The chill of early November hung over the castle like a thin layer of frost. Despite the early Saturday morning, the other students were buzzing for the first official Quidditch game of the season. Gwen’s sweater was barely enough to keep the chill out as she made her way to the Great Hall, breath puffing white.
She’d barely made it to the doors before they flung open, two figures clad in red and gold robes, stiff with the morning cold, barreling through. She barely came to their chests, so it was no surprise when one collided into her, sending her tumbling to the ground. He was maybe a head taller than her, with short brown hair and a boxy build.
She pushed herself up as the other boy, a tall redhead with freckles she later came to learn was George and Fred’s older brother, Charlie, snatched the first boy by the back of his robe’s collar, swinging him back around to face her.
“Oi! Watch it, mate!” Charlie barked, giving his teammate a quick shake. “You knocked the poor girl over.”
Gwen slowly pushed herself up to her elbow, looking between the two boys in a slight daze. The boy bent down, quickly grabbing her other elbow and helping her up.
“Sorry aboot ‘at. Ye alreit?” he asked, looking down at her.
“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Nice accent.” She blinked at him, cocking her head to the side as they seemed to size each other up. She rubbed her elbow absentmindedly. She walked around them to head to the Great Hall.
“Leik yers n‘all!” he called, causing her to look over her shoulder. She gave him a small wave, earning a chuckle from Charlie as the two ran off.
Inside the hall, she found Cedric and Tamsin already seated at the Hufflepuff table. She dropped onto the bench between them. “Hey y’all. Whatcha lookin’ at?” she asked, reaching for the newspaper in Cedric’s hand.
“It’s called the Daily Prophet. News,” he said, pulling the paper back before she could take it. He flipped through it, hair falling into his eyes, until he seemingly found what he was looking for, staring intently at the words.
The words on the page were a jumbled mess, and the moving pictures shuffled and blinked like a gif, but with a softness real people had, not the uncanny snappiness of the screens she’d grown up with. She forgot where she was for a second and leaned closer, fascinated. Then she caught Cedric’s expression, curious and a little confused, and she quickly turned away, chest tightening uncomfortably.
She turned to Tamsin, who was immersed in her food, happily chatting with Heidi and Maxine. Pursing her lips, Gwen craned her neck to see that Richard was, once again, eating by himself at the end of the Slytherin table. She excused herself from the table, not that it was noticed, and skipped along the tables before landing beside Richard. He paused mid-bite, shoulders snapping taut as he stared at her with wide eyes.
“Good morning,” she chirped, stealing a blueberry from his plate with a toothy grin. She let out a high-pitched giggle before she filled the space with her own chatter, talking about what they were learning in Transfiguration and whatever else popped into her head. He continued eating his breakfast, listening as she rambled on about her understanding of the subject, which was fairly well as far as he could tell.
Cedric eventually came around and plucked the both of them from their seats. “Come on!” he urged. “We’re going to miss the opening!” He practically dragged them from the hall towards the pitch.
Tamsin jogged ahead of them with Heidi and Maxine, already babbling predictions and last-second commentary. Richard stayed close to Gwen, his hand anchoring to Gwen’s sleeve whenever the crowd pressed too close.
The stands were already filling, a thick hum of excitement buzzing through the air. Cedric led them to the front row of the Hufflepuff section, Gwen to his right, Richard to hers. Tamsin, Heidi, and Maxine stood behind them. Tamsin leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Gwen’s shoulders and resting her chin atop her head as the pitch crackled with excitement.
Madam Hooch strode across the field, broom under one arm, a massive chest at her feet. Its contents thrashed violently, two black balls rattling their chains, the tiny gold ball seeming to disappear immediately. Gwen felt her hair prickle as the players began circling above Madam Hooch.
The Gryffindor team emerged first, a rush of red sweeping onto the field. Gwen spotted Charlie, along with both Fred and George, their red hair melting into their robes. She also saw the boy from earlier, jaw tight with focus.
The Slytherin team followed. Gwen could sense the tension between the two sides, even from the stands. Shoulders squared, glare for glare, it was an old rivalry coiled tight.
Madam Hooch’s whistle pierced the air.
The game was a blur of color and speed. Gwen tracked it easily, happily surprising her friends with how quickly she grasped the rules. Something in the unpredictability, the controlled chaos, felt familiar. Like home.
Slytherin’s tactics became more obvious the longer she watched. Sharp elbows, calculated blocks, broom handles jutting out at just the wrong moments. And Madam Hooch’s whistle stayed stubbornly silent.
“That’s illegal contact!” she shouted, leaning over the railing so far that Richard’s hand clamped onto her arm in alarm. “Throw the flag! Unnecessary roughness!”
“What are you talking about?” Richard asked, brows furrowed.
“You know, like in football?”
“Oh, you mean cards,” Tamsin offered.
“No.” Gwen shook her head. “I mean flag. On the play. They’re being aggressive and--” She paused at the blank confusion on their faces. “Never mind.” She slumped back onto the seat, mouth drawing into a thin line. Something unfamiliar fluttered up her throat. Her palms felt too warm and her throat too tight. She stared down at her lap, suddenly wishing she’d stayed quiet. Smaller.
Her heartbeat didn’t settle until the final whistle, Gryffindor celebrating their win, two-ninety to one-eighty, by lifting Charlie onto their shoulders. Slytherin stalked off the field with tight jaws and narrowed eyes, snarling.
***
Over the next several days, Gwen came to the realization that she was quite different from her classmates, more than her mother had warned her she would be. If being from another country wasn’t enough to make her stand out, why her mother had insisted on taking her out of time was something else that didn’t help.
The trouble started on Monday in Potions. Professor Snape stalked up and down the aisle, instructions clipped and curling like smoke. Gwen worked carefully with Mark, following each step with intense focus.
“You know what would be awesome?” she prompted, her voice a careful whisper.
“A new professor,” he muttered, not looking up from the cauldron as he stirred.
“No.” She rolled her eyes, carefully adding the necessary ingredients as he stirred. “It would be so cool if we could do a live stream of what we were doing. People get famous for doing boring stuff like doing makeup or cooking. Imagine us, potion-making. We could be TikTok famous!”
Had she not been so focused on making sure she followed Professor Snape’s instructions precisely, she would have noticed that the chatter had died down, and her voice carried more than she realized. She might have also noticed that Mark looked like he was about to melt into a puddle as Professor Snape’s piercing gaze bore through the back of her head.
When she finished and finally looked up, she was met with the eyes of her peers flicking towards her and away again, like they weren’t sure if they were supposed to stare. The air felt too thin all of a sudden. Her fingers trembled as she hurriedly poured her brew into a vial and deposited it onto Professor Snape’s desk. She buried her head in her potions textbook until the end of the class, trying to ignore how hot her face felt.
Thursday Charms wasn’t any kinder.
Professor Flitwick stood, preparing the class to begin practicing their new spell. Ava sat behind Gwen, far more interested in the beads at the end of her hair rather than what was being taught. Gwen always felt a twinge of jealousy at how easy charms came to Ava. Then she felt bad for feeling jealous.
Professor Flitwick eventually paired the students off to practice. Gwen stood opposite Ava, wand held tightly as the thin book they’d been given hovered between them. Ava cast first, smooth, effortless, the book gliding into her hands like it wanted to be there.
Gwen inhaled deeply, steadied her wrist, and cast the incantation.
Her movements and pronunciation were good. Her timing, not so much.
The book soared past her outstretched hand, smacking her square in the forehead. She scrunched her face, rubbing the spot the book had hit. Ava let out a hiss as she and Professor Flitwick rushed over to her.
“Ms. Reid, are you alright?” he asked, peering up at her.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said, offering a lopsided grin as she continued rubbing the sore spot. “Mom says us pandemic babies are a different breed.” She chuckled, but she was the only one to do so.
A few nearby students exchanged looks with each other. Ava froze, wand half-lowered as she stared at Gwen with confusion. Even Professor Flitwick blinked up at her, like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to her. Her cheeks began to burn as heat crawled up her neck. She looked down at the floor, mumbling assurance before returning to her seat. The space around her felt strangely fragile, like too much noise might shatter it.
***
The middle of November brought another Quidditch match: Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw. This time, she prepared. Tamsin had quizzed her relentlessly all week, fouls, Chaser formations, Beater rotations, every rule she could think of. Gwen had been a sponge for it all. She refused to have a repeat of the last game.
The morning air nipped at their cheeks and noses as they climbed the stands, already packed with clusters of yellow and blue like rival flocks of brightly colored birds. Cedric wasn’t with them this time, but Gwen had convinced, begged, Ava and Mark to join this time. Gwen held a handmade sign, complete with yellow and black paint, along with a copious amount of glitter. This was Cedric’s first game, and he’d been a wreck the entire two weeks leading up to it.
Ravenclaw entered the pitch with precise, clipped movements. Hufflepuff followed, Jenetta Weaver in front, Cedric bringing up the rear, shoulders set with determination. Gwen raised her sign, grin so wide it could have split her face.
When the whistle blew, the match exploded into motion.
Gwen followed every play, her cheers blending in with the rest of the crowd. “Man. I’d love a hot dog right now,” Gwen sighed, looking around the pitch as the players zipped past. Tamsin looked over at her like she’d grown a second head.
“You want a what?” she asked.
Gwen glanced over, brows furrowing. “A hot dog? Food. I imagine they have them at the professional Quidditch games,” she said. “You know, some guy walking around with a tray yelling, ‘Peanuts! Get your peanuts!’ Ooh, or caramel corn. I love caramel corn. Though, I’m sure they serve, like, wizard snacks.”
“You Americans are so funny,” Ava said, not unkindly. “With your silly food and traditions.”
Gwen slouched slightly, once again feeling heat crawl up her neck. She clamped her mouth shut, fixing her eyes on the game again. But a strange tug pulled at her ribs, something prickly and heavy all at once.
The game continued, bludgers whistling overhead, Chasers spiraling through the air. Cedric hovered like a hawk above the chaos. She waved her banner in one hand, the other gripping the railing with a white-knuckled grip as her pulse drummed in her ears. When Hufflepuff scored again, the stands erupted. Gwen jumped to her feet along with everyone else, cheering so loudly her throat stung.
Then Cedric dove, a streak of yellow and black, and the entire pitch seemed to inhale at once. Gwen bent so far over the railing that both Mark and Richard snatched the back of her robes.
“LET’S GO, CEDRIC!” she yelled. “RUN IT HOME!” She didn’t even notice the odd looks the boys gave her as Cedric’s fingers closed around the snitch, tiny wings beating futilely against his palm.
The stands exploded. She jumped up and down, hugging her friends before rushing down the stands. She ran until she was on the pitch with the players, ignoring all the calls of her name as she tackled Cedric to the ground.
“You did it! You won!” she cheered, shaking his shoulders. It didn’t matter that he was sweaty and smelled slightly. She just laughed as everyone began dispersing.
***
Winter drifted closer on soft feet. Snow collected in the seams of windowsills and clung to the stone edges like lace, quieting the grounds until even the wind seemed to speak in whispers. Decorations crept into the halls as if the castle itself were preparing for the season—garlands twined around banisters, wreaths hung from archways, and towering Christmas trees appeared overnight, each one dripping with enchanted candles. A group of ghosts floated through the corridors humming carols, their voices thin and cold as frost on glass.
Only a few days remained before students left for the holidays. The courtyard outside the clock tower felt both peaceful and expectant, as though holding its breath for the coming departures. Gwen sat bundled in her Hufflepuff sweater and jeans, legs stretched out in front of her, watching snowflakes melt on the denim. Ava, Mark, and Richard sat with her on the low stone ledge, their breath puffing into the pale winter air.
“It’s going to be so nice being home for Christmas,” Gwen said, leaning back on her palms. Snowflakes caught in her curls, clinging like glitter. “My family always hosts a big party at my Nonno Dave’s house. All my mom and dad’s work friends come, and they’re like my aunts and uncles, so I call them aunt and uncle.”
Mark nudged a pebble with the worn toe of his shoe, sending it skittering across the cobblestone. “Quite a big family, then?”
“Huge,” Gwen replied brightly. “My parents, four brothers, four sisters, all my ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’, their kids—it’s a pretty big celebration.” She twisted to face the others, eager curiosity shining in her eyes. “What about you guys? Big plans?”
Ava tucked her hands into the sleeves of her jumper, the soft smile on her face warming the cold air between them. “My father and I are taking the break to return to Nigeria. To visit his side of the family. I, too, have many aunties and uncles who are not related to me. It will be good to see them, as it has been a few years.”
“That’s so fun! Take photos!” Gwen said automatically, the excitement spilling from her like sunshine. “What about you two?”
Mark cleared his throat, brushing his overgrown bangs away from his glasses. “I’ll be going home too. Just me, my parents, and my little brother.” He pulled his jacket tighter, folding in on himself just a bit. His breath fogged the air in a shallow cloud, and he didn’t offer anything more.
Gwen glanced between the boys, noticing the way Richard’s shoe tapped against the stone—not with impatience, but with the careful rhythm of someone hoping no one would look too closely. He kept his eyes on the snow piling on his shoe, glasses sliding down his nose until they nearly tipped off. Both hands were shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders tucked high as if the cold couldn’t reach him if he simply made himself smaller.
She leaned toward him, poking him gently in the arm. “Psst! It’s your turn,” she stage-whispered, tilting her head with a playful grin.
Richard pushed his glasses up with the edge of his knuckle but didn’t meet her eye. “I’m not.”
The words landed strangely—flat, quiet, weighted. Something small tightened in Gwen’s chest. “How can you not be excited? It’s Christmas. It’s the most magical and wonderful time of the year—”
“I’m not returning home.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the winter air like the crack of a wand. Before Gwen could blink, Richard stood, his cloak swaying behind him. His shoulders curled inward as he walked away, head low, footsteps crisp and fast on the frosted stones.
Gwen stared after him, jaw slack, her breath catching in a visible plume. The courtyard felt suddenly bigger, the cold more noticeable. She turned slowly to Ava and Mark, both of whom looked just as stunned—Ava’s hands frozen mid-adjustment of her scarf, Mark’s brows scrunched behind fogging lenses.
Snow continued to fall softly around them, settling into the place Richard had just been sitting.
ok well i asked the cryptic fucking dragon that was imprisoned underground 20 years ago and he told me that no one can choose or escape their destiny so. he may have also told me i have a soulmate in the guy whose guts i hate but i dont really have time to think about that right now
blakekathryn
kianamaiart
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
jbbartram-illu
ellievsbear
