Chapter 38 - Welcome Back
The Great Hall was bathed in muted morning light, shadows stretching long across the flagstone floor. Early risers dotted the long tables, hunched over toast and pumpkin juice, pages of notes, or folded newspapers. The Gryffindor table was half-full, lively enough, but at the far end, Fred and George Weasley sat apart from the others, their heads bent close together. Between them sat a folded, slightly crumpled envelope, sealed in wax.
Fred hadn't touched his food. His plate, still full, had gone cold. Scrambled eggs drying at the edges, toast untouched, the butter on his knife soft and untouched. His fork rested off-center, like he'd picked it up and forgotten to use it. He sat with one elbow braced on the table, his thumb pressed against his lower lip, not biting it exactly, but thinking about it. His eyes weren't on his meal or even the envelope. They kept drifting upward, toward the staff table.
George nudged him with his elbow. "You sure you don't want me to give it to him?"
Fred's jaw tensed. "It's not your letter."
"He's our old professor," George pointed out. "And besides, it's not like you're exactly tripping over chances to talk to Dumbledore."
Fred didn't answer. His gaze had been locked on the High Table all morning, scanning for the headmaster, or anyone who might pass along the envelope. No Dumbledore. No sign of Lupin either. Not that he'd expected him to be there considering he wasn't back at Hogwarts this year. Still…
"This is stupid," Fred muttered, fingers brushing the edge of the parchment. "She probably doesn't even want to read it."
George looked at his brother for a long beat. "Then let her make that decision."
Fred's fingers curled around the letter, then pulled back. The truth was that he'd rewritten it four times. He'd started with 'Why did you go?' Then crossed it out and tried 'Are you okay?' Then again with 'I miss you'. But none of it sounded right. None of it captured the mess she left behind. So in the end, he'd written what he could: not enough, and everything.
George leaned back slightly, resting one arm along the back of the bench as he glanced sideways at his twin. His tone was quieter now, more cautious. "Do you think she'll be with them?" he asked, referring to the impending arrival of Beauxbatons.
Fred didn't answer right away. His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the bench. He stared down at his plate again, as if the cold eggs and jam-stained toast held the answer. Then he shook his head, once, sharp and short. "Doubt it," he said. "Given the age requirement, I don't think they're sending many students who are too young to compete."
George raised an eyebrow. "You think she'd pass up a chance to be here? To see everyone again?"
Fred gave a humorless huff of breath. "She already passed it up once." That landed heavier than he meant it to, but he didn't take it back. He pushed the words away like a plate he was done with. "She's probably off somewhere safer. Quieter. That's what she wanted, right?" he added, more to himself than to George.
But even as he said it, something in his voice faltered. Because part of him wasn't so sure. Part of him still hoped she'd walk through the castle gates that night. And another part, the one twisting like a knot in his stomach, was terrified she would.
Before George could reply, movement at the doors caught Fred's eye and his heart jumped. However it was just a group of third-years heading in for breakfast, loud and laughing. He looked away, jaw clenched.
"Look," George said gently, leaning in slightly, his voice quieter, "if Dumbledore's the only one who can get it to Lupin, and Lupin's the only one who might know where she is, then we give it to Dumbledore. Today. No more stalling."
Fred glanced up at him, eyes tired and guarded. He twisted the edge of his napkin between his fingers, almost as if it might help him sort through everything swirling in his head. "It's not like I haven't tried. I've tried going up to him multiple times. Every time I do, he disappears before I can even say his name. For an old wizard… he's fast. I swear I saw him disappear behind a suit of armor Tuesday like it was nothing.""
George chuckled quietly at the absurdity of it. "Maybe you need to start carrying a broomstick, Fred. Get on his level. Maybe he's just trying to escape your charmingly messy hair."
Fred rolled his eyes, half-smiling despite himself. He ran his hands through his hair which had grown significantly over the summer. "Right. Like I'd let him dodge me with that ridiculous beard of his."
George grinned. "Well, maybe you should try the 'we're not letting you go until you listen' tactic. That worked with us when we were kids." His voice dropped into a mockingly serious tone. "You know, just grab him by the shoulders and say, 'You're not leaving until you help me out, Professor.'"
Fred huffed, the smallest trace of a laugh escaping his lips. "Yeah, sure, that'll go down well with the headmaster of Hogwarts."
But the laughter quickly died as Fred's shoulders slumped again, the weight of everything pressing down on him. His mind wandered back to Ava. To the unanswered letters. The pain of not knowing where she was or if she was okay.
George noticed the shift, his expression softening. "It's a bummer, alright," he said more seriously, his tone light but with an undercurrent of sympathy. "But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him the letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forever."
"Who's avoiding you?" came Ron's voice, as he slid into the seat beside Fred, breaking the moment like glass underfoot.
Fred rolled his eyes with a grunt. "Wish you would."
Ron frowned. "What's a bummer?" he asked, reaching for toast.
George didn't miss a beat. He swept the envelope into his pocket and replied flatly. "Having a nosy git like you for a brother."
The carriage shuddered as it began its descent, the velvet cushions beneath Ava trembling slightly with the motion. Outside the window, the mountains had given way to lowland forest and there, cut from the darkening horizon, rose the spires of Hogwarts.
Ava sat still, lips parted, as the castle emerged through the thinning fog. Its towers loomed larger with each second, silhouetted against a deepening violet sky streaked with the dying embers of sunset. The lanterns lining the windows flickered to life, warm and golden, like eyes watching their arrival. Her stomach twisted. It was just as she remembered. And nothing like she remembered at all.
The hum of the carriage grew louder as it descended past the tree line, the hooves of the winged horses touching down in a smooth, practiced landing. The wheels creaked softly as the vehicle rolled to a stop on the sloping grass near the edge of the castle grounds.
Ava felt as if she'd landed in a memory that wasn't hers anymore.
"Allons-y," Madame Maxime called gently as the door eased open with a silver flourish.
A rush of cool, damp air spilled into the cabin, carrying with it the earthy scent of Scottish moss and smoke from the distant chimneys. Ava stood slowly, her legs stiff, her fingers cold despite the warmth of her gloves.
Madame Maxime descended the steps slowly, her long sapphire robes billowing in the wind like a royal banner. Her towering form seemed even grander in the mist, her jeweled hands steady on the silver rail. As she reached the last step, a tall figure emerged from the castle entrance, walking with that familiar, unhurried grace. It was Professor Dumbledore.
The wind tugged at his cloak and long silver beard, but he paid it no mind. His eyes sparkled behind his half-moon spectacles, warm despite the cold as he extended one hand toward their headmistress. Ava felt something in her chest tighten. She hadn't seen him in over a year, not since the night everything shattered. And here he was, exactly the same. Still Dumbledore.
"My dear Madame Maxime," he greeted, bowing slightly and taking her hand in his and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles, "Welcome to Hogwarts."
"Dumbly-door," Maxime replied with a smile. "I 'ope I find you well?"
"In excellent form, I thank you," said Dumbledore.
The cold wrapped around them the moment they stepped off the carriage. Wind swept across the grounds in short, biting bursts, lifting strands of her hair and cutting through the seams of her sleeves. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself, watching as several of the other girls began to shiver almost instantly. Isabella let out a soft hiss under her breath, her teeth gritted behind a strained smile. One of the boys from sixth year was already stamping his feet, muttering in French about losing circulation.
The cold didn't burn her as much as her classmates. Beauxbatons might have refined her manners and softened her accent, but Hogwarts had toughened her blood. This gray, damp and cold air wasn't foreign to her. But it still sucked. The long Beauxbatons robes, elegant and graceful in design, were hopelessly ill-suited for the Scottish Highlands. Made of silk they were beautiful but it left them absolutely freezing.
The winged palomino horses that had pulled the carriage pawed the frostbitten ground behind them, steam curling from their nostrils in long, ghostly ribbons. The massive blue carriage sat like a jewel on the slope, the silver detailing along its doors still gleaming in the lantern light.
Maxime turned slightly, gesturing with one arm toward the assembled students now lined behind her, breath fogging in the cold air.
"My pupils."
A few of the Beauxbatons students straightened with pride, despite their chattering teeth. The wind tugged at their cloaks, their silky robes rippling like banners in the chill. Ava felt her stomach twist as she looked past Maxime to the open castle doors. Just beyond the threshold, shadows moved and shifted as clusters of students in Hogwarts robes pressed behind the doors, watching and whispering to each other as they looked at them like they were a brand new toy.
She scanned them instinctively, craning her neck ever so slightly, searching for a flash of red hair. But she didn't see him. Just blurs of dark wool, glimpses of house colors, and pale faces caught in torchlight. There were too many, too much motion. Too many strangers staring back.
But then, just when she lost hope her heart jumped when she spotted it…a streak of ginger near the back, tall and lanky, face turned in profile. But when the figure shifted slightly and came into view, her breath hitched for the wrong reason. It was Ron. Still unmistakably a Weasley, still too young in the face, standing next to Hermione and Harry just inside the great oak doors.
She kept looking. Scanning faces. Hoping for a glimpse. But she didn't see him. Fred was nowhere in sight.
She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. The cold air nipped at her cheeks, but it wasn't what made her shiver. Beside her, Marcell leaned in and said quietly, "You are trembling."
"I'm not cold," she murmured. And she wasn't. It was something else entirely.
"Brilliant," Fred muttered, dodging a floating suit of armor that had picked the worst possible moment to shuffle into the corridor.
George jogged beside him, his scarf half on, half trailing behind him like a forgotten banner. "I told you not to charm the hot water tap. It was going to blow."
"I didn't charm it," Fred snapped. "I adjusted it. With magic. Subtle difference."
George rolled his eyes. "McGonagall is going to blow a gasket."
They turned the final corner that led out to the front steps, boots echoing against stone as the castle doors loomed into view already wide open to the evening air.
But they were too late. They had missed the arrival of the carriages carrying the Beauxbaton students. As they pushed through the crowd the saw the Beauxbatons delegation already moving through the doors, single file, cloaked in icy blue robes, their silken hems catching the wind like delicate flags.
He saw only backs. Rows of tall students in pale blue, a shimmer of silver sashes, and neat, dark hair pulled back with ribbons and pins. Polished shoes. Upright posture. Headmistress Maxime already halfway through the doors, her sweeping gown practically requiring its own entrance.
Fred's chest tightened as his eyes scanned the crowd. He didn't even know what he was looking for exactly. A tilt of the head. A slant of a shoulder. Something that felt familiar. But it was just backs. Braid after braid, figure after figure, but then he saw it… just a flicker.
A girl near the back, her shoulders squared just a little too sharply. Her hands curled at her sides in a way that sent something lurching in Fred's chest. He couldn't even see her face. Just the posture. She moved like she was bracing for something.
His breath caught and he stepped forward, instinctively, needing another angle. A glimpse. Anything. But the doors were already closing, golden light spilling out before vanishing behind thick iron-bound oak.
Whoever she was… whoever she might have been… was gone.
Fred stood frozen at the threshold, the chill finally sinking into his bones. The wind bit at his sleeves and tugged at the hem of his cloak, but he barely felt it. Behind him, George caught up, breath puffing in the air.
"Did you see her?" George asked, panting slightly.
Fred didn't answer. Because he wasn't sure. His brain told him he was imagining it. That his guilt and hope had finally blurred together. That he'd projected her onto a stranger. But somewhere deeper, low in his gut, something whispered that he hadn't. Before he could speak, a shout rang out across the courtyard.
"The lake!" Lee Jordan's voice cut through the crowd. "Look at the lake!"
Fred turned his head, squinting toward the distant shore. A churning had begun near the center of the water. Massive bubbles surged to the surface, popping with a low rumble. Waves rolled toward the muddy banks, washing over the reeds and slick stones. And then, rising slowly from the center of the whirlpool–A mast.
Fred heard Lee yell again, "It's a mast!" as rigging broke the surface like skeletal arms reaching for the sky. All around him, students erupted in awe and excitement. However Fred didn't move. He barely registered the fanfare of Durmstrang's arrival, the creaking of the ship, the spectacle of foreign banners unfurling against the wind. His thoughts were still at the castle doors and on the girl who disappeared like a ghost wrapped in silk just before he could be sure.
