amberveil

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Chapter 9

The Slytherin common room glowed dim and cool, lake-light rippling green across stone and leather. A low fire snapped more for mood than heat. The usual corner had been claimed: books sprawled like fallen soldiers, Snape’s spidery Potions notes dominating one sprawl of parchment, Pandora’s Charms diagrams (smuggled in via secret passage) pinned beneath goblets. Barty had abandoned Transfiguration for explosive runes scrawled in textbook margins.

Rhea sat cross-legged on a cushion, quill hovering uselessly over her Goblin Rebellions essay. Severus brewed headache potion over a portable flame—officially for study, unofficially because Dorcas had winced through Barty’s latest house-elf tirade.

“Stop fidgeting,” Snape muttered, not looking up. “You’re destabilizing the fumes.”

“I’m thinking,” Rhea said.

“Violently,” Evan drawled from his half-dead sprawl on the sofa, dark-creatures book open unread across his chest.

Pandora perched on the arm of Rhea’s chair like gravity was optional. “Your hair’s blocking your thoughts tonight. All wild spirals. Like charmed smoke, or night sky caught in curls.”

Rhea swatted half-heartedly as Pandora tugged a lock, watching it bounce. “Lake humidity. Always.”

“Exactly.” Pandora slid behind her, knees bracketing shoulders. “Braiding settles them. Constellations instead of chaos. Hold still.”

Dorcas glanced up from hex-doodling on her wrist. “Pandora, Arithmancy. Not hair salon.”

“Numbers don’t sing tonight,” Pandora said serenely, already sectioning curls with cool, deft fingers.

Barty smirked. “Rosier’s turning her into a princess. Ribbons next?”

“Jealous?” Pandora asked sweetly. “Yours could use taming. Thunderstorm chic.”

“Pass. Dangerous over decorative.”

Regulus, pretending to read Ancient Runes while eyeing the door for Thaddeus Hale, spoke at last. “She doesn’t need braiding. She needs protection from polite Ravenclaws.”

Rhea groaned. “Reg, not again.”

“If Hale says ‘good morning’ one more time—”

“He won’t,” Severus cut in. “He’s probably reciting etiquette to his owl.”

Evan snorted. “Or debating owl pedigrees.”

Pandora’s laugh was wind chimes. Her fingers worked steadily—dividing, twisting, weaving. Rhea’s thick curls fought at first, springing free, but slowly surrendered into a loose, intricate plait from crown to tail, silver ribbon produced from nowhere to tie it off. A few tendrils framed her face.

“There.” Pandora brushed the end. “Thoughts in orderly lines now. Little soldiers.”

Rhea reached back, tracing the smooth rope. It felt contained, deliberate. She smiled. “Thanks, Pan. Feels… nice.”

Dorcas leaned in. “Older. Mysterious.”

“Less tiny,” Regulus muttered, approval flickering despite himself.

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Mysterious enough for doxy eggs in Flitwick’s room?”

“Still no,” Dorcas said.

Snape passed Rhea a vial without comment. “Drink. Your essay’s dying.”

The group settled—parchment rustling, quills scratching, Barty snorting at his own notes. Pandora lingered, twirling the braid’s tip absently like a talisman.

The next day, at the Slytherin table: Regulus at the end, posture rigid, scowling at the Prophet; Barty stabbing sausages like personal enemies; Evan lounging beside Dorcas, staring at the ceiling; Severus annotating Potions journals in red ink.

Pandora arrived last, gliding in, Ravenclaw scarf an afterthought. She dropped beside Rhea and immediately checked the braid.

“Still perfect. Silver sings with your magic.”

Rhea rolled her eyes. “Ridiculous.”

“Observant.” Pandora tore a croissant into flakes. “You’re glowing. Secret-library glow. Don’t deny.”

Cheeks pink, Rhea glanced around. No one heard. Remus had been careful last night—two corridors’ distance, no running. Still, his soft “Rhea…” lingered like honey. He was a third-year Gryffindor, one year ahead, and their stolen moments in hidden alcoves felt like a delicate spell that could shatter if anyone—especially Regulus or the other Marauders—found out.

Regulus snapped the paper shut. “What glow?”

“Nothing,” Rhea said too quickly.

Pandora’s eyes sparkled. “Girl things.”

Before Regulus could press, Dorcas leaned in. “Snape, tell them what you overheard.”

Severus didn’t look up. “I don’t gossip.”

“When it’s useful,” Barty grinned.

A sigh. “Mulciber and Avery heard Hale asking Slughorn about advanced Healing draughts—family curse scar flaring. Slughorn was purring.”

Rhea’s stomach twisted—not jealousy, just curiosity. A tiny, absurd wish to be the sort of person Thaddeus asked serious questions around.

Regulus pounced. “Suspicious. Plotting.”

“He’s Head Boy,” Evan drawled. “Allowed to talk to teachers.”

“Allowed to breathe too much near Rhea,” Regulus muttered.

Rhea buried her face in her hands. “Begging you to stop.”

Pandora patted her consolingly. “Murderous because he loves you. Very Black-family romantic.”

Barty toasted with his goblet. “To murderous protectiveness and polite Ravenclaws who don’t realize they’re doomed.”

Severus’s mouth twitched. “If he threatens her, I’ll handle it. Quietly. No dramatics.”

Regulus looked affronted. “I do quiet dramatics.”

“You do loud and call it quiet,” Dorcas said.

Laughter rippled—except Severus, who returned to his notes.

Rhea stole a glance at the Ravenclaw table. Thaddeus sat straight, sleeves immaculate, laughing quietly at a fourth-year. Tired shadows under his eyes, smile not quite reaching them. She wondered about that curse scar, whether cold weather made it ache.

She looked away.

Pandora noticed, leaned close. “Admiring from afar is allowed. Just… don’t fall too deep. You’ve already got one boy leaving books in corners.”

Rhea’s heart stuttered. “I’m not—”

“You are. A little. Sweet. Be careful with both.”

Rhea nodded once.

Remus entered then—scarf askew, hair chaos, books under arm. He didn’t look over. But as he passed the Gryffindor benches, his eyes met hers for one private smile. Nearby, his friends—Sirius (her eldest brother, ever the dramatic third-year Gryffindor), James Potter, and Peter Pettigrew—were causing their usual ruckus, oblivious to the quiet exchange.

Rhea smiled back—tiny, fleeting—then turned to her toast.

Regulus ranted on. Barty tried convincing Evan exploding Snap counted as revision. Dorcas nearly spilled juice laughing. Severus pretended they didn’t exist.

Pandora’s fingers brushed the braid again, light as breath.

For a moment, the Hall felt wide, safe, full of small secret magics.

After breakfast, the second-years filed into Charms with Professor Flitwick, the classroom buzzing with levitation spells gone awry—feathers drifting lazily overhead like misplaced snowflakes. Rhea slid into a seat beside Dorcas, who was already doodling protective wards on her parchment margins.

"Watch this," Dorcas whispered, flicking her wand at a stray quill. It twitched but didn't lift. "Ugh, Wingardium Leviosa—why does the swish matter so much?"

Rhea stifled a laugh. "It's all in the wrist. Like this." She demonstrated, her feather rising smoothly to join the flock above. Flitwick beamed from his stack of books, awarding Slytherin a point for "exemplary form."

Barty, two rows back, wasn't so lucky—his feather exploded in a puff of down, earning a chorus of snickers from the Hufflepuffs sharing the class. "Bloody wand," he muttered, brushing feathers from his robes. "Must be defective."

Evan leaned over from his seat. "Or user error. Try not to hex it next time."

Regulus, ever the perfectionist, had his feather orbiting his head like a tiny moon. He shot Rhea a smug look, but she just rolled her eyes and focused on helping Dorcas, their whispers turning to chatter about the upcoming Quidditch match. "Gryffindor's got that new Chaser—James Potter," Dorcas said. "Thinks he's Merlin reborn."

"He's friends with Sirius, I think he's got the Keeper position with Potter last year, i heard him brad all summer about it." Rhea replied quietly. "They're all show-offs" She caught herself and busied herself with her notes.

The class dragged into practicals, with groups pairing up. Rhea ended up with a chatty Slytherin named Lila Travers, who spent half the time gossiping about the third-years. "Heard your brother Sirius hexed a Ravenclaw for looking at him funny. Marauders are wild this year—Potter and Black strutting like they own the castle."

Rhea shrugged, levitating a stack of books for practice. "Sirius is... Sirius. Dramatic as always." Inside, she wondered if Remus had been involved—hoping not, for his sake.

By the end, feathers littered the floor, and Flitwick dismissed them with homework on precision charms. Rhea's braid held firm through the chaos, a small anchor amid the spells.

Potions followed in the dungeons, the air thick with bubbling cauldrons and Slughorn's booming praise for his favorites. Severus dominated as usual, his Draught of Peace simmering a perfect lilac. Rhea paired with Barty, who kept sneaking volatile ingredients into their mix "for fun."

"Careful," she warned, stirring counterclockwise. "Last time you did that, it smoked out the whole room."

Barty grinned wickedly. "Adds character. Besides, Slughorn loves a spectacle—from the right house." He nodded toward a Gryffindor table where a girl name Anna was earning quiet admiration for her flawless brew. "Longston's is too good for that lot. Should've been Slytherin."

Rhea glanced over, she nearly dropped her ladle, earning a suspicious glare from Regulus at the next cauldron.

"Focus, Black," Slughorn called jovially. "You've got potential—family legacy and all!"

Classmates chattered during cleanup: Mulciber boasting about Dark Arts books, Avery complaining about Muggle Studies. Rhea kept quiet, but Dorcas pulled her aside. "Heard Hale's in the library later. Studying scars again?"

Rhea sighed. "Not my business." But the curiosity lingered.

Lunch brought a quick bite in the Hall, then Rhea slipped away—dodging Regulus’s latest “stay visible” lecture—and drifted toward the forest edge, drawn by heavy movement in the underbrush. (The Hagrid encounter proceeded as before, with the Niffler delighting her and leaving her with that quiet warmth.)

That evening, dinner in the Great Hall was a glittering affair under enchanted skies, stars twinkling like distant secrets. Rhea sat with her usual group at the Slytherin table, but Pandora and Evan had joined them—Pandora sneaking over from Ravenclaw with a conspiratorial wink, Evan sliding in beside Regulus. The four of them—Rhea, Regulus, Pandora, and Evan—all fluent in French from Black family summers and Rosier heritage, switched seamlessly to the language for their private trash-talking session. It was a tradition: dissecting Hogwarts' inhabitants with sharp wit, safe from prying ears.

"Regardez cet idiot de Potter," Regulus began in French, nodding toward the Gryffindor table where James was juggling goblets to impress a crowd. (Translation: Look at that idiot Potter.)

Pandora giggled, her voice light as she replied, "Il se pavane comme un paon sans plumes. Et Black—ton frère, Rhea—il est encore pire, avec ses blagues stupides." (Translation: He struts like a peacock without feathers. And Black—your brother, Rhea—he's even worse, with his stupid jokes.)

Evan smirked, spearing a roast potato. "Sirius pense qu'il est rebelle, mais il n'est qu'un chiot bruyant cherchant l'attention. Et Lupin? Toujours l'air fatigué, comme s'il cachait un secret loup-garou." (Translation: Sirius thinks he's rebellious, but he's just a noisy puppy seeking attention. And Lupin? Always looking tired, like he's hiding a werewolf secret.)

Rhea choked on her pumpkin juice, shooting Evan a warning glance, but played along. "Ne commence pas avec Remus. Mais Flitwick—ce nain surexcité. Il grimpe sur ses livres comme un gnome de jardin." (Translation: Don't start with Remus. But Flitwick—that hyperactive dwarf. He climbs on his books like a garden gnome.)

Regulus leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Et Hale, ce Ravenclaw poli. Il sourit comme s'il avalait du vinaigre. 'Bonjour'—pathétique. Il devrait apprendre à être menaçant." (Translation: And Hale, that polite Ravenclaw. He smiles like he's swallowing vinegar. 'Good morning'—pathetic. He should learn to be threatening.)

Pandora twirled a fork, adding, "Les professeurs sont les pires. McGonagall avec son regard de chat affamé, prête à griffer quiconque rate une transfiguration. Et Dumbledore? Ce vieux fou avec ses bonbons ridicules." (Translation: The professors are the worst. McGonagall with her hungry cat stare, ready to claw anyone who messes up a transfiguration. And Dumbledore? That old fool with his ridiculous sweets.)

Evan chuckled. "N'oublions pas les Hufflepuffs—tous ces moutons loyaux, trottant comme des lemmings. Et les Gryffindors? Courageux? Non, juste imprudents." (Translation: Let's not forget the Hufflepuffs—all those loyal sheep, trotting like lemmings. And the Gryffindors? Brave? No, just reckless.)

They dissolved into quiet laughter, switching back to English as Barty wandered over, oblivious. "What'd I miss? Sounded fancy."

"Nothing you'd understand," Regulus said smoothly.

The trash-talking left Rhea lighter, the French words like a shield against the castle's chaos. As plates cleared, she touched her braid again—still holding, like the day's small magics.

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Word count: 1719

Chapter 8

The Great Hall buzzed louder than a beehive.

Students reunited, gossip flew everywhere, and the enchanted ceiling showed a pale winter sky streaked with sunlight.

Rhea sat between Regulus and Pandora at the Slytherin table, lazily spreading jam on her toast while Barty argued with Dorcas about whether you could sneak doxy eggs into a classroom without getting caught.

(It was way too early for that conversation.)

Rhea wasn’t really listening.

Her eyes had snagged — accidentally! — on the Ravenclaw table.

More specifically… on him.

A seventh-year boy, tall, elegant, and absolutely unfair-looking for this hour of the morning. He had light brown curls falling just past his ears, dimples when he smiled, and light blue eyes that reminded her of frost on windows.

He moved with perfect posture. He passed a pitcher of pumpkin juice to a first-year with a polite nod. He said “good morning” to Flitwick as if he were raised in a ballroom instead of a home.

He was absolutely the type of boy Rhea would never even think about talking to.

So of course she found herself staring at him for an entire three seconds too long.

Pandora followed her gaze instantly.

“Oh,” she said softly.

Rhea blinked. “What?”

Pandora leaned in. “I know him.”

Rhea nearly dropped her toast. “You do?”

“Mhm. That’s Thaddeus Hale. Seventh year. Ravenclaw’s Head Boy.”

Rhea tried to play it cool. “Right. Yes. Sure. I… knew that.”

“You absolutely did not,” Pandora whispered, grinning. “He’s pure-blood, from an old family. Very proper. Very smart. Very… respectful.”

Rhea’s lips twitched. “Respectful is good.”

“Respectful is excellent,” Pandora agreed. “Especially for you.”

Rhea elbowed her lightly. “Stop.”

“Oh, I will not,” Pandora insisted, eyes sparkling. “You’re tiny, you know. He probably thinks you’re a lost second-year who wandered into the wrong part of the castle.”

“I’m not tiny,” Rhea muttered, cheeks warming.

Regulus looked up from his porridge.

“Who’s tiny?”

“You,” Barty said automatically.

Regulus threw a berry at him.

Pandora ignored both boys entirely. “Rhea, you’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Rhea stabbed her eggs with unnecessary force.

“It’s not a crush. He’s just— he looks— he’s—”

“Pretty?” Pandora supplied.

Rhea inhaled sharply. “No— I mean maybe— I mean— I’m not— I’m twelve, Pan.”

“Exactly,” Pandora said, patting her arm. “So you’re allowed to find older boys pretty. As long as you don’t do anything about it.”

“I’m not doing anything about it!”

“Good,” Pandora said brightly. “Because he’s seventeen, and last year he spent an entire dinner discussing the political implications of owl breeding with my mother. That’s how proper he is.”

Rhea froze. “…owl breeding?”

“Yes.”

“…and he made it sound interesting?”

Pandora nodded. “It was terrifying.”

Rhea covered her face with her hands. “Oh no. It’s definitely just an admiration-crush. Not a real one.”

Pandora beamed. “The best kind.”

Thaddeus Hale happened to glance over at the Slytherin table.

Rhea immediately turned into a statue.

He didn’t even see her — he was just scanning the room — but Pandora saw everything.

“Ohhhhh,” she whispered. “You’re doomed.”

“Shut up,” Rhea whispered back.

Pandora giggled into her cereal bowl.

It started the very next morning.

Rhea didn’t even glance at the Ravenclaw table — she was busy buttering her toast — but Regulus noticed Thaddeus Hale walk past, greet Professor McGonagall, and sit down with his prefect badge shining.

And Regulus narrowed his eyes.

“Why is he walking like that?” he muttered.

“Like what?” Rhea asked, confused.

“Like he owns the castle.”

“He is the Head Boy,” Pandora said reasonably.

Regulus scoffed. “I don’t like his face.”

“You don’t even know him,” Rhea said.

“Exactly,” Regulus replied. “Suspicious.”

Barty snorted into his pumpkin juice. “What’s suspicious is how personally offended you look.”

“I’m not offended,” Regulus snapped. “I’m cautious.”

Rhea raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because,” Regulus said, dramatically spearing a sausage, “that boy made eye contact with you yesterday.”

Rhea blinked. “Reg… he didn’t even see me.”

“He might have. I saw his gaze travel vaguely in our direction.”

“Regulus Orion Black,” Rhea said slowly, “I’m twelve.”

“Yes,” Regulus said, tossing his hair like a prince on stage. “And he’s seventeen. A grown man.”

Pandora giggled. “Regulus, please. Thaddeus is practically allergic to flirting.”

“That’s what they all want you to think,” Regulus muttered darkly.

Later that day, Rhea was walking to Charms when Thaddeus Hale himself stopped at the corner, holding a stack of books.

He nodded politely.

“Miss Black.”

Rhea blinked, surprised he knew her name. “Er— hello.”

“Your friend Pandora helped me with the first-year scheduling mishap this morning,” he said. “I trust your timetable is sorted as well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Rhea said, awkward but polite.

“Excellent. Have a good day.”

And he walked off, perfectly gentleman-like.

Rhea smiled a little—

until Regulus slid into the hallway like he’d been sprinting from the other end of the corridor.

“Did he talk to you?!”

Rhea sighed. “He literally said ‘have a good day.’”

Regulus looked horrified. “He WHAT?”

Dorcas, passing by, raised a brow. “Oh no. He’s in Big Brother Mode.”

“This is worse,” Pandora whispered. “This is Black Brother Mode.”

Regulus ignored them all.

“Rhea, you must avoid him at all costs.”

“He said four words to me!”

“And that’s four too many!”

It escalated.

When Rhea went to the library…

Regulus went too.

When she walked through the courtyard…

Regulus suddenly “decided to take a stroll.”

When she sat in the Common Room doing homework…

Regulus stationed himself behind her chair like a suspicious gargoyle.

Pandora and Dorcas found it hysterical.

Barty found it entertaining.

Evan found it “chaotic in a very Black-family way.”

Esme found it confusing.

Rhea found it exhausting.

Finally, one evening in the Great Hall, Thaddeus Hale passed by their table with a respectful nod.

Regulus instantly sprang into action, jumping up a little too fast.

Rhea buried her face in her hands. “Oh Merlin…”

“Head Boy Hale,” Regulus said in a tone that could curdle milk.

Thaddeus blinked. “Yes?”

“I’m watching you.”

Thaddeus blinked twice.

“…may I ask why?”

“No.”

And Regulus sat back down like nothing happened.

Thaddeus, confused but too polite to ask further, simply walked away.

Rhea smacked her palm to her forehead.

“Regulus! What is WRONG with you?!”

Regulus lifted his chin, very proud of himself.

“I protected you.”

“From WHAT?! A greeting?!”

“He seemed overly friendly.”

“He said nothing!”

“That’s suspicious,” Regulus insisted.

Pandora couldn’t breathe from laughing. Dorcas fell sideways against the table. Even Evan cracked a rare laugh.

Barty raised his goblet.

“To Regulus Black, protector of sisters from polite, harmless Ravenclaws.”

Regulus hissed at him.

Rhea groaned.

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” Regulus said smugly, patting her head.

She slapped his hand away.

The Hogwarts library was quiet — almost too quiet. Dust motes floated in shafts of pale winter sunlight. The only sounds were pages turning, whispers from distant corners, and the soft scuff of Rhea’s boots on the stone floor.

Rhea glanced over her shoulder. Regulus was nowhere in sight. For the moment, the coast was clear. She let out a small sigh of relief.

“Finally,” she whispered.

“Shh,” Remus murmured, ducking behind a bookshelf as he adjusted his scarf. “If anyone sees us together… well, you know how the Black family is about propriety.”

Rhea grinned. “You mean, ‘if Regulus sees us together, I will never live it down.’”

Remus chuckled softly, the sound like warm wool around her ears. “Exactly that.”

They ducked into a narrow corner between two tall shelves, the one with the rare charm books that no first-years were supposed to touch. Rhea leaned against the wall, knees drawn up, trying not to giggle too loudly.

Remus knelt beside her, holding out a small pile of books he’d picked out.

“I thought you might like these,” he said quietly. “A mix of Muggle stories and… well, one advanced spell book. Just in case you get bored of Wonderland.”

Rhea’s heart did a tiny flip. She took the books from him, brushing her fingers over his. “Thanks, Remus. You always… you know, notice what I like.”

He looked at her, amber eyes soft. “I try.”

For a moment, they just sat there. No one interrupting. No Sirius teasing, no Dorcas laughing at something she shouldn’t have, no Barty attempting to grab Rhea’s attention. Just them.

Rhea opened the first book — The Princess Bride — and settled on the floor, back against the shelf.

“I still can’t believe you lend me these,” she said, smiling up at him. “I finished Alice in… two days. Maybe less.”

Remus smiled shyly. “I could tell. You like to read fast.”

“And I like to get lost,” Rhea said, brushing a curl out of her face. “It’s… quiet. Safe.”

“You could say the same about this corner,” Remus murmured, gesturing to the little nook.

She nodded, suddenly aware that he was very close. Too close for her twelve-year-old self to completely handle. Her fingers brushed against his as she adjusted the book on her lap. Neither pulled away.

After a long pause, Rhea looked up at him and whispered, “You know… this is nice. Being here with you.”

Remus smiled, soft and small, like he’d been waiting to hear that. “It is. I… like being here too.”

The snow outside drifted silently against the library windows. They read together for a while, side by side, exchanging quiet comments or pointing out funny bits, leaning closer than they should. Every once in a while, Rhea’s fingers brushed Remus’ again, and he’d give a tiny, startled laugh.

Finally, Rhea yawned, book in her lap. “I should… probably get back before Regulus launches a full-scale search-and-destroy mission.”

Remus chuckled softly. “Yeah… that would be bad.”

She stood, clutching the books, and turned toward him. Without thinking, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Not on the lips — just a little, fleeting peck.

Remus froze, blinking. Then he whispered, voice warm and a little awed, “Rhea…”

She grinned, cheeks burning, and whispered back, “Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

Older woman

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the dunes in shades of amber and crimson. Y/N shifted slightly on the sand, her shoulder brushing against Bill's in a way that felt accidental but lingered just a fraction too long. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, a steady presence that contrasted with the cooling evening air. For a moment, neither spoke, content to let the desert's quiet hum fill the space between them.

Bill broke the silence first, his voice low and easy, like he was commenting on the weather. "You know, the sunsets here never get old. First few months, I thought I'd get used to them. But nope. Still stop me in my tracks every time."

Y/N nodded, her eyes fixed on the fading light. "I remember. It's like the magic seeps into the sky itself. Makes you feel small, in a good way." She paused, then added with a small smile, "Though I suppose you've seen more of them than I have now. You're the veteran here."

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Veteran? Hardly. Hassan's the one who's been out here since before I was born. I'm just... surviving." He turned his head toward her, his blue eyes catching the last rays of sun. "But yeah, I've learned a thing or two. Thanks to you, mostly."

Her heart stuttered at that, but she played it cool, tilting her head with a teasing arch of her brow. "Flattery, Weasley? That's new."

"Not flattery. Truth." He shrugged, his lazy grin appearing—the one that made him look effortlessly charming, even with sand in his hair and a day's worth of stubble on his jaw. "You set a high bar during that training week. I spent the first six months trying not to embarrass myself in front of the team, thinking, 'What would Y/N do?'"

She laughed, a genuine sound that surprised even her. It had been a while since she'd felt this light, this unburdened. Missions had a way of weighing her down—endless travel, high-stakes curses, the isolation of being the "expert" everyone relied on but no one truly knew. But here, with Bill, it was different. Easier. "Well, if that's the case, I'm glad I could inspire. Though from what Hassan's reports say, you're more than holding your own. Lead on that Luxor chamber last month? Impressive."

Bill waved it off, but there was a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Team effort. Tariq spotted the ward, Amira handled the flames. I just... didn't die."

"Modest as ever." She nudged him gently with her elbow, and he didn't pull away. The contact sent a small spark through her, one she tried to ignore. He was younger—five years her junior—and yet, sitting here, the gap felt smaller. He'd grown into himself, no longer the eager trainee with wide eyes and endless questions. Now he was steady, capable, with a quiet confidence that drew people in. Including her.

As the stars began to prick the darkening sky, the camp's evening noises drifted up—laughter from the team around the fire, the clink of potion vials being sorted, the faint sizzle of magical wards reinforcing themselves for the night. Y/N sighed, leaning back on her hands. "It's good to be back. Spain was... intense. Ancient Iberian curses are sneaky, but they don't have the raw power of these Egyptian ones. Feels like coming home, in a way."

Bill glanced at her, his expression softening. "Home, huh? High praise for a place that tries to kill you daily."

She met his gaze, and for a second, the air thickened. "Maybe it's the people."

His smile widened just a touch, but he didn't push. That was Bill—patient, never rushing. "Well, we're glad you're here. Hassan's already plotting to keep you longer than three weeks."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course he is. But I've got commitments after this. France next, then who knows."

"Always on the move," he murmured, almost to himself. There was no judgment in it, just a quiet observation. He'd written about it in his letters—how he admired her drive, her independence. But reading it on parchment was different from hearing the warmth in his voice now.

They sat in companionable silence a while longer, until the chill of the desert night crept in. Y/N shivered slightly, and without a word, Bill shrugged off his lightweight cloak and draped it over her shoulders. It smelled like him—sun-baked linen and a hint of spice from the camp's cooking fires.

"Thanks," she said, pulling it closer. "Chivalrous, Weasley."

He shrugged again. "Just practical. Rule two, remember? Always have something warm at night. The desert doesn't care about your ego."

She smiled, but inside, the gesture tugged at her resolve. He was too easy to be around, too kind without expecting anything in return. And that age gap? It loomed in her mind like a shadow curse, whispering doubts. He was 20, full of potential, unscarred by the years she'd already weathered. What would people say? What would he think in a few years, when the novelty wore off?

But as they stood to head back to camp, she couldn't shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—she was overthinking it.

The next morning dawned bright and merciless, the sun already baking the sand by the time the team gathered for briefing. Hassan stood at the head of the stone table in the field office, his scarred arms crossed as he unrolled a ancient papyrus map etched with glowing runes.

"New site," he announced, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. "Valley of the Kings outskirts. Reports of unstable wards—magic bleeding out, causing mirages and minor possessions in nearby Muggle villages. Gringotts wants it secured before it draws attention."

Safiya leaned forward, her braids swinging. "How unstable are we talking? Flame pits? Shadow beasts?"

"Worse," Hassan replied. "Hieroglyphs suggest a guardian curse. Old Kingdom style—adaptive, learns from intruders. We've got three weeks to map and neutralize it before the bank sends in reinforcements." His eyes flicked to Y/N. "L/N, you're lead consultant. Weasley, you're her second."

Bill nodded without hesitation, but Y/N caught the quick glances from the team—Amira's smirk, Tariq's raised eyebrow. Safiya just looked amused.

"Problem?" Hassan asked, noticing the undercurrent.

"None at all," Y/N said smoothly, ignoring the heat rising in her cheeks. "Let's gear up."

The team dispersed, grabbing supplies—enchanted canteens, rune detectors, protective amulets. As Y/N checked her wand holster, Bill sidled up beside her, his presence familiar and reassuring.

"Ready for this?" he asked, voice low.

She glanced up, meeting his steady gaze. "Always. You?"

He grinned. "With you? Yeah."

It was simple, but it sent a flutter through her. Focus, she told herself. Mission first.

They Apparated to the site in pairs, the crack of magic echoing across the empty dunes. The entrance was a jagged fissure in a cliff face, half-buried in sand, with faint blue sparks dancing along the edges like fireflies. The air hummed with power, thick and oppressive.

"Shields up," Hassan ordered. "No one goes in alone."

Y/N took point, Bill at her side. She traced her wand along the entrance, murmuring diagnostic spells. "Wards are fractured. See that ripple? It's feeding on ambient magic. We need to stabilize the outer layer before breaching."

Bill nodded, his own wand glowing as he reinforced her spell. Their magic intertwined seamlessly—hers precise and calculated, his intuitive and adaptive. It was like old times, but better. More equal.

As they worked, a low rumble echoed from within the tomb. The ground trembled, and suddenly, illusions sprang to life: spectral jackals snarling from the shadows, their eyes glowing red.

"Illusions!" Safiya shouted. "Don't engage—"

But one lunged at Amira, its form solidifying into something real. She blasted it back with a curse, but more appeared.

"Adaptive," Y/N muttered. "It's testing us."

Bill stepped forward, his voice calm. "Flank left. I'll draw them."

"No," Y/N said sharply. "Together."

He didn't argue. They moved as one, wands weaving a net of counter-curses. The jackals howled, dissolving into wisps, but the effort drained them. Sweat beaded on Bill's forehead, his hair sticking to his skin.

By midday, they'd secured the entrance, but the real work was inside. Hassan called a break, and the team retreated to a shaded overhang. Y/N passed Bill a water flask, their fingers brushing.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

He took a sip, then handed it back with a nod. "Yeah. That was intense, but... fun?"

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. "Only you would call near-death 'fun'."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Admit it—you missed this."

Her breath caught. "Maybe."

Their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just them. Then Tariq called out, breaking the moment. "Hey, lovebirds! Lunch!"

Bill rolled his eyes, but Y/N felt her face heat. Lovebirds? Was it that obvious?

Over the next few days, the mission deepened. They delved into the tomb's chambers, mapping twisting corridors lined with hieroglyphs that shifted like living ink. Curses lurked in every shadow—poisoned air pockets, collapsing floors, whispers that invaded the mind with doubts.

Y/N and Bill worked in tandem, their synergy drawing admiring nods from the team. During lulls, they'd discuss theories over shared meals, their conversations drifting from magic to personal anecdotes.

One evening, as they pored over a rune tablet by lantern light, Bill set down his quill. "You know, in your letters, you never mentioned how lonely the travel gets."

She looked up, surprised. "It's part of the job."

"Yeah, but... you don't have to do it alone." His tone was gentle, not pressing.

She sighed, tracing a finger over the tablet. "I've always been independent. Comes with being the oldest in my family, I suppose. And the age thing... it makes connections tricky."

He tilted his head. "Age thing?"

She hesitated, then met his eyes. "Bill, you're 20. I'm 25. People talk. And I don't want to... hold you back."

He leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Hold me back? Y/N, you're the one who pushes me forward. Age is just a number. Hassan's got 30 years on his wife, and they're happy as can be. It's about fit, not calendars."

She swallowed, her defenses cracking. "But what if—"

"What if we try?" he interrupted softly. "No rush. Just... see."

The vulnerability in his voice undid her. He wasn't pushing; he was offering. And suddenly, the gap didn't seem so wide.

Before she could respond, a shout echoed from the corridor—Amira's voice, urgent. "Intrusion! The guardian's awake!"

They scrambled to their feet, wands drawn. The chamber shook as a massive spectral figure materialized—a pharaoh's guardian, armored in ethereal gold, eyes blazing with ancient fury.

"Form up!" Hassan bellowed.

The battle was chaos. Spells flew like fireworks—Safiya's barriers cracking under the guardian's blasts, Tariq's runes flaring to bind it, Amira's flames clashing with its shadows. Y/N and Bill dove into the fray, their combined curse breaking the guardian's shield.

But it adapted, lashing out with tendrils of darkness that wrapped around Bill, pulling him toward a yawning pit.

"Bill!" Y/N cried, fear spiking.

He struggled, his face calm even as pain etched his features. "Y/N— the core rune! On its chest!"

She spotted it—a glowing hieroglyph pulsing like a heart. Dodging a swipe, she channeled her magic, pouring everything into a precision strike. The rune shattered, and the guardian howled, dissolving into harmless mist.

Bill collapsed, gasping, as the team rushed in. Y/N knelt beside him, her hands checking for injuries. "You idiot—drawing its attention like that."

He grinned weakly. "Worked, didn't it?"

She helped him up, their faces inches apart. In the adrenaline's wake, she didn't think—she just acted, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to his lips.

He froze, then softened, his hand cupping her cheek. When they pulled back, the team was staring.

Tariq whistled. "About time."

Safiya smirked. "Took a near-death to get there?"

Hassan just nodded approvingly. "Desert wisdom."

Bill looked at Y/N, his eyes bright. "So... that a yes to trying?"

She laughed, breathless. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

The remaining weeks blurred into a rhythm of work and stolen moments. With the tomb secured, the team celebrated—campfire stories, shared feasts under the stars. Y/N and Bill explored their connection quietly: walks in the dunes, letters turned into late-night talks, kisses that grew from tentative to assured.

The age gap? It faded in importance. Bill's steadiness matched her experience; her drive ignited his calm. Hassan pulled her aside one day: "He's good for you. Don't overthink."

She didn't. When her three weeks ended, she didn't leave alone—Bill requested leave, joining her for a short stint in France.

As they Apparated away, hand in hand, Y/N glanced back at the desert. "Think we'll come back?"

Bill squeezed her hand. "Count on it. Together."

Previous part 🔙 🔜 next part

Word count: 2010

Chapter 7

Snow drifted lazily over the Hogwarts grounds, the sky pale and soft like powdered sugar. Students scattered around in groups, throwing snowballs or building lopsided snowmen. The air had that crisp stillness only winter carried.

Remus waited by the stone staircase outside the Entrance Hall, scarf wrapped twice around his neck, hands shoved in his pockets. He kept exhaling little clouds of nervous breath.

Then he spotted her.

Rhea trotted down the steps in a thick green scarf nearly as long as she was, snow already settling in her curls. She smiled when she saw him — that small, genuine smile that always hit him like a warming charm.

“You’re early,” she said, cheeks flushed from the cold.

Remus shrugged, pretending he hadn’t been standing there ten minutes. “Just… eager to go before it gets dark.”

Rhea’s eyebrow rose, amused. “Uh-huh.”

They walked through the courtyard, fresh snow crunching under their boots. Rhea swung her arms gently as they went, like she was trying to soak in the winter quiet. Remus kept sneaking glances.

She noticed after the third time.

“What?” she laughed.

“Nothing,” he said too fast. “Just — you always look like you’re thinking a thousand things at once.”

“I am,” she admitted. “Always.”

“Anything interesting?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “How snow is prettier than rain. How my shoes keep filling with ice, which is very rude. How Pandora braided your hair on one of my dolls—”

Remus choked. “She WHAT—”

“And how you’re still flustered by everything,” Rhea added, smirking.

“I am not flustered,” Remus said, extremely flustered.

They walked a bit farther until they reached the frozen lake. It didn’t glitter; instead it was matte and soft-looking, like a sheet of frosted glass. Rhea stepped up to the edge and hugged her arms against the chill.

Remus watched her quietly for a moment.

“You’ve gotten… braver,” he said suddenly.

Rhea turned, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not… shy around me anymore.”

Rhea looked back toward the lake, boots nudging a patch of snow. “That’s because I like being around you.”

Remus froze.

Literally and emotionally.

“Oh,” he said weakly.

Rhea’s lips twitched. “Don’t ‘oh’ me.”

“I’m not ‘oh’-ing! I’m just— surprised. Happy. That’s… nice to hear.”

She looked up at him with that same soft honesty she’d had the day she kissed his cheek.

“And you? Do you like being around me?”

Remus swallowed. Hard. His breath clouded the air.

“I do,” he said. “A lot.”

Rhea’s cheeks warmed, visible even in the cold. “Good.”

They kept walking again, closer now — shoulders almost touching, hands brushing every so often, each time making both of them stiffen before pretending it didn’t happen.

After a few minutes of peaceful silence, Rhea asked, “Do you want to tell me something about you? Something not in a book?”

Remus chuckled. “That’s… vague.”

“You’re mysterious,” she insisted. “I want to know things.”

“Well,” Remus said slowly, “I like winter. Even though it’s cold. It feels… quiet. Like the world is taking a breath.”

Rhea nodded. “Me too. It’s easier to think when things feel still.”

Remus looked at her. “What do you think about?”

“Everything.” She nudged him lightly. “You. Books. Magic. How Evan tried to teach me how to throw a snowball and accidentally hit Professor Kettleburn.”

Remus broke into laugh he tried to hide behind his scarf.

They walked a little further, and then Rhea gently tugged his sleeve.

Remus blinked down. “What?”

She didn’t answer. She just stepped closer, stood on her toes, and carefully brushed snow out of his hair.

Remus went absolutely silent.

Then, very softly, Rhea said, “You’re my favorite person to walk with.”

He felt his chest warm in a way no scarf could manage.

“You’re mine too,” he whispered.

For a moment they just stood there — snow falling around them, the lake frozen and silver, their breaths mixing in the cold air.

It was simple. Quiet. Perfect.

The kind of afternoon first crushes remember forever.

The wind picked up, nudging snowflakes sideways and slipping icy fingers under scarves. Rhea shivered, brushing her hair behind her ear as she glanced toward the castle.

“We should head in,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Remus agreed, though he sounded like he wouldn’t mind staying another hour.

They turned back toward Hogwarts, boots crunching through the fresh snow. Rhea kept her arms wrapped around herself, partly from cold, partly because winter made her feel small.

Remus noticed within seconds.

“You’re freezing,” he said softly.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Rhea stuck out her tongue at him; Remus snorted.

They walked through the courtyard, the snow now falling harder. Rhea tried brushing it off her coat, but the sleeves were already damp. She went to tug her scarf tighter —

—and Remus moved at the same time.

Their hands bumped.

Then tangled.

Then… stayed tangled.

Neither of them moved.

Rhea blinked down at their joined hands, her heart doing far too many things at once.

Remus’s fingers twitched like he was about to pull away, but before he could, Rhea tightened her grip — barely, just enough for him to know she didn’t want him to let go.

Remus looked up at her, cheeks flushed pink from cold… or not from the cold.

“Oh,” he whispered.

“Mm,” Rhea murmured, staring ahead as if the snow-covered path suddenly became very interesting.

They kept walking.

Hand in hand.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Like it wasn’t making both of their hearts skid and trip and tumble.

Remus cleared his throat. “Is this… okay?”

“Yeah,” Rhea said quickly. “I mean — yes. It’s nice.”

“It is nice,” he echoed, sounding like he couldn’t quite believe it was happening.

He loosened his grip just enough to make it gentler — warm, steady, careful in that typical Remus way — and Rhea’s thumb brushed over the side of his hand without her thinking about it.

Remus almost tripped.

“Careful,” she teased softly.

“You’re the one distracting me,” he muttered.

They approached the Entrance Hall, but neither reached for the door. Instead, they slowed at the bottom of the stairs, both of them hesitant for no reason either wanted to admit.

Rhea finally said, quieter than the snowfall, “Do we… tell anyone?”

Remus swallowed. “Do you want to?”

“…Maybe not yet.”

He nodded. “Okay. It can be… just ours for now.”

Rhea smiled — small, secret, glowing.

They stepped inside, warmth rushing over them as the torches flickered back to life.

Still holding hands.

Still not letting go until the very moment they reached the stairs — and even then, it took a long, soft breath before either of them loosened their fingers.

“See you tomorrow?” Remus said, cheeks still burning.

“Of course.”

She turned away, but Remus called after her.

“Oh — Rhea?”

She looked back.

Remus smiled.

Gentle. Shy. Warm.

“Today was my favorite.”

Rhea pretended she didn’t melt on the spot.

The Black Manor glittered.

Icicles charmed to glow like silver candles hung from every balcony. Ancient evergreen garlands wound around marble banisters, and the ballroom itself shimmered with a perpetual snowfall charm that evaporated just before touching the floor. Soft orchestral music drifted through the halls.

Regulus and Rhea hated how perfect it was.

But even they had to admit… it looked stunning.

Rhea stood in front of her mirror while two house-elves fussed over the final touches of her dress — a black silk gown, elegant but still age-appropriate, the Black family crest pinned subtly at her shoulder. Her hair was half-up, strands curled gently around her face.

Dorcas, sitting cross-legged on Rhea’s bed, whistled.

“You look like you just stepped out of a painting.”

“Good or bad painting?”

“A painting someone would steal and hide in their attic because it’s too precious to share,” Dorcas declared.

Esme — who had also been invited, because the Blacks wouldn't publicly exclude a Slytherin girl living in their dorm — peeked in from the doorway in her simple but pretty icy-blue gown.

“Rhea, you look lovely,” she said sincerely.

Before Rhea could answer, Selene wandered past in a dark velvet dress, glanced at Rhea and Dorcas, and said dryly:

“At least tonight will be interesting.”

That was basically a compliment for Selene.

Barty arrived first, wearing black dress robes with silver stitching and already bored of standing still.

He took one look at Rhea and said, “If you trip on that dress, I’m not catching you.”

“You’d miss on purpose,” she shot back.

“Obviously.”

Evan arrived next with Pandora, both blond, both matching in elegant silver ensembles. Pandora immediately grabbed Rhea’s hands, eyes sparkling.

“You look gorgeous! I can braid your hair if you want—no, wait, it’s already perfect, never mind.”

Rhea laughed.

Finally Dorcas came down, escorted by her mother. Dorcas’s sleek plum-colored dress suited her so well that Barty actually blinked.

“You clean up nice, Meadowes.”

“You look like you bribed three elves to get ready,” Dorcas teased.

“I bribed four.”

The ballroom filled quickly: Malfoys, Rosiers, Travers, Selwyns, even a few old pure-blood families Rhea barely recognized. Conversations overlapped, crystal glasses clinked softly, and adults floated around discussing politics and alliances.

The younger guests clustered together near the enormous enchanted mirror that followed them with mild interest.

Rhea scanned the room out of habit. “Regulus is already hiding.”

“He hates attention,” Evan confirmed, sipping punch.

“He hates everything,” Pandora corrected cheerfully.

Dorcas nudged Rhea. “Severus will be upset, won’t he?”

Rhea’s shoulders lowered. “Probably. But his mum wouldn’t have been allowed inside anyway.”

“Invite him for a sleepover after break,” Dorcas said. “The ‘I’m sorry your life is unfair’ edition.”

Rhea snorted.

The first youth dance was mandatory. Rhea barely had time to roll her eyes before Evan smoothly bowed and asked,

“May I?”

She accepted because he was polite about it — and because he had good rhythm. They moved in the practiced waltz pattern all pure-blood children were drilled with growing up.

“You’re more focused than usual,” Rhea teased.

“That is because everyone is watching,” Evan whispered back with a perfectly serious face.

Barty cut in halfway with a mischievous grin, spinning Rhea too fast on purpose.

“Barty!” she hissed.

“You’re welcome.”

Pandora danced with Regulus (who tried not to look proud but failed). Dorcas twirled with a handsome Selwyn boy purely to make Barty jealous — and it worked.

Esme danced with a polite, shy Travers cousin and looked absolutely relieved he didn’t talk much.

After three dances, Rhea stepped away toward the balcony for fresh air — and someone quietly followed.

Pandora.

She wrapped her arms around Rhea from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder.

“You’re glowing,” she whispered.

“From sweat,” Rhea muttered.

“No. From being happy.”

Rhea didn’t answer, but she didn’t deny it.

Pandora giggled softly. “Is it Remus?”

Rhea elbowed her lightly. “We don’t talk about Remus at a pure-blood ball.”

“We do now.”

Rhea turned to face her friend. “We’re not— we haven’t— it’s nothing, really.”

Pandora just smiled knowingly.

Rhea rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

Everyone returned inside as the floating golden clock chimed, marking the final minute before the New Year.

Regulus found Rhea in the crowd, standing beside her like he always did when things got loud.

“Ready?” he asked quietly.

“For what?”

“To pretend we care,” he said.

Rhea snorted. “Yes. Very.”

Their friends gathered around — Evan, Pandora, Barty, Dorcas, Esme — all laughing, nudging each other, whispering plans for fireworks after midnight.

The adults counted down, voices echoing across the ballroom.

“Three… two… one—”

“Happy New Year!”

Fireworks burst overhead, reflected in the enchanted ceiling. Glasses clinked. Families hugged. Music swelled again.

Rhea looked around at her friends — Sirius not here, Severus not here, Remus definitely not here — and yet she felt warm.

Safe.

Content.

Barty slung an arm around her shoulders. “Cheers to surviving another year.”

“Cheers to not hexing anyone publicly,” Dorcas added.

Regulus smirked. “Yet.”

Rhea lifted her glass of sparkling cider.

“To us,” she said.

Previous chapter 🔙 🔜 next chapter

word count: 1814

Chapter 6

The next day Rhea found Remus in the hallway, he showed a griffindor how to do a charm when Rhea approached

"Hey, thank you for the books" Rhea say, handing them back to him

"Wow, you already finished them? You really are a fast reader" Remus says, putting the books back in his backpack

"I have my ways... soo..."

"You want more?" Remus asks with a chuckle

"Yup"

"I'll lend you more later, meet me in the library later, I'll send you an owl" Remus says

"Thank you!" Rhea say then she walks back inside

The griffindor gire looks at Remus strange

"What?" Remus asks

"Why are you speaking with a slytherin?" She asks

"Olivia, she's Sirius sister, plus, im just lending her some books" Remus say

"Still" Olivia starts

"No, no 'still' " Remus says then walks away

During lunch Rhea and Pandora are sitting at the Revenclaw table, they just needed a break from the chaos the boys are causing

"Alors, j'ai entendu dire que tu avais un faible pour quelqu'un" Rhea tease the blond girl in French (So, I heard that you fancy someone)

"Il est mignon, c'est tout" Pandora says (He's cute, that's all)

"C'est qui?" Rhea asks, Pandora poins with her eyes at a boy (how's he?)

"Non" Rhea say, taking a bite of her food (nope)

"Non?! Il est trop mignon!" Pandora whisper/shouts (No?! He's cute!)

"Alors tu le prends pour toi" Rhea tease, Pandora blush (So you fancy him)

Time skip

The library was quiet in that late-afternoon way Rhea liked best — light slanting through the tall windows, dust motes drifting lazily, the occasional page turning sounding louder than it should.

Remus was already there when she arrived, sitting at one of the long wooden tables with a neat little stack of books. Muggle ones, judging from the covers. He waved her over the moment he spotted her.

“Hey, Rhea,” he greeted with that gentle smile of his. “I picked a few I think you’ll like. More mystery, less… existential dread,” he joked softly.

Rhea laughed as she sat across from him. “Good. The last one was amazing, but I’m still not okay.”

Remus slid the books toward her. “This one’s about a detective who solves crimes no one else can. And this—” he tapped a worn paperback, “—is a classic. Lots of adventure. Thought you’d tear right through it.”

“I probably will,” she admitted, touching the cover like it might disappear. “Thank you, Remus. Really.”

“It’s nothing. I like sharing them with someone who actually reads them.” He leaned back, looking almost shy. “Most people think Muggle stories are boring.”

“They’re not,” Rhea said firmly. “You just have good taste.”

That earned her one of Remus’ quiet laughs — the kind where he ducked his head a little.

There was a beat of comfortable silence. The kind Rhea didn’t often get with people outside her little group.

She gathered the books in her arms… then paused.

“Remus?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks. For… just being nice.”

Before she could overthink it, she leaned forward and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.

Warm. Brief. Innocent.

Remus froze.

Absolutely froze.

His face went pink nearly instantly — a soft, startled flush spreading up to his ears.

“Oh,” he said.

Rhea pulled back, trying not to smile too widely. “See you later?”

He swallowed. “Y-yeah. Later. I— I’ll, um— owl you if I find more.”

Rhea waved, books clutched to her chest, and walked away with the lightest steps, a little bounce in her stride.

Remus didn’t move until she was halfway to the door. Then he touched the spot on his cheek like he wasn’t sure it had really happened.

Behind the shelves, Madam Pince raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Remus had not intended to say anything.

He really hadn’t.

He’d come back from the library trying to act normal, cheeks still suspiciously warm, clutching the strap of his bag like it might run away if he let go. He headed straight toward the fireplace where Sirius, James, and Peter were sprawled in the usual chaos — James polishing his broom, Sirius looking over his Transfiguration homework with the expression of someone being personally wronged by every word on the page, Peter munching biscuits.

Remus sat down quietly.

Too quietly.

James looked up. “Oi, Moony, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Sirius didn’t even look away from his parchment. “Or did something finally kill him inside? Was it McGonagall? It was McGonagall, wasn’t it—”

“It wasn’t McGonagall,” Remus muttered.

Peter squinted. “Are you… blushing?”

That was it. James and Sirius both snapped their heads toward him.

“Blushing?!” James repeated, scandalized.

Sirius leaned forward, eyes narrowing like a wolf catching a scent. “Remus John Lupin, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Remus said, flustered. “Someone— someone did something.”

James gasped dramatically. “Someone did something to you?! Who? Do we need to fight them?”

Peter nodded fiercely. “Yeah! Do we?”

Remus rubbed his face. “No. Absolutely not.”

Sirius folded his arms. “Tell us. Now.”

Remus hesitated.

Sirius’ eyes widened slightly. “It was Rhea.”

Remus nearly choked on air. “How did you—?!”

“She likes books, you like books,” Sirius said, counting on his fingers. “She asked you for more. You both vanish to the library for half an hour. You return looking like you swallowed a star. Deductive reasoning, my dear Moony.”

James stared at Sirius. “You do… deductive reasoning?”

“Shut up, James.”

James shrugged. “Fair.”

Sirius turned back to Remus. “Well? What happened with my dear sister?”

Remus stared at the fire for a long moment.

Then, quietly:

“She kissed me.”

Peter dropped his biscuit.

James made a noise that could only be described as a dying goose.

Sirius—

Sirius froze.

Not angry.

Not exploding.

Just… frozen with his mouth slightly open, like the world had glitched.

Remus immediately held up his hands. “It was just on the cheek! She was just being nice. It was nothing. Please don’t— don’t do anything.”

Sirius blinked once.

Twice.

Then he said, voice oddly level:

“She kissed you.”

“A little bit. Yes.”

Sirius leaned back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, muttering, “Fantastic. Brilliant. My sister’s giving kisses in libraries. Next she’ll be— I don’t know— holding hands. Merlin save us.”

James clapped Remus on the back. “Moony! You dog! At thirteen!”

Remus groaned. “James, stop.”

Peter whispered reverently, “You have game.”

“I do not have game.”

“You kind of do,” James said, nodding sagely.

Sirius finally sat up, sighing dramatically. “Alright. Fine. It was just a cheek kiss. And it’s Remus, so she’s safe from morons.”

“Thanks?” Remus said.

“But,” Sirius added, pointing at him with sharp warning energy, “if you break her heart—”

“I won’t!” Remus said quickly.

“Good,” Sirius said, leaning back again. “Because if you did, I’d let her hex you first, and then I’d finish the job.”

James grinned. “Ah yes. Nothing says family bonding like thinly veiled threats.”

Sirius kicked him lightly. “Shut up, James.”

But Remus could tell — Sirius wasn’t actually upset.

Just… protective.

And maybe a little terrified.

Remus exhaled, relieved.

Then Sirius narrowed his eyes again. “Wait. Did she like… linger? Or was it quick? Because it matters—”

“Sirius!”

The dungeon corridors were quiet as Rhea slipped into her dorm. Inside, the lanterns cast a warm green glow over four beds, trunks, and scattered school robes. Dorcas was sitting cross-legged on her bed, braiding her hair in front of a floating mirror. Esme was unpacking a stack of Muggle novels she kept insisting weren’t “that weird.” Selene, the cool and mysterious 4th-year, sat at her desk polishing her wand with absolute ceremony and ignoring everyone like it was her full-time job.

A normal evening.

Except Rhea came in looking like she’d swallowed fireworks.

Dorcas noticed immediately.

She gasped. Loudly. “You have a face.”

Rhea blinked. “…I always have a face?”

“No, no, no,” Dorcas said, sliding off her bed like a cat spotting trouble. “You have a face. A ‘something happened’ face. A ‘tell me right now or I’ll explode’ face.”

Esme glanced over shyly from her desk, her glasses sliding down her nose. “Um… do you need help? Or… water? Or—”

Dorcas waved a hand. “Esme, sweetheart, she needs to talk about a boy.”

Rhea flopped onto her bed with a groan. “I hate that you’re right.”

Selene, without turning, said dryly, “Don’t worry. Continue. I’m not listening.”

Which meant she absolutely was.

Dorcas crawled onto Rhea’s bed like this was prime entertainment. “Okay. Spill. Who? What? How scandalous on a scale of one to ten?”

Rhea covered her face with her pillow.

Dorcas yanked it away. “No hiding!”

Rhea sighed, cheeks warming. “Remus Lupin.”

Dorcas’ jaw dropped so fast Esme gasped for her.

“The Gryffindor book boy?!” Dorcas whispered at a volume that was not actually whispering.

Rhea nodded miserably.

Dorcas clapped like she’d just won a prize. “I KNEW IT! I knew there were vibes! I told you, Esme, remember? I said, ‘Rhea’s got that library-crush look.’”

Esme turned pink. “I… I didn’t know there were looks for that.”

“Esme, darling, there are looks for everything,” Dorcas said matter-of-factly.

Rhea tugged at a loose thread on her blanket. “He handedme some muggle books, and we were talking, and then I just— I don’t know. I kissed him.”

Dorcas squealed into her hands.

Esme blinked wide-eyed. “…Like… on the… mouth?”

“No!” Rhea groaned. “Just— just his cheek.”

Dorcas rolled dramatically onto her back. “Ugh, cute. Disgustingly cute. I can’t believe you’re living out a library romance while I’m over here getting crumbs from the universe.”

Rhea threw a pillow at her.

Esme smiled, shy but excited. “Do you like him?”

Rhea hesitated.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I'm death meat if that's true.”

Dorcas sat up immediately and squeezed Rhea’s shoulders. “He seems good for you. Quiet. Kind. Not an idiot. Sirius has terrible friends except that one.”

Esme nodded. “He is… gentle. And he reads nice books.”

Selene finally spoke, still not turning around. “Just be careful. Gryffindors are dramatic.”

Dorcas snorted. “We’re Slytherins. We invented dramatic.”

Rhea cracked a smile at that.

Then Esme tilted her head. “So… is this going to be a thing? Like… a thing thing?”

Rhea groaned again, burying her face in Dorcas’s blanket. “I don’t know. Maybe? I like being around him. And he looked… really happy.”

Dorcas nudged her. “You realize Sirius is going to interrogate him, right?”

Dorcas leaned close, eyes sparkling. “Anyway, tell me everything Remusdid. I need the details for… moral support.”

Rhea sighed dramatically and grabbed her pillow.

“It was cute. And embarrassing. And also maybe a little funny. But mostly embarrassing.”

Dorcas grinned. “Perfect. Continue.”

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Word count: 2159

Chapter 5

The Last Week of Classes

Finals were over.

For the first time in weeks, the castle felt relaxed — students laughing in the courtyard, professors actually smiling, and the scent of blooming flowers drifting through open windows.

Rhea and Regulus walked side by side through the corridor leading from the dungeons, shoulders brushing lightly. They were tired, but in that good way — the way that meant they’d finished something hard and come out the other side.

“What do you think our marks will look like?” Rhea asked.

Regulus smirked. “Yours will be perfect. Mine will be fine.”

“You’re better than you think,” she nudged him.

“And you worry too much,” he nudged back.

Barty jogged up beside them. “If I fail Potions it’s Severus’s fault.”

“It is absolutely not my fault,” Severus said dryly from behind him, clutching the stack of essays he’d been helping them review. “You tried to ‘improve’ a recipe that hasn’t changed since the Middle Ages.”

“It needed improvement,” Barty protested.

“Your cauldron almost exploded,” Severus deadpanned.

Evan joined them next, falling into step between Rhea and Severus. “I, for one, passed everything. Pandora sent me a card that says ‘I believe in you, even if Professor Slughorn doesn’t.’”

Rhea laughed. “That sounds like her.”

“She illustrated it,” Evan added. “A tiny Slughorn shaking his head in disappointment.”

Barty wheezed. “I need that framed.”

Rhea’s dorm was knee-deep in trunks, clothes, and half-sorted books. Dorcas was humming while folding her robes, wand tucked between her teeth. Selene sat primly on her bed, writing her last letter of the year.

“You’ll write to me, right?” Dorcas asked suddenly, looking up.

“Of course,” Rhea said. “Every week.”

Selene gave her a sideways glance. “You may write to me as well. If you choose.”

Rhea blinked. “I… I’ll send you something.”

Selene nodded as if that was enough. For her, it was.

Dorcas threw an arm around Rhea’s shoulders. “Good. Because I expect letters full of juicy drama.”

“There won’t be any drama,” Rhea said.

Dorcas grinned. “Then make some.”

The Great Hall glittered with floating golden lanterns, enchanted to look like warm summer fireflies. Everyone packed in for the Leaving Feast — laughter echoing, cutlery clinking, house tables buzzing.

Pandora rushed over from the Ravenclaw table to squeeze between Regulus and Rhea.

“We’re staying with Aunt Cassiopeia for part of the summer,” she announced. “She’s going to teach me silent spells!”

Evan groaned. “She’s already unbearable.”

“I’ll write to you, Rhea,” Pandora added, leaning her head on her shoulder. “You’re one of my favorite people.”

Rhea smiled warmly. “You too.”

Across from them, Severus watched the interaction with a faint, small smile — something soft and private. Regulus looked relaxed, chatting with Barty about which books to borrow for summer reading.

Sirius passed by the Slytherin table with James and Peter. He gave the twins a grin, one of those rare ones that looked almost like before everything got complicated.

“See you at home, little Blacks,” he said.

Rhea and Regulus nodded back — peace, for now.

It was enough.

On the Hogwarts Express Home

They all crammed into one compartment — Rhea, Regulus, Evan, Barty, Pandora (who bribed a Ravenclaw prefect to let her ride with them), and Severus tucked neatly into the corner with a book.

Barty brought a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.

“Don’t eat the green ones,” he said. “They lie.”

Regulus took one anyway.

Regulus gagged. “Perfume.”

“Told you.”

Rhea leaned her head gently against her brother’s shoulder. He leaned back without thinking. Pandora was trying to braid her brother's hair. Evan swatted her away half-heartedly. Severus muttered corrections to a Potions text under his breath, and Barty narrated every terrible bean flavor like a sports commentator.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t grand.

But it was warm, and full, and theirs.

Arriving at King’s Cross

Their parents were easy to spot — Walburga stiff and elegant, Orion standing at her side. Sirius’s jaw tensed slightly, but he said nothing.

Regulus and Rhea stepped off the train together. Their friends gathered behind them — the strange, mismatched group that had made this year bearable, even wonderful.

Walburga swept the twins into her arms with a proud exhale. “My clever children. Welcome home.”

For a moment, Rhea looked back at the others

Evan giving her a small wave.

Pandora bouncing excitedly.

Barty grinning like a menace.

Severus raising two fingers in a subtle goodbye.

Second Year — The Return to Hogwarts

The train ride back to Hogwarts was exactly as chaotic and comforting as Rhea remembered.

Barty and Evan were debating something absolutely ridiculous—whether or not a Bowtruckle could beat a Puffskein in a “battle of wits.”

Pandora sat cross-legged across from Rhea, fingers weaving through her best friend’s long dark hair as she braided it with ribbons she brought from home.

“Hold still,” she whined when Rhea tried to turn her head. “You’re impossible.”

Regulus and Severus were seated quietly at the end of the compartment, both reading. Regulus pretended he wasn’t checking on Rhea every time her braid got tugged. Severus was actually reading.

Dorcas was nowhere to be found, but she had warned them she’d sit with some second-year friends this trip. Rhea missed her presence—but she understood.

When the castle finally rose into view, glowing against the evening sky, Rhea felt something warm bloom in her chest:

Home. Again.

Slytherin gained five new first years that evening—wide-eyed, nervous, clutching their robes too tightly. Rhea watched them with mild interest while poking the mashed potatoes on her plate.

Poke. Poke. Poke poke poke—

Suddenly Barty grabbed her wrist under the table.

“And why on earth would you be doing that?” he asked without looking at her, one eyebrow raised.

Rhea blinked. “I ate too much candy on the train. Remember?”

“You ate six Pumpkin Pasties,” Evan added dryly.

“Four,” Rhea corrected.

“Six,” Barty said firmly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Regulus said from across the table, arms crossed. “I told you to stop eating those.”

Rhea only shrugged, attempting to take a tiny bite of potato—except Barty still had her hand.

“Can I have my hand back?” she asked.

“No,” Barty replied flatly.

She sighed. Evan snorted. Regulus smirked. Severus pretended they didn’t exist.

It was a normal feast.

The castle was quiet when Rhea slipped into the library, her soft-soled shoes barely making a sound against the stone.

She drifted toward the Charms section, eyes skimming familiar spines, when—

“Looking for something?”

Remus Lupin leaned against a nearby shelf, smiling politely. Rhea stared at him for a beat too long.

“I… forgot your name.”

She winced. “Sorry.”

“Remus. Remus Lupin.”

“Right. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“What are you searching for?” he asked gently.

“Nothing specific. Just something to read this week.”

Remus nodded thoughtfully.

“Sirius said you read a lot.”

Rhea froze.

“He… speaks about me?”

“About you, Regulus, your cousins—yes.”

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t know what to say.

“If you want,” Remus continued, rifling through his bag, “I brought some books from home. Muggle books. But they’re good.”

He pulled out two gently worn novels and handed them to her.

“‘The Princess Bride.’ And ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.’ Two of my favorites.”

Rhea turned the covers in her hands.

“Thank you, Remus.”

“Anytime.”

And then he left her to explore.

Rhea returned to the girls’ dorm to find it mostly empty.

Selene’s bed was perfectly made, untouched. Dorcas’s blankets were tossed aside, her trunk half-open as usual.

But the fourth bed… had things on it. A new roommate?

Rhea didn’t dwell on it. She settled onto her own bed, placed the “Alice” book in her lap, and took out her wand.

“Intra Librarium,” she whispered, touching the first page.

The familiar tug pulled her forward—soft, swirling, weightless.

----------------------------‐------------------------------------

Charm:

📚 Spell Name & Incantation

Imaginarium Transitus Charm

Incantation: “Intra Librarium!”

A rare and advanced charm that transports the caster’s consciousness into a book, allowing them to witness events as if they were happening in real life.

🪄 Wand Motion

A smooth, looping figure-eight followed by a gentle tap on the book’s cover.

🧙‍♂️ When & Who Invented It

First developed in 1893 by the eccentric spell-theorist Mirabella Pagewhisper, a Ravenclaw researcher known for experimental literary magic. She created the charm to help struggling students “see stories as clearly as memory.”

✨ What the Spell/Charm Does

Upon casting:

The reader’s consciousness enters the world of the book.

You become a non-interfering, invisible viewer—able to walk among scenes, observe characters, explore described locations, and watch events unfold in full sensory detail.

A magical Narrative Spirit acts as a narrator, explaining unclear plot points, summarizing details, and highlighting important information to accelerate learning.

Time within the book is compressed, letting the reader experience or study an entire novel in minutes to an hour.

🌟 Side Benefits

Greatly improves memory recall, since scenes feel like lived experiences.

Enhances empathy, as you witness characters’ emotions firsthand.

Useful for rapid studying, research, or story comprehension.

Can help with foreign-language books by auto-translating narration into the reader’s native tongue.

⚠️ Side Effects

Temporary lightheadedness after long sessions.

Overly emotional readers may feel lingering moods from the book’s events.

Very vivid books (battle scenes, tragedies) may be intense, even though the reader cannot be harmed.

🛡️ Limitations / Safety Notes

You cannot alter the story or interact physically with characters—you're only a spectral observer.

You cannot enter books that are damaged or missing key pages; the world becomes unstable.

Spell does not work on cursed, enchanted, or classified magical texts without ministry clearance.

Should not be repeated more than three times a day to avoid mental fatigue.

🔊 Narrator Control Spell (On/Off Narrator)

To turn the book’s narrator on:

“Narratorius Revela!”

To turn it off:

“Narratorius Silencio!”

The narrator can be adjusted to quiet, summary mode, or study mode.

📖 What You Can Do Inside the Book

✔️ Walk around any location described

✔️ Observe every scene from any angle

✔️ Listen to dialogue clearly

✔️ Ask the narrator questions (only outside influences, doesn’t change the story)

✔️ Rewatch scenes as many times as needed

🚫 What You Cannot Do Inside the Book

✘ Change or influence the story

✘ Touch or move objects

✘ Warn characters or interact with them

✘ Create new story paths

✘ Bring items out of the book world

The charm is strictly observational to preserve narrative integrity and avoid “plot contamination,” a dangerous magical phenomenon.

----------------------------‐------------------------------------

Rhea’s POV — Inside the Book

I’m falling.

Not fast. Just drifting, like gravity is trying but not really committed to the effort.

A girl in a blue dress falls ahead of me, hair floating like a ribbon. She doesn’t notice me. She never does. Characters in books never see the reader—not even when the reader is magically inside the story.

“Welcome, Rhea,” the Narrator whispers beside me.

“You are entering Wonderland. Please note: gravity is optional.”

Very helpful.

Alice lands with a soft thud. I hover just above the ground. Convenient.

A door. A shrinking potion. A frantic rabbit.

Color blooms everywhere—too bright, too bold, too nonsensical.

A tea party with no rules.

A queen threatening beheadings for sport.

A cat who smiles wider than seems ethically allowed.

I wander unseen, listening, learning, watching the story play from the inside. And it’s—well—mad.

But fascinating.

Wild.

Funny.

A dream with no logic, just feeling.

Time folds. The scenes blur. Alice wakes beneath a tree.

“Story complete,” the Narrator says.

“Returning you to your world.”

The world collapses inward—

(Back to reality)

Rhea’s eyes snapped open.

The book was closed on her lap. Her head rested on her pillows. Her braid was slightly crooked from all the falling.

She exhaled slowly, placing the book on her nightstand.

“…hi.”

Rhea nearly jumped off the bed.

A girl with shoulder-length dirty-blonde hair and soft, dark eyes stood by the fourth bed.

“Shit—you scared me,” Rhea gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Sorry!” the girl winced. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Esme Pince. Second year. I, um… transferred from Castelobruxo.”

Rhea sat up straighter.

“Rheanelle Black. Call me Rhea.”

Esme gave a shy smile.

“Nice to meet you. So… um… what were you doing earlier? You looked…”

She hesitated.

“Really asleep. And your hair was moving.”

Rhea froze.

Lie. Lie well.

“Oh—ah—my friend gave me this book,” she said, lifting it. “Muggle story. I fell asleep reading.”

Esme blinked, then brightened.

“Oh! That makes sense. Books put me to sleep too.”

Rhea let out the softest sigh of relief.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Esme smiled again—warm, gentle, slightly nervous.

“I hope we’ll get along,” she said.

“I think we will,” Rhea replied sincerely.

Masterlist

-prolog

-chapter 1

-chapter 2

-chapter 3

-chapter 4

-chapter 5

-chapter 6

-chapter 7

-chapter 8

-chapter 9

-chapter 10

-chapter 11

-chapter 12

-chapter 13

-chapter 14

-chapter 15

.

.

.

Previous chapter 🔙 🔜 next chapter

Word count: 918

Chapter 4

The first sound Rhea heard that morning was Dorcas humming

“Dorcas,” she mumbled. “It’s Saturday. Stop being alive.”

Dorcas laughed, flopping onto Rhea’s bed. “Wake up! If you don’t, I’ll charm your hair to braid itself.”

“Fine, fine.” Rhea sat up, hair already a tangle of curls. Across the room, Selene was sitting at her desk, her long dark hair shining in the lamplight, quill moving smoothly over parchment.

“You’re both loud,” Selene said without looking up.

Dorcas grinned. “You love it.”

Selene’s quill paused. “Debatable.”

Rhea rolled out of bed and began gathering her robes. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven,” Dorcas said, tugging on her jumper. “If we leave now, we can beat the queue at breakfast.”

Rhea groaned. “Only you would race for porridge.”

The Great Hall buzzed with morning chatter and clinking silverware. Rhea and Dorcas slid into their usual seats beside Regulus, who was already halfway through toast and marmalade.

“You’re early,” he noted.

“Dorcas dragged me,” Rhea said, still yawning.

“She’s efficient,” Barty muttered, pouring himself tea. “I was almost late because Snape here insisted on double-checking his essay.”

“It’s called preparation,” Severus replied dryly.

Across the table, Evan waved someone over. Pandora appeared a moment later, hair shining like pale gold in the morning sun, carrying a small stack of toast.

“Good morning!” she greeted brightly, sitting beside her brother.

Barty blinked. “How are you this happy before eight?”

Pandora smirked. “Tea and optimism.”

Rhea smiled faintly into her tea. Somehow, Pandora made mornings more bearable.

The familiar scent of ingredients filled the dungeons. Rhea stood beside Evan, carefully slicing valerian roots while Professor Slughorn moved about, humming.

“Remember,” he said, “counter-clockwise for calming drafts, not the other way unless you fancy explosions!”

Dorcas whispered across from her, “I fancy explosions.”

“Please don’t,” Rhea muttered.

Regulus and Severus were at the next table, both bent over their cauldrons with identical concentration. Slughorn hovered behind them, clearly impressed.

“Brilliant work, boys! Ah, the Black and Snape minds — what a pair!”

Regulus smirked faintly. “You hear that, Rhea? He called us brilliant.”

“I hear him calling me patient,” Rhea replied, stirring. “Since I have to deal with you.”

In Charms, Professor Flitwick stood on his usual stack of books, guiding them through Wingardium Leviosa.

“Remember — swish and flick!” he squeaked.

Dorcas whispered, “He’s adorable.”

Rhea tried not to smile as her feather wobbled uncertainly, then lifted gracefully into the air.

Pandora, working beside her, made hers float in circles. “Look, a loop-de-loop!”

“You’re showing off,” Evan said flatly.

“Obviously,” she said, beaming.

Flitwick clapped his tiny hands. “Excellent form, Miss Rosier! Miss Black as well — ten points to Slytherin!”

Dorcas whispered to Rhea, “You’re his favorite.”

Rhea rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”

“Fine,” Dorcas said. “You’re my favorite, then.”

McGonagall’s classroom was always colder than the others. Rhea sat beside Regulus this time, trying not to wince as her matchstick failed to become a needle for the third time.

Regulus’s, of course, gleamed silver in perfect form.

He smirked. “Need help?”

“Keep it up and I’ll transfigure you into a frog,” she muttered.

Barty snickered behind them. McGonagall’s sharp gaze landed on him instantly. “Mr. Crouch, if you find something amusing, perhaps you’d like to share it with the class?”

Barty immediately straightened. “No, Professor. Just… contemplating the elegance of transfiguration.”

McGonagall arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure you were.”

By midday, the group had gathered again, now joined by Pandora and Dorcas, who had decided they were “best friends by destiny.”

Pandora chattered between bites of shepherd’s pie. “So, what do you all have after lunch?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Evan said.

Dorcas grimaced. “Ugh, with Professor Andros? He gives me nightmares.”

Rhea smirked. “You like challenges.”

“Not that kind,” Dorcas replied.

Barty grinned. “I like him. He’s dramatic. Makes it interesting.”

“Everything’s interesting until he starts throwing curses,” Regulus muttered.

Pandora nodded thoughtfully. “You should charm a shield before class starts. Just in case.”

Rhea laughed softly. “You’ve thought this through.”

Defense was, as usual, chaos. Professor Andros was passionate but terrifying, and Rhea ended up shielding both herself and Dorcas when a jinx ricocheted off a wall.

Afterward, they spilled into the corridor, laughing breathlessly.

“You saved my life,” Dorcas said dramatically.

“You owe me sweets” Rhea replied.

“Deal.”

The last lesson was Astronomy prep — mostly quiet note-taking in the observatory. Rhea found the calm soothing after Andros’s storm of spells.

Severus, sitting across from her, murmured, “You’re good under pressure.”

She looked up. “You were watching?”

He shrugged, eyes still on his notes. “I notice things.”

The group met by the lake again after dinner, wrapped in cloaks and scarves. Snow had begun to fall lightly, flakes catching in Pandora’s hair.

Barty and Rhea try o skip stones across the icy surface (and failed miserably). Regulus and Evan discussed Quidditch, while Dorcas and Pandora whispered animatedly about a potion to make hair shimmer.

By the time Rhea returned to the dorm, her hair smelled faintly of cold air and snow. Dorcas was already in bed, reading under the covers, while Selene sat at her desk, writing a letter in elegant script.

“Good day?” Selene asked quietly without looking up.

Rhea changed into her nightdress. “Busy. But good.”

Selene hummed. “The first years usually crumble by now. You seem to thrive.”

“Maybe I have good people around” Rhea said.

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Word count: 1564

Chapter 3

The snow at Hogwarts didn’t melt. It piled high on the windowsills, glimmering against the torches that lined the corridors. Most students were still sluggish from the holidays, but Rhea and her friends were wide awake — or at least, Barty was.

“Hot pastries,” Barty said, waving his arms dramatically. “They’ve got treacle tarts fresh from the kitchens. Come on, this is destiny.”

Regulus gave him a flat stare. “You sound like a prophet.”

“I am a prophet of food,” Barty declared proudly.

Rhea smirked, pulling her gloves tighter. “I’m in.”

Evan and Severus followed, more out of habit than enthusiasm. The five of them slipped through one of the lower hallways that led toward the kitchens — a shortcut they’d found back in October.

They turned a corner — and froze.

Because standing at the other end of the corridor, laughing far too loudly, were Sirius Black and James Potter. Remus and Peter trailed behind, but they weren’t laughing.

And between Sirius and James, a wand hovered in midair — pointing at Severus’s bag, which they’d just levitated away from him.

“Careful, Snivellus,” James said lazily. “Wouldn’t want your books getting snow on them. You might melt.”

“Or explode,” Sirius added, smirking.

Severus stiffened, his hand twitching toward his wand — but he didn’t move.

“Put it down,” Rhea said.

Her voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. Cold, calm, and perfectly steady — it sliced through the laughter like a spell.

Sirius froze mid-smirk, eyes flicking to her. “Rhea?”

She stepped forward, the green of her scarf bright against the snow-dimmed light. “I said, put it down.”

James raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “Oh, come on, we were only—”

Regulus moved beside her, wand out. “Do it. Now.”

The levitating bag dropped, landing with a dull thud on the stones.

Evan and Barty came up behind, Barty with that dangerous sort of grin he wore before he did something stupidly brave. Severus said nothing, but he bent to pick up his things, his face unreadable.

Sirius’s smile faltered. “You don’t have to defend him, Rhea. You don’t know what he’s like.”

Rhea’s eyes flashed. “I know exactly what he’s like. He’s my friend.”

The word landed like a stone in water.

Sirius blinked, just once. His grin didn’t return. “Your friend? Snape?”

“Yes.”

For a second, neither twin spoke. They just stared at each other — two sides of the same face, one framed in silver and green, the other in scarlet and gold.

“You’ve changed,” Sirius said softly.

Rhea’s tone stayed calm. “No. I just learned who deserves loyalty.”

James shifted, clearly sensing the tension. “Come on, Pads. Let’s go.”

But Sirius didn’t move. His expression wavered between anger and something that looked almost like regret.

Finally, he turned away. “Whatever you say, Rhea.”

The Gryffindors walked off, their laughter hollow now, echoing down the corridor.

For a few seconds, no one spoke. The only sound was the snow tapping faintly at the windows.

Rhea turned to Severus. “You all right?”

He nodded once, wordless. His jaw was tight, but his eyes were steady — and there was gratitude there, quiet and unspoken.

“Idiots,” Barty muttered, kicking at the floor. “Absolute idiots.”

“Don’t waste breath on them,” Evan said evenly, though his voice held anger too.

Regulus looked at his sister. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did.” Her voice softened. “You would’ve done the same.”

Regulus’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Of course.”

Later, when they finally reached the kitchens, Barty managed to charm a few warm pastries out of a laughing house-elf. They sat on the steps together, eating in silence — the sweetness cutting through the cold.

Severus broke it first. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

Rhea looked up from her tart. “Why not?”

“Because they’ll turn it back on you,” he said simply. “That’s what they do.”

Rhea shrugged, her tone calm but firm. “Then let them. I’m not afraid of them.”

For the first time, Severus smiled — a small, almost imperceptible curve of the mouth.

A Few Days Later

The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet. The lake above cast ripples of green light across the ceiling, and the fire crackled softly.

Rhea sat curled up on one of the couches, reading her Charms notes, while Regulus half-dozed beside her. Barty was sprawled on the rug with a stack of wizard chess pieces that kept rebelling against his moves.

Evan entered with an uncharacteristically bright expression. “I have an announcement.”

Barty didn’t look up. “If it’s another one of your grand discoveries about the meaning of life, I’m not interested.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “No. It’s something actually worth your attention.”

Rhea closed her book. “Go on.”

“My sister’s visiting tomorrow morning — breakfast. I got permission from Flitwick to have her join us in the Great Hall before classes.”

“Your sister?” Regulus asked.

Evan’s smile softened. “Pandora. She’s my twin — Ravenclaw. I’ve told you about her.”

“The one who charmed an entire shelf to organize itself alphabetically?” Rhea asked, remembering one of his stories.

Evan grinned. “That’s the one. She’s brilliant. And… she talks a lot.”

“Perfect,” Barty said, stretching. “Maybe she’ll balance you out.”

Evan smirked. “I’m already balanced. You’re chaos.”

Rhea smiled quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d like to meet her.”

“Good,” Evan said simply. “You’ll love her.”

The Next Morning

When they entered the hall, the sunlight was streaming through the enchanted ceiling, the snow outside sparkling like crushed diamonds. The Slytherins took their usual spot — and within moments, a Ravenclaw girl with pale blonde hair bounded over to them, blue robes swishing around her ankles.

“Evan!” she chirped, throwing her arms around him.

He looked mildly embarrassed but hugged her back all the same. “Pandora, breathe.”

“I am breathing!” she said brightly, stepping back. “Oh, you must be Rhea and Regulus! He’s told me about you!”

Rhea blinked in surprise. “He… has?”

“All the time,” Pandora said, beaming. “He said you’re clever and quieter than the rest — which I don’t believe for a second.”

Rhea chuckled softly. “He’s not wrong.”

“And this must be Barty and Severus,” Pandora continued, turning to the others. “Hello!”

Barty gave a dramatic bow. “Pleasure’s all mine, Miss Rosier.”

Severus nodded politely, though his lips twitched at Barty’s antics.

Pandora sat beside her brother, her curiosity bubbling over like champagne. “It’s funny,” she said. “They say Slytherins and Ravenclaws don’t get along, but that’s ridiculous. I think you’re all wonderful.”

Evan groaned. “You’ve known them five minutes.”

“I have instincts,” she said cheerfully, pouring herself pumpkin juice. “And mine are excellent.”

The group laughed — even Severus — and the hall felt brighter for it.

Later That Week — In the Dormitory

Rhea’s dorm room was one of her favorite places in the castle. It was tucked away at the end of the girls’ corridor, with a narrow window that looked out into the green depths of the Black Lake.

Her roommates were an odd mix.

Dorcas Meadowes — bubbly, sharp, and always asking questions — had become fast friends with Rhea. She had that natural, Gryffindor-like energy that filled a room, even if she was a Slytherin by Sorting Hat’s quirk.

Selene Gaunt, the third-year, was another story. Quiet, regal, and distant, she spent most of her time reading or writing letters by candlelight. She wasn’t unkind, just… detached, like her thoughts lived centuries away.

That night, Dorcas was sitting cross-legged on her bed, braiding Rhea’s hair while talking about everything and nothing.

“Evan’s sister’s nice,” Dorcas said. “I saw her in the library once. She helped a first-year find his wand.”

“That sounds like her,” Rhea said softly.

Dorcas grinned. “She waved at me earlier. I think she’s decided we’re friends.”

“She decides that quickly,” Rhea said, smiling faintly.

Selene looked up from her book, her voice smooth and distant. “She’s the opposite of most Slytherins. You could learn something from her.”

Dorcas laughed. “Are you saying we’re not friendly enough, Selene?”

“I’m saying you’re too friendly,” Selene said, eyes returning to her page. “That’s how people get hurt.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the sound of water against the windows echoing softly.

Rhea turned her head, meeting Dorcas’s eyes in the mirror. “Maybe. But it’s better than being alone all the time.”

Selene didn’t reply, but Rhea saw her hand still on the page.

The Next Afternoon — By the Lake

Pandora joined the group again the next day, this time down by the lake. The air was cold and crisp, but the sunlight made the frozen surface gleam like glass.

Rhea, Regulus, Evan, Barty, and Severus sat on the snow-dusted grass, watching the giant squid drift lazily beneath the surface.

Pandora was lying on her stomach, tracing shapes in the frost with her wand. “You know, if you charm the ice right, it sings.”

Barty raised an eyebrow. “You’re making that up.”

She grinned. “Try me.”

A flick of her wand, a soft hum — and suddenly, the ice beneath them rippled with a faint, melodic vibration, like a harp played underwater.

Everyone went still.

“That’s…” Rhea whispered. “Beautiful.”

Evan smiled proudly. “Told you she was clever.”

Pandora beamed, her cheeks pink with the cold. “Clever and humble, thank you very much.”

Regulus chuckled quietly. “You fit right in.”

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Words count: 2203

Chapter 2

One Month Later

By October, Hogwarts had settled into rhythm — classes, meals, studying, laughter echoing down the stone halls.

The twins had fallen into theirs too.

Every morning, Rhea and Regulus met the others in the common room before breakfast. Evan was always half-asleep but impeccably dressed; Barty was usually wide awake, jittering with ideas for something ridiculous; Severus would already be reading, quill in hand, pretending not to listen to the others’ chatter.

It was… comfortable.

Rhea hadn’t expected that from Slytherin — the quiet camaraderie, the small smiles, the occasional midnight conversation that went on far too long.

On a misty Saturday morning, Rhea sat at the window ledge near the Slytherin fireplace, the lake outside tinted silver in the dawn light.

Barty was beside her, balancing a deck of enchanted cards on his knee. “You ever think about what the squid does all day?”

Rhea didn’t look up from her parchment. “Sleeps. Eats. Scares first-years.”

“Sounds like Evan,” Barty muttered.

“Sounds like you,” Evan said from the couch, eyes still closed.

Rhea snorted softly. “You two are hopeless.”

Across the room, Severus looked up from a book. “Hopelessly distracting, maybe.”

“Don’t start,” Rhea said with mock warning.

He closed his book, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “You started it.”

Barty threw a pillow at him. Severus dodged without even looking up, which only made Barty groan louder.

Regulus walked in just in time to catch the chaos. “Every time I leave you alone for ten minutes…”

Rhea grinned. “You act like we’re the problem.”

“You are the problem.”

“Then stop leaving,” she shot back playfully.

Regulus sighed, but there was warmth in his eyes — the kind only reserved for her.

Nights in the common room became their routine. The air always smelled faintly of ink and candle wax, and the lake light shimmered across the ceiling in ripples of green and blue.

Sometimes they’d all study together — sometimes they’d just talk.

Barty, surprisingly, was brilliant with Charms, though he refused to admit how much he read ahead. Evan could tell stories that made everyone laugh, even Severus, who tried to hide it.

And Rhea — she fit right in.

She wasn’t loud like Barty or calculating like Evan; she was the quiet current that steadied them all. When Regulus got frustrated over homework, she’d lean over and fix his mistake without saying a word. When Severus muttered too darkly about other students, she’d glance up and ask about the book he was reading instead — a gentle redirect that no one else could get away with.

Even Barty listened when she spoke.

“You’re too good,” he told her one night, shaking his head. “You make the rest of us look bad.”

Rhea smirked. “That’s not hard.”

Evan laughed. “She’s right.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but smiled, his quill tapping rhythmically on the table. “You’re all impossible.”

On a chilly evening in mid-October, the group discovered an unused passageway behind one of the lower corridors.

Barty had found it first (“By accident!” he insisted), and of course, they all followed.

It led to a narrow, candlelit tunnel that opened into a forgotten storeroom — dusty shelves, cracked jars, and a few broken cauldrons scattered about.

“This is perfect,” Barty said immediately. “Our secret spot.”

Evan raised a brow. “For what?”

“Plotting,” Barty said with a grin. “Homework avoidance. Late-night sweets raids. General brilliance.”

Rhea looked around, brushing her fingers across a dusty shelf. “Needs cleaning.”

Barty groaned. “You sound like my mother.”

Regulus crossed his arms. “She’s right, though.”

“Of course she’s right,” Severus muttered, lighting a torch with a flick of his wand. “She usually is.”

That earned him a surprised look from Rhea — and then a small, warm smile.

The rest of the evening was spent sweeping, straightening, and laughing. Rhea even charmed a few lanterns to float gently near the ceiling, filling the space with soft light.

By the time they finished, the forgotten storeroom felt… alive again.

The following night, Rhea and Regulus returned there alone. They sat on the floor, leaning against one of the old shelves, surrounded by quiet flickers of light.

“I like them,” Regulus said softly. “Barty, Evan, Severus… they’re good friends.”

Rhea nodded. “Yeah. They really are.”

Regulus hesitated. “Do you ever miss home?”

She thought for a moment before answering. “Not really. Do you?”

“Sometimes. But not the house — just… the way things were before Sirius left.”

Rhea rested her head on his shoulder. “He didn’t really leave, Reg. He just went somewhere different.”

“I know,” he said. “Still feels like he’s far away.”

She nodded against him. “We’re still here. Together. That’s what matters.”

He smiled faintly. “Always?”

“Always.”

It was a Saturday evening, and the Slytherin common room was unusually empty. Most of the older students had already retreated to their dormitories.

Rhea, Regulus, Barty, Evan, and Severus had claimed a corner by the fireplace, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a pile of parchment, books, and a bag of chocolate frogs between them.

Barty had the first frog. “I swear, this is the best chocolate at Hogwarts,” he said, examining the sweet with exaggerated reverence.

“Please,” Evan said, stretching lazily, “it’s edible. That’s all.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “It’s overpriced.”

Rhea smirked. “Overpriced or not, it’s delicious.” She broke hers in half and offered a piece to Regulus. He accepted it with a small smile.

With chocolate in hand, the conversation turned to stories.

Barty started with one of his father’s scandalous tales, exaggerated for effect, making everyone laugh.

Evan countered with a story from his last summer, describing a clever trick he pulled on a relative that ended with him being chased around the garden. He delivered it with such smug timing that even Severus cracked a faint smile.

Rhea listened, laughing quietly at the antics, her arm occasionally brushing against Regulus’s. They had grown so accustomed to being in sync that even in the middle of a story, a glance or a nudge was enough to communicate everything.

Finally, Severus, who had mostly been quiet until now, cleared his throat. “You all talk too much. But… I suppose I can share a story, if you want.”

Barty leaned forward eagerly. “Of course we want to hear it!”

Severus hesitated, then began telling a quiet, clever story about a potion he’d accidentally perfected over the summer. It wasn’t meant to be funny, but there was an understated humor in how precise and meticulous he described each step — the group listened in rapt attention, realizing they were laughing at the same points without even trying.

Once the stories died down, Barty suggested a game.

“Okay, five truths and a lie. No magic,” he said, bouncing on his heels. “You all know the rules?”

Everyone nodded.

Rhea went first, and her lie was absurdly obvious — she said she’d once tamed a Hungarian Horntail with a spoon. Everyone immediately groaned in disbelief.

Regulus, naturally, followed with a mix of mundane and ridiculous truths, keeping the group laughing and guessing.

When it came to Severus, the others braced themselves. His straight delivery made it impossible to tell which story was false. He kept a faint smirk the whole time, clearly amused at their confusion.

By the end of the game, the five of them were doubled over in laughter, sprawled across the floor with crumbs from chocolate frogs in the corners of their mouths.

After the laughter faded, they all sank back against the cushions.

Rhea leaned her head against Regulus’s shoulder, and he rested his cheek lightly against hers. Barty was sprawled with his arms behind his head, Evan twirling a piece of parchment absentmindedly, and Severus was unusually quiet, staring into the fire.

Rhea broke the silence first. “You know… this isn’t bad.”

Barty raised an eyebrow. “This? Sitting in a dungeon with us?”

“Yes,” she said with a small smile. “It feels… easy. Comfortable.”

Regulus squeezed her hand. “I feel the same.”

Severus tilted his head slightly, faintly impressed. “I didn’t expect to say this, but… it is pleasant.”

Evan smirked. “Even you?”

“Even me,” Severus muttered.

Barty grinned. “Victory for friendship! Drinks on me at the next Hogsmeade!”

Rhea laughed softly. “You mean chocolate?”

“Chocolate counts,” he said immediately, popping another frog into his mouth.

As the firelight flickered over their faces, the group sat in quiet comfort.

Rhea realized that this — the teasing, the shared laughter, the quiet understanding — was what she had been missing in Hogwarts so far.

Regulus, sitting next to her, caught her gaze. Without words, they shared the unspoken truth: they would always have each other. And now, with Barty, Evan, and Severus in their circle, they had something else too — a small, unlikely family of their own, forged not by blood, but by trust, laughter, and midnight chocolate.

Hogwarts during Christmas was like stepping into a dream. Snow lay thick across the grounds, the lake shimmered under a frozen sheen, and the castle itself was alive with festive enchantments — icicles hung from the balconies, and floating candles flickered in soft red and green.

The smell of roasted meats and sweet pies drifted through the corridors, and the Slytherin common room had been decorated with silver and emerald ribbons, mistletoe dangling from the ceiling.

Rhea and Regulus were more excited than they let on. They had spent weeks sneaking glances at the Gryffindor tables, wondering what Sirius’s holiday looked like.

Barty, Evan, and Severus were all in high spirits, a rare sight for Severus, who usually remained stoic during celebrations.

Barty had brought an assortment of sweets from the kitchens, smuggled in by a flustered house-elf. Evan had a bag of enchanted snowballs — harmless, but they whizzed across the room with enough speed to make anyone duck.

Rhea laughed as Regulus and Barty dodged snowballs, while Severus rolled his eyes but secretly ensured no one actually got hit.

“Remind me why I agreed to sit between these maniacs?” Regulus muttered to Rhea, grinning despite himself.

“Because you love them,” she replied. She tugged his sleeve playfully. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Regulus shook his head, smirking. “Fine. I love them. Happy now?”

“Very,” Rhea said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

As the evening wore on, the group decided to have their own little secret celebration. They sneaked into a hidden corner of the dungeons — the same storeroom they had discovered weeks ago — and decorated it with ribbons, candles, and a few trinkets they had gathered from around the castle.

“This is… perfect,” Rhea said quietly, adjusting a floating candle so it didn’t drip wax on the floor.

“It’s ours,” Regulus said, his voice soft. “Just for us.”

Barty raised his chocolate frog in a mock toast. “To secret celebrations, then.”

“To secret celebrations,” they all echoed, even Severus, who finally allowed a small smile.

They played games, exchanged small gifts they had managed to conjure or borrow, and shared stories about past winters — or, in Rhea’s case, invented ones that were much more fun than the truth.

Later that night, while everyone else had dozed off in the storeroom, Rhea sat by the window in the Slytherin dormitory. The snow sparkled like a million tiny stars, and the castle felt impossibly quiet.

Regulus had fallen asleep beside her, his arm draped over her shoulder. She watched the lake, thinking of Sirius — imagining him laughing with James and the Marauders in Gryffindor Tower. She missed him, but it was no longer a sharp pang. It was… curiosity.

A shadow moved in the hall. She straightened, but it was only Severus, standing awkwardly with a small, neatly wrapped gift in hand.

“For you,” he said quietly, holding it out. “Don’t open it here. It’s… better with company.”

Rhea blinked. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded and left, and she held the gift in her hands for a moment before turning to look at Regulus, still asleep. A small smile tugged at her lips.

The castle felt warmer now, the dungeons less shadowed. Hogwarts was no longer just a place to survive. It was a place to belong.

Christmas morning arrived with a flurry of excitement. Snow had settled deep outside. The Great Hall was transformed into a winter wonderland: enchanted icicles hung from the ceiling, and snow lightly dusted the long tables.

The Slytherin table was alive with chatter, chocolate frogs hopping across plates and candy canes disappearing faster than anyone could count.

Rhea and Regulus exchanged gifts — simple things they had crafted themselves. She had made him a small, enchanted notebook that always returned to her if he lost it. He had made her a delicate silver charm shaped like a crescent moon.

Barty, Evan, and Severus were close by, trading sweets and sharing small presents they had scavenged or enchanted.

The group laughed, teased, and plotted — not mischief, just the playful plotting that marked the beginnings of long-lasting friendships. Rhea felt a warm glow inside her chest.

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Words count: 1668

Chapter 1

The first week went by in a blur — corridors that moved, portraits that whispered, staircases that lied.

Rhea and Regulus had spent every moment together, their schedules nearly identical. They woke at the same time, sat side by side at every meal, and walked to class shoulder to shoulder. If one of them lingered behind, the other would always wait — no questions asked.

It was how they had always been.

Still, Hogwarts was louder, stranger, and infinitely more alive than Grimmauld Place.

In Potions, Professor Slughorn immediately took an interest in them.

“Ah! The Black twins!” he said with his usual warm chuckle. “Excellent, excellent lineage — clever, I’m sure. You’ll both do well here in Slytherin, no doubt.”

Regulus straightened a little under the praise, pleased.

Rhea only gave a polite nod, her eyes flicking toward the cauldron to hide her boredom. Lineage again. Always lineage.

By the end of the first lesson, Rhea had discovered that she was far better at brewing than she’d expected — meticulous where Regulus was impatient. She enjoyed the quiet focus of it, the calm.

But the rest of their classes… less so.

Transfiguration was terrifying. Charms was tolerable. Herbology was muddy.

At night, the Slytherin common room glowed faintly green beneath the lake. The older students talked about politics, blood purity, and how Gryffindors were “insufferable.”

Regulus listened. Rhea didn’t.

One evening, as Regulus chatted quietly with another first-year boy about Quidditch, Rhea leaned against the couch, staring into the watery ceiling. Shadows of fish moved overhead.

“You’re not listening,” Regulus said, nudging her knee.

“I am,” she lied.

He smirked. “You’re thinking about Sirius again.”

Rhea frowned. “Maybe. I just… it’s weird not seeing him.”

“He’s busy being a Gryffindor,” Regulus said softly. “He made his choice.”

“I know.” She twirled her wand between her fingers. “But it still feels strange. Like we’re on opposite sides of something that hasn’t even started yet.”

Regulus looked at her — that rare serious look that made him seem older than twelve. “Then we don’t pick sides,” he said. “We stick with each other. Always.”

She smiled faintly. “Always.”

Charms Class

Their first Charms lesson was with Professor Flitwick — tiny, excitable, and far too cheerful for most Slytherins’ tastes.

“Swish and flick!” he squeaked, demonstrating Wingardium Leviosa.

The room filled with muttered incantations and wildly waving wands.

Regulus’s feather wobbled but stayed put. Rhea’s floated gracefully into the air, spinning once before she set it down again.

Flitwick clapped delightedly. “Excellent, Miss Black! Marvelous control!”

Regulus glared at the feather as if it had personally betrayed him.

Rhea smirked. “Need help?”

“No.”

She leaned closer. “You’re holding your wand too tight. Loosen up.”

He huffed but adjusted his grip — and this time, the feather rose.

Rhea grinned. “Told you.”

“Show-off,” he muttered, though there was a spark of pride in his tone.

Meals in the Great Hall

They saw Sirius only at meals — surrounded by Gryffindors, laughing too loudly with James Potter, flinging peas at Peter Pettigrew.

Sometimes their eyes met across the hall. Sirius would raise a brow, half a smile tugging at his mouth. Rhea would respond with the smallest nod, Regulus with a look that was equal parts admiration and hurt.

They never spoke that week.

But one morning, Rhea caught sight of Sirius walking to class with Remus Lupin. They were talking quietly, heads bent close. Rhea’s gaze lingered a second too long.

Regulus noticed. “Who’s that?”

“His friend,” Rhea said quickly. “The quiet one from the train.”

Regulus gave her a look — one of those older-brother-in-a-younger-body looks that only he could manage. “You’ve been staring.”

“I have not.”

“You have.”

Rhea scowled. “He gave me chocolate. I like chocolate.”

Regulus burst out laughing. “That’s your excuse?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Regulus said, grinning, “you’d better hope he keeps a steady supply, then.”

Rhea shoved him lightly, and the moment dissolved into laughter.

The End of the First Week

By the end of the week, the castle already felt like a second home. They’d learned the fastest route to class, which ghosts to avoid, and that Peeves had a particular fondness for tripping first-years carrying books.

Rhea and Regulus had also learned that Slytherins smiled at you only if they wanted something — and whispered the moment you turned away.

But together, it didn’t matter.

They studied side by side in the library, shared notes, and whispered jokes across the Great Hall. They were a matched set — two halves of one thought, moving in rhythm through a castle full of strangers.

Late one night, after curfew, they sat by the dormitory window, looking out through the green-tinted glass of the lake.

“Do you think Sirius ever sneaks out?” Regulus asked.

Rhea smiled faintly. “Knowing him? Definitely.”

Regulus hesitated. “Do you think we’ll ever stop being close, like him and us?”

She looked at him — really looked at him — and shook her head. “No. Never. Not us.”

He smiled, satisfied, and leaned his head against her shoulder.

Outside, something large drifted past the window — the silhouette of the giant squid’s tentacle, curling gracefully in the dark water.

The lake shimmered green around them, and for a long, comfortable moment, the world was quiet. Just the twins. Together.

The second week at Hogwarts began with a downpour — the kind that made the castle hum with rain against the windows and filled the dungeons with the soft, echoing drip of water.

Rhea liked it. The rain muted everything.

Classes were easier now, or maybe she was just getting used to them. Regulus had found a small circle of first-year Slytherins he didn’t entirely dislike — and by extension, they were now part of Rhea’s orbit too.

They were sitting by the fire in the Slytherin common room one evening when she first really spoke to them.

Barty Crouch Jr. was the loudest — a boy with restless energy, quick wit, and a grin that suggested he was always planning something he probably shouldn’t be.

Evan Rosier was quieter, charming in a smug sort of way, always leaning back with his arms folded like he already owned the place.

And then there was Severus Snape — pale, dark-haired, quiet. The only one who didn’t seem entirely comfortable in the group, though his eyes missed nothing.

Regulus, of course, got along with all of them. He had that perfect balance of confidence and calm that made people listen.

Rhea mostly listened too — at first.

“Alright, hear me out,” Barty was saying one night, leaning forward over the table, eyes gleaming. “We enchant Filch’s mop to clean only the Gryffindor common room. Then we charm it to chase anyone wearing red robes. Imagine the chaos!”

Evan snorted. “That’s idiotic.”

“Idiotic but brilliant,” Rhea said before she could stop herself.

Barty turned toward her, eyebrows raised. “See? She gets it.”

Regulus looked mildly betrayed. “You’re encouraging him?”

“I’m saying it’s creative,” Rhea replied, smirking. “It would work — if you got the charm right.”

Severus spoke for the first time, his voice quiet but sharp. “The cleaning charms would have to be bound to a visual trigger. Color, like she said. But Filch’s mop probably has an enchantment that resists tampering.”

Barty’s grin widened. “I knew I liked you two.”

Rhea leaned back in her chair, amusement flickering in her eyes. “We didn’t say we’d help.”

Regulus sighed. “You’re not helping either way.”

But Rhea saw it — the way Severus had looked at her when she spoke. A flicker of respect. And in Slytherin, respect was currency.

Over the next few days, it became routine.

Regulus and his friends would claim a table in the common room after dinner, parchment and quills scattered around while they pretended to study. Inevitably, conversation drifted to gossip, speculation about other Houses, or the occasional whispered idea for mischief.

Rhea often joined them.

Sometimes she and Barty would debate ideas — both of them sharp-tongued but quick to laugh.

Evan would tease Regulus relentlessly (“Your sister’s more fun than you, mate”), earning an eye roll every time.

And Severus — well, he didn’t say much. But when Rhea did speak, he listened.

Once, during Potions, Slughorn paired them together.

“Miss Black, Mister Snape — two of my finest young brewers. Let’s see how you handle this next mixture.”

They worked in comfortable silence for a while, Rhea measuring ingredients with steady precision, Severus adjusting the flame beneath their cauldron.

“You’re better at stirring counterclockwise,” he said suddenly.

Rhea arched a brow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

He hesitated, then smirked — just barely. “Observation.”

“Hmm.” She handed him the next vial. “You’re good at this too.”

“Observation or compliment?” he countered.

“Both.”

For a moment, something like a real smile ghosted across his face before he bent over the cauldron again.

By the end of the week, Rhea found herself laughing more than she expected to.

One night, she and Regulus walked back from the library, their voices echoing faintly through the dungeon corridor.

“You’re getting along with them,” Regulus said, sounding almost surprised.

“They’re not bad,” Rhea admitted. “Barty’s insane, Evan’s smug, and Severus looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. But… they’re interesting.”

Regulus chuckled. “That’s one word for it.”

Rhea nudged his shoulder. “You like them too.”

He didn’t deny it. “Feels like we fit here, doesn’t it?”

Rhea glanced at him — the flickering torchlight catching in his dark eyes. “Yeah,” she said softly. “It does.”

They reached the entrance to the common room. The greenish light from the lake shimmered over the stone walls, casting patterns that looked like ripples across their faces.

As they stepped inside, they could hear Barty laughing about something, Evan drawling a reply, Severus muttering a correction from behind a book.

Regulus looked at her. “Coming?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

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Words count: 2122

Prolog

1979

“Rhea, I have a mission for you,” said Dumbledore, his voice calm yet weighted with purpose as he regarded the seventh-year Slytherin standing before him.

“Of course, Professor Dumbledore,” Rhea replied evenly, her sharp grey eyes studying him.

Without a word, Dumbledore slid something across his desk toward her — a long, gleaming pair of silver scissors.

“A pair of scissors?” Rhea asked, brow arching. They were elegant, ornate — almost alive in their craftsmanship.

“They’re called The Shears of Aeternum,” Dumbledore said. “Have you heard of them?”

Rhea shook her head. “No, Professor.”

“I’ll keep it simple,” he continued. “They can travel through time. Pick them up.”

Rhea hesitated only a moment before taking the scissors in her hand. The instant she did, they shimmered, shifting from polished silver to a luminous lavender, the metal pulsing faintly with purple highlights.

“Now, open them,” Dumbledore instructed. “And cut through the air — from bottom to top. Go on.”

Rhea stepped aside, crouched slightly, and began to slice upward through empty space. Her eyes widened as the blades parted the air itself — leaving behind a rip of blinding white light that expanded into a shimmering portal.

“It leads to a blank dimension,” Dumbledore explained, his eyes reflecting the glow. “A place without time or name. Once inside, you simply speak — or think — of a date. Then you cut again to open the next portal. Here.”

He handed her a scroll sealed in deep red wax.

“I want you to travel back one year,” he said. “Hide this scroll somewhere in my office. Then return to the present. When you do, the scroll should already be there.”

Rhea nodded, slipped through the glowing portal, and vanished.

Inside, she found herself surrounded by an endless white expanse — silent and cold.

“Disgusting,” she muttered under her breath. “1978.”

At once, another portal formed, hovering before her like a mirror of light. She stepped through and emerged into Dumbledore’s office once more — though now it was empty, untouched by time.

Rhea drew her wand. “Reducto.”

A section of the wall cracked open with a muffled blast. She tucked the scroll inside the hollow, whispered “Reparo,” and the wall sealed seamlessly.

Without another word, she cut open the air again, stepping through to return to the present.

“Done,” she said curtly as the portal closed behind her.

“Where?” Dumbledore asked.

Rhea only raised her wand and pointed. With a flick, the same section of the wall exploded open, fragments scattering across the floor.

“I suppose that answers my question,” Dumbledore sighed, retrieving the hidden scroll before repairing the damage with a quick incantation.

“So,” Rhea said, arms crossed, growing impatient, “what now?”

Hey

Hey

Hey- stop there a second, don't you think it's too soon for you to understand? Let's go a few years ago-

1972

The year Regulus and Rheanelle Black began their first year at Hogwarts. Exciting, right?

Well, not quite.

Their older brother, Sirius Black, had already “disgraced” the family by being sorted into Gryffindor the previous year — a stain that Walburga Black reminded them of every chance she got.

At Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, the twins stood beside their mother and Sirius. The crowd bustled with parents, owls, and steam from the scarlet train.

Walburga was talking — or rather, lecturing. “I know you two won’t bring shame to the Black family like your brother,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the station.

Rhea stared at her mother but wasn’t listening. Her gaze kept drifting toward Sirius, who stood a little apart, searching the crowd for familiar faces — for his friends. Regulus, on the other hand, stood at attention beside Walburga, nodding dutifully at every word.

The whistle shrieked, and Sirius finally spoke. “Come on, we should get on before the train leaves.”

He took the twins by the hand and led them aboard. Whatever Walburga was still saying was swallowed by the roar of the engine.

Inside the train, Sirius ushered the twins down the corridor. “Right, we’re going to find my mates,” he said, his grin returning.

Halfway down the train, a familiar voice called out. “Sirius!”

“Lils!” Sirius’s face lit up as he opened his arms for a quick hug. “How was your summer?”

“It was great, actually,” Lily replied brightly. “How was—” She stopped mid-sentence when she spotted the two smaller Blacks behind him. “Oh! And who are these?”

“My younger siblings,” Sirius said proudly. “Rheanelle and Regulus. Guys, this is Lily Evans — one of my friends.”

“Hello, you two!” Lily said kindly. “Excited for your first year?”

The twins stared. Neither spoke.

Lily blinked, a little awkwardly.

“Don’t take it personally,” Sirius said with a laugh. “They rarely talk to strangers. Have you seen the boys?”

“They’re a few compartments down,” Lily said, recovering her smile. “Anyway, I’d better go find Severus before he wanders off. See you later!”

As she disappeared down the corridor, Rhea murmured, “She’s pretty.”

Sirius chuckled. “She’s brilliant, too.”

They found James Potter and Peter Pettigrew a few doors down.

“Ooooh! Look who finally decided to show up!” James grinned as Sirius slid the door open. The two boys clapped each other on the back like brothers reunited.

“These two are my siblings — Regulus and Rheanelle,” Sirius introduced. “Guys, meet James Potter and Peter Pettigrew — my best mates.”

“Nice to meet you,” James said cheerfully, offering a hand. Like Lily, he was met with twin blank stares.

“They’ll warm up,” Sirius said, laughing it off. “Come on, you two, sit.”

Rhea and Regulus exchanged a look — a silent battle of wills over who’d get the window seat. It lasted all of three seconds before Rhea darted past him and plopped down by the glass, smirking triumphantly.

Regulus sighed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And faster,” she replied.

Sirius snorted, already deep in conversation with James.

“Where’s Remus?” he asked.

“Should be here any second,” James said. “He stopped at the trolley — said he needed more chocolate for the ride.”

At the word chocolate, Rhea’s head tilted slightly, her interest betrayed by the faintest sparkle in her eyes.

Moments later, the compartment door slid open.

“Finally!” James said. “Took your sweet time, didn’t you?”

Remus Lupin stepped in, his arms full of chocolate bars. “Very funny, Potter. There was a line—” He froze mid-sentence when his eyes landed on the two unfamiliar faces.

“These little pipsqueaks,” Sirius said proudly, “are my siblings — Regulus and Rheanelle.”

At the nickname, both twins snapped their heads toward Sirius with identical scowls, which only made him laugh harder.

“Pleasure,” Remus said politely, offering a shy smile.

Rhea just looked at him — an assessing, curious look that made him shift slightly. He looked no older than Sirius, but there was something… different about him. Softer. Tired, maybe.

She didn’t reply, but her eyes lingered a heartbeat longer than she meant them to.

The train lurched into motion. Steam curled past the window as the landscape began to slide by.

Sirius, James, and Peter were soon deep in conversation about pranks, Quidditch, and their plans for the new term. Regulus half-listened, intrigued despite himself, while Rhea pulled her knees up and rested her chin against the glass, watching the blur of countryside.

Remus unwrapped a chocolate bar and noticed her glance his way again. He hesitated, then held one out toward her.

“Want one?” he asked softly.

Rhea blinked, as if startled to be addressed, then reached out and took it wordlessly. She turned it over in her hand before mumbling, almost too quietly, “Thanks.”

Remus smiled faintly. “You’re welcome.”

Sirius, catching the exchange, smirked. “See, Rhea, not all Gryffindors bite.”

Rhea bit into the chocolate. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said coolly, though there was a tiny upward twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “You talk more to him than you did to Lily.”

“That’s because he offered chocolate,” Rhea replied matter-of-factly.

The compartment burst into laughter — Sirius loudest of all.

The laughter in the compartment died down eventually, replaced by the hum of the train and the soft patter of rain beginning to fall outside.

Rhea leaned her head against the glass, watching the raindrops race down the window. Regulus had dozed off beside her, his head tilted just enough that it brushed her shoulder.

Sirius noticed and smirked. “Still glued together, are you?”

Rhea didn’t move her gaze from the window. “We’re twins. Comes with the title.”

“Right,” Sirius teased. “Can’t imagine you ever managing five minutes apart.”

Regulus stirred, half-awake. “Wouldn’t want to,” he murmured drowsily, earning a quiet laugh from Rhea.

The rest of the compartment seemed to soften at that — even James, who whispered to Peter, “Kind of sweet, actually.”

Remus smiled faintly. “It’s rare,” he said quietly, “seeing siblings that close.”

Sirius glanced at him. “Yeah, well… give it time. Hogwarts has a way of shaking things up.”

Rhea looked at her brother, eyes narrowing slightly at Sirius’s tone — half warning, half regret — but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she reached over and flicked Regulus’s forehead gently.

“Wake up, Reg,” she said. “You’re drooling on my sleeve.”

Regulus wiped his mouth with a sleepy scowl. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

They glared at each other for three seconds before both burst into laughter.

As the afternoon faded, the sky outside darkened into shades of blue and gold. The air buzzed with excitement as the train began to slow. Students leaned out of compartments to peer through the misted windows.

“Hogsmeade Station!” someone shouted down the corridor.

Sirius ruffled Regulus’s hair as he stood. “Ready, pipsqueaks?”

“Stop calling us that,” Rhea muttered, brushing down her robes.

“Never,” Sirius said cheerfully.

Rhea rolled her eyes but smiled faintly when Regulus grabbed her hand, giving it a light squeeze — the kind of silent signal they always used when nervous. She squeezed back.

Arrival at Hogwarts

Cold night air swept through the platform as they stepped off the train. Lanterns glowed in the mist, and somewhere ahead, a booming voice called out — “Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here!”

Rhea and Regulus turned together toward the sound. The man calling was huge — a mountain of a person with wild hair and a kindly smile.

“That’s Hagrid,” Sirius said behind them. “Keeper of Keys. Don’t let his size scare you.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Rhea said, but she and Regulus shared a quick look — the kind that said we’ll decide that for ourselves.

The twins followed Hagrid and the other first-years down a dark, twisting path that led to the edge of a black lake.

Then —

“Whoa…” Regulus breathed.

Even Rhea’s eyes widened. Across the water, perched high on a cliff, was the castle — Hogwarts — its towers aglow with golden light, reflected in the still lake below.

“Beautiful,” Rhea whispered.

Regulus grinned sideways at her. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

“I never said it wouldn’t be.”

“You implied it.”

She bumped her shoulder into his, and he laughed quietly, the sound carried away by the wind.

The boat ride was silent except for the rippling water. Rhea and Regulus shared one, sitting side by side as the castle grew larger above them.

Rhea’s hand brushed Regulus’s. He squeezed it once. They didn’t need words. Whatever came next — whatever Houses, expectations, or family pressures — they’d face it together.

The Sorting Ceremony

The Great Hall was magnificent — candles floating in midair, the enchanted ceiling mirroring the stormy night sky.

Professor McGonagall called names one by one. Applause erupted with each Sorting, echoing through the hall.

Then—

“Black, Rheanelle!”

A hush fell. Whispers rippled through the crowd. Another Black.

Rhea’s heart thudded as she walked to the stool. She felt the weight of every eye in the room. The hat barely touched her head before it shouted:

“SLYTHERIN!”

The Slytherin table erupted in cheers. Rhea’s gaze immediately found Regulus — still waiting to be called — and she offered the faintest of nods.

Moments later:

“Black, Regulus!”

He strode forward confidently. The Hat didn’t hesitate.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Rhea clapped first, grinning when Regulus joined her at the table.

“See?” she said quietly as he sat down. “Together.”

“Always,” he replied, smiling.

Across the room, Sirius was watching from the Gryffindor table — clapping, yes, but slower, his expression unreadable. For just a moment, their eyes met — Sirius’s bright and restless, Rhea’s cool and steady — and both seemed to realize how different their paths were already becoming.

Later that night, as the feast ended and the first-years followed their prefects to the Slytherin common room, Regulus leaned close to Rhea.

“Do you think Mum will be proud now?” he whispered.

Rhea hesitated, glancing at the emerald and silver banners draped along the stone walls. “Maybe,” she said softly. “But I’m not doing this for her.”

Regulus smiled faintly. “Me neither.”

Older woman

Word count: 2527

The day Bill arrived in Egypt for his full assignment, the air hit him like a spell—hot, dry, and humming with ancient magic. It wasn’t the “training week” anymore. This time he was here for good.

Y/N wasn’t.

She’d left two weeks earlier for a long-term project in Spain, and though she’d written him a short note—“You’ll be brilliant out there. Don’t get eaten by anything.”—her absence felt louder than he expected.

Gringotts’ Egyptian field office was carved partially into stone, with cooling charms flickering along the entrance. As Bill stepped inside, the noise of curse-breakers talking, quills scratching, and magical sparks crackling filled the air.

A tall, broad-shouldered older man looked up from a desk piled with scrolls.

“Ah. The British boy.”

His voice was deep, rough, but not unkind.

Bill straightened. “Bill Weasley, sir.”

The man stood, offering a surprisingly warm handshake.

“Head Curse-Breaker Hassan Al-Rashid. Welcome to Cairo.”

Hassan had streaks of silver in his beard, arms covered in faint burn scars, and eyes that looked like they’d witnessed every magical disaster the world could offer—and survived all of them.

Bill already respected him.

“Come,” Hassan said, gesturing for him to follow. “I’ll introduce you to the team. Then we’ll see if Britain sent us someone useful or someone I have to scrape off a tomb wall by Friday.”

“…I’ll do my best not to be scraped, sir.”

Hassan chuckled. “Good attitude.”

The first room they entered was buzzing.

“Everyone,” Hassan announced, “this is Weasley. New transfer from the British division. Good recommendations, good grades, and—” he raised an eyebrow—“an unusual number of stories involving surviving curses he had no business surviving.”

Bill felt his ears burn.

Y/N definitely told them something, he thought.

Three curse-breakers approached:

1. Safiya

A tall witch with warm brown skin, braids tied up in a scarf, and eyes sharp enough to cut through granite.

“Newbie,” she said with a grin. “I hope you’re fast. We lose the slow ones.”

“I’m fast enough, I hope.”

“We’ll see.”

2. Tariq

A shorter wizard with runes tattooed across both forearms—some glowing faintly as he moved.

“You worked with Y/N L/N, right?” Tariq asked. “She trained here years ago. She was terrifying.”

Bill blinked. “…Terrifying?”

“In a good way,” Tariq said. “In a ‘don’t mess with the head girl or she’ll solve a curse faster than you can blink’ kind of way.”

Bill smiled a little. “Yeah. That sounds right.”

3. Amira

A young witch about Bill’s age, with wild curls and a grin too bright to be safe.

“What do you know about cursed flame pits?” she asked eagerly.

“…Uh… what?”

“Perfect.” She clapped him on the back. “You’ll learn fast.”

Bill exchanged a helpless look with Safiya. She only patted his shoulder sympathetically.

Hassan led Bill through rows of supplies—enchanted rope, rune tablets, sealed potions—explaining the rules.

“Rule one,” Hassan said. “In Egypt, curses are older and cleverer than anywhere else. Assume every stone wants to kill you.”

“Every stone, sir?”

“Yes. Especially the ones that smile.”

“…The stones can smile?”

“You’ll know when you see one.”

Bill gulped.

“Rule two: Always have water. Always. Magic drains you twice as fast under cursed heat.”

Bill nodded. “Y/N told me that.”

Hassan paused.

His stern expression softened—just slightly.

“She was one of my best. You worked well with her, yes?”

Bill cleared his throat. “Y-yes, sir. She taught me a lot.”

“And she said good things of you. High praise from someone who rarely compliments anyone.”

Bill’s chest tightened—proud, but missing her more than he wanted to admit.

Hassan clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll do well here, Weasley. There is skill in you. And heart. We like both.”

They took him out on the first day.

No easing in. No small warm-up curse.

A collapsed burial chamber on the outskirts of Luxor, magic leaking from between the stones like smoke.

The team set up camp; the sand shimmered under the sun.

“Stay close,” Safiya told him.

Amira handed him a water flask. “Drink. Trust me.”

Tariq pointed to a narrow crack in the tomb wall. “See that? Something powerful is trapped in there. And if it gets out, we’ll all regret waking up today.”

Bill swallowed hard. “So… no pressure.”

Hassan stepped beside him, gaze steady.

“Weasley,” he said. “This is your first real Egyptian curse. Do not be afraid.”

Bill inhaled sharply.

Then Hassan added,

“Be cautious. But never afraid.”

Bill nodded.

He stepped forward—heat pounding in his ears, magic buzzing beneath his skin.

And for the first time since arriving, he didn’t feel like a lost newcomer.

He felt… ready.

One Year Later — Egypt

Egypt had a way of aging people.

Not in a bad way—Bill Weasley just seemed… steadier now.

More confident. Sun-touched. Comfortable in the heat, in the danger, in the chaos.

And yet, somehow, he’d also become more laid-back.

Tariq liked to joke that Bill had “adopted the desert pace,” a patient sort of calm mixed with an easy smile and the quiet understanding that everything would get done in its own time—as long as you didn’t die first.

Hassan called it “desert wisdom.”

Bill called it “not stressing unless the tomb is literally collapsing.”

Fair enough.

Even with missions almost weekly, sandstorms, collapsing ruins, and curses with teeth, Bill always found time to write.

And Y/N always replied.

Not instantly—she was constantly traveling now: Spain, Morocco, France, back to Britain, then off again. But every time Bill opened the Gringotts owl postbox and saw an envelope sealed with her handwriting, he felt something warm settle in his chest.

They wrote about curses, discoveries, annoying coworkers, magical theory…

And sometimes things that had nothing to do with work.

Bill wrote about the stray desert cat that kept following him.

Y/N wrote about the old woman in Madrid who insisted on giving her magical pastries because she “looked too serious.”

He wrote about missing British tea.

She wrote about missing Egypt’s night sky.

Both kept it friendly.

Both pretended not to think too hard about the undertones.

But Bill’s letters started lingering a bit—asking about her, not just her job.

And Y/N’s replies became warmer, softer around the edges.

Tariq noticed.

“Who’s Y/N?” he asked one evening around the campfire, eyebrow raised.

“No one,” Bill said too casually.

Safiya snorted. “No one doesn’t make you smile like that, Weasley.”

Bill shoved sand over the fire to hide his face.

“Just a friend.”

“Mm,” Amira hummed. “Sure.”

He didn’t deny it.

But he didn’t correct them either.

She read his letters too often.

Sometimes twice.

Sometimes more.

She’d finish a mission, collapse on her bed in some rented room or Gringotts-arranged lodging, and the first thing she reached for was one of Bill’s envelopes.

His writing was relaxed, easy-going, warm.

He always made her laugh.

Always made her smile.

And that was the problem.

He was younger—five years younger.

Not a child, obviously. Bill was grown, capable, smart, and braver than he gave himself credit for. A full curse-breaker now, with experience that even older workers respected.

But the age gap gnawed at her sometimes.

He was only 20.

She was 25.

The distance made it easier to pretend her feelings didn’t matter. She’d tell herself:

He’s young.

He’s probably just being friendly.

It’s nothing.

It should be nothing.

Then she’d get another letter from him—something about how he’d found a rune formation that reminded him of her handwriting, or how he wished she were there because “you always explain the tricky bits better,” or how the team teased him about smiling at his mail—

And the feelings came back like a tide.

She folded the letters carefully. Kept them. Didn’t talk about them.

Bill didn’t overthink it.

He liked her.

He missed her.

He enjoyed talking to her—writing to her—more than anyone else.

And every time a letter arrived, he felt his day lighten instantly.

But he also wasn’t in any rush.

He wasn’t dramatic.

He didn’t spiral.

He just… liked her.

Fully. Easily. Quietly.

Whenever Hassan caught him rereading a letter, the old man would just shake his head.

“You’re obvious,” he told Bill once. “But not stupid. That helps.”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “Should I be offended?”

“No. Just patient.”

“I can do patient,” Bill said with a lazy shrug.

He could.

He really could.

He wasn’t the type to rush things or panic about feelings.

He’d wait if waiting was what she needed.

The longer they wrote, the more Y/N found herself lingering on his words, wondering how he said them—wondering if his smile curved differently when he wrote her name.

But every time the thought appeared, she’d shut it down.

He’s younger.

He looks up to me.

It’s not right.

And yet…

When missions got rough, when she was exhausted or lonely or frustrated, it was Bill she wanted to write to. Bill’s steadiness. Bill’s calm. Bill’s warmth.

She tried to tell herself it was nostalgia, that he reminded her of home, or past years, or easier times.

But deep down she knew.

She just wasn’t sure she was allowed to let herself feel it.

One night, during a windstorm that rattled the entire Cairo base, Bill sat sorting through scroll fragments when Hassan approached.

“You miss her,” Hassan said plainly.

Bill didn’t jump or deny it. He just paused, leaning back in his chair.

“…Yeah.”

Hassan nodded.

“You should tell her someday.”

Bill huffed a laugh. “Maybe. Someday.”

“She is older,” Hassan said. “Is that the problem?”

Bill shrugged lazily. “Not for me.”

Hassan studied him a long moment.

“You are steady,” he said finally. “Too steady for your age. Older at heart than your years. Sometimes age matters. Sometimes it does not. Only the two involved can decide.”

Bill tapped a quill against his knee, eyes drifting toward the window where the desert winds screamed.

“…Yeah,” he murmured. “I get that.”

ll wasn’t expecting anything unusual that morning.

He was sitting outside the Cairo camp, half-awake, sipping bitter tea and watching the desert sky shift from violet to gold. Amira and Tariq were arguing about whether they’d accidentally triggered a ward rune the night before, and Safiya was cleaning her wand with the kind of intensity that suggested she absolutely blamed them for it.

A normal morning.

Until the Gringotts messenger owl swooped low, dropping a thick envelope onto Bill’s lap.

He frowned.

It wasn’t a letter.

It was a mission file.

He flipped it open—

—and froze.

The name stamped across the top read:

Y/N L/N — International Assignment Specialist

Temporary Transfer to Egypt (3 Weeks)

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

Tariq leaned over. “What’s wrong? Curse eat your application form?”

Bill’s mouth opened, closed, then he handed him the file wordlessly.

Tariq skimmed it, eyes widening.

“Oh. Oh-ho-ho. You’re dead.”

Amira snatched it. “Wait—HER? She’s coming HERE? Now?”

Safiya looked up sharply. “The head girl demon returns.”

“She wasn’t a demon,” Bill muttered.

Safiya raised an eyebrow. “The woman taught you how to survive three different death curses in one week.”

“…Okay, but she was polite about it.”

Amira shook his shoulder. “Bill. She’s coming BACK. To Egypt. To you.”

Bill tried to act relaxed. He really did.

“Guys, it’s not— I mean—we’re friends.”

No one believed him.

Hassan stepped out of his tent just as Bill was stuffing the file under his arm.

“She arrives this afternoon,” Hassan said without looking up. “Everyone behave yourselves.”

Amira sighed dramatically.

“No promises.”

By the time the sun was high, the whole team was gathered at the entrance of the Egyptian field office. Everyone pretended they were there for routine duty.

They were not.

Bill stood off to the side, hands shoved into his pockets, trying to breathe normally and failing with talent.

Then she walked through the doorway.

Same confident stride.

Same calm expression.

Same soft curves of a smile that warmed more than just the room.

Her hair was windswept, as if she’d stepped right off a broomstick. Sand dusted her boots. She looked tired, capable, and completely in her element.

Bill felt something kick in his chest.

She looked at the group, searching, until her eyes landed on him.

And—there it was.

That smile.

Small, but real.

Warming and a little relieved.

“Hey, Weasley,” she said.

Bill swallowed. “Hey. Welcome back.”

She took in his appearance—tanned skin, relaxed posture, confident stance—and her eyebrows lifted just slightly.

“You look…”

Good.

Confident.

Older.

She didn’t finish the sentence, but Bill caught the flicker in her gaze and didn’t dare let himself hope too loudly.

Hassan interrupted the moment.

“Y/N, welcome. I trust your flight was pleasant?”

“As pleasant as being thrown around by magically enhanced air currents can be.”

She stepped forward to greet the team, exchanging names and polite nods…

But her eyes kept darting back to Bill.

And Bill, laid-back as always, only flashed her a small smile each time, the kind that said:

I’m really happy you’re here.

Later, when the camp settled into its evening rhythm, she found him where he always sat—on the sand dune behind the camp, watching the sunset like it was a habit passed down by the desert itself.

“Thought you’d be with the others,” Bill said without turning.

“I could say the same about you.”

She sat beside him. Close. Closer than before.

The silence between them was comfortable—more so than she expected. Egypt smelled like heat and sand and spells crackling in the air. Bill smelled like sun, dust, and something warm she couldn’t quite name.

“So,” she said softly. “I hear you’ve become the desert expert.”

Bill shrugged lazily. “Tryin’. Hassan says I’m less likely to get myself killed these days.”

“That’s… impressive,” she said, smiling wider.

Bill turned to her finally—and she realized how much he’d changed. Stronger jaw, a little more muscle, hair tied back with a leather cord, eyes steady and kind.

Older.

It hit her unexpectedly.

Five years didn’t look like much anymore.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he said quietly.

She looked down at her hands. “It was last minute. And… I wasn’t sure if—”

If I should.

If you’d want me here.

If it would complicate things.

She cleared her throat. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be useful here anymore.”

Bill snorted lightly. “You’re always useful, Y/N.”

It was said simply, without fanfare, without flirting or pushing.

Just truth.

And something in her chest softened painfully.

The desert wind picked up, warm and prickling.

She glanced at him.

He glanced back.

Something shifted.

And for the first time, she wondered—not if they should—but if she’d been wrong to hold back.

Because he wasn’t a boy.

He wasn’t fragile.

He wasn’t unsure.