status: closed with @ficra
A persistent debate on the nature of the starry night exists. Two sides have sparred over the course of millennia, winning rounds by grace of the arbitrary minds of men; neither shows a sign of giving up just yet, even in the new modern era with its promise of answers. If anything, the uncertainty —— the smoke in the air and the darkness overhead —— of this century intensifies the clash. In one corner, romantics see answers in the array of twinkling lights; they see truth and answers and confirmation. In another corner, the veracity of the seeable cosmos is fiercely doubted by hungry cynics made ascetic by their habit of picking apart the known world.
Tom has no interest in what the stars know, but he stares at the constellations nonetheless. Hogwarts offers a sky more beautiful and engaging than any he has ever seen, one that matches the storybook pages from Wool’s. A deep, rich, inky expanse with the brightest spots the eyes might ever behold… Better than London in every way, at least until the war came home. But, high in the astronomy tower with the sky laid out before him, Tom’s thoughts transcend such unfortunate realities.
The fear and doubt of the attack on the school fell away, along with everyday irritations and personal agitations that accumulated with each waking hour. His mind empties and expands; the space fills with a different kind of contemplation, one that makes of the sky a map of what could be, what might be, what should not yet will be. He does not love space, he wastes no time on astronomy itself, but nature brings him closer to his true self. The sky is timeless, and he aspires to be like it —— grand and everlasting, all-knowing and unknowable.
He might as easily become lost in a teacup of water, but the nighttime sky is more beautiful; he, too, is susceptible to the allure.
Tonight, a tiny Hufflepuff with wide eyes was also star-gazing. He knew her face if not her name —— his books and his mental catalogue were for people and things of note —— and with it was some awareness. She might be likened to sugar: sweet, of a common variety, completely unable to withstand a downpour. If his associates battered her around, did they take joy in it? Pleasant things like her, saccharine at length, were lovely even when broken. Wild things that they were becoming, the Knights had a taste for blood, not tears.
He noticed her as she was leaving, and only because he was departing as well. Catching sight of her as he approached the stairs, he decided to observe rather than interfere. An exchange would undoubtedly occur; she seemed the type to insist with a smile that he descend before her. If she bit her tongue from small-talk, her mere presence would still irritate him. Even as he stood in the shadows near the stairs and watched her, he was keenly aware that she was a disturbance. This night, one meant for sleeping off the first day of classes, was meant to be solitary. He would not have to pretend, would not have to wear his perfect mask or speak words others could fathom.
And here she was, a pebble splashed into an otherwise tranquil pool of water.
Similarly, as from cool water in the morning, he was awake. He followed her down the stairs, stepping lightly and remaining in the shadows as they made their separate ways down the town. Soon, the tower’s precarious steps gave way to the wide, well lit, and totally empty grand staircase. It was at this point that his footsteps grew louder, and he waited for her to notice and acknowledge him.
On the landing, when she paused, he stopped as well —— just to cast a glance her way.
Recognizing constellations made her feel closer to all that which was so far away. After days like this, so busy and so distinctly separate from the world she’d come from, Fiora would always feel more distant from her family. It helped to look up at the sky and know that that broad, endless roof was sheltering everyone she loved beneath it just as much as it was her. To see those familiar bodies up in the sky—Capricornus and Delphinus, old oceanic comforters in the sky, and ever-constant Polaris so high above to the north—gave her a sense of consolation. These were the stars of her youth, and their everlasting nature made Fiora feel safe. No matter what happened, the stars would be there, and she could always be sure of that much.
She wasn’t alone, looking out from the top of the Astronomy Tower, but Fiora didn’t mind. Let someone else share the night sky with her—it only made her feel more at peace, knowing that just as she looked up at the same sky this other person was, so to was her own family, no matter how far away they were from one another. It wasn’t until she passed them that she realized who it was. Before, they had been little more than a shadow in her peripheral, not a threat, eliciting no concern despite the hour, despite the dark all around them, despite knowing how cruel some of her classmates could be—and, in truth, she didn’t. Fiora didn’t know what the worst of those who she walked amongst every day were capable of, and she did not imagine it, either. She knew of unkind words and vicious gossip, knew how Camilla and Vesta and Bellavie and so many other of her friends were treated, but not of anything more.
So, when she saw Tom Riddle as they both left the Tower, no chill ran down her spine; she didn’t quicken her pace or think to fear. Instead, she thought of what she had heard more recently and felt something akin to pride. It was nice to know that she was being educated among other young witches and wizards who had such strength of spirit and skill in their magic. They walked in silence for a while, not uncomfortably so—it was late enough that Fiora couldn’t even hear the distant clamour of Peeves’ mischief and no other footsteps echoed besides their own two, and it had been a long day for every student at Hogwarts. But, when she stopped at the landing to wait for the stairs, she did begin to feel a little awkward. It wasn’t like she had nothing to say; in fact, she thought that she had the perfect thing to say.
Their eyes met at a glance, and she smiled at him. “You’re Tom, aren’t you?” she asked, voice quiet in the night, but retaining the merriness always attributed her. She wondered, as she spoke, what he was doing up in the Astronomy Tower so late. He was a Prefect, and Head Boy—he must have an immense workload, so to make time to look up at the stars at such a time as this... Perhaps he was like her, taking comfort in the majesty of the universe around them. “You know,” She looked up at him like he was some sort of hero, her eyes shining and smile wide. “What you did for your House was incredibly brave.” Almost above all else, Fiora valued bravery. It was something she wanted to have, to be, so desperately: Tom, in his actions, had truly been so courageous, and that blinded her to the truth of the matter—bravery does not equate to goodness.
