Hogwarts is Beautiful Closed

The inside of Hogwarts Castle was like a maze; full of twists and turns, friends and foes; secrets both wonderful and terrible. The squeaky footfalls and raised voices of students galloping through the halls mingled with the echoes of a thousand-year history of hidden magic, brilliant scholars, power-hungry tyrants, and valiant heroes. The walls themselves seemed to be alive with the murmurs and furtive gazes of enchanted portraits, and the staircases had minds of their own; twisting upwards into tall towers and diving down into deep dungeons. It was very, very easy to get swallowed up; to get lost in the magic and mayhem.

From far enough away, on the far-flung fields that comprised the Hogwarts grounds, one could see the castle in its entirety—still a stark, imposing figure, cast against the tumultuous, cloudy Scottish landscape, but distant. Whole. The clues and secrets and whispers and mysteries were all condensed into a single place, a place so many students thought of fondly as a second home.

Sometimes, one just needed to take a step back to put it all in perspective; to see Hogwarts as a whole and not the parts.

Cricket O’Shea still didn’t quite have her bearings about the place, if she was being honest. Magic was new to her. She could throw outlandish things into a flaming cauldron, make a quill levitate and call a broomstick into her hand, but she wasn’t sure she felt as magical as her surroundings. Whimsy and wonder were always tempered by the knowledge that her birth parents, the Morrigans, had used magic to nefarious ends.

But all in all, Hogwarts was something special; something she wanted to share with her muggle family. Even though her journey to Hogwarts had put a painful distance between them, she wanted the O’Sheas to know everything about it. So today, with a stack of papers and some charcoal in hand, Cricket walked for what felt like several kilometers across the castle green, ready to capture the magic and mystery of Hogwarts Castle on paper to send home in a letter.

She sat comfortably on a patch of dry grass, sketching an outline to make sure the sense of scale was right. It was a tricky matter to replicate the shape of the lopsided hill and the jutting towers; it took time and patience, of which Cricket luckily had plenty. Then she got to work on filling in some of the finer details—the slant of the roof tiles, the shape of the stones.

Other drawings she’d done for this little project sat patiently beside Cricket in her portfolio—a rendering of the Great Hall at night, a quick impression of a few suits of armor, and a colored sketch of the Fat Lady posing with her friend Violet, done at the request of the subjects themselves. It had been a rather silly thing, really, but Cricket thought her brothers would enjoy seeing it.

As she started in on detailing the Astronomy Tower, a strong and unwelcome gust of autumn wind kicked up behind her. With a pang in her gut, Cricket realized she hadn’t secured the portfolio shut tightly, and her drawings tumbled and flapped across the lawn like a flock of unruly geese.

Her arms still full of art supplies, Cricket gave chase, discovering she wasn’t the only student who’d come out this far today. Looking ahead, she spotted a wind-tossed French braid attached to the back of a first-year Gryffindor, in whose direction her papers were currently on a collision course with.

“Sorry, excuse me—my papers, I just—hi, sorry,”she said, grunting out sentence fragments as she dared this way and that in an attempt to recover the rogue sketches.

Mentioning: @Cricket O’Shea

Cricket’s wits seemed to finally have caught up with her.

“Er, thanks,” she said as the Gryffindor handed back the last of her papers. “Wasn’t it mighty, that wind? Almost made a complete hames of my drawings.”

Abigail smiled, and Cricket let down her guard a little. But just a little—the Gryffindor had a certain intensity about her that might prove dangerous, Cricket thought.

“Distracted…well, I must’ve been, a bit, yeah,” Cricket agreed. So many thoughts occupied her head at once these days; it was almost a given. Another gust of wind made the hairs on her arm stand on end, and she tucked her portfolio securely back under her arm to ensure they wouldn’t be lost again.

She was a little taken aback at Abigail’s teasing question and her assertion that it was dangerous here. What danger could there possibly be in an open field that was held within a veritable force field of concealment charms? There was always the risk of getting struck by lightning, Cricket supposed, but it wasn’t really that sort of weather—was it?

In any case, she could answer the question.

“Just sketching the castle, that’s all. But sure couldn’t I ask you the same question?” Cricket said, quirking her right eyebrow. “If it’s so dangerous, what’re you doing here?”

And then there was some talk of the view. “It is…quite something, isn’t it.” A frown tugged on the corner of her lips as she took another long look at the castle. She hadn’t quite captured all of its personality in her sketch. Compared to her drawing, the real thing was certainly more awe-inspiring, but she wasn’t sure if it was the size of it, or something else entirely. There was something about Hogwarts; it had a certain presence—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on yet.

Maybe if she asked what others found beautiful about it, it would help her capture it better on paper.

“Do you mind telling me what you find most beautiful about it, though? It’s for my art, you see…”

She pursed her lips at Cricket's question. And then she ran her hand over the back of her neck again. Letting out an embarrassed laugh, she replied "I like to defy the rules sometimes, I usually like to be alone." Her eyes roamed over the blonde's drawings, analyzing them.

She widened her eyes, and nodded, it was like she was amazed at the girl's skill.

"You draw well, unlike me who can barely draw a stickman." She opened a one-sided smile.

"My older brother always laughs at my drawings, so I think if he saw his, he might envy them." She commented, as much as Reece was a sweet and protective boy, he never failed to make fun of his sister, as did the other four brothers.

She looked back at the immense castle; her gaze remained sublime and slightly sad. It took a while for Abigail to think of a good catchphrase to say, and then she spat, "The beautiful thing about this castle is that it always comes to welcome us home. I mean, you know what I mean." She shuffled, then let out a laugh.

"Then it would be something sweeter, and more welcoming." Abigail said.

"You haven't told me your name yet." She looks back at Cricket, folding her arms.

Cricket gave a slight nod. “I can understand the bit about wanting to be alone,” she said. “Though I can’t say I’ve broken any rules as of yet.”

It seemed to be quite a common occurrence at Hogwarts, breaking the rules. Magical folk seemed to have much more of an inclination towards disobeying their teachers than her muggle classmates back home—perhaps magic made the mischief easier or more fun for them for them? Cricket didn’t quite see the appeal. She liked to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

Being complimented on her drawings was always nice, though it was hard to know how to respond to it sometimes. Abigail disparaged her own skills—as a joke, probably, but Cricket didn’t think drawing well was a matter of skill so much as a matter of practice. And it certainly wasn’t nice of an older brother to make fun of his younger sister’s art. Cricket loved every lopsided picture her siblings ever drew for her.

“Well, I think it just takes practice,” Cricket said. “Practice and…patience, mostly. It’s not fair to tease someone for trying.”

Abigail looked back at the castle. The girl’s intense eyes seemed to soften, and there was something about her expression that Cricket found painfully familiar, though she couldn’t figure out exactly what it was.

Hogwarts welcomes us home…

Cricket let the words float around in her head. They didn’t feel real. Hogwarts was a place of puzzles and questions; of dark obstacles to overcome. It was spontaneous and magical and at times, beautiful—but could it really be welcoming her home? Her stomach twisted itself into a knot.

She turned to face the Gryffindor, her eyes full of questions and anxiety. “Do you really think it’s welcoming us…? All of us? Sometimes I’m not so sure.”

She stopped to observe—the other girl’s smile had returned.

“My name’s Cricket. Like the sport, not the insect….I think. I don’t recall you giving me your, either.”

"I don't have the patience to draw. Even though you're right. I like studying Herbology and Duels better." She put her hand to the back of her neck again, ashamed.

"Are you interested in Herbology? I think few people like this subject, they don't know what they're missing." She put her hands in her pockets for a moment.

"I think it does. If the Slytherins are there, it's because they welcome everyone." She stretches her lips, waiting for a curse.

"Okay, that was offensive." She laughed. Feeling that she shouldn't have made that comment, she was silent for a moment, lowering her head in pure shame. Her smile faded once more. A maternal part of her family is Slytherin, how could she curse her family like that? She felt her face had fallen.

When she realized she was asking for her name, she replied "Oh, my bad. I sometimes forget to say my name." She expelled a humorless laugh.

She lifted her head, a smile on her face again. Accompanied with furrowed eyebrows.

"My name is Abigail, but you can call me Abi." She raised her left hand to shake Cricket's hand. "Don't be afraid, I washed my hands today." she laughed again.

“Everyone’s got things they’re best at, sure,” Cricket slid a hand into her pocket to protect her fingers from the cold.

Herbology and dueling were useful things to be skilled at, Cricket thought, although she couldn’t really say she’d ever had any sort of affinity for dueling herself. She’d never even registered for it when signups came around; it didn’t seem like something she’d have time for. But even more than that, she was afraid of causing harm to others—even under the supervision of the Professors.

Now herbology, that was something that had piqued her interest. The Hufflepuff common room was full of colorful and magical plants, making it a comfortable place to study. In fact, it was part of the reason Cricket spent so much time there.

“I can’t say I’m much of a hand at dueling, but Herbology, that’s interesting, isn’t it? Dittany and monkshood and all them—and Puffapods are lovely, sure, as long as you stay away from the spores—and the toadstools that jump up and down; those are nice too. Have you grown anything so?”

She was curious, because although she liked plants, she couldn’t claim to be skilled at handling them. It made for some surprisingly pleasant conversation, though, talking about little green growing things.

Cricket reflected on the extent to which Hogwarts welcomed them—even the Slytherins, who had a dark history of their own—and it made her want to reconsider whether she was included in that number. What did Hogwarts really want with her? Was it a place of refuge for those who were misunderstood, or a trap waiting to be sprung? She couldn’t let her guard down; not yet, but she would at least give it some more thought.

Abigail promised her hands were washed—Cricket eyed her outstretched hand for a moment just to be sure, but shook it just the same.

“I should hope so! Although now that I’m having a good look at my own hands, it would seem they have a bit of charcoal on them, actually…”