Water.

It all made sense now. Water gave me who I was and who I am. I am a creature of the water. I breathe water, I am water.

I swirled my feet around in the cool water of the black lake with a smile on my face as I sat at the dock.

One of the things I had read in one of the books I had - as Sebastian likes to say- "Liberated from the restricted section of the library" said that I should try to strengthen my connection with the water- the sea.

The sea would have been much easier for me to make a connection with but we didn't have that here. Just the lake.

For once in my time at Hogwarts I was truly and spitefully homesick. I missed the palmettos and the estuaries of my home.

I missed how I would do nothing but sketch the subjects of my homestead for hours on end.

Oh the arts, I always had a knack for 'em. I started drawing with a piece of dogwood tree, which I had burned the edge of to char it. And I would draw on pieces of drift wood that would come ashore.

I started sketching the things I saw, not landscapes. I would draw a shell here and there, a tree. I eventually expanded into birds and fish.

My father used to draw when I was young, it's one of the very few things I remember about him. He would sit on the porch of our home, a shack with a tin roof nestled in one of the estuaries of the sound, and draw the birds he saw passing by.

Sometimes he'd draw me playing in the water. I have his pictures pinned up on the wall of my home, it's all I have in way of decoration really. But he would always use these drawing sticks that were as black as night on paper that was thick and allowed him to really hone his craft.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

I sat there and began my home, my island. This would help my connection, at least I hoped it might.

I started with just drawing shells. I loved shells, you know, it's not just feathers that I know forwards and backwards, no I know my shells just as good if not better.

I used to collect them, you know. I used them to decorate my home. I had thousands of shells hung up on wooden walls, hanging from the rafters.

Cockles were my favorites.

Go ahead and laugh, I did too when I first read the name.

I didn't just love them because of their funny name, though, no, cockles are what you would probably think of when you think of a seashell.

You know the one, it's like half of a clam shell with curved ridges along the top and little fins at the base.

I found some real beautiful cockles - stop laughing - while at home.

My favorite ones were mostly pure titanium white with a blush pink at the tail. That's what I was drawing at the moment while by the lake, my cockle collection - stop laughing I ain't gonna tell you again.

"What's that?"

Sebastian had found me. He always seemed to find me. He sat down next to me by the lake and looked over my shoulder at my drawing.

"Shell."

I said shortly.

"It's lovely." He told me. "Thank ya." I said as I focused entirely on my art.

"Do you like to draw shells?" He asked as I finished up my sketch. I nodded. I gave the cockleshell its finishing touches.

"Here."

I leaned over to him, holding my leather bound book with tanned pages that I had been drawing in since I was young. I flipped through the pages showing him my work. He stopped me on a page that was one of my favorites.

"What's that?"

He pointed to the charcoal etching of a tiny house that rested on the banks of an estuary with a boat docked right outside. Palmettoes and dogwoods shrouded the shack and a heron stood in the shallow water that paralleled the house. I smiled.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

"That's my home."

I told him as I held it up before us, level with our eyes, so that he could get a real good look at it.

"I remember drawing this too, It was not that long ago." I admitted. "But it feels ancient." I added with the faint trace of a smile on my lips.

"I stood in the water of the sound before my home to draw this. I stood there for hours and when I finished my feet were caked with mud and crawdads." He chuckled at my southern words.

"What's a sound?" He asked. "Like a song? What did it sound like?" "No... not like that." I told him.

"A sound is a body of water mixed with salt and fresh water. For me it was the water that buffered my island with the mainland." He nodded.

"Do you miss it?" He asked slowly, looking from my drawing to me. "I..." I began slowly.

There were things about it I didn't miss, of course, that's why my homesickness was spiteful and bitter.

I was mad that I could miss a place where I had been so lonesome but I had also been wild. I was free like a the heron or the cockle. I didn't have responsibilities like homework or saving my aunt.

I could run along the seashore with no shoes, chasing the gulls as I wanted. I could be like the fireflies. But now, I was caged. A fish inside a birdcage.

"I do miss it." I admitted. "But I am thankful for what I have here." I said slowly and Sebastian's eyes didn't leave my face. They searched my expression.

"Thankful for what exactly?" He asked. His tone grew softer, like a whisper.

"I have learned so much. I have learned much here that I could never have learned at home."

I told him. He looked defeated for a moment, I didn't know why. Nice social cues, Sebastian I sure as shit didn't pick up on them. I didn't even know what a social cue was.

"And I am thankful for the company-" "Who's company." Oh so that's what he wanted. Arrogant bastard. A grin tugged at my lips. Even still, I couldn't find myself capable of feeling the humor of the situation.

"I suppose yours." he smiled. "There it is." He said pridefully. "I knew I had grown on you." "Maybe a little." "I'll take it, seashell." "Seashell?" "Yeah..." He said slowly with a grin. "I think I'll call you seashell."