The Final Year

It was quiet, too quiet for her tastes. The girl propped herself up and stared around the room. The windows were open to let in the breeze and through the closest one she could see the still black waters of the lake. No ripples, no currents - in all reality, no breeze. No anything. It was too still and this bothered her slightly. Things like that often bothered Gwenevere. She was so attuned to changes and the smallest difference - a different smell on the wind, a different sound in the night that she wasn't used to - would set her on edge and keep her from sleeping. Her dorm mates generally hated it, but as they had been her dorm mates for a full five years now, they had somewhat come to be used to her mumblings and being awake at night. She usually tried to just lie in bed and be quiet, but tonight, whether or not she made noise was of no consequence. She was the only one in the room. In fact, she was the only one in the house. Other than her great-uncle and the teachers, she was the only one (living and not a creature, that is) in the castle. The other students wouldn't be there until just in time for the banquet. And she thought she might burst if she had to wait any longer.

Gwenevere threw her blankets off and pulled her robe from its hook right beside her bed. A small ball of grey fur muttered fitfully as she climbed out of bed. The girl just laughed, scooping up the small cat and placing her right in the middle of the pillow. "There, there, Darlene, stop your bloody whining. Keep the pillow warm and I'll be back in just a bit," she cooed as she scratched the kitten's ears. The kitten let out a rumbling purr from its chest, but turned over and never broke its sleep. Gwenevere laughed as she lit a lantern and descended the long staircase into her house's common room.

The room was one of a kind with walls of deep stone, decorations of green and silver, and lush chairs gathered around magnificent fireplaces. Almost always damp and cold, it was surely reminiscent of a dungeon. But it was home, and Gwenevere had come to love it over the past years. She was comfortable here. There was a small shape moving in the far corner and it jumped, terrified, as Gwenevere came into view.

"Oh, oh, Trodly did not see young Mistress here. Trodly is sorry. Trodly will leave." Gwenevere smiled at the small creature, his skin pale, his brown eyes wide, trying to hide in the stained sack he wore instead of clothes.

"No, no, good elf. It is alright," she said softly. "Please, finish whatever it is you were doing. Please, pay me no mind," Gwenevere sighed as she sank into a large arm chair.

"Is young Mistress cold? Trodly can get Mistress a blanket. Or cider. Or butterbeer. Trodly can get some butterbeer for Mistress. Would Mistress like a fire? Trodly can help." The little house elf scurried nervously about her, bringing Gwenevere a blanket and a large mug filled with butterbeer, throwing glances at the fire. The logs began to burn brightly and Gwenevere was filled with warmth from the dancing flames. She sipped from the mug, the sweet liquid warming her from the inside. Though it was September, the dark room was chilled and the fire and the butterbeer's warmth were very welcome.

"Thank you, Trodly. Thank you," she said. The elf stopped in its tracks and stared at her.

"M-mistress thank Trodly. M-mistress call Trodly by name..." the elf stammered and Gwenevere could not help but laugh slightly.

"Of course I did, Trodly. It is the least I could do when you are so kind to get me a blanket, light me a fire, and get me this wonderful butterbeer." Trodly's pale cheeks began to blush slightly, and the pink ran up into his long, bat-like ears. Gwenevere's smile widened.

"Is Trodly's job, Mistress, is Trodly's job."

"Well, thank you anyway, Trodly, for doing your job so well. But I believe everything is very well here. Why don't you go get some rest?" she smiled at him and Trodly, wide eyed, bowed to her.

"Yes, Mistress. Trodly will be going now. If Mistress needs anything, just say it. Trodly or others will come to help," Trodly nodded to her and disappeared quickly. Gwenevere shook her head, her smile slowly fading.

He had looked so scared when he saw her, and so shocked when she thanked him. She would hate to frighten anything and wasn't sure why he would have any reason to be afraid of her, unless, maybe....Gwenevere shook her head. It couldn't be. Could it? Could he have been scared of her purely because of the house she lived in?

Gwenevere had seen the younger students shy away as she and her friends walked through the halls to classes. She had heard the whisperings in the Great Hall. She knew the rumors and the stories that flew around the other three student houses like pixies after their prey. But she didn't believe it. She knew her fellow house mates. They were her family, as well as her friends. They cared about her and she cared about them. The rumors and stories simply couldn't be true. True, some of them weren't exactly one hundred percent enamored of the other students, but they were forever in competition. Yes, some of them did not have exactly sunny personalities, but no one is happy all the time. They were good people and she loved them.

Gwenevere pulled her legs up under her in the chair and drained the last of her butterbeer. She wasn't sure how long she sat there paying no mind to the book open in her lap and simply staring into the colorful flames. However, at some point, her eyes grew weary and her head heavy. Before she knew it, she had curled up into a small ball and slipped into a deep sleep. When she woke up, the empty mug and the book were removed from where they had fallen, the blanket tucked tightly around her, and she would swear she heard a small voice speak to her in a dream: "Sleep well, good young Mistress..."