never a songbird;

The one way to figure out whether or not Selma sees someone as an established friend, or a potential friend and ally is to pay attention to just how much time is invested by the other. While at times coming off as harsh, in the broader sense she's warm and that warmth is given to all, especially those the witch considers near and dear to her. Beyond that, of course there is a general sense of politeness that she can't, and very much refuses to shake. To Selma friends are simply extended family, those that she has chosen to dedicate her time, effort, attention and love to and is willing to protect, no matter what. Come hell or high water.

Apart from the alchemy tome and the picture of her and her closest friends there is only one thing Selma considers a treasure from her childhood. A doll, given to her on Christmas before they moved to England. Even though the witch barely remembers much of the area they lived in, she does recall the few things in the fondest light. Losing either of those things would be devastating as they are a reminder of where she came from, who she is and far she's come. The only time Selma could see herself without the photograph of her and her friends would be if said friendship would be as lost as the image itself and that's something she's not going to let happen, ever.

While Selma isn't much of a person dealing with the irrational sort of fear she does fear things that seem almost all too natural to the witch. For one, there is nothing she fears more than those she cares for getting hurt without a chance to help or do anything about it. The loss of family and friends seems almost too heavy to deal with and yet is becoming something more and more real with the progression of a war just outside the doorsteps of nearly every home. As for the fear some may consider irrational, varying with just who one may ask, Selma Avery fears the discovery of the secret her parents, and by extension her, are keeping regarding the blood status and purity of her. Ever since her parents opened up to her about the fact that her entire existence is a lie and, to them either way, a fact no one should ever know about, it's become a thing the blonde does not dare ever even think about, knowing fully well that within the circles they walk it would destroy their reputation.

Selma's most prized possession is an old tome on alchemy and its powers of transformation. She found the book within the Avery manor library, tucked away between stacks upon stacks of books and although she understood nothing written within its pages back then, she fell in love with the shapes and forms and diagrams as well as the other images within it. It wouldn't be until years later that she'd actually slowly start to understand the words on the pages and with each page becoming clearer to her, her love for alchemy and transfiguration grew. The Ravenclaw very much links both together, seeing the benefit in it as a whole. Tucked away between its pages is a photograph of Selma, Pandora and Regulus, taken were children shortly after she'd arrived in England. While the witch isn't entirely of a material-loving nature, the treasure items that have come and gone along the path certainly have added to who she eventually became as a person. Through both the book and her friendship her sheer amount of creativity was boosted, allowing her the confidence to venture forward an explore territories she may not have ventured into prior to it. All in all, those things have cemented her wish to venture down the path of an alchemist or healer; wishing to create, shape and mend.

"It looks wonderful. Really suits you." Selma smiled at her friend as in return she fumbled with the glass in her hand, shockingly nervous for such a normal, yet formal occasion. "How are you doing with all of this, though? You're admittedly even harder to read than usual." The tone of her voice never went into a territory one could have described as demanding or hostile. In face, where her hand lacked the motion, her words conveyed the open hand, the offer to talk should he need someone. "Then again, I could be wrong. After all such events are far more nerve wracking than we all give them credit for."

Selma didn't bother much to hear the answer before her feet carried her through the crowd toward the Gryffindor. "Amos!" Despite calling out to him upon nearing him, the voice still held a certain grace and politelness, one she couldn't simply shake. Etiquette had been embeded within her until it had become the same thing as breathing; too normal to ever fully let go of. "Selma Avery. I don't believe we've officially met. Beyond the usual circles in which names are thrown about." She allowed herself a sip from her drink. "Do you happen to have seen your brother around? It's a bit hard to find anyone in this crowd. Little bit like a bowtruckle in a yard, isn't it?" It would have been foolish of her to deny the fact that she was more than happy to learn more of the other, yet finding Alex had priority.

"Oh, hi!" The witch paused before she caught herself in her own moment of entrapping silence. "You look great, you do." Selma may have spent the better part of her time at Hogwarts nagging the other, pointing out the lack of effort much rather than anything but today wasn't a time for something like this. Today she'd be kind. If anything, Alex Diggory deserved a break. "I'm not too late, am I?" Honestly, it was hard to imagine.

If there was something Selma could tell herself it would be to prepare herself. To hold everything she loves dear and to enjoy herself as much as possible before life gets serious and takes a turn for the worse. To treasure each moment spend without worrying about the future. At the end of the day she yearns for the days she spent without the feeling of a gilded cage and wishes she would have figured out who she truly is much, much earlier.

Yet it all changed when her eyes trailed the hall around her, observing the students as they went about their business. For a moment she stopped, allowing her steps to slow in order to take in the sights around her. The witch always felt a calming presence when around others simply living their lives. That was until her eyes fell upon an all too familiar figure, seemingly as idly as she'd ever see him. There was sadness and disappointment within the sight in front of her, mixed with a certain and all too familiar feeling of frustration. It was quite the confusing combination that made her emotions boil to the surface and yet demanded to be controlled. "What are you doing?" Without much care she dropped the books onto the bench next to him, eyes not even bothering to look down. "Please, tell me you're not wasting away the day." One could have accused her of being too harsh. And it was certainly a possibility, yet there was a sort of caring laced within her voice.

However sad it may be, Selma has become incredibly good at lying. Due to the burden she carries, the witch has become rather adept both at keeping secrets as well as figuring out the tells of another all so that she can have a slightly easier time holding onto her own secrets even in those dark moments when they threaten to spill. On bad days, perhaps one could tell that they is something hidden underneath but even then, to the untrained eye it simply appears to be the stress of her attempt to be the image of perfection and control.

While Selma very much knows who she is, her behavior is adjusted based on whomever she is dealing with that day. Friends such as Pandora and Regulus get to see the real Selma, without much chipped away or hidden behind a mask. Apart from that one big secret the witch is determined to wear to the ends of the earth, they both know her as the exact witch she is and always has been. Around her parents she behaves like the daughter they need; the one to live up to expectations, ever attempting to be something she is not and never will be. Ever since the secret had been made clear to her, she's walked through life with a burden that she is determined to carry by herself. While her parents may shoulder some of it, it still pushes her to wear a mask at times even around them. Around other purebloods of the sacred 28 Selma behaves like the typical pureblood daughter, raised properly and with manners and skills that will make her a suitable match. The mask is always on around people like the Regulus' family as well as most of the stricter sacred 28.

All her life Selma's only had one pet and that was her beloved Eurasian eagle owl named Achilles. While that is plenty to keep her occupied, though, an owl is never a pet one can have around for most of the day. With most the days spent in the owlery, Achilles is a far shot away from being the most hug-able pet. If Selma had the choice, she'd be getting a cat to accompany her during her adventures. Ever since she was little the witch's been hoping for a cat, feeling much more connected to that idea than just having an owl. Now, she adores her owl but a cat and an owl cannot be compared beyond their nature as creatures that like to hunt.

Selma stared at the creations in front of her with the tiniest frown. The witch was too much of a perfectionist to consider the idea of presenting Professor Slughorn with anything but the best. No, nothing but the absolute best would do. "Do you think these have a nice glow?" The Ravenclaw couldn't help but wonder if these were up to whatever standards she'd set for herself and by extension, for a party hosted by Slughorn. "They have to be perfect."