You, I, and Mountains of Eriophorum pv Closed

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Travel was a rarity for the Winfield children. With all the parties, business affairs, and mountains of training and schoolwork piled on to prepare them for their future in the world of wizardry, the term "vacation" was practically foreign to them. Despite the infrequency of it, though, occasionally their parents would make exceptions.

Delphine Winfield, a woman of grandeur and wealth who hungered so greatly for beauty that she basically needed it to live, often had her moments of spontaneity after a couple glasses of wine and the coaxing of a few travel magazines. So, naturally, she found a nice house on the Isle of Skye and shoved all five of her children into it, along with her reluctant husband. Lottie had found the endeavor quite tiresome, but pushed through for the sake of leaving the confinements of their home for even a few days and getting to see the sights of the large island in person. And those sights did not disappoint.

In Spring's wake, the island had erupted with life. The rolling hills basked in the bright sun that cascaded down to the earth and turned the grass bright green, sprouting elegant young flowers and speckling them all around the island. Streams spilled down into small ponds that glistened and sparkled, accompanied by little rocks that were almost white from the force of the sun. Lottie couldn't say she wasn't entranced by the place. It was like stepping into a fantasy world, far away from the troubles of her home and city.

She had awoken early that morning, light spilling into the room that she and her older sister, Anadil, had agreed to share. Across the room, the pale girl slept soundly, lips parted in deep slumber. Lottie smiled, relieved to know that she still had time to wander before the house awoke. Carefully, she slipped into a warm sweater and a pair of corduroy pants, and crept out the door, wincing at the creek of the loose floorboards. She snuck out the back door, welcomed by the cool morning breeze that blew back her bangs and whispered in her ears. Tall grass rustled in the distance, and she swore she could almost hear the trickle of rushing water travelling over to the yard of their secluded house. With the refreshed feel of an easy morning to fuel her, she wandered away from the house and began to trek up the side of a small hill.

There was a small batch of purple flowers that almost seemed to make a path for her, and she brushed the tops of them with her long, spindly fingers. Everything seemed completely perfects as she continued farther and farther from her family, watching the sun rise higher and higher with every second that passed. As she continued forward, her mind began to wander, winding in a hectic circle as the peace of the moment brought forth ideas and thoughts about her life she hadn't really considered before. She wondered if one day she could move here, and live in the little house all by herself. There would be no studies to prepare her for the future, nor babysitters and nannies to keep her out of the library. She could read as much as she wanted to, about the muggles and their elaborate pasts and fascinating stories that wizards could never understand. She thought and dreamed for what felt like hours, and as time ticked by, so did her quick feet.

And soon, she was lost.

It hit her like a gunshot as she turned back and realized her house was far out of sight. Dread spilt into her pool of euphoria, and immediately she regretted having left home. Her mother's anger would be the death of her, she just knew it. Or perhaps she would never see her mother again. Perhaps she would never find her way back to the house. She looked around, trying to find another person or house. With a flood of relief, she saw that she had walked near the yard of a residents home. But what if muggles lived there? What if her mother heard that she had been speaking to a muggle family? She chewed at her bottom lip, turning from the house to try and decide what to do next.

That was when a voice shocked her out of her worries. With a high-pitched yelp, she swiveled around to find a boy looking back at her. He appeared to be the same age as her, with a freckled face and a clean brunette side part. He carried himself regally and maturely, in a manner that she was far too familiar with. Too late did she realize that the look on her face was one of horror, and she quickly attempted to amend her reaction.

"My apologies," she said quickly, "You frightened me. And yes, I believe I may be lost."

She swallowed thickly, rubbing the palms of her hands on her sweater subconsciously.

@Archer Duncan

Archer should have been glad the girl wasn’t there to murder him and his family. Curse his frivolous imagination for thinking that would be the girl’s motive. That was probably the last reason the brunette was there. He reckoned he had been reading too much noir detective novels.

She yelped, startling Archer into taking a few steps backwards and retreating into the shadows under the trees. From a “safe distance”, he watched turned on her heels, staring at him, her face a mask of horror, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Quickly trying to stitch a face of politeness over her reaction, she quickly said, ‘My apologies. You frightened me. And yes, I believe I may be lost.’ She was certainly as nervous as Archer, if not more so, swallowing and unconsciously rubbing the palms of her hands on her dull brown sweater.

He blinked twice, as if trying to adjust to a bright light, before tentatively stepping forward to the gate again. Both their reactions were, as grandmére¹ Hélène, a woman he had never met but had her one too many tales about from Maman, would put it, “highly improper”. In an attempt to regain himself, he cleared his throat, and said politely, ‘If I had frightened you, I should be the one asking for pardon. My apologies.’ He paused slightly, nodded awkwardly towards the girl, then continued, ‘I am quite familiar with this area of terrain. I should hope I could be of assistance if you are lost, which I express my regrets towards.’ Glancing around quickly, eyes landing on his coonhound, Archer motioned to Scout to return to the grand oak tree and wait for his own return. His gaze returned to the girl and he mustered a smile. ‘Maman and Papa-’ he caught himself, realising there was not a high likelihood that this girl shared his ability in French, ‘That would be my mother and father, are indoors, but I do not think we should bother them. I am fairly certain both of them trust me enough to show you back to Old Man of Storr, the closest attraction which you might have wandered here from.’ He was fairly certain he had said a tad too much and might have overwhelmed the girl with information, but at that age, Archer was as talkative with strangers as he was with his parents.

Taking a deep breath and slipping out the gate, quietly closing it behind him, Archer looked towards the distance, where three pillars of rock jutted out in the mountainous expanse. There. Maman had taken him there often in her free time, especially during the off season, when no tourists crowded the already-narrow mountain paths. He had the route memorised by heart, and was able to find the ever-comfort in the solid mountain ground beneath his feet, the crisp Scottish air in his nose, the rolling expanse of green in front of him, begging to be set foot upon. His eyes returned to the soft features of the girl stood in front of him, ‘Apologies, but before we set off, it might be proper for us to introduce ourselves. Archer Theodore Duncan,’ he said, extending a hand for her to shake, ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, despite the tight circumstances.’

1: Grandmother

@Charlotte Winfield

Apologies for the epitome of bad. Short crappy and delayed.

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Her nerves did not dissipate despite the even tone of his voice, a telling sign that he was a polite and respectful young man. Her heart continued to pound on like the uneven trot of a wild horse, and the wind had turned from being a sweet breeze to an annoying whisper in her ear. With all the strength she had in her, she straightened her posture ad gave him a respectful nod.

"That's quite alright. I'm the one infiltrating, after all." She was at once uncertain and hopeful by his response, torn by the knowledge that she could not be caught with a potentially muggle boy, but could certainly not be caught wandering the hills of this foreign island without any sense of direction.

She gave the boy a slow once-over, taking account of his clothes and stature. Sure, it was clear he hadn't given much mind to the state of his clothing, a random coat thrown over what was clearly a pair of pajamas and some clunky boots. But everything else about him was fairly orderly and neat, something that Lottie could appreciate from her rich upbringing that relied solely on public opinion.

With a reluctant exhale, she gave him a tight glance and replied, "Yes. Yes, I'm lost. If you could just point me in the right direction..." She looked around, and took note of the fact that direction didn't really matter much in these mountains. "If you could lead me in the right direction, it would be greatly appreciated."

At her feet, a little dandelion tickled her skin playfully, and she instinctually stepped away from the touch. She wished so badly for the fantasy of the place to come back to her just as it had only a few minutes ago, when she crept mindlessly through the spring morning and found some romantical touch of magic in every little flower and weed. Now, it all felt bitter and fearful, the anxiety of her mother's reaction to finding her out of the house playing a discordant melody in her mind.

She attempted to push the thought away, turning all her attention back to the strange boy. He was introducing himself to her, and she immediately placed his name down in the list of one's to remember, though finding the list to be very short. It gave her a soft touch of warmth to know that this boy was one of few individuals she actually cared to remember. What an odd thing.

"Charlotte Winfield," She gave him a tight handshake, her spindly fingers red from the cold. "Thank you for the assistance. I can only fear what might have become of me should I have kept wandering aimlessly." She gave a small smile at her own jest, hoping he would see the humor in her dramatic suggestion.

@Archer Duncan

Sorry for the delay! I'll try and be more consistent as we continue forward.

The young lady still seemed quite on edge, but still managed a nod at Archer, which he appreciated. 'That's quite alright. I'm the one infiltrating, after all,' she said, a logical statement which the young Scottish wizard simply nodded to. It was clear she was attempting to gauge his situation - not an uncommon habit among other pureblood heirs - her green eyes sweeping across Archer's haphazardly thrown on clothing, silk pyjamas peeking out from a brown wool coat. When her gaze finally connected with Archer's once more, it was clearly tight.

'Yes. Yes, I'm lost,' she finally admitted, with notable reluctance. 'If you could just point me in the right direction,' she started, though after a brief glance around the desolate mountainous landscapes, devoid of landmarks, the girl faltered and restarted, 'If you could lead me in the right direction, it would be greatly appreciated.'

Archer noted that her concentration spluttered as one of the playful eriophorums that grew in the area tickled at her legs, swaying in the gentle passing of Zephyr's breeze. It caused the girl to step away from the plant, an action that induced an upwards twitch at the sides of Archer's mouth. 'That,' Archer said with a pointed nod towards the greenery, 'is eriophorum, though I cannot clarify the species (eriophorum is the genus, you see) - but I bet my mother can. We are geographically located in Europe, so it could possibly be Eriophorum gracile, but that's the only one I can remember from the top of my head. It might be confused with dandelions, since it also reproduces with aid of air or cotton, due to how soft it is, and fittingly, it is also named cotton grass. In French, they are referred to as Ériophore,' and finally glancing up from the plant and looking at Charlotte, Archer added quickly 'though I don't see how you would use such information. Apparently however, they represent life and renewal in literature.' Archer blinked, smiled genuinely, before plucking one of the grass, inhaling deeply, and blowing the seeds into the air in a scatter of white, almost as if snow was falling once more.

He looked back at the girl, who would go on to introduce herself as Charlotte Winflied, and after a handshake, his hand, still somewhat warm from the time they hand spent in his pocket, gracing the shocking coolness of hers. 'Thank you for the assistance,' she said. 'I can only fear what might have become of me should I have kept wandering aimlessly.' Despite having understood the humourous exaggeration in her statement, he replied slowly in his most serious tone possible, 'Quite a matter of things, in fact. These mountains are perilous and treacherous. What might seem like a small fall may induce fatal injury. Or perhaps hypothermia?' Archer inquired in an almost musing tone. 'Weather changes unbelievably fast on an island the size of this. Or becoming disoriented or stranded. That's where my mother's career assists. With expertise, she research locations are produces maps of them. Or-' He paused slightly, stopping as his eyes shifted over Charlotte. Smiling, Archer finished cheerily, as if it was almost a jest, a cautionary measure done in case the girl, was not, in fact, a witch as he had expected, 'Perhaps a few dark wizards?'

Glancing at the girl once more, Archer laughed, for the situation seemed ridiculous even to him as a wizard, who perceived there never to be dangers too dark on the Isle of Skye. 'Now, shall we start by heading downhill?'

@Charlotte Winfield

Note: honestly, I love writing younger Archer he is so incredibly enthusiastic. All of this is just Archer talking lol.

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As Lottie continued wallowing in the discomfort of her surroundings, somewhere along the way Archer had launched himself into a thorough explanation of the plant she had mistaken for a blooming dandelion, one that he seemed very interested in. She could barely follow a word that he was saying until he mentioned their literary importance, and her eyes lit up a bit. "Really?" She exclaimed with a bit of newfound enthusiasm, before quickly flushing bright red and looking away. "Yes, er- I have no use for the information."

Her attention was brought back momentarily as Archer blew the not-dandelion's seeds into the breeze, sending the soft bits of white cotton scattering the air slowly. While some settled to the ground quickly, others were whisked away further into the hillside, planting themselves in various different spots until the air was clear once more.

His response to her joke at first brought on a sense of oblivious dread to the girl, which was quickly replaced with fond humor, then relieved surprise. Dark wizards. Though her mother's wrath would be ceaseless, at least now she knew that there would likely be no long-term consequences once her mother knew that the girl's tour guide was in fact a young wizard himself. She couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh that she hoped had gone unnoticed.

"Right, yes. Dark wizards." She gave a tense laugh, trying her best to keep the light mood afloat until she returned to the house, although that didn't come as such an easy task due to her more... isolated background.

At Archer's offer, Lottie gave a quick nod. She was eager to get back to her family as fast as possible, or at least before the sun rose too high. Then she was surely doomed.

@Archer Duncan

Trying so hard to figure out young Lottie's dialogue

Charlotte offered some sort of response to Archer's mini-lecture on the plant before promptly glancing away with flushed cheeks. Her gaze drifted back to him as he blew the seeds and watched them scatter, as if the winter snow was not yet quite down and simply breathed new life into spring. The specks drifted about the landscape before quietly settling among the mountains. His eyes followed them until he could not see anymore of them and returned his attention to Charlotte. 'Don't you think the Isle of Skye is absolutely alluring? I hope you and your family are enjoying the holiday - well, other than the fact that you just got lost, but that hardly matters now.'

Archer jest on dark wizards was met, at least to his reaction, odd on some degree: a small sigh, though he could not decipher for what reason or what message it tried to convey, or if the girl simply wanted it to go unnoticed. Her voice was tense when she spoke, laughing awkwardly in an attempt to keep up with the lighthearted atmosphere. 'Right, yes. Dark wizards.' Archer nodded, then simply let the musing slip. Fixing his coat, he started trudging down the path, beckoning for Charlotte to follow, as a sudden silence enveloped the duo. It made sense well enough though. After all, the young lady had probably only been familiarised to the strict meetings of heirs and heiresses among pureblood families. It was the most such families could do to loosen up and enjoy life once in a while, coming from the child of a mother and grandfather who managed to squirm their way out of such ways of life. Archer let his eyes drift, quite aimlessly, about, following each vague shadow and landing on every plant that caught his interest. Though with the sky now shaded with the golden Apollo, creeping his way up the sky.

'You know...' Archer started, breaking the tense background orchestra of songbirds, 'You ought not be too bothered by acquainting yourself with me.' He took a deep breath, for this was the first time he explained the family situation, 'My father is an - at least country- - known author, son of former Ministry official. My mother has published quite the few successful papers, daughter of one of France's wealthiest families.' He had left some detail out of the explanation, such as how his grandfather was never prosperous or how the François family looked down on them. 'I myself am a pureblood from an extended line of purebloods, attending Hogwarts in 2023.' He did not say any of this with even the slightest touch of pride, only blunt truthfulness, as if he was detailing the information for an essay. To him, all he just mentioned was the normality and there was nothing to be proud of, or for that matter, to be particularly ashamed of. His voice softened, 'Take this as another chance meeting to expand your pureblood network. If I may, I can say for certain your parents would appreciate that, at least to some degree.' He was not sure if this was the proper subject of conversation in such an occasion - probably not - but if it brought Charlotte any shred of comfort, there was no disadvantage.

@Charlotte Winfield

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"Oh, certainly. I've never seen a place so full of life." Lottie flicked her wrist through the air, motioning to the surrounding landscape with wordless amazement. It was like the gardens behind her home spread out onto a full island, both an overwhelming and mystifying experience for the young pureblood.

As Lottie followed Archer down the hill and back into the fields, she was amazed by his ability to navigate the seemingly endless path of hills and plants. He seemed to fit in so nicely with the surrounding area, all his steps seeming intentional and confident. She had never met a person from a wizarding family who was so trusting of strangers without any knowledge of their background or blood status. She often felt guilty for placing herself in the same league as true purebloods, as she was not technically even a pureblood herself. The Veela side of her left a large mark on her family's title, but her parents always assured her that a pureblood was simply a person with no connections to muggles. At least in their opinion.

So when Archer began assuring her that he too was a pureblood and was not someone to avoid, Lottie felt that same pang of guilt like a rock in her chest. She struggled to find the right words to respond, before finally saying with surprising truth, "I don't have much room to judge on anyone's blood status. I myself am not entirely made up of wizard blood." Her attempt at being vague left her mouth tasting sour, so she quickly continued, "I'm part-Veela from my mother's side. She's always had a poor view on muggles, and my father's family has a history of blood purism, but I know that that's just how they were raised. If they found out I had been speaking with a muggle, they'd never let me out of the house until I started graying." She gave a grimace, her childish tongue revealing much more than she had intended.

She attempted to shift gears a bit, her lips twisting into a desperate smile. "I'll be attending Hogwarts in 2023 as well. That means we'll be in the same class, won't it?"

@Archer Duncan

Archer simply smiled at Charlotte's response.

He was unsure what she might reply to his statement on blood status, but of all things, it surprised him that she chose the unlikely truth, 'I don't have much room to judge on anyone's blood status. I myself am not entirely made up of wizard blood.' Archer raised a curious eyebrow but did not interrupt her as she continued, 'I'm part-Veela from my mother's side. She's always had a poor view on muggles, and my father's family has a history of blood purism, but I know that that's just how they were raised. If they found out I had been speaking with a muggle, they'd never let me out of the house until I started graying.'

'My mother says Veelas are beautiful creatures-' he mused softly, before pausing, reconsidering his word choice, 'I don't suppose I do them justice by calling them "creatures". It makes them feel below humans almost.' Archer stopped briefly in his tracks to take a closer look at Charlotte. It was not difficult to believe that she was a Veela descendant. 'I, as well as my immediate family believes half-bloods and Pure-bloods should obviously be judged based on their ability at magic, not their lineage. It's a pity my maternal family - with the exception of my mother - are blood purists and more importantly, act with the notion behind them.' Shaking his head at her comment, he said, 'Respectfully, that seems overly strict. My mother has taught me how to enjoy earthly delights. There are certain magics required to run a world without it, after all. However, I myself get anxious in the presence of Muggles. While I appreciate their culture...' he trailed off. 'Sometimes they feel unpredictable. I feel almost as if Muggles and Wizards are two elements, perfectly excellent on their own, explosive together.'

Archer was grateful Charlotte changed the subject, for it seemed to be getting slightly uncomfortable for both. 'Indeed,' he replied with a smile, 'Out of curiosity, which house do you think you would be sorted into?'

@Charlotte Winfield

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Before Lottie had much time to regret her brief spell of oversharing, Archer responded with an oddly thoughtful sentiment. Though she had received her fair share of compliments over her heritage, his correction of the word creature hit the part of her that she only felt when no one was looking: the violent desire to be known as more than just "other". How peculiar, that one of the few people to truly understand her situation and beliefs below the surface was some random boy she met in the mountains.

"Though I suppose it isn't impossible for muggles and wizards to click. After all, how would half-bloods exist otherwise?" Lottie smiled hopefully, her mind miles back home, flipping through the pages of stolen books. "Your mother sounds wise. I imagine it must be hard to break from the beliefs of the people who raised you." Ignoring the irony of the statement, Lottie looked up towards the rising sun that peaked through the small crevice between two mountains, bright and full. She prayed it wasn't bright enough to awake her own mother.

At Archer's question, she looked back down at the ground in thought. There had never been one true answer for her, as it always ended up changing. When she was little, she dreamed of being a Ravenclaw, just like her eldest brother. Then, she wanted to be a Gryffindor, just like her sister. But now, with both her older siblings being graduated, she had no one to aspire to be anymore. With a bit of hesitation, she finally replied,"I'm still unsure. I can't say I have any traits exaggerated enough for any of them.""

She turned to him with her own expression of curiosity, and asked, "And what about you? Any house you think fits you best?"

@Archer Duncan