Trees and Feathers PV Gris Edelhardt Closed

Set 2018 sometime,

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I didn't know if you had a preference?

Strong winds whistled throughout the Hogwarts grounds and students lounged amongst nature, their backs against trees or the walls of the castle itself to keep the chill from settling in. Margo White strolled further away from the rest, goosebumps rising on the bare skin of her arms as she swung them at her side. A small smile twisted her features and her amber eyes glinted with thoughts hidden from the outside world. Her exterior looked like a first year like many others, of average height and average beauty, but, as she'd always believed, it was what was inside that counted. 

Margo was an ordinary child originating from an ordinary household in the Scottish Cairngorms. However, nobody was ever ordinary. Even amongst a sea of robots, each would be slightly different to the rest. The same could be said for anything, living or otherwise, but Margo didn't like to think of it so simply. It was true that everything in the world was unique to itself, but there had always been different levels of difference. A wizard amongst a crowd of muggles would likely stand out, even though every muggle would have a slightly different way of looking at the world too. No matter that they were all human, the uniqueness of the muggles would fade into a monotonous pattern behind the wizard's differences, and nothing could be done about it. Margo knew this. It felt like she always had, so she strived for balance between similarities and differences, to see that which stood out, but also the beauty of that which didn't. That being said, she too held the flaws of the human race, and her young, selfish impulses were more than intact. She wanted to be the one who was different, exciting in a crowd of others. Attention was a small part of her motive, of course, but not all. Excitement and change ruled a part of her, and she would never relate to those who sought to fit in, because she always sought to stand out.

Margo stopped suddenly, yanked out of her reverie. In the sea of entirely unique blades of grass was a pile of feathers, more commonly known as a chick. It was tiny, probably about the size of her hand, and covered in a fluffy layer of feathers. Said feathers were a light brown shade, not very remarkable, but still noticeable against the green of the grass. Margo remembered when her uncle had taken her brother and her camping in the summer a few years back. They'd had a great time, but still, Scottish summers were not the most reliable. It had rained for more than half of the time, blurring the view of binoculars and extinguishing marshmallow promising campfires. However, Margo had learnt enough to able to identify the chick at her feet. It was a red kite, consumer of mice, voles and anything else they could scavenge. The young bird on the ground was not cute, nor relatable, but it was a life that would probably end based upon chance, and that was what forced Margo onto her knees and cup the young kite in her hands.

It would not hurt her or anything else to save the young bird's life. Sure, it would take up a little time and effort, but what else were the hours spent not studying meant for? "Mmm," Margo hummed to the small soul nestled in her palms. "You'd better be grateful." And she carefully pushed the bird down her jumper. It let out an undignified squark in protest but she shushed it gently. 

Margo felt its small body against the fabric of her shirt and smiled down at the bulge in the wool of her jumper. She thanked fate for the layers of clothing she'd dressed in this morning because if she'd been wearing just a T-shirt underneath her robe, the bird wouldn't have been so lucky. The little fluffball would've had to swing about in the pockets of her cloak as she climbed, an uninviting prospect largely to do with the amount of objects she collected in said compartment. As it was, Margo could now don said cloak onto the ground. It's excess fabric would be limiting, something she'd learnt when climbing trees in large coats as a child. 

Without any more thoughts, Margo began to climb, the bird cheeping unhappily every now and again. She welcomed the adrenaline of getting higher and higher above the ground, clinging to the rough bark with ease. Before she knew it, the nest was in front of her face and she was sitting on a thick branch that seemed like it was made for her to sit on. She pulled the little chick out of her jumper, smiling at its ruffled appearance. Without further ado, she placed it back in the nest and started her descent. Unfortunately, it was easier said than done. As she turned to lower her leg back onto the branch below, she slipped, hissing slightly as her shins grazed on the bark. She looked at the drop to the branch below and her eyes widened suddenly. It looked too far. She checked all around to be sure, but she could't see a way down. She was stuck.

Margo groaned slightly as she realised her predicament. She was usually so careful. Her eyes pieced the foliage, looking, searching until she thought she saw a shadow below. "Hello?" She asked, coughing slightly. This was embarrassing. "I'm stuck. Do you think you could help?" Luckily only the chick was around to see the heat rising to her cheeks. Its just the cold. She told herself, she'd left her warmest layer on the ground after all. 

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Thanks to @Ruby Cazares for the term 'fluffball'