The first true cold settled over the castle the week after Shya's birthday, clinging to stone and staircases the way sleep clung to the younger years trudging to breakfast. Shya, however, looked more awake than she had since the train—sharp, electric, like someone had flipped a switch behind her ribs and forgotten to turn it back off.
Her hoodie was oversized navy with silver thread stitched along the seams; her skirt was asymmetrical plaid; her boots scuffed to hell. Her hair was pinned up with two mismatched clips—one expensive, one handmade by Mandy—and her fingers were stained in violet ink from a midnight sketch. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, humming something that didn't quite match any recognizable melody.
Talora watched her from the Ravenclaw table, spoon paused halfway to her mouth.
"You're chipper," she observed.
"I contain multitudes," Shya replied, dunking her toast into Padma's tea just to watch Padma yell. "Also I'm choosing violence."
Padma gasped. "You little menace—!"
"I accept my truth," Shya said serenely.
Lisa snorted into her porridge. Mandy looked personally offended on Padma's behalf, but only because she hadn't thought of doing it first.
Talora narrowed her eyes. Beneath Shya's brightness—real, almost giddy—was something else. Edges too sharp. Jokes too quick. A hum under her skin like someone had threaded lightning through her veins.
Talora didn't call it out. Not here. Not yet.
Instead, she nudged Shya's knee under the table. A silent: I'm watching you, Bob.
Shya nudged back. Good. Keep up.
Divination — Thursday Morning
The climb up to the tower smelled like incense and stale sherry—as always—but today there was something else, something faint and metallic that no one could quite place.
Trelawney swept in with a shawl that seemed to flicker between burgundy and black, gaze unfocused.
"Ah," she breathed, staring somewhere just past Shya's shoulder. "The air moves strangely today. Someone in this room has a… disturbance in their path."
Mandy whispered, "Oh Merlin, I hope it's me—this class needs spicing up."
Shya exhaled sharply, amused. "Sweetheart, your zodiac chart already cursed you."
Cassian, half-asleep in the back row, cracked an eye open. "Please don't antagonize fate. She doesn't need encouragement."
Trelawney drifted past Shya and froze, pupils dilating.
"My dear," she whispered. "Your aura is—"
Shya blinked. "Fun? Gorgeous? Tax deductible?"
But Trelawney didn't finish. Instead, she frowned and stepped back, as if she'd misread a word in a sentence.
"No… it's nothing," she said faintly. "Simply… static."
Talora's head snapped toward Shya. Static?
Shya just smirked like she'd won a bet. "Guess my future's buffering," she murmured, flipping open her textbook to hide the tiny tremor in her finger.
Afternoon — Courtyard
It started stupidly. As these things always did.
Seamus Finnigan had made a crack about Ravenclaws thinking they were "so clever" for solving problems without blowing themselves up. Hermione, sitting miserably with Neville at the other end of the courtyard, rolled her eyes. Harry said nothing, shoulders hunched, still avoiding Ron since last week's argument.
Shya had been passing by with Padma, definitely minding her own business. Mostly.
Seamus muttered under his breath, "Bet Gill only got top marks by sucking up to the professors—"
Padma froze. "Oh no."
Shya stopped walking.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
She turned.
"Repeat that," she said pleasantly, adjusting the strap of her bag.
Seamus blinked. "I—er—just said—"
"Louder," she said. "For the people in remedial hearing."
Talora appeared at the corner of the courtyard, eyes widening. "Bob. Bob no—"
But it was too late.
Seamus puffed up. "I said maybe you're not as brilliant as you think you are."
A beat.
Shya blinked once.
"Oh," she said sweetly. "You meant academically. I assumed you meant morally. Since Gryffindors haven't exactly been covering themselves in glory recently."
Ron, hearing that from across the courtyard, bristled. "OI—"
"Not you," Shya said without looking at him. "Well actually, yes you. But you're a separate problem."
Seamus sputtered. "What's that supposed to mean?!"
"It means," Shya said, stepping closer, "that if you wanted to insult me, you should've tried harder. That was pathetic. Insult-adjacent at best."
Padma whispered, "Tal, she's doing the thing again."
Talora whispered back, "I KNOW—"
Seamus shoved her shoulder.
One gentle push.
Barely a shove.
And that was the mistake.
Shya didn't even hesitate.
She swung.
Not wildly. Not angrily. Clean. Efficient. A perfectly executed punch that cracked across Seamus' jaw with a satisfying snap.
The courtyard gasped.
Seamus stumbled.
Shya stepped forward, grabbed his collar, and yanked him down to knee height with shocking strength.
"Try it again," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "Touch me again. See what happens."
Ron lunged forward to pull Seamus back, but he tripped over Neville's bag and landed face-first in the fountain with a spectacular splash.
Neville yelped. Hermione covered her mouth. Harry choked on a laugh he couldn't stop.
And then—
A soft, amused drawl:
"Well, well."
Snape.
He stood at the edge of the courtyard, robes swirling like smoke, arms folded. His smirk was razor-thin.
"Miss Gill," he said. "I trust there is a reasonable explanation for why Finnegan is on the ground and Weasley is… drowning himself."
Shya brushed her knuckles on her skirt. "Educational demonstration, sir."
"Of?"
"Cause and effect."
Hermione snorted. Snape tried—tried—to look disapproving, but oh, he was smug. A Ravenclaw beating a Gryffindor without magic? Delicious.
"No magic was used," Snape observed. "Therefore the offense falls under… physical misconduct. Barely."
Seamus whimpered.
Ron climbed out of the fountain, soaked and furious. "She HIT him!"
Snape raised one eyebrow. "And? Surely Gryffindors value bravery. Finnegan showed… attempted courage. He simply lacked execution."
Harry wheezed.
Shya smiled, sharp and bright.
"Detention, Miss Gill," Snape drawled. "Tomorrow evening. Do try not to maim anyone until then."
She saluted him.
"Can't make promises, sir."
Talora facepalmed so hard the sound echoed.
Walk Back to the Tower
Talora stalked beside her, whisper-hissing, "WHAT was that?!"
"He started it," Shya said, shrugging like she'd merely tripped over a stair.
"You PUNCHED him—!"
"Successfully," Shya corrected.
Mandy, who had shown up halfway through the fight, was practically glowing. "That was INCREDIBLE—did you see his face?!"
Padma, torn between pride and horror, muttered, "I mean… he was asking for it."
Lisa sighed. "I'm not saying she should've done it, but I'm also not saying she shouldn't have."
Luna drifted along beside them, serene as moonlight. "You were very decisive," she said dreamily. "Like a hawk spotting a mouse in the grass."
Shya slung an arm around Luna's shoulders. "Thank you, Luna. Finally someone appreciates my art."
"That wasn't art," Talora muttered. "That was assault."
"It can be both."
Talora choked on a laugh she absolutely did not want to have. "Don't make me encourage you—!"
Shya grinned, wide and wicked and very, very alive.
"I would never," she lied.
And the cracks in her mask—tiny, hairline, invisible to almost everyone—held one more day.
Just barely.
By late October, the castle felt different.
Not darker, not colder — just tighter.
Like Hogwarts had exhaled too far and hadn't remembered how to breathe back in.
Most students didn't notice.
But the ones who mattered did.
Shya's laugh came more easily now — bright, careless, a little too sharp at the edges — the kind of laugh that made teachers relieved and her friends uneasy. She walked faster, talked faster, teased harder. Her mask wasn't a mask so much as a performance, and it was almost convincing.
Almost.
Divination smelled like incense and burnt sugar the morning it started.
Not "it" as in anything large — just that shift, that tiny quiver in the air when Shya walked in. Talora felt it first: a ripple, like someone dragging their fingers through water beneath the surface.
Shya didn't feel it at all.
She just slid into her usual seat, boots hitting the rung of the chair with a dull thunk, hair messy in the deliberate, art-school way she knew worked for her. Her jumper was oversized navy, sleeves pooled around her rings.
Cassian and Mandy trailed in behind her; Cassian smoothed his hair once before sitting — an unconscious tic he never had before third year — and exhaled like preparing for impact.
Harry Potter was already there.
He looked up the moment she entered — too fast. His ears went pink. He dropped his quill. Mandy bit her lip to hide a grin.
Shya noticed none of it.
She just muttered, "Ugh. Smells like an old sock had a baby with lavender," and flopped into her chair.
Harry kind of choked on air.
Cassian's jaw ticked once.
Talora slid into the seat beside Shya, giving her a quiet, pointed look that said: Your mask is slipping in weird ways, Bob.
Shya bumped her knee in response — a silent: Shh, no it's not.
❖
Trelawney drifted in like she was being carried by a breeze only she could feel.
"Welcome, my dears," she began, voice trembling theatrically. "Today, we gaze into the fragile mist of—"
Her breath hitched.
Everyone looked up.
Her huge eyes had fixed on Shya with a kind of startled awe.
"You," she said softly. "Miss Gill. You're—"
Shya lifted a brow. "Stunning? I know."
A few people snorted.
Cassian didn't.
Harry, predictably, smiled at her joke like it was sunlight.
Trelawney blinked hard, shaken. "My dear girl, your aura is…"
She trailed off, eyes wide and unfocused, as if something caught her throat.
Talora leaned forward slightly — she felt it too: a flicker, hardly a spark, but enough that her fingertips warmed involuntarily.
Shya blew a strand of hair from her face.
"Professor, if I fail this class, it won't be because of my aura. It'll be because I'm horribly bored."
More snickers.
Harry bit his knuckle to not laugh.
Cassian's stare sharpened like the point of a blade.
Trelawney looked away quickly, voice thin. "Tea leaves today, children. Gaze gently."
As they paired off, Harry angled toward Shya as if pulled by gravity.
"Um," he started, cheeks red, "do you want to — I mean, we could read each other's—"
"No," Cassian said smoothly from the side, dropping into the seat opposite her before Harry could finish.
Harry froze.
Shya blinked.
Talora hid a smile behind her textbook.
"I didn't ask you," Harry said, trying for firm and landing somewhere between jealous and twelve.
Cassian didn't even look at him.
"I know."
Harry looked like he wanted to argue — then Shya glanced up, calm, curious, not choosing either of them — and he backed down with a muttered, "Right. Fine."
Cassian's shoulders relaxed by a centimeter.
Shya didn't notice the exchange. She was swirling her tea leaves, bored already.
"Yours looks like a cat," she said absently.
Cassian leaned forward. "Cats don't mean anything."
"No," Shya said, studying the patterns, "but this one looks offended. So it's definitely your omen."
Talora snorted softly.
Across the room, Harry kept glancing over — not with jealousy now, but something softer, something he didn't know how to name.
Cassian noticed every single glance.
Every single one.
By lunch, Shya was electric.
Too bright, too fast.
She talked with her hands while Padma described an Arithmancy problem, interrupted Lisa twice (nicely, but still), tossed a grape into Roman's plate and declared him "emotionally malnourished," and rolled her eyes so hard at a first-year that Mandy nearly spit out her pumpkin juice laughing.
It was the mask — this new, sharper version that talked too much to hide how she felt nothing at all.
Talora could see it.
Cassian felt it.
Harry… was dazzled by it.
The courtyard at break was crowded — autumn crisp, leaves drifting, wind threading through cloaks. Hufflepuffs were playing some complicated game with floating cards. Gryffindors argued about their banned Quidditch captain.
Shya wandered with her sketchbook tucked under her arm, boots crunching through leaves, looking like a storm disguised as a girl.
It started with a portrait.
It always started with a portrait.
She perched on the low stone wall, opened her book, and the world around her dimmed.
Shadows poured out of her pencil.
Dark anime lines.
Long, aching limbs.
A child kneeling beneath a sky of teeth.
Chains made of figures she couldn't recognize.
Blood dripping into flowers.
The kind of drawing that didn't look drawn — it looked summoned.
She didn't notice she was shaking.
Talora did.
She crossed the courtyard and sat silently beside her, shoulder brushing, voice soft.
"Bob… you okay?"
"Oh yeah," Shya said brightly, snapping the book shut so fast the wind startled. "Never better."
Talora didn't push.
She just leaned, careful, the way someone leans against a door they're guarding.
And then Potter appeared.
He hadn't meant to — he was being dragged by Ron and Hermione in opposite emotional directions, both arguing over some Gryffindor drama — but the moment he noticed Shya, he slowed.
He hesitated.
Shifted his weight.
Pushed his glasses up.
And walked toward her like a moth considering the flame.
"Hi," Harry said, voice betraying him.
Cassian, halfway across the courtyard with Roman, stopped mid-sentence.
His eyes lifted.
Sharp. Cold. Focused.
Shya glanced up from tying her boot lace.
"Hey," she said, casual, friendly, unaware of the small hurricane she caused.
Harry swallowed. "Um… nice drawing. Or — I mean — I didn't see it, I just saw the book, I just assumed you were—"
His entire sentence collapsed under its own weight.
Shya's mouth twitched. "Are you having a stroke?"
Talora pressed her fist to her mouth to hide the snort.
Harry turned red.
Cassian began walking over — not quickly, not aggressively, just smoothly, silently, like a shadow reclaiming what it considered its own.
Before he reached them, Ron Weasley jogged up and tugged on Harry's sleeve.
"Mate, we've got to talk—oh. Them."
His tone dropped.
Shya's eyes flicked up, hooded. "Hi, Ronald."
Ron glared. "Don't act innocent. You all think you're better than everyone—"
"No," Shya said sweetly, eyes narrowing just enough, "just better than you."
Talora lost it — a loud delighted laugh she tried (and failed) to hide.
Harry actually choked.
Cassian stopped beside them: silent, tall, calm as a storm cloud.
Ron took one look at him and backed up half a step on instinct.
Harry looked between Cassian and Shya — something sinking in behind his eyes, something that hurt to understand.
"Right," he muttered, forcing a smile. "See you round, Shya."
She nodded, still tying her boot.
Cassian watched Harry walk away until he was completely out of sight.
Only then did he sit beside her — close, not touching — posture pretending to be casual.
Shya felt none of it.
Talora felt all of it.
By the time they headed back inside, Shya's energy had settled into something deceptively normal — breezy, quick, charming.
But Talora noticed the tiny things:
the way Shya rubbed her thumb over her rings
the way she blinked too slowly
the way her laugh cracked like glass before smoothing again
And Cassian noticed the tiny things Talora noticed — the quiet glances, the way Shya's shoulders tensed when people got too close, the way she drifted toward cold patches of shade at random.
That night, in the Haven, with textbooks scattered and Mandy humming, Shya curled on the sofa, feet tucked beneath her.
"Shy," Talora said suddenly, soft but clear, "you okay?"
Shya grinned, bright and flawless.
"Oh, you know me," she said. "I'm always fine."
Cassian, from the armchair beside her, watched her smile.
He didn't buy it for a second.
But he didn't push.
Not yet.
And the castle?
It watched.
Quietly.
As the week crept toward Halloween.
Hogwarts woke up buzzing—floating pumpkins bobbing through corridors, first-years wrapped in cloaks too big for them, the smell of spiced apples drifting through the Great Hall. Before breakfast, the Ravenclaw girls gathered by a long windowsill, each holding a small lit candle cupped between their palms.
"Just say a name," Mandy whispered.
They went around quietly—ancestors, pets, teachers, memories.
Shya's candle flickered once as she said, bright and steady, "For my dadima, who always loved me the most."
Talora's hand brushed her elbow in silent understanding.
Shya smiled back—warm, believable, real enough.
The mask was perfect.
—
Luna's Halloween costume nearly made half the Great Hall gasp—something between a moon witch and a radish spirit, all silver ribbons and floating charms. She plopped beside Shya with a grin.
"You look very sparkly today," Luna said, eyes wide.
Shya leaned her cheek into her hand. "So do you. It's very… lunar princess meets chaos."
"That's what I was going for," Luna said happily, then waved at Harry across the hall.
Harry, mid-bite of toast, choked a little and looked away fast.
Hermione sighed. "Honestly."
Roman nudged Cassian with an elbow when he caught Harry staring at Shya again. He didn't have to say anything—the smirk on his face said it all.
Cassian flicked a crumb at him.
He did not take his eyes off Shya.
—
Back in Ravenclaw Tower, the real transformation began.
It started with glitter.
"STOP MOVING!" Padma shrieked as she tried to adjust her wing charm. "Honestly, I can't—Lisa, you keep tilting to the left—"
"I'm not tilting, you're tilting," Lisa argued, smoothing her green floral skirt.
Mandy twirled in the mirror, golden wings flashing. "I look AMAZING. I look illegal. Someone arrest me."
"You look like if sunshine grew legs," Shya said dryly.
Talora choked on a laugh.
Shya's own transformation was chaos—pink metallic mini skirt, matching crop top, thigh-high glitter boots that shimmered like popstar armor, illusion wings that pulsed with soft purple light. Her hair was half-up, half-wavy, streaked with enchanted sparkles. Headphones sat around her neck like a crown.
Talora stood beside her in Bloom's fiery red and orange getup—slightly longer skirt, long sleeves, but still ethereal, radiant. Her curls glowed under the glamor charms.
In the mirror, they looked like they had stepped out of a magazine photo shoot.
Talora caught Shya's gaze in the reflection.
For a second, Shya's eyes went flat—an empty blink.
Then she smirked, winked, and bumped Talora's hip with her own.
Mask: restored.
"Ready?" Shya asked.
"Winx—let's go!" Mandy yelled, already sprinting down the stairs.
—
The party consumed the mini-ballroom wing—glowing spells, floating confetti, students spilling from room to room. Third and fourth years only. Music pulsed through the floorboards, neon lights bouncing off polished stone.
The Ravenclaw girls made an entrance.
Heads turned.
Whispers rippled.
Someone dropped a cup.
Shya loved it.
She grabbed Talora's hand and pulled her straight into the center of the dance floor. Their skirts flared, wings flickering, boots stomping, hair flying. Then Padma, Lisa, Mandy—all of them—collided into one spinning, laughing girl-circle.
Girlhood in its purest form.
For a moment, Shya felt free. Untouchable.
The lights dimmed and flared again.
Her pulse matched the beat.
Her smile grew sharper.
She was shining—maybe too brightly.
—
Two older Hufflepuff boys approached them, trying too hard.
"Ladies—"
"No," Shya said instantly, without even looking.
They froze.
Padma bit her knuckles trying not to howl with laughter.
"Wait—what? We didn't even—"
"No," Shya repeated, slower, with a sweet but vicious little smile that made even Talora snort. "Respectfully."
The boys retreated.
Lisa wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.
"Shy, you're awful."
"Correct."
—
Cassian and Roman arrived a little later—uniforms exchanged for dark dress robes, green accents muted and elegant. Cassian scanned the room for less than a second before he saw her.
Pink glitter.
Boots up to her thighs.
Wings glowing under strobe lights.
He stopped walking altogether.
Roman sauntered past him toward Talora. "Try to breathe, mate."
Cassian ignored him.
He watched Shya dance.
He watched people watch her.
He watched Harry Potter watch her from the doorway like he'd been hit in the head.
Cassian's jaw set hard.
He said nothing.
—
In the lounge room, Talora and Roman sat on a velvet couch with pumpkin fizz, music pounding muffled through enchanted walls.
"I know it's silly," Talora admitted, legs tucked under her, "but sometimes I worry she's… drifting."
Roman balanced his cup on his knee. "It's not silly. Shya's…"
He struggled for a word.
"Bright. And messy. And trying."
Talora sighed. "Exactly."
Roman gave her a small, genuine smile. "You look happy tonight."
Her cheeks warmed. "I… yeah. I am."
—
Back in the ballroom, the sugar-high chaos rose higher. Lights dimmed, then brightened. Confetti rained. Students shrieked in laughter.
Shya danced in the center of it all, hair wild, glitter smudged across her cheek, wings humming like a heartbeat. She didn't notice Harry watching from the archway, face soft with awe he didn't understand.
She didn't notice Cassian watching her every step.
She didn't notice her own mask beginning to flicker.
She only noticed the moment the room suddenly felt too loud.
Too bright.
Too close.
Her breath hitched.
"I'm—uh—I'm gonna get some air," she said to the girls.
Nobody heard her over the music.
Cassian did.
He watched her slip into the side corridor.
—
The balcony was barely a balcony—just a ledge of stone, a small railing, and a moonlit view of the courtyard below. The air was cold enough to sting.
Shya stepped out, glitter boots tapping softly.
She didn't cry.
She didn't collapse.
She just leaned forward on the railing and whispered,
"I don't feel anything."
The words disappeared into the night.
A door creaked behind her.
Cassian stepped out silently, stopping a few feet away.
He didn't touch her.
Didn't speak.
He just waited.
She breathed once, shakily.
And that was enough for him to move beside her, elbows on the railing, shoulder brushing hers lightly.
"Shya," he said, soft as a spell.
Her eyes closed.
For a heartbeat, she let herself sway toward him.
Then—
The mask snapped back into place.
She spun toward him, sudden grin too bright for the darkness.
"Come on," she said, grabbing his hand. "Let's go dance."
His fingers tightened around hers despite every instinct screaming to pull her back, ask her again, try again.
But he nodded.
And let her lead him.
—
They crashed back into the ballroom like glittering chaos.
Shya dragged Talora into a spin, grabbed Mandy's hands, nearly tripped Padma, bumped Lisa off-rhythm on purpose. They screamed with laughter, enchanted lights flashing around them, fairy wings beating like neon butterflies.
Cassian watched, worry sinking deep behind his ribs.
The darker the night grew,
the wilder her laughter became.
The looser her movements.
The sharper her eyes.
Something electric pulsed around her—not magic, just… unraveling brightness.
No one else noticed.
Talora felt a shift, but lost it in the music.
Roman saw Cassian's expression and nudged him once, quietly.
Cassian shook his head.
—
Near midnight, the party thinned.
Lights dimmed.
Confetti charms lost their glow.
Shya slipped outside to the edge of the courtyard.
Her wings flickered and faded out.
Her smile faded with them.
Rain began to fall in thin, quiet drops.
Students inside were laughing over spilled drinks and half-broken costumes.
She stood utterly still.
Talora watched her from one doorway, fingers digging into her sleeve.
Cassian watched from another, breath caught.
Neither approached.
Shya stood alone under the soft rain, hair damp, glitter running in thin silver streaks down her cheek. Not tears.
Not that anyone could tell.
Maybe not even her.
And the night held its breath as her mask shimmered—brilliant, fragile, blinding.
A girl made of light and shadows,
laughing brightly in rooms too dark,
and going silent in the rain.
The first crack.
Small.
Quiet.
But real.