Closed The Staircases Move!? PV Oliver Thorn

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The Ever-changing Staircases had always felt like a puzzle to Oliver, an elusive, sentient riddle that liked to meddle with the new-comers to the school, one that he’d finally learned to solve. Nearly three years at Hogwarts had taught him the trick—it was all about timing. The stairs always rested for a moment, waiting in their current position as if testing the patience of anyone brave enough to step on. All Oliver had to do was time his movements to match the stair's, anticipating when they’d shift and moving in sync.

Oliver's inky Hogwarts robe and bright yellow Hufflepuff scarf swayed with his every step as he marched, leaving the Ground Floor, eyeing the staircase that had aligned itself in his direction. He watched carefully as the stairs sat idly, but he knew better than to trust their stillness. Oliver waited, patiently staring at the magnificent collection of portraits converse to eachother, one was a painting of an elegant, renaissance woman, clearly happy with herself for whatever reason, then, the staircase ahead suddenly shifted, the stone sliding against eachother making a gritty sound, its path breaking away and connecting somewhere else, like a clever trap laying in wait for an unsuspecting foot. Oliver let out a slight nod to the stair, grinning that he’d passed its test, he took a step forward only when another staircase moved towards him, and steadied, offering a new route upward.

This same pattern continued until he finally reached the next flight. But Oliver found himself hesitating. Was Charms even worth the trek? If he walked in this late, The Professor would know why, but his classmates wouldn’t—they’d just see the usual sickly, pale Oliver staggering in mid-lesson. He stopped, glancing up toward the 2nd Floor: He could go to the Study Room, revise on his own, maybe even get a moment to rest. With a sigh, he turned on his heel, facing an empty part of the platform where Oliver suspected a staircase would soon redirect, connecting to the closest corridor of the 2nd Floor. As his exact predictions occurred, he heard the quiet call of a young, feminine voice exclaim something, "No!" Oliver looked around, startled by the exclamation, but saw nothing, brushing it off as some portrait invading another portrait in their usual antics.

As Oliver ascended, his ears caught a faint, frustrated mumble echoing from above. At first, Oliver assumed it was just another one of the portraits grumbling about its usual troubles. But then he heard the voice mumble again, "I’m going to die on these stairs," in a tone that was unmistakably real—and understandably annoyed. Oliver heart skipped a beat as he realised this wasn’t a painting but a student

Oliver quickened his pace, his exhaustion forgotten as concern set in. Who was stranded up there? He raced up the staircase, his footsteps forcing a booming echo through the winding staircase for all the paintings to hear. Oliver made it to the top of the stairs to see a much smaller girl, a First Year perched on the final step. The 2nd Year looked bewildered by the girl, looking around for anybody else, clearly something was wrong.

"Um- Hello?"

Unsure whether he should tap her shoulder, get her off the stairs before they shift once again, or even just leave her there to be with her thoughts. The girl looked as frustrated as she was helpless, Oliver scratched the back of his neck, unsure how to approach, thoughts lingering as he weighed his options, his mind bouncing back and forth like a game of wizard’s chess.

Finally, he cleared his throat, softly, just enough to get her attention without startling her.

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"Odette... I'm Oliver, Oliver Thorn."

He stood there, half in shock, but naturally also half bemused listening the young Witch ramble on and on, her words tumbling over each other in what seemed like a haphazard attempt to explain... something, or hide it. Odette's cheeks flamed a vivid red, growing redder still with each breathless word, mentioning she was a first year, supposing she may have been late, sidetracked by talking to a painting Oliver had already guessed to be the renaissance women giggling to herself from before. Oliver looked down at the witch crouched on the staircase, she seemed to catch herself at last, pausing mid-sentence as her gaze broke off of Oliver to stare down, her black uniform shoes slid an inch on the enchanted brick step, her flustered expression unmistakable.

"We really should get off these stairs, they've been staying still for long, they'll move 'Out of nowhere' as your Year likes to say." Oliver grinned, gesturing with his arm to travel to the nearest corridor.

With a gentle movement, Oliver extended his pale, thin arm to Odette, offering her a hand to help her off the staircase. His other arm dropped to her height, and as he leaned forward, the edges of his robe spread across the stone steps like a soft, dark pool. His scarf, too, slipped from his shoulders, the yellow, knitted fabric draping downward, almost touching the worn stone between his feet, yet he hardly noticed as he focused on Odette, ready to steady her if she stumbled, to fall from the top of the stairs would be a very painful way back down.

"And no, I haven't been sent by a teacher." He explained, "I was returning to my Charms Lesson, well, going to Study about it at least, I was busy-"

Oliver realised how incriminating his next few words would be, his mouth hung open, words half-formed on his lips, his mind raced, scrambling to construct a reasonable story. He gave a slight, awkward cough, stalling for time as he averted his gaze, a nervous smile tugging at his mouth.

"I was... Right- I got my classes mixed up! Silly me! I went all the way to the Basement just to find out it was Charms right now, not Potions." He offered a shrug, desperately hoping it would pass as believable.