A Lonely Escape (Open)

[mairead ó fearghail]

There were too many people in the Hufflepuff common room. And, Mairead often felt claustrophic in the underground den-like passageways. After so many years of spending almost all of her time outdoors, the underground Hufflepuff House was, at times, too entrapping. The last few days, it had felt especially so. She wasn't unfamiliar with feeling the outsider - she grew up getting the strange glances and crude comments from those who looked down upon Travellers.

The last week had been a rough one, though. Over the last couple days, she'd been feeling a hint of homesickness. She'd sent an owl home but found herself already looking forward to the next holiday. She was on fair speaking terms with a few of the other girls in her year, but she missed the mischief the guys at home would draw her into.

She slipped out of the common room and climbed up the stairs to the north tower, her flute clutched in her hand. The towers were among the best places to practice in the castle. Most of the rooms were stone, square and swallowed music like a black hole. The wooden, domed roof of the tower created rather decent acoustics. They tended to be empty and, at the end of the day, the sunsets colors over water were spectacular. The tower, that evening, was thankfully empty that evening. She stepped inside the room and crossed it and settled in on one of the windowsills, bracing herself against the frame. She played a few notes but, soon lowered her wand and pulled the reply owl from home out of her pocket.

[james]

As restless as ever James had quickly abandoned his school work as soon as he'd scratched off enough lines to call it 'finished.' He'd been gone before the ink was fully dry, leaving it to be collected later, or by one of his best mates: He wasn't picky, really, and if it didn't get turned in... Oh well, what would happen? A reprimand? A detention? Maybe a scolding? None of those hardly mattered to the boy, he'd had more than his fair share of them all over the years, and they'd yet to stop him. His grades were well enough, that he didn't really feel the need to be to worried about his studies. Sure, the O.W.L.S. Were coming up at the end of this year, but James didn't really feel any real worry over them. He was confident (often to the point of arrogance, according to most) that he'd be able to pass them without any real trouble.

It was as he was wandering down another corridor much like all the others that he heard a few stray notes of what sounded like flute music floating from somewhere above him: Glancing to the side the messy haired Gryffindor noticed the spiraling stairs that led upward into the lofty heights of one of Hogwarts many towers. Curiosity piqued, and with nothing better to do he changed his course and began to clamber up the stairs. Normally he'd have gone in search of one of the other Marauder's, and in fact that was likely what he'd been doing... Still they could wait, James was never one to just let something go when it was presented right beneath his nose.

Once he reached the top platform of the tower the Gryffindor peered into the loft room, and caught sight of a girl he was unfamiliar with sitting on one of the window ledges; she appeared to have a flute in one hand, and a letter in the other. His eyes glanced passed her to the window she occupied, taking in the hint of the lofty view for a moment before focusing back on the girl, his lips twitched into an easy smile as he sauntered over toward her perch.

Lifting his arm he braced his forearm against the wall beside the window, and leaned forward the sound of his school robes rustling in the silence as he peered out at the sweeping view of the grounds and surrounding mountains landscape, “Good choice.” He said, bright hazel eyes flickering over the sight that greeted him and drinking in the panorama. Turning his head slightly he tipped her a wink and backed up a step, not wanting to crowd her to much.

His hand automatically flew up, running his fingers through the untamed cowlicks at the back of his skull in that quick habitual movement. He looked the very epitome of a guy shirking whatever he was supposed to be doing in favor of relaxing: The red and gold Gryffindor tie nearly completely undone, and hanging loose around his neck, and a couple buttons at the top of his shirt unclasped. A few smudges of ink discolored his fingers from his 'attempt' at his schoolwork not long ago.

Flashing a crooked grin at her he offered, “Afraid I don't know your name...?” He prompted. He was bored, and without the rest of the Marauders so he figured he may as well attempt to crop up some form of entertainment... So conversation it was.

[mairead ó fearghail]

A higher altitude breeze snaked its way into the tower room and fluttered the edge of the piece of parchment. It tugged slightly at her hair, but she disregarded the free strands that were blown across her forehead. The breeze, at this height, was a bit chilly, but not uncomfortably so.

For the owl’s sake, the outermost letter had been written on parchment and was scrawled in the tight, tall handwriting of her father. He was the only other wizard in the group and had been a Hufflepuff himself. His letter had been the most practically helpful. His accounts of how foreign and distant the school had felt to him and the strategies he had used to fit in were, somewhat, empowering. But, it lacked the comforting literary ‘hug’ of the second one. The one from her mamai had provided less practical help and more of the motherly warmth.

It was the piece of loose leaf paper scribbled in pencil that she was rereading in the, as of yet, solitude of the tower. Tito’s thick block writing was riddled with spelling errors but full of the playful and mischievous tone she was missing. Mairead suspected that her father and mother had been respectful and had wrapped the letter up without reading it as it recounted the antics of Tito and Glen’s recent trip into Dublin for supplies. That had included getting run out of two stores and a late night pointless trip on the Dublin underground. It was amusing to read, but, she had to admit, it enhanced the longing to be home.

Motion caught her attention out of the corner of her eye and she quickly looked up. It wasn’t uncommon for some students to find their way to the tower, so she wasn’t surprised to see someone had come up. She vaguely recognized him; she knew he was in her year but she didn’t have any classes with the Gryffindors that year so she didn’t know his name. Or much about him at all. All of which, she figured, would mean little since she assumed he’d either occupy himself with whatever he had planned or would decide sharing the space wasn’t worth the bother. She had, consequentially, promptly turned her attention back to Tito’s letter.

But, movement, again, caught her attention. She was surprised to find the Gryffindor approaching and her eyes widened slightly as she straightened up. In fact, he wasn’t just approaching, he seemed to be … well, moseying was the first word that came to mind. A grin that was at the same time bemused, confused and disbelieving spread across her face, her eyebrows lifting gradually, the closer he got. The grin had become, mostly, bemused by the time he’d settled himself against the wall. She lowered the letter into her lap and watched as he peered past her out the window.

“Thanks,” she said, her Irish accent heavy as she tilted her head slightly in amusement. “I’m relieved you approve.” She turned her head, following his gaze, and looked at the view. The sun was half-concealed by the mountain ridge in the distance and was, markedly, slipping from sight. Despite the wind up at their level, there must not have been any at ground level as the lake was perfectly still. Half of the lake reflected the mountains in the glassy surface, the other half shone with what was left of the bright sun. “I do like it up here. Especially when the owls fly below … me.” Her voice faded slightly at the end of the sentence, as she remembered how miserably it had ended trying to strike conversation about the squid. She looked back at the Gryffindor and offered an awkward half-grin.

“Name’s Mairead,” she said, clustering the letters with the flute in one hand to offer a slightly exaggeratedly formal hand for a shake. “Though, most just settle for Mai if it’s too long or cumbersome. But, now, you have the upper hand, since I don’t know yours.”

[james]

He noticed right off that she seemed a little confused about his approach, as though she wasn't really expecting him to come toward her, let alone speak to her, but he just shoved it aside seeing no real point to delve into the thought: Whatever the case may be, it wasn't really any of his business and while James may be a nosy git, he could also be a gentleman; his mother had brought him up well if you overlooked that part about spoiling him rotten until he was an arrogant prat.

That crooked grin of his turned mildly wicked as she spoke, and he proclaimed sounding overly pompous, “You ought to be, after all gaining my approval is a grand occurrence! Why, there ought to be trumpets and fanfare! You'll probably get a medal in the owl post tomorrow! They'll build a monument and name it for you!”

His bright hazel eyes followed her gaze as she turned to look back out at the scenery, and the mischievous edge to his grin softened slightly as he took in the view: It really was quite breathtaking. The sharp colors of daylight dulled into softer darker shades, splashed over by the fiery tones of sunset. The great orb itself burned in all its fiery brilliance as though daring night to come, and knowing it would triumph in the end as it rose again with all the calm pastel serenity of a gallant monarch. James rather thought that the sun and the moon well reflected Gryffindor and Slytherin: The moon was so cool, and aloof. He supposed there were also the connotations of 'light' and 'dark' but, really, wouldn't that also enforce the fact that they all needed each other? After all, the moon could not shine without the light of the sun.

He wondered idly what Hufflepuff and RavenClaw were in his cosmic musings: The earth and sky perhaps?

Drawn from his internal musings by the girl's quiet words he turned his attention back to her, head tilting forward slightly so that he could peer over the upper rims of his glasses, he flashed her an easy smile as she trailed off; seeming almost uncertain about going on. “Oh, yeah.” He said, looking back out the window, his eyes tracking the wheeling form of some distant bird as it circled upward on a rising thermal. “I can totally understand. Nothing quite feels like flying, yeah? Being up in the air, the wind rushing past you, the world falls away... You look down and everything looks like toys: Houses, people...” His smile had a wistful edge to it: He loved flying, and while there was that wonderful adrenaline rush to playing quidditch, there was something else entirely to just being up in the air on a broom: Free, for the most part, of the trappings of gravity.

“Mairead?” He parroted, his grin shifting once more with the mobile ease he had; it turned playfully charming. “Such a pretty name, can't see why anyone would want to shorten it so! Utterly atrocious manners, that. Why, I'd have to be a right curmudgeon to destroy your name in such a way!” His fingers reached out, and took hold of her hand turning it gently and bringing it upward as he bowed slightly to brush his lips against the back of her knuckles in an exaggeratedly gallant manner. Releasing her hand he brought his fingertips to press lightly against his chest, “I? I am James Potter, at your service, milady!”

He struck a pose, head tilted back, fingers pressed to his chest looking as noble as he could: Well, it was noble if you concerned acting like a complete twit 'noble.' He was just doing it for a laugh anyway.

[mairead ó fearghail]

The all too familiar awkwardness was settling itself around her. A slightly graying and frayed hem slid between short, but muscular fingers as she tugged at the edge of her school robes. It was a frustrating, but well-known feeling. She didn’t dislike people in anyway; she’d grown up in a highly social culture. But, the degree of animosity she’d face from outsiders had made her uneasy around those strangers. And, when she’d arrived at school, she’d found herself surrounded by more of those "outsiders". Most of them were unfamiliar with Travellers so she was, largely, spared the ‘gypsy’ cultural stigma she faced at homes. And, over the years, she’d tried to become more comfortable and open, but habits were slow to die. Her gaze shifted out the window again, the serene scenery providing a comforting neutral focal.

But, there was something about the utter, blatant arrogance that made the awkwardness fade. She turned her attention back to him and, for the first time, her own grey eyes taking in the details of her visitor. She laughed, heartily, much of the remainder of her uncertainty fading as she leaned back against the window frame. “Oh really?” she asked, “Is this because you’re usually disagreeable or because you’re all that and a whole box of bertie botts?” She glanced down at the palm of the hand that was now empty. “Well, sounds like my week is shaping up. Thanks to you, of course.”

She glanced up with a coy grin, the habitual urge to pull back and let the reserved safety net fall down growing again. Once more, her gaze shifted back out the window. Shadows were lengthening, but her mind was on the fellow more than the surroundings. In the whole of the few words they’d exchanged so far, he seemed nice enough. But, she'd thought she'd given good first impressions in the past, too and had been proven wrong.

When he spoke, she pulled her attention away from the horizon and, followed his gaze briefly down to the floating birds below before looking back. “I do,” she agreed again, relieved that he didn’t seem to think the comment had been wholly idiotic. “And, you wonder where they’ve come from. Or where they are going.” His tone was nostalgic, almost wistful when he spoke of flying which meant he probably did so a lot. It was then she connected him with the Gryffindor team. “I suppose,” she said, nodding, shrugging slightly. “I haven’t done a whole lot of flying, I did the lessons my first year but I don’t have a broom, so I haven’t done much since then. Most of the time, this is the closest I get,” she said, looking out the window, down the side of the tower.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding her head. “Well, yeah, I guess…” The awkwardness was flooding back, though this time more motivated by bashfulness than uncertainty. Pretty? It was alright – she liked it, but she couldn’t help thinking that was an exaggeration. “Well, I guess most just … you know … don’t learn the pronunciation, It’s alri-” she said, her sentence, again, fading as the kiss graced the back of her hand. Color flooded her cheeks and she grinned, taking another opportunity to glance out the window though her gaze didn't linger long. “Well, most people do it.”

Recognition dawned in her face when she heard the name and she nodded her head. Name, face and reputation had all aligned themselves in her head, now. “I think I can handle the name James. It’s nice to meet you, too.” She chuckled slightly with amusement, finally shifting slightly in the window frame to face him more. “So, if it isn’t inappropriate to ask, what brought you up here? I haven’t seen you up here before. Not that I’m up here all the time, of course.”