Randomness Turns Into.. PV S. Napier Closed

The autumn sun, skipping toward winter with hopeful steps, was delicately shining over the October sky. This ancient castle, the meetpoint of the fervent river of legend and the still spring of history, resembled a concert hall dominated by the joyful cacophony of a crowd just unchained. Students clutching their leather-bound books tightly to their chests wove through the throng, moving like swimming through a sea. Meanwhile, younger students close to the Napier boy's age entertained themselves by striking one another's satchels, showcasing their steadfast enthusiasm to transform all the aspects of life into a clamorous game, even within the imposing walls of the ancient castle that'd otherwise preserve its air of austerity with unprecedented ease.

Saunders, dressed in a turtleneck sweater as white as milk to shield his relatively fragile body from the cold, stood leaning against one of the walls on the flat platform midway down the long staircase leading to the Boathouse. His time at Hogwarts had not been long. Apart from the eventful boat ride that seemed somehow thrilling to others but left him indifferent, and a verbal duel with a Ravenclaw girl who made no effort to hide her displeasure with him, it was pretty difficult to claim that Saunders had many events worthy of being called adventures. He had searched for Oliver and Brian, the acquaintances he’d made on the train, but had yet to come across them. Well, lacking any truly engaging activities, Saunders had turned to the lesser good of wandering the grounds to explore. This utterly purposeless and expectation-free endeavour unexpectedly brought him an unturbid joy as he roamed around Hogwarts, acquainting himself with its mazelike passages.

However, his wanderings weren’t entirely devoid of expectations. A vivid fantasy danced in his unripened mind, a fantasy that doubled his delight whenever he imagined its realisation. At every turn of a corridor, every dead-end reached, or every staircase climbed, he envisioned a hidden door appearing before him, inviting him in, or a hidden passage whispering its secrets, calling out to be discovered. Yet no such thing had happened. Aside from the well-charted locations marked on every single Hogwarts sketch so far, no mysterious, long-forgotten place had unveiled itself to Saunders.

Above, owls flitted about in the sky, their wings spread wide. They were bound to cross the Great Lake, delivering messages from students to their families and friends. As Saunders observed the aerial choreography, he noticed one owl descending instead of rising. Puzzled but still unbothered, he dismissed the anomaly. After all, some owls were notoriously clumsy, a well-known truth. But this owl was not merely descending, it appeared to be heading straight for him. "Strange," thought the Napier boy, squinting as his gaze followed the bird’s intent flight. The owl, determined and almost mocking in its trajectory, seemed to taunt him silently: "Strange? Have you truly not realized yet, foolish boy? I’m coming directly to you!"

The owl completed a graceful semicircle before perching on the staircase wall beside him. Having tilted its head and extended its beak toward him, the owl presented a letter. Saunders, hesitant and confused, accepted the missive as the bird promptly took off, soaring back toward the castle. "Very strange indeed," Saunders mused again, inspecting the letter. "Who would send me a message from the castle? And why use an owl for such a short distance?"

For a moment, he debated whether to open it. Surely, this must have been some kind of mix-up, and reading someone else’s letter would be, at the very least, rude. But curiosity has a way of tickling one’s insides. Though Saunders highly valued manners, succumbing to his instincts, he decided to unfold the letter and read it. The letter was addressed to no one in particular, much to his relief, meaning he hadn’t invaded anyone’s privacy. Evidently, this mysterious "Jan Dehoff" (a name he found rather charming) had wanted to test the owling system. Encountering people unfamiliar with the magical world to varying degrees was becoming, or has already become, a repetitive motif in Saunders' brief Hogwarts experience. Later that day, he attended his Transfiguration class, and during the break that followed, he took the effort to visit the Owlery to write a reply to the mysterious boy:

Jan,

Your letter, amidst so many people, found its way to me. My name is Saunders. Saunders Napier. Following your kind request, I am writing back to you, confident this will reach you soon. I trust I haven’t chosen an owl fond of biting fingers or crashing into windows before plummeting to the ground.

A reward? How kind of you, but no need at all. All I’ve done is respond to a letter, and I’m not so vain as to believe such a minor act deserves a prize. Yet… perhaps the greatest reward would be your time?

The best way to determine whether it was a mere coincidence that your owl singled me out from Hogwarts’ hundreds of students is to meet you in person. I'm a Slytherin and a first-year. If you're a first year as well, we must have classes in common. And if you're older than me, well, you can ask any Slytherin about me - they'll get in contact with me somehow. What do you say?

Yours sincerely,
Saunders Napier

@Janosch Dehoff

Mention: @Nobody || Interacting: @Saunders Napier

Date: 05/10/24

Word counts: 870

One might've think that the owling system is as brilliant a feat of wizarding ingenuity as any. And certainly, it was quite creative of them to build a huge owl network, training the supposedly nocturnal creature to deliver some messages between far-flung corners of the wizarding world, yet for Jan, it was quite.. Invasive. Who would’ve thought that an owl could detect any person’s current location? Needless to say, he was surprised to see the very same snowy owl from the previous night perched up on his bedside with a scroll clasped neatly to one of its legs. The whole ordeal reeked of something uncanny, an intelligence that veered too far too close to an obsessive person to his liking.

And then there was the reply.

The Ravenclaw boy had read it twice before stuffing it into his messenger bag. Whoever this is, they have quite an immaculate handwriting, slanted and precise, with a wording choice of old-fashioned elegance that didn’t match anything he had expected from a school filled with chaotic first-years. It wasn't just the handwriting that impressed him. Jan also didn’t expect this Saunders person to reject his treat offer. If he was in this guy’s shoes, he would’ve asked for a great amount of pumpkin pastries, but meeting up with him isn't a bad offer as well. And so, he spent that afternoon turning the letter over in his mind, debating on what he should write to the response before heading to the west tower where the owlery is located.

When he reached the entrance to the owlery, it greeted him with its usual array: the smell of a straw, and feathers mingled with the faint, acrid tang of owl droppings. Jan could see rows of owls in each level perched in various states of alertness, some were preening their feathers, others were dozing with their heads tucked into their wings. A few of them turned their heads and their eyes towards him as he entered. Jan could compare them with CCTVs, if he must describe the gaze. He quickly climbed up the spiral staircase to the highest platform of the tower where he could see a couple of Hogwarts students writing or sending their letters. From there, he searched around to find the same snowy owl from the previous night perched up high on one of the wooden beams, its amber eyes recognizing the Ravenclaw boy in an instance.

“Hi there,” Jan greeted the owl once their eyes met. He pulled out the rolling parchment from his messenger bag before approaching. The snowy owl let out a hoot and allowed him to tie the parchment to its talon as if this was just another routine between them. “I see that you’re warming up to me,” Jan muttered, his lips quirking into a half-smile while he tied the scroll to the bird. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring any treats this time.” The snowy owl blinked slowly and gave a slight rustle of its feathers while it shifted its weight. Jan wasn’t sure what the snowy owl was trying to imply, but it does seem like he didn’t mind the lack of treats. With the parchment scroll secured tightly, he muttered to the owl, patting its head gently. “Back to Saunders, wherever they are. You seem to know better than I do.”

The snowy owl gave him its low hoot as a response before flying off. Jan lingered by the window a little longer than he intended, watching the last wisps of the owl’s wings fade into the pale gold of the afternoon. As he turned to leave, his thought immediately drifted back to Saunders’ reply. Is he really going to meet him tomorrow? What if Saunders doesn’t like him in person? By now, he had already heard enough about Slytherin to assume that the students in that house dislike people like him. Maybe with the exception of that one senior Slytherin he met during the beginning of the school. Calm down, you’ll find out soon, Jan reassured himself as he headed back to the Ravenclaw common room. Whatever happened tomorrow, at least you put yourself out there.

Dear Saunders,

Thank you for the reply! The snowy owl made it here without accident, so I supposed this owling system is doing its job well enough. I was half-expecting a story of an owl crashing into windows at the very least, but I’m glad we can count on their better judgment.

I also want to let you know that I appreciate and I accept your offer of time over a treat reward. I’m a first-year like you so we do have a few classes in common. It’s weird to know that we’ve never noticed each other during the ones we have had together so far, but I’m happy to make us acquaintances in person.

I’ll be at the great hall around 7.30 am tomorrow if you want to stop by and have a proper conversation with me. It better be before the first lesson starts, of course. If not, perhaps we can see each other in class and say hello. I’m curious to see if there’s more to you than the other Slytherin students.

Till then,
Jan Dehoff

The name Jan Dehoff had circled through Saunders’s mind like a nocturnal spectre, relentless in its orbit: the mysterious sender of owls. But who actually was this boy? Naturally, he could've inquired among the students, scattering questions like breadcrumbs before a flock of gossipy ravens. And yet, for two particular reasons, the Napier boy didn't attempt such a thing. The first was the more pragmatic: one does not simply roam the corridors asking after a name, lest one be mistaken for either a vagabond in search of a brawl or a newly arrived immigrant desperately hunting for a familiar soul in an unfamiliar realm. The second, on the other hand, was of a loftier nature: Saunders had been raised to respect life’s mysteries. His grandmother Dirouhi, in a voice steeped in the mist of the Armenian mountains, would often say, "Do not seek to know all things, my little meatball; leave some secrets to their own devices." To the old woman, uncovering the cause of an unknown natural phenomenon was not an act of enlightenment, but the murder of the unknown itself. A sentiment that Saunders’s mother would've decried with a most audible protest.

Fortunately enough, Saunders didn't have to wait for the murder, nay, suicide of the unknown for long as the snowy owl, who was now irrevocably linked in his mind to the name Jan, graced him once more with its presence. Jan Dehoff, it seemed, was a first-year like himself. A pleasing discovery. Saunders, though often drawn to the company of his upperclassmen, stealthily longed for camaraderie among his own peers. He read and reread Jan’s letter, scouring it for any overlooked detail, but apparently, there was no mention of a house. Could he be a Hufflepuff? Or a Gryffindor? Given his apparent unfamiliarity with the owling system, it seemed likely that he had emerged from the depths of the Muggle world, and these two houses, for reasons Saunders couldn't entirely justify, struck him as the most probable havens for someone like Jan. He made the owl wait. If it was to embark on the same journey back, it ought not to travel empty-clawed. Hastily, and therefore with a script less orderly than before, he wrote:

Dear Jan,

This owl is clever, I assure you, and perhaps too clever for its own good. As someone who, I suspect, knows more about their kind, may I humbly recommend that you select this snowy fellow as your courier whenever your path leads you to the Owlery? He belongs to that rare breed who has learned the delicate art of not crashing into windows.

So we are of the same age! Splendid! Thank you for your invitation. This means that at the ghastly hour of 7:30 tomorrow morning, I will find myself in the vicinity of the Great Hall, searching for you. Being a Slytherin, I may arrive in a most serpentine fashion, either hissing or slithering, so do not be alarmed. How I am to recognise you, I do know not, but as for myself, I'll be wearing a brooch of emerald hue, a leaf-shaped one. It is, to my knowledge, the only accessory I own that no one else has dared to replicate.

Until then,
Saunders

Saunders' style, as usual, seemed to yearn to be characterised as purple prose. If there was a way to glamourise something, even if it was unnecessary, why wouldn't he use it? Saunders was well aware that his sentences might arouse in others the suspicion that he was a dandy, a snob, a swanky flaneur; he had not descended from outer space, yet he was quite disinclined to take on the burden of pondering at length what others would think.

The snowy owl spread its wings and ascended into the sky, sealing its record of impeccable service with one final act of duty. Saunders watched its departure, his gaze trailing the vanishing silhouette. What sort of fellow would this Jan Dehoff turn out to be, he thought, not without a hint of mischief, I do hope he is worth my time. Saying no had never been his forte, and should Jan fail to live up to expectations, an hour of precious morning idleness would be lost forever. And yet, somewhere within Saunders murmured that this Jan might be worth meeting. The voice was subtle, persistent, and curiously familiar. It bore the name of hope.

@Janosch Dehoff