The River

The River

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Prologue

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If one were to walk into the Forbidden Forest just to the northeast of the lake at Hogwarts, one would eventually come upon a clearing where logs served as benches and rocks as low tables. Upon nearly each rock was a partially burnt down pale yellow candle. In this concealed section in the middle of the woods, small white flowers grew in bounty and the songs of the birds could be caught by ear as clearly as the breeze when it gently blew through. A poet's Garden of Eden, a writer's Elysian fields, a painter's Shangri-La, and a musician's El Dorado.

Here, one was safe from the werewolves and other nameless creatures of the dark - they dared not venture into such a beautiful area for even they know that the destruction of Mother Nature's most innocent and pure is a sin beyond all sins. To take the life of something that has no defense and has never hurt any one, but only graced them with their beauty, is comparable to the killing mocking birds who have only graced us with tune and do not feast on our gardens.

Naturally, trees, as it is in a forest, surrounded this area. Tall, old, strong trees formed the borders of this small utopia. But, if one listened closely enough, the sound of water could be heard not far off. And, if one was willing to venture just one tree row deeper to the north, they would be standing on the muddy banks of a small river, watching as it pleasantly flowed along, knowing not were it was headed or whence if had come. Water of adamantine reflected the sunlight by day giving the entirety of the area a brilliant, lucid glow. By night, the fairies danced on the water's surface and dusted the river with a golden, iridescent powder.

With the birds heavenly song, the splendor of the flowers and greenery, the bare, nature-given furnishings, and the gentle babble of the river all blended together into one breathtaking setting, it was a wonder the muses didn't descend upon the area and use it for their own purposes. In countenance, the most unlikely of suspects frequented this palace of nature. Hufflepuffs indeed were nature lovers, but had not the courage to venture into the Forest unattended to. Ravenclaws dared not break a rule, and, as each student knows, the Forest is off limits. Gryffindors, while seeming the type, do not posses the artistic appreciation for such a beautiful creation of the Earth. Surely, though, a Slytherin could not possibly have the fitting characteristics for such an artistic fairytale setting. But then, if not in Slytherin House, where do the love of arts, passion of rule breaking, respect for nature, and the courage to venture out into a potentially dangerous area lay?

The least suspected, the cruel, sharp tongued, seemingly stonehearted members of Slytherin House found refuge in this artist's hollow. It was the only place they could truly express their true identities. It was the only place they were allowed to forget about being a Slytherin, forget about being rich, forget about their family name, forget their Gryffindor adversaries, but most of all, where they could forget about what was expected of them. This was their place, their sanctum, their abbey, and their cloister - a place where the eyes of their souls smiled upon them.

Among the Slytherins, there was one who frequented this area, know to all students as The River, much more often then the others. To read, to write, or possibly just to reflect, he was seen there countless times by his fellow housemates, both during the day and after the sun had gone down. It was noted by all though, that he particularly preferred to sit near the river at dusk in the springtime and watch the fireflies and fairies as they flew gracefully about.