The world had long since turned white.

Snow had fallen weeks ago, coating the castle grounds in soft layers and clinging to the spires like powdered sugar. But this morning, May woke to silence so complete, so heavy, that it felt like the whole of Hogwarts had been wrapped in a blanket of stillness.

It was the first truly deep snowfall of the winter — no flurries or gentle dusting, but thick, piled drifts that muffled footsteps and weighed down the boughs of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. The wind whistled low against the castle walls, and frost crept in icy patterns across the inside of the tall windows.

May sat by one now, pressing her fingertips to the glass. Below, students bundled in cloaks and scarves trudged carefully across the courtyard, some slipping, others laughing. Olivia and the other girls in the Ravenclaw dormitory were still asleep. She could hear faint snoring from behind the blue velvet curtains of Olivia's bed, but May didn't wake anyone. She just watched.

Later that day, Hogwarts burst into life.

Students from third year and up hurried toward the front gates, wrapped tightly in layers, chattering about Hogsmeade and butterbeer. May wasn't going — not until third year — but she didn't feel as left out as she once might have. There was a kind of hush to this winter day that she wanted to keep to herself.

Ernie attempted to enchant snowballs into a battle formation that promptly exploded all over Professor Sprout's greenhouse. Olivia helped him escape detention by distracting the nearest prefect with a floating snowflake charm that turned into a swarm of glittering bees.

It wasn't long before May spotted James. He waved from across the courtyard, surrounded by Sirius, Remus, and Peter. He tossed her a package — a chocolate frog wrapped in red tissue — and grinned.

"Tell Olivia she's terrible at disguising her prank letters!" he called before disappearing into the Hogsmeade-bound crowd.

Later, in the Great Hall, letters arrived. The owl that delivered May's message was the same quiet gray one from before — her father's. The envelope was thick, with his neat, careful handwriting and a faint smudge of ink in one corner.

My dear little star,

James says you're doing just fine — I never doubted you for a moment. Olivia sounds like a force of nature. Keep her close, and keep your own clever feet on the ground.

The snow here is endless. Your mother has taken to brewing ginger tea by the gallon. Sometimes I think she misses the snow more than the sun.

Be wise, be kind. And remember what's in your blood — not the name, but the strength behind it.

All my love,

Dad.

May read it slowly, heart warm despite the chill.

The next few days passed in a flurry of snowball fights, hot pumpkin juice in the common room, and long evenings beside the hearth. Olivia braided May's hair one night while recounting tales of her cousin's prank war at Beauxbatons. Ernie managed to stick his shoes to the ceiling for a full hour. Laughter came easily.

But late one evening, when the fire had burned low and the room was empty, May pulled the Avalon pendant from her pocket. She hadn't taken it out much — not around others — but tonight it called to her in the quiet.

She turned it over in her palm. In the flickering firelight, the faint engraving shimmered, just for a moment — a swirl of silver like moonlight caught on glass.

She didn't know why she'd taken it. Only that it had felt right.

Just then, the flames shifted. A log cracked, and for a brief second, May thought she heard… a whisper?

She sat still, breath caught.

But no — it was only the wind. Probably.

Still, the pendant seemed heavier in her hand than it had before.