ᴄᴀʀᴇssɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴɢs PV Oliver Cavallo Closed

Oliver wished he had an owl. At the ranch, before he had come here, he had tried to lure the owls out of the trees with dead mice he had found. He would stand there, his hand outstretched towards the feathered sentinel of the trees, for a good long while, but he would only get disapproving stares from large, glass-like yellow eyes.

He loved the owls. The birds with the fluffiest chins and cheeks had the solemn air of scholars. The burrowing owls were as jumpy as jackrabbits. The littlest ones were so enthusiastic in their coos and calls, and the giant grey owls looked they could pick up at least a small child. He only wished they liked him as much as he liked them. He also wished that his parents had gotten him one of his own, but that hadn’t happened.

The ruffling of birds in the rafters created a dull, constant whisper of feathers brushing up against one another. Oliver had his History of Magic textbook hugged up against his chest, as usual, and he was watching the owls to distract himself from doing his homework, as usual. The smell of living creatures was familiar to him, although birds and horses do smell incredibly different, it was still somewhat comforting. He reached up to brush one of the snowy white and brown barn owls that were perched up in the rafters, but the bird huffed and shuffled away from his fingers before they could graze its wings. Oliver gave a disappointed smirk, but contented himself with just watching them.

The cold that kissed his skin was welcomed as well. He found the cold easier to deal with than warmth. Cold was so natural and common, but when snow was falling outside of the window, it seemed so impossible and wrong for him to be warm, even indoors.

There was another student with him, but he hadn’t spoken to her. His mind was lost in thought. No, his mind had stopped consciously thinking a while ago. Rather, he was so absorbed in watching, in catching every single detail of the scene before him, that there was no room left in his brain for anything else. His grip on the book in his arms grew a bit tighter.

One was focusing on the majestic birds so intensly, baby blue only later noticed a boy figure joining in the Owlery.
Physique somewhat lean, brown hair shaped smooth curls, orbs reflected a shade of hazel and under them a slim nose and lips thin lips.
Robe was decorated with green streaks; Slytherin. His face expressed a certain aura of tranquility, the snake boy might as well be as relaxed as Ophelia was.

An owl flew away from his touch, landing next to the Hufflepuff as a few of its white feathers filled the cold air, falling gracefully towards the straw-filled floor.
Two pairs of yellow joined the blue orbs as all three observed the boy calmly, one seemed unaware of their focused visions.

His expression appeared somewhat disappointed, perhaps felt rejected by the owl which was now resting comfortably in Ophelia’s lap. His heart looked like it was on the right place, making the girl think why the bird didn’t let his fingers reach its wings.

A calm sigh escaped soft lips as figure got up slowly, holding the resting owl in soft palms as the other bird flew off her slim shoulder, perhaps disturbed by the sudden movement.
Moving slowly towards the boy, the owl now standing calmly on pale arm, one stopped next to the taller figure as pale fingers caressed the owl’s fluffy neck.
“They welcome you easier if you approach slower and start with the neck.”
She wasn’t particulary used in starting conversations, face showing rather serious expression even though one’s heart was somewhat peaceful at the moment.

Oliver was surprised to find the silence interrupted. Not that he hadn’t noticed that the girl was there with him, but he had thought they had collectively agreed the quiet was too sacred to bog down with petty conversation. But, that was just him, apparently.

However, as he turned to look at her. The owl he had been attempting to make friends with now settled itself in her lab, all comfortable and smug, more like a cat than a bird. Oliver couldn’t help but smirk at it slightly. Owls were very smart birds. Too smart for their own good, even.

Then, as the bird clacked his beak at his new chair, Oliver finally took the time to look the girl over. He first noticed her hair, how long, silky, but also wild it was. It had gone salt-and-peppered at a very young age, or it was dyed, or she had been born like that. In any case, it was so unique and intriguing that Oliver couldn’t help but find her unique hair quite beautiful.

He nodded at her advice, working towards another one of the owls on the perch. This time, he moved his hand much slower. And the owl, though it craned its head away slightly, eventually allowed its neck to be touched. The feathers were so soft. Oliver couldn’t remember feeling anything exactly like it. The shivered slightly at his touch, but let him stroke it for a moment or two before it decided it had had enough as well and hopped off towards the Hufflepuff girl.

“They seem to like you,” Oliver murmured. His voice was always calm and quiet, a little high-pitched for a boy’s, but gentle and musical

His fingers stretched, tried caressing the nearby owl, as he tried following her suggestion, expression pleased when the owl welcomed his gentle touch. It was gratifying to observe the sight, to gaze at the boy's now-formed smile as his voice murmured towards her, words decorated with a calm and somewhat sweet tone. The way he spoke was smooth, melodic even, it was rather high for an average boy his age but relaxing to one's ears.

Ophelia wasn't completely certain what about her drove the animals in, not that she was bothered by them, quite the contrary, she loved their presence. She felt respect for them, saw them as equals, admired them. From a certain aspect, they acted quite similar to humans, really, but they weren't as corrupted, not as morally depraved as her kind was.

Slim shoulders just shrugged in response to his words, the owl now flew away and landed to a nearby ledge. A calm sigh escaped slightly-tinted lips, pale fingers fixed silky locks behind her ear even though one knew they would fall out of place eventually. The breeze got a tad colder by now, her body shivered slightly but she didn't mind it that much really, it just took time to get used to it. Baby blue noticed a book in stranger's hand, observing it with curiosity. It looked like a history book but one's vision only caught a small number of the cover's letters so that's all she could interpret with that information.

Oliver just realized that he hadn’t introduced himself yet, so he shifted his book to the other side, now proudly displaying its title; then he turned to the girl and stuck out his hand. “My name is Oliver. Oliver Cavallo. What’s your name?” He offered her a genial smile, even if it was a little lopsided.

He wasn’t usually one to initiate introductions unless a conversation had already been started, but once someone else started speaking, it was rude to not know the name of who you were speaking to.

It wasn’t an entirely cold day, but Oliver could feel the kiss of the wind on his exposed face and hands, and he pressed his fingers against his robes to ensure that not even a possible chill could creep in. However, he noticed that the girl shivered somewhat. He had come out here in just his robes, otherwise, he would have offered his coat or something. That was the polite thing to do, wasn’t it? He wasn’t exactly sure. He mostly spent his time in warmer climates, so he had never needed to give a girl his coat or something, so he didn’t know.

The owls shifted above them, staring with their great dish-like eyes, clacking with their beaks, and preening their already flawless feathers.

His hand extended slowly, stretching towards the smaller figure, as lips introduced the boy as Oliver, kindly asking for the Hufflepuff's name while forming a sweet smile. Rather unsurely, pale hand stuck out, allowing the Slytherin to hold it gently, handshake lasted for an acceptable amount of time before parting, pale fingers fixing silky locks behind her ear again as blue vision looked up, trying to create an illusion of eye contact, before shifting away when slightly tinted lips then answered:
"Ophelia."

The boy was sweet, really, though the girl never really felt like she properly introduced herself but what can one do, not everyone is a social butterfly surrounded with a dozen of figures while talking about their day. As long as she said her name, that is all that mattered right? Surnames weren't even that important, besides when prideful lips of others spoke about their wealthy background, perhaps trying to become popular by relying on their financial reputation.

It didn't matter to Ophelia though, no one should be defined by rumours of others, so the girl always took time to spend time with a person she felt like getting to know, forming an opinion of her own, resulting in a smaller social circle but one liked it that way, large crowds made heart feel some sort of discomfort.

“Ophelia what?” Oliver pressed, not in the sort of way purebloods did when they wanted to know whether or not you were worthy of your time, but just simple curiosity. Oliver was raised knowing that family was extremely important, and while his family wasn’t very rich or powerful or impressive or important, they were still a great source of pride for Oliver. His mother told him stories of her own family line, who were a little disapproving of her marriage choices, and his grandfather told him stories about the Cavallos stretching back generations. He said every person that came before you poured their heart and soul into their life just so you could be here. And if you didn’t remember them and honor them, you weren’t being thankful for the life you were given. That was why Oliver always introduced himself with his last name.

Oliver would have been a little confused with Ophelia’s habit of getting acquainted with people. After all, we are all the culmination of our experiences and how we were raised. And our parents are forged by how they were raised, and so on and so on. A person’s family defines so much about them, that you’ll know a person much better if you see where they came from. However, not everyone shared the same sentiment as the Cavallo family. In fact, many of the children coming from bloodlines associated with Death Eaters and He Who Must Not Be Named chose to change their surnames, so as not to be judged by their upbringing. Oliver didn’t often consider that people might have good reasons to not share their last names.

Oliver seemed curious about her full name, who knows what reason that was, dark orbs glimmered with curiosity as baby blue eyes rolled somewhat playfully, a tiny smile crawled its way on her lips as she spoke:
"Ophelia Thana Silverton."
She used her two-word name next to her surname, on purpose, not trying to be mean or anything but the boy did ask for her full name did he not? The three words were flowing well when said together, she rather liked her name indeed, the pleasing pronunciation was smooth to one's ear.

Her full name was unique or special to people, yes, some loved the name Ophelia because of Shakespeare's Hamlet, others focused on meanings of the two names, many liked how well it matched with the shimmering surname, Silverton.

Her voice then crawled into the silence again, waiting for the boy to respond as calm gaze observed the owls fluttering from one ledge to another, a feather or two always found a comfortable rest on the shoulders of the two wizards, gently falling off when any slight movement would push it off its position.

The sun appeared tired as well as it began descending lower, creating a gradient from orange to purple as the mix of colors tinted the Owlery in pleasant tones, making anyone, even the most troubled soul, feel at ease.

“What a lovely name!” Oliver smiled genuinely. The name ‘Ophelia’ sounded familiar. His grandfather liked to recount different books he had read to Oliver whenever they were out in the woods together. Perhaps the name had come up? He remembered very keenly the themes of the stories: murder and madness and hope and beauty, as the leaves whispered about the horrors that his grandfather wove words of. The cool breeze of a winter afternoon in Italy. The sun hanging low in the sky like a lantern held by God’s steady hand. The kings seemed to have been lurking in every shadow of the forest, with witches perched like vulture-owls up beyond the top layers of leaves, as impossible as it was. Aldo never claimed to remember the stories perfectly, so if Oliver was inquired of the plot of Hamlet, he would probably give something only vaguely resembling the actual play.

He wondered what ‘Silverton.’ As English last names were usually based on occupation, he assumed it had something to do with silver-smithing. Somehow, he could imagine this girl working in a forge, as dirty and somewhat dangerous the work was. She seemed just fiery enough to be suited for it, as well as the more delicate aspect of carving the molds for the most intricate of candle or silverware.

“My mum named me Oliver because the olive tree means dignity and fruitfulness. Why did your parents name you ‘Ophelia?’” He turned his eyes up towards the fluttering owls as well. One of the feathers alighted onto his upturned nose. He tilted his head back to the ground, and it slid off onto the floor of droppings and feathers.