25 Days of Christmas Day 3
Dec. 3rd, 2017 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smirkingcatTitle: Chapter 3
Author:smirkingcat
Word Count: 901
Rating: G
Prompt:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
slythindor100 traditional prompt 3: 
Warning: mental illness (or something close to it), alternating pov, not beta-read
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: start with part one here: @dw | @lj
Chapter 3
Sighing he looks out of the window. A absolutely stunning winter wonderland greets him outside.
He loathes it!
It's not that he is unused to snow, or that he put any effort into getting away from it. He just hoped that there wouldn't be any snow here. Of course he is wrong. Nothing ever goes right for him, and if he enjoys the cruelty of autumn, the world needs to be come sparkly white.
People can tell him what they want, he will never see all colours in white. If he is ever able to find the right words to voice his opinions on the matter, he would tell people that personally he is certain that white is a much more cruel than black could ever be. It really is simple: white highlights every mistake, while black usually hides them, except for white on black, and that would give him leeway to blame white again. It's the same with light and dark. Darkness can be forgiving, which light rarely is.
But of course he will never be able to find the right words to make this kind of argument not come out wrong.
In truth he likes colours much more than black and white. No matter which as long as the arrangement is captivating in the end.
He sighs again.
What is he to do? Spent all day inside moping?
No!
He came here to do what he wants, and the weather will not stop him from doing so.
He grabs his warm coat and his gloves and opens the door.
Walking for a few steps he suddenly hears the call of his owl and looks up to see the magnificent bird fly. He shakes his head, but still waves up to the bird. It is the strangest of creatures, even while also being a clever and talented bird. As all Barn owls its wing beat makes absolutely no noise, and the circles it flies are impressive and interesting to watch. However he isn't able to get the bird to stay anywhere without him. It isn't even his owl. It just stuck to him, and now he is used to it being there. Though he never fed it and never petted it. The distance they share, works well for them, so he isn't going to change that.
As there is no one around he is just wandering around, walking wherever he likes to go, not caring if underneath the snow a path is hiding or not. As the snow is glittering in the sunlight it took him a while to notice that he must have entered the woods to the east of the cottage. Muggles aren't able to see these magical woods, both as a protection for them as for the magical folk and animals living in it.
Just wandering through it, he got a vibe of the strong wild magic accumulated here. Most of it will be absorbed by the wards, strengthening them and holding them up. Some of it would seep into the grounds, the trees and the living beings all around. And a portion would always stay wild magic, and would do as it pleases.
Not many know about wild magic and as it isn't part of the school teachings any longer the number of those who know is shrinking.
He himself has doubted the concept of wild magic for a long time. Magic that could do what it wanted in the spur of a moment, just because it wanted to do it. But he had to learn. Had to see that wild magic balances the control wizards put upon it.
Wild magic is the miracle that happens to those who know magic.
But it is also a dangerous force. Giving it an inch, it will take more than a mile.
And if that happens all hell is about to break loose. Being in the sways of wild magic means being in the state of chaos itself. Nothing is certain, everything is ever changing and getting out of it is different for everyone. Some never make it out of that state, but become addicted to the chaos, to the rush of wildness and the power it lends to them.
That is the true reason the Forbidden Forest is off limit.
Young untrained wizards are more prone to fall victim to that sort of miracle and potential.
A loud call from his owl makes him jerk and look up for a moment, before he feels the tug.
Slowly in front of him a tree starts to grow: the green is lavish, the branches wide and the most colourful Christmas ornaments spring into being as the tree grows.
Well, at least this batch of wild magic has taste: the tree is stunning.
And with a small smile he gives in and steps closer. He looks at each ornament, touching them careful to see what magic has done here. With a small smile he steps back, takes out his wand and casts a small spell to put light on the tree. Then he walks around admiring it.
Miracles.
However, he should be more careful around here.
With a last glance towards his Christmas tree, which he hasn't known he wanted, but is rather amused about it being here he turns around. His feet are cold and a cup of hot chocolate is something that will suit his mood right now.
Author:
smirkingcatWord Count: 901
Rating: G
Prompt:
slythindor100 traditional prompt 3: Warning: mental illness (or something close to it), alternating pov, not beta-read
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: start with part one here: @dw | @lj
Chapter 3
Sighing he looks out of the window. A absolutely stunning winter wonderland greets him outside.
He loathes it!
It's not that he is unused to snow, or that he put any effort into getting away from it. He just hoped that there wouldn't be any snow here. Of course he is wrong. Nothing ever goes right for him, and if he enjoys the cruelty of autumn, the world needs to be come sparkly white.
People can tell him what they want, he will never see all colours in white. If he is ever able to find the right words to voice his opinions on the matter, he would tell people that personally he is certain that white is a much more cruel than black could ever be. It really is simple: white highlights every mistake, while black usually hides them, except for white on black, and that would give him leeway to blame white again. It's the same with light and dark. Darkness can be forgiving, which light rarely is.
But of course he will never be able to find the right words to make this kind of argument not come out wrong.
In truth he likes colours much more than black and white. No matter which as long as the arrangement is captivating in the end.
He sighs again.
What is he to do? Spent all day inside moping?
No!
He came here to do what he wants, and the weather will not stop him from doing so.
He grabs his warm coat and his gloves and opens the door.
Walking for a few steps he suddenly hears the call of his owl and looks up to see the magnificent bird fly. He shakes his head, but still waves up to the bird. It is the strangest of creatures, even while also being a clever and talented bird. As all Barn owls its wing beat makes absolutely no noise, and the circles it flies are impressive and interesting to watch. However he isn't able to get the bird to stay anywhere without him. It isn't even his owl. It just stuck to him, and now he is used to it being there. Though he never fed it and never petted it. The distance they share, works well for them, so he isn't going to change that.
As there is no one around he is just wandering around, walking wherever he likes to go, not caring if underneath the snow a path is hiding or not. As the snow is glittering in the sunlight it took him a while to notice that he must have entered the woods to the east of the cottage. Muggles aren't able to see these magical woods, both as a protection for them as for the magical folk and animals living in it.
Just wandering through it, he got a vibe of the strong wild magic accumulated here. Most of it will be absorbed by the wards, strengthening them and holding them up. Some of it would seep into the grounds, the trees and the living beings all around. And a portion would always stay wild magic, and would do as it pleases.
Not many know about wild magic and as it isn't part of the school teachings any longer the number of those who know is shrinking.
He himself has doubted the concept of wild magic for a long time. Magic that could do what it wanted in the spur of a moment, just because it wanted to do it. But he had to learn. Had to see that wild magic balances the control wizards put upon it.
Wild magic is the miracle that happens to those who know magic.
But it is also a dangerous force. Giving it an inch, it will take more than a mile.
And if that happens all hell is about to break loose. Being in the sways of wild magic means being in the state of chaos itself. Nothing is certain, everything is ever changing and getting out of it is different for everyone. Some never make it out of that state, but become addicted to the chaos, to the rush of wildness and the power it lends to them.
That is the true reason the Forbidden Forest is off limit.
Young untrained wizards are more prone to fall victim to that sort of miracle and potential.
A loud call from his owl makes him jerk and look up for a moment, before he feels the tug.
Slowly in front of him a tree starts to grow: the green is lavish, the branches wide and the most colourful Christmas ornaments spring into being as the tree grows.
Well, at least this batch of wild magic has taste: the tree is stunning.
And with a small smile he gives in and steps closer. He looks at each ornament, touching them careful to see what magic has done here. With a small smile he steps back, takes out his wand and casts a small spell to put light on the tree. Then he walks around admiring it.
Miracles.
However, he should be more careful around here.
With a last glance towards his Christmas tree, which he hasn't known he wanted, but is rather amused about it being here he turns around. His feet are cold and a cup of hot chocolate is something that will suit his mood right now.
