Reflection Solo

𝕽uth trailed after the rest of the students, wandering hands tugging down her witch hat. She had come to actually like how it felt on her head. It was snug, warm. Different. After some mindless adjusting, she decided to abandon the look altogether and pulled it off her head, half-heartedly dusting the strands of her hair back to where they had been. Holding onto the brim of the hat, she couldn’t help but smile, a lilting chuckle resounding out of her closed lips as she cheekily tapped at the point. Despite a full year of donning it, Ruth still found the pointed hat an oddity. It was really…witchy, to be honest. But Hogwarts hadn’t been at all what she had expected it to be. She turned back then to stare up at the castle. Could one truly fall in love with where they had only spent a year?

Walking further away from the double doors down the cobbled pathway of the viaduct, Ruth felt her heart twinge. If she felt this way, the Hufflepuff could hardly bear the thought of graduating seventh years who had spent more time roaming the halls and corridors than she. They were finally leaving. Leaving the grounds, where the snow would envelope the duly sweet grass, or the falling autumn leaves that dried, dead, disappearing by spring. Leaving the Great Hall, where stories were told and meals eaten, a place everyone would be congregating as one big family. Leaving the common rooms, unique to each house, be it the cosiness of the Hufflepuff cellars or relishing the high breeze within the Ravenclaw towers. They were leaving.

Ruth hadn’t realised she was trembling till she staggered into the clumsy lines of First Years awaiting to board the Hogwarts Express back to London. First Years now Second. She was….she was a bloody second year.

No, she chided to herself as she hastily propped her hat back onto her head, the hand now free stuffed into pockets to rummage for her ticket. Not yet a Second Year. In two months, though. Yes, in two months. Not yet. Ruth beamed up at the wide doors before she was shoved forward by the impatient crowd, dragging her trunk behind her.

At least she was going back for the Summer Holidays. Her parents couldn’t bear the thought of her being gone any longer. Letters from home had begun flooding the one cabinet she got for herself to the extent that Ruth had to profusely apologise to Sol for having to take frequent trips back and forth. He had always seemed stubbornly fed up with it, though this expression melted back to neutrality after several nibbles of premium owl treats, which were costing Ruth a pretty penny.

Speaking of the devil, Ruth gazed down at him, raising an eyebrow at the sight of his increased pecking at the cage door. “Soon,” she murmured to him, then hurried her pace, peering through compartments for an empty one. Yes, an empty one would do. Ruth couldn’t afford disturbing people with Sol now, knowing how one girl had reacted to him a few months back…the Badger shuddered at the memory, then eased a door open.

Fortunately enough, not a soul in sight. Sighing in relief, she gave her baggage another heave before setting it down on the polished boards with a thud, collapsing onto the hard velvet. Sol squawked in impatience, and Ruth waved a dismissive hand. “Alright, alright.” Muttering to herself, Ruth fished out the key to the door and twisted in the latch, letting the entrance fly open and Sol dart off, claws grazing past the Hufflepuff as he leapt away from the cage, eyes glimmering in the relishing taste of freedom. Ruth let out a laugh at the sight, though the smile quickly slipped off her face as the tremor beneath her feet grew from a hum to a distinct shudder. The train had begun moving.

They were going.

Ruth looked down at her lap, hands clenched into fists, interdigits pale white from squeezing. Heartache. The twist in her stomach was uncomfortable, and she averted her gaze from the interior designs to the landscape outside, which wasn’t very much at least for now. While Ruth was eager to see the familiar landscapes of London once more, heartache distracted her; all she could see were green blurs. She hated this feeling. It was nauseatingly painful, as though there was something vividly chilling within her that itched and itched and itched to crawl out of her skin. Ruth was safe in assuming it was a terrible way to describe the feeling. Where she would usually romanticise it, all she could think of now was how badly she wished for the feeling to go away.

Her fingers twitched against soft feathers, and the Hufflepuff glanced down to notice that Sol had given up on his prancing after realising his "freedom" was short-lived, opting to cuddle against her instead. This was one of the rare occasions when Ruth saw traces of sentimentalism from the owl. Or it was just another way to get more treats out of her. He was, after all, strangely snuggling his snowy white crown towards her pockets. She shook her head in dismay and decided, just this once, Ruth would believe otherwise. Her family was waiting for them, and she wanted to greet them with a smile.