Near the Window

Within Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, at the heart of the building that held the heart and dreams of the four witches and wizards who founded it, Rowena Ravenclaw walked with light even steps through the library. Or at least, what had been deemed as the library. At the present time, it contained a respectable amount of books, but it was nowhere near the collection Rowena dreamt of to use to educate her students and allow them the same opportunities in education that she herself had been blessed with, regardless of their background. To the witch, it didn't matter where one's background was, so long as the thirst to learn was there and burned brightly.

Emerald orbs scanned the library with a dreamy gaze, imagining the day that Rowena was determined would not be too far away, when the room would be filled to the hilt with books on every subject imaginable, and there would be so many books available that no one would ever be bored or run out of new material to read. Her heart fluttered with the excitement at the mental image of students clustering around the room, sitting in groups, near the fire place, eagerly devouring each and every written word as though every letter was their elixir of life.

It was only the sound of the bell ringing, signifying the arrival of noon and breaking her reverie. A sigh escaped her crimson lips as the eyes closed, dreading what was to come. Her husband was to arrive soon, in about an hour's time, much to Rowena's dismay. Normally, she would have little to worry about since Melchior would arrive late at night and be to tired to make a fuss or badger her into being with him, but today, he would be here in the early afternoon, likely in a good mood and in demand of her "warmness, willingness, and desire to participate." These were times when Rowena oft wondered if she were Melchior's wife or simply a whore he married. Despite their fair amount of married years, she could count on her hand the number of conversations they held. She was a wife in name and bed, alone.

Staring at her reflection at the glass of a nearby shelf, she stared critically at her face, examining her appearance. Melchior was very much like a picky child, always wanting everything in a particular way. When it came to Rowena, he always wanted her "Dressed impeccably, the very definition of elegance, wealth, and beauty." When she wasn't his whore, she was his doll. It was he who told her what to wear, how to dress, even tell her how her hair and make up should be. It didn't matter to Melchior that his wife had, along with four talented individuals, accomplished the impossible. His only concern was how she looked and how he might use her for his own pleasure.

To the world, she was a rising intellectual. To her husband, she was an accessory. Her value was not within her mind as she firmly believed and preached, but rather, to him, her body.

Well no more. With an air of defiance and rebellion, Rowena reached upwards for the pins holding her french knot in place. A sigh and smile of bliss escaped her as her long raven locks tumbled downward in a wave of luscious darkness, splashing across her shoulders. Smirking and smiling, she eyed her reflection with glee. Rarely had she ever allowed her hair down during daylight, and never, until now, had she done so in public, but now that she had, she couldn't help but feel free, almost. Much like her animagus form, a sense of freedom filled her, infecting her with addicting euphoria. Despite the fact that her husband would likely have a fit and throw a tantrum, Rowena could care less. She rather liked having her hair down. It added a youthful quality in her that sadly, young marriage to an older man seemed to have stolen from her. Not to mention the feeling of freedom, and for once, doing something selfish, for once, all for her benefit after a life of sacrifice.

Feeling no need or desire to fix her hair and attempt to satisfy, Rowena moved onwards, still not quite looking forward to seeing her husband once more, but rather curious as to his reaction for his wife's new, slightly rebellious nature. With a note of dark humor, Rowena wondered if perhaps how shock would affect him, and his old, artery-clogged heart…

((Open to anyone who wants to RP =) ))

Salazar Slytherin slipped into the library. In part his act of stealth was intended to avoid the pitter-pattering of his six-year-old son’s footfalls. The boy had no interest as of yet in reading for leisure, seeing the activity a chore plied to him daily, and thus the library made the perfect hiding spot. The other half of Salazar’s reason for visiting the library was simple and not so avoidant: to inspect the library, and see what else in way of academic subjects would do their collection well.

It was not the nigh-bursting library Salazar dreamed of yet,but of commendable size given the school’s infantile youth. The wizard briefly entertained what the library may look like in due time, fully grown and flourished, filled to the brim with writings he could and would employ to teach his students. They would be his select lot... hand-picked for their ambition, their cunning, strong will, and most importantly of all: their lineage.The children need not be of wealthy stock... but from a seat of pure magical ancestry, and absolutely untouched by the taint of the non-magical realm. All of these traits plus a willingness and passion to learn would be what he would search for amidst the eventual influx of students.

The wizard even had an expression for them to remember and analyze, and would measure how they used the phrase to their advantage: “Work smart, not hard.”

A tolling bell not far away startled him from his thoughts.So lost amongst them was he that Salazar hadn’t even noticed that another had been here before him until he’d heard the sigh. Had he known that they were even musing similarly... well... the wizard would insist that it was pure coincidence! Curiously, he watched and waited to see who had sighed. Given the fact it sounded female, Salazar felt it was safe to cross Godric off the list.That only left either Helga or Rowena... Whomever it was, they would have to pass his line of sight to exit the library. A smirk contorted the wizard’s features as he decided to wait patiently instead of rushing forth to investigate. The suspense was like savoring the epic conclusion to a good book, really. While he waited, Salazar fiddled with the beads on the rosary he kept with him at all times.

Another sigh, and then the sound of footsteps approaching.Intrigued, Slytherin lifted his gaze from the rosary and onto an opening in one of the aisles of books nearest a window. He was leaned against a bookcase, looking very much like a serpent perched and watchful upon a branch. Gray eyes narrowed at the feminine form that emerged. She was familiar but unfamiliar –who was that? Her hair was much too dark to be Helga... but was not fashioned in the style of Rowena. Slytherin sincerely hoped it was not Branwen, though the size of the woman was slightly thinner than his wife. Only after a few moments of observation was he able to make the educated assumption that it was indeed Lady Ravenclaw. The wizard had to confess himself secretly... intrigued... by this radical change in appearance.

“I daresay this is the first time I hath seen a raven only half-preened...” the wizard remarked with a smirk. There was an undercurrent of the usual tone Salazar took with the witch he clashed with most: one part snark, one part teasing, and the rest rather difficult to place. “From what occasion wrought this curious anomaly, I wonder?” The manner in which he asked hinted he did not truly care what had led to the new look, yet the wary gray orbs were very much curious nonetheless.

Despite refusing to admit it aloud, Salazar dared to muse in brief that the free-flowing hairstyle actually enhanced her beauty moreso than having it gathered into an elaborate updo.