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Something about Hogwarts made everything more magical. Be it the castle itself, old and unvanquished, or the pristine views, the lake and forest stretching out as far as the eye can see. Perhaps it was the sky overhead, wards and remoteness making the light pollution nonexistent. Stars and galaxies in clear view, so long as the weather is clear.
Whatever it was, it made everything feel that much more. Letting her hand fall from waving her friends goodbye on the express, Harri leans on the rail and takes a moment to breathe. It’s been a busy term, full of danger and pain. The first task of the triwizard tournament is not even two weeks old, and the next task is a mere two months away. The golden egg is sitting on a chair in her dorms still, and Harri has no intention of working on it until Hermione is back from holiday.
She’s alone this time, for the first holiday ever. No Dursleys, no Ron and Hermione, no one here at all. They’d be back for the Yule ball at the end of break, squeezed in before classes resumed. Sure, there were a few other students staying, but no one she knew closely. A handful of Ravenclaws, a pair of Slytherins, some of the exchange students. She was the only one who had come to wave their friends goodbye, and so the path back to the castle was empty.
Harri trudged slowly up the stone path, wrapped in a scarf and coat, plus some heavy thoughts. She was missing her friends, even if they’d only been gone a few minutes. But she was grateful for the peace too. It had been so long since she was left alone, could sit and think without anyone intruding. Normally it wasn’t so bad, but being the youngest and fourth champion to the tournament she was hounded constantly.
Reporters looking for a scoop, younger years either worshipping or vilifying her, older students expressing their condolences or anger. She had proved her worth as champion a few times in empty halls, hexing some of the more forceful students who thought she didn’t belong- or that she belonged to them.
Somewhere the path had gone inside, and she found herself walking the empty halls. It was weird to be here, taking the shortcut from charms to transfiguration and it not be crowded. No shouts, spells flying above, students crowding and chatting, snuck food and abandoned homework. Filch had to have come though already, since the floors were for once clean, the trash swept away and the mud scraped away. Even the portraits were quiet, subdued and away visiting friends in warmer parts of the castle.
If she didn’t know that ghosts were real, she’d say that the corridor felt full of ghosts to her. Missing the life, the reality of what it should be. Like she died and was now haunting a vacant dimension of Hogwarts.
Harri climbed up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower and pushed into the common room. Since it was just her for the next two weeks, McGonagall had let the Fat lady off her post and keyed Harri into the protections. The door opened for her as she got close, no password required.
The common room was of course empty. The couches, chairs, tables all clear. No forgotten clothes or notes, no textbooks or homework in progress. It was clean and straightened, and lonely. She hurried up the stairs to her dorm. In her dorm she unwound the scarf from her neck, shrugged out of her jumper, laid them on Hermione’s bed. Looking around, it was no better up here. Two rows of empty beds, only one made up. No trunks, no clothes, no magazines or anything tossed about.
She had wanted the solitude, the peace, but Harri hadn’t thought about having to wake up every day and feel like they abandoned her. A flutter came from outside the window and Harri pushed it open to let her owl in.
“Hedwig!” she said, happy for a friend.
“Prek.” Hedwig barked, hopping over to Harri and settling on the girl’s bedrail. The bar was scratched and worn from where she’d perched many, many times before.
“How are you doing girl?” Harri asked, stroking her pet and friend. Hedwig shivered into her fingers, fluffing and easing. “Mhmm. I see.” Harri says, carefully stroking the owls’ neck.
Hedwig stays and enjoys the affection for a while, but eventually spreads her wings and adjusts to take back off into the grey skies. Harri lets her step to her arm and takes her to the window, pushing the panes back open and tossing Hedwig out. Hedwig catches the wind and soars away, doing a loop for her mistress before heading for the forest.
Harri leans out the windows and watches her fly away, wishing she had wings. She blinks to see snow on her arm, melting from the heat, but definitely snow. Full of renewed energy, she grabs her coat and scarf from Hermione’s bed and runs down the stairs.
She dashes through the halls, certain that there is no one there to admonish her or run into. Indeed, she goes the whole length of the castle without seeing anyone. It’s so different to the previous years, she thinks, remembering the hustle of second year and hiding from the basilisk, not that they knew that’s what it was then. Or the fear and terror of last year and the threat of Sirius hanging over them all, though he turned out to be on her side and the danger coming from the pocket of her friend. Even first year had been marred by worry; Harri fresh from seeing the slain unicorns. This was the first that she wasn’t being chased by some sort of terror. The first ‘normal’ holiday since she started Hogwarts. The less said about the Dursleys, the better.
It was cold, and Harri was tempted to shiver, but it wasn’t that cold really. Sure, it was snowing, but the cold was the type that didn’t leech into your bones. It was the type that bussed your cheeks and chilled your fingers. But so long as you had gloves and a coat, it was fine. What had probably been light flakes in the tower had progressed to heavy flakes, big and windy. Snow blew around her and Harri pushed the door open and stepped outside. The courtyard was already covered in a layer of fluff, maybe a cm or two deep. She was very thankful for the boots Charlie gave her last Christmas, as running around in her trainers in this would lead to frostbitten toes. But, she was warm, feet included, and so she raced through the blowing drifts. It was exhilarating, getting lost in the sheets of white powder, falling from the sky and sliding off the roof. She couldn’t help but smile, her dour mood solidly broken.
Harri couldn’t explain it, but she loved precipitation. Rain, sleet, hail, snow- she adored it. The thicker the better. This storm felt like a gift to her, a blessing for surviving so far.
Taking a running start, Harri kicked her heels and skidding through the courtyard on the powder. Letting a laugh break her lips she pushed off a column and spun, closing her eyes and just feeling the falling flakes.
It was like the whole world dropping away, the sound muffled by the snow, the spinning breaking her direction, just the cold air and the snow and her. After spinning so much she loses her balance and falls over, laughing at herself as she climbs to her feet, head still spinning. She finds one of the benches and sits down to catch her breath. She has been a bit frenetic all of the sudden. It’s peaceful, and she’s happy to watch the snow build up as she catches her breath.
It’s coming down hard- her steps are almost filled in, and as a gust blows through, they vanish. She rests for another moment before pushing on toward the spot.
Harri shoots off, legs pumping underneath her, shoes sliding on the slick ice blown under the roof. Breath catching on the cold air, lungs half seized, caught in a wild sprint for the place she had in mind, she kicks up sprays of powder as she tears down the covered walkway. Halfway there she reaches back and pulls her beanie off along with the hair tie, letting her red hair fly free, laughing and smiling.
She skids to a halt, her cheers diving off as she notes that she’s not alone. The first person she’s seen since the Hogwarts Express left. They’re in a lavender coat, with a blue beanie on top. Facing out into the chasm below, they turn to look at the commotion.
“Arri!” Fleur greets, blonde hair spilling out from under her hat. “there’s room for two.” Harri walks the last few paces to the spot, leaning on the rail next to the French girl. They look out at the vale together. Below is obscured by the storm, swirling snow blocking all view of the lake or the grounds down there, but Harri suspects neither of them came to see the water or the land. She looks up, and in the light of the lanterns above them, she can see the flakes drift down gently, hundreds if not thousands at a time.
“I love winter.” Fleur says softly, breaking the silence. “It’s so peaceful and quiet, so still and beautiful. Veela are supposed to be summer creatures, you’d think, but there’s just something about the cold that I love. I guess I’m a freak.” She jokes.
“No.” Harri says quietly, shaking her head and looking at the other witch. “You’re not a freak, Fleur. Liking the cold and winter doesn’t mean you’re not a proper Veela, or that you don’t belong. Everyone has their preferences, has their quirks. Everybody hates the rain, but I kind of like it. It’s so nice, the water pouring down and washing everything away. Like it’s starting over, like everything is going away and there’s a new start. Or snow, covering up everything. White powder as far as the eye can see, swirling down and around, burying all your problems and worries. It’s pure, beautiful.” Harri says, wondering just where the words are coming from.
“Deep thoughts. Guess I might have underestimated you at the start.” Fleur says with a grin, knocking the witch with her hip gently.
“Gods, the feast.” Harri says, looking down at the snow swirling beneath them. “That was so terrible, you know? Here I am, ready for a quiet year, and then Dumbledore calls my name. I should have known. The Potter curse.”
“You really didn’t put your name in?” Flue asks, like it’s no big deal, but Harri can hear the weight of her question, the attention she’s paying.
“No, Fleur. I did not put my name in the goblet of fire.” Harri says, looking the veela in the eyes.
“Merde.” Fluer says after a moment, looking away. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry then. You shouldn’t have had to face this.”
“It’s okay.” Harri says, “I forgive you. What did I expect when Dumbledore announced it? Of course I would end up competing.”
“What makes you say that?” Fleur asks, looking over,” Surely nothing else could have happened on this scale before.”
“Voldemort in my first year, possessing one of the professors. Basilisk in my second year, then Sirius Black in my third.” Harri says.
“Do any of us lowly mortals stand a chance?” Fleur jokes.
“With the way things normally go, not really. But the moment I can get out of this thing I’m dropping like a rock, so.”
“So my best chance to win is convincing Madame Maxime to try and overturn the contract.” Fleur says.
“Would she?”
“Not a chance.” Fleur replies. “I’m stuck in second place to you.”
“To be fair, I think you’re in last right now.” Harri smirks.
“Only because that idiot Karkaroff can’t recognize talent when he sees it. And that Bagman was too busy staring at my bits to see me perform.”
“He gave you an eight, though.”
“Exactly- it’s an insult. My girls are a solid ten.” Fleur says lifting her boobs for emphasis. They both laugh.
The mists under the bridge swirled and snow blew over the top, sending a wave of white glistening in the low light. The two shapes, indistinct through the flurry of crystals, leaning on one another and enjoyed the storm. Competition forgotten, differences overlooked, brought together by the simplest of things: a snowstorm.
The castle looked like a wonderland, drifts of snow blowing off the roofs and piling along the paths. The gates, iron and imposing, softened as more snow fetched up against them, easing the points and stone. Down the path and around the corner of the castle, Hagrid’s hut is painted white, a mushroomed drift of white powder, with a curl of black smoke rising from the top. The forbidden forest is no different, the long scraggly branches hanging icicles and thin lines of powder settled on. The whomping willow long gave up its fight against the weather and has surrendered to having snow coat its branches. Every so often, just to show who’s boss, it gives a shudder and throws off a pile of fluff.
“So, Harri, what are you doing here at Hogwarts?” Fleur asks, “I don’t mean to pry, but won’t your family miss you?”
Harri takes a breath and thinks about how to respond. She doesn’t like to talk about the Dursleys, doesn’t like to mention ‘home’.
“I-“ She pauses for a moment before bravely forging on, “After that night, Dumbledore had me placed with my Mom’s sister. Aunt Petunia, she never forgave mum for having magic when she didn’t. And she married another muggle. My cousin, they, he never wants for anything. Hasn’t for all his life. And I don’t want to hold it against him, but- It’s better if I stay away. Better for everyone if I’m there as little as possible.”
Fleur doesn’t have an immediate response, too caught up in the implications and what was not said. Her father is the ambassador from France, and he couldn’t help but teach her some of the skills required to be successful in international politics. So much of what is stated in politics lies more on what is not spoken than what is. When she sees Harri flick her gaze back away from her for what couldn’t be the first time, Fleur realizes she has to say something.
"Then I’m glad.”
“What?” Harri says, taken aback.
“Not that your home life is so dreary, but that you’re here.” Fleur adds quickly, “There was a threat on Papa’s life last week. It’s safer for both Gabbi and I to stay here at Hogwarts than to go to the Ambassador’s residence or even try to return to France. We’re stuck here for the break. I’m glad that I won’t be spending it alone.”
“That’s a bit bold of you.” Harri teases, a warm flush on her cheeks.
“Ah, but I am an ‘international terror’ according to your Prophet.” Fleur says with a smile.
“Hmph!” Harri snorts, “Not my Prophet.”
“Harri, dear, you own a sizable share of their stock. That won’t fly with me.” Fleur replies.
“What?” Harri asks, the cheer falling from her voice, “Are- are you serious? How much of a share do I have?”
“Harri, please, one question at a time. Oui, I’m serious. At least when your grandfather and mine worked together the Potters did. It was mentioned in his journals, how your Grandfather would shape the news to help their interests. I don’t know how much of the stock he owned, nor how much you have now. It’s possible your parents could have sold it all.”
“I had no idea.” Harri says weakly, “Do you know anything else about my grandfather? What- what was his name?”
“This is a talk best had over some hot cocoa, let’s head indoors.” Fleur says, leading the way through the still swirling snow. She pauses and turns back, eyes glancing over the thin girl who she had called ‘little’ months prior, wrapped up in coats and scarves and gloves. Harri looks distraught, eager and terrified all at once, but so damn hopeful in her eyes. Fleur can’t not say anything.
“His name was Charlus, Charlus Potter. And he was my grandfather’s closest international friend.”