Christmas came and went with none of the usual fanfare. A few lonely wreaths hung limply in the Gryffindor common room, charmed to twinkle half-heartedly. Most students had remained at Hogwarts for the break—not out of holiday spirit, but because going home simply hadn't felt worth it. The mood across the castle was quiet, reflective. Less cheer, more exhaustion.
I unwrapped a handmade locket from Luna—a string of oddly carved creatures dangling from it like a protective charm bracelet designed by a conspiracy theorist. I loved it. She had no idea how accurate some of the included beasts were.
But it was my gift to Hermione that mattered most. She'd been uncharacteristically silent when I presented it: a studio trunk, pristine and smooth, with the faintest glyphs carved into the edges. Its enchantments were complex but elegant.
"Is this… connected to yours?" she asked, running a finger along the handle.
"Only one way to find out."
It was.. She could visit mine whenever and wherever she was. We tested the link once that evening, sipping enchanted tea while sorting galleons in the middle of her new personal library. She didn't say much, just kept smiling—one of those smiles that made it feel like she had forgiven you for something you hadn't realized you did wrong.
Giving her independence made me feel strangely more connected to her. And that was horrifying.
Valentine's Day arrived with all the grace of a vomiting cherub.
Pink streamers looped themselves between armor plates. Heart-shaped confetti rained from the ceiling, and singing gnome Cupids flitted through the corridors, squeaking horrendous poetry in high-pitched rhymes. It was the most dangerous day Hogwarts had seen in months.
Snape hexed a Cupid mid-verse. The student body gave him a standing ovation.
One Cupid misread a name and serenaded Harry Potter with a poem meant for Draco Malfoy. I swear, I've never seen Draco run faster. Hermione nearly choked from laughing.
She gifted me a self-help book for kleptomaniacs.
I retaliated with a self-help book titled "How Not to Be So Self-Opinionated."
That didn't land.
I had to promise her another Diagon Alley shopping spree to escape unscathed.
My poor wallet. (orz)
March brought elective selections. Hermione wanted all of them.
"No," I said, not looking up from my book.
"But I can do it. If I just—"
"If you take every subject, you won't have time for next year's projects."
She paused. "What projects?"
"The ones I haven't told you about yet because you'd try to schedule them."
That worked.
Did I have projects?
Not really but I cant see her killing herself like in cannon.
Eventually, we both settled on Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Care of Magical Creatures. Practical, strategic, and likely to provide future leverage.
"Why not Divination?" she asked.
"Because I have enough problems as it is and I don't want to add paranoia to that list."
Lockhart's downfall was less of a bang and more of a slow, embarrassed shuffle out the front door.
It began with rumors.
Then confessions.
Then the appearance of several extremely pregnant seventh-years with varying recollections of enchanted perfume and memory gaps.
Hermione and I discussed it quietly in the common room while sorting textbooks.
"How did no one stop him?" she whispered.
"The man signed his fanmail with lipstick. Hogwarts isn't a school. It's a reality show."
When Amelia Bones arrived with Aurors to escort Lockhart out, I intercepted her on the stairs.
"I have something for you," I said, handing her two envelopes—one manila, one white.
She arched a brow. "And these are?"
"Read the big yellow one first. Alone. Trust me."
She studied me. Recognition flickered—her memory of the Malfoy banquet. I saw the calculation behind her eyes. Then she nodded and tucked both letters away.
I walked off without another word.
Exams were a comedy montage.
Transfiguration: I aced the written exam and I transfigured a rat into a goblet. Full marks.
Potions: Snape stared at me for a full minute before writing 'Acceptable' in ominous silence. I hadn't even brewed anything. Maybe we are getting close enough to be friends now.
Charms: I cast the Engorgement and Reduction Charm on a quill without a hitch. Flitwick beamed at my performance.
Defense Against the Dark Arts? Self-study. No replacement. No class. Hermione and I distributed our study guides for free. Professor McGonagall quietly ensured Hogwarts paid the printing costs.
I wasn't mad.
DADA was a bust anyways. The classes were never consistent and the curriculum practically changed at the whim of the new professor that year. its a miracle that some students are even able to scrape by with an acceptable for that class at all.
The final week brought Lucius Malfoy.
He arrived like bad weather—coat swirling, cane tapping, eyes full of condescension.
"I believe you're holding a possession of mine," he said.
"Oh?" I pulled out a shimmering ledger.
"I have come to reclaim the journal. The favor contract applies."
"Of course," I said, flipping pages. "Now let's see… custom-tailored wardrobe for Draco. Personalized snack enchantments. Early prototype of the Neverending Guide. Coordination with Slytherin's internal rep for inventory management. That's four favors."
"Those were for Draco," Lucius snapped. "They don't count."
I flipped the contract toward him and tapped a specific clause.
"One favor to the Malfoy family. Draco qualifies. I confirmed with him directly. Many times. Repeatedly, actually."
He bristled.
Truth was, Blaise Zabini had been egging Draco on all year to burn through that favor credit in my name. He saw it as good fun. I owed Blaise at least a pie.
Lucius pivoted. "The journal was a mistake. A different one was intended. Returning it would be a gesture of goodwill. One that would make the Malfoys owe you."
"Hmm," I said. "Tempting. But unfortunately—"
I reached into my trunk and retrieved a small, clear jar.
"—there was a fire. Magical accident. Total loss. I do have this wonderful jar of dirt, though."
Inside were ashes. Bits of charred leather. Faint traces of evil that even now curled like dead smoke.
Lucius turned pale.
"Because it was such a precious gift that you gave me I could not bear to get rid of it so I keep its remnants. I even made a song for it, wanna hear?"
He left without another word.
"I gotta Jar of Dirt, I gotta Jar of Dirt" I said in a sing song voice as Lucious left.
Before I left Hogwarts, I confronted the Sorting Hat in my warehouse.
"You told him," I said quietly.
"Only that you know more than you should," the Hat replied. "I never revealed how or why."
"You told him I see the future?"
"I said you may understand it. That's not quite the same."
I nodded at that and then a brief silence fell between us.
The hat was the first to break it though.
"The Basilisk," the Hat said. "You spared it."
"Of course."
"You gave the castle peace. That mattered. Hogwarts was conflicted. The snake belonged to a founder, but it threatened children. Its removal—without violence—was a gift."
I looked up.
And just like that, I realized: Hogwarts was alive.
The night before leaving, Hermione and I sat in her new trunk studio.
Soft music played. Her books were all alphabetized. My half-finished plans for next year were scattered like breadcrumbs across her floor.
She leaned against me, shoulder to shoulder.
"If next year is this calm," she said, "I might actually die of boredom."
"No chance," I replied. "I've got plans."
She nudged my knee. "Just let me help this time."
I didn't answer. But I didn't pull away.
Somewhere far away, in the cold belly of Azkaban, a gaunt, scruffy man sat on the floor of his cell.
A letter slid under his door without footsteps.
He opened it.
Read it.
And then a creepy yet chilling smile emerged from the darkness.
It was not a warm smile. Not grateful. It was the kind of smile that showed jagged teeth and the return of purpose.
He crumpled the letter slowly in one hand.
Then whispered:
"I'm coming, Peter."