It's Not Too Bad When The Sun's Out

"Oh? Who was your father?" Padril asked, certain that he wouldn't recognise his name anyway. "You can get wind on your face just regularly flying a broom, or hiking. In Quidditch there's giant metal balls flying at you, actively trying to hurt you. There must be more to it then appreciating the odd gust." At the moment Oliver had just given him vanilla answers; which indicated one of three things. OIiver didn't think about these things too much, he didn't trust Padril enough to answer them honestly, or he was just as shallow as his answers. All of them were equally likely and reasonable at this point, and Padril was curious to see what he would find out.

"Why don't I like Quidditch?" Padril adjusted his tie as he counted the ways. "I'm Muggleborn, so I knew nothing about it when I came here. Everyone was raving about it, always, ALWAYS acting incredulous when I didn't know a player, or a rule, or the Hollyhead Harlots or whatever. And then the sport has the most ridiculous rules. Not ending the match until the snitch is caught? Throwing bludgers at people? It's just so bizarre, and disorganized. I enjoy how happy it makes everyone, but it's just a really strange sport and I wish people realised it." He took a deep breath, and then smiled. He really, really hoped that didn't offend Oliver. That would be bad.

"that's not to important," Oliver answered quietly, "and that stuff isn't as exciting. The danger in it is a thrill you can only get from playing. You can nearly escape death every time you play." Oliver chuckled as the boy said that quidditch was a strange sport. "What about that muggle game called foot ball? you can't touch the ball with your hands? they look like little armless penguins trying to play a game." He shook his head at the boy, quidditch was something he had know all of his life and it made perfect since to him now as a teen, what really confused him was how people could live without magic in their lives.

"See, now that makes sense," Padril conceded. "Adrenaline junkie. I can get behind that." Cough Cough. "Oh, believe me, I completely agree. Football's ridiculous, and people love it anyway. The fans are actually more dangerous than the sport. I suppose Quidditch will never lose its novelty for me though. People flying. Even if it's ludicrous, it's fantastic to watch. You're very brave."

He moved from one foot to the other awkwardly, not really sure how to continue the conversation but desperately wanting to. What do people even talk about when they want to seem interesting but not weird? "So, uh, how's...life?"

Stupid stupid stupid

"Life?" Oliver scoffed, "Your really going to ask someone how life is?" he shook his head and could only think of one way to describe life the way he had experienced it. "Life is a B****, that is all it will ever be." He stated not caring if his words offended the other boy. Life had never been nice to Oliver, he had a father who didn't want him, another who pretended like he did just for his mother, and no way to win in this game of who likes who. All he really had was his half sister. He didn't really care what the boy thought about him at this moment. But wondered if he could recruit him for the Dark Fallowers. Padril wouldn't know anything about it just like he knew almost nothing of Quidditch.

Padril was taken aback. "Oh sorry, I didn't know how sensitive a topic, er, life was with you. I guess I'll try not to bring it up," he shot back dryly. He didn't want to make this an argument about optimism and cynicism here and for all he knew, Oliver might actually have a F*** up life. So if he turned the whole thing into a little dry joke, then they might be able to laugh off this incredibly awkward situation. He didn't really know what else to do. How do you respond when a stranger brings up an issue that's really sensitive to them? Laugh at it, obviously, and hope they laugh too.

He loosened his tie a little, flustered. "So...do you fly to escape then? Live close to death to escape life?" Padril asked, eyes filling with empathy for the Gryffindor. He didn't seem so big now. The conversation had turned around very quickly, but Padril had already forgotten that they were two strangers standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall, on top of puddles of water and flecked with mud.

Oliver had never thought of how flying could help him escape his problems. he had always seen it as the solutuion. "Not really, its been more of a soulution for my problems," he answered sifting his wight uncomfortably. this was the most thought he had ever put into this. It had always been become the best, prove you are the only true Krum Child, prove to your father how wonderful you are, in olivers mind. he was focused on wining what was rightfully his by birth, love, respect, and honor. "But it doesnt seem to be working oit too good." He answered

"Well, pardon me, but unless your problem is 'I'm too earthborne' then of course flying isn't going to solve anything," Padril bluntly told the Gryffindor, hands now resting comfortably at his sides. People having issues was a thing he knew how to deal with. Making them see it sensibly, loving themselves, stopping them from living for other people's opinions. It was a conversation he had often. "Do you want to talk about it? I don't mean to brag, but we 'Puffs are awfully good at this stuff. I can be quiet if you want me to. Just sometimes having a person who listens or only asks questions can be a big help, I know."

He gave the Gryffindor his best sympathetic smile. "Sometimes people slip in the rain and strangers help them up. Life isn't all bad."

"And why would a puffer want to hear about my problems?" Oliver asked rising an eyebrow at padril. this boy had nothing to do with his life but maybe telling someone ccould help. he comtemplated this whike he waited for Padrils answer. If Olivervwas going to tell Padril his problems he shoukd probably start be telling him his last name by telling him that there were only two childeren acknowlaged that went by the same last name as he did. "Krum, Victor Krum is my father though he would never admit it." oli told the boy bowing his head in disappointment not only in his self but in his father.

Padril blinked blankly at Oliver for a moment. "Why...I never really thought about it," he confessed, biting his lip. "It just seemed like the right thing to do. You seem a little bit sad, and when people are sad they should talk about it." He had never really considered the logic of altruism or empathy before. It was just seemed like the sensible, the inherently right thing to do. If you had to justify being kind, then something was very wrong. It was ultimately this mindset that convinced the Sorting Hat that he was more a Badger than an Eagle.

Padril cocked his head to the side. "Tell you what, the Entrance Hall isn't the best place for these conversations. Follow me down to the kitchens, we can get warmed up and talk down there," he suggested, smiling. He moved his hand out to grab Oliver's own, then reconsidered. He pretended to have been adjusting his tie again instead.

"There is food in the kitchens," Oliver stated the fact like the hungry teen aged boy he was, as if that was the only thing he thought about after quidditch. "Sure lets go," he said calmly he didn't really care who knew who he was or why he was there in Hogwarts making himself known to a large portion of the wizarding comunity that interacted with his half siblings. they woukld all know what his plans were for them soon enough. maybe he could get this boy to come over and aid in his persuit. "Do you know who Victor Krum is?" Oliver asked rising an eye brow at the boy. he didn't know much about quidditch so why woukd he know about a person who was famous because of it