I haven't been sleeping well lately. Something about the last few days, when I went outside in the snow, hasn't been settling well with me. It's not like it's usually been around here. I've only been here at school for a semester; it's lovely, but really, I can't help but think that something is missing; That some part of me is, at least in some way, held back. I look down at my books and think to myself about all the things I've already accomplished in the past few months, and it only dawns on me after so long of an introspection that there isn't that much time left in this year.
Hogwarts has been a blessing for me. I can still clearly remember the first time I walked into the long, carved and curated stone corridors of the main entrance to the castle. I can still smell the soft dripping of wax off the candles around me as I made my way with the rest of the first year students into the main hall, which to me at the time meant a world of fascination, as it filled with the evening's gloriously red sunset and faded to a fulfilling darkness as the time went on.
It wasn't that long ago that I had no idea what was important to me here at school. Only so long ago, it was always a question for me as to where I planned on going, or what I planned on studying, yet all since a single house; the house of my forefathers. I'll get back to that part.
As the students and I made our way onto the train earlier that day, I remember so vividly looking around in wonder at all the varieties of people that were going to join me on my adventure to school. There was the black, curly hair of two sisters that sounded distinctly rougher than everyone else, who later revealed themselves as Moroccans, who had been married into a witch's family after the father, a successful muggle businessman, had been courted and enchanted by her uniqueness, and then later had to deal with the question of magical children, or which Hogwarts, and our train ride aboard the slick red bow of the arrow pointing towards the future, the falling sun, for us so clearly grew to represent, there was the trio of young, icy stares originating from the Rowle sisters, who were now great, open minded people, at least in my eyes, there was the shaggy demeanor of the solitary flaming, ablaze locks of Septimus, who sleeps at this moment silently across the room from me, there was the already best friends of McLeary, and Hamilton, who, looking across the platform with conniving gestures, still stained green along their clothes from their antics that morning, undoubtedly, drew an immediate smile across my face, and of course, most importantly of all, there was my aunt, who I knew from the start by her proud, high, and aristocratic cheekbones and piercing blue eyes as someone that was related to myself.
Alphard stood at her side. I don't see much of Alphard, but I do think of him a lot. We sat next to each other on the train on the way here, all those months ago; I remember clearly the way in which he silently gestured to the door as the restaurateur came by to take any orders, indicating he didn't want or need anything. I grew to associate many parts of his personality with just this close encounter with him. I sensed that he understood that we were cousins, and that, to him, was almost disappointing. He didn't see me as a family member, because he didn't already know about me, and as he went home once during the first term for his health, I'm confident he checked the tapestry in his house, the same one that exists in mine, the same on that is spread across the wide wall in front of me in front of my desk, especially moved there on my own accord, to see if I was who he thought I was.
He found nothing, I know, but we both still know the truth. I am almost as sickly as he is. While Alphard towers over the rest of our class with his slight, I see to him eye to eye. He inherited his father's grey eyes, with just a hint of his mother's blue in them, but enough to color them more than mine. When he nodded in class, his long black locks of hair bent down over his forehead, tracing the well organized face of someone who seemed always at the outside as organized as their family tree was.
As we sat across from each other in the train, I know he looked at me. I've written a lot about it. I just looked out of the window, clutching my newfound wand from the days shopping, and hoping that he looked closer at me, hoping that he'd understand what I understand in the sharpness of clarity of a single fleeting moment before on the platform.
"Would you like anything, young sir?" The server asked me.
"Yes, yes please," I began. "I would like a hot chocolate."
"Two knuts."
I drank in silence the whole drive to school. It didn't seem like the rowdiness of the rest of our class was capable of penetrating our cabin in the train. Alphard, directly across from me, in his dark black suit, looking all too serious for a young child, and me, with my long dress robes, also black, must have been intimidating to the other, more sociable children.
Alphard never changed. He continued to stay aloof, and he continued to nod his head and let his soft hair cascade over his face, silently, every day during our classes together. I grew to be friends with everyone in my common room, and eventually, all those around me that wanted to be friendly. I loved having friends, but Alphard always seemed like he didn't need any.
This I could understand; but whenever he looked at me at breakfast, as he filled his cup full of the same grey tea, he always looked at me, and he always said something in that morning routine. No matter where we sat, for that first term, we always shared a knowing look. We knew we were cousins, even if his family did not want to admit it. Even if the haughty, tall mistress that was Alphard's mother ever dared to admit the fact that Arcturus Potter went to the same school as her son, she would never allow her son to do the same. It was only a gesture of goodwill for him to recognize me everyday, and yet something that I took very seriously in the way in which we interacted with each other; primarily, because it was the only way. There was no other time in the day in which one could have talked to Alphard, anyway, because he was so busy being alone.