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moongurl95 · 2 months ago

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went in for a quick HL read and stayed for Nibbles and Cotton, absolutely love them! 😚

Sixth Time's The Charm

Summary: Continuation of IGNORANT. They shook hands. They made up. Sebastian stopped thinking about the letters he sent — until three slices of cold toast and one traumatised owl reminded him otherwise. Word Count: ~2,300 Tags: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC, Canon Divergence, Yet Another Bird Bribery, Traumatised Owl, Grovelling Sebastian, Sebastian Speaks Owl, MC Is Flirting (If You Squint Real Hard), Slow Burn (Kinda), Toast Politics and Owl Drama, Lavender and Bergamot, Fluff, Ominis Loves Garreth (or So the Latter Proclaimed) A/N: Initially, I didn’t plan for this fic to be this long (I’m a minimalist at heart), but I’m a girl of my word — and when I (Sebastian) said we made a mental note to return to the Owlery, we will.

As a new writer, the response to IGNORANT genuinely meant the world to me. 🥹 ← this is me seeing all your comments, tags, likes, and reblogs. I’m so grateful that the fic resonated with you the way it did with me while writing it.

Towards the end of this — especially the bit about her scent — I had Lizzy McAlpine’s spring into summer on loop, and it really helped me find the emotional shift I needed to finish. (This was meant to be a comedy, I swear. The ending snuck up on me too.) But honestly? I kind of like it this way.

Enjoy 💌 —Nina

Breakfast in the Great Hall was unusually quiet for a sunny Sunday.

It had been two weeks since their reconciliation in the Undercroft. The trio had just finished their meal. No obnoxious Gryffindors (yet) to grace their 'somber' table with unsolicited light and joy. Thank Merlin for that. Sebastian was in the middle of stuffing not one, not two, but three slices of toast into his satchel — each generously slathered with glistening, mouth-watering marmalade. The kind that turns heads when someone’s eating it. (Special reward for special delivery. Cotton deserved it, after all.) “...What’s with the toast?” she asked, eyeing whatever nonsense the teenage boy beside her was up to. Sebastian tightened the clasps on his satchel before finally answering her question. “Nothing much. Just a few debts I have to pay.”

“That’s an awful lot of toast for a single debt,” she said, not even looking up. She didn’t look particularly impressed — not surprising, considering she knew full well that Sebastian Sallow had a penchant for keeping ‘friends in his debt.’ (She still was, for the record). Instead, she turned her attention to the far more pressing task of perfecting her milk-to-sugar ratio. “It’s a very serious debt,” he replied, a small smile curled on his lips. Charming. She raised her left eyebrow but didn’t continue further. “Alright — I shan’t press then.” After taking one last sip of her perfectly measured tea, she stood and dusted off her neatly pressed robe. “Professor Fig’s waiting for me, so I shall leave you two to your …tomfoolery. See you lot at dinner.” she added as she strode toward the exit. And there she went—leaving behind a half-eaten scone and the faint trace of a familiar scent he couldn’t quite place. It lingered just softly, but he didn’t think much of it. Ominis had just finished placing his napkin on his empty plate. And as he was pouring milk to his tea, he asked: “So, what happened to all your letters?” Sebastian didn’t look up ”What letters?” He was reaching for a napkin — marmalade from Cotton’s toast smeared across the front pocket of his satchel. Blast it. “The six apology letters you owled her over the course of two weeks,” Ominis said. “You know — the ones you agonized over, rewrote twice each, and scented like a courting ritual — which, for the record, I only advised once, not six.” Sebastian had been ready to leave the hall — satchel clean, toast secured — but that stopped him in his tracks. Funny. He hadn’t truly thought about it before. Not properly. His mind flicked back to the night after that whole disastrous 'ignorant' mess of a day (more of a catastrophe, really). He’d been perched at his desk, quill in hand, supposedly working on a fifteen-inch Potions essay — when in truth, he’d been drafting an apology. A proper one. Determined to finish before Ominis returned. No way in hell was he letting his best friend catch him grovelling. He just shrugged off his best friend’s question, muttering something about being late — more a flailing attempt at dignity than anything else. Knowing Ominis, he’d press until he got answers, and Sebastian had absolutely no intention of letting him anywhere near the contents of those painfully embarrassing letters. So off he went, leaving the young Gaunt — and his meddling question — unanswered.

He was halfway to the nearest Floo Flames (this time, he remembered), intent on getting to the Owlery before the toasts went stale when he noticed two third-years: A Slytherin and a Ravenclaw loitering by the fountain outside the library. They were deep in conversation, robes askew, sugar quills in hand, utterly absorbed in their favorite pastime: other people’s business.

“...She’s cracked, I’m telling you,” the Ravenclaw girl said. “Heard she blew up a suit of armour — just snapped, out of nowhere. Ancient Magic surge, or something.” She lowered her voice, though somehow made it louder.

The other girl gasped. “That’s mental.”

Sebastian slowed mid-step. Eavesdropping wasn’t exactly noble, but the words ‘Ancient Magic’ paired with ‘mental’ had a way of catching his ear. “Did I tell you?” the Slytherin began, eyes bright. “Caught her last week in the common room. Letters. All over the table. A whole stack of them. Didn’t read a single one.” “Honestly,” she added, lowering her voice again, “I think she was just overwhelmed. You should’ve seen the pile — thick envelopes, stuffed with parchment. Fifteen inches, at least.” That sounded… uncomfortably familiar. “Merlin. Who writes that much?” the Ravenclaw asked, somewhere between surprise and disgust.

“Hopeless admirers, probably.” The Slytherin twirled her sugar quill. “I mean, if you got seventeen owls in a week — all confessing love or guilt or whatever — you’d go mad too.” “Can’t blame her,” the other girl nodded. “Did you see what the letters said?”

“I wish! First, she crumples one. Second, she rips clean in two. By the fifth?” She flung her hands wide. “Confringo!” She gasped “She blew it up?”

“Right in front of me!” The Slytherin beamed, clearly delighted. “Snatched it straight from that poor owl’s beak. Nearly roasted the thing.”

Sebastian stopped cold.

Fifteen inches. Seventeen owls. Emotional overload. That didn’t sound like admirers. That sounded like him.

At this point, Sebastian didn’t even care if they caught him eavesdropping. As far as he was concerned, he was practically minding his own business. (Although he had to admit — seventeen owls was a bit of an exaggeration.) He stopped listening to the couple. Went quiet — not because she hadn’t responded. Or because she’d been angry — he’d deserved that much. But because she hadn’t even read them. (Well. Maybe the sixth. Hopefully the sixth. He liked to think the sixth stuck the landing.)

And yet, somehow, that wasn’t what haunted him most.

Nibbles. Sweet, overachieving, tragically loyal Nibbles. The only owl in the Hogwarts Owlery who waited without hooting in judgment. The one who had delivered every ridiculous, overwritten, scented, ink-blotted plea for forgiveness like it meant something. Now everything made sense — the judgmental eyes, the half-scorched tail feathers (which he’d completely missed, somehow), the twitchy landings. He’d sent his owl to a bloody warzone. Poor bastard, Sebastian muttered. He wasn’t sure if he meant the owl — or himself. Possibly both. Anne’s going to kill him.

He made it to the Owlery without even thinking. The toast was long cold. His dignity? Longer gone. A handful of students lingered in the Owlery, tending bandaged wings, murmuring hellos, slipping pellets into outstretched beaks. Sebastian averted his gaze. Nibbles was where he always was: far right perch, middle beam, watching him with the kind of expression only a morally superior owl could muster. Dishevelled. Feathers rumpled. One tail slightly singed. Looking like he’d seen combat. Probably had. “Look,” Sebastian began, spreading his hands like he was about to apologise to a girl, not a bird. “I know you’re angry. Or… traumatised. Fair enough. Truly.” Nibbles blinked. Unimpressed. “I didn’t think she’d—alright, that’s not true. I did think she might react badly. I just—” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to look at me like that.” A low chuff. Almost a scoff. “I was desperate, alright?” he protested. Another blink. He couldn’t tell if it was judgment, pity, or disdain. Sebastian sighed and reached into his satchel, retrieving the half-squashed toast, now wrapped in a serviette. “It’s cold,” he muttered, placing them on the rail like a peace treaty. “But it’s yours — all two. Marmalade, no butter this time. Don’t let Cotton see it.”

But of course, that blasted owl couldn’t have picked a better moment to perch next to Nibbles — impeccable timing, naturally. (Like master, like monster). One look at the toast and she screeched like she’d just witnessed a crime. Where are MY toasts? Nibbles stared at the toast, then at him. Deeply disappointed. “Alright, alright! I’ll get another! — Merlin,” Sebastian muttered as he reached for his last marmalade toast. “You lot are ruthless.” Told you bribery wouldn’t get you anywhere, Cotton radiated as she inched closer to the marmalade. “Just—don’t tell Anne, yeah?” he whispered. “Not a word about the letters. Or the toast. Or the arson.” Nibbles blinked again. Now with the gravity of someone filing it away for future blackmail. We’ll See. As Sebastian turned to leave, two Hufflepuffs feeding pellets by the stairs watched him go.

“Sallow’s lost it, hasn’t he?”

Dinner was far less peaceful than breakfast.

For one, Garreth had found them. “Missed you lot this morning,” he announced the moment he spotted them, sliding onto the bench across from Sebastian with a tray stacked like a feast. “Tragic, really. No warning, no note, no marmalade.” She chuckled but didn’t look up. “You’ll live, Garreth.” “Optimism! That’s what I needed.” He clutched at his heart, grinning like he’d just been granted mercy after a long, harrowing battle with loneliness. Typical Gryffindor. Sebastian nudged his plate away, only half-listening. Ominis, for his part, looked like he was fighting the urge to stab something with his fork. Despite nobody asking, Garreth launched into a very condensed version of the day’s chaos. “Anyway—potion mishap. Singing cauldron. Nearly set my fringe on fire. You had to be there.” “No, I didn’t,” Ominis muttered, unimpressed. His patience seemed to fray more with each word Garreth spoke. “I sang, Ominis.” “That’s precisely the problem.” Sebastian snorted. And there it was again. That scent again. He hadn’t noticed it at first — too faint in the morning, too distracted by toast politics and owl guilt. But now, here at dinner, with Garreth chatting loudly across from him and Ominis to his left complaining about the absurd salt content in the gravy — it hit him. Warm. Subtle. Floral, but not too sweet. Something between fresh parchment and something sharper. Familiar. Ominis finally stood with the grace of someone being forcibly freed. “I miss the peace of the Undercroft,” he said, already walking off — a bit faster than necessary. “He loves me, really,” Garreth proclaimed, then shouted, “RIGHT, GAUNT?” loud enough to make half the table turn.

Ominis raised a hand over his shoulder. Whether it was a wave or a warning was anyone’s guess. Garreth lingered just long enough to steal a few grapes off Sebastian’s plate, make two more jokes — one definitely at Sebastian’s expense — and then yawned with theatrical exhaustion. “Well,” he said, standing and stretching, “off to cause minor chaos elsewhere. Try not to miss me too much, yeah?” And with that, he sauntered off, whistling some off-key tune that was probably meant to sound charming.

At last, peace. Well — relative peace. Now it was just the two of them. And a silence that suddenly felt sharper than it had all day. Sebastian tapped his fingers against his glass.

“The letters…” he began, then stopped. Reconsidered. Cleared his throat and tried again. “Did you read any of them?” She tilted her head. “Read what?” He gave her a look. “Oh,” she said, mock-thoughtfully. “You mean the dramatic letters with wax seals and unnecessarily complex sentence structure?” His face went warm. “They weren’t that dramatic.” “I don’t know,” she said, sipping her drink. “One of them had a closing line that could’ve doubled as a tragic sonnet.” “You didn’t even read them.” She shrugged, smiling into her cup. “Did I?” He stared. “Did you?” She didn’t answer. Just leaned slightly closer — not quite enough to fluster, but enough to throw him off-balance — and said with infuriating lightness: “Goodnight, Sebastian.” Then she turned and walked away, steps unhurried, as if she hadn’t just lit a dozen unanswered questions on fire and left him in the smoke. He sat there, blinking after her, heart somewhere between confused and mildly cursed. And then—

The scent. It lingered faintly in the space she’d left behind. Lavender. Parchment. A whisper of bergamot. Nothing loud. Nothing cloying. Just enough to tug at the back of his memory. His breath caught. The sixth letter. The one he’d enchanted. A soft charm, just something calming — something sincere. That was it. That was exactly it. She’d read it. Not just read it — she’d kept it close. Close enough for the magic to linger. Close enough for the scent to settle into her robes. He let out a slow breath, dazed. Not that Sebastian was complaining. He’d grown rather fond of it — of her, like this. It smelled better on her than it ever had on that damned letter. He hadn’t lost sleep over the others. Really.

But tonight? He just might rest easy.

(Just knowing she’d read the sixth.)

Back in the girls’ dormitory, it was quiet—save for the occasional whisper and the soft rustle of blankets being pulled tight. Most were already fast asleep, all except one familiar figure.

She remained awake despite the late hour, propped up against the wooden headboard of her bed. A half-eaten box of truffles rested on the worn bedside table, their sweetness still faint in the air.

In her hands: a wand and a letter — the parchment warm, slightly crinkled from frequent rereading. It wasn’t overly long. Just long enough to say what mattered. Short enough to keep close. The faint scent of lavender from the letter still clung to the sheets.

From the bed beside hers, Violet shifted, catching the soft glow of her roommate’s Lumos-lit wand flickering across her face — serene, thoughtful, and all smiles. “Another letter from your admirer?” Violet’s voice was low and teasing, but it still carried warmth.

“Something like that,” she whispered back, her smile brushing her cheeks. Violet smiled in return. “Goodnight, lovebird,” she murmured as she shifted again, ready to drift off. A pause. Then, sleepily: “If he sends you a seventh, tell him to use better parchment. The rustling keeps me up.” She let out a quiet laugh. “Goodnight, Violet,” she murmured, finally setting the letter down on her bedside table. Its edges caught the light one last time before she whispered Nox and let the room fade into quiet shadow. She might not have read the first five letters — but the sixth? She keeps it by her bed. Bad penmanship and all.

Sixth time’s the actual charm.

Previously:

[1/2] : IGNORANT

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x f!mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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moongurl95 · 3 months ago

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ahhhhh gotta love that Ominis sass too writing your dignity's eulogy ✍️

Second Best

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC Word Count: ~1.4k

Sebastian Sallow had always been first: Top of his class, quickest on his feet, sharpest with a wand.

Maybe it was the ambition—Slytherin-bred and bone-deep. The kind that sharpened itself on every challenge, not out of cruelty, but because winning meant control—and control meant safety.

Maybe it was the pressure—the kind that comes with affection. Never demanded, never forced; just a quiet inheritance from two scholarly minds. Or maybe it was simply who he was: clever, competitive, constantly reaching. Sebastian never asked for rivalry, but it found him anyway. For every title earned, there were whispers behind his back—quieter in tone, louder in envy. For more admiration he drew, the sharper the scrutiny. Ravenclaws, in particular, seemed to bristle at him: too fast, too certain, too often right. His reputation preceded him into every room, and none more than the duelling space, where defeat at his hands stung sharpest. He was the measure to beat. The standard to unseat.

—Until the new fifth-year came. Uninvited, unexpected, and entirely out of place.

No one transfers into Hogwarts in their fifth year—no one should, but there she was. Defence Against the Dark Arts: her first day, her first class. The girl across from him didn’t look like much—robes slightly uneven, expression unreadable.

“Time for a proper Hogwarts welcome.” Wands are raised. Stares exchanged. Two flicks, one flash. Spells cast and hexes collided. The next thing he knew, the stone was cold beneath his back, and the silence rang louder than the impact. He’d been beaten—cleanly, efficiently—by a new student, freshly exposed to the world of magic. With a borrowed wand, no less. He stayed there a moment too long. Not from pain, not even pride—but something colder, stranger. She hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t blinked. Just stood her ground, wand steady. There was no gloat in her stance, no glory in her win—only calm, blanketed with quiet clarity. It unnerved him, the way she held silence like a weapon. Not cruel, not smug—just sure. And in that certainty, something inside him shifted. He, who had always been quickest to cast, sharpest to strike, first to rise—now second.

Second to a girl with borrowed magic and an unreadable gaze. Second, and watching her like she was a riddle he hadn’t studied for.

In Hogwarts, nothing stayed secret—not bruises, not losses, and especially not pride. And words? They spread like fiendfyre.

“Sebastian Sallow. Second best duellist at Hogwarts.”

Sebastian Sallow. Defeated in a duel.

By a girl. He wasn’t necessarily irritated—no, Sebastian wasn’t the type to let pride get the better of him, no matter how bruised. Not even when the corridors echoed with murmurs, or when Leander carved second best into every pause. He didn’t bother. (But he had a wand. And Prewett had a face.)

Growing up with a twin sister had taught him the meaning of equality—sometimes painfully. It hadn’t come naturally; not when he was young, not when cleverness felt like truth, and fairness was harder to grasp. But a few years of Anne’s sharp tongue—and sharper jinxes—had corrected that. Fair was fair (not that she’d let him forget). Still, he was his father’s son—or so his uncle insisted, especially when his ambition crept too close to arrogance. But it wasn’t just ambition he inherited. It was what came after: the pause, the reckoning, the reach for better.

His pride didn’t bruise—it recalibrated. If he’d lost, then he’d learn. If she was better, he’d find out why.

He started watching her—not obviously, not all at once, but in pieces. When she slipped into class, always a touch early, always alone. When she moved through the castle like she already knew the stones, despite being new to every one of them. He noted the way her gaze lingered on certain spells, the way she gripped her wand like it was both unfamiliar and utterly hers.

But for all his watching, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There was no obvious trick, no flashy technique, nothing he could steal and make his own. She wasn’t faster, wasn’t louder—just precise, unnervingly so.

… He tried not to talk about it. Really, he did. But one afternoon in the Undercroft, wand in hand and frustration thick in his breath, the topic slipped out anyway.

“I mean—she’s barely had a wand for what, a week? That’s not normal.”

Ominis didn’t even look up from the book he was thumbing through. “Neither is obsessing over her like this.”

“I’m not obsessing,” Sebastian said too quickly. “I’m just saying. It doesn’t make sense.”

Ominis hummed, unimpressed. “Maybe it doesn’t have to. Some people are just—” he waved a hand vaguely, “—fortunate.”

“Fortunate.” Sebastian repeated—half scoffing, half-mocking. “Right. She accidentally walks into Hogwarts and accidentally knocks me flat on the first day with borrowed wand, and we’re calling that fortunate?”

“Yes, Sebastian,” Ominis drawled, finally looking up. “Sometimes the world accidentally produces prodigies. Try not to take it personally.” Sebastian scoffed. He didn’t believe in prodigies—not really. He believed in effort. In midnight practices that left both your eyebrows singed. In pages stained with candlewax and margins filled with counter-hexes. That’s what earned him his titles: brightest in his year, best duellist in Hogwarts. ...Fine. Second best duellist in Hogwarts. (A technicality. Soon to be rectified).

Sebastian kept looking for an answer—for how she managed it. How a girl with no prior training, no formal spellwork, and a borrowed wand had made him second best. The answer came eventually. There were murmurs, footnotes, glances exchanged behind closed doors. Ancient magic, they said—but never in front of her.

But he didn’t think she was cheating. No. If anything, he was intrigued. Moved, even—because ancient magic wasn’t just rare, it was powerful. Wild. And in the hands of the right person… Maybe even restorative. Maybe—just maybe—it could cure Anne. But somewhere along the way, the logic faltered. Something shifted—quietly, irreversibly—between the theories and hypotheses. Somewhere between their midnight misadventures through the trees of the Forbidden Forest and the glances they shared across cramped classroom benches, he began to see more than potential in her. More than power. Ominis had called her fortunate.

Sebastian couldn’t agree—didn’t. Not now. Not when he saw her more clearly. Thrown headlong into a world she never asked for, with spells she’d never studied and a responsibility no one her age should’ve been made to carry. There was nothing fortunate about it. She hadn’t inherited her magic. She endured it. She wasn’t just a solution waiting to be studied. She was a person. A girl. One who carried the weight of a world she didn’t ask for—and held it like it might shatter if she let go.

And somehow, she never did. Now that he’d studied her—really studied her—he knew her routines like his own: When she slipped into the Great Hall (late, but not too late). How she cut her food (precise, always left-handed). Which hallways she favoured. Which professors she avoided. Which books she’d reach for.

Like now—fingers tracing the spine of a leather-bound tome in the Restricted Section. Half-decayed, stitched with protective glyphs, inked with theories too dense for even most seventh-years. Of course she’d choose that one. He understood how she thought—

her logic, her precision, her silences.

Sebastian told himself it was admiration. Respect, even. But admiration is clean. Detached. Safe. And this—this thing in his chest—was none of those. Curiosity turned to fascination. Fascination turned to something else. He couldn’t stop watching her. The way her wand moved—like she was afraid of cutting too deep. The way she said names—like every one of them cost something. The way she stood—always with one foot still outside the room.

He noticed too much. Ominis noticed that. They were in the Undercroft, candles guttering low. Ominis sat with his hands folded over a closed book, gaze tilted away—but that meant nothing. The silence had gone long, too long. “You’ve been staring at the same spot for ten minutes,” Ominis said at last. “If you’re trying to burn a hole through the floor, you’ll need a different spell.” Sebastian didn’t answer. Ominis didn’t need him to. “Careful, Sebastian. It’s a long way down from second place.” Sebastian shot him a look—sharp, warning. Ominis just shrugged, all too pleased. “Let me know when you start writing poetry—so I can start drafting your dignity’s eulogy.”

... Sebastian thought he had her figured out. Maybe that was the problem. The more he learned, the less he understood himself. It wasn’t about winning anymore—it was about staying close. And in the quiet between wanting and waiting—he realized: He doesn’t mind being second best —As long as she sees him, even from second place.

#write that down #amen bestie #Hogwarts Legacy #Hogwarts Legacy Fanfic #hogwarts legacy fandom #Sebastian Sallow #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Ominis Gaunt

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moongurl95 · 3 months ago

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hugs back @evaslytherpuff 🤗💕

spreading the love 💌 @girl-named-matty @glutengoblin @traceyc-uk @eternalremorse @rypnami @adalinda-selwyn @tamayula-hl @anomalyaly @keri-mcberry @applinsandoranges @animasola86 and know there should be lots more but i haven't been active in the fandom lately but thank you for keeping my love for HL alive 😘

Hug time! Pass this around and hug whoever you think is an amazing mutual 🎉🌹

@emoscot @laismoura-art @scentedcandleibex and the person who sent this ask!

#hogwarts legacy fandom #tag you're it

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moongurl95 · 3 months ago

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thanks for the tag @girl-named-matty 💕 also my mc name actually being part of my irl name 🫣

B - Breakeven (The Script)

E - Everytime We Touch (Cascada)

A - Almost Is Never Enough (Ariana Grande)

T - The Best Damn Thing (Avril Lavigne)

R - Rewrite the Stars (James Arthur & Anne-Marie)

I - I Won't Say I'm In Love (Susan Egan)

C - Can't Make You Love Me (Britney Spears)

E - Enchanted (Taylor Swift)

tagging more lovelies 💌 @eternalremorse @anomalyaly @glutengoblin @evaslytherpuff

MOOT / TAG GAME !

mission— spell your real name / name you use on tumblr with songs you like >< ready, set, go !

m — my love, mine all mine (mitski)

i — i love you, i’m sorry (gracie abrams)

c — coraline (lyn lapid)

k — killshot (magdalena bay)

i — i know you (faye webster)

e — either way (ive)

tagging— @puma-riki @flwrstqr @liwinly @woniefication @lilificationn @stvrriki @okwonyo + anyone else who wants to join !

#tag game

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moongurl95 · 3 months ago

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thanks for the tag @girl-named-matty! 😘 it's been a while since these fun tagging games 😁 here's my modern!au B💙 being a black belt with a side of cake and books 🤓

Tagging these lovelies 💌 @glutengoblin @evaslytherpuff

Thank you for the tag @eggzeroni! This one was cute!

picrew here

Here's Extracurricular!Elsie:

I've seen a handful of people do this one so if you're interesting, feel free to join in!

#tag game #picrew #hogwarts legacy fandom #Beatrice Hayes

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moongurl95 · 3 months ago

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just a lil update

I'm alive! And finally after 6 months i get to upload a latest chapter to my longfic! 2025 was hella busy for me and am still adjusting despite being in this country for a year and a half now, i´ve also experienced the lost of my 3year old cat just this March and that took a toll on me…

Lastly, I'll be taking a hiatus - not from writing for my fic - but my uploads will be more scarce from here on. This is due to the fact that I'm not satisfied with uploading just a single chapter after half a year, it left a bitter taste in my mouth thinking that if I'd be gone this long, I should at least upload 2 chapters (or a YT audio thrown in). So I'll use the time to recollect my thoughts, polish my drafts and just not worry about the word count for every update.

Thank you to the readers who still check my fic out! Also a special mention to the peeps who left me comments before this, it gave me the extra boost to keep on writing! I'll still lurk around in the fandom so this isn't goodbye, but hope to still see you guys around! xoxo

#hogwarts legacy fandom #blog update #writing woes #fanfiction writing

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moongurl95 · 3 months ago

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Chapter 11.1 – Untouchable

“I’ll come find you.”

I hung onto that simple promise for as long as I could remember – my only solace upon being thrust into this new environment. Nana was gone and, in her place, my grandfather’s estranged older sister came for me.

Compared to the simple way of life Nana had wanted me to take, here at St. Margaret’s, I was soon to learn that it was not a simple orphanage ran by a convent of nuns alone – I had to prove I was worthy to stay here.

Rubbing frustratingly at my eyes, I gingerly hugged my knees close to my chest as I tried to contain the sniffles that would divulge my hiding spot. The angel statue’s folded wings were wide enough that I took shelter under its marbled form as I sullenly glared at the wooden object that I haphazardly threw by my feet.

It should have been a wand I was honing now, not this- this sword! What if my letter from Hogwarts came to my old home when I’m no longer there? And what about Draco? I haven’t had the chance to tell him where to find me – if only I could fly my way out of here—

“Shouldn’t you be back practicing with the others?”

Flinching despite not wanting to look up, I stubbornly kept my eyes on the pair of legs that stopped in front of my supposed sanctuary as I kept mum, hoping my silence would somehow magically turn me invisible. Though that didn’t seem to be the case as the other girl now crouched down in front of me, her mop of dark curls barely contained past the headband she wore, curious hazel eyes waiting for my response as she tilted her head. She looked to be one of the older girls here.

“Hey, aren’t you that wee lass related to Mother Superior?”

I hesitated answering her as I avoided her gaze and replied in a quiet voice, “I don’t want to…”

“…Don’t want to what?” She’d paused, her impish smile barely contained as she raised a palm to her face, “Go back to your training or be here with your only living relative...? Either way, this is a far better place than any of the orphanages out in the city.”

I suddenly felt a pang of guilt for being ungrateful, a part of me somehow knew this girl was speaking the truth, but I just can’t help expecting something… more magical, perhaps? My first week was only filled with strict rules and curriculums that I could barely keep up with-

“Have you had time to visit the nearby town at least?”

That sudden question jolted me out of my sulking as I hesitated with a reply, “I- I’m not even allowed to go out of these walls—”

“Sure you are!” The older girl replied most jubilantly as she slapped both hands on her thighs as she moved to stand, glancing about as if to make sure no one heard her, before looking back at me with a smirk as she now mumbled, “Just think of it as part of your training of sorts.” She winked then, coaxing me to follow her as we sneaked to a more secluded part of the stone walls that encompassed the convent’s grounds – this one faced the cliffs that overlooked the ocean.

“Are you trying to get us both killed? Or worse, if we get caught sneaking out??” I whispered in rising panic.

“If you’d rather die not knowing, than you’re more than welcome to trot back along to your fencing practice.” She nonchalantly retorted, pulling back a part of the grate near the ground to reveal an opening just big enough for us to crawl out of.

Fidgeting with the wooden sword I ended up carrying alongside with me, I nervously looked around the empty courtyard to decide whether to follow this strange girl, before ultimately crouching down and crawling after her. It wasn’t until she pulled back the grate in place behind us that I knew I sealed my fate.

“Well then, let’s see what the townsfolk has to offer us!”

The closest town was a mere 10-minute walk downhill, a portside could be seen near the white cliffs where St. Margaret’s stood like a quiet beacon near the adjacent lighthouse. Our short and quiet stroll was soon engulfed with the buzzling sounds of the town’s activities – fishing boats seeming to have returned from their morning catch for the day, as the nearby market overflowed with today’s catch. The town’s bakery seemed to be in full swing as well as I caught the scent of freshly baked bread and pastries – my stomach grumbled in response, knowing I hadn’t eaten a proper meal that I really wanted aside from what the convent provided us with.

Upon seeing the other girl I was with casually strolling towards the bakery’s window counter, I stopped in my tracks in mortification, thinking she may have heard my pangs of hunger as she briefly chatted with the lady who seemed to manage the shop – she handed over a couple of parcels to my companion, who motioned towards me to follow her.

It wasn’t after we’d passed by a few corners down the street did she hand me something that smelled absolutely delicious. I watched dumbstruck while she bit into her own before I realized this was my share of the treat – the bits of cinnamon apple in the still warm muffin melted on my tongue as I started eating heartily, awkwardly saying my thanks in between bites.

“This isn’t for free though.” She began, a cheeky grin on her face as she chewed, “Now it’s time to make our rounds and deliveries!”

The sun was already setting by the time we came back to the beach overlooked by St. Margaret’s; I drew nonsensical scribbles on the sand with my wooden sword as I let my older companion count the pouches of payment she managed to collect for the day. Watching the waves drag my drawings away, I gazed out onto the horizon wistfully thinking what awaited me now in this place until the other girl’s murmurs turned to humming before I sat down beside her in the rocky embankment.

“Is this why being a Joan is a privilege at St. Margaret’s? You get to go out and experience freedom unlike the rest of the sisters?” I blatantly asked, not bothering to beat around the bush now that I knew why we could even stay out this late away from the convent.

“Of course, it also takes responsibility-” She’d hummed out, arms leaned back as she now gazed upon the dusky sky after having organized the pouches on her belt, “-and trust. Something you seemed to have gained just so you’re related to Mother Superior by proxy.”

I looked away as her gaze settled on me, the crimson light made her look almost mocking as I busied my hands by chipping at the wooden handle of my practice sword, “How did you earn their trust then?” I blurted out mostly like a retort and did not dare look back at her.

“I grew up here.” She’d replied, matter-of-factly, before adding a second later, “Until I found my parents dead.”

My hands stilled, head slowly turning to face her, but she now had a faraway look as she stared towards the horizon. The setting sun highlighted her glassy eyes for just a second before it was gone in a blink of an eye.

“And so, I am here, as well as you.” She slapped both hands on her thighs as she made to stand, fixing me an almost tender look, "Now, all you have to do is survive."

"But... what if I'm not strong enough to do so...?" I sulked, my future here still seeming daunting and uncertain.

"Whoever said anything about strength, lass?" She snickered at me, crouching yet again to where I still sat as she gave me the same impish smile she'd bore before inviting me out earlier in the day, "You, just need to outsmart them."

And despite the obvious look of disbelief I knew was on my face, this older girl seemed undaunted, holding out a hand to then say, "The name's Ophelia, by the way, pleasure to take you under my wing."

Seasons passed and fencing practice was paired with ballet, dexterity in embroidery was put to good use in basic first aid and hours of etiquette were tempered with lessons in horticulture and history. All of which I learned in the next two years—

“The youngest Joan of her time! I only became one when I was 15." Ophelia clapped my shoulder after the ceremonies - our graduation, of sorts - though I had to pull her to a secluded alcove to quietly ask, "And where will you be now?" There had never been two Joans from what I've studied about in St. Margaret's.

"Me? I will be writing." She gave me a long meaningful look, of a personal journey she'd long planned even before I had entered the convent, "Be it as it may, I think there is a better time to discuss this, especially when I'm not the only one eager to talk to you today." Ophelia nodded up towards the balustrade where the Mother Superior was sat on her wheelchair, seemingly able to see us all despite her irises having turned milky white due to cataract.

"I'm sure she's proud of you as well." Ophelia tried to reassure, but I always had my doubts.

Mother Superior Agatha, or my grandaunt as I knew of her, had barely interacted with me over the 2 years I've been here - leaving most of my training and tutelage under Ophelia's guidance.

Not to say she was negligent, no – she had always been in the wings, silently giving me a cursory glance on what I’d achieved for the day. Once her eyesight started failing a year prior though, my nights were spent in her private quarters, helping her to learn Braille and assisting to jot down in her journal that she’d insisted she dictate only to me.

That's why I did not know how to reply to her next words, my breath seemingly held as if waiting for the next pin to drop as I held the sword in my hands.

“Did you find it, child?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then it is yours.”

“But this is—”

“Your grandfather gave it to me from one of his digs, before he met your grandmother, that is. Since then, that brother of mine had never been the same…”

She had never talked about my Nana before, a part of me had a sense that she did not approve of their union, moreso if she ever found out about her magical heritage.

“Though I think it is only right that you’re given what you’ve earned. Your own grandfather would have wanted nothing less.”

“But is this not a property of the convent, Mother Superior?” I’d blurted, still at a loss for words.

“In my will, it is. But as long as you are now Joan, then the responsibility of wielding St. Catherin falls into your hands, not anyone else’s.”

I let those words sink in, weighing the legendary sword in my hand – rumored to have been the very sword Joan of Arc wielded herself – I marveled at the smooth ivory handle. It was surprisingly warm to touch as I grasped it, a mixture of both apprehension and exhilaration bubbling inside me—

“There is also one last thing you must know. Come, sit here.” Mother Superior patted on the chair situated beside the wheelchair where she sat on, “I’d like you to transcribe this part for me.”

Sitting somewhat awkwardly beside where she’d indicated, I lay the sheathed sword across my lap, feeling like a paperweight that held me in place as I let my fingers trace the arrangement of raised dots on her journal. It was easier to do it with my eyes closed as I muttered what I’ve so far deciphered, before pausing midway on what was written—

“This is...” It was already a will, that I was certain, and the new Mother Superior to-be was Mother Lucille – one of the older members of St. Margaret’s – who also oversaw our academic performance these past 2 years. It was inevitable, yet it was still staggering to come to terms with one’s mortality, especially that of the only relative I had left.

Seeming to have heard the slight hitch in my breath as I blinked pass this slowly sinking realization, my grandaunt patted my hand that was still on her desk, “Death comes for everyone, my dear, it only differs with how we choose to meet our end. Would you rather be unprepared and let him come like a thief in the night, or to have left a legacy and greet Death with dignity?”

Her hand now held firmly onto mine, no longer warm but clammy, yet the lines near her unseeing eyes showcased a rare, serene smile.

Hello my dear B,

This was a quick scribble to let you know I’ve safely settled in Calais. I might stay here in the meantime before heading to the capital. Keep me posted and remember, if you ever get tired of the sisterhood, you know where to find me.

All my love,

It had been 3 months since Ophelia had left St. Margaret’s, and being 18 of age, she was free to choose whether to stay or go out on her on. It had also taken that grueling time for our formidable Mother Superior to slowly deteriorate, until ultimately, my grandaunt succumbed in her sleep.

A peaceful way to go, yet as I stood unblinking behind my black veil, there was nothing tranquil about the steady downpour of rain that loomed over the funeral service. I may have been dry under an umbrella, but I felt cold even under these layers of black – my hand numb as it closed around the rose I held above her coffin – before I let it go. My breath came out shaky as I just watched its crimson petals be slowly, but surely, buried by shovels of soil.

I was alone, yet again.

The rapid thumping of my pulse was the only thing I could focus on as wind whipped pass my face, the nearby scent of the sea growing sharper as I neared the docks.

“Jo-”

My hands were steady as I gripped the wooden ledge that made up one of the warehouses’ sides, my legs giving me the boost I needed in scaling the short distance towards the roof I pulled myself up on—

“Joan-”

He had just passed by beneath the alleyway; I could just drop down and— My hand paused at the hilt of unsheathing St. Catherin – no, I would not let this scum stain my blade. Instead, I reached behind me as I swung over the crossbow I also had brought, pulling back its string towards the nut as I prepared to take aim. Waiting for him to walk just a bit farther away as I spotted him from behind, focusing on the purple scarf wrapped around his neck that would soon turn crimson—

“Beatrice!”

I was suddenly pulled away, rolled onto my back with the crossbow tossed over the other edge of the roof. The arrow would have hit true yet it set his top hat flying instead – if I could still get another shot! I was hearing growling yet I could only reach out and fight against the one holding me back – stopping me from giving Ophelia justice—

“Pull yourself together!” A blooming sharpness on my cheek brought me back to the present, tearing the breath out of me as I swallowed once – twice, then against the ache in my throat – wondering if I was the one making that animalistic sound from earlier. The heat of the crossbow’s grip still clung to my palm – proof that I would’ve done it. That I’d wanted to. That grim realization I had was soon drowned out by the panicked screams coming from the streets below.

“You’ve almost exposed the sisterhood to danger!” Lucille, our newly ordained Mother Superior hissed, looking at me as if I’ve gone mad… though maybe I have.

Weeks I had stayed inside St. Margaret’s walls, the stones that once felt like a stronghold that protected me, now felt like a prison. No longer was I allowed to go out and do my duties as Joan, maybe they had me replaced and am now awaiting judgement for just trying to prevent the very source that caused Ophelia her fate.

I traced the insignia she’d drawn on her last latter, the very same mark I saw branded on her bruised skin when I came to identify her body at the morgue – a clue on her parents’ murderer – she’d traced him to France yet… I gripped the bit of cloth that was enclosed with it – the exact same purple cloth from the scarf he wore…

“He usually drops by the docks every fortnight.”

That was what I had gotten from the local fishermen, though I doubt he’d be coming back as often after the reckless stunt I had pulled. Swayed by emotions yet again, when will you ever learn, Beatrice.

And there was also the question of how close I had come to crossing a line I couldn’t return from… No absolution. No atonement. Just the aftermath of a single choice. If I had the chance again, would I still pull the trigger?

I wasn’t sure what frightened me more: that I nearly did it… or that I still wanted to.

Cradling my head in my hands, I was kept from denigrating myself any further by a firm knock on my door, “Beatrice. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” It seems my judgement has come to pass as I had no choice but to follow after Mother Lucille.

“Assuming you’ve thought things through since that incident which almost made you go against your oath, you are still permitted to stay here at St. Margaret’s.” Our steps echoed around us like a countdown nearing its crescendo as she continued to speak, “Granted, you learn the repercussions of wanting to take another’s life.”

Not when he could very well be doing the same heinous crime while we let him run afoot! I bit my tongue against my thoughts, staring steadily at Mother Lucille as she turned to meet my gaze as we stopped by an enclosed door, “Now you must protect a life as if it were your own.”

Inside, I was met with a young lady – no older than me, perhaps – though she was made up to look more elegant as her fiery crimson locks seemed to be fighting to be let loose from their bun. Her eyes of deep blue tried to look back at me with defiance, though I still noticed the quiver from her laced hands.

“Beatrice, I’d like you to meet your charge, Lady Cassidy Creevey.”

Her vision was blurry as she awoke to the silent morning, feeling the last traces of wetness that trickled down the sides of her face. It wasn’t the part of her past that she feared, though it wasn’t something she was fond on recollecting either.

Wiping a hand to her cheeks while the other rubbed at the numbness seemingly spreading in her chest, Beatrice slowly rose to sit up, her quiet sniffle drowned out by Constance’s boisterous awakening.

“Girls, wake up! Madam Kogawa’s back, and you know what that means?” A thump could be heard as the blonde practically jumped from her upper bunk, “We get to practice Quidditch during Flying class!”

Her early morning exuberance was met with a groan as Samantha mostly croaked from the bottom bunk, “Pipe it down, Constance… Most people are still actually sleeping.”

“Well, contrary to what you just said, I do actually see Beatrice wide awake now— Are you alright though?” Constance’s playful jabbing came to an immediate halt as she took in the other’s puffy eyes and slightly red nose.

“I will be, don’t worry—”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Samantha’s still sleepy tone now had a hint of worry as rustling could be heard from her bed.

“Really, everything’s fine. It’s just… dreams. ” Beatrice tried to assure, busying herself in making her bed as she fully rose, “Nothing an early start with a mug of hot cocoa for breakfast won’t fix.” She finished with a soft smile towards Constance.

“Well, if you’re sure…” The other hesitated, not wanting to push, so she settled on something to look forward to for the morning, “Make sure to add Hogwarts’ best scones on your plate too, they range from chocolate to all kinds of berries!”

A hearty breakfast was definitely something Beatrice wouldn’t say no to as she followed Constance out the door to freshen up for the day first. “We’ll give you 5 minutes to catch up, Sam. If you’re not up and about once we come back from the baths, I’ll be sure to eat all the crepe cakes on our table.” Constance made one last call as they both headed out.

“Just give me 10 more minutes…” Samantha groaned, already sat up by her headboard but it was clear she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open.

Beatrice smiled at her roommates’ antics, finding reprieve in these light hearted moments before she had to face what today had in store for her.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : –. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧

Breakfast was a quick but nice affair, with Samantha having gotten to catch up at their breakfast table despite still yawning halfway through her plate. Andrew had also been there with Everett, leaving Amit at their dorm room to sleep in, as the aspiring astronomer had spent all night studying the stars again. Duncan however was still not speaking to either of his former friends.

“I hope I didn’t add to your burdens by making you oversee Sebastian’s detention?” Beatrice had quietly asked Andrew as they trailed behind the rest of their group on their way out the Great Hall.

“As it turns out, if we both weren’t avid readers who easily got distracted by Professor Fig’s extensive collection of books, we could have already been done yesterday. So it seems I have just this afternoon to see how we organize the remaining titles and maybe… smuggle the rest into our own dorm rooms?”

His thoughtful look earned a soft laugh from Beatrice, “Well, it makes me feel better to know you’re both making good use of your time.” She then instinctually rubbed her hands over her arms as they exited the warmth of the castle’s walls, the early morning air just before autumn in the Highlands had a frigid bite to it.

“Here, let me.” Before Beatrice could react to Andrew pointing the tip of his wand onto the middle of her back, a comforting warmth spread through the sleeves of her robe like a welcome embrace. “I’ll be sure to teach you this Warming Charm tomorrow on our trip to Hogsmeade.” He smiled with the same warmth Beatrice now felt enveloping her as he comically pulled out a whole broom from his Quidditch robe – Wait, that wasn’t the same robe she had given back to him—

“Likewise, I’d be sure to make you master your Extension Charm so you don’t go about transfiguring your one good robe.” She grinned back at him upon this realization.

“It’s a date then.” He winked and flashed her a smile, before kicking off on his broom to fly after Constance on their way to the Quidditch pitch, leaving Beatrice with a flutter in her chest that felt both familiar yet foreign at the same time.

“Who do you think will fall from their broom first?”

Her gaze flitted over a Hufflepuff student as Beatrice followed Samantha and Everett into Flying Class before a voice called out, “Everybody grab a broom and we shall get started.”

Doing just that, Beatrice also followed what most of her classmates did by laying it on the ground and standing beside it, raising a brow towards Everett’s way as he kept twisting and turning the one he still had in his hand—

“Mr. Clopton – your attention, please.”

“Sorry, Madam Kogawa.” Chastised, Everett finally put down his broom before their professor now regarded Beatrice, gesturing her way as she continued to walk down the parallel row of students in her class, “Everyone please welcome a new student to our Flying Class.”

A chorus of welcomes and hellos were heard as Beatrice smiled shyly and nodded at some of the familiar faces.

“The goal of today is to remind all of you how to manoeuvre on a broomstick safely, as broom flight is first and foremost a means of transportation. This, I fear, some of you have forgotten.” Madam Kogawa each gave them a glance, shaking her head as she gave Clopton a discerning look, to which he only gave a non-committal shrug.

“Diving, rolling and loop-the-loops will not be taught or, in fact, tolerated in this class – we’ll leave that to professional Quidditch players like the Toyohashi Tengu.”

“Boo.” The very blatant remark surprised Beatrice, eyeing the Gryffindor across her who she recognized from her first Crossed Wands duel with Sebastian – Davies, if her memory served her correct.

“Not a fan, I take it.” Kogawa turned towards the younger student before facing the class, “Now, let’s see how well everyone kept up with their practice over the summer holidays.” She finished with a clap of her hands, “For those who need a refresher, step up to your broom, say ’up’ firmly and clearly, then kick your leg over and rest your weight on the seat.” Beatrice closely watched Kogawa’s demonstration and added appreciation towards her own broom, “Now, your turn!”

She now stood silent amongst the chorus of ‘Ups!” as Beatrice observed how her other classmates fared, noting with curiosity how some of the brooms would simply roll on the ground, while others wouldn’t move at all. “Up! You stupid, ratty school broom!” A whack was then heard, followed by a snicker from Everett as Beatrice watched the broom seemingly retaliate to Davies’ insult by smacking him straight on the face with its wooden handle before going limp on the ground once again.

Biting her lip as she kept her voice steady, Beatrice then tried to summon her broom with a firm ‘Up!’ – pleasantly surprised when it jumped into her hand at once – feeling the warmth off its wood as she gripped it firmly.

“One leg over so there’s a leg on each side – none of that side-saddle nonsense, a gust of wind will throw you right off.” Madam Kogawa called over, slowly hovering up from her perch as she watched each of her students mount their brooms.

Grateful for following Samantha’s advice that they wear their school trousers today, Beatrice did as was instructed and let her feet dangle on both sides, slightly unsteady in hovering up as she tried to find a more comfortable seating position – she wondered if they had ones with a sort of saddle of cushion at least.

“And, if you hear my whistle while you’re in flight, ground yourself at once.” Kogawa lastly instructed as Beatrice watched as each of her other classmates flew off in varying degrees of speed into some nearby set of hoops.

“Good. Now: for your first lesson, fly through each ring in the courtyard. Do take care. The brooms are school property. I want them returned in one piece.” Kogawa called after her students as she hovered from a higher vantage point.

“This’ll take some getting used to. Wish I had my own broom.” Then maybe she could have had time to practice the basics while under Fig’s tutelage during the past summer. Beatrice’s breaths were shallow as she sat tense on her broom, worried that a slight error in movement could cause the otherwise magical object to decide to topple her off it.

Her breath caught, not from fear, but from something else entirely. There was a fluttering in her stomach as she levitated higher – a swell of disbelief – of exhilaration. As if carried by something she couldn’t quite name, like the hush before a leap or the stillness just before rain. The wind threaded through her hair, and for a heartbeat, she forgot to be nervous at all.

It was similar yet entirely different to how she learned to ride horses back in St. Margaret’s – for one, she didn’t feel her stomach drop as her feet dangled hundreds of feet off the ground much like right now. Yet, it was familiar in how she thought these brooms might somehow be sentient in their own way, relaxing her thighs as she only used one hand to hold onto the wooden handle, breathing evenly as Beatrice slowly steered her broom through the elevated rings.

“Good grip!” Kogawa flew close to her and stopped to assess as Beatrice passed through the third ring slowly but seamlessly, “Well done. Now that you’re acclimatized to your broom, let’s see how well you manage with a more advanced exercise, shall we?” Her professor nodded towards the Greenhouses, “The next set of rings shall take you around the grounds – for more of a challenge.”

Breathing deeply as she observed how some of her classmates flew faster, Beatrice then leant forward and grasped the wooden handle tightly in both hands as she positioned the heels of her feet to brush the upper bristles of the broom, making her shoot forward, “What a view.” She then mused to herself quietly as she passed over the Greenhouses’ courtyard, carefully maneuvering her broom to a lower ring along the castle’s walls.

“Hello. Nice day for a flight.” Everett greeted as he whizzed pass, momentarily breaking Beatrice’s steady course as she steered a sharp right after passing through the next ring situated over the lake.

“Made it. Did anyone else see that?” She couldn’t help breathe a sigh of relief as she held firm and flew after her Housemate.

“Ah, the old Boathouse! Wish you could’ve experienced crossing the lake as a first-year!”

Beatrice couldn’t help but remember the study session she had with Sebastian overlooking the said Boathouse as she and Everett flew under the rocky piers that held the stairs leading to the Great Hall. Her drifting thoughts were reeled in as Everett let out a surprised remark as he steered his broom upwards, “Our aquatic resident likes to make an appearance once in a while!”

“Ah!” Beatrice gasped narrowly avoiding the Giant Squid’s tentacles which emerged from the water in a seemingly friendly wave, as she flew through the light spray of water it caused. She combed a hand through her now slightly damp locks as she pulled the broom’s handle upward – pass the lake’s shore and over a waterfall that held the last couple of rings she had to finish for today’s lesson, “Brilliant!” She cheered and so did Everett who looked like he was waiting for her through the last ring.

“Well done! Have a moment?”

Putting weight on the proverbial seat of her broom as she pulled at the broom’s handle to stop near where her Housemate hovered, Beatrice already had an inkling what Everett was planning just by seeing the mischievous look spread on his face.

“I say, I watched you fly through those rings. You seem to handle yourself on that dusty school broom well enough. I’d imagine you’re ready for something a bit more – challenging. So, care to join me for a bit of high-flying fun?”

A knowing smile threatened to break through her features, but Beatrice let an exasperated sigh escaped her lips instead, picking her next words carefully, “Kogawa seems strict. I wouldn’t want to get into trouble.”

“Kogawa won’t even notice. Besides, a bird doesn’t learn how to fly by staying in the nest. Follow me, if you change your mind!”

He had a point, and she was itching to test the limits of her capabilities when it came to flying. It took a second for Beatrice to worry her lower lip, watching as Everett slowly hovered away before finally deciding with a shrug of her shoulders that she had nothing better to do between now and Kogawa’s signal for their class to end – they might even make it if they fly fast enough.

“The tour is about to begin. Follow closely now.” Everett said over his shoulder, seeming not the least bit surprised Beatrice ended up agreeing, “Right now we’re flying over the Transfiguration Courtyard. Lovely as ever.” They then turned a sharp right towards a set of bridges that led to what she recognized as one of the towers leading to their own common room, air rushed through her quickly drying hair and her robes whipped out behind her as they flew under the stone pillars.

“Let’s hope the Headmaster isn’t having tea by the window today.”

Beatrice could barely hear Everett’s commentary as blood pounded in her ears and they continued to soar up to view the Viaduct Bridge, heading between the spires that enclosed the Viaduct Courtyard, “Nice to get above it all, isn’t it?”

They flew behind the Great Hall, the morning sun reflecting on the stained-glass windows that displayed Hogwarts’ Four Houses as it cast a mosaic of colours over the students passing by below, “Ahead are the gardens. The Hufflepuff common room windows just peek out. Bit claustrophobic for my taste.”

“How is Everett flying so quickly?” Beatrice let out a huff as they rounded the Great Hall and over the gardens that housed the Hufflepuff common room from plain sight. She was starting to get frustrated at not knowing these supposedly simple basics yet was cautious to try anything new as it might cause the broom to literally leave her midair.

“Here’s something handy to know: lean forward for a burst of speed – helpful if you need to escape a tricky situation.”

That’s it! Beatrice watched as Everett leaned forward on his own broom in demonstration, her chin barely touching her now clammy hands as she now sat almost horizontally over her broom, the heels of her shoes perfectly aligned with its bristles, “Now that’s more like it.”

“You sure you’re not part Hippogriff?” Everett asked in a laugh as he now looked beside him once Beatrice caught up to speed.

“There’s the famous bridge. Think of all the magic holding it up. I mean, look at it.” They flew over the wooden bridge while Beatrice’s thoughts wandered further – pass Hogwarts’ grounds and over the forests of trees scattered over the Highlands in the horizon—

The wind cradled her as if it had been waiting for her. The world below shrank into watercolor brushstrokes – the towers, the stoned walls, the spots of students turning into mere blurs – and for one breathtaking stretch of sky, Beatrice was nothing but motion and freedom. There was no weight of expectation here. No responsibilities. No rebellion. Just her, and the skies that dared her to claim them.

“And the owlery. That’s a solid bit of architecture, isn’t it?” Everett swiftly crossing over her line of sight had her swerving back to follow him.

“Flying tips and a jaunt around Hogwarts. This is quite the tour, Everett.” She laughed in abandon as they circled around the structure. For the first time in a while, Beatrice felt free – almost untouchable – amongst the various types of owls that hooted as they flew pass, before a distant yet sharp whistle rang through the air.

“That’s Kogawa’s whistle. This concludes our tour. Best hurry back.” Everett’s voice had a higher pitch to it as he seemingly tried to fly faster than the school broom could take him, “Looks like she’s already dismissed class. Better hurry and hand in our brooms.”

Beatrice leant forward and pointed her broom handle down – gathering speed in a steep dive with the wind whistling in her ears – in time to pull her broom straight, just a foot from the ground, as she slightly jogged to get a steady landing near the school’s broom rack. With Kogawa nowhere in sight after she placed back her broom, Beatrice opted to follow after Everett for their next class—

“And, where have you two been?

That stopped them in their tracks. Beatrice turned around slowly as Everett all but did a casual spin, “Oh, hello, professor! We were trying to get a bit of extra practice in.” He said lightly and all she could do was smile innocently as Beatrice let him do the talking—

“Hefty points will be taken from each of you, for not following my instructions.”

Or not. Beatrice’s jaw slacked as her widened eyes looked between Everett, who was trying to salvage the situation, and Kogawa who now had her arms crossed with a scowl on her features, glancing between the two Ravenclaws.

“Mr. Clopton, I’m disappointed in you. You’re in this class because you’re sti—”

“— I—”

“— because you’re still not showing yourself, or frankly, your broom, the proper respect.” Kogawa’s raised voice over Everett’s reasoning had Beatrice inwardly flinching, keeping her lips pursed as she awkwardly stayed silent with her housemate still trying to get a word in.

“— but, professor—”

“Enough.” Kogawa said with finality, her sole focus now on the boy, “Class is finished for the day.”

Everett glumly stayed silent now, gaze lowered as he walked away. A sliver of sympathy crept over Beatrice as she was about to follow after him, but then—

“As for you, you’d do well to use better judgement in the future.” Kogawa’s voice was still firm, but her expression now held a softer gaze, quite like the ones Beatrice was familiar with when certain expectations from her were held. Though she could only nod solemnly as her eyes gazed down, breathing in a slow calming breath as she was about to trail after her other classmates already leaving the field.

“Chin up. That was some rather good flying.” Kogawa lastly added, a small encouraging smile on her face before she turned back to walk away, leaving Beatrice staring after her form, blinking in wonder.

“Sorry about that business with Kogawa,” Everett said, attempting a lighter tone as she neared him, “But you have to admit those views were worth it.”

Beatrice gave a small huff of amusement, shaking her head as she brushed a windswept lock of hair from her face, “It was worth losing a few house points for that detour.”

Everett grinned, “You seem at home on a broom. Bet if you had a fancy model you could fly laps around Imelda. She’s Kogawa’s favourite.” He whispered the last part conspiratorially, “I could show her a thing or two if I had my own broom. Hate having to return the school broom after class.”

That made her glance back at the broom rack thoughtfully as they started heading towards the castle, “Perhaps I’ll have to purchase a broom then.” She murmured, more to herself.

“If you can you should.” Everett nodded, then muttered, “Wish I could.” He perked up after a second, gesturing beyond Hogwarts’ North Exit gate, “I recommend visiting Albie Weekes at Spintwitches in Hogsmeade. He’s always looking to test new models. I’ll keep an eye out for you in the sky.”

She smiled faintly at that, letting Everett go on about a Bright Spark broom model that he could only dream of affording when—

“So, there you two are! What is this I heard that we got House points deducted earlier into the school week, Everett???” It was Samanatha who now caught up to them as they were heading towards the Transfiguration Courtyard.

Despite laughing at how Everett got lightly reprimanded by Samantha this time, something inside Beatrice lingered – something that changed in the air, like a hum that pleasantly buzzed through her skin. Even now, with her feet firmly back on the ground, a part of her still felt untethered.

She wasn’t quite sure what it was just yet. But maybe she’d find out in the sky.

next chapter ⤜⤏

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