#spill error in excel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

geniemillies · 9 months ago

Text

Yearning For Spring | Ch. 4 | Tamlin x Oc

◇— Chapter 4 - Nobody's Children

Ch. Warnings: violence

A/n: This whole chapter is just a big flashback 🧍🏻‍♀️

✧ masterlist

<<Ch.1 <<Ch.3 ||◇|| Ch.5>>

|| Flashback ||

My ascent in the ranks meant Father recognising my efforts. He no longer called upon me to fill his cups or carry his things while I trip over myself. He showed me his tower where he worked, all the spellbooks he keeps, the plans he schemes in the dark. He taught me ancient languages, spells that manipulated the earth in ways the Mother might condemn us for. Taking lives without taking the soul, making life that did not live.

All things I was forced to learn and excelled in. Forced to use against my people who rebelled against him or made him unhappy. It became a normal thing, eventually. Snuffing out the King’s enemies.

Yet every time.. it never gets easier.

He said he was waiting for me to bear my claws, to show him a glimpse of the beast that hid within me. He made it sound like I'm some sort of monster. That before my many triumphs in the ring I was only a girl, a stupid girl that had no value to him. And only when I killed and spilled blood was I worthy of his attention.

Worthy of being called daughter.

The more I showed my claws the more he took pride in me. Then I became a member at his court, standing beside him as a figure to be revered. All matters of discussion were open to me, I was allowed to voice my thoughts, I was made to be taken seriously. I was given power.

And at first I thought I really was his daughter. And he was my father. My father who.. loved me enough to be doing all those things.

But then I became subject to his experiments. And when I disobeyed and made errors he'd perform experiments with an audience. Even when he did such horrors to my body he praised me, stroked my hair and commended me for being the only person that could handle it.

‘Others break easily. You don't. You're fascinating, Niamh. Utterly, truly, fascinating.’

Words of twisted compliments that no longer made my heart melt. They became poison.

‘I will mould you into perfection..’

His love is abnormal. And once I might've longed for it, yearned for a shrivel of affection from him, did his every command in hopes to get his approval.

I thought I wanted his love. Quickly did I realise that he loved no one but himself. That, if anything, he loves like a child loves his toys.

I am no daughter. I am nothing.

And he’s no father of mine. He's a disease. To me. To everyone in Hybern. To the very land itself.

Everything he touches wilts. And he watches as they do. Revels in it, even. And now he plans to turn the very world we live in into the hellscape he yearns for. A world of golden shackles bound to him.

And only then, on the cold floor of the throne room, when I felt the poison he injected in my very veins crawl inside me, up my arms, willing me to break–

I didn't. Couldn't.

The only thing that faded was my love for him. The longing for fatherly affection that I realised didn't exist. Replaced only by hatred.

Hatred that made way for want. For hope.

Hope for myself and my people to be free of him..

And so the first seed of rebellion was sown.

— —

|| Flashforward || Two centuries before Amarantha's Reign

The High Lord of Spring never visited Hybern again after that party when I met his youngest son. And bonded with him. But he still frequents Hybern though without his sons in tow. And when he doesn't, he still remains in contact through letters, mainly discussing troops and scheming for the future. And while the High Lord might think my Father trusts him because they share a similar hatred for humanity he is mistaken. More often than not Father dismisses the Lord Callan's letters, his requests for aid and troops in exchange for humans that wander too far from the wall are easily denied.

During meetings where he is present, Father would obscure details of his plans. He knows nothing of what he truly wants, really. Father just makes him think he does but they are not true allies. Not fully. He is yet another pawn.

And now I am forced to stand by while he complains about some other High Lord to the King. Lord of Night I think. I wasn’t really listening. I’m thankful for the mask for allowing me to close my eyes for a few seconds without consequence.

“Your youngest.. What was his name..? The little golden child my Amarantha likes so much?” My eyes shot open at the mention of.. him. And I cringe beneath the mask at the mention of that female.

“Tamlin.” The Lord answers. “My youngest and yet, my most formidable warrior.”

The King leans back on his seat. “I thought your most formidable was the eldest?”

“Well, yes.” The Lord of Spring shrugs. “But my youngest is formidable in a way that his full might is still contained and hidden within him. Biding its time, itching to be shown..” A prideful grin comes across his face.

"Is that right..?" Father asked, his head turning to me for a moment.

“I see him in battle. He is strong yet he does not know it yet, doesn't unleash himself fully. He is blindsided most of the time, my strongest son and yet my weakest. A victim to his own emotions.” Then he looked up at me, observing my gloved hands and the mask I keep on my face, my hand on the hilt of my sword. The image of pure obedience.

There’s an impressed look upon Callan’s face. “How you’ve moulded this one. From a timid youngling who cowered in the shadows holding your cups to.. this. Now.. your Court lower their heads when she passes by.” I was tense.

“How do you do it?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

The King chuckles. “I'm not sure you want parenting advice from me. No children can handle my love. No children are like my Niamh.”

I cringe eternally.

And Lord Callan seems to as well, finding truth in my Father's words. And as cruel as he may be he doesn't seem to wish whatever horrors my Father inflicts upon me to be forced upon his children.

I felt relief wash over me.

They continued to chatter away and I remained there as a spectator, never leaving my Father’s side. There is a reason for this meeting. It's because he wanted something from the High Lord. Something in his Court. An ancient book that may lead him to the pieces of the Cauldron. He's been searching for it in every seasonal Court but his Ravens return with nothing.

“May you open your library to me, my friend??” Father asked. “Libraries are a rarity in Hybern and the book I'm looking for I fear I do not possess. The winds come back to me whispering that what I seek might be in your Court.”

“What do you seek?”

“It does not concern you. One night is enough time to search for it. And if it's not in your possession then I will search elsewhere.”

The High Lord thought for a moment then shrugged. “Why not? You've done enough for me. Are you to retrieve it yourself?”

“I'm occupied with other things. My Ravens will retrieve it for me. I hope you do not mind them searching about your estate.”

Callan raised a brow. “You think what you seek is in my home?”

Father nods and the Lord Callan doesn't seem too pleased with the idea of Hybernian soldiers sniffing around his property.

He thought for a moment and then his gaze wandered to– me.

There's a flicker of.. something.. in his eyes.

“Does she ever get out of these palace walls?” He asked.

“She has no need to.”

“A shame. I find that, just like plants, children have need for sunlight too.”

“She’s not a child. And my daughter is not some weed in the garden. She is a Princess of Hybern and so she will stay in Hybern. She has no need for sunlight.”

The skin around my cuffs seem to itch..

“Princess.” The High Lord ignores him and calls upon me. “Do you wish to see the world beyond Hybern lands?” He asked, his voice taunting and I heard my Father groan in disapproval but he looked at me and waited for my answer.

“Hybern is my home, my Lord.. I'm well content here.” I simply said.

Unlike his son's, his eyes were golden eyes, dulled with the colors of the earth, swirling in a pool of mud. He looked at me with a face I couldn't quite read, a puzzle I couldn't quite solve.

The Lord stared at me for a while longer before turning to my Father. “Send her to retrieve what you seek.” He said, his tone firm. As if.. commanding him.

A bold thing to do.

Father looks at me, as if pondering his choice. Then to the High Lord.

They stare at each other for a moment. And when Father closed his eyes he looked like he figured out a secret.

“Very well.”

— —

I was only meant to visit for a short time…

A few days to search Callan’s estate for the book my Father wanted. I was kept in the library with the curtains closed, shielding me away from even a glimpse of the sun. Surely it is my Father's request.

Because ‘I have no need for sunlight’, apparently..

I stayed there at the library with only papers and towers of books to keep me company. Father wanted a book that could aid him in translating Leshon Hakodesh. He has twelve volumes of ancient texts he stole all around Prythian Courts. He is only missing one. And so he has sent me here with little information about the book. He didn’t even show me what the other books looked like.

I don’t even know what I’m looking for.. He always does this. Sending me on tedious quests. Testing me. Playing me. I could really scream. But alas.., this isn’t my home. I must be respectful..

A day and a half passed as told to me by the clock, ticking away somewhere, driving me insane. Some servants would come every now and again to bring me food. They do not speak to me. The High Lord doesn't even check on me. The estate is.. eerily quiet.

I look towards the exit, the skin around my golden cuffs itching.

I do not wish to think of it often but every now and again I’d.. search for the bond, see if it still exists within me now that a few centuries have passed since that night.

I trace the pulse in my wrist, feeling the warmth and smoothness of my skin beneath the cold metal of the cuff. Try as I might I couldn't. I've read that bonds do fade. And if ours did fade then.. would it be so bad? We are.. too different. Too out of reach after all.

Oftentimes, I find myself drawn to the southern cliffs of Hybern, where the rising sun casts its golden light over Spring lands in the horizon. It's foolish. Embarrassing, even. To stand there and hope that the bond will respond, that I'll feel some kind of connection to him. I close my eyes, trying to imagine his warmth, his presence, something, anything.

But there was nothing.

Even here. In his home. Where I felt.. hopeful that I might feel something, there is once again.. nothing.

But, just when I was about to return to my work I felt a sudden burst of anguish, my stomach twisting and turning with great regret like I've done something so cruel.

"Agh.." It all felt too much to bear that even tears threatened to prick at my eyes and I almost fall to my knees.

I felt like I was being hit. Over and over and.. over again.

As I stood in silence, clutching my aching chest, I realised that it wasn't my own emotions that were drowning me. It was his. I feel him at last. And I could feel every inch of his torment like a crushing burden, weighing me down with a sadness I couldn't describe. Every emotion hits him like a storm, and he feels each one with an intensity that I've never seen before.

I willed my legs to step out of the library to a long corridor, all the windows uncovered making way for the view of a starless night.

The clearest I've ever seen is the night sky void of red fog.

And the farther I walked the more I felt my chest heavy with grief and many other emotions that swelled together.

Then I saw him, on the path towards the gate, his golden hair a tangled mess. His brothers circling him like vultures would their prey.

And before him was a corpse. Or so I thought.

“Come on, Tammy. Just finish the job.”

“He won't do it, Darach.” The middle teased, his voice a cruel tone of mockery.

“I know he won't.” The eldest, Darach, circled around.. Tamlin who was knelt on the ground, in front of the body. Almost as if protecting it.

Protecting… her.

“It is not enough he has to befriend half-breeds, he won't kill them either.” Darach taunts. “Now you play the good friend? You? You who sold them out?”

“I told him where I've been.. Who my friends are..” His voice was a trembling mess, blood oozing out of his mouth. “I didn't expect him to kill them!”

The eldest tilts his head, crouching to the ground to the female limp on the ground. He grabs a fistful of her raven hair and lifts her head up. “Is that the reassurance you'll feed yourself from now on? To soothe yourself of guilt whenever you pass the halls to see their wings mounted on the wall?”

“Stop it.” Tamlin growled. “He already killed Rhys’s mother. I will not partake in this. I will not!!” He crawled to the girl, his body trembling, his clothes already tattered.

“You know what Father will do if you disobey him, right?” The middle huffed. “He already threatened you’d be sent away. Away from mother.”

Darach clicked his teeth. “Wouldn't that be a wonderful thing?” He kicked him away from the girl and Tamlin coughed out blood as he hit the ground, whimpering and holding his stomach. “Maybe then she'd stop wasting her energy pitying you whenever you couldn't fucking stand up for yourself.”

He grabbed him by the collar now, shaking him like a doll, his voice seeping with hatred I couldn't understand. “Your fault that she's always so guilty that you're on the floor writhing. Her poor pathetic son she could only ignore.” He drops him and returns to the girl.

“Stop it!” Tamlin let out a rugged roar, lunging at the eldest before being yanked by his hair back to the ground by the other brother.

“Eoghan! Let go!!” He fought with the middle one now, being pushed and held down by him, his boot crushing his back.

“Watch me, little brother. Watch.” Darach breathed heavily as he pulled out a dagger from Tamlin’s belt and brought it to the girl's neck.

“Stop! Darach!!”

“I will finish what you cannot and rid this pest off my lawn.”

“Now you shy away from bloodshed? Where is Father's little warrior now, hm?”

He draws blood. Slowly. A trickle of red drops down the girl's neck as she whimpers.

“DARACH!!”

Tamlin managed to push Eoghan off of him. The eldest gritted his teeth, pulling away from the girl and dropping her head to the ground as he prepared to attack.

Darach took a hit to the gut, grunting and groaning before retaliating with a blow to Tamlin’s face using the dagger's hilt.

He falls to the dirt with his blood spilling to the grass, coughing out blood as he clawed at the earth.

And I felt it. His hurt. Every hit he took. It stung my body, my face, like I’ve been the one to shield the blow. My heart ached, beating rapidly in my chest.

There is so much rage in me. And I did not know if it was my own or his.. I was seething.

“You have the soft heart of a fucking mortal, Tamlin. The Gods churned at the sight of you when you came into this world. You do not deserve to wear our colours, much less wear our crest– you are our greatest embarrassment!!”

“You should have never been born.” Darach yelled at him, his voice broken.

“I should gut you out just as this girl and present your head to Father, then he will know. He will know that you are nothing.” His voice shakes with desperation. His voice seeps with a loathing driven by.. jealousy.

Only then I understood why they're so cruel.

It's because he knows his youngest brother is stronger than him. Stronger than he will ever be. He knows it, their Father knows it, the raw power that hides inside Tamlin that not even he knows of. Or he chooses not to recognize.

Because anyone could sense it. I certainly do. That's why they beat him down and diminish him in an attempt to keep that power at bay. They don't just hate him.

They're scared of him.

Tamlin was held down by vicious roots, trapped beneath the earth as the middle brother held his head aloft, forcing him to watch as Darach hovered a dagger over the girl's neck once more.

“STOP!” Tamlin's voice was heard throughout, his cries, his desperate pleas for his brother.

And then everything was still.

A blinding fury coursed through my veins, my power rising to meet it. I clawed my hand upwards, summoning a fraction of it, willing Darach to freeze as I stepped out of the porch.

“She's still here.” I hear Eoghan mutters.

“So she is.” There is a grin in Darach’s face when his eyes darted upwards to me. Yet he did not move. Could not move.

“The Blood Witch of Hybern.” He said the title with such disdain.

I let my power free him. “I did not realise I was summoned at a time of a crisis.” I said, stopping at a distance from them as Darach lowered the dagger. Tamlin's dagger.

“No crisis here.”

“I thought Spring would be more peaceful..” I look down, getting a clearer view of the female on the ground. “Must you kill in the presence of a guest?”

“You’re not supposed to be here, witch.” Darach sneered.

My neck cracked to his direction. “I am Princess. You will address me accordingly.” I snapped at him and Eoghan visibly flinched in the corner of my eye.

The older brothers exchange looks, a silent communication between them. Darach looked back at me, a smile on his face I would’ve considered charming had I not seen how he acted earlier.

“Apologies, Princess. We’ve been rude. Just some squabble amongst brothers. Nothing to concern yourself over. Go. Resume what you came here after.”

I do not reply. I look down at Tamlin still wrapped in roots, his hands bloodied and trembling, squirming out of his restraints. I saw the middle brother yet he refused to look at my mask.

“What are you hiding?” I ask, staring into Darach’s eyes. He went stiff. And when I peered into his mind, his mental shields were up.

He doesn't want me snooping in there.

My hand shot up, forcefully clutching his jaw as I forced him to meet my gaze. He froze again and so did his brother, caught in the same motionless trance as he watched.

“What are you hiding?” My glove disintegrated, fully touching him and allowing his memories to intrude upon my mind, my vision flooded with his thoughts.

The images flashed before me, familiar voices echoing. I see Darach by his father's side, their schemes fixed on the goal of overthrowing the Night Court Lord and his family. I hear their shared hatred for their enemies' soft hearts towards mortals and the whispers from Darach as he sells out his little brother to his father, claiming he's been befriending the children of Night. Ultimately using it to their advantage.

I dug even deeper into Darach's mind, sifting through memories of his father's rants about the King when he returns from Hybern. And then.. discussions about me, the experiment Father always gloats about. The High Lord would always show curiosity for my power, my revered reputation. He’s.. he’s been curious about me for a while, about what I’ve been moulded into to be so worthy to stand beside the King.

I see visions of a camp, echoing screams and fire. The dirt was covered in blood as a tall figure stand over a female's corpse. I hear the vicious cracks of bones as he guts out her wings. I hear him command the two brothers to finish the other one. The girl. But they didn't. They only took her, back here, back to Spring. As a present for Tamlin. So that.. so that he may kill her himself.

I feel my breathing slowed as it all pieced itself together like a puzzle. And now I’m here. In his Court. With the looming threat of the Night Court’s retaliation for the murder of their Lady and the abduction of this girl.

Only then I realized.. what it meant. The look between them before my Father agreed to let me go to Spring. He figured it out. He knew I was here for something else entirely. And he agreed.

He let me go just to indulge some twisted impulse to sate his curiosity. I am reminded yet again that I am a fucking experiment..

For centuries, Father tossed me in a ring and watched me fight his most elite soldiers. I fought his strongest commander and triumphed. I endured endless battles with monsters that left scars on my flesh and memory. And time and time again I emerged victorious.

And yet it's not enough. Now.. now he has agreed to unleash me against a High Lord.

I could laugh. I should have known that he wouldn't just let me go without gaining something from it. Of course, it all came back to his self-serving advantage in the end.

I let go of Darach, a scowl appearing on my face. “Your father misled me. I'm not here to retrieve books.” I say between gritted teeth.

“You are not.” The eldest grins as he rubs his jaw. I can feel his heart beating loudly in his chest. Only now do I feel the fear in him.

“You're here to get rid of an ancient Lord.”

I inhaled. “These were not the terms. I should have your head for tricking me.”

“Father has long been curious of what sort of power the King of Hybern is hiding. He wishes to see your power.”

“The King will hear of this.”

“King Dearil already suspected this is why we've brought you here. We need you.”

I feel my nails dig into skin as my hand turned into fists “I will be no tool to some Lord too coward and too weak to fight an enemy.”

“Your King let you go. He knows why you’re here. You're already a tool. We all are. From the moment we came into the world. So we must make ourselves useful. The High Lord of Night must be dealt with.”

I scoff, a huff of bitter laughter. “I will not partake in this.”

“You will.”

“I won't.” I hold his blood and he freezes again, shivering as my power touches him.

“Get out of my sight or you will be the first blood I spill tonight. Maybe then you'll find out just what the King is hiding.”

“Get. Out.”

His stare fixed on me, his throat bobbing as he held it there. The ugliest shade of green flashed in his eyes— green of jealousy and greed. Mixed with a twinge of fear. He was trying to suppress it, to keep it buried beneath the surface. But I could see it. He knew that I could see it.

I let my power over him fade as he slightly stumbles back. “Come. Eoghan.” He calls to his lackey, his gaze never tearing from my mask.

He looked at Tamlin as the roots slowly faltered around him, returning to the dirt below. “Finish the job, Tammy. Or he will.”

I stand there, hearing footsteps fade into nothing until I no longer sensed their presence.

“Gods.” Tamlin immediately knelt to where the girl was. A girl.. not much younger than him or me. A girl with raven black hair and wings similar to a bat's. Illyrian.. Daughter of Night.

She lays lifeless on the grass below, a trickle of blood slowly drying up on her neck. Yet.. I can hear her beating heart from where I am, a sign of life still flickering within.

She is alive.

“I can't do it..” Tamlin was shaking, crying as he held the blade he couldn't wield. Couldn't bring himself to take her head.

I shouldn't meddle. Shouldn't even approach him. But I've already broken the rules when I left the library and threatened his brothers. Now I watched as he held the girl in his arms, his shaking hands holding her cold face as tears streamed down his own, muttering frantic apologies.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.. Please. I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry, Vel..”

I feel my chest ache at the sight, his emotions still infecting me, twisting my heart.

“I'm sorry, Rhys..”

Even now. Even when four hundred years have passed and the mating bond should’ve faded.. I feel the pain that he feels, the regret that he carries.

“I'm sorry.. I'm sorry..”

As if his heart was mine.

His inner world exudes a familiar sort of anguish that I have come to know all too well. Because I am also faced with choices I never dare choose for myself. We are similar in that regard, that we never chose to be our fathers's children. But this is the life the Mother has condemned us in. A life led by fathers who wish to rule the world.

So even people outside of Hybern suffer such fates.. Does it ever get easier? Are all fathers like this?

The skin around my cuffs itch. A thing that happens whenever I get the urge to.. disobey.

I took a breath and knelt before him.

“Give her to me..”

Tamlin looks up at me, his head a mess of golden locks, smudged red with blood.

“W-what?”

“I'll take her to Hybern. She'll be safe. You don't have to kill her.”

What was I saying?

He slowly shook his head, holding the girl closer. “No.. no.. My father-”

I wield my power to command the very ground we step on.

“What are you–?”

What am I doing..?

The earth beneath my feet glowed with a peculiar fervour, alive and ever-changing. With a flick of my hand, I commanded the soil, bathing it in dark glamour that transformed the dirt into a twisted mirror image of her. Her appearance macabre, her skin pale and devoid of life, her eyes open and blank.

I unsheathed a dagger from my boot, slashing my palm and letting my blood flow to my creation.

Creating the perfect illusion of life.. and death.

It is not the first time I had to fake a dead person. But it is the first time that I had to fake one's death in another land. Because much to Father's dismay, I am still swayed by my emotions. And more often than not, my heart triumphs over his commands. In secret, I take pity on my people and spare the lives of a few when he is not around to bear witness to my mercy.

Mercy that he abhors.. mercy he forbids from flourishing. Yet it resides in my heart, this seed of compassion sown long ago. Perhaps, it was planted in me by this boy. This boy who offered me an act of kindness when he had no reason to. This boy, this stranger bound to me.. who saw my pain and extended a handkerchief and silent company.

A small act of kindness that meant the world to me.

I face him, meeting his emerald eyes up close for the first time since that party when the bond snapped for me. And I falter at the sight of it. Even when I could barely see it through the tiny slits of my mask.

“He will never know.” My voice came out in soft whispers.

“Kill the abomination. Take its head, it’s wings. Present it to your father. He will never know. I will take the girl.”

“Wait.. Where are you taking her?”

“Somewhere safe. Temporarily. When the storm has subsided. I'll return her to Night.”

He looked at me, sceptical, still holding the girl in his arms. “I don't even know your face behind that mask. How can I know you're speaking the truth?”

“You don't. You'll have to trust me.”

There is a pause when he looked at me. “You're the King's daughter.”

“And you're the High Lord's son. And yet you cannot bring yourself to kill this girl.” I look down at the girl.

“We can't choose our fathers, can we? We share the same blood as them. Doesn't mean we have to share anything else beyond that.”

He falters. “No.. no we don't.”

“Will you place your trust in me, Prince of Spring?”

“Give me one good reason why you're doing this. What do you have to gain?”

I shook my head. “I have nothing to gain. Maybe I just want her to live. Maybe.. I want to repay you.”

“Repay me for what?”

I paused.

“For.. the handkerchief.” I swallow a lump in my throat. “Have you.. forgotten?”

He shook his head. “No.” And his body eased. “Of course not.”

I stare at him for a moment. Because it would only take a moment to ingrain his face to memory again.

“Why did you do it?” I asked not even knowing that the words have left my lips.

“Do what?”

“Offer me that kindness.”

He leaned back, not expecting my question. But he softened. “You looked like you really needed it.” He answered simply.

There was silence between us after that. I wanted to say.. thank you. I wanted to say a lot of things to him, really.

But I find myself unable to.

“Promise me you'll keep Velaria safe?”

I swallowed and nodded. “I promise.” I say simply before walking towards the girl's real body, touching her cheek with the back of my gloved hand. Then I looked at Tamlin.

“We don't have to be like our fathers.”

He didn't say anything. Perhaps he didn't know what to say. He only looked at me with those eyes filled with nothing but guilt.

I knelt down towards the girl. Velaria. I scooped her limp body up in my arms, careful with her wings.

“You have a good heart, Tamlin..”

He shook his head, staring at his bloodied hands, to a dagger’s hilt encrusted with Illyrian patterns. “That’s not true..” His voice cracks.

“It is. And I hope you never forget that.”

“Come what may.”

— —

A/n: Since sjm won't name her characters I've taken it upon myself. I named Tamlin's middle brother Eoghan (literally just Owen but with a different spelling. It means 'born of yew'). The eldest I named Darach (which means fruitful/oak grove). And then their father I named Callan (which means brave/powerful in battle). AND THEN I also named the King of Hybern, Dearil because it means red haired/call of death. Veryyy fitting. All of them Irish/Gaelic origin I think. Also because I am tired of writing High Lord and The King in every sentence 😔..

Also also, I will be writing Velaria's pov in a few chapters, see what she's been up to after going to Hybern.

#tamlin #tamlin x oc #acotar tamlin #tamlin x reader #pro tamlin

34 notes · View notes

evaskjew · 5 months ago

Text

The Chains of Silence - OS Evangeline

Summary: Evangeline Rosier, a new French student at Hogwarts, struggles with isolation and the judgments of her peers. One evening, as she becomes lost in her dark thoughts, an unexpected encounter might just change everything.

Word count: 30.1k

A/N + warning: It's a bit of a continuation of that piece of writing. I had the idea during a period when I wasn't feeling well and I wrote it during periods of micro-depression 🥲 So some of the themes aren't necessarily the happiest: there's talk of harassment (being rejected) and one passage talks about dark thoughts.

Oh and I hope it's proper English, I used a translator because I wrote in French!

“I would be grateful if you would cease experimenting with your potion, Miss Rosier. We already have more than enough commotion in this class. We certainly do not need a second Weasley. Therefore, I must deduct 10 points from Ravenclaw.”

Professor Sharp let out a weary sigh as he observed the contents of Evangeline’s cauldron. The mixture was bubbling dangerously, spewing out a greenish foam that was slowly spilling over the workbench. Occasionally, small sparks shot out, casting unsettling glimmers across the table. With a sharp gaze, Sharp scrutinised her for a moment, then shook his head with an expression that was part indifferent, part resigned, before walking away without a word. Evangeline lowered her eyes to her cauldron, a deep sense of discouragement washing over her. Why on earth would he think she was doing this on purpose? Why would she deliberately experiment with random ingredients, especially in Potions? It made absolutely no sense. She had never excelled in this subject, and everyone knew it — at least back at Beauxbâtons. It was her nemesis, the subject she dreaded most. She lacked both the talent and the patience required to handle ingredients and formulas with precision.

Yet, here it was, undeniable: a complete disaster. The strange fumes, the alarming colours... Everything in her cauldron screamed chaos. She couldn’t exactly deny that a part of her was beginning to wonder if she really was incapable of succeeding, no matter how hard she tried to follow the instructions. Evangeline stared at her cauldron, confusion mingling with anxiety. She was certain she had followed every step to the letter. So why this mess? Why, out of all the students, was it always her cauldron that looked like a failed experiment by a novice alchemist? Unable to make sense of it, she frantically reopened her Potions textbook, her hands trembling. But even after rereading every line, every word, she couldn’t find anything that explained the strange transformation of her concoction. She had done exactly what was written... or at least she thought she had.

In a moment of despair, Evangeline cast a furtive glance around her, observing her classmates’ workstations. At first glance, everything seemed normal, almost too perfect. But then something caught her attention. Everyone had dittany leaves neatly placed on their tables… except for her. Her eyes fell on her own leaves, and her heart sank painfully. She had, instead, fluxweed leaves—an ingredient that had no place in this regeneration potion. The truth hit her like a ton of bricks. She had been using the wrong ingredient from the start. A mix of humiliation and frustration overwhelmed her as she fought back tears. How could she have made such a basic mistake? This stupid, elementary error had made her cauldron the laughingstock of the class.

Around her, she could hear the mocking whispers and muffled sniggers from a few students. Smirks were exchanged, condescending glances bore down on her, like needles pricking her skin. She could even feel the disapproving, impatient stares of some Ravenclaws turning towards her. She knew what they were thinking. They were probably wondering how she could still be one of them after so many failures, after already losing points for their house earlier in the week. She was just an extra burden, a weight on her house, and each mistake seemed to prove it a little more every day. But the worst part was, Evangeline couldn’t even blame them. Not after what had happened in Herbology…

Earlier in the day, the fifth years had their first Herbology lesson of the year with Professor Garlick. The atmosphere was cheerful, with most of the students eagerly rushing towards the greenhouses. Everyone chatted excitedly, sharing holiday memories and the thrill of seeing their favourite teacher again. Only Evangeline lingered at the back of the group, preferring to avoid drawing attention to herself after the duelling confrontations in the previous classes. As she stepped across the threshold of the greenhouse, she froze, captivated by the beauty that unfolded before her.

Golden light bathed the space in a comforting warmth, and the massive tree at the centre of the room looked almost unreal—majestic and imposing, with its branches stretching out in a complex web of vibrant green leaves. The soft murmur of water trickling from a nearby fountain added to the sense of harmony that permeated the air. Awestruck, Evangeline slowly moved forward, her eyes drawn to two butterflies gracefully dancing between the branches. Their delicate wings shimmered in the light filtering through the dense foliage, casting a magical interplay of shadows and light. For the first time in days, she felt her heart ease slightly, as if this place had the power to soothe her anxieties.

Evangeline noticed with a hint of panic that all the students had already entered Greenhouse No. 2. Quickening her pace, she hurried to join the group, relieved to see she wasn’t late yet. Inside, Professor Garlick greeted each student with a warm smile, handing them two cotton balls, evidently to be used as earplugs. As she glanced at the terracotta pots carefully arranged on the worktables, Evangeline frowned. "Mandrakes…?" she murmured in surprise. It was a plant she had already studied at her previous school, and she hadn’t expected it to be taught only in fifth year at Hogwarts.

“Ah, a face I don’t seem to know,” exclaimed Professor Garlick upon seeing Evangeline. “Please, welcome a new flower to our garden!”

Professor Garlick, always kind-hearted and full of energy, addressed the class in her usual warm tone. But to Evangeline’s surprise, all eyes suddenly turned towards her. Blushing with embarrassment, she immediately lowered her gaze, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. "Why did she say that?" she wondered, confused. Was it common for the professor to single out students, or was it because of her surname, Rosier? She had no idea, but the embarrassment was very real. Fortunately, without dwelling on it, Professor Garlick swiftly moved on to the day’s lesson: repotting young mandrake plants. Evangeline, however, was already quite familiar with this plant, having had a similar lesson in her third year at Beauxbatons. She worked confidently and finished well before her classmates. Noticing this, Professor Garlick approached her with a warm smile.

“Well, it seems that Mandrakes hold no secrets for you! In that case, I believe you can go to Greenhouse 5 to tend to the Chinese Chomping Cabbages. One of your classmates has volunteered to accompany you. Oh, and be careful, these plants have a habit of nibbling anything that comes near them. Watch your fingers.” Professor Garlick moved away to assist other students struggling with their mandrakes. Evangeline, still absorbed in her work, didn’t have time to respond to the professor’s encouragement before a light tap on her shoulder made her jump. She turned slowly, her heart beating a little faster, to find a tall boy with short red hair looking at her with a slightly nervous expression.

“Hello… I’m Leander Prewett, a fifth-year Gryffindor, like you. I mean, a fifth-year. Not a Gryffindor, as you’re a Ravenclaw.” He gave a nervous laugh, and although Evangeline was caught off guard, she forced herself to smile back, trying her best to appear normal. Her heart was racing a little faster, and inside, the familiar anxiety slowly crept in. She wasn’t used to people her age, let alone from her class, being friendly towards her. These kinds of interactions always unsettled her, stirring up a wave of uncertainty, a fear of doing something wrong or appearing odd. She crossed her arms unconsciously, seeking a more comfortable stance in the face of this unexpected situation.

“Well, if you don’t mind, let’s go check out those Chinese Chomping Cabbages. Please, follow me.” Leander nodded towards her, gesturing for her to follow. Evangeline fell into step behind him, the silence between them growing almost tangible. The atmosphere felt heavy, thick with unspoken words, and neither of them seemed willing to break the invisible barrier. Their footsteps echoed softly on the ground, accompanied by the faint creaking of their leather shoes. Evangeline felt a pang of guilt for not speaking. "But what should I say? What do people talk about in moments like this?" she wondered, her mind racing. "If he wanted to talk, he would have by now, wouldn’t he? And what about my accent—will he even understand me? My grammar… it’s terrible… and my vocabulary, let’s not even go there…" Her thoughts swirled chaotically, only deepening the silence.

“Here we are! The realm of Chinese Chomping Cabbages!”

Evangeline was jolted from her thoughts by Leander, who was holding the door to Greenhouse 5 for her. She looked at him timidly and stepped inside slowly, with a hesitant gait. “Thank you…” Evangeline entered the greenhouse, her attention immediately drawn to the strange plants surrounding her. She approached cautiously, curiosity piqued, but mindful of Professor Garlick's warnings. The plants were unlike anything she'd ever seen before. At first glance, they resembled ordinary cabbages, but at their centre, a gaping mouth lined with sharp, imposing teeth distorted their otherwise familiar appearance.

As she stared at them, a mix of fascination and apprehension stirring within her, Leander silently joined her, his shadow falling beside hers. “Fascinating plants, aren’t they? You know, they can be used for defence. Here, I’ll show you! First, take a cabbage. Don’t worry, they’re quite calm if handled gently.”

Evangeline remained hesitant despite Leander’s encouragement. She stared at one of the cabbages, her mind torn between curiosity and fear. Slowly, she extended her arms towards the plant, her movements deliberate and cautious. With care, she placed her hands at the base of the cabbage, preparing herself to lift it gently. As she grasped it, she raised the plant slowly, handling it with particular attention, as though she were afraid of causing it harm.

“You’re doing quite well. Follow me!” Leander made his way towards an old, dilapidated mannequin, forgotten at the back of the greenhouse. Evangeline followed him, her gaze fixed intently on the cabbage she held at arm's length. Her full concentration was on the delicate plant, determined not to damage it in any way. “By the way, congratulations on your duel with Sallow in Defence Against the Dark Arts the other day! It was incredible! What an achievement! Sallow is a very skilled duellist, but you defeated him with such ease! You’re truly impressive! Remarkable even!”

Evangeline's heart raced. She stared at Leander, a mix of surprise and confusion clouding her thoughts. Compliments were rare for her, especially back at Beauxbâtons, where she had never experienced such gestures of kindness. This unfamiliar situation sent her anxiety spiralling. "What do I do now? Do I say something back? But what? I... I..." Her thoughts became a tangled mess, her panic rising. So much so, she didn't notice the stone sticking out from the ground. Tripping forward, she fell, and before Leander could react, he was met with the biting cabbage she had been holding.

Horrified, Evangeline froze, unsure of what to do. Should she help Leander? But that might provoke the cabbage even more. Should she use magic? What if she accidentally harmed Leander in the process? Her mind was a whirlwind of frantic thoughts, sinking her deeper into panic as the situation unravelled in front of her. Thankfully, Professor Garlick entered Greenhouse No. 5 at that exact moment. Her horrified gaze landed on the chaotic scene, and she quickly intervened to stop the disaster. The outcome? Leander was sent to the hospital wing, Ravenclaw lost 15 points, and Evangeline earned herself a detention.

And there she was again, losing points for Ravenclaw due to her potion mishap. “What a terrible day…” she thought, despair beginning to wash over her. The hardest part for Evangeline was holding back her tears. She refused to let anyone see her in such a state. Whispers about her had already started to circulate, and she didn’t need to give them more fuel.

When Professor Sharp announced the end of the lesson, a throng of students rushed towards the exit. Evangeline, her head down, slowly closed her textbook and packed her belongings at her own pace. As she silently stood up, she was intentionally jostled by a Slytherin girl who smirked as she brushed past. The girl, sporting a ponytail, sauntered over to a Gryffindor boy who was ready to leave the classroom. “Well, it looks like you're going to have some competition this year, Garreth! It’s not every day you come across troublemakers with your… talent.”

The boy named Garreth rolled his eyes and shot a quick glance at Evangeline, tinged with disdain—most likely due to the incident with Leander—before leaving the room with the rest of the class. She found herself alone once more, except for Professor Sharp, who was seated at his desk. Grasping her wand, Evangeline raised it in front of the mess created by her potion, a wave of frustration and anxiety washing over her as she surveyed the chaos.

“Evanesco.” Evangeline’s voice was barely a whisper, almost inaudible. Her throat was tight with emotion. She needed to clear her mind. She slowly and listlessly made her way towards the classroom door.

“One moment, Miss Rosier. I would like to speak with you.”

Evangeline turned to face Professor Sharp, who was still seated at his desk, absorbed in what she guessed was a potions essay or perhaps some students' assignments. The closer she got, the larger the knot of anxiety formed in her stomach. She began to think about how to "I notice that you are a quiet student who does not seek attention," Sharp’s deep and measured voice resonated through the room, imbued with a natural authority. "However, you must understand that failing to follow the instructions in the textbooks can have disastrous consequences, as demonstrated by your potion today."

Evangeline lifted her head slightly, a hint of redness colouring her cheeks. She wanted to protest, but the words escaped her. Finally, she murmured hesitantly, but sincerely, "I understand. Forgive me, I made a… mistake with my potion—"

Sharp didn’t let her finish. Crossing his arms, his piercing gaze seemed to analyse her every subtle movement. "Mistaking dittany for fluxweed is not a common error." He tilted his head slightly, as if to emphasise his point. "These plants look nothing alike."

Evangeline lowered her eyes again, her hands clutching at her school robes. She could think of nothing to say, and her silence seemed to suspend the moment in time.

"Nevertheless," Sharp continued, his tone softening slightly, "I am aware that you come from France. The names of ingredients vary considerably in French. That likely explains today’s incident. However, in the future, it will be imperative that you master the English terms."

"I understand…" she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Sharp regarded her for a moment longer, as if trying to discern her true thoughts. Then, he leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on his desk in a posture both relaxed and authoritative. "You know," he said in an almost reflective tone, "I assign additional work to Mr Gaunt, who also struggles with his potions due to his condition."

At the mention of Gaunt, Evangeline reacted slightly. That name was familiar to her, as if it recalled something she had read in a book. She then remembered that it belonged to an old British aristocratic family of pure blood. "Certainly a rich kid using his family's influence to get ahead..." she thought with a hint of disdain.

“To compensate for the language barrier, I could allow you to bring along a glossary of English and French terms to the next classes. This should help prevent further catastrophes in the future.”

Evangeline nodded, relieved by this suggestion. As Professor Sharp seemed to have nothing more to add, she headed towards the classroom door. Upon crossing the threshold, she let out a deep sigh, preparing to face the tumult of the Great Hall, which, as usual, was lively and noisy. Barely visible to the other students, she immediately felt murmurs and heavy glances directed at her. “Here we go again... Just like at Beauxbâtons...” Tears began to well up again, but Evangeline forced herself to hold them back, determined not to let her emotions take over.

Evangeline made her way to one of the few places where she truly felt comfortable in the castle: the library. This place calmed her for several reasons. Firstly, its atmosphere was a soothing quiet, a welcome contrast to the turmoil of school life. Moreover, students seemed to hold a certain disdain for Mrs. Scribner, the librarian, which meant that the library was often deserted. Thus, she could enjoy her solitude, surrounded by books, even if, unfortunately, most of them were written in the language of Shakespeare. She pushed open the library doors and was immediately soothed by the quiet and cosy atmosphere that prevailed. The towering bookshelves, filled with dusty tomes and yellowed parchments, seemed to shield her from the outside world. Here, she was no longer the foreign student, the one whom others looked at with curiosity, disdain, or mockery. Here, she was simply a scholar among many, a lover of books seeking knowledge or a bubble in which to find refuge and indulge in the joys of reading.

Evangeline weaved between the shelves, her fingers brushing the spines of the books, searching for the potion and herbology books she needed. She enjoyed lightly tracing the edges of the books with her hand. She didn’t know exactly why, but this habit reassured her. It was as though each book carried a promise of discovery, a chance to escape into another world, away from the whispers and judgments she was accustomed to. She made her way to an isolated table near the large window that overlooked the west wing of the library. The soft afternoon light filtered through the stained glass, casting colourful patterns on the pages of the open books. She placed the books she had selected on the table and took out a quill and parchment to follow Professor Sharp’s advice and create her glossary. She immersed herself in her work, opening the books to the pages listing and explaining various potions and plants with their English terms. She read carefully, focusing mainly on the descriptions to identify the potions or plants in question.

This mental exercise allowed her to practise her English, painstakingly translating each word, each phrase, to find the corresponding French term. It wasn’t easy, but she knew this effort was necessary if she wanted to succeed at Hogwarts. This study session was also a form of escape, a refuge where she could forget the persistent glances and whispers. She took her parchment and quill in her left hand, dipped it in ink, and began writing her glossary:

Dictame (ENG: Dittany) : Plante aux propriétés curatives puissantes, capable de guérir des blessures profondes et de provoquer la régénération des tissus.

Evangeline carefully inscribed the letters on the parchment, making sure to clearly distinguish each term. The silence in the library was only broken by the soft rustling of pages and the scratching of her quill on the parchment. She continued, listing potions and plants one after another.

Mandragore (ENG: Mandrake) : Plante magique aux cris mortels pour quiconque les entend directement.

Sisimbre (ENG: Fluxweed) : Plante essentielle dans la préparation de la potion Polynectar. Elle doit être récoltée pendant la pleine lune pour conserver ses propriétés magiques.

Polygonum (ENG: Knotgrass) : Plante magique couramment utilisée dans la préparation de la potion Polynectar. Ses longues tiges fines et flexibles sont facilement reconnaissables.

Potion Wiggenweld (ENG: Wiggenweld Potion) : Potion de guérison puissante, capable de soigner des blessures graves et de restaurer la vitalité. Elle est couramment utilisée par les sorciers pour récupérer après des duels.

Breuvorage (ENG: Thunderbrew) : Potion qui crée une tempête tonitruante autour de l'utilisateur, étourdissant et repoussant les ennemis proches. Très utile en situation de combat.

Potion de Beauté (ENG: Beautification Potion) : Potion qui améliore l'apparence physique de celui ou celle qui la boit, rendant la peau plus lumineuse et les cheveux plus brillants. Les effets sont temporaires.

The task was tedious, but she felt strangely calm as she worked. The translation required intense concentration, which kept her from dwelling on the day’s events or worrying about the whispers in the corridors. Each word she successfully translated was a small victory, proof that she could overcome the language barrier and find her place here. In addition to writing her glossary, Evangeline enjoyed drawing illustrations for each term. As a result, she lost track of time. Looking up from her parchment, she realised with horror that the shadows on the library walls had changed: the golden light of late afternoon had transformed into a soft orange glow, signalling dusk. It was nearly 7:30 PM, and dinner would soon be served.

Evangeline quickly gathered her things in a hurried, disordered fashion. Her hands trembled slightly as she shoved her parchment into her robe pocket and closed the books before returning them to their place. She rushed towards the exit, her heart racing at the thought of being late for dinner. As she left the library, she dashed down the corridors, her footsteps echoing against the cold stone of the castle. She quickened her pace, hoping she wouldn’t be too late.

When she finally entered the Great Hall, she realised that everyone was already seated and the meal had begun. She hurried to her table, heading towards the only available seat. The looks cast in her direction were far from welcoming. Conversations abruptly ceased, and some students exchanged knowing glances, their faces expressing a mix of reproach and discomfort. Evangeline sat in the empty seat, her stomach in knots. She tried to focus on her meal, but each bite seemed to deepen her discomfort. The murmurs of her classmates, though faint, were clearly audible. “Hang in there, Evangeline, the week isn’t over, it’s not all lost!”

The rest of the week didn’t go much better, unfortunately. As the days passed, Evangeline found herself increasingly isolated and rejected by the others. Not only did rumours spread quickly throughout the castle, but Evangeline also fuelled them with a string of mistakes and blunders in class, leading to lost points and a few detentions. Her intense anxiety over what others might be saying about her in class caused her to imagine the worst, and because she was lost in her thoughts, she didn’t fully pay attention to the lessons. She even forgot to note down the homework for a Transfiguration class and was in quite a predicament when it was time to turn it in. As a result, she had to serve an hour’s detention, during which she was required to complete the assignment under Professor Weasley’s supervision.

Each day followed a similar pattern. Whenever Evangeline walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, she felt every gaze upon her, as if the very walls were judging her. The half-heard whispers, the furtive glances, and the mocking smiles had become, or rather returned to being, her daily reality—unseen wounds that cut deeply. Each moment spent in the company of other students felt like an ordeal. She would have given anything to blend into the background, to become invisible, no longer the constant target of veiled mockery and silent reproach. Every gesture, every look, every silence weighed on her soul like a condemnation, making her feel insignificant, inadequate, guilty for the mistakes she kept making since her arrival.

At the Ravenclaw table during meals, Evangeline felt increasingly isolated. The conversations around her were punctuated with innuendos and exchanged glances that she understood all too well. Whenever she forced herself to speak, an awkward silence would fall, as if her presence was an intrusion into the normalcy of others. It had become a vicious cycle: the more she withdrew, the more they kept their distance, and the more she retreated, convinced that she didn’t deserve their company.

The laughter echoing in the corridors never seemed to include her. On the contrary, it always seemed directed at her, another dagger twisting in her heart. She even began to wonder if she deserved this solitude. Perhaps the others were right to keep her at arm’s length, to judge her so harshly. The school year had barely begun, and Evangeline was already tired of the classes and the knot in her stomach she felt every time she stepped into a classroom. She had just one desire: to leave Hogwarts. But where would she go? She didn’t miss Beauxbâtons at all and had hoped it would be different at Hogwarts, but history seemed to be repeating itself. Perhaps she would have been happier if she were a Muggle, like her father.

At night, when she sought refuge in her bed, tears often flowed uncontrollably. The pain of being excluded, rejected, and ignored gnawed at her from within. She tried to convince herself that it would eventually pass, that the others would forget about her, but with each passing day, the weight became harder to bear. In the morning, she put on a neutral mask, trying to keep her head held high, but the emotional exhaustion always caught up with her. She felt trapped in a spiral of suffering, unable to confide in anyone, having no friends. This insidious isolation, this venom slowly dripped by those around her, was destroying her little by little.

There was no respite, not even in moments when she should have felt safe, not even in the silence of the library. Evangeline spent a great deal of time there, reading, studying, and trying to clear her mind. But the weight of the stares and judgements followed her everywhere. The memories of those smirking smiles, those glances exchanged over her head, were etched into her mind, impossible to forget. They haunted her, and she couldn’t help but recall her daily life at Beauxbâtons, a life she would have preferred to forget and never experience again. Books, however, were still the most effective way she had found to distract herself. As soon as classes ended, she would rush to the library to find solace among the shelves of books. The familiar smell of paper made her feel safe, far from the judgements and mockery.

She would immerse herself in her readings with fierce determination, the sound of her finger brushing against the pages becoming her only companion. Hours passed unnoticed as she was absorbed in the texts of Maupassant or the adventure tales of Jules Verne, which allowed her to escape. Meals in the Great Hall became rare; she preferred to ignore her hunger and remain lost in her books or studies, convinced that hard work was another escape, the only way to regain a semblance of control in a world where she felt increasingly out of place and lost.

Finally, Friday had arrived. As the lessons drew to a close, Evangeline's situation couldn't get any worse than it already was, and at least this meant two days of respite—as long as she found a secluded corner to avoid running into anyone. The day seemed relatively calm: just two classes. One on the History of Magic in the morning and a broomstick flying lesson in the afternoon.

History of Magic was the class she looked forward to the most, having always had a passion for history, whether related to the wizarding world or the study of Muggle history—a passion she inherited from her father. Yet, despite her enthusiasm, she felt a knot in her stomach as she entered the classroom. "What if they laugh at me for asking a question? What if I have so many questions and end up interrupting the professor all the time? The others will hate me if I disrupt the class... Maybe I should just blend in and try not to draw any attention." Forcing herself to push her passion for history aside, Evangeline resolved to behave like everyone else. As she entered, Evangeline immediately felt the weight of history that filled every corner of the room. The golden sunlight filtered through the magnificent stained glass windows, casting colourful reflections onto the stone walls. Three massive windows dominated the room, each depicting legendary figures from the wizarding world, including the four founders of Hogwarts. The central one portrayed Merlin, majestic in his blue robes, holding a grimoire, symbolising the wisdom and power of knowledge.

The details in the glass were so intricate that Evangeline could have spent hours marvelling at every finely drawn line. The height of the windows and their vivid colours created an atmosphere that was both solemn and enchanting, inviting deep reflection and a journey through the tales of the past. The place exuded a near-mystical serenity, accentuated by the prevailing silence. Despite its grandeur, Evangeline couldn’t help but feel a certain intimacy, a subtle yet palpable connection with the wizards who had come before her. She moved cautiously, her steps echoing faintly on the stone floor as she headed towards the only empty desk.

Something seemed odd to the young witch, however: the classroom was unusually quiet. Evangeline quickly glanced towards the other tables—two students appeared to be working on their homework, while the rest of the class seemed to be in the midst of the nap of a lifetime. She couldn’t believe it. Everything about this room was perfect for learning. The aura of the great figures depicted in the stained glass made her want to know more. Then Professor Binns entered the classroom. "Is the professor... a ghost?" But in the end, Evangeline wasn’t really surprised; it actually made sense for a ghost to teach the History of Magic at Hogwarts. His expertise on historical events must have been remarkable—he might have even lived through some of them.

Evangeline eagerly took out her quill and parchment, determined not to miss a word of the lesson. But the moment Professor Binns began to speak, her enthusiasm waned instantly. "Ah, that explains why everyone is asleep..." At Beauxbatons, the History of Magic professor managed to convey his passion in every lesson. But here... it was hard to imagine anyone more soporific than Professor Binns! Despite his monotonous tone, devoid of any spark of excitement, Evangeline hung onto his every word. His teaching method might have been dreadful, but the content was utterly fascinating for Evangeline, who filled her parchment with notes on the Goblin Rebellion of 1752. And with everyone else sound asleep, for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Evangeline could be herself without feeling scrutinised. Time seemed to fly by between the questions she kept asking Professor Binns—who, in turn, was delighted that a student was finally interested in the noble era of the Goblin Rebellion of 1752—and the class hour passed swiftly.

As the rest of the class slowly awoke and hurried off to the Great Hall, Evangeline preferred to stay and continue chatting with Professor Binns, who recommended several books available in the library if she wanted to delve deeper into the topic. When the chimes rang out, Evangeline realised she had spent her entire lunch break talking to the professor, once again forgetting to have something to eat. She thanked Professor Binns and dashed off to her broomstick flying lesson. While History of Magic was Evangeline's favourite class, the same couldn't be said for broomstick flying. It was, along with Potions, her worst nightmare. "If only Headmaster Black had also cancelled flying lessons…" thought the young French witch. Her fear of heights made this class a real ordeal, and she knew she would likely become the target of ridicule once more.

The closer she got to the flying grounds, the more her anxiety and apprehension intensified. But this time, it wasn’t the same as before. She was used to having a knot in her stomach before class; it had been her unwelcome companion for five long years. This, however, went beyond her usual social anxiety—it was a true fear linked to her phobia of heights. Though she tried to hide it, her face betrayed her nerves, with her lips pressed so tightly they turned white. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the sleeve of her robes so hard it hurt her knuckles. She knew she couldn’t back out now, yet every fibre of her being begged her to find any excuse to avoid mounting that wretched broomstick. But it was too late.

Professor Kogawa arrived on the field with a light yet confident stride, exuding a natural elegance that seemed perfectly attuned to the brisk morning air. Her slim, straight figure, wrapped in a grey cloak billowing behind her, immediately drew everyone's attention. Her face was serene, almost calming, but her eyes sparkled with a focused energy, as if nothing could escape her notice. She carried a meticulously polished broomstick under her arm, a testament to her unmatched expertise in the art of flying. When she finally stepped into the centre of the field, silence fell as if by magic. Every student looked at her with a mixture of fear and admiration. In a gentle yet firm voice, she greeted them: “Welcome to your first flying lesson of the year. Today, we’ll simply go over the basics. Begin by picking up your brooms and mounting them. Hover above the field and pass through the rings I’ve set up. Then return to the ground at my whistle.”

There was something reassuring in her tone, yet also an implicit demand for perfection that left no room for error. Evangeline’s heart raced even faster, knowing that this professor would not be fooled by her attempts to mask her fears. With trembling hands, Evangeline bent down to grasp her broom. The cool wood of the handle almost slipped from her grip, so tense were her fingers. Around her, her classmates seized their brooms with enthusiasm, exchanging excited smiles and competitive glances. As for Evangeline, every heartbeat pounded in her chest like a drum, and her legs felt on the verge of giving out. Taking a deep breath, she placed the broom beside her and whispered feebly, “Up.” The broom barely stirred, wobbling before falling flat to the ground. Her cheeks flushed red. She gritted her teeth, trying to conceal her panic.

But Professor Kogawa didn’t let her wallow in self-doubt. “Focus, Miss Rosier,” she said in a soft but clear voice, loud enough for everyone to turn their heads. “The broom responds to your intent. Trust it.”

Evangeline slowly nodded, feeling the weight of the gazes fixed on her. "Great..." This time, she closed her eyes, let out a trembling breath, and murmured in a firmer voice: "Up!" To her great surprise, the broom jumped into her palm, as if it had been waiting for this more decisive command. She opened her eyes, almost incredulous, and caught a faint approving smile on Kogawa’s lips. But the worst was yet to come. Mounting the broom was one thing, but taking off...

She glanced at the rings suspended in the air, floating several metres above the ground, and the world seemed to sway around her. The brisk air stung her skin, and an icy fear settled in her stomach. Evangeline swallowed hard, feeling her apprehension rising.

“Go on. Take off!” the professor called out calmly, sweeping his gaze over the group in an encouraging manner.

The others took off without hesitation, their brooms lifting gracefully and effortlessly, but Evangeline remained rooted to the spot, immobile. She couldn’t bring herself to give the slightest push, her feet seemed anchored to the ground. Her knees were trembling, and her throat tightened. Yet she knew that if she stayed there, if she let fear get the better of her, she would draw even more attention... and become, once again, the source of her classmates’ mockery. She swallowed again, her palms sweaty, and gripped the handle with all her might. “Come on, Evangeline. Courage. Just… a little kick… to lift off.” she whispered to herself silently. “A small jump, nothing more... Take it slow and don’t think about the height... Come on, breathe, and let’s go...”

Taking a desperate breath, she gave a hesitant kick to propel herself off the ground. The broom reacted instantly, soaring into the air with a speed that took her breath away. The empty space suddenly opened up beneath her, and Evangeline found herself suspended, her body instinctively tensing. All around her, her classmates were already weaving between the rings, their laughter and exclamations echoing in the clear sky. But Evangeline didn’t share their enthusiasm at all. She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on Kogawa’s voice, who continued to give flying instructions. “Slowly… Breathe…” she whispered to herself, struggling to steady her erratic breathing. Her fear of heights threatened to overwhelm her, every second in the air felt interminable. But when she reopened her eyes, she forced herself to look straight ahead, not down. “You can do it… you have to do it!” she repeated to herself.

But her eyes drifted for a moment towards the ground below. Instantly, a wave of pure panic washed over her. Her vision blurred, and a deafening buzzing rose in her ears, almost drowning out Professor Kogawa’s voice. Every fibre of her being screamed in terror. The fear tightened around her throat like a vice, cutting her breath into ragged gasps. Her heart raced, each beat thudding painfully in her chest. She tried to inhale, but the air refused to fill her lungs. For Evangeline, it was certain: she was going to fall. There was no doubt. Pure panic petrified her, locking her muscles into a deadly immobility. The broom suddenly vibrated beneath her, reacting to her imbalance. She swayed slightly to the side, her stomach flipping at the slightest motion. Fighting to regain control, she shut her eyes, tears welling up on her pale cheeks. Instinctively, she directed herself back to the ground with what little strength she seemed to have left. She was trembling, still clinging to the broom, her knees buckling beneath her. When she realised she was back on solid ground, an involuntary sob escaped her throat. She let go of the handle, her legs giving way completely. She collapsed onto the grass, her face buried in her hands, shaking from head to toe.

“Miss Rosier! What are you doing on the ground?” Professor Kogawa scolded upon seeing her on the ground. “Get back on your broom immediately!”

All Evangeline could do was shake her head, her lips pale and trembling. “I... I can’t... I...”

Seeing Evangeline trembling and in tears, the stern look on Professor Kogawa’s face softened. The professor watched for a moment, seeing the girl curled up on the ground, utterly distressed. Her severe expression turned gentler as she slowly crouched in front of her, careful not to frighten her further. “Listen to me, Miss Rosier. You don’t have to fly very high. Just a few metres, to try…” Her voice, usually strict, was now just a soft murmur of reassurance.

But Evangeline shook her head again, breathing shallowly, the tears still streaming down her cheeks. “No... no... you don’t understand…” Her words were choked by her sobs, each one seeming to be torn from her trembling body. "I… I can't… it’s stronger than me. The emptiness… up there… I feel… I feel like I’m going to fall… and… and…”

The distress in her voice pierced Kogawa, who took a deep breath. She gently reached out a hand towards Evangeline’s shoulder, hesitating to touch her. "You’re not going to fall." she murmured. "And even if that were to happen, I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to you. Try again; I know you can do it."

But Evangeline looked up at her, her pupils flooded with tears and anxiety. "You can't know… You… you don't know what it's like… to have that fear… that panic… that paralyses you… That fear that stops you from doing anything and makes you feel useless and worthless…" She began to cry harder and closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath. "I… I want to try; I would like to… But I… I can't do it..."

A silence settled between them, only disturbed by the whistling wind around the Quidditch pitch and the shouts of other students who continued to fly in circles far above their heads, oblivious to them as they were too busy enjoying the sensation of freedom that flying on broomsticks provided. Kogawa silently watched Evangeline and lowered her head as if pondering what she could possibly say to her.

"Alright, Miss Rosier." she finally replied, her voice measured. "You don’t have to fly higher today. I’m not going to force you. I can see that you’re not in the right state. And I refuse to let any of my students put themselves in danger because I’m making them fly. I do not want flying on broomsticks to be seen as a chore in any way."

Evangeline looked down. She struggled to hold back her tears and not think about the shame she felt. "Honestly, being in fifth year and not being able to fly on a broom… You’re embarrassing yourself, Evangeline… You don’t deserve to be a witch… The others are right to despise me and mock me… I’m just useless…"

"Don’t take this as a failure; it’s not one." Professor Kogawa continued. "Think of it as a step towards building your self-confidence. I can see that you’re terrified at the thought of flying and that you want to do well. But don’t rush; go at your own pace. Little streams make big rivers. The last thing I want is for my students to see flying on broomsticks as a burden."

Evangeline looked at her, surprised. "Y-you mean… that I… that I don’t have to continue? You’re not going to penalise me for refusing to do the exercise?"

The professor nodded slowly. "Sometimes, recognising your limits is just as important as pushing them. But I want you to stay with us, alright? Even if you remain on the ground today. Even if you don’t practise, watching others is a good way to progress." She paused, as if to ensure Evangeline understood. "And if one day you feel like you want to try again, even just a little bit... I will be here to guide you."

A faint smile crossed Evangeline's face, almost imperceptible. She had never heard anyone speak about her fears with such understanding. And most importantly, for the first time since she had started her schooling, she felt that someone truly understood her and took the time to grasp what she was feeling. "Thank you, Professor..." Evangeline replied, her voice weak and choked with emotion.

Kogawa gently stood and extended her hand to her. "You are braver than you think, Miss Rosier. Take your time. And when you’re ready... I’ll know."

Evangeline accepted Professor Kogawa’s outstretched hand, carefully rising. Her legs were still weak from the anxiety attack she had experienced, but she managed to steady herself. The professor gave her one last understanding look before returning to assist the other students, who were gracefully soaring through the air. Evangeline remained still for a moment, observing the broomstick she still held in her hands. Her grip on the handle tightened, and then, with a resolute gesture, she walked toward the edge of the pitch. There, she set the broom aside, carefully placing it on the grass as if she were returning it to its final resting place. She took a deep breath, a strange sensation of relief mixed with frustration rising within her. She knew she wouldn’t be getting back on a broom anytime soon — perhaps never. But deep down, a hint of regret lingered.

The lesson ended far too quickly for Evangeline, even though she hadn’t really participated. The other students landed smoothly on the lawn, their smiles still glowing with the exhilaration of flying. Professor Kogawa gave a few final instructions before dismissing them, her voice echoing across the field. With no reason to linger on the grounds, Evangeline slipped away quietly, hoping to disappear before anyone could speak to her. But as she made her way toward the doors leading back to the castle, a familiar figure broke away from the group and quickly caught up with her. It was Imelda Reyes, one of Slytherin’s top flying students—the very same who had already made a cutting remark to her in Potions class. Imelda stopped right in front of her, a sly smirk playing on her lips.

"Well, well, well..." Imelda began, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Looks like Miss Rosier has decided that the ground is safer, huh?" Her tone, sharp and mocking, pricked Evangeline like a thorn under her skin. She clenched her fists, her heart pounding in her chest. She really wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

"Leave me alone, Reyes." she murmured, trying to sidestep the Slytherin.

"Oh, but why rush off so quickly? You should stay; perhaps Professor Kogawa could show you how to use a broomstick. Do they teach you how to clean with them in France?" Imelda snickered, drawing the attention of a few other students lingering nearby.

Evangeline felt her cheeks burn with shame, her hands tightening around the fabric of her robe's sleeve. The gaze of others was unbearable, scorching the back of her neck like a live flame.

"It seems Ravenclaw has found her new aerial terror!" Imelda said in a syrupy voice, each word laced with mock concern.

Evangeline felt her heart constrict. The words she wanted to say got stuck in her throat. She wanted to defend herself, but an invisible wall seemed to hold her back. The weight of anger and humiliation pressed down on her, leaving her frozen in place, her gaze fixed on the ground, as if staring at the cobbles could make her invisible.

"Imelda. Leave her alone!" The firm yet fair voice interrupted the cruel moment. Evangeline looked up, recognising Natsai Onai, the Gryffindor girl she had faced in a duelling class during the last lesson, now stepping between her and Imelda.

"What are you doing, Natty?" Imelda retorted, waving her hand dismissively as if to downplay the situation. "I'm just teasing her; it’s all in good fun."

"Maybe you don’t mean any harm, but look at her, Imelda," Natty replied, her tone becoming more serious. "You can see she doesn't appreciate it. "Evangeline felt a wave of gratitude towards Natsai, but at the same time, she felt even more exposed. Natsai shot Imelda a stern look. "We can say things with a bit of respect." Then she turned to Evangeline, her expression softening. "Come on, let’s get away from here."

Imelda glared at her, her smile fading gradually to a more disdainful expression. Evangeline hesitated, her heart still racing. She cast one last glance at Imelda, who rolled her eyes and was already losing interest in the scene, before following Natsai. The sound of their footsteps echoed in the ensuing silence, but in Evangeline's mind, Imelda's taunts still lingered.

Once they were a safe distance away, Natsai offered her an encouraging look. "You don’t have anything to prove, you know. And don’t pay any attention to Imelda. She’s not cruel, but she tends to belittle others to feel better about herself, especially when it comes to broom flying. She’s very good and likes to brag about it."

Evangeline nodded, lowering her head slightly, still overwhelmed by the emotions washing over her. "I... thank you." she murmured, her voice barely audible. Yet, Natsai heard her perfectly and nodded back with a kind expression.

"You're welcome!" Natsai replied softly, a slight smile on her lips. "It's the least I can do. I know how hard it can be to be new at a school... especially when you come from another country. Believe me, I know what it's like."

Evangeline gently lifted her gaze, surprised by the sincerity in Natsai's voice. She realised she might not be the only one feeling out of place in this vast castle. Natsai, too, must have faced the unknown upon arriving at Hogwarts from Uganda. This simple thought brought Evangeline a bit of comfort, but she still struggled for words. "How..." Evangeline began, hesitating for a moment. "How did you manage to... fit in?"

Natsai smiled even more brightly, her eyes lighting up with understanding. "It takes time, and you have to be patient with yourself. There will be days when everything feels easier, and others when it’s more complicated. But you’ll find your place. I’m sure of it."

Evangeline nodded slowly. The idea of one day feeling at home at Hogwarts seemed distant, almost unreal. But Natsai's words sparked a faint glimmer of hope in her mind.

"And if you need anything..." Natsai added, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "don't hesitate. You can come to me."

Evangeline felt a weight form in her chest as Natsai placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. She desperately wanted to believe in the sincerity of her words, but a part of her couldn’t shake off the doubt. What if Natsai was only interested in her out of pity? After all, why would a girl as strong and respected want to be friends with her, a clumsy outsider who seemed to constantly mess up and draw the ire of everyone around? A forced smile flickered on Evangeline’s lips. “Thank you.” she said softly, lowering her eyes to avoid meeting Natsai’s kind gaze. “It’s… really kind of you.” She straightened up a bit, trying to regain her composure, but a bitter thought gnawed at her. "I don’t want to be a burden to her." she told herself. "She surely has better things to do than hold my hand every time I fall apart." A wave of guilt washed over her. The very idea of befriending Natsai made her almost anxious—as if she didn’t deserve such a friendship. “I… I think I’m going to head to the library,” she finally said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “I still have some things to revise.”

Natsai seemed to hesitate for a moment but didn’t push the issue further. “If that’s what you prefer, okay. But remember, I’m here if you need anything, alright?”

Evangeline nodded, carefully avoiding showing the anxiety that was consuming her. “Yes… thank you.” she repeated, turning away to hide the shadow of her emotions. As she distanced herself from Natsai and the comforting embrace she might have offered, Evangeline felt the emptiness inside her grow. She clutched the fabric of her robe, as if to shield herself from the oppressive sensation. “No, Evangeline, you can’t impose on her.” she repeated inwardly, trying to convince herself. “You don’t deserve her friendship; it’s obvious.” A heavy silence settled around her, enveloping her thoughts like a dark veil. She allowed herself to be overwhelmed by her emotions, her mind running in circles with the same reflections. “What’s the point of trying to make friends anyway?” she wondered, bitterness swelling in her heart. “I’ll just end up ruining everything... like always. If it’s not me, it’s the others who will end up avoiding me. It’s always like this.” She lowered her eyes, biting her lip to hold back a wave of emotion. “Why get attached when I already know how it’s going to end?”

Realising what she had just thought, Evangeline slapped herself inwardly, the gesture symbolic and as violent as her thoughts. “Stop thinking like that! You’re being ridiculous, complaining as if everything is already decided. Make an effort, Evangeline! Surely, there must be people who will want you... Statistically, there’s bound to be at least one person who will accept you as you are... One... Just one...” But instead of reassuring herself, those words had the opposite effect. Her shoulders slumped, and tears began to flow silently down her cheeks, betraying the inner struggle she was struggling to face.

Stepping through the library doors, Evangeline found herself alone once again, surrounded by the silent shelves and the books she still struggled to fully understand. The weight of solitude pressed heavily on her shoulders as she moved slowly between the aisles, trying to hold back the lingering traces of her tears. This was her refuge, this quiet place where every book was a gateway to a world where she could lose herself, free from the judgmental gazes of others. She settled in a secluded corner near a stained-glass window, where the soft, muted light of the late afternoon gently bathed her space. With a sigh, she pulled two books from her bag: Bel-Ami by Maupassant and Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne. Familiar, comforting companions in the vastness of a foreign and, to her, hostile school, where she felt so small and rejected.

As she leafed through the pages of Bel-Ami, Evangeline imagined for a moment speaking to Georges Duroy, that cunning and opportunistic character. "You, at least, would know what to do in a situation like mine," she murmured inwardly. "You’d never let others walk all over you, would you?" A sad smile crossed her face as she recalled his clever ways of manipulating those around him to climb the ranks of Parisian society. "But I’m not like you…" she thought, "I can’t lie or manipulate others to get by. I’m… too weak for that. A nobody." The thought pulled her back to harsh reality. She could neither strategize nor be as ruthless as Duroy, though she sometimes wished she possessed his strength. It would have helped her in more than one situation—here in the UK, or back in France, particularly at Beauxbâtons. Her gaze shifted to Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. There, she sought solace in Professor Aronnax, a man of science, captivated by the mysteries of the ocean and far removed from the petty squabbles of daily life. "How would you have handled all this?" she wondered. "You’d have delved into the depths of human nature as you did the oceans, maintaining your curiosity, even in the toughest times." The idea of a hidden world beneath the waves, as vast and incomprehensible as her own feelings, brought her a strange sense of comfort she hadn’t known she needed. Perhaps that was the key to Evangeline finding peace with herself—perhaps she could find it if she learned to understand her own emotions.

In the silence of the library, she imagined a fictional conversation with Aronnax, confiding in him about her struggles to fit into this new world that was Hogwarts, her battle to understand others, and, above all, to accept herself. Evangeline often imagined conversations with the characters from the novels she read. They were, in a way, friends she could rely on. “You’re like an ocean,” she imagined Aronnax saying to her. “A complex and unfathomable world. It takes time to uncover its richness, but you will, wave by wave and storm by storm.” This imaginary dialogue allowed her, for a moment, to forget the weight of her reality. She pictured herself sailing through uncharted waters, surrounded by fantastic creatures, far from the mockery of her classmates and the doubts that consumed her days at Hogwarts. This world, though fictional, was a refuge where she didn’t need to justify herself or prove that she deserved her place. Above all, she could simply be herself, free from the judgement of others. “Perhaps Aronnax is right.” she thought. “Maybe I just need to let the storm carry me and see where it takes me…” But these positive thoughts were fragile, ready to shatter at the slightest touch of reality. For now, she allowed herself to remain there, safe in her secluded corner, finding solace in her companions of paper, hoping that one day she might find the strength to break free from her isolation. Deep down, though, she knew it was already a lost cause, aware that she would never dare to leave the comfort zone that her solitude had become over time. The soft rustle of turning pages was the only sound that disturbed the silence of the library, where the young witch sat.

Absorbed in her reading and her imaginary discussions with Professor Aronnax, Evangeline lost all sense of time. The pages of Vingt Mille Lieues sous les Mers captivated her so much that she found herself, in her mind, exploring the depths of the ocean aboard the Nautilus, far from earthly troubles and personal concerns. The underwater adventure and the quiet wisdom of Professor Aronnax provided her with a perfect escape from the harsh reality of Hogwarts. The light in the library gradually dimmed, but Evangeline noticed none of it—not even the few students who came to fetch books or study in silence before leaving. Twilight slowly settled outside, and eventually, the shadows crept into the isolated corner where she sat.

It was a barely perceptible noise—the creaking of a distant door or perhaps the wind rustling through a poorly shut window—that suddenly pulled her back to reality. Evangeline lifted her head, her eyes blinking as if she were emerging from a deep dream. The library, once peaceful, was now enveloped in an almost eerie silence. The flickering wall torches cast dancing shadows on the empty shelves. A chill ran through her when she spotted the clock above the entrance. Her heart raced in an instant: it was much later than she had thought. “No… it can’t be…” she murmured, realizing the late hour.

Dinner had long since finished, and worse still, the curfew had just sounded. Evangeline had already grown accustomed to skipping meals, especially when she immersed herself in her books, but crossing the curfew line was a mistake she couldn’t afford. Her fingers tightened on the open pages before her, and a wave of anxiety surged within her. It was a recklessness she needed to avoid at all costs, especially after such a difficult week: accumulating hours of detention, increasingly unpleasant rumors about her, the hostility of her entire house due to the points she had lost for Ravenclaw, and to top it off, Leander was in the infirmary… because of her. Evangeline hurriedly got to her feet, her books clutched against her chest. She had no bag to carry them. The inner pocket of her robe, which she had enchanted with an extension charm, already held her journal and sketchbook, two items she always carried with her, discreetly. Though this enchanted pocket had enough space to contain much more than its size would suggest, she knew that adding those heavy volumes might upset the charm's balance.

Out of necessity, the young French girl tucked the two books under her arm. She hurried to leave the library, glancing cautiously between the shelves to avoid crossing paths with the librarian. "Madam Scribner will kill me if she catches me here at this hour..." she thought, casting an anxious look toward the door leading to the exit. Finding the coast clear, Evangeline quickly made her way to the door, doing her utmost to remain as discreet as possible. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the books in her arms, trying to slip away unnoticed despite the urgency. After one last, quick glance around the shelves to ensure the way was clear, she weaved between the rows, attempting to make as little noise as possible. The library was now enveloped in an eerie silence, and every creak of the floorboards under her feet echoed like thunder in the vastness of the space. At last, she reached the entrance door, pushed it open gently, and slipped into the empty corridors of Hogwarts.

Night had fallen, and the flickering shadows of the torches danced along the stone walls. Evangeline quickened her pace, her mind fixated on a single goal: reaching the Ravenclaw Tower before encountering a teacher or prefect. She knew that if she were caught wandering after curfew, she risked losing even more points for her house and earning yet another detention—a punishment she could not endure after such a catastrophic week. The corridors seemed darker and more labyrinthine than usual. Every corner felt like a potential trap, every sound an imminent threat. Her breathing quickened despite her efforts to stay calm as she turned a corner, coming face-to-face with the vast central staircase. It loomed before her, appearing impossibly long and almost impassable in the dim light. The oppressive silence made her even more anxious. It was ironic, really. During the day, she wished for quiet, for the other students to stop talking whenever she was around, so she wouldn’t have to hear the whispers and rumors about her. But now, in this solitude, the absence of voices, laughter, and even murmurs weighed heavily on her. The echoes of her own thoughts seemed louder than ever, amplifying her unease. She moved cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest. Each step on the stone floor felt deafening, each movement heightening her awareness of how exposed she was. She avoided glancing at the mirrors lining the walls, too afraid of catching a glimpse of herself—of that lost, doubtful girl staring back at her.

As she continued her hurried journey through the deserted corridors, Evangeline suddenly turned into a narrow passage that led to the Ravenclaw Tower. Her footsteps echoed faintly against the stone floor, her heart racing with the fear of being caught and the urgency of her mission. She had one singular goal: to reach the door to her common room and collapse into her bed, desperately seeking the rest she needed after such an arduous week. At last, she arrived at the spiral staircase leading to the Ravenclaw Tower. Breathless, she paused briefly to steady herself before ascending the final steps two at a time. Her legs trembled from the effort, but the sight of the familiar circular door, adorned with its grand eagle-shaped knocker, brought her a small measure of relief. She was almost safe. But the relief was fleeting. As always, the final hurdle awaited her: solving a riddle to gain entry. Normally, Evangeline didn’t struggle with the Tower’s enigmatic questions, but in her current state of panic and exhaustion, even the thought of thinking clearly felt overwhelming. The eagle-shaped knocker stirred to life as she approached, its sharp, knowing eyes glinting in the dim light.

"I am both a guardian and a guide, silent but ever-present. Who am I?"

Evangeline blinked, caught off guard. She repeated the riddle in her mind, trying to make sense of it, but her thoughts, still muddled from the reading, the fatigue of the day, and the stress of the week, struggled to focus. "A guardian and a guide... What could that mean?" She searched for an answer, but nothing came to her. Evangeline stood frozen in front of the door. She repeated the riddle over and over in her head, but the words seemed to jumble together, as if they no longer had any meaning. Each passing second felt heavier than the last. Her mind emptied, unable to concentrate. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself. But the day had been long and exhausting, and her mind was far too restless to focus. She tried to think rationally, but her thoughts always drifted back to her awkwardness, the mocking glances of the other students throughout the week, and the feeling of strangeness that never seemed to leave her.

"Think…" she murmured, almost to herself, but nothing came. "Come on, Evangeline, you’re not going to let a stupid riddle humiliate you more than you already are!" The seconds dragged on. The oppressive silence of the night seemed to weigh on her shoulders, already burdened with exhaustion and frustration. "Ugh! If only I were better at this… If only I could just get in without solving these blasted riddles… Why can’t we have a password like everyone else?" She lightly bumped her forehead against the wooden door, despair etched on her face. The riddle played on a loop in her mind, but no answer presented itself. She felt trapped—physically, standing before this unyielding door, and emotionally, in a storm of uncertainties and doubts.

Minutes passed, and Evangeline, still unable to solve the riddle, felt increasingly overwhelmed. Her thoughts circled endlessly. "Why can’t I figure this out? Why now? What am I going to do if I can’t get in?" Frustration bubbled up, mingling with a deep sense of discouragement. She ran a trembling hand over her face. "Why am I always incapable of getting things right?". She stepped back, nervously biting her lip. In her mind, she could almost hear the taunts of her Ravenclaw peers, imagining her stuck out here like a fool, unable to solve a simple riddle. "Another failure." The thought froze her in place.

Suddenly, a tight knot of anxiety formed in her chest. And now what? Stuck here like a fool, where could she possibly go? Staying in plain sight was unthinkable, yet… there was nowhere else to turn. She tried to speak an answer aloud, but her voice cracked, little more than a whisper in the still darkness. The riddle seemed to mock her, swirling just beyond her grasp. Evangeline slowly sank to the ground, her back against the door, eyes fixed on the cold stone floor beneath her. The silence of the tower weighed heavily, magnifying her loneliness. She crouched there, her breath shaky, her thoughts spiraling into a storm of frustration and despair. The chill of the stone floor seeped into her, mirroring the emptiness and disconnect she felt with the world around her. Each beat of her heart reverberated like a cruel reminder of her inability to meet expectations—those of her peers, and more painfully, her own.

Evangeline bit her lip, struggling to maintain her composure. "Right, think..." she muttered, trying to suppress the rising panic. "Stay here all night? No, absolutely not. As soon as the first students leave the dormitory, they’ll see me… and with my luck, this will haunt me for weeks, maybe the whole year." She glanced again at the door to the Ravenclaw common room, her gaze fixed on the eagle sculpture perched above. That blasted bird offered her no solace; its mere presence annoyed her to no end. She felt trapped. The pressure was mounting, and a knot of anxiety twisted painfully in her stomach. "Why can’t I think straight?" she thought in frustration. "It’s just a simple riddle, and here I am, stuck outside… Ugh, this is hopeless." Evangeline took a deep breath. The thought of being stranded there all night was unbearable. She could already imagine the mocking laughter of her Ravenclaw peers the next morning, finding her slumped against the door. "No, absolutely not. I can’t stay here. I need to find somewhere else to hide for the night..."

She needed a new plan, an escape route. But where could she go? The library? Too risky. The Great Hall? A hotbed for patrolling prefects. The Defense Against the Dark Arts tower? That could work! She had overheard some Ravenclaws mention it once—so far removed from the rest of the dormitories that no one ever ventured there after curfew. Perfect. The problem: how to get there without being spotted? Then, an idea sparked in her mind. The Disillusionment Charm. It was far from perfect—she struggled to maintain it for more than a few minutes—but it was her best shot. If she could activate it just long enough to move undetected, she might make it to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower, where she could at least spend the night hidden from prying eyes and avoid being caught breaking curfew.

Evangeline pulled out her wand, adrenaline granting her a burst of courage. "Why didn’t I think of this sooner?" she muttered to herself. The thought of slipping under a temporary cloak of invisibility could have spared her so much earlier stress, but better late than never. She hesitated for a moment before whispering the incantation, pointing her wand at herself: "Disillusio." A faint warmth enveloped her body, and she felt a strange sensation, as though a thin layer of water had settled on her skin. Her figure blurred, her outlines melting into the surroundings. She wasn’t completely invisible, but in the dimly lit corridors, she was concealed enough not to draw attention. "Perfect… for now." she thought, fully aware that maintaining the charm would demand significant focus. She wouldn’t be able to sustain it indefinitely—it was a spell she hadn’t yet mastered. But for a short distance, it would suffice. With a deep breath, Evangeline took her first cautious steps forward, her heart racing as she began her journey to the distant tower.

Evangeline took a deep breath and slipped out of the corridor leading to the Ravenclaw tower. The tension in her muscles was palpable with every step she took, but she forced herself to stay focused. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Her footsteps barely echoed on the castle's stone floors as she moved as quickly as possible while ensuring she wouldn’t be noticed. As she made her way through the dark corridors, she reflected that she should have thought of using this spell much earlier. How many times could she have avoided mockery or curious stares if she had been able to blend into the background like this? But her persistent anxiety reminded her that she wasn’t comfortable enough to sustain it for long. "Don’t think about that now," she told herself to regain composure. "Focus."

The Defense Against the Dark Arts tower was finally within reach. The oppressive silence of the castle was punctuated by distant creaks and the sound of the wind against the ancient windows. Evangeline advanced cautiously, trying to remain invisible to any prefects or teachers who might appear. Fortunately for her, the hallways remained deserted. When she finally reached the base of the tower, she released the spell, her breathing labored. The sensation of becoming fully visible again was both a relief and a source of unease. She glanced around, but there was no one in sight. She slipped behind a stone column, searching for a discreet corner where she could rest, if only for a few hours. The accumulated fatigue of the week was catching up with her, leaving her feeling vulnerable. But deep down, the emotional exhaustion was also taking its toll. Reflecting on it, her week had been nothing short of a nightmare. Between the rumors about her, the detentions, the lost house points, and poor Leander… This nocturnal escapade was just the latest trial in a long series before she could hope to enjoy some serenity over the weekend. Her spirits were in shreds, and all she wanted was a bit of peace. A moment of respite, far from it all.

She leaned against one of the tower's cold walls, her back pressed to the stone. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe calmly. At least here, no one would come looking for her. Maybe, just this once, she could simply… have some peace for a night. Evangeline glanced around to ensure she was truly alone before letting herself slide down the wall. She set her books carefully on the ground and ran a hand over her face, feeling the tension that had kept her so rigid begin to ease. "Just one night," she murmured to herself. She removed her wizarding robe and draped it around herself like a blanket, hoping it might offer a bit of warmth. At this hour, the castle was steeped in an unusual stillness, a quiet so serene it was as if the building itself were finally sleeping.

After a while, the chill of the stones began to seep into her, and Evangeline stood to stretch her legs. Her steps carried her gently toward one of the tower's staircases, and as she descended slowly, her gaze was drawn to an old portrait hanging near the steps. The painting depicted a young witch with a soft, enigmatic expression whose eyes seemed to follow anyone passing by. Captivated, Evangeline paused, her fatigue momentarily forgotten, drawn in by the graceful features and mysterious depth of the figure's gaze. She sat carefully on the steps, a mix of excitement and vulnerability washing over her as she reached into her pocket to pull out her well-worn sketchbook, brimming with unspoken dreams and aspirations. She opened it with care, revealing pages filled with past sketches, then retrieved a pencil, her hands slightly trembling. Her eyes returned to the witch in the portrait, mesmerizing, as if she could somehow understand Evangeline's inner turmoil. Inspired by the softness of her features, Evangeline began to draw. The contours of the face took shape beneath her fingers, each pencil stroke a silent dialogue between her and the page. But as she progressed, a familiar, relentless voice crept into her thoughts: "Why bother drawing? It’s not like you’re any good at it…" The words echoed, weighing down her heart with doubt.

That voice, she knew it by heart. She had heard it far too often at Beauxbâtons, drifting through the hallways like an acidic melody, the echo of a cruelty that was almost ordinary. The girls most skilled at drawing, wrapped in their popularity and confidence at the French school of magic, took pleasure in silently watching her, exchanging knowing smiles before bursting into laughter behind her back, not even bothering to hide it. Maybe it was to put on a show, or maybe just to put her in her place—who knew? These teenagers, who dominated the classrooms with their presence, seemed to sense all her weaknesses, every one of her mistakes. And without ever being overtly mean, they managed to erase her, reducing her to her clumsiness and imperfect lines on the paper. Those mocking laughs still echoed within her, a dissonant tune that continued to whisper her doubts, reigniting, with every memory, the sting of those thinly veiled humiliations.

She paused her pencil, her gaze lingering on the portrait she was sketching. At that moment, the still-developing face of the witch seemed to understand her, a gentle glimmer of encouragement lighting up the sketched eyes, as if they were capturing Evangeline’s inner turmoil. Despite herself, she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm the wave of doubts threatening to overwhelm her. Then, her grandmother’s words returned to her, particularly a note left in a box of art supplies gifted to Evangeline—words filled with tenderness and wisdom: “Art, my dear, is a mirror of the heart, not a battlefield. Don’t seek perfection; seek only to put your soul into it. As Balzac said: ‘The mission of the artist is not to copy nature, but to express it!’”

These memories brought her a subtle warmth, like a thread of light in the darkness of her thoughts. Her grip on the pencil steadied. “That’s true. I shouldn’t let others’ opinions influence me,” she thought. After all, this drawing wasn’t for them. Taking a deep breath, she returned to sketching the curves, the shadows, and the details of the portrait, pouring into it every buried emotion, every spark of her own vulnerability. The witch’s face began to take shape, as if a silent dialogue was unfolding between them, where, stroke by stroke, Evangeline was learning to listen to herself.

She focused intently on every delicate detail of the witch’s face: the subtle curve of her lips, the soft shadow on her cheek, and the way a strand of hair escaped to brush her forehead. With each precise stroke of her pencil, Evangeline felt a weight lift from her shoulders, as though every line freed a fragment of the tension that had followed her throughout the evening. In the darkness, her pencil danced across the paper, and with each movement, she let her anxieties melt away. A gentle warmth began to fill her, a newfound peace, as she watched the witch’s face emerge beneath her fingers with an almost lifelike grace. As she drew, she felt something shift within her; it was more than just a portrait—it was a silent dialogue between her passion and her fears, where every line, every shadow traced became a step toward inner freedom. She whispered softly to herself, almost inaudibly, “I am capable,” as an anchor, refusing to succumb to the venom of past mockery. The contours came to life, and with them, a glimmer of her own inner strength began to break free, slowly eroding the chains of self-criticism.

But this moment of calm was short-lived. Barely a few moments of inner peace, and a familiar voice resurfaced, soft and insidious, creeping into the depths of her mind. “Look at your drawing, Evangeline… look carefully. Isn’t it crooked? Full of flaws?” The words seemed to hang in the air, like poison slowly spreading, contaminating the serenity she had struggled so hard to regain. Doubts began to coil around her heart, each silent critique eroding a little more the fragile confidence she was trying to maintain. “Why bother? Don’t you see it’s pointless?” The voice inside her grew stronger, amplified by the shadows of her old insecurities, showing her every stroke as a mistake, each line too harsh or poorly placed. The softness of the face she had tried to capture seemed to slip away, and her hands began to tremble slightly.

Evangeline took a deep breath, trying to push back the thoughts that seeped in like poison. “No.” she whispered, almost as a prayer. “I love to draw… it calms me, and that’s all that matters.” She tried to convince herself, to take refuge in this fragile certainty, but the voice continued to crawl through her mind, relentless. It lingered on every imperfection, every imperfect shadow, every tremble of her line. “Look closely… This isn’t art. It’s nothing but a meaningless doodle, a waste of paper!” the voice hissed, merciless. Evangeline struggled to keep her composure, but her gaze involuntarily drifted to her drawing. What she had once seen as a portrait full of potential was now, under her critical eye, transforming into a collection of glaring flaws: the proportions of the face jumped out at her; the cheekbones were too high, the nose seemed disproportionate compared to the twisted mouth, and the eyes, though full of life in her mind, were now unbalanced, as if they had been placed without any regard for harmony. The voice in her mind grew louder, sharper. “Look at that, Evangeline. It’s far from beautiful. It’s far from art. Admit it, you have no talent.” Her heart tightened, and she turned her gaze away from the drawing, but even in the blur of her tear-filled eyes, the imperfections remained etched in her memory.

A silent sob rose within her, and despite her desperate efforts, her heart tightened, allowing a dull pain to settle in. She tried to resist, to cling to the subtle details, to hear once again the reassuring words of her grandmother whispering that art wasn’t a race, but a reflection of herself. Yet, the harder she fought, the louder the inner voice became, invasive and relentless. The flaws screamed at her: the sorceress’s mouth seemed crooked, the shadows appeared excessively heavy, and the gaze, which was supposed to evoke life, seemed frozen and empty. “Why am I persevering? Why keep trying to prove again and again what I already know? This drawing is nothing more than another proof of my inability, a ruthless reflection of my failures...”

Tears welled up, unstoppable, clouding her vision until one of them slipped and fell onto the paper. The outline of her drawing blurred on impact, and the ink spread, leaving a pale stain that distorted the delicate face of the sorceress. This simple mark was the last straw, breaking what little calm she had left. The sight of that stain distorting the face she had so carefully sketched shattered the dam of her frustration. A sense of helplessness mingled with a dull rage, tinged with despair. Her hands clenched the edges of the notebook as she felt the anger rise, burning. Bitterness mingled with pain, and, gritting her teeth in a furious breath, she muttered, “Why am I so weak? Why does every critique, every dark thought, always pierce me so deeply?” Her voice, broken and vibrating with disgust, echoed faintly in the air, mirroring the pain she had contained for so long.

In an impulsive burst, Evangeline clutched her trembling sketchbook between her hands before throwing it far away, her eyes clouded with tears. The sketchbook spun through the air, flying over the banister of the staircase. Its pages fluttered in a disordered motion, trembling as if they were mocking her, before falling heavily to the lower level. What Evangeline didn’t yet know was that this desperate gesture would lead to an unexpected encounter. At the bottom of the stairs, a boy crouched against the staircase looked up when he heard the rustle of the sketchbook’s pages in the air before it struck him squarely on the head. The impact made him flinch, but instead of getting angry, he simply picked up the object that had fallen into his lap and gazed at it, gently brushing it with his hands, no doubt curious about why this object had ended up there. This impulsive act by the young Ravenclaw would lead to a chance meeting that would mark the beginning of an unexpected bond—a bond that would change Evangeline’s life.

But Evangeline knew none of this. At that exact moment, the only thing occupying her was the desperate effort to hold back her burning tears. "Il doit bien y avoir un domaine dans lequel je devrais pouvoir être douée!" she yelled, her voice rising in French, shattering the heavy silence of the stone corridor. Her cry, filled with frustration and despair, echoed through the cold air, scattering against the walls. "Oui, tu es douée pour troubler la tranquillité des autres!" a male voice replied, tinged with amusement and genuine curiosity. The tone came from the bottom of the stairs, and it had a lightness that contrasted with the gravity of her own distress. Eyes wide, Evangeline jumped. She had thought she was alone. Hearing him respond to her in French with a British accent—adding an unexpected and not unpleasant twist to his words—caught her off guard. She lowered her gaze, her eyes still blurred with tears, and saw the figure of a boy holding her sketchbook in his hands, his expression a mix of intrigue and a hint of sarcasm. It only took a moment for her to realize that he had been the unintended recipient of her impulsive throw. Surprise and embarrassment hit her full force, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Each step brought Evangeline closer to a confrontation she already dreaded. A wave of anxiety twisted her stomach, like an invisible vise compressing her chest. The thought of facing a confrontation, especially knowing the reputation that preceded her, sent a chill up her spine. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the accusing glares and venomous whispers of other students. The lost points, the detentions—everything that had made her unpopular haunted her thoughts, weaving a tight web of fears and doubts. Her fingers nervously twisted around the cuff of her sleeve, a gesture she had grown accustomed to in an effort to calm herself. Her throat dry, she felt a familiar tingling rise, betraying the panic bubbling beneath the surface. She forced herself to breathe slowly, trying to steady the erratic beats of her heart. As she placed her foot on the last step, the thought that this young man would likely judge her, like so many others before him, made her hesitate for a fraction of a second. But it was too late to back down, and the shadow of her fears had to make way for the fragile courage pushing her forward, despite everything.

When she reached the bottom, she was able to take in more of the stranger's features. He was a young man with fair skin, his light brown-blonde hair carefully combed back, almost slicked, giving him an air of both elegance and severity. His eyes, a piercing milky blue, didn’t quite focus on her but carried a strange intensity. On his left cheek, a series of beauty marks were subtly arranged to resemble—at least to Evangeline's eyes—the constellation of the serpent, adding a mysterious and captivating touch to his appearance. His black robe trimmed with green and the matching tie he wore over a light shirt marked him as belonging to the Slytherin house.

"I... I'm sorry..." Evangeline attempted to say in a barely audible voice, her timidity betraying her discomfort.

"I didn’t know throwing a sketchbook down a staircase was part of the French artistic traditions," the Slytherin boy responded, this time in English, with a sharp irony and a smirk. "I didn’t realize the stairs at Hogwarts had become French art galleries." His voice, both refined and tinged with a noticeable annoyance, made her falter internally. Each word seemed to slip under her skin, stirring a mix of frustration and embarrassment within her.

Evangeline opened her mouth, trying to defend herself, but no sound came out. Guilt and shame overwhelmed her, weighing on her heart like a stone. Each second of silence only amplified her sense of inadequacy, and she felt like prey under the scrutinizing gaze of a predator. As she timidly extended her hand to retrieve her sketchbook, she noticed the boy wasn’t immediately handing it back to her. Instead, he seemed to weigh the situation, his curiosity mixed with a palpable distrust. She could almost feel the tension between them, her mind swirling with thoughts about her appearance, her past mistakes, and the silent judgment surrounding her. The reality of her situation pressed heavily on her: as the target of mockery at Beauxbâtons, she had become accustomed to the indifference and cruelty of others.

"This sketchbook, this scream... A true tragedy in three acts. The greatest playwrights would have been impressed." he added, raising an eyebrow, the constellation of freckles on his cheek catching the flickering torchlight with an almost mesmerizing intensity. His words, sharp as thorns, pierced the fragile balance Evangeline had managed to maintain. Her heart raced, each beat pounding like a drum in her chest, as a knot of anxiety tightened around her throat. Unable to bear the weight of humiliation any longer, she abruptly turned away, a whirlwind of anger and pain swirling within her.

She rushed through the first floor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower without a glance back, the frantic beats of her heart in sync with her steps against the cold stone. Each stride felt like a challenge to the rising pain within her, a desperate effort to escape the searing humiliation that the Slytherin boy’s words had just reignited. A wave of sadness and anger engulfed her, but her pride, though shaken, remained intact. She could not, would not, allow anyone to witness her in such a moment of weakness. The desire to maintain this facade, to not offer those around her the spectacle of her distress, blinded her. Evangeline quickened her pace, crossing the Transfiguration courtyard, feeling the bite of the cold air rush into her lungs, slicing through her throat like a silent warning. It didn’t matter the sketchbook, the mockery, or the shame; all she sought in that moment was air, a space far from prying eyes, where she could regain control, even if only for a fleeting moment. She passed through the main hall before heading toward the viaduct courtyard.

When she finally arrived on the viaduct, a biting cold wind swept through her hair, striking her skin with an intense brutality. The cold air lashed at her face, chasing away the first tears that had gathered on her cheeks, as though each gust were trying to erase her sadness. Every breath carried away a fragment of her despair, yet left behind a dull, relentless pain. Beneath the starry sky and the encompassing darkness of the night, she let herself sink into her sorrow, hoping that the wind would carry away the ache that knotted her heart and soul.

In the silence, broken only by the whistle of the wind, a soft flutter of wings caught Evangeline’s attention. A grey owl, speckled with white and with piercing eyes, landed on the edge of the viaduct, its talons gently scraping against the cold stone. Surprised by this silent apparition, Evangeline straightened up, hastily wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, as though trying to conceal her vulnerability—even from a mere animal. The owl, impassive, seemed to observe her with a silent wisdom, its gaze intense and indifferent to human dramas. “You, at least, don’t judge me, do you?” she whispered, her voice broken, a fragile smile briefly lighting up her tired face. The owl tilted its head, its large round eyes fixed on her, a mix of curiosity and tranquility, like a comforting presence in the darkness. Under the silvery glow of the moon, its feathers seemed to shimmer gently, adding an aura of mystery to its silhouette. For a fleeting moment, this simple, silent exchange brought her an unexpected calm, a comfort from a creature that could neither judge nor hurt her.

Evangeline sighed, her gaze drifting into the owl's grey feathers. “You’re lucky... No words to hurt you, no mockery to endure, just the wind and freedom…” she murmured, her voice fading into the breath of the night. She inhaled deeply, trying to absorb the serene quiet the animal’s presence offered. She envied the owl, so simple, so free. After all, animals don’t suffer the weight of appearances, the cruel judgments, or the stifling expectations. They ignore the mockery, the sharp gazes, and the words that tear. In her heart, a deep desire rose: the wish to escape the oppression of her environment, the cruelty of the other students, the pressure to be perfect. The thought of living without the constant fear of judgment comforted her, but the pain of her own reality was unbearable. She wished she could fly like the owl, free herself from everything that consumed her, but she felt trapped in a world where even the most innocent of creatures could take flight, while she remained, grounded by her doubts and fears.

But barely had she finished her sentence when the owl flapped its wings, preparing to take flight. Evangeline, suddenly seized by panic, instinctively reached out her hand, as if this gesture could hold onto the fleeting hope it symbolized. She watched as it rose into the air, its feathers brushing gently against her fingers, a brief touch that stirred a mix of sadness and despair within her. The bird quickly disappeared into the darkness, carrying with it the sense of comfort it had brought. Evangeline felt her heart tighten as she realized how precious this moment of connection had been, even though it was brief. The loneliness engulfed her once more, heavier than ever. The bird, a symbol of freedom, had flown away, taking with it her hopes of escaping her oppressive reality. She couldn't help but wonder if, like the owl, she could ever free herself from the burden that weighed on her. Every tear she had held back now flowed endlessly, betraying the fragility of her heart. In that starry night, she painfully understood that she might never be free from the grip of mockery and judgment that surrounded her.

A painful emptiness settled in her chest, growing with every passing moment. She lowered her head, allowing her hair to fall over her face, her shoulders sagging heavily under the crushing weight of solitude. "Even animals are fleeing from me..." she thought, a sharp bitterness tightening her throat like a cold embrace. The tears she had tried to contain fell again, this time with a heartbreaking intensity, slipping down her cheeks like a torrent of despair. She felt abandoned, disconnected from everything around her, and the wind, an insensitive accomplice, carried her sobs into the starry night, scattering them like lost secrets. In this moment of vulnerability, every drop of sorrow that escaped seemed like an affirmation of her inability to be understood or accepted. The darkness enveloped her, and she felt invisible, even to the creatures who inhabited this world. She blamed herself for her sensitivity, wondering why she allowed others to hurt her so deeply. Each thought was a new pain, and she couldn't help but feel trapped in an endless cycle of sadness and solitude.

Evangeline, overwhelmed by crushing despair, stared into the void before her, her gaze lost in the abyssal darkness of the world around her. The tears continued to fall, but she no longer noticed them, swallowed by a sombre stupor. The vastness of the viaduct, the distant murmur of the wind, everything seemed indifferent to her suffering. Each reproach, every mocking word, every moment of solitude she had endured since arriving at Hogwarts weighed on her shoulders like a stone. The memories of Beauxbatons, where she had also been ostracised and rejected, merged with those of her new life in the United Kingdom—still so recent—already filled with despair. The mocking laughter of her classmates, which seemed so far away yet so close, echoed in her mind, painfully emphasising the icy silence surrounding her here. This accumulation of pain and disappointment, this constant struggle against a world that seemed hostile to her, was too heavy and unbearable. The certainty that she belonged nowhere, that she was doomed to solitude, crept into her heart, making every breath more difficult than the last.

The void before her seemed to promise an escape, a release from the suffering that was only growing. Each failure, each disdainful look, every moment of rejection swirled together in a whirlwind of despair. Evangeline found herself facing a terrifying choice, trapped between the desire to escape and the fear of the unknown. In that moment, the thought of ending it all blossomed within her like a black flower, seductive and twisted. She felt drained, ready to give in to the despair that was consuming her, to flee from a reality that had become too heavy to bear. Dark thoughts began to slither into her mind, insidious and convincing. Why continue fighting for a world that seemed to conspire against her? Why not end the pain that was eating her from the inside out? The shadow of the thought seemed gentle, a promise of peace amidst the turmoil. For a moment, she imagined the release it could bring, like a breath of fresh air after being submerged in a sea of sorrow.

Her thoughts whirled with a cold clarity, as if every painful memory and every failure were suddenly etched within her with an unrelenting intensity. The idea of being swept away by the void crossed her mind, troubling and tempting, like a brutal yet definitive solution to escape the dull anguish that consumed her day after day. For a moment, everything seemed clear, as though giving in to this impulse would finally offer deliverance, a way to put an end to the overwhelming weight of isolation. But deep within her, a small voice, soft and faint, rose like a spark in the darkness. It reminded her of the precious moments, almost forgotten, when she had tasted true joy: the laughter shared with her parents, simple and without judgment; the hours spent immersing herself in literary worlds, escaping alongside her imaginary heroes, her inner conversations with them comforting and soothing her; the pages of her journal where she confided her hopes and sorrows; and, of course, the happiness of drawing, of letting colours and shapes speak for her. These memories, which she thought were extinguished, began to surface gently, countering the encroaching darkness. She saw herself again, a little girl, sitting in her grandmother’s kitchen, a coloured pencil in hand, the white paper in front of her filling with clumsy yet lively strokes. She could still feel her grandmother’s caring hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to let her imagination run free. It was a moment of pure freedom, a simple magic she had lost sight of over the years. Evangeline clenched her fists, realising that these fragments of happiness were part of her, even if she had forgotten them for so long. They were a light, faint, perhaps, but enough to pierce the dark veil that surrounded her.

"No…" she murmured, but the battle inside her raged on, an unrelenting fight between light and shadow, between the call of hope and the crushing weight of despair. She closed her eyes, trying to escape the dark thoughts that assailed her. "What if I jumped… No, that would be too easy. A way to prove them right, to show that their words and rumours have managed to get to me." She inhaled, clinging to that thought. "And my parents… they don’t deserve this suffering." A slight shiver ran through her as she continued, speaking softly, almost as if trying to convince herself. "Anyway, Evangeline, you know you wouldn’t have the courage. And… no, crashing against the rocks below… it would be a far too cruel end." She opened her eyes, her gaze still blurred, but a tiny spark had reignited in her eyes. This path, however tempting it had seemed in a moment of weakness, was not hers. She refused to let the bitterness of others become the end of her story.

Breathing heavily, Evangeline slowly slid down the cold stones at the edge of the bridge until she was seated, her knees drawn to her chest. She wrapped her arms around them, seeking to curl in on herself, as if to protect herself from the whole world. The tears, which had already flowed so much and which Evangeline had managed to hold back for a brief moment, began to fall again, and she once again let the pain that had gripped her for a week escape. "Why can’t I just be… normal, like everyone else?" she whispered, her voice muffled by sobs. She buried her face in her arms, her shoulders shaking with a sorrow she could no longer contain. She thought of all the times she had felt out of place, as though simply being herself was an insurmountable barrier. "I just wish… I could be accepted, just as I am," she sighed, her throat tight, "even if I’m a bit different, even if… even if I don’t fit into their boxes."

The memories overwhelmed her, relentless, like an incoming tide that couldn’t be stopped: the muffled laughter, the looks that averted, the words whispered under breath whenever she turned her back. Every moment where she had felt the weight of silent judgments bearing down on her returned to haunt her. She felt drowned beneath a wave of contempt and misunderstanding, trapped in a loneliness that seemed unwilling to leave. Deep down, all Evangeline wanted was a place, even the smallest, where she could simply be herself. She dreamt of finding someone with whom she could share her thoughts, someone who would accept her unconditionally, with all her oddities, her awkwardness, her differences. Why did it always seem just out of reach? Why did it feel so hard to find even one person capable of seeing beyond the surface, of making the effort to truly know her? She sighed, a long, trembling breath laden with a weariness that went beyond her body, a fatigue rooted in her heart. Her arms tightened around her knees in that solitary embrace, desperately seeking strength that only she could give herself. Her fingers clung to her shoulders, as if trying to anchor herself, while her ragged breathing spoke of the turmoil within. She felt exhausted, emptied, at the end of her tether. And yet, buried deep in her heart, a small flame of hope, fragile yet stubborn, refused to extinguish. One day, perhaps, she would find that place, that person, where she wouldn’t have to fight to be accepted.

Evangeline, curled up on herself, finally let out a sob, her head buried in her folded arms. The tears flowed silently, rolling down her cheeks like a late release, a sorrow she could no longer contain. The darkness surrounded her like a protective veil, but the cold night air only amplified her loneliness. Suddenly, the faint creak of footsteps on the gravel of the viaduct made her start. She abruptly lifted her head, her reddened eyes landing on the young man standing there, his face barely visible under the silver glow of the moon. It was him, the sarcastic Slytherin from the staircase. Evangeline felt shame and frustration tighten her throat once again. With a lazy gesture, he twirled a thin, dark wand between his fingers, its tip glowing with a faint red light that seemed to flicker, as if hesitating to obey him.

He stopped, tilting his head slightly in her direction, and said in a soft, yet sarcastic voice: "So, crying under the moon, waiting for the stars to applaud? A performance worthy of a tragedy, truly. All that's missing is a violin, and the scene would be perfect."

Evangeline gritted her teeth, stung by his sarcasm, and shot him a furious glare despite the tears still shimmering at the corners of her eyes. "You can leave now!" she hissed in a trembling voice, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. "There's nothing of interest for you here."

The Slytherin boy flashed a smile, blatantly ignoring her request. Crossing his arms, he casually leaned against the edge of the viaduct, his head slightly tilted as if he were watching her—or at least listening intently to the faintest tremor in her breath. "Leave? Oh, I’m not going anywhere. A show like this is rare. It’d be a crime to leave before the grand finale. A performance like this deserves to be seen until the very end." he replied, his smile splitting into an expression of both curiosity and irony.

Evangeline’s anger skyrocketed, and she let out an exasperated sigh. "Who do you think you are?" she retorted sharply. "You don’t know anything about me, so why keep pushing? Why not just leave me alone? Do you think I enjoy having someone else put me down?" Her voice cracked slightly at the end, but she forced herself to keep her gaze fixed, burning with resentment.

He raised an eyebrow, as though he took some pleasure in weighing his words. "I should probably leave. But you have this annoying knack for capturing my attention, and that, I can't ignore." His voice, still laced with mockery, softened. "It’s not every day you stumble upon a living tragedy lit by the moon. A touch of drama, I appreciate."

Evangeline looked away, clenching her fists to hold back her frustration. "I’ve had enough of your sarcasm. If you have nothing better to do than mock me... then leave! I don’t need one more person tearing me down." She hesitated, then let out a bitter whisper, as though the words had betrayed her: "Although… if you want to be useful, push me into the void. After all, besides my parents, no one would care if I disappeared." She swallowed hard, her gaze drifting toward the dark horizon, her voice ringing out like an echo of everything she’d silently endured. "Because me," she added in a broken tone, "I’ll never have the courage to do it."

A dense silence settled between them, only disturbed by the breath of the wind filling the empty space. He remained still, his head slightly tilted as if he were trying to fathom the depth of her despair. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice low, strangely stripped of its usual irony. "So, you think that’s not courage?" he murmured, and this time, she detected an unexpected sincerity in his words, almost unsettling. "What you don’t realise is the quiet strength it takes to face the daily disdain of others without giving in, day after day. And that’s a strength no one can take from you. Believe me."

Evangeline stared at him, his words resonating within her like a painful echo, but anger still rose within her, a rush of irritation sweeping her sadness away for a moment. She clenched her fists, the tears of frustration returning. "And what do you know about it?" she retorted, her voice trembling but laced with cold determination. "What could you possibly understand about what it’s like… to be the target of all those stares, to be nothing but a subject of mockery?"

He fell silent for a moment, as if weighing his words with a new attention, and the echo of the wind seemed suspended around them, like a discreet witness to their exchange. "Maybe I don’t know all the details of what you’re going through, but you don’t need to know everything to understand there’s suffering," he finally said, his voice softer, almost absent of the coldness that had characterised it until then. "Believe me, I know those whispers well. I’m quite familiar with whispers, too. It’s almost second nature."

Surprised, she looked at him, his usual sarcasm having vanished. For the first time, she glimpsed something unexpected behind that mask of indifference: perhaps a shadow of understanding, or some kind of silent recognition, as though, somewhere, he saw in her a reflection of his own battles.

He tilted his head slightly, letting a silence hang between them, as if weighing every word he was about to say. When he spoke, his voice was softer, strangely free of its usual sarcastic tone. "The difference, you know, is not a flaw. It's just... another way of being. Unfortunately, some people prefer to use it as a weapon because they don't know how to deal with what overwhelms them. But what they think... it doesn't really matter." He paused, the words seeming to cost him more than he'd want to admit. "You shouldn't let them have that power over you. What they say only has the value you choose to give it."

Evangeline gritted her teeth, and a mix of annoyance and disbelief flickered in her eyes. She retorted with an acidic tone, "And you, what do you know about it, exactly? Look at you... You don’t really seem like someone who gets tormented." She waved vaguely at him. "Nice clothes, cologne, impeccable manners... Everything about you screams that you come from a good family. So, sorry if I have a hard time believing you understand what it’s like. Maybe you’ve heard a few whispers, but it’s surely nothing like what I go through." She glared at him with rising anger, her tone suggesting she expected another sarcastic remark from him.

But instead of replying, he stood still, observing his own silence as though he was absorbing her words. Eventually, a smile — devoid of mockery — appeared on his lips, and he slowly nodded. "You're right," he finally said in a deep voice. "I come from a family that has its privileges. But if you think that protects me from everything, you're mistaken. Those fine appearances sometimes hide things you couldn’t imagine. The walls are just higher, that’s all."

Evangeline felt a mix of confusion and curiosity replace her anger, as if a veil had been briefly lifted from the person before her.

"What I mean," he continued, his gaze steady though expressionless, "is that appearances don't hide everything. Believe me, wearing nice clothes has never stopped me from hearing the whispers. Quite the opposite. It’s precisely my background and my family that fuel the rumours about me."

For the first time, Evangeline caught a hint of vulnerability in his face, a fragility buried beneath his mask of indifference. She looked at him, a little taken aback, feeling an unexpected, almost irresistible compassion stir within her.

He continued, his voice softer, as if he were lowering an invisible barrier: "People avoid me because of what I represent, because of this name that sticks to me. So, believe me, I know what it's like to be judged without anyone bothering to get to know me. To hear words I can't erase. To be pushed aside because of what I am, or rather, what others imagine me to be." He paused, his words falling like a reluctant shared confession. Then he lowered his head slightly, as if gathering painful memories that seemed difficult to bring up. "In my first year," he murmured, "the others avoided me like the plague. My family's reputation has never been synonymous with... well, let's just say it's not the kind of reputation that inspires trust." He gave a bitter smile, and Evangeline saw a shadow of sadness in his expression. "To them, I was simply 'the son of,' the heir of a family tainted by ideas that aren't even mine. It didn't matter who I really was; that didn't count. They whispered, kept their distance, as if I were carrying a curse." He ran a hand along the edge of the viaduct, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the cold stone, before continuing in a slightly softer voice. "I convinced myself that solitude would be my only constant, even at Hogwarts... at least until I crossed paths with Sebastian and Anne Sallow."

He let a silence hang in the air, his words resonating in the cold with an unexpected gravity. "They were the first not to be stopped by appearances, to ignore the rumours that made me out to be someone I’m not. With them, I could finally let my guard down and just be myself. For the first time, I glimpsed hope, a chance to find my place in this world." He paused, as if making sure she understood, before murmuring in a softer voice: "That night, in the dormitory, Sebastian took the first step. I could never thank him enough for that. Without him, I think I would have spent a long time wandering the corridors, alone and lost in my thoughts."

Evangeline, stung by his words, let out a dry laugh, more bitter than she would have liked. "At least people come to you. That must make it easier," she retorted, her voice tinged with an irony that betrayed the underlying pain. She turned her gaze away, not wanting him to see the envy and sadness hidden behind her awkward sarcasm.

He stayed silent for a moment, as if carefully choosing the words that would follow. A sigh finally escaped his lips, heavy with something long held back. "Do you really think it’s easy? If that’s the impression I give, then I must be a better actor than I thought." His voice was low, almost inaudible, but this question seemed to contain a truth he had never confessed to anyone. "Yes, they came to me... Sebastian and Anne saw something in me that no one else ever bothered to look for. But even with them, loneliness is still there, lurking somewhere. All it takes is one moment, one corridor where the whispers start again as soon as I show up, for that feeling to resurface." His words floated in the air, like a confession offered to the night. A new silence stretched, deeper, more intimate. Then, in a barely audible whisper, he let out a thought he seemed to have been carrying for a long time. "If only Anne were here… Sebastian wouldn’t be so distant, he wouldn’t have lost himself in his own turmoil… and we’d still be a trio, all three of us, like before." He lowered his head for a moment, as if regretting having allowed that vulnerable moment to slip out. Yet, he didn’t try to hide the pain that surfaced in his expression, that invisible but crushing loss that seemed to haunt him every day.

Evangeline frowned slightly, unsettled by this unexpected admission. She looked up at him, her sarcasm now swept away by the raw sincerity of his words. The Slytherin, however, no longer had his gaze fixed on her. His pale, expressionless eyes seemed to be focused on a distant point, lost in the darkness. "Loneliness… it’s like a persistent shadow." he murmured. "It silently slips into every corner, and even in the midst of a crowd, it’s still there, invisible but relentless. It feeds on everything: our fears, our flaws, and especially that certainty that no one will ever see us as we truly are." His voice dropped even lower, more hesitant, as if revealing a part of himself he would rather keep buried. "It’s tempting to think that everything would be better… that all it would take is one person who could understand us."

The anger bubbled up inside her before she even spoke a word, like a spark ready to ignite everything in its path. Evangeline shot an angry glance at the boy, fists clenched, her eyes bright with tears she refused to let fall. "You, you talk about loneliness?" she spat, her voice trembling with rage. "You dare talk about suffering, rumours, isolation... but honestly, you're pretty lucky, aren't you? You had Sebastian, you had Anne. You're not alone, you had people to support you! But me? Me, I have no one!" Her voice cracked for a moment, caught in the grip of emotion, but she straightened, the rage fuelling her words like a consuming flame. "People judge you, look at you funny, but at least you have friends! Me... I've been alone my whole life! Even before Hogwarts, even at Beauxbâtons. Everywhere I go, I'm rejected, I'm seen as strange. No one bothers to get to know me, to see who I really am."

The boy, taken by surprise, turned toward her and opened his mouth to respond, but she interrupted him with a sharp, angry gesture. "No, don’t say anything. You don’t understand!" she spat, her voice trembling with rage and frustration. "You say you understand, but you have no idea what it’s like to spend your life fading into the shadows, to be invisible, or worse, to be the target of mockery. Since I’ve been here, they keep calling me the 'frenchie' with such a disdainful tone, as if it were my name! You don’t know what it’s like to hear cruel whispers about you every day for four years of magical schooling, to end up believing they might be right. That I’m worthless. That I’m insignificant." The tears, heavy and burning, streamed down her face without her even trying to hold them back, flowing freely across her cheeks, but she ignored them, her gaze lost in the void. He stayed there, silent, his face frozen, feeling that any more words would only make the already intense pain worse.

Evangeline, as if pulled by an invisible force, suddenly stood up and turned her back on the boy, walking toward the edge of the viaduct, as if she wanted to confide her suffering there. Her shoulders shook with the intensity of her sobs, and her voice, broken by the weight of emotion, broke the last remnants of silence: "I want... I want to be seen…" she said, her voice barely audible, but heartbreaking. "I want people to respect me, to admire me, to seek me out... I want them to see something more than just a weird girl with a notebook scribbling or spending her time reading Muggle books... I want to be like everyone else and have friends. I want to know what it feels like to be in love, to get letters from admirers, to have friends write to me, to wish me happy birthday... I want to be... accepted by others. I want to be... popular! Well, let’s say, I just don’t want to be pushed aside anymore..." These words came out with a wild pain, like a desperate cry that tore through the night air.

She finally turned toward him, her eyes full of tears mixed with deep anger and palpable despair. "I want to prove to myself that I’m worth something, that I’m not as... as insignificant as I see myself. I want to be someone who matters, someone people will remember." Her voice cracked, and a sob strangled her throat. "And yet..." She closed her eyes for a moment, the weight of her own words crushing her heart. "I hate myself. I have no confidence. All I have are impossible dreams of being someone. Someone I know I’ll never be." A shiver ran through her body, and she let out a bitter laugh, a joyless laugh. "I don’t want to be that invisible girl anymore, the girl no one notices. But no matter what I do, it’s all in vain. I remain this shy, anxious girl, crushed by her fears, unable to break through the barriers of her own existence." Her legs suddenly gave way, and she collapsed to the ground, her knees hitting the cold stone. Her sobs erupted violently, each tear seeming to drain her strength. Each tear that fell felt like the weight of a suffering she had carried for far too long, a burden she could no longer bear, one she should have shared with someone earlier.

The young Slytherin stood frozen, his eyes fixed on her, a look of surprise and indecision crossing his features. A heavy silence fell between them, thick with the shockwaves of the raw emotion she had just unleashed. He had never witnessed such a breakdown, as disarming in its sincerity as it was in its intensity. He, who had always hidden his own vulnerabilities behind a mask of sarcasm, playing the part of a boy impervious to criticism and indifferent to rumors, now found himself faced with a pain he didn’t know how to approach. His lips parted hesitantly, as though he were searching for words that could dispel this internal storm, but nothing came. In that moment, he realized how cruel silence could be, and yet, he could find nothing that seemed adequate. What resonated within him, he understood, was not pity but a strange form of recognition, a part of himself that he saw in her. His own wounds, his own weaknesses that he tried so hard to mask, seemed to echo in this confession, and it troubled him more than he was willing to admit. Then, in a voice softer than he had intended, almost a whisper that betrayed his vulnerability, he ventured: "You feel insignificant, but believe me, you’re not. What you carry inside… maybe no one has taken the time to see it yet. And that’s unfair, I know, but it doesn’t change your worth." A silence followed, this time less oppressive, almost soothing, like a fragile truce.

After a pause that felt suspended outside of time, he stepped slowly toward her, each step measured, as if he feared disturbing this delicate moment. He stopped a few paces away, hesitant, torn between the desire to comfort her and the fear of crossing an invisible boundary. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, devoid of any sarcasm, imbued with a sincerity he had never let show before. "I don’t pretend to know exactly how you feel." he murmured, his words weighed, sincere. "Loneliness… I know it well. Not just here, at Hogwarts, but also in my own family, where expectations and appearances crush everything else, making it impossible to see what truly matters..." He paused, searching his thoughts for the right words. Then, with an almost timid gesture, he extended his hand hesitantly, palm open, without insistence or demand. He wasn’t trying to force her to rise, but simply offering to be there, to provide a grounding, a presence. "I don’t claim to be able to erase your pain or free you from what you carry. But... if you’d like, I could try to help you see what, for now, you can’t see in yourself. You don’t have to carry all of this alone." He remained like that, hand outstretched, a moment of shared vulnerability suspended between them. In his eyes, she discerned a shadow of understanding, perhaps even a promise, like a silent echo, an invitation to lay down, for a moment, the weight of her sorrow.

Evangeline finally looked up at him, and for the first time, she saw what gave his gaze that strange, distant glow: he was blind. A bitter smile tugged at her lips as she wiped away the tears that had carved tracks down her cheeks. "Explain to me how you plan to help me see. Because right now, frankly, I don't see anything. Kind of like you," she shot back with sarcasm, a hint of defiance in her tone, as if testing how far he would go. But beyond her sharp words, she felt something new begin to form in their exchange. Her cheeks still burned from her recent tears, her breath short from the internal struggle, but for the first time, she felt like her words were reaching someone. She wasn’t entirely alone anymore, locked in a grief she thought no one else could understand. Her own words felt less heavy in the presence of this strange boy who, without knowing her, had reached out to her. She remembered her impulsive rejection earlier in the day when Natsai had tried to help. Perhaps, she thought, pushing people away was more of a reflex than a true desire to be alone. And now, a gentle but insistent voice urged her not to make the same mistake. She knew this boy, with all his clarity and his flaws, couldn’t erase her sorrow or give her all the answers. But this gesture, uncertain as it was, shone like a spark in the darkness of her solitude.

The boy remained silent, neither defending himself nor justifying his actions. His hand stayed outstretched toward her, with unwavering patience and an unusual serenity. He let out a soft laugh, barely perceptible, before murmuring in a gentle voice: "I don’t pretend to understand everything, it’s true. But sometimes... we don’t need to see everything clearly to move forward. And I’m well-placed to know that. Sometimes it’s enough to feel that someone is there, right beside you, for things to seem a little less dark." His words lingered in the air, like a bridge stretched between their solitude, a quiet invitation he hoped she would take.

She hesitated, her eyes fixed on his outstretched hand, her heart torn between distrust and a shy spark of hope. Slowly, she reached out, her fingers brushing his in a fragile and tentative motion, as if she feared he would retract at the slightest touch. But he remained still, his hand steady, giving off an unexpected warmth. In that simple contact, she felt a silent promise, a sincere presence that didn’t judge her. "Maybe I shouldn’t reject his help. Come on, Evangeline, force yourself to break out of your shell. Just for once."

"Thank you." she murmured softly, gently letting go of his hand—somewhat reluctantly—when she sensed that the young Slytherin had started to tense up from the physical contact. The single word, though barely audible, carried all the gratitude she struggled to express.

"You're welcome." he replied softly, a subtle smile lighting up his lips. After a brief silence, he added, with a slight furrow of his brow, "It's getting late, and the night is turning cold. It would probably be wiser to head back to your common room."

Evangeline swallowed, a nervous laugh escaping her. "Well... it's just..." She lowered her eyes, visibly embarrassed, before casting him an apologetic glance.

"What, afraid of running into the prefects?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

"No, not really... It's just... the knocker," she admitted with a sigh, her voice lower. "The riddle. I can't solve it, and without that, I can't even get into my common room."

A genuine laugh escaped him, loosening some of the tension in the air. "So you're stuck outside because of a knocker? The Ravenclaws and their riddles. Who would have thought they'd be so formidable, even for their own students. How ironic," he said, suppressing a smirk, but this time without any malice. "Don’t you know the passwords at Ravenclaw?"

"Yes, I know, it's ridiculous..." she replied, torn between an amused smile and some embarrassment. "We have to solve a riddle to get into the common room. When it's easy, it’s fine... but when we get stuck, it's a whole different story. Sometimes, we end up all standing there in front of the door, thinking together, like an impromptu collective intelligence contest." She shrugged, letting out a sigh.

After a moment's thought, the Slytherin nodded, as though he'd made up his mind. "Listen... if you want, I can walk you back to the Ravenclaw tower. We'll wait for another Ravenclaw to come along and, with a bit of luck, they'll know the answer to the riddle." A slight smile appeared on his lips. "I'd help you myself, but to be honest, riddles and I... we're not exactly on good terms."

"That's kind of you, but it's really not necessary. It's late, no one's lingering in the Ravenclaw tower anymore. And I've already spent a good half hour thinking about this riddle, but nothing's coming to me... And there's no way I'm spending the night in front of my common room entrance. I... Well, I'm not exactly popular... So I went to the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower to find somewhere to spend the night away from the prefects. I took the opportunity to draw and clear my mind, and... You know the rest..."

He lightly brushed the corner of Evangeline's notebook, a smile barely concealed on his lips. "I see. So, when you realised you’d thrown your notebook at someone, and not just anyone... me." he said, raising an eyebrow in amusement, but without a trace of mockery, "You rushed off, disappearing under the moonlight, like a heroine in a forgotten tragedy." He let out a small laugh, softened by a slight smirk. "Looks like we’re two lost souls tonight."

"Two lost souls?" Evangeline repeated, a note of perplexity in her voice, but a glint of curiosity in her eyes.

The Slytherin let out a soft chuckle. "Well, it seems I'm a bit lost tonight as well," he said, with a touch of humour in his voice. "My wand has decided to make things difficult for me," he explained, furrowing his brows. "It's supposed to help me navigate, but I feel like it's having fun making the task even harder. Not easy to find my common room without it, especially when it's in a mischievous mood." He turned his head slightly towards Evangeline, a playful smile on his lips despite the situation. "So, to be honest... I think we're both lost souls tonight. I can't even get back to my room without my wand causing trouble, and you're stuck here because of that blasted riddle. Seems like we were meant to cross paths tonight, doesn't it?" He furrowed his brows slightly as he looked at his wand, which was emitting a faint red light, flickering erratically. A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he ran a hand over it, as if trying to calm a temperamental animal. However, the wand seemed unwilling to cooperate. "You see, that's the problem," he said, his voice tinged with annoyance but also a hint of amusement. "It acts like it has a mind of its own, but since tonight, it's just been ignoring me and refusing to guide me. Without it to lead the way, I'm completely lost. Literally."

Evangeline felt that the conversation wasn’t as dreadful as she had anticipated. In fact, she experienced a quiet sense of relief at being able to express herself without fear of judgment for the first time in what felt like forever. She looked at the young man, intrigued. “Wait, are you saying… your wand guides you when you walk? That’s… that’s incredible! How does it even work?”

He turned the wand in his hand, as though observing it anew. “It adapts to my needs, I suppose.” he replied, a touch of puzzlement in his voice. “It senses the environment around me, the direction I need to go, and helps me avoid obstacles. It’s quite handy, I have to admit. It’s literally my eyes. But… tonight, it seems to have decided it doesn’t feel like playing along.” A dry laugh escaped him.

Evangeline raised an eyebrow, captivated by his explanation. “It… senses the environment?” she echoed, almost in disbelief. “That’s incredible! I mean, I had no idea a wand could do something like that. It’s almost as if it’s alive… like it has its own personality. Well, I guess that makes sense; they do say the wand chooses the wizard, so maybe that means they’re somewhat sentient.” She paused, watching the red light at the tip of his wand flicker, casting dancing shadows along the walls of the viaduct. “So, you let your wand guide you everywhere? Even places you’ve never been?”

The young man smiled, a flicker of pride in his expression, tempered by a hint of frustration. “Yes, that’s exactly it. It’s not perfect, of course, but it does the job. Most of the time, anyway. Tonight, though…” He shook his head as the wand’s light began to blink more erratically, almost as if it were rebelling against him. “It seems to be having a bit of a tantrum.”

Evangeline looked at him, a glimmer of fascination in her eyes. "I think it’s fascinating… I mean, your wand, the way it guides you," she corrected herself quickly, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. "Not the fact that you’re… stuck." A faint blush crept up her cheeks as she suddenly became aware of the clumsiness of her words. She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment. "So, if you were wandering around the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower, it was because you couldn’t find your way back to your common room?" she asked, her gaze flickering between curiosity and mild embarrassment. The boy’s wand resumed its blinking, the soft red light pulsing faintly. An idea struck Evangeline, and she cleared her throat, summoning a bit of courage. "If you’d like… I could walk you back." she offered, a tentative smile on her lips. "I know I’m new here and don’t know my way around perfectly yet, but… well, you’re the first person who’s reached out to me and… you listened when I was… at my lowest. Think of it as… my way of saying thank you." She forced herself to extend her hand slightly, a barely formed gesture offering her assistance.

He hesitated, seeming to fixate—despite his blindness—on her outstretched hand, a pensive expression crossing his face. It was as if the simple gesture she made stirred some kind of strange apprehension within him. "You know, I… I’m not very comfortable with physical contact," he murmured at last, his voice tinged with a slight hesitation, almost regret.

"Oh, of course, no problem," Evangeline replied quickly, lowering her hand and masking her embarrassment with a sympathetic smile. "I can help without physical contact. To be honest, I’m not really comfortable with it either… because of… well, with all the teasing, I’ve gotten so used to being on my own, and… I struggle with physical contact. I’m not really used to being close to people anymore… The touch of others makes me uneasy."

He felt Evangeline’s gaze on him—gentle, understanding, unpressuring. She wasn’t judging him, nor did she push for anything; she simply waited, ready to respect his boundaries. He nodded, visibly moved by her words. In the silence that followed, there was a mutual respect, an unspoken understanding that required no further explanation. Finally, he took a deep breath, as if to brush aside the last of his hesitation, and raised his head. "I suppose a little help wouldn’t hurt."

Evangeline smiled, reassured. "Alright. Just point me in the direction of the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and I’ll guide you there. Once we’re at the door, though, I’ll have to leave you—for… obvious reasons."

"I understand. That’ll be fine." he replied with a nod. "But what about you? How are you planning to get back?"

She shrugged lightly, a faintly amused smile playing on her lips. "Don’t worry about me. Finding a quiet spot to hide is sort of my specialty."

A soft chuckle escaped the Slytherin, breaking the last remnants of unease between them. "I didn’t realise the Frenchie had a bit of a hero streak. Helping a poor, lost, blind Slytherin—how noble of you."

Evangeline returned a playful smile. "Let’s just say I’m making an exception for you, Mister Faulty Compass." A brief silence followed before her tone grew more serious. "But don’t call me ‘Frenchie.’ I… I don’t like that nickname. It’s what the other students here call me, and… I guess it’s a bit like if people called you ‘the blind boy’ all the time. It… it gets to you after a while."

The boy nodded, his smile softening into something more thoughtful. "I get it. Nicknames like that might seem harmless to some, but they reduce you to something you didn’t choose."

She nodded in return, clearly relieved that he understood. "Yes… exactly."

As if afraid of forgetting an important detail, the young Slytherin carefully pulled Evangeline’s sketchbook from his robe pocket, running his fingers over the cover as if trying to feel every texture. "I suppose it’s time to give this back to you... You left so quickly earlier that you didn’t even have a chance to retrieve it." he said, handing her the book. "Actually, that’s why I followed you onto the viaduct." He paused, seemingly hesitant to ask his next question. "About this sketchbook…" he continued, his expression tinged with curiosity. "It’s your sketchbook, right? I flipped through it… well, with my fingers. Obviously, I can’t see what you draw, but I could feel the raised lines, the deep impressions you leave when you sketch. It’s clear you put time and intention into it. You use charcoal, don’t you?"

Evangeline seemed surprised by the precision of his observation and nodded, almost in awe. "Yes, that’s right… charcoal. How did you know?"

He smiled, brushing the cover of the book once again. "There’s a certain texture to charcoal. It sinks more into the paper, leaving a thicker grain when you touch it. Details like that… they’re landmarks for me."

Evangeline took the sketchbook with a shy smile, touched by his attention. She ran her fingers gently over the cover, as though reconnecting with a precious piece of herself—lost but never forgotten. For a moment, she stayed still, eyes lowered to the book, before lifting her gaze to the young Slytherin. Her eyes sparkled with sincere gratitude mixed with a hint of embarrassment. "Thank you for taking the time to return it to me, despite… your wand’s tantrums." she said softly, a slight smile on her lips. "But… you didn’t have to flip through it..." she added, her voice laced with a vulnerability she was trying to hide. "That said… it seems like you understand my drawings better than most people who… can see them." She let out a nervous laugh as a light, fragile smile appeared on her face. The feeling of being understood, even in half-measures, was rare and precious.

They exchanged a meaningful look, a moment of silent understanding, as if, in that instant, something intangible connected them beyond words. Finally, Evangeline slid the sketchbook under her arm and turned on her heel, ready to lead the way into the depths of the castle. "So... the dungeons." she murmured, a mix of excitement and curiosity tinging her voice. "I’ve never been there. I’ve heard that the Slytherin common room is... unique. Is it true that you have a view of the Black Lake?"

He smiled amusedly, a mischievous glint lighting up his face. "To say the least," he replied, his voice carrying a discreet pride. "Slytherins might be known for their affinity with darkness, and it’s true our quarters are in the dungeons, but our common room… it’s something special. From what I hear from the first-years, the shadows dance with the reflection of the water, creating an almost enchanting atmosphere. And sometimes, sea creatures brush against the windows, as if they’re trying to observe what’s happening inside." He paused, a mysterious smile playing on his lips, letting his words linger with an air of intrigue.

"You mean like mermaids or... the Kraken?" asked Evangeline, her eyes sparkling with almost childlike curiosity.

He let out a soft laugh, amused by her enthusiasm. "Maybe... First-years love scary stories. And I have to admit, I enjoy teasing them about it, just to see them cast anxious glances at the windows. Though I also like making them believe that mermaids often swim by the windows. I must admit, it’s fun hearing the first-years spend hours by the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of one." He added an enigmatic tone to his voice, as though savoring the memory. "But to be honest, some rumors are even more disturbing. They talk about ghostly glows drifting in the water or eerie silhouettes sliding slowly against the windows, just enough to chill your bones."

Evangeline rolled her eyes. "You’re pulling my leg. But at the same time, I’m curious. I must admit, I’d love to see that with my own eyes. Hmm. Maybe one day I’ll sneak into your common room." she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

The young man smiled, shaking his head lightly. "If you manage that, I’ll take my hat off to you. Few intruders make it into the Slytherin lair without ending up turned into... well, nothing very flattering."

Evangeline laughed softly. "Oh sure, try to scare me. Anyway, there’s no way I’m going into the Slytherin lair. I… Given my... No, never mind. Forget I said anything."

He paused, surprised by her words but didn’t press further. "Well, we should get going. Follow me... or rather, guide me, even though I know the way." he added with a smirk, amused by the irony of the situation.

They began walking along the viaduct, their steps echoing softly against the ancient stones as they made their way to the courtyard near the entrance to the Great Hall. The night wind blew with a biting softness, and the moonlight slipped between the arches, momentarily illuminating their silhouettes. With every turn, the young Slytherin pointed the way in a calm, almost automatic voice, while Evangeline made sure to clear away small unexpected obstacles: a slightly raised stone, a treacherous ledge. Their cooperation was effortless, without the need for many words, each respecting the unspoken boundaries of the other. He didn't protest, accepting this unusual companionship. For him, it was a rare experience, almost disorienting, not having to worry about his direction. For her, it was a delicate balance: intervening just enough without ever intruding. Their exchange, though silent, had a fluidity that grew stronger with each step.

As they reached a staircase leading to the courtyard near the entrance to the building housing the Great Hall, he broke the tranquility with his calm voice, soft like a breath in the night. "You know... your drawings." he began, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "What do they represent, exactly? Are they landscapes, faces, things you love?"

Evangeline, momentarily surprised, briefly turned her head toward him. The question, though simple on the surface, carried a sincere interest that touched her. She slowed slightly, as if pondering her response, her fingers absentmindedly brushing the edge of her sketchbook, which she still held under her arm. The moonlight, filtered through the clouds, gently touched her thoughtful face as she let her mind wander through the images she had captured on paper. She would have thought he’d turn away from this topic. "It’s... a bit of everything, really," she answered. "Landscapes of the castle, little details I notice... But mostly, they're attempts at portraits of people I cross paths with. Well... failed attempts at portraits."

"Portraits, really?" he replied, a light smile on his lips, a teasing spark in his eyes. "I suppose you must have drawn half of the students at Hogwarts then? Even the ones you don’t know?"

Evangeline smiled faintly, slightly embarrassed by the remark, but amused nonetheless. "I wouldn't say half... but yes, I do sometimes draw faces I come across in the hallways. There's something fascinating about the diversity of human expressions. Every gaze, every smile, or even every wrinkle can tell a different story. And with a drawing, I can... capture a moment, an emotion that would otherwise slip away. It's like freezing a memory that isn’t mine." She let out a sigh, as if she had just shared a precious secret.

He nodded slightly, as if contemplating this idea, his face taking on a thoughtful expression. "It's a beautiful way of looking at things. Observing to understand, or perhaps to invent what's hidden behind..."

They continued their walk, crossing the paved courtyard of Hogwarts, the stones beneath their feet echoing in the quiet of the night. The moonlight illuminated their figures, and the large windows of the buildings cast irregular shadows on the ground, creating a strange play of light. The night breeze brought a welcome coolness, and their voices mingled with the murmurs of the castle. "And outside of drawing, other passions? Books, perhaps?" he ventured, hearing her speak of her attempts at portraits, his tone curious but respectful, as if he wanted to know more without pressing her.

She nodded eagerly, her eyes lighting up with an enthusiastic spark. "Yes! Especially Muggle literature. I grew up with books by Jules Verne, Maupassant... Those adventure, mystery, and travel stories have always fascinated me. There's something about the way Muggle authors imagine worlds, inventions, discoveries... And they have a way of capturing the imagination while grounding their stories in such... realistic details. It allows me to dream of other realities, other lives, you know?" She paused for a moment, her gaze drifting absentmindedly into the distance.

"Then it's Muggle stories that fascinate you?" he asked with an intrigued smile, his voice clearly curious. "You seem like someone who seeks to explore everything beyond the ordinary... even beyond what our magical world can offer."

Evangeline blushed slightly, surprised by the accuracy of his observation. She lowered her eyes for a moment, absentmindedly playing with a strand of her hair, before answering in a soft voice, tinged with a dreamy smile. "It's true. Their world is so different from ours, and yet, sometimes, their stories feel just as magical. Maybe even more so, because they manage without... all of this." She made a vague gesture, encompassing the invisible vastness of magic around them. She smiled, aware of how strange her words must sound coming from a witch. "I mean... In the Muggle world, science replaces magic. They don't have spells or potions, but they make up for it by creating incredible worlds. With Jules Verne, for example, you feel like you're traveling to the center of the Earth or sailing twenty thousand leagues under the sea. He makes you believe that anything is possible, even going to the moon... And all of that without a single ounce of magic. It's fascinating, isn't it?" Her voice came alive as she spoke, revealing her passion for these universes.

He paused for a moment, his features softening into a contemplative expression. "That's a beautiful way to see things." he said finally, his voice low, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "And I suppose you enjoy... imagining other realities? Worlds where you could be anyone you want?"

The question, asked so gently, surprised her. She lifted her gaze to him, her eyes betraying a hint of melancholy. After a brief hesitation, she nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Exactly... For me, reading is an escape. A door that opens to other lives, other possibilities. A way to... live something else, to lose myself for a moment, and forget who I am." Her voice had dropped lower, almost to a whisper. A silence fell between them, thick with something deeper, more intimate, as they continued their walk, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the quiet of the night. "And then..." She paused, searching for her words, as if unsure whether to go further. But her dreamy smile remained, giving a glimpse of what she might say, if she dared. She lowered her gaze for a brief moment, as if unsure about opening up more, before continuing in a soft voice, laced with an excitement she struggled to hide. "And then, Jules Verne... He has this way of imagining the future that fascinates me. In his stories, everything seems possible. On every page, he goes further than anyone, as if he could see decades ahead. Sometimes, I wish he were right, that one day we could really travel as far as his stories."

"The future?" the young man repeated, intrigued, tilting his head slightly as if to better understand her words.

"Yes, the futur.," she replied, her eyes lighting up with a passionate gleam. "The Muggle world is evolving so fast... Sometimes, I feel like they're in some sort of race against time. Do you know James Watt? The one who perfected the steam engine? Thanks to him, the British Muggles completely transformed industry. Railways, textile factories... all these innovations changed their lives. And that's exactly what inspires Jules Verne." She paused slightly, her tone intensifying as she continued. "He doesn't just describe what's possible today. He dreams bigger. He shows what mankind could achieve in the future. Exploring the depths of the oceans with incredible submarines, traveling to the Moon, building flying machines... He takes what Muggles are creating now and imagines what they could do tomorrow. It's as if he wants to prove that even without magic, they have unlimited potential."

She lifted her gaze to him, a glimmer of admiration and curiosity in her eyes. "Can you imagine? All of that, with just their hands, their minds, and their machines… I find it simply fascinating."

He remained silent for a moment, absorbed by Evangeline's words, gently tapping his wand against his palm, a tic that betrayed his deep thought. "It's true that… when you think about it, their ability to push the limits of their world without magic is impressive. They don't have spells to turn the impossible into the possible, yet they advance at a speed that would leave some wizards dizzy."

Evangeline nodded, a faint, melancholic smile lingering on her lips. "That's what inspires me. Their determination, their creativity. Sometimes I think that if Muggles and wizards worked together… We could accomplish so much more. But… that's just a foolish dream, isn't it?"

"Maybe." the young man admitted, his expression thoughtful. "But you know, sometimes dreams end up catching up with reality. The inventions that Jules Verne imagines might seem unrealistic to Muggles. And yet, who knows? Maybe one day, one of them will manage to create one."

Evangeline slightly turned toward him as they continued walking through the dim corridors of the castle. "You know, speaking of all this… Muggles organize exhibitions to showcase the progress of humanity. The last one took place two years ago, in 1889. The World's Fair in Paris. It was incredible, according to what I read in the Muggle newspapers. Inventions from all over the world, demonstrations of what humanity is capable of…"

"Ah, yes." he murmured, recognizing the name of the exhibition. "I think we talked about it in my family, even though… Well, my family despises anything related to Muggles and their 'strangeness.' But from what I remember… It was at that exhibition that they unveiled that… gigantic thing, right? Some kind of tower."

Evangeline beamed, her eyes lighting up with passion. "Yes, the Eiffel Tower! A structure entirely made of iron, over 300 meters tall! Can you imagine? It was the centerpiece of the exhibition, and it attracted millions of visitors. Some said it was hideous, that it disfigured Paris, but I…" She paused, as if caught in a daydream, before continuing in a softer voice. "I would have loved to be in Paris at that moment, in the midst of all that excitement, surrounded by those wonders from all over the world… It must have been magical, in its own way."

"Wait a second." he interjected, a wrinkle of curiosity marking his forehead. "You've never been to Paris? You're a Rosier, aren't you? I thought the Rosier family was a prominent wizarding family from Paris."

Evangeline's smile faded slightly, and a shadow passed through her eyes. "Oh... Well, let's just say I'm not from the main branch of the Rosiers. My parents… they're on bad terms with the rest of our Parisian family." Her tone hardened, betraying a hint of resentment or perhaps embarrassment. "That's why we avoid going to Paris."

The young man tilted his head, perplexed, but his tone remained measured. "What do you mean?"

"Listen, I… I don't want to talk about it." Evangeline's voice had become a bit sharper, a note of tension breaking the fluidity of their conversation. Her family was a subject she hated discussing. In truth, she disliked communicating with others altogether, having long since grown accustomed to solitude. But with this boy, something different had happened. For the first time, she had managed to share a little bit of that burden, revealing a part of herself, however small it might have been. Yet, some topics remained off-limits. Especially this one. And for good reason. Her father was not a wizard, and the name she carried was her mother's, a woman who had defied all conventions by running away with a Muggle in Aquitaine to start a family without even going through the holy sacrament of marriage. While Evangeline cherished her parents and their unconditional love, she knew that, for society—both Muggle and magical—her family was a scandal, a shame. A secret she carried like a burden.

A heavy silence settled between them, the air charged with subtle tension. Yet, the young man didn’t press further. His intuition seemed to guide him, whispering that he should not push past that invisible line she had drawn. Eventually, it was he who broke the quiet, his voice low and almost hesitant. "So, you... would have liked to go to Paris, for that exhibition, to be in that crowd, exploring all of that?"

His curiosity was sincere, his tone gentle, as though he were trying to bring some light back into their exchange after the shadow of a too-heavy topic.

Evangeline blushed slightly, biting her lip before nodding. "Yes... but not alone. I can't imagine going to Paris by myself and getting lost in the sea of people in the capital, especially with all the people who must have been there. Just thinking about it makes me dizzy." She let out a nervous little laugh before lowering her eyes, lightly fiddling with the cover of her sketchbook. "And then... I’d rather avoid running into my Parisian family, if that ever happened." She paused, as if weighing her words. Then, in a slightly firmer tone, she added: "But enough about my family." She shrugged slightly, briefly looking away as if to hide a bit of embarrassment. "I doubt you'd find it interesting anyway. It's already very kind of you to engage in conversation with me and... tolerate my presence. So, I won’t burden you with my family stories on top of that."

"Tolerate your presence?" replied the Slytherin with a sly smile, raising an eyebrow slightly. "I don't remember signing such a painful contract." A playful glint in his voice softened his words, and after a brief pause, he continued, "But if you really want to know, I'm an expert at listening to family problems... I have quite a collection, believe me."

Surprised by his lighthearted tone, Evangeline lifted her head, meeting his gaze, which was filled with an unsettling sincerity. She shot him a quick glance, a mix of curiosity and complicity briefly flashing in her eyes. For a split second, she hesitated to respond, as if testing the strength of this budding connection. Yet, despite herself, she found herself smiling. That shared look of complicity was not something she was used to exchanging with anyone. With him, everything felt strangely natural, as if the weight she carried was just a little lighter in his company. A genuine laugh escaped them, light but authentic, breaking the tension and returning the moment to something simple, almost joyful.

"Let’s get back to this tower thing. I need to know: is it the structure itself, or the idea of climbing so high that fascinates you?" asked the young Slytherin, his voice tinged with sincere curiosity.

Evangeline tilted her head slightly, thinking, before replying, choosing her words carefully. "I think it's mainly the audacity of the project. The fact that, even without magic, Muggles dare to undertake things that seem impossible. They defy gravity, push boundaries, as if they’re telling pure-blood wizards that you don’t need a wand to touch the stars." She paused, then a smile flickered on her lips. "Maybe it’s naive, but I find it beautiful. And I imagine that, in its way, that tower must give hope, like a symbol that anything is possible."

A silence followed, only broken by the sound of their regular steps on the stone floor. The young man seemed to reflect, his features hardening for a moment, as though weighing each of his thoughts. "Interesting…" he finally said, his voice softer. "Muggles defy gravity while some pure-blood wizards can’t even overcome their own prejudices." A hint of irony pierced his tone, but also a certain admiration. "I have to admit, your perspective gives me something to think about. Maybe their way of rising is more noble than ours, after all."

Evangeline looked up at him, surprised by this remark, which carried an openness of mind she rarely encountered. She had heard many wizards belittle Muggles, especially at Beauxbâtons. Yet, despite being from Slytherin, he seemed to see beyond the boundaries that others imposed. It touched her more than she could have expressed. A sincere smile brightened her face, and she slowed her pace slightly, her thoughts still buzzing with her companion's words. Their steps echoed softly as they approached the grand central staircase, the vast stone walls around them amplifying the tranquility they shared. In this suspended moment, she felt almost understood.

Evangeline bit her lip, her eyes briefly avoiding the ground before she looked up again, as if searching for her words. Finally, after a moment of hesitation, she broke the silence that had settled between them. "And by the way... how did you understand what I said in French earlier?" she asked, a slight blush coloring her cheeks as she thought back to the embarrassment she had felt at that moment. "I’m only thinking about it now, but it’s been on my mind for a while..."

The young man looked up at her, a fleeting smile playing on his lips, almost imperceptible. "I studied French when I was younger," he replied, a hint of irony in his voice. "A whim of my family, of course. For them, speaking several languages is supposed to prove that we’re above the rest of the world. One of their obsessions, as if learning languages like French, Latin, or Ancient Greek could actually make us superior beings." He shrugged, as if disapproving of the tone of his heritage. "Anyway, it's just another one of their absurd quirks to make this 'great' lineage shine."

Evangeline raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "That sounds... intense, as an education." she observed, a note of curiosity in her voice, but also a hint of compassion coming through her remark.

"Intense is a polite word to describe it," he replied with a hidden coldness, his tone growing noticeably heavier. For a moment, he seemed distant, his eyes lost in a memory he likely preferred to forget. "Between two lectures on blood purity and a few lessons on spells I’d rather not name, I was trained to be the perfect heir, the one who would represent an 'immaculate' lineage." His voice softened slightly, as if the memory amused him despite himself. "I was also taught to play the cello and the piano, to lead parlor conversations… Everything that’s supposed to make a boy like me a refined man, 'worthy' of his name." He turned slightly toward her, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, as if he found some comfort in this situation. "Mastering French was just one convenience among many. And here I am, years later, able to understand the complex thoughts of a little solitary French girl lost at Hogwarts," he added, a more genuine smile briefly lighting up his face.

Evangeline felt her cheeks warm slightly, a small smile forming on her lips. "I’m not sure it’s really useful to have been able to understand me and make the effort to respond in my native language..." she began, her eyes briefly settling on him. "But I must admit, your French is impeccable."

"I could say the same about your English!" he responded softly, his tone less mocking this time, more sincere. A flash of truth passed through his eyes, as if the conversation were taking a more personal turn.

A silence fell between them, their steps echoing on the vast stone staircase. The atmosphere was calm, but Evangeline, intrigued by what he had hinted at, decided to break the quiet. "Yet my accent is horrible…" she murmured, a hint of embarrassment in her voice. She shook her head slightly, before turning to him, still curious. "But back to you and your education by your family... Was it really mandatory? I mean, learning things you hated or didn’t want to do?"

He slowed his pace slightly, his hands almost absentmindedly gliding along the stone railing, as if the motion helped him formulate his thoughts. He looked straight ahead for a moment before replying, his voice becoming more serious. "In my family, 'mandatory' is an understatement," he said slowly, as if weighing each word. "Let’s just say the freedom to choose wasn’t exactly an option." He let out a light sigh, his eyes briefly turning to her, a flash of irony crossing his gaze. "But unlike other things I was forced to do, learning a foreign language never seemed like the worst." He paused, his face softening a little. "At least French never tried to kill me."

The remark, laced with sarcasm, brought a small laugh from Evangeline. She didn’t press further, sensing a mix of frustration and acceptance in his words. But something in his voice, a trace of melancholy hidden beneath the irony, caught her attention. He had shared a little more of himself than he intended, and Evangeline, without really knowing why, felt touched by his sincerity. He had this way of approaching heavy subjects with apparent lightness, yet she could sense, behind his words, a sadness he seemed to want to mask. She remained silent for a moment, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her wizard's robe, searching for the right words. "I suppose it couldn’t have been easy..." she murmured, not really looking at him. Her eyes were directed at the floor, but her voice betrayed a sincere empathy, as though she deeply felt the difficulty of what he had endured. "French grammar and all the absurd rules don’t make it easy."

The boy paused slightly before replying, as though weighing his words. "Easy? No, not really," he finally said, a slight smirk on his lips, though his voice remained calm and composed. "It’s true that grammar caused me plenty of problems. And thank goodness my blindness spared me from learning to write and deal with your spelling." His voice was almost deliberately detached, as though he was merely describing a distant, insignificant event. He sighed lightly, his tone growing more bitter. "Those lessons weren’t exactly fond memories for me. Especially when your teachers are parents like mine..." He let out a small, cynical laugh. "But who am I to question centuries of sacred genealogy? After all, I’m just another pawn in the chessboard of my family."

Evangeline felt a surge of anger rise within her, not at him, but at the blatant injustice he had suffered. She clenched her fists, her heart tightening at the thought that a human being could be reduced to a role imposed on them without ever being given the chance to choose. "That’s terrible..." she said, her voice hardening, full of compassion and indignation. "No one should have to live like that... being treated like a pawn. By what right does your own family write your destiny in advance?" Her words were filled with raw sincerity, a revolt against the cruelty of such a situation. She didn’t intend to judge, but everything within her rebelled against this vision of a life dictated by external expectations.

He turned his head slightly in her direction, intrigued by the sincerity that resonated in her voice. "You know, it’s funny," he said, his gaze fixed on her. "Many would have just lowered their heads and wouldn’t have tried to keep the conversation going, but you react as if it’s a personal injustice."

She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged, replying almost reluctantly, "Maybe because I know what it’s like to be judged or forced to conform to expectations you can’t always meet. Okay, it wasn’t with my family, but I’ve still experienced that pressure elsewhere." Her voice softened as she spoke of the burden she had carried, and a slight cloud of sadness darkened her gaze.

He remained silent for a moment, looking thoughtful. His features relaxed slightly, as if trying to understand the depth of her words. "I don’t know if it’s comforting or saddening to know that others understand that kind of pressure." He paused before adding, with a touch of melancholy in his tone, "Sometimes, you feel a little alone in facing it, you know?"

Evangeline gave a shy smile as she lifted her eyes, barely surprising herself with the tenderness of her reaction. "Let’s say it’s a common ground, though not the happiest one..." she replied, her voice becoming lighter as they neared the dungeons. It was strange, yet comforting, to know that in this large school full of secrets and judgments, there was someone who understood at least a bit of what she felt. As they ventured deeper into the dungeons, the air growing cooler and the shadows of the walls seeming to close in around them, Evangeline felt an odd sense of calm. Despite the darkness of this passage, the conversation with this boy had given the place an entirely new dimension. Their footsteps echoed softly on the damp floor, and the flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows on the cold stone.

It was he who finally broke the brief silence, his voice resonating gently through the humid dungeon corridors. "It’s not the most enviable common ground, I’ll admit," he said with a hint of irony in his tone, his words almost slipping out like a reflection to himself. "But it has the merit of being sincere. And in a place like Hogwarts, where everything is often about appearances, it’s... refreshing."

Evangeline couldn't help but smile, her gaze drifting for a moment to the flickering shadows the torches cast on the stone walls. There was a nuance in his voice that intrigued her, an odd chemistry between biting lucidity and an almost unexpected softness. "You speak as if solitude were a virtue." she murmured, her tone filled with genuine curiosity, tinged with a hint of skepticism.

He stopped briefly, as though caught in a thought he hadn’t fully formed yet. "Maybe not a virtue." he finally admitted, his voice lowering a tone, more reflective. "But it has its advantages. Solitude teaches us things about ourselves that the company of others often masks. It forces us to confront what we’d rather ignore."

His last words hung in the air, as if he was measuring the impact of his own statement. He paused, letting the silence envelop them once again before adding, with a note of honesty that was almost disarming: "That said, it’s not always pleasant. It’s a harsh lesson, let’s say."

Evangeline slightly averted her gaze, pondering his words, and a subtle shiver ran down her spine—perhaps due to the cold air of the dungeons—or from the truth she recognized in what he had just said. His words had struck her more deeply than she had expected. She understood all too well the ‘harsh lesson’ he had spoken of. Her own thoughts had often pushed her to retreat into herself, but hearing someone else put words to that feeling of isolation stirred in her a strange mix of comfort and sadness. "You mean… you’ve learned to live with it?" she asked after a moment, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness, as if the answer could confirm a fear she wasn’t sure how to express.

"Let’s say I’ve learned to tolerate it." he replied, his voice softening slightly, as if he were weighing each word. An almost imperceptible smile played on his lips, tinged with subtle melancholy. "But ‘live with it’? I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel like solitude can be both a shield and a prison. It all depends on how you choose to look at it."

Evangeline remained silent, her thoughts swirling around this idea, as their footsteps echoed softly against the cold stone of the dungeons. The conversation they had just shared had led her into a deeper reflection than usual. A shield, a prison... those words resonated within her with unsettling accuracy. She had often seen her solitude as a form of protection, a way to shield herself from the gaze of others, from mockery, from judgment. It was her refuge, her way of surviving in a world she sometimes found overwhelming. But listening to him speak, his words gently breaching the barriers she had erected, she suddenly wondered if that same shield hadn’t also trapped her in a cage she had built for herself. A cage that perhaps protected her from the outside world, but also isolated her from everything it had to offer.

"Are we almost there?" she asked finally, breaking the silence, her voice betraying a slight nervousness after the introspection she had shared. She glanced around her, observing the damp walls and flickering torches, unaccustomed to this part of the castle which she found oppressive and foreign.

The boy reached out to gently touch the stone wall beside him, his gesture precise and measured. He moved with a confident assurance, navigating this environment that seemed second nature to him. This simple contact with the stone seemed to be all he needed to orient himself, and she couldn’t help but watch him with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. Finally, he turned his head slightly toward her, a faint half-smile lighting up his features. "Yes, we’re almost there." he said in a calm voice, as if sharing a secret. "Just a few more steps... Then we’ll descend the stairs right ahead, and we’ll be at the entrance to the Slytherin common room."

They continued down the corridor, their footsteps echoing softly in the heavy atmosphere of the dungeons. The torches affixed to the walls cast moving shadows around them, giving the place an even more intimidating air. Evangeline turned her gaze to the floor, trying to push away the strange pang that had settled within her. This walk, as unexpected as informal, had offered her a pause she never would have imagined. After the confessions exchanged, she found herself regretting that this moment was coming to an end. In a castle she had often found cold and unwelcoming, for the first time she felt strangely less alone, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Finally, they arrived in a larger space, where the stone walls seemed to close slightly toward a central point. She easily guessed that this place housed the iconic entrance to the Slytherin common room, a place she never imagined she would see, let alone accompany someone to. She slowed her pace slightly, aware that the moment she had been dreading had inevitably arrived.

"Well… I guess we’re here." Evangeline said, her voice tinged with slight hesitation as her gaze briefly met the Slytherin’s. "This seems to be the end of our little late-night tour through Hogwarts." She offered a smile, but felt a twinge of regret creep in, a feeling she couldn’t quite understand. "Thanks again, for the company. I didn’t expect us to have such an… open conversation. Or even any conversation at all, really… It seemed like it was going to be a disaster. My social anxiety… The whole wanting to jump off the viaduct thing..."

At the mention of the viaduct, Ominis raised an eyebrow slightly but didn’t interrupt her. He replied in a calm, composed voice, not rushing the moment, with a faint smile at the corner of his lips. "You know, I think we all have our moments when we feel like everything is falling apart. But I’m glad you didn’t jump… At least not off the viaduct, not tonight." A knowing look passed through his eyes before he continued, more seriously. "I’m also glad you trusted me, even for a moment. It’s not every day someone opens up like that. And I suppose with me, you didn’t have too many reasons to hide." He paused, as though searching for the right words. Then, with a softer, almost reassuring tone, he added, "You know, sometimes solitude is just a way of pushing away what we fear. But that doesn’t mean it’s the only way." He let his words hang in the air, like a truth he had learned through his own struggles. "And talking like this… It’s a nice reminder that even those we think are the most different can find common ground." He paused again before lightening the mood with a more playful tone, as if to break the weight that had slowly settled: "In any case, this conversation wasn’t bad. It’s been a while since I’ve had the feeling of truly talking to someone other than Sebastian or Anne." A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes, as if this simple exchange was a victory in itself.

Evangeline felt a soft, unexpected emotion make its way through her, a feeling she had only experienced in the rare moments spent with her family: gratitude. A quiet warmth flooded her, like a breath of fresh air after a long period of suffocation. She slowly lifted her hand and, with an unusual delicacy, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "It’s true, talking to you has been pleasant. And… I think it did me some good." She paused briefly, her words heavier than usual. Then, with a soft breath, she added, "Thank you."

The Slytherin remained silent for a moment, as if weighing his words. He turned his head slightly toward her, and when he spoke, his voice was gentle, yet filled with rare sincerity. "I’m glad it did you good. Sometimes, it’s easier to talk when you find someone with whom it doesn’t feel forced." He shrugged lightly, a nearly imperceptible smile grazing his lips. "And as for gratitude, I’d say it’s a rare thing to truly talk with someone, without any pretense. You don’t meet people who let you put aside the masks every day."

Yes, you’re probably right... Until now, I’ve never really confided in anyone. Well, except for my family, of course. But with them, it’s different, you know? It’s... natural, almost automatic. It’s easy to let go, to talk without thinking about it. With them, there’s no pressure to present yourself a certain way, no fear of judgment. But with you, it was... more surprising, I guess. I felt like I opened up without even thinking about it, like it was just... necessary. And in a way, it was soothing." She paused for a moment, her eyes drifting into the shadowed walls surrounding them. "Well, I suppose I should thank my impulsive behavior with my sketchbook." she added with a nervous laugh, as if trying to regain her composure. "That’s probably what got us talking in the first place. And then, your wand played its part too. If it hadn’t misbehaved, I probably wouldn’t have walked you all the way here."

He smiled slightly, a subtle expression that touched his lips, but the softness reflected in the calmness of his voice. "You know, it’s almost ironic. If my wand hadn’t acted up, we probably would have missed out on a rather interesting conversation." His words held a detached lightness, as though he was acknowledging a certain truth in this somewhat absurd situation.

Evangeline seemed to hesitate for a moment, her eyes avoiding the stone walls around them before settling back on him. Then, she took a deep breath, her tone suddenly turning serious. "By the way, are you going to be okay? I mean..." She fell silent for a moment, trying to find the best way to phrase her question. "Your wand is still being temperamental, right? Are you going to manage on your own once you get to your common room? I mean, since I can’t accompany you..." She lowered her gaze slightly, her concern evident despite herself.

The boy shook his head slightly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, as if the question amused him more than he was willing to admit. He smiled slightly. "Yes, yes, it’s sweet of you to worry about me, but I’ll be fine. In five years, I’ve learned every corner of the common room like the back of my hand. It’s not a problem. I should be able to find my way without any trouble." A soft laugh escaped him, almost imperceptible. "But, well, maybe it’s actually you who should be questioned, right? What’s your plan, considering that the riddle on your knocker seems to be giving you trouble and you still can’t answer it?"

Evangeline raised an eyebrow, her face lighting up with a mischievous smile as she responded with a hint of teasing. "Oh, I’ll find a quiet corner somewhere to spend the night. Don’t worry about me." She tried to maintain a relaxed demeanor, though the thought of being alone in the corridors of Hogwarts sent a slight shiver down her spine. But she did her best not to show it, aware that the situation felt lighter than she had initially expected.

The boy looked at her for a moment, a smirk forming at the corners of his lips, a blend of amusement and curiosity that didn’t go unnoticed. The silence stretched out, comfortable but heavy with something unfinished. Finally, after a moment, he broke the quiet, his voice soft but marked by a teasing lightness. "You know..." he said, his gaze softening a bit. "We’ve talked, exchanged ideas, but we never even bothered to introduce ourselves." He paused, a faint laugh grazing his lips. "It’s a little strange, don’t you think?" He tilted his head slightly, as if weighing each word before speaking.

Evangeline froze for a moment, surprised by the obviousness of what he had just pointed out. He was right, after all. They had confided in each other, shared personal things, but had never really gotten to know each other. She gave a slight smile, feeling a bit awkward about the simplicity of the situation, but also about the realization that, in some way, she had opened up without even thinking about it. "That’s true," she said, nodding, a teasing smile forming on her lips. "Looks like we did everything backwards." She paused, then almost shyly added, "I’m Evangeline. Evangeline Rosier. But you probably already know my last name, since the professors can’t stop mentioning it this week..." She laughed nervously before offering him a more genuine smile, as if the act of naming herself gave their conversation a more tangible weight. She hadn’t fully realized how much she had shared, nor how much this encounter, as ordinary as it seemed at first, marked a shift in how she viewed the people around her.

"Evangeline, huh?" he repeated, an ironic smile touching his lips. "Of course, it had to be a French name, as dramatic as it is melodious. Very chic." He paused briefly before adding, in a calm and composed tone: "As for me, I’m Ominis. Ominis Gaunt."

The name seemed to hang in the air between them for a moment, resonating in the silence like a distant echo. Evangeline couldn’t help but feel a twinge of surprise, a spark flickering fleetingly in her eyes. Gaunt. The name was familiar, far more than she would have liked. "Oh yes, that’s the one Professor Sharp was talking about the other day!" Her thoughts began to race, despite herself. She remembered the discussions about this ancient lineage, a pure-blood family, surrounded by a prestige as dark as it was heavy. She had imagined that a Gaunt would embody the stereotypes she associated with aristocratic families: arrogant, condescending, steeped in a sense of selfishness and superiority. "A daddy’s boy," she thought cynically, "just like those I’ve crossed paths with at Beauxbâtons." But looking at the person in front of her, Ominis, calm, sincere, almost disarming in his demeanor, she felt the truth dawn on her: he was nothing like the caricature she had formed. "I never would’ve thought that the name Gaunt could belong to… someone like him." However, she chose to keep these thoughts to herself. It wasn’t the time or place to explore this revelation.

Taking a gentle breath, she opted for a lighter approach, wiping any trace of surprise from her features. "Nice to meet you, Ominis." she finally said, offering a more serene smile. Her voice had softened, almost as if to ease the strangeness of this discovery. Her light tone contrasted with the whirlwind of thoughts still swirling in her mind, but she forced herself to stay anchored in the present moment. For now, he was just Ominis, the boy she had come to know through an unexpected conversation.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Ominis' lips, laced with an apparent nonchalance, but his expression betrayed a deeper reflection. He seemed to weigh his words, as if he wanted his words to carry a subtle weight. "Well, I’d better head back. The common room is waiting for me, and it’s getting late." His voice was calm, almost measured, but tinged with a touch of quiet irony. "As for you, I hope you’ll find somewhere to spend the night." He paused briefly, letting a light note hang in the air, before continuing with a hint of subtle humor. "You know, the floor in the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower is surprisingly comfortable... for a medieval castle. I highly recommend it for a quick nap." The remark brought a fleeting smile to his face, and he accompanied his words with a small, almost nonchalant wave of the hand, as if to close the conversation. Yet, his milky eyes seemed to turn briefly toward her, creating a strange, almost magnetic impression of attention. "Good night, Evangeline," he added softly, his tone carrying a sincerity that was almost imperceptible.

"Good night, Ominis," she replied, her words calm but subtly tinged with an unexpected warmth. She looked at him for a moment before slowly turning on her heel. Her footsteps echoed faintly in the silence of the darkened corridors, but something within her resisted the departure, as though a part of her mind remained tethered to this shared moment.

As she walked away, she risked a final glance over her shoulder. In the flickering torchlight, she caught sight of Ominis' figure, almost ghostly, on the threshold of the common room. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she continued on her way, though her mind remained chained to their exchange. A strange feeling of interconnection washed over her, a vague conviction that they had just brushed against something invisible but essential, like a door ajar to an unknown world.

On his side, Ominis slowly turned the handle of the door and stepped into the familiar darkness of the Slytherin common room. Yet, as he closed the door behind him, a faint smile lingered on his lips, like a delicate shadow of a memory already etched.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #evangeline rosier #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc

6 notes · View notes