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Chapter Text

Freya tossed her rucksack into the corner of the train compartment and flopped down onto the seat with a dramatic sigh. “Merlin’s beard, if I hear one more first-year say ‘Do you think we’ll see a dragon?!’ I might actually breathe fire myself.”
Sia snorted. “You say that every year.”
“And every year, I mean it,” Freya replied, crossing one leg over the other as she pulled out her sketchbook. The pencil floated to her hand with a flick of her wand, and within seconds, the page came to life.
They were halfway through a heated debate about whether Bowtruckles or Nifflers would make better pets when the lights in the corridor flickered. The sudden chill made Freya sit bolt upright.
“What the hell—?”
A horrible cold snaked through the carriage, curling around her spine like icy fingers. The glass fogged over. Outside, the rain stopped, as if time had frozen. And then darkness
The compartment door slid open with a clack
A dementor stood in the doorway, its face hidden beneath the rotting folds of its hood, breath wheezing like a dying wind. Freya’s hand jerked toward her wand but her fingers went numb. Her breath caught.

She felt everything all the fear, the confusion, the way her friends shrank back. But worse, she felt the pain of the creature itself. The aching hunger. The void of the creature, she could feel the sadness taken over her. So much that she didn’t herself knew she had.
Then, a blur and a voice.
“Expecto Patronum!”
A blinding light burst into the compartment, taking shape a silver wolf, luminous and silent. The Dementor recoiled, hissed, and vanished into the corridor.
Freya gasped, falling against the window as the warmth slowly returned. Someone gently closed the compartment door.
She looked up.
A man. Shabby robes, messy hair and quiet, unreadable eyes
“Is everyone alright?” he asked, voice low, almost gentle.
Freya stared at him. “Yes now, but if you were a minute late someone would faint”
He blinked. Her friends shot her wide-eyed glances, but Freya was already standing, brushing herself off.
The man didn’t respond. He simply looked at her
He gave a slow nod. “Professor Lupin, new professor of the defense against dark magic”
Freya stayed still “Great,” she muttered as she lowered her head.
His brow furrowed, but he said nothing. Just nodded again, eyes flicking to her still-trembling wand hand he left without another word.
Freya turned to the others. “Brilliant start to the year. Freezing to death, soul-sucked, and now that guy's teaching my favorite subject.”
The rest of the day went on pretty normally, expect the fact that everyone was talking about the Dementor attack and Sirius Black being out from prison. Freya, Sia and Mary where on their way to their rooms to unpack their bags and after that went straight to the dining room, their stomachs growling like a bear waking up from his deep sleep.
The Great Hall glowed with its usual golden light, ceiling charmed to reflect the dusky, rain-washed sky outside. Candles floated above silver platters, and chatter echoed across the four long tables.
Freya sat between her friends at the Gryffindor table, stuffing her face at the plate Infront of her, her mind finally feeling at ease now that her stomach was full. She raised her head, staring across the room, the staff table buzzed with its own quiet energy mostly familiar faces. And then her eyes landed on him.
Professor Lupin sat slightly off-center, dressed in those same threadbare robes. He wasn’t eating. Just listening, nodding politely at whatever Flitwick was saying. A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. But at the same time he was glancing toward the students… Watching. No, not the students. Her.
Freya looked away sharply, stabbing her potato again.
“I still can’t believe a Dementor actually got on the train,” muttered Maru beside her, shivering. “What were the professors even doing?”
“Apparently sleeping through it” Freya said coolly, still not looking up. “Until it nearly froze our lungs out.”
“Did you see his Patronus though?” said another. “A wolf. That’s rare.”
Freya’s fork paused mid-air. A wolf. Of course it was. A clink of glass drew her attention back to the head table. Dumbledore had risen, arms outstretched.
“Welcome, one and all, to another year at Hogwarts,” he began, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. “Before we dive headfirst into pudding and I do recommend the treacle tart I’d like to introduce a new member of staff.”
Freya’s jaw tightened.
“Professor Remus Lupin, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
Polite applause rippled through the hall. Freya gave him nothing but narrowed eyes.
Lupin stood, nodded once, then sat again quiet unbothered, as though he barely noticed the attention. But his gaze swept the Gryffindor table once more until he found her Freya didn’t look away this time.
“Bet he’s boring,” someone whispered Freya didn’t answer. And that was the start of the last year of Hogwarts

Chapter Text

The first week of term at Hogwarts always buzzed with early-year chaos: lost timetables, overzealous first-years, Peeves dropping inkwells, and teachers pretending they weren’t already exhausted.

Freya leaned against the stone wall outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, arms folded, her booted foot tapping out an irritated rhythm. The corridor smelled faintly of chalk, parchment, and someone’s forgotten ham sandwich.

“He’s five minutes late,” she muttered.

“Maybe he’s afraid of us,” Sia offered beside her, half-joking. She was about to answer but the door creaked open before anyone could reply, revealing Professor Lupin standing in the doorway with the same crumpled robes and calm, unreadable expression.

“Come in, everyone.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but somehow it carried and more surprisingly, people listened. Freya felt a flicker of suprise at that. She got used to how abrupt teachers are for this class , not ones who spoke so softly you had to lean in. The classroom looked different than it had last year. The windows were cracked open, letting in the crisp September breeze. Dust had been cleared, and there were no gloomy portraits or dramatic lighting like Lockhart had insisted on. The chalkboard read simply: “The Things That Hunt You Back.” Professor R. J. Lupin

Freya took her usual seat in the back, stretched out trying to feel more comfortable.

Lupin waited until everyone had settled. He didn’t introduce himself again. Didn’t ask for attention. Just started writing a single word on the board: “Boggart.”

Freya raised an eyebrow. Easy topic.

“Who can tell me what a Boggart is?” Lupin asked, turning toward them.

Several hands shot up Hermione’s, obviously. A few Ravenclaws. Sia.

Freya didn’t bother. It was too early for hand-raising and too late to pretend she liked him. Lupin pointed to Hermione, who gave a textbook-perfect answer: “A shape-shifter that takes the form of what a person fears most.”

“Exactly,” Lupin said with a faint nod. “And how do we defend against it?”

Another round of eager hands. Freya rolled her eyes.

“Riddikulus” Hermione answered again. “By turning the fear into something humorous.”

Lupin smiled faintly. “Ten points to Gryffindor. But today, we won’t be spending time on theory. We’ll be facing one directly.”

A few students gasped. Some exchanged nervous glances.

“Wonderful,” Freya muttered under her breath smiling at Mary “First week back and we already are deep into it”.

He led them down the corridor to an old staff wardrobe, the door creaking ominously with each step closer.

“Inside this wardrobe,” he said quietly, “is a Boggart that’s been disturbing the third-floor supply closet for months. And today, you’re going to learn how to face it.” A hush fell over the group. Freya’s heartbeat quickened but not from fear. From anticipation. She felt it again: that strange pulse in her blood whenever something not quite human was nearby. Her magic hummed in her fingertips.

Beside her, Sia looked pale.

Lupin stepped back, giving a brief demonstration: his own wand flicked, the word Riddikulus sharp on his lips and out came a ridiculous mockery of a full moon wearing spectacles. The students laughed. Freya didn’t.

“Alright,” Lupin said. “Line up. One by one.”

The line formed. One by one, students stepped forward. A massive spider turned into a tap-dancing insect. A banshee transformed into a singing grandmother. Even Malfoy’s sneering face turned into a ferret with a monocle. The room echoed with laughter, tension loosening.

Then it was Freya’s turn.

She stepped forward, wand steady. Her heartbeat shifted. Buzzing. Not fear. Instinct.

The wardrobe creaked open.

What emerged wasn’t monstrous not at first, It was a Thestral but wrong. Its wings were torn. Its eyes cloudy with bloody wounds all over it. The air around it pulsed with pain, thick and choking. The others recoiled but Freya didn’t move. She stood frozen, not in fear, but in fury. Her breath caught as the Thestral staggered toward her.

She didn’t cast Riddikulus. She couldn’t.

“Why would it show me that?” she whispered her expression had changed into disgust.

“Miss Freya,” Lupin said gently. “Cast the spell.”

She gritted her teeth. “It’s not funny. This isn’t funny.”

“I know. But it’s still a Boggart. Take its power. Twist it.”

Freya’s grip on her wand tightened. Her magic surged but it wasn’t playful, and it wasn’t light more like wild.

“Riddikulus!” she shouted.

The Thestral blinked and suddenly it was wearing a ridiculous oversized bow on its tail and fluttering its wings like a peacock. It gave a horsey snort and sneezed glitter. Laughter broke the tension. The Boggart shrank and recoiled, shifting to its next victim. Freya stepped back, breathing hard. Her wand hand trembled.

Lupin said nothing to her and continued the lesson.

The class came to an end without Freya realising how fast it past, her mind was still in that hideous Thestral. That wasn’t fear but grief and anger for the poor thing. Luckily for her she forgot it by the time she and the girls were out at the garden the sweet breeze calming her face.

And without her realising it the first week had passed. And like every other year, she had prepared the first letter for her parents, who she was sure would be eagerly awaiting it. Her original plan was to wake up a little earlier so she could go to the owls, but the plan failed miserably, since she and Marie couldn't stop talking the night before. When she realized she had to hurry, she put on the first clothes she saw in her closet, took the letter, and ran up the tower. By the time she had made it to the Owlery her legs were ache from all the stairs, she looked around trying to find Apollo her Eurasian Eagle Owl she was with her all those years and she couldn’t imagine someone else sending the letters. The others owls where looking at her with those big eyes as she roamed the room probably thinking who is she searching so long. But at the corner of the room she found him, curled up like a fluffy ball.

“Common Apollo it’s not that early for you to still be a sleep” she said softly and the owl immediately stretched his head. Freya spread her hand and Apollo places his feet around it. “You know what to do, don’t you Apollo?” she question him as she walked towards the window. Apollo closed his eyes slowly and Freya placed her letter to his feet, securing it. “Don't forget and start chasing mice like last time. Be quick, send the letter and I'll prepare a whole bowl for you when you come back” She stroked its head and the owl flew away. The tranquillity and the view from the tower made her forget the sense of time which meant only one thing. She had just lost the breakfast.

She rusted down the stairs and by the time she was at the end the bell rang out sharp, signaling the start of Tuesday morning classes. Freya tugged her robe straight and looped her satchel across her shoulder in annoyance. With a turn on a hallway she came face to face with Sia and Mary.

“Where were you Freya?” Sia said as she walked to her side.

“You lost the breakfast” Mary added “You never miss the breakfast”

“I know, but I woke up late and I had to sent my letter with Apollo” she sighed with disappointment

“We will finish the lessons with McGonagall and Lupin and then we can go eat” Sia said and the girls started to walk towards the first class.

The class with McGonagall was not one of her favourites but she couldn’t deny that she McGonagall is one of her favourite’s teacher’s. The transition between classes was quick, and Freya and her friends strolled together down to the Defense classroom. She was still riding the high of a successful Transfiguration attempt, chatting animatedly with a Ravenclaw about how spell structure changed based on animal traits.

When they stepped into the classroom, it was dimly lit candles floating lazily at the edges, a few crates stacked against the walls, and something softly scratching inside one of them.

Lupin stood at the front, relaxed as ever, jotting something on the board. Recognizing Magical Threats: Intent vs Instinct”

Freya’s smile faded a little. The topic intrigued her but her gut still wasn’t sure about him. Not after the train ride. She slid into a seat halfway back, pulling out her notebook.

“Right,” Lupin said, turning toward the class, “today’s focus is understanding why magical creatures or beings attack and how knowing that changes how we defend ourselves. Sometimes the most dangerous threat isn’t a creature... it’s your assumptions about it.”

Freya blinked. That... was not what she’d expected. He walked between desks as he spoke. “Let’s take Kappas, for instance. Hands up what do you know?”

A few students answered about their water-dwelling, their love of dragging people under, the infamous bowl on their head. Freya raised her hand, hesitating a little. Lupin looked surprised, pleasantly, and nodded for her to speak.

“They're also... not aggressive unless provoked,” she said slowly. “Some attacks happen because people trespass into territory during breeding seasons. They’re territorial, not evil.”

Lupin paused. Studied her with a slight tilt of the head.

“Well said. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Lupin turned to the class again. “That’s what I want you to think about. Not everything dangerous is malicious. And not everything harmless stays that way.”

Later that day Freya had finally found a spare time to go eat and was now walking back to the Gryffindor Tower with her sketchbook under her arm, she couldn’t help thinking maybe Professor Lupin wasn’t exactly what she expected.

Maybe she didn’t have to like him yet. But... she wasn’t annoyed with his presence

Not quite.

Some days had past and Freya had only one thing on her mind. She wanted to go to the Forbidden Forest, she didn’t have the chance to visit.

The first week is always the most busy, with freshmen still having their adrenaline pumping, it's not the best idea to go to the woods. But after two weeks she was determined to go, she could feel the forest calling her.

She got up from the bed, Sia beside her had fallen asleep long ago. She was always happy that Sia is her roommate, she’s one of the most deep sleeping people she has met, when she sleeps nobody can wake her up.

She put on a black cardigan and her overalls over her boots and left the room. It was 1a.m she knew nobody would be at the living room, which made sense since it was Sunday and everyone was sleeping in for Monday. Freya slipped through the hallways like a quiet fox, she knew them a bit too good to get lost and within a matter of minutes she was out of the main building in.

The moon hung low and hazy behind scattered clouds, casting long shadows over the castle grounds. The forest was behind her, dense and whispering. Freya moved swiftly, boots crunching lightly over the damp grass as she slipped from the cover of the trees toward the edge of the courtyard. She was nearly at the stone steps leading to the side entrance when a calm voice cut through the night like a blade.

“Out for a midnight stroll, Miss Freya?”

She froze. Her spine straightened instinctively, but she didn’t turn just yet. She knew that voice now quiet, deliberate. Not cold, exactly, but full of that calculating calm that could be worse than anger. Remus Lupin stepped from the shadows, arms folded, wand sheathed but gaze sharp under the dim torchlight.

Freya turned to face him, jaw set.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said, too quickly.

His brow rose. “So you decided a walk in the Forbidden Forest was the logical remedy?”

She crossed her arms. “It’s peaceful there.”

‘’And it’s forbidden,” he said, his voice still maddeningly composed. “The clue is right there in the name.”

“I wasn’t harming anything. Or anyone,” she replied, chin tilting upward.

Lupin took a slow step closer, and for a moment, the easy smile he wore in class was gone. In its place was something far more tired. And far more serious. “You’re in your final year, Miss Freya. I expect better judgment.”

“And I expect professors to care why their students are out there,” she snapped before she could stop herself. “Not just whether they got caught.”

That flicker of something passed through his eyes not anger, but... understanding? No. That couldn’t be it. Still, his expression hardened. “Detention. My classroom. Tomorrow evening. Bring parchment.”

She scoffed. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to go unpunished for daring to breathe near a Bowtruckle.”

His voice cut through the sarcasm, low and final.

“I’m not punishing you for being drawn to the forest. I’m punishing you for thinking you’re invincible in it.”

Freya flinched inwardly. Because it wasn’t that she felt invincible. It was that the creatures in the forest made her feel safe. She turned her eyes towards the forest, the soft breeze carried her hair towards it. Maybe not today but i will come with or without his approval. She thought angrily and turned back to her room, slowly walking back to the dark and quiet hallways the painting on the walls looking at her curiously.

Freya layed on her bed but she didn’t sleep that night, her hate towards professor Lupin had just grew even bigger.

The next day came and everyone knew something was off and specifically with Freya. It wasn't just Sia and Maria who noticed it, but others like George and Fred. Usually, Freya was very energetic, many could say she is a ray of sunshine but that morning was nothing like that. Freya hadn’t said a word, she only looked down at her plate. Sia and Mary looked each other with worried looks.

“Is everything alright Freya?” Sia said as she rests her hand to Freya’s shoulder.

Freya looked at Sia as she managed a fake smile “Yes, I just didn’t sleep well yesterday”

“Really?” she answered genuinely suprise “I didn’t realize it”

“You wouldn’t even the school was on fire” she mocked half joking

Mary argue back “Is that really the reason Freya?”

“Yeah, what else would be. I will just sleep early today that’s all” she ensured them trying to sound as genuine as possible and it seemed to work because the didn’t ask further.

That was went she raised her head and scanned the teacher table, her gaze passing each professor but locked eyes with the last person she wanted. Professor Lupin was looking back at her not with an upset expression as she expected but with the same soft and gentle for some reason that made her even more angry. The only thing she mustered to do was to look away with a cold look.

The time had finally come for Freya and she arrived just as the sun dipped below the towers of the castle, casting golden light into the high windows. The room was quiet. No crates of creatures, no chalkboards covered in notes. Just Lupin at his desk, quill in hand, stacks of parchment around him.

He didn’t look up when she entered. Just gestured lazily to the desk at the front row. She dropped into the seat with an audible sigh.

“Essay,” he said. “Two feet on defensive protocols in high-threat zones. Situations where magical instincts fail, and human ones must take over.”

Freya blinked. “That’s not even in the standard curriculum.”

“I didn’t ask for the standard curriculum,” he said, looking up at last as they looked eyes “I asked for insight. From someone who seems to think they already know how to survive the wild.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to tame a Hippogriff with a bedtime story.”

That made him pause. A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth not quite a smile.

“I’m trying,” he said softly, “to keep my students safe.”

The silence stretched between them for a moment, none of them breaking eye contact. She could hear the clock ticking in the corridor. The rustle of old parchment.

“You don’t have to” she utter finally, not with venom but genuine confusion. “I am more than capable of looking out for myself”

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.

“I’ve known students like you,” he said. “Ones with more heart than caution. Ones who walk straight into fire because they trust the flame to recognize them.”

She shifted, uncomfortable with how true it felt. “And how did that work out for them?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I’m here. That’s how,” he said finally, quietly.

Freya stared at him, she didn’t know how to answer. Honestly she didn’t she that answered coming

Freya began writing at first just to fill space, to prove him wrong, to get it over with. But as the hour passed, the room grew still in that companionable kind of way. The kind where the scratching of quills and the turning of pages becomes a rhythm. Every now and then, she caught him watching her not like a hawk, but like someone curious. Measuring something not by behavior, but intent.

Halfway through her third paragraph, she muttered, “You don’t strike me as someone who gives detentions for the sake of discipline.”

“I don’t,” he said.

“Then what’s this?”

“I’d call it... preventive care.” He simply answered

She snorted. “What am I, a cursed wound?”

Lupin tilted his head. “More like a open flame, capable of great damage if ignored.”

That stopped her. She looked up, eyes narrowed in defiance.

“You’ve got a way with words, Professor,” she said.

He smiled, just barely. “The same to you. That’s why I’m making you write.”

That almost made her smile but she managed to hold it back. Freya didn’t what to give him the satisfaction. She turned her

When the clock chimed, she set down her quill and rubbed her sore hand. Lupin stood, collected her parchment without comment, and nodded once.

“Same time tomorrow,” he said.

“I didn’t agree to that.”

“Good thing I wasn’t asking.” Freya huffed, grabbing her bag. But before she reached the door, she hesitated.

“…You know,” she said over her shoulder, “you’re not exactly what I expected.”

“Likewise,” he replied, already reading her essay

She didn’t smile as she left. But there was a flicker of something else on her face.

Chapter Text

Remus Lupin's POV

The fire in the grate crackled softly as Remus sat at his desk, a half-marked stack of third-year essays ignored beside him. The same sentence had been read and re-read so many times, the ink was beginning to blur in his mind. But it wasn’t the students’ poor grasp of defensive spell theory that had stolen his focus.

It was her.

Freya Blackwood the final year Gryffindor. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his already-messy hair.

She’s too much fire and lately, she had been everywhere not in action, but in thought. In the brief flashes of movement he caught out of the corner of his eye when she walked into his classroom. In the echo of a voice that answered with confidence and spark. In the still, quiet part of his mind where memory blurred into warning.

He remembered her first clearly during that evening patrol the night he caught her returning from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Her robes were dusted with leaves, her cheeks flushed from wind or mischief, and her eyes… He had paused. Because her eyes weren’t just blue or green. They were both some odd, shifting hue that seemed to reflect the world around her. Cold and glinting under moonlight, warm and sea-glass soft under torchlight. That night, they had been stormy. Defiant.

“I wasn’t harming anything. Or anyone.”

She had said it like a challenge. Not petulant honest. Unapologetic. And he, fool that he was, had believed her.

It had only confirmed what he’d suspected during that first lesson: she was different, full of energy and fire

He couldn’t help but notice her in class. Not in the way he feared some might assume but in the way one might notice a wild, strange songbird among crows.

She was average height but she carried herself with an ease that made her seem taller. There was something almost storybook-like in her face delicate features, high cheekbones, a jaw too soft to match the sharpness of her wit.

She reminded him of a magical creature not yet classified. Something rare. Something half-wild and untamable.

Lupin knew he should report her for the nightly Forest excursions. Should deduct House points. Assign detentions. Involve McGonagall. Instead, he kept handing her essays to write. Thoughtfully difficult ones. Topics that might temper her recklessness into focus. He told himself it was for her benefit. But if he was being painfully honest it was because he wanted to understand her.

Earlier that day, during a discussion on Boggarts and primal magical fear, she’d offered a comment that silenced the room:

“Some creatures don’t show fear the way humans do. They feel it deeper. They remember it through generations. Their magic responds not to logic, but to instinct.”

She hadn’t meant it as poetry. But it was

He had stared at her then not because she was wrong, but because she was absolutely, maddeningly right. And part of him had wanted to ask, How do you know that?

He stood now, moving to the window, tugging the curtain aside just enough to see the silhouette of the forest in the distance. The moon had yet to rise, but he could feel it drawing closer like a tremor under the skin. He wondered, bitterly, if she could feel it too.

He let the curtain fall and turned away.

The detention that professor Lupin had put her for the last three days was finally over and Freya couldn’t be happier. The time with him wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be, but again she could spend that time doing more productive things like actually studying or spent time with her friends and most importantly, visit the forbidden forests. Freya knew all too well this was a bad idea, at least for now, she could wait a few more days so the incident could be forgotten.

It was well past midnight when Professor Remus Lupin leaned forward in his chair, something sharp flashing at the edge of his vision. A silhouette.

He squinted through the tower window, setting down the parchment he'd been grading. The figure darted across the courtyard with silent familiarity, slipping between shadows

He didn’t need to guess who it was.

“Freya,” he muttered under his breath, mouth tightening.

She hadn’t made a move toward the Forbidden Forest in weeks since their last incident, in fact. Lupin had assumed, perhaps hoped, the detentions had done something to curb her behavior. Or maybe she'd simply grown tired of pushing boundaries.

Clearly not.

He grabbed his cloak, fastened it without haste, and moved quietly through the dark halls. He didn’t call Filch. He didn’t light his wand. He just followed like a ghost through stone and shadow. Down staircases. Past sleeping portraits. Out the side entrance she’d pried open with practiced ease. She moved like she’d done this a hundred times. Because she had and he followed not with the intention to stop her.

Not this time.

He wanted to see. To know what it was she did out there, night after night. What called her into darkness when the rest of the school stayed safe in bed.

The forest welcomed her like an old friend.

She stepped between tangled roots and mist-thick air with ease, ducking under low branches, her lantern bobbing gently at her side. She moved confidently but not carelessly, her steps soundless against the damp earth. Lupin followed her for nearly twenty minutes, slipping between trees with growing disbelief. She wasn’t meeting anyone. She wasn’t summoning anything dangerous. She was looking eyes scanning the underbrush, ears tuned to the sounds of the wild. And then she stopped, kneeling a soft, startled noise escaped her lips barely more than a gasp. He slowed his breath and crept closer, angling behind a tree.

That’s when he saw it.

In her arms lay a creature curled tight, small and trembling. It was unlike anything Lupin had ever seen its wings tucked and glistening, fur like silver thread and eyes half-lidded in pain. Freya whispered to it, her fingers stroking along its head. Her expression was unguarded, eyes wide with concern, voice nearly musical as she murmured comfort into the dark. It hit Lupin like a punch to the gut she looked peaceful. This wasn’t mischief. It wasn’t rebellion. And it scared him more than if she’d been breaking a dozen rules.

He stepped forward, intentionally breaking a branch beneath his boot.

Freya’s head snapped up, expression instantly shifting wary, then irritated.

“Don’t even try to give me a detention, Professor,” she said. “I’ll write a whole thesis on why this doesn’t count.”

“I haven’t said a word yet,” he replied, arms crossed.

“Well, your footsteps were doing a lot of the talking.”

He approached slowly, cloak trailing behind him like shadow. “What are you doing?” His voice was quieter now, but hard.

“Helping,” she said simply. “It was caught in a wire trap. Its wing’s torn. It’s barely breathing.”

Lupin’s brow furrowed. “A trap? Someone set a trap in the Forest?”

She nodded. “Probably poachers or someone stupid. I’ve dismantled a few before.”

He stared at her. “And you didn’t think to tell a professor? Or report it to Hagrid?”

“I was going to. After I saved its life,” she said, shooting him a look. “I didn’t exqactly have time to run for help while it bled out.”

“Freya,” he said, voice rising now, “you don’t know what that thing is. You don’t know what kind of magic it carries whether it’s cursed, volatile, venomous”

“I know it's scared,” she snapped, her voice rising to match his. “I know it was alone and hurting, and I know I was the only one there.”

“You’re a student,” he bit out. “Not a healer. Not a magizoologist. You think your instincts give you the right to throw yourself into danger?”

“Maybe not,” she said, lifting her chin, “but I’d rather die doing something that matters than live locked behind castle walls pretending I don’t feel everything breaking out here.”

The clearing fell still, breathless. Only the faint rustle of wind passed between them.

Lupin’s gaze was sharp, unreadable. “You think I don’t understand that?”

Freya blinked.

Lupin immediately regretting his choices of words, he stepped closer, lowering his voice, trying to calm himself and not say things he will regret

“You’ve never acted like it,” Freya finally said with a question expression

“No,” he agreed. “Because I’ve seen what happens when you answer it.”

Something electric passed between them. Unspoken. Almost dangerous.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

The creature in her arms stirred, letting out a soft cry. Freya looked down quickly, smoothing a hand over its back. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t yell at me right now. Not while it’s afraid.”

Lupin knelt beside her, exhaling. “Let me see it.”

Carefully, Freya let him lean in. His fingers hovered over the creature’s wing, not quite touching, inspecting.

“It’s not venomous,” he muttered. “Whatever it is, it’s… it’s rare. Maybe undocumented.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“And yet it let you hold it.”

She glanced at him, and her voice softened. “Most of them do.”

“Because you’re reckless.” He snapped back but she didn’t answer and that silenced him.

He sat back, eyes never leaving hers.

“You’re not easy, Miss Freya,” he said finally. “You’re loud, impossible, defiant—”

“And you’re not exactly charming either,” she muttered.

“—but you care. And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.”

She looked down. “Are you going to give me another detention?”

“No.”

She looked up.

“I’m going to walk you back. With the creature. And tomorrow, you’re going to tell Hagrid everything you know. Understood?”

Freya hesitated, then nodded. “Understood.”

Lupin stood, his cloak rustling.

She followed, cradling the creature close, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel alone out here.

The sun had barely crested over the hills when Freya stood just outside Hagrid’s hut, arms folded, the forest still visible behind her like a temptation she couldn’t shake. Her hair was a bit windblown, cheeks still flushed from lack of sleep, but her eyes were bright, stubborn. Inside, Hagrid busied himself making tea while the small, mysterious creature rested in a wooden crate lined with blankets and healing herbs. Freya didn’t go in. Not yet. Behind her, footsteps crunched against the dew-wet grass.

She didn’t turn.

“I figured you’d follow up,” she said quietly.

“I never left,” Lupin replied. “I spent the night checking records, texts, bestiaries. Nothing matches that creature.”

She finally looked over her shoulder. “Because no one’s ever seen it.”

“Because most people don’t go gallivanting into the Forbidden Forest like they’re part of it,” he countered, though his tone held no real venom.

Freya watched the wind move through the trees. “You’re here to lecture me again?”

“No.” He came to stand beside her, hands in his coat pockets. “I came to talk to you. Properly. Without raised voices.”

She glanced at him, wary.

“I saw you last night,” he said gently. “Really saw you. Not the rule-breaker. Not the Gryffindor firecracker. Just… you. Holding something broken. ”

Freya blinked, throat tightening.

He took a slow breath. “You did something extraordinary, Freya. But what you’re doing going into that forest alone, night after night it can’t continue.”

That quiet sentence landed like a thunderclap. She turned toward him fully, arms crossed tighter.

“Why?” she asked, voice harder now. “Because it’s against the rules? Because it’s inconvenient for your lesson planning if I get eaten?”

“Because it’s dangerous,” he said firmly. “And not just for you. That forest is alive with magic older and darker than you know.”

“I know it.” she snapped. “More than anyone else in this school.”

“And that’s exactly why it scares me,” he shot back, voice rising now. “You treat it like it’s yours. But it’s not”

“Dont be so sure about that” she whispered under her breath.

They stared at each other for a long beat. Her jaw was set, her fists clenched at her sides.

“I’m not asking you to stop caring,” Lupin said, more softly now. “But I am asking you to be smart about it. You’re not indestructible, Freya.”

“I don’t to be indestructible,” she hissed.

His expression shifted the anger folding inward into something almost painful.

“I do understand you,” he said quietly. “More than you know.”

She looked at him, her walls faltering, for a moment, everything felt still. Then he added, “But I’m still your professor. And if you go into that Forest again without permission, I’ll have no choice but to involve the Headmaster.”

Her mouth parted slightly. “So that’s it, then? After everything last night, we’re back to threats?”

“It’s not a threat, it’s a boundary,” he said. “And I’m drawing it before you get hurt.”

Freya stepped back from him slightly, her voice trembling with frustration. “You say you believe in me. You say you trust me. But the second it gets messy, you put me back in a box like ”

He closed the gap slowly, not touching her, but his presence close enough to feel.

“I’m not putting you in a box, Freya,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m trying to stop you from getting buried in one.”

Her shoulders sagged, some of the fire draining out of her.

“I just wanted to help something that couldn’t help itself,” she said finally.

“I know,” he said.

She turned away, swallowing thickly. “I’ll talk to Hagrid. I’ll help with the creature. But I’m not promising I’ll stop caring.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he replied looking up at her with a soft expression like he always has

A silence passed between them. It wasn’t quite peace, but it wasn’t war anymore either.

Freya exhaled and walked toward the door, then paused, glancing over her shoulder. “You really stayed up researching all night?”

He gave a small smile. “Sleep’s never come easy. You’re not the only one who paces when the world feels too loud.”

She offered him a brief, crooked grin and then she slipped inside.

Remus Lupin watched the door close behind her and wondered if that was the real danger not the forest but her.

Days passed ever since the confrontation outside Hagrid’s hut, Freya hadn’t exchanged more than a stiff nod with Professor Lupin. He hadn’t sought her out either, and she wasn’t sure if that made her feel relieved or rejected.

But today wasn’t about complicated professors and forbidden forests today was match day Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. The air was practically buzzing with house spirit as Freya laced up her boots in the common room, her red-and-gold scarf already knotted tight around her neck.

“Oi, Freya!” George Weasley leaned over the back of the couch, grinning. “You ready to scream insults at Malfoy until your lungs give out?”

“I’ve trained for this moment,” Freya declared, punching the air dramatically.

Fred handed her a handful of enchanted confetti that burst into lion roars. “Consider this your weapon. Use it wisely.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Please don’t get us banned from the stands.”

“No promises,” Freya replied sweetly, linking arms with her. “You’ll miss me when I’m detained in the dungeons for heckling.”

Ron, already dressed in full Gryffindor kit despite not playing, was arguing with Seamus about whether Slytherin’s new Beater had illegally enchanted his bat.

“Honestly, he glows in the dark,” Ron insisted. “That’s not normal. It’s not even useful. It’s just weird.”

As they filed out of the common room, Freya breathed in the crisp autumn air. Banners rippled from the castle windows, floating gold and crimson charms twirling in the breeze. The excitement was electric.

The path to the pitch was already packed. Students surged forward, painted faces and cheering charms filling the grounds with joyful chaos.

Freya’s group climbed the stands to their usual Gryffindor section, squeezing between groups of roaring third-years and stomping sixth-years pounding drums.

The entire pitch sparkled under a cold blue sky. Floating flags shimmered above each goalpost. The Slytherin section was already booing, shaking green smoke bombs like war drums.

“Now this” Freya said, eyes shining, “is my kind of chaos.”

Fred passed her a pair of red-glittered omnioculars. “Catch every moment Malfoy falls off his broom.”

“I want it engraved.”

As the players took to the skies, the crowd erupted. Freya was on her feet immediately, shouting cheers, leaping when Angelina Johnson scored the first goal. The energy in the air was almost magical tribal, primal House pride spilling over into sound and color.

Across the stadium, Freya caught a glimpse of Lupin seated near the staff, wearing his tattered scarf. He wasn’t cheering, but his mouth curled slightly when she bellowed at a Slytherin player to “go hug a Blast-Ended Skrewt.”

The game was fast and brutal. Slytherin played dirty, not a surprise. Bludgers were flying like curses, but Gryffindor held their own. Freya screamed herself hoarse when Katie Bell made a mid-air spiral shot, and nearly fell off the bleachers when Harry rocketed past a rogue Bludger. Fred and George were leading chants with exaggerated wand-sparks overhead. Ron was up on the bench yelling, and Hermione kept covering her face in stress every time Harry dove.

Freya was alive in this chaos the laughter, the color, the wind through her hair, the lion in her chest roaring alongside the crowd. For a few hours, the forest was forgotten. Lupin was background noise. The heaviness in her chest… lifted. And when Harry finally caught the Snitch, the stadium exploded with joy.

Red smoke. Fireworks. Someone had enchanted fireworks into lion shapes.

Freya hugged Hermione and spun around with Seamus, cheering until her voice cracked. Her heart was racing with happiness. Pure, unfiltered joy.

As the students poured back toward the castle, still singing and chanting, Freya trailed behind her friends just a bit, face flushed from wind and screaming. She turned, once, to look back at the pitch now empty, quiet, smoke lingering in the air like a fading spell. And again, far off, she saw Lupin. Still watching.

She looked away, cheeks still burning from excitement, she told herself and ran to catch up with the others.

Chapter Text

October arrived with a certain heaviness in the air.

The leaves had turned to deep reds and burnt oranges, the mornings now brisk and fog-kissed. Hogwarts was beautiful in the autumn even magical but Freya couldn’t ignore the slow, creeping weight pressing against her chest as the month marched on.

She kept her promise.

No more Forbidden Forest visits. Not even close to the tree line.

Instead, she threw herself into schoolwork Care of Magical Creatures projects with Hagrid, weekly study sessions with Hermione, and plenty of friendly chaos with Fred and George, who had taken to charming her textbooks to purr when she opened them. (“To keep your attention, obviously.”)

For a while, she felt grounded, whole but as the days shortened and the moon grew, something shifted, it started small. A hum of magic beneath her skin, like her blood knew something before her mind could catch up. Animals, even magical ones, seemed more restless than usual. A Hippogriff in Hagrid’s class hissed at a Ravenclaw who’d passed its pen without even making eye contact. The owls in the Owlery hooted and fluttered wildly each night, far more agitated than usual.

Freya noticed. Of course she did.

But most of all… she noticed him

Professor Lupin.

He had always been a bit ragged around the edges tired, yes, but warm in his own quiet way. He taught with more empathy than any other professor. He treated students like they were people. He smiled at the smallest spells.

But this week… something was wrong.

He was more withdrawn than usual. His already pale skin had gone almost grey, and he looked thinner, as if sleep hadn’t just eluded him but abandoned him completely. He didn’t speak much during meals. His eyes, normally soft and observant, seemed cloudy, almost haunted. In class, he rushed lessons. He forgot Freya’s name once. That part stayed with her longer than it should have.

She sat in her usual seat in Defense Against the Dark Arts, watching him scribble shakily on the blackboard, but his back was tense and his tone sharp.

He wasn’t himself. And it bothered her

She told herself it shouldn’t. He was her professor, after all. A stubborn one, a frustrating one. But she couldn’t stop watching him like a puzzle missing just one final piece.

Then, the day came when everything finally cracked. It was a Thursday. Mid-October and the moon would be full that night. But Freya didn’t know that not yet.

She arrived to Defense class early, books in hand, ready to ask Lupin about the week’s homework. Maybe even ask gently if he was alright. But when she stepped through the door, her stomach dropped.

Professor Snape stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, robes billowing with his usual dramatics. Freya froze mid-step. The other students trickled in slowly, muttering confusedly. Whispers filled the room.

“Where’s Professor Lupin?”

“Is he sick?”

“Snape’s teaching Defense?” some students muttered to each other looking equally confused as her.

Snape’s lip curled as he surveyed the room.

“Professor Lupin is indisposed,” he said dryly. “For reasons not concerning you. Today, I will be instructing this class in the theory and characteristics of—”

Freya’s hand shot up.

Snape blinked. “Miss Blackwood?” he said as he stretched his brow

“Why is he gone?” she asked, crossing her arms. “He’s never missed a lesson before.”

Snape’s eyes gleamed unpleasantly. “How observant. He is unwell.”

“What kind of unwell?” Freya continued

Snape stepped closer, dark robes swirling around his feet. “Do you often question your professors’ private affairs, Miss Blackwood, or is this just another charming Gryffindor trait?”

There was a low murmur of laughter from the Slytherins in the room. Freya didn’t flinch.

“No offense, professor” she said coolly, “but you’re not the kind of replacement anyone expected”

Snape’s expression twisted into something almost amused.

“I see you haven’t lost your bark.” He turned from her without another word, waving his wand to summon the day's notes on the blackboard.

But Freya’s blood was still buzzing.

Lupin was gone without warning. And on the very same day, she could feel the magical atmosphere stretching thin like glass before a storm. Something was off. Horribly off. She didn’t have time to process her thoughts, the class had began. Professor Snape open a his presentation

Werewolfs and full moon was written as title. Freya narrowed her eyes and looked at Sia who was sitting beside her. Before she could speak Hermione did it first.

“But sir we just began learning about red cops, we are not meant to start nocturnal beasts for weeks” she turned at professor Snape with a puzzle look

“Quiet” he snapped back with his usual tone.

That was exactly what Freya wanted to ask, it didn’t made sense but Snape left no room for argument. The lesson began and they talked about the difference between animangus and werewolves, that each full moon the people who are werewolves’ loose control and many more.

She left class that day with her mind racing.

Later that evening, in the common room, Fred tried to get her to join a game of Exploding Snap. Hermione was deep in a book about advanced rune theory, and Ron had fallen asleep snoring with his mouth open.

Freya stood near the window, staring out at the distant mountains.

The moon hadn’t risen yet, but she could feel it.

Her chest ached with something she didn’t have a name for. Not fear, not worry just an ancient, visceral pull. A disturbance in something primal.

Her gift was trying to tell her something and it all pointed back to Remus Lupin

Sleep refused to come.

Freya tossed, turned, rearranged her pillows, flipped her blanket over twice, and counted hippogriffs backward from twenty. It was no use. Her thoughts were restless scratching like claws at the edge of her mind.

The castle was too quiet.

Even the usual snores and shifting bedframes in the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory felt muted, distant as though something heavy blanketed the walls themselves.

She sat up slowly, staring at the glowing embers in the hearth across the room.

The feeling had been building all evening: a strange, crawling pressure under her skin, like static waiting to snap. Her connection to magical creatures often made her sensitive to shifts in magical environments, especially when emotions ran high but this was different.

The animals were restless. The very air was restless.

And something was pulling her toward the edge of the grounds toward the trees.

She stood, moving carefully so as not to wake the others, slipped on her boots, and wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders. She didn’t bother bringing a lantern. Her eyes adjusted easily in the dark, and besides… she didn’t want to be noticed. Once again, she broke her promise. Not because she wanted to be rebellious. But because this time, she needed answers. The halls were silent as death. Only the occasional creak from the ancient stone walls kept her company as she slipped through side corridors and finally pushed open the great oak doors leading to the courtyard.

The night greeted her with a chill sharp enough to bite through her cloak. The sky was heavy with thick, drifting clouds, and above them, the moon struggled to break free. A faint silver glow bled around the edges. Her boots crunched over gravel as she moved quickly down the slope, passing Hagrid’s dark hut, and headed toward the edge of the forest but she didn’t stop there. Something else pulled her further. She turned her head. There, not the forest. Not this time her gaze locked on the far side of the grounds.

The Whomping Willow

Its crooked limbs stirred faintly in the wind, unnervingly still for a tree that was known to attack without warning. There was a strange quiet around it, like the earth itself was holding its breath and beneath it, she saw something.

A figure.

At first, Freya thought it was someone sick, maybe injured. The way it moved crawling, slumped looked human, but unsteady, wrong. Its limbs twitched at odd angles, and its back arched with a kind of animal panic. She squinted through the gloom, taking a few hesitant steps closer.

“Hello?” she called softly. No answer. She stepped closer. Her senses prickled.

The smell hit her first a mix of sweat, iron, earth… and something darker. Wild.

The figure snarled.

Freya froze and her stomach dropped. It wasn’t a person not anymore. The moon broke through the clouds above, bathing the grounds in pale, ghostly light. And then she saw it fully. A creature hunched in the grass beneath the Willow, half-hidden by shadow. Its fur was matted, its chest rising and falling in heaving, erratic gasps. Its shape was vaguely wolf-like, but larger. Unnatural. Long limbs. Ribs visible beneath the skin. Saliva dripped from an open mouth, teeth gleaming under the moon. Her breath caught.

It looked up and for a terrible moment, Freya’s heart stopped. Its eyes weren’t fully animal. Not quite. They held a flicker of something awareness. Pain. A trapped thing inside a cage of flesh. The creature snarled again, low and warning, staggering to its feet. Its claws scraped against the ground. Freya backed away, slowly. Instinct screamed at her to run.

But her gift… made her hesitate.

She didn’t feel fear. Not in the usual way. She felt something else sorrow. It radiated off the creature like heat from a fire. As if it didn’t want to be seen like this. As if it knew what it had become and then her eyes widened.

Because she knew those eyes.

Had seen them across a classroom.

Had seen them watch her from a desk.

Had seen them flicker with kindness, and caution, and exhaustion. Lupin

It was him. It had to be. But how? The tree suddenly lurched. A branch cracked down like a whip, striking the air just feet from where she stood. The Willow had woken.

Freya jumped back, barely avoiding the swipe. She stumbled and rolled into the grass, heart pounding. The creature howled not at her, but at the sky, the moon, now fully visible, shone down like judgment.

The sound was primal. Anguished. A song of suffering rather than rage.

Freya scrambled to her feet and ran not back to the castle, not yet but to a slope just far enough to remain unseen. She ducked behind a boulder, watching from afar as the creature collapsed again, breathing raggedly. The Willow’s branches slowly calmed, returning to a haunting stillness.

She sat there for what felt like hours, heart still racing, cold seeping into her skin, mind reeling.

The truth clawed at the edge of her thoughts.

A werewolf. Remus Lupin was a werewolf and she had just seen him undone

It explained everything. That was the reason Snape had took his place today, because today is a full moon and that’s why Snape choose to that topic today. It all tied up

He was hiding a side of himself that tore him apart she didn’t know how long she stayed there, shivering in the grass. Eventually, the clouds returned, veiling the moon. The creature’s howls faded. The world slowly resumed its eerie calm.

Freya stood, limbs stiff, she didn’t know what she would say to him, she didn’t even know if she should say anything. But one thing had changed forever, she didn’t see a monster.

She saw a man trapped inside something he couldn’t control.

And for the first time, she truly understood what it meant to feel wild and caged at the same time.

The first rays of sunlight filtered weakly through the castle windows as Freya stirred in the Gryffindor common room, her head awkwardly resting on her folded arms. She had never made it back to the dormitory last nigh only slipped inside just before sunrise, unnoticed, collapsing onto the nearest couch. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. Her mind still churned with the images from the night before: the moonlight through the clouds, the trembling limbs, the howl that had echoed through her bones.

She wasn’t sure if she was more shocked… or sad

Remus Lupin, the quiet professor with soft words and tired eyes, the one who had snapped at her in the Forest and challenged her recklessness with calm firmness was a werewolf and he had been alone last night, beneath the Willow. No help. No Wolfsbane, she guessed, or he wouldn’t have transformed so violently. She sat upright, rubbing her face.

What now?

She couldn't just forget it.

But she also couldn't tell anyone. Not a soul.

She had seen something sacred. Something raw.

And for once, she felt the weight of someone else’s secret more than her own curiosity. On her way to breakfast she meet Sia and Mary and the three of them went together.

Later That Morning

Freya hovered near the classroom door, arms folded tightly, trying not to fidget. Her hair was pulled back hastily, and shadows hung under her eyes like smudged ink. She’d wandered through breakfast in a daze, ignoring Fred and George’s jokes and Hermione’s inquisitive glances. She knew Lupin would be in his classroom by now. He always arrived early. Part of her wanted to skip the lesson entirely avoid the inevitable awkwardness but her curiosity, her guilt, and maybe… something else, held her in place.

She lingered a moment longer before stepping inside. The classroom was nearly empty, save for Lupin himself at the front, sorting through a box of old books and scrolls. He didn’t notice her at first. Freya cleared her throat softly.

He glanced up and froze for half a second too long. “Miss Blackwood,” he said, voice smooth but quieter than usual, “You're early.”

She nodded, suddenly finding it hard to meet his eyes. “Yeah. Figured I’d… not be late for once.”

A flicker of something passed over his face. His features looked more drawn than usual paler, tired. The way he moved was slower, more careful, like each step had to be measured.

Of course. He must still be recovering.

Freya moved to sit near the middle of the room, but not too close. Her stomach turned in nervous loops. She could feel his gaze drift back to her once or twice, but he didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

She kept her eyes on her notebook, pretending to doodle something. In truth, her mind was screaming.

Does he know I was there?

Does he suspect something?

But Lupin merely continued organizing the lesson. Calm. Distant. The silence between them was heavy, but not hostile just strangely careful, the rest of the class began to filter in. With every new student, Freya felt the knot in her chest loosen a little. The weight of secrecy tucked itself behind the rhythm of voices, scraping chairs, and parchment rustling.

She didn’t speak for the rest of the class. And neither did he to her, at least.

As the students filed out and Freya gathered her things, she hesitated for a moment. Maybe now was the time to say something anything. She lingered just a bit too long enough for Lupin to notice.

His voice came quietly behind her. “Freya.”

She turned, startled to hear her name spoken without the usual “Miss.”

Their eyes met for the first time that day and it almost knocked the air from her lungs.

Because in his gaze, there wasn’t fear or anger.

There was caution.

And maybe… a faint flicker of recognition.

“You’ve seemed… distracted today,” he said, voice gentle but edged. “Are you feeling alright?”

Freya hesitated. Her throat felt tight. “I—yeah. Just tired. Studying.” A beat passed between them.

Then, softer: “Nothing… unusual happen last night, did it?”

Her heart thudded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

She tried to keep her tone light. “What kind of unusual are we talking about, Professor? Peeves doing ballet again? Neville sleepwalking into the kitchens?”

That sly grin crept up on her face automatically the kind of cover she wore when her thoughts were too loud.

Lupin studied her for a long moment. Then, very quietly

“Be careful where you go at night, Freya.”

It wasn’t a scolding more like a warning and somehow, that made it worse.

She nodded, eyes softening for a split second. “You too.”

And with that, she turned and left, cloak brushing against the stone floor, her heart a storm of unanswered questions.

Lupin Pov

The transformation had always been brutal.

Even with Wolfsbane, which he’d only recently begun taking thanks to Dumbledore's quiet assistance, the pain didn’t go away it simply dulled the hunger. Caged under the Willow’s tangled branches and hidden tunnel, Remus Lupin had grown used to the ache of bones grinding against bone, muscle tearing, skin stretching but pain wasn’t what made that night unbearable. It was the fact that he was aware of every second spent alone beneath that terrible moon. He hadn’t realized how easily he could feel watched even in isolation.

At first, it was just a flicker. Something in the air shifted. The scent wasn’t animal. It wasn’t a threat. It was something strange faintly floral, a bit sweet, something that made his instincts pause, not pounce but by the time he forced his mind to sort it out, it was too late. The night had passed. He awoke with trembling limbs, curled against the cold, half-drenched in dew and bloodless light.

The moon was gone he was a man again. Barely.

Lupin sat on the edge of the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow, his cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders, teeth clenched as another tremor ran through him. It had been a longer transformation than usual. And worse he wasn’t alone or at least, he hadn’t been, because just before the final hour, just before dawn broke over the trees, he’d seen a flash of red. A girl. Slim frame, crouched low, hair like tangled earth and firelight. Her face only half-visible. Eyes wide with fear… or maybe wonder.

It was her.

Freya Blackwood of course it was.

He should have known. He should have stopped her. He cursed himself for thinking he could follow her discreetly, observe her behavior in the Forest, and walk away unseen. She hadn’t done anything wrong, not truly she’d been holding a creature, gentle as moonlight and yet… she’d come back. After the warning. After detention.

His most guarded secret, a nightmare in flesh.

What had she seen? Had she gotten close enough to tell? Or had the shadows blurred him enough to remain hidden? Remus buried his face in his hands. He didn’t know and the not knowing made it worse.

By the time he made it to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the sun had risen fully. He wore the same tired, threadbare robes. His hair was damp from the shower he took to wash off the memory of fur and blood but he couldn’t wash off the shame, then she walked in.Freya Blackwood too early and surprisingly too quiet, she’s usually surrounding with her friends but not today. He looked up and the world narrowed for a second, her hair was braided loosely back, a few caramel strands catching in the sunlight. She looked tired too more than tired, actually. Haunted. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief or fire, were dulled with something she hadn’t processed yet.

She saw me.

He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t ask. If she hadn’t realized what she witnessed, drawing attention to it would only endanger both of them. But if she had… he saw it in her posture the tension in her shoulders, the way she avoided looking directly at him.

She knows. Or at least suspects.

And for the first time, Remus felt something twist that wasn’t fear. It was regret. She was bright. Reckless, yes but vivid, alive in a way few students were. He saw in her the potential of someone who could have been something more an Auror, a Magizoologist, a Healer for cursed creatures. Someone with real heart.

And now she was burdened with this with him.

At the end of the class he almost didn’t say her name. Almost let her walk out but something in him perhaps the man still clinging to scraps of morality stopped her with a quiet, “Freya.”

She turned, and for a fleeting second, he could see the hesitation in her eyes. Not fear. Not quite.

Just uncertainty

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked.

Her answer was a practiced lie he'd heard hundreds like it. “Just tired. Studying.”

She tried to hide behind that grin of hers. That deflective charm Gryffindors wore like armor.

But he wasn’t fooled.

“Nothing… unusual happen last night, did it?”

A pause.

Her answer was cheeky and clever but still… she knew something. And he had to say something.

“Be careful where you go at night, Freya.”

Her expression changed just for a second. Her mouth parted like she wanted to say something more. Like she had something soft, or even kind in return.

But then she simply said, “You too.” and walked away.

After she left, the silence in the classroom felt heavier than before.Remus sat down slowly behind his desk. Ran a hand through his damp hair. Exhaled.

So, she knew or she almost knew.

And even more dangerous than that she didn’t hate him for it.That scared him more than anything else.

Because Freya Blackwood was fire and intuition and fearlessness. She didn’t let go of things once they got under her skin.

And now, he was under hers.

Chapter Text

Freya kept her distance it was easier that way.

After the night near the Whomping Willow the blur of fangs, moonlight, and terror wrapped in human eyes she told herself she needed space. Not because she was afraid. Not really. But because she didn’t know what she had seen. And worse she didn’t know what to do with it. So, she avoided the corridor near his classroom. She sat at the far end during Defense lessons. When he asked questions, she offered short, efficient answers with none of her usual flourish. She was polite, even quiet, two words no one would’ve used to describe Freya Blackwood a few weeks ago.

But Lupin noticed.

He didn’t say anything, but she caught the way his gaze lingered for a second too long. How his mouth opened, as if he might ask something, then thought better of it. There were half-moments between them now ilence where words should be, glances that said too much.

And it stayed like that.

Until Dumbledore got involved.

It started over breakfast.

“The Dueling Club returns this term,” Dumbledore announced, eyes twinkling, voice warm. “A safe and supervised space for students to engage in friendly combat, discipline, and defense. And to help oversee our most promising candidates…” with a bright smile on his face.

“Professor Lupin will be guiding the senior dueling matches alongside a student assistant — Miss Freya Blackwood.”

Freya choked on her pumpkin juice.

Her entire table whipped their heads around, most of them grinning or nudging her excitedly. Freya’s expression was frozen somewhere between “panic” and “did I hallucinate that?”

Across the staff table, Lupin blinked. Slowly. As if silently asking the same question.

Freya looked at him with narrow eyes but he didn’t

The first session was today and Freya tried her best not to skip it. The Room of Duels was tucked behind a tapestry of a Hungarian Horntail in the East Wing rarely used outside of tournaments or exam season. It was filled with floating platforms, padded walls, enchanted spell-ward barriers and dozens of spell-scrolls catalogued by complexity.

Freya had seen it before, but never like this lit by warm, flickering lanterns and already charged with anticipation and standing at the far wall Lupin.

Arms folded. Sleeves rolled. His expression unreadable.

Freya approached slowly, chin high, spine straight. “Don’t look so thrilled, Professor.”

Lupin raised an eyebrow. “Believe me, Miss Blackwood. I’m simply honored.”

She gave him a sharp smile the kind she hadn’t worn since September. “Funny. I was almost convinced.”

The silence that followed was familiar. Tense, but not cold. Like a string pulled too tight but not yet snapping.

“We’re here to supervise,” he said at last, turning toward the ring. “Not duel. Not argue.”

Freya shrugged. “I know that” and followed him

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

As students began to pair off, throwing up shielding spells and friendly hexes, Freya circled the ring, eyes sharp. She offered tips to younger students, corrected wand grips, praised clever counters.

Lupin watched her from across the room.

There was a confidence in the way she moved not just bravado, but instinct. She read magical motion the way others read music. And her voice, when she coached a shy Ravenclaw through a Protego charm, was warm. Not the sharp-edged sass he often received, but genuine.

She was good. More than good it unnerved him how much he admired that. Freya, for her part, pretended not to notice his gaze but it was difficult

As the last student left the room, a huffing Gryffindor first-year still beaming after a successful disarming spell, Freya turned to tidy up a stack of parchment scorecards.

“You didn’t say anything,” she muttered, half to herself.

Lupin looked up from the scrolls he was re-rolling. “About?”

“About me. Coaching. Dueling.” She paused, then with a sarcastic edge: “Too reckless? Too loud? Not enough parchment-based essays involved?”

He exhaled not annoyed, not amused. Just… tired. “You did well.”

Freya blinked. That wasn’t what she expected. “...Thanks.” a pause.

He added, quieter, “You have a talent. You just let emotion drive it too often.”

Freya’s brow furrowed. “Better than letting fear rule it.”

“That’s not what I—” He stopped. Studied her. Then said, gently, “You’re not afraid of anything, are you?”

Freya met his gaze and for the first time in weeks, didn’t look away. “Not the things you’d expect.”

“I noticed you’ve kept out of the Forest,” he said.

She crossed her arms, bristling slightly. “Not because of you, if that’s what you think.”

“I never said it was.”

The tension flickered again, that familiar tug-of-war between them. But it didn’t escalate this time. No sharp retorts. Just silence, and understanding lingering between the lines. Freya was done tidying up the place, both walked back toward the Great Hall together, not side-by-side exactly, but near enough.

It was still quiet. But not cold.

Before they reached the staircase, Lupin said, “You’re not what I expected, Blackwood.”

Freya smiled faintly, without looking at him. “Good. I’d hate to be predictable.”

He almost smiled back.

Almost and with that Freya continue her way to Great hall, by the time she pushed through the wide doors of the Great Hall, most students were deep into supper. Platters of roast chicken and pumpkin pasties hovered over the long tables, dishes clinking gently beneath candlelight.

“There she is!” Fred Weasley’s voice echoed across the room, loud and theatrical. “Back from her dangerous, mysterious quest with the dark and brooding Professor Lupin!”

Freya rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of her head. “Oh please,” she said, striding toward the Gryffindor table. “You say it like I was dragged off to duel Death Eaters.”

“Weren’t you?” George added, scooting down to make room for her. “I heard you were single-handedly training first-years to use Unforgivable Curses.”

“And were did you learn that” she said with a smile, dropping into the seat between George and Mary.

Mary, chewing a bite of treacle tart, leaned in with an amused gleam in her eye. “So? How was it really? You looked like you were about to combust when Dumbledore made the announcement.”

Freya shrugged, grabbing a bread roll. “It was fine.”

Fred leaned over, dramatically gasping. “Freya Blackwood? Using the word fine? This must be serious.”

“Didn’t even duel anyone,” Freya mumbled through a bite. “Just wrangled first-years and told a Hufflepuff not to hex his own face.”

Ron snorted down the table. “They need more supervision than a room full of Cornish Pixies.”

“Tell me about it,” Hermione muttered, adjusting her bag full of notes. “Honestly, they should just ban wands from first-years until Christmas.”

As the table burst into laughter, Freya felt her shoulders relax truly relax for the first time all week. Here, surrounded by the chaos of her people their voices loud, their jokes terrible, and their presence grounding the tension from earlier began to melt away. No looming conversations, no strange silences. Just roast potatoes, pumpkin juice, and relentless teasing.

Mary nudged her again. “So seriously,” she whispered under the table, “how’s Lupin? He still giving you those looks?”

Freya choked. “What looks?”

“Oh, you know the ones,” Mary said with a smirk. “All serious and quiet and brooding professor who secretly cares but pretends not to.”

“I think that’s just his face,” Freya hissed.

“Mhmm.”

Freya threw a piece of bread at her. Mary dodged it expertly, still grinning.

Across the room, Lupin passed by the staff table with a calm expression, hands tucked into his robe sleeves. He didn’t glance their way but for the briefest moment, Freya felt something subtle tug inside her.

Not a spark.

Not yet.

But something was shifting.

As dessert arrived floating trays of apple crumble and chocolate frogs Freya leaned back in her seat, laughing at something ridiculous George was saying about “hypnotizing a Slytherin prefect with jam.”

Her cheeks were flushed with joy, and the weight in her chest had lessened.

She wasn’t just a girl entangled in strange secrets and forbidden thoughts.

She was a Gryffindor a girl who belonged in the world, in this moment even as the other one still loomed quietly at the edge of her thoughts.

And for tonight, that was enough.

The second Dueling Club session drew a larger crowd.

The hall buzzed with excitement. Word had spread after the first meeting Freya Blackwood, Dumbledore’s golden pick, was helping lead practice, and students were eager to see her in action.

“Let’s begin with a proper demonstration,” Lupin’s voice rang out calmly from the center of the dueling floor. “Miss Blackwood you’ll pair with someone from Slytherin, if you don’t mind.”

Freya didn’t flinch, but the pointed choice didn’t go unnoticed.

A hush fell across the room as Cassian Avery, a tall, wiry Slytherin with a reputation for smug smiles and wand precision, stepped into the ring.

“Oh, perfect,” Freya muttered under her breath, twirling her wand loosely in her hand. “Can’t wait to get hexed by Prince Prickle.”

Cassian smirked. “Try not to embarrass yourself, Gryffindor.”

“Aw, honey,” she replied sweetly. “I don’t embarrass. I dazzle.”

The crowd murmured with delight.

They bowed, just enough to be technically respectful, then took their places.

“Begin.”

Cassian struck first, wand slashing through the air with a hissing “Expulso!”

Freya countered instantly “Protego!” the shield flashing bright, then vanished as she dove forward with a nimble “Stupefy!”

He sidestepped, but only barely.

They circled.

Red sparks danced.

Spells clashed mid-air.

Cassian aimed high a sharp “Impedimenta!” trying to knock her off balance. Freya rolled to the side and, with a flick of her wrist and a flourish, cast “Incarcerous!” with a dancer’s grace.

Ropes burst from her wand, nearly ensnaring his legs only for him to slice them away mid-leap.

The room roared with energy, Lupin stood at the edge, quiet and still, but closely watching. Freya’s blue-green eyes flashed as she pushed forward. “Running out of fancy moves, Avery?”

“Hardly,” he sneered raising his wand for something nastier.

“Enough!” Lupin’s voice cut cleanly through the noise.

Both duelers froze mid-step, their final spells caught on their tongues.

Freya blinked.

Cassian dropped his wand arm, jaw tense.

“Excellent display,” Lupin said smoothly. “But we’ll not escalate to hexes that leave bruises. This is a demonstration, not a duel of grudges.”

Freya took a steady breath, her pulse still racing the kind of thrill she lived for. Her fingers ached for more, but she bowed again, this time with a little smirk. Cassian gave her a reluctant nod and slunk back to the Slytherin group, cloak billowing.

“Impressive,” Lupin said, just loud enough for Freya to hear. “Though your footwork could use refinement.”

“Really?,” she replied, tossing a curl from her face. “Didn’t hear you say that to him.”

“I don’t expect him to listen,” Lupin murmured, eyes glinting.

She blinked, unsure whether to feel flattered or called out.

Before she could answer, he turned back to the room.

“And now,” Lupin said, raising his voice, “a second demonstration. Freya with me.”

The entire room gasped.

Freya froze. “Wait. Me and you?”

Lupin only smiled, the faintest curve of amusement on his face. “Unless you’re scared of losing.”

“Oh, it’s on.”

They faced each other at opposite ends of the platform. The atmosphere had changed hushed, charged, almost reverent.

Freya stood tall wand at the ready, heart thudding wildly in her chest.

Not from fear.

From anticipation.

Lupin, by contrast, looked calm. At ease. Which made it even worse.

“Ready?”

“Always,” she said.

“Begin.”

Freya struck first, wand arcing with bold precision. “Expelliarmus!”

Lupin countered effortlessly, his wand barely flicking. “Protego.”

She pressed forward, testing him using combinations, timing, quick feints. But every move she made, he saw coming.

He was fast. Too fast.

And yet he wasn’t overpowering her. He wasn’t showing off. He was teaching through the duel. Letting her discover where her instincts led, correcting her through movement.

Their wands sang.

Freya ducked, spun, cast a brilliant, layered Stunning Spell that was immediately dissolved with a flick of his wrist.

Her frustration flared.

She adjusted her stance remembered his earlier critique and waited instead of lunging.

He moved and she anticipated. When their next spells collided a disarming charm and a shield the flash was so bright it lit the entire room.

They both stepped back.

Silence and then applause. Wild, echoing, from every corner.

Freya’s breath came hard, but her smile stretched wide. “I didn’t lose.”

“No,” Lupin agreed, his gaze settling on her with something warm and unreadable. “You didn’t.”

As the students filtered out, still buzzing, Freya leaned over to Mary and whispered, “I definitely bruised his ego.”

Mary grinned. “I think you did more than that.”

From across the room, Lupin glanced once more at Freya. She caught his eye, chin tilted, playful and proud.

“Gloves. On. Earmuffs. Tight,” Professor Sprout said with practiced cheer as she waved her wand over a large crate of very agitated adolescent Mandrakes.

A collective groan came from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff class.

Freya wriggled her fingers into her dragonhide gloves and pulled the oversized earmuffs over her ears. “Ready to wrestle the vegetable babies?”

Mary looked like she’d rather duel a troll. “I’m not convinced these things don’t hold grudges.”

“They definitely do,” said a nearby Hufflepuff, a tall, freckled boy Freya recognized as Otis Shale. “Last week mine bit me and then spat on my robes.”

“You probably hurt its feelings,” Freya said over the muffle of her gear. “You have to talk to them nicely.”

He raised a brow. “You talk to Mandrakes?”

“Only if they have a decent attitude.”

Mary leaned over and added, “Don’t listen to her. She’d probably adopt a banshee if it cried convincingly.”

Freya just grinned.

They were paired with Otis and another Hufflepuff girl named Wren, a soft-spoken Herbology whiz who carried around a tiny spray bottle labeled Magical Mist –Mandrake Calmer. The four of them gathered around one of the planter beds as Sprout demonstrated the removal process again with gusto. As soon as they began their own, things descended into predictable chaos. Freya yanked her earmuffs tighter, gave the Mandrake pot a soothing pat, then nodded to Mary. They lifted together and immediately, the Mandrake shrieked, flailed its leafy limbs, and kicked its tiny, muddy root legs straight into Mary’s front.

Otis nearly dropped his wand laughing.

“I swear to Merlin—!” Mary muffled through her earmuffs, waving a hand as if scolding the Mandrake like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Freya laughed and quickly sprinkled calming mist over it, she grabbed it gently and place it at the table. Wren, watching curiously, nudged Otis. “You see that? It actually stopped flailing.”

Otis blinked from suprise. “It did”

Freya shrugged. “They’re just cranky. I’d scream too if I was half-plant and stuck in a pot.”

“Maybe I would too,” Mary muttered as she scraped mud off her front.

Soon the group settled into a rhythm arguing about which one was the most dramatic (Otis swore his winked at him), and which smelled worse (unanimously agreed to be Wren’s). The sky outside grew brighter as the class went on, and the greenhouse was full of laughter, muffled shrieks, and clumps of flying soil.

At one point, Freya looked up through the misty glass. Sunlight filtered in golden beams through the hanging vines and leaves. She closed her eyes for a moment and just breathed the scent of moss and earth and magic grounding her. She hadn’t thought about the forest. Or Lupin. Or the last awkward run-in near the Willow tree. Not once today.

As they packed up, Wren passed Freya a tiny potted bulb a leafy offshoot that had broken off mid-repotting. “It’s harmless now. Won’t scream. Thought you might like to keep it. You seemed to… get them.”

Freya blinked. “Really? You sure?”

Wren smiled shyly. “Positive. I think it likes you.”

Freya looked down at the small, muddy sprout nestled in its clay pot. It wiggled slightly, as if to agree. “Thank you Wren”

Chapter Text

October rolled in properly with golden leaves swirling through the courtyards and students layering scarves over their uniforms as the air turned crisp. For Freya, the weeks since the Willow Tree incident had been a whirlwind of distraction some intentional, others simply part of Hogwarts life. She had kept her head down after that night and hadn’t dared return to the Forbidden Forest, not out of fear, but out of a sense that the line she’d walked had been dangerously close to something irreversible. She still saw Lupin not only Defense Against the Dark Arts class but also every Thursday on the Dueling Club, newly reinstated, became an exciting outlet for many students and a weekly highlight. Freya had surprised many with her undeniably creativity, her casting wasn’t always the cleanest, but it was instinctive and unpredictability, which was both her strength and her flaw. So it made sense she didn’t dominate every match. She lost one to a Ravenclaw who used clever misdirection, and her confidence took a small dent, though she laughed it off easily in the aftermath. It was never about winning for her, it was about instinct, freedom, and letting something untamed within her stretch its wings.

And then Elias Thorne had joined the club a week after her, claiming he needed the extra practice. Freya had raised a brow at the timing, but said nothing. He wasn’t bad either sharp. His style was clean and deliberate, very different from Freya’s, but their pair work during drills had developed an easy rhythm.

Their friendly chemistry hadn’t gone unnoticed. Several Hufflepuffs were already gossiping, and even Mary had started to hum teasing love songs under her breath whenever Elias walked over.

It was during one session that Professor Lupin, observing from the sidelines as usual, called them forward

“Freya, Elias would you mind demonstrating a basic counter-charm flow for the group?”

They exchanged glances and nodded, stepping onto the practice mat in front of their peers. Wands at the ready, they bowed respectfully.

“Begin.”

The duel started light. Elias launched a clean Expelliarmus, which Freya dodged with an elegant sidestep and returned with a sudden Stupefy that made the front row flinch. He blocked it with a grin, then used a clever jinx to knock her slightly off-balance she responded with a flashy arc of Impedimenta that had him tumbling back a step. The room buzzed with cheers and laughter, mostly impressed. It wasn’t a real battle, but it was the most exciting demonstration so far. Freya looked effortlessly in her element, glowing, windblown, alive.

Lupin clapped his hands once to call it. “Very well done. That’ll do.”

Freya gave Elias a playful bow. He winked.

As they returned to their spots, Lupin caught Freya’s eye. Just briefly, his expression was unreadable, but something flickered behind it. Not annoyance. Not pride. Just… observation.

Later, during cooldown, Elias offered Freya a bottle of water and said, “You always fight like that?”

Freya looked at him with a puzzle look “Like what?”

“Like you want to knock the other person”

Freya chuckled. “Maybe I am”

She didn’t notice Lupin nearby, but he had paused his exit as he overheard the comment. And for a fleeting second, he looked genuinely puzzled. Then something else a quiet, unfamiliar ache.

November arrived with wind and rain, fog clinging to the windows and a chill settling into the stones of the castle. Hogwarts felt more enclosed, more intimate students huddled by fireplaces with steaming mugs, books, and whispered conversations. Freya had found a steady rhythm in her days. Classes remained demanding, with Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts at the top of her focus. She still shined in Dueling Club, pairing often with Elias, whose attention had only grown warmer. He’d begun walking her to meals, saving her seats in class, and occasionally brushing his hand against hers without really meaning to or maybe very much meaning to.

Her friends noticed. Fred teased her relentlessly. Mary sighed dramatically every time Elias showed up. But Freya, while flattered, remained somewhat distant polite, friendly, but guarded. She wasn’t looking for anything. At least, not something that simple.

Meanwhile, Lupin had retreated behind a polite professionalism. Their detentions were long over, and they rarely interacted outside class. But Freya couldn’t help noticing how often he seemed to be watching not intrusively, but curiously. Almost like he was trying to solve a riddle written in her face. The atmosphere between them remained… tense. Not hostile, but taut with something unsaid. Every conversation was short. Every compliment (rare) clipped. She’d returned to a bit of her sass when around him, but it was gentler now more like habit than spite. At first, she appreciated the distance it allowed things to settle. She told herself it was for the best. She had a full plate Dueling Club, N.E.W.T. prep, her friends, and Elias who was growing bolder, though still as kind as ever.

But as the days passed, Lupin’s silence began to sting in places she hadn’t expected.

It wasn’t that he was unkind. He was always fair. He praised other students when they got things right. He even complimented Elias once in front of the class. But with her… it was as if she didn’t exist beyond roll call and grades.

As days and weeks passed Freya noticed how he barely made eye contact with her anymore. How he redirected questions she asked to the class at large. How during Dueling Club he’d give pointers to others, but skip her entirely, even when she knew she’d done something clever.

And the strange part was it bothered her more than it should.

He’s your professor. That’s all. Why does it matter if he ignores you?

But it did.

In a lesson on shielding charms, she caught herself casting harder than she meant to sending her opponent flying too far. She laughed it off, but her eyes immediately flicked to Lupin.

He didn’t look at her.

In the corridor the next day, she passed him and gave a casual “hello, Professor.”

He nodded. Nothing more.

It felt like a spell with no incantation empty, weightless, wrong.

Mary noticed something was off. “You, okay?” she asked one morning, as Freya stared out the window during breakfast.

Freya blinked. “Fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

She didn’t know how to explain it. Didn’t want to, either, Lupin was her professor. That’s all he had ever been. That’s all he was supposed to be and yet… she found herself watching for him in the hallways, wondering if he’d say something in class, replaying the last real conversation they’d had in the Forest, all thorns and truth and sharp words.

She didn’t want to care.

But the more he avoided her, the more she began to feel like she’d lost something. Not someone but something

The cold day came softly overnight and without warning. By morning, the castle grounds had already been dead cold, blanketed in powder that sparkled under grey skies. The air was sharp and delicious, the kind that made your breath come out in clouds and your hands ache inside your gloves. Freya was waiting the snow, she usually loved this time of year. Snow meant charm duels in the courtyard, enchanted snowmen with horrible personalities, and sneaking warm pastries from the kitchens with Fred and George. It meant Mary dragging her to the common room fire with mugs of cocoa and Elias trying to teach her how to skate on the frozen edge of the Black Lake.

But this year, she couldn’t help feeling… off balance.

The days blurred together. Essays, dueling practice. Elias sat closer lately, shoulder brushing hers while they studied. He asked her if she wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him not as a date, he said quickly, just for company. She smiled and agreed.

But something in her chest twisted a little.

She hadn’t meant to look over at the staff table that night during dinner. Hadn’t meant to notice how Lupin was staring down at his plate, jaw tight, not eating.

By Friday night, excitement buzzed through the school. Students whispered plans over pumpkin pasties and made lists of shops they wanted to hit Honeydukes, Zonko’s, The Three Broomsticks.

Freya packed her scarf, gloves, and favorite red cloak. Mary helped braid her style her hair into a loose half up half down ponytail back, and even Fred gave her a rare, impressed nod when she came down to the common room the next morning.

“She’s glowing,” George whispered.

“Because we’re not walking next to her for once,” Fred grinned, nudging Elias, who was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs with two hot pumpkin drinks in hand.

“You look... festive,” Elias said as they stepped into the snowy courtyard.

Freya laughed. “Festive? Not quite the poetic compliment I was hoping for.”

They joined the group heading down the path to the village, boots crunching on snow, scarves flapping in the wind. Freya’s mood lifted slowly, carried by laughter and cold air and the scent of sweets in the breeze.

She didn’t expect to see Professor Lupin walking ahead near the shops his usual worn coat buttoned up high, scarf tucked neatly, hands in his pockets.

Their eyes met for the briefest second but like every single time he looked away first.

The snow crunched under Freya’s boots as she and Mary ducked into Gladrags Wizardwear, the door swinging shut behind them with a little jingle. Inside, the shop was bright and charming, draped in gold lamé garlands and enchanted fairy lights that bobbed near the ceiling. The windows were fogged from the warmth inside, and the scent of cinnamon and wool hung in the air.

Back inside Gladrags Wizardwear, Mary gasped actually gasped and then shoved Freya toward a mannequin by the window.

“Oh, no,” Freya started, but the words died on her lips as her eyes landed on it.

A lilac dream. Draped silk, layers of soft velvet blending seamlessly into shining satin. It cinched at the waist, flowing into an asymmetrical skirt that moved like starlight over water. Delicate floral detailing framed the shoulders, and a matching scarf hung loosely, like an afterthought from a moon goddess.

It was bold, feminine, impossible to ignore.

Mary grinned. “That’s you, Freya. That’s so you.”

“I think I might actually cry,” Freya said under her breath, fingers brushing over the fabric. “It looks like something out of a fairy tale.”

“Ohh come on now girls” Fred pleaded “Please don’t start with the dresses.”

A few minutes later, Freya stepped out of the fitting room and jaws dropped.

The dress hugged her frame perfectly, flowing over her curves with graceful confidence. The pale lilac caught the light like magic. Her caramel-highlighted hair shimmered softly, and the shade of the gown made her green-blue eyes pop with celestial glow. She slipped on the lavender-heeled sandals like she’d been born wearing them.

Mary was speechless. “You… Freya, you look—”

“Like she’s about to make the entire wizarding world fall in love with her,” George finished.

Freya spun slowly in front of the mirror, laughing. “I’m not wearing this for the world.”

Fred raised a brow. “For Elias, then?”

She gave him a glare, but it was more playful than anything. “Please. He’s sweet, but if he wants to impress me, he’s going to need to duel a dragon in these heels.”

She stepped lightly, proving her point with a wink.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, unwelcome, confusing, quiet was the flicker of another reaction. A part of her wondered what a certain professor might think if he saw her now.

But that thought was tucked away like a charm in her pocket.

Freya, as always, found herself swept up in the season's excitement.

Classes were relentless, especially with the looming end-of-term essays and practical exams creeping closer. McGonagall was especially demanding, her Transfiguration classes leaving everyone exhausted, while Flitwick had started preparing them for complex winter charms that involved crafting enchanted snowflakes and crystal figurines.

The Duelling Club continued with enthusiasm. Freya was still gaining admiration for her sharp instincts and creative use of magic, though she never tried to outshine anyone. Her sparring match with Lupin the previous week still lingered faintly in her mind not for the duel itself, but for the quiet, respectful way they’d worked together in front of the students. Since then, they hadn't spoken much beyond class, but she could feel him watching her sometimes during lessons. And she didn’t quite know why she noticed or why it bothered her when he looked away.

Elias, the charming Hufflepuff boy, grew bolder. He sat beside her in the library one evening to “accidentally” reach for the same Charms textbook, and by midweek, he was joining her and Mary at lunch. Freya liked him, he was easy to laugh with, sweet in a gentle sort of way, but her heart wasn’t skipping any beats. Still, she didn't mind the attention. And Mary definitely encouraged it.

Freya tried not to think about how quiet Lupin had become. He had been avoiding long conversations with her altogether. Polite, yes. Distant, very. His smiles were less frequent, his expression guarded. And although she told herself it didn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter, it lingered at the back of her thoughts.

One cold evening, Dumbledore himself visited the Duelling Club, watching the students with twinkling eyes and subtle interest. He offered warm words of encouragement and, with a knowing smile, asked Lupin and Freya to once again demonstrate advanced form duelling before the holidays. The request came with the weight of expectation and an odd sense of fate Freya couldn’t shake off.

In the background, excitement was building. The Winter Welcome Party in Hogsmeade was approaching fast a tradition to mark the start of the snowy season, hosted by Madam Rosmerta and full of music, dancing, and enchanted snow globes that floated through the pub. Students were already talking about what they would wear, who they might dance with, and whether mistletoe charms would be banned again this year.

Freya, of course, had found her dress. It still hung in her wardrobe like a promise. A soft, lilac dream waiting for the right moment and in the quiet between the busy hours of the week, she caught herself wondering not just about Elias, or the party, or even the duels…

But whether a certain professor might notice her that night.

Even if he shouldn’t

And without even noticing Saturday had arrived. The day of the party and the Gryffindor girls' dormitory was filled with a chaotic kind of excitement that only came with special occasions. Dresses were draped across every bed, ribbons fluttered from the canopies, and enchanted makeup palettes floated in the air, twinkling as they tried to match the mood of the evening.

Freya stood in front of the mirror, her hair freshly styled into a soft, voluminous blowout. The ends curled gently, grazing her collarbones and shoulders in feather-light waves. Her layered haircut caught the light in all the right places, the caramel highlights shimmering like sunlight through honey.

She was calm, quieter than usual, applying just a touch of mascara and dabbing on a soft, rosy lipstick that complemented her natural coloring. Her eyes, green and blue in equal parts, sparkled without needing anything more.

Sia flopped back onto Freya’s bed, her own dress half-zipped. “You look like you walked out of a painting, honestly. If you don’t end up on at least five boys’ shoulders tonight, I’ll be disappointed.”

Freya laughed, smoothing her dress as she turned from the mirror. “That sounds deeply uncomfortable. Also, can you breathe in that corset, or…?”

Mary was kneeling on her trunk, digging through a pile of accessories. “We should all be worried about Elias more than anyone. He nearly walked into a suit of armor yesterday while looking at you.”

“Oh, stop,” Freya groaned, but her cheeks flushed. “He’s just nice.”

“He’s very nice,” Mary sing-songed, tossing a hairpin to Sia. “And he’ll probably combust when he sees you in that dress.”

Sia was halfway through curling her own hair with a wand charm gone slightly sideways. “Do we know who Lupin’s bringing?” she asked suddenly, casting a mischievous glance toward Freya.

“I—what? He’s a teacher. He’s not bringing anyone.” Freya tried to sound dismissive, but her tone landed somewhere between defensive and flustered.

“Relax, I just meant… maybe he’ll be watching. Professors come to these things all the time,” Sia said, shrugging innocently.

Freya turned back to the mirror, focusing instead on slipping on her shoes soft lilac heels with a satin bow at the ankle. She liked feeling taller, even just a little. Her reflection was someone elegant and composed, not the girl who regularly snuck out to talk to magical creatures.

“I don’t know and I don’t really care” she mumbled, more to herself.

Mary gave her a knowing look but didn’t press. “Then let’s focus on us,” she said cheerfully. “We’re going to walk into that party like we own the whole bloody pub.”

Freya smiled, this time genuinely. “We already do.”

With perfume trailing behind them like an enchanted mist and soft winter cloaks wrapped around their shoulders, the girls left the tower together, laughter echoing off the stone walls as they made their way toward Hogsmeade.

Garlands of icy silver and twinkling white-blue lights wrapped around every beam and rafter. Enchanted snowflakes drifted from the ceiling, melting just before they touched anyone. The tables were charmed to resemble frosted ice without any of the cold, and the entire pub glowed in the soft, shimmering palette of winter twilight.

When Freya, Sia, and Mary stepped through the doors, the atmosphere shifted.

Heads turned some subtly, some not at all. Freya’s lilac dress shimmered under the enchanted lights like the surface of a frozen lake under moonlight. It hugged her frame in elegant drapes, the layered silk and velvet making her seem like she belonged more in a fairy tale than a pub full of teenagers. Her blowout gave her a polished, effortless glow, and even though her makeup was barely there, her eyes glittered brighter than most of the candles.

“I think, we stole the show,” Sia whispered with a grin, bumping her hip against hers as they walked.

Fred and George met them near the long tables with exaggerated whistles

“Well, well,” Fred said, offering Freya his arm, “don’t tell me we’re suddenly all too fancy for butterbeer?”

George took Mary’s hand, sweeping her into a dramatic spin. “You look like a snowy goddess, Mary. A snowy, terrifying goddess.”

Mary laughed, accepting George’s arm just to play along. “You look exactly the same as every other day. I’m surprised you didn’t try to sneak in fireworks under that coat.”

“I’m hurt,” he said, mock-pouting. “We left them in the dorm. Dumbledore’s orders. Spoilsport.”

As they made their way deeper into the party, the warmth of the lights, music, and chatter grew. Hermione waved from a booth with Ron and Harry, already halfway through mugs of butterbeer. Everyone seemed brighter tonight excited, lighter than the usual weight of studies and darker times.

Freya couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed this much in one night. Her heels clicked across the wooden floor as she floated from conversation to conversation. Students from other houses nodded, complimented her dress, pulled her into dances and silly games. Even some of the Hufflepuffs from Herbology waved her over for a laugh about their last disastrous greenhouse lesson.

The charming Hufflepuff boy with sea-glass eyes and a nervous smile. He had clearly tried harder tonigh this honey-colored hair combed neatly, robes properly pressed. When he spotted Freya, his expression lit up with something earnest and completely unguarded.

“I was hoping I’d see you tonight,” he said as he approached, offering her a drink with slightly shaky hands. “You look… you look like starlight.”

Freya blinked. “That’s either the most poetic thing I’ve heard or the sappiest.

Elias blushed furiously. “Bit of both?”

She laughed and accepted the drink. “Bit of both suits you.”

They talked more than they had in class. He was sweet, really sweet. Passionate about magical creatures, though in more academic ways than Freya’s deep, instinctual connection. He asked about her classes, complimented her dueling demonstration (twice), and even offered to show her the Hufflepuff common room window sometime.

Freya smiled and joked and let herself enjoy it. He was easy to be around, but still something tugged at her. A feeling at the back of her mind, like something she had forgotten to check.

Her eyes scanned the room instinctively.

And there he was.

Professor Lupin, leaning against the far wall near the hearth, a mug in his hand. He wasn’t dressed like a partygoer, but he wasn’t fully professor-mode either. His usual robes were traded for a dark overcoat and wool scarf. His tired eyes followed the room quietly, observing, always on the edges.

Freya hadn’t even known he was here.

Their eyes met across the room for only a second. Just a flicker.

Then he looked away.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. She had spent weeks trying not to think about how strange things had become. About how awkward their silences were, or how he hadn’t spoken to her since the full moon not really.

And yet, something about that single glance sent a tiny shock down her spine.

“I think they’re starting the snow dance,” Elias said, pointing toward the center of the room where soft white flakes began to swirl in rhythm to the music.

Freya turned back to him and smiled. “Let’s go.”

And she danced. She laughed. She spun under the enchanted snowfall, arms lifted toward the glittering ceiling, eyes closed for a moment of pure winter joy. The music was bright and fast and beautiful.

But somewhere across the room, she felt it again that sensation of being seen even if he wasn’t looking anymore.

Chapter Text

Lupin had never much cared for parties

It wasn’t disdain just habit. Years of staying at the edges, half out of sight. Half pretending not to exist. He preferred quiet places. Libraries. Empty corridors after curfew. Mornings before sunrise. Things that didn’t require performance or pretenses. Still, when Dumbledore had gently suggested he “make an appearance,” Lupin didn’t argue. He knew the students needed light, something to look forward to amid the growing shadows outside the castle walls. He also knew that someone ought to keep an eye on things, even if it was technically Madam Rosmerta’s domain tonight.

So, there he stood.

By the hearth at The Three Broomsticks, nursing a mug of firewhisky that he wasn’t truly drinking, watching the swirl of color and laughter around him, and then the door opened.

He didn’t look up right away just caught the shift in tone, the way voices in the room swelled subtly, how Fred and George broke into theatrical bows. He finally raised his eyes—

—and forgot entirely how to breathe.

Freya.

She stepped in between her friends, wrapped in soft lilac that shimmered like moonlit silk. Her hair curled in loose waves around her face, glossy and untamed, and her skin had that winter glow, rosy, alive.

He’d seen her dozens of times in class. Arguing. Smirking. Sitting sideways in her chair when she thought he wasn’t watching. But this… this was different. She didn’t look like a student, not entirely.

She looked like magic.

He looked away instantly.

Not because he was ashamed of the thought, though perhaps he should have been, but because it startled him. How swiftly that strange ache returned, the one he thought he’d buried after October. She’d kept her distance since the full moon. He hadn’t asked why.

It was better this way.

He watched her in glimpses after that. Just enough to make sure she was safe, nothing more. Laughing with Mary. Dancing with the twins. Leaning into her friend’s shoulder with her whole body when something made her laugh so hard she couldn’t stand. He couldn’t hear her from this distance, but he imagined the sound. It was one of the very first things he’d noticed about her how loud her joy was, when she let it be. Then there was Elias.

Lupin stiffened when he noticed the Hufflepuff boy approaching. Polished hair. Confident stride. One of Slughorn’s favorites, if he remembered correctly. The kind of boy who would be liked by most professors and loved by most girls.

And Freya did smile at him.

That same blinding smile she wore when she teased Fred. Or held a bowtruckle. Or tricked her way out of detention.

Lupin told himself it didn’t matter.

He told himself it was normal.

He also didn’t notice that he was gripping his mug too tightly.

When she started dancing, spinning under the enchanted snow with her arms lifted like she belonged to the sky itself, Lupin forced himself to look away. Not because it wasn’t beautiful. But because it was. And he couldn’t afford to want beautiful things.

She was a student.

She was reckless.

She was brilliant.

And she was never meant to be his.

Lupin had no right to feel the strange discomfort that twisted low in his chest so he placed the mug gently on the nearest table and stepped outside.

The cold greeted him like an old friend. Snowflakes fell slowly, not yet sticking to the cobblestones, and the night smelled of pine and chimney smoke. He exhaled, finally able to breathe again.

She deserved to be inside. Warm. Laughing. Carefree.

And he, he belonged in shadows, he didn’t expect to hear the door open again so quickly. He turned just as Freya stepped out.

She didn’t see him at first. Her arms crossed over herself as she leaned on the railing, catching her breath, eyes lifted to the dark sky. Her shoulders rose and fell gently not from exhaustion, he realized, but from something quieter.

A moment of solitude.

She looked peaceful like this. Her wild hair fell in a soft blowout around her shoulders, the pale fabric of her dress catching moonlight. There was a sparkle on her that had nothing to do with the snow.

She turned and spotted him.

“Oh—Professor,” she said, a touch surprised, but not embarrassed.

He inclined his head politely. “Miss Freya.”

She gave him a curious look, but didn’t retreat. “Didn’t peg you for the party type.”

He raised a brow. “Neither did I.”

A silence settled, not uncomfortable more… odd. They hadn’t truly spoken since early November. It had been easier that way.

“You looked like you needed air,” he said finally.

“Yeah...,” she admitted, looking up at the stars. “It’s a bit much in there.”

“You? The girl who can handle three mischievous Gryffindor boys and a duel without blinking?”

She smiled faintly. “Even I need quiet sometimes.”

He hummed softly in response. He felt the weight of the moment how strange and simple it was, standing in the cold beside her, not arguing, not deflecting, just… breathing.

“Do you miss it?” she asked suddenly.

He glanced at her. “Miss what?”

“Being one of us.” She nodded toward the warm glow of the inn. “Not the professor. The… dancing and snowballs and late-night butterbeer.”

He paused.

“Sometimes,” he said truthfully. “But that’s not my place anymore.”

Freya was quiet, but her eyes lingered on him. Searching, maybe. Or simply seeing him clearly for the first time in a while.

“I think it could still be your place,” she murmured.

He turned sharply. “Miss Freya—”

“Relax.” She grinned, backing off. “Just saying professor , don’ttake anything seriously”

Lupin stared at her, caught entirely off-guard. Her eyes were different in the moonlight flickering between blue and green, like a secret she hadn't decided to keep yet.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked back up at the stars.

“Careful,” he said finally. “Too much kindness will ruin your reputation.”

Freya laughed softly, and the sound eased something in his chest.

“I’ll take the risk,” she said. Then she glanced back toward the door. “I should go in. Elias promised me a dance.”

Lupin gave a small nod, masking the flicker of something he didn’t want to name.

She paused halfway to the door. “Try not to freeze out here, Professor.”

And then she was gone a swirl of lilac silk and cold starlight and Lupin was left alone again and he stayed there for a long while after that, wondering when exactly it had become so hard not to watch her.

The late autumn sun filtered softly through the bare branches of the courtyard trees, casting long golden shadows across the stone paths. Freya sat on a low bench near the edge, her cloak bundled around her knees, parchment balanced carefully against a book. Her lips moved silently, reciting defensive counterspells as her quill tapped thoughtfully against her chin.

She wasn’t exactly focused. The sun felt good on her skin. It was one of those crisp, clear days where even the cold had a kind of shimmer to it.

“Oi,” came a familiar voice, smooth and warm. “You look like you’re trying to hex your own notes.”

Freya looked up. Elias Oakwell stood before her, two mugs of steaming cocoa in his hands. His Hufflepuff scarf hung loose around his neck, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

“Figured I’d save you from academic self-destruction,” he said, holding one mug out like an offering.

Freya huffed a small laugh and took it. “You’re just trying to bribe your way into my study group.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, sitting beside her, way too close. “What gave me away?”

“You’re not subtle,” she said dryly, but she smiled all the same. Elias always had that effect, disarming and bright, like a golden retriever who flirted. She didn’t mind the attention. He was sweet.

They sipped cocoa and talked about the latest Duelling Club session, how Freya had managed to disarm a seventh-year boy in less than ten seconds, which Elias claimed “should be illegal.” He nudged her shoulder playfully, and she rolled her eyes, pretending to stay cool even though she could feel the flush blooming in her cheeks. Neither of them noticed the tall figure stepping out of the library behind them. Professor Lupin had come out into the light, books under one arm, coat buttoned against the breeze. His tired eyes flicked over the courtyard, automatically at first, and then landed on them.

Freya and Elias.

Heads tipped toward one another. Laughter hanging in the air.

Lupin paused.

It was a second. Maybe two.

Then he moved on, boots tapping lightly against stone, jaw tight. He didn’t let himself look back.

Freya never noticed he was there.

Later that day the fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the scarlet walls. Most of the house was buzzing around the tower, cards in corners, giggles, board games, arguments over Potions homework.

Freya sat on the rug near the fireplace, legs folded beneath her, parchment in her lap.

She wasn’t really reading, she’d been distracted all day, and she knew why.

Tomorrow was the full moon.

She didn’t need a calendar to remind her, she could feel it in the air, thick and humming like static before a storm. Something ancient inside her, something tied to her affinity with magical creatures, twisted when the full moon neared. This time, though, it wasn’t just instinct. It was knowledge.

She now knew the truth. And it had changed everything.

Her eyes flicked to the small notebook beside her. It was filled with private notes, disguised in a flourish of doodles and spirals. Written between the lines were words like “wolfsbane,” “transfiguration support,” “animagus defense,” and scribbled ideas like compassion under transformation?

No one else knew. Not Elias. Not Mary. Not even Sia.

And Freya didn’t plan to tell anyone. She pressed her lips together, watching the firelight dance.

“He’s still your professor,” she whispered to herself, but the words felt paper-thin.

Chapter Text

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing.

Chatter and soft laughter filled the firelit space, a chess match clacked dramatically in one corner while someone enchanted a stack of books to dance in another. Someone had lit enchanted fairy lights that glittered over the windows, reflecting off the stormy sky outside. Freya sank into the crimson-cushioned armchair by the fireplace, legs curled up beneath her. Mary plopped beside her with a dramatic sigh, draping an arm across her shoulders.

“Honestly, Divination should be classified as psychological warfare,” Mary grumbled. “If Professor Trelawney tells me I’m going to die one more time, I swear I’ll start asking her for specifics.”

Sia giggled from the floor, half-lounged with her books sprawled around her. “I don’t know, it might be helpful to plan ahead.”

Freya smirked, tugging a blanket across her lap. “I thought she said you were going to fall in love with someone tall, dark, and mysterious.”

Mary grinned. “I’m still hoping it’s Fred.”

As if summoned, Fred and George stumbled into the common room a moment later with an explosion of cold air and snowflakes clinging to their cloaks.

“Someone mention my name?” Fred beamed, cheeks pink from the wind.

George tossed a paper bag onto the table. “Spoils from Honeydukes. First come, first enchanted.”

Sia dove for the bag with a victorious shout while Mary grabbed a handful of fizzing candies.

Freya laughed, the tension from earlier starting to ease as she leaned her head against the back of the chair. Fred slid onto the arm of her chair, a mischievous twinkle already in his eyes.

“Ladies,” George said, lowering his voice to a stage-whisper, “we come bearing news. Classified information.”

“Oh, here we go,” Mary grinned, already intrigued.

“There’s a party,” Fred continued, dramatically pausing for effect. “Secret. Hufflepuff-hosted. This Saturday night. Password-only entrance, and get this—” he grinned “—it’s in the greenhouses.”

“The greenhouses?” Freya raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself.

“Warm, private, enchanted for dancing, mood lighting,” George added with a wink. “They’re calling it The First Frost”

“They’re starting winter early,” Fred said. “Bit of a tradition on their end. Mulled cider, music, even glowing plants. Kind of... magical, really.”

Sia sat upright. “Are we invited invited or are we crashing it with Weasley flair?”

“Invited,” George said proudly. “We helped them fix a prank gone wrong last week. Exploding turnips—don’t ask. They owe us.”

Mary gasped, leaning forward. “Please say we’re going.”

Freya exchanged a quick glance with the girls. Their shared grin answered the question.

“Of course we’re going,” Freya said, her eyes already sparkling with excitement. “We’ll need outfits but more simple ones this time”

Sia was already pulling out parchment. “I’m planning everything.”

Fred pointed at her approvingly. “That’s the energy we like.”

“And Freya,” George added, nudging her with a knowing look, “you better wear something fabulous. Would be a shame to let the Hufflepuffs down.”

Freya rolled her eyes, laughing. “As if I’d do anything less.”

The fire crackled behind them, casting golden light over their faces as plans began to take shape plans full of music and laughter and the kind of wild, magical night only Hogwarts could offer.

And though she didn’t say it out loud, Freya couldn’t help but wonder if a certain professor might be watching from the shadows again.

The Hufflepuffs had outdone themselves.

The “First Frost” party was no innocent greenhouse gathering it was a full-blown underground event, held in one of the old, disused classrooms near the dungeons. The desks had been vanished, the walls enchanted to shimmer with frost-like spells, and a crackling illusion of a wintery aurora danced across the ceiling. Some say even a few 7th years had worked in charms to make it “snow” softly from the ceiling. The music thudded through the floor, echoing down the corridors. Students from all four houses had crowded in, passing drinks, swapping scarves and house pins, and losing themselves in the thrill of a night they probably weren’t supposed to be having.

Freya was in her element.

She had lost count of how many times she’d spun in her sage green dress, skirt floating with every turn. Glitter from someone else’s charm clung to her shoulders. Her mascara had smudged ever so slightly, but it made her blue-green eyes look even more entrancing in the dim lights. Her cheeks were flushed with laughter and cider. Mary had dragged her to the drinks table, Sia had pulled her into dance circles, and the twins had even briefly tried to get her into some kind of impromptu “snowball duel” involving bewitched marshmallows.

Freya was glowing and then there was Elias.

They danced. It wasn’t romantic, at least not on her end, but it was fun. He was charming and sweet, and when he spun her a little too fast and caught her waist, she laughed so hard her ribs hurt. But as the night stretched into something quieter, the party thinned. Mary and Sia had left an hour ago, claiming their beds were calling. Freya had stayed longer, sipping on something warm and spiced from a cup that definitely wasn’t pumpkin juice. It made her head feel light, like thoughts floated up and didn’t quite land.

Eventually, she decided it was time to head back. Alone.

She wrapped her coat around her shoulders, heels clicking softly as she walked up the stone corridor, the magic of the party still humming in her veins. But the castle was spinning a little more than usual. The torches flickered in ways they weren’t supposed to. She misjudged a step, caught herself on the banister, and then—

Thud.

She bumped into someone solid. Warm. Definitely not a suit of armor.

“Oh Mrelin, sorry— I didn’t mean to—” she mumbled, blinking up, trying to steady her gaze.

A familiar voice answered, quiet and dry “Miss Freya.”

She blinked again. Her brain lagged behind her eyes.

“…Professor Lupin?”

Her stomach dropped. She straightened up far too quickly, wobbling just a bit. “This is not— I mean, I wasn’t— It wasn’t that kind of—”

He raised a brow, arms crossed lightly over his robes. His expression wasn’t angry, not exactly. It was that infuriating Lupin blend of calm disapproval and restrained amusement. His eyes flickered from her windswept hair to her flushed cheeks, to the glitter still clinging to her collarbone.

“How many drinks?” he asked plainly.

“I—” She squinted. “Some. Not... a lot.”

He let out a breath that could have been a sigh or a stifled laugh, it was hard to tell. “You’re supposed to be in your dorm.”

“And you’re supposed to be... not lurking in dark corridors,” she shot back, hands on her hips, instantly regretting how unstable that made her stance.

His mouth twitched. “I was on patrol.”

She crossed her arms, more for balance than defiance. “You always out here at midnight? Or just when students are being scandalous?”

He huffed, something almost like a laugh. “Believe it or not, Miss Freya, I have better things to do than stalk drunken teenagers.”

She raised a brow. “But here you are.”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Here you are.”

The air between them tightened.

For a moment, she forgot about the haze in her head, the soft throb in her temple. She was acutely aware of him, his height, the faint scruff at his jaw, the way his voice dipped when he wasn’t lecturing. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but there was something wary in the way he watched her now. Like she was dangerous. And perhaps she was

“I’ll be going now,” she said, voice more clipped than intended.

But as she turned too fast, the hallway tilted again. She felt her balance tip. Lupin was at her side in a heartbeat, steadying her elbow before she could fall.

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

“I can see that.”

“Don’t lecture me.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

She finally looked up at him. In the dim light, he looked different. Tired, maybe. Or just deeply thoughtful. His hand was still gently resting at her elbow, the only thing keeping her upright in more ways than one.

“I’m not a reckless child,” she said, softly now. “Even if I act like one sometimes.”

His eyes met hers. “No. You’re not.”

For one fragile second, neither moved.

Then he pulled back, stepping away with a quiet inhale. “Let me walk you to your dormitory.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

But he did and Freya, still humming with the remnants of music and mischief, walked quietly beside him, not quite sure why her chest ached like that.

Lupin pov

He didn’t sleep on weekends like this.

The castle always had a particular hum when the students were up to something, an intangible shift in the air, like mischief had its own scent. Lupin had spent enough years roaming these halls, young and foolish, to recognize the signs. And while he wasn’t the type to hover like Filch or bark like Moody, he kept watch in his own quiet way.

He needed the walk. His thoughts had been restless all day. The moon was approaching again and before he could process his thoughts A blur of green turned the corner ahead of him and then she crashed right into his chest.

Freya of course, it had to be Freya.

“Merlin—” she gasped, stumbling, and he caught her without thinking.

That’s when he realized she’d been at the party.

Her eyes were glassy, her movements a fraction too loose. Her dress shimmered under the torchlight, green velvet, soft and perfectly cut. Her hair framed her flushed cheeks in wild waves, her lips parted in surprise. He stepped back quickly.

“Easy.”

She blinked up at him. “Professor Lupin?”

She wasn’t just buzzed she was tipsy. Still sharp, but dulled enough for her usual walls to be lower. That wasn’t a comfort. If anything, it made this far more dangerous.

“I—uh…” she tugged her dress higher, cheeks darkening. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“And what does it look like?” he asked, tone dry to cover the storm brewing beneath.

She squared her shoulders, swaying slightly. “Not that. I’m not some— It was just a party.”

“I gathered that.”

She looked breathtaking. He cursed himself for noticing.

“And you?” she challenged. “Always out here at midnight? Or just when students are being scandalous?”

He smirked despite himself. “Believe it or not, Miss Freya, I have better things to do than stalk drunken teenagers.”

“But here you are.”

“Here you are.”

That made her falter.

For a beat too long, they just stood there. The distance between them was proper, but something *else* filled the space. Something electric. Her breath was shallow. His thoughts were a mess.

She finally broke the silence. “I’m going back to my dorm.”

He didn’t let her walk away alone. He couldn’t. “Not alone, you’re not.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re in heels and slightly buzzed.”

“I’m very good in heels,” she quipped, then took a wobbly step. “...mostly.”

He didn’t comment. Just walked beside her, matching her pace. She said nothing for a while neither did he.

He knew he should’ve reported the party. He knew he should say something stern and responsible and distant. But none of those instincts came. Only the quiet awareness of her presence beside him, and the tension in his chest that had very little to do with the moon.

“You really hate this kind of thing, don’t you?” she asked eventually.

“Hate is a strong word.”

“But accurate.”

“I don’t hate it,” he said carefully. “I just… dislike seeing brilliant minds gamble themselves on chaos.”

She stiffened a little. He regretted it immediately.

“It’s just one night,” she said.

“Sometimes one night is all it takes.”

Her eyes met his again, curious, challenging. She was smarter than most gave her credit for.

“You sound like someone who knows that too well,” she murmured.

He didn’t answer.

They reached the stairwell. He lingered, unsure if he should say more. He wanted to. He wanted to tell her to be careful, not just because of rules or consequences, but because the world could be cruel to people like her. Too bright. Too open. Too untamed.

Freya woke with the weight of the world pressing into her skull. The light was far too bright. Her mouth felt like parchment. Her hair curled and blown out the night before was now a chaotic halo around her pillow.

"Ugh," she groaned into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut again.

She could hear movement in the dorm. Sia humming off-key. Mary whispering something about pumpkin juice and hangover charms. The post-party aftermath.

And then it hit her.

Not the headache.

The memory. A flicker of green velvet. The stone corridor. A firm grip catching her as she stumbled.

Lupin.

Freya shot upright. "Oh no no no no—"

Her hands flew to her face as she replayed it all in her mind. The party. The drinks. The dancing. Elias spinning her around. The laughter. And then her walking alone. Her head spinning. And crashing into someone.

And not just someone.

Her professor

Professor bloody Lupin.

She remembered his voice. Steady and quiet. His arms catching her. The walk. The fact he didn’t scold her not really but there was that look in his eyes. That mix of concern and disappointment that burned worse than any lecture.

“Freya?” Sia’s voice called. “You alive in there?”

“Barely,” she muttered, rolling out of bed.

A wave of shame washed over her as she moved to the mirror. Her mascara was smudged. Her lips still held the faint tint of her lipstick. Last night she felt beautiful. Untouchable. Dancing in a cloud of green and starlight.

Now, she just felt… small.

Sia poked her head in. “Breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You sure? There’s French toast.”

Freya hesitated. Then shook her head. “I… I have something I need to do.”

Sia raised a brow but didn’t press.

She didn’t expect to feel this nervous walking through the halls. It was like she was thirteen again and about to be told off for hexing a Slytherin.

Her boots tapped against the stone floor in what felt like a rhythm of dread. Part of her wanted to turn back. Wait until Monday. Pretend she had memory loss. But she couldn’t shake the memory of his expression the way he looked at her. Not unkind. But guarded. Like he was holding something back. She knocked on the office door with more force than necessary, just to get it over with.

Nothing.

Her heart fluttered. She knocked again. Then she heard it.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open. He was seated at his desk, a quill in hand, parchment scattered before him. He looked up and the flicker of surprise in his eyes was quick, but noticeable.

Freya stepped in, shut the door behind her, and stood awkwardly just inside the threshold.

“I—” she began, then stopped. “I came to… apologise.”

Lupin set down the quill, folding his hands in front of him. “There’s no need.”

“Yes, there is,” she said quickly. “I mean—yes, I had fun, but I didn’t mean to… run into you. Or say whatever I said.”

“You didn’t say anything inappropriate.”

That didn’t help. Somehow it made her cheeks burn hotter.

“You just looked… tired,” she said quietly. “Disappointed.”

He hesitated. Then gave her a small, unreadable smile. “Freya, you’re a student. You’re allowed to make mistakes. You’re also allowed to enjoy yourself.”

“I know but—” she paused. “I hate when people look at me like I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”

His gaze softened slightly.

“You’re not a disaster,” he said.

She looked up at him. For a moment, they just sat in the quiet again her standing near the door, him still behind his desk. A strange space between them. Like something unsaid had settled there.

“I’m fine, really,” she added quickly. “I just wanted to clear the air.”

“Thank you,” he said genuinely. “That was… brave.”

She huffed a soft laugh. “Gryffindor specialty.”

That earned the smallest twitch of his mouth.

“I should go,” she said. “Before I start making a habit of barging into professors’ offices with regret and shame.”

“You’re welcome to barge in with questions, too,” he said lightly.

She met his eyes once more calmer now. Still embarrassed, but not shattered.

“Noted,” she said. Then, softer: “Thank you.”

And with that, she turned and left, the echo of his words following her out the door.

The door closed with a soft click, and Remus sat very still.He stared at the grain of the wood for a long moment, quill still poised in his fingers but unmoving. His thoughts, however, were anything but still.

Freya.

The way she’d looked at him just now eyes clear, a little guarded, but no longer clouded by dizziness or the haze of firewhisky. Her voice uncertain but bold enough to carry the weight of her apology.

“I hate when people look at me like I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”

Those words stuck more than he wanted them to. Not just because they came from her but because he understood them.

Too well.

Remus set down the quill and leaned back in his chair. His eyes drifted toward the window, where the pale, grey morning spilled half-hearted sunlight through the glass. The castle grounds shimmered with a light mist. The Forbidden Forest stood far in the distance, still and vast, like it always watched him back.

There was something about her that unnerved him and not in the way young witches usually did with their giggles and glittering eyes and crushes they’d forget by next term. No, this was different.

Freya wasn’t predictable.

She carried herself like she was stitched from sunfire and stubbornness. The way she curled her body around that Hippogriff the first time he followed her into the forest…

The way she refused to tell anyone his secret, even after nearly dying at the base of the Whomping Willow…

And now, the way she had shown up to his door, still flushed with leftover shame, to clear the air—not to flirt, not to fish for attention, but because she meant it

Merlin help him, she had more courage than most adults he knew.

Remus rubbed a hand down his face, then sighed.

He shouldn’t be thinking this much about her. About the way her hair had caught the light that night at the party—soft caramel highlights glowing like fire in the dark. The way her eyes weren’t just blue or green, but something in between, like seawater in motion.

She was a student. And worse his student.

And yet… she kept finding her way into his thoughts. Not because she was trouble but because she felt familiar in a way that scraped uncomfortably close to his bones.

There was a fire in her that reminded him of youth of risk, of passion, of what it meant to feel things without holding back. And gods, how long had it been since he’d allowed himself anything like that?

He stood and moved to the window, arms crossed over his chest. Somewhere, he imagined, she was returning to the common room. Her walk purposeful. Her mind probably racing. He should have shut her down more directly. Been firmer. But when she stood there, biting back embarrassment with that Gryffindor chin tilted high, he’d seen not a child, but a young woman, capable, clever, vulnerable in ways she rarely showed.

A knock on the door startled him from his reverie.

“Professor?” It was McGonagall’s voice, sharp and clear.

Remus cleared his throat quickly. “Yes, come in.”

And just like that, the moment broke.

He returned to his desk, posture composed, thoughts shoved neatly back into their box. But somewhere in the quiet corners of his mind, the image of Freya lingered still like smoke that wouldn’t quite fade.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall smelled faintly of cinnamon and charmed wood smoke signs that winter was gently beginning to reach into the castle. Platters were being passed around the Gryffindor table, laughter flaring from one side where George had just hexed a sausage to chase Ron’s fork.

Freya, hair tousled from the morning rush and her fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of cocoa, sat nestled between Mary and Sia. She wore one of her oversized cream cardigans over her uniform and was giggling at something Fred had whispered about a Ravenclaw girl who’d enchanted her pumpkin juice to sparkle and accidentally turned her teeth gold. Everything felt like every other morning until the Great Hall dimmed slightly.

Gasps and rustles followed Dumbledore’s rise. Even the owls overhead slowed, wings slicing the silence as the headmaster began to speak.

“My dear students, it is with concern that I must inform you of recent developments. Our guests the Dementors of Azkaban have, in light of new intelligence, tightened their patrols. They remain outside the castle walls… but just barely.”

Freya’s hand tightened slightly around her mug, her smile fading as the words.

“I implore you all, no late-night excursions, no shortcuts near the boundaries. Several older students have already experienced the… chilling presence of these creatures. No one has been gravely harmed, but that is only thanks to swift intervention. We may not be so fortunate next time.”

She’d heatd about them, of course. Who hadn’t? The soul-sucking guards of Azkaban, cloaked shadows that stole warmth and joy just by being nearby. But hearing stories and knowing they were brushing against the very edge of Hogwarts that was different. Freya leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the table, eyebrows furrowed.

“To ensure you are not defenseless, I have asked Professor Lupin to offer voluntary Patronus lessons to fifth-years and above. Defense is not simply a subject it is a survival skill.” Dumbledore took a pause but continued after some seconds

At that, Freya sat up straighter, blinking in surprise. Her eyes flicked up to the staff table, where Lupin sat calmly, arms folded, giving nothing away. Professor Lupin? She hadn’t expected that. Not because he wasn’t capable if anything, she suspected he was more powerful than he let on, but because he didn’t seem like the sort of man who’d take to crowding a classroom with expectation. He often walked the halls as if he was trying not to disturb the walls themselves.

Beside her, Sia murmured, “That’s awful.”

Mary was biting her lip, her knuckles pale. “My cousin said she saw one during summer when they were guarding Azkaban transfers. She said it made her cry and she didn’t even know why.”

Freya didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, in her usual crisp, clear voice:

“They’re emotion-feeders. The darkness they bring is psychological. You don’t even have to be afraid to feel it hey’ll make you.”

That caught the twins’ attention. George gave a low whistle.

“Spoken like someone who's been in the Department of Mysteries.” He finally said and took his seat back at the table

Fred added, “Or secretly Dumbledore’s apprentice.”

“Brilliant,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “Finally something useful.”

Mary turned to her, surprised. “You’d want to try that? A Patronus? Most people can’t even cast one.”

Freya grinned, a spark of challenge dancing behind her eyes. “I know but how difficult can it be?”

Sia laughed under her breath, nudging her playfully. “I have no idea, i have never tried that spell.”

Freya leaned in slightly, speaking lower now. “Think about it. It’s one of the most advanced protective charms. And the only thing that can repel a Dementor. I think we could all use that right now.” There was something about the idea of the Patronus that stirred something in her chest. A magic made from the brightest memories.

She looked back toward Lupin. He was speaking to Professor Flitwick quietly now, unaware of the way her gaze lingered.

He hadn’t exactly warmed up to her since the last full moon incident, nor she to him. But if anyone could teach her something as rare and powerful as the Patronus…

It might just be him.

The rest of the morning past smoothly. Students were either really excited or indifferent.

The girls were obviously in but for now they had to go to their classes.

Late Afternoon the golden afternoon sun spilled lazily through the castle windows, illuminating floating motes of dust and making the walls glow with a soft amber warmth. The storm of conversation that had followed Dumbledore’s morning announcement was still buzzing across Hogwarts, rippling through every corridor and common room like an echo.

Freya had spent most of the day pretending she wasn’t looking forward to the Patronus sign-ups. She wasn’t exactly the type to leap into anything school-official with too much excitement — especially if *Professor Lupin* was involved — but the truth was, a part of her was itching for it. This wasn’t like memorizing plant anatomy or listing ten uses for Mandrake. This was magic meant to fight real darkness.

And for some reason… she wanted to prove herself.

Now, as evening settled in, Freya, Mary, and Sia stood in the Gryffindor common room with coats in hand. Mary was fussing with the sleeve of Freya’s uniform jumper, pulling out a piece of fuzz.

“You’re acting all cool about this,” she said, tilting her head. “But I know that little spark in your eye.”

Freya tried not to smirk, trying to sound not surprise. “What spark?”

Sia grinned. “The ‘I want to master this spell before anyone else and look good doing it’ spark.”

“Oh please,” Freya huffed, slipping on her coat. “I’m just a curious citizen concerned for her magical safety.”

Fred’s head popped into view from the boys’ staircase. “And you’re all off to enroll in Lupin’s Light-Up Club, I presume?”

“That’s the working title,” George added, following behind.

“We're thinking of getting t-shirts.”

“Maybe some glowing wands.”

“Or a house elf mascot.”

“Name it Shimmer.”

Mary groaned. “You two are insufferable.”

“You love it,” Fred said with a wink, then offered his arm dramatically to her. “Shall we, m’lady?”

Soon enough, the whole group Freya, Mary, Sia, Fred, George, Elias, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were winding their way through the castle. They passed groups of students whispering about Dementors, a few who looked genuinely shaken.

Ron kept casting glances toward Freya. “You really think you can do a Patronus? They’re difficult.”

Freya shrugged, brushing a strand of caramel-highlighted hair behind her ear. “So’s putting up with your commentary. And yet, here we are.”

Harry snorted.

When they arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor, a magical parchment hung just outside Lupin’s classroom. The parchment shimmered faintly with enchantment and bore the neat, unmistakable handwriting of the professor himself

VOLUNTARY PATRONUS TUTORIALS

A defense against the darkness.

Sign-up below if you are prepared to challenge yourself.

The line was starting to form. Sixth and seventh years primarily, though a few confident fifth years (including Harry, of course) were already there. Freya eyed the parchment, heart thrumming a little faster than she liked. She didn’t know what she was expecting, maybe that it would be a private invite-only session or something cryptic and exclusive. But this was open.

No one was forcing anyone to learn it.

But that made the choice even more powerful.

Freya stepped forward without hesitation and scribbled her name in her usual loopy scrawl. Freya Blackwood

Behind her, Elias leaned in to write his name, brushing her shoulder gently.

“Not scared?” he asked, voice low.

Freya glanced up at him. “Of the Dementors? Not yet.”

He smirked. “Of the spell?”

“No,” she said honestly. “More like pure curiosity.”

Elias looked like he was about to say something more, but then Hermione’s quill scratched onto the parchment beside them, and the group shifted forward.

Freya didn’t turn around to see if Lupin was watching but she felt something shift in the air. A quiet awareness. A presence. And when she finally did glance toward the open classroom door, she caught a glimpse of him seated behind his desk, eyes lifted from his parchment. His gaze passed over the students quickly, but paused ever-so-briefly on her name written in ink.

Their eyes didn’t meet.

But her stomach flipped anyway.

Late November had came and so the first Patronus Lesson. The room didn’t look like a classroom. Not entirely. Long shadows slanted across the walls of the repurposed Defense corridor, now transformed into something colder, more echoing, like a dueling chamber meets memory vault. The stone floor was cleared, sconces flickered with blue flame, and in the center stood Professor Lupin, wand in hand, sleeves rolled up, his expression unreadable.

Freya stepped in with Mary and Sia, their footsteps slightly muffled against the old stones. She felt the press of magic in the air. It hummed low and steady, like a storm waiting to be born. Others trickled in behind them Harry, of course, eyes full of determined fire. Fred and George came together, Elias right behind. A quiet murmur filled the space until Lupin raised his hand.

“Welcome,” he said simply. His voice didn’t need to be loud. It carried. “I want to be clear this is not required. You’re here because you chose to be. And what you’re going to learn will not come easily.”

He paused, eyes scanning the group. Freya stood near the middle, her hands clasped behind her back, trying to look composed while her pulse rattled in her ears.

“A Patronus is not just a spell,” Lupin continued, pacing slowly. “It’s a force of memory. It’s hope, and happiness bottled in light. You will not be able to cast one unless you are willing to reach for your strongest, most powerful memory. And even then” He flicked his wand once, deliberately. “Expecto Patronum.”

A burst of silver mist exploded from his wand and took shape a huge, sleek wolf, glowing, quiet, and almost sorrowful as it padded in a circle around him. Gasps and murmurs followed, but Freya couldn’t look away. The wolf wasn’t frightening, it was magnificent.

Lupin let the Patronus fade and gestured. “Now you try.”

And they did. A dozen “Expecto Patronum!”s rang out at once, creating an overlapping echo that was promptly swallowed by the room’s enchantments. Freya stepped aside with Elias, who cracked his knuckles like he was about to duel a dragon.

“Alright,” he said with mock seriousness, “I’m thinking about chocolate cake.”

She snorted. “That’s not a memory, that’s a craving.”

“It was a memory. A very joyful one,” Elias replied, and flicked his wand. “Expecto Patronum!”

A weak, silvery puff of smoke sputtered from his wand like a sick candle. He blinked. “Okay. Fine. That cake wasn’t as good as I remembered.”

Freya rolled her eyes but laughed despite herself.

To their left, Fred and George were experimenting in their own chaotic fashion.

“Expecto Prank-o-num!” George shouted.

“Not a real spell,” Fred grinned.

They both shouted the proper incantation, arms thrown dramatically like they were in a wizarding duel. For a second, Fred’s wand gave off a thick silvery mist but it curled into what looked suspiciously like a small, glowing duck before fading with a pop.

“Brilliant,” Fred said proudly.

“Admit it, mine was closer to a dragon,” George countered.

“Yours was closer to a flobberworm.”

They were promptly shushed by Hermione, who was standing near Harry, her eyes closed as she whispered the words to herself before speaking them aloud.

“Expecto Patronum.” A stream of mist emerged from her wand light and luminous, but no form yet. She looked frustrated but determined. Ron had tried twice, and both times produced a cloud of silver mist that immediately dissolved.

“I’m doing it wrong,” he muttered.

“Focus on something good,” Harry said, a bit distracted he was concentrating hard.

Freya glanced at him as he tried again. Harry’s expression changed eyes narrowed, shoulders set. “Expecto Patronum!” A bright thread of silver burst from his wand like a comet and lingered longer than anyone else’s attempt, though still formless. Lupin, watching closely, gave a subtle nod of approval.

Meanwhile, Sia and Mary were working together, both flicking their wands while muttering to each other.

“What are you thinking about?” Sia asked, frowning.

“My gran’s birthday party last year,” Mary replied. “You?”

“My sister’s first levitation charm. She got so excited she levitated a spoon into her hair.”

Both girls giggled, then took their stances again. Sia’s wand gave off a thin trail of mist. Mary’s produced a silvery glimmer that floated briefly before fading like moonlight on water.

Elias nudged her lightly. “Alright, memory girl. Got a good one?”

She hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a good memory. On the contrary, she has so many good and happy moments that she didn't know which one to choose. From the beautiful and laughter-filled evenings of Hogwarts with the girls, to the long summers when she was on vacation and swam for hours in the sea, or the first time her parents got her her first dog. They were many more which at that moment he could not remember, Freya tried to combine all the above together and “Expecto Patronum!”

A flick of her wand, and a faint trail of silver mist curled like breath in the air. But nothing more.

Elias grinned. “That’s better than my first try. Mine didn’t even haze.”

“Shut up and try again,” she muttered, half-smiling.

Across the room, Lupin watched. Not directly, not obviously. But he circled like a quiet sentry, observing with his hands folded behind his back. When someone failed five or six times, he stepped in, gave a word, a memory cue, a correction of wand angle. His teaching style was never harsh, but precise snd when he did stop beside Freya, she straightened instinctively.

“Focus more on your memory,” he said, softly but not unkindly. “You can’t force the Patronus. You have to feel it.”

She blinked at him. “Okay”

He paused. “Was the memory strong enough?”

Freya bit her lip. “It was... strong.”

“Strong is good,” Lupin nodded. “But joy is better.”

“Keep your arm steady l, your magic needs a clear channel.” He took a step even closer , which made Freya caught her breath

“Don’t rush the memory. Let it grow before you cast.”

Her fingers tightened around her wand. Freya tried again this time she focus on a specific one so she could be more concentrate, she took a deep breath and raised her wand again. “Expecto Patronum!”

This time the silver light was brighter, clearer it coiled upward like smoke from a bonfire. Still no form, but Lupin leaned in, just a little.

“Much better,” he said.

Their eyes met, just for a moment but Freya looked away first.

After nearly an hour, Lupin called the session to a close. Most had produced no more than haze or flickers of silver, though Harry had managed a solid streak that sent Ron into applause. Students collected their things, still chatting excitedly. The walk back to the common rooms was full of laughter and good-natured complaints. Freya lingered near the back with Sia, who kept nudging her.

“You’re close to getting it, I swear,” she said.

Freya gave a tired smile. “I thought iwould do better.”

From the front of the room, Lupin watched the last of the students leave. He said nothing as Freya passed, but as the door clicked behind her, she had the distinct feeling that the lesson and what it stirred in her was only just beginning.

This period was the worst for Freya. Exam season had officially begun, all the teachers were giving the difficult assignments and the tests were starting to take place. She yawned and rolled her wrist, glancing at the hourglass near Madam Pince’s desk.

Merlin’s beard—it was nearly midnight.

Her Transfiguration essay had taken longer than expected. She stretched with a groan and began gathering her things when she noticed something missing from her bag, her Advanced Transfiguration textbook.

Where did I put it?

She swore under her breath. After rifling through her notes twice and scanning the library table she’d occupied for the last few hours, it hit her, she’d been reading under the birch trees in the front yard before dinner. She must’ve left it there. But Freya hesitated. It was late, yes, but the test was tomorrow, and she couldn’t risk McGonagall’s wrath if she didn’t revise that final chapter.

Grabbing her cloak but forgetting her wand in her haste, Freya slipped quietly out of the castle. The air outside was sharp and cold, the kind that hinted at early frost. The castle lights glowed warmly behind her, a stark contrast to the inky darkness ahead. Her boots crunched on dry leaves as she made her way to the spot, guided by moonlight. Sure enough, her textbook lay propped open beneath the birch tree, a few pages fluttering in the night breeze.

“Got you,” she whispered triumphantly, reaching for it. But then-

The temperature dropped like a stone the wind stopped in an unatural. The grass beneath her seemed to stiffen. Frost etched across the fallen leaves, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose.

She turned slowly, and saw it. A tall, floating figure in tattered black robes. No face. Just a gaping hole where a mouth should be.

A Dementor.

Freya froze, too shocked to scream. The air felt thick, pressing against her lungs. Her limbs turned to lead. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as every warm, joyful memory drained from her mind.

She reached for her wand and then remembered it was back in the library.

Her eyes widened in panic. “No—no no no—”

She turned to run, but the Dementor was fast gliding toward her, unstoppable. She stumbled back, her foot slipping on the frost-hardened ground. Her vision blurred as the creature leaned in.

She felt it, that pull. That sucking, soul-wrenching agony. The cold wasn’t around her anymore it was inside her. Tearing. Feeding.

And then

Light.

A powerful blast of silver tore through the dark. A shimmering wolf leapt from the light, teeth bared, body blazing with radiance. The Dementor recoiled with a shriek of shadow and smoke and was gone, banished into the treeline.

Freya collapsed to her knees, gasping, shaking. Her vision slowly focused. And there, wand still raised, his jaw tight with fury, stood Professor Lupin. His cloak was whipping in the wind, the silver remnants of the Patronus fading in the space between them.

He stalked forward, voice sharp and furious. “What were you thinking?”

Freya blinked up at him, trembling. “I—I forgot my book—”

“And your wand? Did you forget that too? Or are we back to sneaking off into danger like nothing’s changed?” His voice wasn’t cold. It was hot, burning with anger, yes, but also something tangled beneath. Worry. Panic. Fear.

“I—I didn’t mean— I wasn’t trying—” she stumbled to her feet, clutching the textbook to her chest.

Lupin stepped closer, breath heavy from adrenaline. His expression softened just slightly as he looked at her — pale, shaken, her lips trembling from cold and fear.

“You could’ve died, Freya,” he said, quieter now but no less intense. “Do you understand that?”

“I didn’t see it coming,” she whispered, finally allowing herself to feel the tears that had pooled in her eyes. “I didn’t hear anything. It was just—sudden.”

“You should’ve had your wand,” he said again, biting the inside of his cheek. “You never go outside after dark unarmed. Not with what’s out here. Not anymore.”

She nodded numbly.

“I’m walking you back,” he said firmly.

As they started toward the castle, silence settled between them. Only the rustle of leaves and the beat of their footsteps filled the air.

“I wasn’t sneaking into the Forest,” Freya said finally, voice small. “I know what you’re thinking. But I’ve been keeping my promise. I just forgot my book.”

Lupin looked sideways at her, the flush in her cheeks, the guilt in her voice, the shivering she couldn’t quite hide.

“I know,” he said at last.

Freya blinked. “You do?”

“You’re reckless. But you’re not a liar.”

They didn’t say anything else as they reached the front steps of the castle. He opened the door for her, and the warmth of the entrance hall rushed around them.

She turned to him before disappearing up the stairs. “Thank you,” she murmured, sincere. “For coming to my rescue.”

Lupin just looked at her, long and unreadable, before nodding once.

“Always.”

Freya the next morning tried as much as she could not to show how she was still felt cold from the previous night. She even put a bit of concealer to hide her dark circles because she didn’t sleep. Mary and Sia thankfully didn’t suspect a thing and the day continued as always.

Freya was sitting at the courtyard outside the library. The winter wind nipped at the edges of Freya’s scarf as she flipped through her notes outside the library, trying to chase away the fog in her brain. The previous night’s events, Lupin’s patronus, the dizzying cold, his anger, and then... nothing but silence, left her scattered in a way she couldn’t quite name. But her thoughts cut like a blade when a familiar shadow fell over her sketchbook.

“Studying or avoiding?” Elias grinned, his signature Hufflepuff charm on full display.

Freya looked up, lips curling into a lazy smile. “Bit of both. I told McGonagall I’d ace this Transfiguration exam and I might’ve accidentally started a war with my own brain.”

Elias chuckled and slid down onto the bench beside her, shoulder brushing hers as he leaned in just a little too close to peek at her notes. “You always say that, and then you end up teaching me the material.”

“Well,” she said, nudging him, “someone has to keep you afloat.”

He took a breath, but this one sounded heavier than usual. Like it was trying to carry something brave.

“Freya.”

She turned, a little caught off guard at how serious he suddenly looked. The usual teasing glint in his hazel eyes was quieter now, softened under furrowed brows and nervous energy.

“I was thinking,” he began, fiddling with the strap of his bag, “that maybe this weekend… if you’re not too busy… we could go to the Three Broomsticks. Just us.”

There was a pause. A full one.

Freya blinked. “You mean like…”

“A date,” he said quickly, then chuckled under his breath. “Well. At least I hope that’s what I’m asking. I mean, if you want to. No pressure.”

She hesitated.

There was nothing wrong with Elias. He was sweet. He smelled like cinnamon and firewood. And he had been there in the quiet study hours, at every party, smiling at her like she was made of stardust. She liked him. Just maybe not in that way but… maybe she could?

The memory of Lupin's voice cutting through the cold snapped like ice behind her eyes.

He’s your professor. Not your problem. Not your priority.

Freya tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and gave Elias a soft smile. “You know what? Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Elias brightened like a lamp post in fog. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said with a slight laugh. “It will be fun.”

He grinned and stood up, walking backwards like he couldn’t help but look at her just a little longer. “Great! Saturday then. Around six?”

She nodded, watching him disappear into the crowd. And then her smile faded not from regret, but from a strange ache she couldn’t name.

Freya rushed to the Gryffindor table who was already buzzing by the time she arrived, her bag slung lazily over one shoulder, scarf slightly askew from her rush down the stairs. She looked mildly disheveled but glowing the kind of glow her friends picked up on immediately. She couldn’t wait to tell the girls about the date.

Mary spotted her first and narrowed her eyes suspiciously as Freya slid into the bench beside her.

“You’re late,” Mary said with a knowing smirk, her spoon hovering above a half-eaten bowl of porridge. “And you’re smiling in that very specific way you do when something interesting happens.”

Sia leaned in. “Did you go to the Astronomy Tower without us?”

Freya rolled her eyes. “No, I was studying outsside of the library.”

“Sure you were,” Sia said, drawing out the words. “Alone?”

“Well, no—” Freya hesitated, but it was too late.

The twins had been eavesdropping from across the table and now leaned in simultaneously, like vultures catching scent of gossip. Fred grinned, “Wait, wait. Let me guess. Did finally the yellow scarf came and talk to you?”

George gasped theatrically. “Did he!”

“Why do you even call him yellow scarf,” Freya said, but she couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out.

“Come on Freya” Mary chimed. “Spill it. Now.”

Freya exhaled, poked at her toast, then glanced around the table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were deep in conversation at the far end, and the buzz of chatter filled the room loud enough to mask her admission. She leaned in a little closer.

“Elias asked me to Hogsmeade.”

Sia dropped her spoon. “No.”

Mary’s eyes lit up. “On a date?”

Freya gave a small shrug, lips twitching. “That’s what he said, yeah.”

Fred slapped the table. “I knew he fancied you!”

George pointed with his fork. “He’s been practically following you around since the start of term. Like a particularly good-looking shadow.”

“Oh, hush,” Freya muttered, but she couldn’t help smiling.

Mary leaned closer, tone softening just a touch. “So… are you going?”

Freya nodded. “Yes.”

A moment of silence passed, the good kind, the ooh this just got real kind. “Do we have outfit planning to do?” Sia asked, clearly already excited.

Mary beamed. “Oh, we *definitely* have outfit planning to do.”

Fred looked alarmed. “Are we included?”

“You’re invited to stay far away from that process,” Sia deadpanned.

George smirked. “If he breaks your heart, Freya, I’m hexing him. That’s a promise.”

Freya laughed, but beneath the surface, she felt… weirdly calm. Not nervous, not thrilled either, just suspended.

Chapter Text

Elias had arrived a little early. He paced awkwardly outside the Three Broomsticks, kicking at a pebble, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. Every time the door swung open, he looked up hopefully until it finally happened.

Freya stepped into the streetlight like a scene out of a dream.

Her brown and caramel curls shimmered in the pale winter sunlight, tumbling in soft waves around her shoulders, a light blue headband pulling back her fringe. The white corset dress she wore hugged her waist and flared delicately at the bottom, made edgier by the worn leather jacket she’d tossed over it. She looked angelic and reckless all at once.

“You’re going to give every bloke in here a heart attack,” Elias managed to say, half-joking, half-stunned.

Freya smirked. “You are overreacting.”

He offered her his arm like a gentleman. She took it without hesitation. Inside, the pub was cozy, filled with candlelight and the smell of cinnamon and woodsmoke. The windows were fogged slightly from the warmth, and golden light danced along the walls. They found a booth near the back, quiet enough to talk but close enough to the fireplace to keep warm. Two Butterbeers later, the mood had lightened completely.

“So,” Elias leaned forward on his elbows, eyes twinkling, “is it true you once hexed a Slytherin for calling your painting ‘moody’?”

Freya snorted. “He said it looked like a ‘dying frog crying about its childhood trauma.’ He deserved it.”

Elias laughed so hard he nearly choked on his drink. “That’s the most Freya thing I’ve ever heard.”

She grinned proudly. “And I stand by it.”

They talked about Quidditch, Elias had a ridiculous theory about how Hufflepuff would finally defeat Gryffindor this year, and they argued over Bertie Bott’s best flavors. Freya teased him mercilessly about his fear of Thestrals, and Elias managed to get her to laugh so hard she accidentally snorted, drawing even more giggles from herself. Elias matched her energy with a quiet charm, the kind of boy who made you feel listened to even when you weren’t saying much.

At one point, she asked, “Why’d you ask me today?”

Elias blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you could ask someone from Hufflepuff..”

His gaze didn’t falter. “Freya, I wanted to ask you out for weeks. But i couldn’t found the strength.”

Freya didn’t know what to say to that. She looked down at her hands, suddenly aware of how close they were. Their knees were brushing under the table. She hadn’t realized.

“Well you definitely did surprise me, Elias,” she said quietly.

He smiled. “That’s the goal.”

Later, they shared a peppermint brownie, and she laughed as he got chocolate on his nose. They didn’t notice the people watching, or the time slipping past. For a little while, Freya allowed herself to feel… light. Like maybe there was more to the world than tension, secrets, and a man with sad eyes who haunted her thoughts far too often.

When they stepped back into the evening cold, their cheeks pink from the warmth of the pub and something deeper, Elias walked her part of the way back.

“I’m really glad you came,” he said softly.

Freya smiled, tugging her jacket tighter around her. “Me too. You’ve got charm, Elias.”

“Dangerous charm?” he teased.

“Hufflepuff charm,” she said. “Which might be worse.”

They laughed, and that was the moment Lupin passed, unnoticed.

But not for long.

It was supposed to be a simple errand.

A quick stop at the apothecary for a restock of calming draughts, a bookshop visit to browse obscure texts for his lesson on defensive theory, and maybe, just maybe, a quiet moment to walk through Hogsmeade before returning to his quarters. The chill in the air was sharp but refreshing, and for once, his mind wasn’t racing.

Until he turned a corner.

Lupin paused instinctively as his gaze caught something familiar in the sea of warm coats and chattering students. A flash of caramel hair. A leather jacket. A white dress that stood out like moonlight against the muted colors of the street.

Freya.

She was laughing, freely, easily, her head tilted back slightly, that sound he’d learned to recognize even through a crowd. Standing beside her, close, far too close, was Elias. Lupin's steps faltered. He stepped slightly behind a stone archway, not entirely sure why. Freya looked radiant in the golden light of the streetlamps, hair cascading around her shoulders in perfect waves, a soft blue ribbon keeping it in place. Her cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the pub and the cold air, her smile easy, like she'd left all her burdens behind for the evening.

And Elias… Elias was smiling too, in that open, steady way of his.

Lupin’s jaw tightened.

He hadn’t even known they were close. Not like that.

Freya tucked a curl behind her ear as she looked up at the Hufflepuff boy, her expression unreadable. There was a moment, brief but unmistakable, when Elias leaned just a little closer, and she didn’t move away.

Lupin’s breath caught.

It wasn’t the kiss that didn’t happen, it was the way they looked at each other. Comfortable.

A muscle jumped in his temple, sharp and involuntary.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not about a student. Not about her.

He'd convinced himself it was just worry. Just curiosity. Just frustration at her recklessness, at her wandering spirit, at the way she always seemed to be dancing too close to danger. But that wasn’t what twisted inside him now. It wasn’t concern that burned low in his chest, it was something far older. Something possessive. Unwanted. Human.

He turned before they noticed him, disappearing down a side alley, his hands deep in his coat pockets, fingers curled into tight fists.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

She was allowed to live her life. Allowed to laugh, to go on dates, to be wanted by someone who wasn’t weighed down by a cursed bloodline and a past full of things best left unspoken.

But still, he couldn’t quite silence the sound of her laughter, nor forget how she looked under the streetlight, with someone else's eyes on her.

Someone who wasn’t him.

The wind was sharp on her cheeks as she and Elias stepped out of the Three Broomsticks, the warm buzz of butterbeer still curling in her chest. She hadn’t expected to enjoy herself so much, she really hadn’t. But Elias had surprised her. He’d been funny, attentive, and just the right kind of charming. Not overwhelming, not flashy, just genuine. Their conversation flowed with ease, from Hogwarts gossip to magical creature theories, to the books she’d been reading and the new drawing she was working on. He’d listened, laughed at the right moments, and even teased her when she got too passionate talking about Hippogriff emotional patterns.

When they parted at the castle gates, Elias didn’t try to kiss her. He just grinned and said, “I’d love to do this again sometime, Freya.”

And oddly enough, she didn’t hate the idea. ‘’I would love that Elias’’

She climbed the steps to her dorm with cold hands and pink cheeks, her mind swirling with thoughts she didn’t expect. He was sweet.

But when she lay in bed that night, her fingers absently twisted the blue ribbon she’d worn in her hair. For a fleeting second, she imagined a different pair of eyes watching her across the candlelight. Eyes that didn’t belong to Elias.

She shook the thought away.

The sun was already pouring through the dormitory windows when Freya finally stirred, blinking at the golden light that seemed far too bright. Her limbs felt heavy but relaxed, like she'd been dreaming something warm. The smile that curled her lips came before memory kicked in, and when it did, it brought a flutter of unexpected excitement to her chest. The date.

She rolled onto her back with a small groan, stretching under the covers. Elias had made her laugh. Actually laugh, with her whole face. He’d been sweet, not pushy, not trying too hard, just honest. The kind of company that didn’t demand anything but still made her feel… noticed. And comfortable.

And for once, her mind hadn't wandered elsewhere. Not much.

She sighed, letting herself bask in that pleasant glow for just a moment longer before she groaned again, louder this time, at the clock on her nightstand 8:47 a.m.

"Bloody hell," she muttered, throwing off the covers.

By the time she reached the mirror, her hair was an absolute rebellion of soft waves and ribbon-creased curls. She didn’t have time to tame it properly, so she twisted the blonde cascade back into a loose half-up style, securing it with the same pale blue ribbon from the night before. She hesitated when she looked at it, when she remembered Elias complimenting it, saying it made her look like “something out of a fairytale.”

You’re not falling for him, she told herself firmly as she pulled on her uniform. You just needed a night to feel... light again. That’s all.

She grabbed her satchel and bolted out of the dormitory.

Outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Mary and Sia were waiting for her, both grinning like Kneazles with cream.

“There she is!” Mary sang, linking her arm with Freya’s.

Sia leaned in, eyes sparkling. “So. Was it magical? Did he ask you out again?”

Freya tried to feign indifference. “It was fine.”

Mary gasped. “Fine? That’s what we’re going with?”

Freya smirked despite herself. “Okay, it was… surprisingly nice. He’s funny, and sweet, and a bit cute’’

Sia clasped her hands. “You’re glowing. Admit it. You like him.”

“I like that he didn’t try to kiss me with pumpkin juice on his breath,” Freya teased.

The girls laughed, giggling as they stepped into the classroom, still floating on the sugary high of romance and soft light. But the moment they entered, the atmosphere shifted.

The classroom was unusually cold. Not physically, but something in the air had changed. The students were quieter than usual, as if sensing the tension before they even sat down. Freya blinked, slowing as her eyes landed on Professor Lupin. He was standing at his desk, arms crossed, brows furrowed as he stared at a parchment in his hand. He didn’t look up when the door opened, didn’t greet them with his usual warm, distracted tone. Just… stood there.

Freya’s stomach tensed.

“Maybe he’s had a rough night,” Sia whispered.

Freya didn’t respond. She slid into her seat with a growing unease The parchment in Lupin’s hand floated to the desk. Then, with a sharp flick of his wand, the door slammed shut. Hard. The class jumped.

“Wands out,” he said, voice brisk and clipped. “We’re reviewing advanced counter-curses today. I expect you all to remember the blocking technique from last week.”

There was no “good morning.” No warm-up. No smile.

Freya’s heart began to thrum uncomfortably in her chest.

Mary leaned toward her, whispering, “Did he wake up on the wrong side of the astronomy tower?” they giggled a bit too loud.

Lupin turned his head sharply. “If you two find something more amusing than the material, by all means share it with the class.”

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Mary’s mouth opened and closed. “Sorry, Professor.”

He didn’t reply. Just moved to the front of the class and began scrawling spells on the board with unnecessary force. The chalk broke halfway through a word and he cursed softly under his breath. Freya watched him closely now, brows drawn together. Something was wrong. This wasn’t the tired, distant Lupin she was used to. This was… short-tempered. Harsh. Almost cold.

And she had seen that look before, the one flickering in his eyes when he stole a glance at her, only to quickly look away. Her heart sank slowly in her chest.

The rest of the lesson passed like a fog. She moved through the motions, cast the spells, took notes, but she barely heard any of it. Her focus kept returning to Lupin, to the stiffness in his shoulders, to the quiet flash of something that almost looked like jealousy behind his eyes.

But that couldn’t be right. It shouldn’t be right. Still… the girls seemed to have shaken it off already, giggling quietly again by the time the bell rang. But Freya didn’t laugh. She packed her things slowly, her mind spinning just as fast as her heart. Something had shifted.

And this time, she wasn’t sure if she liked the way it felt.

The week dragged on like a bitter wind cold, sharp, and relentless. The castle, draped in the early whispers of winter, had lost its golden autumn glow. Snow didn’t yet fall, but the air carried a hush, a silence that crept into the stone walls of Hogwarts. And Freya could feel it in her bones. Or maybe it wasn’t the air at all—maybe it was the weight in her chest, the feeling that something had shifted and refused to return to place.

Tests had descended like a storm cloud. McGonagall’s Transfiguration essay loomed over her like an angry hippogriff. Potions had taken its toll on her nerves, and she couldn’t even find time to properly study for Arithmancy. She hadn’t seen Elias since the date at the Three Broomsticks, not really. A smile here, a half-wave there, but nothing like the slow warmth she had begun to let herself feel that day.

And Lupin?

He hadn’t spoken a word to her. Not during lessons. Not in the halls. Not even when she’d answered a particularly difficult question correctly in front of the class something that, just a week ago, might have earned her a soft glance, maybe even a faint, approving smirk. Now, it was as if she were invisible but that wasn’t what made it unbearable.

What made it unbearable was that he did look at her just never when she was looking. She could feel it, every time. A flicker of eyes when he passed her desk. A pause when she was laughing with Mary and Sia in the corridor. A tension in the air that didn’t exist with anyone else.

She hated it.

She hated that she noticed.

She hated even more that she missed the quiet conversations, the slight tension between them but also the strange almost-friendship that had been forming between her and the professor with too much in his eyes. She didn’t want to admit that his silence stung more than it should have. More than it had any right to.

At meals, she barely spoke. The girls noticed, but chalked it up to exam stress, and honestly, Freya let them believe it. It was easier that way.

Until the day the school exploded with murmurs, the announcement they had all been waiting for.

The Winter Ball was officially happening.

By mid-morning, the corridors buzzed with excitement. Students whispered in every corner. Talk of dates, dresses, who might ask whom. The Great Hall had a new sparkle to it, as if the air had thickened with magic and frost.

And fortunately, Freya's mood rose with the mood of the entire table. The winter Ball was always her favorite event of the year, she loved the impatience, the creativity she had with what she was going to wear and this announcement was the best distraction for her

“I swear, if they don’t announce the theme soon, I’m going to hex someone,” Mary muttered, flipping her braid over her shoulder as she leaned across the table at lunch.

“It’s going to be icy, like that weird half-snow, half-fairy nonsense they did last year,” Sia said with a shudder. “I want proper sparkle this year.”

“I want something more original, something creative” Freya said , pushing her mashed potatoes around her plate.

But her mind was still at the front of the classroom. Still wondering why Professor Lupin had called on everyone but her. Still aching at how deliberate his avoidance had become.

When the bell rang for their next class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Freya rose without a word and when she entered the classroom and felt his presence at the front, not even glancing at her as she walked past, something inside her twisted again.

He didn't look angry. He looked tired. Resigned.

But she saw it, briefly. The tightness in his jaw. The twitch of his hand near his desk as if he'd wanted to stop her… and didn't.

That night, Freya sat by the window of the common room, a half-finished essay beside her and her head leaning against the cold glass.

The sky outside was velvet black. Stars winked.

Below, the grounds glowed with lamplight and frost. Somewhere in the quiet, she could hear laughter drifting up from the courtyard, a burst of students still celebrating the coming ball. The air was crisp, the castle alive.

And yet all she could feel was that something was missing. Not Elias. Not exams. Not the anticipation of glittering gowns or winter songs.

But something else a connection she hadn’t asked for and didn’t understand. A warmth that had grown from irritation and arguments and long detentions with essays on defensive magic. A presence she hadn’t realized had rooted itself in her day-to-day until it was suddenly… gone.

She closed her eyes.

Maybe it would pass.

Maybe it was just exhaustion.

Or maybe, just maybe… she had let someone get a little too close.

The first flakes began to fall before breakfast and Freya had barely pulled her quilt tighter around her shoulders when the dormitory door burst open, followed by a gust of icy air and the sound of someone squealing, Sia’s face was flushed, hands outstretched like a child on Christmas morning.

“It’s snowing! Freya, it’s finally snowing!”

Mary launched herself onto Freya’s bed, bouncing with barely contained glee. Sia followed, grinning and already half-dressed in her school uniform her skirt haphazardly buttoned and scarf flapping behind her like a banner.

“I told you it’d be today!” Sia grinned as she opened the window just a crack. A few snowflakes drifted in like shy dancers. “Look at it! It’s perfect!”

Freya groaned but couldn’t help smiling. She sat up and blinked toward the frosted windows, her tired eyes widening at the sight of white sheets already settling over the castle grounds. “Finally,” she whispered, breath catching in the early morning light.

She threw off her blankets and practically leapt from the bed, shoving on a cozy jumper, tights, and her favorite coat over her uniform. Her cheeks flushed before they even stepped outside. There wasn’t a moment to waste. The girls skipped breakfast entirely, dragging gloves over half-buttoned uniforms, shrieking with delight as they bolted down the grand staircases and out into the courtyard. By the time they got to the Entrance Hall, the boys were already there throwing enchanted snowballs that exploded in sparkles and sent first years diving for cover.

Freya tilted her head up, eyes closed, as the snowflakes kissed her cheeks. The sharp chill flushed her skin, but the cold didn’t bother her. It felt like something had shifted inside her. Like something heavy had lifted

“Took you long enough,” Fred said, tossing a snowball from hand to hand.

“We were getting worried you’d miss the first snowfall of the year,” George added dramatically.

“You’re just scared we’ll outplay you,” Sia shot back, grabbing snow and compacting it like a pro.

“Unfair,” Fred gasped, clutching his chest. “You wound me, Sia.”

“She’s right though,” Mary said with a smug grin. “We’ve got better aim.”

A snowball smacked George square in the back. “You were saying?” Freya beamed.

“Oh it’s war now.” And chaos broke loose.

Snow flew in all directions charmed snowballs zooming like guided missiles, students dodging behind trees and statues. Mary ducked behind Freya, shrieking as a snowball nearly nailed her head.

“We need backup!” Mary cried.

Right on cue, Elias jogged out of the castle, wearing his winter coat open and a confident grin on his face. “Is this where the rebellion starts?” he asked, surveying the battlefield.

“Depends whose side you’re on,” Freya said, one brow arched.

“Yours, obviously.” He picked up snow and lobbed it at George. “No offense, Weasleys.”

“None taken,” Fred said, clearly already plotting revenge. “But betrayal has a price!”

She hadn’t laughed like this in weeks. Sia pulled her into a chaotic snowball war, Mary chasing George with a shriek as he levitated a pile of snow over her head. Freya’s boots crunched against the fresh layer as she darted behind a pillar and launched a snowball clean into Fred’s face. The courtyard echoed with laughter, curses, and shouted bets.

They played until they were breathless and flushed, their laughter echoing through the courtyard. Freya was glowing. Snow clung to her lashes, her brown-and-caramel hair a wild halo of soft waves around her flushed face. Her coat a soft blue-grey complemented her sparkling green-blue eyes in the bright morning.

Eventually, they collapsed into a wide bench by the wall, half-covered in snow, catching their breath and still giggling.

“My fingers are frozen,” Mary moaned.

“You brought this on yourself,” Sia said, poking her arm.

“Totally worth it,” Freya sighed happily, leaning her head back to watch the flakes fall.

Elias leaned forward slightly beside her, brushing some snow from her shoulder with a laugh.

“You’ve got snow in your hair.”

“Adds to the aesthetic,” she teased, grinning.

“You’re one icicle away from a holiday postcard,” he said with a wink.

She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her smile lingered.

They kept playing until their noses were red and their fingers numb, until they collapsed into a snow-dusted bench near the edge of the courtyard, breathless and glowing with laughter.

High in the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower, Remus stood at the window with a mug long gone cold. From here, the courtyard looked like a painting pure white snow blanketing the ground, students dashing about like animated strokes of color. The snow fell steadily beyond the windowpanes, dusting the grounds in a peaceful hush but that wasn’t what held his attention. He watched the students with tired eyes, leaning slightly on the windowsill. His gaze, unblinking, fixed on a figure in pale blue. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her hair a loose wave of soft chestnut and caramel that shimmered faintly in the cold light. She was laughing freely, joyfully her whole face lit up in a way he hadn’t seen in weeks.

Freya.

There was something about her happiness that twisted in his chest. A part of him was relieved to see her like this, laughing with her friends, safe and light and warm. Another part of him, darker, more tightly wound hated how easily she glowed in someone else’s presence.Especially when that someone was now sitting beside her.

He watched as Elias brushed a bit of snow from her sleeve, their shoulders nearly touching. Her head tilted slightly toward him, smiling. Not flirtatious, not romantic but open.

And for a fleeting, shameful second, Remus wished he hadn’t seen it.

He looked away, jaw tight, eyes closed as the sound of their laughter echoed faintly through the glass.

“She’s happy,” he muttered, jaw tight. “That’s all that matters.”

He said it like a prayer. Like a warning.

But somehow, it didn’t make the twisting stop.

After a day of snowball wars, melted socks, and hot chocolate in the Common Room, the castle had finally begun to hush. A soft stillness settled over the corridors as most students returned to their dormitories, laughter fading into tired yawns.

Freya had stayed back in the empty Gryffindor Common Room, curled up on the windowsill with a thick blanket and a half-read book resting in her lap. The fire behind her crackled softly, casting a warm orange glow across her features. Her cheeks were still a little flushed from earlier, but her eyes had gone distant, somewhere between thought and dreaming. She didn’t notice Elias until he cleared his throat gently.

“Hey… mind if I sit?”

Freya looked up and smiled. “Of course”

He sat beside her, not too close, not too far, just enough space for her to feel that he respected it.

“You warm enough?” he asked, gesturing to the blanket.

“I’m basically a cinnamon bun right now,” she said with a playful grin.

Elias chuckled, then fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. There was a pause just long enough for Freya to look at him, curious.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, just…” He exhaled, looking out the window where snow still fluttered in the lamplight. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Kind of… all day.”

That caught her attention. She sat up a little straighter, closing her book. “Alright. What is it.”

Elias rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Okay, so, I know the Yule Ball is still a few weeks away, and you probably have, like… loads of people lining up to ask you,” he said quickly, then winced. “Sorry, that sounded weird. What I meant was…”

Freya blinked, then tilted her head with an amused smirk. “Are you asking if I have a date?”

“I mean—yes.” He looked at her then, and it wasn’t teasing or cocky like Fred might’ve said it. It was shy, and hopeful, and entirely Elias. “I wanted to know if… if maybe you’d go with me?”

There was a long pause. Not awkward, just suspende like time was waiting for her to speak. Freya blinked once. Then twice

She wasn’t expecting that. Not reall and yet, looking at Elias, his soft eyes watching her so earnestly, it tugged at something quiet and warm inside her. She thought about how easy it was to be around him. How his presence never felt heavy. How, just today, he’d made her laugh until she forgot how weird things had felt lately.

“I… I’d love to,” she said softly, a genuine smile blooming on her lips. “Really. That’s very sweet of you to ask.”

Elias let out a breath that almost sounded like relief then grinned wide, the way only someone truly pleased could.

“Brilliant,” he said. “I mean — no pressure to match outfits or anything. But I will be bringing my best dance moves.”

Freya chuckled and nudged his arm.

“Just don’t wear socks with sandals and we’re good.” They sat for a while longer, watching the snowfall.

Freya eventually leaned her head against the cool window glass and smiled to herself.

He was sweet. Gentle. Safe.

So why was there still something in her chest that tugged in another direction?

She didn’t know.

Or maybe… she didn’t want to know.

Chapter Text

The air in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was alive with bursts of silver light and hushed murmurs of “Expecto Patronum.” It was the fifth Patronus lesson now, and most students had made incredible progress.

Hermione’s otter danced gracefully through the air, weaving between desks. Harry’s stag had formed briefly the lesson before and was growing stronger each time. Even Neville had managed a wispy wisp of silver smoke the previous week, earning a round of applause from the Gryffindors.

But Freya was still trying.

Still chasing something she couldn’t quite touch.

And today, she wasn’t going to leave without it

She stood slightly apart from the group, her wand gripped tightly, lips pressed into a thin, determined line. The usual spark of humor in her eyes had been replaced by focus, and something more fragile, frustration. She had practiced in the evenings. She had tried happy memories, dozens of them, replaying them in her head until they dulled. But nothing yet had sparked the Patronus the way she knew it should.

Across the room, Lupin had been lingering quietly, more reserved than usual. Over the past week, he had kept his distance from her professionally, coldly an effort to restore boundaries that had once been too blurred. But now, watching her from his place near the classroom door, something inside him pulled.

Her brow was furrowed. Her shoulders were tense.

She tried again. “Expecto Patronum!”

A bright shimmer burst from her wand, but it fizzled, evaporating like steam in cold air.

Freya let out a breath, lowering her wand with barely concealed irritation. Her other hand curled into a fist at her side.

Lupin watched, silent. Something about the way she was standing, proud, but quietly unraveling, struck a chord in him. Maybe it was how familiar that look was. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe it was that he couldn't stop noticing the way the light hit the strands of her hair, or how her voice still rang in his ears days after the Hogsmeade incident.

He hesitated.

But only for a moment.

Then stepped forward.

“Miss Freya,” he said gently, his voice cutting through the scattered murmurs of the room.

She turned toward him, startled. Their eyes met and he immediately saw it: the flicker of uncertainty, quickly masked.

“Still not quite there?” he asked, soft but audible.

“I’m close,” she replied, jaw tight. “I can feel it. It’s like, something’s in the way.” There was a pause. Then, with quiet resolution, he stepped up beside her.

“May I?”

She didn’t answer at first. Then gave a tiny nod. He faced her directly now, eyes not stern, but careful. Familiar. That steadiness she once trusted so easily and missed.

“What memory are you using?” he asked.

She hesitated.

“I’ve tried a few,” she admitted, eyes flickering down. “Flying with my mum when I was little. Getting my wand. Even the first time I came to Hogwarts. They’re all happy, but…” She shrugged. “None of them feel… strong enough.”

Lupin nodded. He knew that feeling all too well.

“Sometimes it’s not just about the memory,” he said, quietly. “It’s about the feeling it gives you. Hope. Certainty. It’s not enough to remember being happy. You have to believe you can feel that way again.” She looked at him. And in that moment, something passed between them, something soft, unspoken.

“Try again,” he said, gently stepping back. “But this time, don’t chase a memory. Chase the feeling.”

Freya raised her wand again. Took a breath.

She let the sound of the room fall away. Let her thoughts soften. Not to a place, or a face, but to a feeling she hadn’t dared hold onto in a while the feeling of being seen. Really seen. Of someone noticing her without expectation or judgment.

For some reason, that moment in the forest with the unicorn came to her. The warmth of its side against her, the peace. A heartbeat shared between creatures who weren’t meant to understand each other, but did.

“Expecto Patronum!’’

This time the silver burst from her wand with strength, glowing, swirling, and as she stared, eyes wide, it began to form.

Four graceful legs. A long, flowing mane. A beautiful big white horse, proud and luminous, shimmered into being and stood protectively in front of her, its hooves leaving trails of light on the ground.

The room gasped in awe.

Freya blinked, stunned. Then broke into a laugh, a real one. It rang out, delighted and breathless. Her eyes sparkled with disbelief.

“I did it,” she she smiled so widely that her dimples were more noticeable than any other time

Lupin smiled, quietly, deeply.

“Yes,” he said, barely above a breath. “You did.”

But he said nothing more. He simply watched as she walked back to her friends, her Patronus dissolving in silver mist behind her. And though he knew he had to turn away, the way she had looked at him, light returning to her eyes, would haunt him longer than any ghost in the castle

The classroom had emptied slowly, buzzing with excitement. Laughter echoed faintly down the hallways as students drifted out in clumps, animatedly discussing their progress. Silver wisp trails still lingered in the air, like glittering snow that refused to fall. Freya stayed behind.

Her fingers curled around her wand still, the warmth of the magic she’d conjured lingering in her palms. Her heart was still racing, not from the spell itself, but from what had followed. The way it had felt. The stallion had been radiant, steady, and completely hers.

She’d done it.

And yet, one feeling persisted, one she couldn’t shake. She turned toward Lupin, who stood near his desk, straightening parchment absentmindedly, clearly trying not to look like he was waiting for her.

Freya approached slowly, her boots tapping gently on the stone floor. Her pace slowed the closer she got, until she finally stopped beside the desk, clearing her throat.

“Professor?”

Lupin looked up. His expression, always guarded lately, softened just enough to let something real through, curiosity, maybe. A flicker of concern.

“Yes, Freya?”

The way he said her name always made her hesitate. Like it meant something to him. Like it wasn’t just part of a roll call.

She tried to sound light, casual, but sincerity took over. “I just, wanted to say thank you,” she said quietly. “For earlier. For helping me push through.”

Lupin tilted his head slightly, observing her with that unreadable gaze of his. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, just charged.

“You did all the work,” he replied. “I just reminded you of what you already had.”

She gave a faint smile. “Still… you didn’t have to step in. You’ve been… well,” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “keeping your distance lately.”

He raised a brow, barely. But she saw it. She saw the twitch of his jaw, too, like her words had landed exactly where she meant them to.

“I didn’t want to overstep,” he said carefully, his voice lower now. “You’ve had enough distractions.”

That word distractions stung, for reasons she didn’t want to explore too deeply.

“You’re not a distraction,” she said before she could stop herself. “You’re my teacher.”

A beat passed. His eyes locked on hers, soft, tired, and something else beneath them.

“That’s all I should be,” he said, and the way he said it sounded almost like he was reminding himself.

Freya looked away first, biting the inside of her cheek. She didn't know what she wanted from him. She wasn’t even sure why she came over in the first place, not really.

But before she could think better of it, she added “I think I only managed the spell because I… stopped fighting everything I was feeling.”

Her voice was low now. Vulnerable. She wasn’t just talking about the spell, and she suspected he knew that. Lupin didn’t respond right away. He stood there, eyes trained on her like he was seeing far more than she wanted to show.

Then he gave the softest nod.

“Goodnight, Miss Freya.” Dismissed. Politely. Gently.

She swallowed her reaction, nodded back, and turned to leave.

But as she reached the door, she heard him behind her quiet, almost hesitant.

“Freya.”

She turned halfway, surprised.

He didn’t move from where he stood, but the look in his eyes was different now. Clearer. Like something unspoken had finally cracked through.

“That Patronus… it was magnificent.” It wasn’t just a compliment. It was recognition.

She smiled not the usual smirk or grin, but something real. Something slightly shy.

“Thank you, Professor have a nice night”

Then she walked out, the ghost of silver still dancing in her wake.

It had been one of those rare, crystalline afternoons at Hogwarts, the kind where the sky gleamed a pure, powdery blue, and the whole world looked dipped in sugar. Snow blanketed the castle grounds like a fresh canvas, and with lessons finished for the day, students had spilled into the outdoors with laughter trailing behind them like fog.

Freya hadn’t even bothered to go back to her dorm. She’d pulled her cloak tighter and let Elias talk her into a walk before the sun dipped too low. Now they moved side by side through the frozen gardens, their boots crunching the snow in rhythmic harmony.

Freya exhaled slowly, her breath fogging the air. “It smells like snow and pine,” she said, nose wrinkling. “If Christmas had a perfume, this would be it.”

Elias chuckled, brushing a branch gently to watch the snow fall from it in a soft cascade. “You know, that’s the first vaguely poetic thing I’ve heard you say all week.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “That’s rich coming from someone who once said McGonagall’s robes ‘smelled like ancient judgment.’”

He laughed aloud, his breath white with it. “It’s still true!”

Freya’s laugh joined his light, genuine. She tilted her head up, letting a few snowflakes land in her hair. Her layered cut framed her face like a halo as the wind tousled it slightly, and Elias couldn’t help but steal a glance. They paused near one of the hedges, now transformed into whimsical ice sculptures by nature’s hand. Freya gently rested her hand on the frozen stone wall, her eyes scanning the distant horizon.

“It’s funny,” she said quietly. “I used to hate the cold. But this year? I don’t know. It feels… lighter somehow.”

Elias looked at her with soft interest. “Maybe it’s the company,” he offered, a bit awkwardly but earnestly.

She met his gaze, a small grin tugging at her lips. “That’s one theory.”

They walked a little farther, their steps slowing naturally as the conversation drifted.

“So,” Elias said after a pause, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, “big question.”

“Oh Merlin,” Freya rolled her eyes. “That sounds ominous.”

“If you could go anywhere right now like, anywhere where would it be?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Huh. I don’t know. Maybe… Egypt? I always wanted to go. You know, and because it’s winter there the weather will be cooler than all year, I want to see the pyramids, ride a camel, see the endless sea of sand.”

“I wanst ready for that answer” Elias grinned, “but now I want to go too.”

She shrugged, playing it off. “Why did you expect me to say Paris or something boring.”

“Yeah,” he said, softer this time. “But I was wrong for expecting anything boring about you.”

Freya turned her head quickly at that, her heart fluttering in a way she wasn’t quite ready to face.

“Anyway,” she said, shaking her hair like it might dislodge the sudden heat in her cheeks. “What about you?”

“Mmm... honest answer?” He hesitated. “Right here’s not so bad.”

Just as Freya opened her mouth to respond—maybe to dodge the way Elias had looked at her, maybe to say something completely unrelated—the snow behind them crunched loudly with hurried steps.

“FREYAAAA!”

“ELIAS!”

Both heads turned as Mary and Sia came bounding toward them, cheeks flushed from the cold, scarves flapping behind them like capes.

“Did you two just walk off into a snowy romance without us?” Mary said between dramatic puffs, grabbing Freya’s arm.

“We’ve been looking everywhere” Sia added, breathless but clearly thrilled. “You won’t believe what just got announced in the common room!”

Freya blinked. “What?”

Mary nearly vibrated with excitement. “The Yule Ball theme! It’s official!”

Freya’s heart leapt this was it. The talk of the castle for weeks now, whispers and theories traded in every hallway. She smirked, already bracing for the reveal.

“Let me guess,” she said, crossing her arms playfully. “Snow Queen? Frost Enchantment? Something icy and obvious?”

Mary laughed, tugging her glove off to reveal the parchment in her hand. “Close,” she said, unfolding it. “But not quite.”

“Go on,” Elias encouraged, grinning at their theatrics.

Sia wiggled her eyebrows before blurting, “Masquerade!”

Freya’s lips parted in surprise. “Really? That’s the theme?”

Mary nodded eagerly. “Can you imagine it? Beautiful dresses, floating candles, mystery in the air masks, Freya!”

Freya blinked and then slowly, a smile crept across her lips. Not as original as she had hoped, maybe, but the idea of cloaked identities and shimmering masks… it did hold a certain charm. The possibilities for enchantment, for allure, for transformation they were endless.

“I actually… love it,” Freya murmured, eyes already glimmering with ideas.

“It’s so romantic,” Sia sighed dreamily. “Just imagine no one quite knows who’s who until the music starts. It’s like being in a fairy tale.”

Elias gave Freya a sideways glance. “You’re going to plan the dress, aren’t you?”

Freya gave a small, mischievous smile. “Maybe. This is my final ball. I think I have the right to over do it ”

Mary practically squealed. “Do you have any ideas?”

Freya shrugged, trying to play it off, but her eyes were glittering now. “Not yet. But I *will.*”

Truthfully, her mind was already racing. The moment she heard “masquerade,” the creativity burst from her like magic.

She had so many sketches she could base it on so many ideas she'd imagined through the years. But this one? This needed to be special. The last. The most unforgettable. The kind of entrance that would turn heads and hush whispers.

“I’ll design it myself,” she said aloud, and the others fell quiet for a second, because they knew what that meant. When Freya said she would design something, she meant it. And it would be nothing short of spectacular.

Later that night Freya sat cross-legged on her bed, sketchbook open, quill moving like a wand of its own. Candlelight flickered over the page as the image slowly took shape.

Her tongue tucked slightly to the side in focus, Freya sketched.

Every stroke of ink brought the dress closer to life: layers of shimmering fabric cascading like winter waterfalls; pale, icy blue, adorned with tiny embroidered vines and delicate pearl-like beads. The bodice was fitted, corset-style, with soft rose-shaped details on the hips, and sheer gloves running up her arms like frost-kissed lace.

She paused once, biting her lip thoughtfully, then added something extra to the hem: a touch of sparkle like falling snow, a final flourish to make it hers.

By the time dawn touched the sky in pastel streaks, Freya set down her quill, exhausted but beaming. She looked over her sketch with glowing pride.

“That’s it,” she whispered to herself. “That’s the dress.”

She rolled the parchment carefully, tying it with a soft blue ribbon, and called her owl from the perch near the window. The snowy owl blinked at her sleepily, ruffled its feathers, and held out its leg.

“To Mum,” she said, fastening the scroll. “Tell her to start working her magic.”

As the owl soared into the dawn, Freya climbed into bed, smiling to herself. For the first time in days, her thoughts weren’t haunted by unread glances or confusing tension.

She just felt… excited.

This Ball would be unforgettable and so would she.

The tower was unusually quiet that morning, the scent of lavender and burning incense curling like ghostly fingers through the air. The haze made Freya blink twice as she stepped into the Divination classroom. She wasn’t fond of Professor Trelawney’s theatrics, but there was something oddly comforting about the cocoon of velvet drapes and dim light on snowy days.

She settled cross-legged across from Mary and glanced at the small round table between them. Two steaming teacups, a deck of Tarot cards, and a single glowing crystal orb waited for them.

Professor Trelawney drifted by like smoke, her bangles clinking softly. “Today,” she whispered with gravity, “we look beyond the veil. Beyond what you wish to see, into what must be seen…”

Freya shared a quiet smirk with Mary. But when she reached for the Tarot deck, her fingers stopped. A coldness settled over her skin.

She couldn’t explain it, but she felt watched. Not by Mary. Not by the professor. It was like something… other was present in the haze.

She blinked, shook her head, and drew a card.

The Two of Swords. A blindfolded woman balancing two blades, caught between choices.

“Ah,” Trelawney murmured as she hovered behind her. “Indecision. Inner conflict. One foot in the shadow, one in the light.”

Freya frowned. That wasn’t too strange. But then she drew the second card.

The Moon.

Trelawney gasped and not in the usual overdramatic way. It was small, breathless. Honest. “Lies,” the professor whispered. “Secrets. What’s hidden will claw its way to the surface, my dear.”

Freya felt her heart jump. She looked to Mary, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s just a card.”

Trelawney didn’t seem to hear. She had stiffened completely, one ringed hand floating over Freya’s shoulder. Her breath hitched. “You… you are not meant to see it yet,” she murmured, voice tremulous. “Not the wolf in the dark.”

Freya went still. “What wolf?”

The professor blinked, dazed. “Wolf? Did I say that?” She shook her head. “No. Never mind. Let’s move to the crystal…”

But Freya was frozen in place. The hairs on her neck stood up. She couldn’t stop staring at the cards.

The Moon. The Two of Swords.

Shadow and light. Choices. A wolf?

And for some reason, an image flashed behind her eyes: the Forbidden Forest in winter, a glint of amber eyes, a man with secrets folded into his skin

That night sleep didn’t came for Freya. She moved quietly, slipping out under her cloak and past the familiar threshold that separated the known from the wild. Her boots crunched softly against the snow as she made her way across the frost-tipped grass and into the Forbidden Forest It was instinct more than decision a pull she hadn’t been able to shake since the Divination class. The cards had clawed their way into her mind. The Moon. A wolf. Secrets.

She didn’t knowwhy she came here. Maybe she missed the feeling. The forest had always been a strange kind of sanctuary, alive with whispers and magic. Her thoughts were louder than the wind tonight, louder than the crackle of torchlight in the corridors she’d left behind. She had lied to Mary, said she needed to drop something off to Flitwick.

She walked past the boundary line without hesitation, letting the darkness of the trees wrap around her shoulders like a secret. Her fingers brushed against low-hanging branches, her breath visible in the cold air. The full moon was still days away. That gave her time or so she thought. She wandered deeper until the lanterns and windows of Hogwarts were nothing more than a distant glow. A thin mist kissed the forest floor, curling around her ankles like a curious animal.

Freya paused, letting her head tip back. The sky above the clearing was open, black velvet littered with stars. She smiled softly to herself, her heart finally quieting. Maybe this was what she needed…

A snap of twigs behind her made her whirl around, hand reaching for a wand that wasn’t raised in fear but readiness. But she relaxed almost instantly when she saw the silhouette emerge from the trees.

“Calen,” she breathed, half in relief, half in amusement. “You're always too quiet for your own good.”

The centaur stepped into view, tall and broad-shouldered, his chestnut coat sleek beneath the starlight. He regarded her with calm, steady eyes that seemed to hold decades of wisdom beyond his youthful face.

“You return,” he said softly. “Even after all this time.”

“I never stopped thinking about this place,” she replied. “I just… stopped being allowed to come, There are obstacles I have to overcome every time I think about coming here.”

He gave her a look that might’ve been a smile if he weren’t a centaur. “Rules are not walls. Only illusions.”

She chuckled. “Tell that to the professor”

They walked together not hurried, not aimless either. The forest knew them both, and for the moment, it allowed them peace.

“You’re taller,” Freya noted.

“You’re quieter,” he returned.

Freya gave him a sideways glance. “Is that your way of saying I’ve matured?”

“It’s my way of saying… something has changed in you.”

She didn’t respond right away. A squirrel darted past them, and an owl hooted somewhere above. The forest was alive. But under it all there was something off. A silence that didn’t belong.

“Calen,” she said finally, “why does it feel like something’s watching?”

He halted.

And in that breath between footfalls, she knew she’d hit the truth.

“You feel it too,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to the shadows. “The forest is uneasy. We all are.”

“What is it?”

“A wolf,” he said simply. "Thought he is not a threat. Unlike...''.

Her blood ran cold she didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He continued walking, and she followed, slower now "Unlike what?".

"Unlike the snake" he almost whispered it "You must be ready when it's shows up, Freya. He waits the perfect time to struck" "Snake?" She said with a puzzled look "But I have nothing to do with snakes" she continued unable to understand "When the time comes you will" he said as she looked down at her with a sad look “As for the wolf. It appears only under the full moon,” he said. “Powerful. Unnatural. Its aura stretches across the trees, making even the acromantula burrow deeper. The unicorns have begun migrating to the hills.”

Freya stopped walking. “Is it just a werewolf?”

Calen turned to her, his eyes narrowing. “You know as well as I that ‘just a werewolf’ is a phrase only the ignorant use.”

She winced slightly. “Sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. But this one is different.” He took a step toward her. “It is not just wild. It is controlled. Not by someone else — by its own mind. It restrains itself. It mourns even as it hunts.”

Freya blinked, startled. “You’re saying it has consciousness?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “And pain. So much pain. It bleeds from him like mist through the trees.”

Her heart twisted.

A thousand memories rushed in all the warnings, all the signs. The timing. The way Lupin disappeared on certain nights. The way he winced when someone mentioned the full moon. The way he looked at her sometimes like she was dangerous to be near or that he was dangerous for her

“Calen,” she said slowly, “if this wolf was once… human, do you think he wants to be found?

He didn’t answer at first.

Then, “No. But he wants someone to understand him. That much is clear.”

Silence fell.

They reached a clearing bathed in soft starlight. The trees were taller here, older. Calen paused and turned toward her, the shadows brushing the edges of his broad shoulders.

“You should not come back here alone, Freya.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Will I see you again?”

“When the forest allows it.” And like that, he vanished between the trees.

Freya stood alone, her heart pounding.

The forest around her whispered truths she wasn’t ready to hear.

And far off in the distance, as she made her way back to the castle, she thought she heard a howl.

Chapter Text

It had been two days since her visit to the forest, and still, the words haunted her.

"He restrains himself. He mourns even as he hunts."

And what did he ment with the snake?, that night she didn't overthink it at all but now that her mind was much clearer she really could understand why would he tell her to be careful with snakes. She never had any problem with animals including snakes, Freya never had that strong connection with snakes as she did with some other animals but still.

Freya couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not the forest. Not Calen’s piercing eyes. And certainly not the wolf, the one that wasn’t just wild but aware. The one that left the forest trembling and her heart pounding.

She knew. Somewhere deep in her gut, she knew.

But knowledge wasn’t enough. She needed understanding. And if she wanted answers, she couldn’t go to him not to Lupin, not now. Their fragile truce, the wary distance he’d placed between them, was like glass. One question might shatter it. So, she turned to the only other person in Hogwarts who’d ever taught the subject.

Unfortunately.

Freya stood outside the dungeon corridor longer than she cared to admit, clutching her bag close to her chest, eyes fixed on the heavy wooden door of Snape’s office. Every inch of her screamed don’t. Her pride, her disgust, her finely tuned instinct for people who could suck the warmth out of any room.

But she was also stubborn. Stubborn and brave.

She knocked.

"Enter," came the sharp reply.

She pushed the door open. The room smelled of burning herbs, chalk, and something vaguely metallic. Rows of strange bottled things glimmered on shelves, and the candlelight flickered against the stone walls.

Snape didn’t look up right away. He was scribbling something with his quill, and for a moment, she considered backing out. But then—

“Miss Blackwood,” he said without turning. “To what do I owe this… rare visit?” His tone made her want to turn and bolt. But she stepped forward anyway.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she said slowly, carefully, like her words were balancing on a knife edge. “About werewolves.”

Snape finally looked up.

His dark eyes glittered in the low light and she hated how they seemed to narrow in curiosity, but also suspicion.

“Werewolves?” he repeated, arching a brow. “Now that is… unexpected. I don’t recall any essay from McGonagall that would require such a topic.”

“There isn’t,” she admitted. “It’s… for my own understanding.”

That made him lean back ever so slightly in his chair, gaze scrutinizing her with more intensity now.

“I assume this sudden interest has nothing to do with last month’s lesson,” he said slowly, fingers steepling.

Freya blinked. “You mean the one where you replaced Professor Lupin and spent the entire class talking about how to identify and kill a werewolf?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said smoothly. “I was merely thorough.”

She held back an eye roll.

“Regardless,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “I’d like to do some reading. Proper reading. History, maybe theory if you know any books you’d recommend…”

Snape was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, his lip curled in the faintest sneer.

“Fascinating,” he said dryly. “The Gryffindor darling, suddenly an enthusiast for Dark Creature lore.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’m not asking for approval, Professor. Just suggestions.”

The silence stretched again, thicker this time.

Then, to her surprise, Snape rose and moved to the tall bookcase by the far wall. His long fingers trailed over the spines before pulling out a thin, worn book with a cracked leather cover.

“Lycanthropy: Origins and Ethics” he said, returning to her and handing it out flatly. “Rare, and mostly out of print. Don’t damage it.”

She took it with both hands, genuinely surprised. “Thank you, professor I won’t”

He didn’t respond. But he didn’t need to. His gaze bored into her, cold and unreadable.

“You should be careful, Miss Blackwood,” he added after a beat. “Curiosity has a way of unearthing things best left buried. Especially when it comes to those who hide behind masks.”

Freya’s fingers tightened around the book. “I’m not afraid of truth,” she said.

“No,” Snape said with a glint of something amusement? Disapproval? “But truth has a habit of turning even the boldest Gryffindor quiet.”

She turned without answering, her heart beating fast, her pride prickling, and the book clenched under her arm like a stolen key. As she walked out of the dungeon and into the rising chill of the corridor, she realized something else: the truth might not scare her, but it would change everything.

And she wasn’t sure what would be left when it did.

Freya barely had time to breathe.

By day, she juggled essays and tests, sneaking in stolen moments to pore through the worn book Snape had begrudgingly lent her, Lycanthropy: Origins and Ethics. She would slip it beneath her History of Magic textbook in the library, eyes darting over words like transformation, conscious restraint, violent episodes, and pack bonds. The pages didn’t give her comfort, if anything, they added more weight to the questions she wasn’t brave enough to ask. But she couldn't stop. Every sentence fed a gnawing curiosity that was far from innocent now.

By evening, she was swept into the chaos of preparations. Sia and Mary needed help with hemming dresses, with adjusting enchantments, with choosing the right shoes and charms for their masks. Freya was more than happy to help her friends, obliged with a smile, measuring magical seams and nodding at color swatches. Her hands were precise, her advice sharp but her mind wandered constantly. Freya was thankfully for her unlimited energy if it was anything else she would have fainted from exhaustion

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with the usual warmth and fire-crackling chatter, but for Freya, it was utter chaos. Her lap was covered in sketch paper, ribbon samples, glittering thread, and she had a spool of lace tucked behind one ear. Sia groaned from across the armchair, holding up a bodice mockup. “Okay but what if I hate my body in this shape by next week?”

“You won’t,” Freya said flatly, tugging the paper from beneath a stack of books. “And if you do, I’ll transfigure the sleeves into clouds and distract the whole ballroom.”

Mary laughed. “Honestly? I’d wear it.

“I’ll make you both match,” Freya teased, then turned serious. “But really, trust the neckline. It’ll frame your collarbones and keep the mystery. You’ll be stunning.”

Sia gave her a grateful smile and kicked her feet happily. “You’re too good at this. Are you sure you don’t want to be a designer instead of a curse-breaker?”

Freya blinked, heart skipping. “Sometimes… I do.”

Mary leaned in. “Speaking of dreams and designs, have you even had time to breathe this week?”

“Barely,” Freya admitted. “I’ve had to sneak off to the library between every spare moment. I haven’t even started my Transfiguration notes, and Elias—”

“You’ve been avoiding him?” Mary asked slyly.

“No!” Freya said too quickly. “Just… postponing him.”

The girls exchanged knowing looks.

She really wanted to not care, but her mind was constantly around him.

Professor Lupin had returned to being a shadow of a man quiet, careful, and maddeningly distant. He never looked at her directly, never lingered when she spoke in class, never once acknowledged the moment in the forest, or the party, or… her eyes narrowed. Or the date. The one thing she thought might provoke a flicker of something in him.

And maybe it had. She just didn’t know what.

Freya sighed and leaned back in the Ravenclaw common room armchair, dress sketches floating above her like dragonflies. She had sent her final sketch with Apollo a week ago and she anxiously was waiting for it, she couldn’t wait to see it.

The common room doors opened and Elias slipped in, cheeks pink from the cold. He spotted her instantly, and the way his face lit up made her heart ache a little, because she didn’t light up the same way.

“Sketching again?” he asked, flopping down beside her on the couch. He nudged her shoulder playfully. “How do you still have energy? I swear the rest of us are just barely surviving finals.”

She laughed lightly. “I run on glitter and guilt. Haven’t you learned?”

Elias grinned, but there was something softer behind his eyes. “I know I’ve been asking for your time a lot lately. If it’s too much—”

“No,” she interrupted. “It’s not. You’ve been good company. I always have a lovely time with you.”

Elias looked nervous. “I… I was wondering if you wanted to sneak out again tomorrow. Just a walk. Or a butterbeer.”

Freya tilted her head, biting her lip. “I’d love that. But I need a bit more time, there’s still a lot left to stitch.”

His disappointment flickered for a second before he covered it with a warm smile. “Alright. But just so you know, you look more alive doing this than you do anywhere else.”

She really wanted to say yes, Elias was kind, but even as she said the words, her eyes drifted to the sketch again not just the design, but the statement behind it. The fire. The storm she was dressing for. Because no matter how much time she spent with Elias, or how brightly the girls laughed, or how perfect the snow seemed it wasn’t him she dreamed about.

It wasn’t Elias who haunted her.

And as the clock ticked closer to the night of the Ball, Freya couldn’t decide if she wanted to be seen by Lupin… or to finally let him go.

The castle had quieted down to its nightly hush, only the occasional creak of staircases shifting or the wind brushing against the stone walls reminding Freya that she wasn’t entirely alone. Still, she felt strangely drawn to return the textbook now, perhaps because she knew exactly who might still be in the classroom.

She pushed open the heavy door with care, the hinges letting out a soft groan.

The classroom was dimly lit, the fire in the hearth casting long, flickering shadows along the walls. Professor Lupin sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, collar loose, his brow furrowed in focus as he marked essays with calm but decisive strokes.

Freya hovered in the doorway for a second, her heart inexplicably fluttering. This was stupid. She was just here to return a book.

She cleared her throat gently. “Professor?”

Lupin looked up, not startled but slightly taken aback to see her. His face softened almost immediately. “Freya. Still awake?”

Freya paused for a moment in the doorway. There was something about him in that light. The soft amber glow made the streaks of silver in his hair shimmer, and the crinkle at the corners of his eyes seemed somehow softer. Older, yes. Worn. But not in a way that repelled. In a way that held stories.

“I thought I should return the textbook you lent me,” she said, stepping in slowly. Her voice was softer than usual not out of fear, but something she couldn’t quite name. “I didn’t want to forget again.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, watching her as she approached. “I appreciate your diligence. Though it’s quite late.”

She gave a half-shrug, setting the book gently on his desk. “I’ve been busy. Between the dressmaking, patronus practice, and studying… sleep’s become a rare luxury.”

There was the ghost of a smile on his lips, tired and wry. “You’ve always had a habit of throwing yourself into things with relentless fire.”

Freya looked up at him, surprised by the way he said it with familiarity, not reprimand. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at the flickering firelight instead of his eyes. “What can I say, I guess it’ in my nature.”

He nodded once, but didn’t push further. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it curled around them like the firelight warm, charged, a bit too close.

She reached for the book again, then hesitated. “You seem tired, Professor.”

“I am,” he said honestly. “But not from work. Just… from pretending.”

The words hung between them, heavier than they should have been. Freya blinked, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Pretending what?”

He looked down at the parchment in front of him, as if that question demanded more of him than he was ready to give. After a pause, he said carefully, “That everything is as it should be.”

“I am sorry to hear that professor” she whispered.

Lupin looked at her again, really looked at her, and in that brief stillness between them, the fire cracked softly, and the air grew heavier. There was something in his eyes she’d never seen before. Sadness, maybe. Hunger. Regret. She couldn’t tell.

Her stomach turned in the worst and best way. He was her professor. But he was also something else, someone who saw her clearly, even when no one else did.

“You should get some rest,” he said eventually, voice gentler this time. “Big week ahead.”

Freya nodded, but didn’t move just yet. Her fingers rested against the back of a chair.

“I just… wanted to say thank you,” she added quietly. “For the Patronus lessons. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that kind of power before. It felt like… something I could hold on to.”

His gaze softened, and something else passed through his eyes pride, maybe. Or fear. “You’ll do great things with it, Freya. You already are.”

She nodded, throat tight. She turned toward the door slowly, her footsteps hushed against the flagstone.

And just as she reached the threshold, she paused. She didn’t know why.

“I don’t think everything is as it should be,” she said without looking back. “But maybe that’s okay.”

Then she disappeared into the corridor, the click of the door shutting behind her far quieter than the sound of Lupin’s heart still pounding in his chest.

The door clicked shut with a soft finality, leaving the classroom in stillness once more.

Lupin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It passed through his lips slowly, almost like steam in the winter air. His quill dangled in his fingers, forgotten above the parchment. He stared at the doorway, though it was long empty.

Her name echoed in his mind like a whisper he was ashamed to say aloud.

It had been happening more and more lately these moments. Small glances, long silences, words that meant more than they should. She was clever, spirited, impossibly stubborn, and devastatingly present. She had always stood out in class, even before he’d ever looked at her properly.

And tonight, he had looked at her properly.

She had come in late, her cheeks still flushed from the cold, her eyes alert and too perceptive for his comfort. She had that particular way of tilting her head when she was curious, of standing confidently even when uncertain. Her hair, tousled and thick, framed her face like something alive. There was a softness to it, a wild kind of beauty.

And her lips.

He sighed and closed his eyes, pressing a hand to his temple. Merlin help me.

She was a student. A child. Not in age, perhaps, but in status in his care. And yet…

There was nothing childish about her anymore.

Not the way she had looked at him like she saw him beneath the threadbare robes and the too-tired smiles. Not the way her voice dropped when she said his name, or the way her fingers had lingered on that book just a second too long.

And the worst part was he noticed. He always noticed.

Her dress robes from last week still haunted him that high neck, the way the fabric clung at her waist, how she had moved in heels like she had been born in them. Freya was many things bold, bright, kind but she was also beautiful, in a way that had begun to gnaw at the edges of his carefully kept restraint.

“Fool,” he muttered under his breath.

He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the cracked ceiling as if answers might fall from it. This was dangerous. He was dangerous to her, to himself, to the rules that were there for good reason. What right did he have to even think about her that way?

But he had.

And he would again.

He ran a hand over his face, then down through his hair. A familiar self-loathing curled in his gut, but it didn’t change the truth he was already too far gone.

Freya was no longer just a student to him.

She was a distraction. A temptation. A kind of light that made the darkness inside him ache in ways he hadn’t felt in years.

And when she smiled like that like she trusted him, like she wanted to trust him it undid something inside him that he didn’t know how to fix.

He picked up the quill again, dipped it in ink, and tried to return to grading. But the words blurred. Freya’s voice lingered. So did the scent of her hair, the soft echo of her steps as she’d left.

You’ll do great things, Freya. You already are.

He’d meant it.

He just hoped she wouldn’t destroy him in the process.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall buzzed with anticipation. Though still dressed in its usual enchanted sky and golden candlelight, the mood was unmistakably festive. Students leaned in close at breakfast, whispering, giggling, swapping stories. The snow hadn’t let up in days, casting a glittering white glow through every window and dusting the castle in a quiet kind of magic.

Freya plopped herself down next to Sia and Mary, her arms full of fabric swatches and folded parchment sketches.

“I swear, if one more girl asks me to sketch her sleeves longer or her skirt shorter” she sighed dramatically “I’m going to turn them into a dress form.”

Sia snorted into her pumpkin juice. “Come on, we all know you love to help”

Mary grinned. “You're just mad they all want to outshine you and your dramatic masquerade entrance.”

Freya only smiled mysteriously.

Before another word could be said, Fred and George Weasley appeared on either side of her, sliding into the bench like mirror images. “Speaking of drama,” said Fred, plucking a swatch of silver from her pile. “We heard you’re designing the future of wizard fashion.”

George leaned in. “And we’d like to be your muses.”

“Only the most dashing,” Fred added. “Naturally.”

Freya rolled her eyes. “What are you planning? Coordinated chaos?”

“Masquerade chaos,” they said in perfect unison, then laughed.

Mary leaned forward. “I think you two should wear floor-length robes with glitter.”

“Stars, maybe,” Sia added helpfully.

“Sequins,” Freya deadpanned.

Fred placed a hand on his chest. “If you provide it, we’ll wear it.”

George nodded. “But only if you walk in with us and confuse everyone.”

“Tempting,” Freya said, grinning. “But I already have a date, remember?”

Just then, Harry and Ron shuffled into view across the hall. Both looked awkward, slightly sleep-deprived, and wholly out of their element. Ron was dragging a piece of toast through his teeth while Harry looked like he hadn’t slept trying to study for Snape's latest essay.

Freya raised a brow as they approached. “Don’t tell me… no dates yet?”

Ron groaned. “Don’t start Freya.”

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “It's not that easy! Half the girls are taken and the other half are terrifying.”

“Flattering,” Freya said sweetly.

Sia patted Ron’s arm. “You’ve still got time. Just don’t leave it till the night of.”

“Too late for him,” muttered George.

Fred clapped Ron on the back. “There’s always the punch bowl.”

The group burst into laughter as the twins stood to go likely off to cause trouble or charm Professor Flitwick into some suspicious spell permission.

Freya leaned back in her seat, her eyes drifting toward the enchanted ceiling and the drifting snow outside. Her sketchbook sat open beside her, revealing curling designs in silver ink, soft pastels, and stardust-like embellishments. The idea of the ball filled her chest with something light and warm. Not because of the music, or even the dresses… But because, for once everyone seemed to be feeling the same kind of joy. A moment of celebration in the middle of the cold.

The enchanted gramophone continued its soft waltz as McGonagall moved between pairs, straightening spines, correcting steps, and occasionally sighing dramatically.

Freya took Elias's hands with practiced ease, suppressing a smile as he stared at his feet like they were cursed.

“Elias,” she said, gently nudging his chin up with her finger, “look at me, not your shoes. You’re dancing with me, not the carpet.”

“I’m trying not to trip over my pride,” he said with a lopsided grin, cheeks already flushed pink. “But I’ve only got two left feet and very little dignity.”

“Well, don’t worry,” Freya said, laughing softly as she stepped in closer to guide him into a rhythm, “I have enough charm for both of us.”

He chuckled, nervously, and then miraculously managed a full turn without crashing into Mary and Dean.

“See? You’re doing it.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Elias muttered, adjusting his grip and glancing down again.

Freya’s eyes danced with mischief. “If you drop me at the ball, I will make sure your hair turns pink for a week.”

“Oh, threatening me now?”

“Is it my fault ? you’re a puppy in a robe.”

He smiled, eyes warming a little more. “That’s the nicest insult you’ve ever given me.”

They glided more like stumbled semi-rhythmically into another turn. As Elias grew more confident, he even added a dramatic flourish that had Freya stifling a laugh.

“Alright, Mr. Dramatic.”

“Just warming up for the Ball,” he said with mock seriousness. “I’ve got to keep up with you somehow. You’ll look like a goddess. I’ll look like… a lost first year.”

Freya paused slightly in their sway, but smiled. “That’s sweet.”

“I mean it,” he said, more quietly now, eyes meeting hers. “You’re going to light that room us.”

Something warm and genuine passed between them, and for the first time in a while, Freya let herself feel the safety of it this boy who made her laugh, who didn’t make her feel like she was holding her breath.

But somewhere in the room, she felt eyes on her. She turned briefly, scanning the edges and spotted him. Professor Lupin, half-shadowed near the door, watching the class with that unreadable, distant gaze. His arms were folded, one hand brushing his chin in thought, as though studying the students academically but Freya knew better.

She looked away quickly, heartbeat skipping. Elias didn’t notice.

“I think I’m getting better,” he said.

“You are,” she said distractedly, then shook herself back into the moment. “And you haven’t stepped on me once. That’s already more than most.”

“I can be charming when I want to be,” he said, mock-smug.

Freya tilted her head. “Then you better bring your charming shoes to the Ball, because you’ll be on display with me all night.”

“Was that a warning or a promise?”

“A challenge,” she said, smirking.

The music faded, and McGonagall clapped her hands. “Enough! For some of you, that was acceptable. For others… well, I suggest practice. Daily.”

As students groaned and began to gather their things, Elias leaned closer. “Did we pass?”

“With flying, if slightly clumsy, colors.”

They laughed, and as they left the classroom, Freya took one last glance toward the spot where Lupin had been.

Gone.

The next day at the dormitory Mary was twirling in front of the mirror with a dreamy smile, admiring the deep burgundy gown that hugged her figure in all the right ways. On the bed, Sia was pinning glittering gold accents to her already-assembled dress, giggling to herself as enchanted snowflakes sparkled from her sleeves. Freya, on the other hand, sat cross-legged on her bed, arms folded, her usual vibrant spark dimmed beneath a furrowed brow.

"It's still not here," she said sharply, eyes darting between the window and the empty owl perch.

Mary paused mid-spin. "Wait what? Freya, your dress hasn't arrived yet?"

"Nope." Freya flopped back on her pillows with a dramatic groan. “And at this point, I’m convinced my owl either got lost in a storm or seduced by some veela with prettier packages to deliver.”

Sia raised an eyebrow. “It was a complicated dress, wasn’t it? What did you say? Embroidery, multiple layers, custom bodice?”

“Three layers of tulle, hand-beaded moons and stars, and lace cuffs,” Freya muttered, sitting up again. “Not exactly something I can stitch together with a wand and a prayer the night before.”

Mary walked over and sat on the edge of her bed. “Hey, don’t panic yet. There’s still time.”

“Exactly,” Sia said brightly. “Owls get delayed all the time, especially near Christmas. Half the school’s waiting for packages.”

“Yes, but this isn’t socks from my aunt,” Freya snapped. “It’s my dress. My last Hogwarts ball. The masquerade. I wanted this to be… memorable.”

“You’ll still be unforgettable,” Mary said gently. “Even in your pajamas.”

Freya cracked a reluctant smile, then let out a long sigh. “You don’t get it. I’ve had this idea in my head for weeks. I spent a whole night sketching it, picked the exact color to match the snowfall, begged Mum and Dad to take it to Madame Anastasia in Greece. I even sent a backup ribbon. Backup ribbon, Mary.”

There was a pause before Sia deadpanned, “It’s serious. She used the backup ribbon.”

Freya let out a small laugh, then pressed her hands over her face. “If it arrives the day before and something’s wrong with it, I won’t have time to fix anything. What if it doesn’t fit? What if it rips?”

“What if it’s perfect?” Mary offered. “And arrives tomorrow morning and you’ve just wasted a whole evening worrying?”

“I’d love to be wrong,” Freya muttered. “I’d dance with Snape if it meant the dress showed up safe and on time.”

Sia dramatically gasped. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Alright,” Mary said, standing up and pointing her wand toward Freya’s bed. “Positive energy only from now on. Accio dress oh wait, can’t do that across the channel, damn. But still no more stressing.”

Freya nodded and glanced at the window again, watching the snowflakes fall thick and fast. She bit her lip, heart twisting between excitement and dread.

Please let it come tomorrow.

But it didn’t and Freya was really starting to loosing her mind. Ball was two days ahead and she had no idea went or where her dress is, the girls were trying to comfort her but at one point they themselves didn’t know what to believe. Freya gone so scared that her dress would be on time that she even start to to sketch a new one more simple and easy as a back up, that night she stayed up building from starch and by the time the sun had made his appearance she had finish it, it was nothing like she wanted, nothing like she planned but with her bad luck following her like a shadow and she didn’t want to put it on a test.

That night her dreams were anything but peaceful.

She was in the Forbidden Forest, though it didn’t feel forbidden now it was beautiful. The trees shimmered silver under a pale moon, the ground blanketed in fresh, untouched snow. Everything sparkled, frozen and glistening like a fairytale come alive.

Freya looked down.

She was wearing her masquerade gown, the one she’d designed, the one she hadn’t yet touched in real life. But here it fit her like a second skin. The dark midnight blue layers floated around her as she moved, and a delicate mask, soft as velvet and adorned with silver stars, clung gently to her face. Her bare feet made no sound in the snow. She wasn’t cold. Not even the wind could touch her.

There was no fear. Only stillness.

Somewhere in the distance, a howl pierced the night. It echoed through the trees. Freya didn’t flinch. She turned her head toward it, heart steady, eyes wide.

She started to walk toward the sound.

The howl came again, closer this time. And beneath it… footsteps.

Snow crunched.

Freya stopped. Between two tall trees ahead, a shadow moved tall, lean, familiar in shape, but not quite human. Eyes like molten gold glowed in the dark. Not threatening. Not wild. Just… waiting.

The air trembled between them.

She reached up and slowly removed her mask. Her heart began to race.

“Is it you?” she whispered.

The shadow stepped forward and she swore it looked right back at her, but before she could reach it, the forest began to fade, snowflakes breaking like glass in the air.

Freya woke with a soft gasp, her cheeks warm, her throat tight. She sat up slowly, blinking at the ceiling of her dorm. Everything was still quiet. Mary snored lightly in the bed nearby.

She reached out and touched the edge of her nightgown, still breathing as if she’d run a mile, she remembered everything and she couldn’t stop thinking why did it feel so real?

And why did it feel like it was never just a dream?

Freya barely slept after the dream. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw silver trees and golden eyes, and her heart clenched all over again. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t even confusion. It was… longing, and it was driving her insane. But that wasn't the only thing clawing at her nerves that morning.

She stomped into the Great Hall, hair in a hastily braided side bun, scarf trailing behind her like a storm cloud, and sat next to Mary and Sia with the elegance of a dropped textbook.

“She lives,” Sia teased as she pushed a teapot toward her.

“Barerly” Mary shot and worried looks at Sia

Freya ignored the question. “Still. No. Dress.”

Mary froze, her piece of toast halfway to her mouth. “No way. It’s the last day.”

“I know it’s the last day, Mary. I know.” Freya didn’t touch her food. Her plate sat completely untouched, not even butter on her toast. That’s how they knew it was bad.

“She’s going to snap,” Sia said, dramatically shielding her plate. “I give it until Charms before she hexes the Owlery.”

“I have a backup,” Freya mumbled.

Both girls gasped. “You? You have a backup?”

“I had to! In case customs ate my dream.” She exhaled shakily and dropped her forehead to the table. “It’s horrible. It’s tragic. I look like a sugarplum that got trampled by a hippogriff.”

Sia snorted. “You’re being dramatic.”

Freya slowly turned her head, cheek pressed to the wood, eyes wide and deadly. “The shoulder is puckered.”

“Oh no,” Mary whispered, clutching her pearls that she wasn’t wearing.

“That’s a death sentence,” Sia agreed solemnly.

Fred and George had caught some of the conversation from the other end of the table and leaned over, all grins.

“Still no dress, Freya?” Fred asked.

“Should we alert the Ministry? This is clearly an emergency,” George added, offering her a very burnt croissant as tribute.

“I’m this close,” she said, pinching her fingers together. “One more word and I’m showing up in a Hogwarts robe with glitter on it.”

“Honestly?” Fred mused. “I’d respect it.”

“Kind of iconic,” George added. “Like, mysterious, rebellious… tragic couture.”

Freya groaned and buried her face again.

Classes passed like shadows. Freya sat through Charms and Transfiguration in a fog of fury and dread. She couldn’t even concentrate on the complicated spellwork. McGonagall had to call her name twice.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, she barely dared glance at Lupin, afraid that *somehow* he’d see the mess in her head. To her surprise, he didn’t even look her way. His gaze swept the class in his usual calm manner, eyes never lingering. That should’ve made her feel better. But somehow it made everything worse.

By Potions, even Snape raised a brow when Freya answered something correctly but without her usual biting wit.

“Miss Blackwood,” he said dryly. “Feeling ill? Or is the apocalypse simply close?”

Freya just sighed. “The last one proffesor”

By the time the sun was beginning to dip, the castle was glowing with excitement. Students were buzzing through the halls with shopping bags, hair rollers, magically pressed suits. There was laughter, whispers, last-minute date proposals… but Freya didn’t care about any of it.

She stomped into the dorm after classes, tossed her bag on the bed, and prepared herself to surrender to the backup dress.

Until a flutter of wings and the soft thunk of a delivery scroll hit her window.

She turned slowly.

And there it was.

A large, delicately wrapped box.

It had finally arrived.

“MERLIN’S BEARD,” she yelled.

Mary shrieked.

Sia dove across the bed to rip the box open with her.

And there it was. Even more beautiful than she remembered. Her sketch brought to life in fine, detailed stitching, shimmering midnight blue silk, delicate silver detailing across the bodice like scattered constellations, the mask tucked inside like a secret promise.

She stared at it in disbelief.

“It’s perfect,” Mary breathed.

“I have no words” Sia whispered reverently.

And just like that, all the panic, all the anxiety, all the week’s tension melted. Freya smiled slowly, clutching the fabric close.

“Now,” she said with a wicked grin, “we have to hurry up”

Snow whispered against the windows of the Gryffindor tower as the castle stirred with the buzz of anticipation. The Yule Ball was only hours away, and every corner of Hogwarts seemed to be sparkling with barely-contained excitement. Laughter echoed through corridors, and even Filch looked less grumpy than usual.

In the girls' dormitory, Freya stood before the mirror, her heart pounding not from nerves but from pure, glittering anticipation. Her curls had been perfectly styled, tumbling in soft, elegant waves pinned half-up, half-down, just the way she imagined.

“Freya, your hair!” Mary gasped when she turned around and saw her. “Oh my Merlin how did you get it like that?”

Freya smiled as she sat before the mirror, carefully placing the last silver pin into the half-up curls cascading down her back. “Magic. And a bit of wand-charm finesse.”

“Admit it, you practiced that all week,” Sia grinned.

“Maybe one time” she smiled proudly “Sia can you spray me, so the curl’s won’t fall” she asked and handed Sia a bottle of spray

“Of course” she quickly grabbed it, they didn’t have much time due to the late gown arrived

"Okay, turn. Slowly, no sudden moves," Sia ordered, clutching a tiny vial of shimmering enchanted dust. "If this goes in your eye, it will blind you for an hour."

Mary burst out laughing from where she was fastening her necklace. "She's kidding. I think."

Freya gave a crooked smile, too giddy to care. "At this point, I'd take a temporary blindness if it means I’ll look like I haven’t been losing my mind over a missing dress for the past three days."

Freya said giving a sharp glance at Apollo, who was sitting at a back of the chair looking proud and tired.

After her hair was done next on the list was the dress. Freya helped herself into the gown with reverent care, the last thing she needed is to ripped it apart from her excitement. And stood before the mirror, her heart swelling in her chest. She leaned closer to the mirror, applying the finishing touches to her makeup. Her eyelids shimmered like morning frost, soft white and cool tones dusted with fine iridescent glitter, catching the light with every blink. The inner corners of her eyes glowed with pearl-like highlighter, making her gaze appear even brighter, almost otherworldly. Paired lots of mascara fluttering her lashes and the gentle sweep of blush on her cheeks.

And then came the mask.

Soft silver, delicate and lace-like, it was adorned with tiny crystal drops and filigree, elegant enough to veil her features, but light enough to let her eyes shine through. Freya slipped it on and stared at her reflection.

Her breath caught.

She didn’t look like herself. Not entirely. She looked… like someone out of a storybook. The kind of girl who only existed in dreams.

Mary twirled in her emerald green gown, the fabric catching light from the enchanted lanterns. “Do you think I look like a Christmas tree or like… elegant?” she asked, dramatically holding out her arms.

“You look stunning, like a forest nymph,” Sia said, fastening the back of her own golden dress, which hugged her figure with soft, shimmering layers.

“Sia is absolutely right Mary don’t be stupid” she almost scolded her for even thinking that “Alright,” she said finally, smiling slowly. “Let’s go make this night unforgettable.”

Chapter Text

The moment Freya stepped into the Great Hall, it felt like time itself paused to take a breath.

The entire space had transformed into something out of a dream the enchanted ceiling sparkled with drifting stardust and swirling snowflakes, soft and shimmering as they floated down without ever touching a single head. Icicle chandeliers hung from above, casting crystalline light across tables now covered in frost-laced velvet and silver-trimmed goblets. Music floated gently through the air, carried on invisible wings.

Freya took a hesitant step forward, her ice-blue gown flowing behind her like mist on a frozen lake.

Sia clutched her arm dramatically. “This is not normal. This is art. You look like a bloody enchantress.”

Mary giggled, nudging her shoulder. “And don’t think I didn’t see Fred nearly fall off his chair when you walked in.”

Freya flushed, lowering her gaze just in time to see Fred and George approaching, both dressed in deep navy dress robes with matching crooked grins.

“Well, well, well,” Fred said, sweeping into a low bow. “Ladies of the frost, you’ve arrived.”

George winked. “Freya, you’ve outdone yourself. I nearly thought you were a Veela. Almost burned my eyebrows off staring.”

“Oh hush,” Freya teased. “You two look unusually coordinated tonight. Did your mother bribe you?”

“Not bribe. Threaten,” Fred said cheerfully. “There was a wand involved.”

Harry and Ron trailed close behind, Ron fidgeting with the awkward sleeves of his dated dress robes.

“You all look amazing,” Harry offered, giving Freya an honest smile. “Seriously, girls, you look like you stepped out of a painting.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she said gently, then turned to Ron. “Ron, stop pulling at it. You’ll tear something.”

Ron groaned. “It’s like wearing a tent stitched with curtains. Why do girls get all the good options?”

“Because we have taste,” Mary said primly, flipping her curls. “And we plan ahead.”

“Freya planned ahead too far,” Sia chimed in. “She nearly went mad waiting for that dress to arrive.”

“I did not go mad,” Freya lied instantly.

“You glared at your backup dress like it had insulted your bloodline,” Mary reminded her.

Fred let out a bark of laughter. “Truly terrifying. I was ready to cast a shield charm in case the poor thing caught fire.”

Before Freya could retort, music swelled again warm violins and lilting harps beckoning guests toward the dance floor.

Couples had begun to form naturally. Freya’s eyes briefly scanned the room, lingering on the dais where the staff were seated. Her gaze, unbidden, found Professor Lupin. He looked uncharacteristically elegant tonight, in subtly embroidered black robes with silver thread curling at the cuffs and collar like runes. His hair was tidier, though a few gentle strands still rebelled over his brow. He wasn’t looking at her not yet but something in his stillness made her chest tighten.

Sia nudged her. “Elias is looking for you.”

Freya blinked. “Right. Right.”

Elias appeared then, tall and beaming in storm grey robes that made his blue eyes seem brighter than usual.

“There you are,” he said, breathlessly. “You look... Freya, you look like a star.”

She softened. “Thank you. You clean up quite well yourself.”

He offered his hand. “Dance with me?”

She smiled, heart still pounding from the momentary glance across the hall. “I’d love to.”

As they stepped onto the dance floor, Freya glanced once more over her shoulder and this time, her eyes met Lupin’s.

Just for a second.

A look passed between them unreadable to anyone else but quietly charge, like a single violin note played beneath all the rest. Then, the moment passed. Elias twirled her into the music, and the ball swept her away in light and motion.

Elias’s hand found hers with an easy sort of confidence, like he’d done this before in another life. His fingers were warm, steady, and his smile, always so open, was touched tonight by something more tender. Like even he couldn’t quite believe she was real. The moment their feet met the floor, Freya’s senses softened to the sound of the music. The hall blurred into lights and laughter, chandeliers sparkling above them like stars. Elias guided her gently, steps practiced, but not overly rehearsed natural, fluid.

“You’re holding back,” he murmured, a grin playing on his lips as he leaned in. “Where’s the fire, Freya?”

She laughed softly, letting her grip on control slip. “I don’t want to step on your toes.”

“Please do,” he said. “It would make me look like a tragic hero.”

“I think you’ve got enough drama without me injuring you.”

They spun. Her dress swirled in a glimmer of blue silk and shimmer, the fabric catching the candlelight like moonlight on a frozen lake. Elias’s eyes never left hers, not even for a second. He was mesmerized, and Freya could feel it.

“You really do look like someone from a dream,” he said, more quietly this time. “Everyone sees it tonight.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Everyone?”

He smirked. “Even your favorite professor, I’d wager. His eyes were on you the moment you walked in.”

Freya faltered for just half a step but Elias steadied her.

“What?” he added quickly. “Are you suprise? You look radiant.”

“I- I don’t know” she said truthfully.

He was silent for a beat, then he nodded.

“I do,” he said. “Know you, I mean.”

Freya smiled, but her thoughts were somewhere hazier now, tangled with the music and Elias’s words, and that moment, just earlier, when Lupin’s gaze met hers. It wasn’t imagined. It wasn’t polite. It was something else.

Still, she danced. With Elias’s hand in hers, she let herself enjoy it the rhythm, the weightless glide of the floor beneath her, the admiration in her partner’s eyes. He spun her once more, and her curls lifted like petals in the wind, her laugh echoing like a bell through the air.

As the song began to slow, Elias leaned in again, voice soft against her ear.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For saying yes.”

She looked up at him with gentleness in her eyes.

“You’ve been one of the brightest parts of this year,” she admitted. “I’m glad we came together.”

Their hands lingered as the music faded, the moment caught in a soft hush as the next pair took their place. The warmth of the dance clung to her skin, but even as Elias led her back toward the others, her heart tugged in a different direction.

Unseen, from across the floor, another pair of eyes had watched the whole time quiet, unreadable, but darkened with something sharp and aching beneath their surface.

Professor Lupin turned away just as Freya glanced up again.

The music shifted into a slower melody, violins lilting like a breeze. Around them, couples glided across the dance floor in gentle circles, and the buzz of the Great Hall softened to warm conversation and golden light.

Freya, cheeks still flushed from dancing, sank into her seat at the round table near the edge of the floor. The table shimmered under floating candles and a soft enchantment of twinkling stars above them. Her curls bounced as she laughed, lifting her punch glass with dramatic flair.

“Honestly, Elias,” she said, turning to him with mock offense, “you spun me like I was a pastry being plated at Honeydukes.”

“I regret nothing,” Elias declared, flopping beside her and dramatically loosening the collar of his deep green robes. “The dress demanded drama. I was simply honoring it.”

“Took you long enough,” Fred teased, nodding toward Elias with a sly grin. “Thought you’d whisk her off into the snow and keep her there.”

“Still might,” Elias said with a wink as he slid into the seat beside Freya.

Freya, kicking off her shoes under the table with a sigh of relief, propped her elbows on the polished surface and grinned at the others. “If I disappear, you’ll know who to blame.”

“You looked like you were about to propose,” George added, plopping down with a plate piled with desserts.

“Who knows maybe I will” Elias chimed in from the other side, offering Freya a pink-frosted biscuit. “You deserve a man who can waltz and juggle flaming torches.”

“I’ve yet to meet one,” she said, taking the biscuit with a curtsy. “But the night is still young.”

Ron, already halfway through a chocolate éclair, grumbled, “At least you all have dates.”

Harry snorted. “You’re just bitter no one said yes to your charming mumbling.”

“I did not mumble!” Ron protested.

“He mumbled,” Fred and George said in unison.

Sia leaned toward Ron sympathetically, handing him a chocolate. “You can still dance with your friends, you know.”

“Pass,” Ron said, grimacing. “I’d rather face a troll.”

“A romantic,” Freya said sweetly.

“And what about you, Harry?” Elias asked, nudging him. “No lucky lady?”

Harry shrugged. “Wasn’t really thinking about it. It’s not bad though. Watching everyone else panic is entertainment enough.”

The group burst into laughter and Mary raised her glass. “To Ron and Harry may they one day gather the courage to ask girls out *before* the actual day of the ball.”

“Oh shut it,” Ron muttered, while the rest laughed.

As conversation bubbled around her, Freya leaned back, resting her chin on her hand, and simply took it in. The warmth of the candlelight, the sparkle of magic on the walls, the snow gently falling beyond the frosted windows, and her friends, bickering, teasing, laughing as though the world outside didn’t exist.

Mary was telling a story about a fifth year who’d tripped on her dress and launched punch into an unsuspecting Hufflepuff. George mimicked the splash with his hands. Fred was trying to teach Sia a ridiculous dance move that looked like an angry duck. And Elias leaned toward Freya with a conspiratorial whisper. “This is nice, yeah?”

She nodded as her eyes flickered across the room, catching just a glimpse of him again. Lupin was speaking with Professor McGonagall near the head table, hands clasped behind his back. He looked impossibly composed, as always, but there was a softness in his face tonight, a worn sort of warmth that made her heart twist.

He hadn’t danced. Not once.

Not yet.

She looked away quickly as Elias passed her another sugared biscuit.

“Freya,” he said lightly, “if we don’t go back out there for another round, I’m afraid I’ll turn into one of those tragic romantic poems you hate.”

She laughed again and rose, brushing crumbs from her skirts. “Then I suppose we must dance. For literature’s sake.”

As they moved back toward the floor, her eyes lifted once more, only for a second, and met the professor’s across the room.

He was already watching her.

The music had softened, the room settling into the warm lull that followed the excitement of the opening dances. From his place near the head table, Remus stood with McGonagall, offering polite nods and the occasional comment when spoken to, but he was barely present in the conversation. His eyes had been drawn to the same place all night, and the longer he tried to resist, the more impossible it became.

She sat among her friends like a vision conjured from moonlight and spells. Her gown shimmered with every turn of her head, every flick of her wrist as she gestured, laughing. Her hair, artfully curled and half-pinned, cascaded down her back like something out of a fairy tale, soft, romantic, and wholly intoxicating. The glitter of her eyeshadow caught the floating candlelight, casting tiny stars across her lashes every time she blinked.

She looked utterly radiant. And untouchable.

He should have left by now. Any other professor would have, slipping away once their duties were fulfilled, once the students were occupied. But something rooted him here, something he didn’t dare name.

She looked happy. That should’ve been enough.

“Remus,” McGonagall said beside him suddenly, breaking his trance, “you’ve been skulking along this wall like a nervous boy at his first ball. Come along.”

Before he could answer a decline, protest, escape she seized his arm and pulled him toward the floor with surprising force for a woman her age.

“Minerva—” he began, alarmed, but she cut him off with a look.

“You’re not exempt from joy,” she said crisply. “Now hush and dance.”

And so, he did. The music had returned to a more whimsical waltz now, the floor quickly filling with swirling gowns and crisp dress robes. It was far too crowded to slip away unnoticed, and he resigned himself to the moment, gently matching McGonagall’s practiced steps. Still, his eyes wandered, always back to her. And somewhere, deep in his chest, something tightened. Freya was dancing again with Elias, the two of them spinning and laughing. It shouldn’t have bothered him. Elias was a good young man. Kind. Attentive. And the way he looked at her there was no hiding it.

But what gnawed at him more was that Freya hadn’t noticed him at all.

She didn’t even glance in his direction.

The music swelled again, and with it came the old tradition, a swirl of partners as the dance shifted. A blur of movement across the floor. Change. Chance.

And somehow, impossibly, fate tilted.

He didn’t see it happen not until she was near. He didn’t think he never thought when it came to her.

She was just…there

And he reached for her.

Before anyone else could take her hand, he stepped in, catching her around the waist with a surety that startled even himself. Her hand found his instinctively, as if drawn by some invisible thread, though her eyes were still searching the room still looking past him.

She hadn’t realized it was him not yet but he had.

His fingers curled gently around hers as they moved into the dance, his breath caught somewhere between guilt and wonder.

He shouldn’t have.

But he had.

And as they turned beneath the flickering lights and the enchanted snow that began to fall softly from the ceiling, Remus Lupin danced with Freya.

For the first time.

And maybe just maybe for the last.

Freya hadn't even noticed the shift in tempo, hadn’t realized when Elias had gently spun her out into the rotation with a laugh and a wink. The enchanted hall shimmered around her, filled with lilting music and swirling robes, bodies gliding across the floor in effortless motion.

And then—

A hand.

Not gentle. Not hesitant.

It found her waist with unnerving certainty, pulling her close in one fluid movement. Freya’s breath hitched. Her back met solid warmth and she turned instinctively, her eyes traveling up— and boy did it toke her a while to reached his face, but she didn't need to see him to understand who he was, very few were that tall at Hogwarts

And there he was.

Lupin.

His eyes, far too steady. His expression unreadable. One hand still anchored at her waist, the other slipping into her fingers, guiding her into the dance with no room to protest. Her heart slammed once against her ribs, hard enough to echo.

“Professor—” she breathed, barely above a whisper.

But the music drowned everything else out. The slow, intoxicating rhythm of the waltz left little space for questionsr resistance.

The room blurred at the edges as he turned with her, the candlelight painting golden flickers across his face. He looked… unreal like this. Shadows played across the sharp lines of his jaw, his mouth tense, eyes darker than usual storm-grey and locked onto hers like they were holding a secret hostage.

Freya swallowed hard.

“What are you doing?” she asked quietly, but her voice was more breath than words.

“I believe it’s called dancing,” he replied, his tone quiet but edged.

She narrowed her eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

He didn’t answer immediately. The music swelled, and he spun her slowly, almost reverently, before pulling her back in closer than before.

It made her head spin.

“I didn’t plan this,” he said finally, voice low, like it wasn't meant for the space they were in. “It just… happened.”

“Well, you’re certainly committed to the bit,” Freya muttered, but the snark lacked bite. Her cheeks were burning.

His gaze dropped momentarily to her lips before flicking back up to her eyes. “You look…”

Her breath caught again.

“...different.”

Freya lifted her chin. “That’s vague.”

He offered the faintest smirk. “I can’t say more.”

“Ans why is that?”

The question hung between them, charged and fragile.

He didn’t answer not with words. But his hand, warm and unyielding against the small of her back, tightened just slightly. Enough to make her nerves hum.

All around them, other couples twirled and laughed, and not one of them knew what passed between Freya and Lupin in that moment. The unspoken.

The danger of being too close and being seen.

Her heart thudded again, louder than the music.

She should pull back. She had to pull back, but she didn’t.

Instead, she held his gaze and let the music carry them.

Just one dance.

And yet it felt like something more had already been set in motion.

The room spun gently around them, all gilded edges and soft velvet shadows. Time didn’t stop, not exactly. But for Freya, it felt as though the rest of the world had dulled into watercolor blurs, background noise to the magnetic pull between her and Lupin.

Her hand fit in his like it belonged there. His grip wasn’t overly tight, just firm enough to guide her through each step like he knew her rhythm before she did. There was a depth to the way he moved, composed, smooth, but never cold. There was tension wound through his spine and jaw, as if he were at war with himself. Freya tilted her head to glance up at him, her curls brushing her bare shoulders. “You dance… well.”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. “I’m older than I look. There was a time we all had to learn.”

She arched a brow. “I thought you were more the bookish recluse type.”

“I am,” he said quietly. “Which is why this… is entirely out of character.”

Another pause. The music coaxed them into a slow twirl, and the silk of her gown fluttered gently between them.

“That move was unexpected of you, professor ” she whispered, unable to keep the words down any longer.

“I know.”

“And yet…”

He met her eyes again, and something behind them cracked not completely, but enough to let something dangerous shine through.

“I don’t want to see you with him,” he said, barely audible. “Even if I know I have no right.”

Freya’s breath caught in her throat.

The air between them was thick with everything unsaid. The memory of the library. The touch of his hand on hers when he taught her to cast her Patronus. The moment in the Forbidden Forest when her name had left his lips with such sharp concern.

She felt her pulse pounding in her ears.

Just as she opened her mouth, ready to say something she didn’t know what, only that it wanted to come out a voice cut through the fog

“There you are!”

Elias.

His voice bright, cheerful, completely oblivious. It shattered the moment like a dropped glass. Freya flinched. Lupin immediately let go of her hand, stepping back with all the grace of a man caught on fire but determined not to show it.

“Freya,” Elias said again as he approached, his smile easy and unbothered. “I thought I lost you in the couple change. You vanished.”

Freya blinked, her mind struggling to snap back into place. “Oh— I… I got pulled into the wrong pair, I guess,” she lied quickly, stepping toward Elias.

“Professor,” Elias added politely with a nod.

Lupin gave a tight-lipped smile. “Mr. Flynn. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

And with that, he turned sharply and melted into the crowd, his cloak catching the flickering light behind him like smoke.

Freya watched him disappear, a strange ache settling in her chest.

“You alright?” Elias asked, leaning a little closer.

She forced a smile. “Yeah. Let’s go find the others.”

But her hand still remembered the feel of Lupin’s.

And as Elias led her back into the swirling candlelit crowd, Freya couldn’t help but think that something had changed, even if she wasn’t ready to name it yet.

The night kept spinning on like a dream stitched from moonlight and music.

Freya tried, truly tried, not to think about him. About the way his hand had settled at the curve of her back, the heat of his breath so close to her cheek, or the way her name had sounded when said like a secret. But her mind kept looping back to that dance, like a record caught on a haunting note.

She sipped from her drink at the table, nodding absently as Ron cracked another joke about how awful Neville’s dance skills were (“He nearly stepped on *his own foot*! Honestly, I don’t even know how that’s physically possible—”) while Sia and Mary giggled beside her. Elias had gone off for another round of butterbeer, thankfully giving her a few minutes of space to breathe.

But just as she thought she might spiral again—

“Alright, that’s it,” Sia said suddenly, standing. “You need to dancez, actual dancing. Come on.”

Before Freya could argue, Mary chimed in eagerly, already grabbing her hand. “You’ve been brooding, darling. That dress was not made for brooding.”

“I’m not brooding—!”⁶

But they weren’t listening. The two girls pulled her toward the dance floor just as the music shifted, no more elegant strings or sweeping waltzes. Now it was something with rhythm and joy, the kind that made you want to move even if you had no idea how. Freya laughed despite herself as she was pulled into the glowing crowd of students. Lights flickered above, bouncing off masks and eyes and satin sleeves. The beat dropped, and Sia flipped her curls over one shoulder like she’d been waiting for this moment all her life.

The twins were already in the middle of it, Fred doing a ridiculous twirl with Angelina while George attempted what could generously be called dancing beside Lee Jordan. Even Hermione was smiling in the corner, though she only swayed a little on the edge of the crowd while Harry, red-faced and determined, tried not to trip.

“Come on, Freya!” Sia called, shouting over the music.

So she did, she let go. She threw her hands in the air, let the rhythm rush through her veins, and for the first time that night maybe in weeks she forgot. Forgot the ache in her chest, the secret glances, the tangled mess of feelings she couldn’t name. She was just a girl in a gown, glittering under floating candles, spinning between her friends with wind in her hair and a smile finally curling free at her lips.

When Elias returned and found her like that cheeks flushed, hair shining under the lights, laugh echoing out into the night he stopped for a moment just to watch.

Then he joined her.

After what felt like hours on the dance floor, Freya’s laugh had turned breathless, her curls had begun to stick ever-so-slightly to her flushed cheeks, and the once weightless fabric of her gown now clung a little heavier with each movement. But she couldn’t stop.not with the music so loud, the joy so infectious, and Elias smiling at her like she was the only star in the sky.

That was, until her feet actually threatened to give up on her.

She winced slightly, leaning in close to Elias so she wouldn’t have to shout. “Okay, I surrender. I need to change out of these shoes before I lose a toe.”

Elias laughed, brushing some glitter from her shoulder. “Fair. I don’t know how you lasted that long in heels was starting to think you might actually float.”

“I was floating,” she said with a grin. “Until they started stabbing me.”

“I’ll wait here?” he offered.

She nodded, already limping slightly toward the exit. “I won’t be long. Try not to miss me too much.”

He saluted playfully as she vanished through the golden double doors, her mask in her hand and her train fluttering behind her.

The castle was quieter now, the music muffled by stone and distance. Freya made her way through the corridors, the snowy windows casting cool blue light across the walls, and her slippers barely making a sound against the marble. She passed by the sitting room near the Gryffindor common room, absentmindedly massaging her aching heel when she stopped dead in her tracks.

There he was.

Professor Lupin sat alone on the tufted settee near the fireplace, still in his dark suit. His tie was loosened slightly, and his hands were folded before him. The firelight danced across his features, casting gold along the stubble of his jaw and the worry lines between his brows.

He looked... tired. And alone. And unfairly handsome.

She hesitated for a moment just a moment but something in her feet turned toward him before her mind could argue.

“I didn’t expect to see you here professor, I thought you will be asleep,” she said softly.

Lupin looked up, visibly startled. “Freya.”

His voice still made her stomach tilt. He straightened in his seat as if caught off guard, eyes sweeping over her. “You—um—you look like you had a good time.”

“I did,” she said, stepping forward and leaning against the tall arm of the couch. “Until my shoes started plotting my murder.”

A smile tugged at his lips, reluctant but real.

She tilted her head slightly. “Not joining the dancing crowd?”

“I don’t think my knees would survive a second round,” he said with a low chuckle. “I’m afraid my days of reckless twirling are behind me.”

“Shame,” Freya said. “You seemed quite capable earlier.”

There was a pause, then she tilted her head at him with a mock scolding frown. “You know, leaving me like that on the dance floor? Not very gentlemanly of you.”

A flash of color crept to his cheeks, and he gave a low breath. “You looked like you were in good hands.”

“Still. Bit of a dramatic exit,” she said with a raised brow. “Could’ve at least left a glass slipper.”

His brow arched slightly, lips twitching at the corners. But then he stood and extended a hand to her. Her whole body stilled.

“Then perhaps,” he said, voice low, “I should make amends. Properly. May I have this dance?”

Freya was so stunned she thought she might drop her heels. Her heart launched itself into her throat, thudding wildly. Her mouth parted slightly, trying to form a response any response.

Say something. Say anything.

But instead, she simply placed her hand into his, she didn’t even remember making the decision.

His hand was warm and rough against hers, and he gently pulled her closer. Slowly, his other hand settled at the small of her back, guiding her with a quiet certainty that sent a shiver across her spine.

They began to sway.

No grand ball. No swirling gowns or blinding chandeliers. Just the two of them in soft, golden firelight, the echo of distant music drifting faintly through the corridors. It was unreal, like a memory she hadn’t lived yet.

She didn’t dare look up at first.

Because if she did, she was afraid of what she’d see on his face. Or worse what he might see on hers.

But eventually, her eyes wandered.

And there he was, watching her not like a professor, not like someone who was supposed to stay distant. He looked at her like she was something soft and wild and a little dangerous. Like she mattered more than he was ready to admit. She wondered if her heart was beating as loudly as it felt. If he could feel it through her palm.

The silence between them was heavy, not awkward, not stiff. Heavy like words they couldn’t speak.

Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “This is… nice.”

“Mm,” he murmured, gaze still locked on hers. “It is.”

Her cheeks were burning, and she silently thanked every star for the low lighting.

No one to watch. No one to interrupt. No changing partners.

Just them.

Dancing in secret, hearts full of everything unsaid.

And gods, it was perfect.

He had come here to disappear.

The students were still dancing in the Great Hall, laughter and music echoing faintly down the stone corridors. But Lupin had quietly excused himself hours ago. The ball was never truly for him. He’d fulfilled his dut made his rounds, watched the students, exchanged polite words with Minerva and Flitwick. But now… he sat in the shadows of the small lounge off the hallway, tucked into a worn velvet armchair, staring into the fire like it might offer answers.

He told himself he didn’t come here hoping to see her again.

He lied.

And then she appeared barefoot, heels dangling from her fingers, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with leftover stardust. She looked like a vision torn out of a dream. Not a girl. Not a student.

Just her

He hadn’t noticed she’d stopped until her voice broke through the crackle of firewood.

“Not already asleep professor, are you?”

He startled slightly, turning his head. Her smile made something in his chest shift too fast, too deep.

“I might ask you the same,” he replied, voice steadier than he felt.

She held up her shoes with a grin. “I’ve been defeated. My feet have staged a rebellion.”

He let out a soft chuckle. Merlin help him, she always managed to find a way under his guard. There was a radiance in her tonight something untouchable and wild and painfully beautiful.

And then she added, almost too casually:

“You know, the way you left me on the dance floor? Not exactly chivalrous.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. He had left her too abruptly. He knew that. The moment he’d pulled her into that dance earlier, his instincts screamed at him to stop it to get out while he still could. So he did.

And regretted it immediately.

He stood before he could think.

His body moved ahead of his mind, it had a habit of doing that around her.

He reached out.

“Then perhaps,” he said carefully, “I should make amends. Properly. May I have this dance?”

She froze. For a second, he thought he’d overstepped. That he’d shattered the fragile distance he’d worked so hard to maintain.

But then… she placed her hand in his.

He could feel how small it was in his, warm and a little unsteady. His heart thundered behind his ribs. He slid his hand gently to her back, guiding her into the slow rhythm they both seemed to fall into like it had always been there, waiting.

There was no music, save the faint echoes from the ballroom.

No crowd.

Just her.

And him and this ridiculous, impossible feeling building in his throat like a storm. She wouldn’t meet his eyes at first. He understood. He could barely look at her himself she was glowing in that gown, the soft shimmer of her mask still catching bits of light. Her hair was half-tamed, half-loose from dancing, and he had never wanted anything so badly as to touch it, just once.

How did she do this to him?

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this

Not about her.

Not about anyone.

She was fire and light and all the things he couldn’t have. Too bright for him, too young, too alive. But right now, she was in his arms. Breathing. Laughing softly. Letting him guide her like it meant something.

He forced himself to speak, even though his throat felt tight. “You dance more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

She smiled, finally glancing up. “I like to make memories.”

He held her gaze a little too long.

You’re making one right now, he thought. One I’ll never forget.

But he didn’t say that.

Of course he didn’t.

She deserved someone unburdened. Someone who could look at her in a room full of people and not feel like they were breaking some unspoken rule.

But still… when her hand squeezed his slightly, he allowed himself the moment.

They danced until the fire burned low and the faintest laugh from the Great Hall reminded them the night hadn’t ended yet. But this moment, this silence, this secret it belonged to them.

And for once, he didn’t pull away first.

Their feet barely moved anymore. The soft rhythm of their makeshift dance had faded to a slow sway, more a heartbeat than a waltz. And still, neither of them pulled away. Lupin’s hand remained at the small of her back, her fingers light on his shoulder. Her head tilted ever so slightly, her breath brushing his neck, and Merlin help him, he nearly closed his eyes just to hold onto the feeling.

But she stepped back first.

Not abruptly. Not coldly. Like she had to, or she'd forget herself.

Freya looked up at him, her mask slightly askew now, and her eyes shimmered like glass in the firelight. She opened her mouth, maybe to thank him, maybe to make a joke, but no sound came.

Instead, with the smallest inhale, she leaned in.

And kissed him on the cheek.

It was gentle. Barely a breath. But he felt it like lightning.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t, it was the most innocent touch, but his whole body went still. He’d been touched before, held before, but this… This held meaning.

Freya pulled away quickly, the heat in her face unmistakable even in the dark. She didn’t say a word. Just gave him one of those dazzling half-smiles, the kind that always got under his skin, and turned, shoes still dangling from her hand, dress trailing like frost behind her. Lupin watched her vanish into the shadowed corridor, her silhouette swallowed up by the candlelight and stone.

He didn’t breathe until she was gone.

And when he finally did, his hand drifted up, to the place where her lips had touched his skin, warm and unreal.

He knew this couldn’t happen again.

He knew it was foolish.

But as he stood alone in the quiet, something inside him whispered a truth he wasn’t ready to admit.

He was already in too deep.

Chapter Text

The morning after the Ball marked the beginning of the holidays, and the castle, once alive with music, swirling gowns, and glowing chandeliers, was now bustling with the rustle of trunks, chattering students, and the occasional snowy gust slipping through the front doors. Freya stood by her bed, folding the last of her scarves into her suitcase, the events of the night before playing on a loop in her mind. She hadn't slept much.

Mary and Sia were in full chatter mode, already half-packed and fluttering about the room.

“You completely disappeared,” Sia said, arching a brow as she sat on Freya’s bed. “One minute you’re dancing, the next you’ve vanished into thin air.”

“Honestly,” Mary chimed in, tossing a pile of socks into her trunk, “we thought Elias did something. He was just as confused.”

Freya forced a chuckle, “I was just tired, that’s all. I went up early and fell asleep almost instantly.”

It wasn’t a lie. Just… not the full truth.

“Well next time warn us before ghosting,” Sia grinned. “We thought you got swept away by a mysterious masked prince.”

Freya gave a dry laugh, stuffing her last gown into her suitcase with a little too much force. If they only knew.

She didn’t see Lupin again before leaving. In truth, she made sure of it. She moved through the castle like a shadow that morning, carefully avoiding the corridors where he might be. The idea of even catching his gaze again of being reminded of what passed between them when no one else was watching made her feel dizzy. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

When her carriage finally pulled away from the snowy steps of Hogwarts, she let herself breathe.

The wind tasted like pine and cinnamon the moment Freya stepped off the train. Her breath curled in the cold air like smoke, but her heart finally felt steady. Home. The platform bustled with families reuniting, parents wrapping arms around students, younger siblings bouncing with excitement.

“Freya!”

Her mother’s voice cut through the crowd, warm and familiar. She turned just in time to be enveloped in a tight embrace. Her father followed with a gentle, loving smile, already reaching for her trunk.

“Merlin, you’re frozen,” her mother said, cupping Freya’s cheeks. “Let’s get you home before you turn into an icicle.”

They apparated back to the countryside house nestled at the edge of a forest. The trees were frosted in white, and the garden was blanketed under perfect snow. The minute she stepped inside, the scent of spiced cider, pinewood, and home-cooked meals wrapped around her like a quilt. Her room was exactly as she left it—posters of magical creatures, old sketches tacked on the walls, and soft fairy lights twinkling along the bedposts.

That evening, she sank into the warmth of the family hearth, legs curled beneath her as her mum floated gingerbread biscuits to the table and her dad told one of his famously exaggerated tales about dueling a poltergeist in his Hogwarts days.

The days blended into one another like watercolors.

She spent her mornings sleeping in and her afternoons wrapped in coats and scarves, walking along the frost-covered paths near the woods with a travel mug of cocoa in hand. Sometimes she’d sketch, trees, birds, the way the snow caught in bare branches. She’d almost forgotten how quiet the world could be. Every chance she took she and her childhood friends would meet. They’d visit the enchanted ice rink in town, go for hot chocolate at the tiny wizard café tucked between two Muggle bookstores, and just hang out at each other house like the other times.

One afternoon, she sat in front of her bedroom mirror, brushing her hair, when her mum leaned against the doorway.

“You’ve grown up so much this year,” she said softly, as though surprised by it.

Freya met her eyes in the mirror. “Mom don’t say that you are making me feel old.”

Her mum stepped closer, setting a hand gently on her shoulder. “You always carry so much in your heart. That’s your magic, Freya. It makes you brave… but it makes things heavier too.”

Freya smiled faintly. “I think I needed this break more than I realised.”

She didn’t say what she was really thinking. About a corridor. A dance. A man whose name she couldn’t even speak without setting her heart racing. She wasn’t ready to go there.

But the peace didn’t last.

The moment the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station again, and the sight of the castle towered above the white trees, her breath hitched. Because every stone in that castle remembered the thing she tried so hard to forget. The air was bitter and crisp when Freya stepped out of the carriage and onto the familiar Hogwarts grounds, her trunk levitating beside her. It looked the same as always, stone towers dusted in snow, windows glowing warmly, and smoke curling from the chimneys. But something inside her shifted the moment her boots crunched on the icy steps.

“Freya!”

Sia’s shriek made her wince before she even turned. She was immediately wrapped in a flurry of lavender scarf and coat buttons as her best friend collided into her, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs.

“Oi!” came Mary’s voice behind her. “Leave some of her ribs unbroken, would you?”

Freya laughed and finally hugged them both back. “Missed you freaks.”

“Missed you more, you disappearing ghost,” Mary said, eyeing her with a smirk. “You never even replied to our last two owls. Was your break that amazing?”

Freya shrugged with forced ease. “I am sorry, I didn’t have time with all the chaos at home”

“Yeah right” Sia repeated dramatically. “Meanwhile I was cursed to spend two weeks at a family reunion full of third cousins who still think Hogwarts is a 'boarding school for rowdy girls'."

Freya giggled. “Sounds delightful.” The three of them started toward the castle, arms linked, the snow crunching beneath their boots.

Mary leaned closer, whispering like it was top-secret. “Alright. Spill. What really happened after you disappeared during the ball?”

Freya groaned. “Not this again.”

“You vanished, Freya. Vanished. I had bets placed on you snogging Elias somewhere.”

“Ugh, no!” she said, too fast. “I just got tired. My shoes were killing me and I fell asleep in the dorm. That’s it.”

Mary raised a brow. “Hmm. Plausible. Suspiciously plausible.”

Freya gave her a playful nudge. “Drop it.”

They crossed the Entrance Hall just as other students arrived, robes flying and chatter echoing through the stone corridors. Warmth blossomed from the enchanted torches on the walls and that familiar Hogwarts scent parchment, candlewax, and a hint of roasted chestnuts wrapped around them.

Just as they passed under the Grand Staircase archway, Freya turned a corner and smacked directly into someone’s chest.

She let out a startled gasp and stumbled backward. “Oh sorry, I wasn’t looking—”

Her voice froze mid-breath when her eyes lifted and landed directly on him

Professor Lupin.

His hands had instinctively steadied her arms, but now they dropped almost too quickly, like they’d burned him. His eyes, soft and sharp at once searched her face, unreadable as ever. While her heart gave a sudden, traitorous lurch. His robes flowed behind him as he walked with his usual calm, purposeful stride the same faint tiredness in his expression, but still very much him. Her cheeks flushed before she could stop them.

He looked up and he saw her.

Freya couldn’t stop herself. Her face lit up, not in anything wild or over-the-top, just a genuine, quiet kind of joy, like greeting someone who had been missed more than she’d admitted.

“Professor Lupin,” she greeted with a warm smile, stepping slightly ahead of the girls. “Welcome back. I hope your holidays were restful.”

Lupin faltered for a mere second, the tiniest pause in his step, before schooling his expression into something more neutral.

“Miss Freya,” he said, voice steady but clipped. “Thank you. I trust yours were... enjoyable as well?”

She nodded, still smiling. “They were lovely.”

His gaze held hers for a beat too long, and then he dipped his head in a polite nod. “If you’ll excuse me.” And just like that, he walked past them, not slowing again, not turning once.

Freya stood for a second, watching his retreating figure, her smile fading slowly. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, maybe a faint smirk, a subtle spark in his eyes... but not that. Not the wall of polite distance.

Mary leaned in. “Well that was odd.”

“He was always reserved,” Sia shrugged, but even she didn’t sound convinced. “But yeah... a bit colder than usual.”

Freya forced a light laugh, brushing it off. “Maybe he didn’t get enough sleep over the holidays.” But her stomach twisted in knots.

She had smiled genuinely, simply and he had looked at her like a stranger trying very hard not to look too long.

Something had changed.

Snow drifted in lazy, glowing spirals outside the windows as Freya took her seat near the front of the classroom, still rosy-cheeked from the wind. The castle had felt unusually still that morning, as if the cold had frozen even time itself. Still, her spirits were high the holidays had refreshed her, and though Lupin had been distant since they’d returned, she chalked it up to post-holiday tiredness.

Sia nudged her, whispering, “Why is Dumbledore here? Are we about to be expelled?”

Freya snorted. “For once, no. I think.”

Professor Lupin entered just behind Dumbledore, his face unreadable. His shoulders were stiff, jaw tight, but he offered a curt nod to the class.

“Today,” Dumbledore announced in his usual warm tone, “you will begin a partnered project that will span the next three weeks. These pairings have been deliberately chosen, and I advise you to embrace them with an open mind.” Lupin’s eyes never left the parchment in his hands as he read the names.

“Finnegan and Abbott… Mary and Longbottom… Thomas and Bones…” The list went on, and Freya leaned forward slightly, curious.

And then:

“Miss Freya and myself.”

Her brows shot up. “Wait, what?”

Sia turned her head sharply, and Freya caught a few students looking her way with raised eyebrows. Lupin didn’t repeat himself. He moved straight on.

Freya’s mouth opened in surprise, but she quickly closed it. There was no grin this time, no joking whisper. She just sat back and tried to make sense of it. Dumbledore had clearly had a hand in this, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or panic.

When the rest of the class was occupied reviewing assignment sheets and asking questions, Freya walked up to the front, lips quirked in a playful smirk as she approached Lupin, who was neatly stacking scrolls.

“So… you and me, huh?” she said lightly, trying to cut the tension with humor. “You sure you can handle all this enthusiasm for three weeks?”

Lupin didn’t look up from the papers.

“You’ll need to be serious about this.”

Her smile faltered just slightly. “I am serious. I just didn’t expect this pairing.”

He glanced up now, eyes cool, tone clipped. “This isn’t a place for jokes, Freya. You’re not here to test boundaries. If you’re going to treat this like a social hour, you can find another partner.”

Freya’s mouth opened, but no words came. It wasn’t just cold, it was sharp. Like a blade hidden in snow.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“I—” she started, then stopped. There was nothing she could say that wouldn’t come out sounding defensive, or worse, like she was hurt.

She wasn’t going to give him that.

So she gave a quiet nod and looked down at the parchment in her hands. The smile was gone, her spark dulled. The rest of the time in the classroom passed slowly, and Freya said nothing more.

Lupin didn’t look at her again.

The last student exited the classroom, the sound of their boots echoing down the corridor. Freya lingered, clutching her bag tightly against her chest, heart thudding in her ears. She hadn’t planned to follow him at least, not until she saw him leave with that same storm-cloud expression, the one he’d worn since the start of term.

She wasn’t going to stay silent. Not this time.

Freya stepped out into the corridor just as Lupin turned a corner. She had to walk quickly to catch up with him. Her shoes clicked against the flagstone floor, a sharp contrast to the distant hush of voices from other classrooms.

“Professor Lupin—” she called, her voice firm but quiet.

He didn’t turn.

“Remus.”

That stopped him, he exhaled slowly before turning around, jaw set, lips tight. “Miss Freya,” he said curtly.

She faltered, but only for a second. “I just wanted to ask if you’re alright. Ever since we returned from the holidays… you seem, I don’t know, off.”

Her voice was gentler now, genuine concern softening her features.

“You don’t look like yourself,” she added. “And I know it’s not really my place but— I just want to know if you’re okay.”

He stared at her like she’d committed some unforgivable act. His eyes were hard, voice low but sharp enough to cut. “That is none of a student’s business,” he said, nearly spitting the word. “You don’t get to ask me personal questions, Miss Freya. This, whatever idea you’ve got in your head, this isn’t anything. You need to remember your place.”

Freya’s lips parted in shock, but no sound came. Her stomach dropped so quickly it felt like she’d been hexed. She hadn’t flirted, she hadn’t teased, she wasn’t even trying to get a rise out of him.

She just… cared.

But she didn’t say that. Couldn’t.

Instead, she looked up at him and without realizing it, her eyes shimmered with the saddest expression she had ever given him. The kind that made her throat feel too tight to speak. Her courage had carried her this far, but his words slammed into her like a blizzard, freezing her where she stood.

She nodded once, slowly, her gaze still locked to his and then she turned and walked away without a word.

Lupin stood there, frozen as her figure disappeared down the corridor. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, heart pounding violently against his ribs.

He had told himself to be cold, to be distant, to be cruel, if he had to and somehow, it had never felt so hollow.

The frost on the windows had grown heavier, spidering out in elegant veins that blurred the view of the grounds beyond. The classroom was mostly empty, the last bell long past, and only the faint sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Freya arrived exactly on time.

No earlier, no later. Her posture was perfect, hair tied back neatly, scrolls tucked under her arm. She wore a calm expression, her usual spark dulled into something unreadable not sulking, not angry. Just... focused. Lupin looked up from his desk, and something in his chest pulled tight. She didn’t greet him. She simply walked to her seat at the table they had claimed the week before, laid out her notes, and began to speak.

“I’ve reviewed the assigned creature list,” she said evenly, eyes not meeting his, “and I think the most efficient method would be to divide them into two categories territorial versus nomadic. If you’d prefer to take the latter, I’ll start organizing notes on the first group tonight.”

Lupin blinked, caught off guard by the clipped, impersonal tone. “That… sounds reasonable.”

“Good,” Freya replied, already dipping her quill in ink. “I’ll send you my half by owl post tomorrow.”

There was a long pause. Lupin’s fingers tightened slightly on the edge of his desk. He watched her the neat way she jotted down headers, the way her lips were slightly pursed in concentration. She wasn't trying to get his attention anymore.

She wasn’t trying anything.

“Freya—”

“Yes, Professor?” she asked without looking up, still scribbling.

There it was again that sharp line between her tone and her eyes. Polite. Respectful. Cold.

He hesitated. “You’ve clearly prepared.”

“I took your advice,” she said mildly. “I’m here to do the work, not to treat this like a social hour.”

Lupin felt the words snap back at him like a rubber band. He couldn’t tell if she meant to echo his exact phrasing from last week or if it had just burned itself into her mind that clearly.

“Right,” he murmured.

They worked for another fifteen minutes. Neither said more than was absolutely necessary. The silence wasn’t hostile just heavy. And the strange part was how well they worked together, even without banter. Freya’s mind was sharp, her organization impeccable. Every comment she made was insightful and relevant.

But her smile never came.

And Lupin felt the absence of it like a missing note in a melody he didn’t realise he’d memorised. When the clock struck the hour, Freya stood and gathered her things.

“I’ll see you next week,” she said simply.

Lupin stood as well, though slower. “If you need—”

“I won’t,” she said with a courteous nod. “But thank you.”

And then she was gone, leaving nothing but parchment, ink, and the ghost of something softer, warmer something he had deliberately snuffed out

Remus Lupin lay wide awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling above, as if the shadows might offer him peace. They didn’t. He turned over again, exhaling sharply. His mind was a battlefield, a storm of thoughts that refused to quiet.He had succeeded. That was the plan, wasn’t it?

Keep her at arm’s length. Be cold, be sharp. Remind her, and himself, of the line that could never be crossed.

And it had worked. Freya hadn’t even looked at him that evening at class, her eyes low, her voice absent, like he was just any other professor. Not him .Not the man who had once held her in a quiet corner, dancing under the shadows, her hand in his like it had always belonged there.

It should’ve felt like relief. But it didn’t, it felt like something had died.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he sat up slowly, the cold air biting at his skin. The firelight had gone out completely now, and the room was bathed in a dull blue from the moon beyond the window. He rested his elbows on his knees and let his head hang forward. The image of her wouldn’t leave him. Not just her face, not the beauty, not even the spark. It was the way she’d looked at him the night before. The way her face had fallen, bit by bit, like something fragile cracking under pressure. That look wide, stunned eyes, lips slightly parted, pain wrapped in silence.

It had burned into his memory like a charm gone wrong.

And why would she?

The way he’d spoken to her. The way he’d pulled that wall between them with such force that she had no choice but to back away. To shrink. To vanish.

Why does it surprise you?

Hr asked himself bitterly. After the way you’ve been acting this week, she should be furious with you. She should hate you.

But that’s not what he saw in her eyes it wasn’t hate it was hurt and d somehow, that was worse.

He leaned back against the wall, head gently hitting the cool stone. His thoughts spun in endless circles, guilt clawing at the corners of his chest like something alive. He’d built this distance. Brick by brick. He had told himself it was right. It was the only way. So why did it feel like he’d lost something he hadn’t even let himself name?

She haunted him now.

And she weren’t a student.

But fate had no patience for daydreams.

He closed his eyes and tried once more to sleep, though he knew there would be no rest tonight.

Chapter Text

Freya lay in bed, eyes wide open, the soft moonlight casting silver shadows across the ceiling of her dorm. The sounds of Mary and Sia’s breathing were soft and steady nearby, a peaceful rhythm that clashed cruelly with the chaos in her mind. She hadn’t shed a tear. Not one but Merlin, did she want to.

Instead, she just stared at the canopy above her bed, her jaw set, fists curled under the covers. Her heart felt tight not broken, no. She wouldn’t give him that much power. But bruised. Quietly and deeply bruised.

He had no right.

He had no right to speak to her that way, to shut her down like she was some silly little girl asking questions she had no business asking. She had just wanted to know if he was okay. After weeks of him brushing her off, avoiding her, freezing her out, she’d only wanted a moment of honesty. A moment of the man she’d danced with, who had looked at her like she was made of stars and he had thrown it back in her face.

She turned on her side, the coolness of the pillow no match for the heat growing in her chest.

Fine, she thought bitterly. If Remus Lupin wants to treat me like I’m nothing, then I’ll give him exactly that.

She was done. Done trying to warm his cold stares with small smiles. Done asking if he was alright. Done excusing his behaviour like he was the only one who carried weight in this world.

She could be cold too.

No colder.

Let him freeze in his own guilt. Let him realise what it feels like when the fire goes out. Because if he wanted distance, he was about to get it. Freya Blackwood was not some fragile little thing he could push around like a pawn in his quiet chess game of guilt and control.

Her eyes burned from the tension, but she didn’t let them fall shut.

She wouldn’t cry over this. Not tonight.

Instead, she sat up slowly, brushing her hair back with steady fingers. The moonlight bathed the room in white. She looked toward the window and whispered to herself, her voice like iron wrapped in silk

And for the first time that week, she smiled.

Not the usual glowing grin her friends knew, not the playful, mischievous spark she gave the twins, or even the flirty curl of lips Elias had come to adore. No this was a colder smile.

Tomorrow, she would rise with her head high.

Tomorrow, she would not look at him.

Tomorrow, he would have to wonder.

And she would be just fine.

The Great Hall was basked in the soft golden light of early morning. Snow still dusted the edges of the windows, the sky a sleepy silver behind the enchanted ceiling. Laughter and chatter echoed off the stone walls, plates clinked gently, and students were already halfway through their breakfast routines.

Freya sat at the Gryffindor table, her plate barely touched, fingers wrapped around a warm cup of tea. Her hair was loose today, tumbling down in soft, deliberate waves not an accident. Nothing about her this morning was.

The sharpness from the night before had been replaced with a controlled kind of calm. The kind that was more dangerous than anger.

She felt it in her bones: today was a reset.

"Morning, sunshine," came Elias’ familiar, cheery voice. He plopped down beside her, the scent of fresh air and cedar clinging to him like always. “You're up early for someone who usually needs a howler to wake.”

Freya turned to him with a smile that was almost her usual one not the dazzling beam, but something softer, and more knowing. “Let’s just say I have a new strategy,” she said, lifting her cup to her lips. “Be unpredictable.”

Elias chuckled, but paused as he studied her. “Well, it’s good to have you back. You’ve been... I don’t know. Quiet.”

Freya tilted her head, a flicker of something crossing her face. She didn’t answer directly. Instead, she leaned a bit closer, resting her elbow on the table. “How would you feel about butterbeer this weekend?” she asked, voice light, but clear.

Elias blinked. “You mean, at the Three Broomsticks? Like... just us?”

She arched a brow. “Unless you’re planning on inviting the entire Quidditch team.”

He laughed, a boyish grin breaking out on his face. “No! No, just us is perfect. That sounds... yeah, that sounds really great.”

There was a slight silence as he processed the unexpected offer. In truth, he’d been trying for weeks now to pull her back into conversation, into her old self and he wasn’t subtle about it. But she’d always seemed distracted, lost in her own world.

Elias nudged her lightly with his shoulder. “Alright, then. It’s a date.”

Freya gave a little hum, not correcting him. She didn’t need to. Let him wonder

Beside her Mary exclaimed “Oh, that’s right!” she lit up. “Gryffindor versus Slytherin on Saturday. It’s going to be brutal.”

“And cold,” Sia added with a mock shiver. “The last match in January nearly turned me into a snowwoman.”

“Not missing it,” Freya said as she grabbed a croissant. “I’ve waited all month for this game.”

“Yeah?” Elias said, leaning on the table, eyes curious. “You’re into Quidditch?”

Freya raised an eyebrow at him. “Of course. I might not play, but I love watching it. The strategy, the speed... the drama” She took a bite. “Besides, watching Slytherin get flattened is always satisfying.”

“I’ve been saying we need a proper chant this year,” Mary added. “One that will rattle their teeth.”

“Didn’t you try to start one last time?” Sia asked. “The one that made Professor Flitwick spill his tea?”

“That was accidental,” Mary muttered. “Sort of.”

Elias laughed. “We’ve got a solid team this year. That new Chaser—Tobin? He’s quick.”

“Quick but reckless,” Freya said. “If he flies into a Bludger again, I swear—”

Sia cut in. “—we’ll all be in the Hospital Wing for emotional trauma.”

They all burst into laughter, the sound light and full of the easy warmth Freya hadn’t felt in days. It filled her chest like sunshine against the frost. From the staff table, Lupin glanced their way briefly. Just a glance. But something in his jaw tensed the moment he saw the way Freya leaned closer to Elias when he whispered something that made her laugh.

Freya didn’t look up.

Mary nudged her under the table, low enough for no one else to hear. “You’re really okay, huh?”

Freya nodded. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?.”

Sia raised her goblet. “To Gryffindor’s victory and

our girl being her dazzling self again.” They clinked their goblets together, and the table swelled with laughter again as more students joined in the game talk, already wearing scarves and pins in their house colours, the atmosphere thick with anticipation.

The match was days away, but the tension was already brewing and not all of it was on the pitch.

The next evening Freya, Mary and Sia, were walking as their scarves flapping behind them like house banners. The Gryffindor Quidditch team was already on the pitch, streaks of red and gold darting through the air like living comets.

"I don’t know how they don’t freeze to death up there," Sia muttered, huddling deeper into her cloak as they climbed the stands.

"They’re lunatics, that’s why," Mary replied, grinning. "Lunatics with excellent thigh muscles."

Freya laughed, her eyes already scanning the sky until she spotted Elias unmistakable in flight, the wind catching in his curls. He spotted them too and, ever the show-off, performed a sharp dive before leveling out again with a cocky wave in their direction.

Sia groaned. "He’s such a golden retriever."

"You say that like it’s a bad thing," Freya said, resting her chin on her gloved hand, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

They settled in, passing a charmed thermos of hot chocolate between them as they watched the team run drills. The cold stung her face, but Freya didn’t mind. It felt normal to sit like this laughing, teasing, a few puffs of snow kicked up by players who swooped low.

"Alright, alright," Mary said, nudging Freya. "So are you finally going to admit it’s a date this weekend? Or are we still pretending it’s a casual broomstick hangout?"

Freya rolled her eyes, though she didn’t fight the blush that rose in her cheeks. "It’s not like that. He just—"

"—is obviously obsessed with you," Sia finished, stealing the hot chocolate.

Freya huffed. “He’s just nice. Sweet. Easy to be around.”

She didn’t mention how none of those things had the same effect on her heart as a single glance from a certain Defense professor.

Mary raised a brow. “You’re allowed to like him, you know. He’s head over heels and your plan to move on is kind of working. That’s a win, right?”

Freya stared down at Elias as he chased after the Quaffle, his laughter echoing across the field. “Right,” she murmured.

A voice behind them made her stiffen.

“Practicing in this weather… they’ll be frozen broomsticks by the time the match rolls around.”

It was Professor Lupin. He stood a few steps up behind them, speaking idly to Professor McGonagall, who looked amused.

"Better frozen than rusty," McGonagall said dryly. “They’re young. They’ll thaw.”

Freya didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. His voice had already cracked through the quiet fortress she’d been trying to build in her chest. He left after only a moment, continuing toward the castle. She didn’t look back. But her fingers tightened on her gloves.

Freya took a deep breath. “Come on, let’s go down and say hi to Elias before he freezes his dimples off.”

They made their way down as practice ended, Elias bounding toward them with a goofy grin and wind-burned cheeks. He threw his arm around Freya without hesitation, and she let him.

The sky was beginning to darken into a muted lavender as Quidditch practice wrapped up and the last players began to descend from the air. The golden-red streaks of sunset cast long shadows across the field, turning the frosty grass into glinting threads of silver. Freya pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as Elias jogged over, his cheeks flushed, curls tousled wildly beneath his beanie. He looked like the embodiment of winter

“Tell me you saw that Wronski Feint,” he grinned, slightly breathless. “It was textbook. I felt like Viktor Krum for a second.”

She snorted, amused despite herself. “You almost crashed into Leo Higgins.”

“A small price to pay for greatness,” he said with dramatic flair. “Besides, it got a smile out of you, didn’t it?”

“Barely,” she teased, brushing snow off her gloves.

They walked slowly toward the castle, crunching through the thin snow covering the path. Mary and Sia had gone on ahead, giving them space with exaggerated winks that Freya had chosen to ignore.

“How was your first week back?” Elias asked after a moment, bumping her shoulder lightly with his.

Freya gave a noncommittal shrug. “Busy. Quiet.”

“You mean weird?”

She hesitated. “Maybe a little.”

“You’ve seemed… I don’t know, distant. Not in a bad way. Just… not like yourself.” He looked at her, his expression soft and careful. “I missed you over the break.”

Her breath caught slightly, but she smiled. “I missed you too.” It wasn’t a lie. Not really.

She had missed his steady energy, the way he could always make her laugh, the way he *saw* her without complicating everything. But it was also true that she hadn’t thought of him as often as she expected. Every time she had tried to focus on someone else… someone else had already taken root in her thoughts.

“Is it about—?” Elias started, but stopped himself. “No. Never mind.”

“What?” Freya asked, brow raised.

He ran a hand through his curls, suddenly sheepish. “Nothing. I just… I know there’s something going on. Or was. I don’t expect you to tell me anything, just… I’m here, you know?”

Freya stopped walking for a second. Her boots sunk slightly into the snow and looked at him as he reached his hand for hers in his glove, eyes held no judgment, only hope. And yet… she couldn’t bring herself to speak the name sitting on her tongue.

“I know,” she said instead, her voice gentle. “Thank you for being patient with me.”

He smiled, stepping a bit closer as they resumed their walk. “I figured if I waited long enough, I’d get another shot. And then you said yes to this weekend, and I nearly fell off my broom.”

She laughed, bumping her shoulder into his again. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he corrected. “And totally irresistible. You’ll see.”

Freya rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. They reached the front steps of the castle, the warm torchlight flickering in the sconces by the entrance. Students bustled in and out, snow trailing in behind them, laughter echoing faintly from the Great Hall.

Elias hesitated before they entered.

“You know,” he said, “we don’t have to wait until the weekend.”

Freya tilted her head, curious. “What do you mean?”

“We could sneak out to the Astronomy Tower. Or the kitchens, Midnight snacks and moonlight. The classic Hogwarts romance.”

She shook her head, laughing, though a soft blush had crept onto her cheeks. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

“Not on you,” he said quietly.

The words hung there between them like frost in the air. For a moment, Freya wasn’t sure what to say. A part of her wanted to lean in wanted to lean into something that felt so easy and safe. But another part… a stubborn, reckless, haunted part…

She cleared her throat. “You are rushing it Elias. Let’s just start with the weekend. One step at a time.”

Elias didn’t push. He just nodded and opened the door for her with a gentlemanly sweep. “One step at a time.”

As they entered the castle, the warmth of the torches wrapping around them, Freya glanced up toward the shadowy halls above toward the direction of the Defense corridor. A fleeting thought brushed her mind like the chill that still clung to her skin.

Would hr care, if he saw her walking with Elias?

Would he feel anything?

But she pushed the thought away. This weekend, she was going to enjoy herself. No ghosts. No confusing looks. No more sadness.

Only Elias.

Only her.

The days inched toward the weekend with a particular kind of shimmer in the air the kind that always hung around just before a long-awaited event. For once, Freya wasn’t burdened with nerves. If anything, she felt lighter than she had in weeks. Maybe it was the snow finally letting up, or maybe it was the way Elias made her laugh until her stomach hurt during Herbology class. He always had a way of catching her off-guard with his ridiculous jokes, and these days, Freya found herself leaning into the comfort of it.

That Thursday afternoon, she was curled on a squashy armchair near the Gryffindor common room fireplace, parchment across her knees, pretending to finish a half-done essay. The fire crackled beside her, casting golden warmth across her features, but her quill hadn't moved in minutes.

Across from her, Mary sprawled on her stomach on a rug, flicking a Bertie Bott’s bean across the room at Sia, who ducked and squealed as it bounced off her shoulder.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Mary—” Sia huffed, brushing off her jumper. “That one tasted like dragon scales. Burnt ones.”

“That’s what you get for calling my last potion effort ‘swamp juice,’” Mary retorted with a grin.

Sia rolled her eyes and flopped back beside the armchair, glancing up at Freya. “Alright, you look entirely too serene for someone with McGonagall’s essay due tomorrow,” Sia said, narrowing her eyes at Freya suspiciously.

Freya grinned, eyes flicking to the untouched ink pot beside her. “I'm working on it. It’s a meditative approach.”

“Looks more like a daydreaming approach,” Mary muttered, kicking her boots off and curling her legs beneath her. “Let me guess thinking about your big weekend plans with lover boy?”

“Oh come on,” Freya laughed, trying not to look too smug. “He’s not a lover boy.”

“He’s so a lover boy,” Sia snorted. “He follows you around like a Niffler after gold. Have you seen the way he looks at you? If he was any more obvious, Flitwick would assign him a detention for excessive pining.”

Freya shook her head, cheeks tinged with warmth but her expression light. “We’re just… spending time together.”

Mary leaned forward, placing her chin in her palm. “Okay but, real question is it a date-date or just a Butterbeer situation?”

Freya glanced toward the fire, her voice quieter. “I think it’s a date.”

The two girls let out a synchronized, high-pitched squeal.

“Oh my god, Freya! Finally! You’ve been floating around him like a ghost for weeks this is actual progress.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Freya tried, though her smile said otherwise. She tapped her quill against the parchment again, as if to appear casual. “We’re just going to the Three Broomsticks. A walk. A drink. Some firewhisky maybe.”

“Which means it’s very much a date,” Sia confirmed. “Did you plan what you’re wearing?”

Freya opened her mouth to deny it and then closed it again. She had. Of course she had.

“I have… options,” she admitted, drawing a delighted groan from Mary.

“Please tell me it's the plum jumper. It makes your waist look like it was sculpted by a love-struck Ravenclaw in their poetry era.”

Freya snorted, finally abandoning her essay completely. “I might wear it. If I don’t freeze to death first.”

The three of them dissolved into easy laughter, and for the first time in a long while, Freya felt normal. Not torn between silence and sadness. Not hiding beneath layers of confusion or watching her words. Just… a girl with friends, looking forward to a date.

Later that evening, she and Elias passed each other in the corridor between the Astronomy Tower and the main stairwell. He paused, flashing his boyish grin, brushing snowflakes off his coat sleeve. “Still on for Saturday?”

Freya nodded, unable to stop her smile. “Definitely.”

“Brilliant,” he said, his eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. “We could go maybe for a walk around the town and then we can go sit, right?”

She blinked, surprised by his excitement. “Yeah. I do.”

Elias winked. “Knew it. Saturday then.”

As he disappeared up the staircase, Freya let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

No overthinking no looking over her shoulder no mess. Just this.

And for now, it was enough.

Hogsmeade, mid-January, still slept under a quilt of thick snow. Icicles clung to rooftops like glass daggers, glittering under a pale winter sun, and every step on the cobbled streets echoed with a crunch that lingered in the cold air. Despite the chill, the village buzzed with life students filled the streets in their scarves and cloaks, laughter clouding in the air, windows glowing gold from fires and warm butterbeer.

Freya walked slowly, gloved hands tucked in the pockets of her coat, her breath forming little puffs as she approached the main gates. She wasn’t nervous not really. It wasn’t their fisr date, but there was something in her chest fluttering like a caged bird. Elias stood waiting by the gate, his Gryffindor scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, the ends trailing down over a deep green wool coat. He noticed her the moment she stepped onto the path not because of any grand entrance, but because he had been watching the castle for minutes already, waiting for her. His face lit up immediately.

“You made it,” he said with a crooked grin.

“I told you I would,” Freya answered, adjusting the edge of her hat and offering him a playful look. “You doubted me?”

“No,” he said honestly. “I was just hoping it wasn’t a dream.”

Freya snorted. “Bit dramatic, aren’t we?”

“I’m trying out a new thing,” he replied, walking beside her now as they headed into the heart of the village. “It’s called honest flattery. Revolutionary concept, really.”

They fell into step easily, the path to the Three Broomsticks winding gently through the crowd. Freya glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was smiling, always smiling not in a forced way, but in a way that was open and present. It was disarming in its warmth.

“So,” he said after a pause, “how were the holidays? You never wrote back.”

Freya hesitated for half a second because I was busy thinking about someone else was not exactly an ideal response.

“They were good,” she answered instead. “Quiet. Nice to be home. Mum still insists on feeding me like I’ve starved for the entire term.”

Elias chuckled. “Sounds familiar. My sister made me teach her how to make floating pudding three times and then blamed me when it fell on our dog.”

“Floating pudding?”

“It’s an art form, really.”

“I am sure it is” They both laughed, and something in her chest eased.

When they reached the Three Broomsticks, the scent of cinnamon and spiced cider welcomed them like a warm embrace. The pub was full but not packed cozy fires crackled in the hearths, and a few booths near the back were still free. Elias led the way to one in the corner, partly shielded by a low beam, lanternlight pooling above them like warm honey.

Freya slid into the seat across from him and began unwinding her scarf. Elias waved down Madam Rosmerta and ordered without asking: two butterbeers and warm treacle tart.

“You remembered the tart,” Freya said, a touch surprised.

“I have an excellent memory,” he said. “Especially when it involves sugar and you saying the words ‘if I could eat treacle tart for breakfast, I would.’”

Freya blinked. “That was over a month ago.”

“Told you. Excellent memory.”

Their drinks arrived, and the mugs radiated comforting heat through her gloves. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, watching the way the butterbeer foam curled at the surface.

“So,” Elias said, clearing his throat a little, “is it weird if I say I’ve missed you?”

Freya’s eyes met his, surprised by the vulnerability there. She hadn’t expected him to say it. She had expected flirting teasing, jokes, a wink here and there. But not that. Not this quiet honesty.

“...No,” she said finally. “Not weird.”

He looked away with a bashful shrug. “You’ve been sort of… untouchable lately. I wasn’t sure if I’d done something.”

Freya opened her mouth to reply to say no, it’s not you, it’s me no, worse, it’s someone else entirely but she caught herself.

“I’ve just had… a lot on my mind.”

“That much I figured,” he said, and offered her a soft smile. “But I’m glad you’re here now.”

Their food arrived the tart warm and sweet, melting the cold right out of their fingers. For a while, they spoke about everything but themselves: the absurd pile of homework waiting for them Monday, the way the Slytherin Beater nearly knocked their own Keeper unconscious in last week’s Quidditch match, a ridiculous theory Sia had about Peeves actually being a cursed professor.

It was easy. Really, truly easy in a way Freya hadn’t felt in weeks and for once, she let herself enjoy it. She leaned forward when Elias spoke, laughed at his terrible impressions, nudged his foot under the table once when he teased her about always correcting his Potions measurements.

“I swear, you make that look like art,” he said as she mimed stirring a phantom cauldron.

“That’s because I have art,” she countered. “Yours looks like poisoned soup.”

“I’m deeply wounded.”

“You should be.”

He grinned and looked at her really looked. His eyes softened just slightly, and Freya felt her breath catch. Not because she felt uncomfortable not at all. But because for the first time in weeks, someone was looking at her without expectation, without history behind their eyes. No haunted silence.

Elias looked at her like she was exactly where she belonged.

They lingered at the Three Broomsticks long after they finished their tart. The fire nearby was dwindling, the crowds thinner now, but neither made any move to leave.

Until finally, Elias said, “Come on. I’ll walk you back. Before Madam Rosmerta starts sweeping us out.”

Freya smiled, grabbing her scarf and wrapping it around her neck again.

The walk back was quieter. Not uncomfortable, just… softer. The kind of silence that feels like a shared blanket. Their shoulders brushed once. Twice. Elias didn’t reach for her hand this time. But the warmth was still there between them, lingering in the cold air like mist.

As the castle loomed closer, Elias turned to her with a slight tilt of his head.

“This was really nice.”

“Yeah,” Freya said, her breath ghosting the air. “It was.”

“And… maybe we do it again?”

She hesitated only a moment and then nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

They didn’t say more than that. Not yet.

But behind them, the windows of the Three Broomsticks flickered golden in the distance.

And somewhere, far above the snow-covered roofs and drifting clouds, the moon began to rise.

Chapter Text

By midweek, the castle was humming. Not with spells or seasonal cheer but with something far less magical and far more insidious: gossip.

It began subtly, like all rumors do. A few words exchanged in the girls' dormitory, a glance shared between tables at breakfast. By Tuesday morning, someone had whispered that Elias had asked Freya out. By Tuesday night, that whisper had evolved Elias and Freya had gone to Hogsmeade alone. And apparently, she laughed at every one of his jokes.

By Wednesday, the whole school seemed to know about it. The Gryffindor common room had the most colorful versions, as always. Sia swore she had seen Freya touch Elias's arm at the Three Broomsticks. Another second-year claimed the two had walked back to the castle holding hands. Mary rolled her eyes at half of it, but that didn’t stop her from grinning knowingly at Freya every time she so much as looked in Elias’s direction.

Freya took it all in stride. Or at least, that’s what she told herself she was doing. She didn't confirm anything, but she didn't deny it either. Let them talk. Let them assume. It was easier than explaining easier than thinking. And besides, she and Elias had been spending more time together lately, hadn’t they?

She had made a decision: if Lupin wanted distance, then so be it.

She could give him distance. She could give him nothing at all.

That afternoon, between Charms and Ancient Runes, the corridor outside the Arithmancy wing bustled with students. Snow still clung to the corners of their cloaks as they moved through the high-arched halls, boots clacking against stone. Freya stood with Elias near one of the tall windows, the winter sun casting gold against the streaks of frost behind her. Her cheeks were still pink from the walk between classes, and Elias was grinning down at her with a look that had drawn attention more than once that week.

“I can’t believe you actually made it through Vector’s entire lecture without doodling once,” Elias teased, bumping her shoulder.

Freya smirked, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “I’m growing. Emotionally. Academically.”

“Tragic,” he replied. “I liked the little dragons breathing fire into the homework margins.”

She laughed, leaning back against the cool stone wall. Her gaze flicked toward the passing students not looking for anyone, of course not but if a certain professor happened to walk by…

But she didn’t see him. Not yet.

“Speaking of dragons” Freya said, a little lower now, “Normally I shouldn't tell you but I can't hold it in anymore.” She almost whispered

Elias raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” and lean closer to her

“For a few days now, Handric has had a baby dragon in his hut for a few days. ” she pointed out. “The day before yesterday I went after class to see him and I'll go again today.”

“You are kidding me, there is a dragon at the school!” he exclaimed excited

“Yes but that doesn’t mean the whole school must know about that” She hissed at him and close his mouth with her hands “It’s a secret, I’m the only one who knows it.”

Freya shook her head, half-grinning despite herself.

“If you want you can come along with me”

“Are you serious, obviously I wanna come” he face lit up and rest his hand at her soldier as they continue to walk

But then just for a second she felt it. That shift in atmosphere, subtle and sudden. The kind of silence that isn’t actual silence, but the heavy pause of eyes landing on you. Whispered words behind palms. A space pulling tight.

She glanced up and there, just a few feet ahead, stood a small cluster of Ravenclaw girls, pretending to look at their parchment while clearly not pretending to glance their way. One of them nudged the other and smirked. Freya stiffened ever so slightly.

“They’re talking about us again,” she muttered under her breath.

Elias followed her gaze and sighed. “We could always stage a dramatic breakup at dinner. Throw a goblet or two. Shatter some dreams.”

Freya snorted. “Too much effort.”

“I suppose the truth would be simpler,” he added, this time a bit more serious.

Freya paused. “…Which part is the truth?”

That caught him off guard and he looked at her for a long moment. “That I like being around you. That I’d say yes if you wanted this to be… something real.”

Before she could answer before she could even begin to unpick the knot that formed instantly in her chest a figure passed behind them.

Not close. Not speaking. But unmistakable Freya’s breath hitched. Professor Lupin walked down the far end of the corridor, a stack of books in his arms, his long coat trailing lightly behind him. His pace was calm, composed but his eyes flicked toward them just once. That brief glance just a flicker, half a second was enough.

He saw them standing too close. Saw Elias watching her. Saw the space she used to fill with silence now filled with laughter. His jaw tightened, barely visible. And then he was gone, rounding the corner and disappearing like a storm swallowed by mist. Freya stood still, her heart suddenly louder than it had been a moment before.

Elias didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, but chose to ignore it.

“You alright?” he asked gently.

Freya blinked, and the moment broke.

She straightened, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Fine. Just cold.” But she wasn’t.

Because for the first time since she started this charade since she told herself she was moving on she’d felt it again.

The weight of his gaze. The only difference now… was that this time, she was the one who looked away first.

The sky was ink-dark and scattered with stars as Freya and Elias crunched their way across the snow-covered grounds toward Hagrid’s hut. Their breath puffed white in the cold air, and the only sounds were the distant hoot of an owl and the soft laughter between them.

“I still can’t believe he has another dragon,” Elias whispered, a grin tugging at his lips.

“I know,” Freya beamed, pulling her cloak tighter around her. “Honestly, I’m surprised the Ministry hasn’t thrown a fit about it again.”

They reached the crooked little hut, warm light glowing behind the frosted windows. Freya rapped gently on the wooden door, and within seconds, it creaked open to reveal Hagrid, his beard already dusted with soot, looking far too awake for this hour.

“There y’are!” he boomed in a whisper, if such a thing existed. “He’s been wrigglin’ round all night. Come in, come in!”

They stepped into the inviting warmth, shaking the snow from their boots. The smell of firewood, singed fabric, and something vaguely meaty filled the air. Freya’s eyes immediately landed on the basket near the hearth, where a small, black-scaled dragonlet curled in a bundle of scorched blankets, little puffs of smoke rising from his nostrils.

“Ohhh,” Freya breathed, instantly dropping to her knees beside the basket. “Look at you!”

The baby dragon blinked up at her, blinking slow and lazy like a cat. His wings fluttered, a tiny spark fizzing at the tip of his tail. Elias crouched beside her, visibly impressed.

“He’s like a teacup version of a nightmare,” he said, grinning.

“He’s perfect,” Freya cooed, carefully offering her gloved hand for him to sniff. “Hi there, little one. Remember me?”

The dragon gave a low gurgling sound and nuzzled her fingers. Freya giggled.

“He totally remembers me.”

“You sure he doesn’t just like the way you smell?”

“I smell like caramel and vanilla, thank you very much.”

Elias leaned back, watching her with amusement as she gently scratched under the baby dragon’s chin. “You know,” he said, “every time I think I’ve seen your happiest self, you prove me wrong.”

Freya glanced at him, cheeks flushed from the fire, of course. “What can I say? Dragons are better than boys.”

“Rude,” he said with a dramatic scoff, “but fair.”

Hagrid chuckled from his armchair, setting down two steaming mugs of cocoa with giant marshmallows bobbing on top. “Yeh should’ve seen ’er first time with Buckbeak,” he said, nudging Elias. “Had the hippogriff preenin’ like a peacock.”

Freya beamed, lifting her cocoa. “He was so dramatic. He bowed, I bowed, he bowed again. We practically danced.”

“I’m starting to feel replaced by a dragon,” Elias muttered into his cocoa.

The dragonlet let out a small sneeze a burst of warm air and a few harmless sparks. Freya squealed in delight and offered him a tiny biscuit from her pocket.

“Is that safe?” Elias asked warily.

“He likes them,” Freya said, watching as the little creature crunched happily. “Hagrid told me last time.”

Elias leaned close, just enough to whisper, “You carry dragon treats around?”

“You never know,” she replied primly. “Preparedness is a lifestyle.”

The three of them Freya, Elias, and the dragon sat in easy peace for a while, sipping cocoa and soaking in the flickering firelight. Freya rested her chin on her knees, eyes glowing as she watched the creature wiggle closer to the hearth.

“This,” she murmured, “is the best kind of night.”

Elias turned slightly toward her, chin propped on his hand. “What makes it the best?”

She didn’t think long before answering. “Warm cocoa, a forbidden dragon, stars outside, and…” She hesitated, then smiled, soft and sincere. “...good company.”

He said nothing at first, but the smile he gave her was gentle

“You’re impossible, you know,” he said eventually.

“I’ve been told.”

The dragon let out a sleepy hiccup of flame, singeing the edge of a cushion. Freya quickly patted it out while Elias and Hagrid both scrambled in a mild panic. She laughed so hard her sides hurt, and for a moment, all thoughts of anything complicated anything distant, or sharp, or sad melted away into firelight and snowflakes.

The castle was hushed, long past curfew, its stone corridors lit only by the silver shimmer of moonlight streaming through arched windows. The snow had thickened overnight, blanketing the grounds in quiet, glowing white. Inside, the warmth of the fires lingered in the stones, but the air had the kind of stillness that only existed at the very edge of sleep.

Freya and Elias walked side by side, returning from their late visit to Hagrid’s hut. The echo of their footsteps on the stone floor was soft, swallowed by the vastness of the corridor. Freya’s cheeks were flushed from the cold and from laughter, her gloved fingers still warm where the baby dragon’s muzzle had nuzzled her palm. Elias looked relaxed, almost glowing, his hands deep in his coat pockets as he glanced at her with barely restrained fondness.

“Do you think Hagrid would let us name him?” Freya asked, voice lowered but still playful.

Elias chuckled. “Us? You mean you. You’ve already claimed the poor thing.”

“Please. He chose me.”

“He sneezed fire on your sleeve.”

“Affectionately,” she grinned.

They turned the corner of the entrance hall, moonlight filtering in through the tall windows, casting delicate shadows across the stone floor. Freya slowed a little, her smile fading to something quieter

Elias looked over at her, and for a beat, he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t just the moonlight that made the moment feel heavy.

He stopped walking. “Freya?”

She turned toward him, brushing a curl behind her ear. “Hm?”

Elias didn’t answer at first. His gaze held hers longer than usual, more intent. More uncertain. Then his expression shifted softened into something she’d seen only once before: at the ball, under the glow of the floating candles, when she’d caught him staring like she was the only person in the room. And just like that night, she felt it again now that sharp tangle in her chest. He was looking at her the way she had once looked at someone else. The thought hit her like a dart, but she shoved it down.

“Freya,” he said again, quieter now. “Can I…?”

His voice trailed off as he leaned in slightly, his hand brushing hers.

She didn’t move away. Not at first. The world was too still, too delicate. And for a split second, she thought she might let it happen. She liked Elias. She really did. He made her laugh, he was kind, warm, open. Everything about this moment should’ve made sense.

But they were not alone.

Unseen behind one of the stone pillars of the staircase hidden in shadow Remus Lupin stood motionless. He had not intended to follow anyone. He had only been on his usual sleepless wander back to his quarters, his thoughts as tangled as ever. But the low sound of familiar voices had drawn him toward the landing above the entrance hall. And when he leaned out just enough to see

It was like being sucker-punched. There she was, glowing faintly in moonlight, standing close to Elias with a softness in her eyes he had only ever seen directed at him. And Elias his hand brushing hers, the clear intention on his face. Lupin’s jaw tightened.

He had heard the rumours, of course. Seen them walking together, laughing in the corridors, sitting far too close in the courtyard. But hearing it was one thing. Seeing it… Feeling it, it was entirely different. Freya. His Freya no, not his. Never his.

Still, his hands curled into fists at his sides. She looked so much like she had that night at the ball radiant, uncertain, entirely unreachable. But this time, it wasn’t him she was turning toward.

But something inside her held her back, a quiet tightening in her chest not fear, not confusion… just something unspoken. Something not meant for Elias and in that single heartbeat of hesitation, she gently turned her head away.

But Lupin never saw that he was too close far too close, he froze Elias leaned in Freya didn’t stop him.

Lupin didn’t wait to see more. His chest tightened with something he didn’t have a name for or refused to name. It was ridiculous, really. He had told himself this would happen. She was young, bright, warm. Elias was charming, persistent, her age. This was what made sense. He’d done everything right, pushed her away, drawn the lines, shut the door.

So why did it feel like his ribs were breaking?

His face hardened. Without another breath, he turned from the edge of the stairwell and strode off into the shadows, his mind burning. Whatever he thought had been between them whatever moments, whatever glances, whatever had almost happened it was clearly finished.

He told himself to be rational. He told himself it didn’t matter. But the image of her in Elias’s arms, head tilted like she was about to kiss him, burned into his brain like a cursed brand. By the time he reached his chambers, he was furious. Not at her. Not really. And certainly not at Elias.

At himself

Because he had no right to feel any of this. And yet, it didn’t stop it from tearing through him like fire.

He dropped into the armchair beside the fire, raking a hand through his hair, jaw tight.

This is what you wanted, he told himself. Distance. Boundaries. Her, happy.

Then why did it feel like loss?

The dungeon classroom was colder than usual, shadows stretching long beneath the flickering torchlight as snow tapped softly at the narrow windows. Freya sat at the edge of the long table, parchment unfurled, ink bottle neatly uncorked, but she hadn’t written a single word. Lupin hadn’t arrived late. He never did, but the moment he stepped through the door, something felt wrong.

He moved like a storm not loud, not fast, but… tight. Controlled in a way that made your skin prickle. His jaw was clenched, his posture impossibly stiff. There was a strange twitch at his fingertips when he flicked his wand to close the door behind him. And when Dumbledore, seated quietly at the back as he had for every partnership class, reminded them this would be the final assignment session Lupin didn’t say a word. He just turned and walked straight to the table he shared with Freya.

Their last session had been almost unbearable. Silence stretching between them like an invisible wall, thick and jagged. She had tried, once, to meet his eyes. He hadn't even glanced at her. But today… today felt different.

Not better worse.

The way his shoulders hunched, the tension coiling off him like smoke. It wasn’t just coldness anymore. It was anger. And not the quiet, distant kind she was getting used to. This was different. They worked in silence for several long minutes, scratching quills and rustling books, until Freya, against every ounce of self-preservation she'd built the past two weeks, finally snapped.

“This is ridiculous,” she said flatly, not looking at him. “You’ve been acting like a stranger since the holidays ended. And now you’re acting like—”

He cut her off without looking up. “Like a professor who’s trying to finish a class assignment?”

“Don’t do that,” she said sharply, finally turning toward him. “Don’t hide behind your title like that’s all this is.”

His eyes lifted. And they were darker than she remembered. Not angry in the way she expected wounded, furious, and something else she couldn’t name.

“You want to talk about hiding?” he said quietly, too quietly. “You’ve made quite the habit of pretending, haven’t you?”

Freya blinked. “Pretending what?”

“That none of this ever meant anything.” His voice was low and dangerous now. “That the moment someone your age turned their eyes on you, you—”

“Excuse me?” Her voice sharpened, her whole body freezing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

But he didn’t answer.

The quill in his hand snapped from the pressure of his grip. He muttered something under his breath, clenching his fist to keep it from shaking.

“Professor Lupin,” she said firmly now, eyes locked onto him, “what is going on with you? You’ve been acting like a ghost version of yourself for weeks, and today—today there’s something else. You’re not… you're not okay. And don’t lie. You’re not.”

He looked at her then. Really looked. And for the briefest second, she thought he might say something real.

But the mask dropped hard.

“You’re my student,” he said. “That’s what this is. And this—” he gestured stiffly between them, “—is an academic pairing, nothing more.’’

She drew back, stunned. “That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s none of your concern how I’m feeling,” he bit out, voice like a whip. “It never was.”

The words hit her like ice water. Her breath caught in her chest, her mind trying to make sense of what had just been said what he had just done.

“I was just trying to make sure you’re alright,” she said, quieter now. “You don’t have to treat me like I’ve done something wrong just for caring.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he muttered.

“What?”

He stood suddenly, too abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. A few other students glanced up.as she watched him turn his back to her again and start toward the door, but this time, something in her snapped.

“No,” she whispered, mostly to herself. Then louder firm, not desperate.“You don’t get to walk away.”

He froze mid-step, hand resting on the handle. She stood, swiftly, her boots tapping softly against the floor as she crossed the space between them. Before she could second-guess herself, she reached out and caught his wrist. He flinched. Not because of her touch, but because it jolted something in him.some instinct, some heat that had been locked away tightly.

“Don’t,” he said hoarsely, not turning to her yet.

“You don’t get to keep doing this,” she said, eyes burning. “Cold one moment, silent the next, then exploding like I’ve done something wrong for just trying to talk to you.”

“You should let go,” he said, quietly. “Before this goes somewhere it shouldn't.”

Freya held tighter. “What did you mean earlier? About pretending?”

He finally turned to face her and the look in his eyes was electric, not just frustration, not just coldness

“Don’t push this, Freya.”

“Then stop making everything so impossible!” she snapped. “You treat me like I’m some line you have to walk around, but I’ve never asked you to cross it. I’ve never—”

He pulled his arm free, gently but firmly, breathing hard now. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Her heart stuttered.

“What?” she said, blinking.

“You stand there,” he said, voice cracking slightly, “all fire and fury and light, and you act like we can go back to the way it was before the ball. Before you looked at me like that before I let myself feel something back.”

Silence.

The torches on the walls flickered, as if the room itself held its breath.

Freya’s voice was softer now, uncertain. “Then why are you acting like I did something wrong?”

“Because I have to,” he said, voice sharp again. “Because I’m not some boy in your year you can flirt with and forget. I’m your professor. And if I let this continue—”

“You’re not letting anything!” she cut in, stepping closer now, her voice fierce. “You think this is easy for me? I’ve been trying to give you space, trying to be civil, but all you do is shut me out and then punish me for trying!”

His jaw tensed. “You think this is punishment?”

“I think you’re a coward,” she said. And she meant it. Not as an insult. As a truth. “You’re running from something that already happened. That you started. That we both felt.”

Lupin’s breath hitched. For a second just one he looked at her like he had the night of the ball. When the world had gone quiet and they weren’t professor and student, just two people aching to speak a language neither dared say aloud. But then he shut it down again. Buried it.

“Whatever this was,” he said, softer now, almost tired, “it’s over.”

She stared at him, disbelief curling in her stomach like sickness. “Then say it. Look me in the eyes and say you felt nothing.”

The room held its breath. Freya's words hung in the air like smoke and Lupin stared at her. Her cheeks were flushed with frustration, her chest rose and fell quickly, her arms were folded tightly like that would hold her together. But her voice had cracked slightly, and in her eyes, shimmering beneath the firelight, was something that undid him entirely he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t lie.

So instead, he stepped even closer to her

Freya didn’t move. She watched him, heart hammering, frozen in place like something ancient had called her to stillness. His hand reached out slowly, not with the roughness of someone giving in to lust, but with the reverence of someone touching a page in a forbidden book. One hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing gently beneath her cheekbone, like she might break if he moved too fast. He paused for just a second, lips parted, eyes flicking between hers.

And then he kissed her.

Softly. Carefully. Like the world might end the second he did it and maybe, in some small way, it did. It wasn’t hungry or rushed. It was delicate. Worshipful. His other hand came to rest at the side of her neck, and he tilted his head just enough to deepen it without demanding anything. He kissed her like she was the most fragile, precious thing he’d ever held and the only thing he ever wanted to. Freya gasped a little at first startled, wide-eyed. But then something melted in her, and her hand rose instinctively to rest on his chest.

And she kissed him back.

Timidly. Uncertain, but not unwilling. Like someone stepping into light after being kept in shadow too long. Her lips were warm, tentative and he could feel every emotion she wasn’t saying pressed into the space between them. He nearly faltered at the feeling. He hadn’t expected her to respond. He hadn’t expected anything at all. But there it was. A truth exchanged through touch instead of words and it rattled him to the very center.

When they parted, it wasn’t with a stumble or gasp. They just slowly eased back, foreheads almost touching. Breathing unsteady neither of them spoke. For once, words couldn’t reach the place they’d just touched.

Lupin’s thumb lingered against her cheek. His gaze searched her face as if trying to memorize every inch of her, every tremble of emotion still etched in her lips. He didn’t speak, didn’t explain. He just looked at her like the moment had already rewritten everything.

Freya couldn’t move. Her lips still tingled, and her heart pounded like it was trying to claw out of her chest. Her breath came shallow, and her eyes searched Lupin’s face like it might offer an explanation a map back to the world she knew before that kiss.

Did that just happen?

She blinked once, then again, unsure if she’d imagined it if it was something her mind had conjured out of desperation and longing. But then she caught the look in his eyes, he had kissed her. Really kissed her and she had kissed him back. Before she could even think, before reason could crash over her like a wave, she stepped forward and reached for him, her hands finding his collar, his lapels, something to hold onto. She rose onto her tiptoes, unsteady, nervous, her cheeks burning.And she kissed him. Lupin let out the faintest sound and bent slightly to meet her halfway, closing the distance with an urgency that nearly stole her breath.

This kiss wasn’t like the first. There was no gentle hesitation this time. No testing the waters. He met her lips with an intensity that nearly sent her reeling. It was like he’d been holding back so long that now, with the floodgates open, he couldn’t bear to stop. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer carefully, but with a need he couldn’t hide. He angled his head, deepening the kiss, and she felt her knees weaken at the sensation. Freya tried her best to match his pace, but she was overwhelmed. Not in a bad way just dizzy and breathless and completely new to this. It was her first real kiss, and it wasn’t just anyone it was him .It was the man she had tried so hard to hate, to ignore, to stay away from. The man who had frozen her out so ruthlessly.

But now?

Now he was kissing her like he had waited his whole life to do so. She tilted her head slightly, leaning into the rhythm, her hands sliding up to the back of his neck. He shivered under her touch. And for a fleeting moment, Freya felt powerful as though she had cracked open something hidden, something sacred. Then he pulled back, just a little not far his forehead resting against hers again, both of them breathing hard, faces flushed, eyes locked.

She swallowed thickly, stunned by what had just passed between them. The words were tangled on her tongue, lost in the hurricane of her emotions

Remus was the first to move, just barely his eyes blinking rapidly, as if trying to steady the world again. His hands slipped from her waist, but he didn’t step back yet. He just stood there, visibly stunned. “What… what have we done?

His voice was low, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t angry just haunted.

Freya’s breath caught. She didn’t answer at first. Her brain was scrambling for words, for anything that would make sense of the last five minutes. She stepped back just slightly, enough to look up at him fully, her expression dazed and uncertain. Her fingers clenched at her sides.“I…” She faltered. “I don’t know.”

There was a beat of silence. Two heartbeats. Three.

Remus turned away suddenly, scrubbing a hand over his face, his composure breaking at the seams. His back rose and fell with a heavy breath. “This can’t be happening,” he muttered to no one, almost as if trying to convince himself more than her.

Freya stared at him, barely recognizing the man who had just kissed her like she was the only thing anchoring him to earth. “Why did you do it, then?” she asked, voice sharp with confusion. “If it’s something we’re supposed to regret—why did you do it?”

He turned toward her slowly, his eyes tired so tired, but burning with conflict. “Because I couldn’t help myself,” he said, honestly, painfully. “And that’s exactly the problem.”

That stung more than she expected. Her eyes fell to the floor. He stepped forward as if he wanted to fix it as if he might kiss her again but he stopped himself, his jaw clenching. “Freya… this shouldn’t have happened. I’m your professor.”

“I know that,” she whispered, barely audible.

Their eyes locked again hers wide and shimmering, his conflicted and filled with everything he wasn’t saying.

Freya swallowed hard. “But I didn’t imagine that… did I? That wasn’t just—”

“No.” He cut her off gently. “You didn’t imagine it.”

A breath passed between them, fragile and taut.

“Then what now?” she asked, voice breaking.

He didn’t have an answer. He turned his head away, then looked back the ache in his gaze unbearable. “You should go,” he said quietly.

She wanted to scream. Or stay. Or ask him to take it all back and do it again properly. But instead, she nodded. Once. Then she turned, and walked away, her steps echoing down the corridor, softer and softer until she disappeared around the corner.

Remus didn’t move for a long time. He stood there, alone in the darkened hallway, cursing himself under his breath and pressing his palm to the wall like it might hold him up.

What have I done?

Chapter Text

She didn't see him or look for him the next day or the day after that, she was trying not to show how much everything that had happened had affected her. And she thanked the Merlin the girls hadn’t noticed. Elias was still stuck to her like a gum and after all the time they spent for the past weeks, this was the only time she couldn’t be around him.

That night the library was nearly silent save for the soft scratch of her quill and the occasional groan of ancient wood shifting in the cold. Freya sat hunched over a stack of parchment, her knees curled under her chair, her ink-stained fingers tapping absently at the margin of her essay. She hadn’t meant to stay this long. The assignment was already finished hours ago, but something had kept her rooted. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the fact that her thoughts, however much she pushed them away, always circled back to him.

Lupin.

Even now, the name alone felt like a curse and a omfort all at once. She blinked down at her parchment, her eyes glazed. Her quill had stilled mid-word. Focus, Freya. A sharp gust of wind rattled the high windows. She looked up, only just noticing the flicker of candlelight against the blinding white snow pressing hard against the glass. The storm must’ve gotten worse. Far worse.

She rubbed her arms through her jumper and began gathering her books, stuffing parchment into her satchel as she glanced to the massive clock above the archway.

Just past ten. Late, but not unusual for her.

As she made for the doors, Madame Pince stepped out of the shadows with her usual hawk-like expression. “You’ll have to stay put, Miss Blackwood. The castle’s sealed the upper corridors.”

Freya blinked. “What?”

“There’s a blizzard,” the librarian said crisply, motioning to the crackling windows. “An enchanted one. The Headmaster’s ordered corridor barriers until it passes.”

“But— I can’t—”

“Rules are rules,” Madame Pince interrupted. “There are spare blankets in the corner. Try not to set anything on fire.”

Freya let out a groan of disbelief as the doors behind her gave a heavy clang magically sealed, just as Madame Pince had warned. She turned to see the older witch already disappearing behind the Restricted Section, muttering to herself. Freya sighed, dropping her satchel onto the reading table and falling into the chair with a thud. Stuck. For the night. Just brilliant.

Her head dropped back against the carved wood. Could the day get any worse?

The answer arrived seconds later, in the sound of hurried footsteps echoing through the corridor too fast, too purposeful. The door creaked open and shut just as the wards surged up again, magic shimmering faintly against the wood. And there he was.

Lupin.

His hair was damp from the snow, the scarf around his neck dusted white. His wand was still in hand, his breath quick from rushing and when his eyes landed on her, something shifted. Not softness. Not warmth.

Something far stormier than the weather outside.

“You shouldn’t be out this late,” he said, his voice low, edged.

Freya stood slowly, folding her arms. “I was working. Not that it’s your business anymore.”

He glanced toward the sealed doors, jaw tight. “I came to make sure you got back to your dorm safely. Clearly, that was unnecessary.”

Freya let out a laugh bitter and short. “Unnecessary? That’s rich coming from you.”

She walked past him to the window, the storm flashing blue-white across the panes. Her voice dropped, shoulders stiff. “Don’t pretend you care. You’ve made it perfectly clear this past week that whatever connection we might’ve had was a mistake.”

“I never said—”

“But you didn’t have to,” she snapped, whirling around. “It’s in your silence, your looks, the way you talk to me like I’m nothing but a student.”

“That’s what you are,” Lupin said sharply. Too sharply. “A student. One I’ve been far too lenient with.”

She stared at him, wounded heat crawling up her throat. “Is that what this is about? You think you’ve been too kind? That regretting every moment you weren’t cruel with me will fix everything?”

“I don’t regret—” He stopped, breathing hard.

Freya took a step toward him. “Say it.”

He flinched.

She shook her head, laughing again, this time far sadder. “Of course. You can’t. You won’t. Because every time you say something, you run. Just like now. You came here to check on me? Fine. But don’t act like I *needed* you to. I’ve gotten by without you just fine.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off before he could speak. “If you’re going to regret this too being trapped here with me then go on. Start regretting.”

And then she said it low, but sharp, meant to cut. “You always do.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The storm battered the windows like fists against glass. The candlelight flickered dangerously, dancing shadows across their faces.

Lupin’s hands were fists at his sides. Freya’s chin lifted in defiance, but her heart was thunder in her chest. She could still feel the weight of his stare behind her, could sense him pacing, could almost hear his thoughts clashing as violently as the wind outside. Then, finally—

"You don’t know what you’re doing to me," Lupin said quietly.

Freya froze.

The words didn’t come out cruel or harsh. Quiet like they'd clawed their way out of his throat after being buried alive. She turned slowly. He wasn’t looking at her.

He stood a few paces away, staring somewhere off into the far shelves like the books might hold the answer to whatever war he was fighting. His jaw clenched and unclenched, breath shallow, shoulders tense like he was trying to hold something back. Her voice was softer than she meant it to be. "Then stop acting like I don’t matter."

He looked at her and Freya almost flinched at what she saw in his eyes. The restraint. So she stepped closer. Just one pace, but it felt like a chasm was crossed. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t feel it too? You act like I’m something you should be ashamed of, something to regret. You think I haven’t seen the way you’ve looked at me when you think I’m not watching?”

Still, he said nothing.

She swallowed thickly. “Then show me. Or stop pretending you don’t care.”

There was a beat not even a second where everything hung between them, suspended like glass before it shatters. Then he moved. Not hesitantly. Not gently. Like something in him broke free. Lupin crossed the space between them and kissed her. Harder than last time, nothing like the soft, delicate press of lips under candlelight. This was desperate, aching, like a dam had burst and all the feelings he’d shoved down for weeks came crashing forward with it.

Freya responded instantly.

She barely had time to breathe before her back hit the nearest bookcase. His hands cupped her face, fingers threading into her hair like he needed to anchor himself, like she was the only real thing in the world. Her hands clung to the front of his robes, pulling him closer, responding to every shift of his mouth with hungry need. Her heart was hammering in her chest, blood rushing to her ears, her body flooded with heat. She kissed him like he was the air she hadn’t been allowed to breathe.

He broke the kiss first just barely pressing his forehead to hers, eyes closed, breath labored.

“This is wrong,” he whispered. “This is so—”

“Then leave,” she whispered back, voice trembling. “Leave and walk away.”

But he didn’t.

His hands slid down her arms, over her waist, like he was trying to memorize her trying to remember that this was real. His lips found hers again, slower this time, but deeper, more intense. He kissed her like someone who’d tried to forget her and failed.

Freya kissed him back like someone who had waited too long. And when his hands moved again more certain this time, more urgent and her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him impossibly closer, the world outside ceased to exist. Her fingers had found the edge of his shirt, her touch unsure but longing, and he shuddered when her hand brushed the skin beneath. She gasped when he kissed down the line of her jaw, her throat, his breath hot against her skin. His hands cupped her face again, steady this time — grounding.

“Freya,” he said softly, hoarsely, voice cracked open like he was trying to speak through a hundred walls. “Tell me to stop.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Don’t.”

He stared at her, searching her face like he was afraid he might wake up and find her gone. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, a breath caught between them.

“I need you to tell me it’s what you want,” he said, even softer now. “Not because it’s impulsive or because of the storm or because we’re... whatever we are. I need you to mean it.”

Freya reached up, fingers curling into his collar. Her voice trembled, but her eyes didn’t waver. “I mean it. I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

The confession landed like lightning in his chest. Lupin let out a slow breath, then kissed her again. His hands slid over her back, along the curve of her waist, memorizing every inch like he’d burn the map into his palms. But as his mouth trailed down to her collarbone, her breath hitched not like before.

He exhaled, resting his forehead against hers again, eyes closed like he was praying. “I don’t want to do this wrong. Not with you.”

“I didn’t say stop,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said, voice raw. “But I have to. Because if I don’t now, I might not be able to.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she said again, her voice softer now, steadier.

He leaned, but this time slower like gravity was drawing him to her. Their mouths met in another kiss, deeper than before. She rose onto her toes, fingers curling into his hair as he held her tighter, lips moving with hers in quiet reverence. Every second he didn’t pull away gave her more courage, more boldness.

She reached for the buttons of his shirt this time, her fingertips brushing the soft skin beneath. He stilled for only a heartbeat then let out a shaky breath and helped her, his hands guiding hers.

When the shirt fell from his shoulders, she stared for a moment not just at the scars, though they caught her breath, but at the man beneath them. The trembling strength. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

He shook his head, laughing under his breath like he couldn’t believe her. But when she reached out and kissed the scar that crossed his collarbone, all he could do was close his eyes.

“Tell me if I do anything wrong,” she whispered, shy but sure.

“You won’t.” His voice was hoarse now. “Just… stay with me.”

He lifted her into his arms then, careful, like she was something precious, and laid her down on the blanket she had pulled from the reading nook earlier. The cold of the stone floor was forgotten the whole tower felt like it pulsed with warmth now, a cocoon of heat between them.

He hovered over her when they were skin to skin, his breathing shallow and his brow furrowed like he was still holding himself back. His shirt was now one the cold ground and Freya was pulling her own and flew to the other side of the room.

She was suddenly out of her ground and from the ground to the library office and from there all over him, her skirt pooling around then, her hair fisted around his hand, tugging her head back as his mouth opened over her neck. He licked the line of her neck, the wet trail of his tongue making a gush of liquid fire pool between her legs, right where she was pressed against his bulge, just the flimsy fabric of her panties between them. She clutched his shoulders with her hands, feeling the warm muscles under her palm, feeling the heat rolling off his skin.

“You are driving me mad Freya” he grit out against her neck, his other hand going under her skirt to trace the cotton on her panties.

“You finally said it” she moaned as his teeth worked over her lobe.

“Oh Merlin,” he pulled on her hair. “And when I saw you kissing that Hufflepuff boy that night.”

“What? I never kissed him,” she ran her hand over his shoulder and up his neck, into his hair, touching that distinctive white streak she’d wanted to touch for a long time.

“You didn’t ?” He pulled back just a little to have a better view of her face “But I saw you and him that night, you were so close” He sound completely surprised.

“You clearly left too early because I never kissed Elias” she said it proudly

And immediately his left hand boldly cupped her between her legs, the heel of his palm pressing into that sweet, sweet spot that made black spots dance around her eyes. She’d never felt this, never been possessed, owned, claimed like this with just one touch. Everything inside her melted, bowed, submitted to the thrust of his power, aligning around him, like a stream wrapping fiercely around the rock that cut through it.

He wrapped his fist around the fabric right between her legs and twisted it just enough so pressure of it mashing right into her clit with such sweet force she knew it would be swollen after. Her eyes closed of their own accord, head falling back as his lips trailed down her neck, over her chest, his breath falling right on her engorged nipple. It strained further towards the warmth, needing it, wanting it, wanting to be submerged in it.

He rubbed the bunched cotton of her panties against her, breathed and blew over her nipple, over and over and over, keeping her in place with his hand around her braid, controlling her body without even touching her flesh, and the heady sensation of being so utterly, completely at his mercy shot through her nerves, coiling the serpent of desire tighter and tighter and tighter in her belly, until she felt strummed, hanging on the precipice of a cliff she couldn’t see.

And then he flicked her nipple with his tongue. Just once.

She crashed.

Down the cliff, into the oblivion, splattered with sensations so intense her mouth opened on a silent scream, her body shaking, toes curling, back arching as much as it could in the limited space.

It lasted for seconds, minutes, hours, she couldn’t tell. But she became aware of her panties being ripped in his grip, the bite of fabric sharp on her hip, the chill of the air naked on her exposed flesh.

“Look at me, Freya ” he commanded, and her eyes opened of their own volition, finding his molten golden ones in the little light coming from the moon. That was also when she suddenly became aware of the silence. She looked out, surprised to see that the torrential rain had slowed to a drizzle, the clouds had parted enough for the moon to shine on. Which meant they had to head back soon and it would be over.

Her scalp prickled as he tugged her braid. “Eyes, Freya”

She locked gazes with him.

This time, it was smaller. Hesitant. Like the nerves had finally caught up with the storm of emotion.

He stilled instantly and drew back, just enough to look at her. Her eyes were still wide, dazed, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed but there was something else there now. A flicker and that’s when it hit him.

“I’ve… I’ve never done this before.” She almost whispered it.

Of course. His heart nearly stopped.

“Oh,” he whispered, as if he could undo the last few seconds. “Freya…”

She blinked up at him, startled, not pulling away but now visibly flushed for an entirely different reason.

“It’s okay,” she said quickly, almost breathlessly. “I want to—”

“No, love.” The word slipped out before he could stop it low and instinctive and filled with a gentleness that made her chest tighten.

“You’re...you’re so young. You’ve never—” He stopped himself, jaw tight. “And I’m not just a man, Freya. You know what I am. You don’t understand how hard this is for me already.”

She looked at him, lips trembling. “I do understand. More than you think.”

The heat in his eyes flared as he sank his middle finger inside her, her wet inner walls clenching around him in relief.

“You chose the wrong guy for your first time, sweetheart” he murmured to her, pushing in another finger, stretching her out as she breathed through her mouth.

“What?” she asked softly, her fingers flexing in his thick hair.

“If I start with you, I might not be able to stop” he scissored his fingers inside her, eliciting a moan from deep within her.

“Then don’t” Corvina reminded him on a whimper.

His response was to pull his fingers out, stinging it enough to make wetness gush out, as though punishing her for saying that.

He did his part, now it was her turn. She slid her hands down his hard, rising chest to his stomach, feeling the muscles under her palms, and finally down to the belt that held his jeans. She undid it, fumbling slightly at the belt and finally figuring it out, pulled his zip down carefully over his bulge, and put her hand inside, holding a man for the first time. He felt heavy, pulsing, big, much bigger than she’d expected or her hands could wrap around.

“Fuck,” he groaned as she squeezed him experimentally, sending a zap of pleasure coursing through her. “Balance yourself on my shoulders.”

Freya did, her chest heaving as he pushed a lever on the side of his seat, sliding it and sending the back flat, enough to make room for movement. He lined up his cock with her, holding her hips with both hands, and locked eyes with her.

“This is madness.”

Freya nodded, the lust in the air infusing every inch of her being. It was their madness. Right now she didn’t care about anything. Right now it was just him and her.

His grip on her hips tightened a split second before he thrust up, pulling her down simultaneously, lodging half his length inside her in one stroke.

Freya screamed at the intrusion, her muscles shrieking as they got penetrated by what felt like a battering ram trying to split her open. Eyes stinging, she breathed through her mouth, trying to adjust to his length, both so foreign they felt unreal.

“Oh god,” she whimpered as he pulled her down a bit more.

“Shh,” she heard him whispering into her neck, his nose nuzzling her, his hands on her hips massaging her, softly settling her down. “Yiuare doing great Freya” he kissed her piercing, her wet cheeks, the corners of her uplifted eyes. “Relax your muscles. That’s it. You feel your pussy softening for me?”

Freya did, her muscles opening up to him, welcoming him as he sank an inch deeper.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Look at me.”

She gave him her eyes.

“Magic eyes,” he murmured again, looking all over her face. “My little witch.”

She tried to speak back but words weren’t coming out, closing that last inch and sinking on him entirely, clinging to his shoulder as the fire between her legs simmered somewhere between pleasure at his fullness and pain at his invasion.

“You are taking it so good” he said, spearing one hand into her hair and tilting her head to the side, his mouth slanting over her as his other hand guided her hip up. Their tongues met, separated, glided as he pulled his hips as far as the office beneath them would allow and snapped in, spearing her in her two in a dance her body instinctively recognized. Her hips moved of their own volition, rotating over his cock, going up and down, her inner walls melding around him like they’d been created for it. He let her have her time, adjusting and discovering the newfound sensations, choosing to cup her breasts in the meantime, plucking her nipples with those skilled, deviant fingers, playing them like a maestro.

Her thigh muscles started to burn, her pace slowing down.

He gave her ass a little slap. “Get up,” he told her, pulling himself out, lifting her up slightly, she swallowed, looking up to meet his gaze as he pushed her flat on her back onto the seat, gripping her behind one knee and opening her up even more, his other hand holding onto the opening of the car towards the roof. She was locked in place, with only the space to move her hands.

His mouth came down on hers just as he entered her again with a thrust so hard it rocked the office, pushing her up, the new angle making tears roll down the sides of her face.

A noise she didn’t recognize left her, swallowed by his mouth, their kissing frantic, their fucking even more so. And now he was fucking more like an animal, his werewolf side was trying hard to come to the surface for so long he finally had.

Lupin wrapped his hand from under her knee to where they were joined, pressing against her exposed clit, rubbing it hard in circles with his thumb as his cock rammed into her over and over her nipples scraping against his chest with each movement, over and over his tongue penetrating her mouth, touching, gliding, playing with hers, over and over and over. The assault on her senses from all sides turned the blaze in her flesh into an inferno, burning from all the places they were connected, spreading like a wildfire under her skin, taking her under.

A current of electricity zapped through her spine, arching her back as her head dug into the solid surface underneath her, her mouth opening on a scream silenced by his as waves of pleasure capsized her, taking her under. Her knees jerked as he held them down, her walls clenching and unclenching around him rapidly, so rapidly he punched his cock through them one last time before growling against her lips, his release flooding her to capacity.

It was everything, pleasure so pure, so untainted, so primal it was endless.

Freya looked up at him, dazed, her body still buzzing with little aftershocks.

Panting, he pulled back, his chest heaving, and stood upright, his hands holding at her sides for support.

Freya stayed where she was, limp, looking at him as he got to fixing himself, surrounded by the dark atmosphere of the library. She could scent him on herself, his unique scent, and she liked it.

He turned to her, his silver gaze raking over her supine form, heating again despite what they’d just done. She wondered how she looked to him, skirt up around her waist, thigh-high boots, ripped panties, hair loosened.

Bending down, he took her panties on the other side, throwing them in the back with his coat, and took out some tissues from the dashboard. She stayed silent, watching him as he cleaned her up, her heart clenching at the act, her mind arousing at the eroticism of it.

“You might be sore,” he told her with a worry look, finally she tried to sit at the top of the office moaning at the way her legs and pussy protested.

“I am sore,” she told him, settling in her seat, aware of every single throb between her legs.

Snow pressed softly against the high windows, muffling the storm’s last whispers. Inside the tower, everything had stilled. Freya lay curled into Lupin’s side, her cheek against his chest, her fingers resting where his heart beat steadily beneath her palm. He held her like something precious his arm tucked around her back, the other hand brushing lazy, slow circles along her spine beneath the blankets they’d pulled over themselves.

Neither of them spoke at first.

There was no need.

The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore it was full. Full of everything they’d said without words. Every soft touch. Every sigh. Every moment where restraint had finally, mercifully, given way to something real.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Freya felt… weightless.

As if something had been untangled inside her a knot of confusion and longing, of anger and heartbreak. It hadn’t disappeared, but it had shifted. Softened. She let out a breath, almost surprised by how steady it sounded.

Lupin’s voice came low, like the hush of snow against glass. “Are you alright?”

His tone wasn’t clinical, or cold it was raw, quiet, hesitant, like he was asking more than just the words. Like he was really asking, Was that too much? Was I too much? Did I hurt you? Will you regret this in the morning?

Freya tilted her head slightly, enough to look at him. His gaze was already on her unreadable and entirely open at once.

She nodded. “I’m more than alright.”

Then, as if to make sure there were no shadows left between them, she added with a soft, breathless laugh, “You’re… very gentle, at first at least you know. Not what I expected from a professor who gives such terrifying essays.”

That drew a huff of air from him not quite a laugh, but close. “Is that what I’m known for?” he murmured, brushing a curl away from her face with the back of his knuckles. “Terrifying essays?”

She grinned. “That and… being maddening. Quiet. Mysterious.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Maddening?”

Freya arched slightly against him, lips ghosting a trail just beneath his collarbone. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

At that, he exhaled sharply, the weight of her words striking something deep. He drew her closer, so close she could feel every beat of his heart through her ribs.

“I didn’t think this would ever happen,” he whispered, after a long pause.

“I did,” she replied simply. “I didn’t know when. Or how. But… I knew it.

He nodded slowly, burying his face in her hair, his voice muffled and warm against her skin. “You should’ve terrified me. You still do.”

Freya smiled against his chest. “Good. Keeps you on your toes.”

A comfortable silence fell again, thick with warmth, their bodies wrapped together like they’d belonged like this all along and only just now remembered how. Her fingers danced absently over the scars she could feel along his side

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Something unspoken passed between them not a promise, not yet. But a truth. That whatever happened next, whatever came in daylight, this had been real. This moment was theirs. Not borrowed. Not mistaken..

He hadn’t slept not really. His eyes had opened the second she moved, though he didn’t speak. He just watched her. Freya turned to face him, blinking up into his expression. She expected… something. A soft smile. A kiss. Maybe even a teasing word.

The room was warm now. Quiet, too. The kind of quiet that wrapped around them like a blanket, soft and unshaking, broken only by the muted howl of wind pressing against the ancient windows.

Freya lay curled beside him on the old conjured mattress her head resting just below his shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest soothing against her cheek. Their hands were still tangled, her fingers tracing idle lines across the inside of his wrist.

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

And then, just barely above a whisper, she asked, “Are you alright?”

A soft breath left him. He turned his head on the pillow to look at her. Her hair was a mess tangled and glowing like a halo in the golden lamplight, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted. She looked like something out of a dream. Out of dream.

It hurt.

“I’m not,” he admitted.

She blinked. “Because of… this?”

“No,” he said. “Because this is the one thing I’ve wanted. And the one thing I can’t have.”

Freya pushed herself upright, blanket clutched to her chest, heart tightening in her ribcage.. “Then why—?”

“Because I’m selfish,” he said, bitterly. “I let myself forget, for a moment. What I am. What this would mean for you.”

Freya frowned. “What it *meant* for me was everything.”

He looked away. His jaw tightened.

“Remus,” she said gently, “don’t do that. Don’t look at me like you regret this.”

“I could never regret you,” he said, and it broke something in his voice. “But I do regret being weak enough to let this happen. Because I will hurt you, Freya. Not in the way you think but I will. I already have.”

She sat up fully, the blanket slipping from her bare shoulders, but she didn’t flinch.

“I’m not a child,” she said, quiet but firm. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

His gaze finally snapped back to hers, filled with something volatile. “You don’t understand what being close to me means. You don’t know what it costs.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “I care about you. Isn’t that enough?”

He sat up too now, breath catching slightly. He looked at her like she was sunlight he wasn’t meant to touch.

“I’m losing my mind,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Then stay lost,” she whispered.

His hand came up hesitant and cupped her cheek. They stayed like that for a long moment, foreheads almost touching, breaths mingling. But then the look in his eyes changed. Something shuttered. He lowered his hand.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “If I stay... if I keep doing this... I won’t be able to stop. And I have to. Not because I want to but because I’m afraid I’ll ruin you if I don’t.”

Freya's heart cracked open a little more.

“You won’t.”

But he stood, anyway. Barefoot. Quiet. Wrapping himself back in his shirt with slow hands, like every movement hurt.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, holding the blanket tightly around her. Watching him.

He didn’t meet her eyes again not fully. He walked to the door, then paused.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

And then, before she could stop him, he slipped out into the corridor, closing the heavy wooden door behind him with a soft click

Chapter Text

The door had closed so softly, it almost didn’t sound real.

Freya sat in the silence, wrapped in the warm blanket that now felt impossibly cold. Her fingers dug into the fabric, but her eyes were distant, unmoving fixed on the spot where he’d stood moments before, where he had looked at her like she was both salvation and sin. She moved slowly.mHer clothes were scattered across the conjured room like remnants of a dream. She found her skirt on the chair, her blouse beside the books, her socks somehow tucked under the table leg. Each piece was gathered with careful fingers and trembling thoughts, as if folding the memory away with them.

By the time she was dressed, the golden hue of dawn had begun to creep through the frost-laced windows. The storm had passed. Snow coated the courtyard in a thick, perfect blanket, untouched and glowing. She stood for a moment by the pane of glass, her fingers brushing the cold sill.

It looked like nothing had happened. As if the world outside had kept on turning, unaware of the moment that had cracked something open inside her.

Her footsteps down the corridor were light. Too light. She didn’t want them to echo. The halls were still half-asleep, and for once, the castle felt too big endless and hollow and waiting to swallow her up.

She made it back to her dormitory without seeing anyone.

She tiptoed to her corner, peeled off the clothes she couldn’t stop remembering in, and stepped into the steaming shower with her eyes closed. The hot water poured over her like she could wash away the confusion, the heat, the way her skin still tingled where his hands had been. But the shower didn’t help.

Neither did the three cups of tea she drank alone in the common room before sunrise, or the way she stared blankly into the flames, trying to convince herself that what had happened was just a dream. She got dressed in silence, fingers fumbling slightly as she buttoned her blouse. She hadn’t cried, but she hadn’t smiled either, not until she looked in the mirror and remembered exactly who she was.

Freya knew how to perform.

So that morning, Freya entered like a storm in velvet soft on the outside, but sparking at the seams, no one could tell that she didn’t slept the previously night because she looked perfect. Her hair, freshly washed and tied in a soft ribbon at the nape of her neck. Her uniform crisp, her skirt just rebelliously short enough. A swipe of warm color on her cheeks she didn’t need it, but it made her feel like armor.

She dropped into her seat between Mary and Sia with a breezy, “Morning.”

Mary blinked. “Well someone slept well.”

“Did I?” Freya asked, taking a slice of toast. “Must’ve been the freezing tower and the endless essay I was trapped with.” She laughed. It was a little too light, but no one noticed. Except him.

Across the room Remus Lupin looked up from his tea. He hadn’t seen her enter. He never meant to look. But there she was, laughing like her entire world hadn’t just cracked open a few hours ago, he felt the echo of her kiss like it was still on his lips.

And yet she wasn’t looking at him.

She didn’t even glance.

She was leaning into Elias now, nudging his arm. And Lupin saw the soft curve of her smile, the sparkle of her eyes the same ones that had looked up at him with quiet wonder the night before.

He stood abruptly from the staff table. His chair scraped the stone.

Freya didn’t flinch.

By midday, the snow had started to melt. Sunlight bounced off the slush as Freya leaned against the courtyard railing beside Elias. They watched a few younger students throw snowballs and shriek when Peeves got involved.

“I still can’t believe you froze yourself in the Astronomy Tower all night,” Elias said, glancing at her.

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m committed.”

“To assignments or frostbite?”

“To both,” she said with a grin. “I like keeping my professors on their toes.”

Elias chuckled, and the sound of it was comforting. Easy. No layers. No secrets. And yet… Every time he looked at her for just a second too long, something inside her flinched. Not because she didn’t like him. But because her body still remembered someone else.

“Elias” Freya said smoothly. She looked at Elias. “Didn’t we say we’d visit the Owlery later?”

Elias looked pleasantly stunned. “Yeah, I mean—if you want—”

“Oh, I do.” She smiled. “Better company than some people I’ve spent time with lately.”

Her words weren’t aimed at anyone in particular.

But they hit their mark.

Because Lupin was walking past just then, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. He didn’t pause but he heard it. Saw her.

Their eyes didn’t meet. But the air between them crackled.

The sun had gone long ago and Freya walked briskly down the corridor, books hugged to her chest. Her friends had turned off earlier. She was alone now — or so she thought.

Until his voice came from behind her. Low. Tight.

“Freya.”

She paused. Slowly turned.

Remus stood a few feet away. His hair was slightly windblown from the courtyard, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“I thought we weren’t speaking,” she said, chin lifting.

“You made that perfectly clear this morning,” he replied, voice flat.

“Oh, I made that clear?” She stepped closer. “Because I don’t remember sneaking off before sunrise like a thief.”

He flinched. Just barely.

“Freya, you don’t know what you’re doing—”

“Then show me,” she snapped, voice a whip in the quiet corridor. “Or stop pretending you don’t care.

That did it.

Remus didn’t speak. He just moved. One long stride forward and he had her pinned against the stone wall not roughly, not carelessly but with purpose. With heat.

His hands were on either side of her face, tilting her chin up. His mouth crashed onto hers, no hesitation, no gentleness this time. It was hungry, filled with all the things he hadn’t said.

Freya gasped into his kiss, and her books hit the floor with a soft thud. Her hands fisted in the fabric of his robes, pulling him closer.

“You don’t get to walk into the Great Hall,” he growled against her lips between kisses, “and laugh with him like nothing happened.”

Her heart thundered.

“Not after last night.”

He kissed her again, deeper, and this time Freya moaned softly into his mouth, heat flushing through her skin.

“You have no idea—” he muttered as his lips traced along her jaw, “what you did to me this morning. Sitting there with him. Touching him. Smiling like that.”

“You left,” she whispered breathlessly. “What was I supposed to do?”

“I know,” he said, chest rising and falling quickly. “I know. I shouldn’t have. But seeing you like that.” He broke off, like the memory itself made his blood boil.

She cupped his face. “Then don’t make the same mistake as before”

That’s when he lifted her, like she weighed nothing. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as he turned, carrying her through the corridor. They moved quickly, wordless now, only the sound of their breathing and the echo of their bodies pressed together.

Up the quiet staff stairs. Down a short corridor. His room.

The door slammed shut behind them.

And then

Clothes were pulled loose and flung aside. Her hands tangled in his hair as his lips mapped her throat. His touch wasn’t timid anymore, it was reverent, like he was desperate to feel every part of her, like he didn’t trust the moment to last.

But even in that fire, he slowed, just enough.

He looked down at her.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice hoarse, forehead resting on hers. “Freya, if I keep going—”

“Remus,” she whispered, voice trembling. “If you ask me again, I am going to hex you”

He made her stand against the side of the pillar, a clearly visible portion from anywhere in the hall, and turned her out to face the room, with the view of all the dancers and spectators and lovers, much like in her dream.

He pressed against her back, kissing her neck until down her stomach. It was her first time in his dorm and it was just as she was expected it.

Her nipples pebbled hard, her breathing growing rapid.

“Did he make a move again?” he asked her, his hand falling to her thigh, under her skirt.

“No,” she replied, her heart pounding, eyes checking to see her surroundings. His room was filled with books, at his office, his library was filled with them and there was even some laying at the floor.

“Thank the Merlin,” he whispered in her ear. “If he did, I don’t think I could be in the same room with him even again” his hand caressed her all over her.

Freya was turned on by the picture of him and Elias at the same room.

His hand ventured in from the skirt, finding the line of her panties and then her pussy, he kissed her shoulder, his fingers probing her wetness. After yesterday events, she was weeping at the familiar touch of his hand, at the beloved heat of his body.

His middle finger circled her opening once, and she leaned back into matress behind her, thrusting her hip forward involuntarily, needing more pressure, more contact. But he removed his hand, bringing it out from under her skirt, making it fall back into place. Eyes on her, he rubbed his wet finger over her lower lip slowly, coating it with her moistness, then leaned forward, licking the juice he’d smeared there.

Her walls clenched.

“Ahh Remus” she breathed, barely able to form the word.

“As much as I want to hear your voice Freya” he told her, his voice wa now deep laced with sex, “We really don’t want to attract any attetion”

She was breathing hard by the time he finished speaking the words, her legs slightly spread to accommodate his long fingers as he pushed two fingers inside her aching walls, her body on fire at the words, the visual he was depicting.

She obviously didn’t want anyone to hear them. Neither did he. But it was easier said than done, she was doing something so forbidden right now. She was turned on, more turned on than she’d ever been in her life, and he knew it. She bit her lip as he pressed his palm into her clit, inserting another finger inside her, stretching her wide open.

“After yesterday I can think straight” he licked her neck. “What have you done to me?”

“The same think you did to me” she groaned at the pressure, her legs quivering. Her head and back arch, gripping the side of the sheets for support.

“God, Remus” she moaned shamelessly as a fine sheen of sweat broke out over her skin, knowing she couldn’t take the buildup much longer with the silence. “I think I am going to finish.”

Thankfully, he took mercy on her, increasing the pressure of his palm on her clit, rotating it while squelching his fingers in and out in a rhythm her body loved, her inner walls holding him tight as he pulled out and accepting him deep as he pushed in, his other arm wrapping around her waist for support, to keep her upright.

It climbed and climbed and climbed, and all of a sudden, her mind blacked out.

In a hot flash that started to shake her body, she came, biting her tongue hard to keep from screaming out, somehow muffling the sound down to a groan, her heart beating so hard in her chest she could feel it pounding in her ears, her limbs jittery. And as she thought it was over Remus did not waste any time, he left her neck and kept going down and down until he reaches her core. She looked at him completely shocked, he was going to... Even her thought made her aroused all over again.

“Remus you don’t-” but she didn’t get to finish, and her breasts heaved as he swiped his tongue over her. One of her hands tangled in his hair as he pulled her hips off the edge, canting it in the air and angling it as he wanted, her body his to direct in the moment as he wished. His tongue diving deep inside her before coming back out, finding her clit, circling it with a skill she knew was both gifted and polished over time.

She clung to his hair, twisting it in her fingers as her hips writhed on their own, one of his fingers penetrating her as his mouth wreaked havoc on her nub. Her nipples tightened to sharp points on her breasts, unrestricted under her sweater, her mouth opening on a gasp as he curled his finger inside her, finding a spot so deep it sent waves of intense pleasure rolling over her body, blackening her mind, her heart crashing against her ribs with each beat.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she chanted as her body shook, her heels digging into the air, trying to find some kind of purchase, some kind of anchor lest she get lost. He held her steady, letting her ride wave after wave of pleasure with a wantonness she’d thought herself incapable of until that moment, his mouth slowly decreasing the intensity of his sensual assault, bringing her down on the piano.

Corvina blinked up at the ceiling mindlessly, her legs limp and her arms at her sides, her chest heaving in large gulps of air. It took her a moment to realize he was looking down at her and the view sent a thrill through her to see him so undone by her, see the cool facade crack open, and reveal the untamed man inside.

He slanted his mouth over her, giving her a kiss so thorough it made her insides clench all over again, the taste of herself on his lips something so forbidden it sent a delicious shiver over her skin. His right hand cupped her breast, less with intent and more with ownership, as he pulled back slightly, his silver gaze molten on hers.

Oh, this is a perfect twist — tension, chaos, and a wonderfully human moment crashing down from their heated high. Here’s your continuation, written with the cinematic timing and emotional awkwardness to match. It walks the line between steamy aftermath and sudden, comedic panic.

Then—

Knock. Knock.

“Lupin, you were supposed to be at the staff meeting ten minutes ago.”

Professor McGonagall’s voice.

Both of them froze.

The heat evaporated like steam in a cold wind.

Freya's eyes went wide, and Lupin looked like he'd been hit with a body-bind curse. His skin turned a shade paler, already stark against the crimson in his cheeks.

Silence.

“Remus?” Another knock. “Are you inside?”

Freya opened her mouth in sheer horror. “Shit.” She mouthed.

Lupin grabbed his wand, muttering something that might have been a silencing charm, but his fingers were shaking.

Freya whispered, frantic and mortified, “What do we do?!”

Still breathless, Lupin cursed under his breath, grabbed her gently by the waist, and began to help her up from the bed. But as soon as her feet touched the ground—

Her knees gave out.

She let out a surprised yelp, stumbling, and Lupin just barely caught her before she hit the floor. His arms cradled her mid-air, and they both stared at each other in panic and disbelief.

Her legs felt like jelly.

“Oh for—” he hissed under his breath, then looked toward the door like it might explode.

Another knock.

“I’m coming in if you don’t answer!” McGonagall called again.

“No!” Lupin’s voice cracked a little too loud. He cleared his throat quickly. “Just, just a moment!”

Freya was whispering furiously. “I can’t walk. You’re going to have to—”

“I know,” he said, voice tense, dragging on his trousers with one hand and holding her with the other. “This is a nightmare.”

He glanced down at her. Her bare shoulders, the flushed look still lingering on her cheeks it was written all over both of them what had just happened. He handed her his long teaching cloak, practically throwing it over her as he carried her toward the corner of the room, tucking her behind a bookcase.

“You stay there. Don’t breathe. Don’t even blink.” he whispered, brushing hair from her face with a gentleness that did not match the disaster they were in.

She rolled her eyes, half laughing and half dying inside.

He flung his classroom robes over his wrinkled shirt backwards it turned out and stumbled to the door.

The moment he cracked it open, McGonagall raised an eyebrow so sharp it could have sliced parchment.

“You look flushed,” she said, voice crisp.

“Er… fell asleep. Grading.” He gestured vaguely inside the room.

Her eyes narrowed. “For the past hour?”

“Yes. I… set an alarm but, it didn’t work. Magic. You know.”

There was a pause. She tilted her head. “You’re wearing your robes backwards.”

Lupin stared at her. “Fashion statement.”

A very long silence.

She squinted past him, like she was sensing something off in the air.

“Well,” she said after a beat. “Do get yourself together and come along. The headmaster’s waiting.”

She turned and strode off without another word.

Lupin slowly shut the door. Slumped against it. Exhaled like he’d just escaped death. He stood there, back against the wood, hands braced at his sides like he might physically keep the entire world out just by holding the door in place.

Freya, still half-hidden behind the bookcase wrapped in his heavy cloak, peeked her head around the edge with an expression so smug it could've been framed. One eyebrow arched, lips twitching.

“You’re wearing your robes backwards, Professor.”

He dropped his head back against the wood and groaned. “I noticed.”

“I don’t think she bought the ‘fashion statement’ thing, by the way.”

“Not helping,” he mumbled.

Freya carefully took a step toward him and immediately lost her footing again with a tiny stumble. She huffed and flopped gracelessly onto the nearby armchair, limbs folding in a heap of cloak and curls. “Well. Now I know why they call it weak in the knees.”

Lupin turned away from the door, running a hand through his hair, only to realize it was sticking up in every direction. “You should rest. I didn’t exactly go easy on you.”

She gave him a look.

“Was that you trying to brag, or apologise?”

He hesitated. “A…gentle brag?”

She snorted.

“Well, you’ve earned it,” she said, reclining dramatically like she was on a chaise lounge. “It’s not every day I get scandalously ravished by my Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and nearly discovered by the head of my house five minutes later.”

Lupin pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the love of Merlin, don’t say it like that.”

“Oh, I will absolutely say it like that. I’m keeping that memory tucked in a velvet box for the rest of my life.”

He gave her a look that might’ve been annoyed if his lips weren’t twitching.

Freya sat up a little straighter, fixing the cloak around her shoulders. “You know,” she said in a falsely casual tone, “if you hadn’t caught me before I faceplanted, I think we might’ve had to come up with a very creative explanation for why I was naked and unconscious on your floor.”

“I would've blamed Peeves.”

“You would’ve let Peeves take the fall for your illicit activities?”

He crossed his arms, still trying to fight a grin. “Absolutely. He’s framed half the school for worse.”

They both laughed, the sound a little breathless, a little disbelieving.

She tilted her head, watching him with that same glint in her eye the one that told him she wasn’t quite finished with him. “So. Professor Lupin. What now? You gonna toss me into the snowstorm and pretend this never happened?”

He stepped toward her slowly, a softness returning to his gaze.

“No,” he said, voice low. “I’m going to make you tea. And then I’m going to sit beside you until you can walk again without wobbling like a newborn unicorn.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away.

“And after that?”

Lupin gave her the kind of look that made her heartbeat flutter unreasonably. He knelt beside the chair, taking her hand just her hand and brought it to his lips.

“After that,” he murmured against her skin, “I’m going to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to keep my hands off you.”

Her heart flipped. Her breath caught.

He smiled faintly.

“Still weak in the knees?” he asked.

She leaned forward, brushed her lips over his ear, and whispered, “You have no idea.”

The fire in Lupin’s quarters had died down to embers by the time the heavy door creaked open again. A cold gust of wind followed Remus inside, his robes dusted with a few stubborn flakes of snow that clung to the fabric like a second layer of guilt. He paused at the threshold for a long moment, just staring at her.

Freya sat curled on his worn armchair, her knees tucked to her chest under a tartan throw she must’ve pulled from the back of the sofa. Her hair was still wild from earlier, her cheeks a little flushed from either the warmth of the hearth or what had happened before the world came knocking. When she looked up at him, the flickering light danced in her eyes. And yet, she didn’t say a word.

He closed the door quietly behind him and rubbed a hand down his face. “Well,” he began, voice hoarse from the fireless meeting and something deeper. “That was... illuminating.”

Freya arched a brow, head tilting with deliberate mischief. “Let me guess. Fifteen minutes of McGonagall’s silent disappointment. Thirty minutes of Albus pretending he didn’t know where you were. And a full hour of you thinking about how awkward it’d be if someone noticed my earring on your floor.”

Remus let out a low groan and slumped onto the ottoman in front of her. “Godric, you’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“I haven’t even started,” she said sweetly. “But I will say your panicked face when I collapsed trying to walk? Was everything.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly disheveled in the most charming, helpless way. “That wasn’t panic,” he muttered. “That was me… calculating structural support angles.”

“You were halfway to a heart attack,” she teased, nudging his knee with her toe. “I could hear you swearing under your breath like you were brewing a potion blindfolded.”

“I was swearing,” he admitted with a half-laugh. “Because I couldn’t figure out how the hell to explain to Minerva McGonagall why there was a half-dressed eighteen year face-first in my rug.”

Freya grinned. “Mmm, I wasn’t face-first.”

“Freya.”

She laughed then a real, warm sound that made something in him loosen. Her teasing softened as she looked at him again. “You came back quickly.”

“Of course I did,” he said quietly.

The room fell into that kind of silence that’s not really empty more like filled with things unsaid. The fire cracked once. Then again.

“I thought you might regret it,” she murmured, her voice suddenly small and uncertain. “That you might’ve gone to that meeting and… realised this was just”

“Don’t,” he said, gently but firmly.

He reached across the small distance between them and brushed a knuckle against her cheek. She leaned into it instinctively.

“I walked into that meeting and sat in a room of the most powerful people in this castle, and all I could think about was how you looked right before I left. Like I’d stolen something from you and disappeared into the night.”

“You did,” she said softly. “You stole the blanket.”

Remus gave a bark of laughter and dropped his forehead to her knees in mock defeat. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Mm. That’s the plan.”

He stayed there for a moment, breathing her in the scent of her hair, her skin, that earthy trace of firewood from the hearth. When he finally looked up again, there was something tender in his eyes. Something real.

“I don’t regret anything,” he said. “Not last night. Not this morning. Not even tripping over your shoe when I tried to dress in a bloody hurry.”

She smirked. “You still left without kissing me goodbye.”

“I was in a rush, Freya.”

“You’re always in a rush.”

Remus leaned in then, and this time, it was slow not urgent like earlier, not frantic or forbidden or filled with what-ifs. Just warm and real. He kissed her with the kind of certainty that doesn’t need explanation. And she returned it just the same.

When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his. “So… what now?”

He exhaled slowly. “Now I apologise to McGonagall again tomorrow. And possibly to my back.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He looked at her. “I know. But I don’t have a tidy answer for you. All I know is I don’t want to pretend nothing happened. Not anymore. If you’re willing to navigate… all of this.”

Freya reached up and pushed a curl from his forehead. “I’ve faced Death Eaters, detention, and your brooding. I think I can handle it.”

He smiled then. Softly. Tiredly. Like something heavy had finally been lifted off them both.

They stayed like that for a while. Just holding onto a moment that felt like the first time the world hadn’t told them no.

Chapter Text

The Centaurs had warned her months ago "Stay out of the forest, girl. Darkness stirs where even we dare not watch." But her soul had grown restless. The pull of the trees, the thick scent of moss and pine, the way magic itself seemed to breathe in the air there it called to her.

So, after a long evening filled with chatter Mary gossiping on her bed, Sia brushing out her curls, the twins sneaking in to borrow her glittering perfume Freya waited. Waited until the candles burned low. Until their laughter softened into yawns. Until the castle slept. She slipped from the dorm like a ghost, barefoot but steady, a dark cloak wrapped around her shoulders. The moon was swallowed behind a thick curtain of clouds, casting the grounds into an eerie silver-gray darkness that thrilled her. Perfect.

Her boots crunched softly on the frosted grass as she made her way past the greenhouses, through the empty pumpkin patch, and finally to the edge of the forest. It was different at night familiar and yet foreign. The trees seemed taller, whispering secrets to each other. She stepped in slowly, reverently, breathing in the damp air. Her hands brushed against bark, her fingers gliding along mossy trunks like she was touching something sacred.

Oh how much she had missed this place.

She wandered deeper, careful of her steps, letting instinct guide her. And then a sound.

Soft. Sibilant. Almost like a whisper… but not quite.

Freya froze. A trick of the wind, she told herself. A branch scraping bark, so she continued her walk.

But then it came again, clearer, more closer this time.

“Come… come closer…” it was almost a whisper, like the wind carried. The sound made Freya cringe and spun around, heart thudding, eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. Nothing. Just thick brambles and the sway of ivy, and then something cold coiled around her ankle.

She yelped not loud, but sharp and kicked instinctively. Whatever it was slipped off her skin with a wet hiss and dropped to the ground with a thump. She looked intensely at the ground, trying to she what was that. A snake. Dark and glistening, easily over a meter long. It didn’t strike. It didn’t slither away. It lifted its head… and looked right at her.

Freya stared, her breath fogging in the cold air.

Its mouth opened. "So it isss true. You hear ussss." The voice did not come through her ears. It echoed in her mind slick, oily, ancient.

Freya staggered back a step. “What—”

"You underssstand," the snake said again. "Jussst like him."

"Like who?" she whispered. Her lips barely moved.

The snake tilted its head. Its yellow eyes gleamed.

"The one who dreamsss of death. The master of fangsss and flame. He knowsss you now."

The forest was no longer beautiful. It was too still. Too watchful.

“W-what are you talking about?” she said, her voice trembling.

"He hasss heard your name Freya, girl of fire and glitter. And he doesss not forget."

Freya’s heart nearly stopped. Her name. The snake knew her name. But before she could move, the creature hissed sharply, lowering its head.

"He comesss." Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the snake vanished into the underbrush, silent as a breath.

Freya stood frozen. The whisper still echoed behind her eyes.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, or how she eventually made her way back to the castle. But when she reached the stone steps beneath the Astronomy Tower, her fingers were ice-cold, her pulse thundered in her ears, and her lips whispered only one word

“Parseltongue.”

Freya barely slept that night.

She had returned from the Forbidden Forest with muddied shoes, a racing heart, and a mind so full of questions she thought her skull might crack open. The voice… the whispers. That strange slithering presence its words still coiled around her thoughts like invisible tendrils. She could still feel the weight of the snake against her leg, the words it hissed into the dark. Words no one else would have understood.

Because it had spoken in Parseltongue.

And she had understood it.

Now, as the sun rose into a gray, wintry sky, she sat at breakfast pretending to listen to Sia rant about a disastrous Divination reading while Mary sprinkled sugar into her tea like a woman possessed. Freya nodded along, her smile practiced and tired. Her mind, however, was back beneath the trees, in the cold air where the snake had looked at her like it knew her.

“I’ll be at the library after Potions,” Freya said casually, tearing a bit of toast and letting it fall onto her plate untouched.

“Ooh, we’ll come!” Sia grinned. “We haven’t had a proper study session since before Christmas.”

Freya hesitated, just a beat too long. “Yeah sure. I’d love that.”

Inside, she groaned. Alone would have been easier. Faster. She needed answers and flipping through old tomes under their noses would be trickier. But declining would raise questions and she had enough of those circling her own head.

Later That Day they left Potions with a cloud of sulfurous fumes clinging to their robes. Professor Slughorn had been in a chipper mood and given them an absurdly complex potion as “extra challenge.” Freya’s cauldron had boiled over twice.

The girls chatted animatedly as they headed toward the library. Freya trailed slightly behind, her thoughts spinning. But just before they reached the door, it happened.

Professor Lupin stepped out of the library.

His head was down, a stack of weathered books in his arms, his shoulders hunched in that familiar way that made him look both young and impossibly tired. As he passed by them, Freya allowed herself the smallest smile. One only meant for him.

She caught his eye.

It was a fraction of a second, but enough. His expression softened then flared red in the cheeks as he quickly looked away and hurried down the hall, boots clicking faster against the stone.

Sia turned her head. “Was that Lupin?”

Mary nodded. “He’s been so weird lately, hasn’t he?”

Freya busied herself with pushing open the heavy library doors. “You think everyone’s weird, Mary.”

They found a quiet table beneath the tall, frosted windows. Sunlight struggled through the glass, throwing soft beams across the worn wood and faded spines. Freya spread out a selection of books before her, careful to mix them with innocuous topics: magical reptiles, magical linguistics, historical magical codes.

She had no idea what she was looking for. A name. A mention. A spell. Something that would confirm she wasn’t just going mad.

Across the table, Mary was already flipping through her Charms revision notes while Sia sketched something completely unrelated to school in the margins of her parchment.

Freya turned a page.

"Parseltongue is a hereditary magical ability allowing a witch or wizard to speak the language of serpents. Most commonly associated with the Salazar Slytherin bloodline…"

She frowned. That wasn’t possible… was it?

A tremor of unease slid down her spine. She wasn’t a Slytherin. For centuries all her family members were Gryffindors, but now she was thinking it there was a great great great grandfather who was the only Slytherin but that was all. It didn't make sense how familiar the snake she was with her, she never had a strong connection with snakes.

She shut the book slowly and glanced at the others. They were both absorbed in their own worlds. Quiet, peaceful. No idea that across the table, their best friend was wondering if something ancient and strange was stirring inside her.

Freya reached for another book.

There had to be more. Something to explain the whispers, the snake… and the unease she now carried in her chest like a second heartbeat.

The next few days passed in a blur of parchment, ink-stained fingertips, and mounting secrecy.

Freya returned to the library every afternoon under the same excuse: “Extra research for Ancient Runes,” or “I’m behind in Magical Creatures.” Mary and Sia, ever trusting, didn’t question it at first. But Freya knew that wouldn't last forever.

Especially when she started skipping meals.

She’d sit tucked into the far corner of the library, between the towering shelves of "Magical Languages and Obscure Dialects." Books were beginning to pile up on her table, spines cracked and pages fragile. Most of them gave her nothing but dry theory and the same recycled paragraph: “Parseltongue is rare and often associated with Dark wizards. The ability is passed through blood, most notably the Gaunt and Slytherin lineages…”

She still hadn’t figure it out how she was connected with the Slytherin, and not even why now was the first time she spoke to a snake, the time was so random and unexpected, not even why could she understand them? Why did her skin tingle when she heard the hiss of a snake, like a muscle she hadn’t known she possessed was being slowly awakened?

One book, older than the others, had caught her attention the night before. The lettering was nearly erased from the spine, and it was hidden behind an entire row of dusty divination texts. It wasn’t in the system.

It didn’t have an author.

She turned its pages again now, eyes scanning the curling ink.

“The serpent is more than just a symbol. For some, it is a guardian. For others, a messenger. Those who can hear its tongue are not always born of blood, but of purpose.”

Her fingers froze on the parchment.

“…not always born of blood, but of purpose.”

That line echoed through her. Could that mean… she wasn’t inherited this gift? Could the forest… or something in her path, have given it to her?

She leaned closer to the text, heart racing.

“…whispers in Parseltongue have been reported long before the rise of the Dark Lords. The ancient ones, those who spoke to the earth itself, once saw the serpent as a guide between realms: life and death, magic and madness.”

“Magic and madness…” she whispered to herself, chilled.

“Freya?” Mary’s voice cut into her thoughts like a knife.

Freya jumped. The book slipped from her hands and thudded closed.

“Sorry—” Mary looked sheepish, holding a book of her own. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I’ve never seen anyone read so hard in my life.”

Freya forced a smile. “This one’s just… really dry.”

“Well, Elias is probably wondering where you are,” Mary added casually, sitting beside her. “He’s been asking about you constantly since last week. You two had something planned?”

Freya blinked. Had it really been that long since she'd spoken more than two sentences to Elias?

“I forgot about that. I’ve just been so behind on work.”

Mary tilted her head. “Are you alright? You’ve been a little…” she paused delicately, “…off. Since after the snowstorm.”

Freya's stomach flipped. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

Sia appeared seconds later, sliding into the seat on the other side. “You’re going to rot in this place at this rate, Frey.”

Freya smiled, closed the strange old book slowly, and tried to make her eyes less haunted. “Then I’ll be the most well-read ghost Hogwarts has ever seen.”

Freya waited until they were all asleep. She lay in bed, arms folded behind her head, the words still looping through her mind.

"Not always born of blood, but of purpose."

What purpose?

She slipped from bed quietly, grabbing her notebook and a small lantern enchanted with a Silencing Charm. If she could just get through a few more books, maybe even sneak into the Restricted Section…

She needed answers.

And if she was right if this was connected to the Forbidden Forest, to the snake that had come to her, chosen her then maybe she wasn’t just a girl with a strange gift. Maybe she was meant for something bigger. She turns around and around, but sleep couldn’t come. The only thing she knew was that she couldn’t get to the bottom of it without help, and there was only one person in the school that she trusted enough, and he had the knowledge to actually help her. and that person was the one and only Remus Lupin

The castle was hushed, tucked beneath a blanket of velvet blue and whispers of moonlight. Most students were already asleep, tucked into their dorms, their dreams undisturbed by the secrets that clung to the corners of Hogwarts. But not Freya.

The whispering voice in the forest haunted her ears even now, curling through her thoughts like smoke. No matter how many times she reread the passages in those heavy, dust-covered books about snakes, languages, and ancient magic nothing made sense. And nothing explained why the hissing felt so… natural. Almost familiar.

Freya slipped on her cloak, the fabric light but warm against her nightdress, and pushed open the creaky door of her dorm as quietly as she could. Mary and Sia were deep in sleep, one of them mumbling in a dream. She held her breath until the door clicked shut behind her.

The corridors were dim, lit only by the faint shimmer of floating candles. Shadows danced along the stone walls, but Freya knew them well. She didn’t hesitate, slipping through them. Her feet padded silently along the cold floor until she reached the hallway leading to the staff quarters.

Her heart thumped harder with every step.

It was absurd, maybe, showing up at his door in the middle of the night but he was the only one she could trust. The only one who would understand. Or at least, try to.

She reached his door, lifted her hand.

Knocked.
Silence.

She knocked again.
Still nothing.

Her jaw tensed. "Remus," she whispered under her breath, brows furrowed. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

Just as she raised her hand again, the door creaked open, revealing a very startled, very barefoot Remus Lupin. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and the soft navy robe around him was tied hastily clearly fresh out of the shower. Water clung to the hollow of his throat, a single bead trailing down as he blinked in surprise.

“Freya?”

But before he could say more, she brushed past him and stepped inside, her mind racing far faster than her nerves could catch up.

She sat down on the edge of his bed without looking at him. Her hands were cold in her lap.

“I need to tell you something,” she said, her voice steely low and serious in a way he’d never quite heard from her before. “Something I’ve been keeping to myself… for days now.”

The door clicked shut behind them. The tension thickened.

He moved toward her, slow and cautious. “Alright,” he said quietly. “What is it?”

She took a breath.

And she told him everything.

From the moment in the forest how the air had felt charged, the way the moon was hidden behind the clouds, and the sound that she thought was wind… but wasn’t. She described the snake slithering over her foot, how her instinct was to scream but something else had taken over.

“I… I spoke to it, Remus.” Her voice was almost a whisper now. “I didn’t even mean to. It just… came out. Like breathing. And it answered. It said it had been waiting.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and glassy. “It called me daughter of fire. I don’t know what it meant. But it knew me. Somehow.”

He hadn’t interrupted once, but now his expression shifted his mouth tense, his jaw locked.

“And you’ve been keeping this secret for how long?” he finally asked, his voice tight.

“A few days.”

“You went into the forest. Again. After everything I- ”

“Because I had to!” she snapped suddenly, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. “You know me, and you know that there was no chance that I wouldn’t go to the forest even after everything that had happen. But the snake was the least I excepted to happed”

A silence followed, stretching far too long.

Then, he let out a slow breath and sat beside her, rubbing his hand across his face. His palm came to rest gently on the small of her back.

“This is dangerous, Freya,” he murmured. “Parseltongue isn’t something people wake up with. It’s… rare. Ancient. It’s not just a language, it’s… a bond. And the wrong people if they find out—”

“They won’t,” she cut in. “You’re the only one who knows.”

He turned to her then, eyes dark and full of something unreadable.

“And you trust me with this?”

She met his gaze evenly. “More than anyone.”

Another silence. This one softer. Closer.

He looked away first.

“I need to do more research. I’ll help you,” he said at last. “But you have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“No more sneaking off to the forest alone.”

She smiled, despite the weight in her chest. “Deal.”

They sat there for a moment, the only sound the slow tick of the enchanted clock on his shelf. Freya leaned forward a little, suddenly aware again of how close they were how right it felt. There was something sacred about this sitting at the edge of night, with only the truth between them.

Lupin reached out and brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek. The gesture was careful. Tender. His fingers lingered just long enough for her to feel the heat of them.

“You can stay,” he said softly. “If you want. I’ll transfigure the chair.”

But she shook her head slowly. “I should go. If someone sees…” but how much she wanted to stay and crawled with him in the sheets all night, but she knew that couldn’t happen. She had done enough sneaking for the past week.

His gaze flicked toward the door. “Alright.”

She stood. So did he.

They stood close. Too close again. And Freya stepped all the way at her tiptoes trying to reach his face and when she finally did, she left a soft kiss at his cheek.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For listening.”

He gave her a small smile. “Always.”

She turned to leave, her hand brushing his by accident and that single moment of contact sent something warm up her spine.

As she slipped out into the corridor again, she felt different.

And behind the door, Lupin stood still for a long, long time.

Staring at the place she’d just been wondering if the forest had whispered to her for a reason the fire had long since died.

But Lupin sat in its lingering warmth, sleeves rolled to the elbows, candlelight painting his tired face in flickers of gold. Books lay scattered across his quarters open, annotated, some stacked high, others discarded like useless spells.

He hadn’t slept.

He couldn’t.

The moment Freya left robes trailing behind her, her face pale with exhaustion and that signature stubborn tilt of her chin Lupin had gone to work. And now, hours later, the words were beginning to blur before his eyes. But still, he read on.

“She spoke Parseltongue.”

He rubbed a hand over his face.

Of all the things he thought she might confess a broken rule, a hidden wound, even some dangerous tryst with magical creatures this was… beyond any expectation.

Parseltongue wasn’t just rare. It was ancient. Feared. Isolating. And she’d heard it from a snake in the Forbidden Forest.

The memory of her voice haunted him now not scared, but serious. Measured. Like she had locked this secret in her chest for days and it had finally begun to burn its way through. He couldn’t blame her. If word got out that a Gryffindor student could speak Parseltongue?

Hell would break loose. Whispers of Slytherin’s bloodline. Of dark magic. Of Voldemort, he slammed one of the books shut and leaned back in his chair, exhaling hard. It wasn’t her. He knew it. Felt it like instinct, as deep and ancient as the magic she carried. Freya was fierce. Reckless. Emotional. She threw herself into life with fire and color and danger and never once looked back. But she wasn’t evil. She wasn't dark.

And yet…

“Daughter of Fire.”

The phrase wouldn’t leave him alone. It wasn’t in any of the texts he’d scanned through. Not in the common Parseltongue records. Not in the obscure chapters on magical bloodlines. And certainly not in any of the safe Hogwarts curriculum. But it meant something. He looked down at the open book in his lap Path of the Wyrm a text that had nearly gotten him expelled years ago for even requesting access to it from the Restricted Section. He remembered the professor’s face, white with disbelief.

“Dangerous nonsense,” they'd said. “Folk mythology dressed up as scholarship.”

But right now, it was the only thing that even mentioned Parseltongue as a bridge between sentient magic and human will.

He traced a finger across the passage:

“The serpent speaks only to those whose blood remembers the beginning—children born of wild fire, of deathless forests, of wounds that refuse to scar. They are marked, not by choice, but by nature.”

“These children walk where magic coils like smoke, and serpents will bow to them—calling them Sister, Brother, Flameborn, or Firebound.”

Lupin sat back in his chair.

Fireborn. Daughter of Fire. The connection wasn’t clear. But it was there. A whisper in the dark, like the snake that had slithered up her leg. He shut the book slowly and stared at the empty fireplace. Freya was more than she realized and he didn’t know whether that terrified him… or made him fall for her even harder. It was foolish, of course. Dangerous. Unforgivable. He was her professor. Twice her age. Torn and broken by the moon, living on borrowed time.

But they both have gone too far and now there was no going back, even if she wanted to he couldn’t. He’d only thought of her.

And now?

Now he would protect her.

From the Forest. From whatever magic stirred in her blood. From the whispers in Parseltongue.

Even from herself, if he had to. Because there were stories, buried deep in magical lore, about witches marked by fire who were hunted, burned, revered, or sacrificed depending on which century you picked. Some were said to walk through flame untouched. Others could command beasts long thought untamable. Lupin didn’t know which of those Freya would become.

Over the next several days, Freya and Lupin met almost daily under the pretense of “academic research.” But as the sun dipped behind the snowy hills outside the castle, their evenings became less about books and more about each other. They sat side by side in his quarters her legs curled under her, his arm resting along the back of the sofa, their heads tilted toward the same book. It was dangerous territory, this closeness. But neither of them retreated.

Sometimes she’d reach for a quill and her fingers would graze his, deliberately slow. Sometimes she’d pretend not to understand a passage, leaning closer, her shoulder against his arm, her breath brushing his cheek as she asked, “Can you explain it to me again, Professor?”

The first time she called him that with a playful lilt and a wicked smirk, he’d nearly dropped his cup of tea.

“You’re toying with me,” he’d muttered, flustered.

“And you like it,” she’d replied, innocent as sin.

Now, their research was often punctuated with charged silences, with glances that lingered too long on lips rather than words. She challenged him, teased him about the way he bit his knuckle when deep in thought, the way he grew tense when she sat too close, the way his voice dipped when he said her name. He deflected with eye-rolls and dry humor, but she saw the shift in his breathing, the way his fingers clenched at his knees.

One evening, when she found a particularly obscure passage hinting that Parseltongue could awaken in someone through magical trauma or proximity to dark magic, she leaned back, triumphant, and said, “See? Told you I’m not cursed. Just unique”

He chuckled. “That you are.”

“Would’ve thought you’d say ‘reckless’.”

“I thought that too. Then you made it…complicated.”

Their eyes met, and the air turned heavier.

Her voice softened. “Why haven’t you kissed me again?”

Lupin stiffened, looking down at his hands. “Because I still don’t know how to stop if I start again.”

She shifted closer. “I have told you so many times, I don’t want you to stop?”

He swallowed hard, his restraint a fraying thread. “Then we have a problem.”

“A good one.”

Silence.

Then, finally, he turned toward her, the hunger in his gaze no longer masked. She smiled, leaning in just a little enough to graze his hand with hers.

It was the kind of moment where everything could tip.

And maybe it would.

But for now, their research continued wrapped in ancient secrets, stolen glances, and a tension that promised far more than words ever could.

The skies had darkened earlier than usual, the kind of moody, overcast afternoon that pressed down on the castle like a secret waiting to be confessed. Freya stood by the frost-dusted window of the library’s upper alcove, arms crossed as her breath misted faintly on the glass. Below, students shuffled between classes, scarves flapping in the wind. From up here, she felt far removed from them. From everything.

A week. That’s how long it had been since her life split down the middle, between the world she let everyone else see, and the world she shared with only one person.

Remus Lupin.

The name alone made her chest tighten, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the way his brow furrowed when he read through old tomes beside her. About how his voice turned low when he murmured her name in quiet moments. About the way his hand would brush hers when neither of them dared to acknowledge it.

And how much she wanted more. But with every late-night visit to his quarters, every shared whisper over Parseltongue secrets and ancient magical bloodlines, the space between her and everyone else widened especially Elias. Elias, with his soft green eyes and concerned frowns. Elias, who had been there since their fourth year. Who always waited for her after classes and tried to make her laugh when she was tired. Who had always seemed to know when something was wrong… except now.

Because she wouldn’t let him.

Not with this.

“Freya,” Elias said, breathless, catching up to her outside the greenhouse. “Can we talk? Properly this time?”

She winced inwardly and stopped. “Umm... Yeah, of course.”

They stepped aside into the edge of the courtyard. She could already see the storm gathering behind his eyes.

“You’ve been… distant,” he said. “Not just busy. Different.”

Freya tried to smile. “It’s just school final year, pressure, you know?”

“Don’t give me that.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but it hurt more because of how gentle it was. “I know when something’s up with you.”

She looked down at her boots. Mud from the Forest still clung to the soles.

“I miss you, Freya. You haven’t even looked at me all week.” He hesitated. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she said immediately. “No, Elias, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Then what is it?”

How could she tell him that every time she looked at him now, all she could see was someone she couldn’t be honest with? Someone she was beginning to hurt without meaning to.

He took a step closer. “Is it… is there someone else?”

Her heart jumped. “No! It’s nothing like that” she answered quickly as her throat tightened.

He saw it. She knew he saw it. “Who is it?” he asked, quietly. “You can tell me.”

She swallowed. “I told you Elias there is noone”

“Come on Freya, you always disappear and don’t say it’s about homework because we both know it’s not” Elias took a small step back, the hurt blooming slowly across his face. “I prefer if you just tell me the truth”

Freya nodded, barely.

He laughed short, bitter. “So, I am right. All those nights, the missed dinners, the fake library excuses”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she said.

“But you are.”

That silence settled like snow.

“I hope he’s worth it,” Elias said softly, then walked away.

Freya stood in place, numb.

Later that evening, she sat in the common room with Mary and Sia, trying desperately to hold onto some normalcy. Sia was rambling about her Transfiguration disaster; Mary was braiding sections of her hair without asking, humming under her breath. Freya smiled, nodded, laughed in the right places. But it felt hollow.

Every moment like this was laced with guilt now. She was lying to them, and not in small ways. Every glance at the clock, every excuse to leave early, every “I’m just tired tonight” was another thread in the tapestry of betrayal she was weaving.

Sia suddenly turned, frowning. “You okay, Freya? You’ve been miles away.”

“I’m fine,” she said with a smile.

“You’ve been tired all week.”

Mary narrowed her eyes. “You’re not secretly seeing someone, are you?”

Freya let out a too-loud laugh. “Of course not.”

Their gazes lingered a second too long before they both dropped it. But the guilt didn’t.

“Did you know when the next match is going to be?” Freya change the subject immediately

“Ah, I know” Mary said excited “Freddie told this evening, it’s this Friday”

“Good, everyone is waiting for the match” Sia added

“Yeah, let’s hope we win this one” Freya was indeed really into the upcoming match. There may be a lot of things happening right now with her life but that doesn’t mean she will not enjoy her final year.

That night, she climbed the stairs to Lupin’s quarters in silence, wrapped in her cloak. Her footsteps barely made a sound.

He opened the door almost as soon as she knocked, as if he’d been waiting.

His expression softened immediately. “Freya. You look… tired.”

“I’m fine,” she said, stepping in. “Just… heavy.”

He didn’t ask. He just guided her to the sofa, where the fire was already lit. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the crackle of flames.

Finally, she said, “Elias knows I am meeting someone”

Lupin turned to her.

“Thankfully he doesn’t who, I tried to tell him that he is wrong, but he wouldn’t listen to me. And I can’t even tell my friends, and it’s starting to feel like I’m—” her voice cracked, “—like I’m lying to everyone.”

Lupin didn’t speak for a moment. Then he reached out, gently taking her hand.

“Keeping something sacred doesn’t make you a liar,” he said. “It makes you human.”

She looked at him, searching. “Is it wrong… to want this and still feel guilty?”

“No.” He met her eyes, his voice low. “But what we have what’s growing between us isn’t wrong either.”

She leaned into his shoulder, letting herself rest there.

For now.

Because the world might never understand what was happening between them but in this quiet, secret space, it didn’t have to.