Aslan Evans was laying in the cold grass in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. Her dark eyes were glazed, greyed with pointless thoughts and the kind of academic nonsense she busied herself with when everything became too loud.

and tonight everything was loud. not literally - although the castle was always noisy, brimming with golden light and loud, yellow voices- no, it was, naturally, figurative. Symbolic. Messy even and Aslan needed a break from everyone, everyone including Minnie Darling and Vincent Ferrari. It was a night of quiet, stars and her ongoing existential daydreams.

it was just what she needed. She would sleep here tonight, she was sure of it. The cold was kept at bay with warming charms and the green flame in the jar by her waist, yes, she could sleep quite comfortably here tonight. Aslan hummed absently, her hand reaching up to play in the halo of her dark hair spread out across the cool grass.