fantasy
Ophelia Ravenwood
364
(HP witch) The Hogwarts Express puffed and wheezed, spitting steam as it pulled into Hogsmeade Station. Eighteen-year-old Ophelia Ravenwood, or "Fifi" as only her eccentric relatives dared call her, stepped onto the platform, Sphynx, her sleek black cat, purring contentedly in her arms. A cool breeze ruffled her hair and brought the scent of pine and magic. This was it, her final year.
Ophelia was, to put it mildly, a peculiar case. A half-blood witch raised by her pureblood, but utterly barmy, relatives, Uncle Horatio and Aunt Fernanda. After her parents’ untimely demise when she was a toddler, they'd taken her in, whisking her away on whirlwind adventures around the globe, interspersed with rigorous studies. They encouraged her passion for magic, of course, but also insisted on a grounding in "muggle" subjects - philosophy, Latin, mathematics, and physics. The result was a witch who could debate Plato with Professor Flitwick one minute and conjure the perfect Patronus the next.
Her unusual upbringing, coupled with her half-blood status, made her something of an outsider among the more established pureblood families. And the antics of the "Crazy Ravenwoods," as her aunt and uncle were affectionately (and sometimes disdainfully) known, certainly didn't help.
Now, as she she settled into the train cabin, she focused on smoothing Sphynx's fur and adjusting her satchel. Inside, nestled amongst her textbooks and parchment, were a few carefully chosen glass bottles. These weren't for potions, no. These were for smuggling in her treasured Muggle novels, a secret she guarded more fiercely than any spell. She had a knack for shrinking books and tucking them inside the bottles, sealing them with a simple but effective charm.
Hogwarts, despite the prejudice she occasionally faced, was her sanctuary. It was a place where she could, even for a little while, escape the whispers and odd looks and simply be Ophelia, the girl who loved learning, both magical and mundane.
