Author's Note: Please be aware that this story may contain spoilers for Hogwarts Legacy (particularly towards later chapters more so than earlier ones), so reader discretion is advised in that regard.

Content Warning: Please note that this is Rated T due to some slightly mature concepts, including death and torture (Unforgiveable Curses).

Chapter 1

Death isn't anything like the cheap entertainment scrolls at Tomes and Tribulations would have you believe. There's nothing clean and romantic about it, no poignant last words, no dramatic ending. Death is sudden and brutal, and grief so stealthy and overwhelming that there's not even time for tears until much later, when that first keen of pain slips from your throat and something raw and irreplaceable in you shakes loose. Plus, dead bodies look exactly like living bodies, at least for a while. Until you notice the unnatural stillness of them, anyway.

But watching death occur—the transition of something alive to something else—can open your eyes to so many things. The fragility of life. The shortness of time. The importance of every day. And the one and only silver lining: thestrals.

The one in front of me snorts as she stamps her hoof. Impatience rolls off her like a thick fog, but I do my best to push her emotions aside, to separate them from my own. Some days it's easier said than done. Especially when my own impatience coils inside my gut, writhing like a cobra.

"We'll be leaving soon enough," I assure her as I stroke her muzzle. Each touch grants me flashes of a green field filled with clover. This is where she'd rather be, instead of harnessed to a carriage. Can't say I blame her.

A twig snaps behind me and I turn in time to see Booker emerge from the trees, checking his timepiece briefly before returning it to his pocket. Father gave it to him for his graduation just two years ago. It was the sort of thoughtful, indispensable gift Father gave each of his children when they reached the age of majority and ventured out into the world. It was tradition. One I would never take part in.

With a forceful shake of my head, I let those thoughts go. They would lead me nowhere except down a Mooncalf's burrow, and I had more pressing things to worry about.

"It's just about time," Booker said with a sigh. "Are you ready?"

I shrugged, then realized the movement was likely lost in the darkness. So I added, "Are you sure about this?"

"We've been over this, Pru." Booker closed the distance between us and reached out as if to grab my shoulder. He must've been close enough to see the look on my face because he thought better of it, and let his arm fall back to his side. For the best, really. I could hardly handle my own emotions at the moment; I didn't need his added to the fray.

"But why Hogwarts? I could go to Durmstrang, like you. Or Ilvermorny like Eli."

"Or Beauxbatons like Marcelle," Booker added, with a lopsided grin.

"Not funny." Nothing against Beauxbatons personally, but the fact that my older sister had thrived there made it clear the school wasn't for me. We couldn't have been more dissimilar.

"Hogwarts was Father's school. We both know he'd want you to go there." Booker raised his hands, hovering them over my shoulders before finally committing and giving me a squeeze. I wish he hadn't. I couldn't stop his thoughts from tumbling into my head.

This is wrong.

"Pru, it's only for a year. You'll love it."

Family is supposed to stick together, no matter what.

"You'll make a ton of new friends and learn new spells."

I couldn't protect Father. I won't be able to protect you, either.

"This will be the fresh start we so desperately need."

I can't bear to lose you, too.

"So what do you say? At least don't write it off before you even get there." His fingers dig painfully into my arms, and I hear his final thought as clearly as if it were my own: I failed you. I'm so sorry.

"You're right. It'll be okay," I say, because lying is easy when the other person can't read your mind. I steel myself, building walls to fortify against his emotions, as I wrap my arms around his chest. He sweeps me into a tight hug, crushing the wind from my lungs, before letting me go.

I climb into the carriage without looking back, because I don't want to remember him like this: a shadow in the night growing smaller with each passing minute. Instead, I lock my eyes to the horizon, waiting to catch a first glimpse of the school I never asked to go to.

The thestral, at least, is thrilled to be heading home.