Post by patricksinclaire on Jan 17, 2012 9:28:07 GMT -6
It was nearing the Christmas holidays, and winter was back, once again, in all its frigid glory. A light blanket of mist hung in the air, shrouding the icy white banks of the Great Lake, where an eerie silence had descended. From brittle branches gossamer cobwebs hung, frozen and deathly still, sparkling with a dusting of hoar frost. Off in the distance, the vast tree branches of the Forbidden Forest stood naked, shivering in the cold air, and the ground below was wrapped in a soft white layer from the season’s first snowfall.
There always seemed to be something magical, no pun intended, about Hogwarts and its surroundings, in this time of year. The way everything seemed to light up at night, like there was nothing behind any of it all. It was always beautiful around holidays, yet with Christmas coming up, it resembled more an ethereal world.
Patrick Sinclaire was walking alone on the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade’s main street, looking at the winter scenery. It was always the little details that got him. The way the street lamps up ahead created a soft, yellow glow, causing the snowflakes to dance in their dim light. The way the white flakes grasped onto the branches of the bare trees, giving them back their
beauty.
There had, about a month ago, been the complete grayness of it all. It hadn’t been a dismal, gloomy grey, but rather an all-encompassing, expectant shade of it. There was the grey of the clouds, in all their fullness, stretching across the sky as far as he could see, and the reflection of that grey on the ice which covered the grounds. But the snow had come, eventually.
He spotted a figure before him, in the adhering brume, leaning against a nearby fence. She looked quite sad, wrapped up in her winter attire, completely alone. Squinting in an attempt to make out the person’s face, Patrick assumed it must be a second or third-year he hadn’t yet acknowledged, in the sea of faces to remember. He continued his trajectory towards the Three Broomsticks, but couldn’t quite get the figure out of his head, and so turned around and decided to perhaps spark a conversation. Nearing her, Patrick was hit by the inevitable evidence. It was a girl whom he often found sitting near the fireplace in the common room, seemingly entranced by the many books she appeared to read. Patrick had never quite talked to her beyond the few ‘hellos’ exchanged in the common room at mornings and evenings and the casual nods in the corridors. Well, what better time to get to know a person than in frigid weather, ay? Perhaps they could go to the Three Broomsticks to get a warm butterbeer, or something alike.
Grinning, Patrick approached her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Oi, mate. Gobsmacked to see you in this bitter weather.” Patrick said, adopting a deeper, serious voice, before breaking into another grin.
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