The walk from the Great Hall felt longer than usual.
Students peeled away toward their common rooms, filling the corridors with laughter and dripping cloaks and the light chatter of kids who hadn't brushed up against death that day.
But Shya didn't hear any of it.
Her world shrank to the sound of her footsteps.
The pressure of Talora's hand at her back.
Haneera's flank brushing her leg with every step — insistent, grounding, protective.
Pandora trotted ahead, watching the halls with bright, alert eyes.
Cassian walked close, jaw tight, scanning for threats that weren't there.
Roman kept slightly behind Shya, gently steering her away from groups of chattering first-years.
Luna, Padma, Lisa, and Mandy followed too — quieter than usual, exchanging worried looks but not asking questions.
When they reached the abandoned archway that concealed the Haven entrance, Talora whispered the password — a word they hadn't spoken since before the basilisk, a word that tasted like homecoming and dusted memories.
The wall shimmered.
A small pulse of warm light rippled outward.
And the doorway opened.
It was dim and cozy.
Dust motes floated in golden shafts from the sconces that flickered awake.
Books lay exactly where they had left them months ago; blankets folded neatly; the enchanted fireplace waiting, unlit but ready.
Shya stepped in and—
Haneera immediately circled her.
Once.
Twice.
A third time, shadows curling from her paws like mist.
Then she pressed her body firmly against Shya's legs and refused to move.
Pandora hopped onto the couch and made a warm space between cushions, tail thumping, ready.
Padfoot padded in last, shaking rain from his fur with a low, tired huff.
He scanned the room, ears twitching, then settled himself by the hearth where he could see everyone — especially Shya.
Luna closed the door softly behind them.
Talora flicked her wand, lighting the fireplace with a soft, warm glow.
Mandy gasped. "I forgot how pretty this place is."
Padma was already straightening thrown pillows.
Lisa fetched blankets from the corner basket.
Luna quietly placed a kettle over the fire, humming something soft and otherworldly.
Cassian dumped his cloak in the corner and began pacing.
Roman went automatically to check that all four hidden exits were still sealed.
They moved like a team without speaking.
Shya didn't move at all.
She stood in the center of the room, still in her rain-heavy cloak, hands limp at her sides, staring at nothing.
Talora approached first.
"Shy," she said softly.
"Sit."
It was a request, not a command — but it carried weight.
Shya blinked. Slowly.
Then sank onto the couch like her knees gave out.
Haneera climbed halfway onto her lap, large enough to cover her hips, pinning her to the cushions with familiar force.
Talora knelt in front of her and peeled back the damp cloak.
Shya let her.
Padma came over with a cup of warm tea.
Lisa draped a blanket around her shoulders.
Mandy lit a small lantern to soften the fireplace shadows.
Luna handed Shya a honey biscuit and whispered:
"You don't have to feel better yet."
Shya didn't respond.
But her fingers twitched around the biscuit — tiny, unconscious gratitude.
Cassian finally stopped pacing.
He stood a few steps away, breathing like he was fighting his own ghosts.
"Is she—"
He couldn't finish the question.
Roman, calmer but pale, shook his head.
"She's here."
A beat.
"Just… deep under."
Cassian flinched.
Padfoot let out a soft, rumbling sound — reassurance, fatherly but not invasive.
Roman sat against the arm of the couch, close but not crowding.
Cassian stayed standing; he didn't trust his voice.
Talora eased Shya's cold fingers open, replacing the half-crushed biscuit with the warm teacup.
"Small sips," she murmured.
Shya swallowed once — then laughed.
But it wasn't a real laugh.
It was brittle.
Sharp.
The kind that hides a scream.
"It's funny," she said quietly.
Everyone froze.
Luna looked up sharply.
Talora didn't interrupt.
Shya stared at her hands, voice flat:
"You'd think after the first time…
I'd be better at it.
Turns out —" a small, empty smile,
"trauma is a repeat-usage skill."
Cassian looked like someone had stabbed him.
Talora's hand tightened around Shya's.
"Shy," she whispered, "no."
Shya shrugged.
"Just being honest, Bob."
Talora's eyes shone — but she didn't cry.
She just shifted and sat beside Shya on the couch, their shoulders touching.
"Honesty is good," she said softly.
"Mockery is your reflex.
It doesn't mean it's true."
Shya breathed out — a long, shaking exhale that wasn't quite a sob.
Haneera pressed harder against her legs, growling low at the lingering emotional scent of fear in the air.
Padfoot lifted his head.
He didn't move closer — she wasn't his to anchor — but he watched with a father's worry.
Luna sat on the floor by Shya's feet, cross-legged, unbothered by Haneera's massive presence.
"You're not wrong," she said gently.
"But you're not alone while you relearn safety."
There was a long silence.
Shya didn't answer.
But her breath didn't hitch again.
After almost an hour of quiet — tea, firelight, soft conversation — Roman cleared his throat.
"We need to tell Dumbledore."
Cassian stiffened. "Tomorrow."
Roman nodded.
"Tomorrow. Not tonight."
Talora ran her thumb along the back of Shya's hand.
"Shy?" she asked softly.
"Does that feel okay?"
Shya's eyes lifted — slow, glassy, unfocused.
Then she blinked, a tiny nod.
"Tomorrow," she whispered.
Cassian let out a breath like he'd been punched.
Padfoot lowered his head back to his paws.
Padma and Lisa curled up on the far couch, whispering to each other but keeping their voices low.
Mandy fetched extra blankets for everyone.
Luna moved around with her unearthly softness, dimming the lanterns.
Cassian eventually sat down on the rug across from Shya, elbows on his knees, watching with protective intensity but not intruding.
Roman leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed, calculating escape routes and morning plans.
Talora sat beside Shya with unwavering presence.
Shya, finally, slowly… leaned her head onto Talora's shoulder.
Talora froze—then relaxed into it.
A soft quiet settled over the Haven, the kind that wasn't peace so much as a fragile pause — the breath between waves. The fire crackled softly, blankets rustled, and someone's kettle whistled faintly where Luna had left it to warm.
But Talora felt it first.
Shya's breathing was stabilizing — slow, even, the shaking mostly gone.
Her shoulders loosened.
Her jaw unclenched.
Her eyes, when they blinked, weren't glass anymore — just tired.
Talora brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
"You're getting sleepy, Bob."
Shya made a small disgruntled noise, which was honestly a better sign than anything else.
Cassian straightened instantly. "We're staying."
Roman shot him a look. "We can't. It's the first night. Prefects will check rooms."
Padma perked up from the sofa. "Oh! Mandy, Lisa and I can do our headcount — but if you three aren't in your dorms, someone will ask."
Lisa nodded. "Especially the Slytherin prefects. They're… intense."
Mandy added helpfully, "And I'm pretty sure Flitwick has a list of every Ravenclaw's face memorized. He'll notice if you're not there."
Cassian's jaw tightened. "I'm not leaving her alone."
Talora gently interrupted. "She won't be alone."
Shya's eyes fluttered open at that — confused for a moment.
Talora squeezed her hand.
"Your bed, with Haneera and Pando? Much safer than a dusty couch down here."
Haneera gave an emphatic rumble of agreement, leaning her massive head into Shya's stomach.
Pandora hopped between the cushions, as if demonstrating the space was clearly inferior.
Luna stood, dusting off her skirt.
"The Haven is good for grounding," she said softly, "but not for dreaming."
Roman exhaled. "She's right."
Cassian hesitated. "Can I at least walk her to the Tower?"
Talora shook her head gently.
"Too risky. It's crowded tonight. Too many teachers in the halls."
Then, with a soft smile:
"You'll see her at breakfast. Early."
Something in Cassian's expression eased — just a fraction.
Shya finally spoke, voice rough but steadier:
"Cass… go sleep. You look like you're about to pass out vertically."
Cassian made a strangled, offended noise.
Roman actually snorted.
Shya tried to smirk. It came out more like a crooked line, but it was effort.
"Talora's basically my emotional parole officer. I'm not escaping."
Cassian exhaled — a small, shaky laugh escaping him.
"All right. Fine. But if anything — and I mean anything — feels wrong, Talora sends Pando to fetch us."
Talora nodded once. "Of course."
Pandora thumped her tail, as if confirming her role.
Padfoot stood, shaking out his fur. He moved to Cassian's side, nudging his hand — time to go.
Mandy, Padma, and Lisa were already gathering their things, whispering among themselves about tea, socks, and making sure Shya had extra blankets tonight.
Luna lingered near Shya, meeting her eyes with calm, gentle certainty.
"You're not as alone as you feel," she said.
Not forceful. Not prying.
Just true.
Shya swallowed.
"Thank you."
Luna smiled faintly — soft moonlight.
"Goodnight."
She left first, taking the second-years with her.
Roman and Cassian followed, Padfoot padding silently beside them, only glancing back once — checking on Shya one more time.
When they were gone, the Haven felt quieter, gentler.
Talora helped Shya to her feet.
"Come on," she murmured. "Let's get you upstairs."
Shya leaned into her, exhausted but aware now — present in a way she hadn't been since the train.
Haneera flanked her left, a massive shadow-wolf sentinel.
Pandora trotted on her right, tail brushing Shya's calf.
Together, they walked through the quiet corridors, away from the Haven, toward Ravenclaw Tower — toward warm beds, soft blankets, and a night that, for the first time in hours, didn't feel like it was closing in.
And for the first time since the Dementor, Shya whispered:
"Talora?"
"Yeah, Bob?"
"…thank you."
Talora squeezed her hand.
"Always."
They didn't need to say more.
The girls disappeared into the blue-lit staircases of Ravenclaw Tower, familiars close, shadows quiet, the castle humming gently around them — holding them, just enough, until morning.
The descent to the Slytherin common room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Usually Cassian and Roman would whisper about the feast, gossip about professors, or talk Quidditch strategies on autopilot. Tonight, they said nothing. Their steps echoed off the stone, long stretches of corridor folding around them like a damp, heavy shroud.
Padfoot padded silently at their side, his paws barely making a sound on the old stone floors. His fur looked darker in the torchlight, his eyes sharp and worried.
The dungeon felt colder than usual.
When they reached the entrance, the wall murmured open with a hiss of green-tinged magic. The low light of the Slytherin common room flickered over their faces — emerald shadows dancing on stone walls.
Most students were already in bed. A few lingered around the fire, whispering about dementors like they were a spooky bedtime story instead of a terror on the train.
Cassian clenched his jaw so tightly it ached.
Roman noticed.
"Don't start a fight," he warned quietly.
Cassian didn't answer. He just stomped toward their shared room.
Padfoot followed, tail low.
Inside, the double room was neat — their trunks at the foot of each bed, green drapes hanging like heavy velvet waterfalls. The lake outside their window cast shifting shadows across the stone floor.
Cassian threw his cloak on the bed, pacing like a caged wolf.
"She—"His throat closed.
Padfoot nudged his knee gently.
Roman sat on his own bed, already loosening his tie. "She's safe with Talora," he said. "Haneera won't let anything near her."
"I know," Cassian rasped. "That's not—"He swallowed hard."I wanted to kill that thing. I wanted to tear its cloak off."
Padfoot let out a low growl of agreement.
Roman leaned back on his palms. "You can't kill a dementor."
Cassian's eyes snapped up.
"That's what scares me."
The torch flickered.
Padfoot curled at Cassian's feet like a shadow-guardian, pressing warmth into him.
Cassian sank onto the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers twisted in his hair.
Roman's voice softened."It's going to get worse before it gets better."
Cassian whispered the truth he never said aloud:
"I thought she was gone."
Padfoot's head jerked up — pain in those dog eyes, the kind that belonged only to a father who recognized trauma too well.
Roman stood and gripped Cassian's shoulder.
"She's not gone," he said firmly. "She's just… somewhere between the dark and the light right now."
Cassian exhaled shakily, shoulders trembling once before he forced them still.
Padfoot nudged him again and climbed carefully onto Cassian's bed — something he'd never normally do — curling against his side like a shield.
Roman turned out the lights.
Cassian lay awake long after, watching the lake shadows crawl across the ceiling, listening to Padfoot's steady breathing.
Neither of them slept easily.
The eagle knocker asked its riddle — a soft, melodic one this time — and Talora answered with barely a thought.
The door swung open into cool, blue warmth: arched windows, hovering lanterns, the quiet hum of books and brainpower.
Padma, Mandy, and Lisa waved lazily from a study table, surrounded by parchment and early term planners.
They smiled when the girls entered — relief in their eyes, subtle, unspoken.
Before they could take more than three steps in, a prefect intercepted them.
Morag MacDougal and Sue Li hovered about a foot behind her, looking apologetic and awkward, hands folded in front of them.
The prefect's voice was gentle.
"Livanthos, Gill — quick notice before you head upstairs."
Talora straightened. "Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing wrong," the prefect assured. "Just a housing update. I'm so sorry for the late notice — it only came through this morning."
Shya frowned, shoulders tightening.
"Update how?"
Morag stepped forward, wringing her fingers nervously.
"Um… we requested a change."
Sue nodded beside her. "We didn't fit very well in the five-person dorm. Padma and Mandy and Lisa are so close, and we just… felt out of place."
Morag swallowed.
"And we work better in smaller spaces — especially at night. We asked Professor Flitwick if we could take the spare double room on your floor."
The prefect continued, reassuring but firm:
"Since you three"—she gestured toward Padma, Lisa, and Mandy—"get along so well with Gill and Livanthos, the staff thought it would be easier on everyone socially to consolidate you five into one dorm."
She smiled kindly.
"I know you two liked your double room, but this arrangement made the most sense. The professors didn't think it would disrupt your dynamic."
Shya's breath hitched.
Just barely.
A tiny, almost invisible sound.
But Talora heard it.
The prefect didn't.
She continued:
"Your things have already been moved — very neatly, I promise. Your new room is just down the right-hand stair. Five beds. Windowside spots for both of you."
She paused, softer now.
"If there's any issue with the arrangement, please speak to Professor Flitwick in the morning. For now, get some sleep. You all look exhausted."
Morag and Sue both murmured heartfelt, guilty-sounding:
"We're really sorry."
Shya forced a smile.
"It's fine."
It wasn't.
Talora saw the crack form — a hairline fracture behind Shya's eyes.
Haneera pressed closer to her leg.
Pando nudged her calf.
Padma, Lisa, and Mandy hurried over, immediately forming a little protective circle around their friends, all warmth and concern.
"Come on," Padma said softly. "Let's see the room."
No one pressured Shya.
No one pushed her to react.
They all simply adjusted around her — the way real friends do.
Shya and Talora walked down the spiral stair, familiar walls now feeling unfamiliar — like a home subtly rearranged while they were away.
The door swung open on the five-person dorm.
It was pretty.
Warm.
Spacious.
And Shya saw everything she was losing at once:
Quiet nights.
Talora's steady breathing.
Space to hide when she needed the dark.
A room without witnesses.
A room where nightmares weren't seen.
Talora touched her elbow again, grounding without speaking.
The girls settled in around her, unpacked gently, softened the lighting, fixed the bedding, and their kindness filled the room like a blanket.
Padma rushed over. "Your bed's ready — we put out extra blankets."
Lisa held up a jar. "And lavender salve! It helps with nightmares."
Mandy held out fuzzy socks, determined."You're wearing these. Non-negotiable."
Shya gave a thin, tired smile."Thanks, guys."
It was the most real she'd sounded all night.
Haneera leapt onto her bed before Shya even reached it, circling once and flopping down with a dramatic, heavy whump — a living weighted blanket.
Pandora curled at the pillows, tail flicking anxiously.
Talora helped Shya out of her robe, easing her into a soft oversized shirt and pajama pants. She braided her hair slowly, rhythmically, grounding them both.
Shya stared at her blanket.
"Do I look pathetic?" she murmured.
Talora paused."No," she said, voice steady."You look human."
Shya snorted once — a soft, broken thing."Gross."
Talora smiled, tying the braid."There's my Bob."
Padma, Lisa, and Mandy exchanged looks — relief and worry braided together — but they didn't pry.
Soon the dorm fell into the quiet rituals of bedtime.
Luna peeked in before leaving for the second-year dorm."Goodnight," she whispered."Dream gently."
Then she was gone.
Talora slid into her own bed nearby, watching Shya settle under the blankets, Haneera curling protectively over her legs, Pandora nestled at her arm.
The room dimmed.The wind pressed softly at the windows.
Shya exhaled.
Her eyes drifted closed.
And the nightmare began almost immediately.
She was standing on the grounds.
Barefoot.Cold earth under her soles.
Except—
The grass shriveled beneath her touch.Withered.Died.
Every step turned the world to ash.
Shya froze.
She held her breath and reached for a tree trunk—
It dissolved.
Not burned. Not broke. It unmade itself, collapsing into void-dust the instant her fingers brushed its bark.
"No," she whispered.
Her voice echoed too loudly in the empty world.
She turned toward the castle.The windows glowed.
"Please," she whispered. "Please stay."
But the light dimmed. Flickered. And when she took one step forward—
The entire castle blurred, warped, and vanished like smoke sucked into a vacuum.
Gone.
A scream tore itself out of her throat.
She spun around.
Talora's silhouette appeared in the fog — faint, reaching.
"Bob?"
Shya ran toward her.
"Talora!"
But the moment her fingers brushed Talora's outstretched hand—
Talora shattered like glass.Splintered.Blew away in cold wind.
"NO!"
She fell to her knees.
The ground beneath her cracked, splitting like ice.Darkness yawned open beneath, swallowing color, swallowing sound.
Even Haneera's shadow vanished.
Even light itself flickered and died around her.
She was alone.
Utterly.
Completely.
Forever.
Yeah, this is gorgeous and brutal in exactly the right way — that dorm / nightmare ending hits hard and it feels like a clean chapter break.
Let's pick up right after:
The nightmare wasn't over.
It was only the beginning.
with the next morning + Arithmancy + the Dumbledore/Pettigrew/Sirius scene, keeping Shya low from the dementor and trauma, not guilty about Sirius, and letting the others handle most of the talking.
Morning crept in slow.
The Ravenclaw dorm was washed in pale blue light, soft and cold through the high windows. The storm had passed; the sky beyond looked scrubbed and thin, like someone had wiped it down with a tired hand.
Shya lay awake.
She hadn't really slept after the nightmare — not properly. Just drifted in and out of a shallow, watchful half-sleep, one hand buried in Haneera's ruff, feeling the rise and fall of the gwyllgi's breathing to remind herself that the world still existed.
Haneera had refused to move all night.
Pandora had stayed tucked under her arm like a small, stubborn moon.
Eventually, Shya gave up on pretending.
She slid out of bed carefully so she wouldn't wake the others, toes curling against the cold floor. Haneera hopped down immediately, sticking to her side. Pandora followed with a soft, questioning whine.
The mirror above the washstand did not lie.
The glitter she hadn't fully washed off the night before had migrated into a faint, scattered galaxy under her eyes. The dark circles underneath were worse — bruise-deep, like someone had tried to paint absence onto her face.
She touched the skin under one eye.
"Still here," she muttered to her reflection. "Unfortunately."
The mirror made a small offended noise but didn't contradict her.
She smudged on a fresh line of navy, sharper than before, and dusted a thin veil of glitter over both upper and lower lids.
Not cute.
Defiant.
If the world was going to stare, it could choke on the spectacle.
She pulled on her uniform: shirt, tie, pleated skirt, cardigan. The motions were practiced enough that part of her brain did them while the other floated somewhere else, watching.
Over it, she shrugged on her deep sapphire hoodie and then her black slouchy blazer, hood down, collar up. Armor layers.
By the time Talora stirred, Shya's braid was already neat, her rings were on, and her boots were laced.
"Morning," Talora croaked, hair a dark halo across her pillow.
"Debatable," Shya said.
Talora blinked, focusing. Her eyes went straight to Shya's face — glitter, pallor, the too-smooth expression.
"Nightmare?" she asked quietly.
"Mm," Shya replied. "Everything died. Even you. Very dramatic. Ten out of ten, would not recommend."
Talora flinched, but she nodded once. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," Shya said. Then, softer: "Not yet."
Talora accepted that. "Okay. Then we just… exist for now. We can handle that."
She got up, dressed in her own careful palette — dove-grey blouse, navy skirt, soft lilac vest — colors chosen like spells for stability. Pando wagged her tail sleepily and hopped off the bed.
By the time Padma, Lisa, and Mandy properly woke, the mask was back in place.
Shya laughed when she was supposed to.
Smirked when they complained about early mornings.
Made a joke about dementors needing breath mints that actually made Mandy snort tea.
If they looked closely, there was a fraction of delay between stimulus and reaction — like someone pressing play on a recording rather than reacting live.
Most people wouldn't notice.
Her girls did.
They didn't call her on it.
They just tightened their orbit — a little closer at the stairs, a little louder at breakfast, a little more determined when they slid into their usual seats.
Down in the Great Hall, the morning buzzed.
Owls swooped. Toast smoked. Someone on the Gryffindor table almost set their sleeve on fire with a misfired warming charm.
Shya spread marmalade on toast with perfect precision and then didn't eat it.
Haneera lay under the bench, pressed against her boots. Pando claimed the sliver of space beneath Talora's knees. The two familiars had parked themselves so firmly that even the Weasley twins thought twice about climbing over their feet.
Cassian and Roman slid in opposite them a few minutes later.
Cassian's hair was slightly mussed, dark shadows under his eyes. Padfoot wasn't with them — no big dog at his heel, no comforting extra presence — and Cassian kept flicking a glance at the staff table, at Lupin, like his brain was juggling too many problems at once.
"You look like death," Shya said mildly.
Cassian snorted. "You look like you mugged a star for its glitter."
"Compliment accepted."
Roman buttered a roll with unnecessary seriousness. "We still on for after Arithmancy?" he asked, voice low.
Talora nodded.
"We tell Dumbledore today," she said. "No more waiting."
Shya's fingers tightened around her mug. "Yeah," she said quietly. "We're not letting him rot in there another term because the adults are allergic to doing their jobs."
Padma glanced between them. "Are you sure it's safe?"
"No," Shya said. "That's why we're bringing an old man with a phoenix."
Talora nudged her knee under the table. "Shy."
"What? I like our odds."
Cassian's mouth twitched. "We go after Arithmancy," he confirmed. "When the corridors are busy. We blend in, peel off near the seventh floor, use the tower stairs."
"Password?" Roman asked.
"Still 'lemon ice' according to last year's rumors," Cassian replied. "Even Dumbledore likes patterns."
"Of course he does," Shya muttered. "Old people love routine."
Talora caught the split-second where her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Cassian caught the way she flinched when a second-year shrieked with laughter behind her.
No one said anything.
The day moved.
Transfiguration first — review work. McGonagall's voice crisp, the board full of notes, mice stubbornly refusing to be goblets. Shya's wandwork was flawless. Her jokes more subdued than usual. She only snapped once, at a boy who muttered something about "show-offs," and even that was more of a lazy verbal cut than a true fight.
"So sorry your mediocrity is loud," she said sweetly, without looking up. "Maybe lower the volume on that."
The boy shut up.
Charms went similarly. Flitwick praised her wand control, and if he noticed her staring into space between spells, he didn't mention it.
Lunch blurred.
Defense with Lupin was… odd. He was kind, eyes tired and warm, voice gentle enough that half the class actually relaxed. He gave them a vague explanation about dementors, about chocolate, about hope being a thing you could practice like a muscle.
Shya listened.
But her brain kept replaying the feeling of hands on her throat.
By the time Arithmancy rolled around, she was thinner around the edges — stretched, but still functioning.
The Arithmancy classroom was cool and precise, full of floating number wheels and runic diagrams. Professor Vector glanced over her notes as they filed in, setting down her chalk.
Shya sat between Talora and Cassian, Roman just behind, the rest of their Ravenclaw chaos flocked around them.
The lesson was a blur of intent values and stability modifiers. Vector's voice flowed over them, firm and even.
Shya's quill scratched when it was supposed to.
Her answers were correct — always.
She raised her hand once to fix a minor error on the board, a reflex she would have turned into a joke last year.
This time she just said, "The seven there should be a nine, Professor," and sat back down when Vector thanked her.
Talora watched her closely.
Cassian's knee bounced under the desk, the only sign he was nervous.
When the bell finally rang, the relief in the room was almost a physical thing. Chairs scraped. Books snapped shut.
"We'll meet you in the common room," Padma said. "Don't get lost in all the spiral staircases of moral ambiguity."
Mandy snorted. Lisa elbowed her.
Talora smiled. "We'll try. Save us a table by the window."
They left in a noisy cluster, chattering about homework.
The four of them didn't.
Shya, Talora, Cassian, and Roman stayed seated until most of the class had spilled out into the corridor.
Then Cassian stood.
"Let's go," he said.
Haneera appeared in the doorway like a summoned shadow.
Pando shimmered at Talora's heel a heartbeat later.
The walk up to the Headmaster's office felt a bit like walking uphill underwater.
The castle hummed: staircases shifting, portraits gossiping, ghosts drifting. Students streamed past in clumps, most of them too wrapped up in their own dramas to notice four third-years moving with unusual purpose.
Shya kept her hand threaded in Haneera's fur as they climbed.
Her heart wasn't racing. It felt… distant. Like the important part of her was watching from the rafters, hoping the body didn't embarrass her.
"Lemon ice," Cassian told the stone griffin when they finally reached it.
The statue blinked its stone eyes, turned aside, and the spiral staircase appeared.
Shya hated how much it reminded her of waking up from the dementor — that sense of moving without feeling her feet.
Talora put her hand on the small of her back.
"We've got you," she whispered.
Shya nodded once.
They rode the moving stair in silence.
At the top, Cassian knocked.
"Enter," Dumbledore's voice called, warm and calm.
Cassian opened the door.
The office was as crowded and strange as ever — shelves of books and instruments, portraits pretending to nap, the faint smell of lemon and phoenix feathers.
Fawkes watched them from his silver perch, head tilted.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, half-moon glasses perched low on his nose, a stack of parchment in front of him. He looked up — and the smile he'd worn for the parchment softened immediately when he saw their faces.
"Ah," he said, standing. "Mr. Black. Mr. Nott. Miss Gill. Miss Livanthos. I did wonder if I'd see you sooner rather than later."
Shya stiffened. "You're not Legilimencing us, right?" she blurted.
Dumbledore's brows rose a fraction. "No, Miss Gill," he said gently. "I promise you I do not go rummaging in students' minds. Your faces are quite expressive enough."
Cassian cleared his throat. "Sir, we… we have information. About… about Sirius Black."
Shya's chest tightened.
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened — not cruelly, but with the kind of focus that made people forget he was old.
"I am listening," he said.
So Cassian told him.
He told him about the photograph in the Prophet — the Weasley family in Egypt, with a rat on the youngest boy's shoulder. He told him about missing toes, about Ministry records of a wizard supposedly killed with only a finger left behind. He laid out the timelines, the inconsistencies, the way Pettigrew's "death" had always been a convenient legend.
Roman filled in the gaps with dates and details, citing newspaper articles and overheard scraps from his father's conversations.
Talora added quiet context — Lupin's reaction on the train when he'd looked at Ron Weasley's pet, the way his face had gone white.
Shya remained mostly silent, one hand braced on Haneera's head, the other twisted in the hem of her hoodie. But when Cassian mentioned Pettigrew's talent for hiding and the years Sirius had spent in Azkaban because of it, her voice slipped out, sharp and precise.
"He's in the Gryffindor tower," she said. "As a pet. Sleeping near a girl who's already been through enough. And the Ministry is sending soul-sucking abortions on legs after the wrong man."
Dumbledore's mouth thinned.
For the first time, he looked… shaken.
Not surprised that the world was cruel. Surprised that he had missed it.
"Peter," he murmured, almost to himself. "Peter Pettigrew."
He sank back into his chair, steepling his fingers, eyes unfocused for a moment as a dozen memories clearly rearranged themselves behind them.
When he looked at them again, there was regret there. And something else: resolve.
"Children," he said quietly, "you understand what you are suggesting?"
"That Pettigrew is alive," Cassian said. "That he framed Sirius. That he's been hiding as a rat for twelve years."
"And that a man the entire world believes to be guilty," Roman added, "might actually be innocent. And has been in Azkaban without trial because no one bothered to look twice."
Shya's hand tightened in Haneera's fur. "We're suggesting," she said, voice too calm, "that one adult, somewhere, could actually do something about it."
Dumbledore held her gaze for a long moment.
Then he nodded once.
"You are quite right," he said softly. "I failed him. And I will not fail him again."
Fawkes lifted his wings slightly, as if in agreement.
Dumbledore turned to Cassian. "You mentioned this rat is currently within the school?"
Cassian nodded. "Ron Weasley's old rat. Sleeps in Ginny Weasley's dorm now. Third-year girls. Gryffindor tower."
Talora's shoulders tensed. "You can't just accuse a Weasley," she said. "There'd be… panic."
"Which is why," Roman said, glancing at Cassian, "we came to you first."
Dumbledore studied them for another heartbeat — four children standing straight-backed in front of his desk, a dark hound and two strange familiars bracketing them like spirits.
His eyes softened.
"You have done more already than most witches and wizards twice your age," he said. "But from here, it becomes dangerous. Politically, if not magically. I cannot allow you to take those risks."
Shya's jaw tightened. "We're not leaving Sirius to rot because Fudge is a coward."
"You are not," Dumbledore agreed. "You are bringing me the information I needed to act. And you are going to let me act."
Cassian exchanged a glance with Roman, then with Talora and Shya.
"What do you need us to do, sir?" Cassian asked.
"Nothing more," Dumbledore said. "But I may ask for the assistance of… one of your allies."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Mr. Black, you mentioned in your letter last year that your family's house-elf accompanied you to Grimmauld Place this summer."
Cassian blinked. "Polly?"
"Yes, Polly." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled faintly. "I suspect she is quite clever."
Talora huffed. "Terrifyingly."
Haneera made a soft chuff, like agreement.
Dumbledore folded his hands. "If you summon her now, with your permission, I can ask her to retrieve our… guest. Quietly. Safely. No students need be involved."
Cassian didn't hesitate.
"Polly!" he called.
There was a small pop, and Polly appeared by his elbow, eyes wide as saucers, ears twitching.
"Master Cassian is calling Polly?" she squeaked. Then she noticed Dumbledore and squeaked again. "Oh! Great Headmaster sir! Polly is—Polly is honored!"
"Hello, Polly," Dumbledore said kindly. "I wonder if you would help us with a very important task."
Polly puffed up like an offended pillow. "Polly is excellent at important tasks."
Dumbledore's smile warmed. "In the Gryffindor third-year girls' dormitory, there is a rat. Old, missing a toe. We have reason to believe he is not what he seems."
Polly gasped. "Nasty rat-wizard!"
Talora blinked. "We didn't tell her that part—"
"House-elves hear many things," Dumbledore said lightly.
Polly bounced on her toes. "Polly will fetch nasty rat for the Headmaster! Polly will be careful. Polly will not be seen. Polly will not harm any students. Polly promises."
Dumbledore nodded. "That is all I ask."
He flicked his wand; a small cage materialized on the desk, its bars humming faintly with containment charms.
"Bring him here, Polly," he said. "Into this. And then, I think, the truth will introduce itself."
Polly grabbed the cage handle in both hands, solemn now. "Polly will not fail," she whispered.
And with another soft pop, she was gone.
Silence settled, thick and electric.
Dumbledore looked back at them.
"You may stay," he said. "If you wish. Until we know for certain."
Shya's heart thudded once, hard, against her ribs.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "We wish."
They didn't sit.
They stood, three Ravenclaws and a Slytherin, familiars close, eyes fixed on the space Polly had vacated.
It didn't take long.
Polly returned with a crack of displaced air, breathing hard but triumphant, the cage swinging from her hands.
Inside, a rat careened around the base, throwing itself against the invisible barrier, squealing.
"Polly did it!" she said. "Polly is sneaky."
"You are remarkable," Dumbledore said warmly. "Thank you."
He set the cage gently on his desk.
The rat froze.
Shya's skin crawled.
Dumbledore's wand flicked once, almost lazily, and the cage dissolved.
The rat turned to run.
"Enough," Dumbledore said, and the spell that left his wand was not lazy at all.
The room seemed to shiver.
The rat convulsed.
Bones warped, stretched, cracked. Flesh twisted and reformed. In seconds, a man lay sprawled on the polished wood, gasping and blinking—fat, balding, trembling, with watery eyes and a missing finger.
Peter Pettigrew.
Shya felt sick.
Talora's hand found hers, gripping hard.
Roman's eyes went flat and cold.
Cassian's jaw clenched.
Pettigrew's gaze snagged on Dumbledore.
Then on the children.
Then on Haneera's bared teeth.
He began to babble.
"I—I didn't—It was You-Know-Who, I had no choice, you don't understand—"
He flinched when Dumbledore's voice cut across his like a blade.
"Peter," Dumbledore said. "You lived."
It wasn't a question.
It was an indictment.
Pettigrew crumpled.
"They'll kill me," he whined. "If He comes back—if the Ministry—"
"Peter," Dumbledore repeated, quieter now. "You let an innocent man rot in Azkaban. You let a boy grow up believing his godfather betrayed his parents. You hid here, in a child's bedroom."
Shya's stomach lurched at that.
Haneera's growl deepened, shadow creeping wider across the floor.
Dumbledore flicked his wand again.
Golden ropes snapped into existence, wrapping Pettigrew tight against the chair that appeared beneath him. A quill and long roll of parchment floated up, hovering, ready.
"We will not kill you," Dumbledore said. "We will do something far more difficult. We will tell the truth."
Pettigrew whimpered.
Dumbledore's gaze moved past him — to the large black dog who had slipped in the moment Polly returned, unnoticed by everyone but the children.
Padfoot stood near the door, frozen, eyes blazing.
He had followed them. Of course he had.
Dumbledore smiled faintly.
"You may come closer, my friend," he said. "I think you deserve to hear this."
Padfoot stepped forward. His paws were almost soundless on the stone, but the fury in his posture crackled.
Shya's throat tightened.
To Dumbledore, this was still just a dog.
To them, it was the man who had laughed with them all summer, who had taught them terrible card games and slightly illegal defensive hexes, who had looked ten years younger every time they made him tea.
Pettigrew saw him and shrieked.
"KEEP HIM AWAY FROM ME—"
Dumbledore didn't look away from Pettigrew as he spoke.
"You will tell us, Peter," he said. "Everything. About the Fidelius Charm. About that night. About who truly betrayed the Potters."
The quill floated closer, hovering like a judgment.
"And when you are finished," Dumbledore added, "the Minister for Magic will receive a very interesting report. As will the Wizengamot. And one Mr. Harry Potter."
Pettigrew blanched.
Cassian's hands shook.
Roman's lips curved into a humorless half-smile.
Talora's shoulders finally dropped a fraction.
Shya exhaled.
It didn't fix the dementors.
Or her mother.
Or the choke of hands that weren't here but still lingered on her skin.
But this — this was something.
Sirius would be free.
"Children," Dumbledore said gently, turning back to them at last. "You have done enough. More than enough. What comes next will be… unpleasant. You do not need to hear it."
Shya stepped forward.
"With respect, sir," she said, voice hoarse but steady, "I don't need to hear him lie. I just needed to know someone was finally going to make him stop."
Dumbledore's gaze softened again, deeply.
"Then you may go," he said. "Get some rest. Go to your classes. Be children."
Cassian swallowed. "Will he—?"
"He will be charged," Dumbledore said. "Properly, this time. And Sirius Black will be given the hearing he was always owed. I will see to it personally."
Roman nodded once, accepting that.
Talora squeezed Shya's hand. "We'll leave it with you, then," she said.
"Thank you," Dumbledore replied. "Truly."
They turned to go.
Padfoot didn't move.
He stayed by the desk, muscles taut, eyes locked on Pettigrew's shaking form. His growl was low and constant, vibrating in his chest.
Shya paused at the door.
She looked back.
For a second, Padfoot's gaze flicked to her — just for her — and in that moment she saw Sirius behind the eyes: scared, furious, hopeful.
She gave him a tiny, crooked smile.
"Don't go back to Azkaban," she said quietly. "We worked too hard for this story."
Padfoot huffed — half a laugh, half a sob — and dipped his head.
Then she stepped out into the corridor, Haneera at her side, Talora and the boys flanking her.
The staircase spiraled them back down into the noise and motion of school life — students arguing over homework, prefects corralling first-years, a ghost humming under its breath.
Nothing looked different.
But somewhere above them, a quill was already scratching out a confession.
And for the first time since the dementor's icy fingers scraped across her mind, Shya felt the faintest echo of something that might, one day, grow into hope.