Spells, Sparks, and Spun Remnants
Professor Flitwick’s voice was as bright as the polished brass hinges on the Charms classroom door, but Samaira barely registered it as she took her seat between Lily and Remus. Her thoughts still clung to the dreamlike fragments from the Astronomy Tower—Sebastian’s solemn eyes, the way the sigil had pulsed under her fingertips, that strange almost-memory burning like static behind her eyes.
“Today we’ll be working on the Inverso Charm, a non-verbal spell used to reverse recent magical effects!” Flitwick squeaked, balancing on his usual stack of books. “This is sixth-year work, mind you, and quite tricky!”
Across the room, Sirius and James exchanged a look that promised nothing good. Peter looked nervous already. Samaira leaned over to Lily. “Wanna bet they try to reverse the direction of someone’s shoes?”
Lily snorted. “They tried that last year. Slughorn waddled for a week.”
A flick of Flitwick’s wand sent a series of enchanted ribbons across the desks—some tied in knots, others charred at the ends or frozen stiff. Samaira examined hers. It shimmered faintly, stuck mid-transformation, half turned to parchment. She took a breath, held her wand steady, and let the incantation flow through her silently.
Inverso
The ribbon quivered, shuddered—and reversed cleanly into its original silky red.
“Impressive, Miss Sachdeva!” Flitwick chirped.
James whispered loudly to Sirius, “Remind me to never challenge her to a duel.”
Sirius smirked. “Too late. Already considering it.”
Samaira raised an eyebrow. “Any time, Black. Though I charge for tutoring.”
Their eyes locked—his teasing, hers cool. There was always something electric in their exchanges, like striking flint.
Remus, between them, muttered, “Please don’t set the classroom on fire.”
Peter’s ribbon exploded in blue sparks.
The corridor outside the Charms classroom buzzed with chatter and floating parchment as students spilled out, some celebrating successful spells, others nursing singed eyebrows or stubbornly twisted fingers. Samaira stepped out beside Lily and Remus, tucking her wand into her sleeve.
“That was brilliant,” Lily said, nudging her with a grin. “Flitwick’s already in love with you. Give it a week and you’ll have him wrapped around your wand.”
Samaira snorted. “I think he just likes not having to repair things every five minutes.”
“Oi!” James appeared at her other side, dramatically clutching his heart. “I’ll have you know, my shoe-untangling charm was inspired. That was art.”
“That was chaos,” Remus corrected.
“And painful,” Peter added, limping slightly as he passed.
Sirius leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching the lot of them with amused detachment. “I stand by the artistic merit of James’ mayhem.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Samaira said, breezing past him. “Though I suspect you only like it when someone else takes the blame.”
He fell into step beside her. “Accusations already, Firecracker? You wound me.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t say it was false.”
Sirius’s grin grew wider. “Touché.”
They rounded the corner—and Samaira stopped short.
A dozen parchments suddenly floated downward from the ceiling like snow. As one landed in her hands, she blinked at the bold lettering:
“Top Ten Secrets Professor Slughorn Doesn’t Want You to Know!”
Subheadings included:
• The truth about his midnight snack drawer
• What’s really in the seventh cauldron on the left
• Why he has a tattoo of a flobberworm on his ankle (probably)
Samaira turned slowly to face the source.
James and Sirius stood shoulder-to-shoulder, grinning proudly like mischievous artists unveiling their masterpiece. Remus had buried his face in his hands.
“Do I even want to know how you got these printed?” Lily asked, horrified and delighted all at once.
“Magic,” James said smugly.
“Bribed a Ravenclaw in the print club,” Sirius added, completely unrepentant.
“And what’s that?” Samaira asked, nodding toward a parchment that was now fluttering down the stairs.
James glanced at it. “Oh. That’s the bonus page—'Who’s Snogging Whom in Sixth Year?'—pure speculation, of course.”
Lily made a strangled noise. “James!”
“Relax, Evans,” Sirius said. “You’re only on the list once.”
“Twice,” James added helpfully. “But only once with me.”
“Someone’s going to hex you both into next week,” Samaira said, unable to stop the laugh escaping her. “Possibly me.”
She tried to sound exasperated, but the truth was—it felt like she'd always belonged in this chaotic corner of Hogwarts. There was something strangely comforting about being surrounded by sarcastic geniuses and minor explosions.
Sirius fell into step beside her again as the others headed toward lunch. “You’re smiling,” he said.
“I’m smirking,” she corrected. “That’s different.”
“Still,” he said, his voice lower now, “it’s good to see.”
She looked at him then—really looked. His usual sharpness had softened a little, something unreadable flickering behind his grey eyes. Like he was noticing something.
Before she could ask, he was already bounding ahead, tossing a crumpled parchment at James’s head.
The common room was warm and dimly lit in the evening, the fire crackling low as students filtered up to their dorms. Samaira sat cross-legged on the rug near the hearth, her Transfiguration notes open but entirely forgotten. Around her, Lily and Marlene were deep in a heated debate over Slughorn’s upcoming potion assignment, while Mary was trying—and failing—not to doze off mid-scroll.
“You know,” Lily said, glancing up, “for someone who claims she hates attention, you’ve adapted remarkably well to the Marauder brand of madness.”
Samaira smirked. “What can I say? It’s hard to resist spontaneous tabloid-making and hallway chaos.”
“Especially with Sirius watching your every move like you’re a particularly interesting riddle,” Mary murmured sleepily.
Samaira blinked. “He does not.”
“Oh, love, he does,” Marlene said around a mouthful of biscuit. “It’s not obvious to anyone who’s not in Gryffindor Tower every night, but—yeah. He’s curious. In the Sirius Black way, which usually means things explode eventually.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Samaira said dryly.
Still, later, when the girls had disappeared upstairs and the common room was quiet, her mind drifted back to that look Sirius had given her. Not flirtatious, not teasing—just… attentive. Like he was noticing the pauses in her story that she didn’t mean to leave.
She shook her head and closed her notes. As she stood, her hand brushed against the edge of her robe—and the borrowed book tucked beneath it.
Magical Echoes: Traces of Forgotten Lives.
She glanced toward the stairs. Everyone was asleep. Or close enough.
The wind bit at her cheeks as she stepped onto the open platform, the sky stretched wide above, glittering with starlight. Samaira moved to the railing, pulling the book from beneath her cloak.
She wasn’t alone.
Sebastian leaned against the stone wall, arms folded tightly, expression unreadable in the moonlight. He didn’t startle when she appeared.
“You always come here?” she asked.
He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Only when something won’t leave me alone.”
“Something like dreams?”
His gaze sharpened slightly. “You always this direct?”
“Only when I want answers.”
He pushed off the wall and walked toward her, careful, but not hesitant. He nodded toward the book clutched in her hands. “You found it.”
“You were looking at it too?,” she asked.
His eyes flicked to hers. “Yes, it felt… familiar.”
Samaira opened the book. The pages rustled like whispers, stopping at the chapter she had bookmarked.
“I don’t remember everything,” she murmured. “But I think… I think I’m not just supposed to be here—I was sent. Or maybe… called.”
Sebastian’s expression shifted. Something almost like relief.
“You feel it too,” he said quietly.
She nodded.
Then, something flickered between them—an invisible thread drawn tight by proximity. The sigil etched on the page glowed faintly in the moonlight, the ink pulsing like a heartbeat.
And suddenly—
Flames. Not of destruction, but birth. A golden phoenix rising. A voice—not hers, but inside her:
“You must remember. When the stars align, when the flame returns, you will know who you were.”
She stood in a circle of runes carved into stone, a boy beside her—not Sebastian, but not unlike him. A promise was being made. Magic older than time.
She gasped—and the vision shattered like glass.
Samaira swayed. Sebastian caught her by the elbow, steadying her.
“You saw something,” he said.
“I remembered something,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Not all of it. But… enough to know this matters.”
The sigil on the page had gone dim again.
But its echo still pulsed in her bones.