How About This View?

Sometimes a boy just needed to get some air. The immediate fear had largely subsided by now. Though he still half expected his arm to explode every time he tried gesturing with a wand. His muggle reared mind kept trying to contextualise magic as electricity, a charge and current that was somehow coursing through him, focusing in the core of his wand and radiated out by the wood. Academically he knew that was not quite right, but even a young mind can have trouble shaking off years of established norms and assumptions. Combine that with what he assumed was the raw power needed to weave some of the charms and spells he had seen around the school, and it kept feeling like he had corked lightning in his body, and he knew what lightning could do to people.

But even if he no longer flet like he might explode, unless he thought about it too hard, everything was still overwhelming. He was not about to stop, or back down. The curtain had been pulled back, and it could never come down again. But sometimes he needed to take a moment, feel the wind, remind himself that trees were still trees and hills were still hills, before getting back to work.

Finding a toe hold he haled himself up to look comfortably out over the protective balustrade and across the highlands of Scotland. Wind messing his only recently tidied hair, enjoying the slight sting on his face of occasional sharp gusts and blasts of air. A small part of him wanted to throw on a backpack and hike out beyond the horizon. But he could ill afford that kind of indulgence, there was work to do, 11 years of institutional knowledge and inherited understanding to catch up on.

Letting himself drop back down to the walk way he saw a young girl, he guessed about his own age, and who by the green trim of her robes was a Slytherin. Now young Edmund may have prioritised trying to get up to speed on the “physics” of magic, and somewhat neglected the social side and history in his study sprint. But he had paid attention to the whispers and murmurs when he was sorted at least. Little good came from Slytherin, or so he was told. But then again some had spoken of traits that he considered virtues, and no matter what some may gossip no group of people were all bad, surely. Though there was another factor. The house cup. What was the point of a competition if you weren’t supposed to try and win it after all? Particularly when it come to an award for collegiate achievement! Could he ever really relax around or trust the competition?

Perhaps he could no, but as with so many other things, he was determined to find out. Taking a few steps toward the stranger he stuck out a hand.
“Edmund Byrd. A pleasure to meet you, I am sure.” He paused for a moment to gauge her reaction, attentive and cautious. Ready to coil like a snake, ironically enough, at the first sign of danger. Even if eagles were supposed to be a serpent’s natural predator he certainly did not feel like one. Conscious that he could not pause for too long, he gestured out across the vast vista that lay beyond the school. “Did you need to get away for a few moments as well?”