Illuna stirred in bed, the gold light of the sun lazily climbing in through the window. She turned around, digging her face into the pillow, avoiding the light. Taking out her wand, she cast a spell.
The golden numbers of Hora Revelio shimmered in the air: 09:37.
Illuna blinked at the floating digits, then buried her face deeper into her pillow with a satisfied sigh. Saturday. The word alone felt like a balm. Outside, the morning sun painted stripes across her bedcovers, and the faint chatter of birds filtered in through the window. She refused to acknowledge it—not yet. Not when every muscle in her body still ached from yesterday's brutal deflection drills with Vi.
Deflection. The word echoed in her sore arms. Vi had been merciless, drilling them until their wands felt like lead weights and their reflexes were frayed to threads. Even now, Illuna could almost hear her barking: "Again! Dark wizards won't care if you're tired!" The memory made her arms twitch with phantom strain, and the scent of scorched parchment—leftover from a miscast shield—seemed to cling to her thoughts.
She groaned softly, pressing her forehead into the cool linen. The entire week had been a whirlwind—her first at Hogwarts, yet it felt like she'd lived a month in seven days. Between Snape's razor-edged quips, Lily's relentless optimism (somehow more exhausting than any spell), and the bureaucratic hurdle of convincing McGonagall to sanction their study group, she was spent.
And then there was Tessa—a force of nature in Hufflepuff yellow—who'd dragged her sister Vi into their scheme. Without those two, McGonagall might never have relented.
Midnight stirred at her feet, yawning wide enough to show every needle-sharp tooth before flopping back into a loaf-shaped puddle of fur. "Traitor," she thought fondly. He'd slept soundly through her tossing and turning, utterly unbothered by her mortal struggles.
Her mind skittered, unbidden, to Victor's appearance in the courtyard—the way his words had slithered under her skin, unearthing memories she'd rather leave buried. "You disgrace the very air I breathe," he'd hissed, and the echo of it still prickled at her ribs like frost. She curled tighter into her blanket, as though it might shield her from the weight of it.
At least the Astronomy Tower had offered respite afterward. Still, she cringed remembering how she'd spilled her past to Lily under the stars. Trauma dumping to a near-stranger. Smooth.
But then—her father's letter. The way his words had settled something restless in her chest. However chaotic the week had been, that single parchment had been an anchor. Proof that somewhere beyond these stone walls, she was still his.
A hand touched her shoulder.
Illuna peeked up to find Mira standing over her, a steaming mug in hand. Her braid was already perfectly coiled, not a hair out of place—because of course it was.
"Sleeping in for once, Illuna?" Mira's voice was light, but her eyes held that knowing glint.
Illuna accepted the tea without protest. The warmth seeped into her palms, the faint curl of steam tickling her nose. The first sip was sweet. Cloyingly so. Mira's smirk confirmed it: she'd noticed Illuna's sugar-hoarding habits. Too observant by half.
"When you're ready," Mira said, drifting toward the door, "we'll be outside. Just talking. You don't have to come, if you don't want to."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Alone again, Illuna sipped her tea, letting the sweetness coat her tongue. Mira's thoughtfulness unsettled her in ways she couldn't name. The way she'd noticed Illuna's sleepless nights, her social tiredness—it was like being seen without permission. Reminded her again of a mother Graphorn.
She traced the rim of the mug, considering the improbable web of friendships she'd stumbled into. Me. The quiet one. The girl who planned to drift through Hogwarts like a ghost. Yet here she was: tangled up with a Gryffindor firebrand, a Slytherin with a tongue like a honed dagger, and a Hufflepuff who treated personal space as a mild suggestion.
A laugh bubbled up, startling her. She muffled it against the pillow. I should thank Potter and Black, she mused. If not for their obnoxious compartment takeover on the train, she might never have fled to Lily and Snape. The irony wasn't lost on her—those two troublemakers, with their loud mouths and louder laughs, had indirectly given her this.
Though she wouldn't put it past them to dye the Great Hall pink by Christmas. Or worse—infuse the Slytherin robes with Chizpurfle fur. The itch would be legendary.
Outside, muffled voices drifted through the window—Beth's animated storytelling, Nellie's rare chuckle, Mira's dry interjections. The fire downstairs popped, the sound rising faintly through the floorboards. The sounds of people waiting for her.
Illuna drained her tea and stretched, wincing at the protest of her muscles. Rest time's over.
Midnight cracked one eye open as she swung her legs out of bed. Mmrph, he seemed to say. Why?
"Because," she told him, scratching behind his ears, "apparently, I have friends now."
The Ravenclaw common room hummed with weekend energy as Illuna descended the spiral staircase, her tea mug still radiating warmth against her palms. Her dorm mates had claimed their usual spots – Beth perched cross-legged on an overstuffed chair, weaving another of her outlandish tales, this time about some magical creature masquerading as a school broom. Mira interjected with dry commentary that somehow made the story even more absurd, while Nellie – usually so reserved – laughed so hard she nearly upended her teacup.
Illuna lingered by the fireplace, the heat at her back contrasting with the cool porcelain in her hands. She watched her friends through the steam rising from her mug, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly at their antics. The familiar blue-and-bronze décor, the crackling fire, the comfortable chaos – it should have been soothing. Yet as more students trickled in – first-years chattering excitedly, prefects huddled in serious discussion, fifth-years arguing over parchment-laden tables – the room's cosy atmosphere thickened into something claustrophobic. The voices layered upon each other until they formed an impenetrable wall of sound.
Her chest tightened imperceptibly. Without a word, she set her empty mug on a side table and slipped away, her steps silent against the well-worn rug.
The library welcomed her like an old friend. Sunlight streamed through high windows, illuminating dust motes that danced like lazy fairies between the shelves. She wound through the stacks with practiced ease, her fingers trailing along spines until she reached her favourite nook – a shadowed corner tucked behind a leaning tower of outdated encyclopaedias. The chair there had moulded perfectly to her shape over countless visits over the week.
From her satchel, she withdrew not a textbook but a well-loved storybook, its cover softened by years of handling. As she opened it, the quiet settled around her like a second skin, broken only by the occasional rustle of pages or the distant scratch of a quill.
Time lost meaning in that peaceful solitude. She might have stayed there all day if not for the cheerful voice that shattered her sanctuary.
"There you are!"
Illuna looked up to find Tessa leaning against the shelf, her sketchbook tucked under one arm and her wild curls even more dishevelled than usual, as if she'd sprinted through the corridors searching.
"You weren't at breakfast," Tessa announced, grinning. "Thought maybe a particularly aggressive book had eaten you. Fancy a trip to the kitchens?"
Illuna arched an eyebrow. "Books don't eat people."
"Tell that to your face – you look like you've been subsisting on nothing but parchment and ink all week." Tessa's gaze dropped to the volume in Illuna's hands, and her expression shifted to mock horror. "Merlin's beard, is that… pleasure reading?"
Heat crept up Illuna's neck as she snapped the book shut. "It's just a story."
"Oh, the scandal." Tessa rolled her eyes dramatically before extending a hand. "Come on, even scholars need sustenance."
With a long-suffering sigh, Illuna gathered her things and stood, brushing imaginary dust from her robes. Midnight materialized from beneath a table, stretching luxuriously before falling into step behind them, his tail flicking with feline indifference. 'Only coming for the food,' Illuna thought wryly, though she still reached down to scratch between his ears.
The kitchens welcomed them with a wave of warmth and the mouth-watering aroma of fresh bread. Illuna stared dubiously at the pear-shaped door knocker.
"A ticklish fruit as a secret entrance?" she muttered as she tentatively brushed her fingers against it.
Tessa shrugged, already adjusting her grip on her sketchbook. "Vi showed me. Not even in the top ten strangest things about this castle."
Inside, a flurry of house-elves descended upon them with delighted squeaks, bearing plates heaped with sandwiches, pastries, and slices of cake. Illuna murmured her thanks as they settled at a worn wooden table, while Midnight was immediately adopted by two elves who treated him to bits of roasted chicken fit for a king. His thunderous purrs of satisfaction filled the cosy space.
For a while, the only sounds were the turning of pages, the scratch of Tessa's pencil, and the occasional contented sigh from Midnight. Then Illuna broke the comfortable silence, her eyes tracking the busy elves.
"Lily would hate this," she said softly. "She'd say the elves are being exploited."
Tessa's pencil stilled. She studied the bustling kitchen for a long moment before nodding. "She's probably not wrong."
Illuna blinked. "You agree with her?"
"I don't know enough to say for certain," Tessa admitted, tapping her pencil against the sketchbook. "But… if they don't have a choice? Then yeah, I'd be on Lily's side."
The weight of the admission settled between them, momentarily dampening the cheerful atmosphere. Then Tessa deliberately lightened the mood, nudging Illuna's foot under the table.
"So how's the book coming along?"
Illuna frowned. "What book?"
"The one you're going to write someday," Tessa clarified, her eyes dancing with mischief. "About your grand adventures?"
"I don't recall telling you about that."
"Must've been Lily then. Or maybe Snape confessed your secrets during one of your study sessions."
Illuna snorted. "Yes, that sounds probable do." She turned a page, hiding her smile. "It's going… slowly. Though this past week alone could fill at least 16 chapters – if I went for slice-of-life rather than epic adventure."
Tessa groaned. "Merlin, Heart, you can't just break the fourth wall like that."
Illuna's grin escaped containment as she ducked her head behind her book.
After a comfortable pause, she turned the question back. "What about you? Any grand plans beyond driving professors to early retirement with your sketches?"
Tessa's pencil hesitated mid-stroke. "I don't know," she admitted, softer now. "I like drawing. Maybe something with that. But…"
"You've got years to figure it out," Illuna reminded her. "We don't have to have our whole lives planned by third year."
"True," Tessa conceded, though her brow remained slightly furrowed as she returned to her sketch.
The kitchen's comforting rhythms filled the silence that followed – the clatter of pans, the elves' cheerful chatter, Midnight's satisfied purring as he accepted yet another morsel.
Eventually, Tessa snapped her sketchbook shut with finality. "Come on," she said, standing and stretching. "Let's find Lily and Snape. Last I heard, they were by the Black Lake."
Illuna hesitated, then added her own condition: "Only if we don't practice any magic today."
Tessa's laughter rang through the kitchen, startling a nearby elf. "Merlin's pants, I never thought I'd hear you say that!"
"I'm full of surprises," Illuna deadpanned as she gathered her things, though the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement.
Midnight, torn between his new elf friends and his duty (such as it was), gave one last longing look at the chicken before reluctantly following his human toward the door. The elves waved handkerchiefs after them as they left, as if seeing off royalty.