Courtyard

The last days of February are characterized by being dark and gloomy. An enormous snowstorm arrives blanketing the grounds with more snow causing the existing snow drifts to pile on even higher. So much so that hardly any light could be seen from the first-floor windows that were covered nearly to the tip of the windows allowing only weak, gloomy tendrils of light inside.

The outdoor weather sentiments are largely reflected within the castle, especially the students who have returned to Hogwarts after the funerals as the month of March is about to begin. Those that returned had red-rimmed eyes, pale and wane with dark eyeshadows that spoke of terrible nightmares. Yet the largest change came in the surrounding air about them. There was something else in the air, an air of maturity or rather the scent of premature stolen childhood innocence. A part of them would never be able to return to the past for they would never be the children that they were before.

Close friends of the returnees could only gather in silence to awkwardly comfort their friends who openly grieved. Awkward sentiments were expressed but more often than not there was an overwhelming sense of gloom among the students. Friends and house members truly wished to comfort their friends, yet they lacked the experience to do so. It was a source of frustration that many didn't know how to express except through anger and unruly behavior.

Those were not the only changes witnessed at Hogwarts. The students who had previously lost kin and acquaintances in previous giant attacks or in Death Eater attacks tentatively reached out to comfort those grieving. Rowan had personally witnessed Lorcan on more than one occasion accompanying the downtrodden Mason Cauldwell. The older Hufflepuff had lost his father in the Giant attack at Rowle manor. It had been a dreadful blow to Cauldwell, but t'was Lorcan who comforted the older boy who had been so callous and cruel to him earlier in the year. The two had formed an abrupt, but sincere friendship formed.

It is ironic how grief and loss can utterly transform an individual. The example of Lorcan with Mason Caudwell wasn't the only example among the student body. These students slowly began to reach out to other members of their house and beyond. Friendships especially began to deepen and unite the grieving students together. Inter-house unity reached a new all-time high as precious new and strong friendships were formed.

All the Hogwarts Prefects including the Head Boy and Head Girl had taken to carrying around a stack of silk handkerchiefs to give out to a sobbing boy or girl in a remote corner of the castle. These regular occurrences happened quite frequently during a Prefect's patrol.

The students in question would often be found crying alone in a dark, secluded corner of the castle not wanting their outbursts of emotion to be witnessed or noticed. These were the type of students who were the most concerning to Rowan. These types of students would pretend as if nothing had happened and bottle up their emotions until the pent-up emotions finally exploded. Sometimes it was in the form of tears, but other times it was far more concerning such as anger, rage, depression, or worse self-harm attempts (and those leading to suicide).

Personally, Rowan thought that at least a grief counselor was warranted under the circumstances, but mental health wasn't even a thing in wizarding society. In that aspect, all of wizarding society had basically been left behind in the dark ages. Wizarding society was a far cry from anything that the muggle society had, but even muggle society still had a long way to go.

The brisk cold wind drafts filter through the castle causing the torches to sway. Outside the rattling windows, the sky is dark and gloomy and terribly cold with nary a single ray of sunlight. The blowing wind tosses the fallen snow from the last snowstorm spraying the windows with snow like the rising and falling of an ocean wave.

Glancing at the time, Rowan knew it was her turn to be with Sylvia. Severus and her still weren't on speaking terms, but they had without a single word come to the consensus to take turns with their friend. It was ironic that they could communicate so much without a single spoken word, but they could not address the source of strife between them.

Tugging her emerald and silver house scarf tighter around her neck, Rowan turns the corner to arrive at the small courtyard within the confines of the castle. It wasn't so much as a room really, but rather a tiny open area within the castle.

Truthfully speaking the alcove was part of the hallway, but what gave the area the appearance of the courtyard is a window that gazes out onto the grounds. The top portion of the window is highlighted by a delicate arch of colored glass. There is a cozy window still with slim marble benches up against the wall and across on the other side of the hall to be sat on. On a warm cozy day in winter, it was a peaceful place to enjoy a lazy day with friends.

Yet on a day like this, there was no light to be held beyond the raging winds tossing the fallen snow high in the air. The snow harshly clinks against the glass as puffs of icy wind flutter through the drafty hall. Despite the cold, there motionlessly sitting on the windowsill is the raven-haired form of Sylvia Flint staring into the abyss.

Sylvia's once sleek dark hair appears dull and dry hanging lifelessly around her shoulders. Her sharp features appear almost skeletal as if her deathly pale skin is barely clinging to her flesh. She had not been eating much if at all having lost her appetite and sense of taste. She had been thin before, but now she appeared skeletal with her clothes clinging to a corpse.

Sylvia's beautiful bluish-gray eyes that hid an intense passion are still and dull. They are empty of the bright light that once filled them. Her eyes appear to be dead with dark eyebags that make her appear as if she would be counted among the dead rather than the living.

Quietly standing at her side is the abnormally solemn form of Terry Greengrass. The floppy hair of Terry curls slightly at the tips having grown too much without the normal trim. His delicate features are heavy with worry. His hazel eyes are filled with despair and frustration unable to do anything for the person he loved.

Yes, Terry could admit it to himself that he loved Sylvia. He had always held feelings for Sylvia as far as he could remember. As children, they had been friends, but that friendship had evolved as they grew older. Little by little those feelings gained depth until finally this year; he requested a proper courtship with Sylvia.

Terry knew that Sylvia had been just as afraid of destroying their friendship, but they had both promised to try. He didn't know when his feeling of like grew into far more than simple attraction and friendship. He didn't realize it until it was too late. It was not until Sylvia left Hogwarts to attend her father's funeral that he realized that he felt a perpetual ache at not being able to see her or console her in her hour of need.

The staggering realization had struck Terry painfully in the face. Instead of being able to confess his feelings to Sylvia, he could only uselessly watch her wither away before his eyes. He didn't know what to say or do, but he knew that he could not abandon her in her moment of despair. He could only stand at her side and do all that he could to show her that she was not alone. He would be patient despite how much he wanted to profess his love for her. Now was not the time to burden her with his feeling, especially in her time of grief.

Before Sylvia became someone that he treasured and loved, she had always been his friend. Terry would be a good friend because that was all that he could do. He would wait until she was ready to open herself up to him. He was willing to wait for however long that may be because she was worth every second of his existence.