Errand Of Mops and Building Storms Solo Fin.

IC Date: Late Afternoon/Evening of September 8th, 2019

It was funny, Clem thought. I've traveled all this way from home, into a brand new secret world and yet I'm still doing chores. It wasn't something he minded though, methodically making his way through the rooms of the cabins, dusting as he went, picking up objects on the recently cleared out rooms. Someone had to do it, and whoever (whatever? he wondered) cleaned the castle was sure to have their hands full with all of the new students. Anyway, he had done some work earlier this weekend, what was a few more hours?

His head buzzed with conversations from the past week rotating and picking over them as his hands moved on auto-pilot, sweeping along the baseboards, catching remnants of dust left there. It mirrored the actions he had had to do at home, when his parents were busy, either caught up in research, or grading, or off at a conference. Then, like now, the home was empty, dust catching in the last traces of sunlight, creating a small wonderland as the sounds of life outside crept in. Here too was the familiar feeling of wood on his knees and the comforting, sterile smell of cleaner.  

Dragging his dust rag through the last traces of dust in the hallway, he wondered after what would become of these rooms. Would they just be locked up, left to wait through the wind and snow until next summer? He wandered into the bedrooms, beginning to fish out the last dust beneath the wooden beds and still his mind turned. How would his dusting hold up against the slow march of time, the bugs that would inevitably creep in, the acid in the rain and the tendency of objects to dull? 

This penchant for pretension was interrupted as he stumbled upon a bottle cap under the bed. And then another one. And then another. Really, these summer students didn't know how to pick up after themselves. It was frankly horrific. He was embarrassed for them. But as a small pile of rubbish grew, the places he hadn't dusted grew smaller, until finally, he was done. 

Dusting off his hands, he strode towards the mop and bucket, and began measuring out a small spoonful of soap into the bucket, heaving it towards the nearest fountain. As the bucket filled, the moan of water filled the small but echoing space of the cabin. Beyond the windows, twilight was settling over the Forbidden Forest. The muted oranges and purples that filled the sky as the sun passed the horizon almost looked as if the forest was alight - not lit with flames, but with a soft inner glow that crept into the cabin as well as the boy stared at a flock of birds rising from the forest. He suppressed a smile as he thought of the place's name. Really, it was the same as putting a red button in front of a small child and telling them not to touch it. Still, he valued his life enough. The dull hiss of water in the background slowed to a still, informing him that the bucket had been filled.  

Water splashed across the floor as Clem stuck the mop into the too-full bucket, sopping his shows and rolling along the hallway. With precise, almost jerky movements he wrung out the mop and used it to coral the runaway water, running up and down the small hall of the cabin as he went. Here, in the silence, he allowed himself to let loose a small cackle of joy. 

But soon enough he quieted down again, humming to himself as he mopped the floors and hallways, allowing himself to become sucked back into his head again. The quiet felt like a blanket, heavy, all-consuming, and comforting, if stiffing. He couldn't even hear the buzz of insects anymore - had they all flown away with the end of summer, or did they just not like Scotland? 

Occasionally  he returned to the bucket, re-wetting and then wringing out the mop in slow, methodical movements. His thoughts returned to their past perambulations. Hogwarts was lovely. Hogwarts was magical. These were two things he could accept after a week of being here. However, there were things that didn't quite... add up. There was a storm building. It might have been building for a long time - he didn't know enough to judge yet and he knew that. But there it was. The crackle of electricity in the air, the dull darkness that towers overhead, the sense that the wind was shifting. Back in his Common Room, hidden by a blanket fort, it was less present, less worrisome. But with news of new societies on the up and up, not just from others but from his own friends, he wondered at the logic of Hogwarts. 

The world seemed well, stuck. There wasn't a better word for it, at least not that he could think of. Not just in a semi-medieval lifestyle, but stuck in constant fear of discovery, stuck in the sense that they would be overrun. It was only natural that some people responded with anger and defiance. He already felt it - that weird tear in your stomach that only comes from straddling two worlds, two disparate value systems. What opportunities did you have when half of your life was spent making sure Muggles didn't notice you? Especially as technology like cell phones and social media developed, and damage control became harder and harder to control. 

But the thing that rubbed at him the most was that he wasn't sure he was going to be prepared to deal with this coming storm. Yes, he was learning spells and potions, yes he would learn how to coax plants from the ground but that really was all. Where were the politics? History of Magic could only go so far. Where was learning to think about how you think, about how to interact with and understand cultures outside your own. It seemed lacking. He would have to fix this as best he could. Setting his mop against a wall, he pursed his lips, feeling for a scrap of paper and a stub of a pencil in his jean's pockets. He started to scrawl out a to-do list.

An hour later the door of the cabin he had been cleaning swung shut. As he picked his way back up to the castle, a gleaming floor(reflecting the light of the stars) and freshly made beds lay in his wake, waiting for their occupants next summer. 

Word Count: 1084