Courtyard Stroll
Elowen walked around the Hogwarts courtyard as if it were a dreamlike place that she might have only half-remembered. The light of the morning sun was warm, and it seemed to be melting over the stones of the yard, while the fresh air of fall was playing with the loose braid that was resting on her shoulder. Pieces of dull green and brown leaves were stirred by the gusts, and thus it might have looked like she was one of the fairies of the forest who by some chance had found her way into the realm of stones and towers. Her stature was small; however, she had in her footwork a certain firmness, which was an attribute of someone who has been brought up with the moss on the ground and wind as the only constant comrade. The light was flattering to her complexion, and the freckles on her nose, which were always sun-kissed, as her grandmother used to say, looked as if they were radiant when she directed her face upwards. The look of her eyes was always moving, and, at the same time, they were very gentle and inquisitive, as would be the case of a person who sees acorns where others look at the pavement. Today, the color of the eyes changed to green, matching the grass of the yard whose reflection was captured, and in the eyes moved a host of inner stories. Some students were rushing by, probably engaged in a brisk conversation or an argument full of laughs; nevertheless, Elowen had no desire to be among them. She had the stillness of thought that was characteristic of a person who is not in a hurry to catch the thought but rather to cultivate it. She stopped under the old elm tree whose limbs looked like very slow rays of cathedral light. A few leaves took the flight down and landed on the notebook, which she was holding close to her chest, and it was open. She was not bothered by it. To her, leaves are always welcome—little voices inviting one to see more closely. She touched one with the very tip of her finger, and while she was already thinking about how it would be drawn later or how it would be placed in the journal as a pressed memento of this hour, she was actually following its delicate framework of veins with her finger. Her thoughts often, and at this moment too, were floating away to her private world of fictitious creatures and forgotten narratives. In her head, she visualized a tiny tree guardian that was firmly clasped in the roots near her feet, with its head having a crown made of twisted bark and bright eyes full of innocent curiosity. Moreover, she thought it was looking at her as well, and that both of them were quiet friends in the company of a far louder magic. The cheerful laughter of a bunch of younger students could be heard a short distance from where she was standing—no laughs at anyone’s expense, just the happy noise of being young and worry-free. Elowen flashed them a slight smile, though she did not go over to them. She was more into listening to life rather than disrupting it. However, if any one of them had completely turned to her, then she would have given them the warmth of a lantern held out in the dark. Her concern would only be there amongst the thoughts in her head about expectations, the kind of fear that is gentle yet at the same time very strong and sharp, and that of letting down those whom she loves. She inhaled a breath of air, and it seemed to help her get in touch with the real world again. Loyalty was very near her heart, like it was roots, and it was this that kept her firm and reminded her that she could defend her truths whenever necessary. Her walk was resumed, and along the way, she touched with her fingers the walls made of stone, the leaves, and the cold iron arm of a bench in the courtyard. Each and every texture became part of the tale she held within her. In spite of the fact that she was walking by herself, she was feeling the company of memory, imagination, and quiet wonder. Hogwarts, she pondered, was very much like a forest—full of secrets, concealed trails, and a thousand tiny miracles waiting to be discovered. WC - 745