<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/>On this early morning Raynor Nordskov happened to be late. He was not late, despite the arduous test of transforming his sleeping schedule, because of anything regarding sleep, or, at least, sleeping in its strictest sense with its relation to resting. No. Instead, the swaggering giant of a man was somewhat tardy because of hesitation. That was unlike him. Ray never hesitated. It was a point of pride for him to always lunge headlong into any sort of fray. Sure, someone could call him stupid, or headstrong, or stubborn, or even pig-headed if they were feeling creative at the time. But, they would never call him a coward, and they would never say he did not have honor.<br/><br/>But, what could make a man as large and as strong as Raynor pause with uncertainty? He had fought in countless fistfights, ended up in arguing tumbles, made death-defying leaps of faith, and was enthusiastically confident around women. It was his reputation. Raynor The Fearless. Raynor The Brave. There were plenty of titles to his name describing his seven years of his great deeds. Some of them were heroic, like rescuing a second year from drowning when she had fallen through a thin patch of ice. And, others were outlandishly stupid. It was not a bright idea, at all actually, to hurl a snowball in the direction of Mathilda Wolff. Mathilda Wolff, the Deputy Headmistress of Durmstrang, happened to be his reason for hesitation.<br/><br/>The moment Ray stepped onto Durmstrang grounds the young man ferociously thrust himself into his work, and studies, in order to achieve glory and a reputation of absolute greatness. He wanted to be the best, no matter what, and that cause was tremendously personal to him… to the point of fault. There were several qualities he held that put him at an advantage. One, he was naturally gifted with magic. Two, he was far more driven than his peers. But, with ambition there comes arrogance, cockiness, and a lack of restraint. Given that Ray was a late bloomer to his powers, he arrived at the Institute with a head full of pride that needed to be weathered. Mathilda happened to be the proper instructor to do so. She was strict. She was fearsome. She was relentless. But, most importantly, she was disciplined in every manner that Ray was not.<br/><br/>Over long stretches of time, and seemingly endless private lessons with the most feared teacher of Durmstrang, the stubborn boy became a man and also happened to see that the dreaded Ms. Wolff was not as terrible as claimed. She helped him become better, and stronger. He matured underneath her tutelage. So, when it became known she was asking for volunteers he eagerly submitted his name. It was a point of honor, for he owed her a significant debt, and whatever it was the Deputy Headmistress was planning would undoubtedly push him to further, soaring heights. That was his belief, at the least.<br/><br/>For the entire summer, Ray changed his sleeping habits. It was no simple hurdle to shift into two four-hour periods of sleep. Truthfully, it was strenuous and wore him down to exhaustion. But, in recent stretches he believed he was making improvements to not only his practice with magic, but his physical fitness too. Perhaps it was true that others may get a better rest than him, but he had the advantage of accomplishing more with his time.<br/><br/>Ray was not surprised that as part of volunteering he was required to keep a detailed journal of his progress. The Deputy Headmistress was nothing if not extremely dedicated to the smallest detail. However, there were certain things he had to record that he did not think about until this very morning. The one thing occupying his mind was the part that included jotting down what occurred in his dreams.<br/><br/>This morning, Ray scanned through his journals to find the typical sequences. Nightmares of failure, arguments of a personal nature with people of personal importance, and then there were dreams of happiness, success, and absolute glory. There was nothing troubling about those entries. But then his eyes wandered on down to one entry in particular…<br/><br/>An entry that was intricately described down to its setting in the dark, torch-lit Durmstrang dungeons, and its two participants: Mathilda, and Raynor.<br/><br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;"><em>With a knowing smirk, arrogant and assured, I grabbed Mathilda by her hair and pressed her against the cold, hard iron bars of the dungeon. My intents were not pure, not in the slightest. And judging from the utterly arousing sound that escaped her lips, I can confidently say her intentions were no less impure than mine.</em></span></div><br/>Ray stopped on that line, and closed his journal, standing outside of Mathilda’s office. He asked himself when he wrote this, but the date was imprinted clearly. Or, he wondered, did he write this at all? But, to his great disappointment he was undoubtedly sure it was his handwriting. Ray, in a fit of exhaustion at some late hour of a random day, merely saw fit to write everything about this specific dream and all of its details without censoring a single moment. Maybe she would find it funny, he thought. Maybe…<br/><br/>A man does not hesitate. Ray opened the door, and strode into her office with the journals tucked underneath his right arm. “Sorry for being late, Deputy Headmistress.” He did not conjure up an excuse, because in the end excuses were never relevant, or remotely helpful. Ray absorbed the sights of her office, enjoying the beauty of it all. It was a distraction he was thankful for.<br/><br/>Finally, he took his seat at her desk. Raynor placed two of his three journals down in offering to Mathilda. He withheld the third, tapping at its binding somewhat uncomfortably. “Deputy Headmistress,” he spoke, “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.” It was a long shot, but he hoped that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to hand in this journal at all.