Finishing another essay, Lyov blew on the ink, allowing it to set before rolling the parchment up and tying a string around it. He liked his things just so. The chill of the dungeons was welcoming; a reminder of home. Sleeves were pushed up to his elbows while he worked, allowing for distraction with his hands while he read.

Finally, however, he decided he was done studying for a while. Closing the charms course book, Lyov stood up and stretched. He walked around the study area to move blood back down into his legs. Stopping at the couch, he nudged the familiar girl there and smirked down at her. “Move over, lazy.”

Sitting in the corner, arms snaked out over the back and the arm of the couch, legs stretching out into territory. It allowed the girl to go back to her spot. “I’ll keep you warm while you sit here and do nothing.” A pointed finger lifted from the back of the couch and poked her shoulder, lightly, teasingly, invitingly.

Eyes moved from her hair and her neck line to glance around the study area. A couple of other students were there as well, frowning as they attempted to concentrate. Lyov waited patiently, allowing one to become distracted by work before attempting to invade his mind. What it got him was a pillow thrown in his direction while Lyov laughed, protecting his most sensitive bits.

Glancing back to the girl, he raised an eyebrow. “Ready for the Yule Ball?”

Though the gaze she gave him might have matched his word for her, lazy, the intention behind it was not. Unamused, bothered, couldn’t bother were more appropriate descriptions, perhaps. Still, Magda moved over to accommodate Lyov, who was going to sit either way. There were very few people, fellow Oberteil or not, for whom she might have made room. Before he sat, she blinked, some of the coolness in her stare dispersing.

"Will you? What a task.” Her eyes had shifted to the spine of a book on the table, where they remained as Lyov poked her. “I’m already warm,” she added, almost a murmur, and she barely turned her jaw to glance at him again. There might have been the lightest smile there upon her lips. It was cool enough in the dungeons. They were accustomed to it.

“And I’m not doing 'nothing.'” She gestured to the thestral box, which she had opened months ago, and which now sat between two piles of books on seemingly random subjects— anything Magda could think to read that might give her some idea of the Third Task. There was a high chance, too, given the students the Goblet had chosen thus far, that the boy with his arm snaked over the couch would be involved. Magda didn’t need to say more. He would grasp the meaning intended, surely. Just as the pair of them grasped the frowns and silent groans of their peers. Their peers had surely worked in busier environments (despite their collective discipline), and so Magda was not bothered that they might be bothered. If they voiced a problem, she would fix it.

Lyov was of similar mind, apparently. Magdalena turned her face more properly in his direction, watching him watch the boy. She knew what he was doing. The pillow a moment later made her narrow her brows. Her fingers brushed over her wand and she looked toward the student who had tossed the pillow. “Of course,” she said, eyes returning to Lyov. “Try not to get a book thrown in our direction. Your face won’t look the same at the ball.” Not that it mattered— He would not be Magda’s dancing partner. Unfortunately, a book wouldn’t make it that far, and it would be the disgruntled studier who ended up worse off. “You can’t go disappointing Beauxbatons, can you?” She grinned.

There was something familiar in the way she moved for him, relenting even as she stared at him. The warmth of the cushions (opposite to her normal mood) was as inviting as her company. Then again, if he had sat on her lap, she might not have been as welcoming. It was all trivial; she had moved, he had sat.

It felt like he was being mocked. Staring at the side of her head, tilting his own, Lyov raised an eyebrow. “Some might think it quite a task, for an ice queen.” His finger drove the point home (lightly) before withdrawing, resting on the couch behind her. A deeper breath was inhaled as he gave a half smirk.

The chill of the dungeons could make a Russian man ache for home. Even Durmstrang was draftier than this chill-a breeze that could knock the breath out of you. Homesick wasn’t the right word... “Are you sure? I was worried Hogwarts had made you go soft.” Scotland weather did have a bit of cold to it, but there were subtle differences that one would notice after six years in colder climates.

Double negatives weren’t usually her style, but then... neither was leaving something unsolved. Lyov perked up ever so slightly as his eyebrows rose collectively, sucking absentmindedly on his lower lip. A slight shrug of the shoulder helped to put his attention elsewhere, wand tapping lightly against the arm of the couch. Silent spells were difficult to cast, and Legilimens was even worse; he had to at least whisper it to himself.

It made it weaker, though. Sneaky did not always go on par with powerful. Evidence by the pillow, Lyov wasn’t as sneaky as he could have been. Then again, in a room with so few who it could have possibly been... At least he could laugh at himself in the moment.

“Is that a threat, Magdalena?” Lyov was intrigued by the high probability; there was something sexy about a beautiful woman threatening him.

His own smirk fell a little at the mention of Beauxbatons finest, and Lyov quickly glanced around. Blue eyes finally focused on hers, sharp as they commanded her attention. “That is merely an unfortunate... expectation. I am quite stumped at the prudery of the French students.” If his fiancé was any to base it off of.

Leaning forward, his arm circled around her more and pulled her in a little, glancing at the box. “What have you figured out with it so far?”

Ice queen. She would wear the moniker proudly.

“You’re worrying about someone besides yourself…” She spoke as if it was almost sweet. They both knew that wasn’t true— or at least Magdalena was highly certain. "You think I’m going soft?” Her parted lips and visible teeth were a subtle grin. Her tongue pressed tightly to the roof of her mouth, and she raised her chin a fraction as she considered this, humored (despite knowing that he was plainly joking). She closed her mouth again. “It feels like early autumn.” It was her way of acknowledging that she missed it, the uncharted fortress in the Norwegian forest. Shame their furs were nearly too warm for this place, and the forest held little in the way of prizes for her grandfather and his arsenal.

But Hogwarts had its charms, too. Soft though it may be, there was a certain pleasantness to the warmth and merriness that even Magdalena could not deny. Speaking of it to the British students, though…

“Is that a threat, Magdalena?”

“Yes,” she said, matter-of-factly.

It was a change of pace, to be able to threaten someone and not have them cower. It was a part of why she was (albeit, often irritatingly, sometimes against her wishes, and certainly against her better judgment) attracted to Lyov.

She was pleased to hear he was not having the best time with his intended bride. “That’s quite an unfortunate expectation.” One which would last a very long time. But Magdalena, like Lyov, had been raised with pride, schooled to take it like a true witch or wizard. “Maybe chastity will do you some good.”

She continued to ignore his arm, neither stiffened nor softened into it. She had opened the box months ago. She had explained, in detail, to the other Oberteils, their professors, and her grandfather what had happened. That she could not see thestrals herself was an annoyance, but Magdalena had focused on what she could see. They had spent many hours going over the riddle, each line, each syllable, but even Magdalena had been rattled by its enigma. They had, once more, come out of a task on top— which ultimately was what mattered. But she had kept the box, a trophy of her accomplishments, a way to jog her mind. “Both tasks were a maze of some kind,” she said quietly. “A spider’s web and a riddler's tunnel.” She turned to him, slightly closer now that he had pulled her in more. “Individuals and then pairs. What next?” Perhaps it would be something else entirely: a very singular test, a duel, or even something involving the majority of the upperclassman. The latter seemed both too egalitarian and exactly the sort of thing toward which a modern tournament might move. “Groups are harder.” It was a fact, to Magdalena. She would rather do it on her own. She could work with others, had been trained to do so, to accomplish things as an entity with her peers, but she had also be trained not to depend too much on anyone but herself. There were ideas which seemed too leisurely, almost too obvious, and others which seemed highly unlikely, but dismissing any of them wasn’t an option. The Third Task had to be both the hardest and the most unexpected.

“What can I say? Hogwarts has tamed me.” The words were empty. His voice held little humor as he raised an eyebrow, glancing over her mouth. Early autumn. Lyov smirked and settled back against the couch, an appreciative hum escaping from between his lips. “It’s not quite so cold that you feel like you’ll break if you take too deep of a breath. It’s pleasant.” Which was to say that it felt more like a vacation, not a tournament.

Then again... he had yet to be called for the tasks. If it digged deeper into his self-confidence, he definitely wasn’t going to open up about that with his fellow Oberteil. They were a rather stoic and competitive bunch; it wouldn’t do to let weaknesses slip out.

It was easy to be friendly; it was harder to be sincere. Even if he had known Magdalena for years and felt closer to many of his classmates than his own family. Compared to Hogwarts, Durmstrang was an institution as ironclad as its name. Giving your best meant giving everything you had. If you didn’t end up on top... that failure was felt amongst all.

He did give her a toothier grin as she confirmed his question. It was not his best feature, and he quickly closed his lips around them into a more controlled smirk. Some day, maybe, he’d have them fixed.

A disgruntled noise escaped him at the jokes about his unfortunate luck. “It probably would. Not that it’s stopped me before.” He glanced at her, taking her in a little more hungrily. Lyov didn’t care about the others in the room. Or if he did, he hid it well. It was important to ooze confidence even when one didn’t have it. Sometimes that made others back down. Sometimes it just made things more interesting.

He wasn’t bothered with switching topics to more important things. The tournament, after all, was the reason they were here. He frowned in concentration, staring at the box only long enough to take it in. “So far it’s been a lot of mind games, right? Battle of wits and spells.” Mazes were boring after a time; no matter how complex they got, there was still an entrance and exit that were meant to be taken. “Obviously they like group work.”

Judging by how hard the last task had been in comparison... it didn’t seem like they would take a step back from that. “As a group, though, we are more disciplined.” Even if they preferred to work alone, they also could work together for a common goal. Like winning a task. Their disciplined schooling made that an obvious trait. “What do we know so far?” He was going to make her list it all.

“Sure it has. Who knew all it took was warm weather and Muggle Studies?” As he eyed her mouth, her own eyes roamed his face— subtly and then more blatantly at the hum. The lure of a dangerous, Russian smirk was a different obstacle from the task she had been mulling over.

“You don’t miss your lungs on fire?” She asked, almost smiling. If she seemed to read his mind, it was only coincidence: Lyov was the Legilimens. "It’s holiday weather. And we’re the only ones working.” This seemed to travel far enough to earn a look from a fellow student. By ‘we,’ she had meant their camp, and if it wasn’t true, it wasn’t going to be contested by anyone in the room. But if their pair of them literally weren’t working, and if that drew any looks… Magda practically dared the others to say something.

His smile, the more genuine, less guarded one, was rarer than his smirk, and so Magda always liked to see it, felt a little personal victory in it. But his smirk was nice, too… cool was probably the better word… and it kept her attention until the topic shifted to his little mouse. And the much more humorous idea of him practicing chastity. “No,” she agreed. Didn’t Magda know his words were true?

Where Lyov’s glance was easy enough to read, Magda offered an understated response— but it was there, in her eyes, that she was coming around, that she probably wanted what he wanted. If he was made somehow more appealing by the hurtle of a Beauxbatons girl, if part of Magda craved stealing attention that did not belong to her, of being in on the plan, he was plenty attractive on his own. A fact she had been avoiding off and on when grappling with the past. But now… It was nearly Christmas, and time for cheer.

“So far it’s been a lot of mind games, right? Battle of wits and spells.”

“Exactly.” It was a good summary. “I don't think they're likely to revert from that. But they didn’t even give us a poem this time.” She glanced again toward the box, suddenly wishing they had been given a vexing clue like that one— even if it had meant admitting that she had not seen a thestral. But Lyov had a point. She looked at him again. If group work was harder, Durmstrang still had advantages. “At some things, anyway,” she said on the topic of discipline, moving a little closer. She glanced down at the books she'd been flipping through. “We know nothing. Nothing concrete… But if it remains on trend, we might end up in the lair of some category five X creature. We know they don’t mind some people having advantages, like seeing thestrals.” This part was uttered more quietly, almost as if she were speaking to herself. She nearly regretted it, but without classmates like Lyov, they might not have unlocked the clue to the last task. Even so, Magda had been more annoyed than sorry for herself. "We just need to be better than them at everything."

She settled, finally, a little bit into his arm, and locked her gaze on his. “If we both get called, we should have a bet.”

At the mention of muggle studies, Lyov grunted in irritation and rolled his eyes. “Such a ridiculous class. The entire concept... fits this school.” It summed up his opinion on Hogwarts. Lungs on fire, however, was a whole different thought. He huffed out a laugh and shook his head. There was a certain emotion behind it, of course; where you knew you were alive because it hurt so much. And then it felt so good to stop hurting... to actually be inside and warming up by a fire.

It made living in the north worth it. It was home. Scotland was a holiday in comparison, he agreed with her there. Even if there were many parts of Russia that were south of ridiculous winters. He didn’t live there, and so it was inconsequential. Russia was known for a few things, vodka and winter chiefly among them.

“Hard work always pays off.” His eyes took her in with an offer at his own meaning of work. “What’s the saying? Practice is perfect?” Their own past was full of thorns that Lyov didn’t want to necessarily dig right back into her, but it seemed appropriate right then. If she wanted to play with him, he would encourage it. Regardless of his betrothed and her chaste ways. If anything, they knew from experience (or he did, anyway) how much fun that could be, playing when they shouldn’t.

“Hogwarts is going hardcore already.” No poem, no sweet talk? Maybe the people in charge of the tournament were finally learning from the strong northern folk. Lyov thought on it a moment, rubbing his chin with his free hand. There weren’t many beasts that had advantages quite like being able to see someone die or not. “They keep a lot of strange things in their forest.” He didn’t poke fun at her about the thestrals bit; if he had back when it had been first been mentioned, it seemed to have run its course. No point in rubbing salt in that wound unless he wanted to get bitten.

Lyov did nod at her statement, even if he thought they were better than them at everything. He smirked at her words, relaxing into the sofa with his arm around her, curling in more. Finally he looked around before ducking his head closer, words quiet against her ear. “I agree. Give me the terms.”

“I wonder if the exam is learning a muggle bus route and trying to flag your way out of Scotland.” In which case, Magdalena was tempted to enroll. It wasn’t Scotland itself, of course, that she found tedious and restricting, too vanilla. It was Hogwarts. For every soft accommodation, there was a reminder of what they were missing back home. With that lung-searing air. If Hogsmeade turned into a little candy village for the holidays, they had nothing on the north, which resembled the actual north pole. Where there were reindeer and people earned their mugs of cocoa after winding from one out-building to another between classes. For fun.

She smiled at his laugh, again dwelling, for the moment, on the pain she missed.

“Practice makes perfect.” She said it in English, even if it wasn’t necessary. It was not her favorite language. (It was not even a logical language.) She continued to eye him, convey something besides what her tongue might reveal. Despite the foreignness of it, her tone had not been unfriendly, but rather chastising in a playful way. Practice is perfect did sound better. Some sorts were very close… She turned her head a bit, focusing on the table for a moment. And then, in Russian, nonchalant: “I'm bored with the regular ways. They’re not exhausting enough.” She looked back at him, eyes crinkled slightly. “Is your schedule too full of practicing French?"

She rolled her eyes, even if he was joking. “Hogwarts is even less hardcore than my grandmother.” Which was true: her grandmother, their languages professor, could be terrifying. But not particularly to Magda, who still saw her as a grandmother first and foremost. “But they are making it more difficult…” Or less. Maybe it was better to go in blind, at this point. Her face softened again. “Maybe it’s a yeti.” Which were celebrated in the north. “Nothing you couldn’t handle, right?”

As he moved closer, Magda’s lips parted. She could feel others' eyes on them, but she didn’t care. Or if she did, they brought a surge of satisfaction. She turned her head toward his whisper, sharing breath now. “Whoever scores higher wins," she said simply. And then, quieter, even closer, against his jaw: “If I win…” She told him the prize she wanted.

Lyov made a face but kept his opinion to himself; he understood the roads and ways to get around his hometown, and the area around Durmstrang. That didn’t mean he needed an entire seven years learning bus routes. He was bored for them. He shook his head in disagreement and looked her face over. Sometimes she had funny ideas.

When she corrected him, he felt bristled and suddenly irritated. Lyov hadn’t meant to mess up... And it made sense the way he said it. Still, though his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, he kept his sarcastically witty response behind his teeth before controlling his face. He hated being wrong, especially to Magdalena. “That’s what I meant.” He obviously shouldn’t have framed it as a question.

He knew she was playing with him and that he tried to not give her fuel to fire back at him. Sometimes it was unavoidable. Her unspoken offer, as he took it, mixed under her words, caused a smirk to his lips. “It’s never too full for you, Mags.” Which was the problem, for her. She would always be welcomed back with open arms, even if Lyov didn’t have her best interest at heart.

A face was made at the mention of her grandmother; Lyov had fond memories of her class. He’d learned to focus very quickly after a few ruler retaliations. There was something very encouraging about learning when you feared, even just a little bit, that you might become a foot stool. Memories stayed and he didn’t smart off again in class (or hearing distance to Grandmother Eisenberg).

“A yeti would be another reminder of home.” And her grandmother, but he wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud.

He listened to the details of the bet, smirking at the obvious terms. Whoever was better would - his eyes widened at her choice of prize. The sudden laugh that escaped him was nothing short of surprised. “I guess I’ll have to make sure you don’t win, then.” He leaned in closer and mumbled against her ear what he wanted when he won, his hand tugging on her earlobe before he kissed her jawline.

Lyov pulled back and smirked. “Let’s get to practicing.” He held his hand out in finality on their bet, waiting for her to shake it.

She could tell by the look on his face, even if it was brief, that she had poked something. Magda tried to keep her own smile mild— though she didn’t try very hard. No doubt he would pay her back in kind. “Your way sounds more gratifying,” she admitted.

If Magdalena should have tread more carefully, she pushed that thought away. She had spurned him plenty in the past, and she knew what she wanted right now. His words were like the thing on the other side of a cliff, tempting. She had already made up her mind, coaxed by this warm encounter and fueled just a little by bitterness toward a French girl.

The upside to Hogwarts, she reflected, was that not all of their professors had come over with them. She respected, but it did mean that she always appreciated their hawkish gazes. Her grandmother, though, was perfectly lovely— to Magdalena. “Don’t look like that, she would be very impressed tongue.” If not her granddaughter’s taste in Russian rebels.

Yetis were shoved aside for betting terms. There was a different kind of reminder of Durmstrang in a good competition, which had hardly ever been dissuaded by their superiors. (Though no doubt if they knew the terms of this one… Well, Magda was thankful her grandfather had never actually appeared all of those times when she threatened Lyov that he was around the corner as they pawed at each other.)

And speaking of tongues…

There was a thrill in hearing that he would win, if the other half of her was trying to bust through the gates and get the race started. If Lyov’s eyes widened at her prize, hers almost rolled at his— but didn’t. It was her mouth that widened a bit more, tongue pressing toward top teeth as her eyes grew heavy with understanding, staring at the fire. A tiny laugh followed, less shocked than his, maybe, more breathy. She turned to the tugging and kissing, and eyed him finally, partly, from an angle. She seemed to appraise his whispered end of the bet for a moment as eyes fell down toward his mouth. “For a week straight.”

She pressed into the couch, adjusting her head a little as he smirked at her from a slightly bigger distance now. Her hand reached out, matching his, her palm warmer than usual but not out of nervousness. “Deal.” Her shake was firm, if not dramatic. We should start somewhere—” She began, her voice lazy. She reached for wand. “Where we aren’t going to bother our classmates.” Magda could be generous.

She stood up, smoothing her pants, and looked around before her eyes settled on the right door. She began to walk without looking over her shoulder, even once. “I think,” she said, when he had caught up. “That your end of the deal is sweeter.” She looked to him, waiting for him to argue. They pressed through the door and Magda gave him just enough room to lean into it, close out their classmates. “And messier.” She seemed not to know for a minute whether to raise her brows matter-of-factly or narrow them in suspicion; but she was in control of her face, and she did neither. “Not that I’m going to back out. I can’t wait to see the look on your face…” Maybe she would make Tyr find a camera.

Her wand came up between them, Magda tapped it on his shirt as she looked it over. Her eyes came up to his again. “Where should we start? Spellworks?” She leaned up, pressing her mouth toward his neck this time. “Tangibles?” Neither of them counted it as their primary discipline, but it seemed an appropriate question. Magda kissed the spot much more softly than either of them were.

Lyov’s eyes bounced dangerously as they mumbled bets to each other. “If you think you can handle it...” He agreed to the clause, now part of their friendly competition. What else made students work harder than good old fashion I can do anything better than them? Durmstrang had built an education system off of it. Lyov could only hope that it came through on this Cup. There were advantages to their learning that the softies of other regions couldn’t swallow.

Dedication was another term he would use. A week straight was going to end up making poor Magdalena sore, but she was such a stubborn trooper that she’d throw it in despite the likelihood of success. As they shook, it felt like the start of something beautiful for him.

He merely smirked and raised an eyebrow, watching her and not the reaction of nearby studious students. It took Lyov a moment (and a few steps on her part) before he realized he was supposed to follow her. He made up for it with long strides, cocking an eyebrow at her accusation. “My end should always be sweeter.” Wasn’t that obvious?

The argument as to whether it was messier or not was not going to be started just yet. Lyov felt that would only be something worth discussing if they found out it wasn’t. At which point he’d need a bleach mouthwash.

Besides, they were so close to each other right then, sealing off classmates from their study session, that Lyov didn’t think it worth mentioning. He let her keep talking, eyes moving down over her as he tuned her out. Until her wand showed up, of course, and then he came back to the conversation. “Uh...” He licked his lips as his heart beat a little quicker against his chest; there was something deadly sexy about a woman holding a wand and knowing how to use it.

“How about... we start with the alphabet and you give me a spell with the first letter, and we’ll go until one of us can’t think of one.” Lyov smirked before his hands settled on her waist, pulling her against him roughly. “Ladies first.”

Magda continued to stare in the small space between them, a blasé look on her face. But there was something there, in her eyes, before the words came out. “I know I can.” Another hint of a smile. If he was going to challenge her, she was going to rise to it.

“My end should always be sweeter.”

“Unless we’re talking literally,” she countered quietly, eyes locking on his, appraising the accusatory look. She was confident that her… end… was sweeter. “Vodka,” she added, knowing that he knew what she meant. They had discussed it before.

Once they were alone and Magda had no one else’s presence to ignore, she looked him up and down. Was he paying attention? Her eyes narrowed a fraction, but only a fraction. Lyov seemed to catch himself, to catch up with her. She opened her mouth against his skin, smiling.As he pulled her close, offering politely to let her go first, Magda pulled back a little. She leveled his gaze. “Accio xep,” she whispered, while her wand tapped against his shoulder.

The beloved wood was nearly forgotten as Magda pressed further into him, leaning up to kiss him again. Her free arm came around his neck and she pulled his face closer.

The half smirk grew; he trusted her word for it. Vodka was delicious, after all. “I thought you enjoyed that flavor.” It could definitely knock you off your feet if you weren’t prepared. Especially harsh Russian vodka. It was always entertaining to watch someone try it for the first time and to refuse them a chaser.

His tongue ran over his lips slowly at her spell. It was lucky for him (and all the others in the room beyond) that her spell wouldn’t work, even if cast. Still... his eyes glanced down her front. The kiss was reciprocated, a needy and rough mesh of lips and tongue. Fingers moved under material to touch warm, bare skin. This was exactly what he needed.

He could easily forget about his decided future for a while. Magdalena had been a constant a lot longer than anyone else. Which made it easier, somehow, to betray her when he least meant to. Often it was less thinking and more doing that got him into trouble with her. With her stony exterior, it was sometimes hard to remember that she did feel a lot. Emotions were still felt, even for Durmstrang Ice Queens.

Lyov much preferred to forget emotions.

He pulled away from her, catching his breath as one hand was caught under her waistband and the other had fished under the shirt. “Cосать мой член.” He grinned in the dimness, eyes glazed as he looked her face over.