When you've lived in a gigantic magical castle for nearly six years, even wonders like broad, moving staircases that bring you somewhere different every other Tuesday become commonplace. You take for granted the paintings that kindly remind you that your shirt is untucked when you're on your way to class, or the friendly ghosts who are willing to give you directions in a pinch.  The vast ceiling full of stars, brilliant enough to rival the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel – the same ceiling that confused, overwhelmed and overjoyed you on your first night in the castle – starts to look like a ceiling, nothing more. Memorizing the password that allows you access to your common room becomes a burden rather than a thrilling secret. You become so used to the exact feeling of your wand in your pocket that you no longer stick your fingertips in there and smile just to feel its presence.  It was a sad fact of life, even for muggleborns, that toward the end of the school year there was a tendency for a kind of fatigue to set in. Rather than wondering what miracle you might stumble across next, you focus on what might be for dinner. And when you grab your guitar and wander far away from the insanity of your common room and out onto the grounds to mess around with chords for a bit on a Sunday morning, you don't believe that anything could possibly shock you.

When Val did just that, throwing the strap of her instrument over her shoulder so she could get away from her housemates for a bit, she intended to go to a spot that she was fond of near the lake... but upon arrival she immediately encountered a couple who were obliviously engaged in full-contact tonsil hockey, and it was that combination of fate and slobber that sent her in a different direction entirely. It wasn't too chilly to wander for a while, looking for an innocuous, out of the way spot where she could settle down. Eventually, however, she came upon more than just a sturdy fence to perch on. Sheep. Since when did Hogwarts have sheep? It was so unexpected that it made her laugh, which resulted in an insulted looking animal bleating obnoxiously in her direction... which only made her laugh harder. Maybe the Great Hall ceiling no longer caused her to pause and contemplate her size relative to the universe when all she really wanted was a sandwich, but Hogwarts never really stopped surprising her.

If Valerie hadn't lived in the city for her entire life, she may not have been so delighted by an encounter with a whole bunch of livestock, but this had never been a common sight in her neck of the woods. Sure, she went to school on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, known for its uncommon selection of diverse flora and fauna, and that was just lovely, but... a whole bunch of sheep just milling around and minding their own business was a different kind of amazing. She climbed up on the fence, the guitar still dangling behind her, whacking her in the bum as she bent over - but not hard enough to damage the instrument or the girl. She straddled the highest horizontal post, one leg bent and leaning on a lower post, the other dangling and nearly touching the ground. Pulling her guitar around to sit against her chest, she leaned back on the vertical post behind her and looked out over the great, off-white expanse of sheep.

“Hello sheep!” she called out pleasantly – because sheep had eyes, and faces, and even if they didn't speak, she found it polite to address anything with apparent intelligence... plus, she thought she was alone. “Fancy a concert?” she asked, grinning, as she absently fingered her strings, stretching her long, skinny fingers out until they settled on chords. She would have played a bit but... were sheep usually this loud? She couldn't say for sure, as her experiences with the creatures were limited to... well... that one time at the petting zoo.

“I suppose that's a 'no,'” she laughed, leaning back against the post with a sigh on her lips. Any spot where noisy farm animals were ruining her plans was probably not ideal, but having come all this way, she lingered, amused.

Sheep. When Shona had first broached the news to her siblings that she was now the proud owner of no more than a dozen sheep, there was a mixed reaction; at least half of them had shaken their heads– laughing, perhaps, or groaning –the other half, not as amused, or at least disbelieving. Rick, she knew, had stared at her, all are you kidding me—but with a noticeable lack of surprise. Shona’s sense of humor wasn’t a surprise to anyone.

Now, though, after they had all met the sheep– even he had cracked a laugh. Because if you were going to take a stereotype and turn it inside out, why not go that extra mile?

And so, after gaining permission for their transfer, Hogwarts Castle of Witchcraft and Wizardry now possessed the dubious honor of housing sheep. After a dragon and a basilisk, hippogriffs and blast-ended skrewts—sheep. And rude sheep at that.

They were kept at the giant treehouse by the forest, now, the empty, gloriously massive thing with the giant garden and pumpkin patch. With all that space – someplace to sleep nearby, if she didn’t need nor want to go back to the castle, but didn’t want to go too far, either – it just made sense. The owner wasn’t around anymore, and with so many people coming and going there had been no one to keep up with it, either. The garden had gone to seed, in their absence, and the pumpkin patch had spread, while rotting in other areas. When she’d moved in, there hadn’t been anyone to put up a fuss.

Now, sheep milled nearby. After clearing out the stray pumpkins, Shona had set up a pen by the lake, as far from the forest and the garden without going too far. Sometimes she let them roam freely, but that was only when she was around, and only after she had thoroughly scoped out all surrounding vegetation. (The last thing she needed was one of them growing abnormally large or sprouting wings because of an overlooked patch of clover or forbs.) Just to be sure, she’d warded the entire area, not just the pen, to keep pests and predators alike out of the garden, patch, and pen as well as in the forest.

 There were no spells for stray students, though. But that was more out of a lack of necessity than than a fruitless attempt. Nevertheless, the whole area had been spelled to notify her when someone came within range, and it was with that very notification that Shona loped back towards the clearing, head lowered and shrubbery shouldered away. She slowed as she approached, slowing until she was ten feet, nine feet, eight, seven– and then a filtered ray of sunlight was falling across her eyes, the cold tip of her nose poking just barely through the leaves. She was silent, as practice was wont to make her, but even then, she saw, it hardly mattered anyway; the sheep were doing a fine enough job of drowning out any crackle of noise she made anyway.

Stepping out of the thicket, she let the change ripple over her, until fur became hair and she stood, red robes stark against earthy green and lips tugged into a grin. The girl, she recognized, was in one of her classes– looked old enough to be NEWTs, actually– and was often found in thick in the middle of Hufflepuffs. “They’re not much for music,” Shona called, grinning wryly as she stepped closer. “If it’s an audience you’re looking for, you won’t get it from them.”

As if on cue, a sheep looked up and bleated at her, long and scornful.

It was lucky for Valerie that her leg was looped through the fence, and that she had a post at her back, because the sudden appearance of her Care of Magical Creatures teacher, emerging from seemingly nowhere as though she'd been there all along ('Had she?' Valerie had to wonder, her cheeks going pink), startled her badly. Her body had grown suddenly stiff,  but she loosened up quickly as the air filled with the sound of her nervous giggling. The more terrified Val was, the happier she appeared to the untrained eye – and at the moment, she looked quite giddy. She tried to swallow the laughter a bit, since it sounded inappropriate to her own ears, but it faded on its own soon enough when it occurred to her that the Creatures professor may have been the keeper of this herd. She opened her mouth to say hello, but as soon as her lips parted, all that could be heard was the obnoxious cry of the nearest sheep, which elicited another set of snickers from the girl. Sheep were so weird.

“Am I allowed to sit here?” she asked, already beginning to untangle her legs from the fence, feeling oddly guilty for something she wasn't sure was even against the rules. She jumped back onto the ground, bracing her instrument with her arms as she landed so it wouldn't rattle around too much. It looked like she was giving her guitar a big hug. “I wasn't looking for an audience, really – the opposite, in fact,” she grinned, her smile lopsided and, well, sheepish. “I never realized we had...” she paused, pressing her lips tightly together to suppress the smile, “school sheep.” They were loud school sheep, too. It seemed as though a few of them had made a game of seeing if they could bleat louder than Valerie was speaking, waiting until she opened her mouth to do so. It was probably a coincidence, but it didn't seem that way. She turned and shot the animals a questioning look. Val could get nervous when talking to professors, but the odd context of this conversation was putting her at ease. If she did happen to say something dumb, the screaming livestock would surely cover it up.

“How are you, Professor Donovan?” she asked (mostly to be polite) as she rocked on her toes. She liked their newest professor, she thought, though she was trying not to get too attached too quickly. They'd gone through what felt like a dozen Creatures professors since the beginning of the school year - some of who'd renewed her interest in the subject, others who'd made her despise the class and resent having to attend. So far Professor Donovan was one of the better ones, but she didn't want to say that out loud and risk jinxing it. Chances were, she thought more of their young, hip professor than the wolfish witch thought of her – the unassuming, generally well behaved try-hard. She was used to it. Not sticking out was the gryffindor's superpower... but it didn't work so well when surrounded by noisy sheep. There was no hiding here.

“Is this...” she began, trailing off as her eyes swept over the whole property – sheep, treehouse and all - “I mean, do you live here?”

Embarrassment wafted off from the girl, slightly sour and fluttering. Shona’s expression crumpled a bit, rueful. (Though if her own guilt lessened slightly at the sheep’s well-timed rudeness… well. That was neither here nor there.) “It’s fine,” she was quick to reassure, nearing. It was petting without supervision– particularly by the more hapless kids –that was more cause for concern; her sheep were, to put it nicely, rather devious shits. “There’s no spell to keep you from falling off, though.” So it was just as well Valerie got to her feet.

And it made sense that she wouldn’t know about them—students wouldn’t, really, unless they ventured this close to the forest. The sheep weren’t intended for lessons, but private use– keeping. But Shona kept quiet, out of the likelihood that the girl might think she had done something wrong, and only inclined her head playfully, acknowledging the oddity of school sheep.

“I’m great,” she replied, eyes crinkling happily. It was true. She was great; there was little bothering her at the moment, and seemed like there would be just as much bothering her in the near future. “And no,” she grinned. But as she glanced at the tree in question, her gaze roved over it like an affectionate hand, marveling and thoughtful. “But I’m thinking about it.” Aside from its absolutely gorgeous natural lines, cozy interior and the sheer magnificence of it all, it was also closer to the clearing where her classes were held than her official office in the castle. Not that distance was an issue, but convenience was an important factor.

And then there was, well. Not the privacy, per se, although Merlin knew it sure as hell had that, too– but more like… Seclusion. Freedom. Being outdoors was better than being cooped up inside, especially in a place that, just now, was starting to feel like home. As much as she thrived on contact– community– she couldn’t be herself at the castle, not really, when she was expected to maintain a modicum of composure as a figure of authority. She was still too new for that, even though she might look like she was here to stay.

But here? She could be herself—sing when she wanted (off-key though she was), dance when she wanted (erratic and lusty though she sometimes was)—wolf out when she wanted, free of fear or judgment for all that she never let either bother her. Not anymore. The tree might still smell like other, that giant, amazing man admired by all who’d never actually known him, but it was… Earthy, lingering, in the way a pair of decades-old initials carved into a tree. Rubeus Hagrid had left his mark, but it was one that still left space for others to leave their own marks, too.

Yeah, she was thinking about it all right.

“I do have a key, though,” she grinned, holding up said key and looking perfectly satisfied with herself. It was a clunky-looking thing, large and rough hewn and tarnished. “Do you want to come in, or would you like to meet them–” She tipped her chin towards the pen. “First?”

Some students were drawn to the forest, either due to an affinity for living things, or as a result of the 'forbidden' in the forest's name, attracting interest like a button marked 'Do Not Push.' Valerie Crowe was not particularly attracted by the allure or by the sense of mystery, however. She was a city dweller, and her sense of self-preservation was entirely intact, so she rarely went stumbling off in search of flora, fauna, or certain death. Compared to the average gryffindor, the lanky guitarist appeared both very sane and very saintly. She'd never gone as far as where the sheep were kept without reason. If it hadn't been for a game of tonsil hockey and some decent weather, she probably would have gone about her life blissfully unaware of the fact that she shared her home with a herd of wooly, bleating sadists. Now that she stood near where they grazed, blushing and awkward and attempting to make small talk with a professor on a weekend, she almost wished she hadn't. She grinned away like an idiot, at once both amused and mortified. “Really sorry,” she apologized as she brushed herself off, but it was clear that she wasn't in trouble for loitering. She could relax.

While she may have been a forest-avoiding city girl, she couldn't look at that awesome treehouse and not feel some sense of awe. It was huge and mysterious – the sort of place she might have dreamed up as a child, only right in front of her in all its glory. Who wouldn't want to play in a great, big tree where a friendly giant used to live? It was straight out of a nursery rhyme, and the part of her that was still secretly amazed that magic existed at all was thrilled. She gazed upon it with the same admiration that Professor Donovan seemed to display for the majestic dwelling. “So no one lives there?” she asked once the werewolf produced the keys, “Seems a waste.” She looked askance at her teacher, smiling a smile that could easily be mistaken as conspiratorial. It was an odd moment the two were sharing – all awkward and strange and smiley with a weirdly voyeuristic vibe as the eyes of probably a dozen sheep bore into their backs.

Valerie really did want to have positive relationships with her professors. She was constantly in search of adult role models to fill the gap left by the one who wasn't there. So, it was with a needy desperation and an ever sheepish grin that she bit on her lower lip, looked around just a little, and then locked eyes with the creatures professor. “We can look inside?” she asked hopefully, her eyes hungry for affirmation. The combination of special attention and a magical treehouse was kind of awesome, and she felt like a little kid, getting excited over the simplest things just because they were new – but she'd never admit that. She was trying so hard to repress her smile, and failing pathetically. “I mean, sheep are sound and all, but...” she trailed off, shrugging. “Am I allowed to look? Because I'm well curious.”

The kid lit up like a Christmas tree. As far as Shona knew it was the prospect of getting a peek inside the famous– and regrettably empty– tree, but there was something so painfully genuine about the reaction that the werewolf melted, just a little.

And as embarrassment gave way to excitement (and something else, although what that might be, Shona couldn’t say)—well. She was that much more eager to chase the last of it away. Nor did she blame the kid for choosing the tree over the sheep; neither would be going anywhere anytime soon, but the sheep could always be visited. Private dwellings… Not so much. “My key, my rules,” Shona cheerily replied, giving them a rattle.

And with that she led Valerie up the staircase to the tree’s front door. Up close, it was massive. “It’s kind of dusty,” she warned the Gryffindor, apologetic as she pushed the key in. “I swept some, but–” click

Bracing her other hand against the door, Shona pushed—and let her hands fall to her sides, sparing a moment to survey the room with pride.

Inside, the tree was cavernous, but cozy; with most if not all of its natural walls preserved, the bark lent a very earthy, rustic feel. A more modern, polished bar and counter divided much of the space by halves– cutting off a more sophisticated kitchen space –but it was a dark finish that blended warmly with the bark walls and stone floors, which curved gracefully into some kind of living pit—whose circular nature, in turn, gave the space a kind of campfire feel.

And indeed, a fireplace gaped at it all, hearth desolate and empty. Built from stone, it nevertheless connected both floor and ceiling as naturally as a tree. Above it, across the room, the multi-paned window let in light.

Leaning against the door, Shona folded her arms. She glanced to the side– at Valerie– to watch her, grinning. “Go on,” she urged, waving her off. “Upstairs is pretty empty–” All there was, now, was a clean, comfy pallet, a small pile of quilts, and a few books stacked beside it, “but take a look anyway. I’ll see if I’ve left enough in here to make us anything.”

With magic came possibility. As Valerie stood at the threshold of the treehouse with Professor Donovan, there was absolutely no telling what she might see inside. If magic could bring the entire sky into the school's mess hall, then the interior of the treehouse could easily have been a mansion or a zoo or a factory where tiny elves baked cookies. All possibilities in the universe seemed to exist at once as the key clicked in the keyhole, so when the teacher pushed the door open, the lack of smurfs was mildly disappointing. Valerie got over it quickly, however, eager to step through the door and survey what was there. It was large... but snug. Fancy... but rustic. Vast... but intimate. The whole space seemed like one massive contradiction. Maybe it wasn't a mansion, but she liked it instantly. “It's cool,” she said with a self conscious smile, turning to where Professor Donovan stood watching her.

She took a few more tentative steps inside, inhaling deeply. The whole space smelled like nature, so unlike any home she'd ever entered before. It didn't seem like the sort of space that people might actually occupy, and, as it was literally abandoned and empty, that sense was multiplied. She felt like she was walking through a museum – an exhibit made to look like a home, but where nobody lived. She turned her head, glancing at the door and the teacher, still feeling some uncertainty about whether or not she could actually be there. The werewolf was quick to assure her that she was welcome, and she knew it was true, but this odd adventure still felt forbidden, giving her goosebumps.

“Is your room at the castle nicer than this?” she asked the teacher as she went further into the building, approaching the stairs. Her own voice echoed pleasantly in her ears. “What's keeping you from moving in? It seems like it would be fun to live in here,” she continued her footsteps echoing as she climbed. All she had to do was stick her head into the bedroom to get a sense of the more or less barren room before skipping back down and perching herself on a step. “Seems like the acoustics are sound, anyroad,” she grinned, settling her guitar in her lap. It would sound amazing if she played in here – like a natural amphitheater. It was the sort of place she imagined her bedroom at Dorothea's could be while she was strumming her way through Wonderwall for the millionth time, driving her carers mildly batty. She couldn't help herself. She took up her instrument and hit a pretty chord, just to hear it echo in the cavernous space. It bounced off the walls and filled the room with sound, and the hearty giggle that followed did the same. 

As Valerie stepped onto the foyer, eyes glued to their surroundings, Shona quietly watched, something close to amusement –or was it approval?– tinging her grin. The kid wasn’t a wolf but still she sniffed the air like one, and Shona couldn’t help but grin, a little, at the sight. It was a little like watching a real puppy paw at a doorknob.

But she hadn’t lied when she told Valerie she’d make them something to eat while she went exploring, and so as the Gryffindor made her way through the pit Shona trailed after her, hands tucked into the pockets of her robes—sidestepping her neatly when she drifted to a halt. Only when Valerie took the first few steps up the stairs did the werewolf let the grin she was feeling take across her face, broad and amused– content, even– as she went through the cabinets.

What was keeping her from moving in?

When the last of the notes faded away, Shona resumed her search. “It isn’t exactly customary lodgings,” she snorted, a quiet huff of amusement amidst the clatter of pots and pans. (Not that there was much to sort through, but.) “And besides–” She lugged out a stockpot, setting it on the stovetop with ease. “Hagrid was hardly a new American professor from the middle of nowhere.” Valerie couldn’t see the smile past the stone wall, but she could hear it anyway, in the wryness of it. Shona hadn’t even been certain she’d get the job.

“Staff–” Teaching staff, at least, from what she’d gathered from her own rooms, “–get a suite, accessible from their office. Nothing fancy, but like, a room, a bathroom, a foyer. A small fireplace, too.” And a closet, with a conveyer rack that looped in endless infinity, but a teacher had to get their perks somewhere. “It’s comfortable,” she tacked on, in case she was coming off as critical or ungrateful. The rooms were comfortable—she just never used them much, except to sleep. And even then she usually just slept in her office, tucked away in a corner and blocked from immediate sight by a well-placed loveseat.

Returning from the pantry, Shona held a couple of bags– packs– in a hand. “We’ve got mixed vegetables and dumplings,” she said, raising her voice as she gave the both of them a onceover. Magical pantry meant stasis spells, never spoiling, but– “Is that okay?”

“No, it isn't,” Valerie agreed with a chuckle when the professor suggested that living in a giant, hollowed-out tree wasn't customary – if there was somewhere in the world where living in a hollowed out tree was a typical sight, she'd grab a broom and be there to gawk within a few hours, just for the spectacle! No, this was not a common sight. “Do most people live in giant castles in America?” she wondered, a teasing edge to her voice as her amused little smile remained suspended on her face – because how could living inside of the enormous Hogwarts castle be any more customary than living out here on the grounds? It wasn't all teasing, however. For all Valerie knew America could have been full of castle dwellings. It was certainly a big enough country to accommodate it. Her knowledge of American trivia was, admittedly, rather limited. She could probably pick the Statue of Liberty out in a lineup, but beyond that? The whole country was just a vague, gigantic somewhere.

Professor Donovan's lodgings at school sounded fair - cozy, even... but nothing like a giant tree flanked by an obnoxious herd of sheep, and with a view of both the lake and the forest. “Sounds like our flat at home,” Valerie observed, “Only there's my room, and then a room for the grown ups, so a bit bigger, maybe.” She was dying to get back there, at least for a little while. She missed her room and her cat and not feeling like she was breaking a dozen rules when she went into the kitchen to get a snack. She may not have had house elves, but by the time she was back in London she didn't even notice, nor care. They'd have everything she liked. They knew her. That, she supposed, was why it was home.

She hadn't come out here to eat. She'd only ventured out of the dorm at all so that she could mess with her guitar without an audience – to work on things that might not be perfect, rather than feeling as though she was performing. When she started messing around like that, it could be ages before she came up for air... so it was probably a good thing that someone was offering to feed her. “Oh, I'm not picky,” she insisted, “Anything's fine. It's more than you have to do for me, anyway,” she grinned, shrugging. The biggest issue that Valerie had when it came to eating was actually sitting down and doing it. If she could eat every meal while reclining on a sofa, or wandering aimlessly around the room, she would. “Do you need any help?” she asked, already rising from her spot on the stairs to come assist even before receiving an answer. Julia and Erin had her helping in the kitchen almost from the day she'd moved in, so it was a natural impulse. Cooking was, in Valerie's mind, a social activity.

“Where abouts in America did you live before you came here?” she asked as she made her way over, skipping down the steps and setting her instrument down somewhere safe and out of the way. Chances were good that she'd have no idea where it was, but it never hurt to learn!

Shona smiled a little, at Valerie’s comparison, always warmed– maybe touched, even– by the small bits about home life students saw fit to share. And it was… nice, seriously, getting some kind of affirmation that things were fine at home, even when there hadn’t been any sign that they weren’t. Coming from a large but tight-knit family herself, the professor couldn’t help but be pleased about it. “Bowls should be in that cupboard,” she jerked her chin at the one cabinets lined up along the wall, by way of answering the sixth year’s question. (Well, one of them anyway.) Pouring water into the pot, the older witch then set to tearing a bag open. Vegetables piled into the basket.

“I didn’t,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder to shoot Valerie a grin. Steam basket in one hand, she set the pot to a boil. “I always wanted to travel, so as soon as I could I moved out—all the way to Greece. Got myself a job there, as a griffin handler. Wasn’t even born in America, actually.” Edging away from the oven, Shona leaned against the counter, popping a kernel of corn into her mouth as she gave the Gryffindor a wry look. “Ma was set on vacationing ‘til the very last day, so she ended up having me in the middle of a King Arthur tour.” A broad grin broke out, forever amused. Once upon a time it sucked, being the only child born far from home. Later, for a little while, it sucked again when she realized she could have gone to Hogwarts, until a bit of family tradition seeped into her bones. “Then they brought me back to Cartagena– Colombia,” she added, checking to see if the girl was still with her.

The water was boiling now, however, and so she finally put in the basket, vegetables and all. “It’s pretty warm, kinda hot, but because our place is in the mountains–” The lid went on, and she turned around to face Valerie with a smile. “We didn’t live in a castle, but we had an estate. And there was like thirty of us, so…” The estate was huge– sprawling– spanning nearly five acres of cleared land for both the houses residing on it as well as the farm—not including the forest that which they owned. Clear as day Shona could still imagine the hikes cutting through towering trees and listless fog, the occasional frog poking in and out of the bushes, the territorial bird calls echoing throughout the jungle. “It was quiet… mostly. No one but us for miles and miles, so we had to make our own noise.

“And you?” Quickly cutting herself off before she could get lost in her own musings, Shona cocked her head to the side, curiosity turning her gaze and grin expectant. “City kid, or country?” The United Kingdom had way more castles than Uncle Sam did, despite what people like to call or style mansions as these days, but she was pretty sure it was safe to assume they weren’t a common kind of residence around here, either.