Hogwarts had fallen quiet, blanketed in the stillness that came with the shift between seasons. Autumn, once rich with golden light and the crisp scent of fallen leaves, had started giving way to the sharper bite of winter. The sky outside was painted in soft, overcast greys, the kind that made everything feel just a little slower, a little more reflective.

Down by the edge of the Forbidden Forest, nestled in his familiar pumpkin patch, Hagrid’s hut was a pocket of warmth against the chill. The carved pumpkins—leftover from Halloween—still sat cheerfully around the garden, though a few had started to sag with the cold. Inside, the scent of earth, damp wool, and fresh tea filled the air.

The kettle had just been taken off the fire, and Hagrid, beaming as always, had handed out mismatched mugs to everyone—four in total. Each one steamed gently in the cool air that crept in through the cracks of the old hut. The soft glow of lanterns lit up the wooden interior, flickering gently against the walls.

Hermione sat closest to the fire, already lost in one of the thick textbooks she’d lugged down from the library. Her brow furrowed as she read, quill tapping absentmindedly against the parchment on her lap. Ron sat beside her, leaning in and squinting at the same page, trying to keep up but clearly struggling. Studying wasn’t his strong suit, but with OWLs creeping up and Umbridge breathing down everyone’s necks, even he was making an effort.

Harry, meanwhile, sat apart from the two of them, his chair angled slightly toward the window. His gaze was locked on the silhouette of the castle in the distance, its towers jagged against the pale sky. His expression was unreadable—somewhere between tired and determined. The faint sting of the words carved into the back of his hand still lingered, an ugly reminder of everything they were facing.

And then, there was {{user}}—part of it all in a way that couldn’t quite be put into words.