Chapter Text
Autumn had, as she so fondly tended to do, fallen with a regal ease upon the grounds of Hogwarts. The air had turned bitingly crisp as the nights grew longer, auburn-hued leaves waltzing from branch to earth as the first signs of snowfall began to make themselves known. The grounds of the ancient castle had always been stunningly beautiful, but in such a dappled light and surrounded by such a flurry of colour, it almost seemed too surreal to be tangible. A plethora of intricately carved Jack-o-Lanterns and assorted All Hallows Eve decorations only added to the staggering intangibility, the objects sitting in perfect harmony with their counterparts and providing a breathtaking ambience.
Figures in cloaks of a deep navy rushed across the festive grounds in clusters, all bundled warmly in layers of scarves and mittens and woolly hats. Prominent hues of red, blue, yellow and green stood out among many articles of clothing, worn proudly by their owners in amongst further layers of uniform and warmth. It was the first weekend of October, and as such there was a gathering of slightly windswept, but nevertheless eager-looking students in the courtyard. The quiet excitement thrummed throughout the entire assembly like keen static, murmurs of hot butterbeers and spiced pastries exchanged avidly between huddles of cloaks.
A small ways away from the teeming crowd, a girl draped in the same inky-blue cloak was carefully making her way up the winding stone stairs of the Owlery, a chunky-knit scarlet scarf, embroidered with golden threads wrapped cozily around her neck. The hood of her cloak was pulled up around her head in a feeble attempt to shield her from the chill of the snowflakes that were beginning to nip at her rosy cheeks, one hand tracing the cool stone of the circular building for balance while the other kept the rather useless hood in place. She would much rather be going to Hogsmeade with the rest of her friends as they had so mercilessly pleaded her to last night, but her potions essay wasn't going to write itself. She needed to study, and the best time to do that was when half the castle was on an outing.
Every couple of stairs up, the girl's foot would slip out from beneath her, resulting in a involuntary gasp and an internal reprimand towards whoever had designed a circular building with the stone steps on the outside, with no railing. The stairway was always treacherously icy as the cold set in each year, and a heating charm to melt the slippery surface would never do it good for long.
Nevertheless, she pressed on with her journey, and let out a sigh of relief as she finally reached the top step. She ducked through the door frame and pulled her hood down, unravelling the scarf to a more comfortable degree and sliding her hands into her pockets. Her face - now unshrouded - was bitten pink from the cold, her near-white skin smattered lightly with freckles that intermingled with the unintentional flush of her cheeks. Her hair was dark and seemingly pin-curled, at first appearing to be almost a black, but with closer inspection was a discernibly deep teal shade. Her eyebrows mirrored this same colour, neatly framing a bright viridescent gaze surrounded by a pair of modest, thick-rimmed glasses.
Said gaze flicked upwards as she stepped into the centre of the incredibly tall room, eyes scanning the Owlery in childlike awe as she let out a low, melodic whistle. At the sound, a white and brown mass swooped down from one of the many cubby-holes, the forest-green eyes following the figure with a grin as it skittered down on a nearby perch.
"Hey, Pidge," The girl murmured, stepping towards the perch and reaching an outstretched, friendly palm towards the barn owl. It was rather small and mostly white, with light brown feathers surrounding its face and wingspan. The owl, Pidge, leaned into the offered palm zealously, cooing and hooting excitedly to the teal-haired girl in greeting. The girl chuckled and pulled her free hand from her pocket, offering the bird an Owl Treat and a scratch behind the ear before digging into her pocket once again, procuring a small, tan envelope with neat, swooping calligraphy marking the front.
Rather engrossed by the exchange between herself and her owl, the girl in the crimson scarf barely to noticed the quiet arrival of a new visitor to the Owlery. A boy around her age, wearing the same ink-blue robes, but instead of a scarlet scarf around his shoulders, he wore a slimmer, more modest yellow rendition, interlaced with sections of a light grey. His hair was a strawberry blonde disarray of snowflakes and curls, and his eyes a piercing blue.
Not intending to intrude on the girl's interaction with her owl, the boy simply reached his arm out towards one of the owls nearby and it glided down to greet him, resting on his arm and chirruping happily. He smiled crookedly at the animal in return, as he reached inside of his robes and procured a slightly less impressive letter, marked with a scrawling hand and wrapped carefully with twine. He handed it to the handsome bird, who plucked it into its beak with ease and tilted its head in question;
"Take it to my Mother, would you? She'll have food waiting for you when you arrive, I'm sure you remember the way." The boy murmured quietly in answer to to the animal's unspoken question. It cooed at him once more in understanding before hopping off of his arm, gliding towards the nearest exit and taking off into the thickening snowfall.
He turned on his heel watched the magnificent bird depart, the wonder in his eyes eventually fading as the unnerving sensation of being watched crept up and tingled at the top of his spine. Resisting the urge to glance behind himself, the boy simply reached up and pulled his cloak hood over his head, shrouding himself in the fabric once more before striding quickly out of the circular room. The tingling sensation followed him as he departed.
He took the winding staircase at less of a pace, all too familiar with the slick surface beneath his feet and his general lack of coordination. Today was as normal a day as any other; Hogsmeade trips were never quite something that fully appealed to the boy, as he would much rather spend his time quietly in the common room, filling his notebook with pages of notes, observations, and drawings, or sitting in the library reading. He had seen a rather ornate looking leather-bound book in one of the dustier isles the last time he had visited, but had been in too much of a rush at the time to pick it up. Smiling to himself at the thought of being able to settle down with the dusty old tome beside the fireplace, he picked up his pace down the spiralling stairs.
Almost as soon as his movements sped up, however, a dreadfully high-pitched squeak came from below him. His right foot, obviously unaccustomed to this new pace, had slipped out from beneath him and screeched in protest against the ice, swinging him backwards at an alarmingly fast rate. He scrambled in a panic as he lost his footing, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and accepting his fate, bracing himself for the impact of the fall...