Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Written for QL Reserve League, S2, Final Round, Keeper - Non-sentient objects. Or, more specifically, things that might in a general sense be considered non-sentient. You're allowed to make them sentient if you wish - A Place.
Written for Hogwarts, Assignment 7: Performing Arts, Task #5 - Ringmaster: Write about someone acting as a guide.
Word Count - 1028
Beta'd by Liza
The Only Way A Castle Knew
She stands proud, surrounded by beautiful sprawling grounds of grass and woodland. The lake sits beside her, it's inhabitants occasionally brushing up against her foundations. She overlooks the forest, teeming with creatures the humans couldn't even begin to understand.
They call her Hogwarts.
That was the name bestowed upon her by her first inhabitants, and it's never been changed. She doesn't know any other name.
Salazar, Godric, Rowena and Helga had been there for her upon her awakening, their magic filling up her walls until she could reach out to them and them to her.
The humans, her students, they walk around her, inside her, and she welcomes them all happily, joyfully even. She loves them, in a way that only a sentient building can. She watches over them all, protects them from the elements, and from the danger that comes for them all too often.
When her founders are gone, they're replaced with others, though none such as them. None who accepted her so readily into their hearts and minds as the original four had.
She tries to speak to the one in charge occasionally, the headmaster or mistress of the time. Sometimes they listen, often enough they do not.
Headmaster Dippet had refused to listen to her, and it had gotten him nothing but misery, the death of a student and a closed school for his trouble.
Hogwarts had had more luck with Albus, at least for a time. He often engaged her, and he seemed to take her nudges to heart.
He listened to her, and she grew to love him as she had only a few before him. As he aged, as the world outside of Hogwarts darkened, he stopped paying as close attention to her. If he had but listened, she would have told him of the darkness that had invaded the poor Defence professor on his travels.
She would have told him of the awakening of the Basilisk, and the risk of the Death Eaters.
She watched instead, sadness permeating her walls as her students were injured, as one and then more of them died.
She watched others still fall to the sway of the darkness, and she watched one student almost buckle under the pressure on his shoulders.
Harry Potter.
She watched him closely, watched him grow, watched him struggle, and in the end, she watched him prevail.
It wasn't often she kept such a close eye on a single student, but occasionally, she felt like she must. A pull, if you will.
Tom Riddle had been another such student, but he'd rejected her when she'd tried to reach out to him, the darkness in his mind a barrier against her particular brand of magic.
Harry was more receptive to her. She could guide him occasionally, give him a push in the right direction, and he repaid her in kind, his hands stroking along her stone walls, a touch of affection.
Harry loved her like she was his home.
She was weakened, during his final battle with the one formally known as Tom Riddle. Her walls crumbled under the might of the Giants, and she fell to pieces. She was burned, broken and abused, but never once did she give up. She moved her staircases at opportune times, sent her portraits running for help where it was needed, and led the ghosts to help the students hide.
When it was over, she knew she would be rebuilt; perhaps even stronger than she'd been before.
With Minerva at her helm—and she was a difficult one, her logical mind hard for Hogwarts to permeate—she would be returned to her former glory.
From miles around, past students, people she had given a home too, swept in, wanting to help in rebuilding their old school. Her walls were rebuilt, strong and sturdy, and her windows were replaced. Every nook and cranny was pieced back together, slowly but surely.
Harry Potter, the boy who accepted her into his heart and into his mind, helped with every step. He remained behind when his family left, and he stayed until she was whole once more, brimming with energy.
When he finally left, it was with an affectionate brush of her door, and a promise to return one day.
And return he did. At the behest of Minerva, Harry took up the Defence Professorship, and he excelled at it. Hogwarts, she'd always adored him, and the students looked up to him with awe and respect in their eyes.
Not many knew, but if Hogwarts herself didn't approve a Headteacher, he or she wouldn't be accepted for the job.
And Hogwarts knew who she wanted.
She allowed Minerva to remain, until Harry was older—old enough to lead the school, to be wise and sure in his decisions and his mistakes, and then she demanded he be turned over to her.
Hogwarts wanted her Headmaster.
It took longer than she wanted, but she got her wish. The very moment Harry accepted the wards, she swarmed into his mind, welcoming him to the post, welcoming him home, and he accepted her as surely as she had chosen him.
Her magic surrounded him, hugged him close as only the warmth of home could.
And so, after heartbreak, after being broken and hurt, they joined together, Hogwarts and her Harry, and they looked after the minds and the hearts of the newest generation of wizards and witches.
Oh, Harry made mistakes, of course he did; he was only human after all.
But he listened to her nudges, as she'd always known he would, and he often stroked her walls with affection, showing her love in the only way he knew how. He was hers, as she was his—at least until he passed her down to the next Headteacher, as was the way of the world.
She'd live for much longer than him she knew; had outlived many before him.
The thought saddened her.
He would always remain special to her though, and she was doubtful there would ever be another to bond with her so fully.
She loved him, in the only way a castle knew.
And that was good enough for them both.