A/N: We get another tiny glimpse into Fred's POV in part of this chapter. I know you guys love reading what he's thinking, so I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!
That night, Winona couldn't sleep. Keeping her awake was a strange niggling sensation at her brain, like she'd forgotten something vitally important, but just couldn't figure out what it was.
Eventually, sometime around midnight, she climbed from her bed, picked up her bag and silently slipped from the dorm, padding down the steps.
The common room looked empty at first glance, and she relaxed, making a beeline for the couch by the fireplace which still crackled with the dwindling remains of a fire. She held out a hand to the warmth, indulging for a moment before turning around, only almost leap out of her skin in fright as she realised that she wasn't as alone as she'd assumed.
Harry sat on the couch, curled up into a ball, looking unexpectedly depressed considering the day he'd had. "Harry?" she asked in surprise, and he blinked up at her through pain-filled eyes. Something was bothering him. "What're you doing down here so late?" she asked, keeping her tone casual as she collapsed into the cushions beside him.
"Can't sleep," he replied with an uncaring lift of his shoulders, his expression vacant. He looked strangely hollow, and it quickly began to worry her. "What about you?" he asked, but it was an afterthought, like he was just going through the motions.
"Chronic insomnia," she replied, and he nodded, absorbing this before looking back at the glowing coals blankly.
Deciding to give the kid his space, Winona pulled out her sketchbook and began to idly trace her pencil over the blank white of the page. The drawing slowly began to form into a profile picture of Harry, and she took great care to get the forlorn look in his eyes just right.
"Sirius Black was my parent's best friend," Harry finally spoke after a little over an hour had passed. He hadn't so much as moved an inch, still staring into the dying remains of the fire. He seemed like he was still in shock, and at his words Winona put down her pencil, giving him her full attention. "He was best man at their wedding, he's my godfather, and he's the reason they're dead."
The words were heavy, spoken with a seething hatred for the man who had betrayed his family. Her heart racing, Winona watched the younger boy carefully, struggling to process what he was telling her.
"Sirius Black is your godfather?"
"They would still be alive if it wasn't for him," he said, as if she hadn't even spoken.
Winona frowned. "How do you know all this?"
"Heard the Minister talking about it with McGonagall, Flitwick and Hagrid at the Three Broomsticks this afternoon," he muttered, words dripping with anger. He'd still yet to look at her. "All of them knew, and none of them ever told me."
Winona's concern was beginning to pull at her brow, making it ache. "Maybe they were trying to protect you," she suggested softly.
"And that makes it okay?" he snapped back, the words like both fire and ice.
"No," she said. "No, it doesn't."
Harry reached up to run a hand through his unruly black hair. "Everyone's always keeping something from me. Everyone knows more about me than me. It isn't fair," he said. He wasn't whining or complaining, he was stating a fact, one that troubled him more than she'd realised.
"I'm sorry," she said, apologising not for anything she'd done, but on behalf of all the others who he felt had wronged him. She was sorry that his life was like this. Sorry he seemed to be the one who always had to suffer. She wished things were easier for him – wished she could make them easier.
"I want to kill him," Harry said, spitting the words with hate. "One day, I will kill him."
A zing of something shot down Winona's spine, but she couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was. "But what if he kills you first?" she asked quietly, because the question had to be asked.
"He won't," he said with a conviction she wished she shared.
They drifted back into silence and slowly Harry's tense posture began to relax, his clenched fists unfurling and his shoulders drooping with exhaustion. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly, the fire now nothing but a pit of glowing embers. She wasn't asking for courtesy sake, or because she pitied him in any way. She was asking because her own peace of mind hinged on the answer, because she was one of the few people he knew who actually gave a damn about the real him.
"I will be," he promised, leaning back into the couch, the cushions sinking around him. It would have to be good enough, she realised, biting her lip as she turned her own eyes back to the dying fire. "Do you have godparents?" he asked a few minutes later, and she got the feeling it was because he needed a distraction – or maybe he was just genuinely curious.
They spent so much time talking about him – it would be nice to know a little more about the girl who was always there for him, one of the most reliable things he'd found in this brave new world of his.
"No," she told him, happy to talk about herself if it distracted him, no matter how depressing the topic could prove to be. "Or, if I did, they certainly weren't around to claim me when my parents died."
"How old were you when they died?" he asked, and she appreciated the way he didn't dance around the question. She supposed he understood what it was like more so than any of her other friends ever could. He was the only friend she had who'd lost his parents as a baby, too. He probably hated when people tried to be polite as they asked. It wouldn't have surprised her.
"Three," she answered him, bringing her legs up and curling her arms around them in an embrace, seeking comfort from herself that she knew she wouldn't find anywhere else.
"And you don't remember them?"
"Not really," she shrugged, eyes far away as she searched her memories, the ones she kept locked safely away where nobody – not even her – could touch them. "I remember my mum a little," she confessed. "How she smelt – like fresh cookie dough – and the way she would sing me to sleep at night."
Harry ducked his head. "And your dad?"
Winona breathed deeply. "I remember the sound of his laugh. It was loud and sharp, like the bark of a dog." She closed her eyes and tilted her head, as though if she concentrated hard enough it might echo across time for her to hear again.
"How did they die?" Harry asked, still quiet and pensive, letting the sound of her voice wash over him. It was warm, just a little husky, and completely comforting, like a blanket on a cold day.
"You-Know-Who. They were killed in battle during the first war," she told him factually. "That's all I know."
"No one ever told you more?"
"I've never really asked," she admitted softly. "Most of the time I just think knowing anything else would just make it hurt more."
"And right now?" Harry asked, so quiet it was almost like a spell had befallen them, one he was afraid to break.
"I think I'd like to know more than just their names," she whispered. "But I'm sure I'll wake up in the morning, glad I'm safe in my ignorance once again."
The pair sat in silence for a long few moments. Harry was frowning, like he was thinking extra hard about something important. "You know their names?" he finally asked, turning away from the empty hearth to look at her properly, green eyes sparkling in the glow of the dying embers.
Winona tilted her head, and when she spoke, the names were said with care, like they were something to be treasured and cherished, a missing piece of her identity that she still didn't fully understand. "Jessica and Orion Andrews."
"Jessica..." Harry murmured to himself, a frown pulling at his face. But this wasn't the brooding, upset one from before. This one was like he were trying to remember something, something he knew he knew but just couldn't seem to grasp ahold of in his head.
"What?" she prompted him when he went another long moment without speaking.
"The name just sounds familiar, is all..." he murmured. Winona wasn't convinced. She felt like he knew something that she maybe didn't, and the possibility of that something began to make her heart race and her hands feel clammy.
"Harry," she said, the two lone syllables a plea for answers.
Harry blinked, then shook his head. "It's nothing," he told her, voice gaining strength. "I'm just really tired, I guess."
Winona desperately wanted to press him for more answers, but he'd had a rough enough day as it was. Besides, Winona knew the look on his face. She saw it often enough in the mirror, so she knew when not to push.
"Okay," she relented, leaning back into the folds of the couch, pushing it from her mind. "You should head up to bed, try and get some good sleep. You look like you could use it."
He gave a waning smile that was tinged with exhaustion, his eyes still haunted from the information he'd discovered about his past. "I think I'll stay up, just a little while longer," he murmured, returning his stare to the glowing fireplace before them.
"All right," she said softly and picking up her sketchbook once more. "Just a little while longer."
The Christmas holidays passed slowly. Winona had, in a way, been dreading them.
She couldn't have said why, but she just knew she didn't particularly feel in the Christmas spirit this year. Maybe it was the whole 'Sirius Black' thing, or maybe the dementors constantly circling the grounds, but it was hard to think about the holidays when she felt so flat and concerned.
Fred and George were the only two of her friends – other than Harry, Ron and Hermione – to stay over the break, and they spent a great deal of it in the barren common room playing games, planning upcoming pranks and spitballing ideas for the joke shop.
It had been a great year for snowfall (and she definitely didn't want to think about how much the dementors had to do with that), and she was just dying to get out into the open. The school was practically a ghost town what with everyone at home for the holidays, and the snow in the courtyard was like a perfect cloud, just begging for her to collapse into it.
The boys didn't sound particularly thrilled by her plans, strewn about by the toasty fire and working on brewing a complicated potion, taking advantage of the empty common room. They'd been getting a lot of work done for the shop, and judging by the smell, Winona would say they were working on perfecting the Puking Pasties recipe. She was proud of them, probably more proud of them than anyone in the whole world, but even still, she didn't want to just sit around.
"Come on, guys," she pleaded, thrown over one of the couches, her head tipped back, looking at them upside-down. "We've been up here for days," she didn't really want to sound like she was complaining – but she kind of was.
"We're on the cusp of a revelation, Winnie, I can feel it!" said Fred enthusiastically, huddled over the bubbling cauldron, the liquid inside slowly turning a bubblegum pink.
"You don't even like Potions," she replied, narrowing her eyes at her floppy, ginger-haired friend. "George is the Potions guy. You're the Charms guy. That's how it's always worked."
"We're a team, Winnie," George tutted as he painstakingly measured and weighed chunks of pickled slugs. "You could be using this time to sketch," he suggested distractedly.
She sighed, pushing herself upright and waiting until the fog in her head cleared before she replied. "I know how important this is to you," she told them solemnly, and Fred looked up with a raised eyebrow. "But it's Christmas!" she cried, falling back dramatically, and the twins rolled their eyes as one, as though they practised every night before bed. "We're meant to go play in the snow, and pillage the kitchens and eat all the pudding and sweets we can fit in our stomachs!"
"Sweets?" Fred asked skeptically.
"It's Christmas, I'm allowed one vice," she replied defensively, and he gave snort of laughter before turning resolutely back to their work. She stared at the twins for another few moments before standing to her feet in a huff and marching determinately up the stairs towards the girls' dorms.
A woman on a mission, Winona quickly changed into warmer clothes and cast a warming charm on her boots before shoving them onto her feet, because she hated frozen toes. She yanked a beanie on over her messy hair and made sure she had her bag of art supplies thrown over her shoulder just in case she fell into a vision unexpectedly. Then she nodded at herself in the mirror before turning and marching down the stairs again.
The boys looked up at her entrance, cocking their heads at her determined expression. "What're you doing now?" George asked dubiously.
"Um, enjoying my youth?" she replied coolly. They watched as she stalked over to the portrait hole, all but tripping through it in her haste to leave, but she didn't care, pulling herself up and letting it close behind her with a creak.
She realised halfway down to the courtyard that she'd overreacted and sighed at herself, reaching up to slap at her cheeks in reprimand. She considered going back to apologise for being huffy, but she really did want to go out into the snow, so she continued on, winding her way through the empty, peaceful halls. She could hear the snow falling around her, and although she would have loved to sketch it, knew that today was about living the moment, not capturing it.
As expected, the courtyard was barren, a thick coating of snow covering the ground, reaching up to about her waist. Plopping her bag down under the shelter, where her supplies wouldn't get wet, Winona made sure her clothes were on properly, squared her shoulders, then promptly catapulted herself into the carpet of freshly fallen snow.
The snow gave way, and she sunk into it with a laugh. It was freezing, but she enjoyed the bite against her skin, throwing out her arms and looking back up at the grey sky through the hole she'd made in the snow's surface.
She debated making a snow angel, but decided to wait, sitting back up and beginning to wade through the icy crystals that made up her temporary sea. She let her fingertips trail over the perfect layer of the surface, her nails making subtle imprints on the top of the snow.
She was halfway across the courtyard when there was a shout of her name from behind her. She jumped at the sound, but relaxed just as quickly as she turned her head, recognising the mop of red hair wading through the snow towards her.
"Sorry," she called to him before he could even reach her, her expression twisted down into a sad grimace. "I'm just cranky."
Fred stopped beside her, a wall of the fluffy snow separating them. "Don't apologise," he told her in a mock-stern voice. "You were right – it's Christmas. And Christmas is a time for family."
Her eyes shot to his in surprise, and she found him smiling.
"I stayed behind to keep you company, not make it worse for you by being a self-involved git," he added guiltily.
"What? No, of course not-" she cut herself off, brow knitting together in confusion as she finally registered his words. "You stayed behind to keep me company?" she repeated, and now the flush to Fred's skin had nothing to do with the cold. "I thought you two just decided you didn't wanna spend the holidays stuck with Percy going on about his plans for the new year."
Ears burning red, Fred struggled to come off casual. "Well, you know, that was part of it," he muttered, glancing over at the frozen tree on the edge of the courtyard, bare of all leaves, like it were more interesting than her. "But, well, you said you were gonna be here, and I knew you'd be alone, so I – we, just thought…"
A smile had grown on Winona's face, bright and brilliant. "You absolute twat," she said through the affectionate grin, taking in Fred's pink, freckled complexion and the way he was rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
His expression slackened with surprise for a moment, but before he could so much as utter a word he was ruthlessly tackled to the ground. Winona leapt on top of him, forcing him to collapse back into the snow, arms snapping up to wrap around her, instinctually making sure she wasn't hurt as they fell. The sound of her laughter filled the air – loud, brilliant, unrestrained laughter – and it warmed him from the inside out, the effect stronger and more intense than any firewhisky could ever hope to be.
Staring up at her vivacious grin, he noted that her pale skin was flushed a bright pink, particularly along the apples of her cheeks and on the tip of her pointed, elfin nose. Without thought he reached up to tap it. She kept grinning, completely at ease, like being with him was as simple and easy as breathing.
"You're the best friend in the world," she told him without so much as a second thought, grinning happily, oblivious to the intimate way they were pressed against one another. "You know that, right?" she asked, her sparkling grey eyes the exact same colour as the sky from which the snow was falling.
It wasn't anything she hadn't said to him before, but this time he didn't feel the same way. This time he wasn't filled with a warm amusement, a fond feeling growing happily in his stomach. This time his insides sank, like somebody had hit him with some kind of Drooping Jinx – if such a thing existed.
He stared up at her, trying to sort through the sudden influx of negative feelings, trying to calm his racing heart as he blinked into her eyes. There had been moments, moments where recently he'd wondered if something had changed between them. It seemed impossible and beyond stupid for him to let anything shift – things were perfect the way they were, nothing needed to change – but in that exact moment, in the middle of that snow-filled courtyard with Winona laid atop him, grinning down at him like the first glimpse of the sun at dawn, he knew that – for him – they already had.
But he was her best friend in the world, so why should it matter to her? It didn't matter how he felt. Didn't matter that in one heartbeat he felt one way, and in the next everything he thought he knew was different. Because by her own words, he was her best friend. How could he ever hope to be anything more? How could he ever think she'd be able to look at him like she looked at Sugar Quills, or fresh watercolour paints, or hot apple pie on a cold day? He wasn't one of the things in this world that she loved.
They were friends. The nail was already in the coffin. And he knew he didn't have a chance in hell of making her see him any differently. He would suffer in silence, then eventually, if he suffered long enough, maybe he would get through to the other side and everything would go back to the way it had always been.
It just had to, because he had no idea what he was going to do if it didn't.
"Fred?" she asked, frowning when he didn't reply. She was leaning atop him, forearms braced against his chest as she watched some kind of war go on behind his cornflower-blue eyes. "All right?" she pressed when he still said nothing, wondering what could possibly be going on within that big, wonderful brain of his.
Finally he smiled, but she noticed right away that it wasn't a happy one, or a placating one, or even one of agreement. Instead it was one tinged with the sour edge of mischief, and she barely had time to open her mouth to say 'no' to whatever he was planning before she had a face full of bitterly cold snow.
"Fred!" she shrieked, flying back and brushing off the fluffy white substance as Fred cackled like a madman across from her, head thrown back in amusement. Despite herself, a grin appeared on her lips as she scooped up a handful of snow. It was cold and powdery, slipping through her fingertips soothingly, but she threw it at him with a laugh of her own.
It hit him over the head, coating his fiery red hair with a thick dusting of white, and he gaped at her with that familiar spark of mischief glinting in his eyes. Yelping through her laughter, Winona climbed clumsily to her feet, stumbling away, but she was only pelted with more fistfuls of cold, loose snow. Squealing at the attack, she whirled around to reciprocate, tossing snow back in his direction.
It was so easy to fall into fun with Fred, so easy to abandon propriety and maturity and just be a kid. That was what she loved most about him, other than the way he could so easily make her smile. He made it feel okay to just enjoy the moment, to find fun in the small things.
He caught her around the waist, yanking her feet up off the ground with laughable ease, tossing her into the sea of snow that surrounded them. Her laughter bounced around the empty courtyard, Fred's joining in a moment later. Even as the snow melted and soaked through her clothes, she could only think about how mind-numbingly happy she was in that exact moment, and how she was going to make sure Fred would always be around to laugh with her about nothing.
Eventually the pair conceded to a reluctant draw, mostly due to being soaked to the bone, both shivering against the bitter wind brushing over their wet skin. "Come on," Fred said, hooking an arm around her shoulders to begin angling her in the direction of the castle. "Let's get you warmed up before you get sick."
She picked up her bag, which Fred immediately took from her, happily ignoring her protests as he hoisted it over his free shoulder, leading the way back towards Gryffindor Tower.
The walk was silent apart from the chattering of Winona's teeth, but still completely comfortable. The only people they ran into were some of the ghosts, but they were all too caught up in their griping over Peeves and his latest prank to notice them, so the pair slipped by with ease.
The common room was like a beacon of light and Winona all but tripped inside, making a beeline for the fire. George didn't seem to have moved so much as an inch, still hovering over his bubbling cauldron and scribbling absentminded notes on a spare bit of parchment to his right.
"There you are," he muttered, taking a moment to look up, then cocking an eyebrow at the pair, now both huddled beside the fire, hands held out to its warmth. "What the bloody hell happened to you two?" he asked in surprise, taking in their soaked clothes and blue-tinted lips. He figured it out, however, before either of them could open their mouths to respond. "Snow fight, eh?"
Winona smiled back, the expression sweet and a tad sheepish. "Sorry about before," she told him simply, shuffling closer to the warmth of the crackling fire. "I'd offer to help you with the potion, but I think I'd just be more of a hindrance," she joked, and George snorted in agreement. She turned to Fred, pulling her wand from where it had been slipped in her boot. "Want me to dry you off?" she offered.
"Promise you won't accidentally turn me into a toad?" he teased.
Winona rolled her eyes. "I may be rubbish at this stuff, but not even I can confuse Charms with Transfiguration."
"Go on then," he told her, opening his arms and tipping his head back in invitation. "Do your worst."
This time she was the one who snorted as she muttered the incantation under her breath, flicking her wand at him and watching as he dried, the water magically evaporating from his clothes and skin. He clapped, and she rolled her eyes again as she tapped the top of her own head, the spell a little more difficult to work on herself, but possible. She remained slightly damp, but it was better than nothing.
"Go finish perfecting the recipe with Georgie," she ordered him after a moment, tucking her wand away, already reaching for her bag. "I'll work some more on the banner sketches. And this time I won't even complain," she added with a tongue-touched grin.
The night ended up being peaceful and fun, and she found that she didn't feel like she was alone at all. She felt like she still had her family with her every day, and that was all she could ask for during the holiday season.
They weren't the only ones to stay back for the holiday. Ron, Harry and Hermione stayed too, though they mostly kept to themselves, reading heavy, boring-looking volumes in the common room by the fire. It wasn't, however, until Christmas Eve that Winona was clued in to exactly what they were doing.
"Winnie," Ron began as strongly as he could, chest puffed out as he spoke. Winona looked up from the piece she was working on of some Cornish Pixies, putting the finishing touches on their little blue bodies. "We need some help."
"What's up?" she asked pleasantly, full from the dinner they'd finished earlier, glancing over to see the twins standing over a small cauldron, taking advantage of the still-empty room while it lasted. When Hermione asked what they were doing, they told her it was an extra-credit assignment from Snape. The bushy-haired brunette hadn't appeared to be convinced, but let them get away with it, clearly not in the mood to argue.
Harry and Ron stood in front of her where she was curled on one of the big, squashy chairs by the fire. Hermione sat on the main couch, an unhappy frown on her face as she pretended not to be listening. "Well, it's about Hagrid," Harry told her, reaching up to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
"What about him?"
"You know the about 'incident'," the kid used air quotes around the word, making Winona laugh, "involving Malfoy and the hippogriff in his class earlier this year?"
"I may have heard a version or twenty," she said cheekily, seeing that the conversation may be a lengthy one and sitting back in the chair, giving them her full attention.
"Well, Malfoy's dad got Hagrid put on trial," Ron explained.
Her jaw dropped open in equal surprise and horror. "He's isn't getting sacked, is he?"
"No, no," they assured her. "He got off. He's not in any trouble."
"That's a relief."
They looked reluctant to continue, and she knew that wasn't the end of the story. "Well, now Buckbeak – the Hippogriff – is on trial, with the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. They're threatening to…put him down."
"You're kidding," she said, fury hitting her like a train.
"I'm afraid not," Harry shook his head sombrely. "His hearing's in April."
"They're going to kill that poor creature just because Malfoy can't tell a hippogriff from a horse?" Harry nodded grimly. She let out a loud, filthy curse, her hands tightening into angry fists.
Hermione glanced up at the language, disapproval in her eyes. She looked to be straining to keep herself from berating Winona about the cussing. Really, she should have been used to it by now – Winona was widely known for having the vocabulary of a sailor.
Winona sighed, relaxing her tense muscles and rubbing the frown from her furrowed brow. "How can I help?" she asked, much more calmly than she had previously spoken.
"I don't suppose you've had any...visions," Ron whispered the word like it was dirty, and it took a lot for her not to roll her eyes, "...about a Hippogriff? Or Hagrid?"
She took a moment to scan her memory, but no such work came to mind. "No, sorry," she replied, feeling rather useless.
"You said once that you were working to…bring on visions as they're needed," Harry continued hesitantly, like he was worried she would react badly to the words. "Is that possible?"
She hadn't tried to do that in a while, and after what had happened in Hogsmeade only a short week ago, it was the very last thing she wanted to try. But, she thought, imagine how good it would feel to have her talents be of some use for once.
"I haven't made much progress on that front," she admitted quietly, glancing down at her case full of pencils, idly rolling a purple one around in its place. Harry and Ron deflated, disappointed by her reply. "But I'm happy to give it a go."
Harry was more perceptive than his friend, sensing the hesitation in her voice. "If we don't do something, Buckbeak will be executed before the end of the school year," he told her gently, not pushing, but reminding her that an innocent life hung in the balance.
She nodded, a steely resolve growing within her. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll start trying to induce a vision."
Just saying the words scared her, but she knew she didn't have a choice. How could she stand by and do nothing, just because the thought of trying terrified her? What was the worst that could happen? She could feel a little dizzy?
Before the boys had a chance to thank her, Hermione let out a little scoff from behind them, the sound loud enough to draw their attention. For a moment she didn't seem to realise they had noticed, but then felt the weight of their eyes on her and looked up, cheeks flushing pink.
"Something to say, 'Mione?" Winona asked lightly and kindly, giving the frizzy-haired girl an opportunity to speak her mind. She'd rather have doubts spoken to her face than whispered about behind her back.
Hermione's blush only darkened. "Well – I just don't think relying on something as wishy-washy as premonitions is the best way to handle this situation," she finally spoke, a slight tremor in her voice.
By then the twins' attention was drawn away from their extra-curricular activity, perking up and paying closer attention to the conversation happening before them.
Winona eyed the younger witch thoughtfully, considering how to respond. She was insulted, even though this reaction was nothing new coming from Hermione.
"I see," she murmured coolly. "So, transfiguring people into frogs and charming pineapples to dance is all fine and dandy, but Merlin forbid somebody predict the future."
Hermione said nothing.
"Besides, it's not like my ability has saved your life or anything," she added, unable to help herself. Suddenly Hermione's eyes were shining with tears and Winona's stomach swooped with dread. "Shit," she cursed again, pushing her things to the side and clamouring off the chair she was buried in, tripping over to Hermione's side as the girl sniffled sadly. "Please don't cry." Her hands hovered over the younger girl's arms, not quite sure what to do with them. "Uh, it was a joke," she continued, barrelling onwards, hoping to somehow backtrack and fix whatever she'd done wrong. "I didn't mean to make you cry."
Hermione sniffled again, making every other person in the room feel even more awkward. "It's okay," she assured her after a moment, shaking her head as though to clear it of fog. "I suppose I'm just overly sensitive about the whole situation. I just can't believe Buckbeak could possibly be executed over this."
Relieved the waterworks had been prevented, Winona let out an appeased sigh, sitting back on her heels and relaxing. The twins snickered from the corner, but both girls expertly ignored them. She and Hermione may have rarely seen eye to eye, but there was a certain bond that came with being the only girls surrounded by their male cohorts.
"I know it probably isn't of much relief to you, being the lady-of-logic you are, but I'm going to try really hard to stop this from happening," she promised, voice small.
Hermione didn't look totally convinced, but she smiled back nonetheless, reaching out to pat Winona's shoulder gratefully. Once the moment had passed she turned back to the thick tome in her lap and Winona was relieved to be off the hook, moving back over to her chair and settling in again, content to sketch the night away.
She glanced up once, seeing the trio get sucked back into their studying, Ron yawning every now and again, then looked over at the twins who had returned to their project, their cauldron bubbling away while they grinned over it like a pair of maniacal super villains.
And she thought about how nice it was to be home, with her family, for Christmas.
Winona woke up alone on Christmas morning, and she found she didn't mind it. It was nice to sleep in, waking when she was ready to a quiet dorm and a stack of gifts on the end of her bed. Although she was eager to get the day started, she took a long while to revel in the silence as she stared out the window from under her toasty warm covers, watching as large snowflakes drifted down from the thick blanket of clouds covering the sky.
Once she'd decided that she'd revelled enough, she kicked off her covers and crawled to the foot of her mattress where the wrapped presents awaited.
Her Christmas haul was predictable but in no way disappointing. Mrs Weasley sent her the usual sweater that she knitted for everyone each year. It was another purple one, with the letters WA on the front in brilliant gold. It was so soft that she couldn't resist pressing it against her face to feel the fabric before slipping it over her head and pulling it down around her body. It fit loosely, but she liked it that way.
The girls in the dorm had all pitched in to buy her a Self-Writing Quill to 'help with your ever dwindling homework habits' as they'd said. She'd laughed at the note, shaking her head at the gift and setting it aside. Lee sent her enough Sugar Quills to last the rest of the year – something she was incredibly grateful for, as her stash was running low. She knew he'd like the Ice Mice that she'd sent him.
Their friendship had initially blossomed over their shared love of sweets, so they kept the tradition alive every year for holidays.
The next package was from Fred and George. She gently prodded the wrapping, relieved when it didn't rattle as it had some years in the past. The package was flat and rectangular. She didn't think it was a gag gift, but she was still ever-so-slightly wary as she pulled off the wrapping, surprised when she finally uncovered the present – a brand new sketchbook.
Her eyes lit up in pleasant surprise and she hastily opened it, running her hands across the smooth parchment. She glanced down, noticing a small card that had dropped from the book.
It never ends, was all it said, written in Fred's familiar pathetic attempt at cursive.
Curious, she picked it up, holding it at an angle and beginning to flick through the pages. Though she'd technically been expecting it, she was still shocked when the pages never came to an end. "How the devil...?" she trailed off to the empty room, staring down at her new treasure in wonderment. The twins really were downright genius; a hundred times more clever than she could ever hope to be.
She glanced down at where her pile had sat, realising it was now completely empty except for one thing, some kind of paper rose. She picked it up, twirling it between her fingers as she stared at the intricately cut and folded layers of the piece.
It was pale pink, and seemed to glitter in the light streaming in from the window, and she sniffed, taking in the scent of real roses that emanated from the origami masterpiece. "Huh," she hummed, glancing over her things, looking for some sort of tag, only to come up empty. Confused but not at all upset, she couldn't help but smile, sliding the stem through her hair and fixing it into place above her ear before she slipped from the soft comfort of her bed and moved to get ready for the day.
The twins were already in the common room when she arrived, all but tripping down the steps in her haste to greet them. She spotted Harry and Ron wandering through the portrait hole as she descended, but didn't have time to shout a greeting before they disappeared.
"Merry Christmas!" she cheered happily, beaming at the twins so brightly that they had to look away, practically blinded by her enthusiasm. She leapt on them, arms winding around each of their necks and yanking them to her in a warm, if not slightly too tight, embrace.
The pair laughed, patting her on the back affectionately.
"I love my new sketchbook!" she told them, voice loud as she was perched right beside their ears. Finally she pulled back, grinning at them brightly.
"It was all Freddie's idea," George boasted, slapping his brother on the back as he beamed cheekily. Fred's grin remained firmly in place, although his ears seemed to turn a faint red. "The book of Muggle card tricks you got me is brilliant!" George continued smoothly, doing his twin a favour and moving the focus onto himself, grinning at Winona enthusiastically. "I can't wait to learn some! I flicked through it already, and it's full of the sort of thing we'd have in the shop."
"I thought you might consider it research," she joked, poking him in the stomach and flashing her tongue teasingly.
"You'll have to drag Fred kicking and screaming away from his Sea Monkeys," George told her.
Fred lit up. "I've never had a pet before," he said eagerly. "I mean, there's the ghoul in our attic back home, but I don't think that really counts."
"Winona?" Hermione's quiet voice spoke up from the stairs, and the blonde turned away from Fred's wide smile, her grey eyes resting on the bookworm's expression, pulled down in something like worry. "Can I speak with you for a minute?" she asked warily, eyes flickering from the older girl to the Weasley twins.
"I'll meet you at lunch?" Winona offered. The pair hummed in agreement, shooting her matching grins and wandering towards the portrait hole, talking amongst themselves about their new gifts. "What's up?" Winona asked Hermione curiously, making her way over to the stairs where the younger witch stood, a wary look in her warm brown eyes.
"I have a...moral dilemma," Hermione began, glancing around the empty common room like she was afraid somebody might appear to try and eavesdrop on their conversation.
"...Okay," Winona nodded, turning and gesturing for Hermione to follow her from the Tower, leading her over to the portrait hole. "And you need a soundboard, as it were, for this dilemma?" Hermione nodded. "Why me?"
"Well..." she trailed off, looking awkward. "You're really my only other friend here, besides Harry and Ron," she murmured with a small flush to her cheeks. Winona thought that was rather sad, to be considered her friend when they rarely ever spoke, and most of the time it was passive-aggressive remarks about her 'wishy-washy ability' or 'horrendous study habits and obvious lazy-streak'.
"How can I help?" she asked quietly, rather than voice any of these thoughts. She wasn't one to kick a girl when she was down.
"Harry received a gift this morning," Hermione began, and Winona couldn't help but snort.
"Not at all out of the ordinary. It's Christmas, Hermione."
The bookworm gave an irritated huff. "I know that," she said impatiently, and Winona felt a little guilty. Obviously whatever was on the third year's mind was affecting her, and she was being anything but helpful.
"Sorry," she apologised gently. "Go on," she encouraged as they descended the first of many flights of stairs, gripping onto the railing as the staircase began to shift.
"Harry received a broom this morning," she began again. "A good one – well, the best one, apparently."
Winona's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You don't mean a Firebolt?" she asked with bated breath. While not a Quidditch player, one of Winona's favourite things to do was fly – and having Quidditch fanatics as best friends, she was more than up to date on the latest in the world of the sport.
"Yes," Hermione was frowning like this wasn't brilliant news.
"Do you think he'd let me have a go?" she asked eagerly, and Hermione shot her another irritated scowl. "Right," she mumbled. "Off topic. Continue."
"There was no note with it, you see," the younger girl told her in a rush, ignoring one of the portraits as they said a soft warning about Peeves. "And I'm rather concerned it might be from…well, Sirius Black."
Winona hummed thoughtfully. "You know that Black's after Harry, then?" She'd suspected as much, after all, Harry and her were rather alike – there wasn't anything they wouldn't tell their closest friends.
"Did you learn that from a vision?" Hermione sounded vaguely impressed, and it almost hurt to have to ruin it.
"This time my source was slightly less mysterious," she admitted as they rounded another corner, setting off down another large flight of stairs, her hand sliding against the marble railing. "Harry told me. So, you're worried that Black has, what? Cursed the broom or something?"
"I can't get the thought out of my head."
"Surely there are easier ways to go about offing Harry," Winona commented callously. "A Firebolt would set a wizard back at least a couple hundred Galleons. Why use an item so expensive?"
Hermione pursed her lips, arms crossed over her chest defensively. "He's criminally insane, Winona."
She sighed, already tired. "So, what's the real dilemma here?" she asked, noting they were getting closer to the Great Hall.
"I think I should tell Professor McGonagall," she murmured quietly, a look of reluctant remorse on her face.
"But she'll confiscate it and strip it to pieces looking for jinxes," Winona argued immediately. What if they didn't put it back together right, and whoever bought it had wasted all that money for nothing?
"Isn't that a better alternative to Harry getting hurt?" Hermione countered, coming to a stop outside the Great Hall and keeping her voice quiet so they didn't attract the attention of the group within.
Winona sighed, knowing she was absolutely right. "It's your call, Hermione," she said softly. "But if you decide to squeal, you know the boys will be less than pleased."
Hermione looked vaguely sick at the thought. "I know."
"Come on," Winona prompted her, nudging her gently in the shoulder and beginning to push her in the direction of the Hall. "I'm starved," she said, but the girl's frown remained. "You'll do the right thing, 'Mione," she assured her. "You always do."
Hermione attempted a smile as they slid into the empty seats at the single large table that had replaced the usual House Tables.
Winona ended up beside Snape, who sent her a disgusted sneer, and as she glanced over to the twins, she spotted them stifling laughter at her reluctant grimace. When she was sure nobody was looking, she flipped them off, making George choke on his pumpkin juice.
They sat around eating for nearly two hours, and by the time they were wandering from the Great Hall, it was beginning to grow dark. They were full from the feast, and all Winona wanted to do was curl up in front of the fire and sketch. The twins, however, were bounding with energy.
"Go," she prompted them when their whispering and bouncing legs got to be too much to handle, watching them where they were perched at a table by the window, halfheartedly engaged in a game of Exploding Snap.
"What?" they asked as one, blinking back at her innocently.
"Go borrow sweets from Honeydukes or firewhisky from the Three Broomsticks, or whatever it is the pair of you want to do," she said, rolling her eyes. Surely they knew how well she knew them by now. "Bring me back a butterbeer, would you?" she added, turning back to her artwork, charcoal coating her fingertips as she used them to smooth the black substance across her paper, the lines forming a winding system of tree roots penetrating a hollow ground.
A beat later there were a set of lips pressed to each cheek, and the twins pulled away with loud, comical smacks, the one on the left reaching up to ruffle her hair playfully. She reached up, jokingly rubbing at her moist cheeks. "You're a gem, you know that?" she heard George say, but she didn't bother removing her eyes from her work.
"I could stand to be reminded every now and again," she murmured distractedly, wondering what the piece in her lap was missing – because it wasn't quite right yet.
"We'll be back soon," Fred said from behind her, but she barely paid them a lick of attention as they stealthily pulled on their winter coats and scarves. The portrait door opened and closed, and Winona decided her sketch needed some colour, so she tucked her new sketchbook under her arm and set off up the stairs.
Her coloured pencils were easy to locate, and her bed looked so warm and inviting that she couldn't help but tug on her fluffy socks and burrow under her covers, pulling her utensils into her lap and beginning to do what she did best.
It had to have been nearly an hour later that she heard the yelling from downstairs. There wasn't anyone left in the Tower other than her and the 'Golden Trio', so she knew instantly who it was.
Ron and Hermione got into screaming matches quite often, so it wasn't too concerning, only this time she could hear Harry's voice joining the shouting. Concerned, Winona laid her book and pencils on her bed and hurried down the stairs, toppling into the common room to see all three third years with furious glares on their faces, cheeks flushed a dark, angry red.
"You had no right to run to McGonagall!" Ron was shouting in a rage.
"It isn't even your broom, Ron! It's Harry's!" Hermione yelled back shrilly.
"What if he never gets it back?!" Ron argued loudly. "What if it gets stripped to pieces and never works right again?!"
"You're being ridiculous!" Hermione scoffed, eyes wet with tears.
"No Hermione, you're being ridiculous!" Harry countered angrily, and Hermione sniffled sadly.
"I'm just trying to keep you safe," she told him with a wobbling lip. Harry looked surprised, but Ron opened his mouth to shout some more, and that was when Winona decided to intervene.
"All right, children," she began, stepping from the stairs and into the common room, sliding into place beside Hermione, a subtle but protective arm wrapping around her shoulders. "Let's play nice," she said with a hint of condescension. Ron's jaw clicked in anger.
"Do you have any idea what she's done?" he demanded furiously, as though Hermione had committed some punishable offence, glaring at her fiercely. And that just wouldn't do.
"Yeah," Winona nodded, chin tilted up defiantly. "I'm the one who encouraged her to do it."
"You what?" Ron shouted, face turning an even darker red in his rage.
"Oh, shut up," she rolled her eyes, squeezing Hermione tighter when she sniffled. "We're doing what's best for Harry. Stop getting so touchy about a broom. He'll get it back in one piece, with the added benefit of not dying."
"You can't just-" the indignant Weasley tried to argue, but Winona wasn't having any of it.
"I'm sorry, Harry, but we're doing what we think is necessary to keep you safe," she said to the Boy-Wonder, whose expression was pulled down into a deep frown. "Ron, when you decide to pull your head out of your arse, come find us," she said, using the arm around Hermione's shoulders to pull her towards the stairs.
"That's not – you can't – I'm not –" Ron failed to string together an intelligent response.
"Don't hurt yourself, Weasley!" Winona called lazily over her shoulder, and the boy gave an affronted huff as they disappeared around the corner. Winona was quick to lead Hermione into the fifth year girls' dorm, but the brunette barely noticed, wiping at her eyes embarrassedly. "You okay?" she asked the younger girl who was tugging shyly on the sleeves of her jumper. "You did the right thing."
"I don't feel like I did," Hermione mumbled sadly.
"Don't listen to the terrible twosome," she told her cheerfully. "They'll get over it soon enough."
"Would you do the same?" Hermione asked quietly, warm brown eyes blinking up at her curiously. "If it were Fred or George?"
"Without hesitation," Winona answered instantly, and Hermione's shoulders seemed to drop in relief. The blonde wandered over to her bed, taking a seat on the edge and curling her legs underneath herself in a practised move. She patted the end of the bed, and Hermione, who was stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, shuffled forwards. "You like chocolate?" she asked the girl, and although bemused by the sudden question, Hermione nodded.
Winona leaned over to her bedside table, picking up her wand and quickly casting an unlocking charm on her drawer, reaching in and picking out a box filled with a mix of Chocolate Frogs and Cauldrons that she'd collected over the last few months.
She offered a Cauldron to Hermione, who looked at it warily before taking it, delicately tearing the wrapping and nibbling on a corner. "It's not going to bite you back," Winona laughed, picking one out for herself and biting into it with gusto.
"My parents are dentists," Hermione revealed, a polite hand covering her mouth as she spoke.
"Ah," Winona suddenly understood. "Ingrained hesitance of sweets?" she asked amusedly, and Hermione nodded with something of a tiny smile. "Really, 'Mione," Winona said again, catching the dejected girl's eyes. "It'll be okay. You know how Ron gets."
"Yeah," Hermione nodded, holding her treat in two hands. She didn't look like she completely agreed, like she thought she'd gone too far this time. Winona opened her mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by a wholly welcome voice.
"Oh fair maiden!" Fred's called out to her from down in the common room. Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but Winona just rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I have arrived with tokens of my affection!"
"I'll be right back," Winona told Hermione. She slid to her feet, heading quickly over to the door and tumbling down the stairs, trying not to slip in her fuzzy socks. Fred and George stood in the common room, a small handful of chocolate frogs in the latter's hand, while the former held a jug of butterbeer. "You stole a jug?" she laughed, and the pair grinned wickedly.
"Borrowed," Fred corrected slyly.
"Consider it a Christmas gift," George added, and she laughed as she took the jug from his hands and shoved the Frogs into her pocket.
"Thanks you two," she said brightly, lifting her free hand to blow them a kiss. "I've gotta go, I've got a young witch to comfort," she added. While they were bemused by the excuse, they didn't argue. "Happy Christmas!" she told them cheerfully, tossing them a wide grin over her shoulder before disappearing back up the staircase.
She bounced back into her dorm, spying Hermione gently leafing through one of her old sketchbooks. At her abrupt appearance, the third year jump, flinching away like she'd gotten caught doing something she shouldn't have. True, it was probably rude to peruse through something that didn't belong to you, but Winona had never minded anyone looking at her work – when it wasn't one of her predictions, at least.
"Don't worry about it, 'Mione," Winona told the girl calmly, tossing her a smile as she took a seat in her vacated place. "Butterbeer?" she offered, holding up the metal jug enticingly.
"Where in Merlin's name did you get butterbeer?" Hermione asked shrilly, a disapproving look on her face.
Winona rolled her eyes. "Come on, Granger," she said with a humph. "Where's your Christmas spirit?"
Hermione pursed her lips, and Winona knew it went against her DNA or something to let it go, but eventually she sighed and nodded, though refused to take a sip when Winona offered again.
"You're really good friends with the twins," Hermione began as they dug further into their Christmas supper of sweets.
"Noticed, did you?" Winona teased.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "How did you meet them?" she asked curiously.
"Hogwart's Express, first year," she replied, smiling fondly at the memory. "Some Slytherin bully was trying to turn them into minced meat, so I punched him in the nose, and ever since we've been friends."
Hermione's spine went straight. "You punched someone?"
"Yup," she replied, fishing out a Sugar Quill from her stash and beginning to suck on the end.
"Winnie," she tutted in disapproval.
Winona only laughed. "I know, violent tendencies, anger issues, I've heard it all," she drawled.
Hermione's stern expression wavered. "Well, I suppose you were doing it for the right reasons..." she relented. "But why did you stay friends?"
That gave Winona pause. "You know how sometimes in life, you have that person?" she tried to explain. "Someone you meet, and in no time at all they just become your person?" Hermione frowned, contemplating the response. "Fred and George are my people," she explained with a shrug of her shoulders, as if to say 'simple as that'.
"That sounds nice," Hermione murmured thoughtfully, nibbling slowly away at a chocolate frog.
"You have people, too," Winona told her, and she looked up in surprise. "Harry and Ron."
Hermione smiled, the expression grim. "I don't think they are anymore."
"Don't be silly," Winona chided her gently. "People fight, it's what people do. They'll forgive you – forgive us both – eventually. Besides, it's one of the pitfalls of your people being boys," she whispered like she were letting her in on a secret. "They're kinda stupid."
Hermione laughed, hand delicately covering her mouth. Winona laughed with her, the sound bright and unbothered.
Hermione wasn't so bad, Winona discovered as they chatted some more, nibbling on chocolate and chuckling about their boys being total idiots. They may not have seen eye to eye on a lot of things, but, as Winona was beginning to realise, they had things in common – particularly their choice in friends. If there was one thing that could unite them, it was the hoard of Weasley boys and one Harry James Potter.
Winona woke up the day after Christmas to a peaceful silence that she relished in.
She moved over to her dresser, pulling out her favourite track pants and one of her old Weasley sweaters before moving to the bathroom for a steaming hot shower. The water felt heavenly against her skin, and once she'd felt she'd procrastinated enough she stepped out, drying quickly and dressing in her clean, warm clothes.
Winona wasn't the most studious of students to ever grace the halls of the ancient castle, and it was known to all that she'd much rather hide away on a bench somewhere in the castle, staining her hands with shining graphite and smeared charcoal. But she was still a student, and as much as she hated it, she knew she had to spend some time working on actual, proper homework.
She'd been falling behind in Transfiguration. Well, that along with Potions, History of Magic and Herbology, but she figured putting her energy into the one she was most in danger of failing was best. OWLs were only half a year away, and if she didn't get her grades up and start to get a better understanding of the theory, it was possible she wouldn't pass.
There was also the fact that she liked Professor McGonagall, and the last thing she wanted was for the stern old witch to be disappointed in her.
So, it was with great reluctance that Winona picked up her book bag and trudged down to the common room, nodding politely at Ron and Harry, who were talking in hushed whispers over a game of chess, before striding out the portrait hole and down the hall, heading in the direction of the library.
McGonagall had given her an extra-credit assignment to work on over the holiday, knowing that she was staying at the school. She only had until the start of the next term to get it done and, once again, she'd left it until only a few short days until classes restarted to even begin.
She had a serious procrastination problem.
Winona stepped into the library, glancing warily at the ceiling-high shelves that were bursting with thick tomes, some leaning precariously on the edge, just threatening to fall on some poor, unsuspecting student's head.
She made her way over to a table by the window, taking a moment to peer out the glass at the falling snow before setting her things down and beginning to move through the isles, searching for the books McGonagall had suggested she use as references.
A half hour later she was holed up in a seat down a hidden isle, opened books sprawled across the table, quill sitting wonkily in the ink bottle, only her eyes were out the window and she was lost in a daydream, the very opposite of getting her work done.
"You look hard at work," a familiar voice commented. Winona started, whirling around to stare up at the newcomer, Jeremiah Nott, with wide eyes. Once she realised who it was she relaxed, rolling her eyes before glancing down at her parchment, wincing as she realised that in a whole half hour she'd only managed to scribble down a heading. "Didn't take you for the studious type. Suppose I was right."
"Ha ha," she responded flatly, less than amused and completely exhausted already, something that didn't bode well for the fate of her essay. "What're you doing here, Nott?"
"I came to hire out a book that Snape suggested to help study for OWLs," he told her easily, but she honestly wasn't interested, turning her attention back to the bare parchment on the table, scowling as it seemed to mock her with its blankness. "Which class is this for?" the Slytherin asked conversationally, taking an uninvited seat in the chair opposite her.
Deciding not to argue, Winona sighed, tapping her dry quill against the tabletop. "Transfiguration," she mumbled. "If this essay isn't absolutely perfect, I'm walking away with a Dreadful for the year, not to mention my OWLs."
"A Dreadful?" he asked in surprise. "Really?"
"Studying has never really been my strongpoint," she admitted wearily, resting her chin in her palm, her elbow digging into the wooden desktop.
"I could give you a hand," the Slytherin offered, and Winona hummed noncommittally before properly processing what he'd said.
"Sorry, what?" she asked, blinking her grey eyes across at him in bewilderment. "I could have sworn you just offered to help me study."
Nott began to look irritated. "Well, if you don't want my help-"
"I never said that!"
She wasn't sure why she said that, pressing her lips together uncomfortably and frowning. Nott wasn't that bad, at least for a Slytherin, and she didn't exactly have people lining up to help her get on top of her grades. All of her friends knew how horrible she was to study with, complaining the whole time and rarely ever making any headway.
She cocked her head, observing the Slytherin cautiously. He stared back, near-black eyes focused on her, staring at her like he could read her every thought. It made her kind of uncomfortable, like she was naked in front of him with nothing to cover herself with. At the same time, however, it was intriguing. Where did his confidence come from?
"What are you working on?" he asked, jolting her from her thoughts.
She paused, gathering her wits and turning her attention to her blank parchment. "I've got to do a foot on Vanishing Spells," she told him, drumming her fingers anxiously against the desk.
"Easy," he nodded once, pulling one of her chosen books closer to him and cracking it open. She watched him closely, wondering if it was all some kind of elaborate ruse. He seemed genuine enough, and, after all, what harm could spending a little time with Jeremiah Nott really do?
A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed. Within the next few chapters I'm going to be upping the rating to 'M', because of the content we're beginning to wade into. Hope you're ready for some drama.
Also, to those of you who mentioned stretching the years out further than I am now – in the future the 'years' or 'books' if you will, will take many more chapters to complete. The duration of Goblet of Fire, for instance, is well over twenty chapters. Hope you guys stick with me, I've got biiiig things coming.