Hush [open]

Her hands pushed away the feathers fluttering down towards her from the door of the Owlery. A hazel gaze flickered towards the dark sky above where storm clouds were gathering as a shadow over the world. The wind tugged at her uniform, an invisible child pulling at her cloak and threatening to rip the letter from her pocket. From a young age, each new generation from wizarding families were pulled into blood and status wars. The deep rooted tradition narrowed their visions until they were just as blind as the generation before.
It was a choice.

Not all things were chosen. She was lucky. She moved through crowds of those less fortunate. She had made her own choice as well - to see the entirety of it all. And some of it she struggled to accept. And there was an emptiness that only seemed to ache as she saw how harsh, how painful, and yet how beautiful it all was. Sometimes she felt like she was barely there, just an empty, forgotten street in the mazes of cities - sun shining on puddles left there after the rain. She supposed discriminating made them feel more important, less insignificant, less forgotten.

Birds rushed past her, swooping and diving, all air and wings. An owl settled in front of her, tilting its head in curiosity as it stared at her letter - is she going to send that? She was hesitant, her fingers ran over her cousin's name in ink - 'Jacques'. He already knew of her discomfort when it came to family members, probably suspected that she may try to leave - to get away from it all. 'Blood traitor' had been spat at her with such venom over the recent years as she made her position on the situation more and more clear. Staying at home over the holidays almost became unbearable. Yet Jacques had some sort of weird, blind faith in her - a belief that she would return to the true way.
But Cecilia would not allow herself to become clouded.

Jet slogged his way across the sodden castle grounds, the earth adamant that it should take every opportunity to suck at the souls of his shoes. Each step was accompanied by a thick-sounding schlock and it looked as though the skies were ready to continue their torment of the past few days. No reprieve.

The incessant rain had made more than one student stir-crazy and Jason was no exception. He'd spent his free time over the past few days holed up in the Hufflepuff common room, distracting himself with writing and day dreaming, wishing for the golden coast. At first he'd been content to laze around and chat with his fellow Badgers, but hour after hour of seeing the same faces had caused him to seclude himself from the crowd and search for ways to break out. Thus, the letter he clutched in his hand. It was addressed to his cousin, though the ink was already starting to run so who knew if it would see coherent delivery. It was a conversation more than a letter really. One he'd imagined them having during idle hours. It was hardly worth sending, but it was an excuse to get outside during the brief lull between storms.

His feet slicked over the stone steps. Normally caked with droppings, the fat drops of rain water had done their job to wash most of the offense away. All that remained were the age-old stains that no amount of cleansing could dislodge. The wind had picked up and it stung at his eyes, causing them to water and his cheeks and nose to redden from the sting. Desperate to find some barrier to the howl, he plunged through the owlery door and collided with an unseen student.

Cel started to turn at the sound of footsteps but a sudden force sent her careening forwards, sending the owl in front of her into the air. It gave her a baleful, harassed stare as it flew back to the rafters. Her letter blew out of her unsteady hands and soared at the window like a paper plane, tugged even further away from the tower by the gusts of wind. She managed to grip onto a ledge, steadying herself as she swore in frustration. Her eyes found the perpetrator of the disaster, narrowing as she slowly started to recognise the student. Hufflepuff. Seventh year. Jetson. Jacob Jetson... or something. She didn't bother learning the names of students unless they bothered her, or they were from pureblood families - those kids had been pointed out to her long ago as 'people she should get familiar with', though she usually wanted very little to do with them. "Jetson." She remarked, "Do you enter every room like it is the Quidditch locker room?"

"Oh sh- I'm sorry. Are you..." his words died on his tongue as he saw the glare that was leveled at him. And a last name. Oh crap. He didn't recognize the girl at all. Was she a prefect? Nah. Couldn't be. He knew all the prefects...

Didn't he? He knew Slytherin's and his own, obviously. But Ravenclaw and Gryffindor all looked the same to him. He must know the Gryffindor prefects. She looked familiar though. She must be an upperclassman, but if she was then they definitely didn't run in the same circles.

"Sorry," he repeated, unsure what else to say. "No, I- The wind..." he gestured back over his shoulder by way of flimsy explanation, but he didn't think it would hold enough import to excuse him to this girl with eyes so hardened and defiant.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" he asked abruptly, never being one for formality.

Her gaze moved from the boy to the door, watching it creak and shake in the strong wind. The next storm was closer than she had anticipated and it would probably be pouring by the time she got back to the Gryffindor common room, if not before hand.

She turned her attention back to the abashed Hufflepuff as he stumbled over formalities. She was not surprised by his question - not making it a habit to make herself known to the general populace, and being in different houses, she tended not to mix with many Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, or Slytherins (apart from family members).

"No, I'd say that you don't know me." She remarked, waving the question away like it was something small and irritating, like a fly. Her cousins were the out spoken ones, flaunting their names like they were royalty. "Doesn't matter." It wouldn't matter, they never interacted. She was more concerned about the fact that she would have to rewrite the letter she had been intending to send. Cel just hoped that someone else didn't stumble across the remnants of the original, and if they did, that it would be impossible to read. She hadn't planned for an incident where she lost it.

She noted the letter in Jetson's hand and had to glance quickly away to hold back a sharp comment. Her barbed tongue had gotten her into trouble far too many times as it was. "Well, don't let me get in your way, Jacob. I'm sure you have important messages to send."

"Jason, actually," he corrected. "But everyone calls me Jet," he stepped forward and half raised his hand to shake hers before thinking better of it. He stepped back and nodded instead.

Looking down at the crumpled mess of parchment in his hand, he shook his head. "No, actually. It's kind of garbage. I just needed to get out of the castle, y'know? Rain..."

His fists knocked awkwardly against his thighs.

"Anyway..." He looked up and clicked his tongue, calling to his tawny owl, Prometheus.

"Hey buddy," he smiled as the large bird alighted on his outstretched arm. "How do you feel about getting wet?"

If a bird could look sarcastic, Jason could swear that his owl did right now.

"Yeah, well, you don't have a choice, feather face," he teased, earning him a sharp nip as he tied the note to Pro's leg. Laughing, Jet carried his owl to the window and watched him disappear above the dark clouds. He leant on the stone a moment, watching thick purple thunderheads roiling on the horizon.