The Long and Winding Road

2. alright - supergrass

The trip from Romania is cold.

To distract yourself, you could try to analyze the cold, as if that would make it more bearable. Is it the kind of cold that reaches deep into your bones, making toes become numb inside your boots and teeth chatter in your skull? Or is it the kind of cold that's so outrageously freezing that you feel warm again from how shocking it is?

Maybe it's the kind of cold that burrows inside your thoughts. Pricks in every corner of the brain until you can't think about anything other than how cold you are. Even if, really, you should be worrying about something—someone—and that your stomach is churning from something totally different than the weather surrounding every molecule of your body.

(The hairs sticking up on your arms knew that there was more to this night than the cold. The follicles sensed trouble approaching.)

One of the absolute worst parts of this weather, you think, as you shake the beads of ice out of your hair, is the wind. It's not possible anyone could enjoy this flight, and the wind that bites, and the cold that festers.

"Woooooooo!"

With every exception, there's a Weasley. Charlie on a broom is a thing of nightmares.

He speeds past you with a grin that could rival a child on their birthday. Your eye twitches. The whoops and cheers from your friends and fellow tamers hurt your already frozen brain, making you pause midair to rub knitted hands against one another, eyes blinking to break the stinging tears trying to escape.

When you can finally see and feel less like an icicle, you spot the yellow lights in the distance, and the puff of air around Charlie's mouth as it gleefully shapes the word "Rosie."

He knows you hate that, but when you see Hogwarts, everything fades away. The nickname, the cold, the feeling in your gut. Everything becomes worth it.

"Woah," the hushed voice to your left breathes. Jennifer, the hire from America, turns to you with the sort of giddiness reminiscent of muggleborn first years. You grin, even as the icy air cracks your lips and your teeth feel like ice chips. "It's wonderful."

Like coming home, Hogwarts could make even the coldest night feel like a warm hug and a cup of tea.

But, no time like the present to get the show on the road. There was a baby dragon to be cared for, after all, and a gang of Gryffindors out after curfew. One of whom being Harry Potter.

Listen, trouble really did find you, not the other way around.

Ahead, in a way he surely meant to be comical, Charlie spreads his wings like a manic dragon. You fear his life and your sanity. Luckily, Piotr, one of your good friends who had been working at the sanctuary for at least two years before your arrival, understands this is not safe (nor sane) behavior and zooms to berate Char, and you are free to bask in the sight in front of you.

Hogwarts, like your wizarding university, the Healing Institute for Witches and Wizards, carries a charm with its architecture that brings you comfort like nowhere else. The Institute, as established by Cybele thousands of years ago, was built as one would expect a castle fit for gods atop Mount Olympus to be. Located in the heel of Italy, next to Greece, the university consists of white stone, adorned with many curving pillars and building subsections. You feel spoiled by the gorgeous bodies of your learning institutions.

For the instructional, classroom portion of completing your degree at university, the Institute proved to be excellent. Professors dedicated to their craft, students dedicated to their learning. Maybe sometimes not learning, of course, and instead experiencing the joys of Thatcher leaving office and Madonna's MTV Vogue performance and finally finishing Anna Karenina. The two years in university were enlightening.