Apparently, the other girl had some experience with mazes before. What was her name, again? It was some type of weather, he thought. Specifically, the English word for some type of weather. Which was not very specific at all, at least not in any way to be helpful for narrowing down the many options, but it was the best he could manage right now. Dmitry knew he was expected to be better at names, but it wasn’t at all like remembering places or pictures; names always took him a longer time than was proper. (Unless he had a negative interaction with someone, like Ryonon, and then unfortunately the name stuck much better.)
Anyways, even if he could not think of her name he knew that she was the daughter of Professor Brooks, so Dmitry supposed it made sense that she would have gone through mazes like this before. “Da,” he agreed with her assessment, smiling more genuinely now, “it sounds good for us.” Good for him, especially, as she would probably have some idea of what to expect and might be able to give them an advantage. And also good for her, because he had practiced these charms many times and could take care of any targets that caught her by surprise. It was fortunate for both of them that the Russian’s reservations about Professor Brook’s… professor-ing did not extend to her daughter with the English weather name. Being both first-years was maybe not as helpful as partnering with older students, but it sounded like they could help each other enough to make up for it.
“I can go first,” he offered courteously before quickly adding an “if you vant”, just in case she was the type of girl who would refuse gentlemanly offers of support unless he made it painfully clear that he knew she didn’t really need it and any acceptance was just a favour on her part. It was such a roundabout and unnecessary process, and it really shouldn’t be necessary for him to even think about. For the longest time he had believed this to be a unique malfunctioning of his sister, whose sense of propriety grew holes in specific interactions with him and no one else. This perspective had been challenged the first time he witnessed his cousin Kejan react in the same way to his other cousin Kašpar, and then he had concluded it was a shared trait among Pureblooded upper-class girls towards their brothers. And now he was at RMI where just last week in the Cetus commons he had witnessed an argument between two of the upper-years, which all started when the surprisingly proper Muggleborn Asian boy who had taught him about the impact of cauldron density on boiling times (admittedly with about thirty minutes more detail than Dmitry needed for his Potions report) simply offered to hold the door open for the older Italian girl. It had left him quite dismayed to watch and clearly he now had to assume that no one understood etiquette at this school.
Once he knew in what order they would be going into the maze, Dmitry lined up accordingly and went through the entrance. It had looked dark from the outside, but from the inside it felt even darker. “Do not be scared,” he said, speaking quietly in case she was embarrassed but encouragingly in case she needed the support, “our eyes vill get better.” His vision was already starting to adjust to the reduced light levels, and by the time they got to the first fork in the path, he could make out his own limbs clearly enough. It probably helped that he was wearing a button-up shirt under his robes: the sleeves of his robes were hemmed perfectly, and the thin stripe of white around his wrists was crisp against the shadows. “The left corner looks more wide, we can be going there,” he half-decided, half-suggested, trying to adjust his tone and balance out those halves depending on how she had reacted to the earlier offer that she could enter behind him. In a wider area, maybe they could just walk beside each other and avoid any problems that way.