#gml updates

There was a feather-light touch on her shoulder. Then a tentative and cheerful whisper. “Erm…hello?”

Elysia stirred, unsure if she was dreaming. But then came another nudge, slightly firmer this time, and the voice, a touch louder: “Hello?”

She cracked open her eyes. A girl was crouched beside the bed—bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked, and smiling warmly. Elysia blinked blearily, trying to place her. It was the same girl she’d glimpsed at the Hufflepuff table last night, the one who waved at her.

“Mornin! Hope I’m not waking you too horridly…” the girl said, her voice light and kind. 

Elysia sat up slowly, robes rumpled from sleep, curls tangled and wild around her face. “Oh… I—good morning,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, no, don’t worry one bit!” The girl said quickly, waving it off. “You looked like you needed the rest. Must’ve been absolutely knackered.”

Elysia gave a sleepy laugh, dragging her fingers through her thick auburn hair in a vague attempt to tame it. “Yeah… yeah, I suppose I was.”

The girl let out a small laugh in return, then stood and extended a hand. “I’m Poppy. Poppy Sweeting. One of your dorm-mates—though I’m guessing you might’ve worked that out. That bed right there’s mine,” she added, gesturing toward the one just next to Elysia’s.

Elysia took her hand with a smile, still seated. “I’m Elysia, Elysia Ashcombe. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Poppy’s grin widened. “Well, Elysia Ashcombe, you made a right banger of an entrance, didn’t you? Everyone’s talking. I had the other girls in our dorm head out early so you wouldn’t wake with a crowd and a nasty headache.”

“Can’t thank you enough for that. Merlin, I definitely need a cup of tea before I face the world.”

“Oh—and, not to alarm you, but you’ve got a proper case of troll-fight hair going on.”

Elysia snorted and moved to swing her legs out of bed. “Yeah, well, I was going to shower last night and get myself sorted, but—oh shite!” She shot upright the rest of the way, the last remnants of sleep vanishing as panic lit in her eyes. “Oh, fuck! Bugger me!” 

“What?!” Poppy blinked. 

“Professor Weasley! I was supposed to meet her first thing outside the Great Hall—she said she’d give me my timetable. Crap, I’m going to be late on my first day.”

“Ooof, that’s rough,” Poppy said, breezy as ever. “But don’t worry. I’ll go find her, let her know you’re awake, just a bit delayed, and that you’ll be down shortly. She won’t mind. You’ve had a hell of a start, and frankly, if anyone deserves an extra ten minutes to scrub the chaos out of their hair, it’s you... Also, I reckon she’d appreciate you smelling slightly less like a Quidditch changing room.”

Elysia gave a mock gasp, scandalized at the teasing, and they both burst into laughter—instantly knowing they’d be very good friends.

“But seriously, you’d do that for me?”

“Of course!” Poppy winked. “I’ve got your back. Now go! Off to the baths with you. And don’t rush. You’re not going to make a great impression half-feral, Miss Mysterious.” 

Elysia laughed again, properly this time, and gave Poppy a grateful smile that reached all the way to her eyes. “Thanks, Poppy.”

Poppy flashed her a grin and another wink as she backed toward the door. “Something tells me this won’t be the last time I’m bailing you out.”

With a laugh and a shake of her head, Elysia grabbed the small towel and toiletries bundle waiting by her bed and padded off toward the baths, bare feet whispering against the warm stone floor. She hadn’t expected friendship to find her so soon—but it had, and she clung to the warmth of it like a small miracle.

* * *

After a quick wash and an ungodly amount of time wrestling her long curls into submission, Elysia dressed in one of the crisp new sets of Hufflepuff robes left for her. The golden trim stood out sharply against the black fabric, and the Hufflepuff crest gleamed proudly on her chest. She slipped on her own boots rather than the plain school flats, which were far more comfortable, and hopefully not in breach of some obscure school rule. Though she moved with urgency, there was something almost buoyant in her step, as if the steam and soap had scrubbed away the worst of yesterday. With her wand tucked safely into the inner pocket of her robe, she wound her way up the curving corridor toward the Great Hall. 

Professor Weasley was waiting just outside, exactly as promised. She wasn’t cross, but made it gently clear that punctuality would be expected moving forward. She handed over a folded timetable and a slim, enchanted parchment that shimmered faintly at the touch—the map she’d mentioned last night. Before sending her off, she asked Elysia to stop by her office after the final class of the day. 

Clutching both map and timetable, Elysia took a steadying breath and set off for her very first class at Hogwarts: Charms. She hoped she’d run into Poppy there, or maybe even sit beside her. And with any luck, meet a few more friendly faces along the way.

* * *

The Charms classroom was already buzzing when Elysia arrived. The space was grand and darkly polished, lined with a few narrow bookshelves, stacks of dusty tomes and curious instruments. A large blackboard on wheels dominated the far wall, worn from years of chalk spells and scribbled incantations. Two long rows of tiered desks flanked either side of the room, rising gradually like theatre seating. A wide aisle ran straight down the middle toward the raised platform at the front, where the professor’s desk sat, flanked by strange magical artefacts and cluttered stacks of parchment.

Elysia paused at the doorway, scanning the room for an open seat. Most of the spots had already been claimed, students chatting in clusters or hunched over desks with early morning yawns. In the front-right row, closest to the professor’s desk, her eyes caught on two boys she recognized from the Slytherin table last night. The dark-haired one lounged with the same easy arrogance, hunched over his desk and saying something to the paler boy beside him, who stood half-leaning with one knee propped on the bench. Neither seemed to notice her. Elysia quickly looked away and scanned the rows again, this time hoping to catch sight of Poppy’s bobbed brown hair or cheerful wave. But if Poppy was in this class, she was nowhere to be seen—perhaps already tucked out of sight, or not in this period at all. Elysia bit her lip, hovering mid-step, trying to judge where would feel least like putting herself on display.

Then a voice spoke up from behind her, soft but clear. “Here—behind you.”

Elysia turned toward the voice and spotted a Gryffindor girl sitting near the back—far right side of the classroom, one of the highest rows from the professor’s desk. Her robes were neat, her tie perfectly knotted in bold red and gold, and her dark, tightly coiled curls framed her face in a way that made her look effortlessly composed and stunning. She sat with one arm propped casually on the desk, the other lifted in a small, beckoning wave.

“There is an open seat next to me,” she said with a friendly nod. “Come and join, if you like.”

The girl’s voice carried a calm, melodic lilt—an accent unfamiliar to Elysia’s ears, but warm and articulate, with a quiet confidence that piqued her curiosity. Elysia blinked, then smiled and made her way up the steps, grateful not to be left lingering like a lost first-year.

As she slipped into the seat beside the girl, she leaned over and murmured, “Thank you. I think I was honestly about to just sit on the stairs or something. I’m Elysia, by the way.”

The girl turned with a warm smile and took her outstretched hand in a firm shake. “Natty. Well—Natsai, actually. But if you call me that, I will assume you are my mother and I am in trouble.”

Elysia let out a soft laugh. “Duly noted. And again—thank you. Lifesaver.”

“Oh, I understand,” Natty said, her voice low and kind. “I transferred to Hogwarts just before fourth year. I remember exactly how it feels—stepping into a place that’s already moving without you.”

Elysia’s brows lifted in surprise. “Oh, didn’t realize there were magical schools other than Hogwarts. Where did you transfer from?”

“Oh yes, there are many! I transferred from Uagadou School of Magic,” Natty replied with a small grin. “It’s all the way back home in Uganda. My mother and I moved he—”

“Ahem-ahem!” The sound came from the back of the room and silenced everything at once. The Charms Professor—Professor Ronen, as per Elysia’s timetable—stood at the top of the aisle with his hands on his hips and a twinkle in his eye.

Natty shot Elysia a wry glance: we’ll come back to this. 

Elysia nodded back and pursed her lips: absolutely.

“Shall we begin?” Professor Ronen called out, his voice rich with enthusiasm as he descended the steps with a flourish, robes swishing like he’d practised it (or charmed them to flourish that way). “Welcome, my brilliant fifth-years, to another enchanting chapter of Charms! Now, this will be a crucial year in your education on the art of Charm-work, for you’ll all be sitting your O.W.L. examinations come spring. As I’m sure you’ve been told countless times, your marks will determine not only your proficiency in each subject, but whether you’ll be permitted to study them at N.E.W.T. level in your final years.”

He reached the front and spun on his heel to face them, beaming. “But I am confident we shall meet the challenge with the passion and rigour it demands. Before we hurl ourselves wand-first into the mysteries of advanced charm-craft, a little revision is in order—to ensure the summer holidays haven’t Obliviated everything we once knew.” He paused, then smiled brightly, eyes twinkling. “Especially as we are joined this term by a new student—whose fresh perspective may very well charm us all, if we’re lucky.

Elysia sank a little lower in her seat the moment the word “new” left Professor Ronen’s mouth. And though he hadn’t pointed or even glanced her way, she felt as if a spotlight had seared the top of her skull.

The Professor carried on with his theatrics, gesturing broadly to the room, his eyes sweeping the rows with delight, entirely oblivious to how heads were beginning to turn. Whispers flickered through the air like sparks. Even the Slytherin boys at the front had noticed her now—the dark-haired one turned to glance and gave her a wink, while his friend stayed facing forward, perfectly still… except for the faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. As though he’d known exactly where she was all along.

She would’ve rather been cursed. Or turned invisible. Or set on fire. Frankly, any of the above would've been preferable to the sudden, suffocating realization that everyone knew exactly who she was. 

Beside her, Natty leaned in with a low chuckle, her voice warm with humour but soft enough just for Elysia. “Well, that did not take long.”

Elysia groaned under her breath. “Do you think anyone would notice if I just… rolled off the bench and died?”

Natty leaned in, lips twitching with barely-contained amusement. “Go on, then. I will cover for you and say it was a dare and you were proving a point.”

Elysia snorted despite herself, “Honestly? That plan’s not half bad.”

Natty grinned and nudged her lightly before pulling out her textbook and opening it between them—signalling for Elysia to not worry and to just focus on the class.

* * *

At the end of the lesson, Elysia’s wand hand ached slightly, but she’d managed to follow along without making a total fool of herself. Most of the review was familiar—levitation, summoning, banishing, disarming, shielding—all things Professor Fig had drilled into her with quiet patience over the past couple of months. A few of the incantation modifiers were new to her, and Professor Ronen had a dramatic flair for theory she hadn’t quite expected, but overall…she held her own. Her spells landed clean enough, and her pronunciations only earned one correction (which she took with a nod and flushed cheeks). 

Soon after, Professor Ronen brought the lesson to a close with a few final remarks, assigning a couple chapters of reading for the next lesson, and gave a dramatic flourish of his wand that sent the blackboard erasing itself in a flurry of chalk dust. The classroom hummed to life as students gathered their things and filtered out. Elysia slipped her wand into her robes and fell into step beside Natty, who tossed her a bright smile.

“Lunch?” she offered. 

Elysia’s stomach answered before she could. “Yes. Please. Lead the way.” 

They disappeared into the corridor, their voices mingling with the chatter of the crowd as they headed off toward the Great Hall. Elysia walked beside Natty down the corridor, still riding the quiet satisfaction of having managed not to completely embarrass herself. Natty (warm, sharp-eyed, and delightfully unbothered by the bustle of students around them) quickly became a very easy person to talk to.As they walked, she told Elysia more about her home in Uganda, and how she’d come to Hogwarts when her mother (Professor Onai, who’s name Elysia had seen on her own timetable) had been offered a post teaching Divination.

Elysia learned a lot in that short period of time, most surprisingly that in Uagadou, students didn’t use wands at all, but performed magic with their hands. She was stunned—not only that it was possible, but that it was every bit as powerful as wand-work. Though Natty confessed she’d grown rather fond of the theatricality of a wand, Elysia secretly felt that learning wand-less magic sounded incredible.…It would certainly be handy if I was to ever find myself without a wand. I wouldn’t mind learning it.

By the time they reached the Great Hall, Elysia spotted Poppy waving her over from the Hufflepuff table. Natty gave her a friendly squeeze on the shoulder and drifted off toward the Gryffindor side. Lunch was a blur of excited chatter, Poppy catching her up on anything and everything without making her feel excluded—from which food to avoid and which she must have (“The pudding is to die for!”), all the way to which ghosts had the best gossip, even introducing Elysia to a couple of their house-mates seated near them at the Hufflepuff table.

After lunch, the two were off to Care of Magical Creatures together, followed by a rare free period. By what felt like natural gravity, they met up with Natty again, and the three of them sprawled across one of the sunny benches in the courtyard. Somehow, despite the short time they’d known one another, it already felt like the kind of easy camaraderie forged over years. Natty and Poppy had known of each other, of course, but now—with Elysia—the three of them simply clicked. They took turns asking Elysia questions, gently prying at her background, how she’d arrived at Hogwarts, and what her life had been like before

Elysia was unsure of how much she should let them know about. Apparently, nothing was kept secret for long in Hogwarts—everyone already seemed to know about the dragon attack, that there was a member of the Ministry accompanying her and Fig in the carriage, and that he hadn’t survived. The Daily Prophet issue that morning had also had a section about Mr. Osric’s death. She gave them the same half-truth she’d given Professor Weasley the night prior: that she and Professor Fig had been thrown from the carriage, lost all their things, and wandered for hours trying to find their way back. She kept it vague and let them draw their own conclusions.

As for her life before? She explained that she was Muggle-born and hadn’t known about magic until her last birthday, doing her best to answer their questions without revealing too much. She wasn’t ready for judgement—or worse, resentment.

“Is it very different, growing up a Muggle?” Poppy asked, hugging one knee to her chest. “You must miss your old life at least a little. What did your family say about you coming here and being a witch?”

Elysia hesitated, her fingers toying with the hem of her sleeve. “Actually…I don’t really have a family,” she said softly. “My father died before I was born. I don’t know anything about him—just that he was… not a good man. So it was just my mum and me, until I was five.” The words came out carefully measured, but her voice wavered slightly and her throat tightened. “Then she passed, too.”

“Oh goodness…” Poppy murmured, the curiosity in her tone replaced by something quieter. Compassion.

“I am so sorry,” Natty said gently. “May I ask… what happened to her?”

A well-meaning question. But Elysia felt a chill crawl up her spine. She couldn’t exactly tell them the truth:

That she’d seen strange golden wisps—shimmering and unreal, like threads of sunlight trailing through the air—just on the other side of the road. That she’d run and chased after them without thinking, laughing. That her mother had come tearing after her, screaming her name—

Just in time to shove her out of the street. Just in time to be trampled by a horse-drawn-carriage right before Elysia’s eyes. That she had, in the most unintentional but irreversible way… killed her own mother.

“There was… an accident,” she said, swallowing. (It was my fault.)

“She was, uh…struck by a carriage.” (I’m the reason she’s dead.)

“The damage was too much. She didn’t make it.” (If I hadn’t been so stupid…if I hadn’t… she’d still be here.) 

A beat of silence followed her words. Neither Poppy nor Natty said anything right away. Elysia let out a quiet breath and glanced down, smoothing out a crease in her skirt with unnecessary focus. “I’ve been in an orphanage ever since,” she said lightly, as though trying to shrug off the weight of what she’d just shared. “Until last March, on my birthday, when I found out I’m a witch and learned about the wizarding world, that is.” 

To her surprise, neither girl pressed—not out of disinterest, but out of respect. Elysia could sense it. They understood the shift in tone, and they followed her lead.

“What was it like?” Natty asked. “The orphanage, I mean. Did they treat you well?”

Poppy nodded, her tone just as curious. “And how did your magic only show itself on your last birthday? Seventeen’s awfully late, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone showing that late.” 

She glanced at Natty who gave a small nod of agreement at the statement before they both turned their attention back on Elysia. 

Again, another well-meant question. And again, Elysia felt herself panic beneath the surface. What was she meant to say this time? “I was sixteen, nearly seventeen, being dragged away to work as a servant for some Lord because I was too old to be adopted and treated like garbage at the orphanage—and I exploded the whole building?”

No, she couldn’t say that. It wouldn’t do, even if no one was hurt (she’d been assured of it by that Ministry worker, Clara, repeatedly). The destruction was too much and the whole case was confidential anyways. 

So instead, Elysia smiled faintly and said, “It was… home. Lonely at first, but I suppose I didn’t really want to be alone. The other children were like brothers and sisters to me. I was the oldest there, and I looked after them as well as I could. I tried to help the younger ones—teach them how to behave, how to charm prospective parents, how to avoid being labelled as trouble. We became our own little family.”

She paused, her mind drifting. Little Archie, with his teddy bear and tiny footsteps, calling after her—“‘Lysia!” Rosie and Ember, always pretending to be grown-up like her, making games out of who could be the best Elysia. 

She smiled distantly and continued, a little more composed, “Anyway, when my magic finally did appear, the Ministry stepped in right away. Even though the outburst was small, it could’ve breached the Statute of Secrecy. They… wiped everyone’s memories. No one there remembers me anymore.” She hesitated, but quickly added with forced brightness, “But it’s alright. I’m sure they’ll all be adopted soon, and have happy lives without me in it—like so many others before them.”

She gave a small shrug, trying to sound lighter than she felt. “But enough about all that. That part of my life’s behind me now. I’m a witch at Hogwarts, in a world I’m still learning to navigate.” She offered a smile, “Professor Fig’s actually the one who’s been helping me the whole way. He was made my temporary guardian after my powers first showed—when the Ministry got involved—and he’s the one who prepared me for Hogwarts. Taught me everything. I’ve honestly been… incredibly grateful. And lucky. To have had him.”

Neither Poppy or Natty rushed to fill the brief silence that followed. They didn’t prod, didn’t awkwardly apologize. Instead, they simply stayed with her in the quiet for a moment; present, unflinching, and kind. When the time was right, the conversation shifted and began again—no jolt, no fuss, just a shared understanding that some stories didn’t need to be picked apart to be heard. 

From there, it was easy again. The three of them slipped back into a natural rhythm—trading stories, teasing each other, and comparing their favourite and least favourite lessons so far. Poppy mimicked one of her professors so dramatically she nearly fell off the bench, then dove into a ridiculous story about a kneazle who had once tried to eat her Herbology notes last term, the very week before final exams.

Natty’s dry remarks had them all breathless with laughter. Somewhere in the ease of it, something settled between the trio. Not just a friendship, but the beginning of real belonging.

When it was finally time for class again, the two girls rose at once, chatting animatedly as they led the way. Elysia followed, brushing stray grass from her skirt and shaking her hair out of her eyes. She walked with them through the castle—up staircases, across bridges and courtyards—the conversation light and lively the entire time. She didn’t take their presence for granted. Not after everything. To walk beside them. To feel included, seen, known. It meant more than Elysia could admit aloud. It had been so long since she’d felt this kind of closeness. So long since she’d had people.

Eventually, they reached a junction. Poppy and Natty veered off one way for their shared class, while Elysia continued down another corridor alone. With a last wave and a cheery, “Good luck!” from Poppy, Elysia turned and made her way to her final class of the day.

Defence Against the Dark Arts.

* * *

By the time she arrived to Defence Against the Dark Arts, the classroom was anything but calm. 

Students scattered in a wide half-circle at the front, beyond the desks, cheering, laughing, or wincing as spells flew through the air. Two boys were locked in a duel at the centre of it all. The first—a Gryffindor—had close-cropped red hair and a determined scowl. He fired off a Stupefy with a flick of his wand, but the red light veered off course, fizzling against a column. His stance was stiff. His aim, worse.

The other was the smug Slytherin she’d seen more than once already—dark-haired, robe shed, sleeves casually rolled to the elbow. He deflected every spell with infuriating ease. He pivoted on his heel, wand slicing cleanly through the air. Elysia didn’t need to know their names to sense how this was going. The redhead was trying far too hard. The Slytherin wasn’t trying at all.

Another Stupefy cracked out, wild and frantic, which was expertly blocked by the Slytherin whom it was meant for.

“Is that all you’ve got?” the dark-haired boy called, taunting, stirring laughter from a few onlookers. Then he retaliated, but instead of returning the same spell, he casted a crisp and confident Bombarda.

The blast was perfectly placed, making the redhead stagger, barely managing a shaky shield as the blast ricocheted upward—straight into the belly of the enormous dragon skeleton hanging above the duelling platform.

Time slowed. A chain snapped with a metallic clang, and the enormous skull of the dragon skeleton—(No, seriously. Why in Merlin’s name is there a dragon skeleton in a classroom??)—came crashing down, straight at the Gryffindor boy. There was a collective gasp and the boy just gaped up at the skull—

“Levioso!” A sharp voice snapped. 

The skull froze mid-air, inches from the boy’s head.

An old witch with white hair and hunched back—Professor Hecat—strode out from her office, wand still aloft. Her expression was unbothered, save for the faintest glint of irritation in her eyes. “Perhaps you'd be good enough to blast each other to pieces on your own time,” she said dryly. “I get new students every year, gentlemen—but I only have one Hebridean Black skull.”

With a flick of her wand, the enormous skull floated gently back into place. Her tone remained conversational as the magic worked. “This one’s a trophy from the Great Poacher Raid of ’78, back when I was still an Unspeakable at the Ministry. Nasty business in eastern Wales—took down the largest poacher ring in the region.”

(Ah, Elysia thought, answering her own confusion. So that’s why there’s a dragon skeleton in a classroom. Brilliant.)

The chain re-hooked itself overhead, clinking back into place above the duelling platform. Hecat then gave her wand a sharp twist and the enchanted metal links reinforced themselves with a low, metallic hum. No more reckless spell-work would be loosening them anytime soon. She cast a quick glance upward, nodded once, and turned back to the class. 

“You’ll all do well to keep this as a good reminder,” she continued. “Knowledge and caution kept me alive to boast about my accomplishments to this day. It might just do the same for you.”

Wand still in hand, Professor Hecat began to pace about the class, looking each student in the eye. “Defence,” she said with a cool and precise voice, “is not a performance. It is not a place for pride, nor for dim-wittedness. As illuminating as Mr. Prewett and Mr. Sallow’s demonstration was, I trust we all understand that if you insist on picking a fight with someone more skilled than you”—her gaze landed, briefly but firmly, on the redhead, now rubbing his shoulder and trying to recover his pride—“you’d best avoid doing so near antique magical skeletons.”

Several students failed to smother their laughter as the Gryffindor—Prewett, apparently—turned bright red.

“As for you, Mr. Sallow,” she went on, her tone unchanged as her gaze shifted to the Slytherin, “I should hope you can tell the difference between a clean victory and a theatrical one. Let’s keep the dramatics to a minimum, shall we?”

The Slytherin boy—Sallow—gave a low, unapologetic shrug. The ever-present smirk on his face didn’t budge. His blonde friend, who had come to stand beside him, gave his shoulder a mild nudge, not even glancing at him, as though he always knew precisely what Sallow was up to at all times. Elysia found it odd that the blonde boy never seemed to be looking directly at anything…

Hecat turned her attention back to the room at large. “Now then. This gives us the perfect opportunity to begin the term with a review of duelling.” Elysia caught the Professor’s eye linger on her just a second longer than the other students before she continued. “I shall be calling pairs to the duelling platform, at which point you will demonstrate what you’ve retained from previous years in a fair duel—within reason. As fifth-years, you are expected to show not just spell-casting, but also control, timing, and precision.” 

Hecat waved her wand and the matt on the ground raised and turned to a raised platform. “If I see so much as a flicker of showboating, you’ll spend the rest of term practising wand-less deflection against the suits of armour. You will not intentionally maim your duelling partner. There will be no Blasting Curses, no conjuring fire where it doesn’t belong, and if anyone attempts anything in the realm of blood, bone, or brain—I shall assume you’re asking to duel me instead. Understood?”

A muttered chorus of “Yes, ma’am,” rippled through the room. 

Then Professor Hecat conjured a list, eyes scanning the names. Elysia couldn’t shake the feeling that the Professor had been watching her since the moment she stepped in—not obviously, but there was something in the way her gaze lingered, like she was sizing her up. Still, Hecat didn’t call her name. Instead, for the first pairing, she called a Ravenclaw boy and a Gryffindor girl to the platform. 

The two took their marks at either end of the platform. Their duel was clean, if a bit clumsy. The boy won, narrowly, and they both returned to their places among the crowd to scattered, polite applause of a good show. 

From there, the matches continued in steady succession, with pairs called one after the other. Some students showed off. Some barely managed a single spell before being stunned. 

“Gaunt and Weasley,” Professor Hecat called next. 

A ripple of interest stirred through the rom as two boys stepped forward. 

Weasley, a Gryffindor with a mop of tousled red hair and freckles, strode up with an expression that was slightly smug but mostly barely containing his excitement. He treaded confidently with the swagger of someone who was convince he was the hero of the story. His fellow Gryffindors, especially Prewett, hollered and cheered from the sides. Weasley twirled his wand like he was itching to make it explode.

“Get him, Weasley!”

“Wipe that smug look off his snake face!” 

(I wonder if he’s at all related to Professor Weasley…or just a coincidence?)

Gaunt, meanwhile—the same fair-haired boy who was tied at the hip with Sallow—stepped forward with a far more measured stride. Sallow clapped him smugly on the shoulder as he passed. Gaunt’s wand was already drawn, held steady in front of him, its tip glowing red with small, rhythmic pulses as he approached the platform. His posture was immaculate, his expression unreadable, like someone who’d already claimed victory and was just there to collect it.

The other Slytherins cheered him on—less raucous than the Gryffindors but no less proud. They clustered near Gaunt’s end of the platform, opposite of where the Gryffindors were grouping, most with arms folded and eyebrows raised. 

“Alright, Gaunt! Don’t go easy on him!”

“Show them how it’s done!” 

Elysia watched, amused, at the volley of insults and chants by the crowd. Clearly, the rivalry between the two houses ran deep.

The duel began, and it was immediately evident that both were highly skilled, though their styles couldn’t be more different. 

Weasley was bold, relentless, casting in quick succession, every spell aggressive and offence-driven. Gaunt, on the other hand, moved like he was born a duellist, his posture barely changing, every flick of his wand refined and razor-precise. Elysia noticed how he didn’t directly look at Weasley; instead, his head angled just slightly, appearing as if he was listening for the oncoming spells rather than watching them.

It was then that for the first time, Elysia noticed: his eyes were glazed over and milky white. He wasn’t looking at all. She began to suspect he couldn’t see—but if her suspicion was correct and he was blind, it didn’t seem to hinder him in the least. 

The duel lasted a good while before finally, Weasley left himself open and was caught a bit off-guard with a clean hit to the chest that knocked him back, making him loose his balance and drop his wand, sending it clattering across the platform. He was disarmed, Gaunt had won. 

The Slytherins erupted with cheers while the Gryffindors shouted for a rematch. Gaunt, wearing a lopsided, proud smile, returned to Sallow’s side. The two clasped hands in that firm, shoulder-tug kind of way boys do, all pride and wordless celebration.

Professor Hecat settled down the class and continued on calling the remaining students, pair after pair, the list growing shorter. Until at last, there only two names remained uncalled. 

Elysia would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. She’d seen the way her inevitable partner fought at the start of class—sharp, fast, confident—and the memory set her stomach twisting. She didn’t show it, of course. But the nerves prickled under her skin all the same. Natty and Poppy weren’t in this class, and she barely knew anyone else. If she made a fool of herself now, she’d be the laughing-stock of the entire castle by supper.

The entire class was buzzing and stirring in anticipation of the last pair.

“Miss Ashcombe and Mr. Sallow. Up and centre. Let’s see what you can do.”

Elysia turned, only to find Sallow’s eyes already locked on hers, that insufferable smirk still plastered on his face. He and Gaunt had been standing near one of the platform marks, but Sallow stepped forward and deliberately curved his path to the other end of the platform so he could saunter past her, as if to make certain she noticed.

She didn’t mean to stare, but up close it was hard not to take him in—the ruffled brown hair, the freckles that scattered from face to forearms and everywhere else, the tie that was just a bit loose and askew, the sleeves rolled to his elbows… and that maddening smirk!

“Time for a proper Hogwarts welcome,” he drawled as he reached her, leaning just enough for her to catch it before strolling to his mark without looking back.

Elysia exhaled slowly. Her pulse was thundering in her ears, her mind spiralling a bit. There were murmurs all around her, whispers about him and how he was supposedly the best duelist in the school. She could feel the eyes of every student in the class on her, watching, waiting to see what the newcomer was capable of. Elysia briefly looked to Professor Hecat, who seemed to have the same curious anticipatory look in her eyes, like she was told of Elysia’s skill and was waiting for proof to match the description. 

Elysia returned her attention to the duelling platform, her head held high, then reached up to unfasten her robe. She shrugged it off and in one smooth motion, putting on a picture of complete calm and focus, folded it once and neatly set it aside. 

She took out her wand and made her way to the platform, all the while coaching herself in her mind to breathe. She reminded herself of Professor Fig’s lessons throughout the months before school, and of the harrowing experience she’d survived just yesterday in Gringotts with the stone statues—especially when she’d been ripped away from Professor Fig and left on her own.

That was real fear. This? This was just theatre. She’d beat this Sallow kid in a heartbeat and wipe the smirk off his face. 

She took her spot, met his gaze from across the platform and gave him a smirk of her own—tilting her head in a small, barely there nod like she was daring him to “bring it on.”

Professor Hecat’s voice rang sharp through the murmurs. “I want a fair duel from the both of you. Same as your class mates before you, first to be knocked off the platform or disarmed loses. You may begin.”

Elysia had seen and knew perfectly well that none of the other students had bothered with formalities. They’d just raised their wands and started flinging spells. But Professor Fig’s voice echoed in her memory, steady and insistent: “Wand-up. Heel turned. Flik out and then bow low from the hip. A formal duel, Miss Ashcombe, is not a brawl in an alleyway. It begins with respect, even if your opponent has the manners of a mountain troll.”

So Elysia, confidently and without hesitation, did exactly as she’d been taught. She turned her heel, brought her wand up to her face, then gave it a sharp and precise flick into position, and offered a clean, formal duelist’s bow. 

The class howled. Sallow gave a snort of laughter, hands spreading in mock appreciation. “That’s adorable. Do you also curtsey after you lose, or is that extra?” 

Elysia rose from her bow without blinking, unfazed by the ridicule. “My most sincere apologies. I didn’t realize I was meant to lower the standard for your benefit.”

“Oooooooooh!” the students chorused, their interest sharpening even more at her retort—this duel was clearly turning into something far more entertaining than expected.

From the corner of her eye, Elysia caught a flicker of something in Professor Hecat’s expression—a faint lift of one brow, the ghost of a smirk. It vanished as quickly as it came, but not before their eyes met for half a second. There was something in the look…recognition. Like one duellist seeing another, and approving of what she saw.

Sallow’s grin widened like a match catching flame. “Oh, this is going to be fun.” And without warning, sent a spell towards Elysia.

It came too fast—she hadn’t anticipated it, distracted for a fraction of a second by the Professor—and it caught her square in the chest. The spell levitated her several inches off the ground. 

Sallow laughed and called up to her, “How’s the view, little Miss proper?” 

She saw him raise his wand again, and before he could do anything else, she swiped her own and cast Finite! 

The levitation snapped. The very moment her feet hit the ground, she attacked with Flipendo.

He blocked it, but the hit was hard and fast, enough to make him stumble and stare, briefly stunned. The look didn’t last as he surged forward the same moment she did. And the duel truly began, at a ferocious speed. 

Back and forth. Cast. Dodge. Block. Counter. 

Again. And again. And again. 

The duel outlasted every other by a mile. Neither one of them yielding, both locked in with the line between attack and obsession blurring into one relentless need: to win.

Sallow struck again, flicking his wand in a sharp motion Confringo! And Elysia threw up another Protego, the force of it rippling outward, a bit of dust lifting from the platform. Somewhere to the side, Hecat’s brow twitched—annoyed and unimpressed by his clear rule-breaking at sending a Blasting Curse. 

Elysia hated that he was fast, and confident…too confident. She could use it to her advantage. 

She let him think she was flagging, dropped her guard just enough to bait him forward. And then she struck, her wand snapping up with lightning speed.

Expelliarmus!

His wand snapped out of his grip and into the air. Elysia lunged forward and caught it. With a sudden pivot—both wands now in hand—she spun and flung them out wide with a dramatic crack, and fired a twin-cast Depulso straight at his chest. 

There was a split second she saw his eyes widen—and before he could react, the blast launched Sallow clean off the duelling platform. He hit the ground on his arse with a thud and a grunt.

The entire class went wild with cheers and whistles. She’d already won the duel by disarming him, but the extra shove had been personal. Elysia stood centre stage, both wands still in hand, and to really rub it in, looked down at Sallow and performed a low curtsey with a killer smile. 

She then hopped down from the platform on his end, landing lightly just a few feet from where Sallow lay, propped up on his forearms and still catching his breath. The cheers of their classmates rang behind her, but she didn’t look back. She walked right up to him and offered his wand back with cool, deliberate grace and a friendly smile.

Sallow glanced at it, then at her. His smirk returned—not quite as smug this time, but edged with something sharper. Amusement. Approval.

“Bloody hell,” he remarked, reaching up to take back his wand from her. “Not bad for a beginner, Ashbomb. You give as good as you get.”

He pushed himself, brushing off his shirt. Elysia rolled her eyes at the mocking nickname, then tilted her head, just slightly in reply. “I aim to.” 

Sallow gave a quiet, almost incredulous huff of laughter, and then—with a small shake of his head and a crooked grin—turned and made his way back to where his friend, Gaunt, was waiting, slipping into place beside him with the ease of someone trying very hard to look unbothered.

“All right, that’s enough spectacle for one day,” Professor Hecat called out, her voice slicing clean through the noise. “For next lesson, I expect you all to review the principles of controlled magical impact. Page seventy-two through eighty-nine in Magical Combat Theory. And read it, not skim it—I’m not interested in excuses. Class dismissed.”

Wands and books shuffled away into bags, the chatter and laughter picking back up. Elysia made her way to the side of the platform where her neatly folded robe still lay, picking it up and slipping it back on.

Just as the crowd began shuffling toward the door, Hecat called out, “Miss Ashcombe. A word, if you please.” 

Elysia looked to the professor and nodded her understanding—but before heading toward her, she glanced back once more to the door just as Sallow, was exiting with his friend. He turned and gave her a quick wink before disappearing.

She caught the end tails of multiple conversations as the other students filtered out:

“Did you see that twin-cast? She caught his wand mid-air—mid-air—”

“She just arrived yesterday and already wants to be the centre of attention? What a show-off—”

“Reckon Sebastian’s never been hit like that in his life—”

Elysia took a breath, a few of the comments stinging more than she wanted them to. But she willed herself to ignore the negative ones for now, giving herself a moment of satisfaction. She had done really well. She convinced herself to not give in to the rising anxiety and that she’s allowed to enjoy her victory for what it was.

Sebastian then….So that was his name. I should probably start learning everyone’s names. She tucked the bit of information away for later, then straightened her shoulders and stepped toward where Professor Hecat stood by her desk, arms crossed, waiting.

“You wanted to speak with me, Professor?”

“I did,” Hecat replied. “I wanted to commend you on your performance during this first class, and offer my congratulations on your win. Professor Fig had spoken highly of you and mentioned you showed exceptional promise. I thought it best to see for myself, and I assure you—I did not take it easy on you.”

So that’s why she kept looking at me all through class… Elysia thought, but said nothing, listening as Hecat continued. 

“And I must say, I was quite impressed by what I saw. You met the challenge head-on and conducted yourself well. It is very clear you’ve taken Professor Fig’s instructions and training seriously. You held your own against Mr. Sallow. He’s certainly no small feat to overcome.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Elysia said quietly, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. 

“Keep your wits about you, Miss Ashcombe. Not every opponent you encounter will be standing on a proper duelling platform.” 

Don’t I know it, Elysia thought, the memory of Gringotts flickering in the back of her mind. 

“All that said, well done. I shall be keeping an eye on you, and I expect this won’t be the last time you impress me. You’re dismissed.” 

Elysia dipped her head politely, doing her best to contain the giddy warmth threatening to rise in her chest. 

“Thank you again, Professor.” 

Elysia turned to leave, but Hecat’s voice called after her once more. 

“Oh, and one last thing. I’m choosing to interpret that final spell after the disarming as…an excess of enthusiasm, given the circumstances. But see to it that I have no reason to question your judgement in the future” 

Elysia understood the warning for what it was. Hecat wasn’t condoning her final strike, but she wasn’t truly condemning it either. In fact, Elysia could’ve sworn there was a trace of satisfaction behind that clipped tone—as though Professor Hecat rather appreciated Mr Sallow getting a taste of his own medicine after blatantly disobeying her instructions for the duel.

Still, Elysia felt her cheeks warm with colour and her shoulders stiffened a bit. “Yes, ma’am. It won’t happen again.” 

Hecat gave a short nod of approval, “Good. Off you go, now.” 

And with that, Elysia stepped out of the classroom feeling a touch sheepish. But more than anything, she felt proud of herself. She had done so well on her first day. Not just in this class, but all her classes.

She couldn’t wait to find Poppy and Natty and tell them everything that they’d missed with the duel. But first, she had to see Professor Weasley, as her lessons for the day were finished and the Deputy Headmistress would be expecting her. 

So she pulled out her map, found her bearings, and set of for the Transfiguration Courtyard—nearly skipping all the way there. 

════════ ✦❘༻༺❘✦ ════════

Elysia emerged from Professor Weasley’s office with her arms full and her thoughts buzzing. The Deputy Headmistress had commended her for surviving her first day and offered what reassurance she could to ease the minor anxieties still pressing on her mind. An owl had already been dispatched to the Ministry to have her student bursary renewed, since all her belongings had been lost before term began (courtesy of one out-of-control dragon). In the meantime, as Professor Weasley had explained the night before, the Hufflepuff prefects had scraped together a serviceable satchel from the House stores that had a small Hufflepuff emblem shining on the front, and a handful of worn textbooks long abandoned by their former owners. Their pages were softened with years of handling, margins crowded with scrawls in a dozen different hands.

It meant she would not need to rush to Hogsmeade this week. With the bare necessities provided, she could leave the trip until the weekend and perhaps even go with her friends. Failing that, she considered sneaking down on Wednesday morning during her spare period… though she would first have to endure her Ministry check-in with Professor Fig and Clara Thorne. But she’d think of that later.

In any case, she had thanked the Deputy Headmistress warmly, packed what she could into the satchel, and hugged the rest to her chest. She crossed the Transfiguration Courtyard with the intention of dropping everything in the common room before dashing to the Great Hall for supper. The thought of seeing Natty and Poppy again put a smile on her face despite the weight of her load.

She was still smiling, lost in her thoughts, when the world went abruptly sideways. A blur of yellow-trimmed robes and a dark bob struck her from behind, arms clamping round her shoulders as a voice shrieked with unrestrained delight, “Elysia—bloody—Ashcombe!” 

Elysia’s books went skidding across the flagstones as she staggered under the impact. Giggling despite herself, she recognized the culprit at once as Poppy Sweeting, who spun her round to face her, eyes shining, cheeks flushed from the run.

“How in Merlin’s name do you exist? You’re like something out of a tale, you absolute devil!”

“Poppy, honestly I—”

“You toppled Sallow in front of the entire class? The Sebastian Sallow?! Are you joking? You’re mad!”

Elysia giggled, though her cheeks burned pink. “Blimey, Poppy, keep it down. The whole courtyard’s staring. It was just a duel.” She bent quickly to gather one of the books she’d dropped, but Poppy was already snatching it up for her, eyes alight.

“Just a duel?! Ely, do you realize what you’ve done? Natty and I heard about this all the way from the other side of the castle. Sallow’s been undefeated since third year. He’s the best duellist our age and you beat him on your first day!”

“Undefeated?” Elysia echoed, trying for disbelief, though her blush only deepened. “I hardly think it counts. He wasn’t even trying. He must’ve been going easy on me—”

“Oh no, do not start that. I assure you, Sebastian Sallow has never in his life gone easy on anybody,” Poppy cut in, grinning with wicked satisfaction. “The whole school’s buzzing! They say the duel went on longer than any of the others in the whole class. Someone swears you actually caught his wand right out of the air when you disarmed him. And then—” she seized Elysia’s arm with renewed vigour, balancing a stack of books in the other as they headed toward the Hufflepuff common room, “—then you blasted him clean off the platform whilst holding both wands! And to crown it all, you curtsied at him? It’s gone round every House already. You’ve made a legend of yourself. Oh, if only I were a Legilimens—I’d pay my last Galleon to reach right into your mind and see the exact look on his face in that moment. You must tell me how you’ve grown so good at duelling! It makes no sense. There’s no chance that was your first duel.”

Elysia pressed her lips together, torn between laughter and mortification. “Honestly, it was. Professor Fig taught me a few basics, and I think he let me win half the time.”

“Basics? Hah! Sure, whatever you say, Ely. But don’t think for a second I’m not going to be dragging Natty into this.” Poppy declared, triumphant. “And as for Sallow, he needed humbling, and you’ve done what no one else could. A true service to the school. I can already see the headline on tomorrow’s Prophet: ‘New Fifth-Year Humiliates Undefeated Slytherin.’”

They both collapsed into giggles at that. Poppy shifted the stack of books in her arms, her hand still looped through Elysia’s as they continued down the corridors. 

Elysia shot her a sly glance, then bumped her shoulder against Poppy’s with deliberate mischief. “If I didn’t know any better,” she murmured, lowering her voice like a conspirator, “I’d say you’ve a soft spot for him.” She lifted her brows twice in an exaggerated waggle.

Poppy nearly tripped over her own feet. “What?!” Her face went pink to the tips of her ears. “No! He’s completely insufferable most of the time.” 

“Oh really, Sweeting?” Elysia prodded, grinning. “Because the way you talk about him…”

“Oh please!” Poppy huffed, shaking her head. “Sebastian’s not remotely my type.”

Elysia gasped, delighted, drawing the word out like a song. “Ooooh, so you do have a type, then…and it isn’t Sallow. Which means there is someone! Poppy Sweeting, there’s someone you liiiike.”

Poppy’s blush deepened until it rivalled the crimson trim of the Gryffindor banners. “Absolutely not!” she blurted, yanking her arm free of Elysia’s grip. “There isn’t anyone. And if there was, it certainly would never be Sallow.” She stalked ahead a few steps, clutching the books to her chest like a shield.

Elysia let out a scandalized laugh and hurried after her, slipping back into step with a grin. “Oh, come on, you can’t escape that easily. Who is it, then? Tell me. Is it that blonde fellow who’s always glued to his side?”

Poppy’s grip tightened on her books, knuckles whitening as even more colour flooded her face. “Merlin’s sake, Ely, no! He’s a Slytherin and he—he’s a Gaunt. Well…Oh, I guess you wouldn’t know but, people say things about his family… things I’d rather not get mixed up in.” 

Elysia blinked, none the wiser. (What on earth is that supposed to mean?) No matter, she’d find out later. For now, Elysia seized upon the slip with glee. “Aha! So it isn’t a Slytherin!” she crowed, waggling her brows again.

Poppy flushed brighter, if it was even possible. “I didn’t mean—oh, Ely, you’re twisting my words—”

“You said it yourself, Pops,” Elysia cut her off gleefully. “Not a Slytherin. That narrows it down splendidly.” She leaned in, eyes shining with mischief. “So then… Ravenclaw? A dreamy intellectual?” She barely gave Poppy a chance to protest before carrying on. “Or maybe a fellow Hufflepuff? And how very convenient, Pops. No sneaking across the castle for late-night escapades when you’re both tucked away in the same common room.” She took in a sharp inhale, clasping her hands theatrically. “Or perhaps… a Gryffindor? Bold and reckless! Sweeping you into some daring escapade, kissing you right under the lion banners with the whole school watching?”

Poppy faltered mid-stride, lips pressing tight.

“Ohhh,” Elysia gasped, pointing a finger right at Poppy. “That look says it all. It’s someone from Gryffindor!”

“Shhhh! Keep your voice down!” Poppy sputtered, “That proves nothing!” 

“It proves everything,” Elysia sang triumphantly, nearly dancing as they walked. “You should see your face, Pops. You’re absolutely smitten! A Gryffindor beau! How utterly scandalous.” She bumped Poppy’s shoulder again, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come now, tell me who before I start guessing names aloud in the middle of supper.”

Poppy gasped, “You wouldn’t dare!” 

Elysia’s grin widened, “I dare you test it.” 

“Oh, come off it,” Poppy shot back. “You’ve been here all of one day. You barely know anyone’s names, let alone who I might fancy.”

That gave Elysia the briefest pause. Poppy had a point, but her mischief refused to be snuffed out. She tapped her chin in mock-thought, sifting through the handful of faces she’d managed to clock in her classes. Mostly surnames, a few snippets. One or two had stuck, if only because the professors had barked them across the room.

“Hmm,” she hummed theatrically. “All right then… someone with red hair, perhaps?”

The way Poppy fumbled and spluttered said far more than words ever could. Elysia let out a delighted squeak and laughed. “Merlin’s beard, Pops, you’re hopeless at hiding it! Is it that one guy…oh bugger, what was it…uh—Prewett?” 

Poppy pulled a face. “Leander?! Godric’s heart, no. I’d sooner curse myself bald. He’s a complete creep.”

Elysia snorted, nodding fervently. “Thank heavens, Pops. If you’d said yes, I’d have had to question my sanity for choosing to be your friend. Haven’t even exchanged so much as a greeting with him, and I could feel something off just by the way he looks at people.”

Poppy let out a laugh and gave Elysia a featherlight smack on the elbow, more fond than reproachful. The two of them dissolved into laughter, their giggles bouncing off the stone.

Elysia tried to smother her grin. “All right then, not Prewett… but what about…” She faltered, mind flicking back to the duelling ring in Defence Against the Dark Arts. There’d been another redhead, loud and cocky, quick with his wand…what was his name again? She opened her mouth, still fumbling for it—

“If you don’t drop it,” Poppy interrupted, eyes sparkling though her tone was mock-severe, “I’ll hex your lips together before supper.”

Elysia threw her hands up in exaggerated surrender, laughter bubbling in her chest. “All right, all right, I yield, for now.” She leaned in again, voice dropping to a mischievous murmur. “But try as you may to hide, Sweeting, it will not matter. I’ll still get to the bottom of this. Mark my words.”

That set them both off again, helpless giggles tumbling between them as they made their way toward the warmth of the Hufflepuff common room, conspirators bound by a shared secret.

* * *

Elysia and Poppy ducked into the Hufflepuff common room just long enough to drop off the supplies Professor Weasley had provided. Freed of the weight, they quickly made their way back through the corridors, following the mouthwatering smell of roast beef and fresh bread toward the Great Hall. By the time they stepped inside, the long tables were buzzing with chatter, plates already heaped with food. Poppy nudged Elysia toward the Hufflepuff table, but before they could sit, a familiar voice called out. 

“Elysia! Poppy!” Natty waved them over, already sliding along the Gryffindor bench to make room. 

Elysia hesitated only a moment before slipping in beside her, Poppy settling between them. It felt a little daring… She had half-expected the house tables to be enforced with strict formality, especially under a Headmaster who seemed so obsessed with appearances. But Natty caught her glance and smiled knowingly.

“Do not worry,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “The Sorting Ceremony and other formal occasions are the only times they expect us to sit properly. After that, you may sit with whichever friends you like. It is a common custom to stay with your house, yes. But it is no law.” 

Elysia grinned at the notion, feeling oddly relieved. “Good. I’d hate to think I had to keep my distance from you two just because of where some tattered old hat decided to plonk me.”

That sent the girls into a fit of chuckles before they began piling their plates high with the endless dishes prepared by the house-elves, trading stories from the parts of the day the others had missed. As expected, their chatter circled back again and again to Poppy’s ‘super secret’ Gryffindor crush. Natty was convinced she already knew who it was—“you two have been painfully obvious since my first day at Hogwarts,” she’d teased—and, of course, to the duel between Elysia and Sebastian.

Throughout the meal, students from every table drifted by now and then with grins and compliments. Each remark sent a flicker of warmth through her chest… though part of her still wasn’t sure whether she’d earned it or just amused them. At some point, Elysia dared a glance toward the Slytherin table, hoping to catch sight of that smirking brunette to see what he was up to. She had barely managed to scan the faces before being distracted by something much more interesting as Natty’s arm shot across the bench to steal a bread roll from Poppy’s plate.

A high-pitched squeal came from Poppy, who scolded her to fetch her own. Natty only grinned, cheeks full, utterly unrepentant. Absolutely beaming at the scene, Elysia seized the chance while Poppy’s head was turned and snatched the remaining roll and sank her teeth into it with a grin. Poppy whipped round to shriek in outrage as both she and Natty chewed noisily, groaning and moaning in exaggerated delight, then dissolving into helpless laughter until the poor Hufflepuff dropped her head into her hands.

“Here,” a voice broke in from further down the table. 

All three girls stopped and looked up together, Elysia and Natty still with their cheeks puffed and mouths full of bread.

Elysia recognized him. It was the other red-haired Gryffindor boy from Defence Against the Dark Arts. His surname had escaped her earlier, but seeing his face jogged the memory: Weasley. He was leaning across with a roll held out from his own plate. Never mind the dozens still piled high along the table! 

“This one’s the best of the lot. Picked it out myself,” he said with a playful grin, pushing it toward Poppy. “You ought to have it.” 

Poppy’s eyes widened and she flapped her hands in tiny, embarrassed shakes. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—there are plenty more—”

“I insist,” he cut in, lifting the roll a little higher for emphasis. “Look, it’s got the best colour of all of them.”

Poppy’s cheeks went scarlet as she accepted it at last, murmuring, “Th-thank you, Garreth…”

His grin widened, bright and boyish, though the tips of his ears betrayed him with their flush. “Any time,” he said lightly, before dropping back into his seat as though nothing at all had happened.

Elysia caught the way Poppy ducked her head over the roll, hiding her dazed smile, and clutching it with both hands like it was some priceless treasure. She immediately shot Natty a look, mouthing a triumphant, I see what you meant.

Natty rolled her eyes and mouthed back, I have endured an entire year of this.

Poppy swatted both their thighs beneath the bench and hissed, “I can clearly hear you two.”

Natty reached for her drink and muttered from behind the rim of her goblet, just loud enough for them both to catch it, “Subtle as a Bludger,” her lips twitching with amusement.

Elysia snorted, earning herself another swat from Poppy. And before she knew it, Elysia was tipping forward over the table to address the redhead directly, curiosity piqued.

Poppy’s horrified whisper followed in a rush. “No! Ely! What’re you doing?”

Too late. 

“Weasley, isn’t it? I saw you in Defence class earlier.” Elysia tilted her head, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Professor Weasley, would you?” 

The boy looked up from his plate with an easy grin that lit his whole face. “That’s right. Garreth Weasley. Aunt Matilda does her best to keep me honest—well, she tries. Merlin’s balls, she’s forever watching me as though I were still a first year. Tends to keep a little too close an eye for my liking, but she means well enough.”

Garreth leaned in, extending his hand across the platters as he added boisterously, “And you’re Ashcombe, aren’t you? Hero of the hour, vanquisher of Slytherins. You may wear Hufflepuff colours, but don’t think that spares you. I’m claiming you for Gryffindor tonight! Our common room shall be toasting your name till dawn for knocking Sebastian down. That was our victory as much as yours.”

Elysia clasped his hand, laughing outright at his theatrics. “You’re absurd,” she said, amusement bright in her tone. “Just Elysia, please. And I can’t take all the glory. You were rather impressive yourself against that other Slytherin.” She nudged Poppy with pointed exaggeration, delighted with herself. “In fact, I was only just telling Poppy here so. She tells me you’re quite the duellist. The best, in fact, Gryffindor’s ever seen, according to her.”

Poppy froze, eyes wide, colour flaring in her cheeks even more. Elysia could’ve sworn she saw steam rising from the poor girl’s head. Across the table, Garreth caught the sight, his grin faltering into something softer before he ducked his head with a low laugh, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh…she did? Really?” His smile tugged wider despite his attempt at nonchalance, a spark of triumph lighting his eyes.

“I… I didn’t—well, I suppose—” Poppy stammered, words collapsing into nonsense.

“Really! She will not stop going on about it. She’s incredibly upset she’s not in Hecat’s class with us,” Elysia cut in smoothly, wicked grin in place. She turned to Natty. “Isn’t that right?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Natty agreed through a mouthful of roast beef, nodding as though it were the plainest truth in the world.

Garreth’s ears pinked again, but his grin only broadened, easy and unbothered. “Well, Poppy flatters me. Truth be told, duelling isn’t my crown jewel. My real gift’s in potions. Professor Sharp says I take too many risks, doesn’t much appreciate my ‘creativity.’ But I say it’s only a matter of time before they’re calling me the greatest potioneer of the age.” He beamed,  chest puffed, relishing the boast. “Just you wait, one of these days you’ll see my brilliant brews on every professor’s desk. My talents are utterly wasted on the standard recipes.”

Before Elysia could marvel aloud, Natty set down her goblet with a decisive clink. Her dark eyes flashed with barely contained irritation. “Do not believe a word of it, Elysia. If Garreth Weasley ever offers you one of his ‘brilliant’ brews, you must turn and run in the opposite direction. Everyone at Hogwarts knows this.”

Poppy burst into helpless giggles, half hiding her face behind the roll he’d given her, while Garreth himself burst out with an angry, “Oi!” 

“I am not wrong,” Natty challenged, “Last year, the fool brewed a so-called Courage Draught and turned the Gryffindor common room into a circus before breakfast! People were bursting into tears, blurting out every imprudent thing that crossed their minds—half the house was confessing secrets they will never live down!”

“That was just an unintended side-effect. The boldness matrix overshot by… a touch.”

Natty turned to Garreth and folded her arms, unimpressed, “Is that right? And what of that study tonic of yours that kept everyone who drank it awake for three entire days? Madame Blainey was beside herself, running from ward to ward with pepper-up potions and calming draughts, and poor Professor Sharp nearly set up camp in the dungeons trying to counter your mess. Professor Weasley was so furious she docked enough points to sink Gryffindor to the bottom of the hourglasses for the rest of term!”

Garreth half-rose from his seat, gesturing wildly, too earnest to notice the laughter gathering around him. “That one wasn’t my fault! I was missing a strand of kelpie hair—no, actually, three crushed sopophorous beans, finely diced—and it threw the whole balance off. Easy fix! With the proper ingredients, it would have been brilliant, but Sharp wouldn’t give them to me! I nearly had them perfected, I swear—”

“Garreth,” Natty cut in smoothly, pressing her palm down on the table with quiet finality. “Sit down.”

Garreth’s ears went even more crimson as he slumped back into his seat, a small proud smirk on his face despite himself. The laughter that followed rolled down the bench, bright and merciless, swallowing his last defence. A couple of older Gryffindors down the bench leaned in, eager to contribute to the humiliation of their housemate. 

“We had to write our entire History of Magic essays in the hospital wing once,” someone said, voice gleaming with relish. “Madame Blainey threatened to chain him to a bed-frame for turning her ward into a dormitory during Quidditch season.”

“I heard that,” Garreth muttered into his goblet.

Poppy (still pink-cheeked from his earlier bread-roll heroics) made a small, helpless noise of half laughter, half second-hand embarrassment on his behalf. “Natty, you’re going to kill him.”

“He is still alive,” Natty replied, utterly unmoved. “Therefore I have shown restraint.” 

Elysia’s laugh escaped her before she could stop it, and Garreth shot her a look of betrayal.

“Et tu, Ashcombe?! I thought we were getting along!” 

“I was complimenting you. But you handed them your own rope,” Elysia said sweetly with a chuckle, putting up her hands in defence. “You cannot be shocked when they let you hang yourself with it.” 

Garreth opened his mouth again, pure reflex, pride wounded, only for someone from the Ravenclaw table to call, “Go on then, Weasley! Tell us about the time you tried to ‘improve’ Thunder-brew!”

That earned another ripple of amusement, until a voice cut through from farther along the table, smooth and self-satisfied, as though he had been waiting for the right moment to enter the conversation. “All this fuss over Weasley’s cauldrons, yet the most interesting thing at this table is someone else who can actually duel.”

Elysia, Poppy, and Natty turned in succession. Leander Prewett had twisted round in his seat, leaning in with that smug, practised smile aimed straight at Elysia. 

“Nice showing in Defence Against the Dark Arts, by the way. Sallow’s been strutting about as though he’s some duelling prodigy, but watching you take him down was brilliant. That kind of nerve looks very good on a witch.”

Elysia couldn’t have said why, only that the compliment sat wrong in her stomach. His words were flattering, but his eyes were not. They lingered too long, weighing her up, as though duelling were merely the excuse. The other remarks had warmed her. This one made her skin crawl.

“Oh, well…thank yo—”

“Of course,” Leander went on, barely letting her finish, “I’d nearly had Sallow myself. Would’ve put him in his place, too, if Professor Hecat hadn’t stepped in. He was already on the back foot, if you noticed. You’re welcome.” He finished with a wink, far too practised. Aimed not so much at her as at the room, as though he’d earned a share of her victory.

Natty’s hand stilled on her goblet, fingers subtly tightening around the stem. Poppy’s shoulders went rigid, eyes narrowing with a look that promised violence without a wand in sight.

Elysia felt her earlier unease crystallised. (That’s why it sounded so wrong.)

But she refused to hand him the pleasure of a bristle, a blush, or a scene. If it’s attention he wanted, he would have it—just not the kind he’d bargained for.

So she tilted her head, let her eyes widen a fraction, and spoke with careful sweetness, lifting her voice exactly enough to let it travel.

“Didn’t Professor Hecat stop that dragon skull from crushing you?”

Natty’s head whipped towards Elysia, eyebrows lifting high. First in surprise, then in unmistakable, gleaming approval. The grin that broke across her face was quick and brilliant, like a spark catching. It said everything Natty didn’t need to say out loud. 

Poppy, apparently unable to contain herself, snorted a laugh straight into her goblet. She took a sip at the worst possible moment and paid for it immediately, spluttering as pumpkin juice shot up her nose. She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand, still coughing, eyes watering with wicked delight. 

Around them, a few chortles broke loose, quiet and scattered, the sort of laughter people tried and failed to swallow. A few students who’d been in Defence Against the Dark Arts earlier began filling in the gaps for the curious, and the witnessed account did Leander no favours.

Leander drew himself up, cheeks warm. He gave a dismissive little scoff in an attempt to turn humiliation into confidence.

“Pfft. Typical Slytherin trick, dropping a dragon skull on someone during a fight.” He swept his gaze down the bench, pointedly ignoring the fact that it had been his wand-work that brought the blasted thing down. “We Gryffindors fight with honour! And—uh—” He turned back to Elysia. “Hufflepuffs, too. At least you did.”

Leander lingered a moment too long after his little speech, waiting for the room to catch up to him. It didn’t.

Poppy was still dabbing at her nose, shoulders shaking with the last of her laughter. Garreth had already gone back to his meal, muttering something into his goblet that earned a snort from farther down the bench. Conversation flowed on as though Leander were not in it at all.

He tried to reclaim it anyway, straightening, smoothing his expression into smugness. “If you’ve any intention of duelling beyond the classroom,” he began, a touch too loudly, “there’s Crossed Wands—”

“Mm,” Natty said, dryly, not even looking at him. “Lucan will be delighted to hear you’ve discovered it.” 

Elysia’s smile stayed pleasant. “I’ll keep it in mind,” she said. Then calmly and deliberately returned to her plate. 

As supper wore on, the candles burned lower. Plates began to clear. Somewhere above, a prefect’s reminder about curfew drifted through the Hall, and benches scraped as students stood and gathered themselves. Natty slid off the seat with a stretch, warmth back in her eyes. 

“Come,” she said, nudging Poppy and Elysia both into motion. “I will walk with you until we split off.”

Poppy sniffed hard, still occasionally blotting at her nose. “Merlin, Ely. If you ever make me laugh like that again,” she muttered, “I’m turning you into a toad.”

Natty hummed as if in agreement, far too innocent. “A sensible rule. We cannot have you snorting pumpkin juice up your nose in front of your beau, can we, Sweeting?”

Elysia’s laugh burst out before she could stop it. Poppy made a strangled sound of protest, ears blazing, and Natty’s grin only widened as she shepherded them onwards.

════════ ✦❘༻༺❘✦ ════════

Give Me Love - HL fanfic

At seventeen, Elysia Ashcombe enters Hogwarts for the first time, determined to master a magic she’s only just discovered. But the past never forgets, and neither does the darkness waiting for her.

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Road (in the Air?) to a New Life

Chapter 2: The Monster Wasn’t Under the Bed (Flashback)

Chapter 3: Please Keep All Limbs Inside the Cart (and Bring an Umbrella)

Chapter 4: A…Not-So-Graceful Arrival!

Chapter 5: The Magic Begins

Chapter 6: A "Proper" Hogwarts Welcome

Chapter 7: Subtle as a Bludger

Chapter 8: ... [in progress] ...

Hogwarts Headcanons (and miscellaneous brain rot dump, dumping, dumperoo)

Patronus Headcanons (HL characters): Part 1️⃣ | Part 2️⃣ | Part 3️⃣ | Part 4️⃣ | Part 5️⃣

…[in progress, expected Aug 23-24 when i get my shit together]…Ominis Gaunt Essay

HL Characters as Vines

🔗 Other Links:

Archive of Our Own (AO3) Wattpad TikTok

📌 Tags to Follow:

📖 About the Fic

Setting: Hogwarts, 1890–1892 (Starts off with Hogwarts Legacy timeline, but continues on in next books to sixth and seventh year)

Premise: An orphaned Muggle-born discovers her dangerous magical abilities on her 17th birthday, is taken in by an “accidental” Professor Parent, and is thrust into goblin rebellions, harrowing trials, and the crossfire between two very different Slytherin boys.

Updates: Biweekly-ish (or sooner, if the muse behaves). I’m desperately trying to aim for biweekly so just bear with me until I build that habit

📌Important Canon Adjustments: To appropriately age up the characters, I’ve made it so that the Hogwarts acceptance age is 13 instead of 11 — meaning Elysia begins as a seventeen-year-old fifth-year. The Hogwarts system and structure remain the same. While this story follows Hogwarts Legacy, I make major changes to events, character arcs, and lore. Some canon events may unfold differently or be expanded upon.

⚠️ Content Warnings

Mature themes | Sexual content | Violence | Dark magic | Grief | Trauma | Moral dilemmas | Mentions of mental health struggles | Death | Torture | Unforgivable Curses

Reader discretion advised.

📚 Links

Yeah I have a TikTok dedicated to this (still figuring out the beginnings of it) but alongside posting here, chapters are available on AO3 and Wattpad too. I know the usernames differ but I effed up okay 🫣🫣🫣. These accounts were with me since years ago. Only TikTok and Tumblr are new.

🔗 AO3:

🔗 Wattpad:

🔗 TikTok:

⚖️ Rights & Permissions

(Because I have to 🙄)

All Rights Reserved: This fanfiction is the intellectual property of the author. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, or distributed without permission.

I do not own the rights to Hogwarts Legacy, the Harry Potter series, or the Wizarding World. All recognizable characters, settings, and lore belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., and Portkey Games. This work is purely a non-profit fan creation made for entertainment purposes.

However, the storyline, original characters (including Elysia Ashcombe), and original plot developments within this fanfiction belong to me. Any unauthorized use of my original characters, dialogue, or unique plotlines is prohibited.

All visual media (pictures and such) used is either AI-generated and further edited by me, or sourced from Pinterest. I do my best to credit original creators where possible, and I’m happy to provide specific credits upon request via DM. That said, I am also actively looking to commission artists for some official stuff for my fic so keep an eye out for 'em!

💌 I love hearing from readers — comments, theories, headcanons, chaos in the inbox… it all fuels me. Please let me know all your thoughts as it also helps me as a first time fanfic writer to make sure I’m on the right track. Thank you again for reading and supporting my work. Grab your wand, brace your heart, and welcome to the mess that is Give Me Love. Enjoy! 💛🖤💛

#gml updates → all chapter links & update posts

#gml extras → headcanons, memes, moodboards, bonus scenes