The world always seemed brighter after a full night's sleep.
Catherine woke up slightly groggy, warm sunlight playing across her face. James was still fast asleep beside her, his breathing steady and unbothered. Careful not to wake him, she slipped out of bed, gathered her clothes, and quietly left the boys' dorm.
Thankfully, the girls' dormitory was still quiet. Still, the young witch noticed that Lily had arranged some enchanted pillows under her blanket, creating the illusion of her friend's sleeping body underneath.
After a quick shower and change, Catherine made her way to the Great Hall. By the time the boys arrived, she was already halfway through a stack of pancakes, looking considerably happier than she had been in quite a while.
Sirius dropped into the seat beside her with a dramatic yawn.
"It's rather rude to sneak out of someone's bed without a note, Flame." - he said, grinning lazily - "Poor Prongs felt like a used handkerchief."
"I told you it wasn't funny the first time." - James muttered, sitting across from them and helping himself to toast - "Did you sleep well, Catherine?"
"Yes, thank you." – she replied with a smile, smacking Sirius's hand away from her last pancake – "A proper rest makes all the difference."
"Good." – James smirked – "Amazing what happens when you take our advice for once."
Catherine had a sharp retort ready, but it was drowned out by the sudden flurry of wings and hoots.
To her surprise, Orion swooped down and landed gracefully between the scrambled eggs and a pitcher of milk, chest puffed out proudly as he extended one leg.
Raising an eyebrow, the girl untied the rolled parchment, tossed the owl a strip of bacon, and unrolled the letter—wondering who of her very few contacts outside the school had decided to write to her.
Dear Catherine,
I hate you so much!
While you're off enjoying school life surrounded by your friends, I'm still stuck in this forsaken forest, bored out of my mind.
It used to be easier—being alone, I mean—back when I didn't know what I was missing. Loneliness is far more tolerable when you've never had anyone to talk to in the first place.
Now the only thing that soothes me are the memories of our time together and all the fun we had this summer. It ended far too soon.
It's been raining endlessly here. I don't mind the water, but the chill still finds its way into my bones. Strangely enough, a small hut appeared overnight—no idea who took pity on me, but I'm grateful. At least now I have somewhere dry to write to you without the parchment turning to mush.
At night, I lie awake for hours, imagining all the places you told me about. How I dream of seeing Hogwarts with my own eyes, just once—spending a single day among people my age, even if they are wizards and witches (no offence).
Please write and tell me everything that's happening. Even the smallest details would give me something to daydream about.
I hope you're well—truly. And I'm dying to know how your friends reacted to your new look. Especially that Sirius you won't stop talking about.
With all my love,
Nereida
PS: I've been practicing wandless magic, but it feels so different from Siren magic. I don't think I'll get much better without you here to help me. I wish it were already summer, and you were back here like you promised.
"Anything interesting?" – Sirius asked, pouring himself a tall glass of orange juice.
"Nothing special." Catherine replied, tucking Nereida's letter into her pocket – "What are our plans for today?"
"I don't know about you, Flame, but I'm planning on finally figuring out this bloody map." – Sirius said, pulling out the parchment and tapping it with his wand – "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"
Ink bloomed across the parchment, lines racing in every direction until they formed the familiar, detailed outline of Hogwarts. Dots representing students and staff milled about like tiny ants.
"Any progress?" - James leaned over eagerly, peering at the map.
"Not really." – the other wizard muttered, frustration creeping into his voice – "Are we even sure the Mapping Spell's the right approach? I've tried every variation I can think of, and it still won't capture moving objects properly."
"As I said, we'd need a modified version." – Catherine replied, avoiding his eyes as she finished her breakfast in two quick bites – "Since there's nothing urgent, I'm heading to the library to catch up on Charms."
"Hey!" – Sirius called after her, annoyed – "I thought you were going to help me with this!"
"I already told you where to look." – the young witch snapped, pausing mid-step – "What more can I do if it's not working? You always assume I know everything. Well—newsflash—I don't. And for the record, I think the map's fine the way it is. You're the one obsessed!"
She turned on her heel and marched out of the Great Hall.
"Why does she help every loser but me?" – Sirius groaned, slumping back in his seat.
"I don't know, Padfoot." – James said with a smirk, calmly buttering his toast – "You don't look miserable enough. Ask Peter—he's got it down to an art. Flame now writes all his homework."
"She does not!" – Peter objected, going red – "I write it myself. Catherine just… checks it."
"Practically rewriting it." – James teased, patting his friend on the back – "Not judging. It's a good deal. And if Flame doesn't mind, who cares? It's Sirius who can't make her do what you want."
"As if you can." – Sirius grumbled – "The only one she ever listens to is Moony."
"Keep me out of this, please." – Remus said quickly, then added with a slight frown – "Though she's right about the map. You're fixated. Maybe the names just can't appear."
"I'm sure they can!" – Sirius insisted – "I just think there's another method, and Flame doesn't want us to try it. Which is strange, considering how much she's done for the map already."
"Or maybe you're both stubborn and hate being wrong." – Remus said with a shrug.
"Moony's right." – James agreed, snatching the parchment – "You need a break. From now on, Peter and I are taking over."
"We are?" - Peter asked, looking alarmed – "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
"Carry my books from the library." – James grinned – "We'll even acknowledge your contributions. What do you think, Padfoot? Want to immortalise your name somewhere on the map?"
"Brilliant idea!" – Remus scoffed – "Let's leave clear evidence for the professors. That way, when they catch us breaking every rule in the book, using the map, they will practically have a signed confession to throw in our faces."
"Fine, we'll just use our nicknames." – James said, waving it off – "We use them mostly among ourselves."
"If you wish." – Sirius replied without much enthusiasm – "I think I know how to do it."
"But I don't have a nickname!" – Peter said miserably.
"Don't worry, we've got loads of options." – James said with a laugh – "Whiskers? Nibbles? Cheese monster?"
"Maybe try thinking a bit harder." – Remus muttered, catching Peter's wounded look as he pushed aside the slice of cheese he'd just picked up.
The living room of House Prince's London mansion exuded an air of aristocracy and powerful magic. The domed ceiling was adorned with intricate silver filigree, tracing constellations that subtly shifted under candlelight. Dark wood panelling covered the walls, broken only by towering bookshelves filled with ancient tomes bound in dragonhide and fastened with enchanted silver clasps.
At the heart of the room, above a grand marble fireplace etched with ancient runes, hung an imposing portrait of Merlin. His piercing violet eyes seemed to follow every visitor, though few had crossed the threshold in over a decade. Opposite it, the House of Prince's coat of arms gleamed from its place carved into the wood—two silver dragons curled protectively around a royal-purple crest, glowing softly.
A glass cabinet nearby held a collection of rare magical artifacts: a wand rumoured to have belonged to Merlin himself, a weathered book of lost enchantments, and a shimmering goblet said to bestow wisdom upon any worthy soul who dared to drink from it.
Velvet furniture in shades of lilac, embroidered with silver thread, was placed at the centre of the space bathed in an eerie, ever-shifting glow by a floating candelabrum. The air was scented faintly with lavender and aged parchment—a quiet echo of the room's former life. Once the vivid core of aristocratic gatherings, it now spoke only of silence, solitude, and oblivion.
Duke Alexander Prince sat in an armchair facing the tall window, staring into the night. His face, usually sharp and commanding, now seemed dulled by grief and age. It had been a long day—he had gathered the few possessions Eileen had left behind and brought them back to Emrys Hall. The task had exhausted more than just his body.
He still struggled to believe she was truly gone.
For years after she had run away, he waited—confident she would return. Not hopeful. Certain. He had replayed their final arguments countless times, dissecting every word, every decision. He had demanded too much, pushed too hard. In the end, he broke her—driven by ambition, by the expectations of their name, until she cursed both her family and lineage and disappeared into a spiral of defiance and destruction he could never stop.
He had tried, of course. Letters. Owls. Messages delivered by old friends. Each attempt more desperate than the last. Until she made her threat.
If he didn't leave her alone, she would end her life.
He obeyed.
Back then, he told himself it was a bluff—a bitter threat from a wounded daughter. Not a promise. Not something real.
Now, sitting in the quiet hush of the family's ancestral home, Alexander found himself haunted by one unbearable question: Had she done it because of him? Because he couldn't let her go?
The wizard took a long sip from the crystal glass he'd been nursing for the better part of an hour. He wasn't one to drink often, but tonight, he wasn't sure how much strength he had left to summon.
He had lived his life with the unshakable conviction that he could preserve both his House and his bloodline—only to find himself failing miserably at both.
'Yet, the boy still needs me.' – he thought, his tired mind drifting to his grandson at Hogwarts.
They'd had little time to become acquainted, especially given the circumstances. When Alexander had finally come to his senses that day, his first instinct had been to shield the child—to take him away, spare him the sight of his mother's broken body. But Severus had refused. He hadn't spoken a word about Eileen. Not then, not at the private burial in the old Prince family tomb at Highgate.
When the Duke brought him back to Emrys Hall, there had been too much to do to dwell on grief. The boy needed proper clothes—ones that didn't hang off him like rags—school supplies, and a crash course in aristocratic life. He was, after all, the potential heir of House Prince.
Alexander had to admit: the boy was smart. Exceptionally so. There was no denying his magical potential either. But he was also cautious, quiet to the point of silence, his manner tense and defensive. The Duke hadn't pressed him. He had seen enough last Christmas to know what the child had endured—neglect, cruelty, and perhaps worse. The guilt gnawed at him like rot beneath a polished floorboard.
It was that same guilt that kept him from addressing the boy's social blind spots—his obvious distaste for Muggle-borns, his lack of manners, the sharpness that veiled insecurity. There would be time for that later. For now, the more pressing matter was magical.
Severus showed the signs—undisputable ones—of an elemental affinity. The chaotic air that pulsed around him, the unpredictable aura. He was certainly a Gryffin-type, possibly even a Thunderbird. The manifestation of the spirit of air had left no doubt.
'His training must begin tomorrow,' – the wizard thought, draining the last of his drink – 'If not sooner.'
But the boy didn't trust him. That much was clear.
'Can I truly be his Master of Air when he won't even meet my eyes?'
And if not him—then who? Who could he trust with such a task? With Severus? With House Prince's future?
It wasn't just about finding another Air Mage. If the boy had inherited his gift, then no common elementalist could train him. He would need someone who could guide him through more than just commanding the spirit of air —someone who could help him master the fine, dangerous balance between light and darkness. Someone who wouldn't betray him. Or worse, betray the boy.
The Duke sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. There were far too many variables in Severus' future. Even if the boy managed to master elemental magic swiftly, there was no guarantee the other Heads would support his appointment as heir. Traditionally, the vote was a mere formality—but tradition was fragile, and there had been moments in history where dissent nearly shattered the balance between the Houses.
They had to be prepared. Allies must be gathered, old favours called in. And above all, Alexander needed to ensure that the other six Houses did not detect the slightest hint of weakness. If they did, he had no doubt—they would destroy House Prince without hesitation.
It had never truly been about unity. It was fear of mutual destruction that held the old families in check. Centuries of survival balanced on cold, calculated deterrence. But now the equilibrium was shifting.
Borealis and Redmond were stirring the waters, and the remaining Houses were too divided to present a cohesive front. With Prince out of the way, Adrian would have free rein to manoeuvre out of the shadows.
'What is he planning?' - Alexander frowned, his thoughts circling the ambitious Head of House Borealis.
Adrian had always hungered for power—but this? This was something more. A level of boldness that suggested a deeper scheme, one likely shared with North. Together, they could shake the very foundations of the current order. And whatever their goal, one thing was certain: they would destroy House Prince if given the chance, however, their true target wasn't him. It was House McMahon.
North detested everything the McMahon lineage represented, and Adrian… Adrian had a personal grudge against Edward. That kind of hatred was dangerous—predictable, but still dangerous.
'Perhaps,' - the Duke mused – 'That makes Edward McMahon the key.'
If they stood together, Prince and McMahon might form a strong enough front to protect themselves from the storm to come. The thought was both promising and frustrating due to the myriad of uncertainties.
The wizard closed his eyes, weariness pressing down on him. It was a dangerous game, and the stakes far exceeded what any reasonable man would dare risk. He couldn't rely on certainty—he'd been absent for too long, blind to too much. But his instincts whispered that Louisa McMahon might be someone he could trust. United, their Houses could shield Severus—at least until he was ready to stand on his own. But how could he convince them?
Louisa was known for her kind heart. He might win her sympathy, perhaps even her support. But would she have enough influence over her husband? The rumours that trailed the McMahon marriage were endless, and while Alexander didn't believe half of what reached his ears, he couldn't be sure how close they truly were beneath the polished facade they presented to the public.
It wouldn't be the first time a noble couple lived in mutual indifference, bound by duty rather than affection. And it certainly wouldn't be unheard of for a husband to bar his wife entirely from political affairs—especially those concerning the governance of the Houses.
'It's hard to believe they could act so proficiently if they were not at least somehow close.' – the Duke thought, opening his eyes again as he set the now-empty glass down – 'But I can't leave this to fate either. There had to be another way—something more persuasive, more direct—to reach Edward McMahon.'
The wizard's gaze drifted to the old, brownish notebook lying just beside his glass—Eileen's diary. He had retrieved it from Spinner's End, tucked it into his satchel without a second thought. And yet, since returning to Emrys Hall, he hadn't found the courage to open it. Something inside him recoiled at the idea. What if her final thoughts condemned him completely? What if reading them broke him beyond repair?
The weight of guilt pressed down with suffocating intensity. He sat there, motionless, feeling like a complete failure—a hollow shell of a man who had let his daughter's life slip through his fingers.
Standing opposite the fireplace, the family's coat of arms seemed to mock him.
'Honos Super Omnia.'[1] – he scoffed inwardly at the centuries-old motto – 'What honour is left when survival depends on secrets, political manoeuvring, and carefully spun deceptions? How can I instil virtue in the future heir of House Prince when I'm not even sure I believe in it myself?'
A sudden shrill voice tore him from his thoughts.
"Your Grace!" - squeaked a tiny house-elf - "Marquess Lovett is here!"
Alexander blinked once, then rose to his feet, setting his shoulders with quiet resolve.
"Thank you, Cindle," - he said with a nod - "Show him in—and bring us some refreshments, please."
The small creature bowed deeply, its long bat-like ears brushing the floor, then hurried out the door. Moments later, it returned, ushering in a short, broad-shouldered man who looked to be in his late fifties.
He had a straight, prominent nose and thin lips pressed into a faintly disapproving line. His golden-brown eyes swept over the room, and the Duke knew at once that Tybalt Lovett had taken in every detail—even in the dim candlelight.
"I hope this is important, Alexander." – the other wizard said, his voice higher than one might expect, tinged with barely concealed irritation – "You know I'm a busy man. And as a rule, I don't make house calls."
"But even you couldn't resist seeing how far gone this old man was." – the Duke replied with a sly smile. He caught the twitch at the corner of Tybalt's lips. The Marquess had always enjoyed a well-placed jab, and despite his blunt manner, he was usually dependable—so long as he deemed you worthy of his time.
"Well, you seem more alive than the rumours suggest." – Tybalt scoffed, raising an eyebrow – "Though with the tomb-like ambience of this place, one could be forgiven for mistaking it."
Alexander gave a small chuckle. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, the room flared to life in a wash of blazing light—brighter than midday.
"A bit excessive." – the Marquess remarked dryly, squinting. He appeared unimpressed, though his eyes trailed Alexander with wary interest. As an Earth Mage, he couldn't see the spirit of air, but he could certainly feel it—the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end – "I assume you didn't summon me here just to show off your elemental magic, correct?"
"Indeed not." – Alexander nodded, pleased by the quickened beat of the other man's heart he could hear clearly – "I wanted to discuss one of my ventures in France. I thought it might interest you."
"I have enough on my plate as it is." - Tybalt replied briskly – "You know I still haven't chosen an official heir, which means I have no reliable second. I can't risk delegating something like that, considering you are the Head of the Council, so I'm afraid I won't have time for any new enterprises."
"A shame," - the Duke said lightly, pursing his lips as though weighing something difficult - "In that case… do you happen to know anyone who'd be interested in accompanying me to inspect my property in the Vosges Mountains?"
There was a beat of silence. Tybalt's face shifted colour more than once before he finally muttered, "You have got to be joking. The amethyst mine? You've denied me access to those magical crystals for decades. Why now?"
A calculated smile touched Alexander's lips as he gestured for his guest to sit. "Times change, Tybalt. House Prince has lingered in the past long enough. And despite the whispers, we're not nearly as dead as some would like to believe. Who better to confirm that than House Lovett—masters of healing, guardians of life?"
"You're a cunning old fox, Your Grace." - Tybalt said with a grin, his eyes gleaming with curiosity - "You've got my attention. If you're laying it on this thick, it must be something very important. Let's talk business, then."
[1] Honour Above All
Getting proper sleep worked miracles for Catherine. Her mood improved, her energy returned, and for the first time in weeks, she felt like herself again. After several nights of uninterrupted rest, she regained enough clarity—and motivation—to focus on things beyond just getting through the school day.
Remembering her promise to Gwendolyn, the young witch decided it was time to check on Gilderoy Lockhart. She wanted to see how he was settling into Hogwarts and whether he needed anything. Technically, she could've approached him during lunch or dinner, but considering the amount of attention her every move seemed to attract lately, she figured it was better—for both of them—if she kept their connection discreet.
With help from Thalia Fawcett, a friendly Ravenclaw she got along with, the girl tracked down Gilderoy's schedule. On Thursday afternoon, having finished her Invigoration Draught preparatory work ahead of time, she crossed the school grounds and waited by the greenhouses until the Ravenclaw first-years finished their Herbology class.
It didn't take long to spot Gilderoy among them. He was unmistakable—handsome, blonde, and flashing a dazzling smile that suggested he was fully aware of his good looks. He led the group confidently, recounting what sounded like a dramatic flying tale, complete with grand gestures and frequent glances to make sure he still held everyone's attention.
As the first-years approached, Catherine took a deep breath and called out his name.
Every student turned and stared at her in wide-eyed shock—except for Gilderoy, who blinked in surprise, then immediately adopted an expression of grave importance. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he told his classmates he had "private business" to attend to.
The fifth-year stood there, torn between amusement and irritation at the boy's theatrics. He was, somehow, both insufferably cocky and absolutely hilarious. Still, she reminded herself why she was here and offered him a polite smile—careful not to seem too warm.
"I don't know if your sister Gwen mentioned me," – she began, a little awkwardly – "But she asked me to look out for you while you're at Hogwarts. That's why I wanted to introduce myself… and, well, let you know you can come to me if you ever need anything."
"Need anything?" – Gilderoy echoed, eyes wide with curiosity – "Oh—you mean you're available to assist me with my projects?"
"Projects?" – Catherine repeated, baffled.
"I assumed that's what you meant," - he said brightly - "Someone of your reputation offering to help with my magical research—well, it's only natural."
She blinked at him, thrown off completely.
"I actually meant… if you're feeling overwhelmed by schoolwork, I can tutor you. Or if someone's bothering you, I could help with that, too."
Lockhart laughed brightly, managing to flash every one of his dazzlingly white teeth.
"That's very sweet of you, my dear, but quite unnecessary," - he proclaimed, entirely unbothered by the fact that he was speaking to someone four years his senior as though she were a child -"A person of my intellect will have no trouble staying at the top of every class. And as for social matters—well, everyone adores me. People are simply happier when they're in the presence of beauty, and as you can see, I'm quite the sight."
The young witch stared at Gwendolyn's brother, utterly stunned. For a moment, she wondered if he was joking—but no. Behind all that blinding confidence, he seemed completely serious.
Before she could even process it, he gave her arm an encouraging pat and said with heartfelt sincerity:
"You know what I'm talking about, of course—you're not half bad looking yourself," - he assured her, finishing with a wink - "Naturally, there's room for improvement, but I think you and I could do great things together. Revolutionary things. We'll leave a legacy for future generations! We'll be famous!"
He paused dramatically. "I'll think about where to begin. Expect a message from me—I'll contact you once I've decided on the best course of action!"
With that, the fame-hungry Ravenclaw spun on his heel and strode off toward the castle, leaving Catherine standing there, thoroughly taken aback by her first encounter with the youngest Lockhart.
"What are you doing?" – came Alice Fortescue's voice, snapping her back to reality.
"I'm… not exactly sure." – the other witch admitted, still wide-eyed.
The disbelief on the Hufflepuff's round face mirrored her own confusion.
"What about you? I thought you had Herbology on Mondays."
"We do." - Alice said with a nod, still eyeing her warily - "But I had to speak with Professor Sprout about something urgent. Honestly, I never imagined being a Prefect would be this much trouble."
"Well, power comes with responsibility." – Catherine said with a smirk, eyeing the shiny Prefect badge pinned neatly to the front of Alice's robes.
"No need to mock me." – the other witch replied, sulking – "I know what you think of Prefects. Honestly, we all dread crossing paths with you, Potter, or Black. Even Remus on agrees this. And it was the last thing I needed during O.W.L. year. Everyone thought Tabitha would get the badge—I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking."
"I don't think anyone does." – Catherine muttered, her thoughts flickering to her increasingly frustrating lack of lessons with the Headmaster. She forced herself to push the anxiety aside and adjusted her bag – "Anyway, say hi to Tabitha from me."
"You should tell her yourself." – Alice shot back, her expression firm – "I know you were upset about Marianne and Sirius, but that's over now. I don't see why we can't all be friends again."
"I don't know what you're talking about." – the black-haired witch replied coolly, crossing her arms – "You lot started pulling away before Marianne and Sirius ever got together—because apparently, I was 'playing with his feelings' or something equally ridiculous. And if Marianne's really over him, why'd she just join your Quidditch team? Bit desperate, isn't it?"
"That's not fair!" – Alice snapped, her cheeks flushing – "We didn't avoid you—we were just trying to navigate a messy situation. It's hard being friends with two girls who fancy the same bloke. And Marianne is getting over him. She's not exactly starved for attention, you know. Though I suppose she might feel a little… insecure. After your… change. I think we all do, honestly."
"Excuse me?" – Catherine's eyes narrowed sharply – "And how exactly is my appearance anyone else's concern?"
She didn't wait for an answer. "You know what? Just forget it. I'm so tired of everyone acting like they get to have an opinion about how I look."
With that, the Gryffindor spun on her heel and stalked off, doing her best to appear as dignified as possible —only to trip over a tree root a few steps later. She hit the ground with a not-so-graceless thud. Biting back a curse, the girl pushed herself upright, flinching as she saw blood pooling in her palm, scraped raw and bruised from the impact on the hard-packed earth.
The sight—and smell—of blood made Catherine's pulse spike. Her breath hitched as panic surged through her chest. She frantically wiped her palm on her robe, trying to smother the nausea curling in her stomach. But the effort was useless; fresh red droplets bubbled up almost instantly. Her throat tightened. She gagged and began to tremble.
"Catherine? What's wrong?" – Alice dropped to a crouch beside her, alarm flashing across her face.
She followed the Gryffindor's gaze and quickly took in the situation. Without hesitation, the Hufflepuff pulled a clean handkerchief from her pocket and wrapped it snugly around the black-haired girl's bleeding hand, concealing the wound entirely.
"Breathe deeply." – she said gently, rubbing her friend's back in slow, steady circles – "I didn't know you had a blood phobia. My mum has something similar—but with dirt. She can't stand even a speck of dust. It's terrifying to watch when it hits."
"It's a new thing." – Catherine muttered, her voice shaky as the panic began to ebb – "At first, I thought it was just a one-off occurrence… but now? It's starting to become a real problem. I need to figure out how to handle it."
"I don't think it's something you can just fix." – Alice said softly, watching her with sympathy – "You might learn to manage it over time… but fully overcoming it? That's a tall order."
"Great." – Catherine murmured – "Because I clearly don't have enough going on already."
"If there's anything I can do to help, I…" – Alice didn't get the chance to finish.
A group of sixth-years rounded the path, heading back from Care of Magical Creatures. At the front were Greg McMahon and Frank Longbottom, chatting animatedly. Frank grinned and waved the moment he spotted them, while Greg's expression remained unreadable.
"Hey, Flame!" – Frank called out – "Heading back to the castle? I'm starving. We had to wrestle with hippogriffs today—talk about an appetite booster!"
"Don't be dramatic. We just walked them around." – Greg said dryly, his sharp blue eyes flicking to his sister. Catherine could tell he noticed something was off—but thankfully, he didn't push.
"I was just catching up with Alice." – the black-haired witch said quickly – "I'll head back on my own."
"Right. Hi, Alice." – Frank grinned, as if only just noticing her – "See you in the Common Room, then. Come on, your lordship—last one back has to sleep with Benjy's socks under their pillow!"
With that, he dashed off toward the castle.
"Idiot!" - Greg muttered. But after one last look at Catherine—lingering, but silent—he took off after his friend. Evidently, the threat of Benjy Fenwick's hosiery outweighed his concern… at least for now.
"He's so cute." – Alice sighed – "And he has absolutely no idea I exist."
"Who? Greg?" – Catherine asked, a little alarmed by the thought of yet another friend crushing on her brother.
"No!" – Alice shook her head quickly – "I mean, Greg McMahon is cute. Actually, he's more than cute—he's gorgeous. But I don't really go for guys like him."
"Why not?" – the other witch asked with curiosity.
"Because they are… a bit too perfect." – the Hufflepuff explained blushing – "They've got every girl's attention, and they usually know it. There's always this air of arrogance… Sirius Black's the same. Besides, someone like that would never notice me. And that's fine."
She looked away for a second before adding quietly, "But I did hope I had a chance with Frank. He's funny, kind, and honestly? I think he's really attractive. The problem is… I dated Thad, and he's one of Frank's close friends. Plus, I'm younger, and maybe I'm just not interesting enough for him."
Catherine considered this for a moment. "Do you want me to ask him for you?"
Alice's eyes widened. "What? No! I mean… if he doesn't like me, I think it would crush me. It's easier not knowing. At least this way, I still have hope."
"You're sure?" - Catherine asked, twisting one of her curls absently - "I could probably set up a casual date—nothing obvious. Then it's up to you. But at least you'd get a shot."
The other witch hesitated, visibly torn. But then she shook her head. "I don't want a pity date." - she said, more firmly this time—then smiled - "But thank you for offering to be my wing woman. That actually means a lot."
"If you change your mind, let me know." - Catherine said with a grin - "I think you two would make a cute couple."
A rumble of thunder rolled in the distance, muffling Alice's reply. She glanced up at the darkening sky and let out a soft laugh.
"I guess we should also run back to the castle. But I'm warning you—I'm not sleeping near anyone's dirty socks tonight."
"I think we'll find the motivation without that kind of threat." – the Gryffindor quipped.
Then, without warning, she took off across the school grounds, laughter in her throat, leaving Alice calling after her and struggling to catch up.
The first raindrops cooled Catherine's flushed skin, a welcome relief as the thunder rolled closer, rumbling across the darkening sky. At the castle's front steps, she ran straight into the boys—who looked just as exhilarated as she felt.
They didn't need to speak.
The witch gave a subtle nod toward their usual spot near the edge of the forest, and without hesitation, they broke into a run—racing past a breathless Alice, who had only just caught up.
The Hufflepuff watched them go, blinking in disbelief. A moment later, the downpour began in earnest, chasing her inside the castle. She found herself wondering, not for the first time, what it was about Gryffindors that made them delight in danger. She pondered this while warming her hands around a bowl of hot stew in the Great Hall, safely away from the storm.
Meanwhile, in a clearing behind Hagrid's hut, five figures stood in the heart of the tempest, soaked to the bone and utterly unbothered. Rain pelted the earth, thunder cracked above, and magic pulsed in the air.
Remus Lupin watched anxiously from the edge of the group as his best friends once again attempted holding their Animagus forms longer than they ever had before.
Catherine stood slightly apart, her sleek black fur blending seamlessly into the twilight gloom. Time seemed to stretch painfully slowly… but it was clear now: they had passed the one-minute mark.
Sirius, in his shaggy black dog form, let out a gleeful bark and began circling Catherine with manic enthusiasm. Remus couldn't help but laugh—first from sheer relief that they had succeeded, and second because he never thought he'd live to see a panther roll its eyes.
Even soaked and shivering, they spent a long while playing in their transformed states, savouring the thrill of their triumph and the unspoken promise of wild adventures to come.
By the time they finally returned to the castle, dinner had already ended. They were drenched, starving—and completely elated.
"I can't wait for next week!" – James announced as they made their way toward the kitchens – "Full moon's going to be a blast!"
"Speak for yourself." – Remus said frowning - "I'm still not convinced this is going to work. In theory, a werewolf shouldn't attack animals—but that's not exactly something I'm keen to test on my best friends."
"Don't fret, Moony!" – Sirius clapped him on the shoulder, far too casually – "After all, we're strong enough to handle a big scary wolf like you."
"Not all of us." – Peter muttered nervously.
"No worries!" – James grinned, throwing an arm around Remus' shoulders – "I'm sure Moony won't go for a bite-sized rat snack when there's prime rib in front of him."
"It's not funny, James!" – Remus snapped, shoving him away and storming off down the corridor.
"Hey!" – Sirius called after him – "What about dinner?"
"Leave him be." – Catherine said, shaking her head. Her glare silenced James – "He's clearly anxious about this whole thing. Why do you keep teasing him?"
"I just wanted to lighten the mood." – James replied defensively – "You think there will be a problem?"
"I don't." – the black-haired witch said, reaching out to tickle the pear in the painting of the fruit bowl – "But he's terrified of hurting us. The least you could do is show a little sympathy. Also—"
She gestured toward Peter, whose pale face was covered in cold sweat as he stared down the corridor where Remus had vanished.
"—you've scared the life out of this one."
"Everyone should just relax." – Sirius declared, grabbing Peter by the collar and steering him toward the kitchens with exaggerated confidence – "Honestly, I liked it better when I was a dog. Everything felt so simple."
"Of course you did," - Catherine called as she disappeared behind the portrait - "Chasing sticks and marking your territory must've been a dream come true."
"Don't mind her, mate," - James said, patting Sirius on the back with a wink - "Next time we'll bring some catnip and see who's laughing then."
Sirius grinned and followed them inside, biting back a laugh as the image took hold: a panther zooming around the castle, rolling on the floor and purring like a lunatic. He glanced toward Catherine, now speaking to a house-elf, and couldn't suppress his smile.
She'd claw his face off if she ever found out what he was imagining.
But Merlin—it would be worth it.
"This looks horrible!" - Gwyneth Jones complained, frowning at her reflection in the mirror.
"What are you talking about?" – Lily asked, standing beside her – "That colour really suits you, and the cut is flattering."
From her bed, Catherine looked up over the edge of her Transfiguration textbook. Her classmate was wearing a satin, wrap-style top in a sunset coral shade that perfectly hugged her generous curves.
"I don't like how my arms look in it." – Gwyneth fussed, twisting and turning to examine herself from every angle – "I want to wear something that screams 'Gwynnie,' you know?."
"Not sure I do." – Lily said gently, trying to be kind without laughing.
"She just wants everyone to stare when we go to Hogsmeade next week." – Mary MacDonald teased, walking over with a few clothes draped over her arm – "Here—try this one. The neckline isn't quite as dramatic, but it'll look amazing with your black mini."
"I don't like the skirt either." – Gwyneth huffed – "My arse got huge over the summer. I look like an Erumpent in it."
"You look the same to me." – Catherine offered sincerely. But her support didn't land the way she intended.
Gwyneth spun toward her, eyes narrowed. "I think I know my own body better than you do." - she snapped - "Not all of us have your appearance, regardless of how you got it. Though it's a shame you still dress like a twelve-year-old."
"What's wrong with how I dress?" – the black-haired girl asked, keeping her voice steady even as her temper flared. She ignored the jab about altering her appearance by magic.
Gwyneth rolled her eyes. "You're still a tomboy—even though you have every chap at school drooling after you."
"That's not something I want." - Catherine said coldly, lifting her chin - "I receive way too much unwanted attention as it is."
"But not from the one you actually want." – the other witch retorted sweetly, a smug smile curving her lips – "Sirius is still single, isn't he? Maybe he doesn't like you that much after all."
"Okay, we should change the topic." – Mary said quickly, sensing the heat rising in the room.
"Don't worry," – Catherine replied, her voice chillingly calm – "She just teases me to vent her own frustration that Sirius doesn't give her the time of day."
"Oh, I gave up on him ages ago." – Gwyneth shrugged – "He's a lost cause—especially after sucking face with Marianne Trundle in every corner of the castle. Bloody hell, it was revolting. But I still think you two are head over heels for each other. What exactly are you waiting for?"
"It's not really about how I feel." – Catherine admitted reluctantly – "No matter what I do, he still treats me the same. That's why I think you're all mistaken. He's naturally flirty, and we're very close friends, so of course it looks like something more. But in reality, you saw what happened last year—nothing's changed. Not even now that I look…different."
"I'm honestly amazed how deep in denial you are, Daisy." - Lily said, moving to sit on Catherine's bed. She grabbed her hand and pulled her in front of the mirror – "Look at yourself. And next time, take a look at that hopeless idiot, Sirius Black. He's got that lovesick-puppy stare every time you're near. I may not be his biggest fan, but if you like him, maybe he's not a total waste of space."
"Of course, if he's that stubborn, you could give him a little nudge." – Gwyneth added with a sly grin, clearly enjoying Catherine's scandalised expression – "Relax, I just meant dress to kill for the Hogsmeade visit. See what it does to him."
"I don't know about that…" – the black-haired murmured hesitantly – "I don't want to look out of place."
"I'm not telling you to wear a ball gown, silly." – the other girl laughed, whipping out her wand– "I'm talking casual sexy—as if you didn't even try."
With a flick of her wand, Catherine's thick braid unravelled, spilling into a cascade of black curls down her back. Gwyneth stepped closer, arranging the hair expertly, then took her classmate's hand.
"Your nails are better than before, but they need polish." – she said with the air of a stylist in her element – "What colour do you want?"
"I… I don't know. Red, I guess" – Catherine stuttered.
"Excellent choice!" – the other girl nodded reassuringly – "Now, picture the exact shade you want. Chromungula Pulchra!"
Catherine watched, wide-eyed, as her nails transformed into long, perfectly shaped crimson ovals. She had to admit—she liked the look.
'Perhaps having claws as a panther actually altered my preferences.' – she thought, amused.
"Now try this top with Gwyneth's mini skirt." – Mary said, handing her classmate the two pieces.
"Hey!" – Gwyneth protested loudly – "You can't just give my stuff away!"
"You said it made you look fat," - Mary teased, smirking - "Or were you just fishing for compliments?"
The other witch's cheeks flushed, but after a beat, she rolled her eyes and leaned over her trunk. "Here, try these heels with it," - she said, tossing a pair of sleek black stilettos onto the bed - "Got them from a Muggle shop—supposed to be for formal stuff or, you know, special dates. You should've seen the row I had with Mum just to buy them."
"Well, I kind of see her point." – Lily remarked, eyeing the shoes with a raised brow – "They look like something an adult would wear. And can you even walk in those? The heel's like ten centimetres."
"I can," - Gwyneth said proudly, lifting her chin - "But let's be honest—there aren't many blokes at school I'd wear them for. Come on, let's see what you look like in them. Though, you might end up taller than Sirius."
"I told you, I'm not dressing up for him!" - Catherine snapped. Still… curiosity tugged at her.
She hesitated, but eventually changed into the mini skirt and the black top, which left more skin exposed than she had ever dared show. Sliding into the heels proved the real challenge—it took all the balance she'd developed by playing Quidditch just to make it from her bed to the mirror.
"If Sirius doesn't react to that," - Gwyneth declared, standing beside her fellow Gryffindor - "He either needs glasses or Marianne Trundle turned him gay."
"I'm never wearing this in front of him!" - Catherine muttered, her face burning. She scrambled to peel off the outfit.
The reflection in the mirror had been too much. The girl she saw there looked stunning—hot, confident, untouchable. But Catherine McMahon felt none of those things. All she could imagine was every pair of eyes turning to stare. Judging her body, her hair, her face.
And then—the memory hit like a slap: her clothes magically vanishing in front of a hall full of students, skin exposed, Bellatrix Black's cruel laughter that made the Gryffindor gasp in horror.
Her hands fumbled at the zipper as panic took hold. She yanked off the skirt and toppled over, the heels throwing her off balance. Her knee hit the floor hard, but she barely noticed—she shoved her legs into her jeans, hands shaking.
"Daisy, what happened?" – Lily asked, hurrying over, her voice shifting from playful to concerned in an instant – "Are you okay? Let me help with the top. We were just messing around—you looked amazing, but you don't have to wear anything you're not comfortable with."
"Yeah." – Mary nodded, her tone softening – "It was just the different style outfit, that's all. If you want…"
She didn't finish. Her brown eyes widened in horror.
"Oh my God!" - she shrieked, jumping onto Lily's bed and pointing at Catherine's bedside table - "Please get that thing out of here!"
The black-haired girl spun around, alarmed. "What?" - she demanded, scanning the room.
Her expression shifted instantly—confusion to fury. Her jaw clenched, and without another word, she lunged across her bed, snatched something up, and stormed toward the door, her eyes now glowing with pure rage.
"I'll be right back!" - she hissed, flinging the door open so hard it rebounded off the wall. She was already halfway down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
"Daisy—wait!" - Lily called after her, but she was already gone.
Catherine burst into the boys' dormitory like a summer storm. James barely had time to look up before something small and grey hit him square in the chest.
"Whose fucking idea was it to send that disgusting, sneaky, worm-tailed little spy into our dorm while we were getting dressed?" - she shouted, glaring daggers at the stunned boys.
Sirius sat frozen on his bed, a quill still in one hand, blinking as though trying to process what he was seeing—and more importantly, what she was wearing.
"Flame, what—" - Remus started, but Catherine cut him off, voice shaking with fury.
"Do you have any idea how disgraceful this is? Is this why we went through hell to become Animagi? So one of you could sneak around like a little perv? Honestly, when are you going to grow up?"
There was a beat of stunned silence before Sirius spoke, his voice unusually dry. "Well… you're really nailing that whole 'maturity' thing."
Catherine's eyes flicked to him but he wasn't looking at her. In fact, he was doing everything he could to avoid it. His gaze hovered awkwardly around the room, never landing on her once.
And then it clicked. He wasn't avoiding her out of guilt—he was trying not to stare.
She was still wearing that top. The one that clung too tight and dipped too low, exposing more of her now-curved figure than she'd intended. Face burning, she spun around and bolted, leaving the boys frozen, mouths half open in stunned silence.
"What the fuck just happened?" - James finally asked, adjusting his glasses and looking at now the human-shaped Peter sitting sheepishly on the floor.
"Did you actually sneak into the girls' dorm?" - Remus demanded, a rare sharpness in his voice.
"I just wanted to test if the anti-boy spells work on Animagi." - Peter mumbled red-faced - "I got… distracted."
"Well, at least now you can't complain about not having a nickname, Wormtail." - Sirius chuckled, doing his best to hide the sting of envy tightening in his chest.