Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hey everyone! Thanks for giving my fanfic a read!

I’d like to preface this by stating some things so that you guys can follow along easily:

All characters in your class will be 17 & 18 years old, including your reader insert. However, this does not mean that you will be in your last year at Hogwarts— I’ve decided it best to adjust the ages for each year. Instead of students starting at Hogwarts at 11, they start their first year at 14. With that being said, you are now in your fourth year at Hogwarts at 17 years old, and this will follow the events of The Goblet of Fire. I actually did some research and most children in the UK would enter high school at 14, so we can assume that children from magical households follow a core curriculum until they reach high school (year 10,) where they transition to a magic-specific school.

There will be a lot of canon divergence as I take some liberties with the story, but this is ultimately for my own comfort and enjoyment. This will not be a rewrite of the movie— there will be an original plot with aspects from both Hogwarts Legacy and the Harry Potter series.

Another small, less important note: the reader will be implied to be a Hufflepuff student. If this is your house, you’re in luck, but if it isn’t, I will try my best not to include too many Hufflepuff-adjacent details so that you can reimagine it with ease. The reader will also have a more customized background, like being a transfer student from the US, being a pureblood, and being on the more affluent side of things. Most of these things aren’t that important, but I apologize if any of that comes as a disappointment.

Lastly, I want to state that I’m a queer writer, and I do not agree with any of the shit that Rowling has gotten away with. It’s hard trying to separate her from the massive universe she’s built, but I love the world, and I love the characters. With a little bit of refinement, we can just consider them mine for the time being. ♡

Thank you again for deciding to read my fanfiction, and I hope you have fun on your journey!

Mischief Managed,
Shogami

Chapter Text

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chaos of owls swooping in with the mail, Slytherins bustling too loudly at their own jokes, and Ravenclaws buried nose-first in their studies before the semester even had time to get into full swing. It was September fourth, and by today, most people had settled back into their Hogwarts habits.

You, on the other hand, were still wrestling with yours.

Jo Dunne was halfway through her second plate of eggs, already talking with her mouth full. “We’re smashing Hufflepuff this year,” she declared, pointing her fork at you as if you had started an argument. “No offense, Y/N, but Gryffindor is taking the cup this year.”

Val Pendragon didn’t bother looking up from buttering her toast. “The only thing you’ll be smashing is your bat into your own teammate’s head.” She smirked as Jo scowled at her. “Face it, Jo, you’re all chaos and no coordination.”

Mari Fairbourne sighed dreamily from beside you, twirling her spoon in her porridge. “What if Quidditch were played in zero gravity? No falling, no bludgers to the face, just… endless flight.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, nearly spilling your pumpkin juice on your uniform. This was what mornings had become for you, and you wanted nothing more. A year ago, when you had first landed at Hogwarts with your strange accent and your parents’ gentle warnings of fitting in and not causing any scenes, you had never imagined finding friends like these.

“Oi, Yank,” the drawl came sharp from another table, but you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Draco Malfoy was flanked by his ever-loyal shadows, Crabbe and Goyle. “Tell me, do they teach proper magic across the ocean, or are they still stuck in the dark ages?”

Val snorted, already leaning in for bloodsport, but you raised a brow before she could speak. “Considering you’re still bothering me about it a year later, I’d say American magic left quite an impression.”

Draco’s smirk faltered just enough to give you satisfaction. Jo cackled, and even Mari surfaced from her daydreaming to murmur, “Brilliant.”

“Anyway,” Jo mumbled, wiping her mouth and jabbing a thumb at Val, “don’t listen to her. She’s just bitter because she spent her whole summer indoors. What was it, scheming or sulking? Maybe polishing the family crest until it gleamed?”

Val’s brown eyes narrowed considerably. “Darling, I was in Nice; the Riviera. Where were you, some damp field in Suffolk?”

Jo’s ears turned pink as she set her utensils down. “It was Cornwall— besides, the weather was decent!”

“Decent for England,” Val sniffed, “Meanwhile, I was sipping wine on balconies.”

“Your family lets you drink wine?” Mari asked, her voice lilting with curiosity. She pushed her embroidered scarf aside so that it wouldn’t dip into her porridge. “I spent the summer in Norway. Did you know that there are whole colonies of mooncalves that dance in the midsummer dusk?”

“Of course you did,” Jo muttered as she shoveled bread into her mouth.

Then, all three of your friends glanced at you expectantly. You stabbed at your eggs, mulling over the different things you did over the summer. “Well, I didn’t exactly travel across Europe, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“Oh, go on, you can’t have spent two whole months doing nothing.” Val mused.

“No, I did plenty,” you said, half-smiling. “Helped Mom with her garden, Dad made me clean out the attic, and then Jo came down for a week, remember? She nearly set the fence on fire.”

Jo grinned. “You can’t give me a wand after midnight and expect restraint.”

“So, our beloved Y/N spent her summer elbow-deep in dust and weeds. How quaint.” Val laughed.

“Quaint, but peaceful,” you shot back. “Better than drowning in early onset alcoholism.”

Mari giggled from behind the folds of her scarf and Jo clapped you on the back hard enough to knock all the wind out of your lungs. The bickering between them carried on as the sand in the hourglass trickled down, plates beginning to clear themselves as students left. You glanced over at the clock and sighed.

“Go on without me,” you said dramatically, scooping up your bag. “My first class is Intro to Alchemy. Wish me luck.”

“You’re all alone?” Mari pouted greatly, clasping your hand. “We’ll miss you!”

“I’ll survive, just don’t let Jo set anything else on fire while I’m gone.”

“It was one time, Y/N!” Jo complained through a laugh.

You left them with a roll of your eyes, joining the throng of students spilling from the Hall and out into the walkways. The stone corridors were cool for the most part, smelling faintly like chalk and candle wax. Students peeled off down different staircases in rivulets, and eventually the noise thinned enough as you wound your way to the third floor.

The classroom was already full when you arrived. Shelves of glass jars lined the walls, each containing something pickled, shriveled, or swirling. The air in here felt damp, but it only thickened when you finally came to a realization. Every desk was full, with students paired together sitting comfortably at their desks with a friend or a housemate. The chair you had claimed on the first day of classes was taken up by another student, which meant you were likely going to sit next to somebody you really didn’t want to.

Then, you saw it. Of course, he was the only person with an empty chair beside him: Draco Malfoy.

He sat near the front of the class, legs sprawled out under the desk like it belonged solely to him. His eyes flicked up as you walked in, a lazy but sharp glance that betrayed his immediate disdain toward you. As you looked around, rather frantically, for a seat other than the one beside him, you came to the realization that there were none, so you slowly approached the desk.

With a huff, you slid into the seat, setting your books and quills down harder than necessary. You couldn’t help but notice him smirk at your display.

“Looks like you’ll be stuck with me, Yank. Lucky you.” He murmured, just quiet enough so your neighbors at other desks couldn’t hear.

You gave him the meanest glare you could muster. “I thought you weren’t in this course— at least, you weren’t two days ago.”

“I had to adjust my schedule.” He shrugged.

“No wonder the seating arrangement was all fucked,” you grumbled.

He raised a brow at you. “You don’t seem very happy to be sitting next to me.”

“Oh, is it obvious?” You mocked, “It’s no shocker that I’d rather eat glass than sit next to you.”

Draco’s lips twitched. “That can be arranged.”

You rolled your eyes at his snide tone, unpacking your things and setting them out meticulously how you preferred them. “Do you ever get tired of talking just to hear your own voice?”

“Not when it irritates you,” he fired back without missing a beat. “Besides, I’d wager my voice is far more pleasant than yours. I don’t sound like I’ve wandered out of a bloody American soap opera.”

“Better that than whatever tragic BBC bullshit you’ve got going on.”

“Ouch. Tell me, do all Hufflepuffs come equipped with this much bite, or are you just compensating for something?” Draco feigned curiosity, but it was hardly veiled at all.

“Sure, I’m compensating. Compensating for having to share oxygen with a scum-sucking elitist asswipe.”

Draco let out a quiet laugh— low and smug. That irked you the most. “Forgive me if I don’t take that to heart. I’m used to people pretending not to like me.”

You scoffed immediately at his wild assumption, feeling heat rise to your face with anger. “Malfoy, believe me when I say there is no pretending.”

Before you could keep tearing into each other, the classroom door banged open. The professor swept in, his robes trailing behind him as he left behind a lingering scent of rosemary and patchouli. He was tall, wiry, with silver-streaked hair pulled into a lot knot. When he flicked his wand, the chalkboard came alive as curling elegant script spelling out: Foundations of Alchemical Balance.

“Good morning, class,” the professor began, “I see we have a few new faces as folks have dropped the course to take others, but I’m happy to see plenty of you still here with me. Now, on the first day, we mainly went over the syllabus and what to expect from the course, but I would like to preface again by saying that Alchemy is very different from Potions.”

You leaned forward in your seat, but you could hear Draco yawn from beside you. You chose to ignore him.

“Alchemy focuses on the pursuit of permanence, whereas Potions focuses on the creation of elixirs to grant temporary effects. This course leans into the science of combining elements, as well as even going so far to see how it fares in the medical field.” The professor said, clapping his hands once. With a series of pops, brass trays appeared on each desk, laden with ingredients. 

“Today,” he started, “we’ll be focusing on a simple transmutation to turn river rocks into copper. Most alchemists strive to create gold out of simple items, but this task is far more doable for a beginner course.”

The class went by as normal, with you excelling in the given task with ease. Your magic was made to be practical, always bending to your will finely when in a classroom setting. However, the one time you dueled had you reeling from the rafters after getting Expulso’ed into them. To put it simply, you were terrible at combat.

By the time class was ending, the professor gathered the attention of your peers again to finish up the lesson.

“Good effort today, everyone! As you will learn, Alchemy is not simply the study of matter, but the meaning. For homework over the weekend, you will work with your desk partner to write a short analysis— three pages— on the symbolic properties of your transmutation. Stones into copper— what does that change mean? Why copper, not silver or gold? What does the process reveal about the essence of magic itself?”

He glanced over the room, pausing on a few pairs— you and Draco included. “Collaboration is essential in this course. Great alchemists of history— yes, even Flamel— rarely worked in isolation. I expect you to combine your minds, not just your parchments.”

With that, class had ended. You felt your stomach lurch to your bottom of your body as you gritted your teeth, glaring over at Draco. He was too busy doodling on a paper to even look your way. As students stood up to exit the room, you sighed and shoved his shoulder.

“Hey,” you said, “did you even hear what Professor Cromwell just said?”

Draco didn’t look up, continuing to scratch his quill across the edges of his spare parchment. “Of course I did. He wants us to write some drivel about copper and rocks.”

“With your partner . That’s me, genius.”

“Mm,” he hummed absentmindedly.

You snatched the parchment out from under his quill, crumpling it up. “Are you seriously going to make me do all the work? I can just tell Professor Cromwell that you were an unhelpful, lousy leech.”

That finally got his attention. He leaned up, grabbing his parchment from your hands a little too roughly. Irritation was written all over his face as he shoved his things into his bag. “Relax, Yank. I don’t want our assignment weighed down by your questionable grasp of magic.”

“Oh, I’m sooo sorry for not being born a whiny Brit like you. Not that I have anything to prove to you, but my parents are ‘pureblood,’ which is all you cry about nowadays.” You stood to your feet, grabbing your things hastily before swirling around on your heel and marching straight out of the room.

You made your way immediately to the Bell Tower Wing, where you sank down on the ledge of the fountain in the center of the tower. Students typically milled around here, lingering in between classes. You slumped with an angry sigh. Above you in the large hall, light trickled in through the gigantic glass window overhead depicting the tree of life. Chatter was light as it echoed around, and without another thought, you quickly wrote down notes to remind yourself of the homework.

You tapped your quill against your parchment. Your handwriting had been so rushed and uneven as your mind lingered on Draco’s smug expression. Why did he bother you so much? Maybe it was because he was the first person here to treat you like an outsider, and it never seemed to stop. You integrated without a problem from everyone else, but he was the only one to give you shit for it after a year.

As you looked around the room, you took in all the little details of the surrounding hall. Behind you, the fountain flowed with gentle water as the statues of mermaids swirled like a carousel in the pool. The vaulted ceilings were that of a masterful architect, only one who knew exactly what they were doing; they bounced sound without imperfection, and the great cathedral-like windows reflected the fall colors outside.

Back at home, school had been nothing quite like this. Ilvermorny was quite the castle, just like Hogwarts, but the fantastical elements that Hogwarts had was grander in comparison. Here, every statue, painting, and stand of armor breathed as if they were alive. At Ilvermorny, they had just begun to celebrate the new oncoming century by renovating the castle to better match modern standards.

You barely had enough time to scrawl down another half sentence before a familiar shadow fell across your parchment. Val plopped down beside you, her legs crossing as her bag landed with an equally loud thud.

“You’ve got that storm cloud again,” she said, tilting her head in your direction.

You blinked in surprise at her appearance. “Oh, hey Val.”

“Hey, Y/N. What’s the matter? You look like you’ve had quite the morning.”

“Ugh.” You groaned, stowing away your notes. “Don’t remind me. You’ll never guess who’s in my Intro to Alchemy course.”

“Let me guess,” she leaned back on her palms, humming in thought. “Tall, pale, pointy, and about as charming as a grindylow?”

“How’d you know?” You couldn’t help but smile at her description.

“Oh, yes, but only because he does the same thing to everyone else. You should see Granger’s face when he’s done berating her.”

“I ought to blast a hole in that fat head of his the way he speaks to me,” you crossed your arms tightly. “He thinks he’s so much better just because he’s a Brit. No offense.”

“None taken. No worries, love, we’re hard to like. Not just Brits, I mean Slytherins.” She motioned down to herself briefly, repping the green and silver colors. “It’s a wonder you, Jo, and Mari tolerate me in the first place.”

“What? Are you kidding?” You sat upright, turning to look her in the eye. “Just because you’re Slytherin doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, you know that, right?”

Val simply shrugged in response, clicking open a little handheld mirror to reapply her lipgloss. “Potter would tell you otherwise.”

“Well, he’s an idiot.” You said quickly, “Gryffindors aren’t really known for their smarts, after all. Besides, he’s basing his entire opinion off of one person— and to be frank, I get it, but that’s not fair to people like you.”

Val only smiled at your words, visibly comforted by your genuine tone. Then, she scooted closer, leaning in. “So,” she whispered, “what happened with Malfoy?”

“Oh, so much. So, I walk in and my seat’s taken, so I have to sit next to him because the only open seat is at his desk.”

“And Parkinson isn’t there, like the little arse-kisser she is?” Val snickered.

“No, which is a shocker. She’s like his dog, honestly, but maybe he’s sick of her following him around. Maybe that’s why he switched classes in the first place,” you replied. “Anyway, the point is, I sit next to him and we bicker. He’s his usual stuck-up self, then the entire lesson he’s doodling on his parchment, not listening , and we’re given a homework assignment to work with our desk partners to write an essay. Can you believe it?”

“Professor Cromwell must hate you,” Val teased, elbowing your side.

You deflated instantly, folding your hands over your face in despair. “I know, right? There’s no way I’m surviving this class for the rest of this fucking semester with that jagoff next to me.”

“God, I am so proud of you. Do you remember when we met, you were just as shy as can be?” Val sighed. “I’m surprised, too. Aren’t Americans notoriously mean?”

“It depends, honestly. I think half of them are more stupid than anything,” you rolled your eyes. “No, I’m relieved. I love gossiping with you.”

Val smiled wickedly, a sudden thought crossing her mind. You could see it on her face: she shifted, her glossy lips turning upwards and her brows raising. “I know how you can survive. Make Malfoy miserable— MMM, for short. If you’re clever, you can drive him up the wall, make him regret ever messing with you.”

“Right, and how do I even do that? He just thinks I’m funny when I’m mad.”

Val tapped her chin, eyes glittering in thought until they suddenly lit up with something devious. “Simple. You don’t get mad— bore him instead. Outsmart him. Take all the fun out of it and pretend that his insults don’t even matter to you.”

“That sounds… impossible.” You dropped your hands from your face with another groan. “He’s made it his life’s mission to annoy me.”

“Then make it yours to turn the tables. Merlin knows you’d be better at it than anyone else.” Val nudged you lightly with her shoulder. “I’m serious, Y/N, you’ve got a sharp tongue thanks to me, so use it.”

Her sincerity caught you off guard for just a second. Val wasn’t usually the one to hand out pep talks. You found yourself smiling despite the forming knot in your stomach. “You think I can handle him?” You asked.

“Oh, girl, I know you can. Besides, if you don’t, I’ll hex him bald, Jo will beat his face in with her bat, and Mari will drive him insane with one of her spiels about fwoopers. It’ll be a win-win situation.”

You snorted, bursting into a small-lived laugh. You could picture the scenario as she spoke.

Val smiled, softer this time. “See? Feeling better already.” Then, she stood to her feet, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, standing as well and parting ways from her. As you traveled down the hall to your next class, you couldn’t help but grow deeper in thought. Maybe she was right— maybe you could make Malfoy suffer without losing your own mind in the process. It was going to be lengthy, but you had a sudden surge of confidence.

A memory began to tug you deeper into your thoughts as you reminisced about your first year at Hogwarts. You stepped through the castle gates late summer last year, not entirely sure what to expect from this new world of peers and teenage angst. At some point of hauling your trunk up a thousand stairs, you stumbled and watched it fly down the progress you made going up them. When you put yourself back in those times, you could remember Draco’s sharp laugh rattling in your ears. You went to retrieve it, but there was this goofy tall Gryffindor who beat you to the punch and caught your trunk for you. She introduced herself as Jo, and the two of you had been friends ever since.

Then, a week into classes, you were seated next to this quizzical Ravenclaw who did nothing but read about magical theory and local creatures in the area. She was exceptional at botany and caring for magical creatures, so much so that you asked her one day to help you study for a midterm exam. She obliged happily and met with you in the library, studying until the sun went down. She introduced herself as Mari, and every day after that, she brought you chocolate frogs so you two could start trading cards.

It was early in the spring semester when you met a Slytherin named Val. She was in the courtyard, listening to music while she practiced her spells. When you inhaled, you could distinctly remember the cold in the air and the smell of snow covering the ground. You had seen her around a few times in your other classes, but you had always been too anxious to approach her until you saw her fumbling with a simple transmutation spell. It wasn’t until you finally offered to practice with her that she got the hang of it, and, impressed, she insisted on hanging with you. Val brought a spark of excitement into your life that you had no idea you needed until then, and ever since that day in the winter, you quickly picked up on her silver tongue and need for gossip.

You loved your friends, but without you, they would’ve never met each other. You weren’t anything like a narcissist, but it was nice to think you had brought them all together. The idea filled your chest with warmth as you drifted back into the present day.

By the time you reached outdoors, you could hear the faint trilling birdsong from the nearby trees. At this time of year, the trees had just begun to transform into lovely oranges and browns, shifting the earthy hues and getting ready for the slumber of winter. However, there was still plenty of time left before the first snowfall, so you relished the few days where you could walk outside with your sleeves rolled up. 

Similarly colored leaves dotted the ground, swept along with a breeze as you headed to your next lesson. The castle grounds were alive with the soft caress of sunlight, spilling down in dappled patches through the snaking branches overhead. From even where you stood, you could smell the smoke from Hagrid’s hut. Somewhere else in the sky, a small group of owls swept into the Owlery.

Along the path you followed, you spotted various small groups of students walking as they spoke eagerly to each other. Some pairs even stopped on the bridge to look at the glimmering Black Lake, pointing and whispering to each other about secret plans to go swimming late at night.

The beauty of it all was something to revel at, like you couldn’t quite believe that the world was moving and time was ticking. If you could, you’d capture the moment and bottle it up in a special little vial and keep it tucked away in your menagerie of blissful memories… but that would make it no longer a moment, wouldn’t it?

You found yourself slowing to drink in the crisp autumn air, the soft glow enveloping you like an inviting cocoon. You had half a mind to go visit Hagrid’s hut and ask for a cup of cider, but something caught your ear that you couldn’t resist.

“I’m telling you, they were out in full force,” a Hufflepuff boy said, his eyes wide.

Cedric Diggory stood at the center of a small knot of students, his scarf slung casually around his shoulders and his hair tousled gently by the breeze. He had that easy and charming grin that made people hang onto his words, and for once, even the younger students who usually darted past him had paused to listen in.

“No way, you should’ve seen the Irish team. Krum played like his life depended on it, but Lynch was incredible too. The whole stadium was shaking every time they scored.” He said.

A Ravenclaw girl clapped her hands together in excitement. “So, you were actually there? I only read about it in the Prophet.”

“Yeah, Dad managed to get us tickets. We were right in the middle of it all—” but then his grin faltered and his shoulders sagged. “— even that chaos afterwards.”

Your curiosity prickled and you stepped closer, slipping into the group with ease. After folding your arms and tilting your head, you asked, “What chaos?”

Cedric glanced at you, his eyes warm despite the gravity of his tone. “Oh, hey, Y/N. You didn’t hear about what happened at the Quidditch World Cup?”

“Uh, no. My parents don’t really take me to that stuff.”

His voice dropped considerably, “Some of You-Know-Who’s old supporters showed up. Death Eaters, all cloaked and masked— terrified everyone at the campsite. They burned tents, hexed people… it was horrid. My dad got us out of there before it spread, but…”

Silence hung like a dark cloud over the group, as if Cedric’s words had pulled the temperature down with them. Even the breeze seemed to hush around you, the bright spirals of leaves on the cobblestone stilled. Then, students began to whisper amongst each other in the group.

“My cousin said people were levitated into the sky.”

“Well, they said the Aurors barely got control of it. What if You-Know-Who really is coming back?”

“I heard that the Dark Mark was cast above the tents.”

“What? Surely someone was just pulling a prank.”

The little group of students bustled, leaning in closer and feeding off of one another’s accounts. You could almost see the rumors swirling, growing into something large and out of control. Cedric said nothing more, parting from the group with a simple shake of his head before heading back to the castle.

You lingered for another moment, watching him leave as you tried to dismiss the chatter as mindless nonsense. However, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Cedric’s silence was louder than the rumors. What really had he seen that night?

Something shifted, suddenly, and you no longer could look to the birds in the trees or the glistening of the lake. Instead, you felt a pit form in your stomach, something of fear and despair.

---

Later that night, you met up with your friends in the Slytherin common room. It wasn’t difficult to sneak in with Val’s help, and the four of you had this cozy little spot tucked away in a corner where you could draw the ornate curtains and sit on the lavish couches around a warm fireplace. To the right side of the room, a large window looking into the Black Lake stood, peering into the nothingness of nighttime waters.

Mari was curled up in her pajamas with a book far larger than her palms could hold, but you could tell by the vacant look in her eyes that she wasn’t actually reading. Val was sprawled out like she owned the couch she sat on, playing with her hair while Jo sat at the other end, tapping out a beat against her knees.

You exhaled shakily from the rug, finally pulling your eyes from the fire.

“You’ve been so quiet tonight, Y/N.” Val said, arching a brow. “What gives?”

“Earlier today I heard Cedric talking about the Quidditch World Cup.”

Each girl stiffened slightly, leaning in to listen to you. They must’ve already known about it.

Jo sighed, “Yeah… my dad couldn’t afford us tickets, but he swore up and down it was for the best. I can’t help but agree with him.”

“How come I didn’t know? It’s like… everyone knew but me.” You frowned a little.

“You don’t like Quidditch.” Mari hummed softly.

“Well, not particularly. I only go because Jo’s in most of our games, but I think it’s kind of boring. Gryffindor always wins, anyway, especially with Potter on the team.”

“What did Cedric say?” Val asked, leaning in further.

“Well, he said there were… Death Eaters there, attacking the campsite. Someone even said that the Dark Mark was cast.” You shuddered.

“Oh, yes, it was in the Daily Prophet.” Mari nodded. “I’ve got the paper in my room.”

You turned to look at her. “Do they even know who cast it?”

“No, I don’t believe so. I’m sure the Ministry was not fond of them posting the article in the first place, though. Who knows what happened that night?”

“Oh, come off it.” Val rolled her eyes, “You’re telling me a bunch of grown wizards marched around in creepy masks and waved their wands around and caused a panic? Sounds to me like people looking for attention.”

“Val,” you pressed suddenly, “Cedric sounded seriously worried about it.”

“If the Dark Mark really was cast… I wouldn’t think it a joke.” Mari cut in softly. “That symbol hasn’t been seen in years… not since…”

“Don’t say it!” Jo whimpered, clutching herself. “You guys don’t really think He’s coming back? What if this is the… the start of something? Oh, Merlin.”

“You’re just scaring yourself, Jo.” Val sighed. “You-Know-Who is not back. If he was, the Ministry would be doing more than downplaying it. It’s just a bunch of fear-mongering— people love a good scandal!”

“Maybe,” you sighed, looking away back to the fire. “But Cedric really didn’t look like he was making it up, that’s all I’m going to say.”

Finally, after a beat of silence, Jo flopped down on the floor with a decorative pillow clutched to her chest. She huffed, burying her face in it and muffling her voice. “I just wanted this year to be normal. Classes, Quidditch, sneaking to Hogsmeade for butterbeer… not whatever this is.”

“Normal, at Hogwarts? You’re dreaming.” Val smirked, teasing and prodding her with her foot.

“Not with Harry Potter around, anywho. He’s like a bad luck charm.” Mari whispered.

You folded, trying not to let your fears inch too deeply in your mind. “Tell me about it. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

The room around you felt just slightly smaller in size, as if all that gossip had shrunk the world into this tiny little box. You sat silently, watching the flames dance in the hearth. Then, you could hear a pair of feet shuffling around outside the curtained-off room. All four of you tensed up immediately as they grew closer.

The curtain pulled back and in peered none other than Draco himself.

“Figures,” Val muttered under her breath. The girls around you settled immediately, but they looked equally offended at his appearance.

Draco leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and eyes flicking over each of you before settling on you. “What’s all this, then? A little slumber party? Should I fetch biscuits and cocoa to make it proper?”

“Oh, shove it, Malfoy,” seethed Jo as she threw the pillow at him. He dodged it, narrowing his silver eyes.

“Unless you’ve suddenly decided you fancy braiding your hair and painting your nails, you’re not invited.” Val chirped from the couch, standing up and approaching him. “Get out.”

“I’ll pass, thanks. This is the Slytherin common room, if you weren’t aware. That means no outsiders.”

“As if you care. Don’t you have a Weasley to verbally harass?” Val scowled in response.

However, he ignored her, turning his attention back to you. “Heard you’ve been filling their heads with nonsense, Yank.”

Your brows threaded together in a frown. “Excuse me?”

“Cedric Diggory, the Quidditch World Cup, the Dark Mark,” his voice dropped dramatically as he wiggled his fingers. “Really, you lot will believe anything if it’s dressed up scarily enough.”

“That’s not what I said,” you shot back.

Draco waved a dismissive hand, striding further into the room despite clearly not being wanted there. “It’s pathetic, honestly,” he began, “a few cowards running around in masks and suddenly half the school thinks Voldemort’s about to stroll through the gates.”

Jo and Mari gasped, covering their mouths. Even you flinched at the mention of the name. “So, you don’t think it’s serious, then?” You asked.

“Of course not.” Draco scoffed. “My father says it’s a load of rubbish— just more lies from the Ministry.”

“Your father, huh? What did he say happened, exactly?”

Draco’s lips quirked upward for a brief moment. “That it was nothing worth losing sleep over. Just a bit of panic— some gits taking things too far. Leave it to Diggory to turn it into a sob story for attention.”

Val snorted, “You’d defend anything your father said, wouldn’t you, Daddy’s Boy?”

“Watch your mouth, half-blood,” Draco spat back at her.

Jo jumped up, storming up to him. “I’ll make you eat those words, Malfoy.”

He backed up just a smidge, leaving a bit of space between the girl equal his height. You, just as quickly, rose to your feet to grab Jo’s forearm, warning her not to do anything stupid. While you desperately wanted to watch Draco get his head pulped in, you knew better.

“My point is you’re all wasting your time. Hogwarts has enough real dangers without your frivolous little chit-chat. For Merlin’s sake, don’t let Diggory be the one to keep you up at night. God knows he’s not worth it.”

With that being said, Draco whisked himself out of the room, pushing past the curtains into the darkness beyond. The fabric swayed in his wake, the sound of his shoes echoing faintly down the corridor until they disappeared behind the crackling of the fire.

Jo was the first to break the silence with an irritated huff, pacing the room now. “Ugh, I hate him. Every time he opens that foul little mouth of his, I want to stomp him into next week.”

“Next week isn’t far enough,” Val muttered, “I’d aim for next century.”

Mari let out a quiet sigh, tugging a blanket tighter around her shoulders in thought. “He always knows how to ruin a perfectly good night.”

Slowly, you sat back down, toying with your hands which now sat neatly in your lap. Jo plopped down beside you, still bristling with annoyance.

“Val, you shouldn’t egg him on like that. He’ll only get worse if he thinks he’s gotten under your skin,” Mari said softly.

“Oh, let him. I don’t care, even if he calls me that shit again.”

“You’ll get yourself a week of detention. He’s not worth it.” You sighed, patting Jo on the shoulder. “Val and I even talked about this today.”

“I swear he gets off on making people miserable,” Jo groaned.

“Honestly, I wonder sometimes if he really believes what he’s saying, or if he’s parroting his father?” Mari contemplated, putting a hand on her chin.

That thought uncomfortably lingered for just a little too long in the room. You weren’t sure which option was worse. The fire popped in the background. Then, Val sank back down on the couch, flipping her hair over her shoulder dramatically.

“Well, I for one refuse to let that obnoxious prat spoil my evening. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“... Like what?” Jo muttered, rubbing the heat out of her face.

Val smirked devilishly. “Like when Y/N’s ever going to admit she has a crush on—”

“I’ll kill you,” you said immediately, pointing a finger at her in warning. Val laughed, accompanied by the other two in the room. Heat rushed to your face immediately in frustration. “Seriously? Don’t say that shit! Who knows what underclassmen might be eavesdropping? It’ll ruin my entire life.”

“Oh, you know I don’t mean it.” Val cooed, shifting to sidle up beside you as she wrapped her slender arms around your neck in a haphazard hug. “Our little yankee’s got a project with that greasy weasel, anyhow.”

“No, really?” Jo paled.

“I do,” you sighed, leaning into Val’s touch. “But I’m going to be cool and collected and pretend like he doesn’t irritate the hell out of me.”

“Good luck,” Mari giggled, “you’ll desperately need it.”

Oh, you were absolutely going to need all the luck in the world.

Chapter Text

The library was nearly empty that late Sunday afternoon, the amber sun drifting lazily down below the horizon and casting long lights into the room from the windows. Motes of dust flitted through the air, kicked up by students hastily grabbing books from the shelves. You pressed your quill to your page, forcing yourself to focus on the words of your three-page analysis rather than the little blond rat beside you.

Make Malfoy Miserable. Plan MMM, as Val had suggested, was in full motion by now. You had successfully avoided him for most of the weekend, but the paper was due Monday, so there was no more postponing it.

“You’ve smudged your ink again,” he remarked with annoyance, crossing his arms. “Honestly, do you write with your hand or your elbow?”

You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to steady the onslaught of insults barraging through your mind. Instead, you reminded yourself of Val’s words and forced a sweet smile onto your face.

“Thank you for noticing, Malfoy. My mistake.”

That made him blink. Then, recovering quickly, he sniffed. “Just trying to salvage this paper. I refuse to have my marks dragged down because you can’t hold a quill properly.”

“Mhm,” your jaw tensed briefly as you carefully dotted your i’s. “I wouldn’t want to do that to you.”

Draco froze again, his quill mid-word on his paper and his face somewhere in between indignation and confusion. You had to physically restrain the giggles in your throat. This is actually working. He doesn’t know what to do with me. Take that, you shit-eating bobblehead.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’re mocking me.”

You looked up from your paper. “What? Of course not. You’re very helpful, Malfoy.”

The silence that followed was delicious. Draco finally bent over his parchment with a muttered curse, and you could’ve sworn the tips of his ears looked just a smidge pinker than usual. It took every particle in your body not to tease him for it— but it could’ve been the lighting.

Draco went to dip his quill in ink with more force than necessary, his shoulders tight as he scribbled down more thoughts. You let the comfortable quiet linger for a few moments, savoring it, before you decided to continue to fuck with him. With exaggerated delicacy, you placed your own quill aside, resting your chin in your palm as you watched him write.

“You know, I think you’re quite good at this,” you murmured.

“What?” Draco stressed, eyes flicking up from his page.

“Alchemy. What you said about the symbolism of turning the stones into copper is really thorough. I’m impressed.”

Now, he was suspicious. He shot back upright, his mouth opening. “You’re—” he began, then he shut his jaw.

You widened your eyes innocently. “What, I can’t compliment my partner?”

That did it. Draco had been pressing his quill so hard into the paper that the tip snapped with a small wet splatter of ink. With an exasperated huff, he yanked another from his bag, glaring down at the big black splotch like it owed him money. “You think you’re clever, don’t you,” Draco gritted his teeth.

“No,” you breathed, “but you are.”

Val is a fucking genius. I’ll never doubt a word she says ever again.

Draco’s jaw ticked furiously. You couldn’t remember a time where he had been so flustered before. Then, slowly, he spoke. “If this is your new personality, Yank, you ought to know it’s deeply unflattering.”

“Is it?” Your lips twitched with amusement.

“Desperately,” he snapped, “Stick to the old one— it was far less annoying.” With that said, Draco swept up to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he turned to walk out.

“Hold on, we’re not done yet.”

“I’ve written my page. You do the rest on your own.” He hissed, and with a flourish of his robes, he stalked down the hallways of books to exit the library. You couldn’t help but grin, watching him disappear at the end of the room before you finally considered that as your first successful encounter with Malfoy. With a hum of satisfaction, you packed up your homework to return to your dorm room.

The walk there was pleasant— most students were retiring early for the night, preparing for their classes in the morning. The sconces lit with magical flames cast golden swaths of light across the stone walls, embellishing you in comfortable warmth. As you stepped into your common room, you immediately pivoted upstairs to your dorm, where you settled for the night.

From the cracked door, you could hear muffled speaking from downstairs and the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the halls. You exhaled peacefully as you set your bag down at the foot of your bed, tugging out the notes and sprawling them over your blankets with the full intention to finish the essay.

However, halfway through reorganizing your parchments, as well as Malfoy’s shoddily pieced-together thoughts, your eye caught the silhouette of something soft. With a frown, you bent down to scoop whatever it was from beneath your bed, withdrawing the familiar velvet cover of a book you hadn’t thought about in ages.

The cover was that of a maroon felt with golden embossed edges. On the front of the journal sat an ornate silver lock of some kind, as though some bizarrely shaped key would suit it perfectly. What was particularly odd about this little book was that it didn’t need the lock, and simply tugged open when you pulled on the front cover. Slowly, your hands skimmed to support the spine as you were met with blank, yellowed pages.

You flipped a few more pages, half-expecting some kind of hidden notes or doodles to be tucked away in the margins. But every sheet was bare, crisp like it had never even been opened in the first place. Your fingers silently traced the grooves in the silver lock. It couldn’t have been just decorative— it was too intricate of a design and too purposefully placed.

“Huh,” you breathed.

Slowly, you sank down onto your bed, kicking your shoes off before lifting your legs beneath you, cozying up above the blankets. When you scrounged around in your memories, you could faintly recall your mother giving it to you sometime last year before you started at Hogwarts. She didn’t tell you what it was, but it was obviously some kind of diary. With a huff, you threw it aside to your nightstand.

Pointless junk. You weren’t really one to spill your deepest secrets to a book— that’s what your friends were for.

Whatever, you had homework to finish.

---

Monday morning was not what you expected at all. It started with you quickly racing to grab seats with your girls, and just as you were about to dig in, Dumbledore approached the podium, swiping his robes behind him. A hush fell over the room immediately as students turned to look at him, instantly enamored.

“Now that we’re all settled,” he cleared his throat, “I’d like to make a few announcements. This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well. You see, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event: The Triwizard Tournament.”

The room bustled into whispers of excited students as he continued to speak.

“Now, for those of you who do not already know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school, a single student is selected to compete. Now, let me be clear, if chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say that these contests are not for the faint-hearted.”

“The Triwizard Tournament?” Jo whispered, her face brightened. “There’s no way. At Hogwarts?”

“I thought that it was discontinued?” Val hummed.

“For now,” Dumbledore continued over the buzz, “we’ll be making preparations for the arrival of our guests on Friday. We’ll have a committee for those interested in volunteering for prepwork such as decorating and assisting in the contests themselves. A sign-up sheet will be posted here until they arrive.”

With a flick of his wand, he dismissed the student body and returned to his seat. As soon as he stepped away from the podium, the Great Hall burst into a loud explosion of chatter.

“So, what exactly is the Triwizard Tournament?” You asked hesitantly.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of it before,” Val said.

“It’s only the wickedest school event ever,” Jo cut in, leaning in close. “Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons all participate together in three crazy challenges, super dangerous and all the more thrilling. They stopped doing it in the late 1700s because kids kept dying,”

“Good god,” you frowned, “why would they bring it back, then?”

“I have no idea!” Jo shouted, practically about to vibrate out of her seat. “All I know is that I’m entering, and none of you can stop me.”

“No, Jo—” Val began.

“I’ll root for you!” Mari chirped.

You cocked a brow. “I mean, what kind of challenges?”

“Oh, anything from catching cockatrice to killing mountain trolls, even solving riddles before a timer ran out.”

“That hardly sounds practical at all. Actually, it sounds incredibly dangerous.”

“That’s the point!” Jo grabbed you, shaking you roughly.

“Well, I don’t want you entering if it’s going to be anything like that,” you pouted playfully. “Who’s going to carry my luggage to the train before winter break?”

Jo only laughed in response. The rest of the day was uneventful, but you did see plenty of snippets where students would swarm the table with the sign-up sheet on it. Were people really that excited for something new to happen, that they’d willingly spend their after-school hours putting up decor and coordinating events?

It was… well, you had better things to do. And by better, you meant hanging out in your dorm all afternoon and going to Hogsmeade on the weekends. You wanted to consider your life as simple as that, but you were really bogged down with homework this semester and you couldn’t afford to waste time caring about an ancient and barbaric game.

---

It wasn’t until later that night that something shifted in the air. You were in your room as your dormmate hogged the bathroom for her extensive skin and hair care. Deciding to spend the next hour reading one of your various course-required books, you had no idea if what happened next was due to you dozing off or what.

When you finally blinked, hard enough to realize you must’ve temporarily lost consciousness, you sat up quickly and looked around. You were no longer in your room. Hell, you were no longer in the Hogwarts castle whatsoever.

When you frantically examined your surroundings, you finally spotted a silhouette through the dense foggy woods you had found yourself in. Coming to a squat, you pressed up against the thick bramble and squinted, making out not only one— but two— figures in a moonlit clearing. Two young girls, cloaked, were out of breath and taking a moment of reprieve for themselves.

“Wait, Cissy,” one raggedly panted, bent over with her hands on her knees. When she tilted back up, her hood slid off from around her head. To your surprise, she looked awfully a lot like you. “How do you know where it is?”

“I just do. We have to hurry up before Filch realizes we’ve snuck out.” The other girl, Cissy, insisted.

Somewhere in the near distance, a low growl sounded, something inhumane and enough to jolt you in your own skin. You tensed, looking around, before watching the girls react equally as afraid.

“Come on, we have to go.” Cissy said, holding out her hand.

The girl reached, taking it quickly before the two jogged out of the clearing. The dream, or whatever it was, blurred greatly and wisped away in little smoky tendrils before you felt a sudden change in temperature.

When you opened your eyes again, you were back in your dorm room.

You jolted upright, jostling the book straight out from your lap and onto the floor. Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, holding yourself as if it would keep you grounded. As if your feet had a mind of their own, you paced your side of the room.

What… was that? A dream, or something?

But… that girl… I swear it looked like… my mother.

It was far too late to concern yourself with such ideas. Even if you really had seen a snippet of a memory in some twisted form of reversed clairvoyancy, what would you do with that information? Well, sure, there was always the option of gathering your friends up to talk to them about it, but you weren’t sure if it was pressing enough to discuss this very moment.

What would I say, ‘I had a scary dream, someone hug me?’

With a defeated sigh, you crumpled back down on your bed. Just then, your dormmate exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her head.

“Your turn.” She said, plopping down on her bed.

Trying to rid your expression of its bewildered look, you slowly raised back up and retreated into the bathroom, where perhaps you could wash off whatever weird ideas were rampaging through your mind.

The next morning was rainy. A storm brewed outside of the castle, so of course the Great Hall ceiling was decorated with equally gloomy clouds. As soon as you stalked in, you felt a rush of cool air kiss your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine. Why did it feel as though everyone in the room was watching you?

Settling down at your usual spot, you tucked your skirt in behind your thighs. The shower last night had not helped at all, as you figured, and it must’ve been evident you were deep in thought because Mari elbowed you immediately out of it.

“Why the long face?” She hummed sweetly, spooning some pudding in her mouth.

“You look like you got trampled by a herd of underclassmen,” Val snorted. “Bad night?”

“Uh, you could say something like that.” You rubbed the back of your neck in response, then dropped your voice. “Hey, have you guys ever heard of… clairvoyance, but for the… past, I guess?”

They all looked at you in confusion. “You mean like a pensieve?” Mari asked.

“No, not that. Like, having a vision, but one of the past?”

“Hmm,” Mari sighed, “well, no, I don’t think I’ve heard of it. All I know are Seers who predict the future.”

“Like Trelawney?” Jo asked.

“Oh, that’s a load of gobshite and you know it,” Val leaned back, crossing her arms. “If Granger and I agree on one thing, it’s that Trelawney is a phony; just some frazzled old bat.”

“She’s real,” Mari said pointedly, putting down her spoon. “Divination isn’t just about seeing the future.”

“Right, it’s about swirling a cup of gnat’s piss and inferring your doom based on the debris at the bottom,” Val said, wiggling her fingers. Jo giggled at that.

Mari ignored them, turning to you. “Why are you asking, anyway? Did you see something, Y/N?”

“Well,” you looked away, “I think so? On second thought, it might’ve just been a dream… I was pretty tired last night.”

Jo perked up with interest. “What’dja see?”

“I saw…” You closed your eyes, remembering the vivid details, as if it were your own memory now. “I saw two girls out in the woods, the Forbidden Forest, I think… they were running, looking for something… and I think one of them was my mom.”

“Your mum?” Mari echoed.

You nodded. “She went to Hogwarts and then went to work in the US after graduating. That’s where she met my dad. I guess it makes sense, but… I’m still so confused.”

“And you’re sure you weren’t just making this up?” Val asked, her tone skeptical but her expression telling you that she was trying to understand.

“It really didn’t feel like it, Val. One moment I was reading, the next I was there. Then, after… I was back.”

“Fascinating.” Mari commented. “I have never heard of retrocognition before, and I’ve done a lot of reading up on divination as a whole. Perhaps you could speak to Professor Trelawney about this?”

“Or maybe your mum’s got an idea about it?” Jo suggested.

You shook your head rather adamantly. “No, I would never tell her about something like that. She’s a little too… worrisome when it comes to me.”

“My dad’s the same way,” Jo said, “he’s been sending me letters almost daily about all this… You-Know-Who stuff. I told him that Hogwarts is a safe place, but he’s pretty scared.”

“I think most people are,” Val admitted.

You finally looked down to the plate in front of you: a conjured feast of ham, fried potatoes, and biscuits with gravy (although your peers often referred to them as scones.) Even though the food was beyond tempting, you couldn’t muster up an appetite let alone sit comfortably with the thoughts swimming in your skull.

By lunch time later that Tuesday, you stopped in to Trelawney’s classroom. She was busying herself with a cup of tea, humming some bizarre little tune as she flicked her finger, watching the hot liquid pour from a teapot moving by her magic. When she turned, she stifled a little gasp upon seeing you.

“My dear!” She said, clutching her chest and gripping her cup with her spare hand.

“I’m sorry, Professor.” You said softly, hands folded in front of yourself as you picked at the skin around your fingernails. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nonsense, child,” she sat down in her lavish sofa, “what is it you wish to speak to me about?”

“Well, I’m not taking any of your courses this semester,” you began.

She sipped loudly, interrupting you. “Pity.”

“... Yes. Well, I just wanted to ask you something divination-related, sort of. It’s… for a research paper.”

“Oh, yes, then ask away!”

“Hypothetically, what would be your… professional opinion, as an expert in the matter, be about…” What did Mari call it, again? “Uh, retrocognition?”

“Come again?”

You cleared your throat again. “Clairvoyance for the past, ma’am.”

“For the past?” Trelawney frowned, setting her teacup down with a small clink. Slowly, she raised to her feet, her shawl sweeping over the dusty floor in tow, as she approached you. Her eyes, large in their frames, glimmered strangely as she leaned in, lowering her voice to an airy whisper. “My dear child, retrocognition is no light matter. It is far rarer than foresight— very, very few are ever blessed— or cursed— with such a gift.”

You stiffened. “So, it’s real?”

“Real?” Trelawney laughed a brittle trill. “As real as the stars above our heads! However, it comes with burdens, you see… burdens of knowledge.” She began to pace, wringing her hands. “To peer backwards is to lift the metaphysical veil on truths hidden for a reason. Not all are ready to face them. Some may even face madness.”

The room suddenly felt much, much warmer as incense clung thick in your throat. “So, if someone had this… so-called gift, what would you tell them?”

“Ah, no, I see it now… the shadows, the threads of memories not your own… yes, yes… I would tell them to tread carefully. The past is a dangerous place to wander, child— it does not like to be disturbed.”

A shiver crept up your skin as you thanked her for her insight, bidding her goodbye as you quickly exited the room. Perhaps visiting Trelawney was the last thing you should’ve done.

As soon as you stepped out of the perfumed haze that was Trelawney’s classroom, you descended the winding staircase with your hands shoved inside your robes, hugging yourself and trying to shake her words from your head. The more you thought about it, the more chilling it got. Why would you, of all people, be experiencing these types of visions, and ultimately would they have any relation to all that’s been going on in recent years?

The thoughts of lingering rumors about Voldemort, as well as the recent scare from the Death Eaters at the World Cup, had your mind swirling. If there was any way that you had an unwilling part to play in all of this, you’d try your best to deny it and bury it beneath layers of refutation. You were, in no way, anywhere near Harry Potter’s bravery, or even up to the capabilities of his friends— one of which was an absolute idiot, somehow still alive.

But… perhaps it would be a good idea to speak to Potter himself to try to understand more about what he was experiencing. It wasn’t like you had to out yourself, maybe you could just approach him as a distant acquaintance? That way you might be able to garner some understanding while flying under the radar.

Well, no, that actually sounded stupid. You had managed to only speak a handful of words to the Boy Who Lived, and you really had no intention of drawing attention to yourself by speaking with him. Things always seemed to happen to and around him, and by putting yourself into his inner circle, you’d ultimately put yourself in danger.

Yeah, no way. You thought, But maybe there’s someone else I can talk to… someone close, but not quite so.

Another thought popped up: that maybe you should try to keep track of these visions, that the excruciating detail in which they appeared would be important to remember. You scoffed— a dream diary? That was the last thing you needed.

By the time your feet had carried you into the Clock Tower, the morning light was slanting through the grand stained glass above your head, casting colorful lights on the floor and the swinging pendulum. You watched it sway side to side, humming softly as the air moved around it. In the hallway leading to the courtyard, sunlight spilled in and blinded you for only a split second before you inhaled the fresh autumn air.

A part of you wanted to assume that the vision was just a one-time thing, that maybe it was just all in your head, or that you were just dreaming and Trelawney was feeding into her own theatrics. However, the way her voice had dropped and the intensity of her magnified eyes burned into you made you feel as though it wasn’t an act.

Somewhere deep down you knew that dream— or vision, whatever it was— wasn’t going to be the last.

Slowly, you came to a stop after taking a few steps on the rickety wooden bridge leading toward the south exit of Hogwarts Castle. Only a few students stood around, talking quietly amongst their respective groups, as you turned, leaning against the railing and staring out at the Black Lake. A gentle breeze tousled your hair and you tucked it the best you could behind your ears, losing yourself in thought.

Then came a voice. “Y/N!”

You turned, looking back at the courtyard you just wafted through. A tall freckled Gryffindor approached, his sleeves rolled up and hands stuffed into his pockets. You recognized him instantly as Fred Weasley. You two weren’t particularly close, but you know he and George were close friends with Jo, since she was on their Quidditch team.

“Fred. Hi.” You smiled, relieved to see a friendly face.

Fred stopped short a few feet away from you, leaning his back against the railing and facing the other way toward the Owlery. “How are you? You look… solemn.”

“That’s a good word for it,” you sighed, your shoulders slumping. “I’m just… a bit worried, to be honest.”

It didn’t take much explaining for him to understand as he dipped his head, his long hair swaying around his face. “Mm, yeah, I get what you mean. Scary world.”

“Yeah. I just don’t really know what to make of all of it.”

He turned, tilting his head. “Not much there to contemplate; bad people doing bad things.”

“You don’t think it was a prank?”

“What? You’re joking,” he laughed, “no way. I’d know a prank, and that was way too far, even for someone like me.”

“I had just heard rumors, I suppose people were just wanting to explain it without assuming the worst.” You admitted.

Fred shook his head, pushing off the railing to stand straighter. “Rumors are easy. Truth’s the bit no one wants to swallow,” he gave you a little grin. “Don’t let it get in your head. If You-Know-Who’s out there, it’ll come out sooner or later. Worrying in advance only ruins your appetite.”

You huffed a small laugh, even though it wasn’t especially funny. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple, yeah, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy.” His tone softened surprisingly before he flicked some hair away from his eyes. “Besides, if things really get dark, you’ll want me and George around. We’re very good at running away from trouble. Experts, in fact.”

“Better than me, I’m sure.” That pulled another laugh out of you— a real one this time. The weight on your shoulders fell off, if only a little.

Fred leaned in closer, lowering his voice in mock seriousness. “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’ve got some fight in you. Jo’s told me all about your bite, and I don’t reckon most would win against that.”

“Oh, shut up,” you snickered, “I’ll consider that as a compliment, thanks.”

“It was. Anyway, I should find George before he gets lonely again. Don’t dwell too much, right?”

“Right. Thanks for the chat, Fred.” You waved, watching him stroll away lazy and confident all at the same time. In his world, it must’ve been nice to live every day as if it were a playground. As much as you wanted to be like that, you knew you held yourself to much higher standards. With a sigh and a deflated sense of concern, you made your way back to your next class so that you wouldn't be late.

Chapter Text

Classes on Friday had been canceled in order to allow the students at Durmstrang and Beauxbatons to settle and wander the castle without getting swept up in a horde of enthralled first-years. It had initially come as a surprise that anyone under 20 could not enter the Triwizard Tournament, so when the other schools showed up, they consisted of a small group of students a bit older than you.

Beauxbatons were among the first to arrive in pegasus-drawn carriages, landing in droves on the field near the Quidditch pitch. Multiple carriages flew over the school and students bustled like waves on an ocean, following their every movement eagerly.

Durmstrang was quick to arrive only an hour later, a large ship rising from the depths of the Black Lake and docking near the boathouse. Almost as soon as students began filing off the boats, you and the other Hogwarts students had been called to the Great Hall for a brief welcoming ceremony.

It was… something. When you sat with your girls, they could not stop raving about the different students they caught snippets of in the halls and piling out of their respective modes of transport. However, when the guests entered the Great Hall for introductions, it was more like a play than anything.

The Beauxbatons girls flourished in, skipping excitedly in their heels over the stones and summoning butterflies from beneath their shawls to flit around the room. Most of the boys in the Great Hall were staring hard, as well as Jo, who could not take her eyes off them.

When the Durmstrang boys came in, the mood did a complete 180 as they pounded their staves against the stone, sending sparks flying. A few girls swooned at the sight, and even Val made a sideways comment about Bulgarian boys being cuter than English boys. You shuddered at the thought— they weren’t really your type.

The rest of the evening went rather smoothly. There was a new professor— Mad-Eye Moody, or something like that— as well as the reveal of the Goblet of Fire: a cup burning with an eternal blue flame, where it would accept the names of students for the competition. Dumbledore had made a short toast to briefly thank the decorating committee and to announce which chamber the goblet would sit in. The deadline would last a week before names would be drawn from the fire to officially begin the next Triwizard Tournament.

After supper was over, you felt the student body around you buzz with excitement. But, why did it feel like you were the only one who really didn’t care?

Actually, to say you didn’t care would be an understatement. It was more like you couldn’t care— being haunted nightly now by dreams of that same vision from Monday night. It would reappear in the middle of your dreams, replaying snippets and nitpicking details to emphasize. There were a few times when your roommate would wake you, frustrated at all the tossing and turning you’d be doing throughout the night. To put it simply, it was really fucking with your head, so much so, you desperately needed a break.

And by break, you meant a weekend visit to Hogsmeade with your girls. Most students on the weekends walked there, but you managed to snag a carriage drawn by thestrals before they departed. You couldn’t help but eye the frail horses, slightly unsettled by their ghastly appearances. The plans were simple for this trip: shop as much as you can, buy some new shiny toys with your hefty allowance, and get sick on butterbeer afterwards.

Mari sat beside you as Val and Jo settled across from you, opening small pamphlets and pointing to them excitedly.

“I want to see if they’ve already got the new Nimbus brooms at Spintwitches. I heard they’re faster than last year’s.” Jo said.

“And we’re going to Gladrags, right?” Val perked an eyebrow at her friends. “As much as I love witchwear, hopefully they’ve got some shorter skirts. It’s 1994, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Of course we’re going to Gladrags. If it’s short skirts you want, though, Muggle malls are far superior.” You smiled, crossing your legs as the carriage rattled side to side with movement.

“Your dad is interested in Muggle studies, is he not?” Mari asked, turning to you.

You nodded in response. “A little bit, but it’s more so a hobby. We have a car and everything. I think he’s really interested in Muggle history and nonmagic traditions. It's kind of weird trying to imagine how people live everyday without magic.”

“Well, you know what America’s famous for.” Val crossed her arms.

Jo looked around aimlessly. “What’s that?”

“Uh, the Salem Witch Trials? Hello, they burned people!”

“Yeah, but Muggles were stupid back then. They wouldn’t know magic if it was cast right in front of their noses.” You laughed, glancing off the open side of the carriage at the passing scenery.

The cart rattled softly as it rolled down the cobblestone path, wheels clicking as soon as they hit dirt and back onto stone. Outside the lulling rhythm of the carriage, the countryside unfurled in a patchwork of shifting autumnal colors— the last of summer’s green giving way to russet ambers and golds. Leaves floated gracefully among the drafts of air that tumbled over the distant plains.

Off to the right shoulder, the cliffsides plummeted down into small rivers flowing toward the distantly-growing Hogwarts Castle, a moat of trickling water just faintly decipherable above the clopping of thestral hooves and rattling reins. Verdant underbrush was sparse yet lush, enveloping the earth in little orange and yellow patches.

To the left shoulder was the Dark Forest, but from this angle it didn’t look bad at all. In the broad morning sun, the trees were lit, still repping various greens from all the pines that lined the edge. A rickety old bridge forked the path in two, tunneling deep inside the dense wood. You couldn’t help but wonder if one day it had been used for regular travel— perhaps even been a normal forest at all. After all, the trees looked lively, and with Hogsmeade just barely peeking over the ridge in the far distance, maybe even inviting.

But those thoughts soon passed as you did, your eyes darting to follow the new surroundings: old ruins, trail signs, students walking in groups along the walled-in path. You even spotted Harry with his usual crowd of Hermione and Ron, but the moment didn’t last for very long as you passed them quickly.

You were finally let off at the very entrance of the small town, climbing off the carriage and walking in a tightly-knit line along the road. The first store on the edge of town was Spintwitches, so you all stopped in for Jo’s perusal. She excitedly spoke with the shopkeep about different types of brooms and he even revealed new beater bats in stock. It was safe to say that Jo would be enamored for a while.

Val was looking at some pictures on the wall of old versions of the Quidditch uniform when you approached her side.

“So, how goes our plan?” She asked, visibly bored of the store already.

“The Malfoy one? Oh, brilliantly.” You laughed, “We were in the library the other day and I did everything you told me to do and you should’ve seen his face. I’ve never seen him more malcontented.”

“What’s that?” Mari chirped from not too far off, drifting into the bubble of gossip.

“Val and I made this plan to make Malfoy miserable for all the times he taunts me. I’ve since figured out that he hates being complimented. All I have to do is shower him with praise and he’s suddenly going on and on about how my ’new personality is deeply unflattering’.”

Val sputtered with a laugh. “He said that?”

“Malfoy, hating attention from a girl? What universe is this?” Mari’s brows furrowed in great amusement.

“I know! I was almost certain he’d find some way to retaliate, but he was in shambles.” You said.

Mari’s fingers tapped her chin as she thought aloud. “Perhaps he actually enjoys bantering with you. Why would a narcissist like him despise being praised?”

“Probably because he’s already got a league of arse-kissers,” Val rolled her eyes.

“You mean Parkinson?”

“Her, Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini always follow him around. Maybe he gets enough attention from them alone.”

“I always thought they were only close due to familial ties,” Mari speculated, “at least Crabbe and Goyle are. Parkinson and Zabini, I have no idea.”

“Parkinsons are purebloods, so she’s probably just like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum— always following Malfoy around like they’ve got nothing else to base their personalities on.”

“Ouch,” you mused. “Miss Pendragon, that’s not very ladylike of you.”

“Oh, come off it.” Val waved her hand bashfully.

Jo, swayed by the shopkeep’s impressive sporting talk, purchased a new bat for herself before leaving the store alongside her buddies. The next stop was Gladrags, which was of course a bit overpopulated from being in the center of town. Most young witches lingered in and around the store, catching up in the square or shopping for new robes.

For someone like you, though, robe shopping was a bit unusual. Back in America, witches and wizards rarely clung to tradition so tightly. Magical folk there often lived closer to Muggle customs— celebrating new technology, borrowing trends, and blending fashion thoroughly. Ilvermorny’s uniforms were even tailored to fit modern standards, almost ahead of their time.

Here in the United Kingdom, though, history lingered in every stitch and brick. Robes weren’t just clothes, they were heritage passed down, reimagined, and endlessly tied back to centuries of magical identity. It was beautiful, absolutely, but stifling at times. There were moments where you felt that was where Hogwarts lacked— the weight of the past made it harder for the future to break through.

But, then there were the charming things you liked most about Hogwarts: the hamlets on windswept cliffs, the preserved ruins from hundreds of years ago, the living paintings with endless knowledge… the list goes on. You liked that they celebrated tradition, and even if they were still wearing floor-length skirts, you couldn’t gripe. It wasn’t fair to compare the two, anyway.

Val seemed to like Gladrags for the most part. She’d immediately drift to the different Slytherin house attire: things like scarves, socks, beanies, even mittens. There was a jewelry stand by the front desk that each of you equally enjoyed visiting, scouring for anything flashy and modern. Anything to be cheeky and Val would eat it up. She would usually exit the store with a few bags in hand, even full of things for her friends.

Mari’s choice was next, and she begged you all a week previously to visit the Magic Neep. She had said something about needing Jobberknoll feed because she was trying to see if she could tame one from the wild. So, you all headed to the very outskirts of town and stopped in at a decrepit cottage by a field. The greengrocer helped Mari, rummaging through his stock to try to find the absurd request she had.

Meanwhile, you, Jo, and Val all played an idle game trying to keep a paper crane afloat by casting small gusts of wind up at it. It wasn’t until the crane fluttered down on top of the greengrocer’s roof that you all immediately stopped, too embarrassed to get it down in front of him.

After all the visits in town had been made, the four of you sauntered on back to the Three Broomsticks and settled at a table for butterbeer. Mari in particular enjoyed the pastries as well, so she ordered a handful for the table. You all sat comfortably, laughing over the rims of your tankards.

“You should’ve just Accio’ed it. I’m telling you.” Val snickered, shaking her head.

“Right in front of him?” Jo’s brows turned upward.

Your cheeks hurt from laughing so hard as you cut in, “I’ve never seen Mr. Teasdale so irritated before.”

“Oh, don’t antagonize him,” Mari chided, “he really is very nice.”

A duo of Durmstrang boys wandered in just moments after, standing awkwardly until they were seated at a table just across the room. Jo and Mari kept talking amongst themselves, but you watched as Val’s attention was drawn immediately.

You raised an eyebrow. Then, you couldn’t help yourself. “What’cha looking at, Val?” You asked in a singsongy voice.

She blinked, turning back. “What?”

“You’re totally staring at those Durmstrang guys.”

Val’s face flushed and she scoffed, “As if. Am I not allowed to briefly glance at people anymore?”

Your chin tilted and you rested it in your palm playfully. “Oh, no, you’re allowed, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to tease you about it.”

“Shut up, Y/N. I’m seriously warning you,” Val crinkled her nose.

Jo and Mari fell silent, watching the conversation.

“Warning me?” You sighed, slowly lifting up to your feet. “I guess I’ll just have to… to leave… and just sit at another table…”

You took one step away from the table and Val turned red in an instant. She lifted an accusatory finger. “Don’t,” she said. You took another step, then couldn’t help but giggle before setting off and walking toward the Durmstrang boys. It took a few confident strides until you stopped, hovering over their table.

You motioned to an empty seat. “Seat taken?”

The two boys blinked at you before one with freckles nodded slowly. You pulled it out, sitting down.

“So, what do you think of Hogwarts so far?” You mused. In the distance, you could see Val sinking into her seat as Jo and Mari whispered ferociously to her.

“Hogwarts?” The freckled one echoed. “It is… good. Very beautiful school.”

“Isn’t it? I was just thinking about that, you know. Sometimes I forget to stop and really look at the castle, but it’s amazing. What’s Durmstrang like?”

“Uhh… cold.” The other said, sipping a glass of butterbeer. “Built into the side of a mountain. It snows a lot there.”

“That’s cool.” You began, but the freckled guy interrupted.

“Are you American?”

“Oh, yeah,” you internally rolled your eyes. If you had a galleon for every time you had been asked that question… “transferred a year ago.”

“Are you from Ilvermorny?”

“Just for a few years— it’s a neat school, but nothing crazy.” You cleared your throat, “Anyway, I came over to say that my friend thinks you guys are really cute.” You pointed and their gazes snapped over to Val, who shyly smiled and urgently broke eye contact. “Her name is Val.”

“Mikhail,” the freckled one said, motioning to his friend. “Aslo.”

You opened your mouth to say something else, but something interrupted you immediately. Approaching you from behind, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson towered, their arms crossed and sneers curled on their lips.

“Already slumming it with the Russkies, are you, Yank?” Draco drawled. Pansy gave a little giggle at his side, which only boiled your blood.

You tilted your head up slightly to acknowledge him. “Malfoy, what a surprise. Didn’t know they let you out of the castle on the weekends. I’d have thought they’d put a lock on your cage.”

Pansy inhaled sharply in surprise, but Draco only smirked in response, his silver eyes glinting. “Cute. Don’t think you can charm everyone in this castle, L/N. Some of us have brains.”

Across the room, the girls had sat up straight and quietly stared from their seats. Jo had her hand clamped around Val’s wrist to keep her from bolting over and Mari muttered something under her breath that looked suspiciously like a hex.

Mikail blinked, clearly uncomfortable. “Uh, we were just—”

“As if anyone asked you, comrade,” Draco snapped, giving him a disdainful once-over.

That was enough to push you up out of your chair. You smiled sweetly, even practiced, before you spoke. “Don’t mind him,” you said to the Durmstrang boys. “He likes to pretend that he doesn’t cry to his daddy when people are mean to him at school.”

For just a flicker of a second, you thought you saw the corner of Mikhail’s mouth twitch upward. Draco stepped closer, the faint smell of cologne clinging to his clothes. “Watch your mouth.”

“You wish you scared me.” You smiled, satisfied.

The silence that followed was so thick a knife could’ve cut through it, until Madam Rosmerta’s cheery voice called: “All right, dears, less fighting and more drinking, please. You’re blocking the walkway.”

Draco sniffed, straightened his posture, and swept past you with Pansy on his arm, muttering something about ”desperation” under his breath. However, you considered that a win. When you turned back to Mikhail and Aslo, they were watching Draco walk away with half-amused and half-bewildered expressions.

“Your school…” Aslo remarked, “very dramatic.”

You let out a laugh, the tension loosening from your shoulders. “You have no idea, man.”

---

The four of you spilled out of the warmth of the tavern and into the crisp autumn air. The sun was starting to slant low in the sky, gilding every stone and brick with shades of honey. Your Mary Janes crunched the stray leaves tumbling down from the topmost path from behind, and you found yourself deep in the enchantment of Hogsmeade. You admired the chimneys puffing plumes of spoke and the verdant hills rolling into mist. As you tugged your sweater tighter around you, you felt for just a moment that autumn might be your favorite season.

That feeling didn’t last, however. Raised voices ahead snapped you out of your thoughts. Just down the square, a small crowd of students had gathered, forming a jagged circle around two students nose to nose: Blaise Zabini, tall and sharp-eyed, and a heavyset Durmstrang boy whose accent was present even through his sneer.

“Typical,” Blaise spat, his wand ready in his palm. “All bulk, no brains. I’ve seen trolls with more finesse.”

The Durmstrang boy barked back in broken English, stepping in so close you thought they might even kiss. “Say again? You lot are nothing but weak.”

The crowd buzzed, rippling with electricity and excitement as laughter bubbled up. Then, inevitably, wands flashed. Sparks erupted in the center as a duel began in earnest— red and gold light streaking between them and sizzling against the cobbles. Students began whooping and jeering, egging the boys on. A stinging hex shot wide, scattering a pair of Ravenclaws who shrieked in surprise.

You were quickly pulled into the throng of students, watching with wide eyes as the two boys fought viciously. Mari, at your side, hummed thoughtfully. You turned to her.

“He’s cheating,” she whispered, pointing to the Durmstrang boy. “He’s casting nonverbally, see how Zabini keeps slipping? That’s a tripping jinx buried under his verbal spells. Filthy trick, if you ask me.”

Jo and Val leaned in, trying to catch on to Mari’s sharp observation, but before you could say anything else, a stray spell ricocheted violently off a lamppost. It whipped sideways with a cracking shutter of light and exploded just near your group, scorching the stones just at Val’s feet. She cried out and stumbled backwards into Jo, who caught her.

Heat rose in your chest within a moment’s notice as you surged forward, pushing past the wall of students and entering the circle with your own wand clenched tightly in your hand. “Hey, watch it, assholes!” You snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

The two duelists barely noticed you, but you did catch a brief glimpse from Blaise before he returned to the furious exchange in front of him. Heart hammering, you raised your wand, cycling too quickly through half a dozen counter-spells in your mind— Stupefy, Expelliarmus, Protego— what if you cast the wrong one, and what if it just made the situation worse?

Your hesitation cost you. The Durmstrang boy swung his wand wide and the flare of his next spell arced toward you. You froze in place, watching the sizzling red light plummet toward you, before a booming voice broke the chatter.

“ENOUGH!”

Instantly, the crowd broke apart as Professor McGonagall strode into the circle, her robes billowing behind her like storm clouds. With a flick of her wand, you were encapsulated in a quick shield and the spell fizzled out as it made contact. Then, she harshly waved her hand again, and both combatant’s wands flew from their grasp, landing neatly in her palm.

“Fighting in Hogsmeade! You two should be ashamed of yourselves,” she scowled, stepping in between them. “Mr. Zabini, this is no way to treat our guests. Now, you two will come with me back to the campus and we will have a very long talk with the Headmaster.”

The crowd watched, some people quickly leaving and muttering in disappointment. Blaise smirked faintly as if he had won the fight while the Durmstrang boy glowered murderously. McGonagall turned her sharp gaze on you for a moment and you stared, your wand still trembling in your hand. She said nothing, gesturing curtly for you to rejoin your friends before she whisked the boys away.

As soon as you felt the pressure leave the air, you turned back to Val, your brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice a little shaky.

“Those idiots could’ve seriously hurt someone!” Jo gritted her teeth, still holding onto Val.

“It’s a miracle they didn’t.” You sighed, putting your wand away slowly. “I was going to do something… I just froze up, though.”

“That was very brave, still.” Mari said softly, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Nobody else had the guts to say something.”

“Like bloody hell I’d step in,” Jo chuckled awkwardly, “Zabini’s a mean opponent.”

Val looked down at the ground, shuffling her foot over a singe mark. “I just wonder what happened to make them both start fighting like that?”

“Boys.” You scoffed, pulling Val into the loop of your arm. “It’s not important. Let’s just get back to the castle before we end up blasted to bits.”

---

The Owlery smelled of straw and feathers and faintly like old rain, even from a distance. As you made your way carefully over the pathway to the standalone tower, you watched owls flit to and from the building, hooting softly as the sun began to bleed into the horizon. Amber light hit the hills, lighting them in a certain incandescence that filled you with nostalgia. You clutched a letter tightly in your fingers, the parchment creasing.

It was a letter for your mother. You weren’t really sure what you had even written— it was half a plea for answers and half rambling confessions about the vision that had been haunting you nightly. Your mother was the only one, however, who might know something about what you saw, even if it meant she’d certainly be worried over this new ability of yours. With a defeated sigh, you decided that the sacrifice might be worth making.

You pushed the door open, heart throbbing in your throat with anticipation, only to stop dead in your tracks. Someone was already standing there at the base of the stairs.

Blaise leaned lazily against the archway just beyond the doors, where an evening breeze cut through the tower. The last of the sun’s light gilded his features as soon as you opened the doors, and his expression told you that he was no short of surprised to see someone else.

Then, he smiled, as if he knew you were coming the whole time. “Well,” he sighed, “if it isn’t the brave Hufflepuff.”

Your stomach twisted— of all the people to run into… “What are you doing here?” You asked, your tone more accusatory than you intended.

“Sending a letter, what does it look like?” He nodded up to the owls. Then, he glanced at the parchment in your hand. “Same as you, I’d imagine. Unless it’s a love note?”

“Hardly. Not that it’s any of your business.” You bristled.

Blaise gave a low hum, like he found your annoyance amusing. Did every Slytherin get a kick out of irritating you? “Everything’s my business if you’re going to throw yourself into the middle of my duels, L/N.”

“Wow. Don’t start, Zabini. You really could’ve hurt Val, you know?”

That earned you a raised brow. He didn’t look guilty, not exactly, but he wasn’t sneering like a certain blond-haired weasel you knew. “If I hadn’t been interrupted, I would’ve apologized. I’m not a monster.”

“That’s not the point,” you snapped, “you were reckless— both of you, and for what? Pride?”

“Pride’s worth fighting for. He insulted Slytherin, said that we hide behind our names and galleons and that we’ve no real talent. I wasn’t going to let him walk away thinking that.”

“Oh, yeah, because that’s real mature of you.”

“Wouldn’t that also include your friend, Pendragon? You don’t want her to get grouped in like that, would you?” He hummed.

You scoffed, “I don’t care if he generalizes every Slytherin to be a blood-drinking cultist, because I’ll know he isn’t talking about Val.”

Blaise tilted his head and studied you for a second as though you had just said something far more interesting than you wanted. “Funny,” he murmured, “you sound like you actually believe that. Most people lump us all in together without a second thought.”

“Most people don’t know how to think for themselves,” you said, looking away from him. “I don’t care what people like Potter say, you guys aren’t just inherently bad people because you’re sorted into a house.”

He just smirked wider now. “So, you’ve decided that you’re the exception? A Hufflepuff with nuance. I’ll admit, that’s unexpected.”

Your cheeks warmed, though you weren’t sure if it was from irritation or the way his gaze lingered. “I don’t need your approval, Zabini.”

“Of course not,” he pushed off the archway, “but you have it anyway. And, between you and me, you stand your ground far better than anyone else Draco wastes his time on.” He circled around you before reaching for the door and holding it open, ready to leave. “Next time, though… if you’re going to step into a fight, don’t freeze. You’ve got a wand. Use it.”

With that, he disappeared, exiting the tower and making his way back down the dirt path back to the castle. With a hot face, you rolled your eyes so hard that it physically hurt.

“Unbelieveable,” you muttered.

Blaise’s words stung, but not cruelly. It almost felt like a challenge, or like he was attempting to corner you into admitting something to yourself. Not only was he flattering you, but he left no room for interpretation on that statement about Draco.

The Owlery suddenly felt too quiet. You glanced down at the letter in your hand, the ink on the outside smudged where your fingers had gripped too tightly. After a long moment, you folded it once, then twice, and shoved it deep into the pocket of your coat. You weren’t ready to send it— not yet.

Chapter Text

It was the first week of September of 1993 when you arrived at Hogwarts. You were nothing short of nervous as soon as classes began, fully plunged into this new world so far away from the place you had called home for the first sixteen years of your life. It was scary, really, and a change you were still debating the worth of. Even though your parents insisted it would be a change for the best, you had your doubts.

You had moved here with your parents over the summer because new positions opened in the Ministry for a potioneer— something your mother took quickly. Your father was mostly independent, a very well-known writer for his self-published books on ”The Wandless Wonders: A History of Muggle Ingenuity.” as well as several guides to understanding wizarding history through old literature and material culture. He was always happy to go wherever your mother went, even if it took him away from his home.

There wasn’t much said upon the decision to move, just that one day your mom had determined moving back to the UK was what she needed to do to further her career. You found it a little strange, though, because you knew she was happy with her old job. That has never quite sat right with you, but you could never find the courage to pry.

The first few days of classes were as rough as all get out. You had trouble with finding your dorm room, and in general just navigating the entire castle, and found yourself on the wrong floor one too many times. The disaster of getting lost was nothing in comparison to the vastly different student body, though. It was terrifying being the only one with a strange accent— sure, a few kids from Hogwarts would transfer to Ilvermorny and they’d be a spectacle, but you felt nothing of the sort. If people weren’t talking to you to ask about your accent or what it was like in America, they weren’t talking to you at all.

That was the really hard part.

You had met Jo pretty early on into the semester, but it was a little taxing being her friend. She was always coming from and going to Quidditch practice, which made it difficult to actually sit down and connect with her. There were a handful of times you sat alone in the Great Hall to eat lunch, wondering if your friends back home were missing you.

It was lonely.

Really lonely.

And, to put it lightly, you were relatively shy! You found it difficult trying to connect with your peers when the social world was so unfamiliar to what you grew up with. When people spoke over you, you never said anything, and when they shoved past you in the hall, you tried to remind yourself that this was all part of being the new kid.

It wasn’t until two weeks in that you had actually met someone who treated you with a kindness you’d never forget.

You were lost again— this time somewhere near the dungeons, clutching your books to your chest, cheeks burning with embarrassment every time you passed a group of older students who didn’t even bother trying to hide their snickers. You were about to backtrack, praying you wouldn’t end up in the same torch-lit corridor for the third time, when a voice cut through the air all sharp and deliberate.

“You’re going the wrong way. Unless, of course, you’ve suddenly decided you’d rather live with the bathroom ghosts.”

You turned and saw him: pale hair gleaming in the dim light, his posture lazy and his hands tucked into his pockets beneath his robes. His silver eyes flicked over you with quick assessment, notably lingering on your uniform, the grip you held on your books, and your lips as you spoke, “Excuse me?”

“You’re the American, aren’t you?” He said it aloud, almost like an accusation, though not without intrigue. “It’s pretty obvious. You stick out like a sore thumb.”

You bristled, hot with humiliation, and one of your hands left your books to fix any stray hairs that might’ve been flung off your head. The boy looked far too entertained to even come across as mean, so you let those feelings seep away.

“You’ll get eaten alive if you keep wandering around aimlessly like that,” he said, pushing himself off the wall and approaching you. “Come on, the stairs to the Great Hall are this way. Try to keep up.”

Your chest tightened. Half of you wanted to tell him where he could shove his arrogance, but the other half was just grateful someone had noticed you at all. So, you followed. He walked as if he owned the castle with unhurried steps and perfectly confident turns. He was so thin and light on his feet but you could’ve sworn he took up more space than anyone else in the hallways.

“You don’t really know your way around, do you?” He said without glancing back.

“I’ve only been here for two weeks,” you sighed, exasperated. “It’s not exactly a small school.”

“Was Ilvermorny?”

“... No.”

“Then, this is no different. Here, though, some of us belong, and others have to…” he turned just enough so that his eyes caught yours, “... catch up.”

You pursed your lips, brows knitted. He wasn’t exactly flattering, but there was something oddly grounding about his bluntness. “Why even bother helping me, then?”

That earned you a smirk. “Who said I was helping? I just can’t stand watching while someone bumble around like a lost dog. It’s embarrassing.”

Embarrassing? Gee, thanks. That really boosts my confidence.

Despite his words, he slowed his pace just enough so you could keep up. He pointed subtly with the crook of a finger toward a staircase you never would’ve noticed, tucked between two suits of armor. “That way takes you up to the Reception Hall,” he explained, although his tone made it sound like he was reciting a fact rather than offering assistance. “From there, you can get anywhere worth going.”

You murmured a quiet “thanks,” but your voice was so soft you weren’t sure he heard it.

The staircase groaned as the two of you stepped onto it, shifting slightly as if alive and shuddering in place. The boy didn’t flinch, but you grabbed the banister with white knuckles, your heart shooting up your throat and hammering. He noticed, staring long and hard before speaking.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been on a moving staircase before.”

Shyly, you shook your head.

“Merlin’s sake,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’ll never survive here if you keep acting like every bit of magic is going to kill you.”

“I’m not—!” You started, but the words fell from your mouth when the staircase lurched sideways. You stumbled, your books slipping in your arms, and before you could crash into the rail and keel over head-first, a hand shot out and steadied you by the elbow. It was brief— barely a second— and the contact left the skin under your cloak buzzing.

“Pathetic,” he scoffed, withdrawing his hand like you were contagious. And yet you didn’t miss the quick glance he gave to make sure you were steady before he looked away.

By the time the staircase deposited you in the Reception Hall, your pulse was still uneven from nerves. He stepped off first, turning just enough to glance back at you. “Try not to get lost again, alright? I’m not always going to be there to save you.”

“Wh— I… okay. Thanks, I guess?” You stuttered, watching him walk away toward the Slytherin table.

That instance wasn’t the only thing that happened with Draco Malfoy, unfortunately. Only a few days later, Jo had invited you into the Gryffindor common room to hang out for a bit. It was one of the rare times that she wasn’t so busy with practice that she could actually do stuff with you, and for that, you were grateful.

Everything was perfectly fine until you told her about that day on the staircase.

“What?” She sat up straight, setting down her jelly slugs.

“... What?”

“Wait, describe him again.”

“Um… well, he’s a Slytherin, kind of tall, maybe your height, and he’s got blond hair.”

“Oh no. No, no, Y/N. You can’t hang with that guy.”

“Why not?” You raised an eyebrow. Sure, he was annoying, but he helped you.

Jo put both of her hands on your shoulders, staring you fiercely in the eyes. “Because that’s Draco Malfoy. Everybody knows his dad is a dark wizard.”

“What? That’s horrible. Is he in Azkaban?”

“No, that’s the bad part: he’s in good with the Ministry, so he gets away with being an awful person. Lucius Malfoy is the kind of person you never, and I mean never, want to speak to ever. He will make you feel like the tiniest, most worthless grub.”

“Jeez.” You sighed, looking away. “Okay… so, his dad sucks.”

“Yeah, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You wouldn’t believe what he calls Hermione.”

You looked skeptical until she leaned in and whispered the word into your ear. You shot backward, cupping a hand over your mouth.

”What??”

“Right. Exactly. He’s the last person that you need to get all buddy-buddy with.” Jo sighed, leaning back and resuming her snacking.

The next time that you saw Draco, it was outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. You had forgotten your book in the cubby of your desk, and when you came back for it, he already had it in his hands. He held it out without much fanfare, only saying, “Try not to lose your head next time along with it.” You flushed at the jab, but there was no real malice in his tone— only a dry sort of humor. He didn’t wait for a thank-you, just slipped off into the corridor the moment the book left his hands. You began to wonder if maybe Jo exaggerated a little bit… he truly didn’t seem that terrible.

The next time was a few days later in potions when Snape paired you with him upon the seating chart shifting. You expected to fumble the whole lesson, but Draco surprised you by being patient— pointing out when you sliced the roots too thick, or steadying the mortar when you crushed the dried leaves. He wasn’t warm, exactly, but he wasn’t unnecessarily mean. When another student’s cauldron puffed up into a cloud of purple smoke, the two of you stifled the same laugh, which only made it harder to contain.

Then, next week came Care of Magical Creatures. You had been nervous enough about approaching Hippogriffs, but when Draco carelessly swaggered up to Buckbeak, everything unraveled in seconds. His arrogance was met with sharp talons, and you were one of the students who watched with wide eyes as Hagrid carried him away, pale and clammy and muttering about large winged chickens.

Later, though, once the fuss had died down, you found yourself lingering near the paddock drinking in the afternoon glow. Draco was propped against the fence, his sleeve rolled up and bandages on full display. He didn’t even notice you approaching at first— his eyes were fixated on Buckbeak, who was quick to devour a rabbit.

“You’re really not scared?” You asked quietly.

He tilted his head just enough to glance at you before looking away. “Of a stupid beast? Hardly.”

The bravado was thin. You could see it in the tension of his jaw, in the way his free hand flexed against the wood as though he still remembered the sting of its claws. The light was falling just so softly against his cheekbones, soothing the sharpness of his sour expression. For the first time, you thought he looked less like the evil wretch that Jo warned you about and more like a boy your age. A little vulnerable, even.

In the light, he appeared gentler; almost thoughtful. You were caught off guard when he finally broke the silence to ask, “Why’d you even come here, anyway? You could’ve stayed in America.” For once, he wasn’t sneering, just… curious. You told him you weren’t sure yet, but he hummed as if your answer was satisfactory.

The two of you sat on the grass together, and you found yourself stealing multiple glances while pretending to watch Buckbeak. You told yourself it was only curiosity, but your mind lingered on the way the fading sun lit his hair almost white, or on the shadow of a smirk that didn’t quite hide just how shaken he really was.

You kept those memories incredibly close to your heart— they were things you never told Jo in the moment, or even now for that matter. Your friends didn’t need to know the details of just how deeply you had been hurt, because when you fell, you landed hard, and it shattered every perception you had about Hogwarts.

You could remember it in blurry snippets: the memory you suppressed the most of all. It was a dreary Tuesday, and the day started with a strange letter in your satchel that you had only found after your first two classes.

If you really want to know what people say about you, meet me in the Quad Courtyard next to the Merman statue after dinner.
—A friend

You had read it and re-read it only a handful of times, initially confused but ultimately resolute in your decision to go. Sure, it was pretty ominous, but you really hadn’t been bullied much since arriving— especially with Draco occasionally appearing in your day-to-day life to swat away any negative thoughts. Jo was showing up a lot more often since the weather was getting colder and you had a new friend named Mari to study with. Life was… pretty good, actually.

So, to hell with it, why not meet with the mysterious letter-writer? It’s not like you really had anything to lose, anyway.

After supper had come and went, you excused yourself from your friends quickly to go track down this merman statue. The Quad Courtyard was really quite pretty, even if it was freezing cold outside. Various stone walkways were nestled in the center of some of the largest towers at Hogwarts Castle, dotted with lit sconces crackling with flames. All the bushes and flowers had gone dormant for the season, but the darkened sky above was nothing short of breathtaking. You recalled how crisp the night air was and how the very tip of your nose was cold to the touch.

It took a bit of searching around, but you found the statue at the base of the stairs going up into the Astronomy Tower. It was exactly what you thought: a merman with a trident perched on a rock, embedded into a niche on the wall. Upon approaching, you were all alone.

Then, from behind, you heard feet shuffling over the ground. Eagerly, you perked up, only to see Draco turn the corner with his hands in his pockets.

You stiffened, then blurted, “Oh! Uh… hello, Draco. You’re… the one who wrote the letter?”

Before he could respond, though, more feet shuffled from behind him. A few more students appeared in the dark: Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Millicent Bulstrode, and Theodore Nott all stood there, their wands in their hands. You took a step backwards into cold stone, your back the first to hit the wall.

“What’s going on?” Your words came out thin and brittle.

Pansy was the first to move closer, her wand tapping lazily against her palm. “What, you thought the letter was real? Cute. We just thought you deserved a proper introduction to Hogwarts, that’s all.”

The others slid out from the shadows in a semicircle around you. Theodore’s smirk gleamed in the torchlight, sending chills down your spine. “Can’t believe she actually fell for it— how pathetic!”

Your pulse stuttered. The courtyard that, moments ago, had been quiet and serene now seemed vast and suffocating all at the same time as every flame cast their faces in sharp mockery. To you, it felt like a pack of wolves circling a deer.

“If this is about me being American—” You began.

“Oh, it’s always about you being American,” Pansy snapped, cutting you off and pointing the tip of her wand just below your chin. “With your grating accent and the way you act as if you belong where you stand.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t belong here.” You could see a cold jealousy behind her eyes as she spoke. Then, before you could do anything else, you saw Millicent jerk as a snap of light, harsh and blinding, struck your chest. The world around you convulsed as you fell to the ground. A sharp pressure bloomed from behind your eyes deep in the meat of your skull and heat spread to your head and rear. The ringing of magic, debilitating as it was, could not drown out the sounds of their laughter.

Your hands immediately flew up to your face, where you felt around and caught the sense of something fuzzy erupting from your cranium. You emitted a painful cry, clutching the skin as it split and grew two large floppy ears. Then, your jaw lit aflame as if a thousand ants had bitten your gums, and your teeth grew.

Panic began to claw at your throat as you couldn’t suck in enough air to stop the spinning in your head. You couldn’t breathe despite your mouth now being stuck agape due to the overbite, and it sent your mind into a blind hysteria.

They howled with laughter. Crabbe doubled over and Goyle pointed as if you were some hideous beast in a circus. Pansy clapped her hands together in triumph. “Oh, perfect! Look at you, little donkey-girl. Tell us, Yankee, do you bray, too?”

As soon as you could scramble up to your feet, you found the wall against your back again. You heaved, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and you felt large tears sting the corners of your eyes. To make it worse, you felt the uncontrollable flick of a tail that had sprouted out from your skirt— that almost did it for you.

The only thing that made it worse was Draco in the center of the semicircle, chuckling as he looked at his peers. He didn’t even give you the courtesy of looking you in the eye.

You parted your lips to speak, but a broken whinny fled you first. “N-No, undo it— please.”

“What? But it suits you so well!” Pansy laughed tearfully, nudging Draco. The humiliation you felt seared hotter than any hex.

With blurred vision, you choked on guttural sobs before shouting “Stop it!” and pushing past Goyle to run off. Someone’s hand shot out, grasping your robes and ripping them from your shoulders before you successfully left. With the fading chatter behind you, you ran until you couldn’t breathe any more. Gravel turned to grass, grass turned to mud, and you felt the night open up before you skidded to a stop.

You stood before the Black Lake, watching the ripples of water refract light from the moon. The distant sound of a howl grounded you and you came to realize that all that was left was the lovely nightsong from the crickets and frogs. You stumbled to the edge of the water, your knees giving out and plunging into the muddy bank. For a moment, you sat there crouched, clutching your face as if you could press all the wrongness out of it.

But the water beckoned, dark and beautiful. You leaned forward, trying to soothe the hammering in your chest, as you took your wand and lit it with Lumos. Upon being lit, you finally saw your reflection; however, it was not yours.

Two grotesque ears jutted from the crown of your head, covered in coarse fur and twitching with every stir of the wind. A tail swished traitorously behind you, bristled from the anxiety. Oh, God, and your two front teeth were jutted out in a cartoonishly large way, pursing your lips and sending flaring heat through your face. A sound escaped you finally— half-sob, half-bray— and you jerked back, the image splintering across the broken waves.

“I’m a joke,” you whispered, the words tearing out of your hoarse throat.

You sat and cried for what felt like hours until you eventually resigned to trudging back to the castle to look for help. It took you forever to weave your way into Jo’s dorm room, but you managed without being so much as seen. It was a long and grueling process, but she took you down to Madam Pompfrey’s, where you stayed the night. A part of you that night wanted to snitch, but you were afraid of more harassment, so you ultimately stayed quiet.

Mari and Val only knew the story, but they weren’t there. You could remember Jo, though, and how she helped you that night. You remembered the way she wrapped you up in a tight hug to reassure that you were okay. You also remembered the way her face twisted in horror when she saw you.

You never wanted anyone to see you like that ever again.

A soft puff of wind ruffled your lashes and you squinted hard, blinking out of your daydream. Jo sat just a step below you on the benches in the spare room where the Goblet of Fire sat, blowing soft air on your face. You moved a hand in front of your face and laughed.

“What’re you doing?” You asked.

She grinned. “Getting you out of your trance. You kept staring at the goblet— made me think you were plotting to enter.”

“Good god, no,” you mused, looking around. Students throughout the week would often come in during their break periods to watch people enter their names, and you figured you’d do the same while you waited for your next class. That must’ve been what you were doing before you started thinking about the past again.

“Did’ja hear what happened to Fred and George yesterday? They tried to bypass the age line and got blasted out. Hermione told me they had gray hair and big beards.” Jo cackled.

“That’s what you get for messing with Professor Dumbledore’s magic. I’m just glad he put the line down at all— I was really worried you were going to enter.”

“I wanted to!” Jo whined, slumping against the seats. “It’s not fair at all, if you ask me.”

You couldn’t help but smile and pinch her arm. “Right. Definitely not fair.”

The echo of Jo’s laughter hadn’t even died down yet before a prissy, cutting voice carried across the chamber, “Well. Thought I heard a whuffle.”

You froze as Pansy Parkinson approached, her arms folded with great exaggeration. Millicent Bulstrode stood by her side, equally terrifying as she towered. Jo sat up straighter, instantly on guard, but Pansy’s steely gaze was locked onto you.

“Eugh,” she went on, physically recoiling after sniffing the air. “Smells like a barn in here! Must’ve let livestock in again.” Then, she turned to you with a sick little grin, emitting a deliberate hee-haw that penetrated even your tough defenses. Your stomach plummeted at the sound, and for a heartbeat, you couldn’t move or breathe, as if you were stuck in that moment in time again.

“Oh, move on, Prissy Parkinson.” Jo barked, standing up and moving in front of you.

Millicent took a few steps forward— she was nowhere near as tall or as fit as Jo, but the girl was built to wrestle and she knew it. “What’d you say, Gryffindork?” She spat.

“As if you want to have a go at me, Bulstrode. You’ll end up on the godsdamned floor,” Jo laughed, tilting her head.

You couldn’t focus on what was being said after that point. All the blood in your veins felt cold, like ice, and you felt the room shift below you as waves of nausea crashed into you. All that hot shame came toiling back and you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Then, your body began to move before your mind caught up. Shoving yourself up from the bench and storming toward the exit, you faintly heard Jo calling after you before you fled the room. The air in the corridor felt cooler, but it didn’t help soothe your nerves. The memories overlapped the present so harshly that it felt like you were stumbling through two worlds at once: the stone walls of Hogwarts and the cold mud by the Black Lake.

Then, within seconds of you hoofing it down the hall, your vision blurred, but not with tears this time. The torches dotting the wall stretched like melted wax and the ground beneath your feet pitched forward as you felt a rush of icy air cut through you. The world around you pulled and swirled until suddenly it wasn’t present day anymore.

You stood in a long, unfamiliar corridor. Specks of dust drifted in the air, kicked up by the panicked footfalls of a student you could hardly make out. She sprinted past you, clutching something close to her chest, before disappearing through an ornate door that slammed shut behind her. The air smelled stagnant in a way, like it was heavier, and the sound of her breath echoed long after she was gone. After blinking hard and trying to focus, you moved to the door to follow, pulling it open and stepping into a dim hallway.

Here, the sconces were snuffed and the only light came from the ceiling in this enchanted blue haze. You wanted to survey the area a bit more, but then you heard a soft twinkling noise. Turning, you spotted a bright light filtering through a crack in the opposite wall. The seam itself only separated in one particular spot, but a few cracks spidered out from the light, jagged over the stones.

You reached to touch it, and as you did, you were back— it happened in the blink of an eye. As you stood still, you tried to search your surroundings desperately for the ornate door again in hopes to find it.

Then, you heard it again. That twinkling noise.

You pushed off your heel and followed the corridor where it grew louder, but only faintly so. There were various twists and turns in the hallways that led to a dead end, but at the end was the door that you saw in your vision.

Quickly, you reached, twisting the knob and pushing yourself into the hallway. It looked visually the same except for the lighting— the sconces were now lit with flames, which made you wonder if what you saw was in the past or the future. As soon as you beelined for the split in the stones, you heard a voice off to the right of you.

“Figures.”

Your spine snapped upright and you turned around, stumbling a bit in shock. Draco stood in a dark corner of the hall, his hands in his pockets and his eyes digging into you.

As much as your mind wanted to blabber on in confusion, you finally muttered out: “What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head. “I might ask you the same thing, L/N. Following me, are you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back quickly. “I was walking. I found a door. That’s all.”

His eyes flicked to the cracked wall behind you, then back to you. “Walking,” he repeated dryly, “Through a locked door that no one uses?”

“It wasn’t locked. Maybe you’re the one sneaking around.”

He smirked. “Don’t turn this on me. What, did curiosity get the better of you? Thought you’d find some grand Hogwarts secret?”

“... No. Like I said, I saw a door and I opened it. God forbid a lady explores a little.”

“Mhm.” His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, probing, like he was weighing how much you had seen— or how much you wanted to admit you had seen. Then, with a short scoff, he pushed off the wall. “Next time you tail me, try not to look so painfully obvious.”

“You’re absolutely fucking delusional if you think I’m following you around. How do I know you’re not following me?”

His smirk faltered and he looked more irritated now. “Please. If I wanted to follow you, you’d never notice.”

“Wow, that’s totally not creepy. Way to make yourself sound like a weirdo, Malfoy.”

His breath caught and for a second his lips stayed agape. Then, quickly, he closed his mouth and furrowed his brows. He approached you carefully with measured footsteps, getting far too close in your personal bubble for your comfort. Your back stiffened up, but you didn’t step away. If anything, you forced yourself to stay rooted, your chin tilted up stubbornly to match his glare.

“Careful,” you warned, voice low. “You’re in my space.”

“Watch it, Yank. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it’s getting really tiring.”

“Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do, cry to Daddy?”

Anger flashed on his face for just the smallest second before he took a step back, scoffing and turning on his heel to exit the corridor. As soon as he left the room, you felt a wave of relief flood over you, thankful that he was no longer glowering over you like an angry little raincloud. Almost as quickly as relief came, so did doubt: what exactly did any of that mean? Was Draco following you around, or were you just paranoid? Did your vision put you in that spot for a reason?

Well, whatever it was, you had this unsettling certainty that what happened was far from random.

Chapter Text

You weren’t sure what to initially make of the situation, but there was clearly something wrong.

When the end of the week came at last, students excitedly gathered in the Great Hall at noon exactly. The light filtering in through the tall stained-glass windows was rather dim from the recent bursts of rain and scattered thunderstorms, but it suited the moment. Professors dimmed the lights in the hall, snuffing a handful of floating candles overhead, and as you sat down, you noticed the bright blue flame of the Goblet of Fire.

As soon as every student settled in a seat or along the wall, Dumbledore circled the goblet with a raised hand. His eyes trained on the flame carefully and you could feel a surge of magic pulse through the room as if it were alive. Chatter was inevitable, but you trained your ears carefully to block it out and pay attention, despite toying with a small paper ball you had wadded up out of nerves.

The flame flickered pink, excitedly wavered, and out shot a small leaflet of paper. Dumbledore snagged it from the air, adjusted his readers, and read Viktor Krum’s name aloud. The Durmstrang boys whooped excitedly, patting their champion on the back.

This happened once more with the Beauxbatons champion being Fleur Delacour. You watched as she elegantly lifted to her feet, strode to the center of the room, and was escorted into a side chamber.

The room fell silent as another paper shot out. Dumbledore read it and looked up, his eyes lingering on the Hufflepuff table. Your heart nearly shot out of your chest as you watched him announce Cedric’s name. To say you were thrilled was a massive understatement as you cheered for him alongside your girl friends. It truly seemed like he, of all people, deserved the title of champion. Besides, a little Hufflepuff rep never hurt anybody, right?

Well, it didn’t last very long. The glamor and excitement of finally being represented by a fair choice was immediately bashed away as Harry Potter’s name was plucked from the fire as well. The entire hall settled into an eerie silence and you frowned greatly in confusion, joining the growing whispers as Harry made his way back into the chamber.

“I thought you said there were only three students, one from each school?” You said to Jo, settling back down in your seat.

Jo looked equally confused. “Uh… no, yeah, I did. I’m not sure if that was an accident, or…”

“He’s a cheat!” Someone called from the crowd. “He’s not even 20 yet!”

More students joined the jeering, but it was immediately nipped in the bud as Dumbledore dismissed the rest of the students and whisked all the Professors, as well as Mr. Crouch, away to discuss the more pressing matters. You were left sitting in silent shock as students began to shuffle out of the room.

“I don’t get it,” Val huffed angrily. “Why is Potter always the center of attention?”

Mari shot her a worried glance. “His parents died, Val.”

“Yeah, lots of us don’t have perfectly functional families, either, but you don’t see me vying to be a Triwizard Champion.”

“How’d he even get his name in is what I want to know?” Jo said.

“I agree with Val. At this point, it’s not just a coincidence or an accident.” You slumped against the table, a little bummed.

“It’s not as if he chose this. Did you see his expression? He looked… worried.” Mari pouted, gathering her things. “Maybe we ought to ask Weasley and Granger if they know anything.”

“I can ask Hermione.” Jo offered, standing up.

“I’ll come with?” Mari nodded, tagging along with Jo as the two sauntered off into the group to go find Hermione.

You sat silently with Val, who looked equally as bummed. You took the small paper ball that you had been fucking with and gently flicked it at her from across the table. It hit her arm and rolled off the table.

“What’s up?” You asked.

Val only wilted further. “Y/N, I don’t know about this. I’ve got this really bad feeling.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I just… I worry that maybe the rumors are true… you know, about Him?”

You gave her a curt nod to show that you understood who she was referencing— Voldemort. Even thinking his name gave you chills.

“First, the dark mark at the Quidditch World Cup, and now… well, I don’t know what this is. Tampering, I suppose?” Val put her cheek in her palm as she looked away, expression somber.

“Yeah, but we’ve got Professor Dumbledore. My mom’s told me a thousand times that Hogwarts Castle is the safest place I can be.”

“And you believe that?”

You stared at her. “Why would I not?”

For a moment, Val didn’t say anything. You got the feeling that she wasn’t letting on as much as she knew, but you didn’t want to be pushy with her— if she was acting weird, there was a reason. You tried to recall what you knew about her parents: her father was a Slytherin, and her mother was a woman from South Korea. At some point in his life, her father traveled the world and fell in love and brought her mother back to his homeland. The last time you saw the two, though, they were sleeping in separate bedrooms.

Val had two older siblings, a brother and a sister, but she didn’t talk about them much. You knew that she had familial problems, but Val preferred to be private about it, and you respected that. You never wanted to assume things about her life, either, but you knew her father was a little old-fashioned in certain regards. He had always been sweet to you, and so incredibly sweet with his youngest daughter, but there’d be a few times he’d say something completely out of left field.

Then, Val sighed, “I just wish I could be as hopeful as you sometimes, Y/N. You’re like this little ray of sunshine.”

Your face flushed warmly at the compliment. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Don’t let it get to your big head,” she teased, the mood shifting instantly. “Now, while Trouble and More Trouble go bother Granger, we should see if there’s any treacle tarts left before the underclassmen nick it all.”

You barked out a sudden laugh. “That’s your grand plan? Dessert?”

“Of course it is, darling. What else are we supposed to do, sit here and mope?” Val pushed herself up, tugging at your sleeve until you stood as well. “Come on, Y/N. I need sugar to think straight.”

You rolled your eyes but you allowed her to drag you toward the kitchen, weaving through clusters of whispering students who also had similar ideas. Val’s determination was ridiculous, but infectious— by the time she triumphantly uncovered a single tart hiding behind a platter, you were laughing too hard to protest when she split it unevenly and kept the larger half for herself.

“Sunshine,” she cooed through a mouthful of crust, nudging your shoulder. “That’s a rather good nickname for you, actually. See? I told you, dessert fixes everything.”

And for a moment, it really did.

---

It would take just over a month to set up the first challenge, so while the staff focused primarily on that, classes resumed as normal. Nothing particularly exciting was transpiring for the next week, except the few incredibly irritating feuds with Draco during your Intro to Alchemy class, a student with a connection at Zonko’s mass-producing ”Support Cedric, Potter Stinks” pins and handing them out (which you would wear, if they weren’t so tacky,) and an assload of late-night study sessions for your upcoming midterm in late October.

A chill was beginning to settle in the air, and one of the weekends that you took off from studying, you met up with Mari outside the castle entrance. She hadn’t told you about any plans prior to meeting up, just that she ”needed your assistance for something.” Whatever that meant. You had been meaning to speak with her alone, anyway.

As you approached, you gave her a small wave and stopped at her side. “Hey, Mar.”

“Hello, Y/N. I love your sweater.”

“Oh, thank you. So, do you want to tell me what this is about?”

“It’s a surprise,” she smiled, winking at you. “Just follow me, okay?”

Mari led you down a gentle slope toward the woods with her hands clasped behind her. For a while, it was a serene hike, and the weather was turning out nice for a change. The underbrush here was a bit thinner than it was in the Forbidden Forest, more like a stretch of trees that students sometimes wandered when in need of privacy. A chilly breeze wafted through the trees and over the trail as your shoes crunched on the frosted blades of grass. You looked up to admire the golden canopy of leaves overhead.

“I’ve been wanting to speak with you about something, as well. That’s not part of the surprise.” She said finally, stepping over a fallen log sprouted with mushrooms.

“Yeah?”

Mari nodded, humming. “Mhm. It’s about your vision. I was wondering if you’ve had any more?”

Despite an inkling that told you it was coming, you were still surprised. Slowly, you exhaled and dipped your head to nod. “Yeah, I have. It was a few weeks ago— a bit different than the one before. I saw a girl run into an empty corridor with something in her hands, so I followed her and found this little… crack of light in the hallway. When I snapped out of it, I just kind of followed this— well, it’s hard to explain, but— this twinkling sound down the hall to the exact corridor I saw in the vision. When I showed up, though, Draco Malfoy, of all people, was just standing there.”

Mari raised her eyebrows with massive interest, slowing her pace just enough so that you both walked side by side. “Really?”

“Yeah. It was… weird. Of course he was a jackass and said I was following him, but I swear I didn’t know he was there.”

“That is so bizarre,” she said, “I’m not even sure what to make of it.”

“Neither do I.” You sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Perhaps the vision was trying to lead you to him?”

“That’s not very comforting, you know?” You said with a grimace.

“Oh, I know, but I’m just speculating. Apologies.”

You slowed to a stop, taking a breather and enjoying the scenery while racking through your brain for any thoughts that made some semblance of sense. “No, you don’t need to apologize. I think you’re right— it wanted me to go… find him, I guess. I have no earthly clue why.”

“I’m just a little concerned, that’s all. Have you spoken to Professor Sprout about this— or maybe even Professor Dumbledore?”

“No. No, I can’t tell anyone. Not yet.”

“Why’s that?”

“I just… I kind of feel like I’m going fucking crazy, Mar. I feel like if I tell anyone about these visions, they’ll look at me like I’ve got three heads.”

“Well, you know, visions aren’t entirely uncommon for us magicfolk.” Mari smiled, elbowing you gently. “I can assure you that nobody will think of you as crazy.”

“My mom might.” Your gaze fell on a nearby plant that waved in the wind.

Mari didn’t respond immediately, she only laid a comforting hand on your shoulder to pull you back. “If she is, then that means she cares. Maybe there’s a family history of retrocognition?”

You shrugged. The smile on her face fell just a bit.

“Y/N,” she murmured, “I just don’t want you to bottle this all up. It’s not healthy.”

“I know. Thanks for checking in on me.” You opened your arms and embraced her in a hug, which was warmly reciprocated. Then, she pulled back, pointing ahead through the trees.

“At least let me show you why I brought you out here. Just be quiet, okay?”

Nodding hesitantly, you followed her cautious footsteps off the trail and deeper into the woods. A clearing came into sight shortly, dappled light dancing on the ground. As she entered the clearing with you by her side, she cupped her hands around her mouth and whistled sweetly. A few still moments passed before you heard fluttering from above.

A bird perched on a branch just a few yards overhead, cocking its head and staring down with beady black eyes. It was of the loveliest azure color, tail feathers sprouting into gorgeous soft cascades from its rear. When it opened its wings to fly in closer, your mouth parted in silent awe of the beautiful patterns inside. Quietly, it landed in the center of the clearing, just a handful of feet away now. Mari reached into a pouch at her hip, withdrawing seeds and scattering them on the grass. The bird began to eat, silent.

“Mari, it’s beautiful,” you murmured.

She smiled, her cheeks warm from more than the cold. “It’s a Jobberknoll. I’ve been coming out here for weeks, bringing crumbs and seeds. He’s shy, but he’s beginning to trust me, I think.”

The Jobberknoll hopped closer, scooping up more seeds in its mouth and tilting back to swallow them. You crouched down beside Mari to watch it.

“They say that when a Jobberknoll dies, it sings every song it heard in its life backwards. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“That’s kind of sad… does it make any noise when it’s alive?”

“No. I know how you feel, though. I want to experience firsthand hearing the song, but I’d be too sad to enjoy it.”

As you watched the bird, you felt a lovely wave of peace flow through you. All the worries, the doubts, and the memories faded within seconds. You thought only briefly of the teasing and the nights of crying before it was all replaced by you living in the moment. When you closed your eyes, you could feel the cold nip of the wind and the sun’s gilded embrace. You could hear the song of other birds perched in the trees above and the soft pecking of the bird in front of you. You could inhale and taste the damp earth in the air and, for once, feel as calm as it all. It felt as if you were floating through the moment, basking in every little detail. You had no idea just how desperately you needed this.

When you and Mari were prepared to return, the Jobberknoll took off back into the treetops. You walked quietly by her side, rubbing the chill out of your arms and smiling at the experience. When you looked at her, she was also grinning.

---

The week leading up to midterms had a certain kind of hecticness to it, as if the very air of Hogwarts had swelled with stress and anxiety. Every corridor smelled strongly like parchment and spilled ink as students milled about, readying for their exams. The dampness of autumn settled thick in the lower dungeons as the season rolled in completely. You dragged your feet up the spiral staircase toward class, the weight of your bag bouncing against your hip as a constant reminder of how many hours of studying you still owed yourself.

The castle windows were cracked open just enough to let in the brisk October air, and every gust rattled them gently. The breeze nipped over the back of your neck, raising your skin into goosebumps beneath the white collar of your shirt. Students groaned, whispering amongst themselves as they shuffled into class ahead of you. The early morning made everyone sluggish, and yet the looming threat of exams made the room buzz quietly with nervous energy.

You found your usual spot beside Jo, who was already slumped halfway onto her desk with her chin propped in the center of her palm. She cracked an eye open at you, her lips twitching into an amused smile before she lowered her head back down.

Professor Flitwick toddled into the room not long after, his mustache frazzled and eyes sunken in from exhaustion. Clearly he had not been sleeping well, either. With a flick of his wand, the blackboard filled with writing and instructions for the day.

“Now, class, remember to take notes. This will be on your quiz next week.” He chirped, standing on his podium. His words were followed by a chorus of groans from nearly every student. With a sigh, you dipped your quill in ink, following along with the lesson the best you could. Flitwick’s classes weren’t too particularly taxing for you, but Illusory Charms & Glamours wasn’t a run-of-the-mill charms course. There’d be a few times you’d struggle to create the exact illusions Flitwick was looking for, but you were still passing, and that’s all that mattered.

Slowly, you discovered that your focus had been slipping. The scratching of nearby quills seemed almost too loud, like a thousand scarabs clawing over the inside of your head. Every cough or shuffle of shoes irked you greatly, and you found that even the soft hum of magic was annoyingly vibrating your skull. You pressed your lips together tightly, forcing yourself to stare at your parchment.

Then, you felt it again: a pulse. It was as if the floor beneath your shoes shivered— and not once, not like the castle staircases were shifting, but in a steady thrum like ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. It sounded like… a heartbeat. You froze up, your quill hovering over your page and dripping ink in fat splotches. As your chest tightened, you found yourself scrambling in a panic to gather your surroundings again. Quickly, you screwed your eyes shut. You slept decently last night, right? You were so sure of it. So, why did your hands tremble as though you’ve run a marathon?

“Rghh,” Jo whispered softly. You opened your eyes, jolted back into your seat just in time to see her wobble upright. Her quill slipped from her fingers, falling gently to the desk, and she snored— actually snored— loud enough that half of the class swiveled to look.

Flitwick’s head bobbed up. “Miss Dunne,” he chastised.

Jo snapped up. “Zinc!” She shouted, wiping the drool from her chin.

The entire classroom erupted into laughter— even Flitwick, who wasn’t one to entertain a smile, pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh that betrayed the faintest smidge of amusement. “Please try to stay awake. You’d better hope that Miss L/N will let you use her notes.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, your shoulders shaking as you tried desperately not to laugh aloud. Jo glared at you bleary-eyed, whispering, “Don’t you dare.”

That was enough to break your trance. The heartbeat in the floors receded to the point where you had begun to wonder if you were going insane. You scratched down a few more lines of notes as Flitwick continued on. Before the lesson droned on too much longer, though, your thoughts crept back. If you couldn’t keep your head on straight in a simple lecture, how were you supposed to survive a midterm that stretched for hours? Your pulse jumped. Something’s wrong. This isn’t just nerves.

---

The next night, you were meeting your buddies in the library for a late afternoon study session. When you got there, you were greeted with the tall rows of dark shelves and the occasional ghost fluttering about. Even this late in the evening, when most of Hogwarts had gone quiet, the place seemed alive with students dotting every table, hunched over books and scribbling down notes.

You sat down at one of the longer oak tables tucked near the back of the library, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and scrolls. Val had slumped sideways in her chair, balancing a book on her knees and idly spinning her quill between her fingers. Jo had managed to spread herself out across half the table with notes that looked more like doodles than anything coherent, and Mari, of course, was bent diligently over a thick History of Magic volume, her hand flying over her parchment in neat and precise script.

“You know what I heard?” Val’s voice cut through the silence as an eager whisper. “That the first Triwizard task involves dragons.”

Jo perked up, leaning forward on her elbows. “Dragons? What makes you think that?”

“They’ve blocked off the better part of the south forest so that students couldn’t enter. I heard Greengrass complaining about getting stopped by Filch.” Val smirked.

“And how does that mean it’s dragons?” You asked finally.

“Because Weasley— Ginny— said something about ‘Oh, my brother Charlie’s helping with the first task,’ and then wouldn’t explain when people pressed her. You know how smug she gets.”

“Charlie Weasley’s a dragon handler.” Jo said, mostly to you, to catch you up.

You frowned. “But, they're, like, incredibly dangerous. Not just mildly dangerous, but like they could definitely bite off somebody’s head kind of dangerous.”

“That’s… kind of the point,” Jo laughed, “but I’m surprised it’s not something to do with the Forbidden Forest. I had a bet going with Finnigan about that.”

Mari sighed without looking up. “None of you are helping. They want the first task to be unpredictable— so, of course, nobody knows.”

“Unpredictable my arse,” Val giggled. “I bet Bagman and Crouch are just making it up as they go. Big spinning wheel of who gets eaten today?”

Jo snorted so loudly it echoed, and all four of you froze as Madam Pince’s head snapped up like an angry vulture. You watched Jo sink into her chair, trying to stifle her laughter behind one of her hands. The four of you exchanged glances before bursting into little titters. The warmth of the moment should’ve lingered, but instead you felt it— the now-familiar press of hot anxiety in your chest, subtle at first.

It was as if the room tilted with you inside of it, all the weight of the furniture crashing into your body and sending waves of panic up your body. The thrumming in the floorboards returned and you could feel it creep up the legs of your chair, gripping you and fastening you down. Your smile faltered. You glanced at your friends, who were still bickering around the first challenge. They were completely fine— which meant this was you. Again.

With saliva collecting in your mouth, you parted your lips in a sudden urge and blurted, “Hey, I’m just gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”

You had hoped none of them noticed just how flushed you might’ve looked, or the fact your head spun so hard you were certain it bobbed side to side. Without waiting for their expressions to change, you shot up from your chair and scuttled out of the library.

The air only felt hotter as you slipped into the empty corridor outside, clicking the door shut behind you. With what you could only describe as a frantic, staggering scurry, you made your way to the nearest bathroom on the bottom floor of the castle. Upon entering the room, the quiet soothed you like water on a burn.

Leaning over the sink, you met your reflection in the mirror. The dim lantern-light cast your face in soft golden hues, showing just how your eyes were a little too wide, your skin a bit clammier than usual, and droplets of sweat beading on your forehead. You reached, pressing your fingers to your cheek.

It wasn’t just anxiety— you knew that now. Even though it felt like it, you could tell it was something in relation to the magic you had been sensing for the past month. If it continued to get any worse than how it was now, you weren’t sure how long you’d be able to last.

---

The next day that you could find the time in your schedule, you slipped into the library again sometime around noon. Only a handful of older students were sparse over the bookshelves and desks, hunched with tired faces and long stains of ink splattered over their hands. The October winds were a bit stronger today, pushing and pulling the windows in their frames as you passed by.

You should’ve just gone to lunch with your friends, or ignored the clawing restlessness that settled deep within your bones, but you just couldn’t. The ache in your chest, the way your head had been buzzing all week, left you pacing your dormitory late at night like a ghost until you finally caved in and decided to check the one place that would have answers, however thin.

You made straight for the shelves specifically about Divination and other vision-related topics before circling back through the less-frequented aisles of Magical Maladies, Prophetic Histories, and Theories of Ancient Magic. By the time you settled down at a table, your arms were nearly stacked to the ceiling in books of varying ages.

Cracking one open, you skimmed it furiously.

”Visions are sometimes mistaken for dreams, but differ in a way that they are neither subconscious processing nor simple prophecy. They may originate from a source outside the witch or wizard’s intent, often tied to environmental magic…”

Hey, that was pretty close, right? You could’ve sworn that the castle felt as if it were breathing down your neck some nights.

You flipped pages.

”Those who experience uncontrollable visions often describe premonitory sensations: chills, auditory and visual distortions, sensations of magic or movement in the environment, even drastic physical changes in the body.”

You froze. The heartbeat— you had just felt it last night, like it was beating faintly through the stones under your shoes. You shoved the book aside and searched another. Then, another.

”Accounts are notoriously unreliable. Records may be exaggerated or falsified. Few Seers recall their visions with clarity, and fewer can influence them. Oftentimes, patterns emerge only in retrospect— after the consequences have already played out.”

Not very helpful. You opened another book.

”Those experiencing vision-like phenomena are advised to consult a skilled practitioner. Self-study has little efficiency, as personal bias will corrupt interpretation. Unchecked, such experiences may lead to obsession, delusion, or madness.”

You snapped the book shut so quickly that the sound cracked in the silent library. One of the seventh years glared at you, to which you muttered a sheepish “sorry,” then sat painfully still until he stopped.

Almost every single book said relatively the same thing, but in different words: vague, contradictory, no answers. Maybe you were imagining it, or maybe it was the stress of midterms. Maybe it was the beginning of some horrible breakdown. You’d probably be sent to St. Mungo’s.

But… that heartbeat… the way it made the air vibrate, almost strongly enough that you could feel it in tandem with your own…

Sitting back and exhaling shakily, you shuddered, “What’s happening to me?”

---

The next few days went by normally, which was a bit strange to you. You had begun to think that the anxiety would come every day, but in the fast-approaching days right before the midterms, you felt rather normal.

Midterms began on a Thursday. The castle woke earlier than usual with students shuffling into the Great Hall with sunken eyes and half-buttoned robes. It was almost comical seeing that everyone, even Granger to a degree, was dreading their exams. By the time you reached your first class, the desks had been stripped of their usual charming clutter and lined in stiff, perfect rows. A thin stack of papers waited at each seat, sealed with Dumbledore’s crisp handwriting— an anti-cheating charm, for sure. The only sound was the shuffling of feet and scraping of chairs as people began filing in silently.

The first quill stroke came sharp. Dozens followed as the sound built like rainfall, constant, yet much more grating. You tried your hardest to focus on the words on the paper in front of you, but they blurred together from your lack of sleep. You really didn’t sleep well last night— if at all, constantly tossing and turning wondering if you’d experience that same swelling anxiety you had the week prior.

But it never came. You took your first test, then the next one, and for the most part, you only felt slightly irritated and tired, which was usual. Day one passed in a short blip of essay questions and practice magic, a soft blur of headaches and sore hands. When evening came, you nearly fell asleep atop your dinner plate. Jo had to nudge you multiple times with a silly grin to keep you awake. Day two hit just a bit harder as you actually had to perform for your illusory magic course before your final exam on Magical Theory.

This exam in particular was dense with theoretical questions about spell structure, magical intent, and the nature of incantations. Normally, you would’ve thrived, but the humming returned about halfway through and sent you into a blind hysteria. In the silent classroom around you, you felt the heartbeat pulsate under your soles, and watched as the walls rippled like a magical barrier had been cast.

You gripped your quill so tightly that it left a feathered imprint on your cramping hand. Words blended together and sentences dissolved into nonsense. Things like “Describe the limitations of Arithmantic grids when applied to nonlinear spellwork” seemed to swim around below you. Every sound had been amplified tenfold and you had begun to ponder if this was the end.

After what seemed like hours, you were barely scrawling anything at all. The paper before you looked like the ramblings of a delirious child. Then, mercifully, the professor called time. Quills dropped, chairs screeched, and students exhaled in relief. You did not.

Your lungs felt tight, and no matter how many times you sharply took in air, you couldn’t feel them physically inflate. You could barely hear Mari mutter beneath her breath just a few seats away from you before you shot out of your seat and hauled ass for the corridor.

Your feet stumbled below you like the castle might pitch you sideways. The chatter of relieved students faded behind you. As you pressed forward, you held one hand against the cold stone wall for support, moving until the hallways became unfamiliar and empty.

There, beneath your palm, the heartbeat grew stronger. The world cracked.

A rush of icy wind burst through you, sending you flying into another vision. Your sight tilted violently as colors exploded into grand blossoms before draining into black and white. The sconces on the wall stretched long like shadows and the tiles under your feet shivered, splitting outward in jagged seams.

You gasped, stumbling, before you noticed that you weren’t in the hallway anymore.

You were there again: that bizarre corridor with the cracked tile and cavernous ceiling. A girl bolted down it, her shoes slapping hard against the stone and wild strands of hair whipping behind her. She clutched something to her body, something long and thin and wrapped in old cloth. You still couldn’t quite make out her face, but her uniform certainly looked a tad different than yours.

“Wait!” You mustered up the strength to shout, but your voice came muffled like you were speaking underwater.

The girl didn’t stop, let alone falter. Her figure only halted when she reached the end of the corridor, reaching out and pushing a tile in. The wall fell in upon itself, revealing a dark abyss that she quickly moved into. As soon as she stepped in, the darkness consumed her entirely and left you alone.

You began to stagger after her, but you could feel the heartbeat ebbing away. Your hands brushed the walls, but your fingers phased through them like smoke. As soon as you were inches from the darkness, you fell straight into it.

Your legs moved, but you couldn’t tell if you were going anywhere. It was just… black. Even when you looked down, you couldn’t see your legs or your torso. Finally, a light appeared at the end of the darkness, and as you moved to approach it, you were stopped abruptly.

Someone appeared, but it wasn’t the girl. You roughly slammed into them, and as soon as your eyes flew open to examine the perpetrator, you were in the strange corridor in real time. Somehow, you must’ve been moving while you were experiencing your vision.

A boy stood before you— all blond hair and sharp features with silver eyes staring straight through you. You sneered before you even thought of his name.

Draco Malfoy had appeared just in front of you, but you weren’t sure how he materialized there in the first place. His tie hung loose around his neck and his chest heaved with sharp and shallow breaths. He looked as though he had just run a marathon through the castle.

His eyes met yours and he scoffed. “What are you doing here?”

You opened your mouth, but the words scattered instantly. Your hand was still braced against the wall, nails digging into the stone like you needed proof that it was solid.

Suspicion darkened his features. “Spying?” His lips curled faintly. “Figures. Can’t ever mind your own godsdamned business.”

That jab would’ve usually rolled right off of you, but today it stung. Maybe it was because he wasn’t wrong— you had been chasing shadows, half out of your own fucking mind, and now he was here catching you in the act again. It was more than annoying at this point.

You huffed dramatically, your hair ruffling with your breath. The sight of him standing there— all cold and peeved at your presence— made your blood roar hot under your skin. Just what the hell was he doing here, anyway? Why did it seem like he was always there to lurk in the background whenever your visions pulled you somewhere strange?

Your free hand clenched in the pocket of your robes around your wand, slick with sweat. “Are you stalking me?” You spat, your voice coated in venom.

Draco blinked, and then, to your utter fury, he laughed. “Stalking you? Why would I want to stalk you?”

Your stomach knotted up. “You’re lying,” you snarled, “there’s no way this just keeps fucking happening coincidentally. You’ve been following me.”

Draco tilted his head, adjusting his messy hair before smirking. Oh, that really pissed you off. “You really like to flatter yourself, don’t you?”

Your jaw locked up before something broke in you. You reached, shoving him hard. He stumbled backwards a step, surprise flashing over his expression before it quickly curdled into disdain.

“You’re just a fucking creep, aren’t you?” You snapped again, your voice cracking slightly. The words flowed right out of you like a raging volcano. “You like to follow girls around the castle? That’s what gets you off, Malfoy? Lurking in the dark hallways like some disgusting—”

His expression hardened within seconds. “You know, I could say the same to you. What, do you have a crush on me or something? Can’t get enough of me, so you have to follow me around?”

“I was just following my vision!” You finally barked, furious and irrational as heat rushed to your face. The moment the words left you, though, you froze. Your lips snapped shut as regret prickled your skin.

“Vision?” Draco repeated slowly.

You backed up. “Shut up. Forget it.”

Then, you turned, ready to storm off, when a rough hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist. His grip was too tight, palm broad and unyielding, and it sent a sickening toil of dread all throughout your body. For once, you felt fear with him.

“Let go of me,” you croaked, weaker than you meant.

“You’re having visions too?” Draco whispered.

Your head whipped to glare at him. “Too? Too? Oh, save it, Malfoy. You’re just trying to get under my skin. You’re sick, you know that?”

As you yanked, you felt your shoulder pull and ache. He was not letting you go. Panic and rage surged together, snapping a thin strand of sense in your mind as you ripped your wand out of your robe and blurted the first spell that came to mind.

“Expelliarmus!”

The red flash lit the dark corridor, streaking toward him. Draco released you, stumbling backward, but not falling. His own wand spun in his grip, catching the light and deflecting it with a swift and skilled parry.

“Pathetic,” he sneered.

You stepped away, your wand raised. He, however, advanced. The narrow hall pressed in and your heart slammed against your ribcage. When he drew too close, you lashed out again and dropped your wand in a split-second choice to shove him with both hands. He grunted, but hardly moved, prepared this time. Your next instinct was worse— you swung a fist, half-feral and desperate, but he caught your hand and threw it aside with sharp precision.

“Enough,” he snapped, his voice rougher now and free of mockery. His eyes flashed, but not cruelly. “I’ve been having them, too.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not,” Draco hissed, so close you could feel his breath on your face. “I saw somebody crying— bleeding. It—” his Adam’s apple bobbed. “It felt real.”

“No. No, you’re lying to me.”

“Would you be quiet? I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Just go, then! Stop— stop cornering me,” you pressed against the wall to try to escape him.

You saw it on his face just then— this bizarre mix of sudden realization, maybe even concern. His brows were raised, lips parted like he wanted to say something, but he simply looked down at the space between you two. Then, as he was taking a step back, you darted out of his reach down the corridor to the exit. Your shoes clapped against the flagstone a little too loud and too fast as you fled.

The castle betrayed you. A slick patch of water— or maybe a tile jutting out from the rest of the evenly-paved floor— sent your foot sliding out beneath you. You launched forward with a strangled gasp as your hands flew up a little too late before your head slammed against the stone. White-hot pain burst over your face as something made a disgusting crunch.

The next thing you knew, you were sprawled over the floor, curled on your side with blood rushing hot and wet over your lips and chin. Your sobs came in suddenly, sharp and unbidden, each one rattling you like it might tear open your chest.

From behind, you could hear footsteps and a sharp intake of breath.

Draco knelt awkwardly beside you, one hand hovering uncertainly before he reached out and gripped your arm to pull you upright. His touch was too rough to be gentle, but it wasn’t hard and mean— but more mechanical, like he didn’t know how else to help you.

“Don’t just lie there.” He muttered, his voice low as his pale eyes roved your face, grimacing at the buckets of blood pouring from your nose.

You squinted hard through the agony to look at him, unsure how to feel about him touching you. He was physically recoiling, face contorted and slightly more blanched than it usually was.

“Brilliant. You’ve gone and smashed your face in like an idiot.”

Your fingers trembled with great unease as you pressed them weakly to your broken nose, feeling the nauseating gush of more blood spilling down your front. The sticky, metallic sting made your stomach somersault multiple times in pure mortification as tears raced down your cheeks.

“Jubt,” you squeaked, throat hoarse from all the crying and sudden stuffiness of your fucked-up nose, “leabe me alone.”

“No?” Draco scoffed, kneeling stiffly and only releasing you when he was certain you could hold yourself upright. Then, he reached into his pocket, withdrawing a handkerchief with a dramatic grimace and thrusting it into your hands. The fabric was white, embroidered with a little green DM. If you weren’t so heinously botched right now, you might’ve admired the handiwork. “Here, press it before you bleed out all over the godsdamned floor.”

“Fubk youh,” you took it, arms shaking uncontrollably, fighting back the tears as you pressed it tightly against your nostrils.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Now, get up. You can’t stay here looking like a crime scene.” He said, rising to his feet. His words carried that usual venom, but his hand lingered just long enough to hover awkwardly near your elbow before he drew it back and shoved it into his pocket forcefully.

You tried, but your knees wobbled and your head spun. The world tilted again. Draco cursed under his breath before catching you by the arm, hauling you upright with surprising strength. “Merlin’s sake, you can’t even stand?” He snapped. “Useless.”

“Then why arh youh helbing me?” You tried to shoot back, but it was weak and half of your sentence fizzled out.

“Because if someone finds you like this, they’ll think I did it. I don’t need that sort of trouble.”

He began to march you out of the strange corridor and back into the hallways of the castle, his long strides forcing you to stumble to keep pace.

“Slowh down,” you begged, but he ignored you.

“And give you more time to break the rest of your face?” He hissed curtly.

By the time the two of you emerged into the flickering torchlight near the main stairwell, your face was a blotchy, tear-streaked mess. The handkerchief was soaked in your sanguine, to which Draco did not seem very happy about. Still, he kept one hand clasped around you and the other hovering near your waist, occasionally twitching every time you wobbled.

“Let’s hope that Madam Pomfrey can fix this miserable mess,” Draco said, ushering you down the stairs in half-dragging and half-guidance. Despite everything— the blood, the excruciating pain, and the burning humiliation— you caught the way his next words sounded softer. “Try not to faint on me, yeah?”

The trek to the Hospital Wing was rather brutal, with each step making your head throb harder and your nose pulsate with fresh waves of torment. You could feel your fingers grow cold as the blood on them hardened in the cold castle air.

“Honestly,” Draco muttered, pulling you up the last staircase. “If you cry this much over a broken nose, I dread to imagine what you’d be like in an actual duel.”

”Shut,” you blabbered.

By the time you stumbled into the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey was already approaching with her hands raised to cup around your face.

“Good heavens!” She exclaimed. “What happened here?”

“I fellh,” you blurted as quickly as you could, desperate to avoid further interrogation.

“She did.” Draco confirmed; the picture of cool indifference. “Clumsy thing tripped over her own feet.”

Madam Pomfrey’s sharp gaze flicked between the two of you, lingering on Draco’s still-clasped hand at the crook of your arm, then to the crimson-stained handkerchief. Her lips pursed, suspicious, as she was no fool and knew that the two of you did not like each other (it was no secret.) Still, she gently steered you to a bed.

“Lie down, dear. Mr. Malfoy, you may wait outside.”

His hand clenched tighter around you for a mere second before his fingers loosened and he let go. The absence of his hand felt oddly unwelcome, cold air filling in the gaps where his fingers once sat. Slowly, you sank down onto the bed, flopping back onto the pillow and emitting an exhausted groan.

Draco looked you over once before taking a step back. Then, he huffed, “I still want my handkerchief when you’re done bleeding all over it, L/N.”

Without another word, he exited the room and Madam Pomfrey began to quietly work on fixing your nose. Her wand movements were long and exaggerated, and she gave you something to sip on for the pain, but it took a while until she was finally finished with mending you. Then, at last, she lowered her wand and told you to be more cautious next time.

As you muttered thanks and sank back into the pillows of the bed, she insisted on keeping you overnight to keep an eye on your healing process before bustling away.

You shifted against the paper thin mattress, staring up at the ornate beams overhead. Every creak of the castle felt louder tonight, and every flicker of candlelight was just a little too bright. The magic in the stones still pulsed faintly, steady like that same heartbeat. You tried to ignore it by closing your eyes, but every time you began to drift near sleep, Draco’s irritating voice crept back in. You groaned.

What’s worse was that you actually made yourself look like an idiot by shattering your face in front of him and letting slip that you were experiencing visions. It had all happened way too fast that you couldn’t control it from coming out of your mouth.

Rolling on your side, you pressed half of your face into the pillow as if you could suffocate the memory away— but it lingered. You had spent most of the night drifting in and out of peaceless sleep, unable to think coherently until dawn arrived. By then, you sat up slowly, untangling yourself from the mass of sheets around your legs. The decision had crystallized overnight, resolute in your mind.

You needed answers. If Draco Malfoy, of all people, was wrapped up in this as well, then you couldn’t handle it alone anymore. It wasn’t what you wanted to do, but what you had to do:

You had to write to your mother.

Chapter Text

The first people to visit you while you laid in the infirmary were your friends, and they were quick to bombard you with too many questions all at once. They had been concerned the minute you flew out of the last class after midterms, and especially so after they found out where you were. It was sometime in the early hours of the next morning that they stopped in, still in their pajamas.

After minutes of reassuring them that you were fine, Jo plopped down on the foot of the bed. “Well,” she sighed, “how’d it happen?”

“Uh, it’s a long story,” you sighed, rubbing your face.

“We’ve got time for you,” Mari pouted, having pulled up a seat for herself to sink down into.

Val whined, “I heard from an underclassman that they saw you walking down the hall with a gushing nose.”

“Yeah, I slipped and broke my nose. But… that’s not it.”

“Not it?” Jo echoed.

“No, I… uh, well, I had another vision… thing. I followed it, and I ran into Malfoy again. We were yelling at each other, I tried to run off, and busted my face wide open.”

“Malfoy?” The three of them said in shocked unison. Jo roared louder than the other two. “He did this to you? When I find that little prick, I’ll blast his head off!”

“No, Jo, he didn’t— he didn’t do it, I just wasn’t careful. Tripped, or something, I think.”

“Still,” Mari interjected, “he should be held responsible.”

“Did he say something to you?” Val pressed.

Your head ached, but you shook it quickly. “Not really. He actually… helped me. Of course, he watched me fall flat on my face and he could’ve very well left me there, but he helped me up and took me to Madam Pomfrey.”

“What? That doesn’t sound like Malfoy,” Val scoffed, scratching her head. “And you’re certain he didn’t jinx your shoes to slip?”

“Well, I don’t think so. Honestly, he seemed pretty surprised. Still, though, I’m embarrassed. I can’t believe Malfoy, of all people, had to haul me to the Hospital Wing.” You sank further in bed, groaning again.

“Funny how that boy’s always around when you’re having a vision,” Jo griped, crossing her arms. “What gives, anyhow? Is he following you around the castle, Y/N? I can deal with him if you want me to.”

“He said that he’s also having visions. I… I don’t know if I believe him, but it’s happened one too many times for my liking.”

Mari nodded, “Agreed. Have you decided on telling your mum?”

You dipped your head, warmed by the sound of their voices and unconditional care. “Yes. I’m going to send her an owl soon. I’ve… just got to figure out what to say.”

You had spent the better part of the next few days after your mishap lying low— your nose had healed perfectly under Madam Pomfrey’s magic, but you couldn’t face Draco after all that had happened. It wasn’t just humiliating, but crushing, to have let him see you in such a state.

And for him to help you through it all, without even a mocking tone? Something felt very odd about that. However, you had better things to worry about, so as soon as you were up on your feet and back in the classes, you sent off an owl to your family estate. It was a double-edged sword— you were admitting defeat, but perhaps finally you’d receive answers.

The words had not come easily to you. You, at some point, had sat at your desk and dipped your quill in your inkpot, dragging a hasty message over the parchment:

Mom,
Something strange has been happening to me. Here lately, I’ve been experiencing visions, but of the past. I’m not sure what triggers them, or why they’re shown to me, but I have a feeling you’d know. You were in one of my visions, when you were a student at Hogwarts. I don’t know who else to go to, so please write back as soon as you can.

Afterward, you glanced at the stained handkerchief now resting on your desk. Every time you stared at that folded square of silk cloth, you felt like the mere existence of it was a secret— one you weren’t sure you wanted to give back yet.

---

The one amazing thing about the fall midterms was that they were always one week before Halloween: one of the craziest celebrations at Hogwarts dating back hundreds of years to the Founder’s Era. The second that exam papers were submitted for grading, the castle was transformed overnight.

By morning, the Great Hall was a spectacle. Thousands of glowing jack-o-lanterns floated overhead, their flickering grins beaming down on all four of the house tables. Enchanted bats swooped between the rafters in orchestrated groups, darting through the candles that hovered midair. The ceiling had been newly bewitched into a hazy October sky, clouds dragging over a full moon as a streak of lightning illuminated the hall in silent silver light every so often.

The day of Halloween was on a Friday, and by morning, the tables themselves groaned beneath the weight of seasonal decadence: cauldrons of spiced porridge, platters of pumpkin pasties and apple tarts, mugs of cider curling with steam, and baskets of fresh rolls that refilled only when students weren’t looking. Even the toast had been specially shaped into little cats and ghosts. The other hallways throughout Hogwarts were just as lavishly decorated to celebrate the holiday.

You sat wedged between your friends, a bit tired, but already filling your plate eagerly. Mari arrived late, balancing a small stack of books and looking captivated by the bats that continued to swoop down over her head.

Just as you reached for a mug of cider, the familiar flutter of wings filled the hall. Owls swept down from the topmost rafters, filtering in through an open divot in the wall as they dropped parcels and letters. Your mom was notorious for sending you little sweet notes in the mail as well as an allowance so you could purchase things at Hogsmeade, but all that landed in your lap was a tightly sealed envelope.

“Oh, is that from your mum?” Val chirped, leaning over your shoulder to examine it.

“Yeah,” you nodded, noticing the pretty golden wax seal that she often used to appear all regal with her letters.

“That was fast,” Jo said, chewing on a scone. “Usually takes my dad a week and a half to respond to my letters.”

You tucked it in your pocket before they could pry any further. “I’ll read it later.”

“Speaking of,” Mari squinted from across the table. “Have any of you noticed there’s a certain lack of… elitism in the air?”

“What’chyu mean?” Jo tilted her head. “Malfoy?”

Mari nodded.

“Now that you mention it,” Val hummed, “I haven’t even seen him in our common room, either. He’s probably gone off, plotting new ways to make people’s lives miserable.”

You thought about the handkerchief— it still desperately needed a wash.

“If we’re lucky enough, perhaps one of those dragons in the forest ate him.” Jo chuckled. The other girls dissolved quickly into laughter, but Val quickly raised her voice above the litanies of giggles.

“Anyway, forget him. There’s a Halloween party tonight hosted by some of the seventh year Slytherins in our common room. They want to make it unforgettable, so they’re leaving the doors open for anyone.”

Mari piped up, “Didn’t they try to do that last year and got caught by Professor Snape?”

Val nodded. “Yeah, he was furious. Let’s just say they won’t fumble like that again this year. Vivian Loveday, one of his prized Advanced Potions students, has been working all semester on a sleeping draught that’ll keep him out cold tonight.”

“That’s… a little crazy, isn’t it?” You blinked hard. “I mean… drugging the Head of Slytherin House? If he finds out, he won’t just be furious.”

“Imagine all the poor blokes in his Intro to Potions classes,” Jo shook her head in dismay. “Those first-years will see a wrath unlike any other.”

“He won’t even remember it— that’s what’s taken her so long. She had to find a way to make it alter his memory as well.” Val shrugged.

“Okay, and what about the ghosts? House elves?” Mari said.

“House elves couldn’t care any less, but for the ghosts, they managed to bribe the Bloody Baron into keeping Peeves away. It was tough, but apparently they offered a good enough deal to him.”

“Will there be costumes? Oh, please tell me there’ll be costumes,” Jo pleaded.

Val laughed. “Yeah, obviously. It wouldn’t be a Halloween party without them.”

The word costumes made your stomach tighten just slightly. You still didn’t quite know what constituted a costume in wizarding Britain. The Muggle idea of dressing up was silly, but easy, especially in America where it was common to dress as slutty as possible. You had a feeling it would not be that way here— students were more inventive with their costumes, often transfiguring their robes into all sorts of clever disguises.

“What about you, Y/N?” Jo elbowed you softly.

You blinked back into the conversation, weakly smiling. “What..?”

“What’re you thinking for your costume? You’re the best at Transfiguration here.”

“Ohh, uh,” you looked away, shrugging. “I suppose anything will do. Any suggestions?”

“A Veela!” Jo excitedly cheered, almost immediately. “You’re about as bewitching as one, at least.”

“Ooh, how about a dragon? You could get some enchanted wings, scales…” Val suggested.

Mari beamed at the idea. “I think you’d make a lovely Morgana le Fay.”

While all those ideas were great, you still couldn’t quite settle on one. Guess there was still more thinking to do.

“Would it be crazy if I dressed up as Bellatrix Lestrange?” Val hummed thoughtfully. Jo and Mari gave her horrified glances.

“What? Why would you dress up as her?” Jo gawked.

“She’s a terrorist, Val.” Mari whispered.

“Yeah, but it’s Halloween. You know the amount of You-Know-Who costumes we’ll see tonight?” Val whined at the chastising. You found it more amusing than anything.

---

Classes that day felt like they had stretched on for far too long. Even the golden afternoon light slanting through the windows couldn’t relieve you, and by the time you were trudging to your dorm room, you were tired enough to sleep for a decade. Clutching your books tightly to your chest and following the tide of students, you found an opening in the corridor and slipped through it into your common room.

The room was buzzing with weekend chatter, plans already forming for the night ahead, but you did your best to ignore the clamor and head up the stairs to your room. The quiet up there was still heavy, but a much-needed quiet reprieve.

Kicking off your shoes, you withdrew your mother’s now-crumpled letter from the pocket of your robes, flopping down on your bed and fingering the wax seal up before opening it. The paper unfurled and you slid out the letter inside, your eyes flying over the familiar handwriting that made your chest ache with homesickness.

But the message was far too short for your liking.

Pumpkin,
I cannot write what must be said on paper. Some things are far too fragile and too easily read by eyes not meant to see. Hopefully you’ll receive this owl in time, but I’d like to meet you on Sunday in Hogsmeade at the Three Broomsticks Inn. There is much I must tell you— things that I should’ve said a long time ago. Until then, trust your instincts, and do not ignore the magic you feel.
I love you,
Mama

Your lips parted with a sigh as you read it again, then again. The words never grew any less cryptic the more times you searched them for meaning, but it gave you an odd sense of comfort— she at least knew what you were talking about, and had the answers you had so desperately been pining for.

Letting the parchment flutter from your hands, you curled your palms into fists against your face and rubbed at it vigorously as if your brain needed a good shake. For once, in weeks, you felt somewhat okay, maybe even normal.

Laughter drifted up from downstairs outside your room from your classmates who seemed to be having a grand time getting ready for the party. Tonight would be loud, caustic, and reckless beyond repair: just what you needed to lose yourself into.

You left the letter beneath your pillow to return to later. You had a party to prepare for. After plenty of minutes spent rifling through your clothes in your dresser, you found what you were looking for: a simple white dress. It wasn’t much— an older thing you had packed from home, plain enough that it survived both yours and your mother’s standards.

After taking off your uniform, you pulled it neatly over your head and patted all the wrinkles out of the skirt. It would work as a fine base, indeed. Then, drawing your wand, you sighed.

“Alright. Let’s see what I can do.”

You had no real goal in mind, just allowing your magic to flow from your fingertips, through your wand, and onto the dress. The first flick lengthened the hem into a soft drop-waist, the skirt whispering with a graceful ripple at your knees. The second burst of light ignited the fabric of the dress with shimmers, shifting the flat white into a pearly sheen— iridescent aquas and pinks ghosting over the surface as you swayed your hips. Your breath caught in excitement.

“Okaaay, not bad.” You whispered, biting back an egotistical smile.

Another swish and tiny seed pearls popped into existence along the skirt, climbing slowly over your curves and into your hair, which magically styled itself. A few extra strands of embroidered jewels burst out from the dress, hanging like tassels and catching the light immediately. With another wave, a shawl slid from nothingness over your shoulders, enchanted like starlight.

For the finishing touch, you gave your wand one last hard flick and your plain shoes transformed into neat white T-strap heels, polished until they reflected the floorboards. From inside the shoe, shiny tights slid up your legs and fastened until they hugged you pleasantly.

You lowered your wand and gazed in the mirror just near your bed, finally admiring the look you had curated— this lovely, yet subtle, nod to the heritage you weren’t quite sure how to embrace. Perhaps it wasn’t an accurate vision of a flapper girl, but you knew that it was divine, and it was yours. Who was anyone to tell you that it wasn’t?

You were… breathtakingly beautiful. When you looked at yourself, you couldn’t help but take a single step closer in surprise. Had your magic truly woven such a uniquely beautiful picture of yourself? Even your face was finely done up in makeup, so much so that you could hardly tear your eyes away from yourself. Maybe the girls were right; you were quite clever with Transfiguration.

With that, you guessed you were ready for the party. One last glance at the mirror and you were off, grasping the shawl over your shoulders and rushing out of your room almost as quickly as you had entered it.

The common room was more alive with chatter— Hufflepuffs darting between couches and stairwells, some dressed in half-done costumes, others already moving in droves toward the festivities in the Dungeons. Conversations lulled just for a beat as you moved down the stairs. A few of your housemates looked once, then twice, whispering with wide eyes as you passed them. You tried so hard not to flush from the attention.

Then, you pulled your chin up high, not arrogantly, but with steadiness. The confidence you felt wasn’t feigned this time, but it came from within, from the way that your own magic had shaped you into equal parts whimsical and strong. You remembered your friends and thought about how they might react, how they might be proud of who you’ve become today. You hoped for nothing more, at least.

Slipping out of your house, you found a quieter corridor where the torchlight hardly lit the walls in amber light. You leaned against the cool stone, silent as you waited for Jo and Mari to arrive so you could sneak to the Dungeons together.

A group of younger students passed by, their arms full of sweets likely nicked from the kitchens, and even they slowed to steal a glance before dissolving into giggles down the hall. You exhaled before shaking your head in amusement.

The castle, in a way, felt even more alive tonight with festive energy. Even though Slytherin’s party would start soon, students weren’t just doing that. There would be groups of people gathered in empty classrooms to tell scary stories, or friends visiting Hogsmeade to get sick on butterbeer. There would be students racing to ride their brooms in the moonlight, and students stuck in their dorms crying over their exes. Hell, there might even be the professor or two finding enjoyment in a cup of tea and a good book.

”Godric’s heart,” Mari’s voice cut quietly through the corridor first. You turned to see her striding alongside Jo.

Jo’s werewolf getup was predictably rough around the edges— her everyday clothes had been slashed and charmed to look tattered with tufts of little strawberry blonde fur poking out of them. She had even made her nails look like little talons, accompanied with little ears and sharp canines. Her grin as she looked you over sold her costume perfectly.

Mari, meanwhile, was quite ethereal in long flowing robes of purple and gold. Tiny dewdrop earrings adorned her lobes, with a sweet ivy crown on her curly brown locks to appear as faelike as possible. Her ears had been transformed into little points, and shimmery eyeshadow complimented her dark hues.

Yet, neither of them seemed too concerned with their own appearances when they finally got close enough to see you.

“Bloody hell, Y/N,” Jo said, giving a low whistle. “You’re… glowing. Don’t tell me you just whipped that up.”

Mari’s eyes were wide, even a little teary. “It’s beautiful. The pearls, the shawl… oh, Y/N, you look like you just walked out of a ballroom. I think every boy at Hogwarts is going to faint dead away when they see you.”

You flushed greatly at the exaggeration, waving your hand and laughing nervously. “What? You two look amazing! I don’t think I could’ve ever guessed such fitting costumes. Mari, you’re stunning, and Jo… you’re scary!”

“Damn right,” Jo flexed her claws playfully.

The three of you shared a laugh that dissolved some of the nerves before Jo jerked her chin down toward the stairwell. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late. We’ve gotta go find Val in this mess.”

The three of you made your way quietly down toward the Dungeons, the air growing colder and damper the further you went. Jo’s claws clicked against the stone banisters as she waited patiently for the shifting staircases to lead them down toward the Slytherin common room.

Then, you all slowed as you reached the blank expanse of an empty wall. Normally, the entrance was sealed tight to those who didn’t have the password, but tonight the wall shimmered, and a serpent statue rose up from the floor to reveal the entrance. Immediately, music spilled into the hallway, low and pulsing and carrying the scent of alcohol and marijuana with it. The laughter of dozens of students echoed faintly from within.

Jo quirked up an eyebrow, pushing the door in and entering with you and Mari in tow. The common room had been transformed almost beyond recognition at this point. A green fire roared in the hearth, casting everything in a slightly eerie light, but then there was warmth, not only from the shared body heat, but small candles and jack-o-lanterns floating midair. Streamers decorated the ceiling, while balloons and confetti covered the floor, forgotten and trodden upon. Tables sat with plates of candy, snacks, desserts, and goblets full of juice that wasn’t just juice anymore.

The music— someone’s enchanted CD player, pounded music through the room with both Muggle and Wizarding hits, thrumming excitedly as students dressed in every costume imaginable sung along. Everywhere you looked, you saw somebody masked, bewitched, costumed, laughing, shouting, kissing, dancing, and having what could only be one of the greatest nights of their youth.

Slytherin’s little underground world had opened its gates, and it was time to do stupid shit.

You were quick to find Val, but she wasn’t exactly difficult to find in the first place. She had aquatic elements decorating her body in sharp, bold flashes of glitter. Her ears had been enchanted into three webbed prongs, scales bursting all over her bare arms and legs, and a beautifully dark gown that suited her siren nature perfectly.

When she spotted her group of friends, she lit up instantly and approached you all with an eager squeal. “You guys look amazing! Seriously, we need to get photos. But that’s later— isn’t this party wicked?” She shouted above the music.

“Do I smell weed?” You frowned, unable to hide your excitement. “I haven’t smoked since Jo spent a week at my house over the summer.”

“Yeah! I think one of the twins brought it with them, so you’d have to ask them.”

“Figures,” Jo chortled, looking around for the two tallest Weasleys.

“Hey, I heard rumors about a ball.” Val said, already a little hammered.

You tilted your head. “Ball? Like, what ball?”

“She means a dance,” Mari nudged you, giggling.

“Ohh. A dance, here? Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

“Nooo,” Val shook her head, her smile hardly masking her excitement, “It’s a Triwizard tradition, apparently. Some big Yule Ball in the winter, super formal and all that. That means dresses and dates.”

“Oh God, really? I thought I left all that behind in the U.S.” You laughed, cringing a little at the thought. Ilvermorny loved their dances— but you had to assume they were closer to Muggle proms and whatnot.

“Now, I was thinking I’d just go with you girls, but I might ask that cutie from the Three Broomsticks. Mikhail?” Val pursed her lips in thought. Jo and Mari looked offended, their eyes wide.

“What? You’re going to abandon us for a guy, just like that?” Jo pretended to be hurt.

Val whapped at her arm hard. “Oh, come off it. I’ve seen you looking at those Beauxbatons girls like a first-year at Honeydukes.”

Jo turned red in seconds. “S-Shut up!”

You nearly doubled over with laughter, clutching your shawl tightly around you so it wouldn’t slip as Jo tried (and horribly failed) to look unfazed by their comments, crossing her arms and turning to look away.

“Practically drooling, right?” Mari teased softly, poking Jo’s muscular bicep. “You should’ve seen her yesterday when some of them walked past. She dropped the cupcake she was holding.”

Jo bristled, her eyes wide. “Traitor! You told me you wouldn’t tell them,”

Mari laughed, hugging her friend tightly. “I’m only a truth-teller. I’m sorry, Jo.”

Val was cackling, leaning against a nearby table. “Merlin’s beard, Jo, you’ve got to work on your poker face. What happens when one of them asks you to the Yule Ball? You’ll faint before you can say yes.”

“Will not!” Jo huffed.

“I’m more worried about if she faints, which one of us will catch her?” You said. The girls laughed and Jo couldn’t help it anymore as a smile broke on her lips.

“Alright, shut up, you harpies! You’ve made your point.”

“So if Val’s going with Mikhail and Jo’s going with a Beauxbatons girl, does that mean Y/N and I get to pick our own dates as well?” Mari touched your shoulder lightly, grinning from ear to ear.

“What? Me?” You said. “I’m not sure if I’ll even get asked.”

The girls stared at you for a long beat before they burst into banter.

“What?”

“Oh, shut up, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms. “What? I’m serious.”

“You’re objectively one of the prettiest girls here,” Mari explained, “I’ve watched plenty of underclassmen hesitate when speaking with you.”

“That’s because my accent catches them off guard,” you insisted.

Val laughed. “Uh, no, love. That’s because you’re peng.”

“Peng.” You echoed, the word a bit foreign in your mouth.

“Hot,” Jo nodded.

“Hot? I don’t know about that,” you couldn’t help but laugh. The girls didn’t look as amused as you did.

“Seriously, Y/N.” Val drifted behind you now, moving your gaze to follow a subtle pointed finger around the room. As you examined with her, you noticed there were a lot more people staring at you than usual. Your skin felt warmer as you noticed plenty of people— guys and girls— admiring your costume. Admiring you.

“Okay, so they’re staring at me. That makes me feel better.” You laughed nervously.

“So, don’t try to say that you’re not going to get asked. You will.” Val rolled her eyes, pinching your shoulder. “Now, let’s forget it and party. I want to get so drunk I don’t remember tonight at all.”

The noise of the party around you all swelled with music as it rattled all the knick-knacks among the walls and shelves. Students darted and swayed in bursts of sparkling costumes and breaths of firewhiskey. A couple of kids sat in the corner of the room, trying to keep themselves from spiraling into sickness. A bit of dancing was in order, and after the song ended and another started, the four of you made your way to a group forming on the floor.

The crowd by the flickering hearth parted to make enough room for you and your friends to join the throng, firelight filling everyone’s faces with giddy teenage excitement. Empty bottles and shot glasses littered the floor, refilling upon being scooped back up.

“Oi, there they are,” one of the twins— Fred, you thought— called. “The Coven.” Fred’s costume was red, and he had little devil horns sprouted from his skull.

“Excuse me?” Jo jabbed him hard with her elbow.

“We’re just about to start a round of Dare, Kiss, or Hex. You all want to play?” George chirped sweetly, already visibly drunk. He was dressed as an angel in white garb and tiny wings.

“Dare or what?” You mused.

“Dare, Kiss, or Hex— it’s simple enough. Someone spins the bottle and whoever it lands on has to take a dare or a snog. If you refuse both, the spinner gets to hex you.”

“And not a mild one, either,” Cedric said from beside you, already cross-legged, his costume a classic inspired from early 18th century vampires. “Fred hit me with jelly-legs last time.”

Luna Lovegood, who sat across the tight-knit circle, patted down the stars in her hair. She had some ridiculous semblance of layered clothes that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it suited her rather well. “Oh, but that one is rather fun. It makes dancing quite interesting.”

Laughter rippled through the rest of the students in the circle, which you recalled as Graham Montague, Cho Chang, Lee Jordan, Ernie Macmillan, and Michael Corner. It was quite the group.

“And no Unforgiveables, right?” You asked, just to be sure.

“Obviously not. We’re not Malfoys,” Val smiled. “I mean, who said that?”

“You’re going to get us in trouble if someone hears you say that!” Jo couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“Don’t worry, we’ll start light,” Fred reassured, crossing his heart dramatically. “Prankster’s honor.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing,” Cedric whispered, mostly to you. You held back a snicker.

The music was drowned out as someone placed an empty glass bottle in the center of the misshapen circle. Fred was the first to flick his wand, hitting the glass with a spell that spun it in its place. The glass scraped the floor before slowing, clinking to a stop on Mari.

“Oh, dear,” she muttered.

Fred leaned in. “Dare or kiss, Fairbourne?”

“Dare, please.”

His smile grew in size as you watched the metaphorical gears turn in his head. “I dare you to confess something you’ve never said to a nearby portrait.”

Mari mulled over the idea for a second before rising to her feet, approaching the closest portrait of an old Slytherin head. He looked incredibly irritated to begin with, covering his ears with a pillow that he must’ve nabbed from another portrait. When she approached, his scowl deepened greatly and she motioned for him to listen. When he took the pillow off, her mouth moved, inaudible over the music, and his jaw fell open. Whatever he said next was surely scolding as he became red in the face. Mari, giggling, returned to the group.

People could hardly contain their laughter, pestering her about what she said, but she simply replied that it was a secret before she spun the bottle herself.

It landed on Jo.

“Lucky me,” Jo said, turning to Mari.

“Dare or kiss?”

“I’m not scared. I’ll take a kiss.”

“I can do the honors,” George offered graciously, winking at her only to tease her.

Jo’s face contorted into disgust. “Absolutely not!” Then, by surprise, she grabbed Mari’s cheeks and placed a kiss on her lips. The room howled, and Mari didn’t seem necessarily bothered by it, which only made you laugh harder.

The game continued in a blur of excitement with various dares, kisses, and only a handful of hexes. Cedric ended up hexed to sing everything he said for the next five minutes, Val had to trust someone else to levitate a shot to her lips without spilling it, and someone enchanted some of the stars in Luna’s hair to orbit her like miniature moons.

Then, again, the bottle spun. The motion slowed to a great wobble, stopping with the neck pointing directly at you. It was the first time of the night you had been landed on, and you were nervous.

“Well, well, our little flapper from America. What’ll it be, dare or kiss?” Fred cooed.

“Uhh… dare, I suppose.”

The crowd leaned in eagerly as if they had been waiting for this. Before anyone else could speak, though, Val perked up.

“Kiss the most attractive person in the circle and let the room decide if you chose right.” She grinned.

Your eyes met hers, slightly panicked. “But that’s a kiss!” You complained, your lip curling into a pout.

“Nobody said the dare couldn’t be a kiss,” Val mused. She looked as devious as usual, but tonight especially so.

Carefully, you scanned over the group of people— some of which shifted uncomfortably at the idea of being picked. There were a few that seemed confident, like they knew they were the best contestants, and you knew you couldn’t get out of it like Jo did with Mari. Val would never let you off that easily.

A warmth curled in your cheeks and you stood up slowly, making your way across the circle. Kneeling down in front of Fred, you examined his face. He seemed pleasantly surprised, to say the least, but he didn’t back down. He bit his lip and you found yourself way too intoxicated to really give a shit. Leaning in, you kissed him on the lips.

The crowd erupted in immediate noise as a few people whooped, either with envy or drunken excitement, and one of the younger Ravenclaws standing nearby gasped like they had just witnessed something historic happen.

Fred grinned mid-kiss, nipping at your bottom lip before you quickly pulled off of him. He went to exaggeratedly fan himself, but he couldn’t hide all the red forming around his freckles.

“Merlin’s beard,” he breathed, “I might faint.”

George immediately pounced on the opportunity. “Oi, not fair! She’s got to test both twins if she wants an accurate result.”

The group howled with laughter again and you covered your face with both hands, your skin hot and alive, buzzing with excitement. “Noo! One Weasley is more than enough for the evening, thank you very much.”

Val was hollering over the noise, “Ten points to the flapper for taste!”

You were still trying to control your giggles when the laughter began to thin out a bit. The next song bled in, slower and heavier— some Muggle drivel with heavy psychedelic rock elements. You turned back to return to your seat, but you saw someone standing over the group. There, standing framed in green light, stood Draco Malfoy. You weren’t sure when he showed up, or whatever he had seen, but it pissed you off to see him.

He wasn’t even wearing much of a costume— just something finely tailored: an immaculate shirt and waistcoat with serpentine figures embroidered in his clothes. Various silver rings decorated his fingers, but he was quick to put his hands in his pockets and tilt his head with the usual sneer. Trust Draco to treat a Halloween party like a Ministry gala.

“Well, if it isn’t the life of the party herself,” he sighed, “or, should I say the entertainment?” His gaze flickered to Fred, then back to you.

You crossed your arms, now standing to your feet. He was hovering in your spot next to Cedric. “I didn’t peg you as the jealous type, Malfoy.”

“Jealous? Please. If I wanted a turn, I’d hardly have to spin a bottle for it.”

Gasps and giggles rippled through the circle as well as from nearby partygoers who were clearly eavesdropping. You could feel every eye on the two of you as his words ignited an annoyed heat of pure embarrassment in your face. Still, you took a small step, tilting your chin up.

“Funny. You only ever seem to show up when I’m having fun.”

Draco’s lips twitched, but his reply was equally biting. “Someone has to point out when you’re making a fool of yourself.”

“Too late for that,” Fred quipped from the floor, still lounging casually. “She’s already stolen the show.”

Draco’s jaw flexed and tightened. “Yes, I can see that. Swapping spit with a Weasley must really put you on top of the world.”

You froze. The laughter suddenly fizzled out, except for some strained laugh from Pansy who stood beside him like the lapdog she was. Fred’s grin faltered and he was shifting to stand up, but you stuck your arm out to keep him still.

“What’s your problem, Malfoy?” You asked, tone clipped.

“My problem,” he said, stepping in closer, breaking the circle. “is that you seem to think parading around like this makes you look clever. It doesn’t.”

“Go on, then. What does it make me look like?” Heat rose in your chest as your heart hammered.

He hesitated. For once, he seemed to realize just how many people were watching and taking in his every word. His pride, unfortunately, wouldn’t let him stop.

“Desperate,” he spat.

You could only scoff. Jo was ready to pounce, but you shook your head. “That’s rich coming from you. You’re the one standing here in your sad excuse for a Halloween costume and policing who people kiss like it’s any of your goddamn business.”

“It’s pathetic, really, to see someone so—”

“So what, Malfoy? Different? Say it, you think that I don’t belong here or whatever. You think I’m half-a-witch because I come from a different place, as if your magic is any better than mine. You’re so obsessed with me that I’m starting to think you’re worse than my mother.”

His mouth opened— then shut. The blue light from the Black Lake filtered in through the tall windows, glinting off the silver ornaments on his clothes. For a moment, he looked like he was going to throw you to the ground and have your teeth kicked in.

But he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, defeated.

“Right.” You rolled your eyes.

Pansy thrust her arm out toward you, a wand in her hand. She scoffed through gritted teeth and a streak of green light burst from her wand. In seconds, however, it was quickly deflected by Fred, who had scrambled to his feet. Before you could register anything else, Jo lunged at Pansy, throwing her to the ground with an angry growl.

Pansy shrieked in fear, pinned to the floor and squirming beneath the girl twice her size. Jo was quick to throw punches, landing them with harsh cracks on Pansy’s jaw and nose. Your lips fell open in shock, mirroring Draco’s expression, before George ripped Jo off of Pansy.

“That’s enough!” George said, holding her back. “Jo, you’re going to get expelled,”

“You think I give a shit? That pompous little cunt tried to hex Y/N!” Jo snarled.

“Jo, stop!” Val shouted, but her voice hardly carried over the shouts and screams. She was already working between the two, pushing Jo back carefully as Millicent Bulstrode helped Pansy up to her feet.

The party was quickly fracturing with you at the center. People were either scrambling away or crowding in to catch a glimpse of the drama. Somewhere, someone shouted for a prefect.

“Get her out of here!” Pansy screeched, blood on her lip and dripping from her nose with an undeniable seething rage in her eyes. “She’s a fucking animal! They all are!”

“Oh, shut it, would you?” Jo barked, straining against George’s grasp.

You turned sharply to face Draco. “You see what you’ve done?”

He blinked, his expression tight. “Me? I didn’t tell her to pull a wand.”

“You didn’t have to. You just— you just stand there, looking down your nose at everyone and these buffoons follow you like they’re under a spell.” You shoved at his chest, hard enough to make him stumble a step back.

“Careful,” he hissed. “You’re one shove away from proving me right, Yank.”

That did it. You raised your wand without thinking— the air crackling faintly as a faint blue hue of magic formed at the tip. “You really fucking think you’re better than everyone here, don’t you?”

“Put it away, L/N. You don’t know what you’re doing.” Draco warned.

“I don’t? Try me.”

“Y/N.” Fred spoke softly from the side, touching your arm. “Don’t waste your breath on him.”

Your hand trembled. For a second, it really felt like you were going to cast— and you would have, if not for the sudden bang that echoed from the hall outside the doors. The torches guttered violently, sending shadows dancing, and music came to an immediate halt. Everyone in the Slytherin common room stopped moving.

“Shit. McGonagall!” Someone called from the entrance of the room. People began to scatter quickly.

As you turned, you met Draco’s eyes again. Somewhere distant and faint, you could feel that thrum from earlier. From his blown-wide pupils, you could tell he felt it too. The tension broke as Val and Mari pulled your arm down.

“We have to go before Pansy reports Jo,” Val insisted. You nodded, tearing Jo away from George and escaping the party quickly before anyone could get another word in. As you followed the crowds of students flooding back out into the hallway, you could hear Draco’s voice follow, low in the din.

“Y/N—!”

You didn’t stop, though.

The girls moved quickly through the dungeons, their laughter echoing in uneven bursts between huffs of drunken adrenaline. Other students shuffled by, eager not to get busted by one of the sternest teachers at Hogwarts, and you watched as a baffled Professor McGonagall drifted on by, her brows furrowed greatly in frustration.

Instead of stopping to chastise anyone, though, she made a beeline for the common room behind you all now. With a flick of her wand, the doors slammed open with her cloak billowing behind her. A very nervous house-elf, one of Hogwart’s, toddled in tow.

“I can’t believe she tried to hex you,” Jo said, her fists still clenched tight. The cute enchanted wolf ears on her head were flattened. “I should’ve knocked her bloody teeth in while I had the chance.”

“Merlin’s beard, Jo,” Mari muttered, glancing back down the corridor with wide eyes. “You’re lucky she didn’t hex you first! You’re going to end up in detention until Christmas.”

“She deserved it,” Val cut in, grinning. “You should’ve seen Parkinson’s face— she looked so offended, you’d think someone told her she was transferring to Hufflepuff.”

“Hey,” you warned, raising a brow. “What's wrong with Hufflepuff?”

“Nothing. But, if you asked Parkinson, she’d certainly have some words.”

You couldn’t help but laugh despite it all, even as your heart thumped unevenly in your chest. The adrenaline and excitement from the idea of getting caught after watching your best friend pulp in a bully’s skull was still ebbing through your body, coursing like your blood. You all ducked into a narrow alcove near one of the side stairwells, a place you all had used plenty of times while sneaking through the castle later at night.

Jo leaned against the wall, flexing her fist, Mari nervously played with her curls, and Val lit up the alcove with a simple Lumos spell.

“Best Halloween ever, if you ask me,” Val said, still half-breathless. “Though, you nearly gave us a heart attack, Y/N. You looked like you were seriously going to duel Malfoy.”

“Maybe,” you exhaled shakily, “if Fred hadn’t stopped me.”

“You’d have won against that brown-noser.” Jo huffed.

“Yeah, and then got expelled.” Mari murmured.

“He makes me so mad sometimes, I’m really sorry,” you sat down on the cold floor, groaning and bumping your head back into the wall. “It’s like he just knows what to say to piss me off the most.”

“Obviously he gets a kick out of it, else he wouldn’t be doing it at all.” Val sat with you, and after her the other two sank down.

Mari asked with a pout, “What happened to that plan of yours?”

“The Make Malfoy Miserable thing? Well, to be fair, he wasn’t nearly as fun to mess with as I thought. I kept trying to act that way with him, but he’d just turn his nose up at me and wouldn’t give me the time of day.” You sighed. “It got boring.”

“And it doesn’t help that he thwacked your nose the other day,” Jo said.

“I told you, he didn’t do that. I literally slipped and fell and he just so happened to be there to drag me to Madam Pomfrey’s,” you shook your head.

“We believe you, but…” Mari began, looking at the other two girls. “That doesn’t really sound like Malfoy at all. Personally, I’ve been worrying that he’s… a little too close for comfort.”

Your brows knitted. “What? What do you mean?”

Nobody spoke at first, looking down awkwardly at their hands. Val spoke up next. “Well, Y/N… he has been incredibly close to you all this semester.”

“And you said he told you he’s been having visions, just like you.” Jo agreed, a stony look now very much visible on her face.

You were surprised at that. All of them looked serious all of a sudden, and you just came to the realization that you hadn’t given it much thought. Not wanting to jump to assumptions, you frowned harder before you asked, “What are you guys suggesting?”

“Malfoy’s up to something,” Mari said, reaching out to lay her hand atop yours. “It’s not just me that sees it, either. Val and Jo agree with me.”

Cold plummeted into your stomach. You felt a hard lump form in your throat. They had been talking about you— not just in passing sentences, but full-blown conversation. With your postcognitive experiences and various times of bumping into Malfoy, how could you not become suspicious? Did they think you were trying to hide things from them?

“I,” you croaked, your throat dry. “I guess so. I never thought of it that way.”

“We’re just really concerned lately. You haven’t been your usual self with these visions, and if Malfoy is in any way connected to it… well, it doesn’t feel right.” Mari stuttered, evidently nervous about telling you her thoughts.

You began slowly, careful with your words. “Listen, I really appreciate you guys being concerned for me. There’s never a day that goes by where I don’t wake up so thankful that you have my back. But… this is just complicated. It’s not so black-and-white, I think is what I’m trying to say. Malfoy seems, to me, like he’s telling the truth, and as much as I despise his guts, I know this extends beyond me. My mom and I are going to meet this weekend and hopefully, by then, I’ll know more about what’s going on.”

“I’m really proud of you for approaching her about this. I know it couldn’t have been easy.” Mari smiled.

That gave you comfort. “Yeah… well, if anyone has answers, it would be her.”

“We just don’t want you hiding stuff from us.” Val admitted, unusually bashful. She carefully toyed with the fabric on her dress, watching it shimmer in the light of her wand that now sat on the floor next to her.

You opened your mouth to speak, but you were met with doubt again. On one hand, you wanted to tell them everything, but on the other, you had a feeling this was serious. You remembered your mother’s words of I cannot write what must be said on paper, and Some things are far too fragile and too easily read by eyes not meant to see. Were your friends part of those aforementioned eyes? Did you need to keep it a secret?

Then you remembered something else:

Do not ignore the magic you feel.

The floor beneath you suddenly pulsed, loud and echoing like a whale call in a vast and cold ocean. You sat, frozen for only a second, before you forced a smile on your face.

“I love you guys,” is all you could say. They gave you a hug, wrapping their arms around you and aww’ing softly. You felt the floor pulse again, watching from Mari’s shoulder as a semi-transparent glimmering white magic trailed through the cracks in the ground until it disappeared out of the alcove.

You knew it was back again, telling you something.

The magic was faint at first, like a deep stirring in the old bones of the castle. Your friends’ voices wavered at the edge of your hearing as you tried to remain calm.

Then, your breath hitched as a sudden vision overtook you. The corridor around you blurred, flickering like you were transporting back in time into a hidden chamber lit by torches. Two girls, no older than you, knelt before a floating white symbol. One had hair like you, bent and whispering in a juvenile voice that felt familiar. The other had pale hair, dressed in Slytherin robes.

They appeared focused, speaking in words you couldn’t understand. Before you could approach them, the vision faded as quickly as it came, leaving you back in the alcove with the girls. And then it was gone.

You parted your lips in a soft gasp, closing your eyes and clutching your head.

“Y/N?” Mari asked, tilting her head and leaning back out of the hug. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Just a bit dizzy from the alcohol. Think I’m gonna call it a night.”

Jo smiled. “Want me to walk you back?”

“No, no, I’m fine. The common room isn’t too far from here. You guys need to get to yours, too, it’s super late.”

“I guess,” Val sighed dramatically. “I’m pissed that the party ended so fast. I’ve gotta go help clean up. Professor McGonagall’s probably furious.”

With that said, you parted ways from your friends. It’s not like you wanted to lie to them, but maybe it was best you kept things quiet for a little bit, at least for the next few days until you met with your mom.

The moment you turned the corner and made sure you were completely out of their line of sight, you cast the Disillusionment Charm on yourself, which wrapped your body in a silvery light that reflected your surroundings in a mock invisibility. You stayed low to the ground as you snuck through the grounds, far past the curfew at this point.

When you closed your eyes to listen, you could hear the twinkling again, but far and distant in the castle. Upon opening your eyes, you caught the light trickling through the cracks in the ground again— like a snake made of light, twisting through the castle to show you the way. You followed closely, keeping your eyes trained on it as well as any prefects or professors awake.

It wasn’t particularly hard to worm your way around, but there were a few times where you had to stop and cast a charm to distract a ghost floating on by. Finally, you reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower, where the light flitted up a flight of stairs and over the glossy, freshly-waxed floor. Beneath the blue vaulted ceilings, you crept to the corner where it led. The light squirmed, disappearing under the foot of a heavy, ornate clock.

Frowning, you stopped, looking it over. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the clock, and it wasn’t even ticking for that matter. It sat, silent, on the marble floor, decorated with old star charts. If it were working, you could imagine all the gears turning in tandem with the day and time. Confused, you touched it, examining it closely.

Was the magic trying to lead you here, to this clock? No… you couldn’t feel its presence anymore. There was something more to this.

Cautiously, you skimmed your fingers over the wooden panels, admiring the handiwork before noticing something tiny: scratches on the inside panel. When you leaned in to look closer, you noticed it looked like fingernail scratches over multiple periods of time. That’s when you realized it was no ordinary clock, but a doorway.

You stepped back, withdrawing your wand. You had no idea what spell to cast, but you slowly gave it a wave. A moment passed of pure silence, then the clock jolted to life— the gears and arms turning, spinning in place and clicking. The panel swung open, revealing a doorway and confirming your theory. Your mouth fell agape in awe as you moved to enter.

Cautiously, you dropped the Disillusionment Charm and brought light into the thin stairwell with Lumos. You made your way down an obscenely dark stairwell, dripping with water somewhere, before you came to the landing at the bottom. The silver magic returned, snaking out of the stairwell and deep into the room past the wrought-iron gate that had, at some point, been thrown open. You stepped inside the room, your eyes roving every little detail.

It was a dingy space, dusty and full of cobwebs in all the spots that wasn’t occupied by a piece of furniture or clutter. For the most part, the room was full of old rotten barrels and crates, long abandoned by time, and some even blanketed to keep the dust off. Old brooms and incomplete suits of armor littered spots along the floor and walls, dormant for what had to have been hundreds of years. You spotted brass braziers and sconces, unlit and waiting for a Wizard’s ignition. Above your head, tied to grates that led to dark tunnels in the vaulted ceiling, bird cages hung, the rope creaking with age.

Before you could question where you were, you spotted something else in the clutter— Draco leaning against the nearest wall. He had his arms crossed, but his flushed face betrayed the journey he must’ve taken down the stairs. Your face turned from awe and wonderment to irritation.

“I knew you’d show up. Only a matter of time.” He said.

“You weren’t lying,” you breathed, keeping your wand raised and letting the light of your spell swim over his expression.

“Obviously. Why would I lie about something so trivial as having visions?”

“I don’t know, so you can follow me around the castle? Catch me off guard?”

He scoffed at that, but it sounded a little more like a laugh. “You’re so paranoid, L/N, it’s unbelievable. How could I have followed you down here if I was here first?”

Your nose crinkled at that. He had a point. You changed the subject. “Then, how can I trust you? How can I trust that you won’t hurt me again?”

“You don’t have to be down here, you know.”

“The magic called me here. I was told to listen to it— so, yes, I do.” You raised your wand more, trying to keep your hands from shaking too much.

“Then I suppose you ought to get your wand out of my face.” Draco said, his brows furrowing just a tad.

You hesitated, opening your mouth before blurting, “Give me your wand.”

”What?” Draco looked offended at the idea.

“Give me your wand.”

“Like bloody hell I’d do that.”

“Do it so I can trust you— so I know you won’t turn me into a fucking animal again.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

You watched Draco visibly hesitate, pushing off the wall to stand at his full height. His hands remained down by his sides until he reached into his pocket, withdrawing a beautiful and sleek Hawthorne wand before tossing it to you. You fumbled for a second, catching it midair and quickly pocketing it. To say that you were surprised he listened would be an understatement.

“There. Are you happy, L/N? You keep acting that way and you’ll end up at St. Mungo’s in no time.”

You rolled your eyes hard. “You know, I have a pretty valid reason for being so skeptical of you, Malfoy. You’ve nonstop harassed me ever since I got here.”

“I do that with everyone. You’re not special.” Draco began to walk away from you, turning his back. You were quick to follow after him, keeping your wand up to illuminate the dark room.

“And how popular you must be because of it.” You chided.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, quite incredulously. “As if you’re any better. Tch. Kissing Weasleys.”

“You’re still on about that? My god, you really are a jealous freak.”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped quickly, “I’m disgusted. Quite frankly, nobody needs to stoop that low.”

“What is your problem? Fred is nice. Funny, even. What’s he ever done to wrong you?”

“Exist?”

Your blood boiled. “You are such an elitist prick. You know, the Weasleys are purebloods. Why don’t they meet your classist criteria?”

Draco’s face was a scowl now as he turned back toward the center of the chamber where you watched the silver magic dart toward. He must’ve seen it too, because he followed it, carefully threading through the clutter. “Because,” he huffed, “They’re pitiful. Poor and far too fascinated in Muggles. You think I’m impressed by people too proud to wash themselves properly?”

“Sounds to me like you’re just mad they’re friendly with Potter.”

He didn’t respond at that. You decided to continue to jab at him.

“So, why aren’t you coddling Pansy Snark-inson? Your girlfriend just got her shit kicked in and you’re down here chasing visions.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Draco was quick to sneer.

You blinked. “Well, that’s a surprise. She’s always all over you when the two of you are together.”

“Who sounds jealous now?”

“I am NOT jealous—!” You began, but he stopped you.

Up ahead, he pointed to the center of the room. A small flicker of silver magic swirled in a small sphere, floating just a few feet off the dirty stone floor. The two of you, now completely silent, approached it and watched it react excitedly, like a flame flickering large. The closer you drew, the more concise it appeared— it looked like some kind of symbol, or rune in the shape of a ᛗ.

You exhaled slowly, enamored instantly by the beauty of the flowing magic, watching it move in the air like water without gravity. The closer you got, the brighter it wavered. Suddenly, you felt a hand grasp your shoulder and pull you back a few feet.

“Don’t touch it.” Draco warned, shaking his head.

“Oh, and you’re the expert on random, magical, floating symbols?” You asked, deadpan.

“I’m just saying that we don’t know what it is. It could kill us, for all we know.”

You turned back to look at it. “Then what is it?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Did you have a vision before coming here? What was it?” You asked.

Draco let go of you, sighing. “I’m not entirely sure. I saw what I think was this room, but it was… madness. Crates were flying everywhere, stones were being ripped out of the floor.”

You glanced at him again, raising a brow. “I have a question.”

“What is it? You don’t need to tell me that, just ask the goddamned question.”

“Last time we met, you said that you had a vision of someone crying and bleeding, right? And then… I fell and broke my nose.”

“... Go on.”

“Now, this is just a theory… or a thought, I guess, but… what if you’re seeing the future?”

“... Are you not also seeing the future? I thought that’s what we meant when we said visions.”

“Well, no. I think my visions are of the past. They’re pretty vague, actually, but I know for a fact that I’ve seen my mother back when she was going to Hogwarts.” You shrugged, rubbing your neck.

Draco blinked, but he didn’t seem too surprised. “Your mum?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s like… I’m walking through her memories or something. It’s hard to explain, but Hogwarts seems younger in my visions.”

His face contorted into a frown as he looked away, as if contemplating something, before looking back at the rune. “So, if that’s true, then our visions aren’t random, but complementary.”

“That’s a big word for you.” You couldn’t help yourself.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Draco groaned. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

“No, no, go ahead. They’re complementary.”

“I don’t even want to talk to you anymore. You make conversations so insufferable.”

“Oh, me? I do? Wow, that’s a surprise, because I didn’t fucking ask.”

“No, you’ve ruined the moment.” Draco hissed.

“You think the magic is connecting us, is what you’re saying.” You continued on, waving your hand as you spoke.

“I don’t think,” Draco said quietly, his voice lower now. “I know.”

The rune pulsed suddenly with a deep and shivering sound thrumming through the air as dust cascaded down like waves from the ceiling. You both flinched, the glowing mark flickering violently as if it could understand your words. You took a few steps forward despite yourself, your hand lifting subconsciously toward it. Draco moved just as fast, gripping your wrist and tearing it away with a hiss. “What did I just say?”

“I wasn’t going to touch it—”

“You were absolutely going to touch it!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Malfoy!” You raised your voice, irritated by his incessant hovering.

“I’m telling you not to die!” Draco growled, just as irked.

The light shuddered again, swelling until it filled the room with magical essence. Both of you shielded yourselves, hearts hammering in your chests as the rune stretched and split into a thousand streams of silver energy— striking all over the chamber like excited dogs running in a field. The magic exploded outward like a breath was being released after centuries of containment. The air screamed as torches flared to life before being blown out again, sending cinders spinning with the streams. Banners tore from the walls, rippling chaotically in gusts of impaling wind. The flagstone cracked underfoot as the streams of magic ripped stones out from the floor, throwing them into walls and ceilings.

It was running rampant. You shrieked, covering your head and cowering. Draco was quick to grab you, shoving you to a nearby crate and hustling down to take cover. The rope suspending the bird cages snapped and they plummeted, crashing into the floor and joining the chorus of ear-shattering noise happening all around you. The crates shook in place as you and Draco split, darting in different directions to avoid getting squashed. The entire room was in absolute upheaval, like it was going to turn upside-down and inside-out.

Dust and debris whipped around the room as if taken by a sudden tornado, torrents hitting the bare skin on your arms as you covered your face, curling up in a corner. You could hardly think before you looked up again at the sound of a sickening crack.

In the center of the room, one of the thick stone pillars had split in the middle. With a groan, it began to collapse, bringing stones from the ceiling alongside it. Draco was standing directly beneath it, and when he noticed it falling, it was seconds away from crushing him to death.

You scrambled upright, your wand nearly flying out of your fingertips as you drew it and cast an inaudible spell. The pillar and falling stones stopped inches from Draco’s nose, hanging stagnant in the air. Draco looked at you, his hands open and flexed as a reminder that you had his wand. He saw your arm strain, the physical toll of the weight evident, and leapt out from below the pillar. You released the spell, wincing before it thudded and crumbled into the floor.

With that being the final sound, the room in complete disarray, you crumpled to the floor, coughing and choking on spit. No matter how desperately you tried to take in air, it would not fill your lungs. All of the adrenaline seeped out of your body and you melted, laying down. The silver streams of magic had disappeared, sneaking out of the room in the cracks it made. The rune was gone.

Draco fell to his knees beside you, panting hard and disheveled beyond what he’d ever allow anyone to see him. He trembled greatly, doubling over and breathing loudly. You looked at him, your brows turned upward.

“What the fuck just happened?” You finally rasped, breaking the now-deafening silence.

“I…” Draco began, but he had to pause to assemble himself. “I don’t know.”

You sat up, looking at yourself. Your dress had been ripped in certain spots from the weathering, your hair an absolute mess and dirt and dust coating your skin. You whimpered at the sight before taking the Hawthorne wand from your pocket and handing it back to him.

“We… we need to leave,” Draco said suddenly, pocketing his wand.

“What?”

“Before somebody finds us in this wreck. I don’t need Dumbledore breathing down my neck about it— or Snape, for that matter.”

“We can’t just leave it like this!” You looked around at the chamber.

“It’s obvious nobody used this room anyway. You can stay if you want to be expelled, but I’m leaving.”

“No— wait, not yet. We need to talk about what just happened.”

Draco snapped, “I don’t have time to sit around. We can talk any other day. Goodbye.”

Before you could grab his arm, he stood to his feet and stormed off back to the stairwell. You sat there for a long moment, dust still swirling lazily through the air and your pulse pounding in your ears. Sitting, defeated, you stared after him, listening to the echo of his boots on the stairs before it eventually faded back into quiet.

All of the energy and life in the room had suddenly felt as if it had been sucked out, like the breath and heartbeat inside the castle came to a halt. Every inch of your body ached and your limbs trembled with exhaustion. Glancing down at your hands, you sat there for a long time, wondering if you had to leave or stay.

Whatever had happened wasn’t over, you knew that much.

Chapter Text

By the time Sunday morning rolled around, it was almost too easy to pretend that Halloween never happened. Almost.

The castle had gone about its business as if a room hadn’t been torn apart below it— no rumors, no mentions, not even a whisper about some collapsed chamber or magical explosion echoing through the floors and walls. Either nobody noticed, or Hogwarts had a very efficient way of covering its tracks.

You hadn’t gone back to check or look for Draco, instead lying low just in case anything rose up out of the blue.

The memory still replayed in solid glimpses in your mind: the roaring air, the rune splitting like the veins of a bolt of lightning, the pillar coming down on him, your arm burning with strain as you held it midair. The noise, the catastrophe of it all, and the look on Draco’s face when he realized you saved his life, all haunted you.

Now seated on a rattling carriage bound for Hogsmeade, you watched the castle shrink behind as you tried not to think about it. You couldn’t tell the girls about what had happened, what if they totally flipped out on you? What if they continued to pester you about Draco’s ”true intentions,” as if they knew him any better than you did? Clutching onto only a sliver of sleep, your head spun with various what-ifs.

The trip down the winding and sloped road was quiet for the most part, the air sharp and cutting with late autumn rolling in. Thick dark clouds hung low in the sky, blotting out the sun’s warmth and bringing on threats of an early winter. Trees had begun to thin out, their branches barer than usual, which brought on a type of sadness. You were never a fan of how dreary winter felt.

Pressing your limbs against your body in a heat-preserving hug, you shuddered and pulled your scarf up tighter around your neck. Hogsmeade peeked just above the hill as your thoughts trailed off again.

Jo had been put in detention. It was no surprise that the professors believed Pansy’s word over hers, and when put to a truth serum, there was no denying it. Jo lost her Quidditch privileges and had been sentenced to something akin to community service around the castle. To say she was fuming about it would be a severe understatement— when you found out, she ranted and raved and about practically spouted smoke from her ears. You weren’t sure yet on how to thank her for jumping in to help you, but you knew you had to come up with something. You wanted to, at least.

The carriage jolted to a stop and you gathered your bag before jumping off, glancing at the thestrals one last time before scurrying up the street to the Three Broomsticks. You thought it was very conspicuous to meet in such a public area, but you trusted her judgment as you crunched over the fallen leaves and frost before entering the pub.

Warmth greeted you in an instant, cozy and inviting. You immediately lifted your head from behind your scarf, nervously glancing around. That’s when Madam Rosmerta met you, offering to take your coat with a weary grin. When you shoved it off your shoulders, she leaned in close.

“Your mother’s waiting upstairs in the room to the left.” She murmured, voice hardly audible above the usual chatter.

You blinked as she placed your jacket on a nearby rack, nodding and making your way slowly up the rickety stairs. When you stopped at the closest door on the left, your hand hovered over the door knob with hesitation. You trembled, then you sighed, grasping and twisting it.

As soon as you stepped in, you could smell your mother’s perfume. It was the scent she had always worn. With a smile, she stood up from her seat, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse in her arms with a contented sigh. Instead, she slowly approached you, reaching out and brushing your hair from your face.

“Hi there, pumpkin,” she cooed softly.

“Mama,” your lip quivered as you quickly enveloped her in a hug. She returned it twice as tightly, then moved to sit down at a little table stacked with hot tea and pastries. You sat across from her, looking down at the cup of tea in front of you. “I didn’t know they had rooms up here.”

“... It’s an inn, sweetpea. They’re going to have rooms.”

“I-I meant,” you rolled your eyes, “ugh, you know what I meant.”

“I know. I’m just messing with you.” She giggled.

A silence fell as she took a sip of tea, warming her palms around the base of the cup and sighing happily. Her expression did not change when she began to speak again.

“So, you’ve been having visions.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“Let’s start from the beginning. How did it happen?”

You recounted the first vision you had, telling her about the vision in the best detail you could remember: seeing her as a teenager, in the woods with a girl named Cissy, running from something. The details eluded you just a bit since it had been quite some time since the first vision, but she nodded her head along as if she knew exactly what you were going through.

Then, the second vision: a girl running in a hallway, clutching something close. The twinkling sound that you followed, and the bright white light you now understand to be as the silver magic you saw on Halloween night. That one was so important it happened twice— the second time being directly after your midterm exams, where you had been so paranoid you researched in the library for answers. You admitted running into Draco Malfoy on both accounts.

The third vision did not want to come out. You stopped short, unable to look your mother in the eyes. She leaned down a little, tilting her head.

“Everything alright?” She asked, mildly masking the concern in her tone.

“I… okay, you have to promise not to be mad about this one.”

One of her eyebrows shot up into a wide arch, something suspicious, but she nodded for you to talk. Whatever her reaction was going to be, you knew you weren’t getting out of this so easily.

You told her the fourth vision that you had on the night of Halloween. You told her about the party, trying to omit some of the obscene details, and the fight that led you to sneaking off to the secluded alcove. You recalled the vision of your mother, chanting something in a foreign language in some dingy chamber. You began to recount the rest of that night in thick detail, ensuring not to miss a single beat. When you revealed that the room had quite literally exploded, her brows furrowed just a smidge; just enough for you to fill with anxiety. Then, it was silent.

“... That’s it.” You said with finality.

She looked at you, eyes searching, before she sighed.

“What?” You leaned in closer.

“No, it’s nothing. You couldn’t have known at the time. I don’t blame you.”

Your voice grew desperate. “Blame me for what?”

“Nothing, baby. Don’t worry about it. We’ll get there when we get there, and we have all morning. I owe you a lot of explanations, but first I want to say that you are not alone in this. I went through it, as you’ve likely pieced together, and so did your grandmother— my mom.”

Sitting back in your seat, you decided to quench your dry throat as you listened, taking a pastry and nibbling on it.

“Our family has always been… different. Your lineage comes from a long, and I mean incredibly long, line of talented witches with the ability to not only see, but manipulate wild magic. It is passed down to every youngest child in the family with every new generation. Alongside that ability comes… side effects, you could call them. Now, each generation is different, but the one consistent side effect is clairvoyancy.

However, that, too, differs. I possessed the ability to witness things happening in the current moment, but in a different place. My mother was able to witness things only in her dreams through hidden layers of symbolism. We all have our own ways of Seeing.”

“I see the past… I think.” You piped up.

Your mother nodded in agreement. “You do. You have retrocognition, which means you can see past events. Most people assume this is the most unhelpful type of clairvoyancy, but I disagree. It’s how C— … Narcissa… viewed things.”

“Narcissa?” You asked. “Is that the other girl I saw? Cissy?”

You could see a small wrinkle form on your mother’s forehead at the mention of the name. “Yes, that’s Cissy. She was my partner through all of this. Fortunately, for us Seers, we do not have to endure this alone. That’s where Malfoy comes into all of this.”

“Oh no,” you exhaled.

“Now, I understand he’s given you trouble in the past. But he is the other half to this equation. Without him, you cannot manipulate the wild magic and contain it. The Black family is of the same condition, and Narcissa was the youngest of their daughters. I know I’ve told you that Hogwarts was one of my first homes, but it was with her that I truly found companionship. Narcissa was my best friend, and we had to trust each other greatly in opposition to Voldemort's rise to power.”

You stifled at the mention of the name, sinking in your seat just a little bit more.

“Our job isn’t easy, and for that, I’m sorry. There really is no other way to explain it, or to get out of it. I wanted to keep you safe, and so I moved to the U.S. thinking that we could live peacefully there for the rest of our lives… but I was flooded with guilt. I knew that if we couldn’t continue the cycle of containing the wild magic, it would break free, and that kind of power in Voldemort’s hands could be cataclysmic.

I wish there was another route, and I wish it wasn’t such a burden. You are allowed to be mad at me all you want, but please understand the severity of this. I wouldn’t ask my baby girl to run head first into danger if I didn’t know the consequences.”

She reached, clasping your hands tightly. You could feel the way she shook ever so slightly, in fear or concern, and it made the cold pit in your stomach grow colder.

“You have to work with Malfoy and contain this wild magic. What happened to you on Halloween was what I feared would happen if I didn’t meet with you immediately— the magic erupted, and is now rampant in the world. You have to follow your visions, find the runes, and use your book to contain them.”

“My book?”

“The velvet one that I gifted you.”

“You mean the blank journal?”

“It’s not blank. Malfoy might have the key for it, but I wouldn’t put it past Narcissa to shield him from the truth. I will try to meet with her personally, but…”

“But her husband is a Dark Wizard.” You finished, looking down.

She didn’t respond immediately, only sighing. “I never understood what she saw in that vile man. Sure, she was a little concerned with blood purity, but that was how she was raised. The Black family was notorious for being a little old-fashioned, but she was the sweetest and most intelligent of them all. I thought she might break away like Sirius and Andromeda, but I couldn’t…” Her voice cracked, “I couldn’t convince her. She loved Lucius too greatly, and it broke my heart.”

Unable to formulate anything helpful, you simply squeezed her hand to let her know you were listening. With that, she wilted into a softer, weaker version of herself that you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I know what I’m asking of you. It’s no easy feat—”

“I’ll do it.” You said, interrupting her.

She blinked, then met your eyes.

“I’ll do it.” You repeated, “I know now. This entire semester I’ve been worried sick about everything that’s been going on, so much so that I can hardly sleep at night. And now I see you, sitting here in a position I could never imagine myself in. If I had to watch any of my friends go through that, I’d be heartbroken, too. That’s why I have to do it. I have to do something so that my friends can live happy, normal lives.”

You watched your mother as she smiled softly, her eyes shimmering with something you couldn’t recognize— like fear, or maybe even guilt. “You’ve always been braver than I was,” she whispered.

You tilted your head down, realizing that this wasn’t necessarily a reunion, but a passing of the torch, and you had taken it with open arms without giving it so much as a second thought. Perhaps it was a little hasty, but you weren’t wrong; you wanted to give your friends a chance at life, and if that meant delaying Voldemort’s rise, then by God, you’d do it.

Your mother reached over again, brushing her thumb against your knuckles in that same gentle rhythm she used when you were a child. For a fleeting moment, you could almost pretend that this was an ordinary afternoon tea, just a mother and daughter catching up on some small talk. However, the weight of her gaze shattered that illusion before you could entertain it any longer.

“You just… remind me so much of her sometimes,” she murmured.

“Narcissa?”

“Mhm. When she was young. She had that same look in her eyes— determined, stubborn, and kind, despite everything she was told she had to be. I used to think that we’d change the world together. Stay friends forever.”

The silence was heavy, but your mind flashed to Draco again, really taking in his pale face, especially in that moment in the dingy chamber on Halloween night. “Do… do you think Malfoy knows?” You whispered.

“Perhaps not in full,” your mother admitted, “but if Narcissa withheld the truth from him, she did it out of love. You said the magic’s already begun to stir within him, too, so the truth isn’t far behind.”

“... And what happens if we can’t contain it? The magic?”

Her eyes met yours, calm, yet unprepared for this question. “Then the world unravels. This wild magic is ancient, beyond our understanding, and collects in wells everywhere. If it goes unchecked, strange things will begin to happen— warping of reality, thinning of veils.”

A chill ran through you. “That’s… terrifying.”

“The book has all the answers you need, sweetpea. I promise it’s not as difficult as it sounds. But that’s why you must be careful. Wild magic isn’t evil, but it’s chaotic. It responds to raw emotions, fear, and desire. If you try to control it without grounding yourself, it will consume you.”

“So… how do I ground myself?”

A faint smile appeared on her lips. “That’s why you have a partner.”

You groaned, “You mean Draco Malfoy.”

“I know you two have had your differences, but if he carries any of his mother’s genes, you will be fine.”

“I’m just afraid he’s more like his father’s son than anything.” You slumped, rubbing your temples.

She laughed, “If anyone can change a person’s heart, it would be you, darling.”

“How do I even start?”

“Start with honesty,” she said simply, sipping her tea. “Find him and talk to him, tell him what I told you. The rest will come. I’ll have a word with his mother to see how she feels about all this.”

You were quiet for a long time before nodding, more to yourself than to her. “Alright.”

“I’m proud of you, pumpkin. No matter what happens next, remember that.”

You smiled weakly, unsure if you could believe her. But when she stood to leave, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, you caught one last glimmer in her expression; not just pride, but fear. You hugged her goodbye before parting ways, maneuvering downstairs with a sudden heaviness on your shoulders and in your heart.

You had to find Draco.

---

You had eventually made your way back to Hogwarts castle, on foot this time due to the lack of carriages (you couldn’t be lucky enough to catch one every time.) The walk back was long, but a much needed bout of silence to allow you to mull over all the thoughts swirling in your head. As much as you loved your mom, she dropped a nuke of information on you, and it was going to take some time to really think through it all.

You had just stopped in the Bell Tower Courtyard, looking around at the yard and watching students mill around, hanging out in the grass, or playing games with hackeysacks and gossiping in circles. It was rather peaceful, and as the day went on, the sun peeked through the clouds to warm up the world just a little bit more.

From here, the Quidditch Pitch looked miniature across the lulling hills, and to your left, students filtered in and out of the Bell Tower in groups. You spotted a certain Harry Potter walking with Neville Longbottom, talking rather excitedly with a frown on his face.

Then you heard a familiar voice not too far away down the courtyard.

“Bloody hell! Who makes this many brooms dirty?!”

You glanced to find Jo on her hand and knees by the rack of brooms next to the castle, scrubbing a line of battered old broomsticks with a rag and bucket of sudsy water. Her hair was in her face and she was the only one wearing short sleeves, but it looked like she needed them: she was sweating like a sinner in church.

When she noticed you approaching, her expression instantly brightened. “Oh, thank the gods you’re here. I was starting to think that my only company’d be the annoying first-years with their incessant giggles.”

You snorted. “You look like you’re having a blast.”

“Loads,” Jo said, throwing her rag over her shoulder with a dramatic sigh before plopping down on the ground. “McGonagall said I had to reflect on my actions by giving back to the community. Apparently, ‘giving back’ means broom maintenance and greenhouse cleaning. Real riveting stuff.”

“Well, you’re lucky it was McGonagall and not Snape. He’d probably have your head for punching one of his own.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing. The sleeping draught kept Snape so asleep that none of the other professors could wake him. When he finally came to, apparently he was fuming.”

“I can only imagine.” You laughed, crouching down beside her. “Need any help?”

She gave you a look. “Help… or pity?”

“Help,” you said firmly, taking the rag from her shoulder before she could argue. “Besides, I could use some mindless activity. It’s been a long day already.”

“Tell me about it. Alright, but only for a little bit. It’s my punishment; not yours.”

“I know, but you saved me from being hexed. If I could, I’d do all the chores for you.” You smiled.

The two of you worked in silence for only a little while, the sound of scrubbing and splashing breaking it up occasionally. After a few minutes, Jo began to hum an off-key tune, then broke into lyrics about a tragic heroic life of a Hogwarts janitor. It was so ridiculous that you couldn’t help but laugh, bobbing your head along to her song.

“Don’t encourage me,” Jo said through her own laugh. “If you keep giggling, I’ll start dancing.”

“Oh, I dare you to.” You said with a smirk.

She dropped her rag, stood, and began to sway side to side, jabbing her hands in the air. Despite the amount of peers watching and giggling from their own respective groups, she didn’t stop until she threw out her hands, panting raggedly and taking a bow.

You clapped and whooped. “Encore! Encore!”

“Oh, thank you, but I’m afraid of getting in trouble again, so no encore.” Jo laughed, settling back down in her place. “But, you think McGonagall might let me off detention if I performed this at the next feast?”

“Only if she’s heavily intoxicated. Think we can sneak vodka in her morning pumpkin juice without her noticing?” You mused.

Jo laughed again, shaking her head before her gaze met yours. Her eyes softened and she bumped you gently with her fist. “You look like you needed that.”

“What?” You blinked.

“The laugh,” she replied, “you’ve had that look lately. You know the one— ‘the world is ending and it’s all my fault’ kinda look.”

You tried to play it off with a shrug, but you knew she could see right through it. Right through you. “It’s just been a weird semester,” you admitted.

“Yeah. I know. But I’m glad you’re here.” Jo sighed, leaning back to admire the freshly cleaned brooms. For a while, you remained silent, your mind finally off of wild magic and Draco Malfoy. You just sat there with your friend, shooting the shit until the world felt a little lighter again. Then, when you were all finished with the chore, you bade her goodbye and decided to head back to your dorm room.

Now, initially, you were going to finish up some homework that was, admittedly, late. But as you passed through the courtyard and into the bell tower, you spotted someone crossing the hall from the dungeons— tall, pale, and unmistakably irritated. Draco.

You stopped dead in your tracks. For the first time since Halloween night, you were seeing him in broad daylight. He looked the same, and yet not, in a weird way. His uniform was perfectly pressed as it always was, but there was something off about his expression, like his lips were pulled into a tight sneer and his eyes were shadowed as if he hadn’t slept much at all.

You didn’t think twice before jogging to catch up to him. “Malfoy!”

He didn’t stop, instead glancing over his shoulder at you. “Oh. You.”

“Yeah, me. I need to talk to you about what happened on Halloween.”

His face darkened further. “I thought we were forgetting about that.”

“Well, I can’t. I talked to my mom and she explained to me something that… well, it’s a lot to summarize in a short time, but she gave me answers about my visions. Your visions. She was able to explain what happened that night, and it’s not good—”

“You talked to your mum,” he repeated flatly, interrupting you. His eyes had flickered with some emotion akin to recognition before he turned to face you fully, towering over you with a scowl unlike anything you’ve seen from him before. “And she told you what, exactly?”

“She… said that we have to work together?” You said, slow and skeptical like you knew he was seconds away from a meltdown.

“Oh, we have to work together? Did she also tell you that we’re soulmates, and we have to hold hands and skip around in a field?” Draco rolled his eyes, his voice thick with sarcasm.

“Uh, ew. No? She said our families are connected and that your mother— Narcissa— used to be her partner when she was young. That we need to work together to contain the wild magic.”

He let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. Did she tell you that over tea and biscuits, as well? You really are desperate for attention, aren’t you?”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You think I’m going to play along with whatever delusion your mother planted in your head?” He snapped. “We were in the wrong place at the wrong time and now you’ve gone and made an entire fantasy out of it.”

“I’m sorry?” You tried hard not to shriek at him. “Am I fucking crazy, or did you not also admit to having visions?”

“Oh, yeah, because that’s an indicator that we’re partners in some grand scheme about containing wild magic.” He snickered behind his palm, genuinely finding some sick amusement in this.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” You jabbed a finger into his chest, pushing him back an inch. You couldn’t control the way your voice trembled from humiliation and rage. “So, let me get this right: we experience a terrifying, inexplicable thing, you nearly get squashed and rely on me to save your life, and then you turn around and act like that didn’t have some kind of, I dunno, significant meaning?”

“Did that crack in your nose go all the way to your brain, Yank?” Draco smirked. “Listen, I had my fun, but I’m done being dragged into your little fantasies. Whatever you think this is— it’s not real.”

You were seconds away from exploding, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Then, you straightened back, feeling your brows furrow greatly on your forehead. You saw the tiniest sliver of a slipping composure behind his annoying smirk. You blurted, “You’re lying.”

He froze.

Your own lips twisted into a knowing grin. “Ohhh. I get it now— you’re scared. You’re actually mortified, aren’t you?”

Draco’s jaw clenched tightly and you circled around him, examining the way he responded as you did so.

“Shove off, you blood traitor.” He hissed at you, full of venom. Then, without another word, he quickly brushed past you before disappearing out the doors you came in. You stood there for a minute after he was gone, the cold finally catching up to you. Only when you could no longer see the trailing edge of his cloak did you let yourself exhale. He almost got you there.

“What a goddamn wet napkin,” you scoffed before leaving for your common room.

---

By the time you had reached the Hufflepuff common room, your head was still spinning. The warmth that usually soothed you— crackling firelight, the soft hum of students speaking near the hearth— felt distant tonight. You passed through the round doorway like a ghost, drifting up the stairs and murmuring no greetings to anyone as you made your way to your room.

Your bed looked impossibly inviting, but the moment you sat down at your desk, all the restlessness in your hands came flooding back. You kicked off your shoes, staring at the floor for a minute as you let your thoughts loop over and over.

Draco hadn’t believed you. Actually, no, he looked at you like you had lost your damn mind. Of course, you called him out on his bullshit, but it didn’t really help.

Pressing your palms to your eyes and rubbing vigorously, you sighed. He didn’t know what your mom had said to you, so of course he was skeptical. If Narcissa told him the same thing, he’d probably take it seriously. Maybe. You didn’t know Narcissa, or how he felt around her, so maybe you were totally wrong there.

Still, you could not be soothed. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Halloween night in fragments: wild magic flying throughout the room, wreaking havoc. Pulling your bag closer, meaning to distract yourself, you withdrew the homework that desperately needed to be completed. As you attempted to focus on the words, however, they blurred and your quill remained unmoving in your fingertips.

With a dramatic sigh, you slumped over your chair. Then, you caught sight of it: the velvet journal sitting on your nightstand. You picked it up, thumbing through the blank pages, and waited. Nothing appeared.

“Fine,” you grumbled, tossing it back down. “I’ll talk to someone who actually answers.”

You reached for a clean sheet of parchment and began to write.

Mom,
I’ve thought more about what you told me, and I guess I took it too literally. When I saw Malfoy, I approached him and tried to tell him, but he laughed in my face. Literally. He kept insisting I’m making things up, but I know he doesn’t believe that. I know you said you were going to meet with his mom, but what if she doesn’t want to tell him? What happens if Malfoy decides to never help me?
I don’t know what to do. Please write back soon.

By the time you sealed the letter, your chest felt lighter. You stared at the envelope and knew you wouldn’t be able to rest until it was sent off.

The only problem was the lack of windows; the Hufflepuff dorms sat mostly underground, which oftentimes kept you warm and cozy, but completely sealed off from the outside world. So, you decided to pull on your cloak and a pair of slippers before creeping out into the corridor.

By now, it was late at night, and at this time, the castle was eerily silent. Torches still burned, but their flames were low, occasionally warped by drafts sighing through the halls. You moved quietly, careful of every movement, even with the Disillusionment Charm cast on yourself.

When you reached the Owlery, which was a very long trek indeed, your lungs burned greatly from the walk. The door groaned open, and a chill hit you in the face. Feathers drifted in the air and owls bustled from their sleep in their cubbies. You picked the closest one, a beautiful russet color, and held up the parchment.

The owl blinked in recognition, amber eyes gleaming in the moonlight. You cautiously tied the letter to its leg, brushing a thumb gently over it in a soft pet. “To my mother, as fast as you can.”

As if it knew, by magic, probably, the owl hooted once and launched itself gracefully into the night sky through an open window. You leaned out over the sill to watch it, seeing it vanish into the thick fog until there was nothing left except the sound of wind and lapping water from the Black Lake. For a long second, you stared, still. The stars were hardly visible through the mist, and the moon was cradled with clouds.

Then, with a sigh, you whispered, “We’ll fix this. Somehow.”

Turning, you descended the tower, making your way back to your dorm room yet again and letting the shadow of night swallow you whole.