Closed # OF CONFIDANTS &. INK pv karlie keys

Writing was a very therapeutic pastime for Karlie. Not necessarily the thought nor creative description used for storytelling or revision, but more so the handwriting element. For at least one evening a week she would sit at her desk under candlelight and copy a few pages of a textbook. She meticously refined the gentle motion of sweeping a 'g' or a 'y's tail back onto the page line, the angle at which her quill nib touched the page, and the speed of her scribing. It was a silent and intimate activity she enjoyed very much. Her mother suggested that a quill-pal could add some excitement. Karlie would be able to use her beloved lettering set, interact with another young witch or wizard, and see if she could learn anything new about magic or her quill-pal outright. The idea was fine. In fact, the opportunity to talk about her learning would be a breath of fresh air, especially as it wouldn't be face-to-face. Her mother was a great ear and was very encouraging, but her sister would rather engage in a magic-speed-toy-broom-flying-comp in the garden (her words). If she was going to talk to someone her age about academics, through a letter was most certainly a preference. That awful bothersome small-talk about the weather and 'how you felt' was just pointless jibber-jabber. It could be avoided if you couldn't see their face, nor really care about them.

At first, the letters herself and this Sanguinius exchanged were perfect in her eyes. She was straight to the point and exchanged her knowledge and information, and he did the same. If he shared something Karlie was unaware of, she'd unscroll the letter in front of her mother, point to the line of interest, ask if this was correct or feasible, and her mother would dutifully confirm or deny. She never did deny. After a while, her mother said that her letters appeared a little drab and suggested to share a little more what was happening in the village or in her life; her quill-pal could get bored otherwise! So, rolling her eyes as she did, she would make a habit of inserting some sort of informality, such as 'the weather is warm right now' or 'Cambridge is lovely for a visit', or 'I hope you are well'. Her mother said this was pleasant. Karlie thought it was a waste of time.

Since the beginning of the school year, Karlie hadn't really had time to write or to really think about what to say in her letter. Only now, nearly a month after moving to Hogwarts, was she to post her letter to her quill-pal. This time, she did mention a few things such as her surprising sorting ceremony, how spectacular the castle was, and what classes she would be taking. To her surprise, writing the letter was a comfort. On the evening of the sorting ceremony, her nerves had taken her by surprise, and writing this letter had helped her somewhat. It was almost as if seeking guidance from an old friend. Although in her mind, Karlie surmised that was from the activity of writing the letter, not so much the reciepient himself.

The winding steps up to the Owlery were slippery and the cool September breeze seemed to snake through her sleeves, chilling her core. From the outside, the appearance of the Owlery was bleak and dreary - it seemed as if constantly shrouded by shade and chill. The hooting and squawking of birds was not so unfamiliar as it reminded her of her quaint hometown, yet she couldn't ignore the stench of the place. Reaching the top step and wrinkling her nose, she stepped into the Owlery and briefly looked for Dunbar amongst the audience of monochrome birds. Dunbar, the Keys' family owl, was a sweet and loyal messenger. Never did he bite or scratch. He was sat in the corner preening his feathers, and Karlie couldn't help but smile as she saw him settled comfortably in his nest. Ignoring the other student on the other side of the room, she walked over to him and mouthed a silent 'hello'. Dunbar hooted lowly as he turned towards her and craned his neck back, searching for a tickle under the chin. Karlie chuckled and obliged, her other hand reaching into her pocket for her letter.

"Time to stretch those wings, I think." she whispered with a smile.

As she pulled out her letter to Sanguinius, her thumb traced over his address. What was he doing? He was a similar age to herself - was he enrolled in school? Karlie supposed she'd find out in the returned correspondence. Just as she went to hand the letter over to her owl, the other student's words echoed around the room.

Karlie Keys?

Her eyes widened, whipping around to look at the boy. Had she misheard the hooting of an owl?

Kar - lie K - e - ys.

Her brow furrowed. No, she hadn't misheard. He was definetely saying her name. But why? She cleared her throat and stood up straight.

"That's my name. That's why your owl isn't reacting. I'm here." she said plainly.

"Is there something that you need? You can tell me now instead of fiddling around with that poor bird. It doesn't look the friendliest anyway. My owl is very friendly, he-"

Karlie stopped mid-sentence, her lips still poised to form the next word. Wait a second. This made total sense. A young boy around the same age as herself asking an owl to post a letter to, well, herself? She didn't recieve owls from many people at all, especially not children her age. Could it really be that this boy, whom she had been sending multiple letters to for the past couple of years, was her quill-pal in the flesh? A hot wave of nausea and anxiety rushed up through her stomach and into her throat. This was so unexpected and there was nowhere to run or hide. As if on autopilot, the rest of her sentence stumbled out after a long couple of seconds.

"-he is called Dunbar. Did I ever tell you that... Sanguinius?"

Reducio

Dunbar is just a little guy