Chapter 2
June 1977
The train finally arrived in London. As the sun slowly dipped below the horizon and dusk cloaked the city, Halcyon was the last to step out of the compartment. Just as she was about to exit, she nearly collided with a Ravenclaw girl, Amoret Montfort.
“Sorry,” Halcyon muttered, looking up. In that instant, she froze. Standing next to Amoret was Alfred Belby, his typically tousled dark brown hair falling in soft waves around his face as he nervously raked his fingers through it. Their eyes met, and a tense silence hung between them. Amoret gave Halcyon a faint smile, her expression carrying a hint of understanding. Then she leaned toward Alfred and whispered something before walking away from the train.
Alfred remained where he stood. “Hal, can we talk?”
She felt anxiety rising in her chest. Struggling to keep her emotions in check, she nodded. “Alright.”
They moved aside, away from the curious gazes of the bustling crowd.
“I don’t want things to end like this,” Alfred began, his voice quiet but urgent. “I realize I might have said things that I shouldn’t and that I’ve been unnecessarily harsh on you. I’m honestly sorry.”
Halcyon tried to stay composed. “It wasn’t the first time, Alfred. I don’t know, maybe you’re just pushing me too hard. I just need time to think and process everything that’s happened.”
Alfred’s face twisted with pain. “But I’m here for you. We can get through this together.”
Halcyon sighed, forcing a faint smile that still felt bitter. “I appreciate that, but… no. I’ll see you after the summer break.” She moved to walk past him.
Alfred straightened, his slender hand reaching out to grasp her wrist. “Wait!”
Halcyon pulled away. “Leave me alone, Alfred!” she shouted before she could stop herself. As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them.
Alfred slowly withdrew his hand, his expression shifting from confusion and regret to something more resigned. “Alright, if that’s what you want. Just… take care of yourself, Hal.” His voice softened, though a shadow of hurt remained.
“You too,” she murmured quietly before turning and walking away without looking back.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. She needed to find her aunt and uncle and head home.
Halcyon stepped off the train and was immediately engulfed in a dense crowd of witches and wizards—mostly students excitedly reuniting with their families. She had to weave through them, her gaze darting nervously over the sea of heads. She was searching for her relatives. At last, amidst the chaos, she caught a glimpse of bright red hair that could belong to no one other than her cousin, Lily. The anxiety in her chest grew with every step, and the journey to them seemed increasingly difficult, as though her legs were weighed down by the burden of her own thoughts.
The horror in Aunt Evelyn’s eyes was unmistakable, while Uncle Edwin beside her appeared calmer, as if trying to keep the situation under control.
“Halcyon!” Aunt Evelyn cried out as soon as Halcyon approached. Her hand shot out to grab Halcyon’s chin, her touch unexpectedly firm, almost harsh. Halcyon was overcome by a wave of shame. “What in Merlin’s name happened to you? Your face… why? Why were you so reckless?”
“Can’t they remove that scar somehow?” her aunt continued, this time with urgency in her voice. “You were so beautiful…”
Halcyon stood silently, the weight of failure pressing down on her like a stone.
“Trust me, it was way, way worse,” Lily said coolly. A flicker of regret crossed her emerald-green eyes, subtle but unmistakable.
Uncle Edwin stood aside, silent, with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. His face remained impassive—emotions weren’t his strong suit—but there was tension in his posture that betrayed him. After a moment, he stepped closer and gently placed a hand on Halcyon’s shoulder.
“Your aunt is just worried, dear,” he said softly, his deep voice unusually soothing. He attempted a reassuring smile, though it felt forced. “We’re just glad you’re safe. That’s what really matters, doesn’t it?” He gave her a light pat on the back, as if that could erase all concerns.
Aunt Evelyn sighed, clearly trying to suppress her frustration. After a moment of strained silence, during which Halcyon picked up her suitcase and prepared to leave, Evelyn approached her, speaking with solemnity:
“Halcyon, I need to tell you something important. When Judith found out what happened, she was so upset that she considered withdrawing you from Hogwarts. I tried to talk her out of it, but… I’m not sure if she’ll listen to me.”
Halcyon swallowed dryly. The situation was worse than she’d expected. She had received an angry letter from Judith, but she hadn’t thought she’d go so far.
When the car slowed and came to a stop in front of their house, darkness had fully descended, and the streetlights cast a faint, cold glow over the surroundings. The modest family home in the poorer part of Cokeworth looked even lonelier and gloomier in the dim light, but it was still Halcyon’s home.
“Everything will be alright, Halcyon,” Evelyn repeated in a softer voice, as though trying to convince herself as well.
Uncle Edwin nodded. “Good night, dear.”
Halcyon bid them good night and headed inside, her heart heavy with fear and doubts about what awaited her behind those doors. Darkness surrounded her from all sides, but the one she felt inside was far deeper.
✷✷✷
The streets of London were bustling with life, even at this late hour. Alfred Belby and Argus Fawley slowly weaved through the crowd of Muggles, who seemed to drift aimlessly through the streets, carried by an invisible current. Occasionally, someone turned to glance at Alfred’s raven cage, but the two boys were long accustomed to such looks.
“So, what exactly happened between you and Proudfoot?” Argus asked cautiously as they walked along the pavement, avoiding the occasional passersby. He cast Alfred a probing glance.
“Amoret put you up to this, didn’t she?” Alfred sighed, not breaking his stride.
Argus shrugged, his lean frame exuding an effortless ease, as though nothing could rattle him. “Maybe she did. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m curious why my mate suddenly isn’t talking to the girl he used to call a miracle from the heavens.”
When Alfred didn’t respond, Argus continued, “If you want to talk about it… or we could just get drunk, you know—my family owns a dive.” A mischievous grin spread across his face.
Alfred smirked, shaking his head in disbelief. “I could use a drink,” he finally admitted, resigned to the fact that the evening would revolve more around glasses than his troubles.
The Mad Boar Inn once had a reputation as a lively, boisterous place where wizards gathered to unwind after long days. But now, it looked different. During Voldemort’s rise to power, people were too afraid to venture out, and local businesses felt the strain. Tables remained half-empty, conversations were hushed, and the atmosphere was more tense than jovial.
The room was dimly lit, with a cloud of smoke from a few scattered pipes lingering near the ceiling. The whispers filling the air were low and cautious. Local patrons sat scattered at their tables, faces hidden beneath coats or hats. Heavy curtains were drawn over dusty windows, and the light of old lanterns hanging from the ceiling cast long, dark shadows on the wood-paneled walls.
In the past, laughter and raucous conversations often echoed through the inn, but today, it was quiet, almost eerily so. The only sounds were the soft crackling of a magical radio in the corner and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath shuffling feet.
“Well, well! Look who’s decided to grace us with his presence after all these years!” boomed old Ben, the innkeeper, maintaining his friendly tone despite the weariness and caution etched into his features. His bald head and graying beard were the same, but there was an unmistakable unease in his eyes.
“You know how it is—we’re here to celebrate the end of the year and passing our exams,” Argus replied as they made their way to one of the empty tables in the back of the room.
Ben brought them a bottle of Firewhisky, remarking that he’d return shortly to hear their school tales.
“And what about your mum?” Argus asked as he poured the golden liquid into two glasses. He placed one in front of Alfred, a glint of challenge in his eyes—knowing this would be Alfred’s first time trying it.
Alfred examined the glass of Firewhisky carefully. When he finally brought it to his lips, he took a tentative sip, only to cough violently, his face turning red. Argus burst out laughing.
“You’ve got to knock it back in one go,” he advised with a grin, watching Alfred’s efforts with amusement.
“Dad says Mom’s doing better, but…” Alfred finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “She still doesn’t want to be around people. It’s bloody awful.”
Alfred’s mother had been bitten by a werewolf. It happened just before Christmas, and it had shaken the entire family. She had completely withdrawn into herself. Once known as a Quidditch star who married a highly successful potioneer, she had been active in events and coached several teams. After the incident, she gave it all up. For Alfred’s father, watching his wife fade before his eyes was unbearable.
“Everything that’s happening right now is bloody awful,” Argus finally said. He downed the fiery liquid in one gulp.
“Yeah, and You-Know-Who keeps gaining more power. We’re going to end up in this war too, and I still feel like I’m just learning to levitate a feather,” Alfred added with a bitter smile.
“Yeah,” Argus nodded. “But in all this stress, it’s good to remember Leviosa every now and then.”
It only took two glasses of Firewhisky for Alfred to start talking about Halcyon Proudfoot. Argus couldn’t say he learned anything new from the tale, just that Proudfoot couldn’t remember anything and probably couldn’t handle Alfred’s concern. The whole situation seemed senseless—Proudfoot wasn’t stupid, and she wouldn’t have just wandered into the Forbidden Forest without a reason.
“Maybe she fell victim to some kind of prank,” Argus mused, leaning on the table. “Maybe it went too far. Or, considering she can’t remember anything, someone might’ve done it on purpose. If I’m not mistaken, she’s Muggle-born, right?”
Alfred nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor as he studied the cracks in the wood, as though they might offer him an answer. “Yeah, I think so,” he admitted, his voice filled with doubt. “Merlin, I’m such an idiot,” he muttered desperately, burying his face in his hands as if trying to hide his disappointment.
Argus leaned back in his chair. “It’s all just speculation,” he said finally, attempting to offer comfort. “But I think you should give her space and time to sort it all out.”
When Ben returned to their table, his presence lightened the heavy atmosphere between them. The innkeeper smiled as he approached, his bald head gleaming in the dim lamplight. “So, lads, how’s school going?” he asked, placing another glass on the table.
Alfred looked up at him with a faint smile, as if trying to shift his mind to a less troubling subject. “School?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, school,” Ben affirmed.
“Oh, the usual. It gets harder every year… there was a bit of a row between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw,” Alfred recounted. “Then it escalated, and suddenly everyone went mad, and curses were flying everywhere.”
“You don’t say! That’s happening at your school?” Ben exclaimed in amazement.
“Yeah, and almost everyone got caught up in it. It all started with someone stealing the portrait of the Fat Lady and ended when… well, when Dumbledore gave one of his long speeches about how we should all stick together in these times.”
“Back in my day, anyone acting up like that would’ve been hanging by their thumbs in the dungeons,” the old man chuckled.