Plato had preached of the “soulmate”, the other half of the humans we are. This idea is often interpreted to be romantic, yet often a soulmate is simply the part of us that we have never met until the day two people find themselves clicking, as if they were two pieces in a puzzle, perfectly falling into formation and harmony. It almost felt like Archer had found such a miraculous yet uncanny spark in this random girl he had met in front of his gates, leaving his arms tingling for more reasons than the frigid wind. Casting a smile at the brunette young lady, Archer turned his mind to her words, ‘Though I suppose it isn't impossible for muggles and wizards to click. After all, how would half-bloods exist otherwise.’ Archer nodded along with her remarks, but did not respond swiftly. ‘Your point stands,’ the Scottish wizard said finally, his tone musing, before grinning at his slightly awkward response. He had never met those who identified themselves to be half-bloods, yet, as the forever-curious child, he would not hesitate to educate himself further on their existence. He would not know, at that age, such a trait would eventually become a flaw of seeing every being as a test subject instead of a living creature.

Nodding in agreement to Charlotte’s praise of Maman, Archer verified, ‘She is wise. My mother is the wisest person I know, and I hope to grow into her someday.’ yet Charlotte’s next line sparked more interest in the young wizard, ‘ I imagine it must be hard to break from the beliefs of the people who raised you.’ Archer paused in thought, before voicing his thoughts, a trait that would begin to dwindle with his next birthday, yet was still as sharp as ever at his current juvenile age, ‘Thats very true. I have met a myriad of pure-bloods, who, if I may,’ and shooting her a glance he continued, ‘Are raised in the similar strict environment as you are. They are marble carvings of the person they could be, but unlike Michelangelo's dynamic sculptures, each is the same, perfectly poised child. There are advantages, like with any circumstance, that makes the restraints seem almost worthwhile. Glamour, wealth, glory, I am certain those are not assets you lack. Yet those were the exact assets my mother grew tired of in her grand life in Lyon, France. For those who lack to seek anything further, it is a beautiful life, yet she seemed the mountains under her feet, the wind in her hair, the sea by her shoulder. She is extraordinary, and I believe there is an “extraordinary” in everyone. This “extraordinary” cannot be found sat with a tutor, but stood and exploring, adventuring, and taking risks against societal norms. Perhaps I was raised to believe that. After all, my mother was a “runaway” pure blood heiress and my grandfather an, albeit unsuccessful, retired man from the Ministry who started writing satirical poetry. I am incredibly content with the person my parents had shaped me and allowed me to shape myself into, but….’ He paused as the dark hazel of his eyes met the olive green of hers, ‘There’s more to you than what people makes you.’ Running his hand through a patch of flowers, he finished, ‘And that applies to everyone.’

Taking a breath from the deep musings, he turned his attention back to the answers of his newfound friend regarding her potential house. At ‘I'm still unsure. I can't say I have any traits exaggerated enough for any of them,’ Archer nodded, a motion he had done several times in the conversation already, and definitely for a good reason. ‘I do agree,’ he replied, ‘The house system is one of aspects of Hogwarts that feels distasteful. I understand that it builds community, but, with all due respect, the fact that it is based on traits solely seems inane to me. It labels people into categories unnecessarily and it is common knowledge that you cannot define someone by the strongest of four traits.

‘However,’ Archer continued when Charlotte asked the question back, ‘My mother believes I would be a Gryffindor, and while she never attended Hogwarts, her valiance definitely marks her as one. Her career is to explore and adventure, after all. My father believes I would be a Ravenclaw like him, and he is, in every way, the epitome of intelligence as an author. I myself reckon I would be a Hufflepuff. While I share qualities of both my parents, I have always considered loyalty and diligence to be two of my best qualities. In all honesty, I cannot see myself as a Slytherin, for I am not particularly ambitious nor cunning, but like you, I cannot make a decision so swiftly.’ Unbeknownst to him, Slytherin was exactly where Archer Theodore Duncan would land in, and ambition would destroy him.

@Charlotte Winfield

Had a lot of muse for this all of a sudden so here we are. Please excuse Archer monologuing lol.

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Lottie listened to him speak with something of awe and admiration. The way words poured from his mouth like the lyrics of a song he had sang every day since birth was mystifying, and with every truth he spoke she felt more and more of her hard exterior crack. It was as if, for just a moment, the clouds parted. A quiet breeze ran through the mountains, brushing back Lottie's bangs from her face, and finally she could breathe. "Your mother raised you right, I think." She finished, her voice barely above a whisper as she let the tension ease away as quickly as it had come.

She was grateful for the shift and tone as the two began to discuss their future at Hogwarts. Lottie found herself in agreement with the boy's answer, as she too had always had a distaste for the act of grouping away children based on the opinion of a hat. Though that was an over-simplified description of the process, and Lottie had far too much trust in adults to let her doubts go any further than midnight thoughts. It was beyond her young mind, of course, so there was no point questioning it. She had read before that the houses are not based on the traits you already have, but rather the traits you desire the most. What more could she desire than knowledge?

Lottie gave a thoughtful sigh into the wind, side-stepping a large rock and gazing up at the horizon. "It's just so much. I don't know how I'll ever survive so long away from home." From my sister she thought, but knew better than to voice it. Can you imagine it? Spending every waking hour surrounded by magic and adults and wizards. I don't know how one could manage it."

@Archer Duncan

Charlotte remarked that Maman had raised Archer right, voice light, as Archer finished, a soft breeze trailing through his hair gently. 'I quite agree,' he said, then sharing a gaze with his newfound friend, 'Thank you.' Plucking a stray wildflower from the patches adorning the ground, he said, 'I think that's a Germander Speedwell,' before handing it to the young lady and resuming the matter of conservation. 'Yes, though my father deserves half the credit, and as they say, a coin has two sides. Whenever I talk too much, it's probably his fault,' he said with a chuckle, 'Except he does it all on parchment instead.'

Nodding as Charlotte commented on life at Hogwarts, the question of why Charlotte could not handle being surrounded by magic - practically the air they breathe, but it swiftly flashed away as it came to his time to speak. 'I suppose I am attuned to life here. I have had access to "common society", I suppose, through pureblood gatherings and travelling, but Isle of Skye is so familiar, tranquil, and comforting, while Hogwarts is a completely new endeavour.' He looked into the distance and pointed to a jutting of rock, 'I believe we are nearing our destination.'

@Charlotte Winfield

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Lottie was a bit taken aback by Archer's gesture, though she couldn't help but smile as the dark blue wildflower's paper-thin petals tickled at her warm palms. Her fascination with Archer's family was clear on her face as she absorbed his words and store them far back in her brain, perhaps for a later date that may never come. "I find it better to be full of words rather than void of them."

Lottie considered his own views on the transfer from home life to Hogwarts with a mix of both agreeance and confusion. For her, the place she lived didn't matter. Her home felt more like a vessel, a means of survival. Her bed was for sleeping, not dreaming. It was with Anadil that she felt most at peace. And the idea of being any more than a short walk away from her shook Lottie to her very core.

As they neared closer to the Winfield's house, Lottie was surprised to find that the relief she should have been feeling in her chest was something more akin to disappointment. It was rare that a conversation could leave Lottie with so much comfort, but the stretch of time that she had spoken to Archer seemed more valuable than any conversation she had had in the past. It left her with new thoughts and feelings that she wanted so greatly to continue exploring, but of course she only had so much time before the Winfield family would be up and buzzing.

"I believe you are correct," Lottie let out a short sigh as the large house came into view, and was relieved to find that all the windows were as dim as they had been when she left. She turned to Archer, the wind sweeping her hair into her face. She batted it away with annoyance, before hesitantly stating, "It was nice speaking to you. I look forward to meeting you again, even if it's a ways down the road."

@Archer Duncan

Just got back from my trip, apologies for my short reply after all this time

'I find it better to be full of words rather than void of them,' Charlotte had said. Lips turning up in a smile at such words, he replied with, 'We were meant to communicate for multiple reasons. One is to appreciate those around us, so thank you, for it was nice speaking with you as well.' Before they could continue further in their walk nor talk, Archer halted his steps, stopping to turn his full attention onto the girl in front of him rather than their descent towards the the soon-to-be bustling tourist attractions.

Golden-brown eyes finding their mark on jaded ones as Charlotte swept away tousled hair from her delicately sculpted face, marked with the rounded angles of girlhood. Before she could turn to walk down the winding mountain path that would surely lead her home to a lazy spring day, Archer clutched her hands without prior warning. Gaze flitting downwards to his grasp, his eyes connected with hers once more, and slowly, almost in rhythm with the steadily rising sun, the Scot said quitely, as if sharing a secret only meant for the Winfield's ears, 'Charlotte....' Her name flowed like soft honey in his perhaps final appreciation of the lass in the next few years. 'Charlotte, we are young, there is still so much left in our life.' In reply to her remarks, he simply said, 'Remember the road is long and often requires quite a bit of tricky manuevouring, but the Fates would never be so cruel to only allow us to meet this once.' Finally, giddy as he savoured the words that had been buzzing in his enlivened mind since they had, those eyes lit up, 'This is no goodbye. This is merely our first hello.' Let go. Let go, as everyone must. And so he did. Archer let Charlotte's hands slip out from his, but he was certain their story had not yet slipped away from each other.

Archer glanced back once over his shoulder, before giving in to the urge of fully turning and following the girl with dark hazel eyes as she retreated into a distance, a pure-blood young lady sprouting a flicker of pastel blue, figure hazy through the morning fog, figure hazy like another memory soon to fade away. Perhaps these words were only ever meant to be an overused cliché, but today's end was only the beginning of a blossoming friendship.

@Charlotte Winfield