In December, Hogwarts was wrapped in a biting cold wind, with sleet falling from time to time. The howling drafts that swept through the castle corridors left passing students shivering and trembling.
Every time Wade passed the lawn on his way to class in the greenhouses, he would see Hagrid's busy figure.
His relationship with Madame Maxime seemed to be progressing very smoothly. Hagrid, like a peacock in full display, not only dressed himself up smartly every day but also tried all sorts of ways to please her—even the Abraxans fell into his circle of affection.
A few days ago, Wade had seen Hagrid build a large stable for the Abraxans. More recently, he had been busy hand-weaving woolen horse-blankets for them and he even carefully added patterns to the fabric.
Care of Magical Creatures lessons had turned into lessons on how to look after Abraxans—while Hogwarts' own thestrals had never enjoyed such treatment!
At the start of class, Hagrid lugged over a huge cask and said gleefully:
"Look here—twelve-year-aged pure malt whisky, the Abraxans' favorite! You've got to mix it in with their feed…"
By the end of the lesson, the strong alcoholic fumes alone had left many students dizzy.
Michael even secretly drank some of the portion he'd been given to feed the beasts; by the time class was over, his neck was flushed red, and he staggered drunkenly, nearly crashing into a tree, only to be caught just in time by Wade.
Michael squinted at the boy beside him for a long moment before suddenly blurting out in surprise:
"Merlin's beard… Wade, why didn't you tell me… you had a twin brother?"
Wade: "…You're drunk, Michael."
The moment Hagrid had come out carrying the cask, Wade had been cautious enough to draw his wand and transfigure a tissue into a filtering mask—thus avoiding ending up in the same state as the others.
Michael waved his hands insistently: "No… I'm not drunk… I only had a tiny sip…"
His tongue tripped over his words as he stumbled toward Padma, trying to lean on her, but under the girl's look of disgust, he was yanked back by Wade.
Helpless, Wade said: "Come on. The hospital wing should have some sobriety potion."
"Okay… alright… hospital wing…" Michael, who a moment earlier had claimed he wasn't drunk, hiccuped, muttering, "I think I've lost my feet…"
A thin layer of frost had formed on the castle's stone steps. Just as Michael was about to climb them, his legs gave way, and he nearly collapsed to his knees—only to be grabbed by the arm again.
"Thanks, brother… you saved my life…" Michael mumbled.
He finally managed to make it up the steps when the oak doors in front suddenly swung open. Professor McGonagall stood there like a granite statue, looking down at the two of them. She furrowed slightly, and her lips pressed into a thin, hard line.
"Mr. Corner, is this the attitude you bring to class?" she asked icily.
Her voice was like a basin of ice water poured over Michael's head. He blinked in confusion, then suddenly jolted upright, cold sweat prickling across his back as half his drunkenness evaporated on the spot.
"P-Professor!" Michael stammered, scrambling to stand straight. "I… I was just feeding the Abraxans earlier, and I accidentally…"
"Accidentally?" Professor McGonagall raised her brows. "You mean you 'accidentally' stole the Abraxans' feed for yourself?"
Michael: "Uh…"
"Ravenclaw, minus five points, Mr. Corner." Professor McGonagall said sternly. "And, as punishment for letting the Abraxans go hungry, at seven o'clock this evening you will assist Professor Hagrid in preparing their feed. Any questions?"
"No, Professor," Michael muttered dejectedly.
Then McGonagall's gaze shifted to Wade. Her strict expression softened just slightly.
"Grey, I am glad you kept your head clear. But I hope that next time you see a classmate doing something so… thoughtless, you will step in and stop him, rather than stand by and watch."
"I understand. I'm sorry, Professor," Wade lowered his head in a posture of remorse.
Professor McGonagall gave a satisfied nod. "Go sober up. Don't miss your afternoon lessons."
Only after she walked away did Michael finally relax all over and say, "Lucky it was Professor McGonagall… If it had been Professor Snape, he'd have taken points off you too."
Before he had even finished speaking, a cold voice sounded from behind them:
"It seems Professor McGonagall's punishment was hardly enough to serve as a warning, don't you think, Mr. Corner?"
Michael froze at once. His neck felt rusted as he slowly turned inch by inch. Halfway through the motion, he already glimpsed the iconic black robes.
"Ravenclaw, minus five points, for your disrespect to a professor. Another five points, for breaking the rule against drinking in public places. And—"
Professor Snape drawled, before ending with a cold sneer: "As you wished, Wade Grey witnessed an act of theft of school property but did nothing to stop it. Ravenclaw, minus ten points!"
Without waiting for either of them to protest, he gave a disdainful snort and strode toward the castle, his black robes billowed out making him look like a bat unfurling its wings.
Only the two of them were left standing dumbly in front of the entrance hall.
Michael belatedly jumped up. "That's not fair! How can he take points from you?"
"Don't shout," Wade cautioned, "or Professor Snape might turn back and dock us even more. That's just his style—haven't you gotten used to it?"
"But Professor Snape was ten times harsher today than usual." Michael looked at Wade guiltily. "He's never picked on you without cause before… It's my fault you got dragged into this."
"Actually, it's the other way around—Grey dragged you down instead."
Daphne came up the steps behind them and said in a gentle voice. "Because Slytherin doesn't have a single champion left, while you, Grey, made it into the second round of the tournament…"
She stopped short of saying more.
Michael thought for a moment. "…Jealousy, then?"
Daphne said tactfully, "That's my guess. As for Professor Snape's exact thoughts, I don't know."
Once she arrived, Daphne took over the task of looking after Michael. Wade, relieved, turned toward the umbrella room to get on with his homework.
…
Two hundred miles away from Hogwarts, in a lonely pond, a toad struggled against the biting cold—its body was stiffening with frost, yet its mind desperately yearned for a warm blanket, the crackling pine fire in the hearth, and solid walls that kept out the wind.
In the end, instinct triumphed. It clumsily crawled across the wet mud and curled into a tiny burrow, listening to its heartbeat slowing down as its body seemingly froze into a block of ice.
As it drifted toward slumber, it felt as though it had returned home—
The fire in the hearth leapt and danced, casting a soft amber glow across the sitting room. Narcissa sat in the armchair, idly caressing her teacup, her head tilted as she gazed ahead with a faint smile on her face.
In the direction of her gaze, round-cheeked Draco rode a toy broom, zooming low across the floor, shouting gleefully from time to time—only to scare himself with his own echo.
The serpent-headed cane leaned against the chair within reach, its familiar icy touch a source of peculiar reassurance.
All ambition, calculation, and fear melted away into that warm illusion. The toad lay motionless, burrowed in the earth, as darkness gradually swallowed its consciousness.
A single tear slid down its skin.
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