 Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Mrs. Charlie Weasley | Seneca's Beard | That's So Fetch
Étienne descended gracefully from the carriage. The scent of grass and wildflowers mingled with the faint sweetness of late-summer, and for a moment, it reminded him sharply of home. He smoothed the sleeve of his finely tailored robes, every gesture practiced yet inwardly restless.
The harp music floated through the air, a lilting reminder of the ceremony to come. But Étienne's eyes weren't on the fountain or the pearly gates. They lingered instead on the edges of the field, where the grass met a copse of trees, untamed and full of half-secrets. "Would it be so wrong to slip away for a moment?" he mused aloud to anyone who may have been listening, the impulse flickering through him like a moth to flame.
Instead, however, he remained rooted, the picture of poised propriety. For now. His hands clasped lightly behind his back, Étienne drifted toward the marble benches.
Coco's boots hit the ground with a muted thud as he stepped down from the carriage, the crisp smell of fresh-cut grass immediately filling his lungs. Slinging his satchel higher onto his shoulder, he gave the magnificent harp music only a passing glance before casting his gaze upward toward the castle's glittering gates, the towering spires beyond, and the endless blue stretching overhead.
He moved quietly along the edges of the gathering crowd, instinctively steering clear of the larger groups sprawled on the benches. His hand brushed against the items he had tucked into his pocket, an odd comfort. Another year, he thought, another step closer.
Near the outskirts, Coco found an unclaimed bench and sat, fingers idly sketching unseen patterns into the marble. His mind drifted.
Dorothea stood near the grand pearly gates, a statuesque figure in flowing, earth-toned robes that caught the afternoon breeze like sails. Her silver hair was swept into a loose knot, and her sharp, discerning eyes took in the scene with quiet pride.
As the carriages emptied and students spilled into the field, Dorothea's heart tightened—not with nerves, but with the familiar stirrings of hope and nostalgia. She watched the new students approach the enchanted fountain, instantly taken back to her own first steps here so many years ago—awkward, towering above her classmates, unsure where she belonged. How the years have changed her...
A group of returning students passed by on the way to the benches, and she offered them a small but genuine smile, her hand lifting in acknowledgment.
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