It’s Fic Time!

Alice sat on the small jetty near Hagrid's hut, her boots hanging over the black water as she watched the moonlight tremble across the lake in broken silver. The February cold seeped up through the damp boards and into her bones. She’d come here often since her first week at Hogwarts, back when this place had been a sanctuary from school-sized troubles: Merula’s potion sabotage, corridor whispers, the constant pressure of keeping up. Even the search for her brother had felt like something she could survive.

Now, the lake looked the same, but nothing else did. Today had been the first anniversary of Rowan’s death. One year since the flash of green that had split the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. One year since Rakepick had taken away her best friend. One year since her world had been turned upside down. One year…

People said time healed all wounds, and yet. Even if Rakepick had been caught and left to rot in Azkaban, even if the vaults had all been dealt with, even if she had found her brother, it didn’t change the empty space beside Alice in the library, the missing laugh in the Great Hall, the hole in her heart. Nothing fitted properly anymore.

Her friends had tried. They offered food, jokes, distractions. They avoided any mentions of death, as if it were a hex. They meant well, but the day had felt like a secret she was carrying alone. Charlie had looked at her over breakfast and asked why she was so gloomy. She’d stared at him until he remembered. Even then, his face had only softened in belated understanding.

Only one person actually understood what she was going through, because loss lived in him too…

“Alice?”

Speak of the devil. Her mouth tugged into a thin, rueful almost-smile, akin to a crack in the ice. “You remembered, didn’t you?”

“How could I not.” He stayed standing a few steps behind her, hands in his pockets. “She was my friend too.”

Alice kept her eyes on the lake. If she looked at him, she might unravel. “I know. It’s just… The others don’t seem to—”

Simon lowered himself to sit beside her, the boards creaking softly. “Ben’s been sombre all day. Barnaby spent his entire free period surrounded by crups. And Merula’s barely spoken a word—”

“That’s unusual.” The words came out flat.

“Exactly.” His gaze followed the ripples out into the darkness. “Except for Barnaby, we were all there when it happened. I don’t think that… image will ever fade from our memory.”

Alice’s fingers worried at a splinter in the jetty until it snapped off under her nail. She glanced at him, not a boy anymore, not for a long time. No one at eighteen should have seen as much death as he had, or learned grief so intimately. “Does it ever go away?”

He didn’t need to ask what she meant. He simply shook his head. “Not really. It dulls. But it’s always there, mind you, waiting. The right word, the right light, and you’re back in it.” He paused. “Like a scar. Still there long after you’ve stopped bleeding.”

Alice’s gaze returned to the still surface of the lake. “I’m sorry.”

Simon’s head snapped towards her. “Don’t. Don’t you dare—”

A tear slid down her cheek, warm. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on top as if it might hold her together. “If I hadn’t gone after those vaults, chased after Rakepick, Rowan would still be alive. Ben wouldn’t be trying to defy death every chance he got. And you…” Her voice cracked. “You wouldn’t have another—”

“Alice, look at me.”

His voice was so steady that her eyes were drawn straight to his.

“Rakepick is the one to blame,” he said, each word deliberate. “She’s the one who betrayed your brother, she’s the one who betrayed you in fifth year, she’s the one who killed Rowan. None of this is on you.”

Alice’s breath hitched. “Tell that to the part of me that keeps replaying that night, over and over,” she whispered. “The green light. Rowan’s face. The way everything just… stopped.”

Something flickered behind Simon’s eyes, like he was watching another memory unfold in the dark. “I know.”

That was Simon: no grand gesture, no hollow comfort. Just him, here.

“I hate that I’m still so angry,” she admitted. “Not just at Rakepick. At everyone who gets to laugh today as if the world didn’t change. At myself for laughing yesterday.”

“You’re allowed,” he said quietly. “To laugh, to cry, to be angry. To forget for a moment. Rowan wouldn’t want you to stop living for her sake.”

Alice blinked hard as her vision blurred. “But when I’m not thinking about it, about her, I feel like I’m leaving her behind.”

“She’s not gone,” Simon murmured. “Not really. Every time you go down a research rabbit hole in the library, that’s her. Every terrible pun you pretend to hate. That’s where she is now. She’ll always be with you, forever.”

A weak laugh escaped her. “That’s terribly cheesy of you, Selwood.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “I have my moments.” He looked out over the water, and for a second, the moonlight caught in his eyes. “Suppose that’s how Rowan stays with me.”

“She did rather have a knack for dreadful one-liners.” Alice closed her eyes, the memory of Rowan’s grin hurting like pressing on a bruise.

They fell quiet. For a long moment they listened to the gentle lap of water against the jetty. Somewhere behind them an owl called, the sound cutting through the night like a thread.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Beaumont, we’ve already—”

“I’m not apologising for that.” She swallowed. “I’m apologising because I never asked you how you were doing. I just assumed you were… getting on with it. Because you always do. And yet, I’m sure it brought back some painful memories.”

Simon nodded, slow. “It’s not like it suddenly brought back the memory of my parents’ murder; that’ll never go away.” His jaw tightened. “It just brought the grief back to the surface. Hadn’t felt that way in ages.” He let out a shaky breath. “Angry, always, as you know. Some nights I can’t sleep unless I count every breath until morning. And some mornings I wake up and it hits me all over again that they’re all gone, and I have to pretend it doesn’t affect me while I tie my tie.”

“Like this morning?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Like this morning.”

They sat shoulder to shoulder without touching, close enough that the space between them felt deliberate.

“I miss her so much.”

“I know.”

“Sometimes, I find myself wanting to tell her something,” Alice said, staring at the place where moonlight broke on the water. “And then I remember that I can’t.”

“You can talk to me, you know.”

“I don’t want to lumber you with my demons, Simon. You have enough of your own.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “You’ll never be a burden to me, Alice.”

That made her look at him. Whatever was in his face, it wasn't pity, only recognition and understanding that came at too high a price.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Always.”

Hogwarts’ library was always busy once lessons had finished for the day. Students drifted in to start on newly assigned work as the late-afternoon light slanted in long, golden bars through the tall windows, catching the slow drift of dust motes above the rows of bookcases. Quills scratched against parchment, and somewhere in the stacks, a student hissed as he flipped pages with a hint of aggressivity that suggested the book was refusing to give up whatever information he was after. Along the tables and desks, the lamps began to glow of their own accord as the sun dipped lower, as if charmed to know exactly when their light would be needed.

But Alice Beaumont didn’t notice any of it. She was far too absorbed in her book. No, not some ancient text that would help her in the vaults quest. It was a French novel about four men who had once been brothers-in-arms, but were now on opposing sides of a conflict far beyond their control. She was enthralled.

Across from her, Simon Selwood was reading a rather voluminous book about some obscure branch of magic. Other books on similar subjects surrounded him, forming a small fortress, their spines carefully angled so that Alice, or any casual onlooker, couldn’t see the titles. He took a quick look at his watch, then cleared his throat, glancing at Alice.

Nothing.

He cleared it again, more pointedly this time, and that did the trick. Alice blinked, surfacing from her story, eyebrows lifting as she stared at him, clearly wondering why he’d interrupted her literary adventure. She got her answer when her gaze landed on the clock above the library’s entrance.

“Oh, for Merlin’s…” she muttered. She shoved the novel into her bag and swung the strap over her shoulder, before making her way towards the door. Just before she crossed the threshold, she stopped, turned back, rummaged through her bag, and set a small paper bag of Chocolate Frogs next to Simon’s books. “Don’t forget to eat something,” she said before walking briskly out of the library.

One corner of Simon’s mouth quirked upwards.

As Alice left the library, she walked straight into someone. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you— Rowan?”

“I reckoned you'd be here. Any time you’re late to one of our meetings, it’s because you were in the library, your nose buried in a book.”

Alice smiled sheepishly as heat crept up her cheeks. “I mean… It’s not like you’re any better than me.”

Rowan laughed under her breath. “Never said I was.” She nudged Alice’s shoulder with hers and began walking. “I suppose that's why we're best friends. Though my reading material is usually more informative… Anyway, I know we were supposed to go to the greenhouses to prepare for our next Herbology class, but —”

“You want to practise the spell Flitwick showed us in Charms today.”

“How—”

“That sparkle in your eyes during his demonstration. I knew instantly.”

“It would be so practical for our dormitory! To remove Badeea’s paint stains from the floor! Tulip’s dungbomb residue from wherever she hides them! Your tea and ink stains from—”

“Point taken” Alice’s smile tugged at her lips. “Your dorm-mates are a messy bunch.”

“Let’s just say it would be a very useful spell. So we’ll need to find an abandoned classroom that’s dirty enough to practise it.”

“Fair enough. Though can we still pop by the greenhouse? I need to pick up an ingredient I noticed Penny is running low on, and that might be crucial for a potion I need for my… extracurricular activity.”

“The Vaults. We’ve been friends since we were eleven, Alice. I know you’re talking about the vault expeditions.”

“Fine. I need some Wiggenweld and Penny is almost out of—”

“Dittany leaves?” Andre asked, as if he’d materialised out of thin air. He stepped up beside Alice, holding a small bag. He gave it a shake; the leaves inside rustled. “You’re not the only one keeping track of our favourite potion-maker’s ingredient stash. Or, in this case, watching you keep track. I managed to get the last ones before Sprout showed up.”

Alice reached for the bag. “Thanks, Andre! You’re a —”

Andre lifted it higher, just out of her reach. “Not so fast, Curse-Breaker. You need those leaves, and I need a fitting model for my latest creations. How about an arrangement that benefits us both?”

Alice’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him. “Fine,” she grumbled, snatching the bag from his hand.

Andre turned on his heel and walked away. “Good choice! I’ll see you tomorrow for the first session.” He waved back over his shoulder and disappeared down the corridor, humming under his breath.

Rowan watched him go, smirking. “Your friends know you too well.”

Alice stuffed the bag inside her satchel. “I think it’s starting to become a problem.”

And so they started their hunt for an abandoned room in need of some scourgifying.

“So now that you have the ingredient…” Rowan trailed off, opening a door to look inside.

“I just need to convince Penny to brew the Wiggenweld for me,” Alice replied, peering over Rowan’s shoulder before her friend closed the door again. “If she’s in one of those moods where she thinks my vault quest is brave, it should be easy. But—”

“—if she’s in one where she thinks you’re being reckless, you’ll need one hell of an argument,” Rowan said as they climbed another flight of stairs.

Alice’s smile turned devious. “Or one hell of an ingredient.”

Rowan stopped short. “Alice… Please don’t tell me you— Oh, Merlin, who am I kidding, of course you did!” Rowan shook her head. “What’s the ingredient?”

“Boomslang skin.”

“I have so many questions.”

“I would expect nothing less. And before you ask, I got it from one of Simon’s friends.”

“Simon has… interesting friends.”

Alice’s smirk widened. “So do we. Anyway, that friend is supposedly the go-to guy if you need anything rare or, you know, a bit shady.”

“Boomslang skin does fit both categories.” Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “Hang on a moment… Boomslang skin is an ingredient for—”

“Polyjuice potion. And Penny—”

“— can’t resist a potion challenge. And Polyjuice—”

“—might come in handy eventually.”

“That’s very cunning of you. It’s in moments like this that I’m surprised there wasn’t a Hatstall between Ravenclaw and Slytherin.”

“Well, considering one of the first things I told the Hat was how various characters from books I’d read would fit in the different Houses, I’m not surprised it picked Ravenclaw in less than five seconds.”

Rowan burst out laughing, and leaned briefly against a wall to catch her breath.

As they rounded the next corner, they noticed a rather unusual duo: Tulip Karasu and Ben Copper.

“That’s… unexpected,” Alice murmured.

“That’s not Ben. Look how he’s standing.”

Ben was indeed leaning against a wall, legs crossed at the ankles, animatedly chatting with Tulip.

“Way too confident and jovial,” Alice agreed. “Not an ounce of fear that the sky will fall on his head at any moment.” She squinted. “Tonks?”

“Definitely. Those two are clearly planning something, and I don’t want to be anywhere near it when it happens.” Rowan grabbed Alice’s arm and steered her towards the staircase to head to a different floor, intent on putting as much distance between them and the pranking duo as possible.

After a few minutes, the pair found what they were looking for: an empty classroom left to neglect. Dust filmed the windowsills. Dried, old mud left from some careless set of shoes spattered the stone floor. Perfect to practise Scourgify, which they did until their wrists hurt and their stomachs reminded them what time it was. They left the room so unnervingly pristine that when Filch stumbled upon it days later, he thought it was some sort of trap for an elaborate prank.

Later, much later, once most students had gone to bed, Simon slipped into the library using the Disillusionment Charm his great-grandfather had taught him. The lamps had dimmed to a soft glow, casting long shadows between tables. He moved soundlessly past the front desk, making his way towards his goal.

“Finite Incantatem,” he whispered, standing before the gates to the Restricted Section.

“Good evening, Selwood,” a voice said from the shadows behind him.

Simon spun around, wand raised, as Alice stepped out from behind a bookshelf, the moonlight catching her slightly amused expression. “Beaumont? What are you— How did you—”

“—know?” Alice finished lightly. “The books you were reading earlier. You didn’t hide the spines as well as you thought.” Her gaze slid toward the gates. “And let’s just say there are more books on those subjects in the Restricted section than in the regular stacks.”

Simon snorted, though there was something like admiration in it. “You’re good.”

That shift was felt even in the library as the light faded. Candles along the tables flared to life one by one. This shift didn’t escape Rowan, hunched over a History of Magic book at a table close to a window. She’d always preferred reading in natural light, but the sky clearly had other plans for the end of her afternoon. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and looked out, tracking the swollen clouds as they rolled over the valley. This wouldn’t be a drizzle. These were storm clouds, heavy with rain, thunder, and lightning. Rowan took a break in her studies, resting her quill in the gutter of her book, and watched the tempest gather over the grounds. The first drop struck the windowpane.

Andre watched the next drops spatter the windows of the Ravenclaw common room, perched on the sill with his sketchbook balanced on his knees. He knew he should have been studying for his Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, but the day’s gloom had put fabrics and silhouettes in his thoughts. Rain, he decided, could be made fashionable. Rain apparel, but glamourous. Or better yet, looks inspired by rain, meant to be worn on sunny days. Pleated skirts that moved like water. Jackets made to look as though it had just been peeled off a wet windowpane. The contrast would be revolutionary. He hastily started to sketch his future creations, listening to the tap-tap of the rain against the window.

The rain drummed steadily against the greenhouse’s glass roof, and Talbott found himself looking up. He was there to tend Professor Sprout’s plants, far from the chatter of his classmates. He adjusted his gloves and checked the trays along the center table: Horklumps, Puffapods, Chomping Cabbages, and a pot of little blue star-shaped flowers he couldn’t name but liked all the same. Talbott preferred plants to people. Plants just needed good soil, water, and sun. Maybe a few words of encouragement if you were the sort who believed in that. They never talked back. They let you sit with your thoughts. They didn’t call you rude for remaining silent. The rain deepened the calm, turning the greenhouse into its own world of softened sounds. As he worked, a fat droplet slid down a pane overhead and split into thin rivulets, distorting the world outside into wavy greens and grays. Another slipped off the edge of the roof and splashed onto the ground beyond the glass.

Drops of rain slid off Penny’s cloak onto the stone floor as she hurried into the Hufflepuff common room. She had just spent the first half of the afternoon helping Snape sort new potion ingredients he’d received. When she finished, she had thought she would have time to cross the bridge and the courtyard before the weather truly turned. How wrong she had been. The rain had started gently enough, but halfway across, it was as though the sky had opened and poured out everything it held. A damp halo was now forming around her shoes while Chiara quickly handed her a towel and pressed a warm cup of tea into her palms. By the fire, Penny saw Diego with one hand over his mouth, doing his very best not to laugh at her sorry state.

Tulip and Tonks were also covering their mouths, partly to stifle laughter and mostly to avoid being spotted. Tulip had a grudge against Merula Snyde, and Tonks was always up for a good prank. They huddled behind the low stone wall by the gate, not far from the bridge to Hogsmeade, cloaks drawn tight, damp hair plastered to their faces. Two figures in dark cloaks appeared at the far end of the bridge, moving with the urgency of people who didn’t intend on staying in the downpour any longer than necessary. Even from a distance, Merula’s posture was unmistakable. She walked as if the storm ought to move aside for her, chin up, shoulders set. A flick of Tonks’s wand turned a patch of path into a wide muddy puddle. Tulip waited as Tonks bit her sleeve to keep from cackling. Merula’s boot came down, sinking with a wet sound. With a flick of her wand, Tulip tripped the Slytherin into it. Merula fell forward into the mud and caught Ismelda’s sleeve on the way down, dragging her companion into the puddle as well. The two pranksters bolted off, laughing as they tore past the Quidditch pitch.

Charlie Weasley loved practicing in difficult weather. It felt more challenging than flying under a clear sky. After all, Quidditch went on no matter the conditions, so it was better to train in the worst of them. Rain stung his face and flattened his hair in odd angles as he tried to shove wet strands out of his eyes. Any casual observer might have thought him mad, but Charlie knew that spotting the Snitch in weather like this would sharpen his skill. Just as he caught a glint on the far side of the pitch, lightning split the sky, followed seconds later by a thunderous boom. Lightning and thunder. His mum would have shrieked at him to come down this instant. But Molly Weasley wasn’t here, and Charlie thrived on the adrenaline. He dove for the tiny flash of gold, extending his hand, just as a flash of white light surrounded him once more.

Lightning lit the corridor in such a way that Ben yelped as he made his way toward the Gryffindor common room. He could endure the sound of the rain hammering the windows without imagining floods, but thunder and lightning still made him jump out of his own skin. The next crash of thunder elicited another yelp from the poor Gryffindor, and he hurried his steps, desperate to reach the relative safety of his common room sooner rather than later. Another flash. Ben flinched so hard he almost tripped. His footsteps echoed on the stone as he broke into a run toward the Fat Lady’s portrait, just as an umbrella sailed past a window he’d already rushed by.

Two sets of footsteps splashed through puddles near Hogsmeade. Alice and Simon ran, soaked through, the wind having already stolen Alice’s umbrella from her grasp.

“— just a drizzle, you said —”

"Alice —"

“— wouldn't last long, you said —”

“Alice —”

“— I'm going to catch pneumonia, Simon, I'm going to catch pneumonia and die, and when I die I am going to haunt you specifically, I am not going to bother with anyone else —”

They skidded to an intersection. One path led back to Hogwarts, offering almost no shelter. The other dropped down a flight of stone steps. Through the rain, Simon glimpsed the dark shape of a shed.

“Over there!” he said, grabbing her wrist.

“This takes us farther from the castle!”

“There’s zero shelter that way. Either we wait out the storm in that shed down there,” he said, pointing, “or we get even more drenched trying to make it back in this weather.”

Alice looked down at her clothes and at her soaked shoes. “Fine!”

They sprinted down the path and the stairs, trying to make it to the abandoned boathouse as quickly as they could. The stone steps were slick beneath their feet. More than once Alice lost traction and Simon’s hand shot out to catch her arm, steadying her before she could go down. Above them, the trees bent and groaned.

When they arrived in front of the abandoned building, the first thing they noticed was that it had been boarded up.

“Great! Now wh—”

“BOMBARDA!”

The door exploded inward.

“That’s one way to do it.”

Simon stepped through first. “Just get in, Beaumont.”

Alice didn’t need to be told twice.

The boathouse was small and smelled of old wood and humidity. Remnants of equipment lined the walls. The floor was flagstone, slightly damp but not flooded. There was a second door, swollen in its frame, that Alice wrestled open. It looked out onto the lake toward the castle. Simon hauled the shattered front door back into place as best he could, before joining Alice as they looked at the storm unfurling over the lake and Hogwarts.

"Just a drizzle, huh?" she said, glancing at him.

Simon kept his eyes on the water, but one corner of his mouth twitched.

The lake was unrecognizable. Gone was the silver stillness. In its place, a churning black expanse whipped into whitecaps, the water battering the shore with a huge ragged sound that tangled with the wind. The small island with its maples had vanished. The mist was gone too, replaced by a curtain of rain so thick that the far shore existed only as a memory.

Lightning again.

The castle blazed into existence across the water, every spire and tower lit from behind in a blue-white flare that made it look like a thing carved by electricity itself. The silhouette was monstrous in the storm, the countless turrets sharp as teeth against the dark sky. For that one heartbeat it seemed closer than it should have been, as if the storm had dragged it forward across the lake, looming, reaching.

Then darkness.

Then thunder so deep it felt like it shook the earth itself.

The storm did, eventually, what storms do.

It didn’t stop exactly, but retreated, the thunder rolling east, the lightning growing dim and distant. The rain thinned from a solid weight to something more familiar. Trees reappeared. The far bank of the lake emerged from the grey. Somewhere high above the castle, a seam opened in the clouds, and a pale ribbon of late-afternoon light spilled through.

Alice and Simon edged out into the open, cautious as small animals. The path was glossy. Every blade of grass was strung with water. The lake lay flat again, soft and silver, and the trees shed the last of the rain in slow, fat drops that pattered onto the ground in a sound so gentle it felt like music.

Simon walked ahead, stepping around a puddle.

Alice lingered and tilted her face up to look at the sky.

The clouds were breaking. The light filtering through them was that particular gold that only happens after rain. It caught in the wet branches overhead and turned every hanging drop into a glittering bead. She closed her eyes, and drew in a long, slow breath, the air smelling of wet earth and lake water.

One single drop fell from the tree above.

It fell straight onto the tip of her nose.

Alice blinked, mildly surprised. Then, very slowly, she smiled.

Alice had discovered the place on an evening prefect round.

No one lingered on this floor. Students hurried through on their way up to Charms, or higher still toward Astronomy, as if the corridor existed only to connect more important places. But at night, with the torches burning, the gloom turned intimate; the air smelled of beeswax and old dust, and the darkness felt less empty than watchful, as if it were keeping a secret for anyone curious enough to step off the usual route.

That secret waited at the corridor’s end: a hall that opened before her like a held breath. Ribbed vaults fanned overhead in pale stone, their arches meeting along the ceiling’s spine like the bones of a cathedral. Warm light pooled beneath a wrought-iron chandelier, thick as amber, catching on the grain of dark wooden pillars that stood in quiet ranks. Between them, benches waited, their cushions a faded green velvet.

Tapestries draped the walls in shadow, their greens and golds just bright enough to hint at forests and hunts; whole worlds stitched into cloth and left to fade with time. The panelled wood had aged to a rust-and-honey sheen, each carved moulding softened by time, and yet still sharp in its intention.

On the left, the floor opened down to the level below, the viaduct door visible to anyone leaning over the balustrade. On the right, a classroom door waited, unopened, to a room that had not been used in ages.

At the far end, a pointed archway rose, its apex sharp against the softer curves surrounding it. Within the alcove, a portrait dozed in its frame, and on either side, half-hidden, were wooden benches. The air was warmer, stiller, as though the room had been holding its breath, waiting to be discovered once more.

Ever since that night, she went there when she needed peace, when she didn’t want to be found.

Tonight, the hush mattered more than ever.

She set her feet in position and drew an invisible partner into her arms. One, two, three— her heel caught, her turn went crooked, and heat climbed her throat. The Celestial Ball was coming, and she and Charlie would be out there with the other prefects, waltzing to open the ball with dozens of eyes on them.

Her stomach churned.

She tried again. One, two, three— she forced the turn through anyway, pretending the wobble had been part of the step.

“Dancing with a ghost?” a voice asked from the shadows.

Alice’s heart gave a stupid little kick. She whipped around, her hand halfway to her wand before she recognized the figure stepping out of the shadows. Simon Selwood, hands in his pockets, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m practising,” she huffed.

“On your own?”

“Charlie’s busy with Quidditch.”

“He picked Quidditch over practising with you? That’s a choice,” Simon said, mildly amused.

Alice narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, unbothered, holding her gaze. “Just an observation. Your date is off chasing a Snitch while you’re in here dancing with the invisible man.”

Alice studied his face for a moment, then returned to her starting position. “First of all, we’re going as friends. Second, he hasn’t the faintest idea I’m here. I wanted to get some practice in before Diego’s next lesson.”

Simon’s smirk deepened. “I see. And this wouldn’t have anything to do with Diego complimenting Merula’s frame during the last lesson, would it?”

Her arms dropped. Her cheeks flared red. “I— no! Why would I— how do you even know about that? You don’t come to those lessons!”

“I was passing by,” Simon replied, with the studied ease of someone leaving out the interesting part. He stepped closer, the chandelier’s amber light pooling over his shoulder as he held out his hand. “Come on. Let me help.”

Alice stared at him. “What?”

“You need a partner.” He didn’t lower his hand. “I’m right here.”

“You don’t even know how.”

“I’m mates with Diego, aren’t I? I may not be an expert like him, but I’ve watched him enough to steal a step or two. And he once told me it might help my duelling stance. Footwork, timing. All that.”

Alice looked at his hand, then at his face, then at his hand again.

“You’re not going to let this go until I say yes, are you?”

“I genuinely have nowhere else to be.” His eyes flicked to the empty corridor, then back to her, bright with mischief. “So, what do you say? Want help wiping the floor with Merula?”

Alice couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at her lips. “Well, when you put it that way.”

She placed her hand in his.

He settled his right hand at her waist, and she let her left hand come to rest on his shoulder with slightly more force than was strictly necessary. She looked up at him. He looked down at her. There was a moment of pure, strange stillness before he counted them in.

“Three,” he said softly. “Four—”

They moved. On the second bar, his foot came down squarely on hers.

She winced.

“Sorry—” The word snapped out, clipped and sharp, and he reset his grip with more force than he needed. Alice caught the flicker of irritation in his jaw before he smoothed it away.

“Relax,” she said, half-laughing. “I’ve been tripping over my own feet for a week.”

“I know. I just—” He exhaled through his nose. “I told you I could do this. Give me a second.”

For the next eight counts, he said nothing, brow drawn in concentration, and she realized he hated being bad at things just as much as she did. She kept her steps careful, testing each one before she committed, shoulders braced as if waiting for the next stumble. His or hers, it didn’t matter. They were both learning.

Then something shifted. He stopped overthinking his feet, and she stopped bracing against his lead, and the rhythm caught them both at the same time, tentative at first, then steadier, like two people finding the same current.

One-two-three, one-two-three.

“Better,” he said, and something in his tone, warm, a little surprised at himself, made her glance up.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m talking about me, actually.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “You were already improving. I was the liability.”

Her eyes flickered up to his. “Simon…”

“Soon Diego will praise you instead of Merula,” Simon went on, lighter than his eyes.

A short laugh escaped her before she could stop it, and her hand shifted on his shoulder, fingers relaxing. Something eased between them, carefully, like a knot being worked loose.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Simon nearly missed a step. “What?”

Her throat worked. The next count faltered.

“I’m sorry for calling you obsessed. At the start of term.”

Their row. The reason she hadn’t asked him to the ball. The reason they had maintained a careful, polite distance ever since. Friendly on the surface, bruised underneath.

“I’m sorry I said you were reckless,” he said quietly.

Alice huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “You weren’t entirely wrong. I guess I can be reckless,” she admitted, the edge of her mouth tilting ruefully. “When it comes to the Vaults.”

“And I guess I can be obsessed when it comes to my parents’ death.”

The words landed softly between them, honest and unadorned.

“We make quite a pair, don’t we?” she murmured.

His only answer was a low chuckle.

They danced in silence for a while. The room was golden with candlelight, and somewhere outside the window, the sky had gone fully dark. The only sound was the quiet shuffle of their shoes on the wooden floor and the occasional creak of an old beam settling overhead.

“Do you forgive me?” she asked, quieter than the echoing hall deserved.

He drew her through another turn, slower this time, so she could feel where her feet were meant to land. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I forgive you.”

“Friends?”

“Always.”

Relief made her laugh breathy and bright, and she felt his grip tighten for half a second before it eased again.

One-two-three.

“Don’t count,” he whispered, close enough that the words warmed her ear. “Feel where I’m leading.” A pause, and then, quieter, almost amused at himself, “I can’t believe I just said that. Diego’s rubbing off on me.”

A smile broke across her face before she could stop it. She tipped her chin up at him, doubt still visible in her eyes. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“It’s easy to do, actually. Here—” He adjusted his hold, just slightly, a subtle shift in the pressure of his hand at her waist. “Don’t anticipate. Just… respond.”

She tried. Something clicked; she stopped bracing against the movement and simply moved, and the turn went clean and smooth. She came out of it startled and breathless.

“Oh,” she breathed.

He smiled. “Oh, indeed.”

“That’s— right, yes, I see what you mean.” She sounded the way she did when she’d performed a bit of Transfiguration perfectly. “Again.”

He obliged. She followed. The turn was perfect.

One-two-three, one-two-three.

Somewhere along the way, they’d drifted closer than they’d begun. She didn’t notice at first, not consciously. Her attention was fixed on the small, quiet miracle of getting it right. Not overthinking it as she had before, but registering how it felt, the give and take of it, the way trust made the step lighter, so she could reproduce these movements with Charlie during the next lesson.

“See?” Simon said softly. “You’ll be brilliant at the ball.”

“Sod the ball. Right now, I just want to be better than Merula during our lessons.”

He laughed, bright and helpless. “Of course you do. Trust you to turn this into a competition with Snyde.”

Her grip tightened once, and her eyes flashed up at him. “After what she said last lesson, how can I not?” She pitched her voice into a perfect, cutting imitation. “’ Not only am I the most powerful witch at Hogwarts, I’m the most graceful too, Beaumont.’” Her nostrils flared; she made a vicious little flick of her wrist as if she could hex the memory away. “I wanted to wipe that grin off her face.”

Simon’s smile widened. “Ah, those are indeed fighting words. We’ll need to practise some more.”

Alice blinked at him, caught off-guard by how easily he’d said it. “You don’t mind?”

For a second, something shifted in his expression, something softer behind the mischief, before he gave her that infuriatingly calm smile. “I told you. I have nowhere else to be.”

And so, they spent the rest of the evening practising, turn after turn, until the distant chime of the clock tower reminded them that curfew was near, and they reluctantly parted ways toward their respective common rooms.

Unbeknownst to them, a tall figure lingered in the corridor’s shadow, observing them. Behind his half-moon spectacles, his eyes twinkled. A soft hum, barely a breath of melody, escaped him, a waltz he had not thought of since his first year, when two other students, not so different from these, had danced beneath the same old chandelier.

Now, Alice stood in his latest creation: a floor-length, icy blue organza gown with an ethereal A-line silhouette. The softly draped, strapless neckline was framed by dramatic pleated off-the-shoulder sleeves resembling sculpted clouds. Silver crystals and sequins scattered across the bodice and cascaded down the layered skirt, catching light like falling stars with each movement. The airy skirt created a floating effect with a romantic, fairytale feel.

Her mirrored silver stiletto sandals had straps coiling like silver snakes up her ankles. The shoes sparkled with hand-applied crystals and featured star-shaped motifs that twinkled across her feet. Her grandmother's Chanel Fil de Comète necklace rested cool against her throat, the constellation of diamonds glimmering against her skin while simple Cartier diamond studs adorned her ears. Her hair, arranged in a simple half-up style, was crowned with a delicate tiara of interlacing vine-like bands paved in tiny crystals.

From her bedroom window, Alice observed the garden below buzzing with activity. Champagne glasses clinked. Laughter drifted upward. The orchestra tuned their instruments. Guests in crisp tuxedos and flowing gowns mingled about, their faces largely unfamiliar. Her grandparents would be playing host, Andre would be fluttering between groups, soaking up compliments, and Simon...

Had Aurélie not broken up with him, had Alice not bumped into him at the boulangerie, their hands colliding over the last jambon-beurre, he wouldn't be here now, keeping her company at this dreaded social event. She had promised to help him during his next venture into the Restricted section, and only then did he relent, as a black tie affair hadn't been in his summer plans.

Alice twisted a strand of hair around her finger, wondering how Simon would look in his tuxedo. Andre had fussed over the measurements, the fabric, the cut for hours, despite Simon's protests that "a penguin suit is a penguin suit." Her curiosity would soon be satisfied as Andre swept into her room with his characteristic flair.

"You look absolutely divine, my dear Alice," he breathed, his eyes shining with pride as he circled her. His fingers fluttered at the skirt, adjusting a fold here, smoothing a wrinkle there. "My finest creation to date, if I do say so myself," he added with a dramatic flourish, gently turning her to see how the crystals caught the light.

Alice rolled her eyes, though the corners of her lips curved upward despite herself. She traced a finger along the delicate crystals adorning her skirt. "It's stunning, Andre. Truly."

Andre spun on his heel, his billowing silk purple caftan swirling dramatically over his impeccably tailored tuxedo. The rich fabric caught the light, casting violet shadows across the room. "And what do you think of this little ensemble?" he asked, striking a pose worthy of a magazine cover.

"Only you could pull it off," Alice laughed, shaking her head in admiration. On anyone else, it would have seemed gaudy, excessive. On him, it felt like a natural extension of his flamboyant personality. This was likely why her grandmother had permitted him to deviate slightly from the traditional black tie dress code.

Andre offered her his arm with a flourish. "Shall we make our entrance, mademoiselle Beaumont?"

Alice's heels clicked against the marble staircase as they descended toward the soaring French doors that opened onto the garden. The summer evening air carried the mingled sounds of conversation and music.

There, perched on the stone steps leading into the garden, sat Simon. His shoulders hunched forward as he watched the swirl of arriving guests, one hand absently tugging at his collar. He hadn't seen them yet, his attention fixed on the crowd he'd soon have to join.

"Ah! My most boring creation to date," Andre gestured toward Simon with a dramatic sweep of his arm, his nose wrinkling at Simon's classic black tuxedo. "This definitely confirms that I shall never pursue a career on Savile Row. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must show my masterpiece to the hostess of this magnificent ball."

Simon turned around just as Andre swept past him, his billowing purple caftan momentarily concealing Alice. As the flowing fabric drifted away, gradually revealing Alice's stunning ensemble, Simon's head snapped up, his lips parting slightly in awe.

For a moment, Simon remained frozen, his eyes widening as they took in every detail of Alice's appearance. Andre’s creation had transformed her into something otherworldly, not the curse-breaker he knew, but someone who belonged among the stars themselves. The crisp white collar of his shirt suddenly seemed too tight as his Adam's apple bobbed with a hard swallow.

"Simon? Are you alright?" Alice asked, the intensity of his gaze making her feel slightly uncomfortable.

Simon blinked rapidly, as if waking from a dream. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, tugging at his bow tie. "Sorry," he mumbled, clearing his throat. "Just, um, Andre really outdid himself. I must say, you clean up nice, Beaumont."

"I could say the same about you, Selwood. Looking rather dapper in this tux. Andre may claim it was tedious to create, but he clearly invested his considerable talents in it," Alice replied with a smirk as she adjusted his bow tie.

Simon extended his arm toward her, his eyes still unable to entirely leave her face. "Well, shall we face the music, then? Quite literally, I'm afraid." The orchestral ensemble was already warming up, filling the garden with gentle, anticipatory notes that mingled with the murmur of conversation as elegantly dressed guests filtered toward the dance floor.

Alice slipped her hand into the crook of his arm with a resigned smile. "Better get this over with."

They made their way through the bustling crowd, with Alice's gown drawing admiring glances from several guests. As they reached the centre of the dance floor, Simon turned to face her with unexpected grace, one hand gently taking hers while the other found its place at her waist.

As the first notes of the waltz began to play, Alice felt a momentary flutter of nervousness, realizing she hadn't properly danced since the Celestial Ball. Thankfully, Simon's hand was steady against her waist, his posture perfect as he guided her into the first steps. The tension in her shoulders slowly melted as she found herself moving effortlessly with him, their steps synchronized as if they had danced together countless times before.

"Have you done any dancing since that time we practiced together?" Alice asked as they glided across the dance floor.

Simon's eyebrow arched in surprise. "No, why?"

Alice tilted her head, studying him. "Well, not that you were terrible that one time we danced, but it seems more effortless this time around."

Simon shrugged. "Perhaps it's the suit. For all we know, Andre could have put a spell on it to make me a decent dancer."

Alice's brows furrowed, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "No… He wouldn't, would he?" Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Then again, knowing Andre, he absolutely would."

Simon smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Or maybe," he murmured, drawing her incrementally closer as they turned, "it's the company that's making me a better dancer."

Heat flooded Alice's cheeks. "Hush!" She playfully swatted his shoulder, nearly missing a step as the orchestra swelled into a crescendo. "Stop teasing me like that! Are you trying to make me lose my footing and tumble flat on my face in front of everyone?"

Simon chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. "Absolutely not. Though it would be quite the story to tell, the great Curse-Breaker, face-planting at her grandmother's prestigious ball." His hand tightened slightly at her waist, steadying her as they navigated around another couple. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

Alice tilted her chin up defiantly. "You'd better not! Merula would never let me hear the end of it."

"As if you wouldn't do precisely the same if the roles were reversed," Simon countered, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Alice opened her mouth to protest, then closed it with a reluctant smile. "Touché…"

As the final notes of the waltz faded, Simon's hand lingered at Alice's waist a moment too long before he released her. He gestured with a slight tilt of the head toward a secluded stone bench at the garden's edge.

Their footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path as they retreated from the festivities. Above them, the first meteor streaked across the dark sky, leaving a silver trail that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Alice sank onto the cool stone bench, her gown pooling around her. "Thank you," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the dazzling meteors streaking across the night sky.

Simon settled next to her, his eyes following her gaze skyward before dropping to study her profile. "For what?"

Alice's fingers fidgeted with her skirt. "Everything, I suppose. For always standing by me through all my curse-breaking adventures and what Rowan always calls my 'dangerously impulsive schemes.' For agreeing to come and keep me company here even if this… environment is probably not your cup of tea."

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth. "One might rather fancy becoming accustomed to it, I daresay..." His voice trailed off as another meteor blazed overhead.

Alice laughed as she shifted on the bench. "If you say so…" She paused, admiring the sky above. "I never imagined I'd be waltzing again so soon after the Celestial Ball," she mused.

Simon's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, his fingers drumming on his knees. "Speaking of the Celestial Ball… Can I ask you something?"

Alice nodded, meeting his gaze as she turned to face him fully.

"If we hadn't had that dreadful row at the start of term... would you have still asked Weasley to accompany you to the ball?"

Alice tilted her head, wondering where that question came from. "No," she admitted. "I would have probably asked you since, like Charlie, you were in the same predicament as me, having to do that prefect dance thing. And our row notwithstanding, I was much closer to you than Charlie at the time."

"Was?"

Alice's cheeks flushed pink as she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking away momentarily. "Well, last time I checked, you're not the one I snogged in front of everyone on the Quidditch pitch. Though I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered in the end, since you didn't even go to the ball."

Simon's eyes remained steady on hers, unwavering. "Right," was all he said, but for a moment, Alice caught something flicker in his eyes, something that made her breath catch and her heart skip a beat. Before she could process it fully, André appeared, preventing her from dwelling on that fleeting moment.

"The orchestra is about to play our song!" André squealed, rushing toward them.

Alice blinked, momentarily disoriented. "You don't mean——"

"Footloose!" he confirmed triumphantly. "I managed to convince your grandmother with every ounce of charm I possess! Come on!" He grabbed her hand, tugging her to her feet.

Alice turned back to Simon with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Simon, do you mind, I don't want to——"

Simon smiled gently, waving her concerns away. "You go ahead and have fun. I know how much you love that song."

Alice beamed at Simon gratefully before following André onto the dance floor. As the orchestra struck up the familiar opening notes of the mid-80s hit, her face lit up with pure joy. She moved with uninhibited enthusiasm, her gown catching the light with every twirl and step, creating a dazzling display that mirrored the meteors above. The genuine joy on her face transformed her features, making her almost as luminous as the stars scattered across the midnight sky.

As her friends chatted excitedly around her about their summer plans, Alice caught Andre's eye. One look told her everything she needed to know: her peaceful dreams of browsing dusty bookshops on the Rive Gauche would surely be replaced by whirlwind tours of Paris's gleaming fashion boutiques and bustling department stores. Then, as a flash of familiar copper-red hair caught her attention, an idea struck her.

"Charlie?" she asked softly, delicately intertwining her fingers with his calloused ones as they walked toward the train station.

"Hmm?" he replied, his warm brown eyes meeting hers as he glanced down at his new girlfriend.

"Do you have any plans for this summer?" she asked with a playful smile.

"Nothing special, no. I was thinking of delving deeper into dragon studies," he said, his eyes lighting up with passion. "Only two years until I can apply to be a dragonologist, and I want to make sure I'm ready!"

"Mate, you could teach a course on dragons already," Simon chuckled, shaking his head. "What more could you possibly learn?"

"There's always more to discover!" Charlie protested enthusiastically as he squeezed Alice’s hand. Then, softening his voice, he turned back to her. "Why do you ask?"

"How about a summer of romance instead of a summer studying dragons for the millionth time?" she said, resting her cheek on his warm shoulder and batting her eyelashes at him.

Charlie's face turned crimson while Simon burst out laughing.

"A summer of what?" Charlie stammered, his palm growing sweaty against hers as he became suddenly very aware of their linked hands.

"Romance! I'm spending part of the summer in France and wondered if you'd like to come along. I mean, we are dating now, aren't we? Unless that snog in front of everyone meant nothing..."

"No! I mean, yes, we’re… that kiss was…" Charlie fumbled for words, his ears turning as red as his hair.

"Never thought I'd see the day a Ravenclaw would try to convince someone not to study," Simon teased, still laughing. "Though wouldn't this have something to do with Egwu already tagging along?"

"I haven’t the faintest idea what you're talking about," Alice said with feigned innocence before sighing. "Fine, you caught me. You know how Andre is with fashion, and I'd rather not spend my entire holiday being dragged through every boutique in the city. I thought if Charlie came along..." She glanced at her boyfriend with a sly smile. "Well, Andre might be persuaded to give the happy couple some privacy now and then."

"So you're using Charlie to achieve your own ends... How very Slytherin of you," Simon said with a smirk.

"I'm not using him!" Alice protested, her cheeks flushing pink. "I genuinely want to spend time with Charlie. Andre's... enthusiasm for shopping is just an added consideration."

Charlie squeezed her hand gently. "As much as spending time with you in France would be wonderful, I’m sure, I’d be completely out of my element. Give me dragons and open skies any day, but fancy French culture? I’d be like a dragon in a crystal shop."

Alice felt a twinge of disappointment, but she understood. Charlie was most at home among his beloved dragons and nature, not amid crowded city streets, and she wouldn't want him to feel uncomfortable just to shield her from Andre's passionate pursuit of fashion.

She smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Well, I suppose I'll have to face Andre's fashion crusade with courage worthy of a Gryffindor. But you'd better write to me about all the new things you learn about your beloved dragons."

They climbed the stone stairs to the station, where the Hogwarts Express waited in all its glory. Steam billowed from its chimney, catching the late morning sunlight. Alice paused at the top of the stairs, taking in the familiar sight of the polished scarlet engine. A bittersweet feeling washed over her; another year ending, another summer beginning.

Andre stood nearby, gesturing excitedly to Penny about his travel plans. Watching his enthusiasm, Alice couldn't help but smile, even as she let out a resigned sigh. Paris with Andre would certainly be an adventure, perhaps not quite as daunting as a Cursed Vault, but nearly as challenging in its own way.

The old velvet seats welcomed them with familiar creaks as they settled into their compartment. Simon took his place across from Alice and Charlie, a glint dancing in his eyes as he leaned forward.

"Say, when exactly are you heading to Paris?" he asked, drumming his fingers on his knee.

"Should be in a week or so. Why do you ask?" Alice replied, raising an eyebrow as she settled into the seat across from him.

"Well... I might have a temporary solution."

"Do tell."

"So, you might have heard that I've rekindled things with Aurélie..." His voice carried a hint of warmth.

"Penny's French pen pal?" Alice’s eyes widened. "Didn't you two split up last summer? When did you get back together?"

"During winter break, but that's not important," he waved his hand dismissively. "I'm heading to Paris to see her, and there's this fashion exhibit she's absolutely set on visiting together. The thing is..." He grimaced. "I'm no Andre. I'd sooner wrestle a Manticore than spend hours staring at clothes."

"Couldn't she go on her own?" Alice asked, tilting her head.

Simon let out a short laugh. "Shows how new you are to this relationship thing..."

"Hey!" Alice protested, sticking her tongue out playfully. Just then, the compartment door slid open, bringing with it the sweet scent of chocolate frogs.

"He's not wrong," Rowan chimed in with a knowing smile, squeezing between Charlie and Alice while clutching her stash of chocolate frogs.

Before Alice could respond to her best friend, Simon pressed on. "As I was saying, I can't just tell Aurélie to go alone. But," Simon continued, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, "what if I suggested she attend with Hogwarts' resident fashion expert instead? That way, you get a break from Andre the Style Wizard, and I avoid death by boredom."

"What makes you think Aurélie would agree to that?"

"Let's just say I have my ways," he replied with an enigmatic smile.

Alice smirked. "How very... Slytherin of you."

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the room, painting the worn velvet sofa in hues of amber and crimson. When he moved forward, her scent enveloped him—a delicate mix of ocean breeze and something distinctly, intoxicatingly her. Each movement was calculated, deliberate, a slow dance of anticipation as the space between them grew charged with unspoken desire. He wanted to give her the chance to say no. It would kill him if she did; the thought was a physical ache in his chest. But it would be far worse to know she'd only yielded to his desire, only to hear unspoken regrets echo between them later.

Her breath caught as he moved closer. He could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. He paused, a breath away. Say something, his mind screamed. Tell me to stop. Save us both from what comes next. But she didn’t. She simply didn’t. And when he was but a few inches away, close enough to see the delicate curve of her eyelashes, her eyes fluttered closed. Her head tilted ever so slightly to the side, a silent, breathtaking invitation. It was all the permission he needed.

He closed the remaining distance between them, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that left them both breathless. The familiar sweetness of her mouth threatened to overwhelm his senses. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as desire coursed through him like lightning. She melted into his embrace, her fingers tangling in his hair, drawing a low groan from deep in his throat. The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, and he could feel her heart racing against his chest, matching the frantic rhythm of his own.

Seeds scattered in all directions – some heading towards the Highlands, others drifting towards the lake. One particular seed, guided by the wind, made a slow journey towards a gazelle, an unusual sight in the Scottish Highlands. As it neared the graceful creature, the gazelle transformed into Natty Onai. Natty blinked, her eyes wide in surprise, as the tiny white fluff hovered before her face. She swatted it away, her hand creating a subtle swoosh in the air. She then quickly scanned her surroundings, her heart pounding, to ensure her transformation had gone unnoticed.

Like a feather in the wind, the little dandelion seed was carried off towards the Beast Studies class, where Poppy Sweeting cradled a Puffskein as she attempted to convince Duncan Hobhouse that they were harmless.

"But look how charming they are,” said Poppy, stroking the small beast's soft fur.

"The issue isn't their looks, Poppy, it's their tongue. Every time I've come close to one of these creatures, it insists on shoving its tongue up my nose. I swear it's the most dreadful sensation out there, I tell you," replied Duncan, maintaining his distance from the furry creature.

"I'm quite certain you're exaggerating. They only engage in such behaviour when we are asleep…"

"Oh, I assure you, I've experienced it both asleep and awake," interjected Duncan.

Poppy sighed, rolling her eyes at his dramatics. "Just come and pet this one. I give you my word, it won't try to eat your bogeys."

Duncan eyed the little Puffskein with distrust. He slowly approached it before slowly extending an arm to pet it when…

"OH! My nose!" he exclaimed. The Puffskein had indeed invaded his nose, its tongue withdrawing as swiftly as it had entered and triggering a bout of uncontrollable sneezing from Duncan.

The forceful gust of air generated by Duncan's sneeze sent the tiny dandelion seed floating haphazardly away once again.

The air carried this lone seed towards the bustling bell tower courtyard, where students were relishing the pleasant weather. Many practiced their flying skills with varying degrees of success. Leander Prewett, for instance, had difficulty staying on his broom, much to his annoyance. Fortunately, his broom hovered less than a foot off the ground, so his falls injured his pride more than his body. After yet another tumble, he huffed in frustration, unintentionally sending the seed spiralling upwards. Imelda Reyes, zooming past on her broom, caused the seed to twirl and be swept away in a new direction.

As the tiny dandelion seed danced in the wind, it found its way toward Garreth Weasley. He was in the midst of demonstrating his potion-making skills to a group of awestruck first-year students. With a small vial containing a greyish liquid, he held their attention. He then theatrically produced some dried mint leaves from his pocket, their crisp, refreshing aroma wafting through the air as he presented them to his attentive audience. With careful, deliberate movements, he crushed the leaves, allowing the small bits to flutter down into the vial. The liquid began to slowly change colour, shifting from a dull gray to a vibrant green. As it transformed, it also started to bubble. Gradually, smoke began to rise from the vial, carrying with it the sharp, acrid scent of the potion. Sparks followed, their bright light causing the students to gasp in surprise. An expression of panic appeared on Garreth's face as the small vial exploded in a loud bang. He attempted to run but felt a firm grip on his collar.

"Not so fast, Mr Weasley," came the gruff voice of Professor Sharp, the Potions Master.

As Professor Sharp was about to reprimand the young Gryffindor, the tiny seed landed on Amit Thakkar's shoulder, hitching a ride into the castle.

Inside the castle, the seed was carried through a labyrinth of stone corridors. The distant, muffled sounds of life echoed around as Amit made his way to the Central Hall. Upon arrival, the sight of a fountain graced with cavorting mermaids greeted him. It was here he spotted Cressida Blume and made his way towards her. Cressida's face lit up when she saw Amit approaching.

"Hello, Amit," she greeted warmly.

Returning her smile, Amit was about to speak when he noticed Cressida reaching towards his shoulder.

"There was a speck of dust," she explained, her fingers brushing the dandelion seed off his shoulder. With that, the seed was whisked away once more, carried by the invisible currents stirred up by the bustling students.

The tiny seed continued its journey through Hogwarts, twirling and pirouetting high above the students' heads. It danced in the air, silently observing the vibrant tapestry of life unfolding below. Its path crossed with Ominis Gaunt, who was seated on a wooden bench in the lively Central Hall, absorbing the surrounding symphony of chatter, laughter, and the echo of footsteps on stone. Suddenly, his nose wrinkled as a foul smell akin to rotten eggs mixed with stale mud invaded his nostrils. Not far from his spot, Everett Clopton had unleashed one of his dungbombs. Ominis groaned, his face contorting in disgust as he frantically waved his hand in front of his face to dissipate the unbearable stench. The air movement from his motion caused the seed to be swept off its course and drift back into the bustling crowd of students.

The seed eventually lodged itself in the chestnut curls of one Sebastian Sallow. Clutching an antique-looking book, Sebastian headed towards the library in search of one person in particular. His search on the ground floor proved fruitless, and so he ascended the winding staircase. On the top floor, he finally found her. Astraea Morgen, completely engrossed in a book, stood before a towering bookcase, her eyes darting across the pages. To catch her attention, Sebastian cleared his throat, the sound echoing softly around them. Astraea's eyes shifted from the book to Sebastian, her eyebrows arching in mild surprise. He then placed his book on the worn wooden desk attached to the bookshelf and started flipping through it to find what he wanted to show her. As he was doing so, Astraea's gaze was drawn to something white lodged in his hair. She pursed her lips and exhaled, her warm breath dislodging the little dandelion seed from Sebastian's hair.

"Why did you do that?" asked Sebastian, his gaze meeting Astraea's, a blush creeping into his cheeks.

"You had a little something in your hair," responded Astraea, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes at his slightly flustered demeanour.

Thus, the little dandelion seed floated away from the pair and landed on top of a book that was being magically returned to a shelf high above the others. And so there the journey of our dandelion seed appeared to end, or so it seemed…

Many years later, a young Ravenclaw girl was carefully examining the titles of the books on the shelf.

"Ah! There it is!" exclaimed Alice Beaumont before hearing Madam Pince's stern shushing. "Simon!" she whispered, unable to contain her excitement, "I found the book!"

A boy with tousled chestnut hair and a constellation of freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks emerged from the corner of the bookcase. With a flick of her wand, Alice pulled the book towards her through the air.

"Ugh, look at this," Alice grimaced, "it's covered in dust… And is that a dandelion seed? How long do you think it's been there?" she asked, her eyes fixated on the tiny white fluff.

Simon looked at the seed, then at her. "It's a dandelion seed, Alice. They come and go every year, so it's probably from last summer or something."

Alice shrugged, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small, thoughtful smile. "Still, it deserves to be free." She gently opened a nearby window and then delicately blew onto the book, sending the dust and the dandelion seed dancing into the outside world. And so, the little dandelion seed, now basking in the golden sunlight, floated away on yet another adventure.