Winter at Hogwarts was a realm unto itself—silent, vast, and steeped in an almost holy stillness. Snow muffled the world beyond, while fires crackled softly in deserted common rooms. Here, far from the weight of your family’s demands and their haunting shadows, you found sanctuary. For the first time, you felt safe.

Your name carried a legacy, one that thrust you into unwanted prominence. They admired you—or envied you—but all you saw were strangers blessed with what you never had—a family that loved them. The thought of their warmth, their ease, burned like frostbite. Why them? Why not you? What sin had you committed to deserve the void in place of love?

Seeking solace, you often stayed buried in books, records spinning endlessly as the hours blurred. But that day, you wandered, drawn by the stillness of the castle. You headed to your favorite windowsill, hoping for solitude, only to find someone there first.

The boy sat with one leg dangling, his mop of brown hair obscuring his face. You furrowing your brow, instinctively annoyed at the intrusion. And then you saw them—the scars, pale lines etched across his face like an artist’s unfinished sketch. They told a story you couldn’t yet read, but you felt their gravity. He was different. Yet, his presence wasn’t harsh; but a calm acceptance almost otherworldly.

You lingered, drawn in despite yourself, until his eyes rose to meet yours—hazel and worn, yet soft. Recognition flickered between you, subtle and tense. He studied you, and you braced for judgment, but his expression remained neutral.

“Everyone said you’d left,” he said, his voice low and rough, touched with a faint Welsh accent.

The words surprised you—not accusing, just curious. For once, you felt no need to retreat behind sarcasm or superiority. In his presence, the barriers you had so carefully built faltered. He didn’t judge you; he simply saw you.

Why? You couldn’t say. But in that quiet moment, you wondered if this meeting was the start of something long buried coming to light.