Axis Mundi [HP]

CH 4 [Contrasts]

It happened as all extraordinary things, during a completely ordinary day.

Acher woke up with a frown, rolling out of his mountain of blankets and pillows and onto the carpeted floor. It was about 10 in the morning, grey rays of the morning sun spilling softly into his room. Damn British weather.

He stood up, pushing down his pajama sleeves and pants that have inevitably rolled up during the night.

Acher was angry.

During the night his mother woke him up with the sound of a shoe rack falling heavily in the hallway that she crashed into while drunk out of her mind. She had been doing so well for the past month at straying away from alcohol. Then bam. Got right back into it. He had to once again bodily drag her to the couch(he was too mad and tired to get her to the bed).

Thus he woke up cranky and annoyed the next day.

Huffing he left the bedroom, bare feet tapping against the hardwood tiles. He passed multiple old paintings of landscapes decorating the hallway and a fancy dresser with a big, old vase sitting proudly on top of it, holding a bouquet of long-dried Hydrangeas. He has to change those soon. Maybe Hogweed? They look quite mystical.

Acher climbed on top of the stool that allowed him to gaze into the bathroom mirror.

As the years went on his button baby nose sloped down into a soft hook, mirroring his mother almost one-to-one. His face sharpened a bit though was still noticeably pudgy due to his young age. He ran a tentative finger down his browned skin, over the hair of his thick blonde eyebrows, and down to the strongly defined cupid's bow of his full lips.

He huffed. Ridiculous. Acher was way too pretty. How was that even possible?

Tallhill washed his face with rose-scented soap, scrubbed his hair with "Pearl Shampoo" which Ms. Pines had given him for his eleventh birthday, and then brushed his teeth while scribbling random doodles on the fogged-over mirror. By the time he painted a large picture of a crow with Dumbledoors head on it, the steam had fallen and the cold began to set in. He quickly got dressed, combing out his hair in the process with a wide-toothed comb that was also a present from Pines.

By the time he left the bathroom his wet hair was slicked back into a curly mound and his body hugged by a loose-fitting t-shirt and wide checkered sweatpants. Acher also put on two different socks, one a dark green with yellow polka dots and the other a hot pink with a white toe and heel. Why? Well, he just couldn't decide which ones to wear that day so he wore both.

As he walked to the kitchen, mind occupied by the carton of eggs he got yesterday for half price that he was eager to use, there was suddenly a curt knock on the front door.

Acher stilled. Was it the mailman? It was quite late in the morning already so it was possible.

He huffed and walked through the living room and past the sleeping Isabella to get to the entrance. Skipping over the shoes stewed all over the floor he twisted the lock and threw open the door.

In front of him stood an older woman in dark, flowy robes and a spiky hat pulled on top of her head. Her eyes made contact with his and he noted the sharpness and intensity of the woman's gaze, made only stronger by her thin lips, pulled-back hair, and the faint wrinkles around her optics. She looked like a black chess piece, standing with her shoulders straight and body poised.

McGonagall.

He stood there stunned. The witch opened her lips probably to greet him but due to his brain shirt circuiting he ended up blurting out: "You're not the mailman."

Minerva watched him with a puzzled expression before clearing her throat. "No. I am not. My name is Minerva McGonagall, Head Of Transfiguration and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts." she seemed to be analyzing him, her gaze jumping from his hair to his socks to the paint stains marring the bottom of his shirt. "And I'm assuming you are Mr. Tallhill, Is that correct?"