Wynie & Friends: Wyanne Whyle
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 (Version 1) | Chapter 9 (Version 2) | Chapter 10 (Version 1) | Chapter 10 (Version 2)
Three months after Wyanne’s death.
The Ministry could hide nothing this time. Not with a dead student, and certainly not with the Daily Prophet keeping the public on edge with every headline. Powerful connections or not, the Hobhouse family crumbled under the weight of the scandal: Duncan awaited his Wizengamot trial in isolation, while Alastair was moved straight from a hospital bed to a narrow, suffocating cell in Azkaban, where the cold damp of the sea and the weight of the Dementors brought only endless suffering.
Wyanne’s burial had taken place months ago on her favourite hill, the one overlooking the sea, back in Ireland. But at Hogwarts, there had been no space to stop and mourn. Between endless Ministry interrogations, the dragging legal proceedings, and the suffocating weight of upcoming exams, spring bled into summer before anyone could catch their breath.
When the dust finally settled, the castle felt unsettlingly hollow. Without Wyanne’s sudden chaos echoing down the stone corridors, the halls had lost their spark—and no one dared try to break the silence.
Then came River’s sudden exit. No goodbye, no note; just a bare bed one June morning, another voice lost to the air, and the mysterious disappearance of Ellis the Obscurus.
At last, after long discussions with Professor Weasley and Wyanne’s parents, a memorial was set for the sixth of June—the day she would have turned 19. They chose her grave in Ireland, because Emcy insisted Wyanne would hate missing her own party.
The day arrived under a pale blue sky. Emcy and a few friends arrived early on the hillside to set things up—conjuring chairs, erecting a small lectern, and laying out bunches of bright yellow daffodils. Keeping everything clad in black felt far too formal for someone who had brought so much color into their lives.
Cordelia and Minjae were the first to walk up the path.
“Oh, they’re beautiful,” Cordelia murmured as she looked at the daffodils. “Wyanne would have loved these.”
Lyra silently offered her a handkerchief. Cordelia accepted it with a nod and knelt by the headstone, placing a handful of vibrant sea shells on the grass. “I picked the colors you like best,” she whispered with a faint smile.
Beside her, Minjae set down a smooth rock. He didn't offer an explanation, nor did he speak. He simply stared at her name carved into the stone for a quiet moment before turning to find a seat.
More arrived as the hour approached—professors, classmates, and quiet strangers whom only a few recognized. Wyanne, it turned out, had more friends and a better schedule for each one of them than anyone realised. Soon, the seats overflowed, forcing Arabella, Vincent, and Myrna to transfigure stray stones into chairs.
Garreth, Poppy, Anne, Amit… even Sebastian made his way up the hill.
“Ominis couldn’t attend,” Sebastian whispered to Emcy as he signed the attendance list. “His family made sure of it. But he asked me to leave this for her.” He held out a small necklace. “It was a birthday gift. Where should I put it?”
“At her headstone,” Emcy said softly.
Sebastian made the short, heavy walk. He knelt near the growing mountain of bouquets, trinkets, and cards, placing the gift carefully in the grass. “Shorty,” he murmured, nodding his head in greeting. “I miss you, y’know? Corny stuff, I know… tease me all you want.” He swallowed hard as he wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “I just wish I could hear you call me by that stupid nickname again.”
Finally, the chatter settled into a reverent quiet, a gentle, salty breeze caressing their faces as the ocean crashed below.
Emcy walked up to the lectern, his movements stiff and practiced. He smoothed his parchment over the wood, looking out at the crowd—a wave of black and white robes, interspersed with yellow flowers. Wyanne’s parents sat near the front, alongside his own. Teddy’s family was there, too, amidst a sea of faces he barely knew. How had she touched all their lives? Was it her warmth? Her stubborn charm? Or were they just here to pay respects to a fallen classmate? A student?
He looked down at the parchment in his hands, the black ink glaring at him coldly, and the words he had spent hours drafting, refining, and rewriting.
And it was then that he realised: none of it mattered. The polished phrasing, the placement of the flowers, the question of who came and why—none of it would bring her back.
Emcy swallowed the lump in his throat. In full view of the silent crowd, he lifted the script…and tore it to pieces.
A collective gasp rippled through the gathering.
“Wyanne never used a script,” Emcy began, his voice firm and clear. “She spoke whatever came to mind before thinking twice. She favored the color orange, yet had a love for yellow daffodils and white scented candles. She claimed to dislike animals, yet would spend hours bird-watching with her friends. She preferred winter over summer, even though she always caught a cold every December.”
A quiet, affectionate chuckle washed through the audience.
“She loved to sing—lullabies, opera, classical music—and she’d spend hours translating foreign lyrics into English just for fun,” Emcy continued, a faint smile touching his lips. “She gave silly nicknames to the people she adored. She loved loudly and shamelessly. She complained about homework while trying her absolute best. She used to say you had to live for yourself before you could live for others, and she called herself selfish…but she was the most selfless person I’ve ever known.”
A sharp sob locked in his throat. A second later, Carina stepped up beside him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, her own shoulders shaking as she leaned against him for support.
Emcy forced a breath into his lungs. “S-She was my best friend. My best friend since we were 9 years old. She lived a splendid, vibrant life, and she lived more in her short years than most people do in a century. She’s gone now…”
Someone in the third row blew their nose loudly into a handkerchief.
“But Wyanne always said that as long as people remember you, your legacy never dies,” Emcy insisted, his eyes sweeping across the tear-stained faces. “Please—don’t remember her only with sorrow. She spent her life spreading warmth and laughter; it would be a disservice to reduce her memory to grief. Remember her in every joke, in every burst of laughter, in every ray of sunshine. She didn’t die in vain.” His voice cracked. “She died because she… because she—”
He buried his face in his hands, unable to force the words past the tight knot in his chest. No one rushed him. The crowd waited in respectful silence, surrounded only by the sound of the crashing waves below.
When he finally lowered his hands, he took a deep breath. “Wyanne Whyle was painfully stubborn, fiercely protective, and unapologetically herself. She proved that even in a world full of bitterness, you can always choose to be kind. I hope we can all carry that forward. Thank you.”
He stepped down, wiping his cheek with his sleeve. Carina handed him her handkerchief and gave him another squeeze.
Others took the stage after him, sharing fond, messy memories. Some broke down; others smiled through their tears. Teddy was the only one who managed to slip a few jokes into his tribute, though he was weeping by the end of it.
“She chose to stand up when she could have walked away,” Teddy said, his voice carrying over the breeze. “She showed us that taking risks is part of living, and that the world desperately needs people who choose to be brave, loyal, and kind.”
As the sun began its low descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of gold and violet, guests slowly began to filter away.
Teddy walked over to Wyanne’s mother, who was sitting quietly on a wooden bench. “Miss Jian?”
Yu-Lan looked up, her expression tired but soft. “Ah, yes?”
“I’m Teddy Lancelot,” he introduced himself sheepishly, “I am Wyanne’s friend.”
“Oh, of course. You’re the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.”
Teddy blinked, a fleeting smile breaking through his melancholy. “She… she mentioned me?”
“All her letters home were long enough to trail on the floor,” Yu-Lan said, a gentle sparkle in her dark eyes. “She said you are a ridiculous boy who flirted with everyone far too much.”
Teddy flushed red, rubbing the back of his neck. “She said you are reckless and playful, but that you had a way of charming everyone,” Yu-Lan continued softly. “She considered you a very dear friend.”
Teddy swallowed hard. “…I’m glad.” He cleared his throat and swallowed his fear. “Actually, Miss Jian, I wanted to tell you something. You see, I’m a Seer. Because of time-travelers, I sometimes see glimpses of alternate timelines—different branches of what could be.”
Yu-Lan’s smile faded into an intent, quiet stillness. “…You saw her.”
“I saw her in another timeline,” Teddy whispered. “She was happy. She became an Unspeakable, she got married, and she… she had children.”
Yu-Lan kept her gaze fixed on him, her voice steady. “How long did she live?”
“…A long time,” Teddy said softly. “Over a hundred years.”
Yu-Lan didn't burst into tears. She looked like a woman who had already wept the last of her tears, and simply let out a long, bittersweet sigh into the evening air. “That is good,” she murmured. “Thank you, Teddy.”
“You’ll be staying for dinner, won’t you?” she added after a moment. “I’ll tell you all the embarrassing stories from her childhood.”
Teddy let out a genuine laugh. “Oh, she would haunt me for that!”
“It will be our secret,” Yu-Lan smiled.
By dusk, the hillside was nearly deserted. The remaining daffodils fluttered in the evening wind, and the last of the mourners had vanished down the path. Only Emcy and Teddy remained, gathering the mountain of notes, trinkets, and gifts into a large wooden box.
“River didn’t show,” Teddy said quietly, looking out over the water. “I really thought he might…”
“What do you mean?” Emcy paused, holding up a single, long-stemmed red rose he had just picked up from the base of the headstone. “If it wasn't him, who left this?”
Teddy stared at the crimson flower in shock. “Wait. But I—“ He looked at the empty path and back down at the flower. “How did I not see him?”
“Disillusionment charm, probably,” Emcy said quietly, placing the rose gently on top of the box. “Or a cloak.”
“Do you think he’ll ever come back?”
Emcy pondered the question for a moment, looking at Wyanne’s headstone. “I’ll keep writing to him. Maybe one day he’ll write back.”
“Boys!” Emcy’s father called out from the bottom of the hill. “Supper!”
“What are we having?” Emcy asked the Seer as Teddy lifted the heavy box.
“Hmm…Fried rice with shrimp,” Teddy chuckled, adjusting his grip. “My papa managed to anger Ma again. It’s a whole ordeal.”
With one last glance back at the solitary grave overlooking the sea, the two boys turned and began their walk down the hill.
The End
