixies out with a broom.  Oh Papa how I miss that and you. <br/><br/>Between studies and extracurriculars, I have been working on something very special since my arrival.  I didn’t want to say anything until I had perfected it, but I think I have it just about right.  I have been brewing my own recipe Papa.  I know, mother would have a fit, but Papa, I think you will enjoy it.  I am sending you my first batch, aged six months and the recipe enclosed in this case.  I hope you like it.  I think it would make a wonderful edition to the pub.  Please let me know if I am completely bonkers.  I want to stay up until dawn and tell you everything I have been up to, but I am falling asleep and I have drills in the morning.  <br/><br/>I love you Papa and I miss you dearly.<br/><br/>Your loving daughter, <br/><br/>Hella<br/><br/>P.S. Please try to get mother to stop asking about suiters.  She is driving me up the wall.</span></span><br/><hr/><br/>Hella set the quill down and wiped at the corner of her eye.  She took another sip of the mead having reached the bottom of her glass as she finished folding and sealing the letters.  She enclosed them in the case next to her chair with the bottles for her father.  It was going to take a few owls to carry it, but she wanted to make sure it reached her parents safely.  A tired sigh escaped her lips, the only moment of vulnerability she felt she could allow, alone in the candlelight.  With a puff the room went dark. She slipped into her bed for a couple hours of sleep before it all started again.<br/>