Chapter 1
Jonathan Linwood had never been a child in the way others were. He had been young once, certainly, but childhood—the soft-edged innocence of it—had been something denied to him. If it had ever existed, it had drowned in the black waters of Linwood Lake the day his mother died.
The Linwoods were a family of legacy. Wealth, power, bloodline—these things mattered more than love, more than sentiment. His father, Victor Linwood, embodied that principle with cold precision. Detached even before Octavia Linwood’s death, he had become a specter afterward. Where once he had been distant, now he was absent. He walked the halls of Linwood Manor as though Jonathan did not exist, as though his son had been swallowed by the lake along with his wife.
Jonathan remembered that day with the clarity of a curse. He had been four, drawn to the shimmer of the water, fascinated by the way the light rippled across the surface. He had not understood the danger, not until it was too late. He remembered the cold, the weight of the water pulling him under, the panic blooming in his small chest. And then he remembered warmth—the strong, desperate arms of his mother as she lifted him up, even as the water took her instead.
After that, the silence of Linwood Manor became absolute. His father did not speak of her. His father barely spoke to him. If there was grief, it was buried deep beneath layers of cold disdain. Victor Linwood had never been a warm man, but after Octavia's death, he became something else entirely: a man who looked at his only son and saw nothing but a grave mistake.
Jonathan learned quickly that there was no place for sorrow. There was only expectation. He wandered the grand, empty halls of the manor, surrounded by relics of a family that had existed for centuries, a family he was meant to uphold. And so he studied. Books became his refuge, knowledge his armor. In the great library of Linwood Manor, he found solace in the words of minds greater than his own. If his father would not acknowledge him, then he would make himself impossible to ignore. He would prove that he was more than the boy who had survived when his mother had not.
The Linwoods had always been Ravenclaws or Slytherins, and Jonathan knew he would be no different. He would excel. He would be brilliant. He would be formidable. If his father saw only a mistake, then he would become something undeniable. Not out of a need for love—love was a child's foolish hope. No, he would prove himself because that was the only path left to him.
Jonathan boarded the Hogwarts Express with little fanfare, his stark black trunk bearing the family crest already stowed in the luggage car. He moved with a calm efficiency that belied his eleven years, weaving through the bustling corridor of the train until he found an empty compartment near the back. The chatter of excited first-years outside was loud and alien to him.
Sliding the door shut, he settled by the window and pulled an ancient leather-bound book from his satchel. Its spine was worn, its pages tinged with the yellow of age. He traced the embossed runes on the cover before flipping it open to the section he had left unfinished. It was a treatise on the principles of nonverbal spellcasting, a topic far beyond his years but well within his interests.
As the train began to lurch forward, Jonathan lost himself in the quiet rhythm of the words on the page. His surroundings blurred, the compartment an isolated sanctuary from the chaos outside—until the door slid open.
"Mind if I join you?"
Jonathan looked up, his dark eyes narrowing slightly at the intrusion. Standing there was a boy about his age, his hair a pale shade of blonde that shimmered almost silver in the sunlight streaming through the window. The boy’s confidence was effortless, his tone bordering on charming, though there was an undeniable edge of entitlement in the way he carried himself.
"Go ahead," Jonathan said flatly, returning his gaze to his book.
The boy stepped inside, setting his trunk down with a thud before flopping onto the seat opposite Jonathan. "I’m Lucius. Lucius Malfoy," he introduced, the name rolling off his tongue like a practiced spell.
Jonathan gave a curt nod, his attention still fixed on the text in front of him.
"And you are…?" Lucius prompted, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Jonathan Linwood," he replied, not bothering to look up this time.
Lucius leaned back, his eyes briefly widening with recognition. "Linwood, eh? I thought you’d be in a crowded compartment, given the… prominence of your family."
Jonathan finally looked at him, his expression unreadable. "I prefer quiet," he said simply, turning a page.
Lucius smirked, as though he’d uncovered a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. "Well, I don’t. So, what are you reading?"
Jonathan hesitated, the instinct to guard his thoughts momentarily clashing with the oddly persistent curiosity of his new companion. "A study on nonverbal spellcasting," he said at last.
Lucius let out a low whistle. "Ambitious. Most first-years don’t even know how to hold their wands properly."
"I’m not most first-years," Jonathan replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
For a moment, Lucius seemed unsure of how to respond, but then his smirk deepened. "I like that. We’re going to get along just fine, Linwood."
Jonathan didn’t respond, though something flickered behind his eyes. Whether it was annoyance or intrigue, even he wasn’t sure. He turned back to his book, but Lucius didn’t seem to mind. He filled the silence with light, easy chatter about Hogwarts, the houses, and the professors, every so often dropping a name or two that hinted at his own illustrious connections.
Jonathan listened quietly, occasionally glancing up from his book. He didn’t know why, but despite his preference for solitude, he didn’t tell Lucius to leave. Maybe it was because, for the first time in a long while, someone didn’t look at him with pity or blame—or perhaps he was simply curious about what this confident, silver-tongued boy might offer.
Either way, by the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Jonathan found himself walking alongside Lucius toward the castle, a reluctant but undeniable spark of something—perhaps the beginning of friendship—flickering to life.
Not even long after, Jonathan walked up to the Sorting Hat without hesitation. He didn’t fidget, didn’t tremble like the others before him. When the hat was placed on his head, he sat still, his expression unreadable.
"Ah… a Linwood. Now, this is interesting."
The voice echoed in his mind, but Jonathan merely waited, hands folded neatly in his lap.
"Your mind is sharp, disciplined—Ravenclaw would suit you well. But there’s something else… ambition, the need to prove yourself. Slytherin wouldn’t be unwise, either."
Jonathan did not react. He didn’t care where he was placed. He would excel regardless.
"No preference?"
"No."
"Hmm… Very well then—RAVENCLAW!"
The hat was lifted from his head, and Jonathan strode toward the Ravenclaw table. Applause greeted him, but it was impersonal. He sat at the end of the table, away from the excited first-years introducing themselves to each other. He didn’t care for small talk.
As the days passed, his reputation solidified. Jonathan Linwood was the quiet one, the boy who always sat alone, nose buried in a book far beyond his year. Some found him arrogant; others found him strange. He didn’t laugh, didn’t gossip, didn’t seem interested in anything but his studies. Eventually, whispers turned into mockery.
By the time the first Potions class rolled around, it was no surprise that when the students filed in and took their seats, Jonathan was left standing alone. The Slytherins and Gryffindors paired up, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as well, leaving Jonathan at the edge of the room, silent, watching.
Professor Slughorn, a professor with a genial round face, noticed the discrepancy but seemed hesitant to interfere. Before he could say anything, a sharp voice cut through the laughter.
"Here I am."
Lucius Malfoy had entered the room. His cold gray eyes swept across the group before settling on Jonathan, then the empty seat beside him. His lips curled into a smirk—not one of amusement, but of irritation.
"Grow up," Lucius said coolly to no one in particular. He strode over and pulled out the chair beside Jonathan. "Honestly, leaving the only person in this room with a functioning brain to work alone? Ridiculous."
Jonathan said nothing as Lucius sat beside him, but he did glance his way—just for a second. It wasn’t gratitude, exactly. Just acknowledgment.
Slughorn clapped his hands together, eager to move on. "Right then! Now that we’re all settled, let’s begin."
The class carried on, the mockery subdued, though Jonathan could still feel the stares. He ignored them.
Lucius, however, did not. "Pathetic, isn’t it?" he murmured under his breath as he lazily sliced a root for their potion. "They act like children, and yet they think they’re better than you." He smirked. "Idiots."
Jonathan didn’t respond immediately. He took out his textbook first, but eventually said, "You didn’t have to do that."
Lucius leaned back, watching him. "Iknow."
He met Lucius’s gaze, his expression as unreadable as ever. But something had changed. For the first time since he arrived at Hogwarts, he wasn’t entirely alone.
The autumn chill had begun to creep into the air as Jonathan walked across the courtyard, his satchel weighed down by a stack of ancient texts. The sun had already dipped behind the castle, casting long shadows that danced with the flicker of torches. He didn’t mind the dim light. He preferred it, really—less intrusive, less prying.
He was halfway to the Ravenclaw Tower when he heard them. A group of Slytherins lounging near the stone archway, their voices low but unmistakably mocking.
"Oi, Linwood!" one of them called, his tone laced with derision. "Where are you off to with all those dusty books? Think you’re better than the rest of us, don’t you?"
Jonathan stopped but didn’t turn. He adjusted the strap of his satchel and continued walking.
That seemed to embolden them. Another voice piped up, sharper this time. "Not even going to say hello? Rude for someone who spends all his time alone. Maybe that’s why no one likes you."
The group laughed, their footsteps echoing as they closed the distance. Jonathan’s grip on his satchel tightened, but he kept moving, his expression carefully neutral. He had dealt with this before. Words were nothing new.
But then one of them shoved him. Not hard, but enough to make him stumble, his satchel falling to the ground. Books spilled out, pages flapping in the breeze.
"Oops," the boy said mockingly, his lips curling into a smirk. "Didn’t see you there."
Jonathan straightened, brushing his robes off as he turned to face them. His dark eyes were calm, cold even. "Leave me alone," he said quietly.
"Oh, he speaks!" another boy jeered. "What’s the matter, Linwood? Too good for us now?"
"Enough."
The voice cut through the taunts like a blade. Jonathan and his tormentors turned to see Lucius Malfoy stepping out from the shadows. His pale blonde hair caught the torchlight, his gray eyes glinting with something dangerous.
"Malfoy," one of the Slytherins sneered, though there was a note of hesitation in his voice. "This isn’t your business."
Lucius’s lips curled into a lazy, almost predatory smirk. "Oh, I think it is. You see, Linwood here is under my protection. So if you lot have a problem with him, you have a problem with me."
The group exchanged uneasy glances, but one of them—bolder or perhaps stupider than the rest—stepped forward. "And what if we do?"
Lucius didn’t reply with words. His wand was in his hand in a flash, and the boy barely had time to react before a jet of red light sent him sprawling.
The other Slytherins hesitated, torn between loyalty and self-preservation. "You’ll regret this," one of them muttered before helping their fallen friend to his feet. Together, they slunk away, casting glares over their shoulders.
Lucius tucked his wand back into his robes and turned to Jonathan, who was already gathering his scattered books.
"You didn’t have to do that," Jonathan said without looking up.
Lucius crouched down, picking up a heavy tome and handing it to him. "Yes, I did. They’re idiots, but they’ll think twice before crossing you again."
Jonathan paused, studying him for a moment. "Why?"
Lucius shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Because I like you, Linwood. You’ve got potential, even if you don’t know it yet. And, frankly, I don’t like seeing people waste their time with fools."
Jonathan felt a flicker of something he couldn’t quite name. Gratitude, perhaps. Or maybe trust. He stood, his books piled back into his satchel. "Thank you."
Lucius straightened, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve. "Don’t mention it. Now, come on. Let’s get out of here before someone decides to report me to Slughorn."
Jonathan followed him without hesitation, the weight in his chest just a little lighter.
The days at Hogwarts turned colder as winter set in, but within the walls of the castle, Jonathan Linwood found an unexpected warmth in his growing friendship with Lucius Malfoy. Despite their differences—Lucius’s outgoing charm and Jonathan’s quiet intellect—they had become inseparable, often seen together in the library or lingering in the courtyards after classes.
Jonathan still preferred solitude, but with Lucius, it was different. The other boy didn’t push him to speak, didn’t demand anything of him. Instead, Lucius simply… stayed, offering his presence like a steady flame against the shadows.
It was during one of those late-night conversations in the library, the firelight casting long shadows across the ancient texts, that Jonathan finally opened up about his father.
"He blames me," Jonathan said quietly, his eyes fixed on the book in his lap.
Lucius paused, his quill hovering mid-air. "For what?"
Jonathan hesitated, then exhaled slowly. "My mother’s death. She died saving me when I was a child."
Lucius set his quill down, his gray eyes studying Jonathan with an intensity that made him look away. "That’s not your fault, Jonathan. Surely you know that."
"Knowing doesn’t change how he looks at me," Jonathan murmured.
There was a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Finally, Lucius said, "You don’t have to go back for Christmas."
Jonathan blinked, glancing at him.
Lucius smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Stay here. My parents wanted me to come home, but honestly, I’d rather not deal with the endless parade of relatives. We can spend the holidays here—peace and quiet, just how you like it."
Jonathan hesitated, the weight of his father’s expectations pressing against his chest. But then he nodded, a small but genuine movement. "All right."
The Christmas season at Hogwarts was quieter than Jonathan expected. With most students returning home, the castle felt almost empty. The decorations in the Great Hall sparkled with magic, the air filled with the scent of pine and warm spices.
Jonathan and Lucius spent the days exploring the castle, their laughter occasionally echoing through the empty halls. They even exchanged gifts on Christmas morning—Jonathan gave Lucius an elegant silver bookmark etched with protective runes, and Lucius gifted him a set of rare potion ingredients, each meticulously labeled.
And Jonathan felt a faint, unfamiliar sense of belonging.
When the end of term arrived, the platform at Hogsmeade Station was bustling with students and luggage. Jonathan stood with Lucius near the edge of the crowd, the two of them watching as the train began to fill.
"Well," Lucius said, adjusting his scarf, "I suppose this is goodbye for now."
Jonathan nodded, his expression calm but his eyes betraying a trace of something deeper.
Lucius hesitated, then stepped forward, his arms beginning to rise. "I—"
Jonathan took a step back, his hand half-raised. "Don’t," he said firmly, though his tone wasn’t unkind. "I don’t like… physical touch."
Lucius paused, then slowly lowered his arms, his smirk softening into a knowing smile. "Fair enough. I’ll save it for when you least expect it."
Jonathan rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the faint tug at the corner of his lips.
"Take care, Linwood," Lucius said, his tone surprisingly genuine.
"You too, Malfoy," Jonathan replied.
As the train pulled away, Lucius leaned out of the window, waving in his usual dramatic fashion. Jonathan didn’t wave back, but he stood there until the train was out of sight, the cold wind tugging at his robes.
At least now he had something to look forward to now—a friendship that, despite its unlikely beginnings, had become something he could trust.
The summer at Linwood Manor was as silent and suffocating as ever. The sprawling estate, with its endless corridors and ornate, lifeless rooms, felt more like a museum than a home. Jonathan wandered its halls as he always did, seeking solace in the vast library or the shaded corners of the garden.
Victor Linwood remained as detached as ever, his presence a shadow on the rare occasions he crossed paths with his son. There were no words exchanged, no gestures of affection, only the quiet, unspoken blame that hung in the air like a specter.
Jonathan endured it as he always had—alone and in stillness.
One bright afternoon, however, the monotony was broken by the sound of wheels crunching on the gravel driveway. From his perch on the second-floor balcony, Jonathan watched as a sleek black carriage arrived at the manor. A moment later, an elegant figure stepped out, her silver hair swept into a perfect chignon and her emerald-green robes shimmering in the sunlight.
Isabelle Linwood. His grandmother.
Isabelle swept into the manor like a gust of fresh air, her presence commanding yet warm. Jonathan met her in the drawing room, standing stiffly as she approached him. But her expression softened when she saw him, her sharp blue eyes taking in the too-thin frame, the guarded posture.
"Jonathan," she said, her voice rich and steady. "You’ve grown so much."
He gave a polite nod. "Grandmother."
She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before smiling. "Well, don’t just stand there. Come, let’s sit. I want to hear everything about your year at Hogwarts."
To Jonathan’s surprise, he found himself talking more than he had in months. Isabelle had a way of drawing him out, her questions thoughtful and her interest genuine. They spent hours in the garden, discussing everything from his classes to the books he had read.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold, Isabelle finally broached the subject that had lingered unspoken between them.
"Your father," she began carefully, her gaze steady, "has he always been like this with you?"
Jonathan hesitated, his fingers brushing the edges of the book in his lap. "Since my mother died," he admitted quietly. "He… blames me."
Isabelle’s expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That’s unacceptable." Her tone was sharp, but her hand on Jonathan’s shoulder was gentle.
He looked up at her, his dark eyes wide. "It doesn’t matter," he said, though his voice wavered. "I’m used to it."
She shook her head, her grip firming. "No, Jonathan. It does matter. You’re a child. You deserve more than this cold, empty house and a father who refuses to see you for who you are."
Jonathan didn’t know what to say. The words felt foreign, unfamiliar. He had never heard anyone defend him like this.
Isabelle took a deep breath, her resolve clear. "You’ll come live with me," she said firmly. "I won’t stand by and watch my grandson endure this."
Jonathan stared at her, his mind racing. "You mean… leave Linwood Manor?"
"Yes," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "You’ll have a proper home, Jonathan. "You’ll have a proper home, Jonathan. One where you’re cared for, where you can grow without this… weight hanging over you."
A thrill shot through him, sharp and sudden. He felt his throat tighten, but he managed a nod. "I’d like that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Isabelle smiled, and for the first time in years, Jonathan felt a spark of hope. As they sat together beneath the fading light, the cold stillness of Linwood Manor seemed a little less oppressive and Jonathan could truly imagine a future that wasn’t defined by loneliness.
Jonathan Linwood stepped off the Hogwarts Express, the cool September breeze brushing against his robes. The chatter of students filled the platform, but his sharp eyes were already scanning the crowd. He spotted Lucius Malfoy almost immediately, his pale blonde hair gleaming like a beacon amidst the sea of dark uniforms.
Lucius stood near the edge of the platform, surrounded by a small group of Slytherins. He was speaking animatedly, a lazy smirk on his face, but the moment his gaze caught Jonathan’s, his expression shifted—lighter, almost pleased. He said something to his companions, who nodded and dispersed, leaving him to stride toward Jonathan.
"Linwood," Lucius drawled, his smirk widening. "You survived this summer, I see. I was beginning to think I’d have to send a rescue party."
Jonathan’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "It was… different this time."
"Oh?" Lucius arched an elegant brow, falling into step beside him as they made their way toward the carriages. "Do tell. Was your father in rare form?"
Jonathan shook his head. "He was the same. But my grandmother visited."
That made Lucius pause, genuine interest flickering across his face. "Isabelle Linwood?"
"Yes. She spent a few days at the manor. When she found out how things were, she… well, she offered to take me in." Jonathan hesitated, his voice quieter. "I’ll be living with her from now on."
Lucius tilted his head, studying him. "And you’re happy about this?"
Jonathan nodded, his gaze steady. "She cares. It’s… different. She listens."
Lucius regarded him for a moment longer, then grinned. "Well, good for you. Maybe now you won’t be so insufferably grim all the time."
Jonathan rolled his eyes but didn’t bother responding.
"And as for me," Lucius continued, clearly relishing the chance to talk about himself, "my summer was the usual parade of family obligations and social events. Balls, galas, the occasional duel of wit with my father’s associates. Dreadfully dull, really."
"I’m sure you handled it with your usual charm," Jonathan said dryly.
Lucius smirked. "Naturally. Though I must admit, I did miss the quiet of our little library sessions."
They reached the carriages, climbing into one that was blissfully empty. As the Thestrals began their slow journey toward the castle, the two boys settled into a familiar rhythm, their conversation weaving between their summer experiences and speculation about the year ahead.
By the time they reached the Great Hall, Jonathan felt as though the weeks of separation had vanished. Lucius, with his sharp wit and easy confidence, had a way of grounding him, of making the overwhelming noise of Hogwarts seem distant.
As they took their seats—Lucius at the Slytherin table and Jonathan at Ravenclaw—they exchanged a brief glance. It was unspoken but understood: the summer may have changed some things, but their friendship remained constant.
Soon enough, the familiar rhythm of classes and routines would sweep them up again. But for now, as the Sorting Hat’s song began and the candles floated above, Jonathan allowed himself a rare moment of contentment.
The following weeks were a blur of study sessions and long nights spent hunched over books in the Ravenclaw Tower. Jonathan had always found solace in the quiet of academia, but as the holiday season approached, something else lingered in his mind.
His grandmother. Isabelle had promised him a fresh start, a life away from the suffocating expectations of Linwood Manor. The thought of spending the winter break with her, away from Hogwarts, felt like a beacon of light at the end of a long tunnel.
Each day, he counted down the days until he could leave the noise and chaos of school behind and step into the comforting embrace of her home. His usual stillness was tempered with anticipation, a flicker of excitement he rarely allowed himself to feel.
One evening, a week before break, Jonathan sat in the Great Hall next to Lucius. His book was open in front of him, but his thoughts kept wandering. He glanced at the Slytherin boy across from him, noting how easily Lucius navigated the social circles of Hogwarts. For all of Jonathan’s quiet intellect, it was clear to him that he would never have the same ease with people.
"I take it you’re still planning to bury yourself in books over the break?" Lucius teased, pushing his plate aside to focus on Jonathan.
Jonathan didn’t look up immediately, absorbed in his thoughts. "I might," he replied quietly. "But I’ll also be spending it with my grandmother. She’s… she’s been wonderful, Lucius. It’s different, being with someone who actually listens."
Lucius gave him a knowing look. "You’ve been more tolerable lately. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen you actually smile about something other than knowledge."
Jonathan’s lips twitched into a brief smile before he returned his attention to his book. "Perhaps."
As he read, the hoot of an owl broke through the noise of the hall. It flew directly to him, the parchment tied to its leg. Jonathan’s heart skipped a beat—he hadn’t been expecting anything.
He untied the letter swiftly, the familiar scent of parchment filling his senses as he read the words. His hands froze as the message registered, his breath catching in his chest.
"Dear Jonathan,
It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you of the passing of your grandmother, Isabelle Linwood. She fell ill suddenly and despite our best efforts, she did not recover. I know how much she meant to you, and I can only hope you find solace in knowing she loved you deeply.
I am truly sorry for your loss.
Yours,
Christopher Linwood."
The words blurred before his eyes. He felt a sharp, cold emptiness spread through him, like something had been torn from his chest. His hands began to tremble, and the world around him seemed to distort as the chatter in the hall became muffled and distant.
Before he could even process it, his legs were already moving. He stood abruptly, leaving his books and the letter behind as he stormed out of the Great Hall. His heart pounded in his ears, and his thoughts felt like they were spinning out of control.
"Jonathan—" Lucius’s voice called after him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
Jonathan didn’t make it far before he felt a presence at his side. Lucius, never one to let his friend run away alone, was there beside him. He caught up quickly, his steps light but urgent.
"Jonathan, what’s wrong?" Lucius asked, his voice unusually soft.
Jonathan didn’t reply at first. He simply reached into his robes, pulling out the crumpled letter with shaking hands. Wordlessly, he handed it to Lucius.
Lucius read it quickly, his expression shifting from confusion to something darker. He looked at Jonathan, whose face was pale, his eyes wide with disbelief, and then back down at the letter.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop around them. Jonathan’s breath came in shallow gasps, and the cold air felt sharp against his skin. The grief, sudden and overwhelming, hit him like a wave. His hands curled into fists, his breath catching painfully in his throat. He couldn’t hold it back anymore.
Tears spilled down his face, silent and steady, his entire body shaking with the force of emotions he hadn’t known how to handle.
Lucius stood there, the letter still in his hands, looking momentarily unsure of what to do. But then, in a quiet moment of understanding, he placed the letter down and stepped forward, a rare softness in his usually composed gaze.
"Jonathan…" Lucius said, his voice low. "I’m here. You’re not alone."
Jonathan swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but the words seemed to escape him. "She’s gone. She—" He stopped, unable to continue.
Lucius didn’t say anything else at first. He simply stood there, allowing Jonathan the space to grieve, his presence a silent anchor. After a long moment, Lucius spoke again.
"You don’t have to go through this alone," Lucius said quietly, his voice firm but gentle. "I’ll stay at Hogwarts with you. You don’t need to spend the break there if you don’t want to. I’ll be with you."
Jonathan nodded, still unable to speak. Lucius’s offer was the last thing he expected, but it was exactly what he needed.
"Thank you," Jonathan whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Lucius didn’t hesitate. He placed a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, a gesture of reassurance. "We’ll get through this. I’m not going anywhere."
And in that moment, he knew, Lucius was there. He wasn’t alone.
The weeks of winter break at Hogwarts stretched on, peaceful and still. The usual hustle and bustle of the holidays had quieted with most students gone home, leaving the castle to its own silence. Jonathan Linwood and Lucius Malfoy spent their days wandering the castle, finding comfort in each other’s presence.
For Jonathan, it was the first Christmas that felt like more than a hollow formality. The absence of his grandmother weighed on him, but the steady companionship of Lucius—who, despite his usual bravado, had been quietly supportive—gave him something to hold onto. The days were slow, but there was something comforting in the slowness.
It was during one of their late-night conversations in the library, a fire crackling softly in the hearth, that Jonathan found himself speaking more than he had in a long time. Lucius had been teasing him about his obsession with ancient runes, and to his surprise, Jonathan found himself laughing, the sound unfamiliar but welcome.
"Do you ever just take a break from studying, Jonathan?" Lucius asked, leaning back in his chair, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.
Jonathan paused, glancing up from his book. "Studying is my break."
Lucius raised an eyebrow. "It’s no wonder you never join the rest of us. You’re always in here, buried under your books. You need to get out more."
"I do," Jonathan said, closing the book slowly and meeting Lucius’s gaze. "I just… I’ve never had much use for the crowds. Or the noise."
Lucius leaned forward, his expression serious for once. "You don’t have to do this alone, you know. It’s okay to let other people in."
Jonathan hesitated, his thoughts momentarily spinning. "I… never knew how."
Lucius’s gaze softened. "You don’t have to explain it. But I’m here. And I’ll stay here. No one’s going anywhere."
Jonathan nodded, the weight in his chest easing a little.
Over the next few days, something shifted. The isolation he had always carried with him wasn’t as suffocating with Lucius by his side. The quiet, simple moments between them—shared meals in the Great Hall, long walks through the frosty grounds, and hours spent in the library—allowed Jonathan to loosen the tight grip on his emotions, just a little.
By the time term resumed, Jonathan noticed something unexpected: he was speaking more. It wasn’t much at first, just the occasional comment during classes or a brief conversation between lessons, but it was a start. In the common room, he found himself offering opinions on the latest magical theories, and in the hallways, he even made small talk with a few of his fellow Ravenclaws—something he had never thought possible just a few months ago.
Lucius, ever observant, noticed the change, though he said little about it. Instead, he would give Jonathan the occasional knowing smile, as though silently acknowledging the shift without drawing attention to it.
One afternoon, a few weeks into the new term, Jonathan found himself sitting in the library with Lucius again, this time discussing something less academic.
"Have you thought about what you want to do when you graduate?" Lucius asked, idly flipping through a book on advanced potion-making.
Jonathan hesitated. ''I haven’t really thought about it. I always thought I’d take up my place at Linwood Manor, do what’s expected." He frowned, the words feeling strange now, like they no longer fit. "But… I’m not sure that’s what I want anymore."
Lucius’s gaze softened. "Then you should figure out what you do want. You don’t have to live for anyone else, Jonathan. Not your father, not anyone else. Just you."
Jonathan looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in Lucius’s voice. "I never thought about it that way," he admitted quietly.
Lucius smirked, the familiar edge to his voice returning. "Well, don’t get used to me being all thoughtful. But you’re right, you know. You’ve spent so long hiding away in books, it’s about time you started looking at what you want, not just what’s been handed down to you."
Jonathan considered this, his fingers tapping against the table. "Maybe I’ll find a way to use all this knowledge… to do something more. Something that actually matters."
"That’s the spirit," Lucius said with a grin. "Now, let’s see if you can talk about something other than ancient runes for once. I’d like to hear about your latest theories on magical theory… if you can manage it without sounding like an old professor."
Jonathan couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him.