Murphy quietly walked through the hallways of the fifth floor, fidgeting with the sleeve of her cardigan as she stepped. Being alone was peaceful, nearly therapeutic to her. Being around people proved stressful time and time again, and it was nice to be alone. Some classes were in session at this time of day but the fifth floor closely resembled a ghost town. Murphy knew that this floor contained the music and art classrooms of the academy and she wondered if there were actually any classes taught on the subjects.

Many of the doors in the hallway were closed, probably locked she noted to herself. However, on her left she noticed one door was slightly ajar. As Murphy approached the open door, the smell of fresh paint filled her nose. The smell was oddly pleasing to her, and it was a smell she did not often come across. She pushed the door open further and found the source of the smell.

Quite a few paintings were in the room. Most of them were paintings, anyway. A couple of the pieces of artwork were charcoal drawings, and they were quite beautiful. Many of the pieces of artwork were of landscapes. One of the charcoal pieces was of an ouroboros, a serpent eating its own tail. There was a charcoal piece on an easel, and she recognized the place that was being drawn. It was Westminster Abbey. The drawing was gorgeous so far. Murphy could tell it wasn’t quite finished yet. But, she could hardly pay much attention to the artwork because something was bothering her. It was like an itch that she knew she had to satisfy.

The entire room was unorganized. The paintings and other artwork had no conceivable order that Murphy could see. It was utter chaos. Some paint cans lay on the ground, some were open, and some had dried paint all over the sides. Paintbrushes were laying askew across the room.

She had to fix it. Organize it. Do something to create order.

Murphy began with the charcoal artwork. She gingerly leaned them against the wall furthest from the door, starting in the corner. She put the smaller canvases first, then worked her way across the room, laying the canvases according to size. Then she did the same with the canvases which had red as the major color. Then orange, then yellow, and so on until she reached the darkest shades of violet she could find. Murphy did not touch the easel with the work in progress on it.

Then, she gathered the paint cans. She sealed the open cans and then placed them on an empty shelving unit in the room. She organized them by color and size as well; the same way she had done the paintings. She picked up an empty paint can and examined it. The left over paint in the can had long since dried up. Murphy nodded to herself then gathered the clean paintbrushes that she had put into a small pile. She placed them bristle-up into the can and was slightly pleased with the sound that the handles made against the metal. Murphy then placed the makeshift brush holder on the shelf that held the paint. She took the dirty paint brushes and cleaned them to the best of her ability and placed them in the holder as well.

Murphy had just let out a content sigh when she heard a high-pitched noise come from behind her. Turning sharply she found a man with blonde hair staring at her with wide eyes. A small, mouse-like squeak escaped her lips and she ducked behind the easel with the Westminster Abbey artwork on it. Immediately realizing how intrusive she had been, a knot formed in her stomach. She was completely and totally intrusive to-what she assumed to be-this man’s space. Murphy peeked out from behind the canvas, ready to face the wrath that she expected from the man.

As he walked towards the empty art classroom that he had sort of taken over the last few weeks, Vilhelm found he had a spring in his step. Today he was going to finish that charcoal of Westminster, and if it went well start painting his favorite chapel in Scotland, Rosslyn Chapel. He'd wanted to start with Westminster because it was a classic, which would help him when he moved onto more complex abbeys or chapels. Eventually he wanted to do Notre Dame, but that wouldn't be for a while because the Gothic style was tough to capture properly on canvas. When he reached the art classroom and walked in, he involuntarily let out a high-pitched short wail before cutting it off abruptly.

His entire room had been organized, organized! This was the one part of his life that he let chaos reign to let his creative juices roam free, and now everything was neatly ordered in rows. The only thing left alone, was the charcoal sketch of Westminster Abbey he was working on. That was something at least, but he missed the chaos of the paint cans and the chaos of the room. With his Auror training schedule, in addition to his own planned workouts, the rest of his life was strictly regimented; because of his disciplined life, this chaos was something he enjoyed when he could. It helped him to cope with everything, and was the only way he knew how to express himself. He was rubbish with words, couldn't sing for his life, but art...art he understood. A girl let out a small squeak and scurried behind the charcoal sketch of the abbey, which served to snap him back to reality and stop his lamenting of his beautiful chaos.

If the girl was that scared of him, Vilhelm suspected he must have been scowling fiercely. With small, gradual easing, he relaxed his expression into a more friendly one. Smiling was a little too much for him at the moment, but at least he wouldn't look like he was ready to bust heads now. Walking over to his canvas, he took one of the charcoal sticks on the lip of the canvas holder before resuming his sketch where he'd left off. "Hey little mouse, it's okay to come out whenever you're ready. Sorry I overreacted, it's just...well, this is my one place that I don't like people seeing. You didn't know, though, so I won't hold it against you. My name's Vilhelm, by the way. Vilhelm Venäläinen." he spoke. To be honest, he was uncertain whether the girl would be too frightened by him to come out; however, that wouldn't stop him from trying to make amends for his rather poor first reaction to seeing her here.

"Hey little mouse, it's okay to come out whenever you're ready. Sorry I overreacted, it's just...well, this is my one place that I don't like people seeing. You didn't know, though, so I won't hold it against you. My name's Vilhelm, by the way. Vilhelm Venäläinen."

Little mouse? Murphy smirked internally. The name did seem to fit the noise she made. The man reminded her of a bear. A bear and a mouse. The imagine in her head closely resembled a child's cartoon. Amusing, though her situation felt less so. Was the man who called himself Vilhelm angry at her? His voice didn't seem too angry. His tone was much softer than Murphy had expected.

Perhaps she should say something. Her mind raced. Should she tell him her name? Just her first name? He had given her his full name; she should return the favor. It only seemed polite. After all, she had been extremely rude by organizing his space. He did say it was the one place he didn't like people seeing...

"I'm Murphy Wyatt." She said quietly, barely above a whisper. Murphy watched him as he stroked the canvas with a piece of charcoal that she had left on the easel. He wasn't as intimidating as she had originally thought. She saw a softness in his eyes. His facial expression was serious. No, she corrected herself just focused.

It was apparent to her that Vilhelm had no ill intentions. She was just an intruder, and this was his territory, per sé. "I'm sorry for..." she paused, "organizing your space. I just came across the room and couldn't help myself."

Murphy took a step, coming out from behind the easel, if only a bit. "I am truly sorry. I hope you can forgive me. I can put it all back the way I found it. I remember exactly where everything was."