The warmth of early autumn had given way to the chilly winds that swept through the corridors of Hogwarts. Though the castle was a marvel — alive with floating staircases, secret passages, and enchanted ceilings — it was also vast and unfamiliar. For May, that vastness had started to feel a little too quiet.
The common room buzzed in the evenings with laughter and conversation, but May often found herself curled up in the corner armchair, her legs tucked beneath her, writing by candlelight. She missed the creaky floors of home, the sound of her mother humming in the kitchen, and the way her father's quill scratched across parchment late at night.
Tonight was one of those nights.
Dear Dad,
Ravenclaw Tower is beautiful, and the view is the best in the whole castle — even James said so when he snuck in with Sirius. But sometimes, it doesn't feel like mine yet. I sit by the window and watch the owls come and go and wonder what you and Mum are doing at home. Did the kittens finally stop climbing the curtains? Did you finish that book you kept muttering about?
Everyone says first years always get homesick, but I don't think that makes it easier. I keep wishing I could walk into your study and sit by the fire with you. Hogwarts is magic — but home is you and Mum and the smell of cinnamon tea.
Love,
May
She signed her name and let the ink dry before folding the parchment neatly. Her father had promised to write her back every week, and he had kept his word. In fact, his letters were what she looked forward to the most.
The next morning, May's owl arrived at breakfast with her father's latest reply, tied with a navy-blue ribbon — his signature style.
She untied it with careful fingers.
My dearest May,
I've read your letter three times already — once to myself, once aloud to your mother, and once to the cat, who did not seem properly impressed. Hogwarts may not feel like yours yet, but one day soon, you'll realize that you've claimed it simply by being there. That castle is lucky to have you.
I miss our quiet evenings more than I can say. Your brother sends short notes — mostly about Quidditch and "brilliant plans" — but yours? Yours are stories. I read them slowly, like I would a favorite book. Keep writing, little Raven. The castle isn't the only one watching you grow — I am too, even from afar.
All my love,
Dad
May folded the letter and pressed it to her chest. It didn't stop the ache, not completely, but it made the world feel a little less cold.
And later, as she walked to her next class with Olivia, May kept her father's letter tucked safely in her robe pocket — a small, papery reminder that home was never really that far away.